ffxv_kinkmeme | Prompt Post Round Five

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Prompt Post Round Five

Welcome to Round Five of the FFXV Kink Meme!

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Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

One MT either escapes or is left for dead in the Lucian wilds, where he scrapes by surving best he can and avoiding the occasional Hunter that passes through because thanks to Nifleheom propaganda, he believes Lucians are all evil wizards who can't be trusted. So needless to say, when he sees three Lucian hunters carrying what is obviously another escapee, he can't leave his brother in their hands and so he rescues him in the dead of night.

OR

Prompto gets badly injured on a hunt in the middle Bumfuck Nowhere while they're low on curatives, so his friends patch him up and carry him to the nearest Haven to recover the old-fashioned way. Unfourtunately, a blobde stranger kidnaps him in the middle of the night.

Adding to the Gladio DLC prompts! Cor returns to the party to reveal that Gladio has fallen trying to take on the Trial of Gilgamesh. Noctis (& co., with or without protests) travel to the Tempering Grounds and discover Gladio's soul among the dead there. What happens? Do they have a heart-to-heart? Can/do they retrieve it? Bargain with Gilgamesh? The sky's the limit!

Because this seems like such an obvious fic cliche for these two and yet I don’t think I’ve seen it.

My kingdom for just the sluttiest most eager most enthusiastic Omega Gladio, gets excited for his heat coming on like a kid at Christmas because being desperate and filthy and out of his mind for his Alpha(s).

+ or maybe what gets him that excited is his Alpha(s) going into rut, when he's NOT out of his mind and can savor every second of being fucked and filled over and over again.
++ Gladio won't shower or bathe unless Ignis (and/or the other two) force him because he loves how filthy he gets
+++ They'd never risk a pregnancy on the road, on the run like this, but it doesn't mean Gladio doesn't want to hear how badly they want to breed him

I love everything about this!!!

Okay, like first off, Characters A and B Get Together Unbeknownst to Noct And He Freaks Out trope is one of my favorites, and I see no way in which this isn't going there. Omg. I'm also loving hi-tech super-responsible Ideal Brothel that takes care of their employees, omg. (If Regis feels compromised by this power imbalance he could always step down and make it a proper worker-owned co-op.... :3c muhahaha)

Also every other line in this is like SOLID GOLD.

The FLIRTING

CINNAMON-ROLL SEX GOD

NOCT as an excellent friend who helps his best bud(/future stepdad) remember to eat, omg

And is that background GladNis I spy? Woah yes pls

I am gonna be following the HECK out of this!!!!

Ardyn watches in silence as the boy runs around his home, making sure everything is cleaned up and returned to where it belongs. He had offered to use his magic to return the house to its prior state and make it spotless, but the stubborn boy refused. Even when Ardyn suggested he stop to have a meal the teen only wished one up for the elder and resumed his task. It was exhausting to watch. But he understands why he does this, it’s been beaten into him that he has to do these things on his own, that no one will be there to hold his hand or make life easy and if he can’t follow any tasks given to him he is worthless. The teen finally stops, wiping the sweat from his brow and looking around in case he missed anything.

“Are you finished now, child?” Ardyn says, frowning at the decorum. “It looks just as tacky as the day I arrived.”

“I think so.” Gladio replies and rubs at his eyes. “But I’ll recheck it in the morning to make absolutely sure before he arrives.”

“Is this something that has been going on for years? Or only recent?”

Gladio nibbles on his lip and furrows his brows. “It’s, been like this since I was young.”

“And what of your sister?”

“Oh gods no, he wouldn’t do this to her.”

“But he does you.”

“Because I’m the next Shield.”

“What if she was?”

This causes the teen to turn slightly pale and tremble. “Then I failed as an Amicitia, as a Shield, and as an older brother.”

Ardyn frowns at the teen, feeling a slight bit of pity for him that gets the daemons in a tizzy. This boy, why does he have to be such a sad whelp? The boy rubs at his eyes once more, letting a soft yawn escape him as he turns to head down the hall.

“Are you not going to eat something? I barely even seen you snack while training today. It’s not healthy for the body to forgo food.” Ardyn tells the boy. “Eat an apple with some peanut butter, it will help with the transport of tryptophan and help regulate your sleep.” he schools and then looks crossly at the snickering boy. “What, pray tell, is so amusing to you boy?”

“You sound like the Marshal, he’s always talking up health stuff like that.”

Ardyn recalls the dour-faced instructor, the one who seems to show some care for the teen. Gladio relents and takes a few minutes to have a quick snack before he tucks himself into bed, leaving Ardyn to his own musings. The man flits about the house, rechecking everything himself since he knows what the boy’s father will more than likely be searching for. Once he finishes his recleaning, he decides a nice bath is in order and takes his new books with him. He must have lost track of the time for when he finally removes himself from the tub and puts it back in the state it was prior, he hears movement coming from the main area. Ardyn checks his pocket watch, finding it to be about five-thirty in the morning, and sighs. Was the teen already up and about checking things again, or had his father shown up for his inspection. It’s neither. An old man unloads a bag of groceries into the cabinets before opening the fridge and frowning. He pulls out a half-gallon of milk and checks its date before dumping it down the sink, replacing the container with a brand new one. After putting the items away he looks around, doing a similar sweep of the premise just as Ardyn had. Who was this man?

“Jared!” an excited voice calls out as the teen plods into the main room, dressed and way to chipper for this time of the day. “You’re here early, everything going well for you?”

“Yes, quite all right my boy.” the old man says and turns to the teen, his once cheery smile falling. “Gladiolus, your face, did you get into a fight during training?”

“I uh, yeah, I did.” he says as he touches the bruises on his face.

The man shakes his head. “You know your father will be displeased.”

“He knows.”

The man’s face falls even more, but then he perks back up and goes to retrieve something from a satchel by the doorway. “Well I made sure the pantry was restocked before I head back to my son’s to help with my Grandson. I also made you these.” he says and pulls out a white box that makes the teen look with excitement.

“Thanks Jared, you’re the best.” the teen says gratefully and takes the box.

The older man smiles warmly and pats the teen’s cheek before saying farewell and exiting the house. Gladio looks down fondly at the box, opening the top and looking inside before taking out one of the items from inside.

“Isn’t it a bit early to be partaking in sweets?” Ardyn calls out, holding himself from laughing as the teen yips in surprise and returns the cookie to the box.

“Oh, good morning.” he says as he turns and smiles at him. “You’re up early.”

He actually hadn’t slept, but he wasn’t going to tell him that. “So I assume that man was your butler?”

“Yeah, that was Jared.” the teen says, a happy smile on his face as he holds the white container to his chest.

But the sound of heavy boots startles the teen as he quickly places the box into a cabinet and makes sure his clothing is tidy before waiting by the door with a stiffness rivaled only by the statues on the mantle. Ardyn makes himself invisible just as the door opens, seeing the teen’s father step inside and bypass his bowing son as he goes to remove his jacket. The elder looks at his son, the boy standing straight up with his eyes forward, and shakes his head at him. Then the agonizingly slow process of the man white gloving every inch of the house begins. Gladio breath hitches every time his father takes a second look at something he had prior, but then relaxes when he makes a pleased grunt and moves along. After what seemed like a tense hour, the man steps back inside from his scour of the outdoors, standing before his son with his military rigidness.

“You have kept the property maintained, well done.”

“Thank you father.” the teen says and tries to force down the soft smile that slips onto his face as the elder Amicitia places his hand on his son’s head before retreating towards his room.

“I spoke to Jared and he informed me he had dropped off groceries for you, I still have meetings all today so when your mother drops off Iris, I’ll need you to watch her.”

“Yes father.” Gladio says, another warm smile forming on his lips.

The elder man returns from his room with a suit inside a bag before collecting up his jacket. “I shall try to make it home in time before dinner, if not prepare something healthy for your sister. Not just noodles.”

“Yes sir.”

His father leaves and Gladio lets out an exhausted sigh, rubbing at his eyes as he heads into the kitchen. “You want breakfast?”

“Hmm, yes, wish up something hearty for us both.”

Gladio beams brightly and does as told with Ardyn willing the food into existence for them. They make a plan to hit up a few more shops in hopes to finding more reversal spells, but too for Ardyn to start collecting items that seem to be needed in either spell. Gladio does a quick search and finds three that meet almost all of the requirements need. The first establishment holds the candles and roots needed, while the second a skull top cup that makes the teen grimace. Neither house any new spells to try out, just the same ones he already has possession of. As they make their way to the third, Ardyn notices the teen looking longingly at a park across the street where groups of families spend time together, laughing and cherishing one another.

“A place you are familiar with?”

“Yeah, we would go there to have family picnics during the summer. Mom would read to Iris under a large oak tree as Dad would teach me to ride my bike and tell me about all the fun adventures he had when he was younger. It was so much fun.” he says and then his face falls slightly. “Now we just visit here with Jared every so often.”

“Oh? Do you wish to stop momentarily, toss around a ball or something?”

Gladio snorts at this. “No, it’s okay, we have more important things to do right now.”

“Very well, I shall save throwing things for you to catch for a later time.”

The two arrive at the third place, the teen groaning when he reads a sign disallowing those under the age of eighteen and parking himself on a bench with a huff. Ardyn pats the teen on his head and promises to purchase him something once he’s done before heading inside to stalk the wares, finding the interior to be quite to his liking with its bohemian touch and rather expansive collection of baubles. He finds three books, two of them the same with the one being the sacrifice or sex spell and the other the simpler spell. The third offers something a bit new while having a similar set up to the basic spell, instead of a kiss the summoner must give up something they hold dear. Ardyn purchases the tome along with some items of interest for use once he returns back to his own abode, plus a bottle of liquor and an interesting necklace he believes the teen would find ‘cool’. But when he exits the building he doesn’t find the teen where he had left him. A quick look around doesn’t turn him up and he can’t see the oversized boy roaming the park either. He feels a deep annoyance fill him but that slowly subsides when he spies a couple teen boys peek from an alleyway, only to grin and head back inside. Ardyn feels a rare chill run down his spine as he follows after them down the long alley, turning a few corners until he comes to a dead-end. There he finds a small cluster of boys surrounding two who duke it out quite violently. The older man rolls his eyes, knowing who one of them probably is. Sure enough, the whelp is there, nose smashed up and bloodied, but at least he’s fighting back this time. Ardyn goes to snap at the group until he hears the teen yelp and gasp in pain as another one of the boys jump in unfairly, him stumbling back as he holds his side. The auburn haired man goes stiff as he sees the other boy brandish a rather large blade, it covered in a deep crimson liquid, and begins to laugh as he descends upon the slumping teen. A darkness overtakes him as he watches the blade wielder grab up the teen and press the sharp edge against his cheek as he mocks him vehemently.

“Boys,” a guttural and vitriolic voice sneers out, making the group stop dead in their tracks and slowly turn with looks of terror as they see what is behind them. “leave him, NOW!”

The group runs screaming from the alley, leaving the gasping and bleeding teen with the hellish form of what was once Ardyn. He walks over to the boy and finds him bleary-eyed and trying so hard to not cry from the pain in his side, feeling a strange twang in his chest as he returns to his normal form. Ardyn crouches down before the young teen, touching his blood covered hand gently and shushing him as he tries to speak. Tears stream down the boy’s cheeks, him beginning to hiccup as he continues to hold onto himself. Ardyn racks his brain for what to do, taking him to the hospital was out of the question since it would bring way too many problems then needed, but it isn’t possible for him to carry the child back to his home to be bandaged either. It only leaves him with one potential solution, if he can even fully still do it. He takes out the bottle of liquor he purchased, calling on the power of his bloodline to enchant the bottle and watches as it begins to sparkle and glow. It seems to have worked.

“Drink this child, it’ll heal you. Ardyn says and offers the bottle to the wounded boy but gets refused. “Drink it, I will not have you bleed all over this filthy back alley, that is undignified for someone of your pedigree.”

“It’s, alcohol sir.”

Ardyn sighs greatly. “I changed its property, it will heal you, now drink it.” he snaps and shoves the bottle into the teen's mouth. Ardyn pulls the bottle away once he’s sure Gladio drank enough and then checks the wound, finding it to have stopped bleeding. “There now, feeling better?”

“I few fun-e.” the brunette mumbles out, cheeks flushed and eyes lulling about.

Ardyn purses his lips. Well, it did work somewhat at least.

+10000

omega!gladio is so rare :(

OP here! Oh, my heart breaks for Gladio! At least... Ardyn... is on his side...? XD

He always thought his retainers had themselves under control. He knows about ruts and heats of course, but they always seemed to manage pretty well at home.

Then the road trip happened. And the heats. And the ruts. And are you kidding me? Didn't you guys get it out of your system two weeks ago? What? Now Gladio's having a heat? I thought he was-- whatever, can't you guys sync all those cycles up or something? Ugh, fine, but I'm booking a separate room.

I just want an exasperated Noct who is so done with all his friends. Normally he wouldn't mind dragging his feet on getting hitched, but not while everyone's banging the next room over in a shitty motel with thin walls, and he's got nobody with whom to play King's Knight while he's waiting out this sex storm.

THIS WAS FREAKING STELLAR OMG 10/10 ANON <3

Ahhhh thank you for the lovely comment~! I'm really happy that you're enjoying my characterization of Cor--it's really because he had so much to say that this story has spiraled out of control the way it has.

Coffee or no, I sleep like a babe myself once I finally hit my bed. I wake when it’s dark again. Well, as dark as Insomnia gets.

My head pounds, and somehow the silence of my apartment makes it worse. Hyperaware of my own breathing, of every creak of this old place. Despite the lack of dreams, my chest aches, and I half wish that I’d taken Clarus up on his offer, just so I’d have a distraction now. Never do well when I do too much thinking.

Last night, I fell into bed fully clothed. I peel off my shirt. I can’t stop myself from staring at my unmarred skin. No scars, no bruises, nothing. I trace over the smooth skin. Is it something I’ll get used to? It’s been nearly a decade since the Trial, but I still haven’t—every time I stand back up again—the first time had been—

Don’t dwell on things that can’t be changed.

I force myself from bed by habit. Even if it is night, there will be no more sleep for me. Shit, I probably don’t even need it. People die without sleep, but I am not among those who can die now.

I drag myself to the kitchen. I eat and drink at my small dining room table. Cup Noodles and chamomile tea, but it’s better than rations.

Anything is better than rations.

My apartment is nicer than most in the city. Larger. Three bedrooms, one for guests that I never entertain, another I use as a combination study/gym. Full kitchen. Bath and a half. Nice, matching furniture I let Jared and Clarus choose for me when I couldn’t be bothered. They chose earthy, comfortable things. I spend more nights crashed out on the couch than the bed. On days I bother to come back here at all.

It would be easy enough to convert the dusty spare bedroom into a nursery.

I go still, chopsticks halfway to my mouth. It’s true enough, I suppose. The kid would fit well into the physical space of my life. I have plenty of room. Plenty of gil only used for charity and weapons. I could afford to send him to the fancy noble schools that Noctis and Gladio will soon attend.

He’d be provided for.

(I can’t shake it, that tiny twist in his brows as he’d tried to learn my smile. The fantasy of raising him. Of caring for him as he obviously needs to be cared for.)

But money isn’t the problem, not the way it is for so many in the city.

I’m gone constantly, at whatever remains of a Front in the front of this War. Regis and Clarus would ask too many questions, and he might still end up in the Labs. I’m not equipped to be a caregiver the way a child like that would need.

All of them sting of base excuse, but I cannot—No. It’s simply enough that I cannot take the boy in. Even if I play that I might like to, it could never happen. Growing up in a facility like the one I gave him to—I know. I know that life without parents is difficult, but it can be worse to have the wrong parents. The kids who’d show up covered with bruises, flinching and spitting and angry.

I’d never known my parents, but I’d also never known what it was like to be betrayed or disappointed by the people who were supposed to protect me.

It isn’t as though the choice is between myself and the Orphanage. Someone will choose him. Someone who will inevitably be a better choice than me.

I finish my cold noodles and barely clean what mess I’ve made of the kitchen before I nab my keys.

The Citadel is almost empty this time of night. Crownsguard at the doors half-glance at my ID. Given I train most people who come through these days, I’m not an uncommon sight. It still chafes they’re not more vigilant. I’ll have to put them through their paces, later. Some kind of test. If I can break through our defenses undetected, so can the enemy.

My desk is beside the training grounds.

Clarus and Regis had wanted to put me in the administrative part of the Citadel, for sentiment’s sake. They wanted to have me within arm’s reach, in order to better monitor me I assume. I’d insisted on being near my Crownsguard.

If they’re expected to die for Crown and Country, the least I can do is oversee their training when I can’t train them myself. Be near enough to know that I am no paper-pusher throwing their lives away.

I settle at the sturdy old desk, the one I’d carried from the old Marshall’s office to a spare armory. I’d claimed the armory for myself. I could take the old Marshall’s desk for tradition, but I could never take his place. I perch on the carved wooden chair and groan. It never gets any more comfortable, filling his seat.

I pick up my failed report.

Another stack of paperwork is waiting, but—

Can’t think on it now. That stack is worse, by far, than lying by omission on my own paperwork. It can’t be put off anymore. It’s my job, and if I wait any longer, then it will become Clarus’s. I won’t dump it on his lap. So as quickly as I can, I finish my report:

Tightened security. Unsure of reason. Impossible to breach new defenses without new intel. Increase in MT activity outside of the Empire. Potential for stronger types of MTs outside of the Empire. Unsure of implications.

Easy enough to strip it of the reality of being shot through the chest by a sniper. Strip it of the babe and the woman who gifted him to me. I write around the necessary parts and give only the information that will benefit the War Effort.

I’m an old hand at this. Have to be, even if the taste it leaves in my mouth is reminiscent of that black sludge an MT leaves behind. Never purposefully got it in my mouth before. But you don’t do the type of intimate fighting I do without tasting the fruits of your labor, as it were. Reap the seeds we sow, etc.

When I finish, I stretch. The chair wasn’t designed for comfort, but neither was the role of Marshall. For all that I tease Regis about ceremony, mine is a role that leaves me elbows deep in a War most barely believe exist.

I move on to the notices to families. While I was on my own doomed mission, one of my strike teams fell in the outskirts. Maybe a week ago. Skirmish with MTs that turned bloody when they brought in magitek armor. Seems like every time we turn around, the Empire is developing new ways to massacre us.

These notices shouldn’t have sat on my desk this long. My temples throb as I pull out the nice pen from its case. I thought it’d been an unnecessary extravagance when Clarus bought it for me.

Congratulations on becoming the youngest Marshall in history: here’s your shiny pen.

“Being Marshall means that sometimes, your pen is going to be mightier than your sword, Cor,” Clarus had said, looking nearly as old as Regis. “Can’t have a disposable sword.”

I know now it wasn’t intended for me, but comfort for the families. If I’m whipping out this pen, it means I’m penning letters to a family. They deserve something better than cheap, ballpoint.

Not quite going through the motions. Too personal for that. I trained them. Saw them when they came in. When they got their blacks. When they got their first assignment. Just wasn’t here when they got their last one.

I’ve written enough of these over the years I don’t have to deliberate what to write or how to write it. The only deliberation is why the hell I’m here—solid, whole, after so many should-have-been deaths—why the hell I’m the Immortal, when so many good people under and above me have died. How many more will.

Lucky me. I have surgeon’s hands. Could have gone into medicine if I wasn’t so intent on killing. Even Clarus used to be impressed by the steadiness of my hands.

(Now, it’s more how much of my hand can fit in him, but the thought has no business here. Later, maybe.)

It’s only because of that inherent steadiness my hands aren’t shaking when I finish sealing the last letter. Are their deaths on me? For the tightened security? For the backlash? For the fact I saved Prompto rather than find the secret of the MTs?

Shit. Shit. Shit. I press my steady hands to my eyes and I don’t cry. Shit shit. How many future deaths will be attributed to—

No. I stand from my chair. Time for training. No more of this. No more questioning. No more feeling sorry for myself. Past is past. Time to attend the present.

I spend the rest of the day in the training grounds. Teaching. Sparring. Practicing while the youngest pretend not to watch. Hours pass and sweat slicks my skin, my lungs raw and aching. It’s a good feeling until I notice Regis watching from the doorway. I should have been more vigilant, if I didn’t notice him come in. Maybe I’m losing my edge.

He isn’t uncommon here. Still has to keep in fighting shape and has a vested interest in the men fighting the War with him.

On good days, I can convince him to help me train them. But today his face is grayer than it ought be, and with barely maintained regality, he leans against the wall. Clarus keeps telling him to spend more time off the knee or it’s going to further deteriorate. Regis has his pride, as we all must. Perhaps he must have more than most. As monarch. I dismiss my katana. “Your Majesty.”

His eyes crinkle in a smile, wrinkles writ like fine spiderweb across his face. “How long has it been? No need to stand on formality.”

I relax, or put effort into it. “Did you receive my report?”

“Yes. Thank you. I had wondered—well. It’s being looked into. In the meantime, it’s for the best you and the rest of the Guard remain in Insomnia. While we decide the best path forward.”

A perfect opening to tell him what I can’t but should. I bite my tongue. The rest of the Guard pretends not to watch as Regis reels me in for a hug. I’m not much one for casual displays of affection—but Regis is. When he permits himself, I permit him. Astrals know, he allows himself so little. I wrap my arms around him and try not to startle at how thin he feels. The Ring—that damned ring, wearing away at Kings until they are naught but dust. “When we began getting reports about the increase in activity, we were worried about you,” he murmurs.

He needn’t have been. But it would sound empty without telling him why, so I hold my tongue. We are at War—were I anyone else, he would have cause to worry. For all that I am Immortal by reputation, to most it is only that—reputation. Regis lets me go reluctantly, and I fail to notice when he wavers without my support. “I’m well enough.”

“You look tired,” he tells me without irony.

The Sleepless King, telling off the Immortal for not performing a function he technically need not perform. “I have a lot to catch up on. I’m starting to think I’m actually a Secretary,” it’s meant to be teasing, but the wrinkles around his eyes deepen as though it were an accusation. I sigh. “We all have our roles to play.”

His mouth twists downward. I always cut where I intend comfort.Yet another reason why I could never be a parent.

But Regis is graceful in all things, as I only am on the battlefield. “That we do. I shouldn’t keep you. I simply wished to remind you that you were missed.”

My throat tightens. “Thank you.”

He smiles at me before he goes. Perhaps I return it. The guilt claws at me. Never did like lying. I resume training, and if my recruits notice my renewed fervor, they’re smart enough to keep their eyes open and their mouths shut.

Damn that's hot! And Prompto's nervousness going back and forth to playfulness is perfect.

Would Love to see this filled. I 'm here for all the angst and smut

Shouldn't want to see Prompto hurt, but this sounds like delicious angst and Bros being supportive

I kinda always imagine fem! Ignis aż
taller Quistis with moles. Could be fun seeing this fine lady with Prompto (especially if she is still taller than sunshine boy)

I'm dying of thirst over here, help an anon out. I think he'd be really good and enthusiastic at it. Angsty or smutty fun, it's all good.

(I'd prefer he were a prostitute for reasons other than being poor/neglected as a child because that doesn't really gel with how I see his relationship with his parents but other than that go nuts.)

I'm intrigued

+💯

Thank you! Their playfulness is part of why I like writing this ship. It gives Regis a chance to laugh a bit!

I leave just as the sun goes down, and the city lights almost blinding. The daemon scares from a decade past are fresh enough in the collective memory that people stay scared. Another reason Insomnia is a sleepless city.

My intention is to go to my apartment.

Yet I find myself outside the Orphanage again. The locked door deters me as much as it did my last visit. This time, Lance is sitting with one of the other toddlers on a ragged couch. He smiles when he sees me. “I just put Prompto down. Might still be awake, poor little guy. Just try not to wake the others, yeah?”

I’m setting a precedent here. A routine. I know it, and still I climb the stairs. The room has four worn cribs in it. One is empty.

Prompto is awake. Blue eyes almost glowing in the dark. He gurgles when he sees me and holds up his hands. Already, he’s put on weight. A curve of baby fat in his cheeks that hadn’t been there before. It’s a good look, a healthier look, where he had been all sharp angles.

I accept his invitation and take him into my arms. Prompto sighs, resting his head against my shoulder. Like a parent from one of those sitcoms Clarus doesn’t admit he likes, I sway side to side. It’s almost like dancing, which I only learned because sometimes I couldn’t get out of being moral support for Regis at a state function. But this is nicer. No shifty politicians. No backroom deals designed to shaft the poor and vulnerable. No exhausted Regis looking like he’d done a bout in one of those underground boxing rings.

Prompto makes soft sound, content maybe?, and I clutch him tighter. The chubby toddler across the room whimpers in their sleep. I frown, then murmur into Prompto’s hair, “Let’s go downstairs.”

Predictably, I get no response. Lance seems unsurprised to see us and smiles. He’s an attractive young man. Maybe late twenties. Russet skin. His eyes are deep brown, thoughtful, and I get the sense he spends a great deal of his time listening to the children. It’s probably a good trait for someone in his position. Dangerous and useful, if he were a spy. His smile is disarming: friendly and honest.

I sit cross-legged on the floor with Prompto in my lap. He can sit by himself. I don’t know if that’s unusual or not, but I comb through his downy hair. “Settling in?” I ask Prompto.

He looks at me with such clarity. I can’t shake the feeling he understands everything, as unlikely as that is. Maybe if I knew Gralean? Maybe I should learn some? It might make communicating with him easier—

No. Pointless exercise.

Prompto’s mouth tilts up slightly, brows furrowed in concentration. I bark out a laugh. The world’s most thoughtful smile.

In my lap, Prompto startles at the sound, and I keep laughing, though softer so as to not wake the other children. He smiles again, this time a little more naturally, and I pet him in encouragement. He’s making progress. He’s healing. Healing from whatever left him thin and scared. Whatever left IV track marks in his arms. I glance over at Lance to find he’s still smiling at us.

I know what he’s thinking. It’s obvious. But I turn back to Prompto as the boy lifts his arms to be held again. I pull him up against my chest. He rests his head on my shoulder, breath evening out.

Kid’s asleep before I can even think about getting him back to bed.

I sigh, but try not to jostle him. I’ll give him a few minutes before I disrupt him. Least I can do. My chest feels tight. The boy smells soft, comforting, like baby powder. I shouldn’t be doing this, but I never did learn not to tempt fate. As ever, I’ll take my licks when and where they come.

“There’s no shame in wanting a child,” Lance offers, “Often there’s no right time to have one.”

Perhaps more than being kind to children, someone in his position must be a good salesperson. He’s certainly making the pitch. I rub Prompto’s back. I can still feel every knot of his spine. He needs more fattening up. “I can’t,” I tell Lance yet again. I’m no father. The closest I’ll ever achieve is training the Crownsguard. I’m crazy for even entertaining the idea of wanting anything else. I know that. “I’m just making sure he’s taken care of. He had a hard time of it.”

The man hums but says no more. I hope that’s the last of it. I can say no indefinitely, of course. There’s no risk of me taking leave of my senses enough to take the boy in. There can’t be. We sit in companionable silence. Time slides past, and every minute, I tell myself to get up and put the boy to bed. But his warmth is comforting. Solid. And I stay.

The clock hits ten—surely I haven’t been here so long?—and I’m getting ready to stand when Prompto squirms in my arms. I glance down. His eyes are scrunched shut, face all twisted up. My stomach jolts. I know this. He wriggles, then his eyes snap open as he wails, the first time I’ve heard him cry. As though he’s never heard himself make such a sound, he startles in my arms, and then the tears start flowing like one of Altissia’s waterways. He sobs, whole body heaving as he cries, and I stare down at him. My mouth opens and nothing comes out.

Useless. I have to pull together.

“Prompto. You’re safe,” I try with my sandpaper voice. “It’s all right.” What is it that Clarus tells me? “You’re home. There’s no one else here. You and me, Prompto. You don’t have to be frightened.” I keep my voice as gentle as possible while I card fingers through his hair.

I stand and try the rocking thing again. Lance approaches us. “I can take him,” he says, hands outstretched, but I shake my head even before he finishes. He nods, then takes the other child upstairs.

Over and over, I repeat Prompto’s name and that he’s safe, and I rock him until even I feel tired. At some point, Lance came back down. He watches us. I barely pay him any mind. Prompto cries silently, tear flowing down his red face. After that first yell of agony, he’s been silent. “This is the first time he’s cried since you brought him,” Lance tells me. “He must feel safe with you.”

I grunt and rub Prompto’s back. I’m not sure how long it takes—it feels like eternity, like the length from here to the battlefield—before he exhausts himself, tiny body sagging against me. He whimpers. “It’s all right. You’re all right. You’re safe,” I say, and he clings tighter.

In moments, he’s asleep. Again I hesitate in taking him upstairs. Lance whispers, “We have a pillow, a blanket, and a small futon for things like this. You can sleep in the toddler’s room tonight. If it’ll put your mind at ease.”

I should refuse. I know I should refuse, but I nod. Can’t stand the thought of leaving him. All those nights Clarus has stayed with me. I couldn’t imagine leaving the boy now when he needs me. I know what it’s like, to be alone with that inner darkness.

In a span of minutes, Prompto is settled in his crib. With my steady steady hands, I don’t even wake him. The futon’s ready when I finish. Lance smiles again. “I’ll be in the room next door. I’ve got the monitor, so if any of the others start crying, you can sit tight.”

Good. One is too much.

I wait for him to leave before I stretch out fully clothed on the futon. I close my eyes, but sleep never comes and I listen to the tiny bodies around me breathing.

Twice, other kids wake, and Lance comes. But Prompto sleeps the whole night through, and when dawn comes, I fold the blanket and the futon, and leave without saying goodbye to anyone. Prompto’s still sleeping.

I don’t go home. I drive to work. Flash my ID. Enter the office. Fill out the paperwork I didn’t finish yesterday—nothing important, just documents needing my seal. I’m first at the training ground. I spend the morning perfecting a new move with my katana. Can’t get the footwork right.

Frustrated, I go to get some water. One of the new recruits—Hedy—sees my face and pales. “Good morning, sir. Are you—quite well?”

I scowl. “Fine. Get to work. I saw your stamina training yesterday. It was lackluster, to say the least. I expect better today.” Sharper than I intend, but she leaves. I wipe my sweat off with a towel.

As others arrive, I shift from my own training to theirs. Stretches. Pair stretches—what’s the point of stretching, if you’re not actually stretching your skills? Laps. Self-defense drills. Self-defense partner work. The third time I have them practicing partner throws, I notice Clarus enter the training ground. I frown. It isn’t Wednesday. Wednesday is the day he brings in Gladio to watch us practice. It’s not Friday, either, when father and son study the blade.

Clarus usually uses a private room if he’s training without his son.

My trainees eye me for instruction now. Shit. Distracted too long. Should have slept last night. But sleep is optional. What can’t kill you, and all that.

I call out for them to switch partners and try again, then cross to Clarus. Sharp-eyed, he watches me. His mouth pinches at the corners. Great. He’s not thrilled with me. I don’t find I care. Defensive, I cross my arms. “Have a problem with my training, Shield?” I demand, unflinching.

Clarus’s expression tightens. The way it does whenever I bring up station. Still, he’s not as touchy about it as Regis is. Commoner, nobility, royalty. Foolish to forget power and fealty, but they expect me to in the way all those with power expect others to ignore privilege. I don’t stand on ceremony, but I know where I stand. “Our King is coming to teach them magick. I’ve taken the rest of the day off and you’re coming with me.”

As if on cue, His Majesty appears. I bite my cheek. I’m not being undermined, but it damn well feels like it. “And we’re going where?”

“My place.”

There it is. A pang. I suppose I have been neglecting him since I returned—three days ago? Two?—and I can’t give him sufficient reason for my shame. It tends to happen more than I’d care admit. For all that we share purpose, since King Mors died we’ve been occupying separate spheres. He’s turned more to administrative and elbow protection of the King, where I morphed from bodyguard to Marshall. Overseeing the Crownsguard and our efforts in the outskirts. I nod as the King picks up the pieces of my training and turns it to magick. For all my skill in his magick, I’ve no interest in it. The Guard will learn it better from his mouth than mine. “And Gladio?” I ask.

“Grace is in Insomnia for trade negotiations. Gladiolus is spending time with his mother,” he pauses, considering. “I believe they went to the florist for the day.”

When you start a relationship with someone, you carve a space out for yourself in their life. Clarus and I have been doing this for years, even before he married, and while I know that his wife doesn’t care if Clarus and I love one another, that while they’re fond of each other in their own way, I doubt I will ever feel comfortable housing our relationship under the same roof he keeps his family. Despite the permission from her own mouth.

As if I am part of their lives. As though the space I have carved is big enough for that affordance. I swallow. “My place?” I counter.

Clarus studies me. “I can do that.”

We take my car in silence. Not a tense one, but neither of us are men of many words. I let us in to my apartment. Offer up food, drink, all of which he turns down. “Shower,” he says, “I’ll make you dinner.” Always so damn domestic when I give him opportunity.

Please do not add any new prompts to this round!

Round Six will open on 11/13/2017. Any new prompts after this message will be deleted!

A!A can neither confirm nor deny if ridiculous shenanigans involving Ignis' love life are happening in the background. ;)

Noctis is the best bro, though he may kind of regret talking Prompto up so much at first!

Thank you!

I am always for magic mishaps and mudane use of it. Even better with smol precious boys thrown in

I didnt know i needed this before, but i need this nie. as Wall ad forehead kisses for Iris and Tallcot

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Page 200 of 212

Prompt Post Round Five

Escaped MT "rescues" Prompto

Gladio fails the Trial of Gilgamesh ... and doesn't return.

Gladio/Noct - “Make me.”

Gladnis or OT4 - Omega!Gladio in Heat

Re: Fill 1/? Re: Regis/Prompto, strip club/brothel au

Fill (5/?) Any/Ardyn, demon summoning gone wrong

Re: Gladnis or OT4 - Omega!Gladio in Heat

Re: Fill (5/?) Any/Ardyn, demon summoning gone wrong

A/B/O: Noctis is the only beta.

Re: Minifill: Prompto/Noctis, exhibitionism

Re: Fill: On the Way to a Smile (Cor & Prompto, Clarus/Cor, E) [1/?]

Re: Fill: On the Way to a Smile (Cor & Prompto, Clarus/Cor, E) [2/7]

Re: Fill 2/? Re: Regis/Prompto, strip club/brothel au

Re: Ignis/Gladio fear of rejection + first time after Ignis becomes blind

Re: Prompto, rape recovery

Re: Prompto/FemIgnis Sex

Prompto/Any, Prostitute!Prompto

Re: Gladio fails the Trial of Gilgamesh ... and doesn't return.

Re: Fill 2/? Re: Regis/Prompto, strip club/brothel au

Re: Fill: On the Way to a Smile (Cor & Prompto, Clarus/Cor, E) [3/7]

PROMPTS ARE CLOSED

Re: Fill 1/? Re: Regis/Prompto, strip club/brothel au

Re: Smol Fill: Gladio/Noctis, reverse size kink

Re: Ignis + Noctis, Magic accidents

Re: dad!Cor, chocobros, gen