Vyre the Dragonborn (complete)

Female Monster/Reader x Female Human

I started noticing some strange things a few days ago - strange noises and movement in the bushes. I first thought it was just some animals, but then I found things like tracks in the mud outside my cave, discarded apple cores, and plants missing from my garden. Perhaps there was something bigger than the usual rabbit or mole sneaking around.

I’ve been living on my own for a while, because keeping to myself is better than the alternative. So seeing signs of life out here bigger than a rabbit, but smaller than a moose, is quite disturbing to me. I laid a trap, hoping to catch whatever has been stealing from me and stalking around my property, but the trap and whatever was thieving from my garden were gone by morning. There were traces of blood in the dirt and on some of the plants as well. Hopefully, this warning was enough to scare the intruder off, and if that didn’t do it, the foreboding storm clouds above would be the finishing touch.

Thunderstorms around here are no joke. I’ve been all over this world, and the rain here seems to fall heavier, harder, and meaner than most places. The temperature drops precipitously, and the black thunderheads in the clouds are like omens of death.

Late in the evening, I go to the mouth of the cave to fetch some wood from the tinderbox. As I step outside my door, I smell blood. My nostrils flare, and my chest burns. The blood is close, and I can taste its warmth upon my tongue. It’s been so long since I had been overcome by this feeling. I take a few deep breaths and approach the tinderbox, and I can see the trail of blood that leads around to the other side. I follow it to find a slumped, soggy shape huddled against the side.

The scent of blood is overpowering, stirring memories of battles, of my teeth sinking into flesh. I turn my head, catching a cold breath of rain and moss. I come closer to the figure, a stretched-out leg wrapped in a crude cloth bandage. I gently lift the figure’s hood to see what I’m dealing with, and it’s a human woman. You’re unconscious and pale, soaking wet from the rain and bleeding heavily from the trap I had laid. I suddenly feel very guilty. But who on earth would come back to the place where they had been injured? A fool, perhaps. A desperate fool.

I take you inside against my better judgement. I dress the wound, wrapping it properly to stop the bleeding, then remove your wet clothes and lay you on my bed to rest. You look small and helpless, and I suppose I am a fool as well. The storm rages on, thunder booming as loudly as cannons, and yet you don’t budge. I wonder how you can sleep so peacefully in such chaos.

I think I doze off in my chair, because I am woken by the sound of you stumbling out of bed. You’re on the floor, barely able to walk from your injury, but you’ve still managed to get close to the fire and your drying clothes. I get up from my chair and you cry out, ducking down and covering your head. “I won’t hurt you,” I say, “But you do have a lot of explaining to do. You’ve been thieving from my garden for a while now.” I come closer, crossing my arms over my chest. “Come on, get up.”

You remain huddled on the floor, whimpering softly. “Get up,” I command, but you still don’t move.

I take you by the nape of the neck like a kitten and place you back in my bed, where you shrink back into the corner. “I told you, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re far too close to death for my tastes.” I pull up a chair and sit down. “All I want is to know why you’re thieving from me.”

I see your eyes for the first time, quite large and dark in color. You whimper again as you slowly begin to rise, and as your hair falls in your face I notice how choppy and uneven it is, long and flowing in places and short and jagged in others. There are cuts on your hands as well.

“I-I w-w-was ju-just h-hungry,” you stammer.

It doesn’t take a genius to understand your motive. “Are you running from something?” I ask.

You look at me, eyes wide and lips pressed firmly together. You look near tears, but don’t dare to release a single drop as you nod. “Y-yes.”

I sigh heavily. This isn’t something I want to get involved in. I turned my back on people long ago. That’s why I came here, miles and miles from anyone or anything. That means you got lost and had been traveling for days, weeks maybe, on your feet. My vegetables were probably the first good meal you’ve had in a long time. No wonder you would risk staying around.

“You do realize how far away from anything you are, right?” I ask. “No one would ever find you out here.”

You stifle a cry and duck your head back down.

“You can’t walk out of here, either,” I grumble. “I suppose I’m stuck with you until you can.”

You looked back at me, wide eyes trying to figure me out. “Can you cook? Clean?” I ask.

“Y-yes,” you stammer again.

I nod, rising from my chair. “Then you can work off your debt to me while you get better. You owe me quite a few vegetables and apples, young lady.”

You slowly raise your head again, staring at me in disbelief. “Y-you won’t eat me?” you quaver.

“I told you, you’re not worth killing.” I place my hand on my chest. “My name is Vyre.”

You look at me, strangely quiet and timid, then turn your eyes down and nod. “I p-promise n-not to be a… a burden, Mistress Vyre.”

“Just Vyre,” I scold. “Once your debt is paid, you’ll be gone from here, so don’t get attached. I care not what you’re running from or why. I just want you out.”

You nod shakily. “Rest for now,” I grumble. “Nothing to do around here while it rains, anyway.”

Your fingers worry over the choppy ends of your hair. “I c-can cook.”

“I have soup on already. I’d rather finish it off than start anything new.” The look on your face confuses me, as if you’re scared I’m going to do something if you don't. “You can make bread later if you want,” I offer, and relief visibly sweeps over you.

Over the next few days you attempt to do chores. You polish some of my silver and clean the tinderbox outside, and I give you a walking stick so you can move around my home without having to rely on your injured leg. You hobble about, meek and scared and trying to keep as busy as you can, but you struggle with your leg injury. No matter what I say, it feels like you fear coming to a stop. I’m not sure what you’re running from, but in the back of my mind I keep thinking that perhaps we’re running from the same thing.

One afternoon you’re in the kitchen kneading dough. You’ve been making bread steadily for the last couple of days as you keep adding to my soup, extending it longer than I expected to. You have  your sleeves rolled up, and I can see scars around your wrists and up your arms. I have scars of my own, ones that I thought were bad, but yours strike me as wrose.

“Your bread is delicious,” I tell you. I’m unsure why I pay the compliment, and I suppose I just wanted to. “Keep up the good work.” I pat the top of your head, and the look you give me startles me. Your big eyes open wide, and for the first time I see no fear in them. You almost seem to smile, but the expression vanishes just as it arrives. I walk away, unsure how to take such a display.

The bread that evening is beautifully made, and it looks like you really put all of your efforts into making it an attractive loaf. You watch me expectantly as I take my first bite. I don’t like being watched like this, especially when eating. “You don’t have to worry,” I tell you. “It’s good.”

The ghost of a smile appears on your face again, but it refuses to materialize. “Th-thank you.” You begin eating, having waited for me to take my first bite before you do.

“Did you come from the north?” I ask you. “Judging from the way you make bread and extend the soup, that’s just what I assume.”

You nod. “You’ve wandered farther than I first expected, then,” I murmur. “How long have you been on your own?”

You shake your head. “I d-don’t know.”

“All that matters is that you never looked back.”

“Y-yes,” you reply quietly.

I take another piece of bread and dip it into the soup. “That I can understand.”

That evening you bring in the rainwater you collected in buckets and warm it over the fire, watching the flames peacefully for a moment. Then you turn and look at me. “Vyre?” you chirp. “W-would you like a b-bath?”

I shook my head. “I clean my scales with oil. Water dries me out too much.”

“Y-your scales are p-p-pretty,” you say softly. “R-red is my f-favorite color.”

I look up just in time to catch a hint of a smile, but you turn away quickly. I sigh, looking back down at the book in my hand. “Thank you,” I mutter.

Once the water is warm, you haul it back outside the cave, where you intend to bathe. Later, I hear quiet sobbing outside the door. I peer out the window and see you sitting beside the tub with your head in your hands, beside a discarded brush with a large clump of hair in it.

My judgement isn’t sound, because I find myself stepping out into the cave. You flinch and looked at me.Your eyes have been threatening to spill tears for as long as I’ve known you, but this is the first time I get to see them. “I’m s-sorry!” You bow your head, keeping your arms over your bare chest.

I kneel down beside you. “I can cut your hair, if you’d like. It will grow back.”

You raise your eyes, looking at me as more tears come. “It will be short for a while, but I think it will be better than what you’ve been dealing with.” I take your brush and clean it out. “The birds can use it to make nests.”

You sniffle as tears stream from your eyes. I don’t know why you weep so, but perhaps kindness is a rarity to you. I cut your hair very short, coming just below your ears. Your fingers sift through the locks on the ground, but your shoulders drop in relief. “Th-thank you.”

I pat the top of your head. “It was nothing at all.” With your bare back to me, I see the many scars there and on your shoulders. I’ve suffered some beatings in my lifetime, and I’m sure my back looks the same. But I was trained my whole life to suffer. I doubt you were. You turn your head, curious as to why I’m so still. “Come inside when you’re done. It’s getting cold. ” I stand up quickly and return inside, taking my seat back before the fire. Why is this bothering me? Why is your presence beginning to take hold of me?

You seem brighter after your haircut, as if a greater weight has been lifted from your shoulders. Your furtive smile blossoms across your face more often, and when it isn’t raining, you help me in the garden, although I insist on taking care of it by myself.

One evening, as you serve me dinner, you have a strange look on your face. “What’s the matter?” I ask.

“I c-can w-walk on my own,” you stammer, anxiously twisting your fingers together. “I sh-should leave in the m-m-morning.”

I find myself shocked at the idea. “Oh, right.” I clear my throat. “Of course.” I looked down at my food, and the thick slice of bread on my plate. “Where will you be going?”

“I’m n-not sure.” You sit down at the table.

“You’ll find your way.” I start eating.

You remain still, not touching your food or even lifting your hands to the table while I eat. You sniffle and take a stilted breath. “I w-want to st-stay h-here,” you spit out as confidently as you can.

I look up from my plate, setting my spoon down by the bowl. “This is no place for a young woman such as yourself. I’m here alone for a reason.”

“B-but…”

“No,” I say sternly. “I have enjoyed you here, but my mind will not be swayed. You can’t stay here. No good will come of it.”

You lower your head again. “You do understand what dragonborn are capable of, right? What sort of strength we have, what sort of damage we can inflict?”

You remain still.

“I am not your friend. I was never raised to be anything more than a predator,” I keep going on, hoping to scare you. “I am a hunter and assassin. Someone like you would be nothing to my abilities.” I pick up my spoon again. “That’s why I am out here. So I don’t get used again.”

“M-me too,” you whimper.

I looked at you, seeing your eyes filling with tears again. “I d-don’t want to get used a-again. N-no more!” You slam your palms down on the table. “I w-would rather d-die here!”

I take a slow, purposeful breath, then lay my arms out on the table. “Are you asking me to kill you?”

Tears gush down your cheeks.

“If you wanted to die, then why have you fought this entire time? You could have died after getting caught in my trap, but you escaped. You ran all the way from the north. You don’t want to die.”

You look at me, fear and desperation in your eyes. “Don’t look at me like that,” I sneer. “Don’t try to beg me for something I can’t give you. Go south and follow the rivers. You’ll find kindness along the way that is better than mine.”

You lower your head again. “I’ll give you a dagger before you go,” I say simply. “So you can protect yourself.”

“O-okay. Th-thank you.”

That night, you lie quietly in your bed, your back turned and the blankets pulled up around you. I go outside, deciding to take a bath like you did, but with my own special blend of oils. I strip down, rubbing oil into my scales before wiping it away with a cloth. Their color becomes much deeper as I clean them, and flecks of gold appear as I wipe away the dust and debris from my scales.

“C-can I h-help?”

I look up to find you in the doorway, watching me quietly with a shy gaze. Your cheeks are red and your eyes bright. I turn and look at the bottle of oil. “You should be asleep.”

You ease out of the door. “I w-want to h-help.”

I sigh and hand the bottle to you. “My back is hard to reach.”

You take the bottle and move behind me.

“A little goes a long way, so be careful.”

I feel your warm hands upon my back, like smooth, sun-dappled river rocks. I close my eyes, trying to ignore how much my body aches for this touch. It’s been so long, and yet I ignored the yearning for palms along my back, fingers brushing against the base of my tail. I’m bothered by how much I like your hands. “Y-you’re shaking,” you chirp.

“That’s enough.” I stand up. “I’ll take care of the rest.” I felt heated to my core, and my aching skin burns for you. “Go back to bed.”

“B-beautiful,” you whisper. My tail shakes, and I fear looking back at you.

“Y-you’re beautiful,” you murmur again. You stand and place your hand upon my arm. “Vyre.” Your voice is like honey, and I can’t stand it.

“Go back to bed,” I whisper shakily.

Your hand slips down my arm and takes hold of mine. “Y-you too.”

If I look at you, I’ll be lost. “It’s late.”

You gently tug my hand. “It is.”

I chuckle softly and turn to look down at you. You’re smiling, the first time I’ve ever seen one directed at me. You look sweet and shy, but also ravishing. I touch your cheek, pushing aside your hair so it isn’t stuck against your skin. “I can’t,” I say in a cracked voice.

“I w-want to th-thank you,” you say through trembling lips. “F-for being s-so kind.”

“I don’t want thanks. Not like this,” I shake my head. “Go back to bed. You don’t owe me anything anymore.”

You step closer to me, placing your hand on my chest. “I w-want to.” Your fingers stroke down to my stomach. “Y-you’re so b-beautiful.”

I grab your hand and lift it away from me. I gaze into your eyes, seeing a spark of fire inside them I’ve never seen before. Your smile is soft and honest, and begs for more than my gaze.

I let you lead me back inside. We sit together on my bed as strip away your clothes. You press your soft body against mine, letting your skin become slick with oil. You kiss my shoulder, and I shudder at the soft touch. Your breasts press against my side, and the dark thought of them between my teeth makes me quiver. “W-would you l-like more?” you whisper.

“I dare not ask,” I whisper back.

You kiss my shoulder again, pressing your whole body against me. You feel so soft and warm, my head is swimming. “I’m n-not scared.”

“You should be,” I rasp. Your lips press to my cheek and neck, and I feel the searing heat of your little wet tongue against my throat. It makes me shudder with weakness. The low moan you utter is like a knife through my ribs, and I take your shoulder and force you back. “Let me breathe,” I growl.

Your smile was inflaming, making me want to bite your lips. “I w-want to m-make you feel g-good.”

“You’ve hidden this part of yourself all this time. Or are you trying to act to keep my favor?” I push you down onto the bed, your supple body on display for me. Parts of you glow from the oil on your skin, making you look decadent.

“I l-like you, Vyre,” you whimper.

Words have never wounded me so much. I grab hold of one of your breasts and squeeze it, palpating it in my hand until I see the rouge of your cheeks turn dark and hot. I dip down, taking the erect nipple into my mouth. I nibble it, torture it, lapping it with my tongue. Your moans come out honest but quiet. I lift my head, baring my sharp teeth to you. “I could rip out your throat here. I could bite into your thigh and watch you bleed to death. Either would not be my first time.”

You reach up, touching my face. “I t-told you I w-would rather d-die here.”

I’m weaker than I thought. “Why?” I hiss.

Your smile returns, sweeter than before. “Y-you.”

I kiss you, with no teeth and no anger. I just kiss you to feel you press closer to me. Your body is so soft and warm, it’s making me drunk. You move me easily, like hot clay under your palms. You open me up, placing yourself where I’m not ready, but extremely willing.

“So pretty,” you breathe. “L-like a ruby.” Your smile vanishes against my skin, kissing my thigh and nuzzling against my core. Your lips part, and I feel their heat and wetness against me. I open for you, taking your tongue inside me.

“Oh, gods,” I gasp.

You moan against me, your hands massaging my thighs and mound. Your tongue feels like fire inside me. Your fingers joined along, curling deeply to where they are most wanted. Your moans grow louder, vibrating along every nerve inside me. You make me want to cry and rip my sheets to shreds. You touch me, arousing me to heights that make me breathless and dizzy. You take my soul from me, carefully placing it back with a kiss on my lips.

“B-breathe.” You stroke my cheek.

“Oh, gods,” I whimper. I can’t feel my tail or my legs.

You kiss me again, laying your head upon my chest as I recover. I’ve never faced something as dangerous as you before. I fall asleep with you draped over me, my body weak and my mind empty. I should have stayed awake and repaid your efforts.

When I do wake, I find myself alone. You’re no longer in bed, and there’s no sign of you anywhere. My heart is racing, but my mind is calm. I told you to go, urged you to. You were simply repaying what you perceived as kindness. My heart wants to run and chase you down to bring you back, but my mind tells me it’s the end. I rise from bed, legs still weak, inner thighs bearing marks of your teeth and kisses. I look around my home, and it seems cold and dark.

I get dressed, planning to tend to my garden after the most recent rains. I’ll never see traces of you there again - no missing vegetables, no footprints to track. This is fine. I’ve been alone before, and now I’ll be alone again. I open the door at the mouth of the cave and look towards the tub where I bathed last night. The bottle of oil is still there.

I leave the cave, stepping out into the morning sun. The air feels crisp and cool, heavy with the scent of wet earth. I also smelled something hot and coppery - blood.

And there you are in the garden, sucking your finger and cursing at a blackberry bush. You’re still here. “I w-wanted berries for breakfast,” you mutter guiltily.

I nod, unsure if I should move. “That’s fine.”

You stand up, dust off your knees and smile shyly at me, your cheeks blooming a bright red. I’m relieved to see you, but scared to touch you in case this is a dream. You make us breakfast, mashing the berries to spread over the toast. I lick your fingers, remembering how remarkable they were last night. The blackberries mix with your blood, and the flavor makes me delirious.

“A-are you feeling a-alright?” you ask.

I look into your eyes, my head spinning. “I don’t know.”

You smile and kiss me, taking me back to that wonderful bliss from last night. “I’m n-not afraid of you.”

I cup your cheek in my hand. “Why not?” You don’t answer me, but we both know the answer.

I take you in my lap after breakfast, and your naked body feels so much more vulnerable than last night. I cup your breast in my hand, slowly dragging my claws along your skin. Then I place them inside you, feeling how hot and wet you are. Your voice is soft, elated. I touch you until you can no longer stand it. Your body trembles, and you leave a puddle on my thigh. I can’t leave you alone, so I splay you across the bed, devouring your quivering mound. Your cries become so loud, I cannot hear the thunder that brews outside. You taste like earth, like fire, and I drink you down until your thighs tremble and you roll yourself away from me. I kiss your rear, your back, and run my hands along your skin until I am curled against you.

Your smile is docile and pure sugar. You look up at me, delighted and warm, tears in your eyes. “Stay with me,” I whisper.

“I w-will,” you croon back.

You remain by my side, although I can’t get rid of the fear that I’ll hurt you. It isn’t until winter, when the warmth of your body is most needed, that I realized I’ve not been scared in months. You found an injured dog a while ago, and she had given birth to pups just before the snow. One evening, after collecting firewood, you’re happily cuddling with the puppies. Your smile is so warm, it makes me melt, but it also makes me wish I was the cause of it.

“D-don’t pout,” you giggle.

“I wasn’t.”

“Vyre,” you coo.

I look at you holding the wiggling puppy. “I wasn’t,” I insist.

You place the puppy back with its mother and come to my side. “It must be cold out there. Let me warm your hands.”

I smile, placing my hands around your soft waist. “It was cold.”

You hold me tight, snuggling up to me. “I love you.”

Another knife between my ribs. You’ve placed many of them there. “I love you,” I whisper back. “That’s why I risk the cold.”

You kiss the inside of my palm. “That’s why I love you most.”