criticalkink | Other Projects: RPF

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Other Projects: RPF

A post was requested for projects that the cast are involved with other than Critical Role.

This post is for Real Person Fiction prompts.

Please state the name of the project (i.e. Signal Boost, Wednesday Club, Dread) in the subject line of your prompt.

All the general rules of the kink meme as listed in the profile still apply!

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She loses count of these the way that she lost count of the belt strokes.

"You have to stop." Maybe four? Her legs are shaking; he's got both arms under her thighs to hold her in place and open, lifting her up to his mouth so he can lick deeper into her. "I mean it, you have to stop."

"No." He scrapes her clit with his teeth and Mishie wails softly.

"Daddy, stop! It hurts!"

"Don't lie to me."

She isn't. And she is. It's too fucking much, but it's also not safeword too much, stop for a glass of water too much.

When he moves one arm so he can start fingering her again, she hooks that leg over his shoulder, and feels him laugh against her even as he's lightly flicking her clit with just the tip of his tongue. He promptly contrasts that tiny touch with three fingers slipping inside her, and Mishie moans.

"See, not too much at all. I think you can take more before it's too much, baby girl. I think you can take a lot more."

Still, he only—only!—wrings one more climax out of her before stopping. She squirts on his face this time and maybe that's why, although he doesn't look unhappy when he lifts his head and there's a mess on his cheeks and chin. No, he looks pleased with himself.

Mishie flops down when he moves, the pillow saving her from any hard contact with the mattress.

He strips himself as neatly as he stripped her, even rolling his tie up before setting it aside. Tie and vest and shirt, nipple rings a hint to the less tidy parts of his mind; almost pristine unrumpled pants despite spending so long lying on the bed. She knows she's a mess in contrast, her hair slipping out of its ponytail, her legs incapable of closing all the way because—when she tries to press her thighs together in a futile attempt to hide from him—it sends a wave of throbbing sensation through her well-sucked clit and lips that's too much to stand.

He stops when he's down to just shorts that stretch obscenely over the bulge she knows oh so well.

"Sit up, sweetness."

"Can't. My butt hurts."

"Too bad."

She rolls over, but away from him, and suppresses another smile as he sighs with exasperation and swiftly tugs her to him by the straps on the back of the jacket.

"Is it only your stripes that hurt? Or did some boy you met do something dirty to your butt? Is that why I couldn't taste it?" He hoists her up and around, sitting her on the edge of the bed; she feels like a doll being posed and whimpers because it's a sinfully lovely feeling. "Answer me, Mishie, or I'll have to taste you there too."

"Ew, Daddy!" She wrinkles her nose at him; don't go there tonight. "No, just my stripes."

"Not your back, or your shoulders, or your arms?"

"No, Daddy."

"Good girl."

Unexpectedly, he sits down beside her and pulls her hair free of the elastic it was in, running his fingers through the red-gold tresses and kissing her temple gently before retrieving a second elastic from her nightstand and efficiently braiding her hair into twin pigtails. Now that she's sitting up she can see other tools on the nightstand: a gag, nipple clamps, and lube all looking incongruent beside the copy of Seventeen and pair of pom-poms. The nightlight beside the bed is a piece of glorious Twin Peaks kitsch.

If she looked closer, the magazine would probably be period-accurate as well.

She can't look closer, though, because he's standing back up and stripping off his underwear, kicking it aside. He's hard as hell, precome beading at the head, and Mishie licks her lips without thinking about it.

"Daddy's turn for special kisses."

"I don't wanna." She has to work to sound petulant. "You made me feel good and now I just want to sleep."

"Too bad." He steps up close, pinning her legs together between his own, and the thick head of his cock is right there in her face. "Special kisses, baby girl. I know you know how."

Mishie leans back, shaking her head, and Daddy grabs her by one pigtail, and when she opens her mouth to gasp with the sudden pain he pushes his cockhead easily between her shock-parted lips.

"Uh!"

"Fuck." He twists the pigtail around his fingers, holding her in place, but his other hand caresses her cheek gently, tenderly. "Oh, Daddy missed you so much, sweetness. Can you taste how much Daddy missed you?"

Mishie growls. Daddy laughs.

"Be sweet," he warns her. "You know what happens if you're not sweet." Just to remind her—as though she needs reminding—he thrusts down her tongue, that beautifully thick head nudging into her throat. He holds her until she's struggling to gasp through her nose, eyes watering, and then just as abruptly pulls out until he's barely resting against her lips.

Mishie sobs in two quick breaths and then kisses the tip of him, lapping at him with her tongue, and Daddy stops stroking her cheek to grab the edge of the nightstand, because he's not the only one who can do special kisses that make legs go weak.

"Good... good girl." His voice is losing its keen stern edge. "Keep going."

Mishie has no intention of stopping. If she makes Daddy come then he'll let her out of the jacket and she can go stand in the shower until the water burns his touch off her skin.

Daddy keeps his tight grip on her hair as she kisses and licks and sucks him. Soon he's pushing into her mouth, not as deep as before, but undeniably using her mouth all the same. Mishie keeps gasping in breaths when she can and sucking messily at as much of his length as she can. It's wet and clumsy and she knows she could be doing better, but she doesn't want to do better. It sure feels like he's close from the way he's moving and the noises he's making. This has to be good enough, right?

The taste of him gets stronger on her tongue and she's so sure, but when she makes the effort to really suck him as opposed to just letting him use her lips and tongue, Daddy pulls back. Mishie unthinkingly leans forward and Daddy's hand turns in her hair, stopping her.

"No." His voice is hoarse. "That was lovely, sweetness. You've remembered that lesson well. But there's another one I want to remind you of now."

WHERE'S THE REST, OP? This is like fuckin catnip, man. Ivan/Marisha is such an underrated pair

op does not live by filth alone, nonny. capitalism called. but it's done now for your delectation.

Boo, capitalism. That said, my skin is clear, my crops are watered, etc etc etc.

Mishie immediately crosses her legs. Daddy looks down and laughs, but doesn't try to part them yet. Instead, he sits down beside her once more, pulling her head against his chest and stroking her hair. The ache in her scalp from him using her pigtail as a handle recedes, and she can almost relax. Her lips move against his skin, just barely—they're shaping the echo of a childhood prayer, and she doesn't know if she's praying for this to end or to last forever.

"Sweetness." His voice is still ragged. "Do you still want something to suck on?"

They're not binkies-and-diapers players, but Mishie latches onto his nipple readily enough, tugging the metal ring with her teeth before suckling at the flat brown circle, drawing hard until it buds up again. She can hear his shuddering breaths and wonders whether there's something there to be investigated another time.

"And the other one."

She has to lean over to reach it, and opts to turn her upper body as she does so so that she's looking up at him as she takes his nipple into her mouth. He cradles her carefully but she feels wholly supported, even when he closes his eyes to focus on the feeling. Whatever it's doing for him, she wishes she had a hand free to keep playing with the other nipple while she suckles.

When it seems like he's getting too content she pulls on the ring with her teeth again, and he groans.

"Okay, baby girl."

He helps her to lie back down, supported once more by the pillow, and Mishie locks her legs tight together, crossing them at the ankles. Daddy just shakes his head, smiling indulgently, and then to her surprise picks up the nipple clamps from the nightstand. They're joined by a fine black chain, and he has no chance of getting them on her through the heavy canvas straitjacket.

But it's not her they're for. She watches as he puts them on himself, tightening each until his nipples look painfully crushed more than anything else. It must be a good pain, though, because he looks happy enough about it.

Then he crawls onto the bed with her, and Mishie starts shaking at the predatory intent in his eyes.

"Spread your legs for Daddy, Mishie."

"No."

"What's the rule about your legs, baby girl?" He lifts her entire lower body with ease, bending her at the waist, cock prodding blindly between her thighs. "You don't close them to Daddy because he needs to make sure you stay clean and you stay his."

"I don't want to," Mishie whispers.

"Then you shouldn't have run away. Come on, sweetness. You know Daddy's going to make you feel good." His thick cockhead slips along her labia and then pokes at her perineum and Mishie squirms.

"But no means no."

"No doesn't mean anything when your Daddy wants something, Mishie," Daddy says, and now Mishie's sure he's deliberately directing the tip of his cock against her tight untried asshole. "Spread your fucking legs or I'm putting this in whatever hole I find first."

Mishie's whole body shudders—it's a beautifully dirty threat—and she lets out a low sob. "Okay! Okay, Daddy."

He's solicitous and kind, then, lowering her legs, elevating her further with a second pillow, and asking once more, "Back okay? Shoulders? Neck?"

"I want out of this jacket."

"Not yet, baby doll. You might decide to scratch or slap. No." He kneels between her thighs, pushing them widely apart, and driving three fingers into her with an obscenely wet noise. "Not unless you're hurting."

Mishie isn't hurting. She's trying very hard to resist fucking herself on Daddy's slowly pumping fingers, but she isn't hurting. Not even the way he starts thumbing at her clit as well hurts; she's had enough of a break that it's right back around to feeling good. She utters a tiny cry, but Daddy rightfully interprets it as pleasure instead of pain.

"That's my girl." He hikes one of her legs over his shoulder and shoves two dripping fingers into her mouth when she gasps. "I do miss seeing your pretty little tits, but I guess Daddy can't have everything.

She can feel her face go bright red. "Daddy, don't—" It's garbled as she sucks the taste of herself off his fingers.

"Don't say that? Oh. Yes." He gives her that lopsided scary smile again. "I keep forgetting that makes it too real, doesn't it? Yeah. When Daddy talks about liking your tits, or how yummy your clit is, it's so hard to pretend it's not happening to you."

"Stop it!" Mishie tries to pull her leg back down, but Daddy grips her thigh like iron.

"Shut up, Mishie. I don't want to hear any more of your pathetic whining. You can ignore Daddy saying he's going to stuff your sweet little cunt with his fat cock all you want. It doesn't mean it'll stop."

Once, he might have gotten another eyebrow raise out of Marisha. But Mishie's too far gone, lost in the scene, and all that happens is she cries out when he finally stops talking about it and actually does it. It must sound enough like real pain instead of pleasure that Ivan holds still for a moment. Marisha nods, and Daddy's back, filling her up with one long full thrust that feels like it's going to go through her spine.

"There we go, baby girl," he says tenderly, and then he starts the long, hard, merciless strokes that make her want to grab the head of the bed and let her mind go. She half-raises her hands to do it before the jacket stops her, and the realization that she can't makes her squirm, makes the buckles jingle.

Daddy notices what she's doing and pins her down, one hand light against her chest above her folded arms. Mishie instinctively tries to pull away from it. Daddy's hand slides up to press against her throat, and Mishie has time to gasp in a deep shaky breath before his fingers spread and reach and bear down on her delicate neck.

Mishie comes apart, clenching around him, more of her slick wetness dripping over him, gasping for air that isn't there, bucking and struggling to ride the pleasure out. Daddy growls and gives her throat one more rough squeeze before letting go.

"Even your breath is mine," he says in a low, warning tone.

"Yes, Daddy. Yes, Daddy!"

"Tell Daddy what you want."

Even now it comes out as a shamed whisper. "Fuck me, Daddy. I'm your little girl. Please be sweet to your little girl."

Daddy leans down and kisses her forehead and her tear-stained cheeks before picking up the pace. Mishie's body shakes with the force of it and he grips her shoulder, holding her in place. The bed rattles with every thrust, the narrow single not intended for this particular use.

"Never—ever—run away—again," Daddy pants, wild-eyed.

"I won't—I swear—Daddy—"

She comes hard and he fucks her through it, reacting to her oversensitized whimpers with nothing more than a laugh. It feels incredible; she feels fucked-out and alive and in need of more all at once. She writhes under him, striving for an angle where he might somehow make contact with her clit, and Daddy notices, taking his hand off her shoulder and putting his thumb right on that hot little spot.

She comes again, almost immediately, and his thumb rubs her without stopping save to gather up a little more of her slick wetness, so that it's almost too wet most of the time, gliding over her clit without the sweet friction that she needs. There's plenty of that inside, though; the head of his cock is fat and his shaft has some lovely thick veins and they drag in her in just the best way.

"It's too much, Daddy."

Daddy just laughs. "Not until I say it is."

He leans down again, probably to kiss her forehead again, or to lick the fresh tears spilling from her eyes, and Mishie lunges to catch the swinging chain that connects his nipple clamps between her teeth. She holds still, shaking with the effort to maintain a partial sit-up with zero support.

"Baby girl? Mishie? Careful..."

Mishie snaps her head back and yanks both clamps free at once. Daddy yells—

—and she feels the hot hard throb of him coming inside her.

"Fuck. Oh—fuck, you little bitch."

His nipples look angry-sore, and his words are angry, but he's incapable of hiding the pleasure on his face and in his voice as he slows to a last few long slides and then pulls out of her. He's dripping with their combined fluids; she can feel more of it dribbling out of her already.

"Oh, my sweet bad girl," he murmurs. "I'm afraid that's another punishment."

Mishie flinches in anticipation of the belt, but instead Daddy just keeps rubbing her clit until she comes again. And then he doesn't stop. She's clenching on air, hips thrusting up against his hand, and he doesn't stop, stroking her little bud over and over. Mishie whines and thrashes; Daddy just puts his free hand on her hip and keeps going until she feels it building in her again, bucking and begging, and he doesn't stop but plucks something else off the nightstand, a simple bullet vibe that goes against her tormented clit, rumbling and rumbling as his fingers plunge into her, her back bowing off the bed as she arches against him, his come and hers trickling down his hand and arm—oh fuck, she's there again—he's still not stopping, looking down at her with gleeful eyes as she rolls her hips, sensation chasing her no matter where she moves, the inescapable combination of bullet and fingers trapping her, pushing her higher and higher until she can feel herself spasming around his fingers uncontrollably and her clit's throbbing like she's never felt before, right there on the line between need and no more.

At some point she stops being able to say words and reverts to feral moans and gasps, and it's only when her body goes too weak to push back against his fingers and she can't do anything but lie there and let him push her over the brink yet again that words form once more.

"Thank you, Daddy."

She's exhausted. She lies there trembling as Daddy looks down at her with a critical eye and takes the bullet away.

"One more?"

"No. I can't."

"One more," he confirms, and he does it with his mouth, the softest drags of his tongue over her enough to take her there, completing her with the gentlest kisses.

Then he's undoing buckles and sliding straps free, stopping her when she tries to stretch her arms immediately and instead carefully easing them straight a little at a time. She can't sit up to let him get the buckles at the back; he rolls her over with ease, because she is simply liquid in the form of a girl and the proof is in the mess they've made of the sheets. He talks to her the whole time, praising her, and Mishie doesn't catch all the words but relaxes into the softness of his voice, the love, the tenderness.

At last she's out of the jacket. Daddy scoops her up into his arms; Mishie clings to him weakly and makes a sound of protest, but he walks her out of her bedroom and into the next room, where there's a grown-up bed, fresh and clean, and washcloths and warm water, and bottled water and grapes. Mishie lets Daddy clean her up and feed her grapes and bring her back into her body.

Marisha lies face down, head turned to one side. Ivan straddles her thighs, massaging her shoulders, slow and warm, big hands working out the last of the tension from the straitjacket.

"I'm afraid one of you is going to get a cramp while you're in that thing and I won't be fast enough to get it off," he says a little too casually.

Marisha snorts. "Yeah, right, like you can't get it off in under 30 seconds. That's not too long to deal with a cramp."

"I can get you off in under 30 seconds." He takes one hand off her shoulder to squeeze her ass.

"If you touch my clit one more time tonight I will personally remove whatever body part you do it with." It's still occasionally pulsing with a lingering burst of arousal. "Thank you for mixing that in there."

"My pleasure. Unfortunately I did lose count, so we might have to have another scene just for keeping track. Maybe we need an observer to help count." Ivan returns his hand to the nape of her neck, working out a knot there. Marisha groans with relief.

"I didn't know I was knotting up so bad in there. And yeah. Matt would love to be spotter for that."

"How do you think he'd take to the jacket?" Ivan starts working on her upper arms; Marisha melts a little further into the mattress.

"Oh. God. I don't know how he'd deal with not having his hands free to fidget."

"People manage," Ivan says in the sort of voice that says he has absolutely dealt with that specific problem before, and Marisha smirks into the pillow.

By the time he's satisfied that her upper body is sufficiently recovered from being held in one position for so long, Marisha's on the edge of falling asleep, even though they're still talking idly about scene ideas. But when Ivan dismounts to stretch out beside her, she can see he's hard again. He notices her eyes fixed on it, and his cheeks and chest go red.

"Oh no," Marisha says sweetly. "Daddy didn't get off enough."

"I'm good, really—"

"Just let your girl do what you've taught her," Marisha says, scooting down the bed and taking him in her mouth.

Ivan groans, but a moment later Marisha feels him wind one of Mishie's pigtails around his fingers and tug ever so lightly. She grins around her mouthful, takes him deeper in, and savors the noises he makes when he sheds all personas and is just a man being thoroughly pleasured.

It is, she thinks, a lovely way to wrap up a scene.

-end-

That was amazing. Are you on the discord already? if not we'd love to have you.

I don't use Discord but if you want to link this there so people can come here and read it that would be fine.

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