Game of Thrones Imagines

In love with a monster - Ramsay x Reader

Normally I get the strangest ideas from the strangest places, and this is no exception 😁 I was shuffling through my old songs and found "I'm in Love with a Monster" by Fifth Harmony. Now I know this was for Hotel Transylvania 2, but something about it just made me think of Ramsay😁 so here is what I've come up with. Hope you all enjoy. 😈

(Y/n) knew that she was in love with a monster. Of all the men in the Seven Kingdoms, she had to love a man with one of the most reprehensible, repulsive, and downright rotten reputations there was. Once or twice she had even tried to escape this life, tried to run, to hide, to go back home; but no matter what she did, no matter how she tried to pull herself away from him, she knew that just one look, just one word from those beautiful rough lips of his, and she would be back under his spell, and he knew it too. Ramsay Snow knew that no matter what he did she would always be his.

(Y/n) sat in their rooms in the Dreadfort looking out over the vast expanse of snow that surrounded the dark castle, the brilliant white of the newly fallen snow brightening even the deep gloom that always seemed to surround the imposing structure, giving it a strange beauty that the building never normally possessed.

If anyone had told her all those moons ago that this would be her life, that she would have a love for the great dreary edifice, or that she would be devoted to her wicked husband, she would have scoffed in their faces, would have called them liars, and told them that they were insane; but now, now she knew she could no longer deny it, she could no longer deny that she was in love with the monster that she had been forced to marry.

She had been beside herself with anger when her father had informed her that she had been promised to the bastard of the Dreadfort. As the oldest child of Robett Glover, she would normally be expected to marry well, to marry the heir of a great house, but instead she had been given to a lowly bastard, a man that she had never even met, and she couldn't pretend that she was happy about the situation.

She fooled herself that she might not have minded so much if it had been Domeric Bolton, at least he was legitimate, nothing much to look at it had to be admitted, but at least she would be marrying an heir. But Ramsay, Ramsay, why did it have to be Ramsay.

(Y/n) had fought with her father, protesting at every opportunity that presented itself, saying that Erena should be the one forced to marry Ramsay, stating that if she were to reduce herself to wedding a bastard, that their children would be considered little more than bastards themselves, and was that what he wanted for his grandchildren; but Robett had insisted, proclaiming that bastard or not, Ramsay still had Bolton blood flowing through his veins, and that one should never presume that Ramsay would never be legitimised.

(Y/n) had journeyed to the Dreadfort that first time filled with rage, determined to hate the man that she had never seen, determined to make his life as miserable as possible. She herself could never be accused of being the sweetest of girls, even told that she had her own viscious streak, and she had determined to use every trick she knew, every wicked notion she had in her mind, to make her husband suffer; but as soon as she had been helped from her carriage, as soon as she had seen the lust filled gaze of the bastard of Dreadfort, she had fallen, and fallen hard. And Ramsay knew it.

From that first moment, Ramsay had never tried to be something he wasn't, never pretending that he had a softer of gentler side, the darkness within him sensing a kindred spirit in his new wife. And (Y/n) had found that she preferred his blackness, that she liked the stories of the dungeons, enjoyed the screams of torment, and the flecks of blood that would still stain his pale flesh as he joined her in their bed.

With a sigh, (Y/n) moved from the window and climbed under the cold sheets and warm firs. Deep down, she knew that Ramsay was more likely to present her with a thorn than a rose, that she would be buried deep under the dirt before he would cover her in gold; but no matter what the truth, she knew that she couldn't be without him.

(Y/n) knew that others would say that she was out of her mind, but she knew that without him she would be bored with what others would consider a normal life. She wasn't one for sweet conversations, and the gods only knew that sweet words were not part of Ramsay's repertoire. He was a man of cruel remarks and actions, yet even those had come to mean everything to her.

"I like when your waiting for me." Ramsay called out as he poked his head around the door to the room, his shock of dark hair, the impish glint in his eyes, and his wicked grin, making (Y/n) feel weak at the knees.

As he fully came into the room, it was obvious that he had been indulging himself in his favourite little pastime down in the dungeons, his bare chest covered in blood, the scarlet streaks reaching up onto his neck and face.

"You know what I want, don't you?" Ramsay growled, as he walked over to the bed, (Y/n) nodding as he stripped off his breeches, a lewd moan leaving (Y/n)'s lips as Ramsay's hand gripped at her throat.

"Such a good girl, aren't you (Y/n)? Always ready for me. My own little whore. What did I do to deserve you?" Ramsay snarled, as he threw back the covers, his eyes growing wide as he saw her naked form quivering under his touch.

"Ramsay. Please." (Y/n) gasped, as his grip tightened. An evil chuckle rumbling from her husband's chest as he pushed her legs apart, his body moving in between them as he pressed (Y/n) flat onto her back.

"Please what, (Y/n)?" Ramsay asked, as he bit at the soft flesh of her breasts, the still fresh blood smearing across her skin as (Y/n) writhed with pleasure underneath him.

"Please Ramsay. I need you." (Y/n) mewled, as Ramsay rubbed himself against her flushed skin, his need to feel himself inside her overriding his desire to torture his favourite toy.

"Anything for you, my pet." Ramsay groaned loudly as he slipped inside her, (Y/n) body sheathing his as he thrust into her flesh over and over again. Her lewd shameless whimpers making him harder as he pinned her to the bed.

To begin with, Ramsay had hated the idea that his father had chosen a wife for him, that he had not been given the freedom to choose a bride of his own; but as Roose had informed him, he was nothing more than a bastard, so he should consider himself lucky to have her, and that the daughter of Robett Glover was a prize. That said, Ramsay had determined that he was going to make his new brides' life as difficult as he could, that if she was not what he liked, he would find a way to make her leave. But as she had been helped from the carriage that first day, Ramsay knew that he had to have her, that no matter what happened, he would not allow her to leave his side, that she would be his and only his; and now as she screamed out his name, his seed filling her as she clawed at his back, Ramsay knew that he was in love with his very own monster.