𝗲𝗽𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗹 [bsd x reader oneshots]

MULTI | SHOT THROUGH THE HEART

[CONTENT]

This oneshot contains gunshot wounds, medical supplies, protective behaviors, non-graphic descriptions of wounds, implied/referenced minor character death, angst with happy ending, cursing, murder, along with a gender-neutral reader. This is oneshot has not been beta-read. Beware grammar errors.

The translation for the non-English phrases is located at the end. Please read the note about translations at the end of the chapter.

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OSAMU DAZAI

Dazai's leather-bound shoe pattered against the emerald tiles of the Armed Detective Agency office; a pout spiraled onto his lips as he hummed to a dissonant melody from his head, eyeing the streets below. The soft glimmer of dusk cast his face in blinding shadow, but he refused to squint at its unbearing gaze, watching and waiting. Many of his co-workers were shuffling out of the room, slinking away as they retired for the night. He would've joined them—he was usually the first to leave—if he had fixed himself to his seat as he lingered around to witness your return.

The amount of time you had been out unnerved him, though he would never admit it, with you attending a client meeting outside the office in the early afternoon. However, he resolved to believe that you had somehow been side-tracked during your return like the cute little ditzy he had come to adore. The corners of his mouth upturned into a smirk, knowing you'd strangle him for his little interpretation.

He perked up like a puppy as he picked up on the familiar click of the office door squeaking open, practically giving himself whiplash as he twisted around. But then he froze, unable to stop the hitch of his breath as he took in your panting form, slouched against the doorframe as you propped your hand against a pulsating wound that only grew darker with each passing second.

"(Name)!"

His footsteps pounded against the floor, bracing a hand against your back as he guided you into the infirmary, helping you lie down on one of the beds as called yelled for Yosano. She darted out of her office with unrivaled swiftness—much to your combined relief; she was usually out the door with various strange and usual plans—snatching her tools and shoving Dazai over to inspect the gunshot wound. The brunette could only stand in the corner and stare, utilizing every mental barrier at his disposal to not react with each pained cry that left your lips, not to hold you tight and reassure you that everything would be okay.

God. You could've died.

Yosano finished her incessant work, settling a stern hand against your arm with words that cycled through your mind before dissipating. She patted your hand with a concerned hum, shuffling out of the room with one last glance and an excuse on her lips.

But a bandaged, bloodied hand now replaced hers, almost hovering over your skin as if afraid you would shatter from a single touch. It drifted to your cheek, refocusing your dazed eyes to his own, which swirled with nostalgic darkness, one that reflected the gunfire and back-alley deals of years past. It was a look that made your insides twist more than the bullet—a flash of the past, a momentary recollection of who he once was.

"Who hurt you?"

And you knew, deep down, that it was in your best interest to tell him the truth, lest you stir the anger of the former demon prodigy. It would not be directed at you—no, never at you—but at this moment, he would not be able to withhold that mental fortitude that stood against his temper, against the raging fire of protectiveness that burned with the only kindling he could scrounge up in his bleeding heart.