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n1ght0f-nyx · 2 months ago

Note

hello! I was wondering if you’d be willing to write a Phantom of the Opera request centering around reader’s appreciation for Erik’s hands. I mean… he is a musician and can play pretty much any instrument. Not to mention, he can be so delicate in the way he touches reader while also having strangled men (which reader isnt crazy about but… one step at a time…)

How would he react to them showing him such appreciation? And would it lead to anything more…? if you do decide to do nsfw… how would he feel about reader asking him to (lightly) choke them?

feel free to make this sfw or nsfw as you're comfortable with!

Where Trust Lies

i didnt make it nsfw but it is still suggestive!! erik destler x gn reader warnings/ tags- light choking, not nswf, gn reader, i demand requests!!! word count- 1649 words

Erik’s hands were the first part of him you truly knew.

The gentle curve of his long fingers on the keys of his organ, the quiet strength they showed as he adjusted his scores, the rhythmic flex of his knuckles when frustration gnawed at him—all of it fascinated you. His hands were, in many ways, the truest representation of him: deft, expressive, and disciplined, yet trembling with the undercurrent of a deeper, more turbulent self.

You often found yourself watching them from across the dim room as Erik lost himself in music. Tonight, however, was different. Tonight, you let your admiration slip through the walls you carefully built to keep your thoughts concealed from his sharp, all-seeing eyes.

The candlelight barely reached where you sat on the edge of the divan, but it illuminated Erik clearly at his organ. His hands, ever graceful, moved like water over the keys, coaxing out a melody that was equal parts melancholy and tender. You didn’t know the piece, but you felt it—the notes wrapped around you, luring you into his world.

Your gaze lingered on the pale stretch of his fingers. They danced with precision, pressing and lifting as though the keys were extensions of himself. You’d often admired his hands in silence, but tonight, the sight pulled at something deeper within you. Those hands had given life to the beauty in the room: the music, the carefully inked compositions scattered on his desk, the delicate carvings on the furniture he’d restored.

They were hands of creation. Hands that bore the evidence of their toil, calloused but precise, and you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to feel them against your own skin.

You barely realized you were staring until Erik stilled. The final chord hung in the air before vanishing into the heavy quiet of the underground lair. Slowly, he turned toward you, his movements deliberate, and you realized with a flash of embarrassment that he’d caught you watching.

His dark eyes narrowed, suspicion clouding them. “What is it?” he asked, his voice low and clipped. “Are you displeased with the music?”

You shook your head quickly. “No. The music is beautiful, Erik.”

He tilted his head, his disfigured lips pressing into a thin line. “Then why do you look at me as though you pity me?”

Your breath caught. “I don’t pity you,” you said softly, leaning forward. “I was admiring your hands.”

For a moment, Erik froze. His eyes flicked to his own hands as though seeing them for the first time. He flexed his fingers once, and a soft scoff escaped his throat. “My hands,” he repeated, almost mockingly. “They are as grotesque as the rest of me. What is there to admire?”

You moved before you could think better of it, slipping off the divan to kneel before him. His sharp intake of breath made you pause, but you pressed forward, gently lifting one of his hands between yours. “They’re not grotesque,” you murmured, running your fingertips over the calloused pads of his fingers. “They’re beautiful.”

Erik’s breath hitched, and you glanced up to see him staring at you, his face unreadable. You pressed on, letting your thumb brush over his knuckles. “Your hands create so much, Erik. Music that moves people, pieces that live beyond this place. Even this lair—it’s you. Everything you’ve built is because of these hands.”

His fingers twitched under your touch, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But he didn’t. Instead, he watched you, something like vulnerability flickering in his gaze.

“You… you think so highly of them?” he whispered, as though the words were foreign to him.

“I do,” you said, your voice steady. “I’ve always thought so. I’ve just never told you.”

He swallowed hard, his free hand gripping the edge of the organ bench. His breathing grew uneven, and you realized how much weight your words carried. Erik, who was so accustomed to rejection and fear, was staring at you as though you’d spoken something sacred.

Carefully, you placed his hand against your cheek, closing your eyes for a moment. His touch was hesitant, but warm, his thumb brushing your skin in the lightest of caresses.

“Why?” he rasped, his voice breaking. “Why would you say this?”

You opened your eyes, meeting his. “Because it’s true. And because I want you to know how much I see in you.”

Something inside him seemed to shatter at that. His hand cupped your cheek more firmly, and before you knew it, he was pulling you closer, his other hand lifting to cradle the back of your neck.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he murmured, his voice trembling. “To speak of beauty in something I’ve always loathed… You undo me.”

You barely managed to reply before he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. His breath ghosted over your lips, his hands anchoring you to him as though you might vanish. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Erik’s forehead rested against yours, his breath shallow and uneven. His hands trembled slightly where they held you, one against your cheek and the other cradling the nape of your neck. His eyes searched yours, filled with an unspoken question, as if he were waiting for you to push him away.

But you didn’t. Instead, you reached up to trace the back of his hand, marveling at the strength beneath his pale skin. “Erik,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the stillness.

“Yes?” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, his thumb brushing your jaw in an almost reverent motion.

“I want you to choke me.”

The words hung between you, heavy and electric. Erik froze, his breath catching as if you had struck him. His hand stilled against your neck, the tension in his fingers palpable.

“What… did you say?” His voice was low, laced with disbelief and something darker—a flicker of curiosity.

You shifted closer, your hands resting lightly on his chest, feeling the erratic beat of his heart beneath your palms. “I want you to choke me,” you repeated, softer but no less certain. “I trust you, Erik. Completely. I want to feel your strength—your control. I’m not afraid of you.”

Erik’s expression twisted, his lips parting as though to protest, but no words came. Instead, he stared at you, his brows furrowed, his hands twitching as though he were waging a silent war with himself.

“You… you don’t understand what you’re asking,” he finally said, his voice strained. “I could hurt you. I’ve spent my life as a monster, wielding my hands for harm, not… not this.”

“You’re not a monster,” you said firmly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “And I trust you not to hurt me. I’m asking because I want this—not because I see you as dangerous, but because I see you as powerful.”

His breathing grew heavier, and he closed his eyes, his grip on your neck tightening just enough for you to feel the weight of his hand. When he opened his eyes again, they were filled with something raw and unguarded. “If I do this,” he said slowly, his voice shaking, “you must promise to tell me if it’s too much. I cannot bear to harm you.”

“I promise,” you said, your voice steady.

Erik let out a shuddering breath, and his fingers flexed against your skin. Slowly, he brought his other hand up to join the first, his long fingers curling gently around your throat. The pressure was light at first, almost hesitant, as though he feared breaking you.

“Like this?” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours.

You nodded, your breath hitching at the sensation. “A little more,” you whispered.

His fingers tightened incrementally, and you felt the strength in his hands, the undeniable control he held over you. The sensation was intoxicating, not because it left you breathless but because it was Erik—vulnerable, conflicted, and utterly present with you in this moment.

“You’re trembling,” you said softly, your hands moving to rest over his.

“I—” He cut himself off, his voice breaking. “I’m terrified. I don’t understand how you could want this from me.”

“Because I trust you,” you said again, your voice steady despite the weight of his hands. “Because I want you to see that you don’t have to hold yourself back with me.”

Something inside him snapped then, a low growl escaping his lips as his grip tightened just enough to make your pulse quicken. He leaned closer, his face mere inches from yours, his breath hot against your cheek.

“You undo me,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?”

Before you could answer, his lips were on yours—fierce, desperate, and unyielding. His hands remained steady on your throat, a perfect balance of control and care, grounding you in his presence. The kiss deepened, his body pressing against yours as though he couldn’t bear to leave any space between you.

When he finally pulled back, his chest heaved, his hands slipping from your throat to cradle your face. His eyes were wild, dark with desire and something deeper—a fragile kind of devotion.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You shook your head, your lips curling into a soft smile. “No, Erik. You were perfect.”

He let out a shaky breath, his forehead falling against yours once more. “You are either the most reckless creature I’ve ever met,” he murmured, “or the only one who’s ever truly understood me.”

“Maybe I’m both,” you said, your voice light but full of affection.

Erik let out a soft, breathless laugh—rare and beautiful, like the man himself. And as his hands slid back to rest lightly on your shoulders, you knew that this moment, fragile and fierce, was just the beginning of something neither of you could put into words.

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syd-vixious · 4 months ago

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2004 poto x reader prompt: you gotta write something about erik learning to be comfortable w his natural hair. 2004 erik is one of the few eriks that isn’t balding so i’m so surprised no one commented more on how reader not just accepts him being maskless but being wigless too. playing with his hair? 🥺🥺

A/N: My first Erik request!! I'm honestly so happy that I've been getting requests for this delicious man. Like I did in my earlier post, I've been on a poto hyperfixation recently. It's to the point where I'm planning on being the Phantom for halloween this year lol. Anyway, thank you anon for the request and I hope it's to your liking!

Insecurities

Summary: Erik keeps an eye on you at all times when he cannot be near. But, how will he feel about himself when he observes you helping other men with their luscious hair on their “perfect” scalp.

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It was late at night at the Palais Garnier. Most of the actors, dancers, and crew have already head to bed for the night or were in the process of said task. You took the time to slip away from the prying eyes of the world above, heading to one of the secret entrances that led to the catacombs below the opera house.

After a tiring day of rehearsals, you longed to be in the comforting arms of your darling. As you hurriedly headed down the steps to where he resided, you were caught off guard by the silence. Normally, especially if Erik knew you would be arriving, he would be either playing his magnificent organ or singing with his velvet-laced voice. Concern etching itself to your features, you continued to make your way to his sanctuary.

Once you arrived, you were surprised to see him absent from his spot where he would wait for you. "Erik, dear? Are you here?" you paused for a moment, waiting for a response.

Walking to where his bed was located, you saw the dark curtains drawn and heard the music box playing from the makeshift bedroom. With gentle steps, you entered and saw Erik holding a handheld mirror, his Phantom wig and mask placed upon his head.

You stepped behind him, softly placing your hands upon his shoulders as you gaze at his reflection. "What bothers you, my love?" you asked, worry lacing your tone.

With a huff, he placed the mirror down, standing up and walking out of the room, "It is nothing for you to be concerned about." he inclined in a cold tone.

You followed him back out to the main area, watching him sit down at his organ, trying to find a piece to play that might help whatever thoughts are racing through his mind at the moment. You gave a soft sigh and crouched beside him.

"Erik, darling, I know when something is troubling you. Please, tell me what is flowing through your beautiful mind at this moment." You reached up towards his mask, causing him to flinch and catch your wrist the moment your fingertips grazed the surface.

When his misty eyes met your own, he sighed, "How do you even bare to glance at me?"

Your brows furrowed in confusion, "What ever do you mean?"

He let go of your wrist, bringing his hand back up to his face to remove his wig and mask to expose his true features underneath. "How could you want to glance at this hellish gargoyle each day and decide not to choose someone else? Someone less deformed, someone who wasn't a mistake made by God?"

Your face went from confusion to sorrow, feeling his pain and insecurities that laced his words. You took his hand, standing him up and guiding him back to the bedroom area. Taking a seat and patting the empty space beside you, silently asking him to join you.

He complied, facing you with confusion in his eyes.

With a loving gaze, you held his face gently, "Erik, my love, my muse... I speak to you every day to be with you. I join you in your song to hear you. I lay with you each night to feel you. You are the most important thing in my life. You were, by no means, a mistake from God. You were a gift, a blessing that I am overjoyed to have met each and every day."

You began to caress the deformed side of his face tenderly, "So tell me, what bothers your heart, my angel?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch before speaking. "I saw you with some of those bastard men today. You were helping them style their perfect hair on their perfect scalps. Then you come here just to be around this disappointing beast that lies before you."

You frown, upset that the events of today were bothering him this much. You leaned forward and placed a kiss on his forehead, placing your own against it after. "My sweet, I assure you, you have nothing to worry about. The hairdresser for rehearsal did not arrive today so they had me take her place for the time being."

With a soft caress, you combed your hands through his hair, making sure to be gentle as to not hurt him. "It doesn't matter how those men look in physical appearance, it means nothing to me."

You moved his head to rest on your chest as you held him, "The amount of hair on your beautiful head does not matter to me. Besides, my love, your hair is softer than the finest of silk. I love you for who you are, Erik."

His voice hitched as tears soaked your chest, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. You placed a kiss on his head, holding him close to you.

"I love you. My angel, my muse, my Y/n."

#erik destler x reader #erik the phantom #phantom of the opera #gerard butler #erik poto #phantom of the opera 2004

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