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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artemy has hangups about actually touching himself so he humps a pillow instead while he thinks about daniil

It was late enough at night that soon it would technically be morning. Artemy was hunched over the alembic in the workshop, preparing a few final brews for the day ahead. He was utterly alone. Sticky was off doing who knew what and had mumbled something about being back the next day for lunch. Artemy had long since given up trying to dictate the boy’s comings and goings. He’d merely pressed dried meat and a swevery-infused tincture into his hands and made him promise to stay away from any unsafe districts.

The work of brewing should have been soothing, the perfect way to lose himself and forget the tensions of the day. Instead, a familiar and deeply unwelcome restlessness was stirring in Artemy’s body. He’d tried pushing himself with his work, hoping the fatigue would smoother the heat rising from the pit of his stomach. But even with his vision nearly blurring with exhaustion, he couldn’t silence the demands of his body.

He stepped away from his workbench, mingled frustration and dread churning in his guts. Sleep would fix it. That was all he needed. And if his dreams were particularly vivid and… fruitful, well, he could hardly be blamed for what his body did while he was asleep. Artemy knew exactly what shape his dreams would take tonight. Accepting Dankovsky’s offer to sleep in his bed last night had been a mistake. The sheets had smelled of him and for the first few moments as he’d lain there, Artemy’s mind had whirled with half-formed fantasies about Dankovsky joining him. Fortunately, fatigue had won out and his sleep had been deep enough to prevent any embarrassing incidents.

Artemy removed his boots and then dragged his pants and undergarments down slowly over his hips, swallowing a grunt as the material slid torturously against his erection. He refused to look down at his bare body. Old teachings stirred in the depths of his memory. Pleasure and arousal were another facet of connection, a way of tangling your Lines with someone else’s. To use such things for one’s own gratification alone was seen as selfish and scorning the very purpose of the gift. Artemy wasn’t entirely convinced of the truth of that, but pleasuring himself was always tinged with a sense of doing something he shouldn’t. Easier to simply ignore the desire when circumstance prevented him from seeking connection with another. Like when he was in the middle of a plague and two of the town’s few doctors couldn’t afford distractions.

I’ve seen corpses prettier than you. The words rose unbidden in Artemy’s mind as he slipped beneath the covers of his bed and he shivered. It should have just been an insult, a way for Dankovsky to reassure himself that he wasn’t going soft after showing a hint of humanity in offering his bed. But his eyes and his tone had told a different story. His gaze had lingered on Artemy’s face like a caress and drifted down his body. The close scrutiny was eerily similar to the attention he’d given the vial of bull’s blood, but there was hunger in look he’d turned on Artemy and his words had carried an undercurrent of insinuation. That he was even considering Artemy’s relative prettiness was a revelation. Such things carried little importance in Artemy’s world, but he’d felt heat creeping up his neck all the same and he’d turned toward the bed to avoid letting his reaction show.

Artemy found that his hand had drifted down between his legs. The heel of his palm was pressing against his cock to relieve the ache. Slowly and deliberately he moved his hand away and gritted his teeth against the renewed throb of arousal. He gripped his pillow instead and faced the wall, resolutely shutting his eyes for sleep.

It didn’t work. He was tired enough that he could feel it like a building pressure behind his eye sockets, but his body was wound too tightly. His thighs tensed and relaxed in an effort not to thrust against the empty air. Or the bedcovers. Artemy’s hand went bloodless with the force of his grip on his pillow.

What if he’d been like this in Dankovsky’s bed? What if Dankovsky had seen him like this? Instead of discouraging his arousal the thought of Dankovsky noticing, or doing something about it, sent a fresh wave of heat rolling up his spine. He could almost feel a gloved hand brushing through his hair, down his shoulder, along his ribs. He bit back a groan. He wanted those cold brown eyes watching and all that intent curiosity focused solely on him.

Artemy’s hands where shaking with how tightly they were clenched. The arousal roaring through his body was almost painful now, but he couldn’t bring himself to reach down and actually touch himself like that. But if Dankovsky were here. If those deft fingers would only part his tense thighs or wrap around his cock…

Artemy shoved his pillow down and pressed it hard against his erection. The relief drew a ragged gasp from him and his hips rolled against the yielding surface. This was only about easing the ache, he wasn't going to, wasn’t…

His traitorous mind conjured up the feel of what it might be like to rut against Dankovsky. Hot flesh pressed against hot flesh, slick with sweat, the sound of Dankovsky panting his ear, moaning. The friction of cloth against his erection felt wretchedly good, but it wasn’t exactly convincing. Unless… Artemy swallowed against the sudden dryness in his mouth.

His mind wandered back to the idea of Dankovsky’s hands on his flesh, but this time the touch burned against his hip as Dankovsky directed him, encouraged the sharp, reluctant thrusts. He imagined Dankovsky’s voice, all precise capital vowels and that condescending edge. That’s it, keep going. A low groan escaped Artemy’s clenched jaw. I want you to feel good. Let me see you come undone.

Artemy’s breaths were loud and ragged to his own ears and he felt his heartbeat in every part of his body. The last threads of his self control snapped and flung himself face-down, clenched hand still buried in his pillow as he thrust against it, chasing the harsh friction as he imagined Dankovsky draped across his back. Those smirking lips pressing against the back of his neck, his shoulder, a careless or intentional scrape of teeth. He imagined crude suggestions and encouragements whispered in his ear. Dankovsky wouldn’t even understand Artemy’s hesitation and the ways the Kin looked down on self-pleasure. It would simply be an amusement to him.

Artemy shuddered as he spilled against the fabric of his pillow. The pleasure was a warm weight settling in his limbs. A wave of exhaustion washed over him, but even that felt strangely good in the wake of his climax. He flung his pillow off the bed, deciding he was tired enough to go without one for a few hours. Sleep stole over him, slowly and inexorably, and Artemy was sure that he’d dream.

oooh this is hot anon. i love artemy fantasizing about daniil's gloves...

Thank you very much! I'm really pleased you found this fill hot :)

this is so! good! i love the little bit of worldbuilding about physical pleasure as a means of crossing lines, and how that contributes to artemy’s sense of shame. his desire for daniil is so visceral, and his thoughts and fantasies about daniil are so vivid and perfect, and it’s all just beautifully done!

(i-i kind of want to write the sequel where daniil questions artemy about his fantasies and teases him. would that be okay?)

im not the filler BUT i am op and i would definitely love to see that

A!A here, thank you for the lovely comment! I’m glad the attraction and desire came across so vividly. I tend to lean into that for kinkmeme writing :) The idea of tangling lines was there partially for worldbuilding, and partially to fictionalise Artemy’s shame to reduce the bite for readers. I’m glad you found it interesting!

Also, yes, of course!! That is so flattering! I would love to read a sequel riffing off this fill.

PLEASE WRITE THIS OMG.....

HI IM OP and this was so good!!! artemy fantasizing about daniil's gloves... perfect. everything about this was amazing, thank you for the fill <3

Thanks OP, I’m so pleased you like it!! And thanks for the cool prompt, characters with hangups are so much fun to write.

he doesn’t understand what dankovsky does to him.

artemiy has spent the past half hour tossing and turning on the little cot in his lair with heat pooling in the pit of his stomach and swimming around in his chest with his pounding heart. exhaustion is no match for this obsession, or this desire, or whatever this is. glassy lips, warm brown eyes, three perfect moles against weathered porcelain skin. artemiy draws his knees into a bend and wraps his arms around a pillow. he tries not to think too hard about how it feels to hold it against his chest, how the scruff of his chin itches against the edge of it. a sigh parts chapped lips.

of course, he’s a full-grown man. it’s not like he doesn’t know what this is. he certainly wasn’t sheltered as a child, he always knew, but…

but it’s not really that simple, is it? of course he’s always known what this feeling was, but it was always from the outside, it was always a hypothetical, it was always mild envy for the people who could feel it so openly, for the people who knew they could feel it at all. he was fourteen when he first realized that, if it were to happen to him at all, it could never be with a woman. he never dared to tell anybody.

dankovsky’s coy smile greets him when he closes his eyes. he wonders if his hands are soft beneath those gloves of his. he wonders what his lips would feel like, if they were to graze against his. he wonders if he has more beauty marks under his shirt.

shame had always been enough of a barrier that he never even felt the need to hide anything—there was nothing to hide. every passing thought of a boy was enough to make him back off, every rush of blood beneath the sheets at night was matched with its requisite guilt. as time went on, he learned to blame his absent interest on his responsibilities; he had no room for those kinds of distractions while studying to become a menkhu, or trying to get his degree, or tending to the sick and wounded in the war. a whole decade passed, and he was uncertain if he was even capable of love.

but then, there he was. artemiy buries more of his face into the pillow. there he was, all smarts and ego and altruism, jet black hair and airy baritone, and suddenly that taunting pull beneath the sheets was back. suddenly, artemiy was acutely aware of exactly how capable he was. a groan is muffled by old, beaten feathers. it’s humiliating to be so thoroughly undone like some stupid teenager while he’s well into his twenties. his heart feels like it’s about to float right out of his chest, like the only thing holding it inside his ribs is this stupid pillow he’s hugging the way lara used to when she’d lament a wilted flame at their sleepovers, the ones that were just between the two of them. his cheeks burn red. his legs shift, and he rolls onto his side.

the embarrassment of being too old for this kind of pitiful pining isn’t enough to stop his thighs from rubbing idly against each other. it’s an old habit—he thinks with his hands. the thought of debasing himself with one of them has always been a line he’s been too scared to cross, lest it make it all feel too real. usually, this restless squirming has been enough to get him through the worst of any urges until they died down enough to ignore.

it has not once been enough since dankovsky came into the equation. when his heart drags him under into the endless sea of thoughts to think about that man from the capital, he’s totally helpless against the butterflies in his core, the same ones he always thought were some metaphorical exaggeration borne from lovestruck poets. he closes his eyes against the downy fabric. some of the warmth in his chest bleeds into his cheeks. he can feel it.

but how is he supposed to help it? how else can he feel when daniil treats him the way he does? how is he supposed to feel when daniil sits so close their thighs touch, when he brushes his gloved hand over artemiy’s, when he rests a hand briefly on the small of his back, when he makes it so clear how much he appreciates him every time they speak, when he plays coy with double-entendre, when he says that he likes being with him and means it? how is he supposed to not fall in love with that?

guilt has been enough to stave off the worst of the temptation up until now, but what other conclusion is he supposed to reach? he crosses his ankles and flexes his feet. the buzzing in his fingertips is spreading to his belly, sinking lower beneath his beltless waistband. artemiy lets out a short huff into the pillow. what would daniil think if he knew?

what if daniil would like it?

artemiy isn’t prepared for the sharp breath he sucks in on instinct, nor for the electric coil that shoots down his spine, and certainly not for the twitch between his sweating thighs. he can hear his heart in his ears like it’s pounding at the door. would daniil like knowing he was thought of this way? artemiy swallows hard, swallows to get his heart out of his throat. it leaps right back up. artemiy shudders through an exhale and, hesitantly, loosens his grip around the pillow.

it creeps slowly down his body as he pretends to consider the ramifications of what he’s about to do, but it settles inevitably between his thighs, knuckles white against the top to keep it in place when his hips rock forward. his jaw unscrews itself from its perpetual tension to let his lips hang parted. if daniil were here, he wonders, what would he do? would he run his thumb along his cheekbone, endeared? would he tell him to let go? would he invite him in for more?

artemiy flushes when he whines because he no longer has anything to muffle it with. one hand unfists itself from the top of the pillow and comes to rest on his face so he can bite at the meat of his palm. his undignified noises are unfazed. he wonders what daniil would think of him, hearing him make noises like this. would he tease him? would he shower him with praise in that kind, earnest way he does? if artemiy could touch him, would he start whimpering, too? would he forget his polite russian and opt instead to speak to him in keening, open-mouthed cries?

artemiy moans. the pallet supporting his cot creaks with every desperate roll of his hips. he wonders what daniil would feel like on top of him, sitting on his lap and rocking down against him, he wonders if daniil would kiss him. he wonders what those darling pink lips taste like. he wonders if daniil would whisper into his ear and promptly realize how sensitive they are, if he would lave his coy tongue around the shell of one, if he would wrap his arms around him and pull him in closer—and suddenly, his hips hit an angle that feels right, that drags a lewd moan out of him, and any coherent fantasy dissolves into a rush of disjointed thoughts. the feeling of daniil’s hand on the small of his back. the sound of daniil’s perfect voice. the feeling of their thighs brushed up against each other under the table. the hand at artemiy’s mouth scrambles to grip at the pillow bunched up between his legs again.

his hips rut against it with a stuttering rhythm, now, as he reaches his peak. as his thoughts swim around, too frenzied to hang onto, the nerves creep back up on him. is this okay? is it okay to think of another person like this? he can’t stop bucking against the pillow, his desperate moans are only getting louder, he’s drooling on his sheets, is it really okay? his chest feels so light and fluttery even just thinking about him, is that okay?

but if it’s not, then how can it feel so right? if it’s not okay, why would daniil look at him like that? how else is he supposed to feel? how else could he possibly feel?

he rocks forward in that just right way again, and his whole body seizes. when he spills over into the pillow, his mouth opens wide in a perfect cry, wide enough to let some of those butterflies out without clipping their wings on his cheeks. his hips twitch forward more, more, more, until his toes are curled and his thighs are writhing, and then until the knot in his core unravels itself, slowing to a gentle stop.

for a long moment, artemiy can’t hear anything over the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears, the insistent pulse of his heart as he pants to catch his breath. he can feel sweat on the back of his neck, in the pits of his knees where he had his legs bent. he uncurls his hands from the pillow and rakes one through his hair. the other hand comes up to rest on his chest to make sure it still exists despite how weightless it feels. where he expects to feel the familiar twinge of shame, he just feels his own full heart. it’s relief, it’s satisfaction, it’s the heavy blanket of sleep tugging at his eyelids. tomorrow, he resolves to ask dankovsky on a date.

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Pathologic Kink Meme!

Newest Activity!

Artemy Burakh Fun Solo Times

Fill: Implied Artemy/Daniil, Masturbation, Internalised Shame

Re: Fill: Implied Artemy/Daniil, Masturbation, Internalised Shame

Re: Fill: Implied Artemy/Daniil, Masturbation, Internalised Shame

Re: Fill: Implied Artemy/Daniil, Masturbation, Internalised Shame

Re: Fill: Implied Artemy/Daniil, Masturbation, Internalised Shame

Re: Fill: Implied Artemy/Daniil, Masturbation, Internalised Shame

Re: Fill: Implied Artemy/Daniil, Masturbation, Internalised Shame

Re: Fill: Implied Artemy/Daniil, Masturbation, Internalised Shame

Re: Fill: Implied Artemy/Daniil, Masturbation, Internalised Shame

FILL 2: implied burakovsky, internalized homophobia, and first love (1/2)

FILL 2: implied burakovsky, internalized homophobia, and first love (2/2)