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asa-do-your-thing · 11 days ago

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i loveddd ur mermaid!reader x theon fic!! do you think you’d ever continue it? i’d love a part 2 where he sees her after a few months or something ^_^

Hi dear! I feel so guilty, I have posted it already on AO3 but forgot do so here!!

Swim to me; let me enfold you II

18+ MINORS DNI Theon Greyjoy x F!SelkieReader 4.5 k Warnings: smut, drowning, death, afterlife-ish?, P in V sex, porn w/o plot, soft smut, the selkie is definitely changing the plot

The Myraham creaked loudly as it dove through the rough seas. Theon Greyjoy and the Mallisters had left Seagard a few hours ago and he had finally finished settling into his cabin on the fat-bellied trading cog. He wanted nothing more than to step out of the dingy room and breathe the salty air once more. The thought of going to the Captain’s daughter was enticing; yet his cock did not stir and he was sure that letting his hair gather some salt would surely impress his Lord Father once they reached Pyke.

He donned his thick, dark cloak and strode out, trying his best to walk confidently through the ship’s decks without stumbling as it rolled from side to side. Pyke. His home. Though, was it? He could scarce remember it, really. He faintly remembered the way his room had been; the way his brothers Rodrik and Maron used to torment him, the way his mother had held him.

The upper deck was awash with sea spray, yet to his surprise, the waves were much smaller than he thought them to be. Hells, how should he have known their size? The last time he had been on the sea was on the trip to Bear Island with Lord Eddard Stark. Shuddering, Theon held onto the railing and looked out into the darkening sky and sighed. That was the night where he had gotten so drunk, that he thought he had fucked a selkie.

As a way to amuse himself, to cast his thoughts away from Pyke, Winterfell, the beheaded Lord Stark and his mission from Robb - nay, King Robb - he let his eyes wander over the waves, trying to see if there were any seals swimming about. Whoever that woman or girl had been - she could not have possibly been the creature his mind had dreamt up - did leave a lasting impression on him, on the way she spoke about the sea, the way she had spoken to him.

Seagulls screeched overhead, as if mocking his thoughts, while the other passengers began to make their way to the lower decks. The first man to leave nodded in Theon’s direction. “Best get some rest, lad. Won’t do to go to your Lord Father looking like death.” Then another man, older, with a beard that bristled like a broom, added, “Aye, it’s getting late. You ought to turn in.”

Theon waved them off. “I’ll stay up a while longer. I’ve seen enough of cabins.”

They shrugged and disappeared below, leaving him alone with the sailors. The darkness grew thicker, swallowing the sea and sky until they were all one shadow. He leaned against the rail, letting the spray soak him. The salt air stung his eyes and lips, and he felt alive. A true son of the Iron Islands, he thought. A true Greyjoy. Yet the name felt as strange on his tongue as a foreign word, as if he were trying to convince himself of its meaning.

The ship creaked and groaned again, a voice of its own speaking to him in the night. The lanterns bobbed and swung, casting wild, flickering shapes across the deck. He watched the sailors work, a dance of muscle and rope that he had never learned. They moved with the swell of the ship as if born to it, unlike himself, who still stumbled with each roll.

He wondered what his father would say when he saw him, this stranger from the green lands. Would he laugh? Would he be pleased? He wondered if his father would even recognize him. Would he care? The wind picked up, whipping his hair across his face. The ship pitched wildly, and the waves grew taller, like dark, angry hands clawing at the hull.

“Storm’s coming!” one of the sailors shouted, but the words were snatched away by the gale.

Theon gripped the rail with both hands, laughing at the fury of it all. He leaned out into the wind, daring it to take him. The sea roared back, a beast awakened, and he felt a kinship with it, as if it mirrored his own wild heart. He squinted into the spray, and there, just beyond the bow, a shape moved in the water.

A seal.

It bobbed in the waves, sleek and silver, its eyes shining like black pearls. A laugh burst from him, a howl of disbelief. It was just like the one he had seen on Bear Island, like the one he had imagined the girl to be. He slapped the rail, eyes watering with laughter, his body shaking with it.

“Selkie!” he shouted into the storm, finding the joke so uproarious that he had to gasp for breath.

A wave slammed against the side of the ship, exploding in a spray that soaked him to the bone. The deck tilted violently, slick and treacherous, but Theon was still laughing, so caught in the absurdity of it all that he barely noticed.

“Watch out!” a sailor yelled, but Theon didn’t hear.

The next wave hit harder, a wall of water that swept across the deck, a cold, crushing weight that knocked the breath from him and sent him sprawling. He reached for the rail, but his fingers slipped on wet wood. The ship bucked beneath him, and he felt his feet leave the deck, felt the world spin, felt the icy fingers of the ocean close around him as it pulled him under.

The rush of the sea filled his ears, a sound too loud to be heard, a silence too deep to be felt. He thrashed, arms and legs moving wildly, fighting the water that held him, the water that wanted him, that claimed him. Up was down and down was up, and for a moment he was sure he would drown.

Then the sea spat him out, and he broke the surface, gasping at the air, clinging to it, clutching it like a drowning man clutches driftwood. The night was a storm of wind and waves, and the ship was nowhere to be seen. He called out, his voice a hoarse, ragged cry, but the storm swallowed it. He was alone in the water, alone with the sea that was now his world.

A piece of flotsam bumped against him, and he seized it, his hands raw and numb from the cold. He pulled himself onto it, shivering uncontrollably, choking on salt and a desperate cry for air. Theon Greyjoy, he thought. The sea tried to take him, and it was almost a comfort. Better the sea than his father. Better the sea than shame.

The storm raged around him, and he clung to the wreckage, his only island, his only hope. The night stretched out, timeless and endless, and he was adrift in it, a speck of life in a vast, dark ocean. The flotsam tore itself away from him; he closed his eyes, letting the ocean rock him, cradle him down into his depths, lull him into a panicked sleep where he dreamed of Pyke, of the sea tower rising from the spray, of longships and saltwives and sons who would never be him.

There was only one thought on his mind as his lungs burnt, desperate for air. A snippet of a conversation where he had laid next to her, his ‘selkie’ girl. "You have pleased me well, my iron prince," she had murmured, her voice purring softly like that of a cat. "The sea will remember you fondly." If he could, he would have snorted at that. Yet there he was; laying under the soft blanket of the waves crashing over him, as his cloak and leathers draggeed him ever further down.

Theon had chuckled weakly then, catching his breath, after he had fucked her. "I don't think I'll ever forget this night," he had said. "Or you." That much was still true; out of everything he could have thought of in his last waking moments before the Drowned God took him in, he thought of the strange, darling, wet girl that had taken him into her shack by the sea on Bear Island. The selkie had smiled, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "Perhaps," she had said . "But the memories of men are often as fleeting as seafoam on the shore."

He drifted, lost in a bitter and frigid world. The sea surged over him, and he felt himself loosen, felt himself let go. It was almost easy. There, in that moment, he thought he felt the warmth of hands reaching down, pulling him up from the dark, holding him. The feeling was so soft, so impossible, that he let himself slip into it, let himself believe it, let himself fall. And then there was nothing.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to dim light and the crackle of fire. He lay on a rough wooden floor, and his clothes were gone, replaced by a blanket that smelled of salt and smoke. His body ached, his skin stung, and for a long, disoriented moment, he wondered if he had died, if this was the afterlife the Drowned God promised. He half expected to see the shadow of his father, the shadow of defiance on his face.

But the shadows that moved here were not those of gods or ghosts. They were the shadows of a small, cramped room, a room not unlike the one on Bear Island. A shack. He blinked, the world a blur of grey and gold, and tried to sit up. Pain shot through him, a reminder that he was still flesh and blood. Still alive.

He fell back, gasping, and a figure appeared above him, blurry and indistinct. A woman. She watched him with calm, dark eyes, eyes that seemed to know him, as if she had pulled him from the depths of the sea before. Theon felt a shiver run through him, a chill that had nothing to do with the cold.

"Where am I?" he croaked, his voice thin and foreign in his throat.

"Somewhere between," she said, her voice low and steady, though he could not place the accent. Although… "Somewhere the sea left you."

The words were strange, yet there was a familiarity to them that made him shiver again. She pressed a warm cloth to his brow, and the touch sent his mind spinning back to Bear Island, to the wild night and the wild girl who had claimed him. Was it her? Could it be?

He tried to ask, tried to make sense of the whirling thoughts and memories, but the room began to dim around him. He was so tired, so heavy with fatigue, and he felt himself slipping again. The warmth of the fire, the warmth of her hands, wrapped around him like a cloak, and he closed his eyes, letting it take him, letting himself fall back into the deep, dark sleep where there were no questions, only the soft, lulling promise that he was still remembered.

“I told you that the sea would remember you fondly, Theon,” a whisper woke him, purring and almost snorting, something wet touching his cheek. “Yet fondness means pain, if need be. My iron prince, I was afraid for you. You are not dead; I am relieved.”

Not dead was not alive; Theon surely felt as though he wasn’t alive. He was still naked, save for the blanket, but this time around he was lying on a soft bed. Not daring to open his eyes, he tried giving her a cheeky response, yet that all that came out of him was a terrible coughing fit.

“Theon of the Iron Islands, you cannot speak! I had to pull you into the sea, it hurt you, cease your talking!”, the voice exclaimed, and soon he tasted a warm, disgustingly kelpy liquid dripping into his mouth. Even though he felt as though he might retch anytime soon - this was no roasted venison - it did, indeed, soothe the fire in his throat.

There was a shuffling, then hands again against his skin, rougher this time, insistent. She made him drink, cupping his head with a gentleness he remembered, and guiding the foul liquor down his gullet while she whispered to the darkness. He could not understand the language, but the rhythms of it were familiar: the litany of old wives, the keening of mothers, the curses of the sea.

Theon drifted through a fever-dream of memory. He saw the winter sky spreading like a bruise above Bear Island, the crackling wood of the hearth, the green shimmer of pelts, the girl’s face pale as foam and her hair coiling wetly down her spine. She had moved through the world like she belonged to another, and he had believed, in the bottomless drink of that night, that she was some changeling, some daughter of the sea. It was a romantic fancy, the kind a boy would have, before fathers and crowns and loss made men of boys.

The room was close, the smell of moss and brine heavy in his nostrils. Her hands returned, working to dry him, to wrap him in kelp and furs and the strange touch of her mouth at his temple. At last he found the strength to open his eyes, to see the flicker of inhuman eyes blinking down at him with worry. She was other than he remembered, or else other than any woman he’d ever dared kiss. And yet… it was the selkie. Crouching nakedly over him, her long, dark hair draping over him as if they were a forest of kelp by the shore.

“It… it is.. you,” he muttered and studied her closer. “Why… afraid?”

The selkie hushed him with a kiss, before she wrapped him even tighter, even warmer. “You shall know why, my Prince, when I return you to the living, to your world. I am sorry to have caused you pain; but this pain is nothing against the one your world would have caused you if you had returned to whence you were born. You are of the sea, aye; I have felt so as you stuffed me with your seed. Yet your place is among wolves, I fear, not krakens. You shall suffer, and suffer more, should you return to the krakens. No, my prince; the sea promised to reward you, and that it did.”

“By… making me dream of you? Where am I?”, Theon whispered, his throbbing headache and the pressure in his lungs subsiding. “How is drowning me a reward? Seeing you is, yes, but…”

She laid a webbed finger over his lips. “You shall know. The sea takes nothing but what it owns, and you are only half ours.” It had a ring of accusation to it, her tone, and Theon felt as if he had insulted her; as if he had impregnated her and left her for dead. Or was it the other way around? Was it the Selkie who had fucked him, courtesy of the sea, to leave him so he could awkwardly stagger back to the Starks?

The thought stung more than the icy water had, and he spat, “So you shall have me drift and suffer?”

She laid against him, her strangely warm body so close, so real, that he knew she could feel his heart beat; feel the small pulse of hope that was alive in it, still, despite himself. “I told you, Theon Greyjoy; the sea will remember you fondly. Fondness means pain, if need be.”

He wanted to struggle, to grab her as she touched him one last time, but something held him back; something made him as weak as a babe against her, and he felt himself falling asleep, felt himself thrown back into the darkness of the waves and the cold, bitter night of his world.

The next time Theon woke, he felt as though he was born anew; it might’ve been because the selkie has slipped into his arms at a point, snuggling up to him, her little wet nose bumping against his chest. Gently shaking her, he glanced around the hut once more, yet it was dark, pitchdark outside and he could not make out where he was.

“You, uh, Lady Selkie, wake! Where am I? I feel good, I need to go, I need-”

“Oh hush, you,” the Selkie muttered and pulled herself up to him, her pitch black seal eyes looking up at him, her little, soft hand on his buttocks. “You are alive and well. You need for nothing. I shall return you soon. You are a selfish man; may I not be a selfish creature too? I can not posess you, my iron Prince, yet savour you… Do you wish to deprive me of this small pleasure of getting held by you?”

Theon huffed, a half-laugh that was almost a sob. He remembered the taste of her from Bear Island: salt and wind and a wild, briny undercurrent that made him feel, just for a moment, less alone. “No,” he said, softer than he’d meant. “You may have me for a little while, if you wish.” He stroked her hair—real hair, though damp and heavy, as if she’d just climbed from the sea. He thought about the hands that held him afloat, the warmth that had cradled him when all the world was black and devouring. The selkie made a pleased sound, somewhere between a purr and the bark of a harbor seal, and curled tighter against him.

The air in the hut was thick with their mingled breath. Their bodies, pressed together, made little islands of heat under the coarse wool blanket. He thought he felt the steady, drowsy thrum of her heart. Did selkies even have hearts, as men knew them? He let his mind drift, the border between waking and sleep soft as sunlight across a cove.

She spoke at last, her chin angled up so her lips brushed his ear. “Will you remember?” she asked. “Or will you forget me, as men always do?” There was no accusation in her voice, only the faded sorrow of someone acquainted with the endless forgetting of men.

It took him a long time to answer. “I remembered,” he said. “I remembered you. Even when I didn’t want to. Even when it hurt.”

That seemed to please her. She nipped his shoulder, gentle and possessive. “When you return, the sea will hunger for you again. But not yet. Not tonight.” She rolled atop him, her skin cool where it was not warmed by their bodies, the movement as natural and artless as the rolling of the tide. She kissed him again, and this time he tasted brine and the faintest trace of blood, the proof of lives spent biting and being bitten, living and dying in a world where the sea took what it willed.

After, he lay awake while she slept in the crook of his arm. The wind rose, rattling the ancient planks of the walls and throwing spray against the low, fog-blurred window. Theon stared at the ceiling and tried to count the cracks, but he lost track. He closed his eyes, clutching the selkie to him, savoring the small, selfish pleasure of being wanted by something, even if it was only a creature of sea-magic and old grief.

Dawn came slow, with pale lavender light seeping through the chinks in the walls. Theon’s head ached, but his body felt whole for the first time since Winterfell. For the first time since ever, maybe. The selkie was gone from his arms but busy at the small hearth, humming as she poked at a pot with a stick. She was clothed in nothing but her own wet hair, and when she noticed him watching, she grinned wide, her teeth white and sharp.

“I made broth for you, sea-prince.” Her accent was less subtle now; gazing out of the window, Theon slowly realized why. She did not lie; it really did seem like they were neither here nor there. There was nothing outside of the window; a sort of mist stopped him from seeing anything. She was as close to a seal as she could be.

“I will return you today, for your King needs you. No more sea for you, my Prince, for a long time, which saddens me. Yet, who am I to interfere in the plans of the things that guide your world?”, she said and plopped down next to him, giving him the broth, before languidly stretching out on her bed. “Your world wished not for your seed to take, for which I am saaaad,” she stretched out theatrically, purring drolly.

Theon chuckled and ate the kelpy soup, its taste not nearly as bad as it had been the first time. “You’re the only woman that’s ever wanted my child. Most are glad to be without.”

The Selkie propped herself onto an arm and flicked her long hair over her shoulder. “But my Prince… I am no woman!”, she said, half annoyed. She climbed atop him. “And yet you remember me? Will you? Or shall you forget when your wolves take you in?” Her voice was a song of sea-foam and longing. “It seems you are destined to drift,” she said, her eyes dark and knowing. “But I will find you when you’re lost. As long as you’ll promise me to go to your King, where you belong.”

Theon drew her down and tasted the salt of her and the promise of her, and her body, light and knowing, was a seal’s sleek form against him. He shut his eyes and kissed her, groaning loudy as he felt her hot, moist slit resting on his flaccid cock, which grew harder with every one of her movements. “You can order me about afterwards, girl. I - you said you needed to be filled once more?”

"You are so greedy," she purred, the laughter in her voice flecked with delight and something a little savage. "Let me taste if you truly are a wolf prince, or only the kraken’s leftover." And she took him in her hand, and in the close warmth of the hut, nothing mattered—no father, no King Robb, no succession or war or shame. Only the iron Prince and his selkie, and the sounds of the sea above and around and always, always within them.

She rode him like the waves themselves rode the shore, relentless and inventive, and when Theon came, it was as much a yielding as a victory—a surrender to the one place that had ever truly wanted him. The selkie folded around his shuddering body, the salt of her sweat and his joining in some briny alchemy. She held him as the sea had, with both strength and mercy.

Afterward, she curled again to his chest and wet his lips with her tongue, anointing him with the promise she made: "I know not what happens when krakens betray their nests, prince. I only know what happens to the men I take. You are not lost, but you will always be lost, and the sea will never stop searching for you." She looked at him then, her gaze so direct that Theon felt the ancient thing behind it, older than House Stark or Winterfell, older even than the castles on Pyke. "Do not ever come to me again as an envoy," she said. "Come as a man, of the North. Or as a monster of the Iron Islands."

He wondered which he was. “Kraken, wolf, or selkie’s child. I’ve filled you up proper now; it’s for you to say if it takes this time,” he muttered, feeling lightheaded and almost happy, while she gave him a kiss.

“I hope it does, my Prince.” The selkie pulled herself away from his warmth, away from him and the bed, her movements almost shy. “It is time,” she said. “You have a long journey ahead, and the boy King needs you before disaster strikes. Should you not return in time, I fear you shall not get to hold me, or any other, ever again.”

Theon shook his head, confused. “What disaster?” He thought he understood women, but this one was as mysterious as the sea itself. “Why is it me who needs to go to the Winter King? He should be the one sending for me, not the other way around.”

She crouched beside him once more, patient as a wave lapping at the shore. “I have told you. Fondness means pain, if need be. I can not keep you from it. The wolves… They need you. Or you need them, if there is to be a man when I come for you again.”

Theon sighed, a sound of exasperation and longing. “Why Seagard, then? Is that where you’ll leave me?”

“Yes. You must rejoin the boy King. Your place with him is strange, but I will not claim what is not yet mine.”

Theon frowned, trying to piece it together. “How far? Will I—”

“You will live on land,” she said softly. “And in your heart, in the place men do not like to speak of, you will remember. There is no forgetting the sea.” And she smiled at him, the sea writ plain across her face. She touched his cheek with her palm as cool as water, and the world dissolved into white and sky, and the noise of a hundred gulls rose up to mock him.

He awoke naked and wet in the shallows near Seagard, the slow waves licking him with a lover’s familiarity. The shore was rocky, and the sand stung him as he pulled himself upright. He looked around, dazed and dripping, but there was no sign of any ships, nothing at all but the wide grey sea and the wider grey sky and the tracks where something had dragged him to land. Seals. Strangers to land. Or a selkie.

It took him half the day to stumble along the coast, but then he saw the black sails of the Myraham. He saw the lanterns bobbing and heard the excited shouts of men he had thought would never see him again. Theon paused at the edge of their lamp-lit world, his heart sloshing in his chest with a mix of fear and certainty. She had kept her promise. He was returned.

“It’s a fucking miracle, is what it is,” the first mate said, clapping him so hard on the back that the breath nearly went out of him. “A true Greyjoy!”

“Fuck the Greyjoys and fuck Pyke,” he grumbled, tugging a pair of rough-spun hose on. “We ride to the King in the North, and we ride hard.”

#asas fics #asoiaf #game of thrones #got #a song of ice and fire #theon greyjoy x you #theon greyjoy x reader #theon greyjoy smut #theon greyjoy angst #theon greyjoy x oc #theon greyjoy #selkie

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asa-do-your-thing · 1 month ago

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Helloo, could you do a Theon Greyjoy smut were the reader is a mermaid? Ty ♡♡

Swim to me; let me enfold you

18+ MINORS DNI Theon Greyjoy x Selkie!Reader 5.8 k Warnings: P in V sex, porn w/o plot, smut, oral sex, kind of orgasm denial? soft smut, theon's a bit of a misogynist but that was to be expected, sub theon thank you for the ask, I couldn't fall asleep so I had to write this, I hope you like it <3 oh and I might've gone overboard with the sea alliterations. whoops!

Leaning against an old oak, Theon shivered and took another sip of his mead, staring off into the distant darkness on Bear Island. Lord Stark had something private to discuss with Lady Maege Mormont, leaving him to his own devices. Robb, ever the good heir, had decided to go to bed early and the Mormont ladies - if one could even call them thusly - had fun with their friends.

Sighing, he slowly walked closer to the sea, watching the dark waves crashing and gurgling menacingly against the slick, black stones of the shoreline.

The sea… Something he used to see on a daily basis but now was as strange to him as the concept of being close to Mother, talking to Asha, being on Pyke.

He kicked a small stone into the dark waters and turned, cursing Lord Stark for choosing to come to this desolate place. Why couldn't they have gone to White Harbour? There, he could have his pick of whores without any worries. But here, he had to be careful not to get picked up by one of the women and dragged into their makeshift huts.

"What a pretty boy," one had said with a wide grin and strong arms, eyeing Theon up and down at the feast. "His hair looks so soft, and I'm sure he moans just as softly."

Theon shuddered at the memory, quickly draining the last of his mead to wash away the taste of disgust that lingered in his mouth. The empty horn dangled from his fingers as he cast one last glance at the churning sea, its inky blackness now seeming to mirror the void in his chest. With a resigned sigh, he turned and made his way back to the Mormont's hall, his footsteps muffled by the damp moss beneath his feet.

The hall was mercifully quiet as he slipped inside, the earlier revelry having died down to a low murmur of conversation and the occasional clink of cups. Theon's eyes darted around, searching for any sign of the she-bears that had made him so uncomfortable earlier. Seeing none, he quickly made his way to the large oak barrel in the corner, filling his horn with fresh, golden mead that glowed warmly in the flickering firelight.

Clutching his prize, Theon hurried back outside, the cool night air a welcome respite from the stuffy interior. He paused for a moment, allowing his eyes to readjust to the darkness, before making his way back towards his earlier perch by the old oak tree. As he approached, however, he noticed a slender silhouette standing where he had been just moments before.

Drawing closer, Theon's breath caught in his throat. There, bathed in the soft silver light of the moon, stood a young woman. Her long, slick hair looked strangely damp and her skin had the same light colour as her strange cloak. Squinting, Theon could make out that it was a sealskin - what was this girl doing here with a skagosi coat?

“If I knew you would return I would have asked for a horn as well,” she whispered gently and turned around, giving Theon a small, shy smile. “I’ve never seen such a man as yourself here.”

With an overexaggerated bow, Theon offered her his horn. Gods, she was stunning - Theon did not know if he had ever seen a woman with such a natural beauty as her, even if she looked as if she just came out of a bout of rain, her plain dress clinging to her. “Take it, my Lady. I can always just get myself a second one.”

Studying her closer, he raised an eyebrow and leaned against the tree once more, his arm above her. He had not seen her during the feast, yet she looked far too gentle, too soft to be a servant or a fisherman’s wife, not to mention being a warrior. “So you’ve been watching me then, huh? Then how come I haven’t seen you?”

The woman's smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed to gleam unnaturally in the moonlight. She accepted the horn with a graceful nod, her fingers brushing against Theon's as she took it. A shiver ran through him at the touch - her skin was cool and slightly damp, like the mist rolling in from the sea.

"Perhaps you weren't looking in the right places," she replied, her voice as soft and alluring as the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. "I prefer to keep to the shadows, away from the noise and chaos of your feasts."

Theon found himself drawn in by her mysterious aura, unable to look away from her mesmerizing gaze. Her eyes were the color of the sea at twilight, deep and unfathomable. Whatever did she mean with ‘your feasts’? Surely such a lovely thing could not be low-born. She didn’t look like she was from Bear Island either. Was she a bastard? Maybe Jorah Mormont’s?

"And what brings a lovely girl such as yourself out here on a night like this?" Theon asked, his usual cocky grin spreading across his face. "Surely not just to admire the view? The winds are cold and the feast is almost over. Or are you waiting for someone…?"

The woman took a sip of mead, her eyes never leaving Theon's. "I come here often, to listen to the sea and feel the wind on my skin. It calls to me, you see."

She gestured towards the churning waters with her free hand, and Theon could have sworn he saw webbing between her fingers for just a moment before she lowered it again. Although… didn’t the Sistermen have that as well?

"But tonight," she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper, "I sensed something different. Something... foreign. I was right,” she said, giving him the horn back. “You are of the drowned islands, are you not? Your sharp face tells me so, ‘tis a handsome one. It would have been wrong of me not to find you tonight.”

Theon laughed and gratefully took a sip of mead to try and calm his beating heart and the hardness in his breeches. She spoke plenty strangely, surely, yet she was so beautiful and spoke so frankly, yet so sweetly… and it seemed like she was truly eager to spend time, if not even the night, with him.

His laugh faded as he studied the mysterious woman more closely. Her words stirred something deep within him, a longing for home he usually tried to bury beneath bravado and drink.

"Aye, I'm from the Iron Islands," he admitted, his voice rougher than he intended. "Though it's been many years since I've seen those shores."

The woman's eyes seemed to glimmer with an otherworldly light as she stepped closer to him. The scent of salt and seaweed clung to her, intoxicating and familiar.

"The sea never forgets her children," she murmured, reaching out to trace the line of his sharp jaw with cool fingers. "Even when they're taken far from her embrace."

Theon shivered at her touch, desire and an inexplicable sense of danger warring within him. "And what of you?" he asked, trying to regain his composure. "You're clearly not from Bear Island. Where do you call home?"

A sad smile played across her lips as she gazed out at the dark waters. "My home is everywhere and nowhere," she said softly. "Wherever the tides take me. Like… what do you call them… a salt wife, but I have no master. My mistress is the sea. "

She turned back to him, her hands searching his. Something about her made him so wild, he did not even know what it was. Her quiet confidence? Her Beauty? The mystery in her voice? "But tonight, I'm here with you, my Theon of the Iron Islands. Would you like to feel the sea's embrace once more? My hut is not like the Lord Bears’ big one, but it is warm and the sea is oh so near.”

Theon hesitated for a moment, his mind racing. This woman was unlike any he had ever encountered, and something about her both thrilled and unnerved him. But the mead coursing through his veins and the ache of loneliness in his chest pushed him forward.

"Lead the way, my mysterious lady," he said with a roguish grin, offering her his arm.

She smiled, a secret dancing in her eyes, and took his arm. As they walked along the rocky shore, Theon noticed that her feet seemed to barely touch the ground, moving with an otherworldly grace over the uneven terrain. The sound of the waves grew louder, drowning out the distant noises from the Mormont hall.

Soon, they came upon a small hut nestled among the rocks, so well-hidden that Theon would have missed it entirely if not for his guide. It was a simple structure, made of driftwood and covered in seaweed, looking as if it had grown organically from the shore itself.

The woman pushed open the door, revealing a cozy interior lit by the soft glow of thick, brown candles in jars. The scent of the sea was even stronger here, mixed with something else Theon couldn't quite place – something ancient and primal, but drink and fatigue made him careless, so as soon as she closed the door behind herself, he pressed her against it and kissed her hungrily.

He could feel her smiling against his kiss. "Welcome to my humble home," she said, her voice barely audible over the crashing waves just outside as she broke away. "Would you mind if I take my coat off first and light a fire? It would be a bit more… comfortable.”

Theon reluctantly pulled away, his breath coming in short gasps. "Of course, my lady," he said with a playful bow. "Allow me to start the fire for you. It's the least I can do for such gracious hospitality."

He moved to the small hearth, gathering driftwood and kindling from a neat pile nearby. As he worked to coax a flame to life, he couldn't resist stealing glances at the mysterious woman. She stood with her back to him, slowly unfastening her sealskin coat.

"So, tell me," Theon said, his voice husky with desire, "do you often lure handsome strangers to your hidden abode? Or am I a special case?"

The firelight danced across her pale skin as she carefully folded the coat and placed it on a nearby chair. Theon's breath caught in his throat as she began to unlace her simple dress, the fabric sliding off her shoulders to pool at her feet.

She laughed softly, a sound like waves lapping at the shore. "You are indeed special, Theon of the Iron Islands. It's not often I meet someone who understands the call of the sea as I do."

She turned to face him, now clad only in a thin shift that clung to her curves like sea foam on the shore. The flickering flames cast a warm glow on her features, softening the otherworldly quality that had first captivated him.

In this light, she looked more human, more real, yet no less beautiful.

Her long hair, no longer seeming damp, cascaded down her back in waves that rivaled the sea itself. Her eyes, which had appeared so dark and fathomless outside, now shone with a warm, amber hue that reminded Theon of the mead they just drank.

"And what of you?" she asked, turning to face him. "Do you often follow mysterious women into the night?"

Theon grinned, rising from his crouched position by the now-crackling fire. "Only the exceptionally beautiful ones," he quipped, “and ones that do not wish for my gold before they have even spoken to me.”

The girl laughed and stepped closer to him, untying his own cloak and unbuttoning his black doublet. “Gold means nothing to me.”

“Really? I think you are the first woman I’ve ever heard saying something like that,” Theon muttered, trying to keep his breathing calm as her hands came to the bottom buttons of his doublet, accidentally brushing over his hardness.

“Hm,” she muttered and looked up, giving him a grin that was as coy as his own as she slipped it off him with almost unnatural grace, before she stood before him once more, gently pushing him onto her bed so she stood over him, her chest dangerously close to his face.

“On the drowned islands they also do not talk of gold. They talk of iron, my Theon. Although… it seems like you know the hardness of it. So, in turn, for tonight, I shall wish for it to mean something to me. Do you think you can do that?”

Theon's breath hitched as he gazed up at the mysterious woman, her beauty almost otherworldly in the flickering firelight. His hands found her hips, pulling her closer as he leaned in to press his lips to her stomach through the thin fabric of her shift.

"I think I can manage that," he murmured against her skin, his voice low and husky with desire. "Though I warn you, my lady, I may ruin you for all other men."

She laughed softly, running her fingers through his hair. "Oh, my sweet Theon," she whispered, "I don't think you quite understand what you've gotten yourself into."

With surprising strength, she pushed him back onto the bed, straddling his hips in one fluid motion. Theon gasped as she ground against him, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through his body. He reached up to caress her face, but she caught his wrists, pinning them above his head.

"Tell me," she purred, her lips brushing against his ear, "do you know the old stories of the sea folk? The ones who lure unsuspecting sailors to their doom?"

Theon's heart raced, a mix of excitement and unease coursing through him. "Aye," he managed to say, his voice strained. "But those are just tales to frighten children."

She pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting his. In the dim light, they seemed to shift and change, one moment they were human and the other… bigger. Darker. Just like a seal’s. “At first the tales will scare you, then they will make you long for us, before you forget them. But, my dear Theon, we exist,” she whispered, grinning widely, her hand reaching down to untie the laces of his breeches.

“Do not fear, though… I won’t bite. Not unless you ask me to, at least,” she mumbled, pushing them down, freeing his hard member, on which she sat down with a wicked grin, rubbing her moist slit gently against him, sighing contentedly. “You are of the sea - you are sweet. I will not hurt you, no, you’re too pretty for that.”

Theon's mind reeled, torn between desire and a growing sense of unease. The woman atop him was unlike any he had ever known, her beauty both alluring and terrifying. As she moved against him, he felt as if he were being pulled into the depths of the sea itself, helpless against the tide of pleasure threatening to overwhelm him.

"What... what are you?" he gasped, his hips involuntarily bucking upwards, seeking more contact, seeking to enter her, yet he was under her, he was trapped.

She leaned down, her lips brushing against his as she spoke. "I am the foam on the waves, the salt in the air, the call of the deep that echoes in your blood," she whispered. "I am what your people call a selkie."

With nimble fingers, the selkie tugged at Theon's breeches, sliding them down his legs and tossing them aside. Her eyes roamed over his body, drinking in every detail as if committing him to memory. Theon shivered, feeling exposed and vulnerable under her intense gaze.

"Beautiful," she murmured, her voice like the whisper of waves on sand. "You are a true son of the sea."

She rose gracefully, her movements fluid and hypnotic. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled her shift over her head, revealing skin as pale and smooth as polished seashells. Moonlight from the small window danced across her curves, casting her in an otherworldly glow.

Theon's breath caught in his throat as she crawled between his legs, her hair cascading around her shoulders like a waterfall of dark silk. Her cool fingers wrapped around his shaft, stroking him with a touch both gentle and confident. He gasped, his hips lifting involuntarily off the bed.

"So responsive," she purred, her eyes gleaming with approval. "Your body remembers the sea's embrace, even if your mind has forgotten."

Her thumb circled the tip of his manhood, spreading the moisture gathered there. Theon moaned, torn between the pleasure of her touch and the lingering fear of the unknown. The selkie continued her ministrations, alternating between long, languid strokes and quick, teasing caresses.

"You're even more desperate than I am,” she muttered, glancing up at him before slowly, almost shyly, licking a stripe over his cock, taking it carefully in her wonderfully soft, warm mouth.

Theon gasped as her mouth enveloped him, warm and wet like the sea itself. His fingers tangled in her hair, silky strands slipping through his grasp like water. The selkie's tongue swirled around his length, teasing and exploring with an expertise that left him breathless.

"Gods," he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow. The pleasure was intense, almost overwhelming, yet there was something else - a strange tingling sensation that spread from where her lips met his skin, flowing through his veins like the tide.

She hummed in response, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure up his spine. Her hands caressed his thighs, nails lightly scraping against his skin. Theon's hips bucked involuntarily, driving himself deeper into her mouth.

The selkie pulled back slightly, releasing him with a soft pop. Her eyes, dark and fathomless as the deep sea, met his. "Patience, my iron prince," she murmured, her voice husky with desire. "The night is young, and I wish to see if you understand."

She crawled up his body, her skin cool and slightly damp against his. Theon reached for her, pulling her close and capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. He could taste salt on her tongue, along with his own musk.

As they kissed, she laid down next to him, evidently waiting for his next move. But what was he he to do with a girl, a woman, a being like her? Whores usually quickly satified his needs but with her… he just couldn’t bring himself to use her in such a way.

Theon hesitated, his hands hovering uncertainly over the selkie's body. She was unlike any woman he had ever been with, and he found himself at a loss. Her otherworldly beauty and mysterious nature both thrilled and intimidated him.

"What's wrong, my iron prince?" she asked, her voice a soft whisper that seemed to caress his skin. "Are you not used to a woman who knows what she wants?"

Theon swallowed hard, his pride stung by her words. "I... I've been with plenty of women," he said, trying to sound confident. "But you're different. I don't know what you want from me."

The selkie's laugh was like the tinkling of sea glass in the surf. She took his hand in hers, guiding it to her breast. Her skin was cool and smooth, like polished stone worn by the sea.

"I want you to touch me," she murmured, her eyes locked on his. "I want you to explore me as if I were uncharted waters. Can you do that, Theon of the Iron Islands?"

Her words ignited something within him, a mixture of desire and curiosity that overwhelmed his hesitation. Slowly, reverently, he began to caress her body, marveling at the way her skin seemed to shimmer in the dim light.

His fingers traced the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the swell of her breast. She sighed contentedly, smilig into the dimness of the hut. “More, Theon, I will not break… Show me your strength…,” she whispered.

Emboldened by her words, Theon's touch became more confident. He cupped her breast, feeling the weight of it in his palm, his thumb brushing over her nipple. The selkie arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

Theon leaned in, pressing his lips to the curve of her neck. He could taste salt on her skin, reminding him of sea spray on a windy day. His kisses trailed lower, across her collarbone and down to her breast. He took her nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened peak.

The selkie's fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close. "Yes," she breathed, her voice husky with desire. "Just like that."

Encouraged by her response, Theon's hand slid lower, tracing the curve of her hip and thigh. He hesitated for a moment before dipping between her legs, finding her already slick with desire. The selkie gasped as he explored her folds, her hips rolling against his hand.

"You're so wet," Theon murmured against her skin, his fingers circling her most sensitive spot.

"I am of the sea," she reminded him, her voice breathy. "Always ready to embrace those who seek me."

Theon groaned at her words, his own desire mounting. He kissed his way down her body, pausing to nip at the soft skin of her inner thigh, before he parted her soft curls with his fingers, settling between her thighs just as she had done before.

Her scent - gods - he had not even fully tasted her, yet he did not wish to part with her already, his tongue slowly touching her cunny.

The selkie gasped as Theon's tongue made contact with her most intimate place. Her fingers tightened in his hair, urging him closer. Theon obliged, his tongue exploring her folds with growing enthusiasm.

She tasted of the sea - salt and brine mingled with her own unique flavor. It was intoxicating, and Theon found himself lost in the act, his world narrowing to the sound of her soft moans and the feel of her beneath his lips and tongue.

His hands gripped her thighs, holding her steady as he worked. He traced patterns with his tongue, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on her most sensitive spots. The selkie's hips rolled against his face.

"Oh, Theon," she breathed, her voice thick with pleasure. "You truly are a son of the sea. You know just how to please me."

Her words sent a thrill through him, spurring him on. He redoubled his efforts, sucking gently on her pearl while his fingers teased her entrance. The selkie cried out, her back arching off the bed.

Theon could feel her trembling beneath him, teetering on the edge of release. He quickly sat up, kissing her like a starved man, before pushing himself into her.

The selkie's eyes flashed with a mixture of pleasure and frustration as Theon entered her. In one fluid motion, she hooked her leg around his waist and flipped him onto his back, pinning him beneath her with surprising strength.

"Tsk, tsk," she chided, her voice a low, dangerous purr. "So eager, my iron prince. Did you forget that the sea demands patience?"

Theon gasped, overwhelmed by the sensation of being sheathed within her. Her inner walls pulsed around him, cool and slick like the embrace of the tide. He tried to thrust upward, seeking more friction, but the selkie held him firmly in place.

"I... I'm sorry," he managed to stammer, his hands instinctively moving to her hips.

The selkie caught his wrists, pinning them above his head with surprising strength. "Oh, you will be," she whispered, a wicked gleam in her eye. "The sea is patient, Theon of the Iron Islands. And so am I."

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she began to move. Her hips rolled in a hypnotic rhythm, rising and falling like the swell of waves. Theon groaned, his hands grasping at her hips, trying to urge her to move faster. But the selkie was unyielding, setting her own pace.

She rode him with the patience of the eternal sea, each movement precise and deliberate. Her skin gleamed with a faint, otherworldly luminescence in the dim light, like moonlight on water. Theon watched, mesmerized, as droplets of moisture beaded on her skin, rolling down her body like rivulets of seawater. He longed to taste them, to run his tongue along the curves of her body, but she kept him pinned beneath her, at her mercy.

"Please," Theon gasped, his voice hoarse with need. "I need... I need..."

The selkie smiled, a predatory gleam in her eyes. "What do you need, my iron prince? Tell me."

"More," he groaned. "Faster. I need to feel you."

She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear. "The sea gives and takes as she pleases," she whispered. "And tonight, I am the sea."

With those words, she began to move faster, her hips undulating in a rhythm that matched the crashing waves outside. Theon moaned, lost in the sensation of her around him, the cool silk of her skin against his, the intoxicating scent of salt and sex that filled the air.

The selkie's movements grew more frenzied, her breath coming in short gasps. She released Theon's wrists, bracing herself against his chest as she rode him. Freed from her grip, Theon's hands roamed her body, caressing her breasts, her hips, her thighs.

"Yes," she hissed, her head thrown back in ecstasy. "Touch me, Theon."

Theon's hands roamed the selkie's body feverishly, tracing the curves and dips of her otherworldly form. Her skin seemed to ripple beneath his touch, as if tiny waves were coursing just beneath the surface. He could feel the power of the sea thrumming through her, wild and untamed.

The selkie's movements grew more frenzied, her hips rolling and crashing against his like storm-tossed waves. Theon felt himself being pulled under, drowning in sensation. His entire world narrowed to the feel of her around him, the salt-sweet taste of her skin, the sound of her gasps and moans mingling with the distant roar of the sea.

He was close, so close. The pressure built within him like a tide ready to break. His fingers dug into her hips, pulling her down harder onto him. The selkie's inner walls clenched around him, pulsing with a rhythm that seemed to match the beating of his heart.

"Oh gods," Theon groaned, his back arching off the bed. "I'm going to-"

Suddenly, the selkie stilled. In one fluid motion, she lifted herself off him, leaving Theon gasping and desperate. He reached for her, but she evaded his grasp with a teasing smile, instead laying down on her stomach with a wicked little smile.

"Now you know what it feels like," she purred, her voice low and husky. "I am not done and neither are you."

Theon groaned in frustration, his body aching with unfulfilled desire. The selkie's eyes glimmered with mischief as she looked back at him over her shoulder, her hair cascading down her back like dark seaweed.

"Come, my iron prince," she cooed, arching her back invitingly, wiggling her full buttocks. "Show me the strength of the storm."

Theon didn't need to be told twice. He moved behind her, his hands caressing the smooth curve of her hips. The selkie sighed contentedly as he positioned himself, teasing her entrance with the tip of his manhood.

"Don't make me wait," she breathed, pushing back against him.

With a low growl, Theon thrust into her, burying himself to the hilt. The selkie cried out in pleasure, her fingers gripping the furs beneath them. Theon set a punishing pace, driven by his earlier denied release and the intoxicating power of the creature beneath him.

The sound of flesh meeting flesh mingled with their gasps and moans, creating a primal rhythm that seemed to echo the crashing waves outside. Theon's hands roamed her body, caressing her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. Every touch sent sparks of pleasure through him, as if her very skin conducted the raw energy of the sea.

The selkie met him thrust for thrust, her body undulating like the tide. She turned her head, capturing his lips in a fierce kiss. Theon kissed her back hungrily, tasting salt and desire on her lips. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as he continued to drive into her. The selkie moaned into his mouth, her body trembling beneath him.

Breaking the kiss, she gasped, "Yes, Theon. Just like that. Be good for me, please… give me… just like…."

Her words ignited something primal within him. Theon's thrusts became more forceful, more desperate. He could feel the pressure building again, a tidal wave of pleasure threatening to overwhelm him.

The selkie's inner walls clenched around him, her body shuddering with each thrust. She buried her face in the furs, muffling her cries of ecstasy. Theon could feel her climax approaching, her muscles tensing beneath his hands.

"Look at me," he growled, surprising himself with the command in his voice. "I want to see your face when you come undone."

The selkie turned her head, her eyes meeting his. In that moment, Theon saw the vastness of the sea in her gaze - deep, mysterious, and utterly wild. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

With a final, powerful thrust, Theon felt himself tipping over the edge. The selkie cried out, her body arching beneath him as her own release crashed over her. Theon groaned, burying himself deep inside her as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him. It felt like he was being pulled into the depths of the sea itself, drowning in ecstasy.

As the intensity of their shared climax began to ebb, Theon collapsed onto the selkie's back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could feel her heart racing beneath him, her skin cool and slightly damp against his chest. For a long moment, they lay there, intertwined and breathless.

Slowly, carefully, Theon rolled off her, falling onto his back beside her on the narrow bed. The selkie turned to face him, her eyes now soft and warm like the sea on a calm summer day. She reached out, tracing the line of his jaw with gentle fingers.

"You have pleased me well, my iron prince," she murmured, her voice rich with satisfaction. "The sea will remember you fondly."

Theon chuckled weakly, still trying to catch his breath. "I don't think I'll ever forget this night," he said, turning his head to meet her gaze. "Or you."

The selkie smiled, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "Perhaps," she said softly. "But the memories of men are often as fleeting as seafoam on the shore."

She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips before rising from the bed. Theon watched, mesmerized, as she moved about the small hut, her body glowing faintly in the dim light. She retrieved her cloak, fastening it around her shoulders, and gave him a sad, sorrowful little smile. “Go back to the bears now, my kraken. I’m sure you are missed.”

“But… can you not just… stay here? For a while at least?”, Theon asked, quickly gathering up his own clothing. Normally he would’ve left just as quickly as she was about to, yet she was no Ros, no Wintertown whore.

The selkie paused, her hand on the door. She turned back to Theon, her eyes softening with a mixture of fondness and regret.

"Oh, my sweet iron prince," she said softly. "Your words warm my heart, but I cannot stay. The sea calls to me, as it always has and always will."

Theon felt a pang in his chest, a longing he couldn't quite name. He stood, still naked, and took a step towards her. "Then let me come with you," he said impulsively. "Just for a while. I... I miss the sea."

The selkie's smile was sad and knowing. She reached out, cupping his cheek in her cool hand. "You are not ready for my world, Theon of the Iron Islands. Your path lies elsewhere, at least for now."

She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. Theon could taste the salt of the sea on her breath, feel the pull of the tide in her touch. When she pulled away, her eyes seemed to shimmer with unshed tears.

"But know this," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crashing waves outside. "The sea never forgets her children. When the time comes, if you truly wish it, you may find your way back to us."

With those words, she slipped out the door and into the night. Theon rushed after her, but as he stepped outside, he saw only the empty beach and the vast, freezing waters, the selkie’s figure retreating into the waves.

Theon stood on the shore, the cool night air raising goosebumps on his bare skin. He watched the waves crash against the rocky beach, searching for any sign of the mysterious selkie, but she had vanished as completely as if she had never existed. The only evidence of their encounter was the lingering taste of salt on his lips and the slight ache in his muscles.

With a heavy sigh, Theon turned back to the small hut. The interior still smelled of sea and sex, and for a moment, he wondered if he had dreamed the entire encounter. But no, his clothes were strewn about the floor, and he could still feel the ghost of her touch on his skin.

Slowly, he began to dress himself. His fingers fumbled with the laces of his breeches, his mind still clouded with the intoxicating memory of the selkie. As he pulled on his tunic, he noticed it smelled faintly of seaweed and brine. He wondered idly if Lord Stark would notice, then dismissed the thought. The old wolf rarely paid him much attention anyway.

Theon retrieved his cloak from where it had fallen, shaking out the sand before fastening it around his shoulders. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to tame the wild locks that the selkie had so eagerly mussed. As he did so, he felt something caught in the strands – a single, iridescent scale that gleamed in the dim light. He stared at it and reverently tucked it into his satchel.

Stepping out of the hut, Theon took one last look at the sea. The moon hung low on the horizon, its reflection shimmering on the dark waters. For a moment, he thought he saw a seal's head bobbing in the waves, watching him with knowing eyes. But when he blinked, it was gone. The sea had claimed him, he thought, and he would honour it.

#asas fics #shamelessly self reblogging #theon greyjoy

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