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A Kraken’s Revenge [Theon Greyjoy X Sansa Stark] - [One-Shot]
🕑 Added 2025-03-16 15:42:31 +0000 UTCSynopsis: Theon knew from the beginning that he was nothing more than a prisoner of Starks. But more than anything, he hated Catelyn Stark. Her proud and obnoxious demeanor, the snarls she gave him.
Finally, as Sansa came of age, he had the perfect target to aim for. Where it’d hurt the proud Catelyn the most.
[All relevant characters are adults. Sansa is 18.]
Tags: Teaching Sansa, Virginity, Breeding, Revenge against Catelyn
Written by: Ms.Squirtle
_______________
Theon Greyjoy stood at the edge of the training yard, his arms crossed as he watched the Stark brothers clash swords under the cold morning sun. Their retainers lined the perimeter, shouting encouragement, voices thick with pride. Theon, however, forced a smile, one he had long since perfected. It masked the bitter scoff threatening to escape his throat.
His dark eyes lingered on Jon Snow, that bastard whelp. A Stark by blood but not in name. Theon should have felt superior. He, at least, was trueborn; but instead, the feeling festered, gnawed at him. He was still not one of them. Never had been. Never would be.
“Catch!”
Robb’s voice barely registered before the wooden training sword came sailing through the air. Theon snatched it mid-flight, but the momentum pulled the blade down, and the flat of it smacked hard against his groin.
“Fuck!” he groaned, doubling over, one hand on his knee, the other clutching his wounded pride.
A sharp, shrill giggle cut through the cold air.
“Haha!” Arya’s laughter was unrestrained, full of mischief. Sansa’s was softer, more refined, but no less amused.
Robb merely clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning as he passed. “Careful, Greyjoy. Wouldn’t want to ruin your chances of continuing the great line of Greyjoys.”
Theon forced a chuckle, but his fingers twitched against the hilt of the sword. He gritted his teeth, watching as they all turned away, walking toward the castle with the easy familiarity of family. Of belonging.
He lingered behind, as he always did, while the retainers busied themselves cleaning up the yard. His gaze, however, followed the retreating figures, sharp and burning.
His lips curled as his eyes landed on Sansa’s flowing red hair, catching the dying light of the afternoon sun. She walked with that same pristine grace, head held high, the very image of the perfect daughter, the perfect lady that Catelyn had raised.
His stomach coiled with something dangerous. Resentment. Lust. The sharp urge to defile something untouchable.
Tomorrow, she would be of age.
Tomorrow, she would be ripe.
The realization sparked like wildfire in his mind.
Catelyn Stark. That wretched woman, with her cold, assessing eyes and her unshakable pride. For years, Theon had swallowed his anger, had gritted his teeth through her clipped words and dismissive glances. He had been forced to play the part of the grateful ward, the loyal companion, all while his birthright rotted away across the sea.
But now… Now, he saw his chance.
To take something she loved. To carve into her pride.
And what better way to do that than through her eldest daughter? Through the delicate, pampered girl who had been raised to be a queen, who had never known real danger, real hunger, real desperation.
Sansa Stark.
He would be her lesson.
####
That night, after the coming-of-age banquet, Theon sat back in the shadows, his eyes tracking Sansa as she stormed from the hall. Her layers of skirts swished angrily as she disappeared into the corridors, her lips pursed in frustration.
Another fight with her sister, no doubt. Arya had always been a little wolf, biting at the edges of Sansa’s pretty illusions. He’d heard their little discussion, and it was exactly what he needed. Since Sansa had come of age now, the talks of marriage were already on the table.
Arya, meanwhile, was more interested in mocking how pitifully stupid Sansa was about men, and how she’d be nothing but a personal whore to some man.
Theon drained his cup and stood, stretching his limbs as he made his way out into the cold.
He knew where she would be.
Sansa always liked to walk in the snow after a quarrel. Always sought solace in the quiet hush of Winterfell’s courtyards, away from the noise of her family.
And tonight, she walked right into his waiting hands.
Theon followed her through the dimly lit corridor, his boots silent as he trailed behind Sansa’s flowing red hair. This part of the castle was lined with doors leading to rarely used chambers—quiet, secluded, just the kind of place he needed.
He waited for the right moment, watching her pace, her delicate hands clenched in frustration from yet another quarrel.
"You're always storming off like a spoiled girl," he said, leaning casually against the stone wall. His voice carried that usual teasing tone, but there was something sharper beneath it. A taunt.
"Arya was right. That little wild thing knows how to be tough enough to protect herself. What are you going to do to your husband later? Sulk?"
Sansa spun on her heel, indignation flaring in her eyes. "I am to be a good wife! A lady who makes her husband happy."
Theon scoffed, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. "Do you even know what a lady has to do to make her husband happy?"
"Of course, I do!" she shot back, but there was a flicker of hesitation in her blue gaze.
His smirk widened. "Do you even know what being married means?"
She lifted her chin, speaking as if reciting a well-memorized lesson. "Mother said I will marry the King. I will become a royal consort and the mother of a nation."
Theon chuckled, low and mocking.
"Haha. Wait—aren’t you still a virgin?" He let the word linger in the air, watching as her cheeks turned pink. "How are you going to pleasure your king if you don’t even know what to do? That boy will grow tired of you before the bedding night is over. He’ll be sneaking off to the whores before the first moon turns."
Sansa’s face burned as she gasped, "How dare you! The prince is no such man!"
"Pfft," Theon laughed, shaking his head. "Do you even know what a man is? Have you ever seen a cock in your life? I bet you wouldn’t even know what to do with one."
Sansa whirled away, her spine rigid, her breath shaky.
But day after day, his taunts continued, seeping into her thoughts like ink bleeding through parchment. And eventually… she started to wonder.
She had no one to ask. Certainly not her father or brothers. Not Septa Mordane with her stiff lectures on duty and virtue.
The only man close enough to her, who was not family, was Theon.
####
Days passed.
Thunder rattled the walls of Winterfell, wind howling through the towers as rain lashed against the stone. A storm had approached the North.
Lord and Lady Stark had left that morning to attend a wedding nearby, taking along Arya, Bran, and little Rickon. The castle felt hollow without them. Mostly maintained by the master-at-arms. Robb, meanwhile, was nowhere to be seen, same for Jon.
To Sansa, that hollow, mostly empty castle seemed like an opportunity. To finally do what she’d been contemplating for weeks. She had made up her mind.
She hesitated, doubting herself as she dragged her slender feet up the tower. Theon’s room once used to be his prison. Then, the metal locks were removed as he grew, and he ended up becoming the proud owner of the top floor chamber of one of the minor towers. With a great view of the surroundings to boast.
She stood before Theon's chamber’s door, fingers curling into the fabric of her dress. Her heart pounded, not with fear, but with a strange, nervous anticipation. Then, gathering her courage, she knocked.
Woosh!
The door swung open. Theon stood there, shirt unlaced at the collar, his usual smirk playing on his lips as he looked her up and down.
"Sansa," he drawled, leaning against the doorframe. "To what do I owe the pleasure? A little late, isn’t it?"
She swallowed, steadying herself. "I… I must ask you something."
Intrigued, smiling slyly, he stepped aside, letting her in. The room smelled of leather and steel, of something undeniably male. She stood awkwardly near the center, wringing her hands.
Theon shut the door behind her. "Well?"
She looked at him with doe eyes. Her voice wavered only slightly. "Teach me."
He raised a brow, amused. "Teach you what?"
She looked away, heat crawling up her neck.
"Ahh… that?" His grin widened, acting as if he hadn’t just orchestrated the great turmoil in her mind. He chose not to push her and took matters into his own hands. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. "And if I do, will you keep it a secret?"
She hesitated, telling herself constantly that she’d come of age and this was normal. Then, slowly, she nodded.
“I promise.” Theon reached out, tilting her chin up with two fingers. "If you'll let me teach you, Sansa. You'll be the only woman your king ever wants."
She bit her lip, considering, before giving the smallest nod.
Smiling, he brushed his thumb over her jaw, his touch lighter than she expected. He admired her for a moment. Beautiful, with long red hair, blue eyes, tall and willowy, truly Catelyn Stark’s daughter in every sense.
"Close your eyes," he whispered.
Gulping, she obeyed, and before she could second-guess herself, his lips were on hers. Warm. Rougher than she imagined, expected. But not unpleasant.
Her fingers clenched at her skirt as he pressed in, his body heat seeping into her. She had never been this close to a man before. The sensation was overwhelming, unfamiliar, exciting. And then—his tongue slipped past her lips.
She jerked back, gasping, her fingers flying to her mouth, ending that warm, wet kiss. Her eyes, full of surprise, blinked silently.
Theon chuckled, cocking his head. "Well? How does a man taste?"
Sansa’s lips tingled where he had touched them. She swallowed hard, breathless, but resolute to learn all things men.
"Warm…" she whispered.
“Let’s continue then.”
Theon stepped closer, his body heat pressing into Sansa before his hands reached for hers. When he finally did, his grip was firm, guiding her delicate fingers straight to the rigid bulge straining against his breeches.
“That’s not all there is to taste,” he murmured.
Sansa’s breath was stifled by shock. Beneath her trembling fingertips, she felt something thick, something pulsing with a warmth that sent a strange shiver up her spine. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came, only shallow, uneven breaths.
She knew what it was. But she’d never felt or seen it. This sensation, hard yet soft, warm and as if… breathing. So foreign, she couldn’t help but expect to know it more.
Theon smirked, watching her struggle between hesitation and curiosity. Then he stepped back, his fingers working the laces of his breeches. He made a show of it, slow and deliberate, before finally letting the fabric drop. His cock stood exposed, veiny, thick and proud, a pulse of heat radiating from it, the head already flushed with need.
He watched her eyes widen, those soft lips parting just a little more.
“I’m not even fully hard yet,” Theon murmured, stroking himself lazily, teasing his purple knob at her as he watched her expression shift from shock to something akin to a seed of lust, ready to bloom. “You should help me with that.”
“H-How?”
Sansa’s breath came faster, her gaze locked onto the way his hand moved, stroking over his thick length, pulling the foreskin back and forth. She was still frozen, still hesitant, but Theon could see it: that flicker of curiosity battling against her innocence.
“You wanted to learn how to please a man,” he murmured, reaching up with his other hand, wrapping his fingers loosely in her fiery red hair. “Then start learning.”
Her body moved before her mind caught up, guided by his gentle grip on her hair. Her knees folded beneath her as she sank lower, closer, her face mere inches from his throbbing manhood.
Theon exhaled at the sight of her kneeling before him, her lashes fluttering, her thin lips so soft and pink, fueling something possessive inside him. He almost imagined Catelyn there, but he knew this was better. Much better.
“Come on,” he coaxed, brushing a thumb over her cheek, tilting her chin up. “Don’t be shy. You know you want to know the taste. Go on, take it in your mouth. It’ll make your future husband happy.”
Sansa hesitated for only a moment before her lips parted. She really wanted to know, to learn. And after coming this far, retreating was foolish.
Mmmm… As good as I imagined.
Theon groaned low in his throat as she took him in. Tentative, soft, her mouth warm and wet around the head of his cock. He could feel the way her clueless breath quickened, how she adjusted to the foreign shape, her tongue flickering over his skin without even realizing what she was doing.
Her eyes flicked upward, meeting his, and Theon felt his restraint thin dangerously.
She was watching him. Watching the way his chest rose and fell in heavy, controlled breaths, watching the way his jaw clenched, his fingers tightening in her fiery hair. And when she saw the pleasure etched in his face, when she saw what she had done, her lips sealed a little tighter, her mouth moving with even more craving. Wanting to see him lose himself, it somehow made her wickedly proud.
A low, pleased chuckle rumbled from Theon’s throat.
“That’s it,” he praised, his voice thick with hunger. “You’re a quick learner.”
Sansa flushed under the praise, her thighs pressing together as something unfamiliar twisted in her belly. Heat. Arousal.
She barely had time to process it before Theon’s grip in her hair hardened.
“But let me teach you properly,” he murmured.
And then, slowly, he guided her deeper.
Theon thrust slow and steady, his cock gliding over the wet heat of Sansa’s mouth. Slowly, her soft lips parted willingly, surrendering to him, letting him fuck her mouth at his own pace. She no longer resisted. Her tongue flicked hesitantly at first, tracing the thick veins along his shaft, but as the moments passed, she grew bolder, suckling him, teasing him, her breath hot against his sensitive skin. Each push forward had her throat flexing around him, molding to his girth.
The sensations made him groan deep in Theon’s chest. At his victory.
She was intoxicating to watch. Her thin, delicate lips stretched around his cock, her lashes fluttering as she gazed up at him, disbelieving yet yielding. Her spit dribbled down his length, glistening in the dim light, her cheeks flushed with heat. The way she looked at him, wide-eyed and submissive, made his hunger sharpen, made him want more, to take everything from her, to make her rely on him, need him, crave him.
His fingers twitched with the urge to grasp her face, to hold her still and plunge deep until she had no choice but to accept every inch of him.
“Mmmmm…”
The musky scent of his arousal filled Sansa’s senses, thick and overpowering, making something deep inside her tighten with need. A heat coiled low in her belly, spreading between her thighs. Her body was responding in ways she had never known before, instinct taking over where experience had never touched.
The way his cock pulsed in her mouth, swelling, growing heavier with each slow thrust, sent a shiver of exhilaration through her. Even when it stretched her throat, making her gag around him, she didn’t pull away.
Then, as if her femininity was responding, taking control, her fingers lifted, finding her own breasts, clutching at the soft mounds as her hips shifted restlessly on knees. She kneaded and pinched her nipples through her gown, gasping around him, a deep craving taking hold.
She had never felt a man’s body before, had never even let herself think about it. But now, alone with Theon, tasting him, feeling him throb against her flat tongue, she knew she would never stop wanting.
“Ghh….” A groan tore from Theon’s throat as he watched her hands play with her tits, watched her body arch and move, desperate for more. His control slipped. His cock twitched, aching to feel her wet heat wrapped around him, to know what it would be like to bury himself inside her. The daughter of proud Catelyn Stark.
Without warning, his fingers tangled in her thick auburn hair, yanking her harder, urging her to take him deeper. He ground himself into her throat with a single, punishing thrust, feeling her gurgle around him, her body jerking at the intrusion.
A moment passed, just one, before he let her go.
“Cough cough... haah... ah…” Sansa coughed, gasping for air, but even as she pulled back, her lips remained parted, her breath ragged with something dangerously close to want.
That single moment of choking didn’t deter her; it thrilled her. The sheer force of him, the power behind that thrust, only made her hungrier. Her body trembled with need, her thighs pressing together, desperate for more of him, more of that thick cock.
“Sit on the table,” Theon commanded, his voice rough with greed.
Sansa, startled at the abrupt order, blinked up at him with dazed, wet eyes. But she obeyed. Taking a shaky step back, she turned and perched her round ass on the edge of the large wooden table behind her, her chest rising and falling with quick, uneven breaths.
Theon moved between her legs and parted her thighs, looming over her. His hands caught and pushed her skirt up, slow and deliberate, the fabric bunching around her waist. Then the tips of his fingers grazed her soft, pale skin as he worked them higher, teasing, exploring.
When he reached the lower hem of her smallclothes, he hooked his thumbs under the delicate fabric and dragged it down her slender, pale legs, taking his time. Never forgetting to let his fingertips linger, he traced patterns along the sensitive skin of her thighs.
And then he saw her cherished core.
Her unshaven mound, untouched and pristine, was laid bare before him, glistening with proof of her need. A shiver ran down his skin at the sight, tight and pink, deliciously drenched. It hardened him more, the knowledge that he was the first to see her like this, to have her like this.
His cock pulsed, thick with hunger.
She was his to take.
Theon spread her thighs wider, his rough fingers digging into the softness of her flesh as he positioned himself between them. His cock, thick and pulsing, nudged against her wet heat, the slick warmth coating his swollen tip. He let it glide slowly along the length of her folds, teasing, watching her reaction.
She whimpered constantly. Her eyes stuck to the scene between her legs as her flushed, virgin walls stood an inch away from being speared.
“Time for you to learn this part of pleasure…”
“Wait!” Sansa refused, a first. She tried to squeeze her legs shut but Theon stood there, his cockhead pressed at her tight entrance. “S-Septa Modrane said… this makes babes. I don’t want that.”
“Oh, Sansa. You’re so naive.” Theon chuckled, ridiculing her almost. “A cock entering a cunt doesn’t make babes. A cock spilling the seed does. Don’t worry, I’d rather not have children with you either. I’ll pull out before I spill.”
“Hmm…” She responded, her thoughts too heated to think straight.
“Relax and… focus down there. Remember this feeling… forever, Sansa.”
Remember how I plundered you. How Theon Greyjoy took your maidenhead.
Sansa bit her lip, her chest rising and falling in nervous anticipation. She was burning; a deep, aching need unfurling inside her as his cockhead traced over her sensitive bundle of nerves. A shudder wracked through her body, her thighs trembling.
“Oh!” she mewled, her hips twitching when he pressed against that sensitive spot, the pressure sending jolts of threatening pleasure through her.
Theon grinned at her response, gripping her hips as he lined himself up properly. Then, with a slow but deliberate motion, he pushed forward, probing her untouched flower.
Sansa’s fingers curled around the edge of the table as he pierced into her, her body tensing at the unfamiliar stretch.
“Oo—!” A sharp gasp tore from her throat, but Theon was quick, one hand covering her mouth, muffling the sound before it could echo through the empty corridor outside.
“Shhh… Let’s keep this between us… Our little secret.” He whispered against her ear.
She barely managed a nod, her body adjusting to the fullness inside her. The sensation was overwhelming; too much, too new, but something about the way he fit, the way he filled her, gathered a rush of heat in her belly.
She wondered. She imagined. Was this how all women felt? Was this how all men made love? Did her mother feel this too? This fullness… this… foreign warmth inside.
And then, there it was. A sudden, sharp sting made her jolt.
Theon felt it, too, the resistance giving way. He glanced down, catching the faint smear of crimson, a primal satisfaction settling in his gut.
There! Catelyn Stark, you whore! I have claimed your prized daughter! Sell her to the king now, will you?
Sansa winced, a small whimper escaping against his pressing palm. But Theon didn’t stop. He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Bear with it… You’ll feel better soon.”
His hips rolled forward, gentle at first, each slow thrust coaxing her body to relax, to take him in deeper. To make way for his virile length, to allow him complete possession.
Sansa’s hands slid from the table’s edge to grip his waist, fingers digging in, urging him on. The sting faded, replaced by something else, something warm and potent, a slow-building pleasure that made her toes curl.
Theon felt the way her body clenched around him, her heat pulling him in. His thrusts grew more insistent, his grip tightening as he lost himself in the rhythm of their bodies moving together.
His other hand slid down to cup her ass, tilting her just right so he could sink in to the hilt, the friction causing waves of pleasure to spread through them both, engulfing everything like wildfire. His jaw clenched, every stroke making him groan under his breath, savoring the way she gripped him, so tight, so warm.
“Mmmmmh…” She moaned into his pressing palm, a little glad he suppressed it, for she could feel her throat aching to cry out in bliss.
Sansa clung to him, drowning in the sensations, her body yielding, her mind hazy with pleasure. She never knew it could feel like this, this wild, all-consuming need. It all made sense now, somehow. Why women and men craved this.
Theon’s breathing turned ragged, his control slipping as he felt himself pushed closer to the edge, every hungry jolt making his entire body move, chasing that pleasure.
His thrusts grew rougher, each one slamming into her with reckless abandon, his grip on her tightening as if he were afraid she might slip away. His hand remained firmly over her mouth, muffling the desperate cries she couldn’t hold back, the table screeched loudly beneath.
His breath turned ragged, his muscles tensing as raw pleasure coiled tight inside him.
"Fuck…" he groaned through gritted teeth. Her freshly inaugurated cunt was gripping him so perfectly, milking him with every pulse, every shudder of her body.
Then it happened; her body tightened up, her milky pale thighs trembling around him. She clenched him hard, her warmth gushing around him, soaking him in her nectar. A broken, muffled moan slipped through his fingers, her entire body quaking against him as pleasure overtook her. The slick heat of her climax sent a raw jolt of pleasure through him, and he couldn’t hold back any longer.
In the heat of the moment, he let it all go. All his dark desires erupted in one final culmination.
To hell with it! I’m a noble too… They owe me this!
With a final thrust, he buried himself deep in that snugness, his entire body shuddering as he unloaded himself. His hands gripped her ass tightly, pulling her cunt in, holding her still as he pulsed inside her, filling her, claiming her in a way that could never be undone.
“Hah… Fucking… hah!” He panted endlessly, gaze focused on her flushed, beautiful face.
As the pleasure dimmed away, he slowly pulled back, his hands loosening their grip but not letting go completely. He could feel all that virile batter slowly ooze out after caressing her fertile womb.
Father will be proud. Maybe… he’ll take me back.
Victoriously, he caught Sansa’s lips in a lingering kiss, rough and possessive. Then, with his forehead against hers, he stared at her closely, their breaths mixing. He softly pressed a single finger against her lips.
"It's our secret," he murmured, his voice low and husky. “Our little secret.”
For now.
####
Nine months later, a child’s wail pierced through Winterfell’s stone halls—a child born of wolf and kraken, of ice and defiance.
Theon should have lost his head for what he had done. And yet, in the end, he had won as Lord Stark had no other choice.
He had taken the one thing that mattered most to Catelyn Stark, tarnished the untouchable, and claimed what no one ever thought he could.
Sansa Stark… no, Sansa Greyjoy now.
His wife. His woman. His to do with as he pleased.
Of course, he had no complaints, as he made sure that when each night fell over Winterfell, Sansa’s cries of pure pleasure echoed through its halls.
Her moans loud as he battered her fertile womb and produced more grandkids for Lord Stark.
So loud, night and night again.
Loud enough for Catelyn Stark to hear and lose her sleep.
_________
A/N: This was a random one-shot smut that Ms.Squirtle wrote in her free time. If you like it, give the chapter a like. It'll make Ms.Squirtle happy.
Comments
Miles Gwatidzo
No other choice ? Ned could have had Theon whipped, then asked Robert to legitimize the bastard as either a Greyjoy or Stark without Sansa needing to marry him.
