Stark!Reader finds out she is pregnant with Ramsay’s child. He becomes obsessed with the child, going to long lengths to ensure security for his heir. Then, the baby is born; it’s a girl. Ramsay is not happy, and you know exactly what happens when Ramsay isn’t happy.
Original Request: (Pre-bastards battle) Can you do an one-shot in which
stark!reader is pregnant with the babe of Ramsey, who is some kinda fond of
her, he is excited because the babe would born soon and he’d has his heir, but
in the end they find out that it is a girl? Maybe he tries to kill the babe but
he has to wait and goes to the battle of bastards first? Well, you decide the
end! Sorry my english, hehehe. Thank youuuu❤
It had been two months since you last bled, and it somewhat bothered you. It was conflicting. Petyr had told you that Ramsay Bolton of the Dreadfort was no one to worry about. He had taken you from the monsters who killed your family and gave you to the other monsters who killed your family. Ramsay had raped you on your wedding night. He enjoyed every second of it.
Petyr’s words meant nothing to you now.
Since then, Ramsay kept you in a tower away from everyone and everything. Two chambermaids came to your room. To feed you, to clothe you, and to give you what you needed. Whenever Ramsay wanted to see you, he would send Theon, or Reek, as he now called himself. You would watch his form crouched before you and every time it made you so happy. Theon deserved his fate, but you didn’t deserve this.
The maester had sat you down and told you slowly. He figured it would be the best way to give the news. You didn’t freeze. You didn’t panic. This was the North. This was your family’s land. You had nothing to be afraid of.
“I have to tell him,” the maester said.
“Do you have to?” you asked, hoping you could keep your secret for a while longer. The maester shook his head.
“I am sworn to my lord and his family,” you sensed fear, not loyalty in the maester’s voice. Later on, you sat in your room pondering when Ramsay would send for you. A knock on the door snapped you out of your private thoughts. The door opened to reveal the wicked bastard. His smile grew and grew every second. He closed the door behind him and walked over to a chair.
“So, we are with child?” He dragged the wood across the floor to you and sat down. “When are we due?”
“Not for a while,” you said, looking down. “I haven’t bled in two moons. I expect six or seven more will pass.” Ramsay’s fingers cradled your chin. “This is good news, (Y/N),” he said, quietly. “This is good for both of us. Anything you need, anything at all, I will give it to you. After all, my heir, our son, is inside you now.” Ramsay placed his hand over your stomach.
“My lord, there is barely anything there,” you mentioned.
“No, I can feel him. He is there. I can feel his heart beating. It beats for the North,” Ramsay said.
During the days, it would be the same. Every morning you would wake up to a well-balanced breakfast, but you would eat in front of Ramsay and his father and new stepmother. She was also pregnant. Ramsay treated it as a competition of sorts.
Ramsay became increasingly attentive and slightly obsessed with the child growing in your stomach. One night he came into your bedroom with your permission, but then again, he never asked permission.
“From now on, I’ll be spending my nights here with you,” he said. Staring at your swollen belly. “I want to spend every night with my family.”
“What about Myranda?” you weren’t a fool. You knew who Myranda was to him. You knew she loved him.
“What about her?” Ramsay’s tongue clicked.
“She wouldn’t like you here with me,” you said. It was the truth. You both knew it. Ramsay smiled, but not in a wicked manner.
“She’s gone. I have sent her away from here,” Ramsay said. “I don’t need her anymore. She is a distraction.”
“Yes. You are my wife. You are carrying my son. Myranda was just a small step to what I have always wanted.”
“What do you want?” You found yourself leaning forward to him. You felt the baby kick. Ramsay leaned forward in his chair, inches from your face.
Ramsay had accompanied you to every appointment you had about your impending child. It made the maester very nervous. His hands would shake with the tools he had in his hands. His breathing became shorter as Ramsay kept a close eye on him. The maester looked at you and gave you the good news.
“I think due to Ramsay’s involvement mother and child are healthy. We should see our new little lord soon enough,” he smiled at you. You opened your moth to say something.
“How soon?” Ramsay interrupted before you could begin. The maseter became flustered. “How soon till I can hold him?” His question shocked you. You understood Ramsay wanted an heir more than anything now that his stepmother was about to have her child. You didn’t think he would love your child.
Back in your bedroom, Ramsay held you the same way he always did. His arm wrapped around the swollen belly. You turned your body to face his.
“Do you love him?” you asked.
“Do you love our child? Truly love him? Not as an heir, not as a piece in your puzzle. Do you love him?” you needed to know. The words hung in the air for a beat. Ramsay shifted his body, and sat up. His fingers played in your hair.
“Is it possible to love someone you’ve never met?”
“That was not my question,” you wouldn’t let him talk his way out of this one.
“I love him,” Ramsay admitted. “But, it scares me. All of this scares me.”
“Scares you? This scares you?” You sat up, Ramsay’s fingers fell out of your hair. His eyebrows knitted together. One layer faded away from Ramsay before your eyes.
“I only wanted to be a Bolton, and now I can have so much more. I can’t lose everything now. I’m so close,” he said.
“You’ll never have it,” the words slipped out your mouth. “You father is Lord of Winterfell. You are his bastard.”
“I’m a Bolton. I’m not his bastard. I am heir to Winterfell.”
“Your stepmother’s child will determine that. You know if he’s a boy, he will be the heir to Winterfell. Not you and not Robb.”
“That’s our son’s name.”
“You’re naming him after your brother?”
“Yes,” you narrowed your eyes at Ramsay. You wanted him to argue against it. You wanted him to fight you on this. You wanted some justice for your family. You wanted him angry and to hurt you. Ramsay blinked at you.
“Okay,” he finally said. Your face fell.
“Okay,” Ramsay smiled. “This is your son too. Your say matters to me.” His fingers cradled your chin. He brought you closer to his face. “You have absolutely no idea how far I will go for you and him. I would do anything for us.”
“Now you’re scaring me,” you whispered to him. Ramsay closed his eyes and kissed your forehead tenderly. He had never been this soft before.
“You have nothing to worry about. I would never hurt you,” that was a lie. Or was it? Ramsay was being so soft. He raped you. He kept you in this room. He killed your family. No, his father did that. Ramsay tortured Theon. Ramsay held down several forts for his father. “What’s wrong?”
“You’ve hurt me before,” you said.
“I like hurting people, it’s not that surprising.”
“Would you hurt him?” Your eyes shot open. Ramsay shook his head.
“Never. I wouldn’t lay a finger on him,” Ramsay laid you back down. Your eyes closed. Maybe he would be a good father. He loved his child. He wouldn’t hurt him, not like he hurt you. Ramsay was mad. He was fond of you, but he never apologized for what he did to you. He was taking all the power in this marriage, but you still slept at night.
When you woke, Ramsay was gone. You went to try the door. You jiggled the knob. Nothing. Locked. It didn’t surprise you. You turned back to the bed. The cold air came through in your room. It sent a small chill up your back. Something was different.
You never believed in magic. Stannis and his Red Woman were nothing but a joke to you. You had lost your faith in the gods the day your saw your father Ned Stark’s head fall to the ground. Sansa fainted into your chest that day. You lost Ayra that day.
You did believe in signs. The chill up your spine. Something was wrong. A knock came to your door. It opened to reveal a dirty, mud-covered Reek. You never let him touch you, but he led you down the corridors towards the main courtyard.
Ramsay waited for you. You watched his grin turn up his cheeks. His blue eyes were wide. He greeted you with a kiss to your cheek; the warmth from his mouth heated your face. After the warmth left your cheek it went to your ear.
“I did something for us,” he whispered. “Something wonderful.”
“What?” you said softly. Ramsay turned you to see Walda, Ramsay’s stepmother, hanging from a pole. Her mauled body dangled lifeless, blood dripped from the holes and gouges. Other parts of her body were lightly covered in snow. Her face was nearly unrecognizable. “R-ramsay, what did you do?”
“They’re gone. They’re all gone,” he said aloud. “I killed them all for us. For all of us.” He rubbed his hand on your belly.
“Do you mean?”
“Yes, I am Lord of Winterfell. This is all ours,” Ramsay took your hand. He led you to one of the highest parts of Winterfell. The ramparts. He pointed out to the never ending lands. “This is ours. This is mine, and one day it will be his.” He said into your ear. You didn’t know why, but you didn’t let go of his hand. It fit there.
More weeks went by, and your belly grew and grew until you felt your water break. You were rushed to a secluded room with wet nurses and the maester fussing over you. You could hear Ramsay outside kicking and screaming to get into the room with you. As sweet as that was, it didn’t help with the labor.
Sweat built up on your forehead. You could feel your heart beat twice as fast. A wet nurse, who was positioned between your legs, ordered you to push and push and push. And you did. You push with all of your strength and might. You screamed to the top of your lungs. It was painful. It felt awful.
But then you heard it.
A singular, loud cry. Your eyes felt heavy, but you tilted your head, and there he was. Your child. You felt like laughing. A wet nurse took the baby away and cleaned it up. You fought against your body to stay awake. You pushed yourself to sit up more. You needed to see him. You never wanted anything more in your entire life. The wet nurse brought the baby to your arms.
The wet nurse placed the baby in your arms. He was tiny. He had dark hair just like Ramsay’s. Your finger trailed along the baby’s face, and you never fell in love with someone so fast. It was as if nothing else mattered in this world. You remembered how your mother would tell you that you could never understand a mother’s love unless you were a mother. You understood her now.
“I know it’s not her name day, but did you have a name in mind?” “Robb,” you said dreamily. “Wait, what did you say?”
“What were you going to name her?”
“Her?” You opened the blankets of your newborn and looked at your baby girl. You felt your heart stop. Everything Ramsay hoped for was gone. He wanted a boy. He needed a boy. He would hurt her. No, that’s not true. He promised he wouldn’t. No, he promised he wouldn’t hurt him. Not her.
Ramsay came into the room, and you quickly covered your daughter up in your arms. You held her so close to you that you swore you could feel her tiny heartbeat.
“Y/N! Where is he?” his wicked smile turned into a wicked joy. His hands were out, ready to hold his child.
“Ramsay, let me hold him for a while longer,” you lied. “I only just got him.”
“Surely you can spare me a couple of minutes with him.” Ramsay sat down next to you by the bed. “If you’re worried I’ll drop him, I won’t. I’m sitting in this chair. No harm will come to him.”
“No harm will come to who, my lord?” the same wet nurse interrupted.
“My child. Have you seen him? He has my hair and her nose,” Ramsay said proudly.
“Yes, congratulations, my lord, but your lady has not told you?” the wet nurse said. You stared at the wet nurse. You hoped to get her attention. You shook your head, and you tried to mouth the words.
“My lady has not told me what?” he smiled.
“You have a daughter, not a son, my lord,” Ramsay’s smile faded immediately. He looked to you and your daughter. Your grip tightened on her.
“Let me see,” he said.
“I want to see,” he said, more threatening this time.
“Ramsay, please.” He grabbed your neck in front of everyone. His hand tightening every two seconds.
“I need to see, Y/N. Give the baby to me.” You unfolded the blankets, and you let him see your daughter bare and how the gods made her, but you never let go of her. Ramsay let go of your neck and did a sharp turn. He walked out of the room, and you didn’t see him for the rest of the day.
The next day, you heard word that Lord Ramsay met with your bastard brother, Lord Commander Jon Snow. There was going to be war tomorrow. You had no idea that Jon was Lord Commander. How long had Ramsay kept you in that locked tower away from everyone? You didn’t know, but you wouldn’t let that happen to her. Not to her. She was going to live a happy life.
That night, Ramsay came into your bedroom. You were feeding her. Ramsay held something behind his back. You pretended to not notice. You pretended to not notice your heart beat speed up. You tried to keep your breathing deep and calm.
“Good evening,” you muttered.
“Y/N, may I see our baby girl?” You looked up at his eyes. He was completely serious. You looked back down to her. Her eyes opened a little. She had blue eyes just like her father. They looked up to you and blinked once then closed. She felt so warm and so close to you.
“No,” you said.
“Excuse me?” Ramsay said.
“I said, no,” your voice rose. Ramsay revealed the dagger from behind him.
“Give her to me, Y/N,” Ramsay said calmly. “She is no heir.” He took one step towards you and the baby. You wrapped your arms around her and tilted to your side. If he was going to hurt her, he would have to hurt you too. Your body shielded her. You could hear Ramsay’s slow footsteps.
“Y/N, I don’t want to do this. Give her to me,” he said. He was close. You could feel his body heat.
“No, you promised you wouldn’t hurt our child. You promised!” you heard a knock at the door.
“My lord,” someone greeted. “Scouts are back. They would like to speak with you about the wildling army.” You looked and you watched Ramsay leave without any sign of coming back. You had to go. You had to save her. He wanted to kill her. You found Theon in the kennel freezing to death. You dragged him out of there, and both of you snuck out of Winterfell and into the dark.
You don’t remember much of that long night. You had blocked it out of your head. You don’t remember much of that entire day either. All you could see was Ramsay’s face being chewed and mauled by his own dogs. You could still hear his howls and screams. None of that haunted you. It did hurt you, but it didn’t matter now. You watched little Lyanna run around in circles in the courtyard with her aunt Sansa. Ramsay didn’t get everything he wanted, but you did.