Author's Notes: written for a valar_morekinks prompt: "Any m!character/tentacles, possible non-con/dub-con. Anything from dark!fic to crack."
But the tentacle porn is pretty unexplicit, though I'm not certain unexplicit enough for FFN rules but eh, it's primarily a metaphor for Theon's identity crisis.
Warnings for dub/noncon - it's a bit complicated, since it's all a dream and more dubcon than anything, but there's a lot in there about how messed up Ironborn culture is regarding sexual violence, and also the inherently nonconsensual nature of some sex that never actually happened, so y'know, best err on the side of caution.
Somewhere deep beneath the night's sea, Theon dreams.
There is a ship, long and stern and strangely empty. This is the ship he was taken away on. The water crashes over the sides and soaks him through, but it's warm. It's warm up until the moment it hits his skin, then the chill soaks through, his bare feet numb like he's walking on ice, sore like he's walking on Ice. Something is crawling over the bow, reaching for him, something vast and black but not gold, no, glinting silver in the moonlight.
A Kraken, he thinks and he is not afraid, he should not be afraid. He reaches for it and pulls back. No, let it come to him. He is not afraid.
He's knocked to the ground and the force of it takes his breath away. His face splashes in the water, cold now on the icy floor. No true Ironborn fears drowning, he thinks, gasping for air and finding only water and salt. He tries to stand and fails, pinned down by something far greater than him. He is not afraid.
The Kraken's ink drips over him, so warm he thinks it is the water again, marking him, claiming him, seeping through his white shirt. The shirt is gone soon enough. The winter air hits him and the ink is no longer warm, no, it should be warm, or at least it should not be so cold, and Theon writhes to try and make himself warm once more but it's like he is made of ice. It's like he is made for Ice.
He is naked and shame rushes through him, hot and steady, but there is no-one here to see – why is this ship so empty? His father should be here, Lord Stark should be here, one of those two (but never both). There is nothing but the Kraken and Theon reaches for it, desperate, but there is nothing but cold black ink beneath his white hands (has he always been so pale?).
There is something inside him, deep and dark and spreading him wide, and it hurts but that's alright, he can live with pain, he is not afraid, no true Ironborn fears drowning. The ink is warm again, no, not ink, come, strong and white and running down his thighs, but when he looks the stain it leaves is black.
He gasps for air and it's in his mouth, he swallows, gagging all the while but barely noticing. He can take it, he can lay with the Krakens, it's all so hot it might burn him. He's so cold. He swallows until his silver tongue burns black too.
Yes, this is where I belong, he thinks as the pleasure seizes him, boils hot as shame. With the Krakens, not the wolves. This is where he belongs, on his hands and knees like a whore, like a saltwife, like a bitch. No, that's not right. The ironborn are warriors, rapers and reavers, they seize and take like this Kraken is seizing and taking him. He is not some greenlander cunt moaning for an Ironborn inside him. He has an Ironborn inside him, beneath his skin is the same boy they took from Pyke nine years ago.
But what am I but something seized and taken? The Starks have never touched him, never wanted to, and maybe some part of him buried so deep even the Kraken can't reach it wants them to want to, but they could if they wanted to and that's enough. If Lord Stark told him to, he would spread his legs, he would lick his lips, he would swallow seed white as snow and he would get on all fours and take it like a bitch. If he didn't, they would have his head. He belongs to the Starks, body and soul. What am I but Ned Stark's saltwife?
There is something around his neck, swinging back and forth as the Kraken fucks him, tapping against his chest like a taunt, like a memory. He is so soaked with ink and come he can barely see it, but it glitters gold in the moonlight. A kraken, but weak and delicate and nothing like the monster having its way with him. The monster shines silver. The metal starts to burn, starts to melt and when he stares it turns silver, then iron, then to nothing but an ugly scar on his chest.
His skin burns while his guts freeze and the Kraken sees nothing, feels nothing. It does not even have eyes. Theon looks into the blackness searching for something of himself and finds only an abyss. I belong here, with the Krakens, he thinks, but why would a Kraken take him on his hands and knees like a dog?
He takes whores like this, from behind so he doesn't have to watch them smile for his money. I smile like that. He pays them well anyway, and there are no whores on Pyke only saltwives, only the things you seize and take but Theon couldn't, could he, Ned Stark loved Lyanna so much before the dragon, and a dragon is a little like a Kraken but nothing is like a Kraken. Theon is being seized and taken and he should not want it but it should never have been offered him in the first place.
What am I but a greenlander whore? he thinks as the Kraken fucks him harder now and he moans for it, he clenches around it, he bobs his head and licks his lips and swallows seed dark as ash. He smiles. What would the Krakens do to me if they saw me again?
He comes and the ship is still so very empty, the Kraken is gone and he is on his feet, shaking and naked and so very much like the child who first stood on this ship. He wasn't naked then, he was wrapped in black and gold as he hid below decks and sobbed himself to sleep, but when he woke someone had wrapped a white fur around him. He does not know if the come that runs down his legs is white or black, but the sky is so burnt and the moon so silver, his skin ice white and that little gold kraken in a pool at his feet.
Theon wakes covered in sweat and come, water and salt, and fears he might drown.