Prompt Post: Final Fantasy 15 #1

[ffkinkmeme]

Here is the Prompt Post for Final Fantasy 15! As the most recent individual instalment, FFXV has a dedicated post in anticipation of higher activity. This round will close when we reach 5000 comments.

Rules

1. All comments to the meme must be anonymous. Linking to fills on Ao3 is allowed, but links must still be posted on anon.
2. Concrit is welcome as per the author, but character bashing, kink shaming, and hijacking (derailing prompts with contrary comments or asking for additions to the prompt) are not allowed.
3. Warning for spoilers and subjects such as non-con, incest, underage and character death is highly recommended, but not mandatory.
4. Crossover prompts may be cross-posted in any relevant prompting post.
5. Please link all fills to the Fills Post.
6. Don't be an asshole. Mods reserve the right to freeze, screen or delete at their discretion.
 

If you have any concerns or spot any rule violations please comment on the Ask a Mod post. Beyond that post and have fun!


Prompting Guidelines

1. Include the name of the Final Fantasy game/media you're prompting for, followed by the characters involved in the subject title.
2. For pairings use the name/name format (examples: Noctis/Prompto, Locke/Celes, Zack/Cloud/Sephiroth).
3. It's not required but we highly recommend including kinks and content warnings in the subject as well.


Links

Final Fantasy 1-6 Prompt Post: #1
Final Fantasty 7-14 Prompt Post: #1
Final Fantasy 15 Prompt Post: #1
Final Fantasy Dissidia, Tactics, Media and crossovers Prompt Post: #1

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Fills Post
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Comments

FFXV - Ignis/Regis, underage dub/noncon

[(Anonymous)]

Regis knows that Ignis will keep it a secret, since doing otherwise means losing his job – and Noct. Ignis knows full well just how Regis is pulling his strings, but he can't risk being separated from Noct.

Anything on this premise! One-off event or it being a regular thing all the way until the game starts. Any other (consensual) ships are good!

FFXV Noct/any, Noct falls asleep after coming

[(Anonymous)]

Ten, thirty seconds after orgasm, Noct is asleep and not waking up for another seven hours at least.

+fucking Noct's unconscious body
OR
+ Noct's unsatisfied partner goes off to find someone else to help them out

(or any other scenario! Consensual or only minorly dubcon please)

FILL: FFXV Noct/any, Noct falls asleep after coming (Noct/Gladio)

[(Anonymous)]

“Fuck,” Noct gasps, his hand reaching down to grasp his cock. “Yeah, just like that.”

His legs are hooked over Gladio’s shoulders and Gladio’s pounding into him hard and fast, just the way he likes it, and it’s not going to take more than a few strokes for him to come. Noct closes his eyes and sinks into the feeling of Gladio’s relentless thrusts and the slick glide of his own hand, and it’s so good, it’s perfect, and then Gladio grabs both his wrists and drags them up to pin them above his head.

“Not yet,” Gladio says in response to his whine of protest, his voice all low and gravelly, and Noct really wants to come but also, that’s hot as fuck.

He twists his wrists in Gladio’s hold and wriggles a little, but it’s half-hearted at best. It’s so easy to just lie back and let Gladio take care of him.

...Except that Gladio isn’t taking care of him. His cock is painfully hard, smearing precome over both their stomachs, and Gladio’s making no move to touch it. He just keeps rocking into him, pressing Noct’s wrists into the pillow, and it still feels amazing but it’s not what Noct needs.

“Touch me,” he says, and when that doesn’t get him anywhere, adds, “Gladio, please.”

That does it; Gladio breathes out “fuck” and shifts his hold on Noct’s wrists to one big hand, the other wrapping around his aching cock. A few rough, fast strokes and Noct is crying out and arching off the bed, cock pulsing between them.

Noct falls back on the bed, pressed into the mattress by Gladio’s weight as he keeps thrusting, still chasing his own climax. Noct’s mind is hazy with bliss, his limbs loose and his eyelids already heavy. Dimly, he hears Gladio say his name, and then something like c’mon, damn it, don’t—, but Noct is too far gone to hear any more.

***

Gladio sighs, and pulls out. He deals with the condom and tosses it into the little wastebasket near the bed, then takes himself in hand to finish what they started.

He’s not surprised that it happened again, but he is frustrated with himself for giving in just because Noct used that voice, that throaty, needy moan that makes it almost impossible not to give him whatever he wants. Gladio should probably be more annoyed with Noct, but just thinking about the way his voice broke on the please, remembering the way his slim, tight body clenched around Gladio’s cock as he came—it’s not as good as if Gladio were still fucking him, but it’s enough to get him the rest of the way there, push him over the edge into shuddering and groaning as he spills into his own hand.

He goes to get a washcloth and cleans them both up, and yep, as expected, Noct is well and truly out. He barely stirs as Gladio wipes the last traces of come from his stomach, and when Gladio settles beside him and pulls the covers up around them Noct hums and rolls onto his side, nestling into his pillow.

Propped up on one elbow, Gladio watches his prince’s sleeping face for a few moments. As always, it tugs at his heart to see the way Noct relaxes in slumber, throwing the ever-present tension of his waking moments into sharp relief. His lips are parted slightly, his lashes fanned against his cheeks, and he’s so fucking beautiful that it’s hard to be annoyed with him for being a lazy little brat who lets Gladio do all the work in bed.

Gladio leans down to press a kiss to his temple, bundles Noct into his arms, and closes his eyes.

***

The next morning is a pretty typical one; Gladio wakes up obnoxiously early to work out, and Noct rolls himself into a blanket cocoon and stays there until Gladio threatens to carry him blankets and all into the shower.

Before they meet up with Ignis and Prompto in the lobby and work out a plan of attack for the day, Noct says, “Last night was...really nice.”

Gladio barely looks up from stripping the bed. “Glad you enjoyed yourself.”

Noct looks over at him, brow furrowing. “Wait, did you not?”

Gladio shrugs, balling up the dirty sheets. “No, it was good. Don’t worry about it.”

“...Don’t worry about what?” Noct presses, and when he just gets an exasperated grunt in response, “Gladio, if I did something wrong—“

“You always fall asleep after you come,” Gladio says bluntly.

Noct blinks. It’s not like he didn’t know he gets really sleepy after coming, but he didn’t think it was that unusual, or bad. “...Yeah?”

“Like, right after,” Gladio explains, and when it still doesn’t click, “While I’m still fucking you?”

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” Noct says. “Wait, always?”

“Pretty much,” Gladio informs him. “It’s not a problem if I come first, but otherwise I get left hanging.”

“Well, why haven’t you said anything before now?” Noct asks, and Gladio shrugs.

“Not like you’re doing it on purpose. And it’s not like I can’t just pull out and finish myself off.”

Noct blinks again. “Wait, so you’ve been...dude, why not just finish inside me?”

Gladio looks at him, eyebrows raised slightly. “I don’t know, because just fucking your unconscious body seems weird and creepy?”

Noct shrugs. “It’s not creepy if I tell you in advance I don’t mind, right? And I don’t.” He walks over and puts his hands on Gladio’s shoulders, stretching up to kiss him. “I mean it. If you don’t feel like pulling out next time, it’s cool.”

“Huh.” Gladio holds Noct by the arms to keep him on his toes for another kiss. “Still seems kinda weird. But I’ll think about it.”

***

It’s a few nights before they end up in a hotel again, after a long day of hunting monsters and running errands that it frankly seems like the people sending them on could be running themselves. The kind of day that leaves them simultaneously worked up and wanting, and so tired that Gladio knows there’s no hope of Noct’s post-orgasm-nap streak ending tonight.

Gladio still kisses him hard while Noct climbs him like a tree, still growls “Gods, I wanna wreck you,” against Noct’s throat and savors the desperate sound he gets in response. He gets them on the bed, gets Noct open and ready for him with his legs locked around Gladio’s waist and his head thrown back, fucks him hard like he wants it. This time when Noct gets close, Gladio doesn’t try to pull him back. Noct comes hard, moaning Gladio’s name and leaving crescent-shaped nail marks on his shoulders, and already Gladio can feel his body going slack and see his eyelids drooping.

“Hey.” Gladio brings a hand up to trace the line of Noct’s jaw, trying to get his attention before he fades entirely. “You sure you’re good with this?”

“Mhm,” Noct mumbles, nuzzling his hand sleepily. “Want you to come in me, even if I’m asleep. And I trust you.”

“Okay.” Gladio bends down to kiss the side of his face. His thrusts have slowed, but he’s still rocking steadily into Noct. “Good. Fuck, you feel so good.”

Noct’s only reply is a pleased hum, the legs that were around Gladio’s waist falling loose as his eyes drift shut.

Gladio keeps fucking him. It does feel weird at first, just using his prince’s unresisting body like this. But having Noct’s blessing keeps it from being bad-weird, and there’s something about him lying beneath Gladio all sweet and peaceful, trusting him with his body so completely, that sends sparks down Gladio’s spine, makes him shake and curse as he falls apart and spends himself inside Noct’s warm, willing body instead of his own clenched fist.

The part afterward is pretty similar, Gladio cleaning them both up and getting them settled for the night. But it feels a little different, in a good way, as Gladio wraps his arms around Noct and pulls him back into the curve of his body. He presses his lips to the back of Noct’s neck, breathing in the scent of him, and within minutes, he’s sleeping as deeply as his prince.

ffxv any/any or ot4 bodyswap

[(Anonymous)]

The bros swap bodies.

It's after Ignis is blinded for angst route, or whenever for a porn/crack/etc route.

FFXV, Prompto/Ardyn - Prince Prompto of Niflheim

[(Anonymous)]

Ardyn convinces the emperor to create an heir for PR and marriage alliance purposes. Someone pretty and obliging.

Once Prince Prompto is a teen, Ardyn takes it upon himself to offer secret lessons to him.

Re: FFXV, Prompto/Ardyn - Prince Prompto of Niflheim

[(Anonymous)]

Anything in particular you want to see?

FFXV – Ignis/OCs – Ignis whores himself out for money

[(Anonymous)]

Being in charge of inventory, Ignis is the first to know if they're running low on money or supplies. And they're running low on both money and supplies.

Noct, however, has been particularly tired from all the quests and long, draining dungeon crawls. Maybe to conserve his strength they're doing without curatives for the time being and they're all sporting a few minor injuries. They need rest; they're really not up for more hunts. But they also need to eat.

Cue Ignis whoring himself out, making sure that none of the other bros know. Would love an angsty version with Ignis getting in over his head, but something where he's in control and practical and tidy about it would be great too.

+ Ignis is not kinky or not kinky in the way his clients request of him
+++ gangbangs
+++++ having to sneak back to the hostel, hide bruises and love bites and other physical marks

Re: FFXV – Ignis/OCs – Ignis whores himself out for money

[(Anonymous)]

I tried?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14942282

FFXV- Prompto/Noctis, Prompto/Everyone- The Blowjob King of Insomnia

[(Anonymous)]

Before becoming consort to the chosen king, Prompto was well known for giving the best blow jobs in the city. Absolutely legendary for it. Noctis, either from a lot of flirtatious references/jokes or Prompto outright admitting it, finds out. It turns him on immensely and he wants details.

+Humiliation kink
++Videos of Prompto's 'talents' exist
++++Noct inviting a third (or more) to watch Prompto go down on (pref Gladio, but really anyone)

FFXV - Ignis/any, werewolf

[(Anonymous)]

Ignis being fucked and knotted with a huge werewolf dick. Noncon or dubcon preferred.

FFXV - Ignis/any, werewolf [FILL 1a/2]

[(Anonymous)]

a/n: Huge werewolf dick in part two, promise.

.
.

The door was, to neither of their surprise, still locked. Ignis kicked it and swore, and Gladio, behind him, made a small noise as if he'd meant to say something then decided against it last second.

Ignis turned around, tapping out a rapid beat on his thigh, and twitched as Gladio's phone beeped.

'One hour,' Gladio said. 'Look, Iggy, we should probably prepare...'

'I am not going to kill you.' Ignis' voice was hard and flat. 'So you can stop thinking about it now.'

'What, so you want me to live with having killed you instead?'

Ignis blew out a harsh breath between his teeth. 'No one is killing anyone.'

A short silence. Ignis couldn't tell if he was glad he couldn't see Gladio's expression or not. He suspected he would be shortly, at least. There was no other plan he could think of, short of crippling Gladio, and if that were an option they might as well fight to the death.

'Well that's great,' Gladio said. 'If you got a plan to escape, I'm all ears. If not...'

'You're being obtuse. You know werewolves don't harm their mates.'

A second's pause, then another, stretching out in the silence of their tiny prison cell.

'Yeah – like I know you're not my mate, Iggy, and how there'd be no time to make you it in the ten seconds we got between me turning and me killing you. Or, y'know, you killing me.'

Ignis didn't bother replying. Instead he took off his visor and tucked it into his jacket pocket, then shrugged out of his jacket. He let it drop into the armiger unfolded, even as he started undoing the buttons on his shirt.

'Iggy? Iggy, the fuck do you think–'

'There's no time after you turn, no,' Ignis said, as his shirt went the same way as his jacket, and his hands moved to his belt. 'We do, however, have a little under an hour before that.'

Gladio's throat was unmistakably dry as he said: 'Fucking while human really isn't the same thing, Iggy. You think my wolf'll pay attention to that?'

'If we do it correctly? I'm willing to bet my life on it.' Ignis toed off his shoes, bent down to tug off his socks, and shimmied his hips to pull down his trousers and underwear in one go. The floor of their prison was cold and rough under his bare feet. The idea of fucking Gladio was unappealing at best; in this scenario, where they'd been forced into it and the threat of Gladio's transformation loomed over them – Ignis' skin prickled at the thought of teeth and claws, well over a hundred kilos of muscle bearing down on him to tear him apart – Gladio bearing down on him to tear him apart – it was abominable. Still. They'd been trapped for the better part of the day. He hadn't been able to think of a better plan than this.

He sat down on Gladio's lap, who was, irritatingly but not particularly surprisingly, still dressed, though at least he hadn't moved to avoid him. 'And what,' Gladio said, hoarse, as Ignis undid his belt, 'is the correct way?'

'Skin contact, scent,' Ignis said. He leant back as Gladio pulled off his top and tossed it to one side. 'Sexual fluids. If we're obviously just out of the act, I can't see why your wolf would not make the connection on its own.'

'You're giving it too much credit.' Gladio nudged Ignis backwards, off his lap, then he hesitated. 'I think – shit, Iggy, I don't know. I–'

'Can you think of another way?' There wasn't an answer, except, eventually, the sound of fabric being removed. It made Ignis' throat tighten, his stomach clenching unpleasantly. He ignored it, crawling back onto Gladio's lap to kiss him, one hand on the back of his neck and the other trailing down his chest, across his waist and hips, to find his cock. Ignis brought that hand up to his mouth and licked his palm, then returned it to grasp Gladio's cock – soft, but slowly hardening under Ignis' fingers, and already promising to be considerably larger than practical. Ignis tried not to think about it. They would make this perfunctory. Sex was regularly nothing but a means to an end; there was no reason they couldn't make it so now.

They kissed again, a little awkwardly as they tried out the shape and taste of each other, the bare skin contact between them. Ignis rolled his wrist, fingers tightening, and Gladio broke the kiss to make a harsh noise, a stifled groan that sounded far too familiar, given that Ignis had only ever heard him groan like that in battle, wounded, in pain. 'Forgive me,' he said, his hand still on Gladio's cock, stroking the underside of it where shaft met head.

'Nothing to forgive,' Gladio said, then made that sound again. The muscles in his thighs tensed, and he gripped Ignis' hips, blunt tips of his fingers digging into his skin. 'If it – if it saves both our skins–'

'That is the plan.' Ignis kissed the side of Gladio's mouth, then across his cheek to his jawline, scraping his teeth across the strong line of it. He buried his face in the crook of Gladio's neck and sucked gentle bruises on his skin, telling himself to ignore the heat of Gladio's skin on his, the rough texture of his scars, the way the both of them had started to sweat even in the coolness of the empty room. The intimacy of it roiled in his guts like the instinctive fear of heights on unsteady ground, sickening, consuming. His stomach clenched as Gladio's hands scraped down his back, from shoulders over his arse to hold him by the backs of his thighs. His hands were calloused on the soft skin of Ignis' flanks. They felt larger than Ignis remembered – stronger. His breath hitched. He forced away the urge to get them off him.

There was the unspoken agreement between the four of them that some things in Noct's armiger were private, and shouldn't be touched except by the one who put it there. Ignis didn't know what the others used that agreement for, but he expected Gladio was not surprised to see the small bottle of lube he pulled into his hand – unscented, plain, unobtrusive. He flicked the cap off and squeezed a little amount onto the hand still stroking Gladio's cock, now hard, thick, hot, and entirely too present to ignore.

He handed the bottle to Gladio, bumping it against his fingers until he took it. 'You should probably prepare me,' he said, and cursed himself for how his voice was already thick, a little unsteady, and they'd barely even started yet. Gladio grunted in agreement, and Ignis listened to the wet sound of the bottle being squeezed with his heart hammering in his ears, in the back of his throat, making him feel sick.

Gladio's fingers were cold, thick – far too large for how Ignis was tensed up and resisting even the one fingertip. He arched his back, hips moving forwards instinctively to escape the intrusion until he was pressed flush to Gladio's front, nowhere left to retreat to, and Gladio's finger had chased him to sink in to the knuckle. When Gladio moved, tugging the finger to one side, stretching him in a burn that was terrifying for its intensity – if this was only one finger, how much more would his cock force him wide open? – Ignis panted, short and shallow into Gladio's shoulder.

'Don't stop,' he said, and bit down on the whine that burnt up his throat as Gladio slipped in a second finger.

Gladio didn't reply, not even to tell Ignis to relax – which was just as well, Ignis couldn't help but think, his whole body tensed until his bones ached with it.

It hurt, but not as the pleasant burn he usually associated with sex. It was deep, sharply wrong, reaching up into his guts to be persistent in the forefront of his mind, for all that he'd dealt with pain ten times worse. It felt wrong, tasted wrong, like the taste of Gladio on his tongue and teeth, and the smell of him sticking to the inside of his nose, and the encompassing press of his skin on Ignis' skin, slick with sweat and hot and moving to adjust to every twitch or shudder or little jerk of Ignis' hips. Gladio's arm encircled his waist, and Ignis told himself it wasn't to hold him down, that Gladio meant it as a comfort, except that it felt like he was being held down and when the fingers inside him scissored open it hurt, and it felt wrong, and it was the only way he could see for them both to survive this but he still couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand being in his own squirming body, couldn't stand Gladio, and what would Gladio think of him, writhing in his arms, impaled on his fingers, panting wetly?

Pumping his fingers in and out, slow and gentle, or at least Ignis imagined he was trying to be, Gladio dipped his face to press his lips against Ignis' crown, the heat and dampness of his breath seeping into Ignis' scalp through his hair. Gladio had three fingers in now, and that still couldn't be comparable to the girth of his cock, but if he made to add a fourth – Ignis tightened his grip on Gladio's waist, solid muscle rippling beneath the skin as he moved fractionally with the slow thrusts of his fingers. He had to control his breathing, which was getting choppy and unsteady. He could do this. It wasn't so bad.

Gladio withdrew his fingers almost all the way, and the sound of squelching, more lube being squeezed from the bottle, came a moment before the shock of fresh coldness hit him. Ignis jolted, his body trying to pull away, but Gladio's hand on his waist held him, and his three fingers pushed in all at once.

Gladio made a sound, a noise of apology. 'Don't,' Ignis said, harsh through his throat that felt like it was closing up around the words. 'Carry on.'

'Iggy. My wolf is really not gonna think we're mated if you reek of stress and pain.'

Ignis forced a short laugh, bark-like. 'Is it really true one can smell fear? I'd always thought it a myth.'

He pushed away Gladio's hand inside him, the gaping absence almost as inescapable as the weight and presence his fingers had been. Shifting, Ignis turned on Gladio's lap until he sat facing out, back to Gladio's chest, half-kneeling so his arse hovered a foot above Gladio's lap. He reached behind himself, grasping for Gladio's cock, and found Gladio's hand already stroking it where it lay across one thigh, half-flaccid. His skin was smeared with lube – Ignis was smeared with lube, and he could feel it, cold in the air, his hole still feeling obscenely open, twitching. Ignis' hand joined Gladio's as they stroked him to hardness again, Gladio's breath hot, humid puff of air against Ignis' back. Then, not caring that he was being rough, Ignis pushed Gladio's hand away and grasped his cock, positioning it; he sat down on it, trying for one smooth motion, but his legs betrayed him and he'd barely forced the head inside when he froze, whole body motionless save for its trembling.

Too big. It was as if it pushed the air from his lungs, a bludgeon on the inside of his body, crushing his guts up into his chest cavity, ruining the vital order and structure. His stomach clenched, violently. Gladio's hands landed tentative on his hips. They didn't push or pull, or hold, just touched the skin feather-light.

'I'm fine,' Ignis said, the words like scrunched up paper, barely intelligible. His breath was coming in great heaves. 'A moment – I just need a moment.'

Gladio gave him a moment, then another, then another. The time stretched out and the burn didn't get less, or the roiling sickness less, or the urge to pry himself away from Gladio and strip off his skin just to get away from the feeling of it.

It was fine. It was Gladio; they had to do this to survive. Out of all the demanding things they'd ever had to do this really was one of the lesser ones.

He wondered if their captives were watching. Recording. He wondered if they knew what they were attempting, and were laying bets on whether it'd succeed or not.

Gladio's hands shivered against his skin. That was right – he was being selfish, forcing this to his own pace when Gladio was just as much a participant as he was. It was that thought that finally let his legs give way, collapsing until he sank down on Gladio's cock, biting his lip and telling himself every inch had to be the last, inch after inch after inch, until he finally bottomed out. His breathing came in broken-up moans, split-second noises pushed unwilling from him to the tempo of his ragged panting. Gladio's cock inside him felt like it filled him up to the brim, stretching him so wide that if he moved in the slightest he'd split open, ruptured from the inside.

Gladio's hips were trembling a little. 'Can I move?' His voice was strained.

'Yes,' Ignis said, then: 'No. Not yet.' His head was spinning; he needed to slow down his breathing. He took a deep breath, but only felt like he was suffocating himself. How much longer did they have? He'd lost track of time completely.

They had time. This would be fine. It would be hardly a memory they'd look back on and laugh over, but at least they'd both get through it alive.

'Gladio.' He tried rolling his hips but had to stop as his body protested, a violent twinge making his breath hitch. 'You could be putting your scent on me.' It was not, he thought distantly, the most clear or eloquent of instructions, but at least Gladio seemed to understand. He sighed, long and tight, and pulled Ignis so his back was pressed to Gladio's front, and Gladio's mouth was on his neck, behind one ear. Gladio moved his lips as if speaking soundlessly, stubble grazing Ignis' skin, sharp and prickling and unpleasant. Resisting the urge to jerk his head out of Gladio's reach, Ignis shivered as Gladio's tongue pressed to his skin, trailing a long, wet line from the back of his left ear to the bumps of his spine, then nuzzling the same line on his right. He mouthed at Ignis' neck, sucking and biting at his pulse point that Ignis turned his head to allow him access to, and his hands scraped up and down Ignis' sides, from underarms to the junction of his thighs. He kissed across Ignis' shoulders, teeth scraping, alternating little nips and wet, open-mouthed kisses. He put his hands on Ignis' legs and stroked the skin of his inner thighs, so close to his flaccid cock and balls, with his thumbs.

The urge to put a knife through each of Gladio's wrists, to spin a blade in his hand to face backwards and gut Gladio with one motion – Ignis took a gulping breath and raised himself, knees braced on the concrete floor, hands on Gladio's, that were holding him by the hips. He rolled his hips, sinking down, then rose and sank again then again before he could stop himself, creating a rhythm. His throat bobbed, gorge rising. He could feel himself clench down on Gladio, trying to force him out. He wondered, briefly, if it felt good for Gladio.

That wasn't worthwhile to consider. He just needed to get the job done. He'd done less savoury things in his past; this would amount to nothing. If he just acted like it was natural, and told himself it was fine, then it would become natural, and fine, and he'd lose no sleep over it.

It was sex; of course it was fine. Honestly, given how long he and Gladio had known each other, and lived out of each other's pockets, and the necessary limitation of their social circles and confidants, it was more surprising that they'd never tried experimenting with each other until now.

FFXV, Ardyn/historical figures, truth serum

[(Anonymous)]

The bros capture Ardyn and truth serum him in pursuit of useful information. Anything he talks about will be the whole, unvarnished truth. Unfortunately, he can still choose what he talks about, and he chooses to describe all the famous historical figures he has banged over the years.

Any pairings, any genders, just no non or dubcon please.

FFXV - gen or Noct/Ignis, Noct is very possessive

[(Anonymous)]

Going by that new dialogue with Aranea, Noctis is very possessive over Ignis.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-oM3p2MGQsc

Anything on this! Surly teenage Noct constantly calling and demanding Ignis' attention when Ignis is off duty (how does Noct know he's not on a date?! And if it is a date, Ignis deserves way better than whoever it is he's with!), Noct abusing his position of power to scare away any of Ignis' potential partners, even spreading to getting grouchy with Prompto or Gladio for taking up too much of Ignis' time. Or kinky, possessive sex, with Noct marking his territory.

Whether it's played for crack, or Noct is being a bit of an asshole but not intentionally, or anywhere up to Noct being deliberately manipulative and abusive – it's all good with me!

+ Ignis knows full well it's happening but can't bring himself to mind
++ Prompto or Gladio's POV

FFXV - Iris/Gilgamesh - Size kink

[(Anonymous)]

During WoR, an adult Iris takes the Trial. Win or lose, Gilgamesh is impressed. They bang.

I just want to see teeny Iris getting (consensually and metaphorically) split apart by that giant demigod cock.

Bonus for Gilgamesh mentioning when he did the same thing with Cor or Gladio.

Re: FFXV - Iris/Gilgamesh - Size kink

[(Anonymous)]

Holy shit, I never knew I needed this.

FFXV, Lunafreya/Ravus, incest

[(Anonymous)]

Considering the Jaime Lannister/Viserys Targaryen vibes I get from Ravus, I'm surprised there's not more fic of him and Luna. The (consensual!) incest could be a coping mechanism for the trauma they've been through? Ooh, and Ravus going down on Luna is a must!

Prompto/Ardyn, Noctis/Prompto Arranged Marraige and Objection!

[(Anonymous)]

Based off of this pic by Kaciart http://kaciart.tumblr.com/image/170695770838

What ever set up or justification you can think of, however it gets to that point, Ardyn is set for an arranged marriage with Prompto. Prompto isn't happy about it, and obviously neither is Noctis or the rest of the chocobros. Who are determined to make sure the wedding doesn't happen. And ultimately have to burst in during the ceremony itself to stop it.

Gladio/Noct, Niff!Gladio w/prisoner Noct

[(Anonymous)]

Gladio is about to strike the killing blow to Prompto or Ignis, so Noct surrenders and offers himself in exchange.

Gladio is taking Noct back to Aldercept, and on the journey finds himself falling for his captive and starting to respect him as a ruler. He doesn't understand Noct sacrificing himself for his men or why Prompto and Ignis are still following them.

Re: Gladio/Noct, Niff!Gladio w/prisoner Noct

[(Anonymous)]

Awesome idea. really hope someone fills this.

Gen/any, all the way through [non-con]

[(Anonymous)]

X-posted from other meme, not OP but thought it should go here too.

VERY NSFW LINK:
https://www.reddit.com/r/Allthewaythrough/

Pretty self-explanatory. I'd like them to be aware and lucid. Prefer Ignis or Noct but I'm flexible. Bonus for involuntary witnesses (maybe they're tied up too?). Would prefer no Ardyn involvement if possible.

Re: Gen/any, all the way through [non-con]

[(Anonymous)]

/adds to my list of things I need

Would you prefer a happy ending, or not?

Noct/Ignis, rape roleplay

[(Anonymous)]

X-posted from other meme, not OP.

Noct wants to be roughed up and raped and called a whore/slut and Ignis can barely stand the idea of hurting his friend but eventually decides he's willing to do it because he knows how much Noct wants it.

Cindy/Prompto, pegging

[(Anonymous)]

What it says on the tin.

Luna/Noctis, pegging

[(Anonymous)]

If Cindy/Prompto isn’t your jam. I just want to read these boys getting pegged!

Ignis/Knife fucking a dagger

[(Anonymous)]

I want Ignis to sit on a dagger preferably his own

Re: Ignis/Knife fucking a dagger

[(Anonymous)]

I like the way you think, nonny.

Noctis/Regis noncon

[(Anonymous)]

I prefer Noctis under 10, and Regis feeling guilty about it.

Luna/Bahamut take that dragon dick

[(Anonymous)]

Gotta go big or go home. To make the covenant luna’s Gotta fuck the draconian and all of that big dick.

Any bro - noncon with objects

[(Anonymous)]

Exactly what it says on the tin. ++ for Noct or Iggy but I'm not fussed.

Re: Any bro - noncon with objects

[(Anonymous)]

OP adding - the bigger/longer the object the better. Severe injuries OK but not to the point of death.

Any/Any Warm Bodies AU

[(Anonymous)]

Because I was talking about the film today and it's Valentines Day. Warm Bodies was a film released Feb 14th 2013 that can best be described as Romeo and Juliet with zombies. Oh and Romeo is a zombie. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Warm_Bodies_(film) It's pretty good if you haven't seen it.

I want to see that kind of set up in the FFXV verse substituting demons for zombies. Pairing is up to the author but will admit a weakness for Promptis and Promnis

FFXV Noct/Ignis (or Noct/Ignis/any), Ignis naked except an apron

[(Anonymous)]

What it says in the title: Ignis, naked, except for his apron. Ignis is reluctant, but he really can't say no to Noct.

Bonus points if Noct/everyone else stays fully or near fully clothed.

FILL: (1/?) OT4, D/s, Ignis naked except an apron

[(Anonymous)]

any suggestions for names would be most appreciated
_____

When Ignis stirs the covers have been dragged from his edge of the bed, and he rolls over already half exposed and chilled in the morning air. He manages to tuck back in under the available edge, shoving his frigid toes out of the cold and enjoying the warmth of Noct's body curling around his back.

Ignis' comfort is short-lived as the blankets are drawn away again by rustling on the far side of the bed.

It's a common annoyance these days. The king-sized sheets are meant to accommodate the bed and its king, not the king and his three closest retainers, particularly when one of them is the size of two and even the smallest of them manages to occupy enough bedding he might as well be. Ignis, unwilling to suffer the stifling consequences of sleeping in the middle and of both normal size and blanket-sharing disposition, is ever the odd man out.

He wouldn't give it up for the world.

A firm tug at the blankets grants him nothing but resistance and Gladio's eye half-open. The blankets are a mountain on top of him, spikes of blond hair peeking above the duvet's edge along his chest. Wherever Prompto had started his night he has ended it laying full bodily on top of Gladio.

"I don't suppose you're getting up?" Ignis says.

From under the blankets comes a muffled, "No."

"Is that so?"

Gladio shrugs; the mountain ripples. "Pinned down, see? No way I can move." As if he couldn't rise as he is and go for a jog still carrying Prompto. Left to their own devices they're both reasonably early risers. Together, however. . .

"You bring out the worst in each other in this, I hope you know that," Ignis says as he sits up and swings his feet to the floor.

For both general sanity and public appearances they all have their own rooms, if only by technicality in Prompto's case. The only space he seems to require to experience any sense of solitude is that behind his camera. Home is wherever he rests, and he rests wherever they are. He likely has more things spread between the other's apartments than he does in the ones that are nominally his own. Ignis, to his own detriment at the moment, is not so free with his belongings. The downside of spending the night in Noct's room unprepared: his clothes from last night are in a rather incriminating array across the rooms of the royal suite, and everything else is down the grand hall in his own apartments, an onerous distance and not one he can travel in his current state.

His consideration is interrupted by a ring of warmth curling around his hips and the glimpse of Noct's dark hair under his arm. They're all in the same boat then this morning: awake yet unwilling to give up their moment of peace and the warmth they'd kept under the covers—until Ignis was left with no covers at all, anyway.

"You're leaving?"

"As soon as I determine where my clothes are. I can hardly manage the breakfast you requested if I stay."

"Who needs 'em?"

"Grease splatters. I would prefer not to face the cooktop unprotected." He's half-expecting Noct to offer something of his own.

"You've got an apron," Noct says as he begins to kiss the tender skin of Ignis' side, a sensation that robs him of any resentment towards Gladio's resistance to rising. "A whole pile of them."

Ignis leans his elbows on his knees—how can be expected to stand against that? He's forced to swallow down the lump in his throat before he can speak. "Your Majesty's powers of observation are unparalleled." Noct truly is an observant and incisive opponent, unafraid to ferret out and use any possible weakness. "To what end, may I ask?"

"Do I need one?"

"Whatever you might need I would hope I could give it." It never fails to feel like a grave admission, no matter how many times and how many ways Ignis makes it. Noct makes a noise like a purring cat against his hip, then there is a sudden chill at his back, a rustle of the blankets.

"Okay, it's cold out there. Go make me breakfast, Specs."

Ignis rises, a touch gingerly courtesy of Prompto's concerted effort to put Noct's headboard through the stone wall last night. He's fully prepared to deliver a teasing earful regarding Noct no doubt seeking solace under the covers at the same time he orders Ignis into the cold. When he turns, though, Noct is grinning up at him, sleepy and beautiful. His head is all that's visible, hair shining blue-black across the stark white sheets. An army of retorts die happy deaths on Ignis' tongue.

"Shall I attend to anything else while you're giving orders?" The tone at least holds a proper amount of sarcasm even if his heart doesn't.

"Shower later," Noct says. "You smell good."

Ignis gives Noct a deferential tip of his head. If he doesn't answer because he doesn't trust his voice at least he can consider his reputation for being of few words well-tended.

Gladio's eye slits open again. "Sucker."

"The Shield of the King is 'pinned down,'" Ignis points out as he puts on his spectacles. "By Prompto."

"He's got a point," Noct says over the muffled protest from under the covers.

Helpfully with Gladio occupying Noct's attention Ignis can escape to the kitchenette off the main sitting room unwatched. On his way he recovers the singlet he wore under his dress shirt from the bookshelf, his trousers in a puddle in front of the sofa where they'd been stripped from him.

He holds them for a moment, and even weighs putting them on. He's sure Noct would not begrudge him.

Ignis will give his life and loyalty for his king, and all that and more for Noct, the bounds of which are lovingly tested by the whimsical edge Noct's requests often take in private.

Not that Noct has technically made a request.

He often doesn't need one of those either.

Ignis prides himself on anticipatory service.

With a pointless glance out the picture windows, he drapes the trousers and shirt over the arm of the sofa. There's no building as tall as the spire of the Citadel in what remains of the old city center, and those beyond it lie empty. For the moment he is alone.

Noct was exaggerating the state of his aprons; he has only three. He chooses the heavy black one in the hopes of some measure of protection, a decision he second-guesses when he drapes the thick fabric over his neck. Even without the treatment he'd received last night he would be sensitive. He is as a rule, and it is no small part of why he avoids such physical exposure, a vulnerability Noct is well aware of. He knows all the ins and outs of Ignis' foibles and weaknesses—as they all know each other's. Which is also why Ignis ties the apron around the front, all too aware of the probability of enterprising hands loosing a knot in back without him knowing.

He takes a moment to breathe carefully and slowly as drafts of air swirl around against skin that's seldom exposed, then sets about preparing the breakfast he planned. He turns the oven on straightaway. It's a welcome if finicky tool, the product of modifications to turn existing quarters into full apartments while the palace kitchens lie in a rubble heap.

To cook in bare feet is unusual, but not enough to be distracting despite the chill of the hard flagstone.

The apron is a. . .peculiar experience. The cold air rolling out of the bottom of the refrigerator against his legs when he opens it, the coarse twill's gentle abrasion everywhere the air does not touch, they are a level of stimulation he could not deal with on a daily basis, not so. . .loose, so uncontrolled. He is adrift, swaying and sensitive in the breeze, and must anchor himself in the meditative rock of his knife on the cutting board, cracking egg after egg.

Days ago, long before any mention of the apron, Noct had asked him to ensure their schedules were clear for a quiet night and morning, a brief respite from the turmoil that still rages in the world as the last vestiges of the Empire collapse and Eos rebuilds. Capricious clothing demands notwithstanding, the opportunity to cook a large indulgent, breakfast for the four of them is a welcome method of offering care when their preferred methods don't come quite so easily to him. Breakfast will be pancakes with berry compote for the sweet tooth Gladio won't admit he possesses, frittata because Noct finds it too difficult to pick out the vegetables to make it worthwhile, two flavors of sausage, both by Ignis' choice although one is hotter than he would prefer. Prompto has a broad palate, a taste for spice, and a reluctance to ask for anything for himself.

At least now that Ignis is up and moving about in a warming kitchen he's rather comfortable.

His comfort is short-lived at the sight of Gladio emerging in his jeans and tank top from last night, as if to taunt Ignis with his ability to do so.

FFXV - Ignis - oviposition

[(Anonymous)]

Simple girl with simple needs and that is daemons laying eggs in Ignis' ass.

Re: FFXV - Ignis - oviposition

[(Anonymous)]

I am here with bells on hot damn.

Gen, Ignis self-mutilating himself to save Noctis

[(Anonymous)]

Ignis is captured with Noct and offers their captives to voluntarily hurt himself if they leave Noct alone. Smashing his fingers, cutting into himself, gouging his eyes out, this kind of thing, all while Noct (bonus point for other bros as well, or Regis and co) watches.

FILL: Gen, Ignis self-mutilating himself to save Noctis [1a/3]

[(Anonymous)]

Ignis didn’t remember how, exactly, they’d been found, or kidnapped, or taken to the basement they were now in, a holding cell while they waited to be transported out of the city.

His head pounded, the sickly feel of something not quite right, slowness and fuzziness. He guessed a drug of some kind, given the pain was not localised, and besides, he was fairly sure simply hitting someone over the head didn’t work the way it did in the films. His tongue felt too big in his mouth. He was thirsty, enough that his throat ached with it, sharp pain behind his eyes for water. He was sure if he weren’t already sitting, slumped against a cold, tile wall, he’d be dizzy enough he wouldn’t be able to stand.

His hands were tied behind his back with twine, at both wrists and elbows, forcing his chest forwards and shoulders back with the strain of holding his arms together. His hands were numb and swollen; the twine cut deep into his skin, sawing at it like cheese wire. It was hard to move his chest well enough to breathe.

He had a cloth bag over his head, scratchy fabric, thin enough to let in some light but not enough to see through. His breathing, small and harsh and attempting to stay calm but failing, made the air over his face humid and oxygen-thin. His shoes were gone; his ankles were tied together also, left crossed over right, and no matter how much he shifted couldn’t get it to loosen even just enough to stop it hurting so much. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and it made him sick, nausea gripping his stomach and throat. He couldn’t tell how much was the drug and how much was fear.

He didn’t know where Noct was. He wanted to cry. They’d only gone out after Noct’s school had finished to buy ice cream, and now here he was and who knew where Noct was — Noct, who was their real target, and what if he was being hurt? What if they’d already killed him, killed him hours ago while Ignis had been unconscious, and dumped his body and—

Ignis bit down on his tongue, trying to distract himself with the sharp pain. No. He was the disposable one here. Noct would be kept alive. They wouldn’t go to all this effort kidnapping him just to kill him.

His heart thumped, hard, fast, like it was trying to escape up his throat and out his mouth. He twisted his hands and felt the twine cut into his wrists just a little deeper. His knees and shins hurt from where they were pressed against the hard floor, leeching cold in through the thin fabric of his trousers. He thought it might be more comfortable to sit with his legs stretched out in front of him, but he wasn’t sure he could make his body move.

The Kingsglaive would come and rescue Noct. That’s what they did. Of course they would, and neither Noct nor himself would be hurt, and this would never happen again.

Footsteps, coming closer, heavy and brisk, more than one person. Ignis froze, except for his chest heaving for breath, each ragged inhale tugging his arms apart and tightening the twine wrapped around his elbows. Were they coming for him? He could be strong for Noct. He would be strong for Noct. He was almost an adult; in another few months he’d be officially Crownsguard. Crownsguard didn’t fall apart at even the threat of trouble, a few lengths of rope and a cloth bag.

He ground his teeth together as the footsteps stopped, and a key turned, and the door to his room opened. The urge to throw himself away from the sound of them approaching gripped him, made him tremble; Crownsguard training told him not to struggle, not to put up a pointless fight. A moan built in his throat and burst out when hands grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, yanking him up off the floor. He felt himself burn with shame as a man behind him laughed, and hands were on him, holding his upper arms with painful strength, holding his ankles, forcing him to stand upright. Ignis twisted — he couldn’t stop himself, legs threatening to buckle beneath him, balance long gone. Fingers dug into his arms, bruisingly hard. The twine around his ankles tightened then went slack, and hands unwound the lengths from him.

‘Walk,’ a woman said, sounding half stern, half bored. Hands shoved him forwards, and he only didn’t fall straight over because he was still being held up by the hands around his arms. A hand landed on top of his head, turning him, and Ignis flinched away with his whole body. The hand gripped the bag, catching strands of his hair, and pushed him into a stumbling trot out the door, into the corridor.

It was cold; in only his shirt and thin summer trousers, he could feel goosebumps rise on his bare arms. The floor was hard under his feet, gritty, cold leaching out of him through his socks. He wanted to twist away from the hand still on his head, pushing him on, and the grip on his upper arm. They were walking too fast; he couldn’t see. His legs were shaking, threatening to buckle at any moment, give up and drop him to the floor. Every step he felt like he’d trip over, even if it was over nothing, or his own feet. It seemed like only the momentum kept him going. He panted into the bag over his head, feeling like he was suffocating, eyes squeezed shut.

Some indeterminable amount of time later — one minute? Two minutes? Ten? He felt sick, his stomach turning — the sound of another door unlocking came from ahead of them, and he still wasn’t prepared for how he was jerked to the side mid-step, head yanked sideways as he was shoved through the open door.

He fell to his knees, the pain of it jarring all the way up and down his legs. Without his hands to balance him he tipped over, hitting his shoulder, falling flat onto his face. He couldn’t stop the yelp, pathetic, and the way he curled up, gulping in air, face screwed up as he gasped and squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to not cry any more than he already was. His face hurt, hot and throbbing across his cheek and forehead where he’d hit the ground. He could imagine everyone standing around him. He was sure the skin on his wrists had torn, and he could feel blood on his hands, dripping off his forearms.

‘Ignis?’

‘Noct?’ Ignis twisted, trying to get his legs under him so he could at least sit up. His heart was racing, adrenaline surging through him at Noct’s voice. His own voice was dry, thick, barely a cracked whisper.

‘Ignis — no, don’t touch him! Ignis—’

Hands grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him onto his knees, and Ignis couldn’t do anything but let them. His head was spinning; he couldn’t seem to suck in enough air. His heaving chest pulled at his arms, tightened the twine, made it cut deeper.

‘Stop that!’ Noct’s voice was panicky, high-pitched. ‘Let him go!’

‘Noct,’ Ignis said, then retched, gagging as his throat tightened. ‘Noct,’ he said, ‘don’t — I’m fine. I’m fine.’

‘You’re bleeding! Like hell you’re fine!’

Noct sounded close to hysterical. Ignis pulled against the hands shoving him back against a wall, grabbing his legs to hold them and tie them back together. ‘Noct,’ he said, and even though his head was spinning, body hurting sharp and panicky, he managed to put on his stern voice, the one he used when he still had a grip on his temper but it was a close thing. ‘Noct, stop it.’

It occurred to him that if Noct could see he was bleeding he mustn’t have his head covered, and possibly he didn’t have his arms and legs tied, or at least not tied as tightly as he did. Not that it would help him escape, given how many there were guarding them, but at least he’d be more comfortable. He didn’t sound like he was in pain.

Noct didn’t reply. His breathing was wet, unsteady. Was he crying? The urge to crawl forwards on his knees, to try and find him and give him what little comfort he could, even with his hands tied and a bag over his head, was dizzying. The thought of their kidnappers watching him — watching Noct — made his stomach churn, and fear run through him like cold water. He still didn’t know what they wanted. His head hurt, and his arms and shoulders and ankles, and he felt sick.

The Kingsglaive would be searching for them. Every moment more was a moment closer to them being found and rescued. He just needed to hold himself — and Noct — together until then. And if that meant that the two of them would be compliant, model captives, then they would be. Anything to mean Noct didn’t get hurt. Anything to get him back safely.

There was movement, people walking around him, going out of the room. The sound of distant talking. They weren’t stupid enough to talk in front of them. Ignis strained to hear, but couldn’t make out anything. Not over his own rasping breath, amplified by the bag. He wished he could hear; he wished he knew what they wanted. If they were just keeping him and Noct hostage and were planning on releasing them eventually — though, he thought, with a sudden, cold, terrible feeling, if they were planning that they wouldn’t have let Noct see them.

No. They just — maybe they all wore masks. Maybe Ignis was the only one blindfolded because — because—

Useless speculation. No good.

He wished he could see Noct. His eyes were hot, prickling. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted anything as much as to be able to see Noct. Hold him and comfort him and deliver him to safety, and be with him, and be safe with him.

‘So, kids,’ a voice said, nasal and almost startlingly young: a woman, with an accent Ignis couldn’t place except as from outside Insomnia. ‘Looks like we’ve got some time to kill.’

There was the sound of something; a rustle and thump, things Ignis couldn’t place. Noct sniffled, and that Ignis could place — the sound of his fear, instantly recognisable from dark bedrooms and old nightmares.

‘How about we have some fun?’

Another sound, heavy and metallic, this time. Noct bit back a moan, a sobbing, muffled sound that made Ignis’ heart beat hard and painful, like a needle was trapped inside one of its chambers.

There was nothing he had to bargain with. His life wasn’t worth anything like Noct’s was; whatever their plan regarding Noct and the price of his life and wellbeing, Ignis was supplementary. He’d probably only been taken because it was easier than to leave him. His good behaviour was guaranteed when they held Noct’s well-being and comfort in their hands, regardless of whether they’d actually go so far as to permanently maim or kill him. He had nothing they wanted, nothing he could threaten with, no leverage or hold or anything the least bit tempting.

For a moment he wished they’d killed him instead of taking him captive. He might as well be dead, with as much good he was doing Noct. But that was selfish. And maybe they would be able to both get out of this alive.

So he said, ‘Please don’t harm him,’ because he couldn’t say nothing, but didn’t bother to add anything else because he knew it was worthless.

A hand grabbed the bag over his head and yanked it back and down, forcing his neck to arch until his breath whistled in his throat. ‘Say that again,’ the woman said.

‘Please — please don’t harm him,’ Ignis said again, arching his back to try relieve some of the pressure on his neck. He was trembling, wanting to shake away the hand but forcing himself not to, wanting to disappear into invisibility while at the same time realising with cold, terrifying surety that maybe they wanted something from him after all. Maybe he had something to use after all. ‘I’ll do anything,’ he said: a gamble.

‘Anything?’

‘I won’t hurt Noct,’ Ignis said, the words croaking out of his mouth. It occurred to him that perhaps he shouldn’t refer to Noct as that nickname, but it was too late now.

The hand let go of his head, shoving him forwards in the same rough motion. He yelped, tipped, and was only saved from landing on his face by a hard grip on his left wrist, yanking his arms up and back. Then he was twisting, falling forwards again as the twine binding him broke, only to be caught, held up and off the floor only by the grip on his wrist, hanging him from it. His right hand scrabbled at the floor, trying to brace himself, take some weight from his left arm. Another yank upwards, a harsh shake, and his arm felt like it would tear from its socket, fall apart like a wad of wet paper. He couldn’t stop himself crying out as his swollen hand and grinding joints screamed out their pain.

It took a moment to realise something was being pressed into his left hand — he could barely feel it, and only just managed to curl his fingers over the object well enough to stop it falling straight to the floor. Then the grip on him let go, dropping him onto the concrete floor, collapsing when his right arm failed to hold him up; he tucked his arms against his stomach, curled over them with his forehead pressed to the ground, and gagged back his whimpers.

He was aware of the eyes on him, watching him, waiting for him. He lifted his head slightly, moving to one side so the bag wasn’t pressed right up against his mouth. It took another few moments to register the item he was holding; he fumbled with the plastic coated handles, tentatively feeling out the shape of the heavy, flat-nosed pliers.

‘Use ‘em on one of your fingers,’ the woman said, directly behind him. Her voice was mild, interested in an academic sort of way. ‘Properly.’

There was a sound, indistinct. Was it Noct? Ignis flexed the handle of the pliers, feeling the jaws move. They were spring loaded, which was good, he supposed distantly, unwillingly, because he didn’t think he had the dexterity yet to open as well as close them. His fingers were shaking, throbbing with pain from the sudden blood flow. He wished they were still numb.

He swallowed, tried to catch his breath enough to speak. ‘Which — which finger?’

The woman laughed, and several others around the room joined her. ‘You decide,’ she said, a nasty tone creeping in to the words. She put a hand on Ignis’ shoulder, hauled him back until he was sitting upright.

The heat and moisture of his breath was leaving his face damp. He tried to focus on his breathing, but it didn’t do anything other than remind him how close and suffocating the bag was.

His hand was shaking as he raised the pliers, fit the little finger of his left hand into the jaws. He shuffled it until it rested over the joint closest to the fingernail, then hesitated, and moved it down to the larger joint. He needed to do it properly, she’d said; he would do it properly.

A soft sound, a wet little moan: Noct.

With every minute he was holding their attention he was holding it away from Noct. With every passing minute they were a minute closer to being rescued. His hands were shaking, still half numb and swollen from being tied, aching, pain running through him, pins and needles and anticipation. He couldn’t see what he was doing. He squeezed the plier handles and felt, through them, his bones shift under the pressure.

Could he do it? He could. For Noct.