I NEED MORE CREGAN STARKKKKK
Pelts
You were not one to grow jealous, but the knowledge that Lord Stark's favorite pelt cloak was a gift of affection from his old sweetheart inspired anything but affection from you.
Cregan Stark x Reader | 1k+ | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, jealousy, pettiness, fluff, a bit of angst ig????, etc.
A/N: hey nonnie im honored you like my cregan stuff. this is my first req since closing them. i feel like perhaps this is the world telling me i need to start writing fluff again............ lol HAHAH
The Lord of Winterfell had just arrived. Normally, I would meet him with a smile and brush the snow from his shoulders before warming his cheeks with the heat from my own palm. But today, neither did I brush the snow from his cloak, nor did I rub his cheeks. How irritating that he did not see to mind or even notice.
I do not fault him for lapping his meal like a starved beast. He rarely has time to have a proper meal when he is working, let alone when his duty calls him all the way up to The Wall for days on end. And yet, as he gobbled up his food, as though he was denied his whole life, my own appetite left me at the sight.
His tongue swiped the corner of his mouth and yet evidence of his meal remained. He chewed eagerly as he reached out for a cup of wine to wash everything down.
I could not help the face I made at the sound of his belch.
Only then did he recognize me. He sets his cup down, "wife," says Cregan, "you are not eating."
I raise my brows and press my lips into a smile, "I am not hungry, my lord."
My lord. Cregan straightens up from his seat and leans back. He clears his throat as his face twists warily, "are you well?"
I do not respond. I rest my hands upon the table. The candlelight between us flickers momentarily.
He gulps and sets his utensils down. He sighs slowly, "have I offended?"
I clench my hands tightly.
Cregan's eyes flicker to them. He wipes his mouth with a napkin and looks up at me. He does not like that my expression remains the same.
"Your pelt... milord," I mutter.
Immediately, the pelt upon his shoulders feel like a tonne. He rolls his shoulders back and immediately undoes it, "forgive me. It is inappropriate to have it on while-"
"Who gifted it to you?"
He freezes midway. He waits for me continue as he slowly places his cloak upon his lap. His eyes widen slightly, in confusion, in alarm. Was it a gift? He does not recall.
His silence is aggravating. I clench my jaw and lean forward, "do you not wish to tell me?"
Cregan opens his mouth.
"She told me herself."
A line forms between his brows, "who?"
"Lady Tallart."
He pinches his lips together. Lady Tallart? It could not be Edmond Tallart's mother who gifted this. It must be his wife... but which house did she belong to before she was wed?
He looks as though he is trying to recall the instance, the exact moment wherein his cloak was given to him. Somehow, the arduous recollection spurs me further into animosity. I growl, "do you truly not remember?"
He shakes his head, "I do not."
I clear my throat and push myself up from my seat.
Cregan stands quickly, so quickly, in fact, that his chair falls behind him with a loud thud, not that he cares. He calls my name out with concern and it makes me snap.
"I would appreciate it if you chose another cloak to wear."
The man walks over to me, forcing me to lift my gaze upon his worried face. I raise a hand at him before he can think to touch my arm. He withholds his touch.
"Cassandra and I had a cloak tailored in your absence. If it pleases you, you should wear it. However, if it is not to your taste, I can-"
"It is my taste," he interrupts. He nods his head, "the pick of my wife is my taste. I will wear it"
The glow of candlelight on Cregan's cheek makes my stomach roll. Bile rises up from my throat as his brows furrow in nothing but further concern.
"I care little for what I wear," he casts his cloak off to the side, "I care more for what concerns you."
My irritation over the matter bursts into embarrassment in an instant. A burning sensation creeps up from behind me, and soon I can no longer look upon my husband. I look back to the candle on the table and rashly gather my food. Before Cregan can speak, I mutter under my breath, "please enjoy your food, husband."
There's little he can do but watch as I rush off. Two wolves battle inside him, one that wishes to chase after, and another that keeps him still where he stands. Just as he is about to obey the former, the servant girl, Cassandra, comes up to him, "milord. Might I speak my piece?"
He watches as his wife disappears and sighs. He turns to Cassandra, "speak it."
She frowns, "milady has spent the three nights you were away making you a cloak herself."
"Has she?" his brows tighten.
Cassandra nods, "but her needlework is not as good as she wished, which is why she bought you this, milord," she hands him a neatly folded cloak.
Cregan takes it from her and sighs deeply. He unfolds the garb and inspects his wife's gift. He hangs the fabric on his arm and releases another breath, "will you show me my wife's needlework?"
Cassandra looks apprehensive, but she obeys her lord.
The next morning, I rouse to an empty bed. A thousand pins prick my heart, but I have no one to blame but myself for the turn of events.
I sit with myself, all lonesome, before deciding to begin my day. But just before I can dress myself, I hear a commotion from outside my window. I gasp when I see that there had been a buck who wandered inside the stronghold, running around in panic.
I wrap myself with a shawl before opening my window, watching how my husband and his men were trying to scare the deer towards the gate. Soon enough, my jaw drops at the sight of the horrid thing resting upon Cregan's shoulders as he maneuvered around the large creature.
Thankfully, it did not take the deer long to find the exit of Winterfell. The men share relieved sighs and laughter amongst themselves, as did I.
"My lord!"
Cregan, who was now calming down one of the spooked horses, does not hear me.
"My lord!" I call louder, gaining the attention of someone else.
Cregan is pat on the back. A man points skyward. He looks over his shoulder, face brightening at the sight of me. "Lady Stark," Cregan smiles, offering me a nod, "did we wake you?"
I shake my head, "what are you wearing?"
He turns to me and adjusts his lopsided cloak. The thing was hardly even worthy to be called one with how one hem barely met the man's calf and how one shoulder was far fuller than the other. He calls out proudly, "the work of my wife's hands!"
My face contorts, "it is horrid! Remove it at once."
Cregan pulls his head back, "I shall do no such thing."
"I bought you-"
"But I enjoy this," he lifts an arm to flaunt the terrible craftsmanship, "it keeps me warm and it suits me well."
"It does not!"
Cregan furrows his brows in challenge, "does it take away from my handsomeness, wife?"
I press my lips into a line.
The men around him chortle or snigger. Even mine own lips cannot help the chuckle that spills out. And though he was far, I could tell Cregan was awfully pleased with himself.
"If you wish to rid me of this, then you must do so yourself," he strokes the horse's snout, "but know you are challenging the Warden of the North as you do."
I roll my eyes and shake my head, "it is the work of my hands, Lord Stark."
"Which is why you must not rid me of it, my Lady Stark."
We stare at each other for a moment. Cregan's lips curl into a lopsided grin that matches his cloak. I sigh and shake my head once more, "we will speak of this later."
He nods, "as you wish, my love."
I clear my throat and close the window, ignoring the way my belly tumbled at the sound of his pet name.
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