ffxv_kinkmeme | Prompt Post

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Prompt Post

Welcome to Round One 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.
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 12/30/16: I'm looking for some help! Details here. (I'm always looking for more pinners; this is an open invitation.)

I've added/clarified some rules to make life easier to my pinners. Please refrain from changing the subject lines except when filling or updating a fill. It makes it easier for us to keep track of what we've already looked at. Thank you so much!

UPDATE 1/28/17: We've opened up a Drabble Tree post! Go check it out.

UPDATE 2/21/2017: ROUND ONE IS CLOSED FOR PROMPTS. Please feel free to continue posting fills. Round Two will open for prompts and fills on 3/1/2017.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

AAAH! OP would be super excited and thankful if you took the time for my prompt!

Traitorous Drautos, very fitting indeed. Definitely seconding!!!

OP here! I saw this on AO3 update and I just SCREAMED BECAUSE IT IS PERFECTION. You do it justice.Sriously :))) Let me die happy now...

I HAVE THE SAME HEADCANON (except there are additional numbers that designate which batch and which Make/Model and other things that dehumanize) but aNYWAYS
YES YES YESSSS

alpha!noctis and omega!ignis

this would probably work best in an au but it's up to the filler. i just want to see noct to take care of iggy just as well as iggy takes care of him

i would not be opposed to mpreg if it went that route

Not The OP Here!
Do not wish to dissuade anyone from filling this, but here is a link to an AO3 story with similar themes.
Link - https://archiveofourown.org/works/3592950
The PNV Club by Mayoki

OP - Thank you for the rec! That was pretty cute.

Yes please @_@

A DINGUS. The best descriptor I have heard for him yet xD

The bros are out having a good vacation time when Prompto starts coughing. He insists he's fine but then Noct, Ignis and Gladio keep finding tissues covered in blood for days in the garbage and the worst part?

It's MT blood. It's black and slick like oil and smells like oil and Prom is doing his best to hide it.

++++++ Prom stops coming to hang out because he's so sick and constantly throwing up this black shit

++++ Ignis, Gladio and Noct decide to visit his apartment together and overhear him crying hysterically/having a breakdown. Extra if they find him in the bathroom and have to break down the door.

++++++ Prom is so sick he can't move. Extra if they find him covered in his own vomit and being a crying mess because he can't even move at this point and wow this MT!Prompto prompt got really sad whoops

Seconded so hard!!!

I really like the idea of Noctis getting all growly around Ignis when he's in high school and not being entirely sure why.

Ugh. Seconded so hard.

The bros ending up meeting a very nice and attractive male scientist who Ignis ends up getting along with very well and has a lot in common with. This makes his secret boyfriend Noctis feel extremely insecure with himself as he feels Ignis could do a lot better than a spoiled brat like himself and unlike Noctis, Ignis could be in an open relationship with this man. So Noctis tries to break-up with Ignis only for Ignis to get angry and try to "show" Noctis how much he truly loves him

+Scientist guy is a good person and not an asshole

+slow, gentle, hot love making

+Ignis kind of loses his cool for the first time when Noctis tries to break up with him

This was only supposed to be one scene and then a fic happened. I’m sorry.

“So, uh, how long have you two been dating?” Prompto asks.

He stares longingly at the milkshake Noctis has (“Iggy, does this taste weird?” “It tastes like artificial vanilla, but it’s fine.” “If you say so.”) and he doesn’t seem to notice the way both Ignis and Noctis blanche at the question.

“We’re not dating,” Ignis says firmly.

Noctis is glad Ignis manages to find the words, because he certainly can’t. Ignis is his advisor, his mentor, and in a lot of ways his oldest friend. He’s been there for Noctis since around the time Noctis lost his mother. It makes them more like brothers than anything.

“Really?” Prompto asks, frowning. “Because you licked a napkin to clean Noctis’ cheek and that’s an awful lot like something a girlfriend would do. Or a grandmother.”

“Ignis is older than me,” Noctis says.

“Why does that matter?” Prompto asks, head tilted to the side.

Noctis suddenly isn’t sure it does. He sees the heated flush on Ignis’ cheeks and the way Prompto is staring at him in confusion and wonders if he’s managed to miss something vital. He fills his mouth with fries and nudges Ignis in the side.

“It matters,” Ignis says, finally. “It would be inappropriate given the situation.”

“Uh huh,” Prompto says, like he doesn’t quite believe it. He doesn’t push the issue.

Noctis thinks about it, sometimes.

Ignis’ soft brown hair, neatly parted. His warm, expressive eyes hidden behind the reflection of his glasses. The clean press of his clothes. The gentleness of his hands when he bandages Noctis’ cuts and bruises from practicing with Gladiolus or punching unsuspecting walls. The warmth of his long, lean body when they stand too close in the kitchen, Noctis eager to taste whatever sweet Ignis has made for him today.

He’ll be a good boyfriend to someone, some day. Not Noctis, because there is always going to be this hierarchy between them and Ignis has a thing about rules.

Still, Noctis thinks it would be nice to have those arms wrapped around him every now and then, keeping him warm and safe.

“The Summer Solstice is coming up,” Clarus says conversationally.

“I’m bringing Iris,” Gladiolus says, deadpan. He doesn’t look up from the battered training blade in his hands and he clearly knows where this conversation is going.

“Hardly,” Clarus says. “I’ve already bought her a dress that matches my suit.”

“Fuck,” Gladiolus says. His father raps his ass with a training sword. “Hey!”

“Language,” Clarus reprimands. He tosses the training blade in the air and Noctis barely manages to catch it before the hilt catches him in the face. “And you, Your Highness?”

Oh, Noctis thinks. He shrugs. “My dad usually just invites one of the noble girls on my behalf. Last year she was named after a fruit.”

“Clementine,” Clarus corrects. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Her father is your father’s chief advisor on Education. As I recall, you made her cry.”

“Not on purpose,” Noctis says. It wasn’t, either. He just didn’t understand where the romantic notion spawned in her head that just because they were expected to dance together meant that Noctis was going to kiss her. “Ignis says she has a gentle soul.”

“Says the guy with a heart like knives,” Gladiolus says, amused.

Noctis has no idea what that’s supposed to mean, but Clarus glares at his son.

“Perhaps the both of your are old enough to find your own dates to the festival?” Clarus suggests. He prods Gladiolus in the chest gently. “In your own age range, perhaps?”

Gladiolus makes a face and Noctis sympathises completely.

Ignis is making something in the kitchen and it smells too good for Noctis to focus. He taps his pen on his workbook, trigonometry forgotten in favor of the soft humming Ignis does when he forgets there are people around. He’s made himself completely at home in Noctis’ apartment and it does strange things to Noctis’ heart.

“What are you making?” Noctis asks, eventually. There was merlot and fresh tomatoes and garlic and the apartment smells rich with it all.

“Just marinara sauce. The water is almost boiling for the noodles to cook,” Ignis says. He looks over his shoulder and smiles fondly at Noctis. “Finish your homework. Dinner should be ready soon.”

“No meat sauce?” Noctis asks.

“No meat sauce,” Ignis reassures. Noctis can have made an offhand comment five years ago and Ignis still bears it in mind to this day. “I’ll make sure to pull the bayleaf out before I serve you.”

“Will you be my date to the Summer Solstice Festival?”

Noctis isn’t sure where the question comes from, barely remembers the thought forming before the words are leaving his mouth. It feels right though. It feels good.

“Noctis…” Ignis says quietly. His back is turned to Noctis and his shoulders are slumped. “I can’t.”

Just like that the unexpected elation comes crashing down. Noctis’ heart is in his stomach and his fingers are shaking. He had expected the answer to be no but he had hoped...

Ignis comes here almost every day after he gets out of class. He tidies up after Noctis and he feeds him and helps him study and do homework while avoiding his own. He stays as late as Noctis wants or needs him to and he comes back every morning to help get him ready for the day.

“It’s fine,” Noctis lies. “Clarus and Dad were just…” He wets his lips and he doesn’t know how to finish his sentence. He knows it frustrates Ignis, but Ignis hasn’t even stopped stirring the marinara to look at him.

The water is boiling but he hasn’t added the noodles.

Inhaling deeply, Ignis turns to look at Noctis. “I don’t want you to misunderstand. Someone already asked me. It would be rude to decline their invitation after I’ve already accepted.”

“Gladio,” Noctis curses.

“Gladio?” Ignis asks, confused. “What’s Gladio have to do with this?”

Somehow, that makes this entire situation worse. He thinks he could live with seeing Ignis with someone else if it was Gladiolus because it wouldn’t mean anything then. They’re just friends. Gladiolus is definitely not into Ignis if the girls who flirt with him are any indication.

Noctis picks up his pencil and stares at his homework. He can’t bring himself to meet Ignis’ gaze or carry on the conversation, and Ignis thankfully lets it drop.

“Do you want to be my date to the Summer Solstice?” Noctis asks Prompto at lunch.

“Heck yeah I do,” Prompto says. He gnaws on a carrot stick before shaking it in Noctis’ direction. “Shouldn’t you be asking a girl though?”

“Girls are overrated,” Noctis says with a shrug.

“I’m going to lose my virginity before you do and you’re a prince,” Prompto says, a weird sort of admiration in his voice.

“Whatever,” Noctis says. He ignores the weird twist in his gut and rubs his temple. “I’ll make sure Ignis gets you a nice suit.”

“You invited Prompto,” Regis says.

“Uh huh,” Noctis says.

He can feel the energy of the crystal thrumming through his veins, but the only thing Noctis can manage to summon to him is the same small knife he’d watched his father put in the armory months ago. It’s frustrating and a million times more interesting than where he knows this conversation is heading.

“Not Clementine,” Regis says.

“Prompto,” Noctis reiterates. “You’ve met Prompto. You liked him.”

“What about Aiko? Or Selphie? She’s going to school with Ignis now, but she’s not that much older than you,” Regis suggests. At Noctis’ blank expression, he sighs. “The charming one with the gap teeth that forced you to marry her in primary school. What was her name.”

“Pretty sure Alona is gay,” Noctis says. He brushes his bangs out of his eyes and frowns. He summons the knife and releases it, but his father doesn’t seem to notice.

“That doesn’t surprise me, to be honest,” Regis says good naturedly. “Still, I’d been hoping you would have invited a nice girl…”

Noctis groans. “Dad.”

“It’s about time you started to think about these things, Noctis,” Regis says, in all seriousness. His eyes look grave. “You’ll be expected to get married by the time you’ve finished college, and then the city will be hounding you about an heir.”

If Noctis could roll his eyes any harder, he’s pretty sure his eyes would explode. “I have zero interest in girls or heirs or getting married. Can’t I just finish high school first?.”

“That’s what worries me,” Regis says. He sighs heavily and rubs his hands over his eyes. “Okay, again with the knife. Actually hold onto it this time.”

Prompto looks good in his suit, though he needs Ignis’ help to figure out how to tuck and tie everything and look presentable. He fidgets with his cufflinks and Ignis gently smacks the back of his hands before returning to his bow tie.

He looks really, really good in black.

“How come we have to be all dressed up when most of the city is going to be wearing you know, actual fun colours and patterns and stuff?” Prompto asks.

“Because you are escorting the crown prince and the crown prince must be appropriately attired for every occasion,” Ignis says.

“Right,” Prompto says. He reaches for his bowtie, to adjust it or to fidget, and Ignis smacks the back of his hand again. “Ow, hey, I get it. How come you’re here instead of helping your boyfriend get ready?”

Boyfriend? Noctis thinks, and his heart drops into his stomach.

“Because Noctis doesn’t know how to tie a bowtie,” Ignis replies. He gestures for Noctis to step up next and frowns when he doesn’t. “Noctis, we don’t have all night. We’re already running late.”

Ignis doesn’t deny that his date is a man. That maybe he’s more than just a friend like Ignis had led Noctis to believe with his comment about it being rude to cancel plans. He sighs and steps into Noctis’ space like he hasn’t been lying to Noctis about the depths of his relationship.

A part of Noctis had hoped that Ignis was going with a woman. It would be easier, he thinks. Knowing Ignis was with a woman who would love him and give him children. Smart as hell if Ignis was interested in her, probably without self-doubt and borderline crippling anxieties about who she even was.

Nothing like what Noctis has to offer.

But knowing it’s with a man? Someone who will probably go home with Ignis and kiss him while their limbs are tangled together in bed, bodies rocking together -

The bile rises in Noctis’ throat. His stomach clenches and he can feel the cool sweat prickling on his skin.

It’s better this way.

“Noctis?” Ignis asks, and this time he sounds concerned. He touches the back of his hand to Noctis’ forehead to check his temperature, and frowns. “You look unwell. Should I call your father and tell him we’ll be late?”

“It’s fine,” Noctis lies. He offers Ignis his bowtie and tries to control the shaking of his hands. “I’m fine.”

Ignis looks like he doesn’t believe him, but he accepts the bowtie anyways.

As soon as they’re free from pleasantries and speeches, Noctis grabs Prompto by the wrist and drags him into the garden. His garden. The one his mother used to read to him in and the only place his father doesn’t try to yell at him in. There’s fairy lights strung up for the celebration, but it’s largely untouched.

“Uh, pretty sure the party is back that way,” Prompto says. He picks at his cufflinks and frowns. “I kind of wanted to see if we could score some of those champagne flutes and did you see the bombshell Gladiolus brought? She could bench press both of us together.”

“You’re the worst,” Noctis says. He drops down onto a bench and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I don’t want to see Ignis with his stupid boyfriend.”

“Oh, fuck,” Prompto says. He drops down on the bench at Noctis’ side and pats his back awkwardly. “Does he know you want to bang him six ways from Sunday?”

“I don’t!” Noctis objects.

He doesn’t. His respect and admiration for Ignis runs deeper than the physical. And while he’s sure Ignis is just as considerate a lover as he is in every other aspect of his life, it’s not the reason Noctis’ stomach is in knots tonight. Other times, maybe, but not for the reasons Prompto is thinking.

“So you are actually in love with him?” Prompto asks softly. His expression is apologetic. “I’m sorry, man. Maybe his new boyfriend is really boring and has a receding hairline?”

Noctis just groans and digs his hands back into his eyes. He wants to forget about this whole stupid thing and just go home already.

“I guess at least we don’t have to worry about pickpockets in here,” Prompto says conversationally. “And we can hear the music. It’s kind of nice. My phone is fully charged, too.”

Looking at Prompto out of the corners of his eyes, Noctis smiles tiredly. “You’re the best.”

Prompto scoffs. “Obviously.”

Ignis’ boyfriend isn’t quite what Noctis expected.

He’s taller than Ignis by at least an inch or two and he’s handsome. Black hair and green eyes and strong features that he’s sure to pass on to any kids he might have. Not that he could with Ignis. But still. He looks like he works out, but it’s probably crossfit and not for any purpose other than posing selfies on Instagram.

Noctis bets he’s majoring in psychology and he hates the guy already.

“Noctis,” Ignis says, surprised. “I’d been informed you were sequestered away for the night. I hadn’t expected to see you.”

“We wanted to see your boyfriend,” Prompto says. He folds his arms over his chest and fixes the guy with a hard stare.

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d say boyfriend,” he says, with an awkward laugh. “It’s only like the third time we’ve gone out. Uh, it’s a pleasure to meet you, your Highness.”

He holds out his hand and it’s only at Ignis reprimanding stare that Noctis takes it. The shake is firm but short and Noctis returns his hands to the warmth of his pockets.

“Right,” Ignis says. “Were you two ready to head home? I know your mother didn’t want you out all night, Prompto…”

Prompto purses his lips and looks at Noctis in confusion. Prompto’s mother had been very clear when she told Ignis he could keep Prompto all weekend if he wanted to, so far as packing a bag for him.

Ignis can’t have forgotten which means Ignis is lying. Ignis never lies.

“Yeah,” Prompto says. He rubs the back of his neck. “It is getting pretty late. It was nice to meet you, guy.”

“Oh, Eren,” he says. “I guess this is goodnight then?” He leans in to kiss Ignis’ cheek right as Ignis moves to smack Prompto’s hand away from his bowtie and misses. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Ignis agrees. “Well, that didn’t quite work.” He doesn’t move to fix it, though he squeezes Eren’s arm above his bicep gently. “I’ll see you in the dorms. If you’ll excuse me, my job does come first tonight…”

“Like every night,” Eren comments, but it’s without malice.

Noctis is glad to be gone.

“You’re not really going to take me home, are you?” Prompto asks.

“No,” Ignis says. “Unless you would prefer it?”

“Hell no,” Prompto says. He grins and nudges Noctis’ in the side. “Video games and pizza?”

“Eren seems like a tool,” Noctis says.

Ignis shoots him a dark look through the rearview mirror. “Noctis,” he warns.

“No, I agree with Noctis,” Prompto says. “Did you see the way he tried to kiss you in front of us? Totally trying to stake his claim. Besides you lied to him.”

“I’m hardly going to take advice from two individuals who have never been on a real date,” Ignis says and Noctis can practically hear the roll of his eyes. “And it’s none of your concern.”

“It kind of is tonight,” Prompto says. “What if Noctis had needed you but you were too busy necking?”

“Noctis always comes first,” Ignis says with conviction.

Prompto elbows Noctis roughly and wiggles his eyebrows, like Ignis’ devotion to his duty is supposed to mean something when Noctis has been hearing it all of his life.

“Wanna sleepover, too?” Prompto asks.

“I will keep you company, for a while,” Ignis consents.

i feel like i have the devil's hands and the devil's hands continue to make me produce disgustingly domestic regclar.

----------

The shifting actually gives Regis away before the smell does, but it’s a faint enough scent that nobody but Clarus would notice. Part of that is his proximity, a bare foot away from the King, and part of it is that Regis is no bare, young omega, yet un-bonded, yet un-bred. He doesn’t smell like it, either—he smells of low musk, of Clarus, of the surefire pulse of their children and sleep-warm skin. If it was Noctis they would all be dealing with a significantly more pressing issue, pheromones for miles, but with Regis it’s far less the fact that he smells of Heat and far more the fact that his jaw is tense and he looks oddly miserable.

Clarus very much wants to take him to bed.

As an argument continues around the table, he holds his hand up for silence. “This is going nowhere,” he pronounces at last, with a sigh. “We’ve been in circles for nearly an hour, and I for one have better things to do with my time, as I am sure all of you do as well.” The King’s order is law, and the argument sizzles out as quickly as it begun. “Gaius, Livia, next week I expect you to return with enough data that we may, as a whole, make a unanimous decision on the matter. Cato, I will deal with those papers on my desk in the morning. Is there anything else?” The last few clerical errors are sorted, and then Regis rises, the rest of the Council following, one hand balances him atop the table, one atop his cane.

“The Council is adjourned.”

They walk side by side back to the Royal chambers, Clarus a step behind the younger man’s shoulders, hands folded behind his back. Regis is not as young as he once was, and he moves slower despite it, his early forties bringing arthritis and ill sleep with it. When they arrive at last within the doors, in their suite of rooms, away from tutors and Crownsguard and servants, Regis sags slightly, and Clarus gets a hand under his elbows, keeps him upright. “Did it just start?” He asks; they are far and away old enough that they’re not near as frantic as they were in the haze and rage of youth. He can have this, just enjoying the blur of arousal as his body reacts to Regis, to wanting him. “It was fast.”

“Stress, most-like,” the King murmurs, letting Clarus take his cane and lead him to their bedroom, close and lock the door behind them. No need for inopportune interruptions; if there’s a real emergency the children and the Marshal have the key. Regis opens up to curl into Clarus like a heat source, fingers tucked around the base of his neck. He’s already hot, feverish under his clothes, and sweat is beading at his hairline.

This close, Clarus can do more than smell him: he can practically taste the musk of Regis’ heat-slick on the back of his tongue, low in his throat, and his cock throbs something awful and needy as he helps Regis strip of his clothes, far more careless with them than he should be, but Regis has somehow gotten his hands under Clarus’ shirts to his skin and his slim fingers are digging like firebrands into the top of Clarus’s stomach, over the decades worth of hard muscle there, and by the time they practically trip over one another into bed Regis is in only his boxers and Clarus feels like he’s going to boil in his clothes. It smells of sex already, musky and heady, and his cock is uncomfortably hard in his trousers, his shoes surprisingly difficult to fuss with, and Clarus almost topples flat on his face onto the bedspread twice watching as Regis bites his lower lip until it’s swollen and red, forcing himself to concentrate as he texts their kids to let them know all is well.

“Meetings to reschedule,” he’s murmuring, pulling the circlet from his hair, as Clarus finally manages to wrestle both his boots off and starts to fumble with his council cloak, “I shall have to postpone that visit to the Wall, and we’ll need to find another week to do the business sector,” Clarus’ cloak hits the floor, and he almost tears the buttons off of his shirt as Regis slides his hands down his chest, over the brown nubs of his nipples and the scars at the base of his pecs, down the worryingly-emaciated bow of his stomach, “I hope Iris can work out doing her piano recital next week,” how the man is still so calm Clarus doesn’t know because he has to try four times to undo the button of his fly and gets his knees caught in the fabric when Regis slides his fingertips under the elastic of his boxers, still flipping through his calendar, nonchalant, and pulls them down.

He’s slick all down the insides of both his thighs, the cotton peeling away from his skin with a wet sticking noise, and his clit is hard and swollen, standing out red and damp amidst his pubic hair. Clarus whines aloud, sobs, and finally manages to get the rest of his clothes off, climbs on the bed, drags his husband’s phone from his hand and tosses it on the bedside table without looking, and is about to kiss him when Regis seemingly without thought dips three fingers into his cunt and moans hot and needy, clenching around them, and that—

His knot throbs, and Clarus kisses him.

“That bad already,” Regis murmurs into his mouth, as always more resistant to the pressure and functional supernova of his Heats than Clarus, and Clarus grabs his upper arm, leans over him, parts the younger man’s thighs, and bats his fingers out of the way. They’re too thin, too gentle, and not enough. He can’t just touch himself like that when Clarus is right here and wanting and when he twists three fingers of his own up into Regis, he sighs in pleasure, his head rolls back on his neck, and Clarus scrapes his teeth over the curve of his husband’s throat and across the twenty-five-years worth of bond scars that mar his pale skin there, moans into his skin, and curls his fingers inside the other man just to hear Regis whisper his name like a benediction.

Clarus can remember, painfully vividly, the first time they’d Bonded—Regis had been seventeen, Clarus twenty-two, and they’d talked about it and agreed on it all beforehand, after being betrothed since near-birth, it wasn’t a change of pace. Oh, they’d been supposed to wait for the wedding, but they were both stupid and young and hormonal and they’d snuck out of the Wall down to Hammerhead and then off into the Leide countryside, and their first Heat had been spent together wild and desperate and violent in a tent, just the two of them (they’d had to throw their sleeping bags out, afterward, they’d made such a mess).

Their first Bond had come at the end of the five days (they’d all been young, once) and Regis had pinned Clarus down with a frightening amount of strength belied by his nature and his narrow frame and held him there as he’d ridden Clarus’ cock to orgasm, yelling at the top of his lungs when they knotted up and Clarus got his hands on his tits, pulled roughly on his nipples, and had come so hard he’d nearly passed out at the broken, anguished wail Regis had made when he’d bitten down at the bottom of his throat until he’d tasted blood, his knot held tight in bruising heat, pumping Regis full until his stomach was swollen and he couldn’t speak, shaking all over and blissed.

(One time, when Clarus hadn’t Bond-bitten him, after Gladio’s birth, when their Heat had been a necessity and incandescently violent, Regis had slammed his head into the desk they’d been fucking on until he saw stars, and bitten him. He still had that scar, at the top of his throat, just under the edge of his jaw.)

They have all the time in the world now, though that thought doesn’t really slow them as much as it makes Clarus want to tie them together and never let Regis go. He bites, gently, at the other man’s neck, at the curve of his shoulder, and spreads his thighs to slide down his body, Regis sighing unhappily as he tries to grab at Clarus’ hair. This is their first heat since he’s started to shave it. “I miss it already,” Regis muses, digging his nails into Clarus’ scalp instead, dragging him close. He doesn’t have to ask because Clarus already wants, and he’s pushing Regis’ thighs over his face and licking a hot stripe over his clit and the sticky heat-slick of him, four fingers back inside him like they’d never left. Regis is moaning almost immediately, never one to hide his pleasure, and he encourages Clarus on with his heels dug into his husband’s shoulders, with the fingers on the back of his neck, and Clarus wants to take him apart piece by piece even as his knot fucking throbs, half-hard and wanting already, and he just wants to see how open he can get Regis, to see his come leaking out over the King’s thighs in something a little like ownership.

“Clarus,” Regis whines, when he’s eaten the other man out to the point his thighs are shaking and there’s almost more slick on Clarus’ face than there is on Regis’ cunt, clenching down over his fingers and his clit so hot that Clarus can feel his husband’s pulse through the skin, “You’re going to make this needlessly hard if you do that.” Clarus grins.

Regis has never been able to come without a knot while in Heat. Never.

Clarus might take a little more pleasure in that than he should.

Neither of them is fully in the thrall yet, and Clarus wants to enjoy this as long as he can. Regis is getting near to menopause, and soon enough they’ll be done with Heats, and he’s going to miss the way that Regis gets when he’s deep in wherever his omega hormones takes him, sharp-edged as beautiful and deadly as shattered glass and willing to use Clarus like he wants to be used, to take him apart into the baser portions of himself and fuck him until he breaks down. He wants to get Regis there, wants to ratchet him up until he loses control and implodes.

It ends up taking another half an hour to get Regis there, Clarus practically begging him to break, before Regis’ prodigiously short temper snaps and he kicks Clarus in the hip, drags blunt nails down his back to leave angry welts, and bares his teeth, green eyes fever-bright and sweat flushing his skin. “Clarus,” he growls, an order, and Heat lends his words heavier magic and a touch of the omega empathy he hardly needs to make Clarus get on his knees, “Do not test me.”

Clarus loves him, gods, he loves him, he loves Regis something awful, and he grabs for his hips, for his shoulders, spreads his thighs. “Please let me,” he whispers, and Regis snarls something hardly polite, bites Clarus’ lower lip hard enough that it bleeds, and drags him over with his heels. He’s loose and soaking from the time Clarus has spent eating him out, with fingers in him (and from two children as well, widening Regis’ hips and changing his gait more than even his replaced knee does) and his cockhead goes in without pause, goes in and in and in and Regis is hot like hellfire and Clarus presses their foreheads together, his body strangely not-his with the disassociation of Heat, with how much he wants.

Regis is splayed on the sheets. His hair is growing long, dark down to his ears, and his sweat has made it loose, splayed sticky and tangled around his cheeks and face, his narrow chest rising and falling as he pants. He watches Clarus with half-lidded eyes, and every time Clarus starts to slow, to enjoy the rub of the head of his cock up against his husband’s cervix, the way that Regis keeps clenching down and baring his teeth when Clarus’ knot pushes just into him. He wants something awful to pump Regis full, breed him properly, to let Regis shove him down in the sheets and take his pleasure until he’s full of days worth of Clarus’ come and it’s so sticky and tacky inside him that it hardly will come out. If they were years younger, maybe, maybe they could have more children, but as it is—

“Clarus,” Regis sighs, needy, tightening up around him, “Clarus, now, Clarus, love—“ and Clarus does as he’s asked, always does as he’s asked, and presses one palm over the base of Regis’ stomach and digs his thumb into the King’s clit to make him yelp, his hips knocking the younger man’s thighs to splay wide as he pushes home, home, knot widening Regis as wide and wider than Clarus’ knuckles, the King crying in ecstasy at the joy of it, his handsome face open and raw and sated at the feeling of Clarus bottoming out inside of him, knot engorged and locking up so that he can’t move, and Regis comes untouched around him, moaning-gasping-pleading yes and just like that and Clarus as he laughs through it, clenching down, milking Clarus’ cock.

They end up sprawled in easy lassitude, Clarus tucked around Regis like he can protect the man from the rest of the world, the both of them shuddering in time whenever another wave hits Clarus, Regis grunting as he gets more come inside him. They’re a sticky mess, but a happy sticky mess, and Clarus keeps smiling into the side of Regis’ neck.

“Something on your mind?” The King asks, shoving on his shoulder to roll over, propping his elbows on Clarus’ chest, looking down at him with stupid affection. Clarus just smiles back at him, grossly besotted.

“I love you.”

Regis sighs, shakes his head, smiles. “No shit,” he says, and Clarus laughs.

Noctis likes sweets, but he doesn't know what a creampie is and determined to get one. Iggy is embarrassed.

(let's be real here, we all thought a creampie was a delicious pie at first)

gladdy ---> drk/war ignis---> sch/nin prompto---> mch noct--> whm/rdm (because its coming out!!!!! yaaaaaa!!!!!!)

(Note to the OP - I basically wrote this as "the boss fights, except with ritualised sex", so Leviathan ended up just a giant arsehole about everything and while it's technically not non-con there's definitely dubious elements. I put her bit on its own section in part 2 so you can skip it if you want.)

RAPTURE

Noctis lays spread out on Bahamut’s palm, panting, trying to will himself through this. Two thousand years of the Crystal’s power and Bahamut’s sinking shards of it into Noctis piece by piece.

At first he tried to think of it as just another series of Royal Weapons. The experience isn’t dissimilar, the thud of the shard sinking into him, the breathless moment where its power binds to his soul. But these are no chaste strikes to his chest, Bahamut pierces him from all angles, golden blades sliding into Noctis’ shoulders, sinking into his thighs and and piercing his arms.

It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, this blue-white icy-hot not-heat that pulls on his soul, demanding as much as it gives.

“You do well,” the god rumbles, words Noctis feels more than hears, and then there’s a shard at his lips. Noctis opens his mouth obediently and moans around it as its power flows against the shards already in him, sending ripples of magic erratically through his body.

He takes another shard through his hip, a second to the soft part of his belly, and a third to the hollow of his throat that has him writhing, and then he loses count and all he can do is hang on.

Bahamut pierces him with the power again and again and Noctis takes it, lets it fill him up to his soul even as his body cries out against it - it’s too much, this was never meant for mortals - until the god sinks two shards into him at once, through chest and groin, and Noctis’ body rebels. He comes as tears leak from the corner of his eyes, his orgasm endless and unbearable, like an echo of the ritual itself.

Afterwards he lays still, just trying to pull his mind back together as the Draconian gazes down at him patiently, impassive to the mess Noctis is in. How long have they been doing this? Days already? Weeks?

The other Raptures had been more . . . wham, bam, thank you elemental demiurge. This was a whole different level, congress not just with Bahamut but with the Crystal itself and Noctis’ mortal body is too weak to take more than a fraction of the Crystal’s power at a time.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He doesn’t actually need to breath in this place, let alone eat or sleep, but the act of breathing helps ground him. Reminds him of the extent of himself.

Only a few kings in the history of Lucis have ever forged Covenants with any of the Six - the ritual of the Rapture is dangerous, sometimes even fatal, and usually embarrassing. It’s the one part of the Cosmogony Prompto actually knew about.

It’s the one part EVERYONE knew.

Even Noctis had thought it was funny, back when it was nothing more than an another ancient ceremony buried in dust. Titan’s Rapture had even been one of his and Prompto’s running jokes, back in school, as if any hormonal teenager in the history could have passed-up that many hard-as-a-rock puns.

The real ritual had put an end to those jokes.

Titan’s idea of foreplay had been to give Noctis a blinding migraine, which Noctis should have taken as a warning for how bad the experience itself would be. Noctis spent it trying to work himself down on a stalagmite that vibrated like an earthquake while somewhere above him chaos raged and his friends fought off what felt like the entire Imperial Army.

He could barely even walk afterwards, which of course meant that was also when Ardyn decided to steal their car. They had to complete Ramuh’s Rapture by chocobo-back and, even with ethers, Noctis still had to spend the first few days riding with a cushion.

Gladio had been the one to make Ramuh jokes, back when they were kids. They hadn’t even been good jokes, mostly about Noctis having to wear a fake beard if he ever wanted the Fulgurian to touch him, because Noctis at 18 had been lucky if he managed enough peach fuzz to shave once per week and Gladio had probably been shaving in the womb.

Gladio had been a little smug when he turned out to be right.

Instead, Noctis found himself kneeling naked in the mud, one hand bracing himself against the sacred tree while he jerked himself off with the other. Rain pounded against his back, keeping his hand slick, and for a moment it had almost seemed kind of normal, like jerking off in the shower, and then the first lightning bolt hit.

Every nerve on his body came alive, his nipples drawing tight and aching and his cock jumping. His prostate lit up inside him, like it was being touched from every angle at once, and Noctis had to brace both hands against the tree to stay upright.

Then the second bolt hit.

He doesn’t remember much of what happened after that, just overwhelming sensation, everywhere, and the sound of himself screaming as he came.

He had woken-up afterwards bundled in blankets, the world swaying under him. It took him a moment before he realised he was on the back of a Gladio’s chocobo, slumped back against the man himself with one of Gladio’s arms holding him firmly around his waist.

“Back with us already, huh, Noct?” Gladio asks.

“Yeah,” Noctis croaked out, vocal cords rough and sore.

They rode in the rain for a while before Ignis said, “Well, two more trees to go.”

Noctis remembers he whimpered.

(Warning for divine giant sea snakes who under-negociate their kinks)

Leviathan’s Rapture had nothing been but punishment, the goddess taking her resentment and injured pride out on his body. She trapped Noctis under-water, sending currents swirling under his balls and over his cock, water pressure pushing his legs apart, and kept him there until his head was filled with a ringing whiteness.

She let him up to breath at random intervals, sometimes enough to take a few breaths, sometimes just to toy with him, to let him feel the air against his face and trick him into sucking a breath just as she dragged him down again.

He could hear her laughing at him through the water.

She’d been toying with him, letting him struggle to the surface to steal another breath, when something slammed into him, knocking the air out of his chest and scraping bloody gouges along his left arm. His vision was blurry and swimming with stars by then but he could still make out what she hit him with.

The ruined fragments of an arched doorway.

His terror grew then, became stronger, and Leviathan laughed more as she broke his will just as she broke Altissia all around him. He finally came out of a combination of fear, pain and adrenaline, the worst orgasm of his life.

He wasn’t really in a good headspace after that, even before everything went to shit.

Then Luna was dead and Ignis was blind and Gladio was never good with anything he couldn’t fight head-on, Noctis knew this, had known it for years, and in an ideal world maybe they could have all gone in for therapy but by the Wisdom of the Six they'd been trapped in a tiny train car together instead, with no choice but to keep moving.

By the time they had worked through that shit the hard way Prompto was gone too.

They had approached the Rapture of Shiva with grim determination and not much of a plan, beyond “let’s get there first and we’ll think of something”, because even Ignis with his stoic practicality had been trying not to think too hard about how Noctis was going to have to fuck a 90ft corpse.

Ardyn showing up had made it worse, Gentiana showing up had made it awkward and Gentiana turning out to be Shiva had made it . . . confusing, but Noctis hadn’t been about to complain.

She’d been gentle with him, laying him out against the floor of the train car so her her various bodies take their turns. It'd even been kind of nice at first, even though he’d been numb with cold within minutes, but her bodies were almost human, cute breasts and a pretty arse, and for once it was no struggle to get it up.

By the time her third body took her turn with him he's shivering violently and by the sixth he’d known hypothermia was setting in.

By the last he didn’t care any more. He must have come at some point, it was required to complete the ritual, but he didn’t feel it when it happened. The cold had ebbed away and everything felt warm but distant. He was so sleepy, when was the last time he had a nap?

Footsteps against the train floor caught his wandering attention, then, just as a familiar face came into view.

Even in the grip of delirium the fact that Ardyn was now standing above him while Noctis was naked and frozen to the floor was enough to send a stab of panic through him.

“Ah, Noct,” Ardyn tutted, “Loved you and left you, has she? Luckily for you, I have experience with that.”

And with a smile, he dropped a Healcast Firaga straight onto Noctis’ crotch.

He’s caught-up in the memory of the leaping flames when Bahamut’s voice brings him back to the present. “Oh King of Kings,” Bahamut rumbles, shaking Noctis from the last of his recollections, “Are you prepared? We must continue.”

“Yeah, Yeah, I’m . . . I’m good.” Noctis says, holding back the sigh.

Bahamut is not much for foreplay, the first shard slips in just behind Noctis’ balls and he has to grit his teeth to keep from yelling.

He’s writhing against Bahamut’s palm by the time the Draconian sinks a glowing shard the size of a sword into his thigh. He rides through the confusion of his body, it doesn’t hurt, he tells himself, but the pleasure that pierces through him is too intense, bordering back on pain again.

He’s not sure mortals were meant for this, he starting to fear he’ll go mad with it. He tries to find some distraction, to take refuge in his memories, but there’s no safety there.

He learns, very quickly, to stop thinking of his childhood. The Regala had always meant his father to him, and safety, so he never thought about how deeply sexy that car was until he remembers the gleam of the sunset off the chrome at the exact same time as Bahamut sinks a shard into his flank.

He tries to think of the fights he’s been in but his mind strays to cacataurs and the rain of needles, and then to what it would feel like if Bahamut were to sink everything into him, all at once, and he's shivering as he shoves that thought away with force.

Memories of Cup Noodles? Become memories of what Gladio’s mouth looked like, wet from the broth.

Memories of Carrots? Now tied to a memory of Ignis buying the damn things, his elegant hands cleaning them, sliding confidently up and down their lengths.

Memories of Chocobo? If he still felt like praying to the Six, he’d thank them for Prompto’s obsession with the birds, so he ended up thinking about the brightness of his best friend’s smile and not anything more unfortunate.

He tries to digs deeper, into the darkest parts of his life, Ignis' injuries, losing Prompto, stumbling alone through an abandoned fortress with no weapon but a ring he has no idea how to use. The anger and grief distract him, for a while, and then he remembers the teasing lilt in Ardyn’s voice and his cock twitches.

He closes his eyes in defeat and starts to wonder if going mad wouldn’t be the best option after all.

He feels the pulse of power wash through him even before it touches him and he cracks open an eye back open to see a shard the size of a broadsword hovering over him. He has just enough time to gasp before Bahamut lets the shard fall and Noctis screams as the light cleaves through him, straight through his prostrate, through his perineum, through his dick, and cums as his mind flies to pieces again.

The aftershocks take forever to ride through, he’s not even sure he can remember his own name by the end of it. He curls into a ball, whimpering, trying to find himself, to piece his sense of self back together, so Bahamut can begin again.

(Outtake)

It takes three days to fight their way through the ruins of Insomnia and the sight that greets them when they reach the courtyard at the front of the palace is a sea of red.

“Why are we stopping?” Ignis asks.

“It’s um . . . blood.” Prompto says haltingly, “It’s a lake of blood.”

“Is it deep?” Ignis asks after a pause.

“We’re going to have to find out the hard way,” Gladio says.

“I’ll take the lead” Noctis says, because if worse comes to worst he can at least warp out. He takes the step forward, then pauses.

“What’s wrong?” Ignis asks.

Noctis lifts up his shoe and stares at the sole, “It’s not blood. I think it’s . . . rose petals?”

They all jump as speakers crackle to life around them, squealing static resolving itself into the sound of violins. Around them, hundreds of candles flare to life.

“Ifrit, the Infernian! He doesn’t share the Glacian’s fondness for mankind,” Ardyn calls out from the staircase, “So I thought you might need some help getting him into the mood!”.

Ardyn flings out an arm, throwing something at them, and Prompto gives an undefined squawk when it hits him straight in the face. Noctis gingerly lifts it off him with the tip of a sword and stares at the item in the flickering candle-light.

“Oh come on!” Prompto says, “Lace underwear is like the opposite of fire-safe.”

(Not the OP)

Author!anon, I love this. You've done wonderful things with the characters. Regis is such a dad, joking and goodnatured but also worried. And Prompto is such a good friend, even though he doesn't fully understand. And poor Noctis, trying to deal with his feelings and not doing so well. Well, maybe I should say poor Noctis and Ignis both.

I especially liked the scene where Noctis asks Ignis to be his date. You do a great job of illustrating both their feelings even while we're only in Noctis' head.

Seconded! This is all I want! Hopefully someone will fill it (I put up a similar request quite a while ago *_* )

(not OP) ohhhh my god. A/B/O isn't usually my cup of tea at all but this is so good and so sweet and ajdkfksjf <333

Oh my GOD, SOMEONE PLEASE FILL THIS

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Page 102 of 232

Prompt Post

Re: Gladio/Ignis - bondage and completely undoing Ignis

Re: Drautos/Noctis - Manipulation

Re: SORTA?FILL: Re: Drautos/Nyx,

Re: Gen Chocobros + Prompto's Birthday

noctis/ignis abo

Re: Ignis/Noct - Noct is a virgin prince and it's Iggy's duty to preserve his "purity"

Re: Ignis/Noct - Noct is a virgin prince and it's Iggy's duty to preserve his "purity"

Re: Swan Princess AU

Re: FILL: 6/?, Nyx/Noctis - AU, caught screwing the boss's son

Gen Chocobros + Prompto coughing up blood/MT stuff

Re: Noctis + everyone, dimension travel

Re: noctis/ignis abo

Noctis/Ignis- Reassurance sex

FILL: 1/? - Noctis/Any Ace!Noct

FILL: Re: Clarus/Regis, Trans!Omega!Regis

Noctis/Ignis cream...pie?

Re: Chocobros in Eorzea

Fill: Noctis/Any Astral(s), ritualized sex (1/3)

Re: Fill: Noctis/Any Astral(s), ritualized sex (2/3)

Fill: Noctis/Any Astral(s), ritualized sex (3/3)

Fill: Noctis/Any Astral(s), ritualized sex (Bonus Round)

Re: FILL: 1/? - Noctis/Any Ace!Noct

Re: ardyn/prompto, abo/mpreg, dub/noncon, Stockholm syndrome

Re: FILL: Re: Clarus/Regis, Trans!Omega!Regis

Re: Any/Noctis Sexy Dancing