ffxv_kinkmeme | Prompt Post

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Prompt Post

Welcome to Round Two of the FFXV Kink Meme!

CLOSED for prompts | OPEN for fills

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ROUND TWO IS NOW CLOSED FOR PROMPTS!

Go ahead and keep on filling away, we will open up round three for prompts at 0000 EST, Saturday April 22, 2017.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I don't know if this has been prompted before. My best friend and I were joking about a Cinderella AU and decided that we would actually love to see something like it written.

Basically, we want the standard fare: Prompto taking Cinderella's role, Ardyn...somehow being the step-father (step siblings can be Loqi and Calligo because reasons), Prompto meets Prince Charmless aka Noctis at a ball, midnight strikes and he trips (because Prompto) and loses his shoe

Bonus: it would be a nice twist if Noctis finds him because he remembered his face, rather than having everyone in the kingdom try on the shoe.

Well, I'm currently writing a Final Fantasy (focusing in ffxv) fairy tale universe. Maybe I'll ad this one, but with some modifications (because AU backstory):

-Ardyn acts more of an overprotective friend than an evil stepfather (Prompto-you-are-a-runaway-slave-they-will-see-you-there-wtf-are-you-doing)
-Noctis is going to be pretty older than Prompto (don't worry, anything naughty happens)
-Fairy godmother is a little shit sometimes

OP, would you mind a double-fill? I might take a shot at this.

(Not the first anon who mentioned a potential fill, but I hope you don't mind a double fill, OP. I just couldn't get this idea out of my head.)

===

C1:NDR3LA

===

Once upon a time, there was a boy whose father loved him very much.

He loved the designation etched in ink upon the boy's wrist. He loved the progress the serums made in the boy's blood. He loved the way the boy's training regimen prepared him to be all that he could hope to be in the world.

And prepare him it did.

The boy learned to tolerate pain. He learned to take orders. He learned that, because of the alterations to his physiology, he did not have to eat when he was dreadfully hungry or sleep when he was dreadfully tired. His trainers practiced this with him, extensively, until it became second nature to the boy.

The boy's name had been Prompto, but the barcode on his wrist held a different designation. C1:NDR3LA, it read. Class 1: Niflheim Designated Regiment 3. Long-range; Artillery.

True to his designation, the boy was a crack shot with almost any gun he could get his hands on. But when basic combat training began, Prompto could not learn to wield a sword or heft a shield. It was a great disappointment to his trainers. No matter what the designation, every MT was required to perform with reasonable competence on the battlefield.

The trainers told Prompto's father, and his love flickered and faded. The progress had not been so promising as he believed. This boy, the one he thought so perfect, was failing the program in 63% of the combat skills required.

"Decommission him," said the boy's father.

And the boy cried and pleaded as his trainers took him away.

But the boy's father had a friend – the Chancellor Izunia – who had watched the boy's training with great interest. He had an affection for the boy that had little to do with his combat skills and more to do with the way the boy struggled, and failed, and suffered, and struggled again.

He was fond of that sort of thing.

He said to the boy's father, "I intend to spend time in the Lucian countryside in the coming months – a frightfully boring assignment, I'm afraid. Have you any MTs I might borrow to help with upkeep? Even a failed unit would be of assistance, in maintaining an estate."

And so the boy escaped decommissioning, and he was transferred to the Chancellor's care.

That first night, the Chancellor patted the boy on his cheek. He said, "We're going to be great friends, you and I. Why, you can even think of me as your stepfather, if it makes the transition easier." And he smiled, a smile so smooth and unthreatening that the boy felt a spark of hope bloom inside him.

It was kindled the following week, when he was taken out of storage and shipped to Chancellor Izunia's new estate.

The place was not composed of brushed steel and white lights, as Prompto's last home had been. No: it was made of dark, worn brick, and the floors were wood. In the back, behind the building, the ground sprouted green things that poked from fragile stalks.

Prompto did not know what to make of any of it. It was so different, overwhelmingly new and unexpectedly pretty. He had not had many pretty things in his life, until then.

He spent a full two minutes staring about his new assignment, struck immobile, mouth open.

Then the Chancellor breezed through the door and dropped his luggage at Prompto's feet. "Do unpack, won't you, C1:NDR?"

And the Chancellor's assistants were not far behind. Commander Caligo dropped his belongings on the floor as well, then strode off without a word. Commander Loqi flung down a set of keys. "My MA-X Patria needs servicing, C1:NDR. Get to it."

So Prompto unpacked. He put their belongings in the proper places, all twelve bags of them. Then he found a set of tools and saw to Commander Loqi's MA-X Patria, which had a knee joint that stuck when it extended and cockpit controls that had been badly wired. He worked through the night, until grease streaked his face and his hair stuck up at odd angles.

It was not until he'd finished his task, weary but satisfied, that Chancellor Izunia reappeared with the dawn, fresh and rested. "All done?" he asked, and patted the boy's face, proprietary and condescending. "Excellent timing. There's so much else to be done."

And the Chancellor gave him a list.

It was a long list. It involved repainting the estate's interior, and landscaping the estate's garden, and repairing the estate's roof. It included deep cleaning and upkeep for every one of the forty-nine rooms.

The boy looked down at the list, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He said, "Is this all for today?"

And the Chancellor laughed, a low and friendly sort of sound. "Good gracious, no," he said. "It's for as soon as you get it done."

Chancellor Izunia turned to go, throwing a casual little wave back over one shoulder. "But don't take too long. I'd hate to find out what happens if an MT flunks out of two assignments. Wouldn't you?"

This is all wonderful anon, but just so you know I'm most impressed by the designation "C1:NDR3LA" and what it's short for. SO smart.

Aaah, thank you so much, anon! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far. :3

===

Every morning, as he had for the past four years, Prompto collected his lists.

First he visited Chancellor Izunia in the parlor, bearing a tray with tea and cream and scones. Then he tapped on the door of Commander Caligo's study, to deliver half a grapefruit and the sugar jar. Finally, he sought out Commander Loqi in his chambers, with a platter of toast and bacon.

Prompto brought his lists downstairs, where he read them in the kitchen while he took his vitamins. His allotted rations included just one meal each day, and experience had taught him that eating it in the morning would leave him miserably hungry by mid-afternoon. So he drank a tall glass of water while he examined his chores, trying to convince his stomach that it was sufficient.

Then he set to work.

First, he collected the breakfast dishes – scoured and dried and put them away. Then he moved on to his allotted household chores: washing the laundry, and scrubbing the floors, and dusting the shelves. Next was upkeep: mending the clothes and patching the roof and weeding the garden. By noon, it was time for the heavy labor, and he spent two long hours chopping firewood and gathering stones for the ground walls.

After that, he ran through his training regimen – a strict series of drills that all MTs were required to perform daily, regardless of assignment.

At last came the lists. They changed from day to day, sometimes each twenty items long. Depending on what they contained, Prompto put in the requisition orders for their supplies, or maintained the Imperial machinery, or took on some of the commanders' own duties. When Chancellor Izunia was feeling particularly uncharitable, he called Prompto down to work with him in the estate's basement.

The metal table there was made of brushed steel, and there were straps on it designed to restrain. Chancellor Izunia had stretched him out on it, once, when he'd dropped a 2,000-gil crystal champagne flute while washing it.

Prompto never wanted repeat the experience.

And so he worked, clumsy but earnest, with a very real fear for what failing to finish might bring.

It would have been a reasonable amount of work for a crew of five, but Prompto saw to it all alone. He never seemed to have enough time – slept in snatches, a bare handful of hours a night, and woke before dawn to repeat it all again.

Those precious few hours were his escape. When he closed his eyes, Prompto drifted away, far beyond the walls of the estate, far even from the gleaming metal and harsh lights of Niflheim. He dreamed of bright stars and soft fabrics; of meals that comprised more than protein bars and vitamin supplements; of a mysterious boy with dark hair and a fond smile.

They were not things Prompto should have known anything about. He'd had little enough experience with life's simple pleasures, in his time on Eos. And yet, they came to him all the same, tentative and trembling, like a bird landing on his shoulder.

The good dreams, with their soft edges and warm light, arrived each night with a permanent fixture: a small white creature, mostly ears and eyes.

It sat beside him in his dreams, and it listened as he spoke. It let him pet its head, and it climbed upon his shoulders, and it pressed its small, wet nose against his cheek.

They were sweet, these dreams, for as long as they lasted.

But they were dreams; that was all.

===

Once upon a time, there was a boy whose father loved him very much.

He loved the boy's wry smile. He loved the boy's odd, teasing sense of humor. He even loved that the boy, at nineteen years of age, still plucked vegetables out of his meals like a picky child of five.

But he did not love the boy's isolation.

He was a proud father, an attentive father, but he was also the king, and he could not be there for his son as often as he might have liked. The boy was lonely; the king could see as much. He had no friends, no confidants. His favorite pursuits were solo ones: hours spent fishing in the gardens or attached to a video game controller in his room.

So the king went to his advisors, and asked what he ought to do. "Have the boy take a wife, sire," they replied. "A wife will keep him company."

But the king knew his son better than that. He knew that Noctis would chafe if he was forced to wed, and he did not heed the advice.

Instead, he went to his son's advisor, the clever young count who always had Noctis' best interests at heart.

"Hold a series of balls, Your Highness," Ignis suggested. "Invite guests who are unattached to the court. Perhaps he will find companionship among these new acquaintances."

It was an excellent suggestion.

The king conceded, and he appointed Ignis to plan the events. Before the week was out, all the kingdom knew: each month for the next year, the Citadel would host a celebration the likes of which Lucis had never seen.

This is both the saddest and greatest thing..... <3

Ahh, thank you. It wasn't meant to be so terrible to poor Prompto, but I apparently can't resist being terrible to poor Prompto. ^^

I wonder if, instead of Prompto having to sneak out to a ball, Ardyn will make that one of his tasks...

The answer to that lies in the next section. :)

I decided to go with a fairy godmother figure, since OP wanted something similar to the traditional tale.

When Chancellor Izunia first mentioned a ball hosted by the King of Lucis, Prompto paid it no mind.

Such things were for people, not MTs; besides, he had no time for distraction.

It was not until the Chancellor announced that he and the commanders would attend, for the sake of diplomatic relations, that the affair became Prompto's concern. A ball would mean ironed formalwear and a transport in presentable condition. A ball would mean a whole slew of small disasters, on top of the ones Prompto faced every day.

He worked himself ragged, during the leadup to the ball. He saw to every need, ensured that every small detail was in place. The clothes, pressed and freshly laundered, were laid out on the beds of the Chancellor and both commanders. Dinner was served precisely at 4:30, plenty of time in advance. The MK-Helios model, designed to seat four, had been scrubbed until it gleamed, all of its parts in working order, and it was parked out front at half past six, waiting for its passengers.

When at last Chancellor Izunia's retinue stepped into their gleaming metal transport, Prompto did not think to be jealous. He did not pause to wonder if he, too, might go to the Citadel. He only crossed an item off his list and turned to the next.

It was half an hour later, midway through polishing the stairway banisters, when the sound reached his ears: a small squeak, oddly familiar.

Prompto turned to see what had made the noise, cloth still in hand. Then he dropped the cloth in a rumpled pile on the hall floor.

He stood for a long moment, frozen and staring. For there, curled up on the bottom step, was the small, white creature from his dreams.

As he watched, it squeaked again. The air around its head shimmered and grew hazy, and letters appeared in a cheery block font. "Hi, Prompto!" the words read. "Are you ready to go to the ball?"

Prompto opened his mouth. He closed it again. He said, "This is a dream, right?"

The creature squeaked, and more text appeared: "You're awake. We'd better get you dressed, though. The longer we take, the more you're going to miss."

Prompto didn't move. He was, quite understandably, still convinced that he was fast asleep. He said, "But my lists."

The creature squeaked a third time. "Shh, don't tell anyone," the text read. "I can do magic." Beside the words, hovering in the air, an image of a laughing face appeared.

It didn't wait for a reply. It only hopped up on the boy's shoulder, as it had so many times in dreams. When its small, wet nose brushed his cheek, a wave of something surged through him, powerful and clear. Prompto grabbed for the banister – missed, and sat down hard on the bottom step, head in his hands.

The creature squeaked at him again – nudged him, more insistently this time. And Prompto lifted his head to discover that he had been transformed. In fact, the whole world had been transformed, the usual blur of everyday shapes crisped and sharpened by the pair of glasses that now sat across the bridge of his nose. Through them, he saw all the rest.

In the place of his dreary grey work uniform, he wore a shirt of a delicate, pale yellow silk, beset with a row of tiny buttons. The collar was smart; the sleeves were trim and well-fitted, long enough to hide his barcode from view. Over the shirt sat a brocade vest in cream and gold, elaborate embroidery picking out a flowing motif not unlike the shapes of clouds in the dawn sky. His pants, slim and flattering, were a cream to match the vest.

Gone, too, were his worn and battered work boots. In their place were a pair of slippers as light as the rays of the sun. Commander Loqi had several pairs similar; they were all the rage in the Imperial court, these days, simple shoes that hugged the foot without the aid of laces. Prompto's were sleek and stylish, pale leather with gold thread.

He reached for one, wondering – drew up short at the sight of his own hand. It was clean, the nails well-groomed, the palm free of blisters or splinters. When he ran his fingers through his hair, it wasn't a haphazard bird's nest, but instead was carefully styled, slightly stiff with gel.

The creature watched him with wide, luminous eyes. "You like?" said the text above its head.

Prompto swallowed, throat tight. No one had ever done anything this nice for him. "It's incredible," he said.

"Great!" squeaked the creature, the text above it providing a ready translation. "Time to get moving, then. Just make sure you're at the base of the stairs by midnight, and I'll get you home."

"Wait," said Prompto. "The Chancellor will be there. If he sees me –"

The creature was not listening. The text above its head shimmered and changed. "Say hi to Noct for me!"

Then the world shimmered and changed, and Prompto was standing before the Citadel.

OP here. And oh my goodness! I honestly didn't think this prompt would be filled, so seeing the response it got was super exciting! And I love the story! The background and acronym are really clever. And I love that Carbuncle is the "fairy godmother" figure as well! This is great! Thank you so much A!A (sent this to my best friend so she can squee over it too)

Thank you so much, OP, for the kind words! I'm having a lot of fun writing this, so thank you for the great prompt, as well! I really enjoyed coming up with a background for this story to work with. :)

This is so good omg. Carbuncle is the cutest fairy godmother.

Carbuncle is the cutest everything. Glad you're enjoying it so far! :)

omg The glasses. The glasses will hide his identity! lol

...I had to. I had to do the thing. XD

That said, the poor boy also just needed glasses. Let him see. :(

The Citadel was a masterpiece in glass and steel, the sheer scale of it overwhelming. It reflected back all the lights of Insomnia, tiny twinkling points of brightness that glittered in the dark. The plush red carpet that stretched away into the high arc of the entryway ferried in couples, stunning ball outfits as brightly colored as the feathers of an exotic birdbeast.

And Prompto stood there, at the base of the steps, gaping up at it all like an idiot.

It took him five solid minutes before he could convince himself to move, and with each step, he became more certain that he was dreaming. No place this beautiful could actually exist. There was no reality in which someone would hold the door wide for him and say, "Right this way, sir."

If he thought the outside was lovely, it was nothing compared to the interior. The ceiling was hung with a chandelier, brilliant crystal that glittered and glowed and cast warm light across the room. The floor was dark, polished stone; the pillars were carved with elaborate attention to detail; strains of music, ethereal and lovely, drifted on the air.

There in the center, couples swayed together and came apart with the grace of swirling birdbeasts. There along one wall, a table stretched for what seemed like miles, every square inch laden with elaborate and enticing plates of food. There in the corner, some thoughtful soul had set out plush high-backed chairs, upholstered in rich black fabric, set apart from the noise and the crowd. Prompto, overwhelmed, picked his way toward them.

He sank into the one nearest the wall, the one that blocked most of the room from his sight, and he set his elbows on his knees and his head on his hands, squeezing his eyes shut. He was shaking a little, breathing like he'd just finished his training exercises. If this was a dream, the sheer scale of it dwarfed anything the white creature had shown him before.

He was just beginning to wonder, with a dawning sense of panic, what precisely he was going to do if this was not a dream, when a voice spoke beside him. It was a wry voice, not unkind, and it said, "I know how you feel. Kind of too much, isn't it?"

Prompto opened his eyes. And there, seated in the chair beside his own, a nearly-empty plate of food across his knees, was a boy about his own age.

His face was pale and elegant, like a sculpture of marble carved by a skilled hand. His hair was a soft, dark halo, and his suit was crisp and fashionable, all blacks and charcoal greys. He looked strangely familiar.

Prompto glanced around briefly, startled, looking to see who the boy was addressing – realized, belatedly, that there was no one but him.

"It's, uh," said Prompto. "It's really something."

The boy snorted. "Let me guess. Not from Insomnia?"

Prompto shifted in his chair, suddenly aware of how much an idiot he must have seemed, from the moment he set foot onto the Citadel steps. "That obvious, huh? This – this is all pretty new." He faltered to a stop, unsure what to say. He knew only, with a sudden, awkward urgency, that he wanted to say something. He couldn't remember the last time someone had talked to him for any reason besides giving orders. "What's your name?" he decided, at last.

The boy fixed him with a flat, disbelieving look. Then, slowly, the expression thawed into something milder. "You're really not from around here, are you?"

"Sorry," said Prompto, but the boy was pushing on already.

"No, it's fine, just – you know what, nevermind. Call me Noct."

He knew the name. It was the one the white creature had called out after him, just before it sent him on his way. But how do you say, "We might have a friend in common. Do you know a talking cat-fox?"

So instead Prompto said, "Noct, huh? I like it."

Noct shrugged, noncommittal. "How bout you?"

"Me?" Prompto blinked back at him.

"Yeah." The space between Noct's eyebrows creased slightly. "Your name."

Prompto was silent for perhaps a beat too long. Protocol insisted that he give his designation number, identify himself as an MT unit, and ask if the inquirer had any orders.

But Noct hadn't asked for a number. He'd asked for a name.

"Prompto," said Prompto.

He waited for someone to call him out on it. He waited for Chancellor Izunia to appear, deceptively unthreatening smile in place, and take him down to the metal table in the basement. But a moment passed, and then another. Nothing happened, and Prompto let go of the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Of course the lonely boy prince would find the only other lonely boy at the party. Regis, when he finally manages to spot Noct, is going to be ecstatic.

And then furious, when said boy disappears off the face of the earth and leaves his son more sosponsenr than before. Hehehe I love this so much!

They kind of need each other, poor lonely boys. Regis, when he finally shows, will indeed be ecstatic to find out that his son's opening up to someone. :)

OP here. Wow that description was so vivid! *o* I could just imagine everything... And yay! First meeting with Noctis! I loved that bit at the end about names vs designation numbers. It's good for Prompto to at least have a small moment where he's not answering to somebody. Even the prince XD

Ahh, thank you! I waxed a little poetic on the narrative there, haha. I was trying to keep this in simple fairy tale style, but it's veering all over the place. Oops. ^^

And yes, I really wanted Prompto to get to experience what it's like to -not- be treated as an MT all the time. (And for Noct to experience what it's like to not be treated as a prince all the time, conversely.)

"So where are you from, anyway?" Noct said.

Prompto fidgeted with the buttons on the cuffs of his sleeves. "Niflheim, originally. But we moved, awhile back."

"You're in Lucis now?"

"The outskirts," Prompto said. His lips curled up into a smile. "It's pretty. Everything's so green."

"I've never been to Niflheim," Noct offered – then laughed softly, when Prompto scrunched up his nose.

"You're not missing much," said Prompto. "Metal and concrete, far as the eye can see."

He might have added more – was warming up to the unusual notion that someone was willing to listen when he spoke – when a voice rang out beside them. "Am I interrupting?"

Prompto jumped – twisted in his chair. But it wasn't the Chancellor or either of the commanders at all. It was a somber boy in a button-down shirt, immaculate tie, black vest, and glasses.

"Sorry," said Prompto. "I'll go." And he was halfway to his feet when Noct caught at his wrist to pull him back down.

"Stay," he said. "It's fine. This is Ignis, my –" He hesitated. "The one who made the tarts at the buffet."

"The tarts?" Prompto asked.

"Indeed," said Ignis. "Such a notable act that it seems to have become my title."

Noct fixed him with a long, pointed look. Then he turned back to Prompto. "Did you try them? They're pretty good."

"Try the tarts," Prompto echoed, blankly. He felt like he was missing something important here, not the least of which was why anyone would ask whether he'd dared to sample the food. He wasn't allowed anything beyond his rations; that was common knowledge. Chancellor Izunia had been extremely displeased on the one occasion he'd caught Prompto snitching leftovers from a plate instead of putting them into the trash.

But he'd given Noct a name, and not a number.

And sure enough, Noct was reaching onto his own plate, where a single lonely tart remained. He held it out to Prompto. "Want to try?" When Prompto made no move to take it, he said, "Come on, just a bite. If you don't like it, you don't have to finish it."

So Prompto reached out to take the offering, aware in a distant kind of way that his hand was shaking.

He flashed his gaze to Ignis and then to Noct, half expecting this to be some sort of joke, but neither of them said a word. "Thanks," said Prompto, uncertain. Then he bit into the confection.

Pretty good, Prompto decided immediately, was the understatement of a lifetime.

The crust was flaky and buttery and rich. The filling was sweet and bright, topped with heavy cream and a small sprig of mint. It was the best thing he'd ever put in his mouth, ever, and even though Noct had said only one bite, Prompto crammed the rest in before he could think better of it.

He had it down in two hasty chews and an urgent swallow, then licked the crumbs from his fingers with great care. Already, his stomach was shifting, interested – wondering as it always did, in its hopeful way, whether he would send down anything more substantial, this time.

It made an inquisitive gurgle, and Prompto flushed, glancing up to see that Ignis and Noct were both watching him with intent expressions.

"They're, uh," said Prompto. "They're really good."

Ignis looked him over again, more thoroughly this time. At last he seemed to come to a conclusion. "I'll just fetch you another one then, shall I? We'll talk after the ball, Noct, if you don't mind."

Then he was gone, weaving his way through the gathered crowds.

"Sorry about that," Noct told him. "He doesn't really know how to unwind."

"No, he's fine," said Prompto, almost tripping over the words in his haste to get them out. "You're both fine. You're –"

Being so nice to me, he wanted to say, but the words caught somewhere in his throat. Instead he waved one hand, helplessly.

Noct snorted. "Forget it," he said.

But Prompto didn't want to forget it. He wasn't ever going to forget it: the plush velvet of the chair back, and the taste of tart on his tongue, and Noct's pleasant, mellow voice. He stared around him, trying to sear the image in his mind. If he never got another night like this one, he wanted something to hold onto.

This is incredible. This is incredible. This entire fill is just so charming, and I've just read all the parts so far and smiled the entire way through. I love the fairytale style. I love Noct's '? are you serious?' reaction to being asked his name. I love poor suffering Prompto being overwhelmed by the smallest kindnesses. I love every second of this, and I sincerely hope you'll post it to AO3 when you're done so I can bookmark it.

Noctis/Prompto Cinderella AU

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