#seafloor script ❧

[lysaisland]

better?

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊

You woke up in a still-dark room, with tangled legs and a cold nose. The window must still be open. You could hear your boyfriend’s soft breathing from behind you, each deep breath tickling the back of your neck.  The duvet must have slipped off during the night, your shoulder was freezing. You turned to switch shoulders, pulling the sheets up to your chin. The duvet crinkled as you moved into a comfortable position. Ahh, now this was better! You embraced the warmth. A low sigh. Your eyes drifted up to meet his face, barely making out his own open eyes in the blue dark.  “Aw sorry,” you whispered, “did I wake you?”  You felt an arm snake around your waist. He pulled you closer, burying his head into the crook of your neck. Warm, warm, warm was all that ran through your head.  “M’yes,” he mumbled into your ear. His voice was sleepy and a little hoarse, “y’not close enough.” You hummed in response. He turned to lay on his back, taking you with him. Chest to chest, breaths mingling, you let out a weak chuckle. Your arms found their place around his neck, as you laid your head on his shoulder. He still had a possessive arm around your waist. You heard the sheets rustle again as your boyfriend tugged them over the two of you. You pressed a firm kiss to his jaw. You could feel him tremble slightly at the gesture.  “Better?” “Better.”

➼ katsuki, touya & keigo

➼ atsumu, rintaro, hajime, tobio

➼ chuuya, ranpo

➼ ur faves <33

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊

[lysaisland]

live like it’s your last

roommate!kuroo who likes to help you. a jar of jam too difficult to open? not a problem!! he’ll bang the edge of it on the corner of a counter, struggle opening it himself, and then hand it back over to you unopened. when you finally open the damned thing, he’ll cackle and say that he loosened it up for you. his volleyball hands were not just for show, he’ll tell you for free with a cheeky smile glued on his face. stuck on an essay? he would know half a coherent sentence on the topic, but still would dedicate his weekend to proofreading, and bouncing off creatively, inane ideas for you, for your essay. he likes the quiet weekends where you two study in your shared living room, on the coffee table with too many stains to count. it’s all too easy to chuck a piece of motivational chocolate at your face. he would watch you, with crinkled eyes, as you roll your own eyes at him, yet follow in his actions, hurling bullets of chocolate straight back. he likes it, he likes it a lot.

roommate!osamu who is so hot, all the time. literally, figuratively and everything in between. you have never ever seen this man wear anything long sleeved, ever. his glorious biceps were world treasures constantly exposed to the unworthy. your roommate would always complain about how the air con was utterly useless, never cool enough, always too warm. all you would ever do, whenever he complained, was absentmindedly nod along, and admire the sight with half-quiet appreciation. you are certain he knows exactly what he’s doing, when he waltzes around the kitchen with an apron on, in place of a t-shirt. the morning sun hits his bare back just right, and the smell of breakfast is nothing less than a slice of heaven. when he turns to you, brown eyes a little wide, but with a smile nevertheless, you swear you died on the spot. he offers you a plate, and tells you to ‘help ya’self’ and that ‘there’s plenty more of where that came from!’. you nod fervently, and gift him a smile, which has his own eyes refusing to leave you, and lingering occasionally as you ate. no harm in looking, hot guy cooking.

roommate!tsukishima who was a weirdo — not in a malicious way, or in the way where he is a creep. your roommate was just not normal. exhibit a, he was seen folding laundry at two in the morning, at the kitchen table of all places. every wednesday morning, he would be there in the dark, fumbling his way through fresh hoodies and dress pants. how do you know this? once, you wanted a cup of water before succumbing to the wonders of sleep, and saw a six foot something beanpole just standing there in the kitchen. burglar? demon? an alien? no, it was just your roommate with odd habits. the smell of pine disinfectant was odd in the air, and his reasoning? he needed to wipe down the table before organising his clothes all over the place, just like how any other regular person would do. makes sense, but was this the most appropriate of times to be doing laundry? another thing, which made your diagnosis of weirdo all the stronger, was the time he made you watch through all the jurassic park world dinosaur thing movies. it wouldn’t have warranted an eyebrow raise on its own, but after the dinosaur movies, the two of you started watching horror. it left you clinging on to the armrest, and your roomie napping peacefully between scenes, entirely unphased, and laughing at how stupid the characters were. yeah. he was just a bit of a goof — especially when he sleeps clung to you like a koala to a tree. it seems ludicrous just thinking about it, but the way your heart pounds in your throat when he squeezes you around the waist, makes it all too real.

um this was in the drafts for a while enjoy el oh ellllllll

masterlist

[lysaisland]

a tight grip on reality

Bakugo never liked beating around the bush. It was vague, and utterly pointless. He didn’t get why some people skirted around the truth like it was some deadly disease; it would get you eventually so just deal with it.

It wasn’t as if you actually died if you told the truth outright, or acted honestly. He didn’t see the reason why. He’s always been a man of action, clear and unwavering. He was going to be the best, and this was his way of reaching that. Why anything less? 

So, when he came to the (frankly terrifying) conclusion that he liked you, he was appalled to find himself doing the very things he disliked. 

Almost every time you walked into the room, he would feel his chest tighten and breath stupidly quicken. He’s had his fair share of panic attacks to know that you were not inducing one of those. How could you possibly, when you run circles in his head all the damn time, with the same teasing smile. 

Don’t even start on the fact that he’s noticed himself plain staring at you. Eyes fixated on the way your plush lips strung words together. 

Once, he was lucky enough to spot a crumb, hanging from the tip of your lip. It must’ve been your breakfast or something. The moment he decided to tell you, however, you called him out on his apparent ‘shameless’ staring, tilting your head at him, smug, as if you were eyeing your next prey. In response, all he did was raise his eyebrows, and point to his own lips, before walking away with red ears to leave alone you wiping the crumbs off your face. Smooth. Real smooth. 

Imagine his elation the first time you had let him kiss you. 

He trembled as he pressed a kiss to the side of your mouth, soft and plush, not fully indulging in the taste of your lips. His breath hitched. Your jaw was warm in his hands. He felt you squeeze his arm as gently as ever. Nails scraped delicately over his hot skin. God, he wished he could sink into you. 

Bakugo would die before he would ever admit that he wanted to cling to your very existence. But, with a bat of your lashes, maybe just maybe, he will in his own way. A full surrender. 

As he pulled away to look at you once more, he barely willed himself out of the trance you placed him in. He stared at your dazed expression. You were enjoying this. A smile, just short of a full blown grin.  

“I’m surprised Katsuki.” Your voice was breathy and sly, as if you’ve been waiting for this moment. His eyes found yours, gleaming with matching playfulness. 

He let out a huff, knowing full well what you were going to say. He felt you lean into his touch. 

“You didn’t kiss me properly.”

“Mmh, didn’t I? I just kissed you though.” 

“My mouth is—”

He didn’t let you finish your sentence. He moved to kiss you, again and again, leaving marks along the line of your jaw as some kind of proof that this wasn’t a dream.

masterlist

[lysaisland]

roommate!suna who tries sooo hard to be edgy. you’ve caught him, twice, receive a notification on his phone, and slap a hand over his mouth, as if he had just witnessed the biggest scandal in the world.

following that, he would lean over the arm of the couch, to reach the curtains, and pull them closed to dim the room, before taking a photo of himself, posing salaciously, and posting it to god knows where and to whom.

his only defence was that atsumu could not get more likes on his thirst trap than his own. what, actually what went through that head of his.

to his credit though, he did look edgy, silver rings complimented him stupidly good. the dim lighting did wonders to emphasise how piercing his eyes were. you swallowed when you saw the metallic glint of the chain around his neck. he needed to stop it. you wanted to call your roommate an edgy loser, but he wears it well. too fucking well.

masterlist

[lysaisland]

hold me close

kurro tetsuro who believes he’s never been in love before. the reason he always invites you to hangouts (with friends, without friends, for bowling, at the park) is because of your company. you’re fun, and refreshing. he longs for your presence, not because he’s in love with you, but due to the fact he can stop the loop of your tinkling laughter in his head. wait. no. that’s not right. it’s because of the pride he feels when he knows that he’s the first person you call every time anything happens, anything from a missing cat to the work that’s due next friday. he’s happy that you’re friends. but, no, actually, it leaves him with a bitter feeling that word — friends. you’re more than that to him, and, surely, he’s more than that to you too. he’s in lo— oh. okay.

miya atsumu who finds that love makes him smug. he becomes like a cat on a diet of rich cream, purring at the hand that feeds him. he curls, malleable, around your fingers, neck, waist — anywhere you’ll let him really. he’s always been a show-off, so when he’s in love, it's no different. he basks in your love, soaking up every last drop, making sly note of every time you make him beam, or make him feel as if he can do anything in the world (because he can). with that, he’ll return it to you tenfold, because he wants to, because you deserve it, because he loves you. he can only hope, that one day, you feel just as good as he feels, if not better, when you two are together. he hopes he’s good for you too.

tanaka ryuunosuke feels love like a tidal wave. he knows that he would not be in love (it could never be love), if he couldn’t feel it from the very depths of his heart. so, when he first laid eyes on you — you glorious, glorious being — he knew that there would be no backing down. never. the slope of your nose, the curve of your face, all entranced him. you were a siren calling out to him, and he would be damned if he didn’t heed your summons. he swears that the day he made you full belly laugh, tears of mirth in your eyes, love crashed into him all over again.

tsukishima kei whose love is like a rose. it’s sweet and deliciously delicate. those looking inwards have the firm belief that he has you wrapped around his little finger. you’re the one who will bend, you’re the one who’ll compromise. they’re wrong. there’s always a push and pull. it’s a balancing act, his love for you, the love you have for each other. because, unlike a rose bush, he knows how to prune the stems, rid the thorns, so you are never fully devastated by his sharp words. he doesn’t need someone else to do it for him, not even you. he relishes in the work. he misses occasionally (no one is perfect), but you know how to deal with him. you have a temperament, a sass, of your own. as if he would trade it for anything else in the world.

masterlist

[lysaisland]

fervent

𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆

you were always a sweet person. cheeky on occasion, unbelievably stubborn at worst, but that was your charm — he realised that when he met you. if he were to name exactly what you were, it would be magnetising. even in the most chaotic of parties, he would be able to pin-point exactly where you were. a gut feeling if you must. if he searched, you would be there, head thrown back with laughter as shiny, and as precious as ever.  he guessed that others saw that too. how could they not? especially, when your talents have got him coiled so tight around your fingers.  well. he was currently coiled around you right now. head on your shoulder, his arm warm around yours and a drink in his other hand. he could feel you squeeze his hand every so often and he couldn’t help the smirk that would come out every time. it was so clear that he was yours and you were his. however, even then, the violent churning in his stomach never stopped.  you were talking to a group of people, acquaintances at best. he only knew two of them by name, and one of them, damn, got on his nerves. flirting with you — when he was right there?  he wouldn’t describe himself as insecure (you’ve told him enough times, screamed it too, that you loved him), but if that didn't make him angry, then he didn’t know what would.  and then, it suddenly made sense. he let out a strained laugh some joke was just said. he was jealous, so fucking jealous.  “baby,” he whispered into your ear, “you wanna leave?”  all he got was a knowing smile in response and a quick nod of your head.  he pressed his lips to your jaw. god, he loved you.  you ran your fingers through his hair, you had him curling into your touch. he felt your breath hitch, as he nipped your neck with his teeth. you barely suppressed a hiss. “so what brought this on,” you mumbled breathlessly, “freak.”  he nipped harder, thinking back to earlier — the possessiveness, the annoyance. you gave him a light smack on the arm, before kissing his jaw, teeth scraping, giving him matching marks. “m’sorry,” he held back a breath, “just a bit jealous.” you giggled softly from beneath him; he loved that sound. if only he could bottle it up and keep it with him in his pocket. woe. the real thing was better anyway, as it will always be.  he opened his mouth to say something more, but a gentle hand on his neck pulled him down. you muttered something he could barely hear before planting a kiss to his lips, biting lightly. he returned the kiss with matching fevour. what was he even jealous about again? 

➼ keigo, izuku, eijiro, hitoshi, touya

➼ rintaro, atsumu, tobio, koushi

➼ atsushi, chuuya, ranpo

➼ yuji, megumi, satoru

➼ ur faves <33

𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆

masterlist

[lysaisland]

living

“Hey, whatcha doin’ handsome?” You crooned from behind him — the sound light, with a touch of sleep.

Bakugo peered in your direction, gaze half-lidded, and a slight off-guard. Maybe, he was still groggy with sleep; he usually noticed these things, especially if things were to do with you. Though, lately, there were not many things going on in his life that he cared for. You were all that he could focus on these days.

The way you would always say ‘good morning gorgeous‘ whenever you saw him, never left his mind. It lurked. He made sure that he would roll his eyes just with enough exasperation, so you would say the phrase again the next morning — ‘who are you calling gorgeous, sweetheart?’ he would tack on the end with barely-there smile.

He was all harsh frowns and sighs when his friends came over, so desperate to get a glimpse of you. Endless questions, all centred on you. Roommate this, roommate that. Well, he was desperate too. He wanted to keep your bright self all to himself, but you don’t see him being such a whine about it. 

The two of you had been assigned as roommates at the beginning of term. Bakugo was not worried at the prospect. He shouldn’t have to be. He would live his life and his roomie would live theirs. Simple.

It turned out to be easy living with you, incorporating two lives into one space. Not the worst arrangement, in his opinion, as it worked. Better than it should have honestly. The pet names, from your end, jarred him a little, but he accepted them all the same. Afterall, he was no different, though he preferred to call them nicknames, dumbass. 

He liked the routine the two of you had. Bakugo found it almost comforting, when he knew that you would be home, typing away at your essays, when he came back from wherever he was. He enjoyed your company, and you surely enjoyed his as well.

He noticed how you would always look for him. For a strand of blond, a speck of red, you seemed to hyperfocus on the colours. His colours, he preened at the thought. Bakugo found that this thing you had was awfully cute. 

He was no better, in fact, he was perhaps worse. He could not exactly pinpoint when it happened, but he started to think about you, feel for you — a greed, a hunger. He wanted more. He wanted to touch, to ruffle your hair more than he usually did, and to caress your face with silent affection. He wanted to love you, give you as much as he could muster, because you deserved it.

He bit his lip, skin peeling. He needed to buy some lip balm.

He can’t believe that he needed to remind himself. Roommates. Friends at most; best friends if he was truly lucky.

You were sat, perched at the kitchen table, hand underneath your chin at a tilt. Perkier than anyone should be after waking up. Bed hair in whispers around your face.  

“Smells nice.” You added, when he took a little too much time to respond. 

His voice was even, low. “You want some sweets?” 

He hummed as you agreed, and he started to take out the plates. Share space, share time, forget all about sharing hearts.

That was all the two of you were — roommates. 

love a good pine.

masterlist

[lysaisland]

Rivals!Kuroo who got so frustrated when he came in second place again in the recent exams. He was never the insecure type, he straight refused to be, but the way you smiled, no smirked, at him got his blood boiling. This was the fourth time you acted like this, so high and mighty.

Rivals!Kuroo who acted as suave as he could around you, because, if he didn’t at least pretend to be cool and collected, he would be branded as such a loser, for giving such a fuck about it. Was it really that deep? Perhaps not, but the way you rolled your pretty eyes at him, everytime he said something he knew was factually correct, annoyed him.

Rivals!Kuroo who was nothing but strained smiles and bit tongues, whenever your name came up in conversation. Because, as much as he disliked you, he would not ignore or downplay your stupidly impressive achievements. He knew how much effort you put in. He would know, he was there — in the college library, from 9am till 5pm, studying like it was a goddamn job.

Rivals!Kuroo who definitely did not like you. He always thought that there were simply not enough synonyms in the world for annoying, or stuck-up, or bitch, when it came to you. He also thought that it was stupid that if he were to describe you in three words, those words would not be the ones that would immediately come to mind.

Rivals!Kurro who thought that you were pretty under the library lamps, the lights giving you a sort of ethereal glow as you worked. He couldn’t help but think that you were so cool whenever you spoke your mind in your shared seminars. Each point was concise and so interesting, that he couldn’t refrain from joining in, giving ideas of his own. You were so impressive sometimes that Kuroo didn’t know what to do, but chase after you, with as much drive as you both could muster.

Rivals!Kurro who short-circuited, his brain coming to an uncanny halt, when you congratulated him on placing first. You had pulled him into an empty room to discuss some sort of paper with him. He wasn’t really listening to be honest, too focussed on your hand on his wrist and the high of being first. You had taken a step closer to him and he leaned in, unwilling to step down. A gentle hand ran across his jaw, which turned his face away from yours. His spine shivered as you whispered a soft well done and you did well into his ear. He was still stuck in the same position when he finally registered that you had left. God, the things you did to him…

was supposed to be a one shot called jump up, kick back but yeha here u go!! (i’m a sucker for the hc format 😔😔)

[lysaisland]

Drummer!Shinsou who just had to be one of the hottest men on the planet. The day you saw him play on stage, with his wild hair and strong arms that basically glistened in the strobe lights, changed your life’s trajectory.

Drummer!Shinsou whose sleepy eyes were ringed with smudged eyeliner. The dark colour looked stark against his skin, but sank naturally into him all the same, giving him his signature edgy look.

Drummer!Shinsou who definitely had some pent up anger or frustration about something that day. Every hit of the bass drum, and each cymbal crash made itself known unapologetically to the audience, to you.

Drummer!Shinsou who nearly sent you into cardiac arrest when he introduced the next song the band would be playing. After being passed the lead singer’s handheld mic, the raspy words that fell out of his mouth had you wondering why he wasn’t the one singing.

Drummer!Shinsou who, you swear, waved at you when you winked and blew him a kiss from the front of the stage. Yes, he could have been easily waving at someone else, god forbid behind you. It was only a joke, you didn’t even think he would see. But, he looked into your eyes, waved and even blew you a smug kiss back. You wouldn’t be forgetting that moment anytime soon. Or ever.

the way that i sat down to write about something else but mister hitoshi shinsou refused to leave my brain alone 😭😭

[lysaisland]

Bassist!Dabi who had a stage presence that rivalled no other. It was impossible to tear your eyes away from the guy — tall, brooding with spiky black hair, sweat-slicked. God. You honestly couldn’t believe that the cheeky Touya you used to know turned out to be so hot.

Bassist!Dabi who was now decorated all over with tattoos. One of them, electric blue, winded around his torso. A snake. It began at his hips and curled up his back. The rest of it hid underneath the distressed crop top he wore, damn.

Bassist!Dabi who managed to recognise you, all dolled up, in the chaos of the crowd. His eyes were still that deep blue that you could sell the sky for. You rolled your eyes at him when he cockily gestured to you to meet him backstage. Later, after this set, he mouthed.

Bassist!Dabi whose navy bass guitar looked like it had a million and one stories to tell over drinks. It was an old thing, scratched up but still kicking. You recalled that he had spent ages and ages saving to buy it. Little did you know that near the neck of his bass your initials were etched in the wood, the oldest of all the scratches.

Bassist!Dabi who was still the same charming Touya off-stage. After he greeted you with a sly side hug, he pulled you into a dressing room. A bunch of words tumbled out of his mouth, about how it really has been too long since he last saw your pretty little face. All you could do was nod along dumbly, and stare at him in all his glory, picking out the pieces that made him Dabi and made him Touya.

Bassist!Dabi who couldn’t stay long to catch up with you. So, he scribbled his number on a takeaway receipt and tucked it into your pocket. The two kisses that he wrote beside the digits made you more excited than you should have been.

yeah the band au is driving me wild bonkers 🙏🙏

[lysaisland]

cold

He’s been through this before. Once, now twice, he was stiff in a hospital bed, like a charred wooden plank. No, Touya reckoned ‘burnt’ was more appropriate, a burnt wooden plank — mere debris abandoned in the war. His body was in a delicate state of limbo, between crumbling, and whatever was considered ‘whole’. 

He remembered the time when he woke up at sixteen. Three short years after thirteen. The sight of his father still seared to the back of his eyelids. His face never blurred. It was always twisted with simmering indifference, and his eyes were always blazing, boring into him, seeing nothing.

A horror which brought about a rebirth, he used to think. A new conviction, a hope rooted in revenge. It was a high he got addicted to over the years. The sensation of imagining the win, the change, the carnage — all brought about by him.

He was just so tired now. It was a fleeting feeling. Nothing would ever compare to the fantasy he had conjured up; he realised that too late. 

Touya could feel eyes on him, as he laid in the hospital bed (he assumed so anyway, he didn't have it in him to creak open his eyes). The noise of the machines around him were incessant. Whirring, beeping steady, he was still alive. 

He could feel a pressure on his right hand, down his wrist. The pressure came and went, but it was there, coming back every few seconds. If he focussed, he could swear that he could feel a warmth coming from it.

Flickers of familiarity began to twitch at his brain. Someone was holding his hand. You were holding his hand.  He recognised the way you would squeeze, tracing his knuckles and caressing the divots, back and forth, back and forth. 

His mind circled around one thought. Why were you warm?

From as far back as he could recall, he was always the one who emanated the most heat. The hottest, and the brightest in your eyes. Whenever the two of you ended up tucked away in some corner of the Earth, each time, you reached for him, commenting on just how deliciously warm he was. 

You were always cold; he’s run his scarred hands across your face, down your arms, and played with your collarbones too many times to forget. Not icy, never icy, but without fail, you were a tinge colder than he was. He was reminded of all the times you cupped his face, with cool hands that snaked down to rest on his neck — refreshing against his thrumming skin. He was your goddamn heater, yours.

So, why wasn’t he feeling you? He should be feeling your soft chill against him. He should be feeling something other than just pressure. 

There was a strange silence beneath his skin, he realised. Oh. His quirk was still, off. Alien. 

When he was young, his mother had always called him her smart boy. Touya supposed that this was what it felt like to be cold. Your hand clutched his.

masterlist

[lysaisland]

come a little closer

The agency was quiet today. No ungodly yells of Dazai do your work! or periodic screams (that always seem to come from the medical wing). No national emergency, or mafioso chaos.  Not even Kenji could be seen running around, trying to convince Atsushi to help him invite Hanako 2 into the agency. It had been a while since he last tried that stunt with the cow. You hummed to yourself at the thought.

Only the fluttering of the curtains could be heard over your steady breaths and tip-tapping of your keyboard. It was only you and the president in the building today. A few rooms away,  you could hear his solemn voice, on the phone most likely.

You were informed, earlier, that the main body of the detective agency was away, on a mission. Their absence made evident with the rare peace.

Usually, Haruno would be with you on a slow day like this, but she had to call in sick. Bless her poor soul. There was a sick bug going around lately. You made a mental note to stock up on vitamins on the way home. 

It was not the worst, being alone. You liked to bask in the silence anyway. It was refreshing. You reached for the plate of cookies on your desk, freshly baked from the bakery across the street. They were dusted with a sprinkling of icing sugar. A disk of chocolate-y glory, you mused. 

Suddenly, the door swung open with a flourish. Mouth still full of biscuit, your head cracked up to face the intruder. You rolled your eyes fondly as you recognised who it was. 

“Guess who solved the mystery before everyone else and got to come back early!” Ranpo declared. 

“Ah. I wonder who,” you said dryly after a swallow, “I don’t think I could ever guess.” 

He landed heavily on the desk next to you, legs crossed. His hands lazily held his head as he looked at you. 

“How was the mission, Ranpo?” 

“Same old, same old! Nothing that I couldn’t handle.” You listened contently as he spoke, nodding every so often. You noticed how his eyes wandered around your desk, examining every nook and cranny. A sly thought began to form in your mind. Maybe, for once, you could pull the wool over his eyes. 

“Say,” the detective said, your name coming out like a song in his voice, “can I have one of those?”

“One of what?” With a grin, you reached for a cookie and took a bite out of it. It was sweet. The chocolate coated your mouth deliciously. 

“One of your cookies obviously.” Amused, Ranpo was in front of your desk now. He held his hand out, bold and expecting. You let out a soft giggle. 

“Mmh. But, these are mine, and I’m not very willing to share. Say please.”

There were only two left after all. 

He leaned across your desk. A rush of vanila. Your eyes met his, from underneath his cap. Seafoam green. They were clear and calm, but so full of thought. They were gorgeous. 

You could feel your heart start to pick up speed at the sudden closeness. Your nails scratched the surface of the wood. 

Ranpo's hand reached for your face. The touch was so gentle that you almost didn’t feel his fingers brush the corner of your mouth. Your eyes widened at the thought of wanting him to pat your face like a lover, with affection. 

“What was that for?” Your voice rang out shockingly steady, as you stood up from your chair. The two of you were now face to face, with only the desk between you, and the plate in the middle. 

You could feel your face heat up when he moved to lick his finger. 

“Icing sugar.” He shrugged, and you could swear you saw a flicker of a smirk on his, otherwise, nonchalant face. 

“Rampo,” You tilted your head with a small smile, unwilling to look like the only fool, “come a little closer.” 

He raised his eyebrows, but obliged anyway. 

Your hand reached out swiftly to grab his tie. His hands scrambled to steady himself on your desk as you pulled him even closer, cheeks almost touching. 

“Say please.” You whispered into his ear. You could see his ears start to turn a satisfying shade of red. 

“Please.” He mumbled, not a tinge of arrogance. Honestly, you were surprised the great detective gave in so easily. 

“Good.”

He turned his head to face yours, you suddenly let go of his tie and pushed a cookie between his lips. As you stepped back, you could see the red creep into his cheeks. He was a sight to behold, you had certainly paid him back in kind. A hand went to cover his face as he crunched on the sweet treat. His ears were still an indicator that he was still affected. 

Laughing, you wondered if you should do this more often. 

“Not fair.”

“If you say so Ranpo.”

[lysaisland]

himiko who loves the way you let her indulge. she’ll find ways to curl around you, trace kisses into your skin, and delicately play with your hair any chance she gets. the way you amusedly smile at her has her melting into you all the more.

spontaneously, she’ll buy you all your favourite cakes and desserts, just to satiate her desire to see your delighted face. if only she could plaster that sight onto every wall in the world, she would do it without a doubt. unfortunately, she knows her limits, so she’ll just have to stick with her lock screen.

she picks up the same hobbies as you, date nights in your room, to hear your elated voice fill out the space. you could talk for days, or throw her into every hobby in the world, and she still wouldn’t get bored with you around.

with tangled legs, she’ll bask in the way you nip at her jaw, and bury your head into her blonde hair. you’re warm, so deliciously warm. she’ll say something silly just to hear you giggle and shut her up with a kiss. because, as much as she likes to lose herself in you, she revels in the fact that you do the same.

[lysaisland]

can we bridge the gap between feeling and fact?

He prided himself in being a great detective but, even then, he was still confused. No matter what train of thought he took, all lines led back to you. He was never any good at directions, but this was unbelievable.

Ranpo longed to unravel your entire being, thread by thread, knot after knot. He wanted to know how you ticked, to read you as easily as he would a case.

Surely he could conjure a better plan for his dilemma, instead of staring at the back of your head, the sides of your face, and whatever else his avid eyes could reel in.

The open window allowed the sunlight to stream in, catching your frowning eyes every so often. You were to the right of him, hunched slightly over your desk.

Despite your steady focus on work of all things, Ranpo thought that you had a sort of glow around you. He didn’t know any better way to describe it. It wasn’t all encompassing, or flashy, and it might even have just been the light, but something was utterly magnetising about you. It was subtle, and constant, as natural as breathing. He just needed to figure out exactly what it was.

Mmh, maybe he should go and close the blinds. You would like that, surely. The sun was at its brightest after all, noon, almost lunch, the best time of the day.

He wasn’t used to this. He was being a coward — a disgustingly passive one at that. Everytime his brilliant mind landed on the possible idea of getting up from his desk of doodled paperwork to do something, his, again, brilliant mind shut that idea down faster than he could properly process it. He couldn’t help it.

A small sigh, barely audible, slipped from his lips. If he couldn’t think straight, then it was only logical for him to take a step back and reevaluate his situation.

Ranpo pressed another piece of candy to his mouth, the sweet catching on his teeth. They were not as sickly as he thought they would be, but Ranpo was satisfied with the flavour.

He wondered if he should share them with you. It would be easy, just a call of your name and a small wave, candy in hand. You would come with a comfortable smile on your face if he beckoned.

There were more than enough left in the packet. As well as this, he had noticed that you were partial to this specific brand. Though, only an idiot wouldn’t be able to notice your clear preference for these sweets, especially when the same wrappers practically lived at your desk.

More than once, he had caught you absent-mindedly slipping the candy into your mouth, two at a time, whenever there was a big case that needed to be written up. He supposed that they were a kind of soother, an anchor, for you would always linger around the confectionery aisle, and reach for yet another packet with a soft look on your face. A look of nostalgia, brimming with subtle longing.

What if you looked at him like that?

He froze for a fraction of a second.

You, again. This again. It was simply maddening. Ranpo was accustomed to the gears in his head permanently turning, fine-tuning every minute, conceivable detail, because after all, he was​ The World's Greatest Detective. Hypotheticals were important for scheming, and speculation, for ordinary people. But, it had no real substance. Deductions were far studier.

However, despite this, Ranpo couldn’t bring himself to consider questions like those distractions. He liked to think about you; it was fun.

He was reminded of the time the two of you went to the near-by bakery. It had opened a few weeks ago, and you had asked him if he was interested in trying it out.

You didn’t ask Kyoka or Atsushi, who both had strong preferences for desserts. (Kyoka had to be restricted to one crêpe a week, rather than one per day.)

You didn’t even ask Yosano who was one of your closest confidants, and never passed up the opportunity to eat like a queen. (In fact, she was the one treating Kyoka to strawberry crêpes, everytime the food cart came near.)

The feeling of smug pride that grew in his chest was astonishing. You had asked him!

Suddenly, your voice ran out. Ranpo almost tumbled from his already precarious spot on his chair. He turned and looked up to see you standing over his desk. His name oozed out of your mouth again like warm honey.

Not a figment of his imagination. Very real. His mind slowed, no, halted in its tracks. You were so beautiful, the curve of your cheek looked so soft. The glow he was so focused on before seemed to intensify around your clear eyes. All he could muster up in that moment was how much he wanted to be closer to you.

What if he just slung his arms around you, losing himself in the smell of fresh cotton? Would you hug him back, what if you kissed him?

Ranpo forgot you also had this effect on him. Along with frequenting his mind so often that it could be deemed as a cause of concern, you had the uncanny ability to freeze him in his tracks. It became all too clear that this was not regular co-worker behaviour. It was obvious in more ways than one.

He liked you — a lot so it seemed.

“Would you like to go out with me again? The bakery is having a two for one deal.” Though the question was casual, your voice remarkably steady, Ranpo could see that you were nervous, as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt.

The phrasing was almost exactly the same as the last time you invited him out. Why he found that adorable, he'll never know. Maybe you liked him too, as undoubtedly as he did? His face twisted into a small smile at the thought. Why else would you be nervous?

The agency was freakishly silent, void of everyone, but the two of you. They must have headed out for lunch break a tad early.

Ranpo didn’t trust his voice to not crack — throat a little too dry after eating candy, and a little sticky. He decided to nod enthusiastically before you realised he was taking too long to answer your invite. He got up from the place, where he did absolutely nothing but daydream, and followed you faithfully out the door.

The two of you began to talk. Every word that fell from your lips endeared him, and he couldn’t help but indulge himself. Ranpo hoped that maybe his terrible directional skills would rub off on you. Maybe that way he would be able to stay this way with you for longer. Sometimes, he didn’t know why what he said was so funny, even so, he found himself honestly laughing along to your own giggles.

He could figure you out another time, for now, he would settle for the comfortable peace you gave him.

[lysaisland]

lovesick

january hasn’t even hit double digits yet, i’m all valentines ready 😭😭

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹. Keigo wouldn’t be surprised if he just collapsed because of a heart attack with how fast his heart was pounding. He needed to stop being so nervous, or else he was going to start to sweat. If he started to sweat, then he was going to smell, and then — argh!

It was Valentine’s day, D-day, the day of yours and Keigo’s first date.

Normally, Keigo would breeze through a date easily. No problems. He’d smile cheekily, flirt in that way he always does and wouldn’t even think twice about casual touches, hand holding or kisses. 

 But with you, god, it was so different.

You two were already friends before he asked you out. You guys bonded over the little things: early lectures, stupid films and the bastard that was Touya Todoroki. However, long before he even entertained the idea of liking you romantically, his breath always hitched when you came into the room. As cheesy as it sounded, you were dazzling to him, funny and sweet. He was smitten. 

He thought that the hard part was finally over when he successfully asked you out. A movie night in your dorm, with a classic face-to-face, heartfelt confession (which ended with red cheeks and redder lips). He remembered that while you moved to press a firm kiss to his lips, you held his face gently. No one ever did that before. No one ever held him with such softness, with such affection like you did. 

Keigo, you muttered quietly with a smile into his ear, finally.

He reached for his jacket. God, he needed to get his act together. His hands fiddled with the zipper before dragging it up to his collarbones. The weather was getting warmer, warm enough to forego the outerwear. But, for some inexplicable reason if it got colder, he figured that he could offer you his jacket. Be the perfect gentlemanly boyfriend you deserve. He didn’t need the jacket anyway, he ran hotter than most. 

Keigo looked into the mirror, eyes scrutinising his reflection. He looked like he was going to take a hike up Mount Everest. For a more relaxed look, and to kid himself into looking like some state of calm, he unzipped his jacket. His hawk-like eyes zoned in on a small stain on his shirt. Fuck. Why on god’s green earth did he not see that before?? With furrowed brows, he glanced at the clock, then zipped his jacket halfway to cover the dirt and bolted out the door with a picnic basket in hand. 

Thankfully not out of breath, he arrived at the park. It was late afternoon and surprisingly empty. At this point in the day, Keigo was just glad that you were running slightly late too. He had received a text from you just as he reached the meeting place, saying something had come up and that you’ll be there in less than twenty minutes. 

Perfect! Just enough time to set up the picnic. The plan was to stay long enough to watch the sun sink into the sky and then, well, Keigo was willing to improvise. The sky was cloudy, he might have to concoct a plan sooner than he thought. 

“Keigo,” you gaped, “what the actual hell? This is beautiful!” 

His head snapped up to meet your eyes. They were clear and sparkling, and slightly squinted due to the huge beam on your face. Keigo thought that he would never see a cuter sight.

You set your bag down, laughing as you joined him on the picnic blanket. The sound, a delight to his ears. 

“What’s up sweets?” He huffed, laughing with you, “Miss me?”

Bending forward, you poked his cheek, “Always. Did you know you looked like a meerkat just then?” You quickly added.

He feigned offence, “You wound me! I’m excited to see you and this is what I get?”

“But you love me right?”

“I still didn’t look like a desert rat.”

You leaned back, to imitate the way he looked at you.

“Now, tell me that didn’t look like a meerkat.” 

“I’d prefer it if you said I looked like anything else — a hawk perhaps?”

“Meerkats are cute, I’m calling you cute!”

“Mmh…” He reached out his finger to poke your cheek just as you did, “Nope. Not at all. You must be seeing things.”

You rolled your eyes with a light smile, before looking at Keigo’s picnic set up again. 

“You did all of this for me?”

There was a fragrant bouquet of yours and Keigo’s favourite flowers sitting in the woven picnic basket, full bloom. You told him that you loved pretty things, what was prettier than flowers? Though, he was very close to printing out a bunch of candid photographs of you both to decorate the picnic — he refrained by a fraction. 

A platter of your favourite fruits were placed beside the flowers, meticulously arranged. Keigo was particularly proud of them; he cut the strawberries into heart shapes. However, the star of the show (apart from you, of course) was the cake he baked. It was a small thing, not the best looking. He was never any good with cooking, let alone baking, but he tried. It was slightly squashed on the side from being in the basket, even so, it should taste good. 

“Anything for you really,” he replied, your name sweet on his lips, “want to take a bite?”

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.

part two? yay or nay?

edit: pt two here!!

[lysaisland]

midnight fiction ⋆˚࿔

He can't sleep. It's seriously nothing new.

Shinsou can not for the life of him remember the last time he felt comfortable in his bed. He’s always been tossing and turning to his other side.

Face full of pillows on his stomach, or count the imaginary static on the ceiling that slowly morphs into weird faces. Which is worse? For Shinsou, if he had to choose, the gun would go off. He’ll only get around two hours maximum of shut eye either or.

He does everything right.

When he goes to bed, his phone is even left on the floor at the foot of his bed, away from sight so he’s not tempted to doomscroll.

He doesn't go to bed hungry or stuffed, his room is the most relaxing place on the planet (cool, dark and beautifully quiet since his windows are far above the busy traffic below), and he barely drinks coffee anymore, despite caffeine being hardwired into his daily routine.

It took a good while to rid the substance from his system in a ‘wellness’ challenge you roped him into a few months ago.

Why he decided to humour you, gosh, he will never know! But, one thing he knew for sure was that he would do it again and again, if it meant that mutual caffeine check ups happened more often. He’s gotten spoiled with your random little texts popping up about whatever topic that takes your fancy that day.

He's always craved a bit more than just a ‘good morning roomie’ with a tired smile that just reaches your eyes. Shinsou’s heart does unspeakable things every time that happens though.

Literally unspeakable as he always struggles to reply to you in a suave, ‘yeah-I-just-woke-up-too-want-coffee?’ way with his heart drumming so hard against his rib cage it might burst.

He wouldn’t replace your bi-weekly movie nights for the entire world. What can he say, your taste in thrillers is elightfully ruthless, and even if the movie isn’t the greatest, he loves to hear your commentary, the excited cadence of your voice. Shinsou is greedy like that, all too willing to be pulled into your orbit and whisked away.

This is probably why he can’t sleep. His mind just won’t stop spinning the same thoughts, slinging whatever invisible hope there is around, like a single shoe in an industrial sized tumble dryer. Thoughts so loud that they scare both him and sleep away.

Shinsou finds himself folding his laundry on the floor of your living room. He’s resigned to the fact that he’s cosmically fucked. He can barely see what he’s doing with the dim glow of the moon. He should probably switch on a lamp since there are so many of them in the apartment (you don’t like the big light), but he’s too tired out of his mind to do so.

It’s silly, so incredibly silly. If only he could sleep in the first place—

“Uh Shinsou,” your voice shatters the quiet.

He barely contains his jump into the air. He schools his expression into an awkward smile as he turns to you, not that you would be able to see his face in the dark anyway.

“That is not how you fold clothes.”

“It’s not hard to fold,” he squints at what he’s holding in his hands, “sweatpants, love.” He almost crashes his head into the floor when he tacks on the little endearment at the end of his sentence. He’s shameless.

“That looks like a band tee to me.”

“Probably, but they feel the same in my defence.”

You yawn before plonking yourself down next to him. He watches you fiddle with a mug in your hand. He can’t read what it says, but he knows it’s your favourite mug with that weird psychology pun. Something about whether ‘Pavlov’ rings a bell.

“Love,” Your voice is low and ripples against his ears. He can hear the smirk that comes with it. His face burns, but he stays stone-faced. “what are you doing awake? It’s late.”

“‘Could ask you the same thing.”

You point to your mug and tell him that you were just getting some water. Shinso gestures to his pile of clothes and utters one word. Laundry.

The two of you sit there for a while, peaceful in the quiet dark. Shinsou finishes the pile.

“They're all done. Good job, Shinsou.”

You move to stand up, and so does he, empty of any witty remarks. He could put away the folded laundry in the proper morning.

He sighs, exhausted from nothing.

The moon is a bit brighter now. Your hair is a messy sort of halo around your face. He fights the urge to push back the dissenting strands.

Instead of walking to your rooms, you lead him to the balcony. The breeze is cool despite the summer heat. The two of you rest comfortably against the railing. Shinsou looks down to the city below. It’s bustling as per usual, cars and cars, lights and flashes.

He glances towards you. Your head is tilted back, face towards the sky. Your eyes shine.

The moon.

Shinsou looks up too.

He’s in awe.

“The moon is beautiful tonight, don’t you think?”

The words escape him before he even realises it, and, suddenly, he feels as if he’s been snapped awake, gravity feeling heavier by the second.

God, he should’ve just stayed in bed and stewed. Springing this onto you is hardly fair. His words may seem simple and ordinary, but the two of you know what they mean. Movie nights were not only restricted to thrillers; romance had its fair share of time on the screen.

He hears you suck in a breath, and braces for the worst, because who on earth confesses uses a trope like this at one in the morning? This goes against every scenario he’s ever crafted.

His nails scrape and fiddle with the railing, what if—

“Yes, it is Shinsou,” you angle a smile towards him, bright surpassing the moon, “we can live happily together, right? Die happily too?”

There’s a familiar lilt in your voice, teasing him the slightest.

He clocks the way your eyes crease with your grin. You’re happy. You move towards his shocked body, and lean against his shoulder, whispering things like finally and I like you too and you better sleep after this.

He never wants to forget this, never. Maybe he should start a journal, not for dreams this time.

masterlist

this was inspired by midnight fiction by illit el oh el <33 hope u enjoyed!!!