CR Campaign Three: Character Prompts

[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: Char1/Char2, flogging

Body of comment: Char1 has a thing for Char2's strong hands. Having seen them wield a weapon, they're wondering how well Char2 can swing their favorite bedroom toy.

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:

"[something punny about floggers], Char1/Char2, 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

Re: 'shiny,' Ashton/FCG, Food Kink, M, 2/3?

[(Anonymous)]

“Sure thing,” Fresh Cut Grass promises, and there’s a tiny click and a whirr as they select a copper piece and bring it to their mouth.

Toss it in with a clink. Mouth at it for a second. Crunch it down, even though Ashton ain’t never seen anything in there but plates, not teeth. Bob their head a bit, as if swallowing, though their neck is so slim that the damn coin woulda had to be crushed to dust to fit it all down there.

Ashton can’t look away. This never gets old.

Maybe that’s why it takes them longer than it should’ve to realize that Fresh Cut Grass has stopped munching. And is watching them back, in fact.

“What?” Ashton asks, tensing a bit. Fuck. What did Letters see on their face, what are they going to say…

“D’you like watchin’ me eat?” Fresh Cut Grass asks.

Their voice is pleasant and barely inflected, like usual, and the words themselves ain’t accusatory. But Ashton – can’t help but wonder.

“Does it matter if I do?” they ask, bristling a bit. And of course, it comes out more defensive than anything else. Fuck.

Luckily, Fresh Cut Grass doesn’t seem to take offense. “Maybe, maybe not,” they muse instead, before Ashton can get another word in edgewise. “Just wonderin’, now, if this predilection has anythin’ to do with that moment of distress an’ interpersonal conflict you described earlier.”

“I – guess?” Though honestly, Ashton has no idea where this line of questioning is going. “You deserve to eat as much as anyone else, Letters.”

“But I have more than enough, Ashton,” Fresh Cut Grass says patiently. “You always bring me more than I need.”

Something about this statement sends a fucking shiver down the entire length of Ashton’s spine and they shudder beneath the unexpectedness of it. And then, immediately afterwards, they drop their head to their arms and shake it ‘til the crystals rattle, trying to clear their thoughts up enough to figure out what the actual fuck.

“Huh,” Fresh Cut Grass says slowly. Like they definitely saw something on Ashton’s face this time. “Well, I s’pose that’s an option t’ consider too. Ashton, is feedin’ me fulfillin’ a sexual urge or need for you?”

What… What do you say to something like that? Now Ashton can’t even lift their head from the cradle of their arms. “What the fuck, Letters?!” they ask, muffled.

“I was askin’ if-“

“No, I heard you just fine!” Thank fuck they know they don’t flush quite like non-geode folks do, Ashton thinks wildly. “It just sounds like you’re making fun.”

“I wouldn’t,” Fresh Cut Grass says earnestly. There’s another clink, louder this time, as if they’ve set the bowl aside, before there comes the distinctive squeaking sound of them trundling across the floor in Ashton’s direction.

“I know you wouldn’t,” Ashton mutters, leaning ever so slightly into the metallic hand that alights gently in their crystalline hair. And they mean it, even.

“Good,” Fresh Cut Grass says simply. “I’m glad we’ve established that level of trust – wouldn’t want you to feel like I’m needlin’ you, ‘specially not when I’ve obviously poked a sore spot of yours, psychologically speakin’. Still. Say, Ashton.”

“Mmmm?” Ashton is a bit distracted – the robot’s hand on their head feels nice. Not a lotta non-geode folks ever got used to the texture of crystalline hair, but Fresh Cut Grass had gotten the hang of it right away. Always brought just the right amount of pressure too, gentle but firm all at once. Ashton doesn’t even mind that their hand ain’t real warm.

“Is this somethin’ you’ve ever considered explorin’ further?” Fresh Cut Grass asks above their head, as free of judgment or preconception as always. “Like, just t’ see if it’s a quirk or a full-on fetish or what-not?”

“Fuck, Letters,” Ashton says. With feeling. Actually, more than one feeling, probably, but it’s all a jumbled mess in their head right now.

“Later, if you want,” Fresh Cut Grass says amiably, with one last pat. “For now, though, you wanna come watch me eat? Let’s see what interests you about all this, ‘cause I don’t want you fightin’ Milo after they trigger unexpected emotions or reactions into surfacin’, whether that’s outta repressed trauma or copin’ methods or even sexual impulses.”

That is – not what happened earlier, Ashton thinks weakly. Really.

“Letters,” they complain, but even so, they still raise their head to watch Fresh Cut Grass trundle back across the floor to retrieve that bowl of coppers.

Aw, what the hell. “You know what, pal – sure. Why not. Let’s do this.”

“Shiny!” Fresh Cut Grass enthuses, squeaky-wheeling their way back. They’re already twirling a single copper dexterously through slim fingers. “All righty then. If you can do this for me, Ashton, here’s what I’m thinkin’: you watch close, feel whatever it is that you’re feelin’, an’ we’ll check in after I’m done t’ see if we can articulate what that feelin’ is. Sound good?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Ashton’s pretty confident they can manage all that, since they ain’t the kinda lunkhead who’s afraid to feel shit or talk about it. At least, not with – friends. Yeah. Friends. Besides. They’re a bit distracted now, watching that copper dance between Letters’ shiny fingers. “Sounds great, let’s do it.”

“All righty!” And with that, Fresh Cut Grass rolls to a gentle stop beside them, and even as Ashton is twisting around to watch, pops in another coin. Then when that one’s gone down, pops another, and another, and another…

At first Ashton is thinking of this as just a way to humor Letters, and hopefully, get it out of their cute shiny head that Ashton has any kind of problem with Milo’s meddling besides a mild annoyance. But that thinking quickly fades away, replaced instead by a growing pressure low in Ashton’s gut: something that flares bright and hot and nice at the image of Fresh Cut Grass munching away, unaffected by what Ashton still worries is a meager number of coins, or indeed, by anything else except their food.

Then they happen to look over and down, which is when they notice that there’s only one copper left.

“Wait, wait,” Ashton says, struggling to sit upright again. Huh – when had they melted up against the wall like that? “Letters – let me.”

Re: 'shiny,' Ashton/FCG, Food Kink, M, 3/3

[(Anonymous)]

Though they don’t elaborate any more’n that, Fresh Cut Grass’s ornamental little brow-pieces don’t even twitch – instead, the robot simply holds out their nearly-empty bowl for Ashton when they gesture. Ashton notices, distantly, that there’s a tiny tremor to their own hand as they scoop up the last piece with unsteady fingertips.

“Whatcha need, Ashton?” Fresh Cut Grass asks quietly, watching all of this as steady as they always do.

“C’mere,” Ashton says instead, and fuck them but the robot does, just like that, wheeling around and rolling right into the vee of Ashton’s legs where they’ve let ‘em fall open at some point without even realizing it.

That’s a problem for Later Ashton, though. Right now, though:

“Here,” Ashton whispers, holding the last copper out, and Fresh Cut Grass, bless them, seems to understand quick enough. They lean forward, accepting the last piece of money-food-money right from Ashton’s fingertips, and for a brief second Ashton’s skin is alight with its proximity to those smooth, strong metal plates that form Letters’ lips and jaws.

Their entire hand could get crushed in there, Ashton thinks giddily, almost dizzy with this new knowledge. Letters is probably one of the few beings down here who, even alone, could do as much damage to Ashton as the fuckers who wrecked their head and eye and shoulder did, except that –

Letters would never. Letters just eats what Ashton brings home for them, and inquires about the ins and outs of Ashton’s awful puns, and mediates between Milo and Ashton when they both get into one of their moods, and encourages Ashton to feel and say things that Ashton doesn’t always feel up to feeling or wanting to say otherwise.

And maybe all Ashton can do in return is provide Letters with the coppers they like to eat, but if that’s the case, well then Ashton is gonna give them so. Fucking. Many. Coppers.

“How’re you feelin’?” Fresh Cut Grass asks, pulling back when this last coin has vanished after the others.

“Good,” Ashton says, slow. They’re still – trying to take this all in, a bit. “Like – a bit fuzzy? But, really good. Kinda want to rub one out, to be honest.”

“Like masturbatin’? Then you should,” Fresh Cut Grass returns simply. Like it really is just that easy. “And thanks for bein’ honest, Ashton. I know it ain’t always easy to do.”

Ashton is already on the edge, and this comfortable, easy acceptance of their – their everything – ain’t helping any. “Letters,” they grit out. One hand is already headed down their own pants, scrabbling for pressure and a hold. “Please.”

“Should I go?” the robot asks mildly.

“No.” Ashton hadn’t realized they were going to say that until the word is already out, but once it is, it just makes sense. “No, st- stay with me. Please.”

“Ok!” And Fresh Cut Grass does. Stays with them as Ashton gasps and shudders ‘til they feel like they’re flying apart; stays with them as they slump back against the wall, panting; stays with them, as the weird feeling of shit fuck what do I do now starts creeping in, and Ashton is kinda left grasping at straws because honestly they don’t want that sinking sensation to start right now.

Letters. Maybe they’ll know what to do.

“Letters?” Ashton croaks.

“Yes, Ashton?”

“Hair? Please?”

And that’s all they need to ask – just like that, Fresh Cut Grass’s dexterous fingers slide back in amongst the crystal spikes and rest there. Grounding. Nice. And for all their hand remains cool and even harder than Ashton’s own, Ashton has never minded all that. At all.

“Thanks, pal.” The words drip out of Ashton, soft and slurred. Already that weirdness is fading away – slinking back into the jagged edges of Ashton’s fractured head, maybe. “So. Verdict?”

“Definitely a kink,” Fresh Cut Grass muses. Huh, all right. Ashton is already nodding against the wall at this – they’ve got a few of those, so the news ain’t really a surprise even if they haven’t run up against this particular one before Letters came into the picture – and then Fresh Cut Grass does that thing where they, just, come for Ashton’s entire life with their precise, meticulous way of, like, seeing people.

“As far as I can tell, it looks to be tied to providin’ for someone else,” Fresh Cut Grass goes on. “An’ to receivin’ some concrete indication that they’re satisfied with the provision, which seems to translate t’ them bein’ satisfied with you, whether that is as a person or as a friend or whatever other role you’ve assigned them in your mind. Like, if the one you’re feedin’ has somethin’ that you thought they’d like or need, then their pleasure becomes yours, by proxy. Maybe feels like permission for you to be happy an’ satisfied too.”

And see, the thing is that – like usual – Fresh Cut Grass ain’t wrong, exactly. It’s more that – Ashton is never quite prepared for their pulling things outta the darkness of people’s heads and holdin’ them up to the light like they’re something precious that deserves to be studied and understood better. And this litany in particular feels like one blow to the head after another. Fuck.

“Fuck,” Ashton whispers, with even more feeling than before.

Fresh Cut Grass regards them with concern. “You all right there, Ashton? Those’re just my observations, of course, and if they’re unsettlin’ or unwelcome then we can leave them be for a while, ‘til you’re ready to revisit the idea and -“

“No, I – I appreciate ‘em, Letters.” Whatever dissonance they might be feeling at being seen so clearly, like maybe the robot is peering right through that gaping hole in their skull, Ashton also knows that Fresh Cut Grass deserves to hear this much. They do so much, and it ain’t their fault Ashton is – like this. Like anything, really. So.

“Really, I do,” they continue, quiet-like. “Never really had a friend like you before, and it’s – it’s nice. Unexpected, sometimes, but – real nice.”

“Aw, Ashton.” Fresh Cut Grass bumps their good shoulder companionably, without ever relinquishing that steady hand on their hair. “I mean, to be fair, I’ve never had a friend like you either, an’ I appreciate this tremendous change, too.”

Ashton huffs a tiny laugh at this – not like they’re disbelieving what Letters is saying, more in perpetual incredulity that more people didn’t take a shine to this amazing little fucker the second they met them – and leans further into the robot’s side. “We should stick together then, huh.”

“Yeah,” Fresh Cut Grass says thoughtfully. “We should. I’d like that a lot, Ashton.”

“Deal,” Ashton says, with a yawn. And, thinking it might bother the robot otherwise, they add, sleepily:

“And I promise I’ll go say sorry to Milo. When I can stand again.”
And somehow Fresh Cut Grass’s smile, small as it is because of those rigid plates, feels bright enough to light up the fucking world.