What am I going to do to you? Nothing too esoteric, my feytouched. I'm just going to pull you into my arms, rest my forehead against yours, and whisper sweet nothings into your ear. And perhaps, while you are ensconced in my arms, feeling safe and fuzzy and almost drifting off to sleep, the arms will unfurl into shimmering stained-glass wings, until the room around you is gone and the only things you can see through your half-lidded eyes are beautiful twisting shifting patterns in lavender and emerald and so many colours besides, interspersed with perfect reflections of my face shining like many-faceted diamonds, all staring down at you and smiling lovingly (and if perhaps the eyes are hungrier and the teeth are sharper than you remember them being... they are still so very full of love, so surely you have nought to fear?). The wings feel cool against your skin like a pleasant stream on a perfect autumn night, somehow at once soft like feathers and smooth like glass as they brush against patches of your skin and stroke your cheek and you let out such a sweet sigh as you nuzzle into them.
The whispers are not louder now but they are more... persistent, entering your ears from two directions at once, flowing in from the air around you and reverberating and echoing outwards from within your skull. You can hardly make sense of the words anymore, for what use do you have for mortal tongues when you are here in fairyland forever in my arms?
And finally, pet? Finally you will feel a phantom hand cup your chin and tilt your face upwards, you will hear a laugh like an angel (or, indeed a Sídhe)  that echoes all around the little world I have constructed for you with my wings, and I will lean down and kiss your pretty lips, gently at first and suddenly overpoweringly thirsty, drinking deep of you. Tasting my beautiful pet, and drawing all her worries and inhibitions out of her until the only thing she can think about is me.