Tender
Masterpost | Read on Ao3
Tender is the flesh that yields so easily. Tender is the flesh that refuses to yield at all.
Contains: Intimate whump, vivisection, gore, vampire whumper, captivity/gilded cage, mind control
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“Stay with me, my light. I want us both to experience this.”
A shuddery, pained breath was his only response. The deep, vacuous agony that had swept over him made anything else seem inconceivable. All he could do was follow his Lord’s orders— keep breathing, cling desperately to consciousness, and maintain a steady outpouring of healing magic to weather the storm as his Lord cut deeper into his chest and pulled his skin aside.
It wasn’t enough to soothe the agony that ripped through him as his ribs met the cold air of the castle. It wasn’t enough to stop his blood from pouring out over his Lord’s fingers. It wasn’t enough to stop tears from gathering at the corners of his unseeing eyes. But his Lord wanting him alive, wanted him present, so he would keep his magic pulsing through him to deter the hungry jaws of oblivion.
“Beautiful.” There was something akin to reverence in his Lord’s voice as he trailed his fingers delicately along exposed ribs. A whine escape him; each touch sent panic and pain through his body, a feeling of distress and discord that had been muffled when his Lord had used magic to caress him in this way. His Lord merely chuckled, a dark sound that chilled his bones more than the open air. “Relax, my light. There is no need to be afraid. This is a wonderful thing, another way for us to be intimate. I’ve felt every part of you; now I’m going to see you, laid bare before me.”
The gentle touch turned firm, insistent, as clawed hands found their way to his sternum. The rush of fear had him closing his eyes; through the pain, he couldn’t see much anyway. A soft yet haunting scraping sound rang through the air as his Lord’s claws searched for purchase on his breast bone. His back arched at the sensation, almost bucking into those grasping hands as they found their grip and pulled. The sound of cracking bone was only drowned out by the scream of sheer uncomprehending agony that ripped through his rupturing chest.
Cold, comforting darkness surged forward to envelop him. There was no fighting it. His magic slipped through his fingers, and he fell back into oblivion.
Somewhere, someone was screaming. There was no sound, no voice, but he felt it, deep in his soul, a scream of rage and grief and terror so fundamental he almost thought the emotions were his own. If he could have shrank back from the force of it, he would have, but there was nowhere to flee to in the gentle, calm nothingness broken by the scream, nothing to do but absorb the torrent of love and fear that threatened to overwhelm him, and in his not-awareness try to decide what he could possibly feel about it.
“My light, wake up. You’re not done yet.”
His Lord’s voice was a lifeline, a shackle, a tether that wrapped around him and pulled him right back into awareness. He gasped like he was drowning, struggling to force his lungs to work through the pain that his chest had become. His fists clenched and unclenched spasmodically, a tortured body’s desperate attempt for some sort of control or release. Healing magic shuddered erratically through him; it was all he could do to keep himself conscious as his Lord wished, despite the wounds he had sustained, despite the agony, despite how little strength he had left.
A hand warm and slick with blood cradled his cheek. The sensation pulled a whine from him, even as he leaned desperately into the touch. “There you are, my light. I knew you could handle this. And it is glorious, is it not?”
Maybe it was, if glory was profound and all-consuming agony. That didn’t seem right, but he didn’t have the strength to deny it, to question it, to think much of anything at all.
The next weak, trembling breath he took was met by another hand pressing lightly against his lungs. There wasn’t enough force to prevent his inhale, but it still made his fluttering heart clench with fear, made his stomach churn with disgust and dread and despair. Lungs weren’t meant to be touched like this, even so reverently. They weren’t meant to be exposed to the same air that they breathed. They weren’t built to deal with clawed fingers tracing trails of blood down their lengths, leaving the body surrounding choking and spasming with distress.
And yet. Was any of his life really meant to be like this, when he was under the care of a being so dedicated to corruption?
“How wonderful. Even now, you are enduring beautifully, my light. A lesser man would have perished. But you are truly worthy of this, aren’t you? You’ve proven that time and time again. I chose well in making you my beloved.”
The words slid off of him like water off of glass as he struggled to just keep breathing under the gentle pressure of his Lord’s hand. The instinctual writhing of his body had already weakened, his strength having dissipated as rapidly as he had found it. All for the better; moving hurt, and risked damaging himself further. He couldn’t have that. Not when he was already struggling to keep himself together and whole enough to please his Lord’s will.
The hand on his cheek caressed him tenderly as it pulled away, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. Did he feel better or worse now that it was gone? He couldn’t tell, at least not until that hand came to cup his heart with the same reverence it had held his face, as though it were the most precious thing in all of creation. The muscle quivered weakly, each beat an effort of magnitude, and he could feel how his heart strained to keep pumping blood that was spilling out against fingers that could very well push his body into stillness.
Heartbeat and breath. With barely a thought, his Lord could take away the very things that kept him alive. And yet, he didn’t. He wouldn’t. Instead his Lord let him balance on the precipice, had him put everything into maintaining his grip on mortality, so that…
Why? For what end? Had there ever been a reason? Did he ever know, and just not remember? Or…
“What trust you give to me, my light, to put your heart in my hands.” His Lord’s words washed over him, mixing with the excruciating desolation that enveloped him to steal away all thought. “And who am I to waste this gift?”
He couldn’t quite see what his Lord did next; pain had overtaken his vision, leaving it blurry and incomprehensible. But he felt something new tenderly brush against his trembling heart— something he had felt countless times before, but never like this. The semblance of affection his Lord offered was just as chilling as the contact from the lips that kissed his heart, chastely at first, but then more insistently, more greedily. His lips parted in a silent gasp, his entire body rigid with horror.
How could he handle this? What could he do in the face of something this grisly and dreadful and perverse? If not for his Lord’s power continue to pull the puppet strings of his magic, he was sure he would have lost consciousness once again. He almost wished to; if this had to happen (and it didn’t, some part of him howled),he didn’t want to bear witness, be aware of being subject to something so uniquely violating in its intimacy.
At least his Lord wasn’t—
Teeth scraped against the soft exterior of his heart, sharp and probing, and despite how utterly empty and drained he was, he still found the strength to scream. Somewhere in the depths of his soul, someone screamed with him. And his Lord’s pleasure filled the room and his mind and the spaces between his ribs as his Lord drank and drank and drank from his frantically beating heart until it threatened to give out entirely.
And though his heart kept pumping that which his Lord loved so much, unable to fight the tethers of control, the tangled and thorny knots of emotion that encompassed it did begin to shrivel. As he lay there in utter devastation, listening to the screams in his soul, Elze’ith began to call back, crying out in agony and despair and determination, having realized that Lord Denholm would never offer him the tender mercy he so craved.
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the difference between zosopp and sanuso (romantic OR platonic) is that Usopp is Zoro's specialest little guy and Zoro is someone Usopp hangs out with and looks up to and hides behind when things get scary, but Sanji and Usopp are best friends. They horse around, they beat each other up, they confide their worst fears trying to one up each other. Usopp hides behind Sanji sometimes, sure, but idk, Sanji's weaknesses are more obvious (bugs, fighting women, etc) so there are times when Usopp has to stand in front of Sanji too, yknow?
Like, how do I say this, all the crewmates are equal- Usopp and Zoro are equals- but with Sanji it feels like more... comradery? Zoro's a rock in a terrible storm- even rocks tend to get weathered and chipped and worn down, but they overall stay strong and steady. He has trouble being vulnerable and there are times when the burden he's placed on himself to keep the crew safe is crushing his chest. Usopp would help with that and be very understanding, but the point I'm trying to get with that is that those moments are few and far between. So I feel like Usopp, especially after Water 7, would take Zoro's lead on something like that, and keep most of his worries to himself or only talk about them sparingly unless they're really bad and/or he can't hide them.
Sanji is like a tree in a storm; he can be strong, yes, but it feels like he bends and sways with the storm, and has more obvious breaking points. He can relate more to Usopp's struggles rather than resorting to blunt honesty that might border on callous like Zoro. And while, with Zosopp, I tend to think of scenarios with Zoro being blunt like that as a good thing- because sometimes when you're spiraling, it's nice to have someone say exactly what's great about you and shoot down all your worries with straight facts that you can't argue with- I can also see this as being a bad thing. Anxiety can really twist up your brain sometimes, you know? And despite the words, the tone could still mess someone up if they're already feeling like a burden on others in some way.
With Sanuso it's a lot more understanding and thoughtful words. It's distractions and comfort food and patience- the kind reserved for Usopp- until Usopp talks about whatever's troubling him. Compared to Zosopp, it doesn't take as long for Usopp to open up, since he's done the same thing to Sanji at times and it's more familiar to him to talk and commiserate with Sanji about his worries and doubts and such. However, there are times stuff like this has absolutely no effect and Sanji will end up at a loss, no idea what to do or how to help over the course of several days with Usopp being quiet and keeping his distance, and he'll end up working himself up about it which will only serve to make Usopp feel worse and. yeah. bit of a vicious cycle with them.
So it's like. Usopp can be weak with both of them, but since I see Sanji as the type of guy who'd be more open with his worries (at least compared to Zoro), there's less of a need to 'perform' and be his best self around him. He's comfortable around Zoro, yes, but he is constantly wanting to show that he won't be a problem to him. On the other hand, while he's more open with Sanji, and Sanji with him, they tend to relate a bit too much with each other and they both have issues with causing trouble for others and being 'deserving of love' so failed attempts at consoling one hurts the other and creates an unpleasant cycle of misery and avoidance before some other crewmate (Zoro) tells them to quit being stupid and just fucking talk to each other.
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