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.

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Oh no, my heart :C

oh god this is so heartbreaking and um i really like the exploration of his character like this!! cuz he's honestly so capable!!! and it rly makes me sad to think about it....

Hi anon! I hope you still check this prompt. I've been eyeing it for a while and I was bored last night so I finally filled it! I hope you enjoy!

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10588392

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10594506/chapters/23420586

"Sorry," Prompto blurts, even though he knows – he knows – that apologizing never helps.

And sure enough, the black-haired guard is waving him off. "Don't worry about it," he says.

The big guard, the one who carried him for miles like it was nothing, says, "You sleep okay?"

Prompto doesn't know how to answer that. He hunches his shoulders, bites at his lip. Maybe they'll soften the reprimands in his report, if he owns up to his failure now. "I slept too long," he admits.

"It is a bit late," says the guard with the glasses. "No matter, though. I set aside your dinner."

At the mention of dinner, Prompto's stomach clenches and gives a hopeful sort of twist. He lost his rations privileges yesterday, for taking too long on the new obstacle course in the training yard. His mouth is wet now, at even the thought of food. He swallows hard, and looks determinedly at the ground to keep from staring while the guard goes to fetch his protein bar.

That's why, a minute later, when Prompto reaches out to accept what he's given, he freezes mid-motion. Because the guard with the glasses isn't holding a protein bar at all. He has a bowl of some kind of liquid, a thin metal stick poking out one side.

Now that it's right by him, Prompto realizes that this is where the amazing smell is coming from. It's rich and savory, and it makes his stomach clench again, so sharp and sudden that he wraps his arms around it, trying to quiet it down. He swallows again, harder than before.

But Prompto knows this exercise. They've practiced this one. He's learned the hard way that he's permitted rations only, and he can't afford any more demerits.

So he ignores the bowl that the guard with the glasses is holding – hunches his shoulders in and tries not to look. If he passes the test, they might still give him his protein bar.

The guard's got a strange expression on his face. He half-turns, to look at the other guards, then looks back at Prompto.

"Go on," he says. "Take it."

Prompto doesn't want to take it. It's hard enough trying to ignore the smell when he's not holding the bowl in his own two hands. But an order is an order, and he thinks he remembers the debrief after the last time they did this particular exercise involving words like willpower and resilience and self-control, so, well, it makes sense that it would get harder over time, right?

With shaking hands, he reaches out to accept the bowl – discovers that it's warm against his palms. His stomach cramps again, and he bites at his lower lip and tries hard not to look.

They're all watching him, all three of them. He's not sure what he's doing wrong, but the longer he stands there, the less pleased their faces are getting.

Sorry. :(

Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far, even if your heart's a bit broken. ^^

he needs to be hugged... badly ç_ç

Oh god, they're trying so hard to be kind to him and he thinks he's being tested ow my heart ;_;

I'm going to cry. You are seriously going to make me cry.

Poor Prompto trying to do his best and not understanding that he's no longer bound by Nifflheim and doesn't have to follow their rules anymore and the others trying to take care of Prompto without realizing he's been taught that everything they're offering is a trap.

These poor babies

I just loved this prompt way too much, so I had to fill it.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10599609

At last, the guard with the black hair says, "Hey. At least try a bite."

Prompto sucks a sharp breath in, between his teeth. He expected the exercise to get harder, but not this hard. Still, an order is an order.

He nods, a jerky little bob of his head, and examines the bowl in his hand.

The metal stick poking out of the end is the sort of scoop he's seen guards eat with before. The long end goes into your hand, and the round end goes into the food.

So Prompto shifts the dish to his left hand, supporting it. With his right, he picks up the food-scoop. It takes him two tries to get some of the liquid into the spoon, and he eyes the guard with the glasses, who's standing the closest. The man's lips curve up at the ends, and he gives Prompto a small nod.

Prompto takes a bite.

He nearly drops the bowl. His eyes go very wide, and he thinks he makes a soft sound of surprise.

Because it's good. It's warm, and the taste is – it's – Prompto doesn't know. It's like nothing he's ever had before, the rich flavor rolling across his tongue the best thing he's ever experienced.

He wants to keep it for as long as he can, wants to savor the taste – because he's never going to get a chance like this again, and he knows it. But his stomach twists like it's trying to escape, and Prompto swallows almost involuntarily, trying to placate it.

He hates the guards, suddenly and fiercely. He hates the one with the black hair, most of all, for making him try it. Everything is so much harder, now that he knows how good it is.

But Prompto can't afford another demerit. He can't.

So he lowers the bowl as far from his face as he can manage. His hands are shaking; it's a sheer test of will not to just tip the bowl up and gulp as much of the contents down as he's able, before they snatch it away. But he can do this. He can.

Prompto holds the bowl there, and he waits.

After a minute, the guard with the glasses frowns. "Not to your liking?"

Prompto looks at him, wary. If the man's making fun of him, he's going to cry. He might cry anyway; his throat's too tight, and his eyes are stinging.

"Prompto?" says the guard with the black hair, leaning forward in his chair, forehead creased.

That's it. That's all it takes.

The tears aren't a flood; Prompto knows better than that. They sneak out the corners of his eyes, silent, and he mostly keeps his chest from hitching funny when he breathes.

He really does. :(

Poor Prompto isn't used to people being kind for the sake of it. :(

Everyone is trying their best, and it is just not working out. :(

oh no no no no no baby don't cry ç__ç

I'm crying now. You made me cry.

my poor babies

This was super fun to fill, tbh

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10600782

*pained screaming* FOR THE LOVE OF THE SIX, SOMEBODY HUG HIM!! ;_;

*horrified laughing*

"Oh, Astrals," says the guard with the glasses, and he takes the bowl, and all Prompto can feel is relief that the temptation isn't quite so near anymore.

Then the guard's wrapping arms around him, and Prompto flinches – catches himself – holds himself as still as he's able, trembling. He expects the pain to start any second. But a second becomes two, and then five, and then ten. The guard isn't doing anything but holding him, and it's not even tight, like he means to restrain.

The guard's hand finds Prompto's hair. He pets a little, the way Prompto saw a human child do for a small animal with floppy ears, once. It feels nice. But here he is, crying over what should be a standard training exercise, and he can't for the life of him imagine why he's being allowed anything nice right now.

The guard with the black hair is on his feet, Prompto realizes – is taking the bowl from the other guard and setting it aside before returning to hover nearby. The third guard, the big one, kicks over a chair, and Prompto flinches at the clattering sound when it goes down.

The encircling arms around Prompto tighten, just slightly. "You're hardly helping," says the guard with the glasses.

Prompto bites down on his lip. "Sorry."

"Not you," says the guard with the black hair.

And the guard with the glasses says, "Hush, Prompto," and pets him more.

They stay like that for what has to be at least five minutes. Prompto's still tense, still trembling, but the arms around him are steady and warm. It feels like when he first woke up, by the fire, wrapped up in the weight of the cloth. Everything's soft edges, and the fingers carding through his hair are soothing. He feels the line of his shoulders relax, just a little. The tears have stopped.

The guard with the glasses says, very quietly. "Are you all right?"

Prompto sneaks a look at his face, trying to decide what he means by that question. He wants a status update, plainly, but what a strange way to request one. "Functional," says Prompto. "Ready for assignment."

After a beat, the guard with the glasses tries again. "Why were you crying?"

"I won't do it again," says Prompto, quickly.

It's not what they want to hear. The guard with the black hair makes an unhappy noise – folds his arms across his chest. The big guard mutters something under his breath, inaudible from this distance.

And the guard with the glasses says, perfectly even, "It's fine that you did. I just want to know why."

It's not a direct question. Not quite. Still, the man's gaze is fixed on him, expectant.

Prompto hesitates. If he admits that the test was too much, will they mark him down as a failure?

"The bowl," Prompto says at last.

"What about the bowl?" the guard with the glasses asks.

Prompto bites at his lip again. He's acutely aware of the bowl's presence, all of six feet away on the small table by the fire. He can still smell it, and the scent makes his legs feel wobbly. His stomach is twisted up into knots, like it hasn't been since his fifteen-demerit report, when they took away his rations privileges for three whole days.

"It was good," Prompto says, miserably.

Can you really blame him? :(

A-aah, sorry I made you cry. :(

Hugs are forthcoming, don't worry. :(

It's kinda short, but I HAD to write something for this prompt

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10602558

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