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Thramsay Request Fills

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Reek's shoulder is still soft in his mouth. Ramsay's teeth sink satisfyingly into the remaining muscle, his servant's head nuzzled gently into his chest. His hair is brittle and thin, pulled tight by Ramsay's thick hands.

Reek looks at him, eyes wide, barely able to stutter his thanks. His father is taking his Reek tomorrow, but he'll be marked now. Reek belongs to him, and he belongs to Reek.

Reek's eyes well up, knowing he'll be leaving his master. Ramsay strokes him more gently for a moment, whispering encouragements into his neck. His lordfather may have cleaned him, but he can still smell his Reek underneath the perfumes.

The tears come down Reek's face, wetting Ramsay's bare neck and chest. A warm pulse flutters beneath his skin as Reek continues to sob, his jaw pulling tighter until he can taste blood.

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Reek knelt at Ramsay’s feet, his head hung low in shame. His thin hair covered his eyes, his shoulders and back littered with cuts and bruises. He panted heavily as tears rolled down his face, body heaving and shaking.

Ramsay swallowed hard at the display of raw vulnerability. He needed this. Every ragged breath that sputtered from Reek’s lungs, was like one into his own body.

It almost hurt knowing Reek was finally all his.

"Please," croaked Reek. "Please. It’s not true."

His ruined hands fluttered into fists, his fists hanging at his side. He was even paler all over now, almost a sickly color even. Ramsay knelt down to Reek’s level and placed his hands on his head, cradling him softly.

"Oh it is Reek. Robb Stark is dead," he whispered, Reek’s trembling lips almost close enough to kiss.

Reek’s lips brushed teasingly against his own and everything ached. He pushed Reek down to the floor, kneeling over his skinny body. He leaned into Reek’s ear, nibbling and sucking at his ear lobes.
"My father drove a dagger straight through his heart."

Ramsay felt himself start to stiffen, and when he spoke next his voice was low and breathy.

"They say he didn’t even get to scream."

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Ben Bones brought the collar that earlier night. The leather was dark brown with hints of red, almost the ruddy color of dried blood. It would be a beautiful contrast to Reek’s pale skin.

Reek now knelt before him, plopped between Ramsay’s legs as he sat on the edge of his bed. Reek rested a skinny hand on Ramsay’s right thigh. The contact felt electric. He rested his head on Ramsay’s other leg, thick fingers stroking his head.

Ramsay tapped him lightly and he straightened himself out.

"You’ll make such a good dog," sighed Ramsay. "And I know how much you want to be good."

Reek nodded.

"I want to serve and obey you. Now and always."

Ramsay smiled and placed the collar around his Reek’s neck. It fit him perfectly, as he knew it would. His sweet foolish Reek.

Ramsay pet him softly, drawing is head back to Ramsay’s inner thigh. Holding the collar in one hand, he presented his finger’s to Reek’s cracked and bloodied lips.

Reek took his first two finger’s up the knuckles, his mouth warm and wet.

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Jeyne holds the knife ineptly. She doesn’t want to do this, she doesn’t want to hurt Theon. Ramsay is standing behind her with his arms crossed, his own blade still held in his hands.

If she could just… No. Lord Ramsay is a sweet husband. He’s just trying to make her a Bolton, trying to teach her to shed her Stark skin. It’s because he loves her.

And even if… Even if she did stab him, she would not escape. His father. His father would find her, and he would see to her having a Bolton inside her as he had so frequently threatened.

Theon’s back was pressed against the wall of her bedroom, and his eyes were wide with fear and his skinny body (they had both grown so thin) shook.

"Go on now, dove," Ramsay urged, his voice soft and smooth, no hint of the threats she was smart enough to expect. Jeyne’s hand tremored as she brought the blade to the skin of Theon’s throat. Her thighs still ached from where Ramsay had beaten her when she couldn’t bring herself to do the same to Theon.

As the blood trickled from Theon’s neck Ramsay smiled. She felt the weight of him against her own body and when she drew the blade down slowly, his hands curled affectionately around her waist.

"That’s my sweet wife."

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He likes the way the raised scars feel the best, they're smooth beneath his finger tips. Reek whines when he cups the jagged ones beneath his legs. The mass of pink swollen tissue and ragged lines is soft when he kisses it, and when he laps his tongue across the skin he can feel every crevice and bump his work has left.

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Reek's mouth is softer with less teeth. His tongue flicks quickly back and forth when Ramsay bids him. He's finally admitted how much he likes, always greedy to swallow and eager to prove his love. Cracked lips move up his thigh and settle at his hip. Reek's hair is stringy and thin in his fingers. It's better without his teeth. Much better.

Reek can go faster. Less scratchy when his head bobs up and down. Slick and wet along the underside. Faster still. Faster.

When he pulls back, even after Reek swallows, there's still seed dripping from his lips.

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This isn't how things were supposed to go. The arrow is too high, too far up Reek's thigh, too perfectly placed. He's bleeding too much. It's all too much. Reek, his Reek, is bleeding too much.

Reek is on his back, squirming in pain with wide eyes. Normally, he'd be so sweet like this, writhing like good prey ought to. But the blood-- the blood puring out from underneath Ramsay's hand is too much. He's turned Reek's rags into a bandage, but it's not helping.

It's all that fucking dead whore's fault. The bitch hit him with a stone in the head, and he thought it was fine. At least he'd fucked and flayed her plenty hard. Once this was over, he'd hack her to bits. No worse. She took his Reek. He'd fuck her corpse and see that everyone one of his boys did before he fed her to his dogs.

Reek is breathing harder now and his eyes are rolling back in his head.

"My lord-- master... please," he mutters, his head beginning to fall back.

Ramsay tugs Reek's head up. His hair is thin and his body is next to nothing in his arms. He needs Reek. His father needs Reek. He's going to have to tell his father about this. His father can't know. But his father, his father will find out anyway even if he doesn't say it, someone will. He can say it was the girl perhaps. Maybe Grunt. Grunt won't be able to say otherwise and when his head comes off no one will dare argue.

He can't disappoint his father with this. With no Reek and no name of his own he would be nothing at all.

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Reek knelt at the side of Ramsay's bed. His mouth still tasted of Jeyne. It was metallic and his tongue felt coated with viscous fluid no matter how much he swallowed. Theon Greyjoy would have bragged of this to Jon, teasing him for being a maid and going on about the proper way to rouse a woman. But he was Reek.

It rhymed with weak.

His knees were tired from kneeling, but he did not envy Jeyne's position on the bed. He pitied her even. He knew the feel of Ramsay's weight atop him, and the way his nails dig into the flesh of his neck.

Ramsay's eyes were wide open and  his jaw hung slightly open where as Jeyne's were screwed shut. She was breathing hard, both from the exertion of taking Ramsay's thrusts  and one of his hands clenching around the front of her throat.

Ramsay's lips twitched up into a grin as she whined out, her thin body trembling. She would likely bruise.

"Look how much she likes it, Reek.... You must be jealous of her," he rasped, turning his head to look over. The motion rippled through his neck.

"Very, m'lord," Reek mumbled.

Jeyne sobbed as Ramsay continued to pump inside her. His eyes were entirely on Reek though. Ramsay hungrily surveyed him stopping at the scar between his legs.

"It must be sad for you... That you can never give me sons..."

Reek struggled for words, unsure of what to answer.

"But you're married, m'lord.... Any sons I gave you would...."

Reek stopped mid sentence, realizing where he was headed. Ramsay wouldn't like that. Not that word.

Ramsay's jaw clenched and Jeyne gasped as his hold tightened. She was suffering in his place. Jeyne who had been sweet and pretty.

"H-husband...." she choked out.

"Quiet, sweet wife," Ramsay sighed, his words pressing through his teeth. "Reek needs to finish his thoughts."

"They'd be half-beast, m'lord... As I'm your dog..."

Ramsay rolled his eyes.

"You're right. They'd probably be still born.... Only my sweet Arya can bear me Boltons," he said. Ramsay drew his hand from her throat and stroked her face.

"Listen to how she moans when I spill in her, Reek," he ordered.

"Of course, m'lord...."

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Ramsay had let him drink water finally. He had done it his way of course. He'd shoved a funnel almost halfway down his throat till he gagged. He'd half choked himself to death as it happened.

"Such a greedy, pet," Ramsay snarled, watching him sputter.

He'd thought the funnel had been his punishment for asking. It was something worse.

Ramsay had stripped him down, and his pale eyes were glued to the scar between his legs.

"Do you piss like a girl now, Reek?" he hissed. It felt different than it did before. He still felt swollen and uncomfortable between his legs, but the ache of his car was added on top of it. He hated the way Ramsay's eyes added to the pain. It made the sensation spread down his leg and heighten the sense of pulse in his severed toes.

"...I'm not even a girl, m'lord. Your Reek isn't even a worm," he mumbled, knotting his remaining hands.

Ramsay's thumb digged into the soft spot just above his pubis. The pain of it was sharp and he felt a warm trickle down his leg.

"Disgusting," Ramsay hummed, his face lighting into a smile.

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Ramsay thumbed softly over Theon's nipple as he lay bare chested on the recliner of the parlor. Ramsay technically wasn't certified to pierce him. The shop technically wasn't Roose's yet either, but Tywin Lannister said the paperwork was coming.

The soft touch made a twinge run from his rib cage down to his belly, and came followed by a shiver. Eddard had kept the shop cold. It was still cold. Ramsay smiled down at hm as he idly waved the piercing gun in the air.

"It'll sting a bit, you know," Ramsay hummed, his tongue visibly pressing up against the back of his teeth.

Theon tried to grab the side of the recliner. His mangled fingers couldn't quite grip it. Ramsay hovered over him. His breath was sour and sweet. It tickled his face. His heart was pounding. If it got infected Ramsay would probably just cut the flesh off. He imagined Ramsay tugging the sensitive flesh as it healed. Everything after this would be far worse.

Theon whined as the needle pushed through his nipple, Ramsay's face lighting up.

"Come now, Reek. That's just the first one."

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"I ought to even you out, Reek," Ramsay observed running his blade down the arch of Reek's foot. Reek's foot twitched reflexively, his thin calve trembling. His feet were mottled with blood and dirt and the scars Ramsay had left were crusting. He was almost perfect.

His nails had turned yellow and dirt collected underneath them. The cuticles of what toes remained had torn and grown ragged. Just a few more cuts and he'd be just right. His lord's well made pet.

Ramsay drove the point of his blade into the still fleshy point below Theon's big toe. Perhaps he ought to thin it out. Reek nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, m'lord. If it pleases you.... Whatever pleases you...."

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Reek tried not to chew on his finger tips. It was a nasty habit. His lord had said so. It was very hard not to with how nervous he was though. Ramsay had said he would leech him today. He had bad blood. He was an unclean creature. He sat undressed for his collar at the edge of Ramsay's bed. It was soft and warm feeling at least, but the leeches looked cold and slimy. They wriggled in a wooden bowl besides his bed.

Ramsay sat next to hm, his broad arm coiled around Reek's waist.

"You're blood's bad. It needs to be leeched," he repeated. He sounded less enthusiastic than usual, but there was still a smile on his face.

"Yes, m'lord," Reek mumbled.

"Yes, father," Ramsay corrected, squeezing his waist.

Reek clenched his teeth, unsure what to do. He was to always address his lord properly, no? Would it be alright to call him this?

"I'm sorry... Father...." Reek tried.

"You should be. Your blood makes you disgraceful," Ramsay sneered, removing his hand from around Reek's waist. He unceremoniously pushed him back. "Perhaps it can still be helped though."

Theon laid back. He tried focusing on the bed. It was comfortable, so much nicer than stone. Even if the leeches hurt it'd be soft and comfortable. Such a giving lord he had. No. A giving father.

"You've a whore's nature. Always wanting to dress in silks, and jewelry," Ramsay sighed, plucking one of the leeches from the bedside. "You ought to thank me for this."

The first leech clamped onto the vulnerable flesh below his ribs. It only hurt a bit before tingling numbness overtook him.

"Thank you, father."

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Reek had become as accustomed as he could to Ramsay entering him rather unprepared. He could still feel his body tearing and rejecting his probing fingers but he knew what kind of pain to expect. It was almost strange that his fingers were slick this time. It made taking it initially easier, but Ramsay still fingered him too fast and too deep, not bothering with the careful time to stretch him.

Theon let out a half choking noise that turned into a guttural groin as he rocked back and forth on his hands and knees.

"There now, pet. I knew you'd come to enjoy it," Ramsay whispered, sounding self  satisfied.

"Y-y-yes," Theon stuttered out. Each time Ramsay rammed past a more sensitive spot it made the words catch in his throat.

"You'd like to take more of me wouldn't you, Reek?" he asked.

"Of course."

Reek sighed with relief as Ramsay slowed for a moment. He could hear an odd squirting noise and Ramsay's thick other hand began to rub a cool liquid between the cleft of Reek's ass.

"I bet you love getting all slicked up for me don't you? You probably wish you could wet yourself just like my wife," Ramsay cooed, beginning to work the rest of his four fingers inside Reek. It burned, and despite the added lubrication he could feel himself tearing again.

"If I was like her I could give your heirs," Reek answered. His lord liked to entertain the idea of wedding and bedding him as a bride, at least if only to mock him.

Ramsay's four fingers suddenly pushed deep inside him and Reek yelped. He winced his eyes shut. If he remembered his name it would be easier to endure. It rhymed with squeak. It rhymed with weak.

He felt wet and full. How Ramsay liked him.

When his thumb joined the other fingers he sunk forward, unable to support himself. Ramsay's hand balled into a tight fist and began to rock back and forth inside him. This hurt like no other time with him ever had.

"My wife's never had this. You should feel special, Reek," he growled.

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Theon is still out cold by the time they return to Winterfell. Eddard’s Starks chambers seem the obvious place for the two of them two stay, as Ramsay is now the rightful Lord of Winterfell.

Stripped of his armor, Theon is much easier to carry and plopping him along Ramsay’s new bed is an effortless task. Eddard clearly had the same Northern sense of sparseness as Ramsay’s father, but there are clear touches of his wife’s presence, handmade septagrams and corn husk children dotting the room. Ramsay burns them. Eddard’s letters may contain something important, but the useless trinkets of some Southron have no place in his hold.

Winterfell is warmer than anywhere he’s ever been. He and his mother barely kept from freezing, and the Dreadfort was a place of odd drafts. Tossing his cloak across his new desk, Ramsay actually feels comfortable.

Seeing Theon slumped amongst the luxurious furs fills him with pride. The two of them will have far more fun in the confines of the Dreadfort, but there’s no reason he can’t explore his new prize here.

Just to be certain Ramsay had ordered milk of the poppy. He’s seen his father and Maester Uthor dose an unconscious man and it seemed easy enough. He sits down next to Theon and coaxes the liquid down his throat, squeezing and rubbing his bare throat. He can’t wait to choke him.

Theon is soft and pretty for an iron born. He won’t stay pretty for long though.