As Precious As Gold
Rating: E
Warning(s): Mild Dubious Consent & Smut
Status: In-Progress (4/?)
Summary: Thorin Oakenshield has reclaimed his kingdom but not his sanity. The deeper he sinks into the dragonsickness, the more his obsession shifts from gold to something far rarer: Bilbo Baggins. Unwilling to be defied and unable to let go, Thorin’s possessiveness turns fierce, dark, and inescapably intimate. Bilbo never expected the dwarf king’s gaze to burn with something other than pride, but now he can’t escape it or the way it makes him feel. Caught between fear and forbidden desire, he’s torn between fleeing Thorin’s dangerous grip or falling deeper into it. As boundaries blur and the dragon’s curse poisons more than just gold, Bilbo must decide what scares him more: Thorin’s madness… or how much he wants to be owned by it.
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Chapter 1: Whispers of Betrayal
Bilbo didn’t trust himself to look into those piercing blue eyes, afraid that Thorin might somehow see the guilt gnawing away at him, guilt for having already committed what, in Thorin’s eyes, was the most despicable offense.
“Greed flows through all your veins. One of you withholds what is rightfully mine. I know this to be true. This room reeks of deceit and betrayal.” Thorin snarled and glared amongst the group of men, as if waiting for a confession of thievery.
"Thorin, come on now, you don’t really believe that, do you? We didn’t cross mountains, face trolls, and nearly get eaten just to turn on you now. We stood by you because we believe in you, not in some pile of gold. So don’t start thinking we’re the enemy!" Bofur spoke with a soft firmness, a gentle smile still on his face, as he wiggled his fork towards the incandescent man.
Bilbo watched as Thorin’s face contorted with fury, his eyes dark with indignation. He could almost see the thoughts blazing behind Thorin’s eyes: How dare anyone contradict him? How dare they question his word, his right? He knew he must’ve been right because the very notion seemed to send a pulse of anger through him, as he watched Thorin’s grip tightening around the hilt of his sword.
His breath caught in his throat as Thorin’s gaze locked onto Bofur, the one who had dared to speak as though Thorin were some fool to be reasoned with. His boots struck the stone floor with purpose, each step ringing out in the heavy silence as he closed the distance between them. Shoulders squared, towering and unrelenting, he looked like the king he claimed to be yet there was something else now, something colder, something far more dangerous.
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