rad1og1rl - Tumblr blog

rad1og1rl · 23 hours

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Yo! Can I ask for a Yandere! Bruno Bucciarati soulmate au! Please and Thank you. If you do not want to, I apologize for asking. Or Prompt Idea. "It pains me to do this, but you leave me no choice Amore. If you continue to deny me I will destroy all the things you love and hold dear."

Soulmate au: on the date engraved on your body, you and your soulmate switch bodies for about an hour.

Waving at your roommates, you walked up the stairs to your room, laughing softly at the ‘see you in a few hours!’ they both yelled before you closed the door. Your room had been cleaned spotless and all the embarrassing stuff had been placed somewhere else, an entire afternoon of effort to keep your soulmate away from anything you didn’t want them to see just yet.

You laid down on your bed, your heart beating as you anticipated the feeling. Everyone said it didn’t hurt and felt a lot like going to sleep and waking up somewhere else, but deep down you were still afraid it would hurt. Switching bodies had to feel like something after all.

Tomorrow was your switch, and it was 23:54.

You had been living toward the date inscribed on your shoulder for your entire life, and in just five minutes you would finally experience it. You felt ready, your roommates informed on exactly what they were allowed to say about you, your parents visiting and the letter you had for your soulmate stuck to the door with some tape.

Writing it had been arduous, as you tried to be so careful to tread the line between romance and casual. You didn’t want to overwhelm your soulmate, but at the same time, this was your soulmate.

The digital clock on your bedstand taunted you. 23:58.

You inhaled deeply, the seconds crawling as slowly as they possibly could. The switch usually lasted one or two hours, but you were sure they would pass by a whole lot quicker than these few minutes beforehand.

23:59.

Your heartbeat nearly burst through your chest, and you didn’t know whether to close or have your eyes opened. Would it matter? Would you be able to see something if you kept them open? Did you have time to google this-

00:00.

Your eyes shot open, and everything felt off.

The heat of the room, the white of the ceiling, the feeling of your clothes on the skin- not your skin-, the weight of the legs, the tickling of hair, the stiffness of muscles, the position of the body, the removal and adding of certain body parts, the smell and heartbeat.

Everything was different.

Unlike your own body, you were sitting in a chair, comfortably leaning back in the soft velvet. Most people awoke in their soulmate’s bed, as laying down made the change a bit easier to get used to. This wasn’t so bad, though even the feeling of lifting your fingers made you feel incredulous.

A bit overwhelmed, you closed your eyes and tried to get used to the body first.

“You okay there?” A voice interrupted you, and your eyes shot open again, moving towards the noise. It was generally impolite to let someone watch the switch, but that wasn’t necessarily the part that made you furrow your eyebrows.

Was he speaking Italian?

You could understand it, and you knew if you opened your mouth Italian words would fumble out, but it still felt surreal. It was common knowledge that the switch didn’t affect the bodies inherent knowledge of language, but to feel it was an entirely different thing.

Looking towards the source, an oddly dressed man sat in front of you, sitting in the same kind of chair you sat in. He wore a blue sweater with red pants and a matching hat covering his hair, large eyes focused on you as you tried to sit up.

“Hello.” You tried, mumbling slightly as the word rolled over your tongue.

He immediately mirrored you and sat up as well, laughing slightly as you struggled to say more. “Well you’re not from around here, that’s for sure.”

Lifting up your arm to take a look at your apparel, you realized the oddly dressed man wasn’t nearly as oddly dressed as your soulmate. The white suit covered with zippers wasn’t that bad, but you saw the edges of some lace stick out it, and with mild horror realized he’d been wearing lingerie underneath the suit, your own mind slowly feeling out this body.

You were curious, but also didn’t want to disrespect your soulmates privacy while literally in front of his friend.

“Ah. Who are you?” You tried, not sure what to say along with being mildly overwhelmed. You pointed at yourself. “Or who is this?”

He flashed an apologetic smile for a second before getting a bit flustered, rubbing the back of his head. “Uhm… I’m sorry? Was that Italian? I can’t understand you, even a bit. No sir.”

What?

You understood him perfectly, why was he not understanding you? “Do you not understand me?”

He stood up, pacing around the room. “Oh no! What will I do now? They can’t speak Italian even the slightest bit, how will I-“

“Shut your mouth, Mista.” A new person walked through the door, wearing all black. He had white hair with purple accents, matched with some light purple lipstick. “Is that your best acting?”

With your entire body changed, your entire brain trying to reprogram itself and the current situation nothing like you’d expected, you were starting to get a bit upset. You were supposed to get an hour to get used to the body and then slowly meet your soulmates loved ones, and then sleep to get back to your own body.

They weren’t even trying.

The white-haired man stood next to you, a frown adorning his already harsh features. “We’re not going to tell you anything and you’re going to stay right here. Your soulmate will approach you sometime later this week. Got that?”

Oh.

In contrast, every piece of effort you had put into this entire thing suddenly flashed in your mind. You’d talked about and planned this excessively: writing the letter over and over again until it was as heartfelt as it could be, making sure your friends kept your soulmate entertained the entire time you two where switched, even baking a fucking cake.

Your soulmate got his friends to keep you locked up, probably so you wouldn’t embarrass him.

“I said, did you get that?” He harshly added. “Just stay here and you’ll switch back in no time.”

For Abbacchio, he thought he had handled it pretty well, clear and to the point, yet as he saw his words being translated he immediately regretted not letting Mista or Giorno handle this.

To see his own capo starting to cry, even if he knew it wasn’t really Bucciarati, was still a pretty bad move.

“What the fuck, Abbacchio! You made Bucciarati cry?!” Mista immediately yelled, pacing through the room, not making the situation better in the slightest. “Oh wait, this is his soulmate… You made his fucking soulmate cry within literally a minute!”

“I know, shut up!” He crouched down next to Bucciarati’s body, unsure how to act. “Can you stop crying, please? I’m sorry. We’ll get you some food or whatever you want, just, please stop crying.”

You wiped your tears on the sleeves and turned your back to the white-haired man, pulling your knees up, only to start sobbing even louder when you couldn’t fit sideways on the chair as your soulmates legs were too long. Even the sound of your sobbing was upsetting you, your mind expecting your voice only to be met by a low male voice.

“Okay fuck this.” Abbachio walked back towards the door, opening it only to yell out. “Does anybody here know how to deal with crying chicks? Hey! Narancia! Don’t you dare walk away.”

“Fuck off and leave me alone!” You immediately yelled at the white-haired man standing in the door opening, again getting whiplash by the harsh yet strong voice coming out of your mouth. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

You didn’t want to get angry, but this was really upsetting you. This had been a moment you’d looked forward your entire life, the date engraved on your body, and nobody had even asked your name or asked if you were okay after switching body with someone.

The guys present tried to talk to you after that, but you completely shut down, not responding to a single word spoken to. When a polite and soft-spoken blonde guy tried, you felt compelled to answer, but by that point, the lump in your throat made communicating rather difficult.

Before long, your eyes shut and you sat in front of your roommates, who were all still in the midst of a funny story. Getting control back over your body, you immediately stood up and ran to your room, needing to be alone for a while.

Your roommates tried to console you a bit, and after a while, it was better. You were just upset. They told you all about your soulmate’s side of it, how he’d been very polite and interested in you and how he had been clutching your letter tightly the entire time.

Good to know at least he had a somewhat okay switch.

Days after the switch, you still hadn’t talked to anyone about it, though your roommates knew the gist of it. On the one hand, you desperately wanted to talk about it, but your disappointment and embarrassment were still too fresh. You’d cry again, and you didn’t want the topic to become loaded in your house, one of your friends’ switch coming up soon.

As Abbachio had said, a week after the switch, your soulmate tried to get in touch. You got an email from an unknown sender. It was written very formally, signed off by a Bruno Bucciarati. A quick google search didn’t give any results, so you were once again left with a dilemma. Should you respond, and how?

In the end, you took a walk to think about it but forgot to actually send something. The next day you got another email, this time apologizing for what happened during the switch. You wanted to respond, but everything you wrote sounded off. You did want to connect with your soulmate, but somehow you just couldn’t find the words.

It had gone so much differently than what you had expected, years of preparation selling you short.

The mails got more frequent until you got one nearly every hour. Apologies, desperate urges to meet you, even offers to pay for your flight to meet him. The fact that he didn’t even ask whether you would visit him or he would visit you once again lit up disappointment in your stomach. Wasn’t this supposed to be easy? Why was just sending a message back already so difficult?

You decided to send a short message in the end, confirming that you got all his emails and that you wished to see him too, though you had been a bit shaken up by the switch. He responded within a minute with an excessive apology and a plane ticket without a date, to be set by you.

This was going a bit fast, and so you responded that you would be busy the next few weeks, catching up on work and whatnot. You were lying to your soulmate within literally your first interaction with him. The fact made you sad enough to lock yourself up in your room for the rest of the day.

The emails after that got more pressing, and packages started getting delivered to your door. You had told your roommates not to tell your address to your soulmate, safety first and all, but he had somehow managed to find your place regardless. It started with expensive wine and nice clothing, but soon bouquets of flowers and lingerie also added onto the growing pile on your desk.

You tried sending some emails back to dissuade more gifts, but with every reply, it only seemed to increase the amount. The plane ticket kept being re-sent, but now he also asked for different things, primarily to face chat with you or get to call you. You didn’t know if it was a good idea, but you also didn’t want to avoid your own fucking soulmate.

Calling it was.

Hearing his voice again was odd, a soft but firm voice that radiated confidence and authority, though he certainly sounded a bit on edge while talking to you. The conversation had started fine, with small-talk and light discussion, but he soon started asking when you’d be able to come. When you replied with a non-committal noise, he got angry.

“Don’t make me come get you, y/n.” He said, his voice lowering dangerously. “I understand your first impression might have been less than optimal, but I won’t tolerate this behaviour much longer.”

You had hung up on him.

You felt scared of your soulmate.

But even while figuring all this out, life went on, and so you just continued to do your thing.

Walking out of a grocery store the next day, the sun shining brightly on the pavement, a long black car drove right next to you, dimmed windows not letting you see who was driving it. The back door suddenly opened and two men jumped out, dragging you into the car. You tried to scream, but your mouth was immediately covered by a large hand.

You tried to bite his hand but didn’t manage to, struggling and kicking as the door closed behind you and you sat in between two large men. You tried to struggle away, or at least scream properly, but you were halted in your tracks when you saw the man sitting in front of you. A white suit with strange zippers and lace sticking out from underneath the fabric.

Not having been able to see his face during the switch, you gazed at him, black hair and sharp features smiling kindly toward you.

“Hello, y/n.” He said, extending his hand for you to place yours in. “It’s a pleasure to really meet you.”

When you didn’t move, the guy to the left of you grabbed your hand and pulled it forward, placing it into Bruno Bucciarati’s hand. Bucciarati didn’t even seem to mind, pressing a kiss to your palm as soon as he got to hold your hand.

“What the fuck is this?” You said, seething silently. “You-you can’t just drag me into a car like that! Who does that?”

He squeezed your hand. “Don’t curse, please.”

You pulled your hand out of his, fearfully glancing to the two guys sitting next to you, who didn’t move an inch under your scrutiny. You didn’t recognize them from the switch, and they also gave off different vibes, cold and harsh gazes unapologetically staring back at you.

“Where are you taking me?” Ignoring his comment, you decided to find out what was going on.

“Don’t worry. We’ll be going straight to your home.” Bucciarati said, a small smile on his face, though the statement only made you worry more and take inventory on who was home. “You kept ignoring my messages and even hung up on me, so I felt forced to take a more direct approach.”

“More direct approach?” You stated incredulously. “I think you’ve been plenty direct if I’m being honest. Sending me daily gifts isn’t exactly subtle.”

He laughed, though it was shortly lived and too quickly gone to be genuine. Bucciarati was playing at something here, and though you didn’t know what, you knew his nonchalance was faked. “It might not be, but I felt compelled to apologize a bit for what happened during the switch. My subordinates took my orders a bit out of context.”

“Subordinates?” You immediately asked.

He didn’t respond and looked out of the dimmed windows as the car rolled up in front of your home. One of the guys next to you opened the door and let you out, shortly followed by Bruno. As you stumbled trying to fit your key in the lock, he put his hand on the small of your back, only increasing your anxiety.

None of your roommates were home, both to your horror and relief, and you didn’t really know what to do or say next. Bucciarati didn’t seem to have the same inhibition, casually inquiring about your day at work and listening attentively to every word you managed to mumble.

“Why, uhm, why are you here?” You asked after you sat down at the dinner table, Bucciarati pacing around the living room, picking up memorabilia to look at. “Don’t you live in Italy?”

“Naples to be exact.” He said, putting down a picture of some house party a few months back. “Work made it a bit hectic to get away, but I was a bit tired of you ignoring me.” He suddenly grabbed something of a coffee table and held it up triumphantly. It was the letter you wrote. “And I wanted to read this again.”

“Not to be mean, but that letter was meant for my soulmate. Someone who understands me, not someone who has his friends lock me up during the switch and tries to kidnap me in a car.” You angrily said, furious at yourself for even leaving that letter there.

That made him furrow his eyebrows.

“I am your soulmate.” He said with no real emotion behind it, just clear finality. “You may not understand me now, but the switch made it very clear that we belong together. I, in no way, had intended this to go this way but my occupation makes it rather difficult to do things normally.”

“What’s your occupation then?” You said, standing up to make yourself a cup of tea. Out of politeness, you grabbed two mugs, but you wouldn’t ask him what flavour he wanted. It felt childish to be so petty, but you didn’t feel like you had a lot of other options to relieve some aggression.

“I run a crime syndicate in Naples.”

What.

He chuckled at your expression, this time a bit more genuine. “Don’t look so surprised, you’ll get used to it. I’m very curious to see how you like the area, and I have some wonderful restaurants I’d like to take you to.”

Your response was immediate. “I’m not going to Naples.”

Bucciarati’s expression became near pitying, the man even going so far as to walk towards you and place his hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry the reason for my visit wasn’t completely clear. I am here to take you back with me. An absent capo isn’t much use, so we can’t stay too long.”

“Then you can go back alone. I am not coming with you.”

The hand on your shoulder let go, moving back to your lower back, making you shiver. The reason for the movement became apparent as you somehow fell through your legs, and his hand supported you, keeping you from falling to the floor. His other arms wrapped around and carried you as you couldn’t even slightly lean on your legs, the feeling of your limbs having completely disappeared.

“You’re my soulmate, y/n.” He said, confidently. Bucciarati lifted you up in his arms. Your eyes immediately went toward your legs, which were missing, yet not a drop of blood dripped from the stumps. Your instinctual response was to scream, but before you could even open your mouth, Bucciarati pressed a kiss on your lips to shut you up. “You’re coming with me, like it or not.”

Pulling away, you had started trembling. Bucciarati didn’t verbally respond, instead only shifting your weight and carrying you towards the door. The two men in the car didn’t even seem surprised to see you lifted in without your legs, calmly holding you upright as the capo went back in to retrieve some of your things.

As he returned and the car rode off, you started to cry again, to which the capo only responded with a wistful sigh and an exasperated look.

“You are quite the crybaby, aren’t you?”

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rad1og1rl · 5 days

Text

A Natural Benefit

Title: A Natural Benefit

Fandom: Death Note

Characters: L Lawliet x Reader (female)

Summary: L wants to try something new, you want to be left alone. So an offer is on the table, it's a mutually beneficial arrangement after all.

Word count: 2100+

Notes: yandere!L, kidnapped Reader, dub-con kissing, manipulation, captivity, L and Reader were together at Wammy's House

"Would you indulge me?"

Your eyes dart up from the page to his face. L looks at you like he always does ─ an intent yet oddly distant stare that used to make goosebumps appear on your arms. Nowadays you're somewhat re-accustomed to his mannerisms. He doesn't blink much, tends to stand behind your back whenever possible, likes to play with his food and enjoys invading your personal space far too much to be deemed socially acceptable.

His habits are strange but harmless.

"No," you say, just to be contrary.

L is fond of making things sound simple, and then — snap! — the trap is shut, and you find yourself doing a completely different activity than initially expected.

"I want to kiss you."

"N-" You blink and lower your book down, not bothering to mark it. "What?"

"Kissing is an act of physical intimacy between individuals," he says like it's an obvious fact and you're merely slow on the uptake. L's expression doesn't change, neutral despite this being anything but a normal conversation starter even by your standards ─ admittedly low.

"Thank you for enlightening me about the definition," you lean back against the cushions, "still no."

"Why not?" He asks after a momentary pause.

"Because I don't want to."

A simple answer to a weird request. You try to resume reading, but there're other things currently occupying your brain ─ namely the attempts to understand what prompted such inquiry.

L never asked for physical contact before; platonic or otherwise. Sure he tried to entice you into spending time with him through bargain and manipulation, and you pretended to be oblivious enough to earn an Oscar for your acting skills. However, there never was any talk of kissing involved. Any kind of touching, actually.

He hums. "Would you like me to explain my reasons?"

Sometimes you think that the sole cause of L's existence is just so he could annoy people for kicks. His questions are always peculiar, and you've learned that every single one of them is designed to lead towards some specific conclusion, preferably the one he wants. You have a feeling that if you say 'yes', L will proceed to list a hundred points about why kissing is good. And then another hundred why kissing him specifically is beneficial.

"No."

He looks at you. You look at him and raise the book higher.

"Indulging me would benefit both of us," L says, undeterred. "You're very curious by nature and I find it quite fascinating that you're able to deny your curiosity in this particular case."

Has a more obvious bait ever existed anywhere in human history? Probably not, and you'll bet your entire life savings on it too.

"I'm not curious," you lie, "now leave me alone. I want to read."

He leans forward. "You haven't focused on the book since I asked my question."

Smartass. You purse your lips and pretend that the characters are suddenly so interesting, that it's hard to look away from the intricacies of the plot unfolding inside this fictional world. At least things there make sense; no need to figure out the hidden meanings behind other people's words, because they are mostly transparent when there's a whole paragraph dedicated to the protagonist's feelings.

He reminds you of those spider-like creatures from documentaries ─ their actions seem random at first glance, yet upon further scrutiny prove to be anything but. Instead, they're meticulously crafted and executed to obtain maximum results.

L studies you for a little while longer, and eventually pads towards the kitchenette. The kettle whistles soon after as he makes himself tea; mint flavored, judging by the aroma wafting through the air.

______________________________________________________

You should have known that he won't give up ─ L is just as persistent as you are stubborn. If anything, you've set a challenge before him, and he tends to fixate on those until they are solved: a fact well-known and accepted among those who ever had a (dis)pleasure of interacting with him.

He doesn't outright ask you again, not the next day or the one after that. No. Accidentally, the only type of movies you're able to watch now are rom-coms or dramas with lots of kissing scenes sprinkled here and there between the banter bordering on cringe; sweet confessions spoken over candlelit dinners; passionate declarations whispered during sunsets... Clichés, amore, and kisses galore.

"I'm not sure this is the best movie for the evening," you say, as the screen flickers with images of two leads gazing into each other's eyes like they found the answers to every single question asked.

"The reviews are quite positive," L replies, munching on caramel popcorn.

"Reviews can be faked. And the trailer was misleading. I thought it was going to be an action movie."

"It is an action movie. The genres are listed right there," he points at the screen, and the words 'romance and action' stare back at you.

You frown and settle deeper into the couch cushions. It's uncomfortable ─ watching romantic scenes with L in the same room. His presence doesn't feel oppressive or demanding, yet you can't shake off the squirmy, twisty feeling. The kind when you enter an elevator with someone else and get slightly agitated for no reason. And so you try to slow down your breathing, but it only makes things worse. Your heart beats faster, palms start sweating and the hypothetical elevator stranger inevitably thinks that you're weird.

L isn't an elevator stranger. He's the owner of the elevator, and the entire building, and the city.

"He's going to die in the next ten minutes," you mutter.

"No, he won't."

"Yes, he will."

L hums. "Want a bet?"

Your eyes narrow.

"If he survives past the fifteen minute mark," L says slowly, "you indulge me."

"And if he doesn't?"

"I leave you alone for two days."

There's no hesitation on his side. None whatsoever, which proves suspicious immediately ─ L never offers something unless certain about the outcome beforehand, whether by logical deduction or calculated gamble. Probability factors run inside his brain instead of blood cells and grey matter, calculating risk vs return ratio quicker than any computer ever could.

You glance at the screen. It's a simple plot. There were a twist or two earlier, sure, but overall nothing extraordinary that would require hours upon hours of critical thinking to unravel.

A man, a woman. A handsome villain who wants them dead, for various reasons. They run and fight, shoot guns, dodge punches, and kiss between those because apparently there's time for romance even when a life is on the line.

It's a very simple plot; and two days are a lot to pretend that L doesn't exist. That you got rich enough to buy this kind of apartment.

"The speakers?"

"Switched off."

"The cameras?"

"Those will stay."

Of course, they will. You wouldn't expect anything less ─ privacy issues are non-existent here in more ways than one.

L isn't always a presence. Sometimes he leaves and you're alone with nothing but books and TV to pass time, but two days sound wonderful regardless. There's something in empty spaces that's enticing, even if they're temporary. L, for all his peculiarities, isn't too bad of a company. He's quiet, and often busy with his own matters. But he also has this way of looking at you that is unnerving. Like you're interesting. Or important. Or simply fascinating.

Sometimes he wants to talk, he wants to listen, he wants to ask questions and give answers until everything blurs into an amalgamation of words. It's exhausting.

Two days sound good. His hand is dry and slender. You grasp it and shake it once.

"I'll start the timer now," L says after your hands separate.

______________________________________________________

Twelve minutes.

Three more and he's dead.

You wish that he'd just kick the bucket already, so you could spend the next forty eight hours in pure, undiluted bliss.

_______________________________________________________

The male lead dies after seventeen minutes.

When the credits roll over, the apartment is silent except for the soft buzzing of electronics. You look at the screen, stubbornly, because you don't want to look at him, the owner of the elevator, and the building, and the city.

"It was close," he comments, as if trying to comfort you, which makes it even more of a sore spot.

That’s what L thrives on ─ technicalities, loopholes, small and seemingly insignificant details which are easily overlooked, yet make a great difference. You're not sure if you're annoyed, or disappointed. And what’s more important ─ at whom.

You have known for years that L tends to get his way eventually whenever there's something specific caught up in that head of his; a fixation which refuses to leave until satisfied, and sometimes even after. Snap. You can get up and head out of the living room, you know you can. Will you though is another question entirely.

L isn't a typical captor ─ he doesn't demand or force you into things. He simply presents a possibility and waits. Not aggressive or domineering, not sadistic. But oh he is a PhD of holding a grudge. Leaving now probably means waking up tomorrow and finding that every single disk has vanished without a trace, along with the bookshelves being switched for some obscure scientific texts on chemistry, physics and other things that require an advanced degree to fully understand.

Because someone decided that you don’t deserve entertainment anymore. Because someone is petty enough to deprive you of basic mental stimuli, and is stubborn enough to hold onto that decision even when reasoned with. Unsuccessfully.

It's a talent really, this particular brand of making your life miserable in many small ways, so they accumulate into something greater over time until you feel like the walls are closing in slowly but surely.

You can't back out, even though no one openly stops you from doing so. And L knows that. And he knows that you know. His lips twitch and curl upward before flattening again into neutral territory.

There's a theory that if you pull a band-aid fast enough, it won't hurt as much. The credibility behind it is questionable.

You exhale and meet L's gaze ─ his posture hasn't changed from the beginning to the end of the film, knees tucked to his chest, eyes two dark pools that stare without blinking. His fingers drum a steady rhythm, and that's probably the only sign that gives it away.

Anticipation.

"Fine," you say finally.

His mouth opens before closing back again. L doesn't move a bit.

He wants you to do it, you realize. Wants you to initiate instead of just allowing it. What an ass.

You squish his cheeks between your palms until his lips pucker outwards. L makes a soft noise of surprise but doesn't try to fight back.

Black lashes cast a shadow across his skin. There's no perfume or cologne, no distinct smell ─ he uses plain soap and shampoo which don't have a discernible aroma.

"I believe I was promised an indulgence," L says, voice muffled a bit by your hands on his face.

He looks like a fish this way. A silly, ridiculous image that would make you snort if not for the situation at hand.

Band-aids and ripping them off.

You sigh, lean forward, and press your mouth to his.

He tastes like caramel popcorn.

Mint tea.

Indulgence.

The angle is awkward, and L doesn't move an inch to accommodate the position. He stays still like a block of solid rock, not a single muscle twitches, and doesn't even attempt to reciprocate. You have half a mind to think that maybe he's mocking you, but then his fingers lightly curl on the fabric of his jeans. L's eyelids flutter half-closed when your noses bump, then open again right after. Another oddity added to the pile.

It lasts no longer than ten seconds before you pull away. L blinks. Touches his lower lip with the tip of a finger and rubs it like searching for traces left by the contact.

"You were promised an indulgence," you remind him, trying to sound calm, collected, but your ears and neck feel hot, "not a make-out session."

Technicalities and loopholes.

L has that look you can't quite pinpoint yet know far too well. You've seen it many times before. When he thinks about something but keeps it to himself for now.

"You look more lively," he remarks eventually. "Healthy complexion suits you."

You don't need to hear what he says next, because the words already ring through your head.

"I told you it would benefit us both."

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