[S6] Ramsay Bolton x Reader | A Trade of Sorts

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Warning: Unless you specify an AR version of Ramsay where he's on a redemption arc or something (in which case fair enough I can make him become somewhat likeable and romantic) it's very unlikely that I'll be writing anything that isn't either a toxic/black ship, an antagonist reader ship or something along those lines because that's just the most suiting for his actual character. With that in mind, this may contain dark -ish undertones, but nothing too bad. Also there are no season 6 spoilers except for the location of Rickon Stark at this time

Winterfell was dim. Though always cold within these walls, at least once upon a time it was brighter, lit by candlelight and warmed by the merry chatter of it's denizens. Now, Jon, Sansa, and yourself amongst the other stark bannermen representatives were sitting around an icy stone table almost squinting to get a good sight on Ramsay 'Bolton', who bore a malicious grin as always. They were lucky he was in a good mood- a perfect opportunity to take out his biggest opponents, and yet he had plans for the future to end them other ways, and a surprise meeting could neither get in the way with that nor change it.

You yourself were a strange addition to the table- most representatives of the Stark's banner-men were wise, aging Male descendants of the house- but as the only heir to your family, [Y/N] of house [L/N], you sat beside Jon Snow- tall, solemn, and ever so slightly scared. You knew as much as anyone at this table how unpredictable Ramsay had turned out to be the last few years, and you had been outraged at the thought of a meeting. And yet, so far, nobody was dead- he appeared to have kept his word.

Finally, Jon decided he would make the first move. "Lord Bolton. We've come here peacefully, to try and arrange some sort of compromise."

"Yes, you said that in your letter."

Jon fiddled with his hands on the table. He wasn't helping the impression of nerve he was giving off.

"Lord Bolton- I doubt you would have accepted us here, of fair exchange, without being open to bargaining. So please. Whatever it takes to get my brother back, consider it done."

The vicious grin on that man's face grew ever wider, and his icy gaze flew over the ever-depleting Stark bannermen. When your eyes met with his, it felt as though his own irises were willing the winter to enter through yours- you were frozen in fear, and some carnal fascination. The smallest chuckle rip through you like a saw, but you stood your ground, all but fluttering your eyes.

After the lingering moment, he turned back to Jon with a more serious expression, "We have economic support from the capital. We have soldiers, plenty more than your own... we have bannermen who, if I remember, once stood under your own banner and choose now to follow a different house. So. What can you offer me, that I don't already have?" He responded, cocking his head slightly to the side.

Jon was lost for words. Though he could heartily debate the worth of Ramsay's men compared to his own northern soldiers, he couldn't deny that it looked as though he were at a loss. You, on the other hand, were fuming at the man's attitude, and it began to show in your expression- your jaw locked in place, and you hadn't moved the daggers in your brooding blue/black amber/poison green eyes away from the fiend- Ramsay noticed, and tittered with mischief. Finally, he couldn't ignore you any longer, and turned his attention to you,

"Cat got your tongue, or are you just trying to be polite?" He prodded, and you slammed your hands down onto the table as you stood. You weren't so much angry at him as you were at Jon's weak attitude to the situation,

"You may have all those things but you're not fooling anyone. You offered us here for a reason, and since we aren't dead yet, that reason is still pending. So quit it with the word games- with all due respect, Lord Bolton, and spit out what you want."

You seemed to have stunned him into silence. His smug attitude was wiped clean and he was left with wide eyes and arched brows for a moment. Cute. Letting out a chuckle that onto furthered his taken aback attitude, he clapped his hands slowly,

"You would be correct, Lady L/N." Hearing him of all people utter your name made you feel sick with some emotion, "I'm getting bored of my current hostage, he isn't the best prize in the boat and I can't really have that much fun with him as I could with someone else. Which is exactly what I'm looking for. You want little Rickon back?" He turned to face Jon now, back to business- but you knew you were on his mind, and he knew that too- "Then give me someone else. Yourself, if you fancy it." He offered, crossing his arms. His flitted from you and back to Jon as he waited for a response, but the silence was thick. In the silence, his gaze jumped to you more frequently- until finally he added in another offer, before Jon could speak out,

"Or her. She seems quite fun." Your lip twitched and you had to hold yourself back from lunging across the table at him. It made you even more pissed off knowing how much he enjoyed your rash outbursts, "And I'm sure she could offer a lot more to me long term than the youngest, and farthest from first in line to the Stark legacy. He'll probably die in winter anyway." He explained coldly.

Jon turned to you with a desperate look on his face, and once more you were nagged with irritation towards the man- and yet you understood his predicament, and you'd want to do the same for your family. If only Jon knew that displaying such weakness could easily be his downfall.

You nod, and hear little of the exchange between Jon and Ramsay as your gut lurches and your body goes numb. When you return to your senses, it is at the touch of an ice cold hand, and the sight of the last stark ambassadors leaving the room. You turn to face it's owner, and he is right before you, impish, mischievous features eyeing you with some interest.

"A feisty one... and a respected Lady- I think I'll have fun teaching you to heel." He taunted. You are frozen, as though his proximity itself has caused ice to creep into your lungs and keep you in place. He leans closer, and you comprehend what he is about to do. You lean forward into a kiss with him, your lips matching in their toughness and pace- and you take the distracting opportunity to grip him round the neck and slam him to the table you had not long been sitting around with more than just yourself. Of course, guards were quick to drag you off of him, but you got a few moments of your own back on him, before you were dragged away to some holding quarters. Your eyes never left him, and his yours-

You'd wipe that smile off his face some time soon, you were sure if it, and kiss him goodnight forever.

That's what you thought, anyway, with your resilience still not broken.

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