Game of Thrones Imagines

Succubus - Ramsay x Reader

The whole of the north had heard the legends about the dark heart of Winterfell, a place deep within the great castle that not even the bravest souls dare to tread; a place where the original and oldest part of the castle had been built over an ancient burial ground by the ancestors of the Starks, and their family founder, Bran the Builder.

Ramsay had found himself more than a little intrigued when he had been told that this dark heart was controlled by a creature that was said to be the spawn of the Lord of the Seven Hells himself; a creature that was so beautiful, that the mere sight of her could bring a man to his knees. The beautiful being would take any man she wished, seduce him, and make him her slave; but the favours of the creature came at a price, and that price could be madness, and even death.

With Winterfell now in the hands of his father, Ramsay desired nothing more than to see if the ancient legends about the evil woman were true; for days he had been searching the passageways and crypts that contained the mortal remains of the Stark kings and lords, but he was yet to find the great door that was said to be bolted and chained to ensure that the creature did not get free, and his frustrations over his failed attempts were getting the better of him.

Ramsay tossed and turned in his sleep, even before he had begun his search for the heart of Winterfell, he had been having dreams, dreams of a woman that would appear in his room, the delicate fingers of the moons rays caressing her body as she removed a great hooded cloak to reveal her naked form underneath; she would wake him gently, her beautiful pale red eyes the first thing he saw as she roused him from his slumber. Then she would take him, her long nails ripping into his flesh, the pain she inflicted arousing him more than he ever thought possible; and the more pain she caused him, the more she punished him, the more he found he never wanted it to stop.

Suddenly he sat bolt upright in his bed, sweat dripping from his brow, as he clung desperately to his soaked sheets; he could swear he could hear a deep sensual voice call his name from somewhere in the great castle, and as much as part of him wanted to believe that he was still asleep, he found that his body had different ideas. Slowly he rose from his bed and grabbing a large candle he made his way through the dark halls of Winterfell, following the sound of the voice that called to him.

Before he knew it, he was deep in the crypts of the great building, wandering through passageways that he had never seen before, the voice getting louder and louder with every tentative step he took. As he slowly moved the candle, hoping that the dim light may help him get his baring's, he realised that a great wooden door seemed to have appeared from nowhere, as if suddenly emerging due to some dark magic, from the surrounding blackness.

The chains and bolts that should have kept the door locked were all broken and shattered, the links of heavy metal strewn across the cold stone floor; hesitantly, Ramsay placed his hand on the wooden ingress, pushing slowly as he stepped into a pitch black room.

Bringing up the candle, he saw that the walls of the room were not made of stone but of the bones of the long dead, their skulls decorating the macabre sides of the great room which seemed to expand into the darkness without end.

As he moved further into the expanse, the flickering light of the candle fell on a great throne made of skulls and spears, atop which sat the figure of a woman, the woman that he had seen in his dreams.

Without warning, her eyes suddenly opened, the bright red orbs glowing in the gloom, a small wicked laugh emanating from the woman as Ramsay stumbled backwards in disbelief.

"Welcome to my humble domain, son of Bolton; I have been waiting for you to find me since you came to this castle." A deep seductive voice said, as Ramsay watched her rise from her throne.

"What are you?" Ramsay asked, wide eyed, as the beauty descended the flight of stairs that stood in front of her grisly seat.

"I am the Queen of the heart of Winterfell; but you may call me (Y/n)." She told him, as she slowly stalked around him, looking him up and down.

"And you are the bastard of the flayed man, the child born of an act of violence." (Y/n) said, as she pressed her chest into Ramsay's back, her lips brushing against his ear, as she snaked her arm around his throat.

"What do you want with me?" Ramsay asked, a subtle wicked smirk crossing his lips as she squeezed his throat just a little tighter.

"You know, there is a certain beauty in tragedy, a certain elegance in pain. There is something in fear that attracts us, entices us to it despite the danger; the exquisite feeling as horror wraps its long icy fingers around your throat, and squeezes ever so slightly. In its own way, fear is addictive, it has its own strange indescribable high that always keeps us coming back for more; that sudden rush of adrenaline that courses through your body as your primal instincts decide whether to flee or fight. The intoxicating arousal as your blood pumps through your veins, and your heart pounds uncontrollably like a wild animal beating at its bony confines. Your reputation attracts me, you draw me to you like a moth to a flame; I need the high that you offer, a high that only you can give me. Give me fear, give me pain, give me your lost black soul Ramsay, and I will give you all of me, I will give you the most intoxicating madness your wicked heart could ever imagine; just say you are mine, and I will give you everything." She hummed softly into his ear, as her hands roamed his body.

"I'm yours." Ramsay groaned, as her hand fell to his manhood, rubbing harshly on his imprisoned arousal.

"Then come with me my pet, and I will show you the glorious truth of real pain." (Y/n) purred, as she took Ramsay by the hand, and led him into the darkness of her domain, the Queen of the dark heart of Winterfell, delighting in her latest victim.