#does he need a dog ? ill bark

[littlepuppers]

fantasizing about dog sitting rnnnn. I’ve never dog sat or anything, and everyone in my neighborhood has big dogs for protection. But i’m thinking if i did offer to dog sit and be told how to take care of the dogs and everything. I would bend down to put their food in their food bowls and he would trap my hips and start mounting me. i try to push him off but he starts barking and biting at my neck. frozen in fear, i try to wiggle my hips away but his doggy cock goes under my skirt. as he puts all his weight on me, my upper body is forced onto the cold floor, and my face into his food bowl. i yell at him to stop, heel, walk?

nothing works, he just keeps thrusting till he pushes my panties aside. no no no no please. my tears start to fall into the kibble as i lay there whimpering, still trying to push his paws off of my hips. but he pulls my hips closer and i feel his hot cock push into me. completely limp and terrified i realize i can’t get him off of me. he’s so big, pushing against my walls and fucking me so fast and i can’t help but moan a little bit because he’s hitting all of my spots. i start to get close and clench around him but he immediately bites down hard on my neck and pushes a huge doggy knot inside me. i scream into the food and am forced to not move because i feel like ill split open if i do.

god. what the fuck. i need this dog off of me now. his slobber dripping off my neck and his teeth marks littered across it. these are definitely gonna bruise. fuck everyone’s gonna find out. i feel his hot doggy semen pool into me and leaking into my cervix, it’s the most disgusting feeling. maybe he’s done now? i try to push his paws off again and he starts to back up.

NOT DONE FUCK. i get dragged a few inches back because fuck he’s fucking stuck in me and have to wait this shit out for god know how long. it hurts, i still feel his cum , now leaking out of me and making a huge mess on the floor. he starts licking the back of my neck and licking off the kibble stuck to my face.

“dumb fucking dog,” i say but he grunts and harshly backs up as i hear a POP and liquid splashing on the ground. my legs shake and give out as i fall down into the dogs mess of cum. so gross. i feel his cold snout pushing my butt back up and he starts licking into my hole, pushing his semen back in. fuck. get the fuck away please i can’t take more. he leaves me.

for the next few days of dog sitting i’ve felt his cum constantly leak out of me and he doesn’t stop trying to push his snout up my skirt. he even does it when the owners come back and i hand them the keys back. they snap and him and say no, only to notice his red cock out and dripping as he’s sniffing me. i push him away and walk out, thankful that it’s over, looking down annoyed and disgusted as i see more of his arousal dripping down my leg.

(fuck i got so carried away writing this, so sorries :33)

[landoughnut]

My Woman

♡ masterlist - request!

♡ pairing - max verstappen x fem!reader (fc - cindy kimberly)

♡ summary - max fighting with people thirsting in his girlfriends comments

♡ warnings - horny/simp max, crack, some fluff, some cursing, use of y/n

♡ w/c & a/n - smau | i actually love writing these ones but ive gotta learn how to do the other types of smau's people make with twitter and stuff ahahahaha

maxverstappen1 CBUXHNHDUNZ liked by yourusername

maxvertsappen1 WHAT THE FUCK 😫 THATS MY GIRLFRIEND

yourusername HEHEHE 🤭

username max represents all of us 🫦

maxverstappen1 get off of my girls page 😑

username i dont think i will 🙂

maxverstappen1 tf?? yes you will

username no

maxverstappen1 yes

username no.

maxverstappen1 YES

danielricciardo MAX YOU CHILD liked by yourusername

maxverstappen1 traitors. the both of you.

maxvertsappen1 IF I SPEAK-

yourusername YOU FLATTER ME 💋

maxverstappen1 I CANT HELP IT YOURE SO GORGEOUS 😻 liked by yourusername

maxverstappen1 YOU DIDNT TELL ME ABOUT THIS???

yourusername IM SORRYYY YOU CAN SEE IT TONIGHT 😉

maxverstappen1 great now i need to take a shower ☺️

landonorris THERE ARE KIDS ON THIS APP

maxverstappen1 close your eyes then norris, you already saw too much.

yourusername CLOCKED HIM

username OH. MY. GOSHHH.

maxverstappen1 ID ARGUE BUT I AGREE 🫠

maxverstappen1 COME HOME THE KIDS MISS YOU 🥵😍

georgerussell63 kids???

yourusername haha one day, but he means jimmy and sassy

maxverstappen1 ONE DAY?? IM GOING TO FAINT 😵

schecoperez here to inform you max is blushing and giggling rn liked by yourusername

username i dont know what's more unusual, checo commenting or him using "rn"

maxvertsappen1 that would be y/n trying to teach him how to use technology

username MOMMYYYYYY

maxverstappen1 GET BACK I SAY🤺

username DO YOU NEED A DOG?? I CAN BARK 😍🐶

maxvertsappen1 she does not. we are very happy with our cats.

alexandrasaintmleux OBSESSED WITH YOU

yourusername I MISS YOU BAE

alexandrasaintmleux I MISS YOU MORE 💞 liked by yourusername

username dont be shy show some more

danielricciardo disgusting perv

maxveartsappen1 ew fucking creep leave

yourusername blocked

maxverstappen1 😘

username this trio >>>>>

username MARRY ME

maxverstappen1 yeahhhhhh no. 👎

username IM FOAMING AT THE MOUTH AND GNAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE.

maxverstappen1 ive never related to something more

yourusername 😭😭😭

username i need her so bad

maxverstappen1 too bad she's in my bed every night 😁

yourusername poor red bull admin 😔

redbullracing I need a raise 😪 (you look unreal btw ;)

yourusername LOVE YOU BSF

milliebobbybrown WOW WOW WOW

yourusername AHH HI MILLIE ILY 🫶

milliebobbybrown WE NEED TO HANG OUT ONE DAY !! liked by yourusername

maxverstappen1 🤤🤤 liked by yourusername

maxverstappen1 ON MY KNEES 🧎‍♂️

yourusername ill hold you to that 😘

maxverstappen1 mouth is watering

carlossainz55 i feel like im intruding...

maxverstappen1 you are. shoo 🙃

username PLEASE JUST ONE CHANCE 😩

maxverstappen1 in your dreams 😂

maxverstappen1 i take that back dont dream about her

username this guy 😭

maxverstappen1 HOW DID I GET THE PRETTIEST GIRL IN THE WORLD AS MIJN VRIENDIN ☹️ (my girlfriend)

yourusername AWHH I LOVE YOU LIEVELING 🥹 (darling)

maxverstappen1 IK HOU HET MEEST VAN JOU ❣️ (i love you most)

landonorris i ask myself the same thing every day tbh

maxverstappen1 stay mad and single 🫵🏻😂

landonorris fuck you 🫵🏻😂

maxverstappen1 im afraid thats y/n's job 😝 liked by yourusername

charles_leclerc alex told me to tell you she loves your dress, because her phone died

yourusername HEHEHE BLUSHING GIVE HER A KISS FOR ME

charles_lecerc uhhh no

maxverstappen1 thank you charles 🙄

georgerussell63 max was obsessing over you in the gc just so you know

maxverstappen1 excuse you?? dont out me like that 😤

yourusername MY BBYYY TALKS ABOUT ME TO YOU GUYS? i love you so much 💋

danielricciardo he doesn't shut up once you're brought up

maxverstappen1 shhhh danny. I LOVE YOU MORE liked by yourusername

username can max fight???

maxverstappen1 you bet i can 😒

yourusername no need for violence my love im just for you 💕

maxverstappen1 mrs rabbit has fainted

username i need a man who loves me like how he loves y/n ☹️ liked by yourusername

oscarpiastri lily is dying to meet you!!

yourusername awhh same!! tell her to dm me 🎀🤭

username 🔥🔥🔥

maxverstappen1 🧯🧯🧯

username chat is this real 😭

danielricciardo thats my bestie 💅

yourusername MWAHHH I MISS YOU

danielricciardo ME TOO TELL MAX TO STOP HOGGING YOU liked by yourusername

lorenzo_zurzolo bellissima

yourusername OH MY GOSH IM SHGBKCDEGXEGCUB I LOVE YOU SO MUCH LORENZO

maxverstappen1 WHAT HAPPENED TO "IM JUST FOR YOU💕" ???

yourusername SHH ITS LORENZO ZURZOLO

lorenzo_zurzolo im very honored ahaha ❤️

maxverstappen1 pass me the gun. but let me bleach my eyes first.

username prettiest girl ever

maxverstappen1 she is🫠

carmenmundt beautiful beautiful girl!!

yourusername AHH CARMEN BBY

carmenmundt MISS YOU GIRLFRIEND 😊

lilymhe SOOO GORGEOUS I TOOK THIS PICTURE ‼️

yourusername MHMM LOVE YOU LILS XX💗

lilymhe LOVE YOU MORE liked by yourusername

username i cant with this fucking caption😭

danielricciardo yeah i told him it was corny 🙄

maxverstappen1 hey i think its nice 😕

yourusername dont worry i think its kinda sweet

maxverstappen1 SEE?? her opinion is the only one that matters to me anyway

username they're my otp🥹 liked by maxverstappen1

oscarpiastri the amout of content of you and y/n on my feed is concerning

maxverstappen1 😜

username she is GLOWINGGGG

maxverstappen1 i know right she's so beautiful

yourusername max 🥹 i always glow around you

maxverstappen1 you're going to make me cry 😢

danielricciardo my favorite couple EVER 👏 liked by maxverstappen1

yourusername BESTFRIENDDD

danielricciardo BESTFRIEND 🤝

lilymhe MY WIFEE RIGHT THERE SHES STUNNING

maxverstappen1 I dont see her wearing a ring with YOUR initials carved into it 🥱

yourusername DONT LISTEN TO HIM LILY LETS ELOPE 😘

lilymhe YES PLEASE 🙏

maxverstappen1 looks like its gonna be a five rounder minimum tonight 🤭

lilymhe EXCUSE ME ?!?!?!?

yourusername MAX

maxverstappen1 😸

landonorris buds lost it

maxverstappen shut up norizz

landonorris not you too😒

username SHES AN ANGEL OML

maxverstappen1 RIGHTTTT 😻

maxverstappen1 MEOW MEOW MEOW 🐱

charles_leclerc not only are you meowing at your girlfriend... but you're doing it on your own post of her??

maxverstappen1 correct, bravo!! problem with it?😤

charles_leclerc .......

username SHES SO FINEEE liked by maxverstappen1

username ive never wanted to be a wine glass more

maxverstappen1 so real.

alexandrasaintmleux THE DRESS AND MAKEUP HOLY SMOKES😍 liked by maxverstappen1

yourusername THANK YOU ALEXXXX

lilymhe ALEX IS MAD CAUSE IVE BEEN STARING AT THIS PIC FOR LIKE TEN MINUTES 😋

maxverstappen1 as he should be 🫡

honeymoon YUMMYYYYY

yourusername 💍❓

username i need her to dom me in bed ngl

maxverstappen HELLL NAH THE ONLY PERSON SHE DOMS IS ME

yourusername oh my gosh max 😭

alex_albon wow comments are getting more unhinged every day

lilymhe okay but i agree with username

alex_albon 👎

username SHE CAN RUN ME OVER AND ID APOLOGIZE

maxverstappen1 how about I run you over instead ☺️

redbullracing he's just joking 😅

maxverstappen1 dont lie to them

yourusername MY MANNNN ❣️

maxverstapepn MY WOMANNNN

[gasstationlady]

tom holland’s school of manifestation | a charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x supermodel!reader

charles has a big crush on world renowned supermodel, y/n l/n. who would’ve thought she’d return the feelings.

notes: very much travis kelce x taylor swift inspired. faceclaim is yasmin wijnaldum! btw i try to improve with each post (like how i write/pace the story) so if you have any suggestions, pls (veryvery kindly) tell me!! :))

disclaimer: SORRY FOR TYPOS. GOOGLE TRANSLATE (and from american high school lol) FRENCH. KYM ILLMAN MENTIONED LOL. none of the information in this social media au is factual. i do use old photos of charlotte and charles, and usually i don't like to include pictures of their ex or current gfs in these fics (only bc i want to keep it as imaginative as possible and i feel like adding them kinda gives you a reality check while reading LOL) so lmk your opinions on that!

masterlist

voguemagazine

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc and 854,487 others

voguemagazine Since beginning modeling at the age of 14, Y/N L/N has cemented herself as the most influential supermodel of all time. As of 2023, she is now the world’s highest paid model surpassing Kendall Jenner who previously led the list. Throughout her career, she has made 39 appearances on international Vogue covers.

Tap the link in our bio to read the full profile. Photographed by @/leannafitz, Written by Phil Stevenson, Styled by @/sheri_simmons, Vogue, February 2023.

View all 942 comments

user MOTHER IS MOTHERING

user omg as someone who has been a fan since she began in 2011, i’m so proud of her 😭

user she's the definition of perfection

user LOL ariana (charles), what are you doing here

↳ user his little crush on her is soo cute 😩

↳ user he’s just like us fr lmaoo

user her walk is legendary like it reminds me so much of naomi

user i was gonna say she’s the model of our generation but that’s wrong. she’s actually the top model of all time 😩😩😩

user i’m glad to see a non-nepo baby be on top of the list

↳ user no literally like no shade to bella, kendall, and them but y/n had to fight tooth and nail to be here

↳ user frrr bc most of the nepo baby models are great, don’t get me wrong. however, they were allowed to make mistakes during their career in order to improve. y/n was not privileged enough to have that. like ppl don’t understand the insane expectations that were placed on her ever since she entered the industry, but she exceeded those expectations every. single. time. and that’s why she deserves this title

user she’s so beautiful

user i would die for y/n

user nothing could describe the amount of affection i have for this woman omfg

charleslc_updates

42,077 likes

charleslc_updates Charles and Arthur talking about Y/N L/N (again lol) in a recent interview 👀

View all 396 comments

user lmaoooooo relatable

user omg i'm new to f1 but i've always been a y/n stan i'm freaakkkinng out but wdym again??

↳ user lmaooo charles is always trying to bring up y/n

user the leclerc brothers 🥰🥰

user it was so cute to see the both of them in one video

user this man fr blushed AHAH cute

user i get it charles i too have the biggest crush on y/n

↳ user lol literally like get in line dude

↳ user back of the line bucko

user i've never seen a man so down bad for someone he's never met

user y/n what are you doing girl if you don't want him ILL DO IT

user @/yourusername

↳ user LMAO YESSS @/yourusername

ynupdates

239,095 likes

ynupdates Y/N opening the 2023 Chanel by Karl Lagerfeld show during Paris Fashion Week.

View all 3,977 comments

user omg she absolutely killed it

user god does she need a dog? i can bark

user i love seeing her thrive

user quick charles this is your chance!!! she’s in paris 😭😭😭 @/charles_leclerc

↳ user lmaooooo not you tagging him but literally though

↳ user no srsly please mr. "i hope our paths cross soon" you don't understand i need this to happen

user yall saw that walk??? ugh y/n the woman that you are

user i don’t get the hype. all she does is walk.

user NAHHHH SHE ATEEE THAT

user i’m so happyyyy 🥺 y/n is so booked and busy she’s really out here doing multiple back to back shows for paris fashion week

↳ user same! it’s crazy that she gets to open and close multiple shows, especially ones like chanel!

user i love that so many people are going to these shows just to see y/n

user i could make this exact dress with my curtains

user if i ever meet her in real life i would die happily

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, bellahadid and 5,490,124 others

yourusername rien de mieux que d'etre a la maison [no place like home]

View all 12,658 comments

gigihadid sexy lady

↳ yourusername already missing you

user i keep forgetting she's part french

user you absolutely KILLED those shows

voguemagazine iconic ⭐️

alexademie 🔥🔥

user beautiful girl!!

user omggg charles liking this LOL

↳ user it's actually frustrating me that this man has no game like i'm rooting for you cmon

↳ user lmaooo literally though i'm just hoping he's pulling some strings behind the scenes

anokyai 😍😍😍

user la plus belle fille [the most beautiful girl] *liked by charles_leclerc

↳ user if this is him shooting his shot 😭😭

↳ user lol charles is down so bad he's even going through the comments

user am i just crazy but why are there two drinks in the second post? like is this supposed to be a very soft launch

↳ user it's probably gigi 😭😭 she did comment saying that they were hanging out with each other

↳ user but why not just take a pic of her tho

deuxmoi

31,844 likes

deuxmoi Y/N L/N & Charles Leclerc spotted hanging out with each other in Paris

View all 992 comments

user NO WAY OMG

user i'm actually in disbelief how tf did charles get here

user i knew you could do it charles!!

user TURN IT UP IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE

user so are they dating???

user CHARLES FR WINNING RN AHAH

↳ user NO LITERALLYYY HES BEEN DREAMING ABOUT THIS FOR AGES

↳ user he manifested this 😭

user they look sooo good together

user why does he look so srs

↳ user give my man a break 😩

↳ user well it looks like he’s not your man anymore 😭😭

user omgg this is like a fairytale

user wait i'm kinda obsessed with this

user i’m so invested

kymillman

201,885 likes

kymillman Y/N AND CHARLES

Ferrari driver Charles Leclerc is joined at the track today by top supermodel, Y/N L/N. This is the first time Y/N is with him and she clearly shines in front of the camera.

Her debut at the grid has quickly become a popular topic as fans and drivers alike are intrigued by the presence of one of the most famous women in the world.

For A3 prints, hand-signed & numbered by a range of drivers/team principals head to kymillman.com #f1 #formula1 #signedprints #japanesegp #CharlesLeclerc #Y/NL/N

View all 971 comments

user SHDJEJ IM ACTUALLY GOING FERAL

user mom and dad 😩

user so it’s official???

↳ user i mean this is the hardest launch they could have done other than posting 😭

user i’m a charles fan and even i’m surprised he got her to date him

user i’m rooting for them so much 🥺🥺

user she’s serving though

user i’m watching the race rn and they literally keep talking about y/n being there AHH

↳ user i always forget she’s kind of a big deal

user kym gets on my nerves but this picture is actual gold

user it's so obvious that this is a publicity stunt

↳ user nah but for who? bc i know damn well that neither charles nor y/n need it

↳ user obviously not for them but maybe it's to gather more attention for f1

↳ user girl i need u to listen to urself rn 😭 bc that makes no sense

user idk who charles is and idk what the hell f1 is but best believe i’m tuning in next race just to see y/n

↳ user literally me girl i can’t believe i’m watching cars drive in a circle rn

yn_updates

91,922 likes

yn_updates Some moments of Y/N being mentioned by drivers during the Formula 1 race

View all 1,061 comments

user i swear it was like every minute i'd hear y/n's name

user the way that all the drivers are aware of charles's long time obsession with y/n LOL

↳ user i just know charles is the type to never shut up about her ahaha

user she's literally THE y/n l/n. i mean if viewers are sky rocketing just by her being there, imagine her impact if she had actively promoted it

↳ user she's so iconic

↳ user no bc i love y/n so much that i just forced myself to watch rich grown men vroom vroom in circles for almost 2 hrs just to catch a glimpse of her

user i'm in love with her life

user LMAOOO THE DRIVERS TEASING CHARLES

user lando's so funny 😭😭

user y/n and f1 stans are being FED today wow

user is it just me or am i kinda annoyed about how often they're bringing her up like my girl can't even support her bf in peace

↳ user yea i'm eating it up but also feeling bad for y/n at the same time. the attention is definitely a double edge sword.

user apparently she was with joris most of the time 🥺

user this is literally straight from a fairy tale i can't

user didn't they just meet like a week ago

↳ user as far as we know they were first spotted together about a month ago by that deuxmoi post. but assuming from y/n and charles's past relationships, i don't think they'd be this comfortable going public without being together for a while

↳ user yea this has definitely been going on longer than we think/have been seeing

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, gigihadid, landonorris and 7,712,083 others

charles_leclerc J'ai toujours su que c'était toi. Joyeux anniversaire, mon amour ❤️ [I've always known it was you. Happy birthday, my love]

View all 34,511 comments

yourusername merci, mon cœur ❤️ [thank you, my heart]

yourusername je suis raide dingue de toi [i'm madly in love with you]

↳ charles_leclerc l'amour de ma vie [the love of my life]

user are we interrupting something...

user i can’t believe it’s already been 6 months since they first went public

user throwing myself down the stairs as we speak

user they don't know it yet but we're actually a throuple

user happy birthday y/n!!!

user in love with their love 🥺

user lmfaoooo i just know charles is on cloud 9 this man literally sees y/n and is blind to everything else

↳ user he's sooo cute, he's like a love sick puppy

user i still think this is a pr relationship

user god i'd die for someone to look at me the way charles looks at y/n in that second pic

user this is my roman empire

user i'm so obsessed with them it's insane

user our generation's brad and angelina

↳ user don't say that wtf my parents are never separating

user pls don't ever breakup 😭😭

[drgnflyteabox]

lament [1]

part one -> honey || part two -> tbd

series masterlist

pairing: john price x fem reader summary: as you recover from prolonged illness, you meet a man on a hike in the woods just as strange things begin happening around you. tags/warnings: creepy / horror vibes, slowburn, phone sex, masturbation, injuries, mention of hospitals, pneumonia, mobility aids, softdom!price (for now), dubcon due to intoxication, tags will update as the story does w.c: 5.9k

The woods are a peaceful, meditative thing. You’ve been spending your mornings there walking with Diva, meandering through the local trails and venturing off for pictures of red mushrooms or Diva in her little yellow raincoat, sniffing something or other.

The trails were scarcely used and took a couple of hours to finish, a longer trek in taller trees that closed off the sunlight and created peace through insulation, like an echo chamber of wet pitter patter from rain the night before and the gentle calls of birds, broken only by the sounds of your hiking shoes crunching gently through pebbles and leaves.

Quiet. It’s just what you need, slowly erasing memories of bright fluorescent lights and the smell of antiseptics. The trail isn’t elevated, it’s long, but not elevated. That’s important for your recovery, two months spent in a hospital bed attached to breathing apparatus.

Relief, freedom, as slow as your steps are and as beleaguered is your breathing, it’s pure relief. You’re no longer breathing through a straw, building strength walk by walk, spending time with Diva and watching her little tail wiggle under her coat. This time is good for her, too. You could sink to your knees and praise a higher being for the time off and sick pay policies your job has - so could Diva.

The shaking continues, your limbs still weak, muscles unused to standing and walking. You often find yourself sitting, on a log or a rock, and taking time to breathe and recover. Sometimes a granola bar makes its way into the mix, sometimes a handful of trail mix.

The last few times, there’s been a man. Tall, imposing, walking much quicker than you even with a brace around his knee. His posture tells you he takes himself pretty seriously, or he’s military, if there’s any difference.

Mutton chops, mustache, cargo pants. He’s been coming up behind you with sure steps, barely a limp even with his knee, and going by you so fast there's a breeze, makes you a little nervous to get mowed down.

Diva is weary of him. Her hackles raise, though she doesn’t bark, and she tucks close to you when he goes by. You don't feel unsafe, just a little surprised at the break in monotony no matter how tiny it is.

Doesn’t help that it’s pretty nice watching him go, that broad back and tight shirt, those well sculpted legs. Hey, you’re still sick and weak, still recovering. Sue me, you think, leaning on a tree when your lungs start burning again a little too much.

He stops, a few feet in front of you.

“You broken?” His voice is just as you imagined, rough maybe from smoking, maybe from overuse.

“What?” Broken?

“You alright?” He repeats, turning then. The quiet is a little oppressive now, with your struggle. You’re wheezing.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine-” you cough, dryly. “Just asthmatic.” It’s an easy explanation, you’re trying to get him to move on. You’ve never felt in danger, but it’s still the middle of the woods and he’s still a strange man.

“Need a hand?” He has to look down at you, even from a distance. His head is tilted down, arms folding across his chest, biceps calling to you like sirens.

You shake your head, squatting down as best you can, taking the breaths learned from your doctor and pulling out your steroid inhaler. One puff, two puff.

The man looks at you skeptically, eyes small and narrowed, flitting once to Diva who would fail as a service dog, but tries her best at guarding you despite being so small. Her gaze is pinpointed to him, as stiff as he is.

”Right, then,” is all he says before he’s back to his soldiers march.

You imagine him with horse blinders on and pulling a sled behind him, wheezing a laugh into the empty air.

Recovery is not linear. That’s what your doctor tells you, what you were told before you left the ICU, before you were discharged all together. There’ll be ups and downs, moments where you feel you’ve backslid to the point of having to start all over.

You get it, really. It’s a mantra. Recovery is not linear.

What they don't warn you is that it’s different when you’re actually feeling it, waking up weaker than ever and coughing, burning in your chest. It’s jarring, every cell in your body crying for oxygen and yet you aren’t low enough that you need to go back to the ER, just sit up in bed and stare out the window to the fortress of green that surrounds your house.

Recovery is not linear. You watch comfort shows - animated Halloween specials, a couple months too early. They fit the cooling temperatures, the slow yellowing of the trees.

Food is hard when you can’t stand for long periods of time, so you order in. Soup, and an extra chicken crunch treat for Diva on her dinner.

It’s only when you turn Charlie Brown off that you hear it.

Tap tap tap. Deliberate, timed taps, like a mini hammer on a mini nail. Quiet enough that your ears strain, and yet you can just barely catch the sound. It’s coming from the side of your house, opposite to your bedroom and closest to the living room you were just in.

Tap tap tap. Maybe it’s the vibe you put yourself in, but you shiver with apprehension. Could be an animal, you do live fairly far out, and by the woods. Your driveway is long, separated from the highway just outside of town.

Diva is usually a false alarm - she raises her hackles at the stove, she’s not trustworthy when it comes to alerting you. And yet you look, and find her standing straight up and staring at the wall the sound is coming from, lips peeling back.

Only there's nothing you can do. You aren’t gonna go check, not with your weak limbs and thin breath. Theres a landline in the kitchen with a long cord, and your cellphone. The best you can do is lock the windows and doors, which you do, shuffling so as to make the least amount of noise possible.

Next the lights and curtains, drawn and shut. You tuck a knife under your mattress, more for reassurance than anything, and close your bedroom door behind Diva.

The only reason you’re able to sleep is the bedroom door locks. The handle has one, and there’s a chain above that. You tuck into bed under the covers like a child hiding from their closet, straining to hear the tap tap tap. Sometime between you locking all the entries and exits, it stopped, but you’re still unmoored.

Your lungs fare better the next morning, eased by rest. You’re back in the woods by late morning, driving up to the trailhead through the canopy of trees. It really is beautiful, part of the reason you moved here, other than peace and quiet.

There's another car as you pull up, a reliable model in a dark colour, a surprise since you’re usually the first one there. 

You park away from it in an effort to not be creepy, but still sneak a peak while Diva does her post-car ride shakeout and pee.

It’s the man from before, sitting in the front seat, talking on a phone. He looks serious, frowning, talking in a measured way but you can still hear the volume as you pass by.

He waves, and you wave back, giving him a little smile.

Diva leads the way, prancing into the woods without fear even as the leaves start blocking out the sun. She inspires you - a little dog, brave, braver than you were last night.

God, it was probably a rabbit or a possum stuck somewhere. Maybe a mouse, and though you hope it isn’t it is the season for them. Cooler temperatures means creatures trying to enter your house. Means you have yet to drive down to town and pick up insulation supplies for your windows before fall really hits and you’re freezing.

Making a mental note of that, you lean heavily on your walking stick and pause. It’s one of those days, needing more aid than usual after yesterday and more breaks.

Crunch.

“Sorry, honey,” the army man holds his arms up, seeming sheepish as you flip around to face him. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” your cheeks burn in embarrassment. “Just jumpy today.”

“That’s alright,” his eyes crinkle at the corners, softening at the edges. He’s approachable today, not speed walking through the woods like there's a pot of gold at the end. “Mind if I join you?”

Unexpected, but with your eyes at pec-height it’s an easy yes. You deserve a handsome escort for the second half of the trail, and your emergency alarm is tucked in your front sweater pocket if you need it.

“Sure,” you nod. “I’m pretty slow, though, just to warn you. Recovering.”

“That’s fine, I should be taking it easier anyway. Make my physio happy for once,” he gestures to his knee with a chuckle. “John.”

You tell him your name. John. It suits him, the masculinity of it, the simpleness too. He gives the impression that he’s careful about how he presents himself, that outside of this sudden friendliness he’s very closed off - the way he was when you’d come across him before. Now he calls you honey, and touches his fingertips to your back as you navigate a patch of rough terrain warped by roots.

“I’m off until my knee is battle-ready, again,” he says it like it’s a joke, but there’s a steel edge beneath his words. You ask about his job: contract work, he says, not self-employed but with pockets of free time.

“Did you move here recently?” The wind shivers the trees, chillier than last week, as you meander.

“Ah, didn’t move here,” he scratches his thumb with his nose. “Staying with a friend. Needed the fresh air.”

“I get it,” your shoulder brushes his arm. “That’s why I moved here too.”

“Helps your asthma?”

You pause for a moment, confused. And then.

“Oh!” You’re a little embarrassed. “I don’t have asthma, actually. I mean I could have it, or develop it. But really I had pneumonia for a while, really wiped me out.”

“Ah, I see,” his voice says surprised, but his face stays the same. You wonder if he notices. “Terrible, that. My mum had a bad bout of it a couple years back, gave us a scare.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” you aren’t sure how old John is, but you can assume it was dangerous for his mother to have caught such a bad infection. “How’s she doing now?”

“Much better. Healthy as a goat.”

“A goat?” You’re laughing, then. A giggle that has him smiling back at you. “Haven’t heard that one before.”

John hums when he doesn’t reply verbally, and nods like you’re giving a university lecture. The attentiveness is nice, but it makes you self conscious, unused to having so much attention so focused on you. And he is so focused, like you’re discussing nuclear launch codes or what a quark is or something important. Honestly, it makes you hide your face in an embarrassingly shy way, avoiding eye contact.

He walks with you slowly, patiently down the path, arms crossed behind his back. Every once in a while either or the two of you laugh, which seems to bother Diva, whose been looking back at John suspiciously or trying to get between you the whole time.

“So sorry about that,” you really don’t know what’s gotten into her. Sure, she’s a pro at finding innocuous things suspicious, but you’ve been walking for a while now and she usually warms up when she realizes you’re okay with the offensive person or item.

“Don’t worry about it, honey,” honey again. He sure knows how to make a lady flustered. “She’s just looking out for her mama, right?”

If your pussy reacts to that, it’s no one’s business but your own.

The air chills, day by day. John has begun joining you on your walks every other day, and sometimes you catch him jogging to the trailhead from the road instead of driving it. It makes you wonder where he’s, whether it’s close or he’s really pushing his knee, and whether or not he’s flirting with you when he shows up all sweaty in a tight shirt.

Another anomaly is that the tapping has returned, nearly every night. You’re scared every time, won’t even let Diva out for a final pee and have stuck to walking up at the buttcrack of dawn to make sure she’s taken care of.

Tedious, is what it is. Ridiculous. And yet when those little taps come, in different places around the house now, different walls, you hide under the covers with Diva growling her little growl at the bedroom door and try to sleep.

When cabin fever starts to set in, anxiety and insane thoughts like, what if someone is trying to break into my house? You decide it’s past time for a visit to town.

The trip serves many purposes, anyways. Diva needs treats, kibble, and a new ball. You need groceries, tampons, new socks. Overall worth it outside of the fresh air and human interaction with more than just one person.

“Hey! Hey you!”

You’re in the bakery, weighing with your hands two loaves of artisanal bread. Just the one will do, since your freezer is small, but you want both. Pumpernickel or dark rye? Which will go better with the honey ham sandwich slices?

“Hello? Earth to-”

Your deliberation is interrupted by a waving in your face. You realize Jo, your only real friend in town, has run across the street to catch your attention.

“Oh gosh, my bad,” you look down at your shoes, then reach for a hug. She squeezes you.

“That’s okay, babe, off in your own world?” She’s dazzling, too cute for such a small town. Her ringlets bounce on her shoulders and her mouth, which is always smiling, is stretched wide with mirth. Makes you feel warm inside that she cares for you.

“Trying to make a hard decision. You know, end world hunger or stop all wars.” Stupid, but she laughs. You love making her laugh, and if you were lesbian you’d have made a move on her. Maybe you were, just a little.

“Why not both?” Her hands find your shoulders and squeeze. It’s then that you notice someone behind her, a much taller someone. At first the muscled chest and thick neck make you think it’s John, and a small squeeze of jealousy grips your stomach.

Then you see the mohawk, the difference in height. This man is looking at you with a similar intensity, though, all piercing blue eyes, thick furrowed brows, pin-straight posture.

“You’re right,” your laugh is more awkward, then, motioning with your eyes to the man.

“Oh, I’m so rude,” she turns to him. “This is Johnny, we met a few weeks ago.”

A wink. Ah, they met a few weeks ago. You picture them in the only bar in town, low lighting and Jo looking like Botticelli’s Venus, plump cheeks and red lips. And yeah, Johnny’s pretty good looking. You’d laugh about the mixup and the names if it wasn’t rude.

“Nice tae meet ya,” his accent is thick, palm warm and rough against yours. “Shall we, lass?”

He’s talking to Jo. They exchange glances, him looking at you once so fast you almost miss it. There’s something uncomfortably familiar about the look he gives you, but you shake it off. Nerves, you think. From the taps.

“Right,” Jo looks a little sheepish, then. “We’re off to the movies, but nice to see you!”

You raise a brow. You can’t help it, it’s 10am. Jo laughs and they leave.

You bake, sometimes. It’s a good hobby for someone on a leave of absence with nothing much else to do but read, walk and play with her dog.

The oven sometimes scares Diva, and she curls up in your room indignantly until you’re done using it. You’ve always wondered why, since she came to you as a puppy and hasn’t got a single reason to be upset with the appliance. 

Oh well.

You decide to bring brown butter chocolate chip cookies on your hike, hoping to see John and give him one. Your interactions haven’t progressed past leisurely chatting and walking together, but he’s a handsome man and you're still a little stir-crazy. At least with work, it wasn’t just hours on hours of uninterrupted alone time.

Funny how that works, isn’t it? You spend every day at work wishing not to be at work, and once you have the opportunity you have no idea what to do with yourself.

John loves the cookies. He takes two right out of the Tupperware, flattering you by groaning as he eats. The recipe is that good, but you think he might be putting it on a bit anyway.

It’s sweet.

“Fantastic,” he says, licking his fingers. You try not to look. “You bake often?”

“Just something to do, keeps me busy.” Diva has growled at John again, her second offense. She’s being a real heel today, rude and fussy. You elect to schedule a vet visit for a checkup soon.

“No one to keep you company in that house?” He stops when you need to stop, takes the opportunity to stretch his bad leg.

“What?” You take a puff of the inhaler, frowning a little.

“Are you lonely?” A weird question, but you chalk it up to small town weirdness.

“A little, but that one over there keeps me company,” as if she knows, she turns and yips. “What do you mean, that house?”

“You mentioned you live in your grandfather's house, no? Inherited it.” He chuckles at Diva.

“Did I? I don’t think…” you fully frown, thinking back to your conversations. Did you mention that? You haven’t even thought of it yourself for a while, not wanting to revisit painful memories. Your grandpa did pass you his house, but you’re usually more private than offering more than surface-level information to strangers.

“I believe so,” he looks deep in thought himself, squinting up at the umbrella of trees above you. That comforts you, the fact that he’s trying to recall. You’ve been so anxious lately.

“I must have forgotten, sorry. I’ve just been so scrambled lately.” John perks up at that, turning towards you as you finally continue walking.

“Scrambled?” His palm finds the back of your arm, the meat of it. He squeezes you, and it fills you with warmth. “How so?”

“Ah, well, just some animals around my house. I think,” you meet eyes, and he gets the best of you, so you elect to stare between his brows.

“Want me to take a look?” His tone is very serious. You shiver.

“I don’t think it’s necessary… I think there’s just some mice making a home for winter. I gotta call an expert,” He slides his hand down to your elbow, holding it gently. You’re nearing the end of the trail, the woods getting brighter around you. Diva marks her territory here more than anywhere else and yips at John again. 

“I could do it for free though, honey,” the air drops where you are, a gust of wind creating a symphony of sound all around you. A little romantic, you think. Ridiculous.

“Well,” far be it from you to pass up free help. “Only if you let me pay you back somehow.” 

“You have already,” he holds up the cookie Tupperware, shaking it gently. 

“Then let me make you dinner. Whatever you want!” The enthusiasm in which you say it has you cringing at yourself, but mentally you justify it; it’s completely normal to invite a friend over, especially to pay back a favour. You’re not being obvious that you’re attracted to him at all, no sir. Definitely not scared and in need of comfort, Mr John sir. 

“Sounds like a plan. I’m free after 7 o’clock.”

You elect to be cliche and make British food. Good British food, a proper roast. Something you’d had a few times with friends in pubs or that time you’d visited London as an exchange student. Hot, smothered in gravy, salty and perfect with a mug of beer British food. You really hope he likes it, that he doesn't think you’re weird or making fun of him for his accent.

John is a proper gentleman, so punctual that he knocks on your door the very second it turns to 7:30 on your oven timer.

Diva has to battle her hatred of the stove with her need to announce a guest, staying in hallway purgatory barking at both.

The smell of garlicky roast beef, rosemary and thyme, salt and boiling potatoes is rife in the air, no doubt spilling into the woods through your badly insulated windows.

The moment it hits John, you can see it. Your door opens, creaking, and his eyes fix to you so quickly it’s almost physical.

“Hey! Thanks for coming,” you open it, motioning for him to come in. “Don’t mind Diva, she’s not a fan of the oven being on.”

He toes his boots off, still staring, like you’re a prize heifer and he’s set on buying you at the farm auction. A little sexy, mostly nerve wracking. Diva peeks around the corner at him and the sound of her little nails on the hardwood breaks the tension.

“Smells like home,” he leans closer to you to put his coat up on the rack. “You really went through all this trouble?”

“It’s the least I can do for your help.” At that moment, he seems to remember.

“Right, the mice. Want to show me where you heard them, or can I not steal you away from the stove?” His voice deepens as he talks, intensifying, grating hot coals and growling like a bear. Blue, focused eyes find the half-apron you’re wearing. You swear his pupils dilate, but he shakes his head before you’re sure.

“I can show you, there’s still a few minutes left for everything.”

The air is biting outside, cold with the evening breeze and dark already. So dark you equip your biggest, brightest flashlight and walk around the house with him, explaining the taps all around.

“I figure it’s them trying to dig holes so they can get in,” you hand the flashlight to him, feeling your fingers brush, and shivering in response. “I’ve been too chicken to check, to be honest. I keep thinking it’s a person walking around, not some animal.”

John nods as you speak, squatting by your little tool shed, looking diligently and moving items as he needs to. Then, he looks up, smiling a little.

“Why don’t you head inside, darling? Let me take care of this.”

“Sure,” you squeak. Squeak. Your stomach makes a knot and you scurry like one of the mice he’s looking for back into the house to mash the potatoes and make the gravy.

You are quite proud of this meal, not a proper cook by a long shot but it looks and smells pretty good. The Yorkshire puddings are alright, too, and that was the hardest part. Plus, you think, it’s free food. He’s gotta be happy with the effort, even if he winds up not liking it, right? That’s something your mother always told you. Someone’s put in a lot of effort for this meal, she’d say, pointing at you with a long nail. Better eat it.

“Think I found the little buggers,” John startles you just a little as he comes in, toeing his boots off again. You’re plating his plate, huge portions of mash potato and roast carrot and brussel sprouts nestled to the beef. His eyes look at the plate, then to you, then down to your apron, and you pretend you can’t see him adjusting his pants.

This isn’t what you think it is, you remind yourself. Two friends, one lending a hand and the other paying them back. You don’t even know his last name.

“Oh god, how bad was it?” You ladle gravy over his portion, then yours, pretending to be unaffected when he walks into your kitchen and takes a huge sniff.

“Not too bad. I’ll have to come back with some traps, if that’s alright.” You want to say John, you can come back anytime, but you don’t.

“Glad to know it was mice at least,” that’s the truth. A feeling you didn’t totally realize you had turns from paranoia into relief. “I was really scared it was some creep walking around my house, trying to get in.”

“Here,” John takes his plate when you hand it to him, but puts his phone into your hands before you can get yours. “Put your number in there, honey. Call me if anything like that happens.”

Honey. You fucking love that, so much it renders you temporarily mute as you punch in your number. He doesn't let you bring your own plate to the table, picks it up while you’re busy and comes back to shepherd you there with a palm on your lower back.

“Thank you,” you say, struck timid by his casual and yet firm guidance of you.

Diva makes an appearance for supper, summoned by the smell of beef and the oven being turned off. Her little claws tip tap against the hardwood as she circles your chair, tucks herself under the table looking for scraps, and whines at John while he’s trying to eat.

You nudge her away from him with a socked foot, stuttering that she isn’t usually like this, honest, only for him to brush it off kindly.

After supper, when you’re full and you can’t handle him looking at you with those half-lidded, well-fed bear eyes anymore, you move to pick up the dishes and bring them to the kitchen.

“Ah ah,” John cuts in front of you, stealing the plates and cutlery. “You cooked, I’ll clean.”

Useless to argue - he’s built like a brick shithouse. You’re forced to pack up the leftovers, one container for you and one for him to take home. For no reason other than you’re feeling especially soft and gooey, you wrap up a few homemade fig and date granola bars for him to take too.

“Thank you,” he gruffs, rolling his sleeves to his elbows, flexing his forearm muscles, making you hot again.

“It’s really the least I can-”

Snap. Fuck, the day that creepy noises don’t happen near your house is the day you convert to whatever religion that’ll make it happen. Both your heads turn to the living room window, where the sound came from, a crack in the otherwise quiet night air.

Anxiety curls in your stomach, sharp and dreadful. You try to remind yourself that you live in the woods for gods sake, there’s gonna be sounds, but that awful sense of danger is back and if you were Diva your hackles would be raised.

John frowns, wiping his hands on a towel. He doesn't seem as phased as you are, probably because he’s not worried over boogeymen haunting the forest like you are, but when he looks back at you and sees your fright he leans in and murmurs that he’ll go take a look.

“It’s okay, it’s probably one of my furry friends,” you try, but he shakes his head, putting a palm on your hip for a brief moment as reassurance and then he’s out the door.

God, you’re so nervous you whip out a bottle of wine, desperate for a little courage. The feeling is so strange, you’re used to feeling safe and cushioned by your home, by the forest. Even your little dog whimpers, tapping her way into the kitchen, rubbing her face on your leg like a cat. She’s a comfort still, something about there being a more nervous person (or animal) that inspires bravery. Still, you won't peek out the window.

The wine is good. A little too dry, but still good. A housewarming gift from your mother, even though she knew you didn’t drink unless it was social.

Or unless you were nervously waiting for some man to come back, having dealt with your problems for you. She’d weep to see you, aproned and wringing your hands and sipping red wine too quickly. Whatever, you think. There’s nothing wrong with letting him help.

John comes back in, maybe a few minutes later or maybe a half hour, you can’t tell. Your wine is half empty, and you feel awkward about it so you pour him one without asking.

“Think you’ve got more than one furry friend,” John says, laughter in his voice. In his fingers he’s got tufts of light brown hair, which he holds up. “Dinner, if you hunt.”

“Ah, I don’t,” and you wouldn’t. You’re fine eating meat or even purchasing it from a local hunter to eat, but there’s something in you that’s deeply uncomfortable with the idea. Maybe it’s cowardice, unable to do the dirty work and yet enjoying the fruits of someone else’s labour. Maybe you’re putting stock in something that really isn’t worth stressing over. Either way, you’re overthinking, and only stop when John steps into your space.

“Hey- you alright, darling?” You like darling too, just as much as honey.

“Yeah, sorry,” your hands find the wine glass you poured for him, and you hand it over. One thing about abstaining is that it hits you quickly, even with the big meal. “Want to sit? I’ve got a fireplace.”

You cringe at yourself, not meaning to sound so suggestive. Oh well, he doesn’t seem to mind, just nods and takes you by the elbow again to your living room.

“This all the heading you’ve got?” John asks.

“Er, no. I have to get my windows insulated for winter, then I can turn the heating on without it all going to waste. For now, I make do with the fireplace,” when you sit, Diva runs to you both and demands to be swaddled in her blanket. It’s an old knitted one, a college project finished between essay assignments and readings. There’s sentimental value there, especially with your pup who doesn’t even let the presence of a strange man come between her and her cozying up.

“I can help with that,” John says. Briefly, Westley pops into your head shouting As you wish! and it makes you smile.

“That’s okay,” you sip, tasting spice. Would’ve been good with dinner. “I owe you double now for helping me again.”

“Not at all, sweetheart.” Oh, he’s full of names - and getting bolder. 

The conversation ebbs and flows naturally. Sometimes you both sit in silence, sipping, refilling glasses, staring at the fire. He’s easy to talk to, soothing, his confidence and sureness leaving you relaxed.

“I better get going,” he grunts as he stands, extending a palm to you.

“Are you okay to drive?” You’re half worried, half disappointed. There’s been a steadily building sense of heat between your legs the entire evening, brought on by his touches and his pet names and his taking care of you

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I live close-by.” That’s one mystery solved.

“Well, okay. But will you call when you get home?” If you weren’t three glasses in, you might be embarrassed. John crinkles his eyes at you while he puts his boots on.

“John?” You’re in your pajamas, face hastily cleaned with a makeup wipe. Your door is double locked again, anxiety beaten down by the wine.

“I’m home,” he sounds distant. You can’t really hear anything, just his breathing, the sounds of him taking off his coat and his boots. “You tucked in bed, sweetheart?”

“I am,” you breathe, eyes slipping, drunker than you thought you were. “Did you drive okay?”

“I did,” he laughs. His keys jingle and make a clamor as he tosses them. You imagine him in a house that fits him, a log cabin or a house built by hand, before remembering he’s talking with someone. Disappointment dampens you a little.

“I guess I should let you get to bed then,” you try to keep it out of your voice, but you’re curled on your side with a hand pressed against your clothed pussy and it’s hard not to be sad at the fact that you have no idea if he’s actually been flirting with you, or just being friendly.

“You sound disappointed,” either he’s perceptive, or you’re more obvious than you’re trying to be. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave you without saying goodnight.”

A pulse, between your legs. You rub with all four fingers, moving the phone away from your mouth.

“That’s okay, I don’t want to keep you,” you scrunch your eyes shut, trying to stop, not being able to. You’re starved, really, haven’t been touched or talked to like you’re desirable in quite some time and he makes you feel safe. Taken care of.

“You touching that wet little cunt, sweetheart?” A shockwave, from your nipples tightening to your toes tingling, curling. You stop hiding, breathing whines into the phone.

“I’m so sorry,” you mumble, biting your lips. It feels like permission, and maybe it is or maybe it isn’t, but you stuff your hand into your pants and start focusing on your needy clit. “I’m so-”

“Shh, sh, sh,” you hear a mattress creak, a grunt, and imagine him laying back. Maybe palming his cock. “That’s okay, baby, I could tell how needy you were.”

Panting, you stuff two fingers in your soft hole, grinding your palm into your clit. You hear him making sounds, quieter than you, but you’re straining to hear them.

He starts talking you through it, murmuring into your ear, calling you sweetheart and honey and baby, telling you to put three fingers in and to play with your tits.

“Go ahead and touch your nipples, sweetheart, go on,” his breath is growing laboured. “Needed to come so she could sleep, did she?”

For a moment, you think he’s talking about you.

“Poor little pussy needed some attention,” his voice gets rougher again, like when he walked in and saw that you had made him a roast. “Give it to her then, baby, go on, let her come.”

That’s all you need. You squeeze your nipples one last time, letting your tits out of your shirt and turning over to hump your hand unashamedly. Your clit drags against your palm still, hips desperately moving, listening to him grunting and groaning on the other side of the call, waiting to hear him come before you let go.

You shake, shiver, curl into yourself as your core tightens and explodes like an elastic band snapping. It’s great, just what you needed, and you’re half asleep by the end of it

“John..” you mumble into your pillow, just enough consciousness left to pull your hand out of your pajama pants.

“It’s alright, it’s time to sleep now, alright? Close your eyes.”

“Alright, John.”

“Good girl,” his voice is distant, sleep taking you, muscles more relaxed than they’ve been in so long.

You’ll deal with the rest in the morning.

[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.

[lovewithmary]

(not) moving on — a max verstappen x stark!oc x charles leclerc series

★ fc: madison beer ☆ summary: evangeline "evie" stark is in love with her best friend, max verstappen, but he tries his best to keep her at arm's length. but what happens when she starts to get close to his fellow drivers in the paddock?

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liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, lewishamilton, and 39420123 others

eviestark: i believe this called a photo dump? idk blame lando and danny for this

tagged: landonorris charles_leclerc lewishamilton carlossainz55 danielricciardo

comments

author: yes half of these pictures are from lando’s jpg account ignore it pls

landonorris: photo credit for the 8th picture 😎 ↳ eviestark: does it really count as photo credit when we were just facetiming and you said "smile!" and i did? ↳ landonorris: it is in my book

user1: SHE INFILTRATED THE GRID

user2: DID ALL OF THEM GIVE HER THOSE FLOWERS?

user3: ma’am do you need a dog? i can bark

user4: evie fr went from being seen with only max to everyone with her BUT max 💀

user5: gold digger ↳ user8: im sorry... but did you see her last name? STARK. meaning STARK INDUSTRIES. she's probably richer than all of the f1 drivers in this photo dump

carlossainz55: amor my picture does not look good ↳ eviestark: i told you i was taking a picture los :( ↳ user17: THE NICKNAMES????? LOS AND AMOR

lilymhe: beautiful 😍 (the flowers + evie) ↳ eviestark: can albono fight? cause i’ll fight him ↳ alex_albon: ill try to fight, but ill probably get my ass kicked by black widow's prodigy ↳ eviestark: ALEX ↳ alex_albon: shit was i not supposed to say that? ↳ lilymhe: i apologize on his behalf 😭

francisca.cgomes: i miss you smmm! we should hang out again ↳ eviestark: leave gasly, ill treat u better 😘 ↳ pierregasly: excuse me? ↳ eviestark: don't look gasly

carmenmmundt: girls day when? ↳ eviestark: get rid of george and it'll be girls night every night ↳ georgerussell63: i'm watching you evie ↳ eviestark: and you can watch me steal your girl russell

charles_leclerc: i wasn't even looking at the camera ↳ eviestark: but you still look good stfu

user6: evie must’ve saved a village in her past life because how is she so pretty, A STARK, and rumored to be with most of the f1 grid rn? ↳ user7: don’t forget her family is the avengers, she has 3 degrees, and can fight (as we have just discovered by alex)

user9: evie who is your favorite f1 driver rn (hint: m.v) ↳ charles_leclerc: (m)charles (v)leclerc ↳ landonorris: (m)lando (v)norris ↳ carlossainz55: (m)carlos (v)sainz ↳ danielricciardo: (m)daniel (v)ricciardo ↳ lewishamilton: lewis hamilton ↳ eviestark: (m)yuki (v)tsunoda (but lewis is a close second) ↳ user10: SHE'S ONE OF US!!!! ↳ landonorris: why is yuki your favorite ↳ eviestark: 1. have you seen him 2. he eats the stuff i bake 3. have you seen him ↳ landonorris: fair enough ↳ yukitsunoda0511: i will always eat anything you bake :)

danielricciardo: practiced on my jpg account to prepare myself to take picture of evie at the eiffel tower ↳ eviestark: it's pretty but it's blurry ↳ danielricciardo: you couldn't stop laughing and you turned around! ↳ eviestark: i only turned around bc u kept on making funny faces while u were taking pictures!!!

tonystark: tesoro did u get the autograph from my favorite driver? ↳ eviestark: i did, but papa you just should've texted me instead of commenting on my post 😭 😭 ↳ user11: TONY WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE DRIVER? 🎤 ↳ tonystark: lewis hamilton. ↳ user12: shouldn't it be max since you've known him the longest ↳ tonystark: not anymore.

lewishamilton: roscoe misses you ↳ user13: SHE GOT TO MEET ROSCOE HAMILTON? oh verstappen is fucked ↳ user14: not just roscoe, she also has (lewis) hamilton, ricciardo, norris, leclerc, and sainz liked by eviestark

user15: isn't it kinda fucked that just bc max was seen with kelly piquet evie is all of a sudden surrounded by f1 drivers when she and max were never together? ↳ user16: bffr she's not doing anything wrong. like u said, they were never together so that means that it doesn't matter if she's hanging out with f1 drivers now liked by eviestark

[tozettastone]

For the prompt ask:

1. Deidara & Sasori are isekai-ed into a fandom of your choice

Or

2. Any Naruto character is isekai-ed into a xianxia story

I'm going with 'Deidara & Sasori are isekai-ed into a fandom of your choice.' Except I actually asked @mixelation to pick the fandom, and they gave me Hannibal. :)

--

Sasori Akasuna, if that's actually his name, runs a tiny gallery that can't possibly be making enough money to sustain itself. It's three floors tall and skinny, built of dark brick some time shortly before the turn of the century, and it stands tall and straight among its huddling neighbours in an out of the way bend of an ill-favoured river, where the smell of refuse rises and falls over the course of the day as the current passes.

Will Graham parks across the river and walks there with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat. He is here to talk to the owner, a man with whom it is almost impossible to get an appointment — unless, apparently, you are law enforcement.

The FBI has reason to believe he might be connected to their latest killer.

The reason Hannibal has come along is... less constructive.

"He's a tremendously skilled artist," he says, walking at Will's side with a spring in his step. Will can't equal his enthusiasm, just as he can't equal his hand-tailored woollen coat. "But he speaks to nobody. I wonder if he finds other people distracting."

"I'm not here to talk about art," Will points out. He can't help himself.

He's also not sure that what Sasori does is art. Call him uncultured.

When he makes to Sasori's place of business, the front window is entirely taken up by a taxidermy chimera: the big cat's head separated from the cervine body and a pair of vulture wings that must be almost a metre each. In the gaps, there's a steampunk nightmare of gears and chains and strange brass designs.

It must be associated with some kind of motion sensor set-up, because as they approach, the mechanisms begin to move and so too does the chimera, piece by immaculately preserved piece: the head turns, the cat's jaws open to show long sharp teeth, the wings curve.

"Magnificent," breathes Hannibal. "Look how smoothly it moves: bird and beast all in one. It could be alive."

"It's certainly... unique," says Will, clipping the words.

He flashes his ID to the black eye of the camera in Sasori's doorway, ignoring the way the cat's head follows him from the window display, teeth bare and eyes utterly empty. The intercom hisses with static. The door clicks open, allowing them both into the building.

It isn't noisy on the street, but the second they enter all the sounds from outside disappear utterly. The river, the distant traffic and the crying of the crow perched upon the bridge railing are all equally lost to an oppressive hush.

The carpet is old. The floor creaks. There's a smell in the air of an old place that sees little daylight.

The air is the slightly cool room temperature familiar to conservationists everywhere. A dehumidifier waits like a silent sentinel for when its services are needed. And lining every wall, case after case, shelf after shelf, are relics of the dead.

Hannibal pulls off his dark coat and slings it over his arm, revealing a powder blue, three piece suit that fits him like a glove, and immediately goes to inspect a case full of colourful birds.

Will doesn't remove his outerwear. He is distracted. He spins slowly, taking in the room.

Dead things stare at him from case after case, climbing up the walls. Their veins and bones and guts are all internal machinery now, and their eyes are glassy and blank. Sasori is indiscriminate about his animal models: there are goats and bulls alongside wild cats, bears and the snarling faces of wolves. Some are combined with each other into fantastical chimeras; others are perfectly lifelike.

Will spots a dog. Its face is so well-preserved and lifelike that it might be about to bark.

The centrepiece of the room, standing tall and proud, is a stag. It is magnificent: four or five years old, with heavily muscled neck and shoulders and enormous antlers. It makes no noise, but its ears swivel to follow them through the room, exactly the way a live buck's would.

It sure is... something.

This, Will senses, is Sasori's design. Careful. Precise. A perfectionist. He is exacting in his demands for these works: You will not rot. You will last forever. Or else.

Will licks his lips. He glances at Hannibal. It's impossible to say if he also senses the driven and aggressive personality behind these artefacts. If he does, it won't show.

Will is so distracted by the vast array of creatures that he doesn't immediately notice Sasori Akasuna himself arriving.

The first he knows of him is a sharp voice saying: "Don't touch that."

"I apologise," Hannibal says easily, turning away from a dead lammergeier, which is frozen with its wings spread and its body hunched, as if defending prey. (It is the only bird whose diet is mostly bone. Sasori has made its bones into metal.) "The work seemed very fine, but I'm unfamiliar with the taxidermist's craft. These extraordinary specimens retain more mobility than I've yet seen elsewhere."

He might say he's unfamiliar, Will notes, but Hannibal is undoubtedly a man who has seen a great deal of taxidermy.

Will turns to look at Sasori, too.

Clearly Hannibal has found and sighted the man, but for the space of one whole breath, Will can't even spot him.

It's impossible to tell Sasori Akasuna apart from the rest of the room. In that second, he blends in seamlessly with all the perfectly-preserved creatures on display.

Then Will exhales. That's stupid. He can see Sasori just fine. He's the only other human being in the room. It's not that cluttered.

Although by all accounts he's been in this one spot for almost a decade, Sasori looks no more than twenty. He is a short, slight man with at least one East Asian parent, although he has no obvious accent. His hair is dyed a shade that could be called any number of things — dark cherry, merlot, garnet — but which Will naturally associates only with blood. His skin is as smooth and unblemished, like a doll's.

He's wearing a dark, oversize coat and sandals that reveal his toes, which seems like a strange combination.

"The puppets are built and preserved for performances," Sasori says, turning his face to Hannibal. "Art is my calling."

"So I see! I have heard your performances are magnificent."

Magnificent, yes, supposedly — but also invitation-only, according to both the brief from Jack and to Hannibal himself. Will himself is reassured by this idea, because he definitely doesn't want to watch these dead things all come to life.

"Yes. They are." Sasori's eyes drift from Hannibal to Will and back again.

Even to Will, who can empathise with a brick wall, it is challenging to read any expression on his face. Botox, he thinks. It explains how young he looks, too. A little. If you don't look very closely.

Will tries to match the man to the creations. There's something missing. He can feel it beneath his ribs.

But he's not here to think about what's wrong with Sasori. It's the man's broader network that seems suspect. A small favour. Still, he can't stop picking at it.

What's he missing?

"I have heard," Hannibal is pressing delicately even as Will furrows his brow and tries to make sense of the picture before him, circling around a fever dream of a creature crafted from the remains of a wild cat, a goat and a peacock, "that some performances have a guest list so restricted that the invitees are not permitted to know or speak to one another at all. That they must arrive in masks and veils, and are forbidden to remove them until they leave again."

Will startles and half-turns towards Hannibal. What?

Sasori doesn't even blink. "Yes. What do you want?"

There's a hesitation. The world pauses for breath. Hannibal goes quite still, but Will can see from the set of his shoulders beneath his immaculate pale suit that this abrupt demand has annoyed him.

Presumably he wants to talk for forty minutes about the nature of art before they get to the mass murderer.

"We have some questions about a man who used to live here with you," he interjects, before the interaction can go even further off the rails.

Sasori blinks, eyes rolling in a strange and unsettling display.

Like a doll himself, Will thinks. Then he blinks the thought away.

He can't be a doll. That's... ridiculous.

"Deidara," says Sasori. "What about him?"

He says it so certainly. He has only ever had one housemate here. It's unclear if they were only housemates.

Will takes in Sasori's entire person with a look. He glances around at the displays.

"A fellow artist, I'm guessing," Will says, taking a leap of intuition. Who else would live with a man like Sasori?

Sasori's doll-like eyes fix on Will. "Deidara believes himself to be an artist, yes."

'Believes himself to be' is a strange way to put it. Does Sasori have a leg to stand on, when it comes to who is really creating art? The distance might be very obvious to Sasori himself, but it's not particularly clear to Will.

"We believe he might have bombed a church and killed sixteen people," Will says, watching carefully to see how this statement lands.

Sasori does not look as though this surprises him in the slightest, but it's hard to say if that's meaningful. Sasori has so far displayed the flattest emotional affect of anyone Will has ever interviewed.

It's so marked, in fact, that the ancient reptilian part of Will's brain keeps insisting that Sasori has more in common with his artworks than the other humans in the room. Will would like to rise above the impulse to believe his instincts in this case. Flattened affect is a symptom of a wide array of disorders and disabilities, and none of them are inhuman.

"And?" Sasori prompts. "What questions do you have for me about it?"

There's not even a hint of doubt. Sasori clearly believes his housemate capable of building and detonating a bomb in an act of premeditated mass murder. That's important, too.

Frustratingly, Will can see why Jack wanted him to do this interview, even though on paper it feels like a waste of his time. Sasori is hard to read and very, very strange.

"We'd like to ask a few questions about the last time you were in contact with him."

Despite his entire personality, Sasori seems outwardly pretty cooperative. He has a precise memory, and seems to recall the details of text messages — the pair's primary method of communication, even when they were living in the same house — to the minute of their receipt. He is meticulous.

Will already told the behavioural analysis unit that the bomber was acting out some kind of aesthetic compulsion, but Sasori seems to understand it in more detail:

"Deidara uses art to embrace the transience he believes is the end state of all things by unmaking artefacts in the span of a second, usually explosively," Sasori says. Then, apparently unable to help himself, he adds: "Transience — the art of a single moment — is an incoherent and flawed thesis."

"The simple passions of a mind that cannot grasp eternity," muses Hannibal, running his knuckles over the glass that separates him from a dead monkey, which is trapped, forever, screaming silently in rage. This is a rather romantic assessment, but the statement certainly captures Sasori's attention.

"Yes," he says slowly.

Despite what he actually says, he does not sound entirely as though he agrees with this assessment. It is at precisely this point that Will realises Sasori and Deidara are not artists making ends meet as indifferent housemates. They are life partners of some kind. They are very probably lovers.

Sasori says hasn't seen Deidara for a week. This meets their timeline perfectly. Will doesn't — cannot — trust it. But he can either write the answer down, or he can tell Sasori he thinks he's lying right to his blank doll-like face.

He licks his lips and writes it down.

"Before we go, Sasori," says Hannibal, hesitating before he pulls his coat on again, "will you tell me something?"

"What?"

"Do these chimeric creations represent the pinnacle of your art? Are they what you display at your most secret performances? Or is something more challenging the star of your show?"

There are some dogs who, once they've bit down on a man's limb, have to be choked out before they'll let go. Hannibal occasionally reminds Will of just such an animal.

"No," says Sasori, tonelessly. "The chimeras are not my most important works."

That's when it happens.

It always does, with Will. Eventually.

For one hideous, dislocated moment, Will Graham understands this man totally. He can see what grotesqueries might lie in the workroom above this display, just by looking Sasori in his lifeless face. He can almost feel the hours of meticulous work in his own hands and back and shoulders, turning the coarse materials of the human body into works of art that will last thousands of years at least.

He has no respect for their bodies. He doesn't care about the person who inhabited each physical form at all. They are raw materials. It is the work of his hands that renders them art. His towering ego is in every touch.

For a breathless, hanging second, the hollowed insides and smooth articulated limbs and wired jaws of Sasori's victims are beautiful to Will, too.

Then that second is over.

Will's brain screams that Sasori isn't a person.

This time, Will believes it. Oh, he may once have been human. But he's not, now. Sasori knows it — he's proud of it. And because Sasori knows it, now Will does, too.

Will does not feel sick. Feeling sick requires internal organs. Right now, Will can't feel anything.

"That's all we need," he says, sounding just as flat and toneless as Sasori. The thump of his heart feels strange and hollow, like the heavy ticking of a metronome. Thump goes the meaty clockwork that moves his body, so loudly that Will almost startles at each shocking new beat. "Thank you for your time."

Sasori doesn't say they're welcome. That's because they're not.

When they exit the building at last, the outside sounds are deafening: the river roars, a dog barks. Will's heart is no longer the primary feature of the soundscape.

He goes back to his car, a little too fast to be polite. He sits in the driver's seat and clutches the steering wheel. Hannibal closes the passenger-side door with a thump a minute later.

"An interesting man, wouldn't you say, Will?"

Will starts the engine and gives it a few moments to warm. He talks when he pulls out from his car space and into the sparse traffic of the little-travelled riverside road.

"I'm not sure," he says slowly, "that Sasori Akasuna is a man at all."

"Ah," says Hannibal, unshakable and sanguine as always, "the perennial question of philosophy."

"I was thinking more about... biology," Will admits.

"Were you?" A pause. "And what did you conclude?"

He's a doll, Will thinks. He's a doll and he makes other people into dolls. If you cut him, I promise he won't bleed.

But these are not the kinds of thoughts a man tells his psychiatrist if he wants to keep doing field work. And so Will ignores the great shadow that passes between himself and the sun — the towering shape of Sasori's preserved stag, moving with all the beautiful mechanical efficiency of a polished watch escapement — and instead says, "He's lying about the bomber. They're close."

"Hmm," says Hannibal, as if he doubts it. But in the end he only raises his eyebrows and tilts his chin inscrutably. "I suppose we will have to see."

(Will isn't a gambler, really. But would bet virtually anything that Hannibal will be receiving an invitation to a performance very shortly.)

[gatorbites-imagines]

Might be weird to ask but petplay? I just think certain COD men *cough cough* soap *cough cough* would be esp good as dumb puppies y'know?

COD petplay headcanons

Little do you know anon, I enjoy petplay, so this is no weird question at all. And you are so right. Petplay COD be upon ye.

Ill be going on holiday all of next week, so if you guys are fine with shorter replies i can write some on my phone, let me know what you think.

John “Soap” MacTavish

Soap is such a good pup, kind of a brat sometimes but its because he wants your attention. You’ll catch him crawling around with your clothes in his mouth or half crawled under the kitchen table, his lower body still sticking out as he chews on something he shouldn’t be chewing on.

Whines loudly and paws at your leg for attention any time you aren’t paying attention to him. Can’t you see how good he’s being? How tempted his tummy is when he rolls onto his back? Don’t you wanna rub it?

The type to crawl around in a jockstrap, a harness, a collar, a puphood and pup gloves. Don’t forget the plug with a tail attached so he can wag so prettily for you, or so it can wag all over the place when he’s feeling playful.

Sadly, you’ll have to punish the poor pup on the regular, he makes a mess and can’t keep himself from humping your leg or crawling onto the furniture to lick and bite at you. Its not unusual to find him humping pillows in your bedroom, whining for you.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Hes more calm than the others, but don’t expect that means he’s less of a troublemaker. Will steal your keys or your clothes and hide them under the bed, or under his dog bed so that you can’t leave. Will chew on your belts and throw your laundry all over the place.

A whiner too, has this warbled pathetic sounding whine he lets out when you tell him to stay still and quiet so you can work, but settles down if hes allowed to wrap around your feet. It always ends up with him chewing or licking your ankles though.

Wears a getup similar to Soap, with the jockstrap, harness, hood and gloves. Likes how it makes him dependent on you as his master to take care of him. Sometimes he just gets home from a mission, puts on his hood, and lays down with his head in your lap to calm down from the day.

Tries to be more sneaky when he’s horny, like subtly grinding into the floor or his dog bed, or sitting down and wiggling in his spot so he can move his plug around inside him. You always catch him though, since he starts that warbly whine when he gets close but can’t finish without you.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

The most well-behaved pup, think like a well-trained military dog. Always standing straight on all fours, back straight, head lifted, and chest puffed out. He soaks up any praise you give him with a gruff bark and a small wag.

Doesn’t regularly whine, is more of a barker or growler. He growls the most if there are other pups around that try to get close to you or play with him, as he’s always standing on guard in front of you. You always have to muzzle him around other pups cuz Ghost does nip at times, especially when other pups are acting up and he needs to correct their behavior.

Tends to do play either fully dressed in his military gear, just a tail strapped to his belt and a customized hood with his skull paint. Or fully naked, only wearing maybe a harness, a spikey collar, his hood, his tail, and a cockcage unless you need it off.

If Ghost is in the mood, you’ll invite other pups over (unless you are poly and have multiple partners who are pups) and Ghost will assert himself as the alpha amongst them. This is where you take the cage off him so he can push down the other pups and take them. He will always arch his back for you though, or roll onto his back and spread his legs with a tiny barely audible whine for you.

Gary “Roach” Sanderson

A very quiet pup and doesn’t act up much, tends to be more on the chill side. Hes even allowed in the furniture since he wont mess it up like others, and likes to curl up beside you with his head in your lap.

When hes feeling it though, like if you’ve been apart for a while, he might start growing antsy. Crawling around in front of you or sitting right by your feet and letting out tiny barely audible whines. It always ends up with him pawing at your knee and looking at you with the most lethal puppy eyes ever.

Doesn’t wear as much gear at the others, I don’t think he would enjoy the gloves that make his hands unusable, and the hood might feel too restrictive to him. Instead hed just resort to walking on his knuckles, wearing a headband with ears, and maybe wearing a belt with a tail on top of his boxers.

A licker, he doesn’t say much, but you will know he’s truly in the mood when he starts licking you all over. Licking at your hands, your legs, your torso, slobbering all over your pants and crotch until you open your belt and give him what he wants.

Phillip Graves

Another troublemaking pup, a brat. Rips up pillows and gnaws on your belts and wallet. The type you have to play tug of war with for your belt as he growls and yips, wagging his tail and drooling on the floor.

The kinda pup you’ll have to spank and punish in other ways, not out of this world to put him in a cockcage or crate for the night if he’s acted out way too much. He enjoys it very much though, so it’s nothing he hasn’t asked for himself. Graves has probably come up with some of the punishments himself.

Hes fully geared up, hood, gloves, tail and all, except he wouldn’t wear a jockstrap, just fully naked expect for the pup parts. Hes not always wearing a cage as its only for punishment, so you can catch him grinding against stuff sometimes.

The most effective punishment for him is overstimulation, laying him across your lap and jerking him off until he’s whining and writhing and shaking, where after you’ll let him cuddle against your chest after cleaning him up, praising him and giving him good aftercare.

[sapphim]

Since everyone's been so nice about the other snippet I posted 👉👈 here are the good bits from sth else with the warden squad I wrote last year (since I might never get around to sprucing up the long and boring bits). Right after Lothering before anyone involved knows how to get along with each other so they're all kind of just standing around being assholes 🩷

—

"Not to catastrophize," Alistair says, to nobody in particular, "but when they find their way back and inform us with deep regret that they have no idea where we are or where we're going and we all die in the woods after wandering in circles for weeks, I'm going to say 'I told you so'."

"That's not going to happen."

Alistair twists around to gawk at Sten. The Qunari soldier has been standing at the outskirts of the group, stone-faced and completely unmoving—as far as Alistair can tell—since they paused their slow march through the woods.

"I think that's the first thing I've heard you say all day," he says incredulously. "Humor me. Why won't it?"

"Because in this scenario you've crafted in your mind, you'll be too dead to say 'I told you so'."

"They'll be my dying words," Alistair insists. "As I lay dying in the underbrush I'll croak, 'I told you this is exactly how it would happen, Sten,' and then I'll perish on the spot. See if I don't."

"I look forward to it," Sten says. "At least then you'll be quiet."

"It'll be a touching moment," Alistair says, settling back down into his seat at the base of a tree and staring up into the canopy, "and you'll miss me when I'm gone. You'll see."

"If it will make you feel any better," Zevran pipes up from his seat on low branch a short distance away, "if the end does come—which I very much doubt, mind, given what a capable group you have assembled here—I can swear that I will ensure you a swift and dignified death."

"Absolutely not," Alistair growls.

"My apologies," Zevran says mildly, as he has found himself doing not infrequently over the last few days since his initial ill-fated encounter with the wardens. "The offer was meant with no ill intent."

"Do not stab me."

—

"What's that?" Micah asks, pointing upward. Alistair and Rafael crane their heads to look at the rustling tree branch she's indicated.

"That, my dear, is another squirrel," Zevran says.

"Squirrel," she repeats under her breath.

"Don't have squirrels in Orzammar?" Alistair says, conversationally.

"We've got nugs," Micah says. "And moles. Mice. Deepstalkers. No squirrels."

"I guess everywhere has mice," Rafael muses.

"The one thing that unites us despite all our differences," Alistair agrees. "Mice in the larder. Hey, Sten, do Qunari have–"

"They're returning," Sten interrupts, nodding curtly in the direction of more rustling brush, where glimpses of Leliana's pale skin and vivid red hair can be caught through the trees.

The mabari crashes out of the underbrush first, panting and wiggling with an excess of excitement. A few moments later, the rest of the wayward scouts rejoin the waiting party.

"We have determined the proper course to reach our destination, and located a camp site for the night," Morrigan announces. "No need to thank us."

"And we saw the fattest squirrel I've ever seen in my life," Leliana adds cheerfully. The dog barks in agreement.

Morrigan sighs. "Yes. And—more importantly—a sight which has never before been witnessed by man nor beast. A fat squirrel. Again, no need to–"

—

"Could you tell if something is possessed by a spirit?" she asks.

The young mage twists the cuffs of his sleeves between his fingers, chewing on his lip. "I– I should be able to," he says. "Yes. I– Yes, I can do that."

"Spoken with remarkable confidence," Morrigan says dryly, earning her a reproachful glare from Alistair.

"Not all that many haunted trees in the middle of the lake, I'd think," he says.

"There was a cat, once," Rafael says, "that got possessed by a demon and went on a rampage through the tower. It killed three templars before they brought it down."

"Ah, 'tis a heartwarming tale that would bring a smile to anyone's face, would it not?"

The mabari huffs and snorts in response.

"Aw, I bet a nasty demon cat would be no match for you," Alistair says, crouching to scratch the pleased mabari vigorously behind the ears. "Isn't that right, Barkspawn? Because you're a good boy! Yes you are!"

"We weren't allowed to have cats in the tower after that," Rafael mutters in conclusion.

"Not allowed," Morrigan repeats derisively. "'Tis a wonder that anything would be allowed to begin with."

"For the mice," Rafael says glumly.

Alistair extricates himself with some effort from the wet, sloppy kisses the mabari is determined to plant all over his face. "Did you get demon mice after that?" he asks, with the gleeful tone of someone who has only just considered the possibility of demon mice and finds it funnier than they probably should.

—

As they fall into line behind the Dalish elf, Micah muses aloud to no one in particular, "So, I'm not entirely sure what a cat is."

Eydis snorts derisively. "It's a surface animal with four legs and a tail. I've been here as long as you have. How do you not know that?"

"Excuse me?" Micah snaps. "You just described every surface animal. They all have four legs and a tail. Or they're birds."

"It's got fur."

"They've all got fur. You're just describing the dog."

The dog in question barks.

"Smaller than the dog. And with a fluffy tail."

"That's squirrels."

"Bigger than squirrels," Eydis huffs. "They were all over the human settlements. Pay more attention next time, brand."

"Watch it, salroka," Micah growls.

"Perhaps I could draw some pictures tonight," Leliana says appeasingly.

"Perhaps you should write a song in memory of the princess, in case I finally kill her tonight."

"Don't be so sensitive," Eydis chastises.

"I've been lead to understand that we are all strictly forbidden from killing each other here," Zevran interrupts cheerfully, "or is that just me?"

"Do not stab me," Alistair repeats.

"I swear on my life," Zevran says, "I will make no attempt to harm you unless I am paid a great deal more coin and I have reason to understand that forsaking your company would be to my overall benefit. Neither of which I forsee happening in the middle of a haunted forest. Perhaps that may set your mind at ease?"

"That doesn't set my mind at ease! Why would that make me feel better?"

"Because I am being extremely honest right now," Zevran says. "Unless you would prefer I lie?"

"I would not."

"Nobody is killing anybody," Leliana says.

"Only a fool would do the work of his enemy for him," Sten says.

"Oh! That's very wise, Sten."

"It is not. It's common sense."

[noturlondonboy]

No More Excuses//Katelena

Chapter 1: Intruder- But Wait, She’s Hot!

Pairing: Kate Bishop x Yelena Belova

Story Summary: Kate Bishop enjoys a relaxed and well deserved Christmas with the Barton family and stays with them into the new year. But once she returns home to New York, she finds that someone had been waiting for her to get back from her holiday vacation.

A certain Black Widow assassin.

——

Yelena Belova spends Christmas Day cold, miserable, and alone. The loss of Natasha sits heavy on her chest, and now that she has nowhere to elsewhere channel her anger and grief, Yelena has no choice but to rot in it.

Or perhaps she can make an effort to befriend the newest Hawkeye.

Content Warnings: mental illness, medication, depression, anxiety, talk of character death, fight scenes, blood, gore, weapons, injuries, the Red Room, nightmares, angst, alcohol, harassment, intoxication, drugs, talk about/implied adult content, death, PTSD, trauma, assault, talk of overdose, talk of suicide, talk of self harm, talk of sexual assault, men being horrible, stupid lesbian pinning. Warnings will also be at the head of every chapter.

A/N: I absolutely adore this little story of mine. I’ve been posting it on Wattpad for several months, but recently got my tumblr up and running, and wanted to share it here! Here’s chapter one of many.

Chapter warnings: depression, ‘home invasion’

“And you’re sure you have enough food and cash to keep you going?”

Kate Bishop felt herself getting slightly exasperated as she laughed, throwing her arms around Clint in a hug. “Clint, for the last time, I’ll be fine!” The man huffed a sigh and held her tightly, patting her back before letting go.

“Okay kiddo, if you’re sure. I just know that it gets cold and if you’re ever lonely you can-”

“Come visit your family any time I want, I know,” Kate finished for him, grinning softly.

He pursed his lips and nodded, looking down at his feet and around Kate’s rather interesting apartment. Clint shook his head and coughed slightly, sucking in a breath before looking back up to her. “You’re gonna do great.”

“Aw, are you gonna miss me?”

“Nah, kid, just the dust and dog fur.”

“You’re crying, Clint!”

The Avenger let a short laugh out, clearing his throat as the sound turned tearful. “Men can cry,” he muttered, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Kate pouted and opened her arms again, and Clint took only a moment before shuffling into them and giving her another tight hug. They stayed like that for a moment, hesitant father and ecstatic daughter.

Kate squeezed him one more time, willing the tears to stay back. “Thanks for giving me a good Christmas, Clint. The best, really,” she choked out.

The past couple of weeks had completely turned Kate’s life upside down. Understandably so, of course, seeing as she met her idol, almost died several times, and turned her mother in to the police. (That’s the short version, anyway.) Now, after finally returning home from spending Christmas and New Year’s with the wonderful Barton family, Kate wasn’t sure she could go back to any semblance of normal.

“You deserve the best of anything, Katie,” Clint said softly, patting her cheek. “I’ll miss you kiddo.”

The two eventually parted ways after several more similar exchanges, and once Clint was safely back on his way to the airport, Kate sighed heavily through her nose. Lucky perked up from where he lay sprawled out on the kitchen floor, likely waiting to be fed, and gave a little whine.

“Awwww- poor puppy needs to eat, huh?” Kate muttered softly, turning to look at her canine friend and doing her best to ignore the pit forming in her stomach. Lucky’s eye brightened as he sat and up thumped his tail eagerly, licking his chops as if to say, ‘yes absolutely he does need to eat, thank you for noticing.’

The archer dug out the last of the leftover airport pizza from the fridge and tossed it up in the air for Lucky to catch, giggling and crumpling up the old box as he barked excitedly for the treat. Not a drop even touched the floor.

Kate whistled and sat against a cabinet, arms open for Lucky to snuggle into. “You’re getting good there, Pizza Dog,” she whispered, burying her face into his ridiculously soft golden fur. He huffed a breath and wiggled around until he could lick her face.

“I love you too, silly puppy.”

They stayed on the kitchen floor longer than Kate cared to remember, but eventually the cold of the tiles bit through her pants and into her butt and she forced herself to her feet. After the chaos and perpetually constant noise she had grown accustomed to recently, her apartment was almost alien in its strange quietness.

She looked down to Lucky, who stared up at her adoringly with a little doggy grin. “What now, huh?”

He just continued to look at her. Kate nodded in agreement. “Shower. Cleaning. Probably sorting groceries and getting more, seeing as Clint’s idea of groceries is extremely limited. Good idea.”

They took a nap instead, both passing out on the couch as soon as they sat down. A jet lagged dog is no joke.

——

Kate jolted awake to a sharp sound from outside, her head spinning and body uncomfortably warm. Lucky’s weight stayed heavy on her stomach, his tongue lolling as he snored softly and kicked at the armrest. Whatever had woken Kate clearly did not bother him.

Another thump, and Kate groggily pushed herself up onto her elbows, eyes squinting against the dark. Her chest squeezed tightly. “Hello?” she called out, speech thick with sleep. Lucky did not wake up.

There was a slow creak, and Kate could vaguely make out the shine of moonlight on a moving windowpane as a dark figure pushed its way into her apartment.

Ah hell no. Kate jolted up, suddenly wide awake as adrenaline shot down her spine. Lucky tumbled from her lap and flopped around on the couch for a confused moment, still not even bothered to be alarmed that his home was quite literally being broken into. Kate ignored the part of her mind that whispered about the familiarity of that window being opened and instead opted to hop over the couch and rush for her bow and the light switch on the far wall.

The lightbulbs had barely warmed enough to brighten the space by the time Kate had a net trick arrow strained in the direction of the intruder, and to her shock and horror, the figure was already so close that she could make out the details of her chunky silver rings.

Wait…

Kate’s mind finally caught up to her racing heartbeat, and her dinky kitchen lights flickered fully to life to reveal none other than Yelena Belova, the assassin who had tried to kill Clint just a few short weeks ago. The woman was so much closer than Kate expected to be humanly possible with the distance she had to travel from the window to here, but she showed no signs of exertion and almost had a rather pleasant look on her face.

Kate, in turn, could only stare with wide eyes as she kept her arrow notched and pointed directly between Yelena’s hazel eyes, chest heaving.

The blonde tilted her head softly, shifting into a more relaxed position as she looked Kate up and down. Stands of golden hair fell over one shoulder. She even had the gall to pop a hip and almost smile at the woman in front of her as if she hadn’t just invaded the archer’s home.

“Kate Bishop,” Yelena said, her lips twitching. “You’re back.”

“...What the hell!?”

Translations: none

Kate Bishop counter: 1

This chapter's meme:

Comments/reblogs/notes make my day :)

[arttsuka]

TBH as much as I prefer Toothless' first movie design, the one thing ill give credit for is the fact that I think the movie producers stated some where that the reason Toothless doesn't have his markings anymore is because he's growing up. Toothless is around Hiccups age which is even something Valka points out in the second movie, so you COULD make the hypothesis that he's loosing his sub-adult/"baby" features. Hence why he's more solid black, has a wider flatter head, and doesn't really have much of his markings anymore.

As for his personality; Toothless has always had the silly side to him regardless of the snark attached. You claim his personality got reduced to this stupid, slobbering 'dog', by the third movie when need I remind you he FULLY acted like a dog even in the first movie. Remember him with his butt wiggles when hiccup woke up? Him bounding about jumping from the rafters. Him making dumb goofy faces and doggy grumbles. He's always been a dork and boxing up his personality to him being "out of character" because he's not as snarky is such an odd take since toothless can and HAS had the ability to be both, not to mention the whole fact that Toothless much like Hiccup is suppose to be maturing into an Adult, but even if that's so, they still have time to have fun and play around, so really you have both sides of the coin there.

As for the Lightfury, ill give you that, they could've done better with her. But to be honest I always look at LF's as being a subspecies to a NF, and even nature has often shown that not all subspecies look entirely similar to the dominant species, which in this case would definitely be Night Furies. I look at her design as a design built more for a life in the light then the dark. Toothless' darker bluish/black coat helps him blend in the night, while the Lightfuries almost pearlescence helps her blend in with the light of the sun. It's probably why she stands out so much at night with her sparkles, because she's not really BUILT for the night like toothless is, same reason as why toothless sticks out like a sore-thumb in the morning. Their both built for varying conditions! So in some instances i can forgive some of the Lightfuries design choices. What I dont like is how bland she looks in terms of lack of spikes or such, but thats neither here nor there

Well sure, they could be his 'baby' features but I do think they made his design way more visually interesting than the solid black he became by movie 3. His model already stands out from every other dragon in universe (his more realistic proportions and the lack of sharp teeth to go with his slender frame)* so these marks really helped him blend more with the designs of the httyd universe.

* there are, arguably, other dragons with round features as well but most of them are the 'fat and slow' archetype (even then there are a lot of 'fat' dragons with excessively sharp teeth)

I feel like the whole 'they're the same age actually' was kind of unnecessary but still, doesn't excuse the chance in face structure to that extent. He looks like he's from another species (what does excuse the changes is the fact that they reworked the model).

And yes he always had that dog side to him even in the first movie BUT his core inspiration and 'values' were cat themed. He retains his cat personality in the second movie too, for the most part (for example, at around 10 minutes mark, we see him 'groom' himself to clean his face). But in the third movie they completely removed all that from his personality. They deliberately made him more dog-like. Even the sounds he makes are made to resemble barking. As for the 'slobbering' dog part it's literally part of the movie (with the poor excuse that 'he's in love').

Idk in the third movie I can't recall even a single moment where he actually acted intelligent on his own volition (I can't remember him acting intelligent at all but let's just say I'm wrong).

In the second movie it was made clear that he's more domesticated but still capable on his own. He didn't need help to socialize with the other dragons so I don't understand why he was so incapable of acting remotely 'normal' to make the light fury like him. Yes, she was unapproachable and cold (*cough playing hard to get because they didn't know what to do with her personality and her as a character cough*) but it still felt ooc.

As you said, Toothless has to ability to be both, at least in the second movie. 2 sides of the same coin, up to the second movie. In the 3rd movie, throughout the runtime, we never see him showing 'his other side'.

I wouldn't say that he matured into an adult but still has time to play, I'd say they reduced him to a less intelligent animal than what he was in previous adaptations (he feels like a Disney animal companion). Again, his characterization in the second movie is how I'd expect him to be in the third. He's arguably way more mature there while also having time to play and have fun while also keeping part of his personality.

As for the light fury, she seems so, out of place in this universe too. At least the design of the night fury has scales and looks rough. She looks like they forgot that she's supposed to be a dragon. But it was obviously done to make her look more 'feminine' (a lot of her design can be explained if you keep in mind they only wanted her to be the 'female' dragon, the romantic interest). She's as stereotypical as it goes, the next level would be to make her pink (that would kinda work actually if they kept Toothless bluish undertones but by the 3rd movie they completely removed them to favor a pure black, a bit on the warmer side)

Her white color makes her blend into the sun, sure, but what does that mean? Does she fly all the time? Or is her natural habitat somewhere with snow? A pure white design is pretty sure, but not practical at all. She appears to be a dragon for warmer climates (and if she's indeed a subspecies to the night fury that would confirm it), so no snow. She just doesn't blend in. Her habitat is so colorful she stands out like sore thumb, both during the day and night time.

Her white skin also makes the choice to make her so smooth really weird. She's basically unable to blend in with her surroundings so one would expect that she'd at least have sharp features, claws or horns, to help her survive potential attacks. If they didn't want to make her look rough they should have made her have a defense mechanism to protect herself. maybe she should be able to turn invisible, maybe she lives in the water, something, anything.

Personally I can't forgive any of the decisions made to create the light fury. I can understand, sure, but I'm still left with so many 'why?'s.

[thepeacockangel]

Sai Shonagon Invented The Listical In The Late 10th Century

Hateful Things

One is in a hurry to leave, but one's visitor keeps chattering away. If it is someone of no importance, one can get rid of him by saying, "You must tell me all about it next time"; but, should it be the sort of visitor whose presence commands one's best behaviour, the situation is hateful indeed.

One finds that a hair has got caught in the stone on which one is rubbing one's inkstick, or again that gravel is lodged in the inkstick, making a nasty, grating sound.

Someone has suddenly fallen ill and one summons the exorcist. Since he is not at home, one has to send messengers to look for him. After one has had a long fretful wait, the exorcist finally arrives, and with a sigh of relief one asks him to start his incantations. But perhaps he has been exorcizing too many evil spirits recently; for hardly has he installed himself and begun praying when his voice becomes drowsy. Oh, how hateful

! A man who has nothing in particular to recommend him discusses all sorts of subjects at random as though he knew every thing.

An elderly person warms the palms of his hands over a brazier and stretches out the wrinkles. No young man would dream of behaving in such a fashion; old people can really be quite shamless. I have seen some dreary old creatures actually resting their feet on the brazier and rubbing them against the edge while they speak. These are the kind of people who in visiting someone's house first use their fans to wipe away the dust from the mat and, when they finally sit on it, cannot stay still but are forever spreading out the front of their hunting costume or even tucking it up under their knees. One might suppose that such behaviour was restricted to people of humble station; but I have observed it in quite well-bred people, including a Senior Secretary of the Fifth Rank in the Ministry of Ceremonial and a former Governor of Suruga.

I hate the sight of men in their cups who shout, poke their fingers in their mouths, stroke their beards, and pass on the wine to their neighbours with great cries of "Have some more! Drink up!" They tremble, shake their heads, twist their faces, and gesticulate like children who are singing, "We're off to see the Governor." I have seen really well-bred people behave like this and I find it most distasteful.

To envy others and to complain about one's own lot; to speak badly about people; to be inquisitive about the most trivial matters and to resent and abuse people for not telling one, or. if one does manage to worm out some facts, to inform everyone in the most detailed fashion as if one had known all from the beginning - oh, how hateful!

One is just about to be told some interesting piece of news when a baby starts crying.

A flight of crows circle about with loud caws.

An admirer has come on a clandestine visit, but a dog catches sight of him and starts barking. One feels like killing the beast.

One has been foolish enough to invite a man to spend the night in an unsuitable place - and then he starts snoring. A gentleman has visited one secretly. Though he is wearing a tall, lacquered hat, he nevertheless wants no one to see him. He is so flurried, in fact, that upon leaving he bangs into some thing with his hat. Most hateful

I It is annoying too when he lifts up the lyo blind that hangs at the entrance of the room, then lets it fall with a great rattle. If it is a head-blind, things are still worse, for being more solid it makes a terrible noise when it is dropped. There is no excuse for such carelessness. Even a head-blind does not make any noise if one lifts it up gently on entering and leaving the room; the same applies to sliding-doors. If one's movements are rough, even a paper door will bend and resonate when opened; but, if one lifts the door a little while pushing it, there need be no sound.

One has gone to bed and is about to doze off when a mosquito appears, announcing himself in a reedy voice. One can actually feel the wind made by his wings and, slight though it is, one finds it hateful in the extreme.

A carriage passes with a nasty, creaking noise. Annoying to think that the passengers may not even be aware of this! If I am travelling in someone's carriage and I hear it creaking, I dislike not only the noise but also the owner of the carriage.

[i-like-turkey]

I announced on Twitter that I was taking a step back from social media and fandom to deal with a personal matter. That’s still true. I just need to barf some feelings into the universe. I’m putting them under a cut. This is NOT an easy read and I’m NOT holding back details. Don’t feel compelled or obligated to share my pain. TW: Pet death & grief.

I said goodbye to my little girl on Thursday. She’s been my world since I took her home at the end of July 2012. It was both sudden and not sudden. So I’m in shock, but I’m also not really surprised. There were signs that something bad was looming and I had this gut feeling as early as January that this wasn’t gonna be a good year for us.

This likely all started a long time ago. I took her to the vet in August of 2022 right before we moved east. The vet told me that her heart didn’t sound 100%, but it wasn’t something that needed immediate intervention. She had a little murmur that could indicate heart disease and if it got worse, then I’d need to get her to a specialist to take pictures and then we’d likely get her on some medicine to deal with whatever the problem was.

So I heeded the advice to take a wait and see approach. My baby was acting fine. She made it across the country well. She had energy and life. Not quite her puppy energy, but she was 10, so that was normal. I took her to the vet again this last August and I heard the same thing. She has a murmur. It’s not quite bad enough to get images. If it gets worse, we’ll refer you to a specialist. Ok. Great.

We keep living our life. She still has energy. Lunging at cars and barking at other dogs and trying to get endless pets from all of the strangers we’d encounter while walking in our neighborhood and riding our building’s elevators. I can’t tell y’all how many people would ask how old she was and be surprised when I told them 11.

So we get to January and she’s coughing a bit more than she usually does. Background: for the last few years of her life, she’d occasionally have coughing fits when she got super excited about something or barked too hard at a car. Worrying. But something I’d disclosed to all of the vets we’d seen and they didn’t seem perturbed by it. But now the coughing was every few days instead of a couple times a month or three days of coughing followed by months without a single damn cough.

It got really bad mid January. I took her into the vet. The same one who’d listened to her heart in August. He listened again. Nothing out of the ordinary. She didn’t have fluid in her lungs. Her energy was fine. He sent me home with antibiotics and a cough suppressant and told me to come back if she didn’t improve after a few days of treatment. She improved. Not right away. There were scary times where her breathing was all labored, but after a few days of the meds, she was doing better, and by the end she seemed fine.

And then we get to last Sunday and I hear a cough and that wasn’t good. And then Monday she’s coughing a bit more and I’m getting nervous. I talk to my parents and we agree to not do anything yet because illnesses can linger and her energy was fine. My mom came over that night and we were standing by the laundry closet doors and my pup pulled a toy out of her toy basket and was just running all over the living room with it. She was shaking her head and growling and having an absolute blast flinging that thing everywhere for the entire lengthy time my mom and I were chatting. She didn’t look sick. She looked like a puppy with lots of gray hair.

Then my mom leaves and we sit on the couch and she rolls over for belly rubs and immediately has to roll back over to cough. Then she cuddles up to me and we sit there and watch TV and I pet her and then I take her out and we go through our nighttime routine. She seemed fine.

Tuesday was a good day. She had energy. We played a bit with one of her favorite toys. We had some good cuddles. I only heard a few coughs.

Wednesday morning she seemed ok energy wise. She coughed when she rolled over for belly rubs right after I got home from my morning walk (solo cause it’s long & hilly. She also got one every morning). I didn’t notice anything abnormal during the day. Then we go out for our evening walk and she’s sluggish. That also wasn’t abnormal cause her energy had been fading for the last few years. Sometimes she’d race through our walks. Sometimes she liked to take a leisurely pace. I never worried cause if a car zoomed past she’d lunge and bark and if she saw a dog, she’d lose her mind. But we passed a couple dogs that night and nothing. That had me on edge. But then we get inside and I put on her favorite TV show, Person of Interest, and she was barking up a storm at Bear and seemed fine. I take that as a positive sign and relax a little.

I make dinner. We go to the couch for nightly cuddles. She rolls over for belly rubs. Starts coughing immediately. I pet her through it. Then she cuddles into my side and coughs a couple more times as we sit there. I put her to bed at her usual bedtime. I hear her coughing a few times as I’m struggling to fall asleep. Then I wake up Thursday and she’s in bad shape. I don’t wanna describe it cause it’s too fucking tough to type and traumatic. But I get us scheduled with the nearby vet asap* and I keep an eye on my girl and her scary symptoms. The symptoms subside a bit. Then my mom comes over to help keep me calm as we wait for our appointment time. My baby perks up when she hears my mom knock. She runs from the couch to the door. She’s wagging her tail and barking and jumping on my mom. She goes and chugs half her bowl of water. We sit there with her for over an hour petting her as we talk. She’s breathing ok. Her tail is between her legs, so that’s a sign something isn’t right. But she’s getting all the love from us and seemed happy.

Then we leave. She pees and poops on the way (I didn’t take her out first thing that morning cause part of the scary badness that I’m skipping is that she peed inside). The vet comes in and listens to her. I show a video I took of her that morning. The vet’s reaction said it all. She snapped into action. Took my baby out of the room for x-rays. As that was happening we were going over pricing options with a tech and then shit kinda really hit the fan cause the x-rays were bad. No specialty review necessary. She had fluid around her heart. So we start talking about transporting her to a specialist. They bring my girl back in. The tech just kinda drops the leash and steps away as soon as my girl is through the door. She starts racing directly to me and she collapses. My mom runs for help. They take her away again. The vet ends up doing the procedure she would have sent us elsewhere to do. Basically draining the fluid. It’s blood. They get her stable and hooked up on oxygen and give me the option of trying to get her to the animal hospital for further intervention. But the vet was clear that she’d probably die on the way and it was VERY clear at that point that she wasn’t gonna get better from this. It was a heart tumor. Something had ruptured and started bleeding. There was no fix. So I made the call to let her go. We got my dad and my brother on the line and told them to get their asses over to us. We stood there petting my baby as we waited. Then we said goodbye.

*In hindsight I maybe should have gotten her in the car and driven her to an emergency hospital. But the closest one ISN’T close. And that wouldn’t have changed the outcome. She hated the car enough that she would pant during two minute drives. 40 minutes (assuming relatively light rush hour traffic which is probably a bad assumption so more like 60 min) of that while she was already in breathing distress might have killed her. But assuming we made it, they could have intervened and maybe bought her a day or two. But this wasn’t something she was gonna get better from. That extra time would have been full of pain. So I made the right call. She got more loves from me and my mom at home and got to pass peacefully nearby while she was surrounded by everyone who loved her.

So I’m devastated and completely out of my mind at the moment. I don’t know what’s up or down. I’m keeping myself occupied between sobbing fits by going through all the pictures I’ve taken over the years. It’s a pain in the ass because my storage habits are terrible and my screenshotting habits are worse so I have hundreds of thousands of images scattered everywhere and now I have to dig through them to find my girl.

Here are some painful lessons I’ve learned from this:

Don’t store 77k images in a single folder on an external hard drive. You won’t be able to copy them all over to the iCloud at a single time unless you have a fuckton of available disk space on your Mac. And trying to scroll through the images will push your computer dangerously close to the limits (I really need a new machine 😬)

Don’t rely too heavily on Snapchat to takes pics. It’s fun in the moment, but 5-6 years later you’re gonna cringe & regret that all your cute dogs pics from that era are plastered over with weird graphics. A Happy Mother’s Day pic with my dog on the couch behind me, hearts all above us, and a damn Wookie filter plastered over my face? jfc 🤦🏼‍♀️

Do give yourself a refresher on how Snapchat works lest you go through and favorite a bunch of memories, see a pop up flash about them getting added to a story, and then have a full on panic attack in front of your parents about how you might have accidentally shared semi-naked pics of yourself with the few people that still follow you 😅 (Yes, I’ve been been known to take and share some risqué pics. Yes, I wanted to download them before deleting them. I might be grieving, but I can still see a pic of my 2018 back muscles and think “Damn!” 🫣🤣)

Don’t be so lax and sloppy about your picture storage habits that you’re forced to keyword search your text messages for pictures cause it’s a good way to find out just how many women you’ve texted dog pics to throughout the years 🥴 She was a great wing woman, but she also loved to clam jam me cause she thought she was the one who should be getting kisses when I’d sit on my couch with a woman 😂

Do find a balance between taking pictures of every damn thing and living in the moment. I stopped taking lots of pics since my east coast move cause I wanted to get away from my compulsive snapping. Now I regret not taking at least one daily shot of her sleeping on the couch.

Do have other people take pictures of you and your dog. So far I’ve only found two different occasions on which someone else took a picture of me and my baby together. All other pics of us are terrible selfies or feature just my hand/arm/legs. I have memories of all those moments that I spent with her, but it hurts to not have a father away perspective on them. Part of this is my fault for living thousands of miles from my family, being fairly closed off to human connections aside from shallow hookups and activity buddies, and viewing my home as a sacred domain accessible to people only if there wasn’t another option for where we could hang out.

Thank you anyone who has made it this far. Please go hug your pets and tell them that you love them. If you would like to leave me a note, that’s very welcome. I don’t have the energy to engage, so it’s unlikely I will respond until the day my energy returns. Idk when that will be. Right now I’m still in the sobbing hysterically as I process my new reality phase. I need to get through that before I’ll be ready to start communicating normally. I’m hopeful that I’ll only need a week or two in this phase. But who knows. Grief is hard to predict. All I can do now is stay patient and work through it.

[tricitymonsters]

Sorry, uhm. Uh. Playing mori's chapter and. And. Kazu. He. The sneer at us. The distrust. The 'do you need something?' The. I. I cant. Im. Hoooooo. I cant stop grinning in embarassment oh my g-d. Oh my fucking g-d. I. Does he need a dog????? Does he want a guard dogh??? Ill fetch tools for him ill bark at passerbys I. HHOOOOOOOO. My dogboy mentality telling me he is in charge and owns my ass is killing me I cant. I am. HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

bruh isn't he delicious?? His bad attitude, his permanently furrowed eyebrows, they're like a siren song to me. Something about a giant guy with maladaptive social skills really gives me heart eyes. I know he could make me so much worse and fulfill every gross rough leather dom fantasy cooking in my stupid head.

[stariisv]

secret life finale spoilers ‼️

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Scar doesn’t hear it when Pearl hits the ground. He doesn’t notice the lightning strike when it shocks the grass, leaving it singed and blackened. He had just struck Pearl with his sword, but he didn't notice the fight had ended. So Scar wipes his mouth with his sleeve and pulls his sword back.

“I’m coming for you!” He shouts, barreling down the small hill to get to where he thinks he saw Pearl land. There’s nothing but silence after his words and Scar worries Pearl is tunneling, hiding from him. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to find her if she does that. The fight would draw out longer, they would get upset with that.

“Pearl!” Scar shouts again. He still can’t see her. The dogs are gone too, no longer barking and attacking at his pant leg. He sees no evidence of where she could have gone, there are no stray blocks showing signs that she had tunneled somewhere.

“She’s dead, Scar!” Something, someone, maybe, shouts. Scar turns his head around but sees no one that could have shouted his name. He tilts his head, confused. The voice sounds slightly disembodied, echoing across the small cavern he’s searching in.

“You won!” The voice says again.

Scar’s grip on his sword falters a bit. His hand loosens, it almost slips out of it completely.

“What?” Scar says back, confused. He continues turning around in a circle, still trying to see if someone is there. If something is just trying to play tricks on him. Another red life, maybe, playing some cruel joke on him.

“You did it,” the same voice from before, it almost sounds like Grian past all the static surrounding it. It’s much softer than before, almost like Grian is standing next to him. Whispering, almost.

Scar drops his sword after realizing he did, in fact, win. There is no one else around him besides a zombie slowly making their way towards him.

“I won?” He questions. The zombie gets closer, whacking Scar a few times as he backs away. (Not in the sense that he is trying to get away, he has to die now anyway. Everyone else is gone.)

“How did the guy with no friends win?” Scar laughs dryly. He had no true allies. He got close when Grian had asked, when it seemed like no one else was left and it was the only two of them left. But Scar had to decline it because of his task. (It seemed like some kind of cruel joke the Secret Keeper was playing.)

But he still won. Against all the odds, all the ways he has died in past seasons, most of them his own doing, Scar won this one. He survived, he killed, and then he won.

It feels surreal.

Voices echo around him. The Watchers chant, pleased with his victory. He is alone standing in front of the Secret Keeper, a lifeless stone statue. Missing eyes but Scar can still feel it staring at him. He is alone, but he was this entire season anyway.

Scar smiles despite the tears falling from his face.

—

i NEEDED to write something about that ending. i’m so ill over it oh my god

[wheretheharekissesthefox]

Tav's sex parade – Chapter 4: Where the sun kisses the sea (Gale x Tav)

(Trigger warning (18+): graphic description of sex, smut, gentle slow sex, coitus a tergo, fluff, the feels)

To avoid confusion: In one of my other fanfics Halsin and Tav had named the owlbear cup Naïlo, which means 'night breeze' in the Elven language.

Karlach’s and Wyll’s faith and Tav’s promise to them are based on one of my other fics.

Tav sat in the middle of Gale’s living room, cross-legged, strumming her lute, surrounded by papers and ink. She faced the open double-door window which led onto the small terrace, towards the sea. The evening sun shone right through the window, bathing the room in golden light. Tara, Scratch and Naïlo were resting on the carpet and pillows, listening to Tav's warm voice. She sang uncharacteristically high-pitched and softly.

"Down, down by the river,

where the ancient trees shiver,

are sleepy bears and night orchids in caves.

Ruby-red diamonds and purple waves

swirl farther down into water, deep,

where the winged beasts sleep."

Smiling, Gale lingered in the doorframe, not wanting to disturb his beloved's streak of creativity. He'd read and dabbled enough in poetry to understand the symbolism of her lyrics.

Tav stopped singing, but kept humming the melody that reminded him of a lullaby.

"Fire, fire, desire, hmm... Blade... shade? Hells, bells. Metal heart... part, apart..."

The bard stopped mumbling and frowned at her ink-smeared notes.

"Metal heart, forged in fire, found the blade of her desire?" Gale suggested after a moment of silence.

Tav turned around with a smile.

"Not bad. Maybe I'll use it. Thanks for the input."

She quickly scribbled it down. Gale finally walked closer and remarked: "It's wonderful to see you compose again. I missed watching you weave your own kind of magic."

"Mh, poetic as always, love," Tav smirked. "I thought while you and Astarion work through every single book in Waterdeep, Shadowheart helps your mother with her clients, and Halsin does his part to search for answers, I can make myself useful otherwise. You all keep your noses to the grindstone to find a way to get Karlach and Wyll out of Avernus, meanwhile, I go and make some money. We could use it, to be honest."

"You don't have to do this, if you don't want to," Gale told her.

"That's sweet, but I want to pull my weight. As you know, I taught myself to read and write, and I'm still very slow at reading. 'So slow that the bookworms eat away the paper in front of my eyes', as you've put it so politely."

Ashamed, Gale lowered his gaze.

"I'm sorry, that had been tactless of me. I shouldn't have said it."

"Well," she replied, with a shrug. "It's true at least. Thus, I'll do what I can do best: sing and perform. I miss it, honestly; the crude tavern goers, the passed-out drunkards, the strongly-perfumed working girls, the ill-tempered tavern keepers... I had quite the life before I've met you and got all boring and tame."

At that, Gale barked a laugh.

"You and tame? That fits as well together as oil and water! Don't worry, you definitely didn't lose your spark."

"Good," Tav grinned. She got up to kiss and hug him. Then, she looked at him mischievously. "I might need a reminder of my wild side."

Gale glanced towards the animals and cleared his throat. Tara snickered and herded the dog and the owlbear out of the living room.

"Thank you, Tara. You're a gem."

"I'd prefer if you'd show your gratitude with a big plate of Beholder jerky instead of polite words, Mister Dekarios," the tressym teased.

Gale bit his lip to keep himself from laughing.

"Of course, Tara. I'll remind 'Mister Dekarios' tomorrow morning," Tav filled in for him, amused.

The tressym let out a satisfied purr before pushing the door close, and Tav chuckled.

"Tara's rather handy. I know why you love her so much."

"Hm," smirked the addressed.

He leaned down to kiss the bard again and she wrapped her arms around him.

"I have an idea," Tav all but purred.

"I'm scared," Gale smiled.

She snorted a laugh and kissed him again. Then, she got up on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

"I want you to take me on the terrace. I want to do it while the sun goes down and witnesses our act of passion."

The wizard turned crimson, spluttering: "You want to do it out there?! Where everyone can see us?"

"Yes," grinned Tav. "I want to overlook the water while you take me from behind."

"Gods..." Gale wanted to hide somewhere. "That's rather... feral."

The bard grinned devilishly while playing with his hair.

"As I said; I need a reminder that I'm not boring and tame."

"I see why you get along so well with our druid," the wizard muttered. "Holy..."

Tav put on her best show, fluttering her lashes at him with a pout.

"You don't want to? I'm devastated."

"You don't look devastated," Gale retorted amused. "You look like the cat that got the canary."

"Do I get the canary?" Tav smirked and Gale sighed.

"I'm not sure. Doing it from behind... I can't see your face that way and it feels impersonal."

"Are you truly worried about this? We know each other for a year now, and I trust you – in and out of the bedroom. You said it yourself; there are infinite ways to be intimate. So, why not this way too?"

"Alright, let's try this. Anything for my insufferable bard, I guess."

He kissed her again before they moved onto the terrace. Tav leaned her back against the wooden railing, pulled Gale into another kiss, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"You stole my lavender soap again," he remarked, no heat behind it.

"I just borrowed it – as always," she replied cheekily.

"Mhm. 'Borrowed'."

"Stop complaining and take your pants off. If we wait any longer, the sun will be gone."

Gale sighed, but took a step back to doff his trousers and underwear. Tav did the same, kicking everything into the living room carelessly.

"Come here."

She pulled him into another kiss. This time, it was much sloppier and less tender. The bard turned around, gripped the railing of the terrace, and spread her legs wider.

"Gods... look at you," Gale muttered, flustered. "Do you have no shame?"

"No. Not when I want something. And what I want now, is you in me. So hurry up. Please."

Gale had mercy on her (and himself, let's be honest here), crowded in on her, kissed her neck, and entered her slowly. Tav arched her back into it, panting. The wizard placed his hands on hers and buried his face in the side of her neck, breathing right into her ear. The bard shuddered, it was perfect. Gale's thrusts were slow but deep and precise. He knew how to make it good for her. Tav moaned and tilted her head more to the side to give him more space to kiss her and pant into her ear, while they watched the glary, red sun vanish behind the sea.

"Where's your infamous verbosity now?" Gale asked lowly. "Tell me what you see, in all your flowery words."

Tav moaned and tried her damn best to articulate the scenery.

"I- ah! I see how the sun kisses the sea. The sun... ngh... sinks into the sea, gently like a mh... lover. I see how... ah... flaming red... makes love... to blue to create... purple. Aah... Gale... please."

The addressed hummed and used his elegant, deftly fingers to massage her clitoris. Moaning, Tav dropped her head between her arms and arched her back more, pushing her buttocks into her partner's lap who's breath hitched.

"F- fuck! Please!" the bard sobbed, desperate for release. Panting, Gale leaned his head against her shoulder, flicked his wrist over her pubic mound, and climaxed with a guttural moan. He didn't stop moving his fingers though and shortly after, Tav followed him over the edge noisily. They stayed where they were, panting into the young night. The sky had turn light-blue and the first stars were visible.

Tav sighed and twisted her torso around to kiss Gale gently. He slowly pulled out so that she was able to face him fully.

"You were never this loud before," Tav remarked.

"I'm not the noisy type," Gale answered.

"But you were today. Why? Was it the semi-public setting that turned you on?"

"No! It just felt... I don't know... more intense? I've never - hm. I've never took anyone from behind before."

"And you liked it that much?"

"I don't know. Maybe," Gale muttered, slightly uncomfortable.

"Well..." Tav sighed and pulled him into a hug. "I liked it too. It was really nice. Something else for once. We can do it again if you wish."

"I'd like that," Gale admitted and blushed.

"Great," Tav smiled and kissed him again.

The cool evening breeze from the sea caressed them while they stood on the terrace and kept kissing each other tenderly.