My Self - Insert Stash

-And this is where you'll say damn this motherf.u.c.ker's stash really be hitting different: great p.o.r.n with plot like one of them novels y'all got here what's it called Dual Cultivation? It's great 👍

Do any of you guys listen to music while reading? I mean everytime I open Spotify always Lil Uzi Vert comes on, I need some new songs to bump to

Synopsis: A Self-Insert fic, in which I find myself in the body of Drogon just as he's about ready to break free of his shell. Poor Daenerys, stuck with a perverse little f.u.c.ker like me. Fair Warning, the M.a.t.u.r.e Rating will be well-earned.

Rated: M

Words: 69K

Posted on: wwe.fanfiction.net/s/12704225/1/A-Motherf.u.c.k.i.n.g-Dragon (Cambrian Beckett)

-I'll be putting the chapter ones of all the fanfics mentioned, to give you guys a sample if you wan't more please do go to the website and support the author! (And maybe even convince them to start uploading chapters in here as well!)

Chapter 1

I awaken and immediately take note of three things. First, it is hot. In fact, it is sweltering, boiling. I'm burning up, or a thousand other terms that mean the same thing. Basically, heat. Except, the extreme heat does not matter. I know intellectually that this sort of temperature should be harmful to me, but instead, it is bolstering me, strengthening me. In fact, I'm fairly certain it's what woke me up in the first place.

The second thing I notice is the darkness, the confinement I find myself in. I am curled up tight in some sort of space that is truly miniscule in size. This will not stand, because the third thing I notice is tied into the fact that I am confined in this tight place. Basically, I'm suffocating. I need air, oxygen, something. My jaw opens, and a plaintive cry leaves it that does not sound at all human. My feet kick out and claws I did not expect to have rip at one of the walls of my confinement.

The wall is not strong and I feel my claws dig into it. So I keep at it, ignoring the strange aspects of my existence for a few moments as the alien mind operating right alongside my more human thoughts demands that we get out, Out, OUT!

I break free of my confines and pull myself free, throwing my head back and forth. My neck is longer than it should be, almost serpentine as I look about and see nothing but flames. They l.a.p at me and the egg I was confined in, but it does not harm me. Fire cannot harm me or my new body, I know this instinctively and do not shy away from it.

Or perhaps the alien part of me, a new set of instincts that I did not have before awakening, knows it. Regardless, I open my jaw again and cry out once more. Then, my tongue snakes out and I taste my teeth. They are sharp and numerous and my mouth and lips do not feel at all human. But then, I am not human anymore, am I?

Looking back, I see the remains of the egg I have just broken free from. Looking down, I see the lizard-like body I now inhabit. My upper arms have wings now. My back legs have the claws I used to tear my way out of the egg. I am a dragonling, a tiny creature who will one day grow big enough to devour entire horses. Hopefully anyways, I still don't actually know what setting I'm a dragon IN.

Turning this way and that yields only more flames. Crawling through the high-burning fire, I look for signs of anything that can tell me where I am. In the end, I find it at the same time her beautiful, vibrant violet eyes find me. And now I know where I am.

Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen looks at me with shock in her gaze. She sits among the fires, her clothing burnt from her but her flesh, her n.a.k.e.d, nubile young body is completely untouched. Of course it is. She is as dragon as I am. My instincts scream this at me, but my memories are in agreement. While Dany is a human or whatever the Planetosian equivalent is, she is also the blood of dragons, of Old Valyria. She does not burn, no matter how hot the flames.

I open my jaw and cry out to her, the action almost entirely instinctive and involuntarily. Startled from her wide-eyed surprise, the silver haired girl finally moves. She gets off her shapely, fine a.s.s and crawls over to me, reaching out as if unsure if I'm real or not. I do not attempt to bite her, though there's a slight d.e.s.i.r.e to do so as her pale fingers come into reach. Instead, I lean in and bump my head against her hand.

A tentative smile spreads across her face at my action and when she reaches out to me with both hands, I allow her to pick me up, before immediately claiming space on the front of her body. The Mother of Dragons (of which I am one, hooooly shit) sits back on her a.s.s once more and I take advantage of the moment to nuzzle my small head between her soft, delicious t.i.t.s.

I may be a dragon… but I still have a human mind. A slight gasp falls from Daenerys' lips and I know I'm stimulating her, arousing her. If I could have grinned wickedly in that moment, I would have. Instead, I settle for snaking my tongue out and l.i.c.k.i.n.g at her. I l.a.p at the black soot that is settling on her body, seemingly for the purposes of cleaning her… but I focus an inordinate amount of attention on her b.r.e.a.s.ts of course.

At the same time, my long tail, the longest appendage I have at this point, slides down into her l.a.p. I'm sure she thinks it can't possibly be on purpose, but I still writhe my tail against her moistening c.u.n.t all the same. The sinuous appendage slides up and down and a surprised m.o.a.n of d.e.s.i.r.e slips free of Daenerys' perfect, full lips.

She's going to be beautiful as she finishes growing. I honestly can't wait. Though of course, there's only a small window in which I'll get to f.u.c.k her. I have to start conditioning her to accept these kinds of advances now, because once I'm too big to pin her down and take her, I'll have to depend on her to initiate contact herself.

Still, I can imagine it, in my mind's eye. I can see Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons, stripping n.a.k.e.d and wrapping her lithe, beautiful body around my massive c.o.c.k, rubbing herself up against me and l.i.c.k.i.n.g my length in the same way I lick her t.i.t.s now. Yes, it will take some work… but I will make the last Targaryen my s.l.u.tty little dragon bitch. She can have the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms. I'll gift them to her, all on my own if I have to. But I will have her… oh yes I will.

Her hands suddenly curl around me and it's clear that Daenerys has finally come out of the haze of p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e enough to realize this is wrong, even if she is enjoying it. For the first time, I growl, my small front claws clutching at her flesh and my tail lifting up, only to slap down with a sting across Daenerys' slit and c.l.i.t. The silver haired girl gasps in surprise and pain and looks down at me with wide, violet eyes. I don't pay her any mind though, instead I continue to nuzzle my head into her cleavage and t.i.t.s.

She doesn't try to move me again. Honestly, she's lucky I'm not giving b.r.e.a.s.tfeeding a shot. F.u.c.k, she just had a kid right? Man, I'll try some other time. For now, need to start slow.

As time passes and Daenerys tries to hold back her intermittent o.r.g.a.s.ms, completely ineffectually, my brothers join us. She'll name them Viserion and Rhaegal, according to my foreknowledge. I've already looked at myself enough to realize I'm Drogon. Which is nice and right and proper. If I was going to be reborn a dragon, I f.u.c.k.i.n.g better be the largest of the three. Whether I'd let Drogon's animal mind, which I'd long since figured out was the alien brain that kept trying to wrest control of my actions from me, actually be as aggressive as he'd been in the canon, well, that was to be decided.

Regardless, I hogged our 'mother's' front and Viserion and Rhaegal were not nearly as lecherous as I was, so they did not try to fight me for the right to molest Daenerys. Instead, Viserion hiked his way up onto her shoulder and Rhaegal stuck to her back, winding back and forth to look at me with big eyes from either side of her.

Whenever he got too close, I hissed at him… and whenever our 'mother' tried to admonish me for the action, I gave her another smack across her c.l.i.t to remind her of just who was in charge here.

Still, all good things come to an end. The fires abated and it became far, far too cold for my tastes. Luckily, Daenerys remained nice and warm and delicious, even as she stood up and I had to cling to her to keep my place on her front. All three of us dragonlings stuck to her like glue as she walked forward, but I looked back behind me all the same to see what she was looking at.

Ah, there was the remnants of Dany's 'khalasar'. Most of them would be dead soon. Could I stop that? Would I? Eh, probably not. Though her handmaidens were certainly hot. And then… there was Jorah Mormont. I couldn't help but glare at the potential rival to my 'mother's' affections. I mean, intellectually I knew that Jorah never got f.u.c.k all anywhere with her, but he still l.u.s.ted after her just as I did.

It seemed my foreknowledge and my l.u.s.tful intentions were slipping into Drogon's bestial mind, because the dragonling that I was sharing brain matter with was immediately hostile of Jorah and it was hard for me to rein that in. Still, in the end I managed it, even as the two met in the middle of the burnt field.

Jorah looked shocked. Understandably so. The exiled knight falls to his knees and stares at Daenerys reverently as he speaks in an awed tone.

"… Blood of my blood."

Everyone follows suit. Those who have stuck around kneel before the woman who has brought dragons into this world for the first time in a hundred years. If I could, I would roar at this point. It's certainly what my bestial instincts tell me to do. I must declare myself ruler over this lot of kneeling humans. I must proclaim my magnificence!

Except, I know exactly how weak and pitiful my cry is at this point in time. Rather than open my jaws and embarrass myself, I content my instincts by sliding my tail one last time through Daenerys' puffy aroused p.u.s.s.y lips. To her credit, the beautiful young woman keeps her composure, though I feel her legs wobble for a second all the same.

I stop at that point. No reason to ruin her credibility by bringing her to o.r.g.a.s.m in front of the last people willing to follow her. Still, my dragon lips curl back to show rows of wicked teeth, as I direct a particularly triumphant look at Ser Jorah Mormont. He can't possibly understand what it meant, but that was fine. What mattered was that I knew what it meant.

Breaking eye contact with the exiled knight, I look out at the barest remnants of Drogo's khalasar… and at the wasteland beyond them. My lips pull back down as I lose any humor or amus.e.m.e.nt I'd felt.

Right… next was the trek to Qarth… through the red waste.

F.u.c.k me, this was NOT going to be fun…