Oblivion • Akutagawa x Reader

•13

The chains tied around your wrist rattle loudly as you struggle to loosen the cuffs, your wrists aching as the rusted metal rubs against bare skin. Blood drips down a gash in your leg from the attack outside to weaken you before taking you in.

You got what you wanted, but now you were worried you hadn't thought it out too well. Scanning your surroundings, your eyes land in a red-head at the other end of the dark room.

"We heard what happened to you after leaving the Port Mafia...and I'd feel sorry for you if you weren't a traitor" Chuuya says calmly, leaning against the wall by the stairs that led out of the basement. He watches you struggle, sighing and walking over to you.

Chuuya looks at you with pity as he scans you, reaching into your coat pocket and taking out the gun you had left in there. He smirks with arrogance, spinning the gun carelessly around before leaving it in the ground, just out of reach.

"Why even bother coming back?"

"You know why. I don't have to explain anything to you. You probably know more than I do in the first place." You respond, trying your best not to look bothered that he took away the gun, that you just realized you were at the mercy of the Port Mafia the moment you stepped into their building willingly.

Chuuya sighs with clear, newfound boredom, giving you one last analytic glance before kicking the gun away as he walked towards the exit, going up the stairs mumbling to himself some insults you couldn't hear. You found it strange he didn't really hurt you, but you could feel your heart squeeze with nerves the longer you spent down there, alone, in the darkening room.

You were there for so long you started to wonder if they forgot about you, or that you meant so little that they decided to leave you there to rot.

Does Akutagawa even know I'm here?

The longer you're alone, the tighter the chains feel, the smaller the room looks. You'd seen the mafia dungeon-like basement before, you were sure, but what was on your mind wasn't the torture people must have gone through. There was something else, a memory you wish you didn't have to remember.

Why you had been in the mafia in the first place all those years ago...

•••

You stand in your mother's office, shivering at the look on the face of the man in front of you speaking to them. You had tuned out the words being spoken in the room, but you knew  they weren't anything pretty.

There was a threatening glare coming from the man, and his hands itched to take action on his anger. You weren't sure why he was so mad, as you had been called only to do your mother a favour until the man interrupted.

You didn't even bother learning his name, but you knew he was important, or else your mother wouldn't be putting up with the shit you were sure he was spouting out.

Something was off, though. The air about him wasn't right.

Suddenly, the man leans in to say something softly to your mother, and the look on her face contorted to a fear she was trying to restrain because you were watching.

Turning away for a moment, catching the figure of your father walking past the office, you walk out without a word and leave your mother to deal with the man without the distraction of having to put up a front for you.

"Father?"

There was something wrong.