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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The secretary confirms your name, checking you into your appointment and sucks in a tight breath.

"What's wrong?" you ask, worried you might be here on the wrong day or at the wrong time.

"Nothing," he gently assures you and tries to smile, "I just noticed your appointment is with Dr. Shirabu."

"Oh...Is that bad?" You drop your voice and the secretary starts to shake his head but then sighs.

"He's a brilliant doctor. One of our best really, but..." He glances around. "He's got a bit of a nickname.... Stone-face."

It doesn't take much to figure out why.

As he delivers your diagnosis his features don't emote. His voice stays even, his posture proper, and his eyes flat.

His words bounce around your mind causing pain with each hit as understanding echoes distantly in the protective disassociation.

All you can see is his face.

His golden hair looks soft as if it would tickle your hands like the tassels on tall grass. His brow has the slightest downturn over neutral eyes and as you fight to accept the horror he just delivered you realize that yes. He's stone-faced. But he's not

...cold.

"Thank you, Dr. Shirabu."

His brow dips, threatening to frown. "For what?"

"I just...I can't imagine news like this is easy to deliver." You swallow back the tears fighting to get out. "And it's got to be nerve-wracking each time."

"It's..." He was going to say fine, you can tell. But something shifts between you in the small room and some wall drops. His emotionless exterior becomes a little more revealing. "Just part of the job."

You nod, not trusting your voice to speak.

Dr. Shirabu waits patiently. "Do you...have any questions?"

"Not, uh," you clear your throat, "not right now but I will."

He nods. After a moment he pulls a pen from his shirt pocket and flips a page of your paperwork. "Just call me directly when you're ready to ask."

"Thanks," you mumble, accepting the papers. Glancing at the number you notice "it's your cellphone?"

"Yes," he turns away with a little cough and successfully hides the pink on his cheeks.

He doesn't know how to tell you that he trusts you won't abuse it. He's given other patients his desk line before but never his cellphone, not that you need to know. It's just...he feels a foreign need to be available for you...to answer any questions to might have...to really be there for you.

Is this how doctors feel about all their patients?

He's not sure.

But after one conversation all he knows is that he wants to be there for you.

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.

18+ mdni / fem!reader

I think Bakugou would do a little grunt whenever you'd touch his dick.

It's bound to happen more frequently if it's a sexual touch, of course. Like, when you find yourself on your knees in front of him - pressing a soft kiss onto his sensitive, pink tip, for example. Messily smearing the bead of pre-cum with your lips before taking a couple of inches of his cock down your tight throat. Sucking him so hard, then, that he feels the need to repeat the noise and lace it with a dirty curse, before he spills much too fast, much too soon for his liking; making you taste the bitter salt of his cum with a furrowed brow and a frown.

He grunts whenever your legs wrap around his waist, and he gets to sink balls deep inside of your wet warmth for the first time after literal days of hard work and that wretched prohero schedule of his; holding you in a firm, albeit loving mating press that lets him see you entirely as he at long last plunges into your soft cunt and proceeds to screw your soul out with that steady pat, pat, pat.

And he also grunts as he bends you over and makes that first contact with your sticky slit after leering for ages at how beautiful you look; attired in that pretty dress he only sees you pull out of your closet on date nights - the dress that always seems to end up hiked up around your waist by the time you come back home from the restaurant.

He grunts as you reach out to stroke him with only one of your hands before bed to make him relax; right over his underwear until that damp patch forms on the dark cotton, and you're smirking at him like a cat when your thumb grazes it. Grunts as he wakes up in the middle of the night and feels the need to fuck your thighs and turn you into a whining mess just to get back at you for earlier. Grunts as you straddle him then, too; the intent to sit on his cock and ride it into bliss riddling your sleepy features.

He always grunts at things like that.

But sometimes, a grunt slips out when you could just be messing around with him. Sure, Katsuki might not seem like a person to enjoy a silly thing like that - having a woman merely poking and playing with his dick, like it's a toy - but he endures it all because it's you, who does it. After all, comfort has long since settled inside of his heart after years of being in an established relationship.

So, they're playfully innocent things. Him groaning as you absent-mindedly rub your ass against his crotch when you pass by him to get to the sink in your little kitchen; mind working on assembling a grocery list instead of thinking about sin, whilst he's left there to sweat and strain his pyjama bottoms just from a mere brush.

Your hand slipping when a rare opportunity shows up and you can shower together, making him groan as you cover both his skin and your own in strawberry-scented foam that makes him scrunch his nose in faux disapproval until he feels the need to call you childish, even though the corners of his lips are twitching upwards during it.

Sometimes, it's just you hiking your leg over his waist when you cuddle on the couch, putting it right there with no aim to arouse whatsoever. You're both trying to watch a movie you'll perhaps - probably not - finish for once; reaching the credits without falling asleep, and he's already grunting, softly scolding you that the weight of your leg makes his balls hurt, making you laugh.

And sometimes, he grunts just because he's so tired as you unbuckle his belt to help him undress after an especially rough day at work. Your knuckle runs over the zipper of his pants by pure accident whilst you drag it down, and the sound comes out deep from the back of his throat because he just can't help it.

Just like he can't help the grunt of relief when you finally drag him into bed a couple of minutes later; cuddling him to sleep until his face is nuzzled right against your chest, expression content because he's finally home.

Headcannon, that if something happened to upset them, there would be more people to comfort Deku than Katsuki.

Words. 1.0k~

Notes. I'm sorry I always write bakugou so sad, but hey, it gets me the notes. I hope this makes up for not posting much bakugou content in awhile.

Several years after his unexpected retirement, the crushing death of All Might shook the world once again.

It was no quiet affair, people from all around the globe came together to pay their respects for the fallen hero. His loyal students made certain that everything the Symbol of Peace sacrificed for the people he loved would never be forgotten.

Standing amongst the hundreds of solemn people dressed in black like ants at his funeral, made you realize just how small and insignificant you really are.

The selfless actions of one man led to the gratitude and inspiration of so many when he did everything in his power to leave this world, better than it was when he first came into it.

While you didn't know him personally, you met him through your friends from high school. Sweet, bubbly Midoriya who you went to school with, would never miss an opportunity to ramble on and on about his childhood hero.

Seeing him grieve now made a wave of sadness envelop your heart in a choke hold. His regularly bright, emerald eyes that held all the worlds hope in them, glistened with shed and unshed tears.

The great Symbol of Peace's successor wept for his fallen mentor, along with his friends who mourned with him.

Rain began to pour from the skies as you moved to join them. A melancholy smile worked its way onto your face at the irony. It seemed as if the heavens itself lamented at the loss.

You silently thanked the weatherman for being accurate in his predictions for once as you unfolded your umbrella.

The others around you did the same, some deciding that it was a sign to leave and retreated to their cars. Looking around, you paused when you caught sight of one figure hunched over near the lavishly decorated tomb for the hero.

The distinct ash blonde head was unmistakable, and you noticed that his usually annoyingly sharp and messy hair was drooping sadly from the downpour and lack of an umbrella.

You spared a glance at Midoriya to see that he was not covered by just one, but multiple umbrellas from several people over his place on the ground. Even Kirishima and the rest of his closer friends were standing with him.

While Midoriya had more than a handful of people to rub his back comfortingly and murmurer reassuring words to him, ― you realized that no one seemed to notice just how hard it was on the #2 hero.

Everyone seemed to have forgotten that Deku was not the only hero mentored by their beloved champion.

He looked so fucking alone — abandoned.

Suddenly, you wanted to slap yourself for not noticing earlier. His dark clothes befitting the occasion were soaked through from the rain and stuck uncomfortably to his skin, and you didn't miss the way his shoulders shook with silent shudders.

It made you almost uncomfortable to see him like this, with his usual attitude, it felt utterly wrong to watch someone like him look so broken.

Even if offering to assist did get your ass hurled into the outer reaches of space, you couldn't sit idly by and watch him suffer like this.

You moved to make your way to him when he suddenly collapsed onto his knees. Startled, you hurried your pace, your breath catching in your throat when you saw the state he was in.

His hand was curled tightly in his hair in a way that looked painful, he looked up suddenly when you moved your umbrella over him. Your grip on it tightens when you see his eyes all glossy and red with tears, it makes the carmine of his irises look dull and lifeless.

Water runs in rivulets down the sides of his face, a mix of droplets falling from his hair and streaks of tears you couldn't really tell apart.

It made your chest hurt to see him like this as you carefully kneeled down next to him. How could you have not noticed earlier? You can only imagine how this whole situation must be eating up at him. You didn't know him as well as your other friends, but you've spent enough time with him to know just how much he looked up to the former symbol of peace.

His eyes never left yours as you both watched each other in silence. It seemed he couldn't even find it in himself to look angry at you for bothering him. He sounded so horribly fragile and on the verge of breaking down when he spoke, "What do you want, huh?" His voice cracked and he pulled tighter at his hair, "Shouldn't you be with Deku?"

A sudden cough racked through his body and that seemed to unleash another load of tears from his tired eyes. You watched him carefully and reached out to gently pry his hand from where it was twisted in his unruly hair.

It was rough with scars and trembled sorrowfully in your grasp and you squeezed it in what you hoped was a reassuring manner. He gasped out one last sob and met your eyes again.

"Oh Bakugou, it's ok to feel sad right now. I'm gonna be right here if you need me."

Bakugou stared at you, he looked terribly beautiful and miserable at the same time, and you swore that you would do anything too never see such an expression on his face ever again.

His lips trembled and you thought he was going to say something when a sudden tremble shook through his body, and he chocked out another sob. His head drooped towards you almost violently, and you dropped your umbrella. Pulling him towards you and holding him on your arms as he gripped at your smaller figure tightly. Like you would crumble to dust before him if he let go.

The rain seeped through your black funeral gown and chilled your skin, but you only clutched him tighter. You would hold him as long as he needs. Until he feels whole again, until you never had to see his pretty red eyes look so dead ever again.

Your heart ached for the broken hero in your arms under a crying sky.

holiday shopping

feat. Oikawa

note: part of my wintertime confessions event!!

“Uncle Tooru, we’re supposed to be shopping for my mom’s Christmas present.” Takeru whines.

“And we will! But please keep your voice down! Now do you see that person standing over there? By the scarves,” Oikawa keeps his voice low, making sure only his nephew could hear.

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