#vaenquish

A darkened eyebrow rose, amusement on his features. Maybe he should of warned Feyre the potency of faerie wine even with a fae body...but the pretty color donning her cheeks and her slurred words were endearing. And entertaining. Would it be terrible of him to steal a kiss from her if she's offering? He's glad he sent away the rest of his friends for the night. After all, Feyre's only been here a handful of times now.

He palmed the phone in his hand anxiously. The spot he picked was quiet, low profile and maybe a little romantic. He was trying to impress her, after all. He’d begged Azriel for weeks, and finally he had given him Feyre’s number. He was certain it came from being protective over his own relationship. In fact. Rhys was positive that Azriel would kill him if he even thought of being disrespectful to Elain’s sister. But Rhys couldn’t get her out of his head, hadn’t been able too since he saw her. So much so that he’d basically gone celibate. He was interested in one girl and one girl only. Lifting his gaze up, he searched for her. He nearly choked when he spotted her. If Rhys knew anything, he knew this.

His steps whirl back towards her, something darker in his violet gaze as the words leave her lips. He knew them before she spoke, but at their sincerity and validity he is devastated. It is written on his face, it is burning through their bond.

"No"

The word is dark, shrouded in a growl that vibrates from his throat. "Absolutely not, Feyre" Rhysand approaches her, entering into her space and she is the only being that does not shrink from him. His equal. His mate. Rhysand does not back down from her either, and his chest barely brushes her own. "Your first instinct is to yourself" He knows that anger will not get through her, but the words have stirred that blackness in his soul.

The thought of her putting herself in danger for him- it is enough to make night-colored mist seep from his hands. Before he can speak he forces an exhale, releasing clenched fists until the mist has disappeared. Hands curl around her biceps, forcing her gaze to meet his. The touch is grounding, but firm.

darker vibes

CASSIAN TURNED AROUND slowly, not ENTIRELY sure he heard what feyre had said. ❛ feyre -- ❜ he started, but the look in her eyes INSTANTLY turned cassian F E R A L. his cock was also harder than steel and aching behind his seemlingly too-tight leathers.

 It  was  the  relentless  drip,  drip,  drip  of  the  last  rain  coming  off  the  eaves  that  roused  her.  The  sound  wormed  its  way  into  her  dreams  until  she  woke  in  a  cold  sweat.  When  @vaenquish  had  found  her,  Violet  was  sat  in  the  cold,  damp  garden,  holding  her  legs  to  her  chest.  Eyes  closed,  Violet  focused  on  keeping  her  breath  steady.  She'd  needed  the  open  air,  to  know  that  she  was  free  and  not  surrounded  by  four  walls...  even  if  she  was  still  holding  herself  tight.  As  if  she  was  trying  to  hold  herself  together.

 Feyre  had  asked  so  softly  that  it  all  came  out.  The  chair,  the  room  with  the  drain  below  her,  the  constant  breaking  and  mending  and  breaking  and  mending...  And  Varrish.  The  orchestrator  of  it  all.

“I’ll  kill  that  bastard.  I’ll  kill  him  for  what  he  did  to  you.”

he has lied to her. lied and lied and lied, and told her more truths of himself than anyone alive knows. but she knows the truth now. who he is. that the charming guard was not the truth, but can she accept that hawke was? that it was a piece of himself he could give?

the bite of cold steel to his throat, lips parting in a true smile. the gleam of elongated canines, the simmering hunger in golden honeyed eyes — he will not live without her. he cannot. plans have changed rapidly, his loyalty stretched as he reorganised his life to center on this one startlingly perfect woman.

‘ penellephe — what have we discussed. don’t get me excited if you’re not planning on carrying through. ‘

the teasing lilt to his voice as he leans into the blade, letting it pierce his skin as a droplet of blood breaks free. trailing down the blade. he is not afraid to bleed. he is not even afraid to die. but he, terrified, that if this moment ends without an understanding — that she will never allow herself the freedoms she has allowed him thus far. to hear her laugh, to savour her blush, to indulge her desires — he would be used by her willingly in any form. the loss of it leaves him aggrieved.

‘ you will marry me — and we will both get what we want. ‘