pathologicroundrobin | Pathologic Kink Meme!

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Pathologic Kink Meme!

Hello, welcome to the Pathologic Kink Meme! WARNING: This one is NSFW!

Please make anonymous prompts for things you would like to see, or anonymously fulfill prompts by creating stories, poetry, drawn art, music, or anything! I just want to say that this prompt meme is open to people of all skill levels, so have fun!

Some basic rules that were recommended to help out before we get started:

- This is the Pathologic Kink Meme, and it's NSFW! Please post any NSFW prompts or fills here. A good rule of thumb is whether or not you'd be comfortable with your boss at work looking over your shoulder and reading what you have on screen.

- If anything is a little too explicit in detail (e.g. in terms of medical procedures or gore), it probably needs to be here as well. Basic mentioning of medical procedures is allowed, but this is just in case for folks who have limits in regard to certain explicit things. Speaking of explicit things...

- Please use tags and content warnings, especially for things that people might be triggered over. For prompt fillers, please put those tags in the beginning of the post so that way people can skip over them if need be. Tags can also attract people to your art if it has content that they're interested in, so it can be a helpful tool for content creators as well.

- No writers of incest (kains which does include aglaya and her relatives, stamatins, olgimskys, etc), underage/adult ships (which DOES include Clara,) or rape. Please don't make anything gross happen to underage characters!

- Multiple fills to a single prompt is not only accepted, but wonderful! It's a win-win for everybody!

- In the case of a filler of a prompt going inactive for a long time in the middle of a story, it's okay for a different person to continue where they left off. Please make it obvious that you're not the original author, and then feel free to write.

And that's as much as I have in regards to rules! Hopefully these answered answer any questions you might have! Feel free to recommend any rules of your own, or ask me for clarification on the current ones.

AND THAT'S IT! Have fun! :D

LINKS:

Pathologic Prompt Meme: https://pathologicroundrobin.dreamwidth.org/825.html
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Pathologic Kink Meme (nsfw): https://pathologicroundrobin.dreamwidth.org/1201.html
Contact me here if you have any questions!: https://pathologicroundrobin.dreamwidth.org/1347.html

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thank you! daniil has his priorities in order. are they the right order? thats highly debatable, but hes going to stick to them anyway.

also know i am EXTREMELY eyes emoji at the prospect of an artemy-side fill and i can't wait to see your take

im so glad you liked it op......... thank you for enabling me

i just think it would be sexy and good if one of them sat the other down and helped him shave as a service/care thing you know?

seconding this so hard omggg T_T

Trans Daniil having period sex

trans andrey, daniil deepthroatin the strap, please

I think they are in love and I would like them to fuck. Thank you!

BONUS: body worship

im sorry op this might be toppier on andreys side than you wanted but in my defense i was possessed.

-

“Impressive, isn’t it?”

Daniil cocks his head, carefully licks his lips. “True to life, I was about to say. Though the proportions —”

Andrey snorts, spreads his legs wider. His cock bobs a little with the motion, but the straps hold it firm. Daniil’s eyes are fixed on it. He knows his smirk must look a little mean, but that’s never stopped him before. “You know me, I always aim high.”

“I remember differently.”

He laughs. “Oh alright, it’s true. I prefer to aim for the kidney. But you never minded, did you?”

“I have, on occasion,” he reproaches, mild. “But I don’t mind getting my hands dirty, for the right reason.”

“Then stop talking, and show me.”

A flicker of amusement — or is it challenge? — passes through Daniil’s eyes, but he takes the final steps between them. Sinks to his knees, a little stiff, delicate in how he settles, and he’s such a pretty sight Andrey is half-tempted to pounce and ravage him already.

His cock is thick, not monstrous but considerable. Undaunted Daniil takes it in hand, strokes as he would a flesh-and-blood one from base to tip, licks his lips again. Andrey nudges his thigh with the side of his foot as though to say Get on with it but figures he can give him a minute before he takes things in hand.

It turns out to be unnecessary. A moment later Daniil lowers his head to Andrey’s cock, opens his mouth around the head, takes it in. Not very far at first, but he makes a nice show of it, sucks and tongues at it as though Andrey really could feel it.

“Out of practice?”

Daniil pulls off with a wet noise. His eyes are dark, the pupils dilated. “Somewhat,” he says, and then returns to it. His hair falls over his face and Andrey leans forward to brush it away, gather it at the back of his head and hold him. No pressure yet, but he remembers Daniil being sensitive to it, a fact which seems to hold true from how he closes his eyes, takes the cock a little deeper the moment he feel Andrey pull at his scalp.

When he gags Andrey holds him there. One second, two, releases. It’s a bit like playing with fire, except for how fire’s never looked like this, flushed and panting at his feet.

“You don’t have to take all of it,” he notes, but there’s a reason he likes Daniil, fussy habits and flares of temper and all: he shakes his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, says “I want to” and “I can”.

No comment on Andrey’s handling of him, and so Andrey doesn’t ask before dragging him in again. Daniil’s lips stretch around his cock, his throat works audibly. He moans when Andrey starts to move so he can fuck shallowly into his mouth, and hell if it doesn’t sound nice, that deep voice turned needy and wrecked. Andrey’s wet under the harness, feels the base of his cock press against him whenever he thrusts, whenever Daniil sputters or swallows.

Daniil puts his hands high on Andrey’s thighs, bracing, shakes his head as much as he can when he’s got Andrey’s cock halfway down his throat. Unexpected. Andrey lets go.

“Enough?”

He gets a scowl in answer, and he can easily figure the answer out from that. Laughs, and sits back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. If Daniil wants to give him a show, well, he isn’t about to complain. Daniil breathes heavily through his nose, forces himself lower. A shudder runs through him. A little lower still. He’s tense for a moment, eyes squeezed shut, and Andrey can tell he’s fighting down the urge to gag or pull away.

Never one to deny himself, he unfolds his arms, moves a hand to Daniil’s jaw, his throat. Feels the pulse rabbit-quick, the way the muscles move as Daniil forces his body into compliance, the darker shape of Andrey’s cock disappearing bit by bit, and Andrey’s starting to think he might be able to come from this if it keeps on long enough, Daniil’s pretty lashes wet with tears, the heave of his chest, his hair messy, his mouth red as he takes, and takes, and takes.

There’s a few false starts, some pauses. When he finally bottoms out Andrey is near-tempted to clap, but it’d be a shame if Daniil bit down and ruined it. He admires the picture it makes instead, Daniil’s eyes open again, bright with self-satisfaction, his breath ghosting heavy and hot over Andrey’s skin between the harness’ leather straps.

“Well, look at that, you did it after all. Not that I doubted you.” He rolls his hips a little, feels Daniil’s hands flex as he adjusts, takes it. “Anyone ever told you how good you look like this?”

He gets a slow blink in response, a cat’s expectant and smug knowing. Laughs. Heat churns in the pit of his belly, runs through him like a particularly potent batch of twyrine. He fists his hand at the back of Daniil’s head, pulls him off. Spit trails from the tip of his cock to his lips, obscene and nearly as arousing as a fist to the gut.

“I didn’t think you’d last this long,” Daniil says even as Andrey urges him to straddle his lap, his voice hoarse, his face flush, dripping wet when Andrey presses a finger down to check, and if that’s how he gets from sucking cock then Andrey can’t wait to see him fucked senseless.

anon this is so hot T_T i love the two of them challenging each other...

this is really incredible, and that last line!!! wowWWWWWWWWW

Oh this ROCKS I love how self possessed Daniil is as he takes it and Andrei’s perspective, challenging and then impressed, they’re both so into it it is DELIGHTFUL

The man's wearing suspenders over his bare chest. His poor nipples.

im obsessed with this. its so hot im going insane. the last line? ugh. i love it

Aglaya wrecks her poor sub. Bonus if Aglaya is in her Inquisitor persona, but it's part of the scene, not real judging/punishment. More bonus for creative ehm... interrogation apparatus.

they did this before, back in the day. they didn’t do it right. they try again; how? is it slower, sensual? do they get to it faster?

bonus points for any of the following:
~ peter topping
~ a lot of kissing, all over... please? 🥺👉👈
~ either or both written as trans

This would be lovely! Seconded!

I am looking forward to seeing how an inquisitor would handle things, so yes.

(andrey is trans, gendered masculine language for this and mentions of top surgery scars. also daddy kink. idk i got possessed)

Andrey let out a groan through gritted teeth when Grief’s nails scrapped against his nipples. He laughed, high-pitched and teasing when Andrey writhed beneath him, his cheeks flushed red.

“Oh,” Grief said, rolling his head to the side. “So this is what breaks the haughty Stamatin.” he pinched one of Andrey’s nipples, feeling it harden under his touch. Andrey whined. “After all this time… better late than never, I suppose.”

“Just fuck me already.” Andrey said and Grief twisted the nipple in his hand as he slightly slapped the other. Andrey’s moan was loud, bouncing between the walls around them.

“No.” he said. “I want to make you beg.”

Grief leaned down, taking one of Andrey’s nipple’s in his mouth, the other one still in his hand. Andrey whined again and Grief moaned, the sound reaching Andrey’s dick. He tried to grasp Grief’s hair but Grief let go of his nipple so he could pin Andrey’s hand against the mattress. He groaned again, and he couldn’t tell if it was because of the rough handling or the loss of stimulation, or both.

“Play nice, Stamatin.” Grief warned, letting go of his nipple. “Or I won’t play at all.” he waited until Andrey nodded -- a breathless yes, yes, I’ll be nice escaping his lips -- before he kissed the scars Andrey had under his chest and took his nipple back in his mouth. He sucked on it slowly, his teeth grazing it as he moved his head like he was sucking Andrey’s dick, and his eyes didn't move away from Andrey’s face . Andrey moaned, again and again, louder each time, his hands grasping the sheets as he bucked his hips up. He can feel how wet he is.

“Please I--” his voice is weak and it breaks before he can finish the sentence. Grief was still staring at him, and he sucked hard on his nipple one last time before letting go of it, grabbing Andrey’s face.

“Please what?” Grief asked. Andrey opened his mouth again but before the words could come out, Grief pinched his nipple hard, twisting it between his fingers, and Andrey whined again, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” Grief teased, his grasp on Andrey’s face tighter. “Be a good boy and use your words. Tell me what you want.”

Andrey took a deep breath before he could answer. “Please touch my dick, finger me, fuck me, anything, please, I just--,” Grief scrapped his nails against his nipple again and he moaned. “Please, Grief, I need you, please.”
Grief’s grasp on his face weakened and he moved his hand so he could cup Andrey’s cheek almost gently. “Please what.” he said.

Andrey whimpered. “Please, daddy, touch my dick.” he said, his voice high pitched.

Grief smiled and leaned down to kiss him. “How can I deny you when you ask so nicely, Andrushka.” Grief wiped Andrey’s tears away before mouthing at his chest one more time, kissing his scars again. Then, finally, he unbuttoned Andrey’s pants, removing them. He dragged one hand down Andrey’s body until he finally reached his dick. “You have such a pretty cock.”

Andrey whined. “T-thank you, daddy.”

Grief hummed, sliping one finger inside. “So wet already.” he said, playing with Andrey’s dick as he slowly fingered Andrey. “You really are a slut for having your nipples played with, huh.”

Andrey whined. “I am.” he moved his hips so he could get more friction out of Grief’s touch. “More, Grisha, more…”

Grief grinned and fucked him harder, three fingers inside of him as he kept playing with his dick. Andrey threw his head back and moaned, loud and high pitched. Grief’s fingers felt amazing inside of him, slender and long. Grief curled them, hitting a sweet spot inside of him, and he let out an embarrassing sound. Grief didn’t stop, fingering him faster and faster as he played with his dick. Grief reached out for one of his nipples, twisting it, and it took all of Andrey’s self control to not cum on the spot.

Instead, he told Grief: “I’m close.” his voice was weak, breathless, and he could tell from the way Grief was smirking at him that the other man was more than pleased with himself.

“Don’t forget your manners, Stamatin, and I’ll let you cum.” he said.

It took Andrey a moment to reply. “Please, daddy, let me cum.”

Grief smiled. “Good boy.” he said, as he kept teasing Andrey’s nipple. “C’mon, cum for papa.”

Andrey did. A loud moan left his lips as he closed his eyes, followed by a whine when he felt Grief’s fingers brushing against his dick at the same time his other hand twisted and pinched his nipple. It was too much, and he was breathing heavy against the mattress, his entire body flushed red. Grief kissed him softly, praising him as he did so.

When Andrey finally opened his eyes again and saw Grief on top of him, a shit eating grin on his lips. “You’re such a fucking bastard, you know.” Andrey said but his voice was rough.

Grief laughed. “You certainly are fucking a bastard.” he replied and kissed him again. “I’m getting you some water. Get ready for round two.”

Well, this took a while, but now this prompt can finally stop eating away at my brain! This is from Artemy's POV, and evolved into something much more surreal and angsty than I had initially planned, so - have at it.

- - -

Even before he opens his eyes, Artemy can place himself. Rough-hewn stone arches over his head and scuffs against his boots, muffling his footsteps in that peculiar way. But the Abattoir is quieter than he remembers. Emptier. Darker.

(There's a brief moment where he doesn't remember, where he's free of guilt.)

The springs of earth's blood are dry and depleted when he brushes his fingers against them on his way past. No odonghs or albinos are there to guide him, but something drives him forward. Someone's waiting for him.

And there, at the end of the bridge, stands a familiar figure.

"We've been waiting," Rubin says. "But I guess you weren't in a hurry. You never are."

"Look, I came as soon as I could." Artemy speaks as if reciting lines from memory, instead of what he wants to say, which is How the hell did they even let you in? Rubin looks unimpressed, then pulls out an intricately carved blade from his robes. A blade he shouldn't even be allowed to touch.

"It gives me no pleasure to admit it, but I need your hands for this," he says and holds Menkhu's finger towards Artemy. Artemy looks from the blade to Rubin for an explanation, but Rubin only indicates the path to his right.

"Cut him. Cut him so that he remains living."

Artemy balks. He can't do this.

(Couldn't do this. He already failed someone.)

He shakes his head. "How do you expect me to do that?" he says. "Here? I need—" Swabs, bandages, a sterile environment.

"You know your Lines, don't you?" Rubin says.

"As if you even know what you're talking about! You're setting me up to fail!" Artemy snaps in response.

Rubin scoffs. "Well, I can't do it. He won't let me," he says. What is that in his voice, wounded pride?

Artemy flexes his jaw and nods. "Fine then. Give me the blade."

He walks past Rubin and rounds the corner to the little alcove on his left. For a brief moment, it feels like his vision splits in two. The first shows him a crowd gathered around the slab, lit by torchlight, and in the center a painfully familiar face. In the second, he's on stage before a bloodied operating table, lit by a swaying spotlight.

Then the afterimages fade away, and before him sits a lone figure in his shirtsleeves. His hands are folded, as though in uncharacteristic prayer, and his gaze focused on some unseen point in the distance. Then he notices Artemy and that gaze snaps to him in all its intensity.

Artemy expects a greeting or at least some snappy comment on his lateness, but Dankovsky seems oddly content to just stare at him in silence.

"Rubin... He said you'd been waiting," Artemy says, the statement uncomfortably turning into a question in his mouth. Dankovsky nods and then moves as if to speak – but his mouth opens and closes without a sound, the muscles in his throat flexing without success.

Artemy shakes his head in confusion. "What? What do you want from me?" he asks. Dankovsky rolls his eyes and raises hand to his throat, then squeezes his eyes shut as if in pain.

Some distant memory stirs in Artemy's mind. No throat, no voice. "Dankovsky," he says. "Daniil."

Dankovsky's eyes open and settle on him with a look of gratitude. "Finally," he says in a sigh of relief. He nods to the blade in Artemy's hand. "I see you have all you need. We shouldn't waste any more time."

He starts undoing the buttons of his shirt. Artemy watches as the pristine cloth parts and reveals... nothing but pale, unmarked skin.

(Of course there's nothing. What markings was he expecting?)

Artemy takes the shirt from Dankovsky's hands and folds it at the head of the slab.

"Lie down. I need the light."

Dankovsky acquiesces and lies down on the slab, the skin stretching awful thin over his ribs when he does. Artemy takes one steadying breath – in, out, and in – and steps close.

He draws a line from the jugular notch to the end of the sternum with his fingers, then presses the blade in to where the bone gives way to soft tissue. He glances up at Dankovsky at the first incision, gauging for pain, but Dankovsky only raises his eyebrows in response. His expression is that of clinical interest, almost amusement.

It doesn't truly even feel like he is cutting into something, but rather tracing the surface of some viscous liquid. The blade easily parts skin from muscle, muscle from sinew, each layer pulled aside and folded like pages of a book.

He wipes his hand of excess blood on his apron, and in that moment notices Dankovsky's left one in his peripheral vision, lying still on the slab. There is dirt under his fingernails and smears of what looks like mud on the grooves of his knuckles. It feels out of place. Dankovsky's always struck him as a very fastidious man, the kind to keep his hands clean.

(No, that wasn't— who is he thinking of?)

The blade slips and digs a notch too deep, and Dankovsky's mouth twitches in distaste.

"I suppose it's too much to ask for your undivided attention at a time like this," he mutters, and Artemy wrenches his focus back to scowl at him.

"Trust me, you will feel it if I've lost attention," he says and turns back to his work. Thankfully, the slip of the blade is not too deep, and he can widen the cut to reconnect it to the line running towards Dankovsky's navel. With a few more smooth movements, he cuts and lifts away a V of skin and muscle to reveal the curve of the lowest rib. Beneath it, the plethora of internal organs is almost in view.

He nudges aside a layer of soft tissue to inspect the ripe-plum sheen of the liver. There it is, the center of Bachelor Dankovsky's mind and knowledge. It, at least, looks healthy.

(Was that what he was hoping to see?)

"Do you even know what you're looking for?" Dankovsky asks. Artemy clicks his tongue in irritation. Dankovsky only sighs in response, and for a delirious moment Artemy thinks he can see the movement ripple through the flayed-open muscles and membranes before him. His head swims.

The gut. That's where he'll find it.

He cuts down past the liver until he can reach down deep enough to brush his fingers against the velvety surface of the stomach. He smells gunpowder. Ashes. Blood? Well, of course there's blood. He's elbow-deep in blood.

Dankovsky hums in disappointment. "And I thought I was being so clever..." he mutters.

Artemy makes a small incision, wide enough to feel inside the cardia with the tip of a finger. It meets something hard and irregular, like something was blocking the very entrance. Strange, from the outside the stomach doesn't look distended at all.

He pulls his fingers back to widen the incision, carefully cutting around the arteries. He sets the blade aside on the slab when he's done, and braces his other hand on Dankovsky's chest while he reaches inside. He traces the odd ridges and corners of the object which dig into his hand when he wraps his fingers around it. Something sharp presses into the ball of his thumb. There is a faint, fluttering pulse, beating at odds with Dankovsky's own heart, pumping away under Artemy's hand.

"I need to take this," he says, and Dankovsky shakes his head.

"You're killing me," Dankovsky says. "This will cost me my life and you know it."

"But I'm doing this to save you," Artemy says. "All of you! If I just..." He sighs and closes his eyes for a moment. "If I just do this, you'll all be safe. You'll be alive."

"Some of us," Dankovsky says. He places a hand over Artemy's one resting on his chest. "But you'll have to choose."

Artemy waits for a heartbeat, then two, then three. He opens his eyes. "I'm sorry," he says and with the hand wrapped in Dankovsky's guts, he pulls.

For a moment the object, whatever it is, catches, and he has to tug again until it comes loose with a sickening wet click. Dankovsky's eyes snap wide and he gasps – the first sign that he feels what Artemy's doing to him. His hand squeezes Artemy's like a vice. Artemy whispers an apology after another, but the words do nothing to ease the pain. A wave of liquid warmth rushes up from the gaping wound before him, spilling over Dankovsky's sides and dribbling down onto the stone beneath them.

He can't look. He can't. Dankovsky stares up at him, wide-eyed, smears of blood on this cheeks. "Artemy." He speaks his name, but his lips aren't moving. He has to look.

Slowly, Artemy turns his eyes towards the wound to see what he's pried from Dankovsky's gut. But his hand is empty and bloodless. The skin beneath it is whole and unblemished. Dankovsky's frowning down at him, his hair slightly tousled and backlit by the faint glow of a bedside lamp.

Artemy feels a dizzying tug of gravity and falls back against the too-warm sheets of the bed.

"You woke me up," Dankovsky says, voice rough with sleep. Artemy swallows to wet his throat.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. His hand traces the unbroken skin of Dankovsky's abdomen. Dankovsky glances down at the point of contact, and Artemy can see, even freshly awoken, how his brain makes a mental note of this action, to process later. Dankovsky rolls around to reach for the wick of the lamp and turns off the light once more.

"You should get more rest," he says and lies back down, his back facing Artemy.

Artemy stares at the line of Dankovsky's torso against the darkness of the room, faintly illuminated by the light from the Stillwater's windows. He itches to reach for him, to run his hands over that expanse of intact, warm skin. But that's not something their newly-found truce is ready for. The wound he carved into the Bridge Square has barely had time to scab over, and too heavy a touch would risk ripping it open anew.

Dankovsky already holds him accountable for the destruction of one miracle. To then freely incriminate himself for his actions in the Abattoir would be... unthinkable.

So he lies awake in the dark, waiting for the sense memory of that strange fluttering pulse to fade from his hands, and hopes for a dreamless sleep to find him before dawn.

oh this is really cool... i love the details and dreamy-ness of it, artemy's little slip-ups where he can feel something's off, and daniil's cool detachment and commentary, and the way everything twines back to artemy's choices. great fill, thank you!!!!

Holy shit, the symbolism and call backs...! This is art!!

Bad Grief ponders why his friends are all so god damn attractive.

anon!! your prose is beautiful... and the hints at what artemy pulled out of daniil were just *chefs kiss* i love when post diurnal ending fic reckons with how complicated daniil and artemys relationship would be going forward.

A very good question. Seconded for seeing this. ;)

Sexting was a lot more hardcore in ye olde times

Any pairing would be great!

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Page 10 of 16

Pathologic Kink Meme!

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Re: FILL: artemy/daniil, vivisection

Re: FILL: artemy/daniil, vivisection

artemy/rubin, shaving

Re: artemy/rubin, shaving

no subject

daniil givin andrey a bj

Saburov/Katerina - just like, sex

FILL - daniil givin andrey a bj

Re: FILL - daniil givin andrey a bj

Re: FILL - daniil givin andrey a bj

Re: FILL - daniil givin andrey a bj

Andrey has sensitive nips

Re: FILL - daniil givin andrey a bj

Domme!Aglaya/any - To see you through as Inquisition does

daniilpeter, second time

Re: daniilpeter, second time

Re: Domme!Aglaya/any - To see you through as Inquisition does

FILL: Andrey/Grief, nipple play

FILL 2: Artemy/Daniil, vivisection

Re: FILL 2: Artemy/Daniil, vivisection

Re: FILL 2: Artemy/Daniil, vivisection

Grief/rest of Apple Basket Gang

Re: FILL 2: Artemy/Daniil, vivisection

Re: Grief/rest of Apple Basket Gang

Erotic letters