#ramsayboltonxreader

~ Before we begin, I want to make it clear that Ramsay is not capable of loving anyone at all. The only thing he really enjoys is torturing and abusing others. You can see it how he treats his fellow human beings, most of the time he manipulates them. Even his father isn't safe from that. The only thing that makes sense to me is that he sees you like a pet or more of a plaything but nothing serious like love.

~ Maybe you crossed Ramsays path once or you work as a maid for him, it doesn't really matter because I doubt he would ever treat you differently.

~ You now have his full attention and believe me that's something you really don't want. Because one thing is for sure Ramsay is a very possessive man and when he wants something, he gets it.

~ I imagine thar he simply takes you from your home, he grabs your (h/c) hair and pulls you into his castle in Winterfell. If your family members were to resist, he would either have them burned to death in agony or lock them away in his torture basement where he would do many unspeakable things. Maybe he let you watch it with your own pretty eyes, just to make sure that you know where your place is.

~ He would lock you away in one of his rooms where only he has access to. Even Roose couldn't do anything about it if he wanted to. Ramsay hates to share things, and if anyone dares to look at you in the wrong way, he'll cut their eyes off or even worse.

~ Your life would be a living nightmare, even if Ramsay would treat you a little bit better than Reek, he would still hurt you. This man is a big sadist who loves to see other people suffer and that includes you (Y/n). Ramsay would enjoy your sweet cries, your little tears or your begging to stop him.

"Please, Ramsay, I'm sorry. It won't happen again" you said, lying helplessly on the could ground, blood dripping from your open wounds, but Ramsay doesn't even consider to stop, the fun just started. And besides he is already hard from you small whines.

~ Every day he would take you, whether you like it or not. You have no ther choice to take is cock and be a good pet. He just love seeing you so helpless, especially when he demolished your body with a dagger. He might even carve his name into your back so that everyone knows who you belong to.

~ Never get the idea of running away, because that would give him even more pleasure he already has from you. He loves a good cat and mouse game, especially when he knows that you can't escape. No matter how fast you try to run, his dogs are always faster.

You run and run as fast as your legs could carry you, there is still a small spark inside you, that you might have a chance to really escape this monster. This thought is quickly ruined as you hear loud barking, your (e/c) eyes start to water. You don't look back once and just keep running, knowing that he has sent his dogs after you. Suddenly you feel a sharp pain in your ankle as you fall roughly on the ground. You let out a pain filled scream as the barking becomes louder. You hear a whistle, it sounds pleased and you know directly to who it belongs to "Now Now...look who I caught. You disappoint me, I thought you had learned your lesson, what happens when you defy me. But don't worry, I'll make sure you never come up with the idea of deceiving me again. How about I cut your little legs? Doesn't it sound lovely?"

~ That only thing what might safe you from his torture is a pregnancy, he would be a little bit nicer to you because he needs an heir. It doesn't matter if it's a bastard because you know what they say "Bastards can make it far this days" . But don't think you're safe now, if you dare to betray him again, he would hurt the child or even worse. After all, he can make new ones with you.

He took a long and languid breath, his lips coming to a rest on your pulse point. 

The ‘he’ in question was a Lord’s son, who’d made a pass at you and let a hand shamelessly grope you as he smirked. There was no question that your father was never going to allow him to marry you now, but that alone wasn’t enough for Ramsay. He couldn’t keep you to himself and it infuriated him. 

Still, you spoke soothingly to your brother, used to his temper tantrums, to a degree. “You will start a war, and father would be so cross with you. He’d send you away.”

This seemed to resonate with him for a second. Though he hated being told ‘no’, the thought of being separated was a stronger motivator than some idiotic revenge quest against some stupid Lord’s son. 

Lifting a hand to caress his cheek for a second, you kept your eyes soft. “Of course, if he never returns home, that’s another matter entirely.” You spoke lowly, not quite meeting his gaze as you began to slowly stroke his hair. “The bandits have been growing rather... bold. I fear that if he travels the main road, he may be abducted or killed, and there’d seldom be a person to witness.”

Ramsay’s shining eyes seem to catch your meaning quite plainly. He pulled back from your neck, his expression taut. There was a time and place for all things, and perhaps, he could let his anger stew a few more hours.

You smiled a little at him, trying your best to be disarming.

His fingers laced into your hair at the base of your skull and gave a sharp tug that resulted in a quick and pained gasp. “Now, for the rest of the evening, I want you to myself.”

You didn’t resist, letting him step into the cloak of dominance he wore so well. He was good at playing parts, but behind closed doors, you knew the truth. Ramsay was a pet, and you had him shackled to you. He spent every moment convinced that he was your master, but in actuality, he was thoroughly held beneath your thumb, his irrational jealousy only furthering the proof that he needed validation from you. 

But it didn’t hurt to let him play.

“Ramsay!” You exclaimed with a shudder as he emphasized a particularly hard thrust. Your breath was coming and going in pants, and his hand wound around your mid-section to grope for your breast, taking a firm and impassioned hold.

He growled in your ear, continuing at the agonizing pace he’d established- slow with hard thrusts, relishing the squeaks that emerged when his hips met yours. His other hand remained firmly on your left hip, pulling you closer if you attempted to shy away from the powerful thrusts.

You hadn’t yet attempted such blasphemy. 

He kept your body pinned beneath his, the bed shaking as his erratic movements continued. It didn’t look pleasant, from an outside view. You were covered in teeth-shaped bruises and hickeys, and would likely sport other marks on your hips and thighs from the roughness. Despite all this, you seemed to be enjoying yourself, relishing each of the cruel strikes which Ramsay inflicted. He knew not to leave any marks on your face, hands, or throat, much to his chagrin, to prevent suspicion from your father. 

Sweat trickled down his brow, and he too was a little short of breath from the immense effort he was making. Flexing his stomach for a passing second, he made another thrust, leaning in to let his lips drag against the back of your neck. He gave what resembled a soft kiss against the skin, before beginning to speak again. “That man, he’s going to die, painfully.”

Violence and innuendo swapped interchangeably in your bedroom. 

You bit your lip nearly hard enough to draw blood, giving a quick nod in encouragement for him to continue. 

“I’m going to cleave his skin from his body,” another thrust punctuated the threat, “and I’ll keep him alive just long enough to see his entrails for the first time, in his hands.” He seemed to grow a little more excitable as he relayed his plan to you, his movements losing power and growing in frequency as he neared his end. 

To be frank, the man had already relinquished his hold over you long ago, you weren’t one to keep grudges against men foolish enough to cross Ramsay, but you knew better than to sound apathetic to his tendencies. He sought attention, and you needed to supply it to keep him in your lap. “Will you use my knife?” 

A smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth, and he groaned weakly, pistoning his hips a few more times almost desperately, before speaking. “I’d use a broadsword if you asked.” He completed the statement and bottomed out, his eyes rolling back as he found his completion. 

There was little aftercare with Ramsay, at least not the traditional kind. Instead, he’d hold you to bed (not allowing you to clean yourself of his seed), and sit in tense silence as he regained his breath, holding you just as tightly. After this ritual, he’d release you (not that you’d go far anyways) and he’d allow you to coddle and fuss as you pleased, with little argument on his side. 

Today, he was impatient, but he allowed you to tidy him to your standard, before quickly shrugging on wrinkled clothing, filthy and stained, and tugging on a pair of boots, promising to bring you a piece of his ‘game’ for the evening. 

You watched him leave with a fond smile, before sliding off the bed yourself and pulling a night-shift over your bare form, covering the intimate bruises. You waited a few more moments before you heard the door break behind you, and a figure shuffled inside. You turned, impassive mask returning, taking on the character of the Bolton Lady. 

Reek avoided eye-contact as he spoke in a low sort of murmur. “What did you need, My Lady?”

“Y/N? Are you quite alright?” Her husband asked, more astounded than concerned. She wasn’t normally one to act out. 

Her cheeks flushed a blooming pink, and she cleared her throat, shaking him off. “Must’ve just been a chill, m’lord.” She murmured, lying through her teeth. To admit her adultery would be a fate worse than death. Public humiliation, and almost certainly being ousted by her family. She was better off remaining silent, and she was certain that Ramsay knew this. He knew he had her by the collar here. So, she attempted to remain quiet, her eyes flicking over to the Bolton’s only occasionally. 

His smile remained unchanged, and for a few more moments, he remained as still as her, seemingly paying attention to the words of his father. 

But she knew better.

Soon enough, his hand began creeping to her knee once again, this time more deliberately. Dancing across her knee, her let his digits trace small patterns on her upper thigh, perfectly innocent for the moment, his eyes never quite looking over to see her reaction. 

Y/N lifted her head and glanced over to Ramsay, furrowing her brow and staring for pause in an attempt to make him falter in his actions. 

He showed no notice of her reaction, continuing his game slowly, knowing a discussion like this could take hours at the least. He had plenty of time to tease her, to draw to the edge of pleasure and retreat to himself, knowing she could do little to circumvent this. Slowly, his fingers crept towards her inner thigh, a few inches from her center, and rested there. 

For nearly half-an-hour, his hand remained deadly still, and he deadly silent, his smile lax. 

She wasn’t quite squirming yet, but she was certainly on edge, waiting for each movement, her breathing softened by anticipation. Her posture was rigid, and her shoulders hunched, doing everything to avoid glancing at her lap or the bastard beside her. Why did he have to be seated beside her? She had no doubt it was his own doing.

Y/N nearly jumped out of her chair when he balled up the material of her skirt in his fist, hiking up the garment and exposing her scantily beneath the table. 

When the skirt reached her knee in length, he paused, nodding in response to something his father had said, and slipping a hand under her skirts. 

She’d begun gripping the edge of the chair tightly enough to turn her knuckles white, and biting down harshly on her lower lip, completely silent, her breathing rapidly increasing as his cold fingers made contact with her warm skin. 

Each of his movements drew her skirt further upward, now lingering just below her mid-thigh, and moving upwards. Ramsay’s smile had returned, and his eyes flicked over to her for a half-second, indulging himself in her stillness. Just as quickly, he glanced away, continuing the charade of being engaged in the conversation- knowing he’d long since lost interest in whatever the two were talking about. He had something much more interesting to do. The minx beside him needed to be taught what lying to him would lead to. 

It took only a few seconds to reach the cloth of her undergarments, documented by the brightening of his smile for a tick. He cupped her center through the pesky fabric, dragging a finger up her clothed slit. 

Y/N shivered almost unnoticeably, attempting to focus on anything except him, but finding herself unable to tear her attention from the defamatory display occurring in her lap.

This continued for quite some time, gentle movements of his finger, occasionally circling the sensitive nub lying at the top of her slit, before moving back to the bottom of her core. It was just enough to keep her aroused, but certainly not anywhere close to any sort of climax. Y/N retained control of her body for the time being, still gripping the edge of the chair. 

His deft fingers danced to the waistband of her underwear, and in one nimble maneuver, he was cupping the flesh that lingered just hidden beneath her clothes, the same that he had defiled not two days ago. The same one he was about to sully again. One of his digits circled her entrance, gathering wetness on the fingertip and trailing back up towards her clitoris. He ran a ghosting finger over the nub. 

Y/N had begun to shudder as this new form of teasing began, hot but slow, just enough to keep her keening, but small enough to avoid suspicion. She could feel her arousal percolating beneath her gown as her cheeks flushed a deep scarlet and her breathing became heavier. This was dangerous, and she didn’t complete trust herself to stay silent, especially not when his fingers-

One of his long digits entered her suddenly, drawing a broken-off cry of surprise, barely muffled by a feigned cough. The acting- while not spectacular in any way- was enough to avert suspicion. 

Gingerly, he nearly drew out the appendage before reentering her core. It was only one finger- at least, at first- but a second soon joined it, rocking slowly in and out, his thumb resting atop her clit, and rubbing softly. 

She felt the electricity rocketing from her toes to her own fingers, and she shuddered with pleasure in her seat. A moan was trapped by the death-hold her teeth had on her lower lip. Her breathing rattled and her eyes drew closed. 

“-well, I wish you both a good evening, my wife and I are going to retire.”

Her eyes snapped open, glancing over to her husband, and throwing a hand down to grasp Ramsay’s wrist and stop the motions of his fingers. She blinked. “You’re done? The night is still young.” The sharp-tongued remark came off more teasing due to her current state of breathlessness. 

Silently freeing himself from her grasp, Ramsay withdrew his hand from her skirt, he watched the scene unfold with a murderous annoyance. We weren’t done.

The husband offered a soft chuckle, reaching out to take her arm. “I know you detest these meetings, love, I figured we could adjourn for the night.” He helped her to her feet, taking her waist. “We can continue in the morning.”

Y/N offered a curt nod to avoid suspicion and mustered a tense smile. “Of course. In the morning.” She couldn’t help but bite back the disappointment lingering threatening to make an unwelcome appearance in response to her husband’s empathy. Artfully, she managed to avoid Ramsay’s piercing stare. She could still feel the heat of his gaze as she left the room. He wouldn’t let this pass.

The night traveled slowly. Y/N found she could hardly sleep, brimming with unanswered questions. She’d heard of the Bolton boy’s reputation, of his cruelty, of his enamored possessiveness long before she’d met him, and experienced it after the fact. Finding out she was married should have driven him off the edge of momentary sanity. Why did he hold back? Better yet, why did it only seem to spur him on?

 As her husband snored beside her, Y/N shifted so she was lying on her back. As her eyes lifted towards the canopy, she was alarmed to catch sight of a figure hovering over her. She opened her mouth to scream, but the intruder held a hand over it in an instant. 

Ramsay’s smile, his real smile glinted in the darkness. Slowly, he retracted his hand from her mouth, his eyes flicking over to the husband for a second before they returned to her. “Come, love. We have unfinished business.”

Too delirious to comprehend what had happened, Y/N drifted in and out of slumber, waking only to nurse the child at her breast. 

The servants all tittered around her, trying to delay Lord Bolton as best they could. But alas, nearly two days after the birth, he strode into her chambers, surveying the assembled wet-nurses and glancing over his sleeping wife. “Where is my son?” His smile was frighteningly wide, perhaps the most gleeful they’d ever seen him. 

One of the maids, an older woman whose hair had begun to gray, finally spoke up after watching the younger servants fidget and avoid his gaze. “I’ll fetch him, my Lord.” She curtseyed quickly before ducking out of the room. 

Ramsay paid the rest no mind, approaching his slumbering wife, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and regarding her fondly. 

By the time the maid returned, the child had been obscured by a thick wrapping of woolen blankets, swaddled into a comfortable bundle. She carefully handed off the child, standing by and radiating the trepidation that plagued them all. 

Ramsay examined the child, his smile broad and splitting as he bounced the child gently in his arms. He cooed mindlessly, admiring the tendrils of dark hair so reminiscent of his own. “The child has her eyes.” He murmured to himself, finally lifting his eyes and peering at the maids- most of whom were still frozen with fear. He cocked a brow curiously. He opened his mouth to comment on the palpable terror in the room but was interrupted by a groan from his now roused wife. 

Her eyes fluttered open and she lifted a hand to her temple. “Where is my daughter?” She sounded parched and hoarse, but her words had a resounding effect. 

The silent removal of a blanket marked the end of the poorly planned ruse. 

Ramsay’s smile had vanished in a moment and now he was dangerously quiet. “All of you, out.”

Ramsay folded his hands, his scowl inquisitive. “A daughter?” 

Y/N nodded modestly, focusing her attention on the child rather than her temperamental husband. “I find no difference between the two.”

His scoff was cruelty personified. “No difference?” He challenged, anger seeping into his tone. 

She finally granted him the privilege of meeting his gaze. “No, there is no difference. A daughter can just as easily bring a house to greatness. Marry into a stronger family, form an alliance, we have an opportunity to forge a dynasty.”

“A dynasty without our name.” Ramsay sulked, gradually calming as her sharp words soothed him. 

“A dynasty with our blood.” She corrected, returning her eyes to their child. “Besides, we could always have more children.”

A smile twitched at the corner of his lips, and he laughed softly. “Oh?” 

She returned a small smile, something glimmering behind her glasslike eyes. “If you’re up to the task.”

Filthy and obscene curses fled his lips, his grip on her hips tightening to an almost bruising strength. He groaned loudly, burying his face into her neck and biting down harshly.

Y/N clawed at his chest and back, trying to mark every inch of exposed skin. His lover, his whore, she would see what he’d been doing when the sun dipped below the horizon.

Ramsay let out a broken chuckle, snapping his hips to hers in a harsh thrust. “Jealous, are we?” He nipped at the column of her throat, leaving small bruises in his wake.

“I don’t like to share.” She replied, a chord of moans flooding her mouth, her fingers tangled in his hair, giving a sharp tug.

He shot her a loose and lazy smile, and she watched it harden as he snapped his hips against hers again. “Neither do I.” What followed was a series of deliberately timed thrusts, one of his hands sliding up her side to clasp her breast. His palms were calloused, and his fingers needy, grasping at all he could reach.

She released a quiet mewl, her hips quivering as she began to near her climax. “I-I’m close.”

“No!” Ramsay growled lowly, his hand snapping down to grasp her other hip, holding her in place. He gave her an unhinged smirk. “You’re not. Not if you want to leave before the sun rises.” He tried to seem as if he wasn’t desperately chasing his own orgasm. A sheen of sweat built across his forehead, and he bit down on her lip sensually, shuddering as she raked her nails down the flat of his back. “Myranda won’t like that.” He laughed darkly.

Her eyes hardened, snapping open. “Say her name again and I’ll finish this myself.” She snarled, and she didn’t care how hostile she sounded in that moment.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he squeezed her hips tightly, moaning lowly in her ear. “Since when do you tell me what to do?” His hips stuttered and he unraveled. He tossed his head back, giving a few slow thrusts as he worked through his orgasm. Keeping his softening member inside her, he placed his thumb on her clit, rubbing lazy circles as he tried to push her over the edge.

Her legs tensed and her hips bucked once, a silent moan on her lips, parted at the sensation. She began to move her hips against his hand, moaning loudly as her orgasm crashed over her.

Ramsay carefully removed himself, taking a quick swipe of the liquids leaking from her center, and savoring the taste. He helped her to her feet, landing a light slap to her ass.

“Night.” She greeted drowsily, pulling on the dressing gown discard on the floor from earlier passion.

He didn’t respond, his eyes stealing one last glance of her bare form before she left.

§

The ugly and broad shouldered Lord extended his hand for Roose to shake, before turning to Ramsay. “This is your son?”

Roose barely glanced over. “He’s my bastard.”

The man hesitantly shook Ramsay’s hand, and Ramsay was pleased to see fear in his eyes.

“I’m sorry I’m late-”

Ramsay didn’t bother to listen to the rest of her excuse, an amused smile slipping over his lips. Of course, he recognized that voice, and when he glanced at her, he recognized her lips. They were the ones that had been wrapped around his cock the night before.

The Lord only shook his head lightly, turning to the other two men. “This is my wife, Lady Y/N.”

Y/N had gone completely silent at the sight of the Bolton bastard, and her eyes clung to the love bites apparent just above his collar.

The two lovers met eyes, and Ramsay’s gaze darkened, extending his hand to clasp hers, pressing his lips to her knuckles. “It’s lovely to meet you, my lady.”

Y/N’s smile was polite and forced for the sake of her husband. “Likewise.”