Prompt Post Round Six
Nov. 14th, 2017 04:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ffxv_kinkmod posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
ffxv_kinkmeme Welcome to Round Six of the FFXV Kink Meme!
CLOSED for prompts | OPEN for fills
Please have a look at the extended rules here.
The important rules in short:
Please direct any questions or report any problems to the Ask a mod post.
Prompt, write, draw, comment, and most importantly have fun!
(You can also check out our Pinboard for Filled or Unfilled prompts)
If you'd like to advertise a fill, head on over to the fills post! This is, of course, entirely optional.
CLOSED for prompts | OPEN for fills
Please have a look at the extended rules here.
The important rules in short:
- Post anonymously.
- Negative comments on other people's prompts (kink-shaming, pairing-bashing etc.) and personal attacks of any kind will not be tolerated.
- Don't be an asshole.
- One prompt per comment. Warnings for common triggers and squicks are encouraged, but not required.
- Prompts should follow the format: Character/character, prompt.
- Keep prompts to a reasonable length; prompts should not be detailed story outlines.
- Fills should have the word "Fill:" at the start of the subject line.
- Otherwise please avoid changing the subject line.
- No reposting of prompts from previous rounds, please.
- No Meme-Police. Only ffxv_kinkbuddyffxv_kinkhelper ffxv_kinkbuddy and ffxv_kinkmod are allowed to mod the meme. If you spot a rules violation, don't comment in the thread, report it on the Ask a mod post.
Please direct any questions or report any problems to the Ask a mod post.
Prompt, write, draw, comment, and most importantly have fun!
(You can also check out our Pinboard for Filled or Unfilled prompts)
If you'd like to advertise a fill, head on over to the fills post! This is, of course, entirely optional.
Fill: Ignis/Prompto, undercover as owner/slave, 10/?
Date: 2018-01-17 09:23 pm (UTC)Prompto did his best to shovel an entire platter of eggs into his mouth in one bite. The corner of Ignis's mouth tightened in disapproval out of reflex. Prompto ignored it, using his fork to push a strip of bacon on top as he chewed.
His friend said nothing. Prompto had been trying all morning to lighten the mood, ask questions, and needle Ignis into a proper conversation. Every time he cracked a joke, Ignis's eyes betrayed an ugly pity that was driving Prompto crazy.
He knew he was fucked up! Hell, so was Ignis. He'd be okay. They had seen some pretty rough shit in the recent past. And if Iggy could handle seeing this to the end, so could he.
He wasn't going to drag the team down even further by taking time out for pointless angst.
Ignis looked steadily at him over the lip of his coffee cup, probably thinking, There you go, repressing your feelings. Prompto stuffed a french toast stick into his mouth out of spite.
After their much-needed breakfast, Ignis finally deigned to cooperate with Prompto's avoidance tactics. In some semblance of normalcy, they put their heads together to review and revise today's plan for the last time.
--
Prompto sweated where he stood under the humid weight of the Altissian sun, jaw aching around the gag in his mouth. His hand sweated around the grip of a brightly-decorated parasol. Just in front of him, Ignis sat at a circular table of men and their attendant slaves, all similarly arranged.
He'd been stupid, out of it; he hadn't dropped anything this time, at least. They'd made it smoothly through tea time and ridden with the others to an outdoor course that one of Ignis's new buddies had invited them to. But, once they were there, Ignis had made a remark. Like an idiot, not paying attention, Prompto had responded out loud without thinking.
Prompto had frozen in terror the instant the words left his mouth, remembering the discipline Ignis had subjected him to the day before, but Ignis salvaged the moment by calling for a gag, to silence his "heat-addled" slave.
Prompto had parted his mouth and allowed Ignis to secure the thing firmly around his head in pliant cooperation, letting himself calm down. Ignis hadn't broken his word. He hadn't ruined Ignis's reputation with disobedience. The thing in his mouth stretched his lips wide and left a tiny, constant stream of drool from one corner of his mouth. It was humiliating, but it beat the alternative.
He just had to behave until their game began, so he focused on watching the back of Ignis's head, ignoring the sun that beat down against his neck and made his collar itch. The rest of him was sticky and sweaty beneath the tight new outfit he'd been put in for this last day.
In no time, a soft fanfare sounded from the patio speakers, and guests began standing and checking their equipment. Ignis disappeared alone with the party, leaving Prompto tied to an ornamental iron fence alongside a few of the others. Like at the Totomostro game, the other people kneeling beside Prompto didn't appear to be looking at their surroundings or each another.
At first, Prompto took the opportunity to mentally review their plan for the night. They'd be here a little longer, then Iggy planned for them to make an appearance at a rooftop event before dinner. After that, there was only the last party with the creepy sadist gentlemen's club, which was to be held somewhere offsite, and the best event of them all, according to Ignis's questionable new friends.
The original plan had involved Prompto luring Besithia away at the party and slipping him something debilitative. They'd revised it so that he would be staying behind and getting into the man's room under the same pretenses as the night before, searching the safe in his absence. Ignis would occupy his attention at the party and make sure the drive wasn't being carried on Besithia's person, and Prompto wouldn't have to worry about suffering unexpected public abuse.
Or getting anywhere near the man.
For now, all he had to do was endure the heat and boredom, and try not to fall too deep into his own head.
He yawned and started to doze off against the metal.
Prompto jolted upright at a tug against his leash. He'd fallen asleep. He frowned and looked to where Ignis had secured it to the bars.
To his shock, Verstael Besithia's personal slave held the end, standing beside the man himself.
"Where are we going? You don't have permission to do this," Prompto tried to say as he dragged his feet at the end of the lead. Before he could think, he was being led across the green towards the valet parking circle.
All the carefully-suffocated images, sounds, smells of the previous night filled his head against his will. Through the gag stuffed between his lips, the boy's protests only emerged as so many distorted grunts.
Besithia continued to walk forward, carelessly, the blond slave dragging Prompto forward by the neck whether or not he kept up himself.
They led him to a massive parked car, not unlike the Regalia but larger and fancier, like the one Noct and the King took to state functions.
Both the boy holding his leash and the old man didn't bother acknowledging his protests. Besithia held out a palm for Prompto's leash, which the slave handed to him before turning to open the door.
The spacious interior of the car reminded Prompto of some of the shots he'd taken at his high school prom. Noct'd skipped, and Prompto didn't have a date, so he'd made a few bucks doing photography. The rental limousines a few classmates had pulled up in were sort of like this car. But, like, only in the way a fast food burger could be sort of like one Ignis had made from scratch. Dark leather seating, lights lining the ceiling, the whole look.
Against the spacious interior a man in a white uniform sat, legs out carelessly, talking on the phone. When Besithia's slave opened the door, the man glanced at them, said something into the device, and ended the call, resting in hand on his lap.
Prompto, nose flaring and contracting, felt the broad, flat, hand of the man behind him pushing against his back.
He stumbled forward, coming face to face with the gnarled, drooping face...
...of Research Chief Verstael Besithia.
Re: Fill: Ignis/Prompto, undercover as owner/slave, 10/?
Date: 2018-01-17 10:00 pm (UTC)Fill: Ignis/Prompto, undercover as owner/slave, 11/?
Date: 2018-01-18 05:50 am (UTC)Prompto felt a low chuckle against the back of his neck. His blood ran cold. Prompto turned his head.
A familiar ratty scarf brushed the tip of his nose.
"Verstael, Verstael," drawled the low, creeping voice of Ardyn Izuna against Prompto's ear. "You need only ask, old friend, and the empire I will lay at your feet."
Besithia replied with an exasperated scoff.
"Ardymmmph–!" Prompto shouted into the gag.
Ardyn cut him off with a fraternal pat against the shoulderblades. The impact set him stumbling forward, even as he tried to turn and face the Nif chancellor, reaching out for his weapons. But the man was upon him before he could blink.
"Up you go, now," Ardyn said, digging his thumbs into each of Prompto's wrists. The boy shouted and involuntarily let go. His firearms tumbled to the ground.
Ardyn gripped the collar and hoisted Prompto in the direction of the seated research chief. Prompto threw his arms out to grab at the lip of the chassis, fighting against the other's attempts to shove him in. He reached one arm back, and tried to retrieve his handgun from the Armiger to no avail.
"What's this?" Besithia asked.
Prompto's fingers and toes had gone completely numb. He'd turned away as soon as he heard Ardyn's voice, and couldn't bring himself to look at the man.
Besithia sighed in exasperation. "I haven't got time for your games. The night's events have yet to be finalized, and I've half a mind to call the whole thing off just to get it off of my hands."
"Allow me to stand in, then, and spare yourself the trouble." Ardyn tipped his hat to the scowling old man, ignoring Prompto, who continued to squirm and struggle against the collar. "You know how I adore a good midnight soirée. Speaking of..."
"Incultam's pet?" Besithia cast a clinical glance over Prompto as he said it. Prompto shoved back against Ardyn, using the car for leverage.
"Indeed. We're well acquainted, one might say." Ardyn steered Prompto into the open door headfirst as he said it, seemingly oblivious to the boy's continued protests. "I believe you two enjoyed a little rendez-vous last night."
"You know that, you pest," Besithia said. "You yourself insisted on coming by to collect the boy for his master. What is this about?"
"My friend," Ardyn said. He paused for dramatic effect. Prompto squirmed in his grip.
When Besithia remained impassive, waiting, Ardyn continued. "Do you recall the child who was stolen from the Zegnautus facility?"
"The one those Lucians absconded with?"
"Precisely."
What? Not the next thing he'd been anticipating from Ardyn's mouth. Prompto slackened for a moment in confusion, which was all it took for the man to urge his body over the last several inches of space to drop before Besithia's shins. Besithia was looking past him at Ardyn with new interest.
"I thought you'd like to see the fine young man he's become, these twenty-odd years later."
Prompto couldn't breathe. Between the gag and the collar, the heat of Ardyn's presence at his back, the gravel of his voice vibrating against Prompto's back – an overwhelming sense of suffcation gripped his throat. He tried to say something through it. The words he was hearing filtered against a buzz of white noise that filled his ears. What on earth was happening? What was this?
Ardyn continued with a brisk pat against the back of Prompto's head, as though this were just a lunch date and he a nonpartisan participant. "So, as thanks for bringing your pets to Insomnia, I've brought the boy to you."
He gripped a fistful of Prompto's hair, and twisted him to face Besithia properly.
"Time to meet daddy dearest," he murmured. Prompto whimpered through his nose.
"Go on, take a look," Ardyn said.
Heedless of the boy's attempts to jerk away, Besithia first reached out with one curling hand and restrained Prompto's right arm in an unshakable grip, sneering at his attempt to pull away.
He delicately peeled back Prompto's wristband. Prompto dug his teeth into the gag, as hard as he could.
This was it. The worst moment of his life. Picturing how it would happen had kept him up all night, or woken him in a puddle of sweat, so many times.
He hadn't slept for a week when Noctis told him Ignis was running a background check, not knowing himself what the man might find. He'd thought about runnning away, balanced the grocery money his parents had left against a bus ticket and haircut.
Besithia actually let out a surprised sound as he uncovered Prompto's deepest, darkest secret.
There it was. The black ink stood against his bare skin for all the world to see.
Ardyn clapped his hands together as Prompto wheezed against the gag, tears coming unbidden to his wide-open eyes. Besithia's gaze landed on him now, too, for the first time with obvious interest.
Shaking his head and scrabbling to back away still, he heard the door shut and felt Ardyn move closer to press up against him. The larger man's fist still tugged at his hair, his scalp on fire. Prompto could see every one of the teeth in his mouth.
"Oh, how I love bringing families together."
No... It's not true. You're wrong, dammit! Prompto shouted into the gag harder than ever, but the sound stoppered in his sore throat. He kept shouting and shouting, consumed by instinctive fear that overrode the knowledge no one outside would hear him, and even if they could, one look at the collar and no one would lift a finger to help.
He opened his eyes. He looked desperately at Besithia's slave, kneeling across from him at the man's heels, still holding the end of Prompto's leash, but the boy remained impassively staring into the middle distance.
"So it is," Besithia breathed, scowl relaxing in a moment of genuine surprise. He put down his phone and reached for Prompto's face, cupping his chin in both hands. Ardyn's, still at the back of his neck, prevented him from moving back even an inch. "A clone, one of millions belonging to the NH-series. Born of my own flesh and blood."
Prompto's breakfast tried to leap back up his throat.
"How curious," Besithia continued. He dragged his thumbs down Prompto's cheekbones, gaze wandering hungrily. "To think it was able to reach maturity. And without obvious signs of system failure, at that. The genius of my invention is enough to surprise even me."
Prompto heaved around the gag.
Besithia released him. The man leaned back again, to look past the boy at Ardyn. "You have outdone yourself again, old friend."
"I'm afraid the boy still belongs to our dear friend Mr. Incultam," Ardyn said. Oh, shit. Ignis.
His hands had moved up to knead at Prompto's shoulders. Prompto shook off the grip, and Ardyn allowed it. He snapped his fingers, and Besithia's slave shifted. Prompto just had time to feel his leash going taught again before his chin landed against the carpet of Besithia's car. The other boy had trapped a short length of lead against the ground with both hands.
"But I daresay... he's not the most well-behaved."
Prompto jerked again, gasping like a fish, unable to raise his head a single inch.
Ardyn laughed under his breath. He pet Prompto's hair in slow, lazy strokes as he continued to address Besithia. "Perhaps your enterprising young friend will accept a finders' fee," he said.
Re: Fill: Ignis/Prompto, undercover as owner/slave, 11/?
Date: 2018-01-18 07:05 am (UTC)Re: Fill: Ignis/Prompto, undercover as owner/slave, 11/?
Date: 2018-01-18 01:31 pm (UTC)Fill: Ignis/Prompto, undercover as owner/slave, 12/?
Date: 2018-01-19 01:52 am (UTC)"The tip we got from a reliable source," Cor said, once they'd arranged themselves around the card table. He slid a folder across the surface to Noctis. "A former higher-up at a Lucian conglomerate that mainly deals in plastics and safety gear. Manufactured half the Glaive field equipment for generations. Turns out it's not so easy anymore to pitch Lucian bulletproof vests – especially not to the same guys who ordered the bullets. After getting kicked off the guest list, he came straight to us with dirt on the rest."
"So let me get this straight: he's not bitter over the invasion, he's bitter because he's missing out on a party," Noct said, rolling his eyes.
"And profit," Ignis said.
"Aaaand profits," Noct said, raising his hands. "Great. Why are we trusting this guy again?"
"There's no love lost between them," Cor said, "after the company's HQ in Insomnia got trashed by the attack. I don't doubt his motives. He's a real piece of work, though. He claims these parties have a lot of shady business behind closed doors, and he's willing to foot the bill to get us inside."
"A mutually beneficial arrangement," said Ignis. "How convenient."
"It's not just convenient, it's serendipity," the Marshal replied. "Niflheim's Chief of Military Research is about to be in town on business. The man responsible for nearly every weapon the Empire's used in the past fifteen years. Our tipster CFO says he's got a backup copy of critical data on him at all times. Including potential vulnerabilities in the MT systems."
Gladio spoke up finally. "So what, we run in, grab this guy, and give him a piece of our mind?"
"Dude, I just saw this in a movie," Prompto said. He leered at Gladio over the table. "Spoiler warning, the bodyguard-"
Gladio immobilized the younger man's neck for a noogie, whatever wisecrack he'd been about to make swallowed by a bark of surprised laughter. Noctis rested the side of his face against his arm on the table, slumping further down.
"There's another option," Cor said, after waiting patiently alongside Ignis and Noct's twin death-glares for the two to break apart. "Supposedly the man's easy to get ahold of, once you're in, and too fond of his Shiva Blanc."
Noctis lifted his head. "So, infiltration?"
At Cor's nod, Gladio scowled. "Dunno if you've noticed, but we ain't exactly a portrait of the Nif elite. Sir."
Prompto shifted in his seat, avoiding eye contact. Ignis met Cor's look.
"I can only presume the Marshal had something more compact in mind for this endeavor," Ignis said.
The man paused before responding. "This is the risky bit," he began, carefully. "But considering you four are headed to Altissia either way, hear me out."
Moments later, Noctis was on his feet, his camp chair toppling over. "No! Absolutely not!"
"Noct," Ignis said.
Noctis turned to face him. "You don't have to go along with this," the prince replied. "We can - figure something out like we always do."
"Be that as it may, it's still my decision to make," Ignis said. Gently.
"It's our job to keep you out of the line of fire, Highness," Gladio added.
"Hey, I'm in," Prompto piped up. "I basically just gotta stand there and go along with whatever Iggy is doing, right? I can handle that."
"You couldn't keep a straight face when he caught us sneaking out for your birthday," Noct said. He raised an eyebrow at Cor. "You'd put those acting skills to the test in enemy territory?"
Prompto sputtered. "Dude!"
Cor rubbed his hand across his face. "Look, first of all... when I say 'slave', what's the first image that comes to your mind?"
"Excuse me?" Noctis snapped.
"Uh, somebody hammering a license plate?" Prompto said. The others shot him a look in unison. "What?"
"That's all you got?" Noct said.
"It was, like, one reading – in one class!"
Ignis didn't miss the sidelong glance Gladio gave him down the kitchen counter. He made no move to respond.
"Excuse to deny people basic human dignity?" Gladio said to Cor's original question, rolling his shoulders. "Citadel staff? Collars? What're we supposed to be guessing, here?"
"I agree with you all, on principle," Cor said, lifting his hands. "But that's what I mean. When it comes to these people, we're not talking about folding laundry and collecting trash."
"Like it's not just as bad at home?" Noct said. "What, there's an 'okay' version? The law makes it okay? Tenebrae outlawed slavery thirty years before the invasion. It’s disgusting, and embarassing, that we didn't do the same.” Noct said, slapping his hand down on the folder. Gladio shrugged in agreement.
"Most of Insomnia's enslaved are debtors and their children, indentured to the state," Ignis said quietly. "These people are wealthy enough to keep personal companions, which is... less common."
"At least in Lucis," Gladio said, glowering at the Marshal.
"P-personal companion?" Prompto squeaked.
"Like high-class escorts," Noctis said. "Except for, you know, the enslavement."
Prompto turned bright red.
Ignis interrupted before they could lose the thread of conversation. “Well put. Now, how do you find that report so far?”
“I’m reading, I’m reading it, bite me,” Noct waved a smirking Ignis away over the camp chair, opening the documents Cor had provided.
Stepping back from the prince, Ignis raised an eyebrow at Prompto.
“I won’t pretend to be entirely comfortable with this, myself,” he admitted. “I do think it may be worth our time to investigate, if nothing else. I won’t ask you to agree. You needn’t say anything but ‘no’.”
“No,” Prompto said. Ignis nodded, and he sputtered, “No, I mean like- wow, not no, at least, maybe, it sounds like this could work, b-but I need to think about it for more than a minute, I think?”
"Very well," Ignis said. "Let's discuss a bit longer and give the Marshal his answer in the morning. Marshal?"
"That's fine," Cor said. "It's a lot to ask. Take your time to think it over. But we're low on both options and time, so the sooner, the better."
Prompto nodded at the Marshal in frantic agreement. The motion vibrated through the crown of his hairdo. "Yessir, can do."
Ignis saw Noct glance back to him, body language poised for a question. He pretended not to see.
"Actually, you know what? If he's in, I'm in, let's do it." Prompto seemed to have gathered his courage in a matter of minutes. "Anything to help the war effort."
"Hey. This isn't a monster bounty. If you're not sure, you can give it a little longer," Noctis said.
"Nah, man. Besides, me and Iggy? Like a well-oiled machine." He grinned at Ignis, whose pulse quickened at the attention.
Ignis smiled in return. "Slick as a whistle."
Re: Fill: Ignis/Prompto, undercover as owner/slave, 12/?
Date: 2018-01-19 02:45 am (UTC)Re: Fill: Ignis/Prompto, undercover as owner/slave, 12/?
Date: 2018-01-19 05:24 am (UTC)I love your characterization for Noct and Gladio, here.
Fill: Ignis/Prompto, undercover as owner/slave, 13/?
Date: 2018-01-19 05:39 pm (UTC)Thank you for reading this far and for your encouraging comments. :-)
--
First contact with their target arrived sooner than Ignis had anticipated. He and Prompto had dressed that morning and been driven to the resort by Gladio in a rental vehicle, where they proceeded inside, Prompto seeing after the luggage in a cacophony of bare limbs.
Ignis, growing hot in the face at least partially due to the curious gazes they faced in the lobby, questioned the viability of this plan once again.
Atop the spinning patterns of the carpet, he felt like a particularly obvious and juvenile impostor, with his hair in his face and a bespoke black suit. The soft gloves that encased his entire hands to the wrist provided the same sensation as if he'd wrapped each individual finger in a layer of cotton padding, and were just as convenient with which to navigate his unfamiliar wallet. Prompto, on the other hand...
Ignis chanced a look to his right, and swallowed heavily. His friend stood in an informal slouch, tapping his fingertips idly against his sides, shifting unconsciously as they waited, eyes darting back and forth as he forgot again the simplest of instructions. Prompto seemed at least to be attempting to rein himself in, but the performance so far had not inspired Ignis's confidence.
"Do not look free men or women in the eye, or speak unless spoken to." Ignis said. "Do not go anywhere without me, or take any independent action without permission. If you must speak, address me as 'sir' whenever possible."
His friend turned to look at him, gaping, phone sliding from a slackened grip. The black leather collar hung open against Prompto's collarbone, where he had been idly trying it on. The smartphone landed face-up next to Prompto. An open camera app reflected the ceiling of the caravan.
"Keep in mind those guidelines, and nothing you do will seem out of place." Ignis did his best to mask his growing anxieties with a frown, adjusting his glasses. Unhelpfully, Prompto shut his mouth instead of responding. "It may aid us to observe others in the same position, as we encounter them."
He'd have to swallow his discomfort and have a serious conversation with Prompto once they reached the room. That was, assuming he could look at his friend for more than a moment without breaking into a hot sweat.
The costume did things to Ignis that he hadn't known were possible. His friend's shoulders and arms remained bare, a familiar (and admittedly welcome) sight. The lean muscles of his forearms sometimes tensed with the expressions of his hands, and thanks to his sparse attire, Ignis saw a similar tensing in the shallow curves of Prompto's stomach. His firm thighs occupied the volume of the tight black shorts. When Prompto turned, the exact profile of his soft length pressed through the fabric.
At once Ignis turned away, his underarms perspiring. Cold shame and reprehension washed into the pit of his stomach. Prompto had agreed to don a mask as much as he had in accepting this proposal. No matter how revealing the outfit, he could not take advantage, ogling his friend to satisfy his own base fantasies. Was he no better than the men whose company necessitated such a distasteful ruse in the first place?
To make matters worse, the lobby where they would collect their room details serviced all manner of guests to the resort, and Ignis had yet to see another pair like theirs. Stoking the ball of constant tension that had taken up just below his sternum, Ignis wondered if this could possibly be a sensible idea.
Running into Verstael Besithia only intensified his discord. Ignis checked himself in under the fake name Cor's contact had supplied, and collected the room key. En route to the elevators, they'd turned a corner, and Prompto had been unable to quiet a sharp intake of breath at his shoulder.
Besithia himself appeared physically unimpressive, characterized by the receding hairline and naturally haphazard beard of his advanced years. Two blue eyes like cut stones sat recessed into a permanent scowl above sagging under-eye bags. The sight of the leashed boy at his side, slender, golden-blond, and almost entirely in the nude, made for a mirror image of Prompto and Ignis's respective roles.
Ignis drove his elbow into Prompto's side without looking. Discreetly.
He'd made short work of introductions, laying out the cover story of his recent wealth in Niflheim's territory of Tenebrae, and his recent admission to the gentlemen's club. To his surprise, Besithia extended an invitation to his private evening group without prompting. The man complimented him on the tone of his slave's body, and when an elevator arrived, graciously waved Ignis in first.
By the time they reached their floor, his friend's entire body buzzed with anticipation. Ignis observed Besithia lingering at the sight of Prompto's narrow hips, the modest swell in his shorts, and restrained himself from letting out a territorial snarl. He bid the man goodbye, with a promise to continue their conversation over dinner.
"I think we should make a list," Prompto whispered to him in the hallway, after waiting for two guests ahead of them to turn the corner. "The official 'Don't Blow Iggy's Cover' guide, or something."
"Shh," Ignis hissed out of the corner of his mouth.
"Oh, right. Sorry!"
--
"...I find myself recalling certain memories. Memories that haven't surfaced in a very long time."
He adjusted his tie again, and while doing so cast a morose eye over the sorry ensemble that was to be their wardrobe for the weekend. All solid colors. All buttoned up. Ties.
How depressing.
Prompto was singing something to himself in the hotel shower, the lyrics unintelligible over the white noise of water pounding against its four walls.
Ignis recalled a wet winter's day in Insomnia. He'd been three months into Crownsguard training and facing a space problem at home. The problem of what to do about his closet and chest of drawers turned over in his head as he attended tailoring at a small local boutique by Noctis's side.
Of course, that hadn't stopped him from pausing at the sight of a shimmering, emerald-green dress top as they were leaving.
He couldn't say, after an hour spent masking bone-deep boredom as he accompanied Noct, what possessed him to latch onto this article of all things. The dark fabric bore an embroidered petal pattern in glittering metallic thread, like so many silver fish scales.
The look didn't suit him at all. Maybe because it was so loud, or because it had been placed on display.
"Just get it," Noct said. His guards had come to a stop by the doors, in wait of the lingering boys.
"I don't need any more clothes," he replied automatically, eyes still on the shirt. It was true. In fact, he had only this morning received brand-new Crownsguard fatigues, which were folded atop the bureau for want of somewhere to store them. Noct knew this.
Every time Noctis had a new appearance which required him to be photographed in public, he would need his measurements taken and something to wear, for each of which Ignis went through the same process. His underthings and clothing for daily use had been issued automatically, with semi-annual updates to account for growth, since he had been moved into the Citadel at six.
Crown policy standardized the quantity and cut of each article, and the entire set would be deposited at once upon his bed in a series of flimsy plastic bags. It was a waste, really. As his other clothing diversified, and he moved into private quarters adjacent to Noct's, Ignis might only take out socks and underpants and leave the rest sealed in his drawers for months at a time. Since his manumission and subsequent removal from Citadel inventories, their delivery had ceased entirely.
Over the years, he had accumulated quite the expansive wardrobe, all of it in solid black and grey. There was simply nowhere to put it, and no one he felt he could ask who else it might be used by. And now he had a new set of Crownsguard uniforms to contend with in addition to participating marginally in Noctis's increased public profile. He needed a solution. Not another shirt.
"When would I wear that?" he'd said to Noct at the time.
At last Ignis pried his gaze from the garment, with some difficulty. Noctis shrugged, and they continued, the Prince offering a half-hearted farewell wave in the direction of the owner's eager invitation to return.
Ignis checked their next engagement against his list of reminders. He opened a web search for the store's name while on his phone, almost as an afterthought.
Later, squinting at the security code on his direct-deposit credit card for the first time, he used one pointer finger to carefully enter each piece of information. The numbers in the lapel of his Crownsguard jacket serving for reference, Ignis placed an online order.
--
FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 14/?
Date: 2018-01-20 12:49 am (UTC)For a moment, Ignis saw himself instead of Prompto, nineteen and formed of insecurities, about to remove another person's underwear for the first time.
"Must I use this?" he'd said, raising his eyebrows as he turned the bottle over in his hand.
The other man, whose name Ignis no longer could remember, had taken it back and uncapped it for him, with some surprise. "Obviously," he'd said. "You are new to this." The man's eager expression betrayed that this was far from undesirable.
Ignis had met the man after impulsively installing a chatting app in a fit of frustration, or perhaps internal crisis. They'd spoken for a week, and exchanged photographs. Ignis had stood in front of his bathroom mirror, drawing his shirt up, short of breath at his own nerve. Then they'd arranged to meet for a night.
It had been fast. Invigorating. Utterly unlike him. They met several times over the course of three weeks, before ending it on easy terms and never contacting one another again. The other man was older, in his mid-twenties, at least if the information on his profile was to be believed. Ignis hadn't been bothered. He had been younger, more easily dazzled by the idea that an attractive older man might be attracted to him in turn.
The other man hadn't been one for conversation, but he surprised Ignis with his tenderness in bed. He had been deposited against the pillows at the man's headboard and worshipped in slow, careful touches, the man content to explore every inch of him with gentle hands and mouth.
They took their time before coaxing him to orgasm in turn, the man's beard brushing against his inner thigh and two fingers gently working into his asshole. When finally the touch sent him over the edge, his come landed across the man's ear, Ignis stifling gasps with one hand buried against his own mouth and the other awkwardly clasped atop the other man's shoulder.
On their third date, the man guided him through it as Ignis uncapped the oil himself, spread him open and watched in fascination the reaction of another to his touch. When finally he pushed in, the other man breathed the most incredible groan of pleasure Ignis had ever heard.
He'd lost himself in the heat and pressure, holding the man down on his bed with a palm against the chest as he tried to control the rut of his hips against the other. The man had laughed, had done anything for him, had brushed his bangs back from his face and freely expressed his pleasure at Ignis's touch. Ignis drank in his devotion as though addicted.
On the day they ultimately decided to break it off, it quickly became clear that neither was in the mood for their usual fare. They had cast aside their plans of goodbye sex and instead made small talk about work, neither speaking in specifics, as the man massaged Ignis's shoulders and neck, hands glossy with oil. Looking back, Ignis supposed that was their own form of goodbye.
He'd been responding to Prompto on autopilot while fighting to keep the memory of those private moments at bay. A feat made all the more difficult by Prompto's slick skin, and the sharp scent of Besithia's gift filling the air between them.
Suddenly, Ignis felt the long road of the weekend stretching before him, Prompto on his knees and pretending at thirst for his every touch. Himself, breaking bread with these cold, unjust men, ever-shadowed by the silent figures who waited endlessly in the peripherals of their lives. All the while knowing the fact that their respective roles in this time and place had come down to a simple accident of birth. Knowing that, as soon as this farce was up, he would leave to continue their mission, and life in this other world would continue unpaused no matter which battles raged on across the ground. None of this was real. Not his own words, not Prompto's affections.
He'd felt Prompto's tongue wrap eagerly against the pads of his fingers not an hour ago. He watched Prompto work the oil over a firm bicep, rubbing in brisk, rough arcs, biting his lip in concentration.
It was the thought of that early memory, the stranger's mouth replaced by the lips of the young man in front of him, wrapped around the head of his cock, staring up at him through tousled bangs –
"Jealous?" Prompto winked, mistaking the source of Ignis's discomfort.
Ignis grimaced. He rapidly attempted to banish the image to the furthest recesses of his brain, where it could do no harm.
"I'm fine, Iggy," his friend pressed, and Ignis remembered himself, diverting his attention from Prompto's bare, shining throat.
--
"Now, what will you do to show him you're sorry?"
Gods. What on earth had Prompto done? What had Besithia? He couldn't bear to watch as Prompto lowered himself to trembling knees, knowing that of all the cruelties visited upon the young man this past day, this must have been the lowest blow of all. Did Besithia make a habit of these demonstrations? Was he really so sick as to derive his pleasure from this debasement? What did he seek to gain?
Ignis's skin itched with the knowledge of his own poisonous, secret thoughts. His ignorance had been dishonest, even to himself. He understood very well what Besithia gained from demanding an innocent man beg. The violence in him mirrored itself in Besithia's, despite their difference in age and moral boundary, and he felt wickedly, irreparably sick at the insight. But even he knew that the things he wanted – sometimes – from another, in the darkest, most disgusting part of him, were things he could never truly take pleasure in if extracted by force.
And, perhaps in extension of this complex he had around his shameful inner nature, Ignis hated ritualized apologies as a rule. Or perhaps it was because he'd never seen the point. Rarely were such regrets sincere, and it served no better purpose than to reinforce obedience and foster unecessary shame. As a child, he hated to be made to grovel for appeasement. As punishment, maybe, for his youth or his proximity to the royal family or both, members both of staff and of court had taken their petty amusement from his inability to deny them on more than one occasion, a lesson in impotence.
More aggravating to Ignis, however, were the occasions during which he carried the authority of the interaction. He resented the circumstances which forced his hand in the matter. He relished the thrill of administering words meant to punish, without chance of rebuttal. He rejected his own obsession with it.
In his third year since enlisting, despite his priority being to Noct, he'd soared to a leadership role within his unit. Already achieving top marks in academics, the ability to use the training facilities after hours had given him something to fill what spare hours he had, when endless rows of dense text could no longer hold his focus. From Noct's lessons with Gladio, where Lord Amicita occasionally made an appearance, he absorbed a new understanding of fundamental technique. As a result, he was frequently put in charge of training exercises.
"Apologize," he ordered the two shame-faced recruits before him after breaking up a fight. They'd taken one look at him, straight-backed and steely with a lashing on his tongue, and stammered out their excuses with wide eyes.
"With sincerity," he corrected. He was met by a pair of ardent apologies. The young guards fell over themselves to appease whatever it was his expression implied.
Afterwards, Gladio clapped him on the back. "Be still, my heart," he said. "Somethin' tells me they won't be horsing around with that equipment anytime soon."
"Wonderful that you're amused," Ignis said, letting his nerves settle. "I hate having to do that."
"You're pretty popular with the younger crowd, Specialist Scientia."
"Not popular enough to invite interest in my actual instruction," Ignis corrected him. "It seems I've been cursed by the Six, corralling rambunctious teenagers wherever I may be."
"From where I'm standing, they seem more than interested in your instruction," Gladio insinuated. "You know what they say about military men and taking orders. Not that there's anything wrong with that."
"No doubt a titillating adage," Ignis said, "But not terribly realistic."
"Don't see the appeal?"
"I'm afraid taking orders seems quite too mundane, once acquainted with the rank and file."
"You've got it all turned around, Iggy," said Gladio. "I'm gonna guess those two weren't interested in bossing you around. Maybe they think you're better suited to the giving."
Much as in present circumstances. Gods. There was a faint yellow bruise beneath Prompto's eye where Ignis had struck him earlier that night. The sight of that mark left by his own hand thrilled the beast inside him as much as it anguished the man. If he gave the order, right now, Prompto would roll over and show his belly. He would bare his neck to Ignis's shoe before this man. But it would be a lie, born of Prompto's unending loyalty to Noctis and Lucis, to the mission. Not because of Ignis.
He'd be fortunate if Prompto would even be willing to ride in the Regalia beside him when they finally put this misery behind them. He may never speak to Ignis again, as it stood. Ignis would understand; he could do nothing to prevent it.
Prompto's leash lay in a scribbled circle upon the hall carpet. His hands pressed flat against the ground by his downturned head. Ignis watched as quaking fingers dug in to the soft material.
What was wrong with him?
--
FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 15/?
Date: 2018-01-20 12:51 am (UTC)The man then treated Ignis to an unsolicited anecdote about his run-ins with heatstroke and outdoor games, which served enough of a transition for Ignis to collect himself once more.
By the time their party reached the end of the course, the afternoon sun had broken. In the golden haze of their return, Ignis paused at the sight of the empty lattice where Prompto had been secured just hours before.
"Worry not," said the man who had offered Ignis his water. "As soon as it became obvious we'd run late again, I had them deliver everything back to our rooms."
"I had been concerned about the time," Ignis lied, distantly, his mind racing. "Thank you. As always, you think one step ahead."
The guest facetiously brushed off his praise. Ignis dried his palms against his pants. He'd promised not to allow anyone else to put their hands on Prompto. Such a simple, small thing, and even then he hadn't been able to keep his word.
Try as they might, his companions failed to capture his focus, and Ignis dipped in and out of conversations and his worries in a dizzying back-and-forth.
"They're waiting in your room," he heard the guest with the water explain to another confused patron.
"Just us men at dinner, then," another joked. "An opportunity to toast before the night's events."
At dinner, Ignis could hardly contain himself for the duration of the meal, mechanically placing food in his mouth and offering rote contribution to the chatter. He could see the skeptical glances the others directed around his remarks, losing his grasp on the careful mask he'd maintained for the past three days.
When their dishes finally were collected, Ignis nearly leapt out of his seat. He was forced to remain when servers arrived to serve each guest coffee and sweets. Tucked into each serviette was a card from Chief Besithia apologizing for his absence this afternoon and promising them an excellent evening reunion.
Ignis downed his cup as quickly as politeness would allow. He bid his goodbyes, heading in the direction of his room. The elevator's tone rang at his floor, and he lurched over the threshold in his haste, stumbling in the direction of their room.
About a quarter of the way down the hall, his vision started to grow blurry.
"Ignis!"
He'd been dashed against a large boulder, air forced from his lungs by the impact as the Hundlegs that had tossed him rounded on the others. Prompto was at his side in a flash, hauling him up to break for cover while Gladio kept the thing busy.
Ignis scrambled to get up, head pounding, heart racing irregularly. He could see a blue blur in the clearing that must have been Noct flitting about the monster's head like a persistent horsefly. His limbs felt as though they'd been dipped in a pan of thick syrup. There was something sticking out of his thigh.
"Should've stayed further back," Prompto said into his arm. He caught a look at Ignis's confused expression, glanced down, and cursed. "Shit! Dude, you're poisoned!"
While Prompto yanked out the pincer and fumbled for an antidote, Ignis mumbled into his grip. "I seem to have caught a bug," to which Prompto rolled his eyes and offered an affectionate shake.
"If you're good enough to crack jokes, you can walk yourself back to camp," Prompto said. He eased Ignis onto his feet. "Oof, come on, up you go." Ignis righted himself, the heavy feeling dissipating from his head as he stood.
"Thank you for the assist." He searched for what to say next. "Quite the sting operation."
"Ok, buddy. Say cheese!" Ignis turned just in time to see the lens pointed at him. He pulled a face at the last second, casting his head to the side and pursing his lips in admonishment. Prompto lost it at that, and Ignis soon found himself laughing as well.
As penance, Prompto joined him next for a joint photo, wrapping the arm with the camera around his friend's neck. Inwardly, his chest became full and warm. The weight of the other man pressed against him sent eager heat through Ignis's bloodstream.
For this one Ignis kept his mouth pursed shut, offering a small smile to Prompto's big-mouthed grin.
Ignis's vision swam. A sensation of vertigo struck him and he stumbled down the hall, one steadying hand against the wall.
He stumbled again, and his glasses fell somewhere by his feet. Ignis raised his unoccupied hand to press against his forehead. His brain throbbed beneath his brow. The weight in his arms and legs now was like the status effect. But just like that time, he could see his friend.
The blurred form of Prompto drew closer, walking steadily. In a moment of sorrow, Ignis wished he'd asked for the photographs – a memory of something that might have been, before all of this could come between them.
As the face of the young man before him resolved itself into clarity, Ignis realized his mistake.
His limp limbs disobeyed every attempt he made to right himself, to draw his weapon, anything. As his legs collapsed out from under him, he crumpled into the waiting arms of Verstael Besithia's personal slave. Ignis felt his tongue in his mouth, thick, unresponsive, as he attempted to speak, face squashed into the boy's upper arm. He struggled to push himself back upright with the boy's steady weight as leverage.
Besithia's slave stood patiently in place, only bracing Ignis from falling to the floor. He offered neither assistance nor restriction as Ignis's own body betrayed him. Ignis panted openly, his mouth full of the scent of Besithia's oil.
It didn't take long for the last of his consciousness to fail him. Ignis's unwilling eyes finally shut before the fuzzy patchwork of a QR code, his nose pressed into the boy's steady wrist.
Re: FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 15/?
Date: 2018-01-20 01:16 am (UTC)AAAAAAAAAAAAA
(this is so good)
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Re: FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 15/?
Date: 2018-01-20 03:49 am (UTC)Re: FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 15/?
Date: 2018-01-20 07:46 pm (UTC)FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 16/?
Date: 2018-01-21 12:37 am (UTC)He opened his eyes and saw only darkness. His knees pressed into his chest. He tried to lift his hands, but they remained bound at his back. He tried to lift his head, and it rebounded face-first into hard ground. His arms tugged at his ankles, similarly bound. Fabric filled the spaces between his tongue and teeth. He heard a man's voice, far above his head.
"Turn it this way."
The distorted sound of a voice over the telephone responded. The first repeated his order.
Ignis pulled and pulled at his joined wrists. Through the cloth in his mouth, he growled. His right shoulder knocked into something narrow and hard. He closed his eyes and opened them again. The man said something else to his company. Darkness remained. He couldn't see. He couldn't see.
His struggles grew more rapid. Unable to extricate either hand from its bondage, Ignis began to thrash in place.
He toppled onto his side.
The voice paused in its instructions. Ignis heard an amused snort. Scraping his temple against the ground in an attempt to remove the blindfold, he turned his face in the direction of the voice.
Where was he? What had – oh.
Ignis recalled the ringing in his ears as Prompto's absence had stretched on during the day. His relief at finding the other man safe and well. No, not Prompto. Besithia's slave.
Astrals. Prompto. He hoped the other man had realized what must have happened when Ignis did not return. Contacted the others.
What had given him away? He'd compromised everything.
A sound; the man spitting, above Ignis. Moments later, it splashed against his upturned cheek.
Next, the blindfold was removed. His tie had come untucked and fallen before him. Ignis found himself glaring up from his intolerable position. Unsurprised by the sight of Verstael Besithia's scowl, he tried to conjure his weapons. The attempt failed; his hands had been securely positioned.
The sound of applause rose again, and Ignis's surroundings resolved themselves. A series of tall wooden posts - no - the legs of a barstool. A couch. The unmistakable logo of Arena Galviano winking from flat-screen television displays.
The sidelong glance of Besithia's blue-eyed boy, seated on the floor, one arm and narrow leash curled about both knees.
Besithia's box. He'd been transported to the city while unconscious. A long drive from the resort, where unwitting Prompto waited in vain. His dear, honest friend, whose trust Ignis appeared to be destined to betray. Ignis made another attempt at summoning blade to fist.
"You may as well give up," Besithia's voice said above him. Ignis offered him not even a glance, turning away from the man's feet.
Until he punctuated his discouragement. "Have you forgotten? Your King is dead, Lucian. Your magic is useless here."
Ignis realized how great his shock, that it must have shown on his face, because before he'd realized the words, he heard Besithia's laugh.
"Are you surprised, Amicus? Or, should I say: Ignis Scientia?"
He gasped around the gag at his own name. Besithia looked at his slave, and the boy reached out to remove it. Before Ignis could shout, the boy's hand clapped across his open mouth, muffling his outburst.
"A friend of mine decided to pay us a visit. He claimed to have recognized that boy slave of yours at the party. Do you know what he said?"
Ignis couldn't possibly form a guess. He jerked, trying to dislodge the boy. Ignis looked around for anything he could use, met only by furniture, floor, and carpet.
"Imagine my surprise," Besithia continued, stepping around Ignis's still body on the floor, "when I discovered not one, but two pieces of lost property had wandered into my event."
Ignis tore his head from the boy's grip. "I am no man's property!"
The man came to stand behind him, where Ignis could not watch. Besithia proceeded with his monologue as though Ignis had not spoken.
"Interesting, for a favored pet to the heir of Lucis, how well he hid you from sight. All those years. The difficulty we faced in tracking down your image, even with the power of the Internet, was impressive. How, then, did I know who you were?"
Besithia paused. Ignis realized what he must be looking at as the man recited.
"...and so on. You must know the rest. Imagine the odds of us meeting here."
Ignis owned a copy of the article at home, buried somewhere in a filing drawer. Noctis and Gladio had cut it out for him and written Congrats Specs!, welcome to the big leagues, just below the headline. Was that really the only picture of him on the web? The photo, as he recalled, was terrible. It featured bony, bug-eyed him standing next to one of the most handsome and popular Glaives in the city. The photographer had caught them unaware, and Ignis's eyes and mouth were half-open.
Despite his present dilemma, Ignis found himself offended that Besithia had recognized him from it at all.
Something prodded against his lower back, and he clenched his fingers uselessly as Besithia continued. "I did wonder why a Lucian slave would see fit to come sniffing around my affairs. Revenge for your youth? Your master? Or, perhaps, a longing for the good old days? There can be no Citadel whore without a Citadel, after all."
He could hear Besithia's footsteps but still Ignis could not move enough to catch sight of the man.
"What is your aim?" he demanded. A foot landed on the back of his head.
Ignis grunted as Besithia stepped forward to drive his face against the floor.
"Enough of that," the man said. "You've forgotten your place."
"I'm afraid you're mistaken," Ignis began, and the man's weight receded. He received a kick to the jaw for his trouble, cutting off his speech.
"I have no patience for those who put on airs. I'm going to embarass you the way you've embarassed me, boy," said Besithia, a flash of teeth under his upper lip. "You'll beg for the collar. And when that's done, you'll be reminded what beasts like you were made for."
The man replaced his foot against Ignis's jaw. Ignis grimaced, straining still to turn himself, to lift his head, writhing against Besithia's sole as the man leaned ever more of his weight upon it.
"Beg," Besithia said.
"Never," Ignis hissed through his teeth. The pressure increased. He cried out. Besithia pushed, harder, and elicited another cry before stepping off once more.
"We'll see about that," he said, then directed some gesture to his slave that Ignis could not make out.
The boy crossed the room and grasped Ignis's torso with some effort, dragging him forward. Ignis lurched as far as his bonds would allow, but could gain no traction in such a position. He was heaved in short lengths across the floor, knees dragging across carpet and beyond, until they reached the glass window that served as one of the private box's walls. Ignis found himself pressed up against the glass, looking down upon a Totomostro ring.
He'd been mistaken again. This could not have been the same room they attended in the other day. The arena below was much smaller, and the view much closer, than the main stage. No spectator seats ringed the arena, just a two-story ring of one-way glass windows that formed a sheer wall. In the center of the ring, small enough for matches between individual monsters, Besithia's stage had been erected. Bound to a bench was a collared boy, receiving blows from a strap across his tossing shoulders.
"Enjoying the view, beast?" Besithia said.
He gestured with a small remote in front of Ignis's eyes, soon withdrawing it from sight. He heard the click of the television turning on. The sound of pained gasps struck his ears with every lash to the slave below them.
"I believe in ending on a high note," Ignis heard Besithia say while he scanned the reflection of the room in search of an escape.
One blow landed more heavily than the others across the boy's lower back.
The victim let out a shout of pain. A too-familiar voice.
Two pieces of lost property. The man's earlier words dawned on Ignis with terrifying totality. When Besithia's slave pulled him away from the mirror to face all three screens set into the wall, Ignis felt the name catch in his throat.
Prompto.
Re: FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 16/?
Date: 2018-01-21 12:58 am (UTC)Re: FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 16/?
Date: 2018-01-21 01:21 am (UTC)FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 17/?
Date: 2018-01-21 05:47 am (UTC)Warnings, upcoming: Coercion, manipulation, humiliation, BDSM elements, explicit pornographic material, mutual dubcon/noncon, gunplay, graphic physical violence, fuck or die, orgasm denial, forced orgasm, "I want this but not like this", D/s under and overtones, and, finally, Prompto/Ignis.
--
Ignis glared at the cold gaze of the Research Chief from where he knelt at the man's feet, released from his bonds but once again gagged. This time, as Besithia's slave pushed it into the corners of his stuffed mouth with steady fingertips, he recognized the cloth as his own handkerchief.
Over the speakers, Prompto yelped, and Ignis glared at Besithia's knees instead.
Without looking, Ignis saw his friend in his mind's eye: Prompto in the arena, collared, bound and gagged. Attended by another of Besithia's personal slaves. Others lined up for their turn.
This was only the warm-up, after all.
"I always hold the final event here," Besithia had said as his slave released Ignis's hands. "and what a show it will be this evening. If only your ruse had gone uncovered, you might have been able to enjoy it."
The arena had been prepared with all manner of equipment for the night's entertainment. The attendees could bid for the satisfaction of prolonging a torment, or suggesting an implement. Some paid to participate firsthand. Others bet on the outcome of events, where applicable. They are here to see blood, Besithia had whispered into his ear as he stared, wide-eyed, at the scene, his breath on the glass obscuring Prompto.
"Once again, your family breed is our warm-up entertainment," Besithia said while directing Ignis to remove his shirt with an imperious tip of the nose.
Ignis's fingers fumbled at the buttons down his front.
Prompto jerked in his shackles onscreen. He'd been moved to a raised platform, his hands secured above his head and ankles spread at the base. The ridged teeth of a shiny clamp dug into one pink nipple, its chain and partner sliding across Prompto's stomach as he strained and shifted. His red cock stood erect against his stomach, a black rubber ring cruelly pinched around its base, drawing his flushed scrotum away from his body.
Whenever Ignis hesitated, Prompto suffered. Besithia watched him undress himself with a growing smile of delight. The man had not yet laid a hand on Ignis himself.
Ignis did his best not to hesitate, each transmission of Prompto's wretched voice a blow in and of itself. He observed as much of the room as possible, gauged the distance to the door and Besithia's physical fitness.
"How well you've been domesticated," Besithia said as he removed his pants and socks and abandoned them in a mound around his bare feet. "So loyal, so beautiful. And to such a dirty creature. That will change, at least."
Occasionally Besithia demanded his verbal agreement. Each time Ignis spoke, the words muffled by the gag in his mouth. Prompto received a shock, and Ignis was forced to repeat himself, trembling at the command to speak clearly.
Besithia tired of this game after a few rounds and removed the gag once more, but Ignis knew better than to speak. He sat in just his briefs, brimming with fury, and waited for Besithia's guard to drop.
"How can I remain angry at the theft of my MT? The boy has been returned, obedient. Unlike," he said, calmly, watching Ignis's lips press into the toe of his shoe, "others, who have gotten dangerous ideas out in the wild. You need a firm, intelligent hand to set things straight."
Ignis paused at his next command, revulsion painting itself clearly across his face.
The sound of applause broke from the television speakers as Prompto's back arched with the introduction of a thick steel plug to the boy's wet, red asshole. On another screen, Prompto panted around the open gag in his mouth. Broadcast from the third screen, a close-up of his cock twitched and jumped, pool of clear discharge drooling onto his chest.
Swallowing, Ignis pressed his mouth to Besithia's foot again. He began to lave his tongue over the top of the man's shoe, his face burning.
When the man tipped his foot back and Ignis gagged at the taste and texture of the dirt on his sole, recoiling instinctively, Prompto receieved a vicious blow to the face from one of the men attending to his mistreatment and went still. The one working his ass open continued to fuck Prompto on the plug, the young man's head flopping against his shoulder.
Ignis removed his mouth from its place, retching, and felt a gentle pressure against the top of his head. Besithia pet his hair in time to his short, hard breaths.
"Your Prince trained you well," the man said. "Unfortunate that he had to go and get himself killed. Were you this good for him? Better? Or maybe," and Ignis was shaking under his hand, now, fingernails scoring his own clenched fists, "you tricked your way into a free man's world because he behaved so well for you, as you've done wi–"
Ignis roared, leapt at the man, tasted blood before he registered what his body was doing. He found Besithia's hand wrenched from his teeth, the man recoiling into his couch in shock, eyes wide open.
Prompto's lifeless form continued to fill the walls of the room as Ignis reached both hands out to wrap around the wooden leg of the barstool and rounded on the man, bearing the full weight of it down upon him. Ignis used his makeshift bludgeon to push the man's slave out of his way and fumble for the door latch.
As he stumbled out, he cast a glance back at his clothing on the floor, then at the stool still in his grasp. Besithia's slave was already attempting to rouse the man where he'd fallen.
Ignis ran.
FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 18/?
Date: 2018-01-21 05:49 am (UTC)Around him, applause echoed endlessly in the confined, spinning hallways, intersecting over and over in a web that encased his ears. Ignis had the presence of mind to realize, hearing the sound on endless repeat, that the crowd had been canned air.
Not far now; he'd been able to estimate the distance and rough location of the arena door from Besithia's window. With his weapons at the ready, he incapacitated the bodyguards stationed outside and stalked through the doors.
Besithia may not have pursued him in time, but Ignis could see that word of his approach must have reached the miniature arena floor. The slaves and slave-owners ringing the sides had vanished from view. There'd be more security forces on the way any moment.
Prompto lay in the same position Ignis had last seen him; his eyes shut, mouth stretched open by the gag, arms above his head. Bruising blossomed purple around his collar. Ignis raced to him, putting his dagger aside to unbuckle each of the wide cuffs around Prompto's hands and feet.
He pulled the plug from Prompto's ass, made ill by the noise his hole made at its absence. Prompto's cock twitched in its ring, and Ignis forced himself to look anywhere but at it. Ignis, even in his fear, couldn't help his body's reaction to the sight of Prompto like this. His friend deserved at least the dignity of removing the thing himself when he woke. Too many others had touched him without his consent, and Ignis was to blame for it all.
Prompto came to while Ignis struggled to shift him upright to get at the gag, blinking and groaning. He reached for Ignis, palm coming to rest against his left pectoral.
"Ymmfmme," he said. Ignis hushed him.
The arena door rumbled open behind them.
"Specs? Prompto?"
Ignis turned on the spot. He placed his own body between his friend and the door, keeping a grip around Prompto's shoulders. He almost dropped him; Prompto made a noise in surprise.
Noctis walked cautiously through the open doorway, sword in hand. He was very obviously trying not to stare at their respective states.
Prompto said something through the gag. Suddenly energetic, he pushed against Ignis's hold, and Ignis tightened his grip so as not to drop the other man.
"Guys?" Noct said, glancing between them, disgust poorly disguised on his face. "What the hell is going on here?"
"Noct." Ignis's entire body loosened in relief. If Noct was here, Gladio couldn't be far behind. No doubt contending with Besithia's forces. Prompto must have become suspicious of his disappearance and gotten word out just in time.
They were going to be alright.
His daggers dissipated in a shimmer of crystalline light, and Ignis adjusted Prompto. The young man was still trying to catch Noct's attention, movement growing more agitated as their friend crossed the arena floor. Ignis reached behind Prompto's head to fumble with the gag.
The next second, everything fell apart.
Prompto pushed him away suddenly with a full-body impact. Ignis's back bumped against the platform and he dropped back onto his elbows in surprise, gaping, as Prompto's body bent over his. Ignis saw a cringe of agony twist his friend's face. He looked up.
Behind Prompto, Noctis stood over them both. A black riding crop, clutched tight in his hand, lifted for a second hit.
Ignis responded automatically, raising an arm to shove Prompto out of the way. He caught the second strike against his shoulder. The third smacked into the side of his head, sending sparks through his vision.
"What are you doing?" He stretched his hands out, but the daggers didn't return, and Ignis lost his balance when Noctis struck once more, laying him flat on his back. The painted ceiling of the arena spun. On the ground beside him, Prompto wheezed wet around the gag in his mouth, the chevron of red welts across his chest expanding and contracting.
Ignis saw Noct advancing on them again. He reached for Prompto, who was shaking his head back and forth. His friend's face vibrated in and out of focus.
Ears ringing, Ignis turned just in time to see the Chancellor of Niflheim readying another blow.
FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 19/?
Date: 2018-01-21 08:06 am (UTC)When he lowered them, Ardyn held an unsteady Prompto against the larger man with an arm wrapped to his chest. Prompto's own handgun pressed against the young man's throat.
"Ardyn," Ignis said, low.
"How long it has been," the man said.
"Not long at all," he snapped, without thinking.
Ardyn only clicked his tongue teasingly in response. The steel in his hand glinted against the overhead lights of the arena.
"What do you want," Ignis said. His head hurt. His knees ached. His body stung in the places Ardyn had struck him. The weariness of clinging to his beleaguered pride dragged at every thought. Let the man take what he would. The Chancellor held Prompto's life in his hands, to what end Ignis had no need to understand, as the threat itself had already decided Ignis's course of action.
"How cold," Ardyn chided. "I come to all this trouble to visit, and not even a hello in return. I thought we had something special, Ignis."
Prompto, pressed up to the man's chest, was shaking his head no in Ignis's direction.
"I have only come to collect what is owed." Ardyn's cursed smile seemed to bisect the whole of his face. The gun dug into Prompto's skin above the collar, then his jaw, as the man dragged it up against his captive's face. Ardyn tapped the barrel against Prompto's gag. He waved in the direction of one of the arena cameras. "Verstael's crowd is bound to bask in the excitement."
"Why are you here?" Ignis said hoarsely.
Ardyn, beginning to fiddle with the strap around Prompto's head using his other hand, glanced back up. His fingers crooked into the side of Prompto's mouth, and he drew the wire object out carelessly, trailing spiderwebs of spittle. Prompto spit and coughed in his grasp.
"As luck should have it, I happened to be visiting a good friend on business," Ardyn said. "Imagine the joy it brought forth when I spotted two others. I do have such a soft spot for you boys."
"Why?"
"Nothing turns my stomach so much as the sight of a loyal servant," Ardyn said simply. "I thought it best to amputate that futile naïvete you hold so dear. I am, after all, committed to our dear Noct – and the quest for which he's conscripted you all."
"You have no right," Ignis began, and shut his mouth when Ardyn stood, Prompto pinned to his broad chest.
Ignis could not find the strength to gather himself or to cast about for another solution. He watched in battered silence.
Their foe marched the young man back to the platform and, handgun resting against his bare chest, proceeded to reattach the wrist cuffs.
Ardyn gave Prompto's arm an experimental tug, and nodded to himself in satisfaction. He waved Ignis over. Ignis remained where he was.
The man tapped Prompto's weapon against his knee. "Come, come, now, I won't bite," Ardyn said.
Ignis reluctantly dragged his aching body upright and walked to the structure. Ardyn rearranged himself so that he stood crouched to the side of the platform head, cradling Prompto's skull from behind.
"It's simple, really," Ardyn said. "Verstael has graciously donated the use of his stage until the time of the next event. So long as you bring our little soldier to completion before that comes to pass, my finger remains in its place."
"You demented – " Ignis swallowed his outburst at Ardyn's warning tut tut, watching the steel of the gun barrel.
"You seem new at this, and I'm suddenly feeling quite generous," Ardyn said then. "Why not take your place at his feet, and allow me to guide you from there."
When Ignis paused, Prompto stretched out and straining before him, Ardyn brandished the gun in his direction. "We'll start by removing those. With haste, now, you don't have much time."
Ignis stepped gingerly out of his underpants. He straightened, fully nude, and faced down Ardyn with the cruelest words he knew filling up the interior of his tightly-shut mouth.
Ardyn looked him over with an approving nod, staring openly at the half-formed erection Ignis now sported against his better efforts. His self-control faltered in the face of Prompto stretched out, squirming and groaning, cock painfully hard up against his belly. Ignis flushed.
As he watched, Ardyn reached down Prompto's front to grip his base, carefully extricating the young man's dick and balls from their constricting prison. Prompto keened into the touch, bucking his hips. The larger man let go, and Prompto actually opened his mouth in an unbidden moan at the loss.
"Come, boy," Ardyn said, snapping his fingers. "Time's a wasting."
Ignis knew this already. The situation left him no choice whatsoever. He'd see it through for exactly as long as it took to remove Prompto from danger, and if he could never forgive himself, so be it.
The man had been sincere about taking charge. He first instructed Ignis to put his fingers inside Prompto.
His friend's sore entrance, already stretched and sticky with Besithia's lubricant, twitched at his first finger's touch in tiny, pulsing contractions. Ignis rubbed at the rim before pushing in, to little resistance.
Prompto's erection rocked at the stimulation, but when Ignis reached out to grasp it, Ardyn waved his hand away. "Cheater," the man said, in a sing-song voice. "Now, tell him what comes next."
Ignis watched Prompto's hole clench around his fingers, and drew them back out. "I - " he swallowed. "I am about to insert another of my fingers." Prompto groaned in the back of his throat. When Ignis pushed back in, three fingers this time, Prompto's lower body jerked against him. He began to draw them in and out.
"And what of you?" Ardyn asked Prompto, who had his bottom lip between his teeth.
"Th - thank you?" Prompto said, a dazed look on his bright red face.
"Hmm," Ardyn pretended, tapping his fingers against Prompto's arm even as the steel of his gun pressed against the man's jaw. "What do you think, Ignis? You would know: Is that any way to address one's master?"
Ignis stilled the movement of his hand. Beneath him, Prompto whimpered. He pressed in again.
"Thank you, sir," Prompto said. Ignis's cock stiffened.
"Warmer," Ardyn commented. "But I have faith. You can do better than this, Prompto. And you," he said to Ignis. "Stop your stalling. Tell him what comes next."
Ignis's heartbeat scattered through his chest. He pulled his fingers back from Prompto's loosened hole and wrapped them around his own cock, stroking it briskly to stiffness.
"I'm going to –" he began. He couldn't get the words out.
Ardyn gave out a theatrical sigh. "Very well," he said, jostling Prompto in his grip. "You'll have to ask him for it."
Prompto yanked at his bound hands uselessly, rutting against the air. "Please, put it in me," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.
Ardyn raised a hand to his ear. "What was that?"
"Put it in me, sir," Prompto tried.
"Tell him what to say," Ardyn said to Ignis. "Tell him to ask for your big, thick cock in his filthy hole."
Ignis repeated the words numbly, trapped between despair and arousal. He gripped at Prompto's thigh as though pinching it would wake them both.
"Please," Prompto begged, bumping against Ignis as he drew his legs up. "Please, sir, put your cock in my ass, I need it," he said, tears in the corners of his eyes.
Ignis found himself pressing in slowly, holding Prompto down as his friend desperately bucked in his touch, erection throbbing between them, trying to fuck himself on Ignis's hard length.
Ardyn rubbed Prompto's chest. "Are you going to tell him to thank you?"
"Are you going to thank me?" Ignis said.
"Thank you, sir," Prompto moaned.
"What did we say about trying your best?" Ardyn said. "Show your master your gratitude. Tell him how it feels."
"Thank you, sir," Prompto said. "It feels so good, sir. I want it now. In me. Please, sir."
Easing in inch by inch, Ignis watched the ripple of marks on Prompto's bare front, the way his eyes rolled upward just slightly as Ignis settled fully inside of him, sweat sluicing off of his chest and collared throat.
Prompto rocked into him, mouth twitching ajar, and Ignis stifled the groan that rose in his own throat. Ignis began to slide in and out of him in long, careful strokes. Prompto's back arched with the torturous sensation, cock leaking again and still untouched.
"I love it, sir," Prompto mumbled over the vulgar noises of their bodies, staring down between them where Ignis disappeared inside him. "I need it. I can feel you in me, filling me up, it's so good, Ignis, fuck, I mean, sir," he said, fingers twisting above his head.
"Prompto," Ignis said through clenched teeth, increasing his pace.
"Good boy," Ardyn said. "Bite him," he ordered Ignis.
Prompto immediately shouted and recoiled, drawing a gasp from Ignis as the other tightened around his cock, but Ardyn silenced him with a single broad hand rubbing against the collar.
Ignis moved forward over Prompto, shifting in search of a comfortable angle. His body loomed above the younger man's. Ignis leaned into Prompto's front, inhaling deeply.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, under his breath. "I'm sorry, gods, Prompto," and his friend sobbed.
He lingered with his nose pressed to Prompto's chest for just a moment before drawing back, and biting down against the other's shoulder.
Prompto screamed, though Ignis had been careful not to break the skin, and tightened around Ignis with such force that he saw stars.
Ignis drew back and redoubled his thrusts, hoping against hope that their time wasn't running out. Prompto shook against him. His balls smacked into the other man's ass in a sloppy, deafening rhythm that consumed Ignis's senses.
"Thank you sir, it's so hot, it's stretching me out. I need your cock, Ignis, sir, I need you, sir," Prompto babbled as his cock began to leak cum, jerking above his hips in small spurts when Ignis rocked deep inside of him.
Ardyn sat back on his heels to watch hungrily at the place where Ignis disappeared into Prompto's ass, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
Ignis pulled out, still hard and gasping against Prompto, who pressed up against him with as much of his body as he could.
"Good boy," Ardyn said.
Re: FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 19/?
Date: 2018-01-21 12:30 pm (UTC)I love it @v@
Re: FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 19/?
Date: 2018-01-21 12:51 pm (UTC)Re: FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 19/?
Date: 2018-01-21 12:53 pm (UTC)So Ignis has feelings for Prompto (I so enjoyed those last few parts focusing on Ignis), Prompto has feelings for Ignis, and everythig became more messed up thanks for Ardyn. I felt so bad for them both, but especially when Prompto started encouraging Ignis. It sounded like something he had said before. Did Ardyn or Besithia raped him and ordered him to speak like that?
I don't know what Ardyn is planning and I have a very bad feeling. Will he let Ignis and Prompto run away? I don't think so.
Thank you for this update. I enjoyed it from the beginning to the end. Description of Prompto's torture made my stomach twist into knots and I almost yelled in joy when Ignis punched Besithia and ran away. That was satisfying, more so considering how Besithia was talking to Iggy and how he hurt Prompto again.
Re: FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 19/?
Date: 2018-01-21 01:38 pm (UTC)FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 20/23
Date: 2018-01-21 04:48 pm (UTC)His vision returned in spots. Ignis removed his own hand from his cock, gritting his teeth as he panted, staring at the streak of whitish fluid fallen across Prompto's chest.
Ardyn daubed at it with two fingers, smearing Ignis's come into the boy's trembling skin. He lifted his hand to taste it.
Revolted by his body's renewed interest at the sight, Ignis slowly, shakily unclenched his fists. He did so while observing the Chancellor as the man dug one hand around in a chest at the foot of the platform which still held Prompto bound. Ardyn exclaimed as he uncovered the object of his search, and tossed something at him across Prompto's limp body.
Ignis caught it automatically, fingers wrapping around the supple material. A leash. Leather. Identical to the second in Ardyn's hand, which the man now fastened to Prompto's throat.
Ardyn threw something else to him, which Ignis only just managed to arrest when bounced off against his chest. A pair of padded handcuffs.
"Put that on," the man ordered him.
His grip twitched. Laboriously, with the lethargy of a man walking forward underwater, Ignis raised the lead to his own bare neck. He clipped the one end around its own length. At a gesture from their captor, Ignis pulled the loop tight.
As with the ties, the collar, he found it difficult to think of anything else. It pinched into his windpipe. Ignis wheezed in shallow, hazy draws of breath.
The cuffs were easier to manage. Ignis snapped them into place, his right wrist and then the left.
He quite nearly missed Ardyn once more releasing Prompto from the bed, similarly shackled, urging the unsteady man to his feet with a pococurante wave of the handgun.
Ardyn gathered their leads in one hand, gesturing for a stumbling Prompto to lead the way.
Ignis felt the pull of his syrupy thighs and tackle rubbing against one another as he walked, skin on skin. They both were coated in sweat and slick at the groin; the smear of semen across Prompto's front had started to flake at the edges.
They passed two guests and several waiting slaves on the way out the door, who hardly spared them a second glance. One was the man who had offered him a bottle of water. The other had been among those who volunteered to strike Prompto, that second night. Had it really happened just yesterday?
In front of him, the bruises against Prompto's bare back and rear provided stark evidence of the fact. Ignis cast his gaze down towards Prompto's feet. Another guest passed by them on the way to the arena.
Ardyn passed their leashes to a waiting bodyguard and tipped his hat. "There you go, now," he said to their pale, downturned faces. "I'll be up in just a moment."
As they approached the door of Besithia's box once more, the noise of the arena's recorded ovation blared from the hallway speakers once again. Ignis tried to gather his thoughts, to formulate a strategy, over the back-and-forth racing of his own frantic heartbeat.
The guard strode ahead into the room, dragging them after without so much as a word. Ignis choked against the tightening of the lead, following with haste.
Besithia stood at the window, watching two guests taking turns at either end of a third, smaller figure. The barstool Ignis displaced in his escape had been righted in his absence. The graphic image played on his muted television screens.
His slave knelt against the grille set into the far wall, untethered. The guard made short work of tying both Ignis and Prompto off, and exited with a bow. Besithia still did not move.
Ignis waited, refusing to kneel. He tested the cuffs experimentally. Their short chain clicked together, and he winced. Prompto panted against the metal lattice where he leant.
At the sound, Besithia finally turned. He walked across the room to stand before them, and reached out to seize Prompto by the chin with forefinger and thumb. Prompto, eyes lidded and unfocused, only let out a small, uncomfortable sound. Ignis's stomach clenched.
"Lovely," the wicked man breathed against Prompto's unresponsive expression. "You've taken so naturally to pain and pleasure both, my son."
Ignis, disgust seizing him entirely, moved at once without thinking to place himself between Besithia and his friend.
Besithia backhanded him, and Ignis fell back against the wall. He continued to address Prompto, who tried weakly to pull his face from the other man's grip.
"You, I shall keep," the Research Chief said. "For sentimentality's sake. Maybe my researchers will be able to divulge the secret of your scourgeless survival."
Each word echoed against Ignis's cranium, but he found it impossible to follow the underlying thought. His breath caught as Besithia released Prompto to grab for Ignis's leash, kicking his feet out from under him.
The material went taut against his skin, pulled up at a point just by his ear. He let out an aborted croak. Ignis jerked like a puppet on the end of its string, trying to gather his legs to support him, shackles clattering, the cold metal of the grille digging against his writhing back.
He reached for his own throat with both bound hands, clutching at the thing.
"On the other hand, I have no use for damaged goods," the man said. "You will have another turn onstage before the night is through. Hopefully, your last, for daring to deceive me."
Ignis gasped, the rattling, sucking sound of his breath stark against the silence of the room. Besithia only laughed at his struggles, pulling the thing tighter. Ignis's vision began to darken at the edges, the lights of the room and Prompto's flushed body beside him swimming.
He could take in no more air. The strength drained from his body, fingers falling from his throat to dangle uselessly at his sides.
Just as his eyes began to shut, Ignis felt the pressure around his throat release.
His shoulder jolted with an impact that traveled through his own body. He drew in air frantically through his crushed windpipe. Ignis blinked back tears to the sight of a pair of bare feet scrabbling for purchase. He looked up.
Prompto had his leash wrapped around Besithia's throat, chained hands shaking with the force of his grip. Ignis had fallen at their feet.
The man thrashed, cursing and attempting to dislodge Prompto's smaller frame. Despite his weakened stage, Prompto used the leverage from where the tether had been tied against the wall to aid him.
Ignis tried to gather himself, to stand, but found he could not move a muscle. He watched helplessly as his friend jerked at the leash, driving his elbow into Besithia's throat. The research chief's gargling coughs filled the box.
His relief proved short-lived when finally, Besithia managed to lunge forward, dashing the smaller man against the wall. Prompto's limited strength gave out and his head slammed into the unyielding surface with a vicious crack.
The young man's grip loosened around the leash, and Besithia wrenched himself free, only to swing at Prompto with his fist. There was a red line across the man's throat.
Chapped knuckles connected with the side of Prompto's face. The man struck him again and again, Prompto sliding against the wall, shoulders shaking.
He tried to raise his hands to protect himself, and Besithia slapped them away, choking him against the wall with a steel grip. Ignis willed his limbs to respond.
As Ignis shifted, drawing himself up, the other man took notice. Besithia let go of a convulsing Prompto, rounding on Ignis in his fury. He still could not seem to command his body.
His arms and legs disobeyed his every instinct. The room swam in his vision. As Besithia's fist drew back once again, Ignis cringed against the floor.
"No!"
BANG!
The deafening crack of a gunshot shook the room.
Besithia fell backwards against the couch, clutching at his eye.
Ignis lifted his head to see Prompto, gun clattering in his grip.
The shocked expression on his friend's face faded as oblivion finally claimed him.
FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 21/23
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2018-01-21 05:58 pm (UTC) - ExpandFILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 22/23
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2018-01-21 07:42 pm (UTC) - ExpandRe: FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 22/23
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2018-01-21 08:20 pm (UTC) - ExpandRe: FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 22/23
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2018-01-21 08:22 pm (UTC) - ExpandFILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 23/23
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2018-01-21 08:53 pm (UTC) - ExpandFILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 24/23 (EPILOGUE)
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2018-01-21 08:54 pm (UTC) - ExpandFILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 25/23 (EPIEPILOGUE) (FINAL)
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2018-01-21 08:57 pm (UTC) - ExpandRe: FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 25/23 (EPIEPILOGUE) (FINAL)
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2018-01-21 09:14 pm (UTC) - ExpandRe: FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 25/23 (EPIEPILOGUE) (FINAL)
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2018-01-22 07:25 pm (UTC) - ExpandRe: FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 25/23 (EPIEPILOGUE) (FINAL)
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2018-01-21 11:11 pm (UTC) - ExpandRe: FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 25/23 (EPIEPILOGUE) (FINAL)
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2018-01-22 07:31 pm (UTC) - ExpandRe: FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 25/23 (EPIEPILOGUE) (FINAL)
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2018-01-25 04:08 am (UTC) - ExpandRe: FILL: Ignis/Prompto, undercover owner/slave, 25/23 (EPIEPILOGUE) (FINAL)
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2018-01-26 02:29 am (UTC) - Expand