A/N: This is far from what I usually write which is Gendry/Arya, but I did this as a Father's Day present to my friend, Dylan, who's a big Theon/Ramsay stan. SURPRISE! Forgive me for making it a modern au because I suck at writing in the ASoIaF setting. But I hope you like it. :D
His seven year-old eyes watched him carefully.
He seldom sees his father, but when he does, he ends up dreading the thought of spending the rest of the day with him. He was not one to speak much, but when words come out of his mouth they send chills up and down his spine. They were always calm but cold. Like they were enough to send him scurrying back to his room and spend the rest of the week in hiding.
"What are you staring at?" Roose Bolton said without looking at his son. He took a sip of his hot coffee and turned the page of the newspaper he was reading. "I told you to grab your toys and put them back in your room where they belong. I don't want to find anything lying around or I'll make you sit outside in this goddamn weather."
Ramsay looked out the window and shivered at the thought of sitting outside where the temperature might be in the negatives. As quickly and as quietly as possible, he grabbed the rest of his toys and walked back into his room. He didn't exactly hate being here at his father's house, but it wasn't a pleasant experience either. His father was always either too busy or too uncaring to spend time with him. But since Ramsay only sees him every other weekend, he tries his best to be a good son and do as he was asked to do.
With a sigh, Ramsay put his toys away and crawled straight into bed. He prayed the nightmares wouldn't come tonight. But who was he kidding? They came every night anyway, making him feel even more alone and scared because he had no one else who would comfort him back to sleep.
"Are you deaf, mute or just plain stupid?"
Ramsay looked up at the big, beefy kid staring down at him. This kid had been bullying him since the day he first stepped into this school. He never bothered to find out what his name was; he never felt the need, actually. He just knew this was the biggest twelve year-old he's seen in his entire life and he never ceased to make Ramsay stop remembering that.
Mutton Chop, at least that's what Ramsay calls him in his head, held his hand, palm-out. "Lunch money. Now."
"I don't have it," he replied weakly.
The kid's eyes narrowed angrily. "Give me your lunch money, or I'll bash your head onto that rock behind you!"
Ramsay resisted the urge to turn and check the rock sitting behind him on the dusty ground. Instead, his ghost grey eyes stared straight into Mutton Chop's as long as he could without flinching. "I don't have lunch money. I bring food, not money."
Mutton Chop huffed in annoyance. "You're stupid. Stupid and piss poor."
Without another word, he kicked Ramsay and kept kicking him until he passed out.
"Hey, Ramsay. Your father's walking right this way."
Ramsay looked at his friend, Dylan, before turning around to see his father walking towards them. Roose's face was calm and collected, but he knew how pissed he might be at finding him smoking out here with his friend at half past one in the morning.
"Shit," he muttered as he dropped his half-used cigarette and discreetly stepped on it. He looked back at his father and saw his cold eyes follow his every movement. Nothing ever goes past Roose Bolton; not failing grades, skipping classes, and especially not discarded half-used cigarettes.
"Get inside the house," Roose said, his voice hard and unwavering. Ramsay wasn't fooled, though. Because he knew that despite his calm demeanor, his father had a temper that even Ramsay wouldn't dream of igniting.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Dylan," Ramsay said quietly before taking his leave; with Roose trailing behind quietly. Dylan couldn't even reply, what with Roose's cold eyes staring him from head to toe, so he simply raised his hand towards Ramsay in acknowledgement.
"I thought I told you to be home before midnight. Or have you deliberately forgotten that?" Roose said as they walked inside the house. It was dark and dank; never warm and welcoming. Like my father, Ramsay thought, but of course he'd never voice that out.
"I didn't do it on purpose, Dad. I just…" Ramsay replied in an equally clipped manner. "…just lost track of time, okay?"
His father gave him a glare that sent goosebumps across his arms and nape. "Get in your room, and don't come out until I tell you to."
Ramsay felt his chest tighten. His jaw tensed; he tried to bite back an angry retort, counting from one to ten until he felt a sense of calm.
He reached fifteen but he was angrier than ever.
It was coming…the words were about to burst out of his mouth and this time, he lost control of his anger.
"Who the hell do you think you are, telling me what to do? I'm not twelve years old, Dad! I'm seventeen! You can't rule my life like you did until I was twelve!"
Roose's jaw tensed. "Who the fuck am I? I'm your father, whether you like it or not, just like you're my son whether I like it or not."
Ramsay took a step back at the words. Whether he liked it or not? What the fuck did that even mean?
"Go to your room and don't come out until I tell you it's okay to come out."
"Fuck you!" Ramsay said before angrily walking out of the room. He slammed the door as hard as he could, then fell onto the bed and placed a pillow over his head. "Fuck everything in this house!"
The nightmares came again that night.
"What are you doing?"
Ramsay sighed deeply and ran his fingers through his hair. "What the fuck do you think I'm doing? I'm not about to braid your hair, bitch."
His mouth went back to sucking and biting along the length of her slender neck and up her earlobe, licking them a bit to soothe the teeth marks. He felt Ysabel squirm and push him away, which only made Ramsay angrier by the minute.
"Did you just call me a bitch?" she said, her temper rising a little. Ramsay watched as she tried to pull her skirt down as best she could, but he had better things to do with those long legs and firm thighs than see them covered again.
"I did, bitch. Now shut up and take your dress off or I'll do it for you and you won't like it one bit."
Ysabel watched his eyes carefully and realized he was telling the truth. "You sick bastard. I'm going home."
She tried getting out of bed but Ramsay was faster than her. She found herself underneath him; both her hands held by only one of his, while his other hand crept under her skirt and spanned her left thigh. She squirmed and demanded that he release her, but it only kept his grip tighter, making it hurt even more. She knew bruises would mar her porcelain skin by tomorrow, and she was already thinking about how she would cover them up before anyone noticed. Again.
He wasn't like this when they started dating. But lately, she noticed, he's becoming more and more moody, overprotective and jealous. She tried calling it quits but he only managed to make her take him back with sweet words and sweeter gestures.
All lies and deceit.
"Ramsay, please," she sobbed, because he managed to rip her dress open single-handedly. She was utterly frightened now. During the times they've had sex, it was never forceful or angry. It seems she was about to get a taste of how brutal Ramsay can be.
The only thing Ysabel could remember before it ended was how she cried and begged him to stop. His laughter and labored breaths kept ringing in her ears, and she doubt she would ever get over it.
Ramsay pulled out immediately after he came, and she laid there limply. Tears fell down her face as she watched him put his clothes back on. Grabbing a pack of cigarettes and his lighter, he walked towards the door before turning back to look at her. "Don't you ever call me bastard because that's what happens to girls who call me a bastard. Now get dressed and get out of here. And if you say one word about this to anyone, I will fucking flay you with my father's knife, do you understand me?"
He slammed the door on his way out.
Ramsay watched him like a hawk would his prey. He's seen him walk in campus with his foster brothers and sisters. He was from some island who came to live with his foster family up North. It would explain how he looked different from the famous Stark look. Ah, he thought, the famous Starks of Winterfell. Ramsay knew each Stark by name and face, but he's never had a chance to talk to any of them. Even that bastard Jon looked very much like their father, Ned. But this guy…this foreigner…piqued his interest the most.
It's been over a month since news of his girlfriend's disappearance finally died out. Ysabel was last seen with her new boyfriend as they were about to leave the cinema. When she was finally pronounced missing and then dead, he cried like he'd never cried before. He cried because he did love her. He cried because she left him for some loser who worked in the kitchen of the local diner. And he cried because no one realized he cried while he stabbed her to death after he raped her again and again.
Oh, and he cried too when Ysabel's new boyfriend tried to hit the back of his head with a lug wrench found in his car. He cried because it was extremely and thoroughly satisfying to stab him multiple times before chopping a few fingers here and there.
But today seemed like a good day for Ramsay because realized he didn't need a girlfriend to play with.
He may have found a new best friend.
Ramsay stood from his seat at the diner and deliberately walked into this guy as he stood there reading the menu board.
"Sorry! I'm so sorry!" Ramsay repeated over and over as he held his hand out to help the guy. His deliberate bump threw the guy off balance and he ended up with his ass on the floor.
The guy looked up at him with wary eyes, but he took Ramsay's outstretched hand. "It's okay, man," the guy said.
"I'm such a clumsy piece of shit," Ramsay said with a laugh, and he was glad the guy laughed too.
"It's okay. There's no damage done except my bruised ass!"
Ah. He has a sense of humor too. Play time will be so much fun.
"I'm Ramsay Bolton, by the way," he said as he held his hand out again for a shake.
The guy took it in a firm handshake. "Theon Greyjoy."
Ramsay smiled brightly as he finally pulled his hand away. "Are you with anyone right now? I mean, your brothers and sisters?"
Theon's forehead creased. "No, they're not around. I just wanted to get a sausage for brunch so here I am," he ended with a small laugh.
Ramsay gave a soft laugh in response. And he likes sausages too! What are the odds that my new playmate likes sausages? "In that case, let me buy your lunch as an apology for getting your ass bruised."
Theon declined several times, but Ramsay was hard to say no to. His eyes were a startling grey…ghost grey, he thinks, because they seem to be cold but hauntingly beautiful. "Well, alright. But I'm buying you beer the next time we hang out again."
Ramsay's eyes widened. "Ah! Ice cold beer and I are best friends and now you're my new best friend!"
Theon laughed and said, "Then you'll be seeing more of me, then!"
Ramsay grinned as he watched Theon turn around to study the menu board again.
You bet your sweet ass you'll be seeing more of me, Theon Greyjoy.