madi !

MADI ˖.☘︎˖ ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ 8TEEN. SHE/HER. 📍 pretty girl ave. 18+.

requests are... currently closed !

NAVIGATION ! ˖.☘︎ ݁˖ ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

main masterlist. who i write for. the dos and don'ts.

WHERE ELSE TO FIND ME ! ˖.☘︎ ݁˖ ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

spotify. pinterest. letterboxd. carrd!

summary ! ── University was your chance for a fresh start, a clean slate, a complete reinvention of yourself. It was your opportunity to finally escape the suffocating atmosphere back home in your parents' divorce and become whoever you wanted to be. But you should've known better — nothing ever goes to plan. Not when Aerion Targaryen is here, and he never left the past behind. And now neither can you. word count ! ── 2.7k !

warnings ! ── velaryon! reader (targaryens & velaryons have never been related/married in this au), dragons aren't and have never been real in this au, parents arguing, drinking, reader and aerion are around 12/13 in the prologue

notes ! ── this is just to set the foundations for the story so you know why reader and aerion aren't friends when they get to uni !! i also half wrote this on my phone and half on my laptop so if there's any incosistencies i apologise. & i also write on google docs and then move everything over so sometimes things get muddled but i've proofread the best i can!! likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <33

You can still remember the last time you set foot in the Targaryen house with crystal clarity, as if it were yesterday instead of years ago. You were twelve years old, caught in that awkward stage between childhood and adolescence. Maekar and Dyanna Targaryen had invited your family to celebrate their youngest child, Rhae, on her second birthday. It was a warm summer afternoon when you arrived, the sun casting long golden shadows across their lavish estate.

Their home was filled with children running rampant through the halls, their laughter echoing off the high ceilings as they darted under tables and weaved between guests' legs with reckless abandon. The air was thick with the sweet scent of birthday cake and the sound of joyful chaos. The Velaryon and Targaryen families had been close for decades, a bond that started with your grandfather and continued into your generation.

You remember feeling both overwhelmed and enchanted by the liveliness of it all, so different from the quiet, orderly gatherings your own family typically hosted. As an only child, you were always grateful for the time you spent with the Targaryens. Whether it was enduring Daeron's never-ending babbling, discussing school with Valarr or defending little Aegon (or Egg, as he preferred) from his brother's torment, you always felt at home.

You drifted through the crowd swiftly, careful to avoid strangers you hadn’t seen since infancy, telling you how much you had grown. Someone nearly ran into you, Matarys, you think. It was hard to tell in all the commotion. He was chasing after one of his cousins, as usual. That’s when you saw the dessert table, unguarded. No grown-up telling you it was too late for something sweet.

You sneakily treaded over to the table of goods, laying a napkin flat and piling as many shortbreads onto it as you could. You felt a sharp tug at your trouser leg. Leaning down, you saw a small, pale hand disappear under the tablecloth. You crouched down and lifted the fabric to reveal the mischievous face of Aegon.

“You know... your father's been looking for you since dinner,” you told him in a hushed, conspiratorial whisper, leaning in closer so only he could hear you. You raised your eyebrows knowingly at the young boy, giving him an amused look.

The young boy said nothing in response, his expression remaining playful and defiant. He only brought his small pointer finger up to his lips in a slow, deliberate shushing gesture, pressing it there firmly while his eyes, those unmistakable Targaryen eyes, widened and pleaded with you silently, begging you to keep his secret hiding place safe from discovery by any who might come searching for him.

“Fine,” you murmured, “I didn’t see anything.” You folded the tablecloth back down, shielding him from the crowd. You stood, careful of the shortbreads that were still balanced in your hand.

The further you moved from the centre of the room, the easier it became to breathe. The noise dulled, softened, until it felt like something happening somewhere far away rather than all around you.

The corridor stretched ahead of you, quieter, cooler. Guests lingered in small groups along the walls, their conversations low and unhurried, but you barely noticed them as you passed. Your focus had already settled. The library door stood just ahead, half open.

You slowed as you reached it, shifting the napkin in your hand so none of the shortbread escaped. The door creaked a little as it opened, just enough to make you wince. The noise from the party dulled into the distance, now replaced by a sense of peace.

Over by the window, illuminated by the moonlight that streamed through the tall glass panes, sat Aerion Targaryen with a book open in his lap. He looked the same as always, pale hair a stark contrast to the dress shirt his father, no doubt, forced him to wear. The collar looked too tight, and you could see where he'd already loosened the top button when no one was looking.

You walked a little closer, careful not to make too much noise. Your footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet that covered the library floor. It was a rare sight to see him so peaceful. Usually there was a restlessness about him, a barely contained energy that made him seem like he was always on the verge of doing something reckless. His eyes lifted anyway, almost as quickly as their attention returned to the book, as if acknowledging you but finding the pages more interesting.

“You're missing it,” you said, gesturing to the door with your free hand.

“So?” He shrugged, turning the page with deliberate slowness, making it clear he had no intention of moving.

“It's your sister's birthday.”

“She's two,” he scoffed, “she won't remember it.” He didn't even look up this time, his eyes scanning the lines of text with apparent focus, though you suspected he was being difficult for the sake of it.

You stepped closer and set the shortbreads down on the table beside him, the napkin crinkling softly as you smoothed it out.

“Everyone will be gone soon,” you added.

“Hopefully.” He sighed, finally shifting slightly in his chair.

You sat down across from him, swinging your foot slightly under the chair. The leather creaked beneath you as you settled in. He looked at the shortbread with an unimpressed look, one eyebrow raised in what might have been disdain or amusement. It was hard to tell with Aerion sometimes. His moods shifted like the weather.

“Was there nothing else?” He deadpanned, finally closing the book but keeping one finger between the pages to mark his place.

“Yeah, but... shortbreads are my favourite.”

He looked at you properly then, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than usual. “They're dry,” he said after a moment, his tone flat.

“They're not,” you argued, breaking a piece off and eating it anyway, making a show of enjoying it. “You just don't like them.”

“I do,” he said, a little defensive now.

“You literally just complained about them.”

“That's different.”

You gave him a look but didn't argue, it was never worth the headache. Aerion could argue about anything if he was in the mood for it. Instead, you just nudged the plate slightly closer to him.

“What are you even reading?” You asked, tilting your head to try and catch a glimpse of the cover.

He glanced down at it, hesitating for just a fraction of a second. “Dragons,” he said simply, his voice quieter now.

You leaned forward a little, trying to see the page. “Like... real ones?” you asked, squinting slightly at the illustrations you could barely make out.

“They're not real,” he said, a bit flatly, as if you'd just said something incredibly stupid.

“I know that,” you shot back. “I meant like— stories or something.”

He hesitated for a second, then tilted the book just enough so you could see the page he was reading. "It's just... old myths," he explained, his fingers tracing the edge of the paper. “Where they came from. What people thought they could do.”

You looked at the page properly. Drawings of wings, long scaly bodies and far too many teeth to be believable.

“They look a bit ridiculous,” you decided, your lips quirking up slightly.

“They're not supposed to look real.”

“Then what's the point?” You pressed, genuinely curious now.

“...I don't know,” he said after a second, his brow furrowing slightly. “They're just interesting.”

You hummed, considering what he said. Then your eyes flicked back to the page, scanning the text and images more carefully. “That one's not even a dragon,” you said suddenly.

He stilled slightly, his entire body going rigid. “What?”

You leaned forward, pointing at the illustration. “That one,” you said, tapping the corner of the page. “It’s got two legs. That makes it a wyvern.”

He glared at you, his expression darkening. “It’s still a dragon.”

“No, it’s not,” you said, enjoying a little too much how easy he was to annoy. “Dragons have four legs and wings. Wyverns just have wings and back legs. It’s different.”

He looked at you properly now. “That’s basically the same thing.”

“It’s not,” you insisted, leaning back with a small, satisfied smile. “They’re completely different. Different species entirely.”

"…You're making that up."

“I'm not,” you said firmly. “I saw it in a book.”

“What book?”

You hesitated. “A book I read.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, clearly not believing you.

“That's not proof.”

“It is to me,” you said, shrugging like that settled it.

He huffed quietly, shaking his head, but didn't argue. He just glanced back down at the page like he was double-checking it anyway, his lips pressing into a thin line.

You noticed.

“You are checking,” you said, a little smug, unable to hide your grin.

“I'm not.”

“You are.”

“I'm not.”

You grinned, leaning back in your chair, feeling victorious.

“Sure.”

For a moment, the room fell quiet again, save for the faint murmur of the party somewhere down the hall. The sounds of music and laughter felt distant, almost unreal. Then you glanced toward the door.

“You should probably go back soon,” you said, a little more casually this time. “Before your father comes looking for you.”

“He won't notice I'm gone.”

“He will,” you said, a little more certain this time. “Egg's already hiding under tables. It's only a matter of time before someone notices you're gone too.”

“I doubt it.” He rolled his eyes, the gesture so practised it was almost theatrical. “Father will be too busy trying to keep Daeron away from the wine.”

“And your mother?”

“Too busy with the girls.” Who wouldn't be after four sons? There was something almost wistful in his tone, though he tried to hide it.

“Still,” you said after a second, glancing toward the door again. “He's going to notice eventually.”

“He won't,” Aerion replied, a little sharper this time, his jaw tightening. “He never notices us unless one of us has done something wrong. He only ever talks about our achievements when he's trying to outdo Baelor,” he added after a moment, like it wasn't a big deal.

You frowned, “That's not—” you started, then stopped, not entirely sure how to argue that. Because it was true, although Maekar loved his sons, everyone could tell he was disappointed he never got one as perfect as Valarr. The perfect son, Baelor's perfect heir. The standard by which all others were measured and found wanting.

He shrugged, as if it didn't matter, and finally reached for a piece of shortbread, breaking it in half with more force than was strictly necessary. You watched him for a second, then glanced back to the door.

The noise from the party had shifted.

It wasn't as loud as before, but it wasn't the same either. Something had changed in the atmosphere, though you couldn't quite put your finger on what.

“Can you hear that?”

He didn’t look up, “Hear what?”

There it was again. But it wasn’t laughter, and the music had stopped.

“I think—” you started, standing a little, your attention fixed on the door.

It was clearer this time. There was someone shouting down the hall, Aerion’s head lifted. “That’s my father.”

For a second, neither of you moved. Then, another voice, even louder than the first. This time, it was your father yelling.

Aerion was already standing beside you as you moved towards the door. The party noise was gone completely now as you ventured down the hall. The cheerful talking and singing from before was now replaced by angry voices echoing down the hall.

You hesitated for a second before you followed Aerion towards the source of the commotion. And the closer you got, the clearer it became. Your father and Aerion’s father were standing impossibly close together, nearly nose to nose, arguing.

“You had no right—” your father was saying, his voice tight with rage.

“I had every right,” Maekar shot back, just as sharp. “She deserved to know.”

“Enough,” Aerion’s uncle, Baelor, stepped in. Trying to place himself between them. “This is neither the time nor the place. Let’s not do this in front of the children.” He gestured to Valarr, Aemon, Egg and Matarys, who were watching curiously from the side, standing with their mothers, who were comforting your own mother. Aerion had gone completely still beside you.

It was only then that you noticed just how distraught she was. Her carefully applied mascara ran down her tear-stained face. Her whole body was wracked with deep, shuddering sobs that seemed to come from somewhere deep within her soul, glaring at your father. You had never seen her so upset.

“Aerion.” You heard Dyanna say, softly.

All eyes turned to the pair of you. Seemingly, no one had realised the two of you standing there until that moment.

“Take your brothers upstairs,” she said firmly. “Now, please.”

Baelor’s wife, Jena, also started walking her children towards another room.

Aerion didn’t move straight away. “Where’s Daeron?”

“It doesn’t matter.” His mother shook her head. “Go on.” She ushered Egg and Aemon over to him. “I’ll be upstairs in a moment.”

Aerion still didn’t move.

“Now, Aerion.”

His jaw tightened slightly, then he nodded. He grabbed his brothers by the shoulders and guided them towards the stairs. You tried to follow them, to leave the adults to their conversation.

Your mother’s voice cut through everything. She said your name in a way she had never said it before.

“We’re leaving.”

“But I—” You started but she cut you off.

“Now.”

“No, you can’t—” your father started walking towards you at the same time she did, but Maekar stopped him.

Your mother stepped closer, reaching for your arm and grabbed it. Her grip wasn’t rough, but it was firm enough that you didn’t try to pull away.

“Let’s go.” And this time, you didn’t argue.

Your mother guided you quickly through the house, her hand still on your arm. The house felt different now. Doors were half-open, voices you didn’t recognise slipped in through sharp, hurried fragments you couldn’t piece together. You could hear your father yelling after the pair of you, but you could hear Maekar and Baelor as well. You assumed they were the reason father did not follow.

The front door opened, and the cold night air rushed in.

The car was already waiting when you made it onto the driveway, and your mother was quick to hurry the two of you into the back. She leaned forward and told the driver where to go. But she didn’t give him your home address.

“What happened?” You asked quietly.

She moved her hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap, to hold your face in them instead, “Nothing you need to worry about.” She sniffled.

You frowned at her. “Then why aren’t we going home?”

She brushed a few fly-away hairs from your face, “I thought we might go and stay at Grandma and Grandpa’s house for a little bit.” She hummed, “That’ll be nice, won’t it? You can see the horses again.”

You nodded, but still confused, “But what about dad?”

Something in her expression shifted.

“Dad’s busy, sweetheart.” She said, emotionless. Stroking your cheeks with the pads of her thumbs. “It’ll be fun. You and I in the country for a little while. Away from the city.”

“I didn’t get to say goodbye.” You turned back to the window, pulling your face away from her grip, and watched as the street passed by in a blur of lights and shadows.

You weren’t sure who you meant. Your father, Aerion. Maybe all of them.

She didn’t respond. She just reached over after a second and rested her hand over yours. You rested your head lightly against the cool glass of the window, your breath fogging the window for a moment before fading away.

MAIN MASTERLIST ! ˖.☘︎˖ ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

AERION TARGARYEN !

pictures used are not to represent how reader looks. but she is a velaryon so she has velaryon features.

summary ! ── University was your chance for a fresh start, a clean slate, a complete reinvention of yourself. It was your opportunity to finally escape the suffocating atmosphere back home in your parents' divorce and become whoever you wanted to be. But you should've known better — nothing ever goes to plan. Not when Aerion Targaryen is here, and he never left the past behind. And now neither can you. word count ! ── tbc !

warnings ! ── velaryon! reader (targaryens & velaryons have never been related/married in this au), childhood friends to one-sided enemies to lovers, she falls first, but he falls harder, ooc aerion, he's still a dick, just not... lock this guy up kind of dick. more to be added. no use of y/n in the story

notes ! ── this came to me in a dream 🫧🫧 this is my first time writing a modern au so pls be kind !!

velaryon! reader & aerion insta profiles

prologue

chapter one

more to be added..!

THE DOS AND DONTS ! ˖.☘︎ ݁˖ ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

DO ! like & repost ─── love and appreciation on my posts motivate me to write more !

DO ! send requests ─── when i am accepting them ! requests are currently closed.

requesting rules ! ─── you can find who i am currently writing for here. i am not against writing for others, i am simply just more inclined to write for these ones as they are my current hyperfixations! reminder that i do no have to write your request, i do try to reply and write as many as possible but i cant always come up with something and i also have a job! when requesting, please be kind and give as much detail as possible as this will help me in the long run whe writing a requested fic. for example don't just say "hi can u write johnny storm fluff!" instead you could give me a scenario to write, a song to base it off etc..

THINGS I DON'T WRITE ! ˖.☘︎ ݁˖ ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

SA ─── explains itself, i'm not comfortable in writing anything of the sort. this includes cnc.

INCEST ─── incest is weirddddd!! this includes the asoiaf universe, especially when it comes to targaryens.

CHEATING ─── again, sort of explains itself. i also probably won't do any of that "the other woman" crap because ladies pleaseee.. let's not fight over men, they're not worth it.

EXTREME KINKS ─── this includes knife/gun play, weird fetishes, age play etc.

WHO I WRITE FOR ! ˖.☘︎ ݁˖ ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

─── changes regularly, depending on my current fixations.

MCU ! ˖.☘︎ ݁˖ ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

— johnny storm !

ASOIAF ! ˖.☘︎ ݁˖ ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

— aerion targaryen !

— jacaerys velaryon !

THE PITT ! ˖.☘︎ ݁˖ ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

— jack abbot !