Came Home Drunk and Kissed My Phantom | Erik/Fem!Reader
synopsis: In which a night of celebration, too much champagne, and an awkward encounter at the party lead to an unexpected rescue. The Phantom whisks you away from the revelry, only to discover that being your savior comes with its own peril: enduring a hundred tipsy, affectionate kisses he has no idea how to refuse.
notes: Both the title and the latter half of the premise are referencing this particular meme. This fic is super self-indulgent and stems from my feeling of cuteness aggression towards him ❤️
word count: 1.6k words
warnings/tags: fem!reader, opera singer reader, established relationship, fluff, sfw, alcohol consumption, reader is drunk, brief unwanted advance from another character, protective and jealous Erik
The Opera Populaire glittered that night as if Paris itself had bent low to offer up its finest jewels. Crystal chandeliers blazed above the grand foyer, casting rainbows across marble floors already polished to a mirror’s gleam.
Everywhere there was laughter, champagne, and the sound of glasses clinking in triumph. The performance season had ended in resounding success, and tonight was its culmination: a celebration for all who had made it possible.
And at the heart of it all was you.
Your name was on every tongue. Your voice still echoed in the ears of the audience, even though the curtain had long since fallen. Firmin and André hovered like proud uncles, or vultures, at your elbow, alternately praising your talent and congratulating themselves for having “recognized such brilliance from the start.”
“My dear, you must know,” André crowed, his cheeks flushed red from wine, “that Paris has not seen such an ingénue in years! You have given the Opera Populaire new life, new glamour!”
“Indeed, indeed,” Firmin chimed in, bobbing his head as though he himself had been the one giving you midnight vocal lessons, correcting your phrasing, steadying your trembling breath. “A triumph such as this ensures not only your future, my dear, but the future of the Opera itself!”
You smiled, demure yet glowing beneath their words. You accepted their praise graciously, as was expected, but in your heart you knew better. For behind every note you’d sung, behind every daring step onto that stage, there had been a hidden hand. A tutor; a shadow; Erik.
It was his relentless guidance that had carved away your hesitation, his genius that had shaped your voice until it could soar. Every ovation belonged, at least in part, to him. And though you stood now beneath blazing chandeliers, draped in silk and surrounded by admirers, your thoughts strayed to the labyrinth below. To the man who could not stand among them, but without whom you would not be here at all.
But you had no chance to linger on him. The celebration carried you along like a current. Chorus girls swooped in, laughing, tugging you toward the center of the room. The ballet corps, still flushed from their own triumph, pulled you into their circle, pressing a glass of champagne into your hand. Carlotta swept past in an explosion of perfume and satin, her voice dripping condescension even as she muttered a curt “Brava” in acknowledgment.
The orchestra struck up a lively waltz, and soon you were spinning, skirts flaring, the golden light dizzying your eyes. Laughter spilled from your lips more easily than you expected, loosened by the champagne, by the triumph, by the sheer euphoria of survival after so many nights of doubt.
By the time midnight neared, you were flushed and bright, your head swimming with bubbles and music. The chandeliers blurred at the edges, and you leaned against a marble pillar to catch your breath.
That was when he appeared.
“Forgive me,” said a voice at your shoulder. You turned to see a young man, one of the minor tenors, if memory served. His name eluded you; you’d scarcely spoken to him in rehearsals. His smile was too wide, his bow too elaborate. “I realized we have never been properly introduced. Allow me.” He caught your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles. “An honor, mademoiselle.”
His breath was heavy with wine. His gaze lingered too long. Still, you laughed it off at first. Politeness was second nature. You offered your name, endured his chatter about how dazzling you had been, how envious he was of your success.
But soon his hand brushed yours again. His shoulder leaned too near. His voice dropped lower, coaxing, suggestive.
“You shine brighter than anyone tonight,” he murmured. “Perhaps I could… escort you from all this noise? Find somewhere quieter—”
You swayed, half from the champagne, half from the sudden unease that rippled through you. You stepped back, meaning to excuse yourself, but he followed, still smiling, his hand grazing your arm as though it were all a jest.
When suddenly, the air changed.
A draft swept through the gilded hall, cold as graveyard earth. The laughter around them dimmed as shadows thickened at the edge of the light.
Before you could blink, a figure materialized: a sweep of black cape, the gleam of white mask. Gasps rang out, sharp shattering of glasses on marble, but no one dared interfere.
The Phantom.
His hand shot out, clamping down on the young man’s shoulder with the silent promise of death. The tenor paled, stammering, every trace of arrogance draining away as he felt the iron grip. Erik’s voice, when it came, was a hiss like steel drawn from its sheath.
“You will remove yourself.”
The boy’s protest died in his throat. He wrenched free and fled, tripping over his own feet in his haste. A ripple of terror spread throughout the onlookers, but Erik’s attention had already left them. His gaze was fixed only on you—flushed, unsteady, lips parted in drunken astonishment.
You blinked at him then swayed again, whispering, “Please… don’t hurt anyone. Not for me.”
His rage trembled in every line of him. His gloved hands flexed as though still longing to snap a neck. It would be so easy to let the infamous lasso sing, to silence the insolent man who had dared lay claim to you. But your plea, slurred though it was, stilled him. With a furious sweep of his cape, he wrapped you close, drawing you against him.
Gasps followed as he whisked you from the ballroom, through hidden passages only he knew and could command. By the time the revelers dared to breathe again, both Phantom and ingénue had vanished.
His lair was cool, silent, the faint trickle of the underground lake echoing through the chamber. Erik deposited you onto the vast, curtained bed, his movements sharp with restrained violence. He paced at first, cape flaring, hands clenched behind his back. His anger had no outlet; it seared in the air like lightning, though stormless.
You, however, seemed utterly oblivious. You lay sprawled against the dark covers, laughter bubbling faintly from your lips as though the whole world were a dream.
“There you are,” you murmured, eyes half-lidded, “my shining knight. I was just thinking about you…”
Your hand reached, clumsy but firm, catching at his sleeve. You tugged, and when he resisted, you tugged harder, until he stumbled nearer to the bed.
Erik froze as your fingers brushed his glove. You tugged at it, fumbled, and finally slipped it free. His hand, pale, long-fingered, deadly, lay exposed. Before he could snatch it back, you pressed your lips to it.
One kiss. Then another.
“It’s easy,” you whispered, lips brushing his skin, “to forget how adorable you can be. With your terrible reputation. With the mask you chose.”
Another kiss. “But I know better.”
Erik’s body quaked. This was madness. This was a fever-dream conjured by wine. Yet your lips left proof upon his flesh, impossible and deliberate.
Your lipstick smeared faintly against his skin as you trailed upward, along the back of his hand. Each bony knuckle, one by one, felt the warmth of your kiss. Then his wrist, his forearm. Your breath was warm, your laughter soft. “You’re mine,” you whispered. “No one else. Just mine.”
“St— Stop this—” His voice broke, half plea half command. He stood rigid, every nerve ablaze.
But you did not stop. You pressed your mouth to the fabric of his sleeve, to the line of his shoulder, to the hollow of his throat, climbing up and up, scattering kisses like petals. Smudges bloomed scarlet against black. When you tilted your face toward his mask, your eyes shone with intoxicated devotion.
He trembled. Every instinct screamed to flee, to vanish into shadow. And yet he could not move.
Your hands framed his face, mask and all, and kissed the corner of it, lips leaving stains like proof of possession. “My Erik,” you whispered against him. “My music, my heart…”
He went utterly still. A kiss on what was false, on what hid the horror. And it undid him more than if you had simply stripped the mask away.
He gave a strangled sound, alien, something between a groan and a laugh, and at last his resistance broke. With a shuddering breath, he sank down beside you, allowing himself to be pulled into your warmth.
You nestled against him immediately, as though you had been waiting all night for this surrender, and your lips found him yet again. Pressing adoringly along the sharp line of his jaw, trailing soft, clumsy kisses down the column of his throat, brushing reverent against the seam where mask met skin. Your hands were just as insistent, sliding over his shoulders, tugging lightly at his collar as if even fabric were too much of a barrier between you. He tried to still you, to hold you away, but his trembling fingers betrayed him, clutching at your waist instead.
At last, exhaustion tugged at you. You slumped against his chest with a dreamy sigh, lips curved in a sleepy smile, and your drunken devotion softened into little murmurs against his neck.
Erik sat stiffly for a long while, heart hammering, face burning beneath the mask. His gloves were gone, his clothes smeared with lipstick, his very skin tingling from your reckless affection, the ghost of every kiss seared into him.
Slowly, his body yielded. His arm curled around you almost hesitantly, drawing you closer. He lowered his chin until it rested against your hair, breathing you in, letting the unfamiliar, though not unwelcome comfort seep into him.
When he finally dared to look down, he saw himself marked: smudges of crimson blooming across leather and linen, staining him with proof that he had been touched, claimed. He ought to have scrubbed the stains away…
Instead, with a shudder, he gently pulled the covers over your shoulders and let the marks remain: bright as wounds, holy as relics.
Character: Erik Stevens Moore x Elijah Moore x Elias Moore x Alison Daniels
Warnings: Heavy Smut and barely any plot.
MINORS DNI
One Shot
-
They kept her waiting for weeks. A whole month to be exact.
She had been so needy, a whiny little mess begging for attention— to be touched.
The boys teased her, kisses that lasted a little too long, hands that gripped her ass too tight and fingers that smoothed over her skin way too often.
She wasn’t allowed to touch herself, wasn’t allowed to cry or pout. She just had to take it. Take their absence as her punishment.
She had made the mistake of leaving. One heated argument that ended with her staying at her friend’s house for two nights. Two nights was how long she lasted before she crawled back to them in need of relief.
Her apologies didn’t cut it, not even when it came with the way her pussy cried out to them too.
The boys left her stuck, full of want, body aching from how bad she needed them. All three.
She was so damn greedy and they loved it.
That day they finally agreed she had enough. Her mood had been the worst they’ve ever seen, she snapped at everything, cried at nothing and barked at anyone. Never at them though, she knew better.
But the boys craved her just as bad as she craved them and the punishment started to feel like they were now the ones suffering more than her.
-
Their excuse to get her out of the house was that they had to run errands. She got dressed in a light yellow dress that hugged her curves and poked her ass out with some Hermes sandals and her purse. Her hair had been straightened, sitting down her back in layers of deep brown strands.
She grabbed a random perfume, probably one of the expensive ones that Erik buys her, and sprayed it on. There was no smile on her face, no excitement to be outside at all.
“You ready, mama?” Elijah hugged her from behind. Their shared bedroom was filled with the aroma of her lotion and scent. He buried his face into her neck, sniffing deeply, dragging his nose up and down her soft skin.
“S-stop.” She whispered, body shivering from how sensitive she was. Elijah smirked, deep chuckle floating out his lips.
“Come on, girl. Let’s get you outta here before you explode.”
Alison rolled her eyes and groaned. “It’s not funny.” She pouted.
“My bad, baby.” Elijah smirked, holding her hand as he led them out of the room and outside towards the car where Elias and Erik waited.
-
By the time they reached the brunch spot, Alison felt her stomach rumble. She was glad when their waitress was quick to take their order and disappeared off into the back until it was ready.
They were seated at the far end of the restaurant, deep enough to not be seen but still visible. Alison sat in a booth sandwiched between Elias and Erik, their backs facing the rest of the customers.
She was too busy on her phone to notice the way their conversations hushed, her mind too distracted to see the look they gave each other right before Erik placed his hand on her thigh.
Her body stiffened, eyes shifting to Erik who looked down at her and winked just as Elias placed his hand on her other thigh.
Alison didn’t speak, didn’t bother stopping them as their hands trailed circles onto the meat on her bones, slowly inching closer and closer to her heat. She was already wet, drenched from that little move Elijah pulled earlier. It was no surprise to Erik when his fingers met the damp thong underneath her dress.
“Damn. You already dripping for us?” She nodded, her words caught in her throat as she felt him pull the cloth to the side and rub her already enlarged clit.
Alison couldn’t help but gasp at the feel of Elias sinking two long fingers inside of her awaiting hole. She clenched around him, legs already trembling and her eyes rolling to the back of her head.
Elijah watched in amusement, his bottom lip cushioned between his teeth. He loved to watch her like this. Trying hard to hide her moans, grasping onto the table like it’ll save her from what they’re doing to her.
You could hear the sounds of Elias sliding in and out of her, cream coating his fingers with every thrust. Erik added more pressure to her nub and Alison couldn’t help but let a whimper escape her lips.
Elijah shook his head. “Nuh uh. Not a fucking sound or I tell them to stop.” Her eyes teared up from how good she felt, how much she needed it.
“C-can I cum?” Elias smirked, leaned down to kiss her cheek and neck.
“Already, baby? I wanted to play with you a little longer”
“I c—can’t hold it.” Alison’s back arched slightly, her body shaking from the buildup.
“Ga head. Let me see you make a mess.” Erik whispered into her ear. Deep voice snapping the last bit of restraint she had before her body bent.
Elias used his free hand to cover her mouth, just as she let out a small cry. Elijah groaned, dick heavy and pulsing under his jeans just from watching her. Erik and Elias were in the same boat, eyes locked onto her as she rode out her orgasm.
Elias pulled back first, fingers going right into his mouth to taste her essence. Erik followed, eyes closing from her taste.
“So good.” He moaned. The man had no shame.
“Let him get a taste, baby.” Elias nodded to Elijah. Alison looked at all three of them, wide eyed and face flushed. Her hands met her wet center, sighing as she dug her fingers into her pussy, coating them in her cum before bringing them to his lips.
Elijah wrapped his mouth around her digits, making sure to suck off everything she was offering. “I could live off of you. So fucking sweet.” He groaned, gripping her wrist to keep her hand there as he licked every single drop.
Alison smiled in satisfaction, her body feeling somewhat lighter, but she needed more and the boys knew that.
-
The car ride to the mall was quiet but the way their bodies hummed was loud enough to fill the small space.
Elijah drove into the parking garage, stopping in a secluded corner. “Go to the backseat.” Was all he said to Alison as he turned the car off.
Elias and Erik stepped out, giving her room sit. Elijah walked around, not bothering to get in the back. “Lay down.” He pulled her legs towards him. Her back met the soft cushion of the seats, thighs spreading open under the weight of his hands.
She didn’t even have time to gasp before he had already slid her thong off of her legs, pocketed them and then shoved his face into her warm abyss.
“Fuuuuckkkk” she moaned loudly, not caring who heard or saw her. Elijah sucked her clit then swirled his tongue around it like it was lollipop. His fingers stretched her out, pumping into her at a pace she could barely keep up with.
Erik and Elijah watched in admiration, just itching to grab her—tear her apart. But that wasn’t part of the plan. Not yet.
Alison whimpered against Elijah, her hands gripping dark coils, shoving his face further into her pussy. “Elijaaahhh oh my god.” Her legs shook, threatening to snap close from the pleasure but Elijah held her open.
“Give me that nut, mama. I want it all in my fucking mouth.” He puckered his lips, spitting on her clit before licking and sucking it back up. Alison’s back arched off the car seats— her orgasm shattering through her. She cried out, squirt bathing Elijah’s face and he just drank it like a man who’s been starved and dehydrated.
Alison felt him pull back, her eyes were glued to the ceiling, body slightly twitching and a small satisfied smile on her face. But it wasn’t enough. Not yet.
Elias passed him a towel from the trunk, he wiped her down before drying his face and helping her stand up. Alison walked on shaky legs, following Erik towards the elevator.
-
“Get whatever you want, I told you don’t worry about it.” Erik kissed Alison, guiding her deeper into the Louis Vuitton store. “You said you wanted this bag. Get it.”
“It’s too much, Erik.”
“When have we ever worried about anything being too much? Grab the bag, Alison.” Elias commented, already carrying a new pair of sneakers in his hand.
She sighed, pointing to the cute small purse she had been eyeing for months. The store attendant immediately went to go grab the bag from the back, already wrapped up and ready to go.
“Want to try on some clothes?” Erik couldn’t help but hide the sly grin on his face that Alison had completely missed. Too excited to get some new items in her closet.
The dressing room was huge and most importantly, empty. Alison had a big pile of clothes that resulted in her getting the biggest room… all the way in the back.
She closed the curtain, placing the clothes on the rack before starting to strip. Just as she was about to pick up the new dress, Erik walked in. Eyes dark and hungry.
She was completely naked, Elijah had taken her underwear and she didn’t wear a bra.
“Erik! What are you doing here?”
He didn’t answer, just lowered his sweats low enough to pull out his shaft and then sat on the bench. “Come ride this dick. Been needing to be inside you all day.”
Alison immediately listened, her body answering before she could. She sunk down onto his length, biting her lip to keep from moaning. “Oh my god, you’re so big.” She whispered against his ear, her head resting against his shoulder.
“Take this shit. This your dick, you ain’t got no other choice.” Alison whimpered, relaxing her body so that she could take him fully.
He groaned, feeling her clench against him. “Good girl, now ride me. Nice and quiet so we don’t get caught, baby.” His hands gripped her ass, helping her bounce up and down on his dick.
Alison wrapped her arms around his neck, her eyes squeezed shut, hoping it’ll help her stay silent. But she felt him hitting her G spot with every thrust, her body shook on top of his, begging to cum.
“You so fucking nasty. Look at you.” His hand cradled her jaw, forcing their eyes to meet. “Got me deep in ya guts in the middle of a fitting room. Pussy singing out to me like she ain’t scared that anyone could walk in.”
Alison whimpered, her juices coating him in a thick white froth. “Erriiiikkkkkk—I’m gonna cum.”
“Ga head. Give it to me. I’m bout to nut all in this pussy.” Alison let go, her body arching into him. Erik covered her mouth, knowing how loud she could get. He moaned into her neck, ropes of thick cum shooting into her as he rocked his hips, helping the both of them ride out their orgasms.
The curtain pushed open, Elijah and Elias watching Alison slump onto Erik’s chest.
“Let’s go before y’all get the cops called on us.” Elias helped Alison get off of Erik and get dressed. Elijah pulled out a rag he had, cleaning her off before handing it to Erik to wipe himself down.
-
The boys carried her bags as they followed her from store to store. Eyes glued to the way her ass moved, imagining the way her pretty pussy sat in between her legs.
“I gotta pee. I’ll be back.” The boys nodded, watching her walk off.
Once Alison was done, she stepped out of the stall to wash her hands when the door suddenly opened. Elias walked in, smirk sitting on his lips. The sound of the door locking was loud enough to awaken her nerves.
“Elias…” she whispered, eyes darling to the other stall, the door hiding the woman who currently sat in there.
“Bend over for me.” He stood behind her, pressed his hand onto her back so that she bent forward. Their eyes meet in the mirror, his clouded with nothing but lust, hers full of excitement and horror.
“Wait baby. There’s somebody else—”
Elias didn’t bother listening, he lifted her dress, groaning at the sight of her puffy lips. He pulled down his sweats, dick swinging heavy before he grabbed it and rubbed it up and down her slit, coating himself in her juices.
“Elias wai—”
Alison moaned loudly at the feel of him stretching her. Slight shuffling came from the occupied stall, the woman peeked through the crack watching as Elias thrusted in and out of Alison. The sound of his length digging deep inside of her causing the woman to bite her lip, eyes wide in shock and need.
“You think I give a fuck about who watching us? You gon take this dick, anywhere, anytime. You hear me?” His hand wrapped around her hair, pulling her up against his chest.
“Yeeeeessssssss fuck— don’t stop. Please.” Alison’s eyes rolled to the back of her head, her legs trembling against his while he fucked her like she owned him pussy. Elias kept her up against him, one hand around her throat, holding but not chocking and the other around her waist.
“Greedy ass pussy. You still ain’t get enough, huh? Been coming and making a mess all day and it’s still begging for more.” His pace quickened, the sound of skin slapping filled the room and the woman in the stall refused to look away. Alison caught the sliver of her eyes, they stared at each other as she moaned and clawed at Elias’s arms.
“I can’t get enough. I can’t. I can’t.” She repeated like a chant. Her body shook, she felt her orgasm trying to unravel her but she didn’t want this to end. Not yet. Not while the woman in the stall looked at her like that.
Elias smirked, his eyes leaving Alison’s and going towards the small opening in the stall door. “You like this shit, huh? Like being watched while I turn you into a needy little slut?”
Alison whimpered loudly, her body no longer able to hold on any longer. “Yesss, yes keep fucking. Don’t fucking stop”
He bent her over again, gripped her hips and thrusted into her as fast as he could. Alison’s body bent like a crescent moon, silent cries escaping her lips as she came on Elias’s dick. He kept moving, groaning at the feel of her walls hugging him.
“Gimme that mouth.” He pulled out and Alison followed. She dropped to her knees, mouth open and tongue sliding out as he spilled his nut on her.
She moaned, swallowing all of it before pressing kisses along his shaft. Alison licked and sucked her juices off of him before pulling back and looking up at him with a smile you’d think was innocent.
Elias chuckled and shook his head. “What we gon do with you?” She giggled and stood up. Elias fixed her dress before pulling his sweats up and dragging her out of the bathroom, leaving the woman in the stall completely flushed.
-
The feel of the late night breeze kissed their skin as they all lounged around the balcony. Erik and Elias stood by the railing, blunt in between their lips and a cup of liquor in their hands.
Alison sat next to Elijah on the couch that was facing them. They all smelled freshly showered, bodies adorned in sweats and tight T shirts, except for Alison. She wore nothing but a red robe, silk smoothing her skin as she smoked her blunt.
“Come here.” Elijah interrupted the silence, his eyes were low and slightly red. His dick was hard against fabric, he’d been waiting all day to feel her. Alison, crawled on top of him, her back meeting his chest. Her legs opened, sitting on the outside of his thighs.
Elijah groaned, his hands working the knot of the robe before pulling it open. Her dark skin shined against the moons spotlight, her nipples pebbled from the wind, her cunt already wet and glistening.
Elias and Erik stared, not daring to blink.
“Show me what you want.” Elijah kissed the side of her neck, his hands gripping the heaviness of her breasts, squeezing and pulling like his own personal toys.
Alison squirmed, her hands moving down to pull him out of his sweats. He was already leaking, dick standing at attention against her palm.
She braced herself before sinking down onto his length. Eyes squeezing shut at the feel of him opening her up.
“All of it. You gon take all of it. Keep going” He moaned against the skin of her shoulder, his hand moved towards her clit, rubbing her slowly to help her relax.
Alison whimpered, her body easing down onto him. “S-so full.” She gasped, rocking her body back and forth.
“Mhmmm. But you taking it.” Elijah pulled her back against his chest, the small bit of patience he had snapping as he wrapped his arms around her body, firmly placed his feet on the floor and started fucking her.
“Fuck!” She screamed while his dick kept hitting her spot continuously. Elias and Erik watched, dicks in their hands as they stroked themselves.
Alison was in heaven, her body felt elated. Elijah was so deep inside of her that he could practically kiss her cervix. She loved the pain and pleasure of it all.
Her juices spilled out of her, gushes of it hitting the floor but Elijah kept going, moaning in her ear while his hips snapped up into her.
“Always so damn messy.” Erik groaned, his breathing becoming heavier.
“Elijaaahhhhhh” Her cries kept getting louder and louder, strangers passed by, eyes glued to the scene unfolding. Some kept walking, others stood and stared.
“Cum all over me, mama. I want to feel it.” He gripped her face, turning it towards him and pressing their lips together into a heated kiss. She could barely kiss back, her mouth open as little whimpers escaped her lips.
Elijah’s hand went back to her clit. Alison cried out, tears sliding down her face as her orgasm ripped through her.
“Mmm so beautiful.” Elias moaned.
“Mhmm” Erik agreed.
Elijah called out to her as he filled her up with his seed. Alison slumped back onto him, her body completely spent.
Elias walked up to her first, still stroking his dick. She leaned up, breast in perfect position as he spilled his juices onto them. Erik was next, gripping her hair, pulling her mouth to his length and decorating her tongue and lips.
“Satisfied?” Elijah asked, still buried inside of her while his hands smoothed circles on her skin.
That’s the first thing you notice—soft gold instead of darkness, the air warm instead of sharp. Your body feels heavy in that floaty way, the kind that means you’re safe enough to rest. Wrapped. Anchored.
Erik is sitting beside you on the edge of the bed.
He hasn’t moved.
You know this because his hand is still exactly where it was when you drifted off: resting over yours, fingers careful, like he’s afraid even the smallest shift might undo everything. His other hand smooths over your hair in slow, repetitive strokes, the rhythm almost devotional. Like he’s counting your breaths without meaning to.
When your eyes flutter open, he freezes.
Not pulls away—never that—but stills, every muscle taut, like a man caught praying out loud.
“You’re awake,” he says quietly, voice low and raw around the edges.
“Yeah,” you murmur. Your throat’s dry. He notices immediately.
“Don’t speak yet.” He reaches for the glass on the bedside table before you can argue, lifting it to your lips. “Slowly. Please.”
You do as he asks, mostly because it’s easier than pushing back. The water is cool, grounding. His thumb presses lightly under your chin to steady you, and the touch is so gentle it almost hurts.
When you’re done, he sets the glass aside and exhales, like he’s been holding that breath since you closed your eyes.
“There,” he whispers. “Good. You did wonderfully.”
You blink at him. “You keep saying that.”
His mouth curves—not quite a smile, more like relief trying to become one. “Because it is true. Because you stayed.”
There it is. The quiet edge beneath the softness.
You shift, and he’s instantly alert, hands hovering like he’s ready to catch you if you fall apart. He helps you sit up with maddening patience, rearranging pillows behind your back until you’re fully supported. Only then does he reach for the blanket, tucking it around your shoulders with meticulous care.
“You’re shaking,” he says.
“I’m okay.”
“I know,” he replies, too quickly. “I just—let me.”
He wraps his arms around you slowly, giving you time to pull away if you want to. You don’t. His chest is warm, solid, his heartbeat uneven beneath your ear. He smells like candle wax and metal and something unmistakably him.
“I worried I frightened you,” he admits, voice barely above a breath. “Sometimes I forget how… intensely I feel things.”
You hum softly. “I’m still here.”
His arms tighten. Just a fraction too much. Then he corrects himself, loosening his grip with visible effort.
“Yes,” he says. “You are. You always are.”
That sentence lands heavy. Not threatening—just desperate. Like he’s terrified the universe might overhear him and decide to disagree.
He presses a kiss to your hair. Then another. Each one careful, reverent, placed like punctuation between thoughts he can’t quite say out loud.
“Tell me if anything aches,” he murmurs. “Or if you’re cold. Or overwhelmed. I can fetch tea. Or music. Or silence. I can—” He cuts himself off, breath hitching. “I can do anything you need.”
You tilt your head back to look at him. Even half-hidden by the mask, you can feel his eyes on you, searching your face for cracks.
“Stay,” you say simply.
He swallows.
“I will,” he promises, immediate and absolute. “I would never leave you like this. Never.”
He guides you back down, settling beside you this time instead of hovering. One arm stays around you, firm and grounding; the other traces slow, absent-minded circles against your back. The motion is soothing, intentional. Like he’s memorizing the shape of you again, just to be sure.
Minutes pass. Maybe longer. Time doesn’t really exist down here.
“You know,” he says eventually, quieter now, “the world has never been kind to me.”
You glance up at him.
“But you are,” he continues. “And I—” His voice falters. He presses his forehead to yours, careful of the mask. “I do not know how to want gently. I only know how to want completely.”
You don’t pull away.
“That’s why this matters,” you say, half-teasing, half-serious.
He huffs out a soft, surprised sound. Almost a laugh.
“Then I will learn,” he says. “For you. As long as you are mine.”
Possessive. Honest. Vulnerable.
His hand finds yours again, fingers lacing together this time, grip firm but not trapping.
I was wondering how Erik would react to his Beloved while ovulating or being clingy ect due to lack of sleep? (You don’t have to that’s totally up to you!!)
Headcannons, let’s go~ TMI, but it’s my ovulation week so that’s what you’re getting :) but don’t worry, you’re both clingy afterwards.
Oh boy, poor, poor Erik-
While Erik is a true polymath and has extensive knowledge on anatomy and science, he’s never actually had a partner to know what ovulation is like first hand.
However, as true as that may be, he’s going to be all over you as soon as you make any implication of having a need, whether that be to make love to him or even for just some chocolates or cuddle time.
You’ll find him nervously hovering over you, his hands flitting about as though scared to touch you until they come to gently hold your hands for about five seconds before he starts fussing again.
He’s so, so, so incredibly sweet, fretting over you, your needs, and your comfort obsessively. Sometimes you have to put on that tone of voice and tell him to sit back and relax for a bit. Maybe you sit by him on his organ bench as he writes music and plays the keys to try and help calm him down.
Erik is incredibly desperate to please, but you may find that he is one of this partners who’s very like “it’s not uteri, it’s uterus”, so expect him to match your horny levels as best he can. (Keep in mind he’s older and doesn’t have nearly as much stamina, you’ll have to kind of pace things throughout the day if you want to pull more than four orgasms from him).
You know that white goopy stuff that gets mixed in with your normal discharge? Don’t expect any fear of it from him. Erik knows it’s natural, and will still gladly go down on you like you’re his favorite meal anytime, any day. (Because, let’s be real now, you very much are).
He actually finds the difference in your taste fascinating, and you’ll find that he eats you out much more voraciously when you’re ovulating.
Expect Erik to extremely in tune with how you’re feeling physically. If your breasts are a bit tender or sore, you can expect that this will be one of the only times you can really keep him from latching. Of course, even if you can’t handle him nursing, he’s more than happy to gently cup your breasts and massage them for you. He’d actually probably explode though if you asked him to use lotion or anything.
As mentioned previously, Erik is overly eager to please and down to tend to your every need. He has absolutely no problem getting on top and doing classic missionary or something similar, rutting into you as the most musical little whines and moans leave his malformed lips.
You do have to remind him he can’t come inside during this week though. He’s normally very good at respecting that rule, but on occasion he finds himself getting so overwhelmed that he cums out of nowhere, thick hot ropes of white spurting inside of you and filling you to the brim as he keens and tears wind down his ruined cheeks.
Of course, you must have pity on him. He won’t be anywhere near able to keep up with you, and you really have to hammer it into his skull that it’s necessary for him to tell you when he needs a break and that you realize you’re borderline insatiable in this state so he needn’t overdo himself.
Of course he’s going to try to anyway though.
Please reassure him that he’s adequate enough and that anyone would be hard pressed to keep up with you in this state, he really does feel horrible for feeling like he can’t make you come or please you enough.
This and when you’re on your monthly are occasions where he simply won’t budge on handling aftercare duties, and he’ll wail if you try to take care of him instead of you letting him take care of you for once.
Erik goes for the full works. Bath, chocolates, he makes you your favorite meals throughout the week and always makes excess in case you find your appetite increased. He even pulls out a stunning nightgown made of the most comfortable material money can buy that he literally made from scratch for when you just want to be comfy or are getting ready for sleep.
And of course once you’re properly taken care of and sated, Erik loves nothing more than to lay down in your arms, curled up against your chest as you both drift off with the dreams of seeing each other tomorrow all over again.
who will be there for you? comfort and care for you? ⋆˙⟡
pairing: erik | the phantom of the opera x reader
synopsis: erik has endured a lot of cruelty in his life - but you, his angel, the light of his life, must never know. that is, until you discover a memento from his distressing past on accident.
tags/notes: mentions/depictions of child abuse, no use of y/n, no physical descriptions of reader, hurt/comfort, slightly alternating povs, elements borrowed from phantom by susan kay and the 2004 film, erik is bad at feelings, soft!erik, not beta read !
word count: 1.3k
anonymous prompt:
hello!!! It's SO SO rare to find an active blog that writes for poto, so can I request an Erik x reader who's, like, sunshine and rainbows all the time and she's super touchy/affectionate? Hes so used to hate and sadness and people recoiling from him + he deserves somebody sweet who adores him for who he is!!! It could be hcs or a oneshot or literally anything you want, I will take LITERALLY ANYTHING lol. Thank you so so so much!!! Also no pressure to write this if you don't like the prompt or you just don't feel like it. Have a wonderful day/night! :)
author’s note: sorry this took so late nonnie (and sorry i couldn’t attach the ask - the formatting was a bit wonky) ! i loved this prompt and really wanted to do it justice :) the plot just kind of just came to me as i was writing it ⋆⭒˚.⋆
ao3 link
touch. some associate it with the tender caress of a lover, others, the cruel sting of a palm hitting skin. for erik, it had always been the latter; every instance of touch he experienced was accentuated with a pure, unbridled hatred.
until he met you, that is.
he flinched whenever your skin brushed his, at first - too used to the biting ache that would follow - but you persisted nonetheless, gradually familiarizing him to the fact that he was loved. you held him with a tenderness that he never had the chance to experience; brushed your fingertips over his deformity, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
you were an angel, his angel, and erik wondered what he had done to deserve you; he knew full well that he was by no means a ‘good’ man. following the euphoria of your kisses, reassurances, and affection, erik found himself plagued by lingering feelings of inadequacy and the thought that it was all fleeting; that you would eventually turn against him as well.
but how could he burden you with that knowledge? the knowledge that he would never deserve you, and that you would be better off being the bride of a vicomte, instead of being dragged down to the dungeons of the palais garnier with him. the knowledge that his self-loathing was a lasting consequence of the cruelties that were inflicted upon him.
no, you were a glowing ray of sunlight in the darkness of his life, you were the personification of kindness itself, and erik could never forgive him if he somehow sullied the pure joy you radiated with every action. so you must never know.
you must never know, and so erik did his best to hide his past from you: brushing it off with a wave of his hand, an absentminded comment about how “it was nothing, really”, and tying it together with a genuine compliment for you.
you must never know, and erik intended to keep it that way.
one day, whilst finding yourself stuck in a queue at the market, parcels of food under your arms, your eyes wandered onto a rather peculiar poster - one you had never seen before: it advertised a freak show, with the focal attraction being a young boy, no more than twelve, billed as ‘the devil’s child’. although the poster was worn with antiquity, and the illustration was a caricature, you still managed to instantaneously recognize its subject.
could it be?
sacrificing your spot in the line, you moved to grab the decaying poster, attempting not to rip it in the process. as you returned to the queue, the poster in your hands caught the attention of an older woman, similar in age to madame giry.
“ah, i remember going to this show when i was a young girl. it was a long, long time ago,” she remarked, gesturing at your poster.
sensing your opportunity to garner some much-needed information, you asked, “do you know what happened to him? the boy, i mean?”
the older woman grimaced, “they say he killed the carnival-master, strangled him to death with a rope,” she paused, “the police never caught him, and some say he has taken refuge beneath the opera house, and hasn’t surfaced ever since.”
you swallowed. so it really was erik. and yet, you felt a pang of pity and grief for him; all that time you’d been together, you’d hardly learnt anything about his past, about his life before he assumed the title of ‘the phantom of the opera’. what was so dreadful, so distressing, that erik felt like he couldn’t confide in you about it?
paying for your goods, you quickly rushed back to the opera house, masterfully navigating through the numerous caverns as you made your way to your subterranean home. quickly setting down the bags of food onto a nearby surface, you called for a preoccupied erik, composing his latest masterpiece.
“ah, my dear. forgive me, but i did not see you coming in,” erik answered, slightly apologetic.
you smiled in return, although that smile was tainted with the faintest traces of trepidation, as you found yourself completely uncertain at how to ask him.
erik, with his gift for reading people, could sense it too, as he mentally braced himself for your seemingly inevitable declaration that you would be leaving him.
“my love? what is wrong? what is it you want to say?” he asked, voice tinged with fear.
“at the market today,” you started, your voice nervous, “i came across this poster. and i was wondering… if you had any knowledge of it,” you had dropped to a whisper, as you gingerly handed him the poster.
erik staggered back at the sight. how could this have happened? how could you know? his mind was racing, trying to conjure up a multitude of deflections, diversions, and vague explanations that wouldn’t taint your view on the world - the view that there was some innate good in everyone.
“it’s alright if you don’t want to tell me,” you spoke, as gentle and caring as ever, before a hand moved to grasp his cheek, “but, erik… i think it would be really good for you to tell me. you deserve to be unshackled from your past, and i deserve to know about the man i love.”
“no, my dear, i am sorry. i cannot bring myself to burden you with the truth,” erik quickly answered, tears seeping into his voice.
“it’s not a burden, erik,” you countered, “you think of me as too pure for this world, too inexperienced with its cruelties, but i am not. believe me, erik, you wouldn’t be burdening me with the truth. not at all,” you reassured, placing a soft kiss on his cheek.
erik practically shuddered at the contact, as you led him over to the bed. “very well, then,” he finally responded, as you moved his head onto your lap.
“i might as well start from the beginning. my mother was,” erik choked back a sob, “she was cruel to me. she beat me constantly. refused to nurture me, raise me, or even look at me without derision. the first scrap of clothing she handed to me… was a mask.”
erik let out a gasping sob, as you moved to stroke his hair, murmuring sweet nothings into his ear. after what seemed like hours, he finally continued, “i ran away from home at the age of 9, and not long after that… i became part of a travelling freak show, and was exhibited and billed as…”
“...the devil’s child,” you completed his sentence.
“yes. they… they kept me in the cage, hit and beat me in front of those crowds– before taking the sack off of my face, so that the audience could mock and jeer at me. day in and day out, i endured at. after three years, though, i presume that i snapped— and strangled the showman. madame giry helped me escape, and i took refuge beneath the opera house.”
as his tale came to a conclusion, erik finally felt free enough to completely break down crying, to let out the sobs that he’d restrained himself from for who knows how long; he felt free enough to let himself go, with the knowledge that you were beside him, that you would be there to hold and caress and kiss him.
“oh, erik,” you hummed, “thank you for telling me,” and erik only seemed to relax further into your tender touch.
“no, thank you, my love. for giving me the freedom to tell you,” he responded, eyes looking up at you with an all-consuming desire and devotion, “what can i ever do to repay you?”
a suggestive smile appeared on your face, “i know one way.”
Summary: Erik Lehnsherr x fe!Reader -> Erik walked out of your life once, and he doesn't want to repeat the same mistake twice.
Disclaimer: exes-to-lovers, dislike/enemies to lovers, spoilers for first class, mutant!reader, Erik protects reader, existing feelings, love confessions, reader gets hurt, hurt/comfort, teacher!reader.
Xavier was at his wits end.
Years of education, countless thesis defences, an ignorant mother, a world that thought him a ‘freak’ for being able to communicate with his mind, a government who could change their opinion and choices any second, an impending third world war…
And yet you and Erik were going to be the thing to kill him. He was pretty sure of that.
“You just shot at me!”
You shrugged, standing with the gun hanging beside your thigh. “You asked.”
“Him!” Erik pointed at Charles. “Not. You.”
You practically glared at Erik. “You thought he would willingly shoot at you? Jesus.”
Erik heard your scoff. “What?”
You shook your head, holding back a laugh. “Nothing. Just…even I thought you were more intelligent than that, Erik.”
Erik grumbled, ready to charge at you. Holding out his hand to stop his friend, Xavier shouted out.
“Maybe it’s best if you go inside, Y/n. Erik? Erik!”
Finally he got his friend to turn away and for you to go inside.
“Sorry, Charles. She just-”
“I know. I know. But you can’t let your emotions get the better of you.”
“I can’t believe she’s even allowed to own a gun.”
Xavier shrugged. “I don’t know if she does. But who’s gonna argue with her? Other than you, clearly.”
It had been the same for months. Even from the moment they had both found you whilst on the search for more mutants who might want to join the group. The same group the others had affectionately called: The X-Men.
You had been working at the New York Museum of Natural History. Apparently, two researchers wanted to talk to you about some of the new artifacts. It was rare, but not unknown for academic researchers to want to talk to you so you had agreed.
But the second one unknown face, and one slightly familiar face, walked through the door, you’d regretted agreeing.
“Hello,” Erik had smiled, his hands in his pockets, as if you were friends.
“What the hell are you after?”
“Uh, please excuse my friend. I’m Charles Xavier and this…this is Erik-”
“I know who he is.”
“Alright then.” Charles rocked on his feet. “Well, we were hoping to talk to you.”
Looking between Charles and Erik, you waited for a few minutes, trying to make up your mind.
“I’ll talk to you,” you said, looking at Charles. “I’m not talking to him.”
“Told you she wouldn’t want me here, Charles.”
“Yes, Erik, I gathered that.”
“You should have trusted me.”
You raised your brows. “Trust? You wanna talk about trust, now?”
Charles quickly cleared his throat. “Maybe-maybe it's best we talk in private. In your office, perhaps?”
It had taken you three days to decide whether or not you wanted to help. Charles Xavier had made a rather convincing argument, but the fact he was working with Erik was unsettling.
But, once you had made a decision, you tracked them down. It had made for a nice surprise visit for Charles when he found an unknown duffle bag in the hallway of his home.
He had welcomed you with open arms, finding it fantastic that you had agreed to join. But Erik wasn’t of the same mind. After that, everything became a fight.
The fact that you had decided to join, the fact that it was Shaw he was looking for, the conversation about your change of style since he last saw you, your not-so-subtle statement that you’ve changed since he was last in your life.
The way you sided with Charles, the way you didn’t side with either of them, his approach to push Cassidy off the top of the satellite dish, the way you used your powers and abilities around the grounds.
Who made dinner, and how. Who the singer of the record was, which record was better, how far was too far to push training abilities.
“He deserved it.”
“But did you really have to shoot him?” Charles asked you, hours later as you stood in the kitchen, seasoning Hank’s food before he knew.
“He can deflect them. He’s fine.”
Charles watched you with a perplexed look. “What happened between you two?”
“I thought you could read minds.”
“Not my friends. Not unless it’s needed.”
You still didn’t turn to look at him. “Thought Erik might have told you?”
He shook his head. “No. Well, not exactly.”
“I thought you didn’t read your friends' minds.”
Xavier sighed. “Earlier…Erik allowed me to enter into the brightest corner of his mind. It was a memory of his mother, from when he was younger. But before that…he still has memories of you. Happy ones.”
For a moment, you stopped what you were doing. Charles watched as the information washed over you in waves, but you simply pushed the waves back.
“Yeah, well…” You cleared your throat, avoided his eye contact, and dried your hands on a dishtowel. “That’s in the past.”
“Not necessarily.” Charles caught your arm, gently, as you passed him. “What happened, Y/n?”
You sighed and he saw the pain in your eyes. “Why don’t you ask him? He probably knows more than I do.”
On your way out of the kitchen, you nearly ran into someone but moved out of the way just in time.
“What are you-”
“Out of my way.”
Pushing past Erik, you hurried down the hall and towards the main staircase. Meanwhile, Erik turned into the kitchen and looked at Charles.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing,” Charles said, avoiding the bubbling rage inside of Erik. “What did you do?”
“Excuse me.”
“I asked her what happened between you two, and she said to ask you. I know you still hold fond memories of her.” Charles’ eyes scanned Erik’s as he watched the past and pain wash over his friend. “What happened?”
Erik’s shoulders dropped after a few moments. “I left. That’s what happened. I promised her a goodbye and…never did.”
As Erik grabbed himself a drink, Charles took a seat and waited for Erik.
“It was five years ago,” Erik began. “I was returning to Europe to hunt the rest of the soldiers that complied with my torture. But, for a brief time…I stopped.”
“Because you met Y/n?”
Erik nodded, taking a hard swallow of his drink. “We met outside of her university. She was, uh, she was studying for her masters.”
Charles watched as a proud and nostalgic smile came onto Erik’s face. He didn’t mean to, but he saw Erik’s mind and his memories – not that Erik noticed.
“I was doing some research to try and find some old files. It was a pure accident I’d run into her. Knocked her books to the ground…pretty sure she cussed me out.” Erik laughed. “I’d never been cussed out in an accident before. When I saw what she was studying, I asked for her help. She said ‘no’, obviously. Until she found me lost in the library a few hours later.”
“Did she know you were a mutant?”
Erik shook his head. “Not at first. She knew I was different, though.”
“And you? Did you know about her?”
Erik shook his head, again. “Not until she told me.”
The moment when you had told him about your abilities had been one filled with vulnerability. Something that, at the time, he didn’t break. Equally, he shared his own ability with you, which turned into a conversation about how he had discovered his powers, who else had done the same, and why he was meant to be heading further into Europe.
“So, what happened?”
“We fell in love,” Erik said, simply. “She made me promise to stop hunting. To stop looking for vengeance and to try and find happiness where I was. Some days I wish I’d never broken that promise.”
Charles stayed quiet, waiting for Erik to finish.
“But, ultimately, I did. And…she knew. I guess she could feel me slipping away and…about a month before I left, she’d asked me to promise to say goodbye. That if I was going to leave, that it would be finished. That she wouldn’t be left hanging on to hope.”
Charles felt his heart break for you. And for Erik. “But you didn’t say goodbye?”
Erik shook his head. “No. I thought about leaving a note but I could never bring myself to write one. In the end, I just left.”
Charles let out a long breath and took a sip of his own drink. “I don’t blame her for being so angry.”
Erik nodded, taking another drink of his own. “Neither do I.”
“But why fight with her? Why keep fighting with her, when you know you were an asshole?”
“Ouch.”
“Erik. We both know it’s true.”
“Yeah, okay. I guess-”
Charles closed his eyes. “Please don’t say it’s because you miss her. Even I know that’s an asshole move.”
Erik chuckled, just a little. “I’d rather have her fight me than ignore me.”
“Like you did with her?” Charles asked. “Did you ever look for her?”
“Not that she knows about.”
Charles was shocked. “But you did?”
“Before I tracked Shaw to the US, I looked for her…”
Charles nodded, “The museum…you already knew she was there.”
“Her master’s came in handy, and she found a great opportunity. She seemed happy. Until I showed up.”
Charles scoffed a little, in sarcastic judgement. “Who can blame her? Look, Erik, in all seriousness, I think you both need to talk. Seriously talk. You can’t fight forever. Seek her forgiveness-”
“I don’t want her forgiveness. Charles, I broke my promise to her, twice.”
“People make mistakes, Erik. You can’t let your past define you, or Y/n. There’s still good inside of you, and, once you accept that, maybe she might start seeing it, again, too.”
Erik raised a brow. “You really think so?”
“I know so.”
Charles had an odd but hopeful look in his eyes as Erik looked at him. Clearly, he knew because of more than just intuition.
And, to his credit, Erik tried. Really, really tried.
But…you had changed. You were still you, just…harder. Tougher in every sense of the word. Others saw your kindness, and your compassion. But not Erik.
Not that he could really blame you. He was angry. Annoyed, sure. But, even then, he knew he was angry and annoyed at himself because, deep down, he was the reason you were mad at him. He was the reason he couldn’t get you to lower the barricades he’d made you build as a consequence for breaking his promises to you.
Finally, one day, it hit him.
“I’m sorry.”
You’d been training most of the day and had barely had a moment's peace to yourself. You were ready to tell whoever had walked in to give you five minutes, until you heard Erik’s voice.
Rolling your eyes, you sighed and started heading for the door of the library. “Goodbye, Erik.”
“Wait, Y/n! Wait, please- please just– just wait? Please?”
Erik blocked your exit. Not by closing the door with his abilities, but by literally running in front of you.
“What?”
Despite the memories that flashed across your face as you remembered the last time you’d seen Erik run to stop you from leaving, you couldn’t forget why you hadn’t experienced more of those moments over the last five years.
Back then, you had been younger and in love. It had been in an act of pleading to try and get you to come back to bed and to skip the boring lecture meeting.
Now, it was…well, you didn’t know.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what? Did you push Cassidy off the roof?”
“No,” Erik shook his head. “Not this time. I’m…I’m sorry for leaving five years ago.”
You hadn’t been expecting an apology. Although, you’d never really been expecting to see Erik again after he left.
“You asked me to stop hunting, and I broke my promise. You asked me to say goodbye and I broke that promise, too. I-I’m not looking for your forgiveness. I don’t want it.”
“Wow.”
“But I do want you to know that I’m sorry.” Erik let out a breath.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Why-”
You crossed your arms over your chest. “Why didn’t you say goodbye? Why did you just leave in the middle of the night like some random hook-up? We’d been together for months, Erik. Granted, that’s not a long time in the grand scheme of things, but we were in love! And you just left. Just like that. Like it didn’t even cost you a second thought!”
Erik swallowed, finally seeing some of the pain behind your eyes. No longer just disdain, but anger, sadness, and hurt.
“I couldn’t say goodbye,” Erik said. “I-I didn’t want to.”
“But you still wanted to leave? So, what? Go and hunt Nazi’s and then come home like nothing happened?”
“No, no! That’s not what-”
“What the hell was I to you, Erik? What? Just a warm bed?”
“What?! No! No-”
“Someone to distract you whilst you completed your research? What?! What was I, Erik?”
Each accusation was like a dagger to his heart. He knew he had been an idiot to walk away from you, no matter the manner in which he did it. But he had really fucked things up.
Turning away from him, you walked further inside the library.
“You were my partner! You were my love! My life!”
With tears in your eyes, you turned back to him. “If I were your life, Erik…then why did you leave?”
“Because I had to. I had to.” Erik started to cry, now. Watching you in pain – pain he had caused – was crushing him from the inside. “Everything that happened– everything they did to me, to my family! I couldn’t just let them get away with that. Believe me, I wish I could change the story. I wish I hadn’t left you. I wish I had come back to find you sooner. I wish I had said goodbye, but I was never going to bring myself to do it. I loved you, Y/n. I still do. Saying…saying goodbye to you would have meant we were permanently in the past.”
Taking a few breaths as you looked at him, you wondered why you had ever agreed to join his team.
“I asked you…” You wiped the tears away. “I asked you, Erik, that if you were going to leave then you wouldn’t leave me hanging on to the hope that you might come back. You hurt me, Erik. You really hurt me.”
“I know.” Erik’s voice was as soft as your own as he slowly approached you. “I know. And I should have done that. I should have given you peace.”
“I waited for you.”
Erik stopped in his tracks.
“For four years,” you told him. “I waited for you. Didn’t…date anyone else, didn’t leave my routine other than to go to the library more often, even after I graduated, just in case you were there, waiting for me. My entire life was put on hold, waiting for you. I know-” You took a breath. “You never asked me to do that, but…you never said goodbye. I asked you not to make me hope, and…you did.”
“What…what made you…”
“The museum was sending a shipment of artifacts to New York. They asked if I would go, and that there was a permanent position for me there if I wanted it. There was no sign of you anywhere and life was moving on. I figured I better start moving with it before I lose myself to the memory of you completely.”
Biting your lip, nervously, you looked at him. You were both a few years older now, but you could still see the Erik you knew. He was right there, staring back at you.
“I really did love you, Erik. I think part of me always will. But, I already lost you because of Shaw. I won’t stand here and wait to watch you walk away again, because of him.”
“You won’t. I’m not-”
“I’m here because I won’t stand by and watch as innocent people get caught in the crossfire of another world war.” You spoke, plainly. “Why are you here, Erik? For the same reason, or because you want to kill Shaw?”
“He took away my family.”
You nodded, saddened by his pain. “I know he did. But don’t let him take you, too.”
Wiping your eyes, quickly, you excused yourself and Erik watched you go.
He couldn’t turn his back on what Shaw did to him, but he also couldn’t lose you, again. He didn’t want to hurt you, again, either.
But that, sadly, seemed inevitable.
The next day, everything seemed to evolve into an extreme. Russians vs Americans, an impending war, Shaw, Hank (now Beast), a submarine and a water tornado.
“Erik!”
Unbuckling yourself from your seat, you hurried over to Charles and Erik by the dropped wheels.
“I don’t think I can hold it much longer!”
“Can you help him?” Charles shouted to you over the sound of the engines.
Furrowing your brows, you looked back to Erik who was starting to struggle.
“You should get back to your seat!”
Charles followed your request and buckled himself inside, meanwhile you reached your hands out, and the wind started to pick up.
The smell of sea-salt filled the air almost to the point of nausea. Erik’s hair was growing damp from where it was hitting him, although not at the same force at the back end of the submarine which was starting to lift.
Somewhere on the submarine, a hatch opened. And what followed was enough resistant power to send the submarine flying towards the beach, and to give the jet’s landing a bumpy ride.
Reaching for Erik’s hand, you managed to catch him just in time before he fell. In return, as you both tried to make it to your seats for some kind of safety measure, you were both sent flying.
Until Erik covered your body with his own, anchoring you to the mental panel.
Everyone was screaming in fear, in sickness and in pain. And, when it finally stopped, the entire crew fell silent.
Slowly, Erik lowered you both to the roof of the jet that now lay on the floor.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
You shook your head, quickly. “No, no. I’m okay. What about you?”
“I’m okay.”
Carefully, you stood up before helping Erik. Meanwhile, Charles called out for Moira and helped Raven out of her seat.
However, by the time Erik was running inside the submarine, Charles called out to you.
“Help him. Make sure he doesn’t lose himself.”
For a split second, you hesitated.
“There is still good inside of him, Y/n. You and I both know that.”
Taking a breath, you nodded and ran outside. Alex gave you a clear path to get inside, and you made a break for it. It took you a few attempts, but slightly bruised and sand covered, you made it in.
“I’ve lost him!” Charles shouted inside your head.
“What do you mean you’ve lost him?!”
“He’s gone into the void. I can’t communicate with him there!”
You grumbled, “Goddamn it. Erik! Erik!”
Running throughout the submarine, you found no-one. Until you heard a distant crash and Charles’ voice inside your head again.
Behind you, the wall slid open into two and you saw what Erik had done. Rather, what had been done to him.
A mirrored room, Erik on the ground, and Shaw standing in the middle, a helmet on his head.
“Erik!”
“No, Y/n, don’t!”
Shaw seemed to smile. But it wasn’t at all comforting. “So, this is the girl? This is the one who almost got you to change?”
“Don’t you touch her!”
Suddenly, Erik was thrown against the mirrored walls once more. And you didn’t hesitate. Running inside, you just reached Erik before you were thrown back from him and into a wall yourself.
“Y/n!”
“You’ve come a long way from bending gates,” Shaw said to him, watching him stand. “I’m proud of you. But don’t let her get in your way.”
Just as Erik went to move towards you, Shaw threw you, again. This time, Erik threw every metal beam he could to block Shaw’s path to you.
“Think about how much further we could go, together.”
Despite the dizziness, you could still make out the image in front of you. Erik, trying with all his might, to keep Shaw in his place. But, with a simple hand, he just pushed Erik back.
“This is our time, our age. We are the future of the human race.”
From your position on the floor, you could see Erik. And he could see you. Both of you, bloodied, cut and bruised.
“Get away from him!”
“Zip it.”
Suddenly, you felt a crushing weight on your chest and a growing inability to breathe.
“Let her go!”
“She’s nothing to you! Whereas I,” Shaw held the back of Erik’s head as if he was a father talking to his son. “I can help you find your everything. You have a calling, Erik. Don’t waste it on the likes of her.”
“Don’t–” You were struggling to talk. “Don’t let him– do this to you– Erik. Please.”
“Let her go.”
Shaw watched the look in Erik’s eyes turn…compliant. But his own ego didn’t see the darkness that lurked behind them.
Finally, able to breathe again, you tried to find the energy to stand. But it was a struggle.
“Everything you did, you made me stronger.”
“Erik…”
Erik couldn’t look at Shaw, but he did look at you. “Made me the weapon I am today.”
“It’s the truth. I’ve known that all along.”
Managing to stand, Erik’s gaze turned away from you and onto Shaw. You had an opportunity whilst he was distracted. You just hoped you would have the strength to pull him free.
“You are my creator.”
Reaching forward, you pulled the helmet from Shaw’s head, leaving both you and Erik to shout for Charles.
With the sound of metal dropping, you felt yourself fall to the ground with it.
“Y/n!”
Erik fell to his knees on the floor with you, holding your head up. “Hey, hey- stay with me. Y/n! Stay with me!”
“It hurts,” you said, weakly.
“Where? Let me-”
From your rib cage in a downward curve, there was a long slit of blood. Erik couldn’t tell how deep it was, but from the amount of blood starting to stain your skin and clothes, he knew it wasn’t good.
“Outside. I need to go outside. Let Charles take care of Shaw.”
Erik turned to where Shaw was still standing still.
“He’ll make him pay, Erik.” You assured him. “Don’t let the cost be you.”
It took a long moment, but eventually Erik walked away with you and helped you outside. Whilst Beast and Raven made their way inside the submarine, following Erik’s orders to make sure Shaw didn’t get away, he helped you into the water.
The salt stung your wound as you dropped to your knees, feeling the tide wash over you. Meanwhile, Erik kneeled beside you, cradling your head against him as you closed your eyes and tried to ignore the searing pain.
“You’re okay,” Erik continued to repeat, almost as a mantra to himself, in order to remind himself that you were alive. That, despite the pain, you were breathing.
You are alive. You are breathing. You are okay.
In a pain-filled daze, you looked up at Erik and saw the same man you had seen in the library. Erik. Your Erik. Erik, who knew kindness and wasn’t afraid to show it. Erik, who could feel something other than rage and his soul in torture.
Although the following situation wasn’t relaxing, you let your anger go. Erik had walked away, once. And, he could have done it again. But he didn’t.
Shaw was barely three feet from him, and he chose to leave with you.
Although some of the others continued fighting, which resulted in flying bullets, by the time you were all back on the jet, the world was getting hazier and hazier.
Charles lay on the floor of the jet. Moira was trying to make contact with her bosses, so Erik took her place beside Charles, holding his hand.
“I’m sorry, Charles. I should have seen it coming.”
“Don’t, Erik. It’ll be okay.”
“I could have stopped-”
“There were too many. Erik, all that matters now is that we’re together. As a team. My legs…the doctors will be able to help, if there is any hope of help.”
“There will be.”
Charles gave him a polite smile and squeezed his hand a little tighter. Then, he looked over to you. You had your eyes closed and your head tipped back against the seat, meanwhile, you were holding your side.
“It’s nice.” Charles smiled in a whisper.
“What is?” Erik managed to laugh.
“You two. Not fighting. You make quite the team when you’re not at each other's throats.”
Erik swallowed, his eyes falling on you with a kind look in his eyes.
“I love her, Charles.” Erik admitted, quietly.
“I know.”
“I never stopped.”
“Neither did she.”
Erik swallowed, looking back to his friend. He didn’t have to say his worries out-loud.
“It’ll take a little time, but it’ll be worth it. You’re good for each other.”
“You really think so?”
“I know so. Erik…trust her. Trust yourself. It’ll all work out together in the end.”
“Any other wise words, Professor?”
Charles gave a wet laugh, looking to the ceiling. “Yes. I suppose I’m a real professor now, aren’t I?”
“Not until you get the school up and running.”
Charles looked at Erik.
Erik looked around at the team. Despite being worn and beaten, they were mostly okay.
“You’ve got a good foundation, and a good idea. Why not help the kids figure out how to use their abilities? We are still the future, Charles.”
Charles chuckled, once more. “I suppose you have a point. Fancy teaching European History?”
Erik laughed. “That might be a push too far.”
From the pilot's seat, Hank called out the ETA for landing back at the school.
“Go,” Charles said, nodding over to you, to Erik. “I’ll be okay.”
Moria appeared behind Erik. “I’ve got him.”
Standing, Erik took a seat beside you. You barely opened your eyes to check who it was before you leaned your head against his shoulder and took his hand in your own.
Over the months of recovery for everyone, and the time it took for Charles to set up his school, it gave yourself and Erik time to grow together.
In the beginning, it was a little stagnant.
You were open to his help, and he was more than willing to give it. But there was still the unspoken hesitation. The fact he could have been half-way across the world, creating a mutant army, or hunting more soldiers.
But he wasn’t.
He was helping you.
Over time, it got easier. You both fell into a natural flow of things. Conversations got easier, there were less fights, neither one of you left the room the second the other walked in.
Kinder memories started to come to the front.
Slow mornings were spent in each other’s quiet company, surrounded by the smell of fresh coffee, fresh bread and danishes. The hurried mornings were started with a quick coffee, a surprise kiss on the cheek and a bite of toast.
Eventually, you and Erik found yourselves on the cusp of rediscovering the loving relationship you had once had with each other.
“You’re gonna fall.”
Erik had been watching you for the last three minutes trying to balance on an old kitchen chair, as you started to hang up your DIY Ancient History timeline.
“No, I’m not.”
Pushing himself from the beam of the doorway, Erik chuckled. “Famous last words.”
“Famous last words are like…Oh happy dagger! This is thy sheath; there rust and let me die.” You sighed, a little annoyed as you needed to reach further to make the banner follow a coherent line. “Not-oh!”
Around your waist, you felt Erik’s arm take a strong-hold of you before he lowered you to the ground, spun you around and kissed you in a slight dip.
After a few moments, he replied, “And thus, with a kiss, I die.”
“You should teach English.”
Erik gave you a coy smile and set you back on your feet. “Either way, I don’t need your famous last words to be because of an unsafe chair. Give it.”
Handing over the end of the string, Erik changed the tac to a new one that wasn’t damaged and willed it to float up.
“Uhh…a little lower? Higher- stop!”
“There?”
You nodded. “There.”
Setting it into the wall, Erik pulled the chair away with him and stood beside you.
“Looks good.”
“Thanks,” you smiled. “Want me to make one for your classroom?”
“What?”
Still smiling at Erik, you moved away and reached into the top drawer of your desk. Erik, although curious, seemed a little scared as he followed you.
Walking back to him, hiding the nameplate behind you, you stopped directly in front of him.
“What’s in your hands?”
“A little something,” you shrugged.
“A little something…of what?”
Presenting it to him, name forward, you let him take it. “Congrats, Mr Lehnsherr. You are now the new teacher of European History. And, also, philosophy. That one is a class you’ll be sharing with Xavier, though.”
“Oh, will I?”
You hummed in a playful nod. “And, if you will follow me…” Taking his hand, Erik willingly followed you out of your classroom and straight across the hall.
“Welcome,” you said, opening the door and pushing it open. “To your new classroom.”
Erik couldn’t help but laugh a little as he stepped inside. He’d already made a deal with Charles that he wasn’t suited to a teaching position. Clearly, Charles thought differently.
And so did you.
“So long as you stop pushing people off satellite dishes, I’m sure you’ll be great.”
Erik turned around. “That was one time.”
You giggled, almost skipping across the laminated wooden floor and laying your arms over his shoulders. Without a second thought, he brought his own (and his nameplate) around your waist.
“So? What do you think?”
Erik looked around. “I think…I’m gonna need help.”
“Well,” you shrugged. “I’m just across the hall.”
“That is,” Erik shrugged and then nodded. “That is a bonus.”
You chuckled, leaning up and kissing him quickly.
By the time classes officially started up, it was safe to say you and Erik were far from the people you had been when you had first landed at the school.
Instead, you’d become the two people most students started a rumour about and were excited to find out it was true.
The air in the Opera Populaire was often thick with dust and dried plaster, but down in the deep cellars, where the River Styx flowed sluggishly past their domain, the atmosphere was always crisp and cool. It was a perfect, self-contained world designed by a genius for a wife he had utterly adored.
You, at twenty-six, had shared this subterranean kingdom with Erik Destler, your husband, for six years. He was thirty-two, a man carved from shadow and sharp angles, who wore his genius like a crown and his hidden sorrow like a shroud. You had met him on his desperate, winding path from Persia to Paris, a detour that became a destiny. You had not been a beauty to tempt him, but a sharp-witted companion who cut through his cynicism with sarcasm and healed his wounds with profound, unflinching kindness.
“You are a foolish woman,” he had once told you, studying your face as if you were a fascinating, complex equation. “You see the darkness and choose to furnish it with light.”
“And you are a melodramatic architect,” you had retorted, kissing the edge of his mask. “You built a tomb and mistakenly filled it with a wife.”
Their life had been anything but a tomb. It was a relentless symphony of projects, music, cutting wit, and fierce, possessive love. You wanted for nothing, knew every secret passage, and though the world saw your home as a stifling prison, you saw it as a gilded, perfect palace, and Erik was your captivating prince.
The distance began subtly, like a draft you couldn't quite place. His hours in the studio became longer, his conversations about wiring and acoustics replaced his usual sharp commentary on your life. When he finally came to bed, he no longer reached for you, that visceral need to anchor himself against your warmth gone. You were the one who had to turn, wrapping your arms around his rigid back, seeking the familiar contours of his musculature, whispering your love into the darkness. He would sigh, a drawn-out sound of exhaustion, and merely pat your hand.
Worst of all, those three words—those necessary, vital words he used to scatter over you like starlight—had vanished.
The gnawing ache eventually drove you to seek comfort in the only other soul who understood the complexity of Erik Destler.
You found Nadir, your and Erik's seat (and only?) friend, in the sub-basement stables, checking on the welfare of the horses that provided the opera’s transport.
“Nadir,” you greeted him softly.
He straightened immediately, his face etched with concern. He was your dear friend, the silent guardian of both you and Erik, and he saw everything.
“My lady,” he said, bowing low. “You look pale.”
You leaned against the cold stone wall, clasping your hands tightly. “He is gone, Nadir. Not physically, but… emotionally. I am sleeping next to a shadow. He is not mine anymore.”
Nadir frowned, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. “He has been consumed by the new projects. The acoustics, the rehearsals. It is the busiest season in years.”
“He has always been busy. He has never been absent from me,” you insisted, your voice cracking. “Does he… is there anything you know? Anything I should be prepared for?”
Nadir looked you squarely in the eye, his gaze honest and sad. “I know only that he is preoccupied and tired. He speaks only of the young dancer, Christine Daaé, and her voice. He sees it as the vessel for his greatest symphony. Nothing else. But I will watch, my friend. I promise you a truth, should I find one.”
Relief mingled with the dread. You thanked him, leaving the stables with a heart slightly lighter, clinging to the hope that this was merely creative obsession.
Erik had been out since dawn, leaving a scribbled note that he was testing a new microphone design in Box Five. You spent the afternoon reviewing his scores, forcing normalcy onto the strange quiet of the lair.
As dusk fell, you decided to surprise him. A dinner, perhaps, served in bed. A glass of wine, a direct question about his feelings.
You walked down the grand passage toward the main suite, the chamber where your life together was centered, where he had played the organ for you in the middle of the night, where he had first confessed his terror of your eventual leaving.
The bedroom door was slightly ajar.
A low, feminine sigh drifted out, unfamiliar and soft.
You froze, the tray of cold cuts slipping from your grasp and scattering silently on the thick Persian rug.
You pushed the door open soundlessly.
The twilight ambiance of the room, lit only by the faint glow of the massive chandelier, revealed the scene instantly, brutally.
Your marital bed was occupied.
Not by Erik, but by a girl barely out of her childhood. Christine Daaé.
She lay curled asleep on the sheets you had embroidered, her golden hair spread across Erik's pillow. She was dressed in a thin, sheer silk nightgown—not the practical, modest sleeping attire of the Opera’s chorus girls, but something intimate and revealing. Improper.
You felt the air leave your lungs in a rush of cold shock. She was breathtakingly beautiful, even in sleep; her face flawless, her figure delicate and perfect. And that voice—the voice Erik had been obsessing over for months—was the only siren song he seemed to hear now.
The betrayal was a physical blow, sharper than any whip or knife, because it attacked the very foundation of your worth—your belief that your love, your wit, and your soul were enough to hold him.
You didn't scream. You didn't cry. You moved with deadly, clinical precision.
You slipped off the beautiful gold wedding ring that you hadn't taken off for years, placed it carefully on the edge of the pillow next to Christine’s sleeping head, a silent declaration of surrender. If your love and acceptance were no longer sufficient, if he needed this simple, fragile beauty to complete his symphony, then he was welcome to the wreckage.
You fled the chamber and plunged deep into the secondary passages, the lesser-known labyrinth of the catacombs. Grief was a suffocating cloak, clouding your mind, searing your vision with red-hot pain. You forgot the years of training, the intricate map only three people knew. You forgot the pitfalls, the uneven floor, the tripwires, and the ancient, rotting traps Erik had built to protect his secrets.
You ran until your lungs burned and your legs screamed, until you collapsed in a damp, pitch-black cavern, the scent of mildew and despair overwhelming you. You pressed your palms to your eyes, and the dam finally broke. A soundless, wracking grief tore through you, shaking your body until you felt physically broken.
You did not know how long you lay there, shivering, before you heard it: the frantic, recognizable scrape of a boot on stone, and a voice—raw and unfamiliar in its panic—calling your name.
“—! Where are you? Answer me!”
It was Erik.
He followed the sound of your sobbing, finding you curled into a fetal position, your silk dress soiled with mud and tears.
He dropped to his knees beside you, throwing his cloak over your shoulders. “My God, what were you thinking? You passed two open shafts! You could have been killed!”
His fear was genuine, but his proximity only sharpened the pain.
You pushed his hand away, sitting up slowly, your rage a cold, hard stone finally emerging from the fog of grief.
“I was thinking that it was irrelevant if I was killed, since I had already been effectively erased,” you whispered, your voice hoarse.
He recoiled slightly. “I don’t understand. What are you speaking of? Why did you run?”
You pointed a shaking finger over your shoulder, toward the direction of your home. “I saw her, Erik. The angel of music. Asleep in our bed. In a gown that speaks volumes of her intentions and, more importantly, yours.” You spat the words out, tasting bile. “I left my ring. Consider the marriage dissolved.”
Erik was silent for a long, agonizing moment. The mask hid his expression, but his shoulders slumped.
“It is not what you think,” he finally said, his voice flat. “She was hysterical, she had a nightmare about her father, I brought her here to calm her. I had gone to fetch her a sedative before returning to Box Five.”
“And the nightgown, Erik? She keeps a trousseau of inappropriate silk in the dressing room of the chorus?”
He turned his head away. “She is young. She is careless with her affections. But she is just a voice. A student. Never a wife.”
“I don’t care about her intentions, Erik!” you cried, the pain forcing a shriek from your throat. “I care about yours! You have starved me for months, Erik. You have made me feel like an inconvenience. You stopped holding me, stopped speaking those simple words I needed, while you were pouring all your attention and genius into a girl barely eighteen! You made me worry that I was aging, that I was simply not enough because I was not new.”
You crawled toward him, gripping the lapels of his cloak, forcing him to meet your gaze.
“Tell me the absolute truth, Erik Destler,” you demanded, every ounce of your soul poured into the question. “Look at me, the wife you plucked from the road and swore loyalty to. The woman who sees your face and holds your heart. Answer me truthfully, even if it destroys me now. Are you still mine?”
His masked face tilted down, his hand reaching up, trembling, to cup your jaw. His thumb brushed the dampness of your tear tracks.
“Do not be so foolish,” he murmured, his voice cracking with a fierce, sudden intensity that eclipsed all the months of silence. “I am yours. Completely, irrevocably, and eternally. You carved your name into my very bones years ago. I was pulled away by the intoxication of the music—the creation—but I am yours, and you, my light, are mine.”
The affirmation, so profound and so desperately needed, broke the last fragment of your control. You surged forward, not in a gentle reconciliation, but in a primal need to re-establish proximity and possession.
Bringing your arms around his neck, you didn't seek his lips. Instead, you locked your mouth onto the warm, sensitive skin visible just above the high collar of his coat, where the mask ended.
It was a passionate assault—a desperate, claiming act. You sucked hard on the tender spot near his jugular, leaving a deep, painful mark of ownership. You followed it with a rapid-fire series of aggressive kisses and tiny, sharp love bites, dragging your mouth down his collarbone, marking him, tasting him, inhaling the familiar scent of musk and dust that was purely him.
Erik let out a sharp, guttural moan that ratified your actions, a sound of surprise swiftly turning into raw pleasure and surrender. You only doubled your efforts, covering the sliver of exposed neck and the sensitive base of his throat with proofs of your agonizing love and need.
“You are mine,” you whispered fiercely against his burning skin, claiming him in the dark. “Mine, mine, mine.”
Then, just as suddenly as the passion hit, the years of held-back pain overwhelmed the possessiveness. You clung to his shoulders, burying your face in his cloak, the storm of tears breaking anew, but this time they were not tears of betrayal, but of agonizing relief.
You sobbed, a deep, earth-shaking sound. The pain of the distance, the fear of replacement, the exhaustion of the flight—it all flooded out.
Erik dropped his mask to the ground, abandoning the disguise without a second thought, and gathered you tight against his chest. His arms crushed you, holding you as if you were the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth.
“Oh, my dearest heart,” he whispered, his scarred face pressing against your hair. “I was a fool. A monster, distracted by a fleeting sound. I suffocated you with my neglect. Forgive me. I will never allow that space between us again.”
He rocked you gently in the cold darkness, murmuring words of fierce praise and love he hadn't spoken in months, covering your forehead and face with tender kisses, assuring you that the prison was perfect, but only because you were still its singular, indispensable queen. He was yours. And you were finally, safely, home.
