Of Muffins And Slip-ups

of muffins and slip-ups

wc: 1.7k

pairing: osamu miya x gn!reader

warnings: none (osamu’s hypnotizing tiddies)

Standing on tiptoe, you reach up into your cabinet and feel around for the vial of vanilla extract you know you have somewhere, and when you finally find it, you pluck it from the shelf to inspect it. You peer between the recipe on your phone and the bottle, brows furrowing. You don’t have nearly enough. You really should’ve checked your cabinets before embarking on a late-night baking session. 

As you frustratedly stare at the half-finished batter on your counter, you weigh your options. You could make a quick run to the store, you reason. It’s not that far of a walk. But when your gaze flickers to the digital clock on the microwave — 8:45 PM — you realize you’d never make it in time, and you refuse to be the person that shows up to a store five minutes before it closes.

And you’ve already made it this far — the bowl is out, the measuring cups are dirty, the muffin tin is meticulously paper-lined. You sigh. It’d be a waste to throw everything out now, and you aren’t keen on leaving it in the fridge overnight. Left with no other options, you decide there’s only one thing left to do — ask a neighbor.

You’re new to the building, and not quite friends with anyone yet, so the thought of going door to door to beg for some vanilla isn’t exactly what you planned on doing with your Wednesday night, but hey, nobody’s perfect. You consider asking the girl next door, the one who’d invited you over on your first weekend in the building. She was nice enough, but before you slip your feet into a pair of slippers, you remember that she stays with her boyfriend during the week.

You could ask that guy down the hall, but he’d ogled at you on the elevator last weekend, and the thought of knocking on his door and subjecting yourself to more of his looks made a hint of nausea settle in your stomach.

You stand, idle in front of your door, slippers and pajamas on and groan. The guy across the hall — Miya Osamu. You’ve bumped into him virtually everywhere since you moved in. The mail room, the laundry room, in the lobby and the hallway. And every time he’d fix you with this handsome, toothy grin, making casual small talk when he could. You’ve even seen him help the elderly woman downstairs with her groceries. He seems disarmingly perfect, so surely he wouldn’t slam the door in your face at your request. At least, you hope not.

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Haikyuu boys you meet while pet-sitting

Daichi, Matsukawa, Kuroo, Ushijima x afab reader Word count: ~1.6k Tags & warnings: Smut, smut, n more SMUT-MDNI, thigh riding, dom (teeny tiny), praise, p in v, creampie (implied), oral sex (m and f receiving), hair pulling, fingering, throat fucking, I love a man that smells good and has a sexy voice

Note: New year, same horny me. This got out of hand. Recently did a lot of pet-sitting and I wish any (all) of this happened. It’s my first time writing smut - thoughts & constructive criticism welcome

You meet Daichi before you even start cat-sitting. Due to a last-minute itinerary change, your friend flew out a day early and left her extra key with a neighbor for you to pick up. He opens the door dressed in a t-shirt and shorts and you’re reduced to a stammering mess as you gape at his immense biceps and thighs, trying to explain that you’re the cat-sitter and sorry for disturbing him but could you please get your friend’s key?

Daichi is too polite to comment on your wandering eyes and nervous stuttering, but he’s smirking to himself after he closes his door. Unfortunately for your composure, he suddenly finds himself needing to borrow a lot of things. Could he get some sugar? One of his best friends is an elementary school teacher, you see, and he wants to bring some cookies for the kids when he goes for a class visit. Does your friend have a wrench he can use? You don’t know where it is? Well, why doesn’t he come in to help you find it? You get used to seeing him every day, although he makes you short circuit each time, your nerves constantly on edge because he’s always murmuring things in your ear (he doesn’t want to startle you by yelling) or accidentally brushing against you (he can’t help it, he’s just so broad).

He finally decides to stop teasing you and asks you out to dinner. He’s so sweet and funny, and you find that when you’re not too flustered to function, you really enjoy his company, so much so that you invite him in for a drink afterward. The alcohol must have gone to straight to your pussy though because you quickly find yourself straddling him, absolutely intoxicated by his deep voice and masculine scent. You’re drenched and you can feel him straining against his pants, but he doesn’t want to rush it with you. He exudes natural authority, which is why you don’t let out a peep of protest when he tells you to ride his thigh first. He sits back with his hands behind his head and drinks in your furrowed brow and desperate whimpers as you grind yourself against his rock-hard muscle, cooing, “You’re doing so good, baby. Be really good and cum for me and I’ll give you a big reward.”

You’re confused when you call for your friend’s cat to come inside one night only to see her climb out of the neighbor’s window. The neighbor in question, Matsukawa, steps out onto the shared balcony and is just as confused to see you. You tell him you’re cat-sitting and he explains that your friend’s cat likes to sit on his laptop while he works. It turns into a comfortable routine to talk with him in the evenings while you wait for the cat to return. He’s incredibly handsome, but more than that he’s magnetic, witty, and has an absolutely lewd sense of humor that he’s surprised you love.

What you don’t know is that he’s got a major problem with you. The problem being he’s confused - no, frustrated - by why you’ve suddenly started wearing a shirt so flimsy it leaves nothing to the imagination. Every night, he struggles to keep himself from fixating on the swell of your breasts and the outline of your nipples poking through the sheer fabric. When he retreats to his apartment after your chats, he’s so worked up he has to fuck his fist, picturing how you’d look underneath him, glassy-eyed and drooling with his cum all over those pretty tits and leaking out of your pussy.

After a solid week, he decides enough is enough and invites you over. The two of you barely make it more than 10 minutes. He’s pouring you a drink when you confess you’ve been wearing that shirt on purpose after seeing him out on a run. In a flash, Issei’s got you bent over his kitchen counter, pulling your panties to the side. He barely needs to prep you because you’ve been looking forward to this all day, cursing under his breath as his fingers slide in with little resistance. He pulls your head back by your hair and growls into your ear while he rails you from behind, “If you’re gonna tease me, you better be ready to show me what this tight little pussy can do.” You barely register what he’s saying because the only thing you can focus on is how full you feel with each delicious drag of his thick cock against your slick walls. His cum drips down your thighs as he reaches between your legs one more time. “Gonna cum on my cock again baby?”

You first see Kuroo one morning while walking your friend’s dog. He’s out on a run with his own dog and you’d have to be a statue to be impervious to how his shirt clings to his chest. He sees you checking him out and decides to give you a show by lifting up the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his neck. Except he accidentally uses the same hand that’s holding the leash, causing his dog to pull him forward flat onto his face. After you make sure they’re both ok, you let yourself laugh so hard you get a stomachache.

You wonder if you’ll run into him again after that fiasco. He must be shameless because he makes sure to leave the house at the same time the next morning to catch you. He’s more sheepish this time, though he still drops some cheesy jokes. You run into him every morning after that, and every evening too. He always stops to chat. You give him shit for how unfunny he is, but he lives to hear your groans when he comes up with an especially terrible line. You two fluster each other constantly. His stomach flutters on the rare instances he actually makes you laugh - loudly and genuinely - at something he says. Meanwhile, you’re speechless when he starts running without a shirt on (because it’s hot out and not for any other reason), eyes hungrily taking in every inch of corded muscle. He smirks when he catches you gawking at him yet again, “Want me to ask you over or something?” Let me tell you, that false bravado slips right off when you reply, “Yea, I’d like that,” and suddenly he’s the one that's a stuttering wreck.

You go over to watch a movie together that night, but don’t get far because it’s adorable how he fidgets with his hair and his cheeky grin is so charming and he smells so enticing that it’s impossible to keep your hands to yourself. He shoos his dog out of the bedroom when you get down to business because “I don’t want her to see this.” As ridiculous as this man is, he is an artiste when it comes to eating pussy. He’s got you cumming around his tongue and fingers for the fourth time and doesn’t show any signs of slowing down. You’re gasping for breath, barely able to form a coherent thought, cunt drenched and clenching and begging for him to fuck you already. “Cum for me one more time baby, then I’ll do whatever you want.” But he’s said that three times already.

You’re intimidated when Ushijima opens his door but not too intimidated to ogle him as drops of sweat glide down his naked torso. You’ve interrupted him in the middle of a workout, but how were you to know? You just wanted to hand over a package that had been misdelivered to your friend’s apartment next door. You watch the way his muscles ripple as he reaches for the box, and he watches you brazenly eyefuck him (to be fair, his pecs are right there, not to mention the shadow of something massive in his shorts).

After that, he always offers a polite hello in the hallway, but never initiates conversation and only gives you one-word responses, so you figure he’s not interested. It’s disappointing, but at least you can still fantasize about him, moaning his name while knuckle deep in your soaking cunt, desperately wishing it was his thick fingers instead. You hear a knock and hurriedly throw on a robe to find Ushijima at the door. He clears his throat. “Were you…calling for me?” SHIT. You forgot to close the windows. If only the ground would swallow you whole right now so you don’t have to stammer out an excuse, any excuse.

But then you notice the nervous bob of his adam’s apple and the bulge in his pants, and you find yourself asking if he came over to help. He nods, following you to the couch obediently like a huge puppy. He’s so timid at first, letting out sweet little whines when you wrap your lips around him, barely able to fit a few inches in your mouth. But now he’s grunting like a feral thing as he fists your hair, slamming his cock over and over again into the back of your throat, unable to hold back as he chases his own release. And after he pumps your throat full of cum, you’re going to count yourself the luckiest bitch in the world as you slowly sink your dripping pussy down onto his fat cock. “Are you sure I’ll fit?” he whispers in a haze, watching your eyes roll back as he disappears inside of you inch by inch.

Note 2: Pussydrunk Kuroo or bust. Ok but now I’m thinking about how hilarious (read: horny & amazing) reader’s life would be if this was all in the same apartment complex and happening at the same time

The demons’ favorite places to kiss and be kissed headcannon

(the demon brothers, the royals, and Mephistopheles x gn!MC)

Lucifer

Kiss: The neck. He likes to mark you as his for others to see. The proximity also allows him to take in your scent (he’s especially enamored if you wear cologne or perfume) and hear you even more clearly. He wants to hear every reaction: soft moans, gasps, panting, every word. If you whisper his name when he kisses your neck, he won’t stop until you make him. He just wants to please his favorite human.

Kissed: Anywhere on his chest. First, it feels good, and when his body is feeling especially sensitive, it’s enough to get him close to orgasm. Second, the marks are easier to hide, so he doesn’t need to worry about his reputation. Third, he wants you as close to him as he can get. Having your lips right above his heart is a dream. He’d never admit it because it sounds too obsessive, but if he could open his chest to let you hold his heart in your hands, he’d happily give over that control.

  Mammon

Kiss: The top of your head. “Huh? No, I didn’t just kiss you. Ya just got your hair in the Great Mammon’s face. I was blowin’ it away. But, if you want me to kiss ya, just say so.” (Yes, he will still use that excuse if you’re bald or shave your head) But really, he just likes kissing you there when he’s holding you in his arms. It makes him feel like he’s doing a good job protecting you and making you feel safe. He savors this even more if you’re about the same height or taller than him since it’s harder to reach.

Kissed: Mouth. He knows he talks a lot, much to his detriment. So, please, shut him up. He feels like you pay more attention to him when you’re kissing his lips, and it can go from sweet to wild in seconds. The range. A forehead kiss could never! Also, please bite his lips or wear some kind of lip color - just leave proof of the kiss so when someone asks what’s wrong with his face (whether they mean the lips or they’re just being rude), he can brag about getting kissed by you.

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More.

CN Lucifer x reader. Fluff. Bit of angst. No major trigger warnings.

He stared at his own name, a rumble in his stomach and a distinct pressure deep in the back of his skull signaling yet another headache. He'd been staring for a while, sick of the way the lines of his handwriting curved and flattened out, curved and flattened out.

If he had to sign one more paper, open one more file, he'd throw it all away and walk to the other end of the Devildom.

At least, that's what Lucifer dreamt about as he sighed and finally continued his work.

Lucifer Morningstar. Stamp. Lucifer Morningstar. Stamp. Lucifer Morningstar. Stamp.

It was the easiest part of his day and yet the most tedious. It left room for thinking. Contemplating. Yearning.

Room for the idea of more than a life bound to a desk, his quill his best friend, coffee his most important partner.

Because while Lucifer was known for his work ethic, praised for his accomplishments, admired for his discipline - millennia of work were not what he had always pictured for himself.

Sure. He couldn't really help it. Between his Pride, his oath to the Prince and the havoc his brothers wrought - what choice did he have?

But sometimes, in moments of quiet like this, he wondered what it would be like. To have some free time. To not have the highlight of his day be the glass of demonus and a few mellow tunes from a cursed record right before bed.

Speaking of quiet... Why was the HOL so still? The only sound to be heard the crackling of fire - and the knock on his door.

"You may come in." A knot of anxiety formed in his stomach: Would it be Mammon bringing in more dept? Or Satan bringing in more guilt? Might it be Barbatos with another stack of paperwork?

The knot was quickly untied by little bats, fluttering about within him, as you stuck your head into his study.

"They're all in their rooms, studying...or pretending to", you proclaimed, knowing very well he was expecting bad news.

"I thought you could use a break."

Your soft smile was all Lucifer needed to snap out of his misery. At least for now.

"Do you want to go into town with me? There's this flea market that should be open for another few hours."

He looked down at the last two documents that required his signature. Maybe there could be more. Maybe just a bit.

At least, he could see a flimmer of it in your eyes, as you beckoned him to join you.

head over heels — shoyo hinata

summary — at an msby match, shoyo hinata catches your eye. apparently, you catch his too.

pairing — shoyo hinata x gn!reader

warnings — none

word count — 1k

author’s note — this was meant to be a drabble??

Shoyo Hinata literally falls for you.

The Black Jackals are dominating the match–unsurprising for a team known for their aggression, of course. But from your courtside seat, everything is so much more real. You’re almost among the players–Atsumu Miya performs his signature serve just a few feet away and you can see every wrinkle on his shirt.

Every detail on the players’ faces becomes crystal clear. Every point lost is so much more devastating. Every dive to save the ball is that much more dramatic.

There’s Shoyo Hinata. Number twenty-one. Down here, his charm radiates outwards like rays from the sun. He beams triumphantly after a successful spike and your heart skips a beat. Pretty bronze eyes sparkle, wrinkling at the edges because that’s just how hard he’s smiling. You’ve had a soft spot for the opposite hitter ever since you started following the Jackals two years ago.

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[9:12 PM] Kageyama Tobio

wc: 800

warnings/content: fluff

--

“Tobio, it’s cold,” you complain. 

“It’s winter.” 

You pout. “Okay, and?” 

Silence. 

“Tobio, I’m cold.” 

More silence. 

“TOBIO!” 

“I told you to bring an extra jacket,” he says as he wraps his own scarf around your neck. “You can’t have my jacket.” 

“You’re mean,” you grumble, shrinking your neck to dip as much of your face as you can into his scarf. 

He hums in distant acknowledgement. 

Tobio’s always been awkward but you figure the years of dating and living together would have knocked that out of him. For the past few weeks however, it’s like he’s regressed to his high school state of socialization. 

It’s also been a little strange that homebody Tobio has finally been taking hints with the yelp screenshots you’ve been sending for years and taking you to dinners at nice restaurants you have been wanting to try. At least he has a professional athlete salary and sponsorships to keep this lifestyle up, you suppose. 

“Did you enjoy dinner?” 

A soft grunt. 

“Did you like it more than the last place?” 

A hum. 

“Well, I liked the place we went to last week more.” 

Silence. 

You stop and Tobio doesn’t seem to notice. He keeps walking, face to the ground, deep in thought. 

You let him get about 10 steps away before you’ve had it. With his track record of ignoring you for the past month, you figure he’d get all the way home before even noticing that he left you in the cold. 

“Tobio!” You emphasize your frustration with a childish little stomp of your boots on the pavement. 

He startles and turns around. “Why are you all the way back there?” rushing back over to you and mumbling a quiet apology. He grabs your hand and begins walking again, but you stay rooted to your spot. You yank your hand away and cross your arms over your chest. 

“I’m not moving until you tell me what’s on your mind.” 

Tobio looks around and says, “can we not do this here?” 

“I’m not embarrassed about making a scene out in public if that’s what it takes for my boyfriend to tell me why he’s been such a bad boyfriend recently!” 

He blinks a bit at that, as if the thought of being a bad boyfriend has only just occurred to him. You watch the expressions fly across his face; first a furrowed brow and open mouth to rebut, then a pause as if he remembers all the dinner dates he was in outer space for, then resignation with a sigh and one hand running down his face. 

“I’m sorry. I promise I’ll tell you, but at home. It’s not good for us to do this outside when you’re already freezing.” 

Despite his gentler tone, it does nothing to soothe the unease. Does Tobio maybe… want to break up? If that was really it, you think it’d be better to do it at home, away from prying eyes anyway. 

You nod, lips wobbling a bit. Tobio flashes you a slight smile, one of the firsts you’ve seen in weeks. You don’t know if it makes you want to cry or smile back at him. 

“C’mon,” he says as he once again reaches for your hand. This time, you allow him to guide your frigid fingers into his coat pocket where they brush against something hard. 

Still in his pocket, you unwind your fingers from his and feel for the item again. Feels like a velvet box. 

Tobio freezes. 

You wind your hands around the box, thumbs beginning to drift over the divot in the box. 

Tobio grabs your wrist and yanks it out of his pocket, just before you can close your fist over the item. You’re staring at your empty hand that was ejected from his pockets, semi-comprehending the situation.

When you return your gaze to Tobio, his face is red and it’s not from the cold. The flush reaches down to his neck before being hidden by his turtleneck; you suspect it reaches all the way to his sternum, like it does when you’re in bed together. 

“Tobio…” 

One of his hands is rubbing the back of his neck and his eyes are averted. You reach up and cup the reddest part of his neck. The cool from your fingertips jolts him and he meets your eyes with his comically widened ones. 

“Is that what I think it is?” 

“No! Well, maybe. I- uh.” 

“Is that what all these fancy dinners were about?” 

Every question you ask seems to make your large, 6’2” boyfriend shrink before your eyes. He lets out a large exhale. “This is why I wanted to do this at home.” 

You giggle a bit and let him go. Content that you’ve figured out what has been bothering your boyfriend and excited for what was waiting for you at home, you skip down the path towards your shared place. “C’mon, Tobio! Let’s go home. Can you believe I thought you were going to break up with me?” you laugh. 

This time, it’s you who notices that Tobio’s footsteps aren’t following you anymore. You turn around, about to urge your silly boyfriend to walk faster so you can get your present that’s at least a month in the making. 

Only to find Tobio on one knee.