#aatlk

You know that Orm doesn't understand much about humans and their customs—you'd been living with the man for quite some time, and his antics are nothing new.

Though he tries and makes an effort for your sake, sometimes he even does it so well that you forget he is the former king of Atlantis. But other times, it is all too obvious that he is still a stranger to this world.

"Why must everything be cut into such small pieces, honey?" Orm asks, his tone filled with genuine curiosity as he concentrates on cutting vegetables. The two of you are cooking together, an activity that has become a cherished routine of your everyday life. It is in these quiet moments that Orm's sincere attempts to integrate into your world were most apparent. And not only did his efforts shine, but so did the love between you.

You look at him, a fond smile playing on your lips.

His brows are furrowed in deep concentration, and his unruly blond hair nearly reaches his nose now. His piercing blue eyes are focused on the small kitchen knife and the bell pepper he is meticulously slicing. The knife seems almost comically small in his large hands, and he grips it with such strength that you are surprised it hasn't broken yet.

It is somewhat amusing, considering how skilled he is with his trident compared to the struggle he faces just holding the knife properly.

"Because we're going to fry it, sweetheart," you explain gently, appreciating his efforts to learn. "Cutting the vegetables into smaller pieces helps them cook more evenly and quickly."

Orm nods slowly, processing the information. He glances at you, his expression a mix of determination and puzzlement. "Fry… that means to cook them in hot oil, right?"

"Exactly," you confirm, guiding him through the process. "It gives them a nice texture and flavour."

As he resumes cutting the bell pepper, pleased with your answer, you can't help but admire his dedication.

Orm, the fierce warrior who once ruled an underwater kingdom, now stands in your modest kitchen, struggling with the simple act of slicing vegetables. It is a testament to how much he cares about adapting to your world - about making a life with you.

You watch as he continues his task, his concentration unwavering.

Despite the awkwardness, there is just something endearing about his efforts. The way he holds the knife, the careful precision with which he makes each cut, and the slight furrow in his brow all speak of a man determined to master even the most mundane aspects of human life for the sake of the one he loves.

"You're doing great," you encourage, stepping closer to him. "Just a little more practice and you'll be a pro."

Orm glances up at you, and a small, sweet, appreciative smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

At that moment, you are once again mesmerised by how much you love him. The depth of your feelings seems to swell within you as if you are seeing him for the first time all over again. The love you feel for him is a constant, ever-growing force that never ceases to amaze you.

"Thank you," he says softly. "For being patient with me."

You reach out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from his eyes. "We're in this together, Orm. Every step of the way."

He smiles brightly at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners and sparkling like the smoothest water in sunlight before he returns his focus to slicing the last few pieces of bell pepper.

When he is done with the paprika, Orm hands you the bowl, his eyes meeting yours with a look of accomplishment. You take it from him with a grateful smile.

"Thanks," you say, putting the bowl away so you can use it for cooking later. "Can you cut the onions, love?" you ask, gesturing towards the small pile of onions on the counter.

His puzzled expression tells you he isn't sure which vegetable you mean, so you point at them and specify. "You have to peel them—the brown skin has to go. Then, dice the white part in small pieces."

Orm nods and grabs an onion, examining it closely before starting to peel. You watch as he works, his large hands moving slowly and carefully. It is kind of cute - the way he approaches this simple task with such determination.

He peels away the first layer, the dry, flaky skin falling away to reveal the smooth white beneath. As he begins to slice, his concentration deepens, his brows furrowing just as they had with the bell pepper.

After a few cuts, however, you hear him mutter a curse under his breath. Glancing over, you see him blinking rapidly, his eyes beginning to water.

Orm wipes his arm over his eyes, confusion etched on his face. "Why do my eyes hurt?" he asks, blinking more frequently now. Before you can warn him, he uses the same hand he had just cut the onion with to rub his eyes.

"Orm, no—" you start, but it is too late.

His eyes widen in pain, and he quickly withdraws his hand, the irritation clearly intensifying. Tears stream down his cheeks, not from emotion but from the sharp sting of the onions.

"Why… why am I crying?" he asks, bewildered, as he tries to blink away the tears. He brings his hand up again, clearly frustrated, and you quickly grab his arm to stop him.

"Sweetheart, you're making it worse," you say, unable to help the laugh that bubbles up. "Let me help you."

You grab a piece of tissue paper and go to the sink to dampen it. Then you dab it over his eyes, gently cleaning his hands as well.

He grumbles, clearly in a bad mood from the sting and the tears, and you can't help but laugh again. "The mighty Orm, taken down by a humble onion," you tease lightly.

Orm's expression darkens slightly, a mix of frustration and embarrassment, his brows knitting together in a grumpy frown. "This is ridiculous," he mutters, his pride clearly stung, but your laughter only intensifies.

Acting a bit condescending, you pat his cheek. "It's okay, sweetie. Onions can be tricky. Maybe next time I'll handle them - we'll find another battle for the fine Atlantean warrior."

His eyes flash with a mix of frustration and something deeper. Before you can react, he roughly presses you against the counter, his grip firm but not painful.

Orm's lips crash down on yours in a heated, possessive kiss. You gasp in surprise but quickly melt into the kiss, your hands coming up to rest on his broad chest.

When he finally pulls back a bit, his breathing is heavy, his eyes dark with unresolved tension. "Don't mock me," he says, his voice low and husky.

You look up at him, breathless and a little dazed from the unexpected kiss. "I wasn't—" you begin, but the words catch in your throat.

"You think this is funny?" he murmurs against your lips, his voice a low growl as he interrupts you. "I may not be skilled in the kitchen, but I'm skilled in getting you off."

Before you can respond or comprehend what he said, he kisses you again roughly, his hands roaming your body with a fervour that makes your heart race. You bury your hands in his blond hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepens.

It is intense and devouring.

You feel his tongue against yours, the insistent pressure of his lips sending shivers down your spine. Orm's kiss is demanding, almost punishing, and you meet it with equal passion, losing yourself in the moment. The sensation of his lips on yours, his hands exploring your body, is intoxicating. You cling to him, your fingers tangling in his hair, feeling the world blur around you.

His tongue teases and explores, sending waves of heat coursing through your body. You moan into his mouth, the sound muffled by his relentless assault. He growls in response, the vibration travelling through you and making you tremble.

Orm's hands slide down your back, gripping your waist with a possessive strength that leaves you breathless. His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you against him, the hardness of his body pressing into your softness. His tongue explores your mouth with an urgency that makes your knees weak, and you moan into the kiss again, your body responding eagerly to his touch as you clench your thighs, feeling yourself growing wet.

When Orm finally pulls back, his eyes are smouldering with renewed intensity. He doesn't move away from you; instead, he tightens his grip on your waist again, pressing you firmly against the counter. The heat of his body radiates through your clothes, and you can feel the raw power in his muscles as he holds you there, trapped between the cool surface of the counter and him.

"You drive me crazy," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. His hands roam over your sides, tracing the curves of your body with a possessive hunger. "You laugh at me, but you have no idea what you do to me."

You shiver at his words, a thrill of excitement coursing through you. "Orm…" you whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation.

He silences you with another kiss, rough and demanding. His tongue explores your mouth with an urgency that causes your eyes to flutter closed as you respond eagerly, your hands clutching at his hair, his shoulders, anything to ground yourself in the whirlwind of sensation.

Orm's hands move with a new purpose, sliding under your shirt to caress the bare skin beneath. His touch is electric, sending shivers down your spine as he explores every inch of you. His fingers trace patterns over your back and sides, each touch leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

He tugs at your shirt, lifting it over your head and tossing it aside, exposing your bare skin to his hungry gaze. His eyes darken with desire as he takes in the sight of you, his hands roaming over your now exposed breasts, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples.

The sensation is almost too much, and you arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as you respond in kind, moving your hands from his hair over his broad shoulders and biceps, feeling the strong muscles beneath his clothes.

He lifts you onto the counter with ease, his powerful hands gripping your waist firmly as he keeps his lips connected to yours.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to look at you for a second before his mouth descends on your neck.

He kisses and nibbles at your sensitive skin, his hands continuing their exploration of your body. His touch is both tender and demanding, a combination that leaves you aching for more. His breath is hot and tantalising, making you let out a breathy moan as your hands come up to touch his shoulders, feeling the hard muscles beneath his skin.

"You drive me wild," he murmurs against your neck, his voice a husky growl.

His hands move to your breasts, teasing them with a touch that sends shivers down your spine.

His fingers expertly trace circles around your nipples, each caress making them harden under his touch. You gasp, arching into him, your body responding eagerly to his ministrations, and you feel your pussy growing wet as arousal pulses through your veins. He growls appreciatively, his mouth moving lower, leaving a trail of kisses down your chest.

"Orm," you breathe, your voice a mixture of frustration and need.

He smiles against your skin, his lips trailing down to your chest. "You think it's funny to laugh at me, don't you?" he murmurs, his mouth closing over one nipple. He sucks gently, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak, drawing a moan from your lips, your nails digging into his shoulders.

A whimper escapes you as he switches tactics, using his teeth to graze over your flesh with a delicious roughness, sending sparks of electricity coursing through your veins and making your clit throb. But then, just as quickly, he soothes the ache with a soothing stroke of his tongue, leaving you trembling with desire.

Your hands find their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the blond strands as you pull him closer, unable to contain the overwhelming need for him. "I'm sorry," you manage to gasp between ragged breaths, though your words are lost in the haze of pleasure.

"I'm not," he growls, lifting his head to look at you, his eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and desire. "You drive me mad."

He switches to the other breast, his mouth and hands working together to drive you wild as he sucks and nibbles on your sensitive nipple and kneads your tit with his hand. The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and anticipation that makes you tremble. You can feel the heat building between your legs, your need for him growing with each passing second, slick against your underwear.

"You're mine," he whispers, his voice filled with a possessive intensity that makes your heart race. "All mine."

With that, he captures your lips in another searing kiss, his hands moving down to your waist, leaving your breasts aching as the cool air hits your wet, hard nipples. It's deep and consuming, a mix of hunger and tenderness that leaves you breathless and makes you moan into his mouth again.

You cling to him, your fingers tangling in his blond hair, pulling at the thick strands to drag him even closer as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours.

Orm's fingers trail over your thighs, his touch light and teasing, driving you wild with anticipation. He spreads your legs wider, his eyes dark and predatory and a smirk on his lips as he takes in the sight of you.

"Orm, please," you whisper, your voice a desperate plea.

He smiles, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Patience," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck, sending waves of pleasure through you. "I want to savour this."

His hands roam over your thighs again, caressing and teasing, driving you to the brink of madness as his long fingers draw intricate patterns through the fabric of your clothes. Each touch is electric, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His fingers dance closer and closer to your cunt, but he never quite touches you where you need him most.

You can't help but whimper, the sound a mix of frustration and desire.

There's a part of you that wishes you hadn't teased him so mercilessly about his lack of knowledge of cutting onions and kitchen skills in general. You know he's going to drag this out, making you suffer and beg instead of just giving you what you want.

Orm spreads your legs further, positioning himself between them. His large, calloused hands cup your face tenderly, guiding your gaze to meet his. You lift your hand to touch his stubbly cheek, running your thumb over it, and gaze into his blue eyes that are now dark and reflecting desire.

He closes his eyes, his impossibly long lashes resting against his cheeks as he lets out a sigh. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. The sweet gesture makes your heart flutter in your chest, your love for him threatening to spill out.

"I love you," he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips. The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten with emotion.

"I love you too," you whisper back, your voice trembling with the weight of your feelings.

Orm's hands move from your face, trailing down your neck, over your shoulders, and coming to rest on your breasts again. He squeezes them gently, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples, sending shivers down your spine.

He kisses you again, deeply and passionately, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that matches your own. Every stroke of his tongue, every brush of his lips, is filled with an intense desire that makes your head spin. It's intoxicating, making you dizzy with want.

You feel his hard cock straining against his pants as he presses himself against you, making you whine with need. The pressure against your cunt is maddening, and you're sure you're wet enough to leave a spot on his pants, were you naked.

Orm's hands move with a deliberate slowness, heightening your anticipation.

He chuckles softly at your response, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through your body. Pulling back just enough to gaze into your eyes, his hands begin their journey lower, gliding over your stomach until they reach the waistband of your pants.

He pulls them down slowly and with agonising patience, taking his time, his eyes never leaving yours. The anticipation is almost too much to bear, your body aching for his touch. Every inch of skin he reveals feels hypersensitive, exposed to the cool air and the heat of his stare.

Orm's smirk deepens as he slides your pants down, leaving you in just your underwear. His fingers continue their torturous teasing over the fabric, pressing and rubbing in just the right way to drive you wild. Your hips buck against his hand, seeking more friction, more contact, more anything , but he holds you steady, keeping control as you soak your panties even more.

"Do you like this?" he asks, his voice a low growl. "Do you like being teased ?"

You shake your head, unable to form words, your body writhing with need.

He finally slips his fingers beneath the fabric, touching your cunt directly, and the sensation is almost too much. You cry out, your back arching as his thumb finds your clit with practised ease and drags the rough pad over it in circles, finding a slow and perfect rhythm.

"You're perfect," he whispers, his voice filled with awe and adoration as he slows his movements even more before halting completely and pulling his hand from under your panties, making you whimper in protest.

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, but before you can say anything and protest properly, his hands are on you again, his fingers trailing over your thighs, spreading your legs wider. He leans in, his mouth hovering just above your skin, his breath hot and teasing.

He starts to kiss his way up your inner thigh, each touch sending jolts of pleasure through you, and you slump back onto the counter, keeping yourself upright by your arms.

His lips are soft and warm, his tongue darting out occasionally to taste your skin. The sensation is exquisite, making you squirm with need.

"Orm, please," you beg, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I need you."

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire and a hint of mischief. "Patience," he murmurs, his voice a deep, velvety growl. "I want to savour this."

He continues his slow, torturous journey up your thigh, his mouth finally reaching the apex. He pauses there, taking a moment to breathe in your scent, his hot breath ghosting over your panties and sending shivers down your spine.

Then he begins to kiss you through the thin fabric of your underwear, his tongue flicking over the damp cloth, tasting you in the most maddeningly indirect way possible. When his tongue finally presses against your neglected, throbbing clit, even through the fabric, you gasp loudly, your back arching off the counter.

His groan of appreciation reverberates through your pussy, sending vibrations that intensify the pleasure to dizzying heights. You can feel the heat of his mouth and the wetness of his tongue seeping through your panties, creating a delicious friction that has you moaning his name.

Desperate for more, you grip his hair tightly, your fingers tangling in the blond strands as you try to pull him closer and prevent him from stopping. But Orm maintains his torturous pace, teasing you mercilessly.

"Please," you plead, your voice breaking with desperation. "I need more."

He grins against you, the vibration of his laughter sending shivers through your body. "As you wish," he says, his voice low and husky.

Orm pulls back slightly, prompting a whine of protest from you as you tighten your grip on his hair, too caught up in the haze of arousal to grasp why he wants to pull back.

"Honey, you need to let me move a bit to take off your underwear," he says, his tone affectionate yet teasing.

Blushing furiously, you release your tight hold on his hair, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and desire flood through you. His gaze meets yours, his eyes dark with need and amusement.

"My needy girl," he murmurs, his voice low and husky with desire.

Before you can respond, he leans in quickly, capturing your lips in a fierce, passionate kiss. His mouth moves hungrily against yours, his tongue exploring every inch with a fervour that leaves you breathless. The taste of him is intoxicating, filling your senses and leaving you craving more.

When he pulls back and settles between your legs again, you're dazed - by the pleasure he's providing and his closeness. It is as if you can never get enough of him.

With a deft movement, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and slowly slides them down your legs. He pauses for a moment, his eyes drinking in the sight of you, completely exposed and vulnerable. His gaze is intense, filled with a mix of love and desire that makes your heart race.

Orm leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another, moving closer to your now bare cunt. He looks up at you, his eyes locking with yours, as he leans in, his breath hot against your most sensitive area.

His hands grip your thighs firmly, keeping you in place. "I'm going to give you something to laugh about," he murmurs, and then his mouth is on you.

This time, there is no barrier between you.

The first touch of his tongue is like a shock of electricity, making you gasp and clutch at the edge of the counter, your fingers curling around the edge as you brace yourself for the onslaught of sensation.

He licks a long, slow path up your slit, savouring your taste with a low, appreciative groan. His tongue swirls around your clit, flicking and teasing with a skill that has you moaning. He alternates between gentle licks and firm strokes, driving you to the brink of madness.

Your hands find their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the blond strands as you pull him closer and try to ground yourself. He hums against you, the vibration sending shivers of pleasure through your entire body.

His mouth works in perfect harmony with his hands, his fingers parting your slick cunt to give him better access to your most sensitive spots.

He plunges his tongue inside you, tasting and exploring your pussy with a fervour that makes you moan loudly. He moves with a rhythm that is both precise and unpredictable, keeping you on edge, never knowing what to expect next. Each movement, each flick of his tongue, brings you closer and closer.

Just as you feel the orgasm building, he pulls back, denying you the release you crave. The sensation is exquisite torture, leaving you gasping and trembling with need. He watches you, his blue eyes dark and intense, enjoying the sight of you teetering on the edge.

"Orm, please," you beg, your voice a desperate plea. "I need to cum."

He lifts his head just enough to speak, his lips glistening with your arousal and his blue eyes dark. "Not yet," he says, his voice a low growl. "I want to hear you beg some more."

With that, he slips two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that perfect spot. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. The dual sensation is almost too much to bear. You writhe against him, your body on fire with need. Every nerve ending is alive, screaming for release.

But he isn't done.

His free hand trails down, his finger thick and calloused, pressing gently against the tight ring of your ass, the sensation foreign and electrifying.

You tense instinctively, unsure of what to expect, but the gentle pressure of his touch is surprisingly comforting as he explores your puckered hole for the first time.

He circles the entrance slowly, teasingly, his movements deliberate and controlled. Each touch sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine, the unfamiliar sensation stirring something deep inside you.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," he murmurs, his voice husky with need.

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, a mixture of anticipation and excitement flooding your senses. You cling to him, your nails digging into his skin as you surrender to the pleasure of his touch.

Orm's fingers press against the tight entrance, the sensation foreign yet undeniably arousing. He moves slowly, carefully, easing his finger past the resistance with a gentleness that belies the intensity of his desire, making you gasp as a mixture of pleasure and discomfort floods your senses.

"Relax, honey," he whispers, his breath hot against your cunt. "I'll take care of you."

You nod, your body trembling with anticipation as he continues to explore you, his touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. "Orm," you gasp, unable to form coherent words as pleasure washes over you in waves.

Orm eases his finger deeper inside you. The stretch is intense, the feeling of being filled in a way you've never experienced before, both overwhelming and exhilarating.

He chuckles softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "That's it, honey," he murmurs, his voice filled with dark amusement. "Let go, and let me take care of you."

You moan in response as you adjust to the feeling.

You can feel every ridge and contour of his finger within you, the sensation, unlike anything you've ever felt before. As he begins to move his finger in and out, the feeling builds, pleasure mingling with the slight sting of discomfort until you can't tell where one ends and the other begins.

The sensation of being filled in both holes at once is overwhelming, desire flooding your senses as he sets a rhythm that drives you wild with need.

Orm's voice is a husky growl as he speaks, his words sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. "You like that, don't you?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "You like feeling my fingers in your tight little ass."

You whimper in response, your mind clouded by desire and undeniably overwhelmed by everything he's doing to you. His fingers move within you, stretching and filling you in a way that leaves you gasping for breath.

Orm's touch is possessive, almost primal, as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. "You're so fucking tight," he groans, his voice thick with desire. "Someday, I'll take you there too."

His words send a jolt of heat straight to your cunt, the idea of him taking you in your ass sending waves of desire crashing over you as you clench around his fingers.

"You enjoy that?" he growls, his voice low and guttural. "You enjoy being filled up like this, don't you, honey? Having both your holes stuffed?"

His dirty talk only serves to heighten your arousal, the words sending flashes of pure, hot want through your body as he works you with his fingers and mouth. You cling to him, your nails digging into his skin as you ride the wave of sensation, your body writhing with need.

Orm is relentless, his fingers moving with a skill and precision that leaves you breathless. You can feel the tension building inside you, a coil wound so tightly it's about to snap.

The combination is almost unbearable. Your body feels like it's on fire, each touch and movement pushing you closer to the edge.

"Please, Orm," you whimper, your voice breaking. "I can't take it."

He grins against you, his teeth grazing your sensitive flesh as he pulls back slightly, his fingers still working in and out of you, the sound of your wet pussy loud and obvious. "Not yet, sweetheart," he says, his voice a dark promise. "You can, and you will take it,"

His fingers in your cunt curl just right , pressing against your G-spot while his thumb continues its torturous circles over your clit, causing you to clench and whimper.

Meanwhile, the finger in your ass moves in and out, the tightness around it making Orm groan with satisfaction. "You're so tight here," he mutters, his voice filled with dark pleasure. "I love feeling you like this…And I think you need more to clench on."

Orm adds a second finger to your ass, stretching you slightly, the sensation both foreign and thrilling and even more intense than before.

He pumps his fingers in and out of both your ass and pussy, curling them to hit just the right spots while his tongue flicks over your clit with maddening precision. The pressure builds inside you, each touch bringing you closer to the edge, but he pulls back just before you can tumble over, denying you the release you crave driving you wild with frustration.

Your entire body is a tight coil of tension, every nerve ending on fire as he denies you your release again and again. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, and you cling to him, your nails digging into his scalp as you try to pull him closer, but he keeps control, maintaining that perfect, maddening rhythm.

"Please, Orm," you sob, tears of frustration pricking at your eyes, your clit throbs almost painfully, and you feel your cunt twitching around him - you feel ready to snap.

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "Beg for it," he commands, his voice a rough whisper.

"I beg you," you cry, your voice hoarse with need. "Please, let me cum. I need it. I need you ."

Orm's expression softens just a fraction, and he increases the pressure, his mouth and fingers working together to bring you to the brink once more, driving you higher and higher until you finally explode.

This time, he doesn't pull back.

The wave of pleasure crashes over you, and you scream his name as you finally find your release, your voice raw and hoarse with need. Your body convulses, every muscle tightening as the orgasm rips through you.

But Orm doesn't stop, his fingers and tongue continuing their relentless assault, prolonging your orgasm until you're shaking and breathless. He flicks his tongue rapidly over your clit while curling his fingers inside you, hitting that perfect spot again and again.

The pleasure is almost too intense, your body shuddering as another orgasm builds, crashing over you in powerful waves before you've come down from your previous high.

Your vision blurs, your mind slipping into a haze of ecstasy as your senses are overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the experience.

Your legs tremble, and you clutch desperately at the counter, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Orm, oh God," you moan, your voice breaking with the intensity of your release.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, it's over.

You collapse against the counter, your body spent and trembling with the aftershocks of your earth-shattering climax. The world swims hazily before your eyes as you struggle to catch your breath, your heart pounding in your chest.

The overwhelming intensity of your orgasm leaves you disoriented, and before you can fully comprehend the moment, everything goes dark, and you black out.

When you come back to your senses, you find yourself cradled in Orm's arms, his touch gentle and reassuring. His eyes, filled with love and concern, lock onto yours. He kisses your forehead softly, the warmth of his lips soothing and tender. "I love you," he murmurs, his voice low and full of adoration.

"I love you too," you whisper back tiredly, still shaking from what happened. Your body still tingles with the aftershocks of your intense release, and you feel an overwhelming sense of contentment and love.

Orm cups your face with his large, warm hand, his thumb gently stroking your cheek as he looks into your eyes. Through the haze in your mind, you can't help but appreciate how his blue eyes sparkle with emotion and how wet his chin, cheeks, and neck are from pleasuring you.

"You okay, honey?" he asks, his voice low and gentle, filled with genuine concern as he checks in with you.

You nod and bite your lip, your body still trembling with aftershocks of pleasure. "Yes, sweetheart, I'm okay," you manage to say, your voice breathless and shaky.

Orm's thumb slides over your bottom lip, sending a shiver down your spine. He leans in to kiss you, and you taste yourself on his tongue, the sensation causing you to clench around nothing and whine into the kiss.

The feeling of his residual wetness on your skin and the hardness of his cock pressing against your bare cunt only heightens your desire.

The fire in you, which had dimmed to a soft glimmer, now flares back with full fervour, threatening to consume you whole. Every touch, every breath, feels like it's adding fuel to the inferno raging within you.

When the kiss breaks, your hands move frantically to Orm's shirt. You tug at the fabric, desperate to feel his skin against yours. He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates through your core and obliges you by pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside.

Your breath hitches as you take in the sight of him, his muscular chest and chiselled abs glistening slightly from the exertion. The light catches on his body, highlighting the hard lines and contours that speak of strength and power.

The prominent vein running down his biceps stands out starkly against his skin, leading your eyes down to the rest of his strong arm. You trace its path with your gaze, marvelling at the sheer strength contained within.

His pecs are firm and inviting, his nipples hardening slightly in the cool air, a contrast to the heat radiating from his body. His chest, broad and sculpted, rises and falls with his heavy breathing, the rhythm hypnotic and alluring.

Your eyes travel down to his abs, each ridge and valley inviting your touch, a landscape of desire that begs to be explored. The lines of them lead your gaze downward to where his hard dick strains against his pants, the sight making your pulse quicken and your mouth go dry with longing.

You can't help but run your hands over his firm muscles. The contact sends a jolt of electricity through you, a reminder of just how much you want him. His skin is warm and smooth under your touch, and you can feel the tension coiled in his body, ready to be unleashed.

"God, you're so hot," you murmur, your voice filled with awe and desire, your mind still hazy from the orgasm he gave you as the words slip out without thought.

He chuckles lowly at both your words and behaviour.

"You find this amusing?" you ask, breathless, as you trace the lines of his body with your fingers.

Orm's eyes darken with a mix of amusement and desire. "I find it amusing how needy you are," he says, his voice a low growl. "But I can't deny that I enjoy it. Don't think I have forgotten how you laughed at me with those onions."

He steps back slightly, his hands moving to the waistband of his pants. With a fluid motion, he pulls them down, followed by his underwear. His hard cock springs free, standing tall and proud and glistening with precum. The sight of him, fully naked and aroused, sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through you.

You reach out, your fingers wrapping around his cock. Orm groans, his head falling back as you stroke him, his muscles tensing and rippling under your touch as you pump him a few times.

He opens his eyes, the intensity of his gaze piercing through you. "I need you," he murmurs his voice a low, gravelly whisper that sends shivers down your spine.

He leans in to kiss you again, his hands roaming over your body, reacquainting themselves with every curve and dip.

His hands trail down from your face, caressing your neck and shoulders, before moving to your breasts. He teases your nipples, rolling them between his fingers and sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You arch your back, pushing your breasts into his hands, your body responding eagerly to his touch.

"Orm," you murmur, your voice filled with need. "I want you."

He steps closer, positioning himself between your legs once more. His hands grip your hips, pulling you to the edge of the counter. "Then you shall have me," he says, his voice rough with desire.

As he presses against you, you feel his thick, hard cock sliding against your cunt, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through you. He doesn't enter you yet; he just teases you, making you gasp and moan with each movement.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard," he growls into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "You're mine, and I'm going to make sure you never forget it."

You whimper in response, the anticipation driving you to the edge again. "Orm, please," you beg, your voice a desperate plea.

He chuckles darkly, a possessive gleam in his eyes. "I know, honey," he murmurs. He continues to tease you, his tip brushing against your slick folds, the sensation almost too much to bear. You moan, your hips bucking in response, desperate for more.

Finally, when you think you can't take it anymore, he positions himself at your entrance, his eyes locking with yours.

With a gentle yet firm push, he slides into you, stretching and filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, and you cry out, and your body arches into his, a mixture of pleasure and relief as he buries himself to the hilt, the fullness making you feel complete.

Orm pauses, giving you a moment to adjust to his size, his eyes never leaving yours. "God, you feel amazing," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

He moves slowly at first, savouring the feel of you around him, each thrust measured and controlled.

His hands roam over your body, caressing your breasts, your waist, your thighs. Every touch sends sparks of pleasure through you, making you arch and writhe against him. His fingers find your nipples, pinching and rolling them gently, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your cunt, making you moan wantonly.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he begins to move faster, his thrusts deep and powerful. The rhythm is intoxicating, a dance of passion and desire that leaves you breathless. His cock fills you completely, hitting all the right spots with each powerful thrust.

He leans down to kiss you again, his tongue exploring your mouth with the same fervour as his hips.

"You feel so good," he groans, his voice rough with pleasure, each word punctuated by a powerful thrust. "So tight, so perfect." His breath is hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

"Orm," you moan, your voice a desperate plea. "I'm so close."

He smiles against your skin, his movements growing more urgent. "Not yet," he growls, his voice still carrying a hint of grumpiness.

He slows his thrusts, pulling back almost entirely so only his tip is inside your pussy before pushing back in with agonising slowness. The deliberate pace keeps you on the edge, your body begging for release. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing in slow, teasing circles that make you whimper.

"Sweetheart, please," you beg, your voice trembling with need. "I can't take it."

Your body trembles with the intensity of the sensations, each stroke of his cock pushing you closer to the edge. You can feel every inch of him, every vein, every ridge, and it's driving you wild. His touch is everywhere, his hands roaming over your body, caressing, squeezing, sending sparks of pleasure through you.

"Orm, oh God," you moan, your voice breaking with the intensity of your need. "Please, let me cum."

His eyes lock onto yours, and he sees the desperation there.

His expression softens, and he increases the pressure, his thumb circling your clit more firmly while his other hand grips your hip, pulling you even closer. His thrusts become deeper, more powerful, each one sparking that fire inside you. The tension builds, a tight coil of need that threatens to fracture at any moment.

His hips start to snap against yours with a rhythm that is both demanding and precise, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. He leans down to kiss you again, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with the same intensity as his thrusts.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his broad, muscular back as you meet each thrust with equal intensity. The feel of his bare skin against yours, the play of his defined muscles under your fingertips, adds to the intoxicating pleasure. His chest, hard and chiselled, presses against your breasts, the friction against your sensitive nipples like adding fuel to the fire in your veins.

You moan in response, your hips bucking against his as the pleasure builds higher and higher, an unstoppable crescendo. The slick friction of his cock inside you, the pressure of his pelvis and thumb against your clit with every thrust, drives you mad with desire.

His movements grow more urgent, his thrusts faster and harder. The sound of your bodies coming together, the slick heat of your arousal, fills the room.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you, needing him closer. "Orm," you moan, your voice a desperate plea.

"Do it," he growls, his thrusts becoming more erratic, the control slipping as he nears his peak. "Cum for me, honey. Let me feel you." His words are a command and a plea, the urgency in his voice pushing you over the edge.

You scream his name as you shatter around him, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you breathless once more. Your body convulses, every muscle tightening around him, your cunt gripping his cock in a vice-like hold that draws a guttural moan from deep within him.

Orm continues to thrust into you, prolonging your orgasm and driving you to the edge of madness.

His movements become frantic, his rhythm breaking as he succumbs to his own release. He thrusts into you one last time, deep and hard, and you feel the hot, pulsating rush of his cum filling you. His body shudders, and he holds you close, his breath ragged and his heart pounding against yours, his head buried in your shoulder.

As the last tremors of pleasure fade, Orm pulls back slightly, his eyes softening as he looks at you. He looks utterly spent, his body drenched in sweat that glistens in the light, and his hair plastered to his forehead. You reach out to brush it from his eyes and cup his cheek, feeling the warmth of his breath on your face. He smiles at you, a sweet, loving smile that makes your heart flutter, before leaning forward and pressing a long, tender kiss to your forehead.

The car ride is short and comfortable, the rhythmic hum of the engine accompanying the shared silence between you and Orm.

As the landscape glides past, Orm’s gaze remains fixed on the passing scenery, lost in contemplation. His hand rests firmly on your thigh, and his fingertips trace seemingly random patterns.

Arriving at the burger place near the ocean, you find yourself on a charming pier that extends gracefully over the water. It exudes a quaint and cosy charm, offering both indoor and outdoor seating. You have been here before and hope that Orm will also like it.

You leave the car and notice the bustling atmosphere, a lively mix of people enjoying the seaside ambience. Families, friends, and couples populate the area, creating a vibrant tapestry of seaside enjoyment.

As you lead Orm towards the entrance of the burger place on the pier, you can’t help but notice his gaze wandering, taking in the atmosphere. His eyes seem to absorb the sights, sounds, and smells, curious as if he’s never seen something like that.

A subtle feeling creeps in - that Orm appears somewhat out of place again. There’s something about him, a quality that sets him apart and makes him seem almost otherworldly. You find yourself unable to put your finger on precisely what it is. Still, it lingers in the periphery of your awareness like a gentle whisper of intrigue that tugs at your curiosity.

Perhaps it’s his regal demeanour or how he seems to observe the world with a depth that transcends the ordinary. You scold yourself inwardly to stop thinking about that - it’s probably nothing, only the quirks of a person adapting to unfamiliar surroundings. 

As you reach the entrance of the burger place on the pier, you turn to Orm and ask, “Would you like to sit inside or outside?”

There’s a momentary pause, and he seems to grapple with the options as if the distinction between the two is a puzzle he’s attempting to solve for the first time.

Orm stammers slightly before responding, “Uh, outside, if that’s... if that’s fine with you.” His words carry a hint of uncertainty, as though he’s seeking your approval or guidance in navigating this seemingly simple choice.

“Sure. I like to sit at the water more anyway,” you smile at Orm and then turn to the waitress, “Table for two, please, outside if possible.”

The waitress nods, responding, “Yes, please follow me.”

She leads you through the lively pier and sits you at a charming table by the seaside, offering a nice view of the ocean that stretches before you.

As you and Orm settle into your seats, the waitress hands you the menu. With a polite smile, she inquires, “Any allergies?” 

You shake your head in response and notice Orm appearing momentarily puzzled, as if the question threw him off again. Eventually, he follows suit and shakes his head.

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it then. Or do you already know what you want to drink?” the waitress asks, her friendly demeanour adding a pleasant touch to the dining experience.

“I’ll go with a coke,” you tell her with a smile. She nods in acknowledgement before turning her attention to Orm.

“Do you have Guinness?” he asks, his words flowing more fluently this time as if finding comfort in the familiarity of the beverage.

“Yes, sir, we do,” the waitress responds.

“Great, then I’ll take that,” Orm says with a decisive nod.

The waitress acknowledges the order with a nod of her own and then gracefully walks away, leaving you and Orm to view the menu.

You already know what you will be eating: a classic cheeseburger with extra bacon and hand-cut fries, So you cast your gaze to look at the sea, zoning out for a bit and losing yourself in the rhythmic movement of the water.

Orm’s voice interrupts your brief reverie, bringing you back to the present. “So, what’s your fascination with the ocean?” he inquires, his eyes fixed on you with genuine curiosity.

“Hm?” is your thoughtful response, a momentary delay as you process his question and look at him before answering, “I am a marine biologist - so it’s just everything for me.” 

You cast your gaze at the sea again, watching the waves as you continue to speak, “For as long as I can remember, I have had a strong love and appreciation for the ocean - of the life beneath the surface, the ecosystem, the marine creatures.” 

The sea breeze tousles your hair as you express your love for the sea.

“I think most of my fascination is with the unknown and the many misconceptions people have about the ocean and its inhabitants.” The reflection of the sunlight on the water mirrors the spark in your eyes and you pause for a short moment before continuing, “That they think some animals are just inherently evil. But we - as humans- could learn so much from the ocean if we would just listen .” 

You scoff, a touch of frustration colours your voice as you continue, “But they don’t and continue to pollute the waters - kill the life beneath the surface. Destroy ecosystems.” 

Your eyes find Orm’s again; he watches you intently, a glint in his eye that you haven’t seen before. 

”That’s why I do what I do - to help them see. To help preserve life. There is so much that could be done, but many people don’t know how - and it’s my job to educate them.”

“That’s a noble profession, an honourable calling,” Orm remarks, his blue eyes warm and calm like the ocean void of wind, “But don’t you think it is in vain? Do you really think they can learn?” 

“Yes,” your response is immediate and resolute, “No one is inherently evil. But a lot of people lack a sense of direction… And once shown, they adapt and do what they can to better themselves.”

You share a smile with Orm, sensing that he just understands what you mean.

The moment, however, is gently interrupted by the arrival of the waitress, gracefully bearing your drinks.

“Coca-Cola?” she asks, and you raise your hand, replying, “For me.”

She places the drinks in front of you before she speaks again, pen poised over her notepad, “What do you want to eat?”

“A cheeseburger with extra bacon and fries,” you declare, and Orm promptly seconds your choice. The waitress, a warm smile gracing her lips, takes note of your order and retreats.

Orm, with a thoughtful expression, breaks the silence. “You truly believe people can change, then?”

You meet his gaze, the sea breeze playing with your hair. “Absolutely,” you respond. “It’s not about convincing everyone at once. It’s about starting a ripple, making a difference where you can. Education and understanding can be powerful catalysts for change.”

Orm nods, his blue eyes reflecting both curiosity and agreement. “It sounds like you’re on a mission.”

A chuckle escapes you. “Perhaps. But it’s a mission worth undertaking, don’t you think?”

“Oh, definitely,” Orm answers, a smile on his lips as he looks at you intensely, making you blush. He leans back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours. “What led you to this path?” he asks, his curiosity evident.

You take a sip of your drink, contemplating the question. “I suppose it was a childhood fascination with the sea. The mysteries it holds, the life beneath its surface. As I grew older, I realised the urgency of preserving that beauty, of correcting the misconceptions that threaten it.”

Orm listens attentively, a hint of admiration in his eyes. “It takes a special kind of dedication to devote your life to something so vast and, at times, misunderstood.”

“The ocean has a way of making you feel both small and connected. It’s a journey of discovery, and every day brings something new,” you tell him, a wistful smile gracing your lips. 

You continue to talk, the sun beginning its descent, casting a golden glow over your conversation. The rays seem to elevate Orm’s features, and you can’t help but notice the way his straight nose and defined cheekbones are beautifully illuminated. His blonde hair, still sitting a bit tousled on his head, catches the sunlight and shines in the golden hues. 

His blue eyes look impossibly deep in the light; it feels as if the vastness of the ocean is mirrored in his gaze, and you find yourself captivated by the shifting shades within his irises. You feel like if you concentrate enough, you could watch the sunset in them, and they would mirror the exact way the water looks right now – a harmonious blend of oranges, pinks, violets, and cerulean blues.

The waitress arrives with your much-anticipated meals, placing them on the table. Both of you express gratitude with a simultaneous “Thank you.” 

You pick up your burger, the warmth radiating from it, and take a satisfying bite. As you savour the taste, you glance over at Orm, curious to see his reaction - if he likes the place you have chosen.

Orm approaches his meal with a hint of anticipation, taking a tentative bite from his burger. Watching him eat is mesmerising - he chews slowly and deliberately as he processes the combination of flavours. A drop of sauce finds its way to the corner of his lip, and with an unconscious grace, he catches it with his tongue.

You observe him nodding appreciatively, his brows lifting slightly in a silent gesture of approval. It’s as if he has just discovered a hidden treasure, and the delightful taste seems to resonate with him. Watching him eat makes you feel like he never had a burger because he looks so genuinely fascinated by it. 

He is rather cute right now, and you like how he can be so regal and serious but also so sweet and goofy.

Choosing to shift your focus, you return to your own meal, eating a few fries.

In the corner of your eye, you notice a cockroach making its way across the table. Just as you prepare to intervene, your gaze shifts to Orm, who, in a swift and unexpected move, catches the intruder in his large hand, examining it with a curious expression.

A moment of concern sets in as Orm flexes his fingers, bringing the roach closer to his burger. You fear this might lead to a deadly consequence for the uninvited guest, that Orm may crush it. 

Acting on impulse, you speak up, “Don’t kill it.”

Orm looks at you with a puzzled expression and stills in his motion with the roach still cradled in his hand. You take the opportunity to pluck the roach from his fingers gently. Bowing down, you release it onto the ground, allowing it to run away freely.

You find Orm still looking at you with curious eyes and feeling the warmth of a blush creeping up your cheeks, you mumble, “I don’t like to kill insects, even if they’re annoying.”

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “Respecting all forms of life, even the tiny ones. That’s commendable.”

“Yes, I mean, some of them at least have a use to the ecosystem, and some you can even eat. Both don’t apply to cockroaches though, sadly,” you elaborate under his intensive gaze.

Orm blinks a few times as if processing your words, and then he inquires, “I heard that cockroaches are something that is eaten.”

You shake your head, offering a slight grin, “Nah. Crickets and stuff, yes, but not cockroaches since they are known to carry and spread diseases.” 

He gives you a tight-lipped grin, the expression not quite reaching his eyes as he takes another bite from his burger.

“Did I say something wrong?” you ask him, a hint of concern in your voice - his reaction worries you.

His response is immediate as he lays down the burger and reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers. “No. No. Not at all.” His blue eyes reflect sincerity and openness. “I was just caught off guard since I thought differently. But everything is fine.”

You smile, relieved by his reassurance, squeezing his hand slightly. “Thank you, Orm.” 

As you both finish your meals in comfortable silence, the lighting on the pier gradually comes to life, and they begin to flicker one after another, creating a gentle, welcoming ambience.

It casts a subtle radiance on Orm’s features, the regal quality becoming more pronounced as the gentle play of shadows enhances the lines of his face.

Orm’s gaze wanders, absorbing the evolving spectacle of lights around the pier. His eyes, reflecting the warm glow, sweep across the surroundings, capturing the flickering bulbs, the gentle sway of boats, and the distant outlines of structures bathed in the soft radiance of the evening.

A subtle appreciation plays on his features as he takes in the scene, and you find yourself captivated by the way his eyes navigate the transformed pier. 

The waitress returns to your table, a friendly smile on her face as she collects the empty plates. She glances at both of you. “Is there anything else you’d like?”

Your eyes meet Orm’s briefly, and then you turn back to the waitress, “No, thank you. Just the bill, please.”

With a nod, the waitress acknowledges your request, “Alright, I’ll bring that right over.” She takes the empty plates and heads back toward the bustling interior of the restaurant.

The waitress returns with the bill, a small leather folder clasped in her hand. Opening it to reveal the receipt, she glances between you and Orm, asking, “Will you be paying together, or should I split it?”

Before you can respond, Orm steps in, a subtle determination in his voice, “I’ll take care of it.” 

You shoot him a grateful look but quickly add, “Orm, you really don’t have to.”

“I want to,” he insists, his eyes, intense and unwavering, meet yours.

A warmth settles in your chest at his insistence, and you feel a blush creeping onto your cheeks in response to his intensity.

The waitress informs him of the total cost, and Orm reaches into his pocket, pulling out a handful of coins. The currency appears unfamiliar - distinctive, with intricate patterns and unique markings, causing both you and the waitress to exchange curious glances.

Breaking the momentary silence, the waitress gently informs Orm, “Sorry, we only accept dollars here, not foreign currency.”

An almost imperceptible furrow forms on Orm’s brow as he looks down at the money in his hand, and a moment of realisation dawns upon him. You can almost sense his internal struggle, caught between the unfamiliarity of the situation and the desire to settle the bill.

Without saying anything or making a huge deal, you smoothly reach into your wallet, pulling out enough dollars to cover the bill and a generous tip. With a friendly smile, you hand the money to the waitress.

“Have a good evening,” you add warmly, and the waitress reciprocates the sentiment. As she departs, you turn your attention back to Orm, offering an encouraging smile.

Orm’s eyes meet yours, appreciative yet carrying a hint of vulnerability. 

“I’m sorry,” Orm says, a tinge of frustration and embarrassment evident in his voice. “I forgot about that.”

You respond with a reassuring smile, and without a second thought, you reach out, brushing your hand gently over his cheek. When you see the way his eyes widen a bit and he looks at you in wonder, you know that it was the right call.

“Oh, don’t worry, I get it,” you assure him, your fingers tracing the contours of his cheek, noting the texture of his stubble beneath your touch and the warmth he emanates. “You can get the next one,” you suggest, pulling back your hand.

Orm responds with a toothy smile, genuine and warm, the expression reaching all the way to his eyes. 

You both get up and leave the restaurant to stroll along the pier, your hand brushing on Orms as you walk. Part of you would like to just take his hand - you have kissed, after all, but you’re not sure if that’s fine for him.

“So, by being from far away, you meant Europe then?” you inquire, your curiosity getting the better of you as that was the first thing that came to mind. 

Orm nods in agreement, and you decide not to press further, sensing his reluctance to delve into the topic.

The pier gradually becomes less crowded as you and Orm move towards its edge, and the rhythmic sound of the waves beneath grows louder in turn. The lights along the pier continue to illuminate the surroundings, creating a gentle glow that adds to the enchanting atmosphere.

The sky, now mainly adorned in shades of deep blue, cradles the last remnants of daylight along the horizon. A narrow strip of it retains a warm afterglow, casting the tranquil sea in a soft gleam.

You and Orm come to a halt as you reach the end of the pier, overlooking the water.

The sea reflects the transitioning sky, creating a mesmerising dance of colours on its surface. As the daylight wanes, the sea takes on a deep, mysterious navy blue, mirroring the vast expanse above. The rhythmic movements of the waves hold a subtle elegance, their crests catching the remnants of sunlight and transforming them into liquid silver.

The small ripples sparkle in the fading light, creating a celestial reflection that mirrors the ever-changing hues of the sky and the soft lights on the pier.

As you stand at the edge of the sea together, gazing out into the expansive ocean, Orm takes your hand - warm, large, and unexpectedly soft with his long fingers. 

Reflecting on the day, you realise it has been unexpectedly beautiful - it still is. When you first met Orm on the beach, you couldn’t have anticipated this.

You have never met someone who shares the same profound love for the sea, but with him, it is a connection that flows effortlessly like a smooth, unhurried river.

Orm’s voice, quiet yet resonant, breaks the stillness. “Thank you,” he says, his eyes fixed on the ever-moving sea. 

You turn to face him, your own expression reflecting curiosity. “For what?” you inquire, uncertain about the reason for his gratitude.

“For the day,” he responds, his gaze still tethered to the horizon. The soft glow of twilight illuminates his features, allowing you to trace the contours of his side profile with your eyes.

A genuine smile graces your lips as you squeeze his hand in acknowledgement, unsure of how to respond.

The comfortable silence wraps around you, lingering for a moment before you gather the courage to break it. 

“It doesn’t have to be over yet, you know,” you say, the words escaping your lips with a hint of nervous excitement.

Orm turns his head swiftly to face you, raising one eyebrow in curiosity. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” you continue, feeling a bit breathless, “I think you’d like the aquarium I own.”

Your heart beats a bit faster because, oh god, you just invited Orm over to your place - handsome and a tad strange Orm, with the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen.

A warm smile graces Orm’s features as he nods in agreement. “Lead the way.”

______

Street lanterns and the soft glow of stars guide the way as you drive over the coastal road to your house. 

As you approach, the one-story building comes into view, overlooking the ocean below, with stairs leading down to a dock, a garage for water vessels and the beach. Even in the dark, it is apparent that it is made from dark wood that harmonises with the natural surroundings. 

“Well, here we are,” you say to Orm and turn off the engine after you park your car.

Both of you step out, and you watch as Orm takes in the details of your house.

“This is really nice,” he says, looking at you, a fondness in his blue eyes.

“Thank you,” you reply, smiling. “Wait until you see the inside.”

With that, you lead the way to the door, unlocking it to welcome both of you inside. Turning on the lights, you close the door behind Orm before taking off your shoes.

You notice a brief moment of confusion on Orm’s face, his brows furrowed as if he’s perplexed by the act of removing shoes indoors. Nonetheless, he follows your example, mirroring your actions with a subtle curiosity.

You love your house, as it’s a reflection of who you are. The walls are adorned with various pictures and paintings, capturing scenic views and wildlife scenes. A massive windowfront facing the sea with garden furniture outside offers a serene spot for looking at the ocean. For rainy days, you have a cosy sofa perfectly positioned to enjoy the view.

Orm’s eyes wander around your home, curiosity evident in his gaze. They trace over the pictures, examining the various trinkets and charms that give your house its character. His gaze eventually settles on the highlight of your home - a huge aquarium that spans an entire wall.

When you built it, you decided upon those dimensions to allow for a diverse and thriving marine ecosystem.

As the overhead lights cast a gentle glow, the aquarium reveals a spectrum of colours and movements. Coral formations, in various shapes and hues, provide shelter for a multitude of fish. Small, darting figures in every shade imaginable navigate the intricate structure, their scales catching the light and creating a dazzling dance of colours. Seahorses, graceful and delicate, cling to the swaying fronds of seaweed.

The water, crystal clear and carefully maintained, magnifies the beauty of the inhabitants within. Anemones sway in the gentle current, and schools of fish move in unison, creating an ever-shifting symphony of aquatic life. It’s a tranquil yet lively spectacle that brings the wonders of the ocean directly into your home.

As Orm moves closer to the aquarium, his eyes fixate on the intricate details of the underwater world. The gentle hum of the water filter provides a soothing backdrop to the vibrant display. His gaze traces the contours of coral formations, follows the movements of fish, and lingers on the seahorses.

You watch as he leans in a bit as if drawn into the underwater realm. The overhead lights cast a subtle glow on his features. For a moment, the regal air about him softens, and you see a genuine sense of wonder in his eyes. 

“Wow,” he says, his voice hushed in awe, “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

You can’t help but smile as you respond, “I’m glad you like it.”

As you both stand there, watching the aquarium, you notice that the soft glow from it reflects in Orm’s eyes, creating a harmonious blend of colours.

“It’s like having a piece of the ocean at home,” you add, happy to share this with someone who appreciates it as much as you. 

Orm slowly turns away from the mesmerising aquarium, his eyes still reflecting the underwater spectacle.

With a gentle yet firm touch, Orm reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you feel a magnetic pull drawing you closer. His blue eyes lock onto yours, searching for something in the depths of your gaze, and you swallow dryly.

Closing the distance, he leans in, and his kiss is soft and deliberate. Responding instinctively, your hands find their place on his strong shoulders, fingers tracing the contours of his well-defined muscles.

He hums pleased and deepens it, wrapping his arms around you to pull you closer into his thick frame. You taste hints of the cheeseburger he enjoyed, the lingering notes of the beer he had, and something uniquely him that defies easy description but is absolutely delicious. 

The warmth of Orm’s embrace envelops you, and his hands, initially gentle, now hold you with a firm and possessive grip. There’s an undeniable urgency in the way he pulls you closer as if trying to bridge any remaining distance. 

He begins to trail a series of kisses down your neck, each touch leaving a lingering warmth in its wake. As he reaches the junction between your neck and shoulder, he pauses, sinking his teeth into your skin with a sharp intensity. A quiet hiss escapes your lips, and your grip on his shoulders tightens in response. Orm soothes the sensation with the caress of his tongue before resuming the journey upward, placing gentle kisses along the column of your throat and inhaling your scent.

“Orm,” you whisper, your fingers tangling in his hair, gently guiding his head back up to meet your lips in another kiss. In the quiet intimacy of the moment, you can’t help but register how soft his hair feels beneath your touch.

Orm’s hands explore your body with heightened intensity, each touch sending a wave of heat through the fabric of your clothes. 

When he pulls back, his breath comes out in heavy, rhythmic waves. His hair is already tousled from your fingers running through it, and his eyes, fiery blue, reflect the intensity of the moment, while his lips bear the deliciously pinkened evidence of your shared kisses. 

Breaking the silence, Orm speaks with a low and surprisingly severe voice, “Do you want to take this somewhere else?” His gaze shifts to the aquarium, and his expression suggests a genuine concern. “I’d rather not have spectators.”

A surprised chuckle escapes you as you realise Orm might actually be serious about the fish in the aquarium. You raise an eyebrow, playfully questioning, “Spectators, really?”

Orm nods with a solemn expression and a faint smirk, adding, “They’re judging eyes.”

You can’t help but burst into laughter again, shaking your head. “Okay, let’s get somewhere private, then.” You guide him towards the bedroom, wondering if the fish truly appreciate the unexpected concern for their modesty.

The fleeting thoughts quickly dissipate as Orm is on you again, his lips finding yours in a deep and fervent kiss before he buries his face in your neck, leaving wet kisses that send shivers down your spine.

Pressing against him, you feel the heat radiating from his body and the firmness of his muscles as well as his hard cock. You grind your hips harder on his groin, desperate for some friction and more of the electric spark that every touch from Orm seems to give you.

You physically feel him groan into your skin, a deep, feral sound that reverberates through his chest.

Suddenly, you feel frenzied to get him out of his clothes, to see him naked, to touch his skin. So you tuck on his shirt, pulling it upwards. 

Orm, getting the hint, separates from you and takes it off, letting it fall to the floor. 

Before you have time to appreciate his naked upper body, he lets his hands wander under the hem of your shirt to pull it off you, too - which you let him do without resistance.

Then, with a sudden and assertive move, Orm grabs you by the shoulders, guiding you towards the bed. The motion catches you off guard; the change in him is so quick that you don’t have time to react. 

Orm’s mouth descends upon yours again, a cascade of passionate kisses and teasing nips at your lips as he bites down on your bottom lip before running his tongue over it.

As the back of your knees meets the edge of the bed, he pushes you down, and you find yourself lying on your back.

Finally, you have time to appreciate his form. 

As Orm stands before you, the soft glow of the room’s dim light dances over the planes of his body, creating a mesmerising interplay of shadows and highlights. 

Orm’s hair is tousled, a delightful disarray from your previous encounters and frames his face in a way that adds a hint of wildness to his regal appearance. The light dances on the strands, highlighting the varied shades of blonde.

His eyes, an intensely deep shade of blue, seem to capture the ambient light like the ocean capturing the moon’s glow. The fire within those eyes hasn’t diminished; if anything, it has intensified, turning them into pools of desire and unrestrained passion.

His physique, chiselled with remarkable precision, seems almost otherworldly in its perfection.

The defined lines of his muscles catch your attention, each one sculpted to perfection as if carven by a Greek master aeons ago. The play of shadows accentuates the curves of his arms, the contours of his chest, and the lines of his abdomen. Every movement he makes is a testament to the vigour and elegance that defines him.

Your eyes trace the contours of Orm’s arms. The sight of his substantial biceps commands your focus, the muscles rippling with strength and power. Your gaze follows the prominent vein that courses along the expanse of his arm, tracing its path down to his forearms.

The play of light and shadow accentuates every curve and crevice, revealing a level of physicality that borders on the divine. 

The forearms subtly flex with each miniature movement, a testament to the latent strength within. Your gaze lingers on his hands, large and commanding, the fingers thick and long. There’s a certain elegance in the way those hands move, a grace that contradicts their sheer size and power.

Moving lower, your attention shifts to his defined chest that expands with each breath. You marvel at the expansive breadth of his pectoral muscles. The perfect symmetry of his six-pack draws your gaze, each abdominal muscle pronounced and sculpted. 

Your focus descends even lower, and you see the way his cock is straining against the fabric of his pants, the bulge prominent. You swallow and involuntarily lick your lips in anticipation. 

Desperate to feel his skin, you reach out to touch Orm’s chest.

His muscles are firm and warm beneath your touch as you trace idle patterns. 

You’d have expected him to touch you now and let his fingers wander over your bare skin, but he seems to have frozen. So you look up to meet his eyes - instead of that fiery passion, they now carry a hint of uncertainty.  

Orm’s gaze wanders between you and the surroundings as if grappling with elusive thoughts that demand his attention. The intensity that coloured his actions moments ago wavers, leaving behind a quiet vulnerability that puzzles you. 

You furrow your brows. What happened to that intense, headstrong man who felt like an unwavering current? 

His hair frames his face, and the blue of his eyes, though still vibrant, now mirrors a spectrum of emotions. There’s a depth to his expression, a silent turmoil beneath the surface, a vortex consuming him, pulling him under.

As you study Orm’s features, you sense the weight of something unsaid, and you feel it radiating off him in waves.

Your fingertips gently brush against Orm’s cheek as you reach out in a tender gesture. “Are you okay?” you inquire softly, searching his eyes for any sign of what might be troubling him.

His response is delayed, a moment of hesitation that lingers in the air. Sensing his reluctance to share, you decide to act on a more intuitive level. You reach out and pull him towards you so he also rests on the bed, cradled in your embrace.

“I’m here,” you murmur, the words whispered against his ear as you hold him close. 

Orm shudders against you, his breath grazing your bare skin. It’s evident that he wrestles with unspoken thoughts, the words lingering on the tip of his tongue.

So you decide to lift the weight on his shoulders, and you offer a simple directive, “Let’s just sleep for now. No need to worry about anything.”

As he nestles into your embrace - finally returning it - the tension dissipates from his body, replaced by the comforting rhythm of your shared warmth. 

Your fingers continue their soothing patterns on his back, a gentle effort to anchor him and not let him be adrift in the sea of his thoughts until you both fall asleep. 

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.

Orm Marius, former King of Atlantis, lingered in the doorway of your cosy seaside cottage, framed by the quiet beauty of the snow-laden night. The moonlight glinted off his silvery blonde hair and sharp features, lending him an otherworldly presence that never failed to take your breath away. 

Yet, tonight, there was a vulnerability to him that you rarely saw. He stood stiffly, his piercing blue eyes scanning the room, taking in the string lights that draped the walls, the flickering candles on the mantle, and the Christmas tree glowing softly in the corner, its branches adorned with ornaments and garlands in various stages of assembly. His expression was one of wary curiosity—as if he were stepping into enemy territory.

You set down the ornament you were holding and turned to greet him with a smile. “You’re just in time to help me finish decorating,” you said, brushing your hands on your jeans. “How was your walk?”

Orm stepped inside, his heavy boots creaking against the wooden floor, and closed the door behind him. “Cold,” he said bluntly, shaking a few snowflakes from his sweater as he took off his shoes and changed into some cosy slippers you gave him some time ago. He paused, his gaze flickering to the tree. “This… Christmas,” he began, his voice low and deliberate as the tide, “it seems an odd ritual. Are you certain it is not a form of surface-world combat?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “No battles, I promise,” you said, walking over to him and cupping his cheek, his stubble rough against your palm. “Christmas is a celebration. It’s about family, love, and spending time with the people who matter most.”

His gaze softened slightly, though his brows remained furrowed, your hand seemingly grounding him in the moment. “It seems impractical to centre an entire season around something so intangible,” he said, gesturing toward the decorations with a regal wave of his hand. “In Atlantis, our celebrations honour duty and tradition. They have purpose.”

You brushed your thumb over his sharp cheekbone before reaching down and grabbing his hand, your fingers threading through his. Almost instinctively, Orm’s hand closed around yours, his large palm dwarfing yours and engulfing it completely. A gesture he had done countless times since you entered a relationship. “This has a purpose, too,” you said gently. “It’s about creating memories. About finding joy in the little things.”

“Joy,” Orm echoed, his voice tinged with scepticism. He looked at you as if you were trying to explain some elusive, surface-world concept that defied his understanding. “Joy seems fleeting. Impermanent.”

“Maybe it is,” you admitted, “but that doesn’t make it any less important. And,” you added with a teasing smile, “you’re here now. So…help me decorate. This isn’t just my tradition anymore. It’s ours. If you want it to be.”

His expression shifted, a glimmer of something unspoken flickering in his eyes. “Ours,” he repeated softly, as if tasting the word and gently squeezing your hand. Then, with a small incline of his head, he added, “Very well. Show me what must be done.”

You led him to the table where the remaining ornaments were laid out, each one carrying its own little story. Orm’s curiosity was evident as he picked up a delicate glass starfish, turning it over in his hands with reverence. “This is artful,” he said. “Did you create it?”

“No, I found it at a marine biology conference years ago,” you explained. “But now it reminds me of you.”

“Of me?” Orm raised a sceptical brow, turning it over in his hands, his long digits tracing the ornaments’ delicate contours. “A starfish? Do I resemble one?”

“Not literally,” you said, laughing. “But they’re resilient. They survive even when the odds are against them. They regenerate. They’re strong, just like you.”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face—surprise, perhaps, or something deeper. Without a word, he stepped toward the tree and carefully placed the ornament on one of the lower branches, adjusting it until it hung just right.

“Is that satisfactory?” he asked, turning to you with a faint smirk.

“Perfect,” you said, beaming, stepping back to admire his work. “You’re a natural.”

“Hardly,” he replied, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

As the evening wore on, Orm began to relax, his initial awkwardness giving way to a quiet curiosity. He strung garlands with military precision, muttering about the string getting stuck on the branches, and listened intently as you explained the stories behind each ornament.

“This one,” you said, holding up a small wooden lighthouse, “was carved by my grandfather. He used to say it was a reminder to always find your way home.”

Orm’s expression softened. “A wise sentiment.”

“And this one,” you continued, picking up a tiny dolphin figurine, “was a gift from my mentor after my first successful research dive. I was so nervous, but she told me I had the heart of the sea in me.”

“You do,” Orm said quietly. His words caught you off guard, and you turned to find him watching you, his gaze steady, unguarded and loving.

A faint blush rose to your cheeks. “Thanks,” you murmured, setting the ornament on the tree.

When the tree was nearly complete, you reached for the final touch—the star for the top. Standing on your toes, you tried to stretch high enough to place it, but the branch was just out of reach.

You let out a small huff of frustration. “I might need a chair for this,” you muttered.

“Nonsense,” Orm said, stepping behind you. Before you could protest, his hands settled firmly on your waist. “Allow me.”

His touch was steady, his palms broad and warm even through the fabric of your sweater, the strength in his arms and shoulders evident as he held you aloft. In one smooth motion, he lifted you as though you weighed nothing at all.

You felt the strength in his grip, the muscles in his forearms and shoulders flexing with effortless control. He held you securely, his body solid and grounding beneath you. Yet, there was also a gentleness in the way he supported you, as though he were cradling something precious.

“You didn’t have to—” you began, your voice faltering slightly as you placed the star at the top of the tree, “I could have just gotten a chair.”

“It is my duty,” he said, his voice low but resolute. “If this is to be our tradition, then it must be done properly…and also, why deprive me of the opportunity to touch my girlfriend.”

Blushing, you adjusted the star until it sat perfectly straight. “How’s that?”

“Perfect,” he murmured. His hands lingered on your waist as he slowly set you back down, his touch gentler now. For a moment, you stood there, caught in the warmth of his presence, the faint scent of salt and the sea clinging to him like a memory.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his.

“It was nothing,” he replied, but there was a flicker of something in his expression—a quiet pride, perhaps, or just the love he felt for you.

Later that evening, the two of you sat down for dinner at the small table by the window. The scent of roasted vegetables, honey glaze, and perfectly grilled fish filled the cosy room. 

You had prepared the meal with Orm in mind, knowing of his love for seafood and also reminiscent of how much he missed Atlantis.

Each detail of the setting had been carefully chosen—a small vase of winter flowers at the centre of the table, soft candlelight reflecting on the frosty windowpanes. It was intimate and warm, a sharp contrast to the cold depths Orm once ruled.

“What is this dish called?” Orm asked, his sharp blue eyes scanning his plate with the careful scrutiny of a tactician surveying a battlefield. In the glow of the Christmas tree behind him, his angular features seemed to soften further. 

The mild, shifting lights illuminated his hair, and his eyes, bright and blue as a sunlit sea, caught and reflected the warmth of the room. At that moment, he looked both regal and human, a mesmerising contradiction.

“It’s roasted squash and potatoes with a honey glaze,” you explained, pointing to each component, “and grilled fish—caught fresh this morning. I thought you’d appreciate the seafood.”

Orm’s lips curved into a genuine smile, one that lit up his usually serious face and softened the sharp lines of his features. It was a smile he seemed to save just for you, and every time you saw it, your heart swelled.

“You know me well, my love,” he said, his voice warm and steady.

You couldn’t help but smile back, your chest filling with a deep, unshakable affection for the man sitting across from you. In moments like this, you were reminded of just how much you loved him—his strength, his vulnerability, and the quiet, unwavering care he showed you in everything he did.

You tried not to stare as he took his first bite, but your gaze betrayed you. His expression remained inscrutable as he chewed slowly, analysing the flavours as if they might reveal some hidden truth about surface dwellers. Finally, he nodded, placing his fork down with a quiet clink. “It is… satisfactory .”

For a moment, you blinked at him, unsure if he was joking or genuinely serious. Then, laughter bubbled up and spilled out of you, filling the small dining room. “Satisfactory?” you repeated incredulously, trying to keep a straight face. “That’s all you’ve got?”

Orm’s brow lifted in that familiar way, a regal expression that might have been intimidating if it weren’t for the faint curve of his lips. The subtle smile softened his otherwise sharp features, giving him an almost boyish charm. “In Atlantis,” he began in his ever-composed tone, “satisfactory is high praise. It signifies balance—neither excessive nor insufficient. It implies…” He paused, his blue eyes sparkling with quiet amusement, “…perfection.”

You folded your arms and leaned back in your chair, shaking your head with a grin. “Oh, perfection, huh? Well, forgive me for misunderstanding, Your Highness,” you teased. “But next time, I’ll save myself the effort and just grab a greasy burger and fries. You probably wouldn’t notice the difference.”

Grinning, you pointed your fork at him, a mock warning in your tone. “And if you keep being this critical, I might not even bother seasoning it!”

Orm’s eyes widened slightly, and he laughed. It was low and rich, a sound that seemed to rumble up from deep within his chest, warming the room like sunlight breaking through clouds. Raising his hands in mock surrender, he leaned back slightly in his chair, his smile broadening into something more relaxed, more loving.

“Peace, my love,” he said, his voice tinged with gentle humour. “I yield to your culinary expertise. I was merely joking. Your cooking is wonderful, as always.”

The sincerity in his gaze made your heart skip a beat. For all his wit and formality, Orm had a way of softening when he was with you, his smiles and compliments carrying an intimacy that only you were privileged to witness.

“You’re forgiven,” you said, still grinning, though your heart felt full to bursting. “But only because I love you.”

Orm leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he regarded you with that piercing gaze that always made you feel as if you were the only person in the world. “I am most fortunate, then,” he replied, his tone low and intimate.

As the meal continued, the two of you fell into easy conversation. Orm began to share stories of Atlantean celebrations—vivid depictions of grand processions that wound through the glowing coral cities, ceremonies steeped in tradition, and bioluminescent displays that transformed the deep into a kaleidoscope of living light.

“There is a particular festival,” he said, his tone tinged with pride. “The Feast of Tides. It is held to honour the shifting currents that guide us and the sea creatures that sustain our people. The city pulses with song, and even the waters seem to dance.”

Your mind drifted back to the time Orm had taken you to Atlantis—a moment early in your relationship. The vibrant, surreal beauty of the city beneath the waves had been overwhelming: spires of coral that shimmered with an inner light, creatures that glowed in the darkened depths, and the hauntingly beautiful songs that seemed to resonate through the water itself. You had never felt more like an outsider, and yet, Orm’s steady presence at your side had made you feel protected. Made you feel like you belonged.

“It sounds incredible,” you said, leaning forward, captivated by the vivid picture he painted. “It reminds me of when you showed me Atlantis for the first time. Everything was so alive. It felt like stepping into another world.”

Orm’s gaze softened, a flicker of pride and something deeper crossing his features. “You adapted quickly for someone who had never felt the pressure of the deep nor seen the creatures beneath the waves.”

You smiled, a little embarrassed but warmed by his praise. “It helped that I had the former king of Atlantis guiding me.”

His lips twitched before breaking into a smile again, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “A king who now decorates trees and eats roasted squash,” he said dryly, though his tone held no bitterness—only a quiet, soft acceptance of how much his life had changed. “The currents have carried us to strange places.”

“They have,” you agreed. “But they’ve carried us together. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing great with all the surface-world traditions. Even if you think they’re odd.”

Orm’s expression shifted as his gaze turned thoughtful. “Perhaps. If the currents align, and the surface is kind, there may be more of these… traditions to learn.” His words were wistful, carrying the weight of someone trying to balance two worlds, yet willing to try for you—willing to continue trying for you.

After dinner, the two of you decided to take a walk along the beach behind your cottage. The snow that had lightly dusted the sand earlier was now mostly melted, leaving patches of dampness that sparkled faintly under the silvery moonlight. 

You pulled your coat tighter around yourself, glancing over at Orm as the two of you walked along the beach behind your house.

His long coat swayed with his movements, and his posture remained as regal as ever, though there was an ease to his stride that you didn’t often see. He had refused a hat, of course, claiming it unnecessary despite the cold.

The ocean stretched out in its eternal rhythm, its waves gently lapping against the shore in whispers. Each crest caught the moonlight, creating an otherworldly glow that illuminated the vast, dark, endless expanse of water. The air was crisp, carrying the faint briny tang of salt, and the stars above were like scattered diamonds on a velvet canvas.

Orm’s eyes were drawn to the horizon, his expression contemplative as he walked beside you. 

The moonlight caught his features, accentuating the chiselled planes of his face and the sheen of his hair that glistened in an almost ethereal silver, the strands shimmering like liquid light. His blue eyes, so striking in daylight, seemed to hold the entire ocean’s depth in their gaze, glowing faintly as if lit from within.  

There was a serenity to his expression, but his gaze held an intensity that always set your heart fluttering.

He glanced down at you as you walked, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’ve grown quiet,” he remarked, his deep voice cutting through the gentle sound of the waves.

You turned your face toward him, smiling softly. “I was just thinking about how beautiful this is,” you said, gesturing to the sea and sky around you. “And how lucky I am to be sharing it with you.”

His expression softened, and he reached out, taking your hand in his. His grip was firm but warm, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that sent a pleasant shiver up your spine. “It is beautiful,” he agreed, his tone quieter now, almost reverent. “But the surface world’s beauty is fleeting. It does not endure as the depths do.”

“Maybe that’s why it’s so special,” you countered. “Because it doesn’t last forever. You have to cherish it while it’s here.”

He stopped walking, turning to face you fully. 

The moonlight framed him like a painting, casting a silver halo around his tall, imposing figure. His gaze searched yours, as if looking for something he had yet to name. Snowflakes clung to his lashes, and for a moment, he looked as though he belonged more to this world than the one beneath the waves.

“You are... unlike anyone I have ever known,” he said quietly. “You see the world with such hope. Such... resilience. It is both confounding and admirable.”

You smiled, your heart swelling at his words. “And you,” you said, stepping closer, “are far more than the former king who once waged war on the surface. You care deeply, even if you don’t always show it. You’re strong, yes, but you’re also kind.”

For a moment, the only sound was the whisper of the waves and the distant cry of a gull. Orm’s gaze softened, and he raised a hand to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. His touch was featherlight, yet it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Sometimes, I wonder if I deserve you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his words, and you reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing gently along his cheekbone. “Orm,” you said, your voice firm but filled with affection, “you deserve every bit of happiness and peace. You’ve fought for so long, carried so much. Let yourself have this. Let yourself have us.”

His lips parted as if to say something, but he hesitated, the vulnerability in his expression making your chest ache. Instead of speaking, he stepped closer to you, his hand cupping your cheek. The moonlight reflected in his eyes, turning them into shimmering pools of silver and blue. 

“You remind me of the tides,” he said after a moment, his voice low. “Ever-changing, unpredictable. Yet constant in your pull. I can never seem to escape you... nor do I wish to.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned into his touch, your hand resting lightly against his chest. Beneath your palm, you could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat, strong and unyielding. His warmth seeped through the fabric of his shirt, grounding you in the moment.

“You don’t have to escape,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the waves. “You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.”

Orm’s expression softened further, a smile gracing his lips—small but genuine. “Here,” he murmured, his fingers tilting your chin up, “with you.”

He leaned down, his movements unhurried, as though savouring the anticipation of the kiss. When his lips met yours, it was with the practised intimacy of lovers who had kissed a thousand times before, yet each time felt new. 

His mouth was warm against yours, his kiss deep and deliberate, as if he were trying to pour all the unspoken things he struggled to express into that single moment. His hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer, and you melted into him, your fingers tangling in the silken strands of his hair.

The sound of the waves and the cool night air faded into the background, leaving only the heat of his embrace and the steady rhythm of his breath against your cheek. 

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and his breath mingled with yours in the cold air. Snowflakes continued to fall around you, landing on his lashes and catching in his hair like tiny, fleeting jewels.

“You make me forget everything else,” he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “The weight of my past, the conflict of my worlds—it all fades when I’m with you.”

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice filled with emotion.

His lips curved into a soft smile, his blue eyes shining with a rare vulnerability. “And I love you,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “More than I ever thought myself capable of.”

The look he gave you then was one of pure devotion, his blue eyes gleaming like the ocean at sunrise. He nodded slightly, as though sealing some silent vow, before pulling you into another kiss—this one softer, filled with the kind of quiet reverence that made your heartache in the best way.

“Let’s walk a little further,” you said, taking his hand.

Orm allowed you to guide him, his fingers intertwining with yours as the two of you continued along the snowy shoreline. The quiet was companionable now, filled with the unspoken bond you shared.

As you reached a cluster of rocks near the edge of the beach, you paused, turning to look back at your cottage. The warm glow of the lights spilling from the windows, the soft twinkle of the Christmas tree visible even from here—it was the picture of home.

Orm’s gaze followed yours, and his expression grew thoughtful. “This world,” he said softly, “is not without its beauty. I see now why you cherish it so deeply.”

“And now it’s your world, too,” you said, squeezing his hand. “Our world.”

He turned back to you, his smile returning. “Our world,” he agreed, his voice filled with a quiet reverence.

You laughed softly, a sudden thought striking you. “Merry Christmas, Orm,” you said, your tone light but full of affection.

Part of you actually hates these sorts of events. 

It's not just the pretentious displays of wealth or the shameless indulgence in ego-stroking that gets to you - it's the realisation that individuals like Orm thrive in this environment. 

The adoration the people shower upon Orm, the newly crowned King of Atlantis, leaves you utterly confused. What's there to admire about him?

Certainly not his demeanour; it's as if arrogance itself were personified in him. He's brash, power-hungry, unyielding, and, unfortunately, undeniably handsome. 

With his striking blonde hair cropped neatly and eyes as piercingly blue as the depths of the ocean, Orm embodies the epitome of regality. His very presence commands attention, drawing gazes like a magnet. Yet, it's a tragic irony - his attractiveness seems wasted on a soul so consumed by hubris.

You despise Orm's relentless craving for admiration and his insistence on being hailed as the rightful king and heir to the throne - conveniently overlooking the tragic fate of his mother at the hands of his father and the undeniable presence of his half-brother, Arthur.

You had your run-ins with Orm, and with each and every encounter, the loathing deepens, fueled by his haughty demeanour and unabashed rudeness directed squarely at you.

He carries himself as though everyone is beneath him, as if they are nothing more than insignificant specks of dust beneath his feet.  In your opinion, those are already bad qualities in an ordinary person, but in a king, they are nothing short of disastrous.

Perhaps that's why you made the unconventional choice to adorn your dress with a royal crest. Well, not any crest - it's the emblem of Orm's late mother.

It's your silent rebellion, a subtle yet pointed statement aimed at challenging Orm's delusions of universal adoration and perhaps even tactfully signalling to others that his claim to the throne is not as unassailable as he would like to believe.

In a way, it feels slightly absurd, almost bordering on the realm of eccentricity, but there's an undeniable satisfaction in defying Orm's inflated ego and reminding him that not everyone is enamoured by his ascent to power. Especially now as he seeks to bolster his authority with the title of Ocean Master.

You are a firm believer that all balls are equally dull and monotonous - pretentious people indulge in posh food and strive for favour with the powerful. 

With a soft, resigned exhale, you languidly sip on your champagne, taking solace in the fact that at least you look hot tonight. The flowing dress in a hue of serene light blue enhances your figure flawlessly, the fabric cascading gracefully around your legs, accentuating their slender length.

The dress has short sleeves, the fabric draping loosely around your arms, and a high neckline that conceals your cleavage, yet a daring diamond-shaped cutout just below your breast adds a touch of playfulness. 

And there, proudly displayed upon the chest, rests the embroidered crest. A bold statement, ensuring that everyone in attendance will take notice.

Navigating through the crowd, you engage in polite conversation, exchanging pleasantries and fielding questions about the crest adorning your attire. With each inquiry, you offer a cryptic smile, enjoying the subtle intrigue your choice of embellishment stirs among the crowd.

As you spend time in the palace, you can't help but marvel at the grandeur of your surroundings. 

The opulence is palpable, evident in every meticulously placed decoration and intricately designed detail.

Despite your reservations about the event itself, you can't deny the sheer beauty and attention to detail that has gone into the decorations. It's a testament to the wealth and power of those who call this palace home, a stark reminder of the world you find yourself navigating tonight.

After some time, the grand doors swing open, and the room falls into a hushed reverence as the soldiers' announcement reverberates through the air, signalling the arrival of Orm. 

Despite the soldiers' commanding tone and the murmur in the room, you can't bring yourself to think of him as King Orm, not even in the depth of your mind - because, to you, he is not your king.

The crowd obediently parts, creating a path leading to the imposing throne standing at the room's far end.  With a commanding aura, Orm strides forward, his every step echoing with a sense of entitlement that leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. His presence seems to cast a shadow over the assembled guests, a reminder of the power he wields, whether rightfully or not.

"Bow to the king of Atlantis - your king," the soldier's voice booms out once more with an unmistakable command. 

But as you observe the people bowing to him as he passes by, you remain rooted in defiance, refusing to bend to the will of a ruler whose legitimacy you refuse to acknowledge.

You observe with a mixture of disdain and begrudging admiration as Orm strides through the throne room, flanked by an entourage of Atlantean soldiers. His appearance is as impeccable as ever, a testament to his penchant for grandeur and ostentation.

Clad shining gold armour, every inch of Orm's attire seems meticulously chosen to accentuate his imposing stature. The chest plate and arm guards gleam in the light, casting a radiant glow that highlights the strength of his broad shoulders and chest, while his flowing gold cape adds an extra layer of majesty to his ensemble.

Atop his head rests a crown of matching gold, a symbol of his supposed authority, nestled amongst his thick, lustrous blond hair. 

As he moves through the room, his piercing blue eyes sweep over the assembled crowd, a self-satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips. The sight of people bowing in deference only seems to fuel his ego, confirming his belief in his own superiority and entitlement.

As Orm passes by where you stand, your eyes inadvertently lock for a fleeting moment, and it feels as if a bolt of lightning has struck you. Despite your disdain for him, you can't help but be momentarily captivated by the depth of his gaze, reminiscent of the vast expanse of the ocean itself. 

Yet, beneath the surface allure, he remains nothing more than an arrogant tyrant, unworthy of your reverence - and unworthy of you bowing to him.

You hold his gaze with steely determination, a silent defiance etched into your expression. You notice a subtle shift in his demeanour as his eyes flicker to the crest adorning your chest. He raises his eyebrow as if to say really? - a bit surprised and amused by your audacity. 

But you hold your ground, unyielding in your silent protest.

As he moves away, continuing his procession towards the throne, you exhale a breath you didn't realise you were holding. Glancing around discreetly, you confirm that no one else seems to have caught the exchange. In your mind, you know that it took no more than a few seconds but it felt like ages.

You watch with a mixture of relief and frustration as Orm continues his journey towards the throne, his demeanour unmarred by the brief encounter. 

As he settles onto his throne, his voice resonates with authority as he addresses the gathered crowd with a sense of self-assurance. "People of Atlantis, have I not been a good king? Have I not shown kindness and care towards our merfolk?" His words echo through the room, eliciting nods of agreement from many in attendance.

But while others seem to be swayed by his rhetoric, you remain unconvinced as you observe the scene unfolding before you. 

Suddenly, Orm's gaze locks onto yours, and a chill runs down your spine as he continues, his tone turning icy. "Well, not everyone thinks so," he declares, his words laced with disdain. "There are those among us who dare to support the half-breed-bastard Arthur."

Your heart races in your chest, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. It's as if he's singled you out, his cold gaze boring into your soul. At that moment, you can't help but question the wisdom of your silent rebellion, wondering if the crest stitched onto your chest was indeed a mistake.

"Bring her forth!"

Orm's command freezes you in place, sending a shiver down your spine as you stare at him with wide eyes. Panic courses through your veins as a guard forcefully walks through the crowd towards you. Instinct tells you to run, to hide, to do anything to escape. But deep down, you know there's nowhere to go and no way to avoid the inevitable conflict.

So instead, you stand your ground, determination etched into every line of your face as you hold your chin high. You meet Orm's gaze with unwavering defiance, determined not to let him see the turmoil churning within you.

You refuse to yield.

As the soldier drags you forward, your heart pounds in your chest.  You meet Orm's gaze once more, finding him seated on the throne with a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. 

Orm's voice cuts through the tension, loud and dripping with arrogance - a force that seems to reverberate off the very walls of the throne room. "I'm giving you one last chance - kneel," he commands, his tone daring you to defy him.

But you refuse to relent, your own voice rising defiantly in response. "No," you declare, the word ringing out loudly in the stunned silence of the room."I'll only bow before the true king."

The gasps that ripple through the crowd are like a chorus of disbelief as you openly defy his command. As the weight of your opposition hangs heavy in the air, you meet Orm's gaze once more, and you can see the flicker of anger in his eyes.

His azure gaze darkens, the once bright blue now clouded with a menacing intensity. It's as if a storm is brewing behind those eyes, a tempest of fury and resentment ready to be unleashed. 

In an instant, Orm rises from his throne, towering over you with an imposing presence. His face looms just inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers, his voice dripping with a chilling mixture of admiration and menace. "You're brave, I'll give you that," he murmurs, his words sending a shiver down your spine. "But that won't matter anymore."

As his proximity envelops you, you find yourself engulfed in his scent, an intoxicating blend of something heavy and heady, as if the essence of power itself intertwines with the very air around him. It's as if his aura radiates off him in waves, filling the space between you with a palpable sense of authority and dominance.

It overwhelms your senses for a short moment - the sheer attraction you feel almost too much.

Your heart thunders in your chest as you gulp, the gravity of Orm's fury looming over you like a storm cloud. You had anticipated his displeasure, but the sheer ferocity of his anger catches you off guard. You hadn't imagined that a simple crest could provoke such a visceral reaction from him.

"What? Can't handle some opposition?" The words slip from your lips before you can stop them, fueled by a mixture of defiance, apprehension and the fog in your mind from him being so close.

A gasp escapes your lips as Orm's hand darts forward, seizing the crest on your chest with a swift, decisive motion. You feel the material of your dress constricting as his warm hand curls around the emblem, his grip firm and unyielding.

In one quick and brutal movement, Orm tears the crest from its place, the sound of tearing fabric echoing loudly in the room, exposing your chest to the cool air of the throne room.

The sudden rush of air against your bare breasts sends a shiver down your spine, and you instinctively cross your arms over yourself, a futile attempt to shield your exposed skin from the prying eyes of the crowd.  Your cheeks flush with embarrassment as the gaze of the bystanders bears down upon you, their murmurs of shock and disapproval echoing in your ears.

You struggle to find your voice in the midst of the chaos as your mind goes blank, unable to process the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you. 

Your thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm as Orm's strong hands clamp around your wrists, pinning them firmly at your sides - a shiver courses through you at the touch of his commanding grasp. 

Orm's eyes linger hungrily on your exposed tits, his gaze dark with desire as a predatory smirk curls at the corners of his lips.

He leans in close, his voice a low, menacing whisper that sends a thrill of apprehension down your spine. "You're gonna wish you didn't defy me," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "In the end, you'll yield."

His words hang in the air like a warning, you feel a surge of heat pooling low in your belly. Despite the embarrassment and vulnerability of the situation, there's an undeniable undercurrent of arousal coursing through you, fueled by the raw power and intensity of the confrontation.

Before you can even process Orm's words, his command reverberates through the room with chilling finality. "Guards, take her to my chambers. I'll deal with her later!"

Panic surges through you as the reality of the situation sinks in. His guards move with swift obedience, closing in around you like a vice. You try to pull away, to cover yourself once more, but before you can react, one of the soldiers seizes your wrists and wrenches them behind your back with a brutal force.

As the soldier spins you around to face the crowd, a wave of humiliation crashes over you as you're shoved forward, stumbling ungracefully with each step. The gazes of the onlookers feel like searing daggers against your bare skin, and you can practically feel the heat of their scrutiny as they take in the sight of your exposed breasts.

Every instinct screams for you to cover yourself, to shield your nakedness from their prying eyes, but the grip of the guards is unyielding, and your struggles are in vain. With each push and shove, you're propelled further through the crowd with your tits shamelessly on display and bouncing with each unsteady step.

You feel a deep flush of embarrassment suffuse your cheeks as you pass by the sea of faces, their eyes lingering on your jiggling flesh, their whispers like a chorus of mockery echoing in your ears. As you make your way towards the exit of the room, you can't help but wish for the ground to open up and swallow you whole, sparing you from this public spectacle of humiliation.

_____

"You can't do this!" you scream at the guards, your voice laced with desperation and defiance, an attempt to reason with the guards, "you can't fucking do this!"

Your protests echo off the walls of Orm's chambers as you struggle against the iron grip of his guards, but their hold is unyielding, their hands like vices as they snap metal cufflinks around your wrists and ankles.

The weight of the restraints bears down on you, making every movement a challenge and leaving you feeling utterly helpless and confined. You continue to fight against the bonds, your muscles straining against the guards' hold and the metal. 

Terror grips you as the guards snap an iron cufflink around your neck, the cold metal pressing against your skin like a vice. You're frozen in shock, your wide eyes locking with the guards in disbelief.

"Please... I'm not a criminal,"  you beg, the desperation evident in your voice. But the guards remain unmoved, their faces impassive as they attach the chain from your neck to a hook in the ceiling,  effectively tethering you in place.

As they leave you alone in the chamber, a sense of dread washes over you like a suffocating wave. You're left bound and exposed, chained like a dog, with your wrists, ankles, and neck encircled by unforgiving metal while your tits are still bare.

_____

The creak of the door opening breaks the silence of the chambers, and your head whips around instinctively, the chains around your neck and wrists rattling with the movement. 

Your eyes meet Orm's, and you notice a flicker of surprise in his expression as he takes in the sight of you, restrained and exposed.

"I... I told them to detain you," he admits, his voice carrying a note of genuine concern as he steps closer to where you're standing. "But I didn't mean this," he adds, his words punctuated by a flick of his hand as he gestures to the chains that bind you.

A mix of emotions swirl within you - confusion, anger, and a sliver of hope. Could it be that Orm didn't intend for you to be subjected to such treatment?

But before you can say anything, you watch as he reaches behind his neck to unclasp his golden cape.

"I may not agree with your standpoint or the stunt you pulled in my throne room today," he admits, his voice gruff but tone carrying a hint of respect despite the underlying tension. "But you're still a lady."

With deliberate steps, Orm closes the distance between you, his cape in hand. When he's close enough, he drapes it over bare, exposed breasts. His fingers accidentally graze over your nipples, eliciting an immediate response from your body as they harden instantly under his touch,

A shiver runs down your spine, the brief contact sending tingles of arousal through your veins, and you can't help but gulp as you feel his presence so intimately close.

You feel a surge of conflicting emotions - gratitude for his unexpected gesture, confusion at his mixed signals, and an undeniable arousal that you struggle to conceal. You hate how your body reacts to him, but you can't deny the physical response he evokes in you. 

But in that moment, all you can do is hope that Orm didn't notice the subtle reaction that his touch elicited from you as he covered you with his cape.

You feel somewhat perplexed that he is so nice to you all of a sudden. 

This version of him, displaying a hint of compassion and understanding, is a stark contrast to the tyrannical king you've known before. Yet, you can't shake off the hope that perhaps you can use this opportunity to persuade him to release you from your restraints.

His piercing blue eyes meet yours, studying you intently, and you take the chance to return the gaze, examining him up close. 

Despite the circumstances, you can't help but appreciate the way his eyes sparkle in the soft light of his chambers, reminiscent of sunlight dancing on water, scattered beneath its surface. His features are regal, with a straight nose and plush pink lips that are currently not twisted into a sneer or mocking smirk.

For a fleeting moment, you find yourself wondering what it would be like to kiss him before swiftly scolding yourself internally for such thoughts.

You notice a subtle stubble on his cheeks and neck, barely visible yet adding a rugged charm to his otherwise polished appearance. His lush blonde hair remains perfectly styled, and the crown atop his head serves as a reminder of his status.

There's no denying that he's attractive, a fact that both intrigues and frustrates you.

Despite his physical appeal, he's still the king you hate, a false king who has caused you so much distress - man that shouldn't be sitting on the throne. 

You shiver again, your hands twitching involuntarily as the chains around your wrists and ankles rattle with the movement, drawing Orm's attention, his eyes flicking over the metal cuffs.

"Let me get you out of those," he declares, surprising you with his offer as he gracefully sinks down on his knees to start with the cuffs on your ankles.

Your heart quickens at his proximity, and you can't help but tense up as his warm fingers brush against your bare legs. Closing your eyes for a brief moment, you try to steady your breathing, but the sensation of his touch sends a shiver down your spine.

It's surprisingly gentle, almost tender, as his hand closes around your calf. You notice the size of his hands - broad palms and long fingers that effortlessly encase your leg, sending an electric sensation through your veins.

You're grateful that he doesn't look up at you, his attention focused on freeing you from the cuffs. You're also relieved that it seems like he hasn't noticed the effect his touch is having on you. 

But as he tightens his hold on your calf, a wave of arousal washes over you, causing you to involuntarily press your thighs together as desire pools low in your body. 

"Stop that," he commands, his muscles visibly tensing as he struggles to maintain composure. "If you don't want to make me lose it."

Orm's warning tone sends a jolt of apprehension through you, his strained voice hinting at a volatile undercurrent beneath his calm exterior.

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, your mind clouded by his presence and the palpable tension in the air -  reeling from the intensity of the moment. "Lose what?" you ask, your voice breathless even to your own ears, unable to resist the urge to provoke him further. "Your crown? I hope you do."

His reaction is immediate, his head snapping up to meet your gaze. The barely restrained desire and anger in his eyes send a thrill through you, even as you realise the dangerous game you're playing.

"Enough," he snarls, a warning laced in his tone.

But you're too far gone to heed his warning, your mind clouded by his presence and the surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. "You can't tell me what to do. You're not my king anyway," you retort defiantly, the words spilling out without restraint.

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you sense the gravity of your mistake. But instead of backing down, you double down on your defiance, spitting on the floor just inches away from him to underline your disregard for his authority.

You brace yourself for his explosive reaction, expecting anger or a sharp rebuke. Yet, to your surprise, Orm remains strangely calm, his grip tightening around your calves as a smirk plays on his lips - reminiscent of a calm before the storm.

"Oh, I'll make you worship me, don't you wait," his voice drips with anger and a hint of sadistic pleasure.

Your heart races as Orm reaches for the chain connected to the cuff around your neck, a surge of panic coursing through you as he pulls on it.  Instantly, your hands fly up to your neck, instinctively trying to relieve the pressure and prevent yourself from being choked. 

With a gasp, you rise to your tiptoes, the chain taut, your eyes widening in alarm as you meet Orm's icy blue gaze. His eyes hold a steely resolve, unforgiving and unyielding, sending a shiver of fear down your spine. 

Automatically, your legs close in a reflexive attempt to maintain your balance, but Orm refuses to grant you respite. With a firm tug on the cuff around your ankle, he commands, "Spread them, or I'll help you," his voice carrying a menacing edge that leaves no room for negotiation, "And believe me, you don't want that."

The internal struggle between defiance and submission rages within you, but in the end, the intensity of Orm's gaze and the palpable aura of dominance he exudes leave you with no choice but to comply. With a hesitant nod, you reluctantly spread your legs as he instructed, feeling a mixture of apprehension and anticipation coursing through your veins.

As you adjust your stance, you're rewarded by a low, rumbling hum that seems to emanate from the depths of Orm's chest. It sends a shiver of anticipation coursing through you, fueling the arousal that pulses steadily through your veins. 

With the slight adjustment in your position, you feel the tension in the chain connected to the cuff around your neck ease slightly, granting you a moment of relief.

As he steps closer to you once more, his intoxicating scent surrounds you, enveloping you in a haze of desire and confusion. It clouds your mind, leaving you dizzy with need as your eyes flutter closed involuntarily, overwhelmed by the sensations that wash over you in his presence.

Orm's deep voice resonates through the air, sending a shiver down your spine as his words penetrate your consciousness. "You like this," he asserts, his tone carrying a hint of smugness as he observes your reaction. The warmth radiating from him is palpable, drawing you in despite your instinctive urge to resist.

Reluctantly, you open your eyes to meet his intense gaze, feeling a flush of heat creeping up your cheeks under his scrutiny. You want to deny his accusation, to assert your defiance, but he speaks again before you can come up with something. 

"Don't deny it, I can smell you," he declares, his words sending a jolt of arousal through you as you realise the truth in his statement. It leaves you feeling exposed and vulnerable, your body betraying your desires in ways you can't control.

With deliberate intent, Orm runs a hand over your arm, his touch igniting a cascade of goosebumps in its wake. You feel the electric charge of his fingertips against your skin, each caress sending waves of sensation coursing through your body. His gaze remains locked on your face, his deep blue eyes reflecting the desire that burns within him.

Caught in the intensity of the moment, you find yourself unable to look away, drawn to the magnetic pull of Orm's presence, captivated by the raw intensity of him. 

Orm closes the distance between you with a fierce determination, his lips crashing against yours in an aggressive kiss that overwhelms your senses. His scent, his taste, his warmth - all engulf you in a whirlwind as he kisses you.

You find yourself momentarily lost in the passion, succumbing to the intensity of his kiss as he asserts his dominance with every brush of his lips and sweep of his tongue,  exploring every crevice with arrogant confidence, leaving you breathless and unable to resist his commanding presence.

He kisses you like he rules - unwavering and ruthless.

Yet, amidst the fervour of the moment, a surge of defiance courses through you, spurred by the realisation that you won't succumb to his dominance without a fight. 

With a sharp bite, you capture his bottom lip between your teeth, drawing blood in a bold act of rebellion. The metallic tang mingles with the taste of him, a potent reminder of the boundary you dare to challenge.

Instead of pulling away, Orm responds with a low growl, his hand tangling in your hair as he pulls on it forcefully. The sharp tug forces your head back, breaking the kiss and leaving you gasping for breath.

Your chest heaves with the intensity of the encounter as you watch him through hazy eyes and you find yourself mesmerised by the sight before you.

Orm's pupils are blown wide with desire, his unruly hair falling over his face in disarray. A small trickle of blood stains his lip where you bit him, and you watch in silent fascination as he runs his tongue over the wound, a primal glint in his eyes. 

"Feisty... I like it," Orm growls, his voice rough and laden with arousal. The words send a thrill through you, and you're startled to realise that he's just as turned on as you are. 

He begins to circle you like a predator, his movements slow and deliberate, each step heightening the tension between you. His eyes never leave yours, and the glint in them makes your heart race. It's as if he's ready to pounce, to claim what he sees as his.

The steady beat of your own arousal pulses through you, an undeniable rhythm that matches the anticipation building in the room. You stand there, chained and exposed, feeling like prey under his watchful gaze, yet there's an inexplicable thrill in the way he looks at you as if he's savouring every moment of your defiance and vulnerability.

Orm moves behind you, his presence a menacing yet tantalising force. His nose brushes lightly against the curve of your neck, sending shivers down your spine while the warmth of his breath contrasts with the cool air of the room and heightens your sensitivity. 

With a swift motion, he pulls off the cape, exposing your breasts to the air once again. The sudden bareness sends a rush of vulnerability and arousal through you and you let out a shocked gasp.

His hands come up, rough and possessive, to cup your tits. He plays with them expertly, his touch both firm and teasing. A quiet moan escapes your lips, betraying your surprise and reluctant pleasure.

"You like that, don't you?" Orm's voice is a low, taunting whisper against your ear.

He bites down on your neck, the sharp sensation making you gasp again. At the same time, his fingers pinch your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure-pain straight to your core. Without thinking, you push back against him, feeling the hard length of his cock pressing against your ass. The heat of him, even through his clothes, is undeniable, and your body responds instinctively, craving more of that contact.

Orm growls softly, a sound of approval, and his hands continue their merciless teasing. His fingers roll and tug at your nipples, heightening the waves of arousal that are crashing through your being. 

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your mind a hazy mess of defiance and desire. Every touch, every bite, every whispered taunt pulls you deeper into the intoxicating web he's weaving around you, leaving you aching and wanting despite yourself.

Suddenly, Orm's hand snaps away, delivering a stinging slap to your ass that makes you yelp in surprise. The sharp pain mingles with the pleasure coursing through you, a potent mix that leaves you breathless. He strides back in front of you, eyes burning with a fierce intensity.

Without warning, he captures your mouth in another kiss, his lips crashing against yours with a brutal passion. You return the kiss, hot and heady, your mind a swirl of sensations. 

As his tongue invades your mouth, his hands move to your dress, ripping it further apart. You gasp into the kiss, feeling the fabric tear away, exposing more of your trembling body.

"It's ruined anyway, pet," he murmurs against your lips, his voice dripping with possessive hunger.

With one final, forceful tug, he rips the dress down the middle so it slides off your body. Before you can protest, his hand moves between your legs, cupping your cunt possessively. The roughness of his touch sends shockwaves through you, making you shudder.

"You're so hot and wet... I can feel it, whore," he growls, slipping his fingers beneath the seam of your panties. The sudden intrusion of his thick fingers plunging into you makes you moan loudly into the kiss. The pleasure is overwhelming, your body reacting instinctively to his every touch.

His fingers move inside you with practised skill, curling and thrusting in a rhythm that has you arching into him, desperate for more. The kiss grows more frantic, your moans muffled against his mouth as his fingers drive you closer to the edge. The chains rattle with your movements, a stark reminder of your helplessness, but all you can focus on is the intense, raw pleasure he's giving you.

Orm breaks the kiss, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, "You belong to me now." The declaration sends a fresh wave of heat through your body, and you can't help but moan again, your body betraying the fierce defiance still lingering in your mind.

He swallows your sounds, his mouth hot and demanding against yours. His fingers pump into your cunt with hard, relentless thrusts, each stroke driving you wild. 

The rough pad of his palm grazes your clit with every plunge, sending jolts of pleasure shooting through your body. The friction is deliciously unbearable, and despite your hatred for him, you can't help but surrender to the sensations he's forcing upon you.

Your body betrays you completely, your cunt clenching around his fingers, as if drawing them in deeper, craving more of the forceful friction. Each thrust seems to push you closer to the edge, your moans growing louder and more desperate.

"You want it," Orm's voice is a harsh whisper against your ear, his breath hot and tantalising. He nips at your earlobe, sending another shiver down your spine. "Your body says one thing, even if your mouth says another."

You bite back a retort, too overwhelmed by the intensity of his touch. His fingers curl inside you, finding that sweet spot that makes your vision blur and your legs tremble.

Orm's fingers move faster, harder, driving you towards a peak that you can't deny. Your breaths come in short, ragged gasps, your body arching against him, desperate for release. He seems to revel in your responses, his eyes dark with desire and dominance.

"You're mine," he growls, his voice a possessive rumble that sends a fresh wave of heat through your body. The words should infuriate you, but instead, they only push you closer to the brink. 

You tremble as you feel the crest of your orgasm building, the sensation growing more intense with each stroke of Orm's fingers. His relentless rhythm hits that perfect spot inside you, making you see stars and sending electric sensations through your entire body as your mind goes hazy, overtaken by the sheer pleasure he's giving you.

The room fills with the sounds of your ragged breaths, the rattling of chains as your body shudders in response, and the wet, obscene noise of his fingers plunging into your soaked cunt. Your body reacts instinctively, clenching and fluttering around his fingers, chasing the climax that's just within reach.

But just as you teeter on the edge, your orgasm almost within grasp, Orm pulls his fingers out abruptly, denying you the release you so desperately need. The sudden emptiness leaves you gasping, a sound of protest escaping your lips as your hips buck involuntarily, seeking the pleasure he so cruelly withheld.

Your eyes fly open, meeting his intense gaze, and you see that his pupils are blown wide, his hard cock straining against the constraints of his pants. Your gaze wanders over his fingers, and you see the wetness glistening on the thick digits.

The smirk playing on his lips is infuriating, his eyes dark with both desire and a twisted sense of satisfaction. "Did you really think I'd let you come that easily?" His voice is low and mocking, sending another shiver through your body. "You need to learn your place, pet."

Your body trembles with need, the denied climax leaving you on edge, every nerve ending screaming for relief. The ache between your thighs is almost unbearable, your cunt still clenching around nothing, desperate for the friction he took away. Your breaths come in short, frustrated gasps, your chest heaving as you try to regain some semblance of control.

You glare at him, anger and arousal mixing in a volatile cocktail inside you. "You bastard," you spit out, your voice shaking with unspent desire. "Finish what you started."

His hand comes up to cup your chin, tilting your face up so you're forced to meet his gaze. "You don't get to make demands," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. "But I will make you beg for it."

He pulls away, and you watch, mesmerised, as he pops his fingers into his mouth and licks them clean. Your cunt clenches around nothing as you see his tongue tracing the shape, and he lets out a pleased grunt. "Delicious."

A needy whine escapes you, your body pulsing with unfulfilled desire. Part of you can't believe how desperate you are for him, but there's something about Orm that makes you feral with want. 

But it doesn't matter how hot he is or how much you want to feel him inside you - you won't beg. 

You are proud, and you will not submit to the wrong king of Atlantis. 

As if he can hear your thoughts, he smirks. 

Orm steps closer, his presence overwhelming. "You think you can resist me?" His voice is a dangerous whisper. "You think you can deny what your body clearly wants?" He runs a hand down your side, his touch sending shivers through you.

Your breath hitches as he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "You will beg for it," he promises, his voice a dark, seductive growl. "I will make you scream my name."

Orm's words send a chill down your spine, a shiver of unease mingling with the lingering arousal. His touch leaves a sticky trail of your essence and his spit on your cheek, and you can't help but squirm against the chains that bind you. 

"In the end... your mind will be empty except for me. You'll desire nothing but my touch," he continues, his voice dripping with arrogance and confidence. 

The promise unsettles you, stirring a sense of foreboding deep within you. Despite the haze of arousal clouding your thoughts, you know you need to get out of this situation. But the cuffs around your arms, legs, and neck hold you firmly in place, rendering you powerless to escape.

Fear and arousal war within you as Orm steps back, his smirk widening as he watches your struggle. It's clear that he revels in the control he holds over you, and the realisation only fuels your determination to break free from his grasp, so you close your legs a bit, trying to regain some control of the situation.

But that attempt is swiftly met with Orm's retaliation. His hands, big and warm, force your thighs apart, his grip firm enough to leave bruises. 

"I told you to keep them spread… but since you can't hear, I'll make sure they stay spread," he says, his tone more amused than angry at your futile resistance. It's as if he anticipated your reaction all along.

You can do nothing but watch as he pulls away from you and fastens the chains around pillars, spreading you out completely. Your breath quickens as the realisation sets in that you're completely exposed, your cunt open to the cold air - and to him.

Meeting Orm's eyes once more, you're met with that infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. You're consumed with the desire to wipe it off, to regain some semblance of control in this twisted game he's playing. But bound and helpless, all you can do is endure his taunts and wait for an opportunity to break free.

"This is how a whore should look... spread out for me to use," Orm's voice resonates with a low, husky tone as he closes the distance between you once more. 

Before you can react or comprehend what's happening, he brings his hand down with a swift and forceful motion, the flat of his palm connecting with your sensitive, wet cunt in a hard, audible slap. 

The sting reverberates through your body, eliciting a sharp gasp from your lips as the sensation overwhelms your senses. The pain mingling with the ache of arousal deep within you.

It takes a second for the pain to set in as you look at him with wide eyes, your pussy throbbing from the blow. 

Before your brain can catch you and process it, he does it again, harder this time. The flat of his hand connects perfectly with your clit and you can't help but let out a yelp that morphs into a moan, which makes him bark out a laugh - the sound echoes around the room, dark and mocking.

"Oh, the whore likes having her dirty cunt spanked?" he taunts, his voice dripping with mockery.

"Fuck you," you manage to grind out, your pussy throbbing intensely. God, yes, you like it - the way it stimulates your already sensitive clit sends waves of pleasure through you. But fuck, he doesn't get to do this to you. He doesn't get to have this power over you.

Orm's expression shifts to one of displeasure. He shakes his head slowly, making a disappointed tsk sound. "And here I thought you had learned something," he says, his voice filled with cold amusement.

With that, he brings his hand down again in a hard, swift motion, connecting sharply with your pussy. 

You cry out, the sound a mix of pain and unwilling pleasure. 

He doesn't stop there. 

Over and over, his hand slaps against your pussy, each blow precise and unrelenting. The sensation is overwhelming; it hurts so bad but also makes you even hornier, the pain blending seamlessly with the pleasure. Your clit, already sensitive, throbs with each hit, sending shockwaves through your body.

Orm's eyes never leave your face as he continues, watching every reaction, every wince, every moan that escapes your lips. His pupils are blown wide with desire, his cock straining against the constraints of his pants. He's getting a kick out of this -  watching you squirm and suffer and, worst of all, enjoy it.

He doesn't stop until you're reduced to a whimpering and shaking mess, your body trembling in the chains that hold you in place. Your pussy is raw, red, and swollen, every nerve ending singing with a mix of pain and pleasure. The once defiant fire in your eyes has dimmed, replaced with a hazy, submissive arousal that you can't control.

"That's better," he says finally, his voice a mix of satisfaction and dominance. He steps closer, his presence overwhelming. He lifts your chin with a finger, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Now, are you ready to beg like the whore you are?"

You swallow hard, your throat dry. Part of you wants to defy him, to spit in his face and curse his name. But another part, the part that's throbbing with need and aching for release, wants to give in. You hate yourself for it, but the desire is there, undeniable and insistent. You're caught in his web, and he knows it. 

He's waiting, watching, his eyes daring you to defy him again.

You take a shaky breath, your body still trembling from the punishment. "I..." you start, your voice faltering. You can see the triumph in his eyes already, the cruel anticipation. "I won't beg," you manage to say, but even to your own ears, the words sound weak and unconvincing.

Orm's smirk widens, and he leans in close, his breath hot against your ear. "Oh, you will," he whispers, his voice a dark promise. "By the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging for my touch, begging for release. You'll be begging to serve your true king."

His hand trails down your body, his touch both gentle and possessive. He knows exactly what he's doing, and you're powerless to stop him. You can only hope that somewhere, deep inside, you'll find the strength to resist him. But right now, as his fingers trail over your swollen, aching pussy, all you can think about is the pleasure and pain that he's promised, and the desperate, burning need for release that he's denied you.

You feel it throbbing, and you hate that you feel so close again. It's one thing to cum from him fingering you, but to cum by him beating the shit out of your poor, sensitive cunt? No. You don't want to give him that satisfaction.

But Orm seems determined to make you cum, or at least push you towards the edge, if the look of concentration on his face is any indication. His eyes are locked onto yours, intense and unyielding. He's studying every reaction, every twitch of your body, and using it against you.

"I can see it in your eyes," he murmurs, his voice low and menacing. "You're close, aren't you? I can feel how your body responds to me, how you can't help but want this."

He brings his hand down again, a sharp, stinging slap against your already throbbing pussy. Your body jerks involuntarily, a whimper escaping your lips. You bite down hard, trying to suppress the sounds, but it's no use. Your body betrays you, hips bucking slightly, seeking the friction even as you hate yourself for it.

"See?" Orm says, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Your body knows who it belongs to, even if your mind hasn't caught up yet."

He slaps your pussy again, and again, alternating between sharp smacks and more deliberate, pressing touches. The mix of pain and pleasure is driving you mad, each slap sending jolts of sensation through your already overstimulated nerves. You can feel yourself getting wetter, your arousal slick against his hand.

By the time you're close again, your mind is completely hazy. At that moment, you don't care that it's Orm, the man you hate. You just care about how good his fingers feel, how the sharp, rhythmic smacks are pushing you closer and closer to climax. Your legs shake, and you know that with his next move, you're going to cum.

But instead of letting you climax, he pinches your clit harshly and painfully, making you yelp and twist to get away from him. The pain is sharp, a cruel interruption to the pleasure you were so close to achieving.

"Only good girls get to cum, slut," he hisses, his hot breath against your ear. You didn't even notice him coming closer, so worked up and shaken by your once again ruined orgasm. Your clit throbs painfully, the denied pleasure leaving you frustrated and desperate.

Orm's voice is a low growl, filled with sadistic amusement. "Look at you, so needy. I told you I'd make you beg."

He steps back slightly, watching you with a satisfied smirk. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, your body still trembling from the denied release. You glare at him, defiance mingling with the haze of arousal in your eyes.

"I won't beg," you manage to say, though your voice wavers. "I won't give you the satisfaction."

Orm laughs softly, a dark, knowing sound. "Oh, you will. You're already so close. It won't take much more to break you."

He leaves wet kisses along your jaw until he reaches your mouth. You look into his dark blue eyes, filled with desire, as you feel his breath on your lips. His hands find their way into your hair, gripping it tightly.

Then he kisses you again, showing his dominance by slipping his tongue into your mouth and moving his lips against yours. You can't help but kiss back. This time, you don't bite, too worked up and too needy for him.

This time, you get to taste him properly, and gods, he tastes divine as he kisses you. His fingers, tangled in your locks, move towards your tits, and he starts to fondle them while he kisses you. He weighs your breasts in his hands, pinching and twisting the nipples with just the right amount of pressure to make you moan into his mouth.

The sensation of his hands on your sensitive nipples sends electric jolts through your body. You arch into his touch, the pleasure mingling with the pain in a way that makes you crave more. He breaks the kiss briefly, looking into your eyes with a smirk.

"You like that, don't you?" he murmurs, his voice a low, seductive growl. "Me playing with your tits?"

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a moan as his fingers continue to tease your nipples. Your body betrays you, arching into his touch, silently begging for more.

"Answer me," he commands, his voice firm but filled with desire.

"Yes," you whisper, unable to deny the truth. "I like it."

His smirk widens, and he leans in to kiss you again, more passionately this time. His hands roam over your body, exploring every inch of your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You're lost in the sensations, your mind hazy with arousal and the need for more.

As his kisses travel down your neck, he nips and sucks at the sensitive skin, leaving marks that will remind you of this moment long after it's over. His hands continue to knead your breasts, the sensation almost too much to bear.

"Good girl," he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot and tantalizing. "Now, let's see how well you beg for more." 

With that, he kisses you again, your lips colliding in a passionate kiss as he trails his fingers over your bare skin.

His ministrations make you buck your hips, seeking friction, but he steps back and breaks the kiss, denying you the chance to grind on his hard cock straining against his pants.

"Ah ah ah," he murmurs between kisses, his voice deep, husky, and dominating. "You take what you are given and say thank you for that - nothing more."

You want to fight back, want to give him an earful, but you can't think straight. The sensation of his nimble fingers on your nipples and the throbbing of your overstimulated cunt are enough to haze your mind. You're caught in a whirlwind of pleasure and pain, your body betraying you at every turn.

"You're so desperate, aren't you?" he taunts, his fingers now tracing the curve of your waist, making you shiver. "Begging for it without even realising."

You bite back a retort, trying to gather your thoughts, but his touch is relentless. He circles your nipples with his thumbs, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you moan involuntarily.

Your needy, high-pitched moans and the rattling of the chains that bind you are the only sounds in the room. You never thought it possible, but he brings you closer and closer to the edge again just by playing with your tits. Your skin tingles under his touch, your nipples aching and oversensitive as he twists and pinches them with a sadistic glee.

You know you'd instantly cum if he were to just tap against your neglected cunt once, but he doesn't give you the satisfaction again. Instead, he pulls away, leaving you hanging on the precipice of an orgasm that never comes. You whimper in frustration, your body trembling with unfulfilled desire.

Orm's smirk is infuriatingly smug as he watches you, his blue eyes dark with desire. "Look at you," he murmurs, his voice a dangerous purr. "So desperate, so needy. You can't even think straight, can you?"

You grit your teeth, trying to regain some semblance of control, but it's futile. Your body is betraying you, every nerve ending on fire, craving his touch. You hate how easily he can manipulate your responses, how he has you completely under his spell.

He steps back, circling you slowly, his eyes never leaving your form. "I could keep you like this forever," he muses, his tone contemplative. "Teasing you, denying you, watching you squirm. It's quite a sight."

You want to deny it, want to scream that he's wrong, but your body responds to him with a truth you can't ignore. The wetness between your legs, the way your nipples harden under his touch, and the way your hips arch towards him all betray your deepest desires. So you just stay quiet.

"Good girl," he murmurs, rewarding you with another searing kiss. "Let's see how well you can behave."

He steps back, leaving you feeling exposed and desperate for more. His eyes rake over your body, taking in every detail, every shiver, and every moan. You feel his gaze like a physical touch, adding to the arousal pooling in your core.

He steps closer again, his hand trailing down your stomach, teasing the edge of your panties. You tremble with anticipation, knowing that you're at his mercy, yet craving whatever he decides to give you. His fingers dip below the waistband, grazing your wet folds, and you can't help but moan, your body arching towards him, seeking relief, but he pulls his hand away, making you whimper in frustration. 

"No, no," he chides softly. "You don't get to cum until I say so. And you're not nearly desperate enough yet."

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "Tell me how badly you want it," he whispers, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "Tell me what you'd do for me, and maybe, just maybe, I'll consider it."

"Please," you whisper, the word slipping out before you can stop it. You hate yourself for it, but you need his touch, need the release he's been denying you.

A triumphant smile spreads across his face. "There it is," he murmurs. "That's a good start, pet. But I want to hear you beg properly."

He withdraws his hand, leaving you aching and desperate. You know he won't give you what you need until you do as he says, and the realization makes you shiver. Taking a deep breath, you swallow your pride.

"Please," you say louder, your voice trembling with need. "Please, I need you."

"Good girl," he purrs, stepping closer and rewarding you with a deep, passionate kiss. His fingers return to your panties, slipping inside to find your aching clit. He rubs slow, teasing circles, making you whimper with need.

"That's it," he murmurs against your lips. "Beg for it, pet, and I might just give you what you want."

The way he pushes you to submit causes the haze in your mind to clear again a bit, the thick fog thinning out, making logical thought possible again. And the first and foremost thought is that you can't and won't let him win - it's bad enough already, considering how far he's pushed you already.

As if sensing your rising defiance again he withdraws his fingers from your aching, wet cunt and takes a few steps back, giving you the moment to look at him wholly again.

It's obvious that this is also taking a toll on him, his cock is probably painfully hard and you see how it's straining against his pants. Yet he's still fully clothed while you are completely naked, exposed, and vulnerable.

You're breathing heavily, your skin slick with sweat, and your entire body is overstimulated and needy. Your mind is clouded by denied pleasure, and you can't help the little unconscious whines and whimpers that escape your lips as you watch Orm.

His eyes are dark with lust as he pulls off the tight shirt he's wearing, revealing his muscular torso. The sight makes your cunt flutter around nothing, the need inside you intensifying.

He's delicious.

You watch the hard lines of his muscles, how his broad chest rises and falls with his deep breaths. You trace the defined ridges of his six-pack with your eyes, following the treasure trail that leads into his pants where his cock strains against the fabric, begging for release.

He lets out a husky laugh when he sees how you're eyeing him, a mix of amusement and satisfaction in his gaze. "Like what you see, pet?" he taunts, his voice low and rough. He steps closer again, his presence overwhelming, and you can't help but nod, your body betraying your mind.

Orm's smirk widens, and he reaches for the waistband of his pants, slowly undoing the fastenings, drawing out the moment. Your eyes are glued to his hands, anticipation and need coiling tightly in your belly.

Finally, he pushes his pants down, freeing his cock.

It's thick and long, with prominent veins and a red, angry, wet head. It sits in a neatly trimmed nest of blonde hair, and the sight of it makes your heart race.

Your cunt clenches in response, desperate for him, for anything that might bring you relief.

He takes his dick in hand, stroking it slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. "You want this, don't you?" he asks, his voice a seductive purr. "Tell me how much you want it."

Your pride battles with your desire, but it's a losing fight. You're too far gone, too desperate to resist. "I want it," you breathe, your voice trembling with need. "I want you inside me. Please, Orm."

His smirk deepens, and he steps closer, the head of his cock brushing against your swollen, aching pussy. The touch sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and you moan, your hips instinctively pushing towards him, seeking more.

"Oh no, you have to earn that privilege to be fucked by your king," his voice is teasing and he's clearly revelling in how far he's pushed you already.

With a swift motion, Orm finally loosens the chains binding you. The sudden release sends you collapsing to the floor, your knees hitting the cold stone tiles with a yelp. The chains rattle around you as you try to collect yourself, the shock and the overwhelming arousal clouding your mind.

By the time you manage to come to your senses, Orm is standing before you, his hard cock right in front of your face. 

You open your mouth to tell him off, but he shoves his dick in, making you gag and look up at him with wide, shocked eyes. The sheer size and force of it are overwhelming, and you struggle to breathe around him. He winks at you, grabbing your head and forcing his cock deeper into your mouth. 

You gag and splutter around it when he bottoms out, his heavy balls resting against your chin. He lets out a pleased growl, touching the bulge of his dick in your throat. "That's a good pet…taking my cock so well," he praises, as you choke and gag around him.

He holds your head firmly, controlling the pace as he fucks your mouth. Each thrust is brutal and unrelenting, driving deep into your throat, making you gag and choke. Tears stream down your face, but he shows no mercy, his pleasure evident in the way he uses you.

You try to push him away, your hands feebly pressing against his thighs, but the chains still limit your movement, and you are powerless to stop him. Your struggle only seems to excite him more, his cock hardening further as he watches you suffer.

He thrusts deeper, his balls slapping against your chin with each powerful movement. You feel spit pooling in your mouth and around his cock, dripping down your chin in a messy display of his dominance. Your vision blurs with tears, and black spots dance at the edges of your sight as your airway is repeatedly blocked.

He keeps it in until you feel like you're going to pass out. 

He hushes you, petting your head like you're a pet, keeping his cock lodged in your throat for a few more agonising seconds before starting to pull out. Relief is fleeting as he only pulls out until just the head is inside.

You take a few gasping breaths around his dick before he starts to fuck your mouth in earnest. His thrusts are rough and forceful, always ensuring to thrust deep into your throat, making you gag.

Orm's grip on your hair is unyielding, keeping you in place as he uses your mouth for his pleasure. You hear him groan, the sound vibrating through his body and into yours. "Just like that, whore," he praises, his voice rough."Let your king use your mouth."

Your mind is hazy, overwhelmed by the pain and lack of air. You try to relax your throat, to accommodate him better, but it's an almost impossible task. His thrusts grow more erratic, and you know he's close.

"Pet, I'm going to cum, and you're going to show me and then swallow," he groans. "That's an order from your king." 

Maybe you would have complied but the sentence and his just downright arrogant commant light a flame of defiance inside you again.

A few thrusts later, he pulls out until only the head is in your mouth and cums with a loud groan. The salty taste of his cum fills your mouth as it hits your tongue. 

He rides out his orgasm and milks his dick to ensure every last drop of cum has hit your tongue before pulling his cock from your mouth. 

Even flaccid, it's impressive, wet with your spit and his trimmed public hair glistening.

You gasp for breath, your throat raw and sore. You collapse to the floor, coughing and sputtering, feeling utterly defeated as Orm looks down at you, a satisfied smirk on his face. He kneels beside you, his hand caressing your cheek almost tenderly.

"Show me, pet," he commands, reaching down and caressing your cheek. Obediently, you open your mouth and show him the cum pooled on your tongue. He groans appreciatively. "Now swallow."

Instead of swallowing, you gather your strength and defiance, spitting his load out in a forceful motion. It hits the floor near his feet with a wet sound, and you feel a sense of satisfaction when you see his shocked face.

But then his face contorts in anger, and you are afraid. He's been angry and unforgiving, but now he looks like he means business.

"How dare you waste your king's cum," his voice is cold, his blue eyes icy. He steps forward and delivers a hard slap against your cheek.

You yelp at the force, pure pain blooming across your face. "I'm going to make you regret that." He steps away and strings you up with the chains again. You struggle against it, but his hold and everything about him is unforgiving. 

He secures you tightly, ensuring there's no room for movement, the chains biting into your wrists and ankles. "You're going to learn your place," he growls, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "And you're going to beg me to forgive you."

You hang there, breathless and terrified, as he steps away to fetch something from a nearby table. The room is silent except for your ragged breathing and the clinking of chains. When he returns, he holds his trident poised menacingly in his hands. 

The gold metal glints ominously in the light of the room, a stark contrast to the dark intent in his eyes. 

"You will learn respect," he says, his voice a dangerous whisper. He brings the trident close to your skin, teasing the sharp edges against your flesh. You flinch as the cold metal grazes you, leaving small, stinging cuts in its wake.

The first cut is shallow but painful, a thin line of blood welling up. He drags the trident slowly, deliberately, along your body, each new cut a sharp reminder of your vulnerability. "Do you understand now?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Your defiance only brings you more pain."

You grit your teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. The trident moves to your inner thigh, the sharp points biting into the sensitive skin there. You can't help but let out a gasp of pain, your body trembling in its bonds.

He smirks at your reaction, clearly pleased with your suffering. "You will beg," he promises, his voice filled with dark certainty. "And when you do, it will be because you have no other choice."

He continues to torment you, the trident tracing a path of pain across your skin. Each cut feels like fire, your body tensing and shuddering with every new wound. You try to stay silent, to deny him the satisfaction of your cries, but it becomes increasingly difficult.

Finally, he pauses, looking at the trident and then at your trembling form. "Are you ready to submit?" he asks, his voice almost gentle, a cruel mockery of kindness.

You meet his gaze, your resolve wavering. The pain, the fear, the humiliation - all of it is overwhelming. But deep down, the defiance still burns. You take a shuddering breath, trying to gather the strength to resist just a little longer.

Seeing your hesitation, Orm's expression hardens. "Very well," he says, his tone icy. "If pain won't break you, perhaps pleasure will." He sets the trident aside and steps closer, his hand reaching out to grip your jaw tightly. "I will make you beg for release," he vows, his eyes boring into yours with relentless intensity.

Without another word, he captures your mouth in a bruising kiss, his dominance clear and unyielding. His free hand moves to your body, fingers finding and pinching your nipples, reigniting the fire of arousal even through the haze of pain. The contrast of sensations is dizzying, your mind a chaotic mix of agony and desire.

You moan into his mouth, the sound half protest, half need. His touch is maddening, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. 

He pulls back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours, daring you to defy him. Your body is a trembling, aching mess, every nerve on fire. The urge to give in, to beg for the release he's withholding, is almost overwhelming.

But you hold on, just barely, a flicker of defiance still burning in your eyes. And Orm, seeing that last spark, smiles - a cold, predatory smile. "We'll see how long you last," he says, his voice a soft, sinister purr.

With that he turns the trident around, and your eyes widen in shock as you realise his intent. The blunt end of the weapon presses against your cunt, the cold metal an unwelcome intrusion. 

Without warning, he shoves it inside your wet and neglected pussy. 

Your body tenses, a mix of pain and unexpected pleasure coursing through you. The sensation is overwhelming, the trident's unyielding surface stimulating you in a way you hadn't anticipated. You can't help the loud moan that escapes your lips, a raw, guttural sound that fills the room.

Orm moves the trident moves a harsh rhythm, fucking you mercilessly.

Your moans grow louder, uncontrollably echoing in the room despite yourself. Orm's eyes darken with satisfaction at your helpless reactions. He doesn't let up, the trident driving deeper with every thrust, each movement a reminder of his dominance over you. His eyes gleam with satisfaction at your reaction. 

He grabs the crest he ripped from you earlier; its fabric now a symbol of your degradation. "Open wide," he commands, his voice low and dangerous. 

You barely have time to comprehend his words before he stuffs the crest into your mouth, effectively gagging you.

The taste of the fabric is bitter, a stark reminder of your humiliation. Your muffled cries and moans reverberate in the small space, each sound a testament to your helplessness. Orm thrusts the trident inside you with relentless force, his movements calculated to bring you to the brink of ecstasy and pain.

Your body betrays you, responding to the brutal rhythm despite your mind's protest. The blunt end of the trident rubs against your most sensitive spots, sending waves of pleasure and pain through you. The combination is dizzying, and your mind is a haze of conflicting sensations.

Orm's grip on the trident tightens, his eyes never leaving your face. He watches every expression, every twitch of your muscles, relishing in your torment. "Look at you," he murmurs, his voice dripping with contempt. "A moaning, writhing mess, stuffed with your own crest. How fitting for a defiant little slut - silenced by what you once stood for."

Your body reacts despite your mind, hips bucking against the trident. The friction, the pain, the overwhelming sensations - all of it drives you closer to the edge. You try to bite down on the crest, to keep yourself from making any more sounds, but the pleasure is too intense. Muffled moans escape around the gag, and tears of frustration and arousal sting your eyes as he inches you closer to a climax you know he might deny again. The chains rattle with your every shudder, every attempt to writhe away from or into the sensation.

Orm watches you with a predatory gleam in his eyes, clearly enjoying your torment. "You see, pet, you can't fight what you truly are," he says, his voice dripping with condescension. "A whore who enjoys being used, who craves the touch of her king."

He increases the pace, thrusting the trident harder and faster, each movement sending jolts of unwanted pleasure through your body. Your moans become more desperate, your body betraying you completely. The gag muffles your cries, but the sound is still there, echoing in the room.

Orm's free hand moves to your breast, pinching and twisting your nipple brutally. The added sensation pushes you even closer to the brink, your mind a hazy mess of pain and pleasure. You feel your climax building again, uncontrollable and inevitable.

"So close, so desperate. You want to cum, don't you? But remember, pet, only good girls get to cum." Orm taunts, his voice a harsh whisper. 

You glare at him, the defiance still flickering in your eyes, but it's weaker now, drowned out by the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body and the number of times he's already edged you and denied your orgasm. 

He smirks at your struggle, clearly enjoying your torment.

"Are you ready to submit?" he asks, his voice a dangerous purr. He twists the trident slightly, changing the angle and making you cry out against the gag, your body arching in response. "Just give in, pet. Beg for it, and maybe I'll let you cum."

The cruel reminder of his earlier words sends a wave of frustration and anger through you, but it only heightens the pleasure. Your body is trembling, on the edge, and you know that if he stops now, the denial will be unbearable.

But just as you think he might relent, might finally let you have your release, he slows down, the trident moving in and out of you with agonising slowness. The pleasure recedes just enough to keep you from the edge, leaving you hanging in torturous anticipation.

Orm leans in close, his breath hot against your ear. "Beg for it," he whispers, his voice a dark, seductive command. "Beg your king to let you cum."

Despite everything, the words are on the tip of your tongue. The need is overwhelming, the humiliation almost a secondary concern now. But deep inside, the spark of defiance still burns, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

Orm watches you struggle, his eyes filled with a mixture of amusement and desire. "You will break, pet," he promises, his tone soft and lethal. 

His relentless assault with the trident continues, pushing you to the brink of orgasm over and over again but never letting you cross that line. 

The blunt end stretches and fills you, the rough movements making you gasp and moan against the spit-soaked crest gagging your mouth. Your body is trembling, muscles taut from the denied pleasure, and the room echoes with the wet, rhythmic sounds of the trident plunging into you.

Finally, he pulls it out with a wet noise, leaving you feeling empty and aching. 

He steps back, his eyes never leaving yours, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he watches you struggle to regain your breath. With a swift, almost casual motion, he tugs the crest from your mouth, and you gasp for air, gulping down deep breaths.

Your mouth feels dry despite the saliva, and your is jaw sore from being stretched around the fabric. Your breaths come heavy and ragged, chest heaving as you look up at Orm. His gaze is dark, filled with a mix of lust and cruel amusement. He tosses the spit-soaked crest aside, his hand moving to his now hard cock, stroking it leisurely as he takes in the sight of you.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Breathless, desperate, and yet still defiant." He steps closer, the head of his cock brushing against your swollen, throbbing entrance. "But I'm not done with you yet, pet."

You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the raw power and dominance he exudes. Your body is hypersensitive, every nerve ending alive with sensation, and the touch of his cock against you sends a shiver of anticipation and dread through you.

"Do you want it?" he asks, his tone mocking. "Do you want your king to fuck you, to make you cum?" His fingers trail down your cheek, the touch almost gentle but with an underlying threat.

You swallow hard, your throat dry and raw from the gag. Despite everything, the need is overwhelming, the ache inside you impossible to ignore. But that spark of defiance still burns, a last shred of resistance in the face of his cruel domination.

Orm's eyes narrow as he reads the conflict in your gaze. "Still holding out, are you?" he says, his voice a low growl. "Let's see how long that lasts."

He teases your swollen, throbbing entrance with the head of his cock, brushing against your most sensitive spots. The teasing alone sends jolts of pleasure through your overstimulated body, and you can barely hold back the whimpers of need escaping your lips.

"You want this, don't you?" Orm's voice is a low, taunting growl."You're desperate for it."

You try to deny him, to keep some semblance of dignity, but your body betrays you. A whimper escapes your lips, and you can't help but push your hips towards him, seeking more.

"Pathetic," he murmurs, but there's a dark satisfaction in his eyes."Beg for it."

Your pride flares, but so does your need. "Please," you whisper, hating the tremble in your voice."Please, Orm."

"That's better," he says, a cruel smile curving his lips."But not good enough."

Then, without warning, he thrusts into you, filling you completely. The sudden, overwhelming sensation is too much; you cum instantly, a powerful orgasm ripping through you without any chance to resist. Your cunt clenches around him, milking his cock as waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you shocked and breathless.

"There you go," Orm sneers, his voice a mix of triumph and lust. "Cumming so quickly like a desperate slut."

You can only moan in response, your body already trembling from the intensity of your release. Orm doesn't pause to let you recover. He fucks you hard and brutally, each thrust driving deeper inside you, hitting all the right spots with unerring accuracy. The force of his movements makes your chains rattle, your moans and cries filling the room as he pushes you to the brink over and over again.

"Do you like this, pet?" he growls, his breath hot against your ear. "Do you like being used like this?"

"Yes," you gasp, barely able to form the words.

Your admission only spurs him on, his pace becoming even more relentless. Your body convulses with each orgasm, the pleasure blending with the pain of overstimulation until you can no longer tell them apart. Orm takes you relentlessly, his pace unyielding, and you lose track of how many times you cum, each climax leaving you more exhausted and overwhelmed than the last.

"You're nothing but a toy," he continues, his voice rough and dominating. "A plaything for your king. A hole to stuff and breed."

Finally, you reach a point where you're completely fucked out, your body limp and trembling, barely able to respond to his continued thrusts. Orm's grip on your hips tightens as he chases his own release, his cock throbbing inside you.

With a final, deep thrust, he cums inside you, filling you with his hot seed. The sensation of his cum spilling deep inside you triggers one last shuddering orgasm, your body clenching around him as he groans in satisfaction. He stays inside you for a moment, riding out the waves of his own pleasure before finally pulling out.

As he withdraws, you feel the thick, hot cum begin to drip from your gaping cunt, pooling on the cold floor beneath you. Your body is utterly spent, your mind a haze of exhaustion and lingering pleasure. Orm steps back, admiring the sight of you, thoroughly used and debauched, his seed leaking from you.

He looks down, his fingers tracing the marks he's left on your skin, a satisfied smirk on his lips. "Look at you," he murmurs, his voice low and filled with dark satisfaction. "Completely ruined, just like a good pet should be."

You can barely muster a response, your body and mind too overwhelmed to do anything but breathe heavily, your chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Orm's presence looms over you, a constant reminder of his dominance and your utter submission.

"You'll remember this," he says, his tone softer but no less commanding. "Remember how easily I broke you."

A shiver runs through you, not just from the lingering pleasure but from the promise in his words. You know you'll never forget this, the way he took you, claimed you, and left you a trembling, satisfied mess.

"Now," he continues, standing tall and looking down at you with a mixture of pride and ownership. "Thank your king."

"Thank you, my king," you manage to whisper, your voice shaky but sincere.

Orm's smile widens, pleased with your submission. "Good girl," he says, before turning and leaving you to recover, a satisfied smirk still playing on his lips.

You hang there, utterly spent, your body a trembling mess of exhaustion and lingering aftershocks of pleasure, so weak you would definitely fall to the floor if not for the chains holding you upright.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, and through half-lidded eyes, you watch as Orm reaches for his discarded clothing. From a pocket, he pulls out a gleaming gold signet ring, intricately designed with the crest of his house.

He holds it up, letting the light catch on its polished surface, making the emblem shimmer ominously. "This," he says, his voice steady and commanding, "is my crest. The symbol of my power and my claim. From now on, it will mark you as mine."

You shiver at his words, a mixture of trepidation and curiosity stirring within you. Orm walks over to a small furnace burning in the corner of the room. He places the signet ring on a metal rod and holds it over the flames, heating it until it glows red-hot. 

Your eyes widen in horror as you realise his intentions. "No," you whisper, but your voice is weak, your body too drained to resist or protest effectively.

Orm returns to you, the heated ring glowing ominously. He gives you a cruel smile. "You will wear my mark, pet," he says, his tone final and unyielding.

He grabs your hip, forcing you to turn over and exposing your ass to him. The metal rod holding the ring hovers over your skin for a moment, the heat radiating off it palpable and terrifying. Without further hesitation, he presses the signet to your flesh.

The pain is immediate and searing. You scream, the sound echoing off the walls, your body bucking against the chains that still hold you in place. The smell of burning flesh fills the air, mingling with the remnants of your arousal. Tears stream down your face as the agony overwhelms you.

Orm keeps the ring pressed against you for a few more torturous seconds before pulling it away, satisfied. 

He steps back to admire his handiwork, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He watches you with an intensity that makes you shiver. Slowly, he reaches out and runs his fingers over the fresh, searing brand on your skin. The pain flares again, causing you to wince, but the touch is almost tender, a stark contrast to the brutality you've just endured.

"Marked as mine", he murmurs, his voice a mix of pride and possession. "You're nothing but an animal now, a pet for your king - free to use and free to breed."

His words cut deep, piercing through the haze of exhaustion and lingering pleasure. You feel a profound sense of humiliation, of being reduced to nothing more than a branded possession. His touch, while gentle, is a stark reminder of the power he holds over you, a power that now feels absolute and inescapable.

You try to avert your eyes, but he grips your chin firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Don't look away," he commands, his tone leaving no room for defiance. "You need to understand your place, pet."

Tears blur your vision as you look up at him, feeling completely exposed and vulnerable. Orm's expression softens slightly, but the underlying dominance remains. "You're mine now," he repeats, almost gently. "You will serve me, please me, and wear my mark with pride."

His fingers continue to trace the edges of the brand, the touch now more of a reminder than an infliction of pain. The symbol of his house, seared into your flesh, is a constant, throbbing reminder of your new reality. You are no longer just yourself; you are his property, his marked pet.

A mixture of emotions churns within you - fear, shame, and a strange, unwanted thrill at the intensity of his claim. The weight of the brand, both physical and symbolic, presses down on you, leaving you feeling more trapped than ever.

"But how will the people know who you belong to?" he muses aloud, his voice dripping with cruel amusement. "We can't have you walking around with your ass exposed all the time, now can we? I have a better idea."

The fear in your eyes must be evident, but he pays no heed to it. With deliberate slowness, Orm reaches for his signet ring again and heats it over the furnace. The room feels stifling, the anticipation of what's to come making it hard to breathe.

He approaches you, and with a firm grip, he pushes you back against the cold stone floor. Your skin prickles in protest, but you are too weak and too bound to resist. He holds the red-hot signet just above your breast, the heat radiating from it causing your heart to race.

"Hold still," he commands, his voice devoid of any softness."This is important."

Your breath comes in shallow gasps as you brace yourself for the inevitable pain. When the searing metal meets your flesh just above your breast, the agony is immediate and all-consuming - and somehow worse than the first time. 

Orm's eyes are fixed on the mark as he presses the signet firmly against your skin. He seems to take a grim satisfaction in your suffering, his gaze never wavering. The metal burns into your flesh, leaving the crest of his house as a permanent brand. He holds it there longer than necessary, ensuring the mark is deep and unmistakable.

"There," he says, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction."Now everyone will know who you belong to, even when you're clothed."

Tears stream down your face as you struggle to catch your breath, the pain throbbing with every heartbeat. Orm watches you, his fingers once again tracing the fresh brand, the touch almost gentle in its cruelty. Each contact sends waves of pain and humiliation through you, reinforcing the new reality of your situation.

"Perfect," he murmurs, his tone filled with possessive pride."You're truly mine now, marked for all to see. Everyone will know you exist solely as my whore and pet. Fit to use however and whenever I want."

Orm's voice softens as his fingers trail down from the brand to your breasts, groping them with a mixture of roughness and reverence."I can't wait until they swell with milk for my children," he continues, his tone taking on a sickeningly sweet quality."You're going to be my perfect broodmare. And until you're pregnant, I'll have fun breeding you as often as I can and then some more."

His grip on your breasts tightens slightly, his thumb brushing over your nipples."You'll learn to love it, pet," he whispers, his voice a dark promise."You'll learn to crave my touch, to beg for it. And when you finally give in, when you finally accept that you are mine completely, you'll find peace in your submission."

Orm's hands travel down your body, his touch lingering on the fresh brand over your breast. He admires his mark on you, a visible sign of his ownership."You're beautiful like this, you know," he murmurs."Marked, claimed, and filled with my seed."

The stars shimmered brilliantly, their light scattered across the vast midnight-blue expanse of the sky, each one like a finely cut gem set into an endless velvet tapestry.

A silvery layer of snow blanketed the beach behind your seaside cottage, glittering softly in the moonlight. The waves rolled lazily against the shore. Their edges tinged with ice, the rhythmic sound a soothing undercurrent to the quiet night. 

The tree you and Orm had decorated together stood like a centrepiece, its branches adorned with twinkling lights and glittering ornaments that reflected the glow of the roaring fire in the hearth. The colourful lights spilled softly through the frosted window panes, their hues blending with the moonlight and casting gentle patterns on the snow outside.

Inside, the atmosphere was alive with laughter and warmth. Plates of food filled every available surface, a feast for the senses with dishes representing both your world and Orm’s. 

Golden-brown roasted vegetables glistened beside soft, buttery rolls, their rich aroma mingling with the briny scent of delicately seared fish. Seaweed-wrapped morsels, intricate and artfully arranged, brought a touch of Orm’s world to the table, their emerald hues a striking contrast against the warm, earthy tones of the other offerings.

Orm stood near the table, and he wore a simple knit sweater, the soft, charcoal-grey fabric hugging his broad shoulders and hinting at his strength. Faded jeans completed the look as they hung low on his hips.

His face, usually clean-shaven and sharp, was softened by a few days' worth of stubble, giving him a rugged, approachable charm. The firelight played across his features, accentuating the familiar intensity in his blue-grey eyes but tempering it with warmth. 

His blond hair, slightly mussed as though he'd run a hand through it one too many times, fell naturally into place, making him look effortlessly handsome as if he’d just walked out of the ocean, its salt-kissed waves still clinging to him.

The soft strands, a mix of silvery platinum and sunny gold, framed his face in a way that made him look almost ethereal in the warm glow.

He looked like someone who had finally found a moment to breathe.

Every now and then, his gaze would meet yours, and in those moments, warmth would fill you from within as you felt the pure love he radiated.

Arthur, Orm’s half-brother, lounged comfortably at the dining table, a casual ease about him as he nursed a drink in one hand. His signature smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, his sharp eyes sparkling with amusement as he watched his brother. 

“Well, well,” Arthur drawled, lifting his glass in a mock toast toward his older brother. “Who would’ve thought the great Ocean Master himself would be so... domestic?” His grin widened, clearly revelling in the rare chance to tease Orm in such an ordinary setting.

Orm, standing a few feet away, stiffened slightly at the jab but didn’t take the bait. Instead, he cast Arthur a withering glare, his sharp features settling into an expression of icy composure. 

Without missing a beat, he returned to help you arrange plates on the table, his movements precise and unbothered. 

“I fail to see how assisting my partner equates to domesticity,” he replied, his voice cool and measured, though the faintest edge of irritation crept into his tone.

Arthur’s grin stretched wider, a mischievous glint flickering in his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the shift in the conversation. “Partner?” he repeated, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

You chuckled, stepping in with a lighthearted tone before the teasing could escalate any further. With a playful smile, you raised an eyebrow at Arthur. “Arthur, do you really want to challenge the man who decides if you get food tonight?”

Arthur’s smirk faltered just slightly, and he lifted his glass in a mock gesture of surrender. “Fair point,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “I’ll behave.” 

Orm turned to you, his lips curving into a soft, almost imperceptible smile as his deep blue eyes locked with yours. There was a quiet warmth in his gaze, a tenderness that seemed reserved just for you. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, quiet enough that only you could catch the words.

You met his gaze, a gentle smile playing on your lips as you brushed a hand lightly against his arm, your touch warm and reassuring. 

“Always,” you simply replied—and you meant it.

The hours passed in a haze of good food and lively conversation, the three of you slipping into a rhythm that felt surprisingly natural. Arthur, ever the storyteller, regaled you with tales of his adventures, his voice rich with humour and exaggeration. 

Even Orm, sitting beside you with his arm casually draped across the back of your chair, couldn’t suppress a few wry comments about his brother’s flair for the dramatic.

His presence was comforting, his strong, broad frame leaning slightly toward you as he spoke, his blond hair catching the light of the candles that flickered on the table. His hand rested just above your shoulder, his fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of your clothing, and the steady warmth of him was a reassurance you didn’t know you needed until you felt it.

When he smiled, it was subtle, a slow curve of his lips that hinted at quiet amusement or fondness rather than the wide, effortless grins that Arthur often wore. 

It was a smile that reached his eyes—those deep blue-grey eyes that softened with affection, holding a depth that only you knew intimately. 

A smile that made his whole face warm, as though it was something reserved just for you , and in those rare moments, the sharpness that often defined him seemed to melt away, revealing a softer, more human side of him. 

He didn’t need to say anything; the way he smiled spoke volumes—gentle, knowing, and undeniably magnetic, conveying how much he enjoyed being here with you.

As the clock neared midnight, you suggested stepping outside to watch the fireworks. Arthur immediately perked up, his grin widening at the thought of the spectacle, but Orm looked slightly sceptical. He raised an eyebrow, his piercing eyes narrowing as if trying to make sense of the idea.

“Fireworks?” he repeated, the unfamiliar word rolling awkwardly off his tongue, his deep voice tinged with confusion. It was clear the concept didn’t quite fit into his world, where beauty was more often found in the stillness of the sea or the power of the waves.

You smiled softly, understanding his hesitation, and reached for his hand. The warmth of his strong fingers intertwined with yours, grounding him as you gently reassured him. “They’re beautiful ,” you promised, your voice calm and encouraging. "You’ll see."

Orm’s gaze softened, the faintest glimmer of curiosity replacing the uncertainty in his eyes. Though he didn’t fully understand what fireworks were, something in your tone seemed to ease his reservations. With a quiet nod, he allowed himself to be led outside, his broad frame casting a shadow as he stepped outside with you.

The night air was crisp and biting against your cheeks, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the cottage behind you. Arthur leaned casually against the railing, his posture relaxed, scanning the dark sky with easy confidence as if the night held no surprises for him.

His eyes were alight with the anticipation of the spectacle, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth as he made idle chatter.

Orm, however, stood close to you, his tall frame casting a long shadow in the dim light. His hand remained firmly clasped in yours, the warmth of his touch grounding you amidst the chill of the evening. 

Despite his relaxed stance, the tension in his broad shoulders was subtle but unmistakable. His eyes, usually sharp with focus, were narrowed in quiet wariness as he scanned the horizon; the same alertness that had served him well in countless battles now turned toward an unfamiliar form of potential danger. 

It was as if he couldn’t fully relax, his instincts still primed for a threat that didn’t seem to exist here. His eyes, reflecting the faint glow of the porch light, tracked every shadow and movement in the night, his wariness ingrained after years of living on the edge.

“It’s just a celebration,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the quiet tension. You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, your fingers laced firmly with his, hoping to ease the unease that lingered in his posture.

Orm glanced down at you briefly, the guarded look in his blue eyes softening ever so slightly. He nodded once, the motion small but enough to show he trusted your words, even if the concept was still foreign to him. 

Yet, even as he acknowledged your reassurance, his gaze returned to the dark expanse of sky, his features still taut with quiet vigilance. The steady rhythm of his breathing and the subtle strength of his hand in yours were the only signs that he was beginning to settle, grounding himself in your presence.

When the first firework shot upward, its trail carving a glowing arc of orange against the inky black sky, Orm stiffened beside you. 

His body, usually so composed, became rigid, the muscles in his arms tense as if preparing for battle. The sudden explosion that followed was loud and jarring, a thunderous boom that shattered the stillness of the night. The sky erupted into a cascade of golden sparks, their dazzling light reflecting off the snow-dusted ground and rippling waves, painting the scene in fleeting, brilliant hues.

Arthur let out a low whistle, leaning back against the railing with a murmured comment about the spectacle, but his words barely registered. Your attention was fixed on Orm. 

His hand, still clasped in yours, tightened with almost crushing force, his knuckles pale against the knit of his sweater. His gaze was locked on the sky, unblinking and intense, his lips pressed into a thin line as the bursts of light and sound continued.

You could see the flicker of something unfamiliar in his eyes—shock, confusion, perhaps even a trace of unease. For a man who had faced countless battles and commanded armies, this simple display of light and sound seemed to unsettle him in a way you hadn’t expected. It was as if the raw power of the fireworks reminded him of something far more dangerous and unpredictable.

“Orm?” you whispered, your voice barely cutting through the sharp crack of another firework streaking into the sky. This one arced high above, its shimmering blue trail splitting the darkness before erupting into a magnificent burst. The explosion sent cascading tendrils of electric blue, and silver sparks raining down, illuminating the snow, the waves, and Orm’s tense features in a ghostly glow.

He flinched violently as the firework burst with a deafening crack that echoed across the beach, his head snapping toward the sound as though he expected an attack. The brilliance of the explosion reflected in his wide eyes, which darted across the sky, scanning for unseen threats amidst the bursts of light. His breathing quickened, each sharp inhale causing his chest to rise and fall unevenly, the muscles of his broad shoulders coiled with tension.

Another firework soared upward, its fiery tail spiralling as it climbed before detonating into a dazzling explosion of gold and crimson. The burst lit the horizon with a flickering radiance, but to Orm, it seemed less a celebration and more a chaotic display of unpredictable power. His grip on your hand tightened to the point of discomfort, as though anchoring himself to you was the only thing keeping him steady.

“It’s an attack,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tight and edged with barely suppressed panic. His piercing blue-grey eyes were wide unfocused, as though he were seeing something far beyond the fireworks in the sky. His words were low but urgent, filled with the certainty of a man who had faced countless battles. “They’re coming ,” he said again, the tension in his tone a stark contrast to the festive display above.

You recognised the signs immediately—the way his free hand had curled into a white-knuckled fist at his side, the subtle tremor in his frame, and the way his chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid breaths.

Orm wasn’t here anymore; his mind had pulled him back into the depths of his past, to battles fought in the shadowy expanse of the ocean, to the chaos and unrelenting violence he had endured as both warrior and king. The brilliant bursts of light and sound weren’t a celebration to him—they were explosions, signals of an impending assault, echoes of a life defined by conflict.

“ Orm ,” you said firmly, stepping directly into his line of sight. Your voice cut through the tension like a blade, steady and grounding. “Look at me.”

You placed your free hand gently against his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. His gaze wavered for a moment, his eyes darting toward you as though unsure whether to focus on the present or remain trapped in the haunting echoes of his past.

He didn’t respond, his entire body jerking as another firework shot upward, splitting the sky with a deafening boom that sent waves of colour cascading into the night. His expression twisted with raw, unfiltered fear, a vulnerability so unlike him that it took your breath away. His sharp features, usually so composed, were tense with the weight of memories that seemed to drown him.

“Orm,” you repeated, your voice louder now, firm but filled with concern. You tugged on his hand, your grip steady and grounding. “Come inside. You’re safe , but we need to go inside.”

For a moment, it felt as though he didn’t hear you, his mind too clouded by the chaos of the past—the flash of explosions, the roar of battles fought beneath the waves. His chest heaved with uneven breaths, his gaze darting wildly between the horizon and the fireworks that painted the sky with bursts of light and sound.

Then, slowly, your voice seemed to cut through the haze. His eyes flicked down to meet yours, wide and glassy, as if seeing you for the first time since stepping outside. Recognition began to surface in their depths, the storm in his mind momentarily stilling as he focused on you. His grip on your hand slackened slightly, the strength of your presence pulling him back from the brink.

“Please,” you said softly, your voice steady yet imbued with a quiet urgency. Your hand squeezed his gently, grounding him in the present. “Come with me.” The gentleness in your tone was insistent, a lifeline pulling him away from the chaos in his mind.

Orm hesitated, his broad chest still rising and falling in uneven bursts. His gaze flickered between the door and you, uncertainty etched into his features, but he didn’t let go of your hand. You stayed steady, your calm presence anchoring him, refusing to let him slip back into the storm of his memories.

After what felt like an eternity, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, and you began to lead him toward the warmth and safety of the house. His steps were hesitant at first, his body tense and his shoulders hunched as though bracing for an attack that would never come. But he followed you, his hand gripping yours like a lifeline.

Once inside, you closed the door firmly behind you, the sound of the latch sealing away the cacophony of the outside world. The fireworks continued, their muffled booms now softened by the walls of your home, distant and far less threatening. The warm glow of the living room embraced you both, the hum of safety wrapping around him like a comforting cocoon.

You guided him to the couch, your touch firm but gentle as you eased him down onto the soft cushions. His movements were stiff, almost mechanical, as though his body hadn’t yet caught up with the safety of the moment. 

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands trembling as they gripped them tightly. His head hung low, his silver-blond hair falling forward to partially obscure his face, while his uneven breaths filled the quiet space around you. He was fighting—fighting to claw his way back from the memories that held him captive.

“Orm,” you said gently, lowering yourself to your knees in front of him so you could meet his gaze. Your voice was soft but steady, the calm anchor you knew he needed right now. “You’re safe. You’re here with me. No one is attacking.”

His shoulders trembled faintly at your words, the tension in his powerful frame still visible, but he didn’t respond. You reached out, placing a hand over his, which was gripping his knees so tightly his knuckles had gone white, and you were sure that he’d bruise himself with the sheer strength he used to hold on to it. The warmth of your touch seemed to break through the barrier of his fear, drawing his attention.

He glanced up at you then, his eyes still shadowed with the echoes of panic. But there was something else there, too—something searching, desperate for the reassurance your voice and presence were offering. You held his gaze firmly, your touch and words steady, silently willing him to let go of the battle raging inside.

His breath hitched sharply, his chest rising and falling as though he were trying to steady himself, but failing. His head shook almost imperceptibly, as if he were trying to physically dispel the memories clawing at his mind. “The sounds...” he murmured, his voice low and strained, laced with raw vulnerability. “They’re the same . The explosions, the echoes—it’s too much.”

His words trailed off, but the haunted look in his eyes spoke volumes, a silent cry for solace amidst the storm. You didn’t hesitate, gently threading your fingers through his trembling ones. His fingers were ice-cold, his knuckles still rigid from the intensity of his grip, but you held them firmly, grounding him with your touch.

“It’s not the same,” you said softly but with unwavering conviction, your voice cutting through the haze enveloping him. “Look at me, Orm. You’re not there anymore. You’re here, with me.”

Your words hung in the air, a lifeline tethering him to the present. Slowly, his head lifted, and his eyes, still clouded with fear, met yours. The storm in them began to waver, the familiar warmth of your presence pulling him back from the abyss. You gave his hands a reassuring squeeze, leaning in slightly so that your steady gaze was all he could focus on.

“You’re safe,” you whispered. “I promise.”

In his eyes, you saw the shadows of a lifetime’s worth of pain—raw and unhidden. It was the kind of pain that burrowed deep, etched into his very being by years of war, betrayal, and loss. The guarded walls he always kept so carefully in place had crumbled, leaving him exposed in a way few had ever seen. His lips parted, and for a moment, you weren’t sure he would speak, but then he did, his voice low and unsteady.

“I hate this,” he admitted, the words barely above a whisper, but the weight of them was immense. His hands trembled slightly in yours. “I hate feeling like this.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his tone, at the man before you who had endured so much yet still felt trapped by his own mind. You squeezed his hands gently, your thumbs brushing over his knuckles in a soothing rhythm. “I know,” you said softly, your voice steady and full of understanding. “I know how hard this is for you. But you’re not alone. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Your words seemed to pull him back, the storm in his eyes flickering as he focused on you. His breathing, still uneven, began to slow as your presence cut through the fog of fear gripping him. Bit by bit, you watched as the tension in his broad shoulders eased, his body no longer braced for an invisible attack. He let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes briefly as if to steady himself. When he opened them again, there was a clarity there, faint but growing, as he leaned forward.

Orm rested his forehead against yours, the gesture both grounding and intimate. His silver-blond hair, slightly dishevelled, fell forward, brushing lightly against your skin. He exhaled deeply, his voice low and filled with gratitude. “Thank you,” he murmured, the words carrying the weight of his sincerity.

Your hands stayed clasped around his, unwavering. “You don’t have to thank me,” you replied, your tone tender but firm. “I love you, Orm. And I’ll always be here for you.”

Outside, the fireworks began to fade, their brilliant colours dimming until only faint bursts of light painted the horizon. The final echoes of explosions gave way to the gentle hum of the night, the world returning to its quiet, peaceful rhythm. 

Inside, the glow of the Christmas tree bathed the room in a soft golden light, its gentle flicker casting dancing shadows across the walls. The warmth of the room wrapped around the two of you, creating a sanctuary against the chaos of the world outside.

Orm let out a long, shuddering breath, his hands remaining tightly clasped around yours, though the tremble had eased. His eyes, still shadowed but calmer now, searched yours as if trying to hold onto the reassurance you offered. “You’re my anchor,” he said softly, his voice carrying a rare vulnerability that made your chest tighten.

You leaned closer, your voice steady as you replied, “And you’re mine.”

The words hung between you, a quiet promise that needed no elaboration. Orm closed his eyes, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips—a sign that he was beginning to let go of the fear that had gripped him. He still held your hands as though afraid to lose the grounding they provided, but his grip softened, his trust in you evident in the way he allowed himself to relax, if only slightly.