#ardyn izuna x reader

[scientiastudy]

Lay All Your Love On Me (Chapter XII)

Chapter I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI.

The gears begin turning...

Word Count: 2k

Rating: T?

Content: Manipulation, general creepiness, fluff and angst, reincarnation, (brief) graphic depictions of violence

Author's note: Heyyyyy lol sorry for the late update and sorry for the lack of posts. I'm moving cross country soon so I'm busier than normal. Also I want to make it very clear that Ardyn and Reader are unreliable narrators! I figured I'd put that disclaimer because sometimes that's harder to figure out.

“I think I love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because all you’ll want is him. 

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

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

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

But he isn’t a good man. 

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

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

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

Despite everything, you’re here. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until you.

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh.” Is all he can think to reply.

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

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

He never quite imagined the price of duty would be this steep.

[scientiastudy]

Lay All Your Love on Me (Chapter IV)

Chapter I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII.

You don't think you'll ever get used to Ardyn, but maybe you'll learn.

Pairing: Ardyn Izunia x Reader

Word count: 3.4k

Rating: M

Content: Angst, kidnapping, reincarnation, one-sided relationship, graphic depictions of violence, gore, mentions of death, grief, dissociation

Author's note: I kinda let this one get away from me lol it's a beast. I felt like I needed a bit of a bigger update since I'm only doing one this week

At first, you had been relieved to be away from Ardyn. The weight of his presence slowly dissipated from the air as the lazy afternoon light streamed through the window. Being free of him gave you time to let your mind rest for the first time since you'd arrived in your prison. You let the calm wash over you like a wave letting yourself relax into the sheets. You didn’t dare fall asleep, but you closed your eyes and allow your brain to fall completely silent for what felt like the first time in weeks.

By the time you opened your eyes, the afternoon light had changed to the sleepy orange of the setting sun. You briefly debate trying to explore your surroundings, but the thought of Ardyn somehow finding you out and punishing you further stops you. Instead to you turn onto your side and watch the colors of the sky change from the warmth of twilight to the chill of the night through your window.

The grumbling of your stomach is a stark reminder of your current situation, but you push those thoughts away as you indulge yourself in fantasies.

You allow yourself to think about escape again as you watch the red shift to a muted orange. If you could figure out a way to turn something small into a weapon you might have a chance if you “kill” him. It seemed like the best plan because while the Chancellor had not died, he had been temporarily incapacitated.

The orange shifts to pink as your mind wanders to what you’ll do when you’re free. You figure that if you could get to Lucis you’d have a better chance of hiding from the niffs, but the Imperial embargo still stands. Your heart drops when you remember the man who has taken you is responsible for the embargos. If anything they’d become more strict if he knew you were trying to run.

The pink turns to a light yellow hue before dissolving into light blue. You’ll think smaller then. While you don’t know them very well, Ravus and Lunafreya know who you are and would be the easiest to convince of Ardyn’s lies. The only problem is that you’ve heard the Oracle is running around somewhere in Lucis and Ravus is busy fulfilling assignments all across the map. If you want a good chance of escape, you needed to make sure at least one of them is in Altissia or the Secretary’s estate.

The sky turns dark as you mull over your plan in your head. You play thousands of scenarios, and admittedly, Ardyn wins in most of them. You debate if you’d even be able to make the weapon for your plan with the spruce furnishings in your room. Your bed is one of the sole decorations in the blue room. The wooden nightstand next to your bed has been bolted down to the floor and the lamp is bolted to the desk. The last piece of furniture is the plush velvet armchair Ardyn had sat in earlier that day. You even don’t need to shake it to make sure it’s bolted down, the big black rivets visible just above the foot of the bed. To the left of the bed is the window, its gilded frame shimmers as light streams in. The color is a constant reminder of what you are– a bird in a golden cage.

You can’t remember seeing much when you were in the bathroom, but maybe if you broke the mirror you could use it? No, too obvious, Ardyn would notice a broken mirror. You know you’ll need something quick and effective because Ardyn towers over you, and even though you’re a trained crownsguard if it turned into a battle of strength you would not win.

Your mind turns to the closet. You had seen nothing but clothes, nothing in there would be useful in your endeavors.

You’re reminded of just how long you’ve been thinking when you realize your room has become pitch black. Your stomach rumbles faintly, but you have bigger fish to fry.

Namely, you need to pee.

You reach out to the nightstand and fumble around the lamp briefly until you find the on switch, flooding your room with a warm light. You stare at the door to the bathroom and debate your choices. You could sleep it off and hope Ardyn would return your use of your legs in the morning– or you could try yourself and risk punishment. You choose the latter, not wanting to rely on your captor for something so humiliating.

Getting out of bed was the easiest part of the process. You simply sat up against the headboard and rotated your legs so they were hanging off the bed. You then rolled yourself forward and winced at the resounding thunk that accompanied your half-lifeless body falling into the floor.

You simply stay in a heap for a moment, your world spinning on its axis as you try and orient yourself. You can feel your old wounds from the Archean fight scream in protest. Being dehydrated and malnourished doesn’t help much either. You can’t remember the last solid meal you ate– maybe when you were at the rest stop? You also can’t remember when you last had a drink. Your captor had not been benevolent enough to leave any food or water within your reach, and you could feel your throat beginning to dry up.

When you finally collect yourself you place your palms on the floor and attempt to drag yourself forward to the bathroom. You know you’ve been weakened from being asleep so long and your malnourishment and dehydration, but the full weight of their effects doesn’t really sink in until you began your journey to the bathroom.

You’re not out of shape, weeks of running across Lucis and years of crownsguard training had sharpened your physique. While you may not be a tank like Gladio, you still know how to hold your own using your raw strength. But days (maybe weeks? You have no way to tell time in the room) of neglect have left you weak and frail. Your muscles scream as you drag yourself across the carpet, as does your skin. The white slip the Chancellor dressed you in gives little protection to your legs, and as you drag yourself forward you feel rugburn begin to develop on your legs.

You grimace when you realize you’re shaking. Your arms have begun to tremble with your weight, and your legs feel as if they’re made of lead. It feels like you’ve been training with Gladio for two days straight without a break.

You ignore your growing exhaustion and focus on the closed door of the bathroom. As you slowly drag yourself towards the door movement itself begins to feel like a herculean task. Eventually, your exertion gets the better of you. You fall flat onto the floor, your head spinning as you try and drag yourself forward on your forearms.

You finally reach the door, smiling to yourself as you reach for the knob.

Locked.

A feeling of hopelessness fills you as you continue jiggling the door handle to no avail. Your captor had been meticulous about preventing your escape, why had you expected him to give you free rein over your room?

You halfheartedly begin pushing your body against the door, hoping it might give way. However, your efforts prove to be futile. You eventually give up, releasing your grip on the doorknob and slumping onto the floor in defeat.

It’s there, with the side of your face buried into the plush rug that you realize just how dire your straits really are.

You’re alone in a new country being held prisoner by an immortal nutjob, injured, malnourished, paralyzed, and weaponless. The crownsguard had mostly ceased operations, which meant none of your comrades were looking for you.

Comrades. The word bounces around in your head as you remember the grisly site where your companions had died. Tears prick at your eyes as guilt floods your mind. Maybe if you’d refused his offer– If you’d just taken your chance with the Archean they would still be alive.

A silent sob tears itself out of your chest as you realize just how alone you are. Even if you do escape, you’ll never be able to share a game of King’s Knight with Noct and Prompto again. You’ll never hear Ignis hum as he prepares dinner again, you’ll never spend another afternoon training with Gladio pushing yourself to the limit over casual banter.

You mourn for Regis as well. He had never been anything but kind to you. When he had selected you to travel with his son across the sea you had been honored. He’d given you a warm smile when he’d explained his son needed a healer on his journey in case things went awry. The fact that Noct would also benefit from healing due to his injuries went unsaid. He was a considerate man, and it had broken your heart to watch him decay over the years.

Another sob wracks your body as you mourn your city. Insomnia had been your home for as long as you could remember, and in one day it had all been taken from you. You’re no fool, you know if a crownsguard were to appear inside occupied Insomnia you’d be killed or captured by the MTs. The plumes of smoke that had risen in the sky are still ingrained in your brain, along with the horror of realizing you had no home to return to.

Your sobs continue as you fully allow your emotions to wash over you. You feel angry, devastated, terrified, confused, but most potently, alone. Your loneliness is all-consuming, it feels like someone cracked open your ribcage and pulled your heart out, leaving only a dark well of sadness in its place.

You don’t know how long you lay there, muted sobs wracking your frame until you run out of tears. When your eyes run dry numbness sets in, profound and absolute in the silence of the night.

You eventually fall asleep sprawled out on the carpet, your energy and fight long abandoned. All care about being sneaky thrown out the window. If Ardyn is going to punish you then so be it. Not much he could do to make the situation worse you figure.

You wake up to the sound of the door to your room opening. You don’t even need to open your eyes to know that the steady and confident footfalls approaching you are Ardyn.

“Well well, what do we have here?” He asks, and you feel dread build in your stomach at his saccharine tone. His shadow falls over your body as he looms over you, and you briefly wonder if he's about to crush you under the heel of his freshly polished boots. “Darling, I told you that your healing comes first. You cannot heal if you’re not in bed.” He flourishes his hand, once again freeing your voice before continuing. “One would think you would get the hint when your legs were taken. Perhaps I need to make you more sedated?”

Ice-cold fear pierces your heart at his words. You frantically shake your head, pointing to the bathroom.

“Need to pee,” You rasp out, your voice gravelly from misuse and lack of water. This seems to appease your captor. He visibly softens, crouching down to your level on the floor.

“Oh darling, my apologies. I should have known you’d need to use the facilities sometime or other,” You’re shocked by his apology as he produces the key to the bathroom from his pocket, unlocking the door and opening it before leaning down to scoop you into his arms.

“No,” You protest, voice weak. “I can do it myself,” You begin to squirm in his grip, trying your hardest to get away as he places you on top of the toilet like a doll. Humiliation burns hot and red in your cheeks as he stares at you expectantly.

“I can do this on my own,” You protest, trying your best to sound assertive as your look at Ardyn’s figure looming in the doorway.

“Darling you needn’t be shy, it isn’t anything I’ve never seen before,” He coos. His words make your skin crawl as he eyes you up and down, his gaze lingering on the lines of your chest and the curve of your waist. You don’t let it deter you, fixing your firm gaze on him in an expression you hope says “I’m not budging on this.”

Luckily it does. With a dramatic sigh, the chancellor turns around, resting his shoulder against the frame of the door.

“Could you please close the door?” You rasp, and the Chancellor shakes his head.

“Trust is given, not earned darling. And after your little stunts on the ship and in the hallway, you have a lot of earning to do.” He replies, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

You sit in silence on the toilet, staring at the back of his head as you both reach a stalemate. He breaks the silence first, telling you “If you don’t complete your task by the time I turn around, you won’t find another opportunity for a while.”

His words are enough to make you sigh in defeat, pulling your underwear down your legs and hiking the white slip up above your hips. The silence while you finish your business was humiliating, but what's more humiliating is the realization you’ll need Ardyn’s help again to wash your hands.

Seemingly reading your mind, the Chancellor turns around and fills a basin full of water from the sink before putting it on your lap, handing you a bar of soap as well. You wash your hands in silence, the sylleblossom scent of the soap wafting into your nostrils as you lather it between your hands.

When you’re finished Ardyn removes the basin from your lap, pours the contents into the sink, and places the bar of soap on the counter.

The numbness from before creeps in, muting the disgust and rage that courses through your veins as your captor runs a hand through your hair. [You allow yourself to fall into it, losing yourself in the abyss of your own mind as you faintly feel your body being lifted into the air again. You barely register being put back into bed, your captor propping a pillow up behind the small of your back so you can sit up. You’re dimly aware of a hairbrush running through the tangled knots in your hair.

In your mind, you’re floating. You feel comfortably empty as memories slip by your consciousness. One moment you’re watching Ignis set up the propane stove at camp, the next you’re getting a tutorial from Prompto on how to use a Blizzaroid camera. It's like watching your life from someone else's point of view, like you're watching a movie for your own memories.

The image of Gladio kissing your cheek at one of the King’s soirees floats by, and you cling to it for a moment. The warmth of the memory washes over you, and you’re briefly there again. You’re in an itchy ballgown tagging along as a plainclothes guard for Noct when an old courtesan niff approaches you, the stench of wine radiating off him as he made clumsy attempts to flirt with you.

Gladio had come to your rescue with an arm around your waist and a kiss on the cheek, asking how you’d been enjoying the festivities. You’d played along and the courtesan had left in a huff, ranting about how he could find better prospects somewhere else.

Just as quickly as it came, the memory slips out of your fleeting grip. You’re once again floating in space. The static numbness is a comfort as you feel your captor begin to braid your hair. It almost feels as if it’s happening to someone else, that you've left a doll shaped like you back in your prison in Altissa while you freely float through your own mind.

Now you’re playing King’s Knight with Noct in the back of a trailer somewhere in Duscae. He always complains when he loses, but you don’t mind. Prompto will always cheer him back up anyways.

You’re in the crownsguard barracks. Your muscles are screaming from the Marshall’s particularly harsh training of the day. Your bunkmate Laurie won’t stop snoring and you kick the bottom of her bed out of frustration. She falls silent, and you take the opportunity to get some well-deserved rest.

You’re young now. Maybe ten? You flit around the market in search of the items on your list. Your chaperone, Cor, does most of the serious work while you look for simple things like milk and bread. You’re stunned by all of the colors and shapes and smells in one place.

Everything is blurry now. You see photos of your mother and father hanging in the front of the temple. There’s a priest talking about how the crownsguard have a noble duty to protect the crystal, how your parents died doing a divine service to the country.

Regis is holding your hand small hand. The next day you’re moved into the crownsguard barracks, the Marshall your chaperone until you’re old enough to be left to your own devices.]*

To your dismay, the shell of numbness begins to dissolve as you feel your captor begin to caress your cheek. You try and hang onto it, but the threads of static slip through your fingers as you slowly come back to reality.

When you finally come back to the present moment, Ardyn is holding a mirror in front of you. He’s delicately twisted your hair into an intricate braided pattern, small pins with garnets nestled into the design. His hand is holding your chin and you flinch away, now fully able to feel the disgust his touch triggers.

When you examine your reflection further you see just how much weight you’ve lost as your face looks sallow and gaunt. You’re paler than you remember. It strikes you that you look like one of the women you’d see in history books with your hairstyle, and your mood sours even further. You hate being this man’s little doll, hate how he’s chosen to enact his twisted fantasies on you just because of some “tragedy” centuries ago.

You’re broken out of your reverie by your captor planting a kiss on the top of your head. Punishment be damned, your years of crownsguard training kick in as you land a punch squarely on his jaw with a satisfying crack.

You'd almost prefer punishment over his true reaction.

He smiles kindly down at you, gathering you in his arms as you try anything to get away. Your fear and disgust morph into white-hot anger as he presses you to his chest. All your emotions from the previous night resurface, bloody and raw. You claw at his face, leaving angry red marks in your wake as your hurl curses at him, but he doesn’t budge. He remains still as you crush his eyes under your fingers, as you rake your nails over his ears and gnash your teeth.

You hurl every swear imaginable at him, your vocabulary foul enough to make even a sailor faint. You continue your onslaught despite your hands being slippery and covered in blood, pounding on your captor’s chest and demanding for him to let you go. He doesn’t budge until you finally exhaust yourself, your all-consuming anger simmering into quiet sobs of defeat.

If it were anyone else you’d be melting into his touch. You’d bask in the warmth of their chest and the security of their thick arms wrapped around you.

But it isn’t someone else.

It’s him.

He finally moves, slipping one arm out from under your legs to caress you, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His face is streaked with blood, his amber eyes fully regenerated as he looks at you with a mix of compassion and sadness. Angry red lines still cross his cheeks and neck, and for a moment you’re horrified with yourself as you become acutely aware of the blood drying on your hands.

“My little one,” He says gently, his eyes still soft. “I will love you no matter how much you hurt me, no matter how many times you grace me with the taste of death,” He places a kiss against the top of your head again, and this time you don’t fight it. You’re too exhausted to fight, too exhausted to feel.

“I understand you’re confused and in pain, but everything I do for you is in your best interest, my sweet,” He continues, and you muster up enough energy to roll your eyes, not caring that he can see you.

“Now, why we get you cleaned up, hm?”

* Information recap: The reader remembers a rime Gladio was flirty with her. It is revealed that the reader was an orphan raised by the crownsguard due to her parents being officers who were KIA.