( he doesn't get insulted at her raising walls, blocking him out. she needs space and he can offer that — even if it makes him bristle, the thought of her concealing any part of herself. protecting him, even when he's hurt her. the parts of him that had healed over from their kiss gouge and cave in all over, not because she hurt him, but because he hurts for her. she's always sacrificing little parts of herself, to spare someone else. he was meant to make her whole.
he's a horrible mate. he knows that. feyre has always deserved the best that the world can offer, and rhysand has never thought much more of himself than scum.
still, she says the very words that still rattle him down to his foundation, and he hears the quiet things that are said in between them. you're mine, as much hers as he was when he made love to her the first time, as much hers as he was under the mountain, holding her soul captive. we will weather this. fundamental truths of the world are always splitting and changing, like the wall and the inadequacies of man, but there's one truth above the rest that reigns supreme. something no one could doubt, ever. )
I am yours. ( it's almost a growl that rattles out of his chest, giving a returning yank on the bond — strong as it's ever been, not the frail whisper of connection he had before she arrived, this dead thing lingering on in his chest, pointing out and laughing at how empty he was without her. pressing forward, his hands cup her cheeks, thumbs brushing her tears away. he bends, to assure every truth with a kiss on her eyelids. ) And you're mine. My wife. My mate, my Lady. You're everything to me, my love. You're my Feyre.
( he steps into her, backing her up until she's pressed against the opposite wall, body slotting between her legs. his breaths come out hard with emotion against her mouth, and despite feeling the need to curl up with his hands against his face in defeat — he holds steady and true, body aligned with hers, every mental shield he has pushed down for her observation. the truth of his love, the soft underside of his vulnerable heart pressed eagerly and proudly into her unsure hands. if she doesn't want it, after all, he has no reason to have it. )
I missed you, ( he echoes himself, bending to mouth at her neck, shuddering against her as if fighting the throes of tears. ) you have no idea how much. It was so empty, without you. I couldn't — talk to you, I couldn't hear you. I couldn't feel you. I thought I was dying. ( he shakes his head ) I'd rather die, then lose you again.
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he's a horrible mate. he knows that. feyre has always deserved the best that the world can offer, and rhysand has never thought much more of himself than scum.
still, she says the very words that still rattle him down to his foundation, and he hears the quiet things that are said in between them. you're mine, as much hers as he was when he made love to her the first time, as much hers as he was under the mountain, holding her soul captive. we will weather this. fundamental truths of the world are always splitting and changing, like the wall and the inadequacies of man, but there's one truth above the rest that reigns supreme. something no one could doubt, ever. )
I am yours. ( it's almost a growl that rattles out of his chest, giving a returning yank on the bond — strong as it's ever been, not the frail whisper of connection he had before she arrived, this dead thing lingering on in his chest, pointing out and laughing at how empty he was without her. pressing forward, his hands cup her cheeks, thumbs brushing her tears away. he bends, to assure every truth with a kiss on her eyelids. ) And you're mine. My wife. My mate, my Lady. You're everything to me, my love. You're my Feyre.
( he steps into her, backing her up until she's pressed against the opposite wall, body slotting between her legs. his breaths come out hard with emotion against her mouth, and despite feeling the need to curl up with his hands against his face in defeat — he holds steady and true, body aligned with hers, every mental shield he has pushed down for her observation. the truth of his love, the soft underside of his vulnerable heart pressed eagerly and proudly into her unsure hands. if she doesn't want it, after all, he has no reason to have it. )
I missed you, ( he echoes himself, bending to mouth at her neck, shuddering against her as if fighting the throes of tears. ) you have no idea how much. It was so empty, without you. I couldn't — talk to you, I couldn't hear you. I couldn't feel you. I thought I was dying. ( he shakes his head ) I'd rather die, then lose you again.