Prompt Post

[ffxv_kinkmod]

 Welcome to Round Two of the FFXV Kink Meme!

CLOSED for prompts | OPEN for fills

Please have a look at the extended rules here.

The important rules in short:

• Post anonymously.
• Negative comments on other people's prompts (kink-shaming, pairing-bashing etc.) and personal attacks of any kind will not be tolerated.
• Don't be an asshole.
• One prompt per comment. Warnings for common triggers and squicks are encouraged, but not required.
• Prompts should follow the format: Character/character, prompt.
• Keep prompts to a reasonable length; prompts should not be detailed story outlines.
• Fills should have the word "Fill:" at the start of the subject line.
• Otherwise please avoid changing the subject line.

Please direct any questions or report any problems to the Ask a mod post.

Prompt, write, draw, comment, and most importantly have fun!

(You can also check out our Pinboard for Filled or Unfilled prompts)

UPDATE 3/2/2017: Per the Rules thread: Do not hijack prompts. If someone posts a prompt for one pairing, don't comment to say "I want to see this for [other kink]" - post your own prompt for the other kink). To that end, if you are unclear on a prompter's kinks/DNWs, please feel free to ask about them. If you ask about kinks/DNWs or to clarify a prompt, you are in no way obligated to fill it.

Additionally: Do not repost prompts from the previous round in their entirety. By this we mean copying and pasting prompts without any changes. If you see a similar prompt to a prior prompt, that is not a repost. Obviously prompts that are reposted per the above rule do not count either. (After all, they will be similar but not the same.)

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.

Comments

Re: Fill: 5/7 Chocobros/Prompto; Prompto can't come for a week

[(Anonymous)]

(Whoops, posted the next part without giving it a new number. Here it is with the proper numbering.)

Day 5

If Prompto's learned anything about Ignis from this road trip, it's three things.

One, that Ignis is amazingly, utterly put-together, even at four o'clock in the morning when he's awakened by some minor crisis. Two, that he's genius level at pretty much everything – like, seriously, he should be in the Lucian Book of Records for car-packing skills alone.

And three? Three is that he is an absolute godsdamned sadist.

The hell of it is, this last one comes as a revelation, five days in. He's never even hinted until now.

Prompto's used to Ignis' calm voice and patient words. He's used to Ignis' stern lectures about appropriate behavior.

He is not used to Ignis bending him over a rock outcropping at the haven when they're done packing away their camping gear. He's not used to Ignis using a quarter of a container of lube and making sure Prompto can take three fingers, easy, until he's squirming for more. He's not used to Ignis sliding a Six-only-know-where-he-bought-it sex toy up inside of him, until the widest part is settled, flared base and narrow neck combining to make a fit that means it's not going anywhere anytime soon.

And all of that? All of that would have been fine. He gets down on his knees, there on the scrub grass and dirt, and sucks Iggy off, a hand each on Gladio and Noct, until they're all finished, and Prompto needs a towel to clean himself off. Business as usual, these past few days.

No, what qualifies Ignis as a genuine, card-carrying sadist is the fact that, when they're done, he brushes himself off as though he's engaged in nothing more strenuous than a morning stroll. He says, "Make yourself presentable, Prompto. It's time to be on our way."

"Uh," says Prompto. "Little help here?"

He can get the toy out on his own, sure, but it'll be faster with Iggy to lend a hand. But Ignis only fixes him with an inscrutable look and says, "I should hope you can manage a zipper by yourself."

Prompto stares at him. Ignis stares back, level and unfazed.

Noct and Gladio share a grin that's anticipatory and kind of wondering.

"You've got to be kidding me," Prompto says.

But Ignis isn't kidding him.

An hour later, Prompto's in the Regalia's front seat, acutely aware of the toy still inside of him. Not every angle makes contact against his prostrate – he'd have come all over himself if it did, bet or no bet – but when he shifts just right and grinds into it, he can get the edges to brush where he wants it to be.

Every tiny imperfection in the road jars the thing. He can feel each bump in excruciating detail, and he's gone from zero interest in civic planning to silently loathing the poor road upkeep in the Lucian countryside. Prompto braces for every pothole, trying to anticipate the worst of it. When he sees one coming, he can scoot forward, so that his own weight doesn't press the toy further in.

Even as he scans the road, he spots another one.

Prompto shifts in his seat again, trying to find a position that's not torturous pleasure – inadvertently rocks when the car does, biting at his lower lip. He wants to reach down to adjust himself through his jeans, but Ignis has already told him in no uncertain terms that this is a hands off sort of event.

Now, with a tone that brooks absolutely no argument, the advisor says, "Kindly stop squirming, Prompto."

"Yeah," Prompto says, swallowing thickly. "Sorry."

And he even manages to keep it up when gravel on the road makes for a very interesting vibration indeed.

For all of about five seconds, until he tightens his thighs and lifts up off the seat slightly, to try and catch a bit of a break.

"Gladiolus," says Ignis, tone curt and displeased. "Would you assist Prompto with his seatbelt? He seems unable to stay where he's put."

Prompto's just taking those words in when big hands reach up from behind him. They settle the chest belt snug against him – set the lap belt directly across the straining bulge in the denim of his jeans. Those hands linger longer than they need to, getting the belt fastened – palm him through the fabric.

Prompto groans and lets his head fall back against the seat. "Be good, now," Gladio advises, Bedroom Voice™ like an elixir of pure, distilled sex.

"Yeah," Noct chips in, from where he's lounging in the back, taking it all in with half-lidded eyes. "You don't want to cross Specs."

"Indeed," Ignis says. "I expect you to be an absolute role model of proper behavior. That means still, and patient. Am I understood?"

Distantly, Prompto is aware of the sound of the Regalia's blinker. Distantly, he's aware that he should be worried by that.

"Yeah," he manages. "Won't move a muscle. Got it."

"Excellent," says Ignis – and pulls out onto a dirt road that stretches for miles.

Re: Fill: 5/7 Chocobros/Prompto; Prompto can't come for a week

[(Anonymous)]

As hot as this is and as much as I'm loving inventively cruel Ignis, I think my favorite was the line about how good he is at packing. Because you know he is amazing at packing.

Re: Fill: 5/7 Chocobros/Prompto; Prompto can't come for a week

[(Anonymous)]

He absolutely would be. You know he manages all of their lives.

Re: Fill: 6/7 Chocobros/Prompto; Prompto can't come for a week

[(Anonymous)]

Day 6

Prompto can't sleep.

Gods know he's tried, but he's crammed into the tent with three mind-meltingly sexy men, all of who've come their brains out in the last two hours, and here he is, one day from bet's end, harder than he's ever been in his life.

He's pretty sure his cock could cut diamonds. He's pretty sure he's been hard for like an hour now, not doing anything but trying to forget the feel of hands all over him. His chocobo print sleep shorts are damp at the front from the precome, and his head won't stop playing through likely scenarios for tomorrow.

Gods, he wants it to be tomorrow already.

Prompto reaches for himself without even thinking.

His body's hard-wired for it; hard-ons need a hand like peanut butter needs jelly. It's buried in endless nights as a teenager, tissues and lotion and furtive strokes, trying hard not to think about Noct, back before he worked up the courage to confess.

And it's not like he's going to finish. He's not the kind of guy who'll skip out on a bet. Besides, he's looking forward to day seven too much to ruin it.

He just wants to take the edge off.

So his hand slips inside his sleeping bag – edges down the waistband of his shorts. His fingers find the head of his cock and trace along it. He bites down a gasp and rocks into the touch, even his own hand feeling like heaven to oversensitized nerves.

He tickles and teases, not full strokes, because he knows damn well that anything more firm would send him catapulting over the edge. Still, it's not long before he's squirming in his sleeping bag, unable to keep still – unable to take his hand off himself, now that he's started.

It feels so good, he almost can't bear to stop. He comes tremblingly close – has to still the motion of his fingers for a minute so that he can subside, panting.

It's not until he opens his eyes again, after he's come down, that he realizes Noct's not sleeping any longer. He's lying there in the darkness of the tent, eyes intent and wanting.

"Gonna cheat?" he says, very quietly.

And Prompto shakes his head. "Just – just needed to take the edge off. A little something."

"Uh huh." Noct's reply is so flat that Prompto's not sure what to make of it – not until he sits up in his sleeping bag, unzipping the front of Prompto's own. "Hands up," he says.

"What?" Prompto frowns up at him. "Why?"

"Hands," Noct says again, and Prompto complies, uncertain, lifting both arms above his head.

Noct's belt wraps around Prompto's wrists, three times. Prompto tests it, inconspicuously – find that it holds.

"Come on," Prompto says, trying to put his bound hands back down. "I got this. I don't need your belt, dude."

"Plainly you do," Noct tells him, in a tone that carries a note of command. Then he zips Prompto's sleeping back up to his chin, leaving his arms to poke out the top.

He feels ridiculous. He probably looks ridiculous, and Gladio and Ignis are going to wake up in the morning and see him, and then Noct will tell them what he caught Prompto doing.

Even the thought makes him harder.

"Noct," Prompto says, softly. "C'mon, buddy. Lemme out."

"Not a chance," Noct tells him – and then shoves Prompto's sleeping bag, hard, so that he rolls over onto his stomach.

It's about twenty times worse, all at once. Suddenly, his throbbing erection is trapped against the padded layer of the sleeping bag, all of Prompto's weight putting pressure on it. He rocks forward, and the friction is incredible.

"Go to sleep, Prompto," says Noctis, king of Lucis and unrepentant asshole.

Prompto groans into the floor. "You're the worst friend ever," he says. "You know that?"

Re: Fill: 7/7 Chocobros/Prompto; Prompto can't come for a week

[(Anonymous)]

Day 7

They check into Galdin Quay at nearly five in the evening, and Prompto's already a wreck.

He's spent the day with Ignis' toy buried inside of him – punishment for trying to cheat his way out of the terms of the bet, no matter how much he swore he wasn't going to actually finish himself off.

When they finally get their luggage into the hotel room, everyone goes about their business as though nothing's amiss. They take turns in the shower – Noct supervising Prompto, so that he's not tempted – and then they lounge around the room. Prompto sits on the bet, trying not to squirm.

He finally breaks at half past six. "Uh, guys?" he says. "It's the last day. Just, y'know. A friendly reminder."

"Is it?" Gladio asks, idly, and flips a page in his book.

Ignis says, "What exactly did you intend for us to do about it?"

Prompto swallows. His sleep shorts are already tented in the front. They have been since he changed into them, after the shower, and the toy's still a solid weight inside of him, at once too much and not enough.

"I dunno," says Prompto. He bites at his lip. "Something, though? Noct said, uh –"

It's like Noct's reading his mind. He says, "That you could pick how to finish out the week?"

Prompto nods so fast he thinks he might give himself whiplash. Everyone's eyes are on him, varying degrees of amused.

"So," Noct breathes, and leans in, tantalizingly near. "What did you decide?"

"Anything," Prompto blurts. "Everything. Just, can we get started? I'm dying here."

"Everything, huh?" Noct's tone is level and somehow ominous. "I think we can manage that. Hands up, Prom."

Prompto's mouth is suddenly dry. He lifts his hands up, aware that they're shaking – watches as Noct slides Prompto's sleep shirt off and then lays him down. Pale hands wrap a strip of fabric around each of Prompto's wrists, cinching them to the top posts of the headboard. When he lays back, he feels open and terribly exposed.

They must have planned this, because they're somehow all on exactly the same page. They run their hands all over him, on his bare chest and thighs. Gladio's fingers pluck at his nipples, and Noct's thumb caresses the curve of his hip, where he's stupidly sensitive, and Ignis rakes carefully groomed fingernails down Prompto's abdomen.

He's already a dripping mess. He rocks backward, trying to get the toy deeper.

"Guys," he manages. "Come on. Can we speed this up?"

"If you insist," says Ignis, prim and proper, and with no more preamble, he slides Prompto's sleep shorts down and takes his cock in hand.

Ignis' hand jobs are a work of art. They always have been, precise and attentive. Iggy's a quick study, so he always knows exactly where to touch, and exactly how much pressure is the right pressure to make Prompto squirm. He's not holding anything back, and Prompto's shaking in about a minute flat, ready to come with toe-curling intensity.

Then Ignis stops.

It takes Prompto's lust-addled brain a moment to catch up. "Huh?" he manages.

Noct smirks down at him. "Well," he says. "You did say everything."

Gladio tweaks a nipple again, and Prompto whimpers softly. "And you tried to skip out early. Like hell we're making this easy on you."

Prompto's got a sinking feeling. He's suddenly afraid he knows where they're going with this.

It's a suspicion that's absolutely confirmed when they give him what he asked for: everything.

They take turns with him, stroking him right up until the end and then backing off. Then they go at him with their mouths, all wet heat and mind-melting pleasure, always pulling back just a moment too soon. Prompto gets louder and louder; what started as breathy moans and soft sighs turn into groans of utter frustration as the night wears on.

At last, Noct goes to ease the toy out, and Prompto's head falls back against the pillow, even that much sensation incredible to his overstimulated body.

"You ready?" Noct asks, almost tenderly, as he slips one finger into the empty space the toy left behind. His other hand is slicking up his own cock. "I did mean everything."

"Gods, Noct," Prompto whines. "Go, yes, please, just –"

Noct slides into him with one long thrust, the toy's stretch easing the passage. He's longer than the plug; he reaches places it didn't. Prompto's hips jerk up into him, trying to get more, faster, now.

Noct's having none of it. It's like that second night, stop and go. Noct waits when Prompto gets too close – starts up again when he's cooled down. It takes him twenty minutes to come that way, Prompto achingly hard beneath him. Then he presses a gentle kiss to Prompto's collar bone and makes way for Ignis.

Ignis makes loves the way he does everything: with great care, and fastidious attention to detail. He knows precisely where Prompto's prostrate is. He hits it precisely often enough to keep Prompto on the edge of insanity, but nowhere near often enough to bring him off. When he finishes, Prompto's gasping for air, open-mouthed, an absolute wreck lying there in the sheets.

Then it's Gladio's turn. And Gladio may not have any of Iggy's finesse, but gods, does he make up for it in size. He dwarfs the toy – fills Prompto up until he feels like he'll burst. Every thrust comes with the force of a sledgehammer, and he has to stop so many times that Prompto thinks he's going to cry.

He dripping all over himself by the time Gladio finishes. The precome is a puddle on his stomach, so much of it that he would be frankly embarrassed in any other situation. Now, he's too far gone to care.

When Gladio pulls out, Noct pets his hair and tells him to hang tight.

Then they leave him there, still achingly hard, tied so tight he can't flip over and lie stomach down. If he could, he'd rub himself off against the sheets. He's just that desperate.

He's not sure how long they're out of sight, but he can hear them there in the sitting room of the suite, talking and doing regular, everyday things. It's torture, listening to them relax while he's trapped in a lightning storm of want.

He's not sure how long they leave him. It might be minutes; it feels like days. But finally – finally – he hears footsteps on carpet and looks up to see that they've returned.

"It's past midnight," Noct tells him.

"Oh, thank the Six," says Prompto.

"Remember what I said about asking for it?"

Prompto remembers. His cock twitches against his stomach, and there's absolutely no hesitation when he says, "I'm asking. Consider this asking. Noct, please, can we? Please?"

Noct's gaze drifts to Ignis, and then to Gladio. He says, thoughtfully, "What do you think?"

"Eh," says Gladio. "Four of ten."

Ignis makes a considering hm sound. "He can do better than that."

Noct lifts his shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. One hand drifts down to toy idly with the tip of Prompto's cock, just enough to tease. "You heard the man."

"Please," Prompto gasps. "Please, please – I've never needed anything so bad in my entire life. I'm going to – to explode, or something. Would you please just –"

Gladio gives a thumbs up. Ignis offers a grudging nod.

And Noct bends down, face smug and fond, to lick up the length of Prompto's cock and then swallow him whole.

It's the best thing Prompto's ever felt, wet and hot and so, so good. Every tiny motion of his tongue, every pull of his lips, takes Prompto higher. He's spiraling somewhere above the clouds now. There are noises coming out of his mouth that he didn't even know he could make.

His eyes squeeze shut; his back arches up off the bed, like a thousand volts are running through him. His hips are moving of their own accord, weak jerks that bury him deeper in the absolute bliss of Noct's mouth. He wants to feel bad that he's not controlling himself, really he does, but he's way, way past that point.

When he comes, it crashes over him like a tidal wave, huge and crushing. Prompto actually wails, a wavering, drawn-out sound that echoes from the walls.

And Noct works him through it, attentive lips and careful tongue. He rubs circles into Prompto's thigh with the pads of his fingers, until the tremors have passed.

When he's finished, Noct pulls back and presses a kiss to his hip bone. Gladio's already untying the cloth holding him to the headboard; Ignis has produced a wet washcloth from somewhere, and he's using it, very gently, to clean Prompto up.

"Good?" Noct asks him, smirking like a cat with very expensive cream.

"Wow," Prompto says, dazed. "That was. Wow."

He wants to add more, but his brain seems fuzzy and distant, floating somewhere far away. He's aware through the euphoria that he's got a stupid grin on his face.

"As entertaining as that was," Ignis says. "We do have to be on our way in the morning. I would suggest we all attempt to get some sleep."

"Already on it," says Prompto. And he is. His body feels boneless and light; his eyelids are heavy. He's not going to be awake much longer.

Gladio snorts. "Not in the wet spot, champ." Big hands reach down to rearrange him; there's a rustle of fabric, as Ignis puts down an extra blanket to cover the damp sheets.

Then he feels Noct slip in beside him and curl up against his back. A minute more, and the bed creaks – Iggy and Gladio joining them.

He's aware of a hand in his hair, stroking – aware of an arm around him, familiar and encircling – aware of a thumb trailing over the ridge of his shoulder, a slow back and forth. He's not sure whose hand is whose, but Prompto doesn't care. He drifts off to sleep that way, surrounded by

Re: Fill: 7/7 Chocobros/Prompto; Prompto can't come for a week

[(Anonymous)]

You might just be my personal hero.