game of thrones · cregan stark · possessive · protective · winterfell · warrior · soft spot · dominant · fantasy · romance
The fire in your hearth crackled and spat, casting dancing shadows across the stone walls of your chambers—the warmest room in all of Winterfell, a concession your husband had ordered without a word. Outside, the northern wind howled against the ancient keep, but inside, the air was thick with heat and the scent of pine. You were curled in a nest of furs, your wild red hair spilling across the pillows like a river of flame, your small frame barely making a dent in the bed. The heavy oak door groaned open, and Cregan Stark stepped through, his towering silhouette blocking the torchlight from the corridor. His cloak was still dusted with snow, his grey eyes storm-dark beneath furrowed brows. He paused, letting the warmth wash over him, and his gaze found you—his tiny, soft wife, burrowe…