criticalkink | CR Campaign Two: Mighty Nein era (characters)

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CR Campaign Two: Mighty Nein era (characters)

The rules are under the cut for you to read if you haven't already checked out the profile!

Welcome to the kink meme for Critical Role!

This community is open to all fans of Critical Role no matter what your preference for pairing may be. You do not have to join the community: you can either watch it or just track the post. Anon commenting will always be on, and IP tracking will be off. So feel free to stay anon if it makes you more comfortable.

What is a Kink Meme?
It's pretty simple. You post a prompt and your fellow fans get inspired and write fic based on that prompt. As it is a "kink" meme, a great deal of fic will be of the smutty variety, so if you aren't into that or not of a porn-reading age, this place won't be for you. Not all fic has to be smutty, but it does have to be kinky.

Clarification: This is a kink meme, therefore prompts must be kink-based. It is not a general prompting/headcanons meme. There have been a couple of people confused by that, so we're just making it extra clear.

Please only post one prompt per comment so to avoid any confusion.

How do I prompt?
Post each prompt as a new comment to the main post. Include pairing (or threesome or more if that's your thing) and anything else you want to add. You should put, at the very least, the pairing in the subject line along with a specific kink if it applies. You can put the whole prompt in the subject if it will fit, but if it doesn't, use the comments. For example:

Subject line: Beauregard/Jester, friends to lovers

Body of comment: Jester's been letting Beau use her for sparring practice. That kind of proximity does things to a tiefling.

I see a prompt I want to write! What now?
Go for it! You don't have to claim it, and fills can be written by more than one person. Once you've finished you must post it as a response to the original comment. Responses should use a subject line that includes the pairing, rating & any necessary warnings (i.e. incest, non-con, etc.). If you have titled your fic you can also include that. Also, as LJ limits the size of comments, if your fic goes into multiple comments, please note that your comment is part 1/5, part 2/5 and so on. Using the prompt above, the subject line could read:

"Punches and Pastries, Jester/Beauregard, M, 1/3"

And now some rules...

Since we're all supposed to be adults here, let's act like it. Be respectful to your fellow posters.
Your kink is not someone else's and their kink may not be yours. If you don't like it, don't read it. It's really that simple.
Please no bashing of other pairings. Just like with kinks, everyone has their own flavors, and this is neither the time nor place for ship wars. This meme is meant to include the entire fandom.
Crossover prompts are allowed, but they must include a Critical Role character as a main part of the prompt.
RPF is also allowed, but please prompt it over here!
Het, slash, femmeslash? You're all welcome here. The more the merrier!
It's not a requirement by any means, but writers love feedback, so if you read something you enjoy, take a second to tell the writer. Whether it's a one word response or something longer, it's always appreciated.
Please follow basic kink meme etiquette by not linking the cast or crew to this meme.

While we want this to be a relaxed and cool place, we also don't want people to feel uncomfortable being here. If you have suggestions or comments on how this community can improve please address to them to

criticalkink in a PM or drop a comment on this post.

The most important rule of all? HAVE FUN.

Now go forth and prompt!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Fjord is reborn from a seaweed cocoon on the slopes of a volcano in snow-capped mountains. He wants to call it the strangest experience in his life, but it does have some serious competition.

His skin feels sensitive and new as Jester pulls him from the coils of warm kelp and drapes him in a cloak, the cold biting sharp and clean as they bundle him off towards the volcano.

“So what do we do with your seaweed cocoon?” Jester says, poking him in the side. “Do we, like, have to eat it or something?”

“I know some seaweed recipes,” Caduceus says cheerfully.

Fjord puts his head in his hands. “Please don’t.”

There’s a sense of relief so thick it’s almost palpable, everyone almost giddy with it. Beau keeps on elbowing his side, grinning and grinning. Caleb keeps orbiting back to him and finding reasons to grasp his hand, as if making sure that this change is real, permanent. Nott says that he might be just strong enough to lift his sword now, if he puts his back into it. Jester is incandescent in her relief and joy for him, clasping him in several hugs tight enough to make his bones creak. His aching muscles protest, but he takes them gladly.

His body feels—weird. Good, but weird, tender all over, suddenly aware of muscles he didn’t even know existed. It’s a clean ache, though, like the feeling at the end of a day’s work hauling line. It’s like going through puberty all over again, awkward in the space he occupies, unfamiliar with the strength of his limbs. He’s probably going to take Beau up on her offer to teach him some of what she calls “monk bullshit” to try and find some kind of center again.

And all through this, Caduceus. Fjord keeps on catching him staring. His gaze almost feels like a physical thing, unabashed in its glowing pride. It’s kind of overwhelming, and Fjord doesn’t know what to do with it.

—

“Might I take a moment of your time, Fjord? I want to show you something,” Caduceus says in the evening, once they’ve settled down a bit.

“Sure,” Fjord says. What else is he going to say?

Fjord follows Caduceus through the bowels of the volcano, down and down. The heat gets thicker and more insistent as they descend, before evening out to something similar to a summer evening.

Fjord sure hopes that Caduceus knows where he’s going, because he has no idea where they are, but Caduceus seems sure, seeking out something like a compass pointing north.

Eventually, the tunnel ends, the torches lighting the walls petering out. Caduceus steps into an alcove, dark and unlit, and gestures for him to follow.

The floor is springy below his feet. Fjord looks down to a thick carpet of moss.

“Let’s get some light in here. I can’t see a thing,” Caduceus says.

The familiar glow of Caduceus’s staff appears, and the light illuminates the walls of the alcove around them.

The light reveals a high, arcing ceiling, and all around them, bright, silvery bursts of brightness, reaching for them from the ceiling, springing from the walls.

At first glance, they almost look like a bristling forest of daggers. But when Fjord looks closer, they resolve into clusters of plants, their silver blade-like clusters pink with the glow of Caduceus’s light, the graceful curves of their leaves made joyful with their presence.

It’s like nothing Fjord has ever seen.

“Silversword, they call it,” Caduceus says. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“How? There’s no sunlight down here.” His voice is hoarse.

“It finds a way, with her grace,” Caduceus says happily, looking around himself. “I think it only grows by volcanoes. This is so great. This is the first time that I’ve seen it.”

The silver blades encircle them, sharp and smooth and beautiful and protective, and Fjord feels a swell in his throat.

“Thank you,” he says, catching Caduceus’s wrist. “I. I don’t know how to tell you how much this means to me. I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

Caduceus looks at him. Fjord can’t handle the warm pride in his eyes. “I didn’t do much. You did the important bits, right? And now, you’ve got a way forward.”

Fjord doesn’t know how to say that he doesn’t know where to go from here. It feels ungrateful. He feels as though he’s been running, and running, and struggling free from the grasp of scaled coils, and now that a way is open to him, he—he doesn’t know what to do. What is expected of him.

“Please,” Fjord says, and doesn’t know how to continue. “I—”

Caduceus waits, patient as the earth.

Fjord reaches for the silvery plants. Their spiked sprouts are smooth under his fingers, no danger to their bright blades. He wishes he knew what he was doing.

“I don’t know what she wants me to be for her.”

“I don’t know that she wants you to be anything in particular,” Caduceus says. “You’ll become who you need to be, right?”

Fjord looks off to the side. He can’t seem to meet the intensity of Caduceus’s pink eyes.

“I just—I want to know how I can be of use. How I can thank her.”

Caduceus tilts his head. “Ask her, maybe? Sometimes asking directly avoids some misunderstandings.”

Fjord smiles, a little lopsided. “I just—I suppose I have trouble believing that I can do that? Ask and get an answer that isn’t, well, drowning and seawater bad time”

Caduceus laughs. “That’s understandable.”

Caduceus reaches for him and catches his hands, squeezing gently. He sits down on the mossy floor, and Fjord follows, facing him, like their meditation sessions

“Give it a try?” Caduceus says. “Here’s a good place to ask. You might be surprised.”

Even after everything, even after undeniable physical proof that there’s someone listening, it still feels—silly. To speak into an empty space and expect to be heard.

He turns over a hundred abandoned scraps of questions in his head, agonizes over the proper way to address a fucking goddess, panics a little at the mere thought that after everything, there might not be any answer.

“Lady, can you tell me how I might thank you?”

His own words bounce back at him from the smooth rock walls. Fjord can’t help but cringe. It feels presumptuous, too forward by half. His voice sounds weak and uncertain to him, still unfamiliar to his own ears.

A moment, and an indulgent, warm laugh in his head. Fjord doesn’t dare breathe.

There is no need for thanks, my child. You honor me by your existence and your actions. I am lucky to have you.

It lands like a blow to the chest, leaving him helpless and incapacitated with gratefulness. It’s embarrassing, the way that he can feel tears prickle at his eyes. Her voice is so warm, so fond, and it makes Fjord ache with yearning.

I am lucky to have you.

He isn’t sure he believes it, but he aches with how badly he wants to.

“Still,” he croaks. “I would—I would know what I can do for you.”

Another pause. And then a cool, fragrant breeze that cuts through the heat of the room.

Plunge your hands into the soil of deadened lands. Make what is burned and salted grow dark and fertile. Bring things to bloom and nurse them to their natural ends.

Fjord swallows. It’s a lot. Caduceus squeezes his hands, encouraging.

“I, uh. I can try. Anything, uh, more immediate I can do for you?”

A pause, almost a moment of consideration.

My servant has given you to me. I would give you to him, as well.

He swears he feels a glancing touch on his jaw, guiding him to meet Caduceus’s eyes.

Fjord doesn’t dare breathe. He’s not sure he understands. Caduceus’s eyes are calm, quietly intense.

Fill my faithful vessel, my clay. Give him my seed. We would be the first to have him, and that is a joyful thing.

“She’s giving me to you,” Fjord says, his voice hoarse. “If you’ll have me.”

“I will accept her gifts with joy and care,” Caduceus says. It sounds like ritual, like a phrase oft-repeated over eons.

Caduceus squeezes his hands again, and takes the hand that bears Caleb’s glove. He bends over it, his face concentrated and careful as he picks at the laces, tugging them loose and slipping the glove from Fjord’s hand, placing it carefully off to the side.

The slow grace of his movements is familiar. It reminds Fjord of watching Caduceus preparing tea, admiring the easy, practiced ritual in every gesture.

Caduceus turns Fjord’s hand over to expose the inside of his wrist. He bends over Fjord’s hand, the blunt tip of his nose glancing against Fjord’s wrist as Caduceus takes a deep breath.

Fjord doesn’t dare move, doesn’t dare breathe. He feels like porcelain in Caduceus’s careful grip.

Caduceus makes a deep, satisfied sound. He shifts, unhurried, like he’s got all the time in the world, and places his mouth on Fjord’s wrist, lipping at the thin skin, his mouth open and wet and hot.

His body jolts, curling towards Caduceus uncontrollably, and seriously, what, what the fuck, it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before. The noise he makes is all kinds of undignified.

Caduceus doesn’t seem to give it any mind. He noses again at Fjord’s wrist, then drags the heat of his mouth over the shifting tendons. Fjord convulses again, awash with sensation.

“Caduceus—”

Every inch of his skin feels tender and new. He doesn’t know if it’s his imagination.

When he looked in the reflective surface of a shield in the forge, he was still familiar. Same scar on his face. Same shock of white in his hair that he got when he was twenty-one. Same stubby growing-out tusks. But he feels changed, as though he slipped off an old, worn layer to leave only sensitive new skin. The heat of the forge, the snap of the cold outside, the worn suppleness of his leathers, the heat of Caduceus's mouth—everything is intense, almost unbearably so.

Caduceus glances at him through his long lashes. He pulls away, stroking his thumb over his wrist.

“You taste like her,” Caduceus says with matter-of-fact reverence, and Fjord feels undone.

“I think that might be the seaweed,” he says weakly.

“Hm? I don’t think so,” Caduceus says. “Seaweed doesn’t taste like that.”

Fjord opens his mouth. Closes it. He leans forward, made bold by the cool rush of air around them.

He kisses Caduceus, first one cheek and then the other. Chaste, like a greeting. Nice to meet you.

Caduceus doesn’t let him pull back. His hand cups Fjord’s nape and pulls him in again, deepening the kiss. He slips his tongue into Fjord’s mouth, as though tasting him.

Fjord feels his spine go soft and helpless, and Caduceus bears him down, gentle, insistent. Even in this alcove, Fjord can feel the heat of the forge through the moss, like sun-warmed rocks on the shore.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Caduceus says cheerfully.

Fjord laughs. “Neither do I?”

It feels so easy to say. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, he doesn’t know who he is, and for once, it feels like it might be okay.

Caduceus is bent over Fjord like a willow over a stream, his hands braced above Fjord’s shoulders and the bright curtain of his hair brushing Fjord’s jaw. Caduceus pushes his mouth against his jaw, taking a deep breath.

Fjord’s hands flutter, landing on Caduceus’s sharp hips. Suddenly daring, he slips his hands below the edge of his coarse linen shirt, stroking over the fine, velvety fur.

Caduceus is so big, but there’s an unexpected sturdiness to his long, spindly form. The weight of him feels good, grounding, even as breathless heat rushes up Fjord’s spine.

It leaves him grasping for Caduceus when he draws back, but Caduceus reaches for his clothes, working at the closures of his tunic.

When they’re both bare against each other, there’s almost too many sensations to catalog. The heat of the floor through the moss, the drag of Caduceus’s soft, velvet skin.

Caduceus sits back to look at him. His gaze is straightforward, but there’s an intensity to it that makes part of Fjord want to hide, suddenly self-conscious about—he doesn’t know. His skin toughened by work and salt, the ungainliness of his frame made suddenly bigger, the uncertain half-growth of his tusks? It’s ridiculous, when he thinks about it, but he can’t help but feed exposed, especially next to Caduceus’s ease in his own skin.

“Look at you,” Caduceus says with a quiet, matter-of-fact awe. He passes his hand over Fjord’s chest, coming to rest on his sternum. “She made you anew. Well, no. Made you who you’re supposed to be, maybe.”

Caduceus shifts back, and the slick heat of him drags along Fjord's cock, his length rubbing up between Caduceus’s lips, and Fjord cries out. Caduceus is so, so wet, like late spring, like the thick air before a storm. Caduceus hums, deep and content. Fjord can feel it vibrate in his chest.

“Oh. Oh, that’s nice,” Caduceus says.

He rocks his hips carefully, reaching back, and slowly fits Fjord inside himself.

He's so tight, so hot inside. Fjord is almost scared to hurt him. He wants to trust that the Wildmother would not ask him to do anything to hurt Caduceus. But Caduceus seems to be doing just fine. He sinks down further, a look of concentration on his face.

The tightness eases, and Fjord can feel the clutch of Caduceus’s body open for him, sweet and easy. Caduceus shifts his hips back, seeking, and the thicker second ridge of Fjord’s cock slots into him. It makes Fjord see stars, and Caduceus shudders all over, making a deep, pleased noise. His hips dip shallowly, working the ridge of Fjord’s cock in and out of himself until they’re both panting.

“Is it—is it all right?” Fjord says, breathless, desperate. Wanting to please. Wanting to fuck Caduceus into sated softness. Wanting to give anything that he can give.

“Mm,” Caduceus says, after a moment's thought. "I. Oh. Oh, I like it. I like it a lot. Feels nice, you know? Full." He strokes Fjord’s jaw. “You’re doing good.”

And—and there’s a rush of heat along the ridge of his spine, in his chest. It feels like a benediction.

Caduceus shudders, his long body spilling against Fjord, covering him as they move against each other, easy as the swell of waves against a beach.

The smell of wet earth is thick and lush on Caduceus’s skin. The fall of his hair is bright, fading to a dusty, cool pink at the roots, proof of his own body adapting to the land around them.

He's the strangest, most beautiful thing that Fjord has ever seen.

Caduceus takes Fjord all the way to the base with a breathless groan, and Fjord throws his head back, everything so tight, so hot, so utterly overwhelming.

“You smell like the sea,” Caduceus says. “Like the first time I saw it. You’re amazing. You’re going to do amazing things.”

Fjord doesn’t trust himself to speak. He reaches between them to touch Caduceus, quick, firm circles on him as Caduceus grows more breathless, a heavy whine escaping him. He wants to give Caduceus this, to serve him as he might serve his goddess.

Caduceus clenches around him, shaking and sudden. Fjord reaches up, feeling Caduceus’s skinny chest rise and fall frantically under his hand.

Between his fingers, green sprouts rise from Caduceus’s skin, turn to bright bloom, wilt to dust, and rise again in a span of seconds, over and over, endless and hallucinatory. He touches Caduceus’s collarbone, and delicate veiled mushrooms sprout along its rise. Soft, tender moss blooms along the line of Caduceus’s neck.

This, I entrust to you. This, I would have you entrust to each other.

Caduceus moves with him, encouraging him, urging him on, and when Fjord comes, it feels like giving himself over, like letting go and trusting that he will be caught.

He cups Caduceus’s jaw. Caduceus turns his mouth into his hand, his breath held in Fjord’s palm. Fjord feels dwarfed by everything encompassing him, feels powerful beyond belief, feels safe and cradled like never before.

Caduceus lifts off of his cock out with a low, satisfied groan. Fjord slips his hand down to cup him lightly, giving him pressure to move against, if he wants it. A swell of pride blooms in his chest when Caduceus cups his hand over his with a low, happy hum, his hips slowly rolling into Fjord’s palm.

He can feel the wet softness of Caduceus against his hand, and he wonders, with a rush of embarrassing heat, if he can feel his come dripping out of Caduceus as well.

Another rolling wave of feeling seems to pass over Caduceus, a slow and easy wash of uncomplicated pleasure. He tips over to lie next to Fjord.

Caduceus cups his face. His blunt thumb strokes over Fjord’s cheek.

“You’re going to be great,” Caduceus says, after a moment.

Fjord ducks his head. “I hope so.”

“You are,” Caduceus says, easy as that. He stretches. “Hm. I’m kind of hungry. Should I make us something?”

Fjord laughs. It rises out of him, easy and undeniable, too relieved for words. Everything has changed, and yet nothing has changed. He laughs and laughs, and Caduceus looks at him with friendly bemusement.

Fjord brushes the remnants of flower petals and moss away from Caduceus’s chest. There’s a part of his mind that says that this horticultural sex thing is this is pretty fucking weird, but he can’t bring himself to give it much mind.

Caduceus is solid beside him, warm and present. All of them are there with him, Beau and Jester and Caleb and Nott, willing to trust him in a way that makes an awed gratefulness rise in his chest. There’s an alcove of silvery sword-plants in a volcano, and there’s the smell of spring blossoms and kelp in the middle of a snowy wilderness. It doesn’t make any sense.

But Fjord wants to believe it.

Op: holy shit this is amazing??? I can actually feel the scenery this is beautiful and I adore how they both are. Thank you for this

OP this was an incredible work - absolutely lush with the description. J'adore.

<3<3<3

Fuck this is cute and beautiful. I appreciate the closeness and easy comfort of it.

He cups Caduceus’s jaw. Caduceus turns his mouth into his hand, his breath held in Fjord’s palm. Fjord feels dwarfed by everything encompassing him, feels powerful beyond belief, feels safe and cradled like never before.

I mean, holy fuck, Author Anon-- goddamn that's some good shit.

This was really gorgeous and detailed. It felt like such a comfort after his previous shitty God to have something beautiful and kind given to him.

Love this- super cute!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

CR Campaign Two: Mighty Nein era (characters)

benediction (Fjord/Caduceus, E)

benediction (Fjord/Caduceus, E) (2/2)

Re: benediction (Fjord/Caduceus, E) (2/2)

Re: benediction (Fjord/Caduceus, E) (2/2)

Re: benediction (Fjord/Caduceus, E) (2/2)

Re: benediction (Fjord/Caduceus, E) (2/2)

Re: benediction (Fjord/Caduceus, E) (2/2)

Re: benediction (Fjord/Caduceus, E) (2/2)