CR Campaign Two: Mighty Nein era (characters)

[criticalkink]

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!

Comments

fill: "to be still," Caleb/others, E, forced prostitution, cw: noncon, 2/3

[(Anonymous)]

(Warning for minor pragmatic self-harm, in service of an escape attempt, plus previous content warnings.)

---

The first wrist goes just fine. He’s paying as much attention as he ever does, but he doesn’t put up a fight until it becomes clear that he’s going to be tied to both sides of the headboard. Then Andras has to hold him still for Meg to finish the job. Caleb still isn’t loud, though he’s louder than he usually is. He moans low in his throat. Quiet but deeply frightened. Meg shushes him, tries to get him to lay back against the mattress. They leave him alone for about five minutes, to make sure everything is ready for their client.

When they get back, Caleb has dislocated one shoulder and bitten through the skin of the opposite wrist. He’s also gotten completely free of the ropes. He sits curled in on himself at the other end of the bed, staring wide-eyed at nothing.

Meg slaps him, which is about as shocking as the fact that Caleb has gotten loose. Meg almost never employs force, even in their private business venture. It’s why she has such a reputation for sweetness when that couldn’t be further from the truth. She pulls a handkerchief from her pocket and rolls it up.

“Bite down,” she says. Caleb doesn’t respond. She pries his mouth open and gets most of it between his teeth before bracing both hands on his shoulder and looking back at Andras. “What are you waiting for? Help me fix this.”

Andras does his best. He only has rudimentary medical training as required by the job. It takes a couple of tries to get the angle right, but he does finally get the joint set. Caleb has gone back to being quiet. He makes a soft sound around the handkerchief like a cough, or like choking, and tears spill down his face. That’s all. Meg lets up on him and goes off to find disinfectant and some bandages for the wrist.

“Why this?” Andras asks. “Why now?” Caleb shrinks from him, ducking his head and avoiding his gaze more conspicuously than usual. “Something happened to you,” he says, and rests his hand atop Caleb’s head. Caleb makes another soft sound, enough like the last for Andras to worry that he’s actually choking. He eases the handkerchief out of Caleb’s mouth. Caleb sags against him and shudders.

“Wrist,” Meg says briskly. She has a roll of bandages in one hand and a bottle in the other.

“You know he can’t understand you,” Andras says. Meg rolls her eyes.

“Well, you can,” she says. Andras obliges her and takes hold of Caleb’s forearm. Caleb turns his face to hide it against his shoulder. He is quiet, quiet, quiet.

“We’ll have to send the company away,” Andras says. Caleb makes a sound against his shoulder like murmuring, but the sounds aren’t quite uniform enough to be any real language.

“Sweet on him, are you?” Meg says. She wipes down Caleb’s bloody wrist and sets to fixing it up. To Caleb, she says in her usual soft matronly voice, “Have you bewitched him, hmm? Have you been locked up for casting spells you shouldn’t?”

“It’s not to his tastes, is all,” Andras says. The blood and crying will put the young nobleman off. He might even lose his appetite for these games permanently. Because what he wants is someone who isn’t entirely willing, but who will submit to his appetites without complaint. He wants the spousal ideal he was raised to expect without any of the consequent responsibilities of marriage. He’s cruel, but not especially violent. That difference is important.

“No, you’re right,” Meg says. “If Nina lived closer, I’d have her over instead. She’d like him this way. But to get there and back is a good two hours. That’s cutting things too close.” She pets Caleb’s hair absentmindedly, and his nonsense mumbling trails off. He doesn’t tense, but he goes still under her hands. “I’m sorry I lost my temper,” she says to him. “You gave me a shock, is all.”

“He’s scared,” Andras says. “I don’t like what that means. He understands cause and effect -- he might be getting better. And what will we do, if he does?”

“Fear acts on everyone the same way,” Meg says dismissively. “He’s like a little child. Children learn to fear the rod before they understand punishment. Being afraid doesn’t mean he understands. Does it, sweetheart?” Caleb is relaxing out of that uneasy stillness. He darts a glance at Meg. One of the looks easily mistaken for shy interest, when really he’s just skittish. “There you are, love. We’ll get you settled down to sleep. No visitors tonight.” She looks over at Andras. “Unless you want to have a go.”

It feels like a test. It feels like a test even after he’s said no quite honestly. Andras can look at Caleb and see what other people will see, certain facets of what will make them want him. And yet he doesn’t want Caleb for himself. Fucking the boy wouldn’t be a hardship, but it wouldn’t be a real source of pleasure, either. He thinks of what he would most like to take from Caleb and is unsettled by the sudden self-knowledge. Andras most wants Caleb like this. A warm body next to his, dependent. Helpless. He doesn’t want to do anything about it, to take it any further, but there’s a strange satisfaction in knowing that it would be easy because Caleb trusts him. Maybe trusts him more than Meg.

Andras and Meg have to wait and give a report, since someone was injured. Meg has a clear and logical chain of events to explain it. They’d found Caleb trying to hurt himself, and had to restrain him for his own good. He’d hurt his shoulder in a panic, trying to get away. They’d done their best not to hurt him -- everyone understood that these things happened from time to time. When he’d calmed down, they’d untied him, and Andras stayed to keep watch while Meg made the rest of their rounds. That last part was mostly true, with the addition of the fact that Meg had gone out to the road to send the young nobleman away. The explanation took time. It was after dawn by the time they made the walk back to town together.

“I think Caleb was a spy,” Meg says. “I’m almost sure of it now.”

“How d’you figure?” Andras says. Meg starts counting points off on her fingers.

“One: he knows to keep quiet. They’d teach a spy that, for torture, and I imagine this might seem like a kind of torture for him.” A grim way of looking at it, but not unreasonable. “Two: somebody’s paying to keep him alive and out of the way. You’d want to keep an enemy that way, in case of an opportunity for a prisoner exchange or something like that.” She must have spent a good deal of time thinking about this. “Three: he knows how to get out of ropes. I think that’s something they’d teach, too. And four: torture can break people, can’t it? And if not that, there’s magic that can. It would be an easy way to keep him from causing any more trouble.”

“Alright,” Andras says, though he’s not sure he agrees with the entire theory. “Where would he be from, then?”

“Xhorhas,” Meg says. “Where else?”

“He doesn’t look Xhorhasian,” Andras says. Meg snorts.

“They’re not all drow, you clod. They’ve got humans over there. Not so many as here, but they do. And they’d make for better spies, since they won’t be watched as closely in the Empire.” Meg raises her eyebrows and smiles archly. She seems to be under the impression that she has won an argument. Well, let her think so.

“Alright,” Andras says again. Silence falls for a little while, but curiosity gets the better of him. “What are you going to do, if he is a spy? Or was, anyway.”

“I think that information could be worth something,” Meg says. “Might take a few days and poke around in Rexxentrum. See if there’s anything to it.” Correctly interpreting his answering silence as skepticism, she adds, “I do know some people, you know.”

“Well, I don’t, so I’m having trouble understanding how it’d work,” Andras says.

“You just leave it to me,” Meg says, and taps the side of her nose. “Keep on as usual while I’m away, and maybe there’ll be something in it for you.”

It’s another two months before Meg gets her trip organized. At first she’s a little too focused on her new idea, and not enough on the details of the usual operation. She makes the mistake of letting two travelling merchants have a go at Caleb at the same time despite the fact that she’s usually very strict about not allowing more than one visitor. That alone would be bad enough, but on top of that, they’re rough with him. Caleb has a hard time smothering his involuntary sounds of discomfort. He’s bruised and tear-streaked when they’re through with him, shaking with exhaustion.

“This is bad,” Andras says. “Someone will notice.”

“But no one will care,” Meg snaps. “I made a mistake. You don’t have to hammer on the point.” She cleans Caleb up as she usually does. He holds still for it, maybe because he’s too tired to do anything else. She’s still irritated when she heads off to make her rounds and check on the rest of the inmates. Andras stays with Caleb. He rides the uneasy swell of possessiveness that comes when Caleb clings to him and weeps softly into his shoulder. What does it mean, that he has no inclination to hurt Caleb, but likes him best after he’s been hurt?

It probably means nothing. Andras is an ordinary sort of man. Not simple, but not clever. What he wants must therefore be just as ordinary.

Caleb doesn’t eat the day after that particular visit, of course. He’s thin enough now that more attention is paid when he doesn’t eat. He doesn’t eat the day after that, either, which leaves him weak and listless. There’s no food to be had in the building at night, as ever, but Andras brings a flask of barley water with him. Caleb refuses at first. Andras takes a drink himself, to prove that it’s safe, and then Caleb accepts it. Not as good as broth would be, but better than nothing. Meg regards the exchange with a mixture of suspicion and amusement. Like she knows something Andras doesn’t and she isn’t sure she likes it.

He doesn’t interfere with the business, though, so she keeps her criticisms to herself. The nighttime visits continue on as they have been. Meg and Andras discover that Caleb has less recourse to get free if they bind his hands behind his back, so the young nobleman gets what he wanted after all, if a little belatedly. Caleb is plainly terrified; his suitor willfully misinterprets the sounds he makes as being born from pleasure.

“I wish I could keep you,” he says. He grips the ropes around Caleb’s wrists and thrusts in hard. Caleb makes a little keening sound. (His mouth is tightly shut. His eyes dart around and land on nothing.) “Have you whenever I want you,” the lordling goes on breathlessly. He’s a stupid callow youth not much older than Caleb himself. Andras reminds himself of this to keep from getting angry. Something must show in his face anyway, because the young nobleman regards him nervously as he leaves.

“You’re getting attached,” Meg says as she cleans Caleb up. “You never have before.” They’ve had three others before Caleb, working together. Never more than one at a time; never more than two years for each.

“Maybe,” Andras says. “I don’t know why.”

“As long as it doesn’t get in the way, I don’t care,” Meg says.

“It hasn’t yet,” Andras says. Meg hums noncommittally. Andras finds he’s looking forward to her trip to Rexxentrum, if only because he needs a break from the insinuations.

The first week Meg’s gone, she has two visitors scheduled in advance. She doesn’t expect to be away for more than two weeks at most. Andras handles things well enough on his own. It’s safer to have two people, in case of any mishap, but it’s not strictly necessary under most circumstances.

The second week Meg’s gone, Andras sticks to doing his actual job. He’s not the one who finds the clients. He never has been. So he does his rounds, makes sure the doors are locked, looks in on the patients that tend to have problems at night. He waits to hear from her. No letter comes, so he thinks she must be on her way back.

The third week Meg’s gone, Moritz seeks Andras out. He comes in early, as Andras is getting ready to leave.

“I wanted to speak with you,” Moritz says. Andras nods. “About the young man, the Zemnian. Widogast.”

“What about him?” Andras says. He tries to sound curious rather than brusque.

“Lately I’ve wondered if he’s being…” Moritz trails off, hesitant. Andras waits. “Ill-used,” Moritz says finally. He’s visibly uncomfortable. Probably a good thing, since it means the conversation will be short. “He reacts badly to being touched, in a way he didn’t used to. There have been bruises. And… other signs. It’s happened before. You weren’t working here yet, but there was a girl. Addled, but not violent. Young, like this one. Perhaps eighteen when she was committed. She had a child after she had been here two years. No visitors to blame for it.”

Maybe that was why Meg had been so adamant about getting a little token that had been charmed by a cleric to ward off pregnancy and disease. She might have learned her lesson the hard way.

Moritz leans back against the wall, sighing. “I don’t like to admit this, as it feels dishonest, but I’ve been paid to keep an eye on him.”

“We’re all paid to keep an eye on all of them,” Andras points out. Not because he doesn’t understand, but because he wants to hear Moritz admit it.

“I’m being paid privately,” Moritz says. “To look out for Caleb.” Dropping the pretense of not knowing Caleb’s name. That’s interesting. “We’re paid so little, you know, that when I was approached about this, I felt I couldn’t refuse.” Andras nods again. Oh, yes, he knows. He’s not the only one with new boots this winter.

“Why’d you come to me about it?” Andras says.

“Because I think you care for him,” Moritz says. He smiles a little. “He’s easy to care for, isn’t he? I think that must be why you asked me to try to talk to him.”

“I guess so,” Andras says. “He’s no trouble.”

“Except to himself,” Moritz says. “He eats poorly. Have you seen?”

“I’ve noticed him getting thinner, yeah,” Andras says. “Doesn’t seem like a good sign.”

“Will you let me know if anything seems amiss?” Moritz says.

“Sure,” Andras agrees.

“Are you friends with her, the other night attendant? Margret, I think.” Meg, he means. Andras isn’t friends with her because he doesn’t have friends, and he doesn’t have friends because he doesn’t think he’s capable. Sometimes he feels like a mask with nothing behind it. Hollow, like an echo chamber. Maybe he likes Caleb so much because Caleb doesn’t look any deeper than the surface. The mask is enough for him.

“Not friends, no,” Andras says.

“He’s been better since she left,” Moritz says. “I wonder if she was part of it. An accomplice.”

“That’s a big accusation,” Andras says.

“Ah, but who am I accusing? She’s not here.” He says it like he knows she’s not coming back. Maybe he does. Probably he does. It seems like there’s a good chance that whoever’s paying him is in Rexxentrum, and just as good a chance that Andras isn’t the first one Moritz has voiced these suspicions to. “I don’t mean to imply anything about you, my friend,” Moritz says with another smile, clapping Andras on the shoulder. “She was canny, that one. I imagine she could have hid what she was doing.”

“I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, I know,” Andras says.

“But you’re not stupid,” Moritz says. “So you’ll tell me if anyone comes poking around in the night, looking for her, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Andras says.

And there’s never anything to tell. Word’s gone around that Meg hasn’t come back, and if you want to fuck someone who can’t refuse you or tell anyone else, it’s your own business to figure out where to get it. Andras isn’t inclined to pick up where Meg left off. It’s not what he’s good at. He does what he’s paid to do. And if, sometimes, Caleb wakes with nightmares and Andras offers him a shoulder to cry on until Caleb can sleep again -- that’s his business, isn’t it?