#ramsay when i caTCH YOU RAMSAY/

[athasliath]

man…. theon’s hotd verse would be such a different person compared to canon solely because. he isn’t tortured by ramsay,,,

[heavenbarnes]

I’m thinking about older bf Simon in some grey sweatpants after shower. Smelling nice and clean, warm and cosy on the couch. And the print of his flaccid cock is visible through the sweatpants 😵‍💫

fuuuuuck FUCK fresh and clean simon about to make me ACT UP 🫶🏼

it was standard for your older bf!simon to shower with the bathroom door open.

you’d queried it, leaning in the door frame watching him struggle to fit under the shower head, slightly obscured by the condensation on the glass.

“need t’keep an ear out, can’t hear y’when it’s shut”

and you never questioned it again. it was filed away with simon’s hatred for noise cancelling headphones and sleeping when you were awake.

it goes hand in hand with “i always know where you are”

so simon showers with the bathroom door open and you don’t complain.

hard to, when you can lay back on your bed and smell the wafting steam with his body wash hinted in it.

when you can turn your head and catch glimpses of the way the water ricochets off his toned body.

when it’s also an open invitation, if you ever wished to join him- he’d welcome you with open arms.

but it also meant, when you were on the couch watching something mindless- you could hear the water shutting off. knowing it meant that any minute-

simon enters the living room with water still dripping off the ends of his cropped hair. bare chested and glistening a little from a rough towel dry.

his hands are still pulling up his sweatpants, grey- the soft ones that feel nice under your cheek when your head is in his lap.

you can tell he’s not got anything under them, you can tell by the visible print that sits just over his left thigh. the one you’re trying your damndest not to fixate on.

simon slots in next to you on the couch, wrapping you up in his arms so you’re pressed to his chest. he smells like adidas after-sport, citrus and musk and inherently man.

you could bury your face in him.

he’s warm, relaxed, content and it’s the moment where you’re melting into one another a little- fitting perfectly together.

“we’re not watching this rubbish”

he breaks the comfortable silence, reaching over you for the remote- he’s been really into cooking shows lately.

and you’re just really into him, letting him commandeer the tv so he can catch up on his kitchen nightmares.

you think you fall asleep to the dulcet tones of gordon ramsay, but it’s probably more the heartbeat under your ear and the firm hand tracing circles on your back.

that’ll do it.

[vanillasweetpie]

spudsy’s shifts and dumbass rabbits (jax x reader)

i watched episode 4 and couldn’t resist writing this lil silly fic because i hate jax <3

you swear you’re gonna kill him.  

you don’t even care what happens after that, Caine can throw you in the void or force you into a therapy session with him, or whatever horrifying punishment his ai brain comes up with. it’d be worth it. it’d be so worth it if it meant shutting Jax up for five goddamn minutes. 

he’s been sitting at the counter, feet kicked up onto the register looking like he’s on fucking vacation, while you scramble around Spudsy’s kitchen. the fryer’s spitting oil, the soda machine’s doing that weird gurgling thing again

and Jax does nothing all shift except make snide comments about your “technique”, pretending to be Gordon Ramsay trapped in a rabbit’s body.  

“you’re gonna burn them,” he drawls, spinning one of the ketchup bottles like it’s a fidget toy, watching you flipping the fries.

you slam the fryer basket down harder than necessary and whirl around to glare at him. “maybe if you got off your lazy ass and helped, they’d come out looking better.”  

Jax snickers, tilting his head back to look at you upside-down. his ears flop over the back of the chair, and he grins widely. “nah, why would I do that when you’re doing such a great job on your own?”  

“Jax, I swear to #@?!—”  

“language, language!” he interrupts, wagging a finger at you. “what would Caine think if he heard you talking like that?”  

you grab the nearest ketchup bottle and launch it at him. and honestly, it’s more satisfying than it should be when it hits him square in the chest, splattering his black uniform with bright red.  

“oh, wow.” he looks down at the mess and then up at you, opening his eyes wide in fake surprise. “was that supposed to hurt my feelings? because it’s just pathetic, sweetie, really.”  

“pathetic?!” you’re halfway across the counter before you even realise what you’re doing, hands grabbing at his stupid clothes to yank him closer, practically face to face, however this damn bastard is taller than you, but you don’t back down.

Jax doesn’t fight it. in fact, he leans into it, daring you to say something else.

his stupid sharp smile only growing wider. “aww, isn’t it romantic. you’re starting to sound so obsessed with me, sweetheart.”

“obsessed with killing you, maybe.” your grip tightens on his shirt. Jax’s smile fades for a moment and his ears twitch what makes you think he might actually shut up.  

but no. of course not.  

“if i knew getting you riled up was this easy, I’d’ve started weeks ago,” his tone is so insufferably casual that you’re losing your temper.

you shove him back, harder than you meant to and he stumbles, nearly tripping over the chair he’s been lounging in all shift. you expect him to snap at you or at least throw some sarcastic quip your way, but instead—  

he laughs.

it throws you off just long enough for him to close the distance between you, his hands catching yours before you can storm off.  

“hey, you’ve got a little ketchup—” Jax swipes a gloved finger across your cheek, smudging red sauce where there definitely wasn’t any before “—right there.”  

you glare at him, opening your mouth to yell, but before you can say anything, he leans down and—  

oh.

it’s quick. as if he’s testing the waters, but the kiss leaves you frozen in place. his grin is back in full force when he pulls away, his eyes half-lidded. you stand there, dumbfounded, looking at his infuriatingly pleased face. the fryer beeps in the background and the soda machine gurgles again.

“there. now we’re even,” he says, stepping back and slipping out of your reach before you can punch him in the face.  

“you’re such a—”  

“Jax! y/n! get back to work!” Gangle's voice sounds.

you fucking hate him. probably.

[i-smoke-chapstick]

saw that you're in your got era so perhaps jealousy headcanons for the got or hotd characters? 👀 literally anyone from these characters - robb, jaime, margaery, oberyn, theon, cersei or ramsay, I'd love to see your interpretation on any of them ! ( or aemond, alicent, aegon, gwayne, OTTO !!, larys, daemon or mysaria for hotd, again whichever era you feel like it !!) and just for future reference, do you write for asoiaf characters or mainly the shows?

'LOVE CAN KILL, [jealousy! hcs]

-GOT / HOTD CHARACTERS X READER-

⋆ Characters ↬ Robb, Jaime, Margaery, Oberyn, Cersei, Joffrey, Ramsay, Tyrion, The Hound, Aemond, Aegon, Alicent, Gwayne, Daemon

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; jealousy, and how some characters deal with it ;)

⋆ tags/warnings. GOT and HOTD!characters x female reader. SFW! But naturally, some of these characters get a bit suggestive! Possessive behavior, canon typical violence, etc. Please send in more GOT/HOTD requests! Apologies this took so long, this is more characters in a post than I've ever done lol. Unfortunately I'm not super familiar with Otto, Larys, Theon, or Mysaria, so I decided to pick some characters I'm more familiar with! (Joffrey is my #1 favorite of all time, my sincerest apologies.) Whew, 14 characters ! For right now I'm only writing for the TV shows! (i've only read book 1, lol)

𝑅𝛰𝐵𝐵 𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐾

♫ “I wasn't thinking when I told you to stay.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

With Robb, it's all about the body language. And boy, he's horrible at hiding it.

He can have a hard time placing the feeling as jealousy. He was raised to be honorable. But feelings of...neglect run deep with him. Oldest child syndrome, if you will.

Which is why his jealousy most likely manifests in subdued, quiet behavior. Part of him will recognize he's being ridiculous, while another part of him is silently fuming. Fists clenched, he'll send you an intense stare as he watches you converse with another lord.

His emotions leak through his expressions. When he catches you staring back, his gaze will flit down, and he'll wait patiently for you're time. Or...in most cases...he'll march right up, placing himself between you and the man. Maybe a small, "I'll take it from here." If the lord is offering to help you with something.

A subtle touch on the small of your back. It's a small claim, a subtle "back-off."

A lot of his jealousy also transforms into protectiveness more than anything. He'll offer to accompany reader to places he wouldn't normally be concerned about. He's close by, and he's reminding her wordlessly, he's watching over her and any threat.

Finally, when you two are alone, will he drop down that guard of his. Covering up that burning pit inside him with casual humor, you can sense the underlaying seriousness of his voice in his light teases.

"You’re quite popular these days. Should I be worried that I’m not your only admirer?"

He certainly beds you, having something to prove. And only afterwards when you are in his arms, sweaty and warm from the candlelight, wrapped in furs...will he calm down.

"It’s not that I don’t trust you… It’s them I don’t trust. Some men don’t know how to keep their place." He'll whisper, holding onto you firmly.

𝐽𝐴𝐼𝑀𝐸 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “You don't know that you're in over your head.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Jaime's jealousy is burning. It's simply the way he was raised. And gods, you are his.

Numerous sarcastic remarks flow between the two of you and the man who he believes has essentially stolen your affections. His taunts are offhand, dry remarks, often directed towards his "opponent" or even you, if he's feeling bitter enough.

"I didn’t realize he was such a comedian. Maybe I should ask him for pointers." He'll say, with that sarcastic drawl. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to make me jealous. Not that it would work, of course." He chuckles, but his gaze is sharp.

Depending on the offense, Jaime's reactions differ. If you simply have an admirer, a few...well chosen words are directed towards them. His confidence allows him to not be too bothered. Maybe standing closer, clearly showing off to whatever poor soul thought they had a shot with you.

It's a different story if you are friends with the person involved, or entertain their advances even mildly or jokingly.

That's when the uncharacteristic tension comes out, full of small twitches in his jaw and curt, smug responses. His visible annoyance is uncontrolled.

We saw how he was with Loras when it came to Cersei. If he feels truly threatened, whether it's by another pretty boy, or just someone he feels could...hypothetically...have the upper hand...He'll corner them when you're off somewhere else. And give a small warning, from the Kingslayer himself.

"You seem to have forgotten who you're dealing with, so let me remind you." He leans in just close enough for his words to sink in. "Whatever you think you might be to her… you’re not. Let’s keep it that way, hm? I'd hate to see you make any...lasting mistakes."

𝑀𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝐸𝑅𝑌 𝑇𝑌𝑅𝐸𝐿𝐿

♫ “It was just too hard to push you away.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Margaery is smart with her feelings. She knows how to play the game, and play it well. Instead of showing her jealousy openly, she's a touch more composed than most characters on this list.

She recognizes just how precious you are, and admires that. She doesn't necessarily blame others when they become...attached to you.

When jealousy arises, she views it more as a small problem in need of being handled. And she knows how to handle things.

She embraces the graceful competition, subtly outshining anyone who seems to get in the way of her goals. Her goal being you're affection, of course. You're already hers, and she sees no problem in working to keep it that way.

This appears in gestures of strategic sweetness to keep you close, perhaps wearing your favorite gowns on her, and offering that charming smirk. She doesn't shy away from manipulating you, just a teeny bit.

"They’re certainly captivated by you. I suppose I’ll have to work harder to keep your attention." She teases, "Besides, who could ever compare to us?"

Her words carry a playful undertone, but she makes her point clear. Laughing charmingly, threading her arm through yours.

Very rarely does she think she's in any serious danger. She prides herself on being yours and knowing how to keep you on a tight leash. Though...if she feels genuinely worried, she expresses her feelings quite clearly but still gently. She reminds her lover of their shared goals, and all that they've built together.

"My, you do attract admirers easily, don’t you? I’ll have to start guarding you more closely." She gives you a playful look, though her touch on your arm will linger just a bit longer than usual.

𝛰𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑌𝑁 𝑀𝐴𝑅𝑇𝐸𝐿𝐿

♫ “Let me go, but you won't let me go.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oberyn doesn't feel insecure. How could he? He knows, deep down, that you're his. Jealousy isn't something he confines himself too, he views it as an ugly emotion, capable of getting rid of the true wonders love has to offer.

That being said...he is only a man. And he is fiercely protective. If anyone were to flirt with you and you were clearly uninterested, it would be a swift death, or at the very least, he'd make his point clear with a blow or two and a cutting edge remark. Especially if they are a Lannister. He enjoys you being admired, but only to a certain extent.

"Your efforts are wasted, they’re far too captivating for someone like you. I’d suggest you find someone more... suited to your charms." He begins, hand itching for his spear, "Consider this your first and last warning."

Yeah, he means business.

Most of the time, he spins the situation to show-off. Showcase his own passion and devotion to you. If it's simply a friend of yours, he may even offer them to join in. If not, he'll spend the entire night practically worshipping you, promising that he's the only one who could ever make you feel like this.

Similarly to Margaery, he teases you lightly.

"You have a lovely laugh. But I must admit, it’s much better when it’s for me alone."

Oberyn doesn't shy away from PDA either. It's that assertive reclaiming he seems to favor, pulling you close, whispering something that affirms your affections for each other. He'll revel when he watches the other mans face fall in dismay.

He might get cocky, and push it a bit far. By the time he's done, the 'competition' will be utterly humiliated and embarrassed. He'll be smirking at his own quips.

"I assure you, my friend, my lover favors...more substantial things." He motions to the poor mans crotch.

You're gonna have to give him a slap on the arm.

𝐶𝐸𝑅𝑆𝐸𝐼 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “Consequence of loving me can be cruel.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Cersei's jealousy is intense and multifaceted, to say the least. It manifests in a mix of cold fury and harsh threats, channeling that anger into much more controlling behavior.

Deep down, she is terribly insecure. Once another man or woman as your attention, and she catches on, she's coolly lashing out. And she catches on quickly.

At first she may appear indifferent, but if you look close enough, you can see the subtly giveaways. The way her lip curls, her nostrils flare, and her knuckles go white gripping her wine chalice.

If you're the first one to confront her, and attempt to reassure her, you'll save yourself some trouble down the line. Guaranteed, she'll deny it, but still make a passive-aggressive remark here and there. But eventually she'll calm down, edges softening.

That rare moment of vulnerability that you're not sure is manipulation or not. She'll look towards the ground, running her thumb over you're hand on her cheek. She'll sit on the edge of her bed, jaw clenched.

Now, it's a whole different story if you don't catch on to the early signs. If you don't manage to reassure or call her out in time, that jealousy implodes.

She may confront you first, anger bleeding through her. She runs on it. She may even threaten you, oblivious to the potential consequences her words might have.

“You think you can charm your way into my affections by paying attention to that little fool?" She's standing up, loathing distorting her features. Her voice raises. "Perhaps I should throw a feast in her honor. Let’s see how charming she is when surrounded by my people."

It's threats and threats and more and more threats...which can be especially worrying if the person she's jealous of is a friend of yours.

Almost every scenario ends with you having to comfort her, treading carefully with the words you say.

Now, when it comes to confronting the competition, she makes it very clear. Though, these threats are often much more impulsive. A swig of wine, and she gracefully moves towards them when you're out of sight.

A faux compliment or two, before she whispers, close.

“You’ll find that my guards are quite loyal to me. A simple command, and they’ll ensure you never breathe the same air as her again.”

It only makes her feel a bit better. But, regardless, she's smiling smugly, feeling proud of herself when the offenders face turns white.

𝐽𝛰𝐹𝐹𝑅𝐸𝑌 𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐴𝑇𝐻𝐸𝛰𝑁

♫ “Too much love can kill.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oh, Joffrey. I'm obsessed with him.

Yeah. He has the worst jealousy issues out of everyone on this list. It's baaaaad. It's a cocktail of insecurity, possessiveness, and entitlement. As someone who has been raised to believe he is above others, and has been coddled his entire life...it infuriates him.

It's the same feeling you get as a child, when someone steals one of your toys. You belong to him. He never grew out of that mentality, or that feeling.

Be prepared for plentiful outbursts of anger. He's a tantrum personified, especially if he feels disrespected. Insecurity grips him tight and refuses to let up until he's either been heavily reassured...or the other person is... taken care of.

And even then, after reassuring him for hours, it may not be enough. You know how he hired a knight to take out Tyrion in the Battle of Blackwater? Yeah. That person will be paid a little 'visit.'

When reassuring him, similar to Cersei, you really have to be careful what you say, or it might make the situation even worse. At that point, he's seeing red.

"I’m the king! You should be grateful for my attention, not chasing after scraps!" He's huffing, pointing to himself as his breathing increases. He'll look at you with an ice cold glare, nose wrinkled in distaste.

He might even force his hand around your face, harshly grabbing you. He looks dead into your eyes, voice clear and low. "You're mine. You belong to me." He's seething.

If he notices you simply looking at anyone else too long, he'll feel beyond threatened in both his masculinity and position as king. Especially if you laugh at another mans jokes, or simply attempt to be friendly with a commoner or lord.

"What’s so amusing? You’d think you’d find better entertainment than that fool." He mutters under his breath harshly, bad habit of picking at his fingers. He'll shuffle uncomfortably. He'll look to you expecting agreeance. It's 100% that mentality of 'Friends? You don't need friends. You have me.'

Yeah, he keeps the very blunt insults coming. Petulant name calling is not above him. Includes, but is not limited too, "Degenerates, Idiots, Commoners, Peasants, or Cretins" which he may describe as being "Stupid, Disgusting, Repellent, Sickening, or Revolting." He's got a LOT of those angry remarks in the bank.

While he may not directly confront the offender, (he doesn't have time for idle threats.) He has his own ways of dealing with them. And that is a public humiliation ritual, making a mockery of any rival. And if they disobey ANY whim of his, they're gone. That one scene with Tyrion at his wedding? That "Kneel!"? He's commanding the same of any man unlucky enough to have threatened his claim on you. Oh, and they're going to be his cupbearer.

Even if they do as he asks, by now his anger will have transformed into that renewed sense of cruelty. "You're fingers or your tongue?...Or I could just cut your throat."

𝑅𝐴𝑀𝑆𝐴𝑌 𝐵𝛰𝐿𝑇𝛰𝑁

♫ “You're gonna suffer now, whatever you do.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

His jealousy may not be as overtly intense as Joffrey's, but it certainly is the scariest.

In his own words, he prefers being an only child. That same kind of mentality certainly carries over to his relationship with you. He prefers to be the only one you see that way.

He loves a good game, and that's what this is. If anything, it's quite exhilarating for him. Though, he is a huge hypocrite. For a man who thinks jealousy is boring coming from you, he feels it quite freely.

Sees it as a means of asserting dominance, whether that be through intimidation or overt manipulation. He doesn't deny it like most characters on this list. When he's feeling jealous, he says it. It's a small warning for you not to go any farther, lest worse things occur for you or the perceived threat.

He'll go up to whoever you are talking too, saccharine and honorable smile on his face. He'll casually interrupt, introducing himself as Lord Bolton's successor. Despite his calm demeanor, there is a tightness in his face, and a wicked look in his eyes, that only you can recognize. It will make you shiver.

If the rival persists, he'll find it all too amusing.

"You're bold, I'll give you that." He says with a boisterous laugh, and you already know the mans fate is sealed.

Looks like his hounds will be having another meal tonight. He'll have his men go out looking for the man, and he'll question him more...privately, when you aren't there to witness his tortuous taunts.

But for now, his focus is on you, and your loyalty to him. When he excuses the both of you, his hand is gripping yours painfully tight.

By the time you're in his chamber, he's on you, ripping your clothes off with a harsh intensity and pushing you to the wall. His nose is twitching in barely kept anger, forcing you to look at him.

We all saw that scene between him and Myranda when she threatens to marry someone else, and it was not pretty. His eyes are borderline bloodshot, and he can't keep his hands off you or your throat.

"You're mine." He leans forward, through gritted teeth. It's better you don't put up a fight, because he'll be having you and your attention one way or another.

Que the numerous kisses and bite marks soon to follow. And he is not gentle when he's inside you.

You'll never hear from the flirtatious lord again...and if you do, it's only in the prayers of his grieving family.

𝑇𝑌𝑅𝐼𝛰𝑁 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “My love, you are not safe with me.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Now, Tyrion's jealousy is more subdued and introspective versus some characters on this list. He has a good sense of self-awareness, and he's intelligent to figure out what he's feeling quite quickly.

At first he'll dismiss it as nothing more than an annoying feeling of insecurity he attempts to cover up. But...it doesn't last long. Especially when someone else makes you laugh. Or when Bronn makes a taunt with a half smirk, that some other fancy lord has taken a keen interest in his lady. (Bronn, you instigator!)

As such, Tyrion resorts to his usual humor to deflect any unpleasant feelings he may have when he's jealous. Similar to his brother, these witty remarks are are subtle intimidation technique, meant to dryly convey his displeasure.

"Ah, the sound of laughter. How quaint. I suppose I’ll have to work harder to earn your amusement." He forces a smile, masking his discomfort. "I didn’t realize I was competing for the title of Court Jester."

These feelings of inadequacy manifest in more self-deprecating ways for Tyrion, given his anger is more controlled. He might opt to drown his sorrows, so don't be surprised if you catch him drunkenly waving his chalice around, doing poor impressions of the so-called-lord that had your attention.

This doesn't mean he won't confront the rival, though. Quite the opposite. While he won't seek the man out, (For his sake, he isn't privy to seeing the tall handsome lord in person. He's not a masochist.) If he happens to come across him flirting with you first hand, or sees him during a feast, he'll make sure to throw one or two gibes out there.

"Desperation looks unflattering on you, my friend. Perhaps you should tone it down a notch." He speaks carefully, nodding to Bronn as a subtle warning. "Or at least the best you can manage..?"

If the rival flirts with you blatantly and in front of him, I can 100% imagine him putting them down. After a flirtatious remark directed towards you, he'll make a dry comment, "Flattery is wasted on me, but do go on; I’m always entertained by those who think they can win my affection." As if it was directed towards him. Probably shuts the man up for a moment.

When the two of you are alone, he'd be very grateful if you could just hold him. Give him that reassurance he craves when his carefree facade breaks. That moment of vulnerability means the world to him.

𝑆𝐴𝑁𝐷𝛰𝑅 "𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐻𝛰𝑈𝑁𝐷" 𝐶𝐿𝐸𝐺𝐴𝑁𝐸

♫ “I need you to go, don't fight me.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Listen up, Sandor doesn't take shit.

Jealousy isn't an emotion Sandor is particularly used too. In fact, he didn't think he'd find anyone to love in his lifetime, so the feeling is foreign and unpleasant. And, like a mean dog, Sandor's first reaction is to growl.

He doesn't like it. Says it's constricting, and it pisses him off. Not just the pretty boy lord flirting with you, but the whole situation in general. Makes him feel vulnerable, and weak.

Naturally, his first reaction is to distance himself. He may avoid you, grumbling, spitting out vile and vulgar comments to get you to run with your tail between your legs. It's better for the both of you that way.

"You think they’re worth your time? Just a pretty smile to distract you?" He scoffs, shaking his head. "You could do better. But then again, you always choose to suffer." He motions at himself, and it's a glimpse of that self-depreciation he buries.

But you love him for a reason, and you know that won't end well. Best way to handle him when he's jealous is to be gentle, and to listen.

He doesn't want empty reassurances. He's complicated that way, even if they are genuine. He isn't one for flowery words or overt displays of emotion, so the best way to comfort him would be to give him some space, but continue to take care of him.

It will still frustrate him, but eventually he'll cave. He'll rejoin you, silently, eventually. Won't offer any apologies, but maybe a gruff nod, and you two will commence whatever it is you two have.

In future instances, he becomes much more brutally honest with how he feels. Doesn't sugarcoat it. If he doesn't like someone, even if they are a friend, he expects them gone- or he'll take care of them regardless. That kind of possessive behavior is just something you'll have to work through.

I can imagine him silently brooding if he witnesses someone flirting with you first hand. Typically his size and reputation is enough to scare whoever away. He's looming over them, eyes dark, and ready to defend what's his.

When you take your leave, he'll confront the person with a very explicit threat or two.

"If you don’t back off, I’ll find a nice dark corner to stuff you in- preferably with a pile of shit." Or, "Get any closer, and I’ll rip your tongue out and shove it down your throat."

𝐴𝐸𝑀𝛰𝑁𝐷 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ “Get swallowed by the weight.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Aemond has the most...complex jealousy out of everyone on this list. It's layered, and the outcome may be unpredictable. It's an emotional and volatile nature that's been building up for years since he was a child.

He often had feelings of jealousy for his brother, his nephews, etc. That trauma is deeply rooted in him, and it's hard to let go of old habits, given it's been present all his life.

You'll watch his head bow in distaste when you make small conversation with other lords. How his eye will gaze at you, almost warningly. His jaw will be clenched tight, and he'll avoid eye contact, looking off to the side in anger. He doesn't want to watch.

If it's a friend of yours, he can be a bit mean, questioning your loyalty a bit harshly.

"Friendship? Is that what you call it?" He speaks, angrily. A thinly veiled threat is directed to you, "It seems more like a prelude to betrayal."

He'll brood in the corner, silently waiting. That is, unless, he deems the man goes too far.

In the scene where he gets his eye put out by Lucerys, the conversation that starts before it happens pretty much sums his jealousy up. He's firm with his claim to Vaghar, and the same goes for you.

When Rhaena states that Vaghar was hers to claim, Aemond responds in kind, "Then you should've claimed her." And puts up a hell of a fight to prove his point. That same possessiveness carries over to his relationship with you. He doesn't back down. You're his.

He has no problems getting in between you and the man he feels threatened of. He offers a blunt threat.

"I could have you torn apart, limb by limb, and I’d sleep soundly at night. Be certain of that."

Guaranteed, mixed feelings of insecurity will rise to the surface. When you two are alone, he'll continue to brood silently, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and body language tight.

Please do reassure him. He needs it. His eye will soften, and he'll place his hand over yours, leaning into your touch. With a soft huff of an air, a final warning slips past his lips.

"Don’t make me remind you why I’m the only one worthy of you."

𝐴𝐸𝐺𝛰𝑁 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ “I wanna hold on tightly.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Aegon handles jealousy poorly, much like he seems to handle everything else.

It's like throwing gasoline on a fire. Once that feeling in his chest flares up, it's shown through erratic behavior, sarcasm, and attempts to assert his claim in juvenile, insecure ways. Unlike his brother, he lacks the restraint to simply brood.

No, be prepared for plenty of mocking comments directed towards the man he's threatened of, and showy displays to prove he's the better choice.

Everyone knows he is unpredictable and reckless, and possessiveness drives him to act out. He certainly overindulges to cope with his insecurity, (getting shitfaced) and will gladly push your boundaries to get your attention back on him.

Not to mention the belittling comments he'll make.

"Oh, is that who you’ve chosen to entertain now? I didn’t realize your taste had grown so dull."

Prone to acting overtly clingy, almost like a restless cat. He will attempt to slide over into the conversation, resting an arm around you, or even pulling you away. He doesn't care if it's 'improper.' He probably brings up his status, his bloodline, acting over-the-top.

He's also no stranger to outbursts. His temper may make him lash out impulsively, whether that be towards you or the man whose got your attention. If he's in a particular mood, be ready to deal with a screaming Aegon, threatening to slaughter and burn said rival. His fist will come down hard on the council table.

He also doesn't care if he's making a show of it in front of the council members. Que Alicent or Otto attempting to placate him. He needs to have a cooler head if he's going to be ruling the Seven Kingdoms, and this type of behavior isn't very becoming.

He definitely thinks he's owed some make-up sex, if only to quell the insecure storm raging inside him.

"You think they could satisfy you? Truly?" He says, firmly, as he steps closer. Anger is burning in his words, volume raising. "They wouldn’t even know where to begin."

And he plans to show you that he's right.

𝐴𝐿𝐼𝐶𝐸𝑁𝑇 𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝛰𝑊𝐸𝑅

♫ “I'm afraid I'll pull you over the edge.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Alicent experiences jealousy complexly, just like Aemond. It gnaws on her until she's at her breaking point. Rather than overt displays or confrontations, she attempts to employ more strategic distance...but it always ends up resorting in icy politeness.

She's making her displeasure known through restrained, pointed remarks. Out of duty and pride, she'll attempt to avoid direct confrontation, but she wears her jealousy on her sleeve.

I imagine her withdrawing from the situation at first, if not for anything but her own sake. Her gut reaction, out of insecurity, is to escape the situation. It honestly makes her feel sick.

Unless she's forced to stay...then she'll begrudgingly offer a tight smile. Her responses are carefully measured, and she slips into that role of "queen" rather than a lover.

A part of it stems from passive aggressiveness, and another part of it is purely subconscious.

Speaking of passive aggressiveness, she'll make some pretty cutting remarks, either questioning your loyalty or purposely feigning ignorance to the situation.

"Perhaps I’m mistaken. But I know loyalty when I see it. Or when I don’t."

It's an all bark, no bite threat towards you. But it serves as an aggressive reminder of your connection with her, and that you are now apart of her duties.

If she does interfere beforehand, she'll make indirect remarks about the person causing her jealousy, but will most likely frame it as merely her own curiosity.

Maybe just a touch of self-depreciation, unintentional manipulation. Years of Otto's techniques have rubbed off on her.

"It’s of little consequence, truly. I simply thought I was the one you preferred to spend your time with. I may have misjudged."

𝐺𝑊𝐴𝑌𝑁𝐸 𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝛰𝑊𝐸𝑅

♫ “Hurts to say it over, over again.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

In contrast to Alicent, Gwayne has no problem when he feels threatened to step in. He's a member of a powerful house, and a knight no less. Those two things have taught him to be prideful and honorable.

He will defend your honor whenever he deems in necessary, and there are no exceptions. He certainly has a flash of a temper, but he believes he's much more restrained than others, given his training.

If he thinks someone is crossing a line, he'll interfere. He'll position himself quite closely to you, making his presence known.

He offers the man a silent warning, offering a cool, assessing look. It would be enough to communicate his disapproval.

And if the man persists...well...they'll end up with the end of a sword pointed at them.

Similar to Robb, Gwayne's jealousy appears more in his heightened protectiveness. He insists on staying close for your safety.

"Do they need to be reminded that you’re already spoken for?"

Obviously, his noble pride carries on. If he gets pushed, his jealousy will show more openly, taking the man aside, and telling them that he is more worthy of her time and attention. Might throw in a comment about his noble standing.

He'll take you aside when everything is said and done, reminding her his intentions are honorable. Everyone else is just...unworthy.

"You may not see it, but I know men like him. If he truly respected you, he wouldn’t need to linger around someone else’s beloved."

𝐷𝐴𝐸𝑀𝛰𝑁 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ "No matter how you feel." Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oh boy, you'll have to keep this man on a tight leash when his jealousy flares up. It's as intense as he is, and he shows it openly.

He'll deny it, or embrace it, depending on the severity of the perceived offense. It's closely tied to that desire for power within him he can't seem to shake. Any affront to your loyalty is an affront to his own standing.

He switches from possessive protectiveness to outright hostility. There's really no in between. It's a raw and unfiltered fury that makes his hand shake and his eye twitch.

He doesn't tolerate rivals, and he's very upfront that he's the only one fit to be by your side. This comes through when he has you all to himself on his bed...

He'll confront the person whether you want him to or not.

"If they value their limbs, they’d remember you’re mine." He mutters casually, pacing around the room.

He carries that hard glint in his eyes. He may even mildly appreciate the sheer balls of the man stupid enough to attempt to flirt with you, but he'll shut it down quicker than anyone on this list.

"You’ve got a bold tongue. I wonder if I should cut it out..?" He'll look to you for permission. It's up to you if you wanna let the dragon loose!

[darkdevasofdestruction]

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

Small disclaimer: It's Ramsay we're talking about; The story will have heavy dark themes and scenes that might make you uncomfortable.

Summary: Ramsay's obsession has always been Lady Y/N Stark, since the very moment they were children, and up into their adulthood. Everything he does, he does for her. He would burn the whole world to see her in his arms again, desperately needing him again. Ramsay Snow was going to trample over every noble house known to Westeros, just to gain the right to claim the little she-wolf that encaptured him in her spell.

Y/N was looking down at Sandor Clegane, wearing a conflicted yet highly determined look on her face; He, however, was smirking, he was amused to the point of barking a laugh in her face. His large hands kept a strong grip on her hips to keep her comfortably on his lap.

"Anyone told you you're one crazy lady, little fox?" the disfigured man teased the red haired Stark lady; Her long nails were digging harshly into his shoulders.

"Yes." she said deadpan. "Let them say whatever. As long as I get out of here, I don't care."

"You want me to risk my neck, to get you out of King's Landing. That's bold, even for you." his fingers dug painfully into her flesh. "And you think giving me your maidenhood's gonna sweeten me into losing my life, is that it?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Sandor. I'm only here because you're the only trust-worthy person in this pit of vipers." she hissed at him. "My maidenhood is not yours to take, nor am I giving it away to anyone except the man I've been in love with since I was eleven winters old."

"Sentimentalism won't get you anywhere, girl." he scoffed, finally pushing you off him to tumble on the hard ground. "And neither will you fleeing. Everything is surveilled by the Lions."

"Robb is at the Twins. If I get there, I can return home to Winterfell. I am the oldest - Someone must take care of our home." Y/N got up, her long red hair a beautiful mess all around her. "Sandor, I need you. Please. What do you need me to do? Beg you? I will beg you, if that's what you want."

"Tell me who's that poor bastard." Y/N looked at him confused, but dragged a chair by the bed and sat down.

"Roose Bolton's bastard, Ramsay Snow." her voice was serene and casual. "You know, that crazy guy who gets off on flaying living people."

"I'm beginning to think someone slammed your head against a wall. Girl, you're deranged." she shrugged her shoulders, as if to say she doesn't care much. "Does anyone know about him?"

"My dad used to know I had a thing for Ramsay - Obviously, we didn't speak much about it. If mother found out I was head over heels over a lowly bastard from a disgusting family like the Boltons... Well, I wouldn't hear the end of it." she laughed dryly. "Mother would be very disappointed to know that all of her girls have terrible taste in men - Take Sansa for example, falling for an old dog like you... And, to be fair, I don't think Arya even has a taste for men at all, if you catch my drift."

"The little bird won't sing me sweet thrills." he huffed under his breath. "Convince me, and I'll think about helping you get out of your cage."

"Let's see... It all began many years ago, when I had just passed my eleventh year alive, and my father took me to the Dreadfort for business with Roose Bolton..."

The Stark party arrived on horse-back after many hours of uncomfortable riding through the snow and cold; Eddard was afraid his little girl would get ill - Cat had told him many times not to take her - But he couldn't refuse Y/N's pleading. She was eleven years of age, and behaving very much like how Lyanna used to. Y/N might favour her Tully side, with scarlet hair shining like red copper in the Sun, and light eyes that peered deep into your soul - But at heart, she was a valiant and loyal Wolf.

The forest hiding the Dreadfort was thick, yet beautiful, though in no way could it compare to the woods around Winterfell. It was a warm Spring afternoon, with the flowers in bloom; the sky was blue and embellished with a few lazy clouds, and the breeze was gently rustling through Y/N's long scarlet locks.

Lord Bolton was awaiting the Stark retinue; He took Ned aside to guide him into his council room to speak business; The servants were guided into the Fort to be houses; And Y/N remained trugging behind, looking around and exploring with the curiosity of a little fox.

It was then that she spotted that brunet runt with eyes like crystal icicles; He was staring intently at her from behind a tree. Y/N knew who that was - Ramsay Snow, the bastard of Roose Bolton. Her dad mentioned him, and told her to be nice to him. Of course she was gonna be nice to him - She loves Jon and treats him just like her younger brother, because that's what he is!

With a bow and quiver attached to her back, Y/N stepped towards the boy, extending her hand towards him. "You are Ramsay Snow, aren't you?" the boy looked at her, soulless, but grumbled affirmatively. "I'm Y/N. Want to come help me out with my archery?" he looked at her as if she was crazy; Y/N let out an impatient sigh, and turned on her heel. "You know the woods better than I do - I am sure you will find me once you remember how to move your feet. Left foot, right foot, and repeat."

She thus wandered into the forest, looking for a place to practice her archery; It didn't take long before she heard the noise of rapid footsteps approaching. Ramsay stood right behind her, his demeanour guarded, cold and wary - Typical for that of a mistreated bastard.

"See? I told you you'd find me easily." she let out a soft chuckle, turning her back to him and fidgeting with her bow.

The boy didn't answer immediately, unsure of how to respond to the noble girl. He’d been taught to keep his distance from highborns, especially someone like her, the daughter of the Warden of the North... But there’s something different about her, something that doesn’t seem to care about the invisible lines that separate them, about ranks or blood.

"How did you know who I am?" he asked in a low voice.

"What, Bolton's bastard son?" Ramsay flinched slightly at the word, but Katrina’s tone is curious rather than cruel. She steps closer, studying him with those sharp, Stark eyes. He nods, unsure of what to expect from her. "Dad told me to be as nice to you as I am with my own bastard younger brother. Jon is a delight to have around, truly - Too bad mother can't see that." she shrugged her shoulders lazily. "You don't talk much, do you?"

"I don't know how to speak to noble ladies... My Lady." he admitted begrudgingly. "Nobles aren't supposed to see a bastard like me."

"Well, you can start by calling me by my name - Y/N - And then, you can continue by coming with me and helping me out with my archery." she grinned, and before Ramsay could react, she grabbed his wrist and tugged him along, her energy infectious. Ramsay stumbled slightly, caught off guard by her boldness, but he didn’t resist. For once, he didn't protest to being dragged around - He enjoyed the physical touch from her.

"Where are you taking me?" the boy found himself speaking a little louder.

"Deeper into the forest! I need someone to help me practice. I can't hit anything if I don't have someone to fetch the arrows."

Ramsay blinked, bewildered by how casually she dismissed the divide between them. He’d never been treated like this before — Like he’s just another boy, not the bastard son of Roose Bolton. And yet, there’s something exciting about the way she was pulling him along, like he was a part of her adventure rather than an outsider.

They reached a small clearing in the woods. Katrina lets go of his wrist and unslinged her bow, not wasting any time. She lines up an arrow, but her aim is slightly off. The arrow flies past the tree trunk she was aiming at and disappears into the underbrush.

"Damn it!" Y/N stomped her foot impatiently. "This is all Robb's fault! If he hadn't told on me, I would have been able to train with Theon!" she whined so cutely, the bastard thought with amusement, watching her look around aimlessly for that arrow. "Great, it's lost. Only four left I guess." she grumbled to herself with resentment.

Ramsay hesitated for a moment, before rushing toward the underbrush. He found the arrow easily enough and returned it to her, watching as her eyes widened in awe.

"You found it - And so easily! How cool!" no one had ever praised him before - It felt really good. "You know how to shoot?" he nodded his head. "Can you teach me?"

The boy stepped to her side, raising her arms up and placing her in position. Without even realising, his hands lingered on her body; He was enjoying touching her so much, and she wasn't protesting, too focused on holding the bow and arrow properly with those small, delicate hands of hers. She was so very cute, he thought to himself, as he positioned himself in a way that almost engulfed her whole.

"You’re holding it wrong." he muttered into her ear. "Follow the trajectory of my finger - Focus on the target and hold the tip of the arrow a little above the spot you want to hit. Draw the string with an inhale, and release with an exhale." he then fixed the angle of her drawing arm. "Boys won't tell you this, but girls have this small curvature of the arm - To aim properly, you'd have to arch your arm like this... And it will improve your accuracy." he then kicked a little at her feet, getting them in position. "Posture is half the work; Stand straight... And release."

With all points ticked, Y/N released the arrow, and lodged itself close to where it was supposed to reach; It hit the tree trunk, which was all that mattered for a beginner. "Wow! Robb will be so jealous when I beat him at archery next time!" her voice went up cutely as she chirped with excitement, almost bouncing on the spot with glee. "Thank you, Ramsay, thank you!" huh... She thanked him. What a peculiar girl.

"Don't thank me until you win." he teased her. "Try again - Without my help this time." that comment stopped her in her little joy party. Right, Ramsay won't be there to help her. Damn.

Regaining posture, Y/N drew the bowstring back, feeling the difference in her stance. She released the arrow, and this time it hit the tree trunk with a satisfying thud. She did that, all by herself! She grinned, turning to Ramsay with a look of triumph and victory.

"Was that cool?!" was she asking for validation - From him?!

"Yes, My Lady, you did well." she didn't seem to notice the way he called her; She was far too absorbed into her success and practice.

Ramsay smiled for the first time in his life; a small, hesitant smile that Y/N almost missed - But she caught it, and something about that moment made her feel like she’d cracked through a layer of ice.

For once, the boy felt at ease around another human being, even if that person was an eleven year old brazen noble lady who tried to best her younger brothers at silly things like archery and swordsmanship. Wasn't she supposed to learn embroidery and other girly things? Well, now that he thought it over, Ramsay was sure most noble Lords wouldn't take their daughters with them on delegations; They'd take their sons, right? It only meant Lord Stark loved his daughter very much, he noted. Not that he'd know what that was - Surely, the little haughty thing was going to forget all about him.

As the sun began to set, Ramsay realised he had to escort the young lady back, before either her father worries, or his father thinks he murdered her. That bloody monster - He hated his father more than he hated anyone alive. He was going to get the most miserable death there is.

For dinner, however, Ramsay wasn't allowed to sit at the table with the nobles; Y/N's mother also didn't want Jon to sit with the rest of the children... So in that regard, she could understand the miserable, spiteful look on Ramsay's face. It was Y/N and Robb who begged their dad to allow Jon and Theon to eat with them... But Y/N was afraid of Roose Bolton and his terrifying icy glare - He was empty, and ruthless, just like a harsh blizzard.

In a way, Y/N was glad they'll only be staying one more night in this awful place... But she would dearly miss her new friend. She wonders if she'll ever see him again - Hopefully, yes!

The night settled swiftly over the cold stone halls of the Dreadfort - The place was deathly silent, save for the scary howling wind and the occasional flicker of torchlight casting long, terrifying shadows all around.

Ramsay was lying on the bed, half-asleep, and thinking over the events of the day - His mind was obsessively settled on the young noble lady who treated him so well, who smiled so sweetly at him... Who felt so good in his arms. He loved how she dragged him all around, and grinned so enthusiastically; How she thanked him for helping her with archery... In his perverse mind, he wanted to bury his hands in that gorgeous mess of long red hair and pull her into his arms, never to let go ever again; He wanted to squish her in his arms until she explode, that's how cute she was; He wanted to slam his lips against hers and kiss her until she had no more air in her lungs, and her body was bruised and imprinted with his hands all over.

Not once did he expect to hear the heavy door of his sparsely furnished cold room creaking open, revealing the very girl he was fantasising over, wearing a thick nightgown and holding tightly a fur-lined cloaked draped over her small shoulders; Her wild hair was even more tousled than before.

The air is cold, a reminder of the unforgiving northern weather. Ramsay’s small, sparsely furnished room is dimly lit by a single candle on the bedside table. She waited for a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, before walking in - The boy, already on edge, bolted right up, startled by the sudden intrusion. His first thought was that an assassin was trying to get him, or his father wanted to beat him half to death -

But no. It was the object of his obsessions. Y/N stepped forward, letting the dim light of the fireplace reveal her nervous face. The boy's stiffness melted away, and he leaned forward to look at her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice as cold as that of his father.

Y/N offered a small, sheepish smile, pulling the cloak tighter around her shoulders as she moved closer to his bed. "I don't like sleeping alone. It's cold and scary here." she said, moving her bare feet closer to the bed. "Can I sleep in your room... Please?"

Ramsay blinked in shock, still processing her presence. It was not every day that a noble’s daughter sneaked into his room in the middle of the night, asking to spend the night. He shifted, making space on the bed as Y/N climbed on... The sheep walked right into the wolf's den.

"I thought noble ladies weren't allowed alone in a room with a boy - A lowly bastard, no less. Who knows what I'll do to you." she looked at him all confused and innocent - Of course she had no idea what he was talking about; No one tells noble ladies what men want to do to them... How they want to ravage them...

"No one has to know I am here." she smiled sweetly. "Besides - I had something for you." all of his wicked thoughts dispersed on the spot, thinking what it could be that she brought - For him! He felt a weird warmth spread through his chest - And much below also; He watched attentively as Y/N revealed a small tray filled with desserts from inside her cloak - All the sweet desserts a bastard son like him wasn't allowed to eat, from the dinner he wasn't allowed to attend.

"I am sorry... Your father scared me too much... I was too much of a coward to ask him to let you dine with us." she said in a tender, guilty voice, placing the plate on the bed for him to try out the cakes. "At home, mother doesn't want to see Jon and Theon, our ward, eat with us... So I and Robb begged dad to let them eat with us, and he agreed." she messed up her already rousled hair. "Forgive me."

Ramsay looked deep into her eyes, making her look away with a blush; She didn't seem to like holding eye-contact, he realised; He was intimidating her with his usually cold and empty expression - Just like his father. She was afraid of his father - And rightfully so; But he didn't want her to be afraid of him too; He wanted Lady Y/N to like him, to love him, to want him and only him.

"It's a man's job to protect his woman, Y/N, not the other way around." he let out a small, sardonic chuckle. "I can't blame you for being scared of my Lord Father. I know he can look rather... Intimidating."

"But... It's not right... And regardless of the circumstances of your birth, you should not be treated any less. You deserve better than this." Ramsay's body grew ever hotter the more she spoke, and were it not for his self-control, who knows what he would have done to this little fox girl. She was far too cute for her own good... Far too nice... And nice girls always end up the worst, because of monsters like him.

But it was fine. He was a monster, but he would protect her. His mind was settled - Y/N was his, and only his.

"Are you not cold?" she asked all of a sudden; He had forgotten he was wearing no shirt, and his body was in full view. She was worried about him, how cute of her.

"I am a man of the North, Y/N. This is how I sleep every night." he let himself fall back on the bed, casually eating some of those little cakes. "You're just cold because you're a girl, and you're all frail and mellow. You need a man's heat to keep you warm through the night." he ended with a cocky smirk addressed her way.

"Is that so?" she hummed softly. "Prove to me that you are right, then." how cheeky she was, Ramsay thought to himself, watching with shock as the little vixen laid herself so carefree in his arms; Her hand was placed comfortably on his shoulder, and she nestled herself on his side. "Keep me warm."

"What a playful little minx." he scoffed, watching her so cutely clinging to his body. He reveled in the silence broken only by him enjoying the cakes she brought over, and soon enough, in her rhythmic slow breathing - She had fallen asleep so easily, he was truly mesmerised. She was so cute and little compared to him, he realised once again.

As the candle flickered and the night deepened, Ramsay stood awake for a little while longer, his mind racing with wild thoughts and feeling he's never experienced before. Eventually, however, the warmth of her presence lulled him into a deep, dreamless sleep, yet holding a small smile of triumph on his face.

The very next day, early in the morning, Lady Y/N sneaked out of Ramsay's room and went back into her own so no one would suspect a thing. She received breakfast in bed and her maid helped her dressed and get ready for another exciting day spent with Ramsay.

This time, the bastard thought he'd show off - He brought her to the kennels to his the hounds. It was his idea to raise dogs to hunt and guard the place and what not; The kennel master was a middle-aged man full of experience... But his daughter was an annoying little girl around his age. She wanted to appear strong and rough around him... To show off. Why, he couldn't quite understand - He was pretty sure girls this age weren't so interested in boys and their bodies - Unlike boys wanting desperately to see girls naked.

Lady Y/N was cheeky, yes, but she was gracious also; Myranda, on the other hand, was a disgrace... A disgrace that Ramsay loved to humiliate. Unfortunately for him, it seemed that she also enjoyed that kind of treatment in a rather profound way.

The kennels were dark and chilly, filled with low rumbles and growls, and the smell of straw and wet dog fur. The light filtered through narrow, creaked windows... Y/N didn't think it was a nice place for dogs to stay at, but at least they were protected from the snow, wind and cold outside.

Much to Ramsay's dismay, Myranda was there, tending to the dogs and snapping at them every once in a while; She wasn't stern - She was harsh and cruel; The exact opposite of Lady Stark, who had a natural affinity for animals, and the gift of warmth and compassion to all living beings.

With a protective arm holding Y/N firm into his chest, he showed off his dogs; Most of them were females, large, with long fur, and highly aggressive. "What do you think about my bitches, Y/N? They make the best hunters, not the mutts." he spoke cockily. "And they know to obey only their master."

Y/N's visage was tender and soft; With no fear, she approached one of the dogs who had just given birth, and her puppies were sucking at her teats. She knelt by her side; The dog's menacing growls all but dissipated once she sniffed the lady's hand, allowing her to pet her head.

"What a gorgeous mommy you are, darling! Oh, but you must be cold - Your little ones too!" Y/N took off her cloak, draping her mother dog nicely in it. "There - Isn't it better? Nice and toasty!"

Ramsay watched the interaction with a mix of shock and fascination - He was so used to commanding the dogs through fear and dominance, that he hadn't expected the dogs to listen so quickly to a gentle word. Was it the Wolf's blood coursing through her veins that made her a canine whisperer? Or was it simply that sweet voice of her that bewitched even him? "I’ve never seen them act like that. They usually tear anyone apart who gets too close."

Y/N smiled sweetly, scratching the dog behind her ears, completely at ease. "They’re just like people, but trust-worthy and reliable. If you show them kindness, they’ll return it. They’re not so different from us, really."

Before Ramsay can respond, a harsh voice cut through the air. Myranda, holding a leash, stood at the other end of the kennel, glaring at Y/n with undisguised jealousy. She tugged on the leash, yanking a dog that was already straining against her rough grip. "They’re not pets, they’re beasts. You can’t trust them with soft words, or they’ll turn on you. That one already bit me once."

The dog on the leash cowered, her tail between her legs as Myranda yanked it towards her. Y/N frowned, rising to her feet. The bastard didn't think even a small, little girl like her could hold such an undeniable presence and imposing aura. "Maybe if you weren’t so harsh, they wouldn’t bite. They’re only reacting to how you treat them."

Myranda’s face flushed with anger, her grip tightening on the leash. She sneered at Y/N, her eyes dark with resentment and spite. "What would you know about it? You’re just a spoiled little brat who doesn’t understand anything about the real world." How dare that obnoxious slut speak like that to his darling little fox? She was his - His only - And no one was allowed to treat her like this. Ramsay, sensing the tension, steps forward. His expression shifts, a cold smirk curling his lips as he looked at Myranda, enjoying the sudden shift in her demeanour; Immediately meek and pathetic. It was time to put her back in her place.

"Watch your tongue, Myranda. What's the filthy peasant daughter of the kennel master, compared to the Wolf Lady herself?" he hissed at the girl who immediately went quiet; She flinched at his harsh tone, her eyes were wide and hurt. She was used to his cruel streak, but it still stung in the sweetest way... But to be scolded like that in front of that little whore...

"I... I didn’t mean anything by it, Ramsay. I just—" she was at a loss for words; Her mind was empty as always, the boy remarked spitefully.

"Didn't mean anything, you say - Any other noble would have your tongue for speaking ill of Lady Y/N Stark; You should fall on your knees and seek forgiveness. She is graceful, don't you think? If it were me, well... We both know what I like to do with disobedient cunts like you, don't you, Myranda?" his gargoyle eyes stared emptily into her own tearful eyes; Somewhere lower, she noticed the subtle way the bastard showed off a small knife that she knew very well was used to flay. She gulped, hanging her head low, and trembling pathetically. "I'm waiting, Myranda - Where is that apology?"

As Myranda bit her lip, holding back the tears of her weakness, Y/N sighed, walking in front of her; Though Y/N was smaller than her, she still placed her hand gently on her hand. "It's fine - She's not wrong. I couldn't possibly be knowledgeable in dogs than someone who was raised in the arts of dog-raising. The only difference is the approach - I have a different approach in caring for my animals, and it has proven far more reliable than ruling with an iron fist." her voice was soft and tender. "Raise your head. No need to ask for forgiveness. Just make sure they are all well taken care of." with a graceful twirl, Y/N turned to her friend and hooked her arm to his, guiding him out into the forest.

"If I was in her place, I'd have shot you when you turned your back at me." he grumbled harshly under his breath.

"She wouldn't have dared, and neither would you - Not for as long as I am Lady Stark, and mine own Lord Father is here, on the very premises... Not unless you want to meet a fate worse than death." oh, that wicked smirk of her, so different than anything sweet and tender she embodied thus far; The twisted grin of a rabid fox, not the sweet smile of a flower.

"What would you know, the little flower knows how to play to her political strength. How adorable." he huffed, pulling her into his side harshly. "Politics aside, you are still just a frail little thing that can break so easily... It would be a pity if anyone did anything to hurt you..."

"So what, you are saying you want to protect me?" she scoffed at him; Though her question was genuine, and his answer even more so.

"Yes." once they were deep into the forest, he held her in a painfully tight embrace, his face buried in the crook of her neck; She smelled sweet, like honey and flowers... It only made him want to taste her even more. "Always, and forever."

Just like the previous night, Y/N had snuck out of her room again, her small feet padding silently across the cold stone floor. The Dreadfort, with its bleak atmosphere, had never bothered her, not with Ramsay nearby. Tonight, though, was different. It was her last night here, and the thought of leaving him behind made her heart ache in a way she couldn’t quite understand. Ramsay was her friend, and though the Dreadfort wasn't too far away from Winterfell, it was unbecoming of a young Lady to go out of her way to visit a bastard... She wouldn't be allowed to.

She slipped into Ramsay’s room, finding him lying on his bed, shirtless, his dark eyes gleaming as he watched her approach, just like a predator seeing delicious prey walk willingly inside his lair.

“You’re not supposed to be here, little fox.” he drawled, the nickname slipping from his lips with ease.

Y/N rolled her eyes, though a small pout formed on her lips as she climbed in bed next to him. “I don’t care. It’s too cold in my room, and I don’t want to be alone.”

Ramsay smirked, propping himself up on one elbow. He was shirtless again. “Afraid of the dark, are we?” His tone was teasing, but his eyes held an intensity that belied his playful words.

She stuck her tongue out at him but nodded nonetheless, crossing her arms over her chest. "I am used to sleeping with my siblings."

"Fine, fine, little rose, I won't tease you about it - After all, you've come to seek my protection; How can I tease a lovely little lady such as yourself." she blushed softly at her new nickname, looking away but said nothing. “You know, sweetling..." Ramsay began, his voice dripping with mischief. “Did you know there are things that boys and girls do together when they’re older. Things you wouldn’t even imagine.” he leaned closer to her body, his bare chest against her back; His hand found itself playing with a velvety lock of red hair - It was quite addicting. SHE was addicting.

Y/N turned her head a little to look at him, her brows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean, Ramsay?”

His grin widened, enjoying the way her innocent mind struggled to grasp the meaning behind his words... His intentions. “Oh, nothing you’d understand now...” he said, his tone teasing. “But one day, when you’re older… I could teach you.”

Y/N tilted her head, still perplexed. “Teach me what?”

Ramsay leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “What boys and girls do together when they’re alone. It’s something… Special.”

She blinked at him, her confusion deepening. “Like playing games?”

He chuckled, a dark sound that made her shiver despite the warmth of his presence. "I suppose... A game only for grown-ups.”

Katrina pouted, feeling as though he was making fun of her. “I’m not that young, Ramsay. Mother said I am old enough to flower soon - That makes me an adult in the eyes of the noble families.”

He reached out, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear, his touch lingering a little too long. “And when that time comes, sweetling, I’ll make sure you know everything.”

The thought of Y/N flowering soon... The thought of making her his own... It made his body all hot and greedy. Some day, when she becomes a woman, he wanted to be the one to claim her; Her one and only; The only man she ever looks at. But he was a bastard, and she was the eldest daughter of the Stark Family... How the hell could he make her his, forever?

It was a maddening thought... That his bastard label would keep him away from her. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. There was no way any man would be capable of taking care of her the way only HE could. No one could make her as happy as he can. No one can understand her the way he does.

She stared at him, unsure of what to say. There was something in his tone, something she didn’t quite understand, but it made her feel uneasy... But also, enticed. Curious. Addicted. Still, she trusted him. He was her friend, after all... And will forever be her friend... Whether he wants to or not. What Lady Y/N Stark wanted, she got, even if she had to force the hands of fate to achieve her goals.

Ramsay, noticing the uncertainty in her eyes, decided to push her just a little further. “You should just enjoy being a little girl, for now, all innocent and pure like a dove. Don’t worry about what happens when you’re older.” he hummed, his low, husky voice, whispering in her ear, making her shudder and blush. "I'll take care of everything."

Katrina huffed, turning her face away from him. “You’re always saying things I don’t understand.”

He laughed softly, the sound sending a strange thrill through him. He sneaked his arms around her body, pulling her into his chest; One hand was holding strongly onto her small body, while the other held her jaw, firm but gentle. “Noble men don't know horseshite about these things - They're all stupid, but have the pride of lions and cockiness like no other. They think they know the game well, but they are shamefully bad... And without an experienced man to teach them, you, noble ladies, are all cute and confused, losing the game...” ah, tsk tsk, bad Ramsay, he was talking too much when he shouldn't... Not now.

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance. “You’re just trying to confuse me.” she huffed, quite like a brat, getting out of his clutches and drawing the blanket over her.

Ramsay watched her for a moment, his smirk fading as he realized she was serious about ignoring him. She couldn't ignore her. She wasn't allowed to. She was supposed to look at him with those beautiful eyes of hers - To look at him, and only him.

The silence stretched on, and something dark and possessive flared up inside him. He hated being ignored, especially by her. Desperate for her attention, he threw the blanket off of her, pinning her down on the bed before she could react. He straddled her waist, his hands holding her wrists above her head as he loomed over her.

Y/N gasped in surprise, her wide eyes locking with his - Finally, she was looking at him. For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them charged with something neither could name.

Ramsay’s smirk returned - He enjoyed looking down at her like that, her face all innocent and confused, so damn precious. "Ramsay...?" don't talk to him in that sweet voice... Don't... He'll lose control... He will...

To stop his own wicked thoughts and urges, he started tickling her sides mercilessly. Y/N squealed, her laughter filling the room as she squirmed beneath him, trying in vain to escape his grasp. This wasn't any better, he noted; It only made him more desperate to touch her, to hold her... To...

“Ramsay, stop!” she begged, her voice breathless with laughter - He only tickled her harder, delighting in her helplessness. There was something so special about ignoring such lovely pleas.

In her desperate attempts to defend herself, Y/N’s nails raked across his arm, deep enough to draw blood. Ramsay hissed at the sharp sting, letting out a surprising sound of pleasure... Surprising even for him... but he didn’t stop tickling her until she was breathless and teary-eyed from laughing and her body aching for freedom and mercy.

Finally, he relented, looking down at her with a mixture of amusement and something darker... Victory, triumph... Y/N panted, her chest heaving as she caught her breath - Yet her eyes widened when she saw the red lines on his arm, painting his pale arm a lovely shade of crimson red.

“Ramsay...! I’m sorry - I'm so sorry, I didn’t mean to!” she shot up, her voice small as she reached out to touch the scratch she had left.

Ramsay caught her hand, his grip firm but not painful. He looked at the blood, then at her, a strange expression on his face. “It’s nothing.” he said, though the intensity in his gaze made her heart flutter with unease. “Just a mark... A precious little reminder.”

“A reminder? Of what?” she asked, confused, watching him lick the blood leaking down his skin.

His smirk returned, though there was something almost possessive in his eyes. “That you, little Kitten, are all mine, and only mine; Even when you leave, you’ll still be mine." he wiped some of the blood his his thumb, and unexpectedly, he pressed it gently against her bottom lip - Pink turning red - Then a little inside, touching her tongue. "You want us to be together, don't you, My Lady?" he got closer to her face, now both hands cupping her small face carefully. "Always and forever."

"Yes... I want us to be friends... Forever." he wanted to kiss those plump dewy lips so bad, but he couldn't; Not not. She was driving him crazy... A twisted child with nefarious cravings and desires... And all his obsessions channeled into a single being... A precious little kitten who loves to scratch him. "Always and forever." he kissed her forehead gently, almost as if he was sealing an unspoken vow between them.

The bastard of Dreadfort wasn't happy to see his cute little kitten leave; But he couldn't do anything about it - Not yet. He lingered in the back, far away, and watched as her horse disappeared into the horizon. He knew it was going to be an awful day for him. He just knew.

The atmosphere was terrible all around the fort, heavy with the chill of winter and the unspoken tension that has settled over the castle. Ramsay remained in his small room, reflecting on the recent visit, the fleeting moments of warmth with Lady Y/N still fresh in his mind.

Every time his mind lingered back on their closeness, his body grew all hot and restless; He felt himself going crazy, needing to touch himself to relieve the pressure building inside his stomach; His core was all knots and ache.

He couldn't though... He couldn't... He had to hold on... It wasn't night yet, and he risked anyone barging inside his room... But he needed her so badly... Her scorching touch on his ice-cold skin... Those sweet, soft rose petal lips on his rough, chapped ones... Her small body, all cute and frail under his own... At his mercy...

His rapid thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching his room. His heart quickened even more, a sense of dread creeping in. He knew what was going to happen, and he dreaded every second of it.

The door opened, and Roose Bolton stepped inside, his expression as unreadable as ever... But Ramsay knew better than to trust the calm before the storm.

"Do you have anything you wish to tell me, Ramsay?" those harsh eyes bore silently into him, carving his heart out.

"No... Father." he muttered under his breath, getting off the bed and standing in front of his father, his head hung, but jaw clenched in anger and humiliation.

"Is that so?" the boy remained quiet. "I’ve heard... Things, Ramsay. Things I don’t like."

Ramsay tensed, his eyes meeting his father’s cold, manipulative gaze. He knew what was coming, and though he’s experienced his father’s wrath before, the dread never really faded. He tried to stand taller, to show no weakness, but the apprehension was clear in his voice.

"Lady Y/N wanted to talk to me. She was bored with no child her age around, so she dragged me to be her companion. I couldn't refuse the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark..." he couldn't refuse her even if he wanted to; He was desperate for her attention, after all. It was only by luck that he captured her attention so easily - And by fate, he will continue aligning with her, no matter what obstacles jump in his way.

Roose’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. He stepped closer, his presence looming over the subject of his deepest disappointments and shame, who instinctively took a step back. "In case you've forgotten - You’re a lowly bastard, Ramsay. You might be my son by blood, but you will never be a Bolton in the eyes of the world." he spat at his son who flinched habitually. "Your place is not with the likes of her. You forget yourself too easily. We are lucky Lord Stark didn't have your head for tainting his precious daughter's air."

The words cut deep into his heart, a reminder of the bitter truth Ramsay always tried to ignore... But this time, they stung more than usual, because for a moment, Y/N made him believe he could be something more.

"Lady Y/N said Lord Stark agreed to allow the bastard and the ward to dine at the same table as his legitimate children. They treat them like their own flesh and blood..." the words slipped out before he could stop them, and he immediately regretted his impertinence. Roose’s expression darkened further, his patience wearing thin.

"You fool - How dare you fall in love with a noblewoman?! You think Lord Stark would ever allow his eldest daughter to marry some filthy low-life like you and take his riches? His noble name? Have you lost your mind, child? This is not how I raised you." his voice boomed painfully through the echoing empty stone walls of his room. "Love and foolishness are weakness, Ramsay, and I will not tolerate either in my son."

Before Ramsay could react, Roose’s hand struck him, delivering a sharp backhand across Ramsay’s face - The force of the blow sent him stumbling, crashing into the bedside table, the candle tumbling to the floor. Pain spread across his cheek, but it was nothing compared to the humiliation that followed as Roose grabbed him by the neck, dragging him back to his feet.

"You are my son, Ramsay, and you will do as I say. I will not have you ruin yourself over foolish maiden dreams of love and marriage . You are a tool, nothing more - And I will carve you into something useful, no matter how much you resist." Ramsay tried to fight back, to push against his father’s grip, but he was no match for Roose’s strength and iron grip.

The beating that followed was brutal, each strike a lesson in obedience, in submission, a reminder of the cruelty that defines his existence. He tried not to cry out, to show no weakness - And he did just that. Ramsay utter no sound through it all.

When Roose finally released him, Ramsay crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, his body battered and bruised. Roose looked down at him, his expression harsh and unforgiving.

"Remember this, Ramsay - You are nothing but my bastard son, and you will learn your place, or I will teach it to you until you understand."

Roose left the room, the door slamming shut behind him. Ramsay was left alone, the echoes of his father’s words ringing in his ears, the pain throbbing through his body. He remained there, motionless on the ground and growling like a rabid animal.

Hours passed before Ramsay finally moved, dragging himself back onto the bed, wincing with every motion. He stares at the ceiling, his mind a whirlwind of emotions — Anger, shame, dread.

He thought of Y/N, of her kindness, of the way she treated him like he was worth something. That memory was a lifeline, something to hold onto in the darkness, but it was also a source of pain, a reminder of what he can never have...

He clenched his fists, the pain in his body overshadowed by the rage building inside him. He hated his father, hated the world that condemned him to this life, hated the fact that he was born a bastard - But most of all, he hated that he cared — That he yearned for something more, something better.

"I will make them pay." the words were whispered into the darkness, a promise to himself. "I will kill them all." he punched the ground with his fist until it became a bloody mess - Yet he felt no pain at all, only wrath.

He knew he couldn't change the circumstances of his birth, but he could at least take control of his life. He could become what his father wanted — A lethal weapon - But he will do so on his terms; And one day, when he has the power to make sure no one ever hurts him again, he will walk forward to force all of his wishes to come true...

Even if that meant kidnapping Lady Y/N Stark and marrying her in secret.

Three years down the line, Y/N was now 14 years of age, and putting her brothers to shame when it came to archery and hunting; Thus, they all agreed they would have a hunting competition, to which, albeit reticently, their father agreed.

Three whole days spent in the Wolfswood; The one who brings the most game wins the contest - Thus, Theon, Y/N, Robb and Jon rode confidently into the forest.

The Wolfswood was a dense, ancient forest stretching between Winterfell and the Dreadfort - She felt so close, yet so far from her best friend; Alas, she couldn't afford to think of him. She had to win. The woods were thick, the towering trees created a canopy that blocked out much of the sky, leaving only slivers of light to pierce the darkness. The forest was eerily quiet, save for the rustling of leaves and distant cries of creatures every now and again.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale light over the clearing where Y/N had set up her camp. She’d done well so far, managing to bring down two deer, a boar and a few smaller game, which were now tied securely to a tree. Her brothers were likely doing just as well, but she was determined to win. She had to. If she won, she would forever get rid of her brothers' teasing, or them telling her to return to embroidering. How bothersome.

After finishing her meal, she moved cautiously around the perimeter of her camp, checking the traps she’d set earlier; They were simple, designed more to alert her to danger than to catch anything significant. As she returned to the fire, she couldn't help but shiver slightly. It wasn't the cold that bothered her, but the darkness pressing in around her.

Taking a deep breath and calming her nerves, she settled down by a large tree, its sturdy trunk at her back. The fire crackled, offering some comfort, but the night was still intimidating. She tried to focus on her goal — Winning the competition, proving she was just as capable as her brothers - But the fear of being alone in the dark was still there, lurking at the edges of her mind.

Just as she began to relax, the snap of a trap echoed through the clearing, followed by a loud, furious string of curses. Y/N’s heart leaped into her throat, and she instinctively grabbed her bow, an arrow quickly nocked. Her eyes darted around the shadows until she spotted the source of the commotion.

Hanging upside down by his leg, thrashing and cursing loudly, was Ramsay Snow.

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock, her grip on the bow loosening as she lowered the weapon. “Ramsay?!” she muttered, barely believing her eyes.

Ramsay twisted around, his face a mix of annoyance and amusement. “Who else would be stupid enough to get caught in one of your traps, Kitten?”

Finally getting over her shock, Y/N dropped her bow and rushed over, pulling out her knife to cut the rope. Ramsay landed with a thud, groaning as he rubbed his ankle. She knelt beside him, worry etched on her face.

“Are you alright?!” she asked, her voice filled with concern.

Ramsay looked up at her, a mischievous grin spreading across his face despite the pain. “I’ve had worse - But really, trapping people now? I didn’t know you’d gotten so ruthless.”

She blushed, embarrassed that she’d caught him of all people. “It wasn’t meant for you! I just didn’t want anything sneaking up on me.”

Ramsay chuckled, getting to his feet and dusting himself off. “And you did a fine job of that." he stepped towards her, and lazily rested his arms on her shoulders, leaning on her body to the point of making her stumble over her feet from his weight. "You could have just asked for help instead of trying to do all this alone.”

Y/N looked at him, his face so close to her own that she could feel her breath. "I genuinely didn't think I would meet you again - Not like this, at least." her voice was so tender and soft; Oh, how he missed her voice.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her. "Yes, I was sad not getting a visit for three whole years... Though now that I look at you, all sadness magically vanished." he smirked at her, his expression confident and cocky. "You still look like a child compared to me."

"You will always be older than me, Ramsay - What exactly do you want me to do about it?" she breathed out, slowly analysing him; He grew up so much in three years... He looked gorgeous. Gorgeous, and deranged. Those crystal clear eyes were swimming with craziness, only highlighted by the peeking moonlight caressing his already pale face.

"Grow up!" with a swift power move, he grabbed her body and lifted her in the air, reveling in the cutesy squeals of her surprise, and the strong grip she held on his shoulders. Little kitten loved to dig her nails in his flesh, how exciting.

"How about you help me win, instead?!" she cried out. "Now please, put me down - And help me out, please!" begrudgingly, he did just that, dragging her to the fire, where she explained the premise of their contest... And how adorable she was, admitting to still feeling afraid of the dark, clinging onto him so adorably.

Ramsay smirked, clearly pleased with her bagging for his help so sweetly. “Of course, Kitten. I’ll make sure you have a little… advantage.”

"Meow." she meowed! She... Meowed, of all things! How was he supposed to keep his hands to himself when she was being so adorable?! It had been three whole years since they last saw each other; She grew even more beautiful than he expected, than he imagined - And now, he can't even touch her! How unnerving.

Y/N couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort in Ramsay’s presence. Though he teased her mercilessly, there was something reassuring about having him by her side - And though she didn’t realize it yet, Ramsay was just as glad to be there with her, the thrill of the hunt only heightened by the prospect of spending the night together in the wild - In the shadows of the Wolfswood, their bond deepened, forged in the darkness and sealed by the blood they would spill together.

Since then, every fortnight, until she would turn 17 years of age, they would meet in their special spot in the Wolfswood. Eddard and Cat sometimes spotted her sneaking away, but they could never get her to say a thing - She was praying in the Godswood or something - No one would believe her.

It was a fortnight after the hunting competition when Y/N first returned to the Wolfswood alone. The memory of Ramsay helping her secure that precious victory over her brothers still lingered in her mind, and she found herself drawn back to the forest, eager to see him again. As she rode into the familiar clearing, she noticed the way the trees seemed to close in around her, the shadows long and deep. She dismounted, tying her horse to a nearby tree, and waited.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her close before she could react. She gasped, her heart leaping into her throat as she struggled instinctively, but then she heard his familiar chuckle in her ear.

“Miss me, Kitten?” Ramsay’s voice was a low, teasing murmur.

Y/N relaxed slightly, though she rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Ramsay, you scared me!” she whined, trying and failing to push him away from her.

“That was the point.” he replied, his arms still holding her securely. “It’s no fun if you see me coming.”

She turned in his arms to face him, her expression both annoyed and amused. “One of these days, I’ll get the jump on you.”

Ramsay smirked, clearly pleased by her challenge. “I’d like to see you try.”

Each meeting after that became a game — A test of wits and skill - For the bastard, that is. Ramsay would always arrive first, hiding in the shadows of the forest, waiting impatiently for the perfect moment to strike. Sometimes he would leap out from behind a tree, causing Y/N to yelp in surprise; Other times, he would sneak up silently, wrapping his arms around her waist or pinning her against a tree before she even realized he was there.

With each encounter, Ramsay’s touches grew bolder. He would linger behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders, or let his fingers brush against her hair as they walked together through the forest. Y/N, now 16, was aware of his increasing boldness, but she couldn’t deny the thrill it brought her. She was beginning to understand all those suspicious things he would tell her as children - To think he would be so bold and knowledgeable since so long ago... His advances were teasing, playful and straight-forward, and she felt a strange mix of excitement and apprehension each time he touched her.

Ramsay seemed to revel in her reactions, his smirk ever-present as he found new ways to surprise and corner her. He would pin her to the ground during their mock fights, holding her down as she struggled and laughed, his eyes dark with something she couldn’t quite understand. Other times, he would push her against a tree, their faces inches apart, his breath warm against her skin as he teased her mercilessly.

As the years passed, their meetings became a constant in their lives. No matter what happened between Winterfell and the Dreadfort, they always returned to the Wolfswood, where the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of them.

She began bringing her pets— A red wolf named Meleys after the Red Dragon Queen, and a fox named Jade to match her eyes; Meleys, with her fiery fur and fierce loyalty, would growl softly at Ramsay whenever he got too close, while Jade, more curious than cautious, would dart around their feet, sniffing at Ramsay with mild interest, yapping to play with him, or to garner his affections.

One night, after a rather intense wrestling onto the ground that left Y/N pinned beneath Ramsay, her wrists above her head, unable to move and breathing hard, struggling to break free, she managed scratched him, again, drawing blood - This time, it was his neck instead. The sight of the single scarlet line against his pale skin made her freeze, her eyes wide with shock.

"Oh no, not again!" she got naturally worried. "I told you not to tease me so much - Now I hurt you! I'm so sorry!"

Ramsay, however, only laughed, his eyes gleaming with something dark and possessive. He grabbed her in his arms, holding her chin. “Looks like you’ve marked me again, Kitten.” he said, his voice a low purr. “Afraid I forgot who you belonged to?”

Katrina flushed, unsure of what to say. She didn’t fully understand the weight of his words, but the way he looked at her made her heart race in a way she couldn’t quite explain. "Let me wipe the blood... I should put some snow on it to stop the bleeding..."

"Or you could be a good little Kitten and lick the blood away." his affirmation shocked the girl so much that she almost didn't realise she was pulled into his lap, her chest flush against his own. "Or... My Lady doesn't want to take accountability for her actions~?"

"That's... That's weird, I can't... I'm not..." he grabbed her face, fixing it to look deep into her eyes.

"What a naughty, naughty Kitten you've been... You wouldn't want me to punish you... Or... Mayhaps that is exactly what you wish for~?" the blush on her cheeks was as beautifully red as her hair; She was so precious and shy, how sweet... And how hard to resist.

"F-Fine... Stay still..." with reticence, she carefully held onto him, one hand holding his jaw up, and the other keeping herself steady by holding onto his shoulder.

The feeling of her hot, wet tongue trailing the small scratch line along his neck garnered a strong shiver from the young man, and a shameless groan of pleasure; Such a sound, so primal, so masculine, it made Y/N feel even more timid... And intrigued. She wanted to hear more... To make him react more.

She continued in her conquest, using instead her lips, kissing at his skin until there was no more blood leaking down... Each kiss made his grip on her body get stronger to the point of pain... But she loved it. She loved how feral Ramsay could get, so strong, so unchained... So arousing. And then, once she held onto him tighter, and her kisses turned bolder, nipping away at his skin, sucking on it, he was desperate... So desperate, in fact, that he had to roughly push her away and place snow on his neck to cool down his scorching body, or he was sure to burst and make a mess of his breeches... Or worse, force her down and claim her. It wasn't how he wanted her to look at him... But it wasn't easy to hold back around her.

"Never do that again, sweetling - Not to anyone, except me."

As the time approached for Y/N to turn 17, their meetings in the Wolfswood took on a new tension. Ramsay’s touches became more lingering, his teasing words more loaded with meaning. He would hold her closer, his hands sliding down to her waist, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered things that made her cheeks burn. He wanted her so desperately, but there was no way he would destroy the way she craves him so, by taking her against the tree in the forest.

During their last meeting before her birthday, Ramsay surprised her by sneaking up behind her as she sat by a stream, lost in thought. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against him as he nuzzled her neck.

“You’ve gotten better at sneaking up on me.” Katrina admitted, her voice betraying the mix of emotions she felt.

Ramsay smirked, his breath warm against her skin. “I love seeing you squeal for me, My Lady."

She tried to pull away, feeling the intensity of his gaze on her, but he held her fast, his hands firm on her waist. “What do boys and girls do together when they’re old enough?” he had teased her many times before, always with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Y/N had never fully understood the implications, but she knew enough to feel a flutter of something in her chest — Something that made her both curious and uneasy - The same wicked thing she felt, kissing his neck, and witnessing his raw reactions. That was what happened to young people whose parents never told them how babies were made... And, worse... Parents who never knew how pleasure was made.

“When you’re old enough, I’ll show you.” Ramsay had once promised, his voice dark and mischievous. "I will show you something even better than the games boys and girls do when they're alone." Unfortunately, he wouldn't have the opportunity to show her the hedonistic world of pleasure he succumbed himself into... The world in which he wanted to drown together... For she was forced to join the retinue to King's Landing and search for a proper marriage prospect... Fit for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark.

Y/N was always looking forward to the routine her and Ramsay created for themselves, meeting at the same spot once every two weeks, and catching up, havin fun... She was always the happiest when around him... And yet, this time, Y/N was troubled... Desperate, frustrated, angry, betrayed...

She dismounted from her horse with a heavy heart, her hands trembling as she tied the reins to a nearby tree. Meleys, her red wolf, and Jade, her pet fox, followed closely behind her, sensing the tension that hung in the air. She had come to the clearing many times over the years, but this time felt different... The finality of an ephemeral bliss hung over her neck like a guillotine.

Ramsay was already there, leaning against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes, as always, filled with playful malice and mischief, ready to torment his sweet flower - Though, as she approached him, he straightened, his posture tense, as though bracing himself for the bad news brought by a black raven. In the past three years, not once had he seen her this miserable... This... Sorrowful.

“What's gotten my naughty little Kitten so pissed? No more drapes to scratch? Or human flesh is the only thing that can satisfy you now?” he spoke in his usual dark, taunting voice, but for once, his teasing didn't seem to have the intended effect - Or any at all, for what matters.

Y/N didn't even look at him, or acknowledge his presence. H he greeted her, his voice rougher than usual. Her face was paler than usual, and her eyes were puffy pink and glazed with tears, her brows were furrowed in a deep frown, and her mind lost in thought. He couldn't stand this look on her. She was supposed to be sweet and smile, to be energetic and filled with vitality, to jump on his and scratch him, to cuddle into his arms and purr so lovingly;

She did none of that.

"What's the matter? Daddy found us out?" he scoffed a question, but she merely shook her head. "So?" she said nothing. "Go on. Speak." still nothing. "I do not appreciate this, Y/N."

She nodded in response, unable to find her voice at first. The words she had rehearsed so many times in her mind now seemed hollow, insufficient for the gravity of the moment. In his rage and frustration, Ramsay roughly grabbed the girl by the furs of her dress, wrestling her to the ground into the soothingly cold snow; His hands were holding tightly onto her shoulders, his face twisted into a malicious sneer - Yet one look into her devastated eyes... Her hopelessness... And he was immediately simmered down.

"The King came over a few days ago." she stammered pitifully over her words. "Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King died... And he wants daddy to become the next Hand..." with great difficulty, she managed to utter some words.

"What's that got to do with you?" he hissed under his breath, his eyes not even once flickering away from her own.

"My daddy was forced to accept... Thus, he has to stay in King's Landing." he slowly nodded his head, as if to urge her to continue. "Sansa fell in love with the King's son, Joffrey... I told her he's a real cunt, that he's not the gallant prince she dreams of, from 'The Ballad of Florian and Jonquil'... But she wouldn't listen... She wants to marry him..." she gulped, tears streaming down her face. "She is barely eleven... Hasn't even flowered yet..."

"You were eleven when I met you." Ramsay noted, earning a nod from her. "You are seventeen now, and still an unwed maiden. The eldest Lady Stark." she cringed softly at the affirmation. "They want to trade you to some rich old fuck, like a piece of meat." she nodded again. "How miserable."

"I don't want to go, Ramsay." she whimpered so pitifully, that the young man found his body growing hot. "I want to stay with you - Forever. The North is my home... I-I can't stay there... I can't..."

"A flower of the North, uprooted and forced to wilt in the stench and stifling heat of the South." he muttered under his breath.

"Mother has been furious for a while that daddy let me unmarried for so long... He wanted me to fall in love and marry someone I wanted... But my mother, married out of duty, also wanted me to do the same... Just like the Tully word - Family, Duty, Honour - ... Marry, have many heirs, do your duties..." he had never seen her cry before, but now, she clinged onto him, sobbing into the crook of her neck, so desperately and pitifully that he almost couldn't understand her. "I don't want to marry some pathetic lordling! I don't want to give birth! I don't want it - Any of it!" she whined and mewled like that some more; Ramsay's grip tightened around her protectively... Possessively... And then... "I want you, Ramsay! I want only you! I want to be you friend, I want to have fun with you, I want to marry you - I want to stay with you forever - Forever and Always!"

His breathing was heavy, picking up a little; He dragged her on his lap, and held her so tightly to his chest that she almost got lost inside his strong embrace. "That's right, little Kitten. You are mine, and only mine. No one can have you. No one but me." he grumbled in her ear, his hand burying into her hair, holding her firmly. "Did they find some shit lord yet?" annoyingly enough, she nodded her head.

"Tyrion Lannister... The Imp." she whimpered lowly. "He is a witty and respectful man... I would have a content life with him... He wouldn't force me to do anything I didn't want..." she hiccuped from sobbing. "But he isn't you. No one is you. And I want only you."

The thought of losing her — Of her being taken away to a place where he couldn’t reach her—stoked the fire of his rage once more. “And you brought your pets over to let me take care of them, then?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “I don't want your pets, Y/N. I want you.”

Y/N’s heart clenched at his words. She had known for years that Ramsay’s feelings for her were intense, even possessive, but this was the first time he had spoken so plainly. She felt more tears slip down her cheek as she looked up at him, her vision blurred by the emotion she had tried so hard to contain.

He stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he reached out and cupped her face in his hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. “You’re mine, Y/N.” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with a dark promise. “You’ve always been mine, and you always will be.”

Y/N closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, wanting to believe him— To believe that they could find a way to be together, despite the forces of the universe pulling them apart. She knew how difficult it would be - Escaping King's Landing was close to blasphemy; She knew the expectations placed upon her as a Stark, and the dangers of being tied to a man like Ramsay... A bastard...

She cared for nothing, except for her happiness. She wanted to be selfish, in spite of how much she loved her family. “I’ll find a way back to you.” she promised, her voice barely a whisper. “I’ll escape King’s Landing, I swear it.”

Ramsay’s expression darkened, his grip on her face tightening. “You’d better.” he growled. “Because if you don’t, I’ll come for you. I’ll burn that wretched city to the ground if I have to.”

His words, though terrifying, were also a twisted comfort to her. She knew Ramsay meant every word — He would stop at nothing to claim what he believed was his. But as much as she wanted to be with him, she couldn’t ignore the fear that gripped her heart, the fear that she might not be able to return, that she might be trapped in the South forever. That she would wilt before she got the chance to liberate herself.

Ramsay pulled her closer, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’ll take care of Meleys and Jade.” he finally said, his voice rough with emotion. “But don't forget who you belong to, Y/N."

Y/N nodded, her tears mingling with his breath. She wanted to say something, to reassure him, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, a silent promise that she would return to him, no matter the cost.

She bit her lip, forcing herself to hold back another sob that threatened to escape. She couldn’t bear to leave him like this, but she had no choice - She wasn't a wild wolf anymore, but a collared dog on a leash, and the handler was a slut like Myranda.

With one last glance at him, she forced herself out of his protective arms, turned around and mounted her horse, her heart heavy with sorrow. "I cannot say farewell... But I can try and say... I will see you again... Soon."

As she rode away, she heard Ramsay’s voice call out to her, filled with a desperation that shook her to her core. “Don’t make me wait too long.”

Y/N didn’t look back, tears streaming down her face as she urged her horse forward, the forest closing in around her. She knew this wouldn’t be the last time she saw Ramsay, but the thought of the long, uncertain road ahead filled her with dread... And determination to break free from her shackles... A ferocious, feral instinct broke inside of her, and she was ready to transform into the she-wolf she was born to be...

The cold, dimly lit chamber of the Dreadfort, where the stone walls seem to absorb any warmth that might exist felt now even colder than before, Ramsay noted unconsciously, once he realised it had already been over a year since he hasn't seen Y/N... Since she'd been mercilessly snatched away from his grasp.

Roose Bolton sat at his desk, his expression as impassive as ever, while Ramsay stood before him; The tension between father and son was as harshly palpable as always. The air was thick with the scent of burning torches and the ever-present dampness of the castle, a stark reminder of the harshness of the North, didn't bother him anymore; A man of the North would never be bothered by such trivialities.

Fueled by a mixture of fury and frustration, Ramsay is seething inside at the thought of losing Y/N, but his father’s presence was forcing him to maintain a veneer of calm... For as long as humanly possible for him.

Ramsay paced the length of the chamber, his hands clenched behind his back, his mind a storm of rage and dark thoughts - He was restless - Restless as never before, and that restlessness usually brought with it a storm of torture, hedonism and quite a lot of erratic flaying.

The room felt too small, too suffocating; His father’s cold gaze on him felt like a blade pressed to his throat. He wanted nothing more than to unleash his fury, to tear the room apart, and his father with it, but he knew better. Roose Bolton did not tolerate outbursts, and Ramsay knew he had to keep his emotions in check... As long as he was a bastard, his father was still useful... Afterwards, well...

“You are going to dig a dam if you keep pacing.” Roose’s voice broke through his thoughts, a calm, controlled tone that belied the gravity of their discussion. "Don't tell me you're thinking of that Stark girl again."

Ramsay forced himself to stop pacing, turning to face his father. He knew Roose saw everything, knew everything, and any attempt to hide his feelings would be futile. Still, he had to be careful. His voice was tight with barely suppressed anger. “She’s in King’s Landing.” he grumbled. "For over a year."

Roose arched an eyebrow, his expression giving nothing away. “And this concerns you... How, exactly?" his father's words cut as deep as the cold Valyrian steel. "Have you forgotten you place again?"

Ramsay’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to stay calm. "No... Father." he licked his lips, looking down for a few seconds. "But she's a Stark - The daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, and now, Hand of the King. Marrying her - Politically, of course - Would help our House regain power and wealth again."

"MY House." his father's words felt like whips against his skin. "Not yours. You are a Snow, not a Bolton." he continued with a painfully strong word. "Yet." Roose leaned back in his chair, studying his son with those cold, calculating eyes. “You’ve grown attached to the girl, haven’t you?” he said, a faint hint of amusement in his voice. “You don't care about politics - You only care about yourself." he scoffed, sneering at his son with disgust. "It’s only natural for a bastard to crave what he can’t have.” he continued to belittle him even more. "If you got tired of Tansy's cunt, just move to Kyra - And if even she bores you, you have Myranda. There's plenty women in here - Stop wasting time thinking of the one you can never have. You're wasting your time - And mine."

Ramsay’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. He hated the way his father spoke, the way he dismissed him, the way he thought him incompetent and lesser, just because he was born out of wedlock. "She's mine. I claimed her - And I will make sure I get what I want."

Roose’s amusement faded, replaced by a steely resolve. “If you want to make her yours in more than just your mind, you’ll have to do more than just ruining the floor of my study chamber.” he said, his voice as cold as the North itself. “Listen clearly to me, Ramsay. We have a new ally - Far more powerful than the Starks.”

Ramsay narrowed his eyes, his anger simmering just below the surface. “What do you mean?” it was the first time he heard his father speaking about aiding someone other than the Starks - Knowing full well the Bolton army was aiding the Young Wolf win against the Lannister - And that his father, also, had to return to the battlefield soon enough.

Roose leaned forward, his gaze piercing. “The Stark boy, Robb, is a threat to the Crown. Naturally, the self-proclaimed 'King In The North' has a huge bounty on his head - And there is a way to remove him from the board, permanently.”

Ramsay’s heart skipped a beat. He had heard whispers of the plot, rumors of a grand betrayal that would see the Young Wolf brought to his knees, but hearing it from his father’s lips made it real, tangible. He had allied with the Lannisters. “The Red Wedding.” he said quietly, more a statement than a question.

Lord Bolton nodded, his expression unreadable. “The army is going to reach the Twins, and Lord Frey demands a groom. Alas, Robb Stark has the same dangerous sense of loyalty that his own father had - The same loyalty that got him killed." he let out a sardonic laugh. "He married the woman he slept with, out of duty - He cannot be the groom; He's sending his uncle, a lowly, incompetent Tully Fish. Of course Walder Frey would feel betrayed... And will act accordingly." his peering eyes stabbed his own, and his voice was threatening and alarming. "If you want to secure your claim to Winterfell, you must act soon. After Robb Stark dies, the next-in-line heirs are merely children of 7 and 3. The heir is clear - Your darling Y/N Stark." Roose smirked ironically, seeing his bastard's interest piqued, for once. "Everyone wants to fuck an heir in her womb, Ramsay. She is every Noble House's target." his jaw clenched in anger, in rage, in madness. "But only you must claim her maidenhood, make her your woman and have her bare your heirs. It is the only way to secure your position as the next Lord Bolton."

Ramsay’s mind raced. The idea of Robb Stark dead, of Winterfell ripe for the taking, filled him with a dark excitement. But it was Y/N’s face that haunted his thoughts, her tearful promise to return to him, to escape the South and come back to the North. The thought of losing her, of her being out of his reach, drove him to the brink of madness. Then, he remembered the tears painting her face, her distraught, her agony - How loudly she yelled that she didn't want to be a tool to create heirs? That she didn't want to give birth, because she was terrified of the pain, terrified of death, of motherhood - Of everything? And he was on the same wavelength as her - No way he wanted to be a father - Not while his mind still works properly. But Roose continued, his voice like ice, waking him up from his excruciating inner conflict. “Do something useful for once in your pathetic, miserable life and marry that Stark wench you kept sneaking out to meet for three years." he spat at his son. "Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Ramsay. You may be stealthy, but I know everything.”

Ramsay’s blood ran cold. His father knew—of course, he knew. Roose Bolton knew every secret, every move his son made. There was no hiding from him. But what Roose didn’t understand, what he couldn’t comprehend, was the depth of Ramsay’s obsession with Katrina. She was not just a means to an end, not just a stepping stone to power. She was his, in a way that went beyond any rational thought or ambition.

The bastard didn’t respond; He didn’t trust himself to speak. He left the chamber, his heart and mind a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. As he stepped into the cold corridors of the Dreadfort, his thoughts returned to Y/N, to her promise to return, to the way she had looked at him in the Wolfswood. He would make sure she kept that promise. She would be his, no matter the cost.

As he walked through the dimly lit halls, all the way outside of the Fort, and into the forest, his mind churned with plans and possibilities. The Red Wedding would be the first step, yes... His father's betrayal... But Y/N… She was his obsession, his desire, the one thing that mattered more than anything else. He would marry her, claim Winterfell, and make sure that she never left his side again m- All on his own accord, not the traditional way the old fucks want to force upon them. He needed her happy; He needed her to want him, to need him, to desire him the same way he wants, needs and desires her.

No one, not even his father, would stand in his way to get his little Kitten back in his arms.

Lost in his mind, the young bastard found himself by the running river - He always wanted to take Y/N here, his special spot to get away from the world. Once, she admitted to him that, although her personality is very much that of a wolf, she still find a good portion of her peace by the river-run, just like her Tully mother.

The icy wind blew through the trees along the riverbank, but Ramsay barely felt it. His dark mood had numbed him to the cold of the North. He stood by the rushing waters of the river, his fists clenched, chest heaving with barely suppressed rage.

He couldn't believe over a year had passed since his sweetling had been taken to King’s Landing, and in that time, Ramsay had fallen into a restless spiral. His hunts no longer thrilled him, and even the cruel games he played with his prisoners brought him no joy. No one could satisfy him anymore, and every woman he took to his bed only made the ache for Y/N grow worse. With an empty chuckle, he remembered the hurt in Myranda's eyes, and the protest she chirped, once he called her by Y/N's name instead of her own. Hilarious how either of them thought themselves important in his life. Dumb cunts, all of them.

He cursed under his breath, pacing along the riverbank, his thoughts tangled in frustration and agony. The image of her haunted him - Her eyes, her smile, the playful way she used to tease him. It wasn't just her beauty that lingered in his mind; it was the feeling she invoked in him. A need deeper than any he'd known before. She had marked him, claimed him, and he hated her for it, almost as much as he longed for her, needed her, just like he needed air to breathe.

His breath came in harsh gasps as he leaned against a tree, trying to calm the storm raging inside him. He slammed his fist against the bark, the roughness biting into his skin, but the pain brought him no relief. His mind kept returning to her, to the day she left, to her cries, her tears, her screams, to the promise she'd made, the way she'd looked back at him with those desperate, pleading eyes, almost as if she was begging him to kidnap her and tie her up in the dungeons, away from the harsh world that would hurt her... That would take her away from him.

"Where the hell are you?" he snarled, his voice echoing through the wind, as he continued punching at the tree, an unfortunate bad habit he got since childhood; Punching until his fist was a bloody mess... Punching until he didn't want to claw his own body out, as if he needed to escape this cage of flesh and sinew.

Then, from the corner of his eye, Ramsay caught movement; He tensed, instinctively reaching for the dagger at his side - Instead of danger, he saw the familiar forms of Meleys and Jade that approached him. The red wolf padded silently through the trees, her light coloured eyes gleaming with intelligence and caution, while the fox moved with graceful playfulness. Ramsay lowered his guard, watching as they approached him.

The wolf nuzzled his hand, the softness of her fur a stark contrast to his cold rage... Her red-coppery fur was as velvety soft as Y/N's hair, he remembered. His muscles relaxed, if only slightly, and he knelt down, letting his fingers run through Meleys' fur. Jade, ever loving, kept her green eyes fixed on him, before she yapped for his attention.

"You're missing her too, aren’t you?" Ramsay muttered, his voice softening for a moment. He scratched Meleys behind the ears, feeling the animal’s warmth against his skin. It was strange — He’d never cared for animals like Y/N did, but these two were different. Sure, he preferred the company of dogs over that of people, and for good reason...

When he looked Meleys in the eyes, she looked straight back at him; She climbed on his lap and gently licked at his face. He didn't stop her. He remembered those times when he'd meet Y/N, and she'd show him how she learnt to warg into Meleys, to see life through her, to control her... To live through her. He often wondered if Y/N was warged into Meleys, and she was trying to comfort him... To show him her love... To give him hope...

Jade, too, jumped on him, nudging her small wet truffle-snout against his palm, licking at his bloody wounds; Ramsay found some strange solace in their presence, though he would never admit it. Meleys and Jade missed her too — He could see it in the way they searched for her, the way they lingered near places where she used to be. They were as restless as he was, as hungry for her return.

"She promised." Ramsay whispered, more to himself than to the animals. "She swore she'd come back."

Meleys whimpered softly, nudging Ramsay's hand, as though offering comfort in her own way, then gently placed her head on his shoulder. Jade blinked up at him with her bright eyes, her tail flicking slightly. They were loyal creatures, just as Y/N had been loyal to him - That loyalty, that bond they all shared — It was the one thing he could cling to when the loneliness clawed at his insides.

"I will flay everyone who gets in her way." his hand gripped the hilt of his dagger, his jaw tightening with renewed resolve. Y/N would return to him. She had to. And when she did, he would never let her go again. Not to anyone. Not to anything. She was his, marked by him, claimed by him; He wore her mark, that haughty little kitten.

He sat there in the snow for a while longer, the quiet of the forest and the gentle presence of Meleys and Jade soothing his maddening thoughts. For the first time in what felt like weeks, Ramsay allowed himself to relax just a little; Though beneath his calm exterior, the storm still brewed.

"See, Sandor?!" Y/N desperately tried to shake him into agreeing with her plan; Though her lack of strength managed to move him not even by a fraction of an inch. "You must help me! Please - You must!"

"You're just as fucked in the head as he is, little fox." the Hound barked a sarcastic laugh. "What of the little bird?"

Y/N hesitated, looking down. "She..." Y/N gulped, her voice wavering. "The Lannisters have her in their clutches. She won't listen to me... Not anymore. She's forgotten herself, who she is... Since father died." she bit her lip painfully hard. "I cannot save her anymore, Sandor; And I can save our family even less if I am trapped here, in this hell." she looked up into his eyes, strength and determination surprising even him "I trust only you with her safety. Whatever happens of that... A wolf must always return to the North. I hope, one day, you will escape also - And bring her with you to our home." she continued in a more tender home. "You will always be welcomed in the North, Sandor."

"You've lost your mind, girl. I am welcomed nowhere - Especially not given my reputation." he rolled his eyes, pushing her away from him. "Fine. I'll take care of the little song bird - But don't expect me to die for her. That damned lousy cunt who calls himself the King is unpredictable, and I am still just a dog."

"A loyal dog who's earned the trust of the Queen In The North."

The night of the wildfire siege at Blackwater Bay was a chaos of screams and roaring flames that lit the sky with an eerie green glow. The city was in disarray, and amidst the flames, the terrified Sandor Clegane dragged the two Stark sisters out of their rooms and fled the blasted Crown city for good, never to look back or miss the damned stench.

At first, they didn't know where to go, except North - Always into the North - Yet during one silent camping stop where their fear calmed down the littlest bit, they agreed on a temporary strategy - Reunite with the Young Wolf who was currently hosted at the Twins.

Unfortunately the reunion was bitter, and that night they didn't meet Robb Stark nor Catelyn Stark or Grey Wind... They met death staring right at them. Sansa fell into the Hound's arms, sobbing, wailing, almost waiting at the grotesque sight... Almost as bad as seeing her father beheaded... Y/N remained silent, her mind all but blank and filled with rage and revenge. What once was her proud brother, the beautiful Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell, the King in the North... Was now reduced to a headless corpse mounted on a horse... With his precious Grey Wind's head sewn on his shoulders. No doubt, their mother also met a similarly humiliating and grotesque fate.

"Y/N. I found your rat runt of a sister." Sandor spoke, out of nowhere, holding Arya by the back of her shirt as she was trying to escape his grasp and run head-first into the Bolton and Frey army to kill them all.

"Let me go! Now! I'll kill you, you stupid mutt! Y/N, tell him!" the little sister tried to struggle, but it was Sansa who slapped her face.

"Arya, can't you see?! Robb is dead! Mother is dead! If you go there, we will lose you too! Stop being a brat for once, and listen to us!" poor Sansa's heartbroken cries made even the wild little sister stare at her with wide eyes, and teared up too.

"They... They killed them... Slaughtered... Like livestock... Why..." came her little, trembling voice. "It's not fair..."

"Life ain't fair, girl." the dog grunted under his breath, taking them away from there. They suffered enough, no need to see the enemy making a mockery of their beloved family anymore.

"The North remembers... And we will have their skins..." though Arya was emboldened by that fearsome threat, Sansa shuddered a little at her cold, hars voice. It was only Sandor who noticed the malice and vendetta behind her words... And the ally hidden in the North, ready to flay anyone alive. What a deranged bastard. Gulping away her sorrow, Y/N finally found the words and strength to speak. "Let's go to aunt Lysa for now, and we'll see what we do from there."

The road to the Eyrie was filled with danger, but Sandor, Arya and Y/N knew how to fight away the assailants; They pushed forward relentlessly, despite their exhaustion and heartbreak. The girls needed a place to recover — Somewhere far from the reach of the Lannisters and the Freys. The only safe place they had left.

The eerie mountain fortress became their temporary sanctuary, though they knew they couldn't stay forever. Surprisingly even to himself, Sandor guarded over the Stark girls with the fierce loyalty of a dog - Though not for long. The girls had to divide and conquer, to make a plan and gain enough support and a proper army to regain what was lost through the Red Wedding, and the loss of Robb and Catelyn Stark.

Sansa, ever the diplomat, remained at the Eyrie to deal with aunt Lysa and young Robert; Arya had escaped into the night, ready to take on the unknown and learn how to properly fight and fend for herself, a little girl against the endless world; Y/N was going to reclaim their home and name herself the heir and Lady of Winterfell - Bran and Rickon were far too little to lead, even with the Maesters aiding them. Maester Luwin might have been as intelligent and loving as their second father, but even he couldn't rule the way a true Stark would.

Leaving Sansa in the care of Sandor, Y/N began her lonely ride northward. She hadn’t heard of what had befallen Winterfell — Only whispers of its burning and rumors of her brothers’ deaths. Her heart told her it was lies, but her mind feared the worst.

The North was desolate, colder than she remembered, and the haunting loneliness echoed in every step she took toward her home. Winterfell had once been a place of safety, but now, the foreboding silence filled her with dread.

When she finally arrived at Winterfell, the place she called home was but a shell of what it had been. The castle stood lonely and bleak, with the Greyjoy banner flapping mockingly above the walls. Panic surged through her veins as she noticed two small bodies, covered in tar, burnt and hanged above the gate as display for all to see. They couldn't be... No way those were Bran and Rickon... Theon Greyjoy would never...

She stormed inside, desperately searching for answers, only to be greeted by the sight of Theon, standing in her father’s hall, playing at being Lord of Winterfell.

Fury like she had never known surged through her - Theon had betrayed them, his only family that accepted him after is own father renounced him in favour of his sister, Asha, who was a far better leader than he would ever be.

Her anger overwhelmed her to the point of irrationality; The words were ripping from her throat with all the venom she could muster. Theon was no longer the boy she once knew. He was brittle, broken, and deluded with false power. The arrogant power-trip that the weak get once given the chance to hold a fickle grain of power.

"You... You pathetic, loathsome, disgusting, arrogant little cockroach!" the voice of a Stark roared loudly through the castle walls, calling forth all of its original inhabitants - They all marveled in joy and horror at seeing Lady Stark return home. "Theon Greyjoy, who in the Seven Hells do you think you are?!" she lunged at him, wrestling him to the ground in his state of confusion and panic.

"You—!" her voice was a guttural snarl, thick with disbelief and outrage. "You traitorous bastard!" she screamed as her fists slammed into him, each strike landing with the weight of her anger and heartbreak. The hall fell into shocked silence, with the few guards present too stunned to react immediately - Though none of them had any respect for the poor excuse of a Kraken playing the leader role. "How dare you sit there! That seat belongs to my father! My family! You are nothing!"

Theon, momentarily caught off guard, could only try to shield himself from the onslaught; Y/N’s blows came hard and fast, her nails scratching at his face and her fists thudding against his chest. For a brief moment, she was relentless, every ounce of betrayal and rage from months of being away from her home, from seeing her family butchered, pouring out of her.

Theon groaned in pain and surprise as she clawed at him, her anger consuming every fiber of her being. “Stop—!” he tried to shout over her furious attacks, but his voice was drowned out by her curses - Just like his useless God.

"How could you?!" she cried, voice cracking with the raw emotion of betrayal. "After everything we've done for you! After we treated you like one of us! You were my brother, Theon! And now this?! You betray your best friend who trusted you above all else, take over my home, declare yourself the Lord and even kill my brothers!" her fists slammed into him again, the intensity of her emotions seeping into every word. "You disgust me! You, vile, evil, pathetic worm!"

The old citizens of Winterfell, those who had remained loyal to the Starks, rushed forward in an attempt to hold her back. A few guards hesitated at first, unsure whether or not to protect Theon from the girl’s wrath or to stand aside. One of the older men, who had known Y/N since she was a child, wrapped his arms around her from behind, gently restraining her despite her thrashing.

"Lady Y/N, please!" the man pleaded, his voice filled with sorrow. "You'll only get yourself hurt - Your precious hands should not be damaged against a lowly peasant such as him." truly, no one feared him, nor respected him. He was a wretch everywhere he went. Even his own family was praying for him never to return.

Y/N was panting, her wild eyes still fixed on Theon, who now stood from the ground, wiping at his bleeding face, his eyes a mix of embarrassment and growing rage. Her chest heaved as she struggled against the arms holding her back, her voice hoarse with the weight of everything she had bottled up for too long, a dark, malicious murder intent growing ever stronger.

"You don't belong here!" she spat, trying to wrench herself free. "This is my home!"

Theon’s pride, wounded by both her words and her successful attack, twisted his expression into something unknown. His initial shock and shame from being attacked by a woman was quickly replaced by a cruel sneer, the only way he knew to hide the guilt and shame gnawing at his insides.

“Shut up, you worthless mewling quim!” he snapped, straightening himself and brushing off his tunic as though her blows were nothing but an inconvenience. “The past doesn't matter. Winterfell is mine - The House of Theon Greyjoy, Lord of Winterfell, Warden in the North." unexpectedly, Y/N managed to land another harsh slap against his gaunt face, then spat him in the eyes.

"You may call yourself whatever you wish, but you will never earn the respect or aid of anyone! You’re nothing but a coward playing at being king in a castle that’s not yours! Do you really think this charade will last? You think you can be anything more than the Greyjoy runt, pathetic and spineless?!” she screeched at him even as he dug his hand into her hair and tugged harshly at it. "You don't know what happens to traitors, do you, Theon? Everyone hates a traitor."

Theon’s face flushed red as Y/N's words pierced through the thin veil of arrogance he had built around himself. For a moment, he wavered, the reality of the situation crashing into him - But his desperation to hold on to his fleeting power won out, and he grabbed her from the man's arms, slapping her face hard with his gloved hand; She simply grinned with defiance - No once could hit harder than Meryn Trant and his metal gauntlet. "You even hit like a cunt, Theon. You could never best me at anything."

Theon looked around at the gathered faces—faces of the people he had known for years, people who had served the Starks faithfully. They were not looking at him with fear or respect, but with contempt and disgust. His eyes flickered back to Y/N, who was still breathing heavily, her eyes filled with loathing and burning rage. Something shifted in him. For a moment, guilt seemed to seep into his features, but he masked it quickly with a cold glare.

“Lock her in her room.” he ordered with a dismissive wave of his hand, his voice trembling slightly. “I will teach some proper discipline into her later - And you will learn to scream my name from the top of your lungs - Lord Theon Greyjoy."

The old man holding Katrina hesitated, clearly torn between his loyalty to her and his fear of what Theon might do if defied. Y/N, however, stopped struggling, her fury replaced by a dangerous calm. "You don't have a big enough cock to fuck me, nor the balls to dare even approach me. That's why you could only get women through coin - You are everyone's laughing-stock, and that's what you will remain forever." she said, her voice low but venomous. “And mark my words — You will regret ever stepping foot in this castle.”

Theon flinched slightly at the threat, but he quickly turned away, trying to maintain an air of control as Y/N was swiftly led away by the remaining Stark loyalists who were afraid to see their Lady get in even more trouble. His grip on power was tenuous at best, and deep down, he knew it. Anarchy was approaching.

Y/N’s parting words echoed in his mind, and for a brief moment, a flicker of doubt crossed his face. He had lost his only true family in the Starks, and now even Y/N, the girl who had treated him like a brother for years, despised him, and rightfully so. Despite his stolen throne, Theon felt more alone than ever before.

She was supposed to become a prisoner in her own bedroom chambers, but Y/N Stark was no prisoner — At least, not for long. That night, before Theon could instill his faux sense of discipline and power on her, she escaped through the old tunnels she had explored as a child, her heart set on freedom and revenge. She fled back into the Wolfswood, where the wolves of her ancestors watched over her and awaited the Stark she-wolf to reclaim her home. Yes, the initial plan failed, but there was one last thing she could do -

Return to Ramsay Snow and get the Bolton army on her side.

Once she reached the forest edge close to the Dreadfort, Y/N dismounted and stumbled through the underbrush of the Wolfswood, her clothes torn and her face streaked with tears and dirt. Once she saw the fort in her sight, she took a deep breath and let out a long, haunting howl, the sound echoing through the trees like a wolf’s cry — A cry of both pain and a call for her true brethren to reunite as one once more.

She felt her voice tearing at her throat as she called out into the cold, sharp air. Her fury was boundless. It was the Boltons who had betrayed her family's trust, Roose Bolton who teamed up with Tywin Lannister and orchestrated the Red Wedding, the massacre that took her mother and her brother from her. He was going to pay for betraying her trust. They all will. She will have their skins.

Before long, the silence of the woods was broken. Meleys, her loyal Red Queen, sprinted through the undergrowth, her frozen eyes gleaming in the low light. Behind her, padding quietly, came Jade, her beloved fokin - But it was not just her darling animal-sisters who emerged from the darkness.

As she expected, Ramsay followed shortly after, his black hair wild and messy, his expression one of uncharacteristic joy at the sight of her. For a moment, a flicker of something softer passed through his icy blue eyes, a twinkle of hope. She had come back to him, the only living being he had ever truly wanted - She returned to him, just as she promised.

Y/N’s greeting was, however, far from warm and heartfelt; She snarled at him, her hand instinctively going for her bow. In one swift motion, she nocked an arrow and aimed it at his chest. “Y/N…” Ramsay began, his voice low, almost tender. "You've come back to—"

"Stop right there, you traitorous bastard!" she growled, her voice dripping with venom. She didn't care about the small smile that briefly flashed on his face, or the way his hands slowly rose as if in surrender. She loosed a warning arrow, purposefully missing him by inches, letting it thud dangerously into the trunk of a nearby tree. “Don’t you dare say my name!” she screamed, her voice shaking. Another arrow flew, this one even closer to him, landing in the snow at his feet. “You... you monster! How could you let this happen? How could you betray us? How could you betray me?”

Ramsay's smile faded, replaced by a look of confusion, then anger. His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t step forward. Not yet. How dare she accuse him?! And of what, he didn't even know - How dare she?! How DARE she?!

"Betray you?" Ramsay's voice was bubbling and sneering but laced with an undercurrent of fury. He finally realised - It was all about his father's betrayal of the Stark family. Of course. Of - fucking - course. He knew his father was going to ruin everything he ever did in his life - That blasted worm... "You think I had something to do with that?!”

"You’re a Bolton!" Katrina shouted, another arrow notched and ready. “Your father slaughtered my family! My mother, my brother! They were all butchered! Tortured! And for what? For Theon fucking Greyjoy to burn my little brothers alive and take Winterfell for himself?” her voice cracked, and tears welled up in her eyes, though she refused to let them fall. "You knew! You had to have known!"

“I didn’t!” Ramsay spat, his voice growing desperate as her accusations cut into him. “I had nothing to do with it!” his tone was raising with every bit of defense he had to shout to be heard.

"LIAR!" Y/N screamed, and her voice broke as the tears finally spilled down her cheeks. “You’re no different than him! You’re just like your father, Ramsay! You’re—”

In that moment, Ramsay snapped, something inside him, probably his sanity, shattered. The frustration, the rage, the desperation to make her understand, to stop her from hating him - They all boiled over. With a savage growl, he moved faster than she could react, lunging forward and knocking the bow from her hands.

He slammed her back against a nearby tree, his hands gripping her shoulders with a bruising force; She gasped, her breath coming in ragged pants as she stared up at him, wide-eyed like a fawn and trembling, her heart pounding furiously in her chest.

“Shut up!” Ramsay growled through gritted teeth, his face inches from hers. “You don’t get to talk to me like that. You don’t get to blame me for what he did!” he snarled at her like a rabid beast.

Y/N’s breath hitched, and for a brief moment, she was silenced — Bot by fear, but by the intensity of Ramsay’s gaze on her. It burned into her, wild, petrifying and unhinged, filled with emotions she couldn’t quite decipher. Her tears streamed down her face in endless waterfalls, and she tried to shove him away, but he only pressed her harder against the tree, their bodies closer than ever before.

“I have nothing to do with that.” Ramsay snarled, his breath hot against her face. “Nothing - Yet you… You came back, just to accuse me like this?”

She opened her mouth to protest, to explain herself, but before she could speak, Ramsay’s lips crashed against hers in a violent, desperate kiss. Her entire body tensed, shocked by the suddenness of it, by the raw hunger in the way his mouth moved against hers. She tried pushing against him, her mind going crazy, but Ramsay was relentless, strong, and his hands were gripping her tighter as if he was trying to claim her once again, to force her back into submission.

For a moment, her mind blanked, overwhelmed by the intensity of the kiss, her very first kiss; The way his lips devoured hers with a desperation she had never seen in him before. When she finally managed to shove him off, they both stood there, breathing heavily, the air thick with unspoken emotions.

“What…” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “What did you—”

Ramsay’s eyes softened for just a moment. “I didn't betray you.” he said, his voice quieter now, like a threatening low whisper. “Don't ever do that to me ever again. Not even the Old Gods could stop me from tearing you apart if you accuse me of such horse shite ever again. You hear me?!"

She glared at him through her tears, still uncertain, still struggling with the whirlwind of emotions tearing her apart. She wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that Ramsay wasn’t involved in the betrayal of her family, but the bitterness of grief and the sting of betrayal ran deep.

“I will kill him.” Ramsay promised, his voice turning dark again as he took a step closer, his hands still resting on her shoulders. “Once he legitimises me, I will kill him. He deserves it for everything he did to me - To us." he hissed softly, his lips almost touching her again. "I will flay him alive for you."

Y/N looked up at him, her expression torn. She was still angry, still grieving, but the conviction in his voice made her pause; She believed him. “I heard what that worthless cockroach did to your home.” Ramsay continued, his voice dripping with venom. “I will gift you Winterfell back, and Theon Greyjoy's skin made into a flag."

Y/N’s lips trembled, her heart torn between hatred and hope. She stared up at Ramsay, her thoughts swirling. She had seen so much darkness, so much death - And yet, through all the horrors of the world, Ramsay Snow remained the only person she fully trusted... The one person who might be twisted and screwed in the head enough to give her the vengeance she craved.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the air between them heavy with tension. Finally, she nodded, her voice a soft, broken whisper. “Bring me Winterfell… And bring me Theon Greyjoy. Alive, but not for long.”

Ramsay’s lips curled into a wicked smile as he leaned down, his forehead brushing against hers. “It’s yours.” he whispered. “All of it.” his lips trailed down to her ear, whispering sultry. "All of me."

For the first time in a long time in may painful years, Y/N felt a gleaming of something resembling hope — Dark, twisted, insane hope, but hope nonetheless. They would take Winterfell back, and they would make sure that every betrayal was paid for in blood - That's what he promised her; She kept her promise to him, and it was time for him to reciprocate.

Winterfell will be reclaimed by the shocking wit of the bastard of the Dreadfort - Truly, not only did Y/N never imagine he would be so witty, but also such a fantastic actor; He would play the role of a half-wit peasant called Reek, bring her to Theon as a prize, and gain his trust - Trust which will be oh-so-satisfyingly shattered once Reek betrays him and becomes Ramsay once more... And he will learn his place, that pesky little filth.

The frigid winds howled through the corridors of Winterfell, but within the walls, tension simmered hotter than any hearth. The once-proud castle of Winterfell was shadowed by the Kraken banners of House Greyjoy, their sigil hanging where the direwolf of Stark once stood tall and proud for generations.

Ramsay had donned the rags of a peasant, dirtying himself with soot and mud until he was nothing more than a shadow of the handsome yet brutal man he truly was.

He became "Reek", it rhymes with "Meek", it rhymes with "Leek", it rhymes with "Weak" - a pathetic and broken figure, eager to please and loyal only to Lord Theon Greyjoy. Y/N, playing along, allowed herself to be dragged in as his prisoner, bound and silent, though her eyes burned with cold fury and thirst for a torturous revenge.

Theon, still drunk on his fleeting power-trip, was easily fooled by their flawless charade; He sneered at Y/N, mocked her, and paraded her around like a trophy in front of her people. "Lookie here, Lady Stark came back home!" he struck her face so hard she fell to the ground. Each word, each cruel jest, was like a knife twisted in Y/N’s heart repeatedly, and added salt and cyanide - But she held herself together, knowing that it was only temporary.

She could feel the storming wrath in Ramsay's eyes - The humiliation won't last long, before he snaps and goes berserk. Theon had fallen too far to see the trap being laid for him. Even as he and "Reek" bonded over Y/N’s torment, the bastard’s true self remained hidden, seething beneath the surface, watching and waiting impatiently to destroy this worthless cunt who thinks himself a King.

One of Greyjoy's favourite ways of tormenting the she-wolf was to degrade her in front of his Ironborn; He'd force her to kneel before him, his foot on her shoulder, and would belittle her. "You like kneeling for men, don't you, Y/N? Is that what you did in King's Landing? Whore yourself for any man who gave you attention?" he laughed mockingly at her, looking at Reek for validation, to see if his joke was funny. "The proud Lady Stark, sucking cock like a greedy slut!" he wanted to go further, to take out his dick and dangle it in her face - But something in him couldn't go that far; Was it their previous sibling bond, or the fact that he practically froze under the harsh blizzard-like glare of her eyes - He kicked her to the ground, having his people drag her back to her room, before he took Reek away from there.

Reek kept his eyes downcast and his hands clenched into fists whenever Theon mistreated his sweet little thorny rose. He would swallow down his rage, pretending to be the loyal, cowardly "Reek" who would never dare to defy his master. His nails would dig into his palms until they drew blood, the pain a reminder to keep his cover intact, no matter how badly he wanted to rip Theon apart with his bare hands. He will pay with his skin, and not only. The more he saw Theon mistreating his darling, the more he wanted to make him feel eternal pain. He will lose his cock, his finger nails, toe nails, and more...

He would shove her around, slap her, hit her, insult her and more; So many threats of him fucking a bastard into her womb, and that he will beat her pregnant belly until she loses the babe; Each word he addressed her way became a new way of Ramsay to torture him.

But one night he went to far... Too far, even for Ramsay to accept. Theon had dragged him into Lady Stark's chambers; He buried his hand into her hair, throwing her onto the bed, his hands gripping at her slender body. "Don't you fucking dare..." came a low, guttural rumble, a threat, a warning... But the Kraken was deaf and blind; He ripped the bodice of her dress and with a weirdly strong grip, he tried to spread her legs apart for him to get to her honeyed core. "I will tear you apart, Theon Greyjoy."

"Shut up, you greedy little whore, I know you're desperate for me... You've always looked at me, since we were little..." with a strike to her face, he slumped over her body, rendering her unable to struggle away. "Don't play coy with me - I know you're not pure anymore - You cannot be."

"Listen to me, Theon Greyjoy - I am not yours to claim." she smirked with wicked defiance; She knew her wait was over, and she could rise up and riot. "The only man allowed to claim me is Ramsay Bolton."

"Then I'll make sure to tell him how tight your cunt is." his hand was fumbling with his breeches, ready to take his cock out and fulfill his promise, until...

"I'd like to see you try." Theon was fell limp over Y/N's body, knocked unconscious by an iron poker struck onto his head. "You don't get to touch her - Filth." THE Theon Greyjoy crumpled to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, his body lifeless except for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, as Ramsay had to restrain himself to jump on him and punch him to death - He deserved far, far worse for even daring to touch his precious Kitten's skin... Let alone think he can CLAIM her.

"Took you long enough." Y/N found herself panting for air, regaining her senses.

"Be glad I'm not claiming you right now." he was trembling with anger as he hissed under his breath.

"You can claim me in front of him." her bold, teasing voice made him snap at her, his eyes wide, tormented. "Down in the dungeons, when you've had your way torturing him... After you cut that useless prick off... Tormented him..."

"Shut up." he growled at her. "Get your people back, raise your flag - Just get away from me." his warning made a shiver go down her spine, and she scurried away from her chambers. She'd never seen Ramsay so pissed that he couldn't control himself even around her. She will let him have his fun for a while, let him cool down on his own, before she returns to check on him.

She moved to the court where the few remaining people of Winterfell— Those who had not yet been driven away or killed — Waited in tense silence. They had seen the Starks fall, seen the banners torn down and replaced with the Kraken of the Ironborn. But now, standing before them, was their last glimmer of hope — The rightful heir to Winterfell. The Queen in the North.

Y/N looked out at the faces of her people, her voice ringing out clear and strong, despite the bruise forming on her cheek. “Theon Greyjoy is no more. Winterfell is our home once more!" there was no mistaking the fierce determination that burned within her - The Scarlet She-Wolf of the Stark House. Once she cupped her hands to her mouth, she let out a loud howl, haunting, booming, alert; Meleys joined in, and from the forest, many more were heard.

The Stark Wolves howled under the Northern Moon once again.

After the bastard finished tying up the naked, unconscious Theon Greyjoy on a wooden X-cross in the dungeons, he went out, watching his Kitten's loud meowing from the shadows, and he held a satisfied smirk on his face. That was his girl, he thought to herself, feeling power brewing in his chest as the people cheered loudly on her - Queen in the North, Lady Y/N Stark - With all the strength and fury of the North.

He slipped away, heading toward the gates where his own forces waited in the cover of night. He signaled them, and like a tidal wave, the Bastard's Boys stormed the premises, decimating any Ironborn still alive. Of course, Y/N wasn't happy to see foreign armies in her home - Alas, she had to accept it for a while.

Back in the dungeons, Theon awoke to the cold, damp darkness, his head throbbing and his wrists bound tightly with burning ropes. He could hear the distant sounds of battle above, the faint screams of his men as they were cut down one by one. Panic surged through him, but before he could cry out, the door to his cell creaked open, and Ramsay stepped inside, carrying the Greyjoy flag in his hands.

With a cruel grin, Ramsay unfolded the Kraken banner before Theon’s wide, terrified eyes. “You’ve made quite a mess of this place, haven’t you, Theon?” Ramsay drawled, his voice mocking. “But don’t worry, I’ll be sure to clean it up.”

With a twisted grin, Ramsay unceremoniously pissed on the Greyjoy flag, defiling it just as Theon had defiled Winterfell. The stench filled the air, and Theon recoiled in horror, but Ramsay only laughed — A dark, mirthless sound that echoed through the dungeon like a death knell.

Ramsay approached him slowly, his leather gloves creaking as he flexed his fingers. His expression was calm, almost serene, but the fire in his pale blue eyes told a different story. He was eager, too eager to start, but he reined himself in, savoring the anticipation. He wanted to make Theon fully aware of what was coming before he even laid a hand on him.

"Reek?! What - How did I get here?! Go on, get me out of here! What are you waiting for?!" but Theon was horrified to see the empty grin of Reek growing ever wider... Twisted, cruel, malicious. "Reek...?! I order you, as Lord Theon Greyjoy, to get me the hell out of here!"

"Y/N was right, you are as stupid as it gets." the bastard scoffed. "I am not 'Reek' - You are! You are Reek." he got close to his face. "And I - I am Ramsay Bolton." Theon's eyes widened with shock and horror, realising he tried to rape this psychopath's woman in front of him; He threatened and tormented her - In front of him.

“You thought you could have her...” Ramsay said, his voice soft, almost conversational, as he circled Theon like a wolf preparing to strike. “Y/N - MY Y/N." he hummed softly. "The Red She-Wolf Queen in the North, Y/N Stark, The Lady of Winterfell... Otherwise known as my precious little Kitten.” He smiled darkly as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against Theon's ear. “You thought you could take what’s mine?”

Theon’s eyes widened with terror, but he couldn’t respond with words that weren't protests or pleas. in his mouth. “Please… Ramsay…” Theon stammered, his voice trembling with fear. “I didn’t mean—”

“Shhh…” Ramsay placed a gloved finger to Theon’s lips, cutting him off. “I’m not interested in your excuses, Greyjoy. I’m interested in watching you suffer.”

Without another word, Ramsay picked up a small, sharp blade from his table of tools. He held it up for Theon to see, letting the dim light from the torches glint off the steel. He then moved toward Theon's hand, grabbing it roughly. Ramsay pressed the blade to Theon's fingers, drawing shallow cuts along the tips—just enough to sting, just enough to let Theon feel the sharpness of the pain before the real suffering began.

He gasped and grunted, squirming, trying to pull his hand away, but Ramsay held him firm, his grip painful and firm. “This is only the foreplay.” Ramsay whispered, his voice dark and dangerous. “You’ll feel every inch of what I’m about to do to you - And I’ll enjoy every second.”

The bastard had chosen a small patch of skin on Theon's chest located where he knew the pain would radiate and linger. He peeled back the flesh slowly, deliberately, relishing in the sight of Theon's blood as it oozed from the wound, along with his screams; His body was convulsing with excruciating agony, but Ramsay remained unfazed - In fact, his nether regions grow hot with desire and lust; He always got aroused when torturing people. His hands worked expertly, and every cry from Theon only seemed to spur him on.

“You should have known better - You have only yourself to blame, Reek.” Ramsay said with an almost casual tone as he continued his work. “You think you’re a lord, you think you’re in control, but you’re not. You never were. Y/N could never belong to a filthy wretch like you. You’re nothing. Nothing but an urchin pretending to be a lord.”

As Theon’s screams grew louder, Ramsay only leaned in closer, whispering in his ear. “This is what happens when you try to steal what belongs to me.”

Once Ramsay was satisfied with the patch of flayed skin, he moved on to Theon’s fingers again, this time bending them back slowly until he heard the satisfying crack of bones breaking. Theon’s howls echoed through the dungeon - Utterly powerless, utterly broken.

“What’s wrong, Reek?” Ramsay mocked, his voice dripping with amusement. “These fingers tried to touch my woman. I either remove them, or kill you, you see? You have to get purified if you want to remain alive."

Theon, shaking from both pain and terror, could only whimper in response - He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to continue living or not, the pain was unbearable. His body was drenched in sweat, his skin pale, and his breath came in ragged gasps, and Ramsay wasn’t done. He wanted more. He needed to hear Theon beg, to hear him plead for the mercy that would never come.

Ramsay brought out a thin iron rod, heated in the fire until it glowed red-hot. He held it up, letting Theon see it, letting him anticipate the pain to come. “It's getting rather cold in here, don't you think? And you're all naked... Let me heat you up a little!” Ramsay exclaimed with a wicked grin.

“Please… Please, no more!” Theon sobbed, his voice barely audible through the tears. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Ramsay’s grin only widened as he pressed the hot iron against Theon’s thigh. The stench of burning flesh filled the air as Theon screamed louder than ever, his entire body shaking with agony. Ramsay watched with dark satisfaction, his eyes gleaming with twisted delight as Theon writhed in pain beneath him.

But then... The bastard went on to remove that worthless little prick of his... And Theon Greyjoy lost consciousness from the agony.

With Winterfell reclaimed once more, Roose Bolton had reason to celebrate, and so did the Crown, who not only appointed him Warden of the North; but offered his bastard son the legitimisation every bastard dreamt of; Ramsay Snow was no more - Ramsay Bolton finally took over - And Roose was going to make a special trip to tell him just that.

The grand hall of Winterfell had been transformed for the feast. Lord Bolton, as imposing as ever, entered, met with a display of power and wealth. Y/N had spared no expense in preparing a lavish meal - His last meal. The long table was covered with roasted meats, warm bread, and jugs of dark wine. The hall glowed with the light of torches and hearths, and a low hum of music filled the air.

Ramsay stood at the head of the table, his face a mask of restraint, as his father entered. Katrina was seated beside him, regal and defiant, her eyes never leaving Roose's cold figure.

Roose barely acknowledged her at first, his eyes fixed on Ramsay. "You've done well, Ramsay." Roose remarked, his tone devoid of warmth as he took his seat. "Winterfell is yours. You’ve managed not to disgrace the name I gave you, for once." as harsh as ever. "Now, you are truly Ramsay Bolton." with that, he threw the letter at his son.

That letter had arrived from King's Landing just that day - Ramsay Snow truly was no more. He had been legitimized by the King's royal decree. He was now Ramsay Bolton, the only living true son of Lord Bolton, no longer the Bastard of Bolton. This was everything Ramsay had ever desired — Power, status, and legitimacy.

This was it - He had the Dreadfort, he had the Bolton name, and he had Y/N. He had everything he ever wanted in his grasp.

It was time to take one step further; He will be the son of Lord Bolton no more - He will be Lord Bolton.

Ramsay smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you, father.”

But as the feast began, Roose turned his attention to Katrina, eyeing her in a manner that made Ramsay’s blood boil. The cold Lord of the Dreadfort spoke of her as though she were little more than a breeding sow, not even present in the room.

“She’s a Stark.” Roose said dismissively between bites of food. “Strong bloodline - But don’t let her think she has power of Winterfell, Ramsay - She’s just a woman after all. Her worth is in her womb, in the heirs she can give you. Many heirs... Strong boys to continue our line.”

Y/N’s face twisted with fury at the crude comment, and Ramsay’s fist clenched beneath the table. He had never been a man to hide his anger well, but for a moment, he restrained himself. His eyes flickered toward his sweetling, and he could see her seething. Roose's words had wounded her pride, and that was something Ramsay would never allow. He spoke ill of her far too many times - But he will speak no more.

After a few more tense exchanges that he hadn't even heard, Ramsay stood and moved toward his father, his expression darkening. “You’ve always been so wise, father.” Ramsay said in a soft voice, though the undercurrent of malice was undeniable. “And I have always sought your approval.”

Roose raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious of the sudden shift in his son's demeanor, but before he could react, Ramsay pulled him into an embrace, feigning affection. "But I’m afraid it’s time for you to step aside." Ramsay whispered into his father's ear. "I am Lord Bolton now."

In one swift motion, Ramsay plunged a dagger deep into Roose’s gut. The older man gasped in shock and the sharp pain of the twist, eyes wide with disbelief. He tried to pull away, but Ramsay held him close, continuing to twist the blade cruelly, to make him feel the same pain he always did. The hall fell into stunned silence as the Lord of the Dreadfort staggered backward, blood pouring from the wound.

“Goodbye, father.” Ramsay sneered as Roose collapsed to the ground, his hands desperately clutching at the bleeding wound. Ramsay’s eyes shifted to Meleys, the red wolf that had been protectively waiting at Y/N’s side. “Meleys.” he called, his voice cold as winter’s night. The wolf moved with deadly grace, approaching Roose with glowing, hungry eyes. With one swift leap, Meleys tore into Roose's already weakened form, ripping flesh from bone as blood pooled on the stone floor, her red fur mingling with his red blood.

Y/N watched the scene unfold with a dark satisfaction in her eyes, not even realising she was grinning. There was no remorse, no sorrow— Only cold justice and triumph. She had grown ruthless, just as life had molded her to be. And now, her tormentor was dead. She felt no pity for Roose Bolton. He had betrayed her family, destroyed everything she once held dear. His death was a small payment for the suffering he had caused.

As the last breath escaped Roose’s lips, Y/N turned to Ramsay. “He deserved worse.” she said softly.

Ramsay smiled. “I thought so too, but I wanted to give you a special gift."

Katrina’s lips curved into a small, bitter smile. “Truth is - While I was in King’s Landing, I took a potion - Something to ensure I would never bear children. I almost died, and the pain was excruciating, but it paid off. As a prisoner, I couldn’t allow anyone to use me for my bloodline - As their political pawn and breeding-stock." she let out an empty chuckle. "I never wanted heirs anyway - And neither did you."

Ramsay stared at her for a moment, processing the words. Slowly, his smile returned, but this time it was something different — Almost relieved. “You clever, clever kitten.” he murmured, stroking her cheek, painting her skin with the blood of his father. “No babes, no risk of you dying in childbirth, no squalling brats to annoy me. You’ve just made everything so much easier for the both of us.” he grinned all sultry and enticing. "I never could resist you."

Katrina chuckled softly, leaning into his touch. “I am yours, Ramsay. Yours and yours alone. No one will ever take that from you.”

Ramsay’s hand trailed down to her throat, his thumb brushing over her pulse. “Good.” he whispered, his voice low and possessive. “Because I’ve never wanted to share you with anyone.”

Katrina looked into his eyes, seeing the madness, the obsession, but also the devotion that lurked beneath. She knew she had tamed the beast within him, at least enough to keep him by her side. Ramsay had given her everything — Her home, her revenge, and even himself — And in return, she had given him herself, Always and Forever.

"I've got something to show you." the man dragged her back into her chamber, and showed her the beautiful Stark flag gently swaying with the wind. "Perfect view." he stood behind her, his arms around her waist holding her in a tight embrace, his chin resting on her shoulder. "How do you feel being back home, Lady Stark?" the closeness was intoxicating him, suffocating him - And he was craving more.

"Perfect, now that you're here with me." her innocently genuine comment made the man instinctively tighten his grip on her; He wanted desperately to get lost in her heat.

She could feel his heat against her back, the possessiveness in the way his hands lingered at her hips. There was a tension in his touch, a dark hunger that sent a shiver down her spine. But she wasn’t afraid - She never was afraid of him. Instead, there was something else building inside her, something that had been growing for some time now. She was craving his touch more than she needed air to breathe.

Y/N turned slowly to face him, her eyes locking with his. There was a storm in those gorgeous icy blue eyes of his, one that both excited and thrilled her. She could feel her heart racing in her chest, the tension between them palpable, suffocating.

"Ramsay." she spoke in a tender whisper, filled with curiosity and desire. "What do boys and girls do together when they grow up?"

His breath hitched as he remembered the many times he had teased her about that when they were younger; He loved toying with her innocence. The way Ramsay looked at her, the way his fingers brushed along her waist, set her heart racing in a way she didn’t fully understand.

"Show me." she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation and need.

Ramsay’s smirk widened, and without warning, he pushed her back against the bed, his hands gripping her waist firmly. His touch was rough, possessive, and it sent a wave of heat coursing through her veins. His lips hovered inches from hers, teasing, taunting, as he held her there, trapped between him and the comfortable bed underneath her.

"You want it, don’t you?" he whispered, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "My sweet, greedy kitten… You’ve wanted this all along... You've been craving my touch for so long..."

Y/N’s breath came in short, sharp gasps as his words sent a flush of heat and arousal through her body. She didn't know what he was doing to her, but she wanted this... The way his mere words stirred her insides... She was nervous and excited to see what else she could feel... With his breath warm against her lips, and his body pressed against hers.

"Yes." she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, her pride crumbling beneath the weight of her desire for him

"Have you been touching yourself, thinking of me, sweetling?" Ramsay’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and he leaned in closer, his lips brushing hers in the lightest of kisses before pulling back again, teasing her mercilessly. "So greedy." he murmured, his voice full of dark amusement, watching that precious blush of hers. "I’ve barely touched you, and already you’re begging for more."

She let out a soft whimper of frustration, her hands gripping his shoulders as she tried to pull him closer, but he held her firmly in place, refusing to give in just yet. His lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and she could feel the heat pooling in her belly, the need for him growing stronger with every passing second. "Ramsay..." she whined out his name, her voice thick with need. "Stop teasing me... You're so cruel..."

He chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "But where’s the fun in that, my little naughty kitty-cat?" his hands slid lower, teasing her waist, his touch light and maddeningly slow. She could feel her pulse quickening, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the anticipation built to an unbearable crescendo. He knew exactly what he was doing to her — Knew how much she wanted him, how much she needed him — And he reveled in it and the power he held over her.

"You’re mine, Y/N. Forever and Always." Ramsay growled softly, his voice thick with possessiveness. "And I will make sure you never forget who you belong to."

He finally gave in to her silent pleas, his lips crashing down on hers with a fierce, demanding intensity. Y/N moaned sweetly into the kiss, her hands tangling in his dark hair as she pulled him closer, desperate for more. The scorching heat between them was electric, a wildfire that had been building for far too long, and now that it had been unleashed, there was no stopping it.

Ramsay’s hands roamed her body with a possessive hunger, his touch rough and insistent, but she didn’t care — She wanted this, needed this. She had been denying herself for too long, and now, in the darkness of her home, with the snow falling outside and the fire crackling behind them, she finally let go and embraced his hedonism.

When he pulled back, his breath heavy, Ramsay smirked down at her, his eyes dark with satisfaction. She looked so kissable, so needy, so innocent and in need of corruption.

"Such a greedy little kitten... All for me..." he teased, his voice low and full of dark amusement. "Just as I always knew you would be." his whisper was husky and sultry. "Insatiable, greedy, needy... Only for me."

Y/N glared weakly at him, blushing through the timidness of a demure maiden in all her glory, purer than the Maiden, and far more beautiful than the Moon herself - And she was burning with desire that was not even close to being satisfied. "And whose fault is that?" she shot back, her voice breathless.

Ramsay chuckled darkly, leaning in to nip at her lower lip, sending another shiver down her spine. "Mine, of course. I love spoiling my haughty little sweetling." he admitted, his voice full of dark pride and impure thought. "The night is not long enough for all the things I want to do to you..."

In the aftermath of countless betrayals and bloodshed, the North was finally restored to its rightful rulers - House Stark. Y/N Stark, with the aid of her Lord Husband, Ramsay Bolton, had reclaimed Winterfell - She united the world once more with a claim as strong as that of the previous King in the North, her dear brother, the Young Wolf, Robb Stark; She became Queen in the North, ruling with a wisdom and wit, aided by the ruthless strategies of her beloved Ramsay - And even more surprisingly, the aid of her little brothers, who had survived Theon's siege - They were brought back by Meera and Jojen Reed.

Theon Greyjoy, now a broken man, lived as "Reek" — A forever shattered reflection of the once-proud yet pathetic Ironborn prince. He became Ramsay's pitiful plaything, his mind too far gone to remember even his own true name.

Far away in the Eyrie, Sansa Stark took over the Vale after Sandor had to throw her Lady aunt, Lysa Arryn, through the Moon Door after she dared attack his beloved songbird out of sheer jealousy - Sansa was far more beautiful than Lysa ever was. The she-wolf willingly married Sandor Clegane out of love, feeling safe and sound in his strong, protective embrace for the first time since she left home. Sansa became Warden in the East, and Y/N's eternal ally, just as their Catelyn and Lysa used to be... As Ned and Jon used to be...

The direwolves returned to the North as well, filling the halls of Winterfell with the howl of 'home' once more. Though Grey Wind was dead, and Ghost was loyally protective Jon at Castle Black, everyone else replaced the Stark siblings for Y/N, whenever she missed her sweet brothers and sisters a little too much. The family was sort-of reunited... The pack survived... But at what cost?

Across the Narrow Sea, Daenerys Targaryen, the true Heir to the Crown, laid her claim over King's Landing, with the aid of her dragons and Tyrion Lannister as her Hand; Cersei Lannister and her devil-spawn child were no more; Myrcella had married the Prince of Dorne and happily remained there, whilst Tommen was more than willing to go to his bride, Margaery Tyrell, and live in the peace and prosperity of Highgarden. No doubt, the happiest was Jaime Lannister, who happily married Brienne of Tarth and returned to Casterly Rock as the Warden of the West, enjoying, for once, a normal life, away from the drama of the Crown, and all that his father and sister brought along.

With peace finally settling over Westeros, Daenerys married Jon - Who found out was actually Aegon Targaryen, the only living son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell;

Together they united in A Song of Ice and Fire.

And what became of the little rat of Winterfell? Arya hadn't stepped in Westeros of ages - She was living her best life, traveling West of Westeros, discovering what was never discovered, venturing into the unknown, and exploring to her heart's content. She was the happiest she could ever be. Perhaps, some day, she would return, homesick - Until then, she will become Nymeria of the Rhoynar and sail into the vast horizon.

The terrible Winds of Winter had dissipated, and the Dream of Spring nurtured blooming hope and joy into the people of Westeros once more.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

chef!sirius black x reader who is terrible at cooking

The kitchen smelled like a battlefield. Smoke wafted from the stove, and you stared at the pot with a mix of betrayal and confusion. How could cider betray you like this? It was just cider!

Sirius walked in, his black apron already tied around his waist, looking effortlessly in control as always. His hair was in a messy bun, sleeves rolled up, and his eyes scanned the room. The minute he saw the pot, he froze.

“Oh no… What happened here?”

You waved a wooden spoon, attempting to explain. "It just… I don’t know! I followed the recipe! It was literally two ingredients."

Sirius crossed his arms, raising a brow. “Two ingredients, huh? And somehow, you’ve managed to turn it into this.”

“It’s not that bad!”

He sauntered over, peering into the pot. His face twisted as if he'd just seen something truly horrifying. “Not that bad? There’s charcoal at the bottom of this. How do you burn cider? It’s literally two ingredients.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks—not from the stove but from the embarrassment of being caught in yet another kitchen disaster. "Okay, it got away from me!"

Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose, dramatically sighing. “Got away from you? Cider doesn’t just escape. It’s not some wild racoon running loose in the kitchen.”

You huffed. "If you’re going to be all bossy and smug about it, then maybe I should just let it burn."

He smirked, stepping in behind you, his arms reaching around to take over. “Sorry, love. But lucky for you, I’m here to rescue your—whatever this is.”

You leaned into his presence, the warmth of him taking over the room as he quickly switched off the burner. "You didn’t even let me finish my masterpiece!"

“Sweetheart,” he said, laughing softly, “if this is what your ‘masterpiece’ looks like, I’m filing a restraining order against your cooking.”

You turned to face him, narrowing your eyes. “You’re such a dictator.”

“And you,” he poked your nose with the wooden spoon, leaving a bit of cider residue, “are a menace.”

You wiped your nose with a grin, grabbing a towel to clean off the mess. “Fine, Gordon Ramsay, what’s the verdict?”

He pulled you in by the waist, a playful glint in his eye. “The verdict is that you’re never touching cider again. In fact, stay away from all things stove-related unless you want to burn this place down."

“But I wanted to make something for us! Something cute and tasty-ish,” you pouted.

Sirius kissed your forehead, giving in as he always did when you pulled that look. “How about this: you handle the decorations and leave the cooking to me?”

You feigned offense, gasping dramatically. “Are you saying I’m only good for setting the table?”

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “I’m saying I’ll handle the food, and you can handle being cute.”

You burst out laughing, shoving him lightly. “Oh, you think you’re cute?”

He winked, grabbing an apple from the counter. “I know I’m cute.”

"Bossy and smug. I swear, you’d think this kitchen was your kingdom."

Sirius took a bite of the apple, leaning against the counter, watching you with amusement. “It is my kingdom. And in this kingdom, we don’t burn food, especially cider.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine, Chef Black. You win this round.”

He pointed to the scorched pot. “This isn’t just a win. It’s an intervention.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again as he started preparing a new batch of cider, expertly slicing the apples and cinnamon sticks. His hands moved with such ease that it almost made you envious—until you remembered the last time you tried to chop an onion and nearly sliced your thumb off.

“Just watch and learn, love,” Sirius teased, catching your eye as he worked. “One day, you’ll master boiling water.”

You tossed a kitchen towel at him. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are. Stuck with me.”

"And that too very happily."

got the inspiration of chef!sirius from @ellecdc

[mattsobvimyfav]

neighbor (matthew sturniolo)

pt 9-

WARNING- SMUT

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains, and I groaned, burying my face deeper into Matt’s chest to escape it. The faint sound of shouting from downstairs made my eyes flutter open, and I quickly realized the noise wasn’t part of some dream.

“Do you hear that?” I mumbled, my voice raspy from sleep.

Matt stirred beside me, his arm still draped over my waist. “Yeah…” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes. “What the hell is going on?”

The yelling got louder, followed by the sound of something clattering onto the floor.

We both sat up in unison, exchanging a look before scrambling out of bed. I slipped on a pair of shorts and pulled my hair into a messy bun, not bothering to make myself look remotely presentable as Matt tugged on a shirt. Together, we hurried downstairs, the chaos growing louder with each step.

When we reached the kitchen, the scene before us was… something. Charlie stood by the stove, trying to salvage a plate of scrambled eggs while Chris frantically waved a towel at Nick, who was hopping around and holding his arm. A streak of bacon grease was smeared across his shirt, and he was cursing loudly.

“What the hell is going on?” Matt demanded, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Nick turned to us, his expression caught somewhere between pain and disbelief. “Your brother,” he said, jabbing a finger at Chris, “is a menace! He spilled bacon grease on me!”

“It was an accident!” Chris shot back, still flailing the towel in Nick’s direction. “You shouldn’t have been standing so close!”

“Why were you even cooking bacon in the first place?” Matt asked, clearly trying to suppress a laugh.

Charlie turned around, holding up a plate piled high with pancakes and a sheepish grin on her face. “We were trying to make you guys breakfast,” she explained. “You know, as a congrats for finally getting along and not killing each other.”

I blinked at her, my heart melting a little despite the absolute disaster around us. “That’s… really sweet,” I said, stepping forward and taking the plate from her. “But also very chaotic.”

“It was going fine until he”—Nick pointed at Chris again—“decided to reenact some Gordon Ramsay move and flipped the pan too hard.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t trying to flip it hard, it just—”

“Can we focus on the fact that I’M IN PAIN?” Nick interrupted dramatically, holding out his arm for effect.

I handed the plate of pancakes to Matt and grabbed Nick’s wrist, inspecting the red mark where the grease had landed. “You’re fine,” I said with a smirk. “You’ll survive.”

Matt was already diving into the pancakes, grinning as he spoke. “Thanks for the breakfast. Totally worth the drama.”

Charlie beamed, looking proud of herself despite the mess. “You’re welcome.”

I glanced back at Chris, who was now trying to mop up the spilled grease on the floor, and couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, but next time, maybe just stick to cereal. Deal?”

“Deal,” they all said in unison, Nick grumbling a bit louder than the rest.

Matt and I settled at the table as the rest of the group finished cleaning up. Despite the chaotic start, it felt like a perfect morning—messy, loud, and full of the people I cared about most.

After breakfast, Matt and I decided to retreat back upstairs. I was still full from the feast, and craving some quiet time. The moment we stepped into my room, Matt shut the door behind us and smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“Finally,” he muttered, climbing onto the bed and hovering over me.

I barely had time to catch my breath before his lips were on my neck, trailing soft, slow kisses along the sensitive skin. A quiet moan escaped my lips, and I felt his smile against my skin. His hands slid under the hem of my shirt, teasingly grazing my waist as he kissed lower, sending shivers through my whole body.

Just as his lips reached my collarbone, the door burst open.

“Hey, have you seen my jean shorts?” Charlie asked casually, stepping inside without so much as a glance at us.

Matt groaned loudly, rolling off me and flopping onto his back. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he muttered, rubbing his hands down his face in frustration.

Completely unbothered by the tension in the room, Charlie rifled through a pile of clothes near my dresser. “They were here yesterday. I need them. We’re all going out, by the way, so Matt, you need to go home and get ready. We’re leaving in an hour.”

Matt shot me a look, his jaw tightening as he sat up. “Awesome,” he said dryly, pushing himself off the bed. He grabbed his shoes, muttering under his breath, “Perfect timing, as always.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” I said sarcastically as she left the room, holding up her shorts triumphantly.

“Oh, found them! - What?” she said, raising a brow. “It’s not my fault you two were in the middle of fucking.”

As the door shut behind her, I turned to Matt, who was now running a hand through his hair, clearly trying to calm down. “I’m gonna kill her,” I muttered, crossing my arms.

Matt leaned down, brushing a kiss to my forehead. “Save some of that anger for later,” he said with a wink. “I’ll see you in an hour.” Then, with one last glare toward the door Charlie had just exited, he walked out.

I flopped back onto the bed with a frustrated groan, already planning my revenge on Charlie for being the ultimate cock blocker.

After Matt left, I eventually pushed myself up, determined to focus on getting ready for the day.

First, I headed to the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the room fill with steam. Stepping under the hot water, I felt the tension in my body start to melt away. I washed my hair with my favorite shampoo, the scent of vanilla and coconut filling the small space. After rinsing out the suds, I massaged the conditioner into my ends, leaving it to soak while I lathered up with body wash.

Once I stepped out of the shower, I wrapped myself in a plush towel and padded back to my room. Sitting at my vanity, I carefully went through my skincare routine. I cleansed, toned, and layered on moisturizer before gently dabbing under my eyes with cream. A quick spritz of hydrating mist finished the routine, leaving my skin glowing.

I brushed out my damp hair, deciding to leave it natural for the day. Slightly damp but drying quickly in the warm air. Satisfied, I moved to my closet to pick out an outfit.

After a few minutes of deliberation, I settled on a white flowing crop top with delicate ruffled edges. It tied at the front, leaving just enough skin exposed to feel sexy but still casual. I paired it with light-washed high-waisted loose jean shorts that hit right below my ass cheek, adding a touch of effortless style. For shoes, I opted for my high-top platform Converse, I wanted to look good for Matt.

I stood in front of the mirror for a final once-over. Grabbing my phone and a small crossbody bag, I headed downstairs, ready to see what they decided on doing today.

The doorbell rang, followed by the familiar chatter of voices, signaling the boys were here. I walked to the door and opened it to find Matt, Chris, and Nick standing there, all grinning like they were up to something. Matt’s eyes flicked to me, his eyes trailing my body as he took in my outfit.

“Hello Sweetheart,” he said, his voice low, but there was a warmth there that made my chest flutter.

“Let’s go fuck!,” I replied, whispering it in his ear.

“Cant-” He started but then was abruptly cut off.

Nick clapped his hands together as he looked around. “Alright, Y/N, here’s the deal. We’re filming a car video for the channel first. We are gonna drive around the streets of LA and do a Q&A, you know the drill. Then, we’ll decide what to do for the day and make it a vlog for everyone’s channels. We’ve been slacking on content, all of us.”

I raised an eyebrow. “A car video? Do I get to participate, or am I just sitting in the back awkwardly?”

“You’re in,” Chris said, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “You’ll be the wildcard. You always throw us off with your answers.”

I laughed, shrugging him off. “Fine.”

Nick turned to Matt. "Y/N get the front, and me, Chris, and Charlie will cram in the back."

I glanced at Matt, who smirked and shrugged. “Guess that’s settled, then.”

“You okay with that?” Chris asked, already heading toward the door.

“Yeah, fine by me,” I said, grabbing my phone and following them out. Matt gave me a little nudge on the way, his hand brushing against the small of my back.

We piled into Matt’s car, and true to Nick’s decree, I climbed into the front passenger seat while the other three squeezed into the back. Nick was already pulling out his camera to set up on the dashboard.

"Ok bitches," Nick said, angling the lens. “Matt, start driving. Y/N, you’re co-hosting this disaster with me.”

Matt chuckled, turning on the car. “You sure you want that? She might hijack the whole thing.”

"Exactly why she's co-hosting," Nick retorted.

As we pulled out of the driveway, Nick launched into his intro. “What’s up, everyone? We’re back with another car Q&A with questions from no other than you guys! But this time we are driving to a destination you will see in our next vlog, also we’ve got Y/N riding shotgun to keep Matt in check.”

“Not possible,” I joked, leaning back in my seat. “But I’ll do my best.”

“Alright, first fan question and I’ll ask Y/N, who’s more annoying when drunk, Matt or Chris?” Charlie asked, leaning over the seat to get in my face.

“Chris,” I answered without hesitation.

“Hey!” Chris protested.

“Sorry, but you’re like a toddler with unlimited energy,” I teased.

As the car Q&A began to heat up, the questions naturally shifted to some more personal topics. Nick, always the instigator, decided to dive into the juicier ones submitted by fans.

“Alright, this one’s for Charlie and Chris,” Nick announced, leaning forward from the very backseat of the minivan. “What’s your favorite thing about each other?”

Charlie blushed immediately, hiding her face behind her hands. “Why would you pick that one?”

“Because it’s adorable,” Nick replied. “Now, answer it.”

Chris didn’t miss a beat. “Her laugh. Hands down. It’s so fucking contagious and it makes me want to make her laugh all the time.”

“Aww,” everyone chorused, with Nick pretending to wipe a tear.

Charlie peeked up from her hands, still blushing. “Fine. My favorite thing about Chris is how he always knows when I need him. Like, no matter what’s going on, he’s always there, even when I don’t ask.”

The car erupted in more exaggerated "aww"s, with Matt rolling his eyes but smirking at the sweetness.

“Alright, moving on before we all throw up,” Nick teased. “This one’s for Matt and Y/N: What’s the best thing about spending time together?”

Matt’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel, but he stayed composed. “She makes everything more fun,” he said simply, glancing at me with a small smile.

I felt my cheeks heat up but managed to reply. “Matt’s... surprisingly thoughtful. Like, he pretends he’s all tough, but he’s got a big heart. He notices little things and makes you feel like you matter.”

The car went silent for a beat before Nick broke it with a loud, fake sniffle. “Look at you two, being all sweet. Love that for you.”

“Next question,” Matt grumbled, though his smirk gave him away.

Nick cleared his throat dramatically. “Okay, okay, serious question: Are you two actually dating, or is this just a fling?”

The air grew a little tense, but I laughed it off. “Who even submitted that? It’s none of their business.”

“True,” Nick agreed. “But for the record, you two act like an old married couple, so…”

Matt chuckled, shaking his head. “No comment.”

Chris leaned forward, chiming in. “Someone asked if Y/N only hangs out with Matt because he’s famous.”

The car fell silent for a moment, and I felt Matt tense beside me. “That’s stupid,” I said sharply. “I’ve known them since highschool… fame has nothing to do with it. Plus Charlie and I are pretty fucking famous ourselves, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, they are pretty fucking famous themselves!,” Matt added, his voice a pitch higher in mockery. 

The atmosphere lightened a little after that, but the questions kept rolling. Nick read another one, his grin widening. “Okay, back to the fun stuff: Charlie and Chris, who’s the better cook?”

The couple immediately started bickering, with Charlie insisting it was her and Chris arguing that his waffles were superior.

We wrapped up the video about thirty minutes later, filming enough content and answering enough questions for both our channels. 

“Oh shit,” Matt huffs. 

I turn my head over to him and hum in question. “Whats wrong?”

“We forgot to film an outro. Let me pull over and I can yell into the camera or something.” he sighs, flicking on his signal to turn into a small plaza parking lot. 

I nod, grabbing the camera from the dashboard and preparing it to film again when an idea hits me. 

“Hey, Matt?” I ask, playing with the settings on the camera. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” 

“Remember how you used to kiss the camera goodbye at the end of videos?” I ask casually, clicking out the LCD screen and pressing record. 

“Yes?,” he ask confused as he puts the car in park and turns to look at me.

My grin widens as I lift the camera up, placing it on my forehead to face him almost as if it was a gopro. “Feeling nostalgic?” I giggle.

Matt laughs, looking between my lips and the camera before leaning in, one of his hands coming up to cup my cheek as our lips collide in a lighthearted and playful kiss. The both of us laugh into the kiss before Matt pulls back, looking directly into the camera then letting out a high pitched scream that left the lens foggy and humid. 

He brings his free hand up to the camera and presses the off button, gently grabbing it from my hands and putting it on the dashboard again. 

“How was that for nostalgic?” he whispers, face still close to mine. 

I laugh, pushing his forehead with my palm. “I’ve seen better,” 

“Oh really?” he gasps in faux offense. 

“Truly,” I nod sarcastically. 

“Yeah alright, sweetheart. We’ll see if you still think that later tonight.” he smirks, starting the car again and putting it back into drive. 

“Are yall done??” Nick butts in from the backseat but quickly interrupts himself with another thought. “You know what I could really go for right now? Some fucking bowling.”

“Bowling?” Matt asked, raising an eyebrow, pulling out of the parking lot and back onto the main road.

“Yep,” Nick confirmed. “Losers do something embarrassing. Y/N, you in?”

“Oh, I’m definitely in,” I said, grinning. “But you’re all going down.”

“Big talk for someone who barely knows the rules,” Matt teased, pulling back into the driveway.

“...I didn’t even know there were rules. That’s gonna be really embarrassing when you loose to someone who didn’t even know that much.” I shot back, earning a chuckle from him as we parked.

We all piled out of the car, the sun bright and warm as we joked and bickered our way into the bowling alley. I grabbed my camera from my bag, flipping it on to capture the camaraderie. “Alright, everyone, say hi to the vlog!” I said, pointing the lens toward the group.

Nick leaned in, throwing up a peace sign. “What’s up, Y/N and Charlie’s channel? Prepare to witness greatness.”

“You mean prepare to witness you eating my ass?” Chris chimed in, smirking.

Charlie elbowed him, giggling. “Oh, please. You’re all going down. Y/N and I are going to be a power duo.”

“Hey so Charlie , there aren’t any teams in bowling hope this helps.” I deadpan over to her as she looks at me without a single thought behind her eyes.

I turned the camera to Matt, who stood casually, arms crossed and a slight smirk on his face. “Got any words of wisdom for the vlog?” I asked as Matt opened the front door for me.

He leaned closer, his voice low and teasing. “Just make sure to capture my victory in 4K.”

“Oh, I will,” I shot back with a laugh, spinning the camera around to capture my triumphant grin.

We picked out shoes and debated over bowling balls, the smack talk already in full swing. “You know what they say,” Matt teased as he lined up his first shot, “Fuck bitches, get money, and go bowling.”

“Very funny,” I deadpanned, nudging him aside. “The only bitch you're gettin’ is bout to wipe the floor with your big ass cranium so step aside.” 

The game quickly turned competitive. Chris bowled a strike early on, and Charlie cheered so loudly the entire alley turned to look. “That’s my man!” she yelled, giving him an exaggerated high-five.

Nick, on the other hand, couldn’t stop laughing at his own gutter balls. “Maybe I should stick to bed rotting” he muttered after his third miss.

Matt was surprisingly good, earning strikes and spares with ease, but he wasn’t prepared for me. My first few rolls were mediocre at best, but by the halfway point, I’d found my groove. I bowled strike after strike, much to everyone’s shock—and my delight.

“You’ve been hustling us this whole time,” Matt accused, his eyes narrowing playfully.

“Maybe,” I said with a smirk, lining up my next shot. I rolled the ball down the lane and watched as all the pins clattered down. “Boom!” I spun around, throwing my arms up in victory. “What’s that? My balls in Matt’s mouth? Yeah that’s what I thought.”

Charlie laughed, leaning against Chris. “Yeah, clock that. We all know who wears the pants in that…” she pauses, looking between Matt and me multiple times before resuming. “Relationship?...” she cringes at the word.

 “Friendship!” she tries again, but grimices before giving up. “Fuck it. Only god knows what's going on between those whores…”

“Oh! okay!” I sang. “That's strike two! Not in bowling! You’re on thin ice!”

By the final frame, it was clear I was the winner. Matt groaned dramatically, rubbing his temples. “How is this fair? I was robbed.”

“Skill, my dear Matthew,” I said, patting his shoulder as I picked up the camera. “Let’s hear it for the champion!”

Chris clapped slowly, a grin tugging at his lips. “Alright, I’ll admit it—she earned it. Barely.”

“Barely?” I scoffed. “I crushed all of you.”

As we wrapped up and headed for the exit, Matt walked beside me, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you beat me.”

I glanced up at him, smiling. “You’ll live. Maybe next time you’ll step up your game.”

He chuckled, his hand brushing against mine. “We’ll see about that.”

Back in the car, I turned the camera back on, catching everyone’s tired but happy faces. “How does it feel to get your ass wiped by me?” I asked, spinning the camera toward Matt.

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” he looks at me with a straight face. 

Nick groaned from the back seat, leaning his head against the window. "Okay, okay. I lost. What’s my punishment?"

A wicked grin spread across my face as I turned the camera toward him. “Oh, don’t worry, Nick. We’ve got something special for you.”

“Be gentle,” he pleaded, his voice dripping with fake sorrow.

As soon as we got back to the house, we all piled inside, still buzzing from the night. I set the camera up on the kitchen counter, making sure it was angled perfectly to catch whatever ridiculous punishment we came up with.

Charlie clapped her hands together. “Alright, Nick. Since you came in dead last, your punishment is…” She paused for dramatic effect, looking at Chris. “Chris, what do you think?”

Chris smirked, clearly enjoying this a little too much. “I think Nick should have to walk through target in Y/N’s outfits.”

Nick’s face fell when Chris suggested he do his next punishment at Target. “Wait, you’re not serious,” he said, staring at me wide-eyed.

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” He replied, grinning. “You’ve got to wear the outfit I gave you all around Target. Just imagine the looks you'll get!”

Charlie, Me, and Matt were all snickering, clearly on board with the idea.

Nick’s eyes darted from one person to another, and his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll do it. But if I get kicked out of the store, I’m blaming all of you.”

Matt clapped him on the back, trying to suppress his laughter. “Hey, maybe a man twice your age with a mustache will think you look sexy.”

I grabbed my purse, and with everyone ready to go, we piled into the car. The entire ride to Target was filled with Nick grumbling about how he couldn’t believe he was about to make a fool of himself in public.

Once we arrived, we entered the store, with Nick wearing the bright pink skirt and crop top. His outfit drew stares from everyone, but he strutted confidently, as if he were walking the runway. People whispered and giggled, some even pointing, but Nick refused to back down. He just kept pushing forward, determined to complete the mission.

I pulled out my camera, filming everything. “Okay Rupaul Dragrace” I teased, capturing him on camera as he tried to act casual while pushing a cart through the aisles.

Nick shot me a look, his face flushed from embarrassment, but he held his head high. “You guys are so cruel.”

Charlie leaned into me, laughing so hard she nearly tripped over her own feet. “Bitch, this was your idea.”

We made our way through the aisles, stopping at random items just to make Nick pose awkwardly with them. He had to pick up random products and look like he was contemplating them seriously, which only made everything more ridiculous.

“Nick, can you try on the kid’s shoes? They’d go perfectly with your look,” Matt suggested, barely able to keep a straight face.

“Sure, why not?” Nick replied sarcastically. “It’s not like I’m already embarrassed enough.”

He shuffled over to the kids’ section, trying on the smallest pair of sneakers he could find and somehow managing to make it look like he belonged in them. It was absurd, and it was honestly one of the funniest things I’d ever seen.

I couldn’t stop laughing, holding my stomach as I filmed the whole thing. “You’re killing it, Nick. Keep going.”

We spent a good thirty minutes walking around the store, stopping for Nick to pose by random displays, and by the time we were ready to leave, he was still pretending to be unbothered, though we could all tell he was close to snapping.

“You’ve definitely earned your punishment points,” I said as we made our way to the checkout line, trying to stifle my giggles.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m definitely not losing again,” Nick grumbled, tossing his purchases onto the conveyor belt. “But next time, Y/N, I’m picking your punishment.”

“Deal,” I said, unable to stop laughing at the thought.

As we left the store, Nick walked out of Target like a true champ, still wearing the outfit like it was the most normal thing in the world. And even though he was clearly embarrassed, he managed to make it through the entire ordeal without turning into a total wreck.

“You’re a trooper, Nick,” I said, patting him on the back as we got back into the car. “You survived. You’re officially a legend.”

We pulled up to the triplets' house, the evening air cool and crisp as we got out of the car. Charlie and I exchanged a glance, a silent agreement passing between us before we turned to the guys. “Alright, you guys did enough today,” Charlie said with a grin. “We’re cooking dinner tonight. Italian, sound good?”

The triplets looked at each other, their eyes lighting up. “You guys are cooking?” Matt asked, raising an eyebrow. “This should be interesting.”

I smiled, nodding. “Yep, we’re taking over the kitchen. You’re all getting Italian tonight.”

The guys exchanged amused looks, clearly impressed but also a little wary of what we had planned. “Well, we’ll let you take the lead,” Nick said, giving a thumbs-up. “But if we’re eating burnt food, you’re on your own.”

With a laugh, Charlie and I headed inside, excited to work our magic in the kitchen while the guys settled in for the evening.

Charlie and I started preparing the Italian dinner. We decided to cook up some pasta, garlic bread, and a big salad. Charlie was chopping vegetables, while I was stirring the sauce on the stove, trying to perfect the flavor.

“Are you sure I’m not doing too much?” I asked, glancing at Charlie as she set the table.

She shook her head, grinning. “Nope. We’re doing this. It’s our turn to spoil them. Besides, they’ve been doing enough for us lately.”

I smiled, feeling a warmth spread through me. It felt nice, doing something for them. Once the food was ready, we set the table, and the guys came in, looking more than ready to eat.

Matt’s eyes lit up when he saw the pasta. “You guys seriously went all out. This looks amazing.”

“Don’t thank us just yet,” I said. “You have to eat it first.”

We all dug in, and I could see the satisfaction on everyone’s face as they took their first bites. Matt grabbed my hand across the table. “This is seriously the best thing I’ve eaten all week,” he said, his voice low but sincere.

Charlie was laughing as she reached for more garlic bread. “I told you we were good in the kitchen.”

We ate, joked, and laughed together, the room filled with a sense of ease. It felt like we were finally getting a bit of normalcy back after everything that had happened recently.

After dinner, we all sat around, chatting about everything and nothing. Nick, of course, had to make a joke about being the best chef, even though he had nothing to do with the cooking. It was nice to just be together, no drama, just friends and a good meal.

I felt a sense of peace in that moment, surrounded by laughter and warmth, knowing this was exactly where I wanted to be.

After the dinner, Matt gave me a quick tour of the triplets’ house since I’m the only one who’s never actually been there before. He started with Chris’s room, which was in the basement. It had this cool, cozy vibe—dim lighting, a comfy green couch, and walls lined with vintage posters. On his desk he had a little vanity mirror and small makeup bag with wipes for Charlie. Chris clearly liked his space, as it had everything he needed for unwinding after a long day.

We then headed upstairs, where Matt’s room was located. He gave me a playful grin as we walked down the hall. “This is my space,” he said, opening the door to reveal a room with dark colors, a huge king-size bed, and his desk with the streaming set up. I could tell it was Matt’s private sanctuary.

Next, Matt led me upstairs to Nick’s room, which was next to a loft area. Nick’s room was totally different from Matt’s—bright and energetic. The vibe in here was more playful, a perfect reflection of Nick’s personality. "Nick’s room is where all the tech magic happens," Matt joked, and I couldn’t help but smile at how different each of their rooms was.

Finally, we walked back downstairs into the living room and kitchen which I had gotten myself familiar with while cooking dinner. The living room was large and open, with a huge sectional couch and gaming consoles everywhere. The kitchen had modern appliances and an island with bar stools, where we could hang out whenever we wanted. "This is where we come to chill when we’re not annoying each other," Matt said, and I could tell he meant it.

After dinner and the tour, we all lounged around, enjoying each other’s company. The living room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the soft glow of the TV playing some random late-night show none of us were paying attention to. Charlie and Chris were curled up together on one end of the couch, her head resting on his chest while his arm lazily draped over her shoulders. Nick was passed out in the corner, snoring softly with a blanket half-draped over his legs.

And then there was Matt and me.

We were tangled together on the opposite end of the couch, his arm slung around my waist, pulling me snugly against his chest. My head rested on his shoulder, and I could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing. His warmth, his scent—it was intoxicating.

The quiet murmur of the TV mixed with the occasional whispered laugh from Chris and Charlie, but my focus was entirely on Matt. He shifted slightly, his breath brushing against my ear as he leaned in closer.

“Are you ready?” he whispered, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Ready for what?” I murmured back, my heart racing as his fingers lightly trailed down my side.

His lips barely grazed the shell of my ear as he spoke. “To let me take out all that anger I’ve been saving.”

I swallowed hard, heat pooling in my stomach at the weight of his words. My breath hitched when his hand tightened on my waist, pulling me even closer.

“Matt,” I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and nervousness.

He tilted his head slightly, just enough for me to catch the wicked smirk on his lips. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Not so sure of yourself now?”

I didn’t answer, my mind flashing back to earlier in the car— and what he said.

Matt shifted again, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered, “Let’s see if you still think there’s better.”

The challenge in his voice sent a spark through me, and I couldn’t stop the small gasp that escaped my lips. His fingers grazed my hip, his touch deliberate but teasing, just enough to make me crave more.

I turned my head slightly to meet his gaze, our faces so close I could feel the warmth of his breath. His eyes were dark, filled with an intensity that made my stomach flutter.

“Let’s go,” he murmured, his voice firm but quiet enough that the others wouldn’t hear.

I nodded, barely trusting myself to speak, and he stood up, pulling me with him. Chris and Charlie barely glanced our way, too wrapped up in their own little bubble, and Nick was still blissfully unconscious in the corner.

Matt’s hand slipped to the small of my back as he guided me down the hall, his touch searing through the thin fabric of my shirt. The door to his room clicked shut and locked behind us, and the air between us seemed to crackle with electricity.

He leaned against the door, his smirk returning as his eyes raked over me. “Still think you’ve seen better, sweetheart?”

I swallowed hard, my pulse pounding in my ears. “Maybe,” I said, my voice shaky but laced with challenge. “Why won’t you prove me wrong,”

He chuckled softly, pushing off the door and stepping closer. His smirk deepened as he closed the distance between us, his movements deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey. My breath hitched as he stopped just inches away, his hands slipping into his pockets, casual but exuding that infuriating confidence.

“You’re sure you ready for that?” he asked, his voice low and rough, each word sending a shiver down my spine. His eyes never left mine, daring me to break first.

I tilted my chin up, trying to hold onto whatever shred of composure I had left. “It’s nothing I haven’t had before,” I said nonchalantly, shrugging.

Matt’s gaze darkened, his smirk softening into something more dangerous, more intoxicating. “I’m not the same guy I was four years ago, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hand lifting to gently tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His touch lingered, fingers grazing my jaw before trailing down my neck.

“Good. His stroke game was weak. Maybe you’ll finally be able to make me cum now.” I shot back, my words bolder than I felt.

Matt’s eyes widened slightly at my boldness, but the shock melted into a dark, amused grin that made my knees feel like jelly. His hand stilled on my neck, his thumb tracing a deliberate, slow circle against my skin.

“That’s funny,” he said, his voice dropping to a rough, taunting whisper. “Because I remember you begging me to keep going. Said you couldn’t take any more, but there you were, falling apart under me anyway. Oh and how could I forget that giant mess you made all over our sheets that one time. Think I could make you do that again?”

My breath hitched, his words hitting like a physical blow to my pride and composure. He tilted his head, leaning closer, the smirk on his lips pure sin. “Sound familiar, sweetheart?”

I swallowed hard, refusing to back down, though my cheeks were burning. “Guess it’s easy to forget when it wasn’t exactly memorable.”

His grin widened, his other hand sliding to my waist and pulling me impossibly closer. “Oh, we’ll see about that,” he murmured, his lips grazing the corner of my mouth. “You’ve got a lot of smart things to say for someone who’s about to eat her words.”

I couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through me, his proximity, his touch, and that damn voice of his completely unraveling me. “Big talk for someone who might still disappoint,” I shot back, though my voice wasn’t nearly as steady as I wanted it to be.

He chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating against my chest. “You want me to prove you wrong?” he asked, his hand slipping lower, resting just on the curve of my hip. “Because once we start, sweetheart, I’m not stopping until I’ve made you forget every other man you’ve ever been with.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words died on my lips as his mouth brushed against mine—not a kiss, but a tease, a reminder of how close he was, how much control he had over the moment. His lips ghosted over mine again, his breath hot against my skin. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, his tone daring me.

I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Instead, I leaned in, closing the sliver of space between us and brushing my lips against his. It was all the confirmation he needed.

His grip on me tightened as he deepened the kiss, his lips firm but controlled, his movements deliberate and maddening. My fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer, as if I could erase every inch of space between us.

When he pulled back just slightly, his lips still brushing against mine, he whispered, “That’s my girl.”

Without another word, he stepped back, his hand slipping into mine as he led me toward the bed. The tension was electric, the air between us thick with anticipation.

“Still think I’ve got something to prove?” he asked, his voice a soft, teasing growl as he 

He stopped just short of the edge, turning to face me, his hands sliding to my waist as he pulled me flush against him.

“Last chance,” he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous rasp. “Say the word, and I’ll stop.”

I looked up at him, my breath hitching as his eyes bore into mine, dark and intense. “I’m not stopping you,” I whispered, my voice trembling but resolute.

His lips twitched into that maddening smirk before he leaned down, capturing my mouth in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was demanding, all-consuming, his hands gripping my hips as he pulled me even closer. I gasped against his lips, and he used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that made my knees buckle.

Matt’s hands roamed, exploring with purpose. One hand slid up my back, tangling in my hair, while the other gripped my waist, keeping me grounded as he kissed me like he was trying to claim every piece of me. His teeth grazed my bottom lip, and I couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped me.

“Already making noises for me,” he murmured against my lips, his tone laced with smug satisfaction. “Guess I don’t have much to prove, after all.”

“Shut up,” I breathed, tugging at his shirt, desperate to feel more. He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous, before pulling back just enough to tug his shirt over his head.

My eyes traveled over him, taking in the hard planes of his inked chest, the lines that led lower, disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans. He caught me looking and raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing. “Like what you see, sweetheart?”

I rolled my eyes, though my cheeks burned. “I’ve seen better,” I teased, throwing his own words back at him.

His grin turned predatory. “You’re gonna regret saying that,” he murmured, his voice dripping with promise. He moved forward, backing me up until my knees hit the edge of the bed. His hands slid to my thighs, guiding me down as he followed, his weight settling over me in a way that sent a thrill through my entire body.

His lips found mine again, the kiss deeper, hungrier this time. His hands explored, trailing over my sides, my hips, the curve of my waist. Every touch felt deliberate, calculated, like he was mapping me out, re-learning every inch of me.

I arched against him as his lips left mine, trailing down my jaw to the sensitive spot just below my ear. He lingered there, his teeth grazing my skin before his tongue soothed the bite. “Still think you’ve seen better?” he murmured, his voice rough against my skin.

“Matt,” I whispered, my voice shaky, pleading.

His lips curved into a smirk against my neck. “That’s what I thought.”

He didn’t rush, didn’t let me rush him. Every movement was slow, deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every moment, every reaction he pulled from me. His hands slid beneath my shirt, his fingers brushing against my bare skin, and I shivered under his touch.

“Let me hear you,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over my collarbone as his hands explored higher.

I couldn’t hold back the soft moan that escaped me, and he smiled against my skin, clearly satisfied. “Good girl.”

Matt’s hands slid higher under my shirt. He pulled back just enough to tug the fabric over my head, his eyes raking over me like I was the only thing that existed in the room.

“You’re so hot,” he murmured, his voice thick, almost reverent, as his fingers traced over my collarbone, down the curve of my waist, and settled on my hips. “Even better than I remembered.”

I couldn’t find words, couldn’t think straight with the way he was looking at me—like he was devouring me with his eyes, rememorizing every inch. He leaned down, his lips finding mine again, and the kiss was deeper, hungrier. His hands moved, gripping my hips again firmly as his weight pressed me into the mattress, grounding me and sending sparks shooting through my entire body.

“Matt,” I gasped against his lips, my voice trembling, and that was all the encouragement he needed.

His lips left mine, trailing a hot, deliberate path down my jaw to my neck, where he lingered, his teeth grazing over sensitive skin. I whimpered as he bit down gently, soothing the mark with his tongue before continuing lower. His lips danced over my collarbone, down to the curve of my chest, and I arched beneath him, my hands tangling in his hair as he worked his way down.

“Still think there’s better out there?” he asked, his voice low and rough, his breath hot against my skin.

I opened my mouth to respond, but all that came out was a soft moan as his hands gripped my waist, his thumbs pressing into the soft curve of my hips. His lips followed the path his hands had mapped, his touch firm but teasing, always just shy of where I wanted him most.

“Answer me, sweetheart,” he said, his tone dripping with smugness as he looked up at me, his smirk sending my heart into overdrive. “Because I don’t think you’ve got it in you to lie to me right now.”

“You’re infuriating,” I managed, my voice shaky but defiant.

“And yet,” he murmured, his hands sliding lower, his fingers brushing against the waistband of my shorts, “you can’t seem to get enough of me.”

“Prove it,” I challenged, though the trembling in my voice betrayed me.

Matt chuckled, a low, dangerous sound that sent heat pooling in my stomach. “Oh, I will,” he promised, his hands slipping beneath the fabric and pulling it down with agonizing slowness.

The cool air on my skin was a sharp contrast to his touch, and I shivered, my breath hitching as he leaned down again, his lips finding a new path across my hips. Every kiss, every touch was calculated, deliberate, like he was unraveling me piece by piece.

“You’re not ready for me,” he murmured against my skin, his voice low and teasing. “But don’t worry, sweetheart—I’ll take my time. You’ll forget everything else but me.”

Before he could even finish his sentence, his fingertips were on the buttons of my jean shorts, undoing them as if he had all the time in the world. His slender fingers unhooked them one at a time, his dead eyes looking up at me the entire time. 

“Lets get these off you, yeah?” he hums to himself as I raise my hips off the mattress slightly but enough for him to grab the hem of them and pull them down to my ankles— leaving me in nothing but my bra and underwear. 

As soon as my shorts hit the ground , his knees are quick to follow. He drops to the floor of the bed, grabbing my thighs with his hands and pulling me roughly to the edge.

I let out a quiet gasp of surprise as my body flew to the edge and i prop myself up on my elbows to look down at him. 

He looks up at me then drops his mouth to leg, his dead eyes heavy and half lidded. “Getting dejavu?” he says roughly against my inner thigh, placing soft kisses closer and closer to where I needed him.

I didn’t respond, I let my body do the talking when goosebumps rise across my thighs as his kisses travel closer and closer to my aching core. 

As soon as it looked like he was finally going to touch me, kiss me, do anything— he’d just trail his mouth back up towards my ankles that were resting over his shoulders.

“You’re such a fuckin’ tease, Matthew,” I whimper beneath him, at this point deperate for any sort of touch he was willing to give me.

“Let me make you feel good, baby” he hushes against my thigh, once more trailing his lips down to my clothed and untouched core.

Just as I was about to really start whining, i feel his fingers hook onto the waistband of my underwear, teasingly running his fingers acoss my lower abdomen. 

My body twitches at the slight touches, giving way to truly just how desperately and sickly I needed him. 

Matt licks his lips and runs his fingers across my skin one more time before finally reaching underneath and dragging them down my legs. It peeled off my core with a large string of arousal connecting my untouched cunt to my soaked panties.

“God,” Matt murmers under his breath, his gaze intense. I could feel him picking me apart with his eyes and it was causing a entire fire to ignite through my body. 

Before I could say anything, Matt removes a hand from my thigh and takes his pointer finger, spreading my folds. He groans outloud as he sees that I’m dripping in anticipation and clenching around air. 

I knew Matt wanted to eat me out, I mean, cmon. His nick name wasn’t “Matt the munch” for nothing. What I wasn’t expecting was for him to stand up, hook his fingers under your thighs again and flip you.

Within seconds your roles were reversed and Matt was sitting against the bed, head leaning back on the bed and looking up at the ceiling. And I was hovering on top of him, legs spread in a straddle, leaking cunt directly over his beautiful face. 

His hands come up and grab my hips, pushing me down with little to not force but enough to let me know what he wanted. 

I look down at him with hesitation and when our eyes meet, I nearly explode. His pupils were dilated so intently that there were almost no blue left. He licked his lips, eyes darting from my face to my core— waiting for my approval. 

And who am I to say no? 

The second Matt sensed me lowering onto his mouth, his hands tightened around my hips and pushed me onto his tongue with such force I had to grip the sheet to keep my balance. 

His tongue immediately found my clit and even after four years he remembered the exact rhythm that had me shaking. 

“Fuck Matt—” I moan, grabbing his hair and tugging lightly. 

The second his tongue left my clit and dove deep into me, I knew I was a goner and that I was not going to last long at all. 

It was almost embarrassing how quickly my body remembers everything about him— the curve of his nose that hit my clit just the right way every time i rocked my hips, the light scruff on his jaw that scratched against my thighs every time he’d move his mouth, the deep groans he’d let out that would vibrate through my body— everything. 

But the part that got me the most was the way he seemed to enjoy it just as much if not more than I did. 

I feel my juices leak down his chin, his tongue lapping up as much as he could, sucking on my folds, flicking my clit, and everything in between. 

He was eating me out not just like it was his last meal— no. he was eating me out as if he had never eaten anything before in his life. As if he had spent his life in purgatory and I was his first taste of freedom. 

As if it couldn’t get any better, his hands leave the deathlock they previously had on my thighs and when I opened my eyes to look down to see what he was doing, I nearly came there and then. 

Matt was so turned on from eating me out that he was fumbling with the belt buckle of his own pants, tugging them down to free his erection as if his life depended on it. 

At the sight of his strained cock spring out of his boxers, I couldn’t help but grind down extra hard on his mouth and tipping my head back, moaning out loud, not caring about how loud I am or that everyone was only a few hundred feet away in the room over. 

When I open my eyes again and look down, Matt had one fist around his cock, pumping up and down with immense speed. Before I had time to question where his other hand went, my questions were answered when I felt his pointer and middle finger sneak up next to his chin and prod against my entrance. 

My back arched as he slowly pushes one in and I pull on his hair so hard I feel his moan beneath me when he slips the second one in. 

“Fuck” I cry, begging to rock my hips against his hand, needing to feel something. “Please, Matt.”

Matt simply hums underneath me, still continuing to jerk himself off and eat me out. He slowly brings his fingers out and then pushes them back in, this time faster. 

“Oh fuck, keep going, please,” I beg, no longer caring enough about my pride. 

His fingers continue to pump in and out of me faster and faster. Even after four years he can tell when I was close based on how tightly I clamp down around him. 

“Fuck, right there!” I cry out, rocking harder and faster against his mouth and fingers, desperately chasing my high. 

He scissors his fingers inside me and my legs threaten to close. The way he applies just the right amount of pressure in just the right spot to makes my thighs begin to shake as I rapidly approach my orgasm.

I couldn’t respond, couldn’t do anything but hold onto him, my body trembling as his hands and tongue drove me closer to the edge of madness. He was in control, and he knew it, his every movement a reminder of just how much power he held over me.

“Matt,” I gasped, his name tumbling from my lips in a broken whisper, my fingers clutching desperately at his hair. My pulse thundered in my ears, the air thick and electric, every sense overwhelmed by him—his scent, his heat, the deep, dark tone of his voice as he murmured something I couldn’t even process.

He smirked against my skin, clearly satisfied by the way my body reacted to him, how every shiver, every soft sound I made, told him exactly what he needed to know. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, a command wrapped in velvet. “Let go for me.”

I was helpless against him, my body no longer mine as he pushed me further, higher, until I was teetering on the edge of something I couldn’t quite name. And then, with one final, deliberate move—his hand tightening, his lips pressing just right—it hit me like a tidal wave.

My entire body tensed, my breath catching in my throat as pleasure washed over me, sharp and overwhelming, crashing through me in waves that left me trembling, gasping for air. My fingers dug into his skin, my back arching as I gave in completely, every nerve alight, every thought replaced by the intensity of the moment.

I cry out, surly aleting not just the rest of the house but the entire fucking neighborhood at this point. “I’m cu— fuck — i’m cumin’, Matt”

“Thats it,” he murmured, his tone whiney and uneven and that's when I felt it— the way his body tensed under mine, his hands gripping my hips twice as tightly. I could feel his control slipping.

“Jesus, fuck ” he groaned against my core, his voice low and raw, like the sound was ripped from his chest. His mouth fell slack, his finger movements stuttering slightly as he buried his face deeper into my pussy.

The realization hit me as I felt the tremor run through him, his body shuddering against mine, his breath hot and uneven against me. He hadn’t even needed anything else—just me, just this. The way he’d completely unraveled me had been enough to push him over the edge too.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, like he couldn’t believe what had just happened. 

I was still trying to catch my breath, my body boneless on top of his face, but the warmth of his reaction sent a thrill through me. “Matt,” I murmured, my voice shaky but teasing. “Did you just—”

He slowly removed his hand from inside me, and brought it to his cock, jerking himself through the last bits of his orgasm with my cum coating his fingers. “You have no idea what you do to me, sweetheart,” he said, his voice rough but full of that maddening confidence.

I laughed weakly, leaning forward and resting my forehead against the mattress. “Guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Oh, it is,” he murmured. “Trust me.”

I collapsed on the bed in front of him, finally giving him space to breathe. He chuckled softly, standing up and climbing up on the bed with me, his arms wrapping around me as if to hold me steady.

Matt groaned softly, still holding me close as the aftermath of the moment settled between us. His fingers lazily traced circles on my back, his breathing finally slowing to match mine. 

“I hate to ruin this,” I murmured, my voice still slightly breathless, “but we should probably clean up.”

Matt chuckled, the sound low and rich as he kissed my forehead. “Yeah, we probably should. But I don’t know if I’m ready to let you go yet.”

I rolled my eyes, though a small smile tugged at my lips. “C’mon, Matt. You can hold me after we’re not sticking to each other.”

He groaned dramatically, finally sitting up and pulling me with him. “Fine. But only because I like you,” he teased, smirking as he picked up his shirt from the ground and offered it to me.

I slipped it on, the fabric hanging loose and smelling like him, and I couldn’t help but smile. “You’re just full of chivalry tonight.”

He raised an eyebrow as he grabbed a towel, tossing one to me with a playful smirk. “Don’t get used to it.”

We cleaned up quickly, despite neither of us really wanting to leave. Once we were both somewhat presentable, Matt ruffled his hair and grinned at me. “Ready to face the peanut gallery?”

“Not really,” I muttered, biting my lip. “But let’s get it over with.”

He laughed, slinging an arm around my shoulder as we walked back out to the living room. The scene was exactly as we’d left it—Nick still passed out in the corner, Chris lounging on the couch, and Charlie perched beside him, scrolling through her phone.

Except this time, Charlie’s head snapped up the moment she saw us, a wide, wicked grin spreading across her face. “Well, well, well,” she said, setting her phone down and crossing her arms. “Look who decided to join us.”

“Don’t start,” Matt warned, though the corners of his lips twitched.

Charlie ignored him, her gaze locking onto me. “Y/N, babe. Sweetheart. You okay? You were so loud, I was starting to think we’d need to send Chris in with a medic.”

My face went hot instantly, and I shoved Matt’s arm off my shoulder, glaring at her. “Charlie!”

“What?” she said, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying. Some of us were trying to watch TV, and all we could hear was—oh, Matt! Oh, my God! Right there!”

Chris burst out laughing, throwing an arm over her shoulder. “She’s not wrong.”

Matt smirked, clearly unbothered as he dropped onto the couch next to Nick. “Glad I could provide some entertainment.”

Charlie grinned, leaning forward and pointing at me. “And you, miss thing, need to hydrate after all that screaming. Go grab some water before you pass out.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Charlie said with a laugh, tossing me a water bottle. “You love me. And honestly? You’re welcome.”

“For what?” I muttered, sitting down and cracking open the bottle.

“For being the best wingwoman ever,” she said with a wink. “You’re welcome, Matt.”

Matt raised his water bottle in a mock toast. “Appreciate it, Charlie.”

Chris groaned, leaning back. “I’ve gotta start charging for putting up with all this. I swear.”

Charlie grinned, resting her head on his shoulder. “You love us.”

Chris sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Unfortunately.”

I sipped my water, my embarrassment fading as the playful energy filled the room. Maybe being called out wasn’t so bad—especially when I was surrounded by the people I loved most.

tag-

@tbfaptbfae @ch0llies @2muchofaslvt @rockstarchr1s @simply-a-simper @mattscore @watercolorskyy @urfungi @sturnsvelocity @mattsturnii @christmastreecake @izzylovesmatt @larnieboox88 @christophersstar @realuvrrr @namelesssav @matts-girlfriend

[ramsayxme]

You've Been Watching Me.

You dried your dripping hands across the front of your horribly filthy skirt. Back home, you wouldn't even allow your lowest servant to wear such a filthy piece of clothing. Everything was different now, you sighed as you finished washing the last dish. You could still hear the loud laughter trickling in from the dining hall while you emptied the washing bucket down the drain. You didn't have servants anymore; you were the servant.

You didn't remember much about when Ramsay Bolton captured you, but you did remember you lost everything. You used to have your own warm bed to sleep in with layers and layers of carefully hand woven blankets draped all across, each with a beautiful design. You used to love to run your hand along the intricate designs that were woven with such grace, skill, and care...Now you fiddle with the loose twine that holds your skirt from falling down to your ankles. Not quite as beautiful.

You can't even begin to imagine what you look like now. Your long brown hair felt wiry and stringy but greasy and oily at the same time. Your eyes felt sunken from lack of sleep. You felt bony and scrawny, unable to remember the last time you felt the sensation of fullness in your belly. You sighed as you exited the kitchen chamber and into the hallway. There was one good bit about being captured, though. Your captor was a handsome monster.

Of course, you knew how horrible, vicious, and vile this man was. After all, you had witnessed it first hand a few times so far. Regrettably, there was something about him that peaked your interest. There was a slight sexiness to the way he asserted dominance and power, as if he had no fears in the whole world. You had studied Ramsay's face many times while he was asserting his power, and you had always noticed the way he lit up. It was obviously arousing for him to watch people squirm until they give in to him.

Last week, you had watched in the shadows while he tortured and mutilated the man who was formerly known as Theon Greyjoy, now just a broken pet named Reek. You felt yourself heat up just by watching him abuse his power and ever since then, you had fantasized about him using that power on you. You were obviously ashamed of this, but you knew it was just a fantasy and nothing more.

You finally reached your bed chambers, your bare feet chilled from the cold stone of the castle. You walked over to your small fire that was still glowing, and you climbed on your unstable 'bed' right in front of the stone fireplace. It was made with a plank resting on uneven stones and covered with a few pelts. It was wildly uncomfortable. Your room was tiny, but you weren't in it much. You were either doing your chores or sneaking around, trying to catch glimpses of Ramsay throughout the day. You liked watching him.

You were so unimportant to him that he never noticed you. You could just pretend to be sweeping the floor while he ate dinner, cleaning the linens while he screamed at another servant, or just simply laying low in the shadows like you did the other day. You felt your adrenaline rush when you watched him. You couldn't help yourself!

You began warming your ice cold toes by the fire, reaching down and rubbing them slightly. You were lost in your thoughts when you heard your door slam. As you jumped to turn around, you saw one of the other servants standing at your door. It was a scraggly looking boy, you guessed not much older than 15. "Oh. You scared me." You said, turning back towards the fire. The boy still stood at your door. "What is it?"

He looked down at the floor. "Ramsay has requested you." You felt your heart race in secret. "What? Why? I haven't done anything wrong." You had not yet turned back to the boy. "I don't know." He muttered, "He asked for you. Let's go, before he gets angry at me." The boy had just planted an idea in your head. Poor boy.

"I don't believe you." You smirked, still facing the fire. "Come on!" He begged, a little louder and much more desperate this time. "You know he doesn't like to be kept waiting, please..." You sighed and stood up to face the boy. "What do you imagine he wants from me?" You pretended to be too scared to go with him. The boy quickly shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, but we can find out. Please. Hurry." He was truly terrified. You felt excitement bubble up in you. "Fine." You finally agreed.

The boy led you down the hallway to one of the side chambers. It was similar to the dining hall but a little smaller. He pushed the door, causing a loud squeaking noise to fill the air. You stepped inside and saw Ramsay sitting at the table. He was alone. You felt a shiver slither up your spine, but it wasn't fear. You tried to look scared.

"That took... longer than I wanted." Ramsay said softly, his eyes staring into the young boy. You heard the boy shift his weight, obviously uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. She... she didn't want to come right away, she moved slowly." He whispered, his eyes glancing at your feet on the floor. You shook your head, determined to make Ramsay angry at the boy. You felt guilty, but you wanted to watch him get mad. "Not true, Ramsay. He got lost on the way. I tried to tell him to take a left after the dining hall, but he didn't listen to me."

The boy's jaw hung slack as he stared at you, realizing what you were doing. "I see." Ramsay said, his eyes still stuck on the boy. You watched Ramsay inhale deeply as he pulled his shoulders back. He was wearing a front buttoned vest with a wool long sleeve underneath it. His curly dark hair swooped over his eyebrows and his piercing blue eyes shifted around underneath. His jaw was strong as he grit his teeth. He exhaled his breath with the words "Come here", directed to the boy. He sulked over, slouching wit defeat as he approached Ramsay.

Ramsay reached out and grabbed a handful of the boy's horribly messy hair. He yanked him down to his face and whispered something into the boys ear. You couldn't hear what he said, but you felt yourself get excited watching Ramsay be so powerful. The boy shuddered as Ramsay let go of his hair, a smile breaking across his face. "Run along now!" Ramsay yelled, sending the boy running out the door. He swung it shut as he left, causing it to slam loudly.

Now, it was just you and Ramsay...alone.

"Yes, Ramsay, what did you need from me?" You ask, breaking the silence in the room. Ramsay smiles, his lips slowly unveiling his sharp incisors as he grins wider. "Have you enjoyed it?" He asked, his voice deep and quiet. You felt a wave of anxiety flow across your torso. "Enjoy what?" You asked. He did not answer you. He simply lifted his hand and gave a 'come here' motion. His eyes were peering at you from behind his curls. You swallowed a small bubble of nerves as you stepped closer to him.

He did not seem satisfied until you were at the other edge of the table, directly across from him. He looked up at you, his shoulders square and his breathing steady. You stared in silence for a moment before he began chuckling. "You do enjoy it!" He laughed. You still weren't sure what he was saying but before you could ask, he answered for you. "You've been watching me."

You opened your mouth to argue, but Ramsay kept going. "You think you're sneaky, but you're not, no you are far from it! Do you really think I don't know everything that happens around here?" He swirled his finger around in the air, indicating the whole castle. "I noticed you watching me the first time you did it. I saw you in the corners when I was..." his eyes rolled around as he was trying to find the right words. "...playing with Reek."

Again, you opened your mouth to speak. "You like it, don't you?" Ramsay asks more firmly this time. All you can do is slowly nod your head. He knows. He has known this whole time. "What exactly do you enjoy about it? Do you like hearing the screams of pain too? Or is it something else?" He asks you. His eyes are very intense. He is staring directly at your face and you feel your cheeks flush. "I...." "Speak up, dear. I can't hear you." He grinned.

"I like watching you... I don't really know what it is, but I like watching you be powerful." Ramsay snickers at this. "It is not the torture alone that you enjoy, but its watching me torture others? You like my power?" He asked you although his voice oozed with confidence that he already knew the right answer. You hesitated to answer, and with a ~shing~ you heard Ramsay unsheathe one of his knives from his belt, twirling it in his hand, and then pointing it at you. "Answer me." He demanded, his eyebrows raised.

Oh, Gods. You swallowed another bubble, but again, it wasn't fear. You felt a breathy whimper slowly escape your lips as you sighed. "Yes." His eyes seemed to light up to your response, and perhaps also the moan that crept out. "Wonderful." He said, still pointing the knife at you. "Come here." He demanded. You swiftly walked around the table and stood facing him at his side. Your breathing was quick, you were so close to touching him.

He stood up quickly, pushing the chair out from under him with a loud scrape on the floor. He turned to you, making direct and intense eye contact immediately. You felt your breath hitch in your throat. He slowly brought the knife up to your neck and pressed the tip of the blade against your throat. "Now," He began, his voice low and breathy, his face only inches from yours. "I want you to do something for me to show me how much you enjoy watching me. Can you do that for me?"

You gently nodded your head, staring into his hungry eyes. He pressed the knife against you harder, the edge of it barely nicking your jaw. "Use your words." He groaned through gritted teeth. "Yes... yes, I can do it..." You didn't recognize your own voice. It sounded smoother and thicker than usual. Ramsay dropped the blade on the table. "Are you going to do anything I say?" He asked, almost cooing at you. His lips were close enough to your face that if you barely leaned forward, you would be kissing him. You felt the warmth of his breath on your own lips.

"Yes, I will do anything you-" Before you can finish your sentence, his hand wraps around your throat tightly. You feel your airway cut off and watch his eyes widen as he chokes you. You reach your hands up and place them on the hand around your throat out of instinct. His eyes dart across your face, almost as if he is examining every tiny movement you make. You notice his breathing is steady and controlled even though his eyes are wild and his teeth are barred. He lets his grip loosen a bit, but doesn't completely let go. You want him.

You lean forward slightly, in hopes to kiss him. He doesn't allow you, his grip tightens when you lean. "What do you think you're doing?" He chuckles at your pathetic attempt of romance. "Are we making love now? No, I don’t believe we are." Ramsay just laughs at you as he releases your throat and sits back down in the chair. "Get under the table." He demands. You do not hesitate this time.

You crouch under the table and sit on your shins, the stone is hard on your knees but you can't seem to be bothered. Ramsay scoots his chair back so he can peer down at you, and you stare up at him. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat and your stomach. You watch him intently as his hands dip to his trousers and he unlaces his waistband, his gaze never leaving your face. You watch as he pulls on his trousers, releasing his erection for you. You sharply inhale, watching him do this is something you thought was only possible in your dark fantasies. He snickers as he pulls himself out of his pants completely, and interlaces his fingers before resting his hands on the table in front of him. He stares down at you with a dominant glare and you feel yourself melt slightly.

You sit eagerly on the floor, watching him as he raises his eyebrows at you. “Well? You enjoy watching me, now let me enjoy watching you.” You feel your stomach flip in your body with excitement. You scoot forward on your shins and place your head on his knee. You stare up at him and manage to whisper “I’ve been fantasizing about this for days.” He gives you a closed lip smile and nods. “I know. I can tell. Now, go on…” You take a deep breath in and stare at his erection. You can’t believe this is about to happen. You want to pleasure him more than you’ve ever wanted to do anything in your life. You reach your hands up and wrap one of your hands around the base of his shaft as you place your lips on the warm tip of his cock.

Slowly, you began kissing the head. You swirl your tongue gently as you allow your eyes to flutter shut. His head is soft and smooth, your tongue gliding across him with ease. You kiss deeper, allowing his entire tip in your mouth. You sense Ramsay take a deep breath, making your core heat up. You’re really pleasuring this powerful man. You feel so special and invincible. Your confidence seeps out of your body through your actions as you open your mouth wider and take in more of him. You were moving slow but with intention. You felt his cock in the back of your throat and you began bobbing up and down, methodically and determined. Ramsay sighed again, his hands must have left their spot at the table because one of his hands wrapped around your hair at the back of your neck. You felt the slight pressure on the back of your head as he placed his hand there, softly pushing your head down to ease his cock snugly in your mouth.

You continued to pleasure him, now allowing his cock to fully enter your throat. You started losing control as he began taking control, you knew this was bound to happen. You knew that Ramsay wouldn't actually give you full control. You felt him wrap your hair around his fist once, and then grip on it tightly. He pushed and pulled your head, using your mouth at whatever speed pleased him. It was uncomfortable for you, but you were more focused on the grunts and breathy sighs coming from his throat.

Without warning, he shoved his chair back and stood up; leaving you alone under the table with your dripping chin. "Get up." He growled, his grin proving that his demand was enticing. You stumbled to your feet and stood, your ass against the edge of the table. Ramsay smiled at you for a moment before diving his face into the crook of your neck. He yanked the fabric of your shirt down your shoulder, allowing the soft skin to be exposed to him. You sucked in a breath as he began kissing your neck eagerly with bites in between kisses. You felt yourself groan when he bit down a bit harder, which made him reach to your waist and squeeze your hips.

His hands snaked from your hips to behind your thighs as he lifted you, setting you down on the table. You frantically began pulling your skirt up, bunching it around your torso. Ramsay chuckled at this. "You're an eager one." He whispered into your ear before biting down on the flesh directly below your earlobe. A whimper escaped your lips. You realized your arms were desperately tugging at Ramsay's sleeves and the front of his vest. Gods, you were not very good at hiding your lust for him. He stepped back one step before yanking his vest open and tearing it off. Then, he pulled the wool long sleeve over his head. You gawked at the sight, his pale and toned frame heaving as he stared at you with a predatory glare.

He stepped forward again, pressing himself against your core. Your skirt was still bunched around your sides, fully exposing yourself. Ramsay's cock nudged at your entrance as he allowed his trousers to fall from his thighs to his ankles. You reached out in an attempt to allow your fingers to graze over his pale skin, but he stopped you with his own hands. He grabbed your wrists and tucked them at your sides. "Lay down. Hands under your lower back." You obeyed, slowly leaning backwards and tucking your arms underneath the small of your back. "Good." He quietly praised you.

He grabbed the same knife from the edge of the table and wielded it in his hand. He leaned forward, pressing it against your neck, the cold blade sending shivers down your body. He slid the knife under the neckline of your shirt and easily sliced through the filthy fabric, exposing your breast to him. He pulled the shirt open like a cloak and began kneading at your chest while he nudged at your entrance, his cock pressing against your needy core. The knife returned to your throat as he lined himself up with your cunt. His free hand still groping your body, squeezing and pulling at your soft flesh. He leaned forward, pressing his length inside you easily. You were clearly very aroused, as your body was slick and easy to enter.

You whined as he stretched you. He enjoyed your whimpers. He clenched his jaw as he began pumping in and out, not allowing your body to adjust. You cried out with a combination of pain and pleasure, and Ramsay simply growled in return. He continued to press the knife against your throat, the blade threatening to slice through your skin at any moment. He did not break eye contact while he began fucking you. His icy eyes bore deep into your own, causing your stomach to flutter with arousal. This was unlike anything you had ever experienced. Seeing Ramsay abuse his power was one thing, but watching him to do it to you? Incredible.

You felt yourself growing warm, your body fully adjusting to him and beginning to float with pure bliss. You must've gave your enjoyment away on your face, because Ramsay pulled his cock from you. You whimpered as you felt empty, and your eyes snapped open to see him take a step backwards. "Get up." He demanded. You brought yourself off the table and realized how sore your arms and shoulders were. You stood in front of Ramsay, your skirt falling back to its original length.

"I can't have you enjoying this too much." He cooed, shaking his head with disappointment. He brought the knife back to your throat. You swallowed as you watched his eyes scan over your face. His other hand grabbed your hands and he brought them to his wet cock, still hard. "Please me." He demanded as he grabbed the nape of your neck once again. "Yes, Ramsay." You obeyed. You began stroking his cock while he leaned into you. You were using your hands to please him while he kept the knife pressed against you and had your hair wrapped around his other hand. He turned your head to the side, giving him access to your neck and ear. He breathed against your ear, causing goosebumps to rip across your skin.

He kissed your earlobe as the knife pressed against your jawline. You were steadily and rhythmically using your hands to jerk him off. Your mind blurred as you pleased him. Your brain drowned in the sounds of his shaky breaths and moans between the kisses on your neck. You knew he was growing close to orgasm, the grip on your hair was extremely tight and the knife was pressed against your jaw firmly. You were afraid he would slice your throat without knowing.

His hips began thrusting forward, his body begging for more pleasure. He lurched a few times before his thighs tightened and the knife actually dug into your jawline. He came, releasing a groan from deep within his belly as he did. You were gasping for air just as much as he was, you hadn't realized you had been holding your breath. He came down from his climax and finally released your hair. He noticed the nick on your jawline from his knife and he chuckled. "I got a bit carried away, didn't I?" He reached out to your chin and pulled it towards him, allowing you to face him once more. He pressed his lips against yours, kissing your mouth for the first time. You felt your heart flutter. The kiss was too short. He pulled away and bent over to pull his trousers up.

"Go wash your wound. I may need you again later tonight." He grinned as he turned to walk away, leaving you a panting mess. You were desperate for your own release, feeling the sexual tension built up in your own body. You watched Ramsay disappear in the hallway and you looked down at yourself. Your open shirt hanging off your elbows. Your dress even dirtier than it was before, but this time you didn't really seem to mind as much.

[boltonplaything]

GOT men in the bedroom

Robb Stark: He growls 100% he'll pin you down to the bed, push your legs back until your knees are by your ears and pound into you. He's the type to want you to role play with him in the bedroom. Call him "Your Grace" and he's done for. Playfights and silly games will almost always end up in some passionate lovemaking as well. He's a service Dom for sure, he wants to give you every ounce of pleasure he can and make sure you are thoroughly cared for in every aspect of life

Ned Stark: He seems to be the type to pant and grunt. He'll talk you through it though with that deep rumbling, accented voice. He'll hold you gently which would be a heavy contrast to the urgency in his thrusts. He'd shower you with praise before and after, how gorgeous you are, how lucky he is, how good you feel. He's pretty vanilla but somehow it doesn't take away from the experience.

Jon Snow: He growls and Whimpers depending on if he's the Dom or the sub. If he's the Dom he'll handle you firmly, groaning and growling into your ear about how he's been wanting to fuck you all day. If he's the sub he whines and pants while you fuck him, begging for his release and we can all guess that as a sub he'd cum fast and apologize for it. As either the Dom or the sub his words would become unintelligible after a certain point of bliss. I also feel like he'd be into somno but he'd have to have discussed it in depth with his partner beforehand.

Jaime Lannister: He's a talker, he pants and groans but he's mostly a talker during sex. Everything is teasing and cheeky remarks it doesn't matter what position he's in. He is a tease, he is a flirt, he is an asshole. He'd be fucking you from behind while giving a whole monolog then getting playfully annoyed when you don't know what he's been saying because he's hitting it so well. He'd fuck you till the point where you're shivering but the second he feels your body clench around him, he'll stop and chuckle. Doing it over and over again until eventually he gives in with an "alright alright". If he's the sub he doesn't understand why you won't let him finish ,maybe because he deprives you, but nonetheless he talks the whole time. He'll groan and pant and finally give in and whisper out his pleas. He's a brat and a tease.

Tyrion Lannister: He grunts, every thrust he makes he grunts and curses, he grips you like his life depends on it. If he's the submissive he turns into a whiny pathetic mess, all of his eloquence is lost on him.

Tywin Lannister: Groans and Moans. I wouldn't have said he was a moaner a week ago but in light of recent discoveries he is in fact a moaner. He is not gentle in any aspect either bending you over the nearest surface or wrapping your legs around his waist. He taunts you for how needy you are beneath him, wanting you to stroke his ego. He will never let you be in control and he won't tolerate brat behavior, he wants complete subservience. If you brat during sex you'll regret it severely with him either spanking your ass raw, or edging you for a considerable amount of time. Even if you apologize he won't grant you release. You can possibly appeal to him by calling him by his titles or handing him praise in return.

Joffrey Baratheon: He moans and Whimpers, he likes to say that moaning is womanly but he's so loud and needy when you ride his cock, there's no way he is dominating anyone. If he happens to catch himself moaning he'll whimper on accident as if that makes it any better. He's a brat, he walks around talking about how he's the king and he can do as he likes. He likes to think that this extends into the bedroom, you have to slap him around a bit to get him to apologize, overstimulate him to get him to behave.

Ramsay Bolton: Canonically the man makes no noise whatsoever but...I'd like to imagine him moaning and growling. He'll take you from behind or put you in the mating press. There's no gentleness when he fucks you, he'll call you the most disgusting things. He loves it when you cry and beg. Honestly I don't know if he likes it better when you beg for him to fuck you or if you beg for him to stop. If you somehow get him to be submissive, take the opportunity to be a bit rough with him for a change. Slap him, or choke him, call him a good boy while you do it too.

[misterfic]

Hey there! Hope you’re doing great. I have a fun one-shot idea for Hell’s Kitchen Season 6. In this story, Gordon’s wife is the third sous chef. She’s 26, and she and Gordon got together when she was 20, marrying at 22. Because of her kind and caring nature, she’s really close to Heather and Scott, who are just as protective of her as Gordon is.

In this scene, Joseph takes things too far by insulting and even threatening her, which sets off a big confrontation. Gordon’s ready to jump in to defend her, and Heather and Scott’s protectiveness escalates the situation. I’d love to see how this plays out with all the usual Hell’s Kitchen intensity! Thanks so much for considering this—I’d really appreciate it!

But if you don’t feel comfortable with it, please let me know!

A/N: As I’ve said before, I don’t watch Hell’s Kitchen🥲, so I hope this pleases you.

Title: Hell Hath No Fury Like Gordon Ramsay's

Summary: A contestant's attitude toward Gordon's wife pushes the fiery chef to his limit, proving that some battles are more personal than professional.

Pairing: Gordon Ramsay × Reader

Tags: Conflict

It was the sixth season of Hell’s Kitchen, and you were living right in the thick of the action. As Gordon Ramsay’s wife and third sous chef, you had your hands full, moving between the red and blue kitchens, helping wherever you were needed. Your soft, nurturing approach balanced the kitchen’s intensity, especially in contrast to Gordon’s fiery persona. Your role was often the one to soothe tempers and diffuse the storm Gordon would sometimes whip up. Despite his bark, you knew your husband well enough to see through it; when it was just the two of you, he was nothing but a gentleman, and his touch was tender, leaving you breathless in ways only Gordon Ramsay knew how.

The heat was on as the dinner service began, and the teams were floundering. Gordon, already wound up, was pacing back and forth, shouting instructions with his usual unfiltered intensity. “Come on! Move it! You call that cooking?” he roared, his blue eyes flashing as he berated a contestant. You saw the tension ripple through the kitchen, and you sensed it was time to step in.

Gordon shot you a look as you approached him, a glint of irritation in his eyes, but you caught his arm, your touch firm but gentle. “Gordon,” you murmured, your voice steady, “they’re trying. Let’s give them a second to catch their breath.” He sighed heavily, running a hand through his blond hair, but softened just slightly under your touch, your quiet presence calming his storm.

“Alright, love,” he muttered, pulling back as he gave you a begrudging nod. “But only because you’re bloody distracting me.” His tone was low, carrying a playful hint, and you felt a blush rise to your cheeks as he let his hand linger on your waist for a moment longer than necessary.

Moving over to Scott in the blue kitchen, you caught him shooting Gordon an amused glance as he leaned in. “Always the one keeping him in line, huh?” Scott teased, smirking as he looked at you with a mixture of respect and admiration. You chuckled, giving Scott a playful nudge. “Someone has to, right?” you replied with a wink.

Heather was equally protective in the red kitchen, always hovering close to you, watching the contestants carefully, especially when they’d make snide remarks about your role in the kitchen. “Don’t let them bother you,” she’d whisper, shooting you a reassuring smile. “You’re the only one who can handle him,” she said with a chuckle. And as she said it, she wasn’t wrong.

That night, the pressure seemed relentless. With tempers flaring and mistakes piling up, Gordon’s patience finally snapped. “Are you lot trying to kill me?” he barked, his face flushed as he slammed his hand on the counter, startling everyone in earshot. You saw him glance toward you briefly, a flicker of something softer passing over his face as he took in your calm expression. It was as if your very presence grounded him, tempering his frustration.

As the dinner service heated up, Gordon’s attention shifted to the red kitchen, leaving you in charge of rallying the blue team. It was a challenge, given the tension hanging in the air, but you had managed to build a quiet respect with the contestants over the season. Most, at least. Joseph, however, had always been prickly, and tonight he seemed particularly agitated.

As you moved past him, helping another contestant with his station, Joseph huffed loudly, his voice dripping with irritation. “Could you quit hovering? You’re getting in the way,” he snapped, his words biting. You kept your composure, brushing off his tone with a calm expression. After all, this wasn’t the first time you’d dealt with outbursts on Hell’s Kitchen.

You turned to face him, maintaining your professionalism. “I’m here to help you succeed, Joseph,” you replied steadily, “so let’s focus on getting these dishes out.”

But he wasn’t having it. “Helping? You’re messing things up. If we lose tonight, it’ll be on your head,” he sneered, crossing his arms and glaring down at you. The insult stung, but you took a breath, refusing to let him see your frustration. The other chefs shifted uncomfortably, sensing the tension escalating.

Before you could respond, Scott stepped in, his expression cold as he positioned himself between you and Joseph. “Back off, Joseph,” Scott growled, his protective nature flaring up. “If you think this is her fault, then maybe you need to take a good look at yourself. She’s here to help, and she’s doing more for this team than you have all night.”

Joseph’s face reddened with anger. “Oh, I get it now,” he spat, his voice laced with contempt. “You’re all just here to back her up, aren’t you? Doesn’t matter if she screws us over; you’re ready to throw yourselves at her defense. Pathetic.” His words were sharp, meant to rile you up, but you felt your confidence waver as his insults grew nastier.

Heather, who had been watching from across the kitchen, noticed the confrontation building and immediately darted over to Gordon, who was busy berating the red team. Tugging his sleeve, she leaned close and muttered something in his ear. His face darkened instantly.

Gordon’s blue eyes flashed as he dropped what he was doing and marched straight toward the blue kitchen, his presence like a thunderstorm. “Joseph!” he barked, his voice echoing through the kitchen. “What the bloody hell is going on over here?”

Joseph opened his mouth to speak, but Gordon cut him off, his face a mask of fury. “You think it’s alright to talk to her like that? You’re gonna run your mouth at my wife?” His voice was like steel, every word laced with barely contained anger. “You’ve got some balls, haven’t you?”

Joseph tried to stammer a response, but Gordon stepped in closer, towering over him. “You’re gonna insult the one bloody person in this kitchen who’s keeping you from falling apart?” he growled, his tone dangerously low. “Maybe you’ve forgotten, but she’s here because she’s good at what she does—better than you’ll ever be if you keep running that big mouth of yours.”

As Joseph shrank back under Gordon’s withering stare, Gordon’s expression softened only slightly as he turned to you. “Are you alright, love?” he murmured, his voice dropping, almost gentle. His hand found your shoulder, his touch grounding you, reminding you of the care he kept so carefully concealed when others were around.

You managed a nod, your heart racing from the intensity of the moment. “Yes, I’m fine,” you whispered, but your voice shook slightly, betraying your nerves. Gordon’s face hardened again as he turned back to Joseph.

“Listen here,” Gordon hissed, his voice a low growl that only Joseph could hear. “You don’t speak to her like that. Ever. You’re lucky she has the patience to put up with a hot-headed twit like you. If it were up to me, you’d be out of here already.”

As Gordon straightened, his gaze still icy, he looked back at the rest of the blue team. “Now, all of you,” he commanded, his voice booming, “get your arses in gear and start working together. You don’t like it? There’s the bloody door.”

As Gordon stormed back to the red kitchen, the tension in the air was thick, but you felt a wave of relief wash over you. Scott and Heather both gave you reassuring nods, their silent support meaning more than words in that moment.

As the night wore on and the kitchen’s frantic energy settled, Gordon pulled you aside for a moment of privacy. “You don’t let anyone talk down to you, yeah?” he murmured, his blue eyes warm as they met yours. “You’re far too damn good for that.”

You managed a smile, your pulse quickening at his protective words. “Thank you, Gordon,” you whispered, your voice soft. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close, his touch sending a familiar thrill through you.

“Any time, love,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that familiar, intimate tone that only you knew. “And next time anyone tries it, you just send them to me. I’ll remind them who they’re dealing with.” He brushed a kiss against your forehead, his affection clear even amid the chaos around you.

As the dinner service finally drew to a close, you knew that no matter how intense things became, you’d always have Gordon by your side, ready to defend you with that fierce loyalty and passion that left you breathless every single time.

[alwaysshallow]

how you get the girl

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x female reader

READ ON AO3

You spend Valentine's Day with your best friend, perfectly oblivious to his feelings to you. (3k)

A/N: an exchange gift for @tokusho!! hope you like it; Kyle is a sweetheart!! a sweetheart that loved you from the very start, it would be proper to say. I wouldn't be myself if I wouldn't include smut in it lmao

People love winter for multiple reasons.

First, school doesn't bug them that much. Sure, there’s always something to do, but it’s calmer around Christmas time and February, when all of the exams are over. Time for yourself, learning new hobbies or expanding current ones. Cute.

It's also the best to spend this time on travelling—around the world or near the area someone lives in. No matter where, it’s good to take a breath and visit your family or friends, too.

Or just to wander around your town, taking in nature and thinking about mundane things, far from the school, far from the boring reality someone is in. When you can just be amazed by the view right in front of you, thinking how small the world really is, how grateful you are to be here.

Secondly, it's a cozy season. You can get lost in watching those silly romcom movies, trying to bake something edible from the various cooking shows that are out here. Wanting to be at least half as good as Gordon Ramsay is, or to serve the best cake in the world. Everyone makes it so effortless, it’s only natural to want to try it too.

Does it work?

Well, based on your own experience, you're certainly better at it, but cinnamon rolls are by far the best thing you can make—mostly because it can't be too sweet. And your main problem? Making things way too sweet. Not because you like it that way, not because you have someone who likes it that way, you just… Well, let's say, you like to skip the amount of things you have to add.

Everything is "on eye" and maybe it works with cooking, but certainly not baking.

All of those reasons could be your reasons why you would like winter. Could—because you have one that is way more important than baking or being alone.

Because this is the season when you see Kyle Garrick after months of being apart. You see his dumb smile whenever you open the door for him, how happy he is to be here. How he literally can’t wait to step into your house and be here for a couple of weeks since that’s how he uses his leave. Couple of days for other friends and catching around. The rest is for you.

Kyle is your friend from high school. Years spent together in the same classes, parties, he was—still is—a dear friend that had your back, and you had his, always, no matter how shitty the situation was.

Inseparable, that’s what you were. Attending the same practices, no matter if it was a football one, art classes or something else; you always were here for a good laugh, especially if you sucked at some activities.

Everyone around always saw you together. There were even a few rumors about you two dating, but it never came down to this, to being together despite years of flirting and a few innocent kisses, there and there. You two didn’t even talk about this, much to your dismay.

Maybe you would, if he didn’t leave for the military. Tough separation, leaving you on ice with no one to help you to get up and get your shit together because life doesn’t only depend on one boy that you’re hopelessly devoted to. Took a couple of months, but you eventually got used to it—being with him for a couple of days or weeks to see him leaving for another couple of months. Weeks.

You sometimes wonder if he has someone out there. Waiting there for him in the military, even if it’s forbidden at some point. Or, maybe he has some medic that always patches him up after the missions, a small smile at her lips, keeping his secrets. Keeping his bed warm, making the whole thing easier because she’s always gonna be around. No matter what.

“—and he’s just a moron.”

But maybe if he did have someone, he wouldn’t spend Valentine’s Day with you.

You look up at him, a confused look on your face, but you manage to give him a smile. He probably talks about the movie that you two are watching; a classic romcom, Love Actually, but you’re not sure. You got too lost in your thoughts to know who he is calling a moron and give it more than a second of your thinking.

He seems to know that. An arch of his eyebrows exposes him, appearing when he always thinks of something a little too much. Military habit, he once explained, but it makes you chuckle every time.

“Who’s a moron?” you ask, deciding not to act dumb—it wouldn’t work in front of him. Not when he knows the pattern of your thoughts, not when you two know each other inside out.

“Him. I would give up on a girl that’s taken, sure, especially if she’s nothing but eye candy. A stupid desire that would end the friendship. But he literally filmed her through the entire wedding,” he mutters, his fingers curling slowly the ends of your hair. He repeats the action several times, even if he talks. You think it’s soothing him in some way. “She had to mean everything for him.”

“It’s about the art of letting go. She was in love with his best friend, it’s… not that simple.” You shrug; for some reason, Kyle barks a laugh at that. Startled, you punch him with your elbow and you take a little distance. “What? You don’t agree? Come on, you wouldn’t do it.”

“Well, ‘m not the one to do it normally, but if I’d be obsessed enough to keep my eyes only on her, I might as well give it a better chance before she gets married,” he huffs. If you didn’t know him like you do, you’d suspect that there's a bitterness somewhere in it, the way he says it. Mad, almost like it’s about him, and a single thought about it makes you sick in your stomach. “Wouldn’t you?”

You gulp. It feels like an interrogation, not a simple talk between two best friends about a romantic comedy that you just watched. There’s a hardness in his tone, demand for answer. “No. I’d put his happiness before mine. If he’s happy, if he has plans that don't involve me in some way, maybe that’s only right. Especially if it’s like this for some time right now.”

It’s not the confession itself, it’s not your feelings with your heart that you put on a silver platter for him to take, but it speaks. It screams, suffocated so many years under the water because you don’t want to ruin anything that’s between you two. Maybe it would be easier in high school, maybe before that prom where he went with Lizzie instead of you, but it didn’t happen.

So, in your mind, it’s something that needs to be buried deep. Six feet underground, where you could meet your feelings from time to time with all the memories that followed it. When you’d eventually move on, but it doesn’t happen.

A small ding in the kitchen rescues you from the fiasco that could happen with this conversation; suddenly, you have to check on your cookies and decorate them, as you always have. Year by year, something sweet; a recompensation for being single so many years in a row.

It doesn’t take much time to have Kyle looming over you like a vulture, curious what you have here. It doesn’t take much time for him to help you; clumsily, but he does a cute job with decorating, even if it’s way too much cream there and there. You have no heart to tell him that, though. And, it doesn’t take him much time to think that’s way too boring for now, so he should do something different.

Something different: dance with you, like he always has. An old song playing from his phone, one hand on your waist, while the other hand travels to make you move. He doesn’t talk (he never does when you two dance, not unless you’re gonna start doing that), he just looks at you. Chocolate brown eyes staring into yours, like they’re trying to see something in yours.

“Boyfriend material,” you could say; and you do, without realizing it at first—Kyle’s smile gives it away.

“I mean, can’t say no to that.” He grins, happy. You, right now, want to kill yourself in some way. “I’m pretty useful in many ways, if I have to say so myself. I mean, just think of how many times you’ve been impressed with me already.” He chuckles, turning you around and around with seemingly no problem. He’s always like this; charming, boyish. Making you fall right into the trap with his eyes, straight up from a fairytale.

He is, in fact, from a fairytale. Too perfect to be real and too perfect to be single, guys like him are always snatched from the public. Kept close the heart because every woman in the world deserves someone like him.

“Your ego could be tempered, though.” You poke his chest (ridiculously hard chest), while he laughs again.

“Always charming. You love my ego,” he points out. You might not agree out loud, but in your mind? Oh, hell yes. Not debatable.

You’d give everything to love him properly. To cherish him, to make him happy when he’s on leave with kisses, gifts, with taking him to your family so he’ll have a scrap of normal life. To wake up beside him in bed, arms sneaked around you with a dose of protectiveness that he always has, even if it’s not the romantic one like you want it to be.

“And you’re thinking way too much, pretty,” he chuckles, leaning over you even more. The size difference between you two is evident and big, encouraging him. Always had, especially when he knows how much of an impact he has like that. “Care to share?”

“Usual shit,” you answer, clearing your throat. Two beats of silence pass, when he sighs and turns you around one more time, pulling you closer to himself. Chest to chest, or—your head to his chest, to be exact. You have to look up at him to see his eyes. “Kyle—”

“—is it about that movie we watched? You love someone that you can’t have?” He shoots a question at you; unexpected, a swift bullet going right through you. Making you tremble, feeling like you’re not in a warm house, but in the busy, cold street in London in your underwear only.

“No, it’s—”

“—Because if so, why didn’t you tell me? I bet there’s a way—”

“—there’s no way, that’s the problem. That’s the problem because you’re funny, handsome and you probably have someone here, way more interesting than me, so I don’t understand why you are here right now. I don’t, I won’t…” You breathe. There’s a lot in you right now, way too much to unload it right now.

“You love me?”

The choice of words, so carefully avoided by you the whole time, dawns on you. Makes an unpleasant feeling in your stomach, the presence of thousands of butterflies informing you that, in fact, you do love him. Always had, even if you denied to use these specific words.

“Since high school.” It’s a quiet confession. Almost shy, but you look him straight in the eye when you say that, taking a step back when he takes a step forward.

“And why you… didn’t tell me sooner?”

“Wanted to. But when you took that girl to the prom, something…” You sigh. Taking a moment because for the first time, you need to be honest about your feelings. “I don’t know, something snapped. I thought it would ruin everything between us, I thought it’s not worth it to say that I want something more when you want someone else. And, after you got around the idea of being in the military—”

He steals the rest of the words with a kiss. Soft, indicating you don’t need to say more than you’ve already said because it’s all he needs to know, actually. It’s the first time he does it completely sober, not driven by alcohol, curiosity or some dare—it’s something that he wants to do, and you can feel it on your lips. The hot feeling of desire, when your hands travel under his t-shirt, where you didn’t have access earlier.

“Took her only because Jake said he’s going with you. I had no idea that he was lying,” he whispers out. Nervous, like he might spill some secret, while you just can’t keep yourself from smiling. “I wanted this,” he points at you and himself after another kiss, “since I’ve fuckin’ left. Got sick thinking of other bloody bastards that could—”

“Thinking too much?” you interrupt him, reminding him of his words from earlier. Words that, right now, seem even more appropriate given the situation between you two and how unimportant the past is.

Garrick huffs with disbelief, amused. “A fucking minx you are, y’know that?”

He doesn’t let you say anything in response, as his teeth clack against yours when he kisses you, hastily, like a man starved. Hands going around your waist just to transfer the two of you to your bedroom, decorated for Valentine's Day, unintentionally.

And maybe it makes sense, when you think of everything he has done for you, when he’s on top of you, placing a map of kisses on your body. Maybe it makes sense how he always brought you something on Valentine’s Day, making you feel special. Always saying that it’s a “commercial event” and nothing else, just a day, even if he always brought you flowers, teddybears and chocolates.

How he always spent it on doing your favorite things. Ice rink, going to a match, movies, it didn’t matter—what mattered was you. How he didn’t deny that you’re a couple when some strangers cooed that you two look absolutely perfect with each other. Only a big smile on his face, arm around you, protectively. Making sure that you’re here with him, not anywhere else.

He always keeps you close, even right now, insisting on holding hands when he fucks you, making you fall in love with the idea. Kyle moves slowly, like he wants to remember every inch of your body for the first time you’re so close with him, but it doesn’t last long. It doesn’t because it takes a couple of your moans and he goes mad crazy about the whole thing.

Between the sudden rough, fast pace of his thrusts, he talks a lot. You don’t get much of it, melted into a puddle of your own thoughts; you wanted it so bad. Fantasized, touched yourself to the thought of him to have him right here, right now, and now he’s rutting into you like a maniac. Spreading you open like it’s not even a challenge for him, which makes it easy to ignore the first pain of his cock in you.

When one of his hands circles around your throat (one hand still holding yours, fingers intertwined, like he insisted on doing), you pay more attention to his words, even if they’re incoherent. Messy, he lets every thought flow out of his mind, no matter if they have end or not, no matter if he said something similar or not. You are the one thing that entangles them, even if his words make you feel more and more weak in your knees. How good you are for him, how he’s not gonna give this pussy to anyone, how much your body will make him lose his shit.

He makes the whole thing way more intimate than it already is, luring you into the endless pleasure with him, when he leaves hickeys on your skin, a mark that he was here. Making you depend on him, intoxicating like a couple of colorful drinks, always making you dizzy, but nonetheless, you always want more, until you’re gonna see stars.

And that’s what you see with Kyle Garrick. It doesn’t even feel real, until your fingernails scratch his bare back and your fingers from the other hand tighten around his. Your legs are weak for him, your whole body is.

You feel it twice as hard when he comes too, babbling the whole time about you being the only woman in his life and marrying you. In a bliss, you only smile, kissing his forehead a couple of times, when he hugs you tight, like he doesn’t want you to leave the bed.

Not like you planned to do it anyway.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmurs against your shoulder, moving a little; you feel how his cum leaks from you. His softened cock still in you, as Garrick apparently doesn’t feel like pulling it out.

“The best Valentine’s Day,” you correct him with a lazy smile on your face. Content, for the first time in the while.

Garrick nods, slowly. “Yeah. Ended up in having sex, so—”

“—you’re the worst,” you laugh, shaking your head. Kyle seems almost scared for a moment, but when he sees that you’re genuinely laughing, he breathes out. “Only because of that? Not because your best friend basically confessed her feelings to you?”

“That too. Obvious option.” He grins, while you smack him with amusement. Kyle bites your shoulder, leaving another mark, while his other hand ruffles your hair.

You groan. “You’re gonna explain it tomorrow to my parents. All those hickeys and bites, young man.”

“You think they’re gonna be mad? Gonna tell them we’re together and they will ask about children,” he laughs; and he’s completely right about it, though. Your parents were cheering for you two from the start, they probably still do. “Anyway, we should order something. I don’t feel like cooking when I have you in bed.”

You huff, amused. “Romantic.”

“Very,” he snides, pulling you closer. His hand travels south, fingers circling near your clit. “Delivery will take some time, so we have to… make use of the time. You tired yet?”

“No, but—”

“—Fantastic.”

[kingconia]

Can we please please please PLEASE get a Vice Warden version of the "Reader is the characters favorite celebrity"

(obvi, Ortho is a child so if you add him make it platonic. But if you take him out maybe you can add Floyd instead! Plus RUGGIE CUZ HES THE UNOFFICIAL VICE )

Take your time and have fun with the request! If you end up not doing it, now worries lol!

A/N: I actually planned to do that for a while. Thank you for reminding me.

HOW TWISTED WONDERLANDS' VICE-HOUSEWARDENS ACT WHEN YOU ARE THEIR FAVOURITE CELEBRITY

Trey Clover. ❤️

— You are his favourite chef, of course. Who would've guess, right?

— You are a quite popular one, a former student of the Royal Academy, and very controversial figure in the media world, because... Well, you are quite talented, yes, but your attitude is just... Awful;

— Trey doesn't see anything that bad in your character, though! You might appear rude to adults, but he just loves how gentle you are with kids! Gordon Ramsay kinnie, you see;

— He is so. So. Happy, when Riddle accidentally asks you to be a chef for his birthday. A very lucky accident.

•

”Did I make that right?” Ace asks nervously, glancing at the bowl in his hand.

An event that Riddle Rosehearts plans is huge. Thousands of quests from all houses, completely different kitchens for each of them... So, of course, when students of Heartslabyul suggested to help you, you were happy.

Until you realised that they are chronical idiots.

You feel your blood boil, hands curling in fists.

Just how in the world this boy managed to mash raw carrot in fucking puree, when you asked him to cut it merely?! How?!

”You stupid donkey!” A yell that escapes your lips makes another two students, Deuce and Cater, shiver in fear. ”Get off!”

Ace instantly puts bowl on the table, taking a step back.

”M-me?”

”All of you!” You hiss, glaring at three of them. ”Out of this kitchen, idiots. And never, ever, come back here again!”

They shrink, running away instantly. You sigh in relief, but then, catch another figure, a taller one, moving after them.

Trey Clover.

”Hey,” you call for him, calmer this time. ”Where do you think you are going?”

Trey glances at you, completely surprised.

”Y/n-sama told everyone to leave,” he bows his head respectfully.

”Only to idiots,” you huff. ”You can stay, Trey.”

You actually noticed that out all of them, he worked more effectively. He knows how to cook, clearly, and he does so quickly and wordlessly. So, if anyone's help would be truly useful, it is his.

”...That would be a big honour for me, Y/n-sama.”

You smirk.

”Yeah, yeah. Come on. Let's finish here.”

Ruggie Bucchi. 💛

— You are his favourite true-crime blogger, lol. He watches your videos as he eats, and it annoys everyone, which also sometimes leaves him more food;

— You are actually not worldwide popular. You are just a student from NRC, from the Ignihyde, and sometimes, he catches your figure lurking around;

— Ruggie supports you from his side account, leaving a lot of comments, and likes, making other Savanaclaw watch videos, too. There is nothing more soothing that listening a gentle voice explaining how someone's body was dismembered, after all!

— Once, you decide to start a special event week: a true crimes connected to each house of the NRC. And Ruggie is especially exited for Savanaclaw video, only to find out that...

•

”Ah, you are Ruggie, correct?”

Ruggie flinches.

He recognises this voice from everywhere.

When he turns to the sound of the voice, he founds you, his favourite person in the world, standing in front of him. You look shy, as if it is not you, who constantly speaks of murders so eagerly.

”Y-yeah, hello, Y/n.”

...Shit, he shouldn't know your name.

”Hi!” You wave your hand. ”I am so sorry to bother you, but, I am busy with a project right now... It is connected with crimes in different locations that representing houses here. And, I spoke with Leona-sama this morning...”

Wow, you really caught Leona Kingscholar in the early morning? Awake? It is another proof for Ruggie's PowerPoint presentation about how cool and perfect you are!

”...But he told me that if anyone is better informed about crimes in Savanna, it is you, since, well, your class differences... I am so sorry, did it sound rude?”

Ruggie had never been happier to be poor.

”You came to the right person,” he exclaims with the coolest expression he has in his arsenal. ”Don't worry, Y/n. I will be your guide in the most darkest parts of the Afterglow Savanaclaw.”

You beam. He tries look collected, but fails.

”Ah, Ruggie, you are the best!”

It is going to be the best week in his life!

Leona-sama:

Brat

Firstly, she is fucking scary

Secondly you owe me for this one

Jade Leech. 🩵

— You are his favourite photographer. At first, you only share your works at art exhibitions, but recently you created a page in the Magicam, to have more connection with your followers;

— Jade is amazed by the way you see this world. How gracefully you present the nature, how gently you portrait people, and how skillfully you froze time! Ah, you are amazing!

— Jade always tries to see more of the world that was closed to him before, and your works are a great help for him;

— ...He is absolutely stunned, when Azul tells him that payed you to come to the opening of the renewed Monster Lounge as the photographer, though.

•

Jade is... Slightly frustrated.

To think, that Azul had an opportunity to employ a walking talent for a few hours, and he used this chance to take photos of the Lounge... Impossible!

He sighs.

He respects Azul, of course, but sometimes he is such a baby.

”Good evening,” Jade greets you with a polite smile on his face, hoping to conceal his genuine amazement. ”How is here to your liking?”

You are straightening your back, stopping taking pictures of the main hall. As you turn to Jade, your eyes lit up curiously.

”You must be... Jade, correct?”

You know his name.

”Indeed, I am,” he nods.

”Thank you, it is fine,” you shift from one foot to another, and he can say there is something you want to do. ”Ah, excuse me, but... Can I ask you something?”

Jade nods again, tilting his head on the left. What with your great mind came up this time?

”...Am I allowed to take a few photos of you?”

Now, it is his turn to be surprised.

If anything, Jade has never been an interesting subject for others' eyes. But here you are, his favourite person in the world, wishing to take his photos—

”Are you sure?” As you nod vigorously, he can't help but laugh shortly. ”Then, of course. Do as you please.”

But if you see it in him, something charming and breathtaking, then there are must be he something. Because you are never wrong.

...And when on the next morning, Azul asks him to explain why the fuck there is Jade's photos instead of Monster Lounge's, as they had an agreement with you, he shrugs.

’You asked me to show others the beauty of your Lounge,’ you write Azul later, absolutely unremorseful. ’And I did.’

Oh, you can't even understand how happy you made a certain someone!

Floyd Leech. 🩵

— Do you know those accounts of tarot and astrology readers, who constantly goes live to speak with audience and made them an online reading? Yes, Floyd adores you for this;

— I feel that he sincerely curious about all this stuff, and though, at first, it was only an aesthetic interest as he found you pretty, now, he is too deep in this to pull out;

— He listens to your everyday advice videos religiously, and I am not even kidding. He trusts you too much, and at some point Jade starts worrying about him;

— Floyd is absolutely reckless and shameless, so, of course, he decides to make a first move unexpectedly and openly.

•

”Since it is a Lover's day, I might as well today be more focused on romantic readings,” you warn, shuffling cards in your hands, eyes fixated on the chat. ”So, write first name of yours, and, your lover's, and both of your ages. Will see how it goes.”

Tarot cards have been a huge part of your life since you were a kid, watching your mom and aunt doing that, whispering quietly. It was only natural that eventually you became an esoteric, too.

It is not your work or main to-do thing, more like a hobby, and an instrument to help others. And most of the time, you are doing it for free. Unless, someone wants to pay you, of course.

”Hm, who is here...”

You see a familiar username.

Floyd Leech is a quite constant fan of yours, always liking your videos, commenting them ridiculously, and asking questions about this and that. So, you decide to start with him. Just ouf of respect.

”Floyd, seventeen and... Y/n, whatever your age is,” you read out aloud.

As you understand what that meant, your cheeks flush instantly. You almost drop your tarot on the floor.

Is he trying to hit on you?! Just like that?!

”I... Uhm...”

What should you do? You spoke with him a few times, yes, and it has been more or less fine? Yet... Urgh.

You take a random card from the bottom of it.

Lovers.

Shit.

”You have some good chances here, Floyd” you finally manage to say that aloud, looking away from camera. ”Just be more forward. And private.”

There is no answer—or it gets lost in many new comments—and you distract yourself with other followers. Until a notification appears on the top of your phone.

Floyd_Leech:

hi :)

You almost groan.

What an impossible man?!

Jamil Viper. 🧡

— Might be not entirely accurate, but you are his favourite book critic! I feel, like whenever Jamil has some time to himself, he reads, and if he doesn't, he listens to all these podcasts or three hours long videos about why a certain book good or bad;

— He finds you accidentally, and since then obsessively checks out your every video, even the oldest ones. Puts notifications on. Follows on other social media. Loves your content;

— He is definitely a more quiet supporter. He likes your videos, but never comments them. So, there is no direct contact between two of you;

— At least, until he bumps into you by accident. In Scalding Sands. On the summer holidays. How insane is that?

•

Jamil knows that you travel a lot, he has seen your highlights in Magicam, but how could he expect to meet you in the bazar of all places?! This place is noisy, awful and there is nothing beautiful or picturesque! What would you do here? And with a book in your hands, too.

”The sands of Love,” title says.

It sounds ridiculous already.

”Shit,” you hiss, rubbing his shoulder with your free hand. ”I am sorry.”

”Please, be careful,” he murmurs quietly, trying to act normal as if he doesn't update your channel every morning and night in the search of new content.

Anyway, Jamil is slightly freaking out. Just a little.

”I am trying, but this book is so awful, I want to die,” he chuckles fondly, a familiarity of your words that you say so often from the screen on his phone, softening him. ”You know, I bought this goddamn book, and the setting of it is here, like, in Scalding Sands. So, I came here to check some details. Like traditions, and, and stuff. And you know, it is all a fucking bullshit—”

So, you made your way to here just to... Criticise an obviously bad book with even more reasoning?

God, he loves you.

”...And, and...” You stutted. Blushing suddenly, you sigh. ”I am so sorry. I shouldn't be dumping that on you.”

Jamil tries his best to offer you a rare smile of his.

”Oh, but I am interested now. Would you mind continue telling me about this book?” He can't help but notice how cutely your eyes lit up. ”But not here, obviously. Please, let's go. I will find a quieter place for you.”

...Seems, like all his luck was saved just for this moment to happen, because you actually follow him, continuing your blabbering.

What a beautiful day it is.

Rook Hunt. 💜

— You are his favourite opera singer! When Rook sees you for the first time, he is in awe. Your beauty, your voice — it is everything. He knows, just from the first sight, that he will be a Phantom of Opera for your Christine;

— He buys the best, and I must stay, the most expensive places for your opera, but keeps himself hidden away for a while. Doesn't need to be seen, he is in his studying sessions;

— Rook is not pleased if you are not a leading singer. He will make everything for this fact to change in future. Would giggle if overhears you saying how lucky you are... If you want him to be your luck, then so be it;

— When Rook is sure that his work more or less done, and he is ready, he will finally meet with you personally.

•

”It is a shame I never noticed you before,” you shake your head, cheeks darkened from the amount of complements you had heard in past ten minutes. ”And you've been here for me from my debut? I am so flattered...”

A boy in front of you smiles eagerly, pressing another warm kiss on the back of your hand.

”Ah, mon inspiration, it is me who is blessed and grateful for being able to witness something so beautiful and generous... The rise of the angel of Opera, indeed!”

His eyes are shining with a pure awe. You almost squirm, when Rook falls on his knees, cheek pressing to your well-kissed hand. You are fighting a wish to caress his cheek just as you do with your cat at home.

”If Gods ever existed, at least one of them, it must be you, their last creation, a gift for dying civilisation!”

”Ah, Rook,” you giggle, getting more and more shy with each second. ”Please... Maybe, you want to... See with me later? Beyond these walls? I mean... Don't get me wrong, of course, it is just...”

It might be a risky movement, you know. Yet, you can't help but feel attracted to the person, who stares at you as if you are the Creator yourself.

”I would be more than glad, mon ange,” his voice becomes quieter, yet, a little more nervous. ”I love that one café in front of this opera, if you care to know. I often order there their special drink... The fall of the Devil, isn't it?”

You blink in surprise.

”That is my favourite, too!” You exclaim enthusiastically.

”Really?” Somehow, he doesn't really look surprised. ”Well, then, after getting drinks, we, perhaps, could see the Art Gallery... Had you ever seen a whole room dedicated to the minerals from different countries? It is my favourite one.”

Your chest warms.

”Mine too!”

You hope it doesn't look like you try to impress him by mirroring his answers, but it is really this way.

Seems, like Rook just knows everything you love!

”I feel like we are a perfect match, mon destin.”

And, somehow, you can't disagree.

Lilia Vanrouge. 💚

— This man is hard to impress... But, you are his favourite... Psychologist. Alright, I know it sounds ridiculous, but I think, considering the fact that he was the general for a long time, never caring about human emotions before, and then suddenly adopted three idiots, and that with having his own trauma, he takes a great interest in the psychology;

— So, when he accidentally finds your account, where you speak of different problems, navigate people through theirs, and merely discussing different situations in the world from the point of psychology, he dives in;

— I don't think that Lilia goes on appointment, though. I think, he masters psychology through your channel, instead. He is such a self-taught and crazy-ass talented person;

— When you are invited to work as a school psychologist in the NRC, since Crowley realised that overbolts might or might not be because of lacking a one, Lilia is actually really excited. And he doesn't hide it!

•

”Seeing how mature you are, how healthy you analyse all these situations with overbolted students,” you make a small sip of tea, smirking shortly, ”I can't help but feel slightly proud of myself.”

Lilia laughs quietly, extending you more chocolate muffins that he obtained from the cafeteria just for you.

Since from the first day, two of you became a great friends. And, though, of course, it is you who should take care of him—since he is a student as well—Lilia yet can't help but worry about how much you work, skipping meals constantly, because, apparently, everyone wants your help.

”You are great at what you are doing, Y/n-sama,” he smiles mischievously.

Though both of you are quite old, centuries of life long ago left behind, there is a certain childishness inside of you, that you prefer to call a healthy life enjoyment. A term that Lilia now uses every time when someone tries to lecture him about being too immature.

”Thank you, thank you, Lilia-kun,” you bow your head jokingly. ”But, seriously, I need a proper schedule with all of these kids. But they just can't stop coming... I don't know what is so traumatising about this school, honestly. It is about lessons?”

Lilia laughs.

”Maybe. I mean, my genuine wish to start a massacre returns sometimes, when headmaster comes on our lessons...”

You smack him slightly, chuckling softly.

”I see, now. Honestly, after meetings with him, I too, search for the professional help...”

As both of you laugh, Lilia watches you relaxing eventually.

Ah, who would've thought that a person who helped him unconsciously once, would eventually became his friend?.. What a crazy world he lives in!

[fantasydreamland]

Queen in the North

sansa stark x fem reader

Summary: Sansa is titled queen in the North. After too much wine during the celebrations you discover no man has ever treated her properly in the bed chambers so you do your best to serve and worship your new queen.

Notes: 18+ ONLY!!! wlw, smutttt, fluff, alcohol consumption, fingering, oral (f&f), some spoilers

word count: 2171

masterlist

“Congratulations, my queen.” You curtsy and smile wide to Sansa as people continue to gather for the celebration.

“Thank you, (y/n).” She gives a soft smile back.

“You look radiant tonight, the crown becomes you.”

“Thank you, you as well.” She replies. “I meant- the crown doesn’t become you- I meant you look radiant as well… Not that a crown wouldn’t become you! I believe you would look quite good in one.” She flusters.

“Thank you, my queen.” You giggle at her stuttering.

She gestures you to sit beside her. You chat and drink at the table with her and the others enjoying the feast. You couldn’t help but admire Sansa’s features from the side. She had the most beautiful face, her eyes, her pale face, her prominent nose, the way she smiled when she laughed, and her lips…

Sansa’s leg brushes yours and you can’t decide if that was causing the heat in your cheeks or if it was all the wine you had consumed, perhaps both.

As the hour becomes late most people head to bed. You say goodnight to the gentlemen leaving your table. Soon you and Sansa are left alone at the table while a few other drunks still hang about on the other side of the room.

“So…” You turn to Sansa. “Now that you’re queen I assume you will be looking to marry soon?”

“I am in no rush.” She chuckles. “I’ve not had the best luck with husbands.”

“So I’ve heard…” you place your hand gently on hers. “I’m sorry for everything that has happened.”

“So am I…” she says quietly and puts her other hand over yours. “However, I’m not sure if I would be the woman I am today had those things not happened.”

You nod and she gives your hand a gentle squeeze before removing it. You reluctantly let go of her other hand and place it back in your lap.

“And you?” Sansa asks.

“What about me?”

“Will you be searching for a husband soon? I am sure you are eager to start a family.”

You let out a laugh that causes a snort.

“Pardon me, your grace…” you say a little embarrassed by your laugh. “No… I have not found a man suitable enough for me.”

“It appears we have that in common.” She says lowly with a slight smirk.

“Forgive me for being forward…” You begin. “But were you able get any sort of pleasure from them?”

“Lord Tyrion and I never consummated, he was respectful. Which oddly enough, he likely would have been the only one to give me true… pleasure.” She becomes shy with the last word.

“As for Ramsay… well. What he lacked in pleasure he provided in pain.” She continued, looking down as her mind drifted.

“I’m sorry…” You say quietly.

She shakes away the awful memories and meets your eyes.

“No matter, it is all in the past.” She says reassuringly.

“Cheers to that.” You say holding out your goblet.

She smirks and clinks her cup with yours and you both take a drink. Theres a calm moment of silence just enjoying each other’s presence. You both hold your smiles and make shy glances at each other. You’d meet her eyes making her blush and look away. Then you’d look away and notice her glance back at you until you’d met her eyes again which caused you to then blush and look away. Sansa looks away again with a smirk and takes a sip of wine.

“I should slow down.” She puts her goblet on the table, breaking the silence. “Otherwise I may not be able to get up from this table.” She laughs.

“I would be happy to assist you my queen.” You smile as you stand up and hold your hand out to her.

“Why thank you, my lady.” She says in a jokingly polite voice.

She takes your hand and pulls herself to a stand before nearly toppling over. You catch her arm and she steadies her balance again.

“I appear to be more intoxicated than I had thought.” She jokes. “I think you may need to help me back to my chambers.”

“I am at your command, my queen.” You smirk and give a small bow before holding your arm out for her to take.

She takes ahold of your arm and you walk down the halls to her chambers. You’re not sure why the air feels tense. Maybe it was the way her hand gently held onto your arm or how ethereal she looked in the dark candlelight. You wondered if she felt it too. You look to Sansa and she simply smiles at you. You give a soft smile back, then turn away hiding your blush.

Once you arrive at the door to her chambers she lets go of your arm and turns to you with her hands folded together in front of her.

“Well, thank you my lady for escorting me.” She gives a polite smile.

“Of course, my queen.” You curtsy.

“And thank you for being the best drinking companion. I’ve not been this happy and content in a long time.” She reaches out and lightly takes your fingers into hers causing your breath to catch.

“You deserve nothing but happiness my queen…” Your voice comes out as a whisper.

She gives you a soft smile and takes a step closer to you, still holding your fingers. You notice her glance to your lips before meeting your gaze again with an intense look in her eyes. She hesitantly leans in at an excruciatingly slow pace as her eyes search yours for any sign you don’t want this. Once her lips are merely a breath away and your noses brush you close the gap and press your lips to hers, assuring her you definitely want this, you definitely want her.

Her hesitation instantly fades and she kisses you back passionately as your fingers intertwine. You sigh as you taste the sweet wine on her tongue. She moves her other hand to your waist to pull you closer against her. Your other hand caresses along her cheek and jawline. Your tongues continue to slowly and softly dance together. The kiss is gentle and fierce at the same time. She eventually pulls away and you see a soft smirk lingering on her lips.

“Would you like to come in?” She says lowly.

You nod your head a little too quickly, making her chuckle. She keeps her hand in yours as she leads you into her chambers. You look around at the room as she closes and bolts the door shut behind you. She walks over to a small table and gently places down the crown from her head. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears and feel your palms sweat from the nerves.

Sansa comes back over to you and you awkwardly look at each other, neither of you sure what to do next. You gather all of your courage and take her face in your hands and pull her into another passionate kiss. This kiss is hungrier and more heated than the last. You shiver as her fingers lightly brush down your neck to your collarbone, before they make their way to pull the strings of your dress. You follow her lead shoving the cloak off her shoulders before beginning to pull at her dress. Your lips never part as you both fumble with the strings of each other’s dresses.

After a frustrating minute of jumbled fingers you break the kiss and giggle to each other as you both unlace your own strings. Once they’re loose enough Sansa reaches out and slowly pushes your dress off your shoulders. Her gentle fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake. You blush as her eyes look up and down your exposed body. Nervously you move your hands to her shoulders, pushing her gown to the floor. You gulp hard as your eyes scan her beautiful figure. Your eyes fill with lust as you look at her like an animal ready to pounce.

You lean into one another, lips meeting again. You hold each other close as your naked bodies press together. You feel sparks shoot throughout your body when your sensitive nipples brush against hers. Sansa keeps your body pressed to hers as you move towards the bed.

Once you’re both laying in the bed something in you snaps. You kiss her again hard before moving your lips along her jaw, down her neck and collarbone. You’re both surprised by your sudden boldness. Your hand moves to massage her breast as you lean down and take the other in your mouth causing her to gasp. You graze your teeth on her nipple before soothing the tender spot with your tongue. You continue to kiss down her body, lower and lower.

“What are you doing?” Sansa says in a breathy whisper.

“Worshipping you the way you deserve, my queen.” You mumble, continuing to kiss down her skin.

You move further down to kiss the inside of her thigh making her jump. You lift your head to look at her.

“Unless you want me to stop…?” You say with a hint of disappointment in your voice.

“No.” She quickly says staring down into your eyes with a heated look.

You smirk and lean back down kissing and nipping slowly up her inner thigh. You hear her breath quicken as you get closer to where she needs you most. She gasps loudly when you give a tentative lick up her wet core. You smirk again before latching your lips to her clit causing her hands to reach into your hair. The taste of her makes you dizzy. You have never done anything like this before but you do your best to work your tongue on her. The sounds of her soft cries and desperate moans are like the sweetest song you’ve ever heard. You continue testing what pleases her. When your tongue dips into her hole she groans loudly. You do it again and she moans again grabbing harder onto your hair.

With her encouraging moans you begin to tease your finger around her hole before pushing it slowly inside, your gaze fixed on her as you watch her face contort in pleasure. Her moans become less contained as you slowly move your finger in and out as you continue to work your tongue on her clit. You add a second finger and her hands move from your hair to tightly grasp the pillow under her head as she pants harder between moans. Her legs begin to shake and you pump your fingers faster knowing she must be close. She gasps your name. You moan against her in response, the vibrations finally pushes her over the edge. Her thighs squeeze tightly around your head but you still clearly hear her long loud final moan ring in your ears.

Her body and legs relax and you crawl back up the bed to lay beside her. She pants heavily for a moment before turning her face to you. She smiles before leaning forward and capturing you in a quick kiss, tasting herself on your tongue.

“You are…” She holds your face in her hands and looks deep into your eyes as she struggles to find the right word. “…extraordinary.” She breathes.

You can’t help but smile as you hold her intense gaze.

“Thank you… my queen.” You whisper the last part.

“I would like to try...” She says sitting up and placing a soft kiss to your stomach.

You smirk and nod as she copies your previous actions kissing all the way down your body and then slowly up your thigh. With much less hesitation than you had, she dives right in. She spends no time working you up and slipping her fingers in. Her other hand reaches up to grab at your breasts. You hit your own peak much faster as she devours you like it’s her last meal. Her fingers curl inside you and that causes your sight to go black. Stars begin to fill your vision as you cry out from the intensity washing over you.

You feel her come to lay back beside you as you regain consciousness and steady your breathing. When you turn your head to her she’s smirking shyly at you.

“Well?” She asks.

“Extraordinary.” You breathe out.

She smiles and leans in to give you a chaste kiss but you put your hand around her neck to pull her closer and dip your tongue into her mouth. Her mouth tastes sweet and tangy from the wine mixed with your essence. You reluctantly pull away to breathe and lay back on the pillow. Your eyes meet again and you both laugh softly. You lightly brush her red hair from her face. She leans into your touch and sighs.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” She says hopefully.

“Of course, my queen.” Your soft smile turns into a mischievous smirk. “I plan to worship you again in the morning.”

masterlist

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Of Cupcakes and Skulls | Part 7

(A/N) Once again a bit shorter, but I think this was a good place to break. ALSO WHAT KINDA DRESS DO WE WANT TO WEAR? Send me some ideas if you want. (I'm definitely thinking high slit, so he can easily finger her during the car ride home. 😏) Also, I couldn't help myself with the Gordon Ramsay cameo.

Pairing: single dad! Mafia! Simon x baker! Reader

Warning: kissies, fluff, Simon is fucking smitten, a lot of money spending

Synopsis: Based on this post by @lunamoonbby

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

When Simon told you that you’d go grocery shopping, you didn’t expect him to take you to the most exclusive wholesale supermarket that existed. To get in, you had to get a card, and to get that card you had to be super rich. But of course, Simon had one.

“Ah, Mister Riley, welcome.”

Even the staff was dressed as if you had just walked into a five-star hotel.

“Will you be needing a shopping assistant today?”

The woman at the front desk smiled and fluttered her lashes as she handed him a champagne flute, trying her best to look as desirable as possible. You couldn’t help but grumble some obscenities under your breath, just loud enough for Simon to catch, who quickly started chuckling. That brought the woman’s attention onto you, and suddenly, she no longer looked as friendly as before.

“Oh, and who is that?”

If looked could kill, the two of you would be having a battle for life and death, clashing swords and dodging each other’s blows. But when Simon wrapped his strong arm around your waist and pulled you into his side, a proud smile on his face, the woman’s eyes widened.

“My girlfriend. And no, we won’t be needing an assistant today, just a cart or two. And could you go ahead and issue my lovely lady a card as well?”

She smiled through clenched teeth and you couldn’t help but smirk at her, victorious in your little battle. While still trying to act as pleasantly as possible - in which she tragically failed - the woman asked for your name and date of birth, and once you gave both to her, she disappeared into the back, before reemerging with a slick, black card in her hand.

“Here you go, Miss.”

You gave her your best fake smile and took the card, placing it in your purse without even glancing at it. No way you would give her the satisfaction of geeking out over it, right in front of her.

Once everything was handled, Simon grabbed a cart and walked in, one arm still wrapped around your waist. As soon as you were out of eyesight of the woman, you pulled out the card again and marveled at it. When you started your business, you wished you had access to this store. But you knew that it would always be a dream…well until now.

“I can’t believe I have this.”

Your eyes were still fixed on the card, even while you were walking, and Simon had to pull you closer to keep you from running into things. He just watched you, amusement sparkling in his eyes, while he grinned.

“I’m glad you like it.”

He pressed a quick kiss to your head, before focusing on the task at hand. And after a bit more marveling, you did too.

As if he knew the layout of the store like the back of his hand, he led you to the baking supply section, where you realized, that maybe one cart wasn’t enough.

“Just take one of each, and tell me the amount you need, we’ll take care of everything at the checkout.”

You nodded and did as you were told, grabbing everything from flour and butter to sugar and decorations. By the end, the cart was overflowing with things, and you weren’t even done.

“Then I need fruits, vegetables, and meats.”

Simon glanced at you, while he was driving the cart through the store, already heading in the direction of the checkout.

“I have some people for that, we’ll go to them.”

You nodded, curious about his connections, but not saying anything.

At the checkout, Simon went through every item and the amount you needed, the clerk writing down everything he was saying before Simon asked him to have everything delivered to your bakery. The clerk confirmed the items once more and accepted Simon’s card as he handed it over. As the clerk was about to read out the total, Simon quickly clasped his hands over your ears, making sure you couldn’t hear it. You glared up at him, knowing that he was once again spending hundreds - if not thousands of pounds on you. Once it seemed to be safe, Simon lowered his hands and took his card and the receipt back, folding it and quickly hiding it in his pocket, so you couldn’t look.

The cart was taken away, and you had to admit that it felt weird walking out of the store empty-handed, but once you saw that car Simon and you had taken, you quickly realized why. It would never have fit.

As you were walking through the parking lot, you saw a familiar figure out of the corner of your eyes. But no, it couldn’t be.

“Is that Gordon Ramsay? Oh my god, I’m such a big fan.”

You whisper-shouted at Simon, who quickly turned to look in the direction you pointed, a smile spreading on his lips, as he started to steer you in that direction. Your protests fell on deaf ears as he just pulled you along as he approached the famous chef.

“Gordon!”

The man turned around, at first he looked confused, but once he got a good look at Simon, a smile spread on his face.

“Simon! How’re you doing, mate?”

Simon was mates with Gordon fucking Ramsay? Of course, he bloody was.

“Good good, just wanted to introduce you to my girl. She’s a big fan o’ yours.”

Shyly, you peeked out from behind Simon’s massive frame and waved at the chef. He smiled and reached out his hand.

“Oh, lovely to meet you, I’m Gordon.”

You quietly introduced yourself, slightly shaking from excitement.

Simon and Gordon chatted for a bit, keeping you in the conversation, and you slowly started to warm up. In the end, you were even joking with Gordon and you had stars in your eyes as he noted down your bakery’s address, promising to swing by.

“How about you come to the 1890 tonight? I’ll be there, cooking.”

Simon glanced at you, and when you eagerly nodded, he turned back to the chef.

“Of course, I’ll get one of my guys to babysit Millie and we’ll be there. Is eight okay?”

“Eight is perfect, see you then.”

He nodded at you, before walking into the store and disappearing. With your hand in his, Simon started to walk back to the car, chuckling as you practically bounced up and down next to him.

“I can’t believe I just met Gordon Ramsay. And he is coming by the bakery!”

You squealed in excitement before you realized that you lagged something for this evening.

“Si?”

He hummed, gently squeezing your hand as he typed something on his phone.

“I don’t have a dress for tonight.”

He hummed again, quickly opening the door to the passenger side and ushering you in, only closing said door, once you were all safe and buckled in. With quick strides, he rounded the car and jumped into the driver’s seat, putting on his seat belt, before pulling out of the parking lot.

“I know.”

That was all he said, as he continued driving. You frowned at him for a moment, wondering what he had planned, but you quickly gave up and decided to trust him. He wouldn’t let you embarrass yourself.

Just a minute into the drive, his free hand landed on your thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he kept his eyes focused on the road. Yeah, he wouldn’t let you embarrass yourself.

After about a half an hour's drive, he pulled into a parking space, right in front of one of the most luxurious boutiques you know and you already knew that this was going to be expensive. But you also knew that it was no use to complain, that was very clear.

Ever the gentleman, he opened the door for you, helping you out, before wrapping an arm around you to keep you close. During the few steps it took to get to the boutique it felt as if the entire world was watching, as you felt more eyes on you than ever before. And you knew that most of them probably looked at you with jealousy, seeing the man by your side.

But he was yours. As you were his.

Please consider reblogging and following me! It helps a lot!

Call of Duty - Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

Tags: @lunamoonbby @distinguishedprincesstrash @xanvasy @reader-1290

Like what you're reading? Buy me a coffee!

[axelsagewrites]

Ramsay Bolton*Catch You

Pairing: Ramsay x F!Reader

Summary: Ramsay gives the reader one last chance to escape before becoming his wife

Requested by @darkrose33

Warnings: Ramsay, swearing, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, f! receiving oral, humiliation, rough sex, degradation, chase kink 18+

Word count: 1894

A/N: Ramsay is a terrible terrible person who did terrible terrible things that I do not condone...however Iwan Rheon made him so attractive in a strange way so you cannot blame me for writing smut for him

Masterlist Here

“You can run,” his voice bellowed through the forest as your feet crashed across the ground amongst the trees, “But you can’t hide,”

It was a cat and mouse game. Ramsay wanted you but you couldn’t marry a traitor even if secretly you wanted him too. Any other person would be scared when they heard his boots crunching on branches and leaves as he ran through the forest after you. a weird spark lit up in your stomach.

“If you can make it to the other side, you’ll be a free woman,” he said, candlelight illuminating the chamber that had become your cell. He’d never laid a hand on you, but gods did he want to.

“And if I don’t?” you asked.

Ramsay smirked, lightly holding your jaw in his hand despite your grimace, “Once I catch you, you won’t want anyone else,”

Leaves and twigs scrapped your face as you ran through the trees, jumping over logs, and twisting around roots. You could hear him getting closer and your heart pounding in your ears. Another log jumped another corner turned then suddenly you had to stop and catch yourself. A lake the width of two men’s heights stretched across you and freedom.

Not even a direwolf could clear the jump. Perhaps there’d be a narrower crossing point further up but how long did you have before he caught up? Your head spun as you tried to look for an option. You heard his laugh running through the wind. Without any other option you began to attempt to climb the nearest tree.

Your hand gripped the branch and you managed to only get a few feet off the ground when your hand began to slip. Trying to find another spot to grab, the branch holding your foot snapped beneath it, your body moved to cling to the tree, but you began to slip. You yelped when you felt yourself falling or perhaps it was from the hand that suddenly was on your hips.

“Caught you,” Ramsay smirked, not nearly as out of breath as you. His strong hands dug into your hips, “You can let go now,” he said.

There was no point trying to run. Ramsay guided you down the tree, hands still clung into your hips as your back was against him. With your feet now on the ground, Ramsay stepped forward pushing you into the tree and his front into your back. You gasped at the feeling of his hard on pressing into you. “What now?” you asked, refusing to look back.

“Now,” Ramsay said as he leaned his mouth down to your ear, his breath fanning over your skin, “I’m going to fuck your tight little hole right in this fucking forest,”

“Anyone could walk by,” your eyes widened despite the excited shiver that went down your spin.

Ramsay spun you around before pressing your back harshly into the bark, deliberately pressing his cock into you as he trapped you between his arms, “Good,” he said, his lips hoovering over yours, “That way they know what’s mine,”

With that his lips crashed onto yours in a deep and messy kiss. His hands moved to grope your chest over your dress. Ramsay groaned into the kiss when he felt your lips move back. You weren’t even sure why you felt a tingle in your stomach. This was so wrong. But gods did his lips feel good.

You gasped when he bit down harshly on your bottom lip, whimpering slightly as he moved his tongue in. his fingers trailed the edges of your neckline before gripping the fabric and pulling it down. You shivered as the cold forest air ran over your nipples that instantly hardened at the cold. Ramsay moaned when he felt your skin under his touch and grinned when he felt your hardened buds. Soft moans left your own lips as he began to twist them gently at first. Then when he pinched them suddenly you whined as a hollow feeling started in your stomach.

“Look at you already so desperate,” Ramsay’s breath was warm against your face in contrast with the forest chill, “So desperate for me,” there was a glint in his eyes as he stared you down, “You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” Your face flushed and you tried to look away. Ramsay growled as he grabbed your jaw harshly, gripping it tightly in his fingers as he forced you to look him in the eye, “I asked you a question,” he said lowly, “Now answer me,” his fingers dug in deeper.

“Y-yes,” you stuttered out as you looked into his eyes which seemed to darken when you spoke.

“Yes what?” he said as he pressed himself even closer to you, no space left between you and him or the tree that dug into your spine.

You whined lightly at the feeling. Despite everything you wanted nothing more than what he was offering, “I want you to fuck me my lord,” you managed to say just above a whisper.

Ramsay smirked at your whimpering. He dropped your jaw from his grip only to begin hiking up your skirt, “All you had to do was ask,” he said as he dropped down to his knees, gazing up at your cunt, “Look how wet you are,” Ramsay said, letting your skirts fall to cover his body as he positioned himself by your cunt.

You stared off into the forest as his hot breath fanned against your wet pussy. You gasped when you felt his hands grab the flesh of your hips under your dress. His nose nudges against you and a whimper left your throat. “Please,” you whined without knowing if he could even hear you.

Finally, Ramsay gave in, and you were thankful for the tree to stabilise you as he licked up your folds. Ramsay did not pause for even a moment as his tongue began to lap up your juices. You didn’t want to moan. Anyone could come past. But when his tongue ran circles over your clit you couldn’t stop them. You felt hollow when he moved away from your clit but full as his tongue began to dive into you, licking you perfectly. Your hands were gripping bark trying to keep yourself standing as his nose nuzzled into your clit.

A knot was building in your stomach as Ramsay worked his wonders with his tongue. His hands squeezed and your hips, moving back to feel the soft flesh of your ass. His hands groping your body and his tongue licking your juices made the knot tighten. Suddenly you felt your whole-body tensing, your legs locking his head in place. “Fuck,” a long whine ripped from your throat as you felt a wave rush through your body. You couldn’t stop yourself moaning his name as you came around his tongue.

When he reappeared from between your legs his face was slick with your juices and a smirk on his lips, “I think you woke the whole forest with that one darling,” he said as his hand moved to grip your throat, “I think I should punish you for that,”

“Please,” you whimpered but the idea of him punishing you just made you ache for him.

“I think,” he said as one of his hands worked on his trousers, “I should fuck you right up against this tree,” he said as his cock sprung free. Without thinking you looked down at it and stared with awe as he held his cock in his hand, “What do you think?” he asked, turning his eyes back to yours.

You nodded but Ramsay squeezed your throat. You couldn’t just nod. “Please,” you whimpered, “Please do it. make me yours,” your hands moved to hold onto his arms, squeezing his hard biceps, “Fuck me, please I’ll be good,” you begged.

Ramsay’s eyes were filled with lust, “Such a good whore,” he said as he began to pull your skirts back up, lining himself up with your entrance, “That’s what you want right? To be my whore?”

“Yes,” you whined which turned into a gasp when you felt his tip began to push in.

Ramsay groaned as he slowly began to push his cock into you. once the head was in, he paused for a moment, and you felt yourself adjust to the burn as he stretched you out. However, he did not wait long before he suddenly began to thrust into you, his whole length diving into you and filling you up.

At first you gasped, a pain starting at first, but the pain ripped through your body like a wave of pleasure. Ramsay gripped your hips as he thrust into you and admired the tears falling from your eyes. “You look so pretty like this,” he growled sending shivers down your spine.

The pain was now wholly replaced by pleasure as he thrust into you, with each thrust your back hitting into the tree. Curse words fell from your lips in a mix of moans of whimpers. Ramsay groaned and growled as he fucked you, his lips falling onto the skin of your neck to suck dark hickeys into the delicate flesh. His hands moved from your hips to your still exposed chest. A wave of pleasure ran through you as he began to pinch and squeeze your nipples. Your walls clenched around him, cumming again for the second time around him. Your moans filling the forest like a symphony to Ramsay’s ears.

But it did not stop him. If anything, his thrusts got harder when he felt you squeezing around him, “Do it again,” Ramsay said, pressing his forehead against yours. whines of protest came out, but he did not care, “Do it again,” he growled, one of his hands moving to grip your throat as the other pinched hard on your nipple, “I wanna watch you cum over and over and over,” he said, thrusting with each word.

Even if you wanted to protest you couldn’t as the pressure built again. He let go of your throat if only to shove his fingers in your mouth, swirling them around your tongue before moving them to rub sloppy circles onto your clit. Your moans got muffled when he slammed his mouth onto yours. the way your moans vibrated into the kiss made his cock start to twitch.

When he felt your walls clamp around him again, he almost spilled right then. He pulled back from the kiss to watch your face contort in pleasure, the orgasm ripping through your body like a tsunami crashing. His thrusts got sloppy as he tried to ride it out but when you moaned his name, he couldn’t stop himself. Ramsay grunted as his seed began to spill, leaning onto the tree behind you to steady himself as he drained himself into you. his lips hovered over yours as he came, and you closed the gap for a needy light kiss.

When he pulled back, removing his cock from you, he used his hands to keep you steady. It was like trying to stand on ice for the first time as your legs ached from the orgasms. “You caught me,” you said, panting as you recovered from the ordeal.

Ramsay grinned down at you as he caught his own breath, “And don’t think im ever gonna let you run again,”

Taglist: @clairacassidy @nyotamalfoy

[josephquinnswhore]

Hello

I’ve had this idea for a while :}

What if reader and Pedro had a la la land moment when they break up and then reunir two years later at an awards show and realize they still have feelings for each other

Like right person wrong time :>

Finding Our Way Back - pedro pascal x female reader

Summary: you and Pedro rekindle your relationship after seeing him at an award show, it’s been two years since you’ve separated and he looks better than ever.

Word Count: 3.7k

Content Warning: allusions to reader that worked in a shit workplace, fluff.

Note: thanks so much for requesting. Thought I’d do the MTV awards since he’s nominated and I’ve already written about Pedro at the Oscars! I hope you love it 🫶🏼

As an interviewer for Vanity Fair, you knew it was highly likely that you’d run into your ex boyfriend, Pedro Pascal at the MTV awards as he was nominated with Bella Ramsay in the category “best duo,” after his latest role as Joel Miller. Although things had ended amicably on both ends, it had been two years ago since you split; your maturity, respect and the love you still had for him played a part in that clean break. You wanted to beg for him to stay with you, to try and make things work; but he was having a big breakthrough in his career and you couldn’t be selfish with him, after decades of his hard work to get to where he is now, so you let go. After years of smaller roles, despite you reassuring him he was incredible in all roles he played, he knew this one would change his life, working on a project with his idol Nick Cage.

Funnily enough, being in this situation was how you met. You standing at an event in a dress that was too tight and itchy on your skin, waiting to interview the nominees for this award show. Although all those years ago you didn’t work for such a well known, respected company as VF.

You worked for a small company called For You Entertainment, they were working their way up the ladder attending small events with D-List celebrities when your producer thankfully got you a breakthrough, an interview with the cast of Narcos at the end of season 2 premiere. You were nervous and fidgeting with your lilac sequin dress that was so tight you were cursing your stylist internally for making you wear clothing that was a size too small for your waist. Your lungs felt heavy as they couldn’t inhale fully, the feeling of being claustrophobic in your own skin was dizzying, along with the sweatiness of your hands and the bright light from your film crew, it was all too much. A staff member from the event, led Pedro to you and you knew you were screwed, the knowing look in those chocolate brown eyes, he knew how anxious you were feeling, he read you instantly. Your co-workers were ready to begin filming when Pedro held his hand up, signalling for the men to stop momentarily, and they did.

“Hey, I’m Pedro. It’s so nice to meet you…”

His hand meets your own as you introduce yourself, he catches the wobble in your voice as your confidence plummets to the ground beneath your heels. He offers a kind smile and you’re enamoured by how kind he’s being, how gentle and attentive he is; he was doing whatever he could to make you comfortable.

“Are you okay?”

You let out a shaky breath and huff out a small laugh,

“this is my first ever interview with like, a real celebrity and you’re my celebrity crush. Plus this dress is a size too small which they picked on purpose, something about making my boobs perkier.”

The speed at which your mouth rambles leaves your brain unable to comprehend the words that leave them for a few seconds, the moment you register what you say your eyes are wide and Pedro is laughing sweetly.

“It’s a pleasure to be here with you, don’t be nervous, I think you look stunning. You can do this, I’m here to help you make things go smoothly! Shall we?”

How wrong he was, he wasn’t just like any other guy, that’s what drew you in, he sucked you into his orbit, the gravity holding you down to him. Alas, you agree to start the interview. Your nerves somewhat shaken and cheeks a deep shade of red, along with a tingle of heat on your face you’d never experienced prior to Pedro’s flattery.

“Let’s do this.”

You bare a shy grin and give the camera man a thumbs up as they prepare to start the interview.

There was nothing wrong with your relationship with Pedro. It had just seemed like the relationship had run it’s course through the years. You were studying and working full time, 60 hours a week you were in a chokehold of being underpaid and overworked, being younger, new to the industry and vulnerable, you let your boss expose you to the cruelty of the profession when you had several employees that treated you like a doormat. Pedro had always insisted he hated how much you worked for them; how terribly they treated you and crushed your potential within months, that you could achieve more.

Pedro has just gotten a main role in “the unbearable weight of massive talent” when things fell apart, he was incredibly hard working and committed to his work life, the man that was practically married to his career left you in a position of what felt like roommates more than actual lovers. The conversation was hard and you almost didn’t go through with it; you knew you’d regret it but it was necessary, you couldn’t live like this anymore. You missed the intimacy and the connection, feeling like you were in a loveless relationship even though you loved him endlessly.

He had gotten home from a long day of filming, body slumped as he walked through the door, hours and hours on end of filming had him exhausted, he was surprised to see you sitting on the couch with the light and tv on when he walked through the front door.

“Hey, you’re up?”

The confusion in his voice was evident and you inhaled a shaky breath, turning to face him, you nearly backed out of your plan like a coward. Instead you invite him to sit next to you.

“Yeah, we need to talk, will you come sit?”

Pedro’s thick eyebrows are pinched in a frown, looking his age when the wrinkles in his face become evident. The lounge dips as he sits next to you, his large hand on your knee as his brown eyes watch you.

“Is everything okay?”

His voice is cautious and you just exhale, not questioning your own judgment.

“I think it would be in both our favours if we part ways, I’d prefer if we could do this amicably and still be friends afterwards. There’s no connection or intimacy anymore, we’re both too busy. Maybe if,” you sigh loudly unable to find the courage to finish the sentence. Luckily, Pedro knows what you’re thinking.

“If we were at a different stage in life, right?”

He finishes the thought in your head and you nod, fat tears falling down your face, his arms are quick to pull you into a hug, your head rests on his shoulder and he kisses the back of your head.

“I still love you, maybe things will work out for us one day, hm?”

You chuckle, the noise wet as you choke back your tears, “that would be a dream wouldn’t it?”

Having worked for Vanity Fair for the past 12 months, you had met some well known A-list celebrities, some in which would be here tonight at the mtv awards, some people attending not as well known but still nonetheless attending and perfectly deserving of your attention. Your black cocktail dress hugged your figure perfectly, hair pulled upward and styled neatly. Your faces natural beauty was accentuated by the light make up that had been carefully applied by the companies make up artist. The shades of pink and gold on your eyelids were glistening in the lights that shone a bright white overhead as you stood in the middle of the walkway right before the entry to the building where the awards were being held.

Your manager had warned you sympathetically that Pedro was one person you’d be interviewing, it didn’t take much reassuring on your behalf to assure her that although and and Pedro hadn’t really spoken since you broke up; besides the yearly birthday messages and him liking your Instagram posts, that things were okay between you and you were happy to interview him.

When you see him, he’s looking as handsome as ever. His brown hair had a few greying strands on the side of his head near his temples. The purple suit he wears clings to his body and he wears it with finesse, the grapefruit colour makes his skin look its glowing in a golden light, the suit hangs off his broad shoulders with no room to spare. A small heart-shaped patch in his black and grey beard was still failing to fill with hair on the left side of his face. He smiles so widely when he sees you, quickening his casual pace to a speed walk to bump his body into yours, wrapping his strong arms around you to pull you into a hug, his big muscles bulging against your dress-clad skin. You accept the hug and pull him into you, squeezing him as your arms wrap around the back of his neck, the cologne he wears compliments the natural musk of him that you recognise and miss so dearly.

You fight the urge to look at his plump lips a second time, the shade of pink whispered sweet words to draw you into him like a hypnotist, threatening you to kiss him against your will. He pulls back and stands tall next to you, he towers over you, even in your 3 inch heels.

“Pedro Pascal, what a warm welcome. Thank you so much for joining us this evening.” You greet warmly, holding the microphone between the small gap between your bodies, he misses the redness on your cheeks as he grins so widely his dimple exposes itself.

“Thank you for having me, it’s so great to be here, and it’s so great to see you, look at you, you’re looking stunning this evening.” He stands a little too close to you than he does anyone else that’s trying to get an interview from him, his fondness of you showing through the camera that records you.

“You always were a charmer weren’t you. This suit is incredible, you’re looking dapper tonight.” Your free hand that isn’t holding the mic gently runs a hand down his suit, keeping your hand on his chest, getting a feel for the material. You grin at the redness of his cheeks before getting to what the fans really want.

“Now, there is something your fans are begging me to address. As the self proclaimed biggest daddy on the internet, are your fans all your children?” Pedro laughs, the sound is ringing in your ears like the most delightful song you’ve ever heard. He takes the microphone from you and turns to the camera, “yes, you are all my children. I will warn you, grogu may get a little jealous.”

“That’s so sweet, why do you think you chose these roles that have you as basically a father figure?” You muse, eyes batting unintentionally as you’re drawn into his charming character. “I mean, truthfully I would love to have kids someday. Since that’s not an option right now I’m opting for the role of playing dad.” Your heart starts racing, both in awe and disappointment, knowing you would never be the one to bare his children, as his girlfriend or wife, you had missed your opportunity years ago.

“Now we do have a question that a lot of people are begging us to ask you and who are we to deny them?Does Joel Miller in the tv series meet the same fate as the game?” Pedro bares his teeth in a grimace and looks directly into the camera. “It’s going to be almost exactly the same, sorry kids.” He shrugs casually before turning back to you.

“Well Pedro it’s been such a delight to talk with you this evening, we’re wishing you and Bella the best to win an award, have a wonderful evening!” Pedros hands cross in front of his torso, fumbling with the silver ring that sits on his pinky. “Of course it’s amazing to see you. Thank you, have a great night.” He waves to you sweetly as he walks off with a staff member that’s leading him into the building. You stop filming and let out a big sigh.

“How are you feeling?” Your cameraman Andrew asks, “I’m okay, just feels like an open wound still, I guess.” He offers a sympathetic smile, “you did great. That was an awesome interview, everyone’s going to love it. Your chemistry is off the charts.”

You silently agree. The chemistry was still there, maybe you should just, text him later as a “it was so good to see you” curtesy text. Regardless of how terrible he was at texting, it would show you made an effort.

It’s been hours since you saw and spoke to Pedro, his image ingrained in your brain every time you close your eyes, where you’re normally met with blackness this night you’re met with his smile, the smell of his natural musk, the scent of his cologne lingered on your own skin as if he lie next to you. The heaviness of his hands as he hugged you felt as if he was still touching you, it made you restless. You were struggling to sleep even when the streets below your apartment began turning off their lights, one by one you seemed to be the only one wide awake in the neighbourhood.

11:28pm. After changing your mind about half a dozen times on what to write, you settle on something kind and friendly, and you send the text: “it was so good to see you tonight, you look great.”

To your surprise it’s barely a minute before he replies: “it was such a pleasure to see you, can I ask you something?”

Your heart is racing as you can barely think about what he could possibly ask, you assure him: “of course, anything.”

The bubble comes up as if he’s typing, then disappears. You grown as you watch him type and delete this message before it finally comes through after a few minutes: “going to bed anytime soon?”

You raise an eyebrow to yourself and whisper, “seriously that’s what took you so long?” And reply to him: “nope, wide awake.”

“Want some company? I can bring coffee.” You rub your eyes in disbelief, wondering if this is real or an illusion.

“Please do. You know how I like it.” You send through your address as you’ve moved to a newer and slightly bigger apartment in the last year. “Be there soon.” He replies without a moments notice.

“Shit.” You mutter to yourself as you rush to the bathroom, attempting to make yourself look presentable, brushing your hair down neatly before braiding it, smoothing out your pyjamas and turning on some lights in the living room as you turn on the tv to Disney Plus turning on Moana as you attempt to sit comfortably.

There’s a soft knock at the door and you get an alert on your phone that someone’s outside, you check your phone, seeing Pedro standing in black pants, a white shirt and a large black trench-coat, a cardboard cup holder in hand with two Starbucks coffees occupying the space. You smooth out your pyjamas once again and unlock the two locks to your front door, feeling winded as you see your ex boyfriend standing there looking as beautiful as ever with a shy smile on his face.

You open the door and step to the side, “please, come in.” He shudders slightly from the breeze that drafts in from outside, your house abnormally warm and the feeling is welcome on his cold skin. “You have a nice place here. How long ago did you move in?” You take the coffees and sit them down in the cup holders in your lounge as he takes off his trench-coat, the atmosphere too warm for the accessory. “Coming up 12 months now. Right after I started working for Vanity Fair.”

You gesture for Pedro to sit on the lounge after he hands his coat on the coat hanger by the door, he keeps a respectable space between you, unlike earlier in the evening where he stood entirely too close. “Moana always was your favourite.” Pedro muses to himself. “Somethings never change.” You reply with a shrug, the statement having a double meaning behind it.

“Yeah, I guess. What’s new in your life anyway. Other than work and all the formalities?” He questions, the hopeful look in his eye beams as you sink comfortably into the grey couch, “nothing really, I’m quite boring these days. The same girl you know.” You sip your coffee and hum in contentment, missing the way Pedro whispered “and love.” After your statement, “thanks so much for the coffee, it’s perfect. It’s any wonder you still remember,” you admit.

“How could I forget my girls coffee order?” Pedro freezes, realisation of what he said sinks in. “I mean, I meant- I didn’t..” he stutters and you rest your hand on his, trying to diffuse his panicked state. “It’s okay, I’ve missed you you know. Seeing you tonight made me realise how much I never got over you.” The admission has both of your skin burning with desire and slight embarrassment. “You feel that way?” His voice is sweet, you wish he would just talk to you all night, you’d simply sit and listen.

“Of course I do. I’ve always loved you Pedro.” Just like that the bomb has dropped, the elephant in the room is too large and suffocating to ignore, you still love him, years later you still love him.

“I’ve been needing to hear that for such a long time. I love you, I was a fool to let you go,” you lean into the warmth of Pedro’s hand as he caresses your face, your heart rate spiking at his touch and confession. “We can always just.. pick up where we left off,” you offer sweetly. Pedro’s eyes raise at your offer, the ball was in his court and he was going to take it. Without another word he pulls you into him, your lips smashing into his, moulding together like two unique puzzle pieces that were made for each other.

You part your lips and grant him access to deepen the kiss, years of unspoken love and missing each other all came to surface with this kiss. When you pull apart you’re both heaving, foreheads pressed together you stare into his chocolate orbs. “Please be mine. I don’t think I could go another day knowing you’re not mine.” You exhale a shaky breath, the taste of him still on your lips, “I was always yours Pedro. We just had to find out way back.” Pedro’s thumb strokes your cheek and let’s put a small laugh, almost in relief. “I’m grateful we did. Everything feels right again.”

You nod as you silently agree with him, the hole left empty now felt overfilled, you knew your cup would never be empty again with Pedro by your side again, “stay the night.” Your nose grazes his cheek as you whisper. He pulls you into his lap, strong arms holding you in place as he kisses your shoulder. “When have I ever been able to say no to you?”

“I’ll teach you how to stop being such a people pleaser one day you know.” You jest lightly. “As long as I have you, none of that even matters, baby.” You turn to kiss him, the intoxicating sweetness of his lips is almost impossible to pull away from. “You’ll always have me. Promise.” A few moments of silence pass before you ask, “did you win the award?” Pedro hums before he realises what you’ve said, pulling his eyes away from the tv, “yeah we did, Bella was stoked, it was such a big moment for them.” You lean into his chest, smiling in content with how perfectly things were falling into place.