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

[(Anonymous)]

His fingers were wet with blood, cold and tacky. He’d lost track of the time. He still had six more nails to go. With every tiny motion, every rise and fall of his chest as he panted for air, the nails shifted inside him, burying in deeper, tearing his insides that much more.

Six more. That was two in his left thigh and four on his right side. He was shaking, hard enough he fumbled with the third nail, and every violent tremor shot hot, sharp agony through his side. His throat bobbed as he swallowed back a hiccup, his throat and stomach clenching hard.

Which next; his thigh, or side? He — he couldn’t decide. His hand hovered uselessly over his lap and he couldn’t make it go anywhere. He didn’t want it to go anywhere.

‘Got five minutes,’ the woman said, and Ignis couldn’t even react beyond squeezing his eyes shut. He’d failed. He could never do this in five minutes.

‘What — what happens if I run out of time?’

The woman made a sound, sucking her teeth. ‘Give the rest to the prince,’ she said, eventually. ‘Make him do ‘em to himself.’

For a single split second, dizzying in its revelation, Ignis realised he wanted to stop. He wanted to let someone else hurt.

Then, sick with the rush of guilt and horror and shame, he shoved the nail into his side — his right side again, with the other two, and his fingers were slipping with the blood and pain, but he forced it deep in. It ground inside him and blood squirted out of the hole it left. He couldn’t let them hurt Noct. He couldn’t. Whatever he did, he couldn’t let that happen.

He picked up two nails, though only one punctured the skin as he pressed them into his left side. The other was at the wrong angle, scraping and falling to the floor instead. He bit his lip, teeth sinking into the flesh, puncturing the skin. He’d do it. He could. He’d save Noct from it.

His clothes were wet with blood, his hands soaked in it. Ignis couldn’t help but curl over, a raw, animal noise pushing itself from his mouth, and that hurt too. He hurt. It hurt but he had to do it.

The fifth nail went in on his left side again, slipping into his muscles, fingers feeling the drag and give as it broke its way in. He had to search for the sixth with his hands, because he couldn’t quite manage to open his eyes, and pressed it in in the same hole as the fifth. It bumped and ground against the fifth, and Ignis turned it so it was angled away, and sobbed and moaned as it tore into him.

Two more. Two more. He’d meant to put them in his thighs but he couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think. He pressed the seventh in around his back, pushing it so it went in parallel to his skin and wouldn’t puncture his liver or kidneys or any major blood vessels. There was still the head poking outside his skin, like a maggot trying to emerge, when the woman said: ‘Time’s up.’

Ignis flinched, lost the nail, and when he found it again it had pushed itself out most of the way. He covered it with his hand and forced himself to look up, open his eyes.

‘No,’ he said, a rasp. ‘No, please. Two more minutes. Please. I can — give me two more minutes. One minute, please—’

He couldn’t sustain his voice; it died into a choked retch, gagging as he shoved the seventh nail back in, all the way this time.

‘One minute,’ the woman said. ‘And you got to do something extra.’

‘Yes,’ Ignis said, though his throat clenched, and for a terrible moment he was convinced he would say no.

The eight nail pushed in below the seventh, making him gasp and gag — and then it was in, and his whole body burnt with pain, but at least it was done. At least he hadn’t let Noct suffer for his incompetence.

And maybe soon they’d be rescued.

Now he was listening he could hear Noct crying, muffled, behind his gag. Every tiny motion — breathing, trembling, shifting to find a less painful position that did not exist — shot agony through him. His sides and legs were wet with blood; blood was smeared on the ground from his hands and as he’d moved his legs. Blood pooled where his soggy trousers met the floor. He was at once too hot and trembling with cold; he wanted to curl into himself, hide his face in his arms, tuck himself into as small a target as possible, but it hurt too much to move.

When would they be rescued? He couldn’t do this. He’d have to, for Noct, but he didn’t think he could do this for much longer. He didn’t want to.

Ignis’ head span, body shaking, and he listened to the sound of clattering, rummaging through a drawer of small things, metal on metal. Then: ‘Shit,’ someone said, a man. ‘You’ve proved your point. Come on.’

‘Fuck off,’ the woman said. Her feet in front of Ignis made him look up, slowly, craning his neck. He flinched back as she dropped two items to the ground in front of him — a lighter, and a steak knife — then flinched again as the first motion yanked on the nails and torn flesh inside him.

‘Don’t want you bleeding to death,’ the woman said, sneer in her tone — and something else, too, that Ignis couldn’t place. It sounded a little like satisfaction. ‘Better burn those shut.’

She had a point, Ignis supposed, as he reached slowly for the lighter, in his left hand, and the knife in his right. His fingers struggled to close around either. If the rescue wasn’t going to be for a while then he might well be at risk of serious blood loss. It would make the surgery to remove the nails more difficult, and lead to a considerably greater risk of infection, but in the short term it might well be a benefit. Infection could be cured. Blood loss and death could not.

His head spun. He couldn’t seem to ever catch his breath. He didn’t want to cauterise his own wounds. But he had to.

He had to. He had to. He couldn’t make his hands move. And the woman hadn’t given him a deadline for this, he realised. He could draw it out, buy time.

He didn’t want to draw it out. He wanted to not be in pain.

His hands were shaking as he held the lighter and flicked it on. His broken fingers pulsed in agony, made gripping the lighter like grasping a knife blade. It took a few goes, then he couldn’t seem to hold the knife still enough over the flame. He could feel it heat his fingers, burning his thumb. How hot did it have to be?

The thin, cheap metal of the knife was glowing a dim red. Hot enough? He ought to know. He couldn’t think. Maybe a little more.

Control his breathing. It would be fine. It was just pain. It would scar, but it wouldn’t do any permanent damage. They’d be rescued — possibly very shortly — and then things could go back to normal. He could tell everyone was looking at him. Him, and not Noct.

He had to put the lighter down and wipe away the blood so he could see where the first puncture hole was. He pinched the hole shut, feeling the head of the nail just inside with his fingertips, a solidness under the skin that shifted at the pressure and dug into him a little deeper. He pressed the knife flat on the wound.

Ignis screamed, and his hand jerked back, dropping the knife. It clattered to the floor and skidded to the other side of the room.

The agony swelled in him. His hands clawed at the floor — both hands, broken fingers pushed out of shape against the concrete. He gagged, retching. Someone kicked the knife back at him.

‘Keep going,’ the woman said. He barely heard her. His hands shook so hard he could barely grasp the knife and lighter, let alone lift them, operate the lighter, hold the knife where it needed to be. But he had to.

At the third puncture wound he threw up, bile and phlegm for lack of anything else in his stomach. The fourth he blacked out, and woke to someone’s boot grinding into his belly.

His throat was raw from screaming; he could barely see, barely think, barely move his hands. People were shouting at him, ordering him. He knew he had to follow their orders. He found the fifth wound by touch, because he couldn’t see it any more.

He couldn’t feel anything other than pain — not the floor under him, the knife in his hands, the heat from the lighter. His heart raced in his chest, in his throat, weak and thready. His breath rasped from his lungs, out his mouth, and scraped its way back in again, and he couldn’t hear anything but that. He had to brace himself with the heels of his palms on the floor, press the knife against the lighter just to get it to stay there and not fall away from the force of his shaking. He could barely see, only just make out the brightness of the flame.

He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t manage the next one — didn’t even know which one it was, where it was; he’d lost count of how many he’d burnt shut, how many he had left to do. He couldn’t locate the wounds in the agony overflowing from his body. His fingertips were numb, useless, unable to find the holes in his expanse of his skin.

He couldn’t heat the knife. Couldn’t press it into himself. He was swaying, and it hurt, but he couldn’t stop.

The knife and lighter fell from his nerveless hands. He couldn’t — he had to, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t. Maybe he’d regret it later, but—

Noct. He still had to do this for Noct. Someone was still coming to rescue them. Rescue Noct.

He reached out for the knife, the lighter, but he couldn’t find them. His hands scraped then fell still on the floor; he couldn’t see. He couldn’t move except the uneven heaving of his body sucking in breath after breath. Something pushed him to one side, and he fell, boneless. It hurt, but then everything hurt, and he thought he made a sound, keening, but he couldn’t hear anything.

He passed out, and didn’t wake up when kicked.

He was still unconscious when the Kingsglaive knocked down the door; he didn’t feel the hands on him, or hear Noct’s voice, raw and desperate and terrified, calling his name.

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

[(Anonymous)]

but at least it was done. At least he hadn’t let Noct suffer for his incompetence.

/screams into the void

God damn it Ignis’s terror and how much he wants to stop and to not hurt, and that he keeps going because of Noct——ugh. It’s all perfect.

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

[(Anonymous)]

He's torn between not wanting to be hurt, basic human instinct, and the need to protect Noct above all else, which has been ground into him for the past decade :( thank you <3

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

[(Anonymous)]

I absolutely love how young and unprepared and overwhelmed Ignis is here, and yet everything he'll turn into is already there. Ride or die, and it's just absolutely painful and horrible and perfect.

And poor Noct, eeeeeeep.

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

[(Anonymous)]

He's only a baby D: but a baby who's been taught very specifically for the past decade. Thank you!

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

[(Anonymous)]

All lovely and horrible. Very nice.

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

[(Anonymous)]

Thank you! <3