i block every cis guy who says some chaser shit, but i imagine fucking one crazy till he whines and does anything i want.
like, you really thought i would bottom after i only showed you my dick? you’re dumb af for that buddy, if you’re gonna try and disrespect shit I put in bold letters, i’m gonna fuckin bend you over and not even prep you for my cock.
you like trans people because they’re the best of both worlds? i sometimes fuck cis men because they’re the mid of one world and they’re desperate to let me use their ass. i usually treat them nice and eat them out first, but the ones like you who think they can be the exception? you bet I’m gonna easily pin you down, and only use spit to force myself in you.
oops, i thought you said you were verse. whatever, after i teach you this lesson, you might even learn to like saying “i’m sorry daddy” and “i’m just a hole.” if you don’t, no difference for me. either way i’m leaving you gaping after i get my nut in.
sorry, just giving you a taste of your medicine bro, mine just happened to be stronger.
cw ⋆ dubcon, cnc, sorta kinda toxic dynamic, handjob, submissive dick grayson, dominant-ish reader, angry sex
18+, no minors pls
you and dick were fighting, nothing new. you were combative—he knew that. you were rough, hard to get along with according to nearly everyone, and he took that as a challenge. you liked that about him, his stubbornness and cocky personality, though it got in the way of things. things being you winning arguments, you were not the type to cower and apologize, no, no you were the type to bare your teeth and clench your jaw down for the final blow.
dick was looking at you with his glossy, tired eyes. helpless. it was late, at least four am. he came home late after work, and you were pissed. convinced he was fucking that ditzy coworker of his, the one with the eyes. the eyes you swore were batting eyelashes and fuck me eyes at dick across desks, and conference rooms. “i didn’t fuck her!” he lets out roughly, tossing himself onto the frumpy living room couch. you roll your eyes and look at him with thin eyes. “but you want to, right?” you taunt, leaned up against the wall across from his big, exhausted frame. “no?” he sighed into his palms. he didn’t know what to do with you, didn’t know what to say to make this chaos stop. “can you just apologize for jumping on me about this, and we can move on?” there it was! he thought you owed him the apology. unbelievable. a rough scoff tumbled out of you.
“you want me to apologize?” you grunted as you walked closer, his head cowardly lifting from his palms. he looked like a kicked puppy, which for rotten reasons—that you could admit—was making desire nestle deep inside of you. he was tired, and chances are, he didn’t fuck kory, or whatever her name was. guilt started to buzz in your limbs, so you recoil inwardly. “i want you to apologize.” you huffed. dick’s eyes went wide, and you saw that spark of stubbornness ignite. “me? for what?” he barked at you. you inched closer, your hands grazing his knees as you lean down, hovering over him. daunting. taunting. the way he showed no fear, the quiet knowing between the two of you that he’d cower the second you make a move. it was all so exciting.
your hands scrape up his thighs slowly, and his breath hitches. “f-for what?” he tries to stand his ground, but the poor guy can’t help the way he’s straining against his slacks right now. the way his hearts beating against his neck. “when I asked if you wanted to fuck her,” you murmur in a low tone, looking at him through hooded lids. your lip curling into your mouth as you size him up, your knees bend. coming down to your knees slowly in front of him. his eyes briefly shut at the sight, he knows he’s done for..yet, hard headed boy wonder, decides to keep up this fake, pathetic little act. “god,” he huffs under his breath. your hands slide down his thighs slowly, “your voice went up a bit at the end, rising intonation. meaning, you don’t really know if you wanted to fuck her or not.” you coo softly, your voice smooth and low.
dick’s head starts to shake, stuttered movements. “no,” he begins but his words fall off as your hands start to undo his belt. “yeah, baby, i know what i heard.” you hum, looking up at him through heavy lids. his head falls back briefly before he shakes his head, his hands coming down onto your wrists. a loose grip. “no—“ he whispers, but his hips chase your hands, he wants this. he’s too stubborn to admit it, and you’re too sane to admit you like the way he says no. the way it falls off of his lips so pathetically. you ignore his hands, his weak grip, allowing you to keep undoing his belt. his zipper makes a soft noise as you undo it and he whimpers softly. “please don’t,” he begs you to stop. he knows he’s can’t win.
“apologize,” you murmur, and his eyes flutter shut. shaking his head. “f-for what? why would i apologize, you’re the one who tore into m—“ his words come out all high pitched towards the end as you pull his cock out slowly, wrapping your hand around the base. “mmfuck.” it falls from his lips just barely, and you hum satisfactorily. “you think about her like this? on her knees? stroking your cock like this?” you taunt and he shakes his head frantically. “p-please stop, it’s not fair, you know that—“ his hips rut up into your hand conflicting his words. god you’ve never seen him this pathetic, this wanting.
“answer the question,” your thumb swipes over the tip of his cock, and you smear the messy pre-cum. he whines, his head falling back. muttering something about how you’re a crazy bitch, and you can only smirk at the comment. “i didn’t mean it— please baby, you know that.” he grunts, and you click your tongue. he starts to push your hands away, but you pinch the tip of his cock and his jaw goes numb. you stroke him faster, gripping him tighter. “y-you should be apologizing to me!” dick yelps, and his hands grip your arms tightly. he’s really fighting now.
you dribble some spit onto the head of his cock and he whimpers, a low, whimper. almost a cry. “stop, please— s-stop…” he stutters and he’s a mess as you move your hand faster. you get him close, just close enough where he’s begging you to stop. “don’t touch me,” he whines through pants as his hips thrust up to meet your fist.
when you sink down onto him he’s pawing at your hips, pathetically trying to lift you from him. you both know he could if he wanted to, you both just loved the fight. when you bottom out, his nails dig into your hips, bruising. “f-fuck you.” he mutters, and then, the briefest of grins graces his lips. your hand slips around his neck and he looks up at you with wet eyes. you look down at him expectedly, and he keeps that cocky grin on his lips. when you start lifting your hips, so high his cock almost slips out, he whines. “sorry, shit i’m sorry, i’m so sorry,” he whimpers quickly before he slams your hips back down onto him. finally, you grin as you bounce your hips in a steady rhythm. dick muttering into your collarbones, begging you to go easy on him next time.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: One Piece (Anime & Manga), One Piece (Live Action TV 2023)
Rating: Explicit
Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Sanji
Additional Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Dubious Consent, Consensual Non-Consent, Rough Sex, Fighting As Foreplay, Breathplay, Choking, Unconscious Sex, briefly, Hate Sex, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Top Roronoa Zoro/Bottom Sanji (One Piece), Semi-Public Sex
Summary:
There's nothing that pisses Zoro off faster than Sanji. Nothing in the whole world. His blood pressure rises just listening to the shitty cook speak.
But now he's got a way to relieve that pressure, and he intends to take advantage of it.
Sacha considered himself a strong man in both the physical and spiritual sense. He did not falter, he did not bend, yet, here he was, bound to a chair in chains. His abduction was, in hindsight, the result of poor planning and subpar threat assessment reports. If he had known that a rather Infamous and very well armed Pirate Lord was in the sector he never would have accepted such a lightly armed escort, and now here he was.
At least,he’d been spared from any torture thus far. He’d tried to free himself for what felt like a few hours,but once he realized how sturdy his bindings were he was forced to give up. No one had come to see him since he’d been ripped from his quarters and injected with some form of sedative. He was slightly relieved his men had been traveling separately but in hindsight that was suspicious. Everything leading up to this was suspicious. He squirmed in his seat in another fruitless attempt at escape, only for the door to the room to open, flooding it with light. Sacha flinched, shutting his eye, “Ah, Commissar Volkov! Glad to see you’re awake, I was worried we’d dosed you too heavily.” There was the click of fine boots on the metal flooring as he was approached.
His chin was grabbed and his eye opened, a short, blond man was staring down at him, smirking at him. He was handsome, Sacha would begrudgingly admit, his monolid eyes were dark and mischievous, his blond Mohawk and goatee were meticulously groomed, and hanging from his ears were multiple piercings, some dangling and clicking against each other as he leaned forward, and began to fiddle with the buttons of Sacha’s great coat, “Let’s get you more comfortable, hm? Need to see the goods I’m dealing with.” His voice was bright, and casual despite the situation they found themselves in. His fingers were nimble as he stripped Sacha of his coat, his chest armor, and finally, his shirt, leaving him in only the thin white tank top he wore underneath, “Oh.”
The Pirate stepped back and Sacha finally recognized him, “Captain Falx.” Sacha hissed.
”In the flesh! I suppose introducing myself before unburdening you would have been more polite but I suppose I got a bit…Excited.” He was staring down at Sacha’s pecs, his tongue darting out to trace his lower lip before he stepped closer, “Has anyone ever told you that you have a wonderful figure, Commissar? It’s criminal to hide it under all of these layers. If I was a weaker man,well, I would have you try on a few accessories I think would make our time together far more enjoyable.” He was now standing between Sacha’s thighs, “Maybe you’d like that, though. Your job is so stressful, maybe unwinding would do you some good? Tell me, Commissar Volkov, what alcohol do you like? I’m feeling generous.”
Sacha began to blush, his whole upper body was turning a shade of red, “Why are you playing these games? What is it you want from me?” He spat.
Lazarus raised a pierced brow, his smile for a moment, fading before rising again, “I’ll tell you if you tell me your favorite drink.” Laz tilted Sacha’s chin up, brushing his thumb over his cheek, “Like I said, I’m feeling generous.”
Sacha did not entertain him, keeping his lips firmly pressed together. Laz tilted his head, grabbing the vox on the collar of his coat, “Bring me a bottle of that liquor we found on the cruiser with the Commissar.” He commanded.
A rush of arousal overtook him as Lazarus forced his head back and leaned down, “You’re just a pathetic freak.” Sacha said, teeth gritting as Lazarus’s fingers traced his outer thighs, making him inhale sharply.
”And you, are wound far too tight for my liking. I can make you feel very, very good, if you’d just let me, Sacha.” Laz sat for a few moments, tugging the strap of his tank top, “I’m talented, you know, experienced with all sorts of men.” He hooked one of his legs over Sacha’s thigh and grinned as he rested his other hand on his shoulder, “All sorts. Even the kinds that call me names but don’t even try to fight when I’m right on top of them.”
Sacha felt his throat tighten as an uncharacteristic warmth settled in his gut. It was true. He hadn’t been fighting, he’d been too lost in the charm of the Captain, in the potential, the way it resembled his bodice rippers, almost suspiciously. The door opened and Laz leaned back, accepting a bottle of clear liquid and holding it up to admire before opening it, sniffing and making a dramatic ‘phew’ sound as he took a swig of it. He smacked his lips and shrugged with a tilt of his head and walked over, pressing the bottle to Sacha’s lips, “Drink.” He ordered.
Lazarus looked down expectantly, and Sacha parted his lips to drink, taking a few deep swigs. He recognized the liquor. It came from his home sector, the result of limited ingredients and a need to disconnect from the endless toils of the countless smithys and factories. The name loosely translated to Smith’s Spit. It has a harsh, chemical taste and it burned going down, fanning the flame that was growing in his stomach. Laz held it there for several moments before pulling the bottle away and taking a drink for himself, coughing. Sacha’s head began to spin in a nice, floaty way.
Laz leaned forward, grinning, “That nice, Volkov?” He purred.
”Mm.” Sacha regretted the lack of food in his stomach as the Captain suddenly seemed undeniable, “Somewhat.”
”Somewhat?” Laz leaned in close, and Sacha found it hard to breathe as he leaned in, lips inches from Sacha’s, “What can I do to make it better, Commissar?” The Pirate Lord’s voice was low and soft.
The words escaped Sacha as he blinked slowly, “I made a promise to the Imperium.” The Commissar’s protests were weak.
”They don’t have to know. This can just be for us, or f you have to, tell them I was rough, that you had no choice, that Captain Falx is a monster.” Laz’s lips were close, and Sacha shivered, “If you tell me to go, I will.”
Sacha pressed forward, gentle and hesitant as he pressed a tight-lipped kiss to Laz’s lips. The Captain rested his hand on the back of Sacha’s neck, his tongue pressing into his mouth as one of his hands slid below his tank top and began to fondle one of his pecs, pinching his nipple and rolling it, straddling Sacha’s lap. Sacha gasped as Lazarus pulled back, beginning to savage his neck in place of his mouth, leaving a thick trail of hickeys and bite marks on his neck.
The word that left Sacha’s lips was one he hadn’t used in many years, a remnant of his home, and he whined as Laz adjusted to roll the tank top up to fully exposed his upper body, groping both of his pectorals, “Captain Falx-“ He cut himself off with a whine, his accent growing thicker the more lost he became in pleasure.
“Anything you say sounds so sexy, say it again, my Sacha.” Laz was whispering in his ear as he began to grind on him, his erection pressing against Sacha’s crotch.
“Captain Falx, please, it’s- <Emperor help me> so good, please.” The Commissar begged, his breathing becoming more and more labored as Lazarus slid his fingers down into Sacha’s pants, finding his tdick with ease, sliding his fingers down to gather slick before moving back up to begin massaging the base of his tdick. Sacha’s thighs strained in the chains as he tried to buck his hips up, struggling to breathe as Laz captured his lips again.
Sacha had to pull away to gasp for air as he felt a mess forming between his thighs that was growing as Lazarus bent down to bite his nipple, a little growl leaving his throat as he did. Sacha felt his orgasm building as Laz began to rub the head of his tcock. Sacha cried out as he came, and Lazarus just moved to bully his other nipple while continuing to rub Sacha through his orgasm. He only pulled away when Sacha made a sound that bordered on pained, “Are you alright, my Sacha?” He asked, pulling back and grabbing his face, “Was that too much?”
Sacha took a few breaths, the booze still circulating in his system, “Yes, I’m fine, I promise, my love.” He leaned up to give Lazarus a kiss on the cheek. Laz gently pet his face, and kissed his forehead before beginning to move his fingers.
”Right, back to it then, eh? Let’s see if I can get you to squirt.” He nipped Sacha’s earlobe,and stood up, licking his fingers clean, clearing his throat as he massaged Sacha’s shoulders, arms, and legs offering him some water from a flask. Sacha accepted, taking a deep drink before settling back into the chair, Laz getting back into position as well. He stole one more quick kiss before quickly undoing Sacha’s belt, and tugging his pants down, “Making a mess, Volkov? Better strip you down, eh?” He began to strip Sacha of his underwear and pants, admiring the sticky mess of arousal that clung to his underwear, “Needy, needy man.” He slapped his cunt, making Sacha yelp.
He slapped a few more times, the cum and arousal making a mess on the floor and chair. Sacha tried to squirm but he couldn’t, only able to to sit and endure the mix of pain and pleasure until Laz finally stopped, and shoved the chair backwards, catching it at the last second with an expression of panic before he relaxed and stood over Sacha. Sacha blushed as his ankles were untied, and lifted, the chair kicked aside. Laz knelt down, freeing his cock. It was pierced, ladder piercings going down the bottom. He stroked his cock a few times, and he pressed against Sacha’s pussy, rubbing up and down a few times. He pressed inside, and Sacha felt anticipation growing in his gut.
Laz grabbed Sahca’s hips and in one smooth movement he thrusted inside. Sacha felt each individual piercing rubbing him internally, making him whimper and shiver. Lazarus began to ru b his tdick again, pinching it between his fingers and rubbing up and down while he rolled his hips. The whine that left Sacha was obscene as he was fucked, and as much as he wanted to try to remain in character it was becoming harder every second, and judging by the way Laz was looking down at him, he too was struggling to keep up his facade.
He wanted to hold him, he wanted to be closer to Laz, to kiss and cherish him, to thank him continuously, but for now, he just whined and moaned for him. Laz grabbed one of his thighs and petted it gently, groaning and pressing their foreheads together. It didn’t take long for either of them to cum, pressing close together and taking slow, shaky breaths.
Laz kissed Sacha gently, and nuzzled him, “I love you, my Sacha”
”I love you too, Laz, now can you let me out of these cuffs?”
6,929 words | explicit | viago/rook | hockey au (sort of)
cw: explicit smut, consensual non-consent
Viago’s heart is already racing, drumming against his ribs so loudly he’s certain Vero must hear it. He knows what they’ve both agreed to, what they so carefully negotiated between them, and yet now that the moment has arrived, he hesitates.
They talked about it a week ago, that morning after he’d woken next to them—coffee cups on the table, both of them on the couch hunched over his laptop, trying to determine how exactly to approach this. It made Viago feel like a teenager again, awkward in his own skin, somehow both terrified and exhilarated.
✨ read on ao3 ✨
Ooof, I'm not even sure where to start with this note here. I have many things to say about this one.
The idea for this fic came to me over the summer and for the longest time I didn't think I was going to write it because I had never written CNC, nor had I ever even had even the slightest desire to. And yet this idea popped into my head and I couldn't stop thinking about it. I had to write it. And for a long time I thought I was just going to write it and then let it sit in my personal archive and never actually publish it, but some very nice friends encouraged me that it was worth pursuing, so I finally finished it and here it is.
This is one of those pieces that I was afraid of writing, and I feel like writing it was cathartic for me in terms of facing some of my fears in fandom because (so far at least) nobody has told me I'm a terrible pervert and they don't want to talk to me anymore.
So, I've written it and I survived the process, and I recommend everyone write that story that scares them but that won't get out of their head.
This fic does use the versions of Vero and Viago from my hockey AU, although no knowledge of (or interest in) hockey is required because it's literally mentioned maybe twice in the entire fic and is not really remotely plot relevant.
I owe enormous thanks to @veil-song and @coacklebee for their encouragement, which convinced me not to abandon this fic to my drafts folder, and @velvet-cupcake-games and @styxdysnomia for betaing.
Synopsis: Rick Prime fucks a straight out the vat clone of himself. This came to me in a dream. Weird theoretical science is very present in this. Rick and Prime are used interchangeably to refer to Rick Prime (duh). That’s about it.
Description and warnings: knifeplay, woundplay, impact play, a lot of gore. Some of it very detailed or massive because Prime insta-heals. But there is a scene where the clone’s body almost melts because of exposure to a harmful substances and there’s a lot of stabbing. 3rd Person Limited and the clone is referred to by it/its to spare any confusion. AFAB and AMAB terminology used for gentalia. Strange bio-strap liquid is made. The clone does not have a lower lip for the actual fucking portion of this fic. This is very heavily focused on instruction and dom/sub dynamics, the clone is basically just a sentient meatbag with vague memories and feelings and is programmed to please Prime’s every whim and it dies. It’s kind of CNC too.
Words: Around 3500+
For the third time, be warned. If you are a minor, do not interact with this post. These are basically just perverted and strange ramblings.
The seal breaks open with a hiss, amniotic fluid spilling across the floor and being promptly drained by the ship’s systems. The clone’s body flops onto the floor and Rick’s smile widens much too wide to be a friendly smile. He wastes no time, shedding his jacket and all the accessories loosely hanging off his hips and shoulders; all the while he looks down at the clone, who was barely registering its own life as his slick new body felt the air for the very first time. Something in this was alluring, a fresh new version of himself, vulnerable and programmed to be willing to submit like Prime never could. Of course, it would probably die from blood loss after what he’s going to do to it so maybe submission isn’t the best with an ill-natured man like Rick whom always showers himself with gentility.
The clone’s eyes open and then close, burning at the bright light as Prime undoes his pants and shoves off his shirt amongst the rest of his clothes. Squatting down, Rick chuckles at the way the now moist air hits his skin, his cock twitching slightly at the stimulation. He clenches around nothing, running his hand down the clone’s body as it squirms and opens its eyes fully, as if waking from a sleep. Its eyes meet Rick’s and his smile widens much more than should be humanely possible, disturbing to anyone but himself. It watches as Prime straddles its face, reacting with nothing but pure instinct as he lowers himself down onto it’s mouth, shuddering as it immediately gets to work, lapping and licking through Rick’s folds as he giggles to himself, holographic screens flickering all around. Maybe he should have made them less linked to his brain activity but who cares.
“You’re a clone, by the way. If you couldn’t tell, I’m the real deal.” Even in moments like this, bragging with the utmost superiority in his voice. He grinds his hips down, savouring the groan it makes as his hand tugged at its hair. Really, there wasn’t much separating the two, given they were genetically, phenotypically and intellectually the exact same person. But he needed this clone to know it was below him, just like that other fuck refused to acknowledge.
Prime wasn’t sure what had happened between deciding to clone himself and deciding to fuck that clone of himself but it was one of the best impulsive decisions he’d ever made next to erasing Diane across the multiverse. But the constant lapping of the clone’s tongue was getting boring, he needed something more, something exciting and painful. Regular sex was alright, the stimulation is average and he usually just killed the person after, but sex with a knife in your stomach? That was ten times better. Much more satisfying when he unsheathes it as he finishes.
Lifting his hips up, the clone gasps and practically swallows the air, Prime notices its lips are practically blue and still no complaint slips from its lips. He grabs it by the neck and heaves it up to get eye contact, trying to ignore the glimmering of himself on its lips.
“Talk.” He blurts out, wanting to see if he’d programmed it right, to do anything he wants just as he wants it.
”What should I say?” Its voice isn’t as flat as he would have thought it to be, it was like an echo chamber of his own tone and exact inflection. Though, Prime supposed it was illogical to think that either way so he pushed that thought to the side and focused on what he wanted to happen.
“Nothing, just wanted to see if your vocal cords actually worked;” Prime started leaning over to grab the little satchel next to the crumpled heap of clothes, taking out one of the many high-tech knives he had. It buzzed and crackled with quark-gluon plasma around the blade’s edge, primordial, burning hot and insanely bright and always LHC colliding with itself to maintain the state of matter. “Open up, baby, I need to try something.”
The clone’s mouth opens without any preamble and Rick grabs a hold of its tongue, softly pressing the blade against it shortly after. Just as he’d expected, the plasma instantaneously destroyed its tongue at a subatomic level, flowing out of his mouth like a liquid and running down his body as Prime rises. Rick cups the side of its cheek as its body started slowly melting away, the gutteral noises of pain and confusion only made him wetter, his lips suddenly feeling extremely dry and needing much more air than he has before all the while he observes the clone’s jaw about to physically snap off from the weight of the human soup in his mouth.
He tucks the knife away once more and goes onto a more traditional knife, not before healing the clone and pushing it forward by its shoulders. Prime grabs the clone’s hand, watching as it curled around the knife shoved into its hand and stare up at him for instruction. The idea of a being identical to himself being his mercy — at his beck and call — caused a heady feeling, a rush that promised him more than just pleasure and certainly more than just excruciating pain. It promised him complete control over another version of himself, something C-137 refused to submit to. Rick almost growls in anger at the simple thought of being rejected by that lowly inferior shit and his high and mighty morals.
“Stab me twice in the stomach and once in the ribs. Take your time.” Prime’s voice comes out sharp and clear, straddling the laying clone once more as he felt the cool blade pressing against his midsection in an instant.
It pushes in, ripping through skin, muscle, sinew and various layers of visceria before stopping at the immovable resistance of the titanium layer plated over his intestines and uterus; As those were two only things he didn’t like the idea of being punctured. The scratch of the blade against the metal inside him and the feeling of his body instantly healing around made Prime clench against the air and grind his hips down against the clone’s chest, reaching back to run a hand through its folds and over its dick. He strokes slowly but roughly as it takes the knife out and stabs another point in his midsection, blood gushing from the wound as he gathers a slick wetness at his fingers and palm. Rick slapped its cunt with an overly rough enthusiasm, yet he still only does it a few times before stopping his stimulation of the clone, watching as it let out short raspy moans like it wasn't sure what to do. Adorable.
Prime leans down to pull its head up once again and captures its lips against his own, the clone takes this as a sign to pull out the knife, blood splattering over the two of them as it did. Reacting on pure instinct, he pulls back just as he starts to nibble at its lip, tearing away the clone’s bottom lip. It lets out a startled yelp mixed with the gurgling of newly found blood in its mouth. It was accidental, or half-accidental, but still as the sinew spiderwebbed, Prime felt another throbbing. He groans to himself, half annoyed and half aroused as he spat out the fatty muscle in his mouth, savouring the iron-rich taste of the blood in his mouth.
“Can you still talk, clone?” Rick speaks almost coldly if not for the twinge of amusement and intrigue in his voice, leaning back in closer to hear the answer may it be quieter than normal.
“Yeeshh.. I.. camn talk.” Its words are drawn out, sloppy, desperate but still audible and Rick can very easily decode them, he’d heard worse attempts at speaking, hell he’d had a daughter once. His mind flickers briefly to her, wondering where she is now, but he shakes it away, focusing on the task at hand.
“Compliment me while I mix up this solution to make you better.” A cruel thing to do, yes, but cruel was arousing and arousing himself was what Prime was looking to do. Plus it wasn't like it would mind, it wanted all the same things he did, it felt all the things he did, it was just blocked from his superiority, that’s all.
“Youu’ree amazing.. bet–ter tham awl of thosse.. awfowl Ricks. Thosse infeer-”
“Okay, no, just.. Don’t do that actually. Hearing you speak is just.. it’s like listening to a gorilla try to speak English. How about you swallow the lump of congealed blood clearly stuck in your throat?” Prime lashes out immediately once he gets the chance to, his entire body vibrating with rage until he sees the clone slink back slightly, clearly angered by what he’s saying and severely wounded by the way he’s saying it in the way Rick would be if that was said to him. So he does what has never been done before, goes for a different approach. “No, to be honest, that isn’t your fault. It’s my bad for ripping your bottom lip off and stunting your pronunciation. Just stop speaking while creator is doing this, K?”
“Okkay..” It lays down, seemingly exhausted already even though it had hardly been doing anything. The knife clatters to the floor and Rick grumbles, irritated by the fact it was relaxing but not willing to put it into words. He shoots it a look and it grabs the knife again, putting it on its bare chest as Prime heaved himself up and with each step, ambled over to the console opposite the both of them, typing in ‘Booger Aids 56296’ and opening three holographic screens around him, all of which showed some kind of live feed on three different Ricks. C-137 being the biggest and highest quality.
“Ah shit, wrong combination. Let’s see.” Prime presses escape and his fingers fly across the keyboard very shortly after like he had something to prove. He types in ‘Booger Aids 56269’ and once again, a screen pops up but it was finally what he needed. The recipe for ‘shit I made to fuck better’. “Bingo.”
Instantaneously, he presses the same number combination into the computer without the filler words and the southern part of the floor opens up and various pieces of advanced chemistry-related lab equipment rise from the floor. Beakers filled to the brim with strange looking liquids and one filled with a vicious substance banging against the glass and looking much more like a living being than anything. The holographic screen gets bigger as Rick walks away from the console, making it possible to read from where he’s standing.
“Okay. Let’s do this. 10 centistokes of Polydimethylsiloxane.” Prime speaks to himself more than anything else but the clone sits up either way, seemingly interested in what he was doing now. He grabs a vial of a plastic-looking liquid, pouring it into a small-ish beaker. The liquid spat out slightly as it was moved, a boiling hot drop sizzling against the scars on Prime’s chest, he hardly notices; Rick simply looks back up at the screen
“30 millilitres of Glutaraldehyde. 20 milligrams, Fibrin. 13 grams, Collagen. 25 milligrams, Chitosan. 35 pictograms of Fibroblast growth factors. Nitric oxide? How much nitric oxide? Why don’t I ever write this part of it down?” Prime grumbles off, grabbing and adding each ingredient as he spoke of it, the clone stands up, grabbing the knife before it drops to the ground. It just stands there and watches, seemingly enraptured by the act of watching the original version of himself in his element. “Would you be a good doll and pass me the nitric oxide?”
The clone nods and grabs a sealed glass bottle filled with a clear gas, Rick grabs it wordlessly and takes off the lid, pouring the containers of the small beaker into the bottle and covering it with his hand as he shook it lightly. The liquid glows brightly, a small explosion melting a hole in Prime’s hand and allowing blood to drip down and react with the now viscous looking cyan-blueish liquid, turning it purple. Prime grabs the moving creature, opening the top and pouring a small drop of acid into the container, a short-lived shriek echos around the glass before a squeak signals the death of the small creature. The bottle’s contents are poured over the creature and turn a darker purple.
“Come closer and swallow when I tell you to.” Prime finds that the clone is very good at following instructions, something that usually happens when you take away all individuality from a person from the moment they come into this world. The clone nods and opens its mouth, letting Rick pour the substance down his throat and waiting for instructions after it all drains into his mouth. “Swallow.”
“There we go, all done. You should feel the effects soon. Go lay back down.” Prime speed-walks back to the console as he patters out his words fast. The clone does as its told while Rick types in ‘56269’ on the console and the lab collapses into the floor and shuts down any additional systems that it may be running.
In a matter of minutes, a bulge begins to form at the clone’s crotch, it stares confusedly at itself and Prime scrambles over to watch as the skin of its folds and labia stretch and tear and morph itself into something that looked slightly grotesque halfway through. Once the dick had formed, Rick clapped his hands once, not excited, more like satisfied that his measurements had worked when he’d just winged the entire thing. He really needs to start running measurements. Starting now always works, he presses a button at his temple and a beam of light shoots out of his eye to the clone’s blooming erection, waiting for the reaction to stop before scanning for measurements. The measurement pops right into his right eyeball, 6 inches, seems like he’d fucked the measurements up but this would do as-well.
“Remember what I said about not speaking. Don’t get too distracted and listen to every word I say, got it?” Prime gets much too close when he blabbers, forehead pressed against the clones as his eyes widen to almost inhuman amounts. He ends up straddling its body and staring at it like he wanted to slit down the clone’s body and crawl inside there with it.
His hands flow over its ribs before striking down harshly, hearing a crack on the second blow and taking the knife from the clone’s hand to slice open just above the last rib. Prime begins to settle himself down on the clone’s new cock as he digs his hand into the slit, pulling the two sides apart and watching as the muscle tears ligament by ligament. The pattern the meaty inside of it makes is mesmerising, pulling apart like torn lace only with the delicious addition of blood gushing down its body and staining Ricks thighs as he settled fully down. He groans at the sensation, but he is not nearly satisfied, hardly turns him on really.
He pulls apart the wound fully, peeking inside the clone’s gushing body as it whines and squirms and bucks its hips just right but makes no move to leave. How can it? All it knows is obeying, and it is very useful. Prime digs his hands in, pulling out the splintered blood-soaked remains of the rib and displaying it in front of its face.
“Stab me with this, straight in the kill spot.” Rick starts to rock his hips down as he runs his hands over the clone’s chest, already excited by the prospect of it. Without pre-amble, it grabs the remains of its ribs and even as weak and fragile as it is, it drives it forward. The bone punctures the skin of Prime’s chest, digging through muscle and slicing through tissue never touched before. His hand tugs at its hair, pulling it back as he curled his fist and thumped down on the clotting wound, reopening it all over again as his skin healed around the intrusion.
“Now the knife, right in my ribs. Now.” Prime barely manages out, thumping his fist down at the wound once again with his other hand offering the knife; even as the clone barely manages to meet his eyes. But by the look in its eyes he could tell it was enjoying this, it was him after all. “Really? How are you this pathetic? Dying after a little flesh wound? I’ll give you a little pick-me-up.”
Rick’s index finger opens up, a robot arm with a needle filled with adrenaline and various steroids pokes into the side of the clone’s neck and it perks up fast, managing to sit up and close its fingers around the knife properly. Ah, he’d almost forgotten, Prime stared down at himself, watching as he began to bounce just as the knife was so cruelly forced through his skin and cracked through his ribs, the spray of blood is brief but much more rewarding than the chest wound. “More, just stab me over and over.”
The clone yanks the blade out, its eyes are as wide as can be as it watches a very pleasured grimace come across its creator’s face, watching as his hip movements started up and sped up. Though it could hardly feel anything other than the pain, the excruciating pain, the worst of it was not being able to talk properly now. But its purpose is bound to come to this point. It has his memories. It knows he never played well with others. The blade slices back through skin shortly after closer to the scars, it penetrates the lungs for a moment before the body heals around it and the blood that casts off as it is removed is art.
Prime increases the speed as the stabbings get faster, deeper, better and damage more of his internals. It scrapes against the metal plate of his midsection a couple times, giving him the chills as the clone looks on with something akin to awe or sadism, it was hard to tell when it’s face was so pale, lifeless and covered in blood.
“Doing fucking terrible but you’re an inferior, so I’ll let you live for now. Now stab me as deep as you can right here.” Rick lifts his arm and points to the divet in his armpit, the perfect spot for it to go through. The clone follows through immediately, tearing through muscle and bone with great resistance as it melted through the skin and bursted out the other side with a furious fountain of blood pumping only briefly. He lets out a low-pitched scream, gravel deep in his voice as pure agony mixed with a great sense of satisfaction tore through his vocal cords.
It leaves the next words he says painfully pushed through an absolutely fried set of vocals. “Now pull both of them out in five seconds.” Prime chuckles brokenly as his hips still and stutter, ready to snap at any moment but just waiting for the grand finish of it all. If it wasn’t dramatic, Rick simply couldn’t do it.
The clone’s hands wrap around the handle of the knife and the jagged edge of its own broken rib, waiting briefly before tearing them both out without warning. Prime’s noise dies in his throat as he bites harshly down on his own tongue, severing it with the sheer intensity of the moment as his body, drawn taut, finally snaps and the momentary rush comes over him. Blood fills his mouth and covers his body, his sensors glitching out momentarily at the sheer amount of contact points to heal over.
He spits out the tongue, the high wears off fast but the smugness and satisfaction of his face does not, the bliss of being superior will stay forever. As it always does. Prime lifts himself to his feet, taking the knife from the clone’s hand as he does. He walks around to stand above its head, leaning down to grab its hair and yank it up.
“It’s been a nice ride but you’re too useless to actually do anything around here, so just accept your fate, K?” Without any further ado, Prime’s knife slices through it’s throat like butter, watching as it gurgles and expires; all the while he puts his clothes back on, savouring the way the drying blood felt on his skin.
Note: I need to rant about the substances named in this fic for the chemical make up to sort of make sense. Polydimethylsiloxane is used for various cosmetic purposes but is very good for lubrication and such, Glutaraldehyde is usually used as a disinfectant but can be used as a steroid for epidermal differentiation. Collagen is basically the base of the structure of human skin and chitosan is used for improved healing and more structural support. Fibrin is used as a kind of cell glue and fibroblast growth factors were used to regulate the anatomy. Nitric oxide is used for boners as it does in the actual human body. The rest of it is self explanatory I hope. Also I was really high and drunk for the majority of writing this so there may be spelling mistakes.
This is one where the premise is in the title, for the most part. I'm always sort of interested in the various ways for CNC to be written; in this case, I didn't include the negotiation and the majority of the fic is framed around the scene itself. This is an established-relationship fic where they have already worked out the kinks - so to speak - with their roleplay, and they have a lot of trust in each other, so it was kind of an interesting challenge to try to get into Eddie's headspace for this and capture the manufactured terror of the scene while still making it clear what he gets out of it and how much he enjoys it.
Anyway. A short (mostly) non-porny snippet beneath the cut:
Eddie sucks in a breath, his heart rate spiking. The cold metal drags downward—if it's a knife, it's the blunt edge of the blade, not that that matters much.
"Take whatever you want," he says. It comes out unsteady. He feels unsteady, his blood thin and hot, his pulse thundering in his ears. Adrenaline spiking like he's in the ring, blood on his teeth, instead of pressed against the wall outside his own bedroom in his own quiet house. He can smell the intruder—warm skin, a faint hint of cologne, little details that his mind inexplicably snags on. He can't think. "I haven't seen your face. I won't call anyone. Just—take whatever."
ok um, this wouldn’t be for a lil bit, but i see y’all were really into my Predator versus Prey fic feat. CNC w/ Din Djarin... would y’all want to see a sequel to that??
