Game of Thrones - One Shots/Imagines: Part Two (Completed)

Ramsay Bolton X Stark!Reader - In My Feelings: Requested

A/N - This chapter was requested by user: RogerinasTie. I ended up using the lyrics to 'In My Feelings' by Lana Del Rey to inspire this imagine. I hope you all enjoy it.

When you were a child you had believed that your name and your title would get you far in life. A Stark daughter was destined to marry well and to have power that few other women would ever have the chance to experience. But it seemed that life had other things planned for you. Three failed betrothals to varying levels of nobility. Two dead parents. A well of pain that only pushed you to become stronger; smarter. 

Of course, that strength could only take you so far. You were still a woman, and as such, there were some things that were out of your control. So when Lord Baelish had dragged you back to Winterfell with the intent to marry you to the Bolton boy, you'd had little to no say. You were smart enough to know that he wouldn't treat you well. You were strong enough to know that it wouldn't break you.

So, you'd gone through with the wedding. You'd allowed him to bed you. You'd even held back your tears as he'd curled up beside you in your shared chambers, his arm flung across your stomach, holding you in place. It had never gone this far before. Usually, the betrothal was over long before the wedding actually had the chance to take place. You unshakable strength seemed to fade a little in that moment, and then you'd glanced over at your new husband, who watched you with this sick smile on his lips. It was easy to force the sadness off of your face after that. There was no way that you were going to allow him to see your true emotions; he wasn't deserving of them and you wouldn't allow him to take that last semblance of power from you.

The next morning, he was gone before you woke. You'd stretched out the ache in your limbs and forced your most convincing smile onto your lips before leaving the comfort of your chambers. 

"Wife," Ramsay cried out as you'd made your way into the dining hall, his eyes following you as you moved to take the seat opposite him. "Did you sleep well?"

"I would have slept much better alone," you murmured, your eyes staying locked on his as they flashed from teasing to frustrated and then back again. There was something about the predatory way that he had watched you since you had returned to Winterfell that left you uncomfortable; not that you would ever allow him to know such a thing. 

A smile pulled at his lips as he leant back in his seat, his hands coming to rest on the table in front of him. "You talk in your sleep, you know," he uttered, and your brow furrowed slightly. "Something about your Mother, if I recall correctly. You seemed rather distressed, but I thought it would be better to leave you be." 

"Don't waste my time with your mind games, Ramsay," you started, the words leaving you as a growl. "They won't work on me. This is my home, not yours, and you won't make me uncomfortable here."

He looked a little startled by the bite in your voice, leaving him silent as his eyes roamed over your face. "You think you're tough-" he murmured, shifting forward to lean his elbows on the table as he continued to survey you.

"No," you interrupted, a small smile pulling at the corner of your lips. "I know I'm tough. And people have been more than happy to let me in on exactly what you are."

Ramsay's smile was completely gone from his lips now, replaced by a stern expression that made you want to laugh. Somehow, even when he was angry with you he had this air of a desperate man. Desperate to prove himself to anyone who would listen. Desperate to dominate. Desperate to scare you. 

"You're all talk," you continued, sitting up a little straighter and meeting his eyes with yours. "You can't hurt me. We both know that the people of Winterfell will support me above you without hesitation. It's just a matter of time before they turn on you completely."

He remained silent as he got to his feet, hands balled into tight fists as he watched you. And then it was as if your words registered with him, and he was marching from the room without a word.

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