Cin {sin} | 25 | she/her - writing blog for the depraved, multifandom. minors and ageless blogs are not welcomed.
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SOME FICS MAY INCLUDE DARK CONTENT. THIS BLOG IS NOT FOR MINORS. 18+. Please read all warnings on each fic before proceeding. I am not responsible for the content you choose to consume.
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NAVIGATION
archive of our own here
fic recs by month - august / september / 4 month sabbatical / february / march
MASTERLISTS
A KNIGHT OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS
CIN'S SINFUL THOUGHTS
1K FOLLOWER CELEBRATION
JUJUTSU KAISEN
NOTES FROM AUTHOR
until further notice all of my series are going to be on hold!
i'm sorry people, i've been so busy and exhausted. personal things going on and while i still want to write, i don't have the time nor the energy to be writing full length chapters. please don't ask about updates and please just understand and bare with me.
likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. while i do have my comments set to moderated, after a week you can reply to me so please if you like any of my work interact with it
cw: non con. dub con. smut. religious guilt. incest. oral (f receiving). manipulation. 18+
a/n: short and sweet this one, just wanted to get something out and tell you guys I’m okay and thank you for all the sweet replies. I’ll be more active this weekend
“you trust me, right?” is the first thing cousin!daeron asks before kissing your inner thighs.
you’re not entirely sure you can trust cousin!daeron, he’s been pushing you to do things you know a princess shouldn’t do. but with his head between your legs and your skirts pushed up over your thighs there isn’t much else you can do. besides every time you try to protest against this, or push him away he speaks over you and gently pushes you back down.
a princess should keep her virtue, that’s what the septons have always told you, the faith, your family— cousin!daeron promises you can keep your virtue in tact as he pushes you down onto the pillows behind you.
cousin!daeron chuckles as he looks up at you, noticing how scared you look. “you’re trembling,” he notes, before parting your thighs apart. “i’m not going to hurt you.”
cousin!daeron kisses your thighs first, gentle as he pecks at them before his tongue darts out his mouth and he licks. you hands tremble by your sides and you clench them together as his lips trail up nearing your bare—
you yelp when cousin!daeron nips at your subtle skin. your hand goes to push him off but his hand catches it, slipping his fingers between yours as he sucks on the mark.
cousin!daeron chuckles once again at the way you thighs clench around his face, his breath fanning over your bare cunt. you tense at the feel of it, letting you let out a shaky breath when his lips hover over you, feeling his breath once again when he tells you to, “relax.”
you try your hardest to lie still on the blankets, nails digging into the palm of your hands to keep you from wriggling. you even take a breath to calm your erratic nerves, sucking in a deep breath and trying to visualise your muscles untightening as cousin!daeron kisses the cress between your thigh and your cunt.
your fingers tighten around his own when cousin!daeron kisses over your folds, his lips there for a brief second before he ventures further down, kissing gently before he reaches to your most wet area.
cousin!daeron lets out a low chuckle before you feel his tongue slip out, licking up the liquid that has spilled from your hole.
you can’t help but wriggle when cousin!daeron’s tongue shoves itself deep inside of you, trying to push yourself away. only he doesn’t let you, hooking his arms around your thighs and holding your thighs tight so your cunt is flush against his face.
cousin!daeron tells you to “keep quiet” while he licks unapologetically at your clit, making the most obscene noises that fill the room. you can’t tell him how this feels strange, can’t tell him to stop because you’re too busy biting back moans from the back of your throat.
cousin!daeron feels proud when you scream his name between clenched teeth, how he can tell you’re desperate to tell him something but in the heat of your climax all you can manage to get out is his name. he feels a rush of pride when he kisses all the way from your soaked mound till your begging for respite, pushing him off with weak hands.
cousin!daeron adores being the one to pull you into his chest after you’ve come down, to quieten your sobs as he holds you to him. he’s good at telling you it’s alright, telling you that it’s okay to enjoy this. he enjoys corrupting you, destroying those ideas the septas have built in your brain, watching the guilt wreak havoc on your body when ever he even looks your way.
until further notice all of my series are going to be on hold!
i'm sorry people, i've been so busy and exhausted. personal things going on and while i still want to write, i don't have the time nor the energy to be writing full length chapters. please don't ask about updates and please just understand and bare with me.
warnings: +18 MDNI, trailer trash!aerion (he's a warning), p in v sex, riding, praise, hair pulling.
a/n: this pic got me thinking too much of trailer trash!aerion and i couldn't do anything about it except from writing some porn, so that's how this drabble was born i guess 😭 hope you enjoy hehe.
you should feel ashamed of how effortlessly—and how often—he manages to get you like this.
aerion has his cock buried so deep inside you there's tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. your nails dig into the expanse of his bare chest, consequently pinning him down on the mattress as you grip onto him in an attempt to keep your hips from faltering in their pace.
his bed is too small, one of your feet dangling off the edge of the mattress, a cramp forming in the inner part of your thigh from the weird position you have to maintain while you ride aerion with enough energy to leave your lungs desperately gasping for air.
in fact, the whole place is too small, too frail—the entirety of aerion's trailer a permanently disorganized, cramped up space you've grown way too familiar with. the walls constantly seem to corner you closer towards him no matter how much distance you try to put between you at times, but it's become a welcoming embrace now—the way everything within reach smells like him in a way you couldn't manage to put into words even if you tried to.
what is definitely not frail, though, is the way aerion fucks you.
"fuuuck, just like that..." aerion drawls from beneath you, the words a deep and stretched hum against your palms. he has always been particularly loud in bed, even more so when you're on top. "messy girl, you take me so well."
your walls clamp tighter around him on instict. he knows just the right words to use, just how to get you to release that soft, whimpering sound that slips past your lips despite your best attempts at biting it down. aerion's mouth curls into something way too smug for someone who shouldn't feel like he's in charge at the moment, but you've given up trying to fuck him into submission by now. you can't even think straight when he's talking to you like this.
"you look so good like this. so beautiful when you ride my cock."
you make a sound that sounds too much like a sob, and your fingers are trembling when you bring them up his neck to wrap around the gold chain hanging from there. you pull him like it's a leash, the deliebrate rolls of your hips turning into a frantic bounce as you tug forcefully to bring aerion's chest against yours. your mouth is already searching his lips before he's even finished rising from his previous lying position.
aerion grunts into the kiss, a possessive sound coming from a man who has everything he wants quite literally sitting on his lap. his arms tighten around you like a vice, hands pressing into your skin so hard you're sure you'll be marked for a least a good week or so. you can't bring youself to care, though, not when his hips are snapping to meet yours and aerion is thrusting into you so deeply it knocks the air from your lungs.
you grip him tighter then, your hands flying to his shoulders to settle on the hard muscle there to brace yourself from the mind numbing orgasm that is about to crash over you. it prickles just under your skin, so strong it borders on overstimulation, stars exploding behind your eyelids when you try to squeeze them shut.
you can tell aerion notices it—like he always does—by the way one of his hands releases its grip on your waist, fingers moving to grab a fistful of your hair and using it to tug you back into consciousness.
"yeah, baby? gonna cum?" he pants against your chin. your head throws back in a weird angle, the hand in your hair keeping your face just far enough from his that he can watch it scrunch up in pleasure. "c'mon now, wanna watch you make a mess on my cock. fucking look at me while you do it."
and when he says it, you do. your mind is already obeying before you can fully register the words, gathering enough strength inside you to open your eyes and find aerion already staring back at you. the expression on his face then—the nearly obsessive concentration lying in his eyes as he anticipates the moment you'll fall apart for him—is something that will be permanently marked in your brain, and you figure it'll serve as a good enough reminder of why you keep coming back every single time.
maybe there’s a way you can get him to forgive you for that botched nose job, or maybe not
pairing: baelor targaryen x maid!reader
cw : modern au. really sensitive topics. dark. dub con, age gap, reader is 20s and baelor is early 50s, sex worker reader, past drug addiction,, abandonment issues, past abuse and rape, past sex trafficking, feelings of shame and disgust, tiny bit of smut, baelor eater agenda. mdni 18+
a/n: haven’t really proofread this but I remember promising to post this today and I have 2 minutes left so here you go.
maid for hire series
you are responsible for the content you consume. make sure to read warnings before proceeding with any of my fics
Baelor isn’t exactly how you imagined him. All the articles online paint him out to be this stone cold enigma, the Mr. Darcy type. Even his affair that was published six months before your arrival had a coldness attached to it that made you shiver, like he was entirely detached from it— like he hadn’t been the main cause for the downfall of his own marriage.
He carries himself around the house with a casualness that catches you off guard, if he’s not dressed in his workout attire, preparing for his morning run, then it’s loose jumpers and trousers that are so snug they outline everything. Everything.
You catch yourself looking at the most inappropriate times. Especially when he invades your space in the mornings, flicking over a few files in his study while you clean, not even sitting down in his chair. He lifts his arms, stretching and that knit jumper lifts up, showing the thick happy trail underneath. His eyes flicker over to catch you, catching you but he doesn’t smile, no.
He looks as well, letting his eyes wander from where the skirt of your attire falls just below your ass and the stockings wrap around your thighs. You’re used to men staring, but there’s something different about this. He isn’t leering like those men did before, it’s almost like he’s sizing you up, wanting to work you out.
You think if he asked, you’d let him work you out in whichever way he wanted.
He greets you when he sees you, nods his head politely but that’s it.
You’re used to men being hungry around you but with Baelor you feel like the animal with an appetite you’re dying to fill.
Pathetically you attempt to win over his hungry affections, placing yourself in his study when you know he’ll be coming in the morning. Cleaning something on the bottom book shelf, bending over so he can get a nice glimpse of your ass cheeks and the thong that rides between them. Only when you look back at him, he’s not even looking at you, all that signals that he’s seen the sight is that smug smile on his face.
You try repeatedly, making yourself available to him in ways that would normally have a man panting and crawling to you. Yet each attempt fails miserably until one does catch you by surprise.
“It won’t work.”
You’re bent down, in a mean doggy press on the floor as you clean underneath his desk, literally serving him your ass on a platter. Only you look around to see him standing over the desk not giving you the slightest bit of attention.
“What won’t work?” You ask, playing dumb.
He snickers, turning over another page. “This game you’re trying to play.”
“I’m not playing any game.”
He looks over to you then, with a look that sees right through you.
“Okay,” you stand up, hands up in surrender. “You got me.”
He hums, like he’s not even the slightest bit interested.
“Won’t you let me apologise at least?”
“Apologise, for what?”
“Your nose.” You step closer to him, one leg sliding between him and the desk. Your body pressing up against his and in a seductive drawl you whisper, “I can apologise in any way you want me to.”
Your finger reaches out to touch the scar over his nose but he catches your wrist. “Don’t.”
“Why not?”
He leans in then so close you can feel his hot breath against the skin of your face. “I’m your employer and there are lines I do not cross.”
“I won’t tell anyone. Promise.”
“What if you’re a reporter? Got some sort of mic on you and you’re recording all this.”
“You can search me if you like?”
He rolls his eyes then, falling back and chuckles.
The noise is deep and guttural, almost drawing you in.
“Like I said, there are lines I won’t cross.”
You huff, letting out your frustrations but you don’t stop there. You strip, pulling the maid costume till it pools out your feet, then your shoes with it, until you’re in nothing but your lace thong.
His eyes lift up then, and you notice the way his jaw clenches.
“I think my next room is your bedroom,” you tell him, before turning back and walking out the door.
You’re on your knees when he enters the room, mouth salivating as closes the door.
He looks half impressed, unamused though as his eyes run over you.
“Sit on the edge of the bed,” he directs, and you listen.
You practically hop onto the bed, biting your bottom lip as he stands before you.
He grabs the back of your neck first, fingers tangling into your hair as he holds it with a bruising grip. His finger runs over your lips, pulling down on your bottom to release it from its hold. He leans in nose brushing against yours, only when you try to close the distance he pulls a few inches away, stopping you from catching his lips.
He chuckles and the sound runs right through you, and you can feel the heat in your pants.
Baelor notices it too, the way your thighs squeeze together and the way you wriggle your hips.
“Please,” you whisper so quietly you barely catch it yourself.
He drops, slowly falling to his knees and parting your legs with his big hands on either side of your thighs.
This isn’t what you expected, mouth falling open as he leans in between your thighs. Once again Baelor surprises you.
He kisses the inside of your thighs, gently pressing his lips against the flesh, before dragging his teeth along the skin all the way to your clothed pussy. You can’t help but whimper when he pushes his face up against the lacy material, burying his nose and sniffing it.
Fuck.
He goes to the other side of your thigh, teeth nipping at the skin before saying your name, twice, to get your attention.
“Yes,” you let out on a harsh breath.
He looks up with a smug smile, like he’s won. “An apology starts with ‘I’m sorry’. That’s all I need.”
“Huh?”
“I’m sorry,” he sounds out the words, drawing them out like he’s talking to a child.
“I’m sorry?” You repeat.
“Good girl.” He picks himself up off the floor, adjusting his jumper and not even turning back to look at you.
Smug prick.
Not smug enough though because you catch it, those trousers give it away. The thick outline of his hard cock, trying to force itself out its restraints.
I’m going to only be on my side blog until Sunday and hoping to post part 2 of maid for hire on Sunday. if you want to come chat or have some thoughts you want to share I’ll be here @bittertarg ❤️ inbox is open
Where Valarr went to the theatre with his family for a public event and PR boost then he spots ballerina y/n and got entranced that he started visiting over and over just to see her and eventually be her "patron"
a/n: im picturing him as the son of a Earl / something similar so to give him a title he’d be like viscount!valarr. actually love this idea so much. like the idea of reader being an accomplished ballerina that’s always overlooked and struggles to amount to anything but when reader does, it’s like at what cost.
viscount!valarr who visits the theatre under his father’s instruction, he’s never been really interested in the performances but knows how good it is for the families publicity.
ballerina!reader who’s the understudy, who’s thrown into the part halfway through the performance, dancing like your life counts on it because it does.
viscount!valarr who notices the change, and is completely entranced by the way you move. he thinks there’s a slight divine elegance about you that wasn’t there in the other performer.
viscount!valarr who literally can’t take his eyes off you for the rest of the night. who’s completely changed his mind about the theatre, even his father sees the difference in his demeanour.
ballerina!reader who doesn’t see valarr up on the balcony, or his family. who bows with grace at the end of the performance before leaving the stage.
viscount!valarr who takes a sudden interest in the theatre, coming to more performances just to be able to take a glimpse of you.
viscount!valarr who is offered the chance to go back stage one night and meet all the performers. who is polite to everyone and hides how excited he is to meet you.
viscount!valarr doesn’t get the proper chance to introduce himself to you when you both first meet. instead the lead ballerina shoves in front of him, making herself known to him and disregarding you with little importance.
viscount!valarr decides to find a way to meet you properly, sneaking up on you when you’re alone in the dressing room. he steps in with a knock on the door but doesn’t wait for permission to enter, he just leans against the doorway, gives you that charming smile and introduces himself to you properly.
ballerina!reader finds yourself flustered in his presence, trying to hide the way your face burns as he watches you….
viscount!valarr who watches a bit too much, coming to rehearsals and most performances. likes to hide in the seats during your rehearsals, somewhere you can’t see him because of the light but you feel his eyes constantly on you.
ballerina!reader who has been working your whole life to get the main part La Sylphide, who’s worked day and night fracturing bones in your feet, dealing with callouses, and spraining your ankle on so many occasions you’ve forgotten what physical pain really tastes like. it’s the only mental pain that hurts when you’re looked over again, forced to play to an understudy for someone that seems to have everything handed to her.
ballerina!reader is constantly pushed to your limit over and over again, dealing with the teachers forcing you to go past your limits like they’re trying to see if you can break. who’s humilated around your peers, who doesn’t bite back because this career is all you have
ballerina!reader who stays up late at night and finds valarr still sitting in the crowd watching your performance, he doesn’t clap or cheer but just watches and waits.
ballerina!reader is confused by valarr. either you can’t understand him or you miss read his actions. you feel like his eyes are on you constantly, either when you’re on stage or when you’re practicing with the other dancers. he seems to find you at times when you’re by yourself, hovering around your dressing room and staring at you through the mirror until you notice, even when he’s busy hanging around the lead ballerina.
ballerina!reader realises you must be imagining things when you see valarr leaning in for a kiss with the lead ballerina.
ballerina!reader who’s given the lead part twenty minutes before opening night,
viscount!valarr who congratulates you on your first show with a bouquet of flowers, along with a dozen others that try to get your attention.
viscount!valarr who finds his patience wearing thin when you don’t even acknowledge him, especially after everything he’s done for you.
viscount!valarr who follows you home after your performance, who makes his way into your building at night, who hangs you off your banister with one arm holding onto your costume that looks like it might rip from the seams.
viscount!valarr who doesn’t threaten your life but your career, knowing that breaking your pretty legs would be the end of your career.
viscount!valarr doesn’t want to hurt you, he just wants you to understand how he sees you for who you are. that there is no one that truly gets you the way he does. he put his title at risk for you, his family’s fortune sneaking around this way. doesn’t he deserve to be thanked?
ballerina!reader sinks down onto your knees in your room, who can’t help but cry as he forces himself right the way to the back of your throat.
viscount!valarr makes you gag and choke, telling you to relax until he seems satisfied and pulls you up for air. who has the nasty grip on the back of your hair as he uses your mouth as his own personal hole.
viscount!valarr kisses you with tears in your eyes after each performance, who sneaks into your dressing room that he bribed the theatre to get you, who fucks you as a congratulations every night. who pounds you against the dressing table until you have bruises on your hip bones from being slammed against it too hard, bruises on your thighs from his grip. but he’d never bruise that pretty face of yours.
viscount!valarr doesn’t ever mean to get rough with you, he wants to treat you like princess you are, wants to worship every part of you. but he just loses his patience sometimes when your instructor gets too handsy with you during stretches and can’t stand how everyone in the crowd stares at you for too long.
viscount!valarr who can never truly know your his, you might own him body and soul, he might be able to threaten you but he’ll never be able to marry you. all he’ll be able to do is to keep you as his mistress.
a/n: not super happy ending. but i don’t always think these ideas should have a happy ending to be completely honest.
in which you hired, but there’s a slight confusion in what you’ve been hired for
pairing: baelor targaryen x maid!reader
cw : modern au. really sensitive topics. dark. dub con, age gap, reader is 20s and baelor is early 50s, sex worker reader, past drug addiction,, abandonment issues, past abuse and rape, past sex trafficking, feelings of shame and disgust, smut, mdni 18+
a/n: new series, let's go. please see this post for reference. all boobies are great boobies, just for reference people.
maid for hire series
recluse neighbour series - same universe
you are responsible for the content you consume. make sure to read warnings before proceeding with any of my fics
The AD for the job had been posted for months and not one single hit that hadn’t been from a creep with sadistic intentions. You refresh the website again, flicking through and deleting all the disgusting messages in your in box. Maybe it’s a lost cause. You thought that initially, laughed at Leta when she told you she knew someone that managed to change her job in that way. Topless maid, what a fucking joke or possibly you’re just the unlucky girl that doesn’t know the right way to go about it.
You place the phone down, feeling two sets of eyes boring into you from behind and you look up to face him in the mirror.
“Smile pretty girl,” he tells you, with a smile of his own that never really meets his eyes.
You do, forcing a sweet smile on your face, lips trembling.
“It’s showtime,” he cheers, his hand landing on the back of your neck, just holding it. To others the touch can be seen as comforting but as his fingers, kneed into the skin of your neck, borderlining on bruising, you know it’s just a way to exhibit his control. He does it to all the girls that try to slip away.
“Showtime,” you repeat, but the enthusiasm doesn’t hit your voice.
He senses it, sniffs it out like some mutt and to get you in the mood he offers his friendly white pouch that he knows gets you in the mood. “Want some?”
You don’t do that anymore. You can’t if you want to get out of this place but you won’t tell him that. You smile harder and shake your head, then lift your drink up and lie, “Already got something, just waiting for it to kick in.”
He winks then, and nods his head before lifting his hand off you. “That’s my girl.”
Your stomach clenches at that but you don’t show it, only smiling and letting your eyes follow him out of the room.
“Just don’t take too long. You got money to make.”
You let out a shaky sigh when he’s out of sight, looking properly at your dolled up face in the mirror, only your eyes catch the empty dressing table next to you. There’s still residue on the table, powder and foundation but at the top the sticker has been scratched off, with a razor blade or a dull knife and over it lies a new name.
Yesterday that was Leta’s table; today it’s Honey’s table.
You’re not sure where Leta is now, her picture still hung up with the rest of your polaroids like a reminder. She didn’t escape like the other girls, she would have texted you. Her phones are going to answer the machine and your texts are unread. You want to believe Leta’s found herself a nice little job out of this city, somewhere so far away they wouldn’t even dare go looking for but most likely she’s been tipped off the cliff just miles from the highway.
You have to get yourself out of here.
Your phone pings and you look at it, hoping it’s a text from her. It’s not though, another message from your AD. You roll your eyes, frustration simmering under your skin. You’ll take the AD down, you’re over it anyway.
You open it, fingers hovering over the keyboard to type out some angry message— only your eyes look over the message, twice, before you let it sink in. Not some nasty crude joke with it, something that possibly seemed like a genuine offer.
Would it be too good to be true?
Your eyes flicker from the open doorway that leads back to the club, the bass of the music pouring into the room, and then to Leta’s torn sticker, before landing back on your phone.
Fuck it.
Anything is better than here. You type out a rushed reply before hitting send.
You don’t think, it’s never gotten you anywhere. You reach for Lenny’s keys that you know he tucks away in his drawer, he can do without them anyway. You grab your duffle bag and you don’t even change, nor do you turn back.
Two hours into the drive and you’re still looking back, you only need to make it to the bus station and then you’ll ditch the car there. You do exactly that, changing from your jewelled outfit in the back seats into a tracksuit, tying your hood up to cover your face before stepping out.
One way ticket to Dorne then another ticket to get yourself to the house you’ll be working out at. You’ll need to get more clientele of course, but it’s a start and the rest will eventually fall into place.
You pull up outside the gates after walking a mile in the sweltering heat with your duffle bag on your shoulders. It’s not how you expected to turn up, sweating through your juicy tracksuit but you’re here at least and you can apologise for the rest later.
You’re only coming to meet your first client anyway, a certain meeting to get things in order. You look through the wide metal gates, eyes peering through them as you stare at the huge mansion behind it and the long driveway that leads up to it. You look at the sign again and back at your phone.
Sunspear.
This isn’t entirely as you pictured.
You buzz the intercom, no response so you wait. It’s still quite early anyway, gives you time to go over the questions you prepared on your phone.
Preference on attire?
Hours to be worked? How many days a week?
There’s a ruffle in the bushes that has you swiftly turning around, hand darting out to slap the object down to the ground. A glock you presumed, or possibly something less eccentric like a wrench from the back of the car. It’s hard and cold, bruises the back of your hand as it comes crashing down to the floor with a thud.
A camera. Your eyes look down to find a fucking camera, and when they look up you find a man around your age, heavily panting as sweat poured down his face.
“What the fuck?”
You both say it in unison.
You throw your hands over your chest while the man goes to pick up the camera, lifting it up to find cracked glass on the floor.
“You broke it,” he screeches, trying to pick up the pieces.
“I’m sorry,” you say it’s like a question. Maybe if he hadn’t pulled up to you like that then you wouldn’t have hit him so hard. “Actually, I’m not sorry. What the fuck are you doing taking pictures of me anyway?”
“Taking pictures of you.” His brows furrow and his lips turn up in disgust, and you almost feel offended. “Why would I want to take pictures of you?”
“I don’t fucking know,” you snap back, narrowing your eyes at him. “Because you're a creep.”
Something comes over the man’s face, and he smirks, pointing towards the house. “You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“You’re late.”
You twist your head around at the sound of another voice. A man in his thirties, dornish, short and round at the stomach, he’s wearing overalls. Maybe it’s the style here.
“I’m sorry,” you meekly say, before forcing a smile on your face and fluttering your eyelashes. “The name’s—”
“Come through, before he tries to slip in behind you,” the older man points to the man on the floor, still clutching to his camera, before he walks back through the open gates.
You follow, picking up the pace as you try to reach him.
“It’s really nice to meet you, Mr. Targaryen,” you splutter out, trying to keep that same enthusiasm you’re used to. “I look really forward to offering my services to you—”
The man is quick to cut you off, “I’m not the master of this house. Mr. Targaryen is away settling some business matters and we’ll be back tomorrow. I’m Gerris, the caretaker for Sunspear.” He looks over you with his shoulder, not stopping. “Is that all you have?”
“This.” You look down at your outfit. “Well I can change but I thought we’d just be discussing my services.”
“Your role, you mean?”
“Yes, exactly,” you say with more chipper than you intend. “I assume I’ll be discussing with you on behalf of Mr. Targaryen.”
“You’ll be discussing with me and only me,” his tone seems serious, almost like he’s trying to be threatening. It makes you want to laugh. “You don’t speak to Mr. Targaryen unless spoken to. You don’t even need to look in his direction. You do your tasks and you get on with it.”
Strange requests but you’ve definitely heard stranger.
He stops so suddenly it takes you a moment to halt your movements, landing you right in front of him, face inches away.
“Capiche?”
“Capiche,” you repeat with a slight bit of humour laced in your tone.
He turns back, walking up to the driveway like he’s marching with an army.
Is he always this serious?
This isn’t entirely what you’d been expecting when you took on this new job role but you’re not exactly complaining, anything is better than working at the club.
Three days in and you’d only been tasked with dusting the rooms in the master quarters. Everything else had been pretty much left clean, and in pristine condition and with the master of the house still not anywhere in sight, you’d grown quite bored.
Who hires a topless maid when there’s literally no one around to see them?
You have great tits, it’s a shame to waste such good money when not a soul gets to witness them.
You decided to tie up your top, put those fine titties of yours away and continue your tasks in that way. It’s not like anyone would notice anyway.
You drift between rooms throughout the day, there’s five bedrooms in total. The master suite, which you’d been told belongs to the mysterious Baelor Targaryen, another two bedrooms belong to his children, Valarr and Matarys. The other two while you’d been shown inside only get cleaned once a week by yourself, they look like they belong to someone, another two boys possibly, younger than Valarr and Matarys, and yet the picture frames are all sat down and there’s nothing else that really details who they could possibly belong to. Instructions are specific for these two rooms, once a week clean and nothing else is to be touched or moved, Gerris had given you a pointed look that said don’t cross him.
It’s the only time you’ve taken Gerris stern words seriously.
You stick to the bedrooms, the toilets and the study. His study. It’s off putting with its dark interior, deep mahogany bookshelves lining the wall, a desk in the same wooden colour to match in the middle of the room, even the books all range in the darkest shades of green and blue. It’s by far your least favourite room, and yesterday you even skipped cleaning it.
Baelor Targaryen will be back today though, Gerris told you. All of the staff have been working overtime, making everything perfect and pristine for his arrival. It makes you wonder what he’s like, this mysterious man that everyone seems to so badly want to impress.
You're halfway through dusting the bookshelf when you meet him, the door to the study being opened without so much as a creek. It’s his footsteps that give him away, even on the carpet you can hear them, precisely paced footsteps, almost timed to match the last one. It’s almost how you picture him.
It’s eight steps in when he stops, bag being thrown over his desk, his jacket over his chair but you don’t hear the roll of his chair, so you turn, finally looking at him.
You spent the last two nights looking him up on your phone but the pictures must be outdated, and they clearly don’t do the handsome man in front of you any justice. Even in this dim room, you can’ t help but find him attractive.
His brows pinch together as he looks at you, eyes falling from your face slowly down to your feet and back up again.
“Who are you?” He questions with a deep frown, as if you’ve entered his space without invitation.
You smile but you feel the tremble in your lips. It’s too forced you think, but you fight against it as you answer, “The maid.”
“Taken over from Lucy,” he says it like he’s still questioning you, like he doesn’t know the orders of his own estate.
“Yes.”
“Ah.” He nods, sliding out his chair but still doesn’t sit, just stares at you.
“Oh.” It hits you and you point at your top, where the buttons are done up. You can make quick work of it, if he needs you too. “Do you want me to?”
“To leave,” he continues to nod, lips twisting up into a smile that you can tell is all forced. “Please.”
You should be confused and although your eyebrows do knot, you don’t see the point in questioning him. Maybe he’s not possibly in the mood right now for company.
You fumble, grabbing your stuff quickly before bowing and heading out the door.
Bowing. Did you just bow? What a fucking idiot.
You make it all of five days, practically a week seeing as you’re just about to hit your two days off but five days.
You were cleaning Baelor’s bedroom, tucking the sheets underneath the bed when he came in and yanked you towards him with one arm wrapped around your wrist. Your AD specifically referred to not touching, and while for some extra money you might have been willing to cross that line, you weren’t ever okay with someone grabbing you like that. He’d taken you by such a surprise that you didn’t even get time to think, smacking your fist right across his face without any warning.
“Fuck,” Baelor shouted, blood pouring from his nose that he tried to cover.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Targaryen,” you say, reaching out to him.
He pushes his hand out, looking at you then looking away just as quickly. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Cleaning.”
The door bursts open then, Gerris coming through with a stern expression that twists into horror as he looks between the pair of you.
“I didn’t mean to—” Mr Gerris starts but his wide eyes dart between the both of you, then he puts his hands up in some sort of surrender. “I- If you guys—” He looks at Baelor then, noticing the blood dripping from his hand onto the floor. “Are you bleeding?”
“Yes, I’m fucking bleeding,” he shouts, wiping his nose with his sleeve before placing his hand back to his side. He looks at you with narrowed eyes before turning to Gerris. “Would you please ask the new maid why she’s half naked in my bedroom?”
Gerris nods before swallowing and looking back at you. “Why are you naked?”
“Because that’s what you hired me for,” you simply answer, shrugging your shoulders.
Gerris points, noticing your breasts fully out and then looks back to Baelor. “Mr. Targaryen I would never—”
“But you did,” you snap, arms crossing over your chest just underneath your breasts. “Someone hired me.”
“As a maid,” Gerris states.
“The ad was for topless maid.”
“Topless maid,” Baelor laughs humourlessly, before clenching his jaw.
“Yes, topless.”
Neither look at you, they stare at each other instead with a shared uncomfortable look.
“Do you need me to button this up?” You ask, pointing to the loose top.
“Please,” Baelor answers through gritted teeth.
“Fine.” You button it back up and cross your arms over your chest again. “Happy?”
“There must be some confusion,” Gerris states, chuckling to himself clearly nervous as the sweat beads dribble down his forehead.
“A big fuck up, is what it is,” Baelor states, before pointing in his face. “I trust you Gerris. Fix it and—” he points to you but doesn’t even look “ –get rid of her.”
Baelor storms out the room, footsteps even heavier on the ground than before.
Gerris looks at you, with a sheepish frown. “You need to go.”
“Go?”
“Yes.”
“No, I can’t go.” You shake your head, voice getting higher as you plead with him. “I need this job, Gerris.”
“You punched the boss.”
“He grabbed me.”
“You had your—” he motions to his own chest, grimacing slightly. “ –out.”
“It’s what you literally hired me for.”
“No, I hired a maid.”
“Topless maid.” You pull your phone out, flicking through it for a few moments before shoving it in his face. “See.” You point. “Topless maid.”
Gerris squints his eyes, reading before swallowing. “Fuck.”
Even after showing the ad, even after falling to Gerris’ feet and begging, even after offering to suck him off, you got nothing. The last one really didn’t hit nearly as well as you thought it would, Gerris looking almost horrified and disgusted at the offer, before shoving you as gently as he could manage away from him.
You landed in the same place you had been when you came, sat on your duffle bag outside the metal gates.
The man’s there as well, hiding in the bushes and sweating like a pig in the summer heat. Simon, you came to learn is his name, the same news reporter that’s been lingering in the bushes for months, trying to get a glimpse of something scandalous about Baelor Targaryen, only he’s a man that’s rarely seen, always coming in and out of SUV with tinted windows.
Simon looks at you, pointing his camera through the bushes like the greenery covers it and frowns.
“Sup,” you nod in some sort of greeting, before turning back to your phone waiting for an uber to pick up.
He doesn’t reply, only frowns harder before staring back through the metal gates.
“New camera.” You purse your lips. “Nice.”
“Hauled you out on your ass, did they?” He questions, like he’s half interested.
“Want to make a story on it?”
He shakes his head. “I’m okay.”
“Your loss.”
There’s footsteps then, the black gate swinging open and you turn to meet Gerris.
“Come,” is all he says, not even looking at you.
You both stand, and then he frowns, lips turning up at Simon. “Not you, idiot. Her.”
Simon groans, rolling his eyes before getting back under his cover.
You follow, feet taking two steps at a time just to catch him.
“I have a contract typed out for you,” He starts off and you almost drop to his feet again to thank him. “I’ll need some sort of ID and your bank details. We’ll go to my office to fill out the paperwork.”
“What if I don’t have bank details?” You ask.
He halts, turning back to you and this time you stop instantly.
“What person doesn’t have a bank account?”
“A desperate one,” you shrug, it’s the best you can offer.
He sighs, rubbing his fingers on his temple. “We’ll think of something.” He continues walking again.
“You don’t know how much I want to thank you for this. Honestly, thank you, thank you, thank—”
“This wasn’t me,” he almost laughs, shaking his head. “Mr. Targaryen asked me to come get you.”
“Really?”
He inclines his head back at you. “Really.”
“Must have made an impression.”
“Oh, you did.” He stifles a laugh. “A strong one, that you can be sure of.”
No because this is literally how I’m writing him, he’s like my new fave character I’ve made up. Trust me him and reader are going to be two peas in a pod, he defo treats her like a daughter in this
you’ll see why in another part he missed the part topless, it’s a genuine mistake on his part. he’s pure of heart trust me on this one.
Imagine Fae Aerion or any other targ in your head its fine now hear me out 😀
So I had this idea and it's Folklore AU and i am from the Philippines and we have so many stories about mythical creatures fairies/faes in my language are called "diwatas" there are many kinds of diwatas like they can represent anything in nature there are good and bad ones
So imagine fae!Aerion just cursing and wrecking havoc to humans for the love of the game with the excuse that they did not pay respects to them and other petty reasons like he causes random wildfires on nearby villages or create an epidemic 💀
And in my story Aerion caught sight of a mortal a beautiful one of course and he wanted to have her so he fucking demands her village to appease him by offering her to him the village knew as Aerion possessed the shaman or priestess to send a message the shaman's are called Babaylan in my country they interpret the words of the fairies
Poor girl begged her family but it is inevitible and in folklore once a fairy claims you, there is no way back you now stay in their realm forever especially if the fairy desires you
I can only send this to you because you are so GOOD in making drabbles and fics 😭🙏
cw: non con, dub con, , virginity loss, smut, kidnapping, captive reader, obsessive and possessive aerion, sacrifices, self harm (cutting to offer your blood to aerion), angst, stupidly in love aerion, manipulation, mdni 18+
a/n: did a little more research so i'm a bit more clued up about it and i loved this idea, i read about a god x reader thing once where it was like god of life vs death, where god of life has reader in his sights the whole time and reader is raised to be his sacrifice but ends up falling in love with a woman and when the god kills reader's lover, reader kills herself so he starts all over again, basically clones reader and then the god of death steals reader. yep. anyway it reminded me of this idea, hope i do it justice.
fae!aerion is crazed mad man, thirsty for blood. who hates the villages he sees over and can't stand the worthless ways in which they worship him. who starves them when they don't worship them properly, who burns their trees and houses when they dare disobey him or speak badly about him
fae!aerion who catches you out one night, headed to the temple where they worship. you who offers him fruit and flowers, and a meat from your crop, who even when you're desperate enough offers him the blood from your hand.
fae!aerion who takes your offerings gratefully, who sees to the long drought with a bit of rain and even restores a bit of peace to the forest around your village.
fae!aerion who visits your father in his human form one night, who decides that if he offers up you, his sweet daughter, he could bring harmony back to the land and even help with their crop problem.
fae!aerion who when they begin preparations starts letting it rain properly again, who grows fruits and vegetables for them in the forest, brings wildlife back for them to hunt.
village!reader who wails and sobs as your parents prepare you to be sacrificied, who tells them that this is madness and the gods have already accepted the offerings you have given them.
fae!aerion who watches you terrified, trembling as the villagers drag your body to the water, who sail you off in this tiny boat made from bamboo, all dressed in fine cloth with flowers surrounding you. who watches as your boat sails down a river, to a cliff, then to him.
fae!aerion who terrifies you in his huge form, his hand half the size of your body. his finger running along your body carelessly, feeling the subtle flesh of your breasts, and your stomach, the bones that would be so easy to break underneath
fae!aerion who turns to his human form to be with you, who tries to hush you when you tremble, who tells you that he'll take care of you now, that a beauty like you shouldn't be trapped in a village like that.
fae!aerion who pushes you down on a bed of flowers, who laughs when you bleed over his cock, who slips his cock out your walls so he can have a taste of your blood and your slick, who goes back right to fucking you again, even though you're crying underneath him
fae!aerion who makes you his queen, who thinks he can win over your affections with fancy gifts and fine jewels, who can't understand why you don't want to stay here with him forever.
fae!aerion who threatens your village when you don't play nice, who subjects them to horrible conditions until you're sitting pretty in his lap again. who smiles widely when you kiss him on the sides of his mouth and stops being so mean
fae!aerion who neglects the village not on purpose but because he forgets about them, he's so occupied with you. who starts getting confused when he finds other women turning up at his door and finds out they were sacrificed like you were, who gets all flustered when you find them and is like darling it's not what it looks like, who sends them right back where they came from with a message, no human sacrifices because you specifically said you didn't like it
fae!aerion who's whipped by you, who enjoys changing size sometimes to watch your reaction, twice your size just to see how you look wrapped up beside him, who gets so turned on when you look in fear at the size of his cock, who lets you work yourself up to it, who stretches you on his long fingers, who laughs like a mad man when you sit on it and can't even fit half of it inside you, watches you wriggle and squirm to please him, and watches how his load is to much to fit inside your pussy.
fae!aerion who makes sure to tend to your village again, who keeps a close eye on them because you make him.
fae!aerion who visits your father again and tells him that he's happy with the offering, that you are divine and should be treated as such, that they should build a statue in your honour
fae!aerion who's so giddy when you sees the statue, even though you roll your eyes at him you can't help but smile at it.
fae!aerion who literally is so enamoured by you that even hundreds of years to come they still speak of your name, like you're a god yourself, and worship you as they do him.
another fave thought from my side blog like why is the folklore / mythical creature ideas just the best like please want aerion as a god to be obsessed with me and keep me as his wife forever.
also please note if you’re venturing onto my side blog it’s a lot more disturbed than this blog. you’ve been warned.
in which you’re hired, but there’s a slight confusion in what you’ve been hired for
pairing: baelor targaryen x maid!reader
cw : modern au. really sensitive topics. dark. dub con, age gap, reader is 20s and baelor is early 50s, sex worker reader, past drug addiction,, abandonment issues, past abuse and rape, past sex trafficking, feelings of shame and disgust, smut, mdni 18+
a/n: new series, let's go. please see this post for reference. all boobies are great boobies, just for reference people.
maid for hire series
recluse neighbour series - same universe
you are responsible for the content you consume. make sure to read warnings before proceeding with any of my fics
The AD for the job had been posted for months and not one single hit that hadn’t been from a creep with sadistic intentions. You refresh the website again, flicking through and deleting all the disgusting messages in your in box. Maybe it’s a lost cause. You thought that initially, laughed at Leta when she told you she knew someone that managed to change her job in that way. Topless maid, what a fucking joke or possibly you’re just the unlucky girl that doesn’t know the right way to go about it.
You place the phone down, feeling two sets of eyes boring into you from behind and you look up to face him in the mirror.
“Smile pretty girl,” he tells you, with a smile of his own that never really meets his eyes.
You do, forcing a sweet smile on your face, lips trembling.
“It’s showtime,” he cheers, his hand landing on the back of your neck, just holding it. To others the touch can be seen as comforting but as his fingers, kneed into the skin of your neck, borderlining on bruising, you know it’s just a way to exhibit his control. He does it to all the girls that try to slip away.
“Showtime,” you repeat, but the enthusiasm doesn’t hit your voice.
He senses it, sniffs it out like some mutt and to get you in the mood he offers his friendly white pouch that he knows gets you in the mood. “Want some?”
You don’t do that anymore. You can’t if you want to get out of this place but you won’t tell him that. You smile harder and shake your head, then lift your drink up and lie, “Already got something, just waiting for it to kick in.”
He winks then, and nods his head before lifting his hand off you. “That’s my girl.”
Your stomach clenches at that but you don’t show it, only smiling and letting your eyes follow him out of the room.
“Just don’t take too long. You got money to make.”
You let out a shaky sigh when he’s out of sight, looking properly at your dolled up face in the mirror, only your eyes catch the empty dressing table next to you. There’s still residue on the table, powder and foundation but at the top the sticker has been scratched off, with a razor blade or a dull knife and over it lies a new name.
Yesterday that was Leta’s table; today it’s Honey’s table.
You’re not sure where Leta is now, her picture still hung up with the rest of your polaroids like a reminder. She didn’t escape like the other girls, she would have texted you. Her phones are going to answer the machine and your texts are unread. You want to believe Leta’s found herself a nice little job out of this city, somewhere so far away they wouldn’t even dare go looking for but most likely she’s been tipped off the cliff just miles from the highway.
You have to get yourself out of here.
Your phone pings and you look at it, hoping it’s a text from her. It’s not though, another message from your AD. You roll your eyes, frustration simmering under your skin. You’ll take the AD down, you’re over it anyway.
You open it, fingers hovering over the keyboard to type out some angry message— only your eyes look over the message, twice, before you let it sink in. Not some nasty crude joke with it, something that possibly seemed like a genuine offer.
Would it be too good to be true?
Your eyes flicker from the open doorway that leads back to the club, the bass of the music pouring into the room, and then to Leta’s torn sticker, before landing back on your phone.
Fuck it.
Anything is better than here. You type out a rushed reply before hitting send.
You don’t think, it’s never gotten you anywhere. You reach for Lenny’s keys that you know he tucks away in his drawer, he can do without them anyway. You grab your duffle bag and you don’t even change, nor do you turn back.
Two hours into the drive and you’re still looking back, you only need to make it to the bus station and then you’ll ditch the car there. You do exactly that, changing from your jewelled outfit in the back seats into a tracksuit, tying your hood up to cover your face before stepping out.
One way ticket to Dorne then another ticket to get yourself to the house you’ll be working out at. You’ll need to get more clientele of course, but it’s a start and the rest will eventually fall into place.
You pull up outside the gates after walking a mile in the sweltering heat with your duffle bag on your shoulders. It’s not how you expected to turn up, sweating through your juicy tracksuit but you’re here at least and you can apologise for the rest later.
You’re only coming to meet your first client anyway, a certain meeting to get things in order. You look through the wide metal gates, eyes peering through them as you stare at the huge mansion behind it and the long driveway that leads up to it. You look at the sign again and back at your phone.
Sunspear.
This isn’t entirely as you pictured.
You buzz the intercom, no response so you wait. It’s still quite early anyway, gives you time to go over the questions you prepared on your phone.
Preference on attire?
Hours to be worked? How many days a week?
There’s a ruffle in the bushes that has you swiftly turning around, hand darting out to slap the object down to the ground. A glock you presumed, or possibly something less eccentric like a wrench from the back of the car. It’s hard and cold, bruises the back of your hand as it comes crashing down to the floor with a thud.
A camera. Your eyes look down to find a fucking camera, and when they look up you find a man around your age, heavily panting as sweat poured down his face.
“What the fuck?”
You both say it in unison.
You throw your hands over your chest while the man goes to pick up the camera, lifting it up to find cracked glass on the floor.
“You broke it,” he screeches, trying to pick up the pieces.
“I’m sorry,” you say it’s like a question. Maybe if he hadn’t pulled up to you like that then you wouldn’t have hit him so hard. “Actually, I’m not sorry. What the fuck are you doing taking pictures of me anyway?”
“Taking pictures of you.” His brows furrow and his lips turn up in disgust, and you almost feel offended. “Why would I want to take pictures of you?”
“I don’t fucking know,” you snap back, narrowing your eyes at him. “Because you're a creep.”
Something comes over the man’s face, and he smirks, pointing towards the house. “You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“You’re late.”
You twist your head around at the sound of another voice. A man in his thirties, dornish, short and round at the stomach, he’s wearing overalls. Maybe it’s the style here.
“I’m sorry,” you meekly say, before forcing a smile on your face and fluttering your eyelashes. “The name’s—”
“Come through, before he tries to slip in behind you,” the older man points to the man on the floor, still clutching to his camera, before he walks back through the open gates.
You follow, picking up the pace as you try to reach him.
“It’s really nice to meet you, Mr. Targaryen,” you splutter out, trying to keep that same enthusiasm you’re used to. “I look really forward to offering my services to you—”
The man is quick to cut you off, “I’m not the master of this house. Mr. Targaryen is away settling some business matters and we’ll be back tomorrow. I’m Gerris, the caretaker for Sunspear.” He looks over you with his shoulder, not stopping. “Is that all you have?”
“This.” You look down at your outfit. “Well I can change but I thought we’d just be discussing my services.”
“Your role, you mean?”
“Yes, exactly,” you say with more chipper than you intend. “I assume I’ll be discussing with you on behalf of Mr. Targaryen.”
“You’ll be discussing with me and only me,” his tone seems serious, almost like he’s trying to be threatening. It makes you want to laugh. “You don’t speak to Mr. Targaryen unless spoken to. You don’t even need to look in his direction. You do your tasks and you get on with it.”
Strange requests but you’ve definitely heard stranger.
He stops so suddenly it takes you a moment to halt your movements, landing you right in front of him, face inches away.
“Capiche?”
“Capiche,” you repeat with a slight bit of humour laced in your tone.
He turns back, walking up to the driveway like he’s marching with an army.
Is he always this serious?
This isn’t entirely what you’d been expecting when you took on this new job role but you’re not exactly complaining, anything is better than working at the club.
Three days in and you’d only been tasked with dusting the rooms in the master quarters. Everything else had been pretty much left clean, and in pristine condition and with the master of the house still not anywhere in sight, you’d grown quite bored.
Who hires a topless maid when there’s literally no one around to see them?
You have great tits, it’s a shame to waste such good money when not a soul gets to witness them.
You decided to tie up your top, put those fine titties of yours away and continue your tasks in that way. It’s not like anyone would notice anyway.
You drift between rooms throughout the day, there’s five bedrooms in total. The master suite, which you’d been told belongs to the mysterious Baelor Targaryen, another two bedrooms belong to his children, Valarr and Matarys. The other two while you’d been shown inside only get cleaned once a week by yourself, they look like they belong to someone, another two boys possibly, younger than Valarr and Matarys, and yet the picture frames are all sat down and there’s nothing else that really details who they could possibly belong to. Instructions are specific for these two rooms, once a week clean and nothing else is to be touched or moved, Gerris had given you a pointed look that said don’t cross him.
It’s the only time you’ve taken Gerris stern words seriously.
You stick to the bedrooms, the toilets and the study. His study. It’s off putting with its dark interior, deep mahogany bookshelves lining the wall, a desk in the same wooden colour to match in the middle of the room, even the books all range in the darkest shades of green and blue. It’s by far your least favourite room, and yesterday you even skipped cleaning it.
Baelor Targaryen will be back today though, Gerris told you. All of the staff have been working overtime, making everything perfect and pristine for his arrival. It makes you wonder what he’s like, this mysterious man that everyone seems to so badly want to impress.
You're halfway through dusting the bookshelf when you meet him, the door to the study being opened without so much as a creek. It’s his footsteps that give him away, even on the carpet you can hear them, precisely paced footsteps, almost timed to match the last one. It’s almost how you picture him.
It’s eight steps in when he stops, bag being thrown over his desk, his jacket over his chair but you don’t hear the roll of his chair, so you turn, finally looking at him.
You spent the last two nights looking him up on your phone but the pictures must be outdated, and they clearly don’t do the handsome man in front of you any justice. Even in this dim room, you can’ t help but find him attractive.
His brows pinch together as he looks at you, eyes falling from your face slowly down to your feet and back up again.
“Who are you?” He questions with a deep frown, as if you’ve entered his space without invitation.
You smile but you feel the tremble in your lips. It’s too forced you think, but you fight against it as you answer, “The maid.”
“Taken over from Lucy,” he says it like he’s still questioning you, like he doesn’t know the orders of his own estate.
“Yes.”
“Ah.” He nods, sliding out his chair but still doesn’t sit, just stares at you.
“Oh.” It hits you and you point at your top, where the buttons are done up. You can make quick work of it, if he needs you too. “Do you want me to?”
“To leave,” he continues to nod, lips twisting up into a smile that you can tell is all forced. “Please.”
You should be confused and although your eyebrows do knot, you don’t see the point in questioning him. Maybe he’s not possibly in the mood right now for company.
You fumble, grabbing your stuff quickly before bowing and heading out the door.
Bowing. Did you just bow? What a fucking idiot.
You make it all of five days, practically a week seeing as you’re just about to hit your two days off but five days.
You were cleaning Baelor’s bedroom, tucking the sheets underneath the bed when he came in and yanked you towards him with one arm wrapped around your wrist. Your AD specifically referred to not touching, and while for some extra money you might have been willing to cross that line, you weren’t ever okay with someone grabbing you like that. He’d taken you by such a surprise that you didn’t even get time to think, smacking your fist right across his face without any warning.
“Fuck,” Baelor shouted, blood pouring from his nose that he tried to cover.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Targaryen,” you say, reaching out to him.
He pushes his hand out, looking at you then looking away just as quickly. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Cleaning.”
The door bursts open then, Gerris coming through with a stern expression that twists into horror as he looks between the pair of you.
“I didn’t mean to—” Mr Gerris starts but his wide eyes dart between the both of you, then he puts his hands up in some sort of surrender. “I- If you guys—” He looks at Baelor then, noticing the blood dripping from his hand onto the floor. “Are you bleeding?”
“Yes, I’m fucking bleeding,” he shouts, wiping his nose with his sleeve before placing his hand back to his side. He looks at you with narrowed eyes before turning to Gerris. “Would you please ask the new maid why she’s half naked in my bedroom?”
Gerris nods before swallowing and looking back at you. “Why are you naked?”
“Because that’s what you hired me for,” you simply answer, shrugging your shoulders.
Gerris points, noticing your breasts fully out and then looks back to Baelor. “Mr. Targaryen I would never—”
“But you did,” you snap, arms crossing over your chest just underneath your breasts. “Someone hired me.”
“As a maid,” Gerris states.
“The ad was for topless maid.”
“Topless maid,” Baelor laughs humourlessly, before clenching his jaw.
“Yes, topless.”
Neither look at you, they stare at each other instead with a shared uncomfortable look.
“Do you need me to button this up?” You ask, pointing to the loose top.
“Please,” Baelor answers through gritted teeth.
“Fine.” You button it back up and cross your arms over your chest again. “Happy?”
“There must be some confusion,” Gerris states, chuckling to himself clearly nervous as the sweat beads dribble down his forehead.
“A big fuck up, is what it is,” Baelor states, before pointing in his face. “I trust you Gerris. Fix it and—” he points to you but doesn’t even look “ –get rid of her.”
Baelor storms out the room, footsteps even heavier on the ground than before.
Gerris looks at you, with a sheepish frown. “You need to go.”
“Go?”
“Yes.”
“No, I can’t go.” You shake your head, voice getting higher as you plead with him. “I need this job, Gerris.”
“You punched the boss.”
“He grabbed me.”
“You had your—” he motions to his own chest, grimacing slightly. “ –out.”
“It’s what you literally hired me for.”
“No, I hired a maid.”
“Topless maid.” You pull your phone out, flicking through it for a few moments before shoving it in his face. “See.” You point. “Topless maid.”
Gerris squints his eyes, reading before swallowing. “Fuck.”
Even after showing the ad, even after falling to Gerris’ feet and begging, even after offering to suck him off, you got nothing. The last one really didn’t hit nearly as well as you thought it would, Gerris looking almost horrified and disgusted at the offer, before shoving you as gently as he could manage away from him.
You landed in the same place you had been when you came, sat on your duffle bag outside the metal gates.
The man’s there as well, hiding in the bushes and sweating like a pig in the summer heat. Simon, you came to learn is his name, the same news reporter that’s been lingering in the bushes for months, trying to get a glimpse of something scandalous about Baelor Targaryen, only he’s a man that’s rarely seen, always coming in and out of SUV with tinted windows.
Simon looks at you, pointing his camera through the bushes like the greenery covers it and frowns.
“Sup,” you nod in some sort of greeting, before turning back to your phone waiting for an uber to pick up.
He doesn’t reply, only frowns harder before staring back through the metal gates.
“New camera.” You purse your lips. “Nice.”
“Hauled you out on your ass, did they?” He questions, like he’s half interested.
“Want to make a story on it?”
He shakes his head. “I’m okay.”
“Your loss.”
There’s footsteps then, the black gate swinging open and you turn to meet Gerris.
“Come,” is all he says, not even looking at you.
You both stand, and then he frowns, lips turning up at Simon. “Not you, idiot. Her.”
Simon groans, rolling his eyes before getting back under his cover.
You follow, feet taking two steps at a time just to catch him.
“I have a contract typed out for you,” He starts off and you almost drop to his feet again to thank him. “I’ll need some sort of ID and your bank details. We’ll go to my office to fill out the paperwork.”
“What if I don’t have bank details?” You ask.
He halts, turning back to you and this time you stop instantly.
“What person doesn’t have a bank account?”
“A desperate one,” you shrug, it’s the best you can offer.
He sighs, rubbing his fingers on his temple. “We’ll think of something.” He continues walking again.
“You don’t know how much I want to thank you for this. Honestly, thank you, thank you, thank—”
“This wasn’t me,” he almost laughs, shaking his head. “Mr. Targaryen asked me to come get you.”
“Really?”
He inclines his head back at you. “Really.”
“Must have made an impression.”
“Oh, you did.” He stifles a laugh. “A strong one, that you can be sure of.”
cw : modern au. really sensitive topics. dark. dub con, age gap, reader is 20s and baelor is early 50s, sex worker reader, past drug addiction,, abandonment issues, past abuse and rape, past sex trafficking, feelings of shame and disgust, smut, mdni 18+ (please read individual warnings for each post) (will be updating this as and when I post so always check back)
timeline order:
- in which you hired, but there’s a slight confusion in what you’ve been hired to do
a/n: is this a new series??? if you've missed my back and forth with @clockgirl94 then let me just catch you up to speed, she came up with the initial idea so i want to give her some credit. i've added some more back story and why you might read the warnings and be like ohhh. all the dark stuff is to do with reader's past life which will come into the story. as it is also in the same universe as recluse neighbour series, i want to keep that same fun energy in it which im hoping you'll see in this first part. i'm going to stop rambling, please enjoy and will be posting first part very soon.
cw : modern au. really sensitive topics. dark. dub con, age gap, reader is 20s and baelor is early 50s, sex worker reader, past drug addiction,, abandonment issues, past abuse and rape, past sex trafficking, feelings of shame and disgust, smut, mdni 18+ (please read individual warnings for each post) (will be updating this as and when I post so always check back)
timeline order:
- in which you’re hired, but there’s a slight confusion in what you’ve been hired to do
- maybe there’s a way you can get him to forgive you for that botched nose job, or maybe not
