soulmate au with nai……cielo beloved…..
vic..............what if i just.....................................................,
cw: blood, gore, violence, self cutting-? the reader nicks themselves on nai's knives. yandere nai.
***
Blood, hot and thick, splatters across your face. You jolt and swipe at it quickly, try to wipe yourself clean, but smear it across your cheek further. You feel it tacky now, still too warm.
You wish it felt grosser than it does.
You wish you could make your legs move, unstick them from their place, and run. And run. And run.
You manage to stumble a little, backwards, as tendrils of glinting silver slither towards you like a snake through the blood and the gore.
Despite knowing, you aren't scared of them.
The blunt side of his knives, cool, and still hard and painful, slip around you like a constrictor. Carefully, the razors have been flipped away from you. Around your legs, your torso, up around your arms the metal winds and twists. They're as gentle as they can be, as gentle as a knife can be. They still dig into your skin, they'll still nick and give you lovecuts criss-crossed over your body in a strange pattern of hatching and dashing.
More marks from him; your soulmate. None more damning than the first, of course.
You're lifted like a doll towards him.
Nai appraises you.
You squirm in his hold. You feel a scrape of the sharp side, feel the blood well and rush to the surface, as if eager to see him. You go still. Limp, almost. (It's how he wants you, you know. It's what he'd said in the beginning; stop moving, stop squirming, and I won't hurt you.)
His eyes are cold, flints of ice.
He tilts his head fractionally. The bodies of all the people that attempted to help you lay scattered, dismembered, at his feet. Beneath you.
You cross your arms and rest them on the metal wrapped around your chest. You lay your head on them and look at him; a little guilty. Kicked puppy. A little resentful. Scolded, agitated kitten.
"Did you think you could run?" He finally asks.
You tilt your head and let it loll against your arm; exhaustion suddenly sweeps through you. Your hand swings lazily, fingertips skimming the sharp, outside edge of his knives. Even just that touch leaves blood gushing to the surface of your sensitive finger.
You let out a defeated sigh, tears blurring suddenly in your vision. You blame the sting. You blame your soulmate. You watch the blood run down the length of your finger and into your palm, pooling against the soulmate mark that you've had your whole life.
Still, you get out;
"I had to try at least once."
"You've learned your lesson, then?"
You nod, knocking a tear free to fall over the bend of your cheek.
In an instant, he's setting you back on your feet in front of him, wobbly, like a newborn fawn. Unsteady so that when he lifts you straight from the ground and cradles you to him like a child, you are almost grateful.
You go limp, just as he always wants you.
And you won't ever try to leave again.
