Prompt Post
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ffxv_kinkmeme 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.
FILL: Gladio/Prompto, Gladio/Any: Gladio as hidden Omega (7/?)
Date: 2017-02-18 04:31 pm (UTC)------
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/?)
Date: 2017-02-18 05:21 pm (UTC)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/?)
Date: 2017-02-21 04:28 am (UTC)FILL: Gladio/Prompto, Gladio/Any: Gladio as hidden Omega (8/?)
Date: 2017-02-24 10:44 am (UTC)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/?)
Date: 2017-02-24 02:07 pm (UTC)Re: FILL: Gladio/Prompto, Gladio/Any: Gladio as hidden Omega (8/?)
Date: 2017-03-11 06:17 pm (UTC):)