Noya Why Ur Like This Bro? Sbwjnwoam

noya why ur like this bro? sbwjnwoam

no atmospheric sexy time with Nishinoya

Lovely Noya

❀ AN: I’m been trying to upload this since yesterday here’s hoping this works !!  This prompt is based off Lovely Complex, so yes Noya is Otani in this but the plot was changed to fit Noya’s personality. Reader is 5′8 and Nishinoya  5′2 or 4′10 with his hair down as Wiki states. 

✿ Warning: None fluffy goodness. Tall Fem Reader x Nishinoya

❀ Summary: Of all the different times Nishinoya saw you how was he suppose to know that you were leaving a piece of yourself inside his heart?

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1 time.

Nishinoya rested his face against the wooden desk as the sensei went on and on about how important 2nd year was going to be for graduation and eventually college. But really, he tuned it out, the defeat at Inter high still fresh in his mind. He opened his muted brown eyes to watch as the clouds hazily moved across the horizon. He jerked out of his musing when his seatmate next to him suddenly got up, the chair scraping across the floor, and in doing so creating such a horrific sound that he couldn’t help but wince.

“L/N, read the next paragraph please,” the sensei commanded.

“Haiiiiiii.”

Nishinoya couldn’t help but sit up straighter, did girls know how cute they sounded when they talked like that? He proceeded to pay attention as Y/N continued to read in accented but clear English so much so he couldn’t help feeling envious. Despite years of having English as a mandatory class he still sucked at it.

“And that’s why the Dutch succeeded in trading with a closed-off Japan where other nations failed,” Y/N finished and tucking her skirt, sat elegantly back down in her chair.

“Alright, who’s next to read?”

Nishinoya ducked his head and prayed silently it wouldn’t be him.

“Akira, read the next paragraph!” the gruff teacher barked.

Nishinoya let out a big sigh of relief and slumped over. He heard muffled giggles and he saw Y/N covering her mouth with her hand. When she finished, she looked over to see him staring at her. She jolted in surprise.

“Oh gomen, you just looked so relieved,” she said with a grin.

Nishinoya just grinned back at her. “Don’t worry about it. I’m used to girls laughing at me.” He realized with a depressing clarification and slumped even more.

Y/N blinked at him and leaned forward resting her face on her palm. “What do you mean by that?”

He quickly shook his head. “N-never mind that, Y/N. We should pay attention now before we get in trouble.”

She flashed him a quick smile showing off a dimple only on her right cheek.

“If you say so. And I’m glad I don’t have to correct you on my name! I don’t really like my last name, Noya-kun.”

N-noya-kun??! His cheeks flushed red and he tucked his head behind his textbooks so she couldn’t see the effect her simple words had on him.

L/N Y/N was someone he never shared a class with, and he wasn’t close with her either. Well, he wasn’t close with any girls, but still, the fact they were neighbors would mean they should at least exchange pleasantries, right? But she always arrived before he did and left later than him, so they never really got a chance to communicate. In fact, this was the first time they had an entire conversation since school started. Maybe he should make more of an effort to talk to her. She seemed pretty nice and he could always use more female friends since he had none.

He was jolted out of his thoughts as the bell rang and signaled the class had ended. Nishinoya leaped from his chair with a “yatta!” and quickly picked up his bag. Just as he was about to go rushing out of the classroom, he remembered his previous notions about making friends.

“Bye-bye, Y/N!”

Y/N looked up startled, just as she was putting away her books and a small smile blossomed on her face.

“Mata ne, Noya-kun!” And she turned back to her bag.

Just in time too as his face once again quickly felt hot and he ran off trying to reach the volleyball gym in record time.

Continuar lendo

the fandom: omg kenma is sooo baby we have to protect him

Kenma:

Something They Don’t Know

Prompt: In which Daveed Diggs is asked how he comes up with his lyrics during an interview. Told in his POV.

Warning: Smut.

A/N: Day 5 of the write-a-thon. Of course I would post this early when all I’ve been complaining about is not having enough time to write. Oh well. Also, I’m sure Nadeska Alexis is a cool girl, I just needed her to behave this certain way to get the story going. Enjoy!

Daveed slips his phone into his pocket and stood to give Nadeska Alexis a handshake once she enters the dressing room, Lin’s advice on how to handle the tricky reporter reverberating in his mind. Having done the Complex interview with Chance previously, he warned him about her ruthlessness and her inclination to pry for scandalous information she could share with her readers. Lin told Daveed to be polite, courteous, and above all, smile through the “little white lies” he would have to tell.

“Mr. Diggs, it’s unfortunate that the rest of the crew couldn’t make it,” she says, turning on her recorder and sliding it on the table that separated them, “but I’m glad you were able to come in despite the late notice.”

Daveed lets out a nervous chuckle when she ignores his gesture, his hand still awkwardly hovering between the two of them, and opts to bring out her notebook and pen from her purse instead. He was never the best with interviews, especially when he was by himself, dressed in clothes he couldn’t afford and sitting in a room that was too sophisticated for his tastes. He wished William and Jonathan were here – they understood his ineptness when it came to talking to new people and would definitely take over the interview. But since they couldn’t, he had to man up and promote the new album releasing in a week.

Nadeska sits, and Daveed follows suit, watching as she flips to a page full of questions that she’s prepared. Luckily, the first few questions were predictable –  how he adjusted to life after Hamilton, his role in Blackish, the release of the album, and the upcoming tour -  all he could answer easily and truthfully. But when she suddenly leans forward, a gleam in her eyes that screamed trouble, Daveed knew it was time to make use of Lin’s advice: smile through the little white lies. 

“So, clipping doesn’t exactly have the most innocent songs,” Nadeska hums, choosing her words carefully, “and some of them require a repeat listen. Your lyrics are curt but very complex, Mr. Diggs.  Mind if I throw a few lines at you to elaborate on? And if you could perhaps share what, or who,inspired you to write them?”

Continuar lendo

christmas headers

• like/reblog if use or credits on twitter @beatlesirius

• don’t repost.

for the pairing ask meme...yoongi x y/n, #25 💚

25 -  things you said in front of other people

I wrote this with the oc and yoongi from strike a chord in mind but it can be read as a standalone! I know some people were wanting a follow up or something similar from that verse so here’s a small one before I make the time to write that bartender!jin story I played a bit loosey-goosey with the interpretation of the prompt but OH WELL. and here’s my forever shout out to @hobi-gif 

pairing: yoongi x reader / word count: 1.1k / genre: fluff, with hinted nsfw elements (but this is sfw) / warnings: none!

It’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

“It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” you say, and Yoongi lets out a quiet hum of agreement.

To people who don’t know him, Min Yoongi seems elusive and reclusive, cold and distant, unwilling to let people in. You’d thought the same, before, thought he was so far out of reach, too beautiful and talented for you to ever touch. But now you know better. You know of the endless warmth he keeps hidden, the depths of affection he holds for the people close to him, the people he cares about and loves. You feel it every time he looks at you or touches you, hear it every time he lays his fingers to those piano keys, each time he plays his music for you, songs he’s written for you.

“I want to buy it,” you continue, and he squeezes your hand with those lovely, talented fingers, the ones you’d fallen for so many months ago.

“You don’t need it,” he says, and you pout.

“But I want it,” you say, and before Yoongi can reply, your eyes widen. “Oh! I know! I’ll buy it for Holly!”

“You haven’t even met him,” Yoongi points out, though his words are edged with amusement, lips a tender curve as he watches you turn your attention back to the hand-crocheted dinosaur, already reaching for it.

“Listen, I don’t need to have met your dog to know that I love him and want to shower him with gifts.” You clutch the dinosaur toy tight with your free hand, unwilling to let go now that you’ve set your heart on it. “You can mail it back to Daegu for your parents to give to him. He’ll feel my love.”

Yoongi takes a moment to stare at you with his sharp, pretty eyes, and then just smiles. He’s already relented and he knows that you know that, as wrapped around your little finger as he is. “Okay,” he says. “Sure.”

He keeps hold of your hand as you walk to the till, gently but firmly tugging you back each time he sees you waver and long to reach for something else as well. You could fight against that tugging hand, and you know Yoongi would let you win, but you just settle down. You always do, easing back in the face of his judgement, letting him call the shots. (When you want to, anyway.)

At least, you do until you spot another dinosaur on a promotional display, the twin of the one in hands, bright red to its deep blue.

“Oh, oh, Yoongi, look!” You squeeze his hand to draw his attention to it. “Come on, we have to get that one too. Please?”

“Holly doesn’t need both, baby.”

“I’m starting to think I love him more than you do, Yoongi,” you say, a little petulant—even if you know Yoongi is right. “It’s like he’s my son and not yours.”

Before Yoongi can reply, respond to your admittedly playful ribbing, an older woman nearby smiles at you both, having overheard your conversation. “I think your son would appreciate both,” she says.

You latch onto this, even if the woman clearly thinks you’re talking about an actual child and not a dog. “See? Holly deserves both. He’s a good boy and a great son.”

“I think it’s very sweet that you care about him so much, even if he’s not yours,” the woman continues, looking at you, smile spread across her face. “How old is he?”

There’s a brief beat of silence as Yoongi stares at the two of you, and you worry that he’s about to correct this woman’s misunderstanding—that he’s going to tell her that Holly is, in fact, a dog—before he replies. “He’s four.”

The woman coos. “Oh, he’s still so young! Are dinosaurs his favourite?”

“His favourite toy is a ball, actually,” Yoongi replies, completely straight faced. “He loves it when we go to the park and play catch together.”

You swallow down your disbelieving laughter as the woman sighs with delight.

And so the conversation unfolds, and you watch as Yoongi wards off every question without letting onto the fact that Holly walks around on four legs and not two, slowly migrating across the store towards the till. He’s just telling the woman that Holly’s favourite food is peanut butter when you reach the front of the queue, and you tug at Yoongi’s hand to get his attention.

“We have to pay, baby,” you say gently.

“Ah, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to distract you,” the woman apologises. “I just wanted to say that you’re very lucky to have someone who loves your son as much as you do.”

“I know,” Yoongi murmurs, surprisingly soft and sincere, and you have to tamp down the blush that threatens to spill onto your cheeks. “I’m very lucky.”

And when you leave the store, it’s with two dinosaurs secured in your bag; both are gift wrapped, of course (only the best for Min Holly). You can’t help but giggle as you recall the delivery of Yoongi’s words, how he’d been completely inscrutable, speaking about Holly like an actual son—but then Yoongi gives you a look, a touch of his dark eyes, and the laughter dies in your throat. You recognise that look. Anticipation trickles down your spine, liquid quicksilver that rolls under your skin, hot and cold all at once.

So when you step into Yoongi’s apartment, shedding your jacket and shoes, you’re expecting the hands that cup your face. You go still all at once, eyes fluttering shut at the cool touch of Yoongi’s fingers.

“Babygirl.”

You shiver despite yourself, shuddering at the pet name, the deep note in his voice. “Yes, Yoongi?”

“You lied to that poor ajumeoni,” he says, a quiet note of reproach in his voice. “That wasn’t very nice.”

You don’t point out that he was the one that carried the brunt of it, the one that let the lie ride, let her continue to live in her misconception. “I was just joking,” you say—and your voice is already weak, breathless, as you melt under Yoongi’s hands.

“I thought you were a good girl,” he continues, as if you hadn’t spoken at all. It’s a physical effort to swallow down the noise that bubbles in your throat, threatening to slip past your lips. “But I guess I was wrong.”

“I am,” you insist. “I am, I am a good girl.” Your heart rate is already picking up, pulse rising each second you stare back at him, return the gaze that’s laying you bare already, that knows how weak you are for him, always.

And Yoongi’s responding smile is edged with heat as his eyes gleam. “Why don’t you show me what a good girl you are then, hm?”