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: rites of conquest (Fjord/Caleb/Jester/Molly, dub/noncon, arranged marriage, tentacle sex) 1/2

[(Anonymous)]

on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37724971
this ended up heavier on the tentacles and light on the lush decadent setting, but hopefully you still enjoy!

----

Each of the cities from the coast have sent their offerings - their sacrifices, rather, because that is what it is, sending pretty young things into the jaws of the beast in the hope their city shall be spared the monster’s wrath.

Mostly, it’s young women in fine dresses, who look varyingly frightened and resigned to their fate. The girl from Tussoa has finally stopped crying, although the lines still show in her makeup; the man from Othe is still fidgeting, constantly, and not even in a useful way, as if he might be trying to run.

It’s the two tieflings who aren’t scared, he finds. The one from Feolinn lounges back against his chair, as if he doesn’t care. Not from Feolinn, certainly - a traveler or an outsider who they took as their own offering, rather than spare anyone actually important the role. The one from Nicodranas, she is angry. Holding it back, but he can see it, bubbling up from the surface.

He wonders if she’ll try something. It would be easy to hide a dagger, in that dress, although he imagines it would have to be a strong poison on the blade to actually hurt the Exarch, if even that.

No offering from Brokenbank, of course. No one is sure what the number or strength of the survivors is, but they have already made what deals they can and will, with the Leviathan.

The doors push open, and the Exarch pushes his way through, followed by a party of cultists and sea monsters. Half-orc, fine leather armor encrusted with barnacles, piercing yellow eyes gazing out at the whole group.

“I am the voice of the Great Leviathan, tremble at the might of Uk’otoa,” he calls out, looking around at those gathered dignitaries who stand in the back behind their sacrifices. “The waters rise; offer to him your loyalty and you may be spared his wrath.”

The voice echoes throughout the chamber - magically altered, surely - and the appropriate fear response is given. Various voices babble out concessions; rebuilding and restoring temples, offering tithes of goods, and the Exarch just steps back and smirks, at the frantic bargaining.

“Offerings, to the Leviathan,” one of the cultists says, “be named, and of who has sent you to our master.”

Only the sacrifice from Gwardan gives her own name - the rest are spoken for by those offering them up. It is “Mollymauk Tealeaf, of Feolinn” - and he was right, not a name tied to the Marquis or any ruling merchants - and it is “From Nicodranas, the daughter to the Ruby of the Sea.”

The whole room reacts at that name, and said daughter clenches her fists tighter.

And then, eyes are on him, as he sits stoically. “From the Dwendalian Empire, as representative of Icehaven, Caleb Widogast,” the voice of his own watcher declares.

The Exarch grins; no sacrifices had been demanded, of other nations, only the Coast where once Uk’otoa had ruled. This is an unexpected surprise, that the Empire already feared the Leviathan’s might.

He was not from Icehaven, of course, but it wasn’t as if anyone could tell the difference, in Zemni accents. That he was from the Empire - that was enough.

“The Great Leviathan accepts your offerings; every soul, in the cities pledged, belongs to Uk’otoa. Do not forget this.” The Exarch steps forward. “You, three, I choose to return with me - Mollymauk Tealeaf, Caleb Widogast, and the Ruby’s daughter.”

He stands - the other two are pushed forward out of their seats. The choice could be pure aesthetic, but more likely, he thinks, it is that they three were unafraid. A few reasons, why that might be preferred.

They are caught up, then, in a swirl of water, manifest from nowhere - and when it subsides, they do not stand in the chamber anymore, instead on the top of a tower, obsidian black, ocean stretched out around them as far as could be seen.

“Welcome to the Grand Temple of Uk’otoa,” the Exarch declares. “You’re free to move about the tower, although the majority is - not meant for those who can’t breathe water. Please don’t try to escape - there isn’t much out here; it won’t end well for you.”

“What are we here for, exactly?” Tealeaf asks, as the Exarch leads them down into the tower. “They didn’t exactly explain anything to me beyond ‘shut up and look pretty’. I was starting to get the impression we were all going to be eaten, or something.”

“Oh - no. You’re my reward,” he says. “For releasing Uk’otoa from the seals. You’ll be bound to me - married, I guess, although there’s also some magic stuff going on.”

Marriage is a - nicer way of putting it, certainly. Hard to say, for who’s sake it was - or if it was what the Exarch genuinely thought.

“If we’re going to be married-” the girl from Nicodranas, the Ruby’s daughter starts, “would you kill someone for me?”

That is not what he had expected her to say - or what the Exarch had expected, clear from the look on his face.

“Lord Sharpe - he’s the one who made the offering - he wanted me dead, because I kind of humiliated him for being an asshole to my momma; and he was going to- they sent me because they wanted to keep my momma - I just-”

“Yeah, sure,” the Exarch says. “Do you - care about how? I could probably bring him here if you wanted to do it yourself. Also, sorry - what’s your name? They didn’t actually say-”

“Jester.” The anger isn’t completely gone, although she seems a bit more shocked, now.

“I’m Fjord. I’ve never been real big on titles, so you can just call me that. Either of you want anyone dead, while we’re at it?”

“Not really?” Tealeaf says. “I mean, there’s some folks I owe money to, but I doubt they’ll make it all the way out here.

“I will let you know,” Caleb says.

“I’ll show you to the rooms first, then go deal with him.” They head down a few more floors, and then Fjord opens a door into a large lounge.

It’s decadent, in a very Marquesian or Concordian way; covered in cushions, pillows, blankets and silk, golden and jeweled decorations shimmering all around.

“There’s four bedrooms, take your pick, all connected to a hot bath,” he explains. “When you want food, knock on a table, out here or in the rooms, and ask, it should magically appear. I haven’t found a limit yet, but I don’t know how well it works on Zemnian foods.”

“Are there any rules we must follow?” Caleb asks, looking around.

“Not really?” Fjord says. “I guess - don’t try to escape? Not that it really matters; tracking you down will be easy.” He shrugs. “Lorde Sharpe, Nicodranas, was at the meeting?”

“Don’t - drown the city, or anything,” Jester says. “My momma’s still there-”

“I was just going to chop his head off,” Fjord says, summoning a sword to his hand. “Shouldn’t take long, feel free to get settled in.”

He teleports away again, a gathering of water and shadows, and they’re left alone in the room.

“That really wasn’t what I expected,” Tealeaf says. “Was it what you expected?”

“No,” Caleb tells him. “Are you going to try and escape?”

“Me? Fuck no, I can barely swim, no way I make it back to shore. Why, were you planning something?”

“Trying to figure out whether you would.”

“Like he said, there’s nowhere in Exandria we could go,” Jester says. “I’m going to go see which of the beds is the best.”

“And I’m going to get something to eat - Feolinn prison food sucks, in case you were curious.”

“Not related to the Marquis, then?” he asks.

“Nope! Just some carnie thief passing through they thought wouldn’t be missed. Probably right.” He shrugs, collapsing into the pile of cushions by the table. “You’re not the Starosta’s kid either, I’m guessing.”

“Not exactly.” he sits down as well. He asks the tower for dumplings - they do not taste like home, but nothing ever does.

It isn’t long before Jester returns to join them, declaring which room is hers. He doesn’t ask what her stance on escape is - her first action had been to ask the Exarch to kill someone for her; she knew where she stood.

Instead, they devolve into betting - with what as their bargain not yet decided - on exactly how the next few days will play out. Mollymauk thinks the ritual will be as soon as Fjord returns, Jester thinks he will wait a few days as some kind of courtship. Caleb thinks they will be separate - Molly agrees, but thinks the others will be present - and Jester thinks it will happen all at once. They’re unanimous that it will involve sex, at least.

“That’s why they were talking about momma,” Jester says. “You know, the Ruby of the Sea is the best lay ever.” She hums it out, somewhat half-heartedly.

“Yeah, got the impression they thought I was a whore, too,” Molly adds. “It would probably be better if I was, used to fucking people I didn’t care for - at least you have that.”

“I haven’t actually fucked anyone, before,” she admits. “Momma kind of kept me hidden away from - well, everyone. I didn’t get to go out, much.” She wraps her arms around her knee.

“How about you, Mister Caleb?” Molly says, turning his way. “Or am I left alone with virgins, the only one able to fuck the evil warlock and save the world from drowning?”

“He may prefer virgins,” Caleb tells him. “But no, I have - had, partners.” One of many reasons he’d been chosen - he had trained for this, after all.

“What do you think is going to happen,” Jester murmurs, “if we’re not good enough?”

“Given that he’s off killing someone for you,” Molly says, “probably just keep us around until we get better. I doubt we’re getting out of here anytime soon. Or ever.”

Fill: rites of conquest (Fjord/Caleb/Jester/Molly, dub/noncon, arranged marriage, tentacle sex) 2/2

[(Anonymous)]

The door is pushed open - not by Fjord, but another cultist, yellow-eyed slightly finned. “You are summoned,” they say. “The ritual is to begin shortly.”

Molly smirks, Jester frowns, and pushes the plate with the remaining muffin in his direction.

“Follow me,” the cultist continues, “or we will drag you there by force.”

It is still only the one cultist, but the tower itself is unholy ground. He rises, and the other two follow not a moment later, all walking forth. Their paces shift, speeding up and slowing down, trying to have someone else be at the forefront, but in the end it evens out, and they're more or less in step when they reach the ritual chamber.

“Looks like a party,” Molly mutters, as they are joined by more cultists. Fjord is on a dais in the center, carved lines of a runic sigil around him and glowing, three empty spots, which they are each promptly shoved towards. Jester shakes off a few who grab at her - stronger than he’d have suspected, at a glance. He lets himself be guided, hand on the back of his neck dropping him to his knees.

They chant. He recognizes a few words as abyssal, although he can’t place the meaning, and at a glance neither tiefling knows the language either. It’s some sort of call and response, as Fjord stands gripping a sea worn falchion, golden eye staring up from the hilt.

Around them, the shadows of the already dark room deepen. He takes it as just the sign of the ritual’s power, but they start to solidify, like rippling, inky black water, slowly encroaching.

Maybe it’s because he’s too distracted, trying to determine what the ritual means even without knowing the words, and maybe it’s because he was waiting for Fjord to step off from the dais, or one of the cultists to approach - he doesn’t see the water form into tentacles until they’re already on him.

There’s gasps and shrieks - more surprise than anything but not without fear - from the other two, before the tentacles find their way into open mouths. One pushes against his closed lips, trying to force its way in his mouth, and after only a moment he relents rather than have it try and break his jaw with the effort.

The tentacles snake around limbs, pulling them all a few feet in the air. It’s easier to tell what’s happening by seeing the other two than by trying to figure out how he’s being positioned by sense, but most of his attention remains not on them, or the tentacles, but Fjord. His own shadow seems to leak out, as if it is the source, and he lets the sword go, to float before him, face wracked in concentration.

Clothes are torn away, roughly, and he knows there’s little chance of getting those back. Hopefully it won’t be the last they see of any clothing at all. Skin exposed to the cool room, everything is covered by the tentacles and their adolescent pawing, unorganized but not rough, at least. The two tieflings seem more affected, or at least, good at faking it, and he does his best to match their sounds, gasps and moans at the vague attempts to caress any and all exposed skin.

There’s a look of concentration on Fjord’s face - the tentacles aren’t the Leviathan, or some other sentience, but the Exarch controlling and communing - accessing a newfound power? The split attention among the three explains the sloppiness; there’s enough differences that he’s clearly making different moves for each instead of copying the same general impact on all of them.

It is Mollymauk who starts thrusting against the tentacles first, and not more than a few moments after the focus shifts, as they start to wind around actually sensitive areas, just beginning to press in. He doesn’t need to try and fake any sounds at that.

He’s not - he wasn’t expected, wasn’t prepared for tentacles. They’re more than even several pairs of hands could ever be, their writhing contact everywhere, surprising in how good it feels. Wrapped around and pressing in, just a few, just slowly, exploring over fucking, which is a sensation he’s never felt before.

It’s growing increasingly difficult, trying to keep his attention on what’s happening around him, on Fjord. Any sense of trying to follow chanting is gone, and he’s grateful there’s no reason to try and pretend to be unaffected, because he knows the attempt would be pitiful. 

Tentacles start to hit and press into bundles of nerves, and he’s barely able to notice when they start moving forward, being dragged up the dais towards the center, and then he only truly realizes what has happened when there’s a hand on his face, gentle, but still pulling him up to make contact.

Fjord kisses him, and it takes all he can to not react. It isn’t the most forcefully he’s been kissed, but neither is it gentle - certainly claiming. The tentacles don’t stop, and he doesn’t hold back the moan he gives, even after Fjord pulls away.

They’re close enough to the center now that it doesn’t take movement, just a turn, for Fjord to focus on one of the other two. If any of them could move, it would be simple to reach out - but even a test finds the tentacles hold fast, not budging any limbs.

He’s turned to Molly now, biting at his neck as the tentacles raise upward, before the tiefling is angled back and Fjord starts fucking into him. Hands grip at thighs, but there isn’t even the pretense that’s what’s holding him up. 

Moving in time, now, the tentacles start stretching and spreading and growing deeper within him - and from the sounds being made, Jester as well. It’s nowhere near the sensation of actually getting fucked, too many and too small, but it doesn’t make the rhythm any less intense. 

It looks like Molly is about to come, when the tentacles around his dick pull back, leaving one like a plug and one wrapped around the base. After a shuddering thrust, Fjord pulls out, and there’s the sight of his cum leaking out of Molly before a much larger tentacle takes the place, not moving, just acting as a plug.

He turns to Jester, after that, Mollymauk overwhelmed and lying shaking in tentacles that still hold fast. Practically looming over her, hands caressing her breasts, he starts fucking her in turn.

Unlike Mollymauk, her hands are not being held - and she wraps them around Fjord pulling him tight. The sounds she makes are no more intelligible, just caught up in pleasure.

When her hands fall aside, and Jester falls back, they’re wrapped up in tentacles once more, keeping her in place and aloft. It’s harder to see,  harder to tell, if she’s also on the near edge of orgasm when Fjord pulls aside - still hard, magically so - and the tentacles slide up to take the place, still and far away from anything sensitive.

And then Fjord’s focus is back on him. A shorter kiss, a sharp biting mark, he lets himself fall into the grip as the tentacles pull back and Fjord takes their gaping place. It’s surprising how full it feels, after being so stretched and opened.

It hadn’t felt this long, watching the others, but it feels longer - mind not able to focus on keeping track of the time quite so closely. There’s so much magic in the air, he can taste it, power. Fjord feels so good, the contact, even the tentacles. There’s no need to fake a reaction - it’s getting to him, it truly is. 

And as it had with Molly - the ritual refuses to let him finish, even as does so, warm and sticky and leaving him feeling so filled. The tentacle that comes to plug is larger, stretching, and refuses to move at all, to let any relief come until it is decreed.

The Exarch shifts back to the center, and reads his lines, and the room cracks with power, the chanting which had gone soft, or further away, rising to a crescendo. It’s like every shadow in the room is a tentacle, now, golden eyes glowing in the dark. He can feel a metal collar snap around his neck, but he can’t find it in him to care. 

There’s only a few moments of stimulation, that’s all that’s needed before he’s coming, surely in unison with the other two. Can’t even look, too much feeling, nothing stopping - he falls back into the embrace of the tentacles.

When he regains consciousness, the ritual chamber is gone, replaced by a bedroom, softly lit by candles. He’s been cleaned up, which is mildly worrying but not truly unexpected. Beside him in the bed are Molly and Jester - there is a space where Fjord  may have been, but he is nowhere to be seen.

The collar was real, though, is still around all three necks. The other two have different designs, ever so slightly customized, more for aesthetic than personality, but not completely apart. He wonders, if he found a mirror, what his own would appear as. 

Careful to hide the movements, he looks to the candles, and follows the familiar somatic components for control flames. The color shifts, ever so slightly, before returning back as it was. Not enchanted to block magic, an oversight he was more than thankful for.

From what he had seen - from the powers on display within the tower - it would not be an easy mission, to kill the Leviathan’s Exarch. More information would be needed, a weakness - but at least magic was still available.

For now, though, that is too much thought. He shifts closer into the other two’s embrace, and lets the fleeting whisper of consciousness vanish once again.

Re: Fill: rites of conquest (Fjord/Caleb/Jester/Molly, dub/noncon, arranged marriage, tentacle sex)

[(Anonymous)]

I'd totally read more of this if it existed!! Love it!