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

Caleb, separated from the rest of the MN after a long battle, runs into someone who decides to have a little fun with the wizard. He's pretty well tapped, and they tie his hands together while they strip him, wash him, put a pretty shade of lipstick on him, and dress him in a skirt. And then they take him to an extremely unsavory bar, and they suggest that he needs to have more fun in his life, and therefore that he not refuse any sexual advance made to him for the rest of the night.

Dealer's choice on if/when he's rescued.

(A note on mechanics: Moira is a bard, probably around 6th level; plot-relevantly, she's got Cure Wounds, Suggestion, and Geas at her disposal. Suggestion ends when the target is hurt, hence her warning to be gentle with Caleb. Also, one of the material components is honeycomb, and while feeding it to him is not strictly necessary to the mechanics of the spell... I thought it would be creepy-hot.)

---

It's nothing Juneau hasn't seen before, but it turns her stomach every time. Still: it's dangerous enough to work in a place like this herself, even if she spends most of her time in the kitchen, without picking fights with the patrons.

"Alright, folks, you know the rules," Moira says, standing on one of the long benches. She's greeted by cheers and a few whistles. "First taste's free, but if you're looking for a more permanent arrangement, you come and see me."

"Where do you find your little dolls?" Lucas says. He reaches out to touch the man standing by Moira's feet. The man doesn't resist. (They rarely do.)

"This little morsel was a sorry sight when I found him," Moira says. She tangles her fingers in the man's hair and forces his head back. "He was banged up -- weren't you, love? And filthy, to boot. I had to heal him and fix him up pretty. But it was worth the effort, wasn't it?" She raises her voice at the end. There's some more cheering, shouted assent. Moira does like to make her wares pretty, regardless of gender, and it's not as though they have any say in the matter.

The man is human, slender, maybe even thin under the third-hand gown Moira's dressed him in. And Juneau will bet he's got no shift on under it, nor any other kind of smallclothes. It was a nice dress once, and the colors suit him well enough: tealy-blue, mossy-green. (It's anybody's guess whether Moira picks the clothes to suit the people or picks the people based on what she can get from the rag-and-bone man who comes down with cast-offs from the better part of town.) His lips are painted berry-red, like Moira's own, though he'll surely have it smeared across his face before the night's through.

"Nobody be too rough with him, now, or he won't be so sweet," Moira goes on. Another formality. Most everyone here has heard this before, knows how it works. "And if you pay me to take him home and want him with more fight in him, well, that's your business, but don't ruin it for everyone, aye?" More agreement, some grudgingly given.

"I assume you've tried him out," Nadine says. She's half-drow, sharp-featured and to-the-point. She gets the toe of her boot under the hem of the man's dress and draws it up. Juneau catches sight of pale, skinny legs, lightly dusted with hair as red as the hair on the man's head. She shouldn't be watching, no, she knows she shouldn't, and it makes her sick, but --

But it's always hard to look away, too, especially knowing that no one's going to look back at her through the kitchen door when there's something better to watch.

"No fool, am I? He's got a good mouth on him, I'll tell you that," Moira says. Nadine grins back at her. "Go on, have a go, he won't prove me a liar."

"Have you got a name?" Nadine says as she stands and unlaces the front of her leather trousers. There are some wolf-whistles and she gestures rudely in return.

"Caleb," the man says. "What about you?" As though it's a normal conversation. His voice is lightly accented. Juneau feels a pang. Bad enough luck to fall into a situation like this, but surely worse as a stranger to the place.

"Polite of you to ask," Nadine says approvingly, though she doesn't answer. Another one of Moira's, a girl, had come back to the tavern half-mad and bent on revenge. Better not to give the man -- Caleb -- and easy time finding her again. She shoves her trousers down around her ankles. Nobody whistles. It's not a tease or a joke anymore. "So I'll be polite in return. Do you want a taste of me?"

"Alright," Caleb says. He goes to his knees easily when Nadine puts a hand on his shoulder. There's no mistaking what she wants from him, and she shudders when he slides his tongue along the lips of her cunt. What he can reach with her still standing, anyway. It's not a good position to try get his tongue inside her, but he can get at her clit.

"Gods bless you, Nadine, you do know how to put on a show," Lucas says.

"Shut up, will you, I'm trying to enjoy myself," Nadine grumbles back. She grips Caleb's hair tightly enough to keep him in place, but not too tightly. She's not about to risk hurting him and bringing him to his senses; there'd be a very good chance of something tender getting bitten. She comes quickly and silently, clenching her teeth against it. She tugs Caleb's head back and then pets his head as she might a dog's. "That's enough, now. There's plenty of others who're eager to meet you tonight."

Caleb stays on his knees until Nadine's got her trousers back on. His lipstick's a hopeless cause already. There are hands ready to steady him as he stands. Hands ready to do more than that.

---

It's not that he doesn't understand what is happening or what has happened. The timeline of events is clear. He was exhausted, magic depleted, in the back alleys of a town he didn't know. They'd split up on purpose, the better to avoid being followed or noticed, but he didn't know the lay of the land well enough to find them quickly. He knows which way is north, now and always, but he didn't know which way to go...

Then a woman with wine-colored lips, saying lost, are we, dear? and grappling him, getting the better of him, binding him and taking him back to a room with a big copper tub. Scrubbing him down. Dressing him up. Plying him with honey threaded through with something bitter. She had to hold his nose and mouth closed to force him to swallow it.

What's harder to understand now is why he fought her so much. It's not as though she wanted him to do anything bad.

---

It's Kellan who gets his hands around Caleb's waist and draws him close. Kellan, who tried to court Juneau's cousin two years back, and gods be praised that she accepted someone else's offer of marriage instead. He kisses the side of Caleb's neck and Caleb tilts his head to allow it.

"Feeling romantic?" Moira says. She's back on solid ground now, hands on her hips and grinning. "I could keep him sweet for you for a month."

"Could not," Kellan says. "You could make it hurt him to try to kill me, but that's no guarantee of sweetness." He remembers that one girl, too. Lucky he hadn't been there when she came back. "I'll take what I can get here and now. Should be plenty." He hikes up Caleb's skirt up to the knees, to the thighs and Juneau was right. (Juneau hates that she was right and hates that she's seen this enough to know.) There's nothing under the dress but pale skin, scrubbed pink in places. "Maybe I should let Lucas have a go first. Our friend might find him disappointing after me." A round of jeers and clapping.

Juneau finally finds her feet, turns her body and her gaze back to what's in need of scrubbing. It doesn't stop her from hearing, though. A soft, faintly surprised ah!, followed by a low chuckle. Gods, but you're tight, aren't you, lad? Wet sounds that she shouldn't be able to hear, not at this distance, not with the ambient noise, but she knows to expect them from other times. She hates it, wants to put poison in Moira's cup so she never has to hear it again --

She half-turns and looks back through the doorway.

Caleb's bent over one of the tables, skirt up around his waist now, and Kellan behind him. Other hands are stroking his hair, his back, his arms, waiting their turn but not patient enough to let him alone. Caleb makes sounds that are still more surprised than pleased, but they're not pained or unhappy. They will be later, when he's right in his mind. Most of Moira's wares are still here when they come back to themselves, too weak and worked-over to do much but cry. Only rarely will someone actually pay to keep them. Moira does this mostly for the cruel pleasure of it. For the proof of her power and mastery.

Two more take a turn with Caleb like that before someone hauls him up, lays him out on a bench, and rides him. When they bother to ask, he agrees, still quite polite. Juneau watches and doesn't watch and watches again. It doesn't make a bit of difference either way.

Someone else will look after him, she thinks. It doesn't have to be me, at the end of the night. But she waits all the same. It's always her, or almost always, who takes a damp rag and wipes their faces clean of paint and come. A long night made longer by misery.

Caleb's laid out across someone's lap when the commotion starts. Moira won't be using the dress again -- there's a rent up one side from hem to hip, much too long for a mending cantrip to fix. There's shouting at the door. A woman's voice, brash and loud.

"Someone said they saw him around here," the voice says. "And you've got no reason not to let me in unless you've got something to hide. Maybe I just need a fucking drink, okay?" The owner of the voice comes into view, pushing through the front door. A woman in blue. A monk? Unlikely. Maybe she'd bought the robes secondhand, or taken them from a corpse. "Pretty quiet in here. Where I'm from, the party'd just be getting started around this time of night."

"Oh, there's a party," Moira says in her nasty, insinuating way. She inclines her head toward the night's entertainment. The woman in blue catches sight of him. She freezes, and then she moves to fast it's hard to see her.

(Further warning for fairly graphic violence in this part. Should two blows be enough to knock our evil bard out, game mechanics-wise? Probably not. But in practical terms, it totally could, so I'm rolling with it.)

---

No one's expecting the stranger to go for Moira, least of all Moira herself. The woman's staff hits her square in the jaw. There's a sort of crack-crunch sound of shattering bone, but Moira has no time to react before the staff hits her again on the other side of the face. She does down hard, like a sack of rocks, unconscious before she hits the floor. Juneau catches the moment the spell breaks. Caleb's expression is exactly what she expects at first: the horror and despair she's used to seeing. But then a steely resolve settles in. He shoves off the older man he'd been sitting on. There's no attempt to keep him where he is. No one's sure what comes next.

"Caleb," the woman in blue says. She's a little wild-eyed. It only makes Caleb seem more eerily calm by comparison.

"Beauregard," he says, "do you know the saying about discretion and valor?"

"What?" the woman snaps.

"We should leave," Caleb says. The woman -- Beauregard, apparently -- tightens her grip on her staff, but glances around. Finally, she nods. She slings an arm around his shoulders (missing the way he flinches, or ignoring it) and guides him toward the door. No one stops them. They're almost to the door when conversation starts up again.

"Well, fuck," Lucas says. He nudges Moira's body with his foot. "Any clerics around?"

Juneau makes a decision that will seem sudden to everyone around, but it's been a long time coming. She slips a knife under her apron and walks out of the kitchen, across the floor of the main room.

"Let me have a look," she says. But she's not there to look, once she kneels down next to Moira. She drives the knife into the side of Moira's neck. Moira gurgles but doesn't wake. A great gout of blood gushes across the floor. Neck wounds, well-placed, are messy but quick. Silence falls again. Juneau looks up at the sea of shocked faces. "This doesn't happen again. Not ever."

It's not justice, not by half, nor does it make up for previous inaction. But it's better than nothing.

---

Caleb snaps back to self-awareness so suddenly that it feels like a slap. Time for that later, his memory supplies in the voice of a dead friend. The woman who brought him here, who did this to him, is unconscious on the ground. It's Beau standing over the body. She looks ready to take on the whole of the tavern. But she's not, after all, the kind of fighter who could do that and succeed. Especially with Caleb at his most useless. She's effectively without backup. She says his name, raw and ragged. He's going to have to talk her out of doing something stupid.

"Beauregard," he says, "do you know the saying about discretion and valor?" Surely she does. Discretion being the better part of valor: you have to know when to disengage.

"What?" she says.

"We should leave," Caleb says, for the sake of clarity. The other patrons might snap out of their shock at any moment. Beau gets it. She puts her arm around his shoulders. He feels himself flinch and fists his hand in the back of her sash. They're together in this, and they're getting out.

The quiet lasts longer than it should. When they're halfway out the door, he looks back. There's a small woman with red hands. The floor is red, too, and slick. But it's not their business anymore.

"Are you okay to walk back with me?" Beau says once they're out in the street. "Do I need to carry you?"

"We need to go to her rooms," Caleb says. "I know where they are."

"What?" Beau says. Again. She's not stupid, not by a long shot, but she seems almost willfully obtuse tonight and it's getting on his nerves.

"My books, Beauregard," Caleb says sharply. "It's enough that I've been humiliated. I won't be incapacitated as well."

"Yeah, okay," Beau says. Her jaw is tight. She's angry, and he's not making that easier, either by denying her the fight she wants or being impatient now.

"And my boots," he says, more softly, by way of apology. "It's too cold to go barefoot."

"Shit," Beau says. "You sure you don't want me to carry you?" Caleb laughs, low and tired.

"It's not far," he says. Two blocks down, up a narrow flight of stairs. She'd put aside his boots and his books to sell, and his clothes -- presumably -- to burn. She hadn't bothered with it yet, though, as they're still beside the firewood on the hearth. He slips off the gown without preamble and Beau curses under her breath. He ignores her. There's no call for modesty now.

"You want some privacy?" Beau says.

"I can turn around, if it bothers you," Caleb says. He avoids the tub and goes to the pitcher of water on the nightstand. Aside from the come and the makeup and the grime on his feet, he's still fairly clean. That, and he'd been nearly drowned when he gave her trouble at first, before she got the spell to take hold. Better not to revisit the scene of that. He needs to hold himself together at least until he's alone.

He should be better at handling this. The body is a tool, whether used as a weapon or for other purposes. He'd been young and charming and confident once, unafraid and unashamed of using that youth and charm and confidence to get information. Then he'd been starving, desperate, with no resources except his own body and mind, and he'd used both to stay alive. Perhaps the shame of it is the fact that he wasn't the one to decide this time around.

"Jester might get in touch soon," Beau says. "Long-distance. She said she'd check in with us when we went to look for you. You want me to tell her to be ready to heal anything?"

"There's nothing an ordinary healing potion wouldn't put right," Caleb says. A little bruising, maybe, but she'd wanted to keep him docile. No real harm done.

No harm done, except the things Caleb knows will accumulate in the weeks to come. How Nott will shrink into herself when he can't bear to be touched, not even by her. The bright shock of trepidation when Fjord's hand will rest too-heavy on his shoulders and he'll wonder if he's meant to get to his knees. Having to excuse himself to retch when Clay serves them jasmine tea that smells too much like his short-term captor's perfume. Jester prodding at him, wanting to solve a problem that it would only hurt her to know about.

Beau will keep her peace, though. Caleb trusts her that far. She's been very good about keeping his secrets up to now.

OP here, and this is delicious. Characterizations are fantastic, your OC's are GREAT, and your writing is divine. Thank you!

Oh gods this was good. Really really good. This is so upsetting for all the right reasons. Loved the bit at the end where Caleb compartmentalizes it like he has always before, that broke my heart.

This was well done!
Also, I like that Juneau finished the job.

This was great. Such a cruel little set up, but so believable.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

CR Campaign Two: Mighty Nein era (characters)

Caleb/Any - Suggestion Spell - Non-con

fill: "under the influence" Caleb/others, E, suggestion spell, cw: noncon, 1/2

fill: "under the influence" Caleb/others, E, suggestion spell, cw: noncon, 2/2

Re: fill: "under the influence" Caleb/others, E, suggestion spell, cw: noncon, 2/2

Re: fill: "under the influence" Caleb/others, E, suggestion spell, cw: noncon, 2/2

Re: fill: "under the influence" Caleb/others, E, suggestion spell, cw: noncon, 2/2

Re: fill: "under the influence" Caleb/others, E, suggestion spell, cw: noncon, 2/2