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slasherscream · 5 years

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Imagine having hanahaki for Billy and Stu but not acting on it cause they already have girlfriends. And for extra tension they totally planned out to murder you but you started violently coughing up flower petals and that's making everything to gosh darn complicated.

you could not have named a prompt more to my tastes anon (a little gore warning bc you know …. blood flowers and what not-)

You’re part of their little high school “friend” group. Close enough to fall hopelessly in love with them both but distant enough so that you manage to not be too obvious about it.

You can settle for their company; for the occasional glance your way, a laugh at one of your jokes, a bit of roughhousing from Stu or a smirk from Billy when he thinks you said something clever. That’s all good enough for you it has to be.

Billy has Sidney and Stu had Casey. Eventually Stu doesn’t have Casey and for a brief moment you get your hopes up …. ! Then he gets with Sidney’s best friend Tatum. So even the slightest bit of hope died a miserable death as quickly as it was conceived. Hooray.

You tell yourself it was for the best anyway. Stu moving on from his break-up so fast. Being with even one of them would be a dream but … only partially fulfilling as you’d like it to be. You didn’t just like them you loved them, totally and completely. You think it’s a bit of a #No-No to date one half of a best friend pair while being just as in love with the other part of the duo.

So by all means your plan is to just just mull over your feelings quietly until you all graduate and go your separate ways forever and you’re forced to move on from your first bit of unrequited love through the merciful workings of life and growing up.

Solid plan. Perfect plan. A++ planning.

Except you get …….. sick. The sickness.

At the onset of it you didn’t think for even one second that you had it.

It happens. Of course it happens and you hear about it happening but it doesn’t happen to everyone. The odds of catching it are statistically one in a hundred.

How could you just some kid in high school fucking beat all the odds in order to get hanahaki of all fucking things?

You thought you were just coming down with a really bad flu until you stay home from school one day, unable to get out of bed from exhaustion until you were forced to run to the bathroom feeling like you needed to throw up.

You didn’t throw up. Not really, at least. First some blood and gasping for air, feeling like you were suffocating but unable to call for help until … flowers. Fucking flowers.

You were so mystified at first you started laughing. Blue and yellow flowers, covered with specks of blood that stood out brilliantly across their coloring.

Sunflowers, the yellow ones. The blue ones you took to a flower shop to find out what they were. The girl behind the counter looking very concerned with the … you know … Blood! Until you had another coughing fit right there in the shop. Then she just looked sad for you. Hydrangeas, she told you after she got you some water, these blue ones are hydrangeas.

You guess correctly and easily that Stu’s flowers are the sunflowers and Billy’s are the hydrangeas.

Stu just likes how sunflowers look: bright and eye-catching and cheerful. No rhyme or reason to it. He likes flowers in general and buys them often for girlfriends whenever some catch his attention but the truth is he just likes looking at them. They’re just a nice, small part of life and sunflowers are the biggest and brightest flower he knows. Why wouldn’t he like them best?

Blue hydrangeas, mostly a filler flower. Billy hasn’t seen many in his life and flowers rank incredibly low on the list of things he gives a half damn about but he’d sometimes sit with his mother when she’d go through old photo albums. Pictures of him. Pictures of them. Pictures of her wedding day. Hydrangeas on the tables. A bouquet of them in her hands as she walked down the aisle. There were other flowers mixed in … white roses mostly, because hydrangeas work best as a flower that’s not the main act. Secondary. But while the roses had been expensive his Mother would always trace her fingers over the hydrangeas in the pictures only. Her favorite, she confessed, and so they were instantly Billy’s too, even all these (bitter) years later.

Life continues on much in the same way it did before. Maybe you laugh a little less and hang out with everyone even less than that but you’re fine mostly. You’re in the early stages and most of your days are good ones. You have a while before you have to figure out what you’re going to decide to do.

You tend to get caught up in your own little world but even you can’t zone out so much that you miss the brutal murder of your classmate Casey and her boyfriend Steve. You do feel bad, all things considered (your months of jealously and depression only for her to dump one of the boys you loved so much for some rando jock?)-

But while everyone else’s discussions and conversations have an undercurrent of fear you have a calm about you. If all things continue on at the rate they’re currently going you know exactly how you’ll die. Love will be what kills you. How Shakespearean. You don’t have the time to worry about the killer among you.

That’s why you drag yourself home early from school. Even though you’re not particularly stressed out by everything going on the energy of everyone else is stressful enough to cause a flare up. You spend the rest of the afternoon in misery, your flowers the only thing keeping you company.

The sun sets and you’re laying on your couch watching something romantic and sappy because you weren’t feeling shitty enough as is. The phone starts ringing. The phone starts ringing fucking relentlessly. You ignore it and keep watching your movie.

Your own thoughts (all longing and “I bet that’s how Stu kisses” and “Billy’s eyes are that color”) dooming you to another fit right after you’ve just started to calm down.

The phone is still ringing endlessly but all you can do is focus on the fact that you need air. You feel like you can’t breathe. You literally can’t breathe. The flowers are suffocating you. The feeling is becoming more familiar but no less terrible each time it happens. Night air sometimes helps.

You stumble out your house, desperately gasping for cool air. You don’t make it far off the porch before you’re on your knees coughing and gagging. You hate the tickling, choking feeling that has become oh so familiar these past few weeks. It’s not long till flowers of blue (hydrangeas) and yellow (sunflowers), covered in blood are laying at your knees. You’re so exhausted all you can do is start to cry.

Little do you know you’re being watched. The calls you’d been ignoring all night, too miserable with your aching throat to answer, had come from the town’s new amateur serial killers.

Billy was already in your house by the time Stu made the first call, all according to plan. This this was not according to plan.

They reconvene and put their plans of killing you on hold. Nothing is more tantalizing than a mystery and they never imagined you to be hiding such a big secret. It’s clear that no one else knows what you’re going through and you instantly have their attention because of the air of secrecy. They’ve never known someone with the disease before and they want to ….. see it in action?

They watch your interactions with everyone around you carefully now. The sudden awareness of all things you and how you react to the world and people around you is what makes it so obvious what’s going on. You’re in love with them.

You’re so in love with them it’s literally killing you?

billy: we can’t NOT fuck them- stu: yeah we can’t NOT fuck them

Hate to inform you that they’re bastards but just knowing how much you’re in love makes them fall a little in love with you instantaneously. Is it narcissism? Probably. Also though?? Highkey it’s the thought of someone being that desperately in love that does it for them. They’re obsessive, ‘would die and kill for you’ type of boyfriends? They’re looking for high class love energy this is TOP TIER for them. They’re ultimate ideal.

Billy’s ideal because it feels like a guaranteed, hand-written contract that he will not be #Abandoned.

Stu’s ideal just because he’s got a naturally obsessive…lowkey dependent romantic streak in him in the 1st place. He’s just clingy. He’s just #Like that.

Honest ……tea….the stalking that proceeds to happen is legendary. Also their plans speed up because they need to get a move on. Now that they’re in love with you they don’t want you to die because you’re so super bummed out over them. The idea of it is nice and whatever because it’s rock solid proof of how you feel but…the reality is not nice at all.

Every-time they notice you running off to the bathroom or staying quiet at lunch because you’re afraid you’ll cough up petals just from being close to them? Kinda breaking their hearts :(((( They just want to make you feel better already. Every-time you pass Stu in the hall and give him a pitiful smile he wants to just blurt out those three magic words and fix everything. Billy has hit him many a time….stick to….the plan.

Which isn’t to say you weren’t getting to Billy too. You’re his lab partner for science and he caught you staring at him with your fucking…puppy dog eyes and he dead ass got lost in the soft emotions that was just laid out all across your sleeves for everyone to see!!!

billy vc (referring to your vulnerability): bitch you live like this?

How !! The!!! FUCK!! Didn’t !! They!!! nOTICE!! tHIS!!! BEFORE!!!

They are on you like white on rice as soon as it’s safe to be. I want to fucking….imagine they would ease you into how fucking in love with you they are but they’d just throw your ass into the deep end of the pool.

You’re trying to cough up flowers in peace behind the school and where in the fuck did Stu come from?? None of your business but he’s rubbing your back and cooing at you and the simple gesture of kindness makes the flowers melt away like cotton candy. Oh boy when you pull yourself together….the look on his face is intense.

Offers to give you a ride home and sweeps you up off your feet before you can say no or explain away the flowers (internal panic).

He deceptively does not mention what happened. Seems calm as he turns on a movie and pulls you close in a way you try to pass off as Stu being Stu. No….he’s trying to be #Romantic but also trying to wait for Billy to get here so they can do this as a team. But if he doesn’t at least hold you he’ll explode.

They drop the bomb on you that they know you’re sick because of them with no mercy they both don’t have any fucking tact. Don’t worry you don’t have time to freak out because they start kissing you. They have waited a long time to kiss you!! They don’t have anymore patience!! It takes awhile to actually have a genuine talk because they can’t keep their hands off you.

You’d be lucky if they didn’t tell you about their serial killer hobby then and there because they’re 99% sure you’re ride or die since you didn’t get or even look very deeply into the surgery that would’ve fixed your little problem. If you were gonna die because of how much you loved them you can live with the reality of them being murderers :))). Smooches, sweetheart!

Hate to say it but Billy and Stu have collected some of the flowers you leave behind at places and preserve/keep them. Stu and Billy find the whole thing very romantic in a morbid way? I can’t express enough that this is their dream mix of gore and romance. It might as well be a fucking soulmate thing to them for how they react to it.

I’m so sorry that once you’re in the relationship and therefore trapped that they reveal the world’s creepiest collection to you and they do it with such …pride…no shame….

Stu standing there with the goofiest grin on his face ….Billy wrapped around you like an anaconda, nuzzling your head with his as they reveal fucking like ….they take you into Stu’s room for the first time and OH …isn’t that nice?? You know those glass framed preserved butterfly decorations some people have in their house? Yeah that but with your blood stained flowers. It’s literally their most prized and favorite possession. They will never get rid of it. It’ll be hanging front and center in y'all’s living room one day.

They’re gonna marry your ass right outta high school they’re so into it!! This is the no escape scenario. Someone start playing here comes the spouse.

#billy loomis x reader x stu macher #poly ghostface x reader #stu macher x reader #billy loomis x reader #stu macher imagine #billy loomis imagine #slasher x reader #billy loomis: i'm not a romantic #reader: catches a love disease that kills them over him #billy loomis taking off his clothes: shut up and get naked i love you too #stu macher who isn’t a pussy and doesn’t claim to not be a romantic: in tears #billy is spiritually in tears #such bastards tbqfh

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kee-writestrashh · 6 years

Text

Guns for Hire

Ramsay Bolton x Reader

ao3

Summary: You are the wife to the Heir of the Red Kings, Ramsay Bolton. living the undercover life of a mob wife has its perks, and you love your husband. But you find out something that seems to unfold a series of unwanted events…

**warning: blood, violence, gore, torture, smut; a very ramsay things kinda chapter

Chapter 35: Kill4Me

"Is this smart?" You asked, looking at the rundown bar.

It sat perfectly on the corner between the Roses, Lions, and Stags. Nowhere near the Kings or Boys. If things went south, there was no back up readily available.

"Who cares about smart when you can have fun? You hear all kinds of shit in here. Rowdy folk. Good place to get the scoop on anything you want. Technically not allowed to be here anymore, but I see they've made some staffing changes and new management." Ramsay shrugged, leading you to an empty table as glancing over at the bar.

There you saw a pretty young woman with long, platinum hair. She looked very out of place next to all the other staff members.

"This place is shit." You said, curling your lip in distaste.

"Uh, yeah. That's why the locals call it the shit hole. Full of hookers, bikers, convicts, felons. Shit drugs. Good drugs. Whatever. And yet for as shitty as the place is, plenty of uppity people come here too." Ramsay replied, watching a big, tattooed biker grab all over the blonde girl.

But she seemed to like it, as she laughed and carried on with him.

"Here's how the game works. Watch these people and pick one. Tell me their story and why they deserve to die." Ramsay said, holding you close in his lap, and taking a beer from Matt, who had just returned to the table.

You leaned back into him, lacing your fingers in his free hand.

"But what if they don't deserve to die?" You asked, looking around.

"We all deserve to die." Ramsay chuckled.

"Okay, Sweeney Todd." You laughed, he snorted.

"Here, watch. Dame, bloke in the corner. What's up with him?" Your husband said nodding to the end of the bar by the bathrooms, where a very sullen looking man sat.

"Overworked, middle class. Hates everything. Kids too loud. Wife's a fat, nagging bitch. Comes here to get away from his trailer park trash life. Wonders if maybe there's someone else here as lonely as him. Does he deserve to die? Probably. He's already dead inside. Might as well do him a solid." Damon said, examining the man closely.

"See? Now, find someone." Ramsay said, placing a soft kiss to your cheek.

You watched a group of men, savoring Ramsay's touches as he kissed at your neck.

"What did your father want?" You asked, as you watched Damon lead Charlotte out to the dance floor.

"Don't know honestly. Went over some numbers and shit. But I think it was just to rub it in my face that he's alive, I guess. Says he will be at the twenty week ultrasound." Ramsay shrugged, fingering his empty beer bottle.

You frowned, panic forming in the pit of your stomach.

"Why do you want to tell Stark we have his sister? We don't have his sister." You questioned.

"Hush, you're ruining the game. Hurry up and pick someone." He said with a huffy sigh.

"This game is boring." You said, resting your cheek on your hand, elbow on the edge of the table.

"It is not boring." Ramsay said, rather defensively.

"Fine. See that guy there in the middle of that group?" You nodded to a group of five men at the middle of the bar. "He has a real hero card. Comes here to rescue drunk women from other dudes just like him. Gets them way too fucking drunk, asks to walk them home, gets them halfway home and they pass the fuck out because he's drugged them. Has his way with them, they never remember, and so off to the next one. He deserves to die because he looks like a fucking douche, his hair is stupid, and I don't like his insecure way about using women."

Ramsay stared at you as you spoke, finally letting his eyes wander to the guy you were talking about.

"Is that so?" He asked, mildly impressed.

"Yes." You shrugged.

He let his wicked grin form, "show me."

You gave him a quick kiss and a smirk, standing abruptly. You slapped him across the face as hard as you could.

"How dare you! Stay the fuck away from me!" You screamed, stomping off and playing up the emotional theatrics until you sat at a table across the room.

You caught Ramsay's eye, as he rubbed his cheek, looking slightly dazed. He bit back the evil smile, watching the man you had pointed out order a drink and made his way over to you at your empty table.

"You okay? Thought I could bring you a drink. He do that to you?" The man said, setting the glass down and sitting across from you.

You brought your hand to your cheek and dropped your gaze, forcing tears.

"Yes." You lied quietly, sliding your wedding ring off and slipping it in your bra, pretending to adjust your breasts.

"You're too beautiful to be with a scumbag like that. Beautiful things should never be hit, or broken." The man, said brushing a strand of hair from your cheek.

You looked past him to see Ramsay watching closely, eyes blazing as the jealously crept up. You gave him a sly wink and turned your attention back to the man trying to seduce you with bullshit words.

"What's your name?" You asked, not sure if you really wanted to know, seeing as he would be dead before the night was over.

"Viserys. And youself?" He said, flashing a toothy grin.

"(Y/n). New around here?" You replied, looking him over. He dressed a bit... different?

"Yeah, actually. Well, sort of. My sister and I were born here, but some fucked up men stole our lives from us, forcing us to flee the country. But now we have come back to take back what is ours." Viserys said, rather emotionally, slidding into the seat next to you and resting his hand on your leg.

"Right. Good luck with that." You said, getting bored of the man, and suppressing the urge to punch him and his smug look, like he had just won the lottery, angry he was touching you.

Maybe this game was fun, when you weren't required to be sober.

"Do you have someone you can call to pick you up?" He asked, his voice sounding hopeful that you would say no.

Charlotte saved you the answer as she swooped in to rescue you, "hey, sweetie, let's get out of here. Found a couple of cute boys to take us home."

You looped your arm in hers, thankful for once to actually see her.

She pulled you along, out of the bar and returned you to Ramsay around the corner.

"The fuck was that?" He growled, pulling you into him and placing a harsh kiss to your lips.

"The way you play is boring. So I altered the rules. You told me to show you, and I did. I didn't slap you too hard did I?" You asked cupping his cheek.

"Do it again and I may make you weak in the knees." He purred, kissing along your jaw.

"So, uh... we'll just go grab him up?" Alyn said awkwardly, looking up at the sky.

Ramsay waved his men away, biting down on your neck.

"Baby, stop. Not here. It's cold, and I will not be fucked in the alley like a fucking whore. Not on this side of town anyways." You said, pulling away from your husband.

"You're right. Apologies, baby girl. Besides, you have someone to kill." He nodded, mastering himself and smoothing out your dress.

You pulled your ring from your bra, slid it back on, and laced your hand in his as he led you to the Jeep.

"Where are we?" You asked, looking at the abandoned building.

"You know... I've honestly no idea. Used to be a hospital. Maybe an asylum. The sign was torn down years ago. But either way, hospital of some sort." Ramsay said, pushing the door open for you.

You wished you had worn anything other than heels tonight as he made you trek up the hill to this damn place.

"Is this where you kill all your victims?" You asked, glancing around the dark, dirty lobby, squinting to see better.

"Nah. Not all of them." Ramsay replied, pulling his gun and a flashlight.

"What if someone comes up here?" You asked, standing rather close to him as he led the way up a flight of stairs.

He laughed loudly, and it sounded eerily haunting as it echoed in the cold darkness.

"No one will come up here. The folks around think it's haunted. Hear bone chilling screaming and begging. Stupid fucking twats. Haunted. Ha."

You nodded, looking around. Ramsay disappeared through a door and you were startled to not find him in the room when you entered. You stood stock still, confused.

"Coming?" He asked, behind You.

You turned quickly, with a gasp. "How'd you do that?"

He chuckled, nodding at a door to your left. You rolled your eyes and followed him, this time gripping his elbow.

He led you up another flight of stairs and finally into a large room, that looked as if it had once been used to preform surgeries.

He pulled his lighter and lit a few oil burning lamps.

"You're a twisted fucker, you know that?" You said, examining a pile of metal tools as the room was bathed in cold light.

"It might have been mentioned to me a time or two." He replied, setting his gun on a tray with the flashlight.

"Now what?" You asked, picking up a cold metal hooked pick.

"Now we wait on patient..." He picked up a clipboard and ran his eyes over it, "one hundred and twenty five to arrive for a very botched surgery." He pulled a pen from his jacket and scribbled on the clipboard.

You continued to examine the tools; some of them making your skin crawl as you tried to imagine what they were used for.

"Well, nurse, it seems you need to get ready for said surgery." Ramsay said, rummaging in a cabinet.

You turned to him and he held out a face mask, surgical gloves, and stained apron.

You stared at him. "Really?"

"Can you confirm he doesn't have any diseases, doll?" He asked.

"No." You said, taking the gloves and mask.

Ramsay slipped the apron over your head and tied the back. He stepped back from you and gave a wolfish grin.

"You should do this more often. Nice white pair of hooker boots next time though. And maybe a shorter dress so I can see that beautiful ass when you bend over." He chuckled, pulling on his own gloves.

You couldn't help but feel your face warm as you glanced him over.

"So... what do I do?" You asked, sitting on the table beside the metal tools.

"Whatever you want. Make him confess his sins. Make him tell you a story. Make him give you the information to his bank account. Sing a song for you. Or just kill him. Whatever you want to do baby girl. I'm only here as support. Just watching today. Today I am just a student." Your husband replied, stepping into you and pulling your mask down so he could kiss you.

You opened your mouth under his, cupping his face, as he snaked his tongue in your mouth. As always, the world fell away as you explored his mouth and a warmth started to grow between your legs.

Banging from the floor bellow made you jump and pull away from Ramsay as you heard Damon talking shit and cursing as he tripped up the stairs.

A few moments later Alyn and Damon shoved Viserys to his knees, Matt bringing up the rear, looking slightly distressed. The man had bound wrists and wore a cloth sack over his head. He struggled violently to get free, making muffled noises, as he apparently had been gagged.

"Strip him." Ramsay said, as if no more than ordering a beer.

"All of him?" Alyn asked.

"No, idiot. We have a lady in the room." Ramsay replied, picking up his knife.

You watched Alyn and Matt strip Viserys as Damon held him still.

"Boss, check it." Alyn said, stepping away from Viserys to reveal his bare chest.

Ramsay tutted in amusement and turned to you, "did you catch his name?"

"Uh, Viserys, I think?" You shrugged, examining the large, red three-headed dragon tattoo on his chest.

Ramsay laughed a cold, merciless mirth. "Viserys Targaryen. The Beggar King. How honored I am to meet you. Well, you sure know how to pick winners, baby girl."

"Should... Should we kill him then?" You asked as Matt pulled the bag from Viserys' head.

"Oh yeah. For sure. But I want to ask him a few questions before he stops breathing. But you are free to do whatever while I question him. I won't take the fun away from you. Get him in a chair." Ramsay said, glancing at Alyn as he spoke the last part.

Alyn heaved Viserys up to standing and thrust him into a empty chair. Matt and Damon tied the man's legs to the chair and the three of them left back through the door.

"What do you want to do first, doll?" Ramsay asked, looking from you to victim.

"I-I don't know. I've never done this before, exactly. You know that." You said, cheeks warming.

Ramsay gave you a warm smile, "come here, my pet. Let's start small. I'll show you."

You stepped over to your husband and he placed a scalpel into your hand. You took the tiny blade, staring at it, still unsure what you would actually do with it.

"Mkay, Targaryen. I'm going to ask you a series of questions. If you do not answer, refuse to answer, or lie, my foxy little wife here will cause pain. Though, I think she will cause pain, regardless..." He stepped into Viserys with a grin, "she thinks your hair is stupid." He whispered with a smirk as he pulled the gag away from your victims mouth.

"You fucking bitch!" Viserys screeched, struggling to stand, eyes narrowed at you.

"Manners." Ramsay warned, his tightened fist coming into contact with Viserys' cheek bone.

You pushed Ramsay aside, gripping the scalpel, jaw clenched. You stopped in front of Viserys, looked him over, and stabbed the blade into his thigh with as much strength as you could.

He howled in pain and struggled in his chair some more.

You stepped back, taking a deep breath and turning to your husband.

"Sorry. He just... made me mad? I dunno. Weird. Anyways, continue." You said, with a small shrug.

"This would be a wonderful time for me to tell you that I love you. I'd also really like to fuck you too. But, first..." your husband said, kneeling down as fingering the handle of the scalpel, "What are you doing back here?"

"Go to hell!" Viserys shouted at Ramsay.

Ramsay turned to you and gave you a look.

You looked around, picking up a cross shaped insturment, "What's this?"

"I believe they call it a trocar? Very sharp. Not sure of its exact use. I'm a banker, baby doll. Not a surgeon." Ramsay said, pulling a stool up and sitting in front of Viserys, who watched you through wide eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" He whimpered.

"I told you, my wife hates your hair. And if something offends her it's my job to make sure it's taken care of. Like any good husband would do. Now, tell me, how many know you are here?" Ramsay said, watching Viserys closely.

"A lot. I'm rebuilding my father's empire!" He said through clenched teeth.

"Liar." Ramsay laughed, pulling the blade from Viserys' leg.

Viserys cried out in pain again. Ramsay sighed, and pulled his cigarettes from his pocket.

"Do you smoke?" He asked, lighting his cigarette and taking a long, deep drag. "Who am I kidding? Of course you do. Look at those track marks. Do they call you the Beggar King because you spend all your money on top dollar shit? Hope you don't mind menthols. Something about menthols lately. Ya know?" He held out a cigarette to Viserys, who gave Ramsay a very cold look.

"Are you going to take it or not?" Ramsay said patiently.

You snorted, setting the tool you were holding down and picking up what looked like a pair of scissors crossed with pruning shears.

Ramsay glanced over at you and motioned you over. Once close enough, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into his lap.

"These are fun for cutting off fingers." He chuckled, taking the cutters for you. "Or, cutting flower stems. Whatever."

"You're a sick bastard. Let me go!" Viserys demanded.

You stared at Viserys. For a man about to die, he was putting on a very brave act.

"How close can I get to cutting your pinky off without you pissing yourself?" Ramsay asked, handing you your weapon back.

"What do you want?!" Viserys screamed, struggling against his restraints again.

"For you to answer my questions." Ramsay replied, nudging you to stand up. He grabbed your hand and led you behind Viserys to his bound hands.

"Will you let me go?" Viserys asked, trying to shift in his seat to see behind him.

"Uh... sure." Ramsay said kindly, clapping the man on the shoulder who jerked and gave a whimper.

You glanced up at Ramsay who shrugged and rolled his eyes.

"Oh! Before I forget." He dug in his pockets and pulled out headphones and held them out to you. "I prefer to listen to music. Drowns out the annoying begging and screaming until they pass out."

You took the headphones, remembering you left your phone in the Jeep. Ramsay pulled out his phone and handed it to you before he resumed his seat in front of Viserys.

You put the headphones in your ears, plugged them into the phone. You hit shuffle, slidding the phone in your bra, letting out a loud laugh. Thriller.

You drew a breath, hands shaking as you knelt down to Viserys' bound hands. He tried to fight you, but Ramsay decked him in the face.

You swallowed, gripping the cutters tight in one hand, and grabbed one of Viserys' fingers in your other hand.

You clenched your jaw, bringing the cutters to the skin. You closed your eyes tight, swallowed hard, and held your breath.

Flower stems. You told yourself as you clamped down on the cutters as hard as you could.

You felt the breaking of bone and heard the screaming, despite the headphones. Your stomach flipped. You dropped your hands and everything in them, standing quickly, back turned from Ramsay and victim as you willed the need to vomit to go away.

You tried to master your trembling hands and swallowed hard again.

You weren't sure how long you stood there. A deadly war of pleasure and disgust raging inside of you at what you had just done.

Finally a tapping on your shoulder brought you back to earth as Ramsay pulled the earphones from your ears.

"You've made a wonderful start, baby girl. I'm done with him. Kill him." He said gently, kissing your cheek and grabbing your hand.

"I... I don't know if I can, Ramsay." You admitted weakly.

"I'll help you if you want." He smiled.

You took a deep breath, looking down at the box blade he held out to you.

You took the handle and heaved a small sigh.

"How are you already done?" You asked, with a tiny sniff.

"You've been lost in la la land for about," he glanced at his watch, "ten minutes."

You gaped, unable to say anything. He took your free hand and led you back to Viserys.

You swallowed down the hot bile in the back of your throat as you looked down at the man. Nose broken and bleeding freely. Mouth busted. The dragon tattoo hacked and mostly gone, the bloodied thin strips of skin in his lap. The blood pouring from his chest. You weren't sure he was conscious. You wouldn't even have known he was alive if the blood didn't shimmer every time his chest rose and fell, weakly.

"Quick slit of the neck would work. Or you could stab him here," Ramsay suggested, pushing on a pounding vein in Viserys' neck with his gloved hand.

You gave a simple nod. Ramsay stepped back, crossing his arms and watching you like a hawk.

"Go on." He breathed, excitedly as you placed the blade to Viserys' neck.

"I..." You began, hand shaking again.

Ramsay gave another kind smile and stood behind you, taking your shaking hand in his. Slowly he pushed your hand into the soft flesh and the blood welled quickly under the pressure to escape, spurting from the deep cut.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, Ramsay dropped your hand. You dropped the box blade, again, fighting the urge to gag or vomit. You stared at the man you had sentenced to death because of a silly game.

You felt slightly numb. You should have been disgusted. You had committed murder. Twice now. And yet... Well you couldn't place it. You were turning into a monster. Just like your husband.

Slowly you turned your gaze to Ramsay who stood there staring at you through hungry eyes.

He crossed the room and slammed the door. He turned back to you, closing the space between you both in a few quick strides. He pulled your mask off, pulled at your gloves, and hastily discarded the apron. He grabbed you, probably harder than he meant in his excitement.

"Baby girl, fuck me." Ramsay panted, going slightly weak in the knees as he kissed you hungrily.

You kissed him back with just as much force, grabbing his waist and pulling him close.

"What does my daddy need?" You asked gently, sliding his jacket off and clawing at his chest.

"Hurt me baby girl. Make me bleed." He whimpered in your mouth.

He dropped to his knees, bunching your dress up, and nipping at your folds and grabbing your ass with both hands.

You tangled your hands in his hair, with a moan, casting around the room. Plenty of things to cause pain, but nowhere other than a dirty table to get fucked on. Maybe the wall could do too.

"Knife.." You finally said, through a choked moan.

Ramsay dug around in his pockets before placing his favorite blade in your hand.

"Up, baby." You said gently. "And get your shirt off."

You watched him tear his shirt away and ran your eyes over him. The fire in his eyes, flushed cheeks, wayward hair, bare chest, rising and falling with each heavy breath, a slight look of discomfort at the restraint off his pants.

You stepped into him, holding the knife tight. With one finger you ran it across a series of scars along his breast.

"Where did these come from?" You asked kissing each one.

"Me. Whenever I needed to feel pain." He said softly, lacing his hand in your hair.

You pulled away slightly, placing the tip of the knife against the deepest scar. You applied pressure and felt Ramsay tremble under you, making a noise in his throat.

"Harder, you fucking bitch." He growled his grip tightening in your hair.

You pressed the blade further until the tip had disappeared into his flesh and blood began to rise quickly. You pulled the knife down and Ramsay made a hissing noise, tipping his head back as his grip tightened on you and moaned.

You pulled the knife away when you were satisfied with the cut and let the knife fall to the ground with a clatter.

Without really thinking, instinct and curiosity took over. You pressed your finger to the top of the cut and ran it along the edges of the skin. His blood was slick, warm, and bright red.

He whimpered, releasing his hand from your hip to grab at the front of his pants.

You smirked, "You better slow down baby, I've only just started."

You gave him an evil look and pressed your tongue to his cut. Tangy and metallic. Warm, and slightly... sweet? Was that the word to use? Eh, what did it matter? It was intoxicating and erotic and so very guilty.

"I can't." He panted, knees going weak again.

"Oh, you can." You whispered wickedly, sliding your hand in his pants, gripping him hard, and running your tongue slowly over his cut skin again.

Was this how he felt when he was the one in control? Because it was powerful. He was at your mercy.

"Baby girl, fuck me. Quit teasing." He growled, canting his hips as you slowly ran your hand along him, fingering his cut with your other hand.

"No." you whispered, shrugging out of your dress, sliding your hand in his pants again as the dress pooled to the floor at your feet.

You ran your bloodied hand across your breasts, tracing over each nipple while Ramsay watched, licking his lips slowly.

You slowly slid you hand down your body to your throbbing pussy. You slid a finger in with a moan.

Ramsay couldn't stop himself. He yanked your hand from his pants, took one of your breasts in his mouth, worrying your nipple aggressively between his teeth, and sliding his fingers into you with yours.

"Baby." You panted.

"Shut your fucking mouth, slut." He panted back, pulling away from your breast, and walking you back into the wall.

"Mm, daddy. Make me a bad girl." You whispered in his ear, before nipping at his ear.

"On your knees." He demanded.

"But it's cold." You protested.

He grabbed at your breast, pinching at your nipple until you shifted uncomfortably.

"I said, on. Your. Knees." He bit.

"I said, it. Is. Cold." You hissed, grabbing his side and digging your nails in.

"I will punish you for your defiance." He panted, trying to pull away from your grip.

"Do it. Spank me. Hurt me. Fuck me bloody." You whispered back, sliding your free hand to your warm wetness and rubbing at your sensitive spot.

"Fuck, when did you become so perfect?" He moaned, picking you up and walking you to the table.

You leaned back on the table, breathing hard, as you watched him push his pants down. You bit your lip, watching his dick throb.

"Hurt me, daddy."

"Scream for me." He panted, grabbing your hips and pulling you to the edge of the table, where he shoved himself into you.

You drew a sharp breath, grabbing at him, as moved in you again.

"Harder." You moaned out, arching your back and pushing your hips into his.

The warmth at your core began to bubble and become hot. You were rapidly coming undone upon each thrust, breath, and touch.

You clawed at his chest, wanting nothing more than to feel his whole weight on you, to wrap your fingers around his neck, and feel him struggle to breath.

As the hard rhythm with him continued, you pushed yourself up. He slid his hand down your back, pulling you in closer to him, and kissed at your neck.

You tipped your head back with a loud moan, sliding your hands up his chest to grip his throat in both hands.

He made a deep noise of pleasure, and thrust harder into you as you applied pressure to his throat.

Feeling his pounding pulse, his staggered breathing, and his difficulty swallowing made you feel so very powerful. You couldn't hold back the high any longer.

It hit you with such force you weren't even sure what to do as you screamed out and fell back into the table.

Suddenly you were overly emotional as the tears welled quickly and slid down your cheeks.

Ramsay fell into you, breathing hard through a throaty, guttural moan, having met his release. He kissed your tears away, placed a gentle kiss to your lips, and pulled away from you, helping you sit back up.

"I love you, Ramsay." You blurted out.

Ramsay looked up from fixing his pants, "I love you too, (y/n). More than you could ever understand."

You stared at him, savoring his gentle words, as you slid off the table to redress.

"What's on your mind, baby girl?" Ramsay asked, helping Matt untie Viserys and move the body.

"Food honestly. I'm fucking starving." You said, swinging your legs off the ledge of the table you sat on.

"Well, what do you want?" He asked, dropping the dead man and standing up straight, leaving Matt to struggle under the deadweight.

"So, this is going to sound really fucking weird, buuuut... I would kill for the crusts off of grilled cheeses. Ya know? Like, it's just... and like lemonade. But the flavored kind because I hate lemonade. Especially the pink kind. Like how is that even possible? Have you ever seen a fucking pink lemon at the supermarket? Exactly. But like raspberry lemonade or some shit. Yeah..." You said, examining your nails.

"And how many crusts exactly would qualify as a meal?" Ramsay asked, crossing his arms and eyeing you closely. As if he thought you mental.

"How many times do I have to tell that I'm not the math genius, you are? But here, lemme put it in a word problem for your geek ass." Matt dropped the dead man and stared at you, as if afraid for you, but Ramsay only tilted his head with a smirk, raising his brows at you. "(Y/n), can eat two whole grilled cheese sandwiches and feel comfortably full. Each sandwich has four side's, and four equal length crusts. If (y/n) wants to only eat the crusts, how many crusts would she need to consume to get the same comfortably full feeling as eating two whole sandwiches?"

There was a tense silence that followed your words as everyone stared at you, wide eyed.

You gave an innocent smile to your husband, as he narrowed his eyes at you.

He clicked his tongue, running his hand through his hair, "does that include a drink contributing to the fullness, or not? If so, how many sips of said drink are typically in the course of the meal? And is this prepregnancy comfortable or...?"

You gaped at him, "Are... are you being fucking serious?"

"Fuck no, I'm not being serious, woman. Though, in my educated opinion, I would assume the crust off of about five sandwiches would float you to that content feeling. Maybe five and a half. We will test my hypothesis," he turned to Matt, Alyn, and Damon, "if these idiots would ever hurry the fuck up, of course."

"Working on it. You don't exactly make it easy to clean up, you know." Alyn muttered, mopping the floor.

"Alyn, quit your bitching you sour grape. Dame, crashing at your place tonight. We have work to do tomorrow." Ramsay said, lacing his hand in yours and helping you from the table, "Kid, bring five grilled cheeses and raspberry lemonade to Damon's. And be quick about it."

Matt only nodded, looking a bit sick as Ramsay led you from the room.

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