Prompto's mouth is dry. His brain's coming up with some pretty amazing mental pictures, just from those words alone. He squirms in his chair, and Gladio laughs. "Someone's interested." "So? I'm into it, what can I say." He shifts again. Even if he loses, there's no order he can think of that he won't love following – not from these guys. "Let's do it." "I'm in," says Noct, not a beat of hesitation. "And I," says Ignis. "So deal already," says Gladio – and Ignis does, long fingers steady and sure on the cards.

Who'd been dead set on keeping Prompto from getting distracted during combat, after he got hurt one time too many? Noct. Who'd suggested the consequences? Noct. Who'd been dumb enough to think it was sexy instead of really, really stupid? Prompto.

Prompto's never really alone anymore, and mostly, he's just fine with that. Mostly, it's exactly what he's always wanted. Only, his friends happen to be stupidly attractive. Like really, ridiculously, unfairly attractive. Strangers on the street actively stare at Gladio without a shirt on. Ignis wears sock garters, smooths them up his slender calves every morning like it's no big deal. Noct somehow doesn't realize that when he wades into the water to pull a fish out, white t-shirt on, the cloth plasters right up against his skin, almost see-through. So yeah. Prompto likes that he's never really alone anymore. But he's also never really alone anymore, and the approximately hundred thousand awkward boners he gets every single day languish in his jeans, untended.

The order's not a hard one: stay still, and stay quiet. It's an order he's had before, more times than he can count. This time, he even has an end goal: two hundred pages. It seems doable. Two hundred pages isn't that long, right? Prompto's just got to hang in there until Gladio finishes his book.

Ignis' cooking gives various status effects, depending on the recipe. It's never done this before, Prompto knows. This being the unstoppable urge to fuck his best friends, over and over and over again. Good thing they all ate the same meal.

Based on a kinkmeme prompt: "Ardyn pretends to be Noct to get info out of/lead astray/etc the Chocobros. Except Ardyn is thousands of years old and doesn't know how to talk like a 20 y/o slacker. He's too verbose, he uses old slang people haven't used in centuries, he smiles too much, he guesses their romantic attachments wrong..."

Gladio gets his kinks indulged by the other three while camping and in heat.

AU in which the royal magic is gifted to retainers through a magical sex ritual. A lot less porny than the description makes it seem. More of a coming of age angst fest that delves into the meaning of consent and free choices.

Every royal is given Retainers. These Retainers are expected to attend to your every need, even the ones behind closed doors. This is a story examining Prince Noct's relationship with his three Retainers, told in segments and timeskips across several chapters.

Prompto was sitting on a concrete barrier nearby, cleaning his camera lens. He looked up as Noctis approached. "Got what we need?" he said, tone neutral. Noctis shrugged, puzzled. "No luck. Shop's closed." He looked back over his shoulder. "Apparently some kid robbed them blind just a while ago. They're still sorting things out." Prompto tapped his foot, ducking and adjusting a dial. "Huh. That's weird. It was open when I went yesterday," he said. (The bros, unbeknownst to Noct, sometimes have to do some less-than-wholesome things for his sake. Kinkmeme fill, complete.)