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reidrum · 2 months ago

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exile

note: happy december i hope ur all doing well <3 a little something to hold u over until next friday when i start 12 days of reidrumas ok love u

summary: in which you and JJ are the ones held hostage in truth or dare

cw: spoilers for 14x15 truth or dare, hurt/comfort, angst, fem!reader, a heated makeout, reader wears a dress and heels, take a shot everytime reader tears up

wc: 3.6k

p.s. i am a glutton for praise if you couldn't tell from any of my fics but i love hearing what y'all think so plsplspls lemme know your thoughts in a comment or drop in my ask box!!!!

You’re not really sure where it went wrong.

When you joined JJ to pursue Casey, it was out of convenience. You both were simply closer to his last location. No one could’ve predicted he’d take you both hostage or make you play a twisted game of truth or dare at gunpoint.

No one could have predicted that Casey would force you and JJ to reveal details that hadn’t seen the light of day. He didn’t even care for those secrets, egging you both on to reveal something that would satisfy his masochistic itch. When he realizes that neither of you would break, he ups the ante by angling the gun to the middle of your head. JJ panics and speaks before she can even process what she said.

Because as you’re staring down the barrel of the gun clocked at your forehead, you realize the bullet isn’t inside the cylinder, it’s in JJ’s next words.

I’ve always loved Spencer.

You look at her mouth agape, blood draining from your face and tears springing to your eyes. She returns your gaze with one full of remorse and pity. To any onlooker, it would seem like a harmless confession. But they didn’t know the times you confided in JJ about your feelings for Spencer, the late nights at the office she’d stay with you giving advice and words of wisdom, when all JJ wanted was for her friend to be happy.

But now, how much of that can you believe to be true?

Casey seems to be satisfied with your reaction as he lowers his gun, with you reacting quickly grabbing your hidden second pistol and gunning him down. The only audible noise left is the heavy breathing of you both, the adrenaline rush starting to fade. JJ says your name remorsefully, but she’s interrupted by the rest of the team and police arriving to the scene.

The next thing you remember is sitting outside on the back of an ambulance rig, blankly staring out at your new reality. JJ loves Spencer.

You couldn’t compete, how could you? She was JJ. and you were, you. You had lost before you even began, you might as well toss the towel now.

It makes hugging Spence for what could be the last time—not to be dramatic—bittersweet. To know that this is an insignificantly normal moment he won’t remember, but one that you’ll play on repeat for the rest of your life.

Spencer holds you close into his chest with his arm smoothing out your back, “Thank god you’re okay, are you hurt?”

You scoff internally. Yes, but not in a way that can be fixed. In a way that you are not privy to yet, but once you are it will rip us to shreds.

“I’m fine, just a few scratches.”

He nods while examining you with his own mental checklist, “Okay, if your head starts hurting or your vision gets blurry you need to tell the EMT.” you nod as he adds on, “I’m gonna go check on JJ, you’ll be okay?”

No, no I won’t. There is no reality that exists where I can be okay anymore.

“I’m good. Go.”

He squeezes your shoulders and with another nod he walks over to where JJ rests on another ambulance rig, her arms instantly opening to welcome Spencer’s warm embrace. His back is facing you and JJ’s face rests over his shoulder, her eyes meeting yours in a look of sadness, grief. You look away before you can read more into it.

Wrapping the foil blanket around you tighter you let your head fall back and stare at the night sky, hoping there was a message out in the stars that would tell you what to do.

Your relationship with Spencer was, on the surface, nothing more than a friendship. He had joined the BAU only a year prior to you and when you came along it was clear from the first second that you two would be inseparable. Small talks in the bullpen quickly turned into mornings spent at the coffee shop, into weekly movie nights debating the superior science fiction franchise, to holding his hand when he needed a friend.

To Spencer, you were his anchor. Through all the trials and tribulations his life had dealt him, he knew he didn’t need to worry so much as long as you were around.

To you, Spencer was all consuming. He was threaded through every neuron and vessel in your body, intricately and impossibly tethered to you that it would take the work of the divine to painfully separate him from you.

Or, one Jennifer Jaraeu.

You don’t even realize tears are falling down your face until the EMT taps your shoulder and asks if anything has started to hurt again. Quickly shaking your head, you unravel yourself from the foil blanket and hand it back to her. You spare one last glance back at Spencer and JJ, eyes immediately zeroing on their joined hands, his thumb gently brushing the top of hers.

Your feet trudge you back to where the team is set up, one look to Emily and she’s already excusing herself from her conversation. She walks over to you phone up to her ear, saying something about you. You’re not really sure, it’s all water noise.

“Anderson will be here in about five minutes to take you home,”

You nod silently, not willing to make eye contact. Emily could sense your turmoil from a mile away, chalk it up to the Pisces moon in her but behind the hard exterior she put up there lay Emily, your empathetic friend who just wanted to hug your shattered pieces back together.

“You’ll be okay?” The second time you’ve been asked, your answer is still unchanged.

No. “Yeah.”

She sighs knowingly. The reason the two of you were such close friends was because of your similar ability to remain emotionally bottled up until it was too late, resulting in an outburst enough to take out armies and yourselves.

Anderson honks the car as he pulls up, alerting you of his arrival. Emily looks from the car back to you, “I should go check on JJ.”

“Woman of the hour, it seems.” you chuckle under your breath.

Emily gives you that look, the conflicted ‘I’m sorry our friend made you feel this way, I still have to check on her.” look.

You brush her off, your casualness hopefully sending the message that the situation isn’t that deep. For her, you think.

The sound of the car unlocking rings through your ear as you hop in the passenger seat. Anderson tries to make small talk with you to no success, settling for the late night 00s radio station as he pulls up to your house, driving off as you bid him goodnight with a wave.

The breeze of your empty apartment greets you as you open the door, the air chillier than you’d expect for the season. You tug your shoes off harshly, placing your keys on the mail table next to the door. Your heart drops as you catch sight of a floral embossed card lying on top of your mail on the table.

Rossi’s wedding.

The one you were told to absolutely prioritize, the one in which JJ had helped you find a dress for, the one where you hoped you’d feel brave enough to tell Spencer how you truly felt.

You sigh deeply knowing you still had to show up and look presentable tomorrow despite being held hostage only 24 hours prior. But, maybe this is how you make a clean break. All this time you’ve been in love with Spencer and nothing has happened, despite all the signs you think you’re giving him. Maybe this is the opportunity to save Spencer from further tension, albeit unknown to him at this point, and let him finally be happy.

You knew about the Redskins game, how excited he was to go with JJ and yet it turned into something he hadn’t anticipated. You were new to the BAU at the time but your heart still ached for him, unable to understand how anyone would pass up on someone so special like Spencer Reid. It seems she’s finally come to her senses.

You take your dead phone out of your pocket to place it on the charger and you head into the bathroom to take a quick shower. The hot water loosens your tense muscles enough to prick tears in the back of your eyes, and you turn off the water before you can get too worked up. Once you’ve dried off you check on your phone on the bedside table seeing it’s turned back on, a flurry of missed texts and calls showing up.

11:14PM - Emily: Get home safe?

You heart the message and reply with a simple ‘Yes.’, scrolling to the next messages.

10:09PM - JJ: Did you get home? 10:10PM - Missed Call from JJ 10:15PM - (2) Missed Calls from JJ 10:24PM - JJ: I’m sorry, please let me explain. 10:25PM - Missed Call from JJ

You consider leaving her on read, not willing to entertain a conversation at this point, but you settle for an ‘It’s fine.’ for the sake of having communicated your safety.

10:13PM - Spence: Hey, where are you? 10:20PM - Spence: The EMT said you took off? Did you leave? 11:34PM - Spence: Emily just told me Anderson drove you back. You could’ve told me, I would have taken you home.

Your chuckle sadly at the text, Spencer hated driving but he would do it for you. It almost makes you think that your relationship could withstand the harsh weathering it’s been subjected to.

12:07AM - You: Sorry, phone died. I’m home now.

A response dings through a minute later.

12:08AM - Spence: I’ll go to the store tomorrow and get you a portable charger to keep in your bag. You should get some rest, I’ll see you tomorrow for the wedding right? Well, the wedding that’s today seeing as it’s past midnight. You know what I mean.

A single tear falls down your face at his rambling words. Oh, how you’d miss this once he learns what’s really happened.

12:10AM - You: I’ll be there. See you tomorrow, or today? You know what I mean. Good night.

12:11AM - Spence: Good night :)

—

You smooth out your dress before going up the steps, making eyes with Penelope at the top. You’re wearing a silk chiffon dress in purple, deliberately picked for Spencer’s favorite color, some strappy heels and some dainty jewelry painting you in as the picture of elegance.

“Hey hot stuff, look at you!” Penelope exclaims squeezing you tightly, “You look sooo pretty, doesn’t she look so pretty?” she gestures to the two men behind her you now acknowledge to be Luke and Spencer.

“Like a dream.” Luke agrees.

“Yeah,” Spencer clears his throat, “You look…beautiful.”

Penelope the Oracle of All Time quickly senses the

atmosphere created and grabs Luke’s forearm, “Come on, you owe me that dance now!” She looks back and slyly gives you a thumbs up before dragging Luke further onto the dance floor.

Spencer slips into the vacated space to be right next to you, “How are you feeling?”

You know he’s asking about how you were held hostage at gunpoint, and not about how he’s about to become the loss of your life.

“ ‘M fine,” you swirl your champagne glass, “You?”

“Better now.”

A ghost of a smile creeps up on you, but you don’t let it travel further than that. He’s just being nice.

“Well, I’m just going to find the bathroom really quick.”

He holds a hand out for your glass, “Here, I’ll hold it.”

Your smile returns with bearings this time as you wander off in search of the bathroom. You’d feel embarrassed by how long it took you to find it but this place was massive, the Rossi money ran deep. Retracing your steps back to the main room you find Spencer and your glass not in the same place he was when you left. You scan the room looking for him and finally find him deep in conversation with—oh.

They’re too far for you to be able to hear them, but you can imagine that it’s the conversation. You watch JJ squeeze his forearm with affection and suddenly you can’t take it anymore. You couldn’t stand there and watch yourself become collateral in real time. Spencer turns at the sound of rustling up the spiral staircase followed by a door closing, catching the last glimpse of purple before it vanishes.

Spencer feels sick. He’s overwhelmed and overstimulated at the new information he’s learned about what really happened in the gas station. Then he comes to the realization of how walking in on him and JJ talking must have made you feel. His feet are carrying him up the stairs before he even realizes he’s made the choice.

He finds you at the end of the hallway and calls out your name with a firmness you’d never heard from him. But you’ve cut all the strings of sanity by now, and you whip around and snap, “What?”

He doesn’t like that tone. “JJ told me what happened.”

You snort and don’t meet his eyes, “Oh, did she?”

His brows furrow, “Yes, she did.”

“And?”

“And what?”

And what? Is he serious? Did you have to spell it out for him? It borderlines sadist the way he’s putting you through the ringer.

“What happens now, Spencer?” you exasperate, “Is this the part where you tell me we can’t be friends anymore because she finally confessed?”

Confusion colors his face more, “Why wouldn’t we be friends?”

A halfway scream—groan leaves your throat in frustration. “Spencer, come on.”

“Honey, I don’t understand—“

“That! See, you can’t just say things like that knowing what has to happen, and expect me to react like a normal person.” you exclaim with hands flailing.

“I’m really confused—“

“Because I’m in love with you!” you cry, “Now do you see why?”

Time all but stills in the hallway you’ve found yourselves in. You don’t know how long you’ve been up here. It’s a little farther down from the stairways so there’s no threat of evesdroppers, but with how worked up you’re getting the proximity renders itself useless. The faint muffle of animated conversations and lively jazz music fills the silence between you and Spencer, who looks like…well, actually for once you can’t decipher what he’s feeling.

He looks like he’s about to open his mouth when you both turn your head to the ascending footsteps—JJ looking for you, or Spencer probably, to come cut the cake. Spencer darts his eyes between the walls, a nervous tic you’d caught on to, before you realize he’s looking for a door and pulling you inside one. You yelp at the unexpected force and quickly quiet down again. The light switches on and based on the furniture you conclude that it’s a powder room, because of course Rossi’s venue has a powder room.

It’s a tiny room, big enough for a vanity table and a chaise lounge. Small enough to not have any room to leave without going past him. You stand an arm’s length away from him, the faint muffles of talk and music replaced by your sniffling. You shouldn’t have come, you start to realize. Having to say goodbye to him in person might actually rip you apart. Your chest weighs heavy with that familiar sad irony of mourning someone who hasn’t even told you they’re leaving yet. Preemptive measures that turned into routine practice.

You sniffle, “Look, it doesn’t matter anymore, not that it ever did. I’m sorry I just sprung it on you like that, that was unfair. JJ…I thought JJ was my friend, I guess she is still but I’m not too sure now. But…she’s JJ and I’m just me and I know both of your pasts with each other so obviously it would be her. I’m making this too big a deal, I think. I just want you to be happy, in whatever capacity that looks like and I know it’s not with me so—“

Spencer stops your rambling by silently reaching out for your arm to pull you right in front of him, his hands reach to cup your face up to his, thumbs naturally swiping away the tears. He says your name like a coo, with a softness and delicacy you don’t feel you deserve right now. It hurts your heart entirely.

“Please don’t make this harder than it is.” you whisper through soft sobs.

You don’t know when it happens. Maybe in between scrunching your eyes or staring at your feet—but it happens. A cold pressure, then warmth, his lips are warm when he kisses you. A little surprising that he still tastes like Penelope’s sugary mocktail from earlier. A welcome pressure on your face as he holds you in place, as if you’d slip away further if he let go.

He stills in place, thinking he’s overstepped, until you finally remember that his lips are on your lips. You return the force back with as much as he gave you and let your arms loop around his neck, his own sliding from your face to take purchase on your hips.

That’s when Spencer starts kissing you. His hands grip your hips and tug you even closer as he deepens the kiss, plunging deeper back into the plush of your thighs to sit you on top of the vanity table. He slots himself between your legs, your hands wandering up to tug at the hairs on the nape of his neck. A soft groan leaves his throat and he detaches from your lips to amble down your neck, leaving a trail of lovebites in its wake.

This is wrong, like so wrong. You’re practically opening a salt box and pouring its entire contents on your wounds. But dammit, if this is the only time you’ll ever get to kiss Spencer, you’re sure as hell going to make the most out of the fleeting moment.

He mumbles something in between kisses to your neck, you instinctively ask him to say it again not expecting a response, and you immediately regret it as you feel his presence get lighter as he pulls away.

One more kiss to the spot behind your ear, he feels you preening below him and makes note of this—amongst everything else—for later, he pulls back to meet your eyes again.

“I love you.”

Your face drops, “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not being funny.”

Yes he is, he has to be. Because the universe in which Spencer Reid allows a piece of—the whole of it according to him, unbeknownst to you—his heart to be fully yours is not this one. You’ve never had luck like that.

“Then you’re lying to me, and that’s worse.” your voice cracks, Spencer feels the same crack imprinted on his heart.

“Sweetheart, I’m not lying. I love you.” He says it again to your surprise, the tenderness of his touch returning as he deliberates how to disarm you. The defensiveness you have isn’t surprising to him, it’s the note of insecurity in your tone he isn’t ready for, like you are unable to even believe it could be you.

You’re a dandelion, he thinks, the puffballs teetering attachment to their base with one wrong move sending them astray into the wind. He’s wading treacherous weather but he finds that for you he’d do anything and everything eyes closed if he had to.

“…Really?” you ask meekly. He nods slowly, never breaking his gaze on you. “But…JJ.”

His eyes soften and he nods in understanding, “There was a point in my life where, yes that was all I was waiting to hear,” he starts, “But, I am no longer at that point in my life anymore. I’m here now. She knows that.”

You’re unconvinced, Spencer can see it clear as day. Maybe it’s more apprehensive than unconvinced, but no one could blame you. How are you to believe anything when you went through what you did in the last 24 hours? You look defeated if anything, like you’d accepted your fate of always coming second place.

Spencer racks his brain hard trying to think of a way to show you that the podium doesn’t even exist, it’s only ever been you.

He pulls out his wallet and rifles through the many things inside, finding what he’s looking for before handing it to you. You look up at him in confusion when you make it out to be a movie ticket stub from the Korean film festival you’d both attended a little after you started at the BAU, the first time the two of you ever spent time together. The edges are soft and smoothed out as a result of time, like it’s been held and comforted for many days.

“There’s more in my apartment.”

“Movie ticket stubs?” you ask bemused.

“Commemorations of you,” his fingers brush the span of your arm up and down soothingly, “I probably have something for every time we’ve ever hung out. If it reminds me of you, I have it.”

Tears well up in your eyes for the umpteenth time, a few spilling over rapidly.

“Hey no, you’re not supposed to cry at that.” he whispers softly between you, his thumb taking the rightful and familiar place under your eye to catch the tears.

You shake your head, “I don’t think I’ve ever been loved like this.”

His heart tightens, “No? Well, I think you have to get used to it now.”

“No choice?” you pout.

He catches the timbre of humor in your voice and smiles widely. He hugs you tightly, pressing your head into his chest, “I guess you don’t have to. Just because you’re not used to it doesn’t mean I’ll stop. If you’re like this now, wait till you see the box I have of our things.”

You sniffle again, your head reeling as your tears stain his shirt and the scent of him invades your being. It’s overwhelming and all consuming, just how you know Spencer to be. He doesn’t expect you to believe him right away, you’ve been through so much that it would be unfair to ask that of you. You don’t know what tomorrow holds, or even the rest of this night, but one thing you have learned is that to Spencer you are known, and therefore you are loved.

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cheriecoke · 10 months ago

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౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ SAFEGUARD — dazai, chuuya, akutagawa

summary . . . they save you after you've been injured and captured by an enemy.

contents . . . sfw, f!reader (chuuya & dazai) and gn!reader (akutagawa), violence / blood, threats, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, and it's pmboss!dazai bc i can't help myself — 3.5k total

notes . . . i got this request so long ago lol. not my best work, but i have been in the worst writing slump ever and just wanted to finish something. i've also never written for akutagawa before so pls be nice <3

𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 . . .

there are very few times that chuuya feels he’s been outsmarted. he knows he’s not the mastermind of the port mafia, but he certainly isn’t a fool. when it comes to you and your well-being, though, his mind short-circuits, half of his intelligence draining away while his emotions take hold.

your relationship isn’t a secret to anyone in the port mafia, which means that it isn’t a secret to your enemies either. and while most people know it’s hard to land a finger on chuuya directly, his pretty little girlfriend doesn’t have the power of a god nestled inside of her.

the rage sparks through him, growing fiercely into the blaze of a forest fire, until all he can think of is getting you home safely. he thinks of your sweet smile as he rips the door of the enemies’ base off the hinges, crushing it into a million pieces with the force of gravity.

the men are quick to react, but chuuya hurtles the crushed door towards them, knocking three of them to their feet. another group charges at him, but their guns do little against his skill. after years of fighting some of the strongest ability users, simple criminal organizations are as easy to step over like ants.

chuuya kills them all — except for one.

the man’s knees are wobbling, hand shaking around the gun as he realizes that these will be his final moments. there is fear in his eyes, brown ones that rest wide open, and chuuya almost hesitates. his remorse doesn’t last long, though, before he’s wrapping a hand around the man’s throat, thrusting him backwards.

“where is she?” chuuya asks, voice sharp and commanding.

he can feel the man swallowing.

chuuya knows that backup is probably on the way, but it won’t matter whether they show up or not. he’ll crush the rest of his enemies just as he’s crushed the last twenty men. the poor soul in his leather hold seems to know that as well.

“i-i’ll take you to her,” he rasps, dropping his gun to claw at chuuya’s hand.

he drops him, lets him take a few heaving breaths and coughs, before he’s kicking at him, forcing him back to his feet.

the young man takes him up the elevator, weaves him through a hallway as chuuya leaves a scattering of bodies in his wake, not hesitating to kill a single man that gets in his way. there is nothing that can keep him from you.

how fiercely and loyally he loves you — it drives him to near insanity.

finally, with blood coating his face and his clothes, the young man enters a room, locked with a code, revealing you.

chuuya’s rage is almost as blinding as his corruption, as he gazes at the sight of you. bloodied and bruised, tied up in a chair, so visibly harmed. his hands clench into fists. “get the fuck away from her,” he says to the man who seems to be monitoring you.

“what are you doing in here?” the men left in the room panic, but they don’t have time to react before chuuya throws them back at the wall, so quickly, with so much force, that their spines snap. they hit it with a sharp crack, skulls shattering against the plaster, the wall crushing beneath the weight of them.

limply, they fall to the floor.

chuuya rushes over to you.

the young man that led him here disappears, but chuuya isn’t worried about him. he’s a coward; he’ll likely flee from the country and never look back. the men that truly hurt you are already dead, and he’ll burn this building to the ground once he’s gotten you away from it.

“hey,” chuuya says, cradling your cheeks gently, trying to coax you back awake. he’s not sure if it’s exhaustion, blood loss, or the obvious head trauma that caused you to pass out in the first place. but you’re still breathing, so he counts that as a blessing.

“hey,” he whispers again, kissing your forehead, like it will heal all your ailments. “wake up, baby. we gotta get you out of here, okay?”

it takes you a few seconds to come to, eyes glazed over and shell-shocked as you blink at him. “chuuya?” you say; your voice is so hoarse it makes chuuya want to keel over and vomit. “is it really you?”

guilt gnaws at him, almost crushing, at the fact that thirty-six hours passed, and you’re delirious enough not to recognize him. you probably haven’t eaten, either.

he should’ve been there. no one should’ve ever had the chance to hurt you, yet…

“it’s me, i’m here,” he says, kissing your lips, your temple, brushing your hair away from your face. the strands are sticky with blood. “shit,” chuuya nearly shouts, pulling a knife from his pocket, sawing through the thick ropes around you as quickly as he can. “i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry.”

he can’t get you free fast enough, and you smile at him, drowsy, your eyes fluttering shut once more. “it’s okay, chuuya,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “you’re here now.”

“you have to stay awake,” he says desperately, realizing your head is still bleeding. he doesn’t know how hurt you are. chuuya’s no expert when it comes to medicine, but he’s smart enough to know that internal injuries could be even worse than the external ones.

“stay awake for me, okay, honey? i’ll get you back to the boss and we’ll find you a doctor. you’ll be just fine.”

“okay, chuuya,” you hum, weakly gripping his back. seconds of silence pass before you mutter, “i just want to go home.”

"i know." his heart pulls, and he almost lets out a cracked sob. but he refrains, knowing that there is plenty of time to drown in his sorrows later.

finally, he gets the ropes under, lifting you from the chair. you’re so much lighter, weaker, and it makes him sick as he carries you. “let’s get you home.”

𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀. . .

the call comes just as akutagawa is getting ready to head home for the evening, his tasks completed, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

normally, he doesn’t stick around to say any goodbyes, sneaking off into the darkness of the night like a shadow, blending right in. but, something about the evening, so gloomy and drizzly with spring rain, feels off.

with a heavy knot in his chest, so much different than an incoming fit of coughs, akutagawa heads back up to mori’s office, if perhaps to only ensure that everyone else’s jobs had been completed. he’s a lot of things, but he’s never been a slacker; and he’ll do what it takes to ensure that his position in the mafia is eternally secure.

though, he doesn’t have the opportunity to get all the way upstairs before he run into the boss, who is calm, but with an air of irritation clouding him.

he explains the current situation to akutagawa in a clipped tone, bored — an enemy group has kidnapped you, holding you hostage.

“how rude is it to bother a man, just as he is getting ready to go to sleep?” mori says, sighing histrionically.

but what is a minor inconvenience to mori sends an entire wave of dread through akutagawa, his entire body feeling as if it’s been dipped in ice. he can’t explain the horror that washes over him, not really, because he shouldn’t feel so panicked. it is rare for him to get worked up about the danger his subordinates find themselves in, save for his sister, of course.

but you… you’re different.

“can i trust you to diffuse the situation?” mori asks, impatiently glancing at his watch as if that will change anything. “i can call someone else, but they will not be so quick.”

akutagawa doesn’t even think before he accepts the job, hating the way he sounds pathetically desperate for more details. his hands flatten the edge of his cloak, as if his ability is going to take on a mind of its own.

he calls for a driver, calm but breathing so heavily that an aching cough rises up in him. his throat feels as if it may begin to bleed, but he swallows, glances away from the driver and gets himself under control.

there’s a ransom — bring them the money and they’ll return you, mori had told him. you’re only a lower ranking member of the mafia, and someone that makes for a pretty poor bargaining chip, so the motive is questionable.

mori probably would’ve let you die, akutagawa knows, his teeth gritting together, so much so that a splintering sound comes from it. but the boss, in his infinite, concerning wisdom, seems to also know that his loyal dog has an soft spot for you.

as regrettable as that may be.

akutagawa has no doubt that whoever the enemy is, they are no match for him. still, a twinge of anxiety settles in his stomach, fingers jittery as the driver, despite the decreased traffic of the hour, seems to drive impossibly slow.

“are we not in a rush?” akutagawa snaps, leaning forward.

“apologies,” the driver, says, not daring to even look at akutagawa from the mirror. but the car speeds up, enough for akutagawa to be able to notice, at least. it cools the simmer that has already begun deep in his chest.

even so, the car seems to go at a snails pace, minute upon minute flying by, with you in the clutches of an enemy.

akutagawa doesn’t care who they are. he doesn’t care why, or how they captured you. he wants them dead. he’ll rip them apart, easily, and he’ll make them suffer — they’ll be alive for all of it, for every second that he peels the skin from their bones, ripping the smaller ones out of their sockets.

what he feels for you… well, it’s too hard for him to admit to himself. he has no experience with what it means to care for another person, doesn’t even know if that’s his goal. he just knows he wants to protect you.

and he can’t do that if you’re dead.

finally, the car pulls up to an old warehouse, one at the very outskirts of the port, beyond the docks and the shipping carts. it’s tucked far back, an obvious lair for some villainous organization that doesn’t want to be found.

akutagawa gets there, but there is nothing. he hears nothing, feels no signs of life as he trudges through the puddles left behind from the earlier rain.

a small string of panic begins again, as he wondered if maybe the call that mori had told him was only a ruse. maybe this entire time had been a distraction, a way to lure him away. there are other skill-users in the mafia, but none quite as dangerous as him.

though, he hears it, then. a small little sound, muffled and hoarse, full of pain.

he ducks into another corner of a warehouse, and you’re there — bound with chains and a gag across your mouth, one of your eyes blackened with bruises, your nose bleeding.

his heart aches. never in his life has he so quickly made his way over, used the sharp edges of his ability to shear through the chains, falling to his knees as he unbinds the cloth from your lips.

“where are they?” he rasps, mouth opening and closing, hating the sound of his own voice. he recognizes his desperation, his anger, but the affectionate sound that clips at the end is unfamiliar, as he shakily pulls himself closer to you.

you glance up at him, eyes glossy and wide, and though you are scared, hurt, he’s so thankful you are alive. his heart flips once, as you grasp at his cloak, the material that has the blood of so many staining the threads.

“gone,” you say, throat chalky, words nothing more than a note against the wind. “they fled when they heard it was you coming.”

“and left you?” he asks, jaw clenching, as he hopes that the emotions aren’t as visible on his features as he thinks they are. “were you not a ransom?”

“no,” you swallow, hard, as if in pain. he notices bruises around your neck, the shape of fingerprints indented there. “i was bait.”

anger rises up in him like a wave, engulfing him, wholly and relentlessly. he is no stranger to that, like he is the kindness you show him, the way you look at him as if he is your protector, rather than a bringer of destruction. “i’ll go after them. where are they headed? they’ll pay, i’ll slaughter—”

“ryunosuke,” you say, reaching for him as he stands, expression pleading as he backs away. “stay.”

he has half a mind to ignore you — the enemy escaped, after all. but your voice. your eyes… you look so small sitting there, bloodied and bruised and broken.

“please,” you try again, near tears, and though he has never been good with obvious displays of emotion, something within him snaps at the desperation in the word.

he nods, slowing his pace as he returns to you, lets you wrap yourself in him, cling to him. his hands fall, naturally, to your waist, somehow knowing where they belong, even if akutagawa never has a clue what he’s doing with you.

“i’ll call hirotsu,” he says simply, before pulling out his phone, not bothering to untangle himself from you.

𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 . . .

dazai is not a forgiving man, and will never learn to be. forgiveness is not a luxury he is often able to indulge in in his line of work, and his heart has hardened enough that until the end of time, those that are branded his enemies will remain his enemies.

though, in his blackened heart, one soured over the course of time, you have carved out your own little space, lit it up with golden rays of light that are fiery enough to melt the stone casing of his chest.

his only love — his only weakness. but it is a weakness that his enemies know about as well.

dazai tries his best to keep you safe. he always has, and he knows that, sometimes, his grasp on you can be a little too tight. that the way he tries to keep you under his watchful eye can sometimes be stifling, frustrating.

but he can’t always be there to protect you. and it is in times like these, that he regrets letting you go without a bodyguard. he regrets that he listened to your insistence that you could keep yourself safe.

he should’ve at least told you to take a friend.

“boss,” his subordinate says, bowing his head, his voice pleading, desperate. “i’m so sorry. your wife—”

“if anything… anything happens to her, you will be the one responsible, do you understand?” dazai says, his eyes cold as he glowers down at the man, only a few inches shorter than him, but feeling so much smaller. “i will personally see that this act does not go unpunished.”

“of course, sir,” the man says, and he, at the very least, has the decency to sound resigned. to accept his fate and suffer the consequences, for allowing the boss’s wife to get herself into such a situation.

and dazai means it, every last word; if he finds you in a state closer to death, anyone who put you in harm’s way will be torn apart from the inside out. he isn’t able to think of anything but bringing you home safely, his hands shaking with rage as he sends more than enough people out on a search to find you.

with all the strings he’s able to pull as the mafia boss, it doesn’t take long to find you, for those that have bravely — or stupidly — used his wife as bait to come forward, and offer an attempt at some sort of negotiation.

there’s little of the conversation that dazai remembers on the phone, even less that he remembers after that. the anger bubbles up in him and grabs hold of his conscience, the emotion directing his movements with a mind of its own.

he’s already sent out every last one of his people into the field, ensuring that the organization that had the gall to threaten you is wiped off the face of the earth. deleted from every corner of the world, buildings flattened to the ground. by tomorrow, they won’t have ever existed.

today, he doesn’t care what happens as long as he finds you alive.

you’re held hostage by two men — so completely beaten that they’ve given up on any restraints. whatever they wanted from you, you seemed to refused to have given up, lip bleeding, eyes swelling so badly that you can’t even open them.

dazai doesn’t hesitate before pulling the trigger on the first man, then turning to the other, shooting the hand that holds the pistol. the man recoils, shouts, and drops the weapon completely, as dazai lands another bullet to his knee, causing him to fall.

slowly, dazai walks up, firing again to his other arm, a loud snap echoing throughout the room. the man winces, trying to crawl to the gun, one last desperate attempt to stay alive.

he kicks the gun away, watching, as, pathetically, the expression in the enemy’s face changes — any of his remaining hope vanishes.

“you told me she was unharmed,” dazai says, bending down, his coat flaring out behind him as he squats.

the man coughs, gasping for air as the blood seeps out of him. “we lied.” he smiles cruelly, and though he shares the same sort of darkness as those in the port mafia, there is something even more twisted in his smile.

dazai hums. “you the leader?”

the man doesn’t give an answer, but the slight twitch of surprise on his face is all dazai needs. he’s no one — just a grunt whose life was put on the line to guard you.

“didn’t think so.” dazai shoots him once, straight through the forehead, instantly killing him. but he is vindictive, angry, and the man he truly wants to destroy, the one who took you, is nowhere to be found. another bullet lands, tearing apart the flesh of his temple, then another, and one more, his skull beginning to cave in from the force of it all.

dazai heaves, letting the gun clatter to the ground as it runs out of bullets, and then he realizes, all this time, you’ve just been watching him. the ugliest side of him — the worst side of him.

you’re no stranger to it, of course. how can you be, when you’ve shared a life with him for years? but that doesn’t mean he wants you to see it, see how bloodthirsty he can become.

he stumbles over to you, where you’re still sitting on the ground, your wrist in your lap, bent at an angle that he knows isn’t right. bruises are littered across your skin, and your hair is matted from the blood that pools at your temple.

it takes every ounce of restraint he has to stay calm, a million feelings swirling under his skin. ones that he was never familiar with until he met you.

“i’m sorry,” he says, taking your face in his hands so, so softly, worried that he’ll hurt you even more. “i’m sorry, darling. i should’ve — i should’ve been there.” dazai notices his hands are shaking and he balls them up into fists, leaning back. “fuck. fuck — i’ll kill them all, just tell me who it was. anyone who laid a finger on you. i’ll cut them down one by one.”

“osamu,” you say, and your voice is raspy, cracking, as your unbroken arm reaches for him, squeezing his shaking hand. “i—”

you open your mouth to continue, but only tears come streaming down your cheeks, over your bloodied lips, saltiness soaking your jawline. no words don’t leave you, but a soft sob chokes itself up your throat.

“hey, hey, hey.” dazai’s voice softens, every muscle in his body relaxing as he draws you nearer to him, into his chest with a touch that’s barely there. “you’re safe. i’m here, okay? they’re not going to hurt you again, sweetheart.”

you sniffle, barely making a sound, but he can feel the tears drop onto his clothes, soaking the material.

“can you walk? are you hurt anywhere else?”

you hesitate for a moment before answering; he’s not sure if there’s a reason you only answer the first question. “i can walk.”

dazai nods, and though the rage is still bubbling there, underneath the surface, there is a coolant streaming through him at the vision of you alive. the men who did this will pay the price, but he still has you — and that’s all that matters.

thank you for reading !!! ❤︎

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