Prompto hasn't been afraid of fairy monsters under the bed for years now. There are other ghosts that come for him in the night, and those ones, those ones are real.
In the end, when the Nightmare King comes for Prompto, he comes as a young man with pitch hair and white skin. (Kinkmeme fill, WIP.)
Fandoms: Final Fantasy XV
04 Nov 2017
It starts with a photograph that Ignis holds up in front of Noctis one day when he's sixteen, seventeen soon, a drowsy, clumsy, scowling Sunday morning crumpled in bed, the kind Ignis always drops by on to make sure Noctis's done his homework for the dreary Monday to come.
Noctis takes a couple blinks to register it in the shades-down sunlight of his apartment bedroom, and then snatches the phone out of Ignis's hand, bolting up, hair standing on end, incensed and red in the face.
"That was private," Noctis hisses.
"You, Highness, are a public figure," Ignis says mildly. "Nothing in your life is private."
(Prompto and Noctis, and the years nobody will remember.)
The third sign of trouble is that Prompto's lying on the ground, curled up on his side, clutching his thigh and writhing in pain.
As he watches, Noctis fumbles a potion from his pocket. He holds his hand above the injured leg and crushes the bottle; liquid patters out onto the flesh with a flash of magic, but if Prompto is aware of it, he makes no indication. Now that Ignis is closer, he can hear the noises Prompto's making: soft whimpers that come with every outward breath.
"It's not working," says Noct, as soon as Ignis is in hearing distance. "This is the second one I've tried. It's like he can't even feel a difference."
"Thankfully," says Ignis, "the spiders in this area aren’t of the venomous variety."
Prompto perks up, and sets a paper bag of cookware on top of a rock. "Well, that's a relief."
"Certain other species," says Ignis, "are not nearly so benign."
Noct laughs a little at Prompto's face, which is caught somewhere between terror and disbelief. "C'mon, Specs, quit trolling him. He's gonna wish he didn't come."
"Specs has the spare," Noct breathes, and Prompto, eyes wide with terror, vaults off him and to the other corner of the couch. He yanks the throw blanket off the couch's back and onto his lap, not an instant too soon.
Because the door clicks open and then there's Ignis, toeing off his shoes and stepping into the entryway. "Good evening," he says, pleasant and mild.
"Hey," Noct answers, pretending at indifference.
"Hi," squeaks Prompto, face a remarkable shade of red.
Bookmarked by wolfvonbiele93
24 May 2018