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noose-lion · 2 years

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Temper, Temper

Fandom: Bsd

Pairing: none, platonic Dazai & Atsushi

It's familiar, the click of a gun as it's cocked. A sound Dazai has heard hundreds of times before, from both sides of the weapon. It's somewhere the detective always seems to find himself.

Right now though, Dazai would rather be anywhere else. Anywhere that isn't a fairly abandoned shipping yard by the port, with an armed assailant that currently has the upper hand.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

From his place face down on the ground, an unfortunate landing after being shoved, he twists his head to watch Atsushi freeze at the sight of the gun Dazai is sure is pointed at his back. His assailant chuckles, an easy, victorious sound. "Got you now, damn gifted. You wouldn't want your friend here getting hurt would you? Well, more than it already is."

It stings, being called an it , really it does. But it's not the first time he's been called that and it's quite a mild insult considering the hundreds of other biting words he's been subjected to. It's nothing to Dazai, but Atsushi's expression upon hearing the word, one of grief and bad memories, sparks an old feeling of rage in Dazai's gut.

"Don't call him that!" Atsushi barks, truly angry and caring little for the assailant's upper hand.

Dazai is impressed.

The gun-wielding man at his back laughs and Dazai can imagine the way he must look, head thrown back in malicious glee. He's hit with a sudden craving to rip the man's throat open with his teeth, a left over intrusive urge from his younger days. Dazai can't think of a good enough reason to feel bad about it.

A knee drops onto his back, knocking the air from his lungs as the assailant cuts his own laughter off with sudden ferocity. "No."

Atsushi growls, actually growls, a deep rumbling sound. He sounds like a hungry beast. Dazai wants to say something but he can't get the air in his lungs to do so.

"Tell me where the rest of you freaks are holed up, and I'll consider not killing this one."

Atsushi's angry snarl falters, growl petering off. Dazai meets his eye best he can and glares.

Do not tell this bitch a damn thing.

Atsushi didn't need Dazai's reminder, he doesn't even hesitate to firmly respond with a simple. "Never."

Dazai is struck with a sudden pride for the boy, though he is a bit distracted by the gun being pressed to the back of his head. The detective bites back a pained yelp as his assailant grabs him by the back of the neck and yanks his head up. The knee in his back forces him to an odd angle, he can feel the pull in his spine and the bullet graze wound across his side aches with the stretch, the muzzle of the gun is pressed harshly against his temple.

"Wanna run that by me again."

Dazai is finding this guy less and less amusing.

Atsushi is growling again, probably upset at how Dazai is being manhandled. The were-tiger hisses through gritted teeth. "No."

The poor thing is worried for Dazai, but fortunately won't spill the location. He's smart enough to know the assailant won't kill Dazai when Dazai is the only thing keeping Atsushi from attacking. Without an ability, being a dumbass with a gun isn't enough to stop a regenerating man-eating tiger.

Dazai grins at Atsushi (his teeth blood stained from an earlier punch to the face he'd received) and winks, the other looks torn between exasperation and tentative relief. "I feel a bit disappointed I'm the one you're torturing and you haven't even asked me one question."

The man laughs. "You call this torture?!"

His laugh sounds nervous to Dazai, the detective can feel a familiar smirk crack across his face. He can smell the proverbial blood in the water and he can't help but become giddy.

Ah. I might be just a tad bit punch drunk.

"No. I don't, but I'm sure you intended it to be."

The hand at his nape tightens, Dazai smirk sharpens. He has the verbal upper hand, the hunter with a set snare. Cool metal presses deeper into his temple.

He needs that gun pointed away from his head.

"You're a mouthy little bitch."

"And you're a lousy hostage taker."

Said hostage taker squeezes the back of his neck tight enough that Dazai's seeing stars. The gun is pulled away, only to bash him across the back of his head. Another growl escapes Atsushi.

Dazai clicks his tongue with a pained wince. "Temper, temper."

An angry grunt and Dazai's face is being slammed into the ground. Pain blooms through his jaw and he groans in response, he can practically feel the bruise forming.

"One more word out of you and I swear I'll blow your brains out!"

"Really?" Dazai lets a nearly hopeful lilt, "You'd do that just for me? How wonderful!"

"You're not taking this threat seriously!" It's a livid confrontation, but his captor sounds uncomfortable as most are when faced with Dazai's willingness to die.

And now, Dazai is starting to have fun. The detective chances another look at his pseudo apprentice, he seems worried. Perhaps Dazai is having too much fun.

His next response is said without the mocking tone. "You just don't seem to come across that threatening."

Dazai is watching Atsushi, he sees the grimace that the boy bites back. In any other situation it'd be a full on face palm. The man at his back is much more willing to express his great displeasure in Dazai's lack of fearful reactions.

He hears the gunshot boom in his ear before he can register the pain in his shoulder. It fucking hurts. Dazai groans in pain, forhead thudding into the ground.

"You shot him!" Atsushi shouts this with a renewed rage, his body shifting into a more feline form.

"Yeah? Well he's not fucking dead is he? And if you want him to stay that way Whiskers, you'll tell me the hidey-hole you freaks are hiding in."

As he makes his demand, his assailant knees him in the side, right in his scraped up side. The detective's pained cry is the metaphorical piece of straw that breaks the camel's back, Atsushi deciding he longer has patience for the man holding the two of them hostage. As a full tiger, Atsushi lunges forward, knocking the man off of Dazai.

There's a series of angry curses and the gun goes off, but Atsushi catches the bullet in an oversized paw, shaking the sting out in order to continue his defensive assault.

Dazai struggles to sit up, the hole through his shoulder wracking his body with pain. He's breathing harshly through gritted teeth, hand grabbing at his wound as an instinctual response to stem the bleeding.

Atsushi is shifted back to his half-form, their once captor gunless, pinned to the ground reminiscent of the way he had Dazai.

"Get you're paws off me-"

"Shut. Up." Atsushi snarls as he slams the man's face into the ground in a rare moment of violence. The boy is pissed.

The man is no longer struggling, and for a brief moment Dazai is sure Atsushi killed him. It's a short lived worry, the man's chest moves up on down in uneven breaths, and Dazai feels relief that Atsushi hadn't crossed that line.

The world spins.

Oh. I've lost to much blood.

Dazai blinks.

He's on his back. Atsushi is leaning over him, his face twisted in fear. Dazai trys to smile, trys to reassure him. He doesn't think it works.

"Dazai, we have to get you to Yosano."

"Nah, little tiger. I'm fine."

"No Dazai. No you're not."

Atsushi voice is quite, subdued, he's straining and Dazai thinks he might be holding back tears. Squinting, he's able to see that the boy's eyes are wet.

This feels familiar. Wrong, like he's not quite in the right place, but familiar.

Its- It's like-

A seagull squawks from where it's probably flying over the harbor, the familiarity shatters.

Atsushi slips an arm beneath his knees and another around his back, easily lifting him. He's strong. That too is familiar, but different then what he felt at first. Dazai groans softly as he's picked up, the movement pulling at his wounds. He's sure he's bleeding all down Atsushi's white shirt.

Dazai can feel as his eyelids grow heavier, as each slow blink becomes harder and harder to open back up. Atsushi has taken off in a run, jolting Dazai slightly with every stride. The tiger's heart beats frantically against his ear, he's trying to speak to Dazai, voice strained with panic and exertion. His eyelids continue to grow heavier.

Tired. So very very-

Dazai slips into unconsciousness as Atsushi continues to plead with him to keep his eyes open.

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flowersarefreetherapy · 2 years

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Can’t Have Mistakes

(So . . . Bungo Stray Dogs is the new special interest. . . Enjoy the random fixation fueled mess??)

CW: blood, knife wounds, suicidal intentions, thoughts of suicide, abuse of power, creepy whumper

“A mistake.”

“Yes, boss.”

Metal scrapes against metal. The filing drawer opens, light flashes off a thin blade. “You know I can’t have mistakes.”

“Yes, boss.”

He doesn’t apologize. There would be nothing to be gained by doing so. He stands in the middle of the dingy room, hands at his sides, coat hanging heavily off his shoulders. Sunlight fights to break through the layers of grime covering the windows. Dust floats through the air.

The chair shrieks as it turns. A smile sharp as the scalpel held to the doctor’s face. He points the tip of the weapon to a chair.

“Sit down, Dazai.”

Silent footsteps carry him to the chair. Dust poofs into the air as he sits, clenching the faded cushion as the doctor stands, lab coat brushing against his sides as he walks over. There is no hurry. They have performed this dance far too many times.

He sighs as he rolls back his left sleeve, folding the too-large shirt up to his elbow. The doctor’s thin, cold fingers close around his wrist, holding his arm in place. The scalpel’s point presses into the dip of his elbow, applying the first promise of pain.

A single, practiced slice. He flinches as cool air rushes over his skin. The bandages flutter to the floor, patterned with rusty stripes like a tiger’s back.

“How many operatives were lost?”

He doesn’t answer, turns his gaze to the cold floor. The slap is expected. It still brings tears to his eyes.

“How many operatives? I will not repeat myself again.”

“. . . seven.”

“Seven of my best men.” The light hits his eyes at an odd angle, turning the dark irises into an unnatural shade of purple. “Your mistake cost me seven of my best men.”

“We were given faulty information! There is no way I could have known-”

He throws his head back with a sharp cry. The scalpel cuts through flesh and muscle with ease, carving a path across the inside of his elbow joint. Blood runs down his elbow, drips to the floor. He digs his head into the back of the chair, biting his lip to hold back a scream.

“You will always know,” the doctor whispers in his ear. His thumb rubs small circles on his wrist in an almost comforting pattern. “You must know. Excuses and mistakes are not tolerated. If you cannot predict and plan for every outcome, then you are no longer of use to me.”

Go ahead then. Kill me. The long familiar threat rests easily on his tongue. He’s asked for death several times now, often going out of his way to do so. But this time, he doesn’t. Maybe he cannot yet predict a battle, but he knows humanity and he knows what the answer will be.

“There will be no death.” A script they both know by heart now. “You still have use for me, regardless of your dreams otherwise. But I believe a reminder is needed.”

Another line drawn across scarred skin. He clenches his other fist, sucking in deep breaths through his nose. Tears well in his eyes. He blinks rapidly to hold them back. This one cuts neatly across his forearm. He knows the exact position and how long it is, how deep, how much it will bleed and throb late into the night. Never bad enough to need stitches.

The next cut is shallower, but nearly encircles his wrist. He chokes and a tear slides down his face.

“Shh,” the doctor breathes, pushing back his hair from his face. “You know better than that. This is your fault. Your mistakes have to be paid for, otherwise there is no place for you.”

“I’m-I’m sorry, boss,” he whispers, meeting the doctor’s gaze. There is no pity or compassion to be seen, just a mirth that sends chills down his spine.

“I know you are, Dazai. Which is why I am so disappointed in you. I know you can do better, so why do you insist on being so stupid all the time?”

He tips his head back, closing his eyes with a sob. Cool fingers slide down the side of his face, wrapping around his throat and gently pinning him in place. There is no fear in the contact. After all, what is there to nullify? The scalpel and the pain have nothing to do with the doctor’s ability. Using his own would only lead to exertion.

The fourth, fifth, and sixth cuts are made in relative succession. They fade into the phantom pain he always remembers, blood pouring red over the white scars from all the times before. With a hum, the doctor traces the scalpel down the length of his arm, but doesn’t break skin.

“Take this off,” he orders, tapping the bandage on his cheek.

“M-”

“If I have to repeat myself, then I will see whether you are of use to me without your eyes.”

He whimpers, but reaches up with shaking hands. The tape tugs painfully on his skin as he peels the bandage off.

“Good boy.”

The scalpel presses into the corner of his eye. He inhales, keeping his head tipped to the side. Blood pounds in his ears, overriding every other sound. He smells copper, swears he can taste it. All over, filling his mouth, lungs, body, until he is nothing more than a bleeding vessel.

Until he is no longer human.

The pain doesn’t register until warm blood soaks into his collar. He winces, cries out as the cut shifts and stretches. It's directly over his cheekbone, small, but very deep. If he had received it in battle, there would have been stitches. No treatment of that kind is coming his way this time.

“Go clean yourself up,” the doctor orders. His hand moves off his throat and he hears him step away. “Then I want you to write the obituaries for those men, along with condolences to their families. When I next see you, I expect you to remember their names and all they did for us.”

“Yes, boss.”

He slumps forwards, watching the blood roll sluggishly down his arm and onto the floor. Absent-mindedly, he traces the one around his wrist, smearing the blood further.

“Dazai.”

“Sorry, boss.”

He doesn’t bother with trying to keep the blood off the floor as he limps from the room. He needs bandages. He can get those later. The pain is his remainder. Reminder of his failure, reminder of his place, reminder that he is still skin, flesh, muscle, blood, bone.

He is still human.

#dazai osamu #mori ogai #blood #knife wounds #knife violence #tw sui ideation #abuse of power #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #Mori is his own warning #whump #bsd #bungou stray dogs #Dazai whump

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sickficideas · 4 months

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start over || skk injury/sickfic

ao3! 5.9k - please refer to the tags and notes in the link for content + warnings!

Dazai is fairly certain he has a few broken ribs, but that’s not an unfamiliar feeling.

He resists the urge to run his hand over that spot on his chest. It’s sore and painful even completely untouched. He’s already gotten used to taking shallow breaths, anything deeper than that makes him cough, makes him only feel worse.

But he won’t see a doctor. He never does.

“I’ll take care of the report. You should go home,” Kunikida tells him. Dazai’s not used to the concern in his voice. They’ve been out all night and day on this case, which isn’t too unusual for them, but Dazai’s exhaustion has hit him much harder this time. It’s visible enough that Kunikida is concerned, but Dazai doesn’t think he has any idea about the condition of his ribs. “Might not be a bad idea to have Yosano check you over before you go, though.”

“She’s in Osaka, isn’t she?” Dazai asks, vaguely remembering the discussion from the night before. He yawns, the motion from his chest proving to be rather painful, but he hides it well from his partner, he thinks.

“She’ll be back tomorrow night,” Ranpo tells the two of them, always secretly listening. He looks like he’s actually busy with something at the moment, typing away on a computer.

“I’ll take you to a doctor, then,” Kunikida insists, setting his stack of reports down on the desk and rummaging through his bag for his keys.

“Nah, that’s alright. I think I’ll just go home, I feel fine,” Dazai insists, regardless of his true situation. Kunikida saw him get hit. He was thrown against a staircase during an altercation against someone who didn’t have a gift, and while Dazai can usually hold his own in a fight, there’s not much he can do against someone highly skilled in physical combat and nothing else.

“Are you sure? You got thrown pretty hard,” Kunikida says with a disapproving frown, setting his bag down.

“Yeah, yeah. It’ll probably just bruise,” Dazai says. He didn’t bring anything with him to work today other than a messenger bag, so he picks that up, and leaves his coat hanging over his chair. It’s far too hot for that today.

“If you’re sure. I’ll take you home, at least,” Kunikida insists, but Dazai waves him off before he can continue his search for his keys.

“I’ve got errands to run. I’ll do ‘em on my way home,” Dazai says. He knows Kunikida will stay here even though he’s scheduled to go home as well. He would rather get his work done than put it off.

Kunikida sighs and waves a hand as Dazai heads for the exit.

…

“He has a few broken ribs,” Ranpo says.

Kunikida lifts his head, eyes darting in Ranpo’s direction. It’s been a few minutes since Dazai left. Ranpo doesn’t elaborate, and he’s not quite sure how Ranpo could gather that just from looking at him.

“Are you sure?” Kunikida asks.

Ranpo lifts a brow. “Am I sure?”

“How do you know?” he asks.

“The way he was breathing. It’s causing him pain,” Ranpo explains as if it was obvious. “And he was hunched over by a few degrees. It’s more painful if he stands with good posture, but also when he sits down. He didn’t put his coat back on either, probably not worth it with the pain he’s in. It’s definitely his ribs.”

“Why the hell would he tell me he’s fine?” Kunikida grumbles with a heavy sigh. He can feel a headache coming on. Dazai is so incredibly -

“Well, I’m not a relationship counselor, I’m a detective. So, can’t help you there,” Ranpo shrugs.

Kunikida resists the urge to throw something at him.

…

Chuuya’s fancy penthouse it is, Dazai decides as he boards the subway.

His chest is starting to hurt a bit more. Going from standing up to sitting is slightly more painful, so he decides he’ll stand on the train instead and hold onto something at waist level to avoid unnecessary pain. He thinks he should text Chuuya that he’s heading over there, but he ends up in his own head, distracted by miscellaneous thoughts and advertisements in his view.

He almost misses the stop.

He feels his phone buzzing in his pocket, but he knows it’s Kunikida, and he doesn’t feel like answering. He’s sure Ranpo knows, he’s sure he’s told Kunikida, and answering the phone would certainly mean being harped on for not looking after his health.

Dazai understands his concern, he really does, but he’s fine. As long as he can still breathe, he would rather not see a doctor if he doesn’t have to.

The evening’s rush hour has started to calm down, thankfully. Dazai’s not sure he could handle being stuffed in a train car with that many people, especially now, but he gets out of the station unscathed and only has to endure a few minutes of walking to Chuuya’s penthouse. There’s a moment where he almost turns back around, but he’s already paid the train fare. Might as well finish what he started.

He digs through his bag for the key card he has to get to Chuuya’s floor, and he only manages to find it just when he makes it to the building. The elevator opens for him, and he ascends a few floors up to make it to Chuuya’s place. He takes in a few breaths, disappointed to find it hasn’t gotten any easier to breathe. Thankfully, Chuuya’s not as observant as his coworkers.

The elevator opens right to Chuuya’s living room after he's prompted once more to scan the key card. Normally, anyone else would have to be let in by him, but Dazai has stolen this extra key card of his to make it easier for him to get it. He doesn’t care for the extra steps.

He’s grinning when the elevator door opens to Chuuya almost half-dressed and sitting on his couch with a glass of wine, wide-eyed and not very happy to see company.

“Did you steal my fuckin’ key card again, Mackerel?” Chuuya grumbles, standing up from his spot on the couch to take his remote and pause the TV. He’s watching some brainless reality TV like he usually does, that’s no surprise, but Dazai’s at the point where he wouldn’t even mind watching it with him.

“You should wear that more often,” Dazai hums as he hangs his bag on Chuuya’s silly hat rack, something he knows Chuuya hates, but has given up reprimanding Dazai for. He sees Chuuya’s face redden a little at that comment. It’s an almost-too-small tank top he’s wearing with a baggy pair of sweatpants, but he’s got some nice-looking arms. He likes seeing them.

“You always scare the crap out of me when you show up like this,” Chuuya groans, obviously trying to change the subject. “I told you to text me when you’re coming.”

“Wanted to surprise you,” Dazai jokes, but he’s lost the energy to put any sort of teasing tone into his voice. He trudges over to the couch to sit down, slower than he normally would and carefully as he sinks down, trying to avoid making any grunts to show he’s still in pain.

Chuuya, though, isn’t as stupid as Dazai thinks he is. “You okay?”

Dazai’s still staring at his arms. “Huh? Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Stop looking at me like I have a pair of tits. You’re gross,” Chuuya grumbles, marching over to the kitchen. Dazai pouts, staring at the still-paused television, with no will or energy to get up to unpause it himself.

“Slug, can you unpause it?” Dazai asks, turning his head to watch Chuuya, who has taken his phone from the kitchen counter and sat at the bar, typing away.

“Do it yourself,” Chuuya huffs. “You want somethin' to eat?”

“‘M okay,” Dazai says. He should probably eat, but he’s never really hungry.

“I’m ordering food anyway. You like Chinese food, right?” Chuuya asks.

“Uh-huh,” Dazai nods, turning his head back to stare at the television, which has already moved to the idle screen. Dazai thinks he was watching a singing competition show, which isn’t nearly as bad as his usual choices.

Dazai sinks back into the couch and manages to snake one of the throw blankets over himself, feeling a little cold. He hears Chuuya muttering in the kitchen, always weirdly polite when he’s on the phone, ordering much more than the two of them could finish together.

He breathes in and breathes out a few times, realizing that not only is it not getting better, it almost feels worse. He’s having to take more shallow breaths. Maybe it would be a good idea to at least let Chuuya know, just in case Dazai suddenly can’t breathe anymore, but he’s certain Chuuya won’t handle news of broken ribs very well.

Chuuya returns with a shirt and pajama pants that Dazai left here ages ago, because obviously nothing Chuuya owns will fit Dazai’s tall frame. He lays the clothes over the side of the couch and clicks his tongue when Dazai’s eyes drift over to him.

“You look exhausted,” Chuuya murmurs.

“‘M fine. How long till the food gets here? I’m hungry,” Dazai huffs.

“Now you’re hungry, huh? Geez," Chuuya mutters to himself. "Change into these before you get on my bed.”

Dazai is well aware that he's not allowed to wear outside clothes in Chuuya’s bed and resists the urge to make a comment about the more serious topic of Chuuya's undiagnosed OCD in favor of getting closer to time in a bed. Chuuya's mattress is fantastic. Money can't buy happiness, but it can buy mattresses that give him the most rested sleep of his life. Maybe he can lay down for a little before the food gets here. He just needs to relax, he’s fine.

Chuuya starts to wander off again.

“Slug,” Dazai whines. “What are you doing now?”

“I needa do laundry. You wanna help, or keep up your freeloader lifestyle?” Chuuya calls as he walks off. Dazai doesn’t have the energy to shout back at him. Dazai realizes he didn’t make any solid plans at all to hang out with Chuuya, and that the latter has things he needs to do too, but he wishes he would use his absorbent amounts of money to hire someone to do his laundry for him.

Dazai, instead, starts to change into the clothes Chuuya brought out for him. The sweat pants are easy to slide on as he’s sitting down. It doesn’t hurt his chest too much at all. Taking off his collared shirt and vest isn’t too difficult either, he doesn’t have to pull anything over his head with the buttons, but he realizes he’ll have to with the shirt.

He puts that off, realizing he needs to change out his bandages, too. What a pain in the ass.

“Slug,” Dazai murmurs as he approaches Chuuya’s laundry room. He’s wearing a cardigan all of a sudden. Chuuya always puts something on as soon as it comes out of the dryer, he likes how warm it is. It’s cute. “Do you have bandages I can use anywhere?”

Chuuya finishes folding up a shirt before he looks at Dazai peering in the doorway, his eyes drifting down to his bandages. Dazai suddenly feels nauseous. He knows Chuuya has seen his skin without the bandages, he knows Chuuya doesn’t care, but he hates it. He hates it so much it makes him feel sick.

“Dazai, you know that I don’t -”

Chuuya stops when his eyes meet Dazai’s expression, probably on track to say something about how he doesn’t care about what’s underneath his bandages, but Dazai doesn’t want to have that conversation right now. He just wants to change the bandages so he’s clean enough to lay in Chuuya’s bed.

“There’s some left in the bathroom next to my bedroom. Second highest shelf on the right,” Chuuya says quietly, turning his attention back to folding his remaining articles of clothing.

Dazai wanders over to Chuuya’s bedroom with the shirt he’s supposed to put on folded over his arm, and he locks the door behind him, even with the knowledge that Chuuya can open it whenever he wants.

He starts to peel off the bandages, and he winces at the side of the deep purple bruise blooming over his ribs. That doesn’t look good at all. He doesn’t usually bruise like that. He runs his fingers over the spot, shivering at how his skin feels under the touch of his hand. He’s not sure any of that is real. He thinks he might have a fever. He’s overly sensitive to touch when he’s running a temperature, even at his own hands. But whether or not the fever is from his possible damaged ribs or just exhaustion, he won’t know until later, probably.

He lazily washes his face and runs a damp washcloth over his upper body, anywhere that’s reachable and doesn’t hurt to get to, before he dries off with a dry towel. He should probably shower, but he definitely can’t do that without it hurting right now. He does, however, hold that wet washcloth up to his face. It feels so good. He wonders if ducking his face into a sink filled with water would feel better than this. Maybe he’d drown while he’s at it, too.

But Chuuya’s sink is too low. He’d have to bend over a ton and that would hurt too much. He’s not in the business for a painful suicide.

He starts to wrap his arms back up, deciding to only wrap his neck and arms, and letting the t-shirt do the rest of the covering. He can’t lift up enough to get high on his chest, and it’s too much twisting around his body. He stares down the t-shirt that he’s set on the counter with a deep sigh. He just needs to rip it off like a bandaid. Pull it over his head. It can’t hurt too bad if he’s fast.

Only, it does. It hurts so much that he can’t even pull it over his head. He lowers his arms back down and whines, throwing his head back against the door. It’s so bad that it’s making him nauseous, although he’s not sure if he was feeling sick before that. His chest rattles when he takes in a breath, and he spits phlegm into the sink.

Bad sign.

"What's takin' so long?" Chuuya puffs from outside the door. Dazai almost jumps. He didn’t think he was in here for all that long, but apparently long enough. Dammit, if he opens the door and asks for help, Chuuya will see the bruise on his chest. But it’ll hurt too much to cover it, and then he’ll take even longer.

"Chuuya needs to help me put this on," he murmurs as he unlocks the door, the shirt still pulled up to the sleeves.

"What's wrong, you sore? I have ones that button from the front, if that's easier," Chuuya says, walking off to the closet before he even sees Dazai. “You guys do some crazy stuff today?”

“I got thrown against the stairs,” Dazai groans, leaning against the door frame from the inside, Chuuya’s footsteps approaching again. His arm comes in through the crack of the door with a shirt that buttons from the front, thank god, and his arm disappears once Dazai takes the shirt. He narrowly avoided a confrontation.

“Ow. You get hurt bad?” Chuuya asks, staying outside the door as Dazai shuts it again.

“No, just…sore, like you said,” Dazai manages with a little pained groan as he slips his arms through the sleeves, buttoning the front of the shirt.

“Good. That shit can really suck,” Chuuya huffs. “Actually, I saw Akutagawa curb-stomp a guy on a staircase the other day. Seriously brutal.”

Good to know Akutagawa hasn’t lost any of his violent tendencies, but he finds himself shivering at the idea of curb-stomping someone. Strange how much things have changed. Maybe it's just because of how he feels right now.

Once Dazai finishes buttoning up the shirt, he trudges over to Chuuya’s bedroom, deciding he’ll just lie down for a while as they wait for their food, but the nausea that’s starting to settle in his stomach is making him want to pass up the idea of food.

Dazai decides to just lay down on his side. Chuuya almost wanders out of the room, but he stops and turns around once he’s realized Dazai is lying down. He frowns.

"My tummy hurts," he mumbles.

"You probably haven't eaten all damn day,” Chuuya huffs. Dazai can’t deny that. He’s pretty sure he didn’t eat anything more than a snack yesterday, either, but he won’t admit it to Chuuya. He just whines to himself. “But I’ll get you some Pepto or something if it’ll help you feel better.”

Dazai isn’t sure that will do much for him, but Chuuya is already off to the kitchen before Dazai has anything to say about it. He forces himself to sit up, up and off Chuuya’s too-comfy mattress before he lays a hand on his chest. A deep breath almost has him in tears, he’s wincing so hard that the moment makes it hurt more. It feels like a knife is stuck between his ribs and he thinks if he takes a breath like that again, he’ll throw up. Not a good sign, even worse with how swimmy his head feels once it’s off the mattress.

Chuuya returns with a little medicine cup full of Pepto Bismol and Dazai doesn’t even have the energy to give him a reassuring smile, because it’s obvious that Chuuya is concerned, no matter how much he tries to hide it. His eye twitches as he approaches him, and he reaches a hand up to his cheek. Dammit.

"Shit, Dazai," Chuuya murmurs as he pulls his hand back. "Why the hell are you so hot?"

Dazai wants to make a joke, it's such a good opportunity to, but he can't. He feels awful. He’s considering making himself throw up, but he knows that’s not even remotely related to the root of his problem.

"Tell me what happened," Chuuya growls.

"It's just a few broken ribs," Dazai says quietly, but he’s finding it to be quite painful to even speak right now. He brings his hand back up to his chest.

“I’m calling one of our doctors over,” Chuuya hisses as he sets the cup of medicine on the nightstand.

Dazai freezes at the mere suggestion of that.

“No, Chuuya. Please,” he says, his breath hitching halfway through. His brain is flooded with awful things he doesn’t want to consider. “They’ll report to Mori.”

Chuuya stops in his tracks, his shoulders dropping at the last word Dazai speaks.

Dazai knows he's being paranoid. Realistically, Mori can't get to him anymore. Chuuya would never let him, he doesn't think anyone would, but none of them know the half of what Mori did to him. He would gladly use any opportunity to treat his body like a cadaver, wouldn’t he? Even now?

Even if he wouldn’t, Dazai is so paranoid about it that he’s losing his composure, and that's the problem.

He leans over the bed and gags into his hand, fully expecting to throw up, but it’s just saliva that’s pooled in his mouth. He keeps his hand under his mouth just in case, but now the nausea is pushed to the back of his mind, his brain focused on how much his current posture is hurting his lungs.

“Shit, hey. I won’t call our doctors,” Chuuya murmurs quietly, a gentle but cautious hand landing on Dazai’s shoulder. “Well…what about that doctor at your agency? Can’t she help you?”

“She’s in Osaka,” Dazai recalls. He winces at the concern in Chuuya’s voice. “I’m…I’m fine.”

“Fucking hell, Dazai, you’re not fine,” Chuuya huffs. His voice shakes. Dazai should have known that Chuuya is just as protective as Kunikida, if not worse. He can’t kind from any of them. “I’ll just - I’ll take you to a hospital.”

“You can’t just walk into a hospital, Chuuya," Dazai laughs dryly. He shivers at the thought of going to a hospital, but it’s a far better idea than being found by Mori. It doesn’t make him gag, at least.

“I don’t fucking give a fuck,” Chuuya growls. “You know how serious broken ribs can get, especially if you already have a fucking fever. You’ve probably got an infection. Why the hell would they just let you go home?”

Dazai wants to tell him that they let him go home because he didn't tell anyone he was injured. He doesn't like bothering them if he doesn't have to, and honestly, he prefers to avoid medical treatment of any kind altogether if he can. He was just trying to see how long he could go avoiding it.

"I'm gonna call a taxi and take you downstairs," Chuuya breathes out, turning on his heel and heading back for the kitchen to find his phone.

Dazai is left with his own brain, which is incredibly dangerous. He groans from the pain he’s in, and he’s trying not to think too hard about needing to go to a hospital. Maybe they can just sedate him before they do anything. He’d much prefer that. Is that an option?

He lays down on his side and curls up into a ball, but he doesn’t feel any better, it’s getting harder to breathe and that nauseous feeling won’t go away either, and it comes back with a vengeance. He forces his head up because he knows something is going to come up out of his throat, and he does feel a tiny bit guilty about getting it on Chuuya’s bed, but he can’t avoid it.

Dazai can't breathe. He's not entirely sure what he's coughing up. Foam, phlegm, vomit, maybe some blood, maybe a little bit of everything. He's seen Akutagawa do this on several occasions, actually, but he's never experienced it himself, so he's almost certain this has something to do with his lungs. Maybe the broken shards of his ribcage have poked holes into his lungs.

Oh god, he really can't breathe.

Chuuya's talking to him, but he can't hear a word. He hears his own name, he thinks, but all he can focus on is the sharp, unbelievable pain in his chest.

…

“It sounds to me like he has a lung infection, Dazai,” Mori says to him, expectant. He was waiting for Dazai to agree, to hand his subordinate over and let Mori take care of the rest. But even at seventeen, Dazai was smart enough to know Mori’s true intentions.

“Oh yeah? You’re a doctor now?” Dazai jokes. He’s stalling, only in Mori’s office to take a book or two out of his library that Hirotsu mentioned he needed for something he was working on. Akutagawa is outside the office, waiting. He’s coughing every now and then, coughs that really don’t sound good and that Dazai is well aware of, but he won’t hand him over to Mori.

“Come now, Dazai. Don’t let your subordinates suffer on account of your stubborn nature,” Mori teases.

“I’m not letting anyone suffer, Mori. A little cough never killed anyone,” Dazai says back, mocking that same teasing tone as he pulls out the last book he needs, but when he turns around, he realizes Mori had plans of his own. Elise was busy opening the door to the office and taking Akutagawa’s arm to lead him inside.

Akutagawa looks to Dazai, unsure of what’s going on, what he’s been brought in for, and Dazai is frozen. Dazai has been trying to limit their contact as much as humanly possible, and Mori seems to have become aware of that.

“My, don’t you look awful. How long have you had this cough for?” Mori asks him as Elise drags him closer, but Akutagawa resists the closer he’s brought into Mori’s frame of view. Dazai shakes. He’s been looking for a way to have Akutagawa seen by a doctor that Mori wouldn’t know about, but it’s nearly impossible. It’s something he’s been trying to do for himself, too, and he still hasn’t figured out how to do it. How to get one step ahead of Mori.

“Don’t answer him. We’re leaving,” Dazai growls, glaring at Akutagawa so he knows he’s serious, and Akutagawa shrinks back, still dead silent. Dazai takes Elise’s arm to pull her off of Dazai, and she disappears as soon as they make contact.

“Dazai, really? That wasn’t very nice of you,” Mori huffs. “It’s cruel of you to let your subordinates suffer. You know I would never want that for you, don’t you?”

Dazai takes Akutagawa’s arm and pulls him toward the exit, ignoring Mori’s words. Akutagawa is rightfully confused, but Dazai doesn’t need him to have any more information than he already does. He closes the door behind the two of them, and Akutagawa pulls his arm up to cough into his elbow. Dazai hears his chest rattle. He’s undoubtedly got a fever, too.

“Don’t ever go to him for any of this. Understand? I don’t care what he says,” Dazai bites, audibly frustrated and maybe a little scared, but Akutaagwa can’t pick up on the second half.

“I know,” Akutagawa answers, voice hoarse, “you’ve told me already.”

“Just making sure you listened. You’re not very good at that.” Dazai huffs, leading him down the corridor and back to the elevator.

Akutagawa looks like he’s ready to retort that claim, but he starts coughing again, into his hand, this time - blood and foam coating his palm, visibly startling him, too. He needs to see a doctor, he might even need to go to a hospital, Dazai doesn’t know the extent of his infection at all, but this isn’t normal.

Akutagawa trips when they pass the threshold of the elevator, clearly his head isn’t where it’s supposed to be - he catches himself on his hands and knees and the coughing only gets worse, bright red blood splattering on the marble elevator floor. He takes in shaky and unsteady breaths in between. Dazai just spends a few seconds staring. What the hell is he supposed to do about this?

Akutagawa collapses completely after one heavy breath seems to take all of his remaining energy out of him, and Dazai only thinks about how lucky he is that this happened here, and not in front of Mori. He just stares at his shaking form as they descend the building, and Dazai needs to have a game plan of what to do once they reach the bottom.

“Dazai,” Akutagawa barely manages to breathe out, making a pathetic attempt to get off of the floor, only to crash back down into it. Dazai kneels down beside him. He can’t even carry Akutagawa. Who does he call? What does he do?

“I know. Give me a few hours to figure it out,” Dazai murmurs.

Anyone but Mori. Akutagawa can’t go through what Dazai went through.

…

When Dazai wakes up, he’s stuck in a hospital room, the sterile smell of it all only reminding him how nauseous he is.

He imagines he’s been asleep for quite a while, but he doesn’t feel well-rested at all. He’s never felt that way after a hospital visit. It’s the pain medications they pump him full of, he thinks - they’re the only reason he’s slept at all, probably.

But he can breathe a little easier. There’s a mask over his nose and mouth, probably not a good sign.

There’s a nurse in the room with him, looking surprised to see his eyes meeting hers. She says something to him but Dazai doesn’t have any idea what she’s saying. The mask she’s wearing makes it impossible to even guess. She seems to jot down his vital signs before she scurries out of the room.

He realizes what she was saying to him when Chuuya comes trailing in through the door, his hair tucked into a beanie that doesn't suit him and wearing a hoodie, a black mask and a pair of fake glasses.

If Dazai had the energy to laugh right now, he would probably do it until he couldn’t breathe anymore. Chuuya doesn’t look all that ridiculous, it’s a decent disguise in practice, but it’s hilarious all the same. Only because Dazai knows Chuuya.

A shaky hand of his reaches up to pull down the mask, and Chuuya almost pulls it back over his face once he’s at Dazai’s bedside, but the nurse gives a little nod. She says something to him before she leaves the room, but the sound is muffled.

Chuuya’s voice, though, is as clear as a bell.

“You look like shit,” Chuuya mumbles, brushing his hair back and out of his face, pulling off his own mask once the nurse is out of the room. Not the first thing Dazai wants to hear when he wakes up, but it’s Chuuya.

“You look stupid,” Dazai retorts, his voice so hoarse it almost sounds like he’s lost it completely. He wants to clear his throat, but has a feeling that won’t make him feel any better.

Chuuya grumbles something under his breath before he pulls off the beanie and pushes the glasses up on top of his head, and Dazai’s never been so glad to see that annoyingly bright colored hair before. He’s really kind of gorgeous. Maybe it’s the drugs making him think that.

"I'm sorry I left you," Chuuya murmurs, reaching over to squeeze the hand that’s free from an IV. "I know you hate places like this."

Dazai's a little unsure of what to say. Chuuya's not the type to get so candid with him, and while Dazai truly does despise being in hospitals, he doesn't remember ever telling Chuuya that directly. Then again, his memory of the past has been hazy. He doesn't even remember much of anything after losing his breath on Chuuya's bedroom. For all he knows, Chuuya could have been with him the whole time.

"I'm an adult now, you know," Dazai teases, flashing a weak smile.

Chuuya rolls his eyes. "Not what I'm talking about. But whatever."

"It's fine, slug," Dazai tells him. It’s not nearly as bad of a fear as it used to be for him. He knows that sometimes it’s unavoidable. He knows he doesn't have to worry about Mori anymore, at least not while in the care of the Armed Detective Agency.

“You scared the shit out of me. Seriously,” Chuuya mumbles. “You’re staying with me for a while once you’re discharged.”

“I have to go back to work,” Dazai whispers. Sure, it’s not the working part he’s concerned with, but he really should pop in every now and then at the very least, so that they know he’s alive. Before Kunikida decides to end his life prematurely.

“Since when you do give a shit about that?" Chuuya groans, squeezing his hand a little tighter. "They're the reason you're in this mess in the first place, aren’t they?”

Dazai’s stomach drops at the notion, because that’s really not the truth. He simply lied to them, just like he lied to Chuuya. It’s what he always does. It has nothing to do with any of them.

They probably would've taken good care of him, too.

“Mm…I think you've got it all wrong, little Slug,” Dazai says, feeling himself start to doze off again. He's exhausted and doesn't particularly feel like explaining any of that to him, even though he's sure Chuuya would at least consider it.

“Don't call me little, you ass,” Chuuya grumbles, squeezing his hand a little tighter, “I'm taking you back to my apartment once you're discharged. End of story.”

Dazai's eyelids start to feel heavy, and he doesn't fight Chuuya's demand. He can always sneak out if he needs to.

But maybe he'll be okay with Chuuya looking after him, for a while.

…

A week later, Dazai thinks he's well enough to slip out of Chuuya's apartment early one morning, to pop into the Agency.

“Healing well from your broken ribs, Dazai?” Ranpo says as he happens to wander past him just as soon as Dazai enters the building.

“Can't keep any secrets from you, can I, Ranpo?” Dazai says, only sounding a little nervous because he can feel Kunikida glaring at him all the way from his desk. It seems the two of them are the only ones here so far, like usual. At least Atsushi isn't here to witness Dazai's inevitable death at Kunikida's hands.

“You know I don't normally air out everything you try to hide, but Kunikida already wants to kill you,” Ranpo says casually on his way back to his desk. “Figured it doesn't matter what I say.”

“Morning, Kunikida,” Dazai says as cheerfully as he can, but Kunikida has already hurled a pretty heavy report collection his way, one that Dazai's head just narrowly misses. He brings his heads up to his face in surrender.

“Don't morning me, Dazai. Where the hell have you been? Obviously you were injured, and I haven’t heard from you in over a week -”

“Aww, Kunikida, were you worried about me?” Dazai teases. His eyes dart over to Ranpo blissfully ignoring everything happening before him, wondering why he didn't give Kunikida his whereabouts when he could have easily figured out where he's been hiding. He just smiles, though. Ranpo keeps hidden what Dazai doesn't want everyone to know about.

“I'm one more incident away from putting a tracker in that damn bolo tie,” Kunikida grumbles, somehow managing to get past his anger and sit back down in his chair. He grumbles something that Dazai doesn't quite understand. He feels safe enough to approach his own desk, and sit across from Kunikida.

“What was that?” Dazai asks, tilting his head.

“Are you okay?” Kunikida says, straightening up a stack of reports on his desks with a heavy huff.

“I'm okay,” Dazai says with a half smile. “No need to worry your pretty little head about me, Kunikida. You know the universe won't let me die.”

“That's not the point, Dazai,” Kunikida grumbles, almost reminiscent of a comment Chuuya made to him at the hospital. These two always insist on worrying over him. “Tell me next time you're hurt. At least send me a damn text so I know you're not bleeding out in a ditch somewhere.”

“Well, I could be, regardless of the contents of whatever text I might send you,” Dazai teases, and Kunikida looks like he might throw the pen he's holding right at Dazai's head, but he refrains.

“Get to work. You still need to finish that report,” Kunikida grumbles, tossing him a blue folder.

“I thought you said you'd finish it for me,” Dazai says, lifting up his head as the door opens, revealing Atsushi and Kyoka, both looking surprised to see him. Atsushi rushes past everyone else as Dazai smiles at him.

“No, you pissed me off. I started it, you do the rest,” Kunikida sighs just before Atsushi sits beside him and starts a string of worried questions and assumptions that Dazai only half listens to, only watches his eyes. Chuuya really does have them wrong, they would never want him in that situation.

Chuuya would definitely like Atsushi, with how much he likes Akutagawa. He might even get along with Kunikida. Chuuya joining them for dinner sometime is some faraway ridiculous fantasy that he could only ever see Oda suggesting, and he just smiles to himself.

“Are you even listening?” Atsushi sighs.

“Sorry, sorry,” Dazai says. “Start over?”

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jkooktray · 1 year

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I want to see a little bit of dazai crumble when he gets out alive. His normal, cheerful “I hate pain” isn’t there because he really is in pain and it hurts so fucking much he can’t see how he’s going to live with it or get past it.

#distracting myself from sskk with dazai so I don’t go crazy #but I also just really like the idea of him with crutches so forgive me for also having dazai whump on the brain #and this is where the agency is supportive and he’s really maybe believing he does have a place there #and if chuuya takes care of him #let me be delusional still #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd dazai #skk #bsd 107 #bsd spoilers

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abysslll · 8 months

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anyway the only good thing abt today is that dazai screaming DID get animated and therefore i have new whump content to watch on loop

#the VOICE CRACK #the PANICKED BREATHING #perfection <3 #theres not enough canon dazai whump #bsd tag

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blackrosesandwhump · 5 months

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Forced to Kneel

BTHB: Forced to Kneel/Bow

Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs

Synopsis: Captured by some bizarre cult, Atsushi has terrible flashbacks to his life before the Agency.

CW: captivity, forced to kneel, mild cult stuff, some blood

Atsushi swayed a little on his feet, dizzy with fear. His blood thundered in his veins. The hooded figures surrounding him stood silent, but their presence crowded in on him, stealing the breath from his lungs.

Familiar. It was all so horribly familiar. Flashes of memories skittered across his mind like lightning: a dim, cold church; stern faces glowering down at him; harsh voices berating him for being himself--

A pair of heavy hands forced Atushi to his knees. A low, unfeeling voice breathed in his ear: “On your knees, wretch.” He shivered, keeping his head low, not daring to look at the figure seated on the raised dais before him.

“So this is the boy.” The voice echoed down from the throne, sending icy chills up Atsushi’s spine. He shivered again, unable to keep himself from trembling. The heavy hands pressed down harder, holding him in place, digging into his shoulders with a painful grip. He gritted his teeth against the incoming wave of shame and fear. His nerves shouted at him to run, fight, do something other than kneel like some kind of worthless slave, but his mind felt foggy, and his body wouldn’t move.

The figure seated on the throne raised its head. Atsushi dared to look for just a moment. He got a glimpse of a face: a young woman, his cheeks thin and her skin pale. And her eyes. They met his for no more than a second before he looked away, but their emptiness chilled him to the bone. So empty. The lifeless, dead eyes of a living corpse.

“And he can shift? You have witnessed his transformation?”

“Not directly, my lady, but we know he—” With a hoarse cry the man holding him jerked violently back as if struck in the face. A subtle wave of shock rippled through the rest of the hooded figures; the man staggered in their midst, a hand clamped over his neck. Blood seeped through his fingers. He glanced at the young girl with wild, horrified eyes, and Atsushi dared a swift glance at the girl once again. She was standing in front of the throne, her right hand outstretched, her index finger raised slightly, her eyes still dead.

Atsushi couldn’t breathe. Who was this girl? What kind of terrible power could she possibly have, to make a man bleed like that?

“That is not enough. If you were faithful to me, you would know that.” She advanced a step down, closer to where Atsushi still knelt, motionless. “You, boy. Transform for me.”

Transform…what kind of messed-up group was this? What did they want from him? He couldn’t transform now. He had to save his strength to rescue Dazai—

“Do it!” the girl hissed, and her voice swelled to fill the room. “Do it, or you will be punished!”

Punishment. It was so horribly familiar.

Atushi couldn’t stop himself from obeying. Part of his mind retreated into itself; the flashbacks started again, painfully vivid, sickening even; he couldn’t stop them, he couldn’t stop himself—

“Atsushi!”

Dazai’s voice.

He was still alive. He was there.

And Atsushi had to help him.

@forthetaintedsorrow-whump @whumping-out-of-time @whumping-to-conclusions @badthingshappenbingo

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the-bloody-sadist · 8 months

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In Fyodor’s basement (full here on Twitter)

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noose-lion · 2 years

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W.I.P Wednesday

How could Dazai be so fucking stupid!? How could he have not seen such an obvious mistake. This was not supposed to happen. He was not the one that was supposed to be captured at the end of the night.

Dazai glared up at his captor, pictured wrapping his hands around the bastard's throat or stabbing a knife through his eye.

Wolf cackled, head thrown back. "Awwww, don't look at me like that, you were so much prettier when you were pretending to like me."

Dazai reared back as much as he could, dislodging the offending hand and twisting his neck to snap at it with his teeth.

Wolf simply pulled his hand back, laughing at Dazai when the detective groaned as the world spun around him again.

Dazai let his chin fall down to his chest, hair falling into his face as he waited for the room to stop moving.

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cepheusgalaxy · 4 months

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I finished Bungo Stray Dogs

And I remembered why I don't finish things

GOSH THE EMOTIONAL HIT AT THE END GOT ME SCREAMING HERE

BECAUSE IT CAME OUT OF F U C K I N G N O W H E R E

LIKE WTF??????

Fukuzawa was there, sad because his childhood friend died and everything, and I was already not expecting that his final goal was to fucking start world peace or whatever (i honestly find his methods questionable) and then he tried destroying the One Order, couldn't and Ranpo comes closer and says something in the lines of "You can't... That's the 'curse' you inflicted upon yourself." And then he cries, I cry, you cry, the ending theme ends with me singing along and thinking "well that was an enjoyable ride, I'd go again, pretty gay if you want my opinion," and BUM, the narrator goes:

"Two hours later:"

And guess what, crazy moon god is there attacking Atsushi our boy, Akutagawa comes in and saves him--his design got an U P D A T E and nobody warned me--and they're like "heh, seems like we've gotta finish that tale Fukichi bitch started right" and Atsushi's like "But just the two of us?" and I'm like "WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE TWO OF YOU" and Akutagawa is like "Heh,

do we need anything else?"

And then they fucking GO and it explodes and I'm like WHAT THE FUCK and then the fucking thing just pops

"This is not the end."

I need a minute

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quarter-past-eleven · 11 months

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Fic Rec

Bungou Stray Dogs Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya Words: 17,490

Dazai ends up in a coma after his most serious suicide attempt yet. He has left three letters, one of them being for Chuuya.

Sitting at the bedside of his comatose body, Chuuya tries to understand.

______

Dazai is falling. In the orange glow of sunrise, the waves of his hair are fanning around him, and his dark eye is wide with fear and shock, his hand outstretched towards Chuuya.

Chuuya is not even thinking anymore. All he can see is that hand reaching for him as he launches off against the balustrade and falls after him.

He uses his ability to make himself heavier, his own drop faster, his hand reaching for Dazai right back.

It's only when he catches Dazai in his arms, holding his head tight against his own shoulder and trying to fly back up that he remembers; this won't work.

He must have been really out of his mind to have forgotten it at all.

One of my favourite parts (there are too many)

"You fucking idiot," Chuuya says, shoulders shaking in laughter with a near-hysteria, his eyes stinging, looking up at the comatose boy. This bastard is lying here because he didn't feel human or alive enough to live. The entire fucking letter, he talks about how he feels nothing and he isn't human, and yet...

The letter is drenched with feeling. Chuuya can identify ten different emotions in it, feels them all himself viscerally as if they were phantoms of his own, right alongside the Dazai that was writing this letter.

#fic recs #dazaibsd #dazai needs a hug #bsd whump #bsd #soukoku #bsd fanfic #ao3 #bsd fluff #bungou gay dogs #bungou stray dogs

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gunebuggieswriting · 7 months

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Whumptober Day One: Safety Net | Swooning | "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Bring Me Back Before I Collapse

[AO3]

Bungo Stray Dogs, Chuuya-Centric, Dehumanizing Thoughts, Mild Self-Deprecating Thoughts, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Words: 1576

Chuuya slowly slid off his gloves, the thin layer of fabric holding back a power not meant for a human body. It was a good thing he wasn't human, or at least, wasn't created to be human. The tingling of the powers he has grown to both loath and appreciate spread through his arms and throughout his body. The dark red marks swirling as they grew, his humanity fading.

The eyes that warily watched the transformation hazed over, no longer focused on something as trivial as what he truly was. As he wasn't human, no man would ever be capable of holding something as dangerous as he did. Their bodies would break, the inhuman traits of a god not supposed to belong to some mortal.

That's why Chuuya couldn't be human. He wasn't born one. He was a barely conscious formation of chaos, poorly imitating what a human was. It was pitiful how well he tricked people, how many truly believed he was just like them.

If only.

Finally, after what was only seconds which felt like minutes to Chuuya as he desperately clinged onto his last strings of control, he was a god again. Somewhat anyways, he was more of a fragile container holding a god, one ready to burst at any moment. Arahabaki would cause him to crack, but the little of what was left of Chuuya held onto himself.

Every time his muscles threatened to snap, Arahabaki not knowing the limitation of them, Chuuya would hold them together by pure will alone. Every time a bone would break, Arahabaki would ignore it, having never felt pain. Chuuya would scream out in agony, only to be relieved whenever the god finally took some energy to heal it back in seconds, not wanting it to get in it's way anymore. Every time his chest would constrict, the blood welling inside him, Arahabaki not caring how much a simple human body could handle, Chuuya would force it down.

He wouldn't let the body break beyond any kind of repair, even if it wasn't him. No matter how far back Arahabaki pushed him, he'd push back, if only to stretch out the time his humanity could last. Until Dazai could touch him, bringing him back to the real world, where he was Chuuya again.

Right then, with no control of his own, he wasn't Chuuya. It was almost like being a puppet on strings, or having an out of body experience. He could feel how damaging Arahabaki was, how uncaring the literal incarnation of destruction was. Everything he saw was a blur at best, glimpses of what his eyes would be receiving, were they his own at the moment. The other senses, that were normally his, were all dulled to him. The best way he could think of to describe the feeling was what he felt while dreaming. Nothing seemed real at moments, his true consciousness floating in a dark void while a different being pretended to be him in a fabrication of own flesh.

He hated it. It reminded him of everything wrong with him.

This would go on for who knows how long. In this state he couldn't keep track of time, seconds prolonging to hours while hours could become seconds. It may be from how Arahabaki itself didn't have a concept of time, having always simply existed, not needing to care for time. It was another trait of those inhuman, as humans constructed time, something so important to them in every moment of their life. It started when they were born, counting the time till they died. Arahabaki was immortal, he found nothing valuable in keeping tabs on some fable such as "time".

Chuuya always tried to know what day it was, what month it was, what year it was, and so on. Sometimes he would sit back and watch a clock, not growing bored of how the seconds seemed to pass slower as he carefully observed them. It made him feel human, though others would look at him with concern or confusion, further digging into his consciousness of how no matter what he did, he wasn't human.

He suddenly felt his fist hit something hard, snapping him away from his drifting consciousness, keeping him from truly slipping. He should be trying harder, to fight back Arahabaki, but it was hard whenever he knew it was impossible.

Before he could delve back into that void, allowing time to pass unknowingly as he felt his body slowly fall apart, he was brought back.

Dazai. Dazai was there.

He knew he would be of course, after all, Dazai had planned everything, Chuuya knew he had to. If he believed he didn’t, he wouldn't have ever used corruption, though there was no way the egotistical self acclaimed genius wouldn't have. Especially if he was going all in on it.

He could breathe again, using his own lungs to take a greedy gulp of air, instead of the inconsistent drag that Arahabaki did in order to keep causing mayhem. The first thing he heard was Dazai's teasing voice, and the sight of him holding up a few of his fingers, asking for Chuuya to tell him how many he was holding up. He barked out an insult or two, Dazai's amused voice grating further on his nerves. Then he was brought into their situation, all of his senses overwhelmingly swamping him at once. Everything hurt and every fiber of his being was exhausted, so he didn't fight too much whenever Dazai kept him held down. It was embarrassing, but the excuse of the fog kept him from spouting every curse he knew to the one above him.

He also didn't want to fight Arahabaki, or his ability as most called it. He already dealt with the thing enough that night, so he allowed the hand on his head to stay there.

Moments later he and Dazai had moved to the wall, and although Chuuya didn't have to lay down in order for Dazai to keep a hold of him, he didn't have the strength to sit up. He would need at least a few more minutes in order to properly move his body to lean on the concrete behind him instead of Dazai, so he gave up on it until then.

Chuuya also didn't mind how Dazai's hand began to run through his hair, the small tugs from whenever the other ran into a tangle grounding him to reality. If his mind wasn't so foggy he may have tried to shuffle away, not wanting his head to be resting on the lap of his enemy. At that moment they felt like partners again, something he hasn't called Dazai in a long time.

Not that he'd want to, Dazai was usually insufferable. The Dazai right then was a rare sight, a look of calmness and melancholy he wasn't used to. He knew that it was actually Dazai deep in his own thoughts, as looking into his eyes showed a film of the other being distracted. He knew it was from the man thinking of every possibility, coming up with contingencies for all of them. Chuuya didn't know how Dazai's head didn't explode, or how he could act like an idiot most of the time despite his intelligence.

It made Dazai seem inhuman, something Chuuya took comfort in. If somebody who was born human could be so distanced and detached to everything thought of about humans, surely he could be a bit different as well and be seen as human. It may not change what he knows, how he feels, but he could continue to fool others. That was enough. To be treated as a human was enough.

That's why whenever Dazai left, leaving Chuuya with some dumb remark on the situation, he didn't bite back with a snide comment of his own. He rolled his eyes and slowly sat himself up against the wall. He'd feel sore for a while, but he had enough strength to no longer need Dazai, not that the man would stay after the fog cleared, as he thought himself as no longer needed there. It didn't matter to Chuuya, far too tired to do anything but stare up at the cleared sky.

It was only when he heard footsteps that he slipped his gloves back on, pulling a leg up to be ready to fight. He may be at a severe disadvantage but that didn't mean he'd give up without a fight. A second later he recognized the footsteps and relaxed by a small margin, glad that they belonged to a member of his own. Akutagawa had arrived, and Dazai must have told him where Chuuya was. It was a good thing, because as much as Chuuya hated to admit it, he would not be making it back to his place on his own.

Using the help of the younger man, he eventually made it to his living quarters. He was barely able to make it to his bed before he collapsed, the soft blankets and foam mattress a pleasant contrast to his stiff muscles. He more so passed out than fell asleep, the fading sensation of a hand going through his hair and reminding him that he was still there, that he was human and not some god playing as one, putting him to ease as he let his consciousness slip once more.

He was grateful for the lack of dreams that night.

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sickficideas · 25 days

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idk if anyone else thinks ahout intubation in the way that I do but it’s always been one of my fav whump / sick tropes 🥺🥺 specifically im thinking of dazai, because he’s the only one who can’t rlly be healed by yosano. he’s awake but has to be intubated and can only communicate through writing, maybe kunikida lets him use his journal and pen in order to bc that’s the only thing he has to write on. its such a vulnerable position to be in </33

(i know you have a bunch of asks,, don’t worry about responding to this, i just had to spill about it somewhere)

I really do love this as a trope....generally im a big fan of hospitalization because of how it bleeds into whump from sickfic its so beautiful and this is a fantastic use of this concept anon...and youre so RIGHT we do not capitalize off of the fact enough that Yosano is completely useless to Dazai....this is so beautifully vulnerable thank you for sharing 💖💖

#and youre so sweet dw i always respond 💖💖💖💖💖#bsd headcanons #dazai #kunikida #kunikidazai #kunizai #yosano #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd #illness #sick #ask box #hospitalization #whump #fictional intubation

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rachi-roo · 1 year

Text

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Bungo Stray Dogs: Under the weather

There was a plot to this, but unfortunately, my motivation died before I got to fulfil it 😭 Hope this still fills some whumpy needs!

Summary: Whump fic. Atsushi is in a really bad way at the agency, things going from bad to worse one second after the other.

Tw: Migraine symptoms, mentions of blood, mentions of syringe

22/02/23

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Atsushi was slumped at his desk in the ADA, he wasn't feeling great. He had woken up with a headache that morning and it hadn't gotten any better after taking some painkillers and enough water to drown a fish.

He groaned, pressing his forehead into the cold tabletop, trying to find some kind of relief from the throbbing.

The rest of the Armed Detective Agency members were discussing the next plan for the day. Nothing serious luckily, just the chore of grocery shopping for the agency. Ranpo had been selected for the trip today.

"Awwww, I don't wanna." The clever-clog boy grumbled.

Daza grinned. "You can take Atsushi with you! I'm sure he'd love to go, you can scope out the new pick-n-mix they've got! Hey, Atsushi?" He turned to the tiger, frowning at what he saw. Atsushi had his eyes shut, his hands holding his head as it rested on the desk.

"Atsushi? Helloooo?" Dazai poked the boy's cheek a few times to stir him.

Atsushi lifted his head, squinting at the change in brightness compared to his closed eyes. His head felt heavy on his shoulders, the pain in his skull sharpening as he looked up at Dazai.

"Yeah?" He rubbed his eye.

"Are you alright? You look a little peaky."

"I'm okay. It's just a headache." Atsushi smiled. He was lying. He felt awful. But how can he show weakness in front of his fellow gifted agents? It would be embarrassing.

"Hmm... Well, if you're sure." Dazai wasn't sold, but he didn't want to pressure the boy. Atsushi gave him a reassuring smile, even though he was feeling worse by the second. His skin was heating up. Sweat was starting to pool on his forehead and palms. The happy chatter of his friends was like a hammer to the head. Beating down on his skull.

Ranpo put an arm around Atsushi's shoulders, grinning. "Right! Me and you buddy, let's go snag us some candy!" He beamed, unaware of how much pain he was causing the boy. He wasn't even shouting but it felt like he was screaming in Atsushi's ear.

"Right. Yeah, candy." He put on a brave face as he stood from his desk, the movement sent a rush of nausea up his throat as he steadied himself, holding his stomach for a moment as he breathed deeply.

'Deep breaths, Atsushi. Deep breaths.' He thought to himself, loosening his tie as it slowly seemed to tighten around his neck. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut before sighing and following Ranpo out the door.

"I'm gonna try the new gummy gators! They come in all kinds of yummy flavours. I heard there's a watermelon one." Ranpo chattered on to himself as he made his way down the flight of stairs. Atsushi was struggling.

Every step he took down the staircase made his whole body ache. Heavy. He was having trouble with the placement of his feet, almost missing a step as his vision started to double, then triple and phase back into one. The thud of his boots on the wooden stairs echoed in his brain. The pain growing and shrinking in waves.

"Right, Atsushi?" Ranpo continued, unaware that he hadn't been listening.

"Uh-Huh..." He panted, bringing a hand to wipe his forehead, the sweat starting to dampen his hair. Why were there so many stairs?

Ranpo reached the bottom with a skip in his step, heading out the door with a grin. Atsushi huffed, following him outside. He froze once he stepped outside, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as the sun glared down blindingly. It was painful to keep his eyes open.

He held his head, the ringing in his ears got louder, pins digging into his skull every time a vehicle drove past. The blurry faces of the civilians passing by were frightening, like shadows, mannequins or faceless monsters. He pulled on his sweat-drenched shirt as it clung to him feeling suffocated by the fabric.

"Ranpo- I-I can't do this." He wheezed, too quiet for Ranpo to hear, feeling his body shudder. "Ranpo-" He held his head, tears filling his eyes. "Help- Ranpo, h-help me. Anybody..." His eyes rolled in his head as his body gave up. He collapsed in a heap, his head hitting the concrete harshly as he fell.

Ranpo paused, hearing the familiar sound of a body hitting the ground. "Atsushi? Uh! Atsushi?!" He rushed to his side, turning the boy on his back. There was a cut on his forehead and the tip of his nose was scratched up. "Atsushi?! Hey, Atsushi, can you hear me?" He patted the boy's cheek, checking his pulse.

A gasp ripped from Atsushi's chest as he woke again, he was dazed, both from the headache he was suffering from and the impact of the fall, he brought an arm over his eyes, sheltering from the sun's dagger like rays. "O-Ow..."

"Hey, hey buddy. It's okay, just talk to me. What's wrong?"

"My head... It's pounding..." He curled up, holding his head. "M' burning... Everything aches... I feel sick... Where am I?"

Ranpo nodded, instantly piecing together the symptoms. "Migraine. We gotta get you inside. Can you stand? Hey, hey!" Ranpo panicked seeing Atsushi's eyes roll again. He was slipping in and out of consciousness.

"Oh crap- Dazai!"

Atsushi phased in and out of reality for a moment, unsure of what was going on, where he was or who was talking to him. Someone, holding him, cradling him as they moved. Where were they going? Now he's laying down. A bed?

He looked down, suddenly his shirt was gone. When did that happen? Who did it? there were ice packs wrapped in flannels tucked under his armpits to help bring his temperature down. Everything was blurry, there were voices but the ringing just wouldn't stop.

The next time he was aware, someone had cleaned and bandaged the cut on his forehead, also making sure the scrape on his nose was clean. The disinfectant smell made him gag.

"Atsushi, hey, it's me buddy. I need you to drink this for me. Okay?" A tall figure stood over him and supported the back of his head, tilting it forwards before holding a cup to his lips.

"Mh, no-" In his dazed state Atsushi didn't know what was happening, he was scared. He tightened his lips, trying to lean away.

"Hey, hey, come on." The voice soothed, holding him steady. "Please, It'll help you feel better. That's it." It was Dazai, he gently coaxed Atsushi to drink the medical solution. Just water with a Triptan dissolved into it.

"Good boy. That's it. You just get some sleep." Dazai cooed, softly resting Atsushi's head back onto the pillow. He took the boy's hand, gently massaging his Hegu nerve. A spot between the base of the thumb and index finger that's known for relieving headache and migraine pain. Atsushi's heavy eyelids slipped shut, forcing a few more tears to roll down his cheeks, still awake but unable to understand what was happening around him.

Dazai sighed, gently pressing a cold flannel against Atsushi's forehead and cheeks, cooling his flushed face. "I should have noticed this sooner..." He mumbled, looking over at Kunikida as he laid out the next round of medications for the boy, Yosano was unfortunately out of town so it was left to him to deal with.

"You did see it, but Atsushi said he was fine. He's a grown-up and you shouldn't feel responsible that this has happened. No one is really at fault, it's just how the situation has played out." He blonde explained, approaching with a syringe. "Morphine. It'll help him rest properly." He took Atsushi's hand, administering the drug into his arm.

The pinch from the needle made Atsushi flinch slightly but that was all. In mere moments he was out like a light and his breathing finally levelled out. Dazai stayed with him all day, keeping him cool and comfortable as he slept.

It was Dazai who brought him here. So he would be the one who takes care of him when he needs most. "I got you, little tiger."

#bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs dazai #bungo stray dogs ranpo #bungo stray dogs atsushi #bsd whump #bungo stray dogs whump #BSD Atsushi whump #rachi roo #atsushi nakajima #nakajima atsushi #dazai osamu #osamu dazai #ranpo edogawa #edogawa ranpo #migraine #tw whump #sick fic #bsd sick fic

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