I jolted awake with a mouthful of dirt and the stink of wet dog in my nose. My head throbbed like I'd been kicked by a mule. Last thing I remembered was scrolling Reddit at 3 a.m., laughing at some dumb Game of Thrones meme. Now I was face-down in a forest, cold mud soaking my shirt, and my hands, fuck, these weren't my hands. Pale, long fingers, knuckles scarred. I pushed up and stared at the body attached to them. Lean, muscled, dressed in black leather and a cloak that smelled like blood and smoke.
A horse snorted behind me. I spun. A big black beast, saddle empty, reins dangling. And there, tied to a tree, was a girl. Maybe sixteen, freckles, red hair matted with leaves. She was naked from the waist down, wrists raw from rope, eyes wide and terrified.
Memory slammed into me like a truck. Ramsay Bolton. I was inside Ramsay fucking Bolton. The psycho from the show. The one who flayed people for fun. And I knew every damn episode by heart.
The girl whimpered. "Please… my lord…"
I stood up slow, legs shaky. My new dick twitched in my pants, hard, heavy, like it had a mind of its own. Ramsay's body was a horny machine. I grinned, couldn't help it. "What's your name, sweetheart?"
"R-Ro… Rose, m'lord."
"Rose. Cute." I stepped closer. The horse watched like it'd seen this before. Probably had. "You know who I am?"
She nodded, tears cutting clean lines through the dirt on her cheeks. "Lord Ramsay."
"That's right." I untied the rope from the tree, yanked her to her feet. She stumbled, bare ass hitting the cold air. My cock throbbed harder. "We're gonna play a game."
I dragged her deeper into the woods, away from the path. My brain was on fire, every scene from the show flashing like a highlight reel. Red Wedding. Purple Wedding. Dragons. Daenerys naked in the fire. Sansa in the godswood. Cersei blowing up the sept. All of it mine to twist.
I shoved Rose against a thick oak. She gasped. "Please, I won't tell..."
"Shut up." I grabbed her throat, not hard, just enough to feel her pulse jump. "You're gonna be my first test. See if this body works like I think it does."
She squirmed. I ripped her dress the rest of the way off. Small tits, pink nipples hard from the cold. I pinched one. She yelped. My dick was a steel rod now, straining against leather. I undid my belt with one hand, kept the other on her neck.
"Spread," I said.
She didn't. I slapped her thigh, sharp, loud. She jumped, legs parting. I shoved two fingers inside her. Dry. Tight. She cried out. I pumped them in and out, rough, watching her face twist. "Gonna get wet for me, Rose. Or it'll hurt more."
I spat on my hand, slicked my cock. It was bigger than my old one. thick, veined, angry. I lined up and thrust. She screamed. I groaned. Holy fuck. Tight as a fist, hot, clenching around me like she was trying to push me out. I didn't care. I fucked her hard, hips slamming, bark scraping her back. Her tears soaked my shoulder.
"Say my name," I growled.
"R-Ramsay..."
"Louder."
"Ramsay!"
I laughed, the sound echoing weird in the trees. This was power. Real power. Not some office job or jerking off to porn. This was flesh and fear and my cock buried in a sobbing girl who'd never say no.
I came fast, flooding her. She shuddered, legs giving out. I held her up by the hips, still inside, catching my breath. My mind raced. Okay. Body works. Lust works. Now the brain.
I pulled out, cum dripping down her thighs. She slid to the ground, curling up. I tucked myself away, wiped my hands on my cloak.
"Get dressed," I said. "You're coming with me."
She blinked through tears. "W-where?"
"Dreadfort. You're mine now."
I tied her hands again, looser this time, and threw her over the horse's saddle. She lay there limp, ass up, dress bunched around her waist. I mounted behind her, one hand on the reins, the other sliding between her legs. Still wet. Good.
The ride back was quiet except for her sniffling. I thought about Roose. The flayed man banner. Theon coming soon. Sansa. All the pussy and power waiting. My dick stirred again just thinking about it.
We hit the Dreadfort gates at dusk. Guards saluted. "Lord Ramsay. Good hunt?"
"Best yet," I said, smirking. I yanked Rose down, shoved her toward a kennel master. "Clean her up. Feed her. She's my new bitch."
The guy grinned, dragged her off. She didn't fight.
I strode inside, boots echoing. Servants scattered. I found a mirror in the hall—pale face, curly black hair, eyes like ice. Ramsay's face. My face now. I looked insane. Perfect.
A voice behind me. "You're late."
Roose Bolton. My "father." Tall, cold, voice like a knife sliding out of silk. I turned slow, heart pounding. Show knowledge: He dies at Ramsay's hand eventually. But not yet. I needed him.
"Hunting ran long," I said. "Bagged a wild one."
He studied me. "You reek of cunt."
I grinned. "Jealous?"
His eyes narrowed. "The North is restless. Starks whispering. Greyjoys sniffing. You'll behave at the feast tomorrow."
"Course, Father." I bowed, mocking. "Wouldn't dream of embarrassing the family."
He left. I exhaled. First hurdle cleared. Now to plant seeds.
That night I fucked Rose again in my chambers. On the bearskin rug. Slow this time, making her beg. She did. By the end she was riding me, tits bouncing, moaning my name like a prayer. I came on her stomach, watched it drip. Marked.
Lying there after, her head on my chest, I stared at the ceiling. Tomorrow the feast. Northern lords. Drunk. Stupid. I'd drop hints, Red Wedding coming, but twisted. Make Roose think I'm his golden boy with a gift for prophecy.
I rolled Rose over, slid into her ass just to hear her scream again. She took it. Good girl.
This world was mine now. Every cunt. Every crown. Every dragon.
I fell asleep smiling, cock still inside her, dreaming of queens on their knees.