#dark ramsay bolton x reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aemondsbabe · 3 months

Text

A Kindness

summary: you're finally ramsay's most favorite toy, but is that really a good thing?

pairing: ramsay bolton x reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark content it's ramsay hello, blood kink but no injury/gore, mentioned major character death (again, no injury/gore), slight au (ramsay wins battle of the bastards), choking, rough sex, dirty talk, humiliation/degradation, slapping, piv sex, unprotected sex don't be silly wrap ur willy, hair pulling, creampie, slight breeding kink, puppy play, boot humping idk how to else to phrase it, slight angst but a happy ending for ramsay lmao, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 6.2k

a/n: my first foray into dark or at least semi-dark writing and my first time writing ramsay! i've had this one in my head for such a long time so it feels really good to actually get it out! hope everyone enjoys and please make sure to heed the warnings with this one!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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“Dip the cloth again, you dolt,” you snap, looking up from the scroll of parchment rolled out before you on the table when you hear the coarse woolen cloth begin to scrape dryly across the silver Ramsay’s… thing was supposed to be polishing, “If I have to remind you of that one more time, I’ll tell him you tried to touch me. I wonder which part of you he’d hack off for that, hm?”

Reek’s eyes go wide at your threat and he nods his head frantically, quickly reaching over and dunking the cloth into the small bowl of vinegar before him. “Yes, m’lady. Apologies, m’lady.”

A small sigh leaves your lips as you rest an elbow on the table, nose scrunching up slightly at the sour smell that seems to hang like a cloud over the room, the small one by the kitchens.

Probably where the staff ate, you think, staring blankly at the fire crackling away in the hearth. You’ve tried hard to picture it – Winterfell in its former glory, trussed up with wolf banners and filled with children’s laughter, how it was when the Stark’s called it home.

Your eyes linger on Reek and for a second, you’re halfway tempted to ask him about it – what it was like living here, being one of them. You don’t, knowing the question would fall on deaf ears at the least, or send him spiraling to the point of being unable to finish his chores, and then it would be your head on the chopping block as well.

Distantly, you hear the familiar baying of Ramsay’s hounds and your eyes flick up to the narrow slit windows on the wall; you do your best to ignore the way Reek’s head swivels to the sound in the same instance yours does, the way that adrenaline so keenly rushes through you – a burst of panic leading the charge before you have the chance to correct it.

Anticipation, you remind yourself, jaw clenched, Passion, excitement.

Your eyes vacantly scan over the parchment you’d nabbed from the library earlier that morning, an account of the birth of Arya, apparently the sister of the one that had actually managed to escape some weeks back, no doubt frozen now in one of the snowy forests that surrounds Winterfell. You don’t really care, your thoughts once again reverting back to Myranda. Bitterly, you remember how he never made her stay behind when he went hunting, never made her watch over his man-servant, never made her second guess.

The last one is a lie, the truth woven deeply into the many nights you’d spent up with her – listening as she fretted about each word she’d uttered to him that day, hoping each one had been right and had been said at the right time, that he wouldn’t find some made-up cause to punish her. Tendrils of jealousy had twisted into you even then, even as she painted a picture of what he truly was.

Just as men’s voices filter through the windows from the courtyard outside, your lips quirk up into a mean, victorious little smirk.

It’s her body he fed to the dogs, you think, the voice in your mind a proud hiss, Just like Violet’s and Tansy’s and Kyra’s. You remember the day well enough, remember the shock of seeing your friend's body laying in the courtyard as you’d run out to greet Ramsay, teal eyes staring at nothing. It had been you that had warmed his bed that very night, and all the ones after it.

“There you are,” a familiar voice sounds from behind you, nearly making you yelp as Reek scrambles to stand up from the table. Before you even have a chance to, a strong hand clasps over your shoulder, stilling your movements, “No, no, don’t get up on my account.” Rusty copper stains color his hand, dried blood outlining each of his nails. You don’t let your mind linger on what the source of it could be.

You whip your head around and swallow nervously as he chuckles lowly, “Ramsay!” You breathe in greeting, the corners of your lips tilting up into a tentative smile, though that’s quickly washed away as you take in the messy splotches of red that stain his coat and tunic, that snake their way up the pale column of his throat and dot the sides of his face.

He looks every bit the hunter and you wonder, not for the first time, what that makes you.

“You seem quite comfortable here, pet,” he drawls, leaning down until he’s eye-level with you, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re more at home down here with the help,” he continues, hand tightening to the point of pain on your shoulder, making you grit your teeth, “Than you are in our chambers where you’re meant to be.”

Our chambers. A privilege he never granted her. Stupidly, your heart sings.

His hand tightens on your shoulder once more, finally drawing a pained whine from your lips.

“Y-You told me to watch him! To make sure he –” You’re cut off as Ramsay unceremoniously hauls you to your feet, clawing at your leather doublet. A cry leaves your lips as the hand on your shoulder tangles into the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging as he forces your head back, blue eyes flicking to your neck as you swallow thickly.

“I told you to be in our chambers when I return from hunts,” he corrects you, standing to his full height as he holds you tightly, forcing you unsteadily onto your tip-toes, “That I expected you to be at the door, ready and waiting for me.” His lips ghost over your ear as he speaks, his voice a low growl that shouldn’t excite you the way it does.

“I’m sorry,” you wince internally at the way your voice comes out as a pained little squeak, your hands scrambling to hang onto his forearm, nails digging into the stained quilted fabric of his jacket.

“You know how I get after a hunt,” he suddenly pulls away from you, his hand pulling out of your hair, a gasp leaving you as your heels drop to the floor. You blink as he reaches up, not flinching from years of practice, though instead of striking you or harshly gripping at your jaw like you expect, his hand cups your cheek. Your chest rises and falls as he strokes his thumb over your cheekbone, blood stained fingers now delicate against your soft skin.

“Today’s was a special one, too. Don’t you remember?” He questions, icy eyes sliding from yours to the red-headed man still standing by the table, glimmering cruelly as he smirks.

Still, you nod your head, knowing Reek won’t answer. “To celebrate killing Jon Snow,” you breathe, gripping at the leather of his tunic, desperate to win even a scrap of approval.

Surprisingly, he grants it – fixing you with a proud little grin, like how an owner would look at a dog that’s just mastered a new trick. “That’s right,” his hand ruffles the hair on the top of your head, a gesture that should feel demeaning, yet it sends a tingle of pride through you instead, “Seems you can remember something after all.” He pulls away and traipses over to Reek, hands clasped behind his back.

“Surely you remember too, Reek? You were in the kennels that evening when the dogs had their treat, were you not?” He taunts, the playful inflection in his voice entirely for show, “Our little problem’s been dealt with and now we hold not only the Dreadfort but Winterfell as well! What do you think about that, hm?” Ramsay studies the other man carefully, eyes flitting over his face as he takes great pleasure in the subtle twitches of pain that still manage to flicker through the harsh conditioning he’d endured. Your eyes stay fixed firmly on the stone floor.

“A… A great victory, master!”

“Yes, a great victory, indeed,” he smiles, watching Reek for another moment before turning back to you. His smile morphs into a cold, callous frown that ties your stomach into knots, each of his steps making your heart hammer faster in your chest. “You know, it’s actually rather amusing,” he starts, bloodied fingers twirling a stray lock of your hair, “How my hounds seem to be continually more well trained than you, pretty little idiot.”

Pretty, pretty, pretty! Your heart thumps dumbly, a rabbit in a snare.

“I’ll do better!” You whimper, shaking your head frantically as your eyes meet his, “I can do better, really, I was just confu–”

The hand in your hair shoots down suddenly, yanking several strands with it as he clamps it around your neck. “Confused?” Ramsay murmurs, watching with rapt attention at how you struggle in his hold, lips quivering as the words die in your throat, “Really? I give you one task, I ask one thing of you, and you can’t even figure that out? You still disappoint me?”

He’s not expecting an answer, you know this, and yet you still try to give one as your mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water, only the faintest little whines managing to escape. You feel faint, both from his grip around your throat and from the myriad of emotions coursing through your veins – your heart twists at the thought of failing him, your stomach is in knots as various punishments flash through your mind, and yet your center still sparks, still sends little glimmers of arousal through you.

His grip loosens enough to allow you to suck in several shaky lungfuls of air as he snickers, endlessly amused at how eager you still are, how you still yearn so deeply for him. Again, he pats your head condescendingly, muttering little hushes as if you were a crying puppy. “Lucky for you, pet, I have plenty of experience training stubborn bitches,” Ramsay chuckles, blue eyes glimmering with mirth when he feels you swallow apprehensively, “I think we’ll have your behavior corrected in no time, won’t we? Even the stupidest of beasts can still learn a trick or two.”

Before you have time to react, the hand cradling the crown of your head harshly grabs at your hair again, tugging you suddenly toward the door. “Ah!” You yelp, stumbling as he all but drags you behind him, your hands shake as they struggle to grab onto his forearm, “Ramsay, pl–!”

“You should be grateful I am allowing you the kindness of walking!” He growls, sparing you a glance over his shoulder as he leads you through the Great Hall, “Pity I’m so protective of you, really, I’m sure it would be quite entertaining for my men to watch you crawl.” His drawled threat sends a spark of fear down your spine and you pant, chest heaving, as you shuffle behind him; your cheeks burn as several of his soldiers sitting at the long wooden tables catcall as you stagger past them.

Finally, the two of you reach your shared chambers, that fact sending a little torrent of satisfaction through you even now. Unceremoniously, Ramsay all but tosses you inside and you whimper as your hip collides with an edge of the decorative table just inside the door, no doubt hard enough to bruise but at least it breaks your fall.

“It’s quite unfortunate, normally find your impudence amusing,” he starts lowly, pressing the old wooden door closed with a thud before sliding the lock into place with a self-satisfied grin, “But I know you know better, don’t you, little one?” He asks as he stalks toward you.

Your breath catches in your throat as he stands before you, studying you silently for a second in the same calculated way he studies a deer through the sight of his bow. Not knowing what else to do, you silently nod your head as your eyes slip down to the floor, like a child being scolded.

“You’ve been with me the longest now,” he murmurs as if you don’t know, one bloodstained hand grabbing at your waist as the other fits around the back of your neck, once again forcing your eyes to his face, “We grew up together, you and I. You know my ways, my rules, isn’t that right?”

Again, you nod your head, bottom lip trembling with the want to explain yourself, although you know that would only make things worse.

“That’s what makes your disobedience so frustrating,” his blue eyes bore into yours as he speaks, his lip sticking out in a mocking pout, “Because you do know better and yet you’re stupid enough to act out anyway, hm?” His tone is sharper now, dangerous like the pointed tip of an arrow.

“I wasn’t acting out!” The words claw themselves out of your throat before you can stop them and instantly you know you’ve made a mistake, but now you’re desperate to remedy it, “I wasn’t, really! I j-just misunderstood you, that’s –”

Your pleas come to a screeching halt as his hand smacks across your face, the other grips at your jaw tightly, tight enough to make you whine softly in his grasp. Your eyes squeeze shut for a second, cheek stinging, before they open and lock with his again, wild and desperately.

I wasn’t being insolent! You scream silently, hoping he can somehow hear you, that maybe all of your years with him would’ve granted that ability, I would never! I was doing as you said, like always!

“I was wrong earlier, wasn’t I?” Ramsay mutters, so close to you that your foreheads nearly touch. Your eyes widen slightly at his words, heart thumping in a hopeful little staccato, though he wrenches that away quickly enough, “You’re not a dog at all, no, a dog would be obedient and docile.”

Your brows knit together with confusion at his words, biting so hard into your lower lip that you’re shocked you don’t taste blood. Although, you can’t help the surprised little gasp that leaves you when his hands begin quickly tugging at the laces of your bodice as your own remain in white-knuckled fists at your sides, the whole of you determined to stay still like a statue, a plaything.

“No, you my sweet little pet,” he growls sarcastically, low voice morphing into a pleased chuckle as he tugs your bodice off; the shirt below it quickly follows and a small part of you blooms with pride at the happy little sigh he lets out at the sight of your breasts.

“You’re just a dumb puppy, aren’t you?” He chuckles against your throat, nipping at your skin more so than kissing it, although you relish the feel of his lips on you all the same. “A dumb, defiant little puppy,” he continues, hastily pulling at the ties of your skirts and you whimper despite yourself when they finally fall to the floor, pooling at your feet, “That’s in desperate need of more training.”

He stops, pausing for a mere second, and pulls back just enough to look at you, no doubt gaining satisfaction from the desperation written so plainly on your face. There’s a hunger in his cold eyes – a predator silently deciding to go for the jugular, nocking an arrow on his bow.

You whine as he properly kisses at your throat now, his hands rough against your skin as he grabs at your hips. One skims higher to cup your breast, the unexpected gentleness of his touches causes you to shiver and whine in his grasp and into his mouth as he kisses you finally, his full lips moving steadily in time with yours.

Harsh pants leave your lips as your heart pumps madly in your chest, his touches always work you up so quickly. The thought of him still being fully clothed as he left you bare and vulnerable made you hotter still; the feel of his warm leather tunic against your exposed skin, of his bloodied hands against your supple skin, drives you mad.

Before you have time to second guess your movements, you begin blindly pulling at the strings on his leather tunic, desperate to feel him against you. Surprisingly, he lets you tug it off of him, granting you a last meal of sorts, and you can’t help but to smile into the kiss, gasping into his mouth as he unbuttons his jacket himself before quickly tossing it aside as well. He’s panting nearly as harshly as you are as the two of you part long enough for him to pull his shirt over his head, your hands immediately go to his chest the second it joins the ever-growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Your eyes flicker over him as the two of you pause, the knot in your belly growing tighter at the sight of his taut stomach and chest, the low, warm glow of the many candles dotted throughout your chambers accentuating each muscular dip. Your fingers shake as they trail over him and you feel a sick sense of pride twist in your stomach at the fact that, unlike so many men, his skin isn’t mottled with years of scars and bruises. No, his is flawless, a pale, unmarred, ruthless canvas – a flawless killer.

Of course, he can’t let you have this reprieve for long. A good trainer doesn’t spoil his pet.

A soft, broken gasp leaves you as one hand wraps around your neck again, slotting perfectly against your throat like a collar, as he walks you a few paces further into the room, closer to the small hearth by the bed. “Kneel,” his command leaves no room for anything but obedience; you swallow thickly, nervously, and do as he says, lips parting ever so slightly when your knees rest on plush bear skin instead of hard stone.

A kindness, even now.

Ramsay’s lips twist into a proud grin as you stare up at him, legs folded beneath you with your hands poised perfectly on your thighs, a familiar stance he’d taught you years ago. “Good girl,” he mutters, fingers threading gently through your hair as you moan softly.

“Thank y – Ah!”

“No,” he chides harshly, tugging your head back by the roots of your hair until your neck is bared to him, your back arched, “Puppies don’t talk, dumb little thing,” he growls, shifting more closely to you in order to gain a better hold on your hair, close enough that you whimper as your front is pressed firmly against the length of his leg, the thick fabric of his trousers rough against your skin as one of his feet slots between your thighs, “A well-trained pet certainly doesn’t.”

The knot in your belly seizes at his words, aided by the laces of his leather boots brushing oh-so gently against your center, the knotted fabric sticking against the wetness already leaking from your clenching cunt. You whine, high-pitched and frantic when he clutches your hair tighter still, his fist white knuckled against the crown of your head.

“A well-trained little pet would always obey their master, wouldn’t they?” You can’t miss the breathiness of his voice now, his tone lower and smoother than it normally is, and the sound makes your hips hump against his boot before you can stop yourself, your nipples stiff, nearly aching, as they rub against his trousers.

A low, rumbled laugh echoes through your chambers when your arms wrap around his leg, fingers digging desperately into the firm muscle of his thigh. “Aww,” he coos mockingly, licking his lips as he watches you, his attention making blood rush to the apples of your cheeks, “Is my pretty little puppy getting off on this? Does your cunt drip when I tell you how stupid and worthless you are?”

The sound of your blood pumping furiously through your veins thuds in your ears, Pretty, pretty pretty!

You whine as you try to eagerly nod your head, his hold on your hair preventing you from moving much, though your hips rut steadily against his boot now – pressing tightly against the worn fabric, the knots from his laces rubbing perfectly over the throbbing little pearl at your center.

“You look like you’re having fun,” he drawls, cold eyes shining as he studies you closely, chest heaving in time with yours as his cock hardens in his pants, “Are you having fun, little one?”

Again, you try to nod, keening brokenly as your eyes stay fixed on his. You pant harshly against his leg, breath fragmented as they’re punched out of your lungs, the knot in your belly growing tighter and tighter with each pass of your slick center over the laces of his boot.

He knows, of course. As soon as he ordered you to stay in the kitchens with Reek this morning, he knew – knew you’d follow his orders to the letter, even if they contradicted his previous ones. He knew he’d find you there, knew he’d punish you for it, knew exactly how he wanted to break you down so that it could be him who built you back up. He’s known you the longest, you’d grown up together. He knows, of course he does. He’s nothing if not a thorough hunter.

A loud, broken whine leaves you when he flexes his foot, pressing his boot harder against you still. You’re helpless to do much else aside from stare up at him, gasping, while your hips buck against him as quickly as your sore muscles will allow, your high barreling toward you at a breakneck pace.

All of that comes to a sudden, screeching halt though when he moves again, shifting his weight until his boot is just out of reach. The sudden lack of stimulation makes your back arch further still, your muscles taut like a drawn bow.

“Oh, poor little puppy,” he laughs, watching gleefully as you whine loudly, the peak that had been so close fading away, leaving you aching, “If you thought it was going to be that easy, you haven’t been paying attention.” He taunts, crouching until he’s eye-level with you, smirking as his movements cause his pull on your hair to become tighter, making you wince, though his hand thankfully releases its grasp once he settles.

“Mmm,” you mewl softly as he caresses your breasts again, jumping slightly when he thumbs over your nipple before softly pinching at it, giving the other one the same treatment. Your eyes flutter shut as you arch your back further still, pressing against the palm of his hand as he kneads at your chest, eager for any stimulation you can get.

“Myranda was never like this,” he says suddenly, his voice low, steady, calculated. He smiles cruelly when your eyes snap open at the sound of her name, the back of your throat tight as tears already blur your vision – just like he wanted. “No, Myranda always behaved perfectly, she always did exactly what I said.”

He leans forward suddenly, the side of his face pressed firmly against yours so that when he speaks, you’re sure to hear every syllable, to feel them punctuated against the skin of your neck. “She was perfect. I never had to punish her for the same thing twice, you know. Not like I do with you.”

You shudder as his lips press against your skin again, pressing eager kisses against the wet trail of tears running down your cheek. He admires the way your shoulders shake as you sob, the way the subtle movement makes your breasts bounce, the way your cheeks flush so prettily, how your eyes always shine so brightly with fresh tears in them.

Ramsay loves breaking you – adores the moment when his arrow is finally launched free from his bow, adores the moment he sees it pierce your little heart. He loves you, in his way.

Not that he’d tell you that.

He lets you sob for a moment longer, all the while pressing hot kisses against your cheeks, relishing the salty taste of your tears as the little droplets of blood still caked to his skin mar your pretty face, staining it with delicate streaks of red. His cock twitches at the sight, black pupils nearly drowning out the blue of his eyes – maybe one day he’d bring you hunting, what a sight you’d be covered in the bright blood of a fresh kill.

“Myranda never needed training, puppy, not in the way you do,” he nearly whispers, the corners of his lips twitching up into a small smile as he leans back enough to grab at your chin, tilting your face up to his, “That’s what made her so boring.”

“Huh?” You breathe, sobs stalling for a second as you process what he’d just said, your obvious surprise making him laugh lowly again.

“What? Does that shock you? That I found her boring?” He questions, eyebrow raised, “Why would perfection be interesting?”

Your eyes search his face as he shifts, kneeling rather than crouching. A little glimmer of pride sparks to life within you as he kisses you again, your lips moving against his frantically, mewling when he pushes his tongue into your mouth and nips at your bottom lip.

“I never got to train her,” he breathes against your lips, grunting at the way your hands skim over his chest and stomach, grabbing at him so frantically, “I hardly got to punish her; if I gave her an order, she would follow it blindly – it made her predictable, it made her boring.”

“N-Not like me?” You whisper hopefully, meeting his gaze through half-lidded eyes as you pant, your chest pressed tightly to his.

“No, sweet pet, not like you,” Ramsay smiles, making your heart sing as it leaps beneath your ribs, “I get to train you, don’t I? And punish you when that little puppy brain can’t follow the simplest of orders.”

You should be offended, should feel mocked and belittled, but you don’t. Instead, you nod your head eagerly, preening like a proud little bird at his praise, because that’s what is, really. Ramsay will never be one to sing your praises softly like other men, but he admires you all the same.

Before you have time to reply, he grabs at your waist and abruptly maneuvers you, manhandling you until you’re poised on your hands and knees, cheek pressed firmly against the fur rug beneath you.

“I get to play with you, pet,” he drawls lowly, pressing a hand into the small of your back and grunting appreciatively when you arch down like he wants, licking his lips as your cunt finally comes into view, shining already in the low candlelight. He smirks at the way you moan when he presses his hard length against you, grinding against your slit, chest heaving at how warm you are even through his trousers, “Don’t I?”

“Yes!” You nod eagerly, pressing back against him like a wanton whore, nearly dizzy with need when his fingers bump against you as he quickly undoes the laces on his pants, “Yes, yes, yes, please!”

“Ohh, so you can be good, hm?” He teases, groaning in relief when he pushes his trousers down just enough to free his cock, too impatient to remove them entirely, “Seems my training’s working nicely.”

Mindlessly, you nod, willing to agree with whatever he says so long as he gets inside you.

Mercifully, you don’t have to wait long. A loud cry fills your chambers as he presses into you, the slight sting of his thick cock stretching you open making you shiver, a familiar sensation since he was rarely ever patient enough to work you open on his fingers.

Immediately, he sets a brutal pace, his hips pressing against yours tightly each time he pushes forward, the head of his cock nearly kissing your cervix with each harsh thrust. Your cunt clenches at him greedily and your hands scramble against the rug beneath you, fingers tangling into the furs, desperate for something to anchor yourself.

“Fuck, tight little cunt,” Ramsay grunts harshly above you, his hands gripping meanly at your hips, hard enough to leave bruises.

“R-Ramsay, fuck… fuck,” you whimper beneath him, your eyes squeezed shut tightly as the knot in your belly threatens to unravel, your walls pulsing rhythmically around his length each time it spears into you.

He chuckles breathlessly at your little murmurs and runs a hand up the length of your back before grabbing at the hair at the nape of your neck, relishing the little cry you give as he pulls you up until your back is pressed firmly against his chest. “Are you close already?” He mocks smugly, his fingers untangling from your hair to wrap once more around your throat as his other paws at your breasts, his fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples.

You swallow thickly, throat bobbing under his grip, and nod your head the best you can, grabbing at his thick forearm.

“Do you think I’m going to let you?” He teases, biting harshly at your shoulder as his hips keep up a punishing rhythm.

You nearly sob at the question, so desperate, but still you shake your head, cunt pulsing around his length. “No, n-no…” You moan mournfully, voice hoarse from his hold.

He chuckles behind you, his chest rumbling against your back as he kisses and bites at your earlobe, your shoulder, any part of your neck not covered by his hand, each touch driving you mad. “Finally, that little brain seems to be working,” he grunts, laughing lowly as he abandons your breasts long enough to slap your cheek, blessedly soft this time, “I’m having too much fun playing with you to let you go that easily,” He drawls, chuckling once more when you whine.

“In fact,” he continues, reaching down and rubbing his fingers roughly against your aching bud, just enough to make you cry out before he suddenly pulls away again, tugging his length from you as he lets you flop to the floor with a little grunt, “I want to see you do a trick,” he whispers, rubbing over your ass before smack it roughly, making you jump, “Roll over.”

“Wha –” You start to question, only to be cut off with a loud cry as his hand spanks you once more.

“Be a good fucking puppy and roll over.”

His order leaves no room for questioning and obediently, you listen and roll over onto your back with a little whimper. You keep your legs bent up when you settle, keeping yourself on display for him, clenching around nothing as you eye his hard cock bobbing against his stomach, the tip red and leaking.

“Good little pet,” he praises, his words going straight to your pearl as you shudder. Hastily, he pushes your legs up further, one hand holding you open as he presses his cock back into you, savoring your loud whine, the way your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He resumes his harsh pace, slamming into you as he chases his high now, blue eyes trailing appreciatively over your trembling body, watching as your breasts bounce with each unforgiving thrust he gives.

“Please, please, Gods, please!” You whine frantically as he presses his hips against yours, grinding into you, the thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your bud perfectly, “Ramsay, p-please! I – fuck!”

He laughs breathlessly at your cries and leans down when you arch your back toward him, mouthing savagely at your chest, teeth nipping at the fat of your breasts before he licks over your nipples. He knows each touch is only driving you closer and closer to your release, yet he still doesn’t give you permission, a part of him meanly hopes you’ll slip over anyway and give him another reason to punish you, like he actually needs a reason.

Still, you have been good today and he does love how willing and docile you become when you peak, so malleable – entirely submissive, entirely his.

He bites and kisses his way up along your chest and neck before licking into your mouth for a moment, eagerly swallowing each desperate little cry before grabbing at your neck once more. Greedy, he turns your head to him, needing to see that empty-headed, hazy look in your eyes when he lets you finish.

His cock jerks at the sight of you, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you try desperately to hold off, cheeks flushed, reddened lips parted. He grunts, feeling his balls tighten, his thrusts beginning to lose their rhythm.

“Cum, puppy,” he growls, forehead pressed against yours.

Your lips part in a silent curse as your high slams into you, each muscle in your body contracting at once. Your eyes bore into his wildly as your cunt spasms tightly around his cock, eyes rolling back as he fucks you through it.

“Fuck!” He grunts, growling lowly as his cock spasms within you, your walls all but milking his own high from him as well. His hips slam into you a few more times before he stills, gasping as he fills you with his spend.

The two of you lay together for a moment, panting loudly against one another. Ramsay is the first to move, shushing you as he pulls his softening length from you, making you whine.

Distantly, a part of you twists gleefully when you feel his seed drip from you, another thing he never dared do with her.

“Here,” he says softly, offering you a hand, which you gladly take, letting him help you stand since you doubt you’d be able to on your own. Finally, you stand on your feet, albeit unsteadily, and grab onto the foot of the carved wooden bedframe to steady yourself. Strangely, he stays with you, neither of you saying anything as he holds you, blue eyes studying you as they gleam with some unknown emotion.

After a moment, you try to pull away, meaning to leave as you always do, not one to wait around for his order anymore.

“Stop,” he murmurs, only pulling away once you still, “Stay.” He orders, an unfamiliar softness to his voice. Your head reels, eyes staring unfocused as you try to make sense of… whatever this is, whatever his game may be now.

He returns quickly enough, a damp cloth in his and from the small wash basin he keeps on the vanity. You reach out to grab it, to clean yourself off like you assume he wants, and yet he stops you, holding the cloth out of your grasp until you lower your hand again.

“Obedient puppies get rewards,” he says softly, all of the harshness from before absent from his tone as he answers your silent questions. You nearly freeze when he presses one small, gentle kiss against your forehead. Finally, he makes quick work of wiping between your legs, taking care to wipe away any of his spend that leaked from you.

“Thank you…” You nearly whisper, voice scratchy from his earlier treatment. That doesn’t feel like the right thing to say but if it isn’t, he doesn't say.

Silently, he cups your chin, lifting it enough to give him room to check your neck, trailing his hand over it lightly until he must be satisfied that you’re okay, that he hadn’t treated you too badly.

Kind, even still.

A few moments later, you recline in the plush bed, watching as he kicks off his boots before joining you, lying with you under the soft blankets. This part, at least, you’re used to – lying together like this but not touching, not cuddling, that’s too intimate, too close.

He hadn’t said that, wouldn’t say that, but you knew.

A surprised little gasp leaves you when he pulls you close, hands, clean now that he’d taken a moment to wash them, resting on you gently. One smoothes up and down your arm as he lets you lay against his chest, cheek pressed against his collarbone, his chin resting on your head; the other grabs at your thigh, pulling you to him until you’re tucked into his side, one leg propped over his hips.

“You did well,” he says softly, chest vibrating under your cheek as he speaks, “With your training, I mean. You did well. I’m… proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

The two of you are silent after that, neither of you knowing how to handle this new territory that you seem to be spilling into, but you don’t care, not with your heart pounding quickly in your chest. You’d think you were dying if it weren’t for the savage sense of victory threading through every inch of you.

Proud, proud, proud! The word echoes in your head with each pump of blood through your heart. It was so small, the barest of compliments, but from Ramsay it meant the world. It was something he’d said to you, only you, never to her, not once. Never to anyone else.

His chest rises and falls under your cheek, breath steady and even. He always falls asleep quickly, normally you do too. But not this time, not tonight, not wanting to let this moment fade just yet.

He loves you, in his way.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @iamawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstaarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @simp-hub-bro @badxbabyyy @venchi-cremino @targaryenbarbie @fan-goddess

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

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floatyflowers · 1 year

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Dark Platonic Mothers! HOTD/GOT (Cersei, Alicent, Sansa, and Rhaenyra) x Reader

Cersei Lannister

"You never love anything in the world the way you love your first child"

You are Cersei's first and only trueborn child with Robert.

Even though, your mother hates your father, doesn't mean you are hated, it is quiet the opposite.

Cersei would sacrifice everything to ensure that you stay by her side.

She would fight off any possible arranged marriages that Robert might have in mind for you.

Marrying you to Robb Stark? Cersei will make sure that Robert has horrible nights, until he removes this idea from his mind.

Joffrey doesn't dare to harm you in any way, because he knows what his mother would do to him if he touches a hair on your head.

After your younger siblings' deaths, Cersei becomes filled with paranoia that she might outlive you too.

She will make sure that you are kept safe even if it means stripping you away from your freedom.

Alicent Hightower

You are her favorite child without a doubt.

Maybe it is because you are not as drunk and perverted as Aegon or as vengeful and dangerous as Aemond or as dreamy and strange as Helaena.

Of course, there is also Daeron but he is in Oldtown, so he is not around as much for Alicent to favor him.

As a baby, you never caused tantrums when she came to spend time with you.

You consider her your friend, and tell her all your secrets.

Even that secret where you had a crush on a stable boy.

Strange how the boy disappeared the next day with a trance.

When Otto suggested the idea of marrying you off to Tyland Lannister, Alicent turned the idea down.

She would never give up your happiness, she would kill for your sake.

Sansa Stark

You are hers and Ramsay's daughter.

But you were given her last name, as Sansa didn't want you to be connected to the Boltons.

She thought she would hate you, but when she held you in her arms for the first time, she couldn't help but love you.

Like a little pup, you started following your mother around ever since you learned how to walk.

Sansa prefers it that way, you and her spending time together.

You filled the hole in her heart after her mother's death, she wants to have the same mother-daughter relationship with you as she had with her mother.

Everything was going on well, until Arya decided to visit Winterfall.

The moment your Aunt started speaking about her travels is the moment you realize you want to explore the outside world.

Sansa made sure that her younger sister is not welcome to speak to you again, especially after she accused her of locking you away like some bird.

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Your mother turned into a completely different person after the death of your younger brother, Luke.

She announced the annulment of your marriage to Aemond, even though it was already consummated.

She has forbidden you from returning to King's Landing to get your daughter, claiming it was too dangerous for you, and that your daughter is better off with her father.

Rhaenyra can't bear to lose you just like how she lost Luke or Visenya.

When you try to escape, you are caught and your dragon is taken away from you, given sleeping herbs to put the beast to sleep.

When you called her a hypocrite for wanting to protect you as a mother, but at the same time, forbidding you from seeing your own daughter.

Rhaenyra would only hug you tightly and forcibly by grabbing into your head.

"You have to sacrifice for me, just like I sacrificed for you and your siblings"

This is when you realize that your mother truly deserves to be compared to Maegor the Cruel.

#tw: toxic relationships #yandere house of the dragon #platonic yandere #daughter reader #alicent x reader #rhaenyra x reader #alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #sansa stark #cersei lannister

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ichorai · 2 years

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nobody ; jon snow.

track five of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; jon snow x martell!gn!reader

synopsis ; a child of sand and a child of snow—destined never to last, but somehow, you made it work.

words ; 9.0k

themes ; angst, action, fluff, healer au

warnings / includes ; heavy violence/gore/injury, wars/fighting, trauma, ramsay bolton, implications of sex, multiple mentions of death, reader is a bastard to oberyn martell, reader loathes the cold, a couple game of thrones spoilers, mentions of other characters in the show, and finally, fuck season eight !!

main masterlist.

You were fifteen when you first met Jon Snow.

The air was saturated with the ambrosial scents of spiced mulled wine and the rumbling thunder of tipsy cackling. Alcohol dripped from full golden chalices, heaping baskets of steaming bread rolls were passed around the mess hall, and plates were piled high with peppered mutton chops and creamed potatoes. You were seated near the end of the long table, quietly sipping on your honeyed apple cider as you politely smiled and nodded at the young nobleman who sat across from you, detailing a rather elaborate story of how he had hunted down a bear with nothing but a single hatchet and a lick of courage.

You didn’t buy a single word of it, but the exaggerated story was mildly entertaining nonetheless. You’d rather listen to his tipsy rambling than watch King Baratheon stick his tongue down a random maiden’s throat.

Once the man finished, he smiled charmingly, before grabbing your chalice and downing the rest of your drink. His loud belch was drowned out by the rest of the crowded hall of Winterfell, busy feasting and celebrating. Your lips twisted into a frown out of instinct, but you quickly fell back into a stoic expression, gently excusing yourself from the table.

You mourned your half-eaten food left on your plate, but you didn’t think you could stomach another bite of Northern food—you longed for the sticky sweetness of Dorne’s dates.

Hurriedly, you wove through the hall, quickly ducking when a silver wine chalice sailed across the large room. You made for the exit, squeezing past a couple children playing by the entrance.

Once you were outside, Winterfell’s frosty wind instantly nipped at your exposed skin, whispering snowflakes into your ear and tousling your hair in a haphazard fashion. A shiver spidered down your spine as you pressed yourself against the castle’s walls, pulling your fur coat closer to you.

How you missed the kiss of Dorne’s sun on your cheeks.

Damn the North.

You wrinkled your nose in frustration.

A repetitive, faint thudding drew your attention away from the howling breeze, resonating from just around the castle’s corner. Curiosity piqued, you sleuthed across the icy grass, looking around the bend with wide eyes.

It was dark—far darker than it was inside. The only source of light came from the lit torches lining the walls and the dewy luminescence of the moon.

The thudding came from a man—no, a boy—hacking furiously at a hay-sewn dummy with a dull wooden practice sword. You blinked, watching with mild awe as he relentlessly struck the unmoving figure, moving with an exact precision that was uncommon to see in such youth.

You didn’t realize just how long you’d been staring when he suddenly stopped, muscles visibly tensing beneath his thick leather tunic. The wooden sword drooped downwards when he lowered his arm, but his grip never faltered.

“What are you looking at?” he grumbled at last, turning around to face you entirely.

At first, you found yourself at a loss for words. He was quite a beauty—a large mass of dark curls adorning his head, dancing with the snowy gale. His eyes, a tempestuous hue of stormy grey, narrowed and scrutinizing, were studying your every move, as if preparing himself for some sort of attack.

You shuffled backwards out of pure instinct, but steeled yourself before you had the nerve to turn tail and run.

“Nothing,” you replied hoarsely, averting your gaze to a particularly interesting pile of rubble. “I just… needed to get out of the mess hall for a bit. It’s loud in there.”

It was silent for a moment, before he placed the sword down, regarding you with a somewhat intrigued stare whilst stepping closer.

“I’m sorry if I’m being disrespectful,” he said, surprising you with his sudden change of demeanor, “but I don’t quite recognize you. How am I to address you?”

“My name would be just fine,” came your reply, eyebrows shifted upwards. “I’m Y/N. Y/N Martell. My father is Oberyn Martell, brother to the ruling prince of Dorne.”

It was the boy’s turn to be surprised, and an amused smile itched across your lips when he seemed to fumble for words, wondering if it was customary to bow or to shake hands with you.

After his initial stupor, he shook his head, small bits of frost flying away from his hair. “Well, what are you doing out here? It’s cold out.”

“I told you, I came out to get some space. It was awfully crowded,” you hummed. Then, you leaned forward towards him, lowering your voice to a leveled whisper, “Plus, the sight of King Baratheon fondling a woman on top of his venison doesn’t exactly whet my appetite.”

A flit of a grin momentarily crossed his features, but it disappeared back into his regular brooding nature nearly as soon as it came.

“You know my name.” You tilted your head in a questioning manner. “It’d be rude of me not to ask for yours.”

“Jon,” the boy with curls of ebony replied in an off-handish manner.

“Jon…?”

His lips twitched downwards, twisting into a glower. Reluctantly, he mumbled, “Snow. Jon Snow.”

“Oh,” you whispered, stepping closer with widened eyes. Jon risked a glance towards you, surprised that he could see his own reflection in the dark of your pupils, frost clinging to your eyelashes and knitted brows. “Snow is a name for Northern bastards, is it not?” Your tone was not one of disdain like Jon had expected, but rather one of tender excitement.

There was a twitch to his jaw. He remained silent.

“I’m a bastard, too.”

Your words made him tear his gaze away from the snowy ground to your searching eyes. “You? A bastard?” he asked, plain with surprise.

You bowed your head once with a mild smile painting your lips with warmth. “I suppose my proper name would be Y/N Sand—the name given to bastards of Dorne. But we don’t care much for bastardy as the other kingdoms do. My father thought it proper to call myself a Martell during my stay in King’s Landing.”

Snow scuffed around Jon’s boots as he dug the heel into the grass. “What were you doing in King’s Landing?”

“I’ve been staying there to study medicine. Been about… seven months now? I left home when I was fourteen,” you said, teeth worrying into your bottom lip in thought. The hazy memory of saying goodbye to your father and sisters made your heart lurch with a sudden jolt of nostalgia.

“Do you like it there?” Jon asked, intrigued. “In King’s Landing, I mean.”

You wrinkled your nose in response, shaking your head firmly. “I much prefer the golden sands of Dorne. The wispy shade of a palm tree. The wiry muscles of our horses—bred to run for fortnights on end. The cool sip of water on a hot day. The spitting bonfires at night—the stars seem to be so much brighter in Dorne, Jon Snow, you wouldn’t believe it.”

The both of you tilted your heads up to look at Winterfell’s dark sky. There wasn’t a single star in sight.

You sighed with stinging disappointment, tilting your chin back down to nuzzle your cold nose into your coat.

Jon couldn’t help how his lips twitched upwards ever so slightly. “Sounds like a wonderful place.”

Humming your agreement, you uttered, “Enough about me.” You stepped closer so that you were nearly side-by-side with him. “What are you doing out here? Why aren’t you at the banquet?”

The smile on his lips melted away nearly instantaneously. “Lady Stark thought it improper to seat a bastard amongst the royal guests.”

“That’s stupid,” you said in a rather blunt fashion, which made Jon’s eyebrows inch closer to his curls. “Not to bash on your kingdom’s customs or anything—but I find the exclusion of bastards rather redundant. You’re still their family regardless.”

“It’s what I am,” the boy responded with half a shrug. “It’s all I ever will be.”

“It’s all you’ll be if that’s all you choose to be, Jon Snow.” You inhaled a lungful of frigid air.

The boy beside you seemed to mull over your words for a while, mouth twisted in thought. “I plan to join the Night’s Watch,” he said suddenly, looking almost surprised that he’d admitted that to you. He hadn’t spoken to anyone about the matter yet—it just happened to slip from his tongue without him giving it a second thought.

“That sounds fun,” you replied with a small smile, nudging your elbow into his shoulder. “At least, as much fun as you can have in this dreary place, anyway. No offense.”

For the first time, you heard the bastard of Ned Stark laugh. It was a quiet one, barely little more than an amused huff of his nostrils, but you heard it nonetheless. It made a queer sensation pool at the bottom of your stomach, one of warmth and selfish pride. You wanted him to laugh again.

“You’d look handsome in black,” you commented with a roguish leer, to which Jon shifted in an awkward manner, turning his gaze to the frosty ground. If you looked closer, you’d be able to catch a dusting of rouge over his pale cheekbones.

The silence warped around you two in a hazy cocoon, time slowing down to a slow drip, drip, drip of the sand grains in an hourglass.

Abruptly, you pivoted away from his side to face him, beckoning back to the mess hall with your head. “I’m sorry, in Dorne it’s rude to converse with someone who hasn’t had a meal when you’ve already eaten. You must be starving! Let me go fetch a plate for you.”

“Oh,” Jon started, already beginning to shake his head in panicked protest, “you really don’t have to—Lady Stark wouldn’t be very pleased—”

“Who said Lady Stark has to know? What if I just pretended I wanted a second helping?” You internally grimaced when you remembered that you hadn’t even finished your first helping.

Raven-hued curls shook haphazardly as he stepped forward to catch your wrist with his in a futile attempt to persuade you to stay. After all, he wasn’t all that hungry.

He could feel his stomach cinch painfully at the thought of roasted mutton chops and candied almonds, or honey cakes and creamed potatoes, or steaming rabbit stew and flaking raspberry pie. Alright, Jon supposed he was a little bit hungry.

“Sorry, can’t hear you!” you called out while waltzing away with a bright smile. “I’ll bring us two chalices of honeyed apple cider, too! Hope you like that!”

Despite all his efforts to stave away his mirrored excitement, Jon couldn’t help but watch you whisk away with a grin pulling at the side of his mouth.

“This is Ghost,” Jon said after swallowing down his bite of peppery chicken. You had been generous enough to add a bit of nearly every single dish available in the hall, walking out none-too-discreetly with a wobbling mountain of food stacked on the porcelain.

The white direwolf, still only a small pup, tittered towards Jon with a knowing glint in its eye, using its snout to nudge against his knee. Relenting, Jon ripped off a piece of mutton and tossed it onto the ground for the direwolf.

You were practically vibrating on your wooden seat beside him, grinning ecstatically. “I can’t believe you’ve got a direwolf!” you exclaimed in a hushed whisper, biting into a slice of spiced honey cake. “He’s gorgeous.”

Chuckling, Jon reached over to ruffle the creature between the ears. “He’s alright. Was the runt of the litter.”

That made your grin stretch wider.

The two of you conversed for what felt like hours—you found out that he was only a year older than you, that he hated blackberries, that he had nightmares about dragons sometimes. In turn, he learned that you had a pet snake at the ripe age of five, that you counted the stars outside your window when you couldn’t sleep, that you thought your father, Oberyn Martell, was going to kill the Mountain one day.

Jon found you fascinating—he couldn’t remember the last time he had listened so intently to someone.

Jon had wolfed down the food you brought, despite previously claiming he wasn’t all that hungry. Setting the empty dishes aside, you strolled alongside him, sipping on your cider and occasionally bumping into his side, which made both of you laugh as he kindly told you to mind your step.

When the guests inside the hall started to quiet down, small groups of people trickling out of the castle to retire to bed, you knew your limited time with Jon was coming to an end.

“We’ve only just met, but I’m gonna miss you,” you said, gazing towards him with disappointment etched plain as day across your features. Your hand lifted to brush away a bit of snow that had landed on his shoulder. “I certainly won’t miss the cold, though. I have no idea how you Northern folk live like this.”

“Our blood must be thicker than yours,” he commented in a humorous tone, which made you roll your eyes and stick your tongue out playfully at him. The smile that spread across Jon’s lips made your stomach twist with a queer sort of warmth. A tentative silence warped about the two of you, and you felt him step closer to you, his hands clenched into fists by his side, as if he was staving off some sort of urge.

You were young and foolish then—it was only expected that you acted on giddy impulsivity.

You leaned forward slowly, making sure he knew of your intent—and you kissed him. It was a dry, chaste kiss, awkward and hesitant in nature but endearing all the same. Jon was frozen for a long moment before his calloused hand was brought up to cradle your jaw, movements stiff with uncertainty, softly tilting your face so it slotted just right over his. His nose gently bumped into yours. His teeth caught against your lip. His dark curls tickled your forehead when they knocked together. The kiss tasted of apple cider and winter’s frost.

You pulled away with a flustered beam, pleased to see Jon had turned a furious shade of scarlet, his expression mirroring yours.

“Goodbye, Snow,” you said to him quietly, just as the both of you spotted his family coming out of the mess hall. Subconsciously, you shuffled away from him. The last thing you wanted was for Ned Stark to catch the both of you in the act, even though it was merely a harmless kiss. “You stay safe at the Night’s Watch, alright? Who knows, maybe I’ll get you to come visit Dorne one day. Get that thick, chunky Northern blood of yours to loosen up.”

“It would be an honor to come,” he replied with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was a glint of sadness hidden within his dark irises—perhaps he believed that this would be the last time he’d ever see you. “Goodbye, Sand.”

With that, you watched him trudge away with a tight chest, his fur-coated figure growing smaller and smaller as he disappeared into the castle walls.

You were twenty the next time you saw Jon Snow.

Five long, long years.

You shivered on the horse, Sansa’s cold fingers holding onto your waist tightly. She sat just behind you, breaths spilling out pale mist over your shoulder. Podrick and Brienne were only an arm’s length away on their own horses, faces stony and filthy with grime. You were sure your own face was no better.

“Open the gates!” someone screamed.

The creak of metal. The whinny of a horse. The schlop of mud.

Your eye was heavy with exhaust.

Brienne led the way into Castle Black, dismounting her horse first. You followed suit, helping Sansa down and watched as Podrick ambled off of his. Castle Black was far colder than Winterfell had been. The cold didn’t seem to bother Sansa as much—after all, she was well accustomed to the weather since childhood. That, or she welcomed the numbing sensation of the frigid wind.

Despite being stuck in cold conditions for years, you were still a child of sand. You were made for the heat. The thought made you pull your thin coat closer to you, lips warbling into a glower.

And as you turned your head away from Sansa’s pale, sallow face, you could feel a dozen pairs of eyes burning into you. Tilting your gaze upward, you nearly burst into tears of relief upon seeing a familiar face.

Jon Snow.

He held the same features as he did five years ago—the heavy-set frown, the stormy, curious eyes, the ebony locks upon his head. He was taller, evidently so, and had a well-tamed beard blanketing the expanse of his jaw. He had grown into his features, face more chiseled and physique just a tad more defined.

The bastard laid his eyes on his sister first, an amalgamation of shock and confusion morphing across his features before it crossed over to the two strangers he’d never seen before. One tall and blonde, one stocky and dark-haired.

Then he looked to you. There was a slight shift to his expression. One of slight dubiety. Then, like a ray of sun on a stormy night, realization dawned upon him.

You looked so different. You wore your hair differently than when he last saw you, dyed a significantly lighter shade than it used to be. There was a new, jagged scar carved down your left cheek, a dirty leather eyepatch fixed over one of your eyes, and you were much taller than you had been at the ripe age of fifteen. Nonetheless, Jon recognized the small quirk to your lips, your Dornish facial features, the brightness of your one eye (though far dimmer than it used to be).

He rushed down the creaky wooden steps.

He embraced Sansa first. The red-head breathed out a sigh of exhaustion when he held her, tears rimming her eyes like snow on a wiry tree branch. Jon held her tightly—it’d been five long years since he’d seen his family.

A lump formed in your throat when he gently pulled away from her, and cast his gaze to you. You felt small under his scrutiny, partially afraid that he’d forgotten you after all these years.

Then, he whispered your name to the frost and you bit back a sob, launching yourself forward to wrap your arms around his midriff. There was so much you wanted to tell him—so much he needed to know.

But you couldn’t force the words out. So you remained silent, burying your nose into the warmth of Jon’s neck.

Your hair was still damp from the icy bath they’d drawn for you. The cold made your heart jump up your throat—it took you around ten minutes of dipping your toe into the water only to retract it with a scalding hiss until you forced yourself in with a grumble. You were now wrapped in about three layers of thick, furry blankets, a bowl of warm chicken soup cradled in your palms.

The crackling of the fire in front of you filled the silence momentarily. The clementine flames licked into the air greedily, spitting out small orange embers for you to watch turn into grey ash.

Jon was sitting close beside you, thigh pressed up against yours. You hadn’t the time to say anything to him before you were whisked away for a bath and food. Now that you had his full, undulated attention, you weren’t quite sure what to say.

“It’s good soup,” Sansa chimed from across the both of you. She was staring into the fire with a nostalgic grin fiddling with the corner of her raw-bitten lips. “Do you remember the kidney pies Old Nan used to make?”

Jon chuckled. “The ones with the peas and onions?”

The two hummed in thought, then fell back into silence. You shifted to slurp up more of your soup, offering your spoon to Jon with a tilt of your head. He shook his head softly, gesturing for you to have some more.

You had offered out of courtesy—Dornish traditions never died—but you were ever so grateful that he declined. You hadn’t realized just how starving you’d been.

Ramsay went out of his way to make sure you barely had a meal a week. He was cruel like that. Glancing to Jon, you caught him watching you unceremoniously gulp the soup down with a wide grin.

“Sorry,” you coughed out in a small voice after wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Do you… do you have any more of this?”

“We have plenty,” Jon said, not unkindly. “I’ll have one of the lads fetch another bowl for you.”

As he left, Sansa looked to you with an amused expression. “He likes you.”

“I barely know him. He barely knows me,” you replied, eyebrows canted upwards at her statement.

“And yet he likes you,” she persisted, bobbing her head down to sip on her soup.

You didn’t grace her with a response, instead opting to stare down at your empty bowl.

Jon came back not too late after, handing you another serving of the warm chicken soup. “Thank you,” you said sheepishly, before tucking in once more.

“We should have never left Winterfell,” Sansa spoke up. Both you and Jon looked at her, grunting noises of agreement. “Don’t you wish you could go back to the day you left? Tell yourself, ‘don’t go, you idiot’.”

A film of tears glossed over your eyes. “I wish I never left Dorne.”

Jon shook his head. “How could we have known? All the things that have happened to us… it wasn’t our fault.”

“I wish I could change everything,” Sansa admitted, shame threading heavily through her tone. “I was such an ass to you.”

“We were children,” he replied. “Though, you were occasionally awful.”

You snorted at that and Sansa rolled her eyes before turning to watch the fire.

“I’m sure I can’t have been better,” Jon replied modestly. “Always sulkin’ in the corner while the lot of you played.”

The three of you chuckled mirthfully at the thought of young Jon muttering curses under his breath in the shadows.

“Will you forgive me?” Sansa asked, quiet.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Jon countered firmly.

“Forgive me,” bit out Sansa, narrowing her eyes.

They both smiled.

“I forgive you.”

With a satisfied smile, Sansa drank the last of her soup and placed it on the table in front of her, rising with a certain kind of grace only she bore. She excused herself to go draw a long overdue bath.

Jon glanced at you once she left. “What have you been doing? After all this time?”

Hesitant, you fiddled with the spoon in your bowl.

“Well, five years ago, I followed your father and sisters to go back to King’s Landing. Continued my studies. Watched Ned Stark die in front of my eyes. My father came to King’s Landing for Joffrey’s wedding.” You paused for a moment, finding it hard to speak around your suddenly-thick throat. “I watched him die, as well, fighting for Tyrion Lannister. He was about to win. He was so close. But he wanted revenge for his sister—and his greed for revenge eventually became his demise. In a panic I… I ran away from King’s Landing. From everything.”

Tears of gold. Stolen bread from outdoor markets. Rats squeaking on cobblestone pathways at night.

“From then on, I bumped into Podric, Tyrion’s squire, and Brienne, a knight pledged to looking for the Stark girls. Pod recognized me from my time in King’s Landing—and knew all about my family, so that convinced Brienne enough to let me tag along. Besides, I knew more about medicine than half of King’s Landing combined, and that’s always useful when embarking on a journey.”

Bandaged wounds. Crackling fires. Clopping horseshoes.

“After a while, we ran into Arya and the Hound. I tried killing the Hound because his brother killed my father but I stopped upon realizing that he wanted his brother dead just as much as I did—if not more so. We lost sight of Arya. I’m sorry, Jon, I have no clue where she could be now.”

Blood. Sword. Blood.

“Pod, Brienne, and I kept moving forward and we eventually caught sight of Sansa at an inn with Petyr Baelish. Sansa remembered me from all those years ago at Winterfell—so I asked if I could accompany her. No, I didn’t ask. I begged. Tears and everything. I was foolish to leave Brienne and Pod. Baelish agreed to let me come when they were chased out.”

Panicked rambling. Desperate eyes. Hands and knees—begging.

“At Winterfell… it was a living nightmare. Ramsay Bolton tortured Sansa and I—he would lock me in rooms for weeks on end and forced me to run through the forest naked whilst shooting bolts at me. He fed me dog food and tied me to the bars of the hounds’ cage so he could watch them struggle against their ropes to rip me to shreds. He made me watch as he cut pieces of Theon away. He gave me these.” You pointed at the deep scar on your cheek, then to the eyepatch, voice warbling.

Hounds. Manic gaze. A scream of agony.

Jon’s hands found your face, slow and steady, his thumbs swiping at your cheeks. It took you a second to realize that he was brushing away tears, steadily falling from your eyes without you noticing. You nearly flinched away when his finger trailed down your steadily healing scar, but steeled yourself before you could retract away.

You trusted Jon Snow.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Sand, I can’t imagine what that must be like,” he said softly. You cried harder.

“My family is dead. Poisoned with hatred for each other—for everybody else,” you choked out. “And it feels like you and Sansa are the only ones who can understand.”

The man in front of you nodded solemnly. “Aye. It was a pain like no other—hearing about each of their deaths through raven letters. And knowing that there was nothing I could do about it.”

Far too caught up to care about your boldness, you placed your bowl on the table and sidled up to Jon, your head resting on his shoulder and arm curled around his back. He didn’t seem to mind at all, in fact—he shifted so that his arm laid over the back of your neck. He smelled of a hearth’s smoke and a fresh, tree-like fragrance.

“Enough about me,” you whispered. Jon smiled, remembering that those had been the exact words you uttered to him five years ago. “What’ve you been doing all this time?”

“I was murdered, for starters,” he said with a hint of amusement when you abruptly twisted in his arms staring at him with parted lips.

“You were what?”

“A story for another time, I promise,” he mumbled, waving away your concern and gently nudging you back down against him, as your arm was digging into his stomach uncomfortably. “I’ve been fighting nonstop, come to think of it. I’ve killed people I hated, people I didn’t know… people I admired. I hung a boy younger than Bran. I’m tired of fighting, Sand. I’ve fought and I’ve lost. I’m done.”

You opened your mouth to say something comforting, reassuring, anything. But you had little to say, so you kept quiet, pressing your nose to the underside of his jaw in an effort to convey your sympathy.

Jon’s chest rumbled beneath your palm as he said, “There’s also dead in the North.”

“There’s what?!”

The bastard hummed gravely. He hummed as if that was just a normal sentence to toss out.

“And both of those things mean… we can’t stay here.”

You turned again, making sure your forearm wasn’t pressing against his abdomen, instead slanted off to the side. This made you lean even closer to Jon, nearly nose-to-nose with him.

Well, you certainly weren’t cold now.

“Where do we go?” you whispered in a low voice, brows furrowed. “I’ll follow you anywhere, Jon Snow. You’re the closest thing I have to a family now. I trust you.”

Jon studied you for a moment with an indiscernible expression, irises darting between your glistening eye and your front teeth digging into the flesh of your bottom lip. You spotted the way his gaze lingering on your mouth just a bit too long, but you pretended you hadn’t noticed. “Sansa wants to go back to Winterfell,” he replied slowly, bracing himself for your reaction.

The way you physically tensed against him didn’t go unnoticed.

Blood. Screaming. Trees. A bolt grazing your thigh. Blood. Barking hounds. Sansa’s wedding. Theon’s screams. Blood. Trees. Blood. Manic gaze. Ramsay’s sweat. Hounds. Blood. Blood. Blood.

“Why would we ever go back?” you spat out, withdrawing yourself with a snarl.

Jon sighed. It was a long, winded one, laced with exhaustion and uncertainty. “Because it belongs to us. To her, to Arya, to Bran, to Rickon.”

Your face softened. “To you, too.”

After a tentative pause, Jon rested his cheek onto your head, beard tickling the skin of your temple. “Aye. To me, too.”

“Will this be your last fight, Snow?”

Jon snorted at the thought. “I wish it was, Sand.” Already, it seemed you had forgotten about the dead in the North he had mentioned—which was all the better. He didn’t think you needed to worry at the moment. You deserved even just a brief moment of rest.

“I hope you kill that bastard. I hope I kill that bastard. I may be trained in the art of medicine, but I know how to fight. I grew up with the Sand Snakes, after all.”

Jon wisely chose to remain silent at that. He had no doubt that you were capable to take care of yourself.

“We should go to Dorne,” you murmured, words growing quieter as your eyelids drooped. Now that your belly was full and you were warm from the blankets and fire, it was growing harder and harder to resist the urge to doze for twelve hours straight.

“Alright,” Jon replied with a smile. Then, he asked in a joking manner, “How’s the weather been up here? I personally think it’s quite warm, actually. Must be my thick, chunky blood.”

“You’re a real pain, you know that?” you barked out while pinching his arm, your words lacking any real bite. “And don’t even get me started on the damn snow! Why the devil is it always snowing here? It’s ridiculous, actually!”

Jon was smiling down at you so wide that his cheeks ached as you drowsily gesticulated at how horrible Northern weather was.

When Sansa came back nearly an hour later, she wasn’t at all surprised to see you passed out in Jon’s arms, her older brother frantically motioning her to be quiet with his free arm. Much to his horror and her humor, all the jostling had made you rouse awake, blearily looking around with evident confusion etched plainly across your features. Jon gently coaxed you back down, telling you to go back to sleep with a soft tone—one that she’d never heard him use before.

Yes, she thought with a slightly amused shake of her head, he definitely likes you.

“You don’t have to be here, you know,” Jon said quietly, just loud enough for you and Sansa to hear. You shifted on your horse’s saddle uncomfortably. Of course you didn’t need to be here. But you weren’t kidding when you said you’d follow Jon Snow wherever he went.

Without sparing him a glance, Sansa replied with an even voice, “You know I do.”

Jon sighed. He looked towards you. If the situation wasn’t so serious, he’d laugh at how the fur coats you donned were nearly thrice your size. He briefly wondered if you were still cold under all that.

Ramsay Bolton certainly wasn’t a sight for sore eyes. He had a throng of men on horses riding behind him, the banner of a flayed man dancing with the wind, almost mocking in nature. His eyes were cold as ever, countenance serious yet still so very arrogant.

You could feel your muscles tensing so hard you were nearly stiff as a statue on your horse.

Blood. Trees. Theon’s screams. Barking hounds. Blood. Ramsay’s sweat. A knife flat against your cheek. Blood.

“My beloved wife. I’ve missed you terribly!” Ramsay preened with a sinister smile, scornfully bowing his head to Sansa. Then, he turned his horrid gaze to Jon, barely making note of you. “Thank you for returning Lady Bolton safely.”

Your blood boiled, an anger churning thunder within your stomach. You bit down on your tongue and steeled your emotions. Now was not the time for impulsivity.

“Dismount and kneel before me. Surrender your army and proclaim me the true Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I will pardon you for deserting the Night’s Watch. I will pardon these treasonous lords for betraying my house. Come, bastard. You don’t have the men, you don’t have the horses, and you certainly don’t have Winterfell. Why lead all these poor souls into slaughter? There’s no need for a battle. Get off your horse, and kneel.” Ramsay sat up straighter on his horse, gesturing to the cold, muddy grass in expectation. “I’m a man of mercy. I promise.”

Liar.

Fury clawed at your throat until you could feel the metallic taste of iron sting your tongue.

Of course, Jon Snow did no such thing.

“You’re right,” Jon admitted with a level tone. “There’s no need for a battle. Thousands of men don’t need to die. Only one of us. Let’s end this the old way. You against me.”

The slight change of your expression was minute, but it was there. Ramsay noticed the way your brows pulled together and a frown carved over your lips.

The devil of a man chuckled. You’ve heard that laugh a million times before—it plagued your nightmares every night. It was one of utter contempt, laughing at the sheer ludicrousy of the offer.

“I keep hearing stories about you, bastard. The way people in the North talk about you… you’re apparently the greatest swordsman who ever walked. Maybe you are that good—maybe not. I don’t know if I’d beat you. But I do know my army would beat yours. I have over six thousand men. And you have, what? Half that? Not even?”

Jon nodded his agreement. “Aye, you have the numbers. Will your men want to fight for you when they know you wouldn’t fight for them?”

A cold fury washed over Ramsay’s features. His nostrils flared as he stared Jon down. “Tell me, will you let your little brother die because you’re too proud to surrender?”

For the first time since she left Winterfell, Sansa spoke to her husband. “How do we know you have him?”

A horrific leer flickered over his face. Those manic eyes came into play once more. He was enjoying this. Slowly, he gestured to one of his men. He was drawing this out.

Like a cat playing with a mouse before devouring it whole.

The man behind him pulled out a fluffy, black mass. It took you a moment to realize what it was. Horror settled itself, black as tar, in the pits of your gut.

It was the head of a direwolf.

You wanted to look away—but you couldn’t.

Ramsay studied your expression with glee. Whilst Sansa betrayed no hints of her inner turmoil, he could read you like an open book.

“Now, if you want to save your—”

Sansa interrupted him with a tone so sharp it would’ve cut straight through iron. “You’re going to die tomorrow, Lord Bolton. Sleep well.”

With that, she turned and rode away. You had half the mind to follow her.

Ramsay watched with shock clearly splayed over his countenance. He was quick to regain his composure, turning his head back to Jon. “She’s a fine woman, your sister. I look forward to having her back in my bed.”

Your breath caught in your throat, clenching your jaw so hard that it was a wonder your teeth didn’t crack under the pressure.

“My dogs are desperate to have their favorite playtoy back,” Ramsay simpered. Your head snapped up, finding his eyes trained upon you. There was a sickly grin to his features, twisting his pale face in an abhorrent way. “I haven’t fed them for seven days—they’re absolutely ravished. I wonder which parts they’d go for first. Those bright eyes of yours? Oh, I’m sorry. Eye—forgot I did that to you. Well, I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. In the morning, then, bastard.”

He sent one last smirk to you, bowed his head to Jon with a sneer on his face, before clicking his tongue and turning his horse around. The men followed closely behind.

The mutilated eye beneath your patch throbbed.

Bile rose in your throat.

You could feel Jon’s worried gaze on you, but you avoided his searching scan, mirroring both Sansa and Ramsay’s movements by pressing your heel into the horse’s side, and galloping away.

The amber glow of the candlelight did little to hide the morose expression folded over Jon’s features. His lashes cast long shadows down his cheeks, lowered with thought. You had come into the room just in time to hear his row with Sansa, their shouts echoing along the stone walls.

You waited for Sansa to leave, then a couple minutes more to allow Jon a second to mull over his thoughts.

Then, you stepped out of the darkness.

“Y/N,” Jon hoarsely said, immediately sitting up from his chair upon seeing you. “You weren’t at the war council.”

One of your shoulders lifted in a half shrug. “Didn’t think I’d be needed—I may be able to fight, but war strategy isn’t my forte.”

Jon regarded you for a second, before gesturing to the chair next to him.

“Still,” he murmured once you took a seat, drawing your knees up to your chest, “it would’ve been nice to have you there.”

“You want my advice?” you asked, mildly surprised.

Jon’s hand slowly reached out to sit heavy on your shoulder. “You know him better than anybody here—other than Sansa, of course.”

Chewing on your lip in thought, you shifted so that you were facing him. “He likes to play games. He wants to draw things out—prolong the inevitable as long as he can so he could squeeze every last drop of sick enjoyment out of it.” Your eye darted to the warbling candle’s flame, clearing your throat uncomfortably. “That’s what he did with me, at least. I’m sure that on the battlefield, he’ll play to his strengths first—dangle it in front of your face. Leading you on like you would a donkey with a carrot.”

“I’m sorry if this is… a hard question, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” Jon started hesitantly. “But why you? What did he gain from hurting you?” There was a bitter sort of anger to his voice—but not the active kind. It was passive, almost wistfully so, and frustrated that he could do nothing about it because it was in the past.

“I’m a bastard, remember? I am what he hates in himself the most.” You sniffed disdainfully. “And I suspect he’s somewhat jealous. I’m a bastard just like him, yet I’m considered royalty back in Dorne. How come I get to have what he’s always wanted? He reminded me of Joffrey in a lot of ways. But far worse.”

Jon’s eyebrows raised at that. “You knew Joffrey?”

A smile flickered over your lips that didn’t quite reach your eye. “Not really. But the stories Sansa’s told me—they seem nearly one and the same.” After a brief pause, you turned your head back to Jon. “I’m coming with you tomorrow. Just so we’re clear. I want to see him dead.”

Grimly, Jon bowed his head. “There’s no shame in staying here, Y/N. Especially not after what you’ve been through.”

“I know,” you said. “But I can fight. Or who knows? Maybe—just maybe—my medical skills will come into play on a battlefield. Slim chance, though—men rarely ever get wounded in a war.”

The last sentence dripped with sarcasm, and it made Jon gruff out a short laugh.

There was a beat of amiable silence before Jon nudged you with his elbow. “Just don’t die on me, alright?”

“I think you’ve got more experience than me in that department,” you joked. “Which, by the way, you still haven’t told me about.”

Jon wrinkled his nose humorously. “Tell you what—if we both make it out alive, I’ll tell you about it.”

“Deal,” you agreed, swiftly sliding off the chair. He stood up with you, just inches away. “You should get some rest, Snow. Big day tomorrow.”

“Aye,” he whispered, bending forward to ring you into an embrace. He softly patted the back of your head just as you pressed your cold nose into the bushy fur of his coat. “Sleep well, Sand.”

When you pulled away to look at him and say goodbye, you found your throat running dry. You couldn’t find it in yourself to say the words.

Jon seemed to understand.

“This isn’t goodbye,” he whispered in a low, reassuring tone, rubbing his palms up and down your forearms. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that, he tenderly kissed over your eyelid, then moved to kiss the eyepatch with an equal amount of affection. The raw compassion behind the action made tears sting the corner of your vision, but you blinked it away just as quickly as it came.

Determined not to start bawling in front of him, you nodded once, then stepped away, retracting from his warmth.

Damn Northerners and their thick, chunky blood.

A raised blade.

Rickon running.

Flying arrows.

Jon on a galloping horse.

Terror.

Ever so close.

A sick squelch.

Rickon Stark was dead.

Mud, everywhere.

Was that the barking of hounds you heard?

No, those were the dying whinnies of horses.

A rally of arrows.

The song of steel against steel.

A man screaming as you sliced his throat.

Gurgles.

You picked up a fallen shield.

Another rally of arrows.

Blood trickled out of your nose.

Copper in your mouth.

Piles of dead men.

Parrying strikes.

A grunt.

Your sword sticking out of another man’s abdomen.

Jon Snow a whisker away from death.

Your boot against his attacker’s jaw.

Jon Snow’s frantic hand gripping your arm—pulling you.

Where was he taking you?

Shields in a circle around you.

Trapped.

Mud.

Jon Snow yelling your name.

Trampled.

Clawing for air.

You, screaming for Jon.

Inhaling dirty water.

Coughing.

Choking.

Air.

Jon Snow’s wheezing, exhausted gasp as you hauled him up.

Sansa Stark, in the distance.

More men. Horses.

Ramsay Bolton riding away.

You spat out blood.

Coward.

There were three arrows embedded into the wooden flesh of the shield. Three.

Jon Snow managed to block Ramsay’s arrows thrice.

Before a fourth could be nocked, Jon drove the edge of the shield straight into Ramsay’s face, a bilious crack of his nose echoing across Winterfell.

Ramsay was on the ground, mud flying up between the two as Jon straddled him. His fist rained no mercy. With every brutal punch, a ferocious grunt rumbled from Jon’s chest. Each time he pulled away, his skin grew more and more damp with the Bolton’s blood—sticky scarlet mingling with the dark soot.

It sounded less and less as if Jon were striking something solid, and more like he was hitting a pool of liquid.

A snarl appeared on Snow’s face. Your Snow. There was a manic glint to his eyes.

You shuffled forwards, then back, uncertain of whether to stop him or to let him keep going. Fear reared its familiar, ugly head within you.

Ramsay smiled through the blood.

Jon paused for a second—a mere second—to glance up. He caught your eye. It looked like he was about to punch Ramsay again, kill him, even, but he hesitated.

You were afraid. Of Jon? Neither of you were quite sure.

Slowly, painfully slow, he slid off of Ramsay’s bloody figure, panting with both exertion and pent-up frustration.

It nearly shattered him when he approached you, and you took another step back, merely out of pure instinct.

“Jon,” you whispered, snapping out of your dazed reverie and reaching out to him. It was only Jon—you trusted him.

Jon Snow was nothing like Ramsay Bolton.

You wrapped your arms around him, uncaring of the dirt and blood on his clothes. Three seconds ticked by. Before the fourth could strike, Jon gingerly lifted his arms to tug you closer to him. He mumbled out a couple breathy words into your hairline, but you couldn’t quite hear what he said.

You supposed it didn’t matter—not when he remained silent for the rest of the time he held you. Barely, you registered the way his entire body trembled. He tucked his nose against the column of your throat.

And he cried.

That only had you holding him tighter.

You watched in the shadows of the hounds’ kennel.

Watched as Sansa set the hounds on a tied-up Ramsay.

Watched as they slobbered drool over his face.

Watched as he screamed agony when they tore into his limbs.

Sansa’s hand brushed your shoulder on her way out.

You stayed.

You stayed until the screams turned into gurgling.

You stayed until the gurgling died away—a flame using the last of its wick.

You stayed until you knew Ramsay Bolton was dead.

It happened in the dead of night. When the winds quietened to but a feathery whisper, when the moon shone silver and gold, when the fires in the hearths had waned to a soft orange glow.

Jon’s face, now freshly void of any grime, was cradled in your palms.

“We match, Snow,” you whispered, thumb trailing down the faded scar over his eye.

A smile flittered over his lips.

His own hands raised to faintly trace your new white patch on your eye, careful not to press too hard. “Yours is a lot worse than mine, Sand.” In a much less humorous tone, he said, “Thank you. You saved my life out there, while we were fighting. I owe you.”

You regarded him with a strange look, one so very tender and affectionate that it made Jon’s stomach squirm. “You owe me nothing, Jon Snow. You would’ve done the same for me.”

“You’re a good fighter,” he quipped, a dusting of pink on his cheekbones. “I was watching you more than I should have. You distract me.”

Instead of responding, you boldly leaned forward and enveloped his mouth with yours, nose slotted against his. It took no less than a second for Jon to reciprocate—as if he’d been waiting for this for a long time.

All the frustration of the fighting, of the battles, of the wars, came pouring out of the both of you. It was raw, needy, brutal with want.

Boots thudded to the ground. Fur coats were hastily shed. The back of your knees hit the bed, and you both fell onto the mattress with quiet oomfs. Your fingers tangled into his dark curls, tugging, yanking.

Jon made a guttural noise against you, eyes half-lidded.

Stars of Dorne colored behind your eyelid as Jon moved against you. Sweat beaded your body. Your chest pressed against his, rising and falling with each staggered breath. His skin was burning, near scalding to the touch. But you were a child of sand. You were made for the heat.

Caught up in the intense fervor of the moment, your blunt nails scratched down his abdomen, leaving raw red marks in its wake. You were about to apologize, but Jon seemed not to mind, kissing you even harder, all teeth and tongue. He smelled of cedar and honey cakes.

At one point during the heated session, you switched positions so that you sat on top. “Didn’t you say you’d tell me about how you died if we both made it out alive?” you questioned, stroking his stubbled jaw.

A brief frown crossed his expression. “You’re really bringing this up now, of all times?” he grumbled.

“Fine, fine.” You rolled your eyes and smoothly moved against him, like the push and pull of an ocean’s wave. A soft, desperate noise scratched at the back of Jon’s throat. “You’re telling me after, though.”

Abruptly, Jon hooked his leg over the crook of your knee and flipped you onto your back, hovering over you. An unattractive squawk of surprise wrangled out of your lungs. His long ink-hued locks tickled your forehead and you wrinkled your nose at him, flushed with desire.

“I’m hoping you’ll forget that by the time I’m done,” Jon gritted out, sounding unfairly confident in his abilities, kissing along your jaw, your clavicle, your chest—and further down he went. Waves of heat danced across your body and you bit down on your tongue in near torment.

He took his time with you, savoring every last second he had before facing the outside world once more. The grip on your hips grew impossibly tighter. Jon could smell the snow on your skin, paired with the faint aroma of smoke, most probably because you’d been hovering by the fire, complaining about the cold just before this. He smiled into your flushed skin. He just couldn’t get enough of you.

You were about to retort something scathing in response when his teeth sank into the flesh of your inner thigh. Immediately, your lips snapped back shut. You didn’t trust yourself to speak without dissolving into a fluster-fucked mess.

It was safe to say, the thought of Jon’s past-death was the absolute last thing on your mind for the rest of the night.

You were fourteen when you left Dorne.

You were twenty-two when you returned home.

“So…” you just about purred into Jon’s ear, draping an arm over his shoulder. “That thick, chunky Northern blood of yours loosen up, yet?”

He side-eyed you with faux-annoyance, before returning his gaze to the large expanse of Dorne’s gardens. His elbows were resting against the balcony’s marble railings, the sun’s rays kissing his skin with golden warmth.

“It’s beautiful,” he observed, bowing his head. “I still can’t believe all of this is yours now.”

“Well,” you shrugged your shoulders, kissing his cheek fondly, “I suppose that’s what happens when I’m the last Martell standing.”

Jon turned to face you, expression turning grave. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t—”

“Oh, hush.” You pressed a finger to his lips, other hand lifting to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. You made the mental note to ask if he wanted to get his hair trimmed—though, you rather liked the long hair on him. “It’s okay. What happened, happened. It’s over now. The battles have been fought—we defeated the Night King. Ramsay Bolton is dead. Cersei Lannister is dead. Daenerys Targaryen is dead. The war is won. We can rest.”

He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but he nodded once solemnly, then cast his gaze back to the sunny view. Palm trees arched to the cloudless sky, lush greenery neatly arranged in the gardens. In the center was a large fountain, with four red scorpions as its centerpiece. Just past the gardens were the beginnings of a yellow desert, where the camels roamed and snakes thrived.

A servant came up to the both of you, offering two chalices of honeyed apple cider and a bowl of sticky date cakes.

“Thank you,” Jon told them graciously, nearly groaning with delight when he sipped the sweet drink. “I’ve missed this.”

You hummed your agreement, taking a generous bite of the cake. “I have something to ask you, Snow.”

An eyebrow arched in question, silently boding you to keep going.

You fiddled with the loose, ochre fabric of your shirt. “Will you stay with me? Here, in Dorne?” Uncertainty splayed over your features, and you were quick to backtrack. “I mean—I understand if you wouldn’t—you’ve got family in the North, and it’s where you’re from but… I wouldn’t want to rule without you by my side.”

The question was one Jon expected—one he already had an answer prepared for.

“I don’t know.” Jon scratched at his recently-shaven stubble. “It’s a bit… hot.”

After getting over your initial shock at his nonchalant response, your fist collided with his forearm, which made him burst out into peals of laughter. Much to your dismay, you felt a smile cracking through your annoyed glower.

“You’re a bastard, Snow.”

The raven-haired man turned to you fully, placing the chalice onto the flat of the railing and gathering you into his arms. His forehead leaned against yours as he stared into your single bright eye, glimmering with hope. How could he ever say no to you?

“Aye. That I am,” he said wistfully, before pecking you chastely. You tasted the apple on his lips. “And so are you, Sand.”

You nodded. “You’re right about that,” you whispered, sighing out a breath of relief.

“Of course I’ll stay, love. You said it yourself—we can rest now. I can think of no better place than with you.” Jon slotted two fingers beneath your chin so that you’d meet his sincere gaze.

There were tears pricking the corner of your eye, and you quickly blinked them away before yanking him closer by the collar of his tunic, and kissing him under the scorching sun of Dorne.

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 1 year

Text

Mine First, Mine Last, Mine Even in the Grave

Pairing: Ramsay Bolton x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, minors keep away!, innocent MC

Words: 2797

Summary: Even at such a young age, Ramsay was proving a difficult and willful child. He was somewhat twisted in nature that sometimes disturbed his mother. However once he laid eyes on the little baby, he immediately grew attached to her.

"You mean she’s all mine?” A little Ramsay peers over the crib at the little bundle that fussed around in her blankets. He was standing on his tippy toes just so that he was barely able to peer over the side.

“Not exactly. . .” His mother informs him a bit hesitantly. How was she to tell him that the baby was left on their doorstep? That she had debated on letting it freeze to death had Ramsay not opened the door and found her. Even at such a young age, Ramsay was proving a difficult and willful child. He was somewhat twisted in nature that sometimes disturbed his mother. However once he laid eyes on the little baby, he immediately grew attached to her.

Now she was stuck raising two children. It was the last thing she wanted. At least Roose Bolton was kind enough to give her money and ways to make a living for her and their child. She now had to split that money three ways now since Ramsay just refused to let the little babe go.

With a gentleness that his mother had never seen before, Ramsay brushes a little finger along the curve of the baby’s chubby cheek. “You’re mine, (y/n). You belong to me.”

*Several Years Later*

He had insisted that you come along with him to the Dreadfort. That there was no other place better for you than by his side. At least that’s what he always told you. You were his constant companion since the day you could remember. Ramsay had always been in your life. Hovering over you and sometimes smothering you, but it was the only thing you had known.

Ramsay was happy to be at the Dreadfort, his rightful home as he had always told you. It had taken his father this long to request his presence. You knew how much this meant to him. How much being part of the Bolton family meant. Yet he still held the surname of Snow. His father hadn’t quite accepted him that much yet. So he would work hard to earn the name Bolton. And he would make sure you would be by his side.

You hadn’t seen Ramsay in days. You were excited that he was finally to return home from his hunting excursion with his father and brother. Peeking from your window, you try and go further on your tippy toes but it’s no good. All you could see are the Bolton banners being abused by the northern winds. With an impatient huff you turn on your heels and throw open the door of your room. Rushing down the hall, the excitement in you bubbled out of control as you grinned. Oh how you had been so bored without Ramsay. Maybe he would take you riding!

Taking the stairs two at a time you practically fly up to the balcony that faced the gates to the Dreadfort. The loud groaning and rumbling of the gate alerts everyone to their arrival. Containing your giddiness was nearly impossible. You had to wait until he was in eyesight though. You lean forward over the edge a bit.

“Excited?”

Freezing you turn to see Myranda standing right next to you. For the life of you, you couldn’t think of what you did for her to dislike you so much. Her face held a sneer as she looked at you.

“O-Of course. Ramsay’s home. Why wouldn’t I be excited?” You ask hesitantly. She was always mean to you so of course you were standoffish with even speaking to her. Myranda always made fun of you, commenting on how you were way too innocent for Ramsay to keep an interest in you. What did she mean by that?

The clopping of multiple hooves made you turn away from her. You didn’t want to hear what she had to say anyway. Your smile returns. Cupping your hands to your mouth you scream out “RAMSAY!!”

You had only been able to see the crown of his dark hair, but once your voice rang out he immediately lifts his head to the balcony. His grin was unmistakable.

Carefully moving around Myranda you hastily pick up your skirts and run to meet Ramsay at the bottom.

You didn’t give him much time to settle down onto the ground before you threw yourself at him. Ramsay was always ready for you though. He swoops you up in his arms and spins the two of you around.

“Did you miss me (y/n)?” His cold nose nuzzles against your neck making you squirm.

“Of course! That’s such a silly question to ask!” Burying your face in the pelts of his coat you take a deep breath in. You missed the smell of him. Something caught your eye though behind him. You lift your face to get a better look. “Ramsay. . . Who are those people?” They were bounded by chains, bloody and beaten.

Ramsay quickly puts you down, blocking your view. “Oh, no need to worry about them. They’re bad people.” His hands go to caress your face and bring your gaze back to him but you’re still trying to get a look at them.

“Why have you brought them here then?” A kiss to the crown of your head brings you away from the question though and you smile up at him.

“I missed you too (y/n).” Ramsay’s voice was always sweet like honey when he spoke to you. Sweet and full of adoration. You knew there would never be a man who loved you as much as Ramsay did. He even told you so and you felt it to be true. “Let’s get out of the cold. Tell me what you did while I was gone.”

He leads you back inside of the castle, listening patiently as you told him how bored you were and that you really hadn’t done much. But one of the stable boys had helped you get onto your horse and even walked around the courtyard with you with the reigns in his hand as he made sure your horse didn’t get out of hand.

His hand froze on your shoulder. “Is that so?”

“Yes, he was very nice to me.” Nodding, you notice nothing out of the ordinary and continue on. “He even told me why horses need shoes on just like people! Did you know that the nails don’t actually hurt the horse? It would hurt me if someone put nails on my feet.”

“(y/n), do you remember the name of the stable boy?” asks Ramsay nonchalantly.

You think for a moment, index finger on your chin. “I believe his name is Joenn.” That’s when he stops you mid-step. You look back at him. “What’s wrong Ramsay?”

There’s dark foreboding on his face, even his pale eyes speak of a warning. “(y/n) you must be more careful next time.”

Scrunching your brows into a furrow, you tilt your head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t be talking to men so freely like that. You can’t trust them. They’re all evil. Except for me, of course. I would never hurt you (y/n). They will though. Once they see that you’re guard is down they’ll try to hurt you. All of them.”

“W. . . Why would they want to hurt me?”

Seeing the clear fear on your face, he returns to being more softly and pulls you closer to him. “Because you’re sweet. All men want a taste of the sweetest fruits. Promise me you won’t talk to any other man unless I’m with you. I can protect you.”

“O-Okay.”

Ramsay wiped his hands clean of Joenn’s blood. It wouldn’t do for his precious (y/n) to see any speck of blood on him. Bad enough that she saw the prisoners that they had brought in. He wouldn’t dare expose her to that side of him. She was far too sweet for that world. Always smiling so easily at him. Yes, she was the one thing that solely belonged to him. That much Ramsay can confidently say; (y/n) was his.

“Are you done then?” Ramsay hears Myranda’s purr from the doorway of the dungeon.

Myranda had been fun to play with, but she could never truly replace (y/n). As much as he wanted (y/n) to remain sweet and pure there was a hunger in Ramsay for her. It was hard enough for himself as it was to control such urges. Everything she did made him want her even more.

The rag still in his hands he looks up at her. “Yes. Just had to take care of a pest problem.”

Myranda eyes the boy still hanging on the large wooden X. “A pest problem?”

“Yes. He got to near (y/n) for my liking.”

Immediately her dark eyes narrow at the mention of her. “You were jealous. You never get jealous when it comes to me.”

Ramsay offers her a carefree laugh. “I don’t have to worry about you. (y/n) however is too innocent. She doesn’t know how much she attracts men with her sweetness. She’s mine. I have to make that a point to the other vermin that skulk around her when I’m gone.”

“She’s a sweet idiot. Why waste your time on her if you don’t plan to fuck her?” She asks haughtily. The green venom of jealousy eating away at her. She couldn’t stand how much Ramsay adored the girl. Whenever she thought she had the upper hand (y/n) would always do something to take Ramsay’s attention away from her. What did that idiot have to offer? Surely not sex. That girl seemed like one who didn’t even know what her cunt was truly for. Ramsay had kept her sheltered. So why? Why was he so. . . in love with her?

“I’ll not have you speak about her in such a manner.” warns Ramsay, the glint in his eyes making Myranda press her lips together. Normally she would’ve gotten excited. When he used that tone it usually always led to rough sex. Not when it concerned (y/n) though. “Unlike you she’s precious and delicate. She requires nurturing before I take a bite of her.”

Yes, eventually he would taste her. Eventually he would make (y/n) his in every way possible. No man would ever be able to lay a claim on her once her marked her. Eventually. . . Eventually he would make her a Lady. It wasn’t just conquest of her that Ramsay aimed for. He would truly make her is. Ramsay would give her his name, a title, and eventually, his child. (y/n) would make an outstanding wife and mother. In due time. He just had to wait until his father truly claimed him as a Bolton.

She was the only one to ever make him breathless.

There he stood in her doorway as she stood nude in her room, appraising the massive fur pelt that Ramsay had given her. Fresh from the animal he had taken it from. The light of the candles highlighted her curves ever so perfectly as she swayed her hips unconsciously, smiling and running her hands in the fur before turning her attention to Ramsay. Her eyes widen a bit in surprise before she goes back to smiling. (y/n) reaches for her robe. “Hello Ramsay! I was just about to go take a bath. Would you like to join me? It’s been forever since we’ve bathed together!”

And there was a reason for that. Every time he caught sight of her naked body his cock would spring to life. It was against his nature to refuse his carnal desires. For (y/n) though he would.

Ramsay could feel his hand twitch, urging him to touch her. He wanted that damn robe off of her. Already he could feel his cock swelling from the peek he had received.

(y/n) cocks her head expectantly at him with a hopeful smile. “Come on Ramsay! We used to take baths all the time when we lived with your mother!”

Damn

Ramsay couldn’t take it anymore. He closed the distance between them, the heat in his groin becoming unbearable. He wanted what was his. Such sweet lips she possessed. Ramsay cupped her face roughly and smashed his lips against them. (y/n) jerks a little bit from the surprise. Wordlessly he pulls away to gaze down at her flushed face. (e/c) eyes dewey and half lidded, her lips parted from the loss of Ramsay’s. Hand snaking down her neck at past her robe to feel up her breast. With the slightest tug he slides her robe off of her to expose her once more. Grinning he he cranes his neck so that he could take soft nips against her slender neck. Shuddering, (y/n) bites down on her bottom lip and tilts her head back as she releases a shallow moan. Good. She was incredibly receptive to his touches.

With a shove, she lands on her pelt with stunned eyes staring at Ramsay. Utterly divine. Ramsay runs his tongue against his lips and starts to crawl on top of her. Brushing his lips along the length of her torso. “You’re mine (y/n). You understand? You’ll be my wife someday. Mother of my children. Lady of the Dreadfort.” Front teeth bite down on to her pert nipple making her wince a bit. To make up for it Ramsay rolled his tongue over the abused bud and gentle sucked at it. The sound of her breath growing shallow made his cock strain against his pants. It begged to be let out. To be between her legs and pulsate inside of her. As a substitute Ramsay slides his fingers inside of her making her back arch and her mouth gape wide. She’s barely able to groan out his name before he starts pumping them in and out, curling them inside of her and making her start to whimper.

“Does that feel good (y/n)?” Concentrated on her contorting facial expressions, Ramsay moves his fingers slower giving her enough time to answer him.

“Y. . . Y-Yes. . .” (y/n)’s eyes are closed, eyebrows furrowed as she instinctively thrusts her pelvis to the rhythm of Ramsay’s ministrations. She wanted more. She wanted more of him. “Please. . .”

“Please what?”

“More. . .”

He feels his own heart racing at the fact that she didn’t know what she wanted more of. “Say that you want my cock. That you want my cock inside of your sweet cunt.”

As if her cheeks weren’t red already they were now beaming brightly as she turns her face away with embarrassment.

“I’ll give you what you want. You just have to say it (y/n).”

Her lips part several times, trying to form the words. She struggles even more when Ramsay stops his movements all together. “I-I want your cock. . .”

Immense pleasure fills him as he lets his thumb graze her clit. As if electricity jolted through her, her body clenches at the foreign feeling. “And where do you want my cock?”

“In my. . . I-I-In my s. . . sweet c-cunt.”

Who was he to deny his beloved (y/n) anything?

Within seconds his britches were off and his cock was finally free and prodding at (y/n)’s soaking cunt. Rubbing the head along her slit made (y/n) squirm incessantly, her thighs twitching with anticipation. Ramsay lifts up her thighs, fingers digging into them as he props her legs against his shoulders. One thrust of his hips and Ramsay was balls deep inside. She yelps at the intrusion, her maiden’s head having been penetrated. There’s no letting up now that Ramsay was finally inside of her. The one place he had longed to be since they had both come of age. Incredibly warm and tight, Ramsay continues to drive into her mercilessly. Her moans are torn and scattered as she can barely catch her breath. Every carnal instinct and desire spilled forth. He wanted to consume her entirely. Teeth bit down harshly on her fragile skin, enough to draw blood. Tongue lapped at the sweat that beaded on her temple. Fingers digging desperately just to get her closer despite them already being as close as two bodies could get.

More.

In that lustful haze Ramsay hardly registered (y/n) coming to her climax until the walls of her cunt tightened in revenge around his cock. That was the last thing he needed to come undone himself. The very breath was stolen from him as his body locked up, spilling his seed inside of her that would guarantee him an heir.

Exhausted, his face drops to the crook of her neck. Gingerly her hand goes to his shoulder to press him closer to her panting form.

“Mine. . .” He pants. “You’re all mine.”

#reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #asoiaf fanfiction #game of thrones #ramsay bolton x reader #ramsay bolton #ramsay bolton fanfiction #ramsay snow #a song of ice and fire fanfic #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #game of thrones reader insert

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axelsagewrites · 7 months

Text

Ramsay Bolton*Appreciate You

Pairing: ramsay x f!commoner!reader

Kintober Day eight: dubcon kidnap au with Ramsay Bolton – Ramsay can’t stand the idea of such a pretty creature going unappreciated any longer

Word count: 1148

Warnings: kidnap, dubcon, kidnapping, praise, questionable intensions. threats, restraints, fingering, smut 18+

Masterlist Here

Kinktober List Here

“People will realise I’m gone,” you tried to sound tough, but your voice came out more like a whimper. “They’ll come looking for me,” you cried out as the hooded man paced the room.

You weren’t sure where you were just that this chamber was cold and that the rusty cuffs around your wrist were keeping you from leaving the bed. There were only three candles and the longer you waited, heart pounding and a chill beginning to set in, you wondered if they would burn out before you could escape.

“I wouldn’t be so sure darling,” the man said, stopping his paces to sit in the sole 231q

across from the bed. It was almost as if he’d made his cloak too big so that his hood covered all but his lower face but still you could see a smirk on his lips, “I’ve been watching you for a while now. You didn’t even notice did you?” he asked and you shook your head no, afraid to even speak, “No and why would you? after all you’re used to no one watching you,” he paused for a moment before leaning in, resting his elbows on his knees, “No one appreciating you,”

His words sent shivers down your spine, “What do you want from me?”

“All I want,” he said slowly, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip, “is you. your touch,” he said, his hand reaching out to slowly stroke up your arm. You tried to jerk away only to be met with the sounds of metal clinking at the mystery man’s chuckle, “your affection even. After all us bastards have to stick together,”

“Who are you?” you asked, your eyebrows knitting together as you wondered if you’d heard that voice before. He paused for a moment before his hand went to his hood, pulling the fabric off his head, “Ramsay?” you asked, your voice a whisper as you stared at him in shock.

“In the flesh,” he said, standing from his chair to sit on the edge of your bed, “What a pretty little thing you are. You know at first, I thought your beauty was impossible. Perhaps only so sightly from a distance but now,” he said, his fingers stroking your cheek making you flinch, “I realise the men around simply have no taste,”

You hated the way your skin grew hot. They were not sweet words. They were twisted and dark and tainted with his faint smirk but still they made it hard to look away from him. “Where am I?” you whispered.

“Somewhere no one can hurt you,” he whispered back, almost smiling you notice but not quite. Still his words made it hard not to laugh when the cold metal around your wrists brought you to reality. Ramsay leaned down, his warm breath fanning over your cold cheeks as he pushed the hair out of your face, “Don’t be afraid sweetheart,” he assured, voice dripping with tenderness, “I treat my pets very well,”

“I’m not a pet,” you tried to argue, to be defiant, not to fall for his tricks.

Ramsay’s eyes darkened, his hand grabbing a fistful of hair making you gasp, “Did I say you could speak?” he barked before his lips suddenly crashed onto yours. you gasped into the kiss which only allowed him to deepen it.

Your wrists tugged on the restraints, metal clanking as Ramsay removed his cloak, tossing it to the side without breaking his kiss. His fist tightened around your hair making you wince however once you felt yourself kissing back his grip released.

His lips left yours only to trail harsh marks and bites down your neck to the neckline of your dress. Without warning his hands took hold of the fabric, tearing it in two. You gasped, the cold air washing over your body making your nipples harden.

His hands took hold of your breasts, squeezing them as he moved to rest his legs over yours, his hard cock evident through his trousers. You gasped when he pinched your sensitive buds, rolling them between your fingers.

You mentally cursed the wetness growing in between your legs, your thighs instinctively clamping together. this however made Ramsay smirk, “You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” he asked, a glimmer in his eye.

“No,” you said meekly but when his hand wrapped around your throat you found yourself stuttering for words.

“Never,” he cut your stammers off, speaking slow as if chastising a child, “lie to me again. I will always know,” he scolded, and you nodded quickly. You whimpered as you felt his hand trail up your thighs, “Open them,” Ramsay ordered and after a second and a telling look on his face you complied.

You shivered when you felt his finger run up your slit, “What a little liar,” Ramsay laughed, “Look how wet you are,” he mocked as his finger teased your hole making you whine, “and desperate too,” he said, his lips returning back to your neck as he slipped his fingers in. he curled them with precision and you hated the way your hip bucked and chills went up your spine as he moved his thumb over your clit.

His lips found your nipples, sucking them harshly before grazing them with his teeth making you gasp. Your arms tugged at your restraints, desperate to touch him or push him away you weren’t sure, but you could feel your cunt tightening around his fingers as your orgasm threatened to spill.

It didn’t take much more, another curl of his fingers and another bite to your sensitive bud and you felt your body tighten, your arms tugging on the restraints till the metal bruised your wrists as your peak washed over you. “Such a pretty little thing,” Ramsay cooed as he pulled himself away from you only to stroke his hand over your cheek once more before standing.

“Where are you going?” you asked, breathless as you gazed across the room at him, still bare from where he had torn your dress.

“I have other matters to attend to,” he said as he walked to a chest and unlocked it, “but I will be back, don’t you worry sweetheart,” he said as he threw a grin over his shoulder your way and suddenly self-consciousness began to wash over you as he pulled something out of the chest. He tossed the furs over your body as he walked to the side of the bed, undoing your wrist chains so now only your ankles kept you connected to the bed.

“What are you going to do with me?” you asked again, this time less fear in your voice but you were still nervous to meet his gaze as he cupped your cheek.

“Oh, I think you know sweetheart,” he grinned, that twinkle returning to his eyes, “Don’t worry, I won’t go far. Neither will you,”

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pastanest · 1 year

Text

Jon Snow x she/her!reader

warning: brief reference to attempted SA

part one can be found here

Yours - Part Two

Tension rose between the two hot-headed siblings as they discussed the plan for their future, where such a plan would take them. Sansa was set on starting a war with Ramsay Bolton and taking back their home, saving you in the process, but having already been aged by the ways of war, Jon stood to his feet.

“I am tired of fighting. It’s all I’ve done since I left home. I’ve killed brothers of the Night’s Watch, I’ve killed wildlings, I’ve killed men that I admire, I hanged a boy, younger than Bran! I’ve fought, and I lost.” He was exhausted, in mind, body and soul.

But when Sansa stepped toward her brother and held his gaze, she knew exactly what she needed to say.

“You have not lost, because she is still waiting for you. She will believe until the day she dies that you are coming to save her, because that is who you are to her. You’ve fought, and now you must fight for her.”

Something flickered in Jon then, a spark that only you could ignite. “I have always fought for her.”

“Then do it once more. This time, knowing she is on the other side. If we don’t take back the north, we’ll never be safe. I want you to help me, but I’ll do it myself if I have to.” Sansa raised an eyebrow, seeing the fire in her brother’s eyes and knowing that you have succeeded, as you always have, in bringing Jon Snow back to his senses.

It was only then, Sansa chose to disclose the nature of your capture. With every detail, Jon’s blood boiled in his veins. Chained by one wrist to the leg of a bed, forced to live each day and night on the castle floor, in complete darkness, save for when Ramsay Bolton decided to pay you a visit for a regular beating. That particular comment made Jon visibly flinch, fists clenching at the thought of getting his hands on the man that thought he had any right to touch you. While Sansa tried to free you, the door to the room you were trapped in was locked and she did not have time to search for the key, you would not let her, instead you had been shouting for her to go, to escape to the Wall, to Jon.

In that moment, Jon Snow knew he was ready to beat Ramsay Bolton to death. And that was only exacerbated by the raven he decided to send to the wall, addressed to Jon, regarding his sister and younger brother, Rickon, with disgusting threats. There was no mention of you in the letter, but Sansa assured Jon this was a good thing, because it meant Ramsay did not intend to use you as a bargain, he did not think you were important enough, so he would keep you alive as his plaything. Jon did not find that as comforting as Sansa had intended.

Following Sansa’s advice, Jon arranged a meeting with Ramsay Bolton upon gathering his forces. By no means did they have enough men to truly beat Ramsay, but Jon was certain that he alone could blaze through an army, knowing you were on the other side of it.

Naturally, Ramsay arrived late to their meeting, leaving Jon, Sansa, and their accompanying party of Lords and Ladies from the northern houses that had rallied behind them, waiting in the clear field that surrounded Winterfell until Ramsay Bolton approached on his horse with his own display of Lords.

Smiling at Sansa on his arrival, Ramsay addressed her first, then looked to Jon, seemingly bemused by the sight of him as he greeted him with far less respect, if that is what his greeting to his wife could be deemed as.

“Come, bastard, you don't have the men, you don't have the horses, and you don't have Winterfell - why lead those poor souls to slaughter? There’s no need for a battle, get off your horse and kneel. I am a man of mercy”

Jon smirked at him. “You’re right, there’s no need for a battle. Thousands of men dont need to die, only one of us. Let’s end this the old way - you against me.”

And Jon so wished the bastard opposite him would be foolish enough to agree. He could be the greatest fighter in the history of Westeros, and Jon would fancy his chances, for you.

Unfortunately, Ramsay laughed at that suggestion. “I keep hearing stories about you, bastard. The way people in the North talk about you, you’re the greatest swordsman who ever walked. Maybe you are that good, maybe not. I don't know if I’d beat you, but I know that my army will beat yours. I have 6,000 men, you have, what, half that? Not even?”

Jon was thoroughly enjoyed taunting such a petulant child. “Aye, you have the numbers. Will your men want to fight for you, when they hear you wouldn't fight for them?”

Ramsay pointed to Jon, laughing. “He’s good, very good. Tell me, will you let your little brother die because you’re too proud to surrender?”

It was then, Sansa spoke up. “How do we know you have him?”

And with a nod from Ramsay, one of his men threw the severed head of Rickon’s direwolf in between their respective parties.

Trying her best not to show any kind of reaction on her face, Sansa nodded. “And what of my maid?”

Ramsay shrugged. “Well, dear wife, with you gone, I will have no choice but to turn to the others at my disposal, to…serve me.”

It took more strength than Jon Snow had ever had to conjure up for anything, to not launch himself from his horse and tackle Ramsay from his, beating him into the earth below. With everything he had, he held onto what was at stake, what Sansa had advised him would keep him safest, and held his ground, restricting his visceral response to Ramsay’s words to the slightest clench of his own horse’s reins. “I wonder, will your men want to fight for you when they find out the only women you can keep at your side are your prisoners? A man who cannot please a woman is hardly one to inspire the heart’s of men.”

Ramsay tilted his head to the side, his ego clearly pricked by the notion of being undesirable. “Do you mean to tell me, bastard, that you broke your sacred Oath as well as deserted your post?”

At that, Jon scoffed. “No man would ask such a question, but a boy would. Killing your father does not make you a man, neither does forcing yourself upon a thousand slaves.”

Ramsay composed himself, Jon only picking up on the tiniest flash of a tantrum behind his eyes. “I have heard of your righteousness, bastard. That, I suppose, is the one thing you must have received from your father, and look where it got him.”

Oh, Jon Snow knew he was going to enjoy dragging out Ramsay Bolton’s death for as long as possible.

For the rest of the day, following the conclusion of their meeting, Jon’s mind was spinning with the threats Ramsay Bolton had made against you and your virtue. He hoped to the Gods he had not given himself away in his fists clenched the reigns of his horse, but that was the most he could do to conceal the fury that raged within him. Even during the continued discussions of the battle plan he had formed with his men, thoughts of you tugged at the back of Jon’s mind constantly. Having once again butted heads with Sansa, she began to take her leave from the tent Jon was situated in.

Turning to face him one last time, she held his gaze. “If Ramsay wins, I'm not going back there alive. Do you understand me?”

Jon’s heart sank in his chest, immediately understanding what she was insinuating. “I won't ever let him touch you, or (Y/N), again. I’ll protect you both, I promise.”

In her angered, traumatized state, Sansa seemed almost offended at such a sincere promise. “No one can protect me. No one can protect anyone.”

He dared not argue with her, but he knew that she was wrong. Jon would protect her, and you, even if it killed him. To die for someone he loved would be a better demise than his first.

That night, Jon Snow laid in the bed of his tent and stared up at the ceiling. He knew he needed the rest, but could not quiet his mind in the wake of what the dawn would bring. A war like none he had ever faced, with you on the other side. Reaching into the shirt pocket that sat directly above his heart, Jon retrieved the folded, aged piece of parchment that was worn and faded by the countless instances of him rereading it. Huffing beside his bed, Ghost nudged the back of Jon’s hand, bringing a soft smile back to his face as he tore his gaze from the page.

“We’ll get her back, Ghost, we have to.” He whispered, and Ghost breathed deeply in response, agreeing in his own way.

Following suit, Jon took a deep breath of his own and closed his eyes, folding the parchment back into a neat square and slotting it back into his pocket, feeling a piece of him returning as he did. He envisioned himself as the boy he once was, lying in the godswood, under the weirwood tree, with his head on your lap as you ran your fingers through his hair. If he focussed hard enough, he could almost feel your fingertips against his scalp. That was the only sensation that could bring rest to his racing mind, on the eve of war.

The next morning, the sun rose high, illuminating the field of battle as Jon rode his men to their frontline. Seeing the army that stood between himself and you, Jon began to doubt whether he really could make it to the other side. That was, until a raven flew from one side of the field to the other. Upon one of the wildlings shooting it down, Jon was handed a small scroll of parchment tied with a torn black cord, a slightly crooked sword charm hanging from it, and a strand of your hair that fell with a wind that slowed time to a stop as Jon untied it with trembling hands. Seeing red, his eyes scanned the page, the words that were written on it, and the heart that he firmly believed still resided with you dropped to the field below him.

“She screamed terribly for you when I tried to take this from her. The bastard’s common whore screamed loudest for me, in the end. But fear not, she won’t be making a sound like that again, or any other for that matter.

I’ll let you watch her rot, if you like.

Come and see.”

The parchment fell from Jon Snow’s shaking fists, landing on the ground atop the hair that Ramsay Bolton had ripped from your head, but the necklace stayed clenched in Jon’s fist. It couldn’t be true, he told himself, he would feel it if you were no longer there, if you were not waiting for him anymore. As hard as it hammered in his chest, his heart felt the same way it did before, that it was not truly with him. It would have returned to him, were you not there to take care of it anymore, he thought. But deep within his soul, Jon knew that his heart would stay with you long after yours had stopped beating, for his heart had been with you when it had stopped beating in his own body. He truly believed that you were what had brought him back to this life in that sense. What would be the purpose in bringing his greatest motivation for winning such a battle, leading him to the field of war and then taking you from him. It did not make sense, Jon thought, and used that to rationalize to himself that Ramsay Bolton was simply lying for the sake of distracting him. Little did Ramsay know, Jon’s mind was solely on you regardless of such a threat.

And as he unclenched his fists to tie the black cord at the back of his neck, icy gaze fixed on the form he recognised on the opposite side of the field, Jon Snow knew that he would make it through any number of men to punish the one that dared to take a single hair from your head.

The short lived hope of being able to save his younger brother, Rickon, only set Jon’s resolve further into stone. Through a sea of arrows, Jon Snow rode his horse until he was thrown from it, and then he stood. Arrows at his feet that stuck upright, having failed in harming him in a way that reassured him the Gods were on his side once more. And as he faced the army that charged towards him, a single man serving as the front line, Jon’s life flashed before his eyes. He saw your smile, and over the sound of horses and men, he heard your laugh, your call of his name. For the briefest moment, Jon swore he could see you standing at one of the windows of Winterfell in the distance, but the version of you remembered so fondly was years younger than the one that he was here to save. The emotional weight of the sword charm at his chest and your first letter to him folded in the pocket over his heart, made it difficult for him to breathe, and he knew that this was it. Nodding to himself, he unclasped the belt of his sword and unsheathed it, standing to face the wall of men that charged for him, knowing that regardless of whether Ramsay Bolton was telling the truth, you were still on the other side. If Jon Snow could not save you, he would still fight for the right to rescue what was left of you and ensure you were laid to rest in the way you deserved, with his journey’s end being at your side when this was all over. The fury with which he would fight for you was unchanged, because it was still you he was fighting for, it would always be you.

And he fought harder than he had ever fought in his life, ending more lives than he could count without any regard for the men they were, whether he had known them once. If they were standing on the path that led to you, Jon Snow did not know them anymore.

Before long, the bodies had formed a wall at his rear and a living blockade of flayed-man banners at every other side began closing in on Jon and the men that had followed him into battle. His mind raced, every step and every swing of his sword accompanied by the mantra of your name, his very reason for being. For a fraction of a second, suffocating beneath the weight of his own army, he wondered if dying for you then was the best outcome, if you truly were not waiting for him in the land of the living, it would be his one means of returning to you at long last.

And then, the Eyrie’s horn sounded, with Sansa watching on from afar as they rode into battle for her, for you, for Winterfell. Many had told her the field of battle was no place for a woman, but Sansa would never sit back and let Jon fight for you on his own. She said she would finish this herself if she had to, and she did.

Bursting free from the trap that had been set by the enemy, with WunWun the giant on his left and his dear friend Tormund on his right, Jon Snow charged the field on foot with one deserter in his sights.

At the gates of Winterfell, WunWun took arrow after arrow, but crashed through the only barrier remaining between Jon and his home. Defeated and exhausted, the giant collapsed to his knees with a mighty yell, sharing a long glance with Jon at his side before falling forward. Wildlings rushed to surround him, protecting the giant from any further harm, and the blood soaked Snow stood before his greatest enemy.

“You suggested one-on-one combat, didnt you? I’ve reconsidered! I think that sounds like a wonderful idea.” Ramsay taunted, readying his bow.

And Jon lunged for a shield on the ground, raising it just in time to take the impact of the first arrow Ramsey fired, then the second and the third. None dared to break Jon’s stride before he reached Ramsay and slammed the shield into him, knocking him to the ground. Like a feral animal, Jon Snow jumped on him, the fury of an ancient dragon awaking from an age-old sleep burning in his veins, vision crimson with rage, knowing nothing except for your name, again and again and again, with every crunch of his fists against the red of Ramsay’s face.

It was only when Jon glanced up at Sansa that he was able to regain some composure, his chest heaving as he rose to his feet and stood over the sputtering Bolton bastard.

“You will never touch my sister again. And if you have harmed (Y/N) in the same way, if you have done her any disservice, if there is a fingerprint of yours on her, I’ll know, and I will relive the joy of your death in every dream I have for the rest of my days.” Jon Snow seethed, the flayed-man banner falling from the walls of Winterfell as its children finally returned home.

Running to his side, Ghost began licking at Jon’s palm, and Jon turned to him, crouching down and staring into the direwolf’s eyes.

“Find her, Ghost, take me to her.” He pleaded, not truly understanding how much his companion could comprehend, but knowing the second the beast took off inside the castle that Ghost understood exactly what had been asked of him.

With the spark of you reignited within him, Jon hurried after the white, blood spattered direwolf, your voice in his head calling out to him, growing more urgent with each whisper.

In the darkness of your cell, you rock yourself, your arms wrapped around your knees, attempting to tune out the noise from beyond the confinement of your cage. A large thud against the door sends a shock through your shivering form and you suck in a sharp breath, squeezing your eyes shut and focussing on the first memory you can grab at, deep in your subconscious.

“It was only a dream, (Y/N), it’s alright.” Jon’s hushed whisper reaches you, both so much younger than you are now.

“The fire, it was so-” Your younger voice was panicked, sobs catching in your throat as Jon’s arms squeezed you.

“You are safe, I promise. I’ve got you.”

Another thud at your prison door pulls you back to the present and you shake your head rapidly, desperate to lock yourself away in the memory of being in your best friend’s arms again, the safest place in the world that you had come to know. If you focus hard enough, you can almost feel them around you. Almost hear his soft voice in your ears, comforting you, lulling you back to sleep.

A final thud against the door sends burning light into the room and you squeeze your eyes shut harder, shaking your head and burying your face in your knees.

“It’ll pass, it’ll pass, it’ll pass.” You whimper to yourself, over and over again in an attempt to reassure yourself.

Large hands on your shoulders cause you to snap your head up, eyes wide and wild with fear and anger, but no tears blur them, you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“LET GO OF ME, GET AWAY!” You scream, trying to back away from him, but already having your back to the wall beside the leg of the bed that you are chained to.

The hands leave your shoulders and raise in surrender, either side of a blurry, bloody face that your terrified eyes can’t yet focus on.

“(Y/N), (Y/N), it’s me, look at me, it’s your Jon.” A familiar voice reaches your ears, and your wild mind halts to a sudden stop, the fog clearing and allowing you to see the face before you.

Jon watches your rigid, frightened expression falter, before it softens completely, his fractured heart at seeing you so afraid, healing at the recognition now in your eyes.

Very slowly, he takes ahold of your hands and brings them to his blood spattered face, gently holding them there and staring into your eyes.

“It’s your Jon, it’ll always be your Jon.” He tells you, relief flooding through him at being able to say such a thing to you, alive and safe again.

And after everything, after the countless days and nights spent surviving in darkness, locking yourself away in memories to avoid being mentally present in the regular acts of torture you were forced to endure, only when holding Jon Snow’s face in your hands and knowing you are truly safe, do you finally let the tears you’ve been burying fill your eyes.

Without sparing a second, Jon shuffles forwards and pulls you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you and softly shushing you as you sob into his chest. Covering your ears to shield them, not wanting to scare you, Jon yells out for someone, a ginger haired wildling running into the room with wide eyes at the sight of his friend, reunited with the love he had only heard him mention in moments when it wasn’t too painful for him to do so. With a nod, Tormund leaves the room and passes the order given to him by Jon amongst the wildlings, and between them they turn Winterfell on its head in search of the key for your chain.

For the time it takes them to find it, you stay safely nestled in Jon’s arms, cries slowing to a stop, allowing you to listen to his heartbeat, a sound that you had not realized just how much you had missed.

“D-Did…” You sigh, humiliated by your loss of ability to talk after being silent or screaming in an act of survival for so long. Jon squeezes your form gently in his arms, encouraging you to try again, he’ll wait, he’ll wait forever if he has to. Taking a deep breath, you clear your throat.

“Did you kill him?”

Jon takes a moment to reply. “Very nearly. Had Sansa not stopped me, I think I would have broken every knuckle I’ve got before I could have stopped myself.” He pauses. “The two of you should decide what to do with him, but you don’t need to worry about that now.”

Removing his arms from you briefly, Jon moves his hands to the back of his neck to untie the necklace. At the loss of contact, you lift your head from his chest to meet his eyes, and upon him opening his hand out to show you the necklace that had been so cruelly taken from you, you gasp, holding the base of your neck where it had previously resided. Turning away from Jon, he smiles softly and moves the necklace to your front, carefully tying it at the back of your neck. Feeling it back in place, you breathe deeply and settle back into Jon’s arms.

“That was all he took from me, you know.”

Jon frowns. “What do you mean?”

“He tried to take more, but I bit him through his trousers, so he has been…out of commission, shall we say, ever since.” The subtle tone in your voice is one Jon is so certain he recognises as smug.

Kissing your temple, he can’t wipe the smile from his face. “I am sorry that you had to do such a thing, but I am so proud of you, all the same.”

Sansa enters the room then, Ghost at her side and key in hand. She gasps at the sight of you, running to you and falling to her knees. Taking ahold of your hand and passing the key to Jon, she closes her eyes in a pained blink.

“I am so, so sorry that I left you here, (Y/N). Can you ever forgive me?” Her eyes open then, searching yours and seeing only a smile on your face.

Freeing your other wrist from the chain it had been confined in, you twist and stretch it before placing your other hand over hers.

“There’s nothing to apologize for and nothing to forgive.”

Sansa shares a look with Jon, both of them with knowing smiles, as those had been his very words when Sansa had been apologizing for her treatment of him as a child when she had not long arrived at the Wall.

“You really are the best of us, (Y/N).” Sansa chuckles in disbelief. “It’s about time we got you cleaned up and out of those rags, too. I’m sure Jon will see to that, and I’ll get a room ready for the two of you.” With a teasing smile, she rises to her feet and all but floats out of the room, leaving you and Jon with flushed faces.

Busying yourself with greeting Ghost and rubbing behind his ears, you try your hardest to distract yourself from the butterflies that have burst to life in your stomach after so many years of dormancy.

Clearing his throat, Jon taps your leg. “She’s right, y’know, we’d best get you cleaned up. There’s someone I’d like you to meet, when you feel up to it.”

Raising an eyebrow at him, you shakily bring yourself to stand, Jon’s hands holding your waist to keep you steady. “Who?”

At that, Jon Snow gives you the first dazzling smile that you have seen in Gods only know how long. “All in good time, my Lady.”

In your attempts to take your first steps on wobbling legs, Jon swallows the lump that forms in his throat, seeing the strong person that he adores more than any other, reduced to such physical weakness. If his hands were not on your waist, they would be returning to Ramsay’s face in several more punches for good measure.

Sensing your frustration and embarrassment at your own lack of mobility, Jon doesn’t hesitate to swing you up into his arms, carrying you like the bride he had always wished was his.

“I take it I don’t have to ask you to retract the bedding ceremony from our marriage at this time?” You tease in reference to the thought that the two of you share in being carried through the castle in such a way, bringing a laugh from Jon that he feels he hasn’t heard from himself in as long as you have.

“Even in more ideal circumstances, I’d never let that happen. Wouldn’t be right to break a man’s jaw on our wedding night.” He says, eyes never leading yours as he traverses the winding staircases of the castle he has not ventured since he was a boy, but are etched in his memory regardless.

Giggling and patting his chest, you shake your heard bashfully. “Good to know the Night’s Watch didn’t remove your chivalry, Lord Jon.” You gasp. “Gods! That really is your title now, as Lord Commander, isn’t it?”

Having not had a smile on his face for this length of time in many years, Jon feels an ache forming in the corners of his mouth, but doesn’t care at all. “Aye, I was, for a time, but my watch has ended.”

It’s then, a confused frown that Jon remembers well returns to your face, years older than he had last seen it, but no less endearing to him. “But...your watch only ends as a dead man?”

Jon nods as he descends the final staircase and kicks an all too familiar door open. “It’s a long story, one for another time.”

You want to question him further, but when your peripheral vision registers where Jon has carried you, you turn your head to look around, your jaw dropping.

Though the room is dark, you recognise every corner enshrouded in the shadows. The large and ancient communal bath that sits atop the hot spring that is Winterfell’s source of heated water, that none use in favor of their own personal baths, but had been your preferred method of cleanliness ever since you and Jon had discovered the dark and “secret” room when you were children. Placing you back on your feet gently, one of his hands on your waist and the other cradling your elbow to steady you, Jon’s gaze stays locked on your expression at his side, remembering this place with as much fondness as you do.

“This is about to be a bath for the ages. I will stay in this water for a week, at least, ‘til I am but a shriveled prune and you will have no choice but to drag me out against my will.” You tell him, tone so serious and words so humorous they pull another hearty laugh from Jon.

“We’d best get that week-long-bath started, then. I shan’t keep you and your heart’s true desire apart any longer.” He plays along, making you smile as you step in front of him, nodding to yourself.

Taking his cue, Jon lets go of you and turns around, expecting to give you the privacy to strip free of the filthy rags you have been kept in and stepping into the water to conceal yourself, until he hears you hiss in pain.

“Jon, I…I don’t intend to make you uncomfortable, but I do not think I can take this off without help.” You admit, embarrassed for too many reasons to list.

“It would cause me no discomfort at all, but are you certain you are comfortable with me…assisting you?” Jon asks in a soft voice, careful with his choice of words.

“Of course. You could never make me uncomfortable, Jon.” You respond without delay.

Needing no further instruction, Jon Snow takes a deep breath and turns around. With your back to him, you raise your arms and wait for trembling hands to lift the hem of your dress - if you could call a ripped potato sack such a thing - up and over your head. Dropping the fabric to the floor, Jon immediately turns around again, face burning.

“Thank you.” Your voice is meak, filled with shame over your true love seeing you bare for the first time, filthy, bloody and bruised.

All the while, Jon Snow is trying to remember how to breathe while the mental image of your naked form imprints itself into his flailing mind. The dirt had not even crossed his mind. Your injuries, of course, brought him sadness and anger, but the triumphant emotion was one he is not willing to admit, even to himself.

Taking slow and careful steps, you reach the water’s edge and lower yourself to sit on it, slipping your legs into the water and breathing a sigh of relief as the heat envelopes you immediately, inviting you in until your body is completely submerged and at peace. Every ache within your beaten body is soothed and you are quick to scrub the dirt from yourself, to be clean of your days caged and the memories that clung to your skin like the dried blood of your wounds.

Hearing the gentle slosh of the water, Jon settles as he realizes you are no longer standing behind him. Standing up straight, he fixes his gaze on the closed door and decides that he will keep watch. As you raise your head from the water, you see his silhouette standing at the door and smile, unable to withdraw the connection your mind makes between this picture and the one you saw so many times as a girl, of a much younger Jon Snow standing as he is now, shorter then, but just as determined to keep watch while you were vulnerable in the water.

“Y’know, you could do with a wash, yourself.” You note aloud.

Jon chuckles airily. “Aye, you’re probably right.”

Smirking in advance of your devious plan to make Jon blush again, you glide over to the edge of the water and rest your arms on the cold stone. “Join me then.”

And you watch in absolute glee as Jon’s form turns rigid at your suggestion. He does not answer.

“Jon?” You call in a singsong voice.

He clears his throat. “Hm?”

“As grotesque as my body is in its current state, I did not imagine you would ever reject an offer to join me?” You tease, only half joking.

Jon’s reaction is visceral. In a second, he is standing over you with a harsh frown, having had no thought in the effect the sight of you below him in such a way would have on him, too focussed on his emotional response to the ridiculousness in what you had said.

“I cannot even bring myself to say such a word in association to you, the thought alone would be criminal. Do not allow yourself to think that I could see you as anything less than the most beautiful person to ever exist, as you have always been and will always be to me.”

You have never heard Jon so serious in all your life. His words and the sincerity with which they are spoken renders you speechless for a moment as you stare up at him.

“Won’t you let me share such a view, of you, then?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper.

And after a moment’s eternity of silence, as though practicing some ancient dance, the two of you step apart from each other and turn your backs, neither of you able to face the tension a moment longer.

The sound of Jon’s armor hitting the stone floor sends goosebumps erupting across the tops of your shoulders that peak above the water, your heartbeats ringing in your ears almost in unison. Even when you hear the splash of his body entering the water, you do not dare turn to face him. As quickly as he can, he fully submerges himself in the water and scrubs the blood and dirt from a battle won. Then, Jon Snow stands, slowly wading through the water until he stands behind you. It is your turn to take a deep breath as you turn to face him, your eyes drinking in the sight of his clean face, the scars on his chest sitting distorted beneath the water, and to take his mind away from the pain of what you assume are his battlescars, your hands lift from the water to trace the line of his beard with an admiring smile.

“I always knew you’d suit a beard.” You compliment him, easing his nerves as he laughs, gracing you with another charming smile.

Your hands continue their journey around the back of his neck, feeling the wet, inky curls of his hair there and sighing deeply.

“Truly, you have the best hair in the seven kingdoms.”

And Jon laughs the hardest he has in longer than he can remember, throwing his head back and shaking it as though emphasizing the hair that you have never failed to shower in praise, making you laugh with him.

Taking ahold of your hands at the back of his neck, Jon brings them to his lips and places feathery light kisses against your knuckles, holding your gaze.

“I have missed you more than words can say.” He whispers.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Is that your excuse for not writing me any, then?”

Jon sighs, closing his eyes and hanging his head in shame. “I am so sorry.”

Chuckling, you lift his chin with your finger until you can see into his eyes again. “Considering you won a battle for me today, I think I can forgive you for not having time to read my letters.”

Jon smiles at you gratefully. “I read them all before coming to get you, I swear it.”

“And I believe you, as I always have. I believed you’d read them, I believed you would rescue me, and both rang true in the end. It seems my faith is safe.” You beam up at him.

“Your faith in what?” He questions.

“My Jon.” You tell him, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world, and the moment he hears it, he agrees that it is.

Unable to resist you a moment longer, Jon’s arms wrap around your waist and pull your body flush against his, lips falling on yours in a kiss softer than a summer breeze. Briefly, he falters, wondering if perhaps he has acted on his instincts far too soon, but then he feels your fingers running through his curls, pulling him into a deeper kiss than he had assumed you would be ready for, but you have been waiting far too long for this.

Only when the two of you recall the human need to breathe do you have the strength to pull away from each other. But Jon’s lips chase after you, leaving a trail of kisses from the corners of your mouth to your chin, your cheeks, your temples, your neck, with pleading whispers in between.

“Will you be mine, my wife- my queen, should the north call for a king? I cannot lose you again, I cannot deny myself the dream of us anymore.”

And in equally flustered, desperate whispers, you answer. “Yes to all and yes to any. I have always been yours, Jon.”

For a time, it feels like the two of you are the only people in existence, the world having stopped around you, the Gods having paused time to allow you to hold each other for your own eternity. It is not the time for love beyond a passionate kiss, both of your bodies need to heal and rest after the battles you have fought and won, together, to get back to each other. To simply hold each other, after so many years apart, is the greatest joy either of you can ask for.

But, time cannot be slowed forever. Soon enough, there is a knock at the door of the bath and in a wild panic that has you in fits of giggles, Jon scrambles from the water and grabs his armor, holding it over himself to answer the door to the young squire that has kindly delivered fresh clothes and towels for the two of you to dry yourselves with. Nodding and thanking the squire, Jon takes the pile from him and closes the door, turning back to face you with a sheepish expression and only seeing the humor in it when he finds you wheezing against the side of the bath.

Once dry and dressed, the two of you make your way to the door, pinky fingers intertwined between you out of habit. Until your boot steps on something that does not sound like the stone floor and you frown, bending down to pick up a folded piece of parchment, worn at the edges and ink fading in the handwriting that you recognise to be your own as you unfold it. Turning to face Jon, you meet his gaze and know you do not need to say anything as you fold the parchment back into the neat square in which you had found it and slot it the pocket of his new, clean shirt. Holding your hand over it, you lean up to kiss his cheek and, intertwining your pinky fingers again, you ascend the stairs together and step out into the courtyard of Winterfell. There, your eyes immediately lock onto the sight of the immense form of the hunched over giant, sitting against one of the stone walls as some wildlings watch over him. The child within you gasps, your hands covering your mouth in delight as you look between Jon and the giant frantically.

Laughing endearingly at you, Jon gestures to the giant and walks you over to him. “(Y/N), I’d like you to meet Wun Wun.”

Unable to tear your gaze from the giant, you approach him slowly. “Hello, Wun Wun, it’s…it’s been a dream of mine to meet someone like you, ever since I was a little girl.” Looking over him and his injuries, tears immediately sting your eyes. “I am so sorry that you got hurt, are you in pain? I can fetch you some milk of the poppy, if you like? Or fix up some stew for you?”

Wun Wun watches you with a frown that seems to be etched into his features, curious of you. Taking a few seconds, the giant processes what you have said, looks to Jon and then back to you.

“Snow princess.” His voice is like a tumbling boulder, thunderous and without the human pitch-difference that is associated with asking a question, but Jon understands what he is asking.

“(Y/N) would be my queen.” Jon clarifies, and Wun Wun blinks slowly.

“Snow Queen.” He attempts to maneuver his large form, but roars in protest at his own injuries.

Raising your arms, you attempt to stop him. “Please, don’t hurt yourself further!”

Jon remembers how Wun Wun had acted towards the Princess Shireen and takes a step forward. “You don’t need to kneel to us, Wun Wun, you are our friend, our equal. You bow to no-one, not anymore.”

Your eyes widen in realization of what the giant had been trying to do as he slumps back down with a large thud against the ground.

Breathing deeply, Wun Wun looks at you. “Snow Queen.” He looks at Jon. “Snow.” Then lifts an arm and loosely gestures to both of you. “Friend.”

Jon scoffs playfully. “So (Y/N) is Queen, but I am just Snow?”

You grin at the giant, who acknowledges your expression with a thunderous laugh that is so loud it would hurt your ears, were you not enamored by the creature it comes from.

“If she is not my queen, who’s queen is she?” Jon asks, bemused and hoping to catch out the giant, who considers the question for only a second before responding.

“Wun. Weg. Wun Dar Wun’s.” And despite how long it takes the giant to speak his full name, the impact of his own punchline hits just as hard, sending you into another wheezing fit of laughter while Jon shakes his head in disbelief.

“Well, it seems both Wun Wun and I are yours, now.” Jon throws up his hands in dramatic surrender, causing you to laugh harder, the giant smiling at you fondly and Jon watching you with an adoring gaze, so relieved to see you relaxed and safe enough to laugh again.

When Jon asks you if you feel ready to eat, you nod, but request that you eat together, with Wun Wun, to ensure he eats and gains some energy to help his body heal, too. Naturally, Jon does not deny you of the endearing request and the two of you return to the giant with your own bowls of fresh stew and an extra large one for your new best friend. The three of you sit and talk, taking time to listen to Wun Wun’s responses, which take a lot longer than general conversations with a human would, but you don’t mind one bit. With every word he speaks, you are utterly mesmerized, having already pinned the creature as every bit as incredible as the giants from your favorite tales as a child.

Though it is not late in the evening by the time you finish your supper, you are too exhausted from the events of the day to stay awake much longer. Having not walked around for any length of time in so long, your limbs are too weak to stand on your own again, Jon having to help you back to your feet with an arm around your waist.

Waving to Wun Wun, you give him a tired smile.

“Goodnight Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun, I wish you pleasant dreams.”

The giant gives you a smile that Jon has not seen him give anyone else. “Friend. Sleep good.”

With that, Jon begins leading you back into the warmth of the castle, walking you along the path to what had been his bedroom as a boy, without thinking of what the room could be now, his direwolf trailing behind the two of you. Thankfully, it seems that Sansa was thoughtful in the room she requested be prepared for you all, as Jon’s old bedroom door is open, displaying the candlelit room and the freshly made bed. The two of you share a chuckle in disbelief as you enter the room, Ghost instantly finding a patch of rug on the ground to curl up on and Jon walking you over to the bed to sit down on it before he leaves you to close the door and draw the curtains.

Falling against the mattress, you groan.

“I think this ordeal has aged me 20 years and perhaps it is time we retire. I could finally let Sansa teach me to sew and you could herd sheep with Ghost, what do you think?”

At the mention of his name and in confusion at your suggestion, Ghost lifts and tilts his head to the side.

Jon laughs as he joins you, landing on his back beside you, the mattress bouncing slightly beneath you. “I think that sounds like a wonderful plan. Only, I’m afraid, my Lady, there is another war to be fought.”

You turn your head to face him, seeing the simultaneous amusement and seriousness playing in his eyes. “Surely, you jest. Against who?”

Jon sighs. “An ever growing army of the dead, unfortunately.”

Throwing your arms up and against the mattress above your head in a dramatic display of defeat, you scoff. “But of course! Winter is coming, I should have known.”

Jon smiles at you, having never felt so at ease when discussing the threat that looms over the entire world as he knows it and marveling at the wonder that is you. “Aye, but for now-” He stands to his feet, swings you up in his arms, kicks the bedcover from the mattress and lays you down on the sheet. “-we are free to rest.”

Shuffling to remove your boots and watching as Jon removes his to nudge them under the bed, you use the last of your strength to move over and allow space for him to slide in beside you.

Turning to face each other, you snuggle beneath the bedcovers and share a smile, like the giddy teenagers that had been lost in your memories until now.

“When is the wedding due, then, dear almost-husband?” You ask, amused but genuinely curious as to when the two of you will have the chance to arrange such an event.

“Whenever you like, dear almost-lady-wife.” Jon laughs airily, taking hold of your hands beneath the covers and staring into your eyes. “How do you feel?”

You take a deep breath, knowing that the time to set aside your humor would come soon enough. “It is…difficult to put into words. Deliriously happy to be with you and Sansa, to have our home back and to be safe again, of course, but there is still a dark cloud that looms over me and I cannot ignore it. At any moment, I feel as though the rain could start to pour and I could drown in it, lose myself to the fear. In truth, the thought of trying to sleep is terrifying.”

Jon nods slowly, understanding you completely, as he always has. “However dark that cloud gets, however hard the rain falls and however scared you are to sleep, I will be here. To show you the sun again, shield you from the rain and guard you through your dreams, I will be right here, and I will never leave you again. I swear it, by the old Gods and the new.”

Tears threaten to blur the perfect vision of the candlelit Jon Snow, but you are quick to blink them away, removing your hands from his to run your fingers through his hair and pull him closer, until his forehead rests against yours. “And in return, I swear to protect you from whatever horrid memories plague you from the time when we have been apart, to hold you through them and remind you that no matter what, you are a good man, the best man, and the man that I love more than anything.”

Closing his eyes, Jon Snow takes a deep breath, and you do the same, sharing the silence and darkness in a peace that neither of you ever thought you would find again.

“Can it be that this night, I’ll dream of you and wake to find you here?” You whisper.

Jon sniffles, having not let his relief and love for you truly overwhelm him until now. “Aye, this night and every night thereafter.”

Gently tracing the line of his jaw with your thumb, you lean forward to close the space between your lips. “To be yours is to live nothing but a dream, Jon Snow.”

And for the second time since reconnecting to the rest of his soul, Jon Snow loses himself to you, falling into you and cradling every part of you with such care, having craved every second of these moments with you that he never thought he could have beyond the land of dreams. The two of you had lived separate lives for long enough, the Gods had no choice but to force you back to each other in an act of fate that defied everything Jon thought he could believe in, except for you. Every foe he fought, every task he took on, his first thought would be that in some distant way, he would be saving you from something, because he would be doing so from the frontline of your heart. To be yours was the only victory he truly felt.

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rise-my-angel · 7 months

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Heart of the Great Wolf

17 - Plans of Pain and Horror

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 14.1k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, canon divergence, reference/discussions of rape, suicidal ideation, grief and trauma response, inferences to miscarriages

Notes: Heavy exploration of heavy trauma and mental duress issues this time. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here.

It was an odd feeling, standing there against the railing with a slight nervousness in his body. A feeling he had been learning to let go of, but there were two reasons for them to resurface now. If the circumstances were any different he may have prepared himself for what he once thought was coming to him, but Jon didn’t approach Theon with that kind of intention on his face. Instead of was one of deep introspection, where his true thoughts or feelings were tightly locked away except for the frustrated anger that slipped through the cracks.

Though it was also a nervousness that he knew exactly the last time he felt like that. In the dark dungeon cells of the Dreadfort he had seen the horrific jagged red on your stomach that made him shake. You sat there alive with that, when Theon knew he’d killed men with wounds just like that, and now he knew similar scars sat littered across the chest of the man next to him. The man who may have just stayed dead had you never showed up.

Dynamics twisted, Theon had nothing clever to say or anything teasing to throw. He knew Jon could sense how nervous he was, but now there was something in the man that had felt more commanding then in the days of Winterfell. His voice was low and rasping as he leaned on the railings next to him both looking out to the scene. “What you did for her is the only reason you’re alive right now.”

Nodding to himself, Theons swallowed harshly. “I know that. Even coming here I knew you might kill me soon as I came through those gates.” Sighing to himself he could see the look in your eyes for so long that scared him. “But I knew if I didn’t get her here..she’d rather die then let Ramsay get her back.”

Gloved hands tightened around their grip of the railing and he felt shame once more as the anger fought it’s way to hide in Jon’s voice. “I was going to find her myself, the day they...” Too scared to look at him, he could still feel the pain in his pause. “I didn’t force anyone to come with me, if I was going to have to go after her alone I wouldn’t hesitate. Couldn’t sit here and act as if it wasn’t eating away at me, letting her think no one cared. But I wasn’t the one who protected her. You were.”

Theon could sense there was something intense neither of you were saying. Something that left a protective rage about your safety that Theon had only ever seen in one other man. “They want her to marry Ramsay. More then half the North haven’t come to their side, so they thought if they showed up with their Queen married, already given Ramsay an heir, it would force the rest to surrender.”

Jon beside him was clearly holding a lot back, risking a glance to him that held real pain as he continued on. “If no one helped her get away from him, she would’ve killed herself. Not after what Roose Bolton did, not after what Ramsay..”

“After he what?” Turning with a hand still on the railing to face Theon, he felt intimidated to match his position. Quite the lives they have become for Theon to be the one looking at Jon Snow and wanting to slink away instead of size him up. Eyes dark and the scar around one eye only served to make him seem even wilder as Jon muttered with rough restraint. “I’ve seen the marks around her thighs, I know he touched her but I need you to tell me exactly what he did. Because we both know she’s not okay.”

Maybe it wasn’t his place, but Theon also knew it was torture for him as well. He was the one dragged into that room night after night made to watch. He had to watch as you either fought back or tried to block it all out which only ever made it worse. Force your head up to make eye contact with Theon as Ramsay taunted you both before leaving you to handle the torment and pain. He’d seen the marks some easily hidden, others not because Ramsay wanted someone to watch. It haunted him too, but it also for just a second of seconds, had a question occur to him that blurted out.

“When did you see her like that?”

Jon didn’t respond, his eyes shifted to something a bit heavier behind the grey but it was you with the talent to read so well, not Theon. And certainly not with Jon of all people. “I can’t help her if I don’t know what he did to her.”

Some people were passing by, some with nervous eyes others curious and all directed towards the man draped in black beside him. He wondered if he knew how much he was reminding Theon of those last days he spent with Robb. Once dumb teenagers now turned into leaders, and both of which had a dark temper towards others about you.

“Not here.”

As Jon moved to close the main door to his quarters, his eyebrows quirked up a tinge as he caught Olly’s eyes. Watching with a distant fear and horror as he walked across the gravel with what looked like some kind of drink in hand. Were the place his heart was not right under where that knife had dug into, he would’ve found something to note in how he now seemed to now serve the woman he helped murder Jon for trying to protect.

When he entered, you had barley noticed you didn’t even attempt to touch the food brought to you when Olly sat down a small container onto the desk as you leaned against it. Your head screamed at you to just sleep but you hadn’t found any courage to wander further into this place which held any semblance of her.

It was possible you nodded off at some point in the night, but not enough to made any difference as you went over and over again the plans of your father. The less it made sense for him to have lost the further you understood what he was doing. You had previously been rummaging through everything trying to find the letter. You knew it was right on the desk but it was now gone and you couldn’t take just one more spiralling of panic right now.

But now you felt even more overwhelmed as your palm pressed firm into your forehead. “He thought you would come back to him, he came here still mourning your death. Your father would want-”

“My father thought I was a traitor.” Your hands flew down the desk behind you, the slight slam almost making the boy behind it jump back. “He called Robb a thief, saying he stole half his kingdom if he took Kings Landing he would have come after us next.” The pain in your voice cracked slightly, tone falling as you knew it wasn’t Davos’s fault you were so unreasonable over this. “I stopped being his heir the moment I chose to join Robb instead of sailing for Dragonstone.”

Stepping towards you, your eyes fluttered shut as arms crossed over your chest. Davos speaking quieter then you had yelled, “For a time he was angry, but he knew he made a mistake by turning your offer down. I tried telling him more then once to reconsider making peace with your husband and everytime he denied it right up until you both died.”

Scoffing, you turned your attention to the darkness of the walls around you. “Never once did he step foot in the North. Never liked it, never cared for it but he sent me here for half my life so I wouldn’t end up spoiled and unprepared like Renly. Then he married me to the North only to have them as an easy ally at his back and then still called me a traitor for staying with them.”

The cold in the air now reminded you of that night, how despite the freezing weather around it was the spirits of the North that warmed you. How unsure Robb looked and yet how he never wavered to be the King they needed, the only one they wanted.

“What was I fighting for, if I turn around now and accept the very crown we lost the war fighting against? That I was willing to be their Queen only until something better came into my lap?” Biting your lip before dropping to something softer, more distant and somber. “Besides, I was never their leader Ser Davos. I was Queen only because they chose Robb as their King. I wouldn’t have been anything without him. He was their leader, I wasn’t meant to do this on my own.”

He felt for you, having seen the qualities of the man in person that day. It was clear why the Northmen respected Robb Stark so much, and easy to see those same qualities that Stannis had seen in his brother. He had said it to no one but Davos, but were you still alive Stannis said, he wondered if Jon would’ve accepted his offer of Winterfell, if he too, had offered you as well.

A hand rested on your upper arm as you looked up, an understanding kindness in his eyes that was so uncommon amongst most of the men you’d come across in these years. “These people need a leader, they need someone to follow someone to believe in.”

The way so many had gone to him, the way so many looked to him with love in his new life. “They already have a leader. They don’t need a new one, they just needed to have the one they already believed in back. And he is.”

You hated the ease in which Davos felt like a father sometimes, an honesty with a comfort that was frustratingly effective as it cut to the chase. “Then what does that make you?”

Voice quiet, but both in the room heard it well as it was weak yet conclusive. “Suppose it just makes me someone who is in his way.” Once you may have had something to offer him, but no longer. You had nothing to give Jon or his cause that wouldn’t bring him down. A disappointment you were.

Circling around the desk before he could speak, you sat down with a louder shift in tone. “It might be a better use of your time, Ser Davos to make yourself available to the Lord Commander for the time being. He is the one in charge and with the men who will follow him, he and Stannis were trying to fight for the same cause and they both died for it. He would be better served by you then I would.”

You didn’t mean for it to come off the dismissive way you did, but there was nothing you could see that didn’t leave you behind. It made sense, you married Robb and left Jon behind to the Wall and now it was destiny he do the same to you. And you’d deserve it as far as you were concerned.

He didn’t buy it though, and curse him for knowing you that well. “Your grace if I may,” Your inside twisted at the title, it didn’t used too but since arriving you felt as if it were a mockery. Sitting down in front of you he leaned forward, “You think you’re the only one to worry about disappointing the people you love? That the things we suffer through make us weak in their eyes?”

Hard pressed to find the right words to say, you swallowed heavily hoping it would take the nerves down with it. “Tell me, Ser Davos what could you possibly have done to disappoint the people most important to you in your life?”

There was no hesitation in his answer, the words much more of a surprise. “You had the restraint and the influence to send that woman away yesterday. That isn’t nothing, she’s been attached to the King’s side for a long time and no one has managed to force her to leave until you.” Your eyes narrowed in slight question as he elaborated. “When I tried, it was with a knife and it got me tossed into a cell.”

Your expression must have shifted drastically, because Ser Davos chuckled to himself. “That’s the same expression your father had. She had pushed me one step too far, and right there in the middle of the room I tried to put a knife in her.” It steadied on the tip of your tongue to ask, but you knew the man well enough that something quite wrong must have been that cause. Or very painful.

Leaning forward yourself, you lightened the weight in your shoulders a bit as you spoke a bit more freely. “She only left because I did the exact same thing to her. I was angry, I was confused, hell0 I still am but she just kept trying to convince me to join her. That her visions were all true and not lies made up to hurt people she can’t so easily manipulate.”

Meeting his eyes you found yourself being the open one for the first time, “Told me that her god was trying to say I was with the wrong person. That I was on the wrong side and everything since then had been trying to push me here.” Your eyes drifted to the side, a quiet crack in your tone breaking through. “Saying being with Robb, having our child wasn’t my destiny. I was just so angry, so I shoved her against the wall and told her I’d put a knife through her stomach where Roose Bolton did mine.”

It was an odd thing, but there was a semblance of proud on the mans face. “I don’t mean to overstep, your grace but in my own opinion her talk of destiny is nonsense. You had a husband you loved and a child on the way and she cannot take that from you. Even now that they’re gone, she can’t take away that love between you, that will always exist.” Your eyes flickered down to a spot of nothing on the desk, your throat too choked to make any sound.

You hoped that was true, you really did. But you failed everything Robb had fought for, and betrayed his memory twice over. Davos did not let the thoughts stew though, “You suited each other. Your father wouldn’t have been to happy to hear me say this, but you looked like a proper King and Queen by the others side. Losing both of them will always hurt, but no one can take away what you had. Not even her.”

Not moving, you nodded a single time as he could see the hold in your face trying not to let too much of that pain out in front of anyone. Looking up to Olly he nodded to the side, “Come, let’s go make ourselves useful somewhere else. Give the Queen a moment alone.”

Olly nodded, getting to the door before turning back looking to you and then the food he sat out hours ago. Catching a protest from Ser Davos he quickly grabbed it to bring with him. “I can bring you something warm later.” He was trying very hard to make up what he did in your eyes and you had no idea why.

You didn’t know what Queen anyone saw you as anymore, nor if they should. As the door closed you sat in that silence for a moment before standing abruptly. Ever so slowly, you walked to the main part of the room. Theon had tried to make it relatively inoffensive but you still could sense her right there. Saw where she’d spend her time, where all her books would lay out.

The red woman may have burned her but you were the one to put a knife through her, ending a horrid pain or not it was on you and only you that she was gone. Sending her away was more to spare you from letting that anger inside you take a step too far, stop seeing their faces in hers and maybe they won’t haunt you.

But they did, all of them did. Every waking moment felt as if it was one onslaught of terror after the other in a world that no longer had a place for you in it. Fingers gently tracing over one of the books tucked away you recognized the cover. Smiling to yourself as you flipped it open gently seeing how well worn the pages were, easily seeing Shireen opening it up and going through everything as if she hadn’t read it a thousand times over.

By the time you sat, your back against the wall and knee bent with your feet flat on the floor you rested your forearms over them. Letting your head fall back onto the surface as you looked around. Your father had come here to fight an enemy you barley understood, and yet still found it within him to try and fight for a North that he knew had denied him. Some still would, or did.

You knew of some houses who sided with the Boltons, others more predicable then others. Rumours of the Umbers, some of the Manderlys making you wonder what the justification of their new fealty’s were.

Still not knowing who was left, who escaped or survived or what kind of allegiances lay about the North in truth. Hadn’t even a clue what state the Riverlands would be left in, once under Robb’s rule as well now felt so far away it was impossible to see. It flashed in your mind before you could stop it, the fire around the chanting, the horror of what became of both of them.

He didn’t deserve to be a tossed away pile of bones scattered across the Twins. He deserved be in the North, deserved to be buried with his family he fought for in his own home. He and Grey Wind both didn’t deserve to have it end in such a horror. Bringing any of him home likely wasn’t possible, if the Freys kept track of any beyond that night. Your heart almost plunged down into your stomach as a vile feeling rose in your throat.

An agony in your heart that overtook the nightmares which followed that night beyond. How many of those men would stay aligned with such traitors if they knew what they did with their King. The Young Wolf they had called him and they forced him to die as such. You didn’t know when the tears started, or when they fell too heavy to contain but your head dropped into your arms. Pulling your knees closer to your chest.

You could see them all, feel the blood under your hands and the constant loss surrounding you that all screamed it was your fault. Maybe this new life was for no purpose, maybe this was still the punishment. Eventually the exhaustion took over from the tears, but you had no idea when you fell asleep. Only the dream like sensation of a pair of arms wrapping around you before something soft fell underneath along with a gentle rasp that you couldn’t see in your slumber.

Maybe if you were lucky, you’d never wake up.

Coming around to the waking world, you were laid out under the sheets of a place you hadn’t fallen asleep in. Laid out on your side your eyes slowly opened to the sound of a grumble, as right before you red eyes watched you closely. Ghost sat to the side of the bed, his head laid out on the sheets watching you before letting out a whine when you found his attention. Slowly pushing up on your palms, the sheets fell around your waist leaning forward to run a hand along his fur.

The direwolf leaning right into it with another low grumble before shaking his head out and turning towards the door. Pausing to look back at you, you raised an eyebrow as your voice crept back from a grumbling slumber. “I suppose I can’t argue with that face, now can I?” Head tilting to your words you finally stood up, muscles for once not so angry as you did so. Over a week now had found many rough places to sleep, and even less willingness to stop to do so.

You had felt far warmer then normal and only as you stepped forward towards Ghost did you realize there was a furred cloak wrapped around you, a cloak that had your heart skipping. The last time you had ever seen it was years ago riding away from you when it’s owners father was still alive. The white fur brushed with darker spots alongside it had always stuck out from the other Starks whose were mostly dark with spots of browns and specks of black around it.

Many years ago, still teenagers, you had told him that winters and snow suited him no matter what about it he hated in name. Draped in all black for so many years, it made sense that his companion was the pure white opposite that kept it all balanced. The North felt like it was all around Jon for so long that ever pretending he was anything but a Stark was unfair. You had told Robb that night in Riverrun you never understood why he was treated the way he was.

In truth you logically did know, bastards of Westeros were treated amongst different levels depending on who it was they were born to. It had been a long time since you thought back to that day, but you could still see the boy with striking eyes and dark hair that matched you so well it stunned you into a shock you never quite got over in those days. But Gendry was a lowborn, from what you had been able to tell, possibly knew his way around being sold as a slave as well.

Having any Baratheon in his parentage meant nothing, born destined to live in the slums of flea bottom and that’s all the world would ever care from him because Robert would never have cared. But Jon was as much of a Stark as any you’d ever met and yet the only way you found one another again was in the most dire of lost times at the edge of the world brinking on a darkening end.

He was more of a Stark then you were a Baratheon anymore, no matter what Ser Davos tried to convince you of, you didn’t belong amongst the golds of Stags. But draped in Jon’s fur, you didn’t think you belonged with the wolves either. Just the dirt and rotting ground.

The Lord Commander’s quarters were naturally the most well made of the lot. More rooms were sectioned off with proper privacy rather then most of it in one place. The chill in the air reaching the point you knew it would never truly go away, wrapping the ends of the cloak a little firmer around your front as your eyes narrowed looking around.

For a brief moment, he hadn’t seen you yet. Sat away at his desk with his face twisted into something more exhausted then you’d seen before. It was hard to tell by the light coming from outside, but it appeared to be later in the afternoon, and likely Jon had been there for far too many hours scanning over too many words and numbers to not hurt your eyes eventually.

You hated the jump in your heart, the spike that felt so familiar like everytime you would see him for the first time when returning to Winterfell. Then it was more innocent, a comfortableness with a growing of more heated touch that never quite got off the ground then but just a quiet intimacy with your best friend. Now though, the faces in your mind, the life you lost in one horrible night that told you it was wrong to have anything close to that ever again.

You promised to never leave the other anymore, and you broke that by being pulled back to the world of living and not doing your duty to your vows and following him right back to the darkness. Pain and a scarring ravaging of your mind and body that took away the things he had given you and yet once you escaped that too?

Would they all hate you for what you did? For how it felt now? To look at Jon, his black curls thick, wild, and longer then they’d ever been, and the rest of him sharper and more distinguished from time, face framed by facial hair that you knew what it felt like scratching between your legs. Was it so horrible of you to so easily look at him now, and rediscover things that you once found so easy to love but in a whole new version of the same man. Was it unfair to Robb for you seeing his brother for the first time in years, and that was what happened?

It was a burning inside you that night, like you would be consumed by flames should you not give yourself to him as many times as he needed to take you. Never felt like it was more natural to be with someone, but now it all felt like you were just finding traitor in yourself to more people. A traitor to your father with Robb, and now a traitor to Robb with Jon and all of it was only your fault alone.

Clearly, you’d been standing there for a little longer then you guessed. Jon having set aside whatever took his focus previously as he softly called your name for what sounded like a second attempt. Mind snapping back to him, too falling easily into the wide tenderness of his grey eyes that made you stir uncomfortably. Your voice rough, and tone even more awkward. “You brought me here?”

Jon didn’t respond with the same stilted feeling, just looking to you with the same ease he always had even despite the raging tension in his shoulders. “The only way you could sleep was passing out on the ground or at your desk,”

Your brows narrowed for a moment, “How would you know that?”

His face never changed once and neither did his soft toned confidence. “Because I know you, and I know the last thing you’d want to is to fall asleep in either of their beds.” You hated that he was right, you hated that you had been to terrified to sleep in either your father or Shireen’s beds. Knowing the nightmares would follow thusly.

Stepping a few feet in more, distracting yourself by looking around his quarters to shove the sting in your eyes back down. “So you what, brought me to yours?” Whatever distracting accusation in your voice you attempted failed, either in you or to be fooled by Jon. He knew you so well and you hated every second of it. You couldn’t hide from him and you had the distinct feeling he no longer would let you try.

“If it meant I could keep an eye on you, yes.” You could hear a shift, likely him leaning back in his chair looking you over with a more narrowed, scrupulous gaze. You felt him follow you, as you looked over whatever lay about in the room to not meet his eyes back. Your name slipping roughly from his lips, making your jaw clench and eyes sting more.

Interrupting him before he could push the issue, but trying to push the playfulness in your voice didn’t quite hit it’s mark. “Thought men of the Night’s Watch weren’t allowed women in their beds.” Not looking, you missed the smirk slide easily onto his face.

Still low, his playfulness was much more natural in tone. “No, normally the men prefer sneaking off to Mole’s Town to stay in theirs.” But hair so red flashed in your mind and you knew it wasn’t there which his company was found, and you hated yourself deeply for feeling uneasy over it.

You had no right. You married his brother, kept another man’s bed warm while you were being looked to as a Queen and he was here shut off from the family who wished they did him better. You had no right to feel this way about Jon finding that same thing with another woman it was his life. The hands clutching the cloak gripped tight enough you could feel the strain in your knuckles, at least hidden by the black of the fabric over it.

Trying to smile while casting your eyes over titles on a bookshelf, “Suppose if they punished everyone for that, there would be nothing but corpses to man the Wall.”

“You mean more then it already is now?” You didn’t know if he intended it as a joke or not, but it finally made you whip around with a sharp unamused glare. It was all too clear exactly how those scars on his chest felt and nothing funny about it came to you. But the small conflict in his eyes had you pull back a bit. Wasn’t really funny to him either.

Glad he was giving you the space, you walked a bit closer before sitting in the seat opposite across the desk. Your hands still tightly gripping the cloak around you as he looked you over with something you didn’t want to recognize. Something you wish didn’t warm the chill in your veins. “I didn’t mean-”

“I know.” Your eyes flickered back up to his, something that was keeping himself at a distance to you but yet it appeared as if the effort was difficult for him. Once in another life, you both found it easy to keep apart so honestly. Hide in plain sight and save these kinds of emotion for private. But now? Now doing so in private felt almost worse, like giving into what you didn’t deserve anymore.

The quiet between you was heavy, but you had no clue how to break it. No idea what to say to make any of this easier, make any of it make sense. Neither of you should be here, and yet?

“Ser Davos told me my father offered you Winterfell.” His brows narrowed a tad as you glanced up to him and then back to the window on the walls. A twisting in your own expression at the idea, “Said he would legitimize you, give you Winterfell if you helped reclaim it. But you said no.”

The conflict in Jon’s own eyes were missed as he finally looked away from you. He was confident when he said no to the King, but all it took was one discussion with Ser Davos afterwards that stripped him off the lies he told himself. You did not know what exactly was said between them, and you did not presume to ask the details. It wasn’t your offer and not your right to know and yet here you were running your mouth about it because your mind couldn’t stop itself.

Running a hand over his mouth, there were finally nerves visible in his own person then just you for once. “I swore a sacred vow to the Night’s Watch.” You clenched your jaw as you turned away only to feel confused by the breath of a genuine chuckle from him. “There’s that look again.”

Turning with a furrowed brow, you more defensively turned your voice up. “What look?”

Jon only chuckled harder. “That right there” His forearm leaned with him to rest on his desk to point to your expression. “The same look you gave me that night, when I tried telling you why I was joining in the first place. You gave me that same look then, like you knew I wasn’t being honest with myself.”

You had no idea where it came from, but something so calm and flat slipped from your mouth with a very small amused shrug of a shoulder. “You and I are quite good at that, aren’t we?” You wanted to laugh with him, but it wasn’t quite as easy. “Lying to ourselves about what we really feel.”

His grey eyes shined at you with a familiar fondness so unique to only him. “Part of me didn’t think I deserved it. I spent so many years pining after everything my siblings got, but finally when it’s right in front of me all I could worry was that it shouldn’t be mine.” Voice and eyes far away in both as he let himself open up. “I found a place here, I found a reason to keep going to keep fighting but did any of that mean I should have the one thing I could only get because the rest of my family is gone? So I said no. That my place is here and getting myself involved with politics of the Seven Kingdoms wasn’t my place anymore.”

Pulling something from a drawer in his desk, you stilled. Recognized the tint right away before he even could open it back up. Sitting it face up between you, both knew the other had read and reread it too many times to count. Only this time, as a shaking panic found it’s way into your eyes a darkening anger swirled in his. The proof that what happened to him, was your fault.

You’d run from this very room if you didn’t think Jon would instantly leap up to shove the door closed before you could walk out of it. There also, was no hiding the watering that finally broke free of the dry sting and the red that followed the pressure. “I...what do you want me to say? If I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t have come here and maybe they never would have-”

It was uncommon that anger was directed towards you, but the darkness in his eyes and twisting expression of frustration as he looked at you felt horrid. “That’s what you think this is?” He leaned back before forcing himself to stand. Taking a few steps to the window running a hand over his face once more before turning back to look at you. Less of a furious anger and more like a hurt form.

Your name slipping harshly from his lips, making you turn to look at him wishing you weren’t so weak it was obvious you wanted to cry. “The Bolton’s murdered my brother, took my home from it’s own people. And when I finally find out after a year that they’ve kept you alive as their prisoner did I finally get it. I spent all this time trying to convince these men that the Free Folk deserve a place in the North as much as we do, but it wasn’t until him,” His chin nodding to the letter, “Did I realize that I don’t deserve to be the one leading these people if I don’t even try to protect the people I love.”

Your nerves ragged and your muscles under the cloak shook as you shook your head as your words gritted together. “And coming after me got you killed.”

Clearly a sore spot was pricked at, as he stepped forward, his voice raise along with his temper. “They killed me for doing the right thing.” Your head jilted back a small bit, biting your lip at the tone but never moved to make him stop. “The Night’s Watch isn’t the shield that guard the realms of men if we’re only protecting each other. What’s the point of trying to protect the world from what’s coming if I let everything I love die before it even gets here.”

Walking closer to you, your eyes were turned away from him completely. His voice lowering as he braced his palms across the side of the desk angled towards you. “I died trying to protect you and there wasn’t one second I ever regretted it. I didn’t regret it when I bleeding out on the ground, and I don’t regret it now that you’re the only reason I’m even alive.”

One gloved hand rose up to cup your cheek, turning you to look up at him and starling you by how close he really was. Your lungs chose to not even try to work as you looked at him as he whispered, his breathe warm as it gently reached your skin. “So stop avoiding me. I made my choice. Fight for what’s right, for my people, and for the woman I love.”

Even under the leather, you were sure he felt you shiver as you tried turning your gaze away from him, this time the tears just falling. The one hand still on you, running his thumb over to wipe away what it could reach but he never moved forward beyond it. Just kept you there, until your nerves settled down.

For once, you felt a sliver of calm that gave back any strength in your voice. “So, now what? You’re alive, as am I, so what do we do?”

Not that he said it, but the darker animal inside of Jon certainly had a very different answer to that question then the reasonable answer you were thinking. But after what he learned, part of him was petrified that he had scared you. And as much as he wanted you, as much as whatever this feeling inside his new beating heart screamed at him, he would never take that gamble when you were so fresh from such a disgusting torture.

His voice was low, and sure of himself as he came back around to the right conclusion. “First, I’m getting you to eat something for once and then? We do our duty. We start planning how we get the North back. Together.”

Nodding, you felt the loud noise in your head settle. Part of you sick of how only Jon seemed to quell it, but that was just a fact you were going to have to live with. Jon on his part, gave himself credit for having the will power to not kiss you. Running his hand over the side of your head, hair running through the leather between his fingers just looking at you for a moment when he let it slip out. By accident, his voice a quiet, husky awe like it was only meant to be in his head. “You look so beautiful in my clothes.”

Jon’s chuckle was deep as you flushed, turning away from his touch trying to hide the swirling embarrassment. A warmth in the pit of your stomach that felt so normal to be there with him, but you scoffed anyways. “Alright, you already made your point there’s no need to flatter me into it.”

Laughing more freely he let one more tiny part of him slip, and thankful that you didn’t shy away from him for it. Leaning closely he mumbled, “If I’m not supposed to flatter you, then you shouldn’t look so beautiful in my furs, sleeping in my bed.” You flushed one more time as Jon leaned in like it was such a normal thing to do, slipping his hand gently behind your head to pull you to him. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, your heart leaping in your chest at the tenderness. “Stay here with Ghost, I’ll bring you something.”

If you weren’t so flustered, you’d tell him you could do it yourself but by the time you registered he even said anything he was gone. Leaning forward to drop your head in your hands only to be nudged by Ghost. Drawing you back up, you sighed running a hand along his head. “At least I know now it’s just a Stark thing to enjoy making me nervous.”

Ghost just moved a bit closer, begging for more of your nails to stretch around his ears as he shuffled closer to comfort you. If only with the direwolf, that might have been the first time you said something so calmly about Robb and not felt like you wanted to throw up over the pain. It hurt, but it was a hurt that stemmed from memories that weren’t so agonizing to recall.

Eyes drifting upwards, you hesitantly reached out to grasp the letter. Despising how easily you could hear his voice as you glossed over the words. It seemed more unhinged then what he was when you left, but still the details didn’t add up. It had taken about seven days to reach Castle Black and this letter would’ve arrived on the sixth night. Seven days of battle, but only that very night Theon and yourself made an escape did Roose Bolton bring your father up to Ramsay.

The details of his ravings about you added up in your mind, there was only one place, one person you could reliably run too and blaming Jon as if you were stolen in the night was easier then accepting two beaten prisoners out foxed your men and hounds. But why lie about your father? Why would he have reason to lie and say Stannis was dead if he wasn’t?

You froze as it hit you. So much, so very much had happened between then and that day, many people who were there in person or signed to it were gone or prisoners still to the Freys. But there were absolutely still those who would know about it.

Ghost whined at you in concern as you bent in your seat, head falling into your hands at the factor you had so massively forgotten in this haze of your mind. How could you even bring that up now, how would you ever say it? Especially after what your father already tried to offer, he would just think you were trying to manipulate him.

It was made in genuinity, you and Robb both never doubted that choice and there was never even a second choice that you two considered good enough to put first. Not even Catelyn could find a protest beyond her own misgivings, and yet as it all came onto you like freezing water you realized that you had no idea what to say. Was this even a North anymore that would value your words? Would they see you alive and consider your stance as fair and righteous as they considered their once King’s?

One thing after another it seemed, not even a fortnight had passed since you escaped the Boltons and already the weight piled up one after the other with things that you had no idea what to do about. It was a bit odd however, having this weight and yet the giant direwolf here seemed to not just sense it but found discomfort in your own.

Even sized as this, Ghost was still a bit smaller then Grey Wind. Silent as anything when he wanted to be, preferring to slink into the background to watch with keen attention. Whereas Grey Wind stood tall and proud, confident in his intimidating nature that used it as a protective guard to those he cared about and in private, preferred to relax to fall asleep in gentle peace. But the quiet watchful direwolf in front of you was so much more lively alone.

As if Ghost was still a pup demanding your attention, huffing at you when your hands stilled as they scratched along his fur. Standing so close he could knock you over when outside you had noticed he preferred to stay back and watch it all play out with no distractions. Yet both still seemed to regard you with their own protective nature when most others knew direwolves to only answer to one.

But then there were those days, moments that felt like the wolves were more human then animal and something aggressive in them leaping to the forefront at your defence. Jon had said when he died, it was like part of him lived within Ghost, that he could see and control his animal in such a strange way that left him wild and aggressive until you showed up at the gates.

For a moment, you remembered the flames. Those few seconds before there was nothing, and how there was just enough flickers of life in Robb’s deep blue eyes that you knew he had to watch you first and were you not sitting you may have fell over at the thought.

Grey Wind shot full of arrows before his head was cut off just like- jumping up to your feet as if needing urgently to shake off the bile in your throat at the memory. You told yourself countless times not to think about it, but it was the last sight of him you’d ever get and suddenly the world felt dizzy.

Stepping forward, you had to brace your palms against the desk, head hanging low as the world spun both around you and inside your mind feeling like you were at a dozy sea. Only it was the sea which dragged you out, just as a hand reached your arm you spun around in a gasp as you both flinched away from the other. Theon a few feet back, hands now raised in the air as he looked over you with wide eyes at your breathless tone. “What are you doing in here?”

Lowering them back down, he tilted his head slightly to look you over with concern. “Checking on you. The two dead people disappear all day, started to make everyone a bit nervous out there.”

Steadying your breathing you leaned back against the desk, crossing your arms. “There is a difference between being dead and rumoured to be dead.” He didn’t take the hint to leave it be, and you could only wonder just what the talk really was outside your hearing.

Moving to match your position, he eyed Ghost now sitting quietly with watchful eyes unlike the affection of mere seconds ago. His arms crossed as well, tone bordering on light but in a more distant banter then perhaps years ago. “And I know there is a difference between surviving a knife in the stomach, and surviving being butchered like he did to you.” Your head turned to the side, eyes slipping closed to turn it out but he leaned closer. “You can’t keep avoiding it. Everyone is talking about it, you and Jon both, like they can’t decide if they’re terrified of you two or ready to worship you.”

Neither of those things sounded appealing, your resolve shredded too cowardly to be feared and there was nothing about your new life that deserved any kind of reverence. You were just you, alive somehow and far more broken then any Northerner would recall following you as. “I can avoid it as long as I refuse to speak on it. I’m alive that doesn’t mean anyone thinks I’m special.”

His eyes softened as he watched you, your gaze less harsh as you looked meaninglessly around the room. It took a while for it to be spit out, but once he did it was out there and he knew he had to address it further. “Jon does.” Your tone warning him by name but he climbed over it. “You think I’m stupid? That I can’t see the way he looks at you? Like you hung the moon in the sky just for him?”

Nudging his arm, the tiny gesture letting you two slip to a more normal feeling. “Have you been reading poetry in your spare time at the Wall, or did I only miss the fancy words in between ignoring how vulgar you used to be.” Both of you didn’t really laugh, but a far away smile crossing both of your faces at the memory.

Truly two different people in those sights compared to the ones in the present.

He shrugged as you both looked more to the ground in the quiet. “Guess I’m just noticing things more then I used too. Ruined my life always trying to be the centre of attention, decided maybe it might do be some good to take influence from you two and shutting up once in a while. Gave me time to start noticing the things around me.”

You wanted to dismiss it outright, but turning to glance at Theon you didn’t see the once cocky charmer he once was, but a man just as torn apart by the very people who did you. The one who risked everything to bring you here, to someone who had every reason to hate him for what he had done. It wasn’t so easy just brushing him off anymore, not when even now he stood by you instead of finding a better life anywhere away from here. You bit your tongue as something choked up built, but you never spoke of it.

Not outloud to a soul, and with those striking blue eyes still so painfully in your heart you had even less words to describe what those grey ones did to you now. “One of us should be able too. It feels like I have no idea what anyone is thinking anymore, like I could always read a person and their intentions but now there’s a fog overtop of my eyes and everyone is just a mystery.”

Nodding mostly to himself he hummed, “I can lift it for a few people. If you care to hear.” You shrugged a shoulder, and he continued on taking it as a yes. “For once, I can tell you that boy Olly? He’s about as afraid of you as he does admire you. Told you to your face he shoved a knife into Jon’s heart, watched you cut a man’s head off and hang two others for that crime but you kept him by your side. At this point, I think he’ll do anything to make up for what he did.”

You swallowed heavily. “He’s just a boy. I can’t blame a boy for being manipulated into something he couldn’t possibly understand. Seems keeping around people like that is a new pattern of mine.” Eyes meeting the other, you both knew there was direct influence on that one. You had found a true friend in Theon after once only seeing execution as a choice for his life and perhaps it make you more willing to forgive that of another.

“I also know I ruined my own life by going back to the Iron Islands, that the only time I felt like I was part of something good was fighting by Robb’s side. And that I’m willing to get dragged along with you until you figure out what your next moves are as well.” The only thing you could be sure with, was the honesty and dedication in his eyes that was as foreign to him now as it was for you to see it again. “Besides, I didn’t just swear my sword to the King in the North. Pretty sure there was a Queen in there as well.”

Both of you knew, you didn’t feel like that person anymore. Not even close, but now you knew in a strange panic that you were going to have to do your duty. The last real act as King and Queen you had made with Robb needed to be upheld, if only could it be done by one who was less inclined to so easily fall apart. Theon didn’t need to hear it, but you said it anyways. “I’m sorry for ever sending them to you. Truly, I am.”

Eyes meeting once more, it was a bond that likely none else would understand. Forced into a torture upon the other that no one else could image were they not there to endure it. “So am I.” Progress was made for him, a kind moment of comfort where your hands found the other.

Memories of a hellish nightmare that left your souls both in horrid tatters, and yet enough pieces were scraped together to run from it before it consumed you both without mercy.

If the gods had none else planned for you, at least you could rely that Theon would go with you towards that chaos. What worse could you two find that hadn’t been done to either of you over by those blood curling pale blue eyes.

Too far removed from the present still, the small moment as the door from outside opened followed suit with something that only further proved Theon’s point which escaped your notice. But as the door and cold swung open, and as Jon walked in to the sight? Theon couldn’t help but notice that as Jon’s eyes flickered sharply between how close you two were standing and your attached hands, that he had never seen such a quick flash of possessiveness even on Robb.

But as soon as it was there, it faded when you let go of him to stand up straight, a bit of a wall throwing itself back up. One on one was easier, but more then that seemed to put you right back to an edge that you were terrified of looking weak standing over.

Theon also couldn’t help it as the thought came to him, but that he had almost walked in on you and Robb during the earlier days at war. And that even in Robb’s quick temper at Theon to get out considering your state of undress, it wasn’t anywhere near the dark which came over Jon’s grey eyes as he for hardly a second, noticed you holding hands.

If this was some strange connection between you because of what happened, he didn’t know. Theon just hoped you weren’t adding to this onslaught of self punishment by pushing it away out of a surviving guilt. Robb may have died hating Theon, but he knew he wouldn’t have died never wanting you to find any happiness again.

And gods help him, Theon was starting to suspect Jon desperately wanted you to find it with him.

“What would he get from lying about that?” That was the question you still weren’t sure of. Ser Davos seemed to agree that the time of events didn’t line up if Ramsay had been telling the truth about Stannis. But with no word from him, or where his armies were none of you had anything to go off of but a feeling.

Busy looking through the papers left behind from your father, it left Davos and Theon to work with Jon on how everything fit together. Having attempted to pledge Northern houses to his cause, you and Theon could say with certainty who wasn’t loyal to House Bolton but many had denied Stannis or not given him any response what so ever.

If the remaining Ironborn were driven out of the lands, it would leave only the ones who betrayed and murdered their King as the ones left in charge. Must like the rest of the kingdoms it seemed, no longer were the wars fought across the lands but within them just for the right to live. But the North was vast and large with little organization in place to start at.

“Trying to scare me into surrendering. If he thinks I’m a threat, telling me he and his armies are dead might mean less chance I go after them.” Your eyes were starting to hurt, but there was a vast amount of back and forth to put everything together. Half of Jons desk on the opposite side of him was covered in papers as you leaned over in your chair sorting things quietly as their voices moved around you.

Theon spoke up from the side a sudden thought occurring to him, scouring back into his memories to find it past the fears of the moment. “He tired to do more then scare you. They were trying to find Bran and Rickon, and he sent one of his men here to look for them.” Pausing he looked at the slowly filling anger in Jon’s confused eyes. “He said that even if they weren’t, you might be a threat to them, especially if you found out about...”

You knew eyes drifted over to you, but just narrowing your own at the paper hoping to blur passed the thoughts from distracting you even more. Jon asking, “When was this?”

A pause between them no doubt as he tried to recall, you knew too well keeping track of days or weeks in those times was an impossible task. “Wouldn’t have been long after..” Theon clearing his throat trying to push past the looming narrative there, “after what happened at the Twins... He’s not here though, so I don’t know what..”

Your eyes widened, hands gripping the paper a bit tightly trying to not see it. Not see the way in that last time outside the way the sun shined on the Trident and how the next time you saw any sun you were being dragged through the North almost in a delirious fever. You purposely didn’t look up, you didn’t want to distract them either.

Jon connecting it on his own, “We had a man come here, saying he was from the Riverlands but he died when we went to take care of the mutineers at Craster’s Keep. If he was there for me, someone should have told him not to waste his time. Thorne took care of that one.”

If this all happened while still at the Dreadfort no wonder you didn’t hear a thing about it, locked away in their dungeons ready to die was your state. Not much had changed beyond where you were allowed to walk around since then.

Ser Davos was sat next to you, “Makes sense actually. You know the North better then most, your father was Warden of the North for over twenty years, your brother was their King. Roose Bolton’s a smart man, he knows if you come out of the Night’s Watch you’re a threat. Especially after losing what they thought was going to be their key to their claim.”

This time they all knew you were trying to avoid their gazes. Let them speak you thought to yourself, let them figure this out. So far you were deep into discussions and numbers with the Iron Bank of Bravvos and promises to pay out the debt of the Seven Kingdoms should your father succeed in taking the Iron Throne with their backing. How he planned to do that was just another dark hole of headaches and papers and you suddenly could remember why you got so little sleep in the Westlands.

You think your name was passed around once or twice, but you had all been there quite a while and you wanted to get through most of this before leaving for the night. “Alright, so you two escape taking what they thought was their key to gaining the North’s support with, knowing the only person you could go to is me. Then lie about Stannis being dead to scare me out of retaliating.”

Theon responded this time, “Why wouldn’t you hear anything from him then?”

Both likely turned to Davos this time, who took a good moment to consider the most reasonable action he would take. “If he thinks the King would be going right for the Iron Throne, then the most reasonable way is to take Winterfell on the way to King’s Landing, goes right through there. If he’s trying to misdirect them, it’d be easy. The North is big and the Bolton’s don’t have enough men to search for him.”

“Gain support, or try to, from the other Houses and attack Winterfell when they least expect it.”

You didn’t know how to say it, but it wouldn’t work. Your father wasn’t going to gain their help and the reason why was the two people sitting at the desk. But dumping that on Jon, especially now was unfair. It felt too much like trying to convince him to do something beacuse you said so, even though it was the furthest from the truth. You knew the choke hold the Boltons were keeping the North in hurt him, it couldn’t not. The North was Jon’s home and it pained him to see it so shattered from the bloodshed of his own family.

Deep within your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed the time passing enough that only you remained at the desk rereading the same thing over and over. Thinking for a moment you were alone, you put the remaining of it down with the rest of the piles before leaning down in your seat resting your head back in your palms trying to will away the growing headache behind it.

War had crept up behind you all in King’s Landing over four years ago and not once had it left you. The continuation of fighting for your people on one side, and the other just beyond this very wall with things you barley understood. You hardly dreamt of the cold and the ice since that night but now they felt like they were gone. Hints of something you had no way of grasping in the war down south and yet up here you didn’t understand them any better having disappeared.

Inhaling deeply, you gathered yourself enough to stand. Deciding there was no point in lingering in his quarters beyond what he kept you there for initially. But behind you was where his voice rasped out from, your name soft on his lips. Turning to him, whatever calm you felt with him earlier struggled to return once all alone.

Everything about him tried to entice you whereas all the rest insisted you had no right to any of it, not what had already been there and none more. Turned partially to look back at him you clearly were ready to walk out the door at any second. “Was there something else you needed?”

Jon hated how formal with him you were trying to be, hated that he didn’t know if it was him or you that was causing this rift, and most of all that it hurt everytime you built that barrier. A barrier that for the entire time you’d known each other never used to exist. But if it was him, then he knew it was his responsibility alone to mend it. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Your brows narrowed as you turned to him more, confusion all over your face but quiet for him to explain himself. “For what I did. Coming back was...overwhelming, and seeing you again just...” A frown forming deeper as he stepped forward, shaking his head to collect the words catching your eyes once again. “I of all people should know better then to have assumed that was something you wanted, and it probably didn’t help I wasn’t exactly gentle about it either.”

Your heart started to race, trying to grasp what he thought was going through your mind but the implications were making you uncomfortable. “Why would you think I-”

His voice a little louder this time, but you simply refused to even look him in the eye and he hated trying to guess why and only finding an answer in his actions. “Because I know what it’s like.” You found them this time though, and yet Jon instantly could feel what he did back then. That the thing you’d hate was that he was lying to himself thinking it was alright and he couldn’t stand there and not atone for doing the same thing. “You can tell yourself it’s fine, you can lie all alone and say you liked it so what does it matter but don’t lie to me.”

You tried protesting but it seemed he couldn’t stand you trying to shut down the conversation before it even could pick up. “I’m not lying-”

His voice on edge and frustrated as he called your name almost in a tone of a stern lecture, “You can’t even look at me, barley wanted to be around me since that night and after everything Ramsay did to you,” Your eyes flickered back up to his, “and after what she -”

You fully spun to look at him as soon as he cut himself off. Something flashing in his own eyes that you had felt in yourself. “Jon,”

Shaking his head he stepped forward gently pushing back whatever he found almost slipping from his tongue. “Theon told me what Ramsay did to you. I needed to know, I saw the marks on you and I couldn’t ignore it anymore. Thinking that you didn’t want to be around me because I forced you into it-”

Finding your own voice this time with it’s own breathless anger in tone. “Jon you didn’t force me into anything. I liked it.”

“Just because you liked it doesn’t mean you wanted it.”

Your eyes finding something in pain behind his grey ones, the deep breaking in his low tone that was holding back for his own sake now. Your mind only remembering flashes of pretty red and yet before you was something that didn’t match what you thought you had seen that day.

In that thick silence you looked at him, a face that at times so far could be sharp and rough now was a softness none here likely had ever seen. But still, even now, he showed it to you. The girl in you wanted to go to him, but the darkness inside your head told you to leave him alone. Your words being all that was left of the fighting between them. “I promise you, I wanted it. All of it. And maybe if I wasn’t so sure I was just ruining your life being here, I’d let you do it again.”

Just as you turned, just as the cold of the outside slipped in from the turning of the door handle, Jon’s own hand reached over your shoulder. Closing it gently as you felt his warmth radiate over your back, but he was far enough that you couldn’t feel anything else. His voice clearly at least a foot away from you. Whatever he actually wanted to say, he changed his mind at the last second. “You should stay here. It’s not good for you, being all alone in that room, and at least here I can make sure you actually get some sleep at night.”

The tender concern, your mind almost dividing as you could too hear Robb telling you to calm your temper, that it wasn’t good for you. The deep care in both of these men that came so naturally as they were around you, and yet this from the one man you thought it would be gone from for good.

Your voice was a whisper, too afraid to speak any louder or even match his quiet fear of being so loud everyone outside could hear. “So it is only the Lord Commander whose allowed to break his vows about women in his bed.”

Neither of you smiled or smirked, but the lightness in his tone felt more comforting then the pain in his eyes that threatened to break you. “My vows also said my watch does not end until my death, which has already happened.”

This time you did smile a bit, a tiny half one that unseen by you, genuinely let a real one come over Jon’s face. “I don’t think that’s how they are supposed to work, Snow.”

Stepping forward you could see the egdes of his curls dance across he side of your vision, his voice a tad lower but the smile then you could finally hear in this voice. “I also wasn’t supposed to bring the free folk South of the wall, or leave the castle to try and protect the woman I love, but I did both of those things and the only life it cost was my own.” Neither words you had ever found the bravery to say before, not in the growing affection of teenage hood and then the nervousness of adulthood kept them away more. “The only vows that matter anymore are the ones that swore me to protect the realms of men, and that includes protecting you. Even if it means me keeping you safe from yourself.”

Neither said anything else, but you nodded. Jon’s hand removing itself from the door before letting you walk out into the cold. Jon knew lying to himself was pointless and no one here would buy them anymore. The North was his home, it was part of him, and it was his duty to fight for it.

The Night’s Watch couldn’t protect the people from what was coming if they stopped caring about their well being before the darkness came. This couldn’t be about vows and rules anymore, that’s what got everyone he ever loved killed. He broke those vows and Thorne had his men murder him for it, but now he was the dead one and Jon was still here.

Thorne died and stayed dead for the rules the old gods were telling Jon he was right for breaking.

You weren’t sure you had ever been in a room this uncomfortable before. On the best of the years with him, you on many instances had no clue what things to say to your father, and you spent more years with him then your mother. Yet now, you both sat in her quarters nothing but a fire crackling on the opposite wall of her to distract. She didn’t look well, but you supposed in her eyes neither did you.

The small cuts on your face were finally beginning to fade away, but you both knew of the one sitting under your shirt that was utterly fatal. The books by her bedside spoke of titles you never heard before and you need not think of the sort of darkness preached. One that led to such horrors when you couldn’t think of anything less comforting then the fires to your agonized heart.

“You don’t think it’s going to work.”

Looking up from where your fingertips were tapping at the table between you, her eyes were narrowed but something like hope. Selyse and Stannis Baratheon were the most unloving couple you ever had imagined and yet they were your parents. Robert Baratheon was married for over twenty years to Cersei and they despised one another. But Cersei had once admitted there was something akin to a faint love in her heart during their early years towards him. You knew your parents never even had that.

Loyalty to each other is not the same as love.

You could remember telling Robb you were afraid you were dragging him into a life with a miserable woman to love as your parents were. The small hope in her eyes as you told her that you suspected he was using the rumour of death to hide his movements through the north was nothing.

Nothing compared to the way you and Robb would look when in the ends of blood and battle you’d find each others eyes and remember why the fight was worth for the other. Nothing compared to the screaming, dizzying cries in your heart as you saw Jon’s beautiful grey eyes staring back at yours that night in the ice cell.

They were not Robert and Cersei, but their affection stopped at loyalty. She stood by Stannis no matter what he chose, and he never let others disrespect her as they did himself. The thing that bonded them together truly, was their daughters. First was you, young and curious prospering in the strangeness of the island you lived on and a Kingly uncle who would visit, that in those days still held much genuine love of life inside his eyes. Then your father sent you to Winterfell for the first time after the second instance your mother lost a son in the womb.

It felt like punishment on the ship. Your second baby brother was too gone and they sent you away to a strange, cold place where you knew none but the household guard which accompanied you. You aren’t quite sure if your relationship with your mother ever really improved past that point.

“I fought beside those men, mother. In battle, I fought on the front lines with them and watched how even in their own losses, they truly believed in us....in him. They won’t have a king that isn’t one of their own.” The way they all worshipped Robb, and how he never understood it but he accepted their loyalty with such a weight and responsibility.

Her face fell a small bit, leaning more over the table to sip at her drink. Every silence felt like it lasted for hours, to the point even Olly by the door could likely feel it. You barley touched yours, ever since those long nights in the dungeons of the Dreadfort, horribly ill and throwing up so much of what went down that eventually you had only stinging bile to coat your throat, food and drink felt like a feat to down.

There was a sharpness for a moment in her eyes that you interrupted before it got any further to her mouth, “If father really is the only one true king, then they would have pledged their loyalty already wouldn’t they have?”

Your mother sighing, glancing to the fire before turning back to you. “I didn’t ask you here for an argument.”

You nodded, leaning back in the chair as you glanced to Olly. Ever since that day he has seemed to stick by your side, whenever Theon didn’t. Two men who had done terrible thing’s now seem to atone by serving you, and you had no idea what they saw in you to care so much. Certainly not your social skills judging by how difficult you and Selyse found it to even look at the other.

“I know. But I fought a war by Robb’s side for three years, a war we knew would eventually be against my own father. Even if he is passed, I will not sit here and act as if only now do I swear loyalty. If I were going to do that, I would’ve come home to Dragonstone they day I escaped King’s Landing.” Your eyes blazing into hers now actively avoiding you. “But you and father married me to the North, and they accepted me as their own, they accepted me as Robb’s Queen and I died for that cause.”

Her head whipped back to you finally. A sorrow in her eyes slowly painting over. “Could I...would you show me?” You nodded pulling the edges of your shirt up, eyes glancing back to Olly who looked at the jagged scar with the same shock in his eyes that were towards seeing Jon alive, but much more contained.

Your mother couldn’t look away. It was getting harder and harder to deny it, and it was what everyone thought regardless if you pretended it was anything but your end. Letting the fabric of your shirt drop back down, you swallowed heavily. Broken and losing what will was left as his blue eyes looked from how soaked in red his hand was to your face gasping for air that would not come through the blood that flowed up into your mouth. “I suppose the women in this family simply aren’t destined to have boys are they.”

No doubt she could see the pain on you as well as her voice was low. “That is not the same. I lost them from my own body, my health, my failings. Yours was taken from you by another. There is no reason to think you would’ve-”

Where it came from you weren’t sure but it slipped out. Maybe because if anyone understood what that loss felt like, it truly was your mother. “I dreamt about him once. A small baby boy, he had my eyes but..” Your eyes for once found the flames but saw nothing but your own memories behind them. “He had this dark curly hair, face just like a Stark..I didn’t even know I was with child at the time.”

Both of you sat in silence, a pain that was too hard to put back in it’s darkness had unleashed and no doubt both in the room saw the reflection of the crackling fire in tears down your cheeks. You didn’t bother to hide them either. Neither of you finding it in you to speak a word on the matter, the pain too fresh for you and comfort not a commonality between such a family.

Speaking your name quietly, you didn’t bother turning to look at her. Your hand risen up, nails lightly digging into your mouth trying not to see the blood once more. “You’re sure he was dead, it wasn’t any kind of a mistake?” A strange seek for doubt in your mothers tone but one that you were hearing from many on the matter.

Olly to the side dropped his head as you smiled half a smirk with no feeling beyond the simple motion as if a huff of disbelief of the question. As if down there once more, you could feel the way they pressed against your bare hands. Not healed, not quite open, but just open wounds that existed on his body much like your own and how horrible and pale he looked when you first were brought to him.

Voice a slight whisper, “There is no mistake, mother. He was dead, as dead as any man can be.”

Sensing her eyes on you, begging in your mind for her not to say it but she did regardless. “The Lord brought you back to bring him back.” You tried warning her to stop, but she pressed on. “Whatever your destiny is, it’s tied with him and you need to accept that perhaps you are meant for something greater then-”

“Then what.” Looking at her, the remains of once tears trying to dry up. “Greater then what, mother? I had a life, a husband and a son to be, coming home to the North with Robb was my destiny. I was never supposed to have one with..” Your voice so quiet but the room was as well, and she certainly heard you. “We never thought..”

Her eyes watched you carefully but you shook the thought off. For the first time in all your life, you had no idea what to feel or think about Jon Snow and you hated it. You hated that he still knew you without any doubt, but you felt like you were just intruding on a strangers life pretending you could ever still mean something to him.

Selyse had never met Robb Stark, she had no way of knowing what your life with him was like but she had seen you at Jon Snow’s side. And she could say without doubt that she has never seen a man look that way at a woman before, as if their entire world has been consumed with this other person. And yourself? She looked at you now and knew as difficult as it was, how hard you tried to not look at him said just as much as his inability to look away.

Standing up abruptly, you tried hiding any tears with the back of your hand. “You should rest, it’s getting rather late.” As you approached the door, you turned back to look at your mother before turning to the boy. “Olly, I ask if you could see to Selyse for the next coming days. We are about to get rather busy, and I think she would appreciate the company.”

He didn’t disagree, and you could only wonder what about you made him stick to your orders in atonement so deeply. Your mother’s voice speaking up, only catching as you turned only partway to look at her. “Goodnight.”

Nodding back, yours was as stiff. “Goodnight, mother.”

Walking out into the cold, you only got a few feet before finding yourself leaning against the railing you stood on, hands braced as you looked out to the night. Something you didn’t understand was beyond those walls, something that once had you dream of cold and ice, but little understanding beyond those visions.

But there was something in the eyes of those here, something that truly haunted them. As you made your way back, for only a moment did you pause before your eyes slipped closed as you sighed and the path turned only slightly towards a different room.

It was dark, but you found no care to light any fire as you made your way through the quarters with a slower hesitancy. Being in here felt so strange, not right and you were too on edge to consider looking around like any other would normally. But as you draped the fur cloak over a dresser, you ran your fingers gently through the light colour.

In the night just like this, sat in front of the Weirwood in your final moments only together as you found a comfort hiding your face between this very fur and his neck for what you both felt was surely the last time. And as you carefully peeled off your boots, you slept only under the thinnest of the top sheets as you saw and felt too much in the quiet.

Sleeping alone used to be normal, but then it was by Robb’s side for years no matter where you travelled too. Then in the worst of it, your nights too often interrupted by the violence of pale blue eyes and a slimy taunting voice that sought to make you afraid of sleeping at night.

As you lightly drifted off, part of you wished Theon never brought you here. You felt as if you were just ruining his life, and he deserved better. He always deserved better, better then what Catelyn treated him as, better then to be shut away at the Night’s Watch and better then being trapped with you.

Yet later in the night, your mind woke just enough to sense as a figure came into the room, keeping the dark as much as possible like they didn’t need to see to navigate. The part of your mind that was still mostly asleep clenching your hands as if to brace yourself.

If he thought you were asleep, he would often drag you from bed and wake you up with a jostle usually to the head against the hard ground. Make you foggy and a little less coordinated as he begun, but it never came. And in an instant your mind which was slowly finding itself more awake settled itself as the figure was warm. Sliding into the sheets behind you, slowly before leaning over you.

The brush of his curls against the side of your cheek and neck, no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself wasn’t for you to enjoy anymore, relaxed at the feeling. Feeling Jon carefully drape back your hair, collecting it so gently in his hands to neatly move it out of your face and tucked neatly to the side.

A large, calloused hand ran lightly over your arm before finally relaxing. His other arm stretching out to the other side of the bed by your own head as you felt his chest bare against the thin material of your shirt. Slowly, you let him pull you closer into his arms before you shifted yourself to fit better in his touch as well. His free hand draped over your hip with a gentle touch before it slid up to just under your breasts. Pulling you back firmly into him as his own forehead nuzzled against the back of your hair.

For the first real time in either of your lives, you freely found yourself sleeping in Jon Snow’s bed, tucked safely in his arms and were you not so close to the depths of dreams once more?

You may have otherwise cried at how overwhelming it was that you and him fit together so perfectly.

#jon snow x reader #robb stark x reader #jon snow #robb stark #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #jon snow x you #robb stark x you #jon snow imagine #robb stark imagine

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januaryembrs · 1 year

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MASTERMIND | Theon Greyjoy x Bolton!reader

Request: @marsconer says - hii!! hru? the requests are still open? if so i can request for a theon one, with mastermind by taylor swift as a prompt?

description: You knew you wanted him, none of it was accidental. Theon had no idea the Bolton bastards were masterminds.

Word count: 1.1k

trigger warnings: dark!reader. reader is not mentally well and believes Theon loves her even though he doesn't know her. RAMSAY KINDNESS? Ramsay loving the Reader as her brother. hints of Theon's torture.

main masterlist

authors notes: First I'm so sorry this is so late to be published things have taken a turn in my life and writing has had to be put on the back burner. but I'm back! and I'm trying something new, I've never done a dark reader before. I hope this was okay! I feel like its not but I'm trying :)

You knew you wanted him the moment you set your eyes on the Stark’s ward.

He wouldn’t recognise you, how could he? The last time you’d ever seen him he was a teenager, too busy chasing girls in pretty skirts and competing with Robb for the fair maiden’s attention to take note of such a plain, quiet girl like you.

Ramsay noticed you staring almost immediately. Being your older brother, possibly the only person in the world who understood you and loved you since you were both Bolton bastards, he was determined to give his sweet, little monster anything she wanted.

“He’s caught your eye, sister?” His ice-blue eyes followed your entranced gaze to see the scrawny Greyjoy boy, too busy yanking a maid’s pigtails to notice you looking. His eyebrows furrowed, “Are you sure you don’t want someone stronger? Someone who could protect you and whatever babes you give him,”

“He has a kind face,” The maid squealed, and noble Ned Stark leant forward to smack both Rob and Theon across the ears to set them in place. “You will get him for me one day, won’t you Ramsay?”

Ramsay looked down at you from your place at the back of the dining hall. Being bastard children, you were not permitted to sit with your father beside the noblemen. Instead, you were among the last to collect your supper, drank the dregs of the wine the other Stark council did not consume, sat near the chill of the open windows. You had less in this world one might think for those born to a nobleman like Roose, but Ramsay had always made sure you had the best he could get, even if it meant getting his knuckles bloodied as it did most of the time.

“Of course, sweet-hearted. Anything you want is yours. When you’re of age to marry, he will be yours,” He smiled with too many teeth as he always did, making his face look sinister to others, but to you he was your dearest brother. The only one who understood the way your mind worked, in a way that others would call twisted you called unique.

Watching Theon Greyjoy that day, you knew your brother would never fail you.

Ramsay made good on his promise as he always did. A few days after your ten and eighth birthday, he led you down to the lower passages of Dreadfort claiming he had a present for you. You had never quite forgotten about the Stark’s ward. But with the chaos the people were now calling the war of five kings, you had some trouble keeping up with his whereabouts. He had betrayed the Starks, killed the youngest two boys, boys he had grown up with like brothers, all for his own gain of power.

Nothing could make you so certain he was perfect for you. A man who would stab his company in the back in the name of helping his genuine family was exactly the man you wanted.

You had always known he would be special, that he would understand the way your mind ticked. While everyone called you cruel, he would love you the way you loved him.

So when he led you to Dreadfort dungeons, and there was Theon Greyjoy, strung to a flaying cross, you felt your heart swell in excitement.

“For you, my dear sister. Just as I always promised,” Ramsay presented the man, who looked scruffier than the last time you had seen him, just a few months before the war started. Again you had been just a fly on the wall in Winterfell, but this time was different. This time he would know who you were, know just as well as you did you were perfect for each other.

You squealed, squeezing your brother around the waist in a tight hug. “I knew you could do it, I knew you would never disappoint me,”

“Please help me!” Theon begged, though his words fell on deaf ears as you moved closer to him, “Please let me go, I’m not supposed to be here,”

“Of course you are, silly,” You said, reaching up to unbind his arm. You were smiling at him almost too wide, a crazed look in your eye that you shared with your brother, as though this was all a part of a bigger plan he knew nothing about.

Theon was sure he had seen you before, sure he had felt those two eyes piercing his skull many a time before. But he didn’t know you.

“W-what?” Theon asked, as his first hand was let free, and you began to undo the second, “What do you mean? I need to leave, I need to find my father,”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you just got here. We need to arrange the wedding first,” You said simply, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Poor Theon was confused, and his battered face said as much.

“Wedding? What wedding?”

“Ours, of course,” You replied, working away at the knots in the rope. Theon looked over your shoulder to see Ramsay’s face full of a silent fury, as though he was warning him against upsetting the woman who was trying to free him.

But Theon being Theon was lost, curious. He was disoriented and tired and hungry, and you were making no sense. “Ours?” He cried in shock, “But, I have no idea who you are,”

You froze before the knot could be pulled free and immediately Theon felt the mistake he had made fall over the room in deadly silence.

Your eyes snapped to him, and the manic look was gone, replaced by pure hurt. “You don’t know who I am?”

“Should I?” Theon felt Ramsay’s eyes darken in the shadows of the dungeon. If what he had said before had been a mistake, then those two words felt like a death sentence.

Your bottom lip started quivering. All you had ever wanted, ever dreamed of was fading right in front of your eyes. You were supposed to be his, the way he had always been yours.

“Come, sister,” Ramsay jumped in, tucking you under his arm and leading you to the dungeon door, “I will have a word with your dearest fiance, I fear he is feeling a bit under the weather at the moment,” You retreated away from the Greyjoy boy, knowing sweet Ramsay would fix everything for you as he promised. “Let me have a word with him, make sure he remembers to cherish you even in his sickness,”

You nodded solemnly, your sad eyes never leaving Theon’s fear stricken face as he realised the hidden threat in your brother’s words.

And within moments, the door was closed and he was left with the vengeful face of Ramsay Snow, and Theon wanted for nothing more than to have you back near him, promising him the world.

#theon x reader #theon greyjoy x reader #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fanfiction #Theon Greyjoy imagine #Theon Greyjoy blurb #Theon Greyjoy fanficiton #stars' 1k follower shebang

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megsironthrone · 2 years

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News

Based on this request: Hi! If you are still accepting requests, would you consider a modern Ramsay AU? Ramsay keeps trying to take his girlfriend out like fancy sushi dates and amusement parks and their favorite bar but she keeps saying no or avoiding them. And he’s freaking out because she used to love that stuff so he thinks she’s losing interest. And he makes some big gesture to “win her back” but she announces that she’s pregnant and suddenly it all clicks. This idea popped into my head and I can’t stop laughing 😭

Here you are! *Familiar characters are NOT mine!*

Warnings: Modern AU, angst, fluff. Mentions of pregnancy

Pairings/Characters: Ramsay Bolton x fem!reader

Ramsay had messed up. He didn't know when or how, but he had evidently screwed up somewhere. Why else would you have been pulling away from him? And it had to have been incredibly bad. Ramsay had done some seriously messed up things over the course of his life and your relationship. He couldn't deny it. But you'd stuck by him through it all until now. Things were changing and Ramsay didn't like it so now he had to make it up to you.

He tried everything. Sushi, bar-hopping, amusement parks. All your favorite things and each time, he was met with a 'no', 'thanks anyway', or 'maybe another time'. He couldn't understand it in the slightest. Why were you pulling away from him?! You never said no to things that sushi or your favorite bar! And you had been BEGGING him to take you to the amusement park for months.

But Ramsay Bolton was nothing if not determined. He had been determined when he took over his father's business at a young age and he had been equally determined to date you. And for the last few years, he had been determined to keep you happy. If you were happy, you wouldn't leave him. Clearly, he'd done something wrong.

"Hey," you greeted when you came in. You looked exhausted, but you still tried to smile at him. Ramsay took a moment to take in your form. He had noticed you'd been more tired recently. Maybe work was getting to you? Or worse…was someone bothering you? Were you seeing someone else and didn't want to break things off with Ramsay? "Ramsay?" you questioned, earning a glare from the dark-haired man.

"Is there someone else?" You blinked rapidly for a minute. It was like you couldn't believe what he'd asked. That thought was quickly confirmed when you shrieked, "What?!" Tears sprang into your eyes. "How could you even think that?" you asked through the tears. You didn't wait for Ramsay to answer before you practically ran to the bedroom and began throwing things into a bag. "Where are you going?" You explained you were going to stay with a friend for a few days.

"I can't be in the same house as you right now. I have never, NEVER, given you reason to believe that I'd step out of our relationship. And the fact that you think I could tells me how little you actually trust me!"

"What should I think? You aren't acting like yourself. Avoiding sushi, bars, amusement parks. Everything you love suddenly isn't good enough. You're exhausted all the time. I know I'm not the one exhausting you." You shook your head. "Ramsay, you're a smart man. If you take a few minutes and think about EVERYTHING that I've been doing lately, you'll figure out what's really going on. Now, I'm leaving. When you've come to your senses, you'll know where to find me and you'd better be on your knees begging for forgiveness." With that, you left Ramsay standing there with his mouth agape.

At first, Ramsay was furious. NO ONE talked to him that way. Ever. But then, he used his brain. He had accused you of cheating on him. You had every right to be angry with him. He certainly wouldn't be begging for your forgiveness, but he knew he'd have to do something big in order to earn your forgiveness and keep your interest in him.

A few days later, Ramsay rang the bell of your best friend's home. He had been sending apology gifts every day and now he was ready. He'd gone full-cheese for you as much as it went against everything he was. Ramsay wasn't soft or sweet or even kind most of the time. But for you, the person that had stood by him through everything? He was willing to show a little bit of a softer side to himself.

The door opened, revealing your best friend wearing an unimpressed look. "I hope you're here to grovel." Ramsay arched a brow. "Is she here?" Your friend smirked. "I meant are you here to grovel to me?" Ramsay must have looked confused because they continued, "She ate all my ice cream. MY. ICE-CREAM, Bolton! And it is all your fault."

"Oh, shut up," you chided from behind your friend, pushing them out of the way playfully. Your eyes met Ramsay's. Your friend took that as a hint to leave. "Well?" you asked after a moment as you crossed your arms over your chest. Upon setting eyes on you, it became clear to Ramsay how much he truly missed you when you were gone.

"Did you get my gifts?" You nodded and pointed over your shoulder where Ramsay could see the many gifts along with your bags. That made him hopeful. "I won't be begging, but I have set up something for you. For us. As an a-ap-apology." The word made his tongue feel like lead. He hated apologizing. You arched a brow in question.

"I've set you up a massage at the spa then a lunch for the two of us. A picnic in that park you love to read in." You stared at him in surprise. He nearly chuckled. It was a well-known fact that while he enjoyed being outdoors, he hated picnics. "I know I can't buy your forgiveness, but I can pamper you." For several long seconds, you stayed silent then, you finally nodded. "I'd like that."

Ramsay did a little work while he waited for your massage to finish, determined not to do anything but pay attention to you when you were having your picnic. He was pleased to see a beautiful smile on your face. You sat next to him and sighed happily. "I think I might forgive you." Ramsay rolled his eyes, but smiled regardless. He opened the cooler to pull out the lunch he'd had a chef he knew prepare as well as a bottle of your favorite wine.

You frowned seeing the bottle and Ramsay cocked his head to the side. "I-I shouldn't," you explained quietly. "Why? Why are you avoiding things you love?" You sighed and ran your hand down your face and Ramsay continued, "Why are you pulling away from me?!" You shushed him, not wanting to draw attention to the two of you. Ramsay merely glared. His plan was not going how he expected and he hated that.

You let out a sigh and fished through your purse. A moment later, you pulled something out and handed it over to Ramsay. Ramsay stared before blinking owlishly at you. His blue eyes flickered between you and the item in his hand several times. "Is this? Are you-?"

"An ultrasound? Pregnant? Yes to both. About 11 weeks." Ramsay nearly dropped the ultrasound photo. Pregnant. You were pregnant. "Say something, Ramsay." Ramsay opened his mouth to speak, but found his throat dry. After clearing it, he tried again.

"You're having a baby. We're going to be parents. That's why…" You nodded. "That's why I haven't been eating sushi, or drinking, and why I've been avoiding the amusement park. Which I still want to do by the way, when I'm not carrying your child inside me." Ramsay nodded, ready to agree to anything at this point. He couldn't believe he was going to be a father.

He reached over, pausing as his hand hovered over your barely rounded belly. His blue eyes met yours and you nodded. Ramsay rested his hand on your stomach. "Come home," he whispered. "I will," you agreed, "But if you ever accuse me of cheating again, I will walk out that door and never come back." He agreed instantly before resting his forehead on yours.

(a/n: I know this probably wasn’t as funny as you were picturing, but my fingers would only write FLUFF!)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard @brewsthespirit-blog @line-viper @etherealpotter @frozenhuntress67 @cd1242 @smalltownbigheart @igotmadskills

#george r.r. martin #game of thrones #modern au #ramsay bolton #ramsay bolton x reader #ramsay x reader

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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 4 months

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🟌 Ramsay being the type of husband that makes you wear a chastity belt when he’s away from you.

Female reader

WARNINGS: Toxic Marriage.

Did you foolishly believe that a man like Ramsay would ever offer you the benefit of doubt?

It’s not even a matter of trust, but of ownership.

And the truth is Ramsay owns you and he’ll go through any length to keep his beautiful wife’s cunt safe from other men, ignoring whatever pain or inconvenience the device may cause you.

Ramsay will make sure that he’s your first and last, and if by any misfortune, he perishes in the battlefield, then at least he’ll die a happy man knowing no one else will ever be able to fuck you.

Even if you want to, there's no way to remove the strap without the key - which only he possesses.

It’s a cruel way to keep you chained to him, the horrified look on your face bringing him immense delight.

A cruel reminder of who owns you.

#@mrsdarkandyandere7 #dark fic #dark!ramsay bolton #dark!ramsay bolton x reader #dark ramsay bolton x reader #dark ramsay bolton #ramsay bolton x reader #tw: toxic marriage #tw: toxic relationships #tw: yandere #tw: dark content #tw: dark

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red-riding-wood · 1 year

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Drabble/Short Oneshot Requests

So, have been holding back on doing this because I still do have a oneshot req I need to complete, and so many WIPs it's outlandish. That being said, right now, since I'm reconditioning myself to write, it's very difficult for me to tackle those projects and get even a sentence in them at a time. So I'm sort of asking for your help in this in my theory that drabbles are a good medium and that they might help me get used to properly writing.

I'm currently comfortable writing MxF, FxF, and of course platonic relations. I tend to write angst or dark fics so nothing is off limits with me, but if you want to send in something fluffy I can try my best! Anything smutty will likely not be too "in-depth" given the length of drabbles.

I will most likely do these x reader and 2nd person unless otherwise specified.

You can send in:

A GIF or picture prompt

A written prompt (use any but I do have some good angst I found)

A lyric or song + character

A description of what you'd like if the request is more specific (though keep in mind I will be keeping these short)

Fandoms & Characters below!

- Peaky Blinders -

Tommy Shelby Arthur Shelby John Shelby Polly Gray Michael Gray Alfie Solomons Tatiana Petrovna Luca Changretta Aberama Gold

- Game of Thrones -

(since I'm not far in this there are only a couple characters that I feel confident writing for as of yet, since I know their spoilers updated) (underage characters will be aged up if the request is sexual)

Petyr Baelish Daenerys Targaryen Jaimee Lannister Cersei Lannister Tyrion Lannister Jorah Mormont Viserys III Targaryen Jon Snow Sansa Stark Arya Stark Robb Stark Catelyn Tully/Stark Tommen Baratheon Stannis Baratheon Ramsay Snow/Bolton Theon Greyjoy Yara Greyjoy Margaery Tyrell Bronn Brienne Melisandre

- Adrien Characters -

* ones I am more picky with because I have full stories planned out for them, so I might not do the request or might use my OC for said story depending on how the inspiration goes

Henry Barthes (Detachment) *Jack Driscoll (King Kong) Clive Nicoli (Splice) *Dmitri (The Grand Budapest Hotel) *Peter Whitman (The Darjeeling Limited) Jack Starks (The Jacket) Leo Kopernick (See How They Run) Frankie (American Heist) Bloom (The Brothers Bloom) Jack Grace (Love the Hard Way) Steven (Dummy) Harry (Oxygen) Charles Boone (Chapelwaite)

- Aidan Characters -

If you ask me to write an Aidan Gillen character that isn't on this list, odds are I will say yes, lol. I may just have to watch whatever the character is in because I've not seen much with him... yet.

- Far Cry 5 -

Jacob Seed John Seed Joseph Seed Faith Seed

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kee-writestrashh · 6 years

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Dreams in Neon

Ramsay Bolton x Reader

Ao3

Words: 2420

Summary: The year is 2518. The race to create super soldiers is at its height. All the big Westrosi families are trying to undermine one another to get to the top first. Robots and androids on every corner. Is that guy even human? 15 years ago you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Your father packed you up and fled the city to try to undo his mistake. However, you were left with your formidable grandmother. Now an adult, well on your way to the top of the law field, you receive word that your father didn't just leave you with your grandmother, but he was kidnapped by one of those big time crime families, and shunted to the underground. You decide to team up with an old friend from the city and uncover the truth about what happened the day you seemed to lose everything. On your arrival, things start to get weird, and you were not prepared for this. War is looming on the doorsteps, but it may not be from other countries or even colonies ready to break free from the oppression of the home planet. Will you regret leaving the 'country side' or will you stand your ground and find your father? (*3rd person pov)

Chapter 3: How Little I Must Know

She woke in a heavy fog at first and then gasp, glancing around, unsure where she was. Then it quickly came back to her as she sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and stifling a small yawn as she glanced around the quiet room.

“Maxie?” She mumbled, rolling from the bed and stretching deeply.

“Good morning, (Y/N)!” A voice twittered back, the watch on (Y/N)’s wrist lighting up before a holographic figure appeared on the desk beside the only window in the room. A foot tall, cat, stretching and turning circles, before flopping down in the sunlight, its tail flicking lazily as it watched (Y/N) dig in her suitcase.

(Y/N) glanced at the hologram and gave a nonplussed look, “feeling feline today?” She asked, pulling free clothes and setting them beside the blue cat.

“I thought it fitting.” The cat said back, giving what was unmistakably a shrug, “Anyways, what can I start you with this morning?”

“Let grandma know I’m here.” (Y/N) said, making way to the small connected bathroom and closing the door.

The cat sat outside the door, “Already done. She says not to spend all your credits in one place, she loves you, and to keep her updated. Weather today will be sunny at a balmy seventy-eight, and a low of sixty-two. You have two messages from Conquest Nine, and a new message from Uni about job opportunities. Oh, and a coupon to The Twins Brewery. Twenty percent off any meal. Good at any loca-”

“Yes yes. Delete that. What about Conquest?” (Y/N) asked, opening the bathroom door as she wet her toothbrush.

“New tournament dates have been set. And…. your previous tournament credits have been awarded, ready to use in the shop. The shop closes up forty-eight hours before the start of the next tournament.” Maxie said, jumping up on the counter and watching (Y/N) brush her teeth. “Do you request further assistance?”

(Y/N) paused her brushing and turned her eyes to the hologram. Maxie had been a gift to her from her father for her 13th birthday. It was the last time she had actually seen him. But it wasn’t uncommon. Despite all the technology and ever changing gadgets, travel still took awhile, and the expanded colonies were very spread out. She went to school with many kids who’s parents were always travelling. Galactic Safety, scientists of all forms, doctors who needed to make routine checks to the Outerrims. So, (Y/N) had never imagined that her father was not a part of the water conservation project he had claimed. That really he was living a double life. But, Maxie had always been here for her. An AI that grew with her. Took part in her interests, stayed up with her many a long nights to study for finals, and been her true best friend. “Did you ever know any of this stuff about Dad?”

“No, ma’am. I did not. I know what you know.” Maxie said somberly.

(Y/N) sighed, finishing her usual morning routine. “I dunno what to think.”

“We will figure it out.” Maxie said, giving a small nod.

“I dunno if I have ever told you, but I am so glad for you.” (Y/N) said with a fond smile at the semi-transparent cat.

“As am I. Now, I am off to explore the city links.” Maxie said, giving another cat stretch and vanishing from sight.

(Y/N) let the guest room and retraced her steps from the night before, finding herself at the front door. She glanced around, hearing voices from a distant room. She found herself in a polished and glimmering kitchen. Ned and Cat looked up from a table and both smiled at you.

“Sleep well?” Cat asked, setting down her coffee cup.

(Y/N) gave a small shrug. “I guess. Too much on my mind.”

Ned gave her a long look, a deep sigh, and pulled out the chair beside him. “I think it’s time we talked.”

“Ned! She just got up. She should have breakfast first.” Cat snapped.

(Y/N) shook her head, “No. Food can wait. I want answers.”

“There isn’t much we can give you. We don’t know much more than you.” Ned said slowly, running his hand along his chin and giving a deeper frown. “As you know, your father and I went to school together. Grew up together. I was the best man at your parents wedding. He was the best man at mine. When you were born your parents named me and Cat as your godparents. When your mother died…”

“You mean murdered.” (Y/N) cut in rather harshly.

Ned sighed again, “Yes. I remember as if it were yesterday. It all happened so fast. I was only a patrol officer then. When the call watch patched over the line I was in the middle of lunch. I booked it as fast as I could across town. And when I got there… I’d never seen anything like it.” Ned stopped, staring down at his hands and giving a small shudder as the kitchen droid poured (Y/N) a cup of coffee. Ned took a deep breath and pressed on, “Of course, no evidence was left behind. Never found out who it was. There are theories, of course.”

“Like the Bolton’s?” (Y/N) asked bluntly, buttering toast from the plate another droid had placed on the table.

Ned frowned, “There are things you need to understand. The Bolton’s, while not my favorite people to deal with, have never outwardly displayed mafia related activity. But, Roose is almost as cunning as he is cruel.”

“Then it’s possible.” (Y/N) said thickly through the toast in her mouth.

“I suppose it could be. But there are so many others. This whole super soldier thing has everyone rushing to be first. And your father was promising. Won many a prizes while we were still in college for genetic modifications that did not involve the use of replacing parts with machines. That breakthrough had everyone on his heels. The money and benefits he was offered. Turning down everyone. Until your mother died. Roose Bolton just happened to come to him first after your mother’s death.”

(Y/N) stared down at her plate, chewing the inside corner of her lip.

“And then your father came to us.” Cat said after a few moments silence. “He asked us to never tell you anything, incase something happened. Asked if we would keep an eye on you and be there for you. Then, well, the accident. While you were in your comma he instructed us, and your grandmother, to give you the same story, and never let you step foot in the city.”

“But why?” (Y/N) asked almost pleadingly.

“We don’t know, honey.” Cat said, giving (Y/N) a truly sad look. “He vanished before anymore could be discussed. It was like he knew something was going to happen, but figured the less anyone knew the safer you would be.”

“Safe from what?!” (Y/N) half shouted. “What accident? What happened? Who am I supposed to be finding? What did he mean when he said they are coming? Who?! Who are coming?!” She felt the hot tears springing up in the corners of her eyes and fought to keep control of her quavering voice.

“More questions we can’t answer.” Said Ned heavily, “No one knows what happened in the accident. All record and video of it was wiped from everything. All anyone knows for sure was that it resulted in Roose’s eldest son’s death. Other than your father, Roose is the only other person who knows exactly what happened.”

“Then I have to talk to him.” (Y/N) said, standing abruptly.

“No. I said the Bolton’s have never been linked to mafia related incidents. I did not say that they were not a crime family. They just haven’t been caught at it. Not since Roose became head of the family. They go by the Red King’s. And besides that, they would sniff you out before you even got close. All the thugs and criminals have an act for sniffing out fresh military and police cadets.” Ned said, giving her a very stern look.

(Y/N) made a frustrated noise, but sat back down, glaring at her coffee. “Then what do I do?”

“There is nothing you can do. We have to wait. Play it by ear. Your father went out of his way to warn you. To keep you safe.” Ned nodded.

“Safe?! Safe from what?! What exactly am I safe from if no one can even tell me what I’m supposed to be looking out for? Would someone please tell me?” (Y/N) cried, a rogue tear slipping down her cheek. Cat rose from her seat and moved around the edge of the table to embrace her goddaughter in a tight, motherly hug.

“We will figure it out. We loved your father, your mother. And we love you too.” Cat whispered in her ear, rubbing her back firmly with the palm of her hand before letting go and leaving the room.

“Take a couple days to relax, kiddo. Get your head on straight. We could really use someone like you with your mind on the force. We’ve had to up patrols and physical force recently. A lot of civil unrest. Could help keep you busy until we get a lead.” Ned said, clapping (Y/N) of the shoulder as he rose from his seat, leaving too.

(Y/N) sat down heavily in her chair again, slumping down into it as she gazed blindly at her hardly touched plate of breakfast.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there until someone sitting in the chair beside her spoke and made her start. She turned her head to see Robb, who gave her a small smile.

“How’re you doing?” he asked.

“Well, I’ve just found out that my whole life has basically been a lie. How do you think I’m doing, Robb?” (Y/N) said rather harshly.

“Tactless.” Another voice tutted. (Y/N) turned to see Sansa walk in, scowling at her elder brother. (Y/N) gave Sansa a warm smile and stood from her seat and hugged Sansa. Sansa was just a little over two years younger than she and Robb. “Why was I not informed the moment you got here?”

“Sorry. I was just… my mind isn’t right. And Maxie had his hands full trying to keep up with me, I guess.” (Y/N) said with a small shrug.

“Well, I refuse to let you sit around and mope. You and me are going shopping, and then we are going out tonight. There are so many things I want to show you.” Sansa said with a small smile.

Sansa seemed to change a lot. Found herself after she finally was able to break it off and leave that idiot Joffrey guy. But she looked in better spirits than when you graduated just a few short months ago.

“Well, I would like to see the city.” (Y/N) nodded slowly, “Lemme go put something better on and then we can go.”

She left the table and returned to the room she was currently utilizing until she had found a place of her own. It shouldn’t be too hard once she had secured a job. Her father had given her a small fortune. Apparently whatever it was that he was doing he at least made good money for it. She changed quickly, nothing overly exciting; a simple black tee and her favorite tight jeans. She slipped on her shoes and grabbed up the thin glass sheet cell phone and headed back downstairs.

Sansa was waiting for her, smiling wide. She opened the door and stepped outside, (Y/N) following on her heels. “How’s the business?”

Sansa beamed at this, “It is going so great! I’ve been asked to make a few pieces for the Winter collection and I am so excited about it! So, where is your transportation?”

(Y/N) gave a small shrug, “I came in on the sub. I was thinking about maybe getting a bike. It’s just me and Maxie. And well, Maxies doesn’t exactly require any space. So instead of clogging up the streets further with a car I don’t need, I thought just getting a bike would be okay.”

“Ooh! I know just the place.” Sansa said, sliding into her car and opening the door for (Y/N). “So did dad offer you a spot on the department yet?”

(Y/N) gave a small chortle and nodded, “He did. What was he talking about with civil unrest?”

Sansa shrugged, “There seems to be an increase in crimes recently. Burglary, murder, kidnappings.”

“Hm.” (Y/N) hummed, frowning as she watched the surroundings speed past.

“So, shopping, lunch, then we will go look at bikes, and then we are going out to drink tonight.”

(Y/N) gaped slightly at Sansa, “Since when did you become such a rebel?”

Sansa rolled her eyes and shrugged, “I just… feel better now that I don’t have to look at Joffrey anymore.”

The two young women said nothing more and just listened to music, silently enjoying one another’s presence for awhile. Finally, Sansa parked her car in a packed parking garage near the heart of the city. They both wandered to the elevator and waited on it to open. As the elevator opened that same cold fuzz happened in the back of (Y/N)’s mind, but this time it was more. It was as if she saw it happen before it did. Like watching everything in slow motion as a man in a hurry made to run from the elevator. Except (Y/N) could move at normal speed, training kicking in, she thought of nothing else as she pulled Sansa out of the way, and pushed the slowly moving running man. Then like the flip of a switch everything was going at normal speed again; Sansa gasped as she was pulled out of the way and the man fell to the ground, as the doors to a set of stairs burst open and two security guards came running in.

Sansa turned to look at (Y/N) and squinted, “How’d you do that?” She whispered as they watched the guards cuff the man and collect all the stolen items from his pockets.

Unsure what to say or how to process what the hell had just happened (Y/N) shrugged, “Instinct?”

**image not mine. found on google

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neoncrowpen · 2 years

Text

Current Requests in my Inbox (February 25th)

Phew! My week was BIZ-ZAY. I do apologize for not posting on Wednesday. That was a Bad Bird Moment. You see, I did not prioritize sleep like I should have...and I ended up sleeping right after work. Whoops. Anyhoo! On to business!

Oldest to newest. Italicized text indicates what I’m working on. Bold text indicates what’s in the Struggle Bus.

- Thomas Shelby x Male!Reader. (Angst Oneshot) About the complicated relationship between Thomas Shelby and his younger brother (Reader).

- Thomas Shelby x Male!Reader. (Dark, NSFW Oneshot) Love story between Thomas Shelby and his servant. Servant’s rise to power and Thomas’ growing love for him.

- Spiderman x Male!Reader. (Dark) Peter becomes obsessed with Reader after they save each other.

- Daredevil x Male!Reader. (Dark) Matt becomes possessive with Reader after dinner one evening.

- Dark!Thomas Shelby x Mute!Reader. (NSFW/Yandere) Reader wants nothing to do with Thomas, but he has other plans.

- Dark!Paul Atreides x Reader. (NSFW) Paul walks in on Reader touching herself.

- Alfie Solomons x Reader. (Dark) Thomas Shelby, your boss, offers you up to Alfie as wife material to butter him up for a deal.

- Ramsay Bolton x Tyrell!Reader. (Dark) PART TWO OF THIS SERIES (i just knewww someone was going to ask for this. And yes, you read that right. Series. I plan for more than two parts.)

- Paul Atreides x Noble!Reader. (Comfort/Fluff) After Reader bares a son for the empire, she feels her purpose is only to be a brooding mare.

- Joe Goldberg x Therapist!Reader. (Dark) Joe Goldberg confesses his feelings to you, his therapist.

- Cahir x Reader. (Angst/Fluff) Being kind to Cahir while he’s imprisoned in Aretuza.

- Geralt x Reader. (Dark) Part Two of this imagine.

- Shelby Family x Reader. (Yandere) After rescuing one of their own, the Shelby family develops an obsession for their newest member.

- Geralt x Reader. (Yandere) Reader narrowly escapes Geralt.

- CROW’s CHOICE: Fluff Edition

- Dark!Jaskier x Reader. (Dark/Noncon) Jaskier takes advantage of Reader when drunk.

- Dark!Paul Atreides x Reader. (Dark) Paul Atreides demands to marry Reader, but Reader decides to run away.

- Thomas Shelby x Reader. Part Two of Grace’s sister.

- Dark!Paul Atreides x Reader. (Dark, NSFW) Reader is having an affair and gets caught. Paul decides to punish her in his own way.

- Dark!Paul Atreides x Reader. (Noncon, NSFW) Paul is determined to make an heir on their wedding night.

- The Shelby Men x Male!Reader. (Dark, NSFW) Thomas, Arthur, Michael, and John all become obsessed with Ada’s new baker friend.

- Patrick Hockstetter x Reader. (Fluff) Cute arcade date.

- Thomas Shelby x Reader. (Dark). This is @smellyzcat’s dream, so I’m keeping these plot details secret to me until I fully figured out what I’m going to do with it.

- Luca Changretta x Reader. (Dark). Luca steals you away from your husband. (Very excited for this one, friends.)

- Thomas Shelby x Male!Reader. (Dark, NSFW) Reader is the leader of a new rival gang going up against the Peaky Blinders. After underestimating him, Thomas discovers this ring leader is not everything he seems to be.

- CROW’S CHOICE: Dark Edition

- Protective!Paul Atreides x Reader. (Dark) No plot details yet. TBD.

- Yandere!Thomas Shelby x Reader. (Yandere) Reader falls ill with something serious. This forces Thomas to do something he never thought he would ever do.

- Paul Atreides x Reader. (Fluff) Paul witnesses the birth of his child.

- Paul Atreides x Reader x Chani. (Dark) Paul and Chani confess their love to you, and they're not taking no for an answer.

- Finn Shelby x Reader (Dark) Part Two to this request. (Which is suupppper interesting!! I never thought someone would ask for this!)

31 Requests! And off we go to the writing cave. See you next week, friends.

- Crow

#current requests

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ladyviserra · 2 years

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Bolton Bride part 2 | Ramsay Bolton

Pairing: Ramsay Bolton x Female!Reader

Summary: After forcefully being separated from your home, you are taken to Winterfell, to finally become the Bolton Bride.

Warnings:

A/n: @germansarechill hope you like part two. For the ones that haven't but would want to read here is part 1

The ride to Winterfell wasn't long. Much quicker than you thought it would be. Or it was maybe just a fact how you didn't bother to concentrate on how long it was.

You didn't trust Ramsay's words. You were scared of what might happen to you. Will he use you as a slave? Do whatever he wishes to do?

He was called mad despite being just legitimatized. While he was Ramsay Snow he was just that. But now, when Boltons hold Winterfell and he is the heir to it all he is probably one of the most important men in the North.

Meaning if you become his wife you would be a good target. Without a doubt, he wouldn't care for you or your well-being. If it were something to happen to you he could easily find another wife.

Winterfell wasn't the same as the last time you were there. Last time it had a warm feeling and a smell of home. Now darkness shadowed it and no nice smells it seemed so depressing without Starks.

" A Stark must always be in Winterfell. " You knew why. Without them, it had no strong connection it had no charm it use to have. It was just snow and mudd.

" Father. " Ramsay called for Lord Bolton. He stood next to your horse, touching your leg in case you try to do something stupid.

" Ramsay. I see you brought Y/n, home. " Home? This is not your home. Doesn't have a feeling of one.

" We had a nice trip, didn't we? " He questioned you, acting as of he didn't just kidnap you. Not knowing how to act you noded, now standing next to your so-called future husband.

" Good. " With that Roose left, not spearing a single look anyone's way. His son turned to you, putting his hands on your shoulders.

" Now you will be shown to your chambers. "

" Reek! " He called after a weird-looking man who was flinching in fear.

" Will you be kind enough to go show Lady Y/n to her chambers? " Ramsay smirked when the man started walking you to it.

" M'Lady I will join you soon. " His strongly confident voice spoke. Before you could turn around and see his face you felt a presents of someone behind you.

Seemingly your future husband is so afraid you might run somewhere that he order guards to go with you and Reek.

No words were said, only the sound of your steps echoing in your ears. You were trying your best to be calm. And yet you were scared to even know where you will be sleeping. A dungeon? No, they don't have dungeons upstairs, especially in Winterfell. What if they do? It's Boltons, who knows what could come to their mind.

Reek opened the door and let you in. The doors were closed behind you, locked right as you tried to open them.

" Let me out. " You demanded, soon giving up, remembering you are a prisoner. You have no choices here.

Your chambers were like the ones from The Rills. It had a bed and everything a lady needs.

When the doors were unlocking you ran to them, bumping into Ramsay's chest.

" Stop there, we aren't married yet. " He joked, chuckling to his humour. Trying to step away from him, he wrapped his arms around you ending any escape possible. Your back was to him, your eyes scanned the room, hoping to forget he was pressed in you.

" You are pretty aren't you. " He breathed in your exposed neck. Leaving a big and wet kiss on it. Letting you go, you moved to the bed, wanting to be far away.

" Oh, no. Are you scared of me? " He talked to you as if you were a child. You were walking backwards, not caring if you hit the wall, wanting to be away from him. He followed your moves, doing the opposite you wanted. He didn't bother to lock the doors, he knew you wouldn't flee. Where to? Now when he cornered you the chances are even smaller.

You still felt his touch when he once again was pressed next to you. This time, face to face, eye to eye.

" Where to now, Y/n? " You made a whimper, exciting him more by it.

" Don't worry, I will wait before I can have you. " To your naive self, he acted like he was pulling away until he aggressively pushed even further to your face.

" And when I have you. I will tear you apart. " With his final words, he lock the doors, leaving you scared and surprised, but yet relieved. You didn't believe Ramsay, but you hoped his words were true. He will leave you be at least for the time being.

#ramsay bolton x you #ramsay snow x reader #ramsay bolton #ramsay snow x you #ramsay snow #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #iwan rheon

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harryspet · 4 years

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dimensions | peter parker

[Warnings] peter parker x reader, dark peter x reader, historical au, royal au, prince Peter, mentions of noncon sex, physical abuse, spanking, alternate dimensions, fluff, hella angst, alternate peter is basically ramsay bolton

A/N: This is an angsty idea from an anon “Angst thought: Peter's got a girlfriend he super likes but she gets switched with an alternate dimension's version of her who alternate him was the worst to (like one of your dark Peter fics bad) and she's terrified of Peter now”. I decided to make this like a historical au but it can basically take place at anytime in history.

THIS CONTAINS TRIGGERING MATERIAL AND ADULT CONTENT

main masterlist

word count: 2.7k

Wine dripped from his lips as Peter stared at you like a hungry wolf. What a beautiful prey you were. He was so lucky that he had decided not to kill you like the rest of your family.

The kingdom you came from was made of sunlight. Sun dripped from the sun and kissed the skin of your people. You were a peaceful people. You had never seen war until you came to know Lord Parker.

In Lord Parker’s part of the world, there was no sun at all. His fortress sat on a hill between a dark forest and a storm-ridden sea. His followers were loyal but this was because the family ruled with fear. They conquered and pillaged for power and your kingdom was just another line on his roster.

You were nothing to him. Nothing except a toy.

You scrambled backward, your back hitting the headboard of the bed you shared with him. Peter’s eyes trailed over the bare skin of your legs and up to the white nightgown you wore. He loved you in white, the contrast to your skin, and the innocence it represented.

No matter how he tried to beat it out of you, that innocence was still there.

Peter pulled the sheets all the way back and your body began to tremble, “My sweeting,” His words were kind but his intentions were anything but. He had his claws around your heart and you felt any wrong move would lead to him ripping it from your chest, “I recall informing you that you should refrain from speaking to my servants.”

Nothing. There were no words on your lips.

Had Peter already diminished your fire? He thought he had mastered the art of pushing you all the way to the edge but not allowing you to fall over.

The room was filled with grays and black, the only light in the room came from a few candles in the corner. You could hear the waves beating against the cliffs from outside the window. You let the cold hit your skin, allowing you to feel something other than sadness.

Peter’s hands touched the mattress as his body leaned in closer, “You want to run from me, do you not?” You were frozen now. He cocked his head to the side, an evil grin decorating his handsome face, “That is why you asked your guard to help you escape. You thought he might take pity on you? Do you think the honey between your legs is that sweet? That any man would risk their lives just to taste it?”

Breathe, you had to remind yourself. Why had you done that? You should’ve known not to trust anyone. Anyone including those with sweet, forgiving eyes.

Peter sighed, taking a seat on the edge of the large mattress. You recalled the memories of the last few nights. On your wedding night, he had forced himself inside of you with a force you couldn’t bear. You still ached between your legs.

“I do try to be good to you. I try to be a good husband but … it seems the Gods have cursed me with anger …and your behavior lights that flame inside of me. Is it so much to ask that you be honest with me? To tell me what I hear is not true?”

Nothing. Again, no words escaped your trembling lip. Peter was starting to grow annoyed. He liked it better when you were screaming.

“Answer me!” He screamed, causing you to hit your head against the wood as you flinched back, “You dare run behind my back!” Peter pounced, unable to resist the sweet touch of your trembling flesh. You resisted, but that only made the member in his trousers grow even more excited.

Peter dragged you by the curls in your hair, forcing you to scramble forward until you were positioned across his lap.

“My lord, please! Please, don’t!”

Peter smiled wide as he held you down, his elbow pressing into your back. “There she is! I knew my sweet princess was a fighter,” He pulled up the skirt of your dress, revealing your bare bottom. He could still see the evidence he left behind hours ago dripping down your thighs, “Continue to scream for me, my sweeting. I do enjoy your voice.”

You cried out, trying to wiggle from his grasp, as he landed several hard spanks to your bottom. You could feel it turning colors beneath his touch, the burning pain flowed through your body, “Please, please, I won’t do it again!” You begged, “I’ll be good!”

He didn’t stop until your bottom was raw and his own hand was bleeding. Tears streamed down your tired face, a complete look of defeat crossed your features, and ultimately satisfied Peter.

“What is your name?”

You didn’t even remember anymore, “Nothing. N-No one. I am nothing but yours, My Lord.”

He dragged you from the bed though every step you took was like feeling fire against your skin.

“No ones coming to save you!” Peter shouted as he dragged you out of the room, past your guards, and to the outside balcony that overlooked the entire fortress. Everyone was used to causing the scene with his cruelty so no one even batted an eyelash as you were pulled around like a ragdoll.

He pressed you against the wooden railing, making you look out into the snow-covered court. The snow that was now soaked in blood. He was in pieces but you recognized him. It was the young guard you had talked to you. Stupidly, you asked him when the guards normally changed shifts in the compound.

His legs were separated as well as each of his arms and then …. his head. His eyes were still open. “We cut off the head last,” As you closed your eyes, he pulled at your hair tightly, “He learned what happens when you try to steal my treasure. Treasure I bravely sought and retrieved on my own.”

It was all your fault.

He was gone before Peter even stepped into that room.

Your body was only protecting itself by shutting down and causing you to faint. Peter caught you as you fell into his arms.

You awoke on a soft cloud. Everything smelt of sweet vanilla, even your hair. You touched your hair and found it longer and much softer than usual. Your eyes could barely adjust to the blinding light in the room. When were thing’s ever this bright on Lord Parker’s land?

Had he finally set the place ablaze with you trapped inside? The thought of it was delightful. You even considered closing your eyes again but, the room you were in, gave off an entirely different feeling than the fortress.

You sat up in the bed and your mouth gaped as you took a look around. You stumbled as you stood up on the bed. The room was ginormous, even bigger than the over-sized bed. It reminded you of the great hall in the manor you grew up in … except it was a bedroom made of gold.

You looked down at your body. This was not the white gown you were last wearing. There were no stains of blood or tears down the chest. There was also no burning on your skin, on your bottom or around your neck.

You paused as the tall gold doors opened to the room. You stared as he entered, clad in a royal suit of blue, and wearing a smile. A smile? You had never seen him with a real smile, “Did you use to jump on the bed when you were younger?” He asked a tone you weren’t quite used to. It sounded pleasant, like there was happiness on his lips, “That was my favorite too.”

Had he slipped hallucinogens into your drink? Or was this just a nightmare of your own creation?

As he moved closer to the bed, you panicked, moving down to your knees, “M-My Lord,” You addressed him, your head tilted down.

Peter paused, taking in your appearance, and his smile turned to concern, “Your Lord?” Peter asked softly, moving towards you. He reached for your hand and, although you didn’t pull away, he felt you shaking, “Y/N, what’s going on?”

You lifted your head, facing the demon, “W-Who is Y/N?” Peter searched your face for some symbol of amusement. He thought you might be pulling a prank on him but it was now clear that something was very wrong, “Where did you take me?”

Peter pulled away his hand, realizing he was only causing more unease, “I didn’t take you anywhere. This is my home. Our home. Should I call in the physician ...”

“We don’t live here …” You looked around the large room again.

“Y/N, do you promise me that this is not some sort of game?”

You shook your head quickly, “No games, My Lord.”

“My name is Peter. I am not your Lord …” Peter’s voice trailed off, his mind racing with concerned thoughts and confusion. Peter beckoned you with his hand, “Why don’t you come with me, Y/N? We will have a talk with May.”

A trick. This had to be some elaborate trick then.

“I only talk to you, My Lord,” You assured him, “I won’t speak to anyone else, I promise.”

His eyes seemed to sadden. Sad? You’d only seen anger from him before, “Y/N, you can talk to other people. I am your husband but I do not control you. You have friends. You have a family.”

A sick joke then. You stared at him dumbfounded, before shaking your head, “You killed them. They were not worthy. You spared me despite my unworthiness.”

“I-I never-” Peter stopped himself, realizing that it was becoming useless to argue at the moment. You seemed to flinch at the slightest raise in his voice, “Walk with me, please?”

You were hesitant but you crawled from the bed, your bare feet touching the cool, marble floor. The fortress was grays and black. The fortress was soot and wood. This was a palace and the man before you were dressed like a prince.

Peter noticed the distance you kept from it. Yesterday, you were madly in love with him. You held each other through every royal meeting and you spent the night wrapped in each other’s arms. He remembered how nervous he was when Tony announced the plans for his marriage but, the moment he saw you, he realized his luck. He was even luckier that you felt the same.

You glanced around the long hallways with tall white walls and ginormous windows that gave a view of the sun over a calm sea.

“What city is this?”

As the name of the city left his lips, your heart stopped. It was the same city you were kidnapped and taken to but you saw no sign of the darkness that you remembered. Had the darkness all been a bad dream?

The woman named May attempted to explain everything to you. She noticed your uneasiness around Peter and kindly asked to have a moment alone with you. You were frightened to speak out of turn, for fear of Peter punishing you, but the woman encouraged you to talk to her.

She knew all about the kingdom you hailed from, about your family and your peaceful people. They were all alive, Peter’s forces never led an attack against them. In fact, your father and King Tony arranged the marriage between you two. Peter was a Prince. The prince of a kingdom that did not wage war against innocents.

She checked your vitals, not noticing anything that was physically wrong with you. You didn’t even have the scars anymore.

Despite all of this, the thing that made everything sink in was seeing your family. Both your mother and older brother had not returned back to your kingdom, and you were able to embrace them after believing you had lost them forever.

Peter wasn’t sure what to think of everything. So much had changed that he wasn’t sure if he was looking at the same girl anymore. He didn’t want to be a villain to his own wife. He regretted that the bond that they now shared was indestructible. To divorce was a sin and they’d both be shamed by their countries.

“I can find somewhere else to sleep tonight …” You looked up to Peter, seeing how he was trying to hide his sadness. Your chambermaids had prepared you for bed, bathed you, and put you into fresh nightclothes made of the softest silks.

“It is your room,” You told him quickly, “I should not deprive you of the comfort … the comfort of sleeping next to your own wife.”

“I can tell you do not want me to, my love,” His words made your heart pang. Love. Did Peter love you? At least, did he love the old you? “I will allow you to have all the time that you need. I do not wish to be the source of your nightmares.”

Peter had a feeling that he wouldn’t be able to change that fear she felt.

“Please stay,” You told him as he made a move to leave, “I do not want to be alone.”

You had spent the entire day with your family, and now you just didn’t want to fall asleep in the silence.

Peter thought for a moment, deciding his plan of action. You couldn’t help that your breath caught in your throat as he approached where you laid on the bed. He didn’t reach to touch you, only to grab a pillow.

He laid it on the ground beside the massive bed and proceeded to make himself comfortable on the hard floor. You rolled over in the bed, looking over the edge at him, “The floor is no place for a prince, your grace.”

Peter instantly shook his head, “I do not know what you mean, my love. It feels great down here,” You could tell her was lying and a small grin pulled at your lips. He was willing to sleep on the floor just so you could be comfortable?

“Peter?”

Peter couldn’t help how his heart fluttered when you simply called him by his first name. He liked knowing before that you liked him as a person, not as an authority figure.

“Yes, Y/N?”

“What kind of things did I use to like?”

Peter didn’t expect the question, but as the memories rushed, he couldn’t help but smile, “You loved your family. You always talked about them, about your people. You wanted everyone to know that you were a princess of two, great kingdoms, not just my own. You made sure they were never forgotten.”

You continued to listen as you pictured it. You hadn’t realized they were memories of your own.

“You liked to garden. It reminds you of your time with your grandmother. You love the life you can create, the beauty you can make.”

A tear slipped down your face as you remembered the older woman.

“You liked it when we went out on the boat and rode in the bay. You liked the sound of the ocean and the sun on the skin. You hated that we kept the fish we caught. You hated how they had to die and you insisted that we give them to beggars on the street.”

You realized that this wasn’t some past you that Peter was talking about. The girl he was talking about was still you. She just had a better chance at life.

“You loved looking at the stars. You smiled for days when I showed you the telescope my father purchased from that French merchant, I swear it.”

“Peter, I-I am sorry,” Peter noticed you were crying and shot up from his spot, reaching to hold your hand, “You are nothing like him. You are nothing like him.”

“Do not cry, please,” Peter begged, rubbing soothing circles on your skin, “There is nothing to apologize for. Whatever this is, we will get through it.”

As his thumb brushed the tear from your cheek, you saw him clearly. You could look into those brown eyes and know he’d never hurt you.

Hope you enjoyed! (Also sorry, please don’t ask for a second part)

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