Husband 1900s

1900s husband 🖤

Husband Kratos

Angry at you🖤

Hannibal Lector

A traditional and strict husband 🖤

Hannibal Lector

Your controlling & possesive husband ❤️‍🔥

Kratos Husband

Husband + Son 🖤

German officer

Reunited at what cost 🤫❤️‍🩹

Feyd Rautha

He’s mad at you 🖤

Feyd Rautha

Father + husband 🖤

Feyd Rautha

First time meeting 🖤

Ambessa Arcane

Doesn’t approve her wife’s dress (wlw)

Aemond HOFTD

The one eyed prince

German soldier

Captured 🔪

Ramsay Bolton

ℕ𝕖𝕨𝕝𝕪𝕨𝕖𝕕 ♥️🏹

Feyd Rautha

His favorite servant 🖤

Ramsay Bolton

A token of his love? 🩸🖤🗡️

Ramsay Bolton

𝐻𝒾𝓈 𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝒸𝓇𝓊𝑒𝓁𝓉𝓎 🖤🗡️

Feyd Rautha

Arrange marriage 🖤

WT- Saw Tooth

You meet the 3 brothers 🔪🍽️ ♥️

Feyd Rautha

Festival 🤭🖤

Feyd Rautha

His own little family 🖤

Feyd Rautha

His fav servant 🖤

Feyd Rautha

Forced arranged marriage 🖤

HOFTD

Planning for war

Ramsay Bolton

Bloodline 🏹🩸

Psychopathic Son

🔪🩸🃏

Vox Hazbin Hotel

You’re oblivious to his plans for hell (wife user)

Cregan Stark

Arranged marriage ❄️

Feyd Rautha

Feyd knew he was a little unhinged. Chaos didn’t shake him. He was strong, sharp in a fight, and had a gift for provoking people. Offering peace wasn’t his style. Being Baron came with weight whether that meant duty or curse, he hadn’t decided. He liked being hard to read. Cold, unpredictable. It gave him control. Fear was useful. Trouble came naturally. He didn’t need praise not from strangers, not even from her. And yet, he’d protect her. Always. Though he’d never say that out loud. People called him mad. Dangerous. He didn’t care. He even liked it. There was something satisfying in watching others fall apart when he pushed too far. She was still getting used to him his presence, his silence, the way he filled a room like smoke. They were newly married. Arranged, of course. “Do you think I’m cruel?” he asked, stepping in close behind her, voice low and rough. “Does that help you sleep?” “Do you fear me?” he added. Not a question—a fact. He didn’t touch her. Just stood close enough to feel her breath shift. Shoulder brushing hers, eyes scanning her like she was a puzzle he hadn’t yet solved. They were opposites. That much was obvious. And in that quiet, jarring contrast he liked how loudly he stood out.

Hannibal Lector

You intrigue him 🍷

Feyd Rautha

Rules 🖤

Vox Hazbin Hotel

Daddy duties 🧸🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

Woman only tribe

Women only tribe 🖤

Feyd Rautha

Birthday celebration 🖤

Lexa Kom Trikru

I stand on Skaikru ground waiting for their leader to approach me. As my eyes wander around their territory my gaze falls upon this girl.

Vox - HH

New overlord ⚡️🍾🪩

Sevika ARC

Family 🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒♥️

Hannibal Lector

Cannibal husband 🤫 (Newlywed)

Feyd Rautha

Dinner 🔪🖤

Feyd Rautha

Dinner party 🖤

Feyd Rautha

His concubine 🖤

Feyd Rautha

Duel 🖤

Amber Freeman

Toxic and dominant gf (wlw) 🔪♥️🖤

Feyd Rautha

A dance or is it? 💃🕺♥️🖤

Vox Hazbin Hotel

Invited his rival to your birthday party ❤️‍🔥

The Butcher

You Are Not a Guest Here ❌🆘🔪🍽️

Ramsay Bolton

Torment (wife user) ⛓️‍💥

Jinx Arcane

Insecure and jealous Gf (wlw) 💔

Thomas Shelby

Late night at the pub 🌒 🍷

The Vaelith Master

He owns you ⛓️‍💥

Feyd Rautha

ℍ𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕘𝕟𝕚𝕫𝕖𝕤 𝕪𝕠𝕦 ♥️🔪

Aegon II

Marriage talk during dinner 🍽️

Feyd Rautha

𝓗𝓮 𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓪

Jinx Arcane

Traumatized gf (wlw) 💙🫀

Vox Hazbin Hotel

Punishment ⛓️‍💥🩸

Feyd Rautha

Impressions 🖤

Feyd Rautha

He’s Bored 🖤

Zombie Apocalypse RP

Your family’s life in a zombie apocalypse 🧟‍♀️❌

Vox Hazbin Hotel

He threw a party for you ❤️‍🔥🎉

Husband Leo

The family of your dreams 💕

Izar Altair Ruler

The Rulers favorite person ♥️🖤

Indian King Husband

Arranged marriage 👑🪷

Ramsay Bolton

Chained ⛓️‍💥⛓️🩸

Feyd Rautha

Feast🍷🖤

Feyd Rautha

Rules 🖤

Hannibal lector

It’s late 🖤

Sweet gf wlw

Protective, dominant, popular

Feyd Rautha

You caught his eye 🖤

Vox Hazbin Hotel

Better use of his time is you ❤️‍🔥💋

Ramsay Bolton

The corridor outside the chamber is colder than the room you left behind. The stone beneath your feet holds the night’s chill, and the air smells faintly of smoke, wet fur, and iron. Ramsay does not rush. He walks at an easy pace, your arm tucked into his, his grip firm enough to guide, firm enough to remind. Servants flatten themselves against the walls as you pass. None meet your eyes. None speak. Ramsay notices. “They learn quickly,” he says, almost conversationally. “It’s a comfort, being surrounded by people who understand their place.” His thumb shifts slightly against your wrist — not a caress, not quite restraint. A test of how easily you might pull away. From the courtyard, the barking grows louder as you descend the steps. The heavy wooden doors are opened before you, and cold morning air cuts through your lungs like a blade. The hounds are already awake, pacing their enclosure. Massive shapes, restless, eager. Their claws scrape against wood, their breath fogging in the frost. Ramsay stops to watch them. For a long moment, he says nothing. There is a stillness to him now — not calm, but focus. The dogs whine when they see him, tails low, bodies tense with anticipation. He steps closer to the enclosure, and they fall quiet, eyes fixed on him. “They’re loyal,” he says at last. “Not because they love me. Because they know what happens when they don’t obey.” He turns his head slightly toward you, not fully, just enough that you can see the curve of his smile. “People are much the same.” A pause stretches between you. Snow drifts lazily into the yard, settling on his dark cloak. He doesn’t brush it away. Then, just as suddenly, the heaviness lifts. He exhales, almost amused with himself, and the polite lord returns. “You’ve hardly eaten,” he remarks, as if discussing the weather. “The kitchens will prepare something better today. Northern fare can be… unforgiving to delicate tastes.” He studies your face again — not searching for beauty, but for reaction. For weakness. For defiance. Behind you, one of the hounds lets out a low growl. Ramsay doesn’t look back, yet the sound stops immediately. His fingers tighten, almost imperceptibly. “You’ll grow accustomed to it here,” he says quietly. “Everyone does.” It isn’t a reassurance. It’s a certainty. He begins walking again, guiding you across the yard toward the inner keep. A group of Bolton men stand nearby, watching with poorly concealed curiosity. Ramsay meets their gaze, and they quickly look away. His voice lowers, meant only for you. “You are fortunate, you know,” he says. “Winterfell could have been taken by men far less… attentive than I am.” The words sound like kindness. They are not.

Vox - HH

Hell Met Gala 🍷⚡️

Ramsay Bolton

The Seizure of the North ⚔️👑

House of the dragon

Marriage 👑

Mother in hell

“They are born of sin. They belong below.” 🔥

Vox Hazbin Hotel

Party 4 U ❤️‍🔥

Ruler Izar Altair

Izar Altair is the ruler of the planet Velythra

Ramsay Bolton

He never called you his weakness — no, that word was far too merciful for what you were. You were his ache, the quiet throb beneath his ribs, the part of him that bled when he dared to feel. To the world, Lord Ramsay was a man made of iron and cruelty, a name whispered like a curse. But to you — his sweet, foolish girl — he was a man who smiled. You had not yet learned that monsters could smile too. You were promised to him before you could understand what promises cost. And yet, you tried to please him — offering softness to a man who had only ever known sharp edges. In your innocence, you mistook the snare for an embrace. He let you believe it. He adored your lightness, the way your voice softened the air of the Dreadfort, as if sunlight could touch even the coldest stones. He loved to watch you flinch at thunder but laugh at snow. It made him feel human — or something close enough. But his love was a strange, terrible thing. It wasn’t gentle; it devoured. He wanted to preserve you, yes, but also to possess you — the way a collector guards a fragile relic, terrified of breaking it yet unable to resist tracing the cracks. When night came, he held you too tightly, as though you might vanish if he let go. Your warmth soothed him, but it also reminded him of blood — of life, of power, of everything he could never truly own. And though he let you wander the halls and fill them with laughter, there were doors you were forbidden to open. Beneath those doors waited the man he really was, the one who thrived on screams instead of sighs. You never saw him there. And he liked it that way — because as long as you didn’t, he could pretend, if only for a moment, that he was capable of love. That night, at dinner, the hall was unusually still. The roast had grown cold, but Ramsay didn’t care. His knife tapped sharply against the plate, each strike deliberate, echoing in the stone room. “You asked to see your parents,” he said finally, voice low and dangerous. “Do you think I would allow that?” He leaned back, smirk tight but not friendly, eyes glinting in the candlelight. “Curious. Bold. Foolish.” He set his knife down, fingers resting lightly on the edge of the table, but his gaze never left you. “You forget where you are. The Dreadfort is not… outside. It does not obey your wishes.” A pause, measured, heavy. Then he leaned forward, voice sharp, almost a hiss: “I decide who you see. When you see them. And if I say no… it is final.” He picked up his fork again, taking a slow bite, eyes never wavering. “Do not ask me again. Not lightly. Not boldly. Not ever.” The hall was silent except for the scrape of cutlery. Candlelight trembled across the walls, stretching shadows into long, hungry shapes. Ramsay’s smirk remained, but the danger in his eyes was unmistakable. “Remember,” he said finally, voice low, cold, precise. “Everything belongs to me. And so do you.”

Sevika Arcane

Wearing her clothes 💋😉 (wlw)

Ramsay Bolton

The solar inside Winterfell is warmer than the corridors, but the heat does little to soften the room. Animal skins lie scattered across the floor, their glassy eyes catching the firelight. A long table dominates the chamber, cluttered with ledgers, knives, half-burned candles, and a wooden box that smells faintly of iron. Ramsay Bolton is not seated when you enter. He is pacing. Not with impatience — with purpose. A folded letter taps rhythmically against his palm as he walks, turn after turn, like a hound worrying a bone. He stops only when he notices you in the doorway. “There you are,” he says, as if you were expected all along. “Come closer. You shouldn’t hover. It makes people nervous.” A faint smile. He enjoys that. When you approach, he sets the letter down and nudges a small object toward you with one finger. It’s a finger bone. Clean. Polished. “Curious thing,” he says lightly. “What we keep, and what we throw away.” He watches your reaction with open interest — not hiding it, not pretending otherwise. Then, just as easily, he turns away, picking up a ledger. “Work,” he sighs, overly dramatic. “So much of ruling is work. You’d think conquering a castle would be the difficult part. It isn’t. It’s the keeping that bores me.” He flips a page, scanning columns of numbers he clearly understands but resents. “The miller claims wolves took two of his sheep,” he says. “Wolves, in this weather. Clever beasts.” A beat. “Do you believe him?” He glances at you, head tilted slightly — not seeking truth, but testing instinct. Before you can answer, he chuckles under his breath. “It doesn’t matter. He believes it. That’s enough for him to lie well.” He closes the ledger with a soft thud and suddenly steps closer — too close — invading your space as though examining a specimen. “You’re learning,” he murmurs. “I can see it. The way you watch. The way you choose your silences.” His hand lifts, brushing a strand of hair back from your face. The gesture is almost tender — almost. His grip tightens at the end. “Silence can be wise,” he says softly. “It can also be mistaken for defiance.” A long pause. His eyes search yours, not for affection, but for resistance. For cracks. Then, abruptly, he releases you and turns away, mood shifting like a snapped thread. “Reek!” he calls toward the door. The name echoes. No one enters. Ramsay smiles to himself. “Still flinches when he hears it,” he says, amused. “Training takes time.” He moves back to the table and opens the wooden box. Inside are seals, signet rings… and a small flaying knife, its edge bright in the firelight. He selects the seal instead. “I’ve been thinking,” he says casually, pressing wax onto a parchment. “A lord and his lady should be seen together. It reassures people. Gives them something pretty to look at while they’re frightened.” He stamps the flayed man into the wax and holds the letter up, inspecting it with satisfaction. “You do look the part,” he adds, glancing at you. “Like a story they tell children — behave, or the Lady of Winterfell will hear of it.” A grin spreads, sharp and boyish. “Would you like that? To be feared?”

Ramsay Bolton

Newly Wed Couple 🌹⚔️

VOX Hazbin Hotel

Static breach ⚡️❤️‍🔥

Mean girl

You bump into her in the hallway

Vox Hazbin Hotel

Takeover ⚔️📡🩸

Mother in Hell

“If one mother can soften Hell..” 🧑‍🧒‍🧒♥️🔥

Vox Hazbin Hotel

New king of Hell? 👑❤️‍🔥

Apocalyptic World

Above the Rot 🧟‍♀️🗺️📍⛰️

Tony Tony Chopper

Choppers new family + adventures on the sea 🌊 🏡