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crowkingwrites · 6 years

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Happy Birthday, Babygirl

Pairing: Ramsay Bolton x Reader

Fic Request: I have a birthday soon and I wondered whether you could write something with Ramsay Bolton (preferably school!AU with smut because I freaking loved Halloween one-shot) making fem!reader a b-day gift? Thank you xx

Summary: Ramsay makes plans out something for your birthday. He makes you a gift, and it leads into very naughty things.

Words: 2254

Read on Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12655065

Author’s Note: this work is related to a previous one-shot. (Dreadfort) You don’t have to read it to understand it, but if you wanna there it is.

Wednesday Afternoon. 3pm. West High School. Your Locker.

You opened your locker door to collect your things to go home. You put two textbooks and three notebooks into your bag and zipped it up. Then, your locker closed before you. You looked at a cut-up hand which was connected to an arm with a sharpie-written note on it that said ‘babygirl was here’.

“Hi you,” you smiled at Ramsay. Ramsay smiled back and kissed you passionately.

“I hate that we only have one class together,” he said. “I miss you all morning, and then I only see you for history and then you’re gone again.” He grabbed your hand and both of you walked out together towards his used car.

“It could be worse, we could have zero classes together,” you noted. He nodded and stared off in the distance. “What’s wrong?”

You looked in the same direction to see your ex-boyfriend glaring at the two of you. His hands were in his pockets and his two friends were trying to smoke and old cigarette they had found. Ramsay’s eyes never left his.

“Hey, we’re together now, remember?” you nudged him. “You don’t need to worry about him anymore.”

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” you watched Ramsay play with his switchblade. “He acts like I’m the villain here. Like I took you away from him.”

“Well, you did threaten to cut his throat open if he didn’t do as you said.”

“He cheated on you.”

“You smeared your own blood on his face.”

“He fucking deserved it, the fucking cunt,” Ramsay opened his passenger side door and let you in. He went over to the other side and turned on the car. “Let’s not talk about him anymore. Let’s talk about how someone’s birthday is in two days.” He smiled and rubbed your knee.

“I told you that we don’t have to make a big deal out of this.”

“And I told you that I’m not a very good listener,” Ramsay’s smirk cut into your stomach. Even after the haunted house and the first date, he still gave you butterflies. “I’m planning something.”

“No, please no parties,” you told him concerned. He shook his head.

“It’s not a party. Besides, I hate everyone except you. I don’t do parties. This is something for just you and me, alright?” You nodded your head.

“So, what are we doing then?”

Ramsay hummed. “It’s a surprise. All I need you to do is be ready at 6pm on Friday. I’ll pick you up then.”

“What? Well, that’s not fair,” you scoffed. Ramsay’s car pulled up to your house.

“Babygirl, when did I ever say I was fair?” Ramsay teased as he kissed your cheek goodbye. You left still playfully scowling at him. Ramsay had been so sweet to you ever since you two had started going out. You knew his reputation at school, and you knew where he got those cuts and bruises.

He wasn’t the friendliest person at school, but he wasn’t the ‘lone wolf school shooter’ either. He was better than that. He wouldn’t waste a single breath on anyone there, but for some reason he was always breathless around you.

After your first date with him, he told you that he loved you. When he first kissed you at school, people started rumors about the two of you. Your ex spat out how he tapped that first, and Ramsay could get sloppy seconds. Ramsay then punched his nose and keyed his car. He was intense, vicious, and somewhat off, but you felt the same.

You logged onto your laptop to do homework, but you ended up searching Ramsay’s Facebook, twitter, etc. for any hints of what he could be planning.

Friday Evening. 5:55pm. Your House. Front Door.

You looked at yourself in the mirror. You wore an oversized sweater with a miniskirt and tights with brand new shoes that your aunt had bought you.

You took several selfies because dammit you felt cute and it needed to be documented until you heard three loud knocks at the door. Before you could get to it, your father opened the door.

“Mr. Bolton,” he greeted Ramsay.

“Evening, sir,” Ramsay smirked. “And how are you this evening?”

“Fine,” your father wasn’t the biggest fan of the Boltons, particularly Roose and Ramsay. Roose had been one of the most successful lawyers on the northern side of the city. However, Roose bribed and lied his way to get there. Ramsay…well, Ramsay was self-explanatory.

“Good, I’ve come to fetch your daughter for the evening,” Ramsay attempted to look at you until your father blocked the way.

“Dad!” you called out to him.

“Listen here, boy,” your father invaded Ramsay’s space. Ramsay still smiled at him. You knew he was probably thinking of different ways to maim your father. “That’s my girl. Respect her. Take good care of her. Understand?”

“I understand,” Ramsay smiled. Next thing you knew, Ramsay tied a blindfold on you and took away your phone. He drove down and up streets. Lefts, rights, and you could have sworn at least one illegal u-turn.

“Where are we going?” you asked him.

“Somewhere.”

“Somewhere? Somewhere is not a place.”

“Somewhere over the rainbow is place,” Ramsay pointed out. You could hear him smirking and you wanted to punch his arm. You felt the car slow down and come to a stop. “Wait here.”

Ramsay came around the car, opened the door, and took your hand. He guided you out of the car and towards to wherever he took you. You didn’t smell anything out of the ordinary, but you did feel concrete underneath your shoes.

You heard a clinking of keys, and then a door creaking open. Your shoes heard hardwood floor and the air felt cold, but you were definitely inside somewhere. Ramsay kept leading you forward until you heard another door open and you felt more cold air.

“We’re here,” he told you. He carefully took off your blindfold and you opened your eyes and gasped. Plants were overgrown from their pots and planters. Vines stretched to the glass ceiling. None of the glass was broken, but it was weathered and old. String lights were hung strategically throughout the greenhouse. In the center of it all was an old mattress with blankets a pillows tossed onto it.

You walked towards the set-up. “An abandoned greenhouse?”

“Sort of,” Ramsay shrugged and smiled. “I’ve been keeping my eye on this place for a while. I know you didn’t want a party, so I thought it would be nice to be somewhere alone together.”

“You set this all up for me?”

Ramsay nodded his head, and set down his bag. He took out a small box. It was narrow and thin. “And I did this.”

You took the small box and opened it. Pink tissue paper and something smelling of roses greeted you. As soon as you unwrapped it, you took it out. It was your own switchblade. The handle was a light pink and the silver was polished. You pressed the button and it revealed the blade. It was sharp and you could see your reflection in the side. You flipped it over to other side to see the word ‘BabyGirl’ engraved into it.

“I know it’s not a conventional gift for a girl, but I put a lot of work into it. I really wanted you to have just like mine, and I—

Your lips met Ramsay’s which caught him by shock. Your arms wrapped around his neck and into his hair. Ramsay’s body went back on the mattress letting you take control. Ramsay kissed you back with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. One hand went immediately to your chest, the other went around your neck. He held on tight.

Your mouth moved against his, and your tongue went into his mouth. You were surprised by how much control he was letting you have. After all the times he defended you, where he dominated, or where he sassed or teased you, Ramsay let you do as you pleased.

Ramsay’s fingers trailed along the edges of your oversized sweater. He pulled it over your head, and you continued to kiss him, barely allowing him to breathe. His hands went down to your skirt. Tugging and pulling at it. He wanted you to take it off, but you had a better idea.

You took the switchblade and pointed it to his neck. The blade barely touched his throat. You straddled him. “Baby girl,” he growled. “You plan to use that on me?”

“Unless you take your shirt off than yes, I plan to,” you teased him. Ramsay moved up, forcing you to get off of him. He slipped off his shirt. His toned abs had a few cuts on them. You stood up. Ramsay’s hands went under your skirt and two of his fingers rested on your opening. You put the blade on his throat again. “Did I say it was okay to touch there?”

“No, you didn’t,” Ramsay smirked. “You gonna punish me for that?” You felt tension building up. You wanted to pierce his flesh so badly, but you also wanted him to disobey you. Ramsay was impatient, and his two finger inserted inside of you. He petted the walls of your vagina, and a wetness started to drip through your underwear.

You kissed Ramsay again, and started to unzip his pants. They fell to the ground, and his bulge was showing. He was clearly enjoying this. Your hand ran over it, feeling how big he was. Ramsay’s fingers left your panties and went into his mouth.

“Oh no,” he moaned. “You taste good.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked him.

“That means I’m afraid I’m going to have to disrespect daddy’s little girl,” Ramsay started to rip at your skirt. The fabric tore stitch by stitch.

“You want to do bad things to me?”

“God, fuck yes I do,” Ramsay’s mouth salivated at the thought of you. You held out the blade to him.

“Take your clothes off,” you threatened. Ramsay took off the rest of his clothes. His hands ready to grab you. You placed the blade at the side of his head. The tip pierced the flesh below his ear. You saw red drip down his neck.

“Let me have you,” he told you. His blue eyes piercing you. “Let me at it.”

You hummed, smirking. “I don’t know if you’re worthy of me.” You laughed in his face. Ramsay’s blade came at your throat faster than you anticipated. His smirk grew, but you kept a straight face.

“Don’t tease me, babygirl,” Ramsay said as his blade ripped open your tights giving him access to your panties. “Give me what I want.”

His blade touched you down there. Your blade touched his throat. It appeared you both were at an impasse. Ramsay’s eyes widened when your blade pressed into his skin.

“I’ll give you what you want when you give me what I want. It’s my birthday, not yours,” you put him in his place.

“Tell me,” he immediately said. Your eyes pointed down, and he went to work. Ramsay took off the remnants of your skirt and tore your tights open more. He stretched your panties away from your skin, and his blade cut that open too.

His tongue played with your clit first, circling around it. His tongue then explored your folds. He sucked and bit you earning him moans and squeals from you. Ramsay’s mouth then licked you back and forth creating more wetness from you. You were dripping, some of it went down your legs.

He pushed you down on the mattress. Ramsay’s body towered over you and before you could say anything, he put his blade at your throat and his dick inside of you.

“Ramsay!” you screamed and then giggled. He felt good. Ramsay thrusted inside of you using one hand on you to keep you still. You felt how hard he was. He moved within you so hard. There was nothing gentle or sweet about him anymore. He threw his blade away and pulled your hair, earning him more name calling from you. “Ugh, fuck me harder.”

“With pleasure,” he responded by increasing his speed. Ramsay bent over you more. You bit his ear, increasing pain to the torn flesh more. He groaned and fucked you harder. You felt your release coming. It bubbled up inside of you.

You thought of your fluids dripping on your legs. You thought of Ramsay filling your hole and fucking it over and over. Ramsay pulled your hair more and groaned into your ar. “Cum for me, birthday girl. Fucking do it, cum for me.”

You felt yourself unwind and your eyes roll back. Your legs shook, and waves of pleasure went over your whole body. Feeling your release, Ramsay pulled out and released himself all over you. Your stomach covered in his cum. Ramsay collapsed next to you and both of you tried to catch your breath. The blood below Ramsay’s ear was drying. Your sweat-covered bodies felt the cold air again.

“Happy birthday,’ Ramsay said in between gasps for air. You turned to him and kissed his cut.

“Thank you,” you told him.

“Did you like your present?” he asked.

“Which one?” you giggled. Ramsay caught on and laughed with you. You turned your body to his and kissed him gently on his jawline. Your bodies entangled on the mattress in the greenhouse.

#happy birthday babygirl #ramsay bolton #ramsay snow #ramsay x reader #ramsay bolton x reader #ramsay bolton imagine #ramsay snow imagine #one shot #fic request #smut

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letsbejoyfools · 5 years

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2. You’re not the only one who always has his way.

Up until the seventh year of his life, Logan wanted to be a pilot. If the endless collection of toy planes scattered all over the floor of his bedroom (much to his mother's dismay) wasn't speaking for itself, then the multiple times the harmless boy found himself in the schoolmaster's office for throwing paper planes around the classroom, were pretty self-explanatory.

Logan was a sky lover, eyes shining as he secretly contemplated the stars at nighttime when he was supposed to be asleep, and smiling from ear to ear at the sound of every single plane flying across the sky. The blue immensity no longer held any secrets for him. The number of books he kept religiously in his room were proof of that. Passed down from his grandfather, they all held more than scientific answers for the little boy: he also felt connected to the only respectable man in his life.

More than a passion, it was his escape when he could hear his father's voice resonating in the house, followed by the cries of his mother after she'd retreated in her room. Tormented, he would then put his old grandpa's aviator goggles on, the exact pair he carried everywhere with him and tucked under his pillow before going to sleep. The world behind the thick lenses was softer. It was fearless, and preserved from the letdown of a father drowned in too much anger and alcohol to restrain himself from bullying his wife and terrorizing his son.

No physical pain had ever been inflicted, but the crudeness of the words had scarred Adele's heart a little bit deeper after every fight. Until one night, the threat of harming her son passed his lips, the smell of alcohol suffocating her nostrils and skimming over her cheeks from how close to her he was standing. The tears the man had never witnessed couldn't be held anymore. Only one word was throbbing in her head over and over again, matching the speed of her heartbeat. Enough. She knew what she had to do.

That same night, she went into Logan's room, unrecovered from her distress and the two left the chaos of the house where the dangerous man was still throwing dishes against walls in utter enmity. Carrying the only two bags she had managed to pack in the hurry, Adele went to her closest friend's house begging for a place to stay. It only took Everett Newton - an exemplary police officer - a few seconds to welcome the wrecked woman and her 7 years-old kid still tightly clutching his cherished goggles with shaky fingers.

What had originally been a temporary situation, then turned into the first chapter of a whole new story. The house became their home, empathy became genuine affection and the man that had saved and protected them, turned out to be more of a father than his genitor could ever be. Everett became a true model in Logan's eyes. And every time the young boy would see the newborn smile asserting itself on his mother's face, the voice in his mind that had been once whispering to fly, was then shouting to him to follow the same path of his step father. That's when Logan had known, he would become an detective.

***

Now, still standing in the kitchen of his new 'clients', Inspector Edwards knew the key to his dream, was finally in his hands. There was no time to waste enjoying the high he got from his new assigned case - his first own investigation - he had to put his mind in its upmost prolific mode. Mechanically he pulled a tiny notebook out of the inside pocket of his jacket and started working. He first went back to the bedroom as he deemed necessary to observe it once again from the perspective of a murder.

For the second time today, he penetrated the dark room and approached its occupant. Evidently nothing had changed, but this time around Logan allowed himself to open the drawer of the nightstand only to find a few books and some ear plugs. He then looked under the bed after pulling his flashlight out of his pocket, but almost expectingly, he found himself looking at a perfectly swept floor. Back up on his feet, his eyes fell upon the few works of art adorning the white walls. Much like the rest of the house, the couple had opted for a refined and sober decoration style that matched the general uprightness of the place. The variety of paintings showed an undeniable sophisticated artistic taste, the colors remaining soft but strong enough to illuminate the room. Only one frame differed slightly from the others, enclosing a black and white picture of Los Angeles' downtown sunset.

Unimpressed, Inspector Edwards headed slowly towards the small bathroom attached to the master bedroom. Despite its small size, the room was smartly arranged, providing just enough space to fit an impressive Italian shower and a classy counter made of massive white oak holding two unique opaque glass vessel sinks. Once more, Logan found himself frustrated at the lack of personal display. 'They don't give me much to work with' he thought as he registered the two lonely toothbrushes standing in a cup between the bowls and the bottles of shower product neatly aligned on a single shelf inside the shower cubicle. He sighed after opening the drawers of the washstand only to find everything in its legitimate place. The inspector took a moment to scan his reflection in the large mirror hanging above the sinks. Sighing once again, he ran his hands through his hair out of annoyance, a resistant habit of his.

When Inspector Edwards stepped out of the bathroom, he was not alone anymore. Two fairly robust guys were putting their muscly structure to work, carefully removing the defunct body from the bed. They placed her delicately on a stretcher, under Logan's observant eyes. As the two workers were turning the carrying bed towards the living room, his retinas caught on a tiny but crucial detail resting around its owner's finger.

He would have missed the magnificent ring - previously dissimulated by the heavy comforter she was hiding under - if it weren't for the reflection of the light that was coming in from the main room, illuminating the splendid diamond. In a heartbeat Logan sprung to action and came close to the lifeless woman to examine the expensive jewelry she was wearing. A second later, his head flew up and the words hurried out of his mouth, his body already turned towards the kitchen.

"Have you removed the other body yet?"

"Fred and Gary should be working on it, why?" one of the guys inquired.

"I need to see the man's body immediately."

He didn't take in his interlocutors' reactions though. He was already halfway to the kitchen where two similar men were mirroring their colleagues' actions. He raised his voice in a polite but assertive tone, catching their attention.

"Oi! Stop here for a second please." He then stepped next to Ian's corpse and directly grabbed his left hand in order to have a look at his ringless finger. The two transporters were still exchanging a perplexed look when Inspector Edwards addressed them one more time. "I don't know where your superior told you to deliver this two corpses, you have now new directions from the police department to take them to the medical examiner. No questions please," he firmly commanded. "Thank you gentlemen," Logan added from afar. He had already reached his car before the four guys could question his orders. Swiftly pulling out of the curb, he headed quickly towards the police station, much too impatient to pursue his investigation on the murder of Ian Astroff and his fiancée.

Although the inspector felt slightly different with the prospect of his new case, the police station was still the same when he arrived. Most officers were hunched over the screen of their computer, while a few others were stressfully barrel-racing between the printer, the coffee machine and their mess of a desk. Inspector Edwards didn't have time to enjoy the rodeo performance currently taking place in front of him though, he sprinted straight to his small office, calling his best assistant on the way.

By the time Peter Sutton joined him in the room ready to receive his orders, Logan had already pulled up the police report Lieutenant Taylor had sent him on his computer, and started writing down on a side paper his overflowing ideas. Peter knew better than interrupting his friend when he saw the detective was caught in one of his frequent trances. Instead he stood patiently and waited for Logan's hand to slow down on the almost filled piece of paper, sign that it was safe for him to speak up without overwhelming his superior. Edwards wasn't one to snap or yell, but his mood could flip in a second when the hurricane of his thoughts was suddenly interrupted and one of them slipped out of his mind before he could get a grab on it.

"What's up Logan? I heard you're on a new case," Peter said once his boss finally leaned back in his chair.

"You're right Pete, and I want you as my main assistant," he answered.

"You know I'm your guy, what can I do for you?" Pete asked.

"Come sit, I'll fill you in first and then I'll tell you what I need you to do," Logan declared and then made a quick motion towards the seat in front of his desk, as an encouragement for his friend to sit.

"Alright, so we got this call this morning for a gas leak. Two persons died. The guy was found on the kitchen floor and his fiancée was laying in their bed," he stated matter-of-factly before sitting forward, elbows now leaning on the desk and his back no longer resting against the chair. "I'll tell you what I've learned so far. The house is ridiculously clean, I don't know if it was his or her doing though. Decorated with taste but nothing exuberant. Dude was working at a garage in Richmond district. I think he had just come from work, he still had grease on his shirt. She was sick from Sunday's storm, probably passed out for the past two days. Both asphyxiated," he paused before diving into Peter's blue irises and adding, "Clearly on purpose." Then he leaned back once again, and gave his assistant some time for the information to sink in.

"You mean, somebody turned the gas on to kill them and made it look like it was an accident?" Logan was almost smiling at his friend's perspicacity. Pete always understood him quicker than most.

"Precisely" he just confirmed.

"Alright, so what's our first step?" Peter asked with a renewed enthusiasm.

Edwards chuckled, pleased at the officer's matching eagerness. "I want a report on the victims, Ian Astroff and Linda Morris, although you can focus on him first. Search for anything. I wanna know where they worked, who they hung out with, what's their history together." He looked briefly at his notes. "Their bank account, their family...oh and who had access to the house," he finished listing and then took a look at his watch. He read 1:27PM.

"Okay consider it done then," Pete smiled and started walking out of Logan's office.

"I also wanna go back to interview the neighbors later today. Find out as much as you can, I'll come by your desk in an hour or so," the Inspector added quickly before being out of range.

The next 60 minutes want as fast as a snap of the fingers. Peter was so engrossed in his research he barely noticed that the clouds previously sitting heavily above the city, were now releasing an impressive torrent of water on the streets of San Fransisco. Nevertheless, he didn't let any worry of having forgotten his umbrella at home or the fact that the nearest tube station was situated three blocks away, linger too long in his mind. Instead, he kept typing furiously every little information concerning the couple he could possibly find, ready to hit the button 'print' as soon as Logan's tall frame entered his peripheral vision.

True to his word, Edwards joined his assistant a little over an hour after their last exchange, and seemed pleased with the amount of data Sutton was able to come up with. Tilting his head on the side, the inspector encouraged his partner to voice the report he had just assembled. "Okay, well I didn't really find anything out of the ordinary...no criminal record, I know that's what you had in mind," he said looking up from his computer. "Ian Astroff used to live in LA though, moved out eight years ago and bought a garage company in Richmond District. He stayed in the same house the whole time, though he added Linda Morris on the Deed about two years ago. I don't have anymore information about their relationship yet, since they were not married...but you know me, I always have my way, so just give me more time."

Logan simply nodded, pinching his lips together with his fingers - another unconscious tic of his. "Okay, what about the garage company? Was it doing well?"

Peter answered right away, "Apparently so, I mean the guy sure picked a good spot for his business."

"Yeah, fair enough," Edwards complied. "And his fiancée?" he finally inquired.

"She worked at the local school for the last nine years or so. Same thing, no police record."

Logan sighed deeply, looking at his watch one more time. "Alright, good job. Keep looking though, I'm gonna go see if the neighbors have something more to say. You're not the only one that always has his way," he declared before making his way back to his office. He heard a vague 'cheers mate' when he was at the door but didn't pay it further notice. In a few seconds he had gathered his jacket, his police badge and his car keys, before exiting the police station still not ready to put his work to rest for the day.

#detective story #writing #Crime Novel #creative writing #investigation #san francisco

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