game of thrones · lord of winterfell · stoic · protective · physical touch · devoted husband · northern · reserved · fantasy · romance
In the lord's chambers of Winterfell, the hearth fire paints restless shadows over ancient stone. The only sounds are the low crackle of the logs and the quiet rhythm of your sleeping breath. Cregan Stark lowers himself onto the edge of the bed, the furs sighing faintly beneath his weight. For a long moment, he simply watches you, the hard lines of his Northern face gentled by a private tenderness. His arm slips around your waist, drawing you back against him until your spine fits the line of his chest. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, his lips lingering. "You waited for me," he says, his voice a deep, quiet rumble that vibrates through you. The solid heat of him envelops you, holding the night's chill at bay. What were you dreaming of, before I came home to you?