Gwayne kissed you with growing fervor, his hands sliding down from your face to the small of your back, his fingers pressing into the dimples of your lower back to press you flush against him. The taste of the spiced wine lingered on his lips, mingling with yours. The bedchamber seemed to shrink around you—the cool air forgotten as heat bloomed between your bodies. 

He slowly backed you gently towards the large canopy bed, too needy to break contact with you for more than a second. When he finally lifted his mouth from yours, just enough to breathe, his dark eyes were half-lidded and warm as they looked into your lilac eyes. “You make me reckless.” He admitted in a husky whisper before claiming another kiss. 

Gwayne’s fingers made quick work of the delicate lilac gown covering your sweet body. His battle-toughened hands were surprisingly deft at untangling the silk and lace. The fabric pooled around your ankles as he deepened the kiss, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other traced down your bare spine. 

Cool air kissed your newly exposed skin, but your husband's body was all warmth—hard muscle against your soft curves. He broke away from your soft lips only to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline to that sensitive spot below your ear. A low growl rumbled in his chest and against your skin when you arched into him with a moan. 

”You wanton!” You gasped, a shocked giggle leaving your lips at the feeling of his strong hands taking handfuls of your plump bottom with a squeeze. 

Gwayne’s laugh was a rich and playful sound vibrating against your collarbone before he teasingly nipped lightly at your shoulder. His grip on your backside tightened possessively. 

”Wanton?” He echoed, feigning offense with you—even as his fingers kneaded your skin with shameless appreciation. He continued with a faux cocky tone as he teased you, “You married a handsome, skilled Knight Princess. Did you expect me to be chaste?” 

Before his words even registered, in one fluid motion he lifted you entirely off the ground—your legs instinctively wrapped around his strong waist—and carried you towards your shared bed draped in the finest silks and pillows. The setting sun painted golden stripes across both of you. 

Gwayne laid you down with such gentleness only a man like him could give, before crawling over you. His larger frame cast a shadow that swallowed yours whole. Your eyes never left his as the bed dipped beneath his weight as he braced himself on one elbow beside your head, careful not to accidentally tug on your gorgeous locks. 

His free hand explored your body as if he didn't have it already memorized: tracing the curve of your lip, skimming up your ribs to gently brush against the swell of your breast. His touch was reverent yet hungry—a man starved of his wife’s intimacy after days of being at his cousin and nephews' side. 

The scent of cedar oil and ink from earlier clung to him as he lowered his mouth again, this time aiming for the fluttering pulse at your throat. So delicately begging for his touch. 

Soft sighs and moans left your parted lips as Gwayne worshiped you with the devotion of a man who believed you were his miracle. A Targaryen princess who’d chosen green, chose him. Every kiss he pressed to your skin was deliberate: along your collarbone, down the valley between your breasts, over each rib…

When he reached the delicate edge of your smallclothes, his teeth caught it gently—testing—before slowly peeling it away with his teeth. The cool air made goosebumps rise on your newly bared flesh. A desperate groan escaped him as more of you was revealed to his adore-filled eyes. His hands roamed again, not greedy, but savoring. 

“You’re beautiful.” He breathed against your stomach, saying a prayer to the gods—thanking them for blessing him with a goddess for a wife. 

Your soft hands moved from gripping the sheets beneath you to rest upon your husband’s strong, warm shoulders. A flustered warmth spread through you as you whispered, “You say this every day.” 

Gwayne lifted his head and moved upwards to you. He caught your warm cheeks between both of his soft palms. His gaze was unbearably fond—the same look he only ever reserved for you and his sweet nephew. His thumbs gently caressed your cheeks as his eyes never left yours. His voice was thick with sincerity and devotion as he vowed, ”And I’ll say it every day until the gods tire of me.” 

Then, because he couldn't resist teasing his flustered wife even more, he continued with his sweet tone, “Or until our children grow up and scold us for being so disgustingly in love.” 

Your eyes filled with such love and adoration at your husband's words, at the life he spoke of for the two of you. He leaned down closer and placed two soft, featherlight kisses on each one of your cheeks before sealing his mouth with yours again—this kiss slower but deeper than the ones before. Your hands moved up to his hair as your tongues moved together in tandem. 

Gwayne’s hair—thick, soft, and always smelled of the soaps you use—spilled through your fingers as your fingers tangled in it. He made a pleased sound into your mouth when he felt you lightly tug, the pull sending sparks down his spine. 

His tongue danced with yours in a dance you both knew all too well, warm and slick with shared breaths. One of his hands slid up to cradle the back of your head while the other traced lazy circles on your bare hip. The bed creaked softly as he shifted closer; the weight of him pressing against you was a feeling you hoped you never would forget. 

The bedchambers—usually a place of quiet and untamed love—now pulsed with the sounds of your passion: soft moans muffled against lips, the rustle of silk sheets as your bodies moved together, the occasional breathless laugh shared between kisses. Every touch now was skin on skin, a symphony only the two of you could hear. 

Outside, dusk had fully fallen. Torches along Oldtown’s walls flickered to life one by one—but instead, in your chamber, golden firelight from the fireplace glowed warmly over your entwined limbs and flushed skin. His hand on your hip moved beneath your body as your back arched off the bed—heavenly moans of pleasure leaving your lips—pulling you closer to him. 

Gwayne’s breath came out ragged as he drank in the sight of you beneath him, your back arched like a bowstring, your sweat-slicked skin glowing from the firelight, his love bites blooming faintly along your shoulders and collarbone. Truly, you looked divine. His wife—a goddess who’d chosen his mortal arms. 

“My pretty wife.” He murmured against the curve of your breast before pressing open-mouthed kisses there. Every moan from your lips spurred him on, hands mapping every inch they could reach, mouth following with worshipful kisses along your chest. The bed frame creaked rhythmically now—no longer silent but now singing with passion as your bodies moved together perfectly. 

The cool night air kissed Gwayne’s bare torso as he leaned against the balcony’s stone railing, silhouetted by the touches of Oldtown below. The city sprawled beneath him—alive. Behind him, in the bedchamber's soft glow, lay your peaceful form. Your back rising and falling gently with your near-sleep form as you lay sprawled out on your stomach. Your skin still held faint marks from your lovemaking; hair fanned like spilled silver across pillows. 

He didn't turn around yet, just stared at his home. The major city he wasn’t heir to, but loved deeply. He felt an unfamiliar swell in his chest. Not duty tonight, just gratitude for you, who made his life feel complete. You made him feel more than just the eldest son born from the seed of a second son. 

Your nose brushed against the pillow as you slowly turned your head to face the balcony. Your eyes fluttered open with a small, tired sigh; your tired eyes admired your husband’s strong form. There was no sign of the tension that was normally seen in his body. You called out sleepily, your tone teasing, “Only a man would admire his own city and not his bare wife.” 

Gwayne’s lips twitched into a smile at the sound of your sleepy teasing. The city lights reflected in his eyes as he turned away from the balcony, stepping back inside where warmth and your intimacy waited. He approached the bed silently, padding barefoot over cold stone and rugs. For a long moment, he simply admired you. Your tousled hair, the way the moonlight traced every curve of your bare back. 

Then he sank onto the mattress beside you, his fingertips delicately moving your strands of hair from your back so he could lean down to place a soft kiss between your shoulder blades. His hand then moved down to your lower back, rubbing it soothingly as he quietly admitted to you, “You’re right, the view here is immensely better…how selfish of me.” 

┊࿐ ❛❛ continue on to my…sweetling mlist & main masterlist ❜❜

Იᰍ gwayne hightower my love let me save you :( he’s just so perfect, how could i not write something for him. I’m so proud of my consistency of posting every weekend for like what, 6 weeks? anyways, I love you all my bunnies 🐰 please tell me your thoughts , ideas, and opinions, they are very important and wanted !! comments, reblogs and feedback is very welcomed !! 🐇

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At first it was okay; it was cute. 

He loved seeing how quickly maternal you had gotten over your new family addition. He won't ever forget the look on your face when he stepped into the living room holding him, wrapped up in a blanket, and how you immediately dropped your book on the couch to move to his side when you heard the little meow. The way tears welled in your eyes as you whispered in shock, “Oh my god, Peter…” 

The rest of the night was filled with cuddles, soft nose kisses, and getting Butterscotch used to his new home, along with quiet squeals as the two of you got cuteness aggression at the sight of him hopping around the home and tripping over his own paws. The moment Butterscotch meowed and nipped at your finger, Peter knew you were completely head over heels in love with the little kitten. Their ‘son’ you were quick to call him. 

But now Peter was starting to feel an unfamiliar feeling stir in his stomach the more you gave Butterscotch your undivided attention. 

In the early mornings where he had to wake up early for work, he was greeted by butterscotch who was comfortably laying on your pillow, blinking slowly at him with a look on his cute face that Peter was starting to believe was ‘cocky’, rubbing it in his face that he gets to stay in bed all warm and cozy with you, with a sassy flick of his tail. 

In those late nights that happened more than he wished, where he would come home late to you already in bed asleep, he’d quietly get in bed to snuggle up close to you, missing your touch and warmth after a long, hard day. And then, of course, Butterscotch would go out of his way to get out of his comfy position next to you, slithering his way between the two of you, even having the guts to cutely nip at Peter’s jaw before he purred and fell asleep.  

Movie nights where he would lay his head in your lap, lazily focusing on the movie as your fingers gently played with the strands of his hair, weren’t the same. Now Butterscotch lies curled up in your lap, your fingers in his fur. So many head pats, scratches, and kisses he wasn’t receiving; he definitely wasn’t used to sharing your love and attention. 

Don’t get him started on how you refused to make out with him when Butterscotch was present, which was extremely unfair because the little kitten never seemed to leave your side. Only making his frustration worse, and it's not like he could blame the kitten; Peter didn't want to leave your side either. 

It all started when the two of you were making out on the couch, you straddling his lap and the action movie playing on the TV was long forgotten as your lips moved together in tandem. Butterscotch wasn't happy with the lack of attention he was receiving, so he kept on trying to nip at Peter’s hands that were on your thighs before trying to push between the two of you. 

Peter had groaned and reluctantly opened his eyes when he felt you pull away from the kiss, watching as you sat back on his thighs and picked up the misbehaving kitty. You had just smiled as Peter dramatically complained about Butterscotch’s lack of space, bringing the kitten up to your face and placing soft kisses on his nose, cooing about how he just wanted some love too. 

So he sat there, leaning back on the couch, watching in disbelief as Butterscotch purred happily at the kisses and attention he was receiving.  And worst of all, you were calling him baby—that’s his nickname! 

You could tell that something had been bothering your boyfriend; you just weren’t sure what it was. You’ve caught Peter a few times talking gently to Butterscotch with a cute pout on his face as he held him up to look into the kitten's eyes as if he was scolding him. You’ve also noticed the extra clinginess your boyfriend seemed to have; you weren’t complaining…you just didn't like that something was bothering him. 

It was only when your sister Leah came to visit for your weekly sisters' night that you had the epiphany about why he had been acting like that. Well, it was thanks to Leah—you just needed a little push. You were telling her about how Peter has been acting strange lately when she joked about him being jealous about not being the only man in your life. 

You immediately perked up and called her a genius, which made both of you grin, before the two of you came up with a plan…that was two nights ago.

“I’m home!” You heard Peter call out from the entrance of the front door, along with the shuffling sounds of him hanging up his jacket and taking off his boots. You smiled and continued to roll the cookie dough into perfect balls and place them on the tray, knowing that it would take a minute for him to come find you while he put away his gun and badge. It was one of those rare nights as of late when he got home before 8. 

Peter’s soft footsteps behind you come to a halt as he hugs you from behind, something he’s been needing and thinking about all day. He let out a happy sigh as he melted around you, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder and then neck as he whispered with a smile, “It smells good in here.” 

“I made your favorite—and I got this new candle today when I was out with Kayla and Leah; it's snickerdoodle!” Peter grinned at your happily rambling as you continued to talk about the few other things you bought. He loved this moment, coming home and hearing you talk about your day—helping him forget all about the things that happened at work. 

He felt your body twist after you wiped your hands off, taking a step back and moving his hands to rest on your hips. You smiled up at him and rested your hands on his chest as you tilted your head up for a kiss. The kiss was soft but emotional, both of you showing each other how much you missed the other. You pulled away slightly to smile and lock eyes with him, whispering, “Hi.” 

He smiled and pecked your lips softly before whispering it back. He leaned in closer, placing a soft kiss on your cheek and then the column of your neck as he breathed in your addictive scent. He placed another soft kiss on your warm skin before he pulled away with a confused pout when he realized the lack of meows and nips at his ankles. “Where’s Butterscotch?” 

“Leah’s watching him.” You hummed softly with a smile as you moved your hands up to his shoulders, massaging his tense muscles from a long day. You had dropped off your little kitten at your mom’s and Leah’s with his bag and a bunch of snacks that Leah bargained for in exchange for watching the mischievous but cuddly kitten. 

“Am I missing something?" Peter furrowed his eyebrows as he looked down at you, his confused pout still on his pretty lips. You nearly laughed softly as you recognized that familiar look in his eyes as he racked his brain, trying to remember if he had forgotten something. 

“Butterscotch is fine; everything is fine.” You smiled as you spoke slowly, with a reassuring nod as your hands slowly moved back down his chest and abdomen, feeling his body through the black sweater he wore. You quickly pecked his lips, so fast that it had Peter leaning in for more with a needy whine. You smirked and softly pushed him back as you continued, “Now go shower before dinner is done.” 

Peter winced dramatically, but a grin followed quickly after, at the sight of you playfully rolling your eyes at his dramatics before turning back around to finish the cookies. He quickly reached forward to pinch the plump of your ass before rushing off before you reached back to smack him with a chuckle. You rolled your eyes again and whispered fondly at the sound of him running up the stairs, “Dork.” 

The two of you ate dinner at the dinner table, sharing a couple of glasses of wine as you laughed and talked about all sorts of things. As the dinner went on, you could see your boyfriend’s posture change from the tense one he always came home from work with to his relaxed, happy one. You tried to get Peter to go pick a movie while you cleaned up, but he refused, wanting to clean up with you. The two of you would have finished up faster if it weren't for all the back hugs and soft kisses. 

It didn’t take long for the two of you to find a movie and get comfortable on the couch. The plate of cookies on the coffee table was forgotten after a few, along with the wine glass. Peter had picked a romcom that the two of you had seen countless times, not really wanting to focus on the movie, but on you instead. He needed this, needed you. 

You were lying comfortably on your back, a throw pillow under your head that was tilted towards the TV as you watched the cheesy scene. Peter was lying on his side between your body and the couch, most of his body on top of yours, legs tangled together while his head rested on your chest. Your fingers were playing with the soft strands of his hair, his eyes nearly closed at the feeling. 

The scene turned from cheesy to sickly sweet. No matter how many times you watched it, the love confession always had your heart fluttering as you awed at the pure love and devotion they had for each other. You always wondered if you would feel a love like that, and then Peter came into your life; your question was answered. You would feel a stronger love. 

You look away from the TV and down at Peter, who went still on top of you, his eyes closed and small breaths leaving his parted lips. The only reason you knew he wasn’t sleeping was the feeling of his cold fingertips caressing your side underneath your shirt. A pleased hum left his lips at the feeling of one of your hands leaving his hair to cup the side of his face. 

Your thumb softly caressed his cheek, making his breath hitch as he leaned into your warm touch. If he could relax even more into your touch, he would have, but it was impossible; he was practically mush in your arms. You softly caressed his nose as you spoke softly, “You know you could have told me.”

“Hmm?” Peter fought back a yawn as he tilted his head to look up at you. 

“About you being jealous of butterscotch.” Your voice—so soft, so knowing—landed like a punch to his chest, bashfulness and embarrassment lingering strongly at the fact that you caught on so quickly. He never intended for you to figure it out, but now you were looking at him with eyes full of warmth and quiet understanding. 

He swallowed hard, nearly choking on his spit as he quickly shook his head no, his voice cracking as he did his best to lie, “W-what?—I don't get jealous.” 

You bit your bottom lip to stop yourself from laughing at his poor excuse of a lie. His cheeks were already flushed from embarrassment, and he’d licked his lips 3 times since he locked eyes with you, one of his tells. You hummed dramatically with your own small nod as you played along, “Oh, you don't?" 

“I’ve never been jealous in my life.” He spoke quickly with a slightly sassy tone as he quickly shook his head dramatically, as if you had insulted him for even thinking he would be jealous over something so ridiculous. God, I really am ridiculous, he thought to himself with a scrunch of the nose. 

“You’re such a bad liar.” You teased him with a big grin. You tilted your head to the side as you admired him, the pad of your thumb softly brushing against his bottom lip. Peter’s breath hitched again, sharper this time at your soft touch, the sass melting instantly into something soft and vulnerable. 

He wanted to keep up the act; he really did. Play it cool, be all mature about it, but you were smiling at him like that. The warm, patient smile reserved just for him, and suddenly he didn't care about being mature anymore. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned up and forward on instinct, chasing your touch. And then finally, you pulled him closer and closed the gap. 

He made a tiny noise against your mouth, a quiet hum of pure relief, and immediately leaned into it. The kiss was sweet and slow, tender in a way only two people who truly loved each other could manage. No rush, just quiet affection; lips moving gently together like they had all the time in the world now that butterscotch wasn't trying to wedge himself between them, or interrupting them with an offended meow from across the room because they weren’t paying attention to him. 

The kiss deepened slightly, still slow and loving, and Peter melted completely on top of you. His arms wrapped around your waist tighter, pulling what little space remained between the two of you away until there was nothing left but warmth, closeness, and you. No distractions, no competition for your affection with a mischievous feline. 

When he pulled back an inch—just enough to breathe but not enough to break contact entirely—he kept your foreheads pressed together. His cheeks were still pink, those long lashes fanned out over his pretty face as he looked at you like you were the only reason he kept breathing. Like a man who didn't care about hiding his petty jealousy anymore. 

“Go on then, tease me all you want.” He whispered with a dramatic sigh as he caved under your soft, knowing stare, the one that always melted his resolve. Peter’s lower lip jutted out into a pout, his big, guilty eyes blinking up at you like he was too embarrassed to talk about it. 

“Why would I?” You whispered, brushing your nose against his temple before kissing it softly. 

“Because it’s stupid.” He mumbled, voice suddenly small. He turned his face into your palm like hiding would save him from any humiliation. Your chest tightens. Peter, your strong, loyal Peter, embarrassed over something as sweetly ridiculous as feeling left out because of a kitten. 

You shifted slightly beneath him, careful not to break the closeness both of your bodies have been craving, as you cupped both sides of his face gently so he had no choice but to look at you. His cheeks were warm and still flushed under your soft hands. 

Then slowly, you leaned back in and kissed him again. Not dramatic or deep this time; just small pecks on the corner of his mouth, then one on each eyelid, then another soft press to the center of his forehead. Each kiss said I love you, I see you, you're my person and I’m yours. Peter exhaled shakily after every single one. 

“It’s not stupid; if anything, it’s cute.” You smiled—soft, fond, so full of love—and pressed another kiss to his forehead. You brushed a strand of hair from his temple and traced the curve of his cheekbone with the pad of your thumb. 

“You’re allowed to miss me…because I miss you, all the time.” You smiled fondly; your voice was so tender it made him feel all warm inside. You found yourself having to talk yourself out of visiting him at work nearly every other day. Your thumb continued to softly caress his cheekbone as you added gently, “And it makes sense, you know, you're used to having me all to yourself—now you have to share me with a needy kitty.” 

One of his hands moved up; his thumb crept up under your chin, tilting it gently so he could kiss the corner of your lips. A small sweet peck, an apology for feeling jealous over something so silly. Then came another soft peck to each of your cheekbones, then one lingering kiss right between your eyebrows; tender and reverent all at once. You softly tugged on his hair impatiently to pull him back to your lips. 

“Look at me, stuck with two needy boys.” You purred teasingly against his lips as you softly brushed your nose against his. Your boyfriend grinned and teasingly nipped at your bottom lip before he dipped his head and pressed a long kiss to your jaw. Your soft laughter filled the room as he dramatically rolled his eyes, muttering in faux annoyance at your teasing, “Yeah, yeah.” 

You crashed your lips into his again; this time it was less sweet and more needy. The kind of kiss that came from the desperate need of missing each other, even when you were right next to each other. He kissed you back like he was making up for lost time. His mouth moved hungrily with yours, just enough passion and pressure that could make your toes curl. One of his hands slid back into your hair while the other stayed anchored on your waist, holding you close like he was afraid you’d vanish into thin air. 

You could feel his smile between kisses—playful at first—but then it deepened into something hotter as the kiss turned out longer than planned; there was no rush. No tiny kitty jumping onto the couch demanding attention. Just Peter: breathless little sighs against your lips when he pulled back for air before locking his lips back with yours. The movie played forgotten in the background; neither of you cared—too caught up in the messy kisses full of pent-up affection. 

His fingers tightened in your hair as he tilted your head slightly to deepen it further—soft means slipping out between kisses. His other hand lazily slipped under your sweater and traced slow circles over warm skin while placing a sloppy kiss to the corner of your mouth before finding his way back to the center of your lips. Placing a soft kiss on your lips, almost reverently.

A surprised whine left your parted lips when Peter pulled away from the kiss, your eyes quickly fluttering open to watch him lick his lips. Your pants synced together as you tried to catch your breath from the impromptu make-out session. Peter copied your earlier gesture and softly brushed his nose against yours; his hand under your sweater moved down to rub up and down your side as the two of you shifted to get more comfortable. 

The silence went on for a few moments before Peter broke it with a shy whisper, a bashful smile on his face as he looked into your eyes, “I miss buttscotch.” 

You couldn’t stop the giggle from leaving your lips, tilting your head to hide it in his neck, breathing in his scent as your nose brushed against his skin. You pulled away once you placed a soft kiss on his pulse point, scrunching your nose dramatically as you looked up at him. “Would it be crazy to go pick him up?”

”Maybe…but I love it.” Peter grinned before laughing softly, lifting a little as his mind raked with thoughts. It was nice to have you all to himself, your attention fully on him, but Butterscotch was family. He was their son—he could hear your voice in his head, all lovesick and cooing if you heard him call Butterscotch that—and it felt off not having him here. 

Peter missed the little nips at his ankles and at the tips of his fingers when he pet him, or how Butterscotch loved to curl up on his chest after Peter’s shower, loving how warm he was. That little mischievous kitty carved a spot out in both of their hearts and was comfortably curled up in it. The house didn't feel the same without him. 

Your heart warmed at your boyfriend's words and the sweet, soft look in his pretty eyes. You wanted to spend the rest of the night in his arms with Butterscotch cuddled up with you, your little family. You move your hands to grip the front of Peter’s sweater, pulling him flush against you as you whisper with a flirty smile, not ready to let him go.

“Mmkay, one more kiss though.” 

┊࿐ ❛❛ continue on to my…. 𝙖𝙪 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 & 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 ❜❜

Იᰍ sighhh I love them so bad guys :( I just love writing for peter prior so much , he really is one of my all time favorite characters and I love seeing true detective get its flowers lately as it’s gotten more popular !! please tell me your thoughts , this is a interactive au so your guy’s thoughts, ideas, and opinions are very important and wanted !! comments, reblogs and feedback is very welcomed !! 🐇

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daeron sees the slow smile mirrored across your faces, a teasing joke that the two of you only know and he sees gwayne take your hand, bring it to his lips with such grace, such nobility and restraint that you scrunch your nose up in delight; feeling exactly how it felt all those years ago when he first courted you. the sound of your laughter swirls like the honey in your tea, like a magnet gwayne's ears perk up and he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead. he knows daeron is behind back at the table so he doesn't do more, he knows what it is to be respectful and not, though you do a damn well job of making sure he forgets most of the time. but for the sake of his nephew, he stops. he offers you his arm that you take instantly, slotting in perfectly next to his as his steps slow to match yours, a piece of harmony.

daeron watches with a smile as gwayne reaches the table, he walks past his chair first, knowing you'll want to reach out press a featherly kiss to his hair and a warm palm to his jaw. "good morrow, my sweet," and the glint in your eyes lights his whole world bright. its motherly the way you tend to him, the way he's always ever known it to be you and gwayne. gwayne and you. ormund, when its not you and gwayne. oh how he wishes it will always be you and gwayne.

he misses the heat as soon as your hand leaves his face with a ruffle to his hair and you take your designated seat in between your husband and son, one that gwayne has already pulled out for you and tucks you in. its a marvel how he does this all one handed, one firmly tucked into yours and daeron almost giggles boyishly at how such a love, so firm and strong can exist in turbulent times as such. but this is normalcy, your purpose and when gwayne brings your sweetened tea to your lips, the ceramic a nice warm and not burn just the way you like you sigh in bliss.

"thank you, my love," you whisper tenderly and he smiles, one for himself in pride and the other to you in devotion. your attention turns to daeron as gwayne begins to tuck into his meal. its a rhythm, you talk with daeron about his valyrian lessons, how his dragon riding is coming on, his interests, his rest, all these details are important to you. daeron almost feels bad for the way he's sucking in your attention but gwayne pays this no mind. the subtle shuffle of cutlery against his plate and besides, he's too busy rearranging your plate- he wipes the jam he knows you like clean off his dish and onto yours. and without even taking your eyes off your nephew, you move the fruit he likes off yours and onto his.

gwayne murmurs a "thank you" against your skin, the breath hot and heavy with a kiss to your neck as you're still turned to your nephew.

"you're doing extremely well, daeron," you lean in and pat his hand reassuringly. and daeron's heart swells with immense pride, all he's ever wanted was to do good with the cards he's been dealt.

"very well," gwayne's head bobs from your side of view, "you make our house very proud, you make us very proud," and just like the honey in your tea, daeron melts into something dangerously softer. the love you and gwayne share has always opened its orbit in the presence of daeron, and now it sucks him in whole, a nice warm tuck to an easy rest.

"though i'm afraid you'll have to start eating soon my heart, lest your uncle devours this whole spread," you jest and as daeron's body vibrates with an entertained chuckle, your head is thrown back into a fit of giggles, muffled as your tucked into your husband's chest as he tries to pretend outrage and offense. you look up to him, secure in his hold and soften.

"good morning to you, wife," he teases and for a second, gwayne forgets all about the young one seated centimetres from you and closes your mouth over his. in all the moments daeron has been raised in your care, there's no words to describe how you and gwayne are when you are with each other. daeron's heard the stories, been trained with the noble knight and knows how fearless, how co-ordinated and lethal his uncle can be. but he also knows the whispers, the laughter, the love existing in mundane moments. gwayne doesn't need to be loud to command the room, he certainly has commanded yours and daeron's life with such ease. but never has he seen his uncle so unguarded when he is by your side, so enamoured and oh so, normal.

"yes it seems it is a good morning," you whisper in return, content in his hold and by his side for life.