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: I'll Be Fine Once I Get It, Beau/OFC, Explicit (1/1) CW: Dubcon, Slight Underage

[(Anonymous)]

(this prompt inspired me to write a 5+1 kinky Beau character study that will likely end up around 12k words long... If I finish it, I'll post the AO3 link to the full work on here too, but until then have this excerpt that more or less stands on its own. the rest of the WIP gets, uhh... a lot messier and more explicit, ha.)

Underage warning is for Beau (16) having sex with an adult woman of unspecified age.

*

Beau loses her virginity when she is sixteen years old, to a woman she never sees again.

It’s the same old story: a small gang of racketeers passes through town and gets in touch with the local seedy contact, the asshole human kid of Kamordah. It would have been just another job for Beau, just another fevered weekend dodging her parents and chasing cheap thrills, some quick coin, the special lurch in her stomach that reminds her, yeah, she’s here and she’s alive.

But then there’s her, a bored-looking half-elf with blond silk hair and frigid grey eyes that suddenly seem a lot less bored when they take in Beauregard, when they pin her with a steadfast look that locks Beau’s muscles in place and melts her bones to mush and sends her blood pounding red-hot through the veins of Beau’s neck, to the spots behind her knees and between her legs.

Beau is enthralled. There’s a new lurch in her stomach now, a tug more violent than she’s ever felt.

Her part in the job only lasts a couple days, during which the half-elf woman watches her with a careful, hungry sort of fascination, as if she is a cat weighing her options before her prey, deciding whether or not to pounce. Beau basks in the electric current of her attention, drinks in how the older woman finds every opportunity to touch her, to brush her fingers across Beau’s wrist or press her palm to the small of Beau’s back, tossing her sidelong smiles and amused glances all the while.

Beauregard smirks back, nothing but cheek and swagger.

Afterwards, Beau follows the group to the tavern she knows they’re staying at, casual as anything. She slouches around the bar, ordering an ale and ignoring everyone around her, behind her, but Beau can feel her eyes on her, like a steady, prickling pressure on the skin of her neck.

Finally, the other woman makes her move, sliding into the seat next to Beau, a sparkle in the corner of her eye.

“Beauregard, isn’t it?” she says, mouth curving around the brim of her glass. “Didn’t we just say goodbye to you?”

She shrugs. “Small town.” Glances sideways at her, trying to play it cool. “And, actually, it’s ‘Beau’ to my friends.”

She laughs, a low, throaty sound. “Are we friends, then? You hardly know me.”

“I’ve got a lot of friends.” Beau drags out a small, sleazy grin. Her heart hammers in her chest, betraying her. “It’s not a difficult threshold to meet, to be honest.”

“Perhaps you should be more careful about the company you keep, then, Beau.” The woman smiles wide, like she’s remembering a secret joke. “Let me buy you a drink.”

There it is. That wild, shivery lurch in her gut. Better and more addictive than whisky, than bloodied fists, than the perfect job pulled together.

Beau accepts the drink. And another, and another, and another for good measure, till the raggedy swoop of adrenaline has settled into a pleasant, persistent buzz beneath her skin. When she follows the woman up to her room, a little unsteady on her feet, it feels like at any moment her bones might vibrate right out of her body.

She smells so good, a blend of jasmine and dirt and the faintest note of something flowery, nothing like the expensive, overwhelming perfumes of Beau’s mother. Her mouth tastes like beer and peppermint, her shock of blond hair silky and fine beneath Beau’s fingers, in stark contrast to the scarred, work-hardened landscape of too-white skin.

After that, everything is a messy, boozy jumble of skin and teeth, all too blurred by warm liquor for anything to stick concretely in her memory. At first, every touch the woman deigns to give her feels like a goddamn revelation, even as her nails leave red stripes down the line of Beau’s back, her long, rough fingers pressing their own pattern of bruises into the patchwork brown-purple-red of Beau’s arms.

She grabs Beau’s still-too-narrow shoulders and pushes down, and Beau goes, sinks until her knees hit the cool wooden floor. Naked and kneeling, she cranes her neck to look up at this woman, this goddess seated on the edge of the bed with legs spread open, desire plain in those pretty eyes that had seemed so discerning, so disinterested when Beau first saw them. Now they’re hungry and impatient, trained wholly on her, and Beau has never felt so important.

She tangles her fingers not-gently in Beau’s hair, guiding her forward until her mouth nudges warm skin. Beau presses a trail of feathery, tentative kisses up pale thighs until there, there she is, and a spike of anxiety rises sudden and unexpected in her chest, cracking through the familiar, boozy haze.

Noticing her hesitation, the woman yanks Beau’s head back in a sudden jerk. She takes Beau’s chin in her hand and tilts it upward so she can look into her wide, startled eyes.

“Huh.” Her voice is equal parts incredulity and bemusement. “You’ve never done this before, have you, kid?”

A red wave of embarrassment flushes through her, betraying the truth before she can even form a lie.

“Wow. What about all of your friends, hm?”

Beau tries to summon her previous bravado, but it’s buried somewhere beneath layers of tipsy sluggishness and jittery nerves. She manages a creaky smile, still kneeling. “Uh—”

“No, darling, don’t worry about it.” That look of hunger is back, sharper than before, like it might cut Beau open if she gets too close. The fingers cupping Beau’s jaw give a sudden, hard squeeze, gripping tight enough that Beau is wincing, pinned by her lover’s gaze as much as her hand. “It’s cute. I can teach you to do a good job.”

“Y-yeah.” Beau’s heart stutters in her chest. “Yes. Okay.”

She laughs softly and releases Beau’s chin but even so, Beau stays frozen, knelt there and staring wide-eyed up at her until fingers once again twist into Beau’s hair and pull her forward.

It’s—it’s not quite as pretty and wild and perfect as the books she hides under her mattress make it out to be. When Beau presses her nose into a mound of damp, blond curls, her tongue darting boldly forward, parting swollen folds, she hears this small, breathy moan from above. An encouraging sign, so Beau tries pressing closer, closer, even as she involuntarily flinches away from the taste, the newness of everything, that earlier spike of anxiety still caught in her ribcage. Dimly, a part of her realizes that she has no idea what she’s doing.

Then she feels one hand clutching her shoulder in an iron, bruising grip, another hand grabbing a fistful of Beau’s hair and dragging her in, pressing her face firmly between her lover’s legs, holding her there. The thick, wet taste of arousal floods Beau’s nose and mouth, and suddenly Beau is choking back a gag, her hand shaking, scrambling for the edge of the mattress, some wild, childish corner of her mind briefly terrified that she is going to suffocate.

The older woman doesn’t relent. She only tightens her grip, tugs her even closer, and distantly Beau hears breathy murmurs, wordless and insistent above her. She lets the tension drain out of her neck as she closes her eyes, wills herself to relax and her manic thoughts to slow and shut down; she surrenders herself to the guiding compass of her lover’s moans. Returned to the numb, pleasant haze of just enough booze, Beau laps into her, drinks her in. Long, slow licks, her tongue gliding over the swell of her clit. She tastes her effect on her.

I did this, she marvels, lips and chin soaked and smeared with this woman’s arousal, her attraction to her. From above, breathless noises of hums and gasps and moans, the sting of nails digging hard into her scalp, and Beau thinks, I’m doing this. I’m doing this to her.

Eventually hands lift and wrench Beau’s head away, and Beau blinks and squints at the abrupt re-exposure to bright, lantern-lit surroundings. Above her, the woman giggles.

She tucks a lock of dark hair behind Beau’s ear, lays a callused hand on her cheek. Beau is frozen again, half-afraid to lean into the fragile warmth of her touch.

“Your face is a fucking mess,” her lover murmurs, mouth quirking. “But you did great. You did good.”

“Really?” Beau is startled to hear how rough and scratchy her own voice sounds, the frail, wobbly note of doubt in it.

A soft laugh. “Yes,” she says, thumbing a strange wetness pooled in the corner of Beau’s eye. Beau hadn’t even realized it’d been there. “Yes, Beauregard. You’re a good girl. You did so good.”

Beau squeezes her eyes shut, a shudder rippling through her. Her breath escapes in a shaky burst.

“Oh.” The woman sounds pleased. “You’re into that, huh? You like being a good girl for me?”

Eyes still closed, she nods. Her backside is cool, exposed, and she is finally growing aware of the dull, biting ache in her knees still pressed hard to the ground.

“Do you like it when I’m rough with you, Beau?”

She nods again.

Another laugh. The abrupt withdrawal of the hand cradling Beau’s face, leaving her off-kilter.

Her eyes open just in time for the sharp, stinging slap to land across her cheek, not hard enough to leave a bruise, but definitely hard and unexpected enough to whip Beau’s face to the side, leaving a breath choked, trapped in her throat as she debates whether or not to lift her gaze. A tight, clenching heat gathers between her legs, concurrent with the genuine tug of dread building in her gut.

In this—in this she rediscovers the jagged desire that originally drew her here, ignited when the force of this woman’s gaze first paralyzed Beau where she stood several days ago, when they didn’t even yet know each other’s names.

Two strong, rough hands drag now through Beau’s thick hair, scraping harshly into her scalp. A violent yank, and Beau hisses in pain, but she at last has permission to rise from the floor, her knees sore and screaming with sudden relief. A hard, lurching shove. Beau is forced face-down against the bed, a light hand tracing gentle patterns on the small of her back. When she tries getting up, turning around, though, the hand turns rough, heavy, pushes Beau back down. Then a palm just rests there on her spine, applying the tiniest pressure, a sinister weight.

Her heart is racing, and it’s as if she can feel it pounding hardest in the strangest parts of her body: behind her knees, between her eyelids, both of her wrists, the side of her face still smarting from that slap.

There’s a lot, after. The next day she will remember it mostly as a muddled, whisky-soaked haze of rough fingers and soft lips and hard bruises, a heady, clumsy cocktail of arousal, fear, pain, thrill. She isn’t really sure if she comes or not, but later she will remember how her stomach lurched, over and over, and in the end that’s everything she is chasing.

When she’s pretty sure it’s finished (as best as she can figure), every bone of Beauregard’s skeleton replaced one by one with steady aches and uneven heartbeats, the woman drops a bundle of fabric on Beau’s torso. Beau blinks, lifting her head slightly from the foot of the mattress, and realizes it’s a pile of her own clothing, hastily discarded in the earlier hurricane of desperate grabs and hungry kisses. It feels like that was an eternity ago.

“Thanks for that, kid,” she says, yawning and stretching by the side of the bed. She winks. “You have a pleasant night, now, hm?”

“Uh. Right, yeah.” Beau rolls off of the bed, hastily gets dressed and feeling ridiculously self-conscious about it. Her foot gets caught on the leg of her trousers; she doesn’t remember ever being this clumsy. After a few fumbly moments, she gets herself sorted out. She tosses a last look over her shoulder.

The half-elf woman is settled now on the edge of the bed, still naked, still watching her. There’s a slight, amused slant to her mouth, but her eyes have returned to dull, bored grey. Beau instantly diverts her gaze.

“Bye,” she rasps, and hurries out the door, without touching the woman or making eye contact again.

Free from the stifling air of the tavern, a bright, bone-deep giddiness follows her on her way home, almost like some sort of vertigo. She grins up at the black, endless sky dotted with distant yellow stars, and for one thread-thin moment, it’s as if she can grasp the world in her fist.

By the next morning, though, the feeling’s all but vanished, replaced by only a fuzzy jigsaw recollection of the night. She wanders past the sitting room where her parents are for once enjoying a relaxed Da’leysen, and as soon as they catch her eye—she is sure they know. Kamordah is a small fucking town, where gossip spreads faster than the goddamn plague. She grows acutely aware of the marks most visible on her person: the dark bruises across her jaw, the storm of hickeys littering her throat.

For one split second, her chest is seized with wrenching, squirming panic. It fades as fast as it appeared, and to everybody’s surprise, her parents aren’t instantly angry with her. They don’t try to punish her or even lecture. Her father looks back at her with those eyes the exact shape and colour as Beau’s own, and there is nothing but exhaustion in the lines of his face. Exhaustion, and the faintest twitch of disgust.

Beauregard turns around and leaves.

All traces of exhilaration from the prior night’s events have long left her, but she doesn’t really feel bad about what she’s done. She doesn’t feel happy, either, but at least she doesn’t feel used, or unclean, or ruined in any way. She does feel a little sticky, maybe. A little sore.

Mostly, though, mostly she doesn’t feel much of anything at all.

Re: FILL: I'll Be Fine Once I Get It, Beau/OFC, Explicit (1/1) CW: Dubcon, Slight Underage

[(Anonymous)]

Aside from being hot (which it definitely is), this is a really excellent character study! I enjoyed it a lot, and I'll be excited to see it as part of a longer work, too.

Re: FILL: I'll Be Fine Once I Get It, Beau/OFC, Explicit (1/1) CW: Dubcon, Slight Underage

[(Anonymous)]

I live just how complicated this all is for Beau. The newness of having sex, the realization of her own particular desires, the shame of having to be shown by someone else, and the uncertain pleasure at all. So much there and all so wonderful to read.