just when you thought the horses were safe

Poison (Ramsay Bolton x Reader songfic)

Okay, seriously, Ramsay is his own warning. If you’re triggered by violence, control freakiness, etc, this is not the fic for you.

Better to read it on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11566635

X~ Your cruel device,
Your blood like ice. ~X

Ramsay Snow was the subject of many false assumptions, but perhaps the most absurd of these assumptions was that he was incapable of love. Ramsay loved a great many things. He loved sex, hunting, torture, drinking…but most of all, he loved his girls. Yes, yes, his infamous dogs– the Bastard’s bitches. They were his true loves, his most prized possessions. His girls were solid and steadfast– simple creatures, yet smarter than any man he knew. Everyone who knew Ramsay knew how much he loved his dogs, and most had the good sense to know that even the smallest misstep with those precious girls meant instant death– it varied from occasion to occasion whether Ramsay or the girls themselves made the killing blow, but the end result remained the same.

So, understandably, Ramsay’s first reaction when he found a girl petting and cooing at one of his bitches was ineffable, uncontrollable, unadulterated rage.

Just before Ramsay snatched the girl to him by the bodice of her dress, he saw Kyra (the hound in question) wag her tail and was so shocked that he paused just long enough to hear what the girl was saying.

“You’re such a pretty girl, yes you are! I wonder who you belong to. They must be very lucky to have such a sweet baby girl.”

For the first time in his natural-born life, Ramsay Snow found it difficult to restrain himself from murdering someone in public.
He whistled sharply, calling his dog to him. Obediently, Kyra went to his side, and the girl she had been with looked up at him, surprised, but after a moment a spark of recognition lit in her eyes.

“My lord,” she curtsied lowly, but there was an indifference in her voice that irked Ramsay. “Good morning.”

“The same to you, my dear.” Ramsay’s malicious smile crept onto his face unbidden at the thought of how she might sound as she screamed. “I see you and my Kyra were getting along splendidly.”

The girl smiled softly, her lips arching with a grace the gods withheld from noble ladies and gave exclusively to pretty peasant girls. “She’s beautiful.”

Ramsay nodded. Even if this wench was a peasant, she had a good eye for beauty. “So she is. I would know your name– it’s not often that my dogs allow any human touch besides my own,” he noted, scratching Kyra’s ear. “You’re lucky my darling girl didn’t tear your to shreds.”

“My name is (y/n), my lord.” The reply was made short and clipped– almost strained– but (y/n)’s face gave nothing away.

“(Y/n).” Ramsay rolled the name around in his head, testing whether or not he found it agreeable. After a moment of consideration, he decided it was so. “A lovely name. It suits you– you’re a lovely girl.”

Ramsay looked for all the usual signs– a blush, a tremble, a downcast gaze– but he found only a sad smile that never even reached (y/n)’s sparkling (e/c) eyes.
“Thank you, my lord.”

There was no fear in this girl, nor was there desire– there was only a thin layer of casual respect in her disposition, and beneath it lay something deeper, something more. Ramsay didn’t like that. He didn’t like not knowing, didn’t like secrets. Secrets didn’t make friends, after all.

“What family are you from?” he queried, feigning mild curiosity.

“Not one you would know, my lord,” she shrugged. “They’re all gone now anyway. My mother died giving birth to my youngest brother, and my father took the boys and went off to fight for the north.”

“Leaving you here alone,” Ramsay finished, an idea forming in his head that he very much liked.


“Alone is no way to live for a lovely young girl such as yourself,” Ramsay said, his voice rich with feigned compassion. “A crying shame. My father didn’t raise a son who would let such a thing happen under his rule. Would you like to come with me where I can make sure all your needs are met? You already won the heart of this carnivorous beast,” he smiled, patting Kyra’s head. “And I’m sure you’ll be one of the girls in no time.”

Yes, one of the girls. My bitch. My loyal, obedient bitch.

(Y/n)’s eyes grew wide with shock, her gaze darting from Ramsay to Kyra and back to Ramsay. She searched his eyes for an answer, but Ramsay revealed nothing either. Choose, he thought. Choose very, very carefully, lovely girl.

“I can hardly refuse an offer from you, my lord.” It was a pity (y/n) had stopped looking so pathetically confused. Ogling fish was such a good look on her. Ramsay supposed he would have to befuddle her often, then, just for the sheer hell of it.

“Very wise, my dear,” he replied with a wide grin, offering (y/n) his arm. “Now, how do you feel about the color pink?”

“I’m quite neutral to it, my lord. Never fancied it my color, but I’ve never worn it so I’m no real judge of it myself.”

“We will have to remedy that, then. I have many fine fabrics in every shade of the color, and seamstresses to fit you. Would you like that, my dear?” Ramsay asked, his most charming smile forced onto his features.

“Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord,” she paused a moment, as though thinking. “You are too kind.”

Right you are, my dear, right you are. “Well, I am ever the extremist,” Ramsay admitted as he mounted his horse. “Come, dear one, and I will have chambers prepared for you.”


True to his word, Ramsay did have rooms prepared for his delightfully ignorant guest. They were joined to his own, as he showed (y/n) with barely-contained glee– glee that was more caused by him considering what fun he would have training his new bitch than considering his own generosity.

Just when she thinks she’s safe, she will discover that she’s the sheep that decided to lie down with the wolves, Ramsay thought to himself as he watched her face carefully. She really was very lovely, with a face that would wear pain well and skin that he would love to bruise. And to think that she was blissfully unaware of what was to come! A sweet little lamb indeed.

The more Ramsay thought about this girl, the more perfect she seemed. He even became a little lightheaded thinking of what he would do to her– of what her blood would look like smeared across her body, how those lovely eyes would widen as she fought for breath. He worked himself up so much that by dinner he had to excuse himself for a few moments to regain control. Ramsay knew he shouldn’t count his eggs before the chickens fucked, but seven hells he was hungry for something more than casual dinner conversation, more than this game of I-look-away-when-you-look-at me, more than this boring shite. He wanted– no, needed– more.

And more he got– just not in the way he expected.

Long after Ramsay had retired to his chambers, he began to drift off, tired from a day of scheming. Just as he was on the cusp of sleep, he felt the coldness of a blade press against his throat, and he went very still as a smile spread so widely across his face that it hurt.

“Do it,” Ramsay breathed, opening his eyes to see (y/n)’s lovely face staring down at him, made luminous by the light of the moon that shone into his chambers. “Do it. Go on, you’ve got me. Nothing is easy.”

“Aren’t you afraid?” The question might have had more weight if she hadn’t been trembling like a leaf.

“Valar morghulis,” he murmured huskily through his smile, his voice deepened by sleep.

(Y/n)’s whole body shivered at that, but the knife at Ramsay’s throat was steady.
“You betrayed Robb Stark to the Freys,” she said, her eyes wide and fierce as her chest heaved with adrenaline. “You stormed Winterfell not to free it from the Greyjoys, but to have it for yourself.”

What a naïve little dove. “Those are my father’s sins, not mine, sweetling. You’ll have to try harder than that.” Ramsay let himself sink into his bed, relaxed, only to have the knife pressed more insistently against him. The sensation of his quickened pulse against metal went straight to his cock, the thrill of the moment setting his insatiable desires aflame.

“You poisoned your brother,” she accused him. “You murder, you rape. You waste innocent lives for pleasure. You tortured Theon Greyjoy until he forgot who he was. You’re hardly human.”

Ramsay chuckled. “If you think for one second that I did not love my dear brother Domeric… Well, you are correct.” Ramsay felt himself grin, leaning up against the knife so that his breath fanned (y/n)’s face. “But I am not a woman, a coward, or a eunuch. If I killed him it would have been by carving out his heart and feeding it to the bloody leech we both called father. On all the other counts, I must admit that you are right. I torture, I rape, I murder, I debase– does that trouble you? Do you think I deserve death?”

“If I don’t kill you, you will hurt more people.” (Y/n)’s sweet, honeyed voice tremored ever so slightly, and she raised the knife only a hair as Ramsay leaned even farther up– far enough so that he could smell the sweet pauper’s perfume she must have put on hours before.

“Oh yes, many,” he smirked. “So what are you so afraid of? Do it. If you’re confident that I’m a monster, kill me now.”
She broke, just as Ramsay had known she would, and she threw the knife from the bed as though it had burned her. Ramsay pulled her into a bruising kiss, dropping the knife he’d had hidden beneath the sheets. Oh, how he’d wanted to take her then and there, fuck her until she bled– but not tonight. He would save his enthusiasm for another time.

When he pulled away, (y/n)’s eyes were soft and warm.

“Oh, darling, I’m going to destroy you.”

X~ One look could kill
My pain, your thrill. ~X

(Y/n) had always had terrible taste in men, but this was absolutely ridiculous.
She had very nearly killed him. She had been so close…Ramsay Snow, the epitome of evil, had been right beneath her knife, his blood pumping hard against sharp steel, and she threw it all away.

And what for?

At first, (y/n) wasn’t sure.

She struggled to sleep that night, trapped between Ramsay’s arm and a (ridiculously comfortable) bed, wondering what the morning would bring. After a while, she managed to drift into a light slumber, but when she woke, it was to an empty room and a locked door.

Anticipation gnawed at (y/n)’s gut. What was she to do? The window was far too high above the ground for escape that way– banging on the door would accomplish nothing aside from letting the whole of Winterfell know that she was awake. It seemed that there was nothing to do but wait and try not to mentally collapse in the process. The eerie silence of the room alone nearly drove (y/n) mad, the sound of her blood rushing through her body seemingly magnified to fill her ears.

Just as (y/n) began to reconsider her earlier observation about the window, the door she had been staring at swung open, and Ramsay Snow entered, wearing his usual snarling smirk.

“Good morning, sweetling,” he intoned in that velvety voice that sent shivers down (y/n)’s spine. “I hope you didn’t think I’d forgotten about you– I only had some business to take care of. I so hated to be away from my new pet for so long, but the duties of a lord called.”

If you think I’m going to dignify that with a response, you’re dead wrong, (y/n) thought, tightening her hands into fists of her skirts, but before she had a chance to say anything, Ramsay offered her his arm. In his beautiful, ice-cold eyes was a message.

Take the arm, or face the unknown. Choose.

(Y/n) stood and took Ramsay’s arm.

“As my new pet, you will need to be trained, as I’m sure you understand, but first I will have to punish you,” Ramsay informed her gleefully, his full lips playing at a smile. “Do you know why? It’s unjust to punish a pet if it doesn’t know what it did wrong.”

(Y/n) clenched her jaw. I will not stoop to this. I will not.

“Come on my sweet, do you know what you did?” It was terrifying how Ramsay’s voice remained so calm, so soft and sweet despite the sharp edge of his intent, but this sort of terror was warm and searing in (y/n)’s stomach, so different than the cold fear she knew before. This was something else entirely– something base, something raw, something thrilling.

When (y/n) offered no answer to Ramsay’s question, he stopped completely, turning to face her. His nose was only inches away as he grabbed her by the jaw, and commanded, “Speak.”

“I tried to kill you.” The answer was out of (y/n)’s mouth before she could stop it, and Ramsay released his grip on her face, undoubtedly leaving imprints where his nails dug into her skin.

“Good, pet.”

(Y/n) hung her head, fixing her eyes on the floor. Don’t let him see. Don’t let him know, gods, never let him find out.

Ramsay paused to open the door to what (y/n) supposed was the dungeons, and they descended into the bowels of Winterfell side by side.

“This will be where most of your training takes place as well as any punishment,” Ramsay said with a milk-curdling smile. “We wouldn’t want the rest of Winterfell to know what we get up to, now would we?”

(Y/n) swallowed thickly.

Ramsay led her to a large table that stood next to a bed, which was placed in front of what (y/n) recognized as a cross– the same cross Theon Greyjoy had been tortured at. All at once, (y/n)’s knees felt weak and her chest felt empty, but Ramsay’s strong arm supported her weight so that she wouldn’t fall. He said nothing, but the way he looked at her said it all– he knew how she would react, and he reveled in her fear.

“Bend over the table.”

Trembling violently, (y/n) did as she was bid, and she had a few short, blissful moments to regain control before Ramsay turned around and was able to see her face. She couldn’t let him see. She could not and she would not.

“Now, pet, this is both a punishment and your first lesson,” Ramsay informed her as he turned to reveal a wooden paddle in his hand. “Any time I strike you, you are to count. For every time you do not, I will cut one lock of your lovely hair down to the root. Do you understand?”

Just one look could give it all away. If Ramsay ever found out how much this affected her, he would just slit her throat and be done with it– because as sick as he was to gain pleasure from torture, she was the more so for feeling this wad of arousal stir in her belly at the thought of his hands undressing her, of his arm swinging that board against her backside.

“Yes, my lord,” (y/n) replied, her mouth feeling full of cotton.

Ramsay tutted. “That was pitiful. Look at me. Do. You. Understand?”

(Y/n) managed to raise her eyes to Ramsay, praying he did not see what she felt.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good.” Ramsay walked leisurely behind her, his steps making not a sound. He pushed up the fabric of her dress, ripped off her knickers, and pulled down her stockings
He waited so long to strike that the first blow came almost unexpectedly.


“One,” (y/n) gasped, the sting of the paddle bringing blood from her head to her rear.

Smack, smack.

“Two. Three.”

With every strike, (y/n) wanted more, more, more. Somewhere past twenty, her mouth counted without her mind as her skin of her ass became raw with the blows.

I need more, I need more, I need more. I want his hands on me, I want to feel his skin, I want it all.

(Y/n) caught herself mid-thought. It was one thing to want the pain– it was quite another to want the man that was currently inflicting it.

What am I doing? Why do I want this? This man is the Bastard of Bolton, a murderer, a rapist, a monster… He is everything I hate, and yet…

And yet she wanted him nonetheless.

This was what she had chosen to trade that one chance to kill the Bastard of Bolton for, and she didn’t regret that choice in the least.

X~ I wanna love you but I better not touch.
I wanna hold you but my senses tell me to stop. ~X

Ramsay decided to stop when blood began pouring from (y/n)’s backside.

He really had gotten quite carried away– she was just so responsive. And obedient as well– the poor girl had practically screamed the last number that Ramsay had lost count of. As he prodded his fingers into the bloody wounds on (y/n)’s backside, he wished he hadn’t gone so roughly for day one– his cock was achingly hard, and he wanted to fuck his bitch very badly, but at this point she might actually pass out if he tried, and then it wouldn’t be any fun.

“You wear punishment very well, love,” Ramsay praised, admiring the way the crimson color of blood brought out the sheen of (y/n)’s skin. “I dare say you have earned some water, and perhaps a bite of breakfast. Can you still walk?”

Instead of answering, (y/n) only shook her head.

That simply would not do.

“Answer me. Speak, pet, when I ask you a question.”

“No, my lord,” she replied hoarsely, her face pressed against the table.

“Better. Be a good pet, now, and try to straighten up,” Ramsay instructed, steadying (y/n) as best he could. “You just think it hurts now. Wait until tomorrow. You really won’t be able to move then.”

As feeble as (y/n) was in that moment, it would have been completely acceptable, probably even preferable, for Ramsay to be a little more physical– an arm around her frame, a supporting hand here or there– but something inside him flashed a warning. No matter how badly he wanted to touch her, to be physically closer and maximize her discomfort, he couldn’t make himself do so. It just felt…off.

“Lie down on the bed here, and I’ll return shortly. Move so much as an inch from the spot and I will make you regret it for the rest of your life.”

That last bit wasn’t really necessary, but Ramsay just liked giving threats. They always rolled so easily off the tongue. Especially since he meant them.

It was with a light spirit and cheery countenance that the Bastard of Bolton skipped up to the kitchens and fixed a tray of the finest breakfast Winterfell had to offer, bringing along some soft cloth with which to clean and bandage the mess he’d made.

X~ I wanna kiss you but I want it too much,
I wanna taste you but your lips are venomous poison– You’re poison running through my veins. I don’t want to break these chains~X

(Y/n) discovered along and along just how controlling Ramsay could be.

Though he was cruel and cold and mean, Ramsay was not as she thought. He was very calculating– she would have taken him for a mindless, rash beast, but Ramsay had the patience of a saint and the desires of a demon. In fact, he was somewhat of a paradox in that his intention was to bend and break (y/n)’s will, but he refused to push beyond what he thought she could handle. It was like he wanted to choose the day that he broke her, to control the process of “breaking his bitch” right down the the last moment. (Y/n) didn’t know if that was thrilling or terrifying.

As for daily life, it changed drastically for (y/n) in the next few weeks. If she were to have a bath, it was Ramsay who gave it. If she were to have any clothes, Ramsay would choose what they were and would dress her in them as he saw fit. Any time (y/n) endeavored to make her own decisions, a punishment was issued, each punishment worse than the last. Needless to say, (y/n) fought like a wild animal to maintain any scraps of dignity she had left, but it always resulted in more of the same– a punishment that proved more and more a pleasure.

But today?

Oh, today she had earned something terrible, and the thrill of it made her heart pound.

It all began when (y/n) woke earlier than usual, and found herself able to slip from beneath Ramsay’s arms without rousing him. She slipped over to Ramsay’s desk where lay a hand mirror that she lifted to eye level. It had been so long since (y/n) had seen herself that the woman staring back at her seemed a stranger. Oddly enough, she had changed for the better– her face was no longer as thin, her eyes were no longer as dull. Regular meals, despite Ramsay’s presence, had done her well. Sure, she had a few more scars, but she reveled in the memory of how she got each one. In fact, she rather preferred having them– they reminded her of the patterning on the pretty alley cat that used to piss around the edges of her house. All in all, she looked… beautiful.

Just when (y/n) had decided she had looked her fill, Ramsay began to stir on the bed. (Y/n) tried to fit herself beneath his arm before he woke, but it was too late. He knew– she could feel it.

“What were you doing up before your master, pet?” Ramsay asked, piercing her to the mattress with those eyes of pure ice. “Thinking to escape? Make another attempt on my life?”

“I-I wasn’t up.” Lying was probably a terrible idea, but what was (y/n) supposed to say? If she said she was looking in the mirror, he would either believe her a liar or take the mirror away or both.

Ramsay glowered at her, grabbing her by the front of her shift and hauling her up to look into her eyes, where he could read anything and everything he needed to know.

For a few breaths, there was silence.

“Liar,” he snarled, shoving her away. “What have I told you about lying?”

That lying would get me in more.trouble than confessing my wrongs. “I don’t know, my lord. I can’t remember.”

“Another lie.” Ramsay was livid. “I suppose I was remiss in thinking that you could be treated delicately and still be properly trained. I see now that is not the case. Today I will be making up for lost time, my dear, so I would prepare myself were I you.”

And that was that.

Ramsay wasted little time with his breakfast– he even had it sent up instead of going down arm-in-arm with (y/n) as usual. Once they had both eaten, Ramsay wasted even less time getting the two of them to the dungeons, not even bothering to dress (y/n) in anything but her shift.

A thousand different scenarios played through (y/n)’s head as she tried to guess her punishment. She wondered if it would be something similar to last week with the hot candle wax, or if it would be more like the first paddling she was given. Or maybe it would be something entirely new.

Without words, Ramsay shoved (y/n) onto the bed, binding her wrists and ankles to the bedposts with leather straps. She could feel his rage rolling off him in waves, and already she knew that there would be no hiding the wetness between her legs if he decided to remove her shift and leave her only in her smallclothes – (y/n) would be completely exposed, unable to do much more than squirm in resistance.

“Open your mouth.”

She obeyed, and completely without warning, Ramsay shoved his fingers down her throat.

Even as (y/n) fought the urge to vomit, she sucked on Ramsay’s fingers as though they were coated in the sweetest of honey. To have this man, this handsome, horrible man, touching her like this, making her feel all of these things that she had never felt before, was something she could never become accustomed to.

It was in that moment that (y/n) realized that this was what she had needed from life all along. She needed food, shelter, a controlled atmosphere– here she had that, but even more so, she needed someone that she could indulge in her most awful urges without fear of hurting someone or being hurt. As completely insane and foolish as it was…(y/n) trusted Ramsay not to take her farther than she could come back from. She wanted very badly to kiss him, to taste the sweet venom that surely laced his lips.

(Y/n) wasn’t sure who that made the crazier, but she did know that she never wanted to break these chains.

X~ Your mouth so hot,
Your web, I’m caught.
Your skin so wet
Black lace on sweat. ~X

“A good pet does not lie,” Ramsay snarled, withdrawing his fingers from (y/n)’s hot, yielding mouth. “You should have faith in me to be just.”

The sting of betrayal still lingered in Ramsay’s chest. He’d thought, if only for a little while, that (y/n) had learned to trust him. It angered him beyond reason that she was yet resistant to his will, so doubtful of his intent– after all, he had hardly done anything absolutely awful to her after he’d gotten carried away with the paddle. He only wanted her to be loyal, to know her place, before she was made truly one of his girls.

“Why did you lie?” he demanded, brushing his thumb over (y/n)’s bottom lip. “Did you fear my wrath?”

“No, my lord,” she replied sweetly, looking perfectly angelic as saliva shone on her lips. Ramsay fought the urge to say all was forgiven and give in to his own needs.

“Then why?”

No answer.

“Do we need to go back to the beginning of your lessons, my sweet, stubborn girl?”

“No, my lord, I only–”(y/n) stopped herself before she could say more.

“Only what?” Ramsay asked, bringing his face closer to her own, as if they were two opposite sides of a magnet.

“I wanted to,” she admitted shakily.
Ramsay pulled away. “I see. We shall have to fix that.” He strode over to where he kept a bucket of water and lye soap on hand, ripping a strip of his undershirt to use as a cloth. (Y/n)’s eyes followed him as he’d known they would, which only made Ramsay smile all the wider.

“I’ll just wash your mouth of that filth, and we’ll have no more lies from you.”

(Y/n) may have caught him in her little web of deception, but it would be she who would be caught undressed, was it were. Before washing out her mouth, Ramsay ripped off (y/n)’s shift so that he could pour the remainder of the water over her when he was finished– he damn well meant that since she put him through all this trouble, he was going to enjoy watching her shiver as her lace smallclothes clung to her wet skin on the way back to his chambers.

X~ I hear you calling and it’s needles and pins~X

When Ramsay told (y/n) that he would be going away for a while to attend to his father’s business, she thought that she might enjoy herself a bit, especially since she still hadn’t quite forgiven him for the mouth washing incident.

(Y/n) was as wrong as snow in Dorne.

She was bored. Bloody bored. All of Winterfell to herself, and without Ramsay everything was boring. (Y/n) was unable to do anything but sit and sulk and wait for Ramsay’s return, alternating between the window, the floor, and the desk of their shared room.

Day after day, night after night, it was more of the same. After a week, the sheets no longer smelled like Ramsay. After two, (y/n) notice the bed feeling colder. After two and a half, she was ready to go half mad.
Just when (y/n) thought she could take no more, one day she woke up and knew Ramsay was back. She felt his presence calling her to him like the waves called to the shore– pins and needles ran all along her body, and it was before the sun had even risen that (y/n) made her way to the gates to meet him.

For all her trouble, it seemed that this Ramsay was not the Ramsay that she had been expecting.

(Y/n) had thought that Ramsay would be as lively and enthusiastic as ever– she had just assumed that he would either pat her on the head for coming to him or scold her for leaving her permitted areas without permission, that his eyes would light up with his familiar morbid excitement, but he did none of those things. The Ramsay that sat in the saddle of the red stallion that belonged to the real Ramsay was a shell of what he should be. His eyes were hollow, his expression was numb, and he seemed particularly uninterested in any human interaction.

Ramsay’s condition did not change even when he stopped his horse in front of (y/n), hardly acknowledging her existence.

“Welcome home, my lord,” (y/n) greeted him hesitantly, careful to give his mean-tempered stallion a wide berth. “Winterfell was not the same without you.”

Ramsay’s eyes studied her, their usual spark replaced by melancholy. “Ride with me.”

(Y/n) took the hand up that was offered her and mounted behind Ramsay, wrapping her arms around his waist. Immediately, her nose was filled with the smell of horse and hay and sweat and Ramsay, and there was not a happier woman in all the north. Warmth spread from his body to her own, even through several layers of clothing, and (y/n) felt at home. She was almost disappointed when they had to dismount– (y/n) knew she was not allowed to be physically close to Ramsay in public, but she had missed him just as much physically as she had mentally and emotionally, and she wanted to stay with her arms wrapped around him forever.

“Come, pet. I have good news,” he told her, extending his arm. “There will be feasting tonight. You’ll need to wear your finest gown.”

All this was said absently, as though he were in a trance. But, since (y/n) wasn’t given much more of an option, she simply complied, walking with him up the dimly-lit stairs to their chambers.

Then, as soon as the lock on their chamber door was in place, Ramsay spoke as though unable to remain silent.“I have been naturalized. My last name is Bolton. Roose is now– he’s now my father in name as well as blood.”

“That’s good, my lord,” (y/n) smiled, taking his hands in her own. “I’m very proud for you.”

“He’s married now, you know.”

(Y/n) paused. “Pardon?”

“Walder Frey offered my father his bride’s weight in silver. He’s now married to Fat Walda.”

(Y/n) didn’t know what to do. She was at a loss for words– she had no idea what Ramsay needed right now, no idea how to handle any of this.

“Ramsay,” she began gently, squeezing his hands. “I’m sure that doesn’t make you any less his son in his eyes and in the eyes of the law.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Ramsay wouldn’t even look at her, his gaze downcast.

(Y/n) moved one of her hands to the side of his face. “Oh, Ramsay–”

“Do not touch me,” he hissed jerking away from her.

(Y/n) backed away, sadness creeping into her stomach. “My apologies, my lord.”
Ramsay spent the rest of the day silently avoiding every single human life inside Winterfell, and (y/n) had no idea how to fix him.

X~ I wanna hurt you just to hear you screaming my name,
Don’t wanna touch you but you’re under my skin,
I wanna kiss you but your lips are venomous poison.~X

“You are my son now more than ever. You will have to learn to control yourself, Ramsay. No Bolton can be spoken of the way people speak of you.”

Roose Bolton’s voice played on repeat in the back of Ramsay’s head, driving him mad moment by moment. Every second Ramsay spent in solitude was a kick to the chest, but leaving his chambers for even a moment made him feel horribly nauseated. This was it– Ramsay had finally gotten what he always wanted and he still wasn’t good enough for his father. There seemed to be nothing left worth striving for. Life had brought him nothing but dissatisfaction, and Ramsay was quite finished with it.
But (y/n), of all people, was not dealing well with this change.

She had become more intemperate, more ill-disciplined, and bloody well more irritating than when she had first come to Winterfell. Whenever he was feeling his worst, she was always did something to get under Ramsay’s skin– whether she was questioning his moods, testing his patience with her nonconformity, or being unbearably foolish, (y/n) never ceased to make Ramsay grind his teeth so hard his jaw might snap. He had never thought that he would see a day when she would prove too frustrating to continue, but Ramsay was turning out to be wrong about a lot of things these days.
Really and truly, though, Ramsay didn’t snap until (y/n) pushed the one button she had never pushed before. She knew the rule as well as everyone at Winterfell did– never, ever, come between the Bastard of Bolton and his meal.

It had been a normal evening as far as Ramsay’s standards. He’d even gone hunting a bit after before and brought home some fresh game– he felt great. (Well, not great– less like a piss-pot than usual, though.) Ramsay even expected that tonight’s sleep would be somewhat peaceful, and he was quite looking forward to downing a goblet or two of wine with his meal.

What he wasn’t expecting was for (y/n) to dump the contents of said goblet into his lap in front of the entire hall.

The events immediately following that were somewhat of a blur. Ramsay, angrier than he’d been in weeks, raged at (y/n) like she was a dog, leapt across the table, and dragged her to the dungeons like a man gone mad. He didn’t even realize that he’d left the hall until he realized that he was binding (y/n)’s wrists together instead of to a chair or bedpost.

Oh well. He could hardly change it now.

“What possessed you,” he growled, coming face to face with (y/n). “To even think about humiliating me in front of my servants in my hall with my own wine? Do you think that’s some sort of revenge, pet? Do you think you can just do whatever you please without consequences?”

“No my lord,” she breathed, her chest heaving as her eyes lit with some mixture of fear and wonder.

“Then why did you do it?”

Ramsay’s answer did not come in the form of words, but it made itself clear in the insistent press of (y/n)’s lips on his own. Reality slammed into his chest like a spear, and the most wonderful realization of Ramsay’s life formed in his head.
She wants this.

Ramsay, without even realizing it, had kissed (y/n) back, threading his fingers through the silky soft hair that he washed and brushed for her. She tasted like they bread and honey she’d just eaten, and she smelt sweet and sharp and just a little like himself, which was incredibly intoxicating. With just one simple gesture, Ramsay understood it all.

“You wanted it,” he breathed. “You wanted it all along. You deliberately disobeyed me in order to incur a punishment because you…because you wanted it.”

(Y/n) didn’t answer, and she didn’t need to. The truth was right there in her eyes, shining out in all earnest.

“Would you like for me to untie you, pet, or would you like me to leave you just as you are?” Ramsay asked before capturing her lips once more. “I intend for this to be very satisfying for the both of us.”

“Take off my clothes,” was (y/n)’s only response.

“You’re such a clever girl,” Ramsay smirked, guiding her to the bed, where he crawled on top of her, boots, cape, and all. “You’re more of a spider than a bitch– you’ve spun the neatest little web and caught me in it, my dear. I am such a fool for sickness, after all.”

“Yes, my lord,” (y/n) replied, wrapping her legs around his torso. “Please, please my lord, I want you. I was so worried that you–”
She stopped herself, almost afraid. Ramsay had to laugh.

“Sweetling, I will never leave you, nor will I change who I am. I was just going through a bit of a slump, is all,” Ramsay smiled viciously. “I do, however, apologize– I had quite forgotten that my bitch goes into heat. It was cruel of me to deny you so. I can only hope you’ll forgive me.”

He layer by layer, he ripped off (y/n)’s clothes, burying his face in her neck, biting and sucking along the way. Ramsay’s hands quickly found her smallclothes and stripped her of them as well. Soon she was completely naked beneath him, and he was still fully clothed.

“Tell me what you want, my dove,” he murmured in her ear. “I want to hear it.”

“Fuck me, please, Ramsay, I need you, need to feel you, need to–I just–”

“I’ve got you, pretty one, I’ve got you.”
And so he went to work. There were two things that Ramsay was the master of– pain was one, and pleasure was the other. In this game of both, he was sure to be the best player.


(Y/n) was spoiled for the rest of her life for lovemaking with anyone else besides Ramsay– it would be humanly impossible to top that night. His every attention was on her and what she was feeling, his hands fluttering from her breasts to her sides, always making sure to keep her overwhelmed with every sensation. And when he had entered her–oh he had taken it agonizingly slowly. She thought she might die before Ramsay finally decided to fuck her well and truly, but when he did, she nearly melted at her climax, which was made better by the confessions of love that were exchanged afterward.

Now, Ramsay was sound asleep, and (y/n) took the time to admire how young he looked in his sleep. He seemed peaceful for once, and she snuggled closer to him to take the edge off of the northern chill while she had the chance.

There were still those who called Ramsay Bolton poison, but if his love was the venom then it was (y/n)’s drug of choice.

Please Don't Fall For Me Like That...

Prompt: Reader goes horseback riding with her S/O’s and her grandpa, but it goes awry.

Paring: Poly!Hamilsquad X Reader

TW: swearing, falling off a horse, shy and self depreciating thoughts, fluff???

A/N this one’s a bit longer and there’s some horse riding jargon in there. I hope y'all enjoy it! Thank you for all of your love and support! I love you! If you want me to tag anything, let me know. I want you to feel safe when reading my work! Please enjoy!

Word Count: 4530

Early in your relationship, you had convinced the boys to go horseback riding with you. It wasn’t a Herculean task considering that they already knew how to ride horses. They were just concerned about your safety. Your boys had a bad habit of treating you like a fragile flower. You wanted to be a giant, mean cactus, not some frilly, pretty little thing.
You had called your grandpa, who owned a considerable amount of land and horses about a hundred miles away, and he offered to let you guys stay with him for a few days. Your grandpa was the dad you needed when your own father couldn’t be. Your grandpa knew about your relationship, and although he didn’t always understand how things worked, he accepted and supported you. If you were happy, so was he.
You’d grown up riding, so you knew what you were doing. You’d been riding as long as you could walk. Your grandpa was the one that taught you. When the boys and you first showed up, he already had the horses saddled and ready in the yard. You squealed as you jumped out of the car and threw yourself into your grandpa’s arms.
“Well now, did you have a nice trip?” He talked slow and low, not exactly a drawl like John had, but nowhere near the speed that your Alex spoke with.
“Of course! I’m so happy to see you! How’ve you been!” You pulled away from the hug, and he put his hands on your shoulders to calm you down.
“I’ve been doing fine. Lemme help y'all with your bags and-” he began to move forward to help unload, but you put your hand on his chest.
“No, no, it’s fine, we’ve got it,” you insisted. He wasn’t weakened by age, so you knew he could handle it. This was the same man that swung fifty pound saddles around, worked with cows at a rodeo site, and casually fell off horses he was training in his free time… but you still worried about him.
“Can I get y'all anything? Some water? Maybe some watermelon?” He began to move towards the house, and you followed him this time. “I’ve only got two spare rooms, so I hope that’s okay…” he glanced over at you, unsure, but you gave him a reassuring smile. While it wasn’t ideal, it was a first world problem, and it wasn’t a big deal.
“Can we eat some watermelon before we go?” You weren’t hungry, but you couldn’t resist an opportunity to feed the rinds to the horses. He went over to his fridge and pulled out a container of cut up watermelon. He tossed it on the table he had built himself, then put some paper plates by it.
“Y'all just go ahead and help yourself,” he added as he walked across the kitchen to his coffee maker. His cowboy boots clopped on the floor. He poured a cup of coffee and handed it to you, and you thanked him. “You’re gonna have to introduce me to these boys of yours, miss Y/N.”
You grinned at the mention of them and dragged him by the arm to the spare rooms. You’d decided on the way up that you’d take turns. The bigger bed would have Hercules in it as a permanent figure, and the smaller bed would have either Alex or John as a permanent figure. Alex and John would take turns so that they could also sleep with Herc. The first night was Herc, Laf, and you, with Alex and John together in the other room. You personally didn’t think they should be left alone together, but whatever. They were grown men, they should be able to handle themselves.
When you entered the bigger room, you saw that Herc was busy depositing some bags in the corner of the room. He turned around when he heard your grandpa’s boots.
“Papa,” you started, and Herc’s face lit up at how adorable the nickname was, “This is My boyfriend Hercules.”
Herc held out his hand, “It’s nice to meet you, sir! You can call me Herc.”
Your grandpa shook his hand, before Laf came in behind you.
“Wow, ‘Erc, ‘ave you seen the… the… carriage in the garage?” Laf was overjoyed by the fact that he saw a life size carriage.
Your grandpa laughed, “This must be the French one, uh, Laffy?”
You snickered before you corrected him, “Lafayette, but close.”
Your grandpa smiled and tipped his cowboy hat. He liked living the cowboy aesthetic. “I’ve heard a lot about you, young man. And that down there is a buggy, but thank you for the compliment.”
“It is no problem! Did you make it? C'est très grand et magnifique!” You smiled and grabbed Laf’s hand, wordlessly reminding him to speak in English.
“Thank you, that’s very kind of you to say,” your grandpa seemed flattered and shy. He was always bashful when it came to compliments.
“-LAURENS YOU KNOW I LIKE THE LEFT SIDE OF THE BED!” You heard Alex shouting from the bedroom next door, and you groaned. So much for them being grown men. You stomped over to the next room and scowled at them as they swatted at each other.
“THATS NOT WHAT YOU WERE SAYING LAST NIGHT!!!” John had shouted back before he grabbed Alex’s ponytail and yanked on it.
“You little motherfu-”
“Alex!” You scolded him before he could curse in front of your grandpa. The two stopped fighting and turned to look at you, both of them flushed. “Stop acting like children! What would Washington say?”
“Washington isn’t here-” Alex began, but John kicked him in the shin.
You turned to your grandpa, who had joined you in the hallway. “Papa, this is Alex, and this is John. They’re trouble makers.”
Your grandpa just laughed, “Farm chores are a good cure for that out here. We’ll put 'em to work!”
You grinned evilly at the two, warning them to behave. You followed your grandpa into the kitchen, and you began to eat the watermelon while he sipped his coffee. The boys joined you, and soon, you had several rinds to feed the horses.
“Well, are y'all ready to go riding?” Your grandpa asked as he placed the empty mug in the sink. You nodded and quickly slipped your boots on. You knew the drill. You went outside with the rinds you created, the spring door slamming shut behind you. Your grandpa’s dog, Buster, trotted up beside you and followed you to the post where the horses were. You approached your horse that you knew you’d be riding, and you fed him a rind. His name was Smoke, and he was a sweetheart. He nodded his head up and down as he chewed, and you laughed.
“Hey, that’s how John eats!” Alex called out as he walked towards the horses, and you laughed. “Which one is this?”
He held his hand out and let the horse smell his knuckles as a sort of introduction before he began to stroke the horse’s neck.
“This is my boy, Smoke,” you explained with a smile as you fed him another rind.
“I thought I was your boy!” Alex pouted, and you swatted his arm.
“Alex,” your grandpa called out as he joined you by his horses. “You’ll be riding this old girl, Fancy, here. She’s a stubborn one, so you’ll have to keep an eye on her. Make sure she doesn’t eat too much.”
My grandpa brushed the palomino’s neck affectionately as she rubbed her nose on the post. Alex grinned and began to feed her rinds.
“Y/N, if you wanna go ahead and get your boyfriend set up, I’m just gonna take old Dealer here out into the field and warm him up again. You know how he can be,” your grandpa said as he untied the dark red horse from the post and led him into an open lot. You did know how Dealer could be. He liked to give everyone a show of him bucking and kicking before he’d let anyone ride him for the day.
You went over by Alex and watched as he wrapped the lead rope around the saddle horn then braced his horse. He did a few hops before he pulled himself into the saddle and grinned down at you. “My lady!” He mocked as he tipped a fake hat, and you giggled.
You heard a commotion and looked over to see that Dealer had already started bucking as your grandpa made him run circles around him in the field.
“Damn,” Herc commented as he came outside and put his arm around you.
“Do you wanna ride that one?” You teased, and he smirked at you.
“I don’t know, do you think he’s as wild as you are?” You felt your cheeks turn red and shoved him away from you. He chuckled before he pulled you against him into a hug.
Your grandpa had texted you when you were planning the trip about which horses he thought which boy should ride, so you knew the plan. “Herc, if you wanna go ahead and get on, Lobo’s your horse.”
You pointed at the white horse, your original boy, and untied him from the post as Herc gave him a rind. He was quick to fix the reins and climb up, and he leaned down to give you a soft kiss to the cheek before he urged the horse towards Alex, who was already trotting Fancy across the yard.
Lafayette came out next, his hair up in a bun, and he had on a pair of riding gloves. He looked so cute! He came over to you, completely disregarding the animals, and instead pulled you into a kiss. It took you by surprise, but it was nice. He tried to deepen the kiss, but you pulled away. You didn’t want your grandpa to watch you make out so soon. He laughed as he pecked you on the lips again.
“Mon ange,” he mumbled, nuzzling your neck, and you bit your lip. Laf was the most affectionate out of all of them, and while it was endearing, sometimes it was really embarrassing. Like when he did it in front of your little, old grandpa.
Before he could make another move on you, you cleared your throat. “My grandpa wanted you to ride Frisky. She’s a little crazy, but we figured you could manage since you’ve got so much riding experience.”
“Yes, I do have a lot of bareback experience,” he growled against your neck, and you blushed furiously.
“Laf!” You scolded him, causing him to breathily laugh. “Not in front of my grandpa!”
He groaned and pulled away. You shoved him towards Frisky and turned away from him, hiding your blush. You focused on John, who had been outside for God only knows how long, petting Buster. You smiled to yourself at how adorable he was. And he was yours.
“John, come on!” You called, and the boy looked up with a full blown grin. He dashed towards you, Buster on his heels.
“Sorry! I just really love dogs!” As if to prove his point, he gave Buster another pat on the head.
“You don’t have to apologize for loving dogs,” you shook your head. He was just being way too cute!
“Don’t worry, I really love you, too,” he added before he pecked you on the cheek. He went over to the other horse that was left, the white mare, and fed her the rinds he had.
“Her name’s Pepsi,” you murmured as he stroked her mane. Pepsi was the most well mannered out of all of them, just like John had the tendency to be the sweetest. They’d make a good pair. You watched John pet huge horse; he was in no hurry to get on. He was taking time to establish a bond with Pepsi. He stroked her fur and whispered to her. You occasionally heard him say your name, but he was speaking too low for you to hear. Finally, he climbed up into the saddle and just sat there, relaxed. Your grandpa came trotting over on Dealer with a smile on his face.
“Well, come on, Y/N!” He teased, “What’s taking you so long?”
You laughed and quickly got on Smoke, the squad quickly assembling. You ran your fingers through his tangled mane as he reached down and ate the grass.
“Well, where do y'all wanna go? We can ride down the road a ways if you want,” he offered, and you nodded. He always liked to go down the road for some reason. Your grandpa urged Dealer forward, and the other horses followed. Lobo stayed right behind Dealer while Fancy was quick to fall behind. Alex clucked and urged her, but she took her sweet time. John stayed with him on Pepsi, chatting in Spanish about something. Your grandpa chatted with Hercules, probably about building stuff. He loved to talk about making things with his bare hands. He was so cute. Laf road with you for a bit, occasionally commenting about the scenery in French to you. Smoke tripped a few times, and each time he would stumble, Laf would call out a string of curses in French, but you’d always insist you were fine. Smoke had the tendency to be a klutz.
About a mile down the road, you came to a creek, and your grandpa led the path down the rock bed. You ducked beneath some limbs and laughed when you heard Alex swearing behind you. Fancy probably took him through some thorns and underbrush. You rode up beside your grandpa while the other horses blanched at the water. Yours, on the other hand, was practically a sea horse. He went out into the water and began to splash, causing you to scream in joy. You laughed and screamed, completely careless, as you pulled your feet out of the stirrups and got soaked. Your grandpa was chortling while your boys watched, laughing. Then, your sea horse decided to lie down. You screamed at the sudden movement, your legs completely submerged, and you pulled up on the reins. He stood back up while you frowned and laughed. Your boots were filled with water. Your grandpa was cackling, your boys roaring. You took off your boots as your horse kicked up more water and dumped them out. It took the entire four mile trip for your boots to dry and everyone to stop laughing.
When you made it back to the house, your grandpa led you into one of his lots across the street and gave y'all the tour. He loved to do that. He pointed out the deer stand and talked about how many deer he’d gotten out of it. Herc listened with intent, and eventually, Laf joined in. They both engaged with your grandpa while John stayed behind with Alex. Alex was having trouble with Fancy since she kept stopping to eat. You were just kind of doing your own thing, having a chill time. You and Smoke just did whatever you wanted. You rode off from the group to the pond, and he got a drink. He stopped to eat some leaves from a tree. He just had a grand old time, and you enjoyed the peace and quiet. After a while, the men came riding up to you with a soft trot, laughing and having a good time.
“If y'all wanna canter back, that’s fine. And if you don’t, that’s fine, too. Y'all can just hang back with me,” he offered, and Alex hooted.
“Race ya, John!” He called out before he urged his horse forward. Fancy, knowing she was going back to the house, moved faster than she had in years, and John was hot on her trail with Pepsi. Hercules and Laf decided to stay back with your grandpa and continue their conversations. You were impressed. All of them seemed to be doing really well, and your grandpa really seemed to like them. You decided to go ahead and try to canter before you got off since it’d been a while since you’d been able to ride in general. Smoke had a fairly decent canter once he got into it, and he’d been really soft and smooth today. The wind had picked up, and the clouds were closing in, but other than that, it had been perfect riding weather. You urged him forward slowly, and he trotted towards the gate. You kept clucking and squeezing, but he only picked up the pace of his trot until it was jerky and awkward. Finally, you urged him forward into a canter, and you felt the wind blowing through your hair. It was exhilarating. You moved your hips in the rocking chair motion with him as he moved, feeling at peace, when he jolted sideways. Something must have spooked him, and you weren’t ready. Your entire world went sideways. You’d never fallen off a horse before. You were always good at staying on. One time, you went over the side of him and hung from his neck until you managed to stop him and climb down. But this time, you couldn’t do it. You tried to keep the reins, but you realized it was only making him go sideways and hurt his mouth, so you let go, and you fell. Hard. You rolled several times before you came to a stop, face down, in the grass. You heard someone scream your name, but all you could focus on was the pain in the entire left side of your body. You had to move though. You knew that you had to get up so that they knew you weren’t dead. You slowly pushed yourself onto your hands and knees, gritting your teeth as you clenched the grass. Why wasn’t the pain going away? You held back tears and reused to cry. That would just worry them even more. You looked over to see your grandpa running his horse as fast as he could towards you, Hercules and Lafayette flanking him. You looked up by the gate and saw Alex and John coming, your horse following them. You had to stand up so they wouldn’t worry. You got up, biting your lip, and you hunched over in pain. Your hip was throbbing. Your grandpa skidded to a stop beside you and hopped off his horse.
“Y/N! Are you okay? What happened?” His hands hovered around you, wanting to help but unsure.
“I’m fine. You know me, always a huge klutz!” You tried to joke because the amount of tension was stressing you out. Lafayette was the first by your side, his arm sliding around your waist, but you flinched.
“Can you stand up straight?” He asked you, and you nodded. It hurt like a bitch, but you managed to stand up and put all of your weight on the right side of your body. You forced a smile, and you would’ve looked fine if it wasn’t for the fact that your left leg was trembling like a mofo.
“I dunno, about as straight as you, Laf,” you tried to joke again, but no one was laughing. Tough crowd. The boys had now all huddled around you, their horses eating grass behind them.
“Is anything broken?” Your grandpa asked, and you hoped not.
“No? I don’t think so? I mean, maybe my ego, but…” you grinned, but no one laughed. If they didn’t start laughing soon, you might start crying.
Your grandpa put his hand gently on your shoulder, “Let’s get you into the house, can you back on?”
Your knee jerk reaction was to resist, “No!” But then you remembered that you had to get back on or you might never find the courage to.
“Y'all stay here, and I’ll go get the truck-” he began, but you were already being a huge inconvenience.
“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll try to get back on!” You insisted, and your grandpa seemed unsure, but you stared him down.
“Okay, get on my horse,” he offered, and you nodded. You went over to the saddle and stared. How were you supposed to do this? Your grandpa came up beside you, and you put your hand on his shoulder before you shifted your weight to your left side so that you could put your right foot in the stirrup. You resisted the urge to hiss in pain, and you hopped a few times before you pulled yourself up by the saddle horn. Your grandpa boosted you, and you slid into place, instantly wincing at how much spreading your legs hurt. You slumped forward in the saddle, babying your hip.
“I’m gonna start walking him,” your grandpa warned you, and you grunted in reply. You felt the horse start to move, and you gripped his mane as you were racked with pain. The boys resaddled and followed you guys home, Alex leading Smoke behind him. They got you to the porch, where your grandpa helped you down.
“Go ahead and get inside, we’ll unsaddle,” he commanded, and you nodded. You limped your way inside, able to walk fairly well. You went into the bathroom and went pee before you washed your hands and made the split decision to hobble back out. Pain or not, you still had to help your grandpa unsaddle. You went over to the horse trailer and took the lead rope for Smoke from Alex. He didn’t say anything, he just pecked you on the cheek. With shaking fingers, you managed to undo the saddle. The only hard part was maneuvering the fifty pound, awkward shape. You struggled to do that in pristine health, let alone with a bum hip. You pulled the saddle off of Smoke and limped your way towards the trailer, but your grandpa met you and quickly took it from you.
“Miss Y/N, I thought I told you to go inside,” he called out to you from inside the trailer as he put the saddle up.
“And what? Miss all the fun? No way! I’m fine!” Why couldn’t no one believe that?
You got some treats out of the bag and took Smoke into the chorale. He nudged you a few times before you took the bridle off. He nibbled and kissed your hand, then you gave him the treats. Once he’d eaten them all, you left and put the bridle up. John met you at the trailer as the others were finishing unsaddling.
“Are you sure you’re okay? I saw the whole thing, and it looked like you hit your head,” he murmured as he brushed your cheek with his thumb.
“I’m fine, see? I’m still alive; nothing’s broken,” you insisted, and he gave you a small smile.
“You scared the hell outa me.”
You frowned, “I’m sorry, that’s not what I wanted-”
“Shh,” he put his finger to your lips, “don’t worry about upsetting us. Let us sorry about you.”
You nodded, and he put an arm around you as support. He led you back towards the house, talking about how pretty and green the grass was.
He put you on the couch and helped you lie down. Soon, the rest of them came in, and your grandpa got you some Aleve. You popped the pills and leaned back. John sat on the end of the couch with your feet propped up on him. Alex draped a blanket over you before he kissed your forehead and sat down by Alex’s feet.
After Laf helped your grandpa fix dinner, you insisted on joining them at the table. Herc carried you in and put you down in one of the comfy rolling chairs instead of on the hand crafted wooden bench, and your grandpa scooped your food. You felt bad. He had trained you, and you let him down. His heart couldn’t take scares like that.
Laf sat beside you at dinner and held your hand, occasionally squeezing when he noticed that you weren’t eating. It was one of your favorite meals that your grandpa made, but you just weren’t hungry. You felt so guilty for making everyone worry so much.
Everyone finished and began to help clear the table, but Laf scooted closer to you and stroked your chin with his thumb before he held up the fork with a bite of food.
“You need to eat more, mon ange,” he whispered sternly, and you pouted. You knew he was right, but you just didn’t feel like it. However, John did ask you to let them worry about you, so you let Laf feed you. You complained the entire time about how embarrassing it was and that you were full. Eventually, he was satisfied by the amount you ate, and he carried you back into the living room. He sat down on the couch with you in his lap, and your grandpa came in. He turned on the news and sat down in his chair. Alex sat with your feet in his lap, and Herc and John sat together on the love seat. You scrolled through Tumblr on your phone as you all enjoyed each other’s company. Laf occasionally fussed over you and kept making you drink water. When he wasn’t pouring water down your throat, he was gently tracing the lines on your face.
“Well now, it’s getting pretty late. I think I’ll turn in. You doing okay, Y/N?” Your grandpa asked as he turned down the news and handed Alex the remote.
“Yeah, I’m sorry for spooking y'all,” you replied shyly.
“You’re okay, I’ll see ya in the morning, hun. Love you,” your grandpa waved to you before he went into his bedroom and closed the door. You called “love you” after him, and turned back to Tumblr, but Laf took your phone.
“Come on, let’s get you to bed. Sleep will 'elp you 'eal faster,” he reasoned before he gently arranged you in his arms. He stood up, and you groaned in pain. Your lack of movement had allowed everything to stiffen up, and it hurt like hell.
“I’m sorry, mon ange!” He cried out, eyes raking you for a sudden injury. “Qu'est-ce c'est?”
“I’m okay,” you grunted, “just stiff.” He nodded and slowly began to walk with you to the bedroom. Herc followed, leaving John and Alex together watching the news and speaking in Spanish. Laf put you on the bed, and they joined you on either side. Herc had turned out the lights, and he gingerly wrapped an arm around your side since your back was to him. You decided it would be the least amount of pain if you slept on your right side. When you didn’t react in pain to his movement, he let his arm rest across you, and he snuggled closer, the heat relaxing your muscles. Laf snuggled into you from the other side, his hair tickling your face, and he kissed the tip of your nose.
“Go to sleep, mon ange,” he whispered to you, and you closed your eyes.
You felt Herc press a kiss into your hair as you began to drift. “We love you.”

Save Yourself - Four (End)

Summary: After escaping King’s Landing, your and Jaime’s future was brighter than ever.

Words: 692

Pairing: Jaime Lannister x Reader

Warnings: None

A/N: So this was the last part to this, I hope you enjoy it! :) Be sure to add yourself to my GoT taglist or send me an ask if you want to be tagged in future GoT fics! Leave some feedback!

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robb stark: ice and fire - p3

ANON REQUEST: Are your requests open? If possible could do Ice and Fire part 3 where it’s after Robb goes to war and the reader is discovers she is pregnant? If not that’s totally fine :) Your blog is AMAZING by the way, keep doing what your doing 💕💕


It was raining, the yard’s full of mud and the people were yelling commands due to the heavy downfall. You stood below the ceiling, looking at the commotion before you. The horses were neighing, the saddles being placed on top of them. The cloth banners all wet and down, as the sun was shy to come out. Watching them get ready, it frightened you. The children were inside, and farewells were being said inside the walls.

Soaking in the cold rain you walked closer, “Do you really have to go?”

Robb looked down at you at his horse, and he unmounted himself. He placed his big hands on your shoulders and gave you a smile, “I’ll be back.”

“War,” you said. “It is war you’re coming to.”

“For justice,” Robb whispered as he hugged you. He soothed your silver hair, and kissed your lips. “I’ll be back, you know that. Now go and get warm. The rain is cold, love.”

“Okay,” you sniffed and you gave him a tight hug. “I’ll be waiting.”

He smiled and he pinched your nose. “I love you.”

You laughed, and gave him a soft kiss on his lips and on his forehead. “I love you.”

That night, you watched by the yard, shivering through the rain. You watched the him ride past the gate with his men, and he gave you a final look. That night also, you slept and woke up alone on your bed. The next mornings to come were the same as always, the empty space on your bed still the same.

You stood and fixed yourself, readying yourself for a busy day. You helped with the Septa, teaching the little girls to do needlework, and everything you had done. After a while, supper came and it was served. You reached a hand to your servant, “Have you eaten?”

The maid shied away and shook her head, “Not yet, my lady.”

“Come and eat with me,” you said as you took a bite of the fresh bread. “Call the others, and tell them food is here.”

It still continued to rain and you longed for your Robb. Where is he? You thought. Has he eaten, or is he warm in this cold rainy evening?

“It hasn’t stopped raining since lord Robb has left,” your maid blurted out as she took an extra piece of bread.

Your other maid has shooed her away, and gave you her apologies. But you smiled at them, and pointed at the hot supper given to them. “Please, there’s nothing to forgive,” you said, and you handed them more soup, “Eat more.”

You finished your food and you sighed as you laid your back fully on the wooden chair. The table were full of maids and other smallfolk, and their laughter echoed through the Hall against the heavy rain fell atop of the stony ceiling. You felt uneasy and so you breathe in and out to even yourself. You gulped down your cup and asked for another refill.

“My lady,” your maid crouched down to meet you, “You don’t look well.”

You clutched her hand, and you breathe heavily. You lurched forward, and you felt your supper up into your throat. Yoh dashed outside, until you fell to vomit your food. You were nauseous, and you lurched again to vomit, but nothing came, only your groans. You tried to stand up, and the Maester appeared.

“Are you well?” He touched your forehead, yet he felt no hotness, only sweat. You staggered to stand up, and you breathe hard again. You touched your belly, as if you were retching again, and you felt another hand touch you.

Maester touched your belly yet again, and he felt a bump. He smiled to you, as your maids handed you a cloth to wipe your sweat and vomit. You told your Maester that this has been happening for a few weeks, nearing a month. He clutched your hand, his big grin plastered on his face. “You’re with child, my lady.”

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Jon Snow Imagine

Hello! Could you do a GoT imagine for Jon X Reader where Jon blows up angrily at the reader for whatever reason then feels guilty and apologizes, admitting his feelings for her in the process? Thank you!!

The battle had ended. You were back home. Winterfell was yours again.

Jon had managed to beat Ramsey at his own game and had reclaimed the home that you and he, and all the Starks, had shared since childhood. You and Jon had grown up together in the castle and after all your years together you had fallen for him, although he didn’t know it. When he left for the Wall you were heartbroken. And after all the years of hardships you went through you were happy to be reunited with him at the wall when you rode in with Sansa and Brienne. All your feelings for him hit you like a train when you saw his face, the face you had thought you’d never see again.

He had wanted you to stay with Sansa during the fight. You begged him to fight but he said he wanted you with her incase things with South. You had done what he said, reluctantly, but he was your commander after all, but as you watched everything happen from above you fought off tears. It was bad.

“Go, Y/N.”

“What? I can’t I have to stay with you.”

“No, you don’t. I didn’t tell Jon but Lord Baelish is coming, I’ll be fine. Go, he needs you and your place it by his side.” Without another word you raced down on your horse and started taking out men from behind. Your horse went down and you were on foot fighting off attacks. Just when you thought two of the Bolton’s men were about to get the upperhand on you an army of horses came through and trampled over most of the remaining men.

You joined Jon’s army and fought off more troops until you got until Winterfell and had Ramsey’s men, and Ramsey, in the cells. You were beaten, bruised, and bloodied but when you saw Jon safe you couldn’t help but smile. “Jon,” you called out and ran to him.

“Y/N,” his face turned even colder than it had looked before he saw you and his voice became stern. “What are you doing here?”

“I joined the fight right before Lord Baelish came in. Are you ok?”

Your concern was met by his stern, dismissive, tone. “I’m fine. You and I will talk later,” he walked past you to his sister.


It felt weird to be back in your own room. Weird but comforting. Hours had passed since you took the castle and Jon managed to push passed you and ignore you whenever you were in the same room as him. Your door opened as you were sitting in front of your hearth with your furs on.

You looked expecting a fight, your body still on alert, but relaxed and looked back at the fire when you saw it was just Jon. “What in the 7 Hells did you think you were doing?”

“Looking into my fire…”

“Not now, Y/N, out there. On the field. What were you doing,” he yelled.

You stood up and took a defensive tone, “What was I doing? I was helping save your ass, that’s what I was doing!”

“You were to stay with Sansa. That is what I commanded you to do.”

“What you commanded me to do? Jon, Sansa was fine, she had an army behind her. You, on the other hand, had men dropping like flies. I’m a good fighter, Jon, you know this! I am just as good as you and Robb with a sword and you know it.”

“You were to stay and watch Sansa,” he yelled.

“And you were to not die! And guess what would have happened had I not gone down there. I wasn’t going to lose you over some stupid thing you ordered me to do.”

“Why do you think I told you to stay up there?! I knew it would be bloody and I didn’t want you in the middle of that! I didn’t want to watch as you were cut down like everyone else.”

“And why not, Jon? My life isn’t worth anymore than those men out there.”

“Your life is worth way more to me,” he yelled back.

“What do you mean, Jon,” this time your voice was nervous as you were trying to understand what he meant. His demeanor shifted and he looked down at his feet. “Jon?”

“I mean that I love you, Y/N. That I’ve been in love with you since before I left for the Wall. When I saw you at the Wall…I didn’t think I’d ever see you again but there you were. And the thought of having you on battle next to me…me seeing you as you got hurt. I couldn’t imagine. That’s why I put you with Sansa.”

“Jon,” you said softly.

“No, Y/N, it’s ok.”

“No, you don’t understand. I feel the same way about you. But I had to do something because I couldn’t imagine watching something happen to you from up on that hill knowing that I could have been there, that I could have done something, to protect you.”

He looked up with soft eyes, “You feel the same way?”

“I feel the same way,” you agreed and walked over to him, kissing him before he could realize what was going on. “Jon, will you sleep in here with me tonight? It feels spooky being in this room again.”

“Of course, on one condition. The Lords and Lady Mormont are coming tomorrow and I want you to be my right hand.”

“I will be seated right next to you. Always.”

To the man in the four-wheel drive...


We surprised each other on the road, I know.  It was a sharp bend on a hill and trees were blocking your vision.  You probably weren’t expecting to meet anybody on that empty road, not after 6pm.  Especially not a horse and rider.  I suppose that’s why you were travelling at twice the legal speed limit.  The good news is I heard you a long time before you came around that corner.

Lena slowed down and I asked her to scrabble down into the ditch off the road where I thought we’d be safe.  We got there just as you came around the corner and I waved one arm.  About a second later you jammed your brakes on.  You started to skid.  That’s probably the moment when you realised this is gravel road with no tarmac, which is why the speed limit is so low.

When you started to skid I realised that Lena and me were standing in the exact place you were going to crash if you lost control.

But as luck would have it, you were in a four-wheel drive, and it kicked in before you skidded off the road.  You managed to right your vehicle and sped past Lena and me, spraying us with bits of gravel and sharp stones.  Lena flinched, but stood still like a good girl.  That’s because she’s met a lot of drivers like you and she’s used to it by now.

We watched you accelerate off at high speed toward the tiny village just past the lake, where only minutes earlier we’d ridden past some kids on bikes and their friendly black poodle playing outdoors. People like you will never learn until something terrible happens.

So I hope we never meet again.