ignis enthusiast

The cool sea breeze dances around Noctis as he stares out at the dark expanse of the sea. Moonlight glitters off the waves serenely, the repetitive ebb and flow of the tide echoing in his ears. He’s sat on a rock at the edge of Galdin Quay’s expansive beach, the chill of the night air seeping into his bones. 

He tilts his head back and inhales deeply, grounding himself in the scent of the salty and fresh sea air. He isn’t quite sure how long he’s been out here since he left his phone in the hotel room, needing to get away. He isn’t exactly supposed to be out on his own, what with the war and all, but he needs to be grounded, to be alone. 

He can’t stand how Prompto and Ignis stared at him in pity all day. Gladio had even let him take a day off training, leaving him to his own devices in his room. Prompto had done his best to cheer him up, cracking jokes and offering him the new loot he’d gotten in King’s Knight. But there was nothing that could be said that would make this easier. 

Whatever this is. 

In just hours he’d lost everything he’s ever known. A few days ago he’d never left Insomnia, and now it’s lost to him unless he performs an impossible task. 

He’d been groomed for this moment his entire life, picked apart and reconstructed in the image of some vague words from a centuries-old prophecy. Maybe it’s childish, selfish even, but he doesn’t want this.

He never wanted any of this. 

He didn’t want to watch his father sacrifice his own life every day as that stupid fucking ring sucked the life from the man who had raised him. He didn’t want to spend his days buried in history books and math problems until his head spun. He didn’t want to be followed by servants, trainers, aristocrats, and nannies alike every second of his day. 

He wanted to be like the other boys in school, the ones who got to go home and play video games. They went home to the loving arms of their parents, doing sports and hanging out until the sun went down. They joked about dropping out and failing classes, carefree as they graduated to their normal 9-to-5 jobs. They’d get to choose their wife, choose if they even have kids. 

Not him.

On days like this, he would give anything to be those boys. He would give anything to be a boy. Not a prince, not a king, not the Chosen King, but a boy. 

Instead, the weight of an entire kingdom presses down on his shoulders on top of the cosmic weight of his loss. He almost feels like the Archean, holding the weight of his grief to keep from crushing him. He’d become an orphan and a king in the same instant, his entire world tipping on its axis.

He’d been preparing for this day his entire life. His father’s early demise had been an unfortunate inevitability, whether it be from the toll keeping up the barrier inflicted on his body or from an incursion by the Empire. His entire childhood had been spent cramming as much knowledge into him as possible, trying to make the small feet of a child fill the boots of a king.

Nothing could have prepared him for this, to feel so small in front of such insurmountable odds. To be alone, truly alone, for the first time in his life. 

The way everyone’s eyes fell on him made his skin crawl. They look at him as a pitiful king, a shithead kid who got thrown in the deep end. He wants to prove them wrong, but he knows he can’t. 

He’s barely a respectable prince. He shirks his training more than he should, being dragged out of bed by Ignis or Gladio every morning like a petulant child. He’s a boy in the shape of a prince, still searching for childhood and freedom that don’t exist. 

Out here he can disappear into the darkness, fading away like a shadow. Closing his eyes, he can pretend he’s just a part of the black night. He lets the darkness cocoon him like a blanket and feels himself shrink until he’s nothing more than a marble in his mind’s eye.  

He’s brought back to reality by the sound of footsteps shuffling through the sand and sighs in annoyance knowing his time is done. 

“Noct.” Ignis’s voice cuts through the darkness, hard and chastising in a way that makes his charge’s chest tense whenever he hears it.

“What?” Noct snaps back, automatically retracting into his shell as his retainer approaches. 

“You know better than this,” The retainer retorts, annoyance and anger tinging his voice. “To galavant off on your own during such dangerous times is irresponsible at best and suicidal at worst.”

“I wouldn’t need to ‘galavant off’ if you guys weren’t breathing down my neck 24/7,” He replies, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. “Has it ever occurred to you that being surrounded by people gets suffocating sometimes?” 

“Of course it has!” Ignis responds, his voice rising slightly. “But you have no choice. You are King of Lucis, you need to begin acting like it!”

“You think I don’t fucking know that?” Noct yells back, his voice breaking. “It’s only been everything I’ve been taught to be for the last twenty fucking years!” 

Ignis softens at this, uncrossing his arms as his prince continues. It’s rare to see Noct so vulnerable and raw, unobscured by the blase mask he puts on for the outside world.

“Everything I knew is gone and now I have to live up to some insane prophecy I didn’t even ask to be part of or everyone is going to die,” Tears well in Noctis’s eyes as he paces around the beach, his hands digging into his dark hair. Ignis wants to reach out to him, to soothe him like he has so many times before. It almost physically hurts to watch Noctis like this but he knows the younger needs to get it out, to release the emotions like a volatile tidal wave, or else all they will do is fester.

“I don’t want any of this.”

In this moment he looks so infinitesimally small, shrinking into himself with tears shining in the corners of his eyes. He looks the same as when Ignis had seen him first break down when he was young. He had been eight years old on the floor of his room bawling about how he ‘doesn’t want Daddy to die,’ after Regis had first collapsed from the effort of maintaining the barrier. 

The same face he had seen that day is staring back at him, and he feels a surge of protectiveness rise in him like a wave. He strides slowly forward, taking Noctis by the shoulder and wordlessly embracing him as the younger boy buries his face in his shoulder.

He rubs his hand gently along Noctis’s back as the younger finally breaks down, sobbing like a child into his shoulder. His heart clenches at the way his prince’s hands clench onto his nightshirt as he cries, choked sobs muffled from where his face is buried against Ignis’s shoulder. 

“I can’t do it,” Noct heaves out, his body collapsing fully against his retainer as tears flow in wet rivulets down his face. 

“You can,” Ignis says gently, his hand gently smoothing over Noct’s unruly hair. “We will find a way when you are ready. You have risen to every challenge before this, and I’m confident you will do it again.”

This response seems to only amplify the younger man’s distress, his hands clenching tighter into Ignis’s nightshirt and his jaw so tense the tendons visibly move beneath the wet skin of his cheek. Ignis is familiar with this shadow of doubt and self-sabotage. It’s the one that creeps in when exam season happens and Noctis always assumes he failed no matter how hard he studied. It’s the same one that makes him shirk his training with Gladio, instead opting to hide at Prompto’s playing King’s Knight until one of his retainers can pry him out. After all, if he sets expectations so low, who is there to disappoint?

And yet he so dearly wants to live up to their expectations. Ignis saw the way Noctis always preened under praise, especially from the King. He’s constantly caught in a war between his own selfish desires and the needs of the kingdom, and Ignis wishes so dearly Noct could be selfish, just this once.

They’re all in positions of service and sacrifice, but Noctis is so young with so much on his shoulders. He’s a boy who needs to become a king under impossible circumstances. There is no room for selfishness in the cruel reality they’ve been granted.

Noctis’s sobs have died down to a quiet stream of tears, quiet sniffing drowned out by the drone of the waves. His hands still hold Ignis close, gently shaking. 

“Do you trust me, Noct?” 

The question seems to catch the prince off guard, curious red-rimmed eyes peering up at Ignis. 

“Of course I do, what kind of question is that?” He replies, his voice still thick with tears. 

“Then trust in me that I will ensure you are up to the task. Have I ever failed you before?” This seems to stun Noctis, the gears in his head visibly turning as he slowly forms a reply.

“No,” He replies hesitantly, one of his hands dropping from Ignis’s shirt.

“Then trust that I will see my duty through. Can you do that?” 

There’s a pregnant pause while Noctis mulls over the thought in his mind, nervously gnawing his bottom lip absentmindedly.

“Okay.” Is all the prince replies, and Ignis considers that a win. He rubs Noct’s back as he directs him back towards the hotel. 

“Let’s get you warmed up then, hm? I can’t see my duty through if you catch a cold out here.” 

“‘Kay.” 

“And Noctis?”

“Yes?”

“I think I love you.”

The sweet words ring out in the room like a gunshot. It must have been, after all, with the way his heart clenches and soars in his chest as a grin grows on his face.

It’s different from the way she said it, full of hesitance and a raw innocence that nearly brings him to his knees. Your cheeks are dark, your teeth gnawing at your plush bottom lip while you try to resist fidgeting. The adoration that flows through him at the sight is hot and all-consuming like a rain of holy fire. He’s flooded with the need to feel you, to hold you in his hands and never let you go.

He surges forward on pure instinct, flipping your positions so he can fit his hand against your waist as he kisses you into the couch. You feel perfect underneath him, and for a moment he wonders if you were handcrafted just for him. 

It takes almost everything in him to pull away from your lips, now swollen and glossy.  “You have absolutely no idea how ecstatic that makes me darling,” He sighs. “I’ve loved you since the second I saw you.”

You visibly light up at the words. The way you preen under his touch has his heart soaring again. You let out a sweet giggle, and he’s shocked for a moment when you initiate, pressing a quick peck to his lips before flopping back onto the couch. 

As wonderful and righteous that the love burning in his veins feels, there is an equally dark part of him that only seems to grow. He wants to possess you, to be your everything the same way you are his. The sick satisfaction that runs through him when the neckline of your dress drops just enough for him to see the lovebite he left on your skin is addicting. He wants everyone to know you are his, a queen to be coveted and admired from afar. 

He’ll drape you in the kingdom’s finest jewels and silks, anything you’ll ask for will be yours. He’ll bring every Lucian to their knees at your feet as you sit on the throne, its rightful rulers. He’ll give you a life of luxury and safety, you’ll want for nothing. 

Sometimes his thoughts take a darker turn. Part of him yearns to keep you inside forever, trapped away from prying eyes to only be coveted by him. Sometimes the image of you chained to the bed comes unbidden into his mind, and his fantasies run away with his mind before he can even think to stop them.

He’ll build you your own perfect room in the Citadel looking over your kingdom. He’ll bring you all the books and entertainment you want, and you’ll look after the home while he’s gone. Of course, only his key would be able to unlock the door. He’ll make you something more fashionable than that clunk chain, something dainty and beautiful against your skin. You’ll want for nothing.

Because all you’ll want is him. 

He connects your lips in another kiss and it takes everything in him not to give in to the urge to consume you, to be everything you’ll ever think about. His fingers dig into the plush of your hips as he fights to contain himself.

He knows he isn’t a good man, at least not anymore. But, something makes him want to try for you. 

But a good man doesn’t kidnap women, doesn’t lie, doesn’t kill, doesn’t keep women captive, doesn’t punish sons for the sins of their fathers.

But he isn’t a good man. 

And yet here you are, kissing him as your hands roam over his arms. You’ve chosen to love him despite his shortcomings, despite the vacuous hole in his heart. A good man would be patient with you and wait for you to be ready before taking you. 

He can play the part of a good man. For now.

It almost feels redeeming, the way your mouth moves against him. You hold him with a gentleness he’s never known, your every touch and kiss addictingly sweet. You treat him the way no human would. Your hands are gentle and adoring against his arms where you cling to his biceps, the warmth of your palms seeping through the fabric of his coat. You look at him with adoration and love he’d long become resigned to never seeing again on the face of another.

Despite everything, you’re here. 

He forces himself to pull away from your lips, holding back a smirk at your heavy breaths and flushed face.

“One day you will be the death of me, darling,” He mutters. He flips you again, not sure how much willpower he has left when you look so tempting under him. You take the change in stride, and he smiles as he feels you settle against him again. Your face is snuggled into the junction between his neck and shoulder, your hair tickling against his chin. 

(You’re half hiding your face from embarrassment and half because you’re not quite sure what to do, but he doesn’t need to know that. After all, it’s not every day you get kissed silly by the Imperial Chancellor. At least not yet.)

He almost freezes as he feels your fingers gently comb through his hair, your nails dragging against his scalp. It’s so tender, so intimate that he feels the urge to push you off him. To run, like he’s been doing for so long. 

Since Verstael found him in that cursed place so long ago he’s always been performing. Whether it was the role of scientist, socialite, confidant, or strategist he’d played every role to perfection. He’d fashioned masks to cover his darkness, never becoming too attached to anyone throughout his time with the Empire. 

Everyone was simply a tool to him. Verstael is merely a means to an end, a pest he continues to favor for his influence and resources. The Emperor is nothing more than a puppet he whispers honeyed words to. After all, royal politics has changed so little through the ages. He’d learned to never grow too attached to anyone by focusing only on his plans, becoming all work and no play. It was simply a game, and he was only playing to win.

Until you.

The amount of love he feels terrifies him, consuming him in a destabilizing flash of fear. The thought of you leaving, of someone taking you, rips his heart in two. It’s a frightening feeling, and he resists the urge to run that had been so deeply ingrained in him for so many years. But he refuses to let that happen, refuses to let you suffer the same fate as her.

And so instead he forces himself to relax into the touch of your fingers in his hair, your hands tentative as they explore. Your hands are gentle as they card through his long auburn locks. The faint scratch of your nails against his scalp has him preening like a cat as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

“I love you, darling, always and forever.”

-

You’re fast asleep on top of Ardyn, nestled into his many layers of clothing like a happy cat. He isn’t sure how long you’ve been together like this; Maybe minutes, maybe hours. He’s been basking in the warmth of your touch, running his hands gently over every dip and curve of your body reverently as your chest rises and falls. 

You’re different. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about it, about her in years. He still remembers watching her be cut down, blood staining her white gown as she’d collapsed and the life had been sucked from her veins. 

It’s undeniable that you’re different, both physically and mentally from your predecessor. You have a fire in you, a spirit sharpened and honed from a cold and hard life. You are a tempered blade, tested and true. 

When he had first seen you, he hadn’t known how to feel about your differences. He’d worried you’d be different, that this was all some cruel trick by the gods.

But he’d seen the cracks in your armor when you’d sneak out behind the barracks to feed a stray cat the scraps of your dinner, or when you helped a comrade to the infirmary. It was the same sweetness and love he had seen all those centuries ago, but something about it was so uniquely you. 

And after all, who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth?

-

“Are we seriously going to do nothing?” Prompto says incredulously, and Ignis sighs as Gladio shakes his head.

“Iggy and I have a duty to Noct first, Prompto,” Gladio points out, sizing up the younger man as his agitation grows.

“I know!” He whines, throwing up his hands in desperation. “But we can’t just leave her with that maniac! I mean seriously, who knows what that sicko is doing to her!” 

“She understood the risks when she agreed to accompany us, Prompto. She swore the same oath to the crown as all of us,” Ignis retorts tiredly, rubbing his uninjured temple with a gloved hand.

The blond balks at his words, sputtering frustratedly. “Yeah, but Noct would say the same! You both know this!”

“Yes,” Ignis sighs. “Which is why Gladiolus and I would not be able to allow it. We are intended to help the Chosen King fulfill his duties, not to be hired hands. Part of that duty is sacrifice.” 

Prompto knows they’re right, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. Sure, you hadn’t known each other long but he’d grown fond of you over the time you’d spent together. It goes against everything he knows to leave someone behind like this, but what choice do they have?

“I can ask the Marshall to look into it,” Gladio sighs, immediately soothing Prompto’s nerves. He trusts the Marshall, they all do. If they can’t look for you, he’s the next best thing. 

“Don’t you think that may be a tad too personal for the Marshall?” Ignis asks, and Prompto’s ears perk up. 

“He’s all we have. He’s a professional, he can get the job done,” Gladio replies, already standing up to call the Marshall. Seemingly sensing Prompto’s curiosity, Ignis shakes his head before speaking.

“I do not enjoy divulging the personal matters of my colleagues, but our comrade was raised within the crownsguard by the Marshall and other soldiers. I do not know how close they were if they were at all, but it is always a risk when working with family.” 

The revelation shocks Prompto. The Marshall never seemed like a very parental figure, emotionally distant and hardened by years of battle. He can barely imagine the man having a life outside of work, let alone raising a child. 

He thinks back to if there were any clues he may have missed. You were miles ahead of him in terms of training, so he’d never seen much of you until you’d been assigned to accompany them. You always seemed alone and standoffish, not like someone who was given preferential treatment. 

“Huh.” Is all he can think to reply.

Outside, Gladio grimaces as he asks his superior for help. The Marshall’s tone betrays nothing as he agrees to the request, hanging up before Gladio can get a word in edgewise. Though he knows Ignis is right, guilt eats away at his gut every day. He was supposed to be a protector, and yet he hadn’t been there when you and Noct needed him most. 

But he can’t dwell on that now, not when he has a duty to fulfill. He can’t fail now, not when so much is on the line. 

“You don’t have to,” He coos gently, raising a hand to your face to dry your tears. “Just let me take care of you, sweet thing.” 

There’s a small voice in the back of your head screaming that this is wrong, for you to run and never look back, but you push it to the back of your head and reluctantly nod. A grin plasters itself on the Chancellor’s face at your assent and he leans back in, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

-

You aren’t sure how much time has passed since your original outburst. The thrum of the Chancellor’s heartbeat against his chest had lulled you into a pleasantly warm headspace as your sobs quieted and your breathing slowly evened out. 

Now your upper half is flush with his, your hands and cheek resting on his chest while his heartbeat thumps against your ear. The Chancellor’s arm is draped around your waist holding you both delicately and firmly, like you’re a piece of expensive pottery that may tip and shatter at any moment. 

Your hips are slotted between his legs, the trunks of muscle caging you in on both sides. His face is still pressed against the top of your head, absentmindedly pressing kisses into your hair and occasionally mumbling reassurances quietly as his other hand rubs slow circles into your back with his fingertips.

You sleepily preen under his touch like a cat, your mind exhausted from your inner conflict. It almost feels like your rational self has been ejected from your body as you watch yourself cuddle further into his chest. You distantly feel pangs of disgust invade your consciousness, but they are overpowered by the warm and fuzzy feeling slowly taking over your mind.

The warmth slowly spreads until all you can focus on is the weight of Ardyn’s arm against your back and the patterns his fingertips trace on your skin. The distant drumbeat of his heart lulls you further into the sensation, your mind pleasantly empty of anything except Ardyn Ardyn Ardyn. 

Above you, the Chancellor smiles to himself as he feels you melt into his touch. Satisfaction thrums through him as you snuggle closer to him, humming contentedly against his chest like a cat. 

Months ago you would have never let yourself be in this position, not voluntarily at least. You would have fought him until you had no energy left– scratching, punching, kicking, and biting until your limbs gave out. 

Now? Well, you’re preening against the tips of his fingers, your hands not pushing against him but instead pulling him closer. 

It’s intoxicating, really. Your hair smells like fresh sylleblossoms and ulwaat berries and the warmth of your form against him is enchanting. Being this close to you after being apart for so long– it’s worth every moment he’d spent in Angelgard. 

You may not be the person he once knew, but you are now something so much more. A second chance, a holy altar for him to throw himself at the feet of in supplication. He would burn the entire world for you if it would mean you could rule it together. He would bring you the heads of each of the Six on a platter if you only asked.

The same fire he had seen so many centuries ago in her eyes burned in yours, he had seen it when you made your attempt on his life the very first day. It was a holy fire, incandescent and righteous as you slid your blade across his skin. He saw it again when you resisted his touches, when you fought against him with everything you had. 

But beneath that fire, he had seen what there truly was. 

Fear. Fear and longing. 

He had been forced to watch as those blasted Lucians swept away the rest of your childhood, acting as if it was some sort of honor for you to be turned into a child soldier raised in a “home” that was scarcely more than a bunk and a shower. As you’d been chosen to serve that ungrateful Chosen King as he used you as nothing more than a pawn in his rotation of “friends” that were barely better than hired help. 

He had watched how hard you had tried to fit in with them, how you were constantly trying to prove your worth. You had glowed under Ignis’s rare praise and taken on extra training sessions with Gladiolus to keep up your physique. 

You wanted to belong, to be loved. Oh, how it had pained him to withhold himself for so long. But now you’re here, as real under his touch as the soil is beneath his feet. 

He’s overcome with emotion as he brings his hand to your chin, tipping it up to meet his gaze. Your eyes are glassy with contentment, unconcealed adoration blooming across your features as red begins to dust across your cheeks. You close the distance between the two of you this time, slowly creeping up his chest. Hesitance slows you, but the Chancellor doesn’t mind. It gives him more time to savor your expression as you slowly close the distance between your lips, all your inner conflict from before melted away.

It starts with just a simple peck. The joy that zips through his being at the brief contact has him leaning back in, capturing your lips again in a sweet kiss.

There’s no urgency as you move together, taking the time to bask in the warmth of the feeling as your lips move together. One of his hands moves to cup the small of your back while the other cards through the roots of your hair, tilting your head up to deepen the kiss even further.

When he pulls away he’s stuck by how absolutely enchanting you look. Your pupils are blown wide, your eyes still glassy from whatever sleepy daze you may have been in. Your lips are swollen and red, becoming glossy as you swipe your tongue absentmindedly against your bottom lip. He’s tempted to ravish you right then and there on the couch, his desires raising in the back of his head like a looming shadow.

Not today, not when he’s already gotten so much from you. 

So instead he dips his mouth to the slope of your collarbone, latching onto the delicate skin gently with his teeth before gently beginning to suck a mark onto your smooth skin. 

He forces himself to tamp down the spark of desire in him again as you roll your head to the side, giving him full access to the area as his hand moves from the center of your back to your waist. When he pulls away you look at him confusedly as he admires his handiwork, bruise slowly blooming at the base of your neck. 

“In case Verstael gets any ideas again,” He says, answering your wordless question as he pulls you back into his chest. 

You both let the silence settle, comfortable and warm as you bask in each other’s presence. Something shifted in your brain as you lay there, your thoughts slowly sliding away like honey. Why had you ever fought against this? Why had you denied yourself the love you’d been denied for so long? You’d been so tired before, so exhausted from trying to impress people who didn’t love you. Always searching, but never finding any in the coldness of the barracks. 

Now you have someone who loves you enough to stay with you even after you’d hurt him so much. Someone who makes you feel loved and tells you how he feels. 

You’d been trying to get back to a world that didn’t exist. Noct and the others are dead, and you can’t turn back time to make the Empire un-attack the crown city. You wanted a life that had no future. Would you rather be executed as a royal sympathizer? Waste the life that the Chancellor had saved? 

It feels finally tangible now. You slowly untie your hatred, anger, sadness, and grief, shrugging them off like a blanket. You feel a visceral shot of fear go through you as you realize you’re at an emotional precipice, teetering on the edge of an emotion so intense you’re unsure you want to feel it. 

But before you can debate it any longer, you feel yourself fall headfirst into the feeling. 

Love. 

You feel a cold pain of fear in your heart as it consumes you, but you quickly force it down, allowing the feeling to bask over you as you listened to his heartbeat underneath your head.

You love Ardyn Izunia.

The realization should disgust you. It should make you want to scream, cry, anything. But nothing bubbles to the surface, just warm happiness. It’s almost destabilizing, how minor this realization feels. 

The you from the beginning of captivity would have been disgusted by current you, would have screamed and called her a traitor for giving in. You can’t seem to find it in yourself to care, though. 

You pick up one of your hands from his chest and move his hand off your hair so you can intertwine your fingers. Ardyn hums with satisfaction at this, impressed you’re being so affectionate for once. His hand is large and warm, his rough palms and calloused fingers contrasting your softened hands. Your callouses from years of training still remained, but your skin had smoothened and softened over time somewhat. 

“What’s going on in that mind of yours, little dove?” He asks as his free hand draws lazy circles on your back. 

“Too much,” You reply, still unsure what to do with your realization. For some reason fear still held you back, and you felt some irrational embarrassment at your epiphany. 

“Specifics, sweetheart,” He requested, and your cheeks flamed at his words. Does he know? No! He can’t know! 

“Uh-” You so desperately want to say it, to get the feeling off your chest, but that primal fear from before stops you. Almost like it’s trying to warn you. 

“I- Uh-” You scrunch up your face as you try to force the words out, trying to calm the wild beating of your heart. 

“I think I love you,” You blurt out, your face getting hot with embarrassment as you saw the grin that grew on the man’s face at your words. Before you knew it he had flipped your positions, pinning you against the couch as he consumed your lips in a searing kiss. 

“You have absolutely no idea how ecstatic that makes me darling,” He replies, and for a moment you’re afraid he won’t say it back. 

“I’ve loved you since the second I saw you.”

You giggle with glee at his words, pressing a brief kiss to his lips before flopping back down to the couch.