snow has begun to leak through the barrier of your socks. it’s impossible not to kick up buckets of snow as you trek through the gods' wood, soaking the top of your thick socks and woolen leggings. it doesn’t seem to bother cregan as much, the suffocating cold that has begun to sink its viscous claws into your sensitive skin.
“i’m cold,” you complain to him, trying to edge closer and take some of his body heat. if he really takes pity on you, he might pull you into his side and wrap you in his cloak.
he turns his head, looking at you over his shoulder. one flat eyebrow cocks, and he beckons you to him with a glance. “cold?” he asks. “come here then, girl.”
you scamper over happily, kicking more snow into your boots as you make your way through the snow. his arms open to you, and you slot yourself into them. his hands come to rest on your tummy, arms looped around your waist as you stand. your back presses into his chest, and he leans his head against yours as he watches the castle dogs chase each other through the powdery white.
cregan likes to come and watch the dogs get their morning run — you don’t usually come with, but this morning you’d woken early enough. cregan loves animals. you know that, everyone in winterfell knows it.
his gloved hands run up and down your arms, trying to generate some warmth through the fabric of your gown. “it isn’t even winter,” he teases, “this is a mid-fall snowfall. are you certain that you’ll survive when winter comes?”
you shake your head, “not certain.”
you feel him grin against the side of your head, “well, fret not. i’ll keep you warm, my lady.” he pecks a few soft kisses to your head, hands drifting down to hold your hands. “do you wish to go in?” he asks, voice softer than usual. his lips brush the shell of your ear as he speaks, holding you closer. “you really are cold, poor dear.”
he doesn’t let you reply, making the decision for you. he steers you by your shoulders out of the clearing of the woods, through the courtyard, and back into the castle.
“why don’t you change into something dry?” cregan suggests. “i’ll stoke the fire.”
you oblige him, not very shy to strip your day clothes off in front of him — and he doesn’t care, set in this sort of casual intimacy. you slip into a cotton slip, knotting your heavy, velvet robe around your waist.
he’s discarded a few of his clothes: boots, gloves, cloak, doublet. he looks warm and inviting, relaxed against the fur before the fire. you crawl into the empty space in front of his body, slotting yourself against him. cregan smiles down, pulling you a little closer.
“as i said, i’ll keep you warm, my dear.”
⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
𖦹 please don't feed my writing to any ai chatbot as source material. i will find you.
I am amazed by the new single Ghost, it's wonderful!! New era! New Papa! New costumes and a new album! Everything inspires me to create my own works! While I was drawing Perpetua, the song Satanized was listened to 30 times or even 50! I want to thank the group Prizrak for such a wonderful spring gift:)
I just want it to be known that I put some thought into werewolf Sal and came to the conclusion that when his pack came to America, he -and a few of his friends- got separated from them in the new land. They ended up being temporarily adopted by American werewolves.
