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chocobutt-trash · 6 years

Note

Ardyn being creepy stalker old man who want nothing more but prompto's love and willing to kill everyone who's in his way to the point prompto had to give in just so he could save noctis in the end

Oh you have my attention!

I wrote a few drabbles in response to this, but it kinda got out of control, so here, have a oneshot.

(fic below the cut, also on AO3 if you want to read it there)

I tried to gift it to you on AO3 @you-are-so-perfect-that-i but please let me know if I got the wrong user account!

‘My dear Prompto, what do you think?’

He’s been idly watching the canvas awning flap in the breeze, the distant glow of the Meteor lighting up the sky far beyond, but now he looks to his left. Ardyn is far too close.

‘Sorry … what?’

‘Old man’s saying there used to be black chocobos or somethin’.’ Gladio chips in.

‘And there still are,’ Ardyn says, and for every second he edges closer, the air grows colder.

Prompto recoils instinctively. His side hits the edge of the plastic camping chair. He doesn’t want to get up, doesn’t want to cause a scene. But it’s uncomfortable.

Isn’t anyone going to do anything?

For a moment, it looks like Gladio will step forward, but then the most curious thing happens - a flash of purple-red energy across his eyes, then Gladio’s expression glazes over, and his muscles un-tense. The same thing happens to Ignis, and for some reason Noctis isn’t even looking.

Prompto casts wide eyes back to Ardyn as the man curls a possessive finger under his chin.

‘I merely wish to illustrate it would be a shame for something so precious to be lost.’

His touch is like ice.

Nobody challenges the man, and later, when Prompto goes to bed, he is on his guard the whole night through.

——

Ardyn’s dropship is a cataclysmic mess of lavish furnishings and metal cambers. It looks a bit like an interior decorator had a fight with a mechanic. Nobody wants to be there, especially not in the wake of the man’s great reveal. He’s the Chancellor of Niflheim. Figures.

As to why he’s taken it upon himself to save them from Titan’s wrath, that’s anyone’s guess.

For lack of anything better to do, Prompto wanders over to the rows of Magitek Troopers, strapped into their seats diligently as the dropship hums its way across the Lucian countryside. Maybe he can gather some intel. Maybe he can sate some of the curiosity sunk in his bones.

‘Such a marvel, aren’t they?’ Ardyn has somehow gotten close to him again. His frame is so large he near on blocks out the light. Prompto bristles, watches him warily.

‘I don’t like them.’

A look of mock-surprise now, and it rubs him the wrong way.

‘That’s no way to talk about my army. It’ll hurt their feelings.’

‘They’re machines. They don’t have feelings.’

‘Oh, Prompto…’ He speaks as if Prompto has just said the silliest thing, and it makes little sense. ‘Besides,’ Ardyn continues, ‘I thought you had a thing for machinery. That is, if your prowess with that circular saw down in the ring was anything to go by.’

Prompto ignores the compliment, if that’s even what it is. He turns back to examine the trooper’s eyes, because somehow the red glow is less unsettling than the look in Ardyn’s. The Chancellor continues his rambling.

‘I helped design them, you know. They proved quite the challenge. A few technical difficulties, but now they’re quite obedient. And, I must say, I have developed such a soft spot for them. In a way, they are all mine.’

He strokes the dull metal casing of the trooper’s helmet, far too lovingly. It makes Prompto shiver. For the remainder of the journey, he attempts to put distance between them. He doesn’t go to Gladio or Ignis for comfort. He doesn’t want a repeat of last night, because he has to remain cheery, he can’t make a fuss.

It’s probably nothing.

——

It starts raining as they descend into the Risorath Basin. The Imperial Blockade is mysteriously unmanned. ‘They all but turned the key,’ Ignis murmurs, ‘as if awaiting our arrival.’

‘And if anyone’s waiting for us, I bet it’s that guy.’ Prompto can’t bring himself to say his name.

Ignis ruins it by saying it in full. ‘Chancellor Izunia.’ Prompto wishes he wouldn’t. There’s the most resonant timbre to the Royal Advisor’s voice sometimes, and right now it sets his skin prickling. He’s still at a loss to explain why. He has only the vague sense that something is not right.

——

The party of three have almost reached Steyliff Grove when a rogue basilisk gets in their way.

Damn oversized chicken has petrifying venom, and, just Prompto’s luck, it ends up splashed all over him. The feeling of nerves seizing up is not a pleasant one, and before he knows it, he’s stuck in the mud, staring down death.

This is it.

With an ear-shattering screech and a flash of purple-red light and - wait. The basilisk falls on its side, eyes lolling wide as its feathers sag.

There’s a touch at his back. He can’t move his head to see.

‘You must be freezing.’

That voice.

Ardyn is beside him, yet again, and he’s busy placing that heavy, thick coat over Prompto’s bare shoulders wet with rain. Prompto feels his nose flare, but the venom is still so thick in his system he can’t move, can’t refuse the kindly, yet unwanted action.

‘Shh, now, it’ll be out of your system in a minute. Can’t have you dying here, can we?’

Realisation dawns. Ardyn has just saved them.

The Chancellor catches his eye. He knows Prompto’s figured it out now, and he smiles, pats the coat again over Prompto’s shoulders like he’s tucking him into bed. He hasn’t bothered to reassure the other two, and his smile curls a little higher when he looks at Noctis, all paralysed and bedraggled mere metres away. It’s as if he takes no small amount of pleasure in the Prince’s discomfort.

Moments later the venom wears off, and Prompto shrugs the coat off. He says thank you, albeit reluctantly, because yeah, he’s grateful, but it feels … icky. Forced. Ardyn grins, pleased as punch, and leads them on to the grove with a commanding flourish. He will help them get their mythril, and it turns Prompto’s stomach all the more to think he will be thanking him again before the day is through.

——

The change comes in Altissia, when he tries to stop Ardyn from reaching the altar. So far, the man has thrown aside everyone who’s gotten in his way, but when he comes to Prompto he stops, leans in to him as if he’s about to share some arcane secret. Prompto’s already dropped his gun in the water, so he has to rely on a dagger, hastily pulled from the Armiger.

It doesn’t take much for Ardyn to deflect it. A grip of the wrist, far too tight, making him cry out and try to kick. And soft-spoken words as the dagger falls from his grasp and into Ardyn’s free hand.

‘My, what a brave little soldier. I hate to do this, my dear…’ And he lets go his grip, gathering more of that eerie purple light around his hand. A soft, feathery sensation as it hits Prompto in the face, puffs around his nostrils. It smells of liquorice. It’s overwhelming.

Ardyn plants a gentle kiss atop his forehead as he lolls forward. ‘Sleep,’ he says, his voice low and rumbling, and Prompto is reminded of listening to distant thunderstorms while cosied up in bed at night.

And then, Luna. Prompto’s slipping out of consciousness but he sees Ardyn head up to the altar, he sees him draw the blade - Prompto’s blade - and he sees it vanish entirely into Luna’s flesh.

——

Now Luna is dead, and they have no Holy Oracle to guide them. The crystal still lies captive in the dark heart of the Empire, and so they must continue on.

The train ride to Gralea has been painfully slow and downright depressing, up until the point Ardyn turns up.

Now Prompto’s pulse is racing.

The train conductor is the last bastion that stands between them. He’s a short man, and doesn’t have an ounce of muscle on him. He’s really not going to last long. But he’s Prompto’s only hope right now, and he needs him to distract Ardyn long enough for him to go tell Noct what’s happening.

‘Please, Sir, take it easy, like. Jes’ need to see yer ticket, and-’

The poor conductor doesn’t finish. Ardyn’s face crosses with some dark emotion - impatience? - and he extends a hand. Another flash of that dark energy and the conductor is flung to the wall, where he crumples in a heap. The sound is crunchy, and it does horrible things to Prompto’s brain, where he tries very hard not to think about nails on a blackboard.

‘No need to look so appalled, my dear. I did ask him politely.’

‘You … Is he alive?’ Prompto thinks he spies blood coming from the man’s head and he’s freaking out. There’s nowhere to run.

Ardyn merely shrugs. No longer interested in the mess he’s made, he swings closer and pins Prompto against the windowpane. It jitters with the train’s motion, makes Prompto’s jaw vibrate.

‘No-’ he begins, but his protest is silenced with a kiss. It should be warm, but it’s just as cold as the first time Ardyn touched him, and there’s a possessive urgency behind it. When he feels the man’s tongue snake between his teeth he wants to be sick. He pushes back, but he’s pressed harder into the window. His feet scrabble for purchase against the linoleum.

It doesn’t last long. Ardyn pulls back, breathless and looking near on intoxicated. ‘We don’t have time,’ he says. ‘But no matter. You’ll be on your way soon. Now, run along, and tell Noctis I’ve arrived.’

——

Prompto’s reward for trudging through the snow is an intimate welcome from Ardyn and a squadron of troopers. He’s taken to a small, tinny room, pale and cold as the snow outside, and here Ardyn backs him up against the wall again.

He flinches, expecting another kiss, but what he gets is something cold and hard pressed into his hand. His own gun.

‘Can’t have you dying here,’ Ardyn murmurs affectionately, echoing his words from outside Steyliff Grove. He reaches out to touch him, but now Prompto readies his gun.

‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ Ardyn says, highly amused.

He shoots into Ardyn’s outstretched hand anyway. The bullet passes through sinew and bone and pierces the man’s chest. There’s a fizzing in the air, a black miasma clustering around them, and after a torturous moment the bullet simply drops out of Ardyn’s flesh, clatters on the ground.

The noise rings in his ears.

That shot should have torn his lungs, but Ardyn’s still breathing fine. In fact, he hasn’t flinched at all. So this time, when he reaches forward, Prompto doesn’t see the point in wasting his bullets.

Ardyn doesn’t reprimand him, he merely takes Prompto’s right hand in both of his, and with great reverence, hitches up the black band covering his tattoo.

A soft tug towards the panel by the door, and the barcode lights up an unholy green. The door hisses, then unlocks. So that’s what my tattoo does. Another childhood mystery solved. Ardyn mercifully withdraws his cold touch and smiles fondly at him.

‘Off you go, now.’

——

It’s so cold in the facility.

Prompto wants to move, but it’s far too dangerous. Up ahead, Ardyn’s talking to the Imperial researcher, Verstael Besithia. The man who Prompto apparently ought to call father, if those documents are to be believed.

He doesn’t want this cruel laboratory to be his birthplace, but when he sees the clone in the tank that looks just like him, the evidence seems irrefutable. His stomach, already torn up on a diet of stress and vending-machine coffee, threatens to add some evidence of its own to the scene, but he holds it down.

Ardyn stops near the tank with the Prompto-replica inside. ‘This model was always my favourite,’ he says, while Verstael scowls beside him.

In the annexe, Prompto clenches his hands tight round the gun’s grip. He remembers Ardyn’s words on the dropship. He remembers the kiss. He wants to scream.

——

When Prompto ends up confronting Verstael, he shoots him just like he did Ardyn. He’s almost expecting the man to react the same way, to barely flinch and simply regenerate with that daemonic power. But he doesn’t, he simply falls to the floor.

‘Ah, look what you’ve done!’

Ardyn’s voice over loudspeaker is a shock that pulls him out of his pathetic weeping.

He swears, and looks around for the source of the noise. Meanwhile, Ardyn laughs softly and rambles on, enjoying his little power play until he gets to the one line that truly chills Prompto to the bone.

‘One less obstacle between us.’

——

He’s in Gralea now, and things have gone from bad to worse.

Ardyn’s hands are tight around him. One at his throat, and one round his waist, dragging him down the rusted half-lit corridors. Well, it’s hardly dragging, because he’s being awfully nice about it. Prompto’s already tried struggling, but he’s got a nasty wound across his face now to show for it. ‘If I’m forced to mar that pretty skin, I will,’ Ardyn had said, and he had been sad but so very determined.

Better to obey, while Ardyn’s being gentle. He’ll escape when he gets the chance.

‘Wh- what’re you doing?’ His voice trembles. He feels pathetic. To have made it so far inside the Keep, only to be cornered at the very last second.

‘Why, only helping you get back to Noct.’ He drawls the Prince’s name out in too many syllables, like pulling apart strands of toffee. ‘That’s what you want, isn’t it?’ Lips brush his ear. ‘As for what I want…’

He doesn’t finish the sentence, and that scares Prompto far more than the hand at his throat ever will.

There’s a room at the end of the corridor, filled with screens. Releasing his neck, Ardyn points to one of them.

‘Look at him. Your precious Noctis, running around like a mad thing. He’s not searching for the crystal.’

Prompto fixes him with a stare. Ardyn’s begging the question be asked, but he’s not going to play.

With a slightly exaggerated sigh, Ardyn says, ‘He’s looking for you, you know.’

Again, Prompto refuses to rise to it. He stays silent, and Ardyn flicks his temple. It shocks him enough to make him sniffle. It’s embarrassing.

‘Wouldn’t want him to - ah’ - Ardyn pauses to watch the bridge Noctis is scampering across disintegrate beneath the prince’s feet - ‘fall.’

‘Noct!’ He’s hyperventilating just watching it, but there, on another screen, is Noctis warping to safety, shaken but otherwise okay. Prompto’s still hyperventilating when Ardyn turns to him, eyelids heavy and full of intent.

‘Oh dear, seems he doesn’t have much choice. But you do.’

He tries to kiss him again, and Prompto utters his denial, backs away under the man’s grip. Now Ardyn drops all pretence, and he looks laconic, tired of the chase.

‘I’m only going to make it harder for him the more you deny me.’

He’s serious, holy shit, he’s serious.

It doesn’t make any sense. All he can think is why? Why me?

Again, he wants to cry. He wants to be sick. He wants to lash out, to fight.

Instead, what he says is, ‘Don’t hurt him. Please.’

And he closes his eyes. He’s determined not to tremble at the first touch, but it happens anyway. Ardyn’s messing with the spikes in his hair, sighing.

‘Oh, you really are a gift from heaven. You’re far too good for this world. I would say I’m going to enjoy making my mark on you, but then,’ - he grabs Prompto’s wrist, nails digging ever so lightly into the tattoo - ‘I already have.’

#promdyn #tw: implied rape #tw: noncon #tw: coercion

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