ffxv_kinkmeme | Prompt Post

Welcome to Round One of the FFXV Kink Meme!

CLOSED for prompts | OPEN for fills

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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.
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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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From: (Anonymous)

Not sure how smutty or non-smutty you wanted this to be, but this turned out more....idk, character study than anything? Dom/sub Ignis/Noctis is one of my favorite headcanons for the two of them.

--

It's not something they discuss, at least, not at first. And he knows - really, he does - that it's something they should have laid out. But they didn't, and they don't, even years down the road. It's just...understood.

It starts slow and easy, because they've never had a conventional relationship. A prince should have the final say, Noctis knows, but Ignis handles everything so well that it’s easy to just let him take the reins. After all, Noctis has always deferred to Ignis even when he didn't want to, taken his chamberlain’s advice about anything and everything. Asking “what do you think?” starts to come second nature and “what should I do?” shortly after, waiting for the cool, quiet way Ignis directs him while his breath catches in his throat, like he's hesitant to even breathe when their roles reverse so sweetly.

It's nice to forget who he is. Cathartic, to be utterly and completely without responsibility; a welcome change to give up thought and willpower and let his body become clay in a potter’s hands. Escapism at it's finest. He never would have pegged himself as the kind of person to enjoy it, really - this complete and utter ownership, the giving of himself wholly and entirely - but there are nights he comes to Ignis and begs so sweetly for domination it shocks even himself.

Ignis's fingers find their way to his his wrist, his shoulder, his neck, bearing down with just enough pressure to set his nerves on fire, gentle touches that remind him he is owned. In their own way, the secret language of soulmates, Ignis makes sure the moody prince minds his manners, eats his vegetables - at least sometimes - and sleeps at acceptable times. I don't think that's wise, Noctis might as well be “don't you dare,” and you should make sure not to forget this becomes “you'll do this, because I told you to” as it rolls from Ignis’s clever tongue.

The thing that gets him Noctis the most - beside the flashes of nights alone in his (their) apartment learning to obey - is that really, it isn't just about the sex. It's about not having to think, not having to do - not even really having to be. Not the prince, not a student, nothing but putty in Ignis's hands as he takes him apart bit by bit and Noctis lets him.

Which isn't to say the sex isn't incredible. It's always been something special with Ignis, always been something he needed more than food or water or even air to breathe, something that came naturally and felt right. But this - this arrangement that they've started - is like a completely different world, one that Noctis dives into with more certainty than he jumped off of the Citadel’s tallest tower to prove to Gladiolus that warping was easy. (Funny, he thinks later, how the first time he consciously gives everything over to Ignis it felt more like falling than the leap.)

He crawls on hands and knees when Ignis calls him pet and exposes his neck so sweetly to teeth and tongue and hisses of mine. The “take care to not forget” hangs in the air, caught in the strings of spit connecting his swollen, sticky lips to the thick column of Ignis's cock; tangled in the sheets that always need smoothed with the elder’s careful hands when Noctis is done clutching desperately at them. He learns, he knows.

Ignis knows he's indulging him, as he always does. Spoiling him the way one might a child, or a beloved pet. He should be pushing Noctis towards his own decisions, not encouraging the deference and deflection that has become second nature for his prince.

Then again, he knows, he shouldn't be sleeping with him in the first place, let alone engaging in the (admittedly, all too easy) relationship they've slotted into like matching puzzle pieces, the give and take that's become a comfortable routine. It's a moot point, he supposes. If Noctis wants to crawl to him on hands and knees, every fiber of his being screaming that he wants to be utterly and completely dominated well, then, there must be a reason, and who is he to fight that?

Slowly, oddly enough, Noctis leaves his shell. Like a snake shedding outgrown skin, he becomes less reserved, more calm. Less prone to pouting (except, of course, when Ignis denies him until his mood improves and he pouts prettily, seductively) and more inclined to listen. It's a pity, Ignis thinks, that no one sees it but him. But then again, he likes these secret parts of Noctis that only he sees.

He supposes in a way too that it is liberating for Noctis, to have free will taken from you, anxiety and responsibility banished to leave room for self expression and so he continues - waves away the doubts with the same dextrous hand that's gotten so good at landing soundly on Noctis’s tender ass, allows him the luxury of submission over and over again. He's helping, he says, but he knows that's not just it - there's a beauty to Noctis when he's surrendered entirely and completely, when his mouth is a slack line with lips parted only to moan, when he's so fucked out his body won't cooperate and his eyes won't focus even on Ignis. It's about afterwards, too - when Noctis is back with him, when he curls up against him and mouths thank you against Ignis’s sweat-damp chest and shoulder. About knowing that he made him feel good and that he's needed, that the devotion he's harbored his entire life is good for something.

Noctis has never been expressive, at least not about his feelings or his desires beyond the basic I don't want that. Yet when Ignis has him on his lap, spread out beneath him shivering under his touch he learns to say more than good and more, urged by Ignis's gentle encouragements he says I like it when you touch me there and please, Iggy, with your mouth again - there.

Noctis loves it. It's easier to make it through the days of meetings he's supposed to attend and sparring sessions with Gladio because it's finite; there's an end to his time as prince and a beginning of his time as Noct, Ignis’s lover or boyfriend or - gods, sub? He knows he'll return to his apartment with Ignis and let the older man bathe him, wash every bit of grime and sweat away, knows that at the end of the day there is Ignis and with Ignis there is release. There is forgetting, there is pretending, and he craves that in the way an addict searches for a fix. Blindly, hungrily, desperately.

Ignis has never been anything but caring. Noctis is taken in by how little effort he exerts - how calmly he can adapt to the most minute change. His voice is deep and soothing, his hands gentle and kind no matter if they're landing on his ass for an earlier transgression or holding Noctis’s flushed cheeks in his smooth palms and saying tell me what you want, I'll give you what you need.

Noctis doesn't understand. These types of things are supposed to be awkward, like the first stirrings of lust for his friends were. Late nights under the blankets with his clammy hands the only lubrication for his sensitive cock, the awkward scuffing of boot-clad toes into floor as he avoided eye contact when faced with the idea of discussing his desires.

But there is nothing awkward about it. Ignis was trained for him, raised for him, made for him and he supposes maybe that's why. Maybe he was born three years later because after the astrals made Ignis, they needed a perfect fit for him, a fit he hopes he is.

Ignis is so effortlessly, flawlessly dominating, and what really gets to Noctis so overwhelmingly is how unassuming he is, how everyone can see that yes, Ignis is the true diplomat of the pair but they don't know how deep down that control goes. He's lean, toned but not bulky, calm and reserved, not the kind of brute-force commanding that Gladiolus is but something deeper, something more powerful because it's so unexpected. He's the prince and his advisor should always be to the right and one step behind, but never in charge and to his father, the council, their friends, he is. But behind closed doors it's a different story, one that has Noctis waking him up at night whispering make me yours because he knows only Ignis can.

Soon, it never ends. The lines blur, fade away like a mirage on the horizon. Smudged like ink under impatient fingertips, remade into something else. Clay in an artist's hands the way Noctis melts perfectly into Ignis’s.