I’d like to request a domestic fluff Erik fic, please. Maybe early morning cuddles and deep kisses that takes place after smut from the night before? He’s just overall joyful and somewhat in awe that they enjoy being close to him because he craves it so deeply. I’m talking legs intertwined and him kissing the reader’s hands as they slip their fingers between his. Intimacy unlike anything he’s felt before.
Light peeked through the heavy velvet curtains Erik insisted on keeping, but it didn’t bother you. Not today. Not here, curled against him in the hush of morning, with sheets tangled around your hips and his breath warm and even against the top of your head.
His arm stayed wrapped around your back like he was afraid you’d vanish in your sleep.
You didn’t.
You stayed.
And Erik… Erik could hardly believe it. You felt it in the way he held you—like he was still waiting to wake up. Even without opening your eyes, you knew he was watching. He always did when he thought you weren’t paying attention. As if he still didn’t trust this softness, this intimacy, to be anything but a dream.
Your fingers lightly traced the edge of his silk robe, the fabric pooled loosely over one shoulder, left half-forgotten from the night before. His skin was warm and soft beneath your touch, no longer tight with tension. He hadn’t reached for his mask.
Another small miracle.
“You’re staring,” you murmured, voice hoarse from sleep.
His chest rumbled beneath your cheek with a soft chuckle. “I always do.”
You cracked an eye open and found his gaze already fixed on you, pale eyes open and full of something soft and raw in the morning light. His hair was tousled, lips parted slightly, like he might say something—but didn’t know how to.
“Don’t you ever get tired of looking?” you asked, voice teasing.
He caught your hand and turned it over gently, pressing a kiss to the center of your palm. His lips lingered there like it meant something holy.
“Never,” he said into your skin, reverent.
Silence fell again, but it wasn’t awkward. It felt full—full of meaning, of unspoken thoughts, of quiet joy. He held your hand like it grounded him. When you shifted, winding one leg between his, you felt him draw in a slow, shaky breath. Like even that little bit of contact was too much. Like it healed something deep in him.
You laced your fingers through his, slowly, deliberately, and watched his face as you did it. His mouth parted again, like he meant to speak—but no words came. Just the stunned, adoring look of someone who had no idea how to accept being wanted.
His thumb brushed over the back of your hand.
“Sometimes,” he said, after a long moment, “I wonder if I’ve truly woken up. Or if this is one of those cruel dreams I used to have.”
“What kind?” you asked gently.
“The ones where someone… stayed.”
You leaned in and kissed his jaw first, the unmarked side. Then slowly, gently, the other side too—just at the edge of the scar. You felt him still beneath you. Not in fear or shame, but in a kind of breathless stillness. Like he couldn’t believe you’d touched him there.
“I’m here,” you whispered against his skin. “I stayed.”
His hand moved up to cradle the back of your head, fingers twining in your hair with such delicate care, it almost broke your heart.
“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this,” he murmured. “To deserve you.”
“You don’t have to earn love, Erik,” you said softly.
He shook his head slowly. “But I do. I always have.”
You sat up slightly, straddling his hips now, keeping your joined hands pressed to his chest where his heartbeat fluttered beneath your fingertips.
“You don’t have to with me.”
His eyes searched your face, lips trembling. Then he pulled you down into a kiss that was slow and deep and filled with everything he couldn’t quite say aloud. There was no rush in it, no hunger, just a reverent need to hold and be held. A wordless prayer made of lips and breath and closeness.
When you finally pulled back, you let your forehead rest against his.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered. “Not today. Not tomorrow.”
He lifted your joined hands to his mouth and kissed every knuckle one by one, like each of them was some sacred relic.
“Do you…” he began, voice raw, “do you like this? Being close to me like this?”
You blinked, surprised. “Of course I do.”
He swallowed, glancing down at your hands, still woven together. “But I’m not easy to touch. I’m not soft.”
“You’re softer than you think,” you said, brushing your fingers across his cheek.
He gave a breathless huff of something like a laugh, or maybe a sob. “No one has ever said that to me before.”
“Then they weren’t looking close enough.”
His mouth met yours again—so gently, it made your chest ache. He kissed along your jaw, your cheek, your temple, like he couldn’t decide what to cherish more. His hands slid over your back, holding you like something fragile and rare.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispered. “To wake up with someone who doesn’t flinch. Who smiles when I touch them.”
“You’re wanted, Erik. Deeply.”
He made a sound then, low and trembling, and buried his face against your shoulder. His hands curled tighter around you.
“I never thought I’d live long enough to feel this.”
“You’re allowed to,” you murmured, stroking his hair. “Feel it. Let yourself have it.”
The two of you lay there like that for a while—legs tangled together, hearts beating in tandem, mouths brushing lazily over each other in a cocoon of warmth and silk. There was no rush, no world outside the bed. Just two bodies holding on. Just peace.
Eventually, Erik broke the silence with a sleepy, almost boyish murmur.
“Do you know what I dreamt last night?”
“What?” you asked, smiling against his shoulder.
“That you kissed me in a garden. And there was sun. I don’t often dream of sunlight.”
You kissed the tip of his nose. “Maybe you should start.”
>This has evolved into its own story, if its not something you're interested in, feel free to skip this one and check out some other fics on my page! °v°
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"UGH!" His voice rattles the windows, papers and books flung across the study.
Aloïs. Former lover to Y/n, Opera house costume designer, nobleman who was presumed dead. All titles he was ready to use to his will.
"Sir! We've searched the tavern, every room that isn't burnt in the theater-" the officer pleads.
"Then you didn't look HARD enough!" Aloïs scolds, taking a shaky breath while leaning over the desk.
Y/n's blue ballgown clutched in his hand.
Y/n.
His Y/n was taken like he feared so long ago.
His vest and tie ripped off with aggression. Hair that was once pulled back, now a rough state of frustration.
"Monsieur, we don't know where they are." the officer repeats calmly.
Aloïs's breaths heavy as he thinks, holding the dress to his temple as if it would help him think. His teeth grind together before he forces words though them.
"I know where they are! Just not how to get there!"
His fist hits the desk with heavy impact.
"The tunnels are intricate! Hard to follow! The only way to know how to get there is a we'd already been-" his voice stops when realization hits him.
"Already been there." he continues quietly.
It starts small, a maddening chuckle to some realization he had.
"Very well! I will play your game. You'll be certain to attend." Aloïs mutters, but his words weren't directed to the officer.
The officer somewhat follows Aloïs's insane ramblings before adding his own plans.
"We are certain the police is there, We are certain that they are armed."
"The curtain falls. His rain will end."
Aloïs gives the dress in his palm one final squeeze before swiftly tossing it to the side and walking toward the exit.
"Ready my carriage! To the De Chagny Estate. Hurry!"
Fury rising and his anger restless as he made his way. However, Across the city of Paris, warmth spread though the cave walls.
Her fingertips ran across the small stage, crafted with dolls, chairs and a fire pit at the center. A deliberate and detailed play by the name of 'Don Juan Triumphant'.
A trap set to capture the beautiful Opera singer Christine Daaé and bring her to the lair that Y/n now stood in.
"So... This is where... everything happened?" she asks more carefully than she'd admit.
Eyes darting between the dreaded Phantom and the model stage.
She wasn't afraid of him. Not anymore. But she was still getting used to it, the feeling of knowing it was him. The man she feared had snaked into her heart under the mask of Erik. Ironic.
His arms crossed, his back leaning against the wall and studying eyes following her every movement.
"Yes. When I wasn't hidden in the tunnels of the Theater. I was here. Planning, crafting, writing."
Y/n felt an estranged giggle bubble though her stomach.
He was a gentleman of many talents. She almost wondered how someone like him would get shunned by society, for what was only skin deep. Shunned for a distorted face.
Well...
Besides the murders.
"Is that all you did? Scheme and write?" she finally could tease him a bit. Tension leaving her with every glance.
"Opposed to sleeping and eating..." he starts his reply.
Pushing off the wall, he uncrosses his arms only to wrap them back around her waist. Her baggy trousers and shirt folding beneath his strong back hug.
"But I can't say that the years of boredom weren't worth it. As a result, I have you here, in my arms."
Her eyes roll from his cheesy words, glancing back at him with her hands on his.
"I'm still angry with you. I see though your cuddly tricks, Monsieur."
Erik looked like a pouty puppy, but just for a second before he effortlessly lifts her up, swinging her in a few circles.
"Perhaps this will persuade you!" he toys with her.
And again, the butterflies in her stomach forced a laugh to escape her, her eyes closed and she holds on for dear life.
"Erik! Stop! Stop! Your leg!" Her voice objects, laughs echoing though the cave.
A small, elegant, spin turned her back to face him and her feet back on the ground.
"My darling Y/n, My pain is easily snuffed out by your beautiful symphony of laughter." he confesses, adding a small kiss to sweeten his words.
Y/n melts only a little at the gentleness of his kiss. Her heart pounding and sending a small flush to her cheeks. He had a way of so easily normalizing their kisses after just recently having their first.
She was about to continue this little banter when something catches her eye.
A dark hallway behind a broken mirror, red curtains almost made it completely hidden.
"What... is that?" she hesitates to ask, again, but this time from curiosity.
Erik sighs quietly. Only stepping away from her for a moment to drop the red curtain completely. Hushing the doorway into the past. Where it belonged.
"It was my escape once."
Y/n could tell, it wasn't a subject he'd like to discuss, it was a day of pain for most residents of the theater. Her included.
She only cups his cheek, pulling his eyes back to hers and placing the smallest kiss on his eyelid.
"Well, we best not make a fuss about it then. After all! You promised me a meal, Monsieur."
His smile returns as soon as the words leave her mouth.
A foot crossing behind the other, a gentle bow of his head and a offered hand make Y/n smile all the more.
"Very well, Mademoiselle. Dinner is served."
She took his hand without hesitation, eyes soft as she watched his eyes.
He'd changed so much from the man he once was all those months ago.
~~~
"Masquerade! Every face a different shade! Masquerade! Look around there's another mask behind you." the singers sung their part.
Y/n smiled, even tho it was behind the face of a weeping mask. Her dance moves following her fellow dancers at her side with elegance and joy.
The floors covered in golden confetti while elegant dancers filled the marble steps of the theater.
Christine was Secretly engaged at this point in time. The managers were giving higher pay and their moods had never been so brilliant. Even Aloïs seemed to be filled with joy for once.
The masquerade was going so well. Y/n had never been happier to dance on thw golden steps while others enjoyed a nightly drink.
Her unbreathable corset was the only problem then, until someone pushed past Y/n, and took its place.
A large man, wrapped in a red coat that burnt like fire among the plain white and black's of the dancers clothing. An elegant mask covered the most of his face. A skull design to frighten onlookers. Blade at his side and a cape following him like a trail of blood.
His steps quiet as he found his way to the center of the grand steps.
The Phantom had returned.
Y/n opened her mouth to call out! To warn someone! But suddenly, a hand wrapped around her mouth.
"Don't interfere, Y/n." Aloïs growled quietly behind her, his eyes narrow while watching the masked man.
He was shushing her? Why! Did he not want her to catch the attention of the Phantom?
"Why so Silent, good messieurs? Did you think that I have left you for good?" The phantom sings, his footsteps heavy on the stairs and upon each person's ears.
Y/n watched in simple silence as he suddenly threw his masterpiece, 'Don Juan Triumphant', onto the floor.
He approached each of the lead cast members. Charlotta, Piangi and even the managers got instructed by him.
With each of his demands, Aloïs's grip on Y/n's mouth grew stronger. Perhaps he could feel the adrenaline build in her blood. Her anger and want to cut this criminal down.
"As for our star, Christine Daaé..."
Y/n felt her eyes narrow as he approached their lead singer. Christine's body frozen in fear and curiosity.
"Let me go, Aloïs!" Y/n growls quietly, shoving and pushing at him.
"No! Let him have her!" Aloïs holds her waist with his arms, yanking her further and further back.
"... Or he might have you instead!"
His words suddenly stunned Y/n. 'Have her instead?' Whats that supposed to mean? Why would the Phantom at all try to take her instead of Christine.
Confusion takes her gaze back to the masked killer.
A red suit, and skull defining mask, purposefully made to show the angry monster he wanted everyone to see. But there was something beneath it. His eyes longed for her, for Christine.
When Christine stepped closer to him. All eyes were on her, all but Y/n's.
Y/n's eyes were lured towards The Phantom.
His body language, the look of surprise when Christine showed little fear, captivated Y/n. Her throat tightened when sadness filled her body.
He... He was terrified. Scared of Christine, not the other way around. Y/n could tell just by watching those darkened eyes. He loved her so much, even going to far as to fear her gentle eyes.
But just as suddenly as his vulnerability showed, so did it dissappear again. His hand aggressively plucking the ring, hanging from Christine's neck, off.
"You're chains are still mine! You belong to me!" he snapped at her and suddenly vanished into the hole ground.
~~~
Y/n's body jerks awake, her eyes open wide for just a moment before she grumbles.
The cave echoing around her and the heavy structure creaking above.
She closes her eyes and touching her surroundings to find her bearings. Palm gently pressed onto a firm surface.
"A nightmare?" The gentlest voice reaches her ears. Heavy and deep.
She smiles before her eyes open again. Her firm little pillow ended up being his shoulder.
"No, just a memory."
Y/n reaches to cup his burnt cheek, giving it a soothing stroke.
His hand around her torso, keeping her close to his side.
"It was about you actually." She whispers, matching his soft tone.
Their meal had lead to a comfortable sleep in his shell shaped bed. And she'd been in his arms for hours since. Simply curling into each other's silent grasp.
"Oh? About me."
"Yes. The night of the masquerade. You scared Aloïs to death. He wouldn't let me get near you."
"Scared." the words leave his tongue like a dragging blade.
"He should've been. That day I was furious." Erik confesses, his fingers rubbing soothing circles onto her hip.
"And you? Were you scared, Ma chanson?"
The nickname caught her off guard. 'My Song' How he could make her smile so easily, she'd never know.
"No. At least, not completely scared."
Her arms push her body up. At least enough to meet his eyes at his level.
"I was curious. You seemed so angry. But I saw the sadness you tried to hide. It broke a bit of my heart."
She pouts only a bit, carefully nuzzling her nose against his before whispering her little Confession.
"I never want to see it again."
Her little pout made Erik chuckle, but her whisper was his tipping point. Compelling him to kiss her lips in the most gentle way.
"My Darling. If you'll allow me see those beautiful eyes every day, I will never have another reason to feel despair again."
Y/n watched him for a moment before giggling into his shirt, hiding the blush on her face.
Erik was fully prepared to tease her with loving words for the rest of the day. Until a sound in the distance echoed into the cave.
His eyes switch suddenly, narrow and agitated.
"What was that?"
Y/n asks, sitting up and watching him easily leap from the bed.
"Someone's here."
Y/n leaps from the bedding aswell, her bare feet against the stone floor as she follows behind him.
Erik is quick to take his mask and sword out of instinct, except this time, he's not fighting for his own safety. He's fighting for Y/n's aswell.
Y/n takes the candle stand she used before. Hands gripping onto the golden metal, eyes narrow as the footsteps approached.
Y/n felt her nerves build more and more, until finally, a black boot caught her attention from behind the open sewer gate.
Erik growls, leaping forward and though the water, his fist clenched around the gate lever, refusing to let Y/n be taken again.
Except a voice stops him. A sweet melodic song, echoing peacefully through the cave.
"Angel of music, Guide and Guardian."
Y/n's eyes widen as suddenly as her throat tightens. A voice that once made her dance so beautifully, now made her heart twist into fear. That voice could so easily take him from her.
"Christine..." Erik whispers, his hand drifting away from the lever, and his body turning towards the entrance.
There she was. Her gown exquisite as her beauty. Eyes innocent and glittering. The Viscount Raoul de Chagny, not far behind, simply there as Christine's guard.
Eric didn't look away. Not once. He craved her presence for months since the Opera house burnt down. She'd been his only strength, for aslong as he could remember.
The silence was thick in the cave, Y/n's pounding heart in her ears and her eyes glued to Erik.
It's true she trusted him. She knew he loved her, but deep down, Christine would always have a lingering place in his heart.
Y/n wanted to be selfish, to grab his hand and yank his attention back onto her, kiss him and never let him forget how she loved him.
But she couldn't do that. Not to him, he'd been forced to hide for long enough. He needed to see her. Atleast once more.
Aloïs took this opportunity to stalk around the center attraction. Making his way to his target. Y/n.
Erik was memorized, engulfed in the memories of Christine rushing through his mind. His eyes taut in her direction.
Christine delicately pushed Raoul's hand from her wrist, stepping closer and into the water.
"Don't do this, my angel. Don't take another innocent woman. She's not me." Christine tries to reason, only knowing what Aloïs had told her.
That the Phantom of the Opera had taken another innocent woman. And this made Christine feel responsible.
Erik seemingly comes back to is senses again. After hearing that last sentence, his eyes shift back to the water. Silent for a second.
Then his chuckle broke the silence. A chilling echo.
"You're right, Christine."
His sword is quick and precise, suddenly stopping Aloïs in his tracks with a blade to his chest. Aloïs who had stalked so close so fast, steps away from grabbing Y/n.
"She isn't you." Erik finishes his response.
Their blades strike with a echoing clang. Erik's cloak frantically fluttering though the air as he blocks Aloïs's from getting any closer.
Y/n smiled slowly, letting out a breathy laughter as her heart lowers back to a relived thump.
But it was short lived.
She watched the scene unfold, her thoughts quickly calculate everything at once.
Erik's leg was still weak, Aloïs was stuck in another one of his angry fits! How was she meant to fix this!
Aloïs roared in frustration. His hair flipping as he lunges to strike.
"You cannot take what was mine first!"
Erik blocks again, giving the frustrated man child a shove back, water splashing suddenly.
"You constantly insist that she is yours to take. Only a fool would so eagerly try to tame her."
Erik steps closer with a growing murderous glare beside a knowing smirk.
Aloïs snarls and combs his messy hair back from his face.
"You're a coward! Taking her when I'm not looking!"
He steps though the water, and their blades meet in constant swings. Never hesitating to strike at a vital spot.
"You're a fool for taking your eyes off her!"
Phantom retorts. Tho he's almost met with Another of Aloïs's strikes. His foot work weakened by an injured leg.
Y/n's body suddenly flinched itself awake at the next blade strike, this one almost reaching Erik's abdomen.
What was she doing! Just standing there and watching like a frightened little girl. She wouldn't be that woman. She never has been.
Erik cries in pain when he suddenly looses his footing in the water, his weakened leg unable to keep him up right.
"Die, Ghost!" Aloïs's spits.
Aloïs's blade lifts into the air, ready to give a fatal blow, but Y/n's feet are already gliding through the watery depths.
A small symphony playing in her head before she's overwhelmed with a painful strike and a shriek ripping though her vocals.
The blade cutting though her skin easily, and the air hangs with a sudden tension. For Erik, his body couldn't move fast enough to grab her. Nonetheless, she landed in his arms.
Maybe it was his pounding heart that muffled her pained cry, or the smell of copper mixing with cold cave water.
A view before his eyes he knew every time he looked in the mirror.
He cradles her swiftly in his cloak, his hand holding the back of her head. Her hands gripping the side of her face.
"Y/n! Y/n! Shh..."
He hushes her, while his glove and sword are quickly tossed to the side.
His fingertips sooth her cheek, blood seeping into the crevices of his fingers.
"Y-y/n.. I didn't mean to-" Aloïs stutters in shock. Christine and Raoul standing in shock behind him.
"Silence!" Erik almost screams out, tho he held himself back from ending Aloïs, for the sake of Y/n in his arms.
Y/n cried silently, every nerve in her face burning with warning and pain.
Erik knew he had to make a decision. Now more than ever while everyone was in shock. While he held Y/n in his arms. His protection.
He holds her tightly, the scaffolding creaking above their heads with a dreadful threat.
He leans closer, placing his forehead to hers and whispers in a gentle silk voice.
"Y/n, do you trust me?"
Her eyes shift from Aloïs's to Erik's. Her heart pounding so loudly that she almost missed Erik's gentle voice.
She did. She trusted him every night at the tavern. She trusted him though every hungry night. Though every tear they shared together.
"Always." her voice whimpers though the burning sensation.
Aloïs screamed in the background, watching the scaffolding loose it's final strength.
But so did Y/n. Loosing her final bits of resistance to conscious thought, and simply giving into the phantoms embrace.
Harsh dust and large boulders hit the ground with an earth rumbling crash. Flames and water scattered across the once secret lair of a bloody killer with a monstrous face.
The cave collapsed in on itself. Breaking the weakened pillars that stood for years before.
Aloïs's screams fill the cluttered cave, Christine and Raoul run from danger.
That was the last they were seen. The phantom and the dancer.
Only embracing in the candle light before a horrid fate. The whisper of a doorway hidden by a red curtain behind them.
~3 Years later~
He flicks the newspaper with the cigar fitting between his yellowed teeth.
"Mighty shame what happened to them French folk." he speaks in a heavy Texas accent.
A hat to fit his white suit and golden pocket watch.
His wife sitting beside him at the circle table, pats her cheeks with some foundation while looking into a small mirror in her palm.
"Yes, well. Can't say they didn't deserve it, darlin'. Them 2 were murderers, ya know!"
She closes the mirror and pushes it back into her purse.
"Tsk! Damn if I believe that! They were just another poor couple gettin' harassed by bunch a' rich basterds!"
He twists his large body in the silk chair, looking around at the darkened theater room. Hundreds of other well off Americans chatting at their own tables.
"Now, now hush you! The show is startin'." His wife waves him off again, glancing up at the stage.
The spotlight flicks on easily. Revealing a pianist with a familiar white mask on his face. His eyes like a snake, studying the crowd slowly to be sure of no danger.
As soon as his fingertips grace the piano keys, a dancer is revealed by a second spotlight.
A gown of pure white to match the mask covering her face. A mask hiding a deep skinned scar.
"The Masked Show, ey? Let's see what all the fuss is 'bout." The Man says in a harsh whisper.
The dancer smiles as her legs glide across the stage to the beautiful piano symphony. Her movements were ones never before seen by an American crowd. Almost like she was dancing in mid air.
A song composed with deep heartfelt notes and a story to tell in its sorrowful pages.
A bewildered crowd watches her enchanting movements closely. But another pair of eyes follow her figure.
A smile on his face while he watches his darling grace the dance floor.
The one thing that thr 2004 film gets right is making Christine a Chorus girl. AND EVEN THEN THEY STILL MESS IT UP.
A ballet girl in an opera house COULD NOT SING. So why in the musical do the ballet girls mid hannibal ballet start singing!? When we know they have a Chorus.
The 2004 film gets this right they call Christine a Chorus girl...but she still does the ballet. When she shouldn't.
