And surely all of what happened yesterday was a dream. Just like the morning of your wedding.
230 dinner plates, 250 butter knives, 210 chairs, 23 dinner tables, 210 thank you cards, call the florist and make sure she can get in the venue, call David’s mom and try to suck up to her, accept thr ‘something old’ with a smile, make your parents proud, and make sure Soap is making you waffles in the morning—
Ah!
That’s not— maybe it was your head ringing like an alarm, two heavy arms sling over you, nipples hard from the cold air hitting you, light from the shades blinking your face, your core aching— that’s when you manage to shoot up. Because none of that’s right. Should you be in your newly husbands hotel room. Not— fuck- where the hell are you runaway bride!reader?
The room you’re in is a mess, scattered clothes to the floor, curls now out and brushing against your neck, the veil tilting sideways on your head, big poofy white dress MIA in your tired eyes. You can see yourself in the mirror of the dresser now, little dark bruises all over your skin, makeup a mess, and you’re bug eyed now, eyes darting to the men who’s arms are still around you, a messy head of blonde hair mumbling for you to lay back down, a Mohawk lightly snoring— Ghost and Soap.
What did you— who did you screw last night? Your hand hits your face in anguish, trying to recall something- any-fucking-thing. You went to the bar after deciding you couldnt go through with the wedding. Met four men, they bought you drinks and food, food and drinks, and shots— you may have won two rounds of poker and won Gaz’s underwear, Ghosts shirt in the next round that was so warm on your body. John is a sick bastard of a cheater— him and Soap tagteamed you so fucking well you’ll have to steal the idea from them— you don’t know how they got you home— or where the dress is.
But you remember saying you needed to lie down. And that John’s bed was sooooo comfy.
Especially with Soap’s Cock in your mouth, your fingers running through John’s brunette locks while his tongue swirled around your buzzing clit, lapping you’re sticky cum through your folds till you started to get beard burn, bucking your hips in his face and slurping the side of Soaps cock to his heavy balls, let him fuck your mouth while John nezzled his girth between your slobbering hole— no- fuck
Gaz and Ghost folding you half between them, each of them taking their turn to thrust their dicks in you to the hilt, both knocking themselves against your g-spot till you were practically pissing your juices everywhere, velvety walls cleaning around Gaz’s length as he painted your insides, mouth latched the both of them in a sloppy in a heated and desperate kiss. Swiveled your hips back and forth on Soaps length, full lips wrapping around Johns hardened member, slapping the crown of Ghosts cock on yout tongue as Gaz used your plush ass cheeks like a pocket pussy—
Would God ever forgive you for such biblically accurate greed?
Maybe the heavens were already punishing you because you barley made it to the bathroom to pee, stumbling like a damn deer that got hit by a ca. silence filling the titled space with you and your thoughts, this was just the tip of the iceberg. What hell scape was your notifications in right now. No one knew were you were, your sure your mother was ready to damn you down to hell and try to salvage the “marriage.”
Maybe if your friends were true to you, they would’ve saved you a piece of the wedding cake.
Your goal is to get the hell out of this house, start over a state away or something, maybe community college while working part time— a normal life for once. One of your own.
You’ve got some money saved in a private account, you don’t need anybody, except your grandma. If you needed to talk to someone, she’d be there. Always.
Your dress is still missing, but you slide on someone’s jeans, your underwear ruined and added to the list of things youre missing. Easing the dresser drawer open and stealing a shirt and flannel, maybe a pair of socks too so you weren’t walking barefoot.
You attempt to sneak down the steps but your legs buckle at the last two, a yelp escaping your lips as you trip on your own legs.
“Here comes the bride~” John hums which has Gaz laughing.
“Mornin beautiful, hope we didn’t hurt you too much.” And Gaz goes to help you up and snatch yourself away, stumbling into the end table behind you but using it to steady yourself.
“No, nooooo. Never. You guys- shit- you guys—“ you’re at a loss for words, face palming once more as heat rises underneath your skin, remembering what happened last night. “I’m great, I’m perfect! Never been better!” You nod to yourself as if it would make it true.
John takes a moment, taking the state of you in, then checking in with Gaz.
Worry is in the older man’s eyes, ends of them crinkling, “Really need t’ leave so soon dove?”
“I’m sure you guys, have things to do. People to see.”
“Just you, sweetheart. Just— focused on you.” Gaz says softly.
And you can hear your ‘ker-thunk’ so hard in your chest, it shakes you even more. The attention you’d been dying for years, was so easily given to you last night, even in this moment. It’s, you, you, you.
You shake your head, “I’m sorry, I’ve really wasted your time.”
“Not at all.”
“…And the man, the ex-“ John clears he throat, “Did you two- really get married, on paper—“
“—It was supposed to happen at the reception.”
And theres a hint of relief on both of their faces, much easier to snag you with a man who’ll be gone from your existence when there are no legal documents you have to fill out. 
You give them both a forced smile, a chuckle, “I’ve gotta go! I’ve fucked a lot- I mean, I fucked up a lot in the past 24 hours. I don’t think I can hold up the hate [+] brigade any longer than I have, and you guys- must have-“ you finally swallow down a breath, “a life or something! The four of you, It’s about that time, I have an appointment at the laundry mat- with the dentist.”
You’ve got John smirking, arms folding across his chest, “Funny thing this one is, yeah Gaz?”
“Look,” Gaz starts but there’s a honk of your taxi outside.
“I have to go-“ and you take a step to leave but he grabs your arm in time. Not rough but enough for him to bend down to meet your pretty brown eyes, sliding a card in your hand.
“You call, we’re there. Anytime love, promise.” Gaz sighs, fixing the girl on your head before ever so lightly caressing your face, “Still the prettiest bride we’ve ever seen.”
“Ghost ‘nd Soap will wreck havoc that we’ve let you go dove, we’ll have to meet again. All five ‘f us.”
You suck in a breath, biting your lip, “I-sill think about it.” Your eyes flicker to the both of them, lifting the card along with your phone. “Thanks again.”
It’s easy to let a bird go, much easier to let you think youre free, track exactly where you’re going and move from there. Of course the 141 wouldn’t let someone as perfect as you go. Not when you had your way with them last night, too addictive.
You fit right in with the four of them, Thry couldnt let you go now.
If you weren’t the right bride for your stupid ex—
You definitely would be for the 141.
a/n: I love a morning after. Was Highkey waiting for that STOP THE WEDDING song to come out to write this but it played in my head so it’s okay.
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Reader! Who enters the bar in a large and poofy princess wedding dress, face full of makeup, and hair slicked up snd out of your face, veil and phone tightly gripped in your hand.
And makes almost everyone in the half empty room do a double take as you make your way to a free bar stool, small ‘sorrys’ as you lift your dress that keeps brushing against tables.
The bartender gives you a questionable look, “Can-Can I help you ma’am?”
“Can I get a strawberry daiquiri, and- do you sell wings here?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Then that too. The biggest basket ya got. With a side of barbecue sauce. Oh, and ranch!” You plop your veil in your lap and you set your phone down on the counter, that’s still rapidly buzzing.
If the 141 would have imagined such a beautiful and blushing bride walking into their live — in a dingy bar on a Thursday evening no less. Had Gaz not shoved Soap over to you, the four men would’ve all thought they were under some type of hypnosis.
“Bloody ‘ell yer bonnie.” Soaps words fall out before he can catch them.
You look over at him, half stoic from running away from your own wedding right as your ex soon to be husband said his vows in the last 45 minutes, and half thankful— you let out an airy giggle, “Well I did pay the makeup artist to do a good job.”
John comes around to you, he’s steady, poised, “Are you sure you’re alright love?”
“I feel alright, I think.” You say, sipping the fresh frozen drink sat infront of you. Okay, maybe more than two sips, but your hearts still pounding.
“No- I mean- you’re in the wrong place. Shouldn’t you meant t’ be-“
“—At a wedding?” You finish, finally meeting eyes with this beared stranger. You tap your fingers at the bar, shrugging, with an exasperated laugh, “I thought so too, before I found out that the guy cheated on me. Numerous times. And even when my mom tried me to convince me, I had to ask myself, ‘what is this for? What is any of this for?’ I didn’t want the big ass wedding to begin with, but I wanted the poofy dress. But I couldn’t even get the one I really wanted, so what’s the point? I’m fucking Barbie, and your trynna marry me to fuck all, when I want Ken!” You take another swing of your drink, burping it out and covering your mouth.
“I want Ken, and Denzel, and Keanu, and David Beckem in his prime with a big ass house and pool and not being forced to have kids for some company with no money promised to me for- some cheat! Next thing you know, I’m running and calling a fucking taxi to a bar I’ve never been to and then I got a slurpie on the way. And I’m craving wings. And I hope they enjoy that 4 tier cake cause I know for fucking sure, I chose a damn good cake.”
And maybe you’re in a movie or something because you got a handful of cheers and applause. Your cheeks burn underneath your skin with embarrassment but you’re unashamed. Eyes only matching to the other handsome men at the end of the bar who seem to be with the beard stranger.
Simon snickers and raises his pint to you, “Got a pair of balls on ya luv.”
You stick your nose up, ends of your lips cracking into a smile, “they’re pretty heavy.”
Gaz smiles, “Next one’s on me then, anything’s better than a shite wedding, yeah?”
John gives you a warm smile, hand slipping onto your upper back, “mind having your reception with us then? Don’t think we’re too shabby compared t’ the bloody muppet who fucked you over, are we?”
Your eyes swirl over the four men in front of you, biting the inside of your lip, it can’t get any more than an hour ago, can it? “No, I’d greatly appreciate it actually.”
a/n: reader having an ego death and singing Bitter Sweet Symphony terribly and drunk by the end of the night while four big military men hype you up. This is dumb.
thinking about john prices delicious back and big juicy biceps rn
how maybe the muscles flex when he’s shirtless and brushing his teeth in the bathroom. they tense and flutter beneath your fingers as you approach behind him, running your hands down the beautiful layout of firm muscles
or maybe how his biceps flex and his veins bulge out slightly whenever there’s something wrong with your car. When he slides out from underneath the hunk of metal, his biceps threatening to rip the fabric of the tight tshirt he’s wearing
but they’re even more gorgeous when he’s building you a new porch in the back garden. Or maybe building a wooden gazebo. Or maybe a little pond, who knows, but the sun beats down and coats his arms with a shiny layer of sweat that drips down his forearms and makes the thick layer of body hair stick to his skin. He’s shirtless whilst doing it as well, firm shoulders rolling and bending to bang nails into the wood
Man so used to violence that his skin is smattered in scars. Black and purple splotches painted all over his body. To you these little details make him so much hotter. He's rugged and dangerous looking.
He only ever treats your body with the upmost care and kindness, like a frail thing too precious to break. Leaves soft kisses up and down your skin, the littlest nips in the most sensitive areas. he'd praise the soft skin of your stomach, worship the smoothness of your thighs. Such bold juxtaposition between his own skin. "Never felt something softer," he'd mutter drunkenly between kisses.
The same man who absolutely cannot stand seeing you with bruises of any kind. You'd begged him before. prayed he'd just nibble a little harder, kiss you a little deeper, rough you up just a tiny bit. But he'd always refuse, too hell bent on keeping you as unmarked as possible. You're absolutely nothing like him. all soft and warm and inviting. He couldn't get enough of it.
You had woken up one day and couldn't even brush your teeth before he'd wrapped you up in his arms and kissed the top of your head protectively. "I'm so sorry baby," he apologized profusely while you hugged him back confused as to what he was sorry about. "-never meant to hurt you-" he sounded so broken then you were concerned he had injured you in some way so terrible you couldn't even feel it yet.
One look in the mirror told you that he'd gotten a little carried away last night and accidentally left a nice dark hickey on the side of your neck. All this over a hickey! He looked at you like you kicked a puppy when you laughed. It took a full day of reassurance that you absolutely were not hurt and didn't hate him and an insane amount of pampering for him to feel better about it.
When he'd fuck you it was always a drawn out thing. So incredibly torturous for you how slow he'd take it. Making sure to pull all the way out before slowly pushing his way right back in, inch by inch. It felt like a constant orgasm the way one would tumble into another. He loved you like this. Trembling beneath him, pleading for him to increase the pace. He'd speed up just enough to have your eyes roll back, shoot thick hot ropes of his cum into you, and then go right back to slowly fucking his cum deeper into you. By the time he'd decide he was finished with you, you would be sticky and boneless. He'd clean you up and have you dressed and right back in the bed without even having to lift a finger.
“You’re getting a vasectomy.” Those are the first words you say when John answers the phone, your tone firm.
He chuckles, the sound rumbling over the line. “Well, hello to you too, love,” he says, leaning back in his desk chair, lifting his feet up to rest on his desk. You can practically hear the smirk in his voice when he speaks again. “Any particular reason you want me to have the chop, or are you just mad I left my socks on the floor again, darling?”
You normally would laugh at that little joke, but not today. Today you roll your eyes, your grip tightening on the phone as you think about all the reasons you need him to have a vasectomy.
All five reasons, to be exact.
Your two eldest children are currently at school. Your middle child, the toddler, is clinging to your legs. The youngest is napping in the nursery. And you’re staring down at yet another positive pregnancy test.
“It’s not the socks, my love. It’s because you’ve knocked me up. Again,” you reply, through gritted teeth and a tight smile. “And in case you can’t work it out, that’s number five.” You can practically hear his jaw snap shut on the other side of the phone. You can imagine how the smirk drops from his face.
John’s feet fall from the desk to the floor as he runs a hand down his face. Jesus christ. How is this possible? “…fuckin’ hell,” he rasps out, his tone a mix of disbelief and… pride. There’s something about knowing you’re pregnant with another of his children that makes him just a little feral… but he quickly pushes that thought aside.
“Sorry, love. I’ll call the doctors,” he mumbles, causing you to smile and hum to yourself.
“And you can pick up the kids from school today. And bring home a takeaway for dinner,” you say, the smugness evident in your voice. This whole situation is a mess, but that won’t stop you from using your pregnancy privileges.
John sighs, grinning to himself. “Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you want.”
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pairings: bruce wayne x reader; dick grayson x reader; jason todd x reader; tim drake x reader; clark kent x reader; conner kent x reader
warnings: conner and dick's parts are suggestive
a/n: just a little reminder that my requests are open :) it may take me a little while to get to them (if they're full-length fic reqs) due to work and starting college again. also thank you guys so much for 100 followers!!
"There you are." A strong arm hooks around your waist and yanks you into a solid chest. Bruce tilts his head down just enough for his voice to filter right into your ear. "I thought I told you to stick by my side."
Bruce had finally agreed to let you join a patrol with him. He'd been hesitating for a while because he hadn't wanted to force you into this part of his life just because you're dating him. Sure, you were a vigilante before the two of you got together, but you had given it up for a bit. He hadn't wanted to pressure you. Turns out he didn't need to worry at all! You're excited to be back in action, and you've been giving him the runaround all night, much to his chagrin.
"Maybe you did, but a girl needs to stretch her legs every now and then," you murmur. It's been so long since you've seen Gotham from the rooftops. You'd forgotten what it's like to look down and see across the city. It's a rush of power and adrenaline that sets your blood buzzing in your veins. "I'm sure you understand. Don't you, Br—Batsy?"
Bruce huffs under his cowl and loosens his grip on your waist. "I do, but that doesn't—"
"Then you'll forgive me for this," you cut him off. In the blink of an eye, you slip out of his grip and disappear into the night. Bruce watches in stunned silence for half a second before his gaze narrows on your form, now three buildings away.
Oh, it's on.
As he grapples across the city, he finds that he's not as angry as he should be. Batman should be angry that his new partner is treating patrol as a joke.
But Bruce Wayne loves you too much to want to damper your fun.
He's content to spend his night chasing after you, if only to have you back in his arms by sunrise. His boots hit the roof of the next building with a thud, and he realizes something phenomenal. He's exactly where he wants to be.
"I'm not crazy for thinking he could break out of that, right?"
Roy tilts his head to the side, surveying the scene in front of him. You and Dick had been sparring for a while. It was an entertaining fight; you two keep each other on your toes. That being said, you've got Dick in a leglock now, thighs tight around his head. He's not exactly fighting back, but he's not yielding either.
"Nah, you're probably right, actually, Walls." Roy scoffs and shakes his head. "He's not subtle."
"Do you yield?" you ask Dick.
Dick doesn't answer right away, instead opting to trail a hand up the outside of your thigh and nuzzle into the fabric of your suit. "Mm…in a minute, maybe."
"You haven't moved in thirty seconds," you point out.
"Didn't realize you were counting." Dick plants a kiss to your knee that makes both Wally and Roy groan. "Don't worry, baby, I'm right where I want to be."
"I'm just saying, I think you missed a major theme of the book. I mean, it's clearly about hope. How you got your whole gloom and doom ending, I don't know. Do you read with your eyes closed?"
Jason's staring at you incredulously, but he's fighting back a delighted laugh. You've recently discovered a shared love for literature, and you've decided to hold informal bookclubs together. The two of you had wildly different interpretations of this weeks novel, and you're not shy about telling him just how wrong he is.
"The heroes lost, princess, that seems a bit depressing to me."
"It's not about the heroes, it's about the movement, the hope, the spark! That while they died, their dreams will live on in the people that come after them." You're talking with your hands now, your eyes alight with passion, and Jason knows he must look like a complete idiot. A lovestruck idiot, that is.
"I hadn't thought about it like that," he admits quietly. There's a pause, then his blue eyes are back on yours. "Tell me more."
And he means it. This is Jason's personal peace: sitting on the couch with you while you talk animatedly about your thoughts and opinions on a book you read together. Even if it means you get a little fiery. Especially then. He's right where he wants to be.
"I never thought Tim would be so clingy."
Damian barely glances up when Dick speaks, but he's acutely aware of the scene in front of him. The Batcave is quiet tonight. Bruce is out, but crime rates are down enough to give everyone else a night of recuperation. While most members of the Batfamily would complain about the lack of action, everyone's been running on fumes recently. The night off was necessary.
Especially necessary for the current topic of conversation, Tim Drake. He's been pulling all-nighters more nights than not recently. His eye bags have grown tenfold, and the family had started a betting pool on who could find him passed out in the oddest location. (Dick won, having found Tim curled up in an empty towel cabinet.)
Tim's currently passed out in your lap, his head nestled against your chest as he snoozes away. While you don't seem to mind the added weight, it's a completely foreign sight for the two brothers across the cave. They knew that Tim loves you, of course; that's never been a secret. But seeing him curled up sleeping like a baby against your chest is something else. It's a rare state of vulnerability from Tim, and, while they'd love to tease him, neither of them can bring themselves to disrupt his peace. The prospective guilt at disturbing him his an odd and new feeling for Damian.
"I think he's right where he wants to be," Damian declares.
When most people look at Clark Kent, they see a mountain of a man. He can try to hide under sweaters and loose suits, but nothing about his form screams sleeper build. He's just built.
And when you start coming around the office more, everyone's delighted to see that Clark has a girlfriend! You balance Clark's never-ending optimism out with a healthy dose of reality. The two of you work well together, and it's plain for anyone to see.
Somedays, like today, you bring lunch to the Daily Planet to share with your boyfriend. Your lunch hours occasionally line up enough to be able to share a meal together, and you both view it as a little treat.
When you get to the office today, you find Clark completely locked in on whatever article he's working on. Usually, you'd respect his focus and leave him alone, but it's a special day! And you went to the good Chinese place to get lunch! You're just going to have to pry him away from his computer monitor.
With a huff and the fraying patience of a loving girlfriend, you march right over to Clark's desk and grab him by the collar.
"Clarky, I brought lunch. Come eat."
Clark startles at the interruption, but a goofy smile spreads across his face at the sight of you. He's on his feet before you can say anything else, and he's all too happy to let you grab him by the forearm and drag him down to the breakroom.
The two of you share a peaceful meal together while everyone else in the office are trading disbelieving looks.
"Lois, did you see that?!" Jimmy asks.
"Mhm."
"She grabbed him! And drug him away like a dog!"
Lois shrugs and takes a sip of her coffee. "I think he's right where he wants to be, Jimmy."
"Soooo, what's going on over there?" Bart asks Cassie in between bites of his sandwich.
"Conner's being scolded again."
"Ah."
Across the room, you've got one hand fisted in the collar of Conner's leather jacket and the other wagging in his face while you tell him off. He pulled one too many reckless stunts tonight, and you've had enough.
"So when I tell you to be more careful, what do you say?" you snap.
"Yes, ma'am."
"And when I say that you need to prioritize your well-being more, what do you say?"
"Yes ma'am."
Despite his usual aversion to authority, Conner's all too happy to stand there and let you tell him off. In fact, he's grinning like an idiot. He's so fucking gone for how passionate you are over him.
"Why're you smiling like that?" you huff.
"'Cuz you love me," Conner grins, wrapping his arms around your waist and hoisting you up off the floor.
"Conner! Put me down! We're not done with this conversation!"
"Oh, I'm counting on that."
Your voice is heard fading down the hallway, continuing your little tirade even as Conner carts you off to his bedroom. Cassie and Bart share a disturbed look.
"At least he's right where he wants to be."
all written work and dividers belong to @ackpplepie!! do not plagiarize, feed my work into ai, or translate it. i do not own the characters used above.
imagine wearing lingerie the same colour as your bots ehehe
i know optimus would blow a fuse
These cybertronians are not gon be able to fight well enough to keep themselves upright and to behave. They're gonna be absolute FIENDS when they see you in lace, satin or silk consisting of their colors.
FIENDS, I tell ya.
The engines on them are revving, the fans are so feckin loud that it doesn't take much for somebody walking by to put two and two together. That they are hot and bothered under the collar. Optimus would be so embarrassed later if somebody heard his horn go off and his smokestacks popping off with smoke. At that time, he did not care at all cause you're looking absolutely delicious to his optics and just begging to be devoured by him. You better hope either way you're able to walk by the end of this week.
꒰ content ꒱ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ drunk!jason todd x fem!reader, fluff, talks of pregnancies, art by ciricearts
“Sweetheart, we’re gonna have a baby?” he mumbles, lifting your shirt to press messy kisses up your stomach. You’re not sure where he got this idea from. The two of you have never talked about kids, mostly because you’ve been afraid to bring it up.
You learned early on that the future was something you didn’t mention around him. Every time you made an offhand comment about a ring, or how cute babies were, you’d see his shoulders tense, his throat bobbing.
Now, at his words, your heart speeds up. “Uh…”
“I hope she has your eyes and your nose and your pretty smile,” he slurs.
“Jay, what are you—”
He cuts you off when his nose brushes your stomach softly. “Our baby,” he adds.
When he looks up at you, his blue eyes are glassy, cheeks dusted in pink.
You can’t bring yourself to shatter the moment. Especially not when he’s looking at you like that.
“That’s…nice, honey,” you hum, fingers threading through his black curls, nails scratching lightly at his scalp.
He sighs like a puppy. “You feel nicer.”
Your lips curve up at that. "Come on, let's get you to bed," you whisper as you try to pull him up.
But the man's too stubborn. He stays rooted and grunts in disapproval.
"Not done talkin' to her," he tells you, arms wrapping around your hips.
“her?” you repeat softly. “How do you know it’s a her?”
"Father's intuition," he says it like it should be obvious.
You laugh and he pouts when he feels your shoulders shaking. "You really want a baby?" you ask him.
He tilts his head. And he's never looked so unguarded before.
"Wanna give you everything."
Maybe in the morning you'll find the courage to ask him again. But for now, your expression softens. You don't know what to say, so you kneel with him and throw your arms around his neck. He smells like gunpowder and leather, and this time a tang of alcohol clings to him.
yes yes post-botfa thorin where he lived feeling guilty over what he had done to bilbo is fine and all but i would also love it with a little side of him looking at bilbo with so much awe and respect and reverence. that the hobbit he was very reluctant to take in because he had prejudices and plans of his own turned out to be the very person who have made reaching erebor possible
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I can't stop thinking about Bilbo getting to know new Thorin once things settle and are able to create routines while living in Erebor.
He had known the Thorin that's a leader, a warrior and a protector. One who can handle discomfort and is used to sleeping with one eye opened. But now there's a new Thorin that comes forth.
One that likes to have herbal tea in the evening because it helps him sleep. One that has stiff knees in the mornings and enjoys to take his time when oiling and braiding his hair. A Thorin who prefers fish to red meat and likes to dress up now that he has a large wardrobe again. A Thorin, who enjoys the comfort of sitting by the fire with Bilbo in his arms, humming a familiar song that he likes.
A Thorin that doesn't have to fear for the life of his family or his people. One who doesn't have to make do because there's no other option. A Thorin who is happy and safe.
A kind-hearted Hobbit finds a down-and-out Dwarf vampire on the street late at night, and ends up being bewitched into willingly becoming his blood bag.
Dwarven braids are notoriously complex, carrying deep meanings about status, family, and victory. Bilbo, with his soft, round Hobbit fingers, is utterly baffled by them. One morning, determined to learn, Bilbo asks Thorin to teach him. The terrifying King under the Mountain sits patiently on the floor for two hours, completely still, while Bilbo accidentally knots his hair, pulls too hard, and mutters Shire curses. Thorin's advisors are horrified later that day when the King walks into a throne room meeting with a completely crooked, messy, lumpy braid held together by a bright yellow ribbon from a Shire jam jar but Thorin wears it with the pride of a conqueror
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When Bilbo's first birthday in Erebor approaches, Thorin goes into a state of total, frantic preparation. Dwarves celebrate birthdays by giving massive, priceless gifts of gold and weapons, but Thorin remembers that Hobbits prefer giving gifts and eating seven meals a day. To honor his Hobbit, the stern King completely shuts down the royal smithies for a day and forces hundreds of gruff, bearded Dwarven warriors to learn how to bake delicate Shire seedcakes and tarts. The sight of hardened war veterans anxiously weighing sugar and nervously asking Bilbo if the crust is flaky enough is the best birthday present Bilbo could have ever asked for
We have a saying for this in Chinese - "peacock spreading its tail." Basically, the guy is flaunting his good looks to try and charm Bilbo. And of course,he gets his lesson.
我使用翻译软件来翻译，如果用词很奇怪请原谅我
I used a translator, so sorry if anything sounds strange.
akide ❦ @princesslikesfanfics - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook
