#domeric bolton x you

[blakeswritingimagines]

Dating Yandere Domeric Bolton Would Include:

As a yandere, he is completely obsessive and possessive of his newly beloved. He has no limits to the depravity he's willing to pursue, though he prefers to keep his actions subtle at first. When he becomes paranoid, jealous, or otherwise emotional, he will take desperate measures to ensure his beloved does not leave him. But once you're his, nobody else will get you.

He possesses a deep hatred for any potential rival to your attention. Anyone who poses a threat to the relationship will be dealt with, by any means necessary. The more people love you, the more desperate and obsessive he becomes in his attempts to keep you for himself. Once he has captured your attention, he will not let anyone take you away.

He'll seek to isolate you from everyone else, making you dependent on him alone. In his mind, everyone else is either a threat or irrelevant. He is manipulative, and even abusive if that is what it takes to keep you with him.

He is utterly devoted to you practically worshipping the ground you walk on. His actions may be cruel or immoral, but he truly believes it's for your own good and that you will understand once he's made you his. He has a possessive love for you, often becoming violent and controlling in an attempt to force things to work how he wants them to.

With his attention and focus on you, you are not just a person but his entire world. He exists solely for you, and anything he does is to keep you happy, with him, and under his control. He can get very jealous and possessive and has a low tolerance for most of your actions, often wanting you to dedicate your attention to him alone. He may have anger issues, prone to fits of rage when things don't go his way. His love is all-consuming and overwhelming, and he often acts on whim rather than rationality to protect or keep you with him.

He is extremely jealous and possessive of you. He can’t stand the thought of anyone else interacting with or being close to you. He will actively try to prevent you from having any other relationships with people, and he will become angry and potentially violent if he feels that you are spending time with others. He is also extremely insecure and anxious, and he will constantly worry that you will abandon him for someone else. He doesn’t trust anyone around you except himself, and he will prevent you from having any other relationships besides him at all costs.

If you were unfaithful to him, he would make you suffer beyond compare. You would never be able to find another moment of rest. Every waking moment, every breath you took, every sound you heard, every time a bird chirped or a leaf fell. Your torture would start right up again. You would wish you were dead, but you would not be, because you belong to him which he proves each moment afterward.

He would be extremely affectionate and clingy towards you, always wanting to be close and to shower you with love and affection. He would also be very protective of your attention and affection and he would want to be the only one you gave it to.

He would be harsh and cruel in punishments towards anyone who he felt had wronged you or threatened your relationship. He would not hesitate to inflict physical or emotional pain and torture on them as a punishment for their misbehavior.

When it comes to punishments to you, he would be extremely strict and harsh with you if he felt that you had crossed a line or had disrespected him or your relationship in some way. He would not hesitate to inflict harsh punishments such as physical or emotional pain and torture on you, as a way of teaching you a lesson and making it clear that your behavior was not acceptable.

If you did something that he felt deserved to be rewarded, or if you completed certain tasks or goals that he set for you, he would shower you with praise and affection, and would even be willing to give you material rewards such as gifts you can pick. He would be dedicated to making you happy and satisfied with your relationship.

Despite the obsessive and possessive nature of how he is, he would have a soft spot for you and would not hesitate to defend you from anyone who tried to interfere with your relationship or harm you in some way. As such, if anyone were to try to stop him or interfere with your relationship, he would become extremely aggressive and protective over you, and would not hold back in his attempts to eliminate any threats.

He would be very eager to get married to you. He would have deep feelings of affection and attachment towards you that amplifes once marriage is brought up, and would not want to let you go. He would see marriage as a way to solidify your relationship and ensure that you would always be together.

He would have a very hard time respecting your feelings or wishes if you were to express a lack of interest in marriage. His obsessive nature would cause him to become very attached to the idea of marriage, and he would become extremely controlling and determined in his attempts to convince you and to change your mind. He would make it his goal to wear you down and break down your resistance until you were willing to marry him.

He would be very eager to have children with you. Having children would be a way for him to further solidify your relationship and ensure that you would be bonded for life, viewing them as an extension of you. He would want your children to be like you both in every way, and would impose strict and firm rules on them so that they would be raised according to his standards.

If you were unable to have children wouldn't stop his desire to have them. If you were physically unable to have children due to either medical issues, infertility, or other, then he would be determined to find a way to overcome that obstacle. He would research and explore every possible option for you to be able to have children, and would work tirelessly to make it happen. He would refuse to accept the idea that you couldn't have children and would never let that be a reason why he would let you go.

He would be capable of very drastic and extreme actions when it comes to getting what he wants. In order to ensure that he has a child with you, he would do whatever it took. He could potentially resort to kidnapping a baby from a mother, or forcing another woman to have one for you both.

You would easily be the focus of all of his attentions and affections. He would be consumed by his adoration for you, showering you with love, affection, and kindness. Meaning however being the main one to calm him down or everyone attempting to go through you as to not deal with him at any costs.

Upon first seeing you he would also easily become delusional, convincing himself that you belong together and that his behavior is justified. This would lead him to act out in increasingly disturbing ways, becoming increasingly destructive and possessive. He would be unwilling to accept that you might not return his feelings thinking your simply joking, and would likely resort to stalking and harassment.

"I love you so much, and I can't imagine my life without you. You need me to protect you and to take care of you. Don't you see how much I love you? Without me, you would be lost. I would do anything for you and nothing would ever tear us apart."

He enjoys using his size to dominate and overpower his partners during sex. He's especially into rough play - pushing boundaries, teasing limits, and making you submit to him completely.

Using his voice to coax, encourage, and degrade you during sex is incredibly arousing for him. He loves calling you filthy, nasty, and vile things while he's pleasuring you, or telling you exactly how much he plans to take advantage of your body.

He loves to watch you squirm and struggle as he teases you with the promise of an orgasm, but never quite allowing you to reach climax.

He has a bit of a foot fetish. He loves worshipping feet and toes, licking them clean, sucking them, and even using them for other kinky activities. He also loves incorporating footplay into his D/s scenes, making you kneel before him with your feet exposed and at his mercy.

He loves incorporating elements of voyeurism and exhibitionism into your play – watching you perform for him while he sits back and enjoys the show, or having you expose yourself to him (either intentionally or accidentally) and feeling like he has total control over your body and your reactions.

[literaturedog]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚗𝚐𝚕

𝙷𝚞𝚑… 𝙸 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌 (𝚒𝚝'𝚜 '𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠')

The Wolf's Guard

Request: Yes or No

Summary: The love between a wolf and their darling is unbreakable, even if that darling is a Bolton.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

~~~

If the Starks were known for anything, it was their honor, duty, and family values. Everyone in all of Westeros knew it, from the poor to the rest of the Great Houses, as many had bore witness to those traits at play. The wolves of the north, the pack that'd once been called Kings, had bent the knee willingly during Aegon's Conquest and from then on, were known as Wardens of the North.

The glorious House Stark of Winterfell. Robb still vividly remembered the days in which he and his bastard brother, Jon Snow, were taught the history of their ancestors. Brandon the Boisterous, Cregan Stark, Rodwell Stark, Rickard Stark... Robb knew their names well, knew the significance of their importance to his bloodline. They were his ancestors, warriors with wolf's blood coursing through their veins, and blood that ran through his. Just like them, Robb is heir to Winterfell, the firstborn son of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Stark. And while Robb's heart valued honor, duty, and family over all else, there were times when he wished he hadn't been born first.

The first time he took his mind off his duty as heir (a duty everyone constantly reminded him of every waking moment) was when Roose Bolton brought his second-born son, (Y/N) Bolton, to Winterfell when they were children to become a ward under Eddard Stark. He'd heard about the stories and rumors surrounding the family and their ancestral home, the Dreadfort. Their history was as lengthy as the Starks, with their own ancestors having been once called the Red Kings. While Starks were honorable, Boltons were cruel, cunning, and dishonorable with a tradition of flaying their enemies that they were forced to give up upon being bannermen for the Starks. However, there were rumors they still flayed their prisoners after days and weeks of torture.

Robb and Jon exchanged whispers while their father spoke with Roose Bolton, an unremarkably ordinary-looking man despite the eerie aura that surrounded him and his sons. His eyes were striking, a color so pale and odd that they made shivers run down the spines of the two boys when he looked in their direction. But the prickle of uneasiness that poked at Robb vanished when (Y/N) looked toward him. Jon immediately ducked behind the barrel they'd chosen to hide behind but Robb held his gaze and was rewarded with a grin. 

"Robb," His father had called out, "Come."

Robb immediately obeyed, jumping out from behind the barrel and striding over to his brother. At the age of seven, Robb knew his place as heir very well so he made every attempt at showing everyone the manners and way of nobles he'd been taught. Ned placed a comforting hand over his shoulder and smiled down at his son. "Why don't you show (Y/N) around Winterfell, Robb? His father and I have much to discuss." 

"Yes, Father." Robb nodded, his auburn curls bouncing off his forehead. Domeric Bolton, eldest son of Roose and heir to the Dreadfort, similarly set his hand over his younger brother's shoulder. (Y/N) peered up at his father and then at his brother, lingering even after Roose gave him an approving nod. 

"Go on," Domeric murmured gently and (Y/N) looked back at Robb with a growing smile. 

Robb spent the rest of the day showing (Y/N) around Winterfell, his chest puffing out with pride each time (Y/N) seemed impressed about something. Jon and Theon trailed after them, providing input that (Y/N) largely ignored in favor of giving Robb his full attention, something surprisingly made him squirm. He finished the tour by introducing (Y/N) to his mother and his younger sister, Sansa. Catelyn greeted (Y/N) politely, more kindly than she treated Jon at least, and offered to get some sweets for them after dinner while Sansa clung to her skirts and watched them.

It wasn't until a few days later, when the boys were giggling on a stack of haybale after their latest mischief that Robb had a thought that would continue to emerge: 'I wish he were a girl.'

As they grew and reached their fifteenth name days, they both began showcasing the faithful traits of their house. Robb grew gentler, less mischievous, and showed a strong sense of honor. He continued reading his histories and studied faithfully under the septa, training nearly every day with Ser Rodrick Cassel and accompanying his father whenever he ventured out on hunts or to meet with others. (Y/N) seemingly grew a taste for blood, something that emerged during training. He went easier on Robb than the others, incredibly apparent as Theon and Jon would end up bruised and bloody by the end of each session. But despite Theon's complaints and Jon's worries about (Y/N) fatally injuring someone, Robb could never shake the astonished, fluttery feeling whenever he saw (Y/N). 

"Come on, boy," Ser Rodrick called to the staggering Jon and Robb couldn't help but wince at the trickle of blood going down his nose. Jon wiped it away, his black hair clinging to his dirt-speckled sweaty face. Nobody had to look at Theon to know the boy likely looked pale as winter snow. (Y/N) pointed the - thankfully - wooden sword at Jon and cocked his head to the side, a wide grin across his face. 

"What's wrong, Snow?" (Y/N) taunted, and Jon glared at him, throwing aside his sword and marching right up to (Y/N). The Bolton laughed when Jon grabbed the sides of his chest armor, his teeth digging into his bottom lip before he rammed the end of the sword into Jon's temple. Jon cursed loudly and released him to grab the side of his head, the blow working as intended when (Y/N) slammed his foot into Jon's chest piece and knocked him back. 

"I believe that's enough, aye, lad?" Robb straightened up at the sound of his father's voice, craning his neck to watch Ned step out of the nearby building and approach them with a grimace. He gently clapped the back of (Y/N)'s shoulder to congratulate him, his eyes remaining locked on his bastard son's panting form. "Go see Maester Luwin, Jon."

"May I have a word in private, Lord Stark?" Ser Rodrick asked, earning a curt nod in response. (Y/N)'s eyes followed the two older men as they walked further away from them, their voices drowned out by the hustle and bustle of servants working and guests chatting. His lips formed a noticeable pout, one that made Robb chuckle as he helped take the chest piece off him. 

"They're going to send me home." (Y/N) muttered bitterly.

"They won't," Robb assured him, handing the piece off to a nearby servant and giving them a thankful smile. (Y/N) huffed, the air coming out in a small cloud, and he tossed the sword aside into the dirt beside them. Robb caught a brief look at the knitted brow, sullen expression on his face before (Y/N) turned on his heel and stormed away. Immediately, Robb followed without a second thought, keeping his eyes focused on the boy until they reached the Godswood. 

"Leave me alone, Robb." (Y/N) muttered grumpily, slumping down on the ground beside the water and roughly tugging blades of grass from the ground. 

"Not until you tell me what's wrong," Robb responded, taking a seat beside him and gazing out into the water. The Godswood had always been a place to seek peace or advice from the Old Gods, a place Robb could visit to clear his mind or simply escape for a brief moment. (Y/N) pursed his lips and Robb smiled, pressing his fingertip against (Y/N)'s cheek and gigging softly when he swatted at his hand. "Come on, tell me." 

"Nobody here likes me. They're scared of me." (Y/N) said quietly, tugging more grass out of the dirt. "Lord Eddard is going to send me home to the Dreadfort, I know he is. Father's going to be mad at me but at least Dom will be there."

Robb stared at him, noticing the way he pressed his lips together to stop them from quivering. "I like you." He revealed softly and (Y/N) tilted his head toward him, eyes flickering between Robb's vibrant blue eyes. Robb's stomach twisted and turned, heat rising up his neck and covering his ears like fire. 

"How much?"

"A lot." He admitted, the branches above them gently rustling together with the wind. The sound eased his nerves, eased the dread threatening to bubble up and consume him. "If you were a lady, I would ask Father to let us wed."

(Y/N)'s lips curled up at that. "The Old Gods do not care if we're both men, Robb." He reminded him, that familiar grin working its way onto his face. Robb smiled again, setting his hand over (Y/N)'s and putting an end to his constant grass tearing. "Would you kill for me, Robb?"

"To protect you, yes," Robb answered immediately, no poundering needed. He'd kill to protect any of his loved ones. His parents, Jon, Theon, Sansa, little Arya and Bran. His father spilled blood for his late sister, Lyanna, during the rebellion and Robb doubted his father wouldn't do it all over again for her. "Would you?"

"If you asked." Then, (Y/N) leaned forward and clumsily mushed their lips together, sending a jolt down Robb's spine and a heat throughout his face. He'd kissed a young lady once or twice in secret and out of curiosity but despite his brief experience, he moved nervously and just as clumsily. 

Things rapidly changed from then on, behind closed doors at least. To the servants and residents of Winterfell, the two remained the same close friends as always, but away from prying eyes and curious ears, they were inseparable lovers. Robb's lingering stares grew and any ladies his mother asked him about were brushed away for one excuse or another. The sneaking around, the subtle touches, and innocent gestures, it was all exciting for them but Robb grew to prefer how hungry (Y/N) always seemed for him. It felt good to be wanted, felt good when he whispered loving confessions and laughed at (Y/N)'s eye rolls and flustered smiles. 

Until, as quickly as their relationship began, they were just as quickly swept away from each other. 

Not long after (Y/N) sixteenth name day, news arrived at Winterfell of Domeric Bolton's death. An illness in the stomach, the first letter from Maester Uthor read, but the letter from Roose informed him of a new family member who'd potentially caused the death of his brother: a half-brother by the name of Ramsay Snow—a bastard of the North. With Domeric dead, the title of heir fell on (Y/N)'s shoulders and took him away from Winterfell and back to the Dreadfort. Jon and Theon eased with his absence but Robb's heart broke into pieces. As a secondborn, (Y/N) could do as he pleased and remain by Robb's side forever if he wished, but as an heir?

As much as his absence pained him, Robb ensured to write (Y/N) many letters, most with secret messages only the two of them could understand. He detailed any events that'd gone on, small or big, silly or tragic. He wrote to him about the pups found by Jon and the one he'd claimed, about the royal visit at Winterfell and his father's new position as Hand, Jon joining the Night's Watch, the saddening news of his sister's wolf being killed. The letters stopped when Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell called the bannermen to war. 

Robb focused on the war, on avenging his father and bringing his beloved sisters home before they could be harmed by the Lannisters. The Bolton's joined the effort, of course, but Robb hardly saw (Y/N) during the start. They both had their duties, their own men to command, and many more things to worry about. But, the reunion had Robb nearly collapsing. 

He'd seen him, caught a brief glance during a battle with Lannister's army. It'd been enough to make him fight even harder, and they'd won in the end, returning back to camp to treat their wounded and count the dead. Robb had been swept away, his new title as King of the North forcing even more responsibilities onto his lap, but he managed to keep his racing mind focused enough to manage the tasks at hand, nearly forgetting about the glimpse until that night. 

Dragging the wet rag over his sword, Robb thought about his father. He thought about all the things Ned would say to him, the advice he'd give to him. His father knew of battles and rebellions, he knew of war. Robb only knew what he learned as the war progressed. Sure, there were many older men who'd fought alongside his father, who still had the taste of war in their mouths, but none would compare to the knowledge of Eddard Stark. He sighed quietly, gazing over his reflection and failing to hear the person entering his tent. 

"King of the North, aye? Has a pretty ring to it." He tensed immediately, first due to surprise and then because of that familiar voice. His head whirled around, eyes wide and heart pleading. (Y/N) grinned at him, splatters of blood still covering his skin and clothes from a battle the Boltons and few others had ridden out to, but it suited him perfectly. The sword fell with a loud clatter and Robb darted up from his seat, unable to restrain himself from flying into (Y/N)'s embrace. "Missed me, hm?" He laughed.

"Of course, I missed you, you bastard." Robb exhaled, leaning back to grasp the sides of his face, disregarding the blood that smeared onto his palms before he crashed their lips together. An almost animalistic growl-like noise emitted from (Y/N) throat and he kissed him back more roughly, as were most things with (Y/N). The Bolton backed him up until Robb fell back onto the bed, briefly knocking the air out of him. (Y/N) hovered above him, eyes glinting with a familiar look that sent heat rushing to his stomach.

"Sorry 'bout Lord Eddard, Robb." He murmured, dipping down to brush his lips over Robb's cheek and down to his throat where he dug his teeth lightly into him. 

"I heard of your half-brother, (Y/N)." Robb sighed again, the familiarity of it all making him lightheaded. His beloved had always been all tongue and teeth. (Y/N) snorted softly into his throat, a short chuckle leaving him at the mention of Ramsay's demise. He'd died in his sleep, or so Lord Bolton had said. 

"Never liked him, anyway." (Y/N) told him, rising back up to press their lips tightly together, teeth digging into Robb's bottom lip and tugging lightly. "I have news, Robb."

"Can it wait?" Robb knew the answer but he hoped pulling (Y/N) closer would change his mind. (Y/N) chuckled again and moved his hips, a lazy smirk spreading across his face when Robb cursed softly under his breath and reached down to fumble with their pants. 

"No, My King."

"Gods, you're the worst."

A sadistic little bastard but Robb loved him anyway. (Y/N)'s amusement faded away and he inhaled heavily, planting his hands on the sides of Robb's head and staring down at him. The seriousness made Robb straighten up, despite their rather compromising position, and he nodded for (Y/N) to continue. "My father plans on betraying you, Robb. Your rejection of Walder Frey's girls gave way for Father. He plans on marrying one of his daughters for an alliance. He wants to kill you." Robb's blood ran icy cold. War always had its fair share of traitors and cowardly, slimy men.

"Are you certain?" Robb sat up in the bed, forcing (Y/N) to lean back and stand again. A traitor in their midst and Walder Frey's ego. Two problems Robb hardly had time to deal with. (Y/N) reached out, fingers dipping under Robb's chin and tilting his head up.

"Give me your command and I'll bring his head to you by early morrow." 

[starsofjewels]

Mama, Papa and Baby Too

Ramsay Snow (Bolton) x Lady Bolton! Reader, Roose Bolton x Lady Bolton! Reader

NSFW!!

Any and all characters depicted in NSFW pieces are of legal age. All characters are also consenting (Unless specificed by piece)

Please read responsibly.

DARK FIC: This piece includes or is focused around a situation some readers may find uncomfortable or disturbing. Know your limits and keep yourself safe.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Incest (Stepmother x stepchild), non-descriptive/ implied incest (father x child), voyeurism, breastfeeding, foreplay (fingering + handjob), riding (Roose), Little(-ish) Ramsay, non-descriptive mention of assault (in regard to Ramsay's conception)

The Boltons are their own warning

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I've never published any smut before, so why not, in true GOT fashion, start off with a weird little incest-ridden oneshot? The gods may smite me, but Ramsay is still my baby boy, so here we are.

I apologise in advance for this characterisation of Ramsay, even though I fear it fits his character exceptionally well.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Word count: 2.5k

You had known your stepson was unstable since before you had wed his father. A bastard boy conceived out of rape, raised by an insane servant until his mother grew tired of him, and threw him on the steps of the Dreadfort. Anyone in the North could recount the stories surrounding Ramsay Snow, how he tormented the serving girls in his father’s employ, commanding his pack of dogs to tear flesh from the servants’ bones, and naming each new pup after a girl he had slain. How he burned, and destroyed, and caused so much havoc across the Dreadfort and the lands surrounding it.

When you first arrived, to be married to the boy’s father, your maids told you, with varying levels of excitement, what he had done to Roose’s previous wife, and their only surviving son. Supposedly, your new stepson had tortured Lady Bethany to the point of insanity, to a degree that her hair fell from her scalp and her skin flaked. Her only living son, Domeric, had a worse fate still, succumbing to an ‘illness’ commonly believed to be poison in the hands of his jealous half-brother.

You are given a silver dagger to hide in your skirts, and told to not use it sparingly. Ramsay is unpredictable, and cruel, and Roose will not try to stop him. 

Roose does not allow you to meet him until after the wedding. The day you finally do, the staff refuse to look at you, or speak with you as they usually would. You are taken care of, of course, fed, and bathed, dressed in Bolton pink. You feel like a sacrifice, being made-up to appease some vicious god. 

“Sit, wife.” 

It is not a question, but you answer anyway.

“I have no need to sit, lord husband.”

You watch him roll his eyes, fixing himself a little. You stand in silence for a good few moments, until you hear unfamiliar footsteps, which you assume belong to your stepson. 

Ramsay stops in the doorway, eyeing you up as you are sure his dogs do their prey. You want so badly to reach out and take Roose’s hand, or run off. But there is no comfort for you, not now. You know your fate here, and it is not to be coddled like a doll.

He steps closer to you, and again, and again, until you can clearly see his cold, blue eyes in the dim light, sizing you up, as though he can tell exactly how to torment you.

Instead of striking you, or grasping at your hair and pulling, Ramsay cautiously wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your shoulder. You gasp in surprise, expecting far worse. Glancing up at Roose, you see his brow furrow in apparent confusion, he goes to speak, Ramsay does first.

“Mama…”

He sounds like a pathetic little boy, a baby, and some part of your heart is filled by it. He takes your hand in his and puts it to his own head, and you stroke his curls as he seems to want you to. The boy preens at this, pushing himself further into the embrace.

“It seems the boy likes you, dear.”

You almost smile at his words, looking down to the boy, still hiding away in your hair.

“Aye, it does seem that way.”

Roose has shown no signs of affection towards you before, much less openly giving you pet names. You try to ignore it, putting it to the side as a one-off, a part of his surprise towards Ramsay’s affection towards you.

Your stepson stays attached to your hip for the rest of the evening. He follows you everywhere, insisting he cannot do anything without you, and although you understand the oddness of the situation, if this is what it takes to prevent yourself having the same fate as Lady Bethany, you are willing to indulge the monster. 

He practically squeals in delight when you give him a sip from your wine when his father is not looking, having been barred from partaking after sunset following a particularly violent drunken escapade, the one sliver of actual parenting Roose had enforced. 

By the time he is ready to retire, he is squished up beside you in your chambers, practically on your lap. You are distracted from your sewing by him gently butting into you, trying to grasp your attention. Looking out at the dark night outside your window, you glance back at Ramsay, already nearing sleep.

You sigh, setting him up on the unused side of your bed. It takes barely a moment for him to shuffle across the sheets and wrap himself around you, clinging like a baby. There is no point in denying him, part of you knows he would sneak in later, anyway.

Eventually, Roose comes to you, dressed in his nightclothes. He has never spent the night with you before, much less in your own rooms. He slips in beside his bastard, watching the two of you with mild curiosity.

“You’re good with him.”

“Thank you.”

He scoffs slightly, leaning back against the headboard to look down on the sleeping Ramsay.

“I have never seen him like this. He’ll be asking to suckle from you next, dearest.”

There it was again, a small hint of your husband’s affections for you. You are terribly glad the dim night hides the blush on your cheeks.

“He would not!”

You can make out Roose nodding his head.

“Really? He’s a man grown, Roose.”

“As if that could stop him. Keep yourself clothed around him, no matter how much you trust him, He’s a mischievous one, our Ramsay. Give him a chance and he might pounce.”

You feel Ramsay smile against your chest, and you realise he’s not yet fallen asleep. Summoning your best act, you look at your husband with mock surprise,

“My boy? Oh, I find that hard to believe, lord husband. Is he not just an angel?”

Ramsay tucks himself tighter against you, and a smile finds itself upon your lips. You kiss his curls gently, the boy giggles, glad that you consider him to be your own.

-    -

The night, though young, is dark. As the Stark words always say, winter is coming. You can feel it in the cold, in the way the trees tilt in the breeze. You rest your head against Roose’s chest. The flames and your furs keep the room almost uncomfortably warm. You are the lady of the Dreadfort, after, you of all people must be shielded from the oncoming trials of winter. 

The storm outside is bitter and cruel. The wind is harsh, and you are certain trees will have fallen by the morning. Every so often, if you try particularly hard, you can hear your son’s dogs howling at the weather from the kennels. You turn, your back now to Roose. He reaches his arm around you, holding you closely to him. 

And your moment of intimacy, in less than a second, is ruined by the gentle tap of a hand against your bedroom door. Just from the sound of it, you know exactly who it is. You smile softly,

“Come in, darling.”

Ramsay shuffles into your bedchamber, like a child, a pout on his face which you can see from the light of the fire beside him. He is dressed in his nightshirt, his hair messy, and you know that you are in for a long night.

“Want to sleep here, Mama.”

He makes no effort to speak to your husband, not when his precious mother is waiting for him. Though Roose attempts to grasp your arms, you reach out for Ramsay, and he leaps into your bed. Before long, he has wrangled you onto your back, snuggling viciously into your chest. His attachment to you has only grown in the months you have spent as his mother, to a degree many might consider unsettling.

“Oh, love, did the storm scare you?”

The boy nods weakly, just the hint of a smile ghosting his face. His father scoffs,

“He is not a babe, my dear, the boy can manage a bit of wind.”

Ramsay glares at his father, before going back to affectionately nuzzling you. You stroke his cheek gently, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“It is very late, Ramsay. You should try and get to sleep now.”

He shakes his head,

“Nuh. Can’t.”

Roose sighs, having given up completely, resting his head back against his pillow. Though your hands are preoccupied by the Ramsay in your arms, you lean over to kiss his cheek, something of an apology.

“Why can’t you sleep, darling?”

“I’m hungry, Mama,” He practically pleads, “I can’t sleep if I’m still hungry.”

This is always his excuse. Hunger. You think the boy must have a stomach the size of the Riverlands for how much he complains of it. But, you know his excuse well, and what it always ends with. So you smile, sweetly, and lean closer to his face.

“And what does the master want for his supper, then?”

He practically paws at your breast, begging with his big eyes, almost whimpering.

“Milk, please. Milk, Mama.”

You sigh affectionately, pressing another kiss to his face, and letting him tug down your nightdress. 

“Just a little to settle your stomach, and then off to sleep, alright?”

“I promise, Mama.”

Though you are yet to have a babe of your own, Ramsay’s consistent suckling has eventually caused your breasts to swell, your body preparing its hardest for a baby who is, in fact, a grown man. This delights your boy, of course, who could spend the rest of his days living off of nothing but the milk you’ve provided him.

He is enthralled when you help his mouth find your nipple, suckling immediately. His brow furrows, waiting impatiently for his reward. He groans when your milk touches his lips, snuggling you more, mumbling thanks, or praise, or something hidden by his face buried in your breast. 

You hear Roose shuffling. He sits up, and roughly pets his son’s hair. Ramsay’s eyes flick open, he glared again at his father, relaxing as you shush him gently,

“You’re alright, sweetling. Mama’s here.”

Ramsay moans again, and you feel him shift against your leg. Roose makes a laughing sound from the back of his throat.

“Someone is in need of a little affection, Mama.” He teases lightly, nipping at your neck. His stubble is rough, adding to your sensitivity. “Perhaps you should take care of our boy, and I’ll look after you.”

“I want to look after Mama!”

The boy has detached from you, pouting once more. You kiss his nose, wiping some of the milk from his mouth,

“You are looking after Mama by being a good, quiet boy. Let Papa have a turn, hm?”

He grumbles, but goes back to your breast, suckling again.

Roose, ever pragmatic, slips his hands quickly between your thighs, delving two fingers at a time into your cunt. He chuckles again at how ready you are, continuing to spread kisses up your neck,

“You get your mother in such a state, Ramsay. Here, taste.”

Your husband puts his finger to your son, you whine at the loss of pleasure, and the boy cleans it off as a starving dog. He looks from his father, to you, and snuggles up against you.

“Milk is tastier.”

And you cannot help but smile, quickly replaced by another gasped moan as Roose goes back to his previous activities. You take his hand, leading him up to your clit with no words spoken. The two of you have an understanding now. In between your groans and little twitches, you notice how Ramsay’s heart rate gets faster, how he grinds just a little against you. 

“Ramsay?”

A pause.

“Mama?”

“Do you need help there, sweetling?”

He whimpers, having been caught, but nods anyway. You help him shift his nightshirt up to his hips, and carefully find his cock with your free hand. Your boy moans immediately, his hips buck, and he looks up at you with a sense of pleading. He whimpers,

“Mama… more…”

“Soon, my sweet boy. Enjoy your milk.”

You stroke him in a soft, rhythmic pattern, making sure to pay just enough attention to his weepy head to keep the boy on edge. Roose continues to tease you, you gasp every so often, reaching out for him, groaning his name. You come first, stopping your movements upon Ramsay to grip Roose’s arm, crying out for him. Ramsay takes your hand, trying to help. You kiss your husband softly, and then return your affections upon Ramsay. Roose leans back, watching.

You wrap your hand around Ramsay’s cock just the way he likes, and his nails dig into your arm. The boy nips on your breast as he comes, moaning with a mouth full of milk. Most of his mess is caught by his nightshirt, which makes him much easier to clean off. Once he has calmed down just a little, you slide him off you. He cries out, still complaining even as you shush him.

“Papa deserves a treat, too, don’t you, Papa?”

“I do.”

You sit Ramsay up, tired and comfortable, and the two of you share a private laugh as you straddle him, sinking yourself quickly upon his cock. There is no time for play, not when you have been so worked up by the evening’s activities. He moans, and you remember the man behind his cold demeanour. The one who loves you, who desires you even more than your son does.

“My- Careful, love- We are not a rutting dog, are we?”

“Hm- Your fault for being such a tease, Roose…”

He scoffs, replaced quickly by another groan. It is, indeed, his fault for teasing you. You bury your face in his neck, and bite down upon it. He moans out in surprise, jolting suddenly. The action is enough to send him over the edge, and he finishes inside of you, just as a self-respecting lord should. 

Ramsay, naked, bathed and half-asleep, lies on one side of you, Roose on the other. You are the lady of the house, after all, you deserve to be treated as such. Ramsay snuggles into your chest again, full and sated.

“Hm- How is my big boy?”

Instinctually, you reach out to rub his stomach, which seems to settle him,

“Sleepy- Mama…”

“Then sleep, silly boy. Mama will be right here.”

It takes him a little longer to drift off, but you can tell, as you boy goes limp, almost drooling against your shoulder. Roose kisses your hair affectionately.

“He really does love you, dearest.”

“Mh. He’s happy, and so are you. That’s all I care about.”

“Everyone is happy tonight. Mama, Papa and Baby too.”

You give him a tired laugh, and kiss your son’s forehead. Feeling yourself begin to sleep,

“Goodnight, darling.”

“Hm- Love you.”

[bonkbobl]

happy to please

ROOSE BOLTON X READER

a/n: this is set before anything bad happens in the show, maybe like early season 1 or even before. i know in the books there was domeric and i considered mentioning ramsays kinslaying but decided to just go with the show, which, my impression is that domeric just never existed and ramsay grew up at the dreadfort being cared for by roose. this fic comes from the book quote about him growing fond of walda bc she actually liked sex with him and buddy never experienced the loving touch of a woman with his past two wives

summary: roose bolton had two wives before you. so he thought he knew what to expect during the bedding but nothing could have prepared him for those sweet little noises and the way you writhed

warning: smut!!! roose bolton is very awkward and not very romantic, forced marriage but once you see roose irl you're like oh... wait guys hes kind of hot nvm im down

It was high time the Lord of the Dreadfort took another wife to try for more heirs. A bastard born to a Millers Wife was hardly a suitable option. The goal-driven Lord Bolton wanted a speedy affair and not too much fuss about it. When word was sent out that the “Dreadlord” was seeking a hand in marriage, the response was not sparse.

Several offers to meet Northern Lords’ “most beautiful” daughters landed on Roose Boltons desk. But Roose didnt want the fuss that came with that. There was no need to fret about which girl was the most desireable, only which prospect bred the most advantage.

You came from a semi prominent house, a large advantage was the fact that you had no siblings to succeed you and your uncles were all bordering on geriatric. Because of this, your father was eager to broker a marriage between you and any Lord to start producing more options for the succession of your house — you came with a heavy dowry.

All negotiations occurred on paper and before you’d learn anything about your husband, your father has your servants packing your belongings up into carriages. You were on your way to the Dreadfort

Dreadful name for a castle, you thought to yourself. Perhaps that set the tone for the marriage. You should expect nothing but that —dread.

The entire journey, you did not utter a word to your father, so upset that he’d gone behind your back to do this. You had been stubborn, growing up. You’d met several Lords from minor houses through the years and you turned all of them away.

They weren't handsome enough, weren't noble enough, weren't gentle enough, weren't firm enough. That one was too loud, too annoying, to full of himself, not sure enough of himself, too meek, too weak. There was always something. But you were never forced to. Not until now.

Perhaps it was the fact that your father finally listened to the whispers of those around him, telling him that if he doesnt marry you off soon, no lord would want an old bride. You think thats most likely. Theres also the fact that House Bolton was an extremely powerful house, your liege lord for centuries. They stood only beneath the Starks and the Crown.

When you stepped down from the carriage to greet your husband to be, you steeled yourself. You didn't know what to expect. You knew he was around your father’s age, which wasn't exactly a comfort.

But you met his cold eyes, your expression softened considerably. Your father had grown plump with unkempt hair on his chin. It was patchy and uneasy to look upon. His hair was also receding quickly as the years passed.

The years were kinder to Lord Bolton.

Giving a curtsy, you surrendered to his examination of you, suddenly feeling nervous. You found yourself hoping he liked what he saw because well… Lord Bolton, you think, immediately appears to be, well, lordly. He looks physically fit, cleanshaven, intimidating features. His stare was hard on you, and you almost shied away thinking he was, in fact, unhappy with you, but glancing back, you realized that he may be one of those men with a permanent hardness to their stare.

You mainly hope he isn’t cruel to you.

Lord Bolton nodded, then spoke, “My lady.” Taking your hand and pressing a courteous kiss to it, he continued, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You swallowed, trying your best to keep your gaze even. His voice was so smooth and deep… The kind of voice that you’d want reading to you in the darkness at night.

He’s everything you think a man should be, in appearances. The boys who wanted your hand in marriage would stumble about their words and it was endearing in their own right, but here, under his lordly gaze, you felt more willing to you resign yourself under his protection.

���Happy to please you, my lord,” You said softly, curtsying.

Roose’s eyes looked you up and down for what felt like the millionth time but he couldn’t really help it. He hadn't expected you to be the beauty you were — that wasn’t why he was marrying you — but he got lucky, it seems. You were a shy thing, barely able to meet his eyes.

Roose looked at your father, standing far away from you, awkwardly staring out into the wind and avoiding engagement. It wasn't difficult for him to make out that perhaps you might be unhappy to be here. If theres anything he can recognize, its a tense familial atmosphere.

But he watched you smile and speak your courtesies, sweet and polite. Yes, you would do just fine. You were perfect, he’d even dare to say, he was delighted by you.

You would make him rich, and it seemed like you had enough understanding and commitment to duty to not make a fuss about anything that may be unpleasant to you. He just hopes you’re fertile so that he doesn’t have to pain you unnecessarily with too many attempts.

“I’d like you to meet my son, Ramsay,” He brought his son forward.

You smiled politely at him and allowed him to kiss your hand, “My lord, it’s lovely to meet you.” You hoped it didn’t show that you were a little wary of Ramsay. It was hard to ignore the rumors of the Bastard at the Dreadfort. But you’re happy that you are not to be his or his fathers enemy.

“As it is for me to make your acquaintance, my lady.”

Roose allowed a smile and began directing you to your handmaidens, who would lead you to your temporary room.

As far as first meetings go, it might have been awkward but it wasn’t completely unbearable. You’re grateful for it.

—————

When it came time to wed him, Roose made it clear that there was to be no bedding ceremony, and you let yourself relax, smiling to yourself gratefully. It was a tradition spreading all the way from the Wall to Dorne, but you really didnt know why. The thought of being stripped and groped by all the men in the room rained dread upon you.

Instead of being carried to your room by many men, you were led there by your husband, who you were growing more fond of in each moment. Sure you barely knew him, but he was handsome enough.

Not just handsome enough, you’d say that if there was to be a ball with all the Northern men and women, you would have stared at him in the corner of your eye all night hoping he’d approach you. He reminded you of those scenarios that you’d read about only in books.

He also seemed to be respectable and a gentleman, which comforts you greatly. The fact that he chose to forego the bedding was something you hadn’t expected but it certainly made you more amenable to whats to come.

It started sort of mechanically and passive. Your husband poured you a cup of wine for your nerves, and you exchanged some words about the ceremony and he watched you drink it.

Then when he deemed you relaxed enough Roose asked, “Did your septa teach you about what happens during bedding?”

You nodded, “My septa, yes. And I had read a book once that contained some details that she had left out, so I actually know more than many would assume,” You rambled out.

Roose tilted his head questioningly but gave an amused sigh and a nod.

It was true, you did read a lot. And one of those books included a scandalous romp between the main character, a man, and a whore. Your father found you reading that and burned the book but he couldn’t burn it out of your memory.

It was part of why you might have had such a high standard for the men who had approached for your hand. The men in the books were confident but not arrogant. They could please their women properly because they knew what they were doing but also knew to listen. They were powerful. Possessing a subtle dominance that was too nuanced for younger men to understand.

Roose exuded dominance. This brand of dominance.

It excited you just as much as the memory of those pages.

“Good,” He said, “Then I have little explaining that I must do.”

You watched him stand and offer his hand to you again and you took it, letting him help you up and to the bed.

Roose couldn’t really understand it, but he identified nerves stirring inside him at the thought of bedding you. Its been a long time since he’s taken any wife to bed and he is aware that most of the time, its only really pleasurable for men.

His past two wives would lay there, passive and unmoving, waiting for him to have his fill before quickly getting up to clean themselves.

He really intended to make this as easy for you as possible and wait a week to try again. After that, perhaps he’d take you every few days until you came to be with child. Ever methodical about everything, of course he thought of how to go about this.

Roose helped you with your dress, coming up behind to aid in unlacing it. Meanwhile, you busied yourself with taking out the pins that had been keeping your hair up.

You wanted to be comfortable, Roose was pleased to note. He was glad to know you were thinking of your comfort. Making this as easy as possible. You were a girl who understood what needed to be done, a good quality to have in a wife.

His past wives understood to an extent, as well, but not without at least a little bit of whining and whinging.

With your hair undone and your dress unlaced, you took it upon yourself to shrug it off your shoulders, letting the fabric fall to the floor. Roose watched you, gracefully doing your duty, a small smile coming to him.

You surprised him quite a bit, actually. Especially when you turned to him, a little shy about your exposure, but confident enough to pull him in by his collar and kiss him for the first time.

Your lips moved shyly against his, and Roose returned your gentleness. Each thing you did made him ever more curious about you. The two of you continued to mold your lips to each others as he worked on disrobing himself. He could sense the hesitation and curiosity behind your lips movements.

All the better. He'll let you do as you needed to feel more comfortable.

Very quickly, Roose had taken off all his clothes and the moment you realized your husband was bare and ready to finally take you, you parted from him. His eyes opened slowly to see you staring up at him with those big eyes and he held your gaze as you edged backward onto the bed, situating yourself at the edge of it. Then you laid yourself down, splayed out for him.

Roose watched you get ready for him, wondering what he did to score so lucky with such a sweet, innocent, eager little wife.

He pressed the tip of his length to your slit. The edges of your pussy lips were dry but as he moved the head of his cock through your folds, some moisture coated him. Roose paused because you mewled and turned your face to the side, eyes closed, hands bunching into fists in your sheets.

His cock twitched against you as he watched, something that hasnt happened since Roose was a teenager with his first wife.

It moved him to push inside. He watched your lips part with heavy breaths, eyebrows coming together as your breaths turned into soft whimpers. He had to pull out after a certain point and push back in, further. You whimpered, grasping the sheets harder.

Roose found himself completely and utterly hypnotized by you, watching your face, turned to the side, eyes pinched shut, gently chewing your bottom lip.

“You’re very reactive,” He muttered, catching your attention.

You turned back to look at him over your rising and falling chest and giggled, running your hand over your forehead, “Yeah, I… Nothing has ever been inside like this so... I’m reacting.” A coil in your stomach twisted as he pushed even deeper and your lips puckered, letting out an "Ooh..."

Roose chuckled at the first sign of a little bit of sass in his wife, amused at your playfulness during what most would deem to be a serious moment. Roose typically disliked those who cracked unnecessary jokes in inappropriate moments, but somehow it seemed appropriate in this moment.

Your hand came down to grab his and you guided it to your thigh. You felt your husband bottom out inside you after not too much struggle or pain and you laid there happily. You were happy to take his gentle thrusts. Your cunt grew wetter and sloppier as he fucked you.

He filled you well, and it felt good to be full like this. You wanted him to touch you… You wanted him to move more. Faster, harder. You just wanted more of him.

You breathed a heavy sigh, squeezing around him, trying to coax him into moving in you.

“Roose,” You whined, squirming beneath him. Your legs came to wrap around him and guide his movements in you.

Your husband gasped at your shameless neediness, responding quickly to your coaxing movements. You felt like heaven, squeezing so tight around him. But it wasn’t just the pure sensation of a cunt enveloping him it was the fact that your heel remained pressed against his lower back, pulling him toward you. It was the fact that little whimpers kept tumbling out of you, meanwhile you hid your face as if you couldn’t keep them in. It was his name, falling from your lips, in between the whimpers.

And then you whimpered, “Harder.”

An appreciative hum rumbled in Roose's chest, his eyes focusing even harder on you. You shuddered to look at him. His smolder could easily be mistaken for a glare and you'd hate to be a man in any other situation, on the receiving end of such a look.

Here, it just made you more excited.

You cried a loud, unrestrained moan when he gave a sharp thrust, his cock angled upward and hitting a deep spot within you. When his cock touched that spot, it felt as if a little burst of pleasure had come from it and melted into the rest of your body, the coil in your tummy tightening deliciously.

His pace slowly increased, as did your pleasure. You writhed beneath him... At times it almost felt like pleasure was too much, like you were about to tip off some edge, and you had no idea what could be found once you made it over that edge other than just even more, blinding pleasure. You didn't even know if you could take it.

But you had nowhere to run. So if you had to find out what was waiting for you over that edge, so be it. You fought to hold your legs open as much as possible but your thighs would sometimes beg to close, unused to the intense stimulation. And most of the time, you kept your eyes closed and your face turned to the side.

Roose stared down at you, burying himself in you over. And over. Watching as each time you had to succumb and give yourself away to the sensations. It sparked something primal inside him, and truly for the first time he felt an animal-like instinct that often came to be the failing of many great, even-minded men.

He felt lust. Inspired by the image of your body tightening and twitching as he plunged himself deep into you.

Grabbing your waist, he fucked you faster, snapping his hips at a faster speed while he used his strength to pull your pliant body into his.

It wracked your body from head to toe, a long, loud whine, pulled from your throat, enunciated by each meeting of his balls against your ass. Your hands shot up to grasp to anything you could find on the bed but all it found were more sheets. You buried your face in the soft flesh of your arms.

Roose slowed and gave you some hard, defined thrusts, grunting as he did so. You cried out each time and then managed to blink your eyes open and look at him, eyebrows still knitted together, hair a tangled mess under you, and your lips red and wet from your chewing on them all the time.

And then your husband rediscovered the energy to plow into you again.

You held your tits this time, to keep them from bouncing uncomfortably.

He growled, adjusting so that your legs were put over his shoulder before continuing. That felt amazing. But even more amazing was that he decided it wasn't enough, climbing on the bed and pushing you further up on it. He maneuvered his leg, planting a foot next to your side.

That. That had you crying out, damn near sobbing. At least, you wouldn't be surprised if anyone passed your room and mistook it for that.

Soon your body was twitching uncontrollably under him and Roose was sighing loudly, shocked by just how tight your cunt was gripping onto him. Your moans grew weaker and breathier and your body tensed to a peak before you seemingly began to come down from it.

Your breaths remained heavy as you attempted to catch yourself, small aftershocks of convulsions and shaking taking you. He was still fucking you just as hard and your body was oversensitive to the stimulation.

But thankfully you didn't have to endure the pleasurable torture too much longer. Roose released you with a few hard thrusts and deep groans.

He stilled in you and dropped his head in exhaustion, staying buried deep inside, as he attempted to catch his breath and recover and you stared at him, also trying to catch up with yourself.

You lowered your legs to the side though and in the process, his penis slipped out of you, quickly softening. You don't know what possessed you to do so, because there was really no need to, but you brought a hand up to your husbands face and moved it so you could stare into his eyes.

His soft, exhausted eyes met you, the strong hardened exterior that you saw on him at your first meeting, melted off.

Cautiously, you closed the distance, molding your lips to his again.

Roose kissed back fervently this time, no longer hesitant and letting you take the lead. His domineering hand coming behind to cradle your face.

Your eagerness had surprised him in the beginning. But once he'd entered you, it was as if a switch had turned on for both of you. He'd expected you to bravely take on the duty that all women had to endure but he'd never expected you to take to it so well, craving more, wanting him.

Roose had never been the type of man to think about, much less want to be wanted. But his cock nearly twitched back to life, remembering. You pulled him in with your legs, asked him to fuck you harder, you came, and even afterwards, you wanted more.

When your lips finally parted, he stared, evaluating you with a new lense, a lense of true fondness. It was something that — Roose wouldn't ever dare say out loud but — it was something that could even develop into something deeper than a vague fondness or physical attraction. Something like love.

You pressed one last chaste kiss to him and smiled widely, asking, "Is that what every night will be like?" You asked, "If so I think you'll make me a very happy lady."

Roose couldn't think of a proper, clearly worded answer, so he just pressed his lips to yours again, hungrily. A very happy lady indeed. And he'll be happy to see you happy.

[sugarprincessbitch]

Yandere Ramsay Bolton x Half-Sister! Reader

Warning ⚠️ Incest/R*pe

You are the second child of Roose Bolton and Bethany Ryswell, The little sister of Domeric.

The relationship between you and your brother is a close one, with your mother too because of you being her only girl and also your passive nature was a great company for her sweet one.

Your father was absent through out your childhood, him believing that your mother and the septas were enough to raise you didn't help with the situation.

He paid more attention to your brother because of him being the heir and all, but beside of that, he wasn't very affectionate with him too.

The two of you met during one of Domeric's visits to his mother will mill, it took a lot of convincing from your brother to take you there to visit your suppose "bastard brother", you weren't very fond of the idea of going against your father back, you were very scared of him.

When Ramsay first saw you he didn't felt resentment or was annoyed by you, like he surely felt about your brother. No, he was mesmerized by you, and curious about the beautiful girl that Domeric claims to be his new sister.

In the other hand, Ramsay deeply disturbed you. The way he look at you with those colorless eyes appear hungry with something at the time you didn't know.

As the days passed and the visits became more frequent (you weren't always present in all visits, you couldn't be always there because of your embroidery classes with the septa), the looks turn into physical advances, like invading your personal space.

Also, Ramsay would touch you when your brother wasn't looking, you didn't stop him at first believing they were innocent and without malicious intentions.

When your father found about where you were going with your brother he strongly reprimanded the two of you, specially you, because a lady from a noble house doesn't do such things.

Knowing that his son would continue to visit Ramsay anyway he couldn't stop him, but instead prohibited him to take you with him. From that day on you didn't visit Ramsay anymore.

Each passing day you were not there to visit him, he grew more and more annoyed. The explanation from his brother about your whereabouts didn't calm him down a bit, instead he become angry.

He wanted to be with you, not with the pitiful thing you call your brother. That's was the reason to pressure Domeric in taking him to the castle, in were he could pester you all day long as he pleases.

In the weeks your brother brought him against your mother and father pleadings, he died from an "illness", but everyone knew Ramsay poison him out of jealousy.

Destroy by your brother and mother sudden passing (she took her life out of grief days after Domeric died) you found solace in Ramsay, for his gratification.

He was the only one that open his arms for you instead of ignoring you like your father did. That is were he became more and more possessive with you, isolating you from everyone, specially any man that wasn't him (if one of them were that stupid to come near you, the next day a new body was found unrecognizable near the forest).

Everything became worse when he was legitimized by the king. That is when his touches became more than the affection a brother and sister show.

Scared by his threats of what he would do to you if you denied him, you let him kiss you and touch your chest or back as he pleases against your modesty as a lady.

One night he entered your chambers and tried to force you into something more, alarmed you forced your way out and ran to your father's study. He slap you after hearing your accusations, telling you to never say such things to anyone.

That same night was the one where your life as you knew ended, Ramsay rape you as a form of punishment of conspiring against him and told you that he was going to take great care of the bastard he will put in your belly.

Months after, your father was killed by him. Now everything was his, even you, no one could stop to get what he wanted.

For his joy, the baby you had with him was a boy, your little Claude.

[francis-writes]

Modern!AU Ramsay x reader

Maybe it will be continued. For now some silly au i wrote at 1AM.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

You let out a breath. Well, meeting a kinky stranger from internet turned out to be quite a surprise, though maybe not the kind of a surprise you would enjoy.

But after all, what could you expect? You were in a rather bad mood before, so you weren't really picky while scrolling through apps, looking for a parties near or for some stranger eager to fuck you. You just hoped that non-binding, meaningless dicking down from some stranger would help you relax and cheer you up. So when you got a message from someone - 21M, signing as a master_big_dicc - you agreed to meet in two hours, even though he would probably piss you off on any other day. But, you both just wanted to fuck and he was very clear about it in his messages. He also seemed rather kinky - maybe he was just an internet dom, but he kept promising to "make you choke on him", "rip you apart with his dick", "make you crawl and beg like a filthy mutt" etc.

He gave you his address, which perhaps wasn't the safest option. But you packed a pepper gas and sent your location to friend, then left with hope for some good cock.

Now you stood in front of the house, realizing a few facts. The address you got led you to a luxurious villa which - according to the decorative plate - belonged to Roose Bolton, wealthy businessman, owner of company selling skincare products. This was the official part, but you heard that part of his money came from illegal business. If the internet stranger wasn't lying about address, it was either Roose Bolton himself (though claiming to be 21), his son Domeric or...

The door of the residence got opened and you got your answer.

Ramsay Bolton, son of Roose Bolton from some quick side fling. He moved into his father's villa just a few years ago, after being raised by his mother - in much poorer conditions, from what you heard. Well, Roose Bolton wasn't the most caring person, nor father.

You didn't know Ramsay personally, but you occasionally heard about him and his actions. Every once in a while he got arrested and freed, thanks to his father connection. From what people said, he was just typical young hooligan, drinking, getting in fights, just rich enough to get in trouble whenever he hurt someone with a knife.

Now he walked to the gate, yelling at the dogs that were jumping and howling at you since a few minutes. They obediently calmed down and ran away from the fence. You looked at Ramsay when he opened the gate for you. He was at least one head taller than you and quite bulky. You knew what to expect - he didn't sent you his face, but his profile had enough pics of his torso and dick. But you liked fat hairy guys. You were only worried if his body will be able to make you stand his personality for at least next hour.

He had wide pink lips, icy eyes, and long black hair tied in a ponytail. He wore a loose black tshirt with some metal band name on it. Ramsay looked down at you with a smirk, that seemed almost mocking.

"You're here for fucking?"

I shrugged and gave him a small smile.

"If you're master_big_dicc, then yes."

Ramsay chuckled lowly and stepped back, to let me get in.

"Come in. Don't be afraid of my bitches, i trained them well. They won't hurt you without my permission."

I walked in and he lead me through the garden to the door of the house. Without waiting, he reached his arm and grabbed my waist, keeping me close to himself.

"Well, then I hope that you won't give them that permission" i said awkwardly, trying to keep a conversation.

Ramsay just snickered again, as if i were very funny. He pushed me toward the stairs.

"Go, you will take off boots and the rest in my room" he muttered, leaning to me. "My stepmother is downstairs. I don't want her to notice you. She will keep chattering, asking if we're together and offering you cookies, and at least hour will pass before i can fuck you. And i especially didn't jerk off now, to have my dick all ready for you"

We reached his room. It was really messy, perhaps he tried to make it a bit more prepared for me but it meant just throwing all the dirty things in one place. This mess was a weird mix of some trash, cheap collections and expensive brand things. I took off my boots and sat on the bed, looking at the band posters at the wall. It was mostly metal, some punk and some posters announcing raves.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Former heirs of the house

Domeric Bolton x betrothed!reader

warning : fluff, kisses, hurt/comfort, implied character death, Ramsay is Ramsay as always, no use of Y/n

Summary : During his time as squire in the Vale of Arryn, with his father's and Lord Redfort's consent, a betrothal was celebrated between the two houses. After the young betrothed couple had spent the fall in the Vale, it was time to return to Dreadfort in the winter to meet his family, their new home and Lord Bolton and his bastard. But Domeric protects his betrothed and tries to give her the best despite the harsh winter, his love warms her even in the darkest times of the House of Bolton.

info : Sweet Domeric Bolton I would have loved him to survive a "gentle" Bolton and I know Roose mourns him in secret but well have fun with targaryentuesday and see you next week :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The North was harsh, the direction and land in the kingdom of Westeros where the inhabitants were the harshest, for unlike the burning sun in Dorne, the winter was unrelenting and left every man frozen to death before he could even open his eyes.

The houses of the North united under the protection of House Stark, the vassals were numerous, but few houses besides the Starks were as notorious for their history as the Bolton, a house with pink flesh and dark red blood as its banner, a stripped house that gave warmth and taught enemies to fear death itself.

So even more than two centuries after the conquest by Aegon, the old house still stood, with the blood of the first men and Dredfort standing proudly, the fortress still surrounded by the harsh winter.

Roose Bolton the Lord of House Bolton and the Lord of Dreadfort was a man of mystery, brutality, pragmatic decisions and goals but above all he had once been a man with an heir, his first born son Domeric a boy born to ride with nimble deft fingers for playing the harp and a taste for history he had become the quiet heir.

So Roose had planned it and to show friendship and trust he sent his son first to his aunt's house where he spent four years until he became a young man, a good-natured young man of whom his father was proud and would soon join the council as his heir.

But until then he went to Lord Redfort where he not only looked upon his sons as his own brothers but his heart yearned for such a companion, someone to talk to, someone to have by his side…until he saw her.

The Lord's only daughter who had been sent back to her father by the Lady Jeyne Arryn after serving as Lady in waiting, ,,A pleasure to meet you my lady," Domeric had introduced himself, taking her hand in his and placing a gentle kiss on it which she returned with a curtsy.

Most of all it gladdened his heart that she had shown no fear, he knew of his father's reputation for the deeds of his house but to see such beauty before him who did not judge him had stirred him, ,,I hope to see more of you now dear Domderic" she had replied before heading back to her chamber to recover from the journey.

The black-haired man tried to ignore the looks of his "brothers", who were aware of the beauty of their common sister, only Lord Horton had an interested look at the situation.

The two young heirs soon reunited at the dinner table and sat opposite each other, complimenting what appeared to be her new dress, which featured the red and white banner of her house and a sumptuous tapestry, ,,I heard from my father you were staying, may I ask how you like the Vale compared to your area?" she asked, cutting off a piece of the roast that had been specially cooked to celebrate her return.

Domeric found her curiosity amusing like a young bird exploring the air, ,,It's higher, thinner you feel close to the stars and yet the cold here is not cutting like on Dreadfort…I admit it warms me to be here once more now that you are here too" he returned the compliment and saw her lower her gaze from the compliment and take a sip of the wine.

The two of them talked about their time at House Arryn, about Domderic's duties and past years as a squire, always finding common ground that they enjoyed until it was time to go to sleep and the two of them wished each other a good night. But no matter how many days and weeks passed, how often the moon changed with the sun, they never got away from each other.

In his free time, he watched her and kept her company with his harp playing as she sewed and embroidered, even training the falcon she had gotten when she had blossomed, which she told him with a smile. ,,For such a pretty flower even the wind always plays a song" he had tried to distract her and played another song on the harp.

Until he was called to do more chores, not seeing her watching him and yet always keeping a distance from his horse her fear of the animals still present and her hand stroking her arm ,,An excellent rider" she muttered to herself and didn't get her father's raven flying off with a message.

Another week passed and the days merged into one another and yet it was getting colder, one knew that autumn was coming to an end, the beautiful colorful hue of the leaves and forests would slowly come to an end.

,,With the end of autumn so that you can return at the beginning of winter," her father announced as he suddenly stood up and pulled out a parchment, reading his father's fine writing Domeric looked surprised but above all with a fast beating heart at the young woman he had fallen in love with.

In his drive of the wind that drove him to write new songs, her fine hands when she clapped when he won a victory in training and squeezed his hand lightly and the secret kiss they had shared under the great oak just before the hour of the bat.

It was on the last day of fall that the couple, now betrothed through the Septon of House Arryn, made their way back to Dreadfort to be better prepared for the winter and to join her soon-to-be husband's family.

The morning sun showed the small group the way as the couple were escorted down the hill in a small carriage, ,,You don't seem to be enjoying the ride, shall we stop?" Domeric asked, gently grasping her hand and about to ask for something to eat but she waved it away, ,,It's the horses Domeric they worry me I don't get on with the animals" she admitted and suddenly heard the black haired man laugh as joy was seen in his bright eyes.

He tried to pull himself together as he saw her angry look and she changed sides of the carriage threateningly but he pulled her back into his arms, ,,Don't please your worries are mine too when we get to Dredfort believe me I'll help you" he assured her more gently and gave her a soft kiss on the hand as she shed her huff and gave him a reassuring nod as the young couple rode on towards Dreadfort.

She confessed her love to him once more as he played his harp while she leaned softly against him but soon her eyes closed in exhaustion and tiredness and she did not notice the loving smile of her betrothed towards her, ,,Sleep well my love" he murmured and he himself closed his eyes unaware of what was to come for them both in the coming moons.

Arriving at his home castle was as warm as it usually was for his family, his father gave him a contented look with a hand on his shoulder, his mother pulled him into a short embrace and yet warmth always emanated from her.

,,What a beauty you are for my brother surely an easy one to get you such skillful harp playing" commented Ramsay who had also greeted Domeric he liked his brother always wanted one but he felt the coldness and especially the rejection in the bright blue eyes of his younger half-brother.

Domeric put a hand to his fiancée's side and gave her his cloak, ,,Our interests have brought us together Ramsay and my harp playing is as much a joy as ever" the older man said and took his fiancée into the castle to warm up and show her around, the stables, the chambers, her room where all her things were, the hall where dinner was served a few hours later and the castle wall where she gave him a gentle kiss.

,,As cold as it is, you always carry your warmth to here," she said, tapping the spot where his heart lay and she saw his joyful expression as they looked at the cold white landscape together and he felt again how drawn to her he felt as she seemed completely taken by the winter, and though he sensed her insecurity, it was once again she who rose above herself and tried to fit in while even finding common ground with his father over falconry for at least a few moments.

But the best was yet to come as the betrothed couple made their way to the stables and he showed her a white mare, ,,She is young and strong and has never thrown anyone…and if you fall, you will fall softly in snow no harm will come to you" he promised and gently stroked her arm that she had once broken in the children's slates after her horse had thrown her, a fear that had never quite left her and Domeric promised to help her get over it.

He placed a wooden stool at her saddle, kissed the back of her hand and at her command helped her onto the horse, ,,That's it just hold the reins gently you see calmly" he said stroking the horse before taking her hand and stroking it over the coat with her watching with satisfaction as she slowly relaxed and even gave a happy almost relieved smile.

,,I'm still in the saddle that's good' she commented, stroking the pretty animal's neck as she tried to get a feel for riding again while Domeric mounted his stallion and rode ahead out of the courtyard onto the wide snowy fields where she followed him and the two rode slowly side by side at first.

He waited for her until she had the horse under control again and dared to ride on, ,,You're doing well my dear" he praised her and after a few more safe moments the horses trotted through the snow laughing and a little conversation had broken out between them.

They both rode on, barely paying attention to their surroundings until a sudden cry sounded and the mare and rider fell to the ground as the horse caught hold of a root under the snow and stumbled, ,,Are you all right, dear? Are you hurt? Should I call the master?" he asked immediately, jumping off his stallion and helping her out of the snow while freeing her leg from the reins so that the horse could get up without causing any further damage.

His hand moved along her head, afraid to see blood or another fracture as he heard her smile, tears of surprise and fear in her eyes but it seemed to be what she had needed, ,,I'm fine really thank you Domeric for showing me how to ride again" she said and he sat down with her in the snow all wet that it was cold, he felt her kiss his lips and she knew again of his care and warmth as they rode back to Dreadfort hours later holding hands.

Warming themselves in front of the fireplace in his chamber and wrapped in evening cloaks on furs, they lay in each other's arms and listened to Domeric's harp playing while suddenly there was a knock on the other door and Ramsay came in.

,,A warmed wine for your cold bodies, we don't want you to catch a cold," the bastard said and placed the silver tray on the floor next to them both while his eyes, just as bright as those of his half-brother's, ran over their bodies almost eagerly and Domeric's fiancée became a bit distracted.

,,Thank you Ramsay would you leave us now have a good night" he said and his half-brother left the two with a smile that drove the cold back into her body before the two of them took a rash of the wine ,,So we'll be warm again don't worry he's just well the harsh north I'd say but I'm with you I promise my heart" he reassured his betrothed and gave her another gentle kiss before the pair spent the night together in front of the fireplace.

It seemed that as long as they were together the otherwise quiet castle would come to life and warmth, his father almost smiling and his mother looking cheerful, but just a few months later the couple complained of stomach pains that they were unwell.

A couple who tried to carry on despite their illness managed to get through it with potions and tried to consummate the marriage but the only thing they had left was one last bloody kiss and overturned wine jars brought to them by a certain bastard.

From now on he would get all the beauty his brother had gotten, at least he was gracious enough to close the door behind him to pay his respects while Domeric and his beloved wife lay in each other's arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[gulnarsultan]

Targaryen wife reader x Yandere Roose Bolton headcannons

It's a big victory for Roose that he managed to marry you. Because most likely your marriage to Rhaegar should have been planned. (If you're close to his age.) He's probably done something for sure to marry you. So your marriage is not about fate. It all happened thanks to the plans Roose laid out. Most likely, he saw you from afar at the tournament and asked for it. Roose is the possessive species. You belong to him alone. You need him in Roose's thoughts. You cannot survive in this cruel and terrible world without it. Roose thinks he's the only man worthy of you. So he has a smug approach to it. His selfishness makes you angry or upset. His selfishness causes him to think first of his own interests and benefits. This sometimes causes controversy. He wants to control you. So she demands that all the strings in your life be in her hands. It follows you secretly or by reporting. He expects you to be an obedient wife. He will demand as many children as he can from you. Especially your first son Domeric is his favourite. Because your son Domeric shares the same eye color as you. He does not neglect to pamper and protect you. Their punishment will be isolation, manipulation and emotional guilt. He won't let you out of his castle of terror. There will always be guards following you. After House Targaryen is destroyed, its hold over you grows stronger. He likes to leave marks on your body. Nights often end with hot and sensual sex. Roose is obsessed with your beauty. He sometimes combs your silver-colored hair himself. He is dependent on physical contact with you. Your children, who are similar in appearance to you, will be Roose's favourites.

[alannybunnue]

Hey! Do you write for the Bolton's? If you do; ¿what do you think of Wife reader x Yandere Roose Bolton and Stepmom reader x Yandere platonic Ramsay? She is the mother of domeric and maybe for something she found about child Ramsay and how his father ( roose) ignore his existence so she decides to take him home and raise him as her child against the wishes of her husband. ¿How would things to play out for Ramsay? Because I think this will change a lot of things

Yes

I hate the Boltons in everyway, but yes.

I have the scenario in my mind of how it begins. We can continue developing this later.

->

"You will do no such thing"

You hear your husband not too far as you got on your horse to leave to the mill. The news of your husband's bastard tormented you enough.

Before you could leave, he stopped you for second - "Don't do this" - he said, even though he knew you wouldn't listen, just like in the day that your marriage to him was announced, you were stubborn.

You ran away.

Soon enough, you found yourself in the one place you never thought you would go, nor thought you would come for these circumstances.

The poor woman opens the door for you, she seemed shocked, with all reasons of course. Once inside, you immediately went to look for the child, stating your words clearly.

"I won't let Roose get away with this, you were put in this by his stupidity, you didn't deserve this." - as you find the baby, who at least 2 years younger then your son, Domeric, you pick him up to leave - "You will continue receiving money and supplies, but the child will be in my care."

The woman couldn't believe what was happening, but didn't stop you from taking the babe away.

Once you arrived at the Dreadfort, you didn't spare to look at Roose who waited for your return. While he almost begged you to return the child and leave it be, you only paid attention to the little one in your arms.

Soon you saw your own son, Domeric, as you knelt before him to show the babe.

"Dear, this is your little brother, Ramsay Bolton"

->

Now to how all of this dinamic works.

The reader in this is stubborn and that's exactly what made Roose fall for her, there are other reasons of course, but this is the main reason.

But after she took Ramsay as her son, their relationship deteriorated a bit on her side, because she feels humiliated by her husband's affair, not by raising a child that is not hers.

So...Ramsay will not grow with the frustration of being a bastard, but probably with the frustration of the second son.

So i don't think his personality will change much. He is a menace, but only when you are not around. Because when you are, he likes to act like the obedient poor younger son, clinging onto you for attention.

Roose and Domeric realized his scheme too soon and they almost hate him for it.

Also, Ramsay likes to pick on Domeric a lot.

[ourrootsgodeep]

demon on a leash (prologue)

prologue for my new ramsay x reader oneshot (possibly a series? don’t expect anything from me my parents already tried that

warnings: ramsay.

______

his father had banned him from being there, but ramsay had hidden himself in the upper balcony overlooking the rest of the hall.

he could see lord oakheart standing there, proud, tall, hair streaked with white. he was speaking to his father in a booming, deep voice, something about lumber and leather and furs. ramsay wasn’t listening. he was fixed on someone else.

lord oakheart’s daughter was standing behind him, proud and tall, just like her father. she looked to be about thirteen, same as he was. she was regarding ramsay’s half-brother, domeric, with an impassive face. ramsay, though, could see the slight hint of disdain in her downturned mouth. he couldn’t blame her. domeric was an idiot.

his father’s voice broke his study of her. “in the meanwhile, lord arron, my halls are open to you. lady y/n and yourself are welcome in the dreadfort for as long as you will stay.”

lord arron bowed in acknowledgment of roose’s courtesy. “i thank you, my lord,” he responded. “my daughter and i are honored to receive your courtesy.”

y/n spoke next, and though her voice was soft, ramsay could tell that even at this age, people listened to her. “you indeed honor us, lord bolton. i have often wished to see the dreadfort. it has such an interesting place in our country’s history.”

roose bolton let out a soft chuckle. “does it now? i would think a young lady would be less interested in the more… morbid aspects of my family line.” he leaned forward in his seat, his cold pale eyes so like ramsay’s gauging her face for a reaction.

if lady y/n felt sheepish or intimidated at his words, she did not show it. “we all die in the end. king or bastard, flayed man or whole, everything dies, and how or when we die is irrelevant. it’s nothing to be afraid of.”

her father nudged her quietly and hushed her, but ramsay… ramsay was enraptured. he decided then and there that he had to have her. he would do almost anything for her, he thought absently, as he stared down at domeric’s arm in hers and imagined what it would look like with no skin.

[ladyoflosgar]

So a while ago an anon prompted the below to @asoiafrarepairs:

Sansa/Domeric - He didn't die of illness and rescues her from King's Landing.

I have a longfic that revolves around this plot, knight of the dreadfort. The above is from Chapter 12, where the aforementioned rescue occurs.

She struggled a bit, and then stopped. He took a leg and braced it over hers, trapping her against him while the hand that wasn’t over her mouth fished for that precious thing beneath his breastplate. Having found the square of pink silk, he pressed it into one of her soft, small hands, took off his helmet, unhooked his leg from his and gripped her shoulder to spin her around, keeping her from screaming the entire time.

“Princess,” he whispered. “Lady Sansa. Do you know me?”

Her blue, blue eyes were as big as dinner plates as they flicked between his face and the favor she had given him three years before. Her gaze found the little flayed man atop the black stallion, lingered on it, and then raked upward to meet his own. She nodded.

He let his hand fall away from her mouth and gripped her other shoulder.

“You’re Domeric Bolton,” she breathed, and she looked like she didn’t believe it, like she was about to cry. “You kept this?”

“Over my heart and every day, my Princess.” It was true. He’d never parted with it.

“Someone came for me.” Her voice and lower lip trembled like drops of water on a leaf in the wind.

“I came for you,” he said softly. “I want to take you away from here. Back to your family at Riverrun. Will you go with me?”

[asoiafshippingconfessions]

Sansa and domeric...in my head he's always ve in the vale hiding with lord redford

[ladyviserra]

Bolton Bride | Ramsay Bolton

Pairing: Ramsay Bolton x Female!Reader

Summary: Ramsay visits the Rills and kidnaps you from your family.

Warnings: kidnapping, mentions of death

A/n: If you want part two of this story let me know! Pt

Part 2

The new Warden of the north became Roose Bolton, all of Westeros knew, not all of it cared, just the Northerners. It will only affect us. What does it mean for us?

" It means it's going to be worse than it already is. " Your father repeated your aunt's words. 

No one liked Boltons, your family despised them even with being a part of the family as well. Domeric Bolton, Roose Bolton's son was your cousin, your aunt, Bethany's son. He died a mysterious death.

It is said he was killed by Ramsay Snow, Lord Bolton's bastard son. The bastard wanted to be an heir, which he did become eventually. News of the new legitimized boy hopped to the ears of your family.

All of house Ryswell and Dustin weren't happy with some bastard earning a title of an heir, nor Domeric's death even though it's been two years now.

" The North remembers. " Your uncle Rickard's words. He spoke of his anger when his sister died. He cursed the now Lord Bolton in such ways that your mother covered your ears to not learn to say such bad words to someone else.

But he didn't curse him as much as he did his bastard a day after he arrived. A raven flew to the Rills in an early morning announcing that, Ramsay of House Bolton rides to the Rills. The reason? Not mentioned. Your aunt was informed of it and rode herself back to her homeland.

" What could that boy want from us? " Your father asked himself out loud with the whole family your aunt Barbery, your uncles Rickard and Roose, your grandfather, your parents and yourself around the table.

" Your daughter, that's what. " Lady Dustin's angered face pointed at you with her words. For a moment silence played in the room.

" Well, he can't have her. " Your father yelled, the rest of your family nodded in agreement. No one asked you anything about it. You didn't want to marry a Bolton, have the same fate as your aunt.

Four days after the letter arrived, so did the Bolton. Was he proud, oh he was, very much so. Your whole family shoot him glares which did not bother him at all. He was to be the Warden of the North, no one in his way, that's how he thought of it.

His icy blue eyes watched you, Barbrey noticed it, of course, she did. Pulling you closer to her side.

" See how full of himself he is. There is no way you are going to with or without him Winterfell. " She never liked the Starks, but the Boltons were never the better option.

" Lord Ryswell, good to meet you. " Ramsay shook your grandfather's hand.

" Lord Bolton, what brings you to the Rills? " He didn't waste his time, none of the Ryswells would, he wanted an answer fast.

" We shall discuss my wishes inside, I believe it will be more comfortable. " The same silence from before, danced around when you walked inside, no doubt you felt eyes focused on you. His eyes burned into your body shamelessly even after all of you were sat down.

" Lord Bolton, would you like to explain your visit? "

" Very gladly. " His eyes looked away from you and stopped at your father. " As you know, my father is now the Warden of the North, and I am his heir, my father sent me to you Lord Ryswell to ask for your daughter's hand in the marriage. " The last words made him eye you.

" I am sorry, but I don't think I can accept it. " Your father said seriously.

" And why is that? " The legitimized bastard asked interested.

" She is already promised to another. " Uncle Roose lied. You weren't betrothed, if Domeric haven't died it would probably be he who you would marry. In the lastest time, North doesn't have too many young Lords your age.

" Who is that lucky man if I can know of him? " Ramsay was seeing the untrue words.

" My son, Petyr Dustin. " Aunt Barbrey lied to his face. Lady Dustin doesn't have any children as her husband, Lord Dustin died early in their marriage.

" Mhm. " He hummed standing up. " Well best of luck to you, m'lady, I hope you find happiness in your marriage truly. You deserve it. " Former Snow gave you disappointing smile. " We'll take our leave. " And they left just as fast as they came.

Your aunt wasn't pleased with it, thinking he has something else in his sleeves, but your father and uncles told her that he will probably find some other girl to marry. Before the sunset, aunt went on to return to Barrowhills. It was over, we wouldn't be seeing him for a while. Wrong.

In the middle of the night, a noise woke you up. In your room, everything was quiet, outside of it you heard groans from men and then the door opened. Ramsay fastly walked over to you. You were only in your nightgown, covering yourself in front of the man that invaded your home.

" If you cooperate, no harm will come to your family. " He held his hand for you to take. Thinking it thought, if it wasn't for your family, you would kick and scream. Taking his hand, he gave you a small smile as a reward, covering you with his cloak. A hand over your shoulders to keep you from running away.

Outside were his men and some of House Ryswells knights, throats slit or organs butchered. It was a gruesome scene that made you gasp. He took his horse and made a gesture to get on the horse.

" Is my family safe? " You asked him, scared that he already slaughtered them too. His lips gave a tiny peck to your cheek.

" What husband kills his wife's family? " Chuckles escaped his and his men's mouth at that. His wife? So he was planning to marry you, but if your family didn't accept the offer he would take you himself?

You climbed on the horse's back, Ramsay following after you. You quickly rode away from your home as a tear fell down the same cheek that was kissed by Ramsay.

" Don't cry Lady Y/N. You were a good girl so far, don't ruin it. " His whispered into your ear followed by a kiss.

[pandorasboxrarepairs]

Drinks on Me, Beads on You Ch. 2 Preview

Drinks on Me, Beads on You Pairing(s): SansaxRoose/Stannis/Tywin, SansaxOthers (mostly one-sided) Fandom: Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire

Summary:  Roose and Sansa have finally moved in together…Just in time for King’s Landing’s celebrations for Carnaval Septem. Dragged into it, they and Sansa’s group of friends get into group drunken shenanigans that Roose, Stannis and Tywin (when he’s dragged into it) have to keep sane. If only Sansa’s ex Petyr would keep out of things and weirdo cults weren’t run by mad blood-haired secretaries. 

This was a mistake. Fuck, this was a mistake.

Roose’s eyes could not move away from the creamy expanse of Sansa’s exposed skin, or the way her curves were on display for him.

Where exhaustion had kept him from over thinking things the first night, even with Sansa using him as a pillow, last night had been a whole new ball game. They were together, alone, in an apartment. As spacious as it was, it was still a confined space that held them in, and he wasn’t blind to Sansa at all.

Hadn’t been for years.

To add insult to injury, his sons had texted him all night. Idiotic things, with Ramsay obsessively asking if he’d seduced Sansa yet, and then Domeric practically writing a full fledged erotic story like some fanfiction about him and Sansa! What is wrong with his kids?

Hell, he was cursed. He definitely did something in a past life that cursed him with Ramsay and Domeric.

[onthesandsofdreams]

Unexpected Knight

Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire Pairing: Sansa x Domeric Bolton Rating: T Summary:  "My lady," it's a man's voice. When she opens her eyes she finds a young man, around Robb's age, dressed all in black and standing at a respectful distance from her. He has dark hair and eyes so pale that it makes for a startling look, it does not help that he is dressed in black head to toe. He says nothing, but bows to her. "Or should I say, Princess Sansa." Words: 1412 Notes: I’ve aged Sansa up for this fic to work. Prompt(s): 20.- ‘There is only us’ from @fictober-event  and from this prompt from @asoiafrarepairs

Read @ AO3

Sansa only feels free in the Godswood of the Red Keep.

She can feel the walls inside closing in on her, a deep sense of sadness and dread that have her gasping for air. But here, in the sight of her Gods, of the same Gods her father worshipped, she feels safe and sound.

Her eyes are closed, but snap open in alert when she hears some quick steps coming her way. Frantically, she looks for something to defend herself with should it be necessary, but finds nothing. Closing her eyes, she sends a quick prayer to the Old Gods and the New that whomever it is, it not be Joffrey or Queen Cersei.

"My lady," it's a man's voice. When she opens her eyes she finds a young man, around Robb's age, dressed all in black and standing at a respectful distance from her. He has dark hair and eyes so pale that it makes for a startling look, it does not help that he is dressed in black head to toe. He says nothing, but bows to her. "Or should I say, Princess Sansa."

That makes her blink, no one in King's Landing will acknowledge that Robb has been declared a King beyond to make a mockery of it. But this man says it with the reverence a King's sister is due. "You have me at disadvantage, ser, for I do not know your name."

The man bows again, "Forgive me, Princess. I am Domeric Bolton. A loyal man to your brother, King Robb."

Her heart skips a beat for a moment, "Truly?"

"Truly my Princess, look." Domeric says and from the inside of his jerkin, he pulls two things, one is the emblem of the Boltons, the other makes tear fill her eyes. A letter from her mother.

She reads the letter quickly, and realizes that she is standing in front of her betrothed. A betrothal her mother made in a desperate attempt to get her away from King's Landing. Her hands shake when she is finished with the letter. "Thank you, ser." She gives him a watery smile. "You have renewed my faith. But I am afraid that you only found half of us. My sister has been missing since the day our father was executed."

Domeric frowns, "So, there is only us?"

"Aye, my Lord."

"Then, it is better that we make haste. Tell my Princess, do you have something that you do not wish to part?"

She shakes her head no, the idea and promise of going home is too alluring to weep for the things that would make her go back to her jail. "I do not. If you wish it so, we could leave right now."

"Then we shall," Domeric says. "Come then, my Princess, my men are waiting in a safe place and I have procured you hair dye so we can get away as far as we can without people identifying your lovely hair."

She stands, and for the first time in months she lifts her chin. "Lead on, Ser."

And Domeric does.

She whispers prayers to the Gods as they make a quick escape to a where Domeric's men are waiting. She prays for safety, she prays for an escape, she prays for no one notice she is gone until they are well beyond the city gates.

Safe among the sons of the North that have accompanied Domeric, she allows herself a few tears. Orders hot water for a bath so she can dye her hair and as soon as they have eaten something, they will be on their way. The dye is brown and she hates that she doesn't look like herself, but if this dye means freedom, she will tolerate it.

After she is ready and they all have eaten something, Domeric gives the order. She is safely sitting atop her own horse and they make their ways to the city gates. That is when she holds her breath and prays again. To her surprise, Domeric has it all under control and the gates open much quicker than what she could have predicted.

They ride, long and as hard as Domeric think she will handle it. They ride until the sun sets and only then does Domeric give the order to stop.

"Forgive me, Princess, but we must put as much distance as we can. We will ride again in a few hours, so please, rest as much as you can."

She takes his hand in hers, "There is nothing to forgive, Domeric. I understand, and I insist that you call me Sansa, we are to be wedded, after all."

Domeric's blush is easy to spot thanks to his pale skin. "As you wish... Sansa."

She beams at him. Who would have thought that a Bolton would one day rescue a Stark? Not her, but it strikes her as romantic and worthy of a song. Perhaps she and Domeric would have one.

And that is how they make their way to Maidenpool.

"Why is it that we are not heading to Riverrun proper," she asks once.

"Because your lady mother gave instructions to take you straight North. We could not safely board a ship from the King's Landing, but she arranged for a ship from Maidenpool to White Harbor."

And once more, she feels tears come to her eyes, her mother had not abandoned her. Her mother had not forgotten her, and now, Domeric and his men had come to get her. Yes, her price was to be her hand in marriage, but so far, she has seen little to complain about. He not another Joffrey, for that, she is thankful. "Very well."

*

The Gods seem to be smiling down to them, for they make it to Maidenpool and board their ship without troubles.

"Tell me, Domeric. How was it to live in the Vale?"

Domeric smiles, "Quite an adventure, I became good friends with Lord Redfort's sons. They became like brothers to me." Then, he grows serious. "But I must ask, Princess, why is that you flinch whenever a knight comes near you."

She inhales sharply, she had hoped that he had not noticed! In the end, she looks away and whisper, "Joffrey had me beat, every time Robb won a battle. In front of the whole court."

A beat of silence, then, an angry snarl comes from Domeric. Something so at odds as to what he has been so far, she near flinches. "That bastard! I wish I had known... Had I known I would have shown that bastard what my house words mean."

"And I'm glad you didn't," she says firmly. "Because it is likely that we would not be here now. I am safe, and I trust your honor to see me safe to White Harbor."

Domeric's face is still in a frozen snarl, but then, he gathers himself and nods sharply at her. Then, to her surprise, he kneels in front of her. "And I give you my world, Sansa. You will never have anything to fear from me. This I swear, to the Old Gods and the New."

She extends a hand and cups his cheek, "I believe you, Domeric. I do."

"And I shall strive to never let you down, Sansa and be worthy of your hand."

"You already are."

*

When they first spot White Harbor, she finally feels completely safe. Because this is the North, this is home. And Joffrey is so very far away and cannot hurt her. And should he try, she had no doubt that Domeric would have something to say about it.

That is when she makes her decision, "I would wed you in White Harbor," she tells him. And she means it, for during this time with him, she has found Domeric to be a true knight, someone who will not stand for her to be hurt. Someone who sings the songs she asks of him and someone whose desire she can almost see in his eyes. Good thing she wants him too.

"If you are certain, I'll speak with Lord Manderley."

"I am certain Domeric. I would be your lady and gladly so."

Two months into their stay at White Harbor, they exchange vows. Robb sends his congratulations and much to her surprise, her mother manages to come to see her wed. And while she misses her father, she is sure that he is watching as they exchange vows in front of the Heart Tree.

[theongreyjoyexchange]

fic: bad blood and burned castles

title: Bad Blood and Burned Castles recipient: @cafeleningrad characters/pairings: Theon/Domeric Bolton, Ramsay Bolton, Kyra, Roose Bolton, Barbrey Dustin, Original Character, Alannys Greyjoy, Asha Greyjoy, Robb Stark rating: R warnings: past abuse, angst, character death (but that guy won’t be missed) original prompt: Theon Greyjoy finds a place he can call home (you did say any place) summary: Domeric Bolton returns to his childhood home to find nothing as he expected. Theon can relate. a/n: I'm sorry this wretched thing is so long I got kind of carried away and there's tons of characters that weren't in the prompt and one i had to make up which i know is bad and wrong but there wasn't a canon one who fit my needs i hope you enjoy it anyway ao3/external link: here!