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harmonyrae · 2 days ago

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The Voice of the Viscount

Synopsis: Performing at the first ball of the season was your mother’s idea, you had no idea a famous opera singer was in attendance. The real surprise, however, was his praise for your voice. If his compliments left you breathless, his offer could certainly mean your end.

AN: When you see the 𝄞 symbol, click the link to listen to the song. When you see the symbol again you can stop the music. TRUST ME, it’ll give you goosebumps.

Content Warnings: SFW (future works could have NSFW elements fyi), a lot of plot & some cute angst, OMG the FLUFF, death of parental figure mentioned, Regency era terms are used

Word Count: 5.3k

“I can’t believe you’re going through with this.”

Your sister pulls the lacing of your bodice harshly to drive her point home. She’s not wrong, you had successfully delayed your debut a year to help your mother manage the estate and care for Eleanora. But she was not willing to let you delay any further, your “future” depends on it.

“Sera, please. Mama wants - ow!”

Sera yanks the lacing once more and you’re fairly certain you felt a rib crack. You take a deep breath and try to steady yourself against the bed frame.

“Mama wants the estate to stay in the family, I know, I know. And the only way to do so is for one of us to give birth to a boy. Damned corset!”

“Seraphina!”

Your mothers voice makes you both jump. You look over your shoulder to see Sera bite her lip. She gives you a desperate look and you can’t help but snicker, knowing she will be getting an earful.

“Move, I’ll do it.”

Sera happily steps aside to let your mother finish tying your corset. She taps your shoulder and you stand up straight. You brace for another harsh pull, however, you feel your corset loosen instead and you sigh as your lungs expand freely.

“If you’re going to sing tonight, I want you to be able to breathe.”

“Mama…” “Cordelia, you are behind a whole year. You must take this opportunity to stand out. Prove yourself worthy of the Queen’s approval.”

“I already have her approval! The ceremony went well today, didn’t it?”

When your mother doesn’t reply, you look back to see her staring at Sera. While your debut was relatively uneventful, if not a tad lackluster, Seraphina’s was… tragic. You were thankful to be debuting at the same time as your sister, you could share the anxiety and confide in each other. Unfortunately, Sera inherited your fathers two left feet and if you hadn’t been holding her hand, she would have fallen flat on her face in front of the Queen.

“You may suffer from your sister’s misfortune. You both have to prove yourselves tonight and yes, Sera, you must attend. It’s the first ball of the season!”

Sera continues to pin her dark curls out of the way, avoiding her mothers gaze. You turn to face her and lift your arms so she can slip your favorite soft pink dress over your head. The slightly darker pink floral appliques flutter up from the hem and along the sleeves. Your mother tried to get you in a white gown with matching gloves, but you convinced her that you would need to feel comfortable if you were to sing.

You’re not particularly talented, but your voice has always been praised by all who hear it. You grew up singing while Ellie played the piano and Winnie danced. You’ve always loved making your sisters laugh, but even more so since your father died.

“Mama… I might as well sit out this season and try again next year.”

Your mother drapes a necklace around your neck and you turn for her to secure the clasp. You can feel her hands shake and you give Sera a stern look.

“So Mama, how long will we wait for callers in the morning? I am so looking forward to the performance tomorrow night.”

“We shall accept callers for as long as possible. And be sure to tell them you are attending the opera!”

When you heard rumors about a new opera singer joining the company right before the debut of The Magic Flute you were sceptical. Until the papers confirmed the singer was the famous Viscount Rafayel. Gossip was merciless, predictions regarding why he was returning home from Italy after nearly 4 years were salacious to say the least. Did he have an illegitimate heir he had only just found out about? Was he accepting an arrangement? If so, to whom? Was it because of the trouble he supposedly caused in Verona?

“Imagine if you had allowed Cora to audition for the company we might be watching her perform with the Viscount.”

You glare at Sera once again, she’d promised to stop criticising your mother for her hand in ruining your dream. As you grew older you realized she didn’t deny you to be cruel, she was a grieving mother of 5 who needed help. And opera singers have reputations, she wanted something better for you. While you couldn’t imagine anything better than traveling to gorgeous opera houses and performing, you didn’t resent her for it. You slip your feet into your heels and give your mother an apologetic look.

“Sera, stop, not tonight.”

Your mothers voice was tired, strained. Your debut was supposed to be the beginning of the end for her. Once you and your sisters were married, she could finally rest and properly mourn for her husband.

You wrap your shawl around your shoulders and lean down to kiss your mother on her cheek. Her weary eyes brighten and she gives you a small smile.

“I’m going to check in on your sisters and make sure they’re in bed. Then we’ll leave.”

As soon as she’s closed your door you spin around and slap Sera’s shoulder.

“Ow!”

“I told you to stop! Mama has enough to worry about without your snide remarks.”

Sera puts her hands on her hips. You poke her shoulder and she rolls her eyes before turning around, allowing you to fix her hair - the pins already falling under the weight of her curls.

“Can you please put on a happy face and at least try to be cordial tonight?”

Her shoulders slump and she grunts - you assume she is agreeing and let the matter drop. You grab her wrist and hurry down the hall to the entryway to meet your mother.

The Ashby’s always host the first ball of the season, just a few hours after the formal presentation before the Queen. It’s the time for young ladies to present themselves in a more personal manner. Many of them will keep to themselves and focus on filling out their dance card, but those who want to stand out will perform in some way.

You watch Genevive Pearson perform a rather dull piece on the piano and laugh as Lady Ashby drags Isabella Wilton away from the harp. Before you can stop her, your mother tugs on your arm and you find yourself in front of the piano with an expectant audience. You clasp your hands together and curtsy. Your excitement nearly bubbles over and makes you giggle, you cover it up by clearing your throat and leaning over to confirm your name with the pianist. His eyes light up upon recognizing the sheet music with your name on it. You run your hands over the front of your dress and take a breath.

“In honor of the company debuting a new cast for The Magic Flute tomorrow night, I will be performing 𝄞Ach, ich fühl's, Pamina’s soliloquy.”

Whispers breakout amongst the crowd as they step closer. As the first notes ring out from the piano, you can’t help but close your eyes. You feel your cheeks burn as you smile, you’re in your element. You sing with your heart, your hands gently clutching the front of your dress as the heartbreaking words fill the room. When you open your eyes you notice your audience extends to the second floor as well. Your teary eyes blur the features of a particular man leaning over the balcony. You blink several times, finally getting a better look.

Sunset eyes meet yours and they don’t look away, in fact, they almost sparkle when he realizes you’re looking at him. Wispy bangs fall across his forehead, the dark dusty purple color warm under the glow of the chandelier. He traces his jaw with a finger, the silken sleeves of his dress shirt falling down to reveal golden bracelets with large purple gemstones. The golden necklaces around his neck are nearly lost in the ruffle front of his dress shirt. Unlike the other men in attendance, he only wore a waistcoat. Its ostentatious color and gold accents make his narrow waist even more defined. When you finally return your gaze to his face, the corners of his pretty mouth are turned up in a knowing smirk. You instantly close your eyes and put all your focus on the song. 𝄞

The applause is deafening and your cheeks ache from smiling. Lady Ashby’s arm circles your waist and you flinch. She places a hand over her heart and sighs dramatically. You dig your fingernails into your palm, the fabric of your glove barely dulling the sharp sting.

“How lovely Miss Raeton, absolutely divine! I just must know what our esteemed guest thinks of the performance. I am honored that Viscount Rafayel agreed to attend tonight! Surely, the man portraying Tamino himself must have a critique or two.”

Your heart stops, you’re sure of it. You search for your mothers face in the crowd and when you do, her barely restrained anger tells you all you need to know. Lady Ashby requests all of the ladies performing tell her what they intend to do. To “properly prepare” she says. Lady Ashby was told nearly a week ago that you intended to sing a song from The Magic Flute. She would have known Lord Rafayel had accepted her invitation and allowed you to perform anyways. Angeline Ashby stood at the front of the crowd, a smug expression painted across her haughty face. She was behind this, you’re sure of it.

You finally look over at Lady Ashby, whose arm is raised as she points out Lord Rafayel. You follow her arm and as realization settles, you wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole. The man you’d stared at while you sang, raises his hand and bows. When he stands up straight, his eyes are fixed on you.

“Your performance was captivating. Miss Kingsley is a lovely Pamina, but I do believe I prefer Miss Raeton. It’s a shame I won’t have the pleasure of singing with her tomorrow night. Bravo, Miss Raeton, bravo.”

You’re sure the entire room can hear your heart beating, but you don’t care. A famous, and albeit incredibly handsome, opera singer just complimented your singing. You could feel the hateful glare of Lady Ashby and her daughter, which only made you smile wider.

You rejoin your mother in the crowd and gasp when Sera jumps into your arms. You try to push her away, but she holds onto you tightly. Your mother placers a hand on your back and you’re surprised she isn’t lecturing your sister.

“The Viscount is here! And he LOVED you! Oh Angeline must be beside herself - and at her mothers party no less! This is the best day.”

“Girls, behave yourselves while I have a word with Lady Ashby.”

You watch your mother saunter over to a small group of women, Lady Ashby looks up at her, feigning innocence for the last time. You watch as her face contorts and her cheeks redden. Sera leans against you, linking her arm with yours.

“Should we find Angeline? Compliment her performance as the nastiest –”

Just as you’re about to tell Sera to shut up you hear someone clear their throat behind you. Both you and your sister whirl around and come face-to-face with Rafayel. You instinctively grab Sera’s hand on your arm. You curtsy and cautiously look up.

“Miss Raeton.”

He cocks his head to the side, regarding your sister.

“This is my sister, Seraphine Raeton.”

“It’s a pleasure.”

Sera chuckles and curtsies. Rafayel steps closer, his easy smile sending butterflies fluttering. He leans toward you.

“Might I have the next dance?”

You open your mouth only to close it. Then you open it again, but still completely silent. Sera pushes her elbow into your side and you feel your chest tighten.

“Yes, yes, I would… I would love to, my Lord.”

He extends his hand and you release Sera to take it. He guides you onto the dance floor and carefully places your hand on his shoulder. You curse to yourself, realizing Lady Ashby always schedules the Waltz for the final dance. Rafayel cautiously places his hand on your waist and you force yourself to follow his lead. - years of teaching your little sisters how to dance meant you were usually the one in charge.

“You have a beautiful voice, Miss Raeton.”

You blink, realizing you’ve been staring at his chest instead of looking at him directly. You shake your head and smile, your eyes finally meeting his.

“Thank you, my Lord.”

Rafayel chuckles under his breath.

“I know it’s ‘proper etiquette’, but I would prefer it if you called me Rafayel.”

“I do believe that would get me into quite a bit of trouble.”

“I won’t tell anyone, it can be our secret.”

“Secrets have a funny way of revealing themselves unfortunately.”

“Especially around these delightful people, I’m sure.”

You can’t stop yourself from giggling. He pulls your hand to his chest, his thumb rubs soothing circles over the top of your hand.

“I-I’m looking forward to your performance tomorrow night. I haven’t been to the opera in… a long time.”

“Have you never considered performing?”

You shake your head and stare at your feet.

“I… well, I… no.”

He narrows his eyes and hums.

“Let me guess, your father disapproves?”

Your smile falters, you pray Rafayel doesn’t notice.

“My father loved the opera! My mother just needed me to focus my efforts elsewhere.”

Rafayel looks over your shoulder and when he spins you, you see your mother holding onto Sera. Her eyes fill with tears as she watches you dance.

“I apologize. I shouldn’t assume.”

You shake your head fervently, but Rafayel continues.

“My father passed away when I was young as well. I know the pressure of familial responsibility. I’ve avoided it most of my adult life.”

Your somber expression softens as his smile returns.

“But I could only run for so long. I’m back home, honoring my mothers last wishes that I find a bride and continue our family name.”

“What about your career and Verona? You were about to produce your own opera, no?”

“Oh, rumors do travel fast, don’t they?”

You feel your cheeks flush and you squeeze his hand.

“I apologize, my Lord. I didn’t mean to -”

“Don’t apologize, I jest. However, you are rather lovely when you’re embarrassed.”

You scoff and he laughs, a joyous, carefree laugh that warms your soul.

“I miss Verona and the life I built there, of course. But I can’t put off my responsibilities no matter how unpleasant.”

You nod, your shoulders dropping slightly.

“I understand the sentiment. I was meant to debut last season. My mother allowed me to delay due to my sister being ill.”

“You seem to be close with your sister, Seraphina, isn't it?”

“I am! Oh, she wasn’t… I have four sisters. I’m the eldest, Seraphina was born a year after me. Then Theodora, Winifred and Eleanora. Eleanora was ill, nearly lost her.”

“Is she well?”

You nod and your hand moves from his shoulder to loop around his neck like you’d seen your mother do with your father years ago.

“She is much better. She was miserable without her piano. Now she plays every day after tea until dinner.”

Rafayel’s hand inches around to the small of your back and eases you closer.

“Your family is important to you, your smile is brighter just talking about them.”

“I spent my whole life chasing after my sisters, making sure they were happy and cared for when my mother was taking care of my father.”

You gasp and bring your hand from his shoulder to your lips. The realization that you’d been openly discussing your family's personal matters - your mother would be furious.

“Please, don’t stop, I love hearing you speak about your family. I do have a question, if you’ll indulge me?”

You return your hand to his shoulder and nod.

“What about you?”

Your brows furrow and you search his face for clarification.

“You take care of your sisters, but who takes care of you?”

The heat is nearly unbearable, your stomach flips and you can feel sweat drip down your back. His question has lingered in the back of your mind for years. You always took care of others, pushing your own needs and desires away. You don’t have an answer. Before you melt into a puddle of anxiety, the song comes to an end. You hold onto Rafayel for a moment longer, holding his gaze.

“I’ll ask you again tomorrow night.”

“What –?

“After the performance, wait for me. And I’ll ask you again.”

He lets you go and steps back to bow, you curtsy in response and watch him walk away. If you didn’t have an answer for him tonight, you doubt you’ll have one for him tomorrow. But just the thought of seeing him again makes your heart flutter.

The soothing warmth of your tea could have put you to sleep if Sera wasn’t torturing your scalp with her brushing. You wince as she catches on yet another tangle.

“You look as though you tossed and turned all afternoon. Are you truly so nervous?”

Your mother urged you to take a nap after the last suitor had departed. Even with the curtains drawn and a pillow over your eyes, you couldn’t rest. You were surprised when she finally poked her head into your room to ask if you were awake. She had allowed you to skip tea and brought in a small tray to tide you over while you got ready for the night. You sip your tea and eye the lemon tart she brought.

“Cora, eat something. Do you want to faint in front of your lover?”

You glare at Sera through the mirror and watch her erupt into a fit of giggles.

“I’m sorry, but you and Lord Rafayel seemed quite cozy during your waltz. His wandering hand was –”

“His hand was not wandering!” You interrupt her, causing her to laugh louder.

“No? But your hand certainly was. Holding onto his neck in front of everyone. I had no idea you could be so scandalous, dear sister.”

You reach back and grab the hairbrush from her before standing to usher her out of the room. You ignore her protests and shut the door, promptly silencing her. You return to your dressing table and immediately reach for the lemon tart, stuffing it in your mouth. You nearly choke when you hear a soft knock at your door.

“Sera, I’m getting ready on my own.”

Another soft knock. You stand and slowly walk to the door, chewing furiously. When you swing open the door, Eleanora smiles sweetly holding a small box in her hands. You drop your hand from over your mouth and cough as the sour lemon custard hits the back of your throat. You open the door and motion for her to come in.

“Is Sera teasing you again?”

Her dimples deepen as she watches you roll your eyes, confirming her suspicions. She holds out the small box.

“I only wanted to give this to you before you leave.”

You squint at the box, carefully taking it from her. You give her a look and she nods, urging you to open it. You examine the small box and realize it’s the white and gold music box your father gifted her when she was 5. You open it and find a pair of opera glasses.

“Ellie, I can’t…”

“Mama said she got a private box just for you.”

She pokes your cheek.

“I want you to use them. Father wouldn’t want them sitting in a box collecting dust.”

You cough to cover up the choked sob threatening to burst through. Picking up the ornate opera glasses, you look at Ellie through them and gasp dramatically. She jumps and her lip starts to quiver.

“What’s wrong? Are they broken?”

“No, I just see the cutest and most admirable sister known to man. It’s quite a sight.”

She slaps your arm and you pull her into a hug. She squeezes you tightly before pushing you away, pointing at your dress hanging on the dressing screen.

“You should get ready, Mama is already calling for the carriage.”

She skips out of the room and closes the door, leaving you with your thoughts. You examine the opera glasses in your hands, admiring every detail. You know your father put a lot of thought into picking this pair. You sigh, setting them down on your dressing table to focus on getting ready.

Thankfully, Sera had already tightened your corset before deciding to irritate you, so the difficult part was over. You run your hands over the dress, the pink satin was soft and shiny. You slip it over your head and fluff the skirt, which is wider than most of your formal dresses making you feel like a princess.

Your mother arrives to lace up the back and thread pearl-like beads through your curls. She disappears for a moment while you clip on your earrings and straighten your necklace. She returns with a small bottle of perfumed pomade. She silences you with a single look and you lower your head to let her twirl your curls with the scented pomade. You take a deep breath, the sweet scent of orange blossoms instantly calming your frayed nerves.

The carriage ride was quiet, Sera had apologized for her teasing and swore she would be pleasant for the rest of the night. While you didn’t doubt her resolve, you watched her fiddle with her dress and stare out the window with disdain. You both loved the opera, but she hated dressing so formally - especially two nights in a row.

The opera house was crowded. You chuckled, watching young ladies hold onto their mothers as gentlemen tried to woo them with their knowledge of the arts. A few suitors had tried this tactic with you just this morning. Sadly, they only embarrassed themselves when you had to correct them. Your mother scolded you for doing so, but you didn’t miss the amused look on her face.

A young man shows you to your box and your heart soars as you take in the view. You could see the whole stage and the orchestra pit. Sera plops down onto her seat and reaches out for her mothers hand.

“Mama, may we have champagne during intermission? Certainly we’re old enough.”

You watch her squeeze Sera’s hand and nod. You realize her sights are set on you, her eyes brimming with tears. You reach out your hand and she takes it, holding onto both of her daughters.

“Thank you Mama. Tonight, it’s… it’s perfect.”

“The show hasn’t even started yet!”

You almost kick Sera, but remember yourself. While those seated on the floor couldn’t see you, the other attendees in the boxes could. Instead, you give her your signature glare and she looks down at her lap. The orchestra begins to play a rendition of the opening number and you quickly take your seat, the show is about to begin.

The performance begins and you’re transported to another world, a world where the Queen of the Night and high priest Sarastro are forever at odds. The set is extravagant, the costumes intricate and perfectly tailored. But nothing could have prepared you for how gorgeous Rafayel was as he walked on stage. His voice is light and comical, captivating the audience with ease. His voice effortlessly harmonizes with the other performers, sending shivers down your spine.

Tamino is presented with a picture of Pamina and he sighs, holding it up. You bring your opera glasses to your eyes, your heart pounding as he begins to sing𝄞. His face relaxed, his eyes closed, the words of affection for his beloved flowing so easily from between his soft lips. And then, they open and you nearly drop the glasses - he’s looking at you. Your cheeks flush and you lower the glasses to your lap.

His body almost floats across the stage, his hands clutching the photo, but his eyes locked on you. He sings to you, his ears turning red as the words become more intimate.

“Could this feeling be love?”

It sounds more like a statement than a question. A tear slips down your cheek as he sings the final notes. He doesn’t look away, making Tamino’s promise to rescue Pamina while looking up at you. For the rest of Act I you feel as though you’re paralyzed, your body lighter than a feather, the fluttering of the butterflies in your stomach nearly lifting you off your seat. 𝄞

You paint on a smile during intermission and barely take a sip of your champagne. Sera praises Rafayel’s voice and the orchestra while your mother keeps a hand on your arm. The expression on her face is unusual as she watches you, something between joy and concern. You’re about to ask her what’s wrong when the music begins again, urging the audience back to their seats.

Act II is just as extraordinary, Rafayel’s Tamino longs for Pamina, holding true to his vow of silence. As Pamina sings you’re taken back to last night, Rafayel holding your waist, his smile, his question. Only when Sera’s hand taps your shoulder, urging you to stand, do you realize the cast is bowing. You watch the curtain close and lean close to your mother.

“I thought I might take a moment, when the hall is clear, to get a closer look at the stage? I’ll join you at the carriage after the stage lights are put out.”

You’re expecting an argument, but she nods and releases your arm. Sera gives you a knowing look and takes your mothers hand.

“Let’s get another glass of champagne!”

“Seraphina, don’t speak so loudly. We don’t need rumors that you're drunk.”

Sera only laughs and leads your mother to the front hall. You make your way to the main floor and quietly slip into the audience chamber in front of the stage. You clasp your hands together and slowly approach. Your heart pounds, there was a time you would dream of standing up there.

“Would you care to join me?”

You jump and spin around, searching for Rafayel, his voice unmistakable. A loud swoosh makes you turn around, the curtains slowly opening to reveal Rafayel standing center stage. You look up at him, his radiant smile immediately taking your breath away. His dress shirt is unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You can see a thin veil of sweat across his chest. His hand extends towards you.

“Join me?”

“I – how?”

“I can lift you. Just take my hand.”

You must have gone temporarily insane… You take his hand, he lifts you onto the stage and you squeal at the sudden weightlessness. Rafayel walks backwards, leading you to center stage before releasing your hand. He looks over your shoulder and you hold your breath as you turn around.

You’ve dreamt of standing on this stage since you were a child, but nothing compares to the real thing. Rows of plush seats, private boxes lined in gold, crystal chandeliers, you let out a shuddering breath. Rafayel steps up beside you.

“Is it everything you thought it’d be?”

“And more…”

He steps forward into your line of sight, drawing your attention back to him.

“Do you have an answer?”

Staring at your feet you turn.

“My Lord, I –”

“Rafayel.”

You glare at him, but he only laughs. He bows.

“Apologies. Do continue.”

“I… I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for you.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but you lift your hand and he pauses.

“My mother and father raised me well. I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I enjoy caring for my sisters and I take care of myself.”

“‘Need’ and ‘want’ are very different, wouldn’t you agree?”

You nod and he takes a step closer.

“I have no doubt you can take care of yourself. But what if… what if I wanted to?”

Your eyes widen, you expect to see a smirk or mirth-filled eyes, but instead his gentle expression conveys his seriousness.

“You want to do what?”

“Take care of you. Give you a life where you don’t have to do anything unless you truly want to. To stand on a stage, to sing, to dance, to travel, to just be… you.”

Your mouth falls open, but words won’t form. He steps closer still, an arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you to him. You rest your hands on his forearms, his skin warm beneath your trembling fingers.

“We’re similar, you and I. We have responsibilities we can’t ignore, but wild spirits aching for freedom. I’ve never had to restrain my spirit until now, but you… You haven’t been afforded the opportunity. I want to give you that. No… I long to give you that.”

Your knees threaten to give out, but his hands hold you steady.

“Oh my goodness!”

You spot Lady Ashby in the aisle, her judgemental eyes completely focused on you. A sinister smile threatens to ruin her performance. You tear yourself away from Rafayel and cross your arms, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

“I was just returning to fetch my shawl, I am simply stunned to find you, Miss Raeton, alone with Lord Rafayel. I never expected such behavior from you Cordelia. Apologies, Lord Rafayel, allow me to escort her.”

Your mind swirls with accusations. Rumors would spread, how you seduced the Viscount, probably for his money - even though your family was well off. The more prudish noblewomen would condemn you for involving yourself with an opera singer. Critiquing his lifestyle and how you must involve yourself in similar questionable activities. Your sister's prospects would be affected. You’re so consumed with fear, you don’t realize Rafayel has approached the edge of the stage to speak directly to Lady Ashby.

“Lady Ashby, I was so hoping I’d have a chance to speak with you again. I believe I found the perfect job for you. One that will properly utilize your gift of gab that is surely more profitable than your current position as a busybody.”

Lady Ashby’s smug expression morphs into shock as she processes Rafayel’s words. Her cheeks redden as she stumbles forward, eager to reply, but Rafayel beats her to it.

“And your daughter, Miss Ashby, I do believe she missed her calling to be an actress. The performance she put on to explain the mark on her neck when I found her returning from your garden last night was impressive.”

Lady Ashby’s mouth promptly closes, her jaw twitches and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from doubling over. You’ve never seen her look so angry before. She curtsies and doesn’t say another word, leaving her shawl behind to leave as quickly as possible. Rafayel turns back to you, a smug grin proudly displayed.

“That should keep her out of our affairs.”

He walks up to you, but doesn’t try to touch you - much to your disappointment.

"I'd like to promenade through the park with you tomorrow. To prove my intentions.”

You nod, laughing under your breath. Rafayel smiles and offers his arm. He leads you down a narrow hall and through a door leading you back into the main seating area. He leans against the doorway.

“I shall see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Cordelia.”

He backs up through the doorway and you wait until the door is fully closed before giggling into your hand. Hearing him say your name made you lightheaded. And he wants to promenade with you? Forget the promenade, his offer was essentially a marriage proposal. You know Rafayel will follow proper courtship etiquette, he was raised in high society after all. But you could never have imagined that he would choose you.

♡♡♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ﾟ.♡♡

AN #2: These are one-shots unless y'all like them. I'll go through the other guy's stories first and circle back if that's the case. Hope you enjoyed it!!

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @alastor-simp @drama-trauma @0tterteeth @mysticcollectionvoid @godzillaglitter @godoffuckedupcats @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname @hauntedbysmut @withering-dream @lostwingz2236 @simpfortheseven @stellar-seas @kiude @tati-the-fangirl @mtcozylove

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daenysx · 9 hours ago

Note

Maybe some James potter smut since it’s his birthday? (Idk if it’s still his bday where you are but whatever)

happy birthday to the loveliest boy ever ♡

-send me drabble requests!

james potter x fem!reader, smut

James tells you he's proud of you all the time.

Every time he does it, his words leave a gentle rush of waves in your stomach. Something crawling slowly, like he's gonna ruin you. He looks at you with widened eyes, a small smile curled up on his lips, and you are dying to kiss him.

He whispers it, the first time in three days, and your fingers on the keyboard slow down. His voice sends shivers down your spine and it's a delicious feeling how he can make your mind go blank with only a few words. You press your cheek on your shoulder, a lazy attempt to get back to your senses. James takes the opportunity to kiss your exposed neck.

"Jamie," you murmur. He knows what he's doing, never clueless when it comes to you. "I have to finish this."

"You've got an entire night ahead of you, angel," he mumbles. "Can I maybe have some of your attention?"

Fuck him for being so sweet. He plays his part well to distract you, craving your attention like he's been starved for it all day.

"I can help you with your work later," he offers when you stay silent. "If you take a break with me."

James has a pair of convincing eyes and when he watches you like he needs you, you can't keep doing your work properly. You turn your face to him, recognize the vulnerable look in his face.

"Are you okay?" you ask with concern. He nods.

"Just tired," he replies. "I, um, kinda had an argument with Tom today."

Tom is one of his closest friends on the team, a person who makes his long training sessions more bearable. They don't really argue, this might even be the first time. Your brows get together with worry.

"I'm sorry, Jamie," you say, standing up and leaving your laptop.

"That's okay, we'll probably fix things tomorrow," he says. Sunshine personified, your favorite person in this world. "I just don't want to think about it now."

You take his hand, lead him to bed. It's messy with the blankets thrown over four different colored pillows. A silent practice, how you get your body tangled with his. He lifts his leg to settle it down between your thighs and you press yourself without being embarrassed at all. No need for that, he keeps telling you.

"What were you whispering?" you decide to distract him with a lazy tease. "Before you took me away from my stuff?"

"I'd say you willingly left, but the details are not important, huh?"

He gets on top of you with half of his body, looks at you with hazy eyes. Gorgeous boy.

"And I was just talking about how good you are at what you're doing," he whispers and kisses your cheek. "With that frown on your face when you're upset with it. Or with you biting your lip in pride when you got something right."

"You were watching me."

"I'm always watching you."

You kiss him and he closes his eyes. It's been a long day. He got through it somehow, but being able to relax after a day like this is not easy. Even James Potter needs to be taken care of sometimes.

His fingers are wanting, stroking your waist eagerly. The kiss lasts for a few minutes, whispers of affection lingering in the air between you. Your hands play with his hair, big waves falling in your palms as you move.

You take off your shirt. Nothing happens too fast and it's a good thing. How could he rush this when he got it after wanting so much? Desire pooling in his belly, legs shaking and James swears he could moan when you rub yourself on his thigh.

His shirt's on the floor, too. Every piece of clothing on both of you gets lost and James kisses your inner thigh.

"Get under the blankets," James tells you. "It's cold in here."

You do as he says with his help, pulling his naked body under the soft fabric with you. "I'm feeling really warm," you tell him with a sneaky smile that usually belong to his part of teasing.

"Yeah?" he asks against your collarbones. "Can you show me where?"

You take his hand and drag it slowly to your belly. He does the rest of the job and moves his fingers to your wetness. Sticky sweet under his touch, lazy and wanting. You close your eyes and let him play with you.

James has long fingers and they are thick, but he makes sure they are warm enough every time he touches you. His thumb spends a few second with your clit and he uses others to spread the wetness all over you. You lift your hips when he presses just right, his eyes are glowing with something both exhausted and excited.

"Pretty," he whispers, his fingers find a nice rhytm. It's lazy and slow, a gentle touch on your body and he feels like he belongs here. Right here on the bed, under blankets and his hand never stops touching you. He keeps moving until he has you shaking with a tender wave of shiver.

"It's not gonna end," he murmurs on the side of your neck, his lips not kissing and letting you go mad. "I promise I'll keep going."

He sounds so in love, but so tired. You don't even try to stop yourself from accepting the rush his fingers bring, it's strong and you arch your back. Pleasure has you trembling, it's delicious, and you let out a songlike breath. You want to beg him to kiss your neck, he understands your shaky breaths and finally parts his lips against your pulse point.

His fingers keep moving the way you like. You can't see his face as he's kissing your neck, sucking a little bruise there, you hold the back of his head gently to look at him. A pair of lovesick eyes, his lips are swollen and cheeks warm with desire. You can almost feel him rubbing himself on the sheets, the thought of it is enough to let go.

"James," you whisper, desperate to touch him with your free hand. He stays still. "Don't do it yourself, I wanna help. Please, oh-"

He doesn't listen. He can't. His hands are busy and he can't breathe, he needs to come undone. Adjusting his hips, he gets some stimulation from the sheets, enough to make him moan. "I'm so tired, I need to come with you. I can't- can't wait, sweetheart, I'm sorry."

"Let me touch," you say in a demanding but soft voice. "Let me help."

James listens to you this time, he knows you'll do a better job. He comes up a bit higher in bed for you to reach him, you eagerly extend your hand to feel. It's not difficult to get him right there with you, the moment before the peak. He closes his eyes and puts his head on your chest, lazily sucking on your nipple to ground himself. He's moving his hips against your hand, a big breath ready on his chest.

You come with a moan. James thinks it's the prettiest sound ever. With the rush of the moment, you move your hand faster and he follows you. Your mind goes blank, the world gets blurry. James stays on your chest, his body feels heavier now that he's relaxed. You love seeing him like this, without the anxiety his day left behind.

"Need to clean us up," he mumbles. He's half asleep. "It's uncomfy."

You smile softly. He doesn't even have the energy to blink. "Stay for a while," you tell him, your hand in his hair to fix his waves. "We can do it later."

It's tempting and James is easily convinced. Your chest is the perfect pillow, his head moves as you take calm breaths. Rubbing the tired muscle between his shoulder and neck, you urge him to fall asleep. He forgets everything other than your touch.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter x fem!reader #james potter fic #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter imagine #james x you #james x reader #james x fem!reader #the marauders #marauders era #marauders fic #james potter smut

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shaiyasstuff · 1 hour ago

Text

red | zayne | prologue to through the fire

synopsis : Fate chose another, but his heart never stopped choosing you.

content : soulmate!au, zayne x reader x sylus, zayne x non-mc!reader, unrequited love, angst (light or not, you decide)

writer’s note : read through the fire heree. Guys I stayed up all night writing this because I’m flying to europe today and I don’t know if I’ll have time to write😭 so have fun reading this guyss

Shaiya

Zayne stared at the name etched into his skin, barely brushing his fingers over the letters as if touching it would somehow make it less real.

Silence crashed around him like a wave. The world dimmed.

No, he thought, chest tightening. It should’ve been her name.

Yours.

He wanted to claw at it, to tear it off and rewrite the universe.

But all he did was stare—still, quiet, unreadable. His face gave nothing away, though his heart was screaming.

You didn’t cry when he told you.

He had expected the silence. Maybe even anger.

But not the way you reached for him, pulling him into a soft embrace as if you were the one offering comfort.

As if you were the one letting go.

You smiled.

And that broke him in ways he couldn’t explain.

He held you too tightly for a moment too long, afraid that if he let go, everything between you would unravel.

Then he forced a smile—calm, polite, practiced. Like he was happy. Like this wasn’t the end of something sacred.

But he wasn’t.

He didn’t love Shaiya—not then. There was no spark, no fireworks when he first saw her in the park.

There was just you.

You, with your quiet steadiness, your silent understanding. You, who noticed every flicker of emotion on his face, even when no one else did. You, who knew how to wait through his silences.

But something kept pulling him back to Shaiya. A whisper in his gut. A gravitational force he couldn’t explain.

So he went.

And when she laughed, something in him stirred. When she smiled, he felt breathless. Her presence, soft and bright, wrapped around him like a tether he hadn’t asked for—but couldn’t ignore.

It wasn’t like with you.

With you, it was slow, quiet, real.

With her, it was sudden—like being caught in a current he couldn’t swim against.

And yet, even as he sat beside Shaiya, laughing at something she said, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from drifting.

Back to you.

Back to the way you smiled without expectation. Back to the warmth of your hug.

Back to everything he was afraid he’d just lost.

—•

“Zayne? You there?”

He jolted upright at the sound of Shaiya’s voice through the phone, pulled sharply from the spiral of thoughts he hadn’t realized he’d fallen into.

He cleared his throat, forcing steadiness into his voice. “Yeah. Sorry—I was signing some reports.”

A lie, smooth and effortless.

Shaiya laughed lightly, the sound soft through the speaker.

“It’s okay.”

Then, after a beat, her tone shifted, quieter. Concerned. “I’m a little worried about Y/N. She’s been… distant lately.”

That made him still. Completely.

“What do you mean?” he asked, voice low. His fingers curled against the edge of the desk.

Shaiya hesitated. “She spaces out sometimes. When I talk to her, she smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I caught her clutching her wrist the other day—I think she might be hurt, but she brushed it off.”

Zayne didn’t hear the rest. Her voice faded under the weight of his thoughts.

How hadn’t he noticed?

You, the one person he thought he always saw clearly. The one whose silences he understood. He’d been so caught in the chaos of his own confusion that he hadn’t seen you unraveling in the quiet.

He swallowed, guilt settling in like a stone. “I’ll talk to her,” he murmured.

“Okay,” Shaiya replied, her voice soft again. “I’m heading to bed now—early shift tomorrow. Don’t forget to eat after yours.”

The line disconnected, and silence bloomed in the space it left behind.

He sat for a moment, staring at nothing. Then he stood.

Before he could talk himself out of it, his feet carried him across the corridor.

He stopped in front of your door. Raised his hand. Hesitated.

Did you have a mark yet?

The thought hit him like a wave.

And somewhere—deep and cruel and honest—a voice inside him whispered that he hoped you didn’t. That maybe, if fate had overlooked you too, you’d still stay.

That you’d still look at him the way you always had.

That he wouldn’t lose you completely.

But even he knew that was selfish.

So he knocked, softly.

No reply.

The door creaked open.

He stepped inside, meaning to call your name, to ask if you were alright—but the words never made it past his lips.

You were asleep, curled up at your desk, your breathing steady. Peaceful.

And then he saw it.

A flash of red ink on your wrist.

His name.

His breath caught.

Everything in him stilled.

This—this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

His name was on your skin. In red. And he hadn’t even known.

He stumbled back like the air had turned to fire, his legs moving before he could think.

The door slammed behind him as he pressed his back against it, chest rising and falling in erratic waves.

That’s why.

That’s why you’d been pulling away. Why you smiled like it hurt. Why you never said a word.

Because it did hurt.

And all this time, he’d been too blind to see it.

Tears stung his eyes, blurring the fluorescent lights of his office as he clenched his fists at his sides.

You had been burning alone. Crying alone.

And now that he knew—

There was still nothing he could do.

—•

He saw you.

It was late—close to midnight—when he stepped out of his car, bone-tired from another shift.

The streets were quiet, bathed in the soft yellow haze of flickering streetlamps.

And there you were.

Leaving your apartment, coat hastily thrown on, arms folded tightly around yourself like you were holding yourself together.

Zayne froze, half in the shadow of the trees lining the sidewalk.

He meant to call out. Your name was already on the tip of his tongue.

But then he saw your face.

Not just the weariness, but something sharper—something broken.

Sadness. Anger. Resignation.

And suddenly, he couldn’t speak.

Because he knew—

He knew it was because of him.

So he stayed silent.

Just watched.

He followed your steps with his eyes as you crossed the street, your pace slow, unsteady.

The city was quiet around you, but inside, you were a storm. He could see it. He felt it in the way your shoulders sank.

You disappeared into the dim glow of a small pub tucked between closed storefronts.

He didn’t go in.

He stood across the street, leaning against the hood of his car like a coward, watching through the window as you made your way to the bar.

Sluggish. Heavy.

He saw your hand signal the bartender. Saw the first drink vanish. Then the second. Then the third.

His chest tightened with every empty glass.

Because it was his fault.

He was the reason you were unraveling one drink at a time. The reason your mark burned red with his name while he bore someone else’s in black.

Then—

He saw him.

A stranger. Tall. Pale hair that glinted under the bar’s low lighting.

Zayne’s breath caught as he watched the man slide onto the stool beside you, say something with a smile, and slide across a piece of paper.

He saw your smile falter. Saw the pain flicker across your features like lightning.

Saw the way your body flinched, just barely, like a wound had been pressed too hard.

And Zayne saw it all.

Every agonizing detail.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t cross the street. Didn’t pull open the door.

He couldn’t.

Because what would he say?

What right did he have?

He stood there, paralyzed in the dark, watching you turn away from the man politely, watching you order another drink with trembling fingers.

And he hated himself more with every breath.

—•

Two days later, he stepped into your office.

The door clicked softly behind him, and for a moment, he simply stood there—watching you work, your shoulders tense, eyes tired in that way only he seemed to notice.

He cleared his throat gently. “Long day?”

His voice was calm, casual, as he placed a cup of coffee on your desk like it was just another routine between colleagues.

You looked up and offered him a smile—soft, warm, as if nothing had changed. As if nothing had shattered between you.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, fingers curling around the warmth of the cup.

It hurt.

Because he saw it now—what he’d missed before.

The subtle flinch when your skin brushed the sleeve of your sweater.

The split-second delay in your smile. The way you didn’t quite meet his eyes.

He swallowed. The words slipped out before he could stop them.

“I saw you out. Two nights ago.”

The air shifted.

You stilled for a fraction of a second, but didn’t look away.

He wished he hadn’t said it, but he couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t just worried. He was jealous.

His jaw tightened as he brought his coffee to his lips. “Were you drinking again?”

His voice cracked—just barely—but enough to betray him.

You blinked. Then turned your gaze to the window, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Just needed some air. That’s all.”

And then, as if your body hadn’t yet caught up with your lie, your fingers drifted down, brushing against your wrist—so faintly it would’ve gone unnoticed.

But he saw it.

He always saw you.

He opened his mouth, something sharp and aching rising in his throat.

But he bit it back.

The truth. The apology. The longing.

None of it would fix what fate had done.

So he stepped back.

“Don’t overwork yourself,” he said, turning on his heel before the tremble in his voice could betray him again.

And he walked away.

Because what else could he say?

When it was his name on your wrist.

And someone else’s on his.

—•

A week later, he stood motionless in his office, staring blankly at the floor.

Shaiya’s voice still echoed in his ears.

“She found her soulmate.”

His heart didn’t sink—it clenched. Like something inside him had braced for a blow and still wasn’t ready for the impact.

He didn’t believe it.

Not for a second.

Because he knew you.

Knew the kind of lies people told when they were trying to protect themselves from pain.

Before reason could stop him, his body had already moved. He found himself standing in front of your office again, just like he had so many times before—only now there was something different clinging to the air.

A desperation he couldn’t admit.

He wanted to shake you. To ask why.

Why you were doing this to yourself. To him.

Why you were pretending this didn’t hurt when everything in your eyes told him otherwise.

But he said none of that.

Instead, he knocked gently and stepped in.

You looked up at him, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe.

Because you smiled. Small. Warm.

As if nothing had changed.

As if it didn’t ache.

And that only made it worse.

“I heard from Shaiya,” he said, voice low, too even. “You found him?”

You nodded, the gesture soft, almost apologetic. “Yeah.”

His mouth parted slightly, like there was something he needed to say—but the words caught halfway.

“That’s… good,” he said finally. But the pause before the word good was a wound all on its own.

It hung in the air. Heavy.

And it wasn’t joy that colored his tone. Not even relief.

There was something else.

You blinked, startled by the hollowness of it. “Is everything okay?”

Zayne looked at you, long and quiet, his gaze searching your face like it held an answer to something he couldn’t name.

Then, slowly, the mask returned.

A neutral expression. The kind he wore in operating rooms. In grief.

“Yes,” he replied, forcing the edges of his mouth to lift. “I’m just… glad for you.”

But even you could hear it.

The tremor beneath the stillness. The way glad didn’t quite land.

Silence stretched.

Zayne looked away for a moment, then back—eyes flickering with something raw, something not yet buried deep enough.

And still—he said nothing.

Because what could he say, when it was his name on your skin—

And someone else’s story you were trying to live?

When Zayne stepped out of your office, his chest tight and throat dry, he nearly walked past him—

The man from the bar.

Tall, silver-haired, with that same calm presence that had unsettled him days ago.

This time, he stood waiting. Expecting him.

“I’m Sylus,” the man said coolly, offering nothing more than his name—because he knew it was enough.

Zayne stopped mid-stride.

His eyes widened for a brief second before narrowing into something colder. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white.

He remembered that night.

The flash of your pain. The way Sylus had leaned in, close but careful, like he knew exactly how much space to take.

Zayne’s jaw tightened.

“Take care of her,” he said, voice sharp but restrained. Controlled. Like a blade held at the throat but never pressed in.

Then he turned without waiting for a reply, shoulders stiff, the weight of what he couldn’t say trailing behind him like a shadow.

But if he had stayed just a second longer—

He would’ve seen it.

The slow, knowing smirk tugging at Sylus’s lips.

Not arrogant, not mocking—just assured.

A look that said he would.

And maybe even more than that—

That he already was.

—•

The hospital hallway was quiet at this hour—just the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the echo of distant footsteps.

Zayne stood alone in the on-call room, the door shut behind him, the walls far too close.

He leaned against the locker, head tipped back, eyes closed.

But the silence wasn’t peace.

It was suffocating.

She found someone.

She said she found her soulmate.

The words circled in his mind like vultures, tearing into the edges of his restraint.

He clenched his fists, breathing slow—too slow, like he was trying to stay afloat in his own chest.

Sylus.

The name had weight now. It wasn’t just a stranger from the bar anymore—it was someone you had chosen. Someone who made you smile, even through the ache.

Someone who could stand beside you without carrying the guilt Zayne did.

His hand lifted without thinking, pressing to his chest like he could calm the sharp, twisting ache there.

He didn’t understand it.

Why did the mark choose Shaiya?

Why not her?

Why not you?

Because if the universe had any sense of justice, it would’ve branded your name into his skin.

Not someone else’s.

Not someone he had to learn to care about.

Not someone who wasn’t you.

Zayne sank onto the bench, elbows on his knees, fingers tangled in his hair.

His shoulders hunched in on himself, like the weight of everything was finally catching up.