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's got control of the cameras in Ryan's office and masturbates to Jack killing Ryan.

Or alternately, Fontaine's set to masturbate to Jack killing Ryan on his orders, but Ryan taking control of Jack kills Fontaine's boner in kind of a last middle finger to his rival and Fontaine is left super angry and blueballed

HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Pretty please? Bonus points if you bring in size kink (particularly how much bigger he is to her).

THIS IS PERF OMG

a sequel would be nice but it's fine the way it is

THANK YOU ANON THANK YOU

After they harvest fetus Jack from Jolene, they need somewhere to grow it until it's old enough to live on its own, so they implant it in Tenenbaum who reluctantly carries the little parasite around. Frank walks into the lab a few months into the project when she's staring to show and he gets bonered up about her carrying around Andrew Ryan's doom.

The ADAM from the last Little Sister in Fort Frolic is still surging through his veins when Jack hears voices. Familiar voices. Lightning arcs over his fist instinctively though what he's hearing is impossible. Jack’s heard every last one of those voices die, three by his hands and one by Sanders Cohen’s. The disciples are dead and Jack has the photos to prove it.

He should turn his back and leave, help Cohen assemble his gruesome art and take the bathysphere out of Fort Frolic (assuming Cohen isn’t lying to him about that). But the voices speak again, talking over each other, and Jack needs to know exactly what’s happening. If Cohen’s playing him, there’s going to be be an additional photo added to Cohen’s masterpiece, free of charge. Jack follows the sound, ready to throw an electrobolt at anything that moves.

The conversation rises and falls, leading him towards one of the shops. Jack breaks the gate and slips inside quick, before security can send bots to bother him. This place looks like it’s one of the few that wasn’t looted, and as he makes his way past the display cases full of drugs, the voices draw him towards the back room. Jack presses his shoulder to the door, listening for a moment before he throws the door open.

Four ghostly figures move around, holding a conversation that Jack can only pick up snippets from. He lowers his hand with relief. It’s just an ADAM hallucination, that’s all. It’s almost a relief, knowing that they really are dead and he doesn’t have to worry about fighting them twice. He flexes his hand, dissipating the energy, and begins to look around the room in case there’s something worth looting.

“... in, before the smell follows you. So you’re the new investor huh?” That’s Martin Finnegan speaking. Jack glances over and finds that Martin isn’t looking at the others - he’s addressing Jack. That startles him and he waits for Martin’s gaze to shift, but it doesn’t. “Cohen said you’d be stopping by.”

“Take a seat, we’ll fix you a drink...” The last (only) time Jack heard that voice, it was screaming for mercy, before the piano blew up. Fitzpatrick? The ghostly figure walks up and puts a hand on Jack’s chest. It’s not really touching him, not really, but he still feels the push as he’s gently guided to the couch. He should resist and break the hallucination, be on his way now that he knows what this is. Jack goes with it anyway, taking a seat on the old couch. The ghosts surround him, one pushing something into his hand. A drink he guesses, though while they’re semi-tangible, the drink certainly isn’t. “Go on, like Mr Cohen always says-”

“Bottoms up.” Cobb says in a bad impersonation and they laugh. There’s something bitter about it, more like a shared commiseration on their parts. Jack could almost laugh with them. He’s barely known Cohen an hour and he already can’t stand him and his temper and his furious flouncing the moment he thinks there’s been any criticism. It's a wonder these four made it years without trying to murder him.

The forth man leans in close, settling beside Jack. "New to Rapture? I can always tell." It takes Jack another moment to remember his name: Hector Rodriguez, the man from the bar. "Theres still colour in your cheeks."

"I-" He nearly answers before catching himself. They're not talking to him. They're talking to whoever the investor was. Jack's just living through their memories. It's the ADAM at work. That Little Sister must have harvested from one of them, or maybe all of the disciples before Jack found her.

He misses the next part, hearing a murmur and laughter that's forced. Another ghostly glass is pushed to his lips and he tastes nothing, but he feels the fingers presses to the sides of his mouth as Fitzpatrick tips it down his throat. "-better than Jolene."

"Nobody goes to see her sing..." Rodriguez seems to be getting closer, his voice cutting in and out as he almost curls against Jack. Not for the first time, today, Jack wonders exactly what qualifies someone to be one of Cohen's disciples. "... between us, Kyle's better than her. You want to see?"

Whoever Jack's filling in for must have said yes because the next thing he knows, one of the figures moves between his knees and woah, woah, wait a second. This is not what he was expecting. It’s not that he didn’t pick up any of this subtext but this isn’t the sort of memory he thought he’d barged in on.

He can feel Hector’s hands on him and he’s joined on the other side by Martin, who slides a hand up Jack’s chest. Jack really needs to stand up and leave and let this memory play out without him around. There’s work to be done and the bathysphere and Cohen are both waiting for him, and Atlas has to be wondering what’s happened to Jack, and a million other reasons he shouldn’t be staying still.

But he doesn’t move. Jack stays and the hands on him pull and prod, tugging Jack here and there. A ghostly pair of lips meets his and it’s like kissing the rain; light and damp and almost intangible. His mouth parts for them and the hallucination pushes into him, tasting faintly of ADAM. There’s a pair of hands on his pants and he feels them fumble with his belt. When he looks down, Jack finds they’re open and he’s not sure if the hallucination did that or if he did without thinking about it. Kyle’s looking up at Jack with a smirk on his face, dragging his fingers over Jack’s cock. “Shit,” Jack mutters. He can feel the weight of a hand on him, even if he can see right through those transparent fingers.

“Boss-man said to give you a good time. And we’re...” One of those voices whispers in his ear. He’s only catching every other sentence, the things they’re saying tuning in and out like a distant radio station. Jack knows they aren’t really talking to him any more than they’re really touching him, but it’s hard not to feel like he’s part of a conversation that he should be participating to. “...whatever you want.”

“It’s a lot to be handling on my own.” Kyle says and Jack just watches as Silas sinks down to join him on the floor. When they’re shoulder to shoulder, Jack reaches out and attempts to brush his fingers through their hair. While they can touch him, he can’t do the same, and his fingers just melt through them. It doesn’t seem to bother them at all. The memory plays out with or without him. “... fit it in.”

“You should try.” That’s Hector again, his hand dipping through Jack’s clothes to run over his chest. His fingers stop just above Jack’s cock, reaching out and then curling up again before they touch him. “Unless you think you can’t.”

“Just watch me.” Silas says and Jack’s breath hitches in his chest as that ghostly figure slides his mouth over Jack’s cock. It’s not as warm as a real mouth is but it still feels good, wet and tight and with just the right amount of suction. Kyle rests his head on Jack’s thigh and waits his turn, his fingers lightly drumming on Jack’s knee. Hector’s mouth is on Jack’s neck and Martin’s got his fingers in Jack’s hair, pulling lightly on it. The mouth on his cock keeps on sucking, pushing lower and lower until nearly all of Jack is in his mouth. And then as quickly as he sank down, Silas comes up, his mouth moving but no sound coming out. The laughter comes a few seconds too late, surging up and filling the room.

Kyle replaces Silas, not sinking nearly as deeply down on Jack, not until Silas takes hold of him and pushes his mouth down that is. He can feel Kyle gag around him, his fingers clutching at Jack’s knees. But he doesn’t pull up. He just looks up at Jack, sucking even as his shoulders heave now and then.

Martin’s voice tunes in, sharp and then soft, “...cocksucker you’ll ever seen… fuck his mouth so hard even Cohen won’t…” Those hands are on him, tilting Jack’s head back so Hector has more surface to suck on. His mouth pulls hard on Jack’s skin and all Jack can wonder is if ADAM ghosts can leave a mark on your skin. It feels like they can.

Silas lets Kyle up and the two of them take turns with Jack’s cock, each giving the other a push to sink down faster or harder. He’s harder than he would have thought possible from the attention of a pair of memories, and when he does glance down, he can see his shaft in their mouths, slightly visible through their semi-transparent heads. Kyle says something - to Jack? to Silas? he’s not sure - and when Silas pulls off, they both put their mouths on either side of Jack’s cock, moving up and down with him trapped between them. Jack’s hands look for something to hold onto, settling on the couch and digging into the cushions as he bites back moans.

“You think the old pervert’s watching?” That’s Hector’s voice and the thought sends a chill through Jack. He sure hopes not. Jack almost gets up, almost tucks himself away and resigns himself to walking through Rapture with a hardon. That’s when Kyle takes the tip of Jack’s cock in his mouth and sucks on it hard, just as Silas does the same at the base of the shaft. Any thought of walking away disappears and all he can do is just moan as he throws his head back, losing himself in how good it feels. There are hands on his chest, on his thighs, stroking over Jack’s flesh and those mouths are busy making him forget the idea of walking out.

“... kiss him, or somebody’s going to hear…” Silas tunes in and out, and Hector turns Jack’s head to the side, pushing their mouths together. That ADAM taste invades his mouth again, making him hungry for the thick red stuff. Kyle slides down his cock again and Jack just groans helplessly, feeling himself engulfed completely. His hands clench up, crushing the couch cushions in his fists. “Hold him down, fuck his mouth. Kyle likes it.”

He feels Kyle gag before he hears him, and through Hector’s head, he sees the ghost in his lap struggle. Kyle’s hair shifts where someone else’s fingers must be, digging ruts in it and then pulling on the hair until it twists up. Jack’s hips thrust forward a few times into Kyle’s mouth and he wheezes softly at how wet and welcoming his mouth is. Hector draws back and Jack just pants loudly into the otherwise-empty room, hearing those sucking sounds as Kyle still keeps blowing Jack, even as he’s held down.

“Don’t be greedy. Share some…” Martin’s laughing. There’s a glass in his hand with something faint in it and as Kyle finally lets up, Martin presses it to Jack’s mouth. Jack really could go for a drink right now but he doesn’t dare move while Hector’s hand wraps around Jack’s cock, giving it a squeeze. The men on the floor shift, and Kyle comes up on the couch while Hector kneels on the floor.

Their laughter whines through Jack’s ears, dead men amused by a joke that he didn’t get to hear. Hector gives Jack a smile, still looking handsome even when he’s just a memory that belongs to someone else. Then he takes over for Kyle, slipping his mouth over the head of Jack’s cock and sucking while his fist keeps squeezing the base of Jack’s shaft. Kyle’s mouth is against Jack’s ear and he whispers softly while his hands curl in the neck of Jack’s sweater. “... invest and this won’t be the last time with us. Mr Sanders makes sure there’s always a return, one way or another. You could have us almost any day…”

Hector’s fist strokes Jack, quick precise motions that are clearly meant to get him off. He’s sucking too, making sloppy sounds as his head bobs ever so slightly. Jack groans as he feels Hector’s tongue swirl around the head of his cock, and then does it again as he feels all those hands touching him. Kyle keeps whispering in his ear about all the things he’ll have if he just invests in Cohen’s work, and Martin drags his fingernails down Jack’s chest and Silas has his mouth on Jack’s right thigh, slowly working his way up. It’s a sensory overload.

The fist around Jack quickly falls away and he suddenly finds himself with Hector’s lips wrapped around the base of his shaft, his cock buried in Hector’s mouth and part of his throat. It’s unbelievably tight and Hector just swallows hard around Jack. It’s too much for him to take, his cock twitching hard and then coming. Jack groans and his head falls back as his body arches involuntarily, unable to focus on anything except the mouth still sucking on him. His hand reaches out to grab Hector’s head and his fingers pass through the ghost, landing instead on his thigh and holding on while the last of his cum leaks out of him and just drips down Jack.

Jack sags back against the couch, his brain fried and his body still reacting, spasms running through his thighs. There’s a puddle of warmth radiating out from his dick to the rest of his body and Jack lies there, letting himself just enjoy the moment.

But there’s a sound from outside, a clattering and then the sort of muttering Jack knows means splicers. He’s already made too much noise and wasted too much time here. The memory continues around him, still touching Jack, still going through motions that he’s finished with. He pulls himself to his feet passing through the ghosts, looking for something to clean himself up with. There’s something left on the floor, some sort of shirt or something, and he wipes himself down with that.

As he tucks himself away and does his fly up, Jack finds himself glancing around, half expecting Cohen to chime in with some sort of comment. But there’s nothing from him. It’s just Jack and the ghosts. They’ve shifted again, changing position while Jack wasn’t looking. The voices cut in and out and Jack wonders when exactly this memory ends. He’ll never know and he can’t say he regrets that much. This has been a strange interlude but it’s time to put Fort Frolic behind him. He’s got photos to deliver and a bathysphere to board.

Jack takes one last look at them before letting himself out of the back room and into the main shop. The ghosts play their parts… all except for Martin Finnegan. He turns his head to look at the door and, for a moment, Jack would swear Martin is looking at him. The ghost raises his glass in a toast and Jack quickly steps back, shutting the door mostly out of instinct.

His heart’s hammering in his chest and he’s reluctant to take a second look, to make sure he wasn’t confusing himself. But when he opens the door, he finds the room empty. All the ghosts are gone, and the only sign anyone was here is a streaky mess on the floor and a dirty shirt in the corner. Jack shuts the door for the second time and leaves quickly, half-convinced that if he stays, he’ll hear them calling his name.

oommmmmmfffffmffff

i didn't think anyone was actually going to fill this and i'm so glad thank you this is so good omfg

i can't live any more, everyone needs to pack up and leave. This is it. This is the epitome of the human experience.

jESUS DICKS

The negligee is from Fontaine’s. So are the pumps, and her dresses and all of the clothes, except for the dress she was wearing when she came to Rapture, and a few lab coats bought with her first paycheck. This is part of Frank’s job offer, an agreement that she will exclusively work for Fontaine Futuristics and other Fontaine subsidiaries as required. A steady paycheck is good, but he offers her more. Frank will give her the chance to do her experiments with no disruptions so long as results are produced. He will allow her to purchase whatever she needs from his other business ventures at a reasonable discount. And… he will assist her with her other, more complicated needs.

“What’s the hold up kid?” Frank taps at the bathroom door. She looks at herself in the mirror and tries to imagine that maybe she is an ordinary woman and this is normal. But her imagination has always been lacking when it came to anything not scientific. She is still Brigid Tenenbaum and she looks like a fool, dressed in silk and lace that do nothing but highlight how flat she is, how even now that she’s in her twenties, there are no curves on her body - only sharp lines. The tapping comes again, but it’s more like knocking now. “Brigid, open up.”

She unlocks the door, since this is his office. Frank opens it and takes a good long look at her. She knows he must be disapointed. Perhaps he thought maybe she would be acceptable once she was not in a lab coat. Now he sees that she is unchanged. Brigid Tenenbaum may be a genius in the laboratory but she is undesirable. This she knows.

“Huh.” He finally says, dragging his eyes up to her face. “You clean up good. Ain’t so mousey looking now.”

That’s not what she expected. Her face reddens and she’s not sure if she should be flattered or insulted. This is usually how she feels when Frank talks about her. Compliments and insults are much the same to him. “I feel foolish.”

“You look scrumptious. Get out here, lemme see you with some heels on.” Frank waves for her to come out and follow him. Brigid does as commanded, padding barefoot across the carpet in the fisheries’ office. Even with the shutters all closed, she feels exposed. The heels wait for her, red pumps that Frank picked out himself. They are unlike what she has worn since she turned sixteen, and when she steps into them, she has to remember how to walk in tall shoes. Frank is pleased and he strips down as she carefully walks around the office, finally sitting on the couch and watching as he removes his things.

Her wine remains where she last set it down, on the floor, and she scoops her glass up. Brigid is not drunk, though she likes the idea that Frank may think she is. What she is asking him to do to her is… disgusting. Repulsive. And so, if she is thought to be drunk, then it can be excused. Brigid tips back the rest of her wine and sets the glass down. She does not want to actually be drunk though, not for this.

When he’s down to his undershirt and his shorts, he comes over to her, sitting on the couch. He takes her hands in his, and she is reminded of how rough his hands can be. For a businessman, he has worked much with them. Her father said you could trust a man who works with his hands. This is a lie, but then, she was told many lies by her father, the biggest one being that things would be okay. Things are never okay, they just become different kinds of worse. Survivors understand this.

“Hey, you with me?” He squeezes her hands. It’s meant to be reassuring. It’s not. Her heart flutters in her chest. She is terrified and she is anxious, and perhaps she is also excited. It’s the excitement that makes her look away from him, ashamed that she wants anything to do with such a base act. But sex is like using the bathroom - disgusting but necessary to continue with important things. “You look kinda scared. You sure about this?”

“I… do not like being touched.” It is hard not to pull her hands away from his grip. Her skin crawls. She will need to wash when this is done, but there is no shower here, just a sink. Brigid will have to walk back to her apartment, smelling of sweat and of fucking, with his hands still on her. Disgusting… but necessary. “But… I need it, when the feelings of desire come. What I dream of is a man who… who simply takes me. I will make some token resistance. But it will not be real. I must fight a little. I can only do it that way…”

“Well, kid,” She knows this tone of voice he is using. It is the tone of all men who want to calm you before they will do something very terrible. Brigid has heard it many times, sometimes to her, sometimes to the experiment subjects in the camps. Now she hears it from Frank and she knows what it means, “you came to the right shop.”

His squeezes her hands, as if to comfort, but he leans in close with a hungry look in his eye. Frank does not hide his true self for very long with her. Maybe he understands now that she likes it. The wolf is real. The smiling man is a mask. Brigid prefers the wolf, since she knows what he hungers for. The smiling man wants many things and they are all secret.

“So is this something you haven’t done exactly - but you… imagined?” Frank asks. There is a glow in his eyes. Perhaps he is wondering if she is a virgin still and he hungers for a title that means nothing. He cannot understand. He is an American. What he asks… he cannot understand.

In the camps, you were not safe. Women were never safe. You heard sounds often, sometimes at night, sometimes not. Screaming. Crying. Little hurt sounds. The guards, they were always watching you. Brigid was not to be touched. Her guards took her to the laboratories each day, and they took her to the camps each night. Nobody put a hand on her.

That did not mean things were not said, terrible things… She hears those voices when she sleeps. Her skin burns with memories of things that did not happen. The threat hung over her head until they were liberated and she thought then, now that it was over, she could put it behind her and forget.

That is when she discovered that there was no putting her past behind her. That is when she learned that she must leave, forever, and become someone who is not a collaborator or a war criminal. But the thoughts stayed, and the needs got worse the older she became, until she was forced to sit here with Frank, her hands in his, asking him for the unthinkable.

“Yes. I am afraid to touch. But I must be touched...” If they did this, she could forget for a while. The thoughts would not bother her. The dreams would stay away. She would not worry about waking in the night, a wetness between her thighs and a deep shame in her belly.

Brigid has been told Frank is a handsome man. These things do not usually cross her mind. The way he smiles at her reminds Brigid of a shark, like he has smelled blood in the water and hungers for her. It is this hunger of his she is drawn to. This smile is on his face as his hand touches her thigh and squeezes slightly. "What they call a contradiction in terms. That's you, eh?"

“Perhaps.” He is American. He cannot understand. But she is done with this talking. It is time to do what she came here to do, what she bought these things for. “Now… please… put the blindfold on me.”

“Oh yeah.” It’s a black blindfold, soft to the touch. He reaches forward with it and covers her eyes, tying it around the back of her head. It takes some adjusting but when he is done, she cannot see a thing. Only darkness. “There. You can’t see me now.”

“No.” Without her sight, it is easier to pretend, to imagine she is somewhere else - somewhen else - and that the smell of salt and fish is something else, more rank. “Now that I cannot see you… you can touch me - if you hold my arms down…”

His hands touch hers, grasping Brigid’s wrists. Frank raises them up to either side of her head. His hands are rough and calloused. They squeeze her wrists tight, hard enough to hurt. It’s good. It’s what she needs. Frank puts his weight against her. He pushes her back. Her breath begins to come quickly and her heart beats faster. Brigid’s arms are by her head when he pushes her down on the couch, when he pins her there with his body. She can feel his cock pressing against her thigh. He is enjoying this. She tries to twist away from him but she is careful. Brigid doesn’t dare hurt him. If she hurts him-

You do not ever hurt the scientists in the camps. Not ever. There are subjects to be hurt and Brigid does as she is asked. The tasks they have her do are monstrous and pointless, pain for pain’s sake. If there is any science to be done, anything real to be learned, it is lost beneath the orders she is given. She hurts them but she cannot hurt the scientists who give her useless tasks and demand pointless torture.

You do not ever fight back. They will kill you if you fight back. Brigid knows better than to do more than just struggle with the body against her, the hands holding her still. But still, still, she struggles. She tries to wrench her hands away. Brigid does not just lie there. She tries to pull away, she tries-

“Just remember,” that’s Frank’s voice. That’s his body against her. He is warm and solid and she stills as he rolls his hips into hers. Brigid’s cheeks go red as she realizes how hard he is, and just from this? Just from touching her? His breath is warm and he speaks into her ear, his harsh accent rasping with each word, “you want it done your way - you do your work my way. You work exclusively for me…”

“Yes Frank.” It is easy to agree. Who else would she work for? He has given her freedom, he has given her so many things… and he is giving her this. She pushes against him and she is not sure if this is good. Brigid has little experience with such matters. Why does she care? This is not what she is here for. Frank is not who she wants. This is- this is not between her and Frank. She tries to push her mind elsewhere again, to the dark fantasy she craves.

Her wrists are pushed above her head, and he puts them together, holding them with a single hand. With the other, he pushes her negligee up, his fingers crawling across her skin. He takes and she lets herself be taken by him. Brigid is not wearing panties. She is exposed to him, bare and ready to be touched. He will soon thrust into her and there will be pain, this she is certain of. Her breath is tight in chest and it hurts to breathe. Brigid’s body tenses as she feels his hand settle on her cunt, fingers pushing inside and-

“Oh!” She can’t stop the sound that she makes. Frank has his fingers in her and he is touching her the way she touches herself some nights. This is not what she expected. Her arms tug against his grip and she is confused when she speaks. “Frank?”

“Don’t worry kid, I’ll take care of this for you. Don’t need to be tearing nothing while we’re screwing around.” He pushes against her clit, rubbing circles around it. It should not be good but it is, it is very good. Frank’s hands are rough and this roughness is what feels best. Brigid squirms against his fingers, her breath coming quicker than before. “You like it huh? Getting real worked up about it.”

“I-is not what we agreed to.” But she doesn’t want him to stop. Brigid cannot say that. She cannot admit that she enjoys such a thing. Frank does not stop and she is both glad and angry at herself for feeling that way. His fingers touch her, stroke her, rub her clit, and all she can do is it let him do that.

“You wanted to be taken, and sister, you’ve got it. I’m gonna leave my mark on you.” His mouth is against her ear and he growls as his fingers grind against her. Brigid’s mouth is open and she must fight to be silent. Frank’s breath is hot on her cheek and his mouth presses against it, then it covers her mouth and he is kissing her and she shivers. She is trapped between him and the sofa and there is nowhere for her to go. The hand on her wrists squeezes, and the fingers in her cunt move fast, so much faster than she thought possible. There is a feeling in her, the deep twisting she knows from those frantic late night fumblings she does when she wakes from strange dreams. This soon? He is causing her to feel this way when they have barely started?

His mouth leaves her and she makes a sound, soft and desperate, and all Brigid can think is how this embarrasses her. Frank just chuckles and his mouth presses against hers again - a hard, quick press, just as his fingers press hard and quick against her- and then they go lower and she gasps as they are inside of her, his fingers deep in her cunt and she feels them push in and out. Brigid’s hips shove against them and she is shamed by how much he has made her want him - not just the fantasy, but Frank.

“There you go, there you go. I’ve done a lotta jobs in this town but this may be the best yet.” He lets go of her wrists. She cannot see what he is doing, but she can reach out and find his shoulders. Frank lifts his body from hers for a moment, and when he returns, he has no cloth between their sexes. His cock is hard and she wants so badly to feel him inside of her. He pushes a little on her thighs. “Brigid, kid, spread ‘em wider.” Brigid has done this before with other men and never has she wanted them the way she now wants Frank. It frightens her. It truly frightens her.

She must resist, she must, and so she does not spread her thighs, not until he pushes on them again. Only then does she open herself to him. Frank’s body is so close to her now, and she feels the head of his cock against her entrance. He presses into her and he slips in smoothly. Brigid did not know sex could be so gentle. She did not know sex with Frank Fontaine could ever possibly be like this. Her hands hold onto his shoulders and her fingers dig in, holding tight to him.

His cock feels big inside of her. Not seeing it means she cannot tell how large he really is. Frank is very heavy and she cannot move much, not while he is on top of her, not while he is inside of her. All she can feel is him. Frank is not a quiet man, not ever and not here. He makes sounds as he pushes in and out of her, grunts that she could not ignore, even if she wanted to. But she does not want to. He makes such desperate sounds and she cannot help but wonder what is it she has done to make him want her so. “Frank.”

“Brigid. You feel real fucking good, real tight. Ain’t had anybody else down here, that’s for damn sure.” His hands touch her. They stroke down her body, they push on her negligee until it is up and her breasts are bared. Frank squeezes them and his hips thrust into her again and again, and it all feels good, very good. “You’re so wet. If you sat on my face, I could drown in your cunt.”

Her nose wrinkles with disgust. That is more like the Frank she knows. “Do not say such things. Is-”

Brigid does not finish what she wants to say. He thrusts in deep and pinches her breasts, and all she can do is make undignified sounds. Her cheeks flush with embarrassment. She should not have made such a noise, not for Frank. He is inside of her and she can feel his cock moving, thrusting in again and again. It feels nicer than it should and though she wants to hold back all sounds and all signs of enjoyment, they rise to the surface. She is glad for the blindfold, glad that it keeps his face hidden from her.

“You should wear stuff like this more often. You’re always in that baggy lab coat and it ain’t doing you any favours sweetheart. Though - heh - maybe not. Maybe I don’t want nobody else to notice you.” Frank’s hips thrust forward. Her hips are pinned to the couch and all she can do is hold onto him. He breathes against her skin, her neck going hot and cold and hot and cold with each pant. “You don’t need to fight with me, I got plenty of reasons you’ll like this.”

How could she have ever thought she could pretend Frank was some other man? Everything about him is loud and demanding; he leaves no room for anyone else to exist. It is his hands that squeeze her, his words that slid into her ears, his cock that pushes in again and again, sliding deep inside of Brigid. Even his smell invades her and all she can see and feel is Frank Fontaine. This is what she thinks when he thrust in hard, and then she is winding tight like a broken toy as she comes, all of her reduced to an instance of shameful pleasure. It burns through her, dragging a broken cry from her throat and making her thighs shake.

She is still trembling as he kisses her. Her body shakes and he puts his mouth against hers, as if they are lovers. Frank does not ask - he takes, just as he was instructed. She feels him squeeze her right breast, and his other hand catches one of her wrists, holding it against the couch. He rests on her body, pinning her down so she sinks into the cushions, and he is still inside of her and so very hard. Brigid does not kiss back but he does not notice or care. Her world is darkness and there is nothing to take her mind away from Frank.

“You liked that.” It is not a question, it is a statement. Brigid did like it. He smiles and she knows this because she feels him smile, his teeth pressing against the side of her mouth. Frank whispers against her skin. “You know, they call you Frigid Tenenbaum. If they could only see you now.”

“I would not want them to.” She turns her face away when she feels him come close for another kiss. Brigid does not like kisses. They are grotesque. Frank pinches her nipples and fucks her cunt, and he takes his hand off her wrist so he can turn her head and kiss her again. She bites at him and he just laughs. “No more of that.”

“You’re a real tough customer for somebody who was screaming for me a few minutes ago.” He pushes her hips up somewhat and then begins to thrust in again. Her body goes tight, surprised by how it feels better than before. Brigid squirms and tries to change it back, but Frank keeps her still, driving into her. “You got a real problem with just giving in and enjoying things. We’re already fucking, no reason we can’t enjoy it.”

But that was the point of this. The point was not to enjoy. The point was that she would not like this, that she would not like him, and that she could scratch that ugly itch that haunted her. It was meant to be something ugly and painful. But her thighs are wrapped around him, holding Frank deep within her, and she can feel the tension building again, her body winding tight once more. "Frank, this is too much. This is not w-what I was needing."

"Of course it was. You've got yourself convinced you gotta hate everything about this, like its medicine you can't stand the taste of." His hips keep driving into her, thrusting his cock deep inside of her. Each sharp motion from him makes her body tighten further. She sets her hands on his shoulders and she digs her fingers in, unsure if she wants to hurt him so he stops, or if she is fighting this so she can say later that she did not really want it, not really. The hand on her breast tightens enough to make the flesh ache and she makes a soft sound, caught between pain and pleasure. The noise makes Frank’s cock twitch inside of her and he growls as he keeps fucking her. “See, there you go. You want it, you just can’t admit it. Go on sister, lie to yourself if you gotta, but you’re just missing out on all the fun you have if you just give in.”

Giving in isn’t an option. Still, she doesn’t fight as hard as she could. His eyes remain unscratched and she keeps her thighs spread for him. Tenenbaum hates that she does like this, and that she also is liking Frank’s touch. He is an odious toad, he is not someone she should be liking, not now or ever. But he just keeps touching her, his hands on her and his mouth on her and his cock deep inside of her, his thrusts quickening. Her hands push his shoulders and then pull, and he kisses her, more teeth than lips. Frank is so heavy and she can do nothing but lie there as she feels her pelvis pull tight for the second time that day.

The noise she makes when she comes is barely human. The noise wrenches its way out of her at the same time as her orgasm does, and as her body locks up and all she can feel is wave after wave of endorphins, she just lets her head fall back as she cries out. Frank doesn’t silence her. He encourages her instead, his hips still thrusting hard and fast inside of her. She may say his name or she may not - Tenenbaum is barely aware of anything that is not the shameful pleasure her body is feeling.

Their flesh slaps together as Frank begins to lose his pace as well, leaning over her and keeping her pinned to the couch. “That’s the ticket, ah yeah, stay spread for me Brigid, I’m nearly there. I got something for you, something special for you, and it’ll keep being yours as long as you work for me and nobody else. Promise me sister. Promise me.”

Her mouth opens but no sound comes out. Tenenbaum’s trembling softly and her thighs twitch each time she feels her sex pulse around Frank’s cock. She has never had two orgasms during the same session of sex and she feels as if all of her breath has been squeezed from her. Tenenbaum feels as if she will go mad from this, from Frank Fontaine’s horrifyingly welcome presence.

“Hey, wake up sleepin’ beauty.” His fingers grab onto her face, pulling at her blindfold. Light floods in and she squints. Frank is above her and he is horrible, and yet. And yet. Frank’s eyes lock with hers and her breath stutters softly. His look fixes her to the bed like a butterfly on a pin. “Promise me. You wanna get fucked like this again, promise me-”

“I promise.” She says and she is glad only Frank is here to see the humiliation on her face at admitting she enjoyed this on some level. Frank puts both hands on her hips, and he fucks her hard for the better part of a few minutes, until the post-orgasm glow fades and she’s left in the hands of Frank Fontaine.

He pulls out of her and crouches over her, a hand on his cock as he strokes himself. She flinches softly when he comes on her belly, the warm liquid making her skin crawl as he empties himself. Frank makes loud sounds, harsh grunts that end with him trailing off. It is strange - without the blindfold, she finds it easy to notice his failings. Without her vision, he was so powerful, so possessing. With it, he is just… Frank.

Frank leans back on his knees, his undershirt now stained with dark sweat spots. Brigid reaches up and pushes her negligee down, covering her body. Her thighs are damp with unmentionable things and the cum on her stomach stains the silk. She does not care. Brigid will not be wearing this again. When she looks up, he is staring at her, and for a moment, she is frightened that he may try to kiss her again.

To her relief, he does no such thing. Instead, he hands her the blindfold. “Keep it kid, as a momento. Something to remember your first time by. I’ll get Reggie to walk you home, keep you safe from the riffraff.”

Frank is wrong, this is not her first time. But she says nothing. It does not matter. He may think what he likes. She takes the crumbled piece of fabric and unsteadily gets to her feet. The heels were not so bad when she was lying down, but she wobbles in them as she walks. It is easier to stop and take them off. “You may have these. I will never wear them outside.”

“That’s a shame, they made your ass look great.” Frank says and she shoots him a look. Those comments are not welcome. He just gives her a smile that’s bordering on smug. Tenenbaum steps into her regular shoes and pulls her long coat on over it. “Hey, Bridge, come here.”

She reluctantly approaches Frank. He just pats his lap and though he was inside her not five minutes ago, she is reluctant to sit there. Tenenbaum instead sits beside Frank, pulling her coat tighter around her body. “What is it?”

“Next time you’ve got an itch to scratch, drop by my apartment.” He sets a hand on her back, giving it a rub. Frank leans in and when she is not looking at him, she feels her stomach flip a little as he whispers into her ear. If she doesn’t look at him, he makes her feel very strangely. “The code to the elevator is 4848. Think you can remember that?”

“Yes. It is easy.” She turns to look at him. He is a sad man with his penis hanging out and an undershirt on. Tenenbaum should laugh at him. And yet, he has made her come more than other men have. “I will call first.”

“Smart move kid. It’ll give me time to get prepared.” The hand slips low until it rests on her ass. The shark smile is back, just as hungry as when they started. “If you like blindfolds, I got lots of other fun toys for us to play with.”

She does not want to think of other ‘fun toys’, but now that he has said them, she knows she will do just that. Her cheeks are red when she stands. “Please call the guard Frank. I am tired.”

“Of course you are. Just sit down, relax, I’ll get the boys.” He finally gets up and she watches as he pulls his underwear on, hiding his shame. As he calls for Tenenbaum’s escort, she finds herself staring at the blindfold in the palm of her hands. These other things - the negligee and the pumps - she will never wear these again.

But this blindfold… she knows she will wear it again. Her hand closes around it, making a fist, and she pretends that she does not want this again. It will not last, but she can still pretend.

It’s barely been a few days since he last stuck a needle into his arm, but Jack’s already itching all over. His skin buzzes, his hair feels like needles, it’s hard to concentrate on anything, even with the constant distraction Fontaine has been giving him—get up, get a gun, shoot who needs to be shot, stand by “Atlas’” side while he preaches to the masses, fall exhausted onto the couch in Fontaine’s office, repeat, repeat. Except usually somewhere in there, Fontaine gives him what he needs—a bottle, a needle, a whole little girl sometimes, regularly enough that Jack was never in want of more. Until now.

He asks Fontaine about it pretty quickly—maybe there’s a break in the Adam supply, this could be an issue—and Fontaine laughs at him. “Jeez, kid, can’t handle a day without a fix?” He waves Jack off, clearly very busy doing important Rapture business like counting his money and admiring posters of himself. Jack rolls his eyes, not in the mood for an argument.

By the next day, he can’t sit still at all, he’s constantly drumming his fingers against his leg, the wall, anything, his head is pounding, he’s got a twitch in his eye, his teeth hurt from the way he’s been clenching his jaw. Fontaine doesn’t notice—or pretends not to, more likely, probably enjoying watching him squirm. He won’t rise to the bait.

He can’t sleep that night. He alternates between sitting up and pacing, unable to lie still, his arms getting redder as he scratches at them with his short, blunt nails. He wants to tear something apart, he wants to shed his skin, he wants to break open a window and let the water take him, consume him, he needs to do something.

The next time Jack sees Fontaine, he doesn’t beat around the bush—I need some. But Fontaine just gives him that cold smile Jack’s seen too many times, the one he usually sees directed at someone he’s going to be ordered to kill. “You gonna take it from me?”

As if Jack could raise a hand against him, as if he wouldn’t have already if he hadn’t so kindly been ordered not to do so the second they’d met face to face. Jack clenches his jaw, the sounds of his teeth grinding against each other loud in his ears, barely able to concentrate long enough to spit another word at Fontaine.

By the next morning, he can’t stop shaking, his legs can hardly carry him to Fontaine’s desk, and when he tries to open his mouth to shout, to scream, to threaten, all that comes out is a weak “Please.”

He can just make out Fontaine’s reply over the sound of his ears ringing and his head throbbing and his heartbeat too loud in his chest—“Come again?”

There’s no room left in his thoughts for pride or anger or anything other than pleas spilling past his lips, his mouth is dry from withdrawal but the words keep trying to creak out, please, I need, I’ll do anything, let me have it, please please please and then there’s a hand in his hair—he’s on his knees, when did that happen, he’s curled in on himself at Fontaine’s feet, like a starving dog.begging for scraps.

“Took you long enough,” Jack hears, and then there’s a soft, red glow that snaps him to attention—a small bottle Fontaine produces from a pocket somewhere in his jacket. “Thought you’d never get to asking nicely.”

Jack weakly reaches up, but finds his hand slapped away. “No. Don’t take any until my say-so, would you kindly?”

Jack groans as the order sinks into him, his muscles seizing to keep still but his mind still so focused on the tiny container of liquid dangling just above him.

Fontaine slowly, slowly tugs the cork out of the bottle, then lowers it towards Jack’s face, just at eye-level. “This what you want?”

Jack nods, his body shaking, his mouth practically watering at the sight of the Adam settling into the bottle—about as viscous as blood, but lighter, brighter, somehow more alive than even the liquid that allows human life. His body is wound up tight, unable to move without orders but needing needing needing. Dimly, he wonders if it was possible to be so far gone that he can’t comprehend orders enough to obey his conditioning.

And then Fontaine tilts the bottle over, spilling the contents onto the ground, leaving a pool of pink-red lying just in front of Jack. It spreads out, slowly, some of it going into the dips between the floorboards and continuing down a straight line, and Jack whines as some of it edges towards his knees.

“Go ahead,” Fontaine says, and it’s like a spring is let loose as his body lurches forward, his lips touching the floor without hesitation as he sucks up all he can. The effect is immediate—his muscles relax a little, a pleasant numbness spreads from his tongue down the rest of his body, he can almost feel his very genes settling back into place, finally getting some of what they need.

Then Fontaine plants one foot in a part of the puddle Jack hadn’t gotten to yet, grinding the sole of his shoe into the dust and dirt and Adam. Soon, as Jack finishes drinking up every last drop he can manage to get off the floor, the bottom of Fontaine’s offered foot is the only trace of the red glow left.

He doesn’t give it a second thought.

“Jesus Christ,” Jack hears above him as he starts worming his tongue around the edges of Fontaine’s shoe before working his way into the middle, refusing to let any of it get away. “You’re even easier than I thought.”

Something in the back of Jack’s head tells him he should be angry, or ashamed, or anything other than desperately grateful to Fontaine, but then he starts tasting leather with nothing underneath it, and the small dose he’s gotten isn’t enough to make up for the days without it, and he pulls away to stare up into Fontaine’s face, trying to convey more, more but not sure if he can make the words come out.

Fontaine raises an eyebrow at him. “Want something?”

Something comes out of his throat that isn’t a word, but it must sound desperate enough to satisfy Fontaine, as he starts reaching into his jacket with a “Fine, needy little bastard” and produces another bottle, this one a bit bigger. Jack almost reaches for it, but remembers, just lucid enough to try to be good this time, maybe if he’s good he’ll get more.

Fontaine empties a part of the contents of the bottle onto his own hand, then offers it. “Here.”

He has Fontaine’s fingers in his mouth before any of it can drip off, four at once, sucking hard to get as much as he can before moving on to each individual finger, dipping his tongue into the folds of each knuckle, whining as some of it hits the back of his throat directly, almost making him gag but then immediately relaxing the reflex, the Adam continuously making him feel more languid. He’s dimly aware of Fontaine sucking in a short breath as Jack keeps mouthing at him, doing one last sweep of each finger to make sure he hasn’t missed anything, flattening his tongue against Fontaine’s palm and searching the grooves inside.

When all he can taste is sweat and skin, Jack pulls back, staring up at the remains of the bottle, still wanting more but not needing desperately like he was before, just dizzy with Adam high and seeking to go higher if possible.

“Still?” Fontaine asks, holding the bottle higher, away from Jack. “I spoil you rotten, kid, and you’re still here crying for more? Gonna have to make it worth my while if you want it that bad.”

Even through the haze of want and the hum of his skin and the way all the lights in the room are starting to grow halos, it’s not hard to figure out what Fontaine wants, and he sets to work right away, fumbling only a few times between working at the buttons on his suit pants and wrapping his hand and mouth around his cock, taking him as deep as he can in one go.

“That’s right,” Fontaine breathes, guiding Jack’s head with his hand and muttering a few more words of praise as Jack sucks, trying not to go too fast but wanting to reach for his reward quicker. He flicks his tongue in all the spots he knows Fontaine likes, tries to swallow him all the way down, anything to make him happy, anything—

He cries out, more in surprise than pain, as Fontaine grips him by the hair and pulls him off. “I guess you’ve earned a little something,” he says, holding the bottle in view again for a moment before pouring it down—not onto the floor, this time, onto himself, the Adam mixing with Jack’s saliva over Fontaine’s cock.

Jack reaches for it immediately, not sucking his whole length down this time, but mouthing over the shaft, reaching his tongue in every fold of skin where the Adam might be hiding, and Fontaine lets out a few short, harsh breaths as Jack works him over, a low laugh hidden somewhere in there.

But before he can lick Fontaine entirely clean, he’s being pulled again, back all the way down as Fontaine fucks his throat, the traces of Adam still left hitting the roof of his mouth, the back of his tongue, leaving a patchwork of pleasure and fulfillment inside him, and it’s starting to be too much, his body shutting down and letting Fontaine do as he wishes while Jack closes his eyes and does nothing but feel, until Fontaine pulses and shudders inside him, leaving him to swallow a bitter counterpoint to the Adam he’s been tasting.

He’s barely lucid enough to process Fontaine’s words as he cleans himself up, catches disgusting and whore and need me but he doesn’t care, he feels weightless and calm at last, sitting back on his heels with no more desires but to sit quietly and enjoy it, entirely content with the feelings running through him and pretending it won’t be gone within hours, that he won’t be crawling and begging and humiliating himself again, once Fontaine’s in the mood for it.

fontaine using wyk to send jack off to kill the saved little sisters and bring tenenbaum back to him so he can put her back to work on plasmids, but he gets bored and starts pitting them against each other so he can watch

After some hard dirty fucking, Atlas gives Jack aftercare. Bonus if the aftercare is just to mess with Jack's mind.

please. please god.

give me a couple days to get out of school i need to write this so bad

I'd like to see Robert being absolutely humiliated in public, not to mention dominated and ridiculed by someone or people.

Anything can go with this(as long as it falls under the above). Although not something you have to put in, enemas and embarrassing old timey medical stuff/toys would be a huge plus.

Bless your soul

I don't know if this is a thing that can be requested, but a music vid of Atlas to the song That Man by Caro Emerald?? I don't care if it's serious or silly, or short/long. I- nay- the WORLD needs to see this happen.

Omfg I love this song because of that little shit lmao

Jack has made it out of Rapture alive. But he can't quite get one certain Irishman out of his mind, fake or not. Cue Jack ending up decorating his new little house full of Atlas-posters (that he magically acquired from somewhere) and radios, even if he knows he probably shouldn't. He can't help it.

But of course, Fontaine/Atlas has somehow survived as well and is coming to get revenge on Jack for ruining his jam, and he sneaks in Jack's house some night. Interesting things ensue when he finds Jack's Atlas-ridden house.

Bonus points if Fontaine persuades Jack to do the do with him using the Atlas -persona the boy is so very fond of, even if Jack deep inside knows it's motherfucking Fontaine he's fucking.

Or anything remotely like that, please?

So I would love someone forever if they would fill a thing wherein Fontaine has won and kept Jack around (if only for convenience, which he makes clear in public), but is secretly really affectionate towards Jack at his home base a lot of the time. One morning Fontaine makes them both pancakes and insists that Jack sits at a kitchen table and eats them. It can be parental or romantic. I just need it fluffy as it can get, given the circumstances.

I NEED IT

i need this

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Page 28 of 34

BIOSHOCK KINK MEME

Fontaine/Ryan sort of, masturbation or denial

Re: fill: "Poison Devils" not porn unless you count vague guro sorry everyone

dub!Atlas/sub!Elizabeth, dub con

this is op

Frank/Tenenbaum, pregnancy kink

Apparition - Jack/Disciples

op

Re: fill: "Poison Devils" not porn unless you count vague guro sorry everyone

Re: Apparition - Jack/Disciples

Blindfold - Fontaine/Tenenbaum - (1/2)

Blindfold - Fontaine/Tenenbaum - (2/2)

eyyyyy fill

jack/fontaine/tenenbaum bad end

Jack/Atlas aftercare

Re: Jack/Atlas aftercare

Re: Jack/Atlas aftercare

Robert Lutece - Public Humilation, Ridicule/Domination

Re: Fontaine/Ryan- Hatesex

Atlas

Re: Atlas

Jack/Atlas - Reunion, dubcon (or any con)

Fontaine/Jack - Pancakes

Re: fill: "Poison Devils" not porn unless you count vague guro sorry everyone

Re: Jack/Atlas Daddy kink, mind break, sluttybadend!Jack

Re: Jack/Atlas - Reunion, dubcon (or any con)