final_fantasy_kink_meme

ffkinkmeme posting in

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

Ask a Mod
Fills Post
Chat and Off-Topic Discussion
Pinboard

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From: (Anonymous)

He didn’t catch whether Sota managed to speak to the paramedics, but when he clambered into the back of the ambulance behind Ignis, sitting down on the thin bench to the side, no one bothered him except to tell him to strap in. Noctis fumbled with the seatbelt and managed to clip it in. His hands were clumsy. The process of clipping in a seatbelt seemed more complex than it ought to be, or had been even a few hours ago. They were all talking, the paramedics, quick and calm like Ignis wasn’t gasping and shuddering, trying to fight the straps that tied him down to the stretcher. Noctis couldn’t figure out what they were saying. The words slid off him like oil on water, like they were talking in a language he didn’t know.

He wanted to reach out, reassure Ignis, but he was at Ignis’ feet and there was someone in the way from reaching over to touch even his thigh or hip. They were sticking the pads of a machine Noctis distantly registered as a heart monitor to Ignis’ chest. Noctis watched, thinking that they must have, at some point, cleaned away the blood, but he couldn’t say when. Ignis’ sides were blotchy purple, dark, like the worst bruises Noctis had ever seen — and he’d seen plenty of bad ones — only they were both massive, too, almost touching each other over his stomach, curling down underneath him. Noctis only managed to look away when they covered Ignis up with a thin blanket, tucking it around him. The siren started; the ambulance rolled forwards, and a woman sat next to him, strapping herself down.

‘Don’t worry, Your Highness,’ she said, with the briskness of someone who dealt with emergencies twice daily. ‘He’ll be right as rain. Now, let me have a look at you.’

It took a second to even understand what she wanted. Noctis just blinked at her, then nodded as she reached out to take his hands. He looked down, and realised she was examining the redness of his wrists where the rope had cut into him. There were thin lines of bruising, swollen and red, but it hadn’t even broken the skin.

‘Are you in any pain? Did they tie you anywhere else?’

‘No. Uh, and my ankles, but.’ Noctis bent his legs, lifting them so he could rest his heel on the seat and let the woman roll up his trouser leg and examine the bruises without having to get up. ‘That’s all. They really didn’t touch me.’

The ambulance turned, jerking Noctis to one side. His throat clenched, stomach bucking. Then the ambulance turned again and he had to swallow as he retched, vomit burning up his throat, the taste of it creeping into the back of his throat.

It was fine. They were taking Ignis to the hospital. They were going to treat him. He’d be better in no time. The heart monitor beeped, and beeped, and beeped. Had it got faster? All the beeping and the siren and the paramedics talking was too much. He couldn’t take any of it in.

‘No.’ Ignis’ voice made Noctis’ head snap up so fast a shiver of pain ran down his neck. ‘Please,’ Ignis said, tugging at his arms. His face was grey, sweat-sheened. His hair had fallen out of its styling and was sticking to his skin in clumps. He was panting open-mouthed, lips wet with red-streaked saliva, shallow gasping that made his shoulders hitch and shudder. His eyes were unfocused, his face scrunched up in pain.

‘Please,’ Ignis said, thick and breathless. ‘Don’t hurt him, I can still — I can still do it, please—’

He only stopped because he started to gag, whimpering around the wet, gasping heaves, and it took a moment to realise what he meant even though Noctis kinda already knew Ignis didn’t get what was going on. Ignis still thought they were back with their kidnappers. He still thought he had to torture himself, just to keep Noctis safe.

The paramedics were talking again, quick and forced calm, and the woman besides Noctis was leaning forwards to say something to Ignis and hadn’t that been the point of Noctis, shouldn’t he be the one trying to comfort Ignis? Only he couldn’t even move, barely even sit properly as he was jostled around in his seat, and his tongue was thick and useless like a giant slug in his mouth, and he wanted to be sick. He wanted to be curled up in bed. He wanted Ignis to be better. He wanted his dad.

Maybe the glaive would tell his dad which hospital they’d gone to, and he’d be there. Probably not when they arrived, but soon after, maybe.

‘Please,’ Ignis said, and Noctis wanted him to just stop already.

There was this feel of dread like a hand closing over his lungs — even though his lungs were fine, it was Ignis who clearly couldn’t breathe or something, he didn’t know. But seeing Ignis lying strapped up, covered with that shitty-looking blanket, crying and panting and struggling and in pain, thinking they were still back in that room — maybe he shouldn’t have gone in the ambulance. He was just taking up space. He didn’t want to see Ignis like this any more, and knowing that made him feel like the smallest, shittiest person in the world.

The woman sitting next to him handed him another blanket, and Noctis took it without thinking. He realised he was shaking, and tugged it over his shoulders.

It was weirdly, deceptively warm. He pulled it closer around himself.

‘Can you drive smooth for a minute?’

Noct didn’t hear if the driver replied, but the urgent sway of the ambulance slowed, and Noctis wanted to shout at them but couldn’t even open his mouth — they shouldn’t be slowing down — they should be going faster, what the fuck—

They pulled back the blanket and slid an IV needle into his arm; Ignis didn’t even seem to register it. The bag held clear liquid, but the writing on it was tiny, and Noctis couldn’t read it with his eyes stinging. He scrubbed at them. It was fine. Ignis would be fine. They’d been rescued, they were going to the hospital, and they’d operate on Ignis and even his fingers would heal fine and then they could just… move on. Go back to how it used to be. Noctis squeezed his eyes shut and tried his best to push away the waves everything awful rushing up to crush him down, swallow him whole.

It was his fault. His fault and he didn’t even want to look at Ignis. Didn’t want to be around him unless he was better already, and what kind of person did that make him? What kind of prince, or friend?

The sound of crinkling made him open his eyes, and he saw them cover Ignis in a foil blanket, over the one he had already. He had a plastic mask over his face, too — an oxygen mask — and it distorted but didn’t hide his open, bloodied mouth. But he wasn’t trying to speak any more. He wasn’t struggling, either.

His eyes closed. Even though Noctis could see him still breathing, could see the heart monitor and the single line pattern of Ignis’ heartbeat, his insides lurched like he’d been dropped ten feet into cold water.

The ambulance stopped. The woman beside Noctis was already up, opening the back doors, and Noctis sat still while they wheeled Ignis out. No one paid him any attention. He fumbled with his seatbelt, unclipping it even harder than doing it up, and stepped down the ramp into the ambulance parking bays.

He could see the main entrance to the hospital, just down the road. He walked up to it and went in, ignoring how everyone was looking at him.

‘Oh—’ a woman sidled up beside him, eyes wide, dressed in some kind of nurse’s uniform. ‘Ah, um—’

She didn’t know how to address him, Noctis thought dully. ‘Please forgive the sudden appearance,’ he said, words coming out clean and routine. ‘I was accompanying someone who was just taken into ER. Is there anywhere private I could wait?’

‘Of course! Just this way—’ She hesitated only for a second before taking him through one of the staff doors, and Noctis followed numbly.

‘Some Kingsglaive will be here soon,’ he said, as they walked. ‘If they could be informed of my location, and brought to me if they ask, that would be ideal.’

‘Of course.’

What would be ideal would be if Ignis wasn’t hurt and they weren’t in the hospital in the first place. ‘Ignis Scientia,’ Noctis said. ‘That’s — my retainer. Who was just brought in. If I could have… if you could inform me when he is out of surgery and taking visitors, I would be grateful.’ Because he couldn’t ask her to break patient confidentiality by demanding she tell him everything. Couldn’t push and push and push until she gave in, like he did — like with Ignis.

He was put in a private waiting room, and given water and offered coffee or any other drinks, or food, which he turned down. Then he was left alone. He stared at the floor. He didn’t have his phone. He didn’t have anything that wasn’t the literal clothes on his back. They must have given him something to dull his magic, remove his access to the armiger, so he couldn’t even pick out his phone or a game or magazine or anything. He should have asked one of the glaive to lend him one of their phones. Or he could ask to use a hospital one. But that would involve speaking to people.

His hands were shaking, just a little. He clenched them tight, palm to palm, between his knees. When would the glaive arrive? Would they know where to go to find him?

What if he just got caught again when there was no one here and he was defenseless, and Ignis not there to protect him?

Where even was Ignis? What if he died? What if the surgery went wrong and—

Footsteps, a knock on the door. ‘Come in,’ he said, and Sota came in.

‘Your Highness,’ she said, and bowed. ‘How are you holding up?’

‘I’m, uh,’ Noctis said. ‘Good.’

Sota gave him a look that said she didn’t believed him, but was at least going to humour him. ‘I’ve asked a doctor to swing round,’ she said, ‘to give you another look over. Your father has been informed of the situation and is on his way here.’

‘Oh,’ Noctis said. He didn’t have anything else to say. His lungs didn’t seem to have enough air. He squeezed his hands harder between his knees until they started to hurt.

The doctor arrived first, and Noctis sat through round after round of questions, gentle poking and prodding, disinfectant and gauze on the scrapes around his wrists. Then the doctor left and he went to the bathroom to wash his face, and brush his teeth with a toothbrush Sota gave him, because he hadn’t brushed his teeth since before being kidnapped — obviously, but still — and they said he could use the shower but he didn’t want to risk being in there while his dad arrived, so he didn’t. He slouched back down on the soft cushions on the couch and at the muted TV playing on the wall opposite.

It was playing the news, but none of it about him being kidnapped. They’d managed to keep it hidden, then. That was — good, he guessed. Now he was safely back they could work out how to spin the story. And the kidnappers were dealt with and the Glaive would find out who was behind it all in the first place, because they hadn’t demanded information or ransom or anything. He supposed they could have been waiting to take him somewhere — and only him, because Ignis had obviously been kidnapped because he’d been with Noct, and was himself not necessary, expendable, and even just thinking that word made Noctis’ stomach go cold and tight. They’d have taken him out of Insomnia, leaving Ignis’ body behind. Waiting for the right moment or the pickup to arrive or something, Noctis didn’t know, and he needed to stop thinking about it because he could feel his hands practically vibrate even pinned down. Sota wasn’t looking at him, but she had to be able to tell.

He didn’t want to break down in front of her and his dad. But the shaking wasn’t going away. It was getting worse, and was Ignis doing okay? Were they cutting him open to tug out the nails right at that moment? Or setting his broken fingers? What if something had gone wrong? What if they’d opened up an artery and he was bleeding to death on the surgery table?

How long did this kind of thing last? Two hours? Five? Ten? They’d let him stay until he could see Ignis, right? What if it took all night?

His dad came into the waiting room quietly, without announcement, or even knocking, only Clarus by his side. He eased shut the door behind them, and Noctis looked up. ‘Dad,’ he croaked, and lurched forwards out of his chair at the same time as his dad stepped towards him and reached out to gather him up in his arms.

‘Noctis,’ his dad was saying, crushing him tight in the hug, and Noctis clung back and buried his face in his dad’s shoulder. He didn’t care that he was crying, or shaking so hard he thought he’d fall apart. His dad was here. He’d make it better. It’d be okay.