cyber fate
⌞ sugar daddy! baelor targaryen head canons ⌝
⌞tags⌝ - 18+!, modern!au, sugar daddy!baelor x journalism student!reader, daddy!issues, slight!tiny!angst, fluff!, alter-ego!, double!life, pornsite-ish!
𖤝 cyber fate ii
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- life as the first born son of a politician means your path from the very first breath had been determined. baelor is aware from a young age that his father has written his destiny for him to fulfill.
enrolled in the most prestigious school in westeros while attending private lessons to be an equestrian and a skilful pianist by the age of ten.
his teenage years curated through accompanying daeron and myriah in galas or charity events hosted by their fellow philanthropists— all schemes of networking and expanding all’s own already acclaimed footing in the exclusive percentage of society with wealth.
then came the crucial age of shaping him as his own man to be through his father’s sculptural hands and mind of course; anything else would simply fall short of their surname standard.
a singular process of entering yet the lowest acceptance rate university under law program, then pursuing his bar exam to be a licensed lawyer as daeron designed his path to be— corporate, for baelor would be first to inherit the family business and wealth built from one generation to their current.
as he’d slowly pieced himself as his father would be pleased by, baelor had no say in who he was tied with in marriage: jena dondarrion, another member of their particularly seclusive world.
- life then as a married man blessed with two boys as ambitious as he was, baelor had kept a silent oath to differentiate himself as a father from his own. meaning, valarr and matarys were free of choosing their hobbies and life skill.
valarr sharpened in talent of horsemanship much like his father and carved his very own path in being eloquent through history and financial regards of almost everything his father baelor taught him— the latter then his program of choice.
matarys skilled in music, piano in particular like his father and singing inherited from his mother. the young boy showed great potential in painting, arts in general which had became quite evident for baelor which would be his son’s upcoming choice in university after boarding school.
but baelor is still a targaryen after all, to allow his offsprings such liberty would be a liability not just for him but for the future of their family’s renowned surname. safe to say, the two followed still a somewhat tradition of gracing their presence in the same events where their wealthy kind host and hold for all the identical cause: networking.
whether it be a tennis game held in the westerlands followed by yet another meal where grown men discuss over potential growth in expanding franchises in the east. flying over to the south in the same weekend for a charity ball held by a fellow family of presence who coincidentally purchased a significant amount of paintings from the recent auction in oldtown. returning to dragonstone where the family manor stood in the rare reunion of complete members to the black and red dragon blood— nothing baelor had not raised his sons in preparation of.
as for him and jena: to say the two did not carried even a sliver of love for one another is a pompous lie. the married couple had been tied down by vows for almost three decades now, sharing a home in kingslanding with their children in living harmony of standing affluence in their surnames. but for how long would a marriage created by two houses in objective of not love but joined influence truly withstand?
- the divorce was not unforeseen, if anything, it was anticipated due to months even years worth of baelor and jena’s consistent cycle in disagreements. where warmth had once been, grew a certain kind of shrilling resentment in mute both reciprocated.
it began from a conversation over easy dinner in the couple’s preferred restaurant, an ideal night for both had turned sour the second the woman’s lips uttered the concept of having another child— a mere wishing causing the foreground of fracture.
“are you not satisfied with valarr and matarys—”
“that is not what i had intended, my love.”
“so allow me clarity then.” baelor raising the glass of fragile wine for a sip, hearing his wife sigh in brushing.
“forget it.” jena leans back in glance elsewhere.
“i will.” he states.
then followed occurrences of slight provocation from each during public affairs where even others could sense the thick but frail ambience the couple emitted.
“ah! baelor, my good friend in law. how are you and your missus?” blonde lannister who baelor may or may not have grew up alongside with during their early years of equestrian lessons together.
“jason. it’s good to see you as well. the kids, how are they?”
“still kids, you know how young adults are. your wife seems..”
“she’s just tired—”
“i am not tired.” jena’s quick to disagree with a rather sharp sneer.
baelor inhales sharply for composure, head nodding to his acquaintance before correcting himself with a tone jena’s grown familiar as of late.
“we are tired, actually. we’ll be heading home soon. excuse us.”
nights where baelor misses dinner with his sons and his wife in replacement of either staying behind in the firm to work in a couple more of cases in awaiting or three glasses consumed of dark liquor in one of his friend’s owned bar before reaching home.
or rather a house considering it no longer felt like the former.
“do you know what time it is?” snarked by the red haired woman in her silk robe, arms crossed by the foot of the long staircase.
“i am well aware.” as baelor brushes past her and up to their room.
the door slamming shut once both of them enter the very threatening privacy— a brewing confrontation of tirade in near.
“where have you really been these past few weeks?”
“the firm.”
a scoff, not from disbelief but from baelor’s apparent audacity to excuse the obvious scent of alcohol and a dazed like state it brings him in.
“didn't know they allowed drunkards like you to run that fucking workplace of yours—”
the briefcase hits the flat surface of the nearest vanity in a slam, shutting jena immediately with wide eyes while baelor merely sent off a distinguished look that spoke more than his next reply ever could've:
“i am going to bed.”
the moon as the only source of light spilled within threaded fabric of curtains no longer as witness to the affection but to a sort of plainness in comprehension in the woman’s mind.
- the divorce papers were presented to baelor the moment he reaches home after a day working. the two sharing a mute look of blank but cutting understanding of the tipping point.
he had acquiesced the resolution by signing them.
and by the morning, jena had most, if not all of her items taken out of the mansion without any more word with her now former husband.
legal processing of assets in division were handled without disclosing much like the announcement of their separation. but the world they lived in was much smaller in truth than the vast concept of it. for sooner than later, the news has escaped the enclosure of aristocracy and had been the next latest gossip for the public vultures to latch onto like a carcass.
- two years has passed since the befitting slash to baelor’s reputation caused by exaggeration and manipulation of the biased writing from numerous published articles— it took only a fresher gossip for the rest to eventually bore off of dismantling him.
baelor has not read a single report or piece that was written solely to bone him from within without true and actual column of what the divorce entailed. it was all for nation’s amusing anyway, so why would a man so elevated in status bother with the saying of those so very pronouncedly below him in all regards?
but there was one segment from the newspaper produced by Westeros Insight that had caught not his interest but.. perhaps his notice with how unbiased, how professional but so incredibly sharply written it was with plain neutrality.
it was the only bit that baelor permitted himself as a sort of dipping in the public eye’s judgement in matters of his predicament.
‘The corporate attorney, and son of politician Daeron Targaryen, has once again proven that a carefully maintained air of insouciance can serve as a shield in an age defined by swift, unsolicited judgment. But does this truly constitute a proper way of living—or merely a façade concealing the depths of a seemingly philanthropic man?’
- your mother had raised you from when you were a crawling bundle of joy to a young woman of absolute certainty within herself and the aspirations that comes with this belief of obdurate in avarice.
for as long as you could remember, the supposed provider and protector of the family lacked presence in not just yours but your mother’s life as well. he'd been long deceased in musing, your father’s obstinate insistence of no worth composed the jaundice you carved for him.
life alone as the lower working class of the power-hungry economic system westeros and it’s neighbouring countries were operated by along with witnessing how your mother’s denied exhaustion in labor to have a roof over your head and basic necessities all were factors to the three proverbs sternly rooted in each crevice of your brain:
the publishing world in journalism was your vocation.
your mother would be under your care the moment employment was obtained.
men would never have a place in your life other than pigs with money.
- diligent was not the appropriate word in englobing the effort you had exerted in order to enter kingslanding university in the age of eighteen in applying under the program you have aimed for.
the acceptance was no news; you had potential, plenty and the kind where even professors praised the eloquence of your writing and companies recognized effortlessly the talent of a young woman in the publishing world you were. westeros insight happened to be privileged in being your choice of internship company.
“we are very excited and pleased to welcome you aboard as one of our interns now, miss.” the supervisor offers his hand for you to instantly shake with a graceful smile.
“i am very honoured to be a part of the company, sir. thank you for this opportunity.”
“we should be the one thanking if anything. you have exceptional talent, truly— we plan in developing that.”
friends became easy to have when genuinity was met halfway with paralleled authenticity— safe to say you were offered a place in your department’s official supreme council.
“hey, sorry, but… do you happen to have notes in law and ethics from last week’s class?” a shy brunette comes up to ask with her question.
“yes, i do. which segment did you miss?” answering in polite which allowed her more in ease to sigh in tears for comfort from your kind demeanour.
“thank you so much! you just saved my life.”
“is this amount of responsibility alright for you to handle? maxine won’t be able to follow through at the moment.” the president of the department council glances your way as the meeting rolls forward.
“completely fine in my end. as long as i'm informed of the rubrics and the deadline.” head nodding as you replied.
“perfect. can always count on you for this. i'll personally send it over in email by six pm.”
“got it.”
“thank you. you’re a lifesaver.”
“you’re coming, right?” penelope, a friend of yours and fellow journalism student asks as both make way out of the just concluded lecture.
“don’t know, p. i have a couple readings to do and i promised my mother a movie night.” responding with a knowing look which she groans to.
“but it’s friday! come on… you barely go out.”
“guilty. look, i'll make it up to you, okay?”
“you always say that..”
“promise. just.. really can not tonight, p. maybe next week.” phone ringing in vibrate, quickly shutting the notification off with a grin as you kissed her cheek to part.
“fine. tell auntie i said hi.”
- returning home after finishing off another charging week of academically demanding days guarantees not just your bed in waiting but your mother’s cooking still hot by the stove. it’s a surge in reminding how you were taken care of despite through burdens.
bag discarded in the floor of your room, showered and now covered in a silk robe of pink color as you step foot into the kitchen for a sniff of the still warm pasta in the pot. lips curled to a smile before reading the note written in the fridge whiteboard where messages were left for one another as mother-daughter bonding.
‘eats lots for me, my girl. will be home tomorrow by noon. love you sweet pea. x, mom’
each word a stroke free of hebetude, heart filled with memo of your source in persevering to achieving each objective of yours.
by eight pm, the lights at home were all closed. music playlist echoing all throughout each apply of makeup product onto your eyes. after, the screen of your laptop displays a website you had typed your account into:
chatkats.com
it takes a second of breathing, quiet reassurance to one’s self probing worry before the robe is slipped off to reveal the newly purchased silk dress. then, the usual setup of lacy white and sheer pink background, a blonde wig atop of your head and the pink mask is raised to conceal identity— the start button clicked just swiftly.
one, two and thirty seconds until the screen loads hundreds of comments from different senders of gifts and hearts all typed with messages ranging from entertaining to men with built assuming of relation with you:
“helloo! mia here, your sweet! guess who’s back as promised?”
@xxloverman : I missed you so much, sweets. where have you been?
@secretadmirer.5 : still as charming, mia!!! sent 45$.
@tallsharksq : take your clothes off already! enough teasing!
@prettygirlswantd : when do you plan on doing a one on one? sent 23$.
@bigdomman28 : I agree. a meeting in private, I would pay so much to talk to you, sweet. sent 70$.
playfully shrugging first before responding to the quite overwhelming pace of comments, eyes in flattering lashes sending a wink and a flying kiss to each coins sent.
“don’t know… should i host one on one private meetings?”
and yet another wave of confirming yes to the question, the donations and the hearts never ceased the momentum it was currently on for the remainder of the live you were hosting. from making up lies about your day, false information to rile them into energy to teasing a petite peek of thighs when standing with the dress— showing the camera all the pretty laces and silks you’ve purchased with all the earned money accumulated so far.
you were amused with how easy it was to get money from these anonymous men online from sole faux pretty blinks and such femininity in execution; the goal of 1000$ almost met in 738$ within forty-five minutes of broadcasting.
reading each comment with your alter-ego in play, finger twirling the blonde strands before waving cutely when a certain username finally makes an appearance as it always does in each livestream.
@drgnblr.t. : hey, sweet. heard one on one’s were being considered? sent 100$.
“hi to you too, mr.. nearly thought you weren’t coming tonight.”
@drgnblr.t : and why would i miss your live, sweet?
rolling your eyes first, a court giggle behind the mask to brush his slight flirting away with the innocent playful thing persona they seem to adore— especially him.
“..don’t know. you only came now, maybe you were busy watching other girls here.”
it’s an almost regret in speaking your statement that wallows first, heart dropping for a moment when a notification is displayed at the corner of your screen with a significant amount of money it’s attached with:
private message from @drgnblr.t : ‘you know you’re the only girl i watch. can you make me feel special too? i want to be the only man you speak to outside your livestreams, sweet.’ sent 1500$.
nearly ending the live altogether, it takes every inch of mastered calm to ignore the man for the following ten minutes in stead of entertaining other loyal watchers as well. you blew a final kiss good night, winking a promise of return next friday as always. the second you’ve secured your safety, the mask and wig is removed with a gasp— quickly pulling the conversation tab between your favorite gifter and you.
@sweetmia.x : ‘you better not be teasing me, mr. :( cause that isn't nice.’
@drgnblr.t : ‘i promise, mia. you know i mean it.’
@sweetmia.x : ‘mhmm, how much are you willing to pay? because the others are also super eager to chat with me.’
@drgnblr.t : ‘name your price, sweetheart.’
bottom lip bitten with an almost giddy smile, the blush on those apple cheeks of yours highlighted exactly the very favouritism of yours towards this user— it’s a challenge not to, he was respectful and kind. so generous with his money as well.
so you took a second in pondering, laughing whilst the keyboard typed in pressure from your fingers of a jest.
@sweetmia.x : ‘if I say.. 3000$? hihi.’
attachment : 5000$ sent by @drgnblr.t
the very same fingers were now pressed into your lips pursuit with a gasp, eyes blown at the words attempted in processing.
@drgnblr.t : ‘how about next friday? no livestream, just me and you at 7 pm.’
@sweetmia.x : ‘okay, mr. next friday then!’
@drgnblr.t : ‘buy something nice for me, will you? i like when you wear those silk dresses, sweetheart.’
@sweetmia.x : ‘any colorr in particular or my usual baby pink?’
@drgnblr.t : ‘red in silk or black in lace.’
@sweetmia.x : ‘copy that. see u this fri! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂)⸝♡’
@drgnblr.t : ‘can’t wait, sweetheart.’
- laptop closed and shut, shedding away everything in preparation for bed; the night ending in a rather unanticipated but auspicious turn of vicissitudes.
the sleep that enveloped you to rest at last has never been so sweet as tonight. chest a bizarre lightness, cheeks blushed pink and lips bitten in restraint of a smile— your bed allowed unconsciousness to seep through.
as for the other end of the city, laid in bed a certain man in particular who has not sense this kind of thrill in life for gods count length. baelor shuts his phone off to set aside by the bedside table, head laid in the fluffed pillows to permit sleep— wishing almost to dream of you. his new found elation and fixation.
unbeknownst to both, fate was already fabricating each path of possible meeting once more; whether it may be through a screen, or beyond in actual reality.
fin.
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⌞a/n⌝ - hiiiii! oh my gosh, okay, yesss, i knowww! it's much later than it should've been published but super occupied with college atm. :( missed all of you so much! and yay. new series! do we likeee? i wanted to develop their history first before.. you know, the fun! ◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜