#ILL FLESH IT OUT TRUST...

[arolegos]

cooking up a ninjago arcane au rn and what if i was evil

[jbwashere]

When ya boys been cooking a bit TOO much oc lore, both fandom and non fandom related

[kkoct-ik]

yk im going through a weird patch mentally and artistically but damn if ive not drawn some awesome things before

[mugentakeda]

i hope you all are on board with my tooth gap + golden tooth zuko agenda

[poicyss]

Wip of some identical twins hehe

[eraenaa]

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

Inspired by the song "I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)" by Taylor Swift

Rafe Cameron x Reader Tag List

Summary: Trust me, I can handle me a dangerous man.

Warnings: Substance Use, Possessiveness, Jealousy, ¿Kinda Toxic Relationship?, Mention of Violence, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Shower Sex, Oral Sex (F & M receiving), Fingering, Choking, Boobjob, Filmed Sexual Relations, Not Proofread 

Word Count: 2,372

A/N: Sorry for being MIA finals week was rough and I was kinda burnout hence the almost month long hiatus but Taylor's new album revived me, so maybe expect more works inspired by TTPD songs!

You sat quietly as Rafe rested his warm hand on your thigh. You waited for him to finish his drink as he laughed around with his boys at the bar. Their voice echoed through the establishment, garnering curious glances from the other patrons present. You feel him squeeze your thigh tighter, his little signal that he wanted some affection, maybe a kiss or a touch from you. He turned to you, pupils enlarged from the little pill he took, “Are you bored?” He asked, and you quickly shook your head, placing your hand on the back of his head, and ran your nails gently against his skull. “No, baby,” You murmured and moved to kiss his lips, tasting the brandy on his tongue. Rafe parted from your kiss, looking intently into your eyes to see off you lied; he seemed satisfied enough and returned to his conversations with his friends. 

You hear the offensive joke that Rafe said a bit too loudly and held your breath. Placing your hand on his shoulder, hoping it would snap some sense into him, it usually did. You feel pitying and feared glances pointed towards you. The bartender to your left shook their head and muttered, “God help her,” when they realized you were with Rafe. A man who was notorious for his rage and ill temper. He was often perceived as rash and maybe even psychotic. Perhaps their judgment of him was true… but that is what attracted you to him anyway. You could not help but be intrigued by him and his imposing and reckless demeanor. You were certain you could tame him. You said to yourself, “I can fix him; no, really, I can.” 

He drove the both of you home. A bit of a misjudgment on your part, seeing how intoxicated he was, but there was something thrilling about him taking the reigns while still addled with dopamine and alcohol. There was something seductive in the way his hand would trail upward and upward on your thigh as he raced down the streets of the Outer Banks. But there was something different this night. There was tension in him that did not come from the lust you and him were succumbing to. “What’s wrong?” You asked, taking hold of his arm, caressing it in a way that made gooseflesh rise on his flesh. You bit your lip as his hold on you was tighter; you were certain it would once again leave his mark. “Everyone in that bar was looking at you… they were looking at what’s mine.” He snarled and pressed flat on the gas, making you speed down the streets so carelessly, but you could not find care as that elicited a wave of want in you. “They were only looking…” You trailed, testing to see what reaction it would garner from Rafe. 

You watch him shake his head, his jaw clenching in annoyance. “They were looking at what’s mine. They were practically undressing you with their eyes— imagining stealing you from me,” He gritted as you were nearing home. You voiced your disagreement, but that only seemed to enrage him more. “You enjoyed it, didn’t you, huh? You fucking enjoyed their attention.” Rafe accused, and your eyes darkened at his words. Just as the rage in him burned quickly, it died in a snap. You removed his hold on your thigh and stole away your touch on his arm. You did not wait for him to open the door of the passenger seat for you but instead got out of the confined space you were trapped in and left him. “Baby, wait, I—“ Rafe called, any irritation in his voice gone the moment he realized he had offended you. 

You were nearing your bedroom door, ready to lock him out for the night and repent for his offense, but he caged you in his arms, pulling you close to him. Burying his head at the side of your neck, he offered his apologies. “I’m sorry baby… I just don’t wanna lose you,” You hear his muffled boys. Smirking to yourself as you actually got an apology from him. From all the stories you heard of Rafe, ranging from his family to his friends and even his past flings, not one of them got an apology or anything that resembled half of it from him. But here he was, saying sorry over and over again, waiting for your reply. You kept silent for a while longer, and you felt him move over to the front of you, trying to kiss your lips, but you moved your head to the side. You bit your lip as you hear him puff, surprised by his following action. You watched Rafe sink down on his knees and hold you tightly against him, burying his face in your abdomen, his apologies spewing out from his mouth as if you were a god to whom he offered his prayers, pleading to be heard. You sighed and ran your hand through his hair, hearing him soothingly hum and burrow his head deeper into your abdomen.  

You were about to urge him to stand, but you were rendered frozen, and your breathing hitch when you feel his fingers take hold of your dress, hiking it higher. “Rafe,” you called as his lips trailed kisses on your exposed skin, his breath teasing your core that had already been aching for him. “I’m sorry,” He said once more, and you could only sigh as he placed a kiss between your thighs. You held tightly onto him as he lapped your folds, showing you just how sorry he was. “Rafe… Fuck, Rafe,” you called as he inserted a finger, but you were already on the verge of an orgasm by just the way his nose burrowed into your nubbin. “Do you forgive me, my baby?” Rafe asked, and you could only moan out your agreement and hear him hiss as you pulled on his hair and came down hard on his fingers and face. 

You hummed as you woke the next day with Rafe tracing hearts on your face; he had been watching you sleep. You gazed at him through the hazy sight of the fresh morning, “You look so pretty when you sleep,” Rafe said softly, and you smiled up at him. Gone in his system were the substances that were his ruin, but he could not deny. You quite liked him in this state, but you knew he would rather have his mood be altered by opioids and any other drugs that he believed would aid him. It won’t. And you just need to change that outlook of his or at least find another drug that would not be his ruin. 

“You’re mine,” Rafe gritted in your ear, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he realized every bastard at the party was staring at you. “I’m yours,” You repeated to calm the rage in him. He did not consume anything harsh or damnable per your request, but you were starting to rethink your decision because apparently Rafe, without his usual pick me up, was rather more paranoid and frantic. Every little interaction you have with the opposite sex pushes him closer over the edge. “Rafe,” you sighed as he stepped away, challenging a guy whose gaze had been flying to you the whole night. “The fuck you staring at, huh! Do you want a fucking fight, bro?! Stop staring at my gi—“ Rafe screamed, and you pulled at him with all of your might for him to face you and save the innocent man from being beaten up to a pulp. You turn to Rafe’s friends, urging them to help, them being the able-bodied ones to escort Rafe outside to calm down. 

You stood before him as he sat by the ledge of a planter box. His head was in his hands as he tried to calm his ragged breathing. You stood silently as he took out a box of cigarettes and hastily lit a stick. “Stop looking at me like that,” Rafe spat, and you furrowed your brows at his words. “Like what?” You asked, and Rafe shook his head and took a long drag of a cigarette. “Like you’re disappointed! I know that look all too well,” He scoffed, and you took in a deep breath, stepping closer to him. Squatting down to meet him at eye level, placing a kiss on his cheek, and your hand found home at the back of his head again, running your fingers through his hair, noting how he would lean into your touch. “I’m not disappointed,” you say in earnest, but Rafe scoffs at your words. “You are. Don’t lie to me.” He gritted and threw the bud of his cigaret onto the ground, the glowing embers slowly dying down like the rage in him. 

“I never lie to you,” You say softly, placing your hold on the side of his face. “I’m yours, Rafe,” you say softly. “You’re mine.” He answered back. “Exactly. Then why are you trying to fight those others who are completely insignificant to us?” You ask softly, brushing your thumb across his brow, watching as his eyes fluttered close and a sigh left his lips. “Because I know what they want. I know they want what’s mine.” He gritted, tensing in anger once more, his fists clenching and warning danger. “But they won’t get to have it, won’t they?” You asked and stared deeply into his ocean eyes as they opened once more. “No. Never.” He swore, and you smiled, placing a kiss on his lips. 

Kissing you was the greatest high Rafe felt. The high he now realized was the only one he’d want to chase. Nothing chemically and artificially induced could compare to your lips. “Let’s go back inside,” Rafe said after your kiss had sedated his rage. “On one condition,” You said and stood your ground as he tried to pull you back into the direction of the party. You pulled him to you, flushing your bodies, and returned your hand to caress his troubled head. “No more invoking fights? Stop glaring at those guys?” You asked and watched as he frowned at your words. “I… I can probably do no more fighting— but baby, come on, they keep staring at you and—“ You shook your head and interrupted him. 

“Be a good boy tonight, and later… I’ll do what you’ve been asking me to do since last month,” You hindered your grin as you watched Rafe’s jaw turn slack, his eyes now intoxicated and dilated with the thought of you. “What do you say?” You asked, batting your lashes at him, trailing your fingers against his forearm, your eyes already catching a glance of the dent in his trousers. “I’ll be a fucking angel if you want.” He almost growled. And you let him usher you back to a party with a smile beaming on your face. 

Rafe kept true to his word. There was practically a halo around his head for the rest of the night. Foregoing his pilled and powdered remedies, even tossed out the intoxicating liquid in his glass. You thought miracles never happened, but Rafe even let you join your friends on the dance floor without him. You saw as he reigned in the hellish thoughts in him as men around danced by your side. Instead, he stood still in his spot, his mind on the thought of heaven you’ll present him if he played nice. 

You, too, kept true to your words. You were on your knees, your hands pushing your tits together, and in between them was Rafe’s cock. A video camera by your side as Rafe had been begging you almost everyday for a home video together. Reasoning that ‘it would be a reminder of you when you are away.’ And the thought of you is the only thing that gets him on. “Fuck, baby— god, you’re so good. How are you this good?” Rafe groaned as you fucked him with your tits. It was the best reward for him, you rarely gave him head, and this was the first time you ever fucked anyone this way. Rafe fisted the sheets as you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock again. He moaned out your name as you took him deeper into your mouth, the sound of you gagging on his cock spurring him on. But before he could come, before he could reach a different and higher level of high he always sought, you pulled away. 

“Baby… oh, baby, please, you can’t do this to me,” he almost begged, his eyes in a daze at the sight of you messy from sucking his cock. You crawled upwards and hung from his lips, him already expecting a kiss. “Fuck me in the shower,” Was all you said before you hastily dispread to the bathroom and turned the faucet on. It took a few moments for Rafe to process your words, but once he did. He quickly stood, took the camera, and positioned it to point toward you, who was already soaking wet. 

Rafe was quick to push you against the glass shower door, already excited to watch the video of you and your tits against the glass. “Yes… oh, god, like that,” You cried as Rafe mercilessly pounded behind you. He gathered your hair and gripped it back, eliciting a burning yet pleasurable sensation. “You’re always so prim and proper… but looked at you, you fuck like a whore,” Rafe gritted, and your eyes rolled back as he positioned his thrust to hit the spot that made your words incoherent. “You like that, huh, baby? You like it when I fuck you, dumb?” He asked, not expecting a reply but rather your moans. Rafe relinquished his hold on your hair and instead gripped your throat. Pounding harder into you as he felt you clench tighter around him, your body shaking and on the precipice of orgasm. “Mine. Mine, mine, mine.” Rafe gritted out as he, too, was close. “Yours. All yours, Rafe.” You cried as you came around him. Panting his name as he clung in the high that was you. 

I screamed when I first listened to the song that inspired this fic, bc Rafe was the most prominent thing that it conjured in my mind.

[ivysprophecy]

please please please

word count; 1644

summary; turning off your phone and shutting out the world isnt the best way to handle your problems but its what you do. and jjs had enough of it.

warnings; i dont think there is any? mentions of anxiety attacks? tagging @murdockcastleslut @kimoralov3 @arkofblake

masterlist

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divider by @bernardsbendystraws

"well hey there stranger"

i turn from my book to look behind me, seeing the boy id been actively avoiding for the past two days. carrying his surf board.

i shouldve remembered he'd come here to surf. i just wouldn't have guessed this early in the morning.

"hey jayj."

"oh thats all i get? 'hey'? no 'i miss you so much'?" he sets his board in the sand taking a seat next to me on my blanket.

guess im not finishing my book today. "oh my god jj! youre here! ive been dyingggg to talk to you! i cant believe youre really in here in the flesh! there. better?"

"oh dont be like that- cmon mama whatd i do?" i feel bad with the genuine concern on his face.

okay was ghosting him out of nowhere awful of me? probably. i just didnt know what else to do.

after that night at the bonfire i realized that with my feelings for him growing it wasnt a good idea for us to continue our casual... something. it played with both our emotions. it isnt fair to either of us.

especially after his 'i love you'. that really did it in for me.

"you didnt do anything jj. trust. i just... ive been in a funk. needed some me time thats all."

"well... do you still need your 'me time'?" he looked so hopeful. how could i say yes? where jj maybank is concerned ill easily fold every time. "cause you havent answered my texts so i couldn't ask you to surf with me this morning."

"... i dont have my board. but i suppose i can hang out with you for a little while."

"im honored," he smiles laying back on his elbows, "but really. are you good? i like to think i know you pretty well and this whole MIA thing was not normal."

turning to face him more, i sigh, what the fuck am i supposed to say? 'yea im just so in love with you i cant be around you' yea that would go over really well.

"i dont know. just gotta lot of stuff goin on. you dont have to worry though. im good."

"well do ya wanna talk about it?"

"trust me jay you dont wanna hear about my problems. theyre trivial at best."

"what are friends for if not for listening?" he nudges me with his shoulder urging me to talk. i really dont think i can do this. i was not prepared.

"youre not a very good listener," i point out, to which he immediately takes faux offense. jaw dropped and everything.

"oh thats just not true! i can listen!"

i run a hand through my tangled hair in frustration. this cannot be how i tell him. it just cant. i came here to get away from thinking about this and now hes right here in front of me acting so unserious while im spiraling.

"jj i really appreciate how eager you are to help me but its really not necessary. i didnt really prepare myself and its just too much-"

"prepare yourself? mama what the fuck are you talking about? does this have to do with that night after the bonfire? i mean obviously it does who am i kidding you havent talked to me since then. did i do something wrong? was- was it bad?" he leans in closer, lowering his voice thats laced with worry and guilt.

oh my god that is the absolute last thing i expected him to say. shit i really fucked this up. and honestly just not true.

"what? no! no jj you didnt do anything wrong and it was perfect. promise," i try to reassure him but i know deep down hes gonna over think this whole thing if i dont tell him straight up

i may love him but i never said he was the brightest in the bunch.

"okay so whats the problem?"

"the problem is that it was perfect," i cant help but let out a sigh before hiding my face in my hands as the words leave my mouth.

god my heart is racing, im not ready for this conversation. maybe if i pass out i wont have to. yea if he has to call an ambulance then we can avoid this all together. but an ambulance is also like five grand so...

shit.

"... youre mad at me because you had a good time?" his face contorted in a weird fixture of confusion.

"no! no- god youre so dense sometimes!"

"mama i dont have a fucking clue what youre saying! how does that make me stupid??"

i hide my face in my hands again trying to compose myself because what the fuck kind of confession is this?

"jj im avoiding you because ive been developing feelings for you and i cannot in good conscience keep being so casual with you and sleeping with you knowing this and i know that you do not want anything serious so i figured id just make it easier for the both of us and just take myself out of the situation entirely so that nothing bad happens and i cannot stop fucking talking so please for the love of god say something or do something because i feel like my heart is about to beat out of my chest and-"

oh my god im getting my book moment. he just kissed me to make me stop talking!!! oh my god hes kissing me.

is this where i kiss him back?

of course i kiss him back!! what the fuck!!? and oh my lord does it feel nice, so so so nice.

the way his tongue presses against mine, the way he cups my jaw and pulls me close to him. it was slow and confident and loving and everything he knows i like. his hands find my hips like muscle memory, pulling our bodies together, eventually having me on his lap. where he takes my hands and places them on his chest so i can feel his chest rise and fall with deep breaths.

“… mama you need to learn to breathe.”

“that’s not funny right now jj. im actively having an anxiety attack, horrible thing to say really."

"what're you so anxious about? i think we're havin' a pretty calm conversation, dont you?"

"i mean yea- but thats not-" he interrupts me while shaking his head with a shrug.

"listen, i get why youre a little nervous to say that, all things considered. but i thought it was pretty obvious i was into you, i just didnt wanna push you because you made your boundaries clear so i just took what i could get."

my eyes bug out of my head in shock. am i the dense one? i mean yea hes a really good kisser and i can feel he cares deeply about me when we do stuff and makes me feel safe and supported but that doesnt mean-

yea im stupid. he all but outright said it. actually he has. thats what started this panic.

"... okay yea- maybe. but you agreed they were a good idea so i figured that meant you wanted them there too. and i dont know- it just kind of got overwhelming and i didnt wanna be one of those girls who expects something huge after sex so... you know what i mean? and truthfully youre not what i expected for me."

"what does that mean?" his face showed a little offense.

"i just mean- ya know. for one i didnt expect to love my best friend. and then on top of that i didnt think id love a guy who was a treasure hunting, or- adrenaline junkie i should say."

he leans back putting some space between us, "is that supposed to be a bad thing?

"no! no jay im not saying this right- i-... youre a fighter and youre adventurous- a lot of things im not. if that makes sense. all im sayin is a few years ago i wouldnt have expected to be here. but i like it here. love it here even," i smile at him teasingly trying to ease his worries. the last thing i need is to say the wrong thing right now.

"so what youre saying is that you love me?"

"youre such an idiot."

'but do ya? because i think you do mama."

i roll my eyes chuckling, "yea. yea i do maybank," i press a small kiss to his cheek leaning back into him.

"does this mean youll let me make you a maybank mama?" his eyebrow was quirked up as he teases his question.

"lets not get ahead of ourselves. how about we take this slow?"

he looks down at my button up shirt i was wearing over my bikini to shield me from the ocean breeze, and i could tell he was debating taking it off of me. giving me that same look he always does.

"slow? mama i dont think we're gonna be too good at that."

"all 'm sayin is we dont have to jump the gun, we both admitted it, doesnt mean we gotta change the way we act or announce it or nothing. we can just enjoy this ourselves ya know?"

"you embarrassed of me mama?"

"not at all baby, just want you all to myself. is that too much to ask for?"

he shakes his head leaning up against me, our faces inches apart, "nah i dont think so. i like the sound of that."

i meet him the rest of the way pressing his lips to mine, smiling into it. pulling him as close as humanly possible. i need him under mind skin, in my blood, you know?

"i do too, so we agree? we'll keep this between us for now?"

"whatever you want mama. yes maam."

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Mine, Always and Forever ~ Ramsay Bolton x Stark!Reader

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.

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..."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.

"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."

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.

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.

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..."

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.

[cellythefloshie]

;; Locked In    by cellythefloshie

Summary: When the NHL season is abruptly halted by a global pandemic, and you find yourself sharing your tiny apartment with your brother's rookie teammate, Quinn Hughes. Kinks & TW: Tanev Sister Reader, Forced Proximity, Secret Hook-up/Romance, 2019-2020 Season, Covid-19 Lockdown, Hints of Mild Dominance from Quinn, Mild Alcohol Consumption, Dry Humping, Vaginal Fingering, A Little Angsty (unresolved). Word Count: 4k+ A/N: I hadn't planned to post anything in January. I was just going to post my Best of 2024 and be done until February. BUT then I decided I wanted to challenge myself a little. I wanted to write for a player I thought I would never write for. AND then I was writing for a time I never thought I would write before because, of course, his rookie season had to be during the pandemic. Please be gentle with me. I took a lot of creative liberties here, but I hope you all enjoy.

“Why does he have to stay here?”

The tension in your shoulders grew as you glared up at your brother Chris. If your words hadn’t been clear enough in telling him just how displeased you were with his proposition, your body language would have to help get the point across. 

“It’s just for a few days until they get everything figured out,” Chris replied, brushing off your annoyance with a casual shrug with an ease that left a bad taste in your mouth—and it really shouldn’t have. As your big brother, he had years of practice in the art of convincing you to do things you didn’t want to do. 

Sighing, you passed Chris and at the player your brother was hoping you’d welcome into the small one-bedroom apartment you called home. Quinn Hughes, the team's rookie defenseman. Tall, and handsome, you had done your best to keep your distance from him when you had met once before—knowing yourself too well to trust that you would behave around a guy like him. 

He was shy back then and seemed just as timid as he stood awkwardly in the hallway, pretending not to hear the conversation you were having with Chris. Quinn kept his head down, his warm brown eyes locked on the floor like a sad, pound puppy that nobody wanted, with his hands shoved into the pockets of his team branded hoodie. 

Forcing a smile, your gaze focused back up on your brother, and his toothy grin that was always just enough to convince you. 

“It’s bad enough that there’s some illness going around that’s so serious that they halted the season and the world feels like it’s ending,” you began, “but now you’re locking me in my apartment with the team’s rookie?”

“I can hear you, you know?” Quinn spoke up from the hallways, his gaze raising from the floor for the first time since he had arrived. 

Your heart beat hastened, and it pounded so strongly you could feel it against the delicate flesh of your throat. It raced so quickly; you thought it might burst through your chest as a wave of heated embarrassment washed over you. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you tried to play it cool, but if Quinn had reached out and felt just how sweaty your hands had become, he would know just how much of a facade it was. “Why can’t he stay with you?” You cocked your head as you brought your arms up to cross over your chest, begging him to get to the point he was trying to make. 

“The kids’ daycare is closed. Mom’s flying in before things get worse–but he’s my responsibility since we already got Petey home to Sweden and they don’t want any of the guy alone for-” Chris cut himself off, as if there was more to say but he didn’t want you to hear it. You hung on his words for a moment, ready to question him on it, but you didn’t. You knew better than to question your big brother. 

“Does mom think it’s a good idea to stick me in an apartment with him?” You challenged him in a last ditch effort to try to get out of the familial obligation of helping out your brother when he needed it. 

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” His smile grew wider as he placed Quinn’s bag down on the floor just inside the door. 

“You know,” you sighed, leaning against your door, giving Quinn just enough room to come inside, “instead of flying mom home, Quinn could have helped with the kids.” It was your final, half-serious attempt to escape the arrangement, but it only made your brother laugh. 

“Thanks, Sis,” he said simply, ignoring your every attempt to say no before he was gone, leaving you and Quinn alone in your apartment. 

You lingered by the door for a moment, your head resting against the surface as you let out a steady breath. Maybe if Chris had given you a heads up, you might have felt differently about the entire situation, but your place was in no condition for a houseguest. Dishes had piled up in the sink, your laundry was half folded on the couch, and you were in the middle of rewatching your favorite television series on Netflix as a way to avoid the hell that was going on in the world. And Quinn, he was just going to have to accept all of it. 

But only for a few days. 

With a sigh, you pushed back from the door and forced a smile. “Sorry about the mess,” you told him as you moved to the couch and gathered armfuls of clothes. “You can set yourself up on the couch. Put on anything you like. I’ll get this all out of the way.”

“Do you need a hand?” Quinn offered, and you almost flinched. You hadn’t expected him to be so nice. 

“No, no, I’m fine,” you assured, carrying the clothes into your bedroom before throwing them onto your bed. You would deal with them later. First, you would have to deal with Quinn. 

Leaving your room, you shut the door firmly behind you. “That’s my room,” you gestured to the closed door, “it’s off limits to you unless stated otherwise. Obviously, you’re in the living room, which also happens to be the kitchen and the dining room. And through there is the bathroom, and if you can manage all of that without getting lost, tomorrow I can show you where the laundry room is down the hall.”

It wasn’t much of a tour, but the apartment was small. Surely if Quinn needed anything, he would figure it out—and you wanted nothing more than to retreat and hide away from the awkward situation your brother had forced you into. Maybe it made you seem harsh—or maybe it didn’t, because Quinn met your words with a soft smile and a quiet thanks before he settled in on the sofa, making himself at home. 

“If you need anything,” you started softly, your words becoming heavy with a sigh, “just knock.”

Slowly, you slipped away into the sanctuary of your bedroom, your lips moving in a whisper of a prayer as you began to put your laundry into its place. “It’s only for a few days…”

Days turned into weeks. And as the world’s condition only seemed to worsen, necessity foiled your determination to keep Quinn at arm’s length. You could only take so much solitude in your room before the silence became unbearable. While you had movies on your laptop and video chats with your friends to keep you entertained, you needed real human contact to keep yourself from insanity. Slowly, you began to share meals together, and small talk that slowly grew beyond hockey and the relationship you had with your brothers Chris and Brandon. And to your surprise, he wasn’t the worst house guest. Quinn was self-sufficient, considerate, and–while you would never admit it to Chris–the only person keeping you from losing your mind. 

“Do you maybe want to watch a movie together, or something?” you asked him one night after dinner, your tone as casual as you could muster. 

Quinn’s attention snapped to you, shifting from his phone that lit up the surprise that overtook his features. “Yeah, sure. I can set it up. Anything you want to watch?”

You shrugged as you tucked the last of the clean dishes away. “Just put on whatever. I’ll pop some popcorn.”

Settling on the couch minutes later, you place the bowl of popcorn in the space between you. As the movie played, the distance between you and Quinn seemed to shrink with each handful. You felt the warmth of his body radiating from him, and the softness of his hands as they collided with yours on the hunt for just another handful of popcorn. It was a subtle, but unignorable touch that made your pulse quicken. 

Biting down on your lower lip, you brought your hands back to rest on your lap, and you glanced at him from the corner of your eyes. Quinn was focused on the movie, his sharp jawline tense as he enjoyed the last handful of popcorn. His eyes didn’t hold the heavy sadness they had when he had arrived at your apartment weeks ago, but seemed to have a hint of a smile in them as he laughed at one of the jokes as it played out on screen. 

You smiled softly to yourself. 

You liked his laugh, and maybe it was just the weeks of isolation consuming you, but… he wasn’t bad company at all. 

“What?” Quinn’s question sent a nervous jolt through you. He had caught you looking. 

“Nothing,” you said quickly, trying to play it cool. 

The couch shifted as Quinn turned his body away from the movie, giving his attention to you as he relaxed back against the arm of the couch. “Tell me.”

For a moment, you thought about ignoring him. That the two of you could ignore what had just happened and just get lost in the movie until the crack in your hardened facade was forgotten. But his stare left you giddy, and there was no hiding the smile that began to blossom over your features. 

“You’re not a bad guy to have around, Hughes,” you finally admitted, “and I’m glad you’re here.”

A smile, genuine smile spread across his face as he reached up to push his thick brunette hair from his eyes, “your brother thought it would be best for you–”

Your brows furrowed, your question leaving your lips in a firm question before he could continue, “I’m sorry, what?” “He didn’t want you to be alone during all of this,” Quinn explained, his voice soft and sheepish, as if he knew he shouldn’t have been telling you anything. 

You leaned back against the opposite arm of the couch, your legs coming up to spread across the cushions and dragging along his leg slowly, accidentally, until you were comfortable there. “That lying bastard,” you laughed in disbelief, “he told me you being here was for your sake!”

Quinn’s laughter joined yours, warm and contagious as it created a symphony with yours. “We’ll have to give him hell for it later… but it hasn’t been all that bad, has it?”

You shook your head slowly, a silent admission that the weeks you had spent together in forced proximity weren’t all that bad. Standing up, you moved to the fridge, finding two tall beer bottles in the back. You carried one in each hand back to the couch, offering one to him as you stood just behind him, your body leaning against the back of the couch. 

“I can think of maybe two people I’d rather be stuck here with,” you joked lightly. 

“Ouch,” Quinn teased as he twisted off the cap and took a long, satisfying sip. 

“Don’t lie,” you told him. “I know you’d rather be at home with your brothers.”

“My brothers aren’t as easy on the eyes as you are,” Quinn said quickly, without hesitation. But then his face flooded with color, and his eyes went wide. Just as quickly as his words had been said, Quinn had realized they had not just been the thoughts reserved for his head. “Let’s pretend I didn’t just say that, okay?”

You raised your brow, challenging him with a smile as you asked, “What would be the fun in that?” 

Quinn’s smile grew. 

Your brother had thrown you both into this situation. You, his sister, cooped up with him, the team’s rookie defenceman, during a global pandemic that left you both isolated and alone. What Chris had expected to happen? You didn’t know. But it was only a matter of time before the lines you had created became blurred. 

After a long, satisfying sip of beer to boost your confidence, you leaned forward and placed it down on the coffee table. Licking your lips slowly, you hesitated, your mind screaming no, but your body telling you yes, as you climbed into Quinn’s lap slowly. You seated yourself there, his lap between your thighs as you straddled him. His eyes shot wide, a quiet cough choking him as he forced back a sip of beer and silently handed the cold bottle to you. 

Leaning back carefully, you place it down next to yours, Quinn’s hands reaching out to grip carefully at your thighs to keep you from falling back. He anchored you there, in his lap, as you settled back into place carefully, your body arching further into his, stealing more and more of his space until you were a breath away from his lips. A small smile blossomed over your lips slowly, your body consumed with the giddiness of what you were about to do. Your brother would kill you for this, or Quinn, but you didn’t care. It made it all the more exciting to lean in and kiss him. 

There was a moment of hesitancy in the careful kiss of Quinn’s lips as they welcomed yours. His kiss was slow, and curious as your eyes fluttered shut and your hands came to rest on his shoulders. Your touch was a feather light fleeting touch that quickly found its way into the thick wisps of his hair as his kiss deepened with desperation. 

He kissed you like you were a glass of water, and he hadn’t had a sip in weeks. His tongue stroked your lips slowly before parting them, and you could taste the beer on his tongue as you welcomed it into your mouth. The sweet contact unleashed a hum that caused through Quinn’s body in a subtle vibration that could feel between your thighs. And suddenly, your entire body was weak, like gelatin, and craving more than just the kiss of his lips. 

“Quinn,” you whined against his lips, your hips moving in slow rotations over his lap, grinding your core against his cock that you hoped to coax into an erection. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, breaking the kiss for the first time as he threw his head back. Quinn’s touch left where he held you firmly at the back of your thighs, dragging upwards until they settled on your hips and encouraged your every movement. 

You watched as his face melted into a soft expression that you couldn’t quite place, his mouth agape and his eyes shut as he focused on the very feeling of you. And between your legs, you could feel the stiffness of his cock, hard and ready. Reaching down, your fingers fumbled to work him free of his pants, but the quick lurch of his one hand captured both of yours in his hold. 

You looked up at him, your eyes wide in shock as he guided your hands to the waistband of your pants carefully. 

“Take those off,” he told you, his words firm and far from a suggestion, “and go to your room.”

Holy fuck. You had never been someone who liked to be told what to do, but in that moment, Quinn could have told you to do anything and you would have done it. 

Standing slowly, you stood between his knees as she remained seated on the couch. Your eyes fixated on his features, worried that if you had let them wander down out of curiosity, you might moan. As you held your breath, your hands pushed down at the waist of your pants, you pushed them down—and your panties went with them. 

They remained in a heap on the floor, your toes tripping over them slightly as you began the agonizing walk to the bedroom. With every stride you could feel your own wetness dripping down the inside of your thighs, your core begging to be filled. And as you got to your bedroom, you froze, your legs pressed firm together as you waited. His footsteps didn’t fill the silence. Quinn wasn’t following you. 

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, your flesh suddenly red hut and sent a shimmer with a sheen of sweat. Quinn was still in the living room, his thoughts entirely his own as you waited, near panicked, for him to join you. 

Standing with your back to the door, your eyes shut as you took deep breaths in an attempt to remain calm. Maybe you had been too forward. He wasn’t interested—or maybe he wasn’t as reckless as you and wasn’t ready to throw away a good relationship with his teammate by fucking his teammate’s sister. 

“Fuck,” you cursed to yourself, ready to accept the mistake you had just made. 

Reaching for your blanket, you had intended to wrap it around your waist and retreat back into the living room with an apology, but when you turned around, Quinn was standing in your doorway. 

His steps were slow as he entered your bedroom for the first time since he had arrived two weeks prior. Quinn wasted no time getting familiar with his surroundings. He only had eyes for you as he met you where you stood frozen at the foot of your bed. Quinn’s arms wrapped around you in a careful bear-hug, drawing your body flush with his as his lips found yours in a kiss that reassured you that your advances had been welcome. 

You moaned against his lips as he lay you out on your bed with an effortless strength and splayed your legs open wide. Quinn could have settled himself in between them, but instead, he lay down at your side, your one leg propped up against him. He stroked at the delicate flesh of your inner thigh slowly as he kissed you. His touch moved up only an inch at a time, teasing you as he encroached on the apex of your thighs. He left your body shuddering with anticipation, his hand hovering over your eagerness but void of his touch when you knew he was so close to where you wanted him. 

“Please don’t make me beg,” you muttered against his lips. 

It had been weeks since you had anyone touch you, and when he had become your unexpected house guest, he was the last person you thought you would welcome into your bed. But now that you had him there, you wanted all of him, or as much of himself as he was willing to give you. 

First, you felt him smile against your lips, a hum of a laugh coursing through him, and then you felt his fingers on your clit. 

Your teeth grit in a satisfied hiss, your hips raising to meet his touch with an eagerness that was out of your control. Your heels dug down into the bed, your hips rolling into every careful circular stroke he made before his fingers dipped down, feeling the slick of your arousal and plunged into your core. 

“Quinn,” you gasped out, your hips dropping into a downward angle to welcome his fingers into your core. 

His middle and ring finger worked you in quick thrusts that left your mind dizzy and your movements purely instinctive as you anchored yourself to your bed with the grasp of your hand and bucked your hips up into his hand just to feel more of him. Quickly, you were so embarrassingly close to coming, and it left you reeling as you looked up at him with pleading eyes. 

“Are you going to-” you started, your body trying to roll on top of him in a swift movement that was interrupted by the careful push of his free hand against your hip. Quinn pushed you back to laying flat against the bed, one hand still buried in your core while the other held you down at the hips. The angle he worked you into, paired with how his fingers curled at just the right spot as they worked you, sent a fire burning through you. Your arousal coated his fingers, dripping down over his palm and making a mess of the bed as pleasure pulsed through you. It left you moaning, your head thrown back against the mattress as your core clenched around his fingers, wishing that it was his cock. 

As you lay in your bed, panting, you tried to remember the last time you let someone do something as adolescent as getting you off with nothing more than their fingers. But your mind was fogged by the bliss of your climax—but one thought hung low over you, preventing you from enjoying it fully. Quinn hadn’t gotten to enjoy releasing himself. 

Rolling over slowly, you tried to reach out for his waistband again, but he caught your hand. Your gaze met his, his eyes soft, and his smile small as he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb slowly. 

“You didn’t get to-” You started, but he cut you off. 

“I know,” he said, his hand bringing your hand to his lips to place a gentle kiss on your palm—a small attempt at a distraction from how his cock still seemed to throb in the confines of his pants. “But let’s sleep on it, okay? Make sure you don’t regret this in the morning. I mean, your brother is my teammate, after all.”

“Oh,” you sounded softly, trying to hide your disappointment behind understanding, “yeah, okay. But ah- can you stay in here with me tonight?” You requested slowly, “I don’t want to sleep alone anymore-”

Quinn nodded slowly, leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead. “I can do that, anything to get away from sleeping on that damn couch–”

The morning sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains, casting long shadows across the table as you sat across from Quinn. It was the first morning since he had arrived that it felt like you weren’t walking on eggshells. It was a quiet, comfortable affair, yet there was a new tension in the air. One that you couldn’t quite place. Maybe he was regretting what had happened. That thought alone left your stomach in your throat as you poked at your breakfast, trying to find the will to take the first bite. 

Then, breaking the silence, Quinn found the courage to speak. “I’m allowed to fly back to Michigan, to be with my family until the season resumes.”

Your grasp on your fork tightened, his words hitting you like a slap to the face. You could feel your face wanting to fall into a scowl, but you did your best to mask it by taking a long sip of your drink as you sought composure. 

So that was it. After weeks of shared solitaire, an awkward beginning that turned into something that felt natural, he was leaving? Just like that?

“That’s great,” you said, forcing a smile. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning,” he answered. 

You could feel his gaze on your face, searching for the reaction you refused to give him. Instead, you let your features soften, a practiced smile on your features as you set your fork down on the table with deliberate care. “I won’t keep you then. You’ve got some packing to do. The last thing you need is a distraction.”

Pushing your chair back, you abandoned your place on the table, your breakfast unfinished, and moved towards your bedroom. Your footsteps were quick, your eyes fixated on your bedroom door, and they did not deviate from it. Not even as Quinn’s voice followed you, your name leaving his lips in a gentle plea, “Please wait, can we talk about this?”

His words didn’t stop you. You didn’t turn around; you didn’t look back at him. Instead, your hand just tightened into your fist at your side as you reached the threshold of your doorway. There, you lingered for a moment, your flexed hand reaching up to rest against the door frame. You could feel Quinn’s eyes on your back, and your lips parted as if to say something–a sharp retort, a clever quip, anything to fill the silence–but no words came. 

Only a quivering breath left your lips as you stepped into your room and closed the door firmly behind you. 

The quietness and sudden isolation of your room were suddenly suffocating. Just mere hours ago you had Quinn had woken up there, together, and now he was going to just leave? It felt like some sick and twisted joke that left you trembling as you sank to your knees. You couldn’t help but wonder if he had known before breakfast, and that last night only happened because Quinn knew he was going to leave. The what ifs were all-consuming in your mind, raging louder and louder even if you tried to combat them with: Quinn, isn’t that kind of guy. He’s good—at least that’s what you wanted to believe. But the thought wasn’t enough. Your tears came anyway, hot and unrelenting as you silently sobbed. The hot tears spilled down your cheeks as you pressed your psalm into your face to muffle any sound that threatened to escape your lips. 

Quinn was leaving. After everything. After the awkward days of learning to live together, and the late-night talks, the laughter, and the moments that felt too intimate to be casual. You’d finally allowed yourself to settle into the strange shared existence the two of you had been thrust into. For two weeks, it was just the two of you alone in the little world that was your apartment. When Chris had dropped him off weeks ago, you knew the arrangement was temporary. At one point you had been counting down the hours until he could leave… but now, as you struggled through shallow breaths in search of a glimmer of composure, you had to accept he was leaving you behind, and it felt achingly permanent. 

In just twenty-four hours, Quinn would be gone.

You spent each one of them alone in your room, your mind racing with so many things you wanted to say, but never brought yourself to. As the next time you left your room, the apartment was unbearably quiet, void of Quinn’s presence. And for the first time in weeks, you were truly alone. 

[fatuismooches]

Celestia has fallen, ending a period of turmoil, meaning you and Dottore are free to do what you want with the rest of your lives - but both of you have trouble getting accustomed to this new, strangely peaceful life.

Seeing the sky completely clear save for puffy clouds was a sight that still took getting used to, after all, the island that had once been there was commonplace for everyone. But now, after a long and arduous war, and centuries of preparation and loss, it was over. Celestia had been defeated, the era of rebuilding was slow yet steady, and the Fatui had disbanded shortly after their victory.

... Meaning that you and Dottore, who once had much to do and worry about, now had... very little to do and worry about. His once-important experiments had reached their peak, and what's more, you were finally free from your illness. There was no need for all-nighters spent hastily writing notes, creating new concoctions for you, tending to the darker side of his work. Similarly, the days spent in anguish and sickness had now become a memory of the past, although your body was still slowly recovering.

So what was there to do now?

That was what you thought as you lay in the dark, cuddling close to Zandik's chest in your new home. It was an odd feeling - having him this close for days on end - sleeping with you from nightfall to the sun rising. It was once an exceedingly rare occurrence, from when he was once a busy Harbinger, but here he was still in bed. (Although he still had a habit of waking up early - whether he laid there and stared at you, or got up to find something to busy himself with was still a fifty-fifty chance.)

To be honest, now that you thought about it, you never had a real, fleshed-out plan on what to do after everything was over. All you had was the first step - acquire a spacious and cozy home in Sumeru to settle down. And well, that had been accomplished surprisingly easier than you anticipated - The Jester had gifted you such a house in a perfect spot - leaving it as a goodbye gift.

In the beginning, the days had been as leisurely as possible, bordering on lazy. Sleeping in late into the day, hours upon hours spent appreciating each other's presence and body. You defended it as making up for centuries of lost time, although Dottore didn't protest in the first place. Dinner was spent quietly outside, looking up at the sky that was no longer false. However, it was obvious both of you were growing a bit restless - which was why you quickly came up with a plethora of new things to do.

—

"Let's start a garden!"

And so had started a common goal between you two - although another issue that had been presented in this new relaxing life was Dottore's lingering hesitation to trust you with certain activities. Constantly he was keeping an eye on your every move or stepping in himself, even though he knew you could do some things yourself now.

Truthfully, you couldn't blame him, already aware that overprotectiveness that lasted centuries wouldn't go away so easily, but that was something that would have to be worked through slowly. He was still performing a routine check-up on your every day...

"Zandik, it's just digging up some soil. You're acting like the worms are going to attack me or something."

"... Just make sure not to scrap your knees."

"I'm also not a child- darling, what are you injecting into the plants...?" Your husband only smiled, his sharp teeth gleaming.

"This? Do not worry, we won't consume these ones. This is simply... a test to indulge my curiosity."

Well, you always knew his love of experimenting would never truly go away! Maybe you'll get some cool, fucked up, weird mutated plants!

—

"Let's get a kitty so Foxttore has a friend!"

Despite all the tragedy you'd endured, Foxttore was one of the few things that remained with you the whole time, even after the way. The creature quite liked Sumeru after surviving Snezhnaya - it was always lazily sunbathing and refused to come in. Dottore still kept his habit of locking it out.

The pufflings too of course - but they had made the two of you become the gossip of the children - turns out the black puff balls started playing with the kids and kept returning to your house, making them whisper about "the two weird grown-ups who live out in the middle of nowhere." You were amused.

Regardless of your reputation, now you and your husband were in the perfect environment to finally own a cute kitty. The lab wasn't exactly the ideal place for such an animal, after all.

... So now, an equally as lazy cat could be found sleeping on Zandik's lap as he read by the window, giving it languid tummy rubs and pets. Foxttore wasn't invited.

—

"Let's go exploring!"

When you had dropped this idea on Zandik, he had given you a strange look.

"All this time, you had been pleading with me to stay inside and relax, but now you wish to go and exert yourself?" Despite his remarks, you could tell Zandik wished to do something with his hands as well.

"Well, this is because it's going to be fun! It'll be like we're students again!"

And with that, you two were back inside the huge Ruin Golem in the forest. To be honest, there was not much to actually explore here, but... it was nostalgic. It was places like these where the two of you spent a lot of time together, and where he told you of his grand ambitions as a young scholar.

And even after all this time, the former Harbinger was still fascinated with the technology, already playing with something, to which you joined him. No doubt he already knew the answer, but it was something to keep his once-overworked mind occupied.

"Guess the two of us aren't cut out for this 'normal life' stuff, eh? Coming back here even though there's nothing left to be discovered. Think the notes we left are still here?"

"That's impossible. They must have long eroded by now," he briefly commented, hands still running over the cool metal.

"So... wanna test if you're still motion-sick?"

—

"Let's teach you how to cook... again!"

Loads of spare time had come with nothing better to do than to attempt to make the impossible become possible once again, which was why you had the Harbinger turned house husband in the kitchen with you, equipped with an apron you forced him to wear if he wanted any sweets.

This time you had decided to forget actual food and make one, singular, cupcake. Surely he couldn't mess that up, right?

You made him clean the kitchen after throwing out the burnt apron.

—

In conclusion, there were still lots of things that could fill the endless time you two were given. But there was still something you wanted, although you weren't sure how to bring it up.

The loss of the segments still remained a wound in your heart, although you moved on from all those years ago. More specifically, Zandy was someone you held extremely dear in your heart and memories. The child had changed your life, and Dottore's too - opening his own heart to softness - which was something you longed for too.

However, naturally, you were nervous asking Zandik about it. After all, becoming a father was probably not something he saw himself doing. Of course, your anxiety was quickly recognized by your lover, who beckoned you one night.

"What plagues your mind?" His question startled you, and although you knew he'd come around to asking eventually, you still weren't prepared to answer properly. But you knew you'd have to come out with it soon.

"There's... something I want."

"Tell me," Zandik quickly reassured you. "I'm sure it is within my capabilities."

"I... I don't know if you'd want to," you awkwardly admitted, to which your husband gave you a hard look, and then moved to squeeze your hand.

"I can only determine that if you tell me what it is you desire." With a sigh, you had to agree.

"I've been thinking... about our... family," the last word was uttered softly, as if you still couldn't believe things reached this point.

"There's you, me, Foxttore, the pufflings, our kitty Beaker, and I guess the crows around here could count too... and I love everyone a lot!" Dottore hummed in agreement, rubbing his fingers over your knuckles.

"But... what if we added someone else to our family? A... c-child, perhaps," you finally blurted out your confession, working up the courage to look at him directly. Speaking of, he had stopped wearing that mask of his now, so you were always subject to his brilliant red eyes. As such, you witnessed the gems widen slightly and his jaw slacken. Quickly you rushed to continue.

"I-I know it'll be a lot of work and responsibility but together we can do it! And I know it probably isn't something you thought of but I'll be here with you all the way... I know you won't let the past repeat itself," you murmured, well aware of how he was treated as a child. Dottore's gaze had moved to the stars, still silent at your words, which was making you worry at this point.

"If-"

"It is not something I am opposed to," Zandik finally admitted, and you had to hold back a sigh of relief.

"Truly?"

"Yes. However..." He trailed off, perhaps wondering how to articulate the fears you already knew full well - how could someone like him ever be a loving father? Did he even have that capability? How could he hold his child with his stained hands?

"I understand," you squeezed his hand. "We'll figure it out together," you promised, "just like how we figured everything else out. How else would we have stayed together for a couple hundred years?" You gently teased him to which he finally looked at you again, an unusually soft look in his eyes.

"We will," Zandik agreed, kissing you on your forehead.

—

Time continued to move, and from a student to Harbinger, Zandik now found himself a parent, who was now cuddled in between him and you - though you were already fast asleep, while his daughter had woken him up in the middle of the night. The fact that Dottore hadn't woken up earlier was a testament to how much he loosened up these past years...

"Go back to sleep. I won't take you out to the forest if you're too tired." The young girl pouted at her father's strictness.

"But it's not my fault! I'm too excited to watch you do your experimenting stuff!" (In reality, all they were doing was collecting samples of plants.) With a sigh, the man stroked her hair.

"Oh! Oh! How about you sing the song they always sing to you when you're grumpy! That always makes you relax!" His daughter seemed to have picked up some of your cheeky, bargaining habits...

"If you do, will you quiet down?" The girl quickly nodded.

"Very well..." And so, he began humming a tune, that was rather off-key despite you teaching it to him quite a few times, but his little girl didn't seem to notice much.

In the dark, you secretly smiled at the sweet interaction. To think after centuries of pain, you finally obtained such a life...

Everything would be okay, in the end.

[vigilante-3073]

Daddy's Credit Card

Cullen Family x Female Vampire Reader (Platonic)

PART 6

Summary: Edward and Bella's wedding day was fast approaching. Bella begins to struggle with the idea of becoming a vampire. She also wonders what a future with Edward could look like if he continues his turbulent relationship with Y/N.

TW: Mentions of marriage, manipulation, lack of regard for the feelings of others.

Edward stood on the terrace, looking out into the forest and watching the sun rise through the trees. Y/N made her way over to him, crossing her arms and leaning against the railing.

The silence settled easily between them and for a moment it almost felt like it used to. He hoped that their tense exchange from the previous day would be forgotten, but Y/N had never been one for turning over new leaves.

Y/N had always been impulsive and Edward dealt with it well until her impulsivity put Bella at risk.

"That gaudy ring that your human has been parading around with leads me to believe that congratulations are in order... I didn't think you had it in you to make so many life ruining choices in so little time," Y/N stated.

"How did you find out?" Edward asked.

"The real question is why you hid it from me," She replied.

"I didn't hide it," Edward said.

"Did you think I wouldn't come back if you told me you were engaged to her?" Y/N questioned.

Edward hesitated, "I needed you," He stated softly.

Y/N hated that he thought the simple statement justified his lies to her. Edward had never been outright cruel, he moved in the shadows with practiced precision. He kept his hands clean while burying the knife in her flesh like he had done countless times before.

Edward lied by omission, but he knew exactly what he was doing.

"You needed my power, not me," Y/N said.

"I care about you, Y/N... I want you to be here with us," Edward said.

"Where exactly do you think I belong in this perfect life you've created for yourself, hmm? Following you and your wife around until she eventually dies so you're not alone?" Y/N asked, looking over at him.

"I'm turning her into a Vampire after the wedding," He said.

"Oh, how sweet of you to consider me when planning your happy life," Y/N replied bitterly.

"Don't patronize me, Y/N," He snapped.

"You started it," She said calmly, straightening up and turning towards him.

Edward huffed, "That wasn't my intention," He said.

"You're a fool, Edward. I have told you that you need to cut her loose and you've chosen to shackle yourself to her instead," Y/N said.

"I love her," Edward stated.

"She is plain... The only thing that makes her interesting to you is the fact that you can't read her mind. The fascination will wear off after a few decades and you will toss her away like chewed gum," She said.

"I would never do that to her," Edward snapped.

"But you did it to me without an issue," Y/N replied coldly.

Edward huffed, "You were a danger to her, Y/N," He said.

"No, I wasn't. If I wanted the girl dead, she'd be dead and you know that," Y/N said.

Y/N was right, she didn't need to be able to use her powers to kill Bella. Y/N may have had some ill intent during their previous interactions, but she hadn't taken any action.

Y/N had been Edward's trusted friend for years and he couldn't imagine a future without her. He loved Bella, but Y/N was family and he wouldn't turn his back on her.

"You're right," Edward muttered.

Y/N looked over at him, almost confused by his response to her, "Did you just agree with me?" She questioned.

Edward shot her a look, "I did, but don't let it go to your head... I know that you haven't been welcoming to Bella but I want to be able to trust you around her. I'm willing to continue our friendship if you are," Edward said.

"Is your little girlfriend going to be okay with this?" Y/N questioned.

"It doesn't matter. You're one of the most important people in my life and she'll have to deal with it," Edward said.

Y/N smirked, "Already picking favorites before you're even married... Good luck with the wedding," She said, stepping away from the railing and moving inside.

Edward lingered on the balcony, he felt unsettled after their interaction and he couldn't pinpoint why. Y/N knew about Edward's engagement and the plan to change Bella after the wedding which had been his biggest cause for concern.

No one in the family had told her, which meant that the news had come from Bella directly. Edward's relationship with Bella had been strained lately and an unsupervised interaction with Y/N could definitely explain it.

Bella hadn't been sleeping, her nights were filled with bad dreams and restless sleep. When Edward asked her about what was worrying her, she brushed him off and told him that everything was fine. Edward hated not knowing what she was thinking, she had been quiet and it worried him.

There had been no yelling or use of excessive force during his conversation with Y/N which should have made him feel better about their situation, but it didn't.

They were in uncharted territory and Edward couldn't help but feel on edge. Bella was still an undoubtedly fragile human and he just needed to keep her safe until the wedding. After that, she would be a Vampire and a permanent part of the Cullen family.

Edward suddenly stiffened when he realized where Y/N had gone. She would do anything she could to push him and Bella further apart, even if it meant using his own words against him.

...

Edward raced to town and arrived in Bella's bedroom quickly, Y/N was sitting in a chair while the young human hovered awkwardly by the door.

"Hello, Edward. I was just updating your human on the details of our talk. I think you have a couple things that need to be discussed," Y/N said, standing up from the chair.

Edward grabbed her wrist, "Why would you do this?" He asked angrily.

"I just think everyone needs to know where they stand before our friendship can continue. The human agrees, don't you?" Y/N asked, looking over at Bella.

"Leave her out of this," Edward snapped, grip tightening on her wrist.

"Stop it, both of you. My god, you're like children and it's ridiculous," Bella said, Edward released Y/N's arm.

"Look, she's right about knowing where everyone stands, but I know that she only came here to try and mess with my head," Bella stated.

"Not as stupid as she looks," Y/N muttered.

"Shut up," Edward snapped.

"Can you go? You've caused a sufficient amount of issues now, Y/N," Bella mumbled, shifting uncomfortably on her feet and crossing her arms.

"It would be my pleasure," She said, turning her attention to Edward.

"Have fun cleaning up the mess you've created, Edward," Y/N smiled, disappearing without another word.

Edward let out a huff, "Bella, I was going to tell you about reaching out to her," He started.

"When?" Bella asked, making her way over to him.

"You haven't been sleeping lately and I didn't want to add another thing onto your plate," Edward said.

"I haven't been sleeping because of all of this," Bella said, gesturing between them, "She hates me and she's getting in my head about everything. I have nightmares that she kills me before I make it to the altar," Bella said.

"She wouldn't do that," Edward stated.

"I think you're seriously underestimating her, Edward," Bella said, shaking her head.

"Y/N has a problem with me, not you. I haven't been entirely honest with her lately and that's on me," Edward stated.

"Why are you keeping things from her? If she's really your friend, you should be able to tell her everything," Bella said.

"Y/N and I have a complicated relationship, Bella. I can't just abandon her and I need you to respect that," He said.

Bella huffed, "What if I said 'it's her or me'?" She questioned.

Edward faltered, opening his mouth before quickly closing it again. He didn't know what to say, he assumed that the answer would be easy but he hesitated.

Edward had never allowed himself to think about fully giving up on Y/N. He didn't love her, but she was his best friend. He felt like he was missing something when she wasn't around.

Having Y/N disappear from his life had proved to him that he would never be ready to close the door on her.

"Wow... I don't even know what to say," She muttered, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

"I don't love her, Bella, but she's my best friend and I won't abandon her," Edward said.

"She's a big girl, Edward. I'm sure she can handle it," Bella stated.

"No, she can't," Edward snapped.

Bella looked shocked before she let out a shaky exhale, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you... I just- This is something I am not willing to compromise on. Y/N has been through a lot and I owe it to her," Edward said.

"Fine, but I need to know that nothing is going to happen before or during the wedding," Bella said.

"I promise," Edward nodded.

Bella hoped that she could trust him, but the nightmares continued to plague her. She wanted to tell him that he needed to choose her, but his mind was made up.

His hesitation when she asked him to pick between her and Y/N only served to solidify her doubts. When she put him on the spot, he picked Y/N and in high pressure situations he was likely to do the same thing.

The wedding was only days away and a pit was beginning to form in her stomach. Marriage was one thing, but becoming a Vampire was not something that she could opt out of easily. Edward put a lot of weight into the idea of marriage and once she became like him, she would be stuck.

Bella couldn't walk away from him after he gave her immortality. She also struggled to cope with the idea of having her entire life be stuck in such a toxic loop.

Y/N was reactive and manipulative, pushing them apart whenever they got closer to one another. She was possessive of Edward and had some serious issues that would interfere with their relationship for the foreseeable future.

Bella hoped that things would fall into place, but she was beginning to feel like they never would.

...

Edward and Bella were getting married tomorrow. Alice had planned absolutely everything for the wedding. She took care of the guest list, the invitations, the flowers, the dress and everything in between.

The property of the Cullen house had been fully transformed for the wedding. Intricate flowers were hanging from overhead and a beautiful arch had been created for them to get married under.

Bella was still having nightmares, but refused to acknowledge them as the wedding day approached. Bella hadn't heard a peep from Y/N since she meddled in their relationship after her conversation with Edward.

Y/N had moved back into the Cullen house, but had been keeping to herself for the most part. Bella was almost beginning to wonder if Edward was keeping her in check or if she was quiet for a more malicious reason.

Edward visited Bella in her bedroom before his bachelor party and they talked about his past. The conversation threw her off, it almost seemed like he was trying to give her a reason to call off their engagement.

Their relationship was still tense, but it was starting to go back to the way it had been. Despite Y/N trying to get under Bella's skin about Edward reaching out to her, the conversation had actually helped.

They were able to lay their cards on the table and be honest. Edward's connection to Y/N was complex and problematic but it was always going to exist. Their conversation lifted some of the weight from her shoulders, but hadn't relieved it entirely.

Bella sent him off to his brothers for his bachelor party before settling in for a night of restless sleep. Edward's bachelor party involved a rather entertaining hunt and some juvenile behavior with his brothers until the sun began to rise.

Edward walked through the forest on his way back to the Cullen house with Jasper and Emmett. Morning dew glistened on the greenery and birds began to chirp in the trees.

"I wonder what Y/N is going to get up to today. That's one hell of a wild card to have at your wedding," Emmett said with a smirk.

"She's not going to try anything," Edward stated.

"You sure about that?" Jasper questioned.

Edward huffed, "I don't know what she's up to lately," He said.

"Might be best to put Carlisle on Y/N duty. He can keep an eye on her for you," Emmett said.

"If I do that she'll think I don't trust her," Edward said.

"But you don't," Emmett stated, climbing over a fallen tree trunk.

"I don't want her to know that," Edward shrugged.

"I'm glad she's moving back in. I missed having her around," Emmett said.

"Me too," Jasper nodded, "She's fun and she makes you loosen up a bit," He said, looking over at Edward.

"She hates Bella," Edward stated.

"Nah, I don't think so. Just seems like she's trying to keep you from doing something stupid," Emmett said, Edward shot him a glare.

"Hey, I don't think it's stupid, but she definitely does," Emmett said, holding his hands up.

Edward huffed, "I'll talk to her. She has to know how important the wedding is to us," He said.

"Good luck with that," Jasper smirked.

The trio fell silent as they approached the Cullen house, splitting off into their respective rooms while Edward made his way to Y/N's bedroom.

He knew that Emmett was right and he needed to talk to Y/N. She had been far too quiet for it to mean anything good. He knocked on her door gently, lowering his hand and waiting for her to reply from inside.

Edward knew she was in her room and the silence frustrated him. Edward opened the door after a moment had passed, Y/N was sitting in her armchair with a book in her lap.

"No response means no one's home," Y/N muttered, flipping the page in her book.

Edward stepped into her room, closing the door behind himself, "I need to talk to you," He said.

"Well, if I wanted to talk to you I would've opened the door," Y/N replied.

"I'm getting married today and I need you to promise me that you won't do anything stupid," Edward said.

"I'm not willing to make that promise, Edward," Y/N stated.

"I can't have you there if you're going to pose a risk to the humans we've invited," He said.

"Uninvite me then," She said, closing her book and looking up at him.

Edward huffed, "You're my friend and I want you to be there. I don't think it's an outlandish request to ask you to behave," Edward said.

"Clearly you haven't met me," Y/N stated.

"I thought we were starting over after our last conversation," He said.

"Are you talking about the conversation where you invited me to be a third wheel in your marriage? Because I don't consider that to be a promising jumping off point for us," Y/N stated.

Edward shook his head, "You're insufferable, you know that? I have been bending over backwards trying to make things work between us and you don't care," He said.

"You brought me here under false pretenses, Edward. You have dragged me along like a fish on a hook for half a century. Forgive me for making you grovel a little bit," Y/N snapped.

"You're a hypocrite... You talk about the things that I've done, but what about you? You haven't always had good intentions with me either," Edward stated.

"We're both awful people, but at least I'm willing to admit it," She shrugged.

Edward sighed, "I don't want to fight with you, Y/N. I just want us to be civil and I would like to have you at the wedding," He said.

"I'll go, but I can't promise to be happy about it," Y/N replied.

"That's all I ask," Edward said.

...

PART 7

[percywinchester27]

The new Mrs. Winchester (20)

Word count: 3.1K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Chapter warnings: Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, PTSD, angst, flesh trade, language, mention of violence and murder; reader discretion is strongly advised.

Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?

A/N: Guys, I so hope you like this chapter! It was a pleasure to write :)

Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23

“You are the most frustrating thing in the world,” you said to the burner phone standing silently on the tabletop. Only one person called or messaged on the phone and it had stayed quiet for a whole week. The longer it remained silent, the sadder you became. Sam’s desperation to prove his innocence must have turned into frustration and then anger. After all, he’d done everything right and had still been accused of something heinous by you. Anger would be natural. But you were scared that maybe the anger was turning into apathy now. Sam’s silence was proof.

Abby’s mother had fallen ill, and with a tight hug, she had bid you goodbye for the weekend. You felt lonelier than ever in the house. No Abby, no Jack, and no Han to wait for you at the pier when you lit a lamp. But most of all, no Sam.

The terror that had gripped you since first seeing Nick had dissipated some, but you were still afraid that he might turn up in the mansion and you would have to face him again. So, you spent most of your days in Martha’s kitchen, reading Wordsworth and his sad poetry.

However, after a week of skulking around the house like a phantom, you decided to open the forbidden connecting door to Sam’s room. Maybe seeing his pictures, trophies and books would bring some solace. The room looked as benign as the last time you had seen it, on the day before the gallery opening. The pictures were all there on Sam’s nightstand, now with a thin film of dust over them. Sam had locked the room from outside when he’d left, so no staff could get in, not a soul… except you. 

The sheets on his bed were perfectly made and you wondered if this is how he treated all the hotel rooms in the world, too, leaving them just as he had found them as if he’d never been there. But these sheets had held him close in nights, wrapping their silk around his body in a way you could only dream of. Quietly, you lifted a well-made corner and slipped underneath, hoping to envelop yourself in some trace of him. The sheets did not smell of him anymore. Despite all your efforts, the room did not seem like his at all with him gone. You remembered the line from your story of Eros and Psyche. When Psyche lost her trust in her husband, Eros, left in anger and despair… All love and beauty seemed to evaporate from the world in its entirety. 

You curled up on your side, twisting in the sheets, feeling Psyche’s frustration in every bone. Everything had been going smoothly, but you had let doubt corrupt your head and now Sam was gone. As you twisted on the bed, your hand touched something rough beneath the sheet. You sat up, discarding the sheets completely and reached out to find an envelope. You turned it around to see your name etched on top in Sam’s elegant handwriting.

You nearly tore the envelope in your hurry to get the contents out. Inside was a letter addressed to you.

Y/N,

I wanted to come clean. I wanted to tell you everything, but I’d be damned if I overstepped my boundaries and crossed the line of your consent. Not again. But if you are reading this, it means you’ve chosen to come to my room, and climbed into my bed of your own volition. It means that your consent was involved.

So, let me tell you how you ended up here in my bed, in this moment. Let me tell you everything from the very beginning.

Jo’s pie was still fresh on the table when we set out to find her, and that’s where we found it three days later when we returned. Dean took one look at it and his knees gave out. We’ve been through some tough times, Dean and I, but never had I seen him so scared in my entire life. When they found Jo’s body, Dean drove his car into a cliffside three days later. You probably don’t know this, but he loves that car and it came back wrecked, but still less wrecked than him. You told me about the days when your dad returned home between tours and he had this haunted look in his eyes, the look of witnessing death, causing it… seeing the people you love suddenly die. I might have looked that way, too.  Jo was like a sister to me growing up and she was dead, and Dean wasn’t just my brother, he was my whole world. Slowly, but surely, I was watching him waste away right in front of my eyes.

I didn’t see my mother die– another person who died because of me; died for me– but I was old enough to watch my father slowly kill himself. He’d return from these long trips and I would run to him, but he never spared me a glance. After all, I was the reason his wife wasn’t with him. He’d loved that woman more than anything in the world. I believe Dean reminded him of all the good times he’d shared with his wife, but I was a reminder of the peace he’d lost. If she hadn’t run in to save me from the fire, she’d be alive and breathing with him. No, he wasn’t outright cruel, but slowly as he drowned himself in whiskey, the whiskey truly drowned him. Dean found him like that in his study one night, without a heartbeat, but a drink still in his hand.

Dean became just like that in the months after Jo’s death, always clutching a bottle, eyes red and out of his mind. I can’t count the number of times I’d picked him up from bars with bloody knuckles and a bruised face, and I felt helpless watching my brother go the same way as my father, wishing, just wishing I could go back in time to stop Jo from leaving alone. One day my life had been good, not perfect, but good, and the next day it had been dragged to hell.

The first time I saw a light in Dean’s eyes was when the sheriff, Jody Mills, came back with some definitive proof. Before Jo, two other bodies had been recovered from Lincoln lake. And though they bore signs of more heinous abuse, the MO appeared to be the same, similar disappearances, similar disposal. There had been other disappearances as well, but no trace of the bodies and more than half of those could be traced directly to the estate. It was easy to put together the story… a human trafficking ring was active in the area. 

I saw my brother go from the edge of destruction to grasping at the threads of hope for justice. He threw himself into Jody’s investigation with this feverish energy. But no matter how hard he tried, or anybody tried, eventually, we all hit roadblocks. No one could get on top of the ring, and it got worse when Jody found out that even her superiors in the police were involved. She didn’t have any pull with federal law enforcement. Not then anyway. I was just starting to worry that I would lose my brother all over again when Jody came up with the plan… with this plan.

The plan was easy enough and by now I’m sure you know most of it, though, I didn’t think it would work. No one who has seen us growing up would believe I could throw him out, but Dean had a solution to that as well. ‘Just replace all staff’ he’d said. At first, I went along just in desperation to save Dean from the abyss he was in danger of falling into. Finding out who did this to Jo had become his life’s mission. I couldn’t take it away from him without losing him, too, but I didn’t really believe he and Jody would manage to implement it. But then there came a day when I had to make the decision, to be in or out.

I’d have died before letting Dean down, but that night he made me promise that I would go along. He had already transferred all his property and estate rights save for the shares, but that night he begged me to say yes… to do this abhorrent thing of paying money to own a human being. He justified it with fancy words… said I’d be saving a girl from life in hell, but I knew it for the depraved act it truly was. I don’t remember the things I said to my brother that night or the wreckage I left of the door and furniture, but in the end, I had to give in. How could I not? 

And so, before the day break Dean left, and the very next day, I assumed power of the board and estate. The first to go was Dean’s portrait from the gallery, and then every last item that could be associated with him was purged from this God-forsaken house. I moved in a week later and then within a month, the staff was replaced. Being cold and detached from them was hardly even work once Dean left. I was heartbroken enough to shut myself within me. But still, selfishly, I couldn’t let go of Jack and Martha, I was scared that I would be lost to even myself without them. After all, do you even exist if no one around you knows you?

So far the plan was working, but then suddenly it worked too well. The whispers that we had planted were taking root now. The word that I was looking to buy finally reached the right ears and one day, a man accosted me outside the office, offering the deal. He handed me a card with a location and asked me to be there at eleven the next morning. There, he had a photo book ready for me to pick from. Up until then, I had never hated myself more. To even look at the pictures, as if I was some kind of God to choose which one to save… which of these women was eligible to be rescued from this prison, and put into a different one. My prison wouldn’t have the torture of this one, but a place where she would be dragged to without her own free will would be a prison nonetheless.

I had to choose. One. I closed my eyes, gulped and vowing to come back for the rest after this one, I opened that photo book. And there you were on the 5th page. I stopped there and did not flip further. The man said you were not up for sale, that you were Boss’s favourite. I doubled the price, he wouldn’t agree still, I tripled the price. He made a call, and when I offered to pay five times the amount, the man on the other end of the line must have agreed because we sealed the deal. I got to keep the photo.

And Y/N, this is what I don’t get… I could have decided to keep flipping through those horrifying pictures and picked another, but once I saw you, there was no one else. Something about the look in your eyes… At least that’s what I told myself as I signed the cheque and asked to keep the picture. But the truth was, I didn’t want another man to ever look at your picture again. I’ve never looked at it again, myself. I came back and nearly burnt it, but then decided against it. You’ll find it in a brown diary on the top of the cupboard. Do what you please with it, only you should have that right.

You accused me of not looking you in the eye because I thought less of you, but how could I? After what I had done, I could barely stand to meet my own eyes in the mirror. I keep telling myself it’s the look in your eyes in the picture that made me stop, but what if I confessed that I liked the fall of your hair. In that moment I could nearly imagine the feel of your skin, your lips. How am I any better than all those men? How could I ever face you after that? How could I stand next to you on a podium and not want to die from the guilt of it all? How could I even breathe the same air? So, yes, Y/N, I didn’t meet your eyes. At the wedding, I didn’t look at you, didn’t touch your skin, because you deserved better than a depraved person like me even existing in the same room as you.

There’s one other thing I never told you. The night after the wedding, I opened the connecting door. I had to tell you the truth, fall at your feet and apologise profusely for the dastardly act, so my conscience could know some peace. The guilt of what I had done wouldn’t let me be, and when I did push that handle, I found you curled up on the floor, clutching your body. That’s when I knew that as long as I lived, I would never forgive myself for it, never hate myself more than I did in that moment. I vowed to never open the door again. Every night following that one, I would pace to the door, stand inches away, grazing the handle but never opening it. The routine reminded me of Pandora’s story. How in the end after unleashing all kinds of pain on the world, her box only held hope. Hope remained. Opening the door felt like that, it felt like giving up the little hope that someday you might forgive me.

Meeting your eyes in the dining hall that first time might be the bravest thing I’ve ever done, Y/N. It took all the courage in the world to hand you that portfolio, when I don’t even deserve to touch the sheets on which you drew. But each time you looked at me, smiled, or said yes to my beseeching efforts to take you around the property knowing you’d had several tours already, I let that hope bloom and when you agreed to be my friend, I vowed to never be untruthful to you. Ever.

So, no, I didn’t know you had already met Dean, that he was your friend. I hope you believe me.

From the very first attempt to speak with you, my only wish has been to gain your trust. Not to elicit information, but to become worthy of your faith, to be the confidant you confided in of your own free will and not out of a trick. I can see how wrong I was. I am sorry.

You’ve barged out on me twice now and locked yourself behind the door. But you shouldn’t have to put yourself in prison again and again. This letter might be a prelude to proving that Dean and I never colluded against you, but we’ve both had our interests in play. You’re the only party here that’s entirely faultless. You shall not be bound to a prison again. I will not allow it. And if the only way of setting you free from the bars of your room is for me to be out of sight, then that’s no price to pay at all. 

I won’t be back for a couple of weeks, and even when I am, I’ll make sure to be out of your way. 

I made you a promise, Y/N, that you will be safe in this house. That promise stands, even if it’s me you seek safety from. I may not be what you need. But I am still a man of my word. 

You WILL be safe.

-Sam

A drop fell on Sam’s name at the end and you hurriedly shirked the paper before any more drops ruined the letter. Rapidly, blinking at the wetness on your lashes, you rushed to Sam’s cupboard, throwing the doors open. Blindly, you patted the topmost drawer and found the leather-bound diary. The picture was wedged right in the middle. You stared at your own nearly naked form, kneeling with your knees splayed wide, torso bent forward and eyes staring into the camera. With a shock you realised, you barely recognised the face. 

The girl in the picture did not look anything like you. She had primmed eyebrows and a thin,  perfect face full of make-up. Her wide eyes held not an invitation, but almost a challenge: Come find out for yourself. 

Is that what Sam saw?

You moved to the mirror in Sam’s room to check your face, with fuller, unkempt eyebrows and hair that had long outgrown the coiffed cut. The skin didn’t have the perfect complexion but held faint splashes from where the sun had touched it. There were also the hints of wrinkles at the corner of your eyes– laugh lines.

Thinking back, everything seemed abundantly clear as to why Sam’s footsteps had always sounded so close to the door. You had assumed a cupboard or a desk there, but all those nights it was just him hovering, torn between guilt and self-hate. Why when you’d had the workers move his things to your room before the renovation, Sam had panicked about who touched his things, because he was scared of someone seeing the picture you now held in your hands.

Now that it was in your hands, you didn’t know what to do with it any more than Sam did. You should be feeling pity for that girl, chaffing her bare knees on the floor, but all you felt was a strange hatred. She was your past, but she would be your future, too. The imperfect but happy girl in the mirror would soon become a memory.

One week had passed and with one more week to go until Sam returned, you vowed to the girl in the mirror, that as long as she was your present, you would do everything in your power to keep her happy.

As far as Sam was concerned, he’d had his chance to get his truth out. It was your turn now.

*****************************

A/N 2: I LOVED writing this chapter! The nuances of Sam's admission and the delicate nature of his emotions were just so damn satisfying to put into words! What did you think?

Oh, I can't wait to share what's coming with you!

Please do let me know what you think of this part. Reblogs and comments are what keep me going!

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[03jyh23]

🩶⌇nights like these┆choi san

established relationship, idol!san x gn!reader

│synopsis: the one where you are san's priority

│genre: hurt/comfort

│trigger warnings: descriptions of chronic illness, pain, nausea, and emotional distress

│words: 2.4 k

│reminder: what you’re about to read is purely fiction, so let’s keep it separate from reality.

!minors do not interact!

— hi there my lovely people! this one is a requested work that is very important to me! the person who requested it shared their struggles with me, so i put a lot of care and effort into writing this piece. i hope it brings them comfort and resonates with anyone else going through similar challenges. thank you for trusting me with your story. ♡

love, monika ♡

you: sannie, im sorry but im not gonna make it tonight, have fun! love you x

You barely typed out the message and leaned deeper into the soft pillows. You hated feeling that way, feeling completely out of control of your own body. It was as if your own flesh and bones had turned against you, conspiring to ruin the moments you had been looking forward to. Another rush of nausea hit you, stronger this time, and you couldn't help but wrap your arms around yourself, trying to find some semblance of comfort. The persistent and haunting question lingered in your mind: Why were you so out of control? You wished you could muster the strength to push through, to be by San's side, but tonight, your body had other plans. You were helpless against a body that sabotaged all your important plans. You wanted the energy to be with San, to support him and not to disappoint the person you loved yet again, but tonight, you knew there was nothing you could do to feel better. You just needed to lay through it  

After all this time of having this health problem, you learned just how to live with it, so since early morning you tried to push the symptoms aside, focusing on getting ready. It was a routine you had perfected—ignoring the pain, the nausea, the overwhelming fatigue. You had become a master of disguise, hiding your struggles behind a cheerful facade. But tonight, even your best efforts weren't enough. 

Usually, you would go about with your day, that's why you were currently lying flat on your bed dressed in that pretty outfit San bought for you especially for tonight, all ready to go and celebrate with him. Just as you were about to leave, the usual symptoms hit you with the power of a train. It was as if your body had chosen this exact moment to remind you of its frailty, to assert its dominance over your will. Tonight was supposed to be different. Tonight, you were supposed to be standing beside San, holding his hand and cheering for him. You had been looking forward to this night for weeks, planning every detail. The thought of disappointing him weighed heavily on you, maybe even heavier than the nausea. You knew how much it meant to him to have you there, and the guilt gnawed at you from the inside. 

A burning stomach pain flared up, adding to the discomfort. It felt as though your insides were on fire, each wave of pain more intense than the last. You clutched your stomach, curling up tighter, wishing for some relief. The pain was relentless, a cruel reminder of the battle you were fighting within your own body. It was moments like these when you felt most defeated, most vulnerable. 

"Baby?" you opened your heavy eyes only to see San kneeling beside the bed, eye level with you. You didn't even notice you had fallen asleep. His eyes were filled with concern, his short, black hair was styled back, making him look incredibly elegant. He wore a white shirt with the first few buttons casually unbuttoned. His eye makeup was minimal, with just a hint of eyeliner to accentuate his eyes, exactly the way you always liked it. He must have rushed out straight from his dressing room, you thought as you blinked a few times to get rid of the tiredness. 

"Sannie? What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. 

San reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. 

"I just had a feeling that today is rough on you. You didn't reply to any of my calls, so I rushed home," he said softly, his voice filled with concern and love. "I couldn't just leave you here alone," he said softly. "I wanted to be here for you." 

"I'm so sorry. I didn't want to ruin your night," you whispered, your voice cracking with emotion. 

San shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "Hey, don't say that. You could never ruin my night. I just want to be here with you, make sure you're okay," he reassured, his hand gently stroking your head. Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, overwhelmed by his kindness. 

"I just hate feeling like this, being a burden," you admitted, your voice trembling. 

San’s expression softened even more. His fingers traced the few tears that managed to escape your eyes, then he kissed your forehead whispering, "You never are nor never will be a burden." You closed your eyes, feeling the gentle touch of his soft lips against your skin, a tingling warmth spreading through you. The tension in your muscles began to melt away as San’s fingers traced soothing patterns along your arm. You took a deep breath, allowing the warmth of his presence to envelop you. The pain and nausea, though still present, seemed to fade into the background as you focused on the steady rhythm of his touch. 

"But the party?" you mumbled out, "The boys must be so disappointed." 

San shook his head gently, his expression softening even more. "Don't worry about them right now. The boys understood, and Hongjoong reassured me it was all good. What's important is that we take care of you," he said soothingly, his fingers continuing to trace comforting patterns on your arm. 

"Thank you, Sannie," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "For being here." 

He kissed your forehead again, lingering a bit longer this time. "Of course, my love. Always," he whispered back, his breath warm against your skin. You could hear the sincerity in his voice, and it eased some of the guilt that had been weighing you down. "Can you stand up? We need to get you in something comfortable first," San suggested gently, his hands ready to help you. You nodded weakly, grateful for his help as he eased you out of the outfit and into something more comfortable. 

"Is it any better now that you've slept for a while?" he asked, his voice filled with gentle concern as he rearranged the pillows on the bed. He brought an extra blanket, knowing you would likely get cold. 

"A little," you admitted, your voice still weak but filled with gratitude. "But I can feel the migraine creeping in slowly," you added, your voice tinged with fatigue and frustration. 

San nodded, his brow furrowing slightly with worry. "I'll get your medication and some water," he said, standing up to fetch the items. 

"I don't think I can take the medications," you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. "It feels like if I swallow anything, I would just rush to the toilet." 

San paused, his eyes filled with concern. "Okay, let's not push it then," he said softly, returning to your side. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close to rest your head on his shoulder. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, a soothing rhythm that started to calm your racing thoughts. He began drawing gentle patterns on your back, a gesture that always made you relax, his touch tender. 

You breathed in his cologne and felt your stomach clenching. The scent, usually comforting and familiar, now seemed overwhelming to your already sensitive senses. You backed out from his arms, holding a hand to your face to stave off the wave of nausea that threatened to overtake you. San looked at you with wide eyes, his brows furrowing slightly in confusion and concern before it hit him. "Love, I'm so sorry, it's the perfume? Too strong? I'm gonna change," he said hurriedly, already moving towards the closet to find something else to wear. 

"It's okay, Sannie," you mumbled, trying to muster a reassuring smile. "I just need a moment." 

But San had already swapped his formal shirt for something more comfortable and less scented. He returned to your side, "Better now?" he asked softly, his eyes searching for any sign of relief. 

You only nodded, and he took your hand, guiding you to the bed. "You are babying me too much," you mumbled as you followed in his steps, your voice tinged with a mix of gratitude and mild embarrassment.

San shook his head, a playful glint in his eyes. "Hm...." he scoffed dramatically, "I think I don't baby you enough, though?" 

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh despite the pain and discomfort you were feeling. San's dramatic tone and exaggerated expression brought a moment of lightness to an otherwise heavy night. "Really?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at him, trying to match his playful energy. 

"Absolutely," he replied with a grin, sitting down beside you. "Now, let's get you settled." You settled back into the bed, feeling a bit more at ease with San by your side. The pain and nausea were still there, but somehow, with his presence, they seemed a little more bearable. "Do you need me to bring something?" San asked, his voice filled with genuine concern. 

You shook your head slightly, feeling the weight of his love and care enveloping you. "Just stay here with me, that's all I need," you whispered.

"Alright, I will just put the curtains in case the migraine hits," he said as he quickly darted through the room to the windows. You watched him with tired eyes, the room dimmed as he drew the curtains, blocking out the harsh light that often worsened your migraines. The soft, muted light that remained was much gentler on your senses. 

San returned to your side, his movements gentle and deliberate, as if he were afraid of causing you any more discomfort. "Scoot over," San said softly, a gentle smile playing on his lips. You shifted slightly, making room for him on the bed. He carefully climbed in beside you, wrapping his arms around you. 

"Thank you for being so patient with me. I really needed you tonight," you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude. 

San held you a little tighter, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I'll always be here for you, no matter what," he murmured softly. San was drawing small circles on your back, your face buried in his chest. Your eyes were heavy, the migraine setting in, and you could feel the pressure building behind your temples. The gentle, rhythmic motion of his hand was soothing, a small comfort amidst the pain and discomfort, allowing you to relax slightly despite the throbbing in your head. 

Just as you began to drift off to sleep, your body started trembling uncontrollably. The sudden tremors jarred you awake, and you felt a wave of panic wash over you. San immediately noticed, his grip tightening around you in a protective embrace. 

"Hey, it's okay, I'm here," he whispered, his voice steady and calming. He gently rubbed your back, trying to soothe your body. "Just breathe, love. I'm right here with you." You focused on his voice, on the warmth of his presence, trying to steady your breath. The trembling slowly began to subside, and you clung to San, feeling a mixture of fear and relief. "Are you feeling dizzy again? Like the last time?" San asked, his voice tinged with concern. 

You nodded weakly, the dizziness making it hard to focus on anything. "Yeah, it's just... everything is spinning," you managed to whisper, clutching onto him. You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing as San's presence provided a comforting anchor. The room seemed to tilt and spin, but his calming voice and gentle touch helped you stay grounded. "I'm sorry, San," you murmured, feeling a wave of guilt wash over you. 

San shook his head, his expression filled with love and reassurance. "Don't apologize, my love. You can't control this, and I'm here to help you through it," he murmured softly. "I will keep you safe," he whispered, his voice filled with unwavering determination and love. "Just rest," he murmured softly. "I'll be right here with you." You nodded, feeling the weight of exhaustion pulling you under. San's hand continued to trace soothing patterns on your back, his touch gentle and reassuring. Gradually, your breathing steadied, and you found yourself relaxing into his embrace. 

As you drifted in and out of sleep, you could feel San's steady heartbeat beneath your cheek, a rhythm that grounded you. Hours passed in a blur of half-conscious moments and deep, dreamless sleep. Every time you stirred, San was there, his presence a steady source of comfort and love. You could feel his fingers brushing through your hair, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your head. He held you through the worst of it, never once leaving your side. 

When you finally woke, the pain had dulled to a manageable throb, and the nausea had receded enough for you to sit up slightly. San was still there, his eyes filled with concern and relief as he saw you stir. 

"Hey," he said softly, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he looked at you with concern. "How are you feeling?" 

You took a deep breath, assessing your condition and trying to gather your thoughts. "A bit better," you admitted, your voice still weak but more stable than before. The remnants of fatigue lingered, but you felt a small spark of improvement. 

"I'm glad to hear that," San replied, his smile growing a bit wider with relief. "Do you think you can eat something light? Maybe some broth or a bit of toast?" 

You nodded slowly, appreciating his care and the gentle way he always seemed to know what you needed. "I think I could try," you said, feeling a bit more hopeful at the thought of eating something. 

"Alright, let me order something, hm?" San said, giving you a reassuring smile as he gently helped you sit up against the pillows, adjusting them to make sure you were comfortable. 

"Thank you, Sannie," you whispered, feeling a surge of gratitude for his unending support and the way he always put your well-being first. 

San smiled warmly, his eyes filled with love and tenderness. "Anything for you, my love," he said, placing a soft kiss on your lips, his touch gentle and comforting. As he reached for his phone to place the order, you couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude and love for having someone like San by your side, through thick and thin. 

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[betterthana-six]

| MUSIC TO MY EARS - [ABBY ANDERSON] - CHAPTER THREE |

PAIRINGS: stoic!rugby player abby x musician fem!reader

SUMMARY: you and your new(ish) college roommate, Abby Anderson, have gotten into an argument. about what? unclear at the moment. but it's got Abby in a fit of shame. until late one night she hears you outside with someone whose voice she doesn't recognize and listens in.

WARNINGS: heyooo we are so fucking back! AND LOOKIE AT THAT TAG LIST AHHH THANK YOU FOR THE AMAZING RECEPTION SO FAR!!!! LOVE YOU ALL. im having so much fun writing this and watching this story spiral into absolute chaos. im honestly just trying to see how big i can make this story. much more pining this chapter but ooh girl we are getting sexier as we go, trust the process. mdni DUH. ive been wanting to write a pool scene. abby sure be falling in love. let me know if you guys are liking the structure so far, its pretty predictable. abby is snarkier and snarkier, but im always nervous to stay true to her character. let me know what yall like, and even mid story I am open to suggestions or if youre like that or this part wasnt fully fleshed out, why not let me know? im down. k have fun. bye. ALSO: i have a playlist brewing for this story. comment if you want it and ill post.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Music To My Ears: Chapter 3

.・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。.

There are tears drying on your chin when Abby abruptly stands up, pulling you up with her, towel still wrapped over your arms. 

She starts pulling clothes out of the depths of her closet and throwing them onto your bed.

“What are you doing?” You sniffle. 

“Put these on.”

“Your clothes won’t fit me. You have something called muscle mass.”

Abby let out a small snicker. “They’re from when I was, like, sixteen. They’ll fit,” she said.

“I have my own clothes, you know,” You gesture to your side of the room. “They’re actually about five feet away from me.”

“You’ll understand when we get there why I’m giving you my old clothes.”

“Are we hiking?”

“You hush.”

“Oh my god, is it paintball?”

“Yeah,” she says. “It’s paintball. The 24-hour paintball park is awaiting our arrival as we speak. How’d you guess?”

You smirk bashfully. “I’ll only put them on if you tell me what we’re doing.”

She plants herself a foot in front of you and tilts her head down. “You’re no fun.” She shoves one of her rugby sweatshirts into your stomach. “Let’s have fun. Actual fun. Come on, it’s the weekend for fuck’s sake. I just… I know a place.”

You lower the towel like a shawl around your elbows and walk over to your bed, as Abby’s eyes follow you. Seeing her, you jut your jaw out at her, waving your index finger in a circle. Abby's response was a bit delayed, she catches her eyes getting lost on your silhouette again, and struts slowly around to face her side. 

You sigh and put the clothes on. The feeling of warmth from the dry clothes covers your body with a chill and you’re nearly sedated with comfort. While Abby is still turned away, you bring the sleeve of her hoodie up to your nose and smell it as quietly as you could. 

“I’m ready,” you say.

Abby opens the door out to the hallway. Nobody’s out there. It’s nearly 1 am.

You still look both ways nervously, and Abby notes it, but neither of you say anything. She guides you down the hallway, the sound of her keys jangling against her thigh, hanging from the carabiner locked around her belt loop. She is sure to keep you close to her. Each time you sway or stumble a bit, she grabs your wrist and holds you up. Though, of course, you put a hand up every time to insist that you’re fine. 

You are still drunk. It is indeed still obvious. 

Abby turns a corner and halts the journey in front of a vending machine which blares with light in its dark corner. “Hold up, one second,” she says, as she inserts a dollar, some coins from her pocket, presses B7, grabs it from the bottom, takes your hand and puts the candy in it.

“Twix is my favorite,” you say.

“I know,” Abby says.

“You know?”

She hesitates and runs a shy hand over the back of her neck under her long braid. “I see wrappers in our trash sometimes.”

You pause with suspicious eyes. 

Abby gives a small laugh and looks away. “Whatever. Eat.”

You bite and it is as forgiving on your stomach as any midnight candy bar can be, especially after the amount of alcohol it's following.

Now, Abby pulls your hand from three paces ahead of you. She seems restless, happily so, in a way you had rarely seen her. Maybe only once or twice in hindsight.

You are already out the doors of your building and into the cool air of early spring. It is almost completely dark but the moon lights the pale sidewalk visibly enough. Once your eyes fully adjust, you can see Abby. Her braid swings back and forth across her back. 

After a ten minute walk through the main circle of campus, Abby takes one of the keys from her hip and opens the entrance of your school’s gym.

She checks your demeanor, and you meet her with a wide-eyed face that says: what the fuck?

“Just trust me,” she says and grabs your hand again, guiding you through the dark corridors and up the stairs, past the treadmills and weight machines. 

As you approach the top, a blue haze lights Abby’s face and then yours. It’s very quiet up there in the announcer’s box, and it looks down onto the college’s Olympic sized swimming pool. You’d only ever seen it from the doors on the bottom level. You remember the first time. People were splashing about in the water but it didn’t ruin the illusion for you. The smell of chlorine. The warm humidity that threatened its way out onto you. You, who stood firmly in the air conditioned hall, pleasantly zoned out on the swimmers.

Even from behind, Abby seems so eager to fulfill her spontaneous promise of a good time. A small smile grows on her face every now and then. You become very aware of your hand in hers. Hers is gruff and big and warm, her thumb securing around your fingers messily. It’s possible you merely imagine the vibration in the space between your palms. Her touch reignites the bliss of your drunkenness, and, again, you feel light on your feet. 

Abby pulls out a key and inserts it into the keyhole for a discreet door. It leads the two of you down two flights of stairs into a locker room with fresh towels piled up into neat stacks. She throws one at you: “Here.”

“No way,” you say. You realize you were so carried away you only now realized what she had brought you here to do.

“I didn’t bring you here for us not to swim.”

You smile big. “Oh, fuck yeah.”

“I knew it would cheer you up.” Abby laughs. 

“Wait,” you think, “someone’s gonna be here. We’re gonna get kicked out.”

“No, we’re not,” she reassures, “I’m friends with the rec team. I asked for the after hours key so I can workout at night. I guess I just forgot to give them back.”

You look at her a little confused, moreso disbelieving. 

“No, really, I swear. Sometimes it’s nice to de-stress at night. Let off a little steam when no one’s around,” Abby says. You smirk and lift her sweatshirt over your head, revealing the light blue tank top Abby had given you.

“Don’t I know it,” you say under your breath.

“Oh?” Abby says. 

“You think I don’t notice when you don’t come back to the dorm until 5 am?” You say with a cocky tone. 

Then, she, too, pulls her sweater off. She was only wearing a thin bra and boxers. You were surprised she wore anything under it at all, given her track record. You quickly note the way you don’t squirm or turn away. Perhaps it’s just a matter of familiarity - you have been roommates for three months now - or, maybe, it’s the way she’s looking at you in this moment. “You notice?” 

The sudden turn of the question makes you stutter.

“I- I mean, the once or twice it's happened. Obviously.”

Instead of laughing at you this time, Abby just stands and looks at you thoughtfully. Intensely. 

“Whatever. Yeah, that was…” she finally says, shaking her head, with a twinge of something shadowing her tone and preventing her from finishing her sentence.  

The both of you have changed completely into her clothes, the clothes she didn’t think twice about letting you ruin with chlorine. You save her from whatever she didn’t want to say. “You could’ve at least told me to bring a swimsuit…” You say. 

“Yeah, well, it would’ve spoiled the surprise,” Abby says.

At the door leading to the pool, Abby turns back suddenly, stopping before speaking.

“Okay, listen. This is a sacred rite. No one besides me, and now you, has access to this place. No one knows I have the keys, and it needs to stay that way.” 

You nod. “Makes sense.”

“Because this will be really fucking fun.”

“Understood.”

“And, I’m showing it to you because you’re having a shitty, no-good night.”

You hold a salute up to your forehead. “Captain, I won't let you down.”

She rolls her eyes to your delight. “Come on.”

You find her hand in yours again. You can’t help but marvel at how natural it was - not because you are surprised - just because it still sends a shiver running down your spine.

The smell of chlorine washes over you and you breathe deep, closing your eyes and feeling the damp air warming your skin. Abby’s in front of you, hooking her phone up to a wire and resting it on the ledge of the spectator window. The speakers overhead start playing music. 

“Holy shit,” you say, looking at her with amazement and pointing up to the ceiling. The Rolling Stones' “She’s A Rainbow” rings out over the speakers and fills the space completely. A smile creeps onto your face, and once it’s there, it’s stuck. 

“How’d I do?” She asks.

You don’t answer but smile at your feet. You walk past her towards the edge of the concrete, sparing a devilish smirk her way right when your shoulders nearly graze each other. Only the pool lights are on, making the whole place shine with the blue dancing patterns of the water ripples. It reflects onto your face, and, when you look back at Abby, she is staring at you.

“You coming?” You ask. 

And Abby eyes dart away in shock, feeling scandalized and taking what you said entirely out of context. She can’t help it; a semblance of those words have been echoing in her head for the last three months, more or less. Jolting her awake from her dreams. Both sleeping and conscious. 

.・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。.

The first dream happened about three weeks into living together.

Since that conversation in your room on your first night, neither of you tried to initiate conversation deeper than small talk. The explosive end to that night left you reluctant to speak to her at all and left Abby anxious to say the wrong thing. 

It was the beginning of the semester, anyway. Abby had a routine to establish and you were busy finding the right buildings around campus, keeping your head down, and practicing guitar. 

You hadn’t been able to anticipate her comings and goings. Mostly Abby left for her day without saying a word and came back in the same manner. When she returned in the evenings, you quickly traded the guitar on your lap for earphones while Abby read silently only feet away.

"You can keep playing, I don't mind" is the only thing Abby would sometimes say. "No, it's okay. I should probably just use the practice rooms anyway," was your usual response, if you said anything at all.

The first dream happened when Abby took an impromptu nap in the early afternoon while you were out.

Her dreams involved many strange things she could never comprehend and typically forgot soon after she woke. Yet, toward the end of this dream, she saw nothing but your face, eyes softly closed, there between her legs. It was no in-depth scene. No words. No kissing. Just you, licking a line from her knee up the skin of her inner thigh. 

Abby woke up with a gasp. She looked down to find there was wetness between her thighs, and momentarily she couldn’t distinguish what was and wasn’t real. She was almost convinced that you really were somewhere near, that somehow you had been there between her legs just a moment ago. But, the room was empty and the wetness had come from Abby, herself, of course. 

She found her hand was there, too, under her boxers, to meet her body with stiff, soaked fingers.

She laid there, staring at the ceiling, unsure of what to make of it, still hypnotized in her exhaustion.

She didn’t think about it. Abby began moving her fingers around in circles, her other hand placed on the top of her head, bottom lip tucked slightly under her front teeth. 

She closed her eyes and, without realizing, tried to prolong the feeling that seemed so real only moments ago. 

You popped into her mind. She quickened her pace.

There was something so indulgent about the image she had. It felt dirty. Naughty ideations of her own roommate was something she knew she’d feel guilty about later, a secret that could never be shared. She didn’t know where it had come from specifically, this need for you, but, honestly, she didn’t even try to interrogate it. She just exhaled hard through her nose as she tried to picture you more vividly. 

“Fuck…” She whispered to herself. The feeling built and built and she gripped onto her blanket, breathing hard. 

Just then, the key to your door started jangling. 

Abby stopped immediately, yanked out of her dream and her tiredness altogether. She pulled up the slightly pulled down pants and sat up. She grabbed the book off her desk, opened it to a random page and pretended to be lost in the story by the time you opened the door and walked inside.

She had startled you. 

“Oh, hey,” you said. 

Abby looked up over the page. “Hey.”

“I forgot I need these for my next class,” you explain while gathering two books from your desk and shoving them into your backpack.

“Hm,” she said, feigning disinterest.

You zipped up and turned to leave. “Alright. See you later,” you said but met Abby’s eyes which were already on you. You turned back. “Are you okay?” You asked.

“I’m fine. Why?”

“Oh, nothing, your face is all red.”

Abby just shrugged, at a complete loss for words.

“Okay,” you said without a second thought. “Well, bye.”

“Bye.”

Once you were gone, Abby tossed the book, turned over onto her stomach, and buried her head beneath her pillow. 

.・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。.

The dreams, however, only got worse from there. Abby started waking up from dreams with her hand down her pants more often than not and, by morning, they delivered her a head full of thoughts she could barely acknowledge to herself. Dreams of you sitting in her lap, dreams of her fingers in your mouth, dreams of you panting into her ear. She had visions of what you’d look like astride her hips with a smile on your face. Impossible dreams of you seducing her in huge hot tubs, or at fancy dinners with her hand squeezing tight around your thigh under a tablecloth, a gala where you both get locked in the coat closet with nothing but time to kill. These dreams consumed her until late in the day.

If there was one thing Abby promised herself she wouldn’t do is fall in love with a straight girl. Especially her roommate, who she presumed kind of hated her. This new energy you brought to her made her so vulnerable in the dark hours of the night, she felt she had to release it before she got in too deep. 

So, she tried the gym. She started lifting uncharacteristically heavier. She started lifting until failure, until she had completely obliterated her muscles. Her teammates applauded her for her hard work, if only they knew the real reason for the fire lit under her ass.

It helped some. More like distracted her. But she knew the craving hadn’t fully subsided. It only took an hour for it to re-emerge. Sooner if she saw you walking to class or if you tried to spark conversation in the dorm, which was rare but nonetheless excited Abby when it did happen.

One time when you were both getting ready for bed, you turned to Abby and broke the silence.

“Hey, I was wondering…”

“What’s up?” Abby responded. The eagerness with which she asked was out of her control. 

“I, um, well, do you think you could show me around the gym sometime? I didn’t get to see it when I toured, and it’s so big. I’m honestly kind of intimidated-”

“Yes, yeah,” Abby said.

“Cool,” you nodded. “Thank you.”

A moment of silence passed. Abby’s heart raced with the prospect of getting to talk to you so much. Guide you around and show you the place. But in a second, she thought better of it. She needed to contain herself someway or another. 

“Yeah,” Abby continued. “They’ve got a great yoga studio, you know. One has classes and the other one is free for students to use anytime.”

You scoffed. Abby’s face was intentionally blank, waiting to see your reaction.

“Of course,” you said. “Of course, you assume I’d just want to do yoga.”

“I figure you’d want to see it.”

“Okay, well could you just show me the whole gym?”

“Yeah,” Abby said, recoiling from you a bit. She pushed through, wondered if perhaps she could make this worse for herself. Worsening the relationship could force the unwanted thoughts about you to subside entirely. “Sorry. You don’t strike me as a weightlifter.” 

You stopped and looked sharply her way.

“Okay. Forget I asked. I’ll find someone else.”

Just like that, another failed attempt at conversation was over. Her self-sabotage felt far less productive than she thought it would feel. All Abby felt was stupid. Her heart sank lower in her chest.

.・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。.

Soon she became so scared of her sleeping self, worried that you'd hear her sleep talking your name or, dear god, catch her fucking herself while she dreamt about eating you out in the quiet section of a library. The idea was so mortifying to her that she nearly couldn’t sleep with you in the room at all, which was every night. 

She grew anxious, unable to control herself and unable to sleep. Practice became lackluster. Lifting felt ineffectual. Still, she knew she couldn’t let the levee break. She needed respite in any form and, eventually, Abby realized she was desperate. 

One day before rugby practice, she texted Nora, a girl Abby fucked on and off for a majority of her freshman year. Abby liked Nora because she was as impersonal about hooking up as Abby was. It was a clean-cut fuck buddy deal she knew she could rely on if she wanted.

The next Thursday, Nora took Abby in like an old friend. She sat her down and opened a bottle of wine, performed the pleasantries of simple conversation, caught up with school and sports and life, and eventually led Abby to the bedroom.

They knew what they were there to do.

In a blur, Abby found her arms wrapped around Nora's lower back as she pressed her face flesh to Nora's chest, guiding her through a sweaty orgasm which seemed satisfactory. 

When Nora tried to return the favor, Abby was completely dry. 

She had been mentally elsewhere since the moment she knocked on the door. 

She played it off as just being out of it, just wanting to please Nora that night. So, Abby haphazardly thanked her for the wine, as it was really the only thing Nora could give Abby that night besides for a spacious bed outside of the dorms, and they went to sleep.

But Abby could only stare up at the ceiling as Nora breathed heavily beside her in a deep sleep. 

She decided to walk back to the dorm. It was early and the sun was just starting to light up the sky. You were asleep, and when Abby closed the door, you sprawled out in your bed, strands of hair curled and scattered messily around your face. She watched you sleep for a second, feeling gross and cold and wired. She still couldn’t sleep, so she turned on her desk lamp and read in an attempt to forget her last two or three decisions.

When the sun was finally up, you turned over in your bed and pushed your covers down to your feet, stretching out until your hands hit the headboard. You saw Abby was already up, only reading in bed as you often found her.

“No gym today?” You yawned.

Abby looked over at you and just shook her head. 

“You look tired.”

“Good morning to you, too,” Abby said.

You nodded, grabbed your toiletry bag, and left. 

Half of Abby convinced herself you knew what she’d been doing the night before, which only made her feel dirtier. Moreover she believed that even if you knew, in agreement with how she wanted to keep things, you were totally indifferent.

.・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。.

Abby’s logic wasn’t flawless. She thought she had been doing all the right things. She fucked it out of her system, as far as she was concerned, so after that she got right back into the swing of her routine. All excess feelings would surely go away. The dreams would stop. 

Yet, a week later, it was your face she saw through vertically moving weights, walking through the gym’s hallways that made Abby nearly drop the weights she had raised over her head. 

A blonde girl was walking with you. You seemed disinterested. 

Her name was Carol and she was another classical guitar major. She was the best in your music theory class and you clung to her when you realized not only was she a talented sight reader but she had the most lifeless and dull nature of anyone you had ever met. She was the exact friend you had hoped to meet.

She had also offered to show you around the gym when you asked. Admittedly, you didn’t need someone to tour guide you through the gym. You just didn’t want to go alone. 

Carol talked at you in great detail about the gym’s hours, what kinds of people one might find in certain areas, and how she tried pickleball once but couldn’t stand the instructor’s “overly-excited” approach to teaching.

You zoned out, clutched onto the straps of your backpack, and looked around at the gym. There were so many levels. A big hole in the wall right by the entrance that showcased the basketball courts, two yoga studios hidden around a corner on the second floor, the track that outlined the upper level, and, of course, the massive weightlifting section next to it. You tried to look away from it when Carol walked you past it just in case.

When she had taken you through most of it all, you stopped at the sight of double doors with small windows you could barely see through. 

“Is that the pool?” You asked, but you were already walking away by the time Carol could answer. 

You gazed eagerly at the swimmers who glided across the lap lanes with ease. There were sounds of whistles and people yelling out times. 

“Can anyone swim here or is it just for the swim team?” You asked and no one answered. 

You looked briefly behind you. Carol was gone. But, truthfully you didn’t care enough to go after her and continued staring at the splashes and glistening bodies in swimsuits, caps bobbing in and out of the water. The smell of the chlorine was so nostalgic. You let yourself breathe in and out, taking it all in, closing your eyes.

“It's just for the swim team, usually,” a voice said right behind you.

You jumped and turned to see who was inches away from you, closing you into the door behind you.

You exhaled. “Abby.”

“You swim?” She ignored your shock.

“Not, like, for exercise.”

“Hm,” Abby responded. “So, what are you doing here then?”

“Getting the tour I requested.”

“Yeah. From Carol, who’s never actually been here before.”

You momentarily look around for Carol but assume she must have left. You wonder how Abby even knew she was with you.

“Hey, she took a very riveting pickleball class here and has much to say about it,” you said. 

Abby smirked and moved from her close proximity to the space next to you. You both stayed there for a moment, just watching.

“She seems like a lot of fun.”

“She is,” you said a bit indignantly.

“I bet,” Abby said. “I had her in my Intro to College course last year. She’s very… organized?”

You sighed, eyes still fixed on the swim team. “Yeah, she’s kind of awful.” 

Abby couldn’t contain a laugh and you laughed with her. Out of all your conversations where she seemed to get on every one of your nerves, you were always kind to her. You turned away from the doors and Abby followed alongside as you walked together. 

“So,” Abby said, “why are you friends with her then?”

“She’s very smart. She’s nice enough.”

“Your standards for friendship are pretty low. No offense.” Abby swallowed at the thought of you taking offense. Of her taking it too far again. But this time you conceded.

“You could say that. I guess I like laying low.”

“Yeah, I see that. I can’t figure out why though.” You looked up at Abby to see if she’s fucking with you again but she looked genuine. It softened you. “I think you’re cool.”

“Thanks,” you said, looking from her to the floor again. “I just…I’ve had my fill of shitty friends before. I figure Carol is the boring kind of shitty and not the ‘ruin your life’ kind of shitty.”

“Christ,” Abby said. “I get that though.”

You looked at her to call bullshit. 

“No, really,” she continued. “If I had a dime for every time I’ve realized someone I considered a best friend was actually totally fucking awful, I’d have, like…”  

“Too many dimes?”

You smile. Abby smiled at having made you smile. 

“Too many fucking dimes,” Abby agreed and lingered on you, this laugh of yours in particular said, that’s so stupid, but you smiled anyway. She looked away and nervously stroked her neck. “Hey, listen, I’m sorry about what I said before. I see you lug, like, four guitars between classes everyday, so I had no right to say what I did, about me not taking you for a weightlifter. That was stupid.”

Abby’s breath got caught in her words. There was something about her that always made you sympathetic and made the corners of your mouth perk up. She went on.

“I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. Which… that’s my fault. If you ever want to hang out, though, outside of the dorm-” 

But your eyes tore from her and were suddenly down the hall, staring at a gaggle of girls talking to one of the front desk student workers. Your face went sullen and your body stunned. Abby tried to follow your gaze.

You went into a panic and your eyes darted around until they landed on Abby again. 

“I have to go,” you suddenly said. You swung around to Abby, seemingly hiding your face from them.

“Oh- sorry, did I-”

“But thanks for saying that. Yeah, we should,” you said, and Abby could sense your urgency to leave. “Do you wanna go to a party with me?”

Abby couldn’t hide her surprise. And pleasure. “Yes. Yeah,” she coughed. “Sure.”

“It’s a Valentine's Day party. I know it’s early in the month for that, but, yeah, Carol invited me and it seems like it might be fun, I sort of want to go but I don’t really want to go with…”

“Oh, yeah, no, fuck Carol. I’m down.”

“Yeah?” Your eyes opened brightly, at her and then anxiously to the doors behind you. “Okay, that’s great, amazing. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, see you.” 

And you were out the door. Abby noticed your head slightly turn away from the girls at the front desk. 

Abby’s eyes were wide. She let out a big breath and smiled to herself as she walked back to the weights. Yet, Abby found herself counting past her normal ten reps, so consumed by her thoughts that she couldn’t feel her muscles burning. Perhaps it was the moment you invited her to the party that Abby’s grand idea to repress her feelings had gone out the window. Maybe it was when you confided in her, in what small way it was, or the way you laughed at her being a smart ass that made her abandon the boundary she set for herself. Or, possibly, in the moments she spent watching you watch the swim team, Abby realized something she quietly knew since the day she met you: she couldn’t exercise or fuck her way out of this. 

Even if it all was to just be your friend, which she was slowly accepting it would be, it would be worth it to die on that hill. She would let herself die on that hill. Even if it broke her heart and you never were any the wiser. What else could she do? Abby had been a lost cause from the start. 

.・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。.

In a glance, Abby’s memories stop short. She feels the same sense of hopefulness she did in her memory so she chooses not to reminisce further. Not when things feel so simple and good again.

It was hard enough for Abby to look you in the eyes. Every time she did, she felt like she was reading a book and your pages were turning so fast it made her dizzy. It’s how she feels as you ask again:

“You coming?” 

You’re half turned to face Abby on the pool’s edge with a hand outstretched to her and anticipation in your eyes. 

She comes in colors everywhere, she combs her hair, she's like a rainbow...

As if at peace with the restlessness you gave her, she looks over to you sweetly, cracking a girlish smile and releasing her hair from its braid.

“I’m not waiting for you!” You sing out. “Three! Two!”

Abby runs and cannonballs into the pool. 

A second later, Abby feels you explode into the water next to her and opens her eyes. The chlorine stings but she sees you clearly. The deep blue glow surrounds your body as you cascade through the water. Your eyes are squeezed shut drawing little lines of sunshine on the sides of your face, bubbles of air fluttering around you, escaping to the surface. 

Abby follows you up until you both find air. Two heads bobbing up and down. The noise of splashing calms. It’s just you and her. Both bodies are tensely aware of that fact. 

You hide the bottom half of your face in the water, looking away from Abby nervously. You can sense her eyes on you. It makes you freeze. The familiar heat runs up your neck. 

“Stop it.”

She shrugs, indecipherably.

“Okay,” she says.

But Abby doesn’t change a thing.

It all festers on your face. 

You take a breath and plunge down until water surrounds you completely, until you’ve held your breath so long that your heart beats louder than your thoughts, slowly and finally drowning them out.

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.・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。.

[morethanweseem]

"... are you - are you scared of me?" Merlin to Arthur @xxonceuponafuckxx

Arthur had sworn multiple times that Merlin was not a sorcerer. He'd defended that fact to his father when Merlin had stupidly tried convincing them he was. He couldn't believe it, wouldn't believe it still if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. Arthur had gotten wounded, leaning heavily against a tree and holding his side. But, he still flinched away as Merlin came near to help him. "I'm not afraid of anything, Merlin... Especially not you." His tone was harsh, but his body language clearly betrayed his words. He was horrified. Through all the fleeting suspicions, Arthur had simply reminded himself that this was only Merlin. He trusted Merlin. It wasn't possible for someone so good to have magic. Magic was evil and could only destroy. That simply wasn't Merlin, but it apparently was. Fear coursed through his body and he shakily held his sword between them. He was useless with the wound and he knew that. But, perhaps that had been the plan. Alone in the woods, days from Camelot, wounded. It was the perfect moment to strike. If Camelot had no heir, it would crumble after his father's reign. If his father wasn't the next target. But, even still, he tried to find a way out of what he'd actively seen. "Please, Merlin... Tell me this isn't true. Tell me that you've been possessed or cursed in some way... You simply can't be..." He was doing mental back flips, trying to find some way to make this not what it looked like. He was praying that it was some trick or that this somehow wasn't his Merlin. They might not have said anything out loud, but he loved him. He held Merlin as close to him as possible without moving into something inappropriate for his station. Arthur had never wavered so hard in his life, especially with a sorcerer. The sword was shaking in his hand, struggling to hold it between them and absolutely not willing to use it. "I can't... Merlin, please?" He'd never pleaded to Merlin before, never said please. But, he was as close to begging as he could be now. This couldn't be happening.

----------

Merlin hadn't intended Arthur to see him use his magic against two of the bandits that had attacked them. The dolt had never noticed before. But no, he had and Merlin hadn't been quick enough to stop the third from striking a blow at the rightfully distracted prince. Figuring that the damage was done, Merlin used a flick of his hand to throw the man into a tree a distance away.

Arthur's defensive stance, his words, held Merlin at bay more than the sword aimed at him. Raising his hands slowly so that he could show Arthur he meant him no ill, his eyes flickered to the blood seeping through Arthur's chainmail. The small dagger had struck true, digging through and rending rings until it tore through flesh.

"I'm the same man I've been since the moment we met. You can trust me." He gestured with a soft nod to his side. "And even if you don't, you still need tended to. That's a lot of blood." He wasn't much good at healing spells but his magic would need to rise to the occasion.

[pesky--dust]

We all laugh (or get annoyed) at Jack for being stupid. I do it myself, but let me stand up for him right now.

Let me start quite obviously: Jack had no ill intentions when he brought Will Graham into the FBI's work. He was convinced that Will could save lives and was ready to support him in that — he wanted Alana Bloom to be his psychological support, and when she refused, he went to the psychiatrist she recommended — Hannibal Lecter.

Yes, I'm annoyed myself with how he keep putting pressure on Will (e.g. episode Coquilles: "You go back to your classroom and there’s more killing that you could have prevented, it will sour that classroom forever") and his way of thinking, which he admitted to Hannibal Lecter in Buffet froid, which I will show with a fragment of the script of the said episode:

(that feeling when you agree with cannibalistic serial killer)

It was after Coquilles in which Will said that he want to quit because it is bad for him, so no Jack, I don't think Will feels the same way.

But this post was supposed to be a defense of Jack Crawford, so let's get back on topic.

Jack didn't know the truth about Hannibal, he didn't know that Will had autoimmune encephalitis, and he had no reason not to believe Hannibal that what was wrong with Will was psychological. After all, Dr. Lecter was the psychiatrist recommended to him! And Jack had every right to believe that Hannibal was giving Will the psychological help he needed in his work with the FBI.

And Hannibal prepared the ground for the version that Will has a mental disorder. The story that Hannibal presented made sense: due to his empathy disorder, Will began to believe that he was G.J. Hobbs and continued his work, ultimately taking the life of his daughter.

Jack recruited Will to work with the FBI, believing in his abilities, but Hannibal made him believe that the job had broken Graham mentally. And it's not unusual for disappointed patients to blame their therapists, so it would be quite a natural turn of events for Will to start claiming that Hannibal is the copycat killer, just to avoid being the one to blame. And there was no evidence against Hannibal, because he took care of it.

And now let me focus on the episode titled Yakimono.

Miriam Lass turned out to be alive. Hannibal's partial fingerprint was found at the place where she was held! And on top of that, Dr. Chilton referenced a cannibalistic joke he heard from Hannibal! And Jack ignored it all!!!

But are you sure? In my opinion, he was already planning to use Will again. I think Jack started to suspect something when Beverly Katz was murdered. In Futamono, he tested the food served at Hannibal's party. No human flesh was found there. With Yakimono though, Will's honey pot act in regards of Hannibal begins.

And my theory may seem to make no sense to you, but let me dig into it.

Let me show you a deleted scene from Kaiseki which I find particularly important, crucial one, here:

Tl;dr: Hannibal is social anti social, Will can shape him somehow, because Hannibal believes that Will is as unique as him himself.

Which leads to the conclusion that…

To catch Hannibal, the FBI must take advantage of his weakness towards Will.

And during his honey pot act, Will was still working with Jack, so why wouldn't Jack trust him? However, in Mizumono, Will called Hannibal, warning him, which led to the bloodbath, so why, even after hearing in Aperitivo that Will wanted to run away with Hannibal and a part of him would always want to (Dolce), did Jack continue to trust him? I think it was because Jack thought Will blamed himself for Abigail's death and since he was trying so hard to be a parent to her, he thought that if he ran away with Hannibal, Abigail would be still alive. And in the end, Will "got" Hannibal arrested, right?

Why did Jack allow Hannibal's fake escape in The Wrath of the Lamb and involved Will in that?

In my opinion it connects with the paragraph from earlier. Three years had passed, Will had gotten married, adopted his wife's son, so he had mentally recovered from the bloodbath and the death of his surrogate daughter, right? He told Jack he was really happy, right?

Will may have warned Hannibal and wanted to run away with him, but he was the reason Hannibal was caught. Three years have passed and Will has gotten himself together. In front of Jack he was playing (at least partially) about how he doesn't want to be drawn into the "game" he was playing with Hannibal again, he warned Molly that when he came back he would be different (he didn't come back), he said Alana that seeing Hanniabal for the first time in three years made him feel like Hannibal was looking through to the back of his skull; felt like a fly flitting around in there (... and the Woman Clothed with the Sun), he assured her that he wouldn't let Hannibal into his head again. Will seemed to be traumatized by all this. Up until...

This is the scene where Will is in Jack's office watching what the Dragon has done to Chilton (The Number of the Beast is 666). He looks terrified, panicked, and then suddenly… he becomes sort of relaxed, calm? Would you agree with that? I guess so. But have you ever noticed that there is a transition between these two reactions? It is in front of Jack and Alana that he is terrified, in front of Bedelia he is calm and admits to her that maybe he exposed Chilton to the Dragon on purpose because he actually hates him (just like in the book, although in the book he set Freddy Lounds up to the Dragon).

Will played in front of Jack until the end. Even when suggesting using Hannibal as bait, Will pretends he's not 100% sure it will work, even though he already had a deal with Francis Dolarhyde (The Wrath of the Lamb). It was us as the audience who knew this, not Jack.

I think that Jack believed Will, because he wanted to; it was his way of trying to rehabilitate himself after what Will had to go through because of him because Jack didn't believe him from the beginning that Hannibal was the Copycat. I think that after it turned out that Hannibal was not only the Copycat Killer, but also the Chesapeake Ripper, Jack decided to never doubt Will's abilities again. And that doomed him, just as Kade Prunnell and Alana Bloom predicted.