#moonofessos

Daenerys Targaryen x fem reader

summary: You and Daenerys are in love. You warn her Jon Snow is a traitor. She doesn't listen so you take it upon yourself to save her

warning(s): established relationship, violence, blood, attempted murder, character death, power dynamics, sexual content / making out

wc: 3.6k

(this is literally sooo old and i feel like it’s all over the place but 😭😭 might as well still share it)

The firelight cast dancing shadows across the stone walls of Daenerys's private chambers at Dragonstone, the warmth a stark contrast to the cold sea winds howling outside. You stood by the window, watching the waves crash against the cliffs below, your mind troubled despite the peaceful setting. Behind you, you could hear the rustle of fabric as Daenerys moved about the room, preparing for bed after another long day of strategy meetings and political maneuvering.

"You're quiet tonight," she observed, her voice carrying that melodic quality that had first captivated you years ago. "Come away from that window. The sea will still be there in the morning."

You turned to face her, drinking in the sight of her silver hair loose around her shoulders, her violet eyes reflecting the firelight. She wore a simple silk robe, the formal armor and elaborate gowns of the day discarded. Here, in the privacy of your shared chambers, she was simply Daenerys. Not the Mother of Dragons, not the Breaker of Chains, but the woman you loved with every fiber of your being.

"I can't stop thinking," you admitted, crossing the room to stand before her. You reached out, tucking a strand of that silver hair behind her ear, your fingers lingering against the softness of her cheek. "About everything that's happening. About the throne, about the alliances we're building."

Daenerys caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. "We've come so far together. The throne is within reach now. Soon, everything we've fought for will be ours." She pulled you closer, her arms encircling your waist. "Why do you look so worried, my love?"

You wanted to lose yourself in her embrace, to forget the gnawing unease that had been building in your chest for weeks. But you couldn't. Not when her safety might be at stake. You'd been by her side through fire and blood, through triumph and loss. You'd learned to trust your instincts, and right now, every instinct was screaming that something was wrong.

"It's Jon Snow," you said finally, feeling her stiffen slightly in your arms. "Daenerys, I don't trust him."

She pulled back just enough to look at your face, her expression shifting from soft affection to something more guarded. "We've discussed this before. Jon has bent the knee. He's pledged himself to our cause."

"Has he?" You couldn't keep the edge from your voice. "Or has he simply said the words you wanted to hear? Dany, I've watched him. The way he looks at the throne when he thinks no one is observing. The conversations he has with his advisors that stop the moment anyone else approaches. There's ambition there, ambition he's hiding behind that honorable Northern facade."

Daenerys stepped away from you, her posture becoming more rigid, more queenly. "You're seeing threats where there are none. Jon Snow is many things, but he's not a schemer. He's proven his loyalty time and again."

"Has he?" you pressed, following her across the room. "Or has he simply been careful? Daenerys, please, just listen to me. I've noticed things. The way Ser Davos watches you, calculating. The whispered meetings. Jon's questions about your dragons, about your armies, about the loyalty of your followers. These aren't the questions of a devoted bannerman. They're the questions of someone planning something."

She whirled to face you, her eyes flashing with anger now. "And what would you have me do? Cast aside one of my most important allies based on your feelings? Jon commands the North. Without him, we lose half the realm before we even begin."

"I would have you be careful," you said, trying to keep your voice calm even as fear clawed at your chest. "I would have you not meet with him alone. I would have you remember that the throne has made brothers kill brothers, fathers betray sons. Power does things to people, even good people."

"You think I don't know that?" Daenerys's voice rose, frustration evident in every word. "I've seen what the pursuit of power does. I've watched it destroy my own family. But I've also learned to judge character, to know who I can trust. And I trust Jon Snow."

"You trust him because you want to trust him," you countered, your own frustration mounting. "Because he reminds you of something, someone. Because he has that Stark honor that everyone speaks of. But Daenerys, honor doesn't mean someone won't betray you if they believe they're doing it for the right reasons. If Jon thinks he has a better claim, if he thinks he would be a better ruler, that honor might compel him to act against you."

"Enough." The word cracked through the air like a whip. Daenerys drew herself up to her full height, every inch the queen. "I won't hear any more of this. You're being overprotective, seeing enemies in shadows. Perhaps..." she paused, and you saw something flicker in her eyes, something that made your heart sink. "Perhaps you're jealous."

The word hit you like a physical blow. "Jealous? You think this is about jealousy?"

"Isn't it?" Daenerys challenged. "Jon is young, handsome, of Targaryen blood. People whisper about a potential marriage alliance. Perhaps you fear I'll set you aside for a more politically advantageous match."

You stared at her, hurt and anger warring in your chest. "After everything we've been through, after everything I've sacrificed for you, you think I'm motivated by petty jealousy? Daenerys, I love you. Everything I do, everything I am, is devoted to keeping you safe. If you want to marry Jon Snow for political advantage, if that's what it takes to secure your throne, I'll stand beside you and support that decision. But I won't stand silent while I watch you walk into danger."

Some of the anger faded from Daenerys's face, replaced by weariness. "I know you love me. I know you would do anything for me. But you have to trust my judgment. I need Jon's support, and I need him to know I trust him. Suspicion and paranoia will only drive away the allies we need."

You wanted to argue further, to make her see reason, but you could see the set of her jaw, the determination in her eyes. When Daenerys made up her mind, moving her was like trying to redirect a dragon in flight. Still, you had to try one more time.

"Please," you said softly, reaching for her hand. "At least promise me you won't meet with him alone. Let me be there, or Grey Worm, or Missandei. Someone you trust absolutely."

She squeezed your hand, her expression softening slightly. "I appreciate your concern, truly. But I can handle Jon Snow. Now come to bed. We both need rest."

You allowed her to lead you to the bed, but sleep was a long time coming. You lay awake, listening to Daenerys's breathing even out beside you, your mind racing with possibilities and fears. You'd learned long ago to trust your instincts, and every instinct was screaming that Jon Snow was a threat. But how could you protect someone who refused to see the danger?

The next morning brought your worst fears to life. You were in the war room, studying maps of King's Landing, when Daenerys entered with several of her advisors. She looked regal in a gown of deep red, her hair braided in an intricate style, every inch the conquering queen.

"I have an announcement," she said, her voice carrying clearly through the chamber. "I've agreed to meet with Jon Snow this afternoon to discuss our final strategy for taking King's Landing. He's requested a private audience to share some sensitive information about Cersei's defenses."

Your head snapped up, dread flooding through you. "A private audience? Daenerys, no."

Her eyes met yours, and you saw the warning there. "It's already arranged. Jon has information that could save countless lives. Information he'll only share in confidence."

You crossed the room quickly, lowering your voice so only she could hear. "This is exactly what I warned you about. Why does he need privacy? Why can't he share this information with your full council? Daenerys, please, this feels wrong."

"Your objection is noted," she said coolly, her public persona firmly in place. "But my decision is made. Jon has proven himself in battle. He's earned this trust."

"At least let me accompany you," you pleaded, not caring that others might overhear. "Or take Grey Worm. Someone."

"No." The word was final. "Jon specifically requested that we speak alone. He's concerned about spies, about information reaching Cersei. I will not insult him by suggesting I need protection from him."

You felt panic rising in your throat. "Daenerys, I'm begging you. Don't do this. My instincts have never been wrong before. Please, just this once, listen to me."

For a moment, you thought you saw her waver. But then her expression hardened. "I've made my decision. I expect you to respect it, as you've always respected my choices before. Now, I have preparations to make."

She swept from the room, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding with fear and frustration. The other advisors avoided your gaze, uncomfortable with the tension they'd witnessed. You didn't care. All you could think about was Daenerys walking into danger, and your inability to stop her.

The hours crawled by with agonizing slowness. You tried to occupy yourself with preparations, with strategy, with anything that might distract you from the growing sense of dread. But nothing worked. Finally, as the sun began its descent toward the horizon, you could stand it no longer.

You'd learned long ago where the secret passages of Dragonstone led, had made it your business to know every hidden corner of any place Daenerys called home. If she wouldn't let you accompany her openly, you'd follow in secret. You'd rather face her anger than live with the consequences of ignoring your instincts.

The secluded chamber Jon had chosen for the meeting was in an older part of the fortress, away from the main halls and guard posts. That alone set off every alarm in your mind. You made your way through the narrow passages, your heart hammering, your hand on the dagger at your belt.

You heard voices as you approached, Jon's deep tones and Daenerys's melodic responses. They were discussing troop movements, supply lines, the usual strategic matters. You began to wonder if perhaps you'd been wrong, if your protective instincts had led you astray this time.

Then Jon's tone changed.

"There's something else we need to discuss, Your Grace. Something about the succession."

"The succession?" Daenerys sounded puzzled. "That can wait until after we've taken the throne."

"Can it?" Jon's voice had gone cold, hard in a way you'd never heard before. "You see, I've been thinking about what's best for the realm. About who should truly sit on the Iron Throne."

"Jon, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I have the better claim. I'm saying that the realm will never fully accept you, a foreign queen with dragons and a foreign army. But they would accept me. Rhaegar Targaryen’s only born son. The rightful heir."

"You bent the knee." Daenerys's voice was sharp now, alarmed. "You swore fealty."

"I did what I had to do to survive, to gain your trust. But I can't let you take that throne, Daenerys. I can't let you burn cities and rule through fear. The realm needs someone better. It needs me."

You heard the sound of steel being drawn, and your blood turned to ice. You burst through the hidden door without thought, without plan, driven only by the desperate need to reach her.

The scene before you confirmed your worst nightmares. Jon had drawn a dagger, and Daenerys was backing away, shock and betrayal written across her face. She'd been so certain of his loyalty, so sure of her judgment, and now that certainty had become a deadly trap.

"Get away from her!" Your voice rang out like a bell, and Jon's head whipped toward you, his eyes widening in surprise.

That moment of distraction was all you needed. You'd been trained by some of the finest warriors in Essos, had fought beside Daenerys through countless battles. Your body moved on instinct, closing the distance between you and Jon with deadly speed.

He tried to turn, to bring his blade to bear against you, but you were faster. Your dagger found the gap in his defenses, and you drove it home with all the strength of your fear and fury. Jon's eyes went wide with shock, his own blade clattering to the stone floor.

"You should have stayed loyal," you hissed in his ear as he fell. "You should never have threatened her."

He crumpled to the ground, and you let him fall, already turning to Daenerys. She stood frozen, her face pale, trembling slightly as the reality of what had almost happened crashed over her.

"Dany," you breathed, crossing to her and pulling her into your arms. She came willingly, burying her face against your shoulder, her body shaking. "I've got you. You're safe. I've got you."

"You were right," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Gods, you were right, and I wouldn't listen. He was going to kill me. If you hadn't come..."

"But I did come," you said fiercely, pulling back to cup her face in your hands. "I will always come for you. Always. Do you understand? I don't care if you order me to stay away, I don't care if you're angry with me. I will always protect you."

She kissed you then, desperate and grateful, her hands fisting in your tunic as if she could anchor herself to you. You kissed her back with equal fervor, relief and love and residual fear all pouring into the embrace.

When you finally broke apart, you rested your forehead against hers. "We need to secure the area. Make sure Jon didn't have accomplices."

Daenerys nodded, her composure slowly returning. "Grey Worm. We'll summon Grey Worm and the Unsullied. They'll search every corner of this fortress."

"And then?" you asked softly.

Her eyes met yours, and you saw the steel return to them, the dragon waking. "And then we finish this. We take King's Landing. We take the throne. And we make sure no one ever threatens us again."

The next weeks passed in a blur of battle and strategy. With Jon's betrayal exposed, his Northern forces fractured, some returning home, others pledging themselves to Daenerys once they understood what their king had attempted. The taking of King's Landing was brutal but decisive. Cersei's forces crumbled before the combined might of dragons and Unsullied, and the city fell.

Now, you stood in the throne room of the Red Keep, watching as Daenerys approached the Iron Throne for the first time as its rightful occupant. The twisted metal seat rose before her, forged from the swords of the conquered, a symbol of absolute power.

The room had been cleared of all but a handful of trusted advisors. This moment was too important, too personal, to share with the masses. That would come later, the public coronation, the grand ceremony. But this, this first moment, belonged to those who had fought and bled to make it possible.

Daenerys climbed the steps slowly, her red and black gown trailing behind her, her silver hair gleaming in the light that streamed through the high windows. She reached the throne and paused, her hand resting on one of the twisted blades.

Then she turned and sat, and the sight took your breath away. She looked like she'd been born to sit there, like the throne had been waiting for her all along. Power radiated from her, the Mother of Dragons finally home.

But then she did something unexpected. She rose from the throne and looked directly at you, her hand extending in invitation.

"Come here," she said softly.

You climbed the steps slowly, aware of every eye upon you, confused by her intent. When you reached her, she took both your hands in hers.

"You've stood beside me through everything," she said, her voice carrying through the silent hall. "You've protected me, advised me, loved me without condition or reservation. You saw the danger when I was blind to it. You saved my life when I refused to save myself."

"Daenerys," you began, but she shook her head.

"This throne, this power, it means nothing without you. So I want you to understand something." She guided you to turn, to sit upon the Iron Throne yourself. The metal was cold beneath you, the seat uncomfortable, the weight of it almost overwhelming.

Before you could speak, before you could protest, Daenerys gathered her skirts and settled herself onto your lap, her arms draping around your neck. The position was intimate, almost scandalous, the queen sitting in her lover's lap upon the throne itself.

"This is how it should be," she murmured, her face inches from yours. "Not me alone on this throne, isolated by power. But us, together, sharing everything."

Your hands came up to rest on her waist, holding her close. "The realm won't understand."

"The realm will learn," she said firmly. "I didn't break the wheel just to play by the old rules. I make my own rules now. And my first rule is that I choose who I love, who I trust, who I share my power with. And I choose you. Always you."

She kissed you then, and it was nothing like the desperate kiss in the chamber where Jon had fallen. This was a kiss of victory, of passion, of promise. Her lips moved against yours with practiced familiarity, knowing exactly how to make you respond. Your hands tightened on her waist, pulling her closer, and she made a soft sound of pleasure against your mouth.

The kiss deepened, became more heated. Her fingers tangled in your hair, and you could feel the rapid beat of her heart against your chest. When she pulled back slightly, her eyes were dark with desire, her lips swollen from the kiss.

"I love you," she breathed. "My protector, my conscience, my heart. I love you more than any throne, more than any crown."

"I love you too," you replied, your voice rough with emotion. "My queen, my dragon, my everything."

She kissed you again, softer this time but no less passionate. Around you, you were dimly aware of the advisors quietly filing out, giving you privacy for this moment. But you barely noticed. All that mattered was Daenerys in your arms, safe and whole and finally, finally home.

When you broke apart again, she rested her head against your shoulder, and you held her close, your hand stroking through her silver hair. The Iron Throne was uncomfortable beneath you, the blades pressing through your clothes, but you didn't care. You would sit on a throne of actual fire if it meant holding her like this.

"What happens now?" you asked softly.

Daenerys lifted her head, a smile playing at her lips. "Now? Now we rule. Together. We build the world we've dreamed of, where the strong don't prey on the weak, where justice isn't just for the rich and powerful. We break the wheel, just as I promised."

"Together," you agreed, sealing the word with another kiss.

Outside, you could hear the sounds of the city, the bells beginning to ring, announcing the new era. But here, in this moment, it was just the two of you. The dragon queen and her devoted protector, sharing a throne and a kiss and a future that you'd fought so hard to secure.

Daenerys shifted in your lap, her hand coming up to cup your cheek. "Thank you," she whispered. "For not giving up on me, even when I wouldn't listen. For trusting your instincts. For saving me."

"Always," you promised. "I will always save you, always protect you, always love you. That's my vow, more binding than any oath of fealty."

She smiled, that radiant smile that had first captured your heart, and kissed you once more. The Iron Throne, symbol of power and conquest, became something else in that moment. It became a seat of love, of partnership, of two souls who had found each other against all odds and refused to let anything tear them apart.

The realm would have its public coronation, its grand ceremonies and formal oaths. But this, this private moment of passion and promise, this was the real coronation. This was the moment when Daenerys Targaryen truly became queen, not through conquest or birthright, but through the love and loyalty of the one person who knew her best.

And as you held her close, as you kissed her with all the passion and devotion in your heart, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. The dragon and her protector, the queen and her heart, ruling not from a place of isolation and fear, but from a throne built on love.

( my introduction page and request info: here) ♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎

Daenerys Targaryen x fem!reader

summary: Daenerys discovers her girlfriend unconscious and severely drunk in the castle courtyard late at night.

warning(s): alcohol abuse and alcoholism, depression, emotional distress, unhealthy coping mechanisms, codependency themes, angst

The chambers felt too quiet when Daenerys returned that evening, the silence pressing against her ears in a way that made her pause at the threshold. She had grown accustomed to finding you there, curled in the window seat with a book you weren't really reading, or standing at the balcony watching the stars as though searching for answers written in their distant light. But tonight the room was empty, the candles unlit, the air cold and still.

"My love?" Daenerys called softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. The meeting with her advisors had run late, discussions of rebuilding and recovery stretching into the small hours. She had thought of you throughout, wondering if tonight might be different, if she might return to find you sober and present, the woman she had fallen in love with shining through the haze of grief and wine.

But you were not here.

Daenerys moved through the chambers, checking the bathing room, the small study where you sometimes sat pretending to write letters to family you could no longer bear to face. Nothing. Your cloak was gone from its hook. Your boots were missing. A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature crept down her spine.

She knew where you had gone, or rather, she knew what you had gone to do. The knowing settled heavy in her chest as she grabbed her own cloak and swept back out into the corridor. Her footsteps echoed against stone as she walked, then quickened, then became something close to running. The castle was a labyrinth of shadows at this hour, torches burning low in their sconces, casting everything in shades of amber and black.

Daenerys checked the great hall first, though she knew the kitchens would have long since closed. Then the library, the solar, the small sitting rooms where courtiers gathered during the day. Each empty room felt like a small death, anxiety building in her throat until she could barely swallow around it. She found herself moving toward the exterior doors, toward the courtyards and gardens where the night air would be sharp with the promise of winter's return.

The cold hit her immediately when she stepped outside, biting through her cloak and gown. She pulled the fabric tighter around herself and scanned the darkness, letting her eyes adjust. The courtyard stretched before her, stone paths winding between dormant flower beds and bare trees that clawed at the sky like skeletal hands. The moon was nearly full, casting everything in silver light that seemed to leech the warmth from the world.

And there, crumpled against the base of the old weirwood tree, was a shape that made Daenerys's heart stop.

"No," she whispered, already moving, her slippers silent against the frost-touched stone. "No, no, no."

You were lying on your side, one arm thrown out as though you had tried to catch yourself in falling, the other curled against your chest. Your cloak had twisted around you, offering little protection from the cold. Even from several feet away, Daenerys could smell the sour-sweet stench of wine, could see the dark stain on your tunic where you had spilled it down yourself.

"My love," Daenerys breathed, dropping to her knees beside you. Her hands found your face, your throat, searching for the pulse that would tell her you were still alive. It was there, steady but slow, your skin cold beneath her fingers. "Can you hear me? Please, please wake up."

You didn't respond. Your breathing was deep and heavy, the kind of unconsciousness that came from drinking yourself into oblivion. Daenerys felt tears prick at her eyes as she took in the sight of you, this woman she loved more than her own life, reduced to this. Your hair was matted and dirty, your lips cracked and pale, your clothes reeking of alcohol and something else, something that spoke of hours spent in taverns and alehouses, anywhere but in her arms where you belonged.

"What are you doing to yourself?" Daenerys whispered, her voice breaking. She smoothed your hair back from your face, her touch infinitely gentle despite the anguish tearing through her chest. "What are you doing to us?"

She knew the answer. She had known it since the morning after the Long Night, when the bodies had been counted and your sister's name had been among the fallen. She had watched you receive the news with a terrible stillness, had seen something fundamental break behind your eyes. And in the weeks that followed, she had watched you try to drown that brokenness in wine, in ale, in anything that would make you forget for even a moment that your sister was gone.

Daenerys had tried to reach you. Gods, how she had tried. She had held you through the nightmares, had whispered words of love and comfort, had begged you to talk to her, to let her share your grief. But you had pulled away, retreating into yourself and into the bottle, until some nights she barely recognized the woman lying beside her.

And now this. Finding you unconscious in the cold, alone and vulnerable, so far gone that you couldn't even make it back to the warmth and safety of their chambers.

"I need you to wake up," Daenerys said, more firmly now, giving your shoulder a gentle shake. "Please, my love. You cannot stay out here. You'll freeze."

You stirred slightly, a low moan escaping your lips, but your eyes remained closed. Daenerys shook you again, harder this time, desperation creeping into her movements.

"Wake up," she commanded, putting all the authority of a queen into her voice. "That's an order. Open your eyes."

Your eyelids fluttered, and for a moment Daenerys thought she had succeeded. But then you simply turned your face away from her, mumbling something incomprehensible, and went still again.

Daenerys sat back on her heels, looking at you, feeling the weight of helplessness settle over her like a shroud. She could command armies, could bend kingdoms to her will, could ride dragons and walk through fire. But she could not command you to stop hurting. She could not bend your grief to her will. And she certainly could not save you from yourself.

But she could get you out of the cold.

Daenerys stood, assessing the situation with the tactical mind that had won her battles and conquered cities. You were taller than her, heavier, your body completely limp with unconsciousness. Getting you back to the chambers would not be easy. But she had done harder things. She had survived worse.

She bent and worked her arms beneath you, one under your shoulders and one under your knees, and lifted with all her strength. You were heavier than she expected, dead weight in her arms, and she staggered slightly before finding her balance. Her muscles screamed in protest, but she gritted her teeth and held on.

"I have you," she whispered against your hair, even though you couldn't hear her. "I have you, my love. I won't let you go."

The journey back through the castle was a nightmare. Daenerys had to stop every few feet to adjust her grip, to catch her breath, to blink away the tears that kept threatening to blind her. Her arms burned, her back ached, and more than once she nearly dropped you. But each time she felt her strength failing, she thought of you lying in that courtyard, cold and alone, and found the will to keep going.

She passed a guard at one point, a young man who started forward to help, but Daenerys shook her head sharply. She didn't want witnesses to this, didn't want anyone else to see you like this. Your dignity had been stripped away enough already. She would not allow it to be further diminished.

By the time she reached their chambers, Daenerys was shaking with exhaustion, sweat cooling on her skin despite the chill in the air. She managed to get the door open with her elbow and stumbled inside, carrying you to the bed and laying you down as gently as she could manage. You rolled onto your side immediately, curling into yourself, and Daenerys stood over you for a long moment, just breathing, just trying to hold herself together.

Then she moved into action. She lit candles, built up the fire until it roared in the hearth, filled a basin with warm water from the pitcher that was always kept ready. She gathered clean cloths, a nightgown, a blanket. And then she returned to you and began the careful work of cleaning you up.

Your boots came off first, the leather stiff and stained. Then your cloak, which she had to roll you gently to remove. Your tunic was soaked with wine and she wrinkled her nose at the smell as she worked the laces open and peeled it away from your skin. You stirred occasionally during this process, mumbling protests that never quite formed into words, but you didn't wake.

Daenerys washed your face with the warm cloth, wiping away the dirt and the tear tracks she hadn't noticed before. Had you been crying? The thought made her own tears threaten again, but she pushed them back. Not yet. She needed to take care of you first.

She washed your hands, your arms, your chest and stomach, moving the cloth gently over your skin. You were thinner than you had been, she noticed. You weren't eating enough, too focused on drinking to bother with food. Another thing to worry about, another sign of how far you had fallen.

When you were clean, Daenerys dressed you in the nightgown, working your limp arms through the sleeves, pulling the soft fabric down over your body. Then she covered you with the blanket and sat on the edge of the bed, just looking at you.

In sleep, you looked peaceful. The lines of pain and grief that had become permanent fixtures on your face were smoothed away, and for a moment Daenerys could pretend that everything was fine, that you were simply tired from a long day, that you would wake in the morning and smile at her the way you used to.

But she knew better.

"Please come back to me," Daenerys whispered, reaching out to stroke your cheek. "I miss you so much. I miss your laugh, your smile, the way you used to look at me like I was your whole world. I miss the woman I fell in love with."

You didn't respond, lost in whatever dreams or nightmares the alcohol had brought you.

Daenerys stood and changed into her own nightgown, moving through the familiar routine mechanically. She should sleep, she knew. Tomorrow would bring more meetings, more decisions, more responsibilities. But she couldn't bring herself to lie down, not yet. Instead, she returned to the bed and carefully climbed in beside you, propping herself up against the headboard.

She had meant to just sit there, to watch over you, to be there if you woke. But after a few minutes, she found herself speaking, the words spilling out of her in a quiet stream.

"I found you in the courtyard," she said softly. "You were unconscious. I was so frightened. For a moment, I thought..." She couldn't finish that sentence, couldn't give voice to the terrible fear that had gripped her. "I carried you back. You're heavier than you look."

She tried to smile at her own weak joke, but it felt wrong on her face.

"I know you're hurting," Daenerys continued, her hand finding yours beneath the blanket and lacing your fingers together. "I know you miss your sister. I know the pain feels like it's going to swallow you whole. But this... this isn't the answer. The drinking, the disappearing, the pushing me away. It's not helping. It's only making things worse."

You stirred slightly, your hand tightening around hers, and Daenerys's heart leaped with hope.

"Can you hear me?" she asked, leaning closer. "My love, are you awake?"

Your eyes opened, just barely, unfocused and glassy. You looked at her without recognition for a long moment, and Daenerys felt something crack inside her chest.

"Dany?" you finally mumbled, your voice thick and slurred.

"Yes," Daenerys said quickly, relief flooding through her. "Yes, it's me. I'm here."

"Where..." You tried to sit up, but your body wouldn't cooperate, and you fell back against the pillows with a groan. "What happened?"

"I found you outside," Daenerys said gently. "You had been drinking. Do you remember?"

You frowned, your brow furrowing as you tried to think. "I... there was wine. And... I don't know. I don't remember."

"You were in the courtyard," Daenerys said. "You were unconscious. I was so worried."

"Sorry," you mumbled, your eyes already starting to close again. "Didn't mean to... didn't mean..."

"I know," Daenerys said, even though she wasn't sure what you were apologizing for. "I know you didn't. But we need to talk about this. About what's been happening. About the drinking."

"Tired," you said, the word barely audible. "So tired, Dany."

"I know you are," Daenerys said, her voice breaking despite her best efforts to keep it steady. "But please, just talk to me for a moment. Tell me what you're feeling. Tell me how I can help."

You opened your eyes again, and this time there was something in them, some flicker of the person you used to be. "She's gone," you whispered. "My sister. She's gone and I couldn't... I didn't..."

"I know," Daenerys said, tears spilling down her cheeks now. "I know she's gone. I'm so sorry. But you're still here. You're still alive. And I need you to stay that way."

"Hurts," you said, your own tears starting to fall. "It hurts so much. Every day. Every moment. I can't... I can't make it stop."

"The wine doesn't make it stop either," Daenerys said gently. "It just makes you forget for a little while. But the pain is still there when you wake up. And you're hurting yourself. You're hurting us."

You looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment Daenerys thought you understood. But then your eyes went unfocused again, your attention drifting away like smoke.

"Love you," you mumbled. "Love you so much, Dany. Don't... don't leave me."

"I'm not leaving you," Daenerys said fiercely, gripping your hand tighter. "I will never leave you. But I need you to fight this. I need you to try. Can you do that? Can you try for me?"

But you were already fading again, your eyes closing, your breathing deepening. Daenerys watched helplessly as you slipped away from her once more, back into the oblivion of alcohol-induced sleep.

"Please," she whispered, but she didn't know what she was asking for anymore.

She sat there for a long time, just holding your hand, listening to you breathe. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Outside, the night deepened, the castle settling into silence around them.

Eventually, Daenerys slid down to lie beside you, unable to maintain her vigil any longer. She turned on her side, facing you, and carefully pulled you into her arms. You came willingly, even in sleep, your body curling against hers the way it always had, seeking her warmth and comfort.

For a moment, holding you like this, Daenerys could almost pretend that everything was fine. Your heart beat steadily against her chest, your breath warm against her neck. This was familiar, this closeness, this intimacy. This was what they had built together, what they had promised each other.

But the smell of wine still clung to you, and your body was too limp, too heavy in her arms. And Daenerys knew that when you woke, you would barely remember this night, would barely remember her words or her tears or the way she had carried you home.

The grief hit her then, sudden and overwhelming. Not grief for your sister, though she mourned that loss too. But grief for you, for the woman she was losing to sorrow and alcohol. Grief for the relationship that was slipping through her fingers no matter how tightly she tried to hold on. Grief for the future they had planned together, the life they were supposed to build, all of it crumbling under the weight of trauma and pain.

Daenerys buried her face in your hair and let herself cry. She cried silently, her body shaking with the force of her sobs, tears soaking into your hair and the pillow beneath you both. She cried for you, for your sister, for all the people they had lost in the Long Night. She cried for the helplessness she felt, the terrible knowledge that love alone was not enough to save someone who was drowning.

She had conquered cities, had freed slaves, had done impossible things through sheer force of will. But she could not conquer your grief. She could not free you from the prison of your own pain. And the impossibility of it, the sheer unfairness of it, made her cry harder.

"I don't know how to help you," she whispered against your hair, her voice raw and broken. "I don't know what to do. I would do anything, give anything, but I don't know what you need. I don't know how to reach you anymore."

You slept on, oblivious to her anguish, lost in whatever darkness the alcohol had brought you. Daenerys held you tighter, as though she could keep you safe through sheer physical proximity, as though her arms alone could be enough to keep you from falling further.

"I love you," she whispered. "I love you so much it terrifies me. I love you enough to watch you destroy yourself and still be here when you wake. I love you enough to carry you home through the cold, to clean you up, to hold you while you sleep. But I don't know if my love is enough. I don't know if anything is enough."

The tears kept coming, silent and endless, until Daenerys felt hollowed out by them, emptied of everything but exhaustion and sorrow. Her eyes burned, her throat ached, her chest felt like someone had reached inside and squeezed her heart until it bled.

But still she held you. Still she kept you close, your body warm against hers, your heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath her palm. Because this was all she could do. This was all she had left to give. Her presence, her warmth, her unwavering devotion even in the face of your self-destruction.

Outside, the night stretched on toward dawn. Inside, the fire burned low, the candles guttered and went out one by one. And in the bed, two women lay tangled together, one lost to drunken sleep, the other to grief and exhaustion.

Daenerys's tears eventually slowed, then stopped, leaving her face sticky and swollen. Her breathing evened out, matching yours, her body finally surrendering to the need for rest. But even as sleep claimed her, pulling her down into darkness, she did not let you go.

Her arms remained locked around you, holding you close, keeping you safe in the only way she knew how. And if her sleep was troubled by dreams of losing you, of watching you slip away no matter how hard she tried to hold on, well. That was a pain she would bear alone, in silence, the way she bore so many things.

Because that was what love was, she thought, in that hazy space between waking and sleeping. Love was holding someone through their darkest night, even when they couldn't hold you back. Love was carrying them home when they couldn't walk. Love was crying silent tears while they slept, grieving for them while they were still alive, still breathing, still there but somehow already gone.

Love was this. This ache, this fear, this desperate, clinging hope that tomorrow might be different, that tomorrow you might wake up and choose her, choose life, choose to fight instead of flee.

Love was not giving up, even when giving up would be so much easier.

Daenerys pressed a kiss to your forehead, a benediction and a promise, and let sleep take her at last. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new pain, new battles to fight. But tonight, in this moment, you were here. You were alive. You were in her arms.

And for now, that would have to be enough.

The fire died to embers, casting the room in near darkness. The castle slept around them, silent and still. And in the bed, two women held each other through the night, one seeking oblivion, the other finding only sorrow, both of them lost in their own ways, both of them holding on to each other like drowning sailors clutching at wreckage in a storm.

Outside, the stars wheeled overhead, cold and distant and uncaring. The world turned, indifferent to the small tragedies playing out in the hearts of mortals. The Long Night was over, the dead defeated, the living victorious.

But some battles, Daenerys was learning, were never truly won. Some wounds never truly healed. Some losses could not be recovered from, no matter how much you loved someone, no matter how hard you tried.

And as she finally, finally slipped into sleep, her face still wet with tears, her arms still wrapped around you, Daenerys wondered if love would be enough. If her love, fierce and true and unwavering, would be enough to bring you back from the edge you were teetering on.

She didn't know. She couldn't know. All she could do was hold on, and hope, and love you through the darkness, even when that darkness threatened to swallow you both whole.

(heyy!! and i’m so glad you enjoy my writing and great idea 😉 daenerys is mommy fr)

Mhysa’s Gratitude

Daenerys Targaryen x fem!reader

tw: 18+, mommy kink (use of mhysa)

WC: 3230

The sun hung low over Meereen, casting long shadows through the narrow streets of the ancient city. You walked three paces behind Daenerys Targaryen as she moved through the marketplace, her silver hair catching the dying light like molten metal. The Queen had insisted on this walk despite your protests, despite the warnings from Grey Worm and Missandei. She wanted to be among her people, to see their faces, to remind them that their Queen had not forgotten them.

But you had not forgotten the dangers that lurked in every shadow.

Your hand rested on the pommel of your sword, eyes scanning the crowd with practiced vigilance. The marketplace buzzed with activity, merchants hawking their wares, children darting between stalls, the smell of spiced meat and incense thick in the air. Everything seemed normal, but your instincts screamed otherwise.

Then you saw it, a flash of gold, the glint of a mask catching the sunlight.

"Khaleesi!" you shouted, lunging forward just as the first Son of the Harpy emerged from behind a fabric stall, his blade already arcing toward Daenerys's exposed back.

Your sword met his with a clash of steel that rang through the marketplace like a bell. The crowd scattered, screams erupting as more masked figures materialized from the chaos. Five, six, seven, too many, but you didn't care. Your body moved on pure instinct, muscle memory from years of training taking over.

You shoved Daenerys behind you, your blade dancing in a deadly arc that caught the first attacker across the throat. Blood sprayed hot across your face as you spun, parrying a strike from your left. The Sons of the Harpy were skilled, but they fought with the arrogance of zealots. You fought with the desperation of someone protecting the only thing in the world that mattered.

"Run!" you commanded Daenerys, but she stood frozen, violet eyes wide with shock.

A blade sliced across your shoulder, and you hissed in pain but didn't falter. You drove your elbow back into the attacker's face, feeling bone crunch beneath the impact, then brought your sword around in a vicious slash that opened his belly. He fell, and you were already moving, always keeping yourself between the assassins and your Queen.

Two more rushed you simultaneously. You dropped low, sweeping one's legs out from under him while your blade found the other's heart. The fallen one scrambled up, but you were faster, your boot connected with his masked face, sending him sprawling. Your sword found him before he could rise again.

Your lungs burned, your wounded shoulder screamed, but you couldn't stop. Another attacker, then another. Your world narrowed to the deadly dance of steel and blood, to the singular purpose of keeping Daenerys safe. Nothing else existed. Nothing else mattered.

When the last Son of the Harpy fell, you stood panting among the bodies, your sword dripping crimson onto the dusty street. Your legs trembled with exhaustion and adrenaline, but you remained upright, remained vigilant, scanning for any remaining threats.

"It's over," Daenerys's voice came from behind you, soft and shaken. "They're all dead."

You turned to face her, and the look in her eyes made your breath catch. Not fear, though traces of it lingered, but something else. Something that made heat bloom in your chest despite the pain radiating from your shoulder.

"Are you hurt, Khaleesi?" you asked, your voice rough.

She shook her head slowly, stepping closer to examine you. Her fingers ghosted over your wounded shoulder, and you suppressed a wince. "You're bleeding."

"It's nothing."

"It's not nothing." Her voice carried the steel of command now, the momentary vulnerability replaced by the authority of a Queen. "We're returning to the pyramid. Now."

—————————————————————————

The walk back passed in a blur. Unsullied appeared from nowhere, forming a protective barrier around you both. Grey Worm's face was grim as he surveyed the carnage you'd left behind, but he said nothing, only nodded once in acknowledgment of what you'd done.

In the Great Pyramid, Daenerys dismissed everyone, guards, handmaidens, advisors. She wanted only you, she said, and the firmness in her voice brooked no argument. You followed her through the winding corridors to her private chambers, acutely aware of the blood drying on your skin, the ache in your muscles, the way your heart still raced from combat and something else entirely.

Her chambers were opulent beyond measure, silk curtains in deep crimson and gold, plush carpets from distant lands, a bed large enough for a dragon. Candles flickered in ornate holders, casting dancing shadows across the walls. The scent of jasmine and something uniquely Daenerys filled the air.

She turned to face you, and in the soft candlelight, she looked almost ethereal. Her silver hair fell in waves over her shoulders, her skin luminous, her eyes holding depths you could drown in.

"Let me tend your wound," she said, gesturing to a chair.

"Khaleesi, I should summon a healer-"

"I said let me tend it." There was no anger in her voice, only a quiet insistence that made you obey without further protest.

You sat, and she moved behind you, her fingers deft as she helped you remove your blood stained tunic. The fabric peeled away from your wounded shoulder, and you couldn't suppress the sharp intake of breath. Her touch was gentle as she cleaned the wound with warm water and cloth, so different from the violence of moments before.

"You saved my life," she said quietly, her breath warm against your neck. "Again."

"It's my duty, Khaleesi."

"Is that all it is?" Her fingers stilled on your skin. "Duty?"

Your heart thundered in your chest. You'd served Daenerys for years, had crossed deserts and seas at her side, had killed for her without hesitation. But you'd never dared to name the feeling that consumed you whenever you looked at her, the devotion that went far beyond any oath of service.

"No," you whispered. "It's not just duty."

She came around to face you, kneeling so that your eyes were level. Her hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing across your cheekbone with infinite tenderness. "I know," she said. "I've always known."

"Khaleesi-"

"Daenerys," she corrected. "Here, in this room, I am simply Daenerys. And you..." Her eyes searched yours. "You are the one who would die for me without question. The one whose loyalty never wavers. The one I trust above all others."

Your throat tightened with emotion. "I would give anything for you."

"I know." She leaned forward, her forehead resting against yours. "And I want to give you something in return. A reward for your bravery, your devotion, your protection."

"I need no reward-"

"But I need to give it." Her voice dropped to a whisper, intimate and charged. "I need you to know how much you mean to me. How grateful I am that you exist, that you're here, that you're mine."

The word "mine" sent electricity racing down your spine. Her lips were so close to yours, her breath mingling with your own. When she kissed you, it was soft at first, tentative, as if she feared you might pull away. But you couldn't pull away if you tried. You'd been orbiting this woman like a moon around a planet, held in place by a gravity you couldn't escape and didn't want to.

You kissed her back with all the pent up longing of years, your hand sliding into her silver hair, pulling her closer. She made a small sound against your mouth, and it ignited something primal in your chest. The kiss deepened, grew more urgent, tongues meeting in a dance as old as time.

When she pulled back, her eyes were dark with desire, her lips swollen. "Come," she said, taking your hand and leading you toward the bed.

Your legs felt unsteady as you followed, your mind reeling. This couldn't be real. This had to be a dream born of blood loss and exhaustion. But her hand in yours was solid, warm, real.

She turned to face you beside the bed, her fingers finding the clasps of her dress. "Help me," she said, and it wasn't a command but a request, an invitation.

With trembling hands, you helped her undress, revealing inch after inch of pale, perfect skin. She was breathtaking, all curves and softness, yet with an underlying strength that reminded you she was no fragile flower but a dragon in human form. When she stood naked before you, you couldn't help but stare, committing every detail to memory.

"Your turn," she said, and her fingers made quick work of your remaining clothing until you stood bare before her, vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with nakedness.

She guided you onto the bed, the silk sheets cool against your heated skin. She straddled your lap, her weight settling against you in a way that made you gasp. Her hands framed your face, and she looked at you with such intensity that you felt stripped down to your very soul.

"Do you know how rare you are?" she whispered. "How precious? In a world of betrayers and schemers, you are constant. True. Mine."

"Always yours," you breathed. "Mhysa."

Something flickered in her eyes at the word, the Ghiscari term for mother, the name her freed slaves had given her. But on your lips, in this moment, it meant something different. Something intimate and reverent.

"Say it again," she commanded softly.

"Mhysa," you repeated, your hands settling on her hips. "My Mhysa."

She kissed you again, deeper this time, her body pressing against yours. You could feel every curve, every plane of her, the heat of her skin against your own. When she pulled back, she guided your head down to her chest, and you understood what she was offering.

Your lips found her breast, and she gasped as you took her nipple into your mouth. She was soft and warm, and the small sounds she made as you sucked gently sent waves of arousal through your body. Your hands roamed her back, holding her close as you lavished attention on her breast, your tongue circling the hardened peak.

"Yes," she breathed, her fingers threading through your hair. "Just like that."

You switched to her other breast, giving it the same devoted attention. Her hips began to move against you in a slow rhythm, seeking friction, and you moaned against her skin. She tasted like salt and something sweet, something uniquely her.

"You have no idea," she said, her voice breathy and broken, "how much I need this. Need you. Every day I must be strong, must be the Queen, the Breaker of Chains, the Mother of Dragons. But here, with you..." She gasped as you sucked harder. "Here I can just be Daenerys. Here I can let someone else be strong for me."

You pulled back just enough to speak, your lips brushing against her skin. "I will always be strong for you. Always protect you. Always serve you."

"I know," she whispered, and there was such emotion in her voice that you looked up to see tears glistening in her eyes. "I am so grateful for you. So grateful that the gods or fate or whatever force governs this world brought you to me. When I think of what would have happened today if you hadn't been there..."

"Don't," you said firmly, your hands tightening on her waist. "I was there. I will always be there."

"Promise me," she said, cupping your face. "Promise me you'll never leave me."

"I promise, Mhysa. I am yours until my last breath."

She kissed you again, and this time there was desperation in it, a need that went beyond physical desire. You understood, she had lost so much, had been betrayed so many times. Trust was a luxury she could rarely afford. But she trusted you, and that trust was more precious than any jewel in her treasury.

You returned your attention to her breasts, worshipping them with lips and tongue and gentle teeth. She arched into you, her breathing growing ragged, her fingers tightening in your hair. The sounds she made were intoxicating, soft moans and gasps and whispered words in Valyrian that you didn't understand but felt in your bones.

"You make me feel cherished," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Valued not for my dragons or my claim to the throne, but for myself. Just Daenerys. Do you know how rare that is? How precious?"

You pulled back to look at her, your hands sliding up to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over the wet peaks. "You are precious, Mhysa. The most precious thing in this world or any other. And I will spend every day of my life proving that to you."

She smiled, and it was radiant, transforming her face from beautiful to transcendent. "Then prove it now," she whispered. "Show me how much you worship me."

You did, taking her breast into your mouth again with renewed fervor. Your hands explored her body—the curve of her waist, the softness of her thighs, the heat between them that called to you like a siren's song. She rocked against you, seeking more contact, more friction, and you gave her everything you had.

"I watched you today," she said breathlessly, "watched you fight for me. You were magnificent. Deadly and beautiful and utterly devoted. I have never felt so protected, so valued. You didn't hesitate, didn't think of your own safety. You just... acted."

You hummed against her skin, your tongue swirling around her nipple. Your hands slid to her ass, pulling her harder against you, and she cried out softly.

"I need you to know," she continued, her voice breaking, "that you are not just my guard. Not just my loyal servant. You are... you are everything to me. My strength when I am weak. My courage when I falter. My heart when I feel I have none left."

The raw honesty in her words made your own eyes sting with tears. You pulled back to look at her, and the love you saw in her face was overwhelming.

"Mhysa," you whispered, the word a prayer, a promise, a declaration.

"Yes," she breathed. "Your Mhysa. Always."

She kissed you again, and this time there was no hesitation, no holding back. Her tongue delved into your mouth as her hips ground against you with increasing urgency. You could feel how wet she was, how much she wanted this, wanted you. Your own arousal was a living thing, pulsing through your veins like dragonfire.

You returned to her breasts, alternating between them, giving each the devoted attention it deserved. She was sensitive there, you discovered, her reactions growing more intense with each pass of your tongue. Her breathing became ragged, her movements more desperate.

"Don't stop," she pleaded. "Please don't stop."

You had no intention of stopping. You would do this for hours if she asked, would worship her body until the sun rose and set again. She was your Queen, your Mhysa, your everything, and pleasuring her was the greatest honor you could imagine.

Her fingers tightened almost painfully in your hair as her movements became erratic. You sucked harder, your teeth grazing her nipple gently, and she gasped your title, not your name, for you had none in this moment, only your purpose: hers.

"I'm so grateful," she panted. "So grateful for you, for this, for everything you are. You saved me today. You save me every day just by existing, by being mine, by loving me the way you do."

"Always," you promised against her skin. "Always, Mhysa."

She came apart in your arms with a cry that was your name and title and prayer all at once. Her body shuddered against you, her inner walls clenching around nothing, seeking. You held her through it, your mouth never leaving her breast, drawing out her pleasure until she collapsed against you, trembling and spent.

For long moments, you simply held each other, your face pressed against her chest, her arms wrapped around your head. You could hear her heartbeat gradually slowing, feel the rise and fall of her breathing returning to normal. She pressed kisses to the top of your head, her fingers stroking through your hair with infinite tenderness.

"Stay with me tonight," she whispered. "Sleep in my bed. Let me hold you the way you hold me."

"Yes, Mhysa," you agreed without hesitation.

She shifted, guiding you both down onto the pillows, arranging the silk sheets over your cooling bodies. She pulled you close, your head resting on her chest, her arms secure around you. In this position, you could hear her heartbeat, steady and strong, the most beautiful sound in the world.

"Thank you," she said softly into the darkness. "For today. For every day. For being exactly who you are."

"There is nowhere else I would rather be," you replied truthfully. "No one else I would rather serve. You are my purpose, Mhysa. My reason for being."

She was quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your back. "I used to think I had to be alone," she finally said. "That caring for people, letting them close, was a weakness. But you've shown me that's not true. You've shown me that having someone who truly sees me, who loves me not for what I can give them but for who I am... that's not weakness. That's strength."

You tilted your head to look up at her, and even in the dim candlelight, she was beautiful. "You have always been strong, Khaleesi. But even dragons need someone to watch over them while they sleep."

She smiled, and it was soft and genuine and meant only for you. "Then watch over me tonight. And tomorrow. And all the days after."

"Until my last breath," you promised.

She kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips,soft, chaste kisses that somehow felt more intimate than anything that had come before. "Sleep now," she murmured. "You've earned your rest, my brave protector."

But you didn't sleep, not right away. You lay there in the darkness, listening to her breathing even out, feeling the weight of her trust and love like a mantle across your shoulders. You had saved her life today, but the truth was she had saved yours long ago, had given you purpose, meaning, a reason to be more than you ever thought you could be.

Outside, Meereen slept, unaware of how close it had come to losing its Queen. But here, in this room, in this bed, wrapped in silk and safety and each other, you both were exactly where you belonged.

And as sleep finally claimed you, your last conscious thought was a prayer of gratitude to whatever gods might be listening, gratitude for this woman, this moment, this love that burned brighter than dragonfire and would endure just as long.

Your Mhysa. Your Queen. Your everything.

paring- Daenerys targaryen x femreader!

Summary- Blah blah can’t spoil it 😏 dom daenerys tho

Warnings- NSFW 18+ MINORS DNI

word count- 847

The silk curtains sway gently in the warm breeze that drifts through Daenerys's chambers, carrying with it the scent of jasmine and dragon fire. You stand before her, heart racing as her eyes trace over your form with hunger.

"Come here, sweetness," she says softly, her voice laced with just . You obey without hesitation, crossing the candlelit room until you're close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin.

Her fingers find your chin, tilting your face up to meet her gaze. "You've been thinking about this all day, haven't you?" It's not really a question, and the knowing smile that curves her lips makes your knees weak.

"Yes, Khaleesi," you breathe, and you watch her eyes darken at the title.

"Good girl," she purrs, and then her mouth is on yours, it’s so demanding, possessive, stealing the air from your lungs. Her hands slide into your hair, gripping firmly as she deepens the kiss, her tongue exploring with practiced confidence. When she finally pulls back, you're left gasping.

"Undress for me," Daenerys instructs, stepping back to settle onto the edge of her bed, legs crossed elegantly. "Slowly."

Your fingers tremble as you reach for the fastenings of your gown, acutely aware of her unwavering attention. The fabric whispers against your skin as you let it fall, pooling at your feet until you stand bare before her. The vulnerability should be terrifying, but the approval in her expression makes you feel powerful instead.

"Beautiful," she murmurs, rising to circle you like a predator admiring her prey. Her fingertips ghost along your shoulders, down your spine, raising goosebumps in their wake. "Do you know what I'm going to do to you, darling?"

"Tell me, Khaleesi," you plead, arching into her touch.

She laughs, low and rich. "I'm going to take you apart piece by piece until you forget everything but my name." Her hands slide around to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples until you whimper. "Until the only word you remember is Khaleesi."

She guides you backward to the bed, and you sink into the luxurious furs and silks. Daenerys stands above you, still fully clothed. She takes her time disrobing, letting you watch as each layer falls away to reveal pale, perfect skin. When she finally joins you, the press of her body against yours is intoxicating. She kisses you again, slower this time but no less commanding, before trailing her lips down your throat. Her teeth graze your pulse point, and you gasp her name.

"That's it, love," she encourages, her hand sliding down your stomach with slowness. "Let me hear you."

When her fingers finally reach where you need her most, you cry out and whimper at the contact. She's so gentle at first, teasing circles that make you curl beneath her.

"Please, Khaleesi," you beg, and she rewards you with more pressure, her fingers sliding through your wetness.

"So eager for me," she whispers against your ear. "So perfect." She enters you with two fingers, and the stretch makes your back arch off the bed. She sets a steady rhythm, curling her fingers expertly while her thumb finds your clit.

The pleasure builds rapidly under her skilled touch, and you clutch at her shoulders, her hair, anything to anchor yourself. She watches your face intently, reading every expression, adjusting her movements to drive you higher.

"Look at me," she commands when your eyes flutter closed. You force them open, meeting that violet gaze. "I want to see you when you come for me."

Her fingers move faster, harder, and you feel yourself approaching the edge. "Khaleesi," you gasp, "I'm so close-"

"Then let go, sweetness," she orders. "Come for your Khaleesi."

The orgasm crashes over you like a wave, and you shatter beneath her, crying out her title as pleasure pulses through every nerve. She works you through it, only slowing when you begin to tremble from oversensitivity.

"Such a good girl," she praises, withdrawing her fingers and bringing them to her lips. The sight of her tasting you makes heat spark again despite your exhaustion.

She shifts, positioning herself above you, and you realize she's not finished. "Now, darling," she says, guiding your hand between her thighs, "it's your turn to worship your Khaleesi properly."

You're eager to please, to give her the same pleasure she's given you. As your fingers explore her wetness, as you feel her respond to your touch, you can’t help but get turned on more.

"Yes," she breathes as you find the rhythm she needs, her head falling back in pleasure. "Just like that, love."

Blessed and grateful for another year 🙏🙏 Thank you to all my fans and supporters, yall genuinely make my days happier.