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ffxv_kinkmeme2016-12-07 04:06 am
ffxv_kinkmod) wrote in ffxv_kinkmeme2016-12-07 04:06 am
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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:
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.
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.
Re: FILL: Gladio/Prompto, Gladio/Any: Gladio as hidden Omega (3/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-01-31 07:36 pm (UTC)(link)---------
The suppressant dosage is barely enough to last the day, but Gladio doesn't complain when the Royal Nurse returns the following morning with the pills. He'll have to take one once a day for as long as he wishes to contain his heats, and considering that's the rest of his life as far as Gladio is concerned, he and the pharmacist are going to become intimately related from here on out.
The nurse also suggests that he forgo the suppressants to experience a heat at least two or three times a year - depending on the duration of your cycle, the nurse clarifies, explaining that shorter heats tend to occur more frequently than those that last for days. Gladio is still trying not to associate himself with the word heat, but the nurse extracts a promise that he not abuse the suppressants no matter how uncomfortable he is with the idea.
“The medication is safe provided that you use it sensibly. Do not take more than one pill in twenty-four hours. If you miss a dose, take it as soon as you remember. If you miss a few, don't panic. It will take a few days for their effect to wear off, so as soon as you can get a hold of more, start taking them again. Otherwise you will induce a heat. Make sure to read the pamphlet as well; there can be side effects.”
“Side effects?” Gladio unfolds the booklet, marvelling at the extensive list that pours open into his hands. Migraine-type headaches sounds bad enough, but it continues on through liver problems, symptoms of blood clots, and -
“‘Contact your doctor immediately if you become pregnant?’”
“Yes. These tablets aren't a form of contraception, but as they are designed to mimic the effect of hormones, we advise that Omegas cease taking them should they suspect that they have fallen pregnant. These are also tablets that we assign to Omegas of any sex, my Lord, so rest assured that not all points will apply in your case.”
Gladio flushes, feeling like a fool. His old science tutor is probably rolling over in his grave.
Mercifully, the nurse has dealt with teenagers experiencing existential crises before. “The pamphlet contains all of the details of the side effects. Let a nurse or doctor know if you begin feeling unwell or you have any concerns. Do you have any questions?”
Just one worth mentioning. “When can I return to my duties?”
“I suggest waiting at least a full day after you begin the medication. However, provided there are no causes for concern, you should be fit for duty the day after tomorrow. If that is all?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
The nurse takes his leave. Gladio crinkles one of the paper bags in his hands, feeling the little boxes of tablets jostle inside. There are three bags in total, six boxes, and a ridiculous amount of pills, and Gladio sighs as he scoops them up.
At least he only has to take a dose in the mornings. Hiding his Role would be impossible if he had to cart this lot around.
The first day of using his suppressants passes with little fanfare. Iris has class and their father has his duties to the King, so Gladio is stuck at home on his own. Jared, the elderly family butler, comes and goes throughout the day, offering refreshments and snippets of idle chatter, but Gladio is content to lounge over the sofa with his nose in a book and generally ignore the bustle of the citadel turning ever-faithfully without a care.
He doesn't experience any of the unwanted side effects of the medication. In fact, he doesn't feel any different at all, but his father offers reassurance when Gladio shoves down his pride to ask what he smells like later that night.
“You smell so little of anything that one would assume you are a Beta,” Clarus says, hanging up his cloak and slipping out of his shoes. “Is Iris home?”
“Yeah, she's in her room. I don't feel any different though.”
Clarus hums a thoughtful sound, reaching to place a hand against Gladio’s forehead. “You still feel feverish? Have you contacted the nurse?”
“No, I -” Gladio swats his father’s hand away, wishing he hadn't said anything. Getting the nurse involved will probably postpone his return to his duties as a Shield. “It's nothing. If I smell like a Beta, then it’s working fine.”
He hopes.
Clarus concedes. He collects Gladio’s book from the table and motions for his son to follow. “Then you will not be opposed to a workout before dinner. Call down your sister. It is light enough that we can spar outside.”
-xv-
Re: FILL: Gladio/Prompto, Gladio/Any: Gladio as hidden Omega (4/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-02-03 12:05 pm (UTC)(link)-------
The Prince Noctis, as per his father’s prediction, hardly spares Gladio’s reappearance a second glance. Noctis is, of course, pre-warned that he is expected to attend class with his Shield once again, but Gladio had expected some reaction: a brief comment, a where’ve you been? or a tone-deaf, twelve-year-old attempt at sarcasm or something, but Noctis is unmoved. In fact, considering how little the Prince enjoys their training sessions, it’s more likely that he revelled in Gladio’s week-long absence.
Gladio can’t find it in himself to be offended. Disappointed, yes, because it’s plain as day that the Prince hasn’t practiced in the brief respite, but insulted, no. Prince or not, Noctis is a twelve-year-old child with more interest in sleeping and video games than studying, so Gladio sets the bar of expectation low. As long as Noctis is attentive in their scheduled hours, turning up on time and remaining motivation for as long as Gladio has to teach him, then Gladio cannot ask for more. The kid’s already got enough on his plate, and it’s no secret that King Regis wants his son to have a normal childhood as possible. Things will be different when Noctis is older - he not be able to slack in his duties whenever his Shield is not around - but Gladio also hopes that they will be beyond basic footwork and hand-to-hand combat at that point.
Astrals, he hopes.
The suppressants must continue to work, for nobody dies of shock in Gladio’s presence. Whispers do follow him through the citadel corridors, however, many of the Alphas in the Crownsguard stare a little too long as Gladio goes about his day. At first, he fears that the medication has failed him, but then he recalls his father’s words of reassurance and decides that, whatever the hell their problem is, it can’t be his Omega scent.
“They are merely surprised at your Role, is all,” Ignis supplies without fanfare, glancing up from his work as Gladio flicks listlessly through a book. The table and the two armchairs tucked cosy into the library corner isn’t their spot, but seldom does anybody else dare to use it. Ignis once cowered a Kingsglaive into finding another table simply by wiping his glasses.
“What?” Gladio replies, having said nothing to the studious fourteen-year-old since flopping into the armchair and debating whether to concuss himself on the desk. He hasn’t known Ignis for long - not even a year - and they’ve been something-like-friends for less than that. Still, Gladio has never met somebody quite so perceptive, and he knows he never will again as Ignis shoots him the pay attention Gladiolus look.
“There has been no record of an Amicitia Settling as a Beta before,” Ignis says.
“You -” Gladio lets his book fall shut. “Why were you reading my family files?”
Ignis doesn’t deny it. “They’re public record.”
“That’s a means, not a reason.”
“Given that you’ve returned to your duties, I anticipated that you would make use of the library at some point today, so I deemed it the appropriate place to converse with you.”
Oh yeah, Gladio has also never met anybody else who has swallowed a dictionary before.
“Cute,” he drawls - because the fact that Ignis thinks he can talk circles around him is pretty cute (and maybe only a teeny bit true). “That’s still not a reason.”
Ignis colours faintly, ducking ever so slightly behind his text. Gladio would call it hiding, but Ignis would call it strategic retreat. “The citadel has been abuzz with conversation today. I merely wanted to clarify what I’d heard.”
Gladio can already tell where this is going. “About me.”
“Largely, yes.”
“Gossip?”
“I… wouldn’t call it that.”
“Well then what would you call it?”
Ignis’ mouth twitches. “A shameful waste of time and a thoughtless display of indecency,” he claims, expression sour.
There’s a reason Gladio likes this kid.
“I am sure that their interest will wane by the turn of the week,” Ignis continues, and Gladio realises with a rumbling laugh that the kid is trying to reassure him. Underneath layers of cool calculation and intellectual indifference, Ignis really is just an awkward teenager with a heart weighed heavy with gold.
He'll be a good adviser for Noctis, Gladio knows.
“A Beta’s not so bad,” Gladio reasons - in comparison to an Omega anyway, he doesn't add. He hadn't spared a thought for the implications of the suppressants making him smell like a Beta; he's still not an Alpha, and the citadel must be having a field day. He can only imagine what their reaction would have been if the suppressants hadn't worked.
Ignis seems surprised by his composure. “The rumours of your disappointment are exaggerated then.”
Not really, but Gladio only shrugs. Ignis takes this as an agreement, and Gladio is happy to let him think that.
“A Beta in the service of the Crown can only be as asset,” Ignis decides, pushing at his glasses in a nervous manner. There's something light in his voice, so quiet and hopeful that Gladio almost misses it.
“You're gonna be Settling soon,” he says, remembering that Ignis is fast-approaching fifteen. Not everyone Presents at fifteen, of course, but very few people Present before that. Ignis will be officially assigned as the Prince’s adviser upon his next birthday, so the chances that he will Settle before that are slim. At least, if he has the chance to bond with the Prince and royal family before then, maybe they won't reassign him should he (also) Present as Omega.
“I would… be content as a Beta, I believe,” Ignis admits. “Not that there is any research to suggest that one's will has any influence on the matter.”
Unfortunately for Gladio.
“Guess you'll have to see,” he agrees, unable to offer any reassurance.
Ignis inclines his head. “I suppose,” he says, before burying himself back into his work.
-xv-
Re: FILL: Gladio/Prompto, Gladio/Any: Gladio as hidden Omega (5/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-02-05 02:23 pm (UTC)(link)Ignis Presents as an Alpha.
“I suppose we cannot always get what we want,” is all he has to say about it.
Ignis’ Role changes little about their friendship. If his heightened senses give him any indication that Gladio is taking suppressants, then he says nothing about it. The fact that he says nothing suggests to Gladio that he isn’t aware; for all that Ignis is a quiet, warm-hearted teenager who prefers the company of books to people, he is an Alpha, and Gladio doesn’t think Ignis would have any reservations about backing him into a corner and inflicting the interrogation of a lifetime were he to learn that Gladio has been avoiding his heats.
Suppressants are perfectly legal, but they’re usually used in moderation - for a week or two, or maybe a month at most. There are many reasons why an Omega may wish to suppress a heat at any given time - maybe they’re going on holiday, maybe they’re due to give a speech, maybe they’re a student sitting their final exams - but suppressing one’s nature as an Omega altogether is uncommon. Gladio is sure he isn’t the first; the nurse hadn’t so much as batted an eyelash at his father’s request, so there must be other Omegas of nobility that take advantage of their wealth. Of course, the very motivation behind suppressing his Role means he has no idea who these other Omegas may be; he doesn’t particularly want to know, but at the same time, he has questions that he could only bear to ask an Omega to answer.
Being surrounded by Alphas all day is taxing. Gladio never realised just how many there are in the Crownsguard, the Kingsglaive, and even the Council. His initial panic over the suppressants spontaneously failing him wore off after a few weeks, but that isn’t to say their effectiveness fluctuates over time. Three or four hours after a dose tends to be when the tablets are at their most effective, masking his scent to the point where some Alphas (and Omegas) cannot smell him at all. Gladio rearranges his schedule to take advantage of this period, hitting the gym or dominating the training hall without fear of overwhelming the medication’s efforts by sweating a puddle into the floor. The effects wane towards the end of the day, so Gladio trains the Prince after lunch and then studies into the evening, reluctant to push his body beyond what the suppressants can cope with.
As a Sworn Shield, this isn’t always easy. His duties increase as he hits sixteen, passes seventeen, and sweats and learns and fights his way to eighteen. He spends less time training with his father and more time with the Crownsguard, running laps, getting beaten into the ground and beating others in return, and surviving many tedious hours patrolling the walls, surveying the streets, and guarding the gates into the citadel. Night patrols are the worst. A morning person by nature, happy to wake with the dawn when the world is quiet and the day is new, Gladio grumbles at every evening assignment. It doesn’t help that he never patrols alone - Crownsguard units are a minimum of three people, and Gladio has yet to encounter a unit without at least one Alpha. He has nothing against the pair that he is often assigned with - a man and a woman, a Beta and Alpha respectively - but he wouldn’t go as far as to call them friends. Naturally social, Gladio does enjoy meeting people. He enjoys working with people, looking out for them, learning about them; people are fascinating, and Gladio can count on one hand the number of people who he wouldn’t take out for a drink just to listen to them talk.
He trusts his Crownsguard unit to have his back on a patrol, and yet, once the uniforms are off, they go their separate ways. Gladio doesn’t mind. He understands the need to separate work and home lives, and he’s sure that his duty to the Prince casts him in an intimidating, untouchable light. He doesn’t have the luxury of ‘switching off’ outside of the nine-to-five working day. Sure, he has time to himself, time which he spends with his family, wandering the city, or buried in a book, but as the Prince’s Sworn Shield, he is always on call.
He loves it. He’s proud to serve the Crown.
But that doesn’t make the newly Presented, fifteen-year-old Alpha Prince and heir to the Lucis Caelum line any less of a goddamn little shit to deal with.
Gladio understands that the Crown of Lucis and the Ring of Lucii are heavy burdens that the Prince will have to bear one day. The Crystal is a merciless guardian of this kingdom, offering the unyielding protection of the Wall in return for the lifeforce of the Royal family. With the Amicitia family living so intimately with the King and Prince, their family home tucked into the heart of the citadel, Clarus and Gladio never more than a phone call away, Gladio has seen the toll that the Crystal has on the King. Over these last few years, the King has seemed to age a decade, wrinkles replacing his lines of laughter, silver hair creeping into his midnight black. Gone is the King of Gladio’s childhood who lounged over sofas and chased the Prince down the halls. His cane has become a necessity to his Royal attire, and some days Gladio sees the King struggling with walking still, lingering after a council on legs that labour to hold him.
Gladio hates to think that the King’s time has come, but the Line of Lucis Caelum is one of mortality and grief. Prince Noctis may have to ascend the throne at the dawn of his adulthood - and if he does, then Gladio will make sure he’s ready.
Even if it means beating responsibility into the kid.
“Get up. Come at me again,” Gladio orders, hefting the greatsword over his shoulder. It’s not his beloved custom-made, gold-embellished blade by any means, but it does the trick for training. Granted, he could probably parry the Prince’s blows with a twig, but he doesn’t want to dishearten the kid - more than he has already, at any least.
Noctis huffs, heaving himself up from the floor. Frustration tightens his grip on his sword and pride keeps his head high despite this seemingly-futile endeavour, but his stance is solid at any rate, his footwork swift and unmatched.
Were he not sparring the man who taught him.
“This is stupid,” the Prince grumbles, rolling the sword in his hand. “It’s never going to work. We’ve been at this for hours.”
Here we go, Gladio despairs. “It’s going to work because it has to,” he counters, refusing to budge an inch at the snarl. Noctis has a mean temper when he’s frustrated, but luckily for Gladio, so does he. “What sort of King will you be if you can’t warp?”
“I’m not a King.”
“You’re gonna be sooner or -”
A sword flashes past Gladio’s shoulder, a bolt of lightning striking blue. Noctis disappears with a yell, crackling like white embers in the path of his blade, and Gladio is impressed for the second it takes the Prince to tumble out of the warp, reappearing in an explosion of light and profanities as he crashes into the flat edge of Gladio’s blade.
Gladio raises a single eyebrow.
“Oh shut up,” Noctis hisses before anything can be said. His wayward sword vanishes with a flick of his wrist, and with another, he yanks it out of his arsenal again. He’s got that much down at least - if only he could move himself so effortlessly when warping between his weapons.
Gladio gives Noctis a minute to swear at the ceiling before nudging him to his feet. “Again. Try not to knock yourself out this time.”
“Piss off.”
“Show me a warp an’ maybe I will.”
Noctis scoffs, bearing his teeth. A growl rumbles deep in his throat, the sound like a wolf stalking forth. Despite his suppressants, despite his training and his titanium spine, Gladio jerks at the thunderous sound, every single muscle in his body tensing. His stomach churning and teeth grinding teeth, he is paralysed by the look in the Prince’s eyes for a second - just a second and no more, but a second too long - before he throws caution to the wind and swings his greatsword around, slamming it against Noctis’ sword.
The Prince barely manages to parry the blow. The two blades crash together, metal grinding metal, and Noctis yelps as Gladio shoves him across the hall; he stumbles, throwing an arm out to catch himself, and something cracks in the half-second before his sword flickers into a warp, Noctis’ body shattering into light behind it. He warps a few feet away, heaving and hunched over his sword, but then lets out a laugh when he realises what he just achieved.
Gladio marches over and hauls him up by the scruff of his collar. “I heard something snap,” he asserts over the Prince’s protesting, scanning the squirming teenager with a critical eye. “You broke anything?”
“No, no - get off me. It was just my sword. I’m fine.”
“Good,” Gladio says, before sweeping his greatsword under Noctis’ feet and sending the boy crashing back onto the floor. Noctis grunts, a genuine sound of pain this time, but Gladio doesn’t give a damn with the sound of an Alpha still ringing in his ears. “Try to Influence me again and I’ll try to break something.”
“What - but -” Noctis sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes goggling. “I swear I didn’t mean -”
He stops, clamping teeth down onto his lip. Deciding not to grace that with an answer, Gladio says nothing either, leaving the Prince and Shield staring at one another for a long, agonising moment.
“I’m -” Noctis tries. “Err -”
Something in Gladio’s chest twists at the kid’s mortification. He sighs, almost wishing that he hadn’t reacted now, but he also can’t deny the satisfaction he feels at the Prince learning his lesson. “All right, that’s enough for today. Cool down time - get walking.”
Noctis scrambles to his feet, but then hesitates in the shadow of Gladio’s towering figure. His mouth is twisted downwards, eyebrows knitted together. “Ignis is teaching me to… be an Alpha,” he mumbles, unable to meet Gladio’s hawkish gaze.
Gladio was already aware of that aspect to Ignis’ duties, but he plays along. “Yeah? Guess he needs to do a better job.”
“It’s not his fault!” Noctis snaps, and Gladio would smirk at how quickly he rises to Ignis’ defence were he not trying to prove a point. “I’m - new to this.”
Well that’s not up for debate. “That ain’t an excuse. What if I’d been an Omega? No - come on, the King can Influence other Alphas, so you probably can too. You need to control your instincts or someone’s gonna get hurt. Iggy and I ain’t teaching you self-discipline for fun you know.”
He throws the Prince a bottle of water, speaking harsh and true. The fact that he is an Omega isn’t important right now; an Alpha’s Influence is one that few Betas can deny, let alone Omegas, and if Noctis is to be a King for his people then he cannot exert his power over every single person that challenges him.
Astrals above, enough blood has been shed from Alphas and Omegas butting heads throughout history.
“I know,” Noctis says, glaring at the bottle instead of Gladio, as he usually would.
Gladio figures that’s as close to an apology as he’s going to get.
-xv-
Re: FILL: Gladio/Prompto, Gladio/Any: Gladio as hidden Omega (5/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-02-07 05:08 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Gladio/Prompto, Gladio/Any: Gladio as hidden Omega (5/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-02-07 05:44 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Gladio/Prompto, Gladio/Any: Gladio as hidden Omega (5/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-02-09 04:29 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Gladio/Prompto, Gladio/Any: Gladio as hidden Omega (5/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-02-09 05:12 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Gladio/Prompto, Gladio/Any: Gladio as hidden Omega (6/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-02-10 12:16 pm (UTC)(link)-----------
Gladio wasn’t sure what he was expecting to happen when Noctis enrolled in high school - despite the King’s reservations, the kid had insisted, going as far as recruiting Ignis to argue for his case - but it wasn’t this. Noctis is living independently now, or as independent as his father and the Crownsguard will permit anyway, in an apartment a few blocks from the citadel. Ignis has been arguably demoted to chauffeur and housewife, an observation that earned Gladio a withering glare from his friend. Gladio’s duties have changed little - he still knocks the Prince around in the training hall most afternoons, although now his Crownsguard duties have lessened, and instead trips between the citadel and Noctis’ apartment fill his day. Sixteen, going on seventeen now, the Prince is slowly becoming more of a friend to Gladio than his charge, but it’s this crawling progression and Noctis’ awkward introversion that has Gladio breathing in a mouthful of coffee.
He coughs, spluttering around the burn of the drink down his throat. He’s not a coffee-person by any means, but Ignis has taken to consuming the stuff at a terrifying rate and Gladio will admit to being curious.
“Ifrit’s fire, Iggy, how do you drink this stuff?” he wheezes, reaching blindly for the water. “No, hells - forget that - Noct has what?”
“I daresay he has made a friend,” Ignis repeats, claiming Gladio’s rebutted coffee for himself. “I must admit to being sceptical at first, but the lad has been an almost permanent fixture at the Prince’s side these last few weeks. I've conducted a background check, of course -”
“Go figure.”
“ - and there is little about him worth noting. Entirely normal, in the grand scheme of things, although his financial situation may be cause for -”
“Relax, the kid’s not exactly noble, is he? Maybe he'll be good for the Prince.”
Ignis’ jaws twitches as it always does when he’s interrupted. Gladio will never admit to getting a kick out of it, but sometimes he does love rilling Ignis up. “Yes, that was my stance on the matter,” the advisor agrees. “He could provide valuable insight into the lives of the people beyond the citadel.”
Gladio laughs. “Astrals, Iggy, just say commoners.”
“Furthermore, Noctis does seem to enjoy his company,” Ignis presses, and the fact that he doesn’t contest the nickname for a second time is a win in Gladio’s books. He usually does, but Gladio is determined that with enough time and persistence, Ignis will warm to the idea. He has already relented to using Gladio rather than the full Gladiolus, and Gladio never thought he’d live to see the day.
“Well that's friendship, ain't it? Gladio replies. “When d’you think we’ll get to meet the kid? Properly, I mean. Not for the five seconds it takes for Noct to scramble into the car after school.”
Ignis’ expression twists as though insulted by the implication that the Prince scrambles anywhere. “I suppose that will be up to His Highness. I don’t wish to impose myself on their relationship.”
The day Ignis imposed himself onto anybody would be the day the world ends, as far as Gladio is concerned. For an Alpha, Ignis is markedly averse to asserting himself even to the slightest degree, preferring to remain in the shadows of the Council, court life, and Noctis’ daily routine. His forbearance isn’t due to a lack of confidence though - Ignis commits himself to both duties and personal goals with fervour, and when he’s right about something, which he nearly always is, he can be a smug arsehole about it - but in the best of ways.
It’s one of the reasons Gladio respects him so much.
Still. He doesn’t want to be too obvious about it, so he teases instead: “More than you would be cooking dinner for them everyday after school, you mean?”
“Yes,” Ignis replies curtly, glare daring Gladio to argue. “More than that.”
Gladio grins, shoving the last of his breakfast into his mouth. “I say we ambush the kid. Best way of gauging someone’s intentions.”
“That is remarkably Alpha of you, Gladio. Are you certain that scaring the boy is a good idea? He is a civilian, after all.”
The fact that Ignis hasn’t outright shot the idea down is approval in Gladio’s eyes. “Hey, come on,” he says, mind already whirring with a cruel and brilliant plan. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
-xv-
If there’s one thing about Noctis’ new friend that is apparent from the second Gladio spots him through the laser-light dramatics and sweaty, teenage gloom of the downtown arcade, it’s that he reeks of an Alpha. Gladio never would have pegged him as an Alpha just from looking at him - blond hair like a chocobo, skinny enough to imply underfed - but then Noctis has both the same Role and a similar build, and Gladio, himself, isn’t exactly the typical picture of an Omega either. However, there is no doubt that the kid bouncing at the Prince’s side is anything but an Alpha, his scent a kick in the teeth that urges Gladio to cover his nose.
Alphas in the citadel - the Council, the Crownsguard, and the Royal Family - are trained to exhibit great control over their Role. It will do no good for an Alpha in a position of such power to Influence the people about them; the political and ethical fallout would be catastrophic. The same restraint is not required of the average citizen, however, and as Gladio is someone who spends most of his days in the citadel, the stench of pheromones in the lower districts of the city always comes as a surprise.
Noctis’ friend doesn’t appear to be aware of his scent, and nobody else in the arcade so much as bats an eyelash as the kid with the chocobo-butt hair slaughters zombie after zombie in the video game.
Gladio’s nose twitches. His suppressants haven’t failed him yet, but right now he’s not so sure. He can feel his hands becoming clammy as he stalks deeper into the arcade, and he knows it isn’t due to nerves.
There’s nothing he can do about it now. Omega or not, he is not going to let some unrestrained Alpha’s scent deter him from doing anything, and definitely not anything that involves the Prince’s safety.
Sure, Noctis’ new friend probably isn’t much of a threat in the brute force department, but investigating anybody who spends at least six hours in Noctis’ presence every school day and then at the weekend as well is a prerequisite to their continued time together. The chocobo-butt kid’s air of hyperactive innocence could just be a facade, although as the kid fist bumps the air with a whooping cheer, Gladio doesn’t think so.
“So you’re the new kid on the block, huh?” Gladio says, slinging an arm around blondie’s shoulders. The kid yelps, losing a fight with the rifle-controller of the arcade game and wincing when it cracks against the console. The gun bobs in place on the end of the plastic coil before Noctis scoops it up, unfazed by Gladio shit-eating grin and his friend’s flustered panic in the Shield’s grasp.
“Relax, it’s just Gladio,” drawls the Prince, feeding the game another coin.
Chocobo-butt definitely doesn’t relax. “Your Sworn Shield? Gladiolus Amicitia? Built like a tank and probably’d beat one in a fight - that Gladio?”
Gladio doubts that the kid even knows what a filter is. It’s a good sign - it means he’s probably a shit liar - and at the very least it’s a breath of fresh air compared to those in service of the crown - especially Ignis. “That’s me. Who’re you?”
“I’m Prompto please don’t kill me,” the kid replies in a single breath. “I didn’t mean that about the tank - except that I did, you’re so tall, what the hell, your arms are really big - but in a good way! Totally a good way.”
“Relax,” Noctis repeats, turning from the arcade game to offer what he believes to be a reassuring look. “He’s not going to eat you.”
“He could,” Prompto squeaks, eyeing Gladio’s arms like a mouse in a corner. “Couldn’t you?”
“I try not to make a habit of it,” Gladio agrees, letting his grin do most of the talking. “But I guess someone’s gotta knock you Alphas down a few pegs from time to time.”
“Wha -” Prompto frowns, sniffing the air. “You’re a Beta? But you smell -” He sniffs again, nose scrunching in concentration, and at once Gladio regrets being so physically affectionate with the kid, his arm still looped around Prompto’s shoulders and his chest almost level with the befuddled look in the teenager’s eyes.
“Big for a Beta, isn’t he?” Noctis agrees, blissfully oblivious as he continues massacring the zombies in the game.
“Scrawny for an Alpha, aren’t you?” Gladio fires back, hoping to distract Prompto from whatever tentative conclusions he is making. Never before has an Alpha outright questioned his Role; Gladio’s father would have certainly informed him had his scent changed, so Prompto’s nose must be more sensitive than most.
Luckily, Noctis colours with affront right on cue. “Hey! I’m not scrawny,” he bemoans, and Prompto’s laughter has the Prince crossing his arms in a sulk. “Prom, you’re meant to be on my side.”
“Sorry, sorry! But you are kinda scrawny though - I am too!” he reassures with another laugh, holding his hands up in surrender. “But it’s cool, really. Physical appearance doesn’t say anything about your Role.”
The phrase sounds practiced to Gladio’s ears, as though this is something Prompto has told others or himself many-a-time before. This isn’t a surprise - he’s skinnier than Noctis and shorter even with his boots, but physical appearance aside there is a playfulness about him, a cheerfulness or an innocence perhaps, not often associated with the regiment, overwhelming Alphas. He’s probably been assumed an Omega countless times.
“Kid, I think we’re gonna get along great,” Gladio says, shooting Prompto a toothy grin. “You met Iggy yet?”
Prompto doesn’t seem to agree with this assessment. “Err, the guy in the car?”
Gladio takes that as a no. “Awesome. Noct, finish your game. Got the east field booked out for training tonight -”
“Running,” Noctis despairs. “Joy.”
“ - and I figured your friend could tag along. Dinner at mine afterwards - Iris is at a sleepover.”
Noctis shoves the plastic gun back into the holder, unable to mask his relief. Gladio laughs low, aware of his sister’s little crush on the Prince. It’s a harmless infatuation as far as he’s concerned, and he enjoys watching Noctis squirm. Gladio may be a Royal Shield, but Noctis has to learn how to deal with girls for himself.
“Wait, we’re going to the citadel? I can’t go in there!” Prompto squeaks, staring between them with wide, mouse-like eyes. Nervousness overpowers his Alpha scent as the teenager begins to fluster, and Gladio can’t be sure if he prefers the smell or not. If Noctis were anxious, Gladio would offer a steady reassurance, a hand on his shoulder, a presence at his back, and maybe an easy smile or two, but though he aches to put Prompto at ease, he doesn’t think such methods would be effective. Prompto looks like a slap on the back would break him in half.
“Why not?” Noctis replies, fussing with his hair. “You’ll be with us.”
“But -”
“Too late now, blondie. Nothing to worry about,” Gladio says. He leads the teenagers out of the arcade with a rougher hand than usual, unwilling to hang around to see what Prompto’s puppy-dog-eyes will reduce him too. Something doesn’t feel right - hasn’t felt right since he entered this dark and sweaty building - and hastening back to the regimented lull of the citadel is Gladio’s priority. There has to be something up with his suppressants; never before has an Alpha’s scent caused his head to spin like this. Gladio feels like a young teen on the cusp of Settling - and that’s an experience he doesn’t want to repeat.
-xv-
Re: FILL: Gladio/Prompto, Gladio/Any: Gladio as hidden Omega (6/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-02-18 07:34 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Gladio/Prompto, Gladio/Any: Gladio as hidden Omega (6/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-02-18 12:21 pm (UTC)(link)FILL: Gladio/Prompto, Gladio/Any: Gladio as hidden Omega (7/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-02-18 04:31 pm (UTC)(link)------
By the time Ignis materialises in the Amicitia household to whisk Noctis and Prompto back to their apartments, Gladio is exhausted. Knocking the Prince around the training field had only temporarily relieved his unexplainable light-headed spell, but Gladio is the Sworn Shield for a reason, and he powered through the evening despite how his stomach writhed and churned. He isn’t sure how he looks, but if Noct’s side-eyed glances and Prompto’s tight-lipped silence weren’t enough, Ignis descends upon him as the two friends throw together their belongings and shuffle into their shoes.
“Are you unwell?” Ignis asks, swooping down like a goddamn eagle and laying a palm against Gladio’s forehead before he can get a word in otherwise. Big enough to take care of himself, Gladio is scarcely on the receiving end of Ignis’ fussing - a privilege reserved for the Prince. Ignis’ sharp eye and librarian-scary, glasses-on-his-nose kind of look are disconcerting to say the least, and Gladio understands in a horrifying moment of clarity why Noctis both secretly-appreciates and fears Ignis’ concern.
Gladio doubts that Noctis is aware of just how good Ignis smells though - just as Gladio, himself, had never paid much attention to his scent before, just as he had never felt dizzy looking at an Alpha’s goofy smiles, or unsettled and yet oddly warm at the centre of their attention before.
“Perhaps you should rest early tonight,” Ignis is saying, not that Gladio is really aware of anything except the lingering touch of the Alpha’s hand against his forehead. “Do you require me to visit the pharmacy for anything?”
“Err,” Gladio replies, trying to focus on the question and not the tingling of his skin or the restlessness of his stomach - and definitely not Noctis and Prompto bickering in the entrance hallway or the few strands of Ignis’ hair that are sticking up by his ears. “Nah, I’ll just hit the hay, I think. Get some shut eye.”
“If you’re sure,” Ignis replies, conceding with his I think you’re an idiot tone.
Right now, the only thing Gladio is sure of is that he needs to not be in the presence of three incredibly irresistible - come on, he’s not blind - Alphas, one of which being the Crown Prince of Lucis.
Thankfully - blissfully - Ignis ushers the twerps out without any fanfare, allowing Gladio to tidy up the last of the mess, shoot Iris a text, and then faceplant onto his bed with a groan. He hopes that he’ll feel better come tomorrow, when he can take another suppressant. Unless the problem is with the suppressants themselves, but they’ve never made him feel queasy before, and he’s used the same brand since he Presented at fifteen. He vaguely remembers the list of side effects that the nurse recited to him those few years ago, but Gladio can’t recall anything about his head feeling empty and his skin itching like a burn. The itching is reminiscent of that dreadful week before his Presentation, though, and given that he had totally wanted to follow Ignis out of the house just to keep on smelling him, Gladio has a rough idea what might be going on.
The nurse had advised him to experience a couple of heats a year - Gladio hasn’t had any. Guess his body’s decided that it’s had enough of that.
“Fuck,” he grumbles into the pillow, hoping against hope that his heat will go away and he’ll feel better in the morning.
He doesn’t. The itching is a scalding rash now, and the first thing Gladio does upon waking is stagger into the bathroom and throw up his dinner. Iris knocks on the door just as Gladio almost concusses himself on the sink, so he mumbles some excuse in the hope that she’ll leave. When she only pokes her tiny head around into the bathroom and asks if he needs any help, he lobs the tube of toothpaste at the door. He regrets it immediately, but it does the trick in dissuading her from entering to see him in his miserable state.
He hopes she won’t be back.
Splashing water on his face does fuck all, but he can’t bring himself to shower. He’s sweaty in places that he’s never sweated before, and that’s an achievement considering he hits the gym (and the Prince) on a daily basis. With another groan, he slobs back into the bedroom to locate his suppressants, but another awful twist of his gut has him hesitating before popping the morning’s pill.
Since he had started feeling sick while the suppressants should have been in effect, there’s no telling if they’ll work now. He could try, but Gladio has a hunch that it’ll be a futile effort. Then he’ll be wasting a tablet and he’ll have to put up with his friends’ fussing for the rest of the day, and Gladio decides that if he has to suffer, then he’d rather be in his bedroom, away from concerned eyes.
“Bahamut end me.”
He shoves the suppressants back into the drawer.
The next two days are some of the worst of Gladio’s life. For the first few hours, he tries to make himself comfortable and go back to sleep, but a primal restlessness eventually implores him to move. Thoughts and reason beset by burning instinct, Gladio apparently decides that his bed isn’t good enough and strips the mattress of the duvet and sheets, only to then heave the mattress away from the frame and drag it across his room. There isn’t anywhere in the room that seems an acceptable relocation for the mattress, but Gladio doesn’t let that stop him. The solution is simple: rearrange the furniture until he is satisfied with his new ‘bed’, which he builds in a newly-established corner of the room between the old bed-frame and the wardrobe. He dumps the duvet and the sheets in their new home, tosses over the pillows, and then this fails to quell his restive mind, he adds the towels from the bathroom, some his clothes, a half-empty bottle of water and a packet of crisps, and then, lastly, pulls his favourite shield out of Noctis’ arsenal.
Anybody else would weep at the mess, but Gladio isn’t picky.
The rest of his heat isn’t nearly so dependent on Gladio’s artistic prowess, but it is, arguably, just as physically taxing. Questionably snug but undeniably safe within the hazardous blanket-fort-den-bed he has created, Gladio won’t remember much of the second day of his heat. He’ll recall craving neither food nor water, but wish that either could satisfy the almost sickening need that afflicts him. His mobile will sound countless times but his bedroom door will never once open, and he’ll be relieved for that mercy as he sweats to death in the tangles of the duvet, mumbling nonsense-words of pain amidst even less sensible pleas to be touched and cared for, kissed and rolled over and bedded, held down and fucked like there’s no tomorrow, as though he’s an animal with no sense of time or duty or want for anything but to spread his legs and feel good as he’s loved and filled up and bred.
“What the fuck,” is Gladio’s first reasonable after it’s over, his mouth a desert and saliva sticking his cheek to the pillow, recollecting in fragments how he fingered himself with a frenzy beyond all rational pleasure, and yet reaching his peak four, five, or astrals, how many times still hadn’t been enough. There are no words for the shame that he feels - and words he cannot bear to say for the bone-tired ache that his body has been reduced to. Everything is sore, even his fingers are sore, and Gladio lifts himself with no small amount of regret to take in the sight of his unrecognisable bedroom. The light is on and the curtains are drawn - a small mercy - but nothing else is in its usual place. The wardrobe has fallen over, and Gladio stares at the scattering of his clothes and hangers and wonders if Niflheim bombed his bedroom.
There is a knock at the door.
“Gladdy,” Iris calls, and Gladio swears high and mighty as he scrambles out of the den - he’s naked, what the hell - and skids on a random bottle of water to slam against the door before she can even consider opening it up. Vaguely, he remembers throwing something at her in a haze of misery and embarrassment, and these feelings have only increased tenfold now as he notices that his fingernails are hardened with blood.
Ifrit’s ballsack, he fucked himself into the floor and he couldn’t even do it properly?
“Iris. You okay kiddo?” Gladio says - wheezes, chokes. As far as he remembers, it’s the first thing he’s said for days, but it definitely doesn’t feel like it. His sister can’t see him like this; Gladio doesn’t want to see himself like this.
From the other side of the door, there is a sigh of relief. It sounds as though Iris has slid down the door to her knees, and Gladio crouches down with a wince to hear her next whisper, “Are you okay? Do you need anything? I don’t have to come in if you don’t want me to, but it is over, isn’t it?”
Fuck, Gladio thinks. “Yeah - yeah, it’s over I think. What’s, err, what day is it?”
“You’ve been in there two days,” Iris replies. “I told everyone that you were contagious. Prince Noctis tried to come and see you but I - um - I managed to keep him away. Dad isn’t back from his trip yet, so it’s just us and Jared around.”
“Iris, you’re a star.”
“Not really,” she mumbles, raising red flags in Gladio’s mind. “There is - there is one problem.”
“What is it? Are you okay? If it’s the Crownsguard kicking up a fuss -”
“It’s Ignis,” Iris cuts in, sighing his name the way she usually reserves for her brother. “I couldn’t keep him away. He kept trying to call you and I didn’t realise he was so stubborn.”
Gladio laughs despite himself, but this doesn’t change the icy dread replacing the lingering fires of his heat in his gut. Ignis is far too Ignis to be fooled by Iris’ lie. “Is he in the house now?”
“Yeah. He’s cooking. He’s been cooking all morning.”
“Okay,” Gladio says, summoning up his Amicitia calm. Panicking won’t change anything, and the last two days have been stressful enough. “Okay. Don’t worry about him, kiddo, I’ll talk to him once I’ve - sorted myself out. Tell ‘im since he’s cooking in my house, he better be making my favourite.”
“He’s kind of scary at the moment,” Iris admits, but at Gladio’s reassurance, she’s goes to face the Alpha that has invaded their kitchen.
Re: FILL: Gladio/Prompto, Gladio/Any: Gladio as hidden Omega (7/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-02-18 05:21 pm (UTC)(link)I love that Prompto a) knew right away what Gladio was, and b) is the one who set his heat off.
And Ignis is "kind os scary"? Ohhh crap, he knows he knows! (Also, he's making food for Gladio to take care of him post-heat awwwwww~~~)
Re: FILL: Gladio/Prompto, Gladio/Any: Gladio as hidden Omega (7/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-02-21 04:28 am (UTC)(link)FILL: Gladio/Prompto, Gladio/Any: Gladio as hidden Omega (8/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-02-24 10:44 am (UTC)(link)Me @ the boys: stop you have to stop
---------
Gladio needs to clean himself up before he follows, but first he scours the room for his mobile. It’s almost flat, and when Gladio unlocks it he is greeted with thirty-four missed calls, a staggering twenty-five of which are from Ignis alone. There are a couple of texts from Noctis and a voice message from one of Gladio’s superior officers in the Crownsguard, but nothing worth noting. Since the citadel hasn’t collapsed in his absence, Gladio’s next task is to rid himself of two days worth of sweat and (mostly) dried bodily fluids. There aren’t any clean towels but he can’t bring himself to care, deciding to tidy up his bedroom after he is clean, fed, and has survived the lecture that Ignis has no doubt prepared.
The shower is bliss. Gladio nods off for a second with his face smushed against the glass. He’s so thirsty that he might just drink the sonic spray. He nearly falls out of the shower when his legs decide to screw him over, but somehow he manages to make his way down to the kitchen without hobbling or killing himself on the stairs.
Iris and Jared are noticeably absent, but that’s probably for the best. Gladio will have to thank his little sister for straight up lying to the Crown Prince later - assuming, that is, that whatever Ignis has in store doesn’t kill him. It smells good, whatever it is, and if death by Ignis’ cooking is the way he’s going to go, then Gladio doesn’t think that will be so bad.
Or maybe it’s the Alpha himself that smells so inviting. That is a real possibility right now.
“There are painkillers and a bottle of water on the table, if you so desire,” Ignis informs him without turning around. He looks his usual immaculate self in a white shirt and perfectly ironed trousers, buttons fastened to the collar and sleeves rolled up as he chops vegetables at the counter. Not a single hair is out of place despite working in a kitchen unfamiliar to him, and he moves effortlessly between the cupboards and the stove. He is controlled in a way that Gladio has always respected, and this difference between them is apparent as Gladio pads bare-footed over to the table in sweatpants and a vest.
“I suggest drinking as much of that as you can manage,” Ignis says as Gladio knocks back the pills with a sip from the litre bottle of water. “Have you taken a suppressant since awakening?”
“Err,” Gladio says, unsettled by the complete lack of passive-aggressive-Ignis. Truthfully, it’s a miracle that he didn’t slip over and break his neck in the shower, but Ignis probably knows that already. “No.”
“I thought not,” Ignis concedes, and Gladio glances over just in time to see him wrinkle his nose. Before Gladio has time to feel offended by the action, Ignis continues, “If you would permit me to enter your room, I can collect them for you.”
“It’s a bit of a dump at the moment,” Gladio admits, but he waves a dismissive hand. “But sure, whatever I guess.”
“You guess?”
Gladio rolls his eyes over the rim of the bottle. “Astrals, Iggy, it’s just my bedroom, you don’t have to keep asking.”
“Gladio,” comes a sigh; the beginning of the lecture, no doubt. Gladio recognises the tone, he’s been on the unfortunate end of it more times than he can count. “You have been bed-ridden with heat for the last two days, a time during which you are at your most susceptible to an Alpha’s presence -”
Ignis says 'susceptible', but Gladio hears 'vulnerable'. He recaps the bottles with an excessive crunch of the plastic, fighting the urge to shuffle around so that the table is between him and Ignis’ exasperated glare. His top lip curls up at the thought of being taken advantage of like a child without the common-sense not to trust a stranger with candy. “If you’re so worried about Influencing me, then the hell are you doing here?”
Ignis wipes his hands on the apron, and it must just be an Omega’s overactive post-heat nonsense calling the shots, for Gladio feels unclean in comparison. If Ignis has any idea, then he pays it no mind: “I am your friend, Gladio, and I was concerned that you would fail to take care of yourself during your heat.”
“I’m not incompetent.” The fact that he hadn’t eaten, rehydrated, showered, or even had the foresight to use lube during his heat is a moot point; Gladio refuses to rise to the bait.
“And yet here we are,” Ignis replies with more of a bite, a sign that his patience is wearing thin. Usually, it takes much more than a few snappy comments to frustrate him, but then he’s not usually in making breakfast after Gladio has spent two days fucking himself into a mattress - and badly. “As I could not recall a time in recent years when you had leave for more than an afternoon, I gathered that you had never experienced a heat before. While I am appalled that you would abuse your medication without considering the consequences for your body, I am not here to lecture you about that.”
If his takes off his glasses to give them a clean, Gladio might vault over the table and punch him. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“Rather, I feared that you had not taken the necessary precautions before your heat, and I imagine that if I go up into your bedroom, there will be plenty of evidence for my concern. Not only are you dehydrated, you have neither eaten nor slept well, and that shower has done little more than temporarily mask your scent. I can smell that you are wounded, Gladio, and I don’t just mean physically. Your stubborn pride has gotten you into this mess, and it is the reason that you are refusing my help when you so clearly need it. I suggest -”
He stops. Words do not fail Ignis, so he must have finally realised that Gladio is growling. For a moment, the Amicitia household is alive with nothing but the sound of an Omega’s defensive snarl, but Gladio is happy to offer his own choice of words to the dumb struck Alpha.
“Anything else you’d like to add? Or would you rather I just roll over and let you help me until your poor Alpha instincts stop crying about the stupid, defenceless, little Omega having a goddamn heat in his own home?”
Ignis veers back from the countertop as though he’s been slapped, and Gladio, too, feels a gasping breath of reality punch into his lungs. Ignis is his friend and he regrets letting his mouth run, but Gladio cannot deny the burn of satisfaction as Ignis clears his throat, abashed by his temper as another, heavier silence descends over the kitchen.
“I apologise,” says the advisor, wringing his hands in the apron. “I have no excuse for what I said.”
Gladio doesn’t think that’s true. Ignis is so concerned about Influencing him, that he probably never stopped to consider that the tail-end of Gladio’s heat might affect himself instead. Gladio doesn’t know if that’s enough of an excuse to warrant the dick-waving competition, but Ignis continues before he can make sense of these thoughts.
“You are right, of course. I should not have occupied your kitchen without your permission, especially at the inconvenience of your sister and butler -”
“But you did cook, yeah?” Gladio cuts in, recognising the onset of Ignis’ apologetic rambling. That’s almost worse than the Alpha-edge to his voice; listening to Ignis rambling makes Gladio feel weird.
Ignis startles. “I - yes, of course. That is what I - I mean, I merely -”
“I am pretty hungry,” Gladio adds, perhaps too carefully to be casual. He thinks the painkillers might be kicking in, because he’s starting to feel more like himself; starting to crave Ignis’ cooking and not his scent. “And we don’t want to waste it.”
“No, we don’t want that,” Ignis agrees slowly, looking grateful at the excuse to move the conversation on. “I have prepared enough food for the rest of the day; for Iris, as well. I’ve also put on a pot of tea, although I imagine it may have cooled somewhat now.”
“Not coffee?”
“I was under the belief that you would prefer to be calmed, rather than stimulated, in your state.”
Ignis must be the only person in the world able to say stimulated with a straight face, but that’s not what bothers Gladio here. “In my state,” he drawls, and to his relief, Ignis flushes.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and though it seems to pain him to admit, he adds, “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
“It’s cool,” Gladio says, sharing the sentiment about disclosing his feelings. “Me neither.”
So they are on similar footing after all.
Re: FILL: Gladio/Prompto, Gladio/Any: Gladio as hidden Omega (8/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-02-24 02:07 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Gladio/Prompto, Gladio/Any: Gladio as hidden Omega (8/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-03-11 06:17 pm (UTC)(link):)