If requests are still open, can I ask for Ramsay Bolton fic, where reader stills his closes because she likes how it smells, and Ramsay finds out about it and is law key excited about it, because he’s secretly I love with her, and punishes her in the best (smutsmutsmut) way possible?
You were losing your breath from running through the Dreadfort. Once you found a hidden corner, you stopped and took out your treasure. The cloth was soft, warm, and the smell.
It smelled of the woods at night when the nasty creatures came out with their teeth bearing. It smelled of the hounds eating raw meat. It smelled of Greyjoy blood, dried and wet. It smelled of Ramsay Bolton, heaven simmering in hell.
Your nose buried deep in Ramsay’s bloodied shirt. You had to watch him for a while to steal it from his room. Every day you tended to his room and paid attention to the ties he was there or gone. The Greyjoy kept him extremely busy.
My Type is Homicidal 