jealousveronya

[jealousveronya]

YOUNG QUEEN CHARLOTTE and YOUNG KING GEORGE QUEEN CHARLOTTE: A BRIDGERTON STORY — 1x03: “Even Days” (2023)

[jealousveronya]

Pairing: Elriel Rating: E Word Count: ~2k Tags: Kindergarten Teacher Azriel, Shibari Artist Elain, Fluff, Smut, Social Media, BDSM, Modern AU Summary: After a messy breakup with her college sweetheart, Elain retreated from her life as a social butterfly, moved home to Velaris, and started a work-from-home career as a shibari artist and a playful, kinky influencer on social media. She’s perfectly comfortable at home, using her earnings from her small online empire to build a greenhouse in her backyard and start a side-hustle as a florist.

But her little sister, Feyre, is eager to get Elain out of hiding—and to set her up with a man who she might cling to for some peace and quiet. However, there’s more than meets the eye to Feyre’s long-time friend and the local kindergarten teacher, Azriel.

And Elain knows it all too well.

Read this fic on AO3!

Azriel was beyond fucked, actually.

Oh, but I always thought your hands were so beautiful. 

The words echoed in the suddenly empty space between his ears until his fingers clenched atop his thighs at the obvious lie in them, but the voice—

The voice— 

That was @boundinivy’s voice.

He was all too aware of his body as he schooled his expression into careful neutrality, forcing himself to remain impassive as he turned to face the newcomer at the table.

He looked to his right and found Feyre’s second-oldest sister staring back with something akin to horror on her stunning face, every intelligent thought melted from Azriel’s brain, surely dripping out of his ears and making a gory mess of the sticky booth he had been shoved into an hour ago.

Because without any warning at all, he’d somehow found himself face-to-face with the woman who had commanded his fantasies for nearly two years now.

She looked sweet, all full cheeks and wide doe eyes and a lush mouth—currently parted in a shocked O—that begged to be worshiped. He ignored the flash of Nesta’s outrage in his periphery as he took in the full, unfiltered sight of Elain Archeron staring down at his hands with a look of surprised recognition that, after fifteen years, Azriel knew all too well.

He nearly groaned as his own eyes slipped downward.

Although Bound in Ivy had never revealed her face, always framing her shots from the shoulders down, he had followed her long enough to recognize her body at a glance. 

The subtle swell of those breasts, the generous curve of the hips he dreamed of sinking his fingers and ropes into, the constellation of freckles on the back of her forearm—he knew every dip and curve like the hideous back of his own hand. Fuck him, those little dark spots on her skin had fascinated him when she posted a coy crochet tutorial last winter when she was too ill to tease any sort of sensuality for a few weeks. For months afterward, he found himself connecting those dots in his mind, calculating the distance between freckles in inches of rope.

Azriel’s cock pulsed as he watched the blush melt down to the hollow of her throat and disappear beneath the collar of her dress. He was going to hell for it, but he knew damn well knew what was beneath that frilly blue dress, too: dusky pink nipples and a golden bed of curls between her thighs and small, pale scars on her abdomen that she had once shyly admitted were from an appendectomy when she was nineteen.

He knew it because Elain Archeron was Bound in Ivy.

He caged that thought, locking it away and shoving it into the blackest, most barren recesses of his mind.

Because he knew Elain, just Elain, too, but only in the way anyone knew a second-degree connection who mostly posted photos of ferns and flowers to Instagram. He’d skimmed over her most of the time. Had relegated her to a distant, secondary role in his life—one as the sister of the painfully young student teacher Rhys had fallen for during his quarter-life crisis. He was only following her because Cassian had snatched his phone out of his hands five years ago and said he had to follow her. Nyx had come into their lives, so they were all somehow meant to belong to one big, happy family by some convoluted twist of logic. 

Still, Azriel had never paid much attention to the elusive middle Archeron sister; as beautiful as she was, as creative and kind as her online presence seemed, there had been no point in engaging with her when she lived in Summer or Spring or wherever she’d landed after college. When she finally moved to Velaris years later, Feyre had gotten weepy the one time Mor asked about her; for whatever reason, Elain hadn’t been well enough to attend their family dinners. Occasionally the dinners were taken to Elain’s little house in the suburbs, occassionally Elain joined Feyre and Rhys for a night out, but unlike Cassian, Azriel had decided to make his excuses and stay home rather than inflicting himself on a stranger in such close, intimate quarters.

So that had been that, and now the world was tilting on its axis, the sky was falling, and Azriel forced to come to terms with the fact that he was a gods-damned moron who lacked so many brain cells that he had effectively written off Elain Archeron as too gentle and too sweet and too distant to bother making nice.

“I mean—” Elain blurted into the silence that fell around them. She blinked those luminous brown eyes at him, the hand that had been reaching for the cookies returning to knot itself in the little bow tied at the waist of her dress. “I mean, oh, I just…”

A small, mindless twist of her wrist had four of her fingers bound in silk, and Azriel shifted in his seat, propping an ankle on his knee to hide the automatic way his body responded to the sight of the small slip knot she crafted from the remaining length.

“Ahem.” A glance across the table revealed Mor’s lips curling up at the corners as she looked between them, her hands fisted together and propped beneath her chin. “I didn’t think you two already knew each other.”

Nesta’s cold eyes went impossibly colder, icicles spearing into Azriel from across the sticky-topped table, but Feyre sank her teeth into her lower lip, eyebrows rising high enough to disappear beneath her messy fringe. 

Azriel opened his mouth, thinking quickly, “Just from Instagram.” 

“Oh?” Nesta asked, her suspicion softening only minutely as she turned it toward Elain.

“Yes.” Elain straightened beneath her sister’s scrutiny, freeing her hand from the knots she’d absentmindedly crafted, and reached for the cookies that Mor pushed toward her. Coolly, she selected one, seemingly shaking off her nerves along with the sprinkles she dusted off of the icing and into the little plastic dish. She ignored the mournful sound Mor made as she did. “A few weeks ago, when he posted that project his students did for their Autumn equinox party to his story? The leaves were all labeled wrong. I messaged him to let him know.”

Over Elain’s shoulders, Feyre perked up. “You never told me that.”

“It didn’t seem important,” the beautiful liar said. She nibbled the edge of the cookie, avoiding the swirl of frosting atop it, and then…

She glanced up through her lashes at Azriel. The look she gave him inquisitive, searching, and—

And done with an inviting, submissive ease that punched the breath from his lungs. 

Her gaze dipped to her waist next, and he tracked them as they ventured through the shadows beneath the table to the hands still fisted on his thighs and then back up to his eyes.

May I? she seemed to ask. 

It wasn’t his place to deny her. He reached for every inch of steel in himself, anchoring himself to the hard seat in that booth.

She was Bound in Ivy, and he was the Shadowsinger, and their shared knowledge of that fact stretched as taut as their ropes between them. It hung suspended in the air, tangled and trapped and begging for their attention.

She held his stare as she licked the crumbs from her glossy lips, a slight, nervous tremor building in her limbs as she bought them another second while their audience watched.

He became too aware of the pull of his skin over his bones. 

It wasn’t his place to deny her anything. Not his place to allow anything.

Not yet. 

He could see the game laid out for him in those brown eyes—moves and countermoves waiting on a checkered board, anticipating his next step. Preparing to choose a strategy. 

Azriel dipped his chin.

The pleased flutter of her eyelids, the deepening flush on her cheeks, the way the cookie she held crumbled between her fingers… He cataloged every bit of her reaction, committing it all to memory as Bound in Ivy smiled sweetly at him and then turned away.

Elain shrugged at her sister, a shy flick of her eyes turning that blushing, heated look to shame. “It was just a few DMs, and then we facetimed for a few minutes so I could show him which labels needed to be swapped. I didn’t realize I had, ah… fixated elsewhere during that conversation.” She lifted her own hand to the back of her neck, drawing his eyes to the smooth, silken skin of her neck. He could only imagine how soft it would be. How hard he could make that pulse race beneath his touch. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Uncurling his fingers was like bending steel, but Azriel forced his hands to relax, breathing through the stretch of his stiff joints, and lifted them above the table to brush away the small graveyard of crumbs. He felt more than saw Mor’s keen interest in the move—and carefully ignored it. “No harm, no foul.”

“I didn’t know you posted stories of class projects, Az.” Nesta’s voice was dry as the crumbs he deposited into the paper napkin he grabbed from the dispenser in the middle of the table. 

“Sometimes.” Azriel lifted a nonchalant shoulder. “But if your sister knows her flowers as well as her trees, I’ll probably need some help with the bunny project I’m planning for Nynsar this spring, actually.” His eyes cut to Elain—to the mouth that fell open in a sweet little round that tempted Azriel to take a taste of it. 

Pursuing his godson’s aunt was a bad idea. Not just bad; it was a terrible, world-endingly awful one, if he were completely honest with himself. 

But Azriel was incapable of backing down from a challenge, especially when it was presented to him tied up in pretty ropes and garnished with violets on a silver platter.

If sweet Elain Archeron wanted to play, then he would simply have to beat her at her own game.

“We’re going to be knotting up yarn for pom-pom bunnies and then topping them with felt flower crowns. I’d hate to prep any off-season flowers for them.”

“Oh, that’s perfect!” Feyre leaned around Elain, beaming at them both. “Elain loves to crochet, you know. She used to be so crafty in school, and she’s setting up a little greenhouse in her backyard now, too.”

Azriel lifted a brow in response, finally letting himself think of how creative he knew the incorrigible little rope bunny beside him could be. Of the naughty video he had watched not two hours ago after locking himself in his car to wait for Cassian. Of the rows and rows of flowerbeds and glass walls in the background of that clip while she teased her audience.

He wondered if she could still feel the slide of the rope against her skin the way he could feel it sliding through his palms as he watched her.

“It would be fun, wouldn’t it, Elain?” Feyre nudged her sister, and Az leaned back in his seat, watching as she did his work for him. “You’re still on a flex schedule, right? You could even go help Nyx’s class put them together if you have the time.”

“Yes, I could,” Elain agreed faintly. 

Her eyes shot to Azriel’s, and he smiled at her—softer this time, a true invitation. Come or don’t. Play or don’t, he hoped it said. No hard feelings.  

She let out a breath. “I’d love to help.”

Sorry for the wait on this update, everyone! I was caught up in the Visions of You Elriel universe for a little while. As a reward for your patience (and in thanks for your kind words on the first chapter), please expect one or two more chapters of this fic this week!

[jealousveronya]

Green sleeves supremacy

[jealousveronya]

𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆 has to be one of my favourite themes for this month because in captures them so perfectly, and so I am thrilled to be able to share this officially licensed beauty by @amiranaval 🦋

“𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐰𝐧, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐯𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨.”

I cannot express how much I adore this depiction of them, and how much Amira blew me away with her attention to detail! Mindblown 🤯 Please send her all the love for contributing this masterpiece for us all 🫶🏻

All character belong to @therealsjmaas and this will be available on my etsy in the near future!

likes, shares, comments appreciated. No re-posts pls

[jealousveronya]

Renaissance Masterlist

AN: Make sure you read yesterday's chapter if you missed it!

Word Count: 1175

CW: Implication of sex. Nothing on page.

Epilogue

Six months later

“Rhys? Sorry. I know I said six tonight, but my last buyer was being a little difficult and…” She trailed off as she found him on the couch, still dressed in his work suit for whatever reason, a glass of red wine in hand, her own set on the coffee table between them. She tossed her coat and scarf over the couch arm, shaking off the New York winter. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She curled into his lap, smiling as he jolted slightly at her cold hand sneaking under his untucked shirt. “Cruel woman.”

She reached for her wine glass. “Something smells good.” 

“Dinner’s keeping warm in the kitchen. Once you defrost we can eat something. And then I have another surprise.” Her smile grew to a smirk and he pinched her side. “Not that.” He nipped her earlobe. “Yet.”

“And while I defrost?” she purred, carrying his usual confidence as she set down her wine with every intention of sinking to her knees in front of him.

He caught her hands halfway down, raising them to his lips. First the right, then the left, his lips linkering a second too long. “You can defrost in your dinner seat. Grab your glass.” 

She narrowed her eyes, but followed him to the table. Whatever he had to tell her must really be important. He had cooked a dinner of seared pork and carbonara. Over the past six months he had been showing off an impressive skill set in the kitchen that she hadn’t expected from him when they first met.

“So, tell me how commissions have been. You haven’t talked much about your work.”

There was a rough start to her art sales and commissions. When people realized her boyfriend had been the first to invest in her art, despite the two of them knowing the work came before the relationship, her credibility was naturally questioned. Once a few pieces got out, though, commissions boomed.

“Everything’s great. There are picky customers, of course, but it’s been wonderful. I’m so happy to be out there. And with my own studio. I suppose I have you to thank for that miracle.”

“All the work is yours, Feyre. You would have gotten there eventually.” her face heated and she began tracing her finger around the lip of her wine glass. “Feyre.” She froze. “I’m proud of you, you know.”

She did. And some days that still felt impossible to swallow. She knew all of her friends were proud of her in one way or another, but the constant praise Rhys provided could be… overwhelming. He leaned over the corner of the table, kissing her temple. “My Feyre.”

She sighed, about to take the next bite of her dinner when a tiny sound intruded on the peace of their dinner. Almost like… “Did you leave a video on in the back?” Rhys winced as a second meow was heard, this time more persistent. “Rhys? Why is there a cat in the house?” 

The next cry was closer to a yowl, followed by a soft thunk against the door. He wiped his mouth, preparing to explain the situation, likely. Unfortunately for him, Feyre was already down the hall, raising a hand to open the door a crack. Out leaped a ball of black fur.

“You adopted a kitten? What’s his name?”

“Bryaxis. He fell asleep just before you got home.” Rhys kept talking, but she didn’t hear a word after that. Because around his neck was a collar, not just holding a name plate, but a silver ring cradling a sapphire stone. Rhys strolled down the hall before crouching down beside her. “I know my first proposal wasn’t all that romantic, but I figured this might do the—”

She tackled him, his arrogant comment cut off with a kiss. Slow and deep and endless. He rolled so her back hit the hardwood. “Is that a yes?” She smiled. “Feyre, say the words. Tell me you’ll be my wife,” he all but begged.

She sobered at that. “I said no the first time.”

The starlight she  found in his eyes guttered. “And now?”

“Now, I want to thank you. For giving me the time to come out of it all. To heal from my past. And I want you to know that I would be honored—honored to be your wife.” He let out a ragged breath. A broken laugh followed it, muffled by her shirt as he pressed his face to her shoulder. She stroked his hair. “I love you, Rhys. More than anything in this world.”

“And I love you, Feyre darling. To the end of our days, through every adventure I’ll love you.”

“Good. Now tell me, what possessed you to adopt a kitten?”

He unhooked the ring from the collar, easing it onto her finger. “Well, he was cute.” She chuckled. “Please tell me you don’t actually want to talk about a cat right now.” He pressed a kiss to her throat. “After all the teasing you started this evening with, it would just be cruel.”

“Well… I did have another thing or two in mind on the way home.” He groaned against her neck as she wrapped her legs around his waist, grinding against him. “After all, you were the one who told me to stop.”

He carried her to their bedroom, his fingers digging into her waist as she put her lips and teeth and tongue to work on his neck. There would undoubtedly be a bruise or two for their friends to tease him about tomorrow. She gasped as her back met the hard wall rather than the bed behind them.

“I believe you mentioned something the other day about fucking me so hard the pictures fell off the wall. Are you as good as your word?”

“Still fully dressed and saying such vulgar things, darling.” She unlocked her legs from around his waist and started to strip her shirt. “Stop. That’s for me to do.” Instead of finishing the task she started, he swept her back into his arms to take her to the bed. “And I’m not fucking you against the wall. Not tonight, Feyre.” 

Peeling her out of her studio clothes, he showed her just what tonight was meant for.

~~~~~

She’d said yes. By some miracle, Feyre Archeron agreed to marry him. He’d shown his gratitude by worshiping every inch of her body. He’d do it again and again, every day for the rest of his life. But in that moment all he wanted to do was hold her close, breathe her in. “I love you, Feyre. More than anything in this world.”

“I love you too. You know…”

“What?” he asked, already reading the hint of trouble in her voice. She was after something.

“Well, you took a young artist to Florence for a fake honeymoon. Where will you whisk your wife away to, hm?”

He laughed, full and free, pulling her a little closer. “My Feyre.” He kissed her hair. “Have I ever mentioned our property in Paris?”

“I’m listening.”

~~~~~

AN: We have reached the end. For those of you who stuck around, thank you so much. I will be marking the fic as complete on ao3, but keep your eyes open. I might just be inspired to write a bonus chapter in Paris!

Taglist: Reach out to be added or removed.

@goddess-aelin // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @reverie-tales // @acourtofwips // @jealousveronya // @darling-archeron // @elentiya-whitethorn // @gwynkyrie // @acotar-fanns

#This is so cute #Someone play Paris by Taylor Swift

[jealousveronya]

Oof it’s another feysand drawing cos I cannot be stopped. First time flying 🥲

#The Cutest #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #feyre x rhysand

[jealousveronya]

I’m so happy Feysand didn’t have any other woman drama. Out of the bat boys x archeron sisters ships I’m just now realizing feysand is the only one who that does not include serious drama with other women.

[jealousveronya]

Evolution of passion project - sometimes less is more… somewhere on the progression journey, I lose what I’m hoping to achieve.

Which one do you like best?

[jealousveronya]

Rowan and Aelin - Throne of Glass

Artist: @/drawrichelle

[jealousveronya]

Feysand AU

Where Feyre is a witch and she's best friends with Rhysand and he just struts in her little cottage while she's cooking and he just tastes what she's cooking and he's like "That's not soup" and Feyre looks at him shocked and nervous and she's like "No, it's a love potion" and Rhys let's the spoon fall but he says "Well, it wasn't done so maybe it won't work"

Feyre doesn't tell him but the love potion was done, so she keeps an eye on him throughout the next days and then she tells Mor and she's like "He drank my love potion and he acts the same" and Mor drinks her tea, knowing well that Rhys was already in love with Feyre for a very long time

#Aaaa #So cute

[jealousveronya]

I'm SO excited to share this stunning Elucien piece I commissioned with the talented @sarahsoba. I wanted to show them being silly and cute in the bath and Sarah perfectly captured my vision.

Thank you @ablogofbipanic for coming up with the perfect caption:

"Lucien's only smiling like that because he knows the bubbles are not the only thing getting blown tonight."

Stay tuned for a NSFW drabble in which we find out what happens after all the bubbles are gone 👀.

[jealousveronya]

[jealousveronya]

“Save me—please, save me. Get me out. End this.”🥀

“Feyre, just before her wedding to Tamlin. Based on “The Reluctant Bride” (1866) by Auguste Toulmouche.”

art🎨: alemonleafeon on twt. Go like and retweet it!!!

[jealousveronya]

Morrigan my beloved

art🎨: BBergolts on twitter

She should have had purple eyes in the books. Look at how gorgeous she is.

[jealousveronya]

little tip for feeling not great, draw some feysand 10/10 would recommend 

[jealousveronya]

The Siren's Song

Summary: After pushing the limits of the peace treaty between the merfolk below and seamen above, Feyre finds herself snared by the Captain of Hewn Harbor. Knowing she can’t survive on land for extended periods of time, she agrees to a bargain of Rhysand’s creation, in time surrendering to the cost neither of them predicted.

But then, when do matters of the heart follow a rule book?

Previous

Chapter II: Washed Up

The harbor didn’t get many newcomers. Despite their souvenir booths, they weren’t the place to find the pretty buildings and history lessons. Aside from their previous bloody conflict with the sirens, there wasn’t much to Hewn Harbor. They were pirates, fishermen, and known families claiming the housing around the port. 

The port's business and trade were a matter of what their fathers’ fathers had put together. Rhys knew the citizens, he knew the traders, and he hadn't once seen the young woman the sailors were cornering before today. And that made her interesting. Suspicious, of course, especially considering the obviously fake name. But interesting. 

“What’s that look for?” his brother asked the second she entered their apartment.

Az always knew when something was going on. “I ran across a new face today. A young woman. About twenty, I’d say. Quite lovely. I’ve never seen her, but I suppose a friend of ours could have dragged some cousin or sister along.”

“Not that I’ve heard of,” Az said, looking over at Cassian for a response. “I can dig,” he continued.  “If you think she’s trouble.”

“Trouble, not yet. Just interesting to find out here.” Accepting the bourbon Cassian offered, Rhys sank into a chair, scanning the rest of the house. “Mor and Amren?” 

“Mor is upstairs,” Azriel said. “Amren hurried out a few moments ago. You know how she is about making her own little nest when we’re docked.”

“Indeed,” Rhys murmured, stretching one leg to help the twinge in the knee he’d injured flying overboard as a boy of eleven. The hard metal and wood of the fractured ship his father ordered ruined had made for a hard landing and miserable recovery. Every rising storm stirred that memory. “Whose turn to cook?” They exchanged a look, then turned back to him. They all hated that particular duty. No volunteers to take his turn, then. And Mor and Amren were hopeless beyond boiling water. “Fine.”

“How long are we staying docked, Rhys?”

He shrugged at Cassian’s question. Though none of them had any breathing family left, most of the crew did. “Another day or two. We’ve already been here for over a week.” Home turf or not, he never liked staying there long. Too much personal history. Too many memories, for a place so small. “Don’t promise your conquests anything.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough.”

~~~~~

Rhys didn’t know what it was about the storm that brought him out, despite that bad knee. Maybe it was the natural call of the waves he was raised on. Maybe it was something else. But the pull was stronger than ever that night. Walking beyond the port, letting cool, damp sand sink between his toes as he watched the high tide roll in. 

A full moon shone above him, blotting out most of the stars in its vicinity. Here, when the sky went dark and the moon and stars rose, away from the chaos of the main port was home. Here he could be alone with his thoughts, enjoying the silence of the beach stretching out of sight.

But tonight, though the beach was silent, it wasn’t empty. Not with an unconscious woman sprawled at the edge of the shore, her face dangerously close to the evening tide rising and falling.

Stepping closer…

It was the woman he’d met this afternoon, spending all night wondering about. Like she had some magic to command his endless attention. And as he tugged her suspiciously dry skirt down to cover her exposed legs, he found that might just be the case. Her skin was still damp, leaving a patchwork of navy sand-crusted scales over her thighs, shins, and calves. 

She was a siren.

And she was a long way from Adriata.

~~~~~

Tag list: Reach out to be added or removed.

@goddess-aelin // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @reverie-tales // @acourtofwips // @jealousveronya // @darling-archeron // @elentiya-whitethorn // @gwynkyrie // @acotar-fanns

#Another mermaid feyre #I love it #feysand #the siren's song #feysand fic

[jealousveronya]

Starfall from acomaf. I love how it shows how Feyre is getting better 💕

#rhysand #rhys x feyre #feyre archeron #rhys and feyre #books