arielle

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@hanbedumbaf

@superheroesaremyjam113263

DC Taglist:

@emmacata

@p--e--a--c--h--e--s

@sometimeseverythingsucks

@sokkas-honour

@unstable1902

@lostgirlheart

@missdisapear

@tadpole-san

@isawachickeninatree

@uxavity

@battlenix

@capricorn-stark

@evermoore580

@dumbbitchgalore

Supernova Taglist:

@tinybeantm

@adc2016

@seoulnights5

@renjunvrse

@brightjimini

@mad4hugs

@uniyasi

@wierdlypineapple

@mono--moonchild

the first time you ever set foot in metropolis, it's because you're running away.

in your defense - gotham kind of sucked. not in any major way, but you were relocated to their local office of your boring desk job for some corporate reason you couldn't really decipher. so you went, even if it was farther than you wanted because you assumed that, hey - maybe it wouldn't be terrible.

it was. it was terrible. for you, at least.

your friends were scattered across the country, you had to leave what little coworkers you tolerated, and your family is now miles and miles away at any given point. gotham at least had a cheaper cost of living, but your furnished apartment brought little comfort when their were constantly supervillains duking it out in the alley beneath your window. and that was on the edges of the city.

not to mention that your boss expected you to do the work of a secretary, for the salary of an intern. that was the worst part, being ordered around and treated like something expendable when you weren't. you knew that you weren't.

so when you found out they wanted to move you closer to the heart, even further from everything and everyone you loved, you refused. especially because they wanted to cut your pay for it also. your boss stressed the decision - it was either relocation (again) or termination. the choice was laughably easy, actually.

so, now you're here. in a new city, with a nice unemployment check - because they at least did that correctly - and a new beginning. you forgot how nice it feels to breathe.

metropolis. well, at least it's safer than gotham. it has that going for it right off the bat.

your new apartment is cute. it has a balcony, and a fire escape, and even rooftop access if you play your cards right and act nice with your landlord. this is your chance to start over. and so, you do.

with every deep clean, every redecoration, every new piece of furniture, you can feel yourself returning. gotham made you tough, but you were tough before. you needed something more than just survival. and this feels like a good place for something more. it takes barely a day with the help of the movers, and suddenly the flat you're just renting out starts to feel like home.

you have an interview with your new boss the day after next. so you spend the morning before shopping with what money you had set aside for a rainy day and completely deck out your wardrobe, just the way you like it. a new work bag, new shoes, new whatever. you name it. it feels like freedom - and, kind of is. they're much more relaxed about their dress code. and you get some cute keychains for your bag.

and when the time finally comes, you're ready. all mr. white wants to see is how much you can do, where your skills will work the best. it's a publisher, but at least all your moonlighting as a secretary means you can edit. write, eh, maybe a little, but your talent is with numbers. that's where you know you can impress him.

you get dressed, and with your new clothes, you feel more put together than you have in months. you also stop at the coffee shop you found along your route the other day. it's not that overpriced, but for coffee in the city, it could be worse. so you don't complain. the doorman is sweet also, and directs you where you need to go even though you kind of already know.

the elevator ride up is more nerve wracking than it should be.

the daily planet is beautiful, especially before work hours. mr. white called you in early so he'd have time to talk to you properly before he was stuck running around, hounding his employees all day. you can tell he's doing his best to put you at ease, in his own gruff kind of way, but you're too busy looking around to be anxious.

it sounds corny, but the way the sun lights everything up and bathes it in gold? it could bring you to your knees, it's so beautiful. the desks are organized, sat in pairs or facing each other. you're not sure you'll have a cubicle in the center of the bullpen alongside the reporters, but you don't mind. you don't need to be in the center of the action. you just need a job you don't hate.

the interview is a little tense, at first - you're expecting to get hounded for your degree choice or why you chose the daily planet of all companies. but in reality, the conversation flows once he asks you about your specialty. and then you don't shut up. you don't think he minds necessarily, but also that after this, you might want to chose your words just a little more carefully.

it doesn't take much after that. of course you're hired. it'd be a surprise if you weren't.

⋆｡°✩

jimmy's had a rough morning. another intern quit, which marks the second one this month. he doesn't care, not really. he has his circle, his bubble, and that's just the way he likes it. it does, however, mean that he's taking on more than he should really have to.

so, add that to the fact that there's spilled coffee both on his shirt and on some of his unused (and now ruined) film, and that he barely slept because off all the coffee the day before - he's not doing so great.

lois is trying to complain to him, talking about sources or something and some other. jimmy isn't listening, he's just wishing the day was over already. and perry's been busy all morning, which isn't helping his mood either. he needs this next piece greenlit so he can move on to the other one in his queue of projects, but he still hasn't come out of his office and come on man, what could possibly-

the doors opening - finally - and jimmy shoots up out of his chair, rough draft in hand. he doesn't even look when he speeds over, already talking and flipping through stapled pages like it's on fire. he just wants this over with so it can get uploaded before the rest of his portfolio rots away.

"hey, chief, need you to read over this real quick so i can-" and then he looks up and nearly topples over from how hard he stops. you think his shoes probably left tire treads on the tile.

oh, shit.

you don't look much different. you've changed how you do your hair a little, and you're taller. half a decade has changed the way you carry yourself, maybe, but other than that - that's it. you look like you. he wishes he had bothered to try and look presentable today. or something else, he thinks his brain is failing right now. god, he's staring. he knows he is, but he can't help it. not when you're here and-

are you staying?

he blinks. you look just as startled as he does, but you're starting to smile. just a little. perry doesn't even really notice, just closes the distance jimmy left open and grabs the paper from him. he reads it quickly, nods, make another comment about not calling him chief, and then ignores jimmy's existence entirely.

he doesn't even mind. perry's saying something about where your desk will be - next to lois, how lucky is he gonna get? - and what your workload will look like. monitoring numbers, seeing what grabs the publics attention and how, which categories or styles are best suited for each writer. hell, you even get a title. head marketing director. you don't even know if it's a real title, but you don't care.

you get to design logos and offer input on the layout headings and photos of the papers also. this is already a step up from gotham. in a lot of ways.

it doesn't take long for him to approach you once perry disappears and everyone else is done saying polite hellos. and the time it does take is used to simply steel his nerves. he doesn't know why he's so nervous - it's just you, after all. but that's the issue. it's you.

so, when you're in the middle on unpacking whatever random trinkets and decorations you brought in for your desk, he takes lois getting more coffee as an opportunity. he walks over, tries not to trip over himself. fails miserably.

"hi stranger." he sticks his hands in his pockets to stop from fiddling with them. he's trying to look cool and unbothered, though he doubts he can keep it up. he's already made a fool of himself.

"hi, jimmy." you smile all coy, like you knew one way or another you'd end up here with him. even though you really, really didn't.

"so, you're uh- here? like, officially?" he rocked backed and forth, shifting his weight like it could sift out the right words from his brain. he's still not over the shock and it still kind of feels like he's blue screening right now.

"mhm. head marketing director and everything. wanna see my salary?" you smile again, tilt your head, and he feels his heart physically move in his chest. shit, it hasn't even been five minutes of talking to you and he's already a goner all over again.

but he doesn't say anything, just laughs and keeps watching you unpack. more random figures, one he recognizes from a show you made him watch a lifetime ago, a few pictures. and then he sees it.

another picture, the one of the two of you from that party sophomore year ages ago, where you're both covered in glitter and can't sit still.

he blinks a few times. feels his mouth dry up on the spot. makes the cognitive decision - actually thinks it out in his mind - how little being cool means and how much he doesn't care about nonchalance in this moment.

"i missed you. uhm. by the way." he throws it out like its casual. you both know it isn't, since it stops you with your hand midway in your bag.

"i missed you too, jackass." you roll your eyes like it doesn't mean the world to hear that from him.

and then, you're both screwed.

you meet his coworkers - clark, lois, steve, and cat - and they seem nice enough. steve makes you wonder, but the others seem able to straighten him out, so you don't exactly mind. cat compliments your outfit and clark assures you that if you need anything, you can come to him (much to jimmy's dismay at first). lois is sharp as all hell but relaxes a little when jimmy gives her a look.

you love her already.

you learn the work is somehow both easy and fulfilling, a combination you haven't had in ages. not since you were first working towards your degree in the first place. jimmy spends half of his time leaning over his cubicle and trying to talk to you, much to lois' annoyance. you four discuss superman and what he means for the future of metropolis.

the other three are slightly surprised when you mention that you haven't seen superman yet, outside of the articles you've read and the pictures you've seen. you're grateful, cause it means you've avoided any major disaster since you moved in. he seems alright, maybe a little happy-go-lucky for your taste, but not evil like that bald guy keeps preaching on the tv.

clark laughs when you make the comment. and then the days fly by. you get adjusted quickly, fall back into a routine with jimmy like you never really left one at all. it doesn't feel like you did. he's just as sweet as he was back in school. he even remembers your drink preference when your brain starts to turn to mush and you need a pick me up.

you can't remember why you and jimmy ever stopped talking - one of you got into a relationship, you think? couple that with the distance and the inability to party as grown ass adults with big kid jobs...

whatever. you missed him.

and you do help out, even outside of offering some sense normalcy for him. but now it feels like helping and not being ordered around. you make runs to the other departments if perry asks for an update on their numbers, pick up drinks for the four of you when you're coming back. scribble random details lois asks you to keep track of for her. maybe you're still slightly acting like a secretary, but you don't mind this time - at least you're getting paid properly.

and besides - you're helping out your friends. how could you mind? and the others love you. except when jimmy's puppy dog act starts to get on their nerves.

his stupid ringtone is going off again, and lois is about to tear her hair out for the third time today. it's some song you mentioned forever ago, and then he made it specifically yours once he actually listened to it. all these years later, it's still your song. thank god you never changed numbers.

"yell-o?" jimmy picked up the phone as casually as he could once he saw the name on the screen. spelled out in thick block letters accompanied by a picture he got of you years ago at another party he dragged you off to, blurry and out of focus.

you're standing on a couch, hair messed up and your outfit a state after god knows what. you're screaming song lyrics you don't actually know and you're absolutely covered in glitter. this picture is kind of the only memory you both have of the night after all the partying you did.

you hate the photo. he made it your contact picture the minute he realized he even had it, because it summarizes your college years better than anything else could.

"you owe me for this jimmy. so fucking much." you're annoyed. and tense, he can tell. your voice is all strained like it normally gets when your body scrunches up. you're out getting some pictures for him while he's stuck following up with a source of his back at the office.

you call it headquarters. he doesn't really argue.

"yeah, yeah. i know. but the senator is inside that meeting, we know he is. you just gotta get proof of him leaving and we're set." he puts a little emphasis on his words hoping you'll keep sticking it out. it doesn't work. he lent you one of his old cameras with settings already figured out so you could get a discernable picture for him.

"that's great and all, but i've been sitting here for three hours burning gas and nursing a cold coffee i don't even like!" you're yelling now. it's hard to remain inconspicuous, even in the old car you dragged to this city when you moved when you're being so loud.

but you really don't care - you're tired, hungry, and at this point you think you've wasted away half your muscle mass. being helpful does not mean suffering.

"c'mon. work a little magic for me? please?" he tries for a sweeter approach, and you don't say anything at first. just huff - aggressively.

"you're a pain in my ass, james." he can hear you rolling your eyes, but the irritation is (mostly) gone from your voice. you only ever use his government name when you're trying to make fun of him, but he doesn't mind if it's you. he won't admit to himself why - at least, not yet.

"that's my girl." he smiles into the receiver like you can see him before you curse him out some more and hang up. he sets his phone down to get back to work, but he can feel lois staring at him from across the cubicle. she seems slightly less annoyed now also.

look at him go, he's two-for-two.

"jimmy and sparkles sittin' in a tree." lois starts to hum the rest of the tune before jimmy cuts her off. it's been her go-to nickname since she saw some of the pictures from school, old ones that jimmy had lying around. you don't mind, but you refuse to acknowledge them as your "glory days" when you spent your time living off of bad dining hall food and 2 hours of sleep a semester.

"heyheyhey- knock it off. and seriously? still, with the sparkles?" he looks at her like she might be crazy and like you might somehow overhear.

"oh, come on. i feel like the glitter speaks for itself, here." she's smiling at him like she just won the lottery and jimmy rolls his eyes.

"sparkles is banned. don't use it again." he says it like it's a threat, but he's smiling when he sees you've texted him. more complaining and cursing him out, probably, but it's fine. he's just happy that you aren't going to kill him when you get back to the office.

when you do come back, you hassle him and tell him he owes you gas money and this and that, but he doesn't care. it's like every time you come back to the office, it's just as fun as the first time.

and so, you keep coming back. you don't think anything could keep you away at this point.

it's months later that things start to change, for real this time. you're staying later at the office, or asking him to come over to look at your notes when you don't really need him to. it's just a excuse to eat takeout and hangout like you used to. the lines are starting to blur again, more and more, but neither of you will call the other on it.

you're at the office when the line splits.

you have to give your first quarterly report for the year, which you don't exactly mind. but it's been years since you had to do any sort of public speaking and you really don't wanna. you're complaining to the others, half sitting on the free space of jimmy's desk while he tries to solve a crossword.

"you're seriously nervous?" lois asks, looking over a cup of way too sweet coffee. clark's ears poke up and he rolls his way over by the conjoined desks and jimmy snorts. your attention shoots over to him and you smack him lightly on the back of the head.

"no. i just don't love doing it. it's awkward, you know?" you shift your weight uncomfortably. jimmy rubs his hand across his neck like it hurts (it doesn't) and glances over.

"liar. you hate public speaking. you have since forever." he shrugs and goes back to his crossword, stuck on a word going down the screen.

"that doesn't mean i'm scared. or nervous." you point out the answer to jimmy before turning your attention back to clark and lois. "i've done worse. i just..."

jimmy spins around in his seat and gives you a look. you know what's coming, it's been used as an argument since it first happened.

"i held your hand while you got your bellybutton pierced, but you can't handle five minutes of public speaking?" he smiles like the little shit he is. you sigh. damn you, jimmy.

you have to spend 20 minutes dodging questions from an astonished clark and a curious lois, but you think that might be because she wants to get hers done too (you catch her looking at jewelry later).

the rest of the day goes by smoothly, despite clark's strange absence for a good deal of it. but you've learned to ignore his oddities, because c'mon. it's clark! he's been affectionately helpful since day one. even when he's late all the time, even when he gets a little too excited when discussing superman, even when he disappears at random.

you're at your desk, typing away and planning what you're gonna say at this meeting. it's not just the numbers since you've begun, but the summary of past reports from before you showed up - you think it'll be good to be proactive in your summary. you're immersed in your work when the announcement goes off that there's a monster destroying downtown.

the tv's are going as they always are, jimmy's asking lois about source intel, and everyone's running around doing their own thing while some reptilian monster continues to terrorize the city. the news blares on, live and covering the footage they're able to gather of both superman and the justice gang eventually euthanizing the terror.

Your beat wasn’t glamorous. There were no Pulitzer-worthy exposés or exclusive interviews with Metropolis’s most elusive hero. You were out in the thick of it, usually reporting on traffic pileups and commuter chaos, calling in voice notes from your phone while dodging cabs. But it was honest work, and it kept you moving. Jimmy, for all his antics and charm, respected that. While he was out snapping photos and chasing stories with Lois, he'd always find time to check in, often meeting you halfway between assignments with coffee or something greasy wrapped in paper.

You knew Jimmy’s reputation. Everyone did. There were pictures on his desk that rotated like the headlines. There were blondes, brunettes, girls with short hair, and girls with curls. And more than enough half-whispered stories were floating around the bullpen to piece together a very clear pattern. Jimmy Olsen was a heartbreaker. But he was different with you.

He didn’t push. He didn’t press. He played the field, sure, but always circled back, orbiting close like he was just waiting for the right signal. Like he was waiting at a red light that never turned green, but he never dared to run it.

Tonight had been good. Better than good. The newsroom had cleared out hours ago, but you stayed behind, not quite ready to head home to your silent apartment and half-eaten leftover takeout. You were hunched over your desk, trying to look busy, when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“You hungry?” Jimmy asked, holding out a familiar grease-stained paper bag from the burger joint a few blocks down. The one you both liked, conveniently located between your buildings.

You didn’t ask how he knew you hadn’t eaten. You just took the bag, sat down across from him in the conference room, and started splitting fries like it was the most natural thing in the world. He’d gotten your order just right. No tomato, extra grilled onions, even remembered the dipping sauce you liked. That tiny detail caught you off guard more than you wanted to admit.

It was easy, effortless, until you caught him watching you a little too closely.

You arched a brow as you finished your burger, balling up the wrapper. “Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

Jimmy’s face contorted in confusion, his jaw slack as he searched for words.

“Exactly.” You hummed lightly, grabbing your purse and keys from the floor beside you. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Have fun with… what’s her name this week?”

He smiled sheepishly. “Eve.”

“Eve,” you repeated, nodding. “Cute name. Don’t break her heart.”

You gave him a playful wink before turning on your heel, leaving him alone under the flickering buzz of the breakroom light with a bag of fries half-eaten, and a look on his face like maybe you’d just scooped the air out of his lungs with your words.

+++

The next day is like normal. Jimmy flirts with you, grinning like the night before never ended, and you flirt back, but only just. He lingers a little closer than usual when he hands off a slip of paper with a story lead, fingers brushing yours, eyes catching and holding.

“Got something for you,” he murmurs, voice low like it’s just between you two.

You glance at the paper, then at him. “You always bring me the juicy ones?”

“Only the best,” he says, mouth curving. “Figured you’d want first crack.”

His fingers don’t move, still touching yours. You raise a brow, then pat his arm lightly. “Careful, Jimmy. You’re starting to sound sweet.”

He leans in, just a breath. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You step back with a small, amused smile, heels clicking as you walk away. “I say that like you’ve got a girlfriend.”

Behind you, the hum of the newsroom swallows whatever response he doesn’t say.

You ignore the stares from the girls in the mailroom. You’ve seen them watching, whispering behind glossy nails and plastic name tags. They don’t like you much. Not since Jimmy started saving the last of the donuts for you and always seemed to know where you were, even when you didn’t check in.

Clark’s the only one who says anything out loud. He’s standing by the coat rack, sipping from his thermos, when you wrestle your arms into your raincoat and secure the hood over your head.

“Ten-car pileup on the bridge,” you say, lifting your press badge and pinning it inside of the waterproof pocket. “Should be back before five, unless someone spontaneously combusts.”

Clark smiles, tilting his head like he’s debating saying more, and then he does. “You should stop playing with him.”

You blink. “Excuse me?” You bend over to shove your foot into your rainboot.

“Jimmy,” he clarifies, almost sheepish. “He actually means it.”

You laugh, dry and low. “Clark, he meant it last week. He’ll mean it again next week. It’ll happen when it’s meant to.” You give a casual shrug, turning toward the elevator. “Besides, he’s got Eve.”

Clark just hums, unconvinced. You don’t look back.

You hear whispers about him and Eve all week. She calls him constantly, hours at a time, and he answers with that tired voice you recognize full of heavy sighs and half-hearted chuckles. You catch glimpses of him in passing, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. He doesn’t bring her up to you, not once.

Wednesday, you see him out front of the building during your lunch break, standing stiff under the awning without an umbrella. He’s staring at his phone as if it had personally offended him. You pass without a word.

By Friday, the office is buzzing.

You’d been circling the city all morning, dodging potholes and honking horns, chasing down some minor lead about a tow truck scandal. You’re soaked to the knees, half-listening to your voicemail in the stairwell when the elevator doors open to chatter from the mailroom girls.

“She came in here,” someone whispers as you pass. “Like into the meeting room.”

“I heard she threw her drink at him.”

“No, not just threw. Launched. A venti caramel latte with three extra espresso shots."

"Angela read the label?"

"She said he broke her heart. Loud enough to stop a meeting next door.”

You glance across the bullpen and spot Jimmy wiping his face with a handful of napkins, coffee stains blooming across his button-down. His sweater vest is gone, sleeves rolled, and for the first time all week, he looks like the wind’s been knocked out of him.

He glances up, catches your eye.

You don’t stop walking, but you do toss him the extra towel from your bag as you pass, hitting him square in the chest without a word.

Another thing you’d heard about Jimmy Olsen, besides his appetite for danger and inability to keep a houseplant alive, was Tuesdays.

Tuesdays were his nights. Date night. Every week, without fail. Like clockwork. Always a different girl, always somewhere with mood lighting and overpriced cocktails, the kind of places you only went to when you wanted to forget the newsroom and pretend you were someone else for a few hours.

You’d overheard the girls in the mailroom talking about it again that morning, giggling behind their clipboards.

“He wears cologne,” one of them whispered. “You can tell the second he walks in on Tuesdays. Full spray, not the little spritz he does for interviews. It's so hot."

“He’s got a reservation at that rooftop place tonight,” the other replied. “The one that needs a waitlist and a blood sacrifice.”

But you knew better. There was no reservation tonight.

Eve had made sure of that when she chucked a latte at his face and called him every name under the sun in front of half the floor. Jimmy hadn’t left his desk since. He hadn’t flirted once all weekend, hadn’t even smiled for real. His camera stayed slung over the back of his chair, untouched, like it was sulking with him.

He was bent over a printout now, red pen in hand, the tip hovering over the paper but not moving. He hadn’t turned a page in fifteen minutes.

You approached quietly, leaning one elbow on his desk and waiting until he noticed you.

“Where are we going tonight?” you asked.

Jimmy looked up, blinking like you’d pulled him out of a trance. “What?”

You nodded toward the stack of papers and then the clock. “It’s Tuesday. You usually go on a date. So…” You folded your arms, keeping your tone light. “Where are we going?”

His brows furrowed, lips parting like he couldn’t quite find the joke you were making. “Are you messing with me right now?”

“Nope.” You smiled, just a little. “I’m asking what time you’re picking me up.”

He stared for a long second, trying to read your face like it was a lead he hadn’t cracked yet. You laughed, no longer able to hold it back. His eyes flickered with something unspoken. Surprise, maybe. Hope. Maybe even a little fear.

“I’ve got rain boots in my car and a dry change of clothes in my locker,” you replied, tapping his desk lightly. “Pick something. Nothing with reservations. Nothing with candles. And if you try to pay, I’m ordering the lobster.”

He grinned. “I hate lobster.”

“Perfect,” you said. “More for me.”

He leaned back in his chair and looked at you like you’d just flipped the whole board on a game he thought he’d been winning.

You pushed away from his desk, already reaching for your coat. “Six-thirty, my place. And don’t wear that cologne. Smells like a gas station cashier’s dream.”

He pressed a hand to his chest, mock wounded. “You wound me.”

HISTORY

House Lairwyn of Bloodstone was an old forgotten house located in the Riverlands. Their seat was at the Bloodstone, an old eerie looking castle with a resemblance of a bat’s figure, their symbol. The Lairwyn sigil was a black bat with blood on its mouth in front of two crossed swords upon a dark taupe escutcheon.

They earned their reputation and served the realm as executioners of kings, hence their words “commander of death”, but its meaning was beyond that. After they retired from their positions, they were simply strange people with no apparent reason to socialize and slowly disappeared from watchful eyes.

REPUTATION

Other than their history of beheading people and so, they also earned a frightful reputation in riverlands as well. House Lairwyn had a very oddly small number of generations of descendants compared to other houses in the realm, given the fact that their house was as ancient as others. According to their closer companions, each member of their blood had lived a very strangely long life since their founder lord Sander Lairwyn who lived until the age of hundred and two.

Rumours spreaded all over the realm of their dreadful custom that had been the secret of their long life. Bloodsuckers they called them, savages in the form of noble lords and ladies who tortured the living and took their hearts out to feed themselves. With lack of proof, they remained unimportant and unapproachable for others until this day.

APPEARANCE

For their appearance, the Lairwyn were known for their sickly pale skin in contrast to their thick black hair. Through the whispers of riverlands they were described to have two fangs stuck out of their mouths and sharp long nails which contributed to their infamous alias as heart-rippers.

DANCE OF THE DRAGONS

It was important that each house participated in this war whether they wanted to or not. During the war, house Lairwyn had only two remaining members left in line — lord Carlos Lairwyn and his younger sister, lady Celia. Ravens were sent to the lord of Bloodstone from both queen Rhaenyra and king Aegon, asking them to choose their side or meet with fire and blood. But what would they choose if blood and fire were what they desired at most?

REMANING MEMBERS

꒱࿐ Lord Carlos Lairwyn of Bloodstone.

꒱࿐ Lady Celia Lairwyn of Bloodstone.

The granny fully ignores him. "I remember back in my day-"

"Hold on, the fuck you mean- sorry, I mean-"

Before Sakura can keep gracing Chiyoko with his colorful vocabulary, something cuts him off.

“Rennn!”

The sound of hurried footsteps and the unmistakable brightness in the voice snaps Sakura’s attention to the source. His head whirls around, and he freezes.

A girl.

You.

You're a pretty thing, pleated uniform skirt hiked up just a tad bit too short for school regulations. It flutters around your thighs, exposing an expanse of skin that has Sakura blushing right down to his toes. He quickly tears his gaze away.

Instead, he watches, stunned, as Kaji slows his pace and reaches up, fingers curling to hook his headphones down to his neck. He stands there, hands dropping to his sides, palms open as if he's expecting something.

And then...the most inexplicable thing happens.

You launch yourself forward, into the notoriously bad-tempered second-year’s arms, your own arms coming up to wrap around his neck.

“Ren! Missed you so much!”

“Huh?” Sakura whips his head around to gawk at Chiyoko to make sure she’s seeing the same thing he is. “Huuuh?”

The granny on his back just beams, eyes crinkling, like this is something she's seen happen a thousand times.

Kaji barely reacts to the impact of you. He plants his feet, arms coming around your waist, steady and sure. If there's one thing Sakura has learned, it’s that the blonde is deceptively strong. From his angle, Sakura can see the faintest hint of color rise to Kaji's cheeks, a subtle shift masked by the tilt of his head.

A soft jangling sound captures Sakura’s attention and he zeros in on the charm dangling from your backpack. It looks vaguely familiar and he squints, trying to place it. Then it hits him- he’s seen it before, a matching charm clipped to Kaji’s rarely-used bag. The trinket is small and undeniably cutesy, in sharp contrast to Kaji's abrasive personality, which is what had drawn Sakura's attention to it in the first place.

“Oi,” Kaji snaps, tightening his hold around your waist, but his voice lacks the usual bite Sakura has come to associate the blonde with. “Be careful.”

You pout, playful and unabashed. “Aw, but I knew you’d catch me.”

“Still.” Kaji eyes you. His fingers brush against the hem of your skirt, tugging it down slightly. “And this—”

You cut him off with a practiced ease, plucking the lollipop from his mouth and popping it into yours.

"Oi!"

“Yeah, yeah,” you say breezily, leaning your head against his shoulder. “It’s too short, other guys will mess with me, blah blah blah. But I’m not worried, because my big bad boyfriend will take care of any problems, won’t he?”

Kaji's lips twitch as though he wants to argue, but nothing comes out. Instead, what looks like the faintest smile slips onto them, though it’s gone in the blink of an eye.

“Hi, Kusumi-chan, Enomoto-chan!” you lean back slightly in Kaji's arms, tilting your head so you can see the other boys who have been smirking at each other the entire time. Sensing their silent amusement, Kaji snaps his head around, fixing them with a pointed glare. Their expressions transform immediately into pictures of innocence and they greet you enthusiastically, clearly charmed by you.

“Good t’see ya as always,” Takeshi grins broadly. “Still keepin’ our captain on his toes?”

“Someone has to,” you quip, swirling the lollipop stick between your fingers before slipping it from your lips. Kaji’s gaze flickers downward, tracking the motion, lingering a beat too long on your lips.

You tug at the headphones around Kaji's neck. “Still taking good care of these, huh? Never takes them off, does he, Enomoto-chan?”

“Well,” Takeshi says with a teasing grin, “they’re special. Given by someone even more special.”

“Shut up,” Kaji mutters, ears faintly pink, though he doesn’t refute it. He's still staring down at your lips, though his gaze flickers back up to meet yours when you reach a hand up.

“Aw," you smile sweetly at him, brushing a finger through the bangs covering his forehead, "I'm glad you're still putting them to good use."

"Tch." Kaji's gaze darts away but returns to you almost just as quickly.

Sakura sputters, completely thrown off by the revelation that the reason behind the permanent fixture on Kaji Ren’s head...is you. Dumbfounded, he watches you continue to shower Kaji—the same boy he's seen coldly pummel opponents to a pulp with the harshest of scowls—with affection. But none of that brutality is visible now. Instead, Kaji holds you with an unexpected tenderness, as if you’re something delicate, something precious to him.

You let out a long, almost aggrieved sigh, and Sakura can’t help but wonder if you’re starting to tire of giving without getting anything in return from the blonde.

“Why're you so handsome?” you pout, sliding a finger down the bridge of Kaji's nose until it rests gently over his lips. “It’s just so unfair.”

Sakura chokes on his own spit.

Kaji doesn’t reply to that at all. Perhaps he doesn’t know how to. The tips of his ears are an unmistakeable flaming red now.

And then, as if on instinct, he leans down. The movement is quick, almost imperceptible. But it's enough signal for you apparently, because you close the gap by pressing your lips to his, winding your arms around his neck tighter and relaxing into his hold.

Sakura feels his brain grind to a complete halt.

“As I said,” Chiyoko hums behind him with a knowing smile. Her short legs swing happily against Sakura's sides. “Young love.”

"You've grown." Vaela finally says, offering a weak smile.

"Did the long hair or the sudden growth spurt from one to five feet within sixteen years give it away?" Maeryn asks, receiving a huffed laugh from the older woman.

"Sharp tongue. Its no wonder they didn't put you in with the Temple of Ghost."

Maeryn snorts. "I'd sooner take practice with the Ghosts before the Soothsayers..." She murmurs before covering her mouth, cheeks turning as pink as her eyes. "Sorry - I hadn't meant it that way."

Vaela shook her head, amusement playing in her tired eyes. "No apologies necessary. If I'd known how boring being a Soothsayer was, I would have chosen something else."

Maeryn opened her mouth, but closed it again, not ready to protest that she hadn't chosen to become a Soothsayer because it was boring - it frightened her. The rituals were unsettling enough to attend to but to be the one to prepare and initiate with past lives and relatives? It made the pit in her stomach drop. Magic paid heavy prices and Soothsayers still practiced without any fear. It was brave but stupid all the same.

A wave of coughs from Vaela brought her back to reality. Maeryn moved toward her but was stopped by Vaela putting her hand up, the natrualistic urge of following a command halting her in place and watched as the woman shakily reached for the flagon of wine beside her bed. She nearly drank the cup dry as she gulped it down, sighing in exhaustion.

"You called for me?" Maeryn reminded her after a moment of silence.

Vaela nods. "The girls are to turn five and ten in five months. I'm sure you're aware of the Ceremony, yes?"

Maeryn nods. She had only been a year older than her twin nieces and the Ceremony of Age had been her least favorite ritual so far. After all, who would ever want to choose what they want to do for the remainder of their lives at fifteen? Maeryn certainly hadn't. Not to mention, the whole process of the rituals were long and dreadfully boring.

She narrowed her eyes at the woman in the bed, who had that annoyingly undreadable smile Naexes had whenever she had something in mind. Damned Soothsayers and their calculated smiles. Maeryn had been taught to read small actions but Soothsayers were taught to supress them. Not knowing what someone needed from her made her restless.

"I'd like for you to oversee them until its time for their Selection. Train them in the practices of a Butterfly. I've asked the same from Daelyx and Naexes as well with their own training." Vaela says, to which Maeryn nodded.

That was a simple enough request; that was also probably a reason why she was sent out here besides the fact that she couldn't stand being in the Temples anymore. There wasn't anything left for her there anyways, she reminded herself darkly.

"I would also wish for you to be their escort during their visit to the Riverlands." Vaela adds, coughing into her arm.

"What?" Maeryn asks, mouth agape.

Vaela sits up straighter as she speaks. "Back in Yi Ti, we would make our way down the mountain, starting the practice of offering our hairpins as favors to those we trust most. The girls will do the same but with the houses in Westeros. Verra had given her first favor to Prince Daeron Targaryen recently however Valera wishes to give her favor to Lord Grover Tully at Riverrun. He has already been made aware of this and has prepared for a large hunt and feast."

"Why send me? Shouldn't you or Naexes attend instead?" She questions, though the answer to her first suggestion was said through another violent cough. Maeryn refilled her cup once more, ignoring Vaela's weak protest as she handed the cup to her.

"Naexes has other obligations to attend to in my stead and Daelyx is instructed to stay by her side at all costs. Should the need to ensure the girls safety arises, you are our best chances. Daelyx tells me you are skilled with your fans."

Maeryn nods, her fingers grazing the steel war fans hidden in her billowing sleeve. Skilled had been a light way to put it. Maeryn was perfect - she had been sent to the Court of Butterflies at the age of five instead of the appropriate age of ten after her father's death. She had learned fan dances and fighting stances before she was able to read. She was young, found things easier to learn. Not to mention, once a girl has entered the Court of Butterflies, they will do nothing but practice if they weren't sleeping.

Whenever someone claimed her to be a prodigy or a miracle for finishing her training before her Ceremony of Age, they were sorely mistaken. She had been in an unfortunate situation turned "fortunate" with the deal her father had struck with the madame prior to her birth. Now here she stood, at sixteen and already a sworn guard to a higher born clan member. She had not been raised to be a child; she had been raised to learn how to spy, flirt, or kill her way to learn information at the behest of her lord or lady.

"I don't trust anyone else but you." Vaela, says truthfully. "The guards here lack in something you have."

"What, a bar of soap?" Maeryn comments, remembering the stench of one of the knights being as raunchy as Starlyte after a few days of travelling. This earned a laugh in response from her aunt.

"Details." Vaela supplies. "You see them better than anyone. I saw you when you arrived on dragonback. You were watching the ones who hadn't been watching you."

Maeryn had expected as much for her to notice that, remembering Naexys warning her about not looking too much like a threat to the Westerosi. Their dragons were already enough of a threat when they had landed. Still, she had to take note of which lord or lady hadn't found their presence interesting and who found them too interesting.

It was always so easy to figure out who could pose a problem for them just from the way some avoided or even looked at Starlyte. So far, there had been an alarming rate of threats just in the Red Keep. And from the way Vaela had looked at her, she known that much as well.

Her curiosity got the best of her as she asked, "Why choose an aging lord as someone to give her favor to? Why not someone else here at court?"

"Lord Grover Tully is a kind man. He had been the only one who made the girls comfortable with their presence whenever he had visited court and even had them stay with me when I had fallen too ill and couldn't trust anyone at court yet." Vaela explains solemnly. "That was also the most I'd seen Valera happy. Like a child with their grandfather. She is also fond of many of the young lords and ladies of Riverrun so it was natural she chose the Lord Paramount over anyone else."

Maeryn nodded, understanding the sentiment. Even if she had been raised with little to no childhood, she remembered her father's siblings - Vaela and Jaenara in particular - try their best in ensuring she had some smidge of happiness before she had grown older. Memories of Vaela taking her and the twins on rides on her dragon, Sambar, months before they had left for Westeros, never to return.

Jaenara had not sired a child but was the closest thing to a mother in the Court of Butterflies. She had been the one to defend her against the madame when training had gotten too rough with her little body. Jaenara had also been the one to insist she accompany Naexys on her journey as a means of her first assignment, supporting Maeryn at every turn possible when doubts were casted.

Vaela reached a hand in her hair, the bun unfurling as she pulls out a pale purple hair pin, the base housing a flower and butterfly at the base. Snow drops were added to the pin, dangling off at the butterfly. She smiled as she handed it to Maeryn.

"This is me calling in my favor." Vaela says with a smile. "You might think you are not fit for this endeavor but I trust you the most with my girls. You understand the pair of them better than anyone else. I trust you, Maeryn."

Maeryn held her breath, not sure what to say anymore. Calling a favor for a Butterfly was important; if anything, she couldn't refuse even though she was well aware Vaela wouldn't mind her rejection. Her foot tapped impatiently on the cold stone, considering the favor and the circumstances all around.

She still hadn't believed she was the perfect fit to protect her cousin; inexperienced as a Butterfly and an even more inexperienced one in a new, unfamiliar land. Still, she had found herself watching Vaela, who had hope in her eyes, wholeheartedly trusting Maeryn's skills. Regardless, she found herself looking away in contemplation before nodding.

His Princess Masterlist ✧₊⁺

His Wife Masterlist ✧₊⁺

Haunting of Riverrun ✧₊⁺ l 𓉸ྀི

What the Gods Gave Us ✧₊⁺ l ᯓᰔ l 𓉸ྀི

Command Me Part 2 ✧₊⁺ l ᯓᰔ l 𓉸ྀི

Be Mine ✧₊⁺ l ᯓᰔ l ୨ৎ

Table 13 & Cherry Pie Part 2 ✧₊⁺ l ᯓᰔ

Forbidden Flames ✧₊⁺ l ᯓᰔ l 𓉸ྀི

We're Not Kids Anymore ✧₊⁺ l ᯓᰔ

Symphony of Us ✧₊⁺ l ᯓᰔ l ୨ৎ

Your Throne ✧₊⁺ l ᯓᰔ l 𓉸ྀི

Pray That I Don't Catch You ✧₊⁺

A Way Out ᯓᰔ l 𓉸ྀི

benji x aegon x sister!wife!reader

Anniversary Gift ✧₊⁺

Sworn Protector ✧₊⁺

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত