I'm a slave to your game,

I'm just a sucker for pain.

~LW

A torpid whirl dipped on her stomach and she scurried off of him when he let out a terrible squall.

Sansa's color evanesced to only gods know where and her fingers quivered at his pain. She watched him wince like a bitch giving birth, except that he was turning pastel with his right hand clutched on his left shoulder, and an arrow buried on the pillow on the side of his head. Blood began to pool around the area and she didn't actually know what to make of it. Ramsay managed to tip his body away quickly the moment she thrust the arrow supposedly on his chest. And its sharpness bit on the flesh of his shoulder, tearing skin and vein off his left scapula and pinning some on the pillow.

She gulped. It would take months before it scars.

Ramsay let out another blood-curdling scream which rang every alarm bell across her body. His face was bathed in sweat and he lay on the side, and there was this frantic breathing like all oxygen had been sucked off the room. He was dying, she rasped pointlessly. He was dying...oh gods. Should I...should I be happy now?

But no. The noise of panic that emanated from him was slowly ebbing and what came out were scarred and rusty bits of...laughter.

Her eyes widened.

Ramsay was still holding on the torn shoulder and his damp bangs lined before his squinting eyes, he let out a cough or two, and while his breathing calmed, his pale lips stretched into a grin. It was a sickening sight that made Sansa frisson with hate, but there evolved a twist in her mind that adored this man. He was smug even with a broken vein; too confident to survive. She heard him groan enough to be heard and he coughed again, and looked at her with his chest beginning to calm.

"Ah...wife..."

His lips split into a weak smirk, "Good morning...too...aaah!" his face contorted whilst lifting himself up higher onto the pillow so she could see him better from where she stood petrified. He sighed coldly and let go of the blooded shoulder, grunting as he pulled the white arm off its sleeve and she took to sight half his lean and rippled body. Ramsay willed to take a handful of the white sheet that was supposed to be a part of the beddings. He brought the fabric tight between the teeth and quickly tore, once, twice, enough to make a bandage, and put pressure on the wound. Sansa was holding on to his every gait, clinging tight to herself while she watched. He never whimpered, nor promised she be fed to his hounds. The only sounds she perceived were low and guttural forces, and something inside her ached to soften his pain. But that was stupid. He never sees her the same, neither felt a hint of pity for her pleas. Let him bleed, let him bleed.

When the sheets were thick and pressured enough on the shoulder, Ramsay laid his head back again. With every blink she could at least see the paleness of him began to fade. Was this how Jeyne saw Ser Beric? The knight was wounded on the melee and blood oozed off him but he rose like a mountain lion to victory. She remembered Jeyne's flushing cheeks, swearing to have gotten pregnant by the mere sights of the knight.

"I see you've...dressed yourself...and gotten me a good breakfast, Sansa..." he spoke in a begrudgingly calm manner, chuckling but immediately grimacing too, "I wonder what lunch...would be..." he turned his head to the side to cough. The arrow dug on the pillow shook tethering with his shoulder and chest. Words have fled her.

"Now..." he breathed out what seemed to be a day's trouble, and wet his lips before swallowing. "What is fucking going on...in that pretty head of yours huh?"

The demand wasn't as menacing as it sounded the previous times he decrees her (mostly about having her take her clothes off and keeping still). She didn't know if it were the weakened structuring of him now, or because she had become dull to his words she didn't care if he'd fling her to the window at that moment.

"You didn't keep your promise," Sansa bleated, her eyes turning dark and snooty. Ramsay stared at her at that like she had just split in two. Slowly he sank on the pillows and turned his gaze away, "Was supposed to, I told you. But Father..."

"I'm going home..." she sliced through. He turned back to her, "Just a few more da— the hell..."

It was Sansa's moment to smirk now, confidence burgeoning like wildfire in her gut. She held the keys in front of him like meat to a leashed and starving dog. "I'm going home now..." she repeated and Ramsay's eyes turned wild as his lips rolled to reveal grinding teeth. When he lifted himself to sit up, he grunted against pain, resolute to the point of tearing himself further to stop her.

Sansa began to move away, her skirts spinning turned him red.

"Come back here,"

She heard him hiss but to no avail. It was not a command he wanted her to shiver at. It was a death threat, and no, she wasn't having that either. And as if to taunt him, she paced quicker towards the door.

"I haven't…had enough sleep, Sansa, ah!" he made a quick leap off the bed, still clutching the poorly bandaged gash, half his shirt hanging off his body. She was already on the door, anticipating still, but careful and wary. Her fingers began to smoothen the latch and a faint grin began to tip her mouth. As if to goad, she even bit her lower lip as the first hinge from the latch squeaked. Ramsay's eyes were wide enough to let her see the storm raging in blue. His glare was enough to thaw the shit-stained castle walls of Moat Cailin. "Sansa…" he growled, enough to send winter to the south, "I'm not asking you again," he pointed a finger at her.

"Come…Back…Here."

But Sansa was a rock. She'd been weeks ago. Who cared when she has become accustomed to such empty words? Her hand finally pulled the latch and would have deftly freed herself but her heart drained blood in split second. A sharp metal sliced lightly through her cheek and rested with a shrill thud on the wood just affront her.

Sansa stared at the arrow which is now firmly planted inches from her face. The impact caused a stinging thumb-length cut on her cheekbone and she touched to wipe the blood that began to faintly leach.

Quickly she turned when the sound of the bow crashed on the carpeted floor, and met a quick-approaching husband who wore the facade of hostility and full-fledged antagonism. Hands grabbed either arms and with a controlled pressure, he banged her lightly against the door to emphasize the insult that coursed through him.

She saw the genuine ire in his cobalt eyes, and swore they almost turned to slits.

"IF I. TELL YOU. TO STAY…STAY!"

The words dripped off him like venom, slowly depleting the equal fury in her mind with every angry whisper. She could imagine him spitting out fire and burning her crisp. Their chests heaved and Sansa realized the vulnerable position she was in. Her eyes fixated on the blotches of red on his feeble shoulder before travelling them to his creased lips, almost lightly colored and coldly fuming. Lips that made her curse her body, folds of lustful pit. Icy lips…she breathed out slowly, poor winter mouth…

And she sucked in her husband's breath like it was the only air left in Westeros.

Gods, Ramsay… she rasped into herself. You taste like hate…and witchcraft.

She felt him inhale rapidly as her lips clamped into his, moistening his dry mouth the way he does to her on nights she detested knocking on her doorstep. And before he could puff out, she let go, only to close on them again. It all reminded her of woodworm though, and bile rose to her throat. She caught a quick moan from his throat which sent her mind swooping with a clash of devastation and...excitement?

He twisted his head to the side, an angle which had his tongue squirm into her mouth and before it went deep, she quickly let go with a heated sigh.

He tried to chase her lips down, and she got the initial reaction she wanted, smiling evilly to herself. Ramsay's mouth were left agape and swollen with foiled lust like she was the last drop of water on his wineskin. But his face, her skin heated, gaping silently at the faint color on his cheeks. He was flushed, he was…blushing…faintly blotched.

It wasn't something anyone can witness in Ramsay Bolton in a lifetime.

When he tried to resume, she quickly resented. "I'll be good…this once."

Ramsay withdrew his face from hers, and she saw a bullet of sweat trickle on his left temple. Sansa, you harlot! She met his blue pools, and repeated the promise. "I'll be good…I won't fight…"

The widening of his eyes sent her to tremors. No, no, no… "But promise you won't touch me again...unless…I tell you to, until I…want you to…" Silly little whore.

"You failed to take me home," her voice straightened before he thinks of plunging her into the bed, "I'm giving you this second chance…to…to make a man off your words. I won't fight…"

She waited for him to think, which she was thankful he was doing it not while tearing the dress off her. Her stomach churned a thick flavour of self-loathing. Who was she kidding with? This is Ramsay Bolton. He would say yes like when he promised he won't hurt her, and without a sunset past he'd already bitten her nipple.

To her slow dismay, the fists that clutched both her wrists loosened and she could free herself if she'd force to. He's…he's refusing…Ramsay's lips straightened, suddenly she felt him cool again. Is she this unconvincing now? Was her beauty not demystifying enough? Though there was a pit in her head that screamed out relief she wouldn't be enduring hours of rape, there was also a small twitch in it that riots at her inability to seduce him, him who is vigorous with a bedwarmer. Was she ugly now? Too skinny?

Suddenly her hand jutted out to his loose palm and placed it to her collarbone, feeling the calluses brush down the hallow tip of her cleavage above an unribboned collar of her nightdress, and pressed on her left breast. She growled at herself with hatred, but tipped her head behind to lift her chest whilst his hand stayed in place. The moan that escaped her throat was scripted, and bitter. "Isn't it sweet?" She saw the Adam's apple on his thickening neck bob up and down. The fingers on her breast began to tighten.

"Didn't you want me…willing…?" Oh gods, stop…stop it, strumpet!

Ramsay breathed out and looked to the side, and she could almost see the twists and turns of the veins in his head, contemplating. Her mind snapped to catch him before her nipple started to harden, and led the same hand on his favourite part of her…down…her navel constricted with irk…down between her slightly parted legs, and she had his quick glance at where his hand gloriously led itself. "Use me, Ramsay…" the bitterness filled her mouth, like she was drinking from a chamber pot, "I'll be good…I won't struggle…who knows," she gulped at the tightened knot on her brain, "…You can now put a child in me..."

The cloth atop her privates crumpled under his hand. The idea of impregnating her always sent father and son into a frenzy. She knew their efforts. She knew from the ill-tasting teas and brews from gods know where, that tasted like roasted cockroach, that the maids were giving her, her constant visitations to the maester; her glee when they'd find out she failed to conceive and—oh… she swallowed: feeling a finger slide across the fabric covering her there. Once it slid, twice, like he was feeling for something. No…no…please no…I take my words back…N—

A gasp escaped off her constricting throat when his lips crushed on hers, wide and hungry, careless like the tongue that began to flick in and fill her mouth. Her chest began to heave as air left her corners, even more when she felt his palms close in either jaw. His tongue dug in as if it would reach her throat, deep…but calmer than the usual. Slowly he released her, and she almost forgot to breathe back. His sighs were still warm and wanting on her mouth. He looked at her lips, kissed it almost tenderly, and up her eyes. She could lose herself in the ocean of his navy stare.

His words heated her, but unlike other times it hadn't heated her with disgust. It was…plain different. The sentence played on her buffering mind, again and again like echoes overlapping each other, "I do…I…I…want you…" he breathed into her lips once more before closing in the space between their faces, "…willing…"

Hands clawed on her sides, stroking her bony curves twice before lifting her hips up and pressing her against the door, forcing her to wrap her legs awkwardly around his hips.

Willing…the word let loose around her chest, controlling her hands to the back of his head as she tried to balance her being lifted from the floor. Willing...she felt him tug her hands off his back and her wrists were pinned on the door like she was about to be crucified. What in seven hells was so arousing with her always pinned down? No answer came though, only the wild, dry kisses on the muscle of her throat. They felt like rose stem against her skin, prickly and rough like an oasis-less desert. When she sensed his mouth nearing her breast, the initial fury urged her to want to push him away suddenly but then she had to keep still. Just one more...she mandated the warrior in her...just another, and then—gods! Her chest tightened with the bite above a nipple, even with the thin cloth draped over it, she felt the sting. Her wrists were let loose, and so were her thighs when his fingers impatiently lifted her hem, threatening to tear it a second it won't come off. She was still pressed between his torso and the door, her legs forcedly wound around his waist, and now his hands were on either sides of her hips as the dress' hem gathered around his wrists.

She had to cling on his shoulders when he pulled her off the door and carried her to the sinful, messed up sheets. She lost count how many nights she cried on that bed which had been witness to her tears and sweat, and blood. And seeing it again sent her eyes filling with the salty fluid. Will this bed witness her getting filled in the belly this time?

Her buttocks landed the mattress, and Ramsay tugged the night dress off her, spilling her hair around the shoulders and concealing bits of her breasts. Nakedness wasn't a stranger to this evil chamber. Even without his command, she laid still now, staring at the cobweb on the ceiling, willing herself to be strong. The mattress below his knees on either sides of her hips bounced and she deciphered him pulling his own shirt and tossing it on the floor. It was as if his shoulder had not bothered him at all, like it had already scarred. Of course, it doesn't bleed now, she thought. His blood is filling in somewhere down between his legs. Disgusting.

She was expecting to hear what she dreaded hearing most of all, something that always came off after he peeled his shirt: the tinkles of his belt buckle clambering on the floor. She waited as her breathing came rapid and her eyes shut tight, letting out a drip of tear. Oh if only the ears could be shut voluntarily like eyes.

Instead there was none, and she opened her eyes to him who was looking down on her too. The face spoke of blurred conscience, the blue pools were sparking with doubt and it was not one she has ever seen before. Sansa saw his gaze feed on her face, to her chest, and there. His bangs were damp scattered between his eyebrows, and to her surprise he lowered himself so as to fill his lips below her navel. Sansa gasped and felt her thigh muscles constrict as his mouth went lower. No...

"Stop..." she whispered. She didn't like this. She didn't like where it was leading to. But he continued on and her pupils dilated. "Stop that..." she lifted herself to give up the challenge before he'd go down further, her elbows supporting her. The view of his crown between her legs made her quiver like hell.

"RAMSAY STO—" Sansa breathed out what seemed to be a fusion of sigh and growl as her head rolled back and her fingers clutched the sheets and it seemed like all energy was sucked out of her...to the mouth that clamped on her warm folds. Oh...her own mouth parted for air and she inhaled and inhaled but nothing went out in return...oh gods...is that a tongue on me? The thought dissipated in her hardly, she couldn't believe it, everything seemed faux she almost wanted to see for herself, for that warm organ slowly sliding upwards to the nub. Once...twice...deep, then shallow. Her eyes filled with hot tears. What else would it be filled with anyway? But these were not tears of pain, nor sadness. It was a suddenly different elation crashing down on her and spreading on her fingertips, making her toes curl.

When her chest began to ache, she let out a sigh that made her eyelids weak. Bastard, what in the realm...before she knew it her shoulders were back on the sheets once more as if they were laid down voluntarily...are you doing? She couldn't believe the small groan that left her throat when a pair of lips closed in on her rose and seemed to pull her out of the room. It moved and twisted in angles that she couldn't explain why it sent her whizzing away, and...wanting to stay longer. Another pressure on her voice box began to swell, and she tried to stop it from releasing but Oh gods...it went out initially as a trembling sigh but when there was the sudden suck on her nub, the sigh became a moan even she was shocked to hear. He's drugged me again...her half-closed eyes tried to pry open but what moved was her lower lip which she bit down as if he'd commanded her so...but he hasn't said a word. There was pain that began to grow deep, like it was coming from her ovaries...gods is that even possible? Am I getting pregnant now? But it was a pain that she began to...welcome? Anticipate? Gods damn you!

Sansa let out a growl instead, heaving her chest up when his hands wrenched her thighs wider and towards her. And there was something syrupy that slid off her spot which she didn't know what was, filling her with shame. Stop it stop it stop it...! She meant to say the words, shaking her head slowly, but when his tongue swirled on that fluid like he was sipping froth from ale, what came out of her throat were gurgles she couldn't comprehend, like a baby babbling. She began to breathe fast, not being able to contain it anymore, especially the stinging on her chest and the throbbing on her nipples like it was about to burst. Milk?...Oh you stupid girl! No...yes. There now...deeper. Ah! Stop it, Sansa! Do not...enjoy this...madne—ooohh. She suddenly surged forward to see what cacophony was happening there and her world came crashing down on her. The ebony top of his head between her legs, with her hand clutched on his hair(she forgot how that hand got there too), was one of the sweetest evil sights she bore. She suddenly felt beautiful again.

Ramsay was being good to her, she couldn't believe it. She prayed whoever filled his shell would be trapped inside him like she wished that head between her legs would be trapped there forever. This was the...best...barbaric feeling that ever reigned on her since time immemorial. And hate began to lush within her, hate for herself when she didn't resist the traitor mouth hungrily fused in hers, pulling out her tongue like it almost ripped off. When she couldn't say no to the hands that roved her body, that squeezed the suppleness of her breasts. When she opened herself for him, digging her nails on his back and throwing her head against to the sheets when he plundered on her hips deeper than the Trident that cuts into Riverrun. She felt him for the first time. She felt every pulse and every throb and every bit of aggravated worship he wanted her to feel. She felt his ache for her, his lust, and confused cruelty. She heard obsession silently screaming in and out of her smoothly.

And she heard herself wanting him too, when Ramsay's forehead was pressed into hers, their sweat mixing thoroughly like dew, and his mouth was sighing on her full lips. There was something building deep within her, like that pain when his lips rammed on her wetness, and it was making her breathing tremble she wanted to climb to heaven and get lost there. And as if he anticipated this to happen she let him see her face crumple and her body writhe in pleasure. I'll be good...her own words burrowed into her as she betrayed herself...I won't fight...

I want you willing...

Now that she did, he will never see it again...

Her private part sopped and she settled for that hot fluid that permeated in. His chest was heaving against hers, his face buried on her neck and for a while she stared at the ceiling whilst her fingers brushed on his moist lower back. Ramsay was well-built, she reckoned, letting the smoothness thrill her. His muscles were perfectly weighed on him like a puzzle piece on their right places. She closed her eyes when her fingertips ran on the moist bandage on his shoulder. He flinched. The pain must have come under him again. The things they do, breaking and healing each other and confining themselves in denial that the other was beautiful...but he made her feel like a goddess worthy of worshipping...for just a few minutes.

Ramsay rolled out of her slowly and she sensed the warm fluid ooze out. He glanced at her for the last time before walking out of the bed. She didn't see him. She doesn't want to and instead continued to lay on the damp sheets whilst hearing him fumble for shirts and buckles. On the corner of her eye she sees him dress himself, slowed by the injury almost, but silent like death. He sat on the edge of the bed and bent away from her to pull in the boots. When all was set and the only thing left was to open the door and go out, Ramsay remained sitting there, and Sansa received the words unspoken.

He stood and walked to the door and she didn't make a sound when the latch opened. He turned to her.

"Get ready. We leave on midday."

She blinked when the door was left with a heavy thud. In a few moments, she heard the horses and carriages being groomed for what seemed like a journey. But the vigor she had on finally abandoning this room and this castle turned to ash. This was it, supposed to be, she was going home. Ramsay is taking her home.

Sansa closed her eyes.

No. She was home just a few breaths ago. She filled the nostalgia of home in him without his knowledge of it. She felt protected, and truly wanted despite the marring that eroded her body, despite her not seeing herself desirable. That was the home she was looking for and not even living for a hundred years in Winterfell could fill in that void.

A/N: Sorry for the delay! Waging war with schedules and time is such a hassle. Will reply to your reviews and PMs as soon as I can. For the meantime, I hope the wait has been filled. Thank you for the support! Keep reviewing.