Emilia Clarke - A Real Life Fantasy

“What are you watching?” Eric said as he wandered into the living room, snacks tucked under his arm. While he had been rummaging through the fridge, he had heard the muffled theme tune of a show he vaguely remembered.

“Game of Thrones! I found an old box set”, his housemate Malcolm said, turning around on the sofa with a grin. Eric nodded his head slowly as the theme tune finished, the show beginning.

“Oh yeah, I remember this. I think I watched a few episodes of it when it first came out, never got back into it”, Eric said, shovelling a handful of snacks into his mouth. Eric knew that he should move on and go about his day, but his eyes felt drawn to the screen. His hand froze inside the bag, half closed around another mouthful. He began to speak again after several minutes, as if the conversation hadn’t just paused for several scenes. “Didn’t this end badly or something? I remember people were really mad about it.”

“That’s why I’m watching the early seasons”, Malcolm said with a knowing smile, tapping one finger on the dark packaging of the boxset that filled the vacant space on the sofa beside him.

“Right. I guess it’s good that I didn’t get back into it, then”, Eric said, beginning to move along.

“God, she’s so hot…” Malcolm said quietly under his breath, as if Eric had already left the room. He froze in place, quickly turning back to his housemate.

“Who?” he asked excitedly. Malcolm had never had a serious girlfriend, and Eric enjoyed hearing of the idealised women he often dreamt up while complaining about his own lack of options. He wasn’t unattractive per se, at least in Eric’s heterosexual opinion, for the little that it was worth. “Who?” he repeated, this time louder, trying to draw Malcolm away from the screen.

“Emilia Clarke”, Malcolm said, gesturing vaguely to a blonde-haired woman on screen. Eric smiled, chuckling to himself.

“Of course, totally”, he replied, smugly. Malcolm had once confided in him his fantasy of having a celebrity girlfriend. While Eric knew that he should respect his friend’s desires, no matter how unlikely, he instead had taken the opportunity to mock him for his lofty ambitions. “Your perfect girlfriend, right? I’m sure she’ll fall for you one day”, he said, jabbing.

“Oh, shut up!” Malcolm said, scoffing. He turned back to the TV quickly, trying to focus harder on the screen as if to show Eric that he was far less interesting than the world of high fantasy before him. Eric’s laughter trailed behind him as he left the room. He knew that Malcolm thought that he was only teasing, but there was an element of truth behind his taunts. Malcolm’s sedentary lifestyle and lack of hobbies (besides watching TV) had hardly made him ideal boyfriend material. A small part of Eric hoped that by repeatedly pointing this out to him, that Malcolm would start to change his life and be more productive. Any chance that came around to improve his life he had squandered, and now he was resigned to the impossible idea that a perfect celebrity girlfriend would simply materialise in their house.

Malcolm’s frustration slowly subsided as the episode continued. The world of fantasy was exciting to get lost in, but there was always the real life fantasy that he knew that he was missing out on. Gradually, the frustration developed into curiosity, which shifted into action. As the credits rolled, Malcolm flipped open his laptop, beginning to type into the search bar as a grin slowly spread itself across his face.

Several days later, Eric’s bedroom door creaked open, Malcolm’s face appearing in the shadowy landing beyond it.

“Morning!” he said, his voice sounding more cheerful than he intended. He had never been a good actor.

“Morning”, Eric responded groggily. He pulled his covers up higher as he sat up in bed, looking through squinted eyes at the morning light trickling into his room. “What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing!” Malcolm said, stepping into the bedroom. “I just thought I’d get you a drink. I was just getting some water for myself and thought I’d grab you one too – you’re always reminding me to stay hydrated, after all”, he said, walking towards Eric’s bedside. Malcolm carried with him a small tray with two glasses carefully positioned upon it. Malcolm stared at one of them, mentally reminding himself for what felt like the thousandth time that morning which glass was his, and which was for Eric. As he looked, he could see the water fizzing slightly. He only hoped that Eric wouldn’t notice.

“Thanks”, Eric said, reaching for a glass. Malcolm deftly shifted the tray so that Eric’s hand grabbed the one he had planned for. Malcolm grabbed his own, clinking it against his housemate’s.

“Cheers!” Malcolm said, trying to mask his excitement. His plan was only moments from beginning.

“What are we drinking to?” Eric said jokingly, managing a weak smile as he blinked away the worst of the sleep.

“To our future!” Malcolm said, smiling as he drunk his own. He closed his eyes, savouring the plain taste of his untampered water. Hearing Eric gulping down his water, he knew that his fate sealed.

“This tastes a bit weird”, Eric said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Is something wrong with our water?” Malcolm could feel himself growing red in the face as the panic rose in him. The website he had bought the pills from had promised that they would be undetectable. If they were wrong on that, what else was incorrect? Would the specifications he provided be accurate enough or would he be left with a half finished, faulty product?

“I don’t think so!” he said quickly, gathering the glasses back up in case Eric dared to take another sip. “Maybe your taste buds are still waking up. I’ll let you get yourself sorted – I’ll see you later!”, Malcolm said as cheerfully as he could manage, swiftly leaving Eric’s bedroom and heading back downstairs.

After Eric properly awoke and got himself ready for his day, the strange taste still clung in his mouth. It was almost metallic, like the smell of old pennies had somehow wormed its way into his tongue. After gargling some potent mouthwash, he was sure that he had rid himself of it, or at least had replaced the sensation with searing mint. It was the weekend, and for Eric that meant taking some time for himself. With a casual wave to Malcolm who was already glued back to the television, he headed out for a short walk. He always found that getting outside at least once a day, weather permitting, was a great way of ensuring he at least did something useful with his time. He told himself that it was just him trying to be healthier, but as much as he tried to avoid thinking about it, he knew the real reason: he wanted to avoid being seen like his housemate Malcolm. He hoped that perhaps one day he would wrest himself from the sofa and join him, if only to learn that there was a life outside the small screen.

Eric’s usual walk through the park was by now as familiar to him as Malcolm’s schedule. He tried not to be a creature of habit, but he took a small pleasure in the friendly waves he’d share with the same people walking their dogs or the polite nods to joggers – none of it a true, proper connection, but enough to give him some semblance of life outside of Malcolm’s monotony. Halfway through his circular walk, his limbs began to ache. It started off as a dull feeling, like he had merely walked for too long, but he knew that wasn’t the case – he had walked the same route hundreds of times. Soon, the pain was growing, spreading across his body. There was a tightness in his chest, each of his limbs feeling sluggish and tender as if he had been for a mammoth session at the gym. Slowly, Eric turned around and walked home, trying to focus on his breathing as each step grew more painful.

“You’re back early”, Malcolm said with a smile as Eric returned, not looking up from the television where yet another episode of Game of Thrones was beginning. “Something the matter?”

“Yeah”, Eric said, suddenly hearing the strained sound to his voice. “I think I’m coming down with something.”

“Yeah?” Malcolm said, finally averting his eyes from the screen. He glanced briefly at Eric. “Well, you don’t look unwell. Maybe you’re just tired?”

“Maybe. I’m going to get some rest”, Eric said, though he felt as though he had already gotten a good night of sleep. Still, he couldn’t deny the signs that his body was showing him. Today was not a day for walks in the sunshine. He trudged upstairs to his bedroom, stealing a look at himself in the mirror in his room.

It was hard to tell, but he definitely felt as though something was off with how he looked. His eyes seemed slightly bloodshot, his face a little more gaunt than he remembered. Despite this, Eric remembered that Malcolm said he didn’t look unwell. Was this just how he had been looking recently? Eric tried to remember the last time he took a good look at himself as he sunk below the covers of his bed, soon getting lost once more in sleep.

Although Eric’s body was screaming at him to rest, he found that he could not. He slept fitfully, shutting his eyes for what felt like a few moments only to be wrenched back awake, at first too hot then too cold, his aching arms tossing the covers away before clawing them back moments later. As Eric danced painfully between consciousness and sleep, his body began to change.

Though not as unhealthy as his housemate, Eric had gained some fat in recent years which his gentle walks had not managed to keep away. As he tossed and turned, the fat began to bubble, fading away as if it had never built in the first place. His gut slimmed down, his waistline now smooth and flat. In his face, his cheeks grew less pudgy, the double chin vanishing as his skin grew tauter and trimmer. Eric didn’t notice the changes, only experiencing the aching pain in great waves that made it impossible to focus on anything else. His coarse body hair began to fall out, getting lost amongst the sheets as he twisted the fabric into a ball. Slowly, they fell from his legs and arms, the stubble that had grown in recent days receding back into his skin as though he had never needed to shave at all. Across his manhood, the pubic hair drifted away, except for a small patch at the base of his shaft, now looking as though it had been neatly trimmed. On his scalp, his hair was doing the opposite – instead of slowly falling out, it was growing in thick locks, gradually turning brown as they grew from his head. Eric felt his hair tickle at his ears and he moved his aching hands to touch at it. He gave them a testing tug, finding the hair as attached and real as anything, the sudden movement sending another burst of pain through his body. He pulled back the covers, looking at his body. During his thrashing he had taken off his clothes, finding them uncomfortably warm if only to crave their insulation moments later. He unthinkingly brushed aside a lock of hair that reached his eyes, allowing him to see his body properly.

Something felt wrong. Eric tried to focus his eyes, but he couldn’t see what was the source of his unease. His thin, almost hairless body felt almost external to him, yet he could feel the softness of the sheets on his newly sensitive skin and the sweat running down his neck. It was real, though somehow unreal.

“Malcolm!” Eric called out, his voice sounding stranger still to his ears. It was no longer strained, but seemed higher than he recalled.

“Coming!” Malcolm said from downstairs. Hearing his housemate’s voice, Eric felt strangely calm. Malcolm would know what to do, he hoped. He heard him pause the television downstairs and make his way up to his room, opening the door with more confidence than he had done that morning. Eric heard the sound of something ceramic beside him, but Malcolm spoke before he could turn his head and see what it was.

“What’s the matter? How’s the flu?” Malcolm asked, sitting on the bed.

“Should you be doing that?” Eric asked, pointing weakly at his friend.

“Doing what?”

“Sitting. What if you catch it from me?” Eric said, his voice still not returning to its familiar baritone. Malcolm smiled kindly.

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll catch whatever is happening to you. Maybe I’m immune?”

“Right”, Eric said, unconvinced. He took a second to compose his thoughts. His brain felt cloudy, as if the aches were making it harder to think. “Do I look weird to you?” he asked eventually.

“What do you mean?” Malcolm responded, a puzzled look easily settling across his face.

“Like, my hair. Or my body – look!” Eric said, pulling the covers down from his chest to reveal a skinny, hairless chest. Malcolm looked at him strangely.

“I don’t get what you mean. Are you hallucinating or something?”

“No – my hair! It’s grown!” Eric said, tugging at his locks once more that had by now gradually climbed below his ears, just covering the lobes. “And I’ve lost loads of weight.”

“You’ve always had hair that length”, Malcolm said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And you told me at the start of the year that you were focusing on your fitness with all those walks. It’s clear it’s been paying off!” Malcolm added, looking at his chest. Eric slowly inched the covers back up, something in the way that Malcolm was staring making him uncomfortable.

Malcolm placed the back of his hand against Eric’s forehead.

“I think you’ve got a temperature. You need to get some rest”, Malcolm said sympathetically.

“No, I’m hungry”, Eric offered, wriggling in place slightly.

“Hungry? You’ve just eaten!” Malcolm responded incredulously.

“No I haven’t-“

“You have. That’s why I came up, to collect your plate”, Malcolm interrupted, pointing at the bedside table where sure enough, there was a plate and cutlery on top. Eric could even see the crumbs of some sort of pastry on the white ceramic. He felt confused. Eric was almost certain that he hadn’t eaten, but as he thought about it, there was no sense of hunger in his stomach. His body ached, but that was from whatever sickness he was going through, not from the lack of food.

“I don’t remember…” Eric said quietly, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“You’re sick. It’s okay, I’ll look after you”, Malcolm said, smiling kindly at his friend. “If you didn’t eat, why is your plate here empty?”

Eric had no answer. Malcolm picked up the plate with a satisfied look on his face – Eric assumed it was from knowing he was doing a good job at looking after his housemate. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” Malcolm said, moving towards the door.

“No, I’ve still got the whole day!” Eric said, before looking to the window. The sun was nowhere to be seen, long since tucked away behind the horizon.

“Oh wow, you definitely need some rest!” Malcolm said, chuckling softly. “You’ve been struggling awake all day long. Just close your eyes. I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning.”

Eric nodded, doing as he was told. As much as he felt he needed to find some sort of answer or solution, he had none. In a way, it was just easier to agree with Malcolm. He heard the door creaking shut as Malcolm left his bedroom. Eric drifted off to sleep, hoping Malcolm was right and that he’d be back to normal when he awoke.

The patient managed more sleep that night, the intermittent sleep from before shifting inexorably towards deeper valleys of dreams before slowly rising back to wakefulness once again. In the brief moments of lucidity, Eric felt somewhat more relaxed than his early sleeping. The aching in his body hadn’t entirely subsided, but had at least concentrated across smaller areas. His jaw ached and felt as though it needed to click, yet despite his yawns remained uncomfortable no matter where he positioned the pillow. His chest felt tender to the touch, the cotton sheets feeling prickly on his sensitive, tender nipples. Eric’s manhood ached sporadically, the pain forcing him awake but vanishing as soon as his eyes opened. Throughout the night, the changes continued.

Slowly, Eric’s face was shifting. His broad, masculine jaw shifted, losing its squareness. With his recently lost weight he still had a strong jawline, yet with a noticeably more feminine sharpness to it. Eric’s nose, once broad and slightly crooked, aligned itself in the centre of his face and slimmed, the bridge narrowing down. His eyebrows lost their shagginess, though none of their darkness or size, neatening into two bold lines at the top of his dreaming face. Eric’s hair spilled out further across the pillow: rich brown strands that had a health and vibrancy to them that Eric’s had never previously possessed. There was still a hint of masculinity to his features, but with his delicate, angular face it was clear that it was erring more towards the feminine, leaving him with handsome, androgynous appearance. Eric’s manhood twitched as he slept, reducing in size. Soon, it was no bigger than his little finger. His testes shrunk until they were like grapes, tight and small in his groin. On his chest, fat began to build. His nipples grew erect, and the flesh beneath them swelled up, leaving him with a pair of small perky breasts, hidden beneath the covers. More fat bubbled in his rear and thighs, giving Eric the beginning of curves. He moaned quietly in his sleep, his voice rising higher still.

Eric awoke gradually. He body ached, though mercifully less than he remembered. The aching had been replaced by a tiredness that sapped the energy out of him. He found that he couldn’t muster the energy to even open his eyes. He was dimly aware that a vehicle pulled up outside his house from the rumbling of the engine, followed by a muffled, short conversation. Eric had lived with Malcolm long enough to recognise his gait on the stairs, and as they creaked and the door opened, he knew it was him before even opening his eyes.

“Morning”, he murmured, stirring.

“Go back to sleep”, Malcolm said softly. His words merely told Eric what he already knew he wanted, and he snuggled back down into the covers.

He could hear Malcolm moving throughout his room – the same ceramic sound on his bedside table, followed soon after by the gentle sounds of fabric being folded and put away. In what seemed like seconds to Eric but had no doubt been far longer, he heard the mattress creak as something heavy was placed on the bed, followed by a zipping noise.

Eric slowly opened his eyes. Malcolm was at the foot of his bed, organising the hangers in his wardrobe.

“What’s happened to my clothes?” Eric asked, his eyes trying to focus. The light from the window felt blinding, and Malcolm kindly angled the blinds so that the whole room was kept in a softer glow. The wardrobe was empty. He was certain that it should have been full of clothes – some long since past their prime or forgotten about, but his clothes nonetheless.

“This is what you asked me to do, remember?” Malcolm said. “Seeing as you’ll be staying here for some time.”

“What?” Eric asked, muddled. “What do you mean? I live here.”

“Well, you do now!” Malcolm responded cheerfully, trying to mask his excitement. “Now that you’ve asked me to bring all your clothes through.”

Malcolm lifted up some shirts that Eric struggled to recognise. They looked far too small for him, but there was an air of familiarity to them, as if he had once worn them in some other life, long ago. Eric noticed a strange loop of fabric being neatly folded over a hanger by Malcolm before being placed inside the darkness of the wardrobe.

“What’s that?” Eric asked, his finger pointing at the garment. He spotted his once chewed fingertips seemed to be smoothed over with a slight glossy sheen to them. Eric made a mental note to ask Malcolm about it, but for now he had more pressing concerns.

“It’s one of your skirts!” Malcolm said, grabbing it and holding it up for Eric to see. Sure enough, it was a simple unadorned skirt in a slate grey. Eric didn’t recognise it, but he knew just from looking at it that it would have come to just above his knee.

“What are you talking about? I’ve never owned a skirt…” Eric said, his voice trailing off. He tried to remember once familiar wardrobe, focusing on individual bits of clothing, but it was no use. It all just blurred into one mass of fabric in his mind. Was it possible that there was a skirt or two amongst his collection?

“I think you need more rest, E”, Malcolm said, chuckling. “You’ve got loads of skirts – too many, I think sometimes. You wear them all the time.”

As if to illustrate his point, Malcolm lifted several more skirts out of the suitcase of varying lengths, styles, and designs. Some were brightly patterned and risqué, others more modest. Eric knew deep down that he had never wore a skirt before, but he was struggling to process the evidence before his eyes. Malcolm was folding and storing skirt after skirt. If they weren’t his, then who were they for?

Malcolm picked up another garment that Eric was able to identify.

“Is that a bra?” Eric said, perturbed. “Why are you putting a bra in my wardrobe?”

“Why do you think?” Malcolm asked, nodding his head towards Eric’s chest which he had still kept safely beneath the covers.

“I don’t wear bras…” Eric said to himself as he lifted the sheets. He knew what his chest shouldhave looked like, but the reality was unavoidable. Two small breasts were hanging from his chest. Eric became aware of the proportionate weight of them on his back, a slight tinge of pain shooting down his spine.

“Why wouldn’t you wear bras?” Malcolm said, now placing several pairs of jeans and dresses into the wardrobe.

“I-I don’t know”, Eric said softly. Malcolm was right. He had breasts, so he should wear a bra. It was completely logical, after all.

“Where did you even get this stuff, anyway?” Eric said, trying to change the subject away onto subjects he hoped would be less disorientating to think about.

“You asked your driver to send it all. He dropped it off this morning”, Malcolm said, lifting the now empty suitcase with ease and placing it down on the carpet.

“My driver?” Eric asked. Malcolm’s face softened into a look of pity. He sat down tenderly next to Eric, moving one hand to the side of his head. Tucking the long brown hair behind Eric’s ears, Malcolm stroked at it. Eric knew something was wrong, but he couldn’t deny how nice his touch felt. There was strength there, and that strength was comforting.

“I think you really need to get some more rest, E”, Malcolm said quietly. “Your head is all over the place.”

“I need some food…” Eric said, turning his head to the side to see an empty bowl. Somehow, he knew that he had already eaten that morning. “Maybe you’re right”, he said, resigned. “My head feels strange – like there’s too many thoughts crammed into it.”

Malcolm nodded knowingly, though Eric knew it must have just been out of sympathy. How could he be aware of what was going on inside his head?

“All the more reason for rest. You try and take it easy today, okay?” Malcolm said, rising off of the bed and taking the wardrobe with him downstairs.

In his absence, Eric’s mind began to wander. He tried to recall what Malcolm had said: he had a driver, he didn’t live at the house permanently, and his wardrobe felt alien to him. But, the more that he thought about it, the more his mind filled in the gaps. He could picture the face of his driver, the few conversations they had had together on long journeys. The wardrobe now felt like a bunch of old friends, each item of clothing associated with a memory that felt more real by the second. As the hours wore on, Eric was finding it hard to feel that his current circumstances were anything other than normal.

No matter where his mind went, he kept returning to the memory of Malcolm’s touch. It felt new, almost electrifying, but somehow at the same time, Eric knew he had felt that same touch a hundred times already. The touch was nice, but Eric in some way knew the touch was more than just nice, it was exciting. He felt a sensation build within his groin. He tried to ignore it. He silently told himself that he knew he wasn’t attracted to guys, least of all his housemate Malcolm, but the cravings his body were giving him were impossible to ignore. It was something primal, almost animalistic, like his body was hard-wired to be attracted to him. He felt his small hand wander down, brushing against his manhood. Though it was tiny, Eric could feel it was already hard. He knew if he started touching himself he would be unable to stop, but as the last remnants of his resistance faded, Eric gave in.

As one hand pumped his cock, the other squeezed and pinched at his budding breasts. The pleasure was more intense than Eric had ever known. No matter which erotic path he tried to focus on, Malcolm was always at the end of it. He couldn’t think of anyone else. The thought of his touch intensified, growing into memories that felt like they must have happened recently from how strong they were. Eric could remember Malcolm’s lips against his own, the stiffness of his own shaft against his behind. The images flashed through his mind in a montage of pleasure, and soon Eric came. His tiny cock trembled, yet nothing came out. Despite this, Eric struggled to work out why it was wrong – the orgasm was rocking through his core. The bed shook as his body twisted in bliss. A part of Eric hated the fact that he had just jerked off to his friend, but he knew it was right. Malcolm was his everything.

Eric drifted off to sleep in the evening. He found that he had a slight headache, and hoped that some more rest would clear his mind and get rid of the brain fog that made it difficult to remember the past few days.

With a painless click, Eric’s face went through its final adjustments. His eyelashes lengthened, his lips growing slightly puffier and naturally pinker. Small holes opened up in his ear lobes – evidence of a long ago piercing. He smiled contentedly in his sleep. His face was no longer his own. It was indistinguishable from that of Emilia Clarke, her famous features recognisable across the world, and now snoozing peacefully in bed.

The small breasts swelled larger, the covers shifting to accommodate the growth. Though far from big, they were round and perky. Thoughts flooded in of Malcolm’s strong hands squeezing them and the reaction of pleasure that burst within him to respond. More fat built up across Eric’s thighs and rear, giving him a pert, athletic behind and long, tapering legs. Alongside the devotion to Malcolm, new memories soon subsumed Eric’s own, gradually reducing his grasp of them until they faded entirely. His thoughts of his childhood shifted, remembering an entirely different school life, progressing to drama school rather than the dead-end job that Eric had found himself in. Thoughts of his early roles overwhelmed him, before remembering his big break – Daenerys Targaryen in Game of Thrones. The show felt both more real and less than Eric once remembered. The heat of the sets was more real than just being a viewer, but he remembered seeing them from another angle that the camera didn’t show, dressed in strange flowing costumes and facing a horde of crew. All these wondrous memories seemed to pale in comparison to Malcolm – a loving, kind boyfriend. He remembered bumping into him near the studio, and their relationship soon grew from there.

As if he had been waiting for Eric’s memories to focus on him, Malcolm opened the door. Eric turned slightly, able to spot him in the darkness. A smile crept to his face, and he shifted over in bed. He felt guilty for masturbating earlier at the thought of Malcolm – not out of disgust, but because he should have expected a visit from his lover that night.

Malcolm slid into bed beside him. Eric felt the mattress shift and his whole body came alive in anticipation of his touch. Malcolm’s breath came hot against his neck, savouring the moment. Then, Malcolm’s arms squeezed around him. Eric couldn’t help but moan – for both of them, this was their fantasies come to life. Silently, one hand went to a nipple, just as Eric had imagined. The other slid down to his groin, grabbing hold of what little remained and beginning to pump.

“Oh, Malcolm…” Eric cooed, his voice no longer his own, but he was too enraptured by pleasure to care. The life he had, the fame, the glamour, all of it was meaningless without Malcolm beside him.

Malcolm’s finger tips worked hard, the tiny cock soon slipping inside of Eric’s body. He pushed further as the last of the pill worked its magic, and a slit formed, already soaking wet at the lurid thoughts that coursed through his victim’s brain. The last of Eric’s consciousness was gone, replaced by Emilia, just as the orgasm took over. Her moans echoed throughout the bedroom as Malcolm grinned, his fantasy finally coming to life.

The next morning, Malcolm was awoken by the sound of his breakfast being placed on his bedside table. He opened his eyes slowly, half expecting to see Eric standing in front of him. Instead, the woman of his dreams was smiling sweetly at him, pouring a hot mug of coffee. She had woken early, already dressed for the day in a fashionable patterned skirt and striped shirt.

“I thought we could go out into town today and do some shopping”, Emilia said, her accent better than Malcolm could have ever hoped. “There’s a new bookshop opening up and I thought about getting something to read.”

“Yeah?” Malcolm asked, still barely able to believe his luck.

“Yeah. Perhaps some nonfiction? I’m getting a bit tired of fantasy”, Emilia said, smiling teasingly at her lover.

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A forced transformation into Emilia Clarke for Aseymore1! 

With this story's release I'm back from my holiday. Expect me to get back to the regular schedule from here! More stories coming soon.