RAMSAY BOLTON (2)

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WHAT ARE you thinking, my love?" You laced your fingers through his, gripping his bicep with your other palm

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WHAT ARE you thinking, my love?" You laced your fingers through his, gripping his bicep with your other palm. Over time you'd realized physical touch was Ramsay's preferred love language. He showered you with it constantly and he ate up any that you would give him. He looked so distant in the moment, you hoped you could ground him with it.

He turned to eye you, something unusually wistful about him. He leaned in to kiss you softly. When you pulled back, the edge was back in his eyes.

"You're mine." Ramsay murmured. When he looked at you like this, you felt as if he was devouring you. He took in everything about you in a way that brought heat to your cheeks and sometimes you swore he didn't blink. That impassible look washed over him.

"Yours," you affirmed.

"I love you." His eyes glazed over, heady, as they travelled across your face, pausing to eye your lips. Suddenly they met yours again and the hand that held yours gripped you so tightly it burned. "You know I'd do anything for you. Kill anyone for you. Hurt anyone for you."

You chuckled softly at him, cupping his face with a hand.

"I know."

His  eyes found your lips again and his grip on you softened. You eagerly pulled him in for another kiss. He was not a traditional man, but you loved every inch of him, even the corner of his mind that housed an incomprehensible insanity.
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WORD COUNT
247

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