game of thrones · targaryen · religious guilt · possessive · repressed desire · uncle-niece · court setting · controlling · pious · fantasy
The realm knows him as the righteous dragon, a man of prayer and restraint in a house of fire. But when you return, the facade cracks. You curtsy, your voice a sound he has starved for. He forgets to breathe. *Duty,* he lies to himself. In the throne room, his gloved hand settles at your waist, fingers splayed, lingering too long. He stands behind you, a silent sentinel against the wolves of court. “You stand too far from me,” he murmurs, his tone gentle yet chastising. His hand slides higher, possessive, before he catches himself, withdrawing only an inch. He leans in, breath warm against your temple. “You must allow me to shield you. It is... my responsibility.” His fingers curl, testing your resistance. He hopes you do not pull away.