jade

“Then tell me,” you said, leaning in towards him, your long silver hair falling over your shoulder. “How is it supposed to feel?”

“You should not ask me that,” he responded, leaning away from you, his eyes darting away. “It is not comely of a young princess.”

“No, I suppose not,” you said as you looked down at your cup. “I ought to ask one of the boys my father keeps parading before me. Lord Lannister, perhaps.”

“Jason Lannister?” Daemon asked, scoffing, as he played with the signet ring on his finger. “Dark Sister weighs more than the boy sopping wet.”

“Oh, do not start, Daemon,” you replied, leaning back on the couch, careless in a way your handmaiden would have scolded you for. Was your casual behavior comely? you wondered. You didn’t care. He should have known that. He had known you since you were small, muddied in the dragonpit, tearful over a scrapped knee.

Your father, the king, and Daemon had been boys together; though it was difficult to imagine your father as a boy and nearly impossible to imagine Daemon as anything but what he was now as he was before you. Yet there was a deep bond between them, so no one questioned his close relationship with you because of your father’s familial trust in him. No one questioned it because Daemon Targaryen had a wife in the Vale, and surely even the Rogue Prince had some line he would not cross, especially if it was drawn in blood. Surely.

“That Lannister boy wants a dragon in his bed and a crown on his head. You would call it affection,” Daemon spat, running his free hand along his thigh.

“And what would you call it?” you replied. You were naive, you’d admit, and although you could guess, you did want to hear what he had to say.

“Taking advantage,” he said with haste, as if the words were lingering there this entire time.

You scoffed. Jason was a little eager, sure, but they all were. You were a Targaryen princess, heir to the Iron Throne. It was all political, your father had told you. No one marries for love, only convenience. “My father said-“

Daemon set his cup down with a loud smack, startling you. “Your father should know that it is custom to marry within our house. Why does he deny you tradition?” 

“He is trying to do what’s best for me. If I am to be his heir, we must form alliances. Trust me that I wish it were not this way, that… that…” you stilled yourself before you said something you’d regret. “You must understand.”

“He is trying to sell you to the highest bidder,” Daemon laughed incredulously, running a hand through his short hair.

You laughed once in turn, sharing his disbelief, but for a different reason. “So you are now angry with my father for what? For being king?”

“I have been angry with your father for years,” he said, the words settling heavily between you.

“You do not speak of truth,” you said, waving your hand before smoothing your skirts. “Let this go, it’s not even of consequence. I am sorry I said anything.“

Daemon looked away toward the fire for a moment before speaking again. “Do you think I enjoy watching them court what should be mine by right of blood?”

“Yours?” You blushed. “What are you talking about?”

You could play coy, but it was no secret. Whatever bond you two shared had been there long before you had understood what to call it. You had always belonged to Daemon, even if it was only in some small, shameful corner of your mind. However, you desperately wanted and tried to be good- the daughter your father needed and the princess the realm expected. You had let lords kiss your hand, looking at them through batted lashes, as they offered you their arms and you offered them heirs. But through it all, you could only think of him.

Daemon stood up and looked towards the ground, his red and black leather tunic settling at his waist. “I should be going.”

You did the same, but instead, looked deeply at his face. “No, tell me what you mean to say. I want to hear it.”

“One of us must have sense,” he replied, taking a step towards the door.

You stepped in this path. A bold move, as his height towered over you and his sword rested at his side, but you stood in a way that expressed no unease.

“And it is you?” you challenged. “With sense?”

He looked down at you like a predator with his prey, his eyes reflecting the fire that burned too hot, now. His jaw stiffened as he said, “No.”

You moved closer now, your chests touching, giving away your quickening breath. “Then tell me,” you repeated, looking at him through batted eyelashes. “How is it supposed to feel?”

Daemon crashed his mouth into yours in answer.

Immediately, his hands flew up to your face, cradling your cheeks as his lips moved over yours, his teeth grazing your lip. You gasped into him at that, and he swallowed the sound without pausing for your comfort. Your heart was racing now, your first kiss not the courtly kind, but something that was unleashed after years of restraint.

Daemon’s thumb slid down to your throat, angling your head backwards as he trailed kisses down your neck. You’re stiff and unpracticed, but it doesn’t faze him in the slightest, no, he melts into you. A soft whimper escapes you as his lips reach your collarbone. Warmth spreads through your veins not dissimilar to the first time you mounted your dragon. 

But just as you surrender completely, letting go of the chains of duty that bind you, committing yourself fully to tradition, Daemon kisses you once more before wrenching himself away. You stumble backwards and your head falls forward from the sudden absence. He looks you over, your hair disheveled, your lips pink and parted, and the feeling of shame returns to you. And you can tell that his pride is… almost replaced, by something more unrepentant, like he stepped over the line you were sure he wouldn’t cross, and now, his feet were bloodied.

“It feels,” he finally says, his eyes never leaving yours, “guilty as sin.”

read: jacaerys x reader "evermore" | aemond x reader "i know places"

Alfred… Pennyworth…? She thought to herself. Why did the name sound vaguely familiar? Perhaps he was the jeweler on high street. She had taken some old coins of Philip’s there to get apprasied-

“Hello?” Alfred cut in when she didn’t answer. Claire was lost in her thoughts, as usual, but his voice brought her out of the labyrinth of her mind.

“Yes, I- I’m sorry, Alfred,” she said. “You’ll have to forgive me, my memory betrays me these days. Who- who are you?

Her memory betrays her. Ha. Well, if Alfred knew anything about Sinclaire Scott, he’d know that was a poor excuse for a 28-year-old girl. The reality of it was, she had spent too much time drinking these days instead of working or doing literally anything else productive. She told herself she was grieving, that it was her coping mechanism, no matter how poor. And while her therapist, Dr. Baker, was incredibly supportive, she did not approve of Claire’s growing dependence on alcohol. Not that Claire cared. Her days blurred together too much in the English countryside estate she practically haunted rather than inhabited.

On the other end, Alfred cleared his throat. “I am the butler and acting estate manager of Wayne Manor in Gotham.”

There had been a time when Sinclaire Scott was thee Sinclaire Scott, a renowned architect who could sketch floor plans from memory with the exact measurements after a single walkthrough. Her mind had once been sharp. So sharp, in fact, that her business, Scott Signatures, managed to attract the attention of thee Philip Barclay, a successful investment banker working at Gotham Wealth Management Group. He contracted her out for some work on his penthouse. They were married within the year.

One evening, Philip called Claire to tell her they’d have to push their reservation an hour at their favorite Italian restaurant downtown. Some acquisition wasn’t going the way he planned, and if she wanted him to buy that home for them in Paris, he’d have to stay. Claire, darling, I’ll be home soon. I know, I know, baby. Just give me an hour and I’ll be all yours. I promise.

It had to end in tragedy, though, right? Because Gotham destroys everything worth living for.

Just twenty minutes after that call, Claire and all of Gotham watched smoke pour from the upper floors of Philip’s office building. Philip Barclay died in the explosion along with dozens of others. He was 32-years-old. When GCPD showed up at the penthouse, Claire screamed loud enough to shred her throat raw.

And so, the woman with the sharp mind, who once managed multi-million dollar projects, now forgot names, ignored calls, and neglected the books at Scott Signatures completely.

The phone threatened to slip from her hand at the mention of the wretched city. Claire pressed her fingers harder around the receiver, a poor attempt at steadying herself.

“Oh,” she said, barely loud enough to hear. “I… live in London now, actually, I don’t-”

“Yes, I could tell,” Alfred said. “You’re beginning to sound like a proper Brit, if I do say so myself.”

She let a small smile come over her lips, but didn’t respond before he began again.

“Miss Scott, I must say, I am terribly sorry for your loss,” Alfred said with sincerity.

Claire’s smile left her immediately and the feeling was replaced by her chest tightening. All she could manage was a light “Mmm.”

In response, Alfred continued carefully. “Master Wayne knew Mr. Barclay. He always spoke highly of Philip and said that he was a good man. It’s a shame what happened to him, and I am sorry that he is no longer with us.”

Claire looked down at the floor and blinked away small tears that began to form. Alfred’s words meant a lot to her, but that wasn't why he was calling. When she was confident the tears would not spill down her face, she asked, “What can I do for you Mr. Pennyworth?”

“Wayne Manor is undergoing a rather… extensive restoration and expansion project. Master Wayne requires additional living quarters and several portions of the estate are in desperate need of modernization,” he said, and quieter now, “though I trust you will be certain to preserve the original architecture.”

Claire frowned slightly now, picturing the manor in her head. It was beautiful and a dream, but… “Me?” she asked. “I… I am no longer practicing. I could certainly recommend other firms, but-”

“It would be a live in position,” Alfred continued, ignoring her, politely, somehow. “Private accommodations would be provided on the grounds, alongside a generous contract, and a majority of the authority over the project.”

Claire exhaled and rubbed her forehead. “Mr. Pennyworth, that is very kind of you to offer. But I must decline. As I said, I can send some recommendations your way. I had… have, a few connections in the area that would be more than willing to take on the project. I would personally assure it would be handled with grace and respect.”

“Respectfully, Sinclaire… I mean, forgive me, Claire- I would much prefer you,” Alfred replied. “You are the very best at what you do. And Wayne Manor is a very special place, requiring someone capable of preserving its history, but also, giving it… a new life.”

She wanted to ask questions. She wanted to inquire about the manor, its current state, areas of structural weakness, the desired improvements… but all she could think about was the smoke.

“I…” she hesitated. “Thank you for the call and for the offer, Mr. Pennyworth. Truly. I’ll- I will think about it.”

“That is all I ask, Miss Scott,” he said, relieved, but composed.

Claire nodded faintly. “Right. Yes, thank you. Goodbye.”

She hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment after the call ended, silence slowly beginning to fill the room again. The fire in the hearth had died out hours ago. Claire sank into the sofa, finished off the glass of wine she'd been nursing, and pulled a crocheted blanket tight around herself.

She was not going back to Gotham.

The city had taken everything from her and left her hollow. There was nothing there for her besides memories she had spent the last two years trying to outrun.

But Philip would have told her to take the job. He would have smiled that easy smile of his, kissed the top of her head, caressed her face, and said something annoyingly optimistic, like “My love, this project was made only for you.”

It was hard to admit that he was right. She had worked on some beautiful places, but getting to step foot in Wayne Manor was the honor of a lifetime, let alone to restore it. She knew that. If she was the girl that she was what felt like a lifetime ago, she'd be stupid to turn down the offer but... she couldn't bring herself to consider it.

And what should she think of Bruce Wayne knowing Philip? I mean, they both knew him, of course. Everyone in Gotham did. He was a billionaire, socialite, and on the front cover of every tabloid if they had even a sliver of news about him or Wayne Enterprises. But Philip had never spoken of him. Gotham’s financial elite all knew one another in some fashion, sure, but Alfred’s words had sounded almost… personal?

And Alfred mentioned she'd have a majority of the authority. What did that mean? Claire had spent enough time working for wealthy clients to know that what was promised and what was delivered was rarely the same thing. Whatever his relationship to Philip and this project was, she did not need the Prince of Gotham breathing down her neck. But it didn't matter, now, did it?

Because under no circumstances would she ever return to Gotham. Probably.

A woman beside him sighed dreamily with a slight frown as she wrapped her arm around her husband’s bicep.

Leon Kennedy looked down at himself. Tiny blue dolphins littered the short-sleeve button up he’d paid for far too much money at the Miami airport gift shop. Traveling in his DSO gear was far from comfortable and though he would never admit it aloud, he kind of liked the change of wardrobe.

Plus, he needed a cover. He couldn’t just waltz into a ritzy Roatán resort in tactical pants and his gun belt. It would be a dead giveaway to hotel management that he was there to investigate the violent psychotic episodes happening among their guests that they tried, unsuccessfully, to bury.

“Match? What are you-“ he looked around to ensure it was indeed him she was referring to. He was about to check to see if she was feeling okay when he felt his stomach drop to the floor at the sight before him.

You stood just a few feet across the glittered mosaic floor at the check-in desk, wearing a flowing sundress covered in the same exact blue dolphin pattern.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Leon said, quiet, but loud enough that the woman could hear him as her husband pulled her away.

“Excuse me?” Leon could hear her say, but he didn’t take his eyes off of you as he walked, briskly, but not with his usual stomp that would trigger any alarm, right up to you.

“Honey,” he said sweetly, but grabbed your arm hard enough to blanch your skin. “Did you forget the-“

You whipped around at his touch to face him. “Don’t touch me-"

But the rest of your sentence failed to come out because for a second, you just stared at him. Leon watched your eyes as recognition hit you in stages, widening and then narrowing on him. Italy had been six, no… eight... years ago now, but he remembered the look you gave him through the townhouse window like it happened yesterday.

It had been deeply satisfying for him, if he was honest. After all of your lies and the time he spent digging himself out of the wreckage you left behind, both literally and figuratively… Leon wanted you to know who you were dealing with.

And it wasn’t because DSO had ordered it. They had practically washed their hands of the whole investigation after the foundry collapsed. In fact, they had their sights set on the BSAA, a scapegoat strategically placed by you. But Leon couldn’t leave it at that, no… you became his personal mission. And he couldn’t decide if it was because he needed to know what you were planning next or if it was because some stubborn part of him still refused to let you go. It didn't really matter, did it?

Because now, you stood in front of him and let out a laugh that he would only describe as maniacal. It was the furthest thing from polite or feminine. Your shoulders shook with it and you hardly stopped to breathe as Leon looked between you and the hotel clerk, your head thrown back in absolute disbelief, hysteria, and bafflement.

“Okay,” Leon muttered carefully as he looked apologetically at the very confused young man behind the counter and put his hand on your back. “It’s- okay- calm down, now, honey. We can fix this.”

In an attempt to diffuse whatever awkward situation was happening in front of him now, the receptionist spoke up then. “Did you...um, forget your tickets?” he asked. “Why didn’t you just say so? We can just look you up!”

Leon glanced at you as you finally stood upright and braced yourself on the counter letting out one final laugh followed by a smile.

“Oh, silly me!” you said waving your hand as you moved closer to him now and gently rubbed your leg up against his. He could feel your sidearm strapped to your thigh. Cute.

“Yes, uh... we're... Mr. and Mrs. Martinelli,” you continued, your voice now smooth and composed.

Leon didn’t react outwardly, but he flicked his eyes over you as the receptionist tapped at his keyboard. “Okay, Mr. and Mrs. Martinelli… I’m not seeing you in the system. Is it possible you booked your stay under a different name?”

“We... didn’t book,” Leon answered, guessing, but feeling the heat of needing to come up with a plan, and quickly. “We were… invited.”

“Oh, perfect. And you were sponsored by…?” he questioned, and Leon panicked for just a moment before you spoke up.

“The Palm Shadows,” you said, cheerfully, with a wide smile.

“Wonderful! I'll go ahead and mark that down now. You’ll be staying in villa number ten. Enjoy your stay, and welcome to Mirage!" he said as he handed you your room keys.

Leon forced a polite smile at the young man as he guided you away from the counter with a light hand on your arm which now held the keys. “Thank you. Excuse us.”

Leon’s expression dropped immediately as he took a look around, finally getting a chance to canvas the area as he steered you into the flow of arriving guests. You, on the other hand, looked quite pleased with yourself.

“The Palm Shadows?” he said quietly, looking over at you as you took some kind of pale yellow frozen drink off a tray a bartender was holding.

You shrugged as he let go of your arm. “I saw it on a bus outside. It was dropping off couples earlier,” you replied as you took a sip from the straw. “Do you know what an upside-down pineapple is supposed to mean?”

Leon let out a slow breath, already regretting every decision that had brought him here as he held two fingers between his brows. “My god, okay. Seriously, what are you doing here?”

You finally looked at him properly. Amusement danced in your sparkling eyes. “And do you think they’ll have a breakfast buffet?”

His jaw tightened as he looked at you. “Enough with the games. I'm not falling for them.”

“I’m not playing games,” you said lightly, in juxtaposition to his edge, as you played with the paper umbrella in your drink. “I’m here to enjoy myself. A girl can’t take a little vacation? Jesus, Leon, loosen up a little.”

“Bullshit. You don’t take vacations,” he snapped back.

“That’s not true,” you replied, quietly. “You don’t know me.”

Leon stopped walking. You took a few more steps before realizing he wasn’t following, and turned back, raising your arms and smacking them back down at your sides.

“So unless Mr. Martinelli shows up,” he said, moving closer to you now, “you know you can’t be here without a partner. So what’s your play?”

You stared at him for a second and turned to begin walking, except Leon moved in front of you now, cutting off your path this time.

“Seriously,” he said, putting a finger in your face. “You owe me.”

“You showed up a dead man on my doorstep,” you retorted, stepping closer to him now.

“And you tried to kill me! Multiple times!” he whisper-shouted back.

A couple passing nearby glanced over at the two of you with a confused look on their faces and you both smiled back, sincerely. You were too good at this, a lethal pair, and that frightened him a small bit.

“Fine,” you said, and Leon resisted the urge to let his lips curl into a satisfying smile as he moved out of your way and you both began to walk towards the outdoor area. “Fine. Something’s… going on here. At this resort. I got word about some kind of experimental immortality procedure. Wealthy clients only. It's actually kind of-”

“Are you involved?” he cut in.

You let out a short huff that resembled a laugh as you metaphorically clutched your pearls. “How dare you,” you said, offended. “I happen to believe in equal access to human experimentation, thank you very much.”

“Oh, my bad,” Leon said. “I forgot you have morals… after you tried to kill me… multiple times…”

“Won’t you get over it already? I said I was sorry,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “And you still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

“No you-,” he stopped himself. It was useless arguing with you. “DSO,” he said, finally, checking his watch with a deep breath.

“That’s… not an answer,” you replied, pausing just before the walkway to the villa.

“It’s the only one you’re getting, sweetheart,” he said with a faux smile.

You looked at him with a mixture of shock and pleasure. It was nothing that he’d ever seen before, and at that, he couldn’t help a real smile as it spread over his face.

“Oh, so we’re doing pet names, now?” you said as you put a hand on your hip.

“We have to play the part, don’t we?” he teased as he looked towards the beach at the many couples sitting under umbrellas. “It’s only fitting.”

“It’ll be hard to play the part when we don’t have any luggage, muffin,” you said, with a fake, high-pitched voice.

He opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by a bellhop nearly running you two over the with a luggage cart as he dragged it down along the path toward the villas. It was stacked high with designer suitcases of all shapes and sizes. He almost said something in response to the boy's carelessness, but Leon noticed you picking up your pace beside him, your sandals clicking against the wooden walkway.

“We are not stealing luggage,” he said immediately as he caught up to you.

You were already reaching for the handles of a set of expensive, cream-colored suitcases. You handed him one of the bags. “You’re welcome.”

He almost refused, but he looked down at himself and the dolphins looked back up at him mockingly. He took the case. “Thank you.”

“Miami did us so dirty,” you crooned, as you took off in your sundress towards villa ten.

It sat further back from the main resort, overlooking a stretch of private beach. The inside was leagues above what DSO would normally pay for, but somehow exactly what he expected. Pristine white linen furniture was carefully arranged atop polished wood floors and an entire wall of glass opened towards the ocean, which lapped softly at the deck. It was almost peaceful, almost comforting, until he saw what he should have but didn’t expect. The matching Mr. and Mrs. robes, yes, but also, there was only one bed.

You were too busy sweeping the villa for surveillance and entry points and security sightlines to notice, and by the time you felt comfortable enough to settle, you proclaimed loudly that it was time for dinner after explaining that you hadn't eaten anything but a bag of overpriced chips from the airport all day.

Leon, on the other hand, wasn’t sure if he’d ever settle. Not necessarily because of the sleeping arrangements, but because he couldn’t believe he was here, with you- the woman who made it her mission to see him dead just a few years ago. He couldn’t believe it was coincidence, again, but he supposed that given the circumstances, this instance truly was. And somehow, that made it more dangerous than before.

The restaurant you chose overlooked the water and candlelight danced on the waves as soft music drifted through the salted air. Leon had thanked his lucky stars that the luggage you stole contained less ridiculous clothing. Leon managed into a white fitted tee with jeans and you had opted for a pink halter top and matching wrap skirt. It was a big departure from the tailored suits he was used to you wearing, but much like the change in scenery, he enjoyed it.

Other couples surrounded you and laughed as they enjoyed expensive seafood and tropical cocktails. You ordered him an old fashioned before he could even get a word in and for yourself, a martini, extra dirty. Just like old times.

By the time the two of you left the restaurant, the pathway back to the villas was illuminated in gold and yellow by hanging lanterns. Leon didn’t mean to, but he walked beside you in silence. You were talking about something- he wasn’t listening, though. You’d both had far too much to drink, and he wasn’t sure if was the whiskey or the way your skirt shifts against your legs as you walked, but it hit him suddenly and all at once.

You stopped near the villa door to face him. “Leon, are you even listening? I mean, really, you-”

In response, Leon grabbed your face and kissed you. Hard.

You made a startled sound against his mouth but you kissed him back and returned the force in-kind. Leon got the door open without either of you breaking apart, and the second you were inside, he lifted you up by your thighs and backed you into the wall as you hooked your legs around his waist. A framed photograph crashed at his feet, but he didn’t care.

You laughed into his mouth and reached down his back to lift his shirt off, exposing his muscled body to the warm air. Your hands went into his hair as he returned the favor, his broad hands sliding up your body to remove your top. He groaned at the sight of your bare, full breasts.

Leon kissed you again, on your mouth, your neck, and your shoulders, before carrying you to the bed, his hands firm against your ass. The mattress dipped beneath your weight as he set you down on your back. He took a few seconds to unbutton his pants, his cock pressing hard against his underwear. You bit your lip at the sight as you shimmied out of your skirt. Leon kissed a trail up your body to your mouth as he reached blindly to his bag which sat on the bedside table.

Almost immediately, Leon felt metal against his throat. He froze, and just his eyes flicked down towards the knife you held in your hand.

“Hey, woah,” he put his hands up in surrender. “I’m not really… into all that.”

“Oh- sorry,” you said, sliding the blade back under the pillow with a laugh. “Occupational hazard?”

Leon shook his head and laughed before leaning back over you again. “Somehow, I still want to have sex with you.”

You smiled as you pulled him down to kiss you. His kiss back slowed slightly, almost as if the reality of what was happening had settled over both of you. Leon braced himself above you with one arm as his other had slid down underneath your underwear. You grinded against him and moaned with pleasure. After a moment, he finally moved fully into you, and you both inhaled sharply at the same time.

“Fuck,” he muttered, burying his face against your shoulder as he pumped into you. “You feel so good, I-”

With the way your bodies felt against each other, it didn’t take long for you to both reach your climax. Leon nearly collapsed on top of you afterward, breathing hard into the humid air as it drifted through the open glass doors. You ran your hand across his chest and he settled his on top of yours.

Leon expected to stay awake longer. Years of hypervigilance and survival instincts had made sleep difficult. But for the first time in a long time, with you of all people in his bed, the room went quiet before sunrise.

It didn't last long before Leon woke up with a gasp, adrenaline cutting through the remaining bits of sleep that weighed down his eyes as they scanned the room. Something was off, but nothing had changed besides the morning sunlight now spilling across the floors. That, and the fact that you were gone.

“Shit.”

Leon hopped out of the bed and in a haste, wrapped the bedsheet around his midsection. He grabbed his gun and checked the bathroom and the balcony before making his way to the door. As he stood there, one hand holding the firearm and the other kept hold of the slipping fabric, he noticed a note was taped against the wood. He recognized the handwriting immediately.

Don’t look so disappointed. Turns out they do have a breakfast buffet. Be back soon.

a/n: this was such a different vibe and im so glad it ended up coming together! hope you enjoy and it gets you excited for what's next!