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
Pathologic Round-Robin: https://pathologicroundrobin.dreamwidth.org/654.html
Pathologic Kink Meme (nsfw): https://pathologicroundrobin.dreamwidth.org/1201.html
Contact me here if you have any questions!: https://pathologicroundrobin.dreamwidth.org/1347.html

Newest Activity!

Latest Prompt: [Body Worship] Eva Yan/Peter Stamatin (link)
Latest Fill:
Bathing in the steppe: Aspity/Eva link)
Latest Comment: "Thank you so much, I wanted this filled so bad! [. . .]" (link)

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Why do so many of Isidor's "old friends" seem to talk about him like a forgone lover? "the one that got away?"

Artemy and Rubin never need to know. But Boddho know's I do

artemy (no top or bottom surgery) and daniil (both top and bottom surgery) suck each other off.

artemy “i take a professional interest in the handiwork of your cock. as a surgeon.” burakh

daniil “please sit on my face i don’t need to breathe” dankovsky

Lara didn’t mean to think of the Herb Bride in her yard. It felt disrespectful somehow. She was simply following one of her dances, doing whatever work had to be done as Lara pulled some water from the pump. Besides, there was nothing special about her. She was like any of the other Brides she’d seen: tattered dress, painted face, breasts exposed, heavy and beautiful, to the morning air…
Lara shakes her head, tries to clear her thoughts. There isn’t enough time for this. She sets about cleaning, but that doesn’t erase the memory of the brides captivating movements. The thought torments her throughout the day: the gentle curve of her side into her hip down her smooth thigh evoked by the handle of her iron, the bright expression in her dark eyes reflected in the freshly polished black of her dress shoes.
She sits on the edge of her bed, squeezing her thighs together and her eyes shut. There is an insistent ache in her cunt now and no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, it made itself known. Her heart is beating quickly in her chest hard enough that she can feel it in between her legs.
She sighs, frustrated. At the very least, she won’t be able to sleep with her body on edge like this. She stands and locks her bedroom door. Even after all this time living alone, she’s still irrationally afraid that someone will walk in on her. Carefully, she undresses, and she can’t help but imagine the Bride’s fingers undoing the buttons on her shirt.
When she’s naked, she lies back on the covers. While one hand teases her breast, the other slips between her legs. She feels a twinge of embarrassment when she feels how wet she already is. Her fingers trace through her slick folds.
The image of the Herb Bride is a vivid imprint on the back of her eyelids. Her fluid movements, the tranquil expression on her face, smooth skin. How would it feel under her hands, under her lips?
She circles her clit. A sigh slips out of her. There was so little of the Bride’s body left to the imagination, but what is covered is a pressing mystery. Lara wants to pull her skirt down over her full hips. She wants to touch her, wants to kiss between her legs. She imagines inviting her inside her home, taking her hand and leading her to bed. Or the Bride pressing her into the tall grass behind her home and their moans would mingle with the voice of the Gorkhon.
The heat is building in her core and soon, her fingers don’t feel like enough. She grabs a pillow and shoves it between her legs, desperately grinding against it. The friction of the pillow is amazing and it makes her nearly wild. Later, she might be embarrassed by how enthusiastic she is, but for now, she’s too far gone to care. In her mind, the Herb Bride is at her back, cupping her breast, kissing her neck, rubbing her off with those beautiful fingers.
Lara comes with a cry, doubling over on herself. She pants for a while as she comes down, feeling heavy and satisfied, then peels herself off of the pillows and starts to dress. That was…certainly something.

I assume their background in architecture would make them decent artists, so (please) give me Andrey or Peter (doesn't matter which one) drawing Artemy and that Escalating. Bonus if he's got a bit of a praise kink and gets flustered when Andrey or Peter compliment his body (because who wouldn't?)

Well, here's something! Hope this tickles your fancy!

------------------------------------

Daniil leaned back into Andrey’s chest as the other man lights a cigarette, enjoying the satisfied exhaustion weighing down his limbs and the satisfied ache between his legs. “You’ve gotten better since University,” he says, lazily tracing patterns on the arm Andrey hooks around his chest.

There’s a low rumble of a laugh that Daniil can feel through his back. “So have you. Gotten much practice in?”

Daniil gives him a coy smile, lightly stroking his thigh. “Some.”

Andrey passes him the cigarette. “You know what we used to call you back then?”

Daniil rolled his eyes. “You’ll have to be more specific, Andrey. I seem to remember a great deal of ridiculous names.”

“Dickovsky!” A grin splits his face. “Because you could—”

“—Take a dick as well as anyone. I know: you said that one to my face often enough.”

“And you were always annoyed by our little names for you, but give it an hour and someone would have you on your knees living up to them.”

Daniil turned to him, exhaling smoke into his face, taking a juvenile pleasure in the resulting cough. “Incidentally, I’m still irritated by it.”

Andrey gave him a jab in the ribs, then plucks the cigarette from his hand. “I’d say it’s because you’ve got a stick up your ass, but if that were the case, I’d have run into it.” He takes a long drag. “But it wouldn’t be as fun if I didn’t have to unwind you first.”

Daniil huffs. “Well, I’m glad to hear I’m such a pleasant diversion.”

“Oh, come Daniil,” Andrey says, putting on an overly penitent tone. The hand around his chest moves down, brushing over his stomach. “You know I tease because you’re so lovely when you’re angry.” His warm hand cups his cock, squeezing him lightly before wrapping his fingers around him.

Daniil can’t help the way his breath hitches. He’s still sensitive and Andrey always knew just how to touch him. “You should count yourself lucky that I’m such a forgiving man.” He leans back against him again, covers the other man’s hand with his own as he stubs out the cigarette. “I might even return the favor if you do well enough.”

Andrey laughs again, pressing his lips against Daniil’s neck. “What an incentive,” he murmurs. “I’ll have to try my hardest, won’t I?” And for the rest of the night, he does, until Daniil is living up to his old nickname once again.

Artemy is faced with a sobbing Daniil (like uncontrollable ugly crying) and gets surprisingly turned on. Artemy feels kind of guilty for thinking Daniil looks beautiful in tears, but that doesn’t stop him from acting on his urge to fuck him.

No dub/noncon, please. Artemy isn’t cruel to Daniil, and the sex actually makes Daniil feel better or at least forget about whatever made him so upset.

Here you go! Some Artemy/Peter for you. Hope you like it!

----------------------------

Artemy folded his pants and underwear, setting them in a pile with the rest of his clothing on Peter Stamatin’s floor. He tried to avoid the traces of paint and candlewax, but it was nearly impossible.

The architect himself was settling on a stool behind a large easel, fingers already black with charcoal. “Take a position whenever you’re ready,” he said, his voice a little distant with distraction.

A chair occupied one corner of the studio, covered in a stained blue sheet. Artemy seated himself on it in what he felt might be an interesting pose: arm propped up on the back, his head resting against his fist like he was contemplating something profound. He hadn’t been this aware of his body since he was a teenager and it was suddenly much too big for him. “How’s this?”

Peter glanced up briefly before going back to organizing himself, turning over used pages of his drawing pad. “That will do.” He raised the charcoal piece in a thin hand let it hang in the air as he considered Artemy, then put it to the page.

Artemy looked away to stare at the wall, breathing slowly as he settled into his position. The room was silent except for the ticking of the clock and the rasp of charcoal against paper. Goosebumps prickled up his bare arms. The room was a little too cold to be comfortable despite the fire in the stove. Maybe Peter had forgotten to put more fuel on?

“Alright, pick another pose.” Peter’s voice was sudden, almost too loud after the quiet of the last few minutes.

Artemy adjusted himself. He tried to remember the art he’d seen in the Capital and imitate that, but it felt unnatural. He glanced to Peter, who looked a bit skeptical, but he said nothing and started drawing again.

He wasn’t quite sure why he was here. Well, that wasn’t entirely true: it was because Peter wanted to practice anatomy and because he had offered to pay Artemy for his time. It seemed like easy money, how hard could sitting naked be, but now his nose was itching and one of his feet was going tingly, and there was something about the searching way Peter looked at him that made him want to cover himself.

Peter flipped the page with a loud rustle. “Another pose.”

Artemy shifted again, twisting his spine and positioning himself like an illustration he saw of a lounging woman on the cover of one of Lara’s books.

“Stop. I want to draw you, Burakh, not what you think art is.” Peter slid off his stool and walked over. He put a hand on his back, directing him to lean forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “This is how you sit, isn’t it?” His fingers slid down his back, leaving a prickle in their wake. “Is it comfortable? This will be a longer pose.”

“Ah, yes.”

Peter finally looked pleased with him as he examined his pose. “Perfect. You are just as fine a subject as I thought you would be.” He went back to sit at his drawing pad. “You’re simple. Honest, that is,” he corrected himself when Artemy gave him a sharp look. “It shows in your body, the way you carry yourself. There’s beauty in that.”

Heat crept up Artemy’s neck. “I see.”

They fell silent again and since there was nothing much else he could do, Artemy stared at the floor. Peter called him beautiful. Well, not him, exactly: some ambiguous quality that he possessed. Even so, something about it stuck in his chest, small and bright. It was very rare for someone to compliment his appearance beyond a perceived rugged masculinity, rarer still for them to call him beautiful. He can’t even remember the last time someone had said that.

There was a rustle of paper as Peter flipped the page on his drawing pad. Artemy took this as a signal that he could move. His spine cracked loudly as he stretched.

“I want you standing next,” Peter said, coming to his side. He put a hand under his arm and gently pulled Artemy to his feet. His hands were cold. Artemy has the absurd thought that he should warm them.

Peter took a step back, let Artemy find a comfortable posture. When he was settled, Peter adjusted him slightly, tilting his head and turning his torso to get a better angle. His fingers left smudges of charcoal on his skin, proof that Artemy had let himself be handled in such a vulnerable way. It felt strangely intimate.

Peter stepped around to his easel again. “Excellent,” he said, his voice soft and almost reverent as he took in the sight of him. “Such a striking form!” He sat down again and took up his charcoal. “I wish I was painting,” he continued, sweeping his arm across the paper and laying down the underlying structure of the drawing. “There’s such lively color on you.”

The comment made Artemy blush a deeper shade of red, but he dared not move. He had hoped that the flush wasn’t visible. Still, he thought that he might be able to regain control of himself until Peter began to speak again, the hint of a tease in his tone. “What beautiful cheekbones, such a lovely curve from the neck into the shoulder, the shape of your legs is so elegant…” His voice was so low that Artemy barely heard it, but he did and despite the obvious effect it had on him, he couldn’t quite decide how it made him feel. He wasn’t used to being scrutinized this way, and usually if someone was interested in his naked body, they would comment on his cock or his ass or his general build, not how his forearm tapers into his wrist then flares out at his hand.

He decided that he was embarrassed, mostly. Mostly. There was something else there too, tingling along his spine and twisting in his gut. He did his best to ignore where else sensation was nagging.

Paper rustled again, but when Artemy went to move, Peter said “wait.” The tap of shoes on the wooden floor indicated him standing and coming toward him. He wandered into Artemy’s field of view with the lazy comfort of a cat. “You’re enjoying this?”

“It’s fine,” Artemy replied, and he was very grateful that his voice came out steady.

Peter hummed, the ghost of a smile playing on his thin lips. His eyes travel down over Artemy’s body, coming to rest on Artemy’s groin. Artemy glanced down as well, dread settling heavy in his stomach. Sure enough, he was semi-hard. “I’m so sorry,” He said quickly, reaching down to cover himself.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed. You’re a wonderful subject, if unprofessional.” He stepped a bit closer. “What is it about our situation that excited you? You like being seen, or is it my appreciation that you find so titillating?”

Artemy opened his mouth, then shut it. How embarrassing would it be to admit it?

Peter waved his hand. “No matter. You may move, Burakh.”

Artemy turned away, trying to preserve what little of his dignity he had left. He was about to go put on his clothes when Peter laid a hand on his arm.

“Before you go,” he said, his voice clearer than Artemy had ever heard it. “I have an idea. May I touch you?”

He swallowed thickly. “You already are.”

Peter’s smile became a little more suggestive. “I mean…intimately.”

Artemy twitches under his hands. His heart pounded in his ears. “Could I touch you back?”

“I would like that.” Peter’s hand slid down toward his wrist, trailing smudges of charcoal. Carefully, he pulled his hand away from his groin, leaving Artemy exposed to his curious gaze. There was something odd about it and the way Peter’s fingers skated across his skin, exploring every contour of his body. It was like he could see something fundamental about his composition: not his Lines, something more geometric and esoteric. Artemy wondered what patterns the charcoal had left on his skin.

One hand reached up to cup Artemy’s jaw, bringing him down to meet Peter’s lips, while the other ghosted over his stomach. He didn’t touch his cock, not yet, just teased around it, following the lines of his muscle structure and tracing the scars. “So beautiful,” he murmured between kisses. “Such a fine man.”

“You’re a fine man yourself,” Artemy slid his hands under Peter’s coat. He could feel his ribs and spine and hips jutting from under his skin. So delicate. He reached down to palm him through his clothes, feeling a rush when the other man responded, rocking against him.

Peter kept teasing him, trailing kissed down his neck, nipping at his skin, finally applying more pressure when he brought his attention to Artemy’s chest. It wasn’t how Artemy usually wanted it: he liked things to feel more physical, to use or be used, but he was starting to understand the appeal of the flitting contact, the maddening promise of something more to come. Every touch was an electric spark prickling on his skin and leaving a reciprocal prickle in his gut. Soon, Peter had him squirming where he stood and desperately kissing him, chasing every scrap of contact he could get.

Peter smiled against his lips, then stepped away. He gestured toward the chair. “Sit down, Burakh.”

Artemy complied, leaning back and spreading his legs wide. The other man kneeled between them. With his distant precision, he licked his palm and wrapped his long fingers around his length. He watched him as he stoked him off, studying his expression and the subtle reactions of his body.

“You’re making me feel like an insect,” Artemy said even as he thrust shallowly into Peter’s hand.

“Forgive me: I find myself rather transfixed by you.” He rubbed his thumb on the underside of his head, drawing a gasp from his partner. “And I must confess, this is as much as an artistic exercise as it is a pleasurable one.” Then he ran his tongue along his length and took him into his mouth, effectively ending the conversation.

Artemy bit his lip, choking back a moan. Peter’s tongue explored him hungrily and his hand took care of what his mouth couldn’t accommodate. His other hand went into his own pants, pulling out his own dick to pleasure himself.

Artemy carded a hand through his dark hair, watching the way his cheeks hollowed and his cock disappeared down his throat. He was still very aware of his body, but not in an entirely awkward way. A few muscles in his legs twitched and his hands flexed and his hips pushed up in time with Peter’s attention. He could see the beauty in it aside from the eroticism, or at least he though he could. Art was never his specialty, and at this point, he was too distracted by the slick heat of Peter’s mouth to think straight.

As his vocal control crumbled, he tried to warn Peter of his impending orgasm. The other man pulled off him, pumping his cock until Artemy spilled over his stomach and chest.

Peter went back to working his own length. Determined to return the favor, Artemy put a hand on his arm and coaxes him to his feet. And with steady hands, he soon had Peter reaching his own climax.

Almost the moment he had recovered himself, Peter headed back over to his easel, softening dick still hanging out of his pants. When Artemy started to get up, he motioned emphatically with an insistent “stay there.”

Obediently, Artemy relaxed back into the chair. He felt rather debauched, lounging and covered with come, more so when Peter started capturing his likeness on paper.

Peter was quick with that drawing, took no more than five minutes before he tore it out of the drawing pad and started searching around in a drawer. “There are towels in the kitchen. Go clean yourself up.”

Artemy watched Peter’s back for a moment, then went to the kitchen. The intermittent sound of tearing paper filled the apartment behind him.

After he’d restored himself to something resembling presentable, he wandered back to Peter.

The walls were covered with Peter’s drawings of Artemy. They were rough and messy, had little in the way of detail, but there was something compelling in them. It was like Peter had distilled him down to what was essential and even though they were so simple, they were undeniably of him. He’d captured the way he favored one leg, added little nicks for scars, managed to portray the languid satisfaction he’d felt in the wake of his orgasm.

Artemy ran his hand along his jaw, not quite sure how to name the emotion swelling in his chest. They were so…

Peter came to his side, put a hand on the small of his back. “You see, old boy?” he said. “There’s beauty in it.”

Artemy nodded. “There is, isn’t there?”

OMG, thank you, authornon! This was everything I could've hoped for and more! Brought a smile to my face!

Author here.

Thanks! I’m glad you liked it, it was fun!

Pathologic + tentacles. Plz!

Daniil enters the prosectorium expecting to find it empty after Rubin's been seized by the Kains a few days earlier.
But it's day 9 of bachelor route(if I remember correctly)and Rubin's back and alive!
Follows a warm reunion with possible making out and more.
I think Rubin deserves it so: bonus for body worship and praise kink

OP, here!!! I am SO sorry for taking to long to reply, I had forgotten to check for the past few days, but your fill is making me lose my miiiiiiiiiiiiiind holy HELL

God, it's everything I wanted. Artemy's awkwardness, Peter's reverence, vivid descriptions of things one may not typically find attractive but that are beautiful all the same. I love the sweet way they came together at the end. "Could I touch you back?" aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah

Thank you SO MUCH, anon!! I owe you my life

My ABSOLUTE favorite paragraph: "The walls were covered with Peter’s drawings of Artemy. They were rough and messy, had little in the way of detail, but there was something compelling in them. It was like Peter had distilled him down to what was essential and even though they were so simple, they were undeniably of him. He’d captured the way he favored one leg, added little nicks for scars, managed to portray the languid satisfaction he’d felt in the wake of his orgasm." This is EVERYTHING

Author here!

Thank you so much!! It was a ton of fun to write. I’m so glad you liked it!

I think Pathologic is lacking in kinkiness. Give me the most kinkiest, sinful thing you can think of (provided it's not incest, rape, or pedoshit ty).

Unleash.

Artemy deserves to be taken care of by a wealthy and influential older man (mainly he deserves to eat a decent meal and sleep in a warm bed every once in a while). That's it, that's the prompt.

I'm a simple man. I see a pairing with size difference, I want the larger one to be the one getting railed. So yeah that's it that's the prompt. I love trans hcs, altho my personal headcanon for Grief is that he's amab and nonbinary

There was a fire in the Earth district. It might have been an accident but I saw somewhere someone headcanon that it was to burn the witch.
I want a story where Lara, always the charitable soul, takes care of and houses Aspity.

When Victor wakes, he knows he’s not alone. The room is too dark to see and there’s no sound other than his own rapid breathing, but he knows this distant feeling of his body and the presence that fills him like a flame. She’s here.

He tests it, tries to flex his fingers and turn his head, but he’s completely paralyzed. There’s a moment of wretched weakness where he doubts, where he thinks that this might just be sleep paralysis, but then she speaks.

“Hello again, my love.”

Victor’s vocal chords vibrate, but there’s no mistaking the voice.

Nina…

He’s been able to focus on her better lately, been able to call her to mind twice in the last four months. They must be getting close to accomplishing their goal.

His hand moves of its own accord, or of Nina’s rather, reaching up to caress his face. He remembers how much the last eight years have aged him, and he feels faintly embarrassed by the deep lines on his face. Nina is kind enough not to say anything about it.

“I’ve missed you,” she says. His thumb rubs along his bottom lip. “I wish I could kiss you.”

He’ll never get used to this feeling, like there was too much in his body. His whole body feels seen, filled by her, setting his nerves on fire, and it’s…

“Victor…” her tone carried a touch of her teasing condescension. “Is this exciting you?” Distantly, he feels a flush of embarrassment, but Nina just laughs. “It’s alright. I’ve missed this, too.”

His hands begin to tease over his chest, pulling apart the buttons of his pajamas. It’s a little strange, to feel her touch through his much rougher hand, but his body knows the difference. She pinches his nipples, tugs them to make him gasp. The sensation shoots down to his gut.

One hand slides down over his stomach, tugging down his pajamas and underwear. Rough fingers wrap around his length, stroke him expertly, and he quickly grows hard in her grasp. Some long, lonely nights, he’s tried to touch himself like she used to, but it just felt like a poor imitation. But now, with Nina truly here, it’s the best he’s felt in a long time.

“So eager,” she purrs, rolling his balls in his other hand. “How long has it been since anyone’s touched you?” His thumb rubs over his head, smearing traces of precome.

The pleasure builds rapidly, burning Victor from the inside out. It’s different when he’s outside his body like this, more dreamlike, more all-consuming. It’s easier to lose himself to it when he has less of the physical to cling to, but Nina is still speaking, and he tries to focus in on her words. He is determined to stay here with her in the present.

“My dear Victor,” she says. Her voice is starting to tremble. “I wonder if I should light a lamp, bring you in front of the mirror so that I can see your face as you come. Although--” She twists his wrist and gasps harshly. Her train of thought seems a bit derailed for a moment as she touches him, but she suppresses her moans enough to finish. “Although I’m not sure there’s enough time.”

She’s not wrong: Victor can feel the connection between them growing a little more tenuous, the threads that held Nina together becoming frayed. He focuses as much energy as he can on keeping her together inside him.

“If we had more time, if I still had a body of my own, I’d do this properly. I’d suck you, put on my strap and fill up your ass, make you come over and over until you’re begging me for relief.” His cock twitches and she sighs a breathless little laugh. “At least you’re easy to please. You always were such a sweet little slut for me.”

He would be bucking, if he could, be writhing and panting and shouting her name until his voice gave out. He wants to give himself to her completely, to let her take everything he has. His body, his life, it doesn’t matter: none of it is worth her.

“Come for me.” Her voice is low, and the urgency in it has to do with more than their impending orgasm. “Go on, love, show me how much you want me.”

His whole body lights up with his release, and as it burns through him, his mind goes soft and blank for a few blessed moments. But the good never lasts, and as he comes back to himself, he’s vaguely aware of how immediate the spend on his stomach feels, how well he can feel the press of the mattress underneath him.

Panic replaces satisfaction and he forces himself to lie still. He can still feel her there, just barely. It was so stupid to let himself go like that, so stupid to lose focus. He grasps for her with his mind, but every time he thinks he has her, she slips through her fingers like sand through an hourglass.

Please don’t go, he thinks, his fingers tightening on the cold sheets. Just a little while longer. But there’s no response, and when a sigh escapes him, he knows it’s his own.

(not op) Absolutely beautiful
The way you conveyed their intimacy, how close they are while being one and the same was just brilliant

OH MY GOD... This is was a fascinating, sexy, tender, and even heartbreaking near the end read! I never expected this one to get filled, but I'm so, so, so grateful to have seen this! The details of the possession are otherworldly, but it adds to the plenty of human passion as well.

Author here!
Thanks so much for reading! I really appreciate it!

Author here!
Thanks so much! I had a great time filling this!

please i need someone to write vlad jr getting femdomed. he needs to be pegged. just look at his fucking face you all know it

get his ass, but literally.

(not a suggestion/addition to OP's request, just me being silly)

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Page 12 of 16

Pathologic Kink Meme!

Newest Activity!

an observation on pathologic 2 writing

trans artemy/daniil oral

Re: Lara solo time :o FILL

Artemy/one of the Stamatins, Artemy as a nude model

D. Dickovsky Fill

Artemy/Daniil - Dacryphilia

Re: Artemy/one of the Stamatins, Artemy as a nude model FILL

OP

Re: OP

Consentacles

Rubin/Daniil: happy reunion

Re: Artemy/one of the Stamatins, Artemy as a nude model FILL

Re: Artemy/one of the Stamatins, Artemy as a nude model FILL

Re: Artemy/one of the Stamatins, Artemy as a nude model FILL

Kinky as hell

Artemy/Victor, sugar daddy

Grief/Artemy, Grief topping

Lara/Aspity: taking care

Re: victor/nina + possession FILL

Re: victor/nina + possession FILL

Re: victor/nina + possession FILL

Re: victor/nina + possession FILL

Re: victor/nina + possession FILL

vlad junior

Re: vlad junior