Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The tedious itching had long-since subsided, and Reek’s facial hair had started to make itself quite prominent as of late. The fuzzy patches along his jawline softened his features, made his hollowed cheeks less noticeable, and even though Reek didn’t want to admit it he recognised someone, a man he shall never speak of, in the reflection of his pail of water. One could easily mistake his appearance for being that of youthful manhood upon a brief glance. But staring long, or close enough would instantly reveal the torn, rough and greasy state he’d been eternally trapped in following his initial imprisonment by the Boltons.

Reek dipped his washcloth down the bucket, soaking the fabric in the freezing water before roughly wringing it out on the cold floor. Reek shuddered as the winter breeze gnawed at his bones. Although he scarcely dared recall any memory from the time before his—Reek’s—
creation, he couldn’t help but remark that he didn’t remember Winterfell being quite this cold. Even when he was first brought to the keep he had always paid acute attention to the excellent heating the hot springs, on which the the castle was built upon, provided. They, however, seemed completely ineffective as of late and made everyone’s, much less Reek’s, existence in the castle miserable. The cold in the castle’s walls was so biting, so searing in it’s intensity that one would be forgiven if the hot spring’s existences were forgotten entirely.

As a measured response to the newly arrived cold, most people were provided with furs, cloths and garments to survive the unliveable conditions by Roose Bolton, but Reek wasn’t most people. Roose Bolton was, in Reek’s perception, a much more merciful man compared to his bastard son. Though, Reek suspected that this assessment might be misguided, for his sleek features were eternally utterly unreadable. Lord Bolton was one of the few people Reek recognised from… before, and he was one of the few people he foolishly respected in this place, for in the small few instances he had received punishment from Roose Bolton, it had been given through his words, instead of hand.

Reek could recognise, even in his tethered state of mind, that his way of seeing people was like that of a beat dog, desperately clinging to the legs of those who harm him the least, but he didn’t care enough about his dignity to mind. It was a comfortable way of living, a safe way of living, a smart way of living.

Reek paused in his scrubbing of the castle floor as he heard the echo of footsteps down the hallway, heading straight his way towards him in the main hall. The sharp, malicious voices of a group of men all too familiar to Reek as they ryquiched off the bare stone walls, and Reek braced himself for the interaction to come.

“Gods, this cold is getting really tedious.” One voice, easily recognisable as Damon Dance-for-me, rang out amongst the group.
“Tell me about it, it’s so cold I can barely get it up!” Sour Alyn.
“The fuck you ‘gettin up’?” Skinner. “No woman has ever gazed upon ya and lived to tell the tale!” He mocked, and Reek shuddered at the sound of his voice, recalling every single strip of skin he, specifically, had taken from him.
“Well, look who we have here!” The last voice, painfully familiar to Reek, rung out into the main hall as Reek reluctantly put the washcloth down over the edge of the pail. He laboured to stand up properly to greet his lord, the last thing he wanted was yet another finger taxed for ‘disrespect’.

“How’s the work coming along, my sweet Reek?” Reek was taken aback by Ramsay’s unusual phrasing, but his confusion didn’t last long for he pieced two and two together rather quickly. This is most likely the start to a new game, a game Reek was sure to lose regardless of how he played. Reek’s gaze lowered as the bastard’s boys approached him from across the hall, any fight leaving his body as they neared. “I-It’s going well, milord…” Reek murmured, daring not to look up at the taunting faces that now surrounded him. Reek was faced with the broad frame of Ramsay, made even broader by the luxurious cape and furs he’s dawned to shoulder the cold. For a split, shameful moment, Reek envied Ramsay, the cold clawing at his thinly clothed frame as he stood, wishing to tear the garments from Ramsay’s person and use them for himself. To watch Ramsay freeze to death would be a lovely sight, Reek reckoned.

“It is?” Ramsay retorted, a wolfish grin on his face as he knocked Reek’s pail over with his steel-toed boot. “Oops, slipped..!” He taunted, the water spilling out on the floor to the roaring amusement of his ever-so-loyal posse. Reek let out an inaudible whine as he watched the mess unfold, happy that none of them seemed to hear him through their mocking laughter.
“Hey, what you waiting for, Reek?” Damon grins, examining Reek with his usual, demeaning glare. Under any other circumstance, he might have dared to internally suggest that the man looked surprisingly handsome in comparison to the other two bastard boys, as he had done on several occasions before, but Reek quickly dismissed the thought to focus on the situation at hand. “Wipe it up!”
All Reek wanted to do was snap back, explain to the dimwit that he simply cannot do that in a reasonable amount of time, that this spill would take ages if all he had to work with was his puny cloth, but he bit his tongue.
“Yeah!” Alyn chipped in. “Or would you rather lay down in it? It’d be the most he’s ever bathed in his lifetime!” Judging by the smell of it, Reek couldn’t help but internally remark that the same would go for Alyn.

Despite the resentment harbouring in his chest, he couldn’t help but buckle under the pressure, opting to shoot one last tortured glance towards Ramsay before getting down on his knees. He set the bucket upright and grabbed the damp washcloth before getting on his hands and knees to start scrubbing, much to the amusement of his surrounding spectators. Reek tried his best to dab up the ever-expanding pool of water, shivering as the freezing cold water seeped into the legs of his pants, but the assortment of boots had him surrounded from all sides, making it hard to reach very far. He knew that requesting one of them to simply move to let him do his job would only spur them on, so he mostly hoped for them to grow tired of his unending obedience and leave him be. They didn’t.

An agonising minute or two after Reek started scrubbing, he felt a foreign limb press agains his backside. Reek looked down through his arms and legs, seeing a boot snaking its way between the inner part of Reek’s thighs, and it’s steel toe was now pressing up against his scarred crotch, lazily rubbing against the sensitive area. Reek shot an upmost shocked and appalled gaze up at the men standing above, seeing that the owner of the boot was none other than Skinner. Reek scrambled to get away, limbs nearly flailing as he rolled over from being on all fours to sitting on the floor, legs spread and arms behind him to support the weight of his body. He shuddered as the icy cold water seeped into the back of his rags, but that was the least of his worries then.

Reek looked up, half expecting and half hoping to hear any of the boys spitting insults at Skinner for his actions. To call him a perverted freak for even daring to make a move of such nature towards another man. But there was nothing. Nothing but four pairs of vicious eyes glaring down at him, one specific pair icier than the very water Reek was sitting in. Reek could connect, in that very moment, that it was his idea. All Ramsay behind Skinners appalling actions. Whatever ideas Ramsay suggested the boys didn’t just comply with, they wanted to do them; Such was the power his master held over his ‘comrades’.

Skinner reapplied his boot, this time directly over Reek’s crotch, made even more accessible by the fact he was foolish enough to find himself seated with his legs spread in his attempt to escape. When Reek tried to flee again, he was answered with the oppressive grasps of both Alyn and Damon, each respectively holding his legs and arms in place. Skinner began moving his boot, and against Reek’s better judgment he instinctively found it to be a rather pleasant touch, if not a bit hard. Reek found the irony of the situation so sweet it nearly brought the tortured man to his wit’s end, for here was Skinner, the man who had been involved in nearly every flaying Reek had ever endured during his capture, giving him the most pleasure he’d felt in a while.

Of course, Reek had experienced pleasure since returning to Winterfell, Ramsay made sure of that, but this was different. While Ramsay delighted himself in Reek’s pain more than anything, Skinner seemed, for a moment, different. Although still cruel in nature, he seemed to derive some sort of strange sadistic enjoyment out of seeing Reek’s abashed gaze watch closely as he rubbed the man’s mound of flesh through his clothes. While the pleasure was nearly getting to his head, Reek was able to snap out of his entranced silence, starting to struggle against the men’s grasps.

Damon, who was holding Reek’s arms behind his back, his legs spread on both sides of Reek’s frame, keeping him secure in his lap, tightened his grip, pulled Reek’s back flush with his chest as he leaned in to whisper in his ear.
“Don’t struggle, you won’t be able to escape anyway.” The comment was mostly taunting, but carried a sense of care, and a shiver of uncertain disposition crawled up Reek’s spine. Reek swallowed hard, his tongue feeling like it expanded tenfold as he sat there, watching his second greatest tormentor massage the sensitive scar between his legs were his cock once was.

Hopeless, it was all just hopeless. All thought of eventually being freed from this hell escaped him. This kind of thing had happened before, and would keep on happening for as long as Reek walked this earth. He had nothing else to hold out for, he was completely and utterly stuck. For just a moment, a slight moment, he let himself slip. Lowering his defences for the first time in months, he let a noise— unlike any noise he had ever heard himself make— leave his throat. It took a mere second for everyone, including Reek, to register the obscene moan, but the group of boys immediately erupted into excited, mocking exclamations. Even Ramsay looked taken aback, never having heard such a sound come from his creature in any of their encounters of similar natures.

Skinner applied more friction with his boot, leaning in to bore his eyes into Reek’s, who quickly diverted his eyes in utter devastation of his own shamelessness.
“You liked that? Huh?” Skinner grinned as Reek let another moan slip, stifling it the best he could as he shut his eyes tight.
“Reek.” He hears Ramsay stern voice immediately upon this. “I want you to watch. Close your eyes again and I’ll sew your eyelids shut.”

Reek obeyed after a split moment of hesitation, opening his eyes to find Ramsay kneeling right by his side, watching him with an insatiable hunger in his eyes. “Please…” Reek began, but immediately upon uttering the words he knew it was for naught. There was no going back, no changing the way this situation was headed. He messed up the moment he woke up and decided to leave the kennels that day.

After a short while Reek’s few moans seized as he grew used to the sensation. It wasn’t long before he heard a groan from behind. “Skinner, you’re shit at this.” Damon complained, and Reek felt the grip around his arms loosen. “Switch with me.” Damon demanded. Skinner nearly protested before shooting a glance towards Ramsay, who gave him a slight nod, thereof approving of Damon’s request. They both switch positions, and Reek had to admit that Skinner’s grip around his arms was excessively stronger than Damon’s, and any kind of wriggle room he might’ve had was gone.

Damon kneeled between Reek’s spread legs and began unlacing Reeks breeches, much to the fanfare of the spectating boys, exposing the reddening, irritated scar to the hall’s chill air. Damon applied his fingers to the area, starting to work him up with impeccable precision, the sensation amplified as there was no cloth in the way anymore. Reek fought his instinct to close his eyes once more as he let a whimper go, his vision blurring momentarily as he adjusted himself to the alien sensation of Damon’s fingers.

It didn’t take long for Reek to come completely undone, devolving into a mess of pathetic moans and whimpers. He hated to admit that he enjoyed it more than he should have, shivers creeping through his whole body as Damon explored his scar with his digits. “What a filthy whore.” Reek didn’t care. “Fucking freak loves it!” He didn’t care anymore. “Look at him!” He just wanted to die, perish. But there was something more, something different in Damon’s gaze. Reek wouldn’t dare to describe it as being anything akin to genuine interest, or affection, but it certainly wasn’t anything near the other boy’s mockery. There was something… warmer.

“What is going on here?” A booming, but monotone voice interrupted the boy’s fun. “I thought I stepped into a whorehouse by the sound of things. Ramsay, explain yourself.”
“Father, I-“ Ramsay began, standing up and whipping around to face Roose.
“You better come up with something good, and something quick, as to explain why you have your little…thing being held down and violated by your men like some common whore.” Roose cut his bastard son off, striding over to Reek, disbanding the group of boys holding him down. Reek swallowed as Roose offered him a hand, a rare sight of human decency being directed his way. Reek took it with his maimed hand and was quickly on his feet again, struggling, but managing to stay upright.
“You have hundreds of tavern wenches at your disposal, so tell me why my son chooses to go after this wet dog like some degenerate!” Roose lectured, his words whipping son as he turned to face his accompanying Bolton men. “You two, bring this thing to my chambers while I take of this… situation.” He commanded, and Reek was promptly ushered away, only hearing the opening snippet of what Roose had in store for his son.

Chapter Text

Roose Bolton’s chamber was airy… open. Little in form of furniture or decoration. Nice breeze. Reek would have appreciated it, liked the pleasant coolness of the air, if it wasn’t for the fact that the whole castle was freezing over, or that his rags were soaked in the water from his pail.

Reek was stationary where Roose’s men had left him, not daring to move around too much in case that would displease Ramsay’s Lord father. An ache had started to pulsate in Reeks arm where one of the guards had been too rough on him, only amplified by the frost starting to grow through his damp clothing. But it was all nothing in comparison to the aching between his legs. What a pain. Just as he gave in, the exact moment he let go of the little remaining dignity he had, Roose had to swoop in and save his skin. If he had entered a little earlier, the bastard’s boys might still have seen him in the same way they did before. Like the pathetic little rat he was. But now they’ve been armed with yet another insult, reinforced by the moaning little vermin he had become under their touches. They’d think him a degenerate now, even though his reaction wasn’t his fault. Or at least Reek liked to think it wasn’t. If he did, he would most likely cave under all the mental pressure building up on him and throw himself from the highest tower in Winterfell. Even still he could feel the urge gnawing at his flesh. It would be a quick way to go.

Tedious, this is all so tedious . Good Reek, loyal Reek, is now going to be filthy Reek, perverted Reek, and he wouldn’t even be able to defend himself if he wanted to keep the few limbs and organs he had left. Shame and resentment towards his position clouded his mind.

A cold breeze blew right through Reek, and he woke from his contemplation, yet again reminded of his precarious circumstances. Reek nearly hoped his wet clothes could lead to him finally catching some disease and perishing, putting his anguish to rest. But for some reason, he was resilient. For some reason his body refused to give in. He had seen men twice his size die to less than he has been put through.

What was taking Roose so long? Reek didn’t dare demand too much of the lord, of course, but he was starting to get impatient. His legs ached terribly from standing in the same position for that prolonged period of time, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be allowed to sit down in a chair near the corner of the room. His clothes had begun going stale in the cold, the freeze searing. Why was he even waiting here in the first place? Of course, he could comprehend why Roose would want to have a word with his son, but what business would he have with Reek?

Additionally, why was he talking to his son for such a long time? Roose had caught them, Ramsay and Reek, on several occasions before, so what did he have to say that he hadn’t already said before? Perhaps he wanted to make an example of Ramsay in front of his men, but one would think such discipline more fit for a little boy, not a fully fledged lord such as Ramsay. It didn’t make sense, yet Reek remained.

Just as Reek was nearing his limit, the door swung open, and Roose stepped in. Alone. Reek had never seen Roose by himself, he was always followed by one or two men, so this was a highly unusual sight for him. Why was he alone? Of course, Reek wouldn’t exactly be able to hurt the lord in any way shape or form, so he didn’t really need guarding when near the creature, but it was strange still.

“Now, Theon.” Reek reacted visibly to the usage of that name as Roose sauntered over to his desk, sitting down as he maintained a watchful eye over Reek. Reek swallowed, not wanting to correct the lord, but also not wanting to stand idly as he was referred to by that poisonous name. “Oh, right, excuse my forgetfulness, Reek. ” Roose corrected himself, his voice tinged with slight resentment. Reek could detect, somewhere in lord Bolton’s eyes, that he didn’t actually forget. That he had used that forsaken name for a reason, and whatever reason that was had apparently been highly successful, for he could immediately make out from whom Ramsay got that venomous, sadistic gleam in his eyes.

Roose redirected his attention to some, assumedly unimportant, document on his table, beginning to scratch away with his feather pen in that all-too-obvious intimidation tactic all great lords used. “I want to apologise on behalf of my son.” A blatant lie. “I truly wish he didn’t treat his playthings with such disrespect.” Another lie. Roose wouldn’t even care if Ramsay had Reek running around winterfell on all fours, barking like a dog, let alone being accosted by his boys. Reek wished he could get on with it and dismiss him already, let him return to his chores or send him back to the kennels. Roose met Reek with a slight glance upwards, queuing him to respond.

“I-it’s fine, my lord.” Reek managed to get out, voice raspy from underuse. He even had himself use the proper way of addressing the lord, as a sign of artificial respect. “R-Ramsay can do with me as he please.” Reek added, desperate to appear true and loyal in front of the lord father, just in case he reported Reeks conduct back to his son.

“That he can.” Roose muttered, returning to his paper. A knock at the door interrupted their brief silence, and with a ‘come in’ from the lord, a servant entered the chamber. She was carrying a pile of cloth, which was promptly put down on a table next to the chair Reek had debated sitting in a few moments prior. She made her way wordlessly to the hearth, immediately and expertly fostering a few flames in the fireplace. The lack of conversation gnawed at Reek’s bones, but he bit his tongue, hoping to solider it out. After she was done poking around the embers, she returned to the pile of cloth, carrying it over to the other two in the room. Without a word she began grabbing at Reek’s wooly shirt, her face scrounging in visible discontent at his odour. She was pretty, Reek remarked, but dared not ruminate on it further than how it made him feel, having someone as fair as her chastise him for his smell.

“A silent type, this one.” Roose remarked out of the blue. “Do you know why that is?” He enquired, and Reek noticed the maid briefly freeze in her actions before continuing to pull at his clothes. Reek desperately wanted to know why she was undressing him, but he didn’t have it in him to ask. With the state his clothes were in, Reek was almost warmer without them.
“No, m-my lord.” Reek responded.

“It was at a feast a few moons ago. A fellow servant spilt wine upon one of my guests, so I had him justly punished. She had the gall to question my authority.” The ink vial clinked as he dipped his quill. The woman began unlacing his breeches, her movements unnaturally steady, as if she was trying her hardest to seem composed. “So I had the gall to cut out her tongue.” Sickening. Reek wanted to shoot an empathetic glance her way, but just as he was about to his breeches were slipped down, and he abstained.

Standing there, exposed, Reek didn’t know what to do. He stood still, awkwardly shivering as he tried not to meet Roose’s examining gaze. The only warmth Reek could feel was from the lit fireplace, and the slight tingling sensation that remained between his legs from the moments prior. After what felt like an eternity, the woman lifted a few garments from the pile of cloth she brought with her. They were dry, thankfully, and the fabric seemed thick and luxurious upon first glance. Although compared to what Reek had before, anything would seem luxurious.

“I had some clothes be brought for you, Reek.” Roose explained. “Seeing as my bastard son soaked yours.” Reek was taken aback by Roose’s sudden generosity, and examined the fabrics.

None of the pieces of clothing were all too elaborate, all dreadfully simplistic in nature. As Reek was dressed, he couldn’t help but remark upon the fabric’s stiffness, but he appreciated the extra layer of warmth they provided him. He was outfitted with an undershirt, knitted doublet and thick, itchy breeches. He was even given a pair of wooly socks, returning weeks of lost sensation to his feet, previously numb with cold. The last piece he was given awakened an emotion, previously thought dead within Reek. Though rough, torn and stained a questionable red in places, the fur tippet was a welcome addition to Reek’s new clothes. When wrapped around his scrawny shoulders, it made his form fuller, and had Reek nearly forgetting the mere concept of cold.

“Th-thank you, my lord…” Reek murmured, feeling the texture of the fur with his remaining fingers.
“My pleasure.” Roose responded shortly. “You, out.” He gestured towards the servant girl, who quickly disappeared out the door with a nod and curtsy. Yet another silence ensued, and Reek’s comfort quickly died in his throat. Why wasn’t he dismissed? What more could Roose possibly want from him? Before he could figure it out on his own, Roose opened his mouth again.

“I take it my son is using you in other ways than just a normal servant. Or lapdog.” Roose put his quill down in the inkwell. “From what I’ve seen, that much is obvious.” He meets Reek’s gaze, sending alarm bells ringing direly in his withered mind. Shame and fear engulfed Reek, keeping him from uttering anything in response. If only Ramsay had been more careful.

“Now, I’ve always been curious as to what my son has managed to carve out of the previous iron prince.” Roose continued, standing up from his desk. As he did, Reek’s gaze was met by an alarming shape in the lord’s breeches, but he tried his best to ignore it, for his own sake. “I don’t particularly give gifts without wanting anything in return.”

Roose rounded the desk, stationing himself right next to Reek, who was standing with his gaze fixed on Roose’s desk to avoid visually acknowledging the lord. Roose, irritated by this, put a hand by the side of Reek’s face, forcing the creature to look him in the eyes. “Reek.” He addressed him. “Show me what my son has taught you.”

The silence was deafening. Reek could swear his new clothes got even warmer as he stood there, computing the request. There was no way Roose told him to do what he thought he told him to do. No way Reek could twist and turn the command made it seem any more pleasant, but Reek was insistent, horrified at the prospect of the request. Did he mean… cleaning his chambers? Or maybe entertaining him? He would happily lay down across the floor and let Roose flay him dead if it meant getting out of this.

“M-milord..” Reek started, forgetting to address him properly. “‘M n-not sure I f-follow…” He hated how pathetically complicit he sounded, but there weren’t many other ways to get his utter perplexion across without disrespecting the dangerously powerful man in front of him.

Roose claw-grabbed Reek’s face, pulling it closer to his. “Get down.” He ordered, pronouncing each word painfully slow. Reek did as he was ordered, reluctantly getting down on his knees in front of the lord, trying his hardest not to look directly upon the confronting shape in his breeches. “Get on with it.” Reek sat still, quite unsure of what to do before he felt a hand nestle at the back of his head, almost warning him of what would happen if he didn’t take initiative. Reek’s mangled fingers began unlacing the lord’s breeches, going impossibly slow as if he was trying to savour the seconds before he’d be violated.

The sight pained him. Roose’s half hard cock hung out revoltingly. Like the sight of a festering carcass, Reek couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from it, wondering exactly he would go about getting it into his mouth. It wasn’t that it was too big, he had taken worse. It was as if every remaining muscle and ligament in his body was actively working against his endeavours to lean forward and do as instructed. He tried grabbing each side of Roose’s hips, hoping to forcefully pull himself towards the cock, but it seemed to have the opposite effect, his arms locking and keeping him put. Reek flinched as Roose let out a groan, the hand at the back of his head beginning to push forward. Reek thanked the gods as this seemed to help, and he was able to take the the tip into his mouth. He instinctively began suckling, the action beat into his head by his previous experiences with Ramsay. Reek leaned forward, taking in more of the manhood as he let his mouth work it up, tongue swirling in all the places that usually derived noise from Ramsay.

Reek let his chest expand, filling his lungs with the chill air as he ignored any primal instinct and let Roose’s full length slide down his throat, coating the cock in his thick saliva. Reek glanced up for a split second, trying to gauge any reaction from the lord, but was met with a pair of cold eyes, watching him, consuming him. The smidge of confidence that Reek had let build within him died in an instant, and he felt his gag reflex, previously ignored, return to him. His throat rejected the lord’s cock, and Reek tried to pull away, only to be stopped by an iron fist grasping the back of his hair, forcefully keeping him in place.
“Keep going.” Roose grumbled as he towered over the creature, his tone threatening, boring into Reek’s very flesh.

The panic clawed at Reek’s chest, as his reflexes did everything in their power to get free of the oppressive length in his mouth. Reek only sensed the tears once they were already streaming down his face, their freezing cold contrasting the burning in his throat. Reek whined, tried to swallow, but only tasted the bile that began festering in his mouth. He knew, however, that he had to keep on going, and Roose’s gradually tightening grasp of his matted hair only reinforced that notion. The lord’s impatience was growing, seeming more annoyed at Reek’s pitiful suffering than anything.

Reek began moving ever so slightly, as much as Roose’s fist and his own reflexes would allow, self-consciously running his tongue around the cock, desperately trying to ignore the taste of cock, bile and blood in his aching mouth. Reek reckoned he wasn’t doing that great a job as he gagged on the lord’s member, his vision fuzzing as he found difficulty breathing, his chest screaming at him for air.
“Is this really all you got?” Roose muttered, pulling tighter at Reek’s hair, revelling in the pained whimper he received. “I’m lost as to why my son insists on keeping you around. I’d derive more pleasure sticking my cock in a stab wound.” He spat, finally letting go of Reek, who promptly pushed away and collapsed backwards on the cold floor. Reek laid there, facing sideways as he coughed and gagged up a revolting mixture of saliva, blood and bile on the chamber floor. Strings of the viscous bodily fluids clung to his lips, dribbling down his chin as he pushed himself up into a seated position, glancing up at the man towering above.

Before Reek had time to register it, a boot had hit him square in the face, a familiar feeling spreading through his face as his nosebone snapped. Reek was knocked down, sprawling onto his back as he gasped, choking on blood as it gushed into his mouth. Both his airways, mouth and nose, were instantly blocked by blood, and he could feel it go down his lungs each desperate time he tried to breathe. Coughing and spitting out a lost tooth, he felt a familiar fist grapple his greasy locks, lifting him up slightly to be dragged over to the hearth by his scalp. Reek’s vision was blurred from the kick, but he could see the dancing shapes of the fire as he was tossed towards it and pushed down on his stomach a dangerously close distance from the flames. If Reek cared, he would have worried a stray ember might’ve set him aflame, but burning alive seemed more merciful a fate to him right now. He longed for the acrid smell of burning hair, but was sorely disappointed as Roose restrained an arm behind his back, an agonising burning spreading through his shoulders as he pulled them up, feeling the ligaments nearing to tear. Reek couldn’t help but sob as he was pressed flat against the floor, snot-infused blood dribbling down his upper lip and intermingling with the blood and stomach fluids in his mouth.

The lord stayed eerily quiet as he used his free hand to slide Reek’s new breeches down, exposing his emaciated ass to the cold air.
“N-no… stop-!” Reek’s pleads went unanswered as Roose pressed his hips flush against Reek’s ass, letting his cock rest on Reek’s back as he reached his fingers towards the creature’s mouth. He forcefully inserted his fingers, coating them in the various fluids. He retracted his arm, diverting his attention to Reek’s ass. He circled Reek’s rim before forcefully prepping him with his own viscous blood, snot and saliva. Reek closed his eyes shut, feeling the heat of the fireplace engulf his face as Roose’s fingers explored his insides.

He seemed careful, nearly curious as he raked along Reek’s walls, looking for something. A low squeak escaped Reek’s mouth as his eyelids flew open in surprise. Whatever Roose was looking for he had found, and he wasted no time as he fingered the area. He worked the man’s sensitive spot, feeling his cock harden painfully as Reek began moaning, throat constricting in desperation as each breath grew even more laborious by the second. Reek nearly lost it before Roose pulled out, smiling internally as Reek let out an unintentional whine in complaint. Roose used Reek’s new doublet to wipe his fingers, and Reek despaired as he felt the man’s pre-cum slicked tip nudge against his entrance, letting out a pitiful whine as he laid there on his stomach, helpless.

Without further warning Roose slammed his cock into the creature, a short, hoarse laugh escaping his throat as Reek choked a low scream. More tears coated Reek’s cheeks as the lord opened healing wounds left by Ramsay, only coating his cock in more blood. Roose didn’t move for a while, adjusting to Reek’s uneven insides. Not letting go of his arm, Roose grabbed Reek by the back of his head, pushing his face into the floor as he slowly began rocking his hips back and forth, the creature’s asshole tightening around his member. The lord groaned in the back of his throat, picking up the pace as he continuously rammed into the man. The pain of Roose’s intrusion was moderate considering Reek’s other experiences, but he still found difficulty finding his voice, his throat squealing in visceral ways as Roose fucked him blind.

Roose shifted his grip of Reek’s frame, restraining both the creature’s arms with one hand as he placed the other on his bony, protruding hip. With this he was able to guide his thrusts, instantly finding the spot that had Reek squealing like a maid before. Reek gasped in surprise, not expecting any sensations of this kind after Roose’s intrusion. It was nevertheless welcome and occasional, sweet gasps, moans and whines began intermingling with Reek’s pained hisses and croaks. Roose ran a hand up Reek’s back, ushering his undershirt and doublet away, ultimately pulling them off to expose Reek’s scarred flesh. He traced the indents, running his thumb by each mark before he leaned over to begin suckling and biting along Reek’s neck, leaving his very own marks that would definitely remain for weeks. Marks that would inevitably be noticed by Ramsay.

Roose’s thrusts grew all the more violent and rough, and the sounds of wet, slapping skin began growing more prominent in the cold chamber. Roose leaned forward, a sly grin on his face as he whispered in Reek’s ear. “I’ve never heard you sound like this with my son, Greyjoy.” Reek moaned in response, his shoulders twitching in apprehension of Roose’s usage of the name, but he couldn’t do much to protest. Roose lapped his tongue along Reek’s nape, tasting the salt on his rough skin before sinking his teeth into the crook of his neck.

“Say it.” Roose whispered venomously in his ear as he slammed mercilessly into Reek. “Say it, Theon. Tell me how good I am compared to that bastard.” Reek’s breath hitched in his throat, moans high pitched as he attempted to say what Roose wanted to hear, but something inside didn’t let him. Reek’s silence was met with Roose’s wrath, and his arm was once again twisted behind his back, painfully pulled and contorted. “Wretched creature, say it!” Roose commanded, which finally made Reek open his mouth.

“Nngh~ y-you’re ss…aah~ s-soh mmuch better thanngh… Ramsay…!” Reek managed to get out, tears and blood pooling by his face as it was once again pressed into the floor. “Good boy…” Roose whispered, his satisfaction of Reek’s compliance showed through his thrusts, growing ever more erratic as he neared the end. With one last, powerful thrust Roose came, his breath quick and heavy as he feel forward, supporting his weight over Reek with his arms. Reek sobbed, robbed of any satisfaction as Roose pulled out, blood and semen oozing out of his puffy entrance. Roose reached for a cloth laying nearby, using it to clean himself before diverting his attention to Reek, wiping away their mixed fluids as to be rid of any obvious evidence of their activities.

Before Reek could get up Roose grabbed him by the nape of his neck, forcefully holding him down once again as he discarded the cloth and reached for the hearth’s poker. He put it into the flames, and Reek watched closely as the metal turned a fiery orange. His chest filled with terror as he instantly knew what it would be used for. “N-no..-“ he began, though he knew his pleading would fall on deaf ears. “Please, no-!” The poker was steadily pressed against Reek’s ass cheek, the searing agony raking his body as he felt the lord burn an ‘X’ into his flesh. Roose tossed the poker away and examined his work, Reek’s burnt skin red and puffing in the shape of his house crest.
Ramsay would be sure to see this.

Chapter Text

Reek laboured to get the kennel door open, knees nearly buckling under his weight. The screeching sound of it’s rusty hinges barely bothered him, all senses numbed by the day’s events.

Roose had merely discarded him, slammed the door in his face with a meek ration of food as compensation. Admittedly, the little care he had received from the lord father— clothes, cleanup and supper— was more than Ramsay had ever given him, but Reek was still shaken. He couldn’t for the life of him figure why, he had gone through way worse during his time with the Boltons. Ramsay had been much crueler, much more visceral in his treatment of Reek, yet he was just as lost for words as the first time the bastard had put a hand on him.

Reek let the kennel gate close behind him, the dogs just as stirred as ever, barking threats at his person as he let himself collapse on the frozen dirt floor. As he huddled in on himself he was met with a strange, foreign sensation, thought lost to time. It frightened him, nearly waking him from the daze that clouded his mind. He was warm.

____

The break of dawn drew Reek out of his slumber, limbs stale and swollen as he struggled to get up. If it were up to him, he would have remained in his kennel, curled up in his corner until someone forced him out, or until dusk sang him to sleep anew. Nevertheless, he knew what was best for him, and cowering in his enclosure was sure to bring even further misfortune upon him. He adjusted his fur tippet, allowing himself to relish in it’s warmth, affording a split second of contentment before locating his rickety broom, endeavouring out into the castle courtyard for his usual morning sweep.

The morning air was biting, but calm, still in the way that only morning air could be. He was up early, like usual, not a soul in sight out to bask in the first rays of sunshine as they bore their way over the walls of winterfell. The sight was nostalgic, tugging at memories of times long past, times in which he might’ve been brought cheer by this tranquility.

Reek lowered his head, devoting himself to his chores. Sweeping frosted leaves and branches into little piles did wonders in keeping his racing mind at bay, and he quickly found his thoughts clouded by focus. He was unsuspectedly jerked out of his trance by a familiar, taunting voice.

“Up bright and early, I see!” Damon sauntered across the yard, hand placed merrily at the hilt of his whip. Reek cringed into himself at the sight of the man, his face being among the last he wanted to be confronted with that morning. Flashes of what happened the day before flickered in his mind, and Reek seriously debated his options for escape.

Damon caught up to Reek, nonchalantly leaning against a bannister as he examined the tethered man. Reek found his gaze revolting, but opted for silence as he pretended to suddenly be really invested in sweeping.
“What’s the matter, Reek? Why so mmmeek~?” Reek wanted to dry heave, to scoff at Damon, who probably found himself exceedingly smart for that wordplay. Reek was, however, aware of his disadvantaged position and simply shrugged, opting to bite his tongue. Damon seemed disgruntled by Reek’s silence, abandoning the bannister to approach the other further.

“Why so quiet, huh?” Never ending questions. If Reek felt like answering him, he wouldn’t have been silent in the first place. Of course, Damon didn’t seem to realise that, or perhaps he did. Maybe he woke today, feeling like picking a fight over something minuscule, and Reek proved an excellent target. Reek backed as Damon approached, wanting anything but to be stood face to face with the man. “Where you going, huh?” Damon kept on persisting, diverting his attention to Reek’s attire. “Where did you get all this? Did you steal them?” He snarled, giving Reek’s shoulder a rough push, causing him to stumble slightly. Reek’s grip around his broom shaft tightened, hoping to use it as a barrier if push came to shove as he figured he’d run out of space to back into shortly.

In that he was quickly proven right, bumping his back into a wooden stable post. He was just about to turn to find an alternate escape route when Damon’s body blocked his path, his shadow towering oppressively over Reek’s frame. Once upon a time, Reek might’ve been able to match the man in stature, but right now he couldn’t help but cower. He feebly held the broom horizontally to block Damon’s intrusion of his personal space, to which was answered with it swiftly being wrestled out of his grasp with little to no effort, Reek’s strength standing to match against Damon’s.

Damon leaned in, hot breath rancid as it brushed Reek’s cheek. “Tell me… aren’t you lonely out here, Reek? All by yourself, nobody to keep you company in the cold…” Reek pressed agains the post, turning his head towards the side as he avoided the question. “Hey, look at me when I speak.” Damon demanded, grasping Reek’s jaw as he forced him to face him. Damon’s deep eyes bore into Reek’s, wordlessly interrogating him, harsh gaze tearing at his defences.

Damon examined Reek, gaze running along the small part of Reek’s neck that wasn’t covered by the tippet before his mouth split into a cocky grin, eyes sporting a devilish gleam. Reek, not having said anything throughout the whole encounter, was quickly given a reason for words as he felt a hand snake down his body, uninvitedly pawing at his frame.
“W-wha-“ Reek stammered, his pathetic attempt at a struggle being answered by Damon shifting his grasp of Reek’s jaw to now encompass the low of his palm pressing down on his throat, pushing Reek’s throat and head hard against the post behind him, but still allowing him to breathe. Reek’s hands endeavoured to pull at the hand, attempting to break free from the light chokehold. When Damon’s other hand began snaking too low for Reek’s liking, his hands were directed there, trying to push his violating touch away. “S-stop-!” He threw out the word, it’s meaning lost to time by this point.

Damon simply applied more pressure to his chokehold, instantly making Reek stop his attempts to stop his touch. Damon leaned in as Reek croaked against his grasp, actually beginning to struggle to breathe. “Shhh…~” He cooed in his ear, a sly side-eye examining the struggling man under him as he reached his crotch, beginning to circle his fingers over the cloth.
“I know you want it…~” Damon taunted, earning a whimper from Reek as he applied more pressure to the area. “I see the way you look at me… there’s a tenderness in your eyes. One you don’t hold for anyone… not even Ramsay.” Reek winced at his words, shame engulfing him as he found it hard to deny him.

“Y-you’re wrong..-“ Reek spat his words, struggling further against Damon’s grasp. He sobbed as he felt a pair of fingers begin to unlace his breeches and the grip around his throat constricted even further.
“Don’t try to lie to me~” Damon taunted as he leaned in further, repulsion spreading through his body as Damon’s chest pressed flush against Reek’s, his their cheeks touching as Damon nose nuzzled into his matted hair. “You loved it yesterday, you loved feeling my fingers on your greasy cunt-“ Damon was just about to snake his cold fingers down Reek’s breeches when a nearby door opened up into the courtyard.

A lone soldier stepped out, assumedly about to embark on his morning duties when he spotted Damon and Reek in the near distance. Damon loosened his grasp of Reek, stepping away slightly as the man approached. Reek took this opportunity to flee, being noticed by Damon right as it was too late to stop his escape. “Alright, what’s all this, then?” Reek was able to slip out of sight just as he heard the beginning of the soldiers interrogating questions.

_____

The clattering commotion was overwhelming, but a welcome refuge for Reek. Bolton men rarely frequented the kitchens, which made a perfect camp for someone, like Reek, looking to avoid being confronted by their mugs. He had learnt that roaming around too much only brought discomfort to the women working there, so he preferred standing in the corner, keeping both his presence and stench contained in one place. That way, none of the women would complain of his being there, and would even outfit him with a chore or two on occasion, so that he could be of some use.

Today the head kitchen maid, a stout woman of middle age, had tasked him with peeling the potatoes for the soldier’s rations, and he was contently working away, hunched on a short stool with a filthy apron tied securely around his waist, discarding the potato peel into a wooden pail. The previous encounter with Damon still gnawed at his conscience, but he was sure he’d be able to evade the man for the rest of the day if he remained here, hidden and unremarkable in the corner.

Every now and again he caught glimpses of the women as they worked. Previously, the mere sight of them would pain him, remind him of what he was lacking, but that initial dread had now subsided, and he couldn’t help but examine closely them as they scurried around. He revelled in seeing their focus, listening in on their conversations, taking part in their relationships with each other as an outside spectator. Their tenderness amazes Reek, their capacity to such compassion towards each other, despite their circumstance. No woman under Bolton rule was truly happy, and he reckoned many of their experiences mirrored his. But they found comfort in each other’s company, escape in their work. Though he knew his place, he longed to be apart of them.

Reek glanced down at the current potato he was working on, his focus momentarily halted. His breathing progressively hastened as he watched himself move the knife, digging under it’s skin, peeling, flaying... he swallowed. His hands trembled as he stopped in his tracks, removing the knife. He felt himself slip, but thankfully caught himself in time and took a deep breath, focusing on the rich smells around him. Grounded himself. The constant worry of encountering Ramsay or his men loomed overhead like a starved hawk, but here he was safe, warm in his new clothes.

Reek was quite suddenly awoken from his reminiscing as he noticed all surrounding conversations dying down, the room suspended in an inexplicable silence apart from some simmering pots and the sound of footsteps.

Reek didn’t have time to look before someone backhanded the vegetable and knife out of his hands. The blade graced his palm as it was shot away, superficially slicing the skin before clattering onto the ground. Reek felt the warm, crimson blood begin to leak out of the gash as he looked up in horror to meet the strained gaze of Ramsay Bolton, icy eyes blistering in rage.

“So it’s true!” Ramsay exclaimed. “My men weren’t lying.” A thousand thoughts swirled his head as he tried to make out exactly what Ramsay could have been aiming at. “M-milord I-I-“ he began, desperately trying to string together a coherent sentence. “I-I don’t know wh-what you’re talking about-!” Ramsay grabbed Reek by the collar of his new clothes, lifting him to his feet.
“Stop lying, you worm.” He spat. “Who gave you those clothes?”

Reek’s chest filled with a twisted sort of relief, thoughts flashing to his previous encounters, happy beyond words that Ramsay seemed ignorant to them for now. Luckily, the fur tippet reached up over Reek’s neck, concealing the bruises left over from the night before, and a slight spark of hope that he might go unpunished for the lord father’s actions lit within him. A slight shake from Ramsay brought Reek back to the moment at hand, and he realised he had to come up with an explanation, and that fast.

“I… uhm… a Bolton… officer gave them to me…” Reek groaned internally at the blatancy of his lie, but it was too late to change his answer now. He felt the grasp around his collar lessen before he was let go, and Ramsay’s venomous, piercing eyes seemed to soften.

“Oh, well then.” He hummed, brushing some dust off of Reek’s apron before placing a hand on his shoulder. “Nevermind. Just came to check up on you, haven’t seen you all day.” Ramsay’s sudden flowery smile unsettled Reek deeply, his unnatural shift in countenance alarming.

“My Reek.” Ramsay hummed, his hand cryptically squeezing Reek’s shoulder one last time before leaving the kitchens. The continued silence of the surrounding women told Reek they were on the same page as him, and he was suddenly painfully aware of his slashed palm.
_____

The sun set on the keep, and Reek had finally dared to scurry out of the kitchens. The day’s events left him too tired to ruminate much on them, longing to sink into his usual corner and rest his aching body. The gate to the kennels was already open when Reek arrived. Although strange at first, he relished in the convenience, less strain for him to try to get it open. Ignoring the barking of Ramsay’s bitches just like he’d done many times before, he stumbled down the dusty hall. Reek reached the end of the array of cells, his body shivering in relief as he was finally about to put the day to an end. His heart sank when he felt something wrap around his throat from behind.

He kicked, flailed and screamed the whole way across the courtyard, being dragged by his hair. The world was a blur, and although familiar, he couldn’t will himself to distinguish the voice of the man who had seized him. He caught glimpses of where he was headed, dread filling his stomach.

It was nearly impossible to get down the stairs as he was dragged by his scalp, tripping over his own feet on several occasions. The walls were covered in ice and frost, melted in the few places torches burnt, luminating the snaking dungeon halls. The steady, echoing drip of water filled his racing mind, singing Reek’s requiem as he was pulled to his doom.

The merciless fist in his hair let go at last, having Reek sprawl forward onto his stomach, a pair familiar of boots greeting his arrival. Instantly, Reek bowed by them, trying his best to appease his master as quickly as possible, hopefully managing to lessen the severity of his punishment.

“Reek.” Ramsay’s commanding voice grabbed his attention. “Stand up.” Reek did as instructed, good Reek, loyal Reek, gaze lowered as he felt the weight of the room push him down. His heart was unbearable, the creature’s whole body beating with it, limbs shaking with each pump of blood. Ramsay reached out, grabbing the man by his hands. An electric shock surged through Reek’s body at the contact, immediate reaction being to pull his hands away, to retreat into a corner and be sick all over himself. Ramsay hadn’t put Reek through anything too heinous yet, but there was no security in that statement. As if Ramsay had predicted Reek’s skittishness, he kept an iron grip of his hands, preventing the man from yanking away.

“I’ve heard some rumours…” Ramsay started, gaze soft. Reek felt his knees weaken, his body beginning to buckle in on himself as the room was reduced to vertigo. Ramsay’s grip remained firm, and Reek depended on it, practically leaning on Ramsay’s steady arms as he laboured to stay upright. He didn’t register it before, but he now concluded that the one who brought him here was Damon.

“I’ve heard that the clothes you’re wearing weren’t actually provided to you by one of my men…” Ramsay continued as he pulled Reek closer, the man uttering choked little whimpers and sobs in response as he tried to remain still. “… but by my father.” Reek swallowed hard, fighting the urge to throw up his stomach contents right then and there. Please, gods. Save me. I promise I’ll be loyal, I promise I’ll serve, if only you’ll spare me.

“Crazy, I know!” Ramsay exclaimed. “My Reek would never lie to me, would he?” Reek swallowed once more, trying to be rid of the dryness festering in his throat, the taste of bile growing evermore persistent.

“N-no… never, milord.” Reek stuttered.

“That’s exactly what I said!” Ramsay laughed. “Even more, these rumours allege that you did something unspeakable to obtain them.”

Ramsay pulled Reek even closer, placing a gentle hand on his trembling cheek, caressing his pet softly before leaning in to whisper in his ear. “They say you fucked him.”

Reek doubled over, sinking to the floor as Ramsay kept the hold of his hands. Trembling and sobbing, Reek realised he was done for, the sounds of his crying filling the spacious chamber. Ramsay loomed over him, smirk menacing as he relayed what would happen next.

“Although, I can’t punish you without proof.” He hummed, discarding the fact that Reek’s reaction must’ve been proof enough. “Innocent until proven guilty. Damon, you said you wanted to testify?” Reek hung helplessly by his hands, eyes blurred with tears and panic as he shifted his head to see Damon approach from behind.

“Of course, my lord.” Damon complied, snickering as he played along with Ramsay’s cruel proceedings. “This morning, I went out for a stroll around the courtyard. That’s when I spotted little old Reek. I went up to talk to him, have a pleasant chat, when I noticed something on his neck. I might’ve been mistaken, but it looked like a bruise to me.”

“Oh, I was so worried!” Damon continued, feigning concern. “What if your precious Reek had been hurt! So I reported right back to you, Ramsay.” Damon crouched behind Reek, who was frantically whipping his head back and forth between the two, overwhelmed by both their presences.

“Look.” Damon hummed and undid the fur tippet, folding it to reveal the marks left by Roose. “There we have them.”

Reek despaired, tears streaming freely down his cheeks as Ramsay finally let go of him, letting him collapse onto the floor. His head hung low, curling in on himself as he cowered beneath the two figures above. He remained for a while, drowning in his own misery before feeling a gentle hand on his head, lovingly caressing his hair. Reek glanced up to see Ramsay playing with his hair, gentle smile beaming down at the lowly creature. “To think my Reek has turned into such a whore.”

Ramsay’s touch turned violent, fingers intertwining with Reek’s brittle hair as he was yet again dragged across the chamber. He was thrown at a bloodied table in the middle of the room, lower half of his body hanging off the edge as his head hit the surface. Ramsay was quick to slam his hand down on Reek’s head, squeezing it against the rough wood.

“Which one was it, huh? Which hand did you use to get him up, you little slut?” Ramsay hissed in his ear, only receiving tears and pleads in response.

“I didn’t-! I-I d-didn’t!” Reek slurred through snot and tears, struggling under Ramsay’s oppressive weight. “P-please, mercy!”

“Ohh but we’re far past that, aren’t we?” Ramsay spat. “You doomed yourself the moment you decided to fuck my damn father.” He yelled, selecting a hand for him. He left Reek’s backside, switching with Damon, and grabbed Reek’s right hand, forcing it into a leather cuff bolted to the table, making sure to strap it impossibly tight. The area surrounding the cuff was pooling with blood, and Reek knew some might’ve been his, dried and seeping into the unpolished wood.

“P-please master, y-you don’t understand!” Reek cried, squirming frantically. “He forced me-!” Damon snaked an arm around Reek’s neck to hold him in place from behind, applying slight pressure on his throat.
“Bullshit.” Ramsay produced his beloved flaying knife, running the tip across Reek’s palm. Reek winced in defeat, biting his jagged cheek as Ramsay began the first incision.

“I bet you loved it.” Ramsay hissed, running his knife down Reek’s middle finger, the deep cut producing frantic cries, pleading for him to stop. Much to Reek’s horror, Ramsay discarded the knife, applying his fingers to the gash, slowly spreading it wide with his bare hands. Reek couldn’t contain it anymore, and emptied his measly stomach contents on the table amidst the pain, room beginning to stink of pure stomach acid and half-digested potatoes. “I bet you moaned my fathers name, begging for more. Begging for him to go deeper.” Ramsay sank his nails into Reek’s finger, who was thrashing violently against Damon’s stiff hold. Reek cried out in agony and desperation, vomit and saliva dribbling down his mouth as skin separated from muscle and bone, his finger being slowly and forcefully flayed by Ramsay’s bare hands.

“Promise me.” Ramsay muttered as he pulled the bone of his finger out, the socket of skin being left hanging from his hand. “Promise you’ll never whore yourself to anyone again.”

Reek shut his eyes tight, dry heaving several times as he tried to find his words. “I-I… I proh… prom-mise…” He quivered and shut his lips tight, chin twitching violently as he sobbed. Ramsay leaned over, face nearly levelled with Reek’s.

“It truly saddens me Reek… that I’ve created such a liar.” He stated before raising his knife once again, promptly chopping the finger off. Reek cried out, but his whimpers and whines slowly died down, relieved of some pain with the finger gone.

Ramsay retreated to a far corner in the chamber, the only thing Reek could hear being Damon’s steady breath right behind his ear, the man’s long, Blonde hair brushing the nape of his neck threateningly. A mechanic rustling broke the silence, and Ramsay proudly displayed his most prized possession as he returned to the table. Reek’s eyes widened in terror as Ramsay cranked the crossbow, string pulled taught. “You seem so intent on sleeping around, presenting your gaping asshole to anyone who’ll have you.” Ramsay taunted, climbing on top of the table before inserting the bolt into the barrel. Reek thrashed direly against Damon who held both his arms securely in place. “Figured I’ll give you what you want.” Ramsay mumbled, tone focused as he loomed above, aiming. “But first, we have to make sure you’ll stay in place…” He fiddled malevolently with the trigger before firing, a mechanical creak splitting the air before the bolt impaled Reek’s newly flayed hand. The bolt accumulated enough force to split through the table, sending splinters everywhere.

Reek trembled, voice giving in on him as he tried to scream. His head reeled, hand feeling like it split in half with the shot. He sobbed, daring to glance at the damage. It felt surreal, in between the pain, to see his hand like this, arrow sticking out and blood gushing from the wound. The crossbow’s loud, clumsy crank pulled Reek from his misery once again as Damon secured his other hand overhead, keeping it still once again as Ramsay aimed anew, his other hand was impaled in the same fashion as the first.

Damon let go of his grip, seeing as Reek couldn’t move any more lest he be stabbed with the pain of arrows twisting in his hands. Reek let his head rest on the table as he wailed voicelessly, anguish tainting his breath as he ground his teeth in pain. He nearly didn’t react when a familiar sensation brushed against his behind. Opening his eyes he saw Damon, once more, leaning over him, knife in hand as he ran it under Reek’s shirt, hastily splitting the fabric with it’s blade.

“You see, Reek. Once I learnt of your treachery, I presented a task to some of my men.” Ramsay explained. “It took a lot of convincing, but Damon here was the only one who reluctantly volunteered. Isn’t that nice, Reek? To have someone actually want to fuck your disgusting whore hole?” Ramsay watched as Damon ruined Reek’s new clothes, ripping the woven threads and letting the garments slip off the creature, leaving his emaciated form exposed to the freezing, dungeon air.

Savouring the moment, Damon ran his hand over Reek’s naked frame, squeezing along his thin waist as he inspected his form with a satisfied grin on his face. Reek simply sobbed once more, shame crawling under his skin as Damon groped him. Damon didn’t seem all that reluctant.

Damon began unlacing his breeches, and Reek could immediately smell Ramsay’s rotten impatience, his poorly concealed discontent over Damon’s glee, the blonde ignorant to the lord’s dislike of his abrasive cockiness. Reek felt Damon’s already hard cock land on his back, slowly sliding down to have the warm tip press against his entrance.

Reek choked a wail as Damon pulled his hips onto his cock, feeling his hands tug at the bolts. Without much preparation, Reek felt his walls begin to tear at his intrusion, bleeding healing wounds anew. The tears flowed freely from Reek’s puffy eyes as Damon began thrusting, coating his cock in Reek’s blood. With each pound he felt his hands shift with the force, feeling small tendons and muscles snap within.

“P-please…” Reek choked out between his wails. “M-my hands…” Damon seemed unbothered by the gory display, panting heavily down Reek’s sweat-slicked neck, blonde locks intermingling with Reek’s greying hair. Damon’s hand roamed down Reek’s hip, brushing his thigh before reaching down, locating the irritated scar. He began circling it, but it didn’t do much to transform Reek’s wailing, the agony too great to be overpowered.

Reek raised his head from the table, looking in horror as he saw the rips that had begun to grow in his hands. The bolts hadn’t gone all the way through yet, but the wounds had certainly grown. Ramsay met him at his own level, bent over the table as his icy blue eyes pierced his soul.

“If only…” He began, tone accusatory. “If only you had stayed loyal to me, Reek.”

With that, Damon thrust one final time, spilling his seed deep into the other man. He made quick work of pulling out and lacing up his breeches. Damon went to sit on an armchair in the corner as Reek laid there on the table, Damon watching with disinterest as Ramsay took his place behind the creature, now reduced to desperate whimpers as he fought to stay lucid.

Ramsay undid and slid his breeches down, releasing his flaccid cock. He held Reek in place by his hip, reaching a free hand to dip it into the blood pooling by Reek’s hands. He spread the crimson fluid over his half-hard cock, beginning to foster an erection with the bloodied hand.

Going slow, painfully slow, Ramsay entered his pet, of which had now fallen nearly silent with defeat, throat simply squealing as Ramsay began rocking.

Reek laid there, vision blurring as his head began to feel like cotton. Every thought he laboured to produce obscured, absorbed into nothingness, only feeling Ramsay’s teeth sink into his flesh in the exact spot his father had done the same the day before. “Promise me.” The voice sounded like it came from a mile away, though he could feel Ramsay’s sharp breath on his ear. “Promise me you’ll never betray me again.” No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make sense of the statement. To prevent further confusion, he opted to just agree, to nod his head yes and appease his master. The rocking force behind him hastened, increasing in strength and pace before the rhythmic thrusting faltered. Ramsay finally stopped moving, and Reek felt something leave his body.

Laying there, empty, he felt a rough hand gently stroke a greasy lock of hair out of his face. The room fell silent, devoid of any presence except his own. Dark. Damp. Freezing. Reek felt his blood, hot and thick, seep into his hair, the crimson pools by his hands ever expanding.