Archive of Our Own

It was easy enough for L to hide under the disguise or the misinterpreted idea that everything he ever did was impassive, given just how elusive he was as a person, but the truth in reality was that he was far more observant than anyone could believe.

For what regular people might dismiss, L would fixate on the matter in an unrelenting way; he noticed things about others before they even knew it themselves, which more often than not wasn’t anything good. He didn’t like how loud and clear most people were and found that the world revolved around too much noise, which ultimately he found too much to deal with, leading him to hide away from it all.

Until one day, there was something, or, no, someone, that stood out in the midst of the white noise, which just about caused him to lose his mind.

He discovered you completely by accident as he slowed down to a halt, letting someone enter a convenience store just before him. He always liked going to the one that was open really late because it didn’t punish him for his late-night habits, and you—a complete stranger—stepped right in front of him without noticing, with your hearing preoccupied with music, your hands stuffed in your pockets, and your eyes drawn to the ground.

Somehow, he had determined that you were both alike and for once, he softened from the way he looked at people, observing you differently than he did with anyone else. He watched intently as you busied yourself in the shop, catching glimpses of how you moved through the mesh shelves, his mind already making up far too much about you for it to be anything as simple as a crush.

From that moment on, you became the highlight of his attention, and he found himself following you whenever you passed through the area, or did anything at all, as part of his new routine.

L didn’t believe that he was doing anything wrong for the most part, though. He never bothered you or approached you, unable to recognise that he had developed a sort of unrequited bond with you. This did, however, lead him to grow entitled as a result.

Albeit wrongfully, he started to decide that, in addition to you being just like him, you were also not meant to exist in a busy world like this unobserved. That you were far too gentle for a world so corrupted. That perhaps, rather than being left alone, you needed someone who could see everything before you did and intervene as needed, bringing him to the conclusion that he was beneficial towards your life, rather than a strain upon it.

The idea had awoken something within him, and he allowed it to settle and bloom in his very being in a way that he should have recognised as unhealthy, and yet, all that happened was that the illusion dragged further. He grew almost infatuated with the idea that, over time, you might even come to welcome his insistent presence in your life as something natural, and that when you would finally notice him, he wouldn’t be met with fear or rejection, but as someone you always needed.

Even so, he was at least aware enough that it was long before he could accomplish such a milestone, and so, he ended up attempting to infiltrate you in a way that you wouldn’t ever consider: online.

He followed you for a bit longer than usual one night after determining your route, trailing behind you and retreating to the shadows whenever he thought you might look back. You were on your way into a student library that required an identity card to be let in, but old buildings like these always had an alternative entrance or two for fire safety reasons. From then on, he set himself up in a dark corner, pretending to be immersed in something as observed you from a quiet place.

When you got up briefly—presumably to use the bathroom—you left your student card sitting on the table and a textbook of something you likely studied sprawled out on the table. He looked around, ensuring that there were no cameras or people at that particular spot before moving to catch a glimpse of your printed name and what you were learning about, telling him everything he needed to know.

When you were back, you didn’t poke around to see who was hovering around your stuff, seemingly never noticing at all. Honestly, he could have followed you home so easily from that point on, but he chose not to, preferring to watch you from a safe, non-invasive distance for the time being. It was easier to do so online, anyway, where your friend’s lists were already composed of fleeting faces and names that you hardly retained, as it so happened when you were enrolled in a place so vast. L had gone the simplest route from the second he found you, too—choosing a generic name and a dim-lit photo that was technically of himself—although vague and dim enough that it could have been anyone else.

And after he had accumulated enough people to infiltrate with that were your mutual friends, along with the others who simply collected people along the way, you eventually accepted him. It was from then on that he started to learn all about you on a deeper level, from the music you enjoyed to the movies you liked. To the books that you were currently reading, to everything else that fell upon your timeline. Over time, he had accumulated a clear enough picture—or so he thought—of the type of person that you were, or rather, the type of person that you wanted to be perceived as.

From a quiet distance, just online, he was also able to attach himself to you, beginning to spot all of those things that he was good at noticing. Such as when your tone in text began to dip into something colder, or when you were online less than before. He noticed things in your photos, too, like when your smile faltered slightly or when you would post moodier shots.

Until something broke the illusion altogether.

It was an afternoon just like any other, and he had been refreshing the page for the usual time when you would update—somewhere just past the early evening—always on schedule, likely after classes and dinner, that you would add something, only this time, it made him go completely rigid, almost breaking his mouse in the process from the intensity of which he stiffened up—

Right on your wall, mere seconds ago, you wrote:

Then, a while later, you published a photograph to your wall, looking more vibrant than you had done so in weeks, smiling warmly while leaning against the arm of someone who was far too close for his liking, catching a glimpse of a half-cut smile. L didn’t typically react to these things, but since he already had an idea of who you are in his mind, whatever settled in his gut was heavy and suffocating. Ugly to an extent.

He leaned back in his chair, coming to understand something new with a cold clarity that mere observation may no longer have been enough, because if the world was reaching too far into you and potentially disturbing something vital that should otherwise not be touched, then he needed to intervene to keep you safe. Or rather, to keep you perfectly quiet and unspoiled from people who would never understand you in the same way he could, even if that meant going as far as to remove them from the world entirely.

And all the while, you remained oblivious and generous with your shared happiness, gushing all about how excited you were, giving your friends updates on where you would be going and what sort of thing you would be wearing, giving L enough ammunition to put together a map in his mind.

He stared at the screen, taking in the way ordinary people wrote:

And determined the tone in which you likely preferred being spoken to, remedying the way he wrote to match the endless thread of comments.

He intentionally phrased it in such a way that it could be casually tucked away neatly amongst all of the others, giving you enough time to reply because you weren’t anyone immediate. He leaned back as he watched the online symbol next to your profile flicker green, imagining you on and off, checking your computer as you got ready.

When you did respond, it was brief: just a quick line of how you were going out for drinks at a bar that was nearby campus.

L sighed a soft breath and replied with something simple, encouraging you to have fun and avoiding getting caught as an outsider.

You didn’t react at all, leaving his comment, along with many others, hanging when you concluded the brief interaction, because why wouldn’t you? All he was was just yet another harmless comment from someone barely there in your life.

Whereas something bothered L about what you had disclosed.

A bar?

He thought of many places that you might want to go on a date, but a bar was not one of them. The idea of such a place being suitable for someone like you sat poorly in his mind and refused to settle, especially because it threatened to disrupt the perfect image of you he had pieced together in his mind. No. You did not belong in such a place—not when you were as quiet and reserved as you were—not when you shied away from crowds and hid from the very same noise that consumed him deeply.

And as he allowed himself to succumb to his troubled thoughts, he took on the idea that perhaps he was mistaken and that the cause of this turn of events was that you were tricked, or rather, persuaded by the wrong person masquerading as the right fit for you, and all his interference—or his overseeing—his way of looking out for you was—being a sign from the universe, or something even deeper, that it was up to him to save you.

Where he would take you away from what could potentially harm you, and allow you land in his hands instead.

His calm, gentle and nourishing hands,

unlike the corrupted ones that led you astray.

L pieced everything else as he needed to, quickly able to find who you were meeting off of your friends' list and using context clues to patch together the rest. He was the only one who seemed to match the same lazy smile, and had a similar build to the person in the photo you had posted. He determined right about where he lived, too, because of a move-in day photo published right on his wall that matched when the terms were close to starting, allowing him to zoom in on a street name and figure everything else out just as fate had allowed him to.

Given that the rendezvous point was about a half-hour walk from where he lived and going off the information he already had about when you were to meet with him, he determined he could intercept and take care of the problem before it ever weighed you down. L was quick in his act—easily blending into the shadows just as he did with you before—appearing to be nothing more than just someone who lurked behind, seemingly on their way, that was, until his target turned the corner.

He had never done something so bold before, but L grew unsettled over just how easy it was to slide his arms around someone’s neck from behind and break their neck. The way the bones cracked felt almost unnatural, making him shudder as a result of the sheer wrongness of it all. L didn’t have much thought of what else to do, hoping that dragging him into the pit of a nearby construction site would do the trick, leaving the body to be either found later—where he’d forge a cover—or hopefully become buried under the rubble as his solution.

When it was time to meet you at the designated spot, your smile faltered from the second you recognised the person greeting you just ahead wasn’t who you were supposed to be meeting up with. You pulled out your phone to see if he shot you a text at all because you two had exchanged many messages since then, only to be met with a blank screen with nothing to go on.

“Sorry, I, uh… thought you were…” you started, catching yourself off guard with a nervous laugh, unsure as to why you felt so anxious. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone right here.”

L tilted his head as he took in your words, his breath hitching as he catalogued the first interaction that you both had directly together. He mirrored the way you laughed, adjusting his cadence to hopefully be less threatening, despite what he had committed just moments ago.

“Yes, I’m a… friend of his,” he disclosed quietly, his voice barely heard from the volume at which he spoke, “something came up for him.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Something sudden came up,” L repeated himself, hoping you would believe him.

Rather than taking his word immediately, however, you studied him with a critical eye while you flipped your phone open once more, dialling his number that time, only to be met with the line going straight to voicemail. Your shoulders slumped in a way that made something protective form in L’s chest, bordering on almost possessive.

He stepped closer, a bit thrown off by the closed-off way you were acting, despite still firmly believing that this was still his fate.

“I’m his roommate,” he continued, trying to get you to stay and listen to him. “I don’t think he intentionally stood you up, for what it’s worth.”

You blinked at him again, vaguely recognising him in the night, but not quite. Something about L was familiar in a way you couldn’t place.

You chose not to dwell on it.

“It’s fine,” you dismissed. “I mean, if If it was that important, I suppose I get it… But wow, not even a heads-up from him is so weird.”

L hesitated, fidgeting with his sleeves as he replied to you, his breath heavy from the way he spoke, unable to believe that you were even giving him the time of day. “I don’t think it should take up his for time too long,” he trembled out. “You can come and wait in our house until he’s done.”

You tilted your head slightly. “So he’s at home?”

L gulped and then nodded slowly. “...Yes.”

Something about the whole interaction felt off in a way that you could not properly perceive, but ultimately, you decided that he seemed harmless enough, and so, you ended up taking his offer, coming to follow the guy, falling into step right beside him, albeit still keeping a cautious eye open.

“I hope that he’s okay and that he hasn’t… stood me up or anything like that,” you said out loud after a while, your words cutting through the tense quiet.

L nodded as you spoke, feeling guilty for making you upset, but keen to bend the narrative to suit his misguided protection. “It seemed important enough to drop everything for it.”

You gulped, feeling a little dejected, unable to understand why you weren’t at least informed. “Yeah…”

Then, as you walked, you breathed in. “At least the weather is nice,” you observed, blinking up at the evening sky. “There’s been so much rain lately, so it could be worse,” you half-laughed, hoping to hide the nervousness as well as the pain from being abandoned.

L glanced at you as you spoke. “Do you not like the rain?” he asked.

You shrugged.

“If I’m indoors… then I do like it, at least the sound and how sleepy it makes me feel,” you disclosed, keeping a tight, polite smile on your lips, “but I guess that I like warm spring nights more. I love when the air is light and floral like this.”

“And what else do you like?” he asked softly, seeming genuinely curious but somehow analytical in his intensity.

You hummed thoughtfully, no longer all too focused on where exactly he must have been leading you off to, and just how long it was taking to get there. “I guess a lot of things, but maybe they’re boring to talk about…” you revealed, forcing another breathless laugh out before continuing. “I like reading and painting when I have the time for it, maybe going on long walks to clear my head. Maybe learning to cook when I don’t mess it all up. I suppose… being on my computer to escape… whatever this is.”

“Oh, I’m online often too,” he said, hoping to come across as relatable.

Even if you didn’t follow up on what he did when he was. “So…” you said, moving on from everything else, “what do you study?”

L paused for just about long enough to plant doubt into you, replying with something that felt rushed and hurried, but under his soft, monotonous tone, you weren’t too sure if he was fibbing or not. “Oh, um, cyber security.”

You blinked. “Oh, is that on a different campus? I didn’t think they offered something like that here,” you laughed.

“Uh,” he hesitated, unable to reply right away. “Yes, and no, I’m enrolled somewhere, but it’s more of a trade school,” he quickly remedied.

“Oh…?” you replied, surprised. “But you said that you’re his roommate? I thought that this college was pretty strict with who they rent out to.”

“It’s a house share,” L truthfully managed to correct you. “It’s a bit out of the way, though.”

You didn’t reply for a while, trying to make sense of what he was telling you. Technically speaking, there was nothing sinister in what he said: trade schools did sometimes offer accommodation if it was a subject that was rarely offered, so that much made sense to you. What did throw you off, however, was how long it took him to process everything before forming a response. Again, though, if this was an issue based on tone, then you supposed you couldn’t judge him too hard. You of all people, after all, knew just how difficult social anxiety made life be.

For that reason, you gave him a chance, allowing him to lead you to a looming house that did not seem like it belonged to a rental, let alone be a shared space between young men, which was especially evident from the moment you entered.

“So… is he home… or?” you cautiously asked.

L shook his head—right away that time, despite what he told you—closing the door behind you as you stepped inside. “Everyone is out because it’s a Friday night.”

You blinked. “You said that he’s here, though?”

L paused, realising his mistake. “My apologies, I misspoke then. I meant to say that he was called out of the house.”

You nodded slowly, beginning to doubt him. “And how many people share this house, exactly?”

He paused. “About six.”

Something in your chest tightened: six people seemed like a plausible number to fill out a house this big for certain, but it seemed weird to you that none of them were home. It also stood out to you that this home seemed sparsely lived in, since you imagined it would be at least a little messy, because six people with conflicting living habits would cause at least something.

Noticing your discomfort, L tried to be hospitable to ease your worry. “W-would you like anything to drink, maybe?”

You shook your head right away. “No, I’m good,” you replied, then added just a second later, “I mean, I think it’s actually best if I head on home, maybe. I don’t know how long he’s going to be, so I might as well talk to him later, besides, there’s a test upcoming on monday and I should study and then sleep soon anyway…”

L nodded simply. “You could rest on the sofa. It’s comfortable. I think.”

Your throat tightened at the idea of spending the night here, whether it was with six potential strangers or if it were just this man alone. You ended up taking a step, missing the way he was primed and ready to go after you, only for your phone to ring through the charged quiet.

Pressing it to your ear like a lifeline, you ended up glancing towards his direction without meaning to, as the voice that spoke down the phone, something about your date never making it home, and his roommates resorting to calling you, because it just so happened that one of the people he lived with happened to share one of your classes. L listened intently, leaning forward to see what he could pick up, staring at you like a startled deer in headlines as words like suspect and missing picked up past the phone.

“—I don’t know,” you said at times, then, “sorry, at other intervals.

When you hung up, your hands were trembling.

L blinked at you. “Is everything okay?”

You gulped thickly, taking a small step back and then another, and then another, finally understanding the gravity of what you had potentially gotten yourself into.

“E-everything’s fine,” you stammered, not sounding too convincing. “I just should go. That’s all.”

Just as you advanced towards the door, though, L was quicker in intercepting you, somehow being much quicker than you had given him credit for. His hand snapped towards your wrist, his fingers closing in around it—firmly, yes, but not painfully so—pulling you back to rest against him, the embrace feeling almost tender.

He was nervous, too, evident in how he tried to comfort you.

“It’s… okay,” he murmured stiffly. “You’ll be safer here.”

You struggled against him regardless, trying to give it your all in attempting to distance yourself from him. You tried to scream, but your breath was caught between panic and doomed realisation.

“P-please don’t hurt me,” you managed after a while.

L stiffened slightly, seeming almost offended at the idea.

“I’m not going to do anything like that,” he assured, even if his words did very little to comfort you. “I just don’t want to see you go.”

Your breath caught once more. “What…?”

He continued almost reverently. “I want you to be able to stay right here,” he tried to say. “I-I can take care of you. I know everything about you and what you like… because I have been… um… watching you.”

“Watching me?” you replied softly, barely heard at all.

L nodded, keeping you pressed against him.

“Yes,” he confirmed just as gently. “For months now.”

You forced yourself to take in a deep breath and think through this nightmarish mess, understanding that somehow you had a stalker of some kind that, perhaps somewhere down the road, misinterpreted the type of person you were. He didn’t seem to want to harm you outright, no, but keeping you here was less than favourable as well. If he were so into you, you thought, then maybe you could still talk your way out of this, provided that he was reasonable.

“That’s… sweet of you,” you strained out, trying to sound kind despite the panic building from within, “but I’ll be very upset if I can’t go home. So can you make me happy and let me do that?”

L hesitated as he took a step back, glancing down at you, even if he kept his grip on your arm tight.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can,” he said, shaking his head.

His arms shifted then, repositioning you as he started to guide, or in your eyes, drag you deeper into the house.

“You just don’t understand yet,” he murmured tenderly, “but you will, I-I’m sure. The world isn’t safe for someone like you.”

You watched helplessly as the front door gradually disappeared from view, feeling as though the house was swallowing you whole, enduring this strange man dragging you off somewhere else, despite his gentleness, or the way he had tried the whole time to comfort you, only to end up unsettling you further.

And after that—after enough time had passed—time began to lose its edge: the days you passed by through this awful place softened into routines that you followed for your own survival. Even if it were clear that after a while, your escape was limited or out of reach for the time being, you held on tight, fearing that an escape might trigger something that he had been holding back.

Still, his gentleness made you feel both comforted in the sense that this all felt like a bad dream, but also unsettled you in the sense that you couldn’t exactly wake up from any moment you pleased.

You were essentially left between a rock and a hard place, feeling slightly thankful that you at least retained some autonomy with him. He would look a little daunting and intense with his wide, staring eyes, but he didn’t seem intent on forcing anything upon you just yet.

Noticing that little quirk about him, you began to try to bend him to listen to your will, at least for the time being. He respected you regardless, even as you flinched whenever he brushed his hands against your skin, his hands falling uselessly to his sides. Or even as you rejected him outright, closing in on yourself whenever he focused on you a little too much.

It became clear to you that he was still trying to impress you despite what he had subjected you to.

You voiced and showed fleeting displays of fabricated affection, just enough to shape your reluctant stay into something manageable, if even barely. Whenever the conversation drifted off into dangerous or uncomfortable territory, you would open with a new boundary that he seemed happy to respect.

Things like saying, “Oh, I like quiet guys more,” would be enough to do the trick, or “I like people who keep to themselves,” seemed to garner the most respect from him, taking it on as an instruction rather than a flat-out refusal.

And the more praise you would ultimately give, the easier it all became to endure, because he took every little reaction you had as something educational.

Indeed, confusingly so, he was at least kind:

The meals were warm and thoughtfully prepared, and he remembered all of what you liked as well as what you didn’t favour. He adjusted the temperature at home when he saw goosebumps form on your skin, draping warm blankets over you if they persisted.

But one evening, you said something without thinking, threatening to damage the thinly threaded piece that barely held itself together.

“What happened to…?” you asked quietly, bringing up the name of your former date in a way that made L flinch.

After a while, he replied cordially for a change. “I… I got rid of him.”

“H-how?” you whispered.

He explained it calmly enough, if not a bit clinically, describing the actions he took and the outcome that followed, leaving your stomach churning and your hands shaking with newly realised fear.

“But that’s alright,” he soothed, petting your hair tenderly, “he wasn’t right for you.”

You didn’t end up pushing him away, still reeling with the cold clarity of who had become focused on you, not even flinching as he touched your skin, hotly and firmly, far too addled with shock to react accordingly. When he didn’t see any fear or disgust that time, however, he took this as progress, growing bold enough to think that you were finally melting into his care.

His lips pressed over yours next, sealing his feelings with a heavy, breathy kiss that he had long dreamed about. You didn’t reject him with gentle guidance, which meant to him that you weren’t entirely opposed to something like this, despite the reality being that you were grappling with the idea of the sort of person that he was.

Despite it all, though, even if you weren’t fighting him back, he didn’t seem to be interested in advancing just yet. For now, touching was simply enough. Kissing was enough.

Even as an idea formed in your mind, realising that you could probably distract him by giving in to his advances, hopefully distracting him, leaving him too spent to follow after you. Even if the idea of giving in to your captor repulsed you—you didn’t care if it meant escape—if it meant leaving at long, long last.

Maybe the plan in itself was insane, though, because it felt like you were betraying a vital part of yourself for even considering the idea, knowing that it wasn't truly what you were comfortable with, even if you did need him to be distracted as he could possibly be. You had a few options, but ultimately, you needed him to be exhausted, and even if you did set off to sleep next to him, he risked waking up naturally regardless.

Besides, abductions risked going all sorts of directions, and if this was one out of affection, then it already could have gone so much worse, leaving you feeling confused more than anything else, even if you were determined. If this man was so fixated—so obsessed with the idea of impressing you—then you had at least some degree of control left.

You could utilise that point, even if betraying that delicate trust placed in you.

You wouldn’t be a bad person for taking advantage of how he felt to get out of this mess, right?

He would still be worse… right?

Your breath caught at the thought, but you relented because this was all you had, and you needed to exhaust him to the point where he could let his guard down, and so, you found yourself leaning into the kiss he gave you, surprising not only him but yourself, too, with just how much of what you felt that you were able to hide. He blinked at you with those wide, disbelieving eyes, hardly able to process that you were reciprocating anything he did—positively—at all.

He fell back onto his palms as the realisation took root, quickly reaching out as soon as he gained balance to brush his hand across your cheek as he misinterpreted your actions for what he wanted them to be, happily pushing aside any doubt.

“Y-you want this too?” he asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

You gulped, then nodded, fighting against yourself to keep the apprehension out of your voice. “Yes,” you strained.

L blinked at you once, then twice, before pulling you closer to him, his form absolutely wrecked with nerves, his whole body trembling with excitement but also the underlying fear of rejection that still gripped him. As he navigated his hands around your body, he helped you onto your back, albeit very awkwardly, pulling apart your clothes as he fumbled with his own.

“I want to be with you like this, too,” he breathlessly admitted.

You watched as he struggled to undress, his excitement betrayed by his anxiety and his eyes blown out with not only fear but also anticipation. He seemed to want to make this pleasant for you, even if he misread the true depths of your comfort. When you reacted stiffly to him pulling your legs apart and positioning himself in between, he discarded the unease he initially felt by convincing himself that it was just nerves for you as well.

You were left frozen in the meantime, hardly able to process what you were going through with this, but ultimately recognised that nothing else would tire out his focus, because even if he were distracted, his energy would remain unwavering and dedicated.

“That’s… that’s good,” you managed in response, trying to fool him further.

L, of course, took your encouragement literally, easing himself forward into the heat of your reluctantly tight—not quite yet aroused, however yielding sex—his breath catching in his throat from the sudden warmth. His eyes fluttered shut as he pushed forward, guiding his length past your entrance and deeper into your core. As he did so, his hands around your body tightened, his fingernails biting crescents into your flesh—both to ensure you would stay with him, but also, to ground himself—assuring himself that this was all truly real.

“Like this…?” he gasped out, keen to hear your approval.

You gulped thickly in response. “Y-yeah.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath at your confirmation, calming down just a little before pressing his hips as far as they could go, gradually filling you fully. His eyes snapped open as he hilted, the look in his gaze almost worshipful before he began to move, the movements clumsy, even after he established a rhythm.

To drive yourself further, you knew that you needed to be convincing—if you were planning on exhausting him—that was. Soft, breathy whines spilt from your lips, even if they weren’t real, encouraging him to keep up the pace and go for longer, even as he was soon consumed by sweat and nerves that made him feel weak against you. He tried to comfort you—or maybe himself more by planting hot, wet kisses against your neck, his nose buried right in the crook, as his breath rolled out in rasping waves.

For the duration, you tried so hard to return what he must have been feeling, but it was a struggle for you, because everything about this felt wrong; from the way he smelled, and felt, and sounded, even if he was being somehow so gentle and tender in his efforts. He just sounded far too relieved without ever hearing anything enthusiastic from you, which made you feel more unsettled than ever before.

And yet, with that in mind, you were more determined than ever to see this through to success. Your legs wrapped around his slender frame, squeezing him with false need, urging him to impale you utterly. When he hit the apex of your core, a natural, breathless moan rolled out from your lips, and L, motivated by both your actions and the involuntary sound you had just made, felt something awaken in him, giving him the burst of energy that he needed—perhaps even the courage—to see this through.

Propping himself on his elbows and caging you in between his arms, his eyelids drooped to a half-lidded stare, the intensity melted away and was replaced with pure adoration. His head dipped forward, splaying his inky black hair to brush over your face. The sensation tickled you slightly, which in the process ran a shudder across your body, further convincing him that this was a natural reaction of desired need.

Words kept rising to his lips and falling off as unfinished grunts as he started to move harder once again, wanting to speak something out loud, then losing himself to the erratic burst of his hips. He plunged himself into your cunt with deep strokes, burying himself in the soft clench of your walls, before pulling out slightly and repeating it all again and again and again—

Sensing that his release was imminent, you finally forced yourself to react, wrapping your arms around his slick back and pulling him as close as you possibly could over your flustered form. Your legs, too, closed in tighter around him than before, as if reminding him that you were also at your limit—which was true, but for reasons he could not know—encouraging his body to surrender to its completion. His hips hammered against yours with a clean effort now, your insides clenching around his cock with an intensity that felt nearly natural, spurring him to move on sheer instinct.

L did not last for much longer like this as something guttural and languid sounded from deep within just moments before his body found its peak, the rest of him catching up just moments after, seeming to be exhausted, completely wrecked from what had just happened. You collapsed beneath him, too, tricking him into believing that you were equally spent, continuing to comfort him that this might have been mutual all along.

Though you never did find your climax, you were drained for other reasons and found it difficult not to drift off the very same.

Your eyes closed against your own will, but you fought against the pull, forcing them to snap open and push through with what you needed to do.

Then, just his body twitched off into sleep, and you gently pushed him off of you, letting him slip right out. You extracted yourself as carefully as you could, easing his weight away until he lay sprawled out on the floor. You adjusted yourself slowly, holding onto your breath as your bare feet met with the hardwood surface. Each step sounded louder than you would have liked, the boards creaking with every press or shift.

Even so, you managed to successfully get past that first hurdle, but the descent from the second floor felt endless. Each step betrayed a groan, and you cursed at them silently in your mind as you advanced down the stairs. The front door came into view slowly, and without thinking through it clearly, desperation clouding your ability to think critically, you lunged for it; your fingers trembling as you worked around the deadbolt, urging it to give way faster, hurriedly, before he—

“Are you trying to leave?” L asked, causing you to stop dead in your tracks as something akin to dread bloomed cold and heavy in your chest.

You froze and turned slowly, feeling the heartbreak in his voice root you to the spot. His expression was upset, with hurt written into his face, as though what had passed between you both just moments ago had meant everything to him, and nothing to you.

Understanding settled in his eyes; betrayal, yes, but beneath it, something even worse. Perhaps acceptance, or realisation, or both. L tried to rationalise you—his perfect person—doing this out of something that was perhaps conditioned into you, believing that if he just kept you long enough away from the corrupted world just outside, that he would heal you. That this was learned behaviour from you, and not something you truly wanted to do, convinced by some corrupting factor that escape was the only option from something that otherwise felt so real.

(Or at least, it did to him.)

(You liked it too, didn’t you?)

(Which meant that you were simply misguided.)

Panic anchored itself into your gut as you backed away with your hands raised from the door, your eyes darting around the house and searching for an alternative. L followed your line of sight to the window, seeing the way that your body tensed and coiled as you prepared yourself throw yourself through it, but the image of you bleeding and broken as a result of your own desperation made him react faster than you ever could.

He moved to intercept you before you could commit to the idea, knocking the air out of your lungs as he drove you into the floor. You gasped as you were pinned down, blinking up at him to meet the weariness carved into his features and the way his dark eyes burned with intense focus while keeping you rooted down. His hands closed tightly around your wrists, burying his knuckles against the floor, anchoring you to the spot.

Accusation briefly flashed across his face, but then his voice softened into something apologetic. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, sounding kind and almost sincere, “but I just don’t have any intention to let you go.”

He folded himself around you a second time, moulding his body around yours to erase whatever fraction of space existed between you. His arms wrapped themselves around your frame tightly, holding you with a strength that felt possessive, but also protective. You were left feeling too tired and dejected to fight him, to writhe out of his grip and to try again, for whatever strength you briefly had been spent on escape. Your body betrayed you, indeed, as it surrendered to his embrace, feeling the need to rest drag you under.

Maybe one day you could try again.

Or at least you could dream of it.

Even if, when you next woke up again, his hands were no longer what restrained you—

But cold, hard metal that bit into your wrists instead.

You blinked awake further, coming to recognise what felt like handcuffs sitting around your wrists, chaining you to a place that was cramped and dark. The moment you stirred, and they rattled against where they were connected to, the door creaked open, revealing him standing there, already watching, his eyes glinting with something that went beyond just mere devotion.

You flinched as he started to close in on you, but rather than looming over you or inflicting fear upon you, all L did was drop to his knees and pull you flush against his chest, holding you tight.

“I’ll always take care of you from now on, okay?” he promised gently.

You could only nod.

A part of you understood it all perfectly well now; that even if he hadn’t succeeded in luring you here in the first place, he would have found a way regardless. If he was capable of killing someone who you were briefly into, discarding his competition before it had a chance to bloom into anything else, then he was already far more dangerous than you gave him credit for.

No, no. You would be wise to listen to him, at least for now.

Especially with how far he was willing to go to keep you with him.

(Because in his mind, protecting you was worth everything, even if it meant sacrificing the world to do it.)

(So maybe, you would never find yourself free at all.)