#phantom of the opera x y/n

[melit0n]

Miasma

- Synopsis: In the halls of the Palais Garnier, a ghost holds a grasp on the minds of almost all those who enter. A ghost, a creature of the imagination of the artists, the superstition of the managers, or, perhaps, a product of the absurd and impressionable brains of the young ladies of the ballet, their mothers, the box-keepers, the cloakroom attendants, or the concierge.

In the glory of the golden auditorium, the burn of his eyes can be easily mistaken for the glare of the calcium lights.

- Oneshot

- Stalker Phantom/Reader

- Word Count: 5.2K

- Warnings: None

- Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50298724

Gracefully, your feet move in carefully practised synchronicity with the fellow members of the soloists, different shades of expensive tulle twirling in time with the orchestra. You were nearing the end of the final, full run-through rehearsal for to morrow's show; a new production long awaited to be displayed to the public.

The choreography was tiring, yet not the worst you had ever done: the repetitive, five to ten hours of practice each day with a ballet master who was unwilling to take anything but utter perfection brought more ache to your muscles than completing your role in the show itself. Yet, even with tired, overworked calves, you continued to strive for the grace and refinement that your teacher had forged into your very bones.

The surge of the orchestra reverberates in your chest, adrenaline habitually coursing through your veins, practice or live show aside. Despite the seemingly endless hours you had spent practising this piece, you still had the innate fear–whispering in the back of your mind–of tripping over your own feet and falling. Or, even worse, crashing into one of the other fast-moving girls, subsequently earning a condescending reprimanding from the ballet master. 

Nothing but perfection. Something hard to achieve with bruised ankles and lungs constricted within a too-tight corset. 

Even with the distinct lack of a large, judgemental audience, the sting of observant eyes burns into your figure. Being a ballet dancer in a prestigious company, with delicately crafted productions showing to the public almost every other day, you were used to the stare of thousands on your figure. 

This, however, was different.

It was an almost eerie sensation; an uncomfortable tingle raising goose-flesh on the back of your neck.

Covertly, you scour the darkened auditorium. In between fast moving limbs, the blurred faces of the orchestra and your fellow dancers, you find nothing but the bright red velour of the thousands of seats and the rich gold of the engraved private boxes. 

You would have left the odd feeling to be the result of nerves, or the watching eyes of the stage director, or even members of the chorus, yet it felt unrelenting. Eyes somehow managing to stay trained on your figure and your figure alone, even through the organised flutter of tulle.

As you pirouette, however, you catch the stare of one of the violin players, shrouded in darkness within the cavity of the pit. 

Ah.

Augustine would laugh at me for my paranoia, you think to yourself.

Regardless, the swell of the orchestra sends a strain through your legs; your muscles pulled taught in anticipation of finally finishing for the day, if not to only repeat it the next.

Finally, the woodwind and strings grow louder, along with the leading soprano, and bring the piece to a finish. You flourish your legs outwards in an arabesque, holding yourself delicately on the tips of your ballet shoes, careful not to wobble. 

Careful not to be considered anything less than perfection. 

Simultaneously, you flinch slightly as the sound of ripping fabric meets your ears.

You can feel the beads of sweat running down your back, soaking into the itchy fabric of your costume. Chest heaving, you hold your position for a few moments before a loud, happy applause erupts from the observers of the final rehearsal. Gracefully, the leading lady bows as members of the chorus and corps de ballet surround her; congratulating her on reaching her notes, as if that wasn’t what she had trained tirelessly her whole life to be able to do.

The glare of the calcium lights burns. 

Eventually, the stage director himself praises your group and, as it has finally struck six pm, calls for the members of the ballet, the chorus members, the orchestra and the leading actors to part and leave for home. You walk, tiredly, off stage right, rubbing the back of your neck. 

You avoid the eyes of the violin player, trying to catch your gaze yet again. 

Squinting in the gloom, you find a large rip on the back of your costume’s bodice. You scowl as you run your hands over the ripped threads, nails plucking the strings of fibre like those of a harp.

A careful hand finds your shoulder, and you look up to see your friend; Augustine. Happily, you smile at her, her clean white teeth smiling back while she tilts her head in question at you. You stand straight and state, annoyed, “My bodice ripped.”

“Good riddance.” She replies sarcastically.

“For the amount of funding the costume department receives, I would have hoped they would make one of the main pieces of our costume more durable-”

“-And less itchy.”

“And less itchy.” You agree. “The costumers are not the ones dancing in those for two hours,” You sigh out as you run your hands over your bodice again, feeling the threads of the expensive fabric and praying, quietly, that the costumers would not ask for payment in fixing it. Considering how close you were to the official show, you have no doubt they’ll be annoyed that you somehow managed to rip it. 

Augustine laughs joyfully at your expense, saying, “Perhaps you should send an official complaint to the costume department, or even-” You huff loudly, already knowing what she was about to suggest, “-The Opera Ghost himself! He’d be sure to scare the costumers into submission, no?”

Laughing tiredly at her jokes, you continue to walk backstage, cautiously avoiding the moving scene–directed by the shouting stagehands above–and passing by your fellow actors. Each are either gossiping, rubbing their fatigued muscles or talking amorously with the sweating stagehands. Though, it is mainly the younger girls trying their luck with the older men. 

“I don’t think I’ve been so tired in my life,” Augustine mumbles.

“Perhaps you are getting old?” You joke back.

“Don’t you even start!” She nudges you harshly in the side, smiling, while you cry out in faux pain. “I don’t think I’ll even be able to walk home. God above knows if I’ll be able to move after I’ve gotten into bed.”

“I wonder if you will fall asleep in our booth after dinner?” You jest. You both had a ritual of going out to dinner, trying a new restaurant for each occasion, the day before performing a new show. While you saw each other every day, you both found it to be a pleasant way to unwind after practice. 

“If I am to afford new ballet shoes and my rent, I think I may have to give dinner itself up for a few weeks.” She smiles a tired smile, one that does not reach her eyes.

“Do not speak so, Augustine. I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you again, if you ever need help with your finances,” You place your hand on her shoulder, “Just say so, and I will be there to aid you.”

You both pause in your walking, and she looks at you with lapis-like hues as she speaks, “I could not–would not–burden you so.” You open your mouth to reprove, but she begins speaking again, “Yet, I appreciate your offer.”

Raising an eyebrow at her, you pat her shoulder empathetically as you intertwine your hands. You walk further into the ever moving and humming guts of the theatre, squeezing up stairs too thin and creaky to be safe and down darkened corridors only illuminated by the dim gleam of the oil lamps not yet put out for the evening. 

Oddly, with each dim hallway you pass, goose-flesh seems to arrive on the back of your neck. As you did during your performance, you chalk it up to a member of the ballet, or the orchestra, silently vying for your attention. That, or perhaps an unfelt draft coming from the cellars.

Now, hidden away from the burn of the calcium lights, your practised facade of expected neatness slowly unfurls. You gently pull out the hair pins keeping your hair in tight buns, wisp like strands following. The tight ribbons that keep your shoes together are also loosened, allowing your feet to finally breathe. Augustine’s are quickly falling apart and, while it wasn’t usual to have them replaced frequently, the price had increased dramatically in the past months. You expect all your fellow dancers–at least those without donations–were beginning to struggle to come up with the money. 

As you do so, many people meander past you; male members of the chorus with bottles of liquor in their hands, hopeful, seasoned members of the corps de ballet, as well as your fellow soloists, and stagehands unhappy with their pay alike.

“What do you intend to do with this month's payment?” You ask, in an attempt to begin conversation again.

“A new-” Augustine begins.

“-Other than the new pair of ballet shoes.” 

She glares at you, half annoyed and half entertained; “A restock of oil and new candles, most likely. Perhaps a new sewing kit. What of you?”

You shrug. “I expect something similar; a restock of oil and possibly some soaps.” She nods, understandably, at your decision.

As you turn past another unlit hallway, your goose flesh arises on your arms now, and you quickly glance over your shoulder to look for anyone in particular, perhaps that violinist. Yet, you find no one. No one but the average crowd of gossiping dancers. 

“Y/N? Are you well?” Augustine stops and looks over her shoulder at you. “Are you looking for someone?” She squints into the crowd along with you, searching the different heads for who you may have been looking at.

“No, I apologise, I just…had an odd feeling.” Augustine looks at you incredulously, before a sly grin makes its way onto her pretty face. 

“Hm…mayhap The Phantom is eyeing you from the shadows…” She shrouds her accent with an ominous tone, the same tone the stagehands place upon themselves when telling ghost stories to the younger chorus members.

“Don’t-”

“-Eyeing his next victim-”

“-Agustine!” You begin to laugh.

“-Waiting for the perfect moment to drag you down into his cellars and make you a part of his bone collection!” She grabs you by your shoulders and shakes you vigorously as you laugh heartily; relieved of your paranoia by her jesting. Easily enticed with mention of the renowned Phantom, some members of the chorus walking past let out a nervous laugh. Expectantly, some even linger or slow their gait to listen in on any gossip about the local ghost. 

Still laughing, your chest aching with both the strain of your corset and the joy flooding out of your mouth, you finally reach one of the many dressing rooms. Your pace had been slowed talking to Augustine, so you find it already full of the other female chorus members and soloists; some already changed, others half nude. 

The dressing room was made of dark, shined oak, and was lit in a lamp-light glow, fire-formed rays spreading like spring petals upon the peeling, ivory-coloured wallpaper of the walls. Multiple wall-length mirrors hang upon them, the glass of them scratched and worn with time and bristling skirts. It’s spartan in comparison to the official, commonplace elegance afforded to a select few of the principal dancers, let alone the dressing rooms of the main actors, yet, it's a comforting place of shared fatigue and tired conversation.

However, once, you visited one of the secondary operatic vocalists in her room, invited to share tea and gossip as she had taken a liking to you. While the only thing she had need to do there was change and perhaps receive the occasional public visitor, she was provided a room that oozed refinement and grandeur. 

The warm lodging contained an intricately designed pier glass, a sofa, a dressing table and a cupboard or two. Along with an astounding number of fresh bouquets, a second floor length mirror lay on the far left. The walls themselves were covered in delicate, floral wallpaper and accented by odd art pieces that appeared to be original.

You’d later learn that while she deeply enjoyed the attention of her older patrons, she tended to take a liking to artists.

Overall, it matched perfectly with the marble palisade that was the Théâtre National de l'Opéra. A complete juxtaposition of the sparse changing rooms you now currently stand in.

Different shades of hats were sat, as per usual, on dress hangers, as well as dull evening dresses. The more expensive, elaborate dresses with long trains were usually kept tucked away until show night, when rich patrons–ring-bearing or not–usually paid visits to the female members of the chorus and troupe of ballerinas.

Reaching your designated changing area, where your own evening dress lay folded neatly upon the wooden bench, you began to converse with Augustine yet again.

“Are you sure you won't join me for dinner this eve?”

Sympathetically, she watches your form from the corner of her eye as she slips out of her costume, reaching around to finally undo her corset, “I am sure, I apologise, you know what it’s like-”

“-Do not apologise.” You sigh deeply as you undo your own corset, letting the warm air of the dressing room fill your lungs. “I will not berate you for wishing to save some extra money.” 

She gifts another warm smile in your direction, before averting her eyes, almost shyly, away from your partly naked form. Aimlessly, she begins to chatter to you about the ache in her calves, and how she believes she’s found yet another ‘life-saving’ treatment for her damaged muscles. Your conversation filters in with the rest of the conversations that flows around the small room, and, half listening to Augustine, you pick up on some of the other’s words. 

In the left corner, a group of girls surround one of the newer members of the troupe of ballerinas, chatting to her with large grins placed delicately on their rosy faces. You spy the glint of gold and the glint of some sort of large gem on her ring finger.

Lucky, you think to yourself, beginning to pull on your chemise and stockings.

In another corner, there are whispered nothings between two girls, one you know to be a young woman named Blanche; a tall thing with peachy skin and hair the colour of a golden sunrise, almost always kept in a tight plat. She looks at the shorter girl, half-dressed, next to her with the same sort of eyes some of the comtes and young vicomtes give to members of the chorus in the parlour.  

You’re pulled back from your people-watching by tumultuous shrieking outside the corridor. Were you not accustomed to the trainee ballerina’s rambunctious shouts after they had finished practice, you would have expected them to have seen a ghost.

Or, rather, the ghost.

A collective sigh resounds in the small room as the noise dissipates down the hall, followed by your own dressing room door opening as three giggling girls enter. Augustine gives you a weary sidelong glance as the pitter-patter of ballet shoes approaches your corner. 

“Hello Mademoiselle L/N, Mademoiselle Charbonneau! We finished practising for Polyeucte this eve!” Lucille, a lithe creature with a button nose and bitten-down fingernails speaks, excitedly.

“Yes yes! Yet we didn’t spot either of you,” Little Jammes begins to moan. She was a favourite of the chorus and existing members of your troupe of dancers, what with her tip-tilted nose, forget-me-not eyes and rose-red cheeks. “You promised you would come watch!”

Before you or Augustine could respond, another voice adds their opinion to the situation; “They couldn’t! They have the performance for the new production tomorrow eve, halfwit-”

“-Don’t insult Jammes so, Elaine,” Augustine reprimands. “I-” She quickly glances your way, “We apologise. Myself and Y/N are quite fatigued; we were not granted a break to day. If we have time, we will watch your practice in the morning on the Monday.”

The younger girls let out a happy cheer at their small success. Elaine and Lucille skip off to where the other apprentices and members of the corps de ballet were changing, while Little Jammes lingers behind.

Nodding to both yours and Augustine’s forms, she says, “I hope your performance goes smoothly tomorrow, mademoiselles.” She begins to turn back to the rest of her group, however, glances at you and speaks yet again; “Oh! And don’t forget your scarf.” She giggles, almost maniacally, before prancing out the door and off to her group.

“Will do, Little Jammes.” You call out after her. She turns and smiles, acknowledging you.

Little Jammes was one fond of jokes, one being stealing your scarf and having you chase her around the Opera House looking for it. A game of hide and seek, if you will. You had kept up the game for almost three years now; her having just turned fifteen. While she was adamant in becoming refined and elegant, as all girls that age are taught to be, she still held onto some of her child-like tendencies with you.

One of the girls, just putting on her bonnet, turns to you as she fixes the ribbons; “I’m unsure how you put up with such boisterous creatures, even Little Jammes; the lot of them are such brats.” She jokes somewhat sarcastically. You smile at her as her eyes, black as ink, look into yours for an answer. 

“It is not much trouble, even if all the majority speak of is the fabled Opera Ghost.” The young lady and Augustine both laugh at your jest. As she finishes with the ribbons of her bonnet, she waves, and wishes you both a good evening. 

Slowly but surely, the girls drift out of the room, some by themselves, and others in larger groups. 

By the time you’re finally fixing your dress, most have left, including the members of the corps de ballet and trainees; eager to leave the domain of the Opera Ghost for the comfort of warm blankets and dinner. Augustine and you are slightly behind schedule, taking extra time to chat aimlessly.

“I cannot believe it takes you so long to dress,” Augustine jests as she finishes buckling her shoes. 

“I know you wish to leave for your apartment Augustine; go. I will walk home on my own to night.” 

Her eyes turn to you, body still bent with her shoes. “Are you sure? Will you be well?”

“Of course I will be. I am a grown woman, Augustine. Either way, I must talk to the costuming department in order for them to fix my bodice; I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

Augustine raises an eyebrow at you, as if thinking this is some test of friendship, before nodding and pulling her shawl across her slim shoulders.

“Good evening, Y/N. Be safe.” She calls over her shoulders as the click-clack of her heels descends towards the exit. “Oh! And I promise to go to dinner with you next week!” She peeks her head over the door frame to call back to you. 

“Sure.” You call back sarcastically. You catch a small smile on her tired face before the sound of the door echoes in the empty dressing room. Finally, you finish dressing, placing your hair into its usual updo again. As you do so, a newspaper, left behind by the young woman of whom you had been talking to, catches your eye. Its newsprint page open on the Opera and Theatre periodical, and a title in bold reads; ‘800 Pounds on a Conserige’s head.’

You recognised the tragedy almost instantly, for it had only occurred but three weeks ago. You were surprised the headline was still making rounds, let alone at the top of the periodical. Although, you suppose, this may be an old paper. Underneath the title shows;

On the evening performance of Helle, May 20th, one of the counterweights for the Théâtre National de l'Opéra’s chandelier fell, suddenly, upon Madame Colette Auclair, aged fifty-six, during her first and last visit to the Opera House; as she passed on impact. Stagehands deny any and all involvement with the tragedy, and report no issues with the counterweights. However, many of the members of the Théâtre National de l'Opéra claim it to be the work of the ever-so-infamous Phantom of the Opera; The Monster of Paris.

You cease reading the moment your eyes graze over the word ‘Phantom’. You felt it ludicrous that an official newspaper would accept and continue to publish such a superstitious and almost mocking piece. Someone’s death shouldn’t be attributed to a spectre that exists and lingers, purely, in the absurd and impressionable brains of the young ladies of the ballet. 

As are the faults of journalism, you suppose.

Sighing loudly, you close the paper and check the date, which reads that it had been re-published not but a week ago. You glare at the bold print while reaching to the hanger for your scarf, and, when your hands find nothing but cold air, you turn.

All you find is an empty hanger. 

How odd, you think to yourself. It was there but a minute ago. Where could it have gone?

You begin to scour the dressing room, before realising what Jammes had hinted at beforehand. Yet, you frown. How could she have gotten in while you weren’t looking? Even if you had been distracted reading the paper, you would have most definitely heard the loud creak of the un-oiled door.

Eyes searching methodically around the room, you finally spot the hue of your scarf peeking out from the ajar dressing room door. The tassels lying, spread, across the scuffed wood of the floor. 

Sighing yet again, you call out for Jammes, who you still swore had left long before you had, and begin to walk across the room. 

I don’t know if I’ll even have time to visit the costumers at this rate. I can never remember how late they stay into the evening.

The heels of your boots send a resounding click-clack across the now bare room. As you near the door, you crouch ever so slightly; haunches rising like a cat ready to pounce on its prey. 

“Jammes…” you mumble out with a smile growing on your face, slowly reaching out to grab your scarf, preparing for a tug of war with a giggling ballet girl, before your scarf zips out from beneath the pads of your fingers. 

You scoff, surprised, before peeking your head out of the doorway, like some weary animal, and looking down the left hall. Innocently, your scarf sits at the end of it, hidden partially around another corner.

Mocking you. 

It was unusually silent. You didn’t hear a laugh nor giggle come from the teasing girl. Glancing down the other hall, you keep watch for the lamplighter. 

You hear no steps echo against the wood and stone. You surmise he has not arrived yet.

Softly, you step out of your dressing room and begin walking down the hall to your beloved scarf. 

The oil lamps send shadows down the hall, long, gangly ones that claw at the hem of your dress as you walk forward. Long, gangly ones that you swear whisper in the dark of the halls. Whispers that sound much too like your fellow dancers, asking for you to follow them.

“Jammes?” You call out into the moving mass of darkness. 

No reply. 

Yet again, as you creep closer to your prize, it is pulled away from your grasp; spirited away and down another ill-lit hallway. 

“Jammes,” you whine, quietly. “This is not funny Jammes. I have to go see the costumers before they leave for the evening.” Despite your worries and growing annoyance, you still follow your scarf down hallway after hallway. Ones you find lead deeper into the Opera House, down passages you were sure were only touched by stagehands. Down routes that only the spiders and their webs called home. 

Quite admittedly, you begin to grow afraid. Afraid of both the dark and the odd whispers that you pray are simply the evening wind whistling. The gossip of the corps de ballet begins to catch up to you too, murmuring descriptions of a man, a monster, with the body of a corpse; skin rotting off his own bones and the Night itself hiding in the sockets of the ghost’s skull. 

Perhaps you are just as paranoid as the brats of the corps de ballet. 

Augustine would laugh at me for this, you repeat as your scarf slips out from under your fingers yet again. Just wait until I tell her this to morrow morning.

Eventually, you find yourself in a dank hallway deep in the Opera House, near the storage room for all the set pieces, you suppose. 

Jammes must have been dared down here by her friends at least once, you reason with yourself.

A trapdoor, locked, sits to the left of you, a bit further up the hall. The wood of the floors let out a cry with each step you take; bending around your feet. You fear it may snap from right under you. 

“Jammes!” You call out frustratedly. You had spent twenty or so minutes travelling down into the depths of the Opera House for a mere scarf; you could have spoken to the costumers and been on your way home by now! Typically, your cat-and-mouse chase with Jammes only lasts ten or so minutes, for her mother calls on her before she can go too far. You were tired and frustrated, with fear building up in your dry throat.

As you begin to turn yet another corner, one you would suppose would lead down into the storage rooms and the vaults of the opera, you are met with pitch black itself. It was as if there was a wall of night standing before you; a mirror reflecting a pitch-black sky you couldn’t see.

Out of the void reaches a white, silken gloved hand, holding your scarf, and your scream echoes loudly in the empty hall like the first chords played in a silenced auditorium. Your hand immediately goes to your chest, to squeeze your thumping heart into submission as your lungs heave for the air they can’t seem to inhale fast enough.

“Apologies, Monsieur, I…” You try to catch your breath, incomplete thoughts rushing through your brain. “...I did not see you.” 

He wears the type of expensive glove that only those who visit the Opera House and its members wear. Clean, white as pure as a dove’s wing, and well made. Immediately you question, mentally, what someone of supposed high status is doing so deep in the belly of the Opera House, especially since there had been no public show today. Further, if Little Jammes is nowhere in sight, then is this who has been leading you around the Opera House with your scarf? Or, perchance, has Jammes given your scarf to him in order not to get caught?

He speaks not a word; you do not even hear him breathe. Your nostrils are met with a terrible stench as a breeze ascends from under the trapdoor and behind the man, sounding more like agonised cries than wind. Mould, stagnant water and…and death. The type of miasma that lingers in your apartment when a trapped animal passes in the cage of your walls; rotting to dust. 

Rotting. Rotting flesh. Rotting flesh pulled taught against bones like a drumhead. A horrible image infiltrates your fatigued mind. 

You are unable to see a single inch of him other than his silk-covered hand, the beginning of his clean, nicely dyed overcoat and of course, your scarf. In the dim lighting, his hand seems to be trembling, as if holding a tremendous weight. Let alone the grip he seems to have on your scarf; the fabric wrinkling under his fingers. Despite him holding it out for you to take, the grip he holds onto it with makes it seem he almost wishes not to let go. Conditioned by years of interacting with the higher class, your mouth immediately goes to asking on his well-being.

“Are you well, Monsieur?” You whisper emphatically. You’re sure he can hear the fear laced in his voice. Considering the habits of the other patrons, you wouldn’t be surprised if he finds amusement in it.

The hand reaches further outwards with your scarf, and makes a motion for you to take it. You stand there, between the stagnant air and the man, looking back and forth between your scarf and where you believe his eyes to be. 

You look at him with an uncertain stare, before gently reaching out to take your scarf. You approach this like you would approach a wild animal; with slow movements, and careful eye contact. Cautiously, your hand meets the soft fabric of your scarf, as well as the coolness of his gloves. 

A shudder seems to run up his arm, and you’re half sure he flinched from your touch. Yet, your scarf remains in an iron-grip, despite your light tugging. 

Again, you squint into the void, trying to find his eyes in the dimness of the oil lamps. “... Monsieur?” You mumble, even quieter than before, with an increasing amount of panic in your voice. As if suddenly remembering he’s holding your scarf, he jolts, yet again, and releases it. 

Yet, his hand still lingers in the air.

Wrapping the scarf around your neck, you can almost feel his eerie gaze following your hands as you do so. His hand still floats, trembling in the air. It almost seems like he wishes for you to take it. Take it and follow him into the vaults of the opera house. 

Take it and make you a part of his bone collection. 

You waft the idiotic thoughts away from your head with a swift movement of your hand, disguised by pushing the ends of the scarf behind your back. 

Idiotically, with worry entangled in your movements, you reach out for him again, gingerly placing your hand on his upper arm. A shiver of your own rattles through you, like a cold finger caressing your spine. The pads of your fingers find the expensive threads of his overcoat, and, dear Lord, he is so cold. Even through his coat, you can feel the wintery burn of his skin. He was so bony; ever so skeletal. With such a gentle touch, you felt as if you could crush the bones of his arm. 

Something between a gasp and a sob quickly escapes his mouth, regardless of the distraught tone he held, he manages to sigh with perfect pitch and time. 

“Forgive me-” Taking a step backwards, you apologise immediately, but you’re met with the quick swish of fabric through the dank air as another foul-smelling wind arises from the trapdoor. It flutters through your hair and causes a chill to settle in your chest. It curls up around your lungs and heart and makes every breath difficult.

Your scarf does nothing to keep you warm. 

Most of the dimming oil lamps are quickly blown out by the strong gust, and the little you could see of the man is engulfed by the darkness. 

One oil lamp remains, barely lit, behind you. 

Quickly, you step backwards until your back hits the wall, and you reach for the lamp. Unhooking it, you bring it forth to the hall, thrusting it outwards into the void. 

There is nothing there other than lingering dust. 

Another gust of wind arises, and quickly puts out the lamp. As you now stand in the dark, a cacophony of whispers erupts upon the cold wind.

He’s here, The Phantom of the Opera.

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I had an unbelievable amount of fun writing this. I'm sorry if this doesn't read completely right; I was doing my best to imitate Gaston Leroux's writing, since I wrote this for Leroux!Phantom rather than Musical Phantom (or any other phantom for that matter). Further, I apologize to any possible ballerinas reading this, for I know the terminology Google and some ballet Tumblr blogs gave me may be incorrect.  I know there isn't that much actual Phantom interaction, but I wanted to focus on the more creepy and touch-starved version of him. I'm thinking about doing a series of Phantom one-shots, hence why I'm leaving this as 'incomplete'. Either way, thank you for reading <3

Historical Notes:

- Calcium Lights = Another word for limelights.

- Théâtre National de l'Opéra = The name given to the Palais Garnier from September, 1870 to January, 1939. 

- Pier glass = A mirror that is placed on a pier, i.e. a wall, between two windows supporting an upper structure. Generally used to fill the space between the windows.

- 800 pounds on a Concierge's head = An actual headline written by Gaston Leroux himself. On May 20th, 1896, a performance of the opera��Helle was underway when a counterweight, one of multiple that held the chandelier up, broke loose and fell through the ceiling; killing a Concierge on her first (and last) visit to the Palais Garnier, which inspired the falling of the chandelier in Phantom! Forensic investigators later said a nearby electrical wire probably overheated and melted the steel cable holding up the counterweight, causing its fall, yet, for all the superstitious opera workers, it was said to be the famous Opera Ghost. The name used for the concierge is made up. 

[yona049]

𝕻𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖔𝖒 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕺𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖆 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

Part 1

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

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Disclaimer!

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

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

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(For ambiance~)

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Monsieur!" she cried out to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/n took this opportunity to explain their predicament.

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

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

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

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

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

Finally the man took a breath and spoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aloïs?"

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

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

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

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

"You knew my Aloïs?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're apologizing? Mademoiselle-"

"Y/n, please."

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

"Y/n, my name is Erik."

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

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

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

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

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

Monsieur Firmin then took the lead and explained:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm done!"

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

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

"May I?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Perhaps."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Erik, have you never-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oi!" The barkeep yells at us.

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

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

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

He interrupts Y/n again.

"No money, no service! Out!"

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

"I dance!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I did my part, I need payment."

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

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

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

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

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

"Erik?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/n."

His voice stood out from the muffled cheers downstairs.

His hand traveled to Y/n's and he sat beside her on the bed.

"I'm sorry."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[its-avalon-08]

Hi hiii!! Can I request lando watching y/n perform think of me from the phantom of the opera??

my angel, my haven

(this is super different from what i usually write so im sorry if its shit)

lando's pov :

the crimson velvet curtains billowed outwards, revealing a stage bathed in the soft glow of a gaslight replica. y/n stood center stage, the spotlight catching the way her sequined gown shimmered like a thousand scattered diamonds. her back was straight, her posture radiating an ethereal confidence that sent a jolt through me. i couldn't tear my eyes away.

think of me, think of me fondly

this wasn't the first time i'd seen y/n perform. we'd been together since our karting days, but tonight, something felt different. maybe it was the grandeur of the opera house, the hushed reverence of the audience, or maybe it was just the way the stage lights painted her face in a thousand dramatic strokes. whatever it was, it took my breath away.

we never said our love was evergreen

as the opening notes of "think of me" swelled from the orchestra pit, a familiar warmth bloomed in my chest. it wasn't just the beauty of the music, though that was undeniable. it was the way y/n inhabited the song, her voice soaring through the theatre with a power and control that never ceased to amaze me. it was a voice that could shatter glass and soothe a broken heart, all in the same breath.

think of me, think of me waking, silent and resigned

as she sang, a thousand memories flickered through my mind. goofy backstage moments, stolen kisses in the pit lane, late-night talks where her dreams intertwined with mine. here she was, living out one of those dreams, and i was lucky enough to witness it. a thrill of possessiveness, quickly doused by a wave of pure pride, washed over me. how could this incredibly talented, captivating woman be mine?

recall those days, look back on all those times

her voice climbed higher, weaving a tapestry of emotions with each note. christine's longing, the phantom's obsession, it all poured out of her, raw and unfiltered. her voice sounded like a dream. the audience was enthralled, hanging onto her every word. and me? i was lost in a world of my own creation, a world where the opulent stage was replaced by a dimly lit garage, the smell of grease oil replaced by the sweet scent of her hair. in that world, it wasn't christine pining for a masked figure, it was y/n, my y/n, captivating me with her talent and her love.

but please promise me that sometimes, you will think of me

the final note faded, leaving a stunned silence in its wake. then, as if a dam had broken, the applause erupted. it was a thunderous roar that shook the very foundation of the building. a wide smile bloomed on y/n's face, as radiant as the spotlight itself. as she caught my eye and smiled i felt all the stars align. in that moment, i knew. no matter what challenges life threw our way, no matter how bright her star might shine, she would always find her way back to me. and i, the luckiest man alive, would be waiting.

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

thanks for reading and sending in your request! do send in more! 🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

[cheriihoney]

First meeting between mc and phantom!jack. In this au, he calls mc moonlight instead of sunshine because without him mc woudlfe never been primadonna :))

[fairlyang]

Angel of Music 🏹

w/c: 5.7K

pairing: phantom!katebishop x singer!reader

tags: kinda following poto with a few changes. she's crazy but not mean, obsessed, stalkerish, lowkey a sweetie, helping write the point in no return, confessions in form of lyrics. 18+ smut. making out. fingering, cunnilingus, praise, murder mention, happy tears, finishing the song. happy ending

a/n: my most recent obsession!! i fell in loveeee with the songs as well as the 2011 anniversary show version! then i thought damn i’d fold soooo hard if the phantom was a woman and here we are w my own rendition<3 fav fic i’ve written thus far i think:’)

kinktober masterlist | main masterlist

after the sad death of your father and his last promising words that he’s left you an angel, rather that, an angel of music to protect you, you’ve heard her. you hear her when you light a candle for him in a hidden back room that’s backstage as well as when you’re in a deep slumber and dreaming.

she’s even taught you better forms to sing for your range as a soprano, encourages you to be better, and has been making sure you’re actually improving. she’s really been such an angel.

she has such a raw, sometimes sweet voice but powerful when need be. like how you knew she would be because of the short reconciliation with raoul.

“raoul!” you shouted after the man who just went to fetch his hat to take you out for supper, “things have changed, raoul..”

quickly did the sounds of your protector’s voice fill the dressing room, “insolent boy!! this slave of fashion, basking in your glory. ignorant fool! this brave young suitor, sharing in my triumph!”

“angel! i hear you! speak, i listen. stay by my side, guide me! angel, my soul was weak, forgive me. enter at last, master!” you sang apologetically then sounded desperate to see her.

“flattering child, you shall know me. see why in shadow i hide. look at your face in the mirror, i am there inside!” she sang in a softer tone and you quickly turned around to look at the mirror.

there she was.

you slowly walked over to her, with wide eyes in complete shock. you knew she wasn’t a fragment in your imagination but to see her in the flesh like this was something you’ve only been dreaming of for as long as she’s been teaching you.

she wore a white mask that covered the right half of her face and had her dark brown hair slicked back. she wore a black tailcoat and waistcoat, with a white shirt underneath and a dark purple cravat on top. she also had black trousers and an opera cloak.

she looked proper and dashing like the composers and musicians that you’ve seen in all your years. she looked mesmerizing.

and sounded mesmerizing as well. so much so that you were walking towards her, eyes back on hers as she sang to you, “I am your angel of music. come to me, angel of music.”

you continued towards her through the mirror, like a moth to a flame, “I am your angel of music. come to me, angel of music.”

she stuck her hand out for you and you grab it, while still retaining eye contact. her deep blue eyes were gorgeous and you couldn’t dare look away. utterly captivated.

she looked away occasionally as she led you down the candle-lit hallway, turning back to you every few seconds to ensure you were there. she saw the way raoul was looking at you and she couldn’t fathom the thought of someone else catching your eye.

after all she was your teacher and you her muse. it was about time you came face to face, for all she wanted was to have you as hers, to share your love and devotion of music.

“in sleep she sang to me, in dreams she came. that voice which calls to me and speaks my name.” you sing softly.

“and do i dream again? for now i find the phantom of the opera is there - inside my mind—” you carefully went down the stairs, looking at her face again.

her hand held yours gently as you looked down the pathway to find a horse. you both went down slowly to make sure you won’t fall or anything.

her strong voice suddenly graces your ears, “sing once again with me, our strange duet. my power over you grows stronger yet.”

she helped you on top of the horse and you turned your head, “and though you turn from me, to glance behind— the phantom of the opera is there - inside your mind.”

she stopped the horse and offered her hand once more to help you down, which you accept. you hopped down and her hand was on your waist leading you to the gondola. “those who have seen your face draw back in fear. I am the mask you wear.”

“it's me they hear.” she sings then you both start harmonizing with alternate adjectives, “your spirit and my voice, in one combined. the phantom of the opera is there — inside my mind.”

you watched as she used a long stick to row you down the little river, her eyes boring into yours because she also couldn’t believe you were here. she’s been waiting for you.

meanwhile you were entranced by her beauty and her stunning voice. she looked to be maybe only a couple years older than you which was quite surprising because of her impeccable talents.

“in all your fantasies, you always knew — that woman and mystery..” she sang and you finished it in truth, “… were both in you…”

you harmonized with her again, “and in this labyrinth, where night is blind, the phantom of the opera is here - inside my mind…”

she looked at you with a wide grin, beyond excited, “my angel of music!” she exclaims as you slowly went under a gate and to her lair.

“she’s there, the phantom of the opera…” you sing softly as she pulls you both in.

“sing my angel.” she commands and you do a high falsetto for a few seconds while she nodded, in approval.

she looks at you and with her hand motions higher, “sing!!”

as if she was controlling you, you did it but raised it to a BB5 note. you were now entering her lair and watching as tall and big candelabras appear from beneath the water.

you do the same exact note once again without her asking for it while her hands went higher with determination, “sing!”

you went even higher, slowly reaching levels you haven’t done before. your eyes stayed wide in surprise as she watched you in awe, bewitched by your perseverance.

you repeated the same note again and she extended her hand out, “sing!”

your pitch was even higher, surprising only yourself because she knew what you were capable of. she just had to push you a bit.

“sing, my angel!” she yells and you’ve reached a C6 note.

“sing for me!!!” she lets out one final scream and you sing with all your might, reaching the highest note one can hit.

you let it drag on for as long as you could and when you stopped you held onto your throat, relishing in your new and amazing accomplishment while she got out of the gondola.

she had a huge grin on her face, ecstatic that her teachings worked well and that you were even more perfect, way beyond her own comprehension.

she stuck her hand out for you again and you snapped out of your thoughts to grab it as she helped you up and out of the gondola. you stepped out of it and stood in front of her, tall and with an aura that felt so intimidating yet familiar.

you looked at her expectantly, assuming she’ll give you praise like she has been doing for as long as you can remember. it was a plus to improving your techniques and was just proof that hard work paid off because you lived for it.

her second hand came up to your face, cupping your cheek which had you melt against her touch, “your talent is beyond the word of perfection, my angel.”

you smiled and she gave you one right back as she let go of your face, leading you inside. you walked past an organ with sheet music over a small desk and loads of candles surrounding it. there were also a handful of mirrors but they were all covered up by fabrics of velvet.

you took a quick look around and your first thoughts were how has she survived down here for so long? did it ever get lonely? is that why there were so many stacks of sheet music? is that why she was so strict with every show the opera house held?

suddenly she sings in her strong vibrato, “i have brought you to the seat of sweet music’s throne. to this kingdom where all must pay home to music, music.”

she then walked a little more and opened a curtain which revealed a mannequin that looked identical to you and not just that but in a wedding dress. you felt dizzy when she sings softly, “you have come here for one purpose and one alone. since the moment i first heard you sing i have needed you with me to serve me, to sing for my music, my music.” 

that last note was the last thing you heard before blacking out and falling straight into her arms.

you woke up to the quiet sounds of a music box. you looked around, remembering where you were and realized you were on a bed. the black lace drapes covered every side of the bed and you saw a little lever to your right so you pulled on it and they slowly came up. 

by the foot of the bed and on a small ottoman was the music box playing a gentle melody of a song with a monkey playing two drum cymbals right on top of it. you watched it in awe and slowly got up, now following the sounds of light humming. 

you tiptoed until you got close enough to see the phantom's work space and found her writing with a feather and ink. she looked hard at work and concentrated while humming an unknown tune. she looked up to you and motioned for you to come closer with a finger and you did.

you stood above her as she showed you what she had been writing, you tilt your head and read its title plus her name below it then to the stack of lyrics to her left, "the point of no return?" you ask and she nods. 

"is it another duet?" you ask and she nods yet again, "still working on the second half.."

you nod and eye the lyrics, she notices and reaches over to them before grabbing them and handing them to you. you grab them and look at her to make sure it was really okay, she gives you a smile and you look back at the papers to start reading. 

she wrote in cursive, neat and delicate, starting off with strong lyrics within the first five lines then the next verse that instantly had you feeling flustered.

our passions may fuse and merge… 

in your mind you've already succumbed to me.

now you are here with me, no second thoughts, you've decided, decided

your cheeks were hot and you were speechless as you quickly skimmed through the rest of it, eyes landing on two lines that had your mouth running dry. 

what rich desire unlocks its door?

what sweet seduction lies before us?

you gulped and squeezed your thighs together as you finished the rest and that was all for the first page. you were speechless. your mind was blank for a short while until it was suddenly filled with words of your thoughts from the back of your head and you had to let them out.

you sing them quietly, attempting to do it in the way she imagined, "you have brought me to that moment when words run dry, to that moment when speech disappears into silence, silence."

you kept quiet for dramatic effect but also to choose your next words carefully. she looked up at you with admiration and respect, feeling so content with her decision to snatch you away before raoul even got a proper chance. it was for the best, for you and for her.

you reached down, putting her papers down in front of her, then bringing your right hand up to cup the left side of her face. she flinched for a second, but your soft gaze calmed her down, something that shouldn't have surprised her. 

you had the power in your hands to make her better. to make her a better woman. a better singer, writer.

all she ever really needed to feel human was something like this. all she she really needed was you. and all she has ever longed for was love.

maybe now she could not only change but become a better version of herself for you.

she turned her body to fully face you, her face warm and heart all fuzzy just looking at you. she can only imagine the difference your presence in her life will do already.

you took a deep breath, looking right into her eyes as you confessed, and sang gently, "i have come here hardly knowing the reason why. in my mind, I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent." 

you brought your left hand to her right side, touching the mask and leaning down, "now I am here with you, no second thoughts."

you lean in, left hand going down to the very end of the mask as you feel her hand on yours, slowly bringing it up with you as you whisper, "I've decided, decided." 

she lets you pull it off then tries to look away from you, afraid her worst fears will come true after your heartfelt and risqué confession that had her heart beat awfully quick but you didn't let her. you lightly cupped her jaw as you took in her features. 

her cheek was wrinkled, the right side of her lips were swollen, she didn't have a right eyebrow, her right eye was actually a gray color, and a gash along her temple.

her face was deformed, and so different to the other half, it had you feeling empathetic that she felt the need to live down here and still wear a mask. she shouldn't have to live this way.

she was even more beautiful. 

she attempted to look away from you in shame, now thinking that maybe you did deserve someone like raoul so you wouldn’t be embarrassed. someone who matched your beauty and wouldn’t scare people away. 

you on the other hand thought the opposite. 

you had already forgotten all about raoul as soon as you saw her behind that mirror but now there was no doubt in your mind that it was her that you’ll choose no matter what. 

she has been not only such an excellent teacher but it really felt like she’s taken good care of you behind the scenes.  

reading those lyrics felt like you were able to get a glimpse inside her mind and her true feelings as well as her deepest desires. 

so you did what felt right and leaned in until you could feel her breath against your lips. you put the mask on her little desk and swiftly sat on her lap with your legs dangling to the side, wrapping your arms behind her neck while she held you in place. 

she leaned in and you could see her lips lightly trembling, and your own growing nerves didn’t help you but without another moment to waste, you kissed her. it was soft, sweet just to see if she wouldn’t mind it. 

you took it as a sign that she didn’t when her hands gripped your waist and she kissed back eagerly. you tried not to smile through the kiss but it felt impossible and you could feel her smiling too so that was a good sign. 

she brought a hand up to your face, feeling the warmth of your skin while she kissed you deeper. you already tasted so sweet. felt so much better than she imagined. 

she should’ve done this sooner. 

suddenly you pulled away and she was taken by surprise. you looked down at her lips and they were a light red and already puffy. you looked up and into her eyes, they were glowing and both appeared to have darkened. 

you both smiled at each other and this time she kissed you first, brushing her lips against yours gently while her hands stayed on your waist. you brought your left hand up to her jaw as you opened your mouth and she slipped her tongue inside. 

your tongues were clashing and your heart was already racing in excitement. what was just a second ago a sweet and tender kiss, quickly changed into a desperate and sloppy one with your hands all over each other. 

your hand went down playing with her cravat between your fingers as one of her hands went under your legs and the other to your lower back. she then stood up, carrying you bridal style en route to her bed. 

she walked slowly and carefully since being down there for years, she had the whole place memorized like the back of her hand. so she moved swiftly and was able to get you there safely without hurting a hair on your head. 

she pulled away from you only to lay you down on the bed gently just to admire you for a split second as you scoot to the middle of it before she climbed on to the bed then on to you. she grabbed your chin just with her index finger and thumb, making you look right into her eyes while she leant in, "you're so beautiful, and given the gift of having the voice of an ethereal angel."

your face grew hot and you wanted to look away because you were flustered but she didn't allow you to. her cheeks were red because she was just so happy, this was one her dreams that she wasn't so sure would come true but was beyond ecstatic that it did. 

you were all she needed to truly feel human after all the awful years she had. her angel of music.

no one else's and she'd make sure of it.

she kissed you for the third time but this time she was even more desperate. she needed to have you. her hands were exploring every inch of your body, squeezing and gripping every curve while your hands trail up and down her back. your tongues clashed together and you were slowly losing your breath as you felt her hands suddenly undoing the straps of your robe.

you pulled away so she can look at what she was doing and your hands went down to her front to undo the buttons from her tailcoat as fast as you could. she only chuckled under her breath and opened the robe to reveal your red, green and gold bodice which looked absolutely stunning on you. unfortunately she was too eager to help you take it off so she lowered herself down your body while retaining eye contact.

she got to the hem of your skirt and right as she opened her mouth, you just nodded feverishly, "please."

she bit her lip to hide the moan that was about to slip from her mouth and pulled your skirt down slowly, admiring every inch of bare skin her eyes laid on, "so beautiful." she whispered and pulled the skirt over your legs.

she threw it behind her and you spread your legs apart – her body was between your legs, slowly going down and when reaching your thighs she made sure to leave trails of kisses on each side. then she was face to face with your already soaked panties, she bit her lip again and looked up at you. 

your lips were in a pout already needing her to do something but you didn't want to seem too needy. but given you were entirely exposed and she knows you're already wet maybe she already knew.

she wraps her arms around your thighs then leans in, leaving a kiss on your clothed clit before kissing down until she got to your entrance. she then licked a strip all the way back up to your clit, sending shivers all throughout your body as she repeated the process again. you let out a sigh and bring a hand down to her hair, urging her to do more. 

she grins, quickly moving your panties to the side and diving right in to have a taste. she licked your slit, savoring that sweet taste as if you'd vanish out of thin air. you tasted heavenly, exactly how she knew you would. 

her tongue went up, circling your nub while she took off her gloves and teasingly threw them at you. you caught them with a laugh, tugging on her hair making her groan against you. you moaned and her head went back down, lapping at your folds like she hasn't eaten for weeks. "oh god-" you moaned and bucked your hips up. 

she moaned against you, doing it faster just to hear your angelic moans for as long as she could. she felt like she was dreaming. if it weren't for the fact that you were moaning for her, she would've assumed this really was just one of her wet dreams.

she started going up and down, making sure to slurp up all your juices because she needed every drop of you in her mouth. just to make sure this was really happening. 

your eyes fluttered shut and you tried to keep them open but the pleasure she was giving you was just so breathtaking. "feels so good kate-" you murmured, locking eyes with her as she nods.

suddenly you felt her teasing your entrance with a finger and your body trembled. her eyes close shut, focusing on making you feel good and on her sense of hearing to hear what you like. luckily for her she was able to feel your thighs shake, and your arousal was dripping even more. 

thank the heavens she didn’t let raoul have a singular opportunity. 

he’d be lost.

she slipped the finger all the way inside and your walls easily entrapped it. she moaned and pulled it back only to add a second finger. you clenched around both as she slammed it into you making you whimper.

she pulled it all the way out then went back in with both and started pumping them fast. you gasped as you heard the noises coming from between your legs, it sounded crazy.

your arousal was coating her fingers and she just watched the way your body reacted to her touch. it was everything she could have ever wanted and more.

“mm just like that-“ you moaned, trying to keep your eyes on her but it felt impossible.

you just wanted to close your eyes and feel the heaven she was giving you.

her fingers went faster, looking at your pretty face while she came up and started sucking on your clit to make you come in her mouth as fast as possible. you gasped and your eyes shot open, looking right at her as she worked expertly on your pussy.

it seemed she was good at everything she did. and looked just as good doing it.

she curled her fingers up when she pulled back making sure to hit your sweet spot with every thrust. with her other hand she pulled your left leg up, to have more space and so it can bring you more pleasure. more moans slipped from your lips making her moan into you and speed up.

your hands gripped her hair keeping her as close as possible to you because it just felt too good. her entire mouth was on your clit, flicking and sucking on it while her fingers went deeper.

you felt a strong sensation in your stomach, as if you were about to pee and it had you nervous, “kate- i d-don’t-“

your brain was mush and you couldn’t spill out a coherent sentence but she could feel you contort and clench against her fingers, you were close.

with her left hand she grabbed your right hand and made you hold your own leg up while hers went to your stomach, pressing on it over the bodice. you whined and that feeling in your stomach was only growing tighter, “oh my- f-fuck! please-“

she pulls away from your clit and looks deeply into your eyes as she murmurs, “wanna come for me, my angel?”

you quickly nod and she grins, her whole mouth and cheeks glistening with your arousal as she goes back down to suck on your swollen nub. you gasped then whimpered as your orgasm built up and with her loving stare alone, you quickly came undone. your body shook while her fingers slowed down, letting you completely ride out your high.

you whimpered out her name and let go of your leg and her hair. you could hear your heart beat loudly in your ears as the pleasure slowly washed away and was now reaching towards overstimulation. your hand went up to your face, trying to calm yourself down.

she pulls away from you and leaves a kiss on your inner thigh and just lets her fingers stay inside you while admiring your pretty face basking in afterglow.

she’d do anything to always have you like this. spending as much time as you’d let her to take care of you properly each and every time.

it’s what you deserved after the phenomenal progress of your voice and especially after tonight’s show. sure she’d have to take care of raoul to ensure he doesn’t get in the way and so you can still go up to become the permanent lead.

she’d do whatever it takes.

“kate i wanna taste you.” you whined, lightly tapping her head with a finger, and she snapped out of it.

“oh do you?” she teases and you nod.

she slowly pulls her fingers out of you and then gets up from between your legs. she sits up and you quickly move over, making space for her while she took your previous position. you went down her body, undoing her pants as fast as you could.

you pulled them down and revealed that she was wearing a pair of boxers. you slid those down as well, spreading her legs wide, and then instantly ate her out with no care in the world of anything except for her.

she moaned and her eyes rolled to the back of her head, “oh my god yes-“

you were surprised she was just as, if not more wet than you. but what surprised you more was how amazing she tasted. you wrapped your arms around her thighs, truly savoring her because she was just so sweet.

kate grinned at your desperation, happy that you’re feeling like she is now. she brought a hand down to your head, guiding you to come up and suck on her clit. you did as she wanted and looked at her while doing so which gave her instant goosebumps, “just like that, my sweet angel- y-you’re doing so good for me.” she breathed out making you moan onto her.

her body shook and you took it as a good sign. you sucked on her clit while lightly flicking it with the tip of your tongue. she gasped in shock and you just kept it going, doing it a little faster just so you could hear her again.

she moaned your name out like a prayer along with praise that had your heart skipping a beat. you brought your right hand down, pulling away from her so you can admire her. she had a slight bush on her mound and everything else was bare. her actual pussy was pretty, already glistening with a mix of your saliva and her juices.

you spread her lips apart with two fingers then can’t help but to lick a strip up then back down, tongue teasing her entrance and just feeling her shake above you. you pulled away, lips all glossy and you took a quick look at her, bringing a finger down to enter her hole before quickly looking at her.

she gasped and clenched against the digit, you pulled it out and then teased her hole with two fingers making her groan, “oh my- please, lord please.”

you slid them in, feeling yourself grow impatient and not wanting to tease her too much. she relaxed her body but her walls still clenched against your fingers, “relax angel, i’ll take care of you.” you murmur earning yourself loud moans from her.

you smile and pump them deeper as she squirmed around while you give her sweet praises, just to flip the script a bit.

you had officially made her completely lose her mind.

she had the two people she had to take care of in mind before she’d send you back up to the opera house. she had to make sure there were no loose ends when you became the official lead and maybe then she’d come up to take control without harming any more people.

but for now she’d cherish every passing second with you because it’s all she dreamed of.

your fingers were going at a fast pace, her juices dripping down your hand, and kate’s moans were gracing your ears. “just like that angel, please don’t stop-“

you nodded, doing the same thing but now going a bit harder. her hands gripped the sheets, her lower body grinding against you because it was just too good and she was starting to get greedy.

you kissed her thigh watching as her face contorted in pleasure with every thrust. her eyes were fluttering and she kept biting her lip attempting to be quiet but was obviously failing. “my beautiful angel- god you’re amazing.”

your face grew warm and you felt butterflies in your stomach, it was like becoming one of those lovesick girls from the films except you didn’t hate it. it was an amazing feeling to already feel wanted like this, in this capacity.

especially by someone whose been the most helpful for your career and always seemed to care for you more than just a tutor. like you cared for her as well.

it was more than that and it made you overjoyed and delighted to have been taught by her. you knew in your heart that it’d become more which only had you feeling excited for your future with her.

her moans brought you back to reality where she was a mess. she was making a mess of your fingers and her eyes were barely able to remain open. you went down and sucked on her clit again, pumping your fingers inside her at a faster pace that only had her dripping even more than before.

“y-yes- oh my- angel please.” she moaned and you squeezed your thighs together for some friction.

“a-always so caring and t-thoughtful, aren’t you sweetheart?” she murmurs earning herself a whimper right against her pussy.

her legs shook and she was back to clenching against your fingers, maybe she was close. your fingers never stopped, only increased the pace since that’s likely what she needed. you pulled away once again just to respond, “mhm, you already know me well enough huh?”

she laughs then whimpers when your fingers start curling and she instantly feels her orgasm coming in hot pursuit. “fuck! yes, i do- know you s-so well.” she mutters making you grin.

seems you were able to break her like she did with you. another accomplishment of the night.

you brought your left hand up to her and she quickly entwined your fingers together, “give it to me. please give it to me, angel.” you murmured and she let out a loud mewl as her orgasm crashed down on her.

you continued your pace while she reached her climax, letting out more moans and whimpers as her body started shaking. her hand was gripping your hand tightly and you just held onto it as you finally slowed down. she was breathing heavily, heart pounding while she looked down at you through fucked out eyes, looking at you as if you really were a real angel.

you were just as beautiful as one. with an angelic voice to match.

you slowly pulled your fingers out of her, not wanting it to hurt her as she sighed and opened her arms. with a wide grin you climbed on top of her, before laying down and making yourself comfortable in her arms.

she wrapped her arms around you as you heard her heart face against her chest. it felt like yours was reacting the exact same way as well.

you laid like that in comfortable silence as she got herself to calm down, enjoying being able to have you like this after all she’s taught you. it was the greatest feeling.

suddenly her mind came up with heartfelt lyrics to finish your song. she cleared her throat then sang quietly just enough for you to hear, “say you’ll share with me one love, one lifetime. lead me, save me from my solitude.”

her eyes welled with tears as you looked up at her, your own eyes tearing up as she finished, “say you want me with you here, beside you. anywhere you go, let me go too… that’s all i ask of you—“

her voice cracked with the very end of the last note and a single tear fell off both your faces. you quickly brought a hand up to wipe the tear from the right side of her face, gently rubbing your thumb against her skin.

she did the same to you, looking at you with eyes filled of pure love as you finish off the song, “beyond the point of no return.”

she cried softly, unable to not smile at the same time. you just made her the happiest woman in the world. you made her feel human again. you were all she needed to feel human and happy with life again.

she’ll never take you for granted and will make sure to take care of you in every way for as long as you allow her to.

[gh0stsp1d3r]

phantom of the opera!Rafe x Christine daae!reader

(Is this too niche? Sorry it’s the theater kid in me)

okay this is the last one i swear, im sorry i love making moodboards so much 😭 Ill write soon i swear

[cumtastiics]

Hm, what about a yandere mafia boss and an opera singer reader?

yan! mafia boss x opera singer

tw: yandere, implied kidnapping

HELP SORRY I TOOK SO LONG UM I FORGOT TO WRITE ANYTHING

"sing for me."

you were so beautiful to him.

your voice was so soothing, it was like a lullaby.

he would often find himself lost in the melody of your words, as if they were a gentle breeze carrying him away to a place of solace. it was in those moments, when the world seemed to fade into the background, that he truly felt alive.

your beauty, both in appearance and in spirit, enraptured him. the way your eyes sparkled with mischief, reflecting the light like precious gems, could melt the hardest of hearts. and your smile, oh how it could light up the darkest room, spreading warmth and joy to all those around you.

yet, you always stayed silent.

he was only able to hear your voice when you happily spoke to others who weren't him.

so he didn't allow people to talk with you. you were more distant with him.

every night, he would lie in bed, imagining the sound that would fill the room if you were to sing just for him.

but as days turned into weeks, his longing began to transform into something darker. a seed of possessiveness took root in his heart, fed by the bitter taste of jealousy. he couldn't understand why you would lavish others with your voice, while keeping him at arm's length, like an outsider looking in.

he was so desperate to hear your voice, the way you sung reminded him always of the time he first heard you.

he was running his fingers through your hair as your head stayed in his lap, his fingers now tugging on your hair, making you yelp out in pain.

"i told you to sing."

if u want more send reqs

[hotpinkboots]

I've had some little memes floating around in my head for a while so I'm gonna post some of em

[apocalypse-shuffle]

THE PHANTOM | ERIK (multi iteration)

—

“An Amati to be Worshipped” (Erik Destler |The Phantom of the Opera x Fem!Reader)

| Erik just can’t keep that mysterious demeanor about him in check when it comes to you. Or his temper. Or his lust.

| NSFW, 18+, minors dni, violinist!reader, (TW: stalker!erik, non con voyeurism, masturbation) questionable history/depictions of 1800’s French culture (I tried)

| picture source: shots from Ben Crawford & Emilie Kouatchou’s run as The Phantom & Christine on broadway

| 1k+ words

In one word Erik was miserable.

His truest obsession, his sweet violinist, was out sick and as such he didn’t get to peer down upon her from box five as she drew those elegant fingers across her bow and string.

He missed her sun worshipped skin like a starving man missed food. She stood out like the brightest star from the pit. Playing her violin like it came as easy as breathing, much in the way Erik himself played his many well versed instruments.

Watching the performance earlier that night had been truly disappointing. Not even Christine’s voice could make up for the lack of the melodic rises and falls that came from his violinist’s strings. It was a clear missing puzzle piece in the whole show. One that irked him down to his soul and made him vow to gut the hapless fool in your place while you recovered.

And he wanted to curse that too.

The newest stage hand had forgone cleaning up the stage after pre-rehearsal a few days ago and you, his greatest muse, had slipped and fallen.

Your decent from the stage to the pit had almost made him reveal himself from his elevated position in the rafts. You’d dropped so abruptly, so thoroughly, that you’d screamed. A wretched sound forced from your mouth that had made even Erik gasp and want to reach for your fallen form.

Erik himself, with that fear and fury still thriving through his very spirit, had only just come from doing what he promised when he saw the tears tracking down your face. He’d gutted DuBoi within an inch of his life, the worm wasn’t worth being taken to his torture chamber, and left him to rest for his remaining hours as he chocked on his own tongue.

He stomped through his passage ways now, in search of you of course. After avenging your ails he was near giddy to get back to what he’d taken up doing since your most unfortunate injury.

He rounded the narrow corner to your bed chambers in the sick bay and hummed lightly as his eyes finally lay upon your form.

You were exquisite.

He could watch you for hours, and did. With the opera house quieting down after the night’s lackluster show and Christine not being due for a lesson, his presence was not needed anywhere else as twilight descended.

You mostly read, books from Senegal that were in a French dialect he was too unfamiliar with to read easily, and worked on your music. That was always his favorite part of the night.

Whenever everyone retired to their shared quarters you would sneak off, usually to the roof, lean against the Angel statue and pull out your beaten pieces of sheet music to write on. You’d hand draw the measure lines with steady hands and the finest ink you owned and then you’d be off.

Many a night Erik had watched as you embarked on the painstaking, and very familiar, process of writing your own music. You wrote, playing on your violin to check your song, until your eyes started to droop and the sun began to peak in the horizon.

You’d cringe, sigh, laugh and celebrate on the roof at your melodies, good and bad, and Erik would watch and wish to celebrate alongside you. To help guide you into finding your musical voice. To embrace you in your combined cheer.

He longed like no other to feel the touch of another. Of companionship.

There’d been many nights that he’d fantasized of stealing you away. As far as he was concerned the light of mundane people didn’t deserve to be blessed by your darkness. A darkness that he’d cherish. That he’d compliment, even.

Your songs weren’t amazing by any measure, you were clearly a beginner, but they were yours and he lived to hear you.

He’d read you music, even hummed your baby masterpiece in his free time. Tweaked little bits and sung it to you until the subtle change in tune got stuck in your head and you’d put the tweaks to paper. Even twisting them again yourself to fit your song more preferably. He always liked your changes immensely, and was honored that you mixed parts of him into that bit of your soul.

You were doing that tonight, in fact. Last night he played a new idea on his own violin. Behind the walls as you’d slept he’d had the pleasure of serenading you and now that his melody had sneaked into your subconscious mind you were writing away.

Erik closed his eyes as you began to play. Even bedridden without an audience, and your own choppy tune being strung together, you were amazing.

He listens to you for hours. Ear practically up against the wall Erik stays up and then subsequently falls asleep with you.

When he wakes he can tell the sun hasn’t risen yet by the dead silence that meets him but he knows you’re asleep. When he rises from his seated position in the cramped pathway and looks through the peephole to the sick room he confirms his guess. The area is still lit but you yourself are passed out, having seemingly been in the midst of playing until the moon’s siren song pulled you under.

He watches you silently. Eyes tracing your figure. Your dark skin just about twinkles under the harsh lights. The yellow lighting of the gas lamp doesn’t do you justice and yet somehow you manage to enrapture him still.

Your shut eyes flutter as he looks upon you. A smile graces his lips; you're enchanting. He wants to be able to speak with you. To mark the creases of your smile up close. To trust you with the secrets of why he hides in the shadows. To feel what it'd be like to have and to hold you.

To feel you succumb to him.

Completely.

He can’t help it. Almost against his wishes his mind turns to thoughts of you beneath him. To the way your skin would yield to his hands and his to yours.

To the arch of your bodies pressed together and the sounds he would siphon from your plush lips.

It makes him squirm in place as he watches you with different eyes. Sinful ones.

His eyes travel down your body and instantly Erik knows how he’s going to spend the rest of the opera’s still hours. Your allure too strong and Erik too weak for you.

Unable to tear his eyes away from your breasts, Erik can only desire the pleasure of the flesh having his sweet violinist would bring. Your satisfaction has long been made a priority of his after all. It would only make sense for him to satisfy your more…sexual needs.

Even though he could only dream of it currently.

He imagines himself in there now. How he’d start by putting his hand to your cheek, the first touch of another’s skin he’d have in decades. He closes his eyes as his breath stutters out of him.

He would challenge the very God Christine prays to every night, a fool's errand perhaps -but one he would happily embark on, for the chance to see the stark contrast of his skin against yours.

Once more he opens his eyes to gaze upon you. He imagines after he touches your cheek he’d let his fingers trace down your throat and sternum before pausing just above your breasts. Trembling slightly, Erik thinks of caressing and cupping them, of running his thumbs over your dusk nipples. Marveling at how lovely they felt in his hands. Of the gentle sounds you’d give him in return.

Not letting himself think, he lets his hands travel over his own body, cape falling to the floor as he unclips it. He pictures leaning down, putting his lips around your right nipple, and beginning to circle it with his tongue while gently pinching the left one.

He imagines the way your eyes would flutter as he stimulates you with his mouth. Tongue gently sweeping over the stiff peaks of your nipples as you sighed your satisfaction.

Thereafter is when he allows himself to fully succumb to his rampant imagination. All his dreams of whimsy coming through in his mind's eye.

He thinks of you waking up, of skilled dark fingers moving to gently lift his head up, of the smile you’d give him.

“Was last night not enough? Have you come back for more?”

“Whatever you will give me.” Erik sends his own smile back. An action his face is largely unused to but that he is happy to make happen for you.

Your fingers run over the top of his head, through the few skant hairs there.

“Then give me your full devotion,” you say and Erik’s heart sours before he’s going back to your chest.

He says, "With pleasure," and lightly bites your nipple, pleased to feel you shudder.

He’s had the pleasure of learning recently that you were extremely responsive to touch and by god does he wish to apply that knowledge.

Erik then allows himself to fully be given to conjured images of you giving way beneath him. To him delving between your folds and the heavenly noises you make for him.

The thought of you crying out his name is what finally has him spurting into his hands, stuttering gasps falling from his mouth.

When Erik next opens his eyes, the scene of you so beautifully coming undone seared behind his lids, there are tears stuck to his lashes and pooling in his eyes.

His breath hiccups from his chest as he relaxes his hold on his cock. The spent organ flopping onto his thigh.

Erik allows himself to gaze upon you once more, something near shame threatening to claw through him as a few droplets cascade down his cheek, before the morning settles and he is once again back to the reality of being known no longer.

A monster forever bound to his faith hidden in the looming loneliness of shadows as his only company.

Its only shining light being you.

NOTES: Ohhhhhhhh. I hope y’all liked this. I just live for Erik being a needy pathetic simp.

P.S: I won’t respond cause this is a side blog but I do like comments, you can leave one.

[honniebunnies]

[dumbtruk]

Melody of the Forgotten

The grand opera house of Sumeru City was the jewel of the nation’s artistic world, a towering edifice of stone and glass, alive with music and drama. Its stage had seen performances that transcended the mortal plane, and its corridors echoed with the whispers of stories long forgotten. You had been drawn to it from a young age, captivated by the splendor of the performances, the allure of the music, and the dream of one day performing on that hallowed stage yourself.

And now, that dream was within reach. You had been accepted into the opera’s prestigious company, your voice singled out as one with great potential, a rising star in the world of song. The opera house had become your second home, its backstage corridors a maze of opportunity and challenge.

But there was another presence in the opera house, one that the performers rarely spoke of—at least, not aloud. There were stories, rumors whispered among the stagehands and the older performers, of a phantom who haunted the opera house. He was said to be a master of disguise, a shadowy figure who could slip between worlds unseen. His moods were as tempestuous as the sea, his emotions unpredictable as the wind. He was both feared and revered, his influence felt in every corner of the grand theater.

No one had ever seen his face. And those who claimed to know more often spoke in cryptic tones, as if afraid to say too much. Some said he wore a mask, hiding some hideous deformity, while others claimed that he was a spirit—an echo of an ancient, forgotten soul who could never rest.

You had dismissed these stories at first, focusing instead on your training. But soon, you began to notice strange things—small, unsettling signs that you were not as alone as you once thought. At times, you would catch a fleeting glimpse of a figure in the wings, watching your rehearsals. Doors that had been locked would mysteriously open, and you would hear faint whispers in the corridors when you were sure you were alone. Most unnervingly, though, you began to find letters—perfectly folded pieces of parchment, slipped under your dressing room door.

The first letter had been a simple compliment: “Your voice is like the first breath of dawn—pure, yet aching with potential. Do not waste it.” It was unsigned, written in an elegant hand, but you had a suspicion it was from the phantom.

From that point on, the letters became more frequent, sometimes offering advice on your performances, other times cryptic messages that left you pondering their meaning for hours. And slowly, you began to realize that the phantom, whoever he was, had taken an interest in you—an obsession, even.

One evening, after a particularly demanding rehearsal, you lingered on the stage, watching as the candles in the chandelier flickered, casting long shadows across the empty seats. The house was quiet now, the other performers having retired for the night. You stood alone in the vast, echoing space, your heart still pounding from the intensity of your singing. You could feel eyes on you, though you saw no one.

"Why do you hide in the shadows?" you called out, your voice barely above a whisper, yet confident.

There was no immediate response, but you could sense something shifting in the air. Then, from the darkness of the wings, a figure stepped into the dim light—tall, with a slender frame and an air of theatricality about him. His face was obscured by a half-mask, covering the right side of his face, leaving only his left eye visible, cold and calculating.

It was him. The Phantom.

Or rather, Scaramouche.

He was known by many names—the Balladeer, the Wanderer, the Sixth Harbinger—but here, in the shadows of the opera house, he was the phantom. His movements were precise, his posture one of practiced elegance, as though every step was part of an unseen performance. His dark hair framed his mask, and though his lips were hidden in shadow, you could feel the weight of his gaze on you.

"You're brave," he said, his voice smooth and velvety, with a hint of danger lurking beneath. "Most would flee at the mere mention of me. But not you."

Your breath caught in your throat, but you refused to look away. "You’ve been watching me."

He tilted his head slightly, a slow, deliberate gesture that sent a shiver down your spine. "Yes," he admitted, with no hint of apology. "Your voice—it is unlike anything I’ve heard in years. Pure, yet raw. It needs... guidance."

His words hung in the air, and you felt a strange mixture of fear and fascination. Scaramouche was as much a part of the opera house as the stone pillars and velvet curtains, and now he stood before you, a living mystery wrapped in enigma and shadow.

"I don’t need your guidance," you said, though your voice trembled just slightly. "I’ve made it this far on my own."

He chuckled, the sound low and mocking. "Is that what you think? Do you believe you’ve come this far through sheer talent alone? No... you’ve had help—whether you knew it or not."

His words sent a chill through you. "What do you mean?"

Scaramouche’s visible eye gleamed with amusement, and he took a slow step closer. "I’ve been behind the scenes, pulling the strings. I have arranged for you to be noticed by the company, whispered in the ears of those in power. Without me, you would still be singing for an empty hall. You owe me... everything."

Your mind raced, trying to comprehend what he was saying. Had he been manipulating your career from the start? The realization struck you like a cold wave of fear and anger.

"I didn’t ask for your help," you said, your voice firmer now, though your heart was pounding.

He laughed again, this time with more cruelty. "No. But I gave it nonetheless. And now..." His eye darkened, his tone shifting to something far more possessive. "Now you belong to me."

The finality in his voice left no room for argument, and for the first time, you felt the weight of his obsession settle over you. You had always thought of him as a distant figure, a myth that haunted the opera house, but now, here he was—real, tangible, and far more dangerous than you had imagined.

"What do you want from me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Scaramouche’s gaze lingered on you, his eye narrowing slightly as if assessing your every thought. Then, in a swift motion, he moved closer, his gloved hand reaching out to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"I want your voice," he said softly, but there was a dark hunger in his tone. "I want it to sing only for me. I want to shape it, control it, make it perfect."

You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, his fingers cold against your skin. "You don’t understand," he continued, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, almost tender. "I have waited so long for something... someone... who could complete my music. I’ve seen mediocrity, incompetence, but you... you are different."

His obsession was suffocating, the intensity of his words sinking into your bones. You could feel the weight of his desire pressing down on you, and for the first time, you understood the full extent of his control.

"I’m not your puppet," you said, your voice shaking with fear and defiance.

Scaramouche’s lips curled into a cruel smile beneath his mask. "No... you’re not. You’re something far more precious. But make no mistake—you are mine."

The candlelight flickered as his words echoed in the empty opera house, and you felt the walls closing in around you. You were trapped in his web, caught between fear and fascination, between a desire to run and an inexplicable pull that kept you rooted in place.

"I can make you a star," he said, his voice turning soft, seductive. "I can give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of. Fame, fortune... all of it. All you have to do is sing for me."

You hesitated, the temptation of his offer gnawing at the edges of your resolve. There was something irresistible about his words, something that made you want to believe him, to trust him.

But deep down, you knew the truth. Scaramouche was no savior. He was a phantom, a manipulator, a creature of shadows who sought to control you for his own ends.

"You don’t control me," you said firmly, stepping back from him.

For a moment, Scaramouche’s smile faltered, his eye flashing with anger. But then, just as quickly, the mask of calm returned.

"Perhaps not yet," he said softly, though his tone carried an unmistakable threat. "But in the end, you will sing for me. Because there is no one else who understands you like I do. No one else who can bring out the true potential in your voice."

He stepped back, his form blending into the shadows once more, his presence as ghostly as ever.

"You will sing for me," he repeated, his voice lingering in the air as he disappeared into the darkness. "Sooner or later... you will."

The opera house was silent once more, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a curse. And as you stood alone on the stage, you knew that your fate was now intertwined with his, bound by the melody of his obsession.

[redrydersrequiem]

Golden eyed phantom ch 1

Pairing Druig x reader

Rating explicit 18+ only minors ageless blank and non unadapted blogs will be blocked.

Plot: phantom of the opera au

Warnings: Some smut (im still learning how so go easy on me) fingering, dream sex, mind control but not dark)

The opera de popular was one of the crown jewels of paris, a place where dreams and nightmares can become a reality. It’s also where young (y/n) (l/n) found themselves living after the untimely death of their only living relative, their father.With no living family and no prospective husband (y/n) would have been homeless if not for Madame Ajak,the kindly dance instructor of the opera and a dear friend to the girls late father.

Madame Ajak became the mother you never knew, kind, caring, always able to cure any physical ailment that seemed to bother her or anyone else, with Madame came Sersi. She was another girl that had grown up in the opera. Madame Ajak was unable to have children of her own so she adopted Sersi when she was just a baby. The young woman was only a few years older then (y/n) and the two became fast friends. Sersi showed you the ins and outs of the opera house, really the ins and outs of Paris. Many times she would take you out and about to learn about your new home and everything in it including the rest of the people that would make up your new family. The first members you met came in the form of Gilgamesh and Thena.

Gilgamesh was the chief of security for the opera house. He was a giant boulder of a man well built and very intimidating at first glance, that is until he smiles at you and turns into the giant teddy bear he is. Always making sure all of us are safe and sneaking in baked goods every now and then. You wouldn’t know just from looking at him but he was an amazing baker, especially his pies they were to die for. With Gilgamesh came his partner Thena,she was gorgeous a goddess without even trying. She was the stunt, fighting and weapons expert for the opera and many other production houses in Paris. Many people thought she was a model but the mere thought made her grimace, “Why would I want to be a model and have to care what everyone thought of me?” Even though she had a tough exterior she was also very kind in her ways. Thena was determined for all of us younger girls at the opera to be able to protect ourselves, teaching everyone basic self defense and warning signs and so on and so forth. She was truly a ferocious mama bear if she wanted to be, to you she just became a protective aunt.

Next up was, without a doubt, your favorite trio, Phastos,Sprite and Makkari. All three worked backstage, keeping the opera house running as fabulously as it does. Phastos was the head engineer/ prop master. If something needed to be built he was the guy, his creations awe inspiring, some looking as though they had come straight out of the future, but he was still humble enough to answer any questions you or anyone had about the devices. Alongside Phastos worked sprite. She was young that was undeniable but boy was she talented, A true artist she was the head set designer and painter. Everything she created was so stunning you couldn’t even tell it wasn’t real. While Phastos was somewhat humble, Sprite was spunky, quick witted and sharp tongue when wronged. She halted being looked down on because of how young she looked and would lay into anyone who belittled her.

Makkari was a completely different story, even though she was deaf that did not stop her. Always with a kind smile on her face she ran around helping pull everything together. She was the resident lighting and stage hand always in the right place at the right time, almost like there were seven of her. When she wasn’t working she would be in the shopping district, dragging (y/n) with her to oogle all the shiny and sparkly Knick knacks, all the beautifully colored fabrics and imports coming in. In fact that's how Kingo was introduced.

Kingo was a fashionista, a real eye for how to make everyone look their best with one look.he was the opera's resident costume designer / understudy. Kingo dreamed of being on stage; he knew all the words, all the songs, everything, but sadly his time in the spotlight had not yet come. Everyone always reassured him his time would come, in fact you would always run lines with him whenever he was feeling down, he was over the top dramatic for sure but so entertaining. Probably the only thing more entertaining was picking on him with sprite and makkari. His reaction to the twos joke always brought a smile to your face, and was almost a bonding experience with the other girl.

During the day there was enough to distract you from your sullen thoughts. In particular the formation of a new found family, always there to relieve you of your boredom and loneliness but at night it was a different story. About a month after you had arrived you sat in the opera's small chapel, lighting a candle for your fathers soul. You guess your gentle weeping is what brought forth the angel's song, but all you really remember is the gentle glowing gold of the candles or at least you think it was the candles but you didn't really care as the feelings of calm wash over you with the soft timber of the angel's voice. At night or really whenever you were alone the angel would speak to you. Teach you the ways of the opera house and the music that went along with it. He was a mystic presence, always there but never in reach.

He invaded your whole life, when not learning from him at night your dreams started turning to him.

It would start with his voice, hearing it in your head as you drifted to sleep, the scene would change to a candle lit backdrop, soft smells of vanilla fill the air, a dreamy feeling wanders around you, then you would feel hands wrap around you. They were strong, long fingers as they wandered up and down your frame. You dare not turn around not wanting the feelings he provokes from you to end too quickly.

You watch as those glorious hands gently slide up your leg taking your thin night shift with them until they reach your core. A branding iron of heat in eloping you as he probes you. Fingers lightly playing with your clit as his lips caressed your ear, words ringing through your very soul it felt

“My beautiful beautiful muse, I've waited so long for you. I’ll never forget the day I first heard your voice, it was like hearing a blessing.”

You couldn’t even articulate words to reply to him shivering as hard as you were from merrily his touch.

“I can not wait for the day you truly belong to me. Mind. Body. And soul”

You feel his fingers stroking in tune to his words. Marking his point deep within your walls, but before you are able to climb to the peak a loud ringing sounds from beside you

“Ignore it”

You try of course but the ringing doesn’t stop. With each ring the scene around you shakes, deteriorating back into the blackness that waits behind your rapidly opening eyes. You sit up in shock, eyes trying to adjust to your bedroom as your alarm rings beside you. Your body still shivering from the after effects of the dream you just had.

Five years had passed, under your teachers guidance your gift bloomed but the only people you would even attempt to try to sing for would be your new family, and that was only light humming. The dreams became normal as well. Usually they happened after working with your mysterious and gracious master. You never learned anything more about him. All you knew was his voice but the one in your dreams seemed to evolve.

First was his hands and then his arms then his legs,his back,even a head of dark brown hair. But never his face. It was starting to vex you honestly, every time waking up from the pure euphoria of those dreams too have reality slap you in the face of how lonely you felt. Not that your new family did not appease your heart, in fact being with them was as natural as breathing. To be honest you couldn't describe what was wrong with you, all you could summarize it as was that it felt like part of you was missing.

A week after your 24th birthday the new owners of the opera appeared and with them came someone familiar.

“Listen up everyone!” Mr Richard's the old owner calls to everyone, all of us currently gathered on the main stag rehearsing the latest show

“I would like to introduce the new owners of the opera Monsieur Nelson and Monsieur Murdock.”

Everyone claps all clambering around to get the best views of the two young owners. You had to admit neither were horrible looking, you thought it was interesting for a blind person to want to buy an opera but it made sense to, even if he couldn’t see the performances, listening to them was the next best thing.

‘Thank you all, thank you we are both very happy to start our adventures in the arts.” Mr Nelson started “We would also like to introduce our generous backer Count Ikaris de solar.” Finished Mr Murdock to when a handsome brunette stepped onto stage to everyone’s approval and applause.

“Ikaris?” You gasped out as everyone continued to clap and awe over the count

“Do you know him (y/n)?” Sersi asks confusingly

“Yes, we knew each other as children. We were somewhat close before his family moved away, I can’t believe that's truly him.”

Before you get another word in, a loud clearing of the throat silences everyone. Mademoiselle Ayesha and her pompous son Adam, step through the crowd in their fine costumes. The madame was the current lead soprano for the opera even though you thought she couldn't sing for shit. Her voice was almost as grating as her attitude towards everyone. Sprite assumed the only reason she was given any parts was because of her stupidly wealthy family and late husband. But you choose not to comment on that. The woman stands there covered in gold and signals to the maestro to start at the top of her aria once more

Oh no she's starting again Sersi says from beside you already getting ready to cover her ears. In fact you can even see the housekeeping staff in the audience stuffing Cotton in their ears. The woman doesn’t get but a few lines in the aria her screeching tone ringing through the stage before the rolled up backdrop above her comes crashing down. The light but sturdy fabric lands on top of the soprano pinning her belly flopped to the stage floor to the shocks and screams of everyone around.

They rush to help the woman up but the damage to her pride is too great. She starts screeching about all the previous accidents directed at her, of all the misfortune and indignity that has befallen her and how she will not stand for it any longer. Mr Murdock simply stands there letting the scene unfold as Mr Nelson loses his mind along the diva as she. Stomps her heel gathering all her things, her son and their people and promptly leaving

The new owners were in a tissy (mostly foggy) wondering how they are supposed to open tomorrow with no star. How this whole adventure is now wasted. Madame Ajak promptly interrupts, saving Mr Nelson from a full melt down, handing the duo a dark black envelope with a giant red wax seal on it.

“Where did that come from?” You ask Sersi

“That confirms it then, It must was the phantom”

“The phantom?”

“Have you honestly not heard the others talk about this?

“No?”

She just shakes her head at you before filling you in on the details

“He's a mysterious person, some say he’s a ghost, others a demon but no one knows for sure. They say he's been here forever always making his presence known. In fact the previous owner used to pay him a monthly wage just to appease him, that and that box number 5 be kept empty for him whenever he wishes. Everything was going well but this past couple years he has gotten a little more devious.

“Why?”

No one really knows, and everyone’s afraid to ask or look around afraid they’ll never be seen again.

Before you can ask sersi more your name is being called.

“(Y/n)(l/n) can do it.”

What?” You had missed the conversation between the two new owners and Madame Ajak

One of your dances can replace the star diva from the past 5 years.? Your sure about that?

“Foggy why don't we give the girl a chance”

“Matt this is doing nothing for. My nerves

You stand there like a deer in headlight hoping you could somehow slip to the back and out of sight but Sersi sees you growing anxiety and gently but firmly directs you towards Ajak.

Madame gently took you from her daughter and lead you to the center of the stage

“Madame what,,,,but,, I,,,”

“It will be alright dear. I've heard you practice these last couple of years when you sneak off at night, and i know your teacher has taught ypu well”

“My teacher?”

Ajak just gives you a knowing look before she turns towards the maestro and nods at him leaving you standing there as everyone watches.

You hear quiet cheer from stage left where your little opera family all stand giving you thumbs up and right smiles, trying to ease your nerves, though it doesn’t really help, it's not till you look up towards the grand chandler that that gentle calming glow envelops your senses once more.

“From the top of the aria mademoiselle”

The band picks up and the music begins to play

To be honest you don't remember much after that. It was a whirlwind of activity. Being swept off stage and quickly fitted into costumes, stage managers telling you where you need to stand, color spotting you with lights all the fixing basically to make it seem like you were always meant to be in the role.

You didn't know that while you sang your heart out on stage a certain young count had finally taken notice of you

“(Y/n)?”

“That’s the girl that used to follow you around?” Count Arishem Ikarus’s father ask begrudgingly

“Yes father that's the daughter of that famous violinist tha lived near our old summer home.”

“Well, well we may have found ourselves a diamond in the rough after all. The elder count scrutinizes the crowd all gawking at the peasant, like she's a princess. All he sees is an opportunity to boost his family further, the gears of his plan already forming in his mind.

Phantoms pov

There she is at last! Right where she belongs, my beautiful beautiful muse.

[yona049]

𝕻𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖔𝖒 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕺𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖆 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

Part 4

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(Phantom finally returns!)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

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Disclaimer!

>Many time skips

>Rushed chapter! (pls let me know if you spot a mistake)

>This has evolved into its own story, if its not something you're interested in, feel free to skip this one and check out some other fics on my page! °v°

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A horrible taste sat in Y/n's mouth as she stared out the window at the setting sun while sitting on the bed. She'd been in thought all day, trying to figure out what to do. She'd loved Aloïs, but this Aloïs was new to her, new personality, new possessions, new life.

She's pulled from her thoughts when a gentle hand rubs her head.

"You haven't touched your dinner, mon chéri."

Erik's adorable nickname flew right over her head.

"Oh! Yes of course."

She takes the plate and spoon from Erik only to fall back into thought after the first bite. Tapping on the plate slowly with the spoon.

Erik chuckles a little before taking her hand holding the spoon.

"Shall I feed you?" he pushes the spoon onto her lip.

Y/n takes the bite delicately with butterflies dancing in her stomach. Finally her thoughts were concentrated on Erik again and she starts eating.

Erik walks back to his bed and sat facing her. With a small wetstone he rhythmically scraped the edges of his dagger.

"I think, I should give Aloïs a chance."

Erik glances up at Y/n with a pause before resuming his sharpening.

"Oh? You didn't look so compliant this morning."

"I know, but if there's any chance My Aloïs is still there, perhaps I should take it. The riches that come after, is simply insurance for us."

"Us?"

Erik questions. Y/n realizes her words and suddenly their situation becomes clearer.

"Of course, I could never dream of abandoning you. You've saved me so many times-.."

"Then why not stay with me!" his interruption seems almost threatening this time. Eyes drilling into Y/n's.

Y/n sets down the plate and walks to Erik. She kneels down infront of him and takes his hands in hers, watching the words in his eyes.

"Erik, If I were to marry Aloïs. We'd be upper class. You could finally have a chance to see her again."

Erik quickly looks away and shakes his head.

"Who are you enquiring about?"

She delicately squeezes his hands, then also looks away, down at his hands.

"You don't have to deny it. I've seen you sing with her. Even if she is far from here, you always look out the windows as if you could see her. The sparkling in your eyes Erik. I... Could never hope to compete."

Erik didn't look back but his heart ached knowing Y/n's words were true to some extent. He still loved Christine even just a little. How could he not? He'd taught her how to find her voice, listened to her prayers night after night.

Y/n stood up and planted a kiss on Erik's head, then pulling him into a hug. His arms curled around her upper legs with his head on her stomach.

Patting his head delicately she smiled at his genuine, loving hug.

"Tomorrow, when Aloïs returns, I'll give him a chance. After that, we will decide what lays ahead."

She walks out of his grasp without another word and pulls the curtains shut. Once she couldn't see Erik anymore, he looked back at her.

A thin curtain keeping their bodies and souls apart, but so did a man and a woman who they both once loved.

Y/n lifts the ring that Aloïs gave her off the bed side table to look at it, quite coincidentally, so too did Erik lift Christine's ring.

○○○○

No sooner did morning come and Y/n found herself face to face with Aloïs outside the tavern.

Him dressed in a new fancy coat while she stood in the same dress she wore yesterday. Erik up in their room but with a keen ear listening to each word.

Y/n lifts her index finger up to Aloïs and stands confidently, chest out and feet steadfast in the ground.

"One outing. One chance to show me you're still the Aloïs I knew and loved."

Aloïs's eyes light up and he is quick to take Y/n's hand and kiss it catching her off gaurd. Not a good start.

"Thank you, chéri! We could go anywhere! Anywhere you'd like!"

Y/n shakes her head and pulls her hand back rubbing it.

"I think it's best if you decide."

"Alright then! Tonight we make for the new Opera house!"

The new Opera house! Where Christine sings? It wouldn't be right towards Erik. In many ways she'd feel like she was betraying him.

Y/n shakes her head trying to quickly object but once again Aloïs's excitement gets the best of him.

"Aloïs! Hold on, we can't! Um... Because, I-I have nothing to wear! "

Aloïs grabs onto the carriage as it starts moving.

"Don't worry! I shall have a dress and other essentials sent here! I will arrive shortly before 6 to pick you up."

Using his feathered hat he waves goodbye to Y/n who is already chewing on her nail with a stiff body.

Erik peaks out the window and watches Y/n rush up the stairs.

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"For the 100th time, Y/n. It's fine!"

Erik stated once again watching Y/n pull the biggest fancy blue dress out of the box it was delivered in.

"Still it doesn't feel right! After what we talked about last night. I should've stopped him sooner!"

With his hands on his hips he watches Y/n struggle with all the fancy things Aloïs sent to her for their date.

"Even if I did object, darling. We can't change it now."

Y/n, trying to pull the large frilly dress off the floor and into her arms, sighs heavily. She peaks through the bundle of a dress in her arms at Erik.

"I am sorry you have to be here alone tonight. Boris was nice enough to give us the night off. Will you be ok?"

She almost stumbles into the closed curtains to get dressed. Small sparkling bits of jewelry were spread out on the bed aswell as make up and fresh shoes.

"I'll be quite fine. I'm no stranger to one night alone. Besides, you should try to enjoy tonight."

Once again Erik watches Y/n's silhouette. She drops the dress she wore onto the floor before crawling her way in though the bottom of the hooped skirt and pushing herself through the arm and head holes.

"I won't be too long hopefully. Still, it will be nice to be back in an Opera house, all be it a completely different one."

She pulls a little and straightens out the dress and puts the shoes on the ground slipping them on. She takes the corset off the bed and pulls it around her torso then pulling the strings as much she could.

"Erik! I might need some help with the corset."

She steps out of the curtains looking down while trying to clip a necklace around the back of her neck.

"Of course I'll-..."

His words drift off once Y/n comes into full view. Her dress a beautiful dark blue with small decorated flakes of gold. A beautiful off shoulder medium length sleeve top with little white frills.

"... Help."

Finishing his sentence with a paced heart and eyes glued to Y/n. She looked so beautiful, it reminded him of all the gowns he'd seen rich woman wear going to see the Opera. A warming nostalgic feeling, mixed with astonished glances to Y/n's clean completion.

He takes a few steps to behind Y/n where he took the strings of the corset and pulled them tight.

Y/n gasped softly once the corset pushed her torso into shape. Erik's hand guide itself over her aside and onto her stomach.

A roaming hand on her stomach going up, Y/n felt the same longing for Erik's touch she'd felt many times before.

"How does it feel? Can you breath?"

Erik whispered to her sending shivers up the back of her neck.

Although she really couldn't breath because of how close Erik was, she nodded.

"Let me help with your hair."

Y/n didn't know how, but Erik seemed to know exactly how to put hair up neat and tidy. This once again brought Erik's past into question. What did he do in the Opera?

Even tho he'd answered the question before, Y/n doubted he helped only moving things around and doing maintenance.

Y/n's hair was freshly washed and dried. She hasn't worn her hair up in a while, she'd always danced with loose hair and gone her days without putting it up.

This means it was the first Erik had seen her like this. Open shoulders and beautiful neckline. He was very unsure why he felt this way for someone other than Christine.

He places a delicate kiss on Y/n's neck, again causing Y/n to gasp at the unexpected moment.

She looks back at Erik connecting with his gaze. A powerful moment from both of them. Y/n wanted to kiss Erik, he wanted exactly the same.

"You're beautiful, Y/n."

He whispers to her.

She smiles a little hearing his little praise and delicately she places her hand on the side of his head.

Nervous but entranced by her, not because she wore a fancy dress or makeup, but because of her smile, because of her lasting laughs and love to all things.

Now more than ever, he needed to decide. Loose one Dimond, or continue chasing another he'd lost sight of long ago.

Within an instant Erik's lips meet hers. Suddenly fireworks spark and all moments they've shared before mix into one. Erik's hand on her stomach push her closer towards him and Y/n grips the back of his hair lightly.

Y/n felt the warmth in his lips, soft hands holding her like he'd never let go. Body language threatening to keep her captured and protected. His forever. She'd felt his embrace so many times before, but this felt warmer than sunshine on her face.

A lasting kiss mixed with uncertainty when the sound of horses come down the street.

Y/n Quickly pulls away putting her hand over her mouth and Erik grits his teeth at the interrupted kiss.

"Erik, I'm sorry, I had no right." Y/n felt the need to apologize.

"Nonsense! This was my decision."

His hands were now shaking, his decision now greatly turned to one side. To Y/n. He wanted to tell her not to go. He wanted to hold her and run to where Aloïs couldn't touch her or even look at her again.

"Y/n-..."

"Stop!" Y/n demanded pulling Erik's hand off her stomach.

"Please don't make this harder than it is! I've tried to ignore it. I'm trying not to be selfish."

She takes a deep shaky breath and rubs her eyes keeping the tears from rushing out.

"I'm trying not to love you, because I know you love her."

With a crumpled bit of her dress squeezed in her fists she clears her throat.

"I'll be back soon, then we can talk!"

She looks up at Erik with glossed eyes then lifts her dress off the ground and running out of the room.

Erik stood frozen, his thoughts rushing with uncertain desire. A longing for another.

Y/n ran downstairs with heavy breathing and tears falling onto the floor but she shook her head and plastered on a smile.

She waved goodbye to Boris who called her pretty girl before she left, giving her a little more reason to smile.

Finally coming out of the tavern. Aloïs is stunned and offers his hand.

"My lady, beautiful as always." Aloïs complimented and placed a small kiss on her hand.

A bouquet of flowers is pulled out of the carriage and given to Y/n. She looked down at the brightly colored flowers and smelled them.

"Their beautiful, Aloïs. Thank you."

Aloïs smiled but stopped for a moment.

"You're not wearing the ring?"

Y/n shakes her head and looks back at the tavern to their room.

"I must have forgotten it."

"Well then! Let's be off, mon amour. The Opera awaits! And perhaps more good news! Christine is preforming tonight. One of the Opera performances you danced for, I think."

Helping Y/n into the carriage, their off into the night air and to the Opera. The Opera house was shining bright in the dimly lit Paris night and was visible even from the tavern.

Erik was still caught in the room, his fists clenched and his jaw locked.

A sudden swing into the wall breaking the wooden plank instantly. Heavy breathing and hair hanging over his eye.

"She is not your mon amour."

His body fuming with anger, feeling once again he was too late! Once again he'd lost to a pretty rich boy. The sunshine when he was the darkness.

He pulled his bloody splintered hand out of the wooden wall still not satisfied. He wanted to bash Aloïs's skull in. He wanted to take Y/n and tell her he loved her, how it took him this long to realize was his own wrong doing.

Her teary and frightened eyes popping into his head. How could someone so beautiful look so sad. Erik felt all the signs flood back from hidden memories.

Y/n's gentle voice helping him stay awake while she carried him after the fire. Her soft hand washing his wound. Her smile not fearing his face. Never once did she shutter away from his touch. All he wanted was to see her smile so happily after a long night's dance.

He made a decision. He wasn't going to let the fool take her, he would take her first.

He once again pushed out the false bottom out of the closet floor to reveal a white mask and black cape along with clothing he wore once before.

He chuckles deeply and pulls the mask onto his face.

"I'll need you once again, old friend. Beware, the Phantom of the Opera."

With a maniacal laughter he swings his cloak on and dissappears into darkness.

○○○

The Opera house burned bright with people and chatter! Golden statues of beautiful men and woman, and a miraculous staircase upon entering.

Y/n felt so out of place when walking on the red carpet. Not even a speck of dust on the polished floors.

Her eyes dazzled with excitement and she'd never felt so far from home.

"Erik! Look at the chandelier!" she pointed with a gloved hand.

Aloïs turns away from his conversation with another older looking noble couple and runs up to her.

"Darling! It's quite beautiful isn't it!"

He quickly puts his arm around her waist and pulls her to his side.

"Don't mind her silly little mind. She gets confused who she's with sometimes."

He explains to the couple. Y/n's mind quickly corrects itself remembering Erik isn't here and her cheeks flush.

Aloïs takes her hand and kisses it before pulling it to his heart.

"My darling Y/n and I are celebrating our engagement! Aren't we?"

Y/n looks at Aloïs confused for a second before the nobel woman claps her hands together happily.

"That's wonderful! I'm happy that the daughter of the famous dancer, will marry my nephew, soon."

Aloïs smiles proudly.

"Yes! Quite a spectacle! Now if you'll excuse us. We have many people to meet."

Aloïs bows his head gently and pulls Y/n towards another couple giving Y/n a chance to plant her feet in the ground and stop.

Her eyes move to Aloïs's with a stern glare.

"Aloïs. We didn't agree to this! We agreed that after I'd make my decision."

Aloïs sighs then nods with a guilty sigh.

"I know, mon amor. But I'm very confident in your answer. As I've said. This is a better life. Besides, I don't want you to rot in that tavern any longer."

His fingertips delicately brush over her cheek and he smiles.

"You're my darling, Y/n. I will keep you safe, till the end of your days until you die comfortably in a silk bed with as many fur children you'd like."

Y/n looks away for a second before thinking of Erik's face, the expression he made every night listening to Christine sing in their cramped little room. She could help him as much as she could help herself.

She looks back up at Aloïs with his glittering outfit and fine polished shoes. Her hand reaches for his bicep and she smiles.

"W-who else do we need to meet? Um.. Darling?"

Aloïs once again smiles with joy and pulls her off to another noble man where she smiles carefully and nods politely.

By the time they arrived in box 5 high above the stage, Y/n was exhausted. She sunk into her seat like a tierd dad after work. She took a breath and quickly straightens herself out to sit straight.

She looks around the box because she'd always wondered why rich nobles found these seats so desirable. She could see the entire stage, tho it was a little far to make out the details.

Aloïs still with heaps of energy flips though the thin paper pamphlet and leans over to Y/n.

"Ah! This opera is the same one that Christine debuted in. I remember her white dress, it took incredibly long to sew all those little white pearls into the dress!"

Y/n smiles and nods.

"I remember, your hands had so many bandaids on for weeks, I was worried about you."

Aloïs puts the pamphlet onto his lap and lifts Y/n's hand to place a small kiss on her knuckles.

"I remember the small cuts, but I remember how you kissed each finger and held me so gently when we fell asleep. "

His thumb traces over her fingers as he stares at them thinking.

"One day, I will create a white dress for you too, mi amor."

For a very small moment, Y/n felt her heart spark. Her Aloïs was starting to shine though again.

Aloïs pulls his hand back and the light dims.

Suddenly a spotlight on stage and the play begins. Dancers fill the stage and Y/n couldn't help her excitement. She clapped watching a dance she knew off by heart. Her feet started bouncing with her urge to dance.

Aloïs smiled and placed a small kiss on her cheek then whispered into her ear.

"Your passion burns bright and beautiful, Y/n."

Another spark made Y/n giggle genuinely before she looks back at the stage.

The orchestra starts with a sudden blast of music filling the large Opera house. Up close and personal she could hear a voice start off with a strong note.

The spotlight shifts, and there she was. The famous and beautiful, Christine Daaé. Y/n's friend and inspiration to dance.

Her toes point on instinct in the very uncomfortable shoes which reminded her not to act like a child.

She presses her lips together and dims down her excitement to a gentle foot tap.

She watches the opening Opera sequence and soon the play has begun. Actors singing out their lines and an occasional cheers from the crowd.

Y/n took full advantage of moments of cheers to yell her support, knowing all the effort that goes into each play. The preparation and weeks of rehearsals.

Nearing the end of the play Y/n is fully distracted by the singing beauty, she didn't notice the quietly approaching figure behind her. A hand slowly reaching for her shoulder and suddenly grabbing it.

Y/n jumps suddenly and turns to look. An old noblmen with wine in his hand and quite drunk.

The noblmen slurs as he asks.

"Has the play started yet, Aloïs?"

Aloïs takes the mans hand off her shoulder quickly and pulls him towards him.

"Monsieur Du Beu, you're in the wrong box I'm afraid."

Y/n shakes her head and tries to focus on the Opera. After some time, Aloïs and the noblmen were still talking about business? Or something. Y/n tried to ignore it, but the chatter was too loud.

She bit her lip before deciding to slip out and closer to the stage.

"I'm going to get some fresh air." she whispers and Aloïs nods back acknowledging.

She lifts her big dress and hurries down the corridor towards the stage. The rooms were dark and very dimly lit until she saw a bright little room, calling her towards it.

She smiles once entering seeing a dressing room with many little bits of dresses and costumes.

She spots one in particular hung over a chair in the middle of the room, from the play being performed right now and smiles to herself.

She lifts the dancing dress and presses it against her body measuring.

"Perhaps they wouldn't mind if I borrowed this? Only for this dance number. No one will see me! "

She convinced herself in her excitement to dance formally again.

She quickly dresses in the dress and pulls on some dancing shoes she found with the dress. Wierd how it fit so perfectly?

She taps her toes on the ground to nuzzle her feet into each cranny comfortably.

Sneaking back out into the corridor she looks for an open space where she could preform the next dance number coming up.

It was a dance that required a partner and usually, it was only one duo dancing on center stage. No background dancers. Only the singer in the front corner.

Finally in the darkness she sees a large open room, incredibly dark but she could dance the routine there.

She smiled taking her place in the middle of the room lifting her arms and waiting for the music to echo from the stage. Something felt too perfect about this. And it turns out, she was quite right.

Suddenly, the lights go on and the curtains whoosh open to reveal the entire audience infront of her. Somehow she'd wandered right onto stage, into some kind of trap? Now she needed to preform the dance for real.

Y/n stood frozen in place, both from shock and terror from how she'd gotten herself into this mess.

The dance partner walks behind bed and moves his hand around her waist ready to start the choreography. A dance partner she had no practice time with whatsoever.

She looked up at Aloïs who looked back. He was confused, he couldn't tell if Y/n stood on stage because it was too far. So he kept watching.

The music starts and Christine is stood in the front corner, singing her musical number. Each step Y/n takes is on fire, with fear that someone would realize she's not the right dancer.

As she and this stranger dances together, she hears a deep chuckle.

"So stiff? Wondering how you possibly wandered onto stage?"

Y/n's head turns to look at the partner she'd gotten and once again she's shot with another surprise.

A white mask she'd never seen up close. But everyone knows of after the fire. The man who kidnapped Christine and set the flames ablaze.

The Phantom of the Opera was now lifting her into the air and following each step of the dance precisely.

His mask was so well blended with the costumes actors wore. No audience member would feel the need to be alert.

White mask and black sleek back hair, a thick coat and formal wear only a nobleman would wear. Y/n couldn't be sure, but she knew to some extent, it must be the Phantom.

"Phantom.."

She questioned in a whisper.

"So you do recognize me."

He confirms her suspicious and spins her round.

She stops spinning and only takes small steps on her toes. Her shock turns to anger.

"You criminal! Monster! Murderer!"

She growls and felt the need to pull away and run! But the Phantom grabs her hands and pulls her back into his chest as the dance routine commanded.

"Now, now my dear. You wouldn't want to alert anyone that you're not where you're supposed to be."

She looks at the audience and then at Aloïs before pressing her lips together into a smile.

"Are you trying to get to Christine again! Well there she is! Go get her!"

Y/n taunts with an angry glare.

She steps back throwing her body back into a dip, trusting the Phantoms arm around her wist to catch and pull her back to her feet. Following each dance step to a T.

"I'm not here for Christine."

On beat he takes her chin and moves it to look at him.

"I'm here for you."

His words deep and mysterious, but somehow Y/n believed every part of it.

She felt her body shake in fear. Her mind spun back to the fire that burnt her lover. Almost killed her, and had killed so many others that she loved. Her home burnt to ashes, causing so much pain for her to start over.

She took this oppertunity to push herself out of phantoms arms and run to the front of the stage.

"Aloïs-.."

She screamed, but she's quickly pulled back into Phantom's arms. His black gloved hand covering her mouth and nose restricting her breathing. He pulled her to the back of the stage.

Aloïs finally caught on and jumped to his feet.

"It's the Phantom of the Opera!"

His voice loud enough to echo through the quiet opera house. The music brought to a sudden halt and Christine stopped singing. Everyone starts to panic and rush to the exit.

Y/n still kicking and trying to pull Phantom's hand off her mouth, felt her vision blur and her body slowly goes limp. Knowing Y/n couldn't run, Phantom pulls Y/n against him holding her securely.

He smirks suddenly wrapping Y/n in his cloak and grabbing hold of a roap that hung at the back of the stage. Precisely placed and planned.

With a zip of a mechanism, Y/n and Phantom are pulled through the air and out of sight.

"NO! Y/N!"

Aloïs yells and suddenly runs out of the box throwing off his coat.

He rushes towards the stage with some guards following closely behind. With a slide and a turn he enters the costume room where he spotted the, big puffy blue dress Y/n wore, on the ground.

Ontop of her dress was a note and a white rose with a black bow tied around the stem.

Aloïs takes the note that read 'I remembered her. Now she is here with me, I've decided.'

Aloïs growls and crumpled the note in his hand. He turns to the soldiers and yells.

"Search the Opera house basement! Search the tavern! FIND HER! Find Y/N!"

[christiangothicgirl]

Erik x Black Woman Y/N

Instagram | TikTok

Hey guys! I decided to draw Erik with a black woman because I haven't seen too many fan arts with that. This is also anatomy practice for both males and females. Trust me, I am VERY proud of this considering I'm usually a profile/headshot type of gal. Anyway, this drawing is a photo of Erik and a black y/n taking a picture in front of a city skyline. Both of them attend the "2023 Sweetheart's Charity Event", which is a formal ball I've created. It is an annual ball that patrons attend with their significant other and donate money by the end!

PS I's sorry for the low res image and large watermark. Art thieves and AI are running rampant right now and I refuse to have my images duplicated. I hate how the noise looks HORRIBLE as well, but rest assured the high res looks MUCH BETTER!

[kaekae-x0x0]

Y’all Wally simps are wild.

I have a Phantom of the Opera AU draft I’ll post later. Stay tuned!

Also, I’m making a hashtag for it so feel free to make your own!

[yandereloveraw]

Here are my designs for my Dca Phantom of the Opera AU + one of my all time favorite scenes. ^^ They all live happily ever after together, don't worry. ^^

The Final Lair/Down Once More -The Phantom of the Opera

Moon as Erik/The Phantom

Genderneutral Y/N as Christine

Sun as Raoul