'ᴛᴀꜱᴛᴇ ᴛᴇꜱᴛ' | Yandere Dazai Osamu x Reader
ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : ᴜꜱᴇʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ - ᴋɪᴋᴜᴏ
↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ
Trigger Warnings: Nudity + Degrading + Gore References + Generally Fucked Up + Abuse
{ Prompt: Yandere Dazai Osamu x Reader │Bloody Taste Test }
Twenty seven letters, strung together, for an unmerciful insult likewise threat all the same, legs crossed over one another, he sits on a throne, for you a cold ground, in bare skin, of yourself, however in the exposure, you could simply feel delirious sleep in wake of want. You didn't even care over the exhaustion you felt, whether it be the injuries lathered on your skin in love, the brutal nature this dehumanizing act has had in the imprint of your normalized mine or reality, you couldn't tell. You didn't bring your hands to your skin, in embarrassment, dread, nothing of the sort, they rested atop your thighs, as instructed. Back straight, sitting atop your legs, gaze turned down, to the way of a worshiping stance, in some way of a mock religion, it was humorous at the very least ironic, however you couldn't even muster an internal laugh at the thought. The way your ribs seemed to pull flush close to your lungs, felt a threat, beyond his hand of touch, a warning even beyond him, to follow closely.
Cruel words, yet a sweet touch, a graze against the cheek with a knife, and yet you could hardly even tell the difference, much less even muster a flinch. Coo, and awe for a brand new toy, for the spoiled child, how contradicting this bittersweet feeling, gazing longingly, yet disgustingly to a brutally mutilated dog, reduced to human waste, maggots, and flies probably preferred you, over than breathe anyone could possibly empathetically, in pity possess for you. A deep brown resides on our skin, known as the male's eyes, one hand rests on his knee, while the other leans on the arm rest, allowing him to rest his face into his hand, a coy smile by a defaultive nature, held on his lips, a hanging man, does the silence stiffen. In the accessibility of time, you could feel the weight in your body, the bruises, the bones broken healed, then broken again out of some degree of punishable enjoyment for Dazai. You thought to count, to think back, how long had it been, what had even been your given name, besides the oh so endearing terms you were referred to as replacement. Bluntly it was all lost, had it been days? Weeks? Months? Maybe it was even years at this point, you couldn't figure, no wonder you were referred to as the broken watch, time really had alluded you in a punishment of a crime you never remembered of commiting. Carefully he walks, a delicate silver knife better referred to as a letter opener in hand, in bandaged hands he reaches for your left wrist, one slit from side to side, you pull back a wince at the tip of your tongue, softly he places your wrist back to your lap, reaching for the next, he commits the same act. You bleeding across your skin, in a blood disarray, the broken puzzle you felt.
Dazai stooped to your level, brown eyes gleaming, in a horrendous case of sick pleasure, in the hitch of your breath, the way your body tensed a little softly at his closeness, made the side of his face pulled to bare white. Bringing himself to one knee in front of you, one hand gripped your wrist pulling it to the starking ceiling lights, the red spiling against the sides of your arm, thus to the palm of his hand. He dug his fingers in your wound, enjoying the beat of your blood, gushing onto his skin, in the open array of him, his slender fingertips stain bloody, he reaches out to you, showing the crimson on his skin, fondly, with a twisted smile to churn your vision, in a grotesque state, of the vision of you.
As if he had commanded you, you stick your tongue out, ahead of the male, stopping ahead of his finger, as if for permission, knowing his twisted case of delivering of punishment, a weary way of carrying yourself began, in fear of his demeanor. Dazai gleams almost proudly, swiping his blood fingertips across the rough texture of your tongue, giving a nod of approval to taste the metallic substance. It tasted no different than anything else to you, it all sort of blurred in a mesh of hunger, there was no need for taste, what little, demeaning things, he had given you to feast. What traces remained he tasted for himself.
"Now then dear pet of mine, let's have a taste test, for comparison"
The terms sound endearing under different circumstances, pet, what an odd circumstance to debrief on pet names, comedic in its own sense, however it was no such case. Dazai motioned, and his order was already met, as if studied comparatively, the stench of blood, rot, and death hung heavy, in a small box, carried by two men, placed ahead of you. The dried blood on the sides showcased its belonging, yet you couldn't even muster disgust in your riddled, ruined body. Dazai crudely smiled, opening the small chest, you figured it'd be a small animal, however it was human. Crammed, in minced, ligaments, bathed, then stained in blood, that seemed, full of drunk, dead insects.
"Now lick it up like a good pet"
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