#boltons

Targaryens

Boltons

Reeds

Starks - But hidden well

Hightowers in their necromancy era

Greyjoys

Umber - TBH Most Northern houses should have a little bit of cannabalism, as a treat

Any house that resides in Harrenhal due to ✨The Vibes✨

Beesbury - less cannibalism more they use the corpses as hives and drink honey made from blood.

RAMSAY SNOW X MALE READER

Part 2: Heart Flutters

Synopsis: Ramsay has always had a difficult time controlling his urges; you've known this since you were boys.

Content Warnings: Descriptions of making out, implications of pervious sexual relations, (slight) descriptions of scars, nudity (barely)

Other Pairings: Robb Stark x Male Reader

AUTHOR NOTE(S):

Writing for terribly morally incorrect characters pt ?

Reader is from (non established) noble family in the north

Said family has been familiar with the Boltons and Starks for years

Set before the war between the kingdoms begins

Have reread this one so many times I'm starting to believe it's shit 👍

---------------------------------------------------

"You smell like horse shit. "

Those were the first words Ramsay had uttered to you since your unexpected return to his home.

Your mouth stood tight as you stared blankly back at the boy, strewn, slightly puzzled. The child standing before you was indeed Ramsay Snow. Very little did he resemble the 14 year old, wild boy that so many had often saw chasing the Hounds through the hills.

Nor did he have any hint of spark in his eyes that you recall having been there the last time the two of you spoke face to face. He did indeed have an air of maturity around him now. He was taller. You recalled having watched the local Maesters treat him for appendicitis or one of those sorts.

But it wasn't his height that made you stare so intensely, nor was it his black coal eyes of death boring back at you. Though, those were some additional markers for when he had grown. It was more of how confident he was back then, but now, he appeared flatter, exhausted, as if holding his shoulders a bit lower than their natural position and then straightening all over again when Roose appeared near.

You supposed Ramsays father had taken a liking to make him into a sad, listless-sort of character. In part, you knew that is why your farther has kept you from the place for so long. You heard the stories. New the truths. But you are man now, and like any man, you are prone to what ever vices men enjoy.

Alcohol is one, Ramsay surely noticed it on your breath when he had first spoken to you.

The other, though, was your own lust.

The young lady that your mother found for you was perfect, a true beauty among beauties. You suppose to some men, she might be the object of their fantasies, but you weren't totally sure you could come to find much enjoyment out of being with her.

Ramsay was the first to notice your family was not accompanied by her, he saw your carriage long before the guards, rolling down the icy moors of the mott as if one of the wheels may fall off any second, and his eyes lit upon spotting your presence. For even behind his impassivity, you had only smiled, noticing his interest. So many years since he had smiled back at you, but you felt the urge to see it rise into the air of his lungs again. If only temporarily.

"Father says you'll be staying the night with us. "

Ramsay's voice was somewhat gruffer than you last remembered it.

"Perhaps a shower would be wise then?" The left corner of your lip raised as you referenced his pervious comment.

Ramsay only stared off behind your shoulder, almost unsmiling, or was it merely half smiling? Surely, he hadn't completely forgotten you so quickly. You had promised to be friends forever, but after all, that was nearly a decade ago.

Ramsay held onto that promise. At least you guessed he did judging by how he sometimes used to ask about your whereabouts whenever his father allowed his visit to the small council meetings.

His eyes were back on you. Searching.

As he neared closer to you, a half smile came to his face. A slight puff of visible breath ghosting between the two of you, you returned it. "Perhaps. "

Without much words, Ramsay led you through the snow, his arm finding linkage around yours, strangely, as if you were a woman. Your family's did not so much as bat and eye at this sudden act. A nod from Roose was all the reasoning you assumed he needed.

You followed, noting how the walk way was freshly shoveled, though the white blanket around you continued to go further and further up your legs.

"And where is Hanna?"

"The girl who became my betrothed?"

Ramsay paused, his breath escaping in one single hot gasp, now waiting in an awkward silence.

"She is with her mother's family." You supplied, staring forward, but kept Ramsay's soft step in line with your own, watching how his muscles tensed above his ankles, his sparring movement reminding you much of a cat about to pounce.

"I've been meaning to speak to you about that. " Ramsay uttered, almost silently, the breeze beating furiously against his throat. If he was shy, it only ever occurred in the worst of times, like the moment he accidently split your ankle back on the riding trails when you guys were small before Robb ever arrived. So much fear had risen in his eyes and so much trembling that you half expected him to turn into the type of his girls that liked to faint at the lightest scent of bad luck.

You saw Robb a lot more than you did Ramsay in those times.

"What of it?" You questioned curiously. Ramsay's glance was unsure, almost cowering in your presence like a kitten beneath the large paws of a barn dog. But, after a moment or two, he seemed to recover, his strength resuming and his steps taking more firm footing into the powder of the snow around you. His throat cleared almost too loudly, and for a minute, you felt as if the whole of the sky could hear him, feel him, echo his every breath.

"You seem unhappy. "

You stopped, throwing him a look. Ramsay stared, almost as if he expected you to argue the truth of it. You did not.

He had something.

A spark returning to his eye, after such a long absence, you wondered how you could have missed it all these years. You recalled it so clearly.

"In what sense?" Your lips pressed into a thin line as the two of you stepped out of the flakes and finally, at once, into the estate. The smell was, sweet, not something you would have thought possible here.

Ramsay stood there. The cold had stuck to his cheeks and turned a rough shade of rose along his skin. "In all of it. "

"I am fine, Ramsay. " You insisted, the smile on your face was something he could not see past, you seemed genuine enough, and yet you knew that it was this genuine sort of a voice that caused him to not believe a word coming from your mouth.

"They picked a girl...not your type?" He started walking, leaving small rivers of snow behind him that trickled off of his frame.

"She is quite beautiful. " You informed, letting Ramsay lead the way, his hands bound loosely behind his back, not entirely unaware of what you're doing, but at least you knew to speak softly now. Quietly enough so the very air around you did not question your tone of voice and actions.

"So I have heard..." Ramsay stopped mid step, causing you to knock against his shoulder in an accidental haste to avoid stepping on the bottom hem of his trousers, you could see his face was alight with understanding and puzzlement as his eyes flicked upon yours.

"Do you not have someone either, Ramsay? Still without a betrothed is a strange occurrence, even in this cold place. " A sly smile flashed his lips, and suddenly, he didn't look like the proper highborn that his father wanted him to be.

"I'm working on it. " His coyness was a sign of you getting closer to a joke or story, something silly with not many repercussions except maybe a sore throat from laughing too hard. But after a moment when none came, you knew he meant more than the words let on. Something about the conversation made you feel as if you were dancing around a mirror, stepping mindlessly towards an impending realization.

"Have you been shagged recently?" Your teasing earned Ramsay's eyes to leap over your face like some prey, darting across the structure of your jaw, and even grazing lower, the low light cast upon the jut of your adam's apple, and then his gaze latched back to your own, with a look as if he had no time to play around with little boys anymore, he was a man now, after all.

"Before we arrived?" You tried not to waggle your eyebrows, lest he misunderstood, but the giddiness of potentially cornering the boy had settled on your mood like spring air upon a young child.

"Is that really something you wish to know. " Ramsay pushed forward, you trailed behind him, letting your eyes survey the halls you haven't seen since childhood. So many rooms had looked the same, untouched by time itself, with the only change being their slight rot. You knew that life was still very much alive. People lived in this estate, yet each hall offered a sense of loneliness.

Ramsay was part of their tragedy, the last Bolton heir.

Evanescent memories of your past sprung up as he led you 'round, up and about like you couldn't remember the very creases of the floors and where each crack in the wall lay.

Your room.

Ramsay stopped quite abruptly. Unsettlingly so. He turned to you, waiting. Your puzzled expression wasn't hidden, and finally, he offered his explanation. "We added a bath to the private quarters. "

This wasn't something unheard of for the Northern Lords, but rare enough you knew some never had such a luxury. Roose obviously intended to make a long stay of your presence, much longer than the night.

"I- Thank you. But, where has your room gone?"

Ramsay seemed surprised at the question. "It's right next to yours still, do not fret. "

Such a casual manner for him, you pondered his true reason for this setup, but seeing as you came into his life seemingly without any advance notice, you supposed he was likely too busy to see to such matter. So, you simply roll your eyes at his comment.

"Shall I have the servants fetch the soap and- " You cut him off just before he could begin to send people to take your clothes away, and wash your garments, and possibly steal your jewels from that little compartment in your boot.

"I can handle the bath. " You assured, Ramsay gave you a once over. The look had not gone unnoticed by your watchful eyes, you were unsure how to take it at first. The idea you had been spotted, somehow, by him and his quiet glances sent pangs of heat into your abdomen. It had always felt good having his eyes upon you. "Just need some air. Some of my own. "

He stared.

"That is all I require. " You supplied further, a beat passed, Ramsay stood silent, studying the plains of your face with mild entertainment. He hadn't moved an inch.

"If that is your wish. " A half smile curled across his lips. You turned to leave, entering a smaller room. There, you did encounter the tub, thankfully. It was big enough, and apparently, to your own design tastes.

Yes, it would do.

After all, you wished to be alone, and the warmth of the bath held an appeal you struggled not to give into at that second.

Perhaps the journey had drained you more than you originally believed. Now that you were free to enjoy the luxury, you could already feel the tautness of it melting away beneath your fingertips.

Your clothes fell off you in a torrent. The light fabric of your dress shirt crumpling in a messy pile beneath your feet. You weren't aware how utterly exhausted you were until you realized you had sat your body flat against the porcelain. A sound almost like a muffled prayer spilled from your mouth before you went. Warmth and the sensation of soft water slipping across your abdomen brought you new joy that you were not aware could.

Time must have passed.

An amount of time that wasn't certain because you awoke to a hot ache in the back of your legs and behind your knees. You struggled not to move much, and thus worsen the already, less than ideal, pinch of the muscles within your legs.

"Y/N?" It was a voice beyond the confines of the door that came after the rapping on wood that woke you in the first place.

Ramsay.

His voice was husky, perhaps a tad worried. You managed a response, but only barely, nearly voiceless as the water swished beneath you like currents at sea.

It was but a simple and short movement from Ramsay, that sent you scrambling for something to hide your naked state. You felt blinded even as your palms pressed over the area of your flaccid member. You had never been worried about being naked in the same room as another boy, but in all those scenarios, Ramsay wasn't the one in question.

The door had been peeled from its frame in haste when Ramsay finally entered. For a split second his eyes darted across the bathroom until they came upon you, or the side of you he could see. Your hair was spiky from sweat as you had quickly turned your back away, one hand holding the porcelain with a bruising grip. Almost afraid to be seen. Something in your expression had caused Ramsay to take a moment, or two.

"Is everything well?" He finally breathed out.

Your own heart felt like a drum beating so loudly you wondered if he was able to hear it.

"You've been in here for 3 hours. " Ramsay's eyes raked across the side of your body, the coldness that stained his gaze was gone as he returned them to meet yours, noting how physically recluse your body posed, almost as diffident as he was when he came to ask you your intentions of not marrying your wife-to-be.

You thought about not responding, telling him to leave, to close the door on his way out. You did not wish for such embarrassment to beset the both of you so early in the evening, but instead you simply replied with something that must have been music to Ramsay's ears. You asked for assistance.

"I must've fallen asleep. "

And yes, he could see it, Ramsay remembered all of those occasions from back then when you slept so silently, and so still, almost lifelessly. Only the soft breaths of air could be heard rumbling from your chest. Sometimes, not even that.

And when you woke your eyes were always drooped at the corners, as they were now, and your cheek was dented from the pressure of your own hand.

"You startled me..." Ramsay caught himself speaking out loud. Those were meant to be words tucked away, with all of the vile secrets he kept. He saw the hesitation come back upon your face, as if you suddenly remembered. Of course you did.

He noticed the way you shifted uncomfortably, turning your body and placing your back as flat against the cool tub as you could, your length disappearing into the water which caused the ripples around you to lap at the edges of the tub. He saw the slight tremble along the veins of your feet, that too slipped beneath the water line, and there he eyed the bottoms of your calves. Ramsay's gaze made you unsure of what he was about to do.

"Are you well?" He concluded to repeat, taking a few weary steps into the room. A chill running down your spine as the smell of musky soil and pine stirred your sense. Maybe it was the heat, or perhaps Ramsay had found a new scent that he enjoyed.

"Yes. I am– must've just tired myself more than I initially expected. " You assured, a tad unsure yourself. With each minute, the porcelain pushed against you colder and colder and the urge to curl into a ball tightened even more. The light waves of water coming to lay, from near your hip and extending down your legs, to swish again. Rippling in small crashing tides against your sides and the curves of your muscles. Ramsay's footsteps brought him further and further into the room, moving around the bend of the tub in your partial blind spot, leaving him standing on the other side.

"Here. " He offered. The towel was warm, strangely, and soft. Perhaps it was simply your initial reaction to having his eyes on you, unable to perceive his full expression, that had terrified you and left your muscles sore.

"When did you get these?" There was no longer space between you and Ramsay, the man standing far too close. But instead of asking him to provide you with a slight bit of breathing space, your mind instead focuses on the way his finger traces over the scars on your shoulder that fall further down your back.

Your body felt heavy, noodle-like as you stepped back to solid ground and lifted yourself from the tub. The air hitting your bare form again seemed unnatural, and a breath of relief almost spilled from your lips as you wrap the towel across the shoulders and tucked your hips within the material.

"Long ago. " Your voice carried a lazy tone in its silence, almost unsure of itself and Ramsay had to remove his fingers at once as the cloth of the towel pushed him away, the muscles of your shoulder straining as you shifted.

He watched in quiet anticipation, wondering how you would behave under his watchful gaze. Such curiosity from the little part of him, wondered how you would act, clearly you did not seem to forget the secret shared between you, he wanted to know if you would ever talk of it again. This was the sort of distraction he would appreciate, so long as it was yours and yours alone, maybe you would notice how quickly his interest lay with you, and not his girls.

Your feet moved swiftly, taking you to the other side, just across from the tub and when you turned you saw Ramsay step past the lip of the iron stand. The movement brought him closer, but also blocked the exit.

"Ramsay, tell me-"

His patience died so suddenly, he had neither time nor reason to think as his name slipped out as a sentence or more likely an unfinished thought, or possibly an attempt at stopping himself, who now was pushing you backwards, against the cold porcelain.

There was a rush of cold, and warmth, more warmth, from Ramsay's person which suddenly had invaded your space and your abdomen was flat as the other male clasped both sides of your jaw within his hands.

His lips were tight against yours for a moment. An experiment. As if testing the waters of your lips. Whether you desired such an action. The idea caused a heated tremble, a watered stare, and your breath to hitch before Ramsay then took further action, pushing his tongue and teeth past the barrier of skin between your lips and him.

Ramsay's jaw clenched, moving sloppily in an emotion without names, not yet, or still too young, too raw to quite comprehend, all the while you could do nothing except allow his tongue to tease your own, and push against your own movements and try not to topple over the edge of the tub beneath you.

Your skin felt hot again, Ramsay's skin equally so, a slight twinge of pain jolted your senses back to reality and you pulled back with a heavy breath.

"Ramsay, wait. " A mere whisper against his lips, which were now stained with your own saliva. Ramsay had paused in utter attention. With only a few inches separating your noses from each other, you heard your blood pounding in your ears but the footsteps approaching were louder.

"Someone's coming. " You said in a hushed tone and it took 2 seconds longer than need be for Ramsay to jolt backwards, away from you.

A knock, lighter, and your mother appeared in the frame.

"Everything alright, dearies?" She nearly cooed, catching you in a towel and Ramsay with that red lip color that not your own people bothered with.

Ramsay begin to speak but he seemed to choke on his own words.

"Yes, Mother. I seem to have fallen asleep but all is well. Why were you looking for us?"

Ramsay cleared his throat. "It seems my father is expecting the two of us for dinner. "

But Mother always had a suspicious glare, to which no one was safe from its gawking and often intruding glances.

Not even bastard Ramsay Snow.

Especially not you.

She stared at the two of you, the expression appearing as if she was seeing a small child having taken a larger bite than they could chew. Her face shifted as her eyes grew smaller and more beady than they previously were and to Ramsay she seemed to be studying him, wondering, surely, just what the next coming Lord of the Dreadfort was doing inspecting his guests instead of preparing for dinner.

She supposed she could pass it off as concern on the boys part, concern because the two of you had been childhood friends, friends who were meant to be family, if her plans with the Boltons, and your father and sister hadn't gone awry.

Perhaps that is what she noticed, Ramsay and her daughter in an embrace which did not make complete sense to her.

However, this, this sight right before her gave only cause for her curiosity, not concern.

And by the way Ramsay's eyes were still pointed over your direction, showed that he had yet to realize how transparent his expression was to a watchful eye. An outside party who was accustomed to his habits. Ramsay's gaze danced over the tops of your eyelashes and then it followed the slope of your nose and landed upon your lips, half parted, much as they had been in his dream only a few hours prior.

You, she noted, you were harder to read, more composed than the dark haired boy next to you though, you did not look it, and that is the oddity between the two of you. One man that hid far deeper than the others' minds could.

For you, your eyes and silence seemed to work together. That particular talent of yours, never voiced, seemed to dance when you so directed it at the other children, especially more noticeable with the ones whose temperaments seemed to be set off by nothing more than silence. The thoughts were never said aloud, but those quiet stares could reach further than where you stood, even if at first the minds of men did not agree.

She believed you'd gain this deceptive, observational, silence from herself because your father, and by the old God's and the new bless his soul, despite his boasting and bravado, was lacking in this particular region.

Ramsay looked like a heap of clothes hanging limply as your mother cast her attention over his eyes, down his dress, and landed on his boots. These she could hear clearly now after examining the tiny folds along the leather around the heel.

A mess beside you he was –and you weren't even wearing proper clothes yet.

She took glance upon the trail of water over the stone floor that dipped down towards the tub and which spilled from where you had gotten out, the water that trailed along as you walked before scattering a bit, then stopping altogether to form a puddle in the same place you stood now.

Ramsay caught his breath, holding it in as he witnessed her eyes darting once more, scanning, between the two of you and he held it as they found him once again.

Ramsays eyes were slightly more watery than usual, she proposed. Perhaps the steam? Or did he cry before, when he felt, those old emotions between the two of you take rise when you'd stepped foot in the dreadfort again.

Her mind mulled the thought around for a bit before moving on to the next deatil, namely, what spell did you weave to have the Bolton's bastard acting like a whipped dog?

Because in the next second, the second she'd looked back to you, Ramsay was not paying attention to her, his gaze seemed to make patterns on the cloth wrapped around your naked form.

His jaw had tensed at the slivers of exposed flesh. And before her was no man, still not really a boy, but the kind of animalistic nature that went beyond titles and respect given to the sons, daughters, and grand children of any man's household.

His eyes were half lidded when he looked at you and his mouth was half open with lips partly curved and parted on each end. The expression was dreamlike. Almost peaceful, from a boy, who was neither of those things.

"Well, we mustn't keep him waiting. " Your mother chirped in amusement, the expression of her face and the twinkle in her eye was easily found, so you kept your gaze half way cast towards Ramsay as you began to move.

"The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die." (G.R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones)

Davos: Rickon Stark, it is I, Davos Seaworth, loyal hand to the true king Stannis Baratheon. I have been sent by Wymann Manderley, your late fathers deceptive but still loyal liege who seeks to use your surperior claim to Winterfell to wrench your ancestral home away from the dastardly Boltons, the vampire coded almost comically evil Lannister supported Lords who betrayed your brother at the Red Wedding and now brutalize your helpless subjects. Rise Rickon Stark! Come with me and we can make everything right!

Rickon: