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toms-cherry-trees · 9 months

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Fires of Harrenhal || AemondxReader/AlysxReader

Summary: Secrets and deceive always find their way through the stone halls

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: Angst I think? Betrayal. Character death. Very mild NSFW. Canon divergene from both book and show. Mention of war crimes and murder. Idk how else to do this without spoiling. No beta reading I have no one to beta for me

Author's note: Never. EVER in my life had I written something so long. And it has me very anxious. Also I don't know what this is exactly. It is not angst, nor fluff. I don't know. Enjoy!

A gentle drizzle fell from the overcast skies. Fine droplets of water collected on the braids in her hair, beading in her eyelashes, rolling down the curve of her neck to the swell of her breasts. The fabric of the green gown slowly soaked, and the air around her chilled, but she did not feel the cold. The measly mizzle could do little to match the frost spreading through her bones, born from the very depths of her soul, turning her to ice from the inside out.

His emblazoned cloak still hung loosely from her shoulders, heavy and comforting, even though the warmth of his body had been long lost to the rain. His scent lingered, smoke and leather, a faint hint of spiced wine; and something else which is entirely his own, indescribable and unexplainable, but it evoked danger. And death.

Words befitting to the place she stood. Harrenhal had been long cursed, ever since Harren the Black mixed blood in the mortar which kept the bricks together. Ever since the Black Dread torched down the fortress with the King and his sons inside. The passing of the years only added to the jinx. Death and misfortune followed whoever dared to settle within the crumbled and slagged walls. Entire houses and lineages exterminated, most recently house Strong; from the eldest man to the babes in the cradle, put to death by Aemond’s command. All of them but one.

A Strong bastard, from all people.

Aemond’s infatuation with the wetnurse stunned those who bore witness to the affair, and speculation soon arose that the so called witch of Harrenhal had laid an incantation on the Prince, for otherwise it could not be explained that such proper and devoted man, always guided by rules and correctitude, devoted of the Faith, could so brazenly take a lover, an unworthy one at that, while his beautiful, perfect, dutiful wife awaited for his return at King’s Landing. No, Aemond could never.

But he could and he had.

Alys hadn’t been the first one. Others had been fleeting affairs or pleasures of one night, both before and after their wedding. Ladies from the court, his mother companions, town girls, even the occasional maidservant that caught his eye. But unlike with Aegon, they all came willingly, ensnared by the mystery of the one eyed prince. All of them forgotten as soon as dawn broke through, their silence bought with gold or jewels, and a cup of herbal tea drank under the watchful gaze of a maester.

She didn’t let their existence bother her too much. Always keeping her head held high and her gaze ahead, haughty, beautiful and proud. Aemond took great care to not leave a trail of bastards in his wake, unlike brother dearest, and never flaunted them in the open. No, before the court he only had eyes -eye- for his wife. A gentle hand on the waist, glances across the table, a kiss on the hand when they parted, and one in the forehead when they reunited. A most perfect and devoted husband, whose mask fell as soon as the doors closed behind him.

Some days she wished he would openly hate her, because at least it would prove him capable of any feeling towards her. Instead, he only offered her an impenetrable barrier of indifference bordering cruelty. Aemond would walk the Godswood with her, barely rewarding her with a hum of acknowledgement when she tried to engage conversation of any sort. She tried to show interest in his heritage, but he said she would never understand the history without carrying Valyrian blood. When she suggested meeting his dragon, he retorted that Vhagar didn’t take kindly to strangers, citing false concerns for her safety.

Even the bedding he treated like a chore to be dealt with. Methodical, efficient, and dreadfully boring. He laid with his wife as little as possible, just enough to avoid any whispers or bad talking. He would send a servant to inform her in advance that he would visit her bed so she could be “prepared”. A quick affair, his body always on top, not a sound heard other than the occasional creaking of the bed, done. He rolled over and fell asleep before she had finished cleaning herself. Hells, she didn’t hold great expectations of the act, but for a man who took so many lovers she hoped for a bit more effort.

When he became Regent, the weight of the borrowed crown awoke something deep within him, something that had always been there, dormant and expecting for its moment of glory. An obsession with control and power. He became possessive. He had to have her in sight at all times. If he sat the throne, she stood right next to him. When he held council, she acted as cupbearer, but only to serve his cup and his cup alone. If Aemond decided to sit in the library until the hour of ghosts going over scrolls and maps, she had to be there, dutifully waiting by his side until he decided to retire for the night.

They no longer slept separately, since he simply had the maids move all her belongings to his own chambers, while also disposing of things he decided she no longer required, like her childhood dolls, books of fantasy or any gown not made in green and gold. He also kept her diary in the drawer of his desk; it had to be back there every night without fail. She did not know if he read her entries, but decided to not risk it and write only about things he would like. The hours became long, since he allowed her to speak only with people he approved of; very few had earned that trust; and those who did she would rather not speak to. Even her servants had been swapped, her maids and guards replaced with former attendants of the Queen, more loyal to the Dowager than they would ever be to her.

Aemond’s departure for Harrenhal came as a relief, his presence having slowly grown into a suffocating weight on her chest and lurking shadow on her back. As soon as Aegon could rise from bed again, he sent his brother to retake the dilapidated fortress from their uncle, although she suspected it more to be a cock show off; to remind the people that even though the Greens had less dragons, they still had the biggest one.

Aemond requested his wife to accompany him, but Aegon swiftly refused. A warzone is no place for a lady, he said. She did not trust his intentions, but given he could barely do anything other than speak and drink, she felt confidently safe in the newfound solitude, dividing her time between accompanying Helaena, prayers with her good mother in the sept and her own recreations, in which she could now indulge fully, free of her husband’s criticism.

Bliss, however, proved to be fleeting. One day Aegon summoned her while she broke her fast, to his bedchamber of all places. The alcove smelled stale, a combination of souring wine and the sickly scent of various medicines and tinctures, all mixed with the pungent stench of something unidentifiable decomposing somewhere. Perhaps the putrefaction within finally caught up to the surface, and Aegon himself had begun to rot from the inside out. Which wouldn’t surprise anyone, given his current state.

The open letter in his scarred hand and the knavish smirk on his lips gave her a bad feeling. He sat unabashedly naked in his bed, his immodesties hidden only by a sheet soiled with something indescribable. She tried and failed not to look at the ruggish and reddened skin marring his left side, the movements of his arm clumsy and stiff as if Aegon had been coated with tar. Although that probably would have been a kinder fate than his armour melting into his flesh.

When her eyes met his own, she saw a twinkle of delight sparkle on them. A sick pleasure earned from her evident discomfort at the sight of himself.

“Your dearest husband summons you to his side, now that Harrenhal is back under our command. And I, ever the benevolent brother, will allow it”

Suspicion gnawed at her insides. More so when she tried to take the letter from Aegon’s hand, and he kept waving it teasingly out of her reach, displaying surprising agility despite his wounds. Right before she could snatch it away he tucked the paper under the sheets, in a place where he knew she’d never reach out, even under threat of death by dragonfire. His smile reached his eyes for the first time in months as he dismissed her, pleased like a child who got away with a prank.

Sleep refused to come to her that night, forcing her to toss and turn as she went over the day. She didn’t trust Aegon more than she’d trust a dog guarding a roasted pig. Aemond summoning his wife at his side would not be inconceivable; the brother who fulfilled his duty to the Crown and now demanded his prize. But Aegon’s willingness to let her go told a different story. Nothing entertained him more than toying with his little brother, and what better way to do it than denying him access to his wife only because he could.

An ulterior motive had to be there for the King to grant such freedom. Something she could not yet see.

Aegon even arranged her departure himself. A messenger went ahead so everything would be arranged for a proper welcome. The retinue, albeit reduced, included fine soldiers and swordmasters, all dressed in plain cloth and without pomp. Ser Criston himself joined in on the journey, wishing to also meet up with Aemond to discuss war strategies and their next moves.

Green and gold banners and soldiers in formation awaited them in the immense courtyard upon arrival. The whistling of the icy wind through the cracks in the masonry made sounds like the fortress wept and howled, the souls of those who died within the walls using the wind to disguise their lamentations.

The steward and a knight led them inside, up the Kingspyre tower and towards where she assumed her husband awaited. Large double doors of blackened wood stood slightly ajar, allowing a sliver of light into the hallway. The steward pushed the door open and announced Criston and herself. Both stepped into a large dining room, a table laid out with a feast to feed a dozen. Yet only two sat at the table.

Aemond presided over the supper, at the spot of honour in what could only be described as a throne. In his lap sat a woman of milky skin and raven curls, cherry lips pulled into a seductive smirk, her elegant fingers carding through Aemond’s silky tresses. The bodice of the woman’s silk gown had been unlaced, one breast out of the garment and firmly captured in Aemond’s mouth.

She didn’t have time to see Aemond’s face before Criston pulled her away by the arm, his broad form standing between the disconcerted woman and the indecorous scene. But she made eye contact with the black haired woman, the woman who sat her husband’s lap, the woman whose fucking tit he suckled like an indefence infant. Green eyes bore into her own, resplendent and alluring like emeralds. The last thing she saw before the door slammed shut was the woman winking at her, as if they shared a secret.

Everything made sense now; the scattered pieces falling into place perfectly. Aemond had never written. Why would he, when he had a woman keeping his bed warm and his needs fulfilled, a woman whom he craved like a drunk craves a drink. Someone, no doubt a carefully placed spy, had surely written to Aegon to report the affair. And the King, in pain, scarred and woefully bored, allowed himself some entertainment. Soon enough he would be doubling over in laughter at the picture of his perfect brother caught with the Strong bastard’s tit in the mouth.

The tension in the air could be cut with a knife in the days that came. In order to preserve her own dignity, she had to act as if nothing had occurred. She broke her fast every morning with Aemond and Criston, not a single word spoken besides the usual morning greetings. Aemond could not look any of them in the eye, especially not his fatherly figure, who had never gazed upon the prince with such disappointment before. The silent treatment hurt Aemond more than the cut of a sword, that much was evident upon his face. But his wife didn’t feel an ounce of pity for him; in fact, she rejoiced in his shame. She wanted Aemond to feel at least a fraction of the silent disgrace she carried with herself. She wanted him to be the one who had to keep his head down and his mouth shut.

He hadn’t even tried to come to her chambers, aware of the reaction that would await him if the thought so much as crossed his mind. Which is why the knock on her door, late on the seventh night, came as a surprise. On the other side stood no other than Alys, the so-called witch, wearing the same gown of that first day. The wife tried to slam the door shut, but not fast enough to keep the woman out. Alys entered the chamber and sat near the fire, her skirts spread around her as she stared into the dancing flames.

Before she could hurl insults and perhaps something more tangible at the whore, her voice echoed through the alcove. She had never heard Alys talk. Sweet and velvety, every word slipping past her plush lips in a mellow murmur. Even though they stood away from one another, the witch’s words resounded in her ear like a close whisper.

“You are unhappy”

Not a question. An affirmation.

“Unhappy because your husband doesn’t love you like he loves others. Because he refuses to show you care and adoration like you always dreamed of. He doesn't know how to cherish you, and you think you deserve better. You know you do”

Every fibre of her being urged her to scream insults at that brazen whore, to drag her by those perfect curls of hers and push her out the window. Yet she found herself unable to move or speak. Because, deep down, Alys had only said the truth. As if with just one look, she had been able to read her deepest thoughts and laid them out plainly in a way she never could. Tears pooled in her eyes, but her prideful nature kept her from letting them out. Crying in front of her husband’s mistress was a disgrace she would never recover from.

Alys stood, eyebrows knit together and features contorted in what could only be described as pity. Her soft, motherly hands cupped the younger woman’s cheeks, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her thumbs. They stood like that for a moment, the tension dissolving into a comfortable silence as they assessed one another. At last, it was the wetnurse who broke the spell.

“I have seen your life in the flames. Not even diamonds shine as bright as your future”

The witch gave her a brief kiss on the lips and walked out silently, her steps silent in the flagstone, leaving behind a flabbergasted woman.

After that, Alys came to her chambers every night. And for some reason, she didn’t turn her away, not even once. Maybe because she knew, deep down, that the woman could not be blamed for Aemond’s weakness of mind. Because her words had struck a chord inside her. Because if not her, she had no one to turn to at the moment, alone and isolated in a place where everyone bowed to Aemond’s bidding.

Maybe because she found herself enjoying Alys’ company more than she ever did his.

She found in the witch a friend she never had in the Red Keep. They strolled through Harrenhal together, Alys narrating the story behind those walls, and the lives born and lost there. She taught her about medicinal herbs and plants, knowledge forbidden to them as women. Alys had a voice suited for melancholic songs, and she would sing to the lady as she brushed her hair at night before bed, and before returning to the Prince’s rooms. Shared between two spouses who refused to look at one another, and whose only thing in common was their infatuation with the Rivers woman.

The arrangement felt ideal for her, having found in this odd circumstance the closest thing to happiness she had experienced since the day she recited her vows in the Sept. But Alys kept pushing for reconciliation between her and Aemond, urging her to salvage the feeble bridge of their marriage before it sank into the abyss. She felt unwilling, finding great comfort in not being forced to endure his presence. But Alys brought forth a greater problem, a problem which grew by the day under her dress.

“It is only you who can help me, my girl. One day he will tire of me, and me and my babe will be put to death, just as he did my entire House. He had the infants smothered in their cribs before the eyes of their mothers, and the women bury their children with their own hands before their heads rolled. What do you think he will do to a bastard born of another bastard?”

Panic and rage bubbled in her stomach at the thought of losing Alys. She had been witness to her husband’s cruelty during his time as Regent, which only grew after being given free will at Harrenhal. Servants lashed at the faintest of errors, maids with their heads shaved and fingers broken. Executions on the daily, followed by new servants being forcibly dragged from their homes to Harrenhal to maintain the cycle. Anyone who tried to flee ended with their head on a spike and their body fed to Vhagar. It seemed like the curse of Harrenhal had slipped into Aemond’s mind, filling him with blackness and slowly pushing him to the brink of destruction like many before him. And it disgusted her to no end.

No, she could not allow herself to lose Alys. She needed her like she needed to breathe. She needed those motherly hands braiding her hair, that sweet voice entoning the saddest melodies ever written, the scent of her skin embedded in her pillows to soothe her into sleep as nimble fingers caressed her hair.

For her, she would try.

That night Alys came to her chamber as usual, Aemond with her. Husband and wife stood face to face at last, infelicitous and tense like their first night, their unspoken words lingering heavy in the air. Alys moved to stand behind her, hands on the younger woman’s shoulders. Soft fingertips tracing the curve of the neck, up to the crown of the head and then down to the collarbones; calmness spread through her veins like a salve, warming her to the tips of her toes. Alys’ lips caressed her ear, her words seeping into her brain like smoke and clouding her thoughts.

“Trust me”

Trusting Alys came as easy as breathing. Even as she undressed the lady slowly, taking her time to undo the laces of the bodice and the clasps in her skirts. Peeling away silk, lace and linen, baring soft skin and feminine curves. Aemond’s pupil widened with lust as he stood spectator, witnessing his mistress caress his wife with the greatest love and care. Kisses brushing down the neck and collarbone, gentle hands tracing the curve of the hips and the descent of the thighs, moving over forbidden places as warm lips met into a shy and delicate kiss; tongue against tongue, small sounds of delight escaping through.

When Alys finally passed her into Aemond’s embrace, she whined in protest. Aemond didn’t know how to touch her. His coarse hands were clumsy on her flesh, too harsh where she wanted featherlight, and not enough effort where she wanted more action. When her husband laid her on the bed, nestled between her thighs, Alys sat at the head, kissing, teasing and fondling while Aemond chased his own pleasure amidst grunts and pants. Alys’ hand snaked down her body slowly, between the breasts and past the navel. She screamed her climax into the woman’s neck, legs instinctively wrapping around Aemond’s hips as he too found his release.

The routine repeated night after night, for weeks on end.

And the more they did it, the more she found herself wishing it was just her and Alys; Aemond’s presence having gone from a necessity to a nuisance. His wife no longer wanted him to touch her, and only withstood on the promise that it would be her favourite witch the one to rip the highest throes of ecstasy from her body. This no longer was just about securing Alys’ safety; she wanted her safe and sound, by her side. Forever. And as she said, one night long after Aemond had left them, only one way they could secure such idyllic future for themselves.

The news of the fall of King’s Landing had reached them not long ago. The relief of Aegon’s disappearance alongside his children could not placate the terror Aemond felt at knowing his mother and sister remained at the Keep, now prisoners of Rhaenyra and her mad husband. Aemond wished for nothing more than to climb Vhagar and torch down the Crownlands, burning the last leaf on every tree to retrieve his family. But he stood put, on Alys’ command.

“You do not need to chase the war, my Prince. It shall come to your door through clouds of storm”

So they sat and waited, as day after day passed with sunny and clear skies, the God’s eye reflecting the blueness, waters calm and inviting. A fortnight after Alys’ vision, the night chilled and the wind picked up. She stood behind the lady, a silver comb in hand as she untangled her hair before bed. Her scent filled her nostrils and eased her fears. Picking up her uneasiness, she brewed her tea, which she fed her slowly, one spoonful at a time.

“All will be well, my child. Our troubles will vanish and our futures will be clearer than the waters in the God’s Eye”

That night Aemond didn’t come. That night belonged only to Alys’ and her little lady. To taste in the seclusion of the chamber what would be theirs for the rest of their lives.

The next morning, grey clouds hovered over Harrenhal, the breeze carrying the smell of rain mixed with sulphur. The high pitched dragon cries echoed in the mountains around the keep, alerting of the approaching danger. Aemond emerged from the tower, a vision of black and gold in his armour, his sword hanging from his belt and a cloak with the three headed golden dragon in his back.

First he bid Alys farewell. She whispered secret words in his ear; whatever she said, it made him set his jaw and tighten his fist around the hilt of the sword. Then he moved onto his wife. He had shown himself warmer and more loving since Alys’ intervention, blissfully unaware of his wife’s feelings. He cupped her cheek in one hand and kissed her like never before, humming against the softness of her sweet lips. She fitted his helmet over his head, tucking the silvery white braid away. The first drops fell from the clouds, and he unfastened his cloak to wrap around her shoulders, providing warmth and safety.

“I shall see you at the end” He murmured the words against her hairline, placing a tender kiss upon her brow.

And with that Vhagar rose to the skies with a deafening screech, the flapping of her leathery wings sending gushes of warm wind around Harrenhal’s dilapidated towers, the empty halls and vast chambers echoing with eerie wails that forewarned the battle to unfold. On the opposite side of the God’s Eye, Caraxes appeared as well, high pitched roars and puffs of smoke sent as a warning, his misshapen body cut over the greying clouds. Once more, dragon against dragon would clash in the sky, and tears would be shed in the wake of their fire.

Any witness would assume Aemond had the upper hand, the deformed and younger Blood Wyrm being no match for the considerably larger and more experienced war dragon. But dear Alys’ visions had never failed her, and they wouldn’t betray them now. Nor would the gentle poison she had concocted for the occasion, spread across the wife’s lips just moments before she kissed Aemond farewell, not strong enough to kill, but the right dosage to ensnare the senses and befuddle the mind.

Calm, deliberate steps took her to the top of Kingspyre tower, her path illuminated by the blazing glow of the fire coming in through the windows, the skies tinted in bright hues of red and orange. The wind blew warm and strong as she approached the ledge, ground trembling beneath her feet, reverberated by the clashing of colossal bodies. For a brief moment she feared for her own life when they flew too close to Harrenhal, but the vision had been precise and showed no threat to her life.

Her hands rested on the stone, ancient dust sticking to the sweat of her palms; heartbeat quickened in anticipation. As predicted, in perfect synchronisation, both dragons widened their jaws. Caraxes pierced Vhagar’s throat, while she tore his wing to shreds and slashed his belly open. Both beasts spiralled downwards, locked onto one another. From afar she couldn’t tell, but it seemed as if a small, black blur fell from Caraxes’ back. Whatever it was, it was soon obscured by the spray of water that rose from the Eye as both dragons sank, the gout as tall as the tower she stood in. When the lake finally settled, all that marked the spot of such a great battle were bubbles and steam rising to the surface, and then silence. A silence like never before had existed.

She remained rooted, hands on the stone, eyes fixed on the middle of the lake until the last bubbles popped under the raindrops. She did not move from her lookout post. Not even as the rain fell stronger, droplets hitting her skin like icicles, aiding into the ruined shell of the freshly grieving widow she pretended to be.

A knight came to her, nervous and apologetic, calling her attention with a sharp clearing of the throat. She looked up, rapidly blinking away unexisting tears, and dabbing at her cheeks with the back of her hand. Composed but frail. Dignified even in the face of loss. He waited for any sort of acknowledgement, and when none came, decided to speak.

“We share your sorrow, my Lady, and our thoughts are with you. This has washed ashore, and we thought you may want it” The soldier’s voice did little to sway her, and she didn't even grace him with a look.

The heavy, loaded silence between them was broken by the soft tapping of female slippers and the rustle of stiffened skirts. A brief exchange of hushed words later, the knight left the rooftop; she remained silent and still until she could no longer hear the metallic clanking of his armour.

Alys stood by her side, dark curls fluttering freely in the wind. In her pale hands, resting lightly atop the curve of her swollen belly, was Aemond’s helmet, still in pristine condition, not a scratch upon its surface. The older woman stared at it for a few moments before placing it in her hands. It felt final. Like closing a tedious book, or awakening from a bothersome nightmare. The last word in another chapter of history. A chapter written by their own hands.

Alys called her name, moving to stand behind her. A soft kiss pressed at the nape of the neck, slender fingers running down the length of her spine soothingly, making her shiver pleasantly. The smell of sandalwood, lemongrass and honeysuckle engulfed the girl.

“It’s over” Her words tickled her ear “His name will not be called again, and no good thoughts will be evoked upon his memory”

Another kiss behind the ear, hands on her breasts, pulling her flush against her body “I know your thoughts are troubled, my child, but the right thing has been done. His fire burned too strong, and he would have brought the realm to ashes, including you and me”

Her words were soothing. She was right; Alys was always right. Aemond would have been their demise. They did what they had to protect themselves, and protect the realm. A kinslayer could not be trusted; it had been his nephews before, and any day would be his brother and anyone else who stood between the sapphire Prince and the Iron Throne. He had to be stopped.

“My only regret is that he died not knowing it was me. The one he would have never suspected. I would gladly give all my family’s gold for the chance to tell him, even if it meant paying him visit in the Seven Hells where he belongs”

The neckline of her gown was pushed aside, plush lips leaving a trail of kisses down her neck towards the collarbone, hands sliding down from her bosom to the hips, digging into her flesh.

“Worry not your little head, my girl. That does not matter anymore. His bones will rest forever at the bottom of the God’s Eye. And whatever you wished to tell him, you will soon be able to pass the message along”

Alys and her cryptic words. She loved to speak in riddles and rhymes, unnerving those who heard them and didn’t know better. She only smiled and nodded.

And then the helmet rolled down.

Her hands remained mid aid, fingers curled around nothing, every muscle tense and trembling. She looked down past them towards the crimson stain growing upon the fabric of her bodice, and the sharp length of blade protruding from between her hips, coated in a red so deep it seemed black, viscous drops falling from the tip onto her husband’s last possession.

The scream died in her lips as the dagger was twisted and dragged upwards, effectively slicing her open like a squeaking boar. But she had not made sound, nothing aside a choked cry of agony as the weapon was brought down again, ensuring the cut along to be neat and thorough

“I truly didn’t want things to end like this, my sweet flower” Same gentle voice and soothing tone, words dripping venom and malice mixed with honey and sugar. Her index traced a slow line from her neck down to the point where the hilt of the dagger was pressed against her back, the carved handle still firmly grasped in her hand

“I truly enjoyed our time together, and you could have been so much more. You have the guile and the guts to match, and your mind is a most resourceful place. You could have achieved greatness, and with my nurturing, no one would have been able to stop you”

Both of her tender, motherly hands placed upon her lower belly, right under the fatal wound. The blood soaked her hands, red on white, and she gasped almost excitedly, basking on the feeling of life spilling on the stone. She did not know how her body was still standing. Perhaps it was the witch’s doing. Dragging on her demise, enjoying the wicked pleasure that came along with having power over someone else’s life.

She made a shushing sound against her ear, tenderly rubbing her abdomen in circles as the first tears finally poured from her eyes.

“I see it all, you see. Everything and more. I have seen what lies ahead of you. Trust me, I am sparing you from a lot of pain and grief”

The edges of the world faded to black, vision narrowing until all she could see was the dagger. That and the puddle of her own blood growing at her feet.

“His blood cannot carry on beyond the confines of Harrenhal. Only this cursed place can halt the strength born of his offspring. But there can be only one”

Her voice sounded distant. The last thing the lady saw was the courtyard, far down but growing closer as her body felt weightless in the air.

“Only one son can be born”

#marsie writes #aemond targaryen #alys rivers #aemond targaryen one shot #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x alys rivers #alys rivers x reader #aemond x alys x reader #aemond targaryen x alys rivers x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond one eye

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lilhwahwa · 2 years

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heart swindler - J.WY (Part 1)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ part 1: Moving back to a capital city seemed exciting enough but it also brings competition in your field. You work hard to provide for you and your nephew but business is harsh and your rival, Wooyoung seems to be having a streak of good luck. Wooyoung’s streak was not your only problem as you find yourself bumping into strange a man at the club, you have a feeling it is not the last time you’ll be seeing him either.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Female Pronouns Conwoman reader! x Conman Wooyoung! Enemies to Lovers. Angst. Fluff. Smut.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: 18+ smut themes in the future parts. Mentions of drug abuse. Abusive parenting. Violence. Bi? Wooyoung? Stalking. Slowburn!. Conning? More to be added... This is fiction and does not represent the real idol.

words: 7.8K

tags: @bl3ss3d-curs3d @mayosgrises @k-queen

MASTERLIST

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The night club was jam packed this Saturday night. You could recognize some rap song blasting through the bass-boosted speakers, blurring out the sounds of people around you. The clubs in the central area had no motivation in making a good mix for the night, rather re-using anything that could be considered loud and sexual enough.

At least the bass is alright here you thought as your eyes scan over the crowded dance floor from a balcony on the second floor. Some nights you felt like a hawk hunting for prey. Your eyes had been trained to see through the sharp strobing lights which helped you speed things up.

There were often times you wondered what name to put to your career. Some people from your past would scream conwoman…

Your eyes scan the gray and black newspaper as a small smirk spreads over your lips.

“Young woman conned man out of half a million dollars, read page five”

You quickly flip the light pages of the newspaper before landing on the page where you were met with the pathetic face of the said man. Asshole, he was the one who offered you the money anyway. That job was way too easy. He only went crying about being conned after his poor wife had received the anonymous message from you to her phone;

Anonymous: This is how much your husband loves you *image*.

You admit, that move was a little too asshole-ish even for you. Usually you would keep out of your target’s private life but it was simply sweet karma after hearing the bastard speak degradingly of his wife who had fallen ill and been hospitalized. The audacity men have. Damn you could even say you took some pity on her. That’s how you justified sending the video of him on his knees in front of you, worshiping you as if you are some greek goddess.

Anytime now…you thought and the loud chime of your phone ran through the luxurious hotel room just a few seconds later. You smirk and reach over to answer.

“Hey there sweetheart” you tease, holding the phone up to your ear as your eyes wander over the artwork hanging on the walls in the room. Many of them portrayed naked lovers, making you roll your eyes at the stereotypical art. You don’t even flinch as a loud voice curses you on the other side.

“I will kill you, you fucking bitch. You ruined my marriage- my career! I trusted a fucking conwoman” the older man that had so unfourtnarely been your previous target, curses in disbelief.

The words didn’t affect you anymore, hell you were in the luxurious hotel room thanks to his money to begin with, he could curse you all he wanted.

“Well, learn not to fuck women other than your wife, thought I doubt she will let you near her again” you replied with a dry chukle, hanging up to block the number. Time to change phones…

Other times people recognized you simply as a tactful business woman who occasionally used men for money. You usually prefer this title anyway.

LUX, which was the name of the club you had settled on for tonight, was one of your favorites. It has beautiful architecture with many well-built bars spanning over three different levels, but that was not why you liked it so much. Neither did you really care about the club’s entertainment which consisted of half-naked girls dancing on poles spread around the first floor.

The reason LUX was your favorite was rather obvious. Anybody who entered, either had straight connections to the owner or was packed with millions. Both of those options ultimately meant that most men in attendance could give you what you were looking for; money.

Hongjoong, the owner of the place, allowed you to do business in the club in exchange for a friendly percentage. While you normally shrink away at the idea of sharing your profits, you have to remind yourself that without him you wouldn't even have access to a place like LUX.

After what felt like hours, you spot a man sitting alone on a bar stool on the first floor. White button down shirt, a golden watch on his left wrist that reflected off the strobing lights and a half empty drink. Perfect.

Time to act. You make your way down the spiraling staircase that connects the three floors at LUX. You feel the blood being squeezed out of your feet thanks to the tight high heels you wore. They were at least a size too small, but you were determined to show off the fancy brand in hopes of catching attention. You suck it up and soften your mischievous expression into a softer, more innocent look. Men and their pathetic instinct to act as protective heroes.

You make your way over to the first-floor bar, not too close to the target you had picked out. Only a few seats were taken by the counter, most people having found a dance partner for tonight.

It was obvious when people turned their heads as you walked past and you had to keep yourself from smirking at the fact. At least with the act you were putting on.

You lean over the bar right to the side of the man who was sitting by himself, looking around as if trying to look for the bartender who was not present. Sighing dramatically, you look over at the man only to find he had acknowledged your presence.

With pouty lips and knitted eyebrows you wait for him to give you a friendly smile before moving closer.

“Excuse me, would you happen to have a phone charger? My friend left me here on my own and my phone has run out of battery” you offer a crooked smile, hoping he’d fall right in your trap.

Up-close, your target looked to be in his late thirties. This category was either a hit or miss. Some were too aware of your antics from earlier experiences, some totally oblivious.

The man ran a hand through his slicked back, brown hair, dimples popping as he smiled and leaned closer to yell over the blasting music.

“I don’t, but you could borrow my phone?” he suggested and you rolled your eyes in your head. You were rather impatient tonight, your last payment had been longer than two months ago and your savings account was drying out.

“Oh, I can’t remember the number though and she has my purse too- oh lord how will I get home?” You sound alarmed, acting panicked as you start glancing around the room, fingers intertwining as you fiddle in front or your victim who frowned with worry.

“Look dear, maybe I could just call you a taxi back home? And tomorrow you could meet up with your friend?” The stranger suggests. His intentions were nice for sure, but he didn’t seem to glance down at your red dress even once since you approached him.

“Would you do that? You are-” you begin with an innocent smile before somebody steps closer to you, shifting to stand between you and the stranger.

“-I’m back. Ready to go, pretty?” the voice makes you freeze. You clench your jaw to keep composure and not lose your shit in front of the whole club. The voice laced with honey belonged to someone you were more than familiar with.

You look up and lock eyes with him. Jung Wooyoung.

Wooyoung, who’s jet black hair now was dyed a shade of platinum blonde, looks down at you with his plump lips lifted into a signature smirk. He was well aware of what he had just done, and undoubtedly took great pride in interrupting your attempts at his target.

You offer him a tight-lipped smile, lacing it with spite that you were certain he could feel even if telepathy wasn’t a thing.

The man to your side stands up from his seat and smiles shyly, looking down at you as he hovers tall.

Pick somebody your height, asshole, you mutter in your head, wishing that Wooyoung would somehow hear it.

“I am afraid I have to leave, good luck getting home darling” the man comments politely as Wooyoung wraps an arm around the man’s waist. The men walk off towards the staircase and you could only imagine Wooyoung had the third floor full of private VIP rooms in mind.

Before disappearing out of your sight, Wooyoung glances over his shoulder at you with a mischievous smirk, shooting you a wink. You cock an eyebrow at him before flipping him off, middle finger adorned by the diamond your last target had been fooled into buying. It was always a game of show off between people who did what you did. And Wooyoung was one undoubtedly one of the best, to your dismay.

You take a seat on the barstool, slouching over as you decide to give up for the night. Truth be told, you were getting tired of this business. Having sleazy and naive men give you money was one thing, but entertaining them had slowly been eating away at your nerves and patience over the past year.

While the benefits of a successful job looked extravagant to anybody on the outside, the endless nights of guilt and feeling dirty after a job was not something one can ever be prepared for.

“The usual, bullet?” the bartender snaps you out of your thoughts by calling your nickname. You made sure that nobody ever found out your true identity. Switching names, ID’s and phones often to ensure the feds always were a step behind you.

You smile bitterly at the bartender and nod. It was alright, you thought. The weekend wasn’t over just yet.

The following night you are bending closer to the mirror as you trace the tip of a red lipstick over your lips as a finishing touch for tonight’s look. You made sure to switch up dresses, not wanting to risk being seen in the previous night’s outfit. The high heels from yesterday were switched for chunkier thigh-high boots, which complimented your black dress.

The dress in question was what one could call a lucky charm. You have been able to secure many deals whenever wearing it, hence why you created the belief that it would somehow make you luckier and keep you safe. Whatever the science behind such beliefs was, you just needed something to keep adding fuel to your hopes for the night. Tonight was Sunday, the last day of the weekend and your last chance of the week to secure a deal that would ensure stability for the upcoming future.

Honestly, you did not really give a shit about how you’d end up surviving a month without a deal. You could crash at an acquaintance's place. Or get some quick cash by selling a designer bag or two. But as your eyes meet a pair of soft, brown ones staring right at you through the full-body mirror, you are suddenly reminded of the reason why you keep trying.

You turn around, eyes landing on the young boy sitting at the edge of the hotel-room bed. The child was watching you get ready in silence, never interrupting or questioning what for.

“Y/n, do you really have to leave tonight too?” Jisung mumbles, looking down at his chubby fingers as they impatiently roll and fiddle over one another. You stay silent, gaze shifting to notice how he was growing nervous by the way his feet swung and hit the edge of the bed or the way his lips twisted outwards into a pout.

With a sigh, you take a seat beside him on the soft bed. Your hand reaches to grab his smaller one, squeezing it in reassurance. Although Jisung had just turned six, he was a lot smarter than most kids his age. He knew that the life you both lived was not ideal and he was humble and never took things for granted when you managed to bring in a lot of money.

You remembered how tiny he was when your sister first brought him over. She had taken something again, you weren’t sure what but her addiction seemed to grow stronger. The excuses of being busy or tired and needing help taking care of her only son, Jisung, only rolled in as soon as she had gotten a glance of you being responsible enough to take care of him. You were barely an adult when that happened, having to take care of a child throughout your late teens was not something you desired either. Shivers still run down your spine when you remember the night Jisung was to move in with you.

“Auntie? Can you please come get me? Mommy is scaring me” a tiny, familiar voice whispers. You were barely awake, eyes stinging as you lifted your phone from your ear, the bright screen blinding your sleepy eyes. You weren’t sure if you were dreaming still, your body engulfed by the warm and heavy blanket in your bed.

“H-hello?” Jisung whispered again and you finally realized that it was no dream. You were on a call.

You glance over to your night stand, the time reading 1:22AM and you wonder why Jisung was awake at such a time. And most importantly, how did he manage to call you using your sister’s phone?

“Hey buddy, what happened? What is mommy doing?” you ask gently, trying to mask your scratchy morning voice to not scare him further. Truth be told, as soon as the words “mommy” left his lips you could guess what this would be about, but you surely were not prepared for it to be as severe as it ended up being.

“Mommy is- mommy said she has to free me. She said I could meet daddy in heaven if I let her” he whispers, as if the call to you was a secret. As if he was hiding. “-And I wanna see daddy but mommy has a knife and I remember auntie said I can’t touch a knife” although he stumbled over his words and grammar, you did not need any clarification. You sit up in bed, throwing the covers off your body with such force that they end up on the floor. Never in your life had your heart dropped through your whole body so fast and ended down at your heels. It was as if a shock wave went through your body, sliding a heavy brick over your chest until you couldn't breathe properly. She had really gone insane now.

“Listen to auntie, baby. Where are you right now?” you ask as you reach for any clothing that could cover your body, never even sparing the pieces of fabric a glance as you rush to pull them onto your body.

“The toilet-” he mumbles but his voice is cut off by a gasp as you hear noises over the phone. Loud thuds make Jisung cry out and for a second you thought there was no way you would make it in time to see your nephew again.

“Lock the door baby, auntie is on her way, okay? Don’t hang up the phone” you command, leaving your dark bedroom, mind awake but body sloppily moving from exhaustion as you fumble with the stubborn lock to your apartment.

You weren’t sure how to get to your sister’s place. It was a twenty-minute car ride away and at this time no taxis were out by the worn-down neighborhood you had been living in for the time being. That is how you committed your first crime, legally speaking. Your eyes catch the tall street lamps shining straight down onto a row of bicycles, all alined perfectly and strapped to a metal bicycle stand. If that wasn’t a sign from the universe, you weren't sure what was. No guilt was ever felt as your eyes landed on a bicycle with a missing lock. It was way too tall for your body, the seat reaching way past your torso. But you were determined, you had to leave now and it wasn’t like you were stealing because you wanted to. You'd return it as soon as you’d be back, with your nephew.

“Auntie is coming, I’m coming to get you. Don’t open the door until I’m there” you breathe heavily, throwing your phone into the basket attached to the front of the steering handles as your feet push off the uneven ground to gain momentum and get the wheels spinning. You barely reach the pedals when you sit down on the bicycle seat, legs long enough so that your toes could push the pedals and keep rolling down the poorly-lit streets. Your lungs burned as you kept pushing your legs to work the pedals quicker. You could make out some sounds coming from the speaker on your phone as Jisung asked how much longer you’d be.

“Almost there, auntie is almost there baby” you yell, hoping he’d hear you even when harsh wind hit you as you turned and navigated the night to your sister’s house.

“Y/n?” Jisung’s voice cuts in, pushing the flashback back into the depths of your brain. You blink quickly and look over at him, meeting his gaze as he stares right at you with his questioning eyes. Jisung looked a lot like your sister, round shiny eyes and healthy curly hair, both colored by a combination of auburn brown. Yet he was very different from her. He was mature for his age, but also very sensitive and caring. He had experienced things he really shouldn’t have and you sometimes worry about the effects it could have on his future.

“Sorry buddy, I zoned out” you chuckle, playing it off as a goofy smile spread over your lips. You reach up and mess up his curls to get a high-pitched giggle out of him.

“You know that I have to work. But I promise to be back as soon as I can. I'll even bring you a burger” you raise a knowing brow at your nephew who’s lips now part slightly at your promise. Of course he’d be sold at the mention of a burger. You shake your head in disbelief.

“Now tell me the rules one more time” you tell him as you stand up from the bed, grabbing a small crossbody bag to hang it over your shoulder. This was routine every time you went out and left him all by himself. Something nibbles at your heart when you realize just how lonely Jisung must feel while you're gone, but you convince yourself you were doing it with his best interest in mind. And since you were leaving him all alone in a hotel, he may as well learn to stay safe.

“Don’t leave the room. Don’t open the door, even for staff and if they ask why I’m alone, I say my parents are out for dinner. Call you only in emergencies. Call the police in serious danger-” he lists the rules one by one, holding up his chubby fingers to help him hold count. You nod in affirmation. “Well done. Now be good, I will be home before you even know it” you lean over to place a kiss to Jisung’s forehead, stealing one last glance at the boy as he watches you leave with a small pout on his lips.

Sunday’s were not half as busy as Saturdays. The line of people outside was barely stretching down the sidewalk when it usually went all the way around the street. You make your way to the front of the line, never facing the people who vocally complain about you cutting in line.

“Hey Mark, new suit today?” You send the bouncer a charming smile as he recognizes you, nodding with a pleased look.

“New dress today, bullet?” the tall man winks and you roll your eyes playfully, passing by him and into the storm of loud music and people.

Today you decide to change your tactic, moving straight to the bar instead of making your way to a higher ground and picking a target out. You silently thank yourself for wearing boots instead of a tight pair of heels like the previous night.

The music blasting today was rather calmer than yesterday, a mix of RnB and reggaeton setting the mood to your advantage. Before you could take a seat you are suddenly interrupted by a body stepping in front of you. You look up at the man, raising your eyebrows at him before rolling your eyes and stepping aside to move out of his way. Yet the stranger follows, stepping right after you to block your way.

“Move” you say bitterly, wondering what the asshole’s problem was. He didn’t look much older than you and he wasn’t dressed to impress anyway.

“Y/n wasn’t it?” he says and it takes you everything not to react. Nobody in this area should have enough information to even know your name so why was this man in front of you saying it so proudly? You were careful not to expose the way your stomach squeezed for a second.

“Wrong person, buddy. Now move” you roll your eyes and this time push the man away with force to make yourself comfortable at the bar. You don’t turn around to check whether he was still after you. After a tense minute of waiting for something to happen, you sigh in relief. Maybe he had seen you years ago and recognized you but either way, you could not engage with anybody who threatened to expose you to the feds.

The bar was even emptier than yesterday, all people migrated to the dance floor but hey, at least Wooyoung seemed to be missing too, to your luck. He must've been successful with picking the right target yesterday, maybe he would have already left the country and was spending nights on a resort somewhere across the globe.

The bartender brings over a welcome shot of some liquor and you down it almost immediately. Chatting up people at the bar didn’t seem like the right tactic and you once again found yourself changing your plans last second as you stood up to disappear into a crowd of dancing people. The club wasn’t fully packed and you were sure that tonight, you would be able to handle the people around you. You notice the way people move in waves, eyes closed as their bodies sway them side to side to the music which means bodies start bumping and pushing into you the deeper you go. As much as you’d love to give in and just relax for once, you look around to spot any man decent enough to try hitting on.

Recently you have noticed a downfall in targets, downfall in successful deals and overall bad luck in business. You knew larger cities would have other workers of your field, but was it really that bad? People familiar with you named you bullet when you first started conning. You were quick, silent and lethal just like a bullet. But it seems as if your reputation was slowly going downhill as more and more nights left you empty handed or worse, beaten to a target by Wooyoung. You didn’t even notice when he had moved cities, started going to the same hunting places as you and now even stealing your targets right in front of you.

Back where you started, everybody had their own place to perform business at, always resulting in getting at least one successful deal a month. But it seems the capitals have no rules. Whoever reaches first, keeps the target.

You lose track of time as the bass of the music travels through your body with a buzz, successfully throwing your concentration off course as you give in and sway to the enchanting music. Whatever happens tonight, you were not going to beat yourself up for not getting a deal, yet another week in a row. It feels good to not have to worry, but you have gotten way ahead of yourself as your eyes shoot up once a pair of arms wrap themselves around your torso from behind.

Suddenly, you are hyper aware of your body. The humid air in the club made it no easier to breathe, your chest rising dramatically to gasp for air as panic set in. You trash around and turn around in the embrace to face whoever had approached you from behind, eyes wide from the initial shock. You are met with a familiar face. The asshole from earlier stood in front of you with a cocky smile. Your hands fly up to push at his chest, yet to no avail. He had trapped you.

“Why so surprised, did you think I wouldn’t find you again?” He speaks over the music. His hands are locked behind you, pushing on your back to close the gap between your bodies as he practically glued your chests together.

“Let me go '' you yell over the music, heart beating harshly against your rib cage and you wonder whether you would start hyperventilating in a club full of strangers.

“You could at least dance with me” he answers and before you can reply, he moves to forcefully sway your bodies to the music and you can’t put your mind as to why he would go to such lengths to get you. The fact that he had so surely said your name earlier only fueled the anxiety brewing in the pit of your stomach. You try to take a good look at his face but the strobing lights were throwing you off your guard, making it harder to see the man and also remember to keep yourself from going into an anxiety attack.

“I said, let-”

“-Let go off her” another voice cuts in from behind you, loud and clear. You don’t put much effort into identifying whoever was stepping in, just wondering how much longer you could keep breathing. Soon you feel lighter. You watch as the man’s arms swing back from your body as if somebody had forcefully pried them off.

You take a step back to free yourself from the proximity of the stranger but instead bump into another chest. You whip around, still in panic as the crowd around you seemed to quickly be closing in, every voice ringing in your ears. You catch a glimpse of blonde hair and as if on command, your body determines it safe for a time out. Your knees grow weak as your brain goes completely blank with bright white light blinding your vision.

“Fuck” Wooyoung mumbles, hooking his arms around your torso to keep you from hitting the ground completely.

“Fuck off” he barks at the man who watches with a blank face, nodding to himself before raising his arms up as if to indicate he was innocent as he disappeared into the crowd. With the man gone, Wooyoung's problems did not lessen. With determination, he squats down to wrap his arms around your upper thighs before lifting you off the ground and onto his shoulder. He makes sure to pull down on the elastic material of your dress, not wanting to expose you to the people around. Thankfully everybody seemed to be busy dancing or drinking, never looking twice in his direction as he carried you outside.

The line outside of the club had dissipated by now, it was way too late for people to keep entering. A queue of taxis were lined outside by the sidewalk, patiently waiting for customers to start rolling in but Wooyoung had other plans. He walks across the well-lit street filling up with people dancing and singing still as they come out of multiple packed clubs for fresh air.

Soon, he is at the parking lot he used whenever he took his own burgundy Mercedes to a night out. He unlocks the car and opens the passenger seat to set you down in it, making sure your body leaned against it comfortably before sighing. He catches his breath, allowing for questions to roll in. His most obvious one, why the hell had you passed out so suddenly? And who was the guy at the club trying to get to you? The question he refused to acknowledge though was why he had even gone up to help you in the first place. His mind convinces him he was merely being a decent human being, it’s the least he could do after snatching multiple deals right from under your nose.

The faded sounds of people shouting and music coming from the clubs is what slowly brought you back, eyes fluttering as the chilly wind grazes your exposed legs. It was silent now and the people from the club weren’t crowding you anymore. You catch the sight of a cream-colored car interior and suddenly realize you were not at the club anymore. Sitting up straight you immediately look around to get an understanding of your surroundings. The car door was open, so you were not being kidnapped. How did you get here?

“Geez, calm down, you’d think I was kidnapping you or something” Wooyoung snickers, seemingly having similar worries as you. He steps forward to reveal himself to you, unsure of how you would react to his presence. Both of you weren’t really celebrating the fact that you had settled on working at the same club. Would you tell him off for what happened yesterday? And many other nights before that? For the first time in his life, he decided to keep his mouth shut.

You look up at him, somewhat surprised that out of all the people that could have helped you, it was him standing in front of you. Small recollections flow back to you and you manage to piece together that you were in Wooyoung’s car after you so gracefully collapsed in the middle of the dance floor at LUX. You clear your throat and stretch your legs out of his car, standing up to face him.

You open your mouth to say something but you realize you were not sure what smart comment to insert in such a situation. Wooyoung's eyes look at you blankly, and you wonder if he thinks he has successfully caught you in a weak moment. You couldn’t allow him to even think such thoughts.

“Thanks for the help” you say, but curse yourself as your voice comes out thin and light. “But you didn’t have to. Don’t you have new money to spend?” you sure sound like a jerk. But rather a jerk than letting Wooyoung think he was superior to you.

“You can never just admit I helped you and move on with a simple ‘thanks’, can you? Besides if it wasn’t for me, who knows what that asshole would have done. Who is he even?” Wooyoung is quick to defend himself, his chin lifting higher as each word comes out quicker than the other. You notice how easily heated he becomes when he speaks yet for some reason it stretches your lips upwards into a humored look, which you of course quickly hide.

“If I knew him, do you think I'd react the way I did?” you roll your eyes, hoping that if you ignored the first part of his sentence, he’d forget about it as well.

“Forget it, since you don’t want help, you’re welcome to go” Wooyoung raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to act.

“Fine, good night” You spit but as you whip around to storm off, your foot catches the edge of the sidewalk, sending you flying down onto the asphalt ground. You catch yourself on your palms, wincing as the rough ground scratches your knees and if it wasn’t for your boots, you are certain you would have torn your skin apart.

Wooyoung is surprised to see your body sprawl over the ground below him and steps closer to get a strong grip around your arm, pulling you up effortlessly.

“Ow that hurts!” you yelp at his grip, standing up only to feel shocks of pain shoot up through your left ankle and up your calf. You look down at the dirty material of your boots and wonder how long it would take before you settle down on the sidewalk and just let all your frustration out.

Wooyoung sighs dramatically and instead snakes an arm around your waist, holding you up as you lift your left ankle off the floor to stop the pain.

“I don’t need your help, good night Wooyoung” he mimics a high-pitched voice, face grimacing as he mocks your earlier words. You stay silent, clenching your jaw to keep you from saying something you’d feel guilty for later at night. Besides, you needed the help for real this time and he was the only one around.

“I can give you a drive home, but I expect you to at least thank me. Sincerely” he offers, holding your waist tightly. Wooyoung subconsciously moves you closer until your side is pressed against his and you are suddenly aware of his scent. You couldn’t make out each individual ingredient in his cologne, but your mind settles that it's a mix of bergamot and musk. It is surprisingly not too strong and you hate how well it suits him. You wonder if he would notice you moving closer to catch another whiff of it, but decide against it. Men like Wooyoung shouldn’t be complemented, their ego would get too big and you had enough of his already.

“So?” he speaks up, the hand on your waist giving you a small squeeze to remind you that he was awaiting an answer. You bite down on your tongue before your ego gets the best of you and just chirp out a dry “please”.

For some astronomical reason Wooyoung is not in his usual cocky mood, but you tell yourself not to get used to it. He simply nods and carefully helps you sit down in the leather passenger seat of his car again. Shivers erupt over your bare arms when Wooyoung removes his arm from around you, suddenly realizing how warm he had felt against your skin. You push the thoughts towards the back of your brain, not wanting to overthink the matter. You get comfortable and buckle your seatbelt, observing the details of his car as he shuts your door and moves to get in from the driver’s side.

As Wooyoung focuses on starting the car, you finally have time to look him over closer. His hair was dyed blonde, that you knew already. But what you had failed to acknowledge was the way it made his golden skin glow brighter, accentuating it in a way that you hadn’t noticed before. He wore a button down with cheetah print and you wondered how anybody his age could pull it off, yet he made it seem as if it was made solely for him. The first three buttons were unbuttoned and you couldn’t help but trail your eyes down the vein on his neck that disappeared into his prominent collarbone. You let your eyes glance just a little further down to sneak a peek of the smooth skin that was the beginning of his chest.

“You done staring me down? I need your address” Wooyoung mused, never turning his head as his eyes focused on the road ahead. You catch the way his lips tug into a small smirk and you ball your fists in your lap to keep you from cursing at him. Of course you had been wrong to think he would be free of his cockiness.

“The Imperial Hotel” is all that leaves your mouth as you turn to look out the car window, refusing to catch yourself loosening up and trailing your eyes over places where they shouldn’t be.

“The Imperial Hotel?” Wooyoung repeats, tone low and and curious. “Are you really broke enough to stay at a hotel?” he asks but realizes his mistake right after the question came out in a way that he didn’t intend for it to. “I mean, don’t you have a place?”

You snort, eyebrows raised as you turn to look at him, arms crossing over your chest. Who was he to question you like this?

“I don’t have a place because I like the anonymity. I like moving around so I don’t need a place” you bark back, hating how you felt threatened by his attitude. Not that you would admit it. “Besides I don’t have to explain anything to you, just take me there.”

Wooyoung stops at a red light, using the opportunity to raise a questioning eyebrow as your eyes meet. His gaze is challenging.

“Take you there?” he repeats your words, each word coming out of his mouth as if you offended him.

“Please” you mumble.

“Much better” he drives off with a pleased grin. The next moments you find yourself in silence, to your surprise comfortable. You listen to the sound of the wheels moving against the asphalt at different speeds as Wooyoung drives. For a moment you feel a warm feeling of what could be dejavu in your chest, as if this has happened before. As if driving together like this was something you did often. Your eyes catch a bright red and yellow sign and you are suddenly reminded of Jisung.

“Wait!” you yell out suddenly, making Wooyoung slam on the breaks as he looks over at you with a concerned expression. His sharp brows are knitted together as he questions you.

“What? What happened?” he breathes, seemingly awaiting something much more serious than the question that comes out of your mouth.

“Could you um, go through the drive through?” you ask carefully, nodding to the fast-food sign right off the freeway.

“Do you realize you just made me slam on my breaks and potentially crash my new car just for Mcdonald’s?” he snaps, immediately checking the mirrors behind him for traffic which was empty seeing as the time was about to hit three am. He clicks his tongue but follows your request, turning to drive up to the restaurant.

“Don’t you have food at home?” he grumbles as you lean over his seat to get a glance at the menu screen outside his window. You support your hand on the center control between your seats, stretching as far as you could over him.

Wooyoung’s gaze shifts to your face in front of his, eyes narrow as they jump over your features and the way you concentrate on the menu. He hesitates but slowly brings a hand forward, warm fingers pushing back a rogue strand of hair behind your ear in order to clear your view. You are busy ordering Jisung his promised burger to notice, voice loud and clear as you speak to the employee over the microphone.

As soon as you’re done placing your order you turn your head to look at Wooyoung, it would be nice to ask if he wanted something since he was nice enough to drive here. It was the least you could do anyway.

You blink in surprise at how close your two faces are. Close enough to feel his shaky warm breath on your cheek. His eyes immediately fall to your parted lips as he swallows harshly. You take notice of this, your own eyes following his actions as you watch the tip of his tongue peek out to brush over his lower lip, wetting it. His lips glisten in the harsh lights situated outside the fast-food restaurant, illuminating the skin.

“D-did you want something too?” your voice is almost a whisper as you speak, slowly sinking back into your seat as if whatever just happened would go unnoticed. Wooyoung bites down on the inside of his cheek, shaking his head as an answer before he drives up to the window, seemingly unbothered. You press your back against the heated seat, wondering why your heart suddenly had picked up its speed. At this point in your career, you always found yourself around men, none of which made you nervous simply by existing so close to you. Wooyoung’s expression seemed sour, jaw clenching as if he was in deep thought.

A part of you wondered if this was a part of his game that he played with his targets. In which case you’d totally understand why he scored successful deals nine out of ten times. You weren’t sure if you wished for another moment like this or if it was that lone single shot of alcohol you had taken at LUX coming back to make you overthink, so you decide against thinking at all. You are tired, that was the true excuse.

The rest of the drive continues in silence. Yet somehow your earlier plans to overthink had betrayed you as your brain jumped at anything you could connect to Wooyoung. From how you first met, to how you had seen him work his targets, to right now.

“We’re here” Wooyoung announces, stopping by the entrance of the obviously fancy hotel. Even though it was late night, a doorman stood guard and you kind of felt bad for him. You unbuckle your belt and shift to move but sudden pain shoots through your ankle again.

“Fuck” you mumble and look up at Wooyoung who was silently watching you struggle.

“Don’t tell me I have to carry you inside too” he says, wondering why he even bothered helping you if it would have taken so much time. Yet never truly complaining because he honestly hadn’t minded it all that much.

“If it burdens you that much, I’ll just hop on one leg” you scoff, if he chose to help, he might as well go through with helping you all the way to your room. But the Mcdonald’s take-away bag suddenly reminds you that Jisung was in the room and there was no way Wooyoung could find out. “Help me to the elevator at least?” and as Wooyoung opens his mouth to cut you off, you add a silent “Please”.

Wooyoung sighs and gets out of the car as a way of agreeing. He walked around the front before opening the door for you. Shivers run down your spine when the cold air hits your legs but you choose to stay silent, knowing that if you would complain it would only turn into endless bickering between the two of you.

You place a foot on the ground, lifting your hurt ankle up and Wooyoung immediately leans closer to reach for you inside of the car. One of his arms sneak under your thighs while the other wraps around your back, lifting you up into his embrace with ease before shutting the car door with his foot. You stay silent as you let him carry you, eyes trailing back to the golden skin peeking out of his buttoned down shirt once again. Since when is a tiny piece of exposed skin something to be shy of? Your eyes trail further up, running along his neck and sharp jawline. You weren’t sure why you were so keen on disliking him, maybe it was in fact that he was too pretty and that he was aware of it.

Wooyoung sets you down by the elevator. It was as if any time you spent with him, whether it was in the car or him carrying you inside, was over in a few seconds and you felt somewhat disappointed as a weight settled in your lower abdomen. Even though you found yourself surrounded by men almost every weekend, there was none that you had sincerely liked. Then, do you like Wooyoung? Probably not. He simply caught you in a weak moment and that was all. You will probably not hear the end of his heroic actions next weeknd at LUX.

“Well... you’re welcome” Wooyoung teases, straightening up as he pushes the button to call on the elevator. The doors open immediately and you dread leaving him. Wait, dread was too strong of a word.

“Thanks” you reply, putting on a poker face to make sure he wouldn’t crack your ego any further. Wooyoung snorts lightly at your attempt at thanking him, but decides to accept it.

“Well then, see you next weekend, honey” he shrugs and turns to leave, raising his hand above his head to wave goodbye as he walks off. Dick, can’t even face me when he leaves, you think and stumble into the elevator, hissing as painful shocks shoot up your ankle.

“Don’t say it like that, people will think you are someone to me” you raise your voice, knowing he’d be able to hear it.

“And am I not, honey?” he glances over his shoulder but just then, the elevator doors separate you as they trap you into the tight compartment. You sigh, shaking your head to yourself.

The elevator was surrounded by mirrors and you catch yourself staring back at an expression of a teenage girl who had been out on a first date with her crush. Only as you look at yourself do you realize your cheeks had heated up and your lips were pulled up into a tiny smile.

You quickly furrow your brows again, trading the smile for your usual scowl to seem unaffected by anything, or anyone.

The elevator gives a metallic ding to indicate you arrived at your floor. The number 13 stands out in golden numbering, how ironic.

You assume Jisung is asleep because nobody greets you as you enter the hotel room. Throughout the year of living together, you’ve mastered the technique of going into rooms almost soundless. As if you're a mouse sneaking in to steal a piece of cheese. Finally you are away from any watching eyes. Finally you do not need to think about the way you act and what to say.

Your cellphone comes to life as it lights up the hotel room and you curse, hopping towards it on your only useful leg. Who is even awake at this time? Could it be…Wooyoung? No, you can’t expect him to even know your number. And even if he did, why would he text you?

You slide the message open and see an attachment. The number was unknown and you wondered if somebody had sent you a drunk text by accident. You open the image. It does not even take two seconds for you to register what it was. The number 13 stood out in gold and the background wall was a warm beige, just like the one on your floor if not the exact same one. You furrow your brows before a text bubble pops up.

“You got away too quick tonight, thank your little boyfriend for that. Next time, it’s over for you”

thank you for reading. i haven't written for ages and had this idea for the longest of times. i hope you are here on my writing journey and see me evolve but also have fun reading this word. all feedback is welcome because i want to improve as best as i can. are you looking forward to part 2?

#wooyoung x reader #ateez reactions #ateez fic #wooyoung #ateez imagines #enemies to lovers #kpop fic #ateez imagine #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez smut #kpop imagines #ateez reaction

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misch1efmanaged · 3 months

Text

(REPOST) heart swindler - J.WY (Part 1)

! REPOST ONTO THIS BLOG TO KEEP CONSISTENCY !

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Female Pronouns Conwoman reader! x Conman Wooyoung! Enemies to Lovers. Angst. Fluff. Smut.

words: 7.8K

PART 2

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The night club was jam packed this Saturday night. You recognize some charting rap song blasting through the bass-boosted speakers, blurring out the sounds of people around you. The clubs in the central area had no motivation in making a good mix for the night, rather re-using anything that could be considered loud and sexual enough.

There were often times you wondered what name to put to your career. Some people from your past would scream conwoman…

Your eyes scan the gray and black newspaper as a small smirk spreads over your lips.

“Young woman conned man out of half a million dollars, read page five”

Anonymous: This is how much your husband loves you *image*.

Anytime now…you thought and the loud chime of your phone ran through the luxurious hotel room just a few seconds later. You smirk and reach over to answer.

“I will kill you, you fucking bitch. You ruined my marriage- my career! I trusted a fucking conwoman” the older man that had so unfourtnarely been your previous target, curses in disbelief.

The words didn’t affect you anymore, hell you were in the luxurious hotel room thanks to his money to begin with, he could curse you all he wanted.

“Well, learn not to fuck women other than your wife, though I doubt she will let you near her again” you replied with a dry chukle, hanging up to block the number. Time to change phones…