#king arthur x you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

author-morgan · 11 months ago

Text

Title: Daylight Rating: M Pairing: Arthur x fem!Reader Summary: Arthur always knew you and he would make a fine match. ...hiding all of our sins from the daylight... I've now collected all(?) your husbands for my infinity gauntlets. a late merry christmas and an early valentines for you boo. @mrsragnarlodbrok.

“SORRY,” ARTHUR MUTTERS, “hands are rough.” He noticed how you pulled away from his calloused touch as he pressed the stained damp cloth against the bloody wound on the back of your shoulder—remnants of an arrow after Bedivere and the Mage helped him dig out the bodkin point. It’d likely been meant for him in the heat of the battle and he cursed himself seeing you fall nigh feet from him, pulled away to shelter by his kingsguard. Even with the power of Excalibur, he’d been unable to protect you—an age-old promise broken.

You lift your gaze from the charred stone floor, looking at your reflections in a fogged-over mirror on the opposite side of the room. Focus has his brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. “You always say that,” you tell him, words slurred from the pain, exhaustion, and strongwine, and voice rougher than normal. This isn’t the first time Arthur Pendragon has tended your hurts and woes, and at this rate you doubt it’ll be the last.

Dried blood and sweat washed away, Arthur picks up the piece of tree bark with a salve prepared by the Mage to stave off the pain for a while and keep the wound from festering. Then, Arthur binds the wound with fresh linen and wipes his hands, kneeling in front of you—hands resting on your hips. You lay your hand on his cheek, thumb sweeping across his cheek, marred with dirt and soot. Leaning toward him, he meets you halfway, and you set your lips on his—a soft, fleeting kiss like the touch of butterfly wings.

“Thank you, Arthur,” you tell him, fingertips mindlessly combing through the scruff on his jaw. He straightens to full height but does so with a grimace. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?” You ask again.

“Just bruises,” he assures you, and this time, it seems like he’s being truthful, besides the few scratches on his hands and the slim, already scabbed-over, cut on his forehead.

Arthur sits next to you on the edge of the bed, looking toward the open balcony. You both can hear the joyous shouts and chants. Bedivere and the others will only be able to satiate the men for so long. They will want to hear from the one who led them to victory. From the Born King. “They’ll be waiting for you to give a speech,” you tell him.

“They’re waiting to go headfirst into the barrels of grog,” he amends, but if the out-of-tune songs are anything to go off of...

“Sounds like they already have,” you laugh. Tonight, there will be revelries for the victory against Vortigern and his forces. In the following days, there’ll be feasts to honor the fallen and growing lists of preparations for a coronation. But right now, Arthur Pendragon doesn’t want to be a king just yet. Right now, he’s content just to be Arthur the street rat, especially when you lean your head against his shoulder and link your fingers through his—and then he’s certain there’s no one else in all of England for him except you.

“HIDING FROM ME? Or everyone else?” Your head quickly swivels to the side, only to relax at the sight of Arthur approaching. You cannot help but wonder how he isn’t cold. He's not dressed anywhere near as layered or warm as he should be for the winter evening, but somehow, he manages to look cozy even in just a scarlet linen-and-wool doublet. Stepping back, your eyes flit up to the scarlet-tinged leaves, still clinging to the branches of the white-bark birch, before looking beyond to the fresh falling snow.

He stops at your side and looks up, too. “Was just thinking about what a bad influence you’ve been on my person,” you tell him, a small half-smirk creeping onto your features. Arthur tilts his head back in amused question, then stares up at the leaves and the silver sliver of the moon peeking through the winter clouds. “As I recall, I was an innocent girl before you came along and ruined all that.”

His blue eyes narrow, arms crossing over his chest. “You’ll have to refresh my memory on how I did that, darlin’.” He moves a little closer, and you sense his ploy, twisting and ducking when he moves to grab you.

You face him with brows raised, smiling. “Such a brute,” you taunt, “grabbing at innocent girls in the castle courtyards at night. Is that any way for the King of England to behave?”

Arthur only rolls his eyes, trying to smother another smirk, and this time, he catches your arm as you move around him. It takes little strength to move you how he wants—pressing you into the trunk of the great tree at the heart of the courtyard. His hands press against the smooth bark beside your head as he leans in enough to look down at you. The glint in his eyes is mirthful, but there’s something else shining in his gaze too—you’ve seen that look a dozen times now, and you’re almost afeared to think about what it can mean. “Maybe you have a point,” he drawls, wearing that crooked, boyish grin that makes your heart flutter.

Your laugh almost catches him off guard. His hand slips down to run gently along your waist, the other toys with the hair at the side of your head. You lean back into the tree more, relaxing as your hands find his waist to rest on. “My father sends his kind, innocent daughter to study in Londinium, and what does this strong, noble boy do?” Arthur raises his brow. “He shoves her against a wall in an alleyway because he has no reasonable way of expressing his feelings with words.” He was just a street rat orphan and you were the daughter of some fancy lord from far away—opposites in nigh every way but more alike than you ever could have imagined. “I was never the same after that.”

His head dips down into the crook of your neck, nose training across your throat and inhaling the scent of roses and lavender. “No,” he smiles, voice low—more of a muttering husk—lips twitching as he pulls back, glancing to your lips and up, “but you’re more fun now.” Your expression falls flat, and Arthur laughs. It’s nigh impossible not to grin or melt at the sound and how little it seems you’ve heard it of late—and by Merlin’s beard, he’s impossibly handsome with laugh lines crinkling the edges of his eyes and a lopsided smile. Leaning further into him, his breath dances across your cheek, the back of his fingers brushing along your neck.

You exhale shakily, and Arthur teases you again with light presses of his lips along your jaw and neck—hands smoothing up and down your waist as he does. For a moment, your hands find their way to his chest before you remember how open the courtyard is and that anyone can happen upon the two of you like this. Glancing around, you breathe his name in a flustered whisper, hand pressing against his chest—the last thing a new king needs is rumors to turn into scandal.

Arthur takes a step back, giving you both room, but then there’s a new glint in his eyes. The playful mirth disappears from his cornflower eyes, replaced by something more serious—kingly, even. It’s something he’s been thinking about for years. Maybe even since the two of you first met by happenstance in the streets of Londinium and struck up an odd friendship. But over the years, Arthur thinks he cannot just call you a friend, not anymore. What he feels runs deeper than that, and given his newfound title and responsibilities...“I’ve been thinking,” he starts.

“And does it pay well?” You quip in a poor attempt to lighten the now solemn mood.

He rolls his eyes, exasperated, unable to hide how his lips quirk upwards. “Would you let me finish?” And so you do, unsure what he must say or ask that warrants such a dramatic change in his usual demeanor. Arthur reaches for your hand, the rough pads of his fingers curling around and into your palm. He stoops forward, lips brushing against your knuckles—reverent. “I’d like you to stay,” he breathes, straightening back to full height. Your brows furrow. “Here,” he adds, “with me.”

You know what he is asking of you—marriage—and it should be an easy answer. Yes, of course. You’ve loved Arthur since before you knew what the word truly meant. But given the events of the last few months and the precipitousness of his proposal, you’re left speechless, heart beating in your throat until all you can do is run to the haven of your chambers with tears pricking your eyes.

A LOUD KNOCK on the great wooden door echoes in your bedchambers. You rouse from sleep, righting the oversized tunic hanging off one shoulder in an attempt to appear decent at the late hour. Part of you already knows who will be waiting on the other side, but when you crack open the door, it still surprises you to find him standing before you—wearing only a loose, nigh threadbare tunic and pair of dark britches. “Arthur,” you greet, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before motioning for him to come in.

There’s still an uneasy air between you after the earlier events and conversation in the courtyard—his proposal. “I shouldn’t’ve….” he starts as you do. “I should not...” You both fall silent, eyes searching the other’s face for an indication of who will be the first to speak, the first to act, but there’s only silence.

“Yes,” you quickly tell him—the shock of his initial proposal has faded, and now you’ve never been more certain about something in your life. You still can’t say what it is that caused you to react in such a way—Arthur’s the only man you’ve ever loved, the only person you could have ever thought of having a life with, even before all this Born King shite. The answer is ‘yes.’ It had always been.

“Yes?” He repeats with furrowed brows, not sure he’s heard you correctly. “I’ll stay” —you reach to comb your fingers through his close-shorn beard, and he leans into the touch— “with you.” Forever.

He smiles, and it’s as though a great weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Arthur cradles your face in his hands, thumbs running over your cheekbones. You smile for him, and he leans toward you, closing the distance. His lips are on yours in an instant.

You answer his kiss, slowly at first, then with more fervor when you settle your hands on either side of his neck, drawing yourself closer. Parting, you press your forehead against his and meet his heated stare. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that?” Arthur asks, breathless.

Then he’s kissing you again and again—hands straying to your waist and backside, pulling you closer, tighter. And it fans the embers burning low in your belly to flames. Arthur breaks the kiss with an anguished groan—fighting a losing war with himself. He brushes back the hair falling in front of your face, the rough pad of his thumb running over your lips. “Tell me to stop,” he mutters—it’s almost a plea. And then he’s adrift in your soft and dark gaze, knowing if you do nothing to stop this, he’ll be acting on countless years of love and pent-up desire.

“No,” you breathe, catching his wrist and sliding his hand up from your neck—peppering his fingertips with gentle kisses. He watches you, lips parted and heart aching. Closing your eyes, you draw in a slow breath, and with a final kiss to his palm, you guide his hand to rest on one of your clothed breasts.

“Arthur.” You speak his name as though it is a quiet prayer. “I want you.” He pulls on the string at the neck of your nightshirt, loosening it until the gauzy material falls off your shoulders—puddling around your ankles,

Though bare, you still hold his clear blue gaze. He goes silent as he draws in a sharp breath—eyes dart over the length of your body. His eyes darken, though, a mix of lust and adoration. “Think this is the longest you’ve been qui–” He cuts you off with a kiss, and one of his hands rises to cradle your cheek—the side of your neck again—and his lips coax yours open.

You sigh into his mouth, hands instinctively dipping under the hem of his roughspun tunic, fingertips trailing over the taut muscles of his abdomen and the scar on his ribs. Arthur breaks the kiss, quickly shrugging off his shirt, and lets the undyed piece of wool fall to the floor.

Then, suddenly, he lifts you off your feet effortlessly. You hastily grip his shoulders for balance until he lays you on the bed—standing back to take off his trousers, and you watch him with a weird mixture of hunger and wistfulness as he strips. Arthur kicks aside his discarded clothes, then crawls onto the bed, making room for himself between your thighs—his clear and cold gaze burning with the warmth of the Sun and never once straying from yours.

You gaze tensely at his face as he studies you. His expression is greedy and appreciative, and the firelight glowing in his eyes just makes him look all the more ardent, and the longer he stares at you without doing anything, the more restless you are for him to act. You want his touch, his cock, his lips on yours, and all he’s giving you is this appreciative greedy stare, and it’s not enough.

Arthur kisses you again, and then he leans away from your lips and kisses the angle of your jaw. His mouth travels to the side of your neck, and your pulse flutters in your throat. His lips are surprisingly soft, and as his mouth trails from your neck to your collarbone, the delicacy of his kisses makes you feel lightheaded —a mix of pleasure and disbelief.

He nuzzles your collarbone, then places a kiss just above the swell of your breast, and you arch helplessly toward his mouth. The heat of his breath wafting over your breast, making your nipples go taut with anticipation, and when the scruff of Arthur’s beard brushes over your nipple, you jolt and make a helpless little mewling sound. You twine your fingers into his golden hair, trying to hold him in place against you. But Arthur shoots you a quick smile, then shuffles lower on the bed still and kisses your breast —and you twist your hips, hands slipping from his hair to his shoulders.

A sob leaves your throat—not a crying kind of sob, but an instinctive noise tore from your throat without your permission. He lifts his mouth from your breast and smiles at you, and you stare stupidly at his handsome face—the spark in his clear eyes and the boyish smirk twisting his lips.

Arthur palms your breast and squeezes gently. He shuffles lower still on the bed and places a sweet, open-mouthed kiss on your navel, and your sense of surreal disbelief ratchets to a nearly unbearable degree. His mouth drifts lower now, the scruff of his beard tickling your belly as he presses his lips to the skin below your navel and eases your thighs further apart.

Arthur places a kiss between your legs, and your mind goes blank with pleasure.

“You alright, darlin’?” He smirks. You stare at him, too stunned by pleasure to find a clever response. Instead, riled by the teasing sparkle in his face, you spread your knees wide. His gaze drops between your legs, and his expression darkens with interest as he places his hands on your knees—stroking up to your thighs. He places another firm, wet kiss between your legs, and a helpless moan leaves your lips, and he hums with approval, a smug, half-growly little hum.

You gasp in a breath, realizing you haven’t been breathing at all. Arthur lifts his head to look you in the eye. “Relax, love,” he croons, smoothing his palm over your belly as he laps at your cunt with slow hot sweeping strokes of his tongue. It’s not long before a finger presses into you, working you slowly open.

Your hips jerk softly along with his movements, and there’s unspoken interest in his gaze as he stares down at you, relentless in his efforts to see you come undone. His tongue and lips are at your clit, fingers stroking and curling deep within you. You jolt, and then he moves slower, dragging over the sensitive spots he’s discovered inside you and leaving your nerves tingling with every touch.

Pleasure washes over you in waves, making your calves twitch, your fingertips feel numb, and that high-pitched mewling noise leaves your throat. Overwhelmed—enraptured—you buck your hips toward his face and clench your fingers convulsively in his hair, and he keeps licking and kissing you until you can’t take it anymore. You pull on his hair to stop him, and he finally pulls away, lips glistening in the moonlight and fading glow of the firelight. “Enough,” you groan. “Need you.” It’s nigh a broken plea.

You shudder as he moves, situating himself between your thighs, calloused fingers dipping into your cunt to gather your slick and spread on his hard cock as he strokes himself. “Arthur, please,” you whimper, impatient, and he won’t keep you waiting.

He slides his cock through your folds before his angle changes just slightly, and on the next pass, your breath stutters as his cockhead presses just inside you—barely splitting you open. Arthur’s hand grabs your hip and angles you up just a bit so he can slide deeper inside you, and you cling onto his biceps—feeling his scars press into your palms and admiring the way his muscles flex under your touch.

Arthur hisses through his teeth when he fully seats himself inside your warmth, then releases his breath slowly and smiles at you. “You’re lovely,” he murmurs, twining his fingers through yours, pressing the back of your hands into the mattress. From the moment Arthur first saw you in the Londinium streets, he knew your fates were intertwined—just as your bodies and hands were now. He trembles at this personal heaven, then draws his hips back, starting to move.

You laugh breathlessly, mindlessly. “Charmer,” you pant, hooking your legs around his waist. You roll into his thrusts, pulling him deeper. His ragged breaths and grunts mingle with your sighs of pleasure—panting scarcely keeping up with your racing heart.

He huffs in amusement. “Can’t say that’s something I get called often,” Arthur says as he pumps his hips slowly, teasing you and pleasing you almost more than you can bear. Then he lowers his lips to yours in a kiss—there’s something sweet on his tongue, like honey wine.

His whole body begins moving, surging, and writhing against yours. One of his hands releases yours and caresses your cheek before he slides it down your body. Without thought, your body arches into his hand as it moves, ripening under his touch—thoughts clouded by lust and love. His fingers find your clit at the same time his mouth latches to your neck.

Another guttural cry bursts from your lips. He’s pounding into you now, and he’s still holding your hand while his other grips your hip. Your breathing is loud, and so is his, and his hand is tightening on your fingers. He drags in a breath, then expels it in a strained groan.

He shudders, then pounds into you hard, twice, thrice, and then he pauses with his cock deep inside of you. His jaw clenches, and his grip on your hip is so tight that it’s almost painful, but you like it—just as much as you like the guttural sound he makes as he shudders in completion. A few long seconds later, he gasps in a breath, then sighs and releases your hand. “Fuck,” he groans, holding his weight above you on shaking arms.

You beckon him to lie atop you, his golden head pillowed on your breasts as his breathing steadies, sighing when you kiss his hair and whisper a quiet, I love you, for him to relish. He stays sheathed inside your warmth, unwilling to part just yet. “I love you,” he murmurs in turn, never tiring of how you smile when he says the words. Sighing, he rolls to the side, and you whine at the loss of him and the empty feeling between your thighs.

He lays on his side, and you pillow your head on his outstretched arm, nuzzling close against his chest and threading one of your legs through his. Arthur presses his cheek to the crown of your head and strokes your hair as the first dregs of daylight break over the horizon, shining upon England, Camelot, and his future wife and queen.

[Forever taglist: @certifiedlittleshit / @erzsebetrosztoczy / @hereforreadandwrite / @mrsragnarlodbrok / @rigshak ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my forever taglist, or any other character/fandom taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!

#King Arthur #King Arthur x Reader #Arthur Pendragon #King Arthur Legend of the Sword #King Arthur: Legend of the Sword #Charlie Hunnam #Charlie Hunnam Fanfiction #Charlie Hunnam Fanfic #my writing #wow i havent written and posted anything in a while #yet again im blaming you for this claire lol #how about we all petition to get this movie the sequel it deserved #also 10 points if you can spot the rdr2 reference

356 notes · View notes

doormatty3 · 11 months ago

Text

Ocean Eyes: Chapter 1 (Orm Marius x Reader)

Masterlist Ao3

Ocean Eyes Masterlink

Summary:

[Orm Marius x Female Reader] [Orm Marius x You]

The ocean has always fascinated you - the ebb and flow of its water, the marine life in the sea and the wild and untamed beauty it exudes. Your attempts to explain this fascination have always fallen short. But when you meet Orm at the seaside one rainy day you find, that he just understands. You offer to show him around since he is not from the city. And you are intrigued by his rather strange quirks and his regal demeanour. After all, how could you not? When his eyes mirror the ocean itself, deep and incredibly blue. OR: You impress Orm with the surface world and he impresses you with his Atlantean cock

Wordcount: 4134

A/N: This is the first chapter for a (probably) 4-5 chapter fic

Also: Our boy Orm deserves some love so this happened.

Normally, you actually like water; after all, it’s an integral part of your life as a marine biologist.

You’ve spent countless hours immersed in the briny depths, studying the mysteries that lie beneath the surface. In the embrace of the watery depths, you’ve unravelled the secrets of hidden ecosystems, marvelled at the kaleidoscope of marine life, and witnessed the symbiotic dance between predator and prey. The ebb and flow of tides, the rhythmic movement of ocean waves – these are the elements that typically elicit admiration and wonder from you.

However, this affection for water does not extend to rain, especially when it chooses to make an unannounced entrance when you’re out for a walk along the seaside.

As the heavens open up unexpectedly, you find yourself caught off guard, the rhythmic pitter-patter of raindrops on the sand disrupts the usual symphony of your thoughts. A muttered curse slips through your lips, a reflexive response to the inconvenience of precipitation, and you hastily reach for your umbrella.

The once-clear sky, a former blue sphere, now cloaks itself in shades of grey, as you struggle with the umbrella, desperately attempting to shield yourself from the sudden downpour threatening to soak you through.

“Thank god,” you mutter under your breath when you finally manage to open the umbrella before being drenched.

As you trudge along the wet sands, your now open umbrella in hand, the lack of shelter becomes painfully apparent. The vast openness of the seaside, which had promised freedom and expansiveness, now offers no refuge from the relentless rain.

The sea, once a source of inspiration, now seems indifferent to your plight, its waves crashing rhythmically as if mocking the irony of a marine biologist seeking escape from the rain.

Amidst the relentless downpour, your attention is drawn to a solitary figure at the edge of the beach. Despite the bad weather and the onslaught of rain, the man remains unwavering.

His gaze is steadfastly directed towards the open expanse of the ocean.

Even from afar you can tell that he’s completely soaked, his blonde hair clings stubbornly to his head, and his clothes adhere to his form like a second skin.

Intrigued by the enigmatic scene, you find yourself pausing in your own battle against the weather, momentarily captivated by the man’s unwavering focus. The rhythmic cadence of the rain seems to fade into the background as you observe the drenched stranger.

Curiosity propels you towards him, each step accompanied by the squelching sound of wet sand beneath your shoes.

Instinctively, you move closer to the man on the edge of the beach, extending the canopy of your umbrella to encompass both of you.

He turns around, surprise evident in his expression, as if awakening from a deep reverie. It becomes clear that your approach went unnoticed, his focus entirely absorbed by the vastness of the open ocean. The sudden shelter you provide seems to bring him back to the present moment.

As your gaze flickers over him, you find yourself inadvertently appreciating the details of his appearance. His smooth skin contrasts with a well-groomed stubble, and his piercing blue eyes hold a hint of depth, perhaps mirroring the expanse of the sea he was lost in moments ago. Expressive eyebrows, a straight nose, and pink lips contribute to an overall attractiveness that stands out even amidst the dampness and the downpour - perhaps the rain even intensified this as your eyes follow the path of a raindrop as it traverses his forehead and nose, eventually dripping from the tip.

Despite the adverse weather, it’s evident that he takes care of himself. The rain reveals the contours of a muscular physique beneath his soaked clothes. A defined chest, broad shoulders, and sculpted arms speak of a physicality that has weathered more than just the current storm.

A quiet “thank you” escapes his lips, accompanied by the subtle curve of a smile that plays on them. As he holds your gaze, his blue eyes reveal more than words convey. There’s an intensity in his look, a depth that suggests the weight of unspoken thoughts resting behind those expressive eyes.

As he breaks the gaze and turns back to the open sea, his presence lingers, all-consuming, and you find yourself unable to simply walk away. Instead, you remain rooted in your spot, holding the umbrella over both of you.

The rhythmic rise and fall of the waves draws your attention, each wave pooling onto the smooth surface of the sand before dispersing like foam. The ocean, in its relentless dance, momentarily recalls its waters, leaving behind a glistening trail of wet sand in its wake.

As you stand there, sheltered under the umbrella, the tableau before you becomes a canvas of contrasts – the vast expanse of the open sea, the ephemeral beauty of the waves, and the tangible presence of the stranger beside you. The sound of raindrops on the umbrella becomes a quiet rhythm, harmonizing with the natural symphony of the seaside.

It really has been ages since you allowed yourself to simply take in the beauty of the ocean and breathe. The thoughts of work, responsibilities, and the hustle of daily life seem to dissolve, rendered insignificant in the face of the vast, timeless expanse of the open sea.

Under the shared umbrella, the ceaseless rhythm of the waves becomes a soothing lullaby, and the salty tang of the sea air fills your lungs with a refreshing breath. The worries and stresses that usually occupy your mind are momentarily eclipsed by the sheer tranquillity of the moment.

With each inhale, you absorb the invigorating sea breeze, and with each exhale, you release any lingering tension. The rain, which was once an inconvenience, now feels like a gentle cleansing, washing away the mental clutter that often accompanies the demands of everyday life.

Normally, your beach walks are just a way to clear your head with familiar surroundings but nothing more than that. So you sift through your thoughts and you ponder the possibility of having seen the man before but his regal demeanour and striking looks leave no trace in your recollections.

Breaking the comfortable silence, you voice your curiosity, “I haven’t seen you here before…” He turns to you, fixing his intense gaze on your face, awaiting your words. “Are you from here?” you inquire.

A subtle smile graces his lips, a fleeting acknowledgement of your question. His hand glides over his chin, tracing the stubble that accentuates his features. Your gaze follows the motion, noting the details - the thickness of his hands, the length of his fingers, and the neatly trimmed nails.

“No,” he begins, and as if sensing your curiosity, he offers a bit more insight, “I’m from far away. I’m… just passing through.”

Despite the cryptic nature of his words, you find yourself captivated by the mysterious charm he exudes. His subtlety and intensity draw you in, leaving you with a desire to unravel the layers behind those enigmatic blue eyes.

“Well then, it’s nice to meet you!” you express with a genuine smile. Taking the initiative, you extend a hand in introduction.

In response to your greeting, he graces you with a full-blown, toothy smile that illuminates his face. His eyes sparkle, reminiscent of sunlight dancing on water, and the skin around his eyes crinkles with the warmth of the expression.

You… want to see that more often, you think. You’d like to be the reason for that infectious smile, to be the reason behind the sparkle in his eyes, and to cast away the haunted look that seems to linger within their depths.

“Happy to make your acquaintance,” he responds, his hand enveloping yours with a firm grasp. As his long fingers curl around yours, a subtle current of electricity prickles at the point of contact, and you find yourself missing his touch when he drops your hand.

“I’m Orm,” he introduces himself.

“Orm,” you test the pronunciation of his name, and you catch the flicker of his eyes as they briefly lower to your lips.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name,” you remark, your curiosity piqued.

In response, he shrugs, a somewhat sheepish expression crossing his features. “As I said, I am not from here,” he adds.

“If you ever need a tour guide, let me know,” you offer, extending a friendly invitation. His eyebrows raise in response, and you catch a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “I know a few nice places… some even provide a better view of the ocean.”

As a gust of wind swirls around you, the dampness of your clothes coupled with the cold air sends a shiver down your spine, and goosebumps emerge on your skin. The sudden chill causes you to freeze, the contrast between the warmth of the moment shared under the umbrella and the elements outside becoming palpable.

In contrast, you observe Orm, still drenched but seemingly unaffected by the cold.

The offer to be his tour guide hangs in the air, and for a brief moment, a subtle fear creeps in. Was it too forward? Does he wish to cut the conversation short, politely concealing any desire to decline?

A sense of relief washes over you as Orm’s response breaks the brief tension.

“That would be nice,” he says, his eyes straying back to the expanse of the ocean as if lost in thought.

The soft pitter-patter of the rain envelops you both in a cocoon, creating a serene backdrop to the moment. Despite the logical inclination to seek shelter and escape the rain, something within you resists the notion of leaving. A peculiar reluctance binds you to the spot as if an invisible force tethers you to Orm’s calming presence.

Standing beside him, you feel a sense of grounding and tranquillity it’s a sensation that you haven’t experienced before - well, if you’re honest with yourself, you have felt it before. It’s the same feeling you get near or in the ocean.

Maybe it’s his eyes. His deep, blue eyes seem to hold all the mysteries of the sea, mirroring the tranquil rhythm of the rain and the timeless expanse of the ocean.

____

A few days later you see him again and you find yourself back at the same spot.

Today, the weather is vastly different - there’s no rain, and the sun graces the scene with its warm glow.

As you approach the familiar location, the memories of the previous meeting flicker in your mind. You wonder how Orm will look in the bright sunlight - he had already been a vision when completely drenched.

When he comes into view, you find that he’s even more striking than before,

He is clad in a basic black shirt and matching slacks, the fabric sits snugly on his broad frame, accentuating the contours of his muscular body. The sunlight enhances the contrast, casting a play of shadows that dance along the lines of his thick body.

The blonde hair, now dry and therefore lighter in the sun, is neatly combed back, reflecting the sunlight like strands of golden thread, creating an almost ethereal aura around him.

His gaze is fixed on the sea again. With his head held high and arms folded behind his back, there’s a regal air about him.

“Orm! Hey,” you greet him, genuine warmth in your voice as you approach, happy to see him again. As he turns around to face you, there’s a radiant smile on his lips.

The sunlight adds a gleam to his features as he returns your greeting.

“So, what do you want to see?” you ask Orm, eager to tailor the experience to his preferences. “Have anything in mind?”

He responds with a gracious simplicity, “No, I leave that in your capable hands.”

You can’t help but feel a subtle warmth creeping across your cheeks because he really is rather sweet and charming.

So you clear your throat before speaking, “I promised you some nice places to see the ocean, so let’s do that.”

With a subtle gesture, you signal it’s time to leave, and you start walking with Orm following closely behind. As you set the pace, you observe him adjusting his strides to match yours, a small yet thoughtful gesture that makes your heart beat faster. It’s rare that a guy just does that without having to be asked.

He slips his hands into his pockets, seemingly unsure of what to do with them.

“We’re gonna have to drive a bit,” you mention, looking up at Orm, and tugging your lip between your teeth, “Is that fine for you?”

You gesture towards your small blue car and watch Orm’s gaze as his eyes shift from you to the car before nodding slowly, “Sure.”

As you lead the way, Orm walks behind you, and you notice a hesitation in his movements when you reach the car. He doesn’t do anything until you open your door, watching your movements. To you, he looks a bit lost, as if he’s unsure about how to open the door. But you disregard that thought, it is probably just your mind playing tricks.

As you both get into the car, the doors closing with a reassuring thud, you settle into your respective seats.

“If you need more leg space, feel free to adjust the seat,” you offer, considering he is taller than you.

He meets your gaze with those striking blue eyes before nodding, “Sure, but I’ll be fine.”

Orm’s gaze wanders around your car, and you notice his eyes catching on the seashell chain dangling from the rearview mirror. His hand raises, and his fingers delicately trace over the hard exteriors of the shells. The gesture carries a certain intimacy as if he’s unravelling the stories embedded in each shell.

The image in your mind briefly diverges, envisioning those deliberate touches on your skin with the same care and intensity. You swallow dryly as you try to remember why you’re here - to show him some spots, to be his friend, not to fuck him.

As you start the car, the engine humming to life, you catch what seems like a subtle jump in the corner of your eyes from Orm. However, you dismiss it, attributing it to a trick of the mind or perhaps a momentary startle that often accompanies the sudden sounds of a car coming to life.

“Do you mind fastening your seatbelt?” you ask, your concern for safety evident in the request. Sure, he’s muscular and fit but in case of an accident that won’t help him much sadly.

Orm nods in acknowledgement, and his eyes meet yours as you secure your seatbelt before mirroring the motion.

He is rather strange.

_____

The drive unfolds in a quiet contentment, accompanied by the soft murmur of the radio playing music at a low volume. Orm, for the most part, gazes out of the window, seemingly lost in thought or captivated by the passing scenery. As the sunlight plays on his face, casting gentle shadows, you find yourself fascinated by the play of light, accentuating his features.

At some point you start humming, caught in the melody of a song and even sing quietly along. After a few beats you notice that Orm’s gaze is fixed on you now, an intensive look in his blue eyes as he studies you with a depth that makes you feel vulnerable.

As you become aware of it, a blush creeps across your cheeks. To your surprise, Orm responds with one of those sweet smiles before breaking eye contact and redirecting his attention to the scenery outside the window again.

“We’re here,” you announce to Orm, bringing the car to a stop. The engine’s hum fades as you turn it off, and you both step out.

You brought him to a medium-high cliff site.

The cliff, standing just a few feet above the ocean, is characterised by weathered stones, carved over time by the relentless touch of the water. It’s not a typical beach setting, but the raw beauty of the scene never fails to captivate you.

Below, the waves crash with a rhythmic symphony, their energy echoing against the stone walls in a natural percussion. Each surge sends sprays of seawater into the air, catching the sunlight like a cascade of liquid diamonds before dissipating into the sea breeze.

The sun, hanging high in the sky, bathes the entire scene in a warm, golden glow. It casts its warm embrace upon the waves, creating a dazzling display as the light interplays with the water that reflects the brilliance of the sun. The golden rays catch in the frothy crests of the wave.

A small path, worn by time and exploration, winds its way down the cliffside side presumably leading to a beach down below.

In the stillness of this remote haven, away from the clamour of the city and the watchful eyes of the world, the air carries a purity that is both invigorating and calming. As you close your eyes and inhale deeply, the crisp, clean air fills your lungs, creating a sense of tranquillity that is uniquely serene.

As you stand there a realization dawns upon you - you’ve never brought someone here before. Yet, as you stand there with Orm, the decision to share this sacred place with him feels instinctive, as if his presence harmonizes with the essence of the surroundings.

Deep within your consciousness, a recognition stirs, an understanding that his eyes mirror the tranquil beauty of this place. There’s an unspoken connection between him and the sea, a sentiment that resonates with the rugged cliffs, crashing waves, and untamed nature surrounding you both. It’s as if his very presence is an extension of the landscape - a kindred spirit to the ocean.

“Beautiful,” Orm’s quiet voice interrupts your reverie, prompting you to turn around and face him, finding that his gaze is fixed on you, not on the breathtaking scenery that surrounds you.

“Yeah, I come here to think - I just feel like I can breathe here,” you share, offering a glimpse into the personal significance this place holds for you.

As you speak, you notice that Orm’s eyes remain glued to your form, not wandering to the sea. His intense gaze seems to linger on you as if captivated by something beyond the natural beauty of the landscape. You feel your heartbeat in your whole body and electricity coursing through your skin.

Orm steps closer his intense blue eyes never leaving yours. With a gentle touch, he lifts a wayward lock of hair that has fallen in front of your face and tucks it behind your ear.

The gesture is tender, a subtle connection that transcends words. The proximity and the soft touch create a moment suspended in time, the crashing waves and the untouched beauty of the surroundings fading into the background.

Your breath catches in your throat, momentarily you forget to breathe as you feel his warm skin on your face.

You can’t help but notice the vibrant glow in Orm’s eyes. The sunlight catches in the deep blue hues, and they seem to come alive with a vivid intensity. His gaze, vibrant and open, mirrors the brilliance of the sun that bathes the surroundings.

At that moment, his eyes are a reflection of the untamed beauty of the sea, filled with depths and mysteries that seem to echo the vastness of the ocean.

Orm’s proximity brings with it an enveloping scent that fills the air around you. It’s a fragrance that captures the essence of the sea, a symphony of the breeze, sea salt, and the unmistakable aroma of the beach.

As you breathe in, the familiar notes of the sea transport you to the shoreline, the rhythmic sounds of the waves echoing in your mind.

It is as if he’s water itself.

In the silence, with Orm’s hand gently cradling the side of your face, you notice the subtle movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. In a moment of courage, you decide to close the distance.

With a small, bold step on your toes, you reach for his lips, closing the gap between you and Orm. The kiss is a gentle meeting, a fusion of shared connection and unspoken emotions. The crashing waves and the sea breeze seem to hold their breath as if nature itself is pausing to witness this intimate exchange beneath the warm glow of the sun.

Orm’s response is immediate and enveloping. Instead of pulling back, he wraps his strong arms around you, pulling you even closer against his frame. The kiss deepens a mutual exchange that goes beyond words. The embrace is strong and intimate as if the crashing waves below have found their echo in the connection between you and Orm.

Time seems to slow, and the kiss becomes a shared moment suspended in the tapestry of the cliffside sanctuary. The scent of the sea, the warmth of the sunlight, and the touch of his lips create a harmonious symphony, blending with the timeless rhythm of the waves below.

You feel Orm’s stubble against your skin. The subtle scratch of his facial hair becomes a grounding force, connecting you to the present moment, reminding you that this is happening.

It is as if your entire being comes alive.

Every touch, every nuance of the kiss, is a vibrant testament to the living, breathing connection between you and Orm.

Breathless, you break the kiss, and as you look at Orm, he appears positively ravishing. The sea breeze plays with his tousled hair, and the sunlight casts a golden glow upon his features.

His eyes reflect a sense of wonder as if the shared moment was something extraordinary and beyond expectation. And then, with a captivating smile, he pulls back slightly, tracing his tongue over his bottom lip, savouring the taste of the kiss.

“That was unexpected,” Orm says, his intense gaze unwavering as he keeps his eyes firmly on you.

“Unwelcome?” you question, searching for reassurance.

“No, I didn’t say that. It was most welcome,” he assures you with a warm smile, his eyes reflecting a genuine appreciation for the shared moment.

“It’s different from what I thought or expected,” Orm mumbles quietly, his expression turning thoughtful, the words almost lost in the hushed tone.

“What?” you ask, a hint of confusion in your voice, urging him to repeat himself since you didn’t quite catch what he was saying.

“Oh, nothing,” Orm dismisses with a subtle smile, as if choosing to keep certain thoughts close to himself and not to elaborate further.

You lose your train of thought as soon as Orm reaches for your hand, giving it a subtle, reassuring squeeze, telling you without words that you shouldn’t worry about it.

Orm gently releases your hand, his attention drawn to the scenic surroundings. Taking a few steps forward, he moves closer to the edge of the cliff, where he peers down at the undulating water below.

In the soft glow of the sunlight, his features come alive, it paints him with warmth, casting a radiant glow that enhances every detail. The light highlights the slight tousle of his hair as the wind delicately weaves through it.

Orm turns to you again, his eyes reflecting a deep appreciation for the surroundings. “I can understand why you come to this place,” he says, his voice carrying a sincere tone. “It really is something special.“

You nod in agreement and offer a warm smile. “Are you hungry?” you ask because the rumble in your own stomach suggests it’s time for a meal. Orm seems to ponder for a moment, considering the idea, and then he agrees with a subtle nod.

Curiosity piqued, you ask, “What do you feel like eating?”

His response is straightforward. “I’d like a burger with fries and a Guinness.”

A grin spreads across your face as you reply, “I know a spot that serves good burgers. I’m not too sure about the Guinness though - but I’m sure you’ll find something.”

Orm nods in satisfaction and you suggest getting back to the car.

“Lead the way, oh guide of tours,” Orm says, his choice of words eliciting a snort from you at the quirky phrasing.

As you both settle into the car, you take the driver’s seat and start the engine.

Without many words, Orm carefully places a hand on your thigh.

Initially, it’s just the featherlight touch of his fingertips, but when he senses your ease, he gently lays his hand down, spreading his fingers to cover as much space as possible.

The warmth of his touch seeps through the fabric of your jeans, a searing heat that radiates from your leg, enveloping your entire body. Turning your head towards him, you find his gaze fixed on you and in response, you offer a warm smile.

637 notes · View notes