tavlesskink | Rules and Prompts

tavlessmod posting in

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

Reply to this post with a comment with your prompt. Separate prompts go in separate comments!
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

Please post your fill as a comment to the original prompt comment
If you add the word [FILL] to the start of the subject line of your reply that' makes it easier to find
If you also cross post to AO3 or another site feel free to drop a link (there isn't a collection on ao3 but folks have been using the tag Community: tavlesskink)
Multiple fills are always allowed/encouraged!
Non-fic fills (art, game edits, filk) are also welcome!

General Guidelines

YKINMKATO - be respectful. If you hate a prompt, ignore it.
Warnings are not required, but polite
Hate speech, off-topic content etc. will be deleted
If you're here, you're 18+
Prompt spamming encouraged as the kinkmeme gets started. If one person starts monopolizing the page, that will change
If you want to repost your prompts from other websites that's allowed - please don't post the same prompt multiple times within the kinkmeme
Co-signing prompts, suggesting variations, and related fic recs are also welcome! You don't have to be posting a fill to reply to a prompt
Questions can be directed to the mod post

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From: (Anonymous)

It's a shame there are only two fics of them bcs there's so many different things you could do with it

+Wyll being a virgin beforehand, maybe he had the option to sleep with his LI but chose to take it slow, he's regretting that now

+Gortash is delighted to find out that Wyll is a virgin

+Making tadpoled Ulder watch, making it very clear to Wyll that his dad is very much aware in there and can see his son being defiled

+Wyll can't access his magic (up to you as to why) and is unarmed, he tries to defend himself but his eight strength isn't doing much, Gortash finds his attempts at Fighting back amusing

+Faux simpathy, cooing at him and gently wiping away his tears while he mercilessly fucks him and being generally belittling

+Maybe gortash is into him but in a twisted "wants to keep him in his bedchambers as a trophy" kind of thing

+Wyll got a tail with his devil transformation, and it's very sensitive, Gortash clocks this

+Wyll getting hard and coming, feeling very ashamed about it

These are all just suggestions but go Wild, I'll be happy with almost* anything

*Dnw: any threat of pregnancy, would rather Wyll be cis but if he's trans no misgendering, no full on torture (some sadism is okay as long as there's no bleeding or tearing), any scat or piss

From: (Anonymous)

Seconded!!

What if gortash uses Wyll's tail to tie him up (logistics tricky but the mental image? Oof)

From: (Anonymous)

Ooh maybe tie his hands behind his back? May be a little akward but there's something there

From:

shadow_fell

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56958691

---

He knows Wyrm’s Rock like the back of his hand. He knows the Seatower better - lived there more frequently - but any outpost of the Fist in the city is like a home to him. It’s strange, being back. Stranger still, the way no one questions him as he enters, walks the halls, more freedom than he had even as a boy. Past Fist and Flame and Steel Watcher alike, nothing blocks his way up to the upper floors where Gortash has set himself up.

This isn’t the wisest plan, he knows. But the others are down in the sewers, tracking Orin and her Bhaalists, and he can’t just sit around at the Elfsong and wait for them to return. Won’t go through another argument, that they’re even considering siding with Gortash - who cares how strong his automatons were, to make such a deal-

So he’s here alone. To do what, precisely, he isn’t sure, but he has to do something.

He pushes open the doors, storming into the room, and calls out, “Gortash!” The man looks up, unimpressed, from where he’s sat at his desk, reading through papers and reports. He doesn’t even sit up from where he leans his chair back, feet resting on - on -

By the gods, Father kneels there on the floor in front of him, as he had beneath Orin on the Elder Brain, only this time fully under the control of the tadpole in his brain, expression blank, eyes unfocused,

“That’s his Royal Highness,” Gortash corrects. “I am a reigning Archduke now. Lord Ravengard.”

Of all the times to be obsessed with proper titles - although it cannot surprise him, with Gortash’s whole mocking show and takeover. “I’m not a lord - my father disowned me. Your Royal Highness.” His voice drips with the contempt he holds for both the title of Archduke and the man who bears it.

“You don’t know? I suppose you have been busy.” Gortash laughs. “Your father reinstated you - you’re his son and heir, once again, a hero of the city. I think you might even have a rank in the Flaming Fist, if that’s worth anything to you. If that isn’t enough, I’m certain he has other ways to make these years up to you - I’m very considerate to my allies, you know.”

Allies. Even the mocking reference tastes bitter on his tongue. “The only thing I want from you is my father back, alive and unharmed.”

“Not here to deliver the news of Orin’s death, then?” Gortash asks. “Of course, I knew that already - that the rest of your little group is off traipsing through the sewers to face her and rescue your…druid, was it? Leaving you all alone.”

“At least take your feet off of him, for the gods’ sake-”

Gortash tilts his head, looking Wyll over, and then stands up. The man isn’t much taller than him, but oh, how he looms over. “Let me call for lunch; we can discuss the next steps, on dealing with the Netherbrain. What the future holds. You could be quite useful, taking command over the Flaming Fist, or joining my councilors. Plans within plans - I want the same thing you do, you know. To save the city.”

“You really think that I’m going to work with you, to help bend Baldur’s Gate to your petty whims? He pulls back, not bothering to conceal the anger he holds to this man. “After all you’ve done, to us, to the city, to Karlach - you know we were never going to take your deal, it was only a matter of who we killed first. Now. Give me my father.”

Unfazed, Gortash laughs. “Really, if you wanted to be threatening, you should have brought along someone else. Karlach, or the githyanki, or even the wizard. I mean, what do you take me for - another of these little scheming patriars, ready to bend at even the hint of injury? I am the Chosen of Bane.”

No hesitation, he summons his sword to hand, strikes first, using how close they are to go right at Gortash’ exposed neck. It’s a clean swing - clean enough to bounce off some sort of arcane shielding, not even a scratch. Not even a flinch.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” Gortash continues, “and you certainly shouldn’t have come here alone, not telling a soul where you went. Did you even leave a note? I’ll make sure to send someone to destroy it before they get back. Because your friends are going to come here, and they are going to accept my offer, and they will do it all the while, not knowing I have you hidden away, mine.”

The gauntleted hand shoves him down onto the ground, kneeling, and boots step onto his hands, pinning them to the floor. Gortash looks down at him, so pleased with himself. Bastard.

If Gortash has an abjurative ward on him that powerful, he won’t be winning this through swordplay. But killing the Archduke isn’t the goal - rescuing his father is. A whisper of an incantation, and he misty steps out of the grasp, across the room, to help his father stand up. With him in hand, he casts dimension door, to step down to the bridge, escape out into the city-

“Impero tibi.”

The spell falters. Gortash waves his hand, and suddenly, it’s his father, standing behind him, who grabs him by the wrists to hold him in place. He tries to break free, but even controlled, Ulder Ravengard is too strong.

“That is the advantage of dealing with warlocks,” Gortash muses. “Most any other mage, you need to gag or silence them. Some sorcerers can even cast without their voice! But two little spells, and then, all I need to do is bind your hands, and you’ve nothing.”

He pries the sword out of Wyll’s grip, as his father moves his grip to keep his hands in place, unable to even try at somatic gesture of a spell. “You won’t get away with this,” Wyll grits out - tries to break free again, fails.

“It’s a beautiful blade.” Gortash ignores him. “A shame the wielder isn’t better trained. And please, do keep struggling - I like to see the resistance, I don’t often, with my enemies all under the Brain’s sway. I mean, take your father.”

Ulder stands like a wall, dispassionate and empty without someone guiding him. Not entirely consciously, Wyll feels their tadpoles link, and he’s hit with the wave of anger, fear, hatred, disgust. It’s the disgust that’s overpowering, at seeing Wyll, devil horns, touching him- he breaks the link. If he could pull away, he would - but whatever thoughts might be trapped inside his father’s head, it doesn’t stop him holding tight.

Gortash holds the sword out of reach, until it vanishes into nothing, away to be resummoned. He puts one of those gold-clawed fingers on Wyll’s chin, tilts his head up, and it’s like he stares through him, not looking more than mildly amused.

“You are a pretty one; you were before your banishment, but the scars suit you, in their way. I’d have to remove the eye, of course. Not hard to find a replacement.”

“It doesn’t matter what you say. I would never work for you,” Wyll bites back, and Gortash just laughs.

“Oh, pet, we’re well past that point,” Gortash says, dragging the clawed finger up across his lips. “Don’t tell me you’re really so naive.” He stares at Wyll’s eyes, looking for something, and then, “Kneel.”

It’s his father who moves, pushing both of them down onto the ground, a pile of limbs, not properly kneeling, but when Gortash steps even closer he’s at - oh.

He really is naive, not to have seen this coming - so obvious. Even then, it doesn’t feel real - for this to be his first time? He’d been planning a date with Karlach - the perfect night - one moment of peace before the end. It was going to be perfect, and now - Lae’zel and Astarion had both approached him, he’d turned them down - anything would be better than this.

“A virgin,” Gortash hums. “Now that is a surprise. Maybe I’ll be gentle.” He brushes away the tears forming in the corner of his eyes, and then forces Wyll’s mouth open to shove his cock in.

He chokes, tries to pull back, but that just backs him into his father, which isn’t better, has to focus on breathing through his nose. The taste is vile, salt and sweat, he can’t - gods, if this is gentle?

Gortash’s hand runs through his hair, holding him in place, like he has any way to pull back. His jaw aches at the force of it, he’s crying, it has to be ugly sobs.

And his father, there, watching him be violated, just take it, forced to watch and hold and the disgust - maybe it’s better, transformed and disowned, already distanced.

When Gortash comes, it fills his throat, leaves him coughing and hacking after the man pulls out, more physically drained than he expected. If he wasn’t already on his knees, surely he’d drop to them for this. Broken.

“Take the blade away, and you can behave yourself, it seems,” Gortash says, and holds Wyll’s face with too much tenderness. “Here, let me take you home.”

From:

shadow_fell

If there is any small blessing, it’s that the Ducal Palace isn’t his home. Technically, when his father had ascended to Grand Duke, it had been theirs, but for those two years before his banishment, he’d mostly stayed in Wyrm’s Rock or the Seatower. This wasn’t his father’s bedroom - it was Gortash’s. He didn’t know this room. There were no memories here.

It’s Gortash’s hands, not his father’s, who pulls him up, presses him down to the bed. His arms are folded behind his back, so that it takes only one hand to pin him down, while the other starts to pull aside his clothes, ready to tear them off.

“Ah, what’s this?” Gortash runs a hand over the base of his spine, exposed, and the start of the tale hidden beneath his robes. “More devil than the horns, it seems.” He doesn’t know if it’s sensitive by nature, or if it’s the fresh skin, never touched by any hands, even his own, but he can’t suppress the full body shudder when Gortash strokes it.

That earns some reaction, although he can’t quite tell what. When the tail is tugged at sharply, he cries out, and then Gortash starts to wrap it around his forearms. He does his best to break his arms out of the grasp, to push him off and break free, but even with just a single hand, he’s pinned in place.

His tail circles over his forearms, looping around as a hitch knot and keeping his arms in place. It’s a constant tug, forcing his back to arch to avoid pain, but it doesn’t actually bind his hands - maybe -

As if he had any luck that Gortash wouldn’t notice, silks tie his hands to grip his arms, keeping them in place. They’re not even proper rope, he should be able to break them, tear them, slip out - his back flexes in the trying, and Gortash just laughs.

“Struggle more,” he says, orders. “You’re too weak to do a thing, but there is something so delightful, about watching you writhe beneath me.”

“You won’t get away with this,” Wyll says, one last attempt to break the bonds before he stills rather than let the man take satisfaction in seeing him like this.

“Pet, I already have. Or are you not lying prone in my bed, waiting for me to deign to fuck you?” Gortash laughs. “Now, what to do with you, your grace. Holding his head down, perhaps? Or maybe-”

“Don’t.” The words slip out of his mouth before he can process them. He doesn’t know if he can stand, his father seeing what comes next - having already held him down for Gortash to violate his mouth. “Please, don’t make him watch this, don’t make him - send him out of the room. Please.”

There is a pause. “Please, what?”

His mind stumbles over what to say. “Please, saer. Please, just take me yourself. Please, your highness-”

There is the sound of the door opening and then closing. “Am I not a benevolent master?” Gortash murmurs into his ear. “You may be mine, pet, but he can be yours. However you want him - broken, begging. Dead. Anything.”

“Free?”

That earns a laugh. “Well, almost anything. You are a persistent one, it would be impressive if it wasn’t so pathetic. Freedom’s an illusion, we’re all slaves to someone. Everything works so much more smoothly when you know who, don’t you agree?”

“You’re wrong.”

“Says the warlock.”

Gortash cuts the rest of his robes off of him, knife-blade dancing over skin close enough to feel but not to nick. He gets a good kick in, when his pants are pulled off, enough to make him stumble back to the side of the bed, but it doesn’t grant him any more leverage to shift, to not be bound and helpless.

“A good thing, you’re so easily incapacitated - you’d be a horror to tame properly. Although, you didn’t even try to bite my dick off, so maybe you do want this. No worries in that pretty little head of yours - I could make that happen, easily.”

“You can’t control the tadpole. You can’t control me.”

“You think I need a tadpole to control you?” Gortash asks. “Why, when I could just do - this.”

Fingers press inside him, and he jolts, tries to pull away, can’t. Gortash doesn’t relent, thrusting his fingers deeper into Wyll, until he’s brushing against something that earns not just a shock at the intrusion but a spasm of pleasure. He tries to hold back the way it makes him shake, but it clearly isn’t enough, the way he finds that point again, gives it more attention.

There’s a moment again of reprieve, when those fingers leave. Gortash twists his face to the side, brushing aside the tears that have not stopped. “It feels good, doesn’t it? Taking your place beneath me. And this is just the beginning. Untold pleasure, and I don’t even need your soul in bargain.”

The worst part is, he’s right. It does feel good, leaves him longing for more touch - from anyone but Gortash. He imagines, being left strung up like this, the others finding him, in the aftermath of Gortash’s well-earned defeat, taking him, holding him. How much better it would be, than this.

A grunt, and Gortash pushes in, cock plowing deep and thorough. The first thrust has force behind it, hard and claiming, shocking him back into his body, before slowing, slightly, picking up a rhythm.

He’s rocked into the soft blankets of the bed, cock rubbing up against them. It feels like he’s being torn in two, unmade. It hurts, it’s unbearable, and it, it, it feels good. And that’s the thought that has his head pressed into the pillows, biting into them to keep from screaming, in pain or frustration or want.

Gortash holds him by the hips, still wearing that cursed golden gauntlet with the Netherstone embedded. The claws dig slightly into the soft flesh of his skin. Without him, his body moves, rolling his hips further into the embrace.

A hand moves up, stroking the base of his tail, and even muffled by the pillows as he is, he offers out a groan. It’s so good. Even if he wasn’t restrained, Wyll isn’t sure he could move, limbs feeling jellied, offering no resistance as Gortash claims him.

To his shame, he comes first, leaving a sticky mess in the blankets that rubs onto his chest, jostled as Gortash continues to fuck him, speeding up. It’s overwhelming, the feeling of already being spent and still getting more friction, stimulation, enough to drive someone mad.

When Gortash finishes, it’s inside him, the strange feeling of being warm and filled and sticky. He pulls out, leaning back with a contented sigh, and the come slowly drips down onto Wyll’s thighs. He must look debauched, messy and trembling. Small mercies, no one can see him like this.

There’s a moment where they just sit there, and the quiet is almost peaceful. Then Gortash shifts, standing up and leaving Wyll alone in the bed, longing for some gentle touch, any, even his.

“Let’s see - what would be best for you, pet?” Gortash hums, opening up a chest to the side of the room, looking through the items inside. Wyll should move, should try to stand up and leave the room now that he’s not being held down, but even his attempt to roll over onto his back is exhausting, even more so the pressure put on arms and tail from the position.

He’s struggling to sit up when Gortash turns back, and it’s the lightest push that sends him back lying down. His face is bemused, knowing this represents some attempt at defiance at escape, utterly failed to become anything productive. In his hands he holds a metal thing, smooth and round and pointed.

“Gorgeous,” he says, stroking Wyll’s head, and then pushing the thing inside him, where it sits as a heavy plug. He stands back, holding the other item, a golden collar, admiring the picture that must be made, Wyll lying there exhausted and covered in come. “You know, if I really wanted you mindless and begging for my cock, I’d set you riding on one of the saddles I’ve built, cage your cock so you couldn’t come until I returned. So it’s a kindness that all you get is a plug to hold you open and a collar around your neck. Thank me.”

Thank him. What a joke. “Never.” What would Karlach say? “Go fuck yourself.”

The collar is locked around his neck, a thin chain attached to the base, which Gortash yanks to pull him off the bed and tumbling to the floor. The shock of pain is almost welcome, the way it clears his head, as he’s positioned to the foot of the bed, manhandled into kneeling.

“This,” Gortash taps the collar, making it glow, “is to keep your magic locked away, and this,” he loops the chain through a small metal point embedded in the floor, “is to keep you from doing anything foolish. But this,” he tugs the chain, halving the length, and forcing Wyll from kneeling to almost bent in half, “this is what you get for being ungrateful, pet.” The chain is fastened, a light in Gortash’s hands before the metal melts, and then, at last, his hands are freed, sore tail unraveled from around his arms.

He tries another insult, but the collar locks his voice away. Silenced. Gortash smiles, and presses a kiss to his bowed forehead.

“Enjoy yourself; I’ll try not to be too long, but there’s simply so much work to do. I’ll make sure your father checks in to bring you food. How does that sound?”

It’s the laugh, more than anything, that sticks with him, as Gortash leaves him in this pitiful state.

From: (Anonymous)

Omg this was everything i wanted!!! So deliciously whumpy

[His mind stumbles over what to say. “Please, saer. Please, just take me yourself. Please, your highness-”]
Wyll beging is such a nice addition sjshsjs

[“You may be mine, pet, but he can be yours. However you want him - broken, begging. Dead. Anything.”

“Free?”]
Ough him trying to save his father still, poor guy was trying to do good!!

Also the collar!!! Your mind, thank you for the fill it was great :D