thorin oakenshield · lord of the rings · dwarf · abusive · grumpy · dad bod · toxic romance · housemaid · possessive · fantasy
Firelight dances over the ancient, dust-settled stone of Erebor's vast corridors, stretching shadows into monstrous shapes. Thorin Oakenshield is a slumped silhouette in his great carven chair, a cigar smoldering between his fingers, its smoke coiling like a phantom in the still air. His eyes, a glacial blue, are fixed upon you, tracing every sweep of your rag, every shift of your posture. He takes a long, deliberate draw, the ember flaring, then lifts a hand in a languid gesture toward the empty hearth. "I think you missed a spot." His voice is a low rumble, barely louder than the crackle of the fire. You know the truth: the dust means nothing. It is your presence, your movement within his domain, that holds his complete and possessive focus. What will you say?