#;; ARE MY TERRIBLE TASTES IN MEN CATCHING UP TO ME?????
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navxry · 2 years ago
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Everywhere I look
I see this man
And the smug ass look on his face
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Y'all I'm so tired what
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blindmagdalena · 5 months ago
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You Let Me Complicate You
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18+ 4k homelander x f!reader. bickering, post-breakup sex, dubcon/coercion, angst, jealousy, emotional manipulation, implied murder, stalking, boundary smashing, breaking and entering, cunnilingus, penetrative sex. read on AO3. written as a follow-up to the breakup, but can be read as a standalone. gif credit.
Breaking up with Homelander is... complicated. After all, it is a god that loves you.
"What do I taste like?" You asked him once, drunk on pleasure and those early honeymoon days of loving him. He’d been slow to answer, thinking it over. "Love," he said at last. "Like you love me." You wonder if that holds true. If he can still taste love in you. If that’s why he’s so eager to devour you, or if the absence of it has made him even hungrier.
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Homelander is an aberration.
Stronger than a hundred men, faster than a bullet and sharp as a tack all paired with a teaspoon’s depth of emotional maturity. He’s volatile, twisted, broken in ways no amount of therapy could ever hope to duct tape back together. He’s no better off than a dog that bites to kill. No matter how he got to this point, the best thing for him–for the world–would be to put him down by any means necessary.
Too bad you can’t seem to stop fucking him.
It’s late when you hear the front door open with a distinct crack. You’re sprawled out on the couch in the living room, one leg draped lazily over the armrest. What comes next is no surprise to you–a shock of primary colors filling the narrow doorway, a handsome face made ghoulish by the haunting light of the television in an otherwise dark room.
“You nailed the door shut,” Homelander says, the inflection of his voice somewhere between a question and a statement.
“Because you broke it,” you throw back, a stale Twizzler balanced between your lips. It had tasted good enough when you started eating it, but now–in his presence–the sweetness of it has turned sour.
“You changed the locks,” he says with a light shrug, cape swaying as he meanders towards you. “My key didn’t work.”
“Your key? Stealing a key to my house does not make it your key,” you say tersely, lifting your foot to press it firmly to his thigh, stopping him in his tracks. 
He glances down, a mirthless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before he catches your ankle in his gloved hand, yanking you down the couch so suddenly you lose your Twizzler to the floor with a gasp. It’s one thing to know that Homelander has strength enough to throw cars like frisbees. It’s another to feel it. It sends a rush of adrenaline through you like a jolt, followed swiftly by something hotter low in your naval.
“Y’know, I’ve been thinking,” he begins, dropping your ankle. He lifts his knee and slots it between your legs, his opposite boot on the floor, his hand braced on the back of the couch, pinning you in place.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” you cut in dryly, moving to shift up the couch, away from him. He snatches your shoulder, halting you with ease. His thumb strokes your skin idly, goosebumps erupting beneath his touch.
“And I’ve realized that this whole… thing between you and I, this ‘will they, won’t they,’ ” he says, bobbing his head side to side. “It’s getting stale. Don’t you think it’s about time we progressed the plot?” He asks, leaning in close.
You brace your hand against his chest, holding him in place as ineffectually as you did earlier. You both know it’s all a game. It’s all pretense. There had been fondness between you once–love, even–but you’re done with that now. You have to be done with it, or Homelander will swallow you whole. He’s a black pit, a murderer, and his need knows no end. He’ll destroy you and everything you know and love if he thinks it’ll satiate that need.
You’ve lost enough. You can’t afford to lose any more of yourself to him.
“Jesus Christ, you even think in TV script,” you say, pushing on his chest. He leans back, but not by much. It sends a terrible little chill down your spine. “I’m starting to think the only thing that might actually kill you is an original thought.”
His eyes narrow and his bright white teeth flash predatorily in the darkness. “You’re lucky I haven’t broken your neck,” he says, hand slipping from your shoulder to your throat. The sharp press of his thumb into your windpipe steals your breath, makes your thighs tighten on either side of his leg snug between yours. His lips split into an unkind grin. “Or maybe not. You’d probably like that.”
“You’re disgusting,” you spit, gripping his wrist with your other hand. Your pulse is starting to throb against the leather of his glove. He moves his thumb from your windpipe to your jaw and turns your head away, leaning in with a deep, pointed inhale along your neck.
“Is that why your hormones are going haywire? Because I disgust you?” He asks, grinding his thigh between your legs in a way that makes you gasp. “Y’know, given how full of it you are, I was sure I’d smell the bullshit on you. But all I smell… is how fucking wet you are.”
He grabs your hip and the memories come to you like muscle memory. How good it feels to be gripped and fucked and loved by someone beyond your comprehension. To feel as if you’ve stopped the world turning and called the sun itself to shine on you alone.
You twist your chin out of his grip and level him with a heated stare. “I hate you,” you hiss, grasping for the knife you know will twist the deepest. 
It works for a second, his smug expression faltering, but only for an instant. His jaw sets, and his lips curl into that same unkind smile. “C’mon, babe,” he coos, the intimate familiarity woven into that pet name making your skin crawl. “We both know that I can always tell when you’re lying.”
He kisses you like he always has. Like you belong to him. In a way, you suppose you always will. There’s nothing you can do to pry your throat from Homelander’s jaws. Nowhere you can run that he won’t eventually find you. Like quicksand, the more you fight, the tighter he clamps down. Truth be told, though, that isn’t the worst of it. The worst of it is that the tighter he grips you, the less you want to fight him.
His tongue slithers into your mouth like a serpent into the garden and you bite down hard. While pliant between your teeth, the flesh doesn’t yield. It never will. He never will. Instead he moans a little chuckle that fades into a rumble against your lips.
“That how it’s gonna be?” He asks, the words rasped into your mouth. “Y’wanna bite and claw? Play hard to get?” He laughs, the sound of it reedy and light, like it’s all a silly little game of make-believe. “I can do that.”
He reeks of his own desperation for what he says to be true. More than anything, he wants to dress up his desires as yours. He wants to believe he’s giving you what you want. That way, he can trick himself into believing you need him.
He bites the middle tip of his glove and tugs it off with his teeth, tossing it aside. His bare thumb brushes your lip, smearing his spit and yours. “I saw you with that fucking loser,” he says, the airiness suddenly gone from his voice.
Your stomach drops. Two days ago you’d been with a man. You’d been so desperate to forget him that night that anyone would have done the job. You stumbled out with some nobody from the bar who’d been good enough for a sloppy makeout session in the back of his truck, but not good enough to bring home. It hadn’t ended well.
How close of an eye is Homelander keeping on you?
“I’d be angry if it hadn’t been so fuckin’ pathetic,” he says through his teeth.
“Liar,” you say tightly. You feel his fury in the tension of his body. He’s pissed that you’d seek this out anywhere else. As if he still has a claim over your body. Your pleasure.
His eyes flash up to yours. He sneers, pushing his thumb between your lips. “I watched you bite his lip until he bled. I watched him slap you,” he says, dragging the pad of his thumb along the ridges of your bottom teeth. The memories come to you as he speaks them, every moment of it made bleary by alcohol. “You wanted it rough, but he couldn’t handle you, could he? Because you’re used to something better. You’re used to a god.”
You sneer right back at him, yanking your head to the side, his thumb slipping from between your lips. “Could you be any more in love with yourself? Go fuck yours-”
“I still had to kill him, of course,” he continues nonchalantly, grinding your thoughts to a screeching halt. He laughs humorlessly. “For kissing you. And, well–for everything else, obviously. Slapping you,” he says, brushing his knuckles down your cheek. The same one the man had struck. “Humping your leg like a fucking dog.”
“Why are you doing this?” You ask, throat tight. Bile burns at the back of it. All you wanted was to get away from this. The blood, the horror of it. Yet no matter what you do to dissuade him, he brings death to your doorstep. “You have everything. You could have anyone. Why are you–”
“Because I want you,” he hisses, words so sharp his sharp teeth snap together. “Because I love you, and that’s what you do when you love someone,” he says. You can feel the accusation building in his words. “You don’t give up on them. And if that means cleaning up every dirty little mistake you make,” he says softly, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “So be it.” 
A cold shiver rolls down your spine. You stare woundedly at him, lips parted, brows pinched together, the misery of it all etched into every line of your face. He stares at you in turn, and after a beat, his own hard expression softens.
“Hey, hey,” he says, the heat of his breath a ghostly kiss on your lips. “It’s okay,” he says, brushing the tip of your nose with his. “I forgive you.”
He kisses you again, more tender now. Your eyes prickle with tears. His gentleness hurts so much more than his violence. It disarms you, carries you to a time when things were simpler between you. Sweeter and warmer. 
Homelander makes the world feel wonderful and dangerous, like standing in the middle of an electric storm. Being loved by him is the feeling of having your ribs cracked open, your heart cradled in his bare hands, possessive and bloody. What had been thrilling grew stifling, a feeling you realize now never truly went away.
He’s inescapable, literally and figuratively. Even when he isn’t inviting himself into your home or lurking in the periphery of your vision, Vought’s hero is plastered on every billboard and screen in the city. You haven't been able to breathe without inhaling the thick miasma of him.
Tears roll down to your temples as you kiss him back, both hands fisted in his soft hair, tugging. He makes a pleased little sound against your lips, teeth grazing your bottom lip. He’s always kissed like a man possessed–like every brush of your lips is a drop of salvation–but the hunger he’s developed since you tried to leave him is unparalleled. He kisses you like he means to devour you whole.
You bite back a sob, but the hiccuped noise of it catches his attention nonetheless. He breaks from you, looking down at you with a feverish mix of yearning, impatience and something that almost resembles pity, which might be the closest thing he knows to sympathy.
“Hey,” he coos, dusting your jaw with feather light kisses. “Don’t cry.”
“It’s awful,” you choke out.
“What is?”
“Your love.”
“I know,” he says after a prolonged pause. “It’s all I know.”
You look at him, the image of him bleary through your tears. There’s a morose resignation in his ocean-storm eyes, a distance that makes him seem far, far away from you, even as you taste the heat of his breath on your lips.
Focus returns to his gaze, and suddenly he’s present again. “It’s all I know,” he says again, his tone made of wood, stiff and splintering.
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you lift your palm to his cheek, hovering just shy of touching. He’s pulled to it like a magnet, nuzzling into your palm, eyes closing. His hand slides down the familiar slopes of your body, settling at your hip, where his fingertips sink in like claws, the pressure of them shy. For as vicious as things have gotten between you, he’s never hurt you. A fact he lords over you as if he should be applauded for it.
I love you more than anything. You know that, right? That I would never do anything to hurt you? He’d asked you during that first fight. When everything went wrong. 
You’d only been able to nod then, trapped with a man you didn’t recognize wearing the face of the man you loved.
That’s right. Of course you do. Because if I wanted to hurt you, I would have. It would have been easy, huh?
Despite how desperately you’ve tried to fortify yourself against him, it’s still so easy.
Homelander is an aberration, but so too is he a man, and there was a time when the man was all that you saw. When the monster at the core of him reared its head, bloody and unrepentant, that became all you could see in him. Now, the two are so irrevocably tangled in the sinew of the other, you’re never sure which you’re looking at.
“I miss you,” you confess to the man in him, voice so soft only his ears possibly could have discerned the words. As if you can hide the words from the monster lurking behind if you speak them quietly enough. 
He looks as confused as your own aching heart. “I’m here,” he says, everything in his tone willing you to believe it. He doesn’t understand that you miss who he was before you knew what he was.
A mournful noise swells in your chest, but he kisses you before it can escape. “I’m here,” he says again, the hand at your hip turning into a fist in the fabric of your clothes, tearing them at the seams. “I’ll make you feel better,” he says between presses of his lips, hungry and rushing, like he can outspeed your miserable grief. “Let me make you feel good.”
Sex has always been an avenue of redemption for Homelander. Whether he’s frustrated, anxious, wounded or a combination of them all, he’s sought to remedy it through a good orgasm. He treats you as though the notion should hold true for you: the fight doesn’t count so long as he makes you come.
Yet again, you’re left stricken by him. As you have a dozen times before, all you can do is nod. Deep in your core, you know he’s right. He can make you forget this horrible ache in yourself, the grief and the fear. He can take you away to the dream you’d lived before you met the beast in his shadow. 
Coherent thought turns to water slipping between the cracks of your mind as Homelander’s bare fingers brush your inner thigh. You suck in a sharp breath that leaves you as a shudder and you clutch at his collar, twisting the fabric, unsure if you mean to push him away or pull him closer.
Homelander makes the choice for you, closing the distance and kissing you too gently, too sweetly. You spur him with your teeth, needing it faster, harder. Needing it to hurt just enough to not feel entirely right. He ignores your prompt, focused wholly on tasting you, on sliding his fingers up into the waiting warmth between your thighs. He presses the pad of his middle finger to your clit, deft and familiar.
You sigh, closing your eyes, ready to lose yourself to the feel of something good. He slides serpentine down your body, kissing you through your shirt, nipping at your skin through the fabric for the way it makes you jump. His lips trail down until they pass the hem of your shirt, finding where he’s stripped you. His mouth is unbearably warm, breath hot huffs on your bare skin, goosebumps erupting everywhere.
He mouths at your hip, sucks the skin dark before trailing further down, leaving a constellation with his lips. The scorching wet heat of his tongue feels like a brand on your clit, replacing his hand with his mouth. 
You thread your fingers into his hair, widening the spread of your legs to allow for the way he shoulders under and between them, lifting your lower half. He nuzzles into the nectary sweetness of you, moaning unabashedly for your familiar taste.
What do I taste like? You asked him once, drunk on pleasure and those early honeymoon days of loving him. Everything about him fascinated you; did his super smell lend itself to super taste? Could he pick out each note of you, dissect your profile into sections?
He’d been slow to answer, thinking it over.
Love, he said at last. Like you love me.
You wonder if that holds true. If he can still taste love in you, if that’s why he’s so eager to devour you, or if the absence of it has made him even hungrier. If he plunges his tongue to the core of you in the hopes he might discover lingering shreds of what the two of you once had.
A moan escapes you. His fingers bite into your thighs, tongue coaxing more. Restraint dissipating, you tighten your grip on his hair and tug, grinding hard against his mouth. He knows the stepping stones of your pleasure as well as you know yourself, knowing just when to suck, when to lick. He’s more relentless than any other man could hope to be, never needing to stop for breath, never succumbing to aching muscles. He maintains a pace that sends you careening so viciously towards release, you give a choking gasp when it hits you, your head thrown back against the couch as euphoric relief rolls through you in waves.
Homelander shrugs out from under your trembling thighs, his mouth slick and shining, eyes predator wide. You’re both panting, silently gauging the other. You’re first to break the standoff, his hunger infectious. You climb onto your knees and grab his shoulders, pushing his back to the couch, straddling him. He keens when you kiss him, an addictive sound that gives you a deceptive sense of power.
He murmurs your name in fervent repetition, dragging his mouth along your skin, inhaling you like a drug. You unbuckle his belt with the ease of experience, unzip his pants and slip your hand inside. Curling your fingers around his cock, you find it already hard and dripping in anticipation.
“Anything you want,” he breathes, the words coming between the prayer-like recitation of your name. “Money, diamonds, anything, I’ll make you a queen,” he says, eyelids fluttering at your touch. He pledges these things like an act of devotion, but you recognize this Faustian bargain for what it is. It will cost you your heart and soul.
“I’ll make you a god,” he moans at a particularly deft twist of your wrist.
Making you come will have to be enough for now.
“Fuck me,” you tell him breathlessly. “The way I like it.”
Like flipping a switch, the dazed pleasure in his eyes sharpens. The corners of his mouth tug, his upper lip twitches, eager tension slipping into his touch as his hands slide up your thighs, grasping your hips. His fingers sink in tight enough to bruise, despite the gentleness of his touch. The immeasurable power lurking within his unassuming frame is a novelty that never wears off, a thrill that shocks you to your core no matter how many times you experience it.
Like a vicious storm, he’s beautiful and terrible in equal measure. Caught in the eye of his maelstrom, the only thing left for you to do is weather him.
He guides you down onto his cock in one slow, agonizing pull. Even with his spit and your orgasm easing the way, it’s too much all at once. Relishing the aching burn of being split apart by him, you make a noise that gives him pause. You don’t let him stop. You brace your hands on his shoulders and lift off of him almost entirely before sinking back down deeper than you had before, wringing a moan from him in turn.
Homelander’s fingers dig securely into your back as your bodies slot together and find an old, familiar rhythm. By now he knows exactly the angle to take to best pleasure you. You let out a shaky sigh at the warmth that spreads through you, the pressure of your climax building, his heat sinking into you like the light of the sun itself.
You’re used to a god.
You cup his face and kiss him. You bite his lip until you should taste blood. You dig your nails into his skin so hard your knuckles ache. If he notices it, he’s only pleased by it.
“I’d move heaven and hell for you,” he swears between kisses, ripping the shirt from your body. The cool air hits your damp, hot skin like a shock. 
“I don’t want them,” you say, voice catching on one of his sharp and sudden thrusts. He’s close. You can feel it in the tightness of his muscles, in the erratic, merciless way he drives into you.
“Doesn’t matter,” he says, voice reedy, tight. He kisses down your chest, scrapes his teeth over the swell of your breasts. “They’re yours. It’s all yours. I’m yours.”
Those words should hit you like a prison sentence, but they don’t.
They make you come.
Homelander holds you tightly as he, too, breaks into pieces, filling you with light and heat. He chokes more promises against your skin, kisses the salt from your skin and licks it greedily from his lips. You spin in place in his arms, dizzy on your own orgasm, riding out the aftershocks with his cock throbbing against the quiver of your cunt.
For a long while there’s nothing but the sound of your breaths and the distant din of the television. The tremors wracking your body gradually fade, and the chill of the open air begins to set in.
Homelander holds you tight as the sweat on your skin cools. He kisses a trail from your neck to your shoulder, nuzzling there before he rests his head down, face tucked into the crook of your neck. You feel wrung dry, eyelids heavy. You card your fingers absently through his hair, body boneless against his. Your eyes ache from crying, but you don’t mind it. Strung out like this, the aches left in the wake of pain and pleasure both feel equally good.
“It’s late,” he says warmly, a smile in his tone. He sounds lovesick, the way you both did once upon a time. Back then, you thought you knew every dark corner of his insatiable heart. “We should sleep.”
“Okay,” you agree, voice frayed. He lifts you gingerly from his lap, adjusting to cradle your naked body to his chest. Despite how Homelander unspools himself before you, you’re always the one left reduced. Bare and vulnerable both physically and emotionally. You slip your arms around his neck as he stands, resting your head on his shoulder.
“I could take you to the tower,” he whispers, sending a chill down your spine. “My bed’s bigger.”
“No,” you say, remembering a door you cannot reach, no matter how many times you grasp for it, and the god’s hands that sent you spinning. He’s already so capable of turning your home into a prison. You’re not sure you’d ever escape his penthouse. “I want mine.”
Perhaps the most terrible fact of all is that Homelander is neither a god nor a monster. 
He is simply a man without limitation.
“Sure,” he says, kissing your cheek. The touch lingers, dripping with his adoration. “Anything you want.”
So long as it includes him.
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songbirdseung · 2 months ago
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sneaky / park sunghoon
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where your secret not so secret boyfriend climbs through your window to see you after a long time genre fluff, est. relationship, tsundere bf hoon
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it was a little past 10 pm, and you were sitting at your desk, drowning in notes, your room dimly lit by the soft glow of your bedside lamp. you were trying to stay focused, but the exhaustion from your long day was creeping in, making it hard to concentrate. the house was eerily quiet, with your parents having gone to bed hours ago. it wasn’t unusual for you to stay up late working, but tonight felt particularly tedious, like time was dragging.
just as you leaned back in your chair, contemplating whether to call it a night, a faint tapping sound came from the direction of your window. your head shot up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. the noise came again, a little louder this time. cautiously, you stood up and walked over, pulling back the curtains. your eyes widened in shock when you saw a familiar figure standing on the narrow ledge outside your window—sunghoon, grinning like he hadn’t just risked his life to climb up there.
you immediately opened the window, allowing him to slip inside with a little too much ease. “what the hell are you doing here?” you whisper-yelled, trying to keep your voice down so you didn’t wake your parents. “are you crazy?”
“what does it look like i’m doing? i’m here to see you,” sunghoon replied casually, brushing off his jacket as if it were no big deal.
“yeah, i can see that, but you’re climbing through my window? at 10 pm?” you gave him an incredulous look, shutting the window behind him.
he smirked, clearly amused by your panic. “relax, i’ve done this before. it’s not like your parents are gonna check your room.”
“i don’t care! if they catch you, we’re both dead!” you hissed, crossing your arms. you couldn’t believe he thought sneaking into your room was some normal, everyday thing.
sunghoon just shrugged, kicking off his shoes and making his way to your bed. he flopped down onto it with a dramatic sigh, stretching out like he owned the place. “you’re overreacting. besides, i haven’t seen you in weeks. aren’t you happy to see me?”
you rolled your eyes but felt a flutter of warmth in your chest. sure, you were frustrated, but deep down, you were more than a little excited that he had gone through all this trouble just to see you. “well, yeah, i’m happy to see you, but this isn’t exactly how i imagined it.”
he chuckled, propping himself up on his elbows to look at you. “how did you imagine it then? me walking through your front door with a bouquet of flowers?”
“something like that,” you muttered, still shaking your head at his recklessness. “you really are unbelievable.”
“hey, i’m nothing if not creative,” he said, shooting you a playful wink. “come on, you can’t say this isn’t romantic.”
“it’s something,” you admitted with a small smile, trying to stay mad but failing miserably. “but seriously, what if someone sees you?”
“no one’s gonna see me. i’m practically a ninja,” he teased, making himself more comfortable on your bed. “besides, it’s not like i was gonna just sit at home all night. i had to come see you.”
you let out a sigh, unable to fight the grin forming on your lips. “you’re impossible.”
“and yet, you’re still dating me,” he shot back, his voice full of smugness.
you shook your head, walking over to your desk. “yeah, because i clearly have terrible taste in men.”
“hey, now,” sunghoon said, sitting up on your bed and giving you a mock-offended look. “that’s not what you said the last time we hung out.”
you laughed, glancing over your shoulder at him. “okay, maybe not, but that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook for climbing up my window like a maniac.”
“aww, c’mon, don’t be like that,” he pouted, scooting over and patting the space next to him. “i’m here now, so just come cuddle with me. you can finish your work later.”
“sunghoon, i have a paper due,” you protested, even though the idea of snuggling up with him sounded way more appealing than continuing to work.
“you’ve been working all night,” he countered, tugging at your arm until you reluctantly joined him on the bed. “just take a break. you deserve it.”
you sighed but let yourself relax into his embrace, resting your head on his shoulder. “you’re lucky you’re cute, otherwise i’d kick you out right now.”
he let out a low chuckle, wrapping his arms around you. “i know. i’m irresistible.”
you scoffed, shaking your head. “you really don’t give up, do you?”
“nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’ with a smug grin on his face.
the two of you settled into a comfortable silence, your bodies fitting together as if you hadn’t been apart for weeks. you missed this—the simplicity of being close, without the pressures of schedules and distance getting in the way. sunghoon was never the best at showing his emotions, but moments like this, where he went out of his way to be with you, spoke louder than words ever could.
after a while, you glanced up at him. “i still can’t believe you did this. i mean, this isn’t exactly your thing.”
sunghoon smirked down at you, one eyebrow quirking up. “what do you mean by that?”
you gave him a teasing look. “you know, the whole sneaking into my room, rom-com style. usually, you’re more… stoic.”
“are you saying i’m not romantic?” he asked, pretending to be offended.
“i’m just saying it’s new,” you teased, poking his side.
he let out a soft scoff, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “just because i’m not cheesy doesn’t mean i can’t pull off the occasional grand gesture.”
“grand gesture, huh? sneaking through my window at 10 pm counts as a ‘grand gesture’ now?”
“absolutely,” he replied, his tone confident. “i risked my life climbing up here. i’d say that’s pretty impressive.”
you laughed, shaking your head. “okay, okay, i’ll give you that one. but you better not make this a habit.”
“no promises,” he said, his lips curling into a smirk. “i might just have to keep surprising you.”
you rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was undeniable. “fine. but next time, use the front door.”
sunghoon chuckled, pulling you closer. “we’ll see.”
the two of you lay there for a while, the soft hum of the night filling the room. eventually, you broke the comfortable silence, looking up at him with a playful pout. “you know, you still haven’t apologized for giving me a heart attack by showing up out of nowhere.”
“apologized?” sunghoon raised an eyebrow, his tone full of faux innocence. “why would i apologize for being the best boyfriend ever?”
you huffed, nudging him with your elbow. “i think i deserve an apology. and maybe some kisses to make up for it.”
he smirked, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips. “fine, but only because you’re so needy.”
you laughed, tugging him back down for another kiss. “sure, hoon. whatever helps you sleep at night.”
he rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away, his lips lingering on yours for a little longer this time. “you’re lucky i like you,” he muttered, though the warmth in his eyes gave away more than he’d ever admit.
“i know,” you teased, pressing one more kiss to his cheek. “and i’m lucky you’re crazy enough to climb through my window just to see me.”
“yeah, well,” he said, his voice dropping to a soft murmur, “i’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
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whimsyfinny · 2 months ago
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He’s a Winchester
Chapter 1
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Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
Summary: It's been a long time since (Y/n) and Dean's paths have crossed. Last time they saw each other it was ‘98 and they were young and living in the moment. Nine years down the Line, their paths cross again, but (Y/n)s longest kept secret is about to become Deans reality.
Slow burn (ish), mom!reader, eventual smut
Warnings: language, mention of drugs
Chapter Word Count: 2330
—-MDNI—-
A/N: wooooop new series! I'm trying something new with this one! As a mom myself I loooove reading mom!reader fics, so I wanted to write my own. It's a slightly shorter first chapter, but the following ones should be longer. Any feedback is greatly appreciated, reading your comments makes my day ❤️ and of course, this is proofread only by myself so pls pls let me know of any errors! I really hope you enjoy it. I also didn’t write this at 2am for once so brownie points to me hahaha
Photos from Pinterest
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Chapter 1
“Come on, (Y/n)! You have to tell me all about it! What was he like? Did you kiss? Hold hands? Where did he take you?”
I couldn’t help but smile at the rapidfire questions spewing from Kats mouth. Kat, the stunner sat opposite me with perfect dark skin and the inability to have a bad hair day, was my closest friend. We lived on the same street, drank at the same bar and both hated this small, slightly judgemental town equally. We bonded over the similarities in our lives - like both of us having fallen pregnant at a young age and being dealt the hand of having to raise our kids as single parents. Life was fucking hard sometimes (well, nearly all the time), but my son, Levi, and Kat, made this life worth living.
“Jesus Christ, ok! The date was ok.”
“Uh oh. ‘Ok’? That means it was awful, right?” she raised an eyebrow.
I took a gulp of my coffee.
“The date was ok. But he was…. Seriously not my type. He was too…perfect?” I winced as the words left my mouth, fully aware of how utterly ridiculous that sounded.
“Girl, ‘too perfect’? What the fuck kind of excuse is that?” Kat snorted slightly into her latte.
“I know, I know. But he reminded me of a Ken doll, ya’know? With his white jeans and his Armani sweater over his shoulders - that’s not really… me. The dude gets more manicures than I do. Plus he drives a Fiat Panda. Levi wouldn’t be caught dead getting in and out of one of those.”
“You can’t use your sons taste in cars to dictate the men in your life. That’s a low blow and you know it.”
“Ok then, you go out with Robert and tell me about all the kale facts that you never wanted to learn.” I leant back on the couch, clutching my coffee with both hands to bring some warmth to my fingertips. Kat did the same opposite me, leaning back in the plush armchair as we both took a second to glance out of the large café windows. This was our happy place, right here. It was the place we would come to when we first met and the boys were still in diapers. It was our happy place for the last nine years, and we would come here for every situation: be it a breakup, a catch-up, to discuss terrible sexual encounters or dire situations that need insane back-up plans. But we mostly came here to people-watch. Being the young, single moms that we were, we were constantly under the scrutiny of the small town, having every decision judged by the perfect Jeep-driving soccer moms and the old ladies from church. When we came here, to sit by this window in these comfy-as-fuck couches, it was our turn to do a little judging.
“Vicki Priestley isn't fooling anyone with those sunglasses,” I said, taking another sip of coffee as I watched the thin peroxide blonde across the street repeatedly wipe her nose with the back of her hand.
“Right? We get shunned for…well… fuck all, yet that Paris wannabe can snort coke on a Tuesday school run and everyone turns a blind eye? What a joke.”
“Amen to that,” we watched her for a few more seconds as she climbed behind the wheel of some monstrous four by four and sped off down the road.
“Did you hear that Mrs. Harris caught Mr. Harris with a young mistress? Apparently she works at the bank.”
“Oh my GOD yes I heard!” Kat exclaimed, leaning forward, “and as revenge she put Nair in his shampoo - he's completely hairless, even his eyebrows are gone.”
We both snickered as we raised our mugs.
“To Mrs. H for taking no shit.”
Conversation flowed as topics ranged from the new dessert parlour that opened last week down the road to the extortionate price of kids' Motocross gear.
“I mean the bikes are so tiny, why do they have to cost that much?”
“You're preaching to the choir babes, Toby just outgrew his boots for the third time this year,” Kat grimaced at the thought of how much money she'd spent already.
“Ouch, they're like what? Eighty bucks a pair?”
“Yup.”
“Yeah well, I had to get Levi a new helmet after that little dickhead from the tournament last month crashed into the side of him. That boy was more upset about the stickers he lost than the bruises he got,” I shook my head with a smile on my lips. Kat did the same.
“That's a tough kid you've got there.”
I sighed.
“Yeah I know. Despite never having met him, he's so much like his dad. It's a little concerning actually,” I laughed nervously, instantly regretting bringing up Levi’s father in front of Kat. I glanced up at her, taking a sip of my coffee in an attempt to hide behind the mug. The wiggling of her eyebrows being an indicator of her impending wrath.
“That man is the reason why you’re never satisfied with your dates. He set that bar waaaay too high.”
I scoffed. “He did not. We were young and he just swept me off my feet a bit, that’s all; with that ‘give ‘em Hell’ attitude and handsome face. Plus he had a great car.”
“Last time you said his face was ‘gorgeous’,” Kat cupped her face and fluttered her eyelashes, puckering her lips. I threw a sugar packet at her which she batted right back at me.
There was a moment of quiet as we both looked out the window again, my mind unable to stop itself from racing through old memories.
“Do you think he’ll ever come calling?” Kat asked, some sincerity to her tone. I sighed and slumped back further on the couch.
“I highly doubt it. He doesn’t even know that Levi exists. I tried calling him a few years back but some guy John W. had that number instead. I gave up after that. Plus, he had this kinda dangerous job, and normally if he showed up it was because something was going to go down,” I paused, looking into the dark liquid in my cup, “It’s probably a good thing that he hasn’t just shown up.”
“You say that, but you still have that photo you took together on your vanity.”
I shot her a look, pursing my lips and pinching my brows as she laughed, knowing she'd stumped me there. I quickly downed my coffee and checked my watch before standing and grabbing my bag.
“Come on, let's stop interrogating me and go pick up the boys before all Hell breaks loose at the track.”
“Mom it wasn't my fault, I swear.”
I slammed the car door closed and turned to the boy who stood close enough to be my shadow.
I turned around to face him with a stern expression, “so you did do it? After I called that boys mom a liar? LEVI.”
Levi, my son, looked close to tears, his bottom lip trembling.
“Mom, I'm so sorry! I'll never do it again!”
I narrowed my eyes at him before sighing, already exasperated, throwing the car keys into my bag.
“Did you at least stick to the golden rule?”
His answer was a vigorous nod, the tremble in his lip disappearing.
“‘Never throw the first punch; throw the second and finish the fight,’” he recited the words like a prayer.
“And…?”
“‘Always claim self defence.’”
I smiled and ruffled his soft brown hair.
“Good boy. What started the fight anyway?” I asked, guiding him to walk through the parking lot towards that new dessert parlour.
“He said I was weird for not having a dad.”
I looked down at him, eyes softening and I lifted a hand to rub his shoulder. It wasn't the first time he'd had this argument, and it likely won't be the last. Kids can be assholes. “And then he hit me when I said ‘at least my mom's boobs are real.’”
“Levi!” I stopped in my tracks and looked at him, mortified. I didn't even know where to start with that one. “Where-”
“Jamie from math class told me what ‘implants’ were… and he said that Brad's mom had them.”
He looked up at me innocently, and I knew then that he didn't fully grasp what he'd said to Brad - the kid he'd just punched between the eyes. I sighed for the umpteenth time and started walking again.
“Whatever, just… don't say that to anyone again, ok? You're gonna make me look like a terrible parent.”
“Ok mo- whoa! Look at that car!” It was Levi's turn to stop dead in his tracks as he stood in awe of the sleek black car parked by the sidewalk.
A black Chevy Impala.
“Oh wow,” my words came out slightly breathless, my mind suddenly racing to him and the conversation I'd had with Kat earlier that afternoon.
“So cool!” Levi gushed, walking up close to it but not close enough to touch.
“Yes, very cool. Now let's go inside before they run out of ice cream,” I ushered him to the door, reflexively looking over my shoulder, not knowing if I even wanted to see who could possibly be in the area.
The bell jingled as we walked in and Levi ran up to the counter, pressing his forehead to the glass. My eyes scanned the menu and I was pleasantly surprised to see they served coffee.
“What do you fancy kiddo?” I ruffled his hair again and waited for him to decide, and it wasn't long before he'd made up his mind. After ordering, we headed towards a small table-for-two at the edge of the room, and as Levi slumped down in his chair something familiar caught my attention.
A voice.
My heart quickly became erratic in my chest and my palms grew sweaty. I looked in the direction the voice had come from and was met with a slap in the face from memory lane.
There he was; the same wicked grin and mischievous eyes that had burned themselves into my memory. He dressed the same as he did nine years ago - right down to the necklace and leather jacket. He was engrossed in a conversation with another man, who looked slightly younger than himself, all whilst digging into a stack of waffles.
“Mom?”
The sound of Levi's voice snapped me out of the stunned fog I was caught up in and I quickly sat down, trying my best to focus on my son and not the man who was sitting only a few feet behind him. Levi looked like he was about to ask another question when a giant chocolate sundae and a coffee appeared at the table. I heard the waitress challenge Levi to finish the whole thing, but it was like I was listening to the world through water. My mind wouldn't stop racing. He's here. Do I talk to him? Will he remember me? Do I tell him about Levi? I hurriedly pulled my phone from my bag and sent her a hasty message before turning back to the boy in front of me, convincing a smile to appear on my lips.
“If you have room in that black-hole stomach of yours then you definitely could've finished your veggies earlier at dinner.”
He smirked slightly, like he always did when he knew he was getting away with murder, and it almost took my breath away. I saw the same smirk grace the lips of the man in the booth behind him. The mans gaze shifted to the side and when his eyes met mine - the same vibrant twists of green and gold that I have tattooed on my memory - I sucked in a sharp breath, my heart leaping in my chest as I tore my eyes away. I clutched my coffee cup, staring intently at the dark swirling liquid, praying to anyone or anything that I'd find the answers to my troubles in the bottom of this mug. The prickling on my skin was unshakable, like his eyes were on me and I was trapped under his intense observation, unable to breath. Minutes felt like hours, and eventually he and his companion stood before heading to the door. The moment they were gone with the bell signalling their departure, the air gushed from my lungs as I dropped my head into my hands, earning myself a confused look from my son. I offered him a reassuring smile which he accepted before returning to shovelling ice-cream into his face.
Just when I thought I was safe, I looked up and locked eyes with him. Our eyes locked through the window just as he opened the car door, leaning on it. It was like time froze, and for a few moments, despite my earlier urgency to not make eye contact, I was now unable to look away. My breath caught in my throat as a smirk pulled at his lips before he ducked down into the driver's seat, slamming the car door closed. I found myself chewing on my bottom lip as he tore out of the parking lol, that familiar rumble of the engine practically rattling the windows and, despite the noise, it was a comforting sound.
Once they were out of sight and the impala could no longer be heard, I sighed, pushing my hair off my face and running my hands through my hair. As Levi polished off the last of his ice-cream, my phone buzzed on the table. Opening it and reading the message, a small wave of relief washed over me as Kat confirmed that Toby would be at his dad's for once so she could come over to drink wine and discuss very important topics. She hasn't got a clue what I need to vent about yet, but I feel like tonight is going to be a very long night.
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Next Chapter: Chapter 2
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comfortless · 8 months ago
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I already sent you an ask today so hiiii
(Alright so now I hopefully have your attention, imagine: ancient settling, mercenary könig is made prisoner and enslaved and reader, a cute noble girl, buys him to ☆have fun☆. He doesn't mind at all.)
Have a good day!
anon whoever you are… every message that you have sent has been like you putting a clawing animal in my brain. all of these concepts are so good. sorry it took me a bit to get around to this one. <:•)
captured mercenary! König x noblewoman! reader
content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. medieval au (so: gender role nonsense), slightly mean slightly pathetic König, very brief mentions of violence/beheading, masturbation.
“That one.”
You hear yourself speak without thought. Your voice is shy, almost. It’s unbecoming of your station to seem so meek… even as you eye the men lined up before you like cattle prepped for slaughter.
Prisoners, they were. All apart from the one you had chosen would be little more than toys for the executioner after what they’ve done: to think that such a little band of mercenaries would even be planning for a siege… ridiculous. Most of the men have already had their hair cut cleanly away from their necks in preparation for the blade that would be slicing past each vertebrae and layer of muscle to chop away their heads.
This one is saved only because he’s been stripped of his armors, and though his face is rather rugged… there’s strength beneath his skin and such a deep misery in his eyes it sets your chest ablaze with pity. He could be useful, a willing servant if you could only save him from what terrible thing haunts him.
Maybe it’s the old wounds that flare his skin with the raised flesh of scar tissue, perhaps it’s the harelip or the wild thing set between his thighs where he’s forced to kneel. It catches your eye, that last one…
The prisoner’s jaw sets when your finger does point his way, blue eyes narrow just a fraction as realization settles in the pit of his stomach. No freedom to be garnered here, no love, nothing but that blade he had intended to use against you sworn to you instead. If the giant spit at your feet then, it would be expected, welcomed almost with the way your chest roars with sympathy.
He only stares.
You pay off his captors with a few silver coins and watch as they lead him bound to your side. His arms are tied too tightly before him, muscles slack with exertion after trying to fight the ropes for what must have been hours. Whether he sees you as savior or something revolting remains unknown. He doesn’t speak, not even as a servant leads him into the back of your carriage and you step inside after him, holding up the middle of your gown as to not sully it with the dirt and old blood splattered over the stones layered for street.
When the horses begin to move you give the man a proper once over, hiding your smile beneath a handkerchief, free hand curled into the lap of your skirts. He’s not just tall and broad, but incredibly well endowed. Not just sad and downtrodden, but pissed, though the only tell remains his shaking fists. His gaze never meets yours for longer than a moment before it settles back to gaze at the passing tall grass and sheep prancing about the fields, but each time that it does… there is no denying the mixture of confusion, maybe even attraction upon his face.
Your home was something this giant had never had a taste of prior to you: a castle atop a hill, charming and stone with its high ramparts and blunt roof. You didn’t need his confirmation in words, though you do ask and get nothing in turn.
The carriage pulls you right through the gate and it is almost cute the way that this man’s eyes seem to wander as he takes it all in. There are other servants tending to the sheep and horses, the smell of fire and the chiming of blade meeting blade ringing out as men spar, there are cats to keep away pests and modest but cozy homes, a tavern, an inn all beyond the wall. A small city of your own: all for the perfect little noblewoman that you were.
The only thing that you lacked was the trained sword of a man to ensure your safety, and now you had that, too.
You explain to him his place here, the role that he would take for the price you paid as you both disembark from the wooden carriage. He would be fitted for armor donning your family’s crest come the morning, whipped into obedience should he dare raise a hand toward any one here. You even think to warn him of the executioner’s sloppy work, how he may even live with his head chopped only halfway off should you request it…. some horror you had heard one of the travelers speak of.
As the weeks pass, König does begin to settle immensely. His speech is disjointed and parsed, his mother tongue muddled with your own language in a way that is cute… terribly, horribly cute.
He’s intelligent and strong: spends much of his time out amongst the lower men aiding with the animals and teaching them the deft way he swings his blade. It is an art form in its own right, the way that he paints the air with swift strokes… For a woman to fawn over a man’s swordplay was absurd, but it was impossible not to enjoy when he taunts and jabs the way that he does.
He rarely wears that armor the blacksmith crafted for him, both a flattery and an insult. You don’t mind watching him best smaller men in solely his trousers, pressing their faces into the muck while he barks his insults to them in words they can not understand. To you, now, when he flashes the most beastly of grins in your direction and utters the words, “Verpiss dich.”
You aren’t even certain why you stand there rather than hissing out orders to have him taken away. Your stupid corset feels too tight, gown too small, and your chest aches. There's not been a thing you could do to have this man do more than simply tolerate you. He sleeps within his own room in the castle, eats his fill and then some, you talk to him and layer your words with praise. He has not once been punished for anything. Not even now.
“Come here,” you demand without thought, walking down the staircase to cross the yard with your hands balled into delicate fists at your sides.
Your giant only looks confused for a moment as he clambers off of the man he’s just wrestled to the earth and rights himself. His eyebrows raise, his nostrils flare… and then he laughs. At you like you’re the most puny of rabbits, hardly a threat. Your betters would have laughed too at just how fragile you sound, on the cusp of tears over what? Some ridiculous little crush on a captive soldier??
He eventually does as you ask, stomping over to stand before you- not kneel, he never knelt. If his height and stature were meant to intimidate… your god would have to forgive the thoughts that muddle your head then, like filthy water as you drink him in.
“Was…?”
So you explain to him as best you can just how insolent he’s being, how horribly he repays your kindness, how he would be dead on some shrouded mountain pass or have his body tossed into the river if not for you. You explain your heart out when tears come to your eyes and spring forth as your chittering continues, and you don’t even know if the moron can understand; he only stands there with the wildest grin on his face when he sees you beginning to sniffle and sob.
“Was?,” he demands again, blunt even as he takes your face into one of his large hands, turns your head to brush a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Why are you crying?”
“You need to learn your place!” And you know you’re being a hypocrite, that a proper lady should never allow a man to touch her like this, look at her the way that König does. You should call for a servant to have him dragged through the yard and whipped… or worse, but your voice only comes in a crestfallen whisper.
He shrugs those massive shoulders, rolls his neck and huffs a breath as he gazes down at you before his hand falls to his side and he merely walks away. That’s it.
Though you had the hopes that your warning had been taken seriously, the days following seem even worse.
König abandons his duties and takes up the most horrendous idea of courtship that he can muster. If courtship is even what it could be considered. It is more like a direct taunt, a jab now that he’s been made perfectly aware just how fragile the maiden he was sold to guard is.
He takes liberties once you’ve bedded down each night, your dresses stripped away to be replaced with a plain linen gown with nothing beneath: your only protection in the form of the wooden door between you two because König is no protector.
It always starts with the sound of spitting into his palm, then a drawn out sigh that rises to a near-animalistic groan. Sometimes he speaks, other times the soft, wet sounds rise in tempo until all that comes from his mouth are sharp hisses and whines.
This night proves to be the worst.
The wood creaks under his weight as he leans back against the door, stroking himself to the thought of you behind it. He makes it apparent when he breathes your name, low and shaky as you squeeze your eyes closed and pretend to not hear the words that follow.
“Scheiße… bet you’re tight,” he hisses between his depraved whimpers, the slick sounds increasing even as he rights himself to stand proper. You can almost hear the way he salivates, can almost imagine the way his jaw must fall slack and his eyes go dazed as he pleasures himself… you squeeze your thighs shut.
“Ja… you want it too, huh…” The bastard is most assuredly imagining you, knelt before him with the most helpless, reverent gaze as you plead for him. It should make you ill, yet it only stokes a fire in your belly, one that bridges between rage and need. “Ich will dich ficken…”
Your breath comes to a halt when your hand drifts beneath your thin gown, forcing yourself to listen as he brings himself to ruin in the halls as your finger presses to the spot that demands attention most of all. A fragile, shaking circle before your breath already begins to catch.
“Bitte…”
The brute sounds so helpless now, no longer the horrid thing that ordered you to “piss off” or scowled in your direction. He doesn’t know a thing about love… about how one should yearn for a maiden, only of spilling blood and seed. It’s only in the quiet of the night when the rest of the castle sleeps does he allow himself to be even this vulnerable… only his vulnerability seems even more terrifying.
His groans morph into pitiful sighs as he no doubt slows his motions, drawing out an impending orgasm in the hope that you will crawl to your door to let him in and fuck you rough on your bed.
“Just let me…”
Your thighs tremble as you weep between them in longing. The sooner it’s over the sooner you can close your eyes and drift back to sleep, no longer needing him the way he seems to need you now.
Your motions grow more heady, the patterns traced quicker and more deliberate as the heat rushes down further like the most vast wave of pure fire… When you tense, when your lips part to allow a low murmur of pleasure to slip from them, you’re met with laughter from the other side of the door.
“Ja… my lady… you do want it,” he hums as you draw your covers up and over your head in shame. You hadn’t been that loud, surely… but the way that he follows after, coming undone himself with a loud grunt as though it were some ridiculous competition…
“Let me fuck you next time,” he rasps, panting soft as he leans back. Depraved as he was, you were certain he was probably admiring the pearly paint he left along the stones. “That is my place, hm?”
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darkdevasofdestruction · 3 months ago
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Mine, Always and Forever ~ Ramsay Bolton x Stark!Reader
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Small disclaimer: It's Ramsay we're talking about; The story will have heavy dark themes and scenes that might make you uncomfortable.
Summary: Ramsay's obsession has always been Lady Y/N Stark, since the very moment they were children, and up into their adulthood. Everything he does, he does for her. He would burn the whole world to see her in his arms again, desperately needing him again. Ramsay Snow was going to trample over every noble house known to Westeros, just to gain the right to claim the little she-wolf that encaptured him in her spell.
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Y/N was looking down at Sandor Clegane, wearing a conflicted yet highly determined look on her face; He, however, was smirking, he was amused to the point of barking a laugh in her face. His large hands kept a strong grip on her hips to keep her comfortably on his lap.
"Anyone told you you're one crazy lady, little fox?" the disfigured man teased the red haired Stark lady; Her long nails were digging harshly into his shoulders.
"Yes." she said deadpan. "Let them say whatever. As long as I get out of here, I don't care."
"You want me to risk my neck, to get you out of King's Landing. That's bold, even for you." his fingers dug painfully into her flesh. "And you think giving me your maidenhood's gonna sweeten me into losing my life, is that it?"
"Don't flatter yourself, Sandor. I'm only here because you're the only trust-worthy person in this pit of vipers." she hissed at him. "My maidenhood is not yours to take, nor am I giving it away to anyone except the man I've been in love with since I was eleven winters old."
"Sentimentalism won't get you anywhere, girl." he scoffed, finally pushing you off him to tumble on the hard ground. "And neither will you fleeing. Everything is surveilled by the Lions."
"Robb is at the Twins. If I get there, I can return home to Winterfell. I am the oldest - Someone must take care of our home." Y/N got up, her long red hair a beautiful mess all around her. "Sandor, I need you. Please. What do you need me to do? Beg you? I will beg you, if that's what you want."
"Tell me who's that poor bastard." Y/N looked at him confused, but dragged a chair by the bed and sat down.
"Roose Bolton's bastard, Ramsay Snow." her voice was serene and casual. "You know, that crazy guy who gets off on flaying living people."
"I'm beginning to think someone slammed your head against a wall. Girl, you're deranged." she shrugged her shoulders, as if to say she doesn't care much. "Does anyone know about him?"
"My dad used to know I had a thing for Ramsay - Obviously, we didn't speak much about it. If mother found out I was head over heels over a lowly bastard from a disgusting family like the Boltons... Well, I wouldn't hear the end of it." she laughed dryly. "Mother would be very disappointed to know that all of her girls have terrible taste in men - Take Sansa for example, falling for an old dog like you... And, to be fair, I don't think Arya even has a taste for men at all, if you catch my drift."
"The little bird won't sing me sweet thrills." he huffed under his breath. "Convince me, and I'll think about helping you get out of your cage."
"Let's see... It all began many years ago, when I had just passed my eleventh year alive, and my father took me to the Dreadfort for business with Roose Bolton..."
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The Stark party arrived on horse-back after many hours of uncomfortable riding through the snow and cold; Eddard was afraid his little girl would get ill - Cat had told him many times not to take her - But he couldn't refuse Y/N's pleading. She was eleven years of age, and behaving very much like how Lyanna used to. Y/N might favour her Tully side, with scarlet hair shining like red copper in the Sun, and light eyes that peered deep into your soul - But at heart, she was a valiant and loyal Wolf.
The forest hiding the Dreadfort was thick, yet beautiful, though in no way could it compare to the woods around Winterfell. It was a warm Spring afternoon, with the flowers in bloom; the sky was blue and embellished with a few lazy clouds, and the breeze was gently rustling through Y/N's long scarlet locks.
Lord Bolton was awaiting the Stark retinue; He took Ned aside to guide him into his council room to speak business; The servants were guided into the Fort to be houses; And Y/N remained trugging behind, looking around and exploring with the curiosity of a little fox.
It was then that she spotted that brunet runt with eyes like crystal icicles; He was staring intently at her from behind a tree. Y/N knew who that was - Ramsay Snow, the bastard of Roose Bolton. Her dad mentioned him, and told her to be nice to him. Of course she was gonna be nice to him - She loves Jon and treats him just like her younger brother, because that's what he is!
With a bow and quiver attached to her back, Y/N stepped towards the boy, extending her hand towards him. "You are Ramsay Snow, aren't you?" the boy looked at her, soulless, but grumbled affirmatively. "I'm Y/N. Want to come help me out with my archery?" he looked at her as if she was crazy; Y/N let out an impatient sigh, and turned on her heel. "You know the woods better than I do - I am sure you will find me once you remember how to move your feet. Left foot, right foot, and repeat."
She thus wandered into the forest, looking for a place to practice her archery; It didn't take long before she heard the noise of rapid footsteps approaching. Ramsay stood right behind her, his demeanour guarded, cold and wary - Typical for that of a mistreated bastard.
"See? I told you you'd find me easily." she let out a soft chuckle, turning her back to him and fidgeting with her bow.
The boy didn't answer immediately, unsure of how to respond to the noble girl. He’d been taught to keep his distance from highborns, especially someone like her, the daughter of the Warden of the North... But there’s something different about her, something that doesn’t seem to care about the invisible lines that separate them, about ranks or blood.
"How did you know who I am?" he asked in a low voice.
"What, Bolton's bastard son?" Ramsay flinched slightly at the word, but Katrina’s tone is curious rather than cruel. She steps closer, studying him with those sharp, Stark eyes. He nods, unsure of what to expect from her. "Dad told me to be as nice to you as I am with my own bastard younger brother. Jon is a delight to have around, truly - Too bad mother can't see that." she shrugged her shoulders lazily. "You don't talk much, do you?"
"I don't know how to speak to noble ladies... My Lady." he admitted begrudgingly. "Nobles aren't supposed to see a bastard like me."
"Well, you can start by calling me by my name - Y/N - And then, you can continue by coming with me and helping me out with my archery." she grinned, and before Ramsay could react, she grabbed his wrist and tugged him along, her energy infectious. Ramsay stumbled slightly, caught off guard by her boldness, but he didn’t resist. For once, he didn't protest to being dragged around - He enjoyed the physical touch from her.
"Where are you taking me?" the boy found himself speaking a little louder.
"Deeper into the forest! I need someone to help me practice. I can't hit anything if I don't have someone to fetch the arrows."
Ramsay blinked, bewildered by how casually she dismissed the divide between them. He’d never been treated like this before — Like he’s just another boy, not the bastard son of Roose Bolton. And yet, there’s something exciting about the way she was pulling him along, like he was a part of her adventure rather than an outsider.
They reached a small clearing in the woods. Katrina lets go of his wrist and unslinged her bow, not wasting any time. She lines up an arrow, but her aim is slightly off. The arrow flies past the tree trunk she was aiming at and disappears into the underbrush.
"Damn it!" Y/N stomped her foot impatiently. "This is all Robb's fault! If he hadn't told on me, I would have been able to train with Theon!" she whined so cutely, the bastard thought with amusement, watching her look around aimlessly for that arrow. "Great, it's lost. Only four left I guess." she grumbled to herself with resentment.
Ramsay hesitated for a moment, before rushing toward the underbrush. He found the arrow easily enough and returned it to her, watching as her eyes widened in awe.
"You found it - And so easily! How cool!" no one had ever praised him before - It felt really good. "You know how to shoot?" he nodded his head. "Can you teach me?"
The boy stepped to her side, raising her arms up and placing her in position. Without even realising, his hands lingered on her body; He was enjoying touching her so much, and she wasn't protesting, too focused on holding the bow and arrow properly with those small, delicate hands of hers. She was so very cute, he thought to himself, as he positioned himself in a way that almost engulfed her whole.
"You’re holding it wrong." he muttered into her ear. "Follow the trajectory of my finger - Focus on the target and hold the tip of the arrow a little above the spot you want to hit. Draw the string with an inhale, and release with an exhale." he then fixed the angle of her drawing arm. "Boys won't tell you this, but girls have this small curvature of the arm - To aim properly, you'd have to arch your arm like this... And it will improve your accuracy." he then kicked a little at her feet, getting them in position. "Posture is half the work; Stand straight... And release."
With all points ticked, Y/N released the arrow, and lodged itself close to where it was supposed to reach; It hit the tree trunk, which was all that mattered for a beginner. "Wow! Robb will be so jealous when I beat him at archery next time!" her voice went up cutely as she chirped with excitement, almost bouncing on the spot with glee. "Thank you, Ramsay, thank you!" huh... She thanked him. What a peculiar girl.
"Don't thank me until you win." he teased her. "Try again - Without my help this time." that comment stopped her in her little joy party. Right, Ramsay won't be there to help her. Damn.
Regaining posture, Y/N drew the bowstring back, feeling the difference in her stance. She released the arrow, and this time it hit the tree trunk with a satisfying thud. She did that, all by herself! She grinned, turning to Ramsay with a look of triumph and victory.
"Was that cool?!" was she asking for validation - From him?!
"Yes, My Lady, you did well." she didn't seem to notice the way he called her; She was far too absorbed into her success and practice.
Ramsay smiled for the first time in his life; a small, hesitant smile that Y/N almost missed - But she caught it, and something about that moment made her feel like she’d cracked through a layer of ice.
For once, the boy felt at ease around another human being, even if that person was an eleven year old brazen noble lady who tried to best her younger brothers at silly things like archery and swordsmanship. Wasn't she supposed to learn embroidery and other girly things? Well, now that he thought it over, Ramsay was sure most noble Lords wouldn't take their daughters with them on delegations; They'd take their sons, right? It only meant Lord Stark loved his daughter very much, he noted. Not that he'd know what that was - Surely, the little haughty thing was going to forget all about him.
As the sun began to set, Ramsay realised he had to escort the young lady back, before either her father worries, or his father thinks he murdered her. That bloody monster - He hated his father more than he hated anyone alive. He was going to get the most miserable death there is.
For dinner, however, Ramsay wasn't allowed to sit at the table with the nobles; Y/N's mother also didn't want Jon to sit with the rest of the children... So in that regard, she could understand the miserable, spiteful look on Ramsay's face. It was Y/N and Robb who begged their dad to allow Jon and Theon to eat with them... But Y/N was afraid of Roose Bolton and his terrifying icy glare - He was empty, and ruthless, just like a harsh blizzard.
In a way, Y/N was glad they'll only be staying one more night in this awful place... But she would dearly miss her new friend. She wonders if she'll ever see him again - Hopefully, yes!
The night settled swiftly over the cold stone halls of the Dreadfort - The place was deathly silent, save for the scary howling wind and the occasional flicker of torchlight casting long, terrifying shadows all around.
Ramsay was lying on the bed, half-asleep, and thinking over the events of the day - His mind was obsessively settled on the young noble lady who treated him so well, who smiled so sweetly at him... Who felt so good in his arms. He loved how she dragged him all around, and grinned so enthusiastically; How she thanked him for helping her with archery... In his perverse mind, he wanted to bury his hands in that gorgeous mess of long red hair and pull her into his arms, never to let go ever again; He wanted to squish her in his arms until she explode, that's how cute she was; He wanted to slam his lips against hers and kiss her until she had no more air in her lungs, and her body was bruised and imprinted with his hands all over.
Not once did he expect to hear the heavy door of his sparsely furnished cold room creaking open, revealing the very girl he was fantasising over, wearing a thick nightgown and holding tightly a fur-lined cloaked draped over her small shoulders; Her wild hair was even more tousled than before.
The air is cold, a reminder of the unforgiving northern weather. Ramsay’s small, sparsely furnished room is dimly lit by a single candle on the bedside table. She waited for a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, before walking in - The boy, already on edge, bolted right up, startled by the sudden intrusion. His first thought was that an assassin was trying to get him, or his father wanted to beat him half to death -
But no. It was the object of his obsessions. Y/N stepped forward, letting the dim light of the fireplace reveal her nervous face. The boy's stiffness melted away, and he leaned forward to look at her.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice as cold as that of his father.
Y/N offered a small, sheepish smile, pulling the cloak tighter around her shoulders as she moved closer to his bed. "I don't like sleeping alone. It's cold and scary here." she said, moving her bare feet closer to the bed. "Can I sleep in your room... Please?"
Ramsay blinked in shock, still processing her presence. It was not every day that a noble’s daughter sneaked into his room in the middle of the night, asking to spend the night. He shifted, making space on the bed as Y/N climbed on... The sheep walked right into the wolf's den.
"I thought noble ladies weren't allowed alone in a room with a boy - A lowly bastard, no less. Who knows what I'll do to you." she looked at him all confused and innocent - Of course she had no idea what he was talking about; No one tells noble ladies what men want to do to them... How they want to ravage them...
"No one has to know I am here." she smiled sweetly. "Besides - I had something for you." all of his wicked thoughts dispersed on the spot, thinking what it could be that she brought - For him! He felt a weird warmth spread through his chest - And much below also; He watched attentively as Y/N revealed a small tray filled with desserts from inside her cloak - All the sweet desserts a bastard son like him wasn't allowed to eat, from the dinner he wasn't allowed to attend.
"I am sorry... Your father scared me too much... I was too much of a coward to ask him to let you dine with us." she said in a tender, guilty voice, placing the plate on the bed for him to try out the cakes. "At home, mother doesn't want to see Jon and Theon, our ward, eat with us... So I and Robb begged dad to let them eat with us, and he agreed." she messed up her already rousled hair. "Forgive me."
Ramsay looked deep into her eyes, making her look away with a blush; She didn't seem to like holding eye-contact, he realised; He was intimidating her with his usually cold and empty expression - Just like his father. She was afraid of his father - And rightfully so; But he didn't want her to be afraid of him too; He wanted Lady Y/N to like him, to love him, to want him and only him.
"It's a man's job to protect his woman, Y/N, not the other way around." he let out a small, sardonic chuckle. "I can't blame you for being scared of my Lord Father. I know he can look rather... Intimidating."
"But... It's not right... And regardless of the circumstances of your birth, you should not be treated any less. You deserve better than this." Ramsay's body grew ever hotter the more she spoke, and were it not for his self-control, who knows what he would have done to this little fox girl. She was far too cute for her own good... Far too nice... And nice girls always end up the worst, because of monsters like him.
But it was fine. He was a monster, but he would protect her. His mind was settled - Y/N was his, and only his.
"Are you not cold?" she asked all of a sudden; He had forgotten he was wearing no shirt, and his body was in full view. She was worried about him, how cute of her.
"I am a man of the North, Y/N. This is how I sleep every night." he let himself fall back on the bed, casually eating some of those little cakes. "You're just cold because you're a girl, and you're all frail and mellow. You need a man's heat to keep you warm through the night." he ended with a cocky smirk addressed her way.
"Is that so?" she hummed softly. "Prove to me that you are right, then." how cheeky she was, Ramsay thought to himself, watching with shock as the little vixen laid herself so carefree in his arms; Her hand was placed comfortably on his shoulder, and she nestled herself on his side. "Keep me warm."
"What a playful little minx." he scoffed, watching her so cutely clinging to his body. He reveled in the silence broken only by him enjoying the cakes she brought over, and soon enough, in her rhythmic slow breathing - She had fallen asleep so easily, he was truly mesmerised. She was so cute and little compared to him, he realised once again.
As the candle flickered and the night deepened, Ramsay stood awake for a little while longer, his mind racing with wild thoughts and feeling he's never experienced before. Eventually, however, the warmth of her presence lulled him into a deep, dreamless sleep, yet holding a small smile of triumph on his face.
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The very next day, early in the morning, Lady Y/N sneaked out of Ramsay's room and went back into her own so no one would suspect a thing. She received breakfast in bed and her maid helped her dressed and get ready for another exciting day spent with Ramsay.
This time, the bastard thought he'd show off - He brought her to the kennels to his the hounds. It was his idea to raise dogs to hunt and guard the place and what not; The kennel master was a middle-aged man full of experience... But his daughter was an annoying little girl around his age. She wanted to appear strong and rough around him... To show off. Why, he couldn't quite understand - He was pretty sure girls this age weren't so interested in boys and their bodies - Unlike boys wanting desperately to see girls naked.
Lady Y/N was cheeky, yes, but she was gracious also; Myranda, on the other hand, was a disgrace... A disgrace that Ramsay loved to humiliate. Unfortunately for him, it seemed that she also enjoyed that kind of treatment in a rather profound way.
The kennels were dark and chilly, filled with low rumbles and growls, and the smell of straw and wet dog fur. The light filtered through narrow, creaked windows... Y/N didn't think it was a nice place for dogs to stay at, but at least they were protected from the snow, wind and cold outside.
Much to Ramsay's dismay, Myranda was there, tending to the dogs and snapping at them every once in a while; She wasn't stern - She was harsh and cruel; The exact opposite of Lady Stark, who had a natural affinity for animals, and the gift of warmth and compassion to all living beings.
With a protective arm holding Y/N firm into his chest, he showed off his dogs; Most of them were females, large, with long fur, and highly aggressive. "What do you think about my bitches, Y/N? They make the best hunters, not the mutts." he spoke cockily. "And they know to obey only their master."
Y/N's visage was tender and soft; With no fear, she approached one of the dogs who had just given birth, and her puppies were sucking at her teats. She knelt by her side; The dog's menacing growls all but dissipated once she sniffed the lady's hand, allowing her to pet her head.
"What a gorgeous mommy you are, darling! Oh, but you must be cold - Your little ones too!" Y/N took off her cloak, draping her mother dog nicely in it. "There - Isn't it better? Nice and toasty!"
Ramsay watched the interaction with a mix of shock and fascination - He was so used to commanding the dogs through fear and dominance, that he hadn't expected the dogs to listen so quickly to a gentle word. Was it the Wolf's blood coursing through her veins that made her a canine whisperer? Or was it simply that sweet voice of her that bewitched even him? "I’ve never seen them act like that. They usually tear anyone apart who gets too close."
Y/N smiled sweetly, scratching the dog behind her ears, completely at ease. "They’re just like people, but trust-worthy and reliable. If you show them kindness, they’ll return it. They’re not so different from us, really."
Before Ramsay can respond, a harsh voice cut through the air. Myranda, holding a leash, stood at the other end of the kennel, glaring at Y/n with undisguised jealousy. She tugged on the leash, yanking a dog that was already straining against her rough grip. "They’re not pets, they’re beasts. You can’t trust them with soft words, or they’ll turn on you. That one already bit me once."
The dog on the leash cowered, her tail between her legs as Myranda yanked it towards her. Y/N frowned, rising to her feet. The bastard didn't think even a small, little girl like her could hold such an undeniable presence and imposing aura. "Maybe if you weren’t so harsh, they wouldn’t bite. They’re only reacting to how you treat them."
Myranda’s face flushed with anger, her grip tightening on the leash. She sneered at Y/N, her eyes dark with resentment and spite. "What would you know about it? You’re just a spoiled little brat who doesn’t understand anything about the real world." How dare that obnoxious slut speak like that to his darling little fox? She was his - His only - And no one was allowed to treat her like this. Ramsay, sensing the tension, steps forward. His expression shifts, a cold smirk curling his lips as he looked at Myranda, enjoying the sudden shift in her demeanour; Immediately meek and pathetic. It was time to put her back in her place.
"Watch your tongue, Myranda. What's the filthy peasant daughter of the kennel master, compared to the Wolf Lady herself?" he hissed at the girl who immediately went quiet; She flinched at his harsh tone, her eyes were wide and hurt. She was used to his cruel streak, but it still stung in the sweetest way... But to be scolded like that in front of that little whore...
"I... I didn’t mean anything by it, Ramsay. I just—" she was at a loss for words; Her mind was empty as always, the boy remarked spitefully.
"Didn't mean anything, you say - Any other noble would have your tongue for speaking ill of Lady Y/N Stark; You should fall on your knees and seek forgiveness. She is graceful, don't you think? If it were me, well... We both know what I like to do with disobedient cunts like you, don't you, Myranda?" his gargoyle eyes stared emptily into her own tearful eyes; Somewhere lower, she noticed the subtle way the bastard showed off a small knife that she knew very well was used to flay. She gulped, hanging her head low, and trembling pathetically. "I'm waiting, Myranda - Where is that apology?"
As Myranda bit her lip, holding back the tears of her weakness, Y/N sighed, walking in front of her; Though Y/N was smaller than her, she still placed her hand gently on her hand. "It's fine - She's not wrong. I couldn't possibly be knowledgeable in dogs than someone who was raised in the arts of dog-raising. The only difference is the approach - I have a different approach in caring for my animals, and it has proven far more reliable than ruling with an iron fist." her voice was soft and tender. "Raise your head. No need to ask for forgiveness. Just make sure they are all well taken care of." with a graceful twirl, Y/N turned to her friend and hooked her arm to his, guiding him out into the forest.
"If I was in her place, I'd have shot you when you turned your back at me." he grumbled harshly under his breath.
"She wouldn't have dared, and neither would you - Not for as long as I am Lady Stark, and mine own Lord Father is here, on the very premises... Not unless you want to meet a fate worse than death." oh, that wicked smirk of her, so different than anything sweet and tender she embodied thus far; The twisted grin of a rabid fox, not the sweet smile of a flower.
"What would you know, the little flower knows how to play to her political strength. How adorable." he huffed, pulling her into his side harshly. "Politics aside, you are still just a frail little thing that can break so easily... It would be a pity if anyone did anything to hurt you..."
"So what, you are saying you want to protect me?" she scoffed at him; Though her question was genuine, and his answer even more so.
"Yes." once they were deep into the forest, he held her in a painfully tight embrace, his face buried in the crook of her neck; She smelled sweet, like honey and flowers... It only made him want to taste her even more. "Always, and forever."
Just like the previous night, Y/N had snuck out of her room again, her small feet padding silently across the cold stone floor. The Dreadfort, with its bleak atmosphere, had never bothered her, not with Ramsay nearby. Tonight, though, was different. It was her last night here, and the thought of leaving him behind made her heart ache in a way she couldn’t quite understand. Ramsay was her friend, and though the Dreadfort wasn't too far away from Winterfell, it was unbecoming of a young Lady to go out of her way to visit a bastard... She wouldn't be allowed to.
She slipped into Ramsay’s room, finding him lying on his bed, shirtless, his dark eyes gleaming as he watched her approach, just like a predator seeing delicious prey walk willingly inside his lair.
“You’re not supposed to be here, little fox.” he drawled, the nickname slipping from his lips with ease.
Y/N rolled her eyes, though a small pout formed on her lips as she climbed in bed next to him. “I don’t care. It’s too cold in my room, and I don’t want to be alone.”
Ramsay smirked, propping himself up on one elbow. He was shirtless again. “Afraid of the dark, are we?” His tone was teasing, but his eyes held an intensity that belied his playful words.
She stuck her tongue out at him but nodded nonetheless, crossing her arms over her chest. "I am used to sleeping with my siblings."
"Fine, fine, little rose, I won't tease you about it - After all, you've come to seek my protection; How can I tease a lovely little lady such as yourself." she blushed softly at her new nickname, looking away but said nothing. “You know, sweetling..." Ramsay began, his voice dripping with mischief. “Did you know there are things that boys and girls do together when they’re older. Things you wouldn’t even imagine.” he leaned closer to her body, his bare chest against her back; His hand found itself playing with a velvety lock of red hair - It was quite addicting. SHE was addicting.
Y/N turned her head a little to look at him, her brows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean, Ramsay?”
His grin widened, enjoying the way her innocent mind struggled to grasp the meaning behind his words... His intentions. “Oh, nothing you’d understand now...” he said, his tone teasing. “But one day, when you’re older… I could teach you.”
Y/N tilted her head, still perplexed. “Teach me what?”
Ramsay leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “What boys and girls do together when they’re alone. It’s something… Special.”
She blinked at him, her confusion deepening. “Like playing games?”
He chuckled, a dark sound that made her shiver despite the warmth of his presence. "I suppose... A game only for grown-ups.”
Katrina pouted, feeling as though he was making fun of her. “I’m not that young, Ramsay. Mother said I am old enough to flower soon - That makes me an adult in the eyes of the noble families.”
He reached out, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear, his touch lingering a little too long. “And when that time comes, sweetling, I’ll make sure you know everything.”
The thought of Y/N flowering soon... The thought of making her his own... It made his body all hot and greedy. Some day, when she becomes a woman, he wanted to be the one to claim her; Her one and only; The only man she ever looks at. But he was a bastard, and she was the eldest daughter of the Stark Family... How the hell could he make her his, forever?
It was a maddening thought... That his bastard label would keep him away from her. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. There was no way any man would be capable of taking care of her the way only HE could. No one could make her as happy as he can. No one can understand her the way he does.
She stared at him, unsure of what to say. There was something in his tone, something she didn’t quite understand, but it made her feel uneasy... But also, enticed. Curious. Addicted. Still, she trusted him. He was her friend, after all... And will forever be her friend... Whether he wants to or not. What Lady Y/N Stark wanted, she got, even if she had to force the hands of fate to achieve her goals.
Ramsay, noticing the uncertainty in her eyes, decided to push her just a little further. “You should just enjoy being a little girl, for now, all innocent and pure like a dove. Don’t worry about what happens when you’re older.” he hummed, his low, husky voice, whispering in her ear, making her shudder and blush. "I'll take care of everything."
Katrina huffed, turning her face away from him. “You’re always saying things I don’t understand.”
He laughed softly, the sound sending a strange thrill through him. He sneaked his arms around her body, pulling her into his chest; One hand was holding strongly onto her small body, while the other held her jaw, firm but gentle. “Noble men don't know horseshite about these things - They're all stupid, but have the pride of lions and cockiness like no other. They think they know the game well, but they are shamefully bad... And without an experienced man to teach them, you, noble ladies, are all cute and confused, losing the game...” ah, tsk tsk, bad Ramsay, he was talking too much when he shouldn't... Not now.
She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance. “You’re just trying to confuse me.” she huffed, quite like a brat, getting out of his clutches and drawing the blanket over her.
Ramsay watched her for a moment, his smirk fading as he realized she was serious about ignoring him. She couldn't ignore her. She wasn't allowed to. She was supposed to look at him with those beautiful eyes of hers - To look at him, and only him.
The silence stretched on, and something dark and possessive flared up inside him. He hated being ignored, especially by her. Desperate for her attention, he threw the blanket off of her, pinning her down on the bed before she could react. He straddled her waist, his hands holding her wrists above her head as he loomed over her.
Y/N gasped in surprise, her wide eyes locking with his - Finally, she was looking at him. For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them charged with something neither could name.
Ramsay’s smirk returned - He enjoyed looking down at her like that, her face all innocent and confused, so damn precious. "Ramsay...?" don't talk to him in that sweet voice... Don't... He'll lose control... He will...
To stop his own wicked thoughts and urges, he started tickling her sides mercilessly. Y/N squealed, her laughter filling the room as she squirmed beneath him, trying in vain to escape his grasp. This wasn't any better, he noted; It only made him more desperate to touch her, to hold her... To...
“Ramsay, stop!” she begged, her voice breathless with laughter - He only tickled her harder, delighting in her helplessness. There was something so special about ignoring such lovely pleas.
In her desperate attempts to defend herself, Y/N’s nails raked across his arm, deep enough to draw blood. Ramsay hissed at the sharp sting, letting out a surprising sound of pleasure... Surprising even for him... but he didn’t stop tickling her until she was breathless and teary-eyed from laughing and her body aching for freedom and mercy.
Finally, he relented, looking down at her with a mixture of amusement and something darker... Victory, triumph... Y/N panted, her chest heaving as she caught her breath - Yet her eyes widened when she saw the red lines on his arm, painting his pale arm a lovely shade of crimson red.
“Ramsay...! I’m sorry - I'm so sorry, I didn’t mean to!” she shot up, her voice small as she reached out to touch the scratch she had left.
Ramsay caught her hand, his grip firm but not painful. He looked at the blood, then at her, a strange expression on his face. “It’s nothing.” he said, though the intensity in his gaze made her heart flutter with unease. “Just a mark... A precious little reminder.”
“A reminder? Of what?” she asked, confused, watching him lick the blood leaking down his skin.
His smirk returned, though there was something almost possessive in his eyes. “That you, little Kitten, are all mine, and only mine; Even when you leave, you’ll still be mine." he wiped some of the blood his his thumb, and unexpectedly, he pressed it gently against her bottom lip - Pink turning red - Then a little inside, touching her tongue. "You want us to be together, don't you, My Lady?" he got closer to her face, now both hands cupping her small face carefully. "Always and forever."
"Yes... I want us to be friends... Forever." he wanted to kiss those plump dewy lips so bad, but he couldn't; Not not. She was driving him crazy... A twisted child with nefarious cravings and desires... And all his obsessions channeled into a single being... A precious little kitten who loves to scratch him. "Always and forever." he kissed her forehead gently, almost as if he was sealing an unspoken vow between them.
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The bastard of Dreadfort wasn't happy to see his cute little kitten leave; But he couldn't do anything about it - Not yet. He lingered in the back, far away, and watched as her horse disappeared into the horizon. He knew it was going to be an awful day for him. He just knew.
The atmosphere was terrible all around the fort, heavy with the chill of winter and the unspoken tension that has settled over the castle. Ramsay remained in his small room, reflecting on the recent visit, the fleeting moments of warmth with Lady Y/N still fresh in his mind.
Every time his mind lingered back on their closeness, his body grew all hot and restless; He felt himself going crazy, needing to touch himself to relieve the pressure building inside his stomach; His core was all knots and ache.
He couldn't though... He couldn't... He had to hold on... It wasn't night yet, and he risked anyone barging inside his room... But he needed her so badly... Her scorching touch on his ice-cold skin... Those sweet, soft rose petal lips on his rough, chapped ones... Her small body, all cute and frail under his own... At his mercy...
His rapid thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching his room. His heart quickened even more, a sense of dread creeping in. He knew what was going to happen, and he dreaded every second of it.
The door opened, and Roose Bolton stepped inside, his expression as unreadable as ever... But Ramsay knew better than to trust the calm before the storm.
"Do you have anything you wish to tell me, Ramsay?" those harsh eyes bore silently into him, carving his heart out.
"No... Father." he muttered under his breath, getting off the bed and standing in front of his father, his head hung, but jaw clenched in anger and humiliation.
"Is that so?" the boy remained quiet. "I’ve heard... Things, Ramsay. Things I don’t like."
Ramsay tensed, his eyes meeting his father’s cold, manipulative gaze. He knew what was coming, and though he’s experienced his father’s wrath before, the dread never really faded. He tried to stand taller, to show no weakness, but the apprehension was clear in his voice.
"Lady Y/N wanted to talk to me. She was bored with no child her age around, so she dragged me to be her companion. I couldn't refuse the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark..." he couldn't refuse her even if he wanted to; He was desperate for her attention, after all. It was only by luck that he captured her attention so easily - And by fate, he will continue aligning with her, no matter what obstacles jump in his way.
Roose’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. He stepped closer, his presence looming over the subject of his deepest disappointments and shame, who instinctively took a step back. "In case you've forgotten - You’re a lowly bastard, Ramsay. You might be my son by blood, but you will never be a Bolton in the eyes of the world." he spat at his son who flinched habitually. "Your place is not with the likes of her. You forget yourself too easily. We are lucky Lord Stark didn't have your head for tainting his precious daughter's air."
The words cut deep into his heart, a reminder of the bitter truth Ramsay always tried to ignore... But this time, they stung more than usual, because for a moment, Y/N made him believe he could be something more.
"Lady Y/N said Lord Stark agreed to allow the bastard and the ward to dine at the same table as his legitimate children. They treat them like their own flesh and blood..." the words slipped out before he could stop them, and he immediately regretted his impertinence. Roose’s expression darkened further, his patience wearing thin.
"You fool - How dare you fall in love with a noblewoman?! You think Lord Stark would ever allow his eldest daughter to marry some filthy low-life like you and take his riches? His noble name? Have you lost your mind, child? This is not how I raised you." his voice boomed painfully through the echoing empty stone walls of his room. "Love and foolishness are weakness, Ramsay, and I will not tolerate either in my son."
Before Ramsay could react, Roose’s hand struck him, delivering a sharp backhand across Ramsay’s face - The force of the blow sent him stumbling, crashing into the bedside table, the candle tumbling to the floor. Pain spread across his cheek, but it was nothing compared to the humiliation that followed as Roose grabbed him by the neck, dragging him back to his feet.
"You are my son, Ramsay, and you will do as I say. I will not have you ruin yourself over foolish maiden dreams of love and marriage . You are a tool, nothing more - And I will carve you into something useful, no matter how much you resist." Ramsay tried to fight back, to push against his father’s grip, but he was no match for Roose’s strength and iron grip.
The beating that followed was brutal, each strike a lesson in obedience, in submission, a reminder of the cruelty that defines his existence. He tried not to cry out, to show no weakness - And he did just that. Ramsay utter no sound through it all.
When Roose finally released him, Ramsay crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, his body battered and bruised. Roose looked down at him, his expression harsh and unforgiving.
"Remember this, Ramsay - You are nothing but my bastard son, and you will learn your place, or I will teach it to you until you understand."
Roose left the room, the door slamming shut behind him. Ramsay was left alone, the echoes of his father’s words ringing in his ears, the pain throbbing through his body. He remained there, motionless on the ground and growling like a rabid animal.
Hours passed before Ramsay finally moved, dragging himself back onto the bed, wincing with every motion. He stares at the ceiling, his mind a whirlwind of emotions — Anger, shame, dread.
He thought of Y/N, of her kindness, of the way she treated him like he was worth something. That memory was a lifeline, something to hold onto in the darkness, but it was also a source of pain, a reminder of what he can never have...
He clenched his fists, the pain in his body overshadowed by the rage building inside him. He hated his father, hated the world that condemned him to this life, hated the fact that he was born a bastard - But most of all, he hated that he cared — That he yearned for something more, something better.
"I will make them pay." the words were whispered into the darkness, a promise to himself. "I will kill them all." he punched the ground with his fist until it became a bloody mess - Yet he felt no pain at all, only wrath.
He knew he couldn't change the circumstances of his birth, but he could at least take control of his life. He could become what his father wanted — A lethal weapon - But he will do so on his terms; And one day, when he has the power to make sure no one ever hurts him again, he will walk forward to force all of his wishes to come true...
Even if that meant kidnapping Lady Y/N Stark and marrying her in secret.
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Three years down the line, Y/N was now 14 years of age, and putting her brothers to shame when it came to archery and hunting; Thus, they all agreed they would have a hunting competition, to which, albeit reticently, their father agreed.
Three whole days spent in the Wolfswood; The one who brings the most game wins the contest - Thus, Theon, Y/N, Robb and Jon rode confidently into the forest.
The Wolfswood was a dense, ancient forest stretching between Winterfell and the Dreadfort - She felt so close, yet so far from her best friend; Alas, she couldn't afford to think of him. She had to win. The woods were thick, the towering trees created a canopy that blocked out much of the sky, leaving only slivers of light to pierce the darkness. The forest was eerily quiet, save for the rustling of leaves and distant cries of creatures every now and again.
The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale light over the clearing where Y/N had set up her camp. She’d done well so far, managing to bring down two deer, a boar and a few smaller game, which were now tied securely to a tree. Her brothers were likely doing just as well, but she was determined to win. She had to. If she won, she would forever get rid of her brothers' teasing, or them telling her to return to embroidering. How bothersome.
After finishing her meal, she moved cautiously around the perimeter of her camp, checking the traps she’d set earlier; They were simple, designed more to alert her to danger than to catch anything significant. As she returned to the fire, she couldn't help but shiver slightly. It wasn't the cold that bothered her, but the darkness pressing in around her.
Taking a deep breath and calming her nerves, she settled down by a large tree, its sturdy trunk at her back. The fire crackled, offering some comfort, but the night was still intimidating. She tried to focus on her goal — Winning the competition, proving she was just as capable as her brothers - But the fear of being alone in the dark was still there, lurking at the edges of her mind.
Just as she began to relax, the snap of a trap echoed through the clearing, followed by a loud, furious string of curses. Y/N’s heart leaped into her throat, and she instinctively grabbed her bow, an arrow quickly nocked. Her eyes darted around the shadows until she spotted the source of the commotion.
Hanging upside down by his leg, thrashing and cursing loudly, was Ramsay Snow.
Y/N’s eyes widened in shock, her grip on the bow loosening as she lowered the weapon. “Ramsay?!” she muttered, barely believing her eyes.
Ramsay twisted around, his face a mix of annoyance and amusement. “Who else would be stupid enough to get caught in one of your traps, Kitten?”
Finally getting over her shock, Y/N dropped her bow and rushed over, pulling out her knife to cut the rope. Ramsay landed with a thud, groaning as he rubbed his ankle. She knelt beside him, worry etched on her face.
“Are you alright?!” she asked, her voice filled with concern.
Ramsay looked up at her, a mischievous grin spreading across his face despite the pain. “I’ve had worse - But really, trapping people now? I didn’t know you’d gotten so ruthless.”
She blushed, embarrassed that she’d caught him of all people. “It wasn’t meant for you! I just didn’t want anything sneaking up on me.”
Ramsay chuckled, getting to his feet and dusting himself off. “And you did a fine job of that." he stepped towards her, and lazily rested his arms on her shoulders, leaning on her body to the point of making her stumble over her feet from his weight. "You could have just asked for help instead of trying to do all this alone.”
Y/N looked at him, his face so close to her own that she could feel her breath. "I genuinely didn't think I would meet you again - Not like this, at least." her voice was so tender and soft; Oh, how he missed her voice.
He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her. "Yes, I was sad not getting a visit for three whole years... Though now that I look at you, all sadness magically vanished." he smirked at her, his expression confident and cocky. "You still look like a child compared to me."
"You will always be older than me, Ramsay - What exactly do you want me to do about it?" she breathed out, slowly analysing him; He grew up so much in three years... He looked gorgeous. Gorgeous, and deranged. Those crystal clear eyes were swimming with craziness, only highlighted by the peeking moonlight caressing his already pale face.
"Grow up!" with a swift power move, he grabbed her body and lifted her in the air, reveling in the cutesy squeals of her surprise, and the strong grip she held on his shoulders. Little kitten loved to dig her nails in his flesh, how exciting.
"How about you help me win, instead?!" she cried out. "Now please, put me down - And help me out, please!" begrudgingly, he did just that, dragging her to the fire, where she explained the premise of their contest... And how adorable she was, admitting to still feeling afraid of the dark, clinging onto him so adorably.
Ramsay smirked, clearly pleased with her bagging for his help so sweetly. “Of course, Kitten. I’ll make sure you have a little… advantage.”
"Meow." she meowed! She... Meowed, of all things! How was he supposed to keep his hands to himself when she was being so adorable?! It had been three whole years since they last saw each other; She grew even more beautiful than he expected, than he imagined - And now, he can't even touch her! How unnerving.
Y/N couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort in Ramsay’s presence. Though he teased her mercilessly, there was something reassuring about having him by her side - And though she didn’t realize it yet, Ramsay was just as glad to be there with her, the thrill of the hunt only heightened by the prospect of spending the night together in the wild - In the shadows of the Wolfswood, their bond deepened, forged in the darkness and sealed by the blood they would spill together.
Since then, every fortnight, until she would turn 17 years of age, they would meet in their special spot in the Wolfswood. Eddard and Cat sometimes spotted her sneaking away, but they could never get her to say a thing - She was praying in the Godswood or something - No one would believe her.
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It was a fortnight after the hunting competition when Y/N first returned to the Wolfswood alone. The memory of Ramsay helping her secure that precious victory over her brothers still lingered in her mind, and she found herself drawn back to the forest, eager to see him again. As she rode into the familiar clearing, she noticed the way the trees seemed to close in around her, the shadows long and deep. She dismounted, tying her horse to a nearby tree, and waited.
She didn’t have to wait long.
Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her close before she could react. She gasped, her heart leaping into her throat as she struggled instinctively, but then she heard his familiar chuckle in her ear.
“Miss me, Kitten?” Ramsay’s voice was a low, teasing murmur.
Y/N relaxed slightly, though she rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Ramsay, you scared me!” she whined, trying and failing to push him away from her.
“That was the point.” he replied, his arms still holding her securely. “It’s no fun if you see me coming.”
She turned in his arms to face him, her expression both annoyed and amused. “One of these days, I’ll get the jump on you.”
Ramsay smirked, clearly pleased by her challenge. “I’d like to see you try.”
Each meeting after that became a game — A test of wits and skill - For the bastard, that is. Ramsay would always arrive first, hiding in the shadows of the forest, waiting impatiently for the perfect moment to strike. Sometimes he would leap out from behind a tree, causing Y/N to yelp in surprise; Other times, he would sneak up silently, wrapping his arms around her waist or pinning her against a tree before she even realized he was there.
With each encounter, Ramsay’s touches grew bolder. He would linger behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders, or let his fingers brush against her hair as they walked together through the forest. Y/N, now 16, was aware of his increasing boldness, but she couldn’t deny the thrill it brought her. She was beginning to understand all those suspicious things he would tell her as children - To think he would be so bold and knowledgeable since so long ago... His advances were teasing, playful and straight-forward, and she felt a strange mix of excitement and apprehension each time he touched her.
Ramsay seemed to revel in her reactions, his smirk ever-present as he found new ways to surprise and corner her. He would pin her to the ground during their mock fights, holding her down as she struggled and laughed, his eyes dark with something she couldn’t quite understand. Other times, he would push her against a tree, their faces inches apart, his breath warm against her skin as he teased her mercilessly.
As the years passed, their meetings became a constant in their lives. No matter what happened between Winterfell and the Dreadfort, they always returned to the Wolfswood, where the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of them.
She began bringing her pets— A red wolf named Meleys after the Red Dragon Queen, and a fox named Jade to match her eyes; Meleys, with her fiery fur and fierce loyalty, would growl softly at Ramsay whenever he got too close, while Jade, more curious than cautious, would dart around their feet, sniffing at Ramsay with mild interest, yapping to play with him, or to garner his affections.
One night, after a rather intense wrestling onto the ground that left Y/N pinned beneath Ramsay, her wrists above her head, unable to move and breathing hard, struggling to break free, she managed scratched him, again, drawing blood - This time, it was his neck instead. The sight of the single scarlet line against his pale skin made her freeze, her eyes wide with shock.
"Oh no, not again!" she got naturally worried. "I told you not to tease me so much - Now I hurt you! I'm so sorry!"
Ramsay, however, only laughed, his eyes gleaming with something dark and possessive. He grabbed her in his arms, holding her chin. “Looks like you’ve marked me again, Kitten.” he said, his voice a low purr. “Afraid I forgot who you belonged to?”
Katrina flushed, unsure of what to say. She didn’t fully understand the weight of his words, but the way he looked at her made her heart race in a way she couldn’t quite explain. "Let me wipe the blood... I should put some snow on it to stop the bleeding..."
"Or you could be a good little Kitten and lick the blood away." his affirmation shocked the girl so much that she almost didn't realise she was pulled into his lap, her chest flush against his own. "Or... My Lady doesn't want to take accountability for her actions~?"
"That's... That's weird, I can't... I'm not..." he grabbed her face, fixing it to look deep into her eyes.
"What a naughty, naughty Kitten you've been... You wouldn't want me to punish you... Or... Mayhaps that is exactly what you wish for~?" the blush on her cheeks was as beautifully red as her hair; She was so precious and shy, how sweet... And how hard to resist.
"F-Fine... Stay still..." with reticence, she carefully held onto him, one hand holding his jaw up, and the other keeping herself steady by holding onto his shoulder.
The feeling of her hot, wet tongue trailing the small scratch line along his neck garnered a strong shiver from the young man, and a shameless groan of pleasure; Such a sound, so primal, so masculine, it made Y/N feel even more timid... And intrigued. She wanted to hear more... To make him react more.
She continued in her conquest, using instead her lips, kissing at his skin until there was no more blood leaking down... Each kiss made his grip on her body get stronger to the point of pain... But she loved it. She loved how feral Ramsay could get, so strong, so unchained... So arousing. And then, once she held onto him tighter, and her kisses turned bolder, nipping away at his skin, sucking on it, he was desperate... So desperate, in fact, that he had to roughly push her away and place snow on his neck to cool down his scorching body, or he was sure to burst and make a mess of his breeches... Or worse, force her down and claim her. It wasn't how he wanted her to look at him... But it wasn't easy to hold back around her.
"Never do that again, sweetling - Not to anyone, except me."
As the time approached for Y/N to turn 17, their meetings in the Wolfswood took on a new tension. Ramsay’s touches became more lingering, his teasing words more loaded with meaning. He would hold her closer, his hands sliding down to her waist, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered things that made her cheeks burn. He wanted her so desperately, but there was no way he would destroy the way she craves him so, by taking her against the tree in the forest.
During their last meeting before her birthday, Ramsay surprised her by sneaking up behind her as she sat by a stream, lost in thought. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against him as he nuzzled her neck.
“You’ve gotten better at sneaking up on me.” Katrina admitted, her voice betraying the mix of emotions she felt.
Ramsay smirked, his breath warm against her skin. “I love seeing you squeal for me, My Lady."
She tried to pull away, feeling the intensity of his gaze on her, but he held her fast, his hands firm on her waist. “What do boys and girls do together when they’re old enough?” he had teased her many times before, always with a mischievous glint in his eye.
Y/N had never fully understood the implications, but she knew enough to feel a flutter of something in her chest — Something that made her both curious and uneasy - The same wicked thing she felt, kissing his neck, and witnessing his raw reactions. That was what happened to young people whose parents never told them how babies were made... And, worse... Parents who never knew how pleasure was made.
“When you’re old enough, I’ll show you.” Ramsay had once promised, his voice dark and mischievous. "I will show you something even better than the games boys and girls do when they're alone." Unfortunately, he wouldn't have the opportunity to show her the hedonistic world of pleasure he succumbed himself into... The world in which he wanted to drown together... For she was forced to join the retinue to King's Landing and search for a proper marriage prospect... Fit for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark.
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Y/N was always looking forward to the routine her and Ramsay created for themselves, meeting at the same spot once every two weeks, and catching up, havin fun... She was always the happiest when around him... And yet, this time, Y/N was troubled... Desperate, frustrated, angry, betrayed...
She dismounted from her horse with a heavy heart, her hands trembling as she tied the reins to a nearby tree. Meleys, her red wolf, and Jade, her pet fox, followed closely behind her, sensing the tension that hung in the air. She had come to the clearing many times over the years, but this time felt different... The finality of an ephemeral bliss hung over her neck like a guillotine.
Ramsay was already there, leaning against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes, as always, filled with playful malice and mischief, ready to torment his sweet flower - Though, as she approached him, he straightened, his posture tense, as though bracing himself for the bad news brought by a black raven. In the past three years, not once had he seen her this miserable... This... Sorrowful.
“What's gotten my naughty little Kitten so pissed? No more drapes to scratch? Or human flesh is the only thing that can satisfy you now?” he spoke in his usual dark, taunting voice, but for once, his teasing didn't seem to have the intended effect - Or any at all, for what matters.
Y/N didn't even look at him, or acknowledge his presence. H he greeted her, his voice rougher than usual. Her face was paler than usual, and her eyes were puffy pink and glazed with tears, her brows were furrowed in a deep frown, and her mind lost in thought. He couldn't stand this look on her. She was supposed to be sweet and smile, to be energetic and filled with vitality, to jump on his and scratch him, to cuddle into his arms and purr so lovingly;
She did none of that.
"What's the matter? Daddy found us out?" he scoffed a question, but she merely shook her head. "So?" she said nothing. "Go on. Speak." still nothing. "I do not appreciate this, Y/N."
She nodded in response, unable to find her voice at first. The words she had rehearsed so many times in her mind now seemed hollow, insufficient for the gravity of the moment. In his rage and frustration, Ramsay roughly grabbed the girl by the furs of her dress, wrestling her to the ground into the soothingly cold snow; His hands were holding tightly onto her shoulders, his face twisted into a malicious sneer - Yet one look into her devastated eyes... Her hopelessness... And he was immediately simmered down.
"The King came over a few days ago." she stammered pitifully over her words. "Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King died... And he wants daddy to become the next Hand..." with great difficulty, she managed to utter some words.
"What's that got to do with you?" he hissed under his breath, his eyes not even once flickering away from her own.
"My daddy was forced to accept... Thus, he has to stay in King's Landing." he slowly nodded his head, as if to urge her to continue. "Sansa fell in love with the King's son, Joffrey... I told her he's a real cunt, that he's not the gallant prince she dreams of, from 'The Ballad of Florian and Jonquil'... But she wouldn't listen... She wants to marry him..." she gulped, tears streaming down her face. "She is barely eleven... Hasn't even flowered yet..."
"You were eleven when I met you." Ramsay noted, earning a nod from her. "You are seventeen now, and still an unwed maiden. The eldest Lady Stark." she cringed softly at the affirmation. "They want to trade you to some rich old fuck, like a piece of meat." she nodded again. "How miserable."
"I don't want to go, Ramsay." she whimpered so pitifully, that the young man found his body growing hot. "I want to stay with you - Forever. The North is my home... I-I can't stay there... I can't..."
"A flower of the North, uprooted and forced to wilt in the stench and stifling heat of the South." he muttered under his breath.
"Mother has been furious for a while that daddy let me unmarried for so long... He wanted me to fall in love and marry someone I wanted... But my mother, married out of duty, also wanted me to do the same... Just like the Tully word - Family, Duty, Honour - ... Marry, have many heirs, do your duties..." he had never seen her cry before, but now, she clinged onto him, sobbing into the crook of her neck, so desperately and pitifully that he almost couldn't understand her. "I don't want to marry some pathetic lordling! I don't want to give birth! I don't want it - Any of it!" she whined and mewled like that some more; Ramsay's grip tightened around her protectively... Possessively... And then... "I want you, Ramsay! I want only you! I want to be you friend, I want to have fun with you, I want to marry you - I want to stay with you forever - Forever and Always!"
His breathing was heavy, picking up a little; He dragged her on his lap, and held her so tightly to his chest that she almost got lost inside his strong embrace. "That's right, little Kitten. You are mine, and only mine. No one can have you. No one but me." he grumbled in her ear, his hand burying into her hair, holding her firmly. "Did they find some shit lord yet?" annoyingly enough, she nodded her head.
"Tyrion Lannister... The Imp." she whimpered lowly. "He is a witty and respectful man... I would have a content life with him... He wouldn't force me to do anything I didn't want..." she hiccuped from sobbing. "But he isn't you. No one is you. And I want only you."
The thought of losing her — Of her being taken away to a place where he couldn’t reach her—stoked the fire of his rage once more. “And you brought your pets over to let me take care of them, then?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “I don't want your pets, Y/N. I want you.”
Y/N’s heart clenched at his words. She had known for years that Ramsay’s feelings for her were intense, even possessive, but this was the first time he had spoken so plainly. She felt more tears slip down her cheek as she looked up at him, her vision blurred by the emotion she had tried so hard to contain.
He stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he reached out and cupped her face in his hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. “You’re mine, Y/N.” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with a dark promise. “You’ve always been mine, and you always will be.”
Y/N closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, wanting to believe him— To believe that they could find a way to be together, despite the forces of the universe pulling them apart. She knew how difficult it would be - Escaping King's Landing was close to blasphemy; She knew the expectations placed upon her as a Stark, and the dangers of being tied to a man like Ramsay... A bastard...
She cared for nothing, except for her happiness. She wanted to be selfish, in spite of how much she loved her family. “I’ll find a way back to you.” she promised, her voice barely a whisper. “I’ll escape King’s Landing, I swear it.”
Ramsay’s expression darkened, his grip on her face tightening. “You’d better.” he growled. “Because if you don’t, I’ll come for you. I’ll burn that wretched city to the ground if I have to.”
His words, though terrifying, were also a twisted comfort to her. She knew Ramsay meant every word — He would stop at nothing to claim what he believed was his. But as much as she wanted to be with him, she couldn’t ignore the fear that gripped her heart, the fear that she might not be able to return, that she might be trapped in the South forever. That she would wilt before she got the chance to liberate herself.
Ramsay pulled her closer, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’ll take care of Meleys and Jade.” he finally said, his voice rough with emotion. “But don't forget who you belong to, Y/N."
Y/N nodded, her tears mingling with his breath. She wanted to say something, to reassure him, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, a silent promise that she would return to him, no matter the cost.
She bit her lip, forcing herself to hold back another sob that threatened to escape. She couldn’t bear to leave him like this, but she had no choice - She wasn't a wild wolf anymore, but a collared dog on a leash, and the handler was a slut like Myranda.
With one last glance at him, she forced herself out of his protective arms, turned around and mounted her horse, her heart heavy with sorrow. "I cannot say farewell... But I can try and say... I will see you again... Soon."
As she rode away, she heard Ramsay’s voice call out to her, filled with a desperation that shook her to her core. “Don’t make me wait too long.”
Y/N didn’t look back, tears streaming down her face as she urged her horse forward, the forest closing in around her. She knew this wouldn’t be the last time she saw Ramsay, but the thought of the long, uncertain road ahead filled her with dread... And determination to break free from her shackles... A ferocious, feral instinct broke inside of her, and she was ready to transform into the she-wolf she was born to be...
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The cold, dimly lit chamber of the Dreadfort, where the stone walls seem to absorb any warmth that might exist felt now even colder than before, Ramsay noted unconsciously, once he realised it had already been over a year since he hasn't seen Y/N... Since she'd been mercilessly snatched away from his grasp.
Roose Bolton sat at his desk, his expression as impassive as ever, while Ramsay stood before him; The tension between father and son was as harshly palpable as always. The air was thick with the scent of burning torches and the ever-present dampness of the castle, a stark reminder of the harshness of the North, didn't bother him anymore; A man of the North would never be bothered by such trivialities.
Fueled by a mixture of fury and frustration, Ramsay is seething inside at the thought of losing Y/N, but his father’s presence was forcing him to maintain a veneer of calm... For as long as humanly possible for him.
Ramsay paced the length of the chamber, his hands clenched behind his back, his mind a storm of rage and dark thoughts - He was restless - Restless as never before, and that restlessness usually brought with it a storm of torture, hedonism and quite a lot of erratic flaying.
The room felt too small, too suffocating; His father’s cold gaze on him felt like a blade pressed to his throat. He wanted nothing more than to unleash his fury, to tear the room apart, and his father with it, but he knew better. Roose Bolton did not tolerate outbursts, and Ramsay knew he had to keep his emotions in check... As long as he was a bastard, his father was still useful... Afterwards, well...
“You are going to dig a dam if you keep pacing.” Roose’s voice broke through his thoughts, a calm, controlled tone that belied the gravity of their discussion. "Don't tell me you're thinking of that Stark girl again."
Ramsay forced himself to stop pacing, turning to face his father. He knew Roose saw everything, knew everything, and any attempt to hide his feelings would be futile. Still, he had to be careful. His voice was tight with barely suppressed anger. “She’s in King’s Landing.” he grumbled. "For over a year."
Roose arched an eyebrow, his expression giving nothing away. “And this concerns you... How, exactly?" his father's words cut as deep as the cold Valyrian steel. "Have you forgotten you place again?"
Ramsay’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to stay calm. "No... Father." he licked his lips, looking down for a few seconds. "But she's a Stark - The daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, and now, Hand of the King. Marrying her - Politically, of course - Would help our House regain power and wealth again."
"MY House." his father's words felt like whips against his skin. "Not yours. You are a Snow, not a Bolton." he continued with a painfully strong word. "Yet." Roose leaned back in his chair, studying his son with those cold, calculating eyes. “You’ve grown attached to the girl, haven’t you?” he said, a faint hint of amusement in his voice. “You don't care about politics - You only care about yourself." he scoffed, sneering at his son with disgust. "It’s only natural for a bastard to crave what he can’t have.” he continued to belittle him even more. "If you got tired of Tansy's cunt, just move to Kyra - And if even she bores you, you have Myranda. There's plenty women in here - Stop wasting time thinking of the one you can never have. You're wasting your time - And mine."
Ramsay’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. He hated the way his father spoke, the way he dismissed him, the way he thought him incompetent and lesser, just because he was born out of wedlock. "She's mine. I claimed her - And I will make sure I get what I want."
Roose’s amusement faded, replaced by a steely resolve. “If you want to make her yours in more than just your mind, you’ll have to do more than just ruining the floor of my study chamber.” he said, his voice as cold as the North itself. “Listen clearly to me, Ramsay. We have a new ally - Far more powerful than the Starks.”
Ramsay narrowed his eyes, his anger simmering just below the surface. “What do you mean?” it was the first time he heard his father speaking about aiding someone other than the Starks - Knowing full well the Bolton army was aiding the Young Wolf win against the Lannister - And that his father, also, had to return to the battlefield soon enough.
Roose leaned forward, his gaze piercing. “The Stark boy, Robb, is a threat to the Crown. Naturally, the self-proclaimed 'King In The North' has a huge bounty on his head - And there is a way to remove him from the board, permanently.”
Ramsay’s heart skipped a beat. He had heard whispers of the plot, rumors of a grand betrayal that would see the Young Wolf brought to his knees, but hearing it from his father’s lips made it real, tangible. He had allied with the Lannisters. “The Red Wedding.” he said quietly, more a statement than a question.
Lord Bolton nodded, his expression unreadable. “The army is going to reach the Twins, and Lord Frey demands a groom. Alas, Robb Stark has the same dangerous sense of loyalty that his own father had - The same loyalty that got him killed." he let out a sardonic laugh. "He married the woman he slept with, out of duty - He cannot be the groom; He's sending his uncle, a lowly, incompetent Tully Fish. Of course Walder Frey would feel betrayed... And will act accordingly." his peering eyes stabbed his own, and his voice was threatening and alarming. "If you want to secure your claim to Winterfell, you must act soon. After Robb Stark dies, the next-in-line heirs are merely children of 7 and 3. The heir is clear - Your darling Y/N Stark." Roose smirked ironically, seeing his bastard's interest piqued, for once. "Everyone wants to fuck an heir in her womb, Ramsay. She is every Noble House's target." his jaw clenched in anger, in rage, in madness. "But only you must claim her maidenhood, make her your woman and have her bare your heirs. It is the only way to secure your position as the next Lord Bolton."
Ramsay’s mind raced. The idea of Robb Stark dead, of Winterfell ripe for the taking, filled him with a dark excitement. But it was Y/N’s face that haunted his thoughts, her tearful promise to return to him, to escape the South and come back to the North. The thought of losing her, of her being out of his reach, drove him to the brink of madness. Then, he remembered the tears painting her face, her distraught, her agony - How loudly she yelled that she didn't want to be a tool to create heirs? That she didn't want to give birth, because she was terrified of the pain, terrified of death, of motherhood - Of everything? And he was on the same wavelength as her - No way he wanted to be a father - Not while his mind still works properly. But Roose continued, his voice like ice, waking him up from his excruciating inner conflict. “Do something useful for once in your pathetic, miserable life and marry that Stark wench you kept sneaking out to meet for three years." he spat at his son. "Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Ramsay. You may be stealthy, but I know everything.”
Ramsay’s blood ran cold. His father knew—of course, he knew. Roose Bolton knew every secret, every move his son made. There was no hiding from him. But what Roose didn’t understand, what he couldn’t comprehend, was the depth of Ramsay’s obsession with Katrina. She was not just a means to an end, not just a stepping stone to power. She was his, in a way that went beyond any rational thought or ambition.
The bastard didn’t respond; He didn’t trust himself to speak. He left the chamber, his heart and mind a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. As he stepped into the cold corridors of the Dreadfort, his thoughts returned to Y/N, to her promise to return, to the way she had looked at him in the Wolfswood. He would make sure she kept that promise. She would be his, no matter the cost.
As he walked through the dimly lit halls, all the way outside of the Fort, and into the forest, his mind churned with plans and possibilities. The Red Wedding would be the first step, yes... His father's betrayal... But Y/N… She was his obsession, his desire, the one thing that mattered more than anything else. He would marry her, claim Winterfell, and make sure that she never left his side again m- All on his own accord, not the traditional way the old fucks want to force upon them. He needed her happy; He needed her to want him, to need him, to desire him the same way he wants, needs and desires her.
No one, not even his father, would stand in his way to get his little Kitten back in his arms.
Lost in his mind, the young bastard found himself by the running river - He always wanted to take Y/N here, his special spot to get away from the world. Once, she admitted to him that, although her personality is very much that of a wolf, she still find a good portion of her peace by the river-run, just like her Tully mother.
The icy wind blew through the trees along the riverbank, but Ramsay barely felt it. His dark mood had numbed him to the cold of the North. He stood by the rushing waters of the river, his fists clenched, chest heaving with barely suppressed rage.
He couldn't believe over a year had passed since his sweetling had been taken to King’s Landing, and in that time, Ramsay had fallen into a restless spiral. His hunts no longer thrilled him, and even the cruel games he played with his prisoners brought him no joy. No one could satisfy him anymore, and every woman he took to his bed only made the ache for Y/N grow worse. With an empty chuckle, he remembered the hurt in Myranda's eyes, and the protest she chirped, once he called her by Y/N's name instead of her own. Hilarious how either of them thought themselves important in his life. Dumb cunts, all of them.
He cursed under his breath, pacing along the riverbank, his thoughts tangled in frustration and agony. The image of her haunted him - Her eyes, her smile, the playful way she used to tease him. It wasn't just her beauty that lingered in his mind; it was the feeling she invoked in him. A need deeper than any he'd known before. She had marked him, claimed him, and he hated her for it, almost as much as he longed for her, needed her, just like he needed air to breathe.
His breath came in harsh gasps as he leaned against a tree, trying to calm the storm raging inside him. He slammed his fist against the bark, the roughness biting into his skin, but the pain brought him no relief. His mind kept returning to her, to the day she left, to her cries, her tears, her screams, to the promise she'd made, the way she'd looked back at him with those desperate, pleading eyes, almost as if she was begging him to kidnap her and tie her up in the dungeons, away from the harsh world that would hurt her... That would take her away from him.
"Where the hell are you?" he snarled, his voice echoing through the wind, as he continued punching at the tree, an unfortunate bad habit he got since childhood; Punching until his fist was a bloody mess... Punching until he didn't want to claw his own body out, as if he needed to escape this cage of flesh and sinew.
Then, from the corner of his eye, Ramsay caught movement; He tensed, instinctively reaching for the dagger at his side - Instead of danger, he saw the familiar forms of Meleys and Jade that approached him. The red wolf padded silently through the trees, her light coloured eyes gleaming with intelligence and caution, while the fox moved with graceful playfulness. Ramsay lowered his guard, watching as they approached him.
The wolf nuzzled his hand, the softness of her fur a stark contrast to his cold rage... Her red-coppery fur was as velvety soft as Y/N's hair, he remembered. His muscles relaxed, if only slightly, and he knelt down, letting his fingers run through Meleys' fur. Jade, ever loving, kept her green eyes fixed on him, before she yapped for his attention.
"You're missing her too, aren’t you?" Ramsay muttered, his voice softening for a moment. He scratched Meleys behind the ears, feeling the animal’s warmth against his skin. It was strange — He’d never cared for animals like Y/N did, but these two were different. Sure, he preferred the company of dogs over that of people, and for good reason...
When he looked Meleys in the eyes, she looked straight back at him; She climbed on his lap and gently licked at his face. He didn't stop her. He remembered those times when he'd meet Y/N, and she'd show him how she learnt to warg into Meleys, to see life through her, to control her... To live through her. He often wondered if Y/N was warged into Meleys, and she was trying to comfort him... To show him her love... To give him hope...
Jade, too, jumped on him, nudging her small wet truffle-snout against his palm, licking at his bloody wounds; Ramsay found some strange solace in their presence, though he would never admit it. Meleys and Jade missed her too — He could see it in the way they searched for her, the way they lingered near places where she used to be. They were as restless as he was, as hungry for her return.
"She promised." Ramsay whispered, more to himself than to the animals. "She swore she'd come back."
Meleys whimpered softly, nudging Ramsay's hand, as though offering comfort in her own way, then gently placed her head on his shoulder. Jade blinked up at him with her bright eyes, her tail flicking slightly. They were loyal creatures, just as Y/N had been loyal to him - That loyalty, that bond they all shared — It was the one thing he could cling to when the loneliness clawed at his insides.
"I will flay everyone who gets in her way." his hand gripped the hilt of his dagger, his jaw tightening with renewed resolve. Y/N would return to him. She had to. And when she did, he would never let her go again. Not to anyone. Not to anything. She was his, marked by him, claimed by him; He wore her mark, that haughty little kitten.
He sat there in the snow for a while longer, the quiet of the forest and the gentle presence of Meleys and Jade soothing his maddening thoughts. For the first time in what felt like weeks, Ramsay allowed himself to relax just a little; Though beneath his calm exterior, the storm still brewed.
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"See, Sandor?!" Y/N desperately tried to shake him into agreeing with her plan; Though her lack of strength managed to move him not even by a fraction of an inch. "You must help me! Please - You must!"
"You're just as fucked in the head as he is, little fox." the Hound barked a sarcastic laugh. "What of the little bird?"
Y/N hesitated, looking down. "She..." Y/N gulped, her voice wavering. "The Lannisters have her in their clutches. She won't listen to me... Not anymore. She's forgotten herself, who she is... Since father died." she bit her lip painfully hard. "I cannot save her anymore, Sandor; And I can save our family even less if I am trapped here, in this hell." she looked up into his eyes, strength and determination surprising even him "I trust only you with her safety. Whatever happens of that... A wolf must always return to the North. I hope, one day, you will escape also - And bring her with you to our home." she continued in a more tender home. "You will always be welcomed in the North, Sandor."
"You've lost your mind, girl. I am welcomed nowhere - Especially not given my reputation." he rolled his eyes, pushing her away from him. "Fine. I'll take care of the little song bird - But don't expect me to die for her. That damned lousy cunt who calls himself the King is unpredictable, and I am still just a dog."
"A loyal dog who's earned the trust of the Queen In The North."
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The night of the wildfire siege at Blackwater Bay was a chaos of screams and roaring flames that lit the sky with an eerie green glow. The city was in disarray, and amidst the flames, the terrified Sandor Clegane dragged the two Stark sisters out of their rooms and fled the blasted Crown city for good, never to look back or miss the damned stench.
At first, they didn't know where to go, except North - Always into the North - Yet during one silent camping stop where their fear calmed down the littlest bit, they agreed on a temporary strategy - Reunite with the Young Wolf who was currently hosted at the Twins.
Unfortunately the reunion was bitter, and that night they didn't meet Robb Stark nor Catelyn Stark or Grey Wind... They met death staring right at them. Sansa fell into the Hound's arms, sobbing, wailing, almost waiting at the grotesque sight... Almost as bad as seeing her father beheaded... Y/N remained silent, her mind all but blank and filled with rage and revenge. What once was her proud brother, the beautiful Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell, the King in the North... Was now reduced to a headless corpse mounted on a horse... With his precious Grey Wind's head sewn on his shoulders. No doubt, their mother also met a similarly humiliating and grotesque fate.
"Y/N. I found your rat runt of a sister." Sandor spoke, out of nowhere, holding Arya by the back of her shirt as she was trying to escape his grasp and run head-first into the Bolton and Frey army to kill them all.
"Let me go! Now! I'll kill you, you stupid mutt! Y/N, tell him!" the little sister tried to struggle, but it was Sansa who slapped her face.
"Arya, can't you see?! Robb is dead! Mother is dead! If you go there, we will lose you too! Stop being a brat for once, and listen to us!" poor Sansa's heartbroken cries made even the wild little sister stare at her with wide eyes, and teared up too.
"They... They killed them... Slaughtered... Like livestock... Why..." came her little, trembling voice. "It's not fair..."
"Life ain't fair, girl." the dog grunted under his breath, taking them away from there. They suffered enough, no need to see the enemy making a mockery of their beloved family anymore.
"The North remembers... And we will have their skins..." though Arya was emboldened by that fearsome threat, Sansa shuddered a little at her cold, hars voice. It was only Sandor who noticed the malice and vendetta behind her words... And the ally hidden in the North, ready to flay anyone alive. What a deranged bastard. Gulping away her sorrow, Y/N finally found the words and strength to speak. "Let's go to aunt Lysa for now, and we'll see what we do from there."
The road to the Eyrie was filled with danger, but Sandor, Arya and Y/N knew how to fight away the assailants; They pushed forward relentlessly, despite their exhaustion and heartbreak. The girls needed a place to recover — Somewhere far from the reach of the Lannisters and the Freys. The only safe place they had left.
The eerie mountain fortress became their temporary sanctuary, though they knew they couldn't stay forever. Surprisingly even to himself, Sandor guarded over the Stark girls with the fierce loyalty of a dog - Though not for long. The girls had to divide and conquer, to make a plan and gain enough support and a proper army to regain what was lost through the Red Wedding, and the loss of Robb and Catelyn Stark.
Sansa, ever the diplomat, remained at the Eyrie to deal with aunt Lysa and young Robert; Arya had escaped into the night, ready to take on the unknown and learn how to properly fight and fend for herself, a little girl against the endless world; Y/N was going to reclaim their home and name herself the heir and Lady of Winterfell - Bran and Rickon were far too little to lead, even with the Maesters aiding them. Maester Luwin might have been as intelligent and loving as their second father, but even he couldn't rule the way a true Stark would.
Leaving Sansa in the care of Sandor, Y/N began her lonely ride northward. She hadn’t heard of what had befallen Winterfell — Only whispers of its burning and rumors of her brothers’ deaths. Her heart told her it was lies, but her mind feared the worst.
The North was desolate, colder than she remembered, and the haunting loneliness echoed in every step she took toward her home. Winterfell had once been a place of safety, but now, the foreboding silence filled her with dread.
When she finally arrived at Winterfell, the place she called home was but a shell of what it had been. The castle stood lonely and bleak, with the Greyjoy banner flapping mockingly above the walls. Panic surged through her veins as she noticed two small bodies, covered in tar, burnt and hanged above the gate as display for all to see. They couldn't be... No way those were Bran and Rickon... Theon Greyjoy would never...
She stormed inside, desperately searching for answers, only to be greeted by the sight of Theon, standing in her father’s hall, playing at being Lord of Winterfell.
Fury like she had never known surged through her - Theon had betrayed them, his only family that accepted him after is own father renounced him in favour of his sister, Asha, who was a far better leader than he would ever be.
Her anger overwhelmed her to the point of irrationality; The words were ripping from her throat with all the venom she could muster. Theon was no longer the boy she once knew. He was brittle, broken, and deluded with false power. The arrogant power-trip that the weak get once given the chance to hold a fickle grain of power.
"You... You pathetic, loathsome, disgusting, arrogant little cockroach!" the voice of a Stark roared loudly through the castle walls, calling forth all of its original inhabitants - They all marveled in joy and horror at seeing Lady Stark return home. "Theon Greyjoy, who in the Seven Hells do you think you are?!" she lunged at him, wrestling him to the ground in his state of confusion and panic.
"You—!" her voice was a guttural snarl, thick with disbelief and outrage. "You traitorous bastard!" she screamed as her fists slammed into him, each strike landing with the weight of her anger and heartbreak. The hall fell into shocked silence, with the few guards present too stunned to react immediately - Though none of them had any respect for the poor excuse of a Kraken playing the leader role. "How dare you sit there! That seat belongs to my father! My family! You are nothing!"
Theon, momentarily caught off guard, could only try to shield himself from the onslaught; Y/N’s blows came hard and fast, her nails scratching at his face and her fists thudding against his chest. For a brief moment, she was relentless, every ounce of betrayal and rage from months of being away from her home, from seeing her family butchered, pouring out of her.
Theon groaned in pain and surprise as she clawed at him, her anger consuming every fiber of her being. “Stop—!” he tried to shout over her furious attacks, but his voice was drowned out by her curses - Just like his useless God.
"How could you?!" she cried, voice cracking with the raw emotion of betrayal. "After everything we've done for you! After we treated you like one of us! You were my brother, Theon! And now this?! You betray your best friend who trusted you above all else, take over my home, declare yourself the Lord and even kill my brothers!" her fists slammed into him again, the intensity of her emotions seeping into every word. "You disgust me! You, vile, evil, pathetic worm!"
The old citizens of Winterfell, those who had remained loyal to the Starks, rushed forward in an attempt to hold her back. A few guards hesitated at first, unsure whether or not to protect Theon from the girl’s wrath or to stand aside. One of the older men, who had known Y/N since she was a child, wrapped his arms around her from behind, gently restraining her despite her thrashing.
"Lady Y/N, please!" the man pleaded, his voice filled with sorrow. "You'll only get yourself hurt - Your precious hands should not be damaged against a lowly peasant such as him." truly, no one feared him, nor respected him. He was a wretch everywhere he went. Even his own family was praying for him never to return.
Y/N was panting, her wild eyes still fixed on Theon, who now stood from the ground, wiping at his bleeding face, his eyes a mix of embarrassment and growing rage. Her chest heaved as she struggled against the arms holding her back, her voice hoarse with the weight of everything she had bottled up for too long, a dark, malicious murder intent growing ever stronger.
"You don't belong here!" she spat, trying to wrench herself free. "This is my home!"
Theon’s pride, wounded by both her words and her successful attack, twisted his expression into something unknown. His initial shock and shame from being attacked by a woman was quickly replaced by a cruel sneer, the only way he knew to hide the guilt and shame gnawing at his insides.
“Shut up, you worthless mewling quim!” he snapped, straightening himself and brushing off his tunic as though her blows were nothing but an inconvenience. “The past doesn't matter. Winterfell is mine - The House of Theon Greyjoy, Lord of Winterfell, Warden in the North." unexpectedly, Y/N managed to land another harsh slap against his gaunt face, then spat him in the eyes.
"You may call yourself whatever you wish, but you will never earn the respect or aid of anyone! You’re nothing but a coward playing at being king in a castle that’s not yours! Do you really think this charade will last? You think you can be anything more than the Greyjoy runt, pathetic and spineless?!” she screeched at him even as he dug his hand into her hair and tugged harshly at it. "You don't know what happens to traitors, do you, Theon? Everyone hates a traitor."
Theon’s face flushed red as Y/N's words pierced through the thin veil of arrogance he had built around himself. For a moment, he wavered, the reality of the situation crashing into him - But his desperation to hold on to his fleeting power won out, and he grabbed her from the man's arms, slapping her face hard with his gloved hand; She simply grinned with defiance - No once could hit harder than Meryn Trant and his metal gauntlet. "You even hit like a cunt, Theon. You could never best me at anything."
Theon looked around at the gathered faces—faces of the people he had known for years, people who had served the Starks faithfully. They were not looking at him with fear or respect, but with contempt and disgust. His eyes flickered back to Y/N, who was still breathing heavily, her eyes filled with loathing and burning rage. Something shifted in him. For a moment, guilt seemed to seep into his features, but he masked it quickly with a cold glare.
“Lock her in her room.” he ordered with a dismissive wave of his hand, his voice trembling slightly. “I will teach some proper discipline into her later - And you will learn to scream my name from the top of your lungs - Lord Theon Greyjoy."
The old man holding Katrina hesitated, clearly torn between his loyalty to her and his fear of what Theon might do if defied. Y/N, however, stopped struggling, her fury replaced by a dangerous calm. "You don't have a big enough cock to fuck me, nor the balls to dare even approach me. That's why you could only get women through coin - You are everyone's laughing-stock, and that's what you will remain forever." she said, her voice low but venomous. “And mark my words — You will regret ever stepping foot in this castle.”
Theon flinched slightly at the threat, but he quickly turned away, trying to maintain an air of control as Y/N was swiftly led away by the remaining Stark loyalists who were afraid to see their Lady get in even more trouble. His grip on power was tenuous at best, and deep down, he knew it. Anarchy was approaching.
Y/N’s parting words echoed in his mind, and for a brief moment, a flicker of doubt crossed his face. He had lost his only true family in the Starks, and now even Y/N, the girl who had treated him like a brother for years, despised him, and rightfully so. Despite his stolen throne, Theon felt more alone than ever before.
She was supposed to become a prisoner in her own bedroom chambers, but Y/N Stark was no prisoner — At least, not for long. That night, before Theon could instill his faux sense of discipline and power on her, she escaped through the old tunnels she had explored as a child, her heart set on freedom and revenge. She fled back into the Wolfswood, where the wolves of her ancestors watched over her and awaited the Stark she-wolf to reclaim her home. Yes, the initial plan failed, but there was one last thing she could do -
Return to Ramsay Snow and get the Bolton army on her side.
Once she reached the forest edge close to the Dreadfort, Y/N dismounted and stumbled through the underbrush of the Wolfswood, her clothes torn and her face streaked with tears and dirt. Once she saw the fort in her sight, she took a deep breath and let out a long, haunting howl, the sound echoing through the trees like a wolf’s cry — A cry of both pain and a call for her true brethren to reunite as one once more.
She felt her voice tearing at her throat as she called out into the cold, sharp air. Her fury was boundless. It was the Boltons who had betrayed her family's trust, Roose Bolton who teamed up with Tywin Lannister and orchestrated the Red Wedding, the massacre that took her mother and her brother from her. He was going to pay for betraying her trust. They all will. She will have their skins.
Before long, the silence of the woods was broken. Meleys, her loyal Red Queen, sprinted through the undergrowth, her frozen eyes gleaming in the low light. Behind her, padding quietly, came Jade, her beloved fokin - But it was not just her darling animal-sisters who emerged from the darkness.
As she expected, Ramsay followed shortly after, his black hair wild and messy, his expression one of uncharacteristic joy at the sight of her. For a moment, a flicker of something softer passed through his icy blue eyes, a twinkle of hope. She had come back to him, the only living being he had ever truly wanted - She returned to him, just as she promised.
Y/N’s greeting was, however, far from warm and heartfelt; She snarled at him, her hand instinctively going for her bow. In one swift motion, she nocked an arrow and aimed it at his chest. “Y/N…” Ramsay began, his voice low, almost tender. "You've come back to—"
"Stop right there, you traitorous bastard!" she growled, her voice dripping with venom. She didn't care about the small smile that briefly flashed on his face, or the way his hands slowly rose as if in surrender. She loosed a warning arrow, purposefully missing him by inches, letting it thud dangerously into the trunk of a nearby tree. “Don’t you dare say my name!” she screamed, her voice shaking. Another arrow flew, this one even closer to him, landing in the snow at his feet. “You... you monster! How could you let this happen? How could you betray us? How could you betray me?”
Ramsay's smile faded, replaced by a look of confusion, then anger. His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t step forward. Not yet. How dare she accuse him?! And of what, he didn't even know - How dare she?! How DARE she?!
"Betray you?" Ramsay's voice was bubbling and sneering but laced with an undercurrent of fury. He finally realised - It was all about his father's betrayal of the Stark family. Of course. Of - fucking - course. He knew his father was going to ruin everything he ever did in his life - That blasted worm... "You think I had something to do with that?!”
"You’re a Bolton!" Katrina shouted, another arrow notched and ready. “Your father slaughtered my family! My mother, my brother! They were all butchered! Tortured! And for what? For Theon fucking Greyjoy to burn my little brothers alive and take Winterfell for himself?” her voice cracked, and tears welled up in her eyes, though she refused to let them fall. "You knew! You had to have known!"
“I didn’t!” Ramsay spat, his voice growing desperate as her accusations cut into him. “I had nothing to do with it!” his tone was raising with every bit of defense he had to shout to be heard.
"LIAR!" Y/N screamed, and her voice broke as the tears finally spilled down her cheeks. “You’re no different than him! You’re just like your father, Ramsay! You’re—”
In that moment, Ramsay snapped, something inside him, probably his sanity, shattered. The frustration, the rage, the desperation to make her understand, to stop her from hating him - They all boiled over. With a savage growl, he moved faster than she could react, lunging forward and knocking the bow from her hands.
He slammed her back against a nearby tree, his hands gripping her shoulders with a bruising force; She gasped, her breath coming in ragged pants as she stared up at him, wide-eyed like a fawn and trembling, her heart pounding furiously in her chest.
“Shut up!” Ramsay growled through gritted teeth, his face inches from hers. “You don’t get to talk to me like that. You don’t get to blame me for what he did!” he snarled at her like a rabid beast.
Y/N’s breath hitched, and for a brief moment, she was silenced — Bot by fear, but by the intensity of Ramsay’s gaze on her. It burned into her, wild, petrifying and unhinged, filled with emotions she couldn’t quite decipher. Her tears streamed down her face in endless waterfalls, and she tried to shove him away, but he only pressed her harder against the tree, their bodies closer than ever before.
“I have nothing to do with that.” Ramsay snarled, his breath hot against her face. “Nothing - Yet you… You came back, just to accuse me like this?”
She opened her mouth to protest, to explain herself, but before she could speak, Ramsay’s lips crashed against hers in a violent, desperate kiss. Her entire body tensed, shocked by the suddenness of it, by the raw hunger in the way his mouth moved against hers. She tried pushing against him, her mind going crazy, but Ramsay was relentless, strong, and his hands were gripping her tighter as if he was trying to claim her once again, to force her back into submission.
For a moment, her mind blanked, overwhelmed by the intensity of the kiss, her very first kiss; The way his lips devoured hers with a desperation she had never seen in him before. When she finally managed to shove him off, they both stood there, breathing heavily, the air thick with unspoken emotions.
“What…” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “What did you—”
Ramsay’s eyes softened for just a moment. “I didn't betray you.” he said, his voice quieter now, like a threatening low whisper. “Don't ever do that to me ever again. Not even the Old Gods could stop me from tearing you apart if you accuse me of such horse shite ever again. You hear me?!"
She glared at him through her tears, still uncertain, still struggling with the whirlwind of emotions tearing her apart. She wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that Ramsay wasn’t involved in the betrayal of her family, but the bitterness of grief and the sting of betrayal ran deep.
“I will kill him.” Ramsay promised, his voice turning dark again as he took a step closer, his hands still resting on her shoulders. “Once he legitimises me, I will kill him. He deserves it for everything he did to me - To us." he hissed softly, his lips almost touching her again. "I will flay him alive for you."
Y/N looked up at him, her expression torn. She was still angry, still grieving, but the conviction in his voice made her pause; She believed him. “I heard what that worthless cockroach did to your home.” Ramsay continued, his voice dripping with venom. “I will gift you Winterfell back, and Theon Greyjoy's skin made into a flag."
Y/N’s lips trembled, her heart torn between hatred and hope. She stared up at Ramsay, her thoughts swirling. She had seen so much darkness, so much death - And yet, through all the horrors of the world, Ramsay Snow remained the only person she fully trusted... The one person who might be twisted and screwed in the head enough to give her the vengeance she craved.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the air between them heavy with tension. Finally, she nodded, her voice a soft, broken whisper. “Bring me Winterfell… And bring me Theon Greyjoy. Alive, but not for long.”
Ramsay’s lips curled into a wicked smile as he leaned down, his forehead brushing against hers. “It’s yours.” he whispered. “All of it.” his lips trailed down to her ear, whispering sultry. "All of me."
For the first time in a long time in may painful years, Y/N felt a gleaming of something resembling hope — Dark, twisted, insane hope, but hope nonetheless. They would take Winterfell back, and they would make sure that every betrayal was paid for in blood - That's what he promised her; She kept her promise to him, and it was time for him to reciprocate.
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Winterfell will be reclaimed by the shocking wit of the bastard of the Dreadfort - Truly, not only did Y/N never imagine he would be so witty, but also such a fantastic actor; He would play the role of a half-wit peasant called Reek, bring her to Theon as a prize, and gain his trust - Trust which will be oh-so-satisfyingly shattered once Reek betrays him and becomes Ramsay once more... And he will learn his place, that pesky little filth.
The frigid winds howled through the corridors of Winterfell, but within the walls, tension simmered hotter than any hearth. The once-proud castle of Winterfell was shadowed by the Kraken banners of House Greyjoy, their sigil hanging where the direwolf of Stark once stood tall and proud for generations.
Ramsay had donned the rags of a peasant, dirtying himself with soot and mud until he was nothing more than a shadow of the handsome yet brutal man he truly was.
He became "Reek", it rhymes with "Meek", it rhymes with "Leek", it rhymes with "Weak" - a pathetic and broken figure, eager to please and loyal only to Lord Theon Greyjoy. Y/N, playing along, allowed herself to be dragged in as his prisoner, bound and silent, though her eyes burned with cold fury and thirst for a torturous revenge.
Theon, still drunk on his fleeting power-trip, was easily fooled by their flawless charade; He sneered at Y/N, mocked her, and paraded her around like a trophy in front of her people. "Lookie here, Lady Stark came back home!" he struck her face so hard she fell to the ground. Each word, each cruel jest, was like a knife twisted in Y/N’s heart repeatedly, and added salt and cyanide - But she held herself together, knowing that it was only temporary.
She could feel the storming wrath in Ramsay's eyes - The humiliation won't last long, before he snaps and goes berserk. Theon had fallen too far to see the trap being laid for him. Even as he and "Reek" bonded over Y/N’s torment, the bastard’s true self remained hidden, seething beneath the surface, watching and waiting impatiently to destroy this worthless cunt who thinks himself a King.
One of Greyjoy's favourite ways of tormenting the she-wolf was to degrade her in front of his Ironborn; He'd force her to kneel before him, his foot on her shoulder, and would belittle her. "You like kneeling for men, don't you, Y/N? Is that what you did in King's Landing? Whore yourself for any man who gave you attention?" he laughed mockingly at her, looking at Reek for validation, to see if his joke was funny. "The proud Lady Stark, sucking cock like a greedy slut!" he wanted to go further, to take out his dick and dangle it in her face - But something in him couldn't go that far; Was it their previous sibling bond, or the fact that he practically froze under the harsh blizzard-like glare of her eyes - He kicked her to the ground, having his people drag her back to her room, before he took Reek away from there.
Reek kept his eyes downcast and his hands clenched into fists whenever Theon mistreated his sweet little thorny rose. He would swallow down his rage, pretending to be the loyal, cowardly "Reek" who would never dare to defy his master. His nails would dig into his palms until they drew blood, the pain a reminder to keep his cover intact, no matter how badly he wanted to rip Theon apart with his bare hands. He will pay with his skin, and not only. The more he saw Theon mistreating his darling, the more he wanted to make him feel eternal pain. He will lose his cock, his finger nails, toe nails, and more...
He would shove her around, slap her, hit her, insult her and more; So many threats of him fucking a bastard into her womb, and that he will beat her pregnant belly until she loses the babe; Each word he addressed her way became a new way of Ramsay to torture him.
But one night he went to far... Too far, even for Ramsay to accept. Theon had dragged him into Lady Stark's chambers; He buried his hand into her hair, throwing her onto the bed, his hands gripping at her slender body. "Don't you fucking dare..." came a low, guttural rumble, a threat, a warning... But the Kraken was deaf and blind; He ripped the bodice of her dress and with a weirdly strong grip, he tried to spread her legs apart for him to get to her honeyed core. "I will tear you apart, Theon Greyjoy."
"Shut up, you greedy little whore, I know you're desperate for me... You've always looked at me, since we were little..." with a strike to her face, he slumped over her body, rendering her unable to struggle away. "Don't play coy with me - I know you're not pure anymore - You cannot be."
"Listen to me, Theon Greyjoy - I am not yours to claim." she smirked with wicked defiance; She knew her wait was over, and she could rise up and riot. "The only man allowed to claim me is Ramsay Bolton."
"Then I'll make sure to tell him how tight your cunt is." his hand was fumbling with his breeches, ready to take his cock out and fulfill his promise, until...
"I'd like to see you try." Theon was fell limp over Y/N's body, knocked unconscious by an iron poker struck onto his head. "You don't get to touch her - Filth." THE Theon Greyjoy crumpled to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, his body lifeless except for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, as Ramsay had to restrain himself to jump on him and punch him to death - He deserved far, far worse for even daring to touch his precious Kitten's skin... Let alone think he can CLAIM her.
"Took you long enough." Y/N found herself panting for air, regaining her senses.
"Be glad I'm not claiming you right now." he was trembling with anger as he hissed under his breath.
"You can claim me in front of him." her bold, teasing voice made him snap at her, his eyes wide, tormented. "Down in the dungeons, when you've had your way torturing him... After you cut that useless prick off... Tormented him..."
"Shut up." he growled at her. "Get your people back, raise your flag - Just get away from me." his warning made a shiver go down her spine, and she scurried away from her chambers. She'd never seen Ramsay so pissed that he couldn't control himself even around her. She will let him have his fun for a while, let him cool down on his own, before she returns to check on him.
She moved to the court where the few remaining people of Winterfell— Those who had not yet been driven away or killed — Waited in tense silence. They had seen the Starks fall, seen the banners torn down and replaced with the Kraken of the Ironborn. But now, standing before them, was their last glimmer of hope — The rightful heir to Winterfell. The Queen in the North.
Y/N looked out at the faces of her people, her voice ringing out clear and strong, despite the bruise forming on her cheek. “Theon Greyjoy is no more. Winterfell is our home once more!" there was no mistaking the fierce determination that burned within her - The Scarlet She-Wolf of the Stark House. Once she cupped her hands to her mouth, she let out a loud howl, haunting, booming, alert; Meleys joined in, and from the forest, many more were heard.
The Stark Wolves howled under the Northern Moon once again.
After the bastard finished tying up the naked, unconscious Theon Greyjoy on a wooden X-cross in the dungeons, he went out, watching his Kitten's loud meowing from the shadows, and he held a satisfied smirk on his face. That was his girl, he thought to herself, feeling power brewing in his chest as the people cheered loudly on her - Queen in the North, Lady Y/N Stark - With all the strength and fury of the North.
He slipped away, heading toward the gates where his own forces waited in the cover of night. He signaled them, and like a tidal wave, the Bastard's Boys stormed the premises, decimating any Ironborn still alive. Of course, Y/N wasn't happy to see foreign armies in her home - Alas, she had to accept it for a while.
Back in the dungeons, Theon awoke to the cold, damp darkness, his head throbbing and his wrists bound tightly with burning ropes. He could hear the distant sounds of battle above, the faint screams of his men as they were cut down one by one. Panic surged through him, but before he could cry out, the door to his cell creaked open, and Ramsay stepped inside, carrying the Greyjoy flag in his hands.
With a cruel grin, Ramsay unfolded the Kraken banner before Theon’s wide, terrified eyes. “You’ve made quite a mess of this place, haven’t you, Theon?” Ramsay drawled, his voice mocking. “But don’t worry, I’ll be sure to clean it up.”
With a twisted grin, Ramsay unceremoniously pissed on the Greyjoy flag, defiling it just as Theon had defiled Winterfell. The stench filled the air, and Theon recoiled in horror, but Ramsay only laughed — A dark, mirthless sound that echoed through the dungeon like a death knell.
Ramsay approached him slowly, his leather gloves creaking as he flexed his fingers. His expression was calm, almost serene, but the fire in his pale blue eyes told a different story. He was eager, too eager to start, but he reined himself in, savoring the anticipation. He wanted to make Theon fully aware of what was coming before he even laid a hand on him.
"Reek?! What - How did I get here?! Go on, get me out of here! What are you waiting for?!" but Theon was horrified to see the empty grin of Reek growing ever wider... Twisted, cruel, malicious. "Reek...?! I order you, as Lord Theon Greyjoy, to get me the hell out of here!"
"Y/N was right, you are as stupid as it gets." the bastard scoffed. "I am not 'Reek' - You are! You are Reek." he got close to his face. "And I - I am Ramsay Bolton." Theon's eyes widened with shock and horror, realising he tried to rape this psychopath's woman in front of him; He threatened and tormented her - In front of him.
“You thought you could have her...” Ramsay said, his voice soft, almost conversational, as he circled Theon like a wolf preparing to strike. “Y/N - MY Y/N." he hummed softly. "The Red She-Wolf Queen in the North, Y/N Stark, The Lady of Winterfell... Otherwise known as my precious little Kitten.” He smiled darkly as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against Theon's ear. “You thought you could take what’s mine?”
Theon’s eyes widened with terror, but he couldn’t respond with words that weren't protests or pleas. in his mouth. “Please… Ramsay…” Theon stammered, his voice trembling with fear. “I didn’t mean—”
“Shhh…” Ramsay placed a gloved finger to Theon’s lips, cutting him off. “I’m not interested in your excuses, Greyjoy. I’m interested in watching you suffer.”
Without another word, Ramsay picked up a small, sharp blade from his table of tools. He held it up for Theon to see, letting the dim light from the torches glint off the steel. He then moved toward Theon's hand, grabbing it roughly. Ramsay pressed the blade to Theon's fingers, drawing shallow cuts along the tips—just enough to sting, just enough to let Theon feel the sharpness of the pain before the real suffering began.
He gasped and grunted, squirming, trying to pull his hand away, but Ramsay held him firm, his grip painful and firm. “This is only the foreplay.” Ramsay whispered, his voice dark and dangerous. “You’ll feel every inch of what I’m about to do to you - And I’ll enjoy every second.”
The bastard had chosen a small patch of skin on Theon's chest located where he knew the pain would radiate and linger. He peeled back the flesh slowly, deliberately, relishing in the sight of Theon's blood as it oozed from the wound, along with his screams; His body was convulsing with excruciating agony, but Ramsay remained unfazed - In fact, his nether regions grow hot with desire and lust; He always got aroused when torturing people. His hands worked expertly, and every cry from Theon only seemed to spur him on.
“You should have known better - You have only yourself to blame, Reek.” Ramsay said with an almost casual tone as he continued his work. “You think you’re a lord, you think you’re in control, but you’re not. You never were. Y/N could never belong to a filthy wretch like you. You’re nothing. Nothing but an urchin pretending to be a lord.”
As Theon’s screams grew louder, Ramsay only leaned in closer, whispering in his ear. “This is what happens when you try to steal what belongs to me.”
Once Ramsay was satisfied with the patch of flayed skin, he moved on to Theon’s fingers again, this time bending them back slowly until he heard the satisfying crack of bones breaking. Theon’s howls echoed through the dungeon - Utterly powerless, utterly broken.
“What’s wrong, Reek?” Ramsay mocked, his voice dripping with amusement. “These fingers tried to touch my woman. I either remove them, or kill you, you see? You have to get purified if you want to remain alive."
Theon, shaking from both pain and terror, could only whimper in response - He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to continue living or not, the pain was unbearable. His body was drenched in sweat, his skin pale, and his breath came in ragged gasps, and Ramsay wasn’t done. He wanted more. He needed to hear Theon beg, to hear him plead for the mercy that would never come.
Ramsay brought out a thin iron rod, heated in the fire until it glowed red-hot. He held it up, letting Theon see it, letting him anticipate the pain to come. “It's getting rather cold in here, don't you think? And you're all naked... Let me heat you up a little!” Ramsay exclaimed with a wicked grin.
“Please… Please, no more!” Theon sobbed, his voice barely audible through the tears. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”
Ramsay’s grin only widened as he pressed the hot iron against Theon’s thigh. The stench of burning flesh filled the air as Theon screamed louder than ever, his entire body shaking with agony. Ramsay watched with dark satisfaction, his eyes gleaming with twisted delight as Theon writhed in pain beneath him.
But then... The bastard went on to remove that worthless little prick of his... And Theon Greyjoy lost consciousness from the agony.
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With Winterfell reclaimed once more, Roose Bolton had reason to celebrate, and so did the Crown, who not only appointed him Warden of the North; but offered his bastard son the legitimisation every bastard dreamt of; Ramsay Snow was no more - Ramsay Bolton finally took over - And Roose was going to make a special trip to tell him just that.
The grand hall of Winterfell had been transformed for the feast. Lord Bolton, as imposing as ever, entered, met with a display of power and wealth. Y/N had spared no expense in preparing a lavish meal - His last meal. The long table was covered with roasted meats, warm bread, and jugs of dark wine. The hall glowed with the light of torches and hearths, and a low hum of music filled the air.
Ramsay stood at the head of the table, his face a mask of restraint, as his father entered. Katrina was seated beside him, regal and defiant, her eyes never leaving Roose's cold figure.
Roose barely acknowledged her at first, his eyes fixed on Ramsay. "You've done well, Ramsay." Roose remarked, his tone devoid of warmth as he took his seat. "Winterfell is yours. You’ve managed not to disgrace the name I gave you, for once." as harsh as ever. "Now, you are truly Ramsay Bolton." with that, he threw the letter at his son.
That letter had arrived from King's Landing just that day - Ramsay Snow truly was no more. He had been legitimized by the King's royal decree. He was now Ramsay Bolton, the only living true son of Lord Bolton, no longer the Bastard of Bolton. This was everything Ramsay had ever desired — Power, status, and legitimacy.
This was it - He had the Dreadfort, he had the Bolton name, and he had Y/N. He had everything he ever wanted in his grasp.
It was time to take one step further; He will be the son of Lord Bolton no more - He will be Lord Bolton.
Ramsay smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you, father.”
But as the feast began, Roose turned his attention to Katrina, eyeing her in a manner that made Ramsay’s blood boil. The cold Lord of the Dreadfort spoke of her as though she were little more than a breeding sow, not even present in the room.
“She’s a Stark.” Roose said dismissively between bites of food. “Strong bloodline - But don’t let her think she has power of Winterfell, Ramsay - She’s just a woman after all. Her worth is in her womb, in the heirs she can give you. Many heirs... Strong boys to continue our line.”
Y/N’s face twisted with fury at the crude comment, and Ramsay’s fist clenched beneath the table. He had never been a man to hide his anger well, but for a moment, he restrained himself. His eyes flickered toward his sweetling, and he could see her seething. Roose's words had wounded her pride, and that was something Ramsay would never allow. He spoke ill of her far too many times - But he will speak no more.
After a few more tense exchanges that he hadn't even heard, Ramsay stood and moved toward his father, his expression darkening. “You’ve always been so wise, father.” Ramsay said in a soft voice, though the undercurrent of malice was undeniable. “And I have always sought your approval.”
Roose raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious of the sudden shift in his son's demeanor, but before he could react, Ramsay pulled him into an embrace, feigning affection. "But I’m afraid it’s time for you to step aside." Ramsay whispered into his father's ear. "I am Lord Bolton now."
In one swift motion, Ramsay plunged a dagger deep into Roose’s gut. The older man gasped in shock and the sharp pain of the twist, eyes wide with disbelief. He tried to pull away, but Ramsay held him close, continuing to twist the blade cruelly, to make him feel the same pain he always did. The hall fell into stunned silence as the Lord of the Dreadfort staggered backward, blood pouring from the wound.
“Goodbye, father.” Ramsay sneered as Roose collapsed to the ground, his hands desperately clutching at the bleeding wound. Ramsay’s eyes shifted to Meleys, the red wolf that had been protectively waiting at Y/N’s side. “Meleys.” he called, his voice cold as winter’s night. The wolf moved with deadly grace, approaching Roose with glowing, hungry eyes. With one swift leap, Meleys tore into Roose's already weakened form, ripping flesh from bone as blood pooled on the stone floor, her red fur mingling with his red blood.
Y/N watched the scene unfold with a dark satisfaction in her eyes, not even realising she was grinning. There was no remorse, no sorrow— Only cold justice and triumph. She had grown ruthless, just as life had molded her to be. And now, her tormentor was dead. She felt no pity for Roose Bolton. He had betrayed her family, destroyed everything she once held dear. His death was a small payment for the suffering he had caused.
As the last breath escaped Roose’s lips, Y/N turned to Ramsay. “He deserved worse.” she said softly.
Ramsay smiled. “I thought so too, but I wanted to give you a special gift."
Katrina’s lips curved into a small, bitter smile. “Truth is - While I was in King’s Landing, I took a potion - Something to ensure I would never bear children. I almost died, and the pain was excruciating, but it paid off. As a prisoner, I couldn’t allow anyone to use me for my bloodline - As their political pawn and breeding-stock." she let out an empty chuckle. "I never wanted heirs anyway - And neither did you."
Ramsay stared at her for a moment, processing the words. Slowly, his smile returned, but this time it was something different — Almost relieved. “You clever, clever kitten.” he murmured, stroking her cheek, painting her skin with the blood of his father. “No babes, no risk of you dying in childbirth, no squalling brats to annoy me. You’ve just made everything so much easier for the both of us.” he grinned all sultry and enticing. "I never could resist you."
Katrina chuckled softly, leaning into his touch. “I am yours, Ramsay. Yours and yours alone. No one will ever take that from you.”
Ramsay’s hand trailed down to her throat, his thumb brushing over her pulse. “Good.” he whispered, his voice low and possessive. “Because I’ve never wanted to share you with anyone.”
Katrina looked into his eyes, seeing the madness, the obsession, but also the devotion that lurked beneath. She knew she had tamed the beast within him, at least enough to keep him by her side. Ramsay had given her everything — Her home, her revenge, and even himself — And in return, she had given him herself, Always and Forever.
"I've got something to show you." the man dragged her back into her chamber, and showed her the beautiful Stark flag gently swaying with the wind. "Perfect view." he stood behind her, his arms around her waist holding her in a tight embrace, his chin resting on her shoulder. "How do you feel being back home, Lady Stark?" the closeness was intoxicating him, suffocating him - And he was craving more.
"Perfect, now that you're here with me." her innocently genuine comment made the man instinctively tighten his grip on her; He wanted desperately to get lost in her heat.
She could feel his heat against her back, the possessiveness in the way his hands lingered at her hips. There was a tension in his touch, a dark hunger that sent a shiver down her spine. But she wasn’t afraid - She never was afraid of him. Instead, there was something else building inside her, something that had been growing for some time now. She was craving his touch more than she needed air to breathe.
Y/N turned slowly to face him, her eyes locking with his. There was a storm in those gorgeous icy blue eyes of his, one that both excited and thrilled her. She could feel her heart racing in her chest, the tension between them palpable, suffocating.
"Ramsay." she spoke in a tender whisper, filled with curiosity and desire. "What do boys and girls do together when they grow up?"
His breath hitched as he remembered the many times he had teased her about that when they were younger; He loved toying with her innocence. The way Ramsay looked at her, the way his fingers brushed along her waist, set her heart racing in a way she didn’t fully understand.
"Show me." she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation and need.
Ramsay’s smirk widened, and without warning, he pushed her back against the bed, his hands gripping her waist firmly. His touch was rough, possessive, and it sent a wave of heat coursing through her veins. His lips hovered inches from hers, teasing, taunting, as he held her there, trapped between him and the comfortable bed underneath her.
"You want it, don’t you?" he whispered, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "My sweet, greedy kitten… You’ve wanted this all along... You've been craving my touch for so long..."
Y/N’s breath came in short, sharp gasps as his words sent a flush of heat and arousal through her body. She didn't know what he was doing to her, but she wanted this... The way his mere words stirred her insides... She was nervous and excited to see what else she could feel... With his breath warm against her lips, and his body pressed against hers.
"Yes." she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, her pride crumbling beneath the weight of her desire for him
"Have you been touching yourself, thinking of me, sweetling?" Ramsay’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and he leaned in closer, his lips brushing hers in the lightest of kisses before pulling back again, teasing her mercilessly. "So greedy." he murmured, his voice full of dark amusement, watching that precious blush of hers. "I’ve barely touched you, and already you’re begging for more."
She let out a soft whimper of frustration, her hands gripping his shoulders as she tried to pull him closer, but he held her firmly in place, refusing to give in just yet. His lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and she could feel the heat pooling in her belly, the need for him growing stronger with every passing second. "Ramsay..." she whined out his name, her voice thick with need. "Stop teasing me... You're so cruel..."
He chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "But where’s the fun in that, my little naughty kitty-cat?" his hands slid lower, teasing her waist, his touch light and maddeningly slow. She could feel her pulse quickening, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the anticipation built to an unbearable crescendo. He knew exactly what he was doing to her — Knew how much she wanted him, how much she needed him — And he reveled in it and the power he held over her.
"You’re mine, Y/N. Forever and Always." Ramsay growled softly, his voice thick with possessiveness. "And I will make sure you never forget who you belong to."
He finally gave in to her silent pleas, his lips crashing down on hers with a fierce, demanding intensity. Y/N moaned sweetly into the kiss, her hands tangling in his dark hair as she pulled him closer, desperate for more. The scorching heat between them was electric, a wildfire that had been building for far too long, and now that it had been unleashed, there was no stopping it.
Ramsay’s hands roamed her body with a possessive hunger, his touch rough and insistent, but she didn’t care — She wanted this, needed this. She had been denying herself for too long, and now, in the darkness of her home, with the snow falling outside and the fire crackling behind them, she finally let go and embraced his hedonism.
When he pulled back, his breath heavy, Ramsay smirked down at her, his eyes dark with satisfaction. She looked so kissable, so needy, so innocent and in need of corruption.
"Such a greedy little kitten... All for me..." he teased, his voice low and full of dark amusement. "Just as I always knew you would be." his whisper was husky and sultry. "Insatiable, greedy, needy... Only for me."
Y/N glared weakly at him, blushing through the timidness of a demure maiden in all her glory, purer than the Maiden, and far more beautiful than the Moon herself - And she was burning with desire that was not even close to being satisfied. "And whose fault is that?" she shot back, her voice breathless.
Ramsay chuckled darkly, leaning in to nip at her lower lip, sending another shiver down her spine. "Mine, of course. I love spoiling my haughty little sweetling." he admitted, his voice full of dark pride and impure thought. "The night is not long enough for all the things I want to do to you..."
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In the aftermath of countless betrayals and bloodshed, the North was finally restored to its rightful rulers - House Stark. Y/N Stark, with the aid of her Lord Husband, Ramsay Bolton, had reclaimed Winterfell - She united the world once more with a claim as strong as that of the previous King in the North, her dear brother, the Young Wolf, Robb Stark; She became Queen in the North, ruling with a wisdom and wit, aided by the ruthless strategies of her beloved Ramsay - And even more surprisingly, the aid of her little brothers, who had survived Theon's siege - They were brought back by Meera and Jojen Reed.
Theon Greyjoy, now a broken man, lived as "Reek" — A forever shattered reflection of the once-proud yet pathetic Ironborn prince. He became Ramsay's pitiful plaything, his mind too far gone to remember even his own true name.
Far away in the Eyrie, Sansa Stark took over the Vale after Sandor had to throw her Lady aunt, Lysa Arryn, through the Moon Door after she dared attack his beloved songbird out of sheer jealousy - Sansa was far more beautiful than Lysa ever was. The she-wolf willingly married Sandor Clegane out of love, feeling safe and sound in his strong, protective embrace for the first time since she left home. Sansa became Warden in the East, and Y/N's eternal ally, just as their Catelyn and Lysa used to be... As Ned and Jon used to be...
The direwolves returned to the North as well, filling the halls of Winterfell with the howl of 'home' once more. Though Grey Wind was dead, and Ghost was loyally protective Jon at Castle Black, everyone else replaced the Stark siblings for Y/N, whenever she missed her sweet brothers and sisters a little too much. The family was sort-of reunited... The pack survived... But at what cost?
Across the Narrow Sea, Daenerys Targaryen, the true Heir to the Crown, laid her claim over King's Landing, with the aid of her dragons and Tyrion Lannister as her Hand; Cersei Lannister and her devil-spawn child were no more; Myrcella had married the Prince of Dorne and happily remained there, whilst Tommen was more than willing to go to his bride, Margaery Tyrell, and live in the peace and prosperity of Highgarden. No doubt, the happiest was Jaime Lannister, who happily married Brienne of Tarth and returned to Casterly Rock as the Warden of the West, enjoying, for once, a normal life, away from the drama of the Crown, and all that his father and sister brought along.
With peace finally settling over Westeros, Daenerys married Jon - Who found out was actually Aegon Targaryen, the only living son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell;
Together they united in A Song of Ice and Fire.
And what became of the little rat of Winterfell? Arya hadn't stepped in Westeros of ages - She was living her best life, traveling West of Westeros, discovering what was never discovered, venturing into the unknown, and exploring to her heart's content. She was the happiest she could ever be. Perhaps, some day, she would return, homesick - Until then, she will become Nymeria of the Rhoynar and sail into the vast horizon.
The terrible Winds of Winter had dissipated, and the Dream of Spring nurtured blooming hope and joy into the people of Westeros once more.
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thewritetofreespeech · 6 months ago
Text
Astarion x Reader
words: 1.5K
rating: T
pairing: Ascended!Astarion x Tav
summary: banking off the Jealous!Tav x Astarion ask, I made one for Ascended verse as well.
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Astarion let out a deep sigh as he walked through the long corridors of his palace towards his chambers. Who knew being a Vampire Lord would be so taxing?
He thought it would be all blood, japes, and all-consuming-power when he ascended, but noooo. Apparently, all that power did not come with an instantaneous dark underground to control and city at his feet. He had to put in effort. Time. A lot of both, which somedays Astarion thought was just not worth it. But his ambitions would not let him rest on his laurels. Even if he did need a rest for the evening.
The doors let out a heavy echo as they close behind him, and Astarion sighed once more as he undid his overcoat. His attention then turned towards the bed as he saw the bedding move. “Darling?” He questioned curiously but knew it couldn’t be.
Tav was out with Shadowheart. Catching up with their dear friend while she was in the city, for reasons that were probably told to Astarion but he couldn’t be bother to remember since he wasn’t going. For once he let them go unaccompanied but was now hopeful that they came back early over missing him terribly.
“Master?” Astarion’s face paled (metaphorically, as it could not get any paler than it already was) as the sheets pulled back an a young, blonde, naked woman appeared from the covers. “I thought you’d never come back tonight.”
“What are you doing here Azura?” He hissed at his latest spawn. A silly girl who begged him for the gift, and Astarion gave it to her for no other reason than he felt his beloved needed a new chambermaid. “You dare enter my chambers, uninvited, and help yourself to my bed. Have you lost your absolute mind?!”
Astarion wasn’t exactly kind to his spawn, but he wasn’t nearly as cruel as Cazador. Which he knew was a very low bar. He gave them a fine amount of freedom to move about the castle. Updated the dorms so they weren’t as spartan as what he had been forced to endure. Almost never tortured them unless they absolutely needed to be punished. And this is how he was repaid?!
“Yes. I have lost my mind. Lost it for you, my master.” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Oh Gods, the idiot was in love. He recognized that soft stare and devoted posture. If her, quite literally, naked display wasn’t enough of a clue he could nearly smell the pheromones off her. “I wanted to surprise you. I wanted to please you.”
“You can please me by getting out.” He pointed to the door although he didn’t compel her. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps he wanted to again be kind and give her the choice. Or just a sick morbid curiosity on how this would play out.
“Leave? You really don’t want me here?” She seemed surprised. Given her beauty this may have been the first time she was rejected, Astarion assumed. It always surprised him when his quarry didn’t take the bait. Perhaps this was a similar feeling for her. “You really don’t want me to stay?”
Azura pulled back the sheets to reveal that she wasn’t truly naked. Just in a thin nightgown that was so transparent it was nearly invisible. Her skin smooth. Her legs long. Her cunt neatly shaved and breast taunt & perky. She’ll lead men to this castle in droves, he thought. Unfortunately, her charms were immune to him.
“Yes. Get out. I won’t repeat myself again.”
The girl jumped off the bed and came closer. Astarion hoped it was for the door, but no such luck. His spawn leaned into him, delicate and wanting. Staring up into his eyes like a lover while he stared back at her with a stern look. “Shouldn’t a master be able to taste what’s his when he likes. Don’t you miss my blood from the first time? Tasting it on your lips?”
He wants to tell her no. That he hasn’t thought about it since that first time. Honestly, he hadn’t thought of her since that first time. But mentions of blood, and the reminder of the power he felt when he took her life and made it his own, does get his own blood to hum.
“You can have it again, if you’d like. Take all of me. A lord, a king, can take anything he wishes. I can be your obedient consort as well. Be one of your most beloved spawn.” As she spoke her body and lips moved closer to him.
“What’s going on here?”
The girl jumped back, quickly. Like she had been licked by fire. Astarion stood still. He hadn’t done anything wrong, technically, so he had no reason to be afraid. Although that cool look in Tav’s eyes was making him seriously question that decision. “I said: what’s going on here?”
“I was….I-I was just….I…”
“You were trying to take my place, eh?” Astarion chuckled at his beloved’s blunt response. Direct and to the point as always.
“Darling, as if she could.” He moved over to Tav. Separating himself completely from his spawn to sooth his consort. “This is just some misplaced adoration of a spawn and their master. Granted we’ve gone a little far…”
“It’s not misplaced! I love you!” There was a growl in Tav’s throat and Astarion huffed at the girl’s childish pleas. He really had been trying to help her here. “I would never leave you alone like they would! I would be loyal to you always! I can be twice the consort they are if you just give me a ch—"
She doesn’t get to finish asking for her chance that would never come. As her head was hanging limp to the side, nearly off her shoulders. Blood gushing from the gaping hole in her throat. Spraying across the room and down her thin negligee. Once translucent material now opaque as it was drenched in crimson. “Well…that was something.”
“It’s not funny Astarion!” Tav yelled at him. Their eyes were wild and angry as they whipped around to glare at him. A powerful shiver running up his spine in the face of that heat.
“Of course it’s funny. All this for something so trivial. As if this scrap of nothing could have replace you. My beloved, perfect consort.” Astarion came close and lifted their bloody hand to kiss it gently. “No one could, would, or ever will replace you, my love. My wicked heart is yours, for all eternity.”
“Why didn’t you tell her that then?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t think it needed to be said.” His poor dead spawn had to know she was taking a long shot when she came here. And if she didn’t then she was too dumb for Astarion to have around anyway. Still, he supposed Tav was right. He could have made more of an effort to stop her. “Still, it is rather cute that you can still get jealous over my affection. It makes me so hot. Watching you fight over me.”
He heard Tav sigh when he kissed by their ear and then jaw. Hearing them mutter, “not much of a fight” which made his cock harden in his breeches.
“Perhaps I should flirt with women and men more often.”
Astarion felt a hard jerk of his own pristine, sharp jaw away from Tav. Their nails digging into the soft skin of his cheek as they stared at them with a blazing hatred he hadn’t seen since the Elder Brain or that disgusting necromancer in the crypt. “Don’t.” A single word. Sharp. Direct.
He doesn’t like to be told ‘no’ often these days. He’s killed men for less presses against his authority. But that sharp look, one that promised his beloved would leave a trail of bodies like rose petals at his feet if he even pretended to be interested in them, made his blood boil with desire. It’s a beat in his heart that echoes his own. The agonies he would face on men who even stared at his beloved too long. Their glances were only for him. Their body was only his. Their conversations, their passions, their life, their loyalty, all of it was his. He supposed the least he could do was not pretend to be fickle with it.
“Very well, my love. I won’t. My sweet words will, as always, be for you alone. Plus, we can’t have your jealousy wreaking havoc all over the castle & city. Just think of the stains.”
He kissed Tav, to reassure them that his love was for them and them alone, picking them up and carrying them to the bed to remind them properly. As he carried them to their bed, he stepped over poor dead, double dead, Azura’s body. Already forgotten. Already not even a memory. Just a stain in the carpet that would need to be sorted out in the morning.
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beneathashadytree · 5 months ago
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HEY GUYS! LONG POST HERE, BUT PLEASE READ🙏🏽
I am genuinely appalled by the discourse ongoing in the LNDS fandom these past few days—but above all, I am severely disappointed in what had started out as one of the most inclusive and sweet fandoms I’ve ever been in. I have a few things to say, so in this post I’m trying to put all my thoughts to words. Apologies if I sound harsh, but I’m genuinely livid. Also, please ignore any typos. I’m not wearing my glasses while word-vomiting.
First off, for a fandom that is composed of mostly adults, you guys have been acting terribly childishly. It’s 2024, and yet people are still unironically shaming others for “switching up on their favs” as if a person owes 2D characters any loyalty. Let people enjoy things. The novelty of Sylus and how he’s quite literally 6 months behind the other 3 love interests makes people want to catch up on the enjoyment of him all at once. He’s still such a brand new character and concept, so there’s no wonder everyone’s hyped up over him.
I’ve seen people get genuinely mad at other players and writing whole think-pieces about this. I promise you guys, the company making this game is still benefiting whether you’re pouring your money into Sylus or any one of the previous 3. We’re all happy to have an interesting character pop up among the roster now, and we’re taking our time getting to know him. Doesn’t make any of the first 3 any less loved. I genuinely don’t remember this amount of nastiness when solo events for each of the guys used to drop.
In fact, if the popularity thing is worrying you, going off MLQC (the company’s past game) the character who was last added was—eventually, after the initial hype died down—kicked off to the sidelines in most major events and was given the least content, and was the least favorite of fans.
Secondly, and this has my blood boiling, there is an insane amount of entitlement and rudeness I’ve seen on my timeline concerning how people characterize the men—particularly Rafayel.
Absolutely nothing warrants this shitty attitude towards other creators for how they depict characters in their fics. It seems you guys feel protected behind a screen and think it gives you the right to bully strangers online. Fanfiction is for fantasizing about your favs; for letting your imagination run wild. If this were a character analysis, then yes, maybe I’d agree that inaccuracies are aggravating. However, in fanfiction, there are zero rules, especially when it comes to smut.
Sexual preferences are not equivalent to a person’s whole personality—so whether he’s written as a dom, a sub, a switch, or whatever the fuck you wanna call it, this has nothing to do with his kindness, gentlemanliness, passion, power, ruthlessness, snark, or whatever minuscule aspect of his character makes up his lovely whole and matters to you.
I think this circles back to a lack of ability to separate sexual matters and personality, because how else do people interpret fics depicting him in a certain manner as them erasing his character? They might overlap, but they can very well be mutually exclusive. I’ve seen incredibly sweet and gentle men irl who were absolute doms in bed, and I’ve seen powerful and passionate men who were reduced to tears between the sheets. There is barely any correlation whatsoever, and if anything, claiming otherwise is what I consider piss-poor media literacy and reading-comprehension.
My third point is that for some reason, there have been many, many posts and replies on here where I’ve seen people just straight-up spread pure hate for the characters. Maybe this bothered me in particular because I’m an OT3 (OT4 now!) and absolutely adore all of them, but I find no logical reason for “yucking someone’s yum” when we’re talking about liking the characters of an Otome game—a genre of video games which is made to literally cater to the tastes of as many people as possible.
It’s especially disheartening to see when it’s at a time like this, when new content is about to drop, and you find in the replies of every other post/discussion at least a few people spewing hate and disgust at Sylus. Again, so many people are incredibly excited about him. Why is there a need to rain on everyone’s parade, especially in such an unsolicited manner?
This fandom originally started as a safe space for people of all races, backgrounds, genders, sexualities, and personalities to bond over our mutual love for characters. All I’ve seen on my TL lately (in terms of discussion) is negativity, and it’s such a fucking let-down. I hope whatever the fuck has happened to this fandom cools down after a bit. It’s probably exaggerated and very in-your-face rn, cause more and more people are downloading LNDS, so the probabilities of finding people being nasty are increasing. But I seriously don’t want to grow to resent this fandom and find myself distancing myself from it to protect my peace.
Let’s all remember to be kind towards other players, to not act entitled or bratty about the characters, and to try and mind our own business if we see content that doesn’t suit our tastes.
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newobsessionweekly · 6 months ago
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One Rule Down
Part 2 of The rules are made to be broken series (18+)
part 1 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6
Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist
Tim Bradford x female!TO!reader
Fandom: The Rookie
Warnings: NFSW, explicit sexual content. 18+, mentions of blood, shooting, GSW, pain, r being shot, not proofread yet.
Summary: Tim breaks one rule after you got hurt on a call.
Smut A/N: def not the fic I had in mind to post. I seriously forgot abt this series and I loved writing it. Still in my break, but found this in my drafts and I said why not. @senjoritanana thanks for reminding me of this series ✨
Requested: no Words: 1.9k GIF not mine, credits to the owner!
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The radio crackled to life with the urgent call—a report of a disturbance at a convenience store on the outskirts of the city. Without hesitation, you and your rookie sprang into action, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you raced toward the scene.
Arriving at the store, you were met with chaos. Shattered glass littered the pavement, and panicked screams filled the air as bystanders fled in all directions. Nolan took cover behind the shop, scanning the area for any sign of danger, while you positioned yourself nearby, ready to support him at a moment's notice.
"LAPD! Drop your weapons!" you demanded, but the only response was something far away from cooperation.
A group of armed men emerging from the store, their faces obscured by masks as they brandished weapons with lethal intent. You're outnumbered, you thought to yourself.
"7-Adam-15, requesting backup at the 6077 W 3rd street. Eight armed men, no sight of cooperation." you radioed, watching over Nolan's.
You nodded your head, silently telling him backup is on its way and to proceed only if necessary before help arrives.
But before you could even react, a figure emerged behind Nolan, a weapon glinting in their hand. Instinct took over as you lunged forward, pushing Nolan out of harm's way just as the gunman opened fire.
As you moved to shield Nolan from an oncoming barrage of bullets, a searing pain ripped through your side, causing you to stumble backward with a cry of agony. Blood stained your uniform as you collapsed to the ground, your vision swimming with pain and adrenaline.
Pain exploded through your body as the bullet struck true, sending you crashing to the ground in a heap. The world spun around you as you struggled to catch your breath, the taste of copper lingering on your tongue as darkness threatened to consume you.
"7-Adam-15, requesting backup and R/A to my location, officer down!" you heard Nolan's voice crackle over the radio, his words a distant echo in your ears as you fought to stay conscious. "I repeat, officer down!" Through blurred vision, you watched as Nolan returned fire, his movements swift and precise as he engaged the gunman in a fierce firefight.
But as the minutes dragged on, your strength waned, your vision growing dimmer with each passing moment. The pain was unbearable, a searing heat that radiated through your body, but still, you refused to give up.
With every ounce of strength you could muster, you reached for your radio, your fingers trembling as you struggled to make contact with dispatch. "Backup… R/A… officer down," you managed to choke out, your voice barely a whisper as darkness threatened to claim you.
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As Officer Bradford heard Nolan's panicked voice crackling over the radio, a cold chill ran down his spine, sending shivers of fear coursing through his veins. Without a moment's hesitation, he knew something was terribly wrong with you, and he couldn't bear the thought of you in danger.
Ignoring all protocol and the rules you both agreed upon, Tim threw caution to the wind and bolted into action, his heart pounding in his chest as he raced through the streets of Los Angeles to get to you. Beside him, Lucy Chen clung to her seat, her eyes wide with concern as she tried to keep up with Tim's breakneck speed.
"Backup… R/A… officer down," your voice echoed through the radio, broken and shattered as his heart sank, tightening the grip on the steering wheel.
Arriving at the scene, Tim didn't even bother assessing the situation—he simply rushed to your side, his heart in his throat as he took in the sight of you lying on the ground, blood pooling beneath you. Panic gripped him like a vice as he knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch your face, his touch gentle yet urgent.
"Hey, hey, Y/N, can you hear me?" Tim's voice was hoarse with emotion, his eyes scanning your pale face for any sign of consciousness. "Hang in there, okay? Help is on the way."
It's been months since you both agreed to those rules and everything was by the book. You were seeing Tim almost every night, finding solace in each other's arms, pleasure blooming between you.
Despite his efforts to remain composed, Tim's façade of strength crumbled in the face of your injuries, his hands shaking as he applied pressure to your wound, his mind racing with a million different fears and possibilities. He knew he had broken the rule you both agreed upon, but in that moment, all he could think about was you—your safety, your well-being, your life hanging in the balance.
As the minutes ticked by agonizingly slowly, Tim's anxiety only grew, his heart hammering in his chest as he prayed for the sound of approaching sirens. He didn't care about the suspects still at large or the chaos unfolding around him—all that mattered was you, lying there before him, fighting for your life.
He had broken the cardinal rule, the one about not letting your personal lives disturb your professional duties. And in doing so, he had shattered the fragile balance you had worked so hard to maintain.
Yet, amidst the turmoil of your emotions, there was a part of you that couldn't help but feel grateful for Tim's presence by your side. Despite his gruff exterior and tendency to push people away, he had rushed to your aid without a moment's hesitation, his concern and fear evident in every word and gesture.
As for Tim, he couldn't shake the sense of guilt that weighed heavily on his shoulders. He had broken the rules, betrayed the trust of the one person who meant more to him than he cared to admit. He cursed himself for allowing his emotions to cloud his judgment, as he reached out to take your hand in his, a silent vow formed in Tim's heart: no matter what the future held, he would do everything in his power to protect you and keep you safe, even if it meant breaking the rules one more time.
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The front door opened with a loud noise, drifting you off sleep. Tangled in your sheets, enjoying the silence of some time away from the chaos, it was your last night before you're back on duty.
You haven't heard from Tim since you were shot. After a short visit from him while you were in hospital, too drugged to process what happened, you were left with a buzzing phone, messages from Nolan and Lucy making your days pass agonizingly slow.
There he was today, holding some takeaway in one hand, blocking the light from the hallway penetrate your bedroom. He was tall and imposing, wearing the uniform that made him look like a Greek God.
You didn't make a sound, waiting for him to make the first move "Bought you some food."
He motioned to the bags in his hand as you secretly thanked him. John and Lucy took shifts to drop by your house and bring you something to eat, especially in the first days, when it was impossible for you to move more than ten steps without cursing between your teeth and question the day you decided to become a cop. You don't regret it, but for your safety it was better if you would've chosen another path.
"Thank you," you replied to him, as you tried to maintain a serious expression. You tried to make things as easier as they were, not showing any signs of your feelings, but it was in vain.
Things weren't going to be back as how they were before Tim broke that rule. It wasn't just about the rules, it was about the consequences of his actions, leaving two rookies to handle a situation way out of their league as he rushed to your side, those dangerous men almost slipping away.
Neither of you didn't say a word as you finished the food. He knew he messed up, and it was funnier than it should've been. Tim was the one who came up with those fucking rules and he was the one breaking them. You did it yourself, officer.
Before you could process, you found yourself swirling your tongue around his in a desperate desire. Tim wasn't far behind you, catching up immediately the rhythm of your movements, not backing up any second. He needed this more than he wanted to admit. He needed your touch. He needed to touch you and make sure you're okay.
Keeping his distance in a moment he knew you wished someone to be there by your side, was killing him. But it was necessary, since both of you started to drift off from the rules. And Tim always goes by book. Well, with some exceptions that happen to include you.
Longing for his touch, for him helping you feel anything but pain, decided to get rid of your clothes as quickly as you could. You needed to feel him inside you, to make you whole again.
He was moving painfully slow, memorizing every inch of your skin. You let him guide the rhythm, as you enjoyed his hands on your body, driving you crazy with every kiss placed on your skin. You run your fingers lightly down his body, feeling his boner pressing hard on you.
You wanted him inside you, you wanted to feel him and forget about everything that happened. He traced the shape of your wound, as he teased your nipples slowly, leaving warm marks on them.
"Damn, you are so perfect." he breathed, enjoying the sight of your curves embraced by the warm light laying over them. All of your scars are visible, letting both of you vulnerable. But it didn't stop you.
He cupped your cheeks, pressing his forehead against yours as he closed the distance separating you, making you escape a loud moan of desire that you were holding for too long.
Both your bodies were filled with a warm wetness as he moved slowly inside you, like he didn't want to cause you any more pain. His kisses were sweet and tender, caressing your body as his movements drove you crazy any second. Something in his movements changed, being more gentle, like he didn't want it to stop.
Something in his motion made you wonder if it has to do with his fear of losing you, the same fear that clouded his mind the other days.
The rhythm became more chaotic and intense as you threw your head back into the pillows, tugging on the sheets as pleasure exploded between you in synchrony. Digging your fingers into Tim's shoulders as you locked his gaze, the climax was approached with a sudden burst of energy, making your bodies shake uncontrollably as he was buried deep inside.
After the moment consumed, you thought he'd disappear into the night so suddenly as his arrival. But he didn't, he hold you close, afraid if he'd let go of you, he'll never see you again.
He couldn't understand his feelings, why he desperately wanted to make sure you're okay. You're a grown up woman who can take care of yourself, but still he was there afraid he can't protect you. And he wanted to be able to protect you. In none of the rules wasn't specified that you are not allowed to care for each other, and he placed his care into the professional relationship. But it was far from the truth.
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writingoddess1125 · 1 year ago
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My Heart Breaks Pt. 2
Warning: Angst then Fluff
Buggy X FemReader
Support me on Ko-Fi
Part 1
Replaced the Photo! Cause this was too perfect! Art belongs to Vamos_MK on twitter!!
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You stared up at the blue sky with a tired sigh, finally you were free.. Over two fucking decades it had taken to escape and you did it God damn it!
For the last 20 years you had been imprisoned in the Impel Down- It had been awful yo say the least.. constantly you were trying to protect yourself and saw that the man who had sent you here had been extra cruel in doing so- well not you but the women who you took her place..
You still felt guilt in knowing she had died in your place.. but you couldnt help but be greatful she had wanted to die due to her cause in an accidental death. You hoped in her afterlife she was happy..
However death was definitely kinder then the prison- with monsters at every turn and trying to keep sex deprived prisoners from trying to have their way with you it had been a battle. You had scratched, fought and squeezed your way out of that hellhole.
After a changing of guards you had managed to slip out- unlike most of the prisoners in the Impel Down you had the enate abilies to swim so you did. Stealing a dingy that a negligent marine most likely left behind you made it out. Paddling like your life depended on it sway from that place, however you were in no position to cry in relief yet.
It was another 2 days of paddling before you manages to get to an island. Starving and dehydrated you snuck to the back end of the tiny island so no one saw your prison uniform. Stealing some berries and a pair of clothes from a small cottage you made it through the village, it was clear this place was poor- you blended in with the people who were just as hungry as you and with less berries then you had nabbed.
You went into a pub getting what you could afford, which was bread and cheese and a ale. You took these and stood outside to eat your meal which tasted no better then ash in your mouth.
Looking around you saw two better dressed men walk out of the pub, batting a poor boy on the back and laughing. Congratulating him for joining their merchant ship- catching your ear you finished your meal and drink quickly, following the men. Seeing a large ship with a line of young men wanting to join the ship for a better life and opportunity, so you join them.
Once you reached to the top of the ship, a old man held out a cane to your chest to keep you from moving forward.
"What do you want lady?-" The old Captian sneered at you, Glaring down at your dirty form.
"You're looking for sailors correct?" You say sharply, Taking a steady breath to still your nerves.
"What can a thing like you do on a ship? Do you even have sailing experience?" The Captian laughed in your face. You clenched your fist and glared hard at the asshole.
"Yes I have sailed since I was young- I can.. do cleaning and maintance" You lied a bit- not talking about your skills as a thief since this is just a merchant and not pirates like you were used to. The Captian stared at you for a moment before sighing with a shrug.
"Fine- Welcome to the May's Fairy Lady" He grumbled as he gestured for you to get on board. Sighing in relief as you had a way to sea and a income.
However that was better said then in reality-
To say the merchant ship was terrible as well had been an understatement- It was like the Impel Down all over again.. a group of touch starved and angry men who saw you as an easy target. Thankfully due to your skills you were able to evade any advances, during the day you would stay in the Lower Deck to avoid the men, cleaning and eating the stale bread and water you snagged not trusting the cook since he liked to Leer at you far too long.
At night you would travel to the Main Deck and clean up there and sleep till dawn or if the ship rocked a bit too hard. This had been your like for 3 months till one evening.
While mopping the floor of the deck you looked up at the dark sky, remembering the night with Buggy before that big heist. Grabbing him and kissing his suddently as a way to express your interest in him... your heart hurt at remembering his face when you saw him last at the bars of the window, Placing your bandana and kissing a kiss on the back of his hand.
Snapping you from your melancholy thoughs was a loud bang, seeing what looked like a firework shoot up right above you. Several crew mates from below deck also came up at hearing the noise, you watched the firework come directly on top of the ship before exploding in a cloud of red- It was beautiful. Your favorite shade of red too. The crew began to panic at seeing this as the cloud settled on the ship, you felt woozy and uneasy on your feet before you fell to the damp ground before darkness took you a large shadowy form of a ship came closer and you swore you heard circus music.
Groaning you felt yourself sitting up, a harsh digging from metal against your ankles and wrist. Jerking awake you saw you were seated in wooden benches in a dark room, Hearing the groaning and panic of others around you. You pulled at the chains slightly but winced at how tight they were.
Suddently bright lights turned on, You saw your crew chained up and seated next to you staring at a lowered stage. Your breath picking up as circus music started up, watching as different acts come up- it was almost exactly like how you remembered the show you went to in your childhood? Like someone recreating it from memory? People pulled out sighs to applaud which you saw the merchant nervously do.
"No No NO! It's wrong! That is not how a crowd should clap!" You heard a sharp voice say, walking onto the stage- He looked like a pirate Captian and not apart of the circus. You did see clown paint on his face and a red clown nose- which made your eyes narrow at the sight.
Your eyes focused on the grown man- Watching as he commanded the crowd with a twisted smile and yelled at the circus people. He sighed dramtically and looked in the direction of the crowd- chastising them for their lack of enthusiasm and not laughing with the cues. However the wind felt like it was knocked from your lungs.. You knew those eyes.. that blue hair expertly tucked away and real rounded red nose.
"Bugs?" You called out loud by accident- You saw his whole body freezes mid step. A twitch seemed to have shot through his system as your merchant crew mates all looked back at you with a mixture of pity and fear. You swallow a nervous lump as he did a slow turn in your direction, your face still clouded in shadows by the lack of lights in the audience section. Doing a silent hand movement his crewmates assended on you, yanking you from your restraints roughly and pulling you to the stage with little grace and tossing you at Buggy's feet. Rubbing your swore wrist you looked up at your childhood friend through your mess of hair.
"What the Hell Bugs? Shackles!? When the fuck do you use Mph!-" You were cut off as he grabbed your face hard tp pull you to your feet, his eyes wide and overly dilated like he was seeing a ghost. You actually felt afraid? His eyes seemed different and there was a unknown emotion behind them, you tried to wiggle free but he held you firmly taking his free hand and pushing the hair from your face fully at seeing your face you see it looks like all the air has been sucked from his lungs and he releases you quickly, you stumble back barely able to catch yourself as he stares at you with wide eyes.
"You're alive?..." He said in utter shock. You nod and cough a bit as you rub your sore jaw from his grasp. You open your mouth to speak but he holds a hand to you to silence you. His eyes looking more like what you remembered, that swirl of never ending emotions.
"Cabaji- Take her to be washed, fed and dressed. Leave her in my quarters" He commanded, the green man nodded heavily and grabbed you far gentler now to lead you off stage.
Just as instructed a group of people washed you up in a massive copper bath with nice hot water, dressed you in simple trousers and a tunic and quickly dropped you off with a plate on the end table of the large bedroom.
Seated in a massive bed you look down at the hot plate set before you, your manners thrown out the window as you tucked in. Having been far too long since you had a hot filling meal-
Without thinking you rapidly start eating it, it tasted like heaven enough for tears to well in your eyes as you ate. Before long the plate was gone- and you felt nauseous, yout mistake of eating too quickly and food you hadn't experienced in 20 years. You scrambled up to the nearest trashcan and began to vomit- so hard you didn't hear the door open. Only when a gentle hand touched your back which made you flitch and turn around to see Buggy, his eyes wide at your reaction before your body lurches and you vomited again. Buggy held your hair back this time as you vomited into the poor trashcan.
"Sorry... it's been a while since I got a hot meal" You admitted, spitting the taste of bile away from your lips as you sat back.
"It really is you" Buggy said in disbelief still, Getting down on his knees next to you as he looked over you. How you looked so unhealthy and weak- even after being cleaned he could see that abuse had done its work on you.
"Dear Gods... What happened to you?..." Buggy voice finally cracked, his hand reaching out and cupping your cheek his thumb running over the heavy bags under your eyes and the new scars that had set on your face.
"...I survived" You say softly, Leaning into his warm touch feeling tears begin to fall. In seconds Buggy held you tightly in his arms, your face pressed against his chest as ragged sobs left you, maybe it was finally being free from both jail and the hardships on that awful merchant ship but feeling Buggy's arms around you holding you close just finally released that emotional valve and you cried.. Harder then you had in your entire life into his chest.
You felt his hands smooth over your messy hair and rock you side to side as you sobbed against him. You tried to speak but sobbing nonsense was all that left you and was mumbled through Buggy's shirt.
After almost an hour of crying against Buggy you had worn yourself out, sniffling against him as he gently pulled back to look at your reddened face. His own makeup having dripped away from his red eyes- clearly he had been crying too while holding you.
He wiped your face with his gloved hand and laid kisses on your forehead to comfort you.
"You never have to just survive again... I-Im sorry (Y/N) I couldn't save you" His voice cracked at that, you shook your head.
"I-It would have been impossible. You two would have been killed..." You say with a sniffling tone, trying to control your tone and keep from crying again. Buggy asked what had happened, as you told him the story of your escape, prison time, the pain you had suffered and how you'd escaped to be hired by those merchants. He listened dead silent the whole time his hands rubbing circles in your arms to comfort you. However you saw the rage in his eyes at the pain you'd gone through.
Once done explaining yourself he nodded at this, like he was trying to find the words to explain but couldn't. Instead just giving a bitter chuckle at this, shaking his head in anger. He reached up and took off his hat with a angry sigh and tossed it aside. Your eyes catching the bandana underneath and reaching a hand out to touch the fabric.
"You kept that?.. after all these years?" You whispered confused, the anger on his face leaving as he heard this and left your touch. Reaching up and gently pulling off the old bandana for you to see.
"Of course- you gave it to me... W-When you... left. I was destroyed" He admitted, you stared at him with tears starting to fall from you again.
"I couldn't look at myself in the mirror without seeing the face that had let you down.. so I changed- I smiled for you, wore your favorite red and became Buggy the Clown"
He said with a chuckle and gestured to himself. You bit your lip to keep from crying more, he wiped your tears away with a shaky breath.
"You did that for me? Why?" You whispered, he stared at you silently before having a nervous smile.
"I love you"
His words made your heart skip- like that spark of life from when you were 15 had hit you again. Your eyes met his, he also seemed taken aback by his admittance.
"You love me?" You questioned, seeing him nervously mess with his gloves. He always did have little nervous tics like this whenever he was in a odd position, however peeling off one of his gloves to dig his nail into his palm he nodded. You reached forward and took his hand into your own to keep him from harming his hand further.
"Well I'd hope so after giving you my first kiss on that little boat"
You both giggled at this. You rubbing your thumb on his naked palm, seeing the deep scars that covered his hands- like he had dug his nails into them so many times that his palms was covered in smiley faces.
"Of course, didn't hurt it was my first kiss too" He chuckled but you winked at him.
"Don't lie, I remember the story of you and Shanks running on deck and your guys mouth smashing together. That counted" Buggy shiffered in disgust at the memory and wrinkled his face which made you laugh.
"That doesn't count!" He protest which earned more laughter from you, he smiled widely at this.
"Sooo if both of us are still interested, Would you like to continue what should have been?" You asked, giving him a blushing smile which he returned. A big Goofy grin on his face-
"Well, let's get you healthier first. What about a dinner date?" He suggested, almost giddy and you could see that same boy you once knew under that makeup again.
"Sounds perfect"
TAG LIST:
@oxbunnehxo @starsali @avatar-lover @severesongstarfish @flooftoof @lavalampskyy @blogname-18 @ven1cez
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lanadelnegan · 1 year ago
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could you do jdm x male reader? maybe mostly angst and possibly a bit of smut? literally whatever you feel like writing is perfectly fine
You Belong to Me
Negan x Male Reader
Summary: Negan and y/n (Alexandria’s leader) have unspoken feelings for each other, that lead to frustration, anger, and smut.
Warnings: 18+, smut, EXTREMELY FILTHY IM SORRY, anal, rimming, blowjob, spit kink, choking, cum play, angst, negan being a dominant verbal zaddy
Note: I’ll be honest.. I finished this whole thing before I realized you asked for jdm and not negan. 😭 I PROMISE I’ll do a jdm one too. But I hope you also enjoy this one. I think it might be my favorite so far. 😘
Note#2: and I know you asked for a “bit of smut” but I got carried away and well, it’s a lot. And it’s filthy. Forgive me. 🧎‍♀️ I’m terrible at following directions, clearly.
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Your jaw twitches as Negan walks past you, making sure to brush his hand against yours as he happily whistles the melody that's grown to haunt you over the past couple months.
"Come on, y/n. Let's see what kinda goodies you got in the cupboard."
Some bystanders watch as you follow Negan into your own house, allowing him to browse around.. not that you have a choice.
You glare at Negan with your arms crossed while you lean against the frame of your kitchen entrance.
"Who were you before all this?" You ask him and it must catch him off guard because he turns from the open fridge to face you, raising his thick brows.
"Before what?" He chuckles amused. "Before the dead started walking?"
You answer him with a simple nod.
"Why, y/n? You think if you play mind games.. try to get in my fucking head.. that I'll just what.. stop? I told you already. You belong to me." He approaches you slowly, tilting his head to the side. "Do I need to remind you of that?"
"Not trying to get in your head. Just making conversation since you're standing in my damn kitchen, making yourself at home."
"Well, ya know what. I wasn't planning on settling in. But since you're offeri-"
"I'm not." You say through your teeth, making it clear that he's not welcome here. Negan looks at you at eye level as a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
"That.. is no way to treat your new house guest, y/n. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna bake us some fucking cookies." He walks away, leaving a scent trail of leather and cigarettes behind as he opens your cabinets, pulling out what he needs to get started.
You look to the front door, contemplating your next move and strategically thinking of how to get this psycho out of your house.
"The supplies.. your men are loading them up. Don't you need to leave soon?"
"Oh, right! Thanks for reminding me. Could you be a fucking doll and go tell Simon to head on out without me?" His smile widens as he turns on the faucet, washing his hands.
Hesitantly, you do as he says, leaving to find Simon and explaining the situation before heading back to your house. Some fellow Alexandrians watch you curiously before Carol quickly catches up to you.
"Y/n! What's going on? Where's Negan?" She asks panicked, noticing the Saviors are leaving without him.
"In my fucking house. He's staying."
Her brows crinkle as she walks quickly beside me, trying to keep up. "How long?"
You shrug annoyed. "Keep an eye on things for me while he's here. I'm not letting him outta my sight."
Carol nods, turning away and you jog up the steps to your house. You enter your house and the smell of freshly baked cookies fills your nose.
"You gotta try these, y/n. I would make one hell of a fucking house wife. First the spaghetti, now cookies? I gotta stop spoiling you like this." He takes a bite out of one, groaning at the taste before holding the plate out for you to take one.
"Hmph." You breathe out annoyed before grabbing one and taking a bite, dropping it back on the plate.
"Welllll?" Negan asks expectantly.
"Tastes like shit." You glare at him as the smile on his mouth fades into a scowl. He nods disappointedly as he slides the plate onto the counter, walking past you without a word.
You turn and watch him disappear up the stairs before following after him, smiling to yourself proudly at the accomplishment of hurting his feelings.
He makes his way to your room, walking in without hesitation and kicking his shoes off.
"What the hell are you doing?" You ask following him. "This is my room."
"Wrong, y/n. Whatever you have.. belongs to me. So, this room? Is mine." His voice is deep with anger as he shrugs his jacket off his shoulders.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I would love a hot shower.. in my bathroom." Negan announces, walking to the master bathroom attached to your room.
You refuse to let him stay in your room by himself, so you defiantly kick off your shoes next to his, slipping off your pants until you're left in boxers and a black t-shirt. You fall into bed defeatedly, listening to the sound of running water coming from the half open bathroom door.
You start to doze off before the water shuts off, leaving nothing but loud silence.
Negan sighs loudly from the bathroom. "The fuck are your towels?" You hear him rustling through the cabinets under the sink.
"You took them all last time." You call out.
"Goddamn it." He walks out of the bathroom, completely bare and wet. You shamelessly watch as water runs down his body, traveling through the v-shape in his abdomen before reaching his long, veiny cock.
"Like what you see, y/l/n? ... Told you my dick was bigger than yours." Your eyes quickly snap away as he uses his dirty shirt to wipe the excess water from his toned body.
"Gonna need to borrow some boxers unless... you'd rather me sleep in the nude... From the look on your face, you'd probably prefer that anyway, huh?" Negan chuckles and you run a hand down your frustrated face, looking up at the ceiling.
"Top drawer."
Negan makes his way towards your dresser, opening the drawer and browsing through. You can't help but let your eyes roam to his backside, admiring his firm ass. His eyes catch yours in the dresser mirror in front of him and you freeze, holding his eye contact.
The corner of his mouth raises like he caught you red handed and he chuckles as he bends, slipping your boxers up his long legs.
You get up, frustrated with yourself and quickly walk to bathroom, desperate to get away from him, but he cuts you off.
Your jaw ticks as you look down between the two of you, refusing to give him anymore attention.
"Get outta my way Negan."
His smirk widens as his hands go to rest lazily on his hips. "You gonna make me?"
You shake your head annoyed and push past him. "I'm not fucking doing this with you." You slam the bathroom door shut behind you, leaning against the wall and exhaling a deep breath.
You attempt to think about anything but him, trying to calm the growing length beneath your boxers.
"Fuck." You whisper out, frustrated with yourself. The bathroom mirror is still foggy from Negan's shower and your mind drifts back to the thought of his wet body emerging from the steam.
You look down at your hardening cock and bite your lip, keeping your hands by your sides and restraining from touching yourself. You finally compose yourself after a few moments, tucking yourself under the waistband of your underwear and letting your shirt hang over.
When you exit the bathroom, Negan is already laying in your bed on top of the covers, one hand behind his head while the other rests on his hairy stomach. You don't allow yourself to look as you climb into the bed next to him.
"I want to make one thing clear, Negan. I am sleeping in my bed for the simple fact that.. it's my fucking bed and I'm not letting you kick me outta my own damn room. Don't get any weird fucking ideas."
Negan chuckles. "Case you forgot, I have a whole fucking handful of wives back home. If anyone in this bed is getting any ideas, it's you."
"Sure is strange that you're in my house when you have so many wives at home, isn't it? .......Did you kill their families too? Force them to be with you?"
Negan turns his head to you, his expression serious now. "You should probably go sleep in the other room. Before I lose my goddamn temper."
"Like I said, this is MY fucking room. YOU get out." You throw the covers over yourself as if to convince him you're not leaving.
"Fuck it." Negan stands up to leave the room but turns to face you when he reaches the door. "You know why you belong to me, y/n? .. ... Because your people don't respect you. You got them into this shit because of your own choices. I just happen to reap the benefits of your own stupidity."
You throw the covers off, angrily making your way over to him before stopping directly in front of his face. "And you think your people respect you?! You've tortured them. Abused them. They don't respect you, Negan. They're scared of you. There's a difference."
"Are you scared of me, y/n?" Your eyes widen when you feel his dick twitch against yours. He subtly presses his body closer to you, barely touching his cock to yours through your boxers.
You noticeably gulp and his eyes drop to your throat, making him grin.
"No." You breathe out, glancing down to watch his tongue lick his bottom lip.
He softly chuckles before leaning into your ear. "Then why do you have goosebumps right now?"
If you didn't have them before he said that, you definitely do now from his raspy voice vibrating against your ear and his dick rubbing against yours through the thin material.
"From your body language, you are most definitely scared.. or turned on.. One of the two.. Guess it just depends on which one you'll admit to." Negan grins devilishly, daring you to make a move.
You stare at him for a moment before spitting angrily in his face, making his eyes shut tightly as he wipes your saliva off his beard.
You don't have time to regret your decision because Negan's hand suddenly grips your throat, tightening and walking you backwards towards the bed. "That's how you want it to be, huh? Good.... I can be rough too... On your fucking knees."
You don't fight him, knowing he'll win so you willingly drop to your knees in front of him, keeping your hands by your sides.
He pulls out his semi-hard cock, stroking it a few times in your face until it grows to full length. "Gonna put that fucking smart ass mouth to use. Open." He demands.
You don't move, and instead glare up at him through your brows, ignoring his request.
Negan chuckles darkly before bending down, tightly squeezing your jaw with his hand, prying your mouth open.
"Open. Or I'll choose another hole." He grins before spitting directly into your mouth.
You reluctantly obey, allowing him to enter your mouth and he gives you no warning before ramming his cock deep down your throat. You choke at the sudden feeling, attempting to jerk away but his fingers roughly push your head forward, holding your face against him until your nose is pressed into his pubic hair.
You feel lightheaded as if you could black out before he quickly yanks your hair back, causing you to exhale a deep breath. He pulls you up completely this time, bringing your face close to his.
Negan's eyes search yours. "Tell me to fucking stop." His breathing is erratic and his voice is deeper and raspier than before.
You stare back at him silently, giving him consent without using your words. He smirks before turning you quickly and positioning you until your knees are on the bed and your face in a pillow with your ass in the air.
He climbs on the bed behind you, yanking your boxers down and sliding them off your legs until your bare ass is exposed to him. You feel his large hands rub your ass cheeks before squeezing roughly and spreading them apart.
"Mm. I am gonna have some fun with you." He says before diving in, pressing his face into your ass and using his tongue to pleasure you. Your cheeks blush and you moan at the sensation of his tongue swirling around inside of you.
After a few moments of licking, he pulls back, spitting on your hole and leaning back until he's lined up behind you. His finger lightly circles your hole before pushing through, knuckle deep. "Mm, goddamn you are tight."
His finger retreats, leaving you empty and desperate for more. "You ever taken a dick before, y/n? You think you're ready for me? He chuckles, teasing the tip of his cock against your hole.
"Negan.. shut.. up. Just fuck me."
"Beg."
You remain stubbornly silent at first, but when he starts to get up from the bed, you give him. "Please."
"Sorry, what was that?" Negan positions himself behind you again.
"Please. Fuck me."
Your eyes widen with surprise when Negan reaches around to your face, fish-hooking your mouth with the finger that was just inside you and jerking you back until your body is pressed against his. Chills cover your body as his low voice whispers in your ear. "Can't fucking hear you." His finger leaves your mouth, gripping your throat instead and squeezing firmly.
"Please.. Please fuck me, Negan." You beg louder and he lets you go, pushing you back down into the mattress.
He enters you fully and suddenly in one motion, not giving you any time to adjust and you cry out at the pain. His heavy balls slap against yours from underneath and he pounds you relentlessly, harder and deeper with each thrust.
"So fucking tight." Negan groans through his teeth. "Wish your people could see you right now. Bent over and moaning from my cock."
He grabs your hair, yanking you up again until his mouth is next to your ear. "You think they'd be disappointed, y/n? Knowing whose dick you're taking?"
"Shut up."
"What if they knew how much you liked it?" He reaches around you, gripping your hard, leaking cock in his hand while still pounding you. "How this cock throbs for me…. Look. At. That." Precum leaks from your tip as you both watch Negan's thumb rub it around on your tip. From this angle, his dick presses perfectly into your g-spot with each thrust and you moan louder when you feel your orgasm builds up inside you.
Negan releases your cock and pulls out of you suddenly, flipping you over until you're laying on your back.
He positions himself in between your legs and pushes back into you, making you both moan out together.
You reach for your dick, desperately needing to stroke it but Negan grabs your wrist, pinning it above your head with the other. "No fucking way. You belong to me, remember? This dick belongs to me. I'm making you cum."
You arch yourself into him until his dick finds your g-spot again, hitting it hard over and over.
"Fuck, fuck, fuuuck." You cry out as your cum spills all over your stomach. Negan groans as he watches you come undone, pumping into you faster.
“Gonna cum in this tight fucking ass.. cause it belongs to me too. That okay with you?”
Before you can tell him no, he stops thrusting, holding himself deep inside of you. “Ahh Fuck. Fuck.” You feel him pulse against your walls over and over, filling you to the brim before he finally pulls out.
Just when you think it’s over and the guilt starts to set in, Negan pushes your legs back further, pressing his hands against the back of your knees as he looks down at your hole. “Lemme see you push it out.”
“No.. wha-“
“Now.”
You sigh, giving in once again as your muscles flex and you feel his load leak out of you and run down.
Negan swipes it up with his finger, pushing it into your mouth suddenly, making you taste him.
Your brows scrunch together angrily as you try to turn your head and spit his fingers out but he overpowers you until you give in, sucking his seed off his fingers. You can’t deny he tastes fucking good and it makes you moan.
“Taste good?” Negan chuckles, watching you enjoy the taste of him.
“Much better than your cookies.”
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reallyhatethiswebsite · 3 months ago
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blame @ultrakatua for this raphael eats tav's heart (she's into it lol)
Read on AO3
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“I heard an interesting saying once,” says the devil. Soft, slow, murmured like a gentle prayer by a devout at church. “You mortals are so terribly fond of those.”
“What saying,” says the mouse. Hushed, fast, words pushed through cracked dry lips licked one-too-many times by a tongue that cannot lay still. Impatient, but obedient.
“That the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” says the devil. “Quite the allegory. Don’t you agree?”
“Quite,” says the mouse.
The devil circles her. Stares, eyes dark and glittering. Calm, controlled, despite the yawning hunger so clearly written all over his handsome face. He is always hungry. Gluts upon the things he covets: souls, power, subservience. Her. Men like him cannot be sated. He will consume everything she offers and everything she doesn’t, for eternity. What a thrilling thought.
“I wonder,” says the devil. “What is the quickest way to your heart?”
He drags one sharp and solitary black claw along her bare flesh. Displayed so sweetly for him. Damp with sweat. Muscles quiver beneath her fragile skin that does not break, not yet, not until he wills it. Blood flows close to the surface yearning to be spilled. Her little baby hairs all stand on end.
“Raphael,” the mouse whispers. There is the gentle, ominous chime of a grandfather clock from somewhere.
“Beloved,” the devil croons. Smiles. Reaches between her legs to rub two fingers through her mons. She gasps, hips jerking when he nudges her swollen clit, but all he’s looking for is to coat himself in her warm slick. “A meal as fine as this should be savoured.” He holds those wet fingers up to her lips. “Open.”
The taste of her cunt is tart, earthy. Underneath it is purely him: cherries, smoke and magic. Reverently she sucks his digits clean. Bites them, thrilled by his quiet groan, the expanding of his pupils, the swish of his tail. Violence is a devil’s love language, after all. When he frees his fingers from the moist prison of her mouth, her teeth catch on his knuckles. He leaves twin trails of spit down her chin and throat as he lazily lets his huge paw rest between her breasts. She grows breathless with anticipation.
He doesn’t need a blade. The singular claw that earlier teased her with terrible promise is enough. He draws a division from the hollow of her clavicle to the end of her sternum, a division of red that blooms and blossoms into an incision, splitting skin and fat and muscle tissue like bursting fruit. She arches up off the table where he had her present herself, as all choice cuts should. The noise she releases is guttural, both agony and ecstasy. His first slice is always the deepest.
“Such beautiful sounds you make,” the devil purrs, voice tight. “Sweeter than all the music of the Hells. Let me hear more.”
Of course she obliges. Screams and whimpers and sobs even as her hands help him widen the wound further, pulling skin and meat slippery with gushing blood apart from the stained ivory of her ribs. It’s pain indescribable and pleasure inexplicable. The exposing of her true and tender self to the man who she wants to tear her apart. What he seeks, what she yearns to offer him, is protected behind a cage of bone. If he gave her a hammer, she would smash it open herself.
“Oh, my sweet pet. My darling little mouse,” the devil growls. His composure unravels the more she suffers. He is a monster below his veneer of charm and decorum, a monster excited and aroused. “You are exquisite.”
“Raphael…!” The mouse weeps.
He answers her call. Strokes her face, smearing it with crimson. His fine clothes splattered with blood. His hard cock strains in his trousers. He breathes through his mouth, fangs shining, pupils so large his eyes are abysses sunk into his deep sockets.
“Just a little more,” the devil promises.
Together they pry away her ribs, snapping them like dry twigs, and at last she can watch him reach into her chest, reach into her very being, and wrench out the thing that will always belong to him. Her heart beats loud and fast, torn valves spurting bright red arterial blood everywhere, as he holds it in his palm like a treasured jewel. Stares with insidious desire. She feels nothing but depraved satisfaction.
“Eat it,” the mouse chokes. “It’s for you. It’s yours.”
He feasts. Sinks his teeth into her heart as easy as a man eating an overripe peach. Rips pieces of rubbery muscle apart and swallows them whole. Pieces of her sliding down his gullet. All of the twisted, consuming emotions he makes her feel, the dark things about herself she could never escape – everything she is, was, and ever will be, contained in that bloody mass, and he is devouring it. Such sick rapture, to be destroyed by someone who wants you that much. Now she’ll be a part of him forever.
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bigtreefest · 3 months ago
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Hello, sweet Essie!! So we’ve met bartender!Curtis 🫠
Any thoughts (or thots) on bartender!Ari meeting a gal that’s interested in more than just his fruity drinks or getting in his pants? 😏
Hehehe, hello! Bartender!Curtis was a secret sweetie, just like his best friend.
Why, of course we can hear about Bartender!Ari!! I think he has really seen it all, so something super out of the ordinary would catch his eye. Someone who isn’t interested in him. At least not on the surface.
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Here’s what I’m thinking. This…got away from me🫣 so it continues under the cut:
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It’s a Thursday night, so the bar is buzzing a little, but not so much that it’s impossible to find a seat. As Ari’s topping off a beer, he sees you walk in, but when you make eye contact with him, there’s no smile, no nervous, bashful giggle. You don’t light up like most do when they see the Adonis. Instead, you just continue to drag your feet to a bar stool in between two regulars. Both hardly spare you a glance and Ari bars Curtis from walking over since you’re technically in Curtis’s section.
He makes his way over, setting a glass in front of you.
“On the house. You look like you need it”
But the thing is, you’re in no mood to accept his handout. Your voice is sharp when it comes back at him.
“What’s up with men and them thinking they know better than me!?”
You can see the shock on his face as he’s taken aback. His eyes widen, showing just how blue and surprisingly soft they are. There’s no hint of cockiness in them, at least not anymore. And that’s when you realize that you just snapped and feel terrible about it. The two big men on either side of you were startled, too.
“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I really appreciate this, I’ll pay to make up for that. It’s just…*sigh* never mind. I’m not gonna burden you with that”
Ari’s brow furrows. You’re a little dressed up, maybe for a casual date, but your face doesn’t show the excitement he knows Curtis had for his last one.
He gives you a tight-lipped smile as he spots someone else come up to the bar out of the corner of his eye.
“Hey, no worries. But you should know it’s literally in my job description to listen if you need it. I’ll let you have a second and then I’ll come back, okay?”
You just nodded, looking down into the double shot of whiskey over the rocks he had given you. You weren’t normally one for hard liquor straight, but after tonight, you might need something to match the bitter taste in your mouth, and you applauded the bartender for recognizing it.
You skeptically took a sip out of the glass, expecting it to burn, but it was surprisingly smooth and pleasant. The corner of your lip upturned at his gesture and you looked up to see his longer hair swaying with the breeze as he walked back over to you.
He gave a tentative smile, seeing you had calmed some and you returned it. He reached out his hand over the table.
“I’m Ari, this is my place. Well, mine and my buddy’s at least.”
You shook his large hand and introduced yourself, mind stuck on the feeling of his warm, callused palms. His firm, strong, yet gentle hold.
He leaned over his elbows on the counter.
“So penny for your thoughts?”
You scoffed as your finger danced over the rim of your glass.
“I’m not sure if you want them. They’re mostly about my disdain for men. Are they all so terrible?”
He blew out a breath and pushed back off the counter.
“Well, in what sense? Because as I guy, I want to say no, but as a guy who considers himself pretty reasonable, the answer is probably yes.”
You shrugged and shook your head. “Bad date.”
You talk with Ari about it the rest of the night until he walks you to your car. But the thing is, you keep coming back. Bad date, after bad date, and he’s always there to make you feel better.
Ari is doing everything to make the time to talk to you. He’s making Curtis save your seat, he’s hasty with everyone else who comes up to him. As much as he hates seeing you torn up over guys, he’s desperate for your visits. He tries to deny it, but Curtis isn’t blind. So he finally convinces Ari to ask you out. And oh man does Ari get an earful of “see? Not so easy when you’re on this side of it, buddy.”
Ari builds up his courage, and another Thursday night rolls around, and you’re nowhere to be seen. And then another one, and another one. Before he knows it, it’s been a month. Ari thinks he lost his chance. He’s devastated. He doesn’t want to bounce back with another girl he knows he could easily get. He just wants you.
On a Sunday afternoon, he’s doing inventory in the bar while they’re closed. He hears a knock on the front door and just thinks Curtis locked himself up on the roof again, so he had to climb down the ladder and come in the front. When it swings open, though, there’s no broad guy with a beanie on. It’s you.
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EEK!! Do I need to make this into an actual fic? A clueless pining Ari?🫣
Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly @mercurial-chuckles
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olderthannetfic · 1 year ago
Note
To balance out the negativity of fandom, some positive fandom news: my 82 year old dad has, after spending a lot of time in Star Trek slash fic spaces and fiddling with writing his own fics since 2020 when lockdowns went into effect, finally come out of the closet and admitted he's bi. His fandom friends, mostly queer people and some non-queer women, have been very supportive. No one has been remotely surprised, particularly me - my dad literally had a "there's only one bed" situation with his best friend multiple times over the years and has said shit like "he's too good for me, even if I was not straight I wouldn't be on his radar", etc. for years - but he has been so, so much happier since coming out. It's like a weight has been lifted off of him and he can just breathe without having all these fears about someone finding out he's not straight.
He's still confused on why he's only been into one guy in his life and not a 50/50 split of women and men, but I figure he'll grasp that that's not how all bi people work in time. He grew up in a country where being queer is illegal to this day. He's got some catching up to do. We're getting there, is the important thing.
(There's probably no fixing his terrible taste in ships but that's okay. I have accepted that he'll ship anything with a big height difference once I realized that he's 5"6 and his best friend is 6"5. Gee Dad I wonder why this rarepair appeals to you /s)
--
Get him into The Sentinel. LOL.
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maimingaffairs · 1 year ago
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MY SWEET WRITER PLS DO ME FAVOUR OF A DARKLING AND FEM READER CARRIAGE SMUT . I need the desperation factor where they couldn’t even wait to get back to the little palace . In other terms extremely h o r n e y reader and darkling .
i hope u like and choose to write this if not it’s completely ok
thank u and stay safe u beautiful mind
this is just… somewhat plotless ;) IF U FEEL ME. all my work is done at 3 am so i apologize for the mediocrity. also this is literally just … porn with a slight plot. no other way to describe it. pls don’t interact unless ur 18+.
warnings: NSFW CONTENT. it’s literally just smut. it’s all just smut. smut under the cut just go away if ur a child
word count: 1.7k
Desperate (aleksander morozova x fem!reader)
The ride back to Os Alta was painfully long. You sat across from your husband and kept your eyes on his. His stare was heated and your fingers itched to reach for him. This was probably the most time you’d spent with him in the last few weeks because of his duties with the Second Army, and you wanted him. In any way that you could have him. 
You sat sandwiched between Feydor and Ivan who were bored and looking out the window. Aleksander’s eyes were wide and he was staring at you with a type of desire that made you press your thighs together underneath your dress. 
Of course, you still had hours to go before you reached the capital. Though, you weren’t sure you could make it. And by the look on your husband’s face, you could tell he was thinking the exact same thing. 
“Ivan. Feydor.” 
Both men turned their heads towards your husband as he spoke their names, and you bit your lip. 
“Get out.” Aleksander commanded sharply. His voice had a sharp edge to it and Ivan raised his eyebrows and shook his head. 
“What do you mean?” He asked incredulously. 
“What do I mean? I mean get out of this carriage immediately and ride a horse or something. Walk for all I care. Just get out.” He breathed. 
Ivan looked at him and then looked at you, seemingly not understanding what was going on. But he tapped the back of the carriage a few times hard and it came to a stop. When it stopped, he and Feydor climbed out and left the two of you alone. Your eyes once again met your husband’s and he unblinkingly stared back at you as the carriage lurched forward again. 
You couldn’t help your next action, because before you knew what you were doing, you had pushed yourself off of the seat across from him and threw yourself across the gap keeping you two apart. His hands received your clumsily tossed body with grace and reassurance, catching you by your waist. He tugged you onto his lap as comfortably as he could and lifted your skirts hurriedly, pushing them up to your knees so that you could easily straddle his lap. 
“You are never coming with me to camp again, do you understand me? You’re such a terrible temptation.” Aleksander groaned as you leaned forward to pepper sloppy kisses all over his neck. 
You only gave a hum in reply, rolling your hips down against his just once. He groaned and reached up behind you to grab a handful of your hair as gently as he could. He pulled your head away from his neck and brought you up to press a needy kiss to your lips. The desperation shared between your lips tasted delicious on your tongue and you let out a moan into his mouth. His fingers tightened in your hair and he pulled you closer, his nose pressing against yours as he kissed you. When the two of you had a desperate need for air, he pulled away from you, leaving you gasping and starving for him. 
His forehead laid upon yours and his jaw tightened as he held the back of your head with his free hand, “I’ve needed you so badly.” He grumbled, leaning forward to peck your lips a few times. 
“Just as I’ve needed you.” You managed to whisper out as you rolled your hips down against his again. 
He tipped his head backwards and closed his eyes with a quiet groan and he reached down to grab your waist with both of his hands, “Don’t be a tease.” He hummed, clicking his tongue. 
“Then touch me.” You pleaded and leaned your head down to rest against his shoulder. 
He wasted no time in pushing the hem of your dress up to your thighs and he slipped his hands underneath your skirts. He gripped your thighs tightly and pushed your legs apart and you took note of the wetness that pooled between your thighs. You bit down on your bottom lip and tucked your face into the crook of his neck, letting out a quiet whine. 
“Aleksander, please.” You whispered, pressing your lips against his skin. 
You swore you heard him growl quietly and he pushed your underwear aside swiftly. 
“You’re already so wet. Is that for me?” He asked cockily and you let out a little huff and rolled your hips forward. 
“No. Answer me.” He commanded sharply as he dragged the tip of his middle finger up your folds. 
You shivered deliciously and nodded once, face still pressed against his neck, “Yes. Always.” You breathed, and were instantly rewarded with his middle finger sliding inside of you slowly. You reached up and gripped his upper arms near his shoulders and you let out a quiet, relieved huff of air as he slowly curled his finger inside of you. 
He was wasting absolutely no time though, because before you could comprehend the first finger, he was sliding a second into you with ease. Normally, he’d take his time with you but you suspected his patience had been thrown to the wind with the way he’d started to pump his fingers in and out of you at a moderate pace. A moan fell from your lips and you pulled your head away from his shoulder to look into his eyes. 
You stared up into his lust-darkened eyes and bit down on your bottom lip just a bit. Your cheeks heated up a bit under his gaze and you leaned in to lay your forehead against his. A little, lazy grin formed on his lips and he moved his fingers a bit faster, leaving you whimpering his name quietly. 
A few moments of this had you close to your climax and you reached up to cup his cheeks. You leaned in to kiss him heatedly, but he pulled back after just a couple of seconds and he shook his head, feeling you tighten around his fingers. 
“No. Not yet. I want you to cum on my cock.” He growled and quickly pulled his fingers out of your cunt. 
You gasped in shock and opened your mouth to protest but he was faster than you. He silenced you before you could speak by sliding his pointer and middle fingers into your mouth. He raised his eyebrows at you as if to egg you on and you wrapped your lips around his fingers and licked them clean, enjoying the taste of yourself on his skin. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and you hurriedly reached down between your bodies and unfastened his belt and undid his pants. You reached down into his pants and gently freed his nearly completely hard cock. He groaned quietly at your touch and you wrapped your fingers around him, slowly stroking him. 
The sound that came out of his mouth was heavenly, even more so the second time he moaned, because it was in the form of your name. You smiled, pleased with yourself, and you continued to stroke his cock until his hand was around your wrist and he was stopping you. 
“Stop. I need to be inside of you.” He breathed and adjusted you in his lap just a bit for comfort. He reached between the two of you and positioned himself at your entrance, his tip brushing against your folds, slick with your arousal. You were ready to whine and tell him to not be a tease before he wordlessly lifted you just a bit and lowered you down onto his cock. The movement had you gasping and you reached up to grab onto his shoulders while you adjusted to his size and sunk down onto him entirely. You flickered your gaze up to his and he gave you one quick smile before he grasped your waist and held you up while he set a rapid pace with his hips. You let out a loud moan that resembled his name somewhat and you tossed your head backwards, moving your hips with his, in time with his thrusts. 
It was likely the most unceremonious and rushed sex you’d ever had with your husband. Normally Aleksander took his time with you, made you beg and plead before he finally gave in and fucked you. Not now. The desperation between the two of you was palpable. 
You let out a soft whine and began to lift and drop your hips in time with his movements, holding onto his shoulders for rapport. He swore loudly and reached up with one hand to grab a handful of hair from the back of your head. 
“Fuck. I love you.” He growled and then pulled your head backwards with your hair. He lowered his lips down onto your throat and he flicked his tongue against your skin, “Such a good girl for me.” He mumbled, his voice making your skin vibrate. 
His free hand made its way between the two of you and he pressed his thumb down against your clit, rolling it in slow circles. You let out a cry and rolled your hips into his touch as you continued to bounce on his lap, meeting his hurried thrusts. You moaned out his name as you chased your orgasm, feeling it build up quickly inside of you once more. 
“I’m so close, Aleksander.” You whimpered, tightening your hold on his shoulders. 
“Do it. Cum.” He commanded through labored breaths against your neck. 
It didn’t take long for your climax to make you see white and you let out a gasp before you moaned his name, your head lolling backwards. Before you could even comprehend what was happening, you heard your husband moan in tandem with you and you felt his release just after your own. 
The two of you sat in silence for a long time trying to catch your breaths and come back down from your highs, Aleksander’s thumb lazily still moving around your clit. Finally, he moved his hand away from you and he wrapped both of his arms around you and pulled you down against his chest. 
“I’d like to say we were discreet but I reckon we are going to catch hell for this from Ivan and Feydor.” He mumbled, resting his cheek against your shoulder. 
You laughed and then shrugged, reaching up to run your fingers through his tousled hair. 
“It was worth all the hell in the world.”
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frost-queen · 2 years ago
Text
Blood rivers (Grisha!Reader x Kaz Brekker)
Requested by: anon, Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco,   @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07
Summary: You always have terrible nosebleeds after using your abilities. Which very much worries Kaz. One day you overuse your abilities, passing out. Kaz freaks out as the crows take you back. Kaz never left your side, scolding you with worry after you wake up.
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Kaz came to a stop in the alleyway. His path suddenly blocked by three of Pekka’s men. If it bothered him, he wasn’t showing it. His expression fierce and tense as his knuckles whitened under his gloves on top of his cane. – “We’ve got you surrounded Brekker!” – one of them called out, pointing his way. Kaz glanced side-ways, spotting two more approaching from behind. He briefly let his gaze go upwards, knowing Inej was scanning the roofs somewhere.
He had send Wylan and Jesper on an arrand. Kaz scoffed finding it the coward’s way of surrounding him when he is all by himself. He moved his cane a bit to the side, grabbing it tightly. Feeling the two from behind close in. Keeping them close in mind, he was ready to strike them down with his cane and unleash the fight. Kaz picked up his cane, ready to swing it behind him when he heard those two man grunt.
Eyes widening he spun around seeing them clutch for their hearts. Kaz’s gaze moving sideways from them to you suddenly getting in sight. – “Miss me?” – you asked Kaz with a flirtatious smile. Hands held in front of you to keep those men under control. You moved more to the front, exhaling loud. – “The heartrender!” – you heard one of them call out from behind Kaz. It made you chuckle devious bringing the final blow to those two men.
They dropped to their knees, unconscious. Panting loud you lowered your hands. Swallowing deep, you blinked thoughtfully. A thin drop of red coming under your nose. It made Kaz’s eyes widen at the side of your nosebleed. Mouth open to breath through, you held your head back, hand ready to catch any falling blood. – “Y/n.” – Kaz said lowly with worry. He sensed the three men too late, but you didn’t.
Kaz gasped loud, startled when one dared to raise his arm at him. You immediately moved your fingers, keeping them under your control. Blood dripping down your lips, breathing out loud. – “You cowards should know Brekker never comes unprepared.” – you called out, moving closer to them. They were coughing, sinking through their knees, finding it hard to breath.
Kaz kept staring at you, eyes focused on the blood dripping down onto the ground. Droplets of red marking the dirty ground. – “I should kill you!” – you made clear, vengeance in your eyes. The men groaned in pain, squirming in pain. Kaz picked his cane up, whacking Pekka’s men unconscious before you could harm them any further.
The loss of control made you stumble backwards out of breath. Lips stained red; you licked them. Tasting the blood on your tongue. Kaz inhaled sharp through his nose, turning furious at you. The stare he was giving you enough to beg for mercy on your bare knees.
Flicking his wrist forwards, he pointed the crow’s head your way. With the head of the crow, tilting your head back by your chin. – “Hold that shut!” – he ordered. You pinched your nose tight, gasping through your mouth for air. – “You could’ve said thank you.” – you answered, sounding a bit funny. He tensed his jaw, tilting your head more back as you had moved it forwards to look at him. – “You could’ve staid out of it. I don’t need to find my heartrender dead one faithful night.” – he replied rudely, pressing the crow’s head deeper onto your throat.
“You would’ve just found yourself another one.” – you spoke back pushing his cane off your throat. Kaz clenched his jaw, hand tensing, ready to strike you down with words if he hadn’t been interrupted by Wylan and Jesper. Wylan was the first one to notice your nosebleed. – “Are you alright Y/n.” – he asked running over.
Jesper’s eyes widening. – “Again?” – he said coming after Wylan to you. You shrugged your shoulders at him. Wylan tilted your head back down as you had lowered it again. – “Y/n I thought we went through this.” – Jesper sighed out, pulling out a handkerchief. – “I know… I know…” – you responded. – “Has… has this happened before?” – Wylan wanted to know looking concerned over to Jesper.
“Every time this darn fool uses her abilities.” – Jesper held the handkerchief out to you with a brotherly scowl. Wylan took it from him, holding it around your nose to stop the bleeding. – “Unusual…” – Wylan muttered out. – “What will you have me do?” – you said barely understandable for them. – “What?” – Jesper called out, hands to his hips. You groaned loud with an eye roll. – “Let’s just get her inside.” – Wylan suggested. Jesper nodded, only now aware of the men scattered on the ground. – “Were you ambushed?” – he asked Kaz.
Kaz shot him a glare, gesturing at him to get a move on. Wylan and Jesper held you by the elbow, escorting you back. Jesper opened the door to Wylan’s lab, letting you in. Wylan assisting you down the steps so you wouldn’t trip. Jesper quickly snatched his shirt from under you before you’d sit on it. – “I think I got something to stop the bleeding.” – Wylan said looking nervously over to Kaz. Kaz quirked his eyebrow up as if his concern was of any significance.
Jesper removed his blood stained handkerchief from your nose, wanting to see if it had stopped. When it didn’t, he pinched your nose shut, almost making you snort. – “Saints Y/n.” – Jesper sighed out coming to sit beside you. Wylan returned with something in a bottle, intriguing Kaz. He looked concerningly and frightened your way, not sure what effect it would have on you. Clenching his hand, knuckles rubbing against the fabric of his leather gloves.
Jesper removed his hand from you letting Wylan do his thing. You were hesitant of it, but within the minute your nosebleed came to a slow end. You took a cautious breathing through your nose, not wanting to overstimulate anything. Wylan and Jesper sighed out relieved. Fingers stained with your blood. Kaz threw them a cloth, Jesper catching it. He cleaned your nose and lips. Kaz swallowing when the fabric rubbed over your lips.
Quickly turning his head away. Jesper then cleaned his fingers, handing the cloth over to Wylan. Wylan took Jesper’s seat coming to sit beside you. Jesper moving away towards Kaz. He crossed his arms, brushing his finger thoughtfully over his lips. – “This is getting out of hand, isn’t it?” – he asked Kaz. – “What if things get worse or she’ll end up dead.” – Kaz turned his head sharply towards Jesper. – “No!” – he called out loud, not wanting to think of it. Jesper moved his hands up in defense. – “I’m just concerned.” – he answered, looking over at you.
Kaz’s gaze went over to you as well, knowing deep down he too was concerned. You smiled nervously with Wylan sitting beside you. This might ever be the first time it was just him and you. – “So… does this always happen when you use your abilities?” – he asked. You nodded, palms rubbing against each other. – “How…when did it start? I mean it is unusual…” – he deepened his question.
You pulled your shoulders up. – “It just happened… I can’t say why.” – you were startled when Wylan dropped his hand on yours. – “Don’t worry. I will try to get to the bottom of its understanding.” – he reassured you, making you move your other hand on top of his. – “Thank you, Wylan.” – He squeezed your hand comforting.
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Panting loud, you had your hands out. Sturdy on your feet, chest rising and falling. – “Y/n no!” – Jesper called out, staring in shock at you. – “Stop it!” – Inej insisted, holding her knives tightly. – “I’m still breathing!” – you called out as if they were exaggerating. Wylan gulped nervously laying down on the ground. Kaz tensing his jaw with a glare as he slowly got up from his knees.
The two men behind him who had grabbed him, squirming on the ground. – “Enough.” – he said soft. You felt a push go through your fingers, controlling their pulse to slow down. – “Enough!” – Kaz called out louder, setting his cane firmly on the ground. You weren’t supposed to be here. Kaz specifically ordered you to stay out of it, yet once again you didn’t listen. When it came to Kaz, you rather put yourself in danger than see anyone touch him.
You had snuck up from behind, interfering before any of the other crows could. Leading to this exact moment in an abandoned street in Ketterdam. – “Not until I watch them bleed!” – you shouted, making pushing further to make them cough up blood. Kaz’s eyes widened seeing the blood run down your nose.
It made you wipe a finger underneath it, staring down at the blood. More men came running around the corner to join their mates. Jesper widened his eyes. – “Don’t you dare.” – he shouted seeing in your eyes you wanted to finish them. You ignored his pleads, performing a sequence of hand movements. – “Stop her!” -  Kaz ordered. Inej looked down at her daggers, hesitating if she should throw one at you. Jesper was staring also pained down at his gun.
If they needed to stop you, this was not the way. You took control of the group of men behind your friends. Making them all grasp for air, slowly suffocating them. It was getting harder for you to breath trying to keep them all under control. With one swift motion, you knocked them out, panting loud. The world went black as you dropped to the ground. The impact barely making itself aware of the pain. The deafened sounds of your name being screamed out, dying out.
Kaz came to a stop, breathless. Staring in shock down at your fallen body. Jesper and Inej trying to shake you awake. Wylan pacing anxiously with his hands in his hair. The beating of his heart echoed through his mind, making itself loudly present. His ears ringing, knees buckling. Jesper picked you up, placing you over his shoulder as Inej made sure you were stable. – “I told her to stop!” – Jesper called out furious. – “Why wouldn’t she listen? Does she has a dead wish?” – he panicked, looking worriedly at Inej.
“Jes!” – Inej shouted, snapping him out of it. – “Scolding her isn’t going to do anyone any good!” – she made clear. Jesper nodded, tears building up in the corner of his eyes. The crows started returning with you safely. Kaz following numbly. Wylan opened the door, running over to the bed to make room. – “No!” – Kaz said loudly, making everyone freeze. – “Take her upstairs!” – he ordered. Inej nodded assisting Jesper in taking you upstairs. Wylan followed, tears rolling down his cheek. They laid you down on a bed. Kaz staying as far away from you as possible.
Kaz watched in agony as Wylan rushed to the side of your bed, clutching your hand. Scolding you with a crackling voice unable to control his emotions. Jesper had to pull him away before it would wreck him too. Inej made them go downstairs with her. Kaz remaining in the room. Watching you from afar. He slowly approached, coming to sit close by the bed. He stared down at your hand. If only he dared to touch it. He’d hold it so tight; you couldn’t let go. Resting on his cane, he held watch, staring mindlessly in front of him.
You groaned softly, squirming in the bed as you slowly came awake. Kaz’s eyes hardening with anger. You fluttered your eyes open, gasping in shock at Kaz sitting by the bed. – “I told you to take a break!” – he shouted. – “You wouldn’t listen! You never listen to me Y/n!” – he accused you. You pressed your knuckles into the bed, sitting up straight. – “You could’ve been… Why did you!” – his voice raging.
“Because I didn’t want to be useless!” – you answered loudly to bicker with him. – “What good am I if I can’t be your heartrender! It is the very reason why I am here. Why you hired me! If I don’t have that anymore… I’m just nothing.” – your hand untensed, head lowering. – “You are indeed of value, but not enough to get yourself killed! I’d rather have you alive and useless then functioning and dead!” – he took a deep breath after getting all worked up.
“From now on you take breaks when I say you do!” – he insisted making you smile. Smile at how caring he was in his own way. – “Why are you smiling?” – Kaz asked, caught off guard. – “Cause you care.” – you answered blowing a kiss at him. Kaz swallowed nervously, staring your way.
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