tavlesskink | Rules and Prompts

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For anyone who enjoys the old-school fandom vibes of anonymous prompts, but who wants to focus on origins characters and BG3 NPCs.

What is a kinkmeme?
A kinkmeme is a place to post story ideas, plot bunnies, and concepts anonymously, in hopes that they'll inspire someone else in the fandom. As implied in the name, kink and smut prompts are welcome, but so are gen prompts! This is a choose not to warn space - there may be offensive content in prompts and we do not require warnings in titles.

Mod Post | Fills Archive | Prompt Index (by character)

Prompting

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Use the subject line to identify the prompt in some way (ex: ship/brief concept). This will make it easier for folks to see which prompt people are replying to in the flat view.
All prompts must be anonymous
All prompts must focus on canon characters from Baldur's Gate 3, whether they be playable characters or NPCs. Canon Durge (white dragonborn sorcerer with his Gortash-involved backstory, that guy) is allowed. If you want to prompt for ideas about your custom Durge/Tav, or a generic Tav, there is another BG3 kinkmeme that allows Tav prompts.

Fills

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

shadow_fell

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57750325

---

The Emerald Grove. To call it the one spot of civilization on this stretch of the Risen Road felt rude to the druid’s practices, but it was the only populated place for quite a ways. There had been towns here, once, left to rot and ruin, and a day or so west was an inn, but he didn’t have gold. There were other ways to pay, but slaying monsters was more worth farmhouses than proper boarding. Or with druids, as the case may be.

Druids, by their nature, were an antisocial lot, not ones to take in many guests. But clearing out demonic infestations was an easy way to earn favor, and the druid who had assisted him at the end had invited him back for some food and rest. He’d certainly take it over another night alone in the forest, or trying to find some abandoned building to hold up in. He’d met a decent number of druids, during his travels, mostly on the road, members of the Emerald Enclave, who would share with him some details useful for his current hunt, tell him of any monstrosity disrupting the natural order. This was his first time in a grove, and it was…not quite as he’d imagined, from the stories.

It was beautiful, vibrant plants and calm waters, smooth stone carved from nature, brimming with magic. But it was less the place of quiet and peaceful meditation storybooks told of and more…animals rutting while druids sat around half-naked. He’d always assumed that to be the exaggeration of a much different kind of story.

Not that he was here to judge! Really! It was spring, a sunny day, the first true heat after winter’s cold, and he’d appreciated being able to trade his gambeson for just an undershirt once within the safety of the grove. That animals considered this a place of safety and free of threat or predator was good, for his own wellbeing. He had no qualms with the druids being so…in tune with nature, really, it was fine, just, well, awkward.

So, he sits here on the side, trying to ignore, well, all of it, and drinking his fair share of the sweet mead the grove makes themselves. It’s good, stops everything from being overwhelming, enough he’s stopped minding all the…sounds.

He jumps a little, when he hears the footsteps and feels the presence of someone stepping up beside him, but has enough wherewithal not to summon sword to hand. He hears laughter in his head, not sure whether it was a real presence or his internal voice has taken on her mocking tone as well.

"How fares the Blade of Frontiers?" the man who stepped beside him asks, and he turns to face his company. At first, he takes them as human, or half-orc even, but the ears have the full elven length, just, large, for an elf. Shirtless, like every other druid in the grove it seems, which with their height difference makes it hard not to be staring right at his very thick, very hairy chest.

"Better for the food and drink you’ve offered me. And while I will surely answer to the title, you are welcome to simply call me Wyll."

"Nothing so simple as to speak a true name. Free of titles, I am Halsin," the druid says. "Our stores left over from the winter are still plentiful, and you’ve done the forest a great service, so please, eat and drink to your heart’s content."

"It was nothing. I don’t do any of this, seeking a reward." Nevermind he’d been set the task by Mizora, not in aiding or protecting innocents. Ends, and means, and other thoughts he couldn't bear to dwell on.

"You think we wouldn’t offer if you were but a stranger lost in the wilds? The grove may be far from the city, but nature does not exist in isolation, and nature’s bounty is to be shared." Halsin offers a wide and gentle grin. "We are here to watch over and protect all living things. Be at peace and rest safely, here, for as long as you have need of it."

There is a familiar aching in his stone eye, as if she was summoned forth by the notion that Wyll might find some peaceful rest without her help. Do you really think they’d welcome you with such open arms, if they knew what you really were? she taunts. Do you really think anything comes free of charge, pup?

"Are you injured?" Halsin asks, leaning in closer, looking towards the scars and the sending stone eye with concern.

"No. Just tired.” He tries to brush it off. "It was a long day."

"And all of this must be rather overwhelming,” the druid nods with a smile. "Come, let us find a quieter place for you to rest. Deeper towards the sanctuary."

"I’m alright, really, I don’t want to intrude," he backpedals. "I know druid groves are sacred places-"

"And what act is more sacred, than offering aid to another?" Halsin asks. "If you are more comfortable out here, then stay by all means, but I know that most travelers prefer a closed off room and a proper bed."

It does sound rather nice; he's slept in far worse places than the grove, but it's hard to imagine resting amongst all of this celebration. A meaty arm claps him across the back and they make their way deeper into the heart of the grove. It’s beautiful, like nothing he’s ever seen before, the air thrums with magic. They pass through a heavy carved stone door, move through rough cave passages decorated with elaborate murals and furnishings, before finally entering a smaller chamber. Quarters; a stone bed covered with thick furs, plants growing up the walls, and a shelf with books, some carved stone tablets and others leather bound.

No sooner has he stepped through the entry than is he suddenly hit by the wave of a spell; the stone eye goes dead in his socket. It doesn't blind him more than he already is, but the loss hits him with shock, and he stumbles at the sudden absence. Halsin moves to grab at him, and he pulls away in panic, before seeing the look of concern on his face - the druid was worried he was about to fall over, trying to keep him on his feet, not taking advantage of the opening to attack.

"My deepest apologies, I hadn’t considered that your eye was enchanted," Halsin says. "This room, like much of the Grove, is hallowed, with the additional benefit of dispelling spells and enchantments. It cannot permanently break enchantments, so your eye should function once you leave the space - there are other quiet places I can take you instead-"

Dispelled, the sending stone won't function, Mizora has no way to contact him, to scry on him, and hallowed ground means no fiend could step foot, maybe not even in his dreams. He’s free of her, if only for a moment, even if surely it will provoke her further on. The druid still looks concerned, right, he hasn’t - "This is fine. More than fine. Thank you, really."

"It wouldn’t be a bother," Halsin says, "but I will not pretend to know your mind more than you." Somewhat hesitantly, he raises a hand to cup Wyll’s face on his bad side. "I’ve plenty to spare, if you need healing."

The pain, he’s almost certain, is not a thing that can be healed, lies more within his head than within his flesh, but he wants enough to believe he can be cured, wants to be held like this a moment longer, wants to not be asked any questions he’s forbidden from answering, so he nods. A warm feeling flows into him; not often, he’s healed by anything but potions and what rest he steals away.

It's some mixture of the gentleness of the healing spell, the presence missing from his head, the mead he's had, and how long it's been since anyone has touched his face with this gentleness that drives him on. He doesn't pull away from the touch, but leans with it, pressing a light kiss against Halsin's lips.

There's a soft grin in turn - the druid is halo'd in soft light, like something divine, and smiles warmly, even if there's still a twinge of concern in his eyes. "You're beautiful," Wyll says, before he quite realizes he's saying it.

"Not often, I get to hear that," Halsin chuckles. "Usually, I get told I'm rather large, or variations upon - but I'll certainly take beautiful, especially from as pretty a thing as you." He pulls his hand back, moves to stand. “I should let you rest, sleep off the drink."

"You don't have to go," he says. "I've not had time to drink to the level I do most nights in town; it's made me bolder, perhaps, but not enough to cloud my judgement. Or stop me casting spells." His mind is near ringing with the silence, the lack of snide commentary, and some selfish part of him doesn't want the moment to end, to be left with sleep and having to leave, go back into the world once more.

From:

shadow_fell

They kiss again, and again, and again. Halsin's width frames him as he falls back against the furs-covered stone bed, hungry, almost feral with the ferocity with which the druid near devours him. The taste of sweet honey lingers in his mouth, and he wants to lose himself in the feeling, wants to stay like this. They grind together, and he feels Halsin’s cock through the leathers of his trousers, big and hard and straining to be free.

It’s enough to make him pull back, breathe in. "I’ve never done this before," he admits, the blush so strong across his face he has to look away rather than meet Halsin’s gaze.

"I’ve had many a partner who hasn’t been penetrated before," Halsin assures him. "It is no shame. My size may be intimidating, but I know how to make it comfortable. And I’m just as eager to chase pleasure in other forms, to take you inside me, or to rut against each other, or to stay as we are now - whatever you want, although I admit I do wish to watch you fall apart beneath me, little one."

"I meant, I’ve never done this at all. With anyone." Not in any way that counted, and certainly not the courtly romance he’d always dreamed of, as a boy. He's accepted that he can't be the romantic hero, but wanting this doesn't stop it from being overwhelming, the kind of shame he feels knowing he's not the skill worthy of a partner.

"There is no shame in that," Halsin tells him, pulling back and placing a hand on the back of Wyll’s neck to guide his face upwards. "Tell me what you want, and it shall be yours; ask me to stop, or to leave, and I shall listen, no matter what we have done."

"I want this," he says. "I want you." He makes the choice - grabs at Halsin and pulls him to sit down, climbs to sit astride his thick thighs, kissing him again, deep and long. The druid’s eyes sparkle with a smile, and he shifts Wyll’s hips forward, pressing him closer up against him. When they break apart for a breath of air, Halsin’s mouth wanders down to kiss the flesh of his neck.

The silence screams its condemnation on him, halfway between Mizora's mocking tone and his own voice, names him false. But being held, each time Halsin's mouth makes contact against his skin, all of that fades away. He is here, in this moment, and his body cries out for more.

"What is it you hunger for, little one?" Halsin hums into his neck. "To rub yourself against me, seeking pleasure from warm touch, until you stain the creases of my thighs with your come?"

He makes such a crude and dirty act seem beautiful, with the poetry in his words. "The Blade doesn’t back down, from a challenge," he says, trying to match his confidence. "I would take anything you offer. Take you, in full."

"Ambitious, for your first time! Good lad!" Halsin bellows out with a laugh. "As much as I wish to watch you fall apart beneath me, I don’t want to see you come to any true harm. Lie back, for me."

He’s not naive on how sex works - he’s ready and eager for Halsin to pull his trousers down and prepare him, but he expects fingers, not the tongue that pushes its way into his hole. It's a strange feeling, wet and moist and stretching him out, but it feels so good, the way Halsin just devours him.

Trembling, his hands bunch in the furs, clinging with a desperation as he tries not to fall apart under the sensation. Stretched open, by a prying tongue, split apart in a way that has him melting.

It's a disappointment, when Halsin finally pulls away, but not for long. Wyll isn't small, but it's hard not to feel that way when he's picked up, pulled onto Halsin's lap, like he's small and fragile and weightless. They kiss, again, and again, before hands still on his hips guide him over, bring him slowly down to be speared on that massive, throbbing cock.

Even just the tip, it's so much, slowly sinking down, being filled. He grasps onto Halsin's massive shoulders to keep himself upright, and in his ear, a whispered litany on repeat, "Good boy, you're taking me so well, you look so beautiful like this, little one."

After only a few thrusts, one hits the bundle of nerves at the core of him, and he falls apart.The orgasm that rocks through him is intense, and his come shoots out to stain Halsin’s chest, soaking into the hair and leaving a sticky mess.

Incoherent, he starts to apologize, stumbling over the words. He should have said something, a warning, that's how it always happened in the books. Should have held back, lasted longer - it's embarassing, to finish so quickly, to leave a partner so unsatisfied. He isn't sure how much comes across, as he babbles, but Halsin stops him, pulling him in closer and holding him against the thick chest.

"You did so good for me," he assures, and it sends a fresh new pulse of want through Wyll. "I told you I wanted to watch you fall apart beneath me, did I not? You came so beautifully, how could I not love to see you feel such pleasure?"

"I’m supposed to have control, over my body’s, my actions. Not be so - weak."

"I see no weakness, only a showcase of how readily you accept my talents," Halsin says. "It's honestly good to know I haven't lost my touch. But, if you do not want to end here, we can continue."

"I don’t know if I can," Wyll admits. "Being touched more..."

"Magic can fix that, if you’re willing." A nod, and he feels the surge of restoration floods through him, coursing over tired muscles, dulling back the almost pain of overstimulation into another level of pressing need, and the surge of want that comes from shifting and feeling Halsin, still buried deep inside him.

A little uncertain, he rolls his hips this time, grinds down against, and earns a deep, very pleased grown from Halsin. "Good boy," and matching thrusts upwards.

They find the rhythm again, Wyll more active in matching the way Halsin pushes up inside him. He knew, on some level, that people must enjoy being fucked, but he understands it now, the way he wants to stay like this forever. The small amount of pain from being stretched and split open nothing to how good it feels, to be warm and safe and held and driven thrust by thrust closer to the surging arc of pleasure. To call it intense is understatement; it’s hard to think of anything but being taken.

A murmur in his ear of warning, which he offers up only a groan for, and then Halsin comes inside him, thick and if he had felt filled before it’s nothing to this. A few moments of silence, the Druid’s face buried in his neck, before he asks, "Have you had your fill? I can take you in my mouth, bring your fruit to bear - or invigorate myself with magic and go until you’ve exhausted all the vigor in your body."

"If - if you keep this up, I doubt I would be able to hold past a handful of stroke," he admits.

"I am still in the state of mind and strength of reserve to cast, if it is what you wish," Halsin assures him. "But there are ways to keep you hard on riding the edge of pleasure, if you prefer."

Half because it already seems an extravagant waste of spells on his behalf, and half because the way he says it is so enrapturing it’s hard not to be curious and want more: "That. Please, Halsin, please, -"

A hand curls around the base of his cock, and he almost breaks there, but instead of taking hold of him, there is the tingle of magic, a small vine growing from the air to wrap around him. It is tight, enough to bite but not painful, and he can feel the way it would cut into the blood, keep him hard and wanting.

Teasing, Halsin runs a finger up the line of his cock - and even for this brief moment, actually being touched...it's like nothing else. And then, he's pushing Wyll's legs up against his chest, sliding back into a hole still slick and sticky with come.

"You take me so beautifully, little one," Halsin groans. "I want to see you take my seed, be filled to the bursting with it, plump and straining."

“I don’t have a womb for it,” he reminds, so fucked out of his mind it’s hard to form coherent thoughts.

“No?” the druid grins. “Then I suppose I must try harder and fill you until you are fit to burst with it, trying to hold it all in like a good boy, unwilling to waste a drop, as I take you, again and again and again.”

He makes good on that promise - Wyll loses track, how many times Halsin comes in him and uses magic to refresh, all the while his cock hard and straining beneath that vine restraining him. It feels like floating, like he's not part of his body at all, adrift in pleasure. He wants to stay like this forever - to never move again.

There's a long slow shudder - Halsin near collapses, embracing him. When he does finally separate, it's to slide down, and lick at the truly well-used, seeping hole, before taking Wyll's cock in mouth, swallowing him whole. The vine remains, for several long bobs and sucks - and all he has left in him to do is whine in desperation - before finally, it releases, and he has only moments before he's spilling into the warmth of Halsin's mouth, who swallows eagerly, pulling up with a face an absolute mess of spit and come, still smiling.

"Rest, little one," he murmurs. "Let me take care of you. It's well into the night - we can slip away to the fresh water of the river, clean up there unbothered by anyone."

"Don't want to leave just yet," Wyll mumbles back. "Stay. Please."

"I told you at the start - whatever you want of me, it is yours. As wondrous as you look, it isn't a great idea to leave things as they are for very long. If you don't want to move, I have a water basin, and shape water is a very useful cantrip to have." He looks down, insightful gaze that seems to stare through him; Wyll can't find it in him to mind. "But I think that can hold off for a little longer."

He can't remember the last time sleep took him, in the arms of another, much less someone larger, warmer, a protective embrace. Perhaps even more than the waves of boundless pleasure, that is what he'll miss, when morning comes and he has to leave this place. But for now - for now, he sleeps.