#the phantom x reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

willows-escape · 1 month

Text

Carpe Diem - Musical!Erik x Reader

Pairing: Musical!Erik x Fem!Reader

Summary: You'd received possibly the worst news a high status woman could receive in their entire life time, and you had only one thought and one goal in mind. Erik had a different one.

Warnings: angst, forced marriage, a lot of crying, jealousy, uninformed consent (?), almost getting caught, oral (f and m receiving), finger sucking, vaginal fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, crying during sex, forced mask reveal, mentions of murder, gaslighting, manipulation, kidnapping

Words: 9570

Notes: sorry this took so long, coursework's a pain in the ass and i've written and deleted what i've wanted to write so many times. i've written seven different stories at this point and rewritten them each at least three times. i decided to pull back all the complexity of what i was originally going for and ending up with this thing.

i tried to make the phantom more submissive because i know people wanted to read that but musical!erik just doesn't feel submissive to me, at least not in this kind of scenario. he's just too much of a control freak i feel and i think he would become more of a switch later into a relationship when he grows comfortable.

hopefully i don't take so long to write my next thing in future, and i pray i continue to improve in my writing skills lol.

You were in flight, your heart pounding a thunderous rhythm in your chest, matching the frenzied drumming of your feet against the opera house's ancient wooden floors. Every sinew in your body screamed in protest, yet you willed yourself to run faster, harder. The adrenaline coursing through your veins drowned out all thought, all reason, save for one - you have to get to the rooftop.

Your relentless fate was stealthily stalking you, icy tendrils of fear unfurling down your spine, as you envisioned the pitiless roots of destiny relentlessly chasing you, eager to entangle you within their remorseless clutches. The letter you gripped in your trembling hand was the harbinger of your impending doom, a chilling memento of the ominous vow you had once made.

As you turned the corner, your heart pounded in your chest as you darted up the flight of stairs towards the clandestine meeting point. The anticipation hung heavy in the air, matching the dusky sky's ethereal haze. As nightfall descended, it signalled the time when both of you could shed your public facades and bask in the tranquillity of each other's presence, shrouded in shadows and secrecy.

Every muscle in your thighs and calves screamed in protest, pleading for mercy as you drove yourself onward. You forced yourself through each step. As you pushed through the final barrier, the rooftop door swung open, revealing your destination. A gust of crisp, cold air met your face, a shocking contrast against the sweltering heat of your exertion. The sudden chill cut through the stifling humidity clinging to your skin, offering a brief, but sweet, respite.

"Erik? Erik, where are you?" you called out aimlessly, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

The tension of anticipation didn't linger long. Soon, the haunting familiarity of the black suit and porcelain mask punctuated your line of sight. A smile, so ignorant and blissful, graced his hidden face, while your own mirrored nothing but distress. As your eyes met, his smile faltered and a sense of panic ignited within his gaze.

"Has somebody hurt you?" The first conclusion came tumbling out of his lips as he rushed to stand in front of you, hands reaching out to caress your arms.

An onslaught of feelings of safety and security besieged you. The caress of his gentle touch, his sugar-coated words, and the purity of his love stood stark against the frigid future looming ahead - ice-cold eyes, indifferent touch, and a home that was nothing more than an glorified prison. Your vision blurred, as if submerged underwater, with briny tears carving trails down your icy cheeks. Your body convulsed with splutters and coughs, surrendering to the raw unravelling of your emotions.

"My dear, please, who did this to you?" His voice wavered, desperation tinging his plea. "I can't bare to see you like this," he confessed, his heart aching to draw you into his arms, to cocoon you in a protective embrace. Yet, his hands twitched with uncertainty, unaccustomed to offering unbidden comfort and tormented by the fear of making the wrong choice.

Struggling, you gasped for the words that seemed to evade your grasp. Finally, in a pitiful whimper, you managed to choke out the truth, "My father. It's my father."

"He has hurt you?" His words, taut with restrained fury, barely managed to mask the cataclysmic rage broiling within his core. His eyes flamed with the intensity of a thousand suns, pledging an unspoken oath that he would move heavens and earth to guard you from any harm. He would not let this happen again, his earlier leniency was a mistake he wouldn't repeat.

"No... well, yes, sort of," you stammered, every word a struggle as tears choked your speech. Your sentences, muddled and hardly coherent, tumbled out in a rush. He stood there, a silent pillar of patience amidst your storm. "The curtain had just fallen on tonight's performance, when Madame Giry found me, said someone had come to the Opera Populaire with a letter for me. I ventured backstage, and – and –”

"Take your time," he reassured you, trying to keep his tone soft and soothing when he was feeling anything but that.

"My father," you began, your voice trembling slightly, "He sent this to me," you raised your arm, presenting him with the damning parchment that bore the news, "It declares that I have a single week to make my return... and to dutifully submit to his wishes, to bind myself in marriage to a man he's handpicked for me.”

As the words tore from your lips, a deluge of sobs overpowered you, shattering your composure into fragments. You crumpled onto the frigid concrete, your body convulsing with the ferocity of your wails, echoing the raw torment festering within.

"He has already decided my fate, to wed me to Alexander Beaumont, heir to one of the wealthiest fortunes in Paris. But, Erik, I cannot bear the thought! I'd choose the most excruciating demise before even contemplating marrying him!" Your tears began to mingle with your snot, humiliation gnawing your insides, knowing he was bearing witness to your disarray. Yet, you were powerless to stop it, and no amount of snivelling could quell the impending sense of doom building within you.

Erik was consumed by a fury so intense, it was a blinding white light in his mind. Thousands of brutal scenarios played out in rapid succession, each a unique way he could annihilate the man who dared to pull you away from him. The man who had reduced you to nothing more than a pawn, a puppet to be used in his ruthless climb up the social ladder.

"I've met him before, his gaze piercing through me, speaking of me as though I were a mere fly on the wall... If I were to wed him, I'd be reduced to nothing more than a trophy wife, imprisoned within the confines of a household, expected to bear children annually until nature robs me of the ability," you choked out between sobs, bitterly recalling his elaborate discourse to your father about his archaic aspirations for a wife, a die-hard traditionalist to his core.

"The Opera Populaire, an impossibility now. My friends, forever out of reach. And you... you, I shall never feast my eyes upon again." The tears assaulted you, battering you with the unrelenting force of a tempest as the brutal reality bore down, each tick of the clock amplifying the sting of truth.

"Then don't go," he uttered, his words masquerading as a suggestion, yet ringing with the commanding tone of a demand, "Don't return home, do not bend to your father's will. There's always another escape, always."

"Oh, Erik," your voice broke, anguish seeping into each syllable, "I can't." A hard lump constricted your throat, the bitter reality of your predicament sinking in. "My father...he wields power, he has influence. If I dare not return, all of Paris would be hunting me down, a bounty on my head. I'm cornered, Erik. I'm left with no other choice."

Before he could utter another syllable, you swiftly eradicated the residue that had amassed on your skin and surged to your feet. Your eyes were ablaze with a bloodshot hue, stray teardrops stubbornly tracing a path down your face. Yet, an unyielding determination was etched across your features. You yearned for one final moment, one last poignant memory before the unavoidable reality of leaving him forever would consume you.

"Take me," you urged in a hushed plea, your gaze ensnaring him with such profound intensity that he was left with no room to misconstrue your meaning. Your purpose was undeniable, and it struck him into stillness. "Please, I beg you, do not deny me this final experience, this closing moment of exhilaration. For I am to be condemned.”

Your fragility was palpable, an image of vulnerability and innocence that made the idea of your bodies entwining, your souls merging into one, nearly impossible to suppress. Erik was gripped by a relentless thought; this encounter wouldn't be your last. A scheme was rapidly taking shape in his mind, a bold plan that he was awaiting the opportunity to enact. Yet, beneath it all, he was merely a mortal, how could he resist such a sweet opportunity laid before him?

As though your initial plea wasn't potent enough, you read his silence as a stark rejection. With a desperate urgency, you persisted, "I must experience what it means to unite with someone who harbours a profound love for me, and whom I equally adore, before time steals this chance forever. This is my final request of you, please, grant me this.”

Every trace of Erik's reservations - his mask, his insecurities, his lack of experience - evaporated in an instant. His entire being was consumed by the sight of your pleading eyes and enticing lips, desperately imploring him to make love to you. The intensity of your need, your last request born out of the fear of never seeing him again, ignited a scorching fire in his abdomen. His slacks tightened unbearably as his body responded to the raw desire coursing through him.

He didn't respond with words. Instead, his body lunged forward, crashing against yours, his lips desperately colliding with yours in an intoxicating, chaotic ballet. It was flawlessly imperfect, devoid of rhythm or pattern, yet it echoed the sheer intensity of your shared lust and fervour. A surge of electricity coursed through your veins, your skin prickling, your stomach churning with a heady mix of anxiety and exhilaration as you passionately kissed him.

Small, desperate gasps and whimpers escaped your trembling lips as they urgently sought his, the icy chill of Paris causing a cascade of goosebumps to erupt across your skin. You clung to him with a ferocity born of pure, raw fear, as if you were precariously perched on the brink of an abyss and he was the only tether keeping you from plummeting into the void. He was your sole anchor in a sea of chaos, the only force keeping you alive.

The searing heat of your skin beneath his fingertips sent his mind spiralling, the sensation of you - so soft, so yielding under his hands, a staggering, unfamiliar experience. He could feel the rhythmic surge and ebb of your chest, your breath, a hot whisper against his face as your lips clashed and fused, time and time again - he was certain he could feel the pulsating rhythm of your veins as your blood roared through your body. So vivid, so fiercely alive.

Inescapably, the mask had turned into an intolerable burden. Each movement caused it to ruthlessly scrape against your skin, the epidermis painfully inflamed and raw. With a heavy sense of reluctance, you retreated, your eyes slowly fluttering open to behold the breath taking spectacle of your angel, gasping for air, his eyes wide and darkened with intensity.

"My love," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers nervously fiddling with the lapels of his coat. "I know this is a significant request..." The tension hung heavy in the air between you two. "But, would you consider... removing your mask?" Your heart pounded in your chest as you dared to meet his eyes. "It's been catching on my skin, and it's starting to hurt. If it's too much, I understand! We can find another way. It's just that... I yearn to see all of you, unobstructed."

His expression shifted to one of grave solemnity. Deep within, he had known this moment would arrive, yet he had clung to the hope that it would be delayed, that he could savour more of you and this opportunity before you were cruelly torn from his grasp. Now, his countenance was a spectacle of terror, a sight so horrific that he was certain it would repel you instantly, forever severing any connection you could have had. It was this dread, this fear of losing you, that compelled him to deny your request.

"No," he declared, his voice cold and final, making it clear he had no intention of prolonging this conversation any further.

A lump formed in your throat, a silent reflection of the tension in the air. His features were chiselled, hardened as if sculpted by an unseen force. His eyes, unyielding and intense, bore into you, commanding silence without uttering a single word. You were far from foolish, aware that any protest would shatter the brittle tranquillity of the moment. Respecting his unspoken plea, you held your tongue, allowing the silence to envelop the space between you.

You plunged back into the fervour of your previous kisses, this time contorting awkwardly to keep your face clear of the cold, threatening porcelain weapon. With each passing moment, you fought to maintain the connection, a bizarre dance with a man whose full face you'd never seen. A wave of filth washed over you, a creeping sense you should be drowning in shame, but you found no room for such feelings. Not when his touch set your skin ablaze with desire.

His hands settled on the small of your back, gently rubbing above the fabric of your dress. You naturally moved closer, your soft chest against his solid one. Your hands wandered, touching every part of him within reach.

"Is this what you call a lovers outing, Piangi? It's cold and dirty!" The piercing voice of the renowned prima donna erupted from the rooftop entrance, slicing through the silence. You and Erik froze.

"Ah, forgive me, my love," replied her lover, his familiar Italian accent flooding through his words. His voice sounded awkward and dejected. One could almost imagine his look of shame, realizing his romantic gesture wasn't appreciated. "I wanted to look at the stars with you, but if that's not what you desire-"

"Forget it," Carlotta spat out. The echo of footsteps approaching sent jolts of panic through your veins, your heart hammering against your ribcage. Erik, however, remained calm amongst the chaos. His fingers laced through yours, pulling you urgently towards the shadowed sanctuary of the rooftop's far corner.

"If you get too cold, dear, I have my coat with me. Just say the word and I will give it to you," Piangi spoke, his voice straining with the effort to pierce through Carlotta's gloom.

As their voices clashed in petty discord, a sudden blast of searing air prickled the nape of your neck. Goosebumps erupted across your skin, your hair bristling on end. A whispered command, laced with urgency, pierced the tension, "Stay behind me and follow. Make no noise. Not even a whisper."

With a sense of increasing trepidation, you gave a tense nod. You watched, breath held, as Erik emerged from your concealed sanctuary, prowling the expanse of the rooftop with a predator's stealth. He would intermittently halt, shielding himself within various makeshift hideaways. You hastened to mirror his movements, until at last, you found yourself inside the familiar confines of the opera house. His hand ensnared yours, his grip firm yet comforting, as he urged you onwards into the unknown.

It didn't take long before he ceased his steps, drawn like a magnet to the first mirror you encountered. His grip on your hand slackened for a fleeting moment, his fingers dancing over the wall in a cryptic rhythm. There was a tense hush, then the sharp click echoed in the silence, and the mirror slid back with a menacing grace to unveil a hidden passageway.

"What on earth?" you whispered, a tremor in your voice as you gazed upon the hole in the wall where once a mirror was.

Erik wheeled around abruptly, a sense of urgency flickering in his eyes as he extended his hand to you. You paused, uncertainty clouding your features, "Where does this passageway lead? Where are you taking me?"

"Trust me," he implored, his voice barely a whisper, yet carrying an undertone of desperation.

You swallowed, your throat tight with a mix of fear and anticipation. The situation and context around it weighed heavily on your mind, a potent cocktail of potential consequences swirling before you. The silence was deafening as you deliberated, the seconds stretching into what felt like an eternity. Then, with a deep, steadying breath, you extended a trembling hand towards him, a silent acquiescence. You nodded, a solemn gesture of trust, surrendering your fate into his hands.

He responded with a nod of his own, guiding you towards the opening. The entrance was inconveniently elevated from the ground - not to an extreme where a leap was required - but enough to pose a considerable risk. With a firm grip, he assisted you as you stepped inside, ensuring the voluminous folds of your dress evaded entanglement. He trailed in your wake, the air heavy with anticipation.

With a precise touch, he activated a concealed point on the wall, causing the mirror to slide back into normalcy. The echo of silence descended, the only sound being the synchronization of your breaths reverberating through the confined passageway. A whirlwind of questions swirled in your mind, each one violently dismissed as the realisation of your shared purpose gripped you. Of what you were coming down here to do.

He steered you through a maze of bewildering turns, his whispers of caution echoing in the cold, damp air. His grip on your hand was constant, a lifeline in the suffocating darkness. His familiarity with the convoluted tunnels was unsettling, and a chilling worry gnawed at you, as you wondered what hidden dangers made him tread with such measured care.

Soon you were greeted by a lake, its misty greens and blues shimmering so bright it twinkled like glitter. The view was mesmerising, the many candles scattered around lending the stone walls a glorious golden glow that took your breath away. It was unlike anything you’d ever seen before, the foliage blending together beautifully as it decorated the walls. You gasped.

He guided you towards a gondola which was tethered to a stout wooden stake driven deep into the ground. With a steadying hand, he aided your entrance into the vessel, ensuring your balance as you nestled into the boat's hollow core. Following your lead, he stepped in with calculated caution, his grip closing around a weathered paddle, poised at the ready to commence the strenuous task of rowing.

"What is this place?" You asked, ogling at the scenery around you.

"My home, my hiding place, the Phantom's lair, the sewers under the opera house..." he drawled off, beginning to row, "whichever one you wish to call it. All apply."

"You live down here?" You questioned, your brow furrowed as the icy air bit harshly at your exposed skin. The beauty of the place was undeniable, yet it held a chilling solitude that whispered of profound isolation, making it a daunting place to inhabit.

"Since I was a young boy," he spoke as if the words that spilled from his lips held no weight.

You couldn't shake the thought that something terrifying lurked beneath the mask. He had warned you, but you'd never considered how truly terrible it could be until now. Your eyebrows shot up, eyes dilating as your mind spun wildly with grotesque possibilities. What could be so monstrous about his visage that he was compelled to conceal it in the depths of a dank cellar?

Clearly, you had no intention of broaching the topic; it would undoubtedly ruin your plans for the evening. Yet, as the journey unfolded, you became lost in a whirlwind of contemplation, feverishly imagining the concealed face beneath the mask. Your affection was unwavering, regardless of how horrific his face was you'd feel the same way, but the mystery added an exhilarating layer of intrigue that consumed you.

Within mere minutes of fervent rowing, the silhouette of land loomed ahead, jolting you from your daze back into reality. You remained in the confines of the boat as Erik disembarked with calculated precision. He secured the boat with a swift, practiced motion, restoring the paddle to its rightful place. Then, he pivoted towards you, his hand outstretched in an offer of assistance, his eyes locked onto yours.

You smiled graciously, accepting his helping hand as you stepped out of the boat. You were enchanted, looking around at his home and how it was decorated. It was beyond your wildest imagination, intriguing and enigmatic, labyrinthine and gothic.

You were struck by the vast arrangement of candles. They casted a dim, dancing light which bathed the walls in an ethereal glow, casting long, eerie shadows on the dank stone. There was a majestic, ornate pipe organ, and a big mirror off to the side. All the way in the farthest corner, you spotted a bed, grand and draped in heavy, dark fabrics. You were in awe.

Erik did not give you long to stand and stare, as he was quick to pull you in the direction of where his bed resided. After a long, unfamiliar journey, you found yourself standing at your ultimate destination.

Anxiety, like a shadowy predator, stalked and then launched itself upon you, its claws sinking deep into your psyche. Your blood surged in a torrent, your heart hammered an urgent rhythm against your ribs, and your palms became slick with cold sweat as the full weight of your hasty agreement descended upon you.

"Now, it's my turn to pose the question," Erik initiated, his every footstep purposefully resonating tension as he incrementally diminished the space between you both. Your eyes, wide and alert, mirrored the mounting suspense. "Will you do this with me? Allow us to feel each other, become one, before you are to leave and never return?"

Tears welled threateningly in your eyes, a bitter reminder to the tortuous ordeal that loomed above. A personal hell was waiting, embodied in the stony indifference of your father and the pitiless gaze of your suitor. Discarding caution and fear, you hurled yourself against him with the force of a dead weight. In the face of despair, your inner flame roared back to life, desperation clawing its way to the surface once more.

His arms coiled around you with an intensity that left your breath hitched, his lips fiercely claiming yours. With a sudden, swift motion, he hoisted you into the air, your legs automatically snaking around his waist in response. He gently, yet assertively, laid you upon the cool sheets of the bed. He loomed over you. He began to crawl atop, compelling your legs to part in silent compliance. A gasp of anticipation escaped your lips, swallowed by his own, as you felt the weight of him gradually descend upon you.

As you kissed, the inadvertent brush of his crotch against your core sent a jolt through you, driving your senses into a wild frenzy. The searing heat from his arousal, even through the barrier of his trousers, was palpable, each pulsating throb a teasing promise of what was to come. Your breath hitched, heart pounding in your chest, as saliva-slick tongues ventured into uncharted territories, escalating the tension that hung in the air.

Driven by instinct, Erik's hands made a beeline for your sleeves, yanking with an insatiable restlessness, a silent plea for their removal. You countered his advances, pushing him back, a giggle escaping you at his stubborn demeanour. Undeterred, his lips sought new territory, latching onto the sensitive expanse of your neck, peppering kisses and grazing his teeth in a seductive dance that sent shivers down your spine.

Erik's movements against your aching core grew in intensity as he realised what he was brushing against, threatening to silence you completely. Yet, if he truly desired your uninhibited vulnerability, he needed to grant you the space to shed every layer.

"Erik," you tried to infuse your voice with authority, but it faltered, punctuated by your ragged sighs and helpless whimpers, "I'm laced into a corset, it needs to come off. Release me."

He moved with urgency, moving away from your form and allowing the space for you to rise, your knees pressing into the solid mattress. With a focused precision, you began to unbutton your dress, the fabric gliding over your head with a practiced ease, your focus fully enveloped in the task at hand. So engrossed were you, you failed to notice the predatory way his gaze drank in the sight of your bared skin, or the noticeable gulp that resonated from his throat as more and more of you unfolded before his eager eyes.

Your fingers trembled, struggling against the stubborn knot that held the ties of your undergarments in a vice-like grip. It was a battle you were unaccustomed to, always having the help of someone else to aid you with your corset. Your difficulty was palpable, a silent cry for assistance. Lifting your gaze to Erik, your eyes were wide, desperate pools of plea.

"Would you... could you, do the honours?" you asked through gritted teeth, your fingers clawing fruitlessly at the defiant knot, the bulge in the string a mocking testament to the maid's overly-zealous efforts.

In a silent affirmation, he nodded his head, his hand reaching out with an unspoken authority to rotate your form, granting him unimpeded access to your corset. You felt your undergarments grow increasingly wet under his firm handling, a damp patch steadily spreading across the fabric in response to your mounting anticipation. Heat suffused your cheeks, each accidental graze of his fingers against your back as he navigated the complexities of the female attire sending a shocks of tension through your body.

After an intense struggle, he conquered the knot, crafted by your maid's expert hands. But victory left him bewildered.

"Now that it's undone, what's the next step?" His gaze bore into the corset's lacings, a new challenge awaiting him.

With a chuckle rippling through the tension, you interjected, "Allow me." Swiftly, you unhooked the busk at the front, stripping the garment from your form. It cascaded to the floor, disappearing from view.

Bare and unshielded, your form was revealed from the hips upward, only your undergarments veiling what remained. There you were, a portrait of vulnerability, kneeling in anticipation yet turned away, placing a blind faith in him, trusting his unspoken intentions.

His hands seized your hips with an assertive grip, drawing you into his sphere, letting you tumble back onto the mattress as you laid facing him. Your breasts bounded with the abrupt motion, your soft contours and supple skin devoured by his relentless gaze. He studied every detail, every curve and secret of your figure, etching them into his memory.

"You might find this... somewhat audacious," you stammered, your gaze darting around the room, evading his intense stare, "But I've come across something in a book. And I have this... this urge to experience it."

Erik seemed to snap out of a daze, his brows furrowing in curiosity. "And what might that be?" he asked.

You dropped your gaze, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you attempted to muster the courage to voice your desires. "Are you familiar with... cunnilingus?"

A silence fell over the room. Erik appeared shell-shocked, his lips parting but no sound escaping as he tried to comprehend the salacious request that had just spilled from your lips. His experiences with carnal pleasures were extensive, more so after meeting you- he'd spent countless nights engrossed in books filled with varying degrees of erotica. He'd envisioned you and him as the characters, and his fantasies of caressing, embracing, and making passionate love to you had kept him awake many a night.

"Briefly, why?" He asked, his voice steady but his façade barely concealing the turmoil within.

"I want... I want you to do that to me," you managed to utter, swallowing down the embarrassment that threatened to choke you. "My betrothed, he... he wouldn't. I need to know, just once, what it feels like."

A dark shadow passed over his face at your words, the mention of the man you were intended to wed igniting something within him. His lips met your skin with a ferocity that stole your breath away. His body was pressed against yours, a desperate attempt to meld into one, to erase the space that separated you. His kisses trailed a scorching path from your neck downwards, each mark he left with his teeth due to the simmering anger that consumed him.

His hot breath teased against your core, creating a whirl of anticipation that caused your legs to twitch restlessly, your back to curl off the bed. An tingling sensation flowed from your core to the tips of your legs, prompting your thighs to instinctively tighten. He exerted his dominance, forcibly parting your legs to the sides, his chest pulsating with a primal pride as he observed the clear signs of arousal staining your underwear. The thin fabric did nothing to veil your desire for him.

His lips embarked on a deliberate exploration around your intimate area, strategically withholding the direct contact you craved, fueling a desperate need within you. He relished in your quiet pleas, in your desperation for him, for his touch. He wanted to hear it again - your voice, filled with longing, confessing your need for him, your love for him.

A few teasing kisses and feather-light licks over the fabric of your underwear were enough to reduce you to a state of complete disarray. Your head thrown back, lips parted in a silent plea, you begged, "Please, God, please."

He was relentless, persisting in his torturously slow pace and feather-light touches. He was prepared to play this drawn-out game; after all, he'd been fantasizing about moments like this since the dawn of his adolescence. He could wait an eternity if needed.

By the time he finally conceded, you were a whirlwind of emotion, eyes squeezed shut, body writhing as you grappled with an overwhelming sense of embarrassment, struggling to voice your feelings. You appeared as if you had been plucked straight out of a painting, your body seemingly sculpted by celestial forces, the ethereal glow on your skin from your sweat rendering you nothing short of angelic.

His fingers danced along the delicate straps of your underwear, tracing the curve of your hips as he meticulously slid them down your legs. Your underwear was discarded with an impatient kick. He admired how your lips glistened with your wetness, eyes wide and mouth agape as he inspected your parts. His cock felt like it was suffocating in it's tight confinement, begging to be released. He subconsciously rubbed himself against his quilt, hips driving him harder and harder into the fabric.

He didn't allow himself to spend an excessive amount of time simply staring, his fingers gingerly parting the folds of your intimate area as he gradually moved ever closer to the spot where you craved his touch the most. His tongue hesitantly emerged, like a tentative explorer venturing into uncharted territory, testing the waters as he gradually grew accustomed to your unique taste. It was an intoxicating, addictive flavour that he found himself drawn to, your evident arousal dissolving on his tongue like the sweetest candy. As he became more familiar with your body's reactions, his actions started to grow decidedly bolder, his initial cautiousness melting away.

The smooth, cold porcelain of the mask, right where his nose should have been, made direct contact with a particular spot on your body. It was a spot so sensitive, so responsive to his touch, that it turned you into a trembling, moaning mess. Each touch was like heaven, each movement a wave of pleasure that washed over you. It was a sensation you had never experienced before, and it left you weak, gasping for breath.

He pushed himself further into you, his movements becoming more desperate, more needy. His tongue, warm and insistent, ventured into every hidden corner it could find. It was as though he was trying to memorize you, to imprint the taste of you onto his very soul. He was consuming you, devouring you in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

The side of his face that wasn't hidden behind the mask was growing wetter with each passing moment. Each new wave of your arousal either swallowed by him or adding to the wet mess on his face. His eyes, dark and intense, never left your face, watching your every reaction, feeding off your pleasure.

With each passing moment, you found yourself teetering on the edge of exquisite pleasure, its intensity growing with a fervour that rendered you breathless. As cries of delight spilled from your lips, your fingers curled into the fabric of his bedsheets, clutching them with a strength that threatened to rip them to shreds. Now that you had experienced such ecstasy, you were unsure how you’d ever live without it again.

The pressure swelled within the depths of your abdomen, escalating dangerously as your eyes lost focus, surrendering willingly to Erik's touch. The burgeoning tension coiled within you like a heated serpent, until it could no longer be contained, compelling it to uncoil and release the pent-up passion that had been simmering within. Everything let go.

Erik's lips found your most sensitive spot again, sucking on it gently, coaxing a symphony of soft whimpers and quivering gasps from deep within your throat.

The intense sensations that flooded your body soon became far too much and left you with no other option but to gently, albeit reluctantly, push him away from your soaked cunt. His visible cheek and chin bore the shiny evidence of your pleasure, an erotic testament to the intimacy that had just transpired. His lips, swollen and red, were slightly parted as he laboured to catch his breath, the aftermath of your intense encounter leaving him just as breathless as you were.

He planted a single kiss on your thigh before he rose, drinking in the sinful sight of you lying beneath him. Your chest heaved, and the intimate area between your thighs was slick with a mixture of saliva and arousal, a mess he alone was responsible for. He was in disbelief at the sight before him - a woman who had pleaded for his touch, who had permitted him to venture into territory he was not meant to traverse.

You felt utterly winded, struggling to regain your breath as your mind remained in a dense fog. As you sat up, the ringing sensation of blood rushing in your ears was almost deafening. You gave him a once-over and let out a weary pout.

“Why am I naked and you are still dressed head to toe?” you playfully whined, clumsily rising up to fiddle with the buttons of his dress shirt.

A wave of panic washed over him. While a less sensitive subject than the removal of his mask, he was still hesitant about the concept of somebody seeing him disrobed. His hand swiftly intercepted yours, worried eyes looking directly into yours.

“We don’t have to do this,” you reminded him, “Removing clothes is quite necessary to engage in intercourse, so if that’s off the table, that is fine and we do not have to go any further.”

The looming threat of your sexual endeavours coming to a halt was so disconcerting that it pushed his fear of being seen nude into a corner of his mind. If you managed to bare all in front of him, then surely, he should be able to do the same. No horrifying disfigurement marred his body, save for a few scars and marks, which offered him a semblance of comfort amid his anxiety. Yet, it felt so extraordinarily odd - prior to you, people avoided him, disdaining him as a bizarre outcast to either laugh at or run away from. But you, you wanted to see him. You saw him.

With his consent, you delicately unfastened the buttons of his shirt, your fingers tracing the contours of his body as you gently slid it off along with his coat. The anticipation heightened as you unbuttoned his trousers, a sense of awe overtaking you as you noticed the visible sign of his desire pressing against the fabric of his underwear. With a slow, tantalizing motion, you slid his slacks down, pooling them around his ankles, leaving him to step out of them. The sight of him in such a state had your mouth watering, the subtle twitching under the thin fabric not going unnoticed. You glanced up, your eyes silently asking for permission before you proceeded to remove his last piece of clothing.

He was perfect - not too intimidating, yet not too modest. A balance that promised pleasure without the prospect of discomfort. A smile graced your lips as your hands were drawn to him, appreciating the prominent veins that adorned his underside and the swollen tip that seemed to crave the soothing touch of your lips. You didn’t have a second thought before you ducked down to take him into your mouth.

The moment that his length was enveloped by the soft, velvety embrace of your mouth, he felt an explosive sensation, as if he might shatter. The intoxicating blend of your warmth and the slippery wetness was an overwhelming sensory overload, causing his eyes to flutter closed as he savoured the sensation in its entirety. His low, primal groans amplified into a resonant hum of pleasure as you explored his length, your tender hand caressing the parts your lips had yet to discover.

You surfaced for air, drawing in a deep breath before giving him a seductive smile. Your hand continued to stroke him, maintaining the rhythm you'd established, "Have you heard of this one too? It's called fellatio. I've heard from men that it feels quite pleasurable, so I wanted to give it a try."

His brows knitted together in confusion and a hint of possessiveness, "Who's been talking to you about things like this?" he hissed, his fingers entangling in the roots of your hair. He didn't tug or pull, but simply let his hand rest there, grounding himself in the sensation of your touch.

“No one, I just overhear a lot,” you winked, a playful glint in your eyes.

Finding yourself drawn back to your prior task, you returned your mouth to its position, delicately licking around the sides and base of his manhood with a renewed vigour. You made a point to explore every contour, every ridge, leaving no part untouched by your careful ministrations. As you took him into your mouth once more, you hollowed your cheeks, creating a tight, welcoming space that made him gasp. You allowed your tongue to wander, tracing the map of protruding veins that decorated his length, making him shiver at your touch. You took your time, adjusting slowly but surely to accommodate his length.

Over time, you found a rhythm that was as steady as it was sensual, each movement drawing forth intoxicating sounds of pleasure from your lover. Your hand was rendered unnecessary, forgotten at your side as your face pressed closer, your nose brushing against the heat of his skin. The taste of him, the intimacy of the act, left you breathless, saliva slipping past your lips. The symphony of his escalating moans and guttural grunts echoed in your ears, signifying the mounting pleasure coursing through him.

Erik was teetering on the edge, every fibre of his being screaming for release. Time had lost all meaning; all he knew was the burning desire to break down your defences and claim you as his own. He tugged urgently at your hair, a silent plea for you to relinquish him from your mouth. His ego soared at the sight of your ravenous gaze and ragged breathing. Sweat was pooling uncomfortably beneath his mask, creating a stifling heat that was nearly unbearable. Yet, he would not — could not — remove it. For your love, he would endure any torment.

With a gentle persuasion, he coaxed you onto the plush solace of the bed, a wordless request to which you surrendered willingly. His fingers, rough yet tender in touch, traced the shape of your lips. You accepted them eagerly, lavishing them with a soft suckle until he withdrew them. Setting off on a slow, teasing journey, his fingers embarked on a path that danced across your lips, before descending the length of your neck. His touch was electrifying, a trail of shivers marking their progress.

His fingers continued their southern movement, drawn to the inviting warmth of your most intimate area. As he approached your yearning core, your breath hitched, a silent supplication mirrored in your eyes as you awaited his touch. He relished the anticipation, playfully circling the edge before carefully penetrating you with one of his fingers. The sensation of being filled by him was intoxicating, your eyes fluttering in sheer overwhelm as he moved in a rhythm that was leisurely and gentle. Every part of your being was tuned to his touch, each motion sending ripples of pleasure cascading through your body.

"Erik," you moaned, unaware of how you just moaning his name made his arms feel like jelly. He pushed through, eager to please and show you how good he could make you feel.

He cautiously inserted another finger, gradually stretching you out around his digits. He was utterly enchanted by the soft, plush feel of your walls, which seemed to welcome him in their embrace. He explored you curiously, his fingers gently probing, reaching deeper and deeper inside of you. It was like he was charting a course through a previously unexplored territory, each new discovery making him yearn for more.

The sounds that escaped your lips - cries of pleasure, of anticipation, of need - were music to his ears. The way your body responded to his touch, the way your breath hitched every time he moved, the way your fingers clung to him - everything about you made him feel weak with desire.

He didn't keep his fingers at work for very long, just enough time to make sure that you were adequately warmed up, ready for what would come next. With a simple gesture, he signalled for you to move further up the bed. He wanted to make sure you were comfortable, so he guided you to position your head against the plush softness of the pillows that lay strewn at the head of the bed.

His gaze was fixed on you, watching intently as you took the next step. Without needing any words, you communicated your agreement to what was about to unfold. You spat into your hand, a simple but intimate act, sitting up before carefully spreading the moisture over his length.

You allowed yourself to lay back down, your body welcoming the coolness of the sheets beneath you. Erik carefully positioned himself at your sopping wet entrance; his eyes, filled with a mix of anticipation and desire, locked onto yours as he began to push against you. You could feel his bulbous tip as it slowly pushed past your entrance, a sensation so new and unfamiliar that you couldn't help but squeal, your body jolting in response to the sudden intrusion. Erik's mouth hung open in a silent gasp, his breath hitching in his throat as he felt the first part of him slide inside you.

With a slow, cautious movement, he pressed forward further, sinking into you bit by bit, deeper and deeper until he was fully nestled within your warmth. Every inch of him was surrounded by you, his breath hitching once more as he adjusted to the velvety sensation.

For you, it was a fervent blaze, a primal burn that seared through every nerve. His manhood was a stark contrast to his previously tender touch, an unmerciful comparison that seemed impossible to reconcile. A soft whimper of pain broke free, a silent begging for him to pause his movements and allow your body to accommodate his invasion.

You lingered in the throes of this discomfort, each second diluting the initial shock and morphing it into a thrilling wave of bliss. It was a leisurely metamorphosis, a sultry dance between pain and pleasure, until all that was left was pure, unadulterated desire that left you gasping for air and craving more.

Once your body had succumbed to this new sensation, you gave him a silent nod of approval, a signal that he could resume. Erik let out a breath he seemed to have been holding, and his initial gentleness gave way to a carnal rhythm, each slow, deliberate thrust sending ripples of ecstasy that cascaded through your very being.

“So this is what it feels like,” you chuckled, less talking to Erik and more so thinking out loud.

Erik was so utterly focused on you and the indescribable sensations your body was offering him that he found himself unable to formulate an appropriate response. He was completely entranced by the way your intimate area, slick with your abundant arousal, enveloped him so thoroughly. He was lost in the feeling of you, engaged in an internal struggle between wanting to see the expressions of pure pleasure that danced across your face, or to look down and observe the erotic sight of his own manhood disappearing again and again into your inviting warmth.

He draped himself over you, his form a sanctuary, shielding you from the world beyond. His face nestled in the junction of your neck and shoulder, an alcove where he could inhale your scent. The cool porcelain of his mask contrasted with your heated skin, tempering the dew of perspiration that glossed your body. Underneath the mask, he endured the humid confinement - a necessary sacrifice for the exquisite torment he was bestowing upon you. Each powerful thrust sent ripples of ecstasy through you, rendering you breathless and dizzy with delight. The potent heat was all-encompassing, filling your consciousness with nothing but unadulterated, exquisite pleasure.

"I love you," you breathed out in a whisper, your voice dripping with desire. Each word was punctuated by a soft moan, the sound of it causing shivers to cascade down his spine, your hot breath against his ear igniting a fire within him.

As if his struggles weren't already overwhelming enough, your words seemed to only add more fuel to the already blazing fire within him. It was as though every syllable you uttered stoked the flames, pushing him further into a realm of passion he had never known before. His arm, strong and certain, forced its way behind your back, pulling you up to hold you close to him. It was a closeness that was almost palpable, almost too much, as he thrusted inside of you.

“I love you too,” he groaned, his words saturated with an intense, raw emotion that welled up in his eyes, the tears threatening to cascade down his face in an uncontrolled torrent of feeling.

You, on the other hand, were no better off, your own tears of sheer joy and devastating heartbreak pooling in your eyes until they were beyond their capacity to hold back any longer. They overflowed, running down your face like precious diamonds, a display of the depth of your misery. Making love to somebody who genuinely loved you back was a concept so beautifully simple, yet tragically forbidden. It was an experience that brimmed with a love so deep, a care so nurturing, and a passion and compassion so profound that it was unparalleled.

You knew you would never encounter such a feeling again in your lifetime. You were merely attempting to stave off the inevitable end, attempting to shield yourself from the stark reality that awaited your return to the surface world. Each moment was a battle against the clock, each second a desperate attempt to extend the blissful ignorance of the impending conclusion.

In that moment, you belonged to him and he to you, your bodies intertwined and connected as the flames consumed you both. You held onto him with a desperation that mirrored your own, your arms wrapping around him, hugging him close. You were a lifeline to each other, two beings lost in a sea of passion and desire, holding on to the only solid thing in a world that was spinning out of control.

With every pulsating sensation, you tried desperately to prevent the impending climax that was steadily building within you. You wrestled against it, mustering all of the strength and willpower you possessed. You didn’t want this magical night, this passion and desire, to end. The thought of the experience drawing to a close was unbearable, and yet there was nothing you could to do stop the familiar building pressure in your abdomen.

And you knew, in the deepest recesses of your mind, that you shouldn't have given in to the temptation- that you should have exercised restraint and kept your wandering hands to yourself. Despite this, you were a prisoner to your own overwhelming curiosity, a force so powerful it threatened to consume you whole.

The haze of pleasure Erik was weaving around you kept intensifying, it ebbed and flowed into every crevice of your consciousness, distorting the boundary between the tangible world and the intoxicating euphoria you found yourself spiralling into. Your hands, as though guided by an insatiable yearning that was wholly their own, found their way to the mask that resided on his head.

Your fingers, trembling with anticipation and anxiety, began to play with the thin string keeping the mask firmly in place, protecting his true form. The tension in your body was mounting, your anxiety and the impending orgasm that threatened to shatter your very being reaching the same intense peak.

The familiar ball of pleasure that had been steadily growing within you finally burst, sending shockwaves of pure ecstasy coursing through your veins. You could feel Erik's hot semen spurt inside you, marking you as his. As the intense waves of your climax washed over you, you summoned the last of your strength and ripped the mask off his face, revealing the man beneath.

You had comprehended the profound severity of Erik's disfigurement when he confessed that he had been residing here since his tender youth. Why else would somebody feel so compelled to withdraw from society? You had determined then, with unyielding resolve, to love him irrespective of his appearance. Your conviction remained unwavering as his visage came sharply into view. His eyes, dilated with raw fear, his mouth trembling on the verge of speech, and his hands, once securely encircling you, now trembled and twitched uncontrollably.

A sigh escaped you, a bright smile lighting up your face as you gazed at him dreamily. You leaned in, your hand tenderly cradling the side of his face which had remained disfigured and concealed until this moment. Tears which had been threatening to spill from his eyes now fell freely, and your own followed suit as the realization of parting hit you.

With a gentleness that belied the depth of your feelings, your fingers traced the lines of his marked skin. Your lips had found his in a passionate kiss, the tears that slid silently down your cheeks mingled with his, a silent symbol of the connection of your souls, a joining so profound that words failed to capture its essence.

With reluctance, you pulled away from the warmth of his body, rising slowly from where you were entwined with him. You wiped your tears away. A wince crossed your face as you felt Erik's softening length slip out of you, the sensation of his release dripping out of you, serving as a lingering reminder of the intimacy you had shared.

"Do you not take issue with that you see?" His voice was laced with an unnerving intensity, his eyes never leaving your form as you searched for your scattered garments. You assumed his weird behaviour was due to his feelings about your impending departure.

"Not when it's you," you confessed, a poignant smile pulling tragically at the corner of your lips, laden with unspoken emotions.

It didn't take long for you to find your garments. You fastened the corset around your waist, making sure it properly supported your bosom. Despite pulling the laces tightly, you found that you needed additional help. Each time you tried to tie the laces, the corset loosened.

"Could you lace this up for me, Erik? I'm struggling," you chuckled, turning back round to find that he had already put his underwear back on. "Corsets are tricky things. I often need someone else's help to put it on and take it off."

"You don't need it," he declared, his face a stoic mask, eyes unblinking and filled with unwavering resolve.

You hesitated, uncertain of how to respond or process his words. You thought he might not understand the full purpose of your undergarment. "I can't be amongst with people without wearing my corset. It's indecent. Without it, people could see my breasts," you said.

"And that's precisely why you don't require it," he shot back, his hardened face rigid with confrontation, eyes locked onto you as you blinked, wrestling with the weight of his words. "You aren't going anywhere."

"What? Erik, I have to leave," you leaped towards him, a wave of dread washing over you as he remained unaffected, "My father wields a lot of power and influence, a fact you're well aware of. Search parties will be dispatched and they'll hunt us down."

Erik's laughter echoed ominously around you, his jarring mirth only amplifying your unease, "He will not pose a threat, my dear. Act as though he doesn’t exist."

"How can you be so sure?" You shot back, eyes narrowing into slits as you regarded him with deep-rooted suspicion.

"Because he won't live to witness the week's end, fortunate if he survives the night," he sneered.

You were petrified, frozen in terror. The uncertain veracity of his words hung heavy in the air, but the fury etched in his gaze was unmistakable. It was a chilling declaration that bulldozed your defences, sending frigid lashes of fear snaking through your bloodstream.

“No, no,” you whispered, face twisted in dread.

"You said it yourself!" he yelled, seemingly unaffected by your flinch. You lifted your hands, ready to protect yourself if needed, but you knew that if he truly wanted to hurt you, you had no chance. "He was the one who tried to separate us, to spoil our love! How can I let him manipulate destiny? It's a sin!"

"Sin or not, he is my father!" you retorted, tearing off your corset and swiftly pulling your dress over your head. You let it fall over your figure. "I have to go."

“You forget yourself,” Erik's voice echoed ominously from the shadows, untouched by your retreat. “Was it not you pleading for me to awaken your senses to the touch of a genuine lover? Were you not weeping to me over the wreckage your father's deeds would cause in your life? Does Monsieur Beaumont need to be added to the list? Is that what you desire? I am merely aiding you!”

Trying to block out his taunting, you jammed your underwear down your bodice and clung to your corset like a lifeline. Panic was on the verge of consuming you, your thoughts spiralling out of control, too swift and chaotic to grasp. The realization of your own foolishness hit you like a punch, a bitter and unforgiving truth.

In your hour of fragility, you had sought solace in the one individual you deemed a sanctuary, a cure to your torments. But he, like a concealed predator, exploited your vulnerability, shrouding his true motives to feast upon your innocence and cast you into never ending isolation. The dread lay not in his visage, but in his very being, a monstrous revelation.

“Even if you escape, your father cannot. He has to pay for what he's done,” he hissed, his voice becoming a menacing whisper, fading into the background as you distanced yourself.

You were approaching the familiar boat, stepping carefully over the wooden structure. You untied the rope and with the paddle in hand, you prepared to set off on your journey.

CLINK, SLAM.

You froze.

“Besides the fact that you have no idea where you’d be going around the sewers and passageways and would probably end up fatally mutilated in one of my many traps,” he spoke once more, trailing off as he watched the light leave your eyes, “You don’t know how to open the gate. Unfortunate.”

What had you done?

any feedback is appreciated! sorry it ended there, i started writing this at 12pm and it's now 5:21am the day later. i have not had a break. it had to end.

#phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera musical #poto #erik destler #erik the phantom #gaston leroux #phantom of the opera x reader #musical #poto x reader #smut #angst #erik x reader #erik destler x reader #ramin karimloo #the phantom x reader #phantom x reader #1990 phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera 1990 #2004 phantom of the opera

143 notes · View notes

dervampireprince · 6 months

Text

youtube

ASMR | Phantom of the Opera - Erik x Listener SFW Returning To Your Phantom of the Opera

[M4A] [Part 3] [Reverse comfort] [Discussion of past kidnapping, self-hatred] [Listener is taking the place of Christine] [Kisses]

It's been a long time but he's back, or rather, you're back! You came back!

Custom audio commissions are open! Full public spicy audios on sound gasm (link in pinned post). 2 Exclusive spicy audios on Patreon every month. I also stream on Twitch every week @ dervampireprince . [minors + ageless blogs dni. this blog is for 18+ only.] [do not repost/reupload/edit any of my content]

119 notes · View notes

sunshinetrickster · 11 months

Text

Why is there are almost no Raoul x Reader

Erik Destler (The Phantom) and Raoul De Chagny with an artsy S/O!

Warnings?: maybe ooc.

Erik Destler/The Phantom

- You can't look at me in the face and tell me he couldn't love that trait in his partner

- He just LOVES it

- Erik doesn't care in which part of art you are more into, for him, everything that came from you it's beautiful

- He will help you with anything he can

- Need to practice poses? He's already in the most dramatic pose he can do, help with an instrument? If Erik knows how to play it already he will be glad to teach you, do you need singing lessons? Bet he will be more than excited to teach you everything he knows

- Erik wants to see you shine, see you in the spotlight and very much like he did with Christine, he will not be afraid to move some strings or cut them to help you reach it

Raoul de Chagny

- Almost like Erik, he will absolutely adore it

- He will support you with anything but in a slightly different way

- If you are a singer or musician, he will be sure to be in every presentation!

- You're a painter? Awesome! He's admiring your work and telling your talent even to musseums!

- A photograper you say? He knows very pretty places which are perfect to take pictures of!

- This man will like to see you in spotlight too but at difference with Erik, Raoul will only tell about your talent to others so you can also reach it by yourself, he will basically be something close to your benefactor

#the phantom of the opera #the phantom #erik destler #erik the phantom #raoul de chagny #vizconde de chagny #x reader #Raoul de Chagny x reader #erik destler x reader #the phantom x reader #x you #x s/o

177 notes · View notes

yona049 · 11 days

Text

𝕻𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖔𝖒 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕺𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖆 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

Part 1?

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Disclaimer!

This is a story following the events after the Phantom of the Opera (2004) and only follows the movie and not any other adaptations!

Started with this fic a few years ago and finally continued bc I couldn't find any new fic's to read! 🥺

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

(For ambiance~)

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Y/n stood with her feet planted infront of the burning Palais Garnier opera house, the ashes of a once red stage curtain falling on her bare shoulders. The only bit of warmth was the costume she was wearing.

A red fire dancer, her hair still in perfect shape. Tho it seems that the other staff of the Opera house weren't as lucky.

Her home was burning down infront of her eyes, and snow did nothing but usher on the burning flames of rage.

This was the doing of one Phantom of the opera. The damned demon took it all from them, their home, their jobs and even Christine Daaé.

The lead singer and great musician that made Y/n's dance like never before, Christine's sweet melody made her feet float inches from the ground as her soul danced in sync with her body.

One shiver crawled up Y/n's spine when she heard an unghastly scream. Her feet simply lept to it, only to find a man crawling out of the burning opera house.

"Monsieur!" she cried out to him.

His face seemed to have already been caught by the fire and he barely wore anything but a shirt and his trousers. Y/n fell to her knees beside his weak body.

"Don't worry, Monsieur, you are out of the fire! Please, be still! You are injured. "

She trembled watching blood force its way through the thin gaps between the snowflakes. Blood still warm enough to melt and merge with ice to water.

In a desperate attempt, Y/n pulls off the bottom part of her dancing grown and desperately look for the point of injury when she finally found it at the calve on his leg.

Tieing it tightly before Y/n hoisted him up to his feet.

"Please lean on me, we need to get further from the flames!"

He didn't speak, only grunted in pain. His voice was deep, without effort as if he was willing to Perish without hesitation.

Y/n took a moment to gently touch his burnt skin on his face, he didn't seem to whine. It was as she thought, the wound was not from the fire that had engulfed many others in its treacherous flames.

She shakes herself awake and quickly focuses on the problem at hand.

"I have strength to carry you, but you'll need to carry your consciousness for a little while longer!" she shutted, her voice swelling with pity for him.

'What happened to this poor soul?' She wondered and dragged his feet though the snow.

Y/n didn't know his name, nor his origin from the opera house. Perhaps a operator for the theater special effects? Or perhaps a member of the audience, sitting among the red velvet seats and nearly getting crushed by the chandelier falling loose from its hinges.

It wasn't long after when Y/n and the other performers were taken to a nearby inn. Perhaps it was the will of a greater power that the Opera managers didn't leave them to rot on the streets. Rather to reclaim insurance funds or come around a lone?

At least, she hoped that was the case. But for the moment, she was afraid of what might happen.

The opera house had been home for the last eighteen years of Y/n's life. No, certainly more!

Her father was a dancer, and her mother's legacy had been lost among the chatter and rumors of the opera.

Y/n's father had passed when she was only ten. Now, she was eighteen years older and she promised to follow in his dancing steps to fame.

Still engulfed in her thoughts Y/n stared into the small oil lamp flames while she sat on the bed of the inn. The figure of a woman danced in the red and orange colors.

This seemed to distract her from the man waking up from his exhausted slumber behind me.

He winced with a grumble when Y/n's head turned to face him. His palm covering the burn on his face that she saw before.

"Monsieur?" she whispered in an effort not to frighten him.

His gaze slowly trailed to Y/n's worried expression, but his palm never left his face.

Y/n took this opportunity to explain their predicament.

"Please, do not be frightened. We're in an inn, the managers have sent us to wait until they can reclaim funds."

She stood up to take the bowl of water and cloth to dampen the burnt flesh on the man's face.

She knelt down beside the bed and lightly lifted the damp cloth to his face. His eyes met hers, but Y/n only stared in silence hoping he'd understand her efforts.

Tho he was hesitant, his palm lightly lifted from his face. She feared the wound was still hissing with pain. Lightly the cloth is placed onto his eye and he gave a simple sigh of relief.

Silence filled the room, it would've seemed like only the stars were their witness if it weren't for the drunken cheers from the bar below.

Finally the man took a breath and spoke.

"What of Christine Daaé? Has she been found?"

Y/n's breathing seemed to betray her when her body couldn't fathom the gentle voice the man muttered. She tried to form words, creating a stutter.

"Y-yes, it um, It seems she has been retrieved by the Viscount Raoul de Chagny. She has offered many services to those who did not escape the flames unscathed." she whispered and willed herself to not look into his captivating eyes.

He looks to the side and gives a simple smile, seeming satisfied with his thought.

As soon as his skin was dampened once more he tried to stand with a gasply hiss of pain.

"Monsieur, please be patient! Your wound is still open and fresh!"

He grits his teeth before taking his seat again but looking back at the fireplace.

The rest of the night remained quiet, like he didn't have need to ask her anymore questions.

An awkward night spent sharing a room with a stranger. He fell asleep quickly with exhaustion.

Y/n couldn't sleep. Things ended so abruptly! How could she? Her love died in the fire, her home, belongings. She had nothing to her name anymore.

Y/n quietly stood up from the bed trying to keep noises to a minimum. Avoiding the creeking floor boards and opening the window to look outside.

The smoke from the Opera house covered the sky, no moon in sight. This quiet moment with her thoughts caused her throat to close up and her eyes to push tears.

As quietly as she could, she tried crying everything out, to no avail. Morning her loss took more than just a moment of soft tears.

"I'm sorry my love, Aloïs, I couldn't save you!"

She whispered. Her lover in the theater house had been burnt in the flames because he pushed her away from falling beams.

"Aloïs?"

She gasped when the voice lurks from behind her caught her off guard. The man stood up from the bed and had walked to right behind her without her hearing him.

"Monsieur! I'm so sorry, did I wake you?"

He shakes his head before spotting Y/n's shivers. Looking back at the blanket on the bed, he grabs it with one hand and swings it across her shoulders.

A gentleman! Y/n wasn't sure many workers from the Opera were quite so kind.

"You knew my Aloïs?"

He nods before leaning on the wall next to the window.

"Indeed, he helped me with costumes, more specifically Masks." The man mumbled folding his arms across his chest.

Y/n quickly realized what he meant when the dim light shone on his burnt face. Aloïs was the lead costume designer for all actors, singers and dancers in the opera. He'd certainly be willing to help a gentleman like the man stood next to her.

With a small giggle she put her hand on his shoulder.

"Of course, Aloïs would do something like that. I'm sorry if I make you uncomfortable without a mask."

He looks at me confused almost relieved that he wasn't the one in trouble for once. That someone genuinely asked if he was uncomfortable instead of rushing him away and out of sight.

"You're apologizing? Mademoiselle-"

"Y/n, please."

He seems to smile before leaning closer and wiping a lingering tear off Y/n's cheek.

"Y/n, my name is Erik."

Small talk lasted for a few more hours until the sun started to rise.

All members of the Opera house were called to the outside of the Inn where Monsieur André and Firmin would enlighten us of the situation.

Monsieur André took the lead standing ontop of the inn balcony.

"Listen all! I'm afraid we have terrible news you will all now be let go from the Opera house!"

A sudden uproar of voices filled the street and Y/n felt my body wobble a little from shock. Erik stood beside her with his hand on the small of my back trying to stabilize her.

Monsieur Firmin then took the lead and explained:

"This was a terrible tragedy! And with the business in shambles we have no hope of reviving it, thanks to our generous sponsor, Viscount Raoul de Chagny, we will be giving out warm clothes to help with your resignation."

They both quickly scurry out of view back into the inn, likely out the back door leaving the crowd in shock and anger.

Y/n bit her lip feeling another wave of sadness overcome her. Quick breathing and a pounding heart for the unknown future that lied before her.

"Fools!" She hears Erik mumble under his breath.

"We must go quickly!" he said grabbing her hand and pulling her through the crowd to the front.

They got their clothes, thanks to Erik for getting them there early enough to take a few extra pieces of clothes.

Even with a wounded leg, Erik managed to take them to a proper alleyway to get dressed in the clothing.

He dressed first, then stood at the front of the ally to let Y/n get dressed keeping a look out.

A gentleman walked by peeping into the alleyway, but Erik growled loudly and with his burnt face scared the gentleman away.

"I'm done!"

Y/n smiled walking out with the costume she wore neatly folded in her arms.

Erik seemed to smile at me for a very small second then it quickly fell away, he brought his palm to cover his face.

"May I?"

He looked at Y/n confused until she gently took his hand and pulled it away.

"This might not be as good as Aloïs's."

She looked down at my costume before quickly ripping off a piece of the skirt. She used the edges to tie it delicately around the side of his face tracing over it.

"You shouldn't have to hide! People are children! Gasping at the first strange thing they see." Y/n declared.

Erik chuckles but only for a second before going back into a smile.

"Perhaps."

He offers his arm which Y/n gladly took. They walked out into the crowded streets.

The sights were great and all the small shops and children seemed so foreign to her. In the Opera house they only had wooden or stone walls with the occasional windows high up in the building. The space of an open sky and streets going as far as the eye could see was a breath of fresh air.

A few hours later, Y/n suddenly realized that neither Erik or herself currently had a place to live, she have no living family to rely on.

Walking around the city for the first time in years distracted her from the dormant thoughts about the trouble we were in.

She looked back at Erik ready to ask him if he has a plan, but his eyes were sparkling. He was bewildered and intrigued by buildings, people, sounds and other sights. Y/n was starting to wonder if he'd ever been outside the Opera.

She felt a smile spread across my face from the warmth radiating off Erik.

"Erik, have you never-"

"Hello little mis!" a voice from behind her.

Three men quickly surrounded them and Y/n felt her body shrink into fear. Her lack of outside experience made her forget about the rats lurking around the city.

"Well, well! Give us a smile! How much?"

Y/n felt one of the bigger men behind her run his hand down her back.

She jump forward from his touch ready defend herself however, Erik pinched her arm tightly between his bicep and torso.

Y/n looked up at him and noticed the grimace clenching of his teeth.

"Now, this is unfortunate, just as I was starting to enjoy the outside." Erik fumed.

The man reaches for Y/n's behind again but this time Erik uses a closed fist to swing right into the man's nose.

He pushed Y/n off to the side, just hard enough for her to delicately hit the wall. She watched while this night old acquaintance fights off three large men with a bit of wood he swooped off the ground.

Using it to jab into the first mans forearm and then kneeing him in the groin.

Erik kicks the second man in the side, and to their luck, the third starts running. Finally all three run at the first sight of blood.

Erik breathes heavily before dropping to a knee with a loud grunt,clutching his injured leg from the fire.

"Erik!" Y/n ran to his side and wormed her arm underneath his arm and around his torso.

"We have to leave before they bring friends." Y/n stammered.

Her eyes dart around to land on a Inn with a tavern at the ground floor. The sun was setting again so soon and the candles of the tavern were lit.

She walked with Erik and quickly made their way inside to set Erik down in the corner of the tavern by a table.

"Oi!" The barkeep yells at us.

"Out!! You don't have no money!"

Looking at their clothes Y/n understood exactly how he knew we had no money to spend.

"Please! This man is injured, we need-"

He interrupts Y/n again.

"No money, no service! Out!"

Y/n bit her lip hard, thinking of anything to pay this man until she got a small shred of an idea.

"I dance!"

This makes the barkeep stop and look back at them. He leaned against the bar and waited.

Y/n realized he wanted an example before she swallowed the lump of pride in her throat.

She slowly pulled her coat off revealing a very inexpensive dress they received from the Managers.

Low cut to account for all bust sizes and too long skirt for all heights of woman in the Opera house. Throwing the coat over Erik she leaned close to his ear to whisper.

"Hold on, I'll get more help and medicine for that leg."

He groans grabbing Y/n's arm, objecting to what he knew she'd do. She felt her heart want to cry at his genuine worry for her pride. She gently lifts his hand off before turning back to the bar keep.

She looked down at her skirt before lifting it and tieing it into a knot showing just above her knees.

The musician with a pocket fiddle in the corner starts playing a rhythmic song and patrons start coming in.

Y/n puts on the best smile she could muster before starting to move her legs and hips.

Y/n felt the gazes of every drunken basted, but worst of all, she felt Erik watching her. Intrigued or Disgusted? She wasn't sure. She hoped for the latter. It was the better of the two.

Moving her hand over a rich looking patrons shoulders before spinning to the bar and smiling at another gentleman.

For what felt like forever, Y/n danced following each rhythm of each song played.

Getting a small tip from some patrons before she stopped and leaned against the bar.

Out of breath with her chest moving up and down rapidly. Another song had ended. She wasn't sure how much longer she could continue, her legs burnt from no warm up before hand like she knew she had to.

The barkeep, more likely the owner of the inn, pushed a glass of water toward her.

"Well done girl! We haven't had this many patrons in a while."

He praised but Y/n growled and reached out to him with an open palm.

"I did my part, I need payment."

The barkeep looks disgusted and Y/n was afraid for a moment he would refuse her payment. Thankfully he reached into his apron pocket and gave her a good hand full of coins.

Before she could pull her hand back he grabbed her wrist and smirked.

"Come back, with a better attitude, and you can make twice as much."

Y/n gritted her teeth looking away knowing its a large possibility she'd need to come back for more payment.

She pulled her wrist back then ran to where she'd left Erik only to spot him with an angry expression.

"Erik?"

She knew it, he was disgusted! She hesitated in front of him. He only managed to lean forward and pull the knot out of my skirt letting it cover my legs again.

He looks away but patted on the seat beside him. Y/n felt my body once again shrink in on itself as she sat beside him.

She took this opportunity to count the coins and realized they had enough to rent a room for the night and for her to go buy bandages and medicine.

Once they were in the room she felt a very strange hole in her heart, she felt like she'd betrayed him. She was sure he'd leave the next chance he got. She basically did what he'd tried to prevent in the first place.

She sat on the bed facing away while Erik used this time to wash up in the wash room and apply the medicine and bandages himself.

"Y/n."

His voice stood out from the muffled cheers downstairs.

His hand traveled to mine and he sat beside me.

"I'm sorry."

Those small words made Y/n breath a sigh of relief before she felt his arms wrap her into a hug.

She'd never cried in front of anyone or at least she tried to avoid it as much she could, so how is it possible for this man to have seen her cry twice.

His chin rested on her head as she sobbed. It felt like she would never stop. Until Erik started humming. A soft but familiar tune. A song from the Opera house used in one of the famous plays.

It was beautiful, an angel of music. A voice she didn't know she longed to hear. In sleep he sang to her, and in dreams he he came.

Y/n slowly calmed her sobs before her body fell into a limp sleep and exhaustion.

Erik smiled before slowly laying her onto the bed, however she was clenched onto his shirt so tightly, Erik gave in and played with her on the bed.

He looked at her calm face wondering how she was able to remain so strong though everything, even taking care of him aswell as herself.

Feeling his heartbeat similarly to the first time it did when he saw Christine. He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and slowly pulled her into his chest, keeping her covered from all the worldly wrongs.

20 notes · View notes

the-faceless-bride · 2 years

Text

~~A new grave has been put in today please welcome our new arrival~~

Save The Show

You were never in the spotlight, your nerves would always get the better of you. You would stumble, mumbled, voices stuttered and cracked, and you became a mess.

But... That was only when you were in the spotlight, you felt more comfortable in the shadows. Nothing but dim light and darkness around you, letting everyone melt away getting lost in the music.

But even that came with its issues...

You were currently finishing up your hair, today you were getting ready for a final rehearsal before the show tonight.

You and your group were given the rare opportunity to perform in the Palais Garnier opera house, and everyone was ecstatic and even some jokes and half wishes of being given the chance to see and meet the Phantom.

While spotting the Phantom would be cool and might even amaze you, you had your skepticism about the whole Phantom bit. People have said and done crazy things for fame before, who's to say this isn't some elaborate scheme to attract attention?

You sigh letting the spray set in your head of curls bouncing a few to be sore they wouldn't fall out while you were dancing and moving around. Some of the curls were tight and well-placed others were a bit messy and fell from their original place but even if you'd prefer they stayed the way you placed them, you couldn't help but think the look gave you some character and you never minded that.

With that, you let onto the stage; taking your place with your partner Angel, his hazel eyes looking you over before he smiled fixing a curl and letting it fall over your face and you laugh.

You and Angel had always been best friends, the blonde male was handsome and needed a girl friend to help him mask his secret, and you were happy to help. It kept pesky sleazy pigs called men away from you and helped him keep his reputation by keeping his homosexuality a secret.

However, your smile drops when you almost fall over from a force bashing into your shoulder, looking over to see the star, the main attraction, the one and only muse known as a strawberry blonde beauty with a body to die for by the name of Caroline.

You and she never seemed to get along, you were fine and friendly at the start, but when you were cast as the leading role and her the understudy that friendly conversation turned to spiteful comments, you didn't even want the main role anyway that wasn't the role you applied for... So after lots of begging complaining, purposefully lessening yourself, and talking more than usual about how you've never sung Oprah before and how you would most likely mess up the show, you were placed in the background and Caroline became the star... But that didn't seem to calm her nerves any less...

You took a breath before getting in position for your dance, your voice was one of three background singers that were meant to harmonize with the lead but not overpower the lead or take the spotlight away from her.

But getting lost in the music can make it difficult...

You close your eyes letting Angel lead the dance as you sing your heart out, you had never sung in Oprah before this, but having taken advice from a mentor and getting lessons and now your first show was meant to help open you to more musical opportunities and you were glad you took the advice.

The music was hauntingly beautiful and the motions felt so touching and intimate, letting it flow through you. Almost gone... The only thing holding you to the stage... The world... The feeling of Angles arms grounding you.

Singing your notes, pouring all you had into it when suddenly... The music stopped.

Your eyes flew open and a frustrated sigh sounded throughout the empty theater, Coraline's eyes burning holes into your soul.

The instructor pinches her nose with a huff, "Darling... How. Many. Times do I have to tell you to keep your voice in check?! You keep singing over our main lead! As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm you are not the star here, you had the chance and you threw it away! Now, please!"

You mumbled an apology keeping your head down, hearing a scoff from Coraline.

The instructor huffs looking at you with a disappointing stare, whether it was because you couldn't follow her instructions or the fact she wanted you as lead but you turned it down was beyond you.

"From the top."

This was it the night of the show and you get like throwing up, but reminding yourself that in the shadows no one would notice you calmed you down only if a little...

The show was running smoothly, you danced when it was your part, sang, and gave Coraline props when your choreography had you do so.

It was all going so well... Until it wasn't.

Once the show hit an intermediate for the set and costumes to change it all went downhill.

The scene was the lead and the male love interest meeting at a ball and falling in love... However, when it was the lead's role to get on stage...she didn't show.

You weren't even on stage and you knew that by now Coraline aka the leading role was meant to be dancing her way through the crowd of dancing guests to get to the prince, so where was she?!

You were getting antsy and didn't was the night to be ruined, frantically asking where Coraline was before the final cue was given and it became clear to the audience something wasn't going right in the show.

But only getting answers of shrugging and frantic "I don't know"s and " I haven't seen her"s and running very low on time left you finally get the answer of "I saw her giggling with one of the guys meant to be in the background before she ran off with him, she must not realize that the halftime was over." Time was up, you panicked slipping on the lacy overlay on your ruffled dress and throwing on the leads mask before rushing out in the hope no one would notice, and the show wouldn't burn to the ground.

The back dancers didn't seem to notice the change in actress mid-way, but the man playing the prince did. But him seeing the frantic look and no sign of Coraline he got the idea of the situation and carried on as planned.

With your nerves and adrenaline pumping through you, you were able to get through the song to get to the next scene, you knew you were going to pay for your panic and stealing the spotlight bit you had to save the show.

But it wasn't all for nothing, because while most people were too entranced by the whole play to notice the switch in that scene, someone did.

He sat in his booth, his eyes only on you... Erik felt his breath hitch, you had stolen his breath away... Well... At least you would've if he had any...

(Might make a part two...)

#slasher imagine #slashers x reader #slasher headcanons #slasher x reader #slasher imagines #erik the phantom #erik destler x reader #the phantom x reader #the phantom of the opera

669 notes · View notes

free-for-all-fics · 4 months

Text

Phantom of the Opera AU Prompt inspired by Spookies (1986)! Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of this and I’d love to read it! 💍🤍💐

After taking a wrong turn, a group of teenagers and young adults find themselves in a mysterious but dilapidated Opera House and try to throw a party, believing it to have been abandoned over a century ago since it’s full of dust, cobwebs, and broken furniture. There are objects still frozen in various stages of melting or falling apart, and both the walls and carpets are blackened and singed. At the center of the destruction is a broken chandelier lying in the main concert hall. The gold paint is tarnished, the metal having rusted over time. It looks more like a sickly green with bits of brown and a lot of the glass ornaments that once made it sparkle are shattered. The Opera House shows obvious signs that there must’ve been a great fire that engulfed almost everything. As it stands, it’s little more than a charred coffin that houses the remains of all the people who once populated its halls and filled its many rooms with music, grand parties, and laughter. The group of partygoers seriously doubt that they’ll get caught trespassing, confident that no cop would ever bother coming here.

The group of partygoers have no qualms about breaking into places they’re not supposed to be, even though they don’t have any idea what they’re looking for or hoping to find during their explorations. It could be anything from candles to light after their flashlights die or valuable antiques to steal and sell, but each member of the group is filled with an insatiable curiosity. A curiosity that, unbeknownst to them, is going to get them all killed. They show no respect as they break the door down to enter your old dressing room and venture down the stairs that lay behind the shattered, ornate mirror. Down, down, down, the rickety stairs seem almost endless as they squeak from disuse whenever pressure is put on them by the nosy protagonists, as if they’re on the verge of collapsing from under all their combined weight. They come to a lake. Using the boat that’s tied up by the shore, they row towards Erik’s lair, their eyes caught by the warm yellow candlelight up ahead, which highlights the sparkling treasures that lay beyond. They glint with the same light of their greedy eyes.

Whatever they were hoping to find down there, it definitely wasn’t your corpse lying in an ornate black coffin. It’s uncanny how perfect you look, as if you had just died less than a week ago. But their bodies are racked with violent chills and they involuntarily shiver with fear and disgust when they look upon you and see you’re dressed in your wedding gown. A wedding gown which looks to be an antique from the 19th century. Unbeknownst to them, they’re going to soon discover that Erik still resides inside his Opera House and keeps watch over you. To him, you’re his beautiful young bride but, in actuality, you’re his long-dead wife. For over one hundred years Erik has kept your corpse perfectly preserved through an unrevealed method, forever frozen and impervious to the effects of time that would’ve otherwise ravaged your lovely countenance.

He was branded as a living corpse from birth and, even today, his face is only a semblance of a face. No power in this world or the next could change that. The price is high just to keep himself as put together as he is. It took him many, many, many years, but he’s learned to accept the burden that chance has seen fit to lay upon him. Whether a curse from God or a gift from the Devil, he’s spited them both in his pursuit of getting you back and has fashioned a life as good as he’s been able, even if it’s an undead one. Alongside you he’s somehow kept himself ageless and undying and, although he’s resigned himself to his fate, you’re exactly the same as the day he married you. You’re exactly the same as the day he found you, after you so cruelly and selfishly left him. Nothing about you has changed. Nothing physically, at least. He can’t account for what you’ll be like mentally or emotionally once you wake up. He still wants you as a living bride, not a dead wife. He especially doesn’t want you as a living corpse remade in his image. Even after so many decades, he can’t bear to destroy your beauty, to subject you to his fate of eternal ugliness.

He should’ve never left you alone that cursed day. Had he known what you intended to do to yourself… He was blinded by his love for you and was a fool to have underestimated you, but there’s no point dwelling on any of it now. He’s paid the price for his past mistakes and has learned from them, swearing to himself that he wouldn’t be so naive next time. While he’s no longer a lovesick fool, he’s still faithfully remained by your side since your death, believing himself to be the ever so doting and loving husband. Unlike you, Erik believes in keeping his marriage vows. Ever since you died, he’s made a habit of always talking to you, professing his love for you, and sharing with you his progress. He’s not sure why he keeps doing this day in and day out. You’ve never moved a muscle or said anything to him, as he knew you wouldn’t. As much as he wanted to believe he was talking to you and hoped that maybe you could hear him somehow, he was really talking to himself. It could be to cope with his loneliness and to prevent himself from succumbing to the abject bleakness of his reality. Believing in a beautiful lie seemed better than an ugly truth, and if he had to keep telling himself these lies to keep himself motivated, so be it. It’s too late to give up now. He must finish what he started and see it through to the end. For you, for himself, for your love.

Although he can do so at any time, he won’t die in order to join you. Dying is so much easier than living, yet he keeps choosing to endure this Hell of his own making, this half-existence. He’s not dead, but he’s not exactly alive either. His stubborn refusal to die might make him a coward in the end, but he can’t bear it if you’re lost to him forever. He strongly believes that an angel like you must’ve been forgiven and accepted into Heaven despite your sinful act, while he’d only be damned to the pits of Hell upon his death, if there truly is an afterlife. Or maybe he can’t die at all because neither Heaven nor Hell want him there. He’s thought of that possibility as well. Out of fear of the unknown or out of love for you, Erik remains in this limbo. Whether by choice or by fate, he’s just here. Frozen. Never moving backwards nor forwards. It’s a rather boring and monotonous existence.

The spell or ritual Erik performs requires human sacrifices to give both himself and you eternal life, and while the exact methods of how he accomplishes this are unknown or unclear, he dons his mask and reprises his Opera Ghost/Phantom persona whenever unwitting trespassers arrive. This spell or ritual allows him to steal the youth and beauty of other men and women, which he then uses to restore your withered corpse and his own decomposing body. While the victims age rapidly until they’re so elderly they can barely move, he kills them swiftly and disposes of the bodies so nobody will ever find them, if they don’t turn to dust first.

One horror after another threatens the teens and young adults as they try, in vain, to run away and escape the Opera House. Erik uses his supernatural powers to possess someone and infiltrate the group. He uses his skills as an actor to impersonate the victim he’s possessing while simultaneously instilling doubt and distrust amongst the group, doing so gradually so they’re not entirely aware they’re being manipulated until it’s too late and they become paranoid and irritable. He then uses smoke and mirrors to make them believe the Opera House is haunted by horrifying ghosts and monsters that are coming to get them. He literally scares some victims to death as they suffer a fatal heart attack, while others are isolated and strangled to death with his Punjab Lasso or simply fall to their death while being chased. The last ones remaining are driven into turning against each other and committing murder themselves out of a desperation for survival, then committing suicide out of guilt and regret for the horrific act they’ve done out of impulse. One-by-one they’re each killed by Erik or by their own hands, bringing him ever closer to awakening you from your sleep-like death.

In his mortal life, Erik turned you into his object of obsession. From the moment he saw you perform on stage, he became fixated on you and had to have you for himself. While you were vulnerable and mourning a recently deceased loved one, he emotionally and mentally manipulated you by pretending to be an angel that was personally sent to you from Heaven by that loved one. He used your fear of disappointing your loved one and being abandoned against you by threatening to leave forever and return to Heaven as a consequence for your transgressions. He used manipulative and abusive tactics, and preyed on your fears and insecurities to ensure your obedience and coerce you into listening to his instructions. He stalked you and followed you to the cemetery whenever you visited the graves of friends and family you lost, some of whom died before you were born or when you were too young to remember them. He watched you and, whenever you prayed in the Opera House chapel, his yellow eyes turned green with envy. He wanted you to worship him and only him. He wanted you as his wife so he could dress you up in beautiful gowns, take you out on walks in the garden he built underground, and spoil you with lavish gifts. He wanted you to swear your love for him and only him. He wouldn’t let you take another man into your heart. Not even a dead man or a god. If he so much as thought that you’d fall in love with another or betray him, he’d be forced to suspend that man from the rafters with his Punjab Lasso until death or have the Siren drown him in the lake. He wouldn’t compete with a corpse.

He tried to court you properly like any other gentleman, but you were stubborn and his patience quickly wore out. He tried his hand at romance, but you refused all his gifts and burned his letters in the fireplace, so you left him with no choice but to kidnap you and keep you prisoner under the Opera House. He wanted to make you feel guilty for hurting him. He blamed you for his actions, and he made sure that you knew it. This was all your fault. You made this happen. In his home by the lake, in his domain, you were caught on the horns of a dilemma presented to you by a man you believed to be the son of the Devil himself. It was eleven o'clock, time for you to decide life or death. He was terrible, he was quite mad, he tore off his mask and his yellow eyes shot flames! He did nothing but laugh!

“I give you five minutes to spare your blushes! Here,” he said, taking a key from the little bag of life and death, “here is the little bronze key that opens the two ebony caskets on the mantelpiece in the Louis-Philippe room. In one of the caskets, you will find a scorpion, in the other, a grasshopper, both very cleverly imitated in Japanese bronze: they will say yes or no for you. If you turn the scorpion round, that will mean to me, when I return, that you have said yes. The grasshopper will mean no.” And he laughed like a drunken demon.

You did nothing but beg and entreat him to give you the key to the torture chamber, promising to be his wife if he granted you that request. But he told you that there was no future need for that key and that he was going to throw it into the lake! And he again laughed like a drunken demon and left you.

Oh, his last words were, “The grasshopper! Be careful of the grasshopper! A grasshopper does not only turn: it hops! It hops! And it hops jolly high!"

The five minutes had nearly elapsed, and the scorpion and the grasshopper were scratching at your brain. Nevertheless, you had sufficient lucidity left to understand that, if the grasshopper were turned, it would hop, and with it many members of the human race! There was no doubt that the grasshopper controlled an electric current intended to blow up the powder-magazine!

"Not a word, my dear, or I shall blow everything up." And he added, "The honor rests with you, my love. You haven’t touched the scorpion-” how deliberately he spoke, "My dear hasn’t touched the grasshopper," with that composure!

But it wasn’t too late to do the right thing. There, you opened the caskets without a key, for Erik was a trap-door lover and he opened and shut what he pleased and as he pleased. You opened the little ebony caskets, looking at the little dears inside. Weren’t they pretty? He told you that, if you turned the grasshopper, you would all be blown up. There was enough gunpowder under your feet to blow up a whole quarter of Paris. If you turned the scorpion, all that powder would be soaked and drowned. To celebrate your wedding, you would make a very handsome present to a few hundred Parisians who were, at that moment, applauding a poor masterpiece of Meyerbeer's. You would make them a present of their lives for, with your own fair hands, you would turn the scorpion. And merrily, merrily, you and Erik would be married! A pause; and then:

"If, in two minutes, my love, you have not turned the scorpion, I shall turn the grasshopper… and the grasshopper, I tell you, hops jolly high!"

The terrible silence began anew. Realizing that there was nothing left to do but pray, you didn’t kneel but instead just closed your eyes and clasped your hands together. Your blood beat so fiercely that you had to take your heart in both hands, lest it should burst. At last, you heard Erik's voice: "The two minutes are past. Goodbye, my love. Hop, grasshopper!”

"Erik, do you swear to me, monster, do you swear to me that the scorpion is the one to turn?”

"Yes, to hop at our wedding.”

"Ah, you see! You said, to hop!"

"At our wedding, ingenuous child! The scorpion opens the ball. But that will do! You won't have the scorpion? Then I turn the grasshopper!"

"Erik! Enough! Erik! I have turned the scorpion!"

You expected several times to be raped during your abduction and imprisonment. You felt so vulnerable and exposed, especially whenever you were forced to take baths in Erik’s lair. You kept a pair of scissors hidden under your many layers of skirts, always close by and ready to kill yourself if he ever tried anything, but it turned out the Phantom respected your privacy and honor. He swore he wouldn’t touch you until you were wed, but that did little to assuage your fears and anxiety. If anything, it made you more paranoid. Your wedding day was set by Erik and non-negotiable. Nothing you could say or do would postpone or delay it. It was fast approaching and you dreaded it, but not nearly as much as you dreaded your wedding night. He forced you into an old wedding dress. The style was so out of fashion you wondered how long he had kept it, but were too afraid to ask. You didn’t want to know. If you hadn’t dressed yourself in the white gown, he would’ve done it himself. You’d rather he didn’t touch you or see your body in such a state of undress, so you complied with his demands.

Erik’s hands snatched up the gossamer veil. He pressed the band of it down onto your head. You flinched as it touched your scalp. In return, Erik pressed down harder and you hissed in pain. You sobbed as he pushed down on it a final time, the pressure stabbing into your head. He pressed it so hard onto your head that it dug into your skull. Your bouquet was arranged by Erik himself, and had been made up of black roses that reeked of death. Their scent was so strong it made you feel dizzy and nauseous. But scattered among the dark blooms were a few red roses as well, along with smatterings of baby’s-breath. Leaves peeked out from among the flowers. Blindly, his hands grabbed up the wedding bouquet and shoved it into your hands. His hands, far larger and stronger than your own despite their extremely thin and bony appearance, felt as cold as ice. When his fingers brushed yours, it felt as if you were touching Death itself. There was no rosy tint to his sallow cheeks, no warmth radiating from his skin. You wondered if his heart was even beating at all, if he even had one underneath those layers of black clothing he always wore. He forced your hands to squeeze around the bound-together stems and you gasped as thorny pain pricked your palms and fingers.

“These are the flowers you will hold for our wedding. I have proposed to you every night in my music, but if you want me to produce a ring,” one of his hands flourished in the air and, seemingly out of the darkness, appeared a plain gold ring, “I readily can. You are to be my bride, my angel of music, my one and all. You will be here in the darkness with me for all time. I can make you just like me,” he insisted, “You can walk the world as I do, beside me. We can walk in my forest on Sundays, just as they do in the world above.”

You unwillingly became his living wife and consummated your marriage. You did your best to just lie under him and bear it. You just closed your eyes whenever you could. Whenever Erik ordered you to open your eyes and look at him, you just stared at the wall behind him. He didn’t notice the difference and thought you were holding eye contact. Luckily for you, he didn’t last very long. After it was over and Erik fell asleep, you snuck out of the bed so you could vomit, your bile falling into the lake. It was the first and last time he held or touched you in such an intimate manner, and you were so relieved that he didn’t care about sex beyond fulfilling his husbandly duties, as he called it.

Throughout your marriage, Erik was much more blatantly and deliberately abusive to you as time went on. Even after revealing himself to you, he was still controlling, emotionally and mentally abusing you just as much as he did when he was your Angel of Music. As punishment for any action he deemed as impertinence, he’d keep you locked in a tiny room hidden behind a wall in his lair. There were no windows and it was full of furniture that once belonged to his deceased mother, whom you believe he also murdered. He’d leave you in there for days, unlocking the door only to bring you food and ask if you had calmed down. He would only let you out if you promised to behave and do as you were meant to, and love him.

In return, he’d reward you by letting you ask him one question so long as it didn’t involve him, or he’d take you out for walks in his garden which he had built himself. It was full of fake foliage and painted animals, carefully crafted to seem as realistic as possible. While it was beautiful in a way, it was still dark and creepy. It only made you want the sun, but this imitation would be the closest you’d ever get to being allowed outside. On top of that, he physically struck you a few times. For ten years you suffered under Erik’s control and influence, subject to his deluded form of love that was, in actuality, mental, emotional, and physical abuse. Day in and day out, it was the same as your body was slowly beaten down and your psyche was chipped away piece by little piece. The days blended together into an endless hour of misery until you could no longer keep track of time. You needed to break free from this endless cycle while you were still strong enough to do so, before you suffocated under his crushing embrace and became just an empty shell of your former self, a mindless doll for Erik to play with until you broke. His words repeated like a broken record until they were drummed into your skull so hard you could recite them verbatim from memory:

“You insolent girl! You don’t love me yet, but you will,” he said once more, “You must. You must love me. You have no choice. You will never leave this place. You are as much mine as the Opera House.”

You tried to escape more times than you could count but were recaptured every time. No matter how far you ran, no matter where you hid, Erik always found you sooner or later. You attempted to escape every chance you had, but the more you failed, the more you gave up on life. If your only option was to rot in this chamber forever, you’d escape a different way. The first time you tried, Erik found the scissors and took them away from you before you could use them on yourself. He tied you up so you wouldn’t be able to interfere or get in his way while he removed any and every object he deemed sharp or otherwise dangerous, not caring that the coarse ropes dug into your flesh and were hurting you. Any object he thought you could use to kill yourself was taken away. You weren’t even allowed sewing needles for needlepoint. He wanted a living wife, not a dead bride. He lived a life where trust and faith were impossible luxuries and he wouldn’t take any chances. Not even with you. After your little stunt with the scissors, Erik’s trust in you had been completely broken. He no longer let you hold or touch anything that could be used to make you bleed. He thought he had taken every precaution to ensure not only that you wouldn’t, but that you couldn’t hurt or kill yourself.

But he had overlooked that you didn’t need to bleed in order to die. Your desperation to take back some control of your fate culminated in you committing suicide by poisoning yourself with laudanum as pure as you could get it. It was powerful stuff and good for sleeping, but too much of its pure form and a person just never woke up. You drank a large dose of the drug during the premiere of “Don Juan Triumphant”. You purposefully chose that day of all days to spite Erik. In your final act of defiance, the laudanum was extremely bitter on your tongue, but your revenge tasted sickeningly sweet. You could hear the crescendo of the music from above echoing down into the caves just when you felt yourself fall into a drugged sleep. You felt warm and then…nothing.

Upon finding your corpse, Erik still refused to see the error of his ways towards you. He was so angry and disappointed in you. That anger and disappointment suddenly and quickly mutated into hate, bitterness, resentment, animosity, and so on. His bloodstreams had been seized as these volatile emotions were coursing through his veins, his heart beating a frantic pace until it was consumed completely. He felt as if he could’ve suffered a heart attack and died in that moment, but the feelings kept spreading like a disease, infecting every part of him until it took over every inch of his being. His lungs, his liver, his nerves, his brain. He was so overwhelmed that he didn’t know how to cope with these emotions that were attacking him all at once. He was overcome. They spilled over and into his voice. He didn’t know how to get them out, to expel them from his body and take back control. So he did the only thing he could do, which was direct these scary and nauseating feelings towards you or, more specifically, your corpse.

He decried you as a devil for not loving him, his words as venomous as a pit viper. But the feelings of nausea only worsened as a horrible pit of guilt churned in his stomach. He almost immediately fell to his knees and started sobbing. He begged your forgiveness as he cradled your cold body and rocked you back and forth, chanting over and over and over that he didn’t mean it. In his madness, he turned to dark sorcery and forbidden magics to turn himself into a living corpse, incapable of being touched by death. He disposed of the dress you died in and dressed you up in your bridal gown, the white fabrics a stark contrast to the blackness of his coffin where he used to sleep. He’s kept you preserved inside, just as young and beautiful in death as you were in life. Sleep meant so little to him in life, and it means even less to him now. He used to go fourteen days without food or rest, and now he doesn’t eat or sleep at all. He has no need for it. He’s watched over you for many decades, doing everything in his power to bring you back to him. And now with the deaths of this most recent group of victims, he has enough sacrifices to satisfy the blood price. It’s time for you to wake up.

“At last, for over a century I have waited. I have sacrificed the youth of so many so that you might live. And yet, I would trade all my powers for some way to make you see how helplessly I love you, that I even kill so that you might live. What a cruel joke. My power is nothing compared to the power your beauty has over me. I am your prisoner, a slave to that which I can never possess.”

Although he’s excited when he sees you begin to move and is eager to have you back, he doesn’t want to rush you. He had hoped to ease you back into the land of the living so, instead, he waits just a few minutes more until you pull yourself out of your dream. You slowly begin to stir. Everything feels so heavy. Your eyelids flutter and your fingers twitch. Your head moves from side to side, as if struggling between the realms of wake and dream. You do your best to shake off the daze you’re under. When you finally muster up the strength to wipe away the rheum that the sandman sprinkled over your eyes and pry them open, the first thing you see is Erik. He’s leering over you with a relieved smile that’s supposed to be loving. You gasp in horror when he stretches out his hand to caress your cheek and hair. In his euphoric state, he mistakes it for a gasp of elation or happiness, until your voice breaks him out of his reverie.

“Erik? No. What have you done? No. Release me. Please let me die. Why won’t you let this end?”

Your words nearly break his heart. You flinch and recoil from him when he tries to touch or kiss you. You’re not…repulsed by him, are you? No. You can’t be! Not after all that he’s just done for you! You’re his faithful bride, his living wife. You should be thankful to him for giving you back your life! He learned from his years of pouring over books that resurrection and immortality can be quite traumatizing for the subject, so he deludes himself and accredits your behavior to you still being in shock.

“I have waited by your side day and night for an entire lifetime. You see now that we can never be separated. We live through each other. There can be no end for either of us. I must when I will make you mine forever.”

But instead you try to get up and out of Erik’s coffin. The layers of white gossamer silks and fabrics surrounding you have tangled together and weigh you down, forcing you to stay in a lying position. The more you struggle to sit up and try to untangle yourself, the more you’re wrapped up, as if in a cocoon. Erik holds out his hand to try to help you stand, but you refuse. You don’t want his help, you don’t want to hold his hand. You don’t want to be back here or have anything to do with him. You escaped him, you were free… until he ripped you from Death’s embrace and replaced it with his own! “Stay away. I don’t want you by my side. I don’t want you anywhere near me. I poisoned myself once before and I’ll do it again, or find another way.”

“Haven’t you learned that my will to have you is greater than your will to die?”

“Even if you keep me prisoner for another hundred years, you’ll never have me!”

“But I do have you. I control your past, your present, and your future. This time there will be no escape.”

“No, don’t touch me! Can’t you see I’ve always hated you?” You get up all by yourself and run away from him, not even bothering to look over your shoulder to see if he’s following you.

He makes no move to pursue or chase after you, as if he already knows that you won’t get far and will come crawling back to him sooner or later. When you become aware of the very real danger you’re in, you tear off the bottom of your wedding dress. Erik burying you, his dead wife, in your wedding dress was such a strange and maybe even ironic thing to do, but he’s so unhinged that you’re not very surprised. Your dress accumulates more and more damage over the course of time you spend trying to run as far away as possible. When you’re outside and accidentally injure yourself, you rip the sleeve off your wedding gown and use it to bandage your bleeding wound.

In the beginning, your dress had been pure and pristine, but off-white. When you first saw it, you reflected how the color looked just a little bit off at first glance, but it looked even more ugly or off-putting once you thought about the implications of your impending marriage and doom. It was all wrong. After learning the nature of Erik’s powers and immortality, your dress gradually becomes less and less white as time progresses. It gets torn to near shreds and stained with blood, sweat, and dirt. The condition of the dress worsens as you’re forced to defend yourself and escape from the Opera House. Your ruined wedding dress reflects your loss of innocence and waning affection for Erik, but you also carry it as a symbol to represent your determination to survive the night and take back your autonomy. But the further away you get from Erik, the more you feel sick. You feel so weak, as if your body is forcibly shutting down and you can’t will yourself to move. Erik must’ve done something to you. You later make your way back to him, hiding an ice pick in the skirts of your bloodstained and tattered dress, like you had done with the scissors in your past life.

“Why must you resist? There’s no escape. Your future no longer belongs to you. It belongs to us. You won’t get far if you run. The farther you get from me, the weaker you’ll become. It’s only your resistance that’s killing you. Love me, and you will be free.”

“How can you speak of love? You’re torturing me.”

You’ve always known that Erik never loved you, not really. This act of bringing you back from the dead only cements it for you. He never loved you because, if he had, he would’ve put your happiness above his own when you were alive. And he doesn’t love you now because, if he did, he would’ve left you alone to Rest In Peace after you were dead. But instead he colluded with dark and unknown forces beyond your comprehension to preserve your corpse and raise you from the dead. He murdered God knows how many people and did all of this just so that he could possess you again. You always were and always will be just an object to him, never a person. He has such nerve and audacity to accuse you of being selfish for what you did, especially after all he’s done. Love is supposed to be selfless and, despite his protests and claims of the contrary, you know he only did this for himself. He never did this for you.

“Torturing you? It is you who are torturing me. I have devoted my life and the life of many others that you might live again.”

“Love. How could I love you when I’ve never learned how to love?”

“Let my love teach you. Tell me that you will love me, that you will love me for all time.”

“I will love you for all time.”

“No. You do not love me, but you will. You are my angel. You must. You dared to refuse my love, hence you shall suffer a fate worse than death. You shall remain fettered by my side for all eternity, until you love me!”

Your eyes skitter away from his face and down to his outstretched palms. Pale as they are, the glitter of dark rubies on his skin is a stark contrast and catch your eye immediately. Yes, Erik is a living corpse, a ghost. And a ghost who bleeds is still dangerous. But a ghost who bleeds might die. You stab Erik in the forehead with the ice pick and run away, while he cries out in surprise and pain. He pulls it out and bleeds to death, collapsing onto the ground. You run out into the middle of the road in search of a horse or carriage and are nearly blinded by bright white lights as a strange metal contraption screeches to a stop in front of you. Is that a carriage? It looks very odd. A person in weird clothing steps out and offers you a ride to the hospital, alarmed at your disheveled and bloody state. You escape with the driver as they take you away in what they call their… car? What’s a car? They try to use a term you’d better understand and, while you’re still confused, you start to get the gist when they call it an iron horse.

“Seriously, how old are you? You speak like the protagonist in a Victorian Gothic novel.”

Oh, if only they knew…

Unbeknownst to you, Erik regenerates out of his coffin, laughing maniacally.

#phantom of the opera x reader #the phantom x reader #erik x reader #Spookies AU #fic prompt #pls tag me if you’re inspired by this #I’d love to read it

23 notes · View notes