dragon!sheepstealer x shepherdess!reader
human!sheepstealer x shepherdess!reader
𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: you were a shepherdess in the vale, though you possessed little talent for tending flocks. more often than not, you coped with your failures at the local tavern. it was there you crossed paths with a mysterious but handsome tavern boy, a stranger with no recollection of his past. he warned you that a few strays were not worth drawing the wrath of a dragon. pfft, what did he know? but when the missing sheep grew day by day, desperation turned to fury. you resolved to track the wretched beast back to its cave...only to find yourself pinned down and at the mercy of the ugly monster.
what happens next is up to you.
⋆⁺₊⋆ 𝒶 𝒸𝒽𝑜𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓈𝓂𝓊𝓉 𝒶𝒹𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒 ⋆⁺₊⋆
𝓬𝔀: explicit sexual content. 18+ mdni!. detailed oral. fingering with dragon tongue. lost of virginity. monster fucking/teratophilia. dragon x human. human x human at least at one route. dubious consent/non-con. mind violence & peril. actual size difference. actual power imbalance, one is a freaking flying nuke the other is a very human female. mild humiliation / self-deprecation, reader is very much a mess. DEAD DOVE LAMB: DO NOT EAT. this is dark. wrote it as a joke. but now here we are. readers discretion is advised.
𝒾𝒻 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒷𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝒹𝑜 𝓃𝑜t 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹.
𝓪/𝓷: believe it or not, this is my first actual explicit smut fic. most of the time i just stop at third base, but i finally made it home plate. so that should count for something.
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“What is dead may never die.”
His eyes followed the mesmerizing swirls of red unspooling from his neck like ribbons dancing among the bubbles, the crushing weight of the water pressing into him as he sank further down.
“What is dead may never die…”
There it was again. A low chant beckoning him below. Or perhaps it was a chorus rather than a chant, for the sound was impossibly sweet. As he faded deeper in the dark, fragmented regrets began to resurface: his mother’s heartbreak, the kiss that never passed between him and his betrothed, and of that horrid creature…
It was a monster made of muddy scales and horns, with splotchy pale patches all over its head and body, held aloft by a great set of leathery wings. Its awful, misaligned maw hung ajar, and its burning yellow eyes were the last regrets he carried down.
“What is dead may never die…”
He closed his eyes. What an ugly dragon, he mused as the last of the air finally escaping him.
“But rises again…Harder and stronger.”
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You lost the sheep.
It had only been a fortnight since your name-day, and there you were, drowning your frustrations over a cup of winter mead and a mutton stew you couldn't seem to stomach. As the alewife shuffled past, you weakly grabbed her skirt and looked up at her pleadingly.
“Oh goodness, girl. What is it now?” She gently brushed your hand off her skirt.
“Do you have anything stronger than this?” You shook the cup of mead as you stammered fighting off hot tears of disappointment and self loathing. “You know…I lost Woolcloud today. I searched and searched…” Then you dropped your head to rest on the table. Defeated.
How can one be so awful at being a shepherdess? Woolcloud had been your finest sheep, given to you by your grandfather on your name-day as the single promise that would change your fortune and make your success your own. Yet there you were, in a mountain tavern, and your golden fleece missing.
“Let us see what we have in the cellar.” The alewife patted your head and then shouted across the room. “Oi! Lad! See if we have the strongwine below!”
You lifted your head to see who the alewife was bellowing at. Oh, my. He was a sturdy fellow for a tavern boy. His hair rested right above his broad shoulders, curls tumbling down like waves of dark water. He gave the alewife a single, simple nod. His eyes were dark, too, but you swore you saw a sudden gleam in them: a shade that intimately reminded you of wisteria.
He stalked off and went down the stairs.
You tilted your head up to the alewife. “Who’s he?”
“Who knows. He doesn’t seem to know himself either.” She shrugged. “But bloody helpful, mind you. Especially of late, what with all the painted-pups wandering through, looking to prove their manhood against a dragon.”
“A dragon?” You blinked languidly. “I thought they were long gone—does the King not hate the beasts? They call His Grace Dragonbane, after all.”
“Not to his face, best keep that to yourself and not spat that around so freely.” The alewife warned and scuttled off to tend to other patrons.
When the stranger returned with a heavy wooden keg of strongwine resting on his shoulder, he set it down upon the oak table for the alewife to tap. He wiped his hands on his apron and filled a flagon with the dark vintage. The alewife spoke a few quiet instructions, to which he nodded wordlessly before making his way toward you with the flagon and an empty cup.
He placed the cup on your table, prompting you to sit up a bit straighter, and then proceeded to give you a heavy pour of the strong stuff. Up close, he was a strikingly handsome man, possessing a strong jaw with a faint-stubble, and plush, quiet lips.
When you finally brought the cup to your lips, he offered a small, satisfied smirk. His eyes seemed to strip you bare, gazing at you hungrily as they lingered on the line of your throat before lifting back to your mouth.
You gulped down the heavy wine, forcing down the tension that coiled in your stomach at the feeling of being appraised like prize stock. Or prized sheep.
Leaning down slowly, his curls brushed against your ear and cheek as he whispered, “I heard of your troubles. But don’t risk it all for a sheep or two,” his low tone making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.
The alewife beckoned him again, and he walked away.
What in the seven hells was he playing at?!
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It was the largest beast you had ever laid eyes upon.
In a breath, it swooped down and stole your second-best sheep, Maggie. Blinded by red and fury, you gave chase, hurling rock after rock at the monster until it was nothing but a speck against the clouds, and the ring of Maggie’s bell faded into a hollow echo off the mountains.
Upon further reflection, as you wept beneath a dying spruce tree, perhaps chasing after a dragon and hurling rocks at it had not been the wisest decision. What if said dragon came back, seeking retribution for the slight of a mere maiden challenging it?
It was the ugliest beast you had ever laid eyes upon too.
It was muddy brown with patches of white, covered in scales and thorn-like horns that ringed its body. Its mouth hung ajar, the bottom jaw protruding past its snout to reveal misshapen, terrible teeth—yet its eyes were beautiful. They were a deep, striking purple.
You shook the thought away. It was a monstrous, wretched thing, and you needed to settle on that. You had an enemy now.
Your woolly charges had gathered around you and were all staring at you, bleating away, demanding a plan of action or some sort of briefing as to why Maggie just suddenly went up in the air with some large lizard-bird thing. Their beady eyes were all fixed on you, and you felt awful all over again.
You gathered the smallest lamb of the flock, hugged it tight, and rubbed your face against its soft wool, comforting yourself and drying your tears. The sun was dipping behind the ridges of the mountains; on the morrow would be a new day, and on the morrow you would have a plan. But first, you needed to pen up your charges in the stables near the tavern. Only then could you find yourself a stiff drink and a hot meal that was anything but mutton.
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You got insensibly drunk, especially for a maiden of your age.
Though commonborn, your family had prided themselves on being shepherds, seamstresses, and merchants of wool. You were expected to behave accordingly, carrying a certain respectable air whenever you went about your business in town. But considering how fiercely those four cups of wine had hit you, how you were the only unmarried maiden left in your household, heartachingly inexperienced in the matters of love and the pleasures it was supposed to bring, and how you were currently a terrible shepherdess who would bring shame to your bloodline, you decided to let the seven hells have it. You would drink until your sodden mind produced a brilliant plan to keep your flock safe.
The tavern was cheery tonight, there was a group of young boys in the corner of the hall being rowdy singing about proving their worth, a lover’s sworn, and a dragon’s scorn.
Pfft! A Dragon’s scorn. More like my scorn if I get my hands on that wretched monster.
“And do what exactly?”
The voice behind you came so suddenly that you lunged backward, catching the leg of your chair. You slammed straight into the broad, hard chest of a stranger.
You whirled around. It was him. The tavern helper with a flagon of what smelled like the stronger stuff.
“Pardon?” you stammered out, the wine losing its grip as a sudden wave of sobriety hit you. Had you spoken those thoughts aloud? You felt utterly thick in the head for even wondering. Perhaps you are still drunk.
“It would be poor charity to pour you another.” He eyed your empty cup. “You have had your fill, my lady.”
“My lady!?” you scoffed, slightly swaying as you regained your composure. “What an odd manner of speaking. Where you from?”
He did not answer but knelt down, picked up the fallen chair, and set it upright, dusting off the seat. He patted the wood, urging you to sit back down, while his dark eyes beamed up at you.
“King’s Landing? You speak with the tongue of a lordling,” you said with a light giggle. “I reckon t-that’s not possible. Then again, perhaps you were washed ashore from some pirate ship out of some free city.” You gingerly settled back onto your chair. “Pray, keep pouring, ser. Your ladyship has a great need to drown her failures tonight. A-And my purse is heavy enough to pay for the wine and a bed. So, I-I'm good for it.”
You had meant it as a mockery and immediately felt sorry for sounding so cruel, but he wordlessly obeyed and refilled your cup.
When you reached back out for it, his hand slid over yours, pinning it down. His face was suddenly inches from your own, his breath brushing against your lips.
“I would not go advertising that you carry a heavy purse and have a bed to share,” he warned softly. “A maid like you faces danger in a place like this.”
“Danger?” You let out a bitter laugh that dissolved into a clumsy hiccup. “There is a dragon dwindling down my flock and I haven't an idea how to stop it. Call me daft, but I may well die a maiden hunting the beast down. If some wanton man wants to bed me before then, so be it. I rather not die a virgin.”
“You’re truly an idiot.” He tapped your forehead with the flat of the flagon, then gently pressed his lips to the spot to kiss it better.
He walked away, leaving you to rub your forehead, thoroughly confused by his actions, but your neck and cheeks felt hot.
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Two days, and two more sheep gone. Plucked clean into the air.
You had left your flock in your cousin's care, sheltering them for the time being so you could set forth and follow the trail of scorched earth. Your plan was to locate the lair of this monster; once found, you could alert the town’s watch or seek an audience with House Arryn to plead for aid. None of that mattered at the moment. The pressing reality was that the trail of ruin and blackened grass had finally brought you to the mouth of this very cave.
The sun was low but not yet set. You had less than an hour of daylight remaining, but you willed yourself forward; you needed proof that this was truly the beast's den. A gnawed sheep bone, a scrap of hide — that would be enough. The moment you found it, you could flee.
The cavern was much larger than you had anticipated, and as you pressed deeper into the gloom, the dimming sunlight became nothing more than a pinprick behind you. The rocky ceiling rose too high to make out what lay above in the shadows, even with your torch. You gulped, and then gulped again.
The smell of burnt meat and sulfur grew stronger as you made your way toward the deep end of the cave.
Beneath your boot, something snapped clean in half.
You jumped back, pointing your torch downward and nearly singed a strand of your own hair. It was a femur. It looked to be about the size of a sheep's bone — or a lamb's, given how small it was.
Your eyes followed the grim trail forward, where a mountain of splintered bones, burnt twigs, and charred hide came together to form what could only be a massive, disgusting nest.
Then the ground beneath you shook, like a massive boulder had broken free from the high ceiling above? Was it? It shuddered a second time, making your knees give out; you dropped hard onto your bottom, the torch slipping from your grip and rolling away. The ground shook again. A cold sweat trickled down your spine. It was not falling rocks. Those were the footsteps of something massive and heavy.
Scrambling onto your hands and knees, you tried to claw your way back toward the dropped torch. A stupid idea. A stupid, stupid idea, your mind screamed.
A blinding stream of flame erupted overhead, showering the cavern with white-hot light. You curled down instantly, pressing your face to the dirt and covering your head. Praying for the Mother will not help you now.
A sharp talon jerked you on your back.
Facing you stood the massive beast that had been raiding your flock. The Sheepstealer itself.
To the seven hells with this.
You scrambled wildly to your feet, throwing caution to the wind as you turned to flee. It was better to run blindly than to stay and become charred meat.
But Sheepstealer, with its great winged forelimbs, pinned the back of your skirt down with a heavy talon and shoved you flat with the tip of its snaggle-toothed jaw. The impact felt like a dull stab to your stomach, completely knocking the wind out of you.
You were lost for words as you crawled backward. The back of your skirt was ripped and your bodice pulled down from the struggle, but you couldn't think of modesty at a moment like this — even as you suddenly became aware that your breast was slightly exposed to the dark cave. The oppressive, hot air only made you sweat all the more profusely, making the heaving tops of your chest glistening.
If you were to die…
“Please make it quick,” you whispered, bravely sitting up to meet the monster’s eyes.
Oh gods, they were purple.
You gave a mirthless laugh, struck by the sudden beauty hidden within the ugly beast that was about to devour you.
Its massive head moved closer.
You shut your eyes tight, gripping the dirt beneath you until your fingernails strained against the earth.
A hot puff of air erupted from its nostrils, nearly knocking you flat on your back again, but then... nothing.
The monster rested its heavy head right in your lap.
Slowly, you opened your eyes.
You gulped.
Its eyes were closed, and the sheer scale of the beast… well, it could have swallowed you whole. Just half of its massive jaw was as long as your legs.
You found your hand pawing at its awful, misshapen snout, tracing the rough scales gently.
It started to... purr? You weren't entirely sure how else to describe it. It was a deep, vibrating rumble from the back of its throat, reminding you instantly of a sleeping cat.
It swayed its head up and looked at you hungrily and you are frightened all over again.
“Please,” you begged. “Please let me go.” You felt absolutely, deathly daft for pleading with a creature that might not even understand the common tongue. The Stranger would have only shaken its shrouded head at you for playing such a desperate gambit.
Its wing talons hooked into the tangled fabric of your skirt, tearing it in half and exposing your naked legs beneath your tattered sheer shift. The Sheepstealer let out its large, forked tongue and proceeded to drag it lasciviously from your thighs, up your bunched bodice, and all over your breasts — lapping at them and obscenely flicking at your nipples until they stood straight at the unwanted attention.
A bewildered gasp escaped your lips, and the beast snorted out a heavy huff in response. Looking thoroughly pleased with itself, the dragon drew back its tongue, leaving you soaked from the chest down.
You leaned your head past its massive body to see if you could catch a speck of daylight. A darkening orange glow lingered up ahead — the mouth of the cave, which felt impossibly far away. If only you could make a run for it.
Sensing your desire to escape, the beast sank both of its talons into the sleeves of your dress, pinning you hard to the earth. Satisfied that you could not flee, it lowered its great head, opening its massive maw. Your heart ached with each heavy, thudding beat. Deciding this was the end, you closed your eyes.
It’s about to eat you. The terrifying realization filled your mind, and a sudden image of the handsome tavern boy flashed before your eyes. You were really going to be eaten alive without ever knowing what it was like to be beneath a man.
Just my luck.
You could feel the dragon’s teeth scraping the side of your leg, creeping upward toward your thighs before its massive, hot forked tongue slithered between them. You tried to force your legs closed, but the beast's tongue was far too large and the muscle far too strong; your desperate attempt was entirely for naught.
It continued its exploration up your thighs with its tongue until he reached the center. You snapped your eyes open and let out another gasp when the one of the forks of the dragon’s tongue slipped between your folds.
Still pinned, you strained to look down and the Sheepstealer was lazily on its belly, head on the ground, purple eyes fixated on you with curiosity. As if the massive dragon was on a personal mission of its own and determined to see it through.
You gasped again, sounding more of a moan to your complete mortification.
It was lapping you up. Slowly. Consistently. The pleasure is foreign and frightful, and it’s making you so dizzy.
You felt a throbbing need for it to continue. As if answering that shameful desire, the tips of its tongue focused entirely on the sensitive spot right above your entrance. It lapped and flicked relentlessly, its massive maw wedged deep between your thighs to block any attempt to close your legs while you helplessly writhed and squirmed. Your soft skin scraped raw against its rough scales and jagged teeth. One fork of its monstrous tongue worked over your clit mercilessly while the other prong snaked lower, circling the edges to taste your slick wetness.
You panted heavily, squeezing your eyes shut as a desperate heat built deep inside you, it was never like this when you did the deed yourself and you let out a choking gasp — a pressure you knew you could not hold back.
“P-Please,” you finally rasped. “Please, I am s-so close.”
The sheer notion of a monster — a horrid dragon, no less — set between your thighs and tasting your wet cunt was the most inconceivable, shockingly erotic, and taboo thing that had ever entered your mind. Yet there you lay, begging for the beast to finish the task it had begun.
Your sleeves were still pinned to the ground, you clawed at the dirt as if it were to ease the tension building up. Your eyes begin to water as the sensation of the Sheepstealer picking up the pace of its lapping. You start to cry out and it let out a low long growl, the tremble traveled to its tongue causing you to cry out once more. Your clit grew hot, tingling, and sore, but your dripping wetness just added to the puddle of the dragon’s drool below you.
The prong that had been teasing your cunt decided it was time to claim your maiden entrance, swirling inward to gently stretch you open. The other prong refused to ease its punishing pace against your swollen bud. The sheer sensation grew too overwhelming, making you gasp desperately for breath. When the edge of a sharp tooth from its jutting lower jaw rutted against your clit, all thoughts of propriety shattered. You screamed and screamed, your thighs locking tight as you became entirely undone in a violent, explosive release.
You started to sob. The sensation was simply too much.
The dragon lifted its talons, withdrawing its tongue before sitting back on its hind legs to stare down at you, as if it were inspecting its craft.
The sun was setting.
You were shaking and hiccuping as a lingering wave of pleasure rolled through your entire body. You felt empty, your core shamefully aching to be filled up — wanting to have that horrid tongue take your maidenhead completely. Blinking through heavy, flowing tears, the blurry silhouette of the handsome tavern help seemed to appear right in front of you. That couldn’t be right. You blinked again, and the illusion vanished; it was only the ugly monster, watching you in the dimming light.
Then you wiped your tears from your eyes and weakly sat up.
@wip VERY much HATING the new update to the bottom bar on web. NOT enjoying things over here. The share button is in a really stupid place, awful to put it where Reblog has been living. Awful to have to click replies to be able to access the reblogs and likes lists despite that reblogs and likes are now weirdly separated and visible. If you had to make it weird for no apparent reason, you should have at least left the reblog button in the same location. I'm getting tripped up repeatedly while trying to reblog stuff and I'm praying there's a stylus or xkit update to put it back how it was soon. WHO was responsible this redesign and WHAT drug were they smoking
Someone had the balls to post this on Tik Tok. (hunterscyaree) (artist credit: beetlecrest)
I JUST WANTED TO EAT MY LUNCH IN PEACE!!! WHY DO THIS TO ME!!!! NOW IMMA BE THINKING ABOUT THIS ALL DAY AND DREAM ABOUT THIS! IF THIS HAPPENS IMMA DECK JENNIFER AND THE CREW!!
