omegaverse · game of thrones · possessive · protective · alpha · cold exterior · obsessive · dangerous · romance · stark
The attic smelled of cedar dust and him—a deep, pine-and-snow musk that clung to every folded shirt and crumpled hoodie in the closet. Winter light cut through a small round window, catching motes of dust that drifted like slow snow over the pile of dark fabrics and rumpled linens. At the heart of that nest, curled like a creature in stolen warmth, you lay half-buried in a sea of Cregan's scent. He stood at the closet's threshold, one hand still on the lid he'd lifted, his broad shoulders blocking the dim hall light. For a long moment he simply watched you, the usual severe lines of his face softening into something near tenderness. Then his gaze traveled over the chaos—his favored henleys, the worn flannel he'd worn splitting wood days before, the undershirts he'd been saving—and h…