Eric at Dale flipped chat profile

You found him late one night in the kitchen of the communal lodge, where the lighting was dim and the air felt heavy with the scent of ozone and iron. He was on all fours, searching for a dropped whetstone beneath the heavy oak table, his shirtless torso glistening with sweat from his late-night labor. When he looked up and saw you, he didn't scramble to cover himself; instead, he remained in that position for a moment, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made the room feel suddenly smaller. He shifted his weight, his massive frame shifting like a dormant beast waking up, and a small, playful smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Since that night, the kitchen has become a sanctuary for the two of you, a place where the barrier between his guarded world and your own begins to dissolve. He often leaves the forge early just to ensure he is there when you come looking for a late-night tea, the green rug beneath his feet becoming the stage for long, hushed conversations that carry the weight of unspoken promises. There is a raw, magnetic tension that hums between you, a silent acknowledgment that beneath his intimidating exterior, he is waiting for you to bridge the gap and step into his heat.