if you're still taking request can you do sth with like reader getting hurt during a mission and the bsd mans react?? any of them is fine thankss
I'm begging you, just survive.
TW : violence, gun, gunshot wound, blood, graphic injury, near death experience, emotional distress, implied suicidal thoughts
In order : Osamu Dazai, Nakahara Chuuya
The mission had started well. For several weeks, the Agency had been tracking down a criminal network that was selling weapons. However, it was mainly you and Dazai who were in charge of this case. Your investigation was progressing well, you always worked better together than separately. Dazai used his past as a Mafia member to understand the criminals and give you a whole list of places known to be used by smugglers, while you gathered information, questioned people and broke a few knuckles if they refused to answer your questions. You worked together perfectly.
So how did everything go so wrong?
Your research led you to a warehouse outside the city, isolated and not so abandoned because the criminals used it to store their weapons. But when you arrived, two of them were waiting for you, weapons in hand.
And the bullet that pierced your stomach was only proof that you had poorly prepared for your arrival. The burning sensation came afterwards. First, there was the sharp noise, the dull thud in your flesh, and that strange second when your body continued to obey. Then the pain hit you all at once, hot and deep as if someone had stuck a piece of metal in your stomach and was slowly turning it.
Your breath caught in your throat, your fingers slid down to your abdomen, trembling, incredulous, and when you looked down, you saw dark red blood spreading through the fabric, faster than your mind could comprehend. t was nothing abstract, it was sticky and hot, spreading way too fast and it was burning excruciatingly.
You wanted to back away, to start moving again, because moving meant survival. But your legs gave way and you grabbed hold of a random crate, your shoulder hitting the metal with a stupid, tiny sound compared to the rest. Through your blurred vision, the two criminals were still there, guns raised and you were sure there was going to be a second shot, this one final.
But you didn't have time to say or think anything because Dazai was already moving. The first man didn't even have time to fire a second shot before Dazai's bullets hit him, from the stomach to the head, almost decapitating him on impact. The second man tried to get the upper hand, but he was simply no match for Dazai, who fired two bullets at him and he fell into a pool of blood, his head still attached to his shoulders.
You blinked, unable to follow the sequence of events, unable to tell if you had just seen Dazai kill two men or if your brain was inventing images to fill the void of panic you were into. The floor seemed too close. The walls were spinning slightly. You felt cold in places and burning where you were bleeding.
A moment later, Dazai was in front of you, crouching down. His gaze slid over your wound in a fraction of a second, then to your face, and you saw something pass through his eyes, not surprise or fear, but that dark tension he never really shows, the one that wants to keep control of everything and, for once, isn't succeeding.
"You know." He whispered, in a surprisingly soft voice, "I'm starting to think you're doing this on purpose to remind me that I'm not immortal." It was meant to be a joke. One of his stupid jokes. Except it came out wrong, stuck between his teeth and his jaw that couldn't unclench. His hands had landed on your stomach with firm pressure.
The pain wrenched a humiliating sound from you. You bit your lip hard, but it didn't help, your body was still shaking.
"Dazai-" What did you want to say, exactly ? That he should stop ? That he should be careful ? That he shouldn't look at you like that ? That he should get you out of there ? The words crashed in your throat.
He didn't answer right away. He adjusted his grip, tore off something, a piece of fabric, a strip, whatever, and pressed it against the wound, applying a brutal pressure. His fingers were warm from your blood.
Your fingers clench the fabric of his coat and you cling to it without thinking. You feel the trembling in your hands, the way your arms are losing strength with every passing second, and it makes you panic even more. You try to control your breathing, but it doesn't work. The air comes in too fast, goes out too fast, and every breath pulls at the wound.
Dazai sees it right away.
"Hey, breathe slower." His voice stays low, too calm for the situation. "With me."
You nod, unsure if you can do it. You feel your throat tighten, tears welling up without you asking them to. It's not just the pain, it's the sound of the shot still echoing in your head and the certainty that if it had been a centimetre higher, you might not be looking at him anymore.
"I'm fine..." You say, because that's all you can say, and because you can see him. His gaze fixed on you way too intense, his jaw clenched tight. You make an effort to calm your voice, to give him something stable to hold on to. "I... I'm fine."
Dazai looks up at you, and his expression closes.
"Don't lie. You don't have to do that, not with me." You swallow. You want to answer, to protest, but your voice comes out too weak.
"I just don't want you to..." You can't even finish your sentence. Because you don't want to say "panic". You don't want to say "break down". You don't want to admit that you saw him on the verge of a panic attack.
Dazai tightens his grip on the makeshift bandage a little more, and you let out a small moan of pain. He doesn't apologise. He just adjusts it and puts his other hand behind your back to stop you from sliding completely to the ground.
"I know." He replies simply.
You cling even tighter to his coat. Your knuckles turn white.
He looks at you for another second, his eyes seeming to grow even darker, then he quickly takes off his coat and throws it over your shoulders, without asking if you want it. He covers you as best he can, then immediately returns to your wound, his fingers stained with blood, the pressure still constant.
"Stay with me, okay ?" This time he doesn't try to hide the tremors in his voice, he's terrified.
You nod again. You try to look strong. You try not to shake. You try not to show him that you want to cry like a little girl.
Dazai exhales, forcing himself to restore a semblance of normality to the air.
"Really." He continues. "You could have chosen a less... messy way to ask for a hug and a holiday."
A nervous laugh escapes you, but it immediately breaks into pain. Your face tenses. You tighten your fingers around him and his bloodstained shirt. He's not really smiling, he just said that for you. To keep you there.
"It's not funny..." You whisper.
"I know." He lowers his voice even further. "But stay."
Your eyelids grow heavy, little by little, your body has decided that fighting is pointless. Your head tilts slightly against him, and you immediately sit up, overcome with panic. Dazai grabs the back of your neck with his free hand and gently forces you to keep your head up. His thumb brushes your cheek. You have to stay close to him. You can't leave him.
"Look at me." He insists. "Look at me."
You try. You see his eyes and his concentration and the fatigue in them too, holding you there without being able to fix you himself was draining him.
"Let's get out of here." He says. "I'll take you back to the Agency. Yosano will treat you. And then you'll make a scene because it hurts."
You swallow hard. "It... it already hurts."
"Yes, but you're a fighter, and later you'll wear your scar with pride." He replies, and this time he has a real micro-smile. Very brief. Then it disappears.
Because your hand slips a little.
Your fingers slip just a little and that's enough for the panic to come rushing back. You grip again, but you don't have the strength.
"Dazai..." You whisper, voice is broken. "I think..."
He squeezes your hand immediately. Almost too hard, but you don't care.
"No." He leans closer. "Not now."
You want to say, "I'm here." You want to promise him you won't leave. You want to reassure him, because you can feel he's on the edge, because you know he hates this kind of situation, hates not being in control.
But your body decides for you. Darkness comes quickly.
The last thing you feel is the warmth of his hand refusing to let go, and his voice close by, even lower.
"Stay with me. I beg you, stay..."
The light wakes you up first. It's a bit harsh. Your mouth is dry and your throat burns. You try to move but your stomach suddenly reminds you of everything with a dull, sharp pain, different from the one you felt in the warehouse. It pulls and it stings. But you're no longer bleeding out.
You breathe, that's already a huge step.
When you turn your head, you recognise the Agency infirmary. You swallow with difficulty.
"Finally awake." The voice comes from the side.
Dazai is sitting near the bed, slumped in a chair as if he had spent too long pretending to be relaxed. His clothes are rumpled, there are traces of dried blood on his hands despite his quick cleaning, and his eyes... his eyes stare at you without moving.
Then his smile returns, a little too easily.
"You cost me a huge amount of money, you know." He raises his hand slightly. "I bet you'd be stubborn enough to stay conscious at least until the door."
You try to laugh, but it hurts, so it comes out as a breath.
"You're... really stupid."
"Thank you." He replies, relieved to hear you insult him. "Are you alright ?"
The question is way too simple for him, it makes your chest tighten.
You look at him for a few seconds and see what he's trying to hide : the worry, the tension and that he stayed there. He waited for you.
"Yosano...?" You whisper.
"She healed you." He pauses, then adds, more quietly, "You're going to be fine."
You feel your hand move on its own, weakly, towards him. Your fingers search. Dazai takes it immediately. He doesn't say anything for a second. He just holds your hand in his. After a few minutes, he sighs and goes back to his usual tone, but it doesn't quite fit.
"Next time, you wear a bulletproof vest. And if you tell me it bothers you, I'll remind you that a bullet in the stomach is worse."
You gently squeeze his fingers.
"There won't be a next time."
He looks at you, and his smile fades a little.
"Of course there will be." He replies, but his voice is softer. "Except next time, you do what I tell you." Dazai leans his head until it touches your forehead, and you feel his tears running down your face. "I thought you were dead." Weakly, your hand clenches his coat.
"You won't get rid of me that easily." A faint laugh escapes him, he lays his body down next to yours, his arms wrapped around your waist.
"I would have joined you immediately." Your heart sinks, you know he's not lying and you can only hope it'll never get to that point.
Mori gave you two tasks : retrieve the weapons and don't get killed. You managed the first one pretty well, but Chuuya threw the second one out of the window.
Initially, however, you had been confident, all your missions with your husband had gone smoothly. You worked as a team, the Mafiaâs best agents.
You found yourselves in a warehouse on the waterfront of the city. The criminals were, at heart, nothing but amateurs and should never have taken on the Port Mafia. The smell of water and metal filled your nostrils. The moment the door opened, however, you realised youâd made a mistake, the men were waiting for you.
Chuuya said nothing, but reacted immediately. The air around you grew heavy, making it difficult to breathe and the two men hesitated for a second under the pressure. That should have been enough. But one of them fired anyway.
The shot was fired too quickly for you to see it. You only heard the gunshot echoing through the hangar. The shot was clean and precise, aimed straight at Chuuya. The bloke wasnât even looking at you.
Chuuya raised his hand almost instinctively.
Gravity caught the bullet mid-flight, abruptly changing its trajectory. Instead of piercing your husbandâs chest as intended, it veered off course and was deflected to the side.
For a split second, it seemed as though everything was over. Then you realised that the bullet hadnât stopped. It was simply continuing its course elsewhere.
You didnât have time to move. The impact came before your brain could even process what was happening. Something struck your stomach with great force and the wind was knocked out of you instantly. Your legs gave way and your body slammed violently against the ground.
The pain came much faster than expected, your hands rested on the wound in a futile attempt to stem the flow of blood.
The two men moved again, probably ready to fire a second time, but Chuuya didnât even give them a full glance. His arm shot up again in a sharp motion. Gravity came crashing down on them with full force and their bodies were smashed against the floor, the sound of their bones shattering into a thousand pieces echoed throughout the hangar. The concrete cracked under the impact.
He didnât check to see if they were dead.
Chuuya was already closing the gap between you two.
He reached you almost immediately, falling to his knees before your body. His hands gripped your shoulders to lift you slightly before sliding down to your stomach. Blood ran through his fingers, there was far too much of it.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck noâŠ" His voice is panicked as he quickly takes off his gloves and lifts you up to check if the ball has come out. Of course it has, given how fast he deflected it. "Shit ! Iâm sorry, Iâm sorry, sorry, sorry..." He moves your hands away from the injury and replaces them with his own, pressing much more firmly.
Youâre shaking so badly that you feel as though your body is about to fall apart, even breathing has become far too difficult. Your hands rest weakly on his.
"ChuuyaâŠ" Your voice comes out so faintly, you hate that. You wish you were stronger, that you could reassure him and tell him everything will be alright, even though you know things are looking very bleak.
Chuuya looks up, you can see in his eyes all the panic and stress heâs feeling.
"Keep talking, donât stop." He commands more than he asks.
You find it hard to swallow. Your throat is dry and you can taste metal in your mouth.
"Iâm really cold and hot at the same time." His eyes widen and he hurriedly grabs his phone.
"We're on our way. Gunshot wound to the stomach, the bullet has exited. Prepare an operating room, weâll be there in five minutes." He hangs up just as quickly. "Hang on, Iâm begging you, hang on." He slips one arm under your legs and the other under your back and lifts you without warning. The movement draws a groan of pain from you. "Iâm sorry." He says the words quickly. You can see heâs furious with himself, but heâs determined to get you to the doctors as quickly as possible.
Chuuya donât waste any more time, the ground is giving way beneath his feet and gravity is shifting all around you. Your body feels lighter in his arms as he rises without even slowing down. The hangar vanishes almost instantly behind you.
Every movement sends a jolt of pain through your stomach. You clench your fingers against his jacket, unable to stop the tremors running through your body. The blood continues to flow despite the pressure heâs applying firmly to the wound.
"Itâll be alright." He says, more to himself than to you. "Weâre almost there."
His voice is strained. He speaks without really expecting a reply, as if he needs to fill the silence to check that youâre still conscious.
The city lights blur past you in streaks. You try to keep your eyes open, but your vision is already growing hazy. The cold bites into your skin, whilst your stomach still burns just as fiercely.
"ChuuyaâŠ" You whisper, your fingers clenching weakly around his collar.
He immediately looks down at you without slowing.
"Iâm here. Keep talking." Breathing becomes difficult. Every breath is short and incomplete. You feel your head growing heavy against his shoulder.
"No." His reply comes instantly. "Not now."
His grip tightens slightly around you, instinctive and protective. He adjusts his hand against your wound, pressing harder despite the blood already soaking his shirt and sleeves.
You try. You really do. But the lights are growing too bright and distant. The sound of the wind almost drowns out his voice.
Chuuya swears under his breath, picking up the pace again. Gravity twists around him to gain a few more seconds, as if he could force the distance to vanish.
"Weâre almost there." He repeats. "Just a little further."
Your fingers slip slightly from his jacket. You donât really have the strength to grip them any tighter. The world grows strangely quiet, the pain less sharp as if your body has decided to give up the fight.
"Hey." His voice hardens instantly. "No. Stay with me."
You hear the worry this time, clear, impossible to hide. His hand leaves your wound for a second to grab your wrist, check your pulse before immediately returning to press down on your stomach.
The Mafiaâs buildings finally come into view.
Chuuya descends abruptly, his feet hitting the ground with a thud. Silhouettes are already rushing towards him, but he doesnât slow down, he strides through the doors without stopping.
His voice booms through the hall. No one argues.
When you open your eyes again, the first thing you feel is pain.
Itâs a dull ache this time, bearable. Nothing like the burning sensation that was tearing at your stomach just a few hours earlier. Your body feels heavy and numb and for a few seconds you donât quite realise where you are. The smell of disinfectant eventually brings you back to reality.
The Mafiaâs medical wing.
Memories come flooding back in fragments. The hangar, the shooting, and Chuuya.
Your gaze drifts slowly around the room, still blurry, until it settles on a figure sitting by the bed.
He is leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his head bowed. His hat lies beside him, abandoned on a table, a sight rare enough for your brain to notice it immediately.
Not silently or discreetly, his shoulders are shaking, his hand pressed against his face as if he were trying to stifle the sounds escaping him despite himself. You can hear his ragged breathing and it tightens your chest far more than the pain.
He didn't see you move. He spoke in a low voice, almost to himself.
"I've messed up..." His voice is hoarse. "Shit... I've messed up..." He runs a hand through his hair nervously, then drops his head. His fingers are still trembling. "The shot was meant for me." He whispers. "I changed the trajectory..." There is a moment of silence. "I'm the one who sent it towards you." The words come out slowly and hesitantly, as if he has only just managed to accept them. He shakes his head slightly, unable to bear his own thoughts. "I should have⊠I should just have stopped itâŠ" His voice breaks completely this time. He takes a sharp breath, trying to pull himself together, but itâs no use. A tear falls onto his hands and he makes no effort to wipe it away. You realise then that he thinks youâre still asleep. That heâs finally allowing himself to break down because no oneâs watching.
Because youâre not supposed to hear him.
He stands there, crushed by the weight of what he believes he has done, his fingers clenched so tightly that the knuckles have turned white. "You could have diedâŠ" He whispers. "Because of me." You remain motionless for a few more seconds. Your body takes a while to respond, each breath tugs slightly at your stomach and immediately reminds you why youâre here.
Chuuya still hasnât looked up.
His shoulders are still shaking, his hand clenched against his face. Seeing him like this seems almost unreal. Chuuya doesnât break, he gets angry, shouts, lashes out, but he never breaks down.
And yet there he is, broken, just a few inches away from you.
You move your hand slightly. The movement is minimal, almost ridiculous, but enough to tug at the drips and rustle the sheets. The pain makes you wince, a gasp escapes you despite yourself.
Chuuya looks up immediately.
His eyes rest on you, bewildered for a split second. Then the realisation hits him like a ton of bricks. He sits up so quickly that his chair scrapes loudly against the floor.
"Youâre awake ?" His voice is hoarse. You try to smile, but it looks more like a weary grimace.
"HiâŠ" The word comes out weakly, almost raspy. He moves towards the bed immediately, one hand hanging in the air, hesitant for once as if he no longer knows whether heâs allowed to touch you. It hurts more than the wound. So you move a little more, slowly, and your hand reaches for his. Your fingers close weakly around his. "HeyâŠ"
He freezes completely. His gaze drops to your hands, his fingers immediately close around yours, but with an unusual caution, almost fragile.
"Iâm here." You whisper. His jaw tenses immediately.
"You shouldnât have beenâŠ" He says, his voice low. "Iâ"
You shake your head very slightly, cutting him off before he can continue. The movement tugs at your wound and you draw a laboured breath, but you carry on anyway.
"Chuuya⊠You didnât mean to." He looks away, unable to meet your gaze.
"It doesnât change anything." His grip tightens despite himself. "The shot was meant for me. If Iâd-"
"But you reacted." Your voice remains weak, but firm. You gather what little energy you have to speak clearly. "You did what you always do⊠you protected me." He laughs without humour.
"I did a great job." Silence falls. You can tell he doesnât believe it, that heâs replaying the scene in his head, over and over. So you gently pull on his hand to get his attention. When he finally looks up at you, you see the exhaustion, the fear, the guilt still clinging to him.
"Iâm alive." You whisper. "Look at me." He does it, for real this time. Your fingers gently brush against his. "You stayed, didnât you ?" He doesnât reply straight away. His thumb unconsciously strokes the back of your hand.
"Of course I stayed." He murmurs at last. "I thought Iâd lost you."
His voice remains low. He doesnât look at you straight away, his gaze remains fixed on your hands, on your still-weak fingers clasped in his. You sense heâs waiting for something. Perhaps for you to tell him everythingâs alright. Perhaps for you to forgive him.
You breathe in slowly. The pain is there, but bearable.
"But Iâm here." You simply whisper.
Chuuya closes his eyes briefly. His shoulders slump slightly, he runs a hand over his face, quickly wiping away the remaining traces of tears without trying to hide anything this time. He no longer needs to pretend. His gaze returns to you, calmer, but still heavy with that guilt he cannot shake off.
"Iâve played it over a hundred times in my head." He admits after a moment. "The angle⊠the distanceâŠ" He clenches his teeth slightly. "If Iâd just stopped the bullet instead of deflecting it-"
You gently tighten your grip on his hand. He stops himself immediately.
"Chuuya." He looks up. "If you hadnât deflected it⊠youâd be the one lying here."
A silence falls between you two. He doesnât reply straight away. You can tell heâs still wrestling with the idea, with the calculations heâs making against his will. Then he exhales, deeply. His hand gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, a rare gesture for him.
"I donât like these odds." He mutters.
A faint, weary smile stretches across your lips.
"Me neither." He stays there for a few seconds, simply looking at you. Not to check that youâre breathing, not out of panic but just to make sure youâre really awake, really alive, that this isnât just another bad scenario in his head.
Then he pulls his chair closer to the bed and sits down properly this time, without letting go of your hand.
"Get some rest." He says finally, calmer. "Work can wait. So can Mori."
You gently close your eyes, exhausted, still feeling the warmth of his palm around yours.
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