biotrash | BIOSHOCK KINK MEME

BIOSHOCK KINK MEME

Stars, hide your fires;
Let not light see my black and deep desires
- bioshock trash crew proverb

== A RAPTURE REMINDER: ==

PROMPTS AND FILLS WITH INFORMATION ON BURAL AT SEA 2 ARE SPOILERS.

THIS POST IS A SPOILER FREE ZONE UNTIL APRIL 27th.
PLEASE ADD ALL SPOILERY PROMPTS AND FILLS TO THIS POST UNTIL THAT TIME.

Spoilery comments to this post will be deleted, and their authors vanished in the night to volunteer in our city's fine Protector Program.

Thank you for your attention. Have a nice day!

Welcome to the Bioshock kink meme.

You can find a semi-frequently-updated list of prompts, with links and an indication of whether they've been filled, here at the index.

it is a kink meme. people anonymously (or not) request fic and pictures; other people anonymously (or not) write that fic and draw those pictures. everyone masturbates, peace is achieved.

there are two ways to take part!

1) start a new comment thread with a pairing/ship, and a kink. there's a kink masterlist here if you find yourself strapped for ideas.

2) swoop into an existing comment thread, and fill the person's request with art or writing. if someone's already filled the request, go for it anyway -- the more the merrier! if you need somewhere to upload/host images, try imgur.

there are some beautiful gems on the old kink memes. if you want an example of how this whole thing works, or you're digging for gold, look no further: on Livejournal, on Dreamwidth.

NOW GO FORTH AND MULTIPLY, MY CHILDREN

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

"Fontaine/Ryan
Autoerotic asphyxiation"

i am unspeakably aroused

PRAISE THE MOTHERFUCKING GODS

I read this as "SOCK 'GATORS" and all I could see was

you heard me

Can I have some fluff with Jack and his new family topside? Could be helping a little sister adjusting to a normal life, could be attending one of his kid's grauduations or weddings, could be bandaging a scraped knee, or maybe the girls bake something for father's day, i don't know, i just would like some really adorable cute things please! ;-;

please for the love of god

BACKSTABBING PIECE OF FUCK ATLAS LITERALLY STABS JACK IN THE BACK WHEN HE USES HIM AS A FUCKING TABLE ON WHICH TO PLAY KNIFE GAMES. FUCK!

“How’re you feelin’, darlin’? Little sore? I imagine I got somethin’ that might be able to make you feel a little better… If I felt like doin’ it. I suppose you’ll just have to crawl over here and… earn it, won’t you? And then I’ll be all too happy to make you feel much better. All that pain you’re in? That’s just foreplay. We’re just workin’ our way to the right show, love. So you settle back, think for a little spell, and you tell me just what you’re willin’ to do to make it all go away.”

But you don’t need the time he says he’s going to give you. You don’t need to think, can’t even think from everything that’s happened to your skull tonight. Over the last few days.

You don’t know how many days.

You start to crawl over to Atlas immediately but it’s slow going. Your busted up knees can barely take your weight and you can only, only barely, drag yourself along with one hand. Atlas stands on the other side of the dark dirty room and the naked light shines on his face and you can see his smile. With every little stumble and fall he laughs. A little indulgent laugh; you’re trying so very hard, after all. With every minute or day it takes to get to him he smiles a little brighter. And just when you’ve made some ground, made it those sweet few inches closer to his black boots, you slip in your own hot wet blood. You land on your broken face and the dirt on the floor scratches your raw cheek even more. Everything that’s supposed to be inside of you is mixing now, your warm tears and your warm blood on the ground underneath. You take a second to keep your sobs inside you too but you hear him say,

“Time’s just about up, love.”

No, oh god no, you think to yourself. You can’t. You won’t. It can’t happen again. He can’t do it to you again. You can’t let it happen to you again. He watches you redouble your efforts as you slip and slide desperately and brokenly towards him. His laugh’s getting louder now and with one eye swollen shut and blood slipping into the other you use it as a beacon to guide your crawling body. He said, he said he’d give you time. You hear the hard solid clink of cold metal on concrete and he taps it rhythmically in time with his counting:

“One… Two…”

You try to scream no! but there’s something cracked in your jaw, in your mouth. It comes out mangled and Atlas starts to count a little faster.

“Three.” No. “Four.” No. “Five.” No. “Six.” No. “Seven.” No. “Eight.” No. “Nine…” No!

You pull the ground under you, you use the hand with the smashed up fingers, every inch of you in aching agony, more than sore. You’re coughing up blood and worse and just when you hear the metallic tapping stop, in that moment of darkest silence you collapse at his feet, your whole body giving up, crumpled in a ruined heap before him.

“There’s my good girl,” he says. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he says. Your gut burning with gratefulness, your forehead resting on his shoes, you bring your hand up to grab him and you kiss and kiss and kiss his feet, tasting your own blood and tears on the hard leather. Your heart is wound too tight for you to even thank him properly. You just cling to his thick leg and cry.

He kicks you hard, right in the middle of your chest. Leans down and backhands you rough across the face. You sprawl backwards and land hard, coughing and choking. He looms over you and you look up into his face. It’s important that you always look at his face.

“Now look what you’ve gone and done, you filthy whore. You’ve ruined me best trousers.” He’s angry. Oh god, he’s angry. You can hear it in his voice. You can see it in his face, from what you can see of it. He can’t be angry, you can’t get him angry. You know what he does when he’s angry. You have to fix this, you have to fix this now. You feel the hot terror course through your veins like Adam, scorching hot in your wrists and your palms and wherever else you still have feeling, where you still feel pain. You struggle to breathe and you struggle to pull yourself up onto your knees, and when you finally manage to settle down on them you cry out softly ‘cause they’re so smashed up. You remember immediately to look back into his face again, and you squint even more in the light of the bare hot bulb that burns behind his head like a sick halo. You can’t make out his features, if he’s still so angry with you. You look down quick, straight ahead of you, and you can make out the hardness of his cock under those pants you’ve stained. Your breath comes ragged out of that one good lung and it’s like you can hear him smile in the quiet of the room.

“So what’ll it be, love?” he asks you. “Decided on it yet? What exactly it is that you’re willin’ to do?”

You try to steady your breathing as you feel the fear and darkness rise hysterically in your guts. But you knew the answer even before he had to ask. You knew it as well as he did.

Anything.

He barks out a laugh.

“Anything? Well maybe if you ask nice enough, love,” he says.

Please, you beg him. Please, oh god, let me please, please, you say.

“Well now, sweetheart,” Atlas whispers. “Very good. Why don’t you n’ me get started?”

Your hand shakes when it rises to pull down Atlas’s zipper. He doesn’t seem to care as much about the state of his trousers now than he does about your hand inside them, pulling him out.

“That’s it,” he sings. “You know what to do.”

His cock is long and very thick in front of you, huge and hot in your hand. The smell of his arousal makes something wrong in you pulse and shudder and you squeeze your broken hand weakly around him to draw him to your lips. You kiss his cock like you kissed his boots, tongue slipping out to lick away the wetness from his head. You try to jack him good with your hand, battling internally over whether to make him come fast so it’ll all be over soon, or make it long and sweet so he knows that you tried. You slide the tip of him inside of you, fewer teeth now to worry about when you wet him with your lips. But he sees you struggle with your burning hand and pulls back slow out of your wet bloody mouth.

“It’s alright darling, it’s alright,” he says, reassuringly. “You don’t need to use your hands.”

He pushes your hand from his prick and places his palms against your face. Keeping your head steady and in position, he doesn’t need to ask you to open because you’re already ready for him.

"Eyes on me, love," he says, and he doesn't need to remind you of that any more.

Atlas starts slow enough, dipping just the head between your cracked split lips, sliding so hot and heavy across your tongue. Every now and again he’ll hold your head back and pull away, just far away enough for you to lean forward desperately because he’s just out of reach. Tears well hot in your eyes as you try to catch that cock between your lips again, because you need it, you need it in you, you need to make him feel good. You can’t think about what will happen to you if he stops feeling good.

He takes pity on your distress and obliges, lets you take his thick cock inside your mouth again. This time he slides it in a little deeper, filling you right up. Slides all the way in, hitting the back of your tender throat. You choke on his cock a little but you put every ounce of strength you have left into taking it and taking it good. He starts to pound your throat hard and it gets harder for you too, not to pull off and pull away and choke and cough and cry. So sweet as he is he helps you out, pinches your nose so all you can do is open wide, breathe through your mouth, keep your mouth open as he abuses your throat. He fucks into you so hard that just when you think you’ve taken your very last breathe around his cock he pulls all the way out, slams it all the way in and hold you there. Holds you down on his cock. Looks down at you almost fondly, your mouth stuffed full of him, sweet little tears slipping down the side of your face from the force of his fucking. He brings his thumbs up to wipe them away gently, tenderly. And then he pulls his prick out and you collapse on the floor, coughing and choking and wet and ruined.

He stands above you again, cock still stiff and still out, and he’s got the tip of one thumb between his teeth, looking at you thoughtfully.

“That was fine work for a broken-in whore like yourself,” he says to you, surprised. He bends down closer to your ravaged face as your heart almost stops while you wait for his verdict. “And now I’m gonna make y’ feel better. I will say you’ve earned it.”

For the second time tonight you’re broken with gratefulness. Gasping and sobbing and shuddering for his sweetest praise. He’s not gonna. You did— You can’t think at all now. You can only close your eyes and silently weep. Your eyes stay closed while you hear him move around you. Hear him kneel in front of you. Hear him ask,

“Would you kindly spread your legs?” Strange turn of phrase you don’t often hear but it barely even registers. You’re open and spread for him and you feel fingers press down against you.

“Why you perfect little slut!” he says. “Now I’ve gone and hurt you, beat you, and here you are smashed half to hell in front of me, and now you’re all soakin’ wet for me?” He laughs at you and rubs his fingers against your swollen and truly dripping wet pussy, spreading your lips and dragging his fingers up and down you real slow. “Looks like I couldn’t break you more than you already was,” Atlas says, in a dark voice you’ve never heard before, and before you can even start to think about what it was that's happened, your whole broken body jumps because that’s his mouth on you. That’s his tongue inside you drinking deep.

There’s pain and there’s pleasure, as you objectively know, but there’s no way to tell the two of them apart tonight. Your body is shot through with red and gold and every ache and burn only serves to heighten the ecstasy. It hurts so good and burns so bad and the difference between the two is more than meaningless. And he holds your thighs apart and presses his face against your cunt, licking you hot and slow and good.

Atlas feels you start to twitch beside him and he raises his head, blue eyes piercing as he grabs both of your hands. You scream a little at the pressure, your throat raw from its earlier abuse, and you let him place your arms above your head, wrists crossed. He presses them down and looks you in the eye and doesn’t have to tell you what to do. Never has to tell you what to do.

Your bruised arms shake when he returns to your cunt, holding you open with his fingers so he can suck on your clit. Then his other hand’s up and his thick fingers slip inside you and, oh god, he was right, oh god you feel better, so much better, so good as he slowly fucks you with his fingers and licks your wetness around them. He goes slow, so painfully slow, building up a hot rhythm that has you moaning. You know this is the man that beat you half to death but as his fingers push up and up inside you against that perfect spot you cry out with how sweet it is and you’re so close to coming that your hands come down to grab him by the hair.

You’ve done it. You’ve done it now you’ve done what he didn’t even have to tell you not to do. You’ve moved your hands away and curled your fingers through his soft strands to hold on tight and he lifts his face from lapping at you and you see your wetness on his stubble and the danger in his eyes.

He lifts himself up slow and crawls over you and his face is inches from yours and you can’t stop your breathing, your suffocating choking hiccupping breathing, because you were doing so good so good so good you were doing so good and now he’s going to. Now he’s going to do it to you again. You feel his hot breath against your face and even though he’s told you you mustn’t you try and flinch away and you feel his hand come down against your face but he just lays it there softly.

“There there, girlie.” He rubs his broad palm warm against your cheek. “Now don’t you fret.” He’s leaned down to whisper in your ear and you feel him hot and hard, pressing against you down between your legs, feel him lift your thighs apart then guide himself inside you real slow. I’m here, he says, and don’t you worry, and he fucks you as slow as can be, rubbing hot against you and building up shocks of pleasure inside you again. The weight of him against your damaged bones aches too good, and with tears in your eyes, you wrap your arms and legs around him, hold him close. That’s it, love, that’s it, and he fucks this thing that he made, this thing that’ll cling to the one that’s hurt it, smashed it broken into so many filthy pieces. You moan and sob and cry and he leans down to press a soft kiss to where your eye is purple and swollen shut. A warm nice kiss against the blistered red welt where he put out his cigarette so close, just right under that eye. A little kiss where your cheekbone’s probably cracked and fractured from being struck. And he licks right across where your lips are split and slips his tongue in your mouth to be sucked and you do it and it’s just enough and you come right there on his cock, clenching and shaking and sobbing. And right when you’re most sensitive and spent and used he buries his face in your neck, bites down hard so there’s blood, and pumps your body full of his come. Marks you inside as much as he’s marked you out.

He pulls out and steps away from your crumpled mess of a body and you watch him walk away, body warm and wrecked and very sore. You let your eyes slip closed but then everything stops. Your heart stops and your mind stops and time stops when you hear that good old scrape of metal on stone.

You struggle to sit up and there he is. Standing above you for the very last time.

No, no, you said you wouldn’t, you promised you wouldn’t. You’re begging him wildly, he’s made you beg again.

“I did promise, didn’t I?” he asks teasingly, drawing his wrench against your cheek. “Promised I would make it all go away, if you earned it.” He brings the wrench back over his shoulder.

“And darling',” he tells you. “You’ve earned it.”

The wrench crunches hard against the side of your skull and everything goes black.

that's it, pack up the meme. discontinue the franchise. we've finished. we've reached the pinnacle of human existence.

god has answered my prayers

nah steinman's just going to start practicing on dudes to recreate that 'Apollo' look

toasty and fitzy finally getting married

(I tried, I'm sorry)

Rehearsal never went well; Mr. Cohen always finds something to be angry about. That was before I got the lead.

At first I’d get yelled at, clipped on the shoulder. All my anger from getting rebuked was erased with a heavy swig of whiskey and swearing at him with the others in the play, they laughed, they understood. They told me that I was getting it easy. I never really thought it could get worse. Actually, that’s not true. I didn’t think it could get worse for me.

See, I’d always been a sort of side-line project for Mr. Cohen. I came to Fort Frolic as a bar tender and he thought I had talent for singing and acting. Before this role I’d always had side character roles. The supporting friend, the estranged lover, the comedic relief. Then I got the part of the lead, the female love interest. It was exhilarating yet strange, I was finally building my Rapture dream. Until that day.

It was ordinary, really. I guess Mr. Cohen was a little more on edge than usual, but he was always having a mood. I thought I was doing pretty well; others around me were doing well. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good for a beginning of the week rehearsal. It was mid-scene that he stormed the stage; it was the middle of the first big score. It was about how I thought I’d never find love in the place that I lived.

His face was full of the garish light and rage like I’d not seen directed at me before. I opened my mouth to apologize, but his open palm hit my face. My head twisted back and I saw stars, pain bloomed across my cheek. I looked back at him, ignoring the ringing in my ears.

“No, no, no, no, no! Tata tah tata tah!” he yelled. My fingers reached up to feel the damage on my face. I’d never been slapped. Not even when I was a bar tender. Anger brought more tears to my watering eyes, but I shoved it down. The only thing voicing my anger against Mr. Cohen would be more rage. “On your knees, little bird!” he yelled. I froze, my wide eyes locking on his face.

“Mm… Mr. Cohen..” I whimpered pathetically.

All I got was a cold anger that burned.

“I said on your knees, little bird.”

More tears slid down my face as I realized exactly what he meant, I worked outside Eve’s Garden too long to not know what he meant. I waited a second, expecting somebody to speak up.

That’s when I really remembered when he beat the lead so hard she spent a week in Medical, nobody spoke of it or stopped it. Or when he broke a pianist’s leg because he missed a note, I was there. I didn’t try to change it. Of course not, I was too afraid he’d direct his anger at me instead.

Slowly, I sank to my knees, weighed down by shame I felt brewing in my good cheek and sore one. He stood for a moment, just looking at me with narrowed eyes before stepping right up to me, his growing bulge right at face level. I swallowed hard, past a thick lump in my throat.

This could be worse. I try to tell myself. Of course I think I’d rather been beaten into Medical Pavilion, then again, I’ve never had to endure large quantities of pain. The humiliation flamed in my chest anyway.

He reached his paint stained hands with long, spidery fingers, down to his trousers’ zipper. My hands were shaking; actually my entire body was shaking. He slipped the zipper down and pulled out his leaking erection, my eyes widened at the sight of it. I’d never actually seen a male’s more… private parts. I’d always held on the idea of marrying pure. Too late for that, I supposed.

“Open wide, little bird,” he said in an almost cheery tone. I looked up at him to see a cold sort of glee upon his face. I reached my shaking hands up to place on either side of his pelvic bone to balance myself as slowly as I thought I could get away with before opening my mouth. I could almost feel the entire room’s heavy intake of breath as the tip passed my lips, soaking them in the salty taste of pre-cum. I had to open my throat in a position like I was taking in air to sing. It still wasn’t enough space and I felt choked, there wasn’t enough air.

“No!” I cried, but no sound got past his cock, just vibrations that he seemed to relish in. Then he pulled out, I could breathe. Then thrust it back in, too fast. It hurt, him ramming right up against the back of my throat. I tried as hard as I could not to gag, opening my mouth and throat as big as I could.

My tongue, which until that point had been pressed against my bottom teeth shoved up against his member. He moaned and my panicked eyes flicked up at him to see his head thrown back. Maybe if I did more of that he’d finish sooner and I could go. I rubbed my tongue on it as he went in and out. And in and out. And in and out. He tasted salty and something thick and heady that seemed to cloud my head. It tasted like… him.

I actually did gag and sputter when he came with loud moans. I tried to swallow it all, but it tasted odd and I couldn’t breathe again. The steamy ropes came and came as I gagged. He didn’t pull out until he was done and by the time I was done coughing he was all zipped up and done. I looked at the mess I’d made on the dark, shiny wood.

“End of rehearsal, this little bird needs to clean herself up,” he said with his tone filled with distain. I looked up at his retreating back; he showed no compassion for what he’d just done. I climbed off my sore knees and turned around. Most people were walking away. A few were giving me looks that ranged from sympathetic to disgusted. I used the back of my hand to wipe my mouth than turned, using the stage left door to exit the stage of nightmares.

When the tears started they came fast, over my swelling cheek and dripping on the floor. I couldn’t stand so I slid down the dressing room wall; my legs were weak and wobbly. I put my face into my hands and sobbed.

Humiliation didn’t even begin to describe the feelings I felt at that moment. He had used me for his own pleasure, in front of people who had mutual respect for. Now I was a tainted whore, tarnished with the act he forced me to do. How could I ever work again, how could I ever face anyone in this city again? One thing I knew was that it would become the gossip of the week.

I’d never felt disgusted with myself more than that moment. His flavor was still on my tongue and I could still feel his angry eyes boring into me. His pants and moans piercing my ears. Finally, after I’d cried all I could, I picked myself up off the ground, feeling empty, and walked to a Bath’o’Sphere. My heels clicked jauntily on the ground as they always did. The attendant smiled at me as he always did. I felt broken as I always would.

i have a serious need

I HAVE A MIGHTY NEED SOMEONE PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

Atlas and Handsome Jack get into an argument over who's a more sadistic bastard dickweed unclefucker (somehow. Video game character conference? I really don't care) and end up having angry agressive violent hateful angry sexy sex.

Meanwhile, Jack and Gaige the Mechromancer discuss the virtues of Wrench vs Hammer, Tenenbaum has tea with Tannis, Eleanor and Maya confer the use of fire as a weapon, and Tiny Tina does arts and crafts with the Little Sister

I would like to second this SO hard, and also suggest that Tiny Tina might have fun hanging out with Sander Cohen. I mean. Can you imagine.

Jack takes his shirt off for whatever reason and Atlas sees that he's a chubby. Just as he's about to make fun of Jack's baby fat, he realizes that he's totally hard for chubster Jack.

YOOOOOOOOOOOO

Via tears or some bullshit.

How has this not been requested yet.

fucking glorious

ok but nobody loves fat jack more than me sOMEBODY FILL THIS OHM GOD

awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

"Hey yo, sandy baby. This piano's the bomb, y'know wha I'm sayin', but listen to this: more bomb!" "You've got an eye for detail, little rabbit. Young Fitzpatrick will be so pleased with these improvements."

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 18 of 34

BIOSHOCK KINK MEME

no subject

Re: MOTHER. FUCKING. SOCK. GARTERS.

no subject

Re: MOTHER. FUCKING. SOCK. GARTERS.

Jatlas code yellow snuff

Good end Jack cute gen fluffy family times

Re: Jatlas code yellow snuff

Jatlas, knifeplay

Re: atlassss readerficcccc TWO ELECTRIC BOOGALOO, KEVIN EDITION

Re: atlassss readerficcccc TWO ELECTRIC BOOGALOO, KEVIN EDITION

Re: atlassss readerficcccc TWO ELECTRIC BOOGALOO, KEVIN EDITION

no subject

toasty/fitzpatrick, a wedding

Re: Sander/disciples, coercion, non-con

Fem! Jack non-con, dub-con sub jack(ie?)

Re: fontaine readerfic because my life's at that fucking point

Bioshock/Borderlands 2 crossover don't ask don't fucking ask

Re: Bioshock/Borderlands 2 crossover don't ask don't fucking ask

Everyone loves chubby jack.

Re: Fem! Jack non-con, dub-con sub jack(ie?)

BLONDE ATLAS/BURIAL AT SEA ATLAS/JACK

Re: BLONDE ATLAS/BURIAL AT SEA ATLAS/JACK

Re: Everyone loves chubby jack.

Re: toasty/fitzpatrick, a wedding

Re: Bioshock/Borderlands 2 crossover don't ask don't fucking ask