Your work shift had ended and, like so many other days, you sat on the metro in silence and rode it back to Apollo Square. Coming home used to feel like a welcome respite, but now the evening commute is the worst part of your day. Photos of missing people line the walls of the station, dotted with small offerings of flowers and candles. Some of them were people you knew. You walk past the sad memorial-- and then there's the square itself. Of all the things that have changed since the rebellion began, none is worse than the way Ryan has turned this place into an open-air prison, rounding traitors up and shoving them inside to rot. The richer citizens of Rapture can afford to ignore the place, but you live in a one-bedroom apartment in Artemis Suites. You're forced to walk past it twice a day, every day.
You're alone in one of Rapture's many streets when you hear running, heavy and booted, behind you. The short hairs on the back of your neck prickle and you turn, terrified you are about to be mugged. Three men barrel toward you. There isn't enough time to react as one claps a firm hand over your mouth, another grabs you by the waist and a third raises something above your head. There is a glint of metal, he swings--
--when you wake up, you're being bustled down a set of stairs and into a small room. Warm lamplight glows dimly from a desk. You're being held by many hands-- being carried? You open your mouth to protest but the cries fall short as a voice says
"Jaysus, did you have to hit the kid so hard?"
Your vision comes into focus. There is a man in front of you. Dark hair with a gentle curl, a plain work shirt rolled up to the elbows, suspenders-- he could be any old Fontaine Fisheries dock worker, but the accent with which he speaks assures you he is not.
"That'll do boys. I think I can handle things from here."
There's some gruff laughter as you are roughly let go, falling to your knees on the floorboards in front of Atlas. Three pairs of boots thunder up the stairs. A door shuts behind them. The pair of you are left in silence.
The revolutionary leader puts his hands on his hips and regards you.
"They aren't the most subtle of lads," he says, almost like an apology. "Can't say they picked wrong, though. You're a pretty little thing, aren't ya?"
"Pretty?" you ask. Your head is still throbbing. You aren't anyone of importance and you don't have any ADAM. What in hell could the leader of the rebels want you for?
As if in answer, he moves over to his desk. He picks something up, then looks over at you, grinning. He takes a step back over, and you can see something small gleaming in his hand. A syringe with a long needle.
"Know what this is, sweetheart?" he asks. You scramble to your feet and begin to back away. He's already blocked the staircase off with his steady, predatory approach. You retreat further into the room, hoping for a door or a weapon you can defend yourself with. You don't know what the needle is for, but you can't imagine it's anything you're going to like.
Atlas advances quickly and before you can do anything about it, he's got you backed into a corner. He pins you to the wall with one hand firmly on your shoulder and a knee pushed up, between your legs. You swing at him. He releases the grip on your shoulder only to grab you by the wrist. He holds it out, away from your body, and pushes his side into you to keep you pinned.
"Sshh, sshh now," he reassures, rubbing a thumb over the pulsing blue of your vein. The other hand lifts, holds the needle down to your skin, and with a soft push it punctures your flesh.
You begin to scream, your eyes shut tight with pain and your body wracked with shaking as the chemicals enter your system. Somewhere you can here a voice saying "steady now, kid, steady!" before the world goes dark.
You open your eyes to see him, Atlas, sitting across the room from you in a chair. He smokes a cigarette and watches as you rise from your crumpled pile on the floor.
"Easy there, champ," he says. "I just did a hell of a number on your genetic code. Would you kindly tell me how it feels?"
You stare blearily at him, but the words come easily. "Dizzy," you say. He chuckles.
"Foine, fine. T'be expected, really. Would you kindly come over here?"
As if in a dream, you step over and stand beside the chair he sits in. He looks you up and down.
"Aren't we obedient," he says with a grin. "Let's try something a bit harder. Be honest now, love. Are ya scared of me?"
You nod vigorously. "Yes."
"And would y'like me to let you leave now so you can get safe back home?"
"Yes," you say again.
"Wonderful. Would you kindly take off your clothes instead?"
Your eyes widen for a fraction of a moment, then robotically, efficiently, you reach for the top button of your shirt and begin to comply. Atlas nods approvingly and blows cigarette smoke at you.
"Funny thing about leading a rebellion," he says as you remove your top. "You give a speech, and even the ones who aren't on your side want t'hear it. Easy enough to be heard by the masses, but with the right frequencies and the right phrases worked in, add a plasmid to the mix…" he trails off, his gaze lowering as your undo the zipper at your waist and shrug off the bottom half of your outfit, followed by your underwear.
"Well," he says, smirking, "let's just say I'm pleased with the results, darlin'."
You finish disrobing, your clothes and shoes a small pile at your feet. Atlas pats a hand on his knee.
"Sit down right here, would you kindly."
You shiver in the open air, but take the two steps over to him and sit, your bare thighs draped across his clothed ones. You can feel a growing hardness against your ass. He hooks an arm around your back and lets his hand hover at the crook of your hips, thumb running idly along your pelvic bone. He inhales on the cigarette, then holds it out to you. His smile is earnest and kind as he makes his next request.
"Burn yourself, would you kindly."
Your brain reacts as it must, but instinct works in your favor. You quickly imagine the least painful spot you can, take the cigarette, and lower it to the palm of your other hand. He places a hand firmly over your wrist and pauses the motion.
"Oh, very smart," he says, sounding amused. "Let's pick somewhere else though, aye?" his hand lets go of your wrist only to smooth it's way down your neck, over your chest, just around the side of your hips and lower until it settles at your inner thigh. He gives the sensitive area a squeeze, and you whimper audibly.
"Put that cigarette right here, would you kindly" he says. You shudder as your muscles already twitch to carry out the command, your legs spreading wider apart in his lap as you lower the cigarette and-- you bite down on your lips, choking back a loud scream. He pulls you to him, his lips and teeth running small nips over the length of your collarbone, all the way down to your nipples, as he murmurs quiet praise. You cry out. The pain fades away slowly, and his mouth on your skin is building up an unwanted heat between your legs. He hooks a hand under your chin and brings your eyes up to meet his. His other hand runs down your body to cup your crotch, testing your arousal. What he finds there makes him smirk.
"Aren't you a sick little thing?" he asks. For the first time, you attempt to jerk away. His eyes narrow as he grabs you firmly by your hair, tugging you back into place. With an easy shrug of his shoulders the suspenders fall away, and he lowers one hand to undo the button of his trousers.
"Ever sucked a man off before, love?" he asks, freeing himself of his pants and rubbing his stiff erection against your bare skin.
"I-" you begin.
"I don't actually care," he interrupts you. "On your knees, would you kindly, and put that mouth to work."
Atlas relaxes back into the chair as you clamber off him, your knees hitting the hard, dirty wood of the floor. You take him in one hand and your mouth lowers down onto his thick girth. He groans and wraps a strong hand into your hair.
"Jaysus, kid," he says, pushing you further down. His hips jerk up, thrusting his cock into your throat. Tears well at the corners of your eyes as your force yourself not to gag. He holds you still and close to him while he repeats the rhythm, over and over. You try to mumble out a protest, but if the catch of his breath is any indication, the noise only serves to arouse him. He thrusts up a little harder and you dig your nails into his legs at the feeling.
A few more groans on his part, and then you feel your hair being tugged sharply. You rise, taking in deep gasps of air. Atlas rises as well, pushing you up against the desk and lifting you until your ass balances on the edge and your back leans against a wall. He slaps your thighs lightly.
"Hold these open for me, would you kindly," he says. You comply, wrapping your arms underneath your knees and bringing them wide apart. He squeezes your ass with one hand while the other traces a faint outline around your entrance. To your shame, it makes you moan. He raises an eyebrow at the noise and his touches become rougher as he slowly, methodically, begins to work you over.
"That's just perfect," he hisses between heavy breaths. "Nice and ready for me, aren't ya?" Two fingers retract, only to be replaced by the tip of his cock. You whimper, but your hands keep yourself spread for him. He palms your chest, pinching one nipple. His lips descend over your ear and he murmurs
"Would you kindly beg to be Atlas' little whore?"
A series of high-pitched pleads and nonsensical begging tumbles out of your lips, your voice more desperate than you have ever heard it. He groans, "fuck, yes," at your words and pushes himself inside. You feel stretched, instantly and perfectly filled. He wastes no time in building his pace up, no thought is spared for your comfort, and you cry out as the length of him pumps into you violently. Even between cries, you find that you can't stop begging. Each request from your lips causes his hands at your waist to clench harder, his brows to furrow as sweat builds on his forehead and his cock continues to abuse your tight insides.
"That's it, kid, take," he grunts, "take it-- ah!"
Ribbons of hot cum shoot into you as he moans over your shaking body and buries himself inside it. He applies a delicate, teasing set of fingers to your sex and within moments you are screaming in orgasm. His face is a satisfied smirk, sweaty and drunk with pleasure as your climax tenses you around him in the final moments of his release. Your hands grip the table and his grip you as you stay together a moment, shuddering and breathing hard. Finally he stands up straight, withdrawing from you and collapsing back into his chair. He pulls another cigarette out and lights it, watching you as you struggle to come back down, his cum slowly dripping out of you and onto the surface of the desk.
"Welcome to the rebellion, darlin'," he sighs, exhaling smoke.
Re: atlassss readerficcccc
Your work shift had ended and, like so many other days, you sat on the metro in silence and rode it back to Apollo Square. Coming home used to feel like a welcome respite, but now the evening commute is the worst part of your day. Photos of missing people line the walls of the station, dotted with small offerings of flowers and candles. Some of them were people you knew. You walk past the sad memorial-- and then there's the square itself. Of all the things that have changed since the rebellion began, none is worse than the way Ryan has turned this place into an open-air prison, rounding traitors up and shoving them inside to rot. The richer citizens of Rapture can afford to ignore the place, but you live in a one-bedroom apartment in Artemis Suites. You're forced to walk past it twice a day, every day.
You're alone in one of Rapture's many streets when you hear running, heavy and booted, behind you. The short hairs on the back of your neck prickle and you turn, terrified you are about to be mugged. Three men barrel toward you. There isn't enough time to react as one claps a firm hand over your mouth, another grabs you by the waist and a third raises something above your head. There is a glint of metal, he swings--
--when you wake up, you're being bustled down a set of stairs and into a small room. Warm lamplight glows dimly from a desk. You're being held by many hands-- being carried? You open your mouth to protest but the cries fall short as a voice says
"Jaysus, did you have to hit the kid so hard?"
Your vision comes into focus. There is a man in front of you. Dark hair with a gentle curl, a plain work shirt rolled up to the elbows, suspenders-- he could be any old Fontaine Fisheries dock worker, but the accent with which he speaks assures you he is not.
"That'll do boys. I think I can handle things from here."
There's some gruff laughter as you are roughly let go, falling to your knees on the floorboards in front of Atlas. Three pairs of boots thunder up the stairs. A door shuts behind them. The pair of you are left in silence.
The revolutionary leader puts his hands on his hips and regards you.
"They aren't the most subtle of lads," he says, almost like an apology. "Can't say they picked wrong, though. You're a pretty little thing, aren't ya?"
"Pretty?" you ask. Your head is still throbbing. You aren't anyone of importance and you don't have any ADAM. What in hell could the leader of the rebels want you for?
As if in answer, he moves over to his desk. He picks something up, then looks over at you, grinning. He takes a step back over, and you can see something small gleaming in his hand. A syringe with a long needle.
"Know what this is, sweetheart?" he asks. You scramble to your feet and begin to back away. He's already blocked the staircase off with his steady, predatory approach. You retreat further into the room, hoping for a door or a weapon you can defend yourself with. You don't know what the needle is for, but you can't imagine it's anything you're going to like.
Atlas advances quickly and before you can do anything about it, he's got you backed into a corner. He pins you to the wall with one hand firmly on your shoulder and a knee pushed up, between your legs. You swing at him. He releases the grip on your shoulder only to grab you by the wrist. He holds it out, away from your body, and pushes his side into you to keep you pinned.
"Sshh, sshh now," he reassures, rubbing a thumb over the pulsing blue of your vein. The other hand lifts, holds the needle down to your skin, and with a soft push it punctures your flesh.
You begin to scream, your eyes shut tight with pain and your body wracked with shaking as the chemicals enter your system. Somewhere you can here a voice saying "steady now, kid, steady!" before the world goes dark.
You open your eyes to see him, Atlas, sitting across the room from you in a chair. He smokes a cigarette and watches as you rise from your crumpled pile on the floor.
"Easy there, champ," he says. "I just did a hell of a number on your genetic code. Would you kindly tell me how it feels?"
You stare blearily at him, but the words come easily. "Dizzy," you say. He chuckles.
"Foine, fine. T'be expected, really. Would you kindly come over here?"
As if in a dream, you step over and stand beside the chair he sits in. He looks you up and down.
"Aren't we obedient," he says with a grin. "Let's try something a bit harder. Be honest now, love. Are ya scared of me?"
You nod vigorously. "Yes."
"And would y'like me to let you leave now so you can get safe back home?"
"Yes," you say again.
"Wonderful. Would you kindly take off your clothes instead?"
Your eyes widen for a fraction of a moment, then robotically, efficiently, you reach for the top button of your shirt and begin to comply. Atlas nods approvingly and blows cigarette smoke at you.
"Funny thing about leading a rebellion," he says as you remove your top. "You give a speech, and even the ones who aren't on your side want t'hear it. Easy enough to be heard by the masses, but with the right frequencies and the right phrases worked in, add a plasmid to the mix…" he trails off, his gaze lowering as your undo the zipper at your waist and shrug off the bottom half of your outfit, followed by your underwear.
"Well," he says, smirking, "let's just say I'm pleased with the results, darlin'."
You finish disrobing, your clothes and shoes a small pile at your feet. Atlas pats a hand on his knee.
"Sit down right here, would you kindly."
You shiver in the open air, but take the two steps over to him and sit, your bare thighs draped across his clothed ones. You can feel a growing hardness against your ass. He hooks an arm around your back and lets his hand hover at the crook of your hips, thumb running idly along your pelvic bone. He inhales on the cigarette, then holds it out to you. His smile is earnest and kind as he makes his next request.
"Burn yourself, would you kindly."
Your brain reacts as it must, but instinct works in your favor. You quickly imagine the least painful spot you can, take the cigarette, and lower it to the palm of your other hand. He places a hand firmly over your wrist and pauses the motion.
"Oh, very smart," he says, sounding amused. "Let's pick somewhere else though, aye?" his hand lets go of your wrist only to smooth it's way down your neck, over your chest, just around the side of your hips and lower until it settles at your inner thigh. He gives the sensitive area a squeeze, and you whimper audibly.
"Put that cigarette right here, would you kindly" he says. You shudder as your muscles already twitch to carry out the command, your legs spreading wider apart in his lap as you lower the cigarette and-- you bite down on your lips, choking back a loud scream. He pulls you to him, his lips and teeth running small nips over the length of your collarbone, all the way down to your nipples, as he murmurs quiet praise. You cry out. The pain fades away slowly, and his mouth on your skin is building up an unwanted heat between your legs. He hooks a hand under your chin and brings your eyes up to meet his. His other hand runs down your body to cup your crotch, testing your arousal. What he finds there makes him smirk.
"Aren't you a sick little thing?" he asks. For the first time, you attempt to jerk away. His eyes narrow as he grabs you firmly by your hair, tugging you back into place. With an easy shrug of his shoulders the suspenders fall away, and he lowers one hand to undo the button of his trousers.
"Ever sucked a man off before, love?" he asks, freeing himself of his pants and rubbing his stiff erection against your bare skin.
"I-" you begin.
"I don't actually care," he interrupts you. "On your knees, would you kindly, and put that mouth to work."
Atlas relaxes back into the chair as you clamber off him, your knees hitting the hard, dirty wood of the floor. You take him in one hand and your mouth lowers down onto his thick girth. He groans and wraps a strong hand into your hair.
"Jaysus, kid," he says, pushing you further down. His hips jerk up, thrusting his cock into your throat. Tears well at the corners of your eyes as your force yourself not to gag. He holds you still and close to him while he repeats the rhythm, over and over. You try to mumble out a protest, but if the catch of his breath is any indication, the noise only serves to arouse him. He thrusts up a little harder and you dig your nails into his legs at the feeling.
A few more groans on his part, and then you feel your hair being tugged sharply. You rise, taking in deep gasps of air. Atlas rises as well, pushing you up against the desk and lifting you until your ass balances on the edge and your back leans against a wall. He slaps your thighs lightly.
"Hold these open for me, would you kindly," he says. You comply, wrapping your arms underneath your knees and bringing them wide apart. He squeezes your ass with one hand while the other traces a faint outline around your entrance. To your shame, it makes you moan. He raises an eyebrow at the noise and his touches become rougher as he slowly, methodically, begins to work you over.
"That's just perfect," he hisses between heavy breaths. "Nice and ready for me, aren't ya?" Two fingers retract, only to be replaced by the tip of his cock. You whimper, but your hands keep yourself spread for him. He palms your chest, pinching one nipple. His lips descend over your ear and he murmurs
"Would you kindly beg to be Atlas' little whore?"
A series of high-pitched pleads and nonsensical begging tumbles out of your lips, your voice more desperate than you have ever heard it. He groans, "fuck, yes," at your words and pushes himself inside. You feel stretched, instantly and perfectly filled. He wastes no time in building his pace up, no thought is spared for your comfort, and you cry out as the length of him pumps into you violently. Even between cries, you find that you can't stop begging. Each request from your lips causes his hands at your waist to clench harder, his brows to furrow as sweat builds on his forehead and his cock continues to abuse your tight insides.
"That's it, kid, take," he grunts, "take it-- ah!"
Ribbons of hot cum shoot into you as he moans over your shaking body and buries himself inside it. He applies a delicate, teasing set of fingers to your sex and within moments you are screaming in orgasm. His face is a satisfied smirk, sweaty and drunk with pleasure as your climax tenses you around him in the final moments of his release. Your hands grip the table and his grip you as you stay together a moment, shuddering and breathing hard. Finally he stands up straight, withdrawing from you and collapsing back into his chair. He pulls another cigarette out and lights it, watching you as you struggle to come back down, his cum slowly dripping out of you and onto the surface of the desk.
"Welcome to the rebellion, darlin'," he sighs, exhaling smoke.