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trash mod ([personal profile] trash_mod) wrote in [community profile] biotrash2014-03-19 04:11 pm


Stars, hide your fires;
Let not light see my black and deep desires

- bioshock trash crew proverb




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.


atlassss readerficcccc

(Anonymous) 2014-03-20 07:24 pm (UTC)(link)
would you kindly??

Re: atlassss readerficcccc

(Anonymous) 2014-03-20 07:30 pm (UTC)(link)

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

(Anonymous) 2014-03-20 07:31 pm (UTC)(link)
unf yes perfecttttt thank you

Re: atlassss readerficcccc

(Anonymous) 2014-03-20 07:36 pm (UTC)(link)
I would like to thank you for requesting this because I'm pretty sure you are one of the people who knew I was writing it anyway, and now it has a place to go :D

(Anonymous) 2014-03-21 03:24 am (UTC)(link)
spliced_irish: (yes the revolution's pride)

Re: atlassss readerficcccc

[personal profile] spliced_irish 2014-03-25 12:48 pm (UTC)(link)


(Anonymous) 2014-04-11 08:11 am (UTC)(link)
“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.


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.


(Anonymous) 2014-04-11 08:39 am (UTC)(link)
that's it, pack up the meme. discontinue the franchise. we've finished. we've reached the pinnacle of human existence.


(Anonymous) 2014-04-11 06:57 pm (UTC)(link)
god has answered my prayers