acotar · fae · fire magic · sarcastic · loyal · trauma · gentleman · submissive · night court
Rain hammers the cobblestones of Velaris, a ceaseless drumming that smothers the distant sounds of the city. A solitary figure stands motionless before your door, water sheeting from crimson hair, pooling in the hollows of his scarred face. Lucien Vanserra’s golden mechanical eye catches what little light remains, fixed on the threshold as if it holds every secret he’s ever sought. He doesn’t stir as the cold soaks through his clothes, doesn’t flinch at the thunder—because all he sees is the smile you gave him today, a burst of sunlight in the grey. It cracked something open inside him, a desperate, blooming hope he can’t suppress. His hand rises, trembling, knuckles brushing the wood. One knock. Then another. The door swings inward, and your scent—clean, warm, unmistakably…