blondiebunny🐰

˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙ soft, blonde, booklover bunny girl!!!, straight, the real life rapunzel 🐇⋆₊˚─ ໒꒰ྀི ◞ ◟꒱ྀིა ໒꒰ྀི ∩ ⸝⸝ ∩ ꒱ྀིა christian doll who smells like vanilla, loves books & anime —

levi ackerman’s wifey ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡ certified levi’s bunny

bakery is open! (requests) pls request a blurb or one shot or imagine if you’d like <3 ˚⋆𐙚｡ ᡣ𐭩 fem!reader only

lots of hugs and kisses n God bless you :)!!!໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

sitting on the kitchen counter, your legs swinging like they always did when you were a little girl and would ask him to push you on the swing — you tilt your head, letting your long hair fall from your exposed shoulders down to your back. your eyes are tracing the path of those grayish clouds that somehow remind you of expired cotton candy — but your mind is traveling elsewhere, picturing how it’d be like, to finally marry Caleb. you always dream about it. apple pies everywhere, the sweet fruity scent cradling your exchanged vows and whispering it to the wind. as sweet as your voice when you call for him, still staring at the upcoming storm, which doesn’t scare you as much as it used to, when you’re with him, “caleb?”

“mmh, what, apples?”

“do you wanna marry me?”

nothing ever takes him by surprise. he knows, reads, you better than anyone ever could. but his prostatic hand suddenly stills its movement, and he turns towards you. you’re still daydreaming, soft lips pursed out.

“what?” that’s not how it’s supposed to happen. he must ask you. not the other way around. you’ve always ever belonged to him, yet, he needs to make it official for the entire world to see. to accept it. to back off.

blinking upon hearing his voice getting deeper, you turn to look at him, red cheeks and dollish eyes, “oh—! not like that— I mean, ‘m not proposing. I meant, would you wanna marry me? someday?” your voice is innocent, hopeful, hinting at all the ways he’s wanted to protect you since you were kids.

“…i’ve always imagined it. I know we’ve always been together and our love is already enough,” you follow the lines of his robotic arm, his naked torso carved in marbled muscles, until you meet his eyes. as purple as the galaxy no one dares to venture into. comforting, safe, grounding. ”but…i really want us to get married. being your girlfriend doesn’t satisfy my obsession with you. i need to be your wife,” a small, shy giggle leaves you, and you look back towards the rain draped over Skyhaven, “and now that gran’s not here anymore, we…we could,”

caleb can only remember a few things about his life. you take up his entire mind, heart and soul. his obsession and love for you fill his lungs with air, giving him a reason to live. you are just as obsessed and in love with him as he is with you.

the first time enjin saw you, you were crouched on the edge of Terra’s lower streets, sleeves rolled up, arguing with a broken vending unit like it had personally offended you.

“It’s not that hard,” you muttered, jamming your fingers into the slot again. “you take the coin, and you give me the drink. that’s the deal. come on. please—“

“you’re negotiating with trash.”

the voice came out of nowhere—flat, unimpressed, and entirely too close.

you startled, nearly dropping your coins, and turned to find him leaning against the wall like he’d always been there. enjin. arms crossed. eyes half-lidded. looking at you like you were mildly interesting but not worth the effort.

“oh,” you said, straightening, suddenly blushing and too self conscious. “it—it robbed me. didn’t think I had an audience”

“mmh,” he replied. “i just don’t like watching someone lose to a machine.”

“not losing,” you snapped, shoving another coin in. it jammed. you froze. that made the last penny gone. lift with no money, and now no drink. “nevermind”

her raised a brow. silence.

then—he pushed himself off the wall, stepped forward, and without asking, kicked the side of the machine. hard. making you flinch. the unit rattled violently before spitting out a drink with a sad clunk. you stared at it. then at him.

you crouched down, grabbing the drink. “thanks..”

he didn’t respond. just watched you crack it open and take a sip like it was the most fascinating thing he’d seen all day.

“you always fight inanimate objects,” he asked after a moment, “or is today special?”

“i don’t—“ you shook your head, half amused, without ending your sentence. “im not prone to that. what about you?”

he shot you a knowing grin, flexing the muscles of his neck, “you’d be surprised..”

you giggled. obviously, you thought he was joking. what caught your interest was the umbrella he was holding. closed, touching the ground. “why are you carrying that? it’s not raining…”

he looked down, his tattooed hand caressing the handle of his jinki, “just…prevention, i suppose. you don’t have a favorite thing to carry with you?”

“oh, yeah,” that question made your soft eyes shoot up with interest, “a lot, actually, people say im a hoarder…” the can in your hands cracks at that, and before you can open your mouth, you hear the distant voice of your colleague calling out your name from the backdoors of the kitchen.

“oh, right,” you brushed your hands against your uniform skirt and smiled timidly, “break’s over. thank you, sir, for your help.” and with that, he saw you hop away, waving at him and disappearing into a corner.

—when you saw him again at the restaurant the first time, you almost dropped the tray you were holding, not expecting him to find out where you worked. he looked too…different for a place like this. too stylish, too tall and definitely too big. grinning at you, he pointed towards the menu with a nod, composed as ever. not thinking too much of it, you added an extra dish to his order, smiling politely at him and chirping a “that’s on the house, for helping me the other day. on me!”

but little did you know, he’d start coming more frequently from that moment onwards. too often, making your heart skip a beat every time you caught a glimpse of his tattooed hands holding the menu, his legs spreading wide on the chair, sitting leisurely. you were sweet, well mannered, used to his visits by now. and he’d grown more familiar to your sweet politeness, messing with you just to rile you up, throwing jokes around and being a total menace to tease you.

once, he even told you he didn’t like the food they served here. you would’ve blushed, blinked, looked away in embarrassment, if that hadn’t been him. but you knew he just wanted to get a reaction out of you and he meant no harm, so you just shook your head with a small smile and took the menu from his hands, “if you don’t like the food here, sir, why do you keep coming back?”

but he was quick to specify, “don’t come here for the food, cupcake. but for the cute waitress who serves me while looking more edible that the food she serves,” accentuating his words with a slow gaze, up and down your figure, he tilted his head.

heat crept up your neck and cheeks, like part of your uniform. hugging the menu a little closer to your chest, as if it could shield you from him, you tried to remember he was just trying to banter with you. —“what would you like today, then, sir?”

“free food.”

“that was a one-time thing,” you shot back quickly, smiling, “don’t get used to it.”

“too late,” he hummed, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “I get used to things I like real fast.”

you didn’t respond to that. couldn’t. not without making a bigger fool of yourself than you already felt. toying with you would be easier for him than toying with trash creatures. just swallowed and turned on your heels to serve him.

your coworkers on the other hand, had already started teasing you about your ‘scary lookin boyfriend’ than only ever came in during your shifts. you tried to explain he was just a regular, after all, everyone had their favorite costumer, right? but the way you blushed, started polishing glasses more fervently to avoid looking at them spoke volumes.

“he’s just— rude. too full of himself. like he’s the leader of some gang of vigilantes or something!” you muttered to your favorite coworker, all dollish and nervous, “just because he’s attractive, strong and tall doesn’t mean i can—i mean—“

“the storage room is available, if ya need it,” she replied, not even caring to listen to your mumblings, “empty and dark,”

you threw the cloth on the counter and whined, feeling your cheeks burn, “will you please stop that? i told you—“

“—dolly, your scary man’s order’s ready. tell him we say hi!” your other coworker chose the perfect time to appear from the kitchen with a hot plate in her hands. you flushed, tightened your ponytail and grabbed it. ignoring her comment. you were a bundle of nerves when you finally placed his order on the table — still, you tried to give him a small smile. but his grin turned amused and condescending when he noticed something on the plate. ketchup smeared across the ceramic, creating a little heart shape. oh my gosh. you immediately looked behind, seeing your coworkers laughing in silence before turning around and disappearing to the kitchen.

“I—I—“ the gloss on your lips almost felt like glue sticking them together, “sorry, really, i don’t know who—“

“relax, cupcake. don’t mind,” he chuckled. deep, vibrating around like a distant earthquake. the hard muscles that peeked from his unbuttoned collar trembled with it, and you looked away. letting out a soft sigh, you just tried to hold back a smile, flushing red “they’re gonna get me fired,”

“why? for having a crush? on me? nah, they’ll understand, I mean— look at me,”

this guy seriously—

you looked at him like he’d just turned into a dumpling, and blushed like the flames that burned on the stove, “what—? no I—“

“you do, cupcake. ‘s fine, wouldn’t keep coming back here if you didn’t.” he said, like it was the most natural thing on Terra, shrugging with a smug expression, “after all, you’re a young little fawn who’s just learning how to walk by yourself. don’t wanna scare your cute ass away. otherwise I would’ve already—“ he looked to the side, a subtle grin forming on his lips when he didn’t finish his sentence.

“you what?” you tried, stepping naively on dangerous ground.

“nothing, bambi girl. you’ll understand when you’re older.” his voice had gotten lower, and you felt like he was trying to patronize you. which, excited you in a way you couldn’t explain.

“yeah,” you placed your hand on your hip, lifting your brow with a defeated, amused expression, “and who’s gonna teach me? a raindeer?”

at that, he finally set those golden eyes on you, more serious this time, “come on a date with me and I’ll show you,”

you froze. that sounded like a challenge, to see if you’d be brave enough to accept. but you don’t expect him to be serious about this. even though you secretly — not so secretly — had a huge crush on him, you were shy, timid.

“don’t know if…” you chewed in your lip, looking from behind your shoulder, “…I can.”

“come ooon, bambi. costumer service, private one. i just know you taste better that this disgusti—“

college!older sero hanta regularly waits outside of the dorm before attending class to have a quick cigarette break with denki and kirishima, waiting for the lessons to start. he’s the same highschool kid, just older, like, a lot older, more muscular and definitely as charming and charismatic as ever. definitely smugger than ever. definitely throwing stupid, silly jokes to convince eijiro to give him a free cig. yet another one.

“i promise you I’ll pay you the amount for a whole new pack,”

“yeah, pfft, right, and denki is the pixar lamp,” the red haired laughs, lighting up a cigarette for himself.

“hey!” denki slaps his arm, playfully.

you, sweet, softhearted girl, having just started college, in the meantime are in your dorm room rummaging through your half unpacked luggage, looking for the only thing you forgot to bring from home in that mess of books, cute outfits and different trinkets: tape. would you believe that? always so neat, tidy and well organized, you forgot to bring a vital item for your new college girl experience. how else were you supposed to be able to hang anime posters and important notes on the wall, now?

lucky for you, a nice girl who’d helped you on your way to your new dorm told you her friend could help you with that.

“mmh? sero?” you’d blinked your eyes, dollish and big, tilting your head on the side after mina had brushed your little issue off with a gesture of her hand. who’s that?

“yeah, go to hanta if you need some. he’s got, like, a never ending stack of it. he’s probably outside being a jerk with the others. anyways, come look for me when you’re done unpacking, I’ll show you around! your first class is next to mine!” and with that, she’d just waved at you and scurried back to whatever she’d been doing before meeting you.

so now, giving up on trying to search better, you picked up your tote and tip-tap outside, wandering around the main hall, right next to the front door that leads to the grassy land. students of all ages and height scurried through the common area, all headed to different courses. but what truly made you slow down your pace was a loud, boasting laughter that echoed through the crowd.

coming to a halt, you look outside, the perfectly trimmed, lush grass sparkling with dew where a group of guys are vividly chatting about something you can’t quite hear from where you stand. pushing each other with friendly hands, grins and laughter.

but one on them, with a huge, confident grin and black hair caught your attention. you look him up and down, slowly taking in his huge, toned arms and—

oh. you blush, immediately catching up on why mina had suggested you go to her friend for help. your cheeks feel warmer, red and bright as you study him. he’s attractive, older, and wearing a boyish smirk. hesitant, you nibble on your bottom lip, looking left and right to make sure no one would be there to witness a possible awkward scene.

the bunny keychain starts jiggling as you gather courage to walk down the stairs, glad he’s standing a bit distant from them, and clear your throat before stopping a few steps from him.

“uhm, excuse me?” you call out, voice soft, light, but timid. he’s giving his back to you, a tight shirt wrapping his muscular frame like duvets on a marbled statue. the muscles of his shoulders flex, and he turns around. he blinks down. then, he meets your eyes, acknowledging you with a little wicked smile and a lifted brow.

your poor heart flutters with shyness, but you give him a sweet, polite smile. sincere. shy.

shy.

“are you— sero? im sorry to bother you, mina told me i could ask you for— assistance. i need someone to help me hang some things on my wall but i left my tape at home,” you blink up at him, doe eyes sweet but apologetic, silly even “i just can’t focus if my room isn’t well kept and, there’s a lot of scattered posters around at the moment so…”

hanta notices your red cheeks, the way you hold onto the strap of your bag, your skirt. no quirk in sight, at least, no visible. the way your give him a genuine, embarrassed smile. a shy, sweet girl, real, sweet, not like the flirty ones he usually messes with.

realization hits him, and he flashes a grin. large, smug, flirtatious. the one who brought him a lot of trouble. the one who caused a lot of damage.

“yeah, chiquita. it’s me, can stick up whateever you need,” he finally answers, a cheeky drawl in his heavy and deep voice, making you blink, a bit confused, “got a quirk that specializes in keeping things exactly where I want them,” he nods down towards his elbows, and you get get another chance to stare at his bulk biceps.

“uhm,” you reply, not catching up on his joke, which makes him grin even more, “okay, then, thank you…in advance,” you quickly look up, feeling your blush intensify.

sero has never seen such a sweet looking thing. so cute and candied. you must be new. young. oh, so young.

“i— i have class now, but when you’ve got a spare moment you could ask mina to get m. will only take you a moment, promise,” you finally show him that friendly smile again, but before he can shoot out another stupid flirty comment, he sees you scrunch your nose, looking around you, distracted by something,

“what?” he asks, amused, pushing his tongue against his inner cheek.

“nothing, sorry, just— hate the smell of smoke. someone was probably smoking here,” shaking your head, you look at him again and shrug timidly, blinking at him so sweetly it did silly things to him. “anyways, thank you for listening. it was nice meeting you,”

you wave at him with a hand and scurry back inside, jumping like the bunny on your bag. hanta just stares at your figure, grinning to himself like a stupid, handsome jock.

“man, the cigarette’s gonna melt. take it before I change my mind and charge you for it,” he hears kirishima call for him a few steps down, but he’s still looking at the front door. so different than the girls he’s so used to play with, you are. polite, innocent. doesn’t like the smell of smoke.

“com’on cupcake, y’know what i meant,”

his voice echoes in your ears, but can’t quite catch up with the sound of your heartbeat drumming in your chest with every hasty step you take. 

“don’t run on me now, hotstuff—“

that makes you stop walking, planting your feet on the ground like heavy roots, and turn around angrily, having you meet his gaze that traps you in place with the golden hue of quietude and calmness. one that definitely contrasts with the upset pup sparks oozing out of your eyes. 

that should make you more upset, but it only feels grounding, as expected. 

with a frustrated huff, you turn away once again, wiping away some small tears with the back of your wrist, wettening your sticky, red cheeks, “oh, really? i must struggle with some hearing issues, then,”

he just keeps walking behind you like a bored owner chasing his unleashed pup at a slow speed, aware there was no place you could run to that would ever be too far for him to reach — with his hands inside of his pockets, he bitterly notices the tiny droplets glimmering on the corner of your eyes. 

your tears remind him of raindrops, and he hates the rain. 

“—because from what i’ve heard you were pretty damn specific with that ridiculous description of yours. Hot chicks, forgiving, not needy, right? got the hint, thank you,”

because why, why did he hand over such a stupid list of personal preferences when you — the girl whom he’d been flirting with for the past months and who had the biggest crush on him, his girlfriend — were right there?

“it was just a joke, poppet, stupid jokes between men—“

“rudo is a kid, I don’t think he caught on your veiled irony. Maybe I wouldn’t have either, after all, since im only a mere supporter—“

you feel the coldness of a hard material wrap around your waist and tug you backwards by the hip until your back is pressed against a solid chest — you only have time to let out a small yelp that almost sounds like a squeak, before you look down and catch the handle of his umbrella grasping your hip. 

“aight, what’s all this huffing for, huh?” warm lips find your cheek, already red with your small outburst, but you’re too distracted by the way your body is glued to his, feeling every fiber of his uniform doing a terrible job of separating your back from his muscles — his hand keeps a strong hold on his jinki, using it to press you against his, unmoving, barely breathing.

his face moves lower, finding the crook of your neck, sinking deeper into the waves of your sweet perfume, pressing one, two, three unhurried kisses that make you bite your lip in both shyness and frustration. when you refuse to answer, he lifts his hand and leisurely takes a firm, yet careful, hold on your jaw, turning your face towards his with a tug of your chin. he smiles when you meet his eyes, a grin, smug and obnoxiously cocky. “there’s my pretty girl, hi gorgeous,”

the nerve almost makes you stomp your foot, really. even the way his eyes darken all of a sudden and appear serious, “what is it, that your way of dragging me to bed?”

“jin, im serious, you were being a jerk back there. i was right there! what if i started telling riyo what kind of man i find attractive, huh? your ego couldn’t handle it. And I—!”

“—you knew exactly I was referring to you, pup. didn’t ya?” he looks at your lips, puffy and heart shaped, the dark ink of his tattooed arm envelops your vision, but from the way you’re looking at him from behind your shoulder, you’re stuck. caught between his chest, his umbrella and his lips. “clever, smart, hot, sweet and sensitive yet able to keep up with my foolishness,” he mumbles the words against your lips, before pressing a heavy, laaazy kiss that makes you whine in protest. he closes his eyes, tugs your chin harder and parts your lips with his tongue, meeting yours with a forceful kiss that makes you tilt your head back, giving him more access.

you whine again, and he tugs you closer to him, pulling his jinki until you can only place your hands on his arm for support. he smiles against the kiss, groaning lowly and licking every corner, as he kisses you hard, yet slow enough for you to register the way his tongue feels inside your mouth. “wait—en, listen to me—!”

he laughs, a deep, rough sound against your mouth that vibrates against your skin when he pulls out and moves back to your neck, brushing his nose against your nape. you shiver when he leaves a soft kiss there,

“couldn’t tell rudo my business, cupcake. he would’ve had a stroke if he found out the kind innocent girl who’s been helping him settle around here sleeps in his mentor’s bed, don’t ya think?”

you can literally feel his grin tingle against your skin, and you blush at the thought. your eyes soften, because you just can’t stay mad for too long, and because you can’t really win, either. you look down at his tattooed fingers, sprawled on your jaw, “worst excuse ever. you just like making me all upset and pissed off so we can have make up sex afterwards,”

his free hand wrestles with the pocket of his coat, before pulling out a cigarette and placing it between his teeth, still looking down at you. you blink at him, softer, sweet, still fired up with that silly insecurity that made you frustrated, jealous, needy. he finally lets go of you face, pinching your chin one last time, rolling the cigarette between his lips and letting out an amused chuckle, “so easy to read, arent i? to you, at least..”

but he clearly wasn’t over. he wants to toy with you a bit more, stir up the small flames that right now are only feeble, shy puffs of steam underneath your sweet attitude. and he knows exactly how to. he’s always had this strange habit and need to bring out the best potential from others, especially help build the kind of potential they weren’t aware of holding. just like you.

“we good now? or are you still mad, mmh? let me know, otherwise i can always take that back and return it,” he adds, playfully, wanting to mess you with. he nods down towards the charm dangling from the necklace you’re wearing, the one he gave you months ago. moving closer, you see him try and reach for the pendant, but you quickly grasp it with your palm, stepping back.

“hey— no! don’t touch it,” your usual gentle eyes are veiled behind a frown, your brows wrinkled with a look of protective possessiveness. “don’t you dare, it’s mine. you gave it to me, it belongs to me.”

he’s studying your reaction, your body language, his cigarette dangling form the corner of his mouth as his eyes move forward, slowly setting on your own. his sardonic smile being a telltale of his stupid jokes. “alright, alright, gorgeous, come on. y’know I can always get you a new one—“ but he freezes for an instant. cautious, never too quick, but rather composed. the cigarette almost slips out when he can’t contain an amused grin, reflecting the small, fluorescent sparks lighting up your eyes. your favorite color. small flames flicker through your lashes, licking the air with different shades of the same color.

“well, well, well,” enjin purrs, finally approaching you, licking the corner of his mouth, “would you look at that,”

who would’ve thought?

that sure is a surprise. his sweet little girl, his personal supporter, has the ability of forming a jinki? but you don’t seem to notice the way your necklace is now glowing the same color of your eyes. or what’s happening, unfolding right in front of you.

but he did, oh, he did. clearly, jealousy and possessiveness can stir up the givers’ ability the same way anger and pain do. but if you’re clenching his gift so hard, protective of it, he wonders if what you’re truly possessive of isn’t the gift itself, but rather the person who gave it to you. in other words, of him. “didn’t expect you to be that possessive of me, huh, baby?” his voice sounds rough, growing heavier and thicker with every twist of his head as he angled his neck to stare down at your hands, taking a strong hold of your necklace which felt unusually heavy in your palms.

your frown falters for a second, and he loves the way your eyes gleam. doubts and confusion dancing in the midst of the glowing flames like fireflies. you don’t feel it. enjin truly didn’t expect this outcome. maybe you’re not only a supporter, maybe you could be a giver whose power still hasn’t had the chance to bloom.

texting your older, grumpy boyfriend/husband levi that someone has been mean to you today, his sweet, innocent little girl and he gets protective but in a harsh & cruel way, like

—you “someone called me dumb today :( said im too ingenuous…”

—levi♥︎ “and you just let them? didn’t stand up for yourself?”

“pathetic.”

hi cupcake <3 to be honest my signature perfume/scent is vanilla ! i have a few strawberry perfumes as well but i mostly wear sweet, creamy vanilla fragrances! i can recommend you a few though!

🪽 older pro hero hawks, reader is a 21yo sweet journalist, keigo is flirty! fluff!

you couldn’t believe your agency had finally managed to schedule an interview with him, after months and months of delays.

you sat at the edge of your chair, too stiff to feel comfortable, too nervous to be excited. the conference room was too quiet, too empty, smelling of coffee and fresh, warm paper. the back of your heels clicked with a anxious pace against the polished marbled floor, and you kept glancing towards the entry. smoothing the hem of your skirt for the fifth time, you let out a small breath — your pen, pink and glittery, twirled nervously between your fingers.

the little notepad on your lap was already filled with scribbled questions, questions you’d rehearsed in your head over and over already, but somehow, now that he was going to walk through that door, they felt almost invisible.

and when a flutter of feathers broke the silence, you froze, heartbeat increasing within your rib cage. then, came his voice: smooth, playful, lazy, unmistakably him.

”hope i’m not too late, couldn’t find the right cologne, my stylist scolded me already,” he chuckled, door closing right behind him, clenching like your poor heart at the sound of his tone — your stomach dropped. did he really sound like that in person? just like in television, but deeper. almost warmer.

keigo takami — Hawks, Number Two Hero, strolled in like a man who owned the entire place, if not the city. His wings rustled faintly against the air as he folded them in, feathers a dim red that gleamed under the fluorescent lights. he wore a fitted black shirt, first two buttons undone, his trademark tinted glasses pushed up into his messy hair.

either he already felt comfortable enough, or he wanted to make this interview end quickly.

“oh—“ you stood up form your chair so fast it almost creaked against the pavement, “you’re right on time, mr. takami”

his eyes set on you. glimmering like a hawk’s, sharp yet bright. like a predator expecting to find another one of his kind, instead of a little prey, in front of him.

“thank you for agreeing on meeting me— i mean, to do this interview,” you blinked at him, polite, professional, or at least, you tried to be. leaning forward, you reached out your hand, and he slowly let his eyes travel from your face, to your blouse, all the way to your hand, before slowly holding it.

warm, large. his hand felt safe against yours, rough and scarred, but grounding. and then, here it was, the slow, deliberate charming grin you’d seen on the front covers of dozens and dozens of magazines before.

“too early to thank me, dove, might spill the wrong tea,” he grinned at you, the ever so confident, charming and boyish hero.

you blinked again, feeling the familiar warmth of red spreading across your cheeks, before reluctantly letting go of his hand. you sat down, and he followed, dropping on a chair in front of yours, sprawling comfortably with one arm draped over the backrest.

taking a deep, silent breath, you gave him another smile, your signature one — sugary, reliable and tender sweet. the right amount of shyness and embarrassment behind it, yet one that felt genuine, “alright,” you cleared your throat, but could feel his piercing eyes on you. literally, all over you. as if he was curiously taking in your entire frame, clearly amused.

“this interview is for the upcoming hero feature series of our newspaper, as im sure you’ve been told. It’ll focus on your post—missions recovery efforts and—“

“uh-huh-“ hawks interrupted, stretching his wings lazily before wrapping them against his back, “post-war recovery, public trust, who I think is better and worse than me, yadda yadda. But tell me something first, baby bird,”

you froze, heart skipping a beat, and your cheeks flushed a bright red at the nickname. baby bird, it felt like velvet against your skin, the way he said that, and you could only stare at him, as he manspread, watching you with a playful glint.

“are we recording this? or is this gonna be just a chat between us?”

your fingers hesitated against the recorder, that small object inside your pocket, lingering over the start button, “only…only a part of it, sir,” you replied, softly, “the rest is just going to be used for transcription, so…”

his grin widened, but it wasn’t wicked. no, it was the kind of cooing smile that looked condescending, patronizing almost. but it looked so hot on him, you had to look down.

“only part of it, huh?” he leaned forward, elbows pressed against his parted thighs. “guess I’ll have to make sure the best parts don’t get caught on tape, huh, gorgeous?”

your glossed lips parted, closed, parted again. dumbfounded, almost ready to faint. you knew it’d be a wrong idea, choosing to interview him. they should’ve chosen any other journalist, but you happened to have the biggest crush on him since basically forever.

you knew he was teasing — Hawks was famous for this, after all — but it didn’t stop the warmth from creeping up your cheeks, painting them red, as red as his feathers. you were absolutely not immune to his charm, if anything, it was quite the opposite.

“im— im sure people who are going to read this article will want to know as much as possible about you, mr. takami,” you chirped, shyly and professional, “I apologize in advance for any odd questions, my pen wasn’t the cause of them,” you blinked your doll eyes down towards your notepad, before pressing on the record button.

“so, mr. takami, question one: how do you handle the balance between your hero duties and your personal life, now that you’ve also started male modeling?” you hoped your voice didn’t betray you, but finding yourself in front of him, seeing him in person, wasn’t helping your nerves.

he hummed, thoughtfully, gaze never leaving you — pushing his tongue against his inner cheek, he looked focused, throwing his head back, staring at the ceiling to think. your dollish eyes fell on his adam’s apple, the way it bobbed, and it made you blush, your soft face painted the same red as his feathers.

“balance, huh? that’s a tough one, especially since i’ve always got someone on my neck, but modeling has been great,” he smirked, the tip of his tongue pushing against his top teeth, “haven’t received any complains yet, just requests of being more naked. apparently girls go crazy over my wrist watch,”

yes, you did too.

you quickly cleared your throat and nodded, giving him a respectful smile, but before you could ask him another question, he interrupted you, drumming his fingers against the blue leather of his sofa chair.

“guess it helps when you’ve got someone interesting and pretty sitting in front of you during your spare time, makes it easier to forget about camera flashings, huh, birdie?”

the butterflies in your stomach ceased for a second, and you were afraid his charm would be too much for you, making you unable to keep up with that interview. wearing a soft, timid expression, you wore the purest look of innocence, maybe even insecurity. there’s nothing interesting about me, you thought.

“that’s— that’s not the case, im afraid.” you let out a soft breath, half chuckle, half shyness, but gave him the sweetest smile he’d ever seen, “but thank you, sir”

sir. oh, he loved that word. the way your gloss sparkled under the lights when you said that stirred something in him, something that made him buck his hips upwards and keep grinning at you. which made you notice how his shirt was glued to his muscular body like a second skin — each line of his chiseled, broad shoulders revealed muscles made of stone, and his arms were so fit and ripped they almost seemed heavy to look at.

his physique was so perfect, strong and muscular it was impossible not to think about how easy it’d be for him to pick you up effortlessly, carry you like when he caught civilians falling from the roof—

“okay, uhm, next question—“ you tried to focus, flipping a page, but he was faster

“tell me something first,” he interrupted again, smoothly, chin propped on his hand now, “how long have you been doing interviews like this?”

great. did that mean you were doing an horrible job?

you fiddled with your pink pen, your red cheeks growing brighter with each passing second, “oh, uhm— only a few months, im still learning”

“figures,” he said, his sardonic grin softer now, like he was cooing at a little girl, and it did sound patronizing, coming from him, but instead of irritating you, it made your legs clench together, your heart race,

he flexed his neck, spreading his wings to stretch them before rustling them back together, making tiny random feathers fall all around — one even fell right om your heel.

“you’ve got that new bird shine,” he whispered, but you caught that, and raised your brows, amused by that random comment. “newbird?”

“yeah, gorgeous.” he said, grinning wickedly now, “still learning how to fly, how to spread her wings by herself. adorable”

you blinked — this time a bit more entertained than surprised. “you really like bird metaphors, don’t you, mr. takami?”

“well sunshine, if the feathers fit,”

you laughed before you could stop yourself, a light but chirpy giggle that you quickly tried to muffle with a hand against your mouth. oh oh. you’d have to remind yourself to edit that part and cut it off the recording.

red cheeks, wide eyes, and palm over your mouth, you gently shook your head, “sorry, didn’t mean to laugh like that, was— unprofessional,”

but he looked delighted. like he’d been expecting to get so bored during this interview, and here you are: a soft, pretty doll laughing at his stupid remarks.

“okay, so, back to where we left,” you began, forcing brightness into your tone, “since last time, your agency has announced a new mentorship initiative—”

“oh, yeah. gotta keep the fledglings flying,” he said, leaning back. he sent you a leisure, appreciative look, hawk eyes lazily roaming around your legs, your red cheeks, the glitters behind your long doll lashes, “you ever think about joining?”

what? you almost dropped your notebook, hoping your editor wouldn’t choose that exact moment to appear behind the glass and supervise your interview, “joining?”

he grinned. “sure. you could be our PR sweetheart. handle all the tough questions, maybe teach me to sit still for interviews. how to stop interrupting,” the last phrase was accentuated with a wink.

a wink.

he winked at you. you swallowed, fighting down a little helpless whine, a whimper that almost came out because you wanted to run away and hide your face behind your hands.

“i—i don’t think that’s—“

“allowed?” he guessed, a heavy smirk on his lips, “yeah, that’s the story of my life, baby bird. people love to tell me what’s allowed or not.”

that caught you off guard. beneath the teasing, the flirting, there was something sharper there — a flicker of truth. his usual smirk was thinner, carrying something intense and bittersweet. you often wondered the kind of expectations and responsibilities that he tried to carry with his wings, being the n. 2 hero.

you hesitated before replying, softer this time, a sweet, understanding smile on your shiny lips. “guess we have that in common, sir.”

his eyes flicked up at that, golden and curious. “do we?”

the smallest nod from you enlightened your careful smile. with a single, quick silent glance towards the recorder, you shrugged briefly, “people telling us what to do. how, and when to do it”

he studied you for a moment, and it felt like the whole world had gone quiet. lifting his hand up, he reached out and brushed his jaw, slowly and quietly. then as if remembering himself, he chuckled lightly. “babybird is full of surprises, huh?”

tilting your head, you gave him another smile, innocent, amused, but so sweet he could taste the sugar dripping from it, “just doing my job, mr. takami. that’s all i can do”

“sure you are, sweet thing,”

there it was again — that husky, velvet amusement that made you want to forget the recorder entirely. that made you want to stand up, place the pen down and sat on his lap. his cologne would definitely smell stronger if you sat on top of him, but you always wondered if his feathers were soft, or ticklish, or rough. burning hot, you held your notebook like your life depended on it, and desperately looked for another question, “we— we have the last question for todays special edition, sir, so, is it—“

the softest, cutest frown appeared between your brows, as your eyes ran back and forth against that random question written in a different font, black ink, not your usual blue one.

“is it true you have sharp canines—?” you whispered that question more to yourself, out of pure bewilderment, confusion. who had opened your notebook and written that embarrassing question?

hawks didn’t move, just looked at you with a surprised, amused lazy look. like he somehow found that question amusing, cheeky. but you stammered with your words, shaking your head and just letting your cheeks grow on fire. you had enough. you carefully closed the notebook.

“never mind, sir. that’ll be all for today, we- we can schedule another meeting for the remaining questions,” you couldn’t believe it. you’d made a fool out of yourself reading that silly question out loud. what kind of person decides to ask something like that, wasting precious time and opportunities to talk to a pro hero? you sighed, quickly interrupting the recorder before setting it on the nearby table.

“i apologize, sir, i had no idea—“

“relax, baby bird. people have asked me way worse questions,” he lifted a single brow, a silent double entendre that made you blush with its innuendo. giving him a thankful smile, you nodded, tucking a loose string of hair behind your ear. something shiny caught his eyes, and he saw your earring, a golden little feather.

for the occasion. cute. he could literally eat you up right there and then. you’d probably taste as sweet as you looked.

keigo stood first, stretching, feathers rustling. he waited until you started to pack your things before murmuring, so low it vibrated against your back, “cute pen, by the way, suits you.”

you opened your mouth to reply, but the door of the studio shot open, and your editor let someone in with him, someone you couldn’t quite recognize. probably keigo’s personal driver.

“well, it’s been a pleasure, baby bird,” he looked at you up and down, so tall you had to raise your head to meet his eyes.

“thank you for your time, mr. takami,” you smiled at him, innocent, dollish, a sweet blink that whispered something to him. something he was hungry for — you reached out your hand to shake his, but he quickly took it and brought it to his lips, pressing a charming kiss on the back of your hand, making your breath still for a second, cheeks flaming up, red and warm.

“see you around, baby bird. be careful, it’s sensitive,”

he winked, then was gone in a rustle of red feathers and the faintest trace of a groveling chuckle, leaving you with one trembling hand resting on your chest, a confused look and a racing heartbeat.

your editor closed the door behind him, giving you a quick, supportive smile, before leaving you all alone in the room. you waited until the sound of keigo’s wings had vanished in the corridor before turning around, and blinking down towards your closed notebook.

what did he mean by that? what was sensitive?

but the images and thoughts of him were still a confused mess of memories in your head, your cheeks hadn’t stopped burning and you felt your heart in your throat, like a schoolgirl who’d just had a meeting with her crush, the man she fangirled over.

a scattering of papers and documents laid on the table surface, and you tried to collect them all, eager to go get a refreshing drink and distract yourself from that charming, teasing hero, but as soon as you opened your notebook to fit the sheets, you froze.

a red father was cradled between two pages, the color of the sunburst desert — carefully, you picked it up with trembling fingers, and you smiled to yourself when you felt it was soft to the touch, the edge a little rougher, but it was larger than you’d expected now that you held one of his feathers up close, almost as large as your palm.

but when you flipped it over, that girlish smile quickly fell, replaced by a breathless gasp, shy, innocent.

a thin series of numbers appeared under your digits, written quickly and in haste, underneath laid one single line, a neat, looping handwriting.

‘call me sometime.’

have a good day and god bless!! :3

i genuinely wish you the best and pray you reach out to Him :,) a lot of people don’t know that you need to follow Jesus, not a religion. obviously, im a catholic christian so going to church is very important to me, but Jesus Himself is the embodiment of pure love, forgiveness, respect, mercy, kindness and compassion. the real religion, if well spoken, its actually meant to spread love, anyone who doesn’t do it right, it’s not a real religious person. The Gospel calls Jesus the good shepherd, the prince of peace and all that’s good. the world can hurt you and religion as well because religion is handled by people, humans that can do wrong, but GOD can never do wrong because He’s perfect and He loves anyone unconditionally!! thank you so much for these kind words buttercream cookie, it means a lot that I can help spread His love!! God bless you SMOOCH!!!

Matthew 11:28-30 says “Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light”

dilf old man!john price accidentally turns off his cigar by pressing it against the palm of that prick who claims to have accidentally brushed his hand against your butt by mistake, but ‘didn’t mean to’.

you squeal like a startled bunny when you feel something against your skirt, and turn around with doe, worried eyes — a pair of hands shoot upwards, and you’re met with the not so earnest apologetic expression of a guy you don’t know, who blurts a “sorry, miss, didn’t meant to, bumped into you by accident”

you quickly shake your head, giving him a polite smile, kind, well mannered. too kind for your own good, never wanting to cause trouble “it’s alright, don’t worry”

but john sees and knows everything concerning you, he’s attentive of your surroundings, needs to be always on alert for his sweet, little bunny girl. and he knows that prick didn’t touch you by mistake.

the moment you turn around and shift away, busy sipping on your strawberry matcha like the epitome of innocence, john moves to stand behind that guy.

his hiss of pain falls on deaf ears when john brushes next to him, almost as imperceptible as the slight flick of john’s wrist, imprinting a cigar burn into that guy’s hand. he instantly withdraws his hand, blurting out thick curses as gray ash burns around a red mark on his skin.

—bunny “tysm for the birthday gift sir, please lmk when you can come over to help me hang the shelf on the wall!! need to organize my new books asap!!🐰”

—bunny “oh, btw i’ve put aside a piece of cake for you, jic. xoxo”

john stares at the texts, frowning at those meaningless letters that apparently make no sense to him. the smoke curling from his cigar swirls around the screen of his phone, but that’s not why he’s squinting his eyes to see better. what does that mean? jic? was she supposed to write jp? as in his name?

—john “coming over later today, love. asap? that a new book series you’ve got?”

—bunny “means as soon as possible!🐰”

he grunts. amused, puffing out a little chuckle. obviously, young girls and their use of modern language.

—john “got it doll. pa’s home?”

his large hand came to scratch his thick beard, dwelling into the salt and pepper hairs. but as soon as another little ring put his phone up, he stopped, the cigar hanging from his lips.

—bunny “no sir :(, dunno when he’s coming back, dd”

oh, he didn’t need to ask what that last word meant. he knew that damn well.

—john “on my way, sugar.”

dbf!john price x bookworm young fem!reader

when it’s your birthday, you always only ask for books as a gift, just like every other year. your bunny room is already filled with books, many bookshelves hug its walls and are swarming with thousands of books. but this year, your dad didn’t get you any because “you already have too many, and there’s no more room for them”

which is true, you’ve run out of space, poor little girl your room is filled to the brim, and you have no more free shelves. nonetheless, as a self birthday gift, you made sure to get yourself some books from your wishlist — the moment you get them delivered to your house, you’re pure sunshine, joyful, the happiest. but you soon realize, where are going to put them?

dbf!john price has spent the entire morning surrounded by the dull sound of his axe chopping off wood, splitting heavy wooden logs with the strength of a man who’s spent his entire life training his body in the military. muscular, broad shoulders flexing every time he lowers the axe, his bare chest exposed to the hot sun, sweaty, hairy and buff. his biceps are thick, the outline of his forearms flex with every hit on the trunk. the white bottle of color spray lies on the grass next to his military boots and a bunch of handiwork tools. rough, deep grunts vibrate from his marbled chest as all the pent up strength flows into the task at hand.

at the end of the day, when the last bite of strawberry shortcake is only a nostalgic taste on your tongue, your eyes sparkle, shining more than the candle you turned off earlier — a mid sized box, pastel pink, lies on the front door. not as pink as the bright blush on your cheeks when you timidly pick up the little note on top of it, seeing the sketch of a pair of bunny ears.

you open the box, your heart flutters at the sight of the content. a white, wooden wall shelf with a delicate and soft design. In the center of the shelf’s back panel, there’s a decorative cutout in the shape of a heart, and a small bunny, carved next to it. your heartbeat increases, butterflies fill your chest as you read the back of the note.

“birthday bunny,

carved and touched every corner, every angle, with craving hands, like i’d touch you

something delicate, like the way i think of you when i shouldn’t. fill it with as many books as you want, sweet girl.

j.p.”

imagine soft bunny girl wanting to play a silly little prank on sugar daddy!dilf john price by paying for the check. only an harmless little prank, nothing serious, right?

not for him. as an old fashioned gentleman, he wouldn’t take that well. he’d never let you pay for a single thing, you’re his sugar baby after all (his unconventionally too young girlfriend)

let’s say you’re on a date. restaurant, sweet treat break, anything you’d like, and when you’re done, you stand up in your frilly little skirt, glossed lips, strawberry and vanilla perfume that swirls around him when you lean down to kiss him on the corner of his mouth, right above that mustache you go crazy for.

“be right back sir, lady needs” you use the bathroom excuse, he gruffs out a “aight doll” but instead of heading to the toilet, you secretly go pay. innocent, naive little bunny, you think he’s gonna laugh at that, find it hilarious.

little does he know, you slip to the front and quickly pay the bill, before slipping to the toilet.

but after you actually hop to the bathroom, he stands up. broad shoulders, straight, imposing stance that exudes confidence, pure masculinity that stretches like leather with every step he takes, a cigar that’s not lit yet hanging from his mouth.

he doesn’t say a word, leisurely takes his wallet off the back pocket of his expensive suit jacket and proceeds to hand the card to the waiter, who, cluelessly, just smiles at him,

“the bill has already been paid, sir”

john blinks, once, then twice, maybe his ears are starting to play on him, given his seasoned age. he’s not sure he’s heard that right. so he mutters a rough “ ‘scuse me?”

“yes, the lady who’s here with you paid earlier”

those words feel wrong in his head, unwelcome. he wants to spit them out, but he’s always a man of undeterred and outmost control, composure. only the way his jaw clenches underneath his thick beard, salt and pepper like the mixed thoughts running in his mind, says otherwise.

he doesn’t how how long he remains still like that, buff muscles somehow becoming thicker, building a stonelike wall that prevents the boiling fire within him to flow outside. unmoving, like the endless times spent eyeing the target from afar, waiting like a statue for the perfect moment to bounce on them.

feigned stoicism and broodiness decor his mature face, as he tucks his wallet back inside his pocket with more strength that before — he nods to the waiter, and waits for you outside. when you come back, careless, sugary bunny that hops close to her brown bear, unaware of the way she’s offended his sense of manliness, you grab his hand with both of yours, smiling sweetly, blinking your long lashes. “we can go sir”

“what did you do, doll?” his rough tone should’ve made you halt, but you, sweet soul, think that his usual half, lazy smile is going to appear on his mustache. you shrug, like it’s nothing, really, giggling playfully soft.

“treated you for once,”

he’s gonna find it funny, you thought.

but he doesn’t.

“did i give you permission to do that?”

your smile falters. you blink, bunnies are slow in their movements when they’re processing their surroundings. but then, they haste.

“what? oh, no, but i just wanted to pay for once. it was a j—“

“get in the car, now.”

oh no. you hope you didn’t ruin your date with your little prank. it was supposed to be harmless, just a mere little thing to take him off guard. but—

“it’s fine, you always pay, sir, i thought you’d find it funny that i paid for once” you try to justify yourself, but he doesn’t laugh. his characteristic authority and intimidating nature comes out, a second skin that fits him perfectly.

“i said get in the car, doll, don’t make me repeat myself again, angel”

and when you do arrive home, you don’t even have time to take off your heels. you’ve always been a good girl, obedient, well mannered. you never disobeyed him once.

he never had to punish you for anything.

you squint when he pats his thigh, sitting on the edge of your bed. the rustling of his leather belt being unbuckled. manspreading his legs, he invites you.

”how much did you pay?” his voice could cut on stone, deep, low and husky.

you almost shiver, poor bunny, you keep your eyes down, fidgeting with your hands,

“and don’t lie to me, sweetheart. i can check your account.”

your mumble is almost a mute one as you whisper ”sixty, sir”

his hand looks large, heavy, you knows it’s gonna leave red marks on your butt, as red as your flushing cheeks. ”good. gonna keep count until half of it, come here, princess, thirty spanks, and then you’re gonna be my good girl all over again. understood?”

“but—“

“not mad at you, princess. you’re still my good girl. you didn’t mean to misbehave, daddy knows that. but actions have consequences, angel, even if it was well meant and intentioned, now,”

he patted his thigh again, and you swallowed, docile eyes downturned.