#the corinthian fanfiction

[lis-likes-fics]

Rhyme and Reason

Pairings: Corinthian x dream!Reader Word Count: 8.7k words Prompt: Corruption Kink Warnings: NSFW, dubious consent, explicit descriptions of death/murder, torture, descriptions of blood, smut, fingering, oral (f!receiving), slight hair pulling, multiple orgasms, p in v, unprotected sex, corruption kink, creampie, fucking in front of a dead body... A/N: This is a repost bc why not? Thank you and enjoy!

The little party you find yourself in is just that, little. It takes place in a bar rented out by the set of hosts, a get together with maybe a little over twenty party-goers.

It took so long to find him.

When your lord Morpheus disappeared some fifty years ago, you and the rest of the Dreaming were left…confused. You thought that maybe it was a test? He wanted to see how loyal his creations really were to him, their king. Would they revolt the moment he no longer gave orders?

But, after the first two decades, you concluded that he was just…gone. And you, among many dreams, left as well.

You spent the next twenty years in the Waking world, searching the world aimlessly for something to inspire you.

When Dream still resided in his realm, you would sing for him. He dreamed up a dream of music and song and you became. He loved your songs, he was inspired by the music you made.

When you sat in Fiddler’s Green, you would sing about the butterflies fluttering through the breeze or the bees in their honeycombs. When you sat by the sandy beach, you would sing about the lap of the tides against the mouth of the sea. When you looked up at the skies, you would sing about the sun and moon, how they loved each other so.

On some nights where you danced in the heads of your mortal lords, he would be there, in the seat in the back, listening to you soothe the minds of frightened children or ease the thoughts of anguished men.

Morpheus loved your sweet music, your heavenly song. You reminded him of someone, someone he loved very much.

Much he knew nothing of how you longed for more than your kindly poetry and prose. You loved the gift he bestowed upon you, but you grew weary of your melodies of dancing birds and sugar cane.

He knew nothing of the way you gazed at the dark and twisted dreams that walked his realm, the way they strut, the way they smirk, the way they spin their fables and tricks and white lies. You wished you could sing in deviant keys, tales of wicked fantasies and depraved beasts.

How you longed for the voice of a siren, rather than the whistle of a songbird.

So you looked for inspiration. And you found it.

The humans were a new kind of nightmare. Yes, they had so much love and light and whatnot, but the depravity. The debauchery and sin you found among their kind, it was more than you could have dreamed of.

You didn't just want to sing their songs, you wanted to create them. You wanted to write your verses as they wrote theirs. You wanted to sing your tales and inspire the rest in the same way your sweet lyrics did.

But you didn't know how. You searched all over for someone to teach you, to show you how to take their sullied natures and adopt them into your own poesy.

Soon you realized that no man could teach you how to sing. You'd almost given up your pursuits of fulfillment until you heard of him; a dream you'd never met but had heard of so many times before in the sleeping realm, a nightmare so infamous and so curiously revered by your former lord. You'd heard it through the mouths of chattering men, then read it in the paper. A “man” whose deeds were so reminiscent of the devil, everyone had to know his name, to know who to protect themselves against.

The Corinthian.

He captured men and took their eyes. He made them see all the wonders of the world. And you wanted to sing them.

It took so long to find him.

You seduced and bribed and begged your way through every little turn in order to get to him. And now you're here with a drink in your hand and so many inspirations surrounding you in this little bar.

And he is beautiful.

It's things like him that inspire you to sing. He’s charming and tall and the sight of him, his dark glasses—which hold more truth than eyes could ever tell—frame his face as the golden rim adores his golden hair. You catch yourself staring too often, so enamored and enchanted by the symphony that he is.

But he'd noticed you too, in the moments where your eyes don't find his. Of course he had. He knows exactly who you are, the music of the Dreaming. He hears it in every little breath you take, the gentle lilt of your voice. You were spoken of with as much regard as he was, though in the more virtuous way rather than in the way of his own notoriety.

What an odd little creature. He'd heard so much about you, how sweet and gentle you were. How Dream would sit for hours and listen to you sing in the meadow. And here you were, surrounded by the darkest of creatures, unbothered but so curious.

How nice you would be to…play with for a while.

“Well, hello there.”

His voice seeps into your skin and has goosebumps rising along your body. You turn and look up at the Corinthian like he was a sight to behold. Your eyes are slightly widened with wonder, and you look like you'll get to your knees and begin praising him at any moment, as though he is some great saint.

“Oh,” you breathe, trying and failing to be subtle. “Hi.”

He leans his elbow on the bar, looking you up and down through the dark of his glasses. “What's your name, little thing?”

You scramble to organize your thoughts once more. He's scrambled them with just the sound of his voice. “Uhm,” you stutter. Shaking your head, you offer him your name.

He chuckles lightly, his charming smile curling over his lips as he shakes his head. “No, hah,” he mutters, “I meant your alias.” He turns a little as he motions to the people in the room, dark souls able to be free in the little space of this bar. “Everyone here has an alias. What's yours?”

“Mine?” You clear your throat. “Oh…” You hadn't thought about that. You rub your palm against your thigh, smoothing your dress over your legs nervously.

He thinks you're precious. He turns with a chuckle, looking around the room before gesturing with his head toward two men talking amongst themselves.

“You see him over there? On the right?” he asks. You nod, staring at the man as the Corinthian speaks. “That's the Extinguisher. He's a pyromaniac. He traps his victims in their own homes and covers them in gasoline. Burns it to the ground, starting with them.” The way he speaks is like music, and you get lost in it.

He stares at the wonder on your face, his lips twitching into a curious grin. “Him, there? He goes by the Boa Constrictor. Like the snake. He ties up his victims real nice and tight until their skin turns purple and numb. Then he…” he breathes a little laugh, “...ties a rope ‘round their necks and keeps it there…nice and tight, until they stop squirmin’.”

He expects you to pale, to see the fear light up in your little eyes. But you don't. You stare, hypnotized by his voice and his words.

“Wow,” you whisper. “What about her?”

He smiles wide, looking at the woman in question. “Oh, her?” He licks his bottom lip. “She comes in a pair, only the public doesn't know that. Actually, they think it's a man. She and her friend over there are known as the Tailor, but they call themselves the Seamstresses. You see, it's easier to be taken seriously as a man in this age, otherwise no one would bat an eye at their art.”

Your eyes twinkle with wonder. He doesn't think you realize it when you grab his arm, clutching it as you continue to listen, watching the two ladies talk. He leans nearer to you, speaking gently into your ear.

“They slice the limbs off their victims, nice and clean cuts, and stitch them back together after they've already bled out.” He tilts his head. “They're actually quite sweet.”

You sigh, almost like you're in a dream. “Woah.”

He turns his body back to you, and you realize your hand grasping him. You let him go, offering an apology through a small smile as you looked up at him. He watches it fade, the wonder returning as you take him in.

“If I had to guess who you were…” he says quietly, his voice a whisper as his eyes wander your face, “I'd say you were the Whisperer.”

You tilt your head, watching every little shift in his face as he speaks. He smirks, “Am I right?” You blink at him, moving to speak but unable to find the words. “The artist who sews the mouths of her victims shut so they can't speak,” he seems to lean in further, his voice getting softer and softer as your eyelids flutter. “Sings a little song to them as she…slits their throats wide open.”

You sigh, nearly folding under the weight of his gaze. You nod gently. “Y-yeah,” you rasp, clearing your throat. “Yes, that's me.”

He smiles wide, leaning back to release you from the spell. You let out a breath at the distance, seeming to come back to yourself. “I admire your work,” he says. “That job you did up in Malibu was just…beautiful.”

You don't know where that is, but apparently this Whisperer did. You nod, “Thanks. Thank you.”

“In fact,” the tips of his fingers brushed your hand, turning it to hold in his palm, “I would love a demonstration. Up close and personal.”

You bring your other hand to graze the side of his palm. “Would you mind giving me the honor of witnessing it firsthand?”

You swallow thickly, staring at him. Firsthand… “Uh, I don't have…thread on me.”

He shrugs. “Well, I'm sure the Seamstresses wouldn't mind lending their tools. If we ask nicely anyway.”

“Well–”

“Come on,” he chuckles. “Just…one little show?” He shows a finger, grinning his charming grin.

So pliant to his word, you give in. “Okay.”

The proud grin he displays is wide and triumphant. “Well,” he says, “thank you very much.”

~

The Corinthian opens your door as you step out of the car, looking out over the large building lit up from the inside and crawling with people. He offers his hand, which you take gratefully as your stomach turns, anxiety and anticipation sharp in your gut. He gives you another charming smile.

You both walk inside, taking in the nightclub still in full swing. It's a Friday night, so there are plenty of people here looking to let loose after a long work day.

There's a small band on stage playing upbeat jazz, a singer performing for an enthused crowd. You know this song, you know every song.

The Corinthian’s arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close to him as he seems to glare at the bodies mingling with one another. It's possessive, like he'll cut the eyes out of anyone who so much as glances the wrong way at you. You lean into him.

He leans down to your ear, his smile returning as he speaks gently. “Who here sparks your interest?” he asks. “Who fits the bill?”

You look up at him. “What do you mean?”

“A target.” He looks around the club, as though he's searching for someone who sparks his own interest. “Most artists have a pattern among their chosen…” he makes a gesture with his hand, trying to find the right word, “canvases.”

You like the way he speaks. It's poetic.

You lick your lips. “What's your pattern?”

“Oh, me?” He shrugs, looking over the crowd again. “I don't follow anything specific.” Tilting his head, he hums, “I suppose I do have a bit of male preference… but I'm not picky.”

“Ah,” you mutter.

“Well?” he wondered. “Anyone?”

You look around at all the people, dancing and sweating and talking. Eventually, your eyes land on a man. He's tall and lean, with black hair messy from dancing.

He reminds you of someone.

“Him.”

The Corinthian’s gaze finds the object of yours. A grin curls devilishly over his lips.

“Very nice.”

“So…” you look up at him, “What do I do?”

The urge to play with you is strong, like it's embedded in the tissue of his being. “You don't know?”

You nod quickly, trying to figure out what to say. You're supposed to be a professional.

“Well, uh, yeah, of course I know,” you clear your throat. “B-But what do you think I should do?”

He chuckles, turning you to face him as his hands cup your waist. He leans in, moving slowly as his lips brush your ear. He lowers his voice to a deep hum. “I always find that seduction works wonders.”

You nod gently as he pulls aways. His black shades stare into your eyes, dark and compelling. “Alright.”

He chuckles, jutting his chin out toward the man, your canvas. “Go on,” he bids. “Take him to the hotel a few blocks down. I'll be waiting for you there.”

Again, you nod. He knows best.

“Okay.”

He grazes his knuckles along your cheek, granting you one last grin before turning and leaving you to your own devices. You would be fine.

You turn toward the dark-haired man, taking in a deep breath before setting a small smile upon your lips. You begin walking over to him, sinking into the music to blend in with the crowd. Even as your hips sway and your face shifts into something more sultry, your hands tremble as the anxiety slips into your skin.

Stepping up behind him, you get his attention by placing a palm on his slim waist. He glances down at your hand and follows it up your wrist, your arm, your shoulder, up to your pretty face as his own smile spreads across his pink lips. “Hello,” you smile gently, leaning forward just enough to tilt your head back to look up at him.

He turns, enjoying the way your hands shift to stay at his sides, your thumbs feeling over the fabric of his shirt. He’s handsome, easily falling victim to your own charm as he lets you seduce him. His smile widens, though he doesn’t look predatory, like a lot of men you’ve come across among the years. He’s charming.

“Well, hello there.” He looks you up and down, and you take in the sight of his pale blue eyes as he does.

You just keep smiling, and it’s all you have to do for him to fall further and further for your charm. “Hi,” you lick your bottom lip.

Considerate of you, he places his hand on your shoulder and brushes it down your arm slowly until he slips it into your hand, holding one of them and setting his other hand onto your own waist. Yours eased to his shoulder, and soon you were holding one another as you danced on a slow tempo to the quick rhythmed music.

“How's a pretty girl like you doing on a night like this, hm?” he wonders, his voice warm and just as smiling as his lips.

You shrug a shoulder as though you're shy. “I'm doing alright,” you chuckle lightly, breathily. “Are you having fun?”

He hums. “Now that you're here? So much fun.” He watched you appreciatively, biting his lower lip and sighing. “You lookin’ to play with little ole me?”

You tilt your head gently. “Do you like to play?”

“Doll,” he chuckles, “I love to play.”

You giggle softly, and you watch him seem to almost melt at the sound of it. “You wanna play with me?” you lean in a little closer.

“Do I?”

You stand on your tiptoes so your lips brush his ear as you whisper, your words light and airy. “Why don't we go somewhere more private so we can…play?”

He sighs longingly. “Oh, I love the sound of that.”

You smile wide, pulling away from him as you keep your hands firmly clasped. “Well, come on then,” you say as you pull him gently toward the door. He walks with you, joining your side and exiting the club with you on his arm.

As you're walking out, his lead taking you in the direction of his car, you find yourself humming the song that had been playing inside under your breath. His gaze turns to you and he finds himself even further under your enchantment.

What a wonder you are… An angel from heaven.

He helps you into his car, shutting your door and rounding to the other side as he takes his seat as the driver. “So where are we going?” he asks, looking at you with anticipation seeping through every pore.

You smile, and he swears you speak like a melody as you say, “I've got a room down at the hotel.” You bring a hand to your face as you rest your fingers just under your chin. “We shouldn't be interrupted there.”

He grins. “Whatever you say, doll.”

~

He's been so sweet, much closer on the sweeter side of the men you've met since you first came to the mortal plane. Graham, he said his name was.

You nearly felt bad about what was going to happen to Graham…but you wouldn't be putting him to waste. No, you would be honoring him. He would inspire your songs, he would give life to them. That was an honor you felt befit him, an honor he deserved.

The hotel comes into view, and your stomach flips. Graham parks, opens your door like a gentleman, and then offers his hand as the both of you enter the building. You glance around as you walk, wondering what you're supposed to do now. He just said to meet him here…

You walk, tucked into his side as you try not to aimlessly wander. He stays close to you, almost dutifully, and you don't notice the way he gazes at your face.

You look up at him, an innocent—almost naïve—glow to your eyes that makes his smile grow. “You're beautiful, you know that?”

You hum lightly, smiling gently. Your gaze wanders from his and falls upon a conference room door, the window on the door reflecting something off its surface.

Your eyes catch on the silhouette of such a familiar man. You walk over, pulling Graham with you as you push the door open.

“Thought we were going up to your room, doll?” he wonders. You pull him into the dark conference room, glancing around for your new mentor and finding nothing but shadows.

You turn back to Graham, thinking on your feet as you give him a smile. “I…just couldn't wait that long,” you chuckle lightly. You step forward, your hands on his chest.

He smiles, pushing the door closed behind him with his foot and turning the lock as he looks down at you with a smile. “Sounds good to me,” he grins.

He holds your body close, wrapping you up in his arms. Your smile falls as he leans in closer, and when his lips brush yours, you can't help but push him away with the gentle push of your fingertips.

He seems concerned as he takes you in, holding his hands up enough to show he isn't going to hurt you. “What's the matter?”

In the corner of your eyes, you catch a shadow. Your gaze lands on the Corinthian, hidden in the dark space behind Graham with a finger held up to his curling lips, and your breath hitches in a small gasp.

You watch him silently, watching as his hands gesture toward the both of you. He just nods, urging you on.

You look back at Graham, his eyes still just as concerned as before. You remember to smile, stepping back toward him as you slowly set your hands on his shoulders. “Nothing,” you whisper. You kiss him, and he takes a moment to allow you space before his hands fall to your waist again. His lips are soft, comforting.

Tilting your head, your eyes creak open to see the Corinthian again. He smiles reassuringly, lifting his hand to cover his eyes. After receiving your confused look, he just gives another encouraging gesture. You figure, he knows best.

Pulling away again, you keep your hands on his shoulders. Graham opens his eyes, watching you smile up at him. “Close your eyes?” you ask gently.

He chuckles, amused, “Why?”

You bat your lashes, a subtle but rapid blink that makes him pliant to you. “Trust me?” Your voice is gentle and small, a whisper he has nor reason to doubt.

He just sighs and laughs, shaking his head as he brings hand to cover his eyes, peeking at you teasingly before hiding behind his palm again. You look to the Corinthian for more instruction.

He raises his finger to tap his throat. You watch his other hand come up, balling into a tight fist. He punches his palm soundlessly. And you understand.

You place your gaze upon Graham once more. His pretty face, his messy black hair, his pink lips, his closed eyes hiding pale blue rings around his pupils. You clench your fist, feeling the tightness in your fingers, the strain of the skin over your knuckles.

You take in a deep bracing breath, and he's still waiting patiently for you. Patient, gentle, good.

And you strike him hard in his throat, your fist colliding with his Adam’s apple as his eyes bulge from his skull. He tries to gasp at the sudden impact, the sound barely coming out in a painful wheeze as he raises his hands to his throat.

He looks at you, his eyes wide with shock and confusion. His mouth is open wide as he gapes, trying so hard to speak, to breathe, to figure out why.

You hadn't even realized it when the Corinthian moved, his hands landing heavily over Graham’s shoulders as he wheezes and gasps, making the most dreadful sounds in an attempt to breathe.

“Hello, there,” he grins, Graham’s eyes finding him and bulging. When did he get there?

His gaping mouth tries to form a word, and the Corinthian tilts his head to hear it before chuckling lightly. “Don't try to speak. You'll find it hurts more.”

He pulls a chair from the large conference table and sits him roughly down onto it. Graham doesn't try to bolt, the door is locked and he isn't confident in his ability to get out of here with the Corinthian as your apparent partner. He tries to speak, to negotiate, but he can't get any sound past senseless croaks.

The Corinthian joins your side, wrapping an arm possessively around your waist as you stare at the man you'd doomed. Doomed. That's a nice word.

He opens up his jacket, reaching in an inside pocket as he pulls out the silver needle and red thread he'd procured from the Seamstresses.

“Now, beautiful,” he says, handing it over to you, “why don't you take this while I help you out a little?” You look at the tools he offers, blink a couple of times before picking it up.

His crooked finger brushes under your chin before he turns away toward your friend again. He rounds to another chair, which he pulls from its spot tucked at the table, a duffle bag you hadn't noticed before sitting in the seat. In the bag is rope, strong rope he uses to tie Graham to the chair as he kneels behind him.

You glance at the needle. “What do I do with it?”

He looks up at you as he wraps the rope around the back of the chair and his chest and ignores Graham’s struggles. He says it like it's obvious. “You'll sew his mouth shut.”

Graham struggles against the rope, but to no avail. The Corinthian makes a tight knot, looking at him with a warning in his tone. “I suggest you be nice and good for her or…” he smiles, his hands on his shoulders as his lips brush the shell of his ear, “I'll just have to intervene. And you don't want that.”

Graham goes completely still, sweating and crying now. The tears roll down his cheeks and he gives you a desperate look.

You realize your hands are shaking, like the first time you even stepped foot toward him.

“I…” you mutter, staring at the needle.

The Corinthian’s smile remains unchanged, encouraging. “Come on,” he says as he stands, walking over toward you once more. “Don't be shy.”

The anxiety curls in your stomach, shakes in your hands. You take a step back, turning to him timidly as you don't meet his eyes. “I'm… I'm not her,” you say, struggling to get the words out as the nerves eat away at you. “I lied… I'm not the Whisperer. I'm just…some dream… I'm just a dream.”

He laughs, and you watch him as the confusion sinks into the features of your face. Graham is out of both your minds as you stare at him.

“Well, I know that.” He chuckles, stepping into your space as he grabs your free hand, cradling it in his palm. “But you're not just any dream, are you? You're Aria. One of Morpheus’ special dreams, his little song.”

Irritation rises in your belly and you shake your head, stepping back and letting go of his hand. “I'm not Aria,” you bite. “Not anymore. I hate that name.”

He raises a brow. “Do you now?” His smirk is devilish. “Who are you then?”

You stare at him, offering the name you'd take thirty years ago when you left the Dreaming for the first time, your new name with its new rhythm and rhyme. The Corinthian repeats it back to you, tasting it on his tongue like honey.

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, another step taking you away from him. “But I'm not the Whisperer.”

He shrugs. “‘Course you're not. I made her up.” You watch him, surprise in every crevice of your face. He reaches out and takes your hands, pulling you close again as he watches you, the look I'm his eyes almost predatory as he lowers his voice for you to hear. His words seep into your skin.

“But you want to be, don't you?” He smiles, “I can see it in your eyes, you wanna be more than Dream's ‘little song’, don't ya?”

Graham watches, feeling his vocal chords easing in the slightest bit. He still can't speak, can't scream, can't get any sound out but a whisper so quiet, he still can't be heard.

“You want to be something not so sweet,” he continues. “You wanna sing something other than Kumbaya, holding hands with your neighbors and bein’ all nice and happy.”

Your lip twitches at the mention of that song, a campfire song that felt like a pinnacle of your distaste for the music you've been forced to sing. “I hate Kumbaya,” you mumble.

He chuckles. “Don't we all?” He brushes his knuckles along your cheekbone, smoothing down to rest underneath your chin. “You can be so much more than that. I know it. You can leave behind all that sweetness, and become like me. Remake yourself in your own image.”

He raises your hand, still cupping the needle and thread in your palm. “All you have to do…” he gently pushes your palm toward your body, separating each word as he does, “...is take the needle.”

He takes a step back, giving you space to think.

You look down at your palm, contemplating. This is it. This is your chance to become more than a little songbird. You could become better. You could fulfill your own hopes and dreams and become a better version of you.

Your fingers curl over your palm.

Your eyes turn on Graham, and fear flashes across his face. You take the first step toward him, then another, and he begins to squirm in his chair as you do. The Corinthian tuts, walking toward him as he places his hands on his shoulders to keep him down, still.

He smiles, a dark and wicked smile. “There you go,” he encourages. “Do it. Become more than that sweet little dream. Do what you want to do, not what you were made to.”

You take the string of thread and punch it between your thumb and forefinger, stilling your breath completely as your slightly shaky hands work to thread the needle. It takes a moment for you to get it through the eye, letting out a relieved sigh when you do.

Graham keeps squirming, despite the uselessness. You stand in front of him. “Take a seat,” the Corinthian says. “It'll be easier.”

You set your free hand on his shoulder, lowering yourself onto his lap as you straddle him. His mouth forms a word, the slightest whisper tearing painfully from his throat as it did. Please. Please. Please.

He casts a desperate, pleasing gaze upon you, his life in your hands—the hands of the beautiful siren who had forsaken him. You watch him with an unwavering gaze, the anxiety and anticipation curling your brows.

He is so good. So genuinely good. The kind of good that stares at your face and calls you beautiful. The kind that keeps calling you beautiful until you no longer have the capacity not to believe it. He's the kind of good that holds you when you're sad, wipes away your tears when you cry. The kind of good that makes you feel better about living in such a cruel world.

And you want to feel bad about taking his life away, about taking the rhythm of his heartbeat away.

But you can't, and you don't. And honestly, a rage and desperation flares within you as you stare at him. Because he is good. And that's just the problem, isn't it?

For so long, all of your songs have been so good. Songs about dancing birds and twinkling stars and buzzing bees. Songs about hope and love and care and whatever else. And you're sick of it.

You were only drawn to him because he's good.

You need something new, something a little fiercer than the blazing sun in the sky, something a little darker than the moonless night. You need inspiration.

And he could give it to you. The Corinthian would help.

You begin to move your hands toward his face, and Graham desperately tries to move away. You sigh, looking up at the Corinthian. He understands immediately.

Taking Graham’s face in his hands, he holds his head still and his jaw securely closed. He bears his teeth like a frightened animal, breathing quickly as whispers of protest strain in his crushed vocal chords.

You use one hand to hold his lips closed. The Corinthian nods along with you. “Just at the corner. Right there.” You slide your pinched fingers over to the left corner of his lips. “Very good. Now just…push it in…”

You position the needle, holding there for a long time as you internalize taking this step. All you have to do…is push it in.

The needle pierces his flesh, sinking into his skin as he screams silently, held still as a statue by the Corinthian, as though his strength is nothing to him.

The sharp end comes out on the other side of his bottom lip, and you pull it all the way through as the red thread becomes redder with the blood staining it. You pull until you have enough length, tying the end off with steadier hands.

“Very good,” the Corinthian praises. “See? You're a natural.”

He takes in his success, his great triumph. Dream's little song…nothing more now than the outlines of a nightmare waiting to be filled in with a little more color. He almost feels drunk off the sight of you, straddling this man as you continue to pierce him with your needle and sew his lips shut, tight, taking away the one thing you were made to do.

Sing.

Such a sweet little bird you are now, a corrupted and twisted little dream in the hands of a wicked nightmare.

He watches you thread the needle through his flesh as Graham continues to cry and try and try and try to scream, to have someone hear him, save him from the pain and torture. But you're all alone in here, locked inside this room with nothing but the night…

As you focus, you find yourself easing into the task. Pinching and piercing and pulling and repeating. You smile, calm as a melody comes to mind.

You hum it, lower and slower than the original speed. The Corinthian watches, in awe of you as you continue to work. He almost swears the rhythm of Graham’s silent breaths and cries begin to form to the rhythm of your song.

“Say ‘Night-ie night’ and kiss me,” you whisper, leaning forward to kiss the tip of Graham’s nose. “Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me.”

You poke the needle through the end of his lip, piercing the far right corner slowly, calmly. “While I'm alone and blue as can be…” You tie the end of the knot, singing a little slower as you do. “Dream a little dream of…me.”

You lean forward and cut the thread with your teeth, taking in the sight of your good work. The Corinthian lets Graham go, and he just sits there, still sobbing, his face wet with tears and blood and sweat.

“Look at that,” the Corinthian admires, laughing deep in his throat as he sets his hands on your shoulders and shakes his head. “Beautiful.”

You stare at him, taking in the sight before you. The Corinthian’s hands fall to your waist, and his head rests at the crook of your neck. Graham’s eyes struggle to stay open, his vision blurry with tears and the adrenaline and pain crashing down and making it hard to find the will to stay conscious.

“Look at all your hard work,” the Corinthian hums, the sound of your song still playing in his mind. “How does it feel?”

You look at him. His dark blood is crimson as it stains his shirt. His messy black hair is only worse now, his pale blue eyes brighter and paler as his pupils grow to the size of a coin.

He looks beautiful, you think.

“Different.”

The tip of his nose brushes underneath your ear. “Do you want to finish it off?”

You nod gently.

The Corinthian fishes a sharp blade from the inside of his jacket. He takes your hand and wraps it around the handle, gripping it tight and helping to guide you.

“Right…” he moves the tip of the blade to press against Graham’s straining neck. He presses it right under his chin, starting from the far right, opposite the needle, “...here.”

“Here?” you ask as he lets go, keeping the blade steady.

He nods. “Right there.”

You lift your other hand to hold the back of his neck steady. Graham watches, terrified. You stare him dead in the eyes, unblinking, unwavering.

You carve the blade into his throat and slice. All the way across, you take your time in slowly slitting his throat. You only blink as the blood sprays out of his sliced arteries and spray all over your face and neck. It keeps spraying and keeps spraying, coming in spurts as he chokes on his blood, gurgling and coughing.

You continue to stare at him, even as you've finished even after he has died and the light has left his eyes and the songs have left his soul. His eyes are bulgy and he's drenched in blood. Butchered.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a dark hand reaching out to Graham. You want to turn, to see her take him, to watch as he is swept away in the hands of Death to his afterlife. But you don't. Watching Graham, you see the flickers of hope in his eyes die out as the life leaves him and replaces it with emptiness. A momentary silence is filled with the gentle flap of wings.

The Corinthian comes back to mind as he pulls you back enough to see the whole of your work. He shakes his head in admiration, smiling wide.

“Your first one,” he says.

“My first one.”

“How does it feel?”

His hands on your hips pull you back against his body. You lean into him. “Different.”

He chuckles lightly, one of his hands moving from your waist in favor of sliding up the length of your body to wrap around your throat, resting there as he holds you securely. His other hand slides down your arm and takes the knife from your hand.

“I think you liked it,” he hums in your ear, dropping his knife on the table with a clatter and holding your neck tighter. “Having his life in your hands?”

You swallow thickly, staring at the dripping blood as the crimson on your face dries. “I–”

“Say it,” he cuts you off, his lips right by your ear, his teeth nipping at the lobe. “You loved it. You loved silencing him.”

He feels your shallow breaths beneath his palm. Still dazed, you say, “I–”

“Say it.”

You take in a slow breath, filling your lungs before you admit it, the curling in your stomach gone and replaced by the chills along your skin. “I loved it,” you sigh. “I loved silencing him.”

He smiles triumphantly. “I know you did,” he chuckles. “Now look at you. A new person, a new dream.” His smile widens and his hand tightens. “You're just like me.”

“Just like you.”

“A nightmare.” His lips graze the shell of your ear.

“A nightmare.”

You lean into him with a slight moan when his lips press against your neck, kissing it with insistent lips and insistent teeth. “Just like you,” you whisper, like the repeating lyrics of a song.

“Just like me.”

Your eyes flutter at the way his teeth nip at your flesh. “A nightmare.”

“A nightmare.” He turns you around in his arms, moving you so your back presses against the table. His lips crash down on yours, swallowing you whole as they do. He can taste the blood staining your lips. You melt against him, weak and wanting as his body presses flush against yours. He bends you back against the table, laying you down as his lips trail down to the skin of your neck, kissing and biting and sucking.

“Look at you,” he breathes. “A corrupted little dream.”

Corrupted. You like that word.

“Corinthian,” you moan, bringing your arms up as your hands wrap around the back of his head and keep him close to you.

“My little dream,” he scoffs, his hands gripping your body tightly.

You go to speak, but he cuts you off. He laughs wickedly. “But you're not a dream, are you? And you're not a nightmare.”

“Cor–”

“You're just a little whore, aren't you?” he smirks, riding your shirt up as his hand slips under it. “A little whore who wants to be something else.”

You moan. “A whore.”

His face is inches from yours again as he speaks quietly, his voice low and rough and dangerous. “You thought I wouldn't know what you were when I saw you?” he questions, finding it amusing. “You thought I wouldn't know you were just a dream trying to be something she isn't?”

Your breath has picked up, heavy as your head spins. “I–”

He's not having it. He silences you again, holding your throat still as he makes you look at him, as he makes sure you can't look away. “Let me show you what you are,” he breathes. “Then I'll rebuild you into something you can be.”

Enchanted by him and his words, you breathe deeply. “Show me what I am,” you echo.

He nods, “That's right.”

“What I can be.”

“Good girl,” he praises. He attacks your mouth once more. It's a bruising kiss as he wraps you up in him. His hand grips your neck tightly, constricting your breath a bit as he does. With one hand, he rips your dress from your body and lets it fall to the ground in rags. You gasp as he does it, your body now exposed to the chilly air as you're left in nothing but your undergarments.

He hums deeply as he looks over you. He smiles. “Dream had it right with this body,” he says, running his hand over your skin and listening to the way you moan.

He hooks his finger around the waistband of your panties, pulling them roughly down your legs to reveal yourself to him. “Look at you,” he breathes as he smooths his hand over your mound. “You're so pretty, aren't you?”

You moan when his long middle finger sinks inside of you, sliding between your damp folds. He's surprised by how wet you are, though he supposes he shouldn't be.

You immediately clamp down around his finger, and he lets out a long sigh. “Such a tight little thing.”

Your legs move to close at the intrusion, not new to the feeling but still not quite used to it either. He just forces them apart, keeping you spread wide for him as he does. “Don't you hide yourself from me,” he says, thrusting a second finger inside of you as you moan at the stretch.

He pumps his fingers in and out of you, collecting the gathering wetness as he watches you through his dark glasses, admires the way your body responds to him.

Your hips meet his hands as he keeps touching you, eager to feel more of him as your shallow breaths continue to pass between your lips. When he pulls his hand from you, you whimper at the loss, clenching around nothing in an attempt to feel him again.

You watch as he sets his fingers on his tongue, closing his mouth around them and suckling with a deep hum. He caresses your name with his lips as he looks down at you. “You're delicious, sweetheart,” he says, and your body keens into his touch.

His hand around your throat tightens as he bends down so his face is hardly separated from yours. “I bet you'd just love to feel my mouth on you, hm?”

You nod quickly, “Please.”

He laughs darkly, kissing you roughly and letting his mouth trail down your body—down, down, down until his mouth ghosts over your fluttering pussy.

Your back arches when you feel his hot mouth against you. His tongue laps against your folds and he suckles around you, tasting the sweetness of your nectar. His tongue flattens against you as he begins to lick you up.

His hand loosens around your throat before ultimately letting go to hold your grinding hips down. Your mouth falls open and you give into him, tangling your fingers in his hair and encouraging his mouth against you.

He laps at your pussy like you're the finest wine. He can taste the virtue that pulsed in your veins, and he can taste the darkness beginning to replace it. His tongue delves inside of you, his lips wrapping around your throbbing clit and suckling gently.

The pleasure jolts through your body like a fire, and you’re entirely willing to let it consume you. You want to feel its burning flames lick at your flesh, searing it from bone to turn you to ash and create something new out of the remains.

The Corinthian sinks three fingers into you after a while, pumping them in and out as you enjoy the delicious stretch with closed eyes, moaning and grinding. He looks up at you, looking for your eyes and finding them hooded.

You mewl when he pulls away from you. “No, no, no,” he says. “Open your eyes, sweetheart. You gotta watch me make you mine.”

You do as you're told, opening your eyes and doing your best to keep them that way. He praises you with another “good girl” before he's wrapping his lips around you again.

He enjoys every second immensely, tasting the sweet nectar of your arousal as he coaxes it from you, taking the grinding of your hips every time he curls his fingers or sucks on your clit.

You moan his name as you feel the rise in your stomach tightening with an oncoming pleasure. You clench around his fingers, your clit pulses against his tongue. You've forgotten all about Graham's body slumped in his bindings, you'd forgotten the blood staining your face and neck. It's all the Corinthian.

You throw your head back roughly and gasp when you cum, your head spinning as the back of it smacks against the table. Your thighs tremble and shake as he refuses to let up, sinking his tongue deeper inside. Your moans almost sound like tiny cries as you grind your hips into his mouth.

He licks his lips, tasting you on his tongue with an immense amount of appreciation. "You're fucking delicious, baby,” he hums, smirking dangerously.

He sits up to his full height once more, his hand finding its place around your throat as he bends down to kiss you again. The taste of yourself on his tongue is intoxicating.

His lips smack as he pulls away from you. Without a word, he flips you onto your stomach atop the table. He grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing it roughly. The breath is forced from your lungs as your chest presses against the table.

The Corinthian tangles his hand in your hair as he roughly pulls your head up, making you look up as your eyes fall on Graham.

“Look at him,” he hums. “Look at all that good work.”

You do. You take in the sight of him with a new set of eyes. The red thread keep his lips shut tight. He'd made such wonderful sounds when you'd sewn them. You'd taken his song and added it to your own, his fear and his desperation had been the perfect addition to your symphony.

His blood soaks his clothes, as well as your face, what was once crimson now darker from being exposed to the air. You can still hear the way he choked, the way he gasped for air that wouldn't come.

His skin was so pale, his eyes that were once a pale blue now cloudy and grey with the mask of death. His once pink lips are just as grey. You can still see the smile they made, the words they spoke. The things he could sing.

You could still hear him singing.

You moan when the Corinthian’s hand presses between your slick folds again. He smiles, another dark chuckle slipping from his lips. “There you go,” he says. “Nice and slick for me. Be a good girl and say please.”

You let out an airy breath, mumbling a tiny whisper of, “Please.”

But he isn't convinced as he groans and shakes his head. “No, you can do better than that, sweetheart. Now I'm not going to give you what you need until you say please.”

Desperate and needy, you let out another breathy moan. “Please,” you whine again, louder this time as your words form into a melody. “I need you. I need you to make me yours.”

He's drunk off your obedience, the way you gave into him so easily from the start. He inclines his head, satisfied. “Good girl.”

The jingle of his belt buckle fills your ears with its gentle ring. Your pussy flutters when you feel the tip of him press against your folds. “Please,” you whisper again.

You let out a long breath when he buries himself to the hilt inside of your hot cunt. A rough groan falls from his lips, the tip of his cock pressing deep inside of you as you lose your breath.

You grip the table, allowing the pleasure to fill you as he holds your hips tight. You moan at the stretch of him inside you.

The Corinthian lets out a deep breath, steadying himself as he pulls out just barely to the tip before roughly thrusting back into. You moan loudly, your head dizzy with the feeling blossoming inside of you.

He doesn't allow you a slow build. He doesn't give you the privilege of easing you into the monstrous nature of his love. Instead, he holds you steady as he fucks into your tight pussy, snapping his hips in and out of you without sparing a second for you to adjust to him.

He grunts and groans behind you as he uses you to his need. He feeds off your moans, their song-like nature filling the air and seeming to hypnotize him into wanting even more of you, into needing even more of you.

The sound of his hips smacking against your ass fills the room. It joins your moans and his dark grunts, blending together perfectly.

“Listen to you,” he grunts. “You're my little song now.”

You can no longer think straight, your head spinning with pleasure, with the sound of Graham's singing in your head, with the sound of flapping wings.

You watch Graham as if through rose-colored glasses, the pleasure mixing with the sight of him creating something you've never felt before as you continue to moan meekly.

And, for a moment, you think of Dream.

As a melody plays in the back of your brain, a new melody you've never heard before, you think about how much you want to show Dream.

But he abandoned you. And, before that, he'd created you as a sweet dream that could never know anything other than harmony. And you hated him for that.

So, as you watch the blood drip from his sealed lips, you smile and give into the Corinthian completely. His fingers press to your clit, and you shudder as you feel yourself getting so close, so close to falling apart and forever becoming the Corinthian’s song…ready to leave Sweet Dream behind forever.

The pressure builds as his speed on your clit does as well. You clench around his cock, your head light and your moans scratching your throat. “Corinthian,” you whine. “I'm so close.”

His hips snap into yours a little harder. “I bet you are,” he huffs. “Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll make you nice and full.”

The pleasure rises within you until you can’t hold it in anymore. With a thrust of his hips and a circle of his finger, you fall apart. Your whole body shudders as you let out a loud, breathy moan as it all comes crashing down. You give in to the Corinthian’s symphony of death.

A rough groan, bordering on a growl, erupts from his throat as he shoves his cock as deep inside you. He gives in to the squeeze of your cunt and cums, grinding his hips so deep as he fills you to the brim.

And with one last thrust, with his cum buried in your fluttering pussy, he claims you as his. He lets go of your hair, pulling out of you with a heavy sigh.

You whimper at the loss of him, laying on the table as your legs shake.

The Corinthian’s arms wrap around you, picking you up and pulling you to stand as he embraces you in another kiss. You lean into him, letting his lips meld against yours.

He looks over your face, the new clarity in your eyes. He smiles.

“Sing me a song, sweetheart.”

And you do. You sing a song of a dying promise, the sounds of the symphony you'd just created allowing you to sing a melody of broken hope and shattered dreams.

You sing for a long time as the Corinthian listens to you, enchanted by your song, by your new dream.

Now, you belonged to him.

The Sandman taglist: @poetic-fiasco @the-nerdy-goddess @life-on-needs @fanreader @jamiethenerdymonster @sarahbullet235 @majestyjade @melinoe-the-rat @katsukis1wife @sugakookieswithacupoftae16 @hatterripper31 @kplatzman @kmc1989 The Corinthian taglist: @waitingformysandman @honey-im-hotdog @saltysasque @anotherblackreader Tag yourself here...

[undiscovered-horizon]

You've probably already received a request like this, but would I be able to request a part 2 to the one-shot you wrote about the Corinthian having a crush on Dream's s/o.

[Original Post] | [Part 3] | [Sandman-inspired playlist] | [MASTERLIST] | 🫀REQUESTS ARE OPEN🫀

Corinthian didn't care much for books. Truthfully, they didn't care much for him either - whichever one you'd open, he'd be the villain. The Nightmare. Nonetheless, he had found himself inside the library but not because he was interested in reading. Instead, it was the reader that captivated him.

Like a stalking predator, he hid between bookshelves at a fairly inconspicuous distance from the daybed you were sitting on. Behind you was one of the many stained-glass windows that Morpheus seemed to be exceptionally fond of. That one, however, was very personal - it presented none other than you. Undoubtedly, it was the beloved king's whim, a monument for his undying devotion. With the colourful glass behind your back, you resembled a deity leisurely spending time in their own temple; a halo of sunlight around your frame revealed your holy nature. Considering how much Morpheus was willing to do for you, such a statement wasn't far from the truth. Perhaps that willingness was the one thing that had made all the difference: one could die for you and the other kill. Which one was the true declaration of unconditional love, I wonder?

The quiet rustle of the page you were turning did not reach Corinthian's ears - he was too far away. But such little noises didn't interest him anyway, they were nothing more but static that audaciously jarred him. Your little expressions were much more captivating, giving away what emotions the book was eliciting from you: surprise, confusion, anger, shock... Your fingers barely grazed the yellow paper as though you expected it to rip or tear with even a little bit of harshness. Would your hands feel equally gentle against his skin? Corinthian inhaled sharply in an attempt to chase away the forbidden thoughts that made his heart tremble. Occupied with his voyeurism, he didn't notice a very expected guest:

"Corinthian?" Lucienne asked confused. She looked at him from above the rim of her glasses; her eyebrows were raised about as high as they possibly could. There was a stack of books in her arms. "What are you doing here?"

As best as he could, Corinthian acted unbothered. "My job," he lied through his teeth. Yes, he was quite exceptional at that. "Lord Morpheus asked me to keep an eye on his beloved. There have been some... unfavourable whispers going around."

Lucienne watched Corinthian for a moment. Honestly, she wasn't aware of any 'whispers' of that sort but if that were true, perhaps it really was for the better to not discuss unrest in the open. "Don't be a nuisance," she warned him before leaving. She passed by you but never forced your attention on herself. Considering how much time you had spent among those bookshelves, you had become part of the library in her mind. Lucienne never said it out loud, as she didn't think it was important enough, but she truly appreciated your silent company. Strolling through her 'domain', she was putting back the books in their rightful places.

A quiet humming echoed through the library - Marv, undoubtedly. He had a curious habit of singing old songs while he was working. The pumpkin-headed scarecrow had no rush in his footsteps, humming some forgotten Frank Sinatra melody as he walked between the tall bookshelves. Ladder in one hand, a bucket of paint and a paint roller in the other, he appeared completely relaxed and carefree. He was probably done for the day and planned on enjoying his leisure to the fullest.

"Good day, your highness," Marv called out while passing by you, making Lucienne look over her shoulder. She wasn't going to quiet him just yet. "You're looking dazzling as ever!"

You looked up from your book with a wide smile on your face. Is this what rapture looked like? "Thank you, Marv," you answered with a flustered giggle in your voice. Corinthian wondered if he knew words sweet enough to drown in that melodic laughter. Was there any better way to die? "Good day to you, too."

Marv passed by Corinthian's hideout without noticing him. Soon after, Lucienne let out a tired sigh and marched out of the library for reasons only known to herself. Once again, he was unbothered in his relentless prayer to the only deity that deserved praise. There was a tea set placed on the table in front of you. Steam from brewing tea dispersed the sunlight coming through the stained-glass window. From his observation, Corinthian knew that you had a habit of getting consumed by different activities that you'd forget about the tea and drink it cold. A strange thought run through his head: he could, after all, set those bookshelves alight to make sure your tea is still hot for when you feel thirsty.

The silent calmness of his lovesick voyeurism did not last for long. Corinthian hid further among the books and wooden contraptions upon noticing a hem of a black coat. Barely peeking through the small gap between shelves and tops of books, he watched the sickening scene unfold:

Your face lit up as you looked away from your book. In a manner too excited for Corinthian's liking, you closed the volume and were about to put it on the table, next to the tea set, when your hands suddenly retracted - Morpheus probably told you he, still, had some other affairs to take care of. Then, in a quite unexpected act, Dream took off his heavy coat and placed it around your shoulders. Your expression softened as you took in a deep inhale of the fragrance lingering on the material. Pomegranate and old parchment. Corinthian didn't even notice his face contorted into a disgusted grimace as he watched Morpheus lean down and gently kiss the top of your head. A quiet giggle left your mouth but it was mostly muffled as your husband was holding you close to himself for a moment. Letting go, after what felt like hours of Corinthian clashing his teeth, Morpheus left the library the same way he had entered - never passing by the watcher's nest, thankfully.

Was that all he was going to do?! Disturb your loneliness for a mere minute, feed you crumbs of his attention, then leave again? What sacrilege was it to claim one's devotion to a god but never bleed on the altar of their mercy? Morpheus could give you anything and everything but not what you wanted. Not what you deserved. Gods craved sacrifices of all that bought pain and sorrow to give away, did they not? Of elements that kept undeserving creatures alive? Blood, tears, bile, marrow... Corinthian would give you all of that only to beg for your forgiveness for such a scarce, unimportant gift. But the one to whom you promised your forever, he gave you a coat. And perhaps that has made all the difference.

He had absolutely no clue what possessed him as he walked towards you. There were no words that he could say on that day that would change the current course of events, no spell that would make you break your sacred vows. Perhaps during Corinthian's creation, Morpheus accidentally poured into the Nightmare his own powerlessness in the face of your inexplicable majesty. If that were true, then Corinthian was simply answering a primaeval call weaved into the very calcium of his bones, iron floating in his blood; he was made to devote himself to you but lacking Morpheus's self-restraint, instead of making a sacrifice on the altar of your love, he longed to be the sacrifice. If he had no place by your side, he'd happily lay at your feet.

The tea was probably already cold when you remembered its existence. Letting out a quiet sigh at your typical forgetfulness, you reached for the kettle but did not notice one of the cups was in the way. The realization came a little too late - your forearm had already nudged the porcelain dish.

But instead of the sharp sound of chinaware breaking against the tiled floor of the library, you were made aware of someone's presence:

"Careful," Corinthian said as he placed the cup back on the silver tray.

"That was quite remarkable," you murmured more to yourself than to him. Shortly after, you looked back up at him with a grateful smile. "Thank you. Have a seat." Your hand vaguely pointed to the empty cushion beside you. "If you're not needed elsewhere, of course," you added right after.

There was, quite literally, nothing that needed his attention more than your friendly offer. You don't deny gods when they invite you to eat at their table. "I'd love to," he answered with a smile. Despite his dislike of Morpheus, Corinthian had to admit that Dream equipped him with exquisite charm, which he was going to use to the fullest.

Without useless questions, he took the porcelain kettle and began pouring tea for you and him. A bittersweet, fruit and aniseed, aroma filled his nostrils. In some poetic way, that's exactly what his daily life had smelled like for the past countless decades - cyanide and honey.

"You know, I've always thought that Morpheus gave you an excellent name," you confessed while watching Corinthian carefully pour tea. For a vicious nightmare, he really did impress with his poise like venomous snakes allure with their colourful scales arranged into fantastic patterns.

"Really? I have never given it much thought," he lied. Your hand brushed against his as you took the cup from his hand. Corinthian clenched his jaw and forced that charming, polite smile to stay on his face as he tried to chase away dreamy images of your fingers caressing his face ('How would your knuckles feel against his lips?').

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud," you quoted. "It's from Saint Paul's letter to Corinthians. Your name, I believe, is a reminder for every sentient creature of what truly matters."

This moment - that truly mattered. The minute in which you acknowledged his existence although it was hardly deserving of your attention.

"Beautifully said, your highness."

You were right next to him, your knees nearly touching, and yet it felt as though you were entire realms apart. That heavy, black coat; the aroma of exotic fruits and antique books - a wall separating you; a malicious reminder, that he meant nothing in the grandeur of your life, that there was another to whom your thoughts, hopes and dreams belonged. Corinthian was an unimportant, unnamed tourist gawking at Mona Lisa.

A shy blush crept unto your cheeks. "You're being too kind, dear Corinthian," you said with a gentle smile on your face before taking a sip of the tea.

Mona Lisa stares ahead, in the general direction of the tourist but never explicitly at him. He moves along - there are others that want to stare too - but looks over his shoulder countless times as though one day, in the endless ocean of admirers, she might return the loving look. Hope dies last but she's also the mother of fools.

____

A/N: when I watched The Sandman for the first time and they said 'The Corinthian' my first thought was Bible and St. Paul's letter. The second thought was 'daughter of Corinth' (prostitute) lmao

[bi-bard]

Through the Cold, I'll Find My Way Back to You - The Corinthian Imagine [The Sandman]

Title: Through the Cold, I'll Find My Way Back to You

Pairing: The Corinthian X Reader

Based On: It Will Come Back

Word Count: 1,228 words

Warning(s): pretty much stalking (let's be real about this)

Summary: In which an act of kindness leads to a cat and mouse game that (Y/n) hadn't even known they were playing.

Author's Note: I love this song so fucking much.

HOZIER [2014] WRITING CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

----------------------

The first time that (Y/n) met the Corinthian was in their nightmare.

It was a nightmare that he created, but (Y/n) didn't know that. They wouldn't know that for a very long time.

Not that the Corinthian meant to hide that.

That kind of just... happened.

He watched (Y/n) stumble out of the woods, running from whatever he had created to chase them. He walked over when they fell on the grass.

He stopped in front of them.

They looked up at him. "H-Hi."

He almost chuckled. That was a new response for him. Usually, people just ran from him.

(Y/n) pushed themself off of the dirt once they realized that he wasn't going to respond. They tried their best to wipe the dirt off of themself.

"You alright," the Corinthian asked, deciding to see how this played out.

"I... Well... I was being chased through the woods," they explained.

"Really? What was it?"

"N-No idea," they forced a chuckle.

There was a small pause. Their eyes dropped to the Corinthian's jacket.

"Can I...?"

His eyebrows furrowed at the unfinished question. Then, (Y/n) reached out and fixed the collar of his jacket. They had no idea why they did that. In any other situation, they wouldn't have even said anything. It just felt right at the time.

"Sorry," they muttered.

"It's alright."

There was a sound in the trees. (Y/n) didn't realize that the Corinthian didn't jump at the noise. They reached over and grabbed his hand. He was about to pull his hand away from theirs, but they took off running before he could.

"Hurry up," they shouted at him as they ran.

Again, he almost chuckled.

(Y/n) had just met him, but they were trying to make sure that he was okay. How... interesting.

(Y/n) disappeared before he could entertain his curiosity any further. Back to the waking world. How disappointing.

The Corinthian knew then that this was going to visit them again. He was simply too curious to leave them now.

He continued sneaking into (Y/n)'s dreams each night.

He would listen to them ramble and talk. It was like studying a never-before-seen species. Everything (Y/n) did was just so interesting.

The way they talked, the way they moved, the way they treated him. He found himself getting drawn further and further in with each smile and story. Each time (Y/n) chuckled, the Corinthian felt something pull at his chest.

Yearning. Wanting. New feelings for him. Not that he was upset.

He started moving closer and closer. Testing the waters.

But every time he tried, (Y/n) seemed to escape it by mere moments.

He tried to grab their hand once. Almost as soon as his skin brushed theirs, (Y/n)'s hand shot away to point at something.

There was another time when (Y/n) was standing there and looking at some grand view. The Corinthian stepped forward, prepared to pull them closer to him. He felt some need to have them as close as possible.

(Y/n) turned toward him excitedly, not paying mind to his intentions as they rambled about the land surrounding them.

The Corinthian struggled to hold back his frustration.

He started to think that (Y/n) was simply clueless.

There was a time when the Corinthian got close enough for (Y/n) to feel his breath. He almost threw all caution to the wind to kiss (Y/n) on the neck. They turned their head when a noise rang out. The Corinthian stepped back, grumbling under his breath.

He felt like he was being taunted.

And it was driving him mad.

There was only so long he could sit in that state before he finally decided to take matters into his own hands.

He knew that getting to the waking world wasn't an exact science, but he had learned enough about (Y/n) to know how to find them once he got there.

In (Y/n)'s mind, the Corinthian simply disappeared.

In the Corinthian's mind, the two of them were closer than they had ever been before.

(Y/n) would be lying if they said that they hadn't missed seeing the Corinthian in their dreams.

He had become a sense of stability in their life when they felt like they had none. Not being able to see him hurt. They just wanted the person they cared for to come back to them.

One night, (Y/n) had curled up on the couch to watch a movie when there was a knock on the door.

Their eyebrows furrowed as they looked over at the clock. It was late. Too late for sudden visitors.

They tossed their blanket on the couch before walking over to the door. They looked through the peephole.

The air shifted around them.

(Y/n) stepped away from the door as they saw who was on the other side.

That was impossible.

There was no way.

That man was someone that they had dreamed up. Some product of their subconsciousness. Probably the manifestation of longing for affection or attention or something. There was no physical way that such a man could be at their door.

No.

There was another knock.

Maybe (Y/n) had officially lost it. Maybe that's why this was all happening. Yeah. That would make more sense than any other solution. Occam's Razor.

"Darling..."

His voice was taunting them. Like a siren drawing sailors to the rocky shore. It couldn't be real. It couldn't.

"I'm trying to be polite, darling," he continued. "Open the door."

Against what may have been (Y/n)'s better judgment, they stepped forward and pulled the door open.

Waiting for them was the Corinthian's smiling face. He seemed so proud of himself. (Y/n) couldn't tell what he was so proud of. Was it getting to the real world? Finding (Y/n)?

"I have been waiting for this," he said. It was meant more for himself than it was for (Y/n). "What's that face for? Not happy to see me?"

(Y/n) blinked a few times. It felt like their brain had to do some kind of manual reboot.

"More shocked than anything," they finally muttered. "How... How are real? You... I thought my mind created you."

"Afraid not," he shrugged at them.

(Y/n) stepped back as he walked forward. He walked into their living room like he had been there a million times before. He took a deep breath like he was adjusting to the space.

(Y/n) slowly closed the door, still watching him.

The Corinthian caught them staring.

He took slow steps over to them, giving them every chance to run away from him. They didn't. They stayed perfectly still and watched him walk over.

He stopped just in front of them.

His hand moved up and touched the side of their face. (Y/n) felt like an idiot when their breath hitched at the touch.

"Feels pretty real, doesn't it, darling," he asked quietly.

(Y/n) nodded slowly. "Who... What are you?"

He shushed them. "We can talk about that later."

There wasn't another word exchanged between them before he leaned forward and pressed his lips to (Y/n)'s.

(Y/n) let out a sigh as they kissed him back. He smiled against their lips as he tried to pull them even closer than they already were. There was a sense of pride blooming in his chest.

He won their little game.

(Y/n) was his reward. A reward that he wasn't going to let go of any time soon.

----------------------

Navigation Guide

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

[dino-cattivo]

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: The Corinthian & Dream of the Endless | Morpheus Characters: Death of the Endless, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, The Corinthian (Sandman) Additional Tags: POV The Corinthian (The Sandman), The Corinthian is His Own Warning (The Sandman), the corinthian needs a hug, Kidnapping, Torture, Angst, So much angst, be warned, Pain, Blood and Injury, Blood, Teeth, Crying, Protective Dream of the Endless, Hurt Corinthian, Mild Sexual Content, it's Cory, he gives his target a blowjob, Blow Jobs, Dream of the Endless│Morpheus Needs a Hug, Protective The Corinthian (The Sandman), Hugs, Platonic Cuddling, Dream of the Endless being a good dad, Killing, it's cory what did you expect, Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort Summary:

After a fight with Dream the Corinthian storms off in anger. From there, his day only gets worse until he is desperately in need of saving.

I know I have other things to write, but this is to blame at the Dreamling discord server that keeps feeding me ideas.

Hey people I finished a little thing focused on the Corinthian if anyone is interested. It is angsty as usual.

[phantomstatistician]

Fandom: The Sandman (comics vs TV show)

Sample Size: 1,301 (comics); 4,048 (TV show)

Source: AO3

NOTE: Do not compare colors between charts

[mr-sadman]

Mr. Sadman presents : A Corinthian Celebration!

Welcome lovelies!! We hope that you join us for this weekend celebration, from July 12th to July 14th, all around our favourite teeth-eyed nightmare! 

Our stance on plagiarism and AI 

We do not accept nor condone the use of plagiarism, including the use of AI, whether in writing or art. If you are caught using either, you will be disqualified from the current event and barred entry for the other events the Mr. Sadman team puts forward.

Disclaimer : all images used in our graphics come from the Unsplash Archive (https://unsplash.com/about) which are free to use

General Rules and Information

Being a server member, while strongly advised, is not mandatory for this event. Our AO3 collection will be entirely open and unmoderated for everyone to post. We will be accepting late submissions, so fear not if you don’t have time to post everything you wanted to post! Additional events, such as watch-parties, fic read-alongs and game nights, will be held on the server.

The official tags for this year’s edition are : #A Corinthian Celebration and #A Corinthian Celebration 2024

For reblogging purposes, make sure your tumblr blog is visible in searches and don’t be shy to tag our account (mr-sadman)! Unfortunately, despite our vigilance, some posts can evade our attention, if that’s the case, please DM us and we will rectify the situation.

Official AO3 Collection : A Corinthian Celebration 2024 [link]

If you are under the age of 18, you will not be able to create explicit content for the event. Just to reiterate, Mr. Sadman is a 16+ server.

The Mr. Sadman Modteam is a firm believer of “ship and let ship” as well as the kinktomato (https://fanlore.org/wiki/Kinktomato). In accordance with the Server’s existing rules, we will not tolerate any discrimination and harassment in any forms whatsoever. This includes: queerphobia, homophobia, racism, content policing, hate speech, doxxing, shaming, etc, as well as hostility towards organisers and fellow participants. 

Since the event is a few weeks away, what can I do now?

Spread the word and the joy! We have decided to post the prompts early to give more time for people to get creative!

Without further ado here is this year’s prompt list : 

Friday 12th

Truth Serum

Corrupted

One Night Stand

Saturday 13th

Vampires & Werewolves

Starlight

Cybersex

Sunday 14th

Courting

There was only one bed

Bondage

FAQs/TLDR

FAQs : 

When is the event ? From July 12th to July 14th! While you should post the prompt for each day it is associated with, we will also be accepting late submissions, so have no worry!

Can I combine prompts? YES!! Be sure to indicate which days and prompts you are using in your description, otherwise, go free! You can post on either days associated with your prompts, or, if it’s a multipart work, on each corresponding day!

Is there any content restriction ? We accept all  works of all mediums - writing, art, collages, playlists, podfics, translations, video edits, etc. - , whether they are SFW, NSFW and/or triggering. Writers and artists- tag appropriately ; Readers and viewers - be mindful of tags!

Where should I post my work ? Anywhere from Tumblr or AO3!! We have accounts on both platforms and we also have an AO3 collection : A Corinthian Celebration 2024 [link]!

What tag should I use for visibility ? We recommend using both #A Corinthian Celbration and #A Corinthian Celebration 2024 as well as tag our account (mr-sadman) ! We will try our best to reblog every entry but if you see that we haven’t reblogged/retweeted your post yet, don’t be afraid to DM us! Make sure your blog settings are set so that your posts appear in searches - otherwise we might not see them!

Are polyamorous ships accepted ? Yes!! The more the merrier!

Are xReader / xOC works accepted? Yes!!!

Do I need to be a part of the server to participate? Absolutely not! This Corinthian Celebration is open to all! Although some additional events (such as a watch party, game nights and fic read-alongs) will be held on the server, submissions do not need to come from server members only!!

I need help, how do I reach a mod?

If there is something that is not covered by our rules masterpost and/or FAQ, you are very free to reach out to us in the Discord server’s dedicated channel or in Tumblr DMs! 

[peaxhxhair]

Hi!! I saw your requests were open so I was wondering if you could write a Corinthian x gender neutral!reader, inspired by that “your beauty never ever scared me” part from Mary on a Cross. Maybe when Corithian finally shows reader his eyes? Or he’s just feeling insecure about what reader’s gonna think of him.

A/n: AHHHH Thank you for requesting this!! It's been so long since I've written for Corinthian so this could be a little shaky but THANK YOU 💜

-

Pairing: Corinthian x Gn!Reader

Warnings: Teeth for eyes??? Mentions of murder, death, etc. Corinthian should probably have his own warning 👍

Navigation

The Sandman - MASTER LIST

Kofi <3

“Why is there never anything on…” You complain as you flick through the channels on your TV. It was a quiet day at home for you - finally getting a day off of work after so long.

Your day has been quiet. Too quiet actually. There was rarely a moment like this in your apartment, since your boyfriend was usually crashing around - making loads of noise. Though, he was out doing something - leaving you alone all day.

Just as you begin to question his whereabouts, he storms through the front door, disappearing into another room. It was rare that he ever avoided you when he came home, so you knew that something must have happened.

“Cori, are you alright?” You call, discarding the remote onto the couch as you stand up. You could hear him grumbling from the bathroom, his voice echoing off of the walls.

The door is locked, so you knock. “You okay?” He doesn’t answer, but you can hear him picking up what sounds like glass. Did he break something? It wasn’t the first time either of you had broken the bathroom mirror. “You’re not hurt are you?” You ask again.

This time, he actually responds. “Broke my glasses” he says, his voice slightly quieter than normal - less confident. Your shoulders relax, glad that he hadn't injured himself somehow.

“We can get you another pair” You say, although slightly confused as to why that was a big deal. You knew he had multiple pairs of those round blackout glasses. He keeps them on his nightstand.

You were aware of his reluctance to take them off around you - or around anyone really. He had never shown his eyes to you. Not that you care, you’re just confused by how he sleeps with glasses on.

“Right…” He mutters, and you can imagine how he’s stood - hands on either side of the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. “Do you think I’m ugly?” He asks - hesitant. His words were confusing to you. Not once since you had met him had he ever seen himself as ugly - his looks were definitely something he was most confident about.

“Why would I think that, baby?” You ask, and the door clicks as he unlocks it. You felt that was a sign that you were being let in, so you pushed open the door.

His face was the first thing you saw when the door opened - reflected through the mirror. His eyes were…well they weren’t eyes at all, but teeth. Although it was a little creaky at first, you weren’t scared. No, you could never be scared of him. He just looked so nervous about showing you, and what you would say.

“You think so now?” He whispers, turning his face away so that you couldn’t see it at all.

“Babe, you could have no skin and I’d still think you’re beautiful” The words come out in a breathless chuckle - actually surprised you’d have to reassure him like this. You take his face into your hands, making him look at you. He seems unsure of your words, like he didn't believe you.

“You’re not scared of me now?” You’ve never heard him sound so reluctant - like everything would fall apart in his hands if he said the wrong thing.

“Never. You’re beautiful, and You’re never gonna scare me. You hear me?” You say, grinning at him as a smile grows on his face. He leans over to kiss you, and you’re quick to kiss him back - grateful that he shared every part of him with you.

[mrsdesade]

Master Post

Hello hello! I'm Crimson, she/they, 27y/o! Freelance artist, writer for passion and a proud parent of a lot of OCs. I felt brave and started posting fandoms stuff transforming this profile to art only on art and silly writing about my hyperfixations! (currently: Loki/the Corinthian/Homelander) Don't be shy, send DMs and requests, I love talking with new people, this profile is a safe space!

Masterlink with all infos and social. KoFi for merch & KoFi for comms. #artwork for drawings #mypost for writings and fics #adminpic for face reveal

Loki (MCU)

My precious

Coming home

Peace of Mind

God of Stories

Texting with Loki

The Throne of Time

God of the Multiverse

Mischievous goddess

Strange creatures with soft fur

Golden frames and watercolor

Silly date with the God of Mischief

Loki (1 character x 10 songs x 10 headcanons)

The Corinthian (Sandman)

First meeting with The Nightmare

Home

Cosmic anomalies

The Corinthian (1 character x 10 songs x 10 headcanons)

Homelander (The Boys)

Control

Afterparty

The fire inside

Shattered glasses

I can fly, you can't

Pretty golden cage

Power looks good on you

Homelander's bloody passion headcanons

Homelander's obsessive behaviors headcanons

Fandoms OCs

Info post 🤍 (all 4 characters)

Ophera backstory (The Boys)

Ophera face claim (The Boys)

Ophera character sheet (The Boys)

Ophera official soundtrack (The Boys)

[lis-likes-fics]

corinthian drabble

tw: none... 1.3k words.

"I'm back!"

The Corinthian walked into the small apartment, ready to be greeted by his little human after a long day running errands. As he set his things down on the nearest counter, he paused and looked around when he caught no sight of your body rushing toward him.

Strange, you never failed to greet him with a face-splitting grin.

He glanced around the apartment, which was eerily quiet. Surely not. But he had to be sure.

"Baby?" he called again, eyes shifting to take in the still apartment. He clenched his jaw when he was met with more silence, reaching underneath his jacket to grasp the hilt of his sleek dagger. He drew it carefully and continued to survey the area. The apartment was in no more mess than usual, just a slight disarray that normally lay around the house.

He inched toward the bedroom door, raising his hand and tapping to knuckles against the wood. "Sweetheart," he called with a gentle voice.

At last, he heard a shuffling behind the door, and then a tiny sniffle to prove signs of life. He tried the knob, turning it to open the door and finding it locked.

He smiled largely at the prospect of a locked door keeping him out. He shook his head, "Sweetheart, please open the door."

There was a moment of silence before you finally spoke, "No."

He licked his lips as she sheathed his dagger again, letting out a soft, long breath. "Either you open the door and let me in, or I tear it out of the wall. Your choice."

More silence. Then a tiny click.

He turned the handle and opened the door to reveal his girl sitting on the bed in the small room. He smiled at first, but then he took in the way you hunched over yourself, curled up with your face buried in your arms.

The first thought that passed through the Corinthian's mind as anger flared within him was to find out what happened so he could punish the one responsible. But upon further analysis, he surmised that it would be best to comfort you first.

"Oh, my little dream," he breathed before walking over to you, closing the door behind him gently. You felt the bed dip under the weight of him as he sat next to you. Your body fell into his side involuntarily, but you found yourself melting into him either way. Still, you buried your head in your knees.

"Tell me what's wrong."

You shook your head. "Nothing, I'm fine," you mumbled, sniffling again. "I'm overreacting, it's not that bad."

He sighed, that's just no good. He threw an arm over your shoulder and stroked his thumb over the skin of your arm. "Tell me why you're upset, sweetheart. I won't be upset with you. Your feelings are entirely real."

You sniffled again before finally allowing yourself to peer up at him over your arms. His reassuring smile faltered for a moment as he took in your tear-stained face, eyes full of tears that glittered before they fell over your cheeks. He clenched his jaw at the idea of someone making you cry. Before he could allow his rage to bleed through, he replaced his smile and turned to face you easier. He raised his hands to cup your face, pulling you close to press his lips to your forehead.

"Tell me what's wrong," he reiterated.

Your breath stuttered as your lips parted, "It's nothing."

He raised a brow at you, retrieving his handkerchief from his back pocket and folding it over his finger.

You sighed, closing your eyes momentarily as he gently stroked your chin with the cloth to wipe away the tears, each little movement filled with care and love as he took care of you.

"It's been a long day," you began. He hummed as he listened intently, clinging to every little word. "Everything was fine when I got to work. I was a little early, I had time to chat with some of my friends, I had breakfast. Then my shift started, while I was carrying out coffee to a table, I spilled it all over me and I burned myself. I had to go change, and then I slipped on some food this kid dropped. I got yelled at by a customer because he burned himself on the hot plate. I was setting it down, I told him it was hot, but he grabbed it anyway. I switched up orders, I slipped again. And then it started raining when I started walking home."

Your rant came to an abrupt stop as a mix of a gasp and a sob caught in your throat. You moved your head from his hands and buried it in your arms again to shield yourself.

The Corinthian's heart ached for you as he heard your gentle cries. He took in a slow breath and began to unfold your arms and your legs, making way to move you into his lap as he made you wrap yourself around him.

Your arms crossed tightly behind his back, your legs securing you closely. You buried your face in his chest, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his cologne as he held you close. He sat and held you there for a while, allowing you to let out all the emotions wracking through you patiently.

His hand stroked your back, easing and soothing you. When your sobs were little more than hitching breaths, he spoke again. "Do you want to hear a little secret?"

You looked up at him, resting your chin on his chest. You nodded, his heart soared.

"Nightmares can cry, too," he admitted. Your curious eyes watched him. He raised a hand and stroked his thumb over your cheeks again, gently wiping away your tears. "Do you want to know the last time I cried?"

Another gentle nod. His brows bounced, smoothing the pad of his thumb over the apple of your cheek as it brushed closer to your bottom eyelid.

"Last night, while you were asleep," he confessed. He sighed gently, cupping your face again. "I was thinking about how lucky I'd been to have you," he said. "A nightmare like me doesn't deserve a dream like you, yet here we are. Crazy, right?"

A tiny chuckle bubbled from your throat and he smiled wide at the magical sound. The nail of his thumb brushed against your bottom lashes as his finger stroked dangerously close to your eye. With slow movements, he wiped away the last of your tears with admiring eyes.

You raised a slow hand to cup the side of his cheek. He leaned into your palm, feeling the heart radiating off of it. You slowly slipped the glasses from his face, revealing two closed eyes. You sighed gently, brushing the pads of your own thumbs over the lids.

After a moment of hesitation, he opened them. You smiled at his little mouth, the strange teeth you had grown to love, accepting as part of his beauty. And he was beautiful.

"I love you," you whispered.

And then, you could see the evidence of his words. His lips spread into a smile, and you watched a single tear seep between his teeth and slide down his cheek.

You caught it with your finger, before leaning in and pressing your lips to his. Your eyes fluttered shut as you tasted his sweet lips, his pillowy mouth was like heaven against your own. His hand pressed against your cheek again as he pulled you closer, possessively gripping you without betraying his care.

"I love you, too," he whispered against your lips.

You bit your bottom lip thoughtfully, pulling away to look up at him. "Thank you," your voice was almost silent, "for making me feel better."

His heart soared. "Always."

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[undiscovered-horizon]

Hiii. May I request a Corinthian x Immortal Reader if it’s no trouble? Where reader was made immortal two or three thousand years ago and caught Corinthian’s interest when he had to give her a nightmare. Since then, it’s a game of cat and mouse as Corinthian became obsessed with her but reader kept running away from him. Thank you!

[MASTERLIST] | [Sandman-inspired playlist]

As many unbelievable stories do, this one also started with a dream: a dark alley, a blinking neon sign belonging to a run-down motel, steam from the subway erupting from underneath the drains, a smell of gasoline and old trash, a sound of distant motors.

You felt the hair on your neck standing up but no matter how frantically you looked around, the alley was unchangeably deserted. Shoving your hands further into the pockets of your beige macintosh, you marched on. In a minute you were going to be out of this unsettling narrow street and basking in the blinking, purple neon sign that once read BLUE IVY MOTEL (a more up-to-date version would be LE IV OTE, whatever that could mean).

Suddenly, you felt your head hit the grimy bricks between two trash containers. A painful ringing in your ears rendered you deaf for a moment. Your eyes wandered, a glossy look at the blurry world could not provide you with any information. Something definitely hit you and each second you didn't know what exactly did so, making your sweat only colder, your heartbeat quicker.

From the echoing ring in your head, a muffled voice emerged as if from far away: "I promise I'll be quick."

Forcing your mind to focus as much as it physically could in your state, you made out a silhouette of a man: tall, lean, confident. The distant blinking of the broken neon sign reflected off of something he was holding - long, thin, sharp edge...

"I'm too old for this shit," you murmured more to yourself than him.

With a clearly experienced punch to his wrist, you made the man drop the knife. The blade clattered against the wet, dirty pavement. The stranger appeared surprised at your skills, clearly having expected you to be nothing short of defenceless. When you had been alive for a good few thousand years, you're bound to pick up a thing or two, even if you’re not explicitly trying. Taking advantage of the confusion, you frantically shoved the man away and tun towards the blinking neon sign LE IV OTE.

A smile appeared on Corinthian’s face: you challenged him and that was something that happened quite rarely to him, if ever. His duty was only to scare you a little, live up to the title of a Nightmare, but by fulfilling his responsibility, he had found something a lot more interesting. Your fighting spirit was impressively vicious - more so than in other humans he had the honour to haunt in their dreams. Nevertheless, Corinthian had failed his one objective. Usually, such a course of events would frustrate him but now, there was a certain excitement inside him. Yes, actually, why should he catch the rabbit if he could chase it? And the rabbit, it’s bound to grow weary one day, isn’t it? He took in a deep inhale at the thought of that fateful moment: you’d be panting and staring at him with big, frightened eyes; begging him to spare your life, to leave you unscathed for whatever reason. There’d be no more strength in you to fight back when he slowly sinks his teeth into your neck. When your skin breaks, he’d ravish the ichor running through your veins.

Corinthian also pondered your words - too old? If he was asked to estimate your age, considering he had been alive for long long centuries, he’d say you were a child. But children don’t look evil in the eye with an impatient grimace; children do not snarl their teeth when trapped in a corner. But you did.

"I'll catch you," he sang under his nose, although you had been long gone by the time. A low chuckle left his lips - the hunt had just begun.



Things only became stranger since that night. Whenever you slept, no matter what horrors and marvels your dreams presented, he was there. Not always coming at you, sometimes he was part of the background, a silent voyeur you noticed only after waking up while recounting the nighttime fantasy. On other occasions, you were thrown into a frenzy trying to run away from him but no matter how fast you were going, he was right behind you, strolling only a few steps from your back. What made this whole game of tag even more disturbing, was that he never made any demands, never actually threatened you, just stalked. A glistening, thin blade in his hand.

But this nightmare had an odd affliction for becoming worse as time went by: from night terrors, the man in the sandy jacket flashed during your wakefulness as though this character had become so imprinted into your imagination, it seeped into your reality. In those short moments when the line between life and death is incredibly thin, between blinks and breaths, you saw him out of the corner of your eye. Watching. Waiting. Crawling towards you.



Your stalker seemed to disappear when you had travelled a few towns over - seeing that same sandy jacket around each corner of your hometown made you feel exposed, naked, as though there wasn’t a corner dark enough for you to hide in. Going on a trip to the middle of nowhere was desperate, there was no lying about that, but it was also very reckless: should the blade-wielding stranger find you again, how do you navigate your escape through streets you had never seen before? A rabbit willingly strolled into the lion’s den, it seemed.

The wind was cold as you were strolling through the deserted roads. Not a familiar face in sight - how surprisingly nice this felt. You were walking through the labyrinth of uncharted streets, busy with your wandering thoughts when a wraith of deja-vu breathed down your neck.

A cold shiver run down your spine as you recognized the noir-esque environment: a dark alley, a blinking neon sign belonging to a run-down motel, steam from the subway erupting from underneath the drains, a smell of gasoline and old trash, a sound of distant motors. Only this time, this wasn't a dream - you were sure of that.

Your back hit the bricks. The strong hand that had pushed you moved away from your shoulder. Opening your eyes, a leaded dread blossomed in your abdomen: a sandy jacket.

Corinthian leaned on his hand which was just next to your head, trapping you between himself and a trash container. Your heartbeat quickened as you felt his body against yours, pushing you further into the grimy brick wall behind you. Trying to calm your breathing down, your lungs were filled with the overpowering smell of musky cologne and a faint aroma of cleaning detergent. The cold blade grazing the skin of your cheek made you shiver - you were left disillusioned that if he did want to kill you, you wouldn't be here, alive. But such observation only complicated this strange game of cat and mouse (or perhaps rabbit and wolf? A lion?).

A humourless scoff left your mouth. With a slight shake of your head, you asked him: "Why do you keep chasing me?"

"Why do you keep running away?" he retorted in a quiet, raspy voice. His warm, surprisingly minty taking into account he's not of this realm, breath brushed against your cold cheeks.

"There's a guy with a knife who hunts me in my sleep.” You did your best to remain calm but the lack of distance between him and you made you unable to stay collected in the slightest manner. “I find it quite fitting to try and get away from him."

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. Corinthian leaned in even closer, his lips almost touching your ear. You squirmed and he only continued laughing. "Come on, you can't have fun without at least a little bit of danger."

You moved your face away from his but that only caused the cold blade to put more tension against your cheek. "I don't find it fun or exciting to run for my life.”

"Then don't. Stop escaping and face the big bad wolf." You were fairly sure he was making fun of you but with a cold, sharp blade against your cheek, you couldn’t care less.

"I'll consider that once he puts the knife away."

He stared at you for a moment before he leaned away and slowly pulled away the knife from your skin. Closely watching his hand, you grabbed his forearm the moment he turned the blade away from you and towards himself to put it back into the harness underneath his jacket. With only static of panic narrating your thoughts, you drove the knife into Corinthian’s chest. He stumbled backwards and you run once again, never looking back. Dirty puddle water splashed on your light macintosh as you were mindlessly sprinting away from the Nightmare.

Corinthian watched you disappear around the corner. He didn't run after you, no, he simply stood there - a devilish grin on his face, the tip of the tongue darting between his teeth. Not a wince was seen in his playful expression as he pulled the knife out of his ribs. Great, the sweater was ruined…

If he was just a man, he'd lose all hope of ever crossing paths with you again but he was a hunter, a wolf - a beast born to stop pursuit only when their prey is bleeding out with his canine teeth sunk deep into your skin, devouring your desperation and submission.And the wolf... it only needs to find you once.

[seiya-starsniper]

There were so many good ones to choose from! But here we go!

'A puts a blade by B's throat, be it seriously or as a joke/teasing. B's reaction is…enthusiastic.'

(Maybe Corintheus? I love how your mind works so anything you're inspired to write will be amazing!! Though as a potential premise I was struck by the idea of Dream holding a knife to the Corinthian's throat. Maybe even one of the Corinthian's own knives.)

I AM IN LOVE WITH THIS IMAGE IT'S HAPPENING APSODAODKADOPAKDKOAD

I have written so much porn these last few days, what a way to celebrate my birthday, thanks so much for the prompts ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

-----------------------------------------------

“You,” Dream of the Endless growls as he pins the Corinthian down to the silken sheets, the nightmare’s own dagger pressed at the edge of his throat, “are not supposed to be here, little dream.” 

The Corinthian barks a laugh as thin black ropes appear from the bedposts, wrapping themselves around his wrists and tying him down.

“Then maybe you should’ve hidden this place better,” he says, darting his eyes around the room to take in his surroundings. It had taken him a long time to find Dream’s private quarters in the Dreaming, and they looked pretty much as he’d imagined them. The walls were barren of color or any sort of personal touch, and other than the bed, the only piece of furniture decorating the room was a single, black, slatback chair. There wasn’t even a rug on the floor. Even the bed, soft as it was beneath the Corinthian’s back, was plain and dull. 

“All the imagination in the world, and you dream up the world’s most boring bedroom for yourself,” the Corinthian complains, grinning when he feels the knife on his throat press closer, cutting into his skin. He doesn’t bleed, not here, not in this nothingness where Dream thinks he can escape and hide from the messiness of the universe. But the Corinthian doesn’t need to bleed in order to feel pain.

“This place,” Dream says, narrowing his eyes, “is meant to be a reprieve from my duties. It is meant to be a peaceful space, so it is sparse on purpose. You, my little nightmare, are not peaceful, nor are you a reprieve, so you must leave. Now.”

“I could be,” the Corinthian replies, prompting a noise of confusion from his creator. “A reprieve that is,” he adds, trailing his eyes along the opening in Dream’s star-lined robe. It had fallen open in their scuffle, exposing the moonlight pale expanse of Dream’s neck and chest. His skin is immaculate and unmarked, and the Corinthian wants to put his teeth all over it. 

When the Corinthian has had his fill and meets his creator’s eyes again, Dream's eyes are no longer pale and blue, but darkened to that pitch black shade the Corinthian both loves and fears. There's no pupil there in those depthless eyes, only stars that hold the weight of the entire universe within them.

The Corinthian is so hard, he’s certain he could hammer nails. He knows that Dream knows it too.

After a few moments of charged silence between them, the knife is removed from his neck in favor of cutting away at the Corinthian's clothes. They both know that Dream could wave them away in an instant, but Dream seems to find some enjoyment in destroying something of the Corinthian’s with his own tools.

“Be still,” Dream commands when the nightmare squirms, pushing against his bonds. The Corinthian cannot help it. He wants to feel more than just the light kiss of a blade, and Dream seems intent on teasing him to death. He stills his body anyways, and waits as the seconds pass agonizingly by. It feels like an eternity passes before he is entirely naked, for Dream also focused on popping off every button from each garment with the Corinthian’s dagger. The Corinthian has a mad thought during it all to switch all of his future clothing to t-shirts and sweatpants.   

The last thing to be removed are the Corinthian's glasses, and Dream places them gingerly along a newly appeared side table. It is a surprisingly soft gesture, considering everything that would soon come after. 

Dream discards his robe, and it disappears into the ether of the room, leaving the Endless completely naked. Though he is hard, Dream’s cock isn’t leaking with need like the Corinthian’s is, and it make the nightmare want to put his mouth on it, to make a mess of it, to make a mess of Dream.

Dream smirks down at the Corinthian, as if reading his mind. He probably did. 

“Show me, then, little nightmare,” Dream murmurs, as he crawls up the Corinthian’s body, placing his knees on either side of the blond’s head. He positions the tip of his cock right at the Corinthian’s lips. “Show me how much of a reprieve your mouth can be.”

The Corinthian grins, before he parts his lips to take the tip of Dream’s cock inside. He sucks lightly at first, with small kitten licks, and shallow movements, trying to see how much teasing he can get away with. Then, in one abrupt motion, Dream thrusts his cock all the way to the back of the Corinthian’s throat.

It's brutal and unyielding the way Dream uses him, uncaring of whether the Corinthian can take it or not. He can, of course. The Corinthian knows how to swallow cock without gagging but he has a feeling that Dream wants him to gag, so that's precisely what he does. He swallows just a little too tightly, letting Dream hit all of the sensitive spots he’d normally try to avoid. Soon the Corinthian’s face is a drooling, crying mess, a mix of bloodied tears and saliva and the slick from Dream’s cock. 

The Corinthian can feel his own cock bouncing uselessly against his stomach, untouched and completely ignored in favor of his lord's pleasure. The thought makes the nightmare moan around the cock in his mouth which in turn elicits a growl and an especially deep thrust from Dream. 

Then Dream braves his hands against the wall and changes the angle of his thrusts. The Corinthian is practically choking now with each thrust and he cannot do anything about it. It feels so good to be used like this, to be nothing more than an instrument for his lord's pleasure, a reprieve from his duties as Lord of the Dreaming. It is yet another thing that makes him better than the other dreams and nightmares, another thing that makes him the favorite. 

The Corinthian can tell when Dream is getting close to orgasm. His movements become less sharp and unfocused, even as the brutality of the thrusts into his throat remain. He hollows out his cheeks and swallows down Dream’s cock, expecting the Endless to come down his throat.

He doesn't.

Instead, Dream pulls his cock out just as abruptly as he'd pushed it in earlier, and then he is spilling his release in thick, warm ropes all over the Corinthian’s face. The Corinthian can taste Dream’s spend in all three of his mouths, his ocular ones seeming particularly keen at licking it up. Dream watches as the Corinthian licks up the come closest to his mouth, then drags a finger through the mess of fluids pooling at the Corinthian’s cheek.

“My precious nightmare,” Dream coos, leaning in to lick up the rest of the mess of the nightmare’s face. The Corinthian purrs underneath the attention, nuzzling unashamedly into Dream’s face. 

“Was that a sufficient reprieve for you, my lord?” the nightmare asks cheekily, chuckling when Dream rolls his eyes in response.

“For now,” Dream says, flopped down next to the nightmare. “You may stay,” he adds, as if the Corinthian can even leave. He’s still bound to the bedposts, and at some point during their activities, Dream had bound his feet as well. He still hasn’t come either. 

It’s still a win as far as the Corinthian is concerned.

[teejaystumbles]

The gang at the Oscars - for the new chapter 22 of Fuckboi Dream Was Forced To Experience The Mortifying Ordeal Of Being Alive And All He Got Was This Stupid Husband (by Fall Out Boy) by @dancinbutterfly

I had fun with these although drawing clothes isn't really my thing lol! <3

[godspeedviper]

More Than Meets The Eye - The Corinthian Kinktober (+18)

𖤐 Kinktober Prompt: Dacryphilia

𖤐 Synopsis: Eyes are not the only treat The Corinthian enjoys.

𖤐 Word Count: 385

𖤐 Rating: Mature || The Corithian is his own warning || Gore

  Everyone knew that the killer (or killers) behind The Corinthian moniker took the eyes of their victims as trophies, but what the public didn’t know was that this was not the only trophy that The Corinthian won. 

  No, in fact, The Corinthian enjoyed everything about the hunt. From selecting a victim, to luring them in, toying with them, and savoring the final moments before the kill. He looked for faces as much as he looked for eyes. He liked a good crier, a pretty boy, and ultimately, a pliable body. Even the strongest men melted like putty under the power of his charm and the promise of a quick fuck. 

  Once he had selected a lamb – a victim – The Corinthian puffed them up with flattery and drinks. This was the most laborious part, playing dumb whilst simultaneously keeping all senses alert and sharp. Behind dark shades his teeth tore through his victim’s mannerisms, each reaction only feeding The Corinthian’s small mouths more and more information, chipping away at their defenses. A little flattery here, a few leading questions there, until they were practically running into the slaughterhouse of his embrace. 

  Tonight, a luxury hotel room served as his abattoir. The Corinthian tied up his little lamb like a chef preparing a succulent roast. He peppered their skin with kisses, working them up into a frenzy, then and only then would he pull out the knife. This was where the real fun began. Tears welled up in his victim’s gaze, marinating their eyes in a salty medley of fear, regret, anger and desperation. The Corinthian gently cupped his victim’s fearful face in his hands, rubbing his thumb against their cheeks in a mockery of comfort. 

“Shh shh… There there now.” He cooed, giving his victim one last patronizing pat on the cheek before reaching one hand up to remove his sunglasses and reveal his true nature. 

  A shriek of terror died in his victim’s throat, choked out by the sheer terror which gripped them in the face of three hungry mouths. The Corinthian leaned into their face, and used his eye-mouths to drink in the stream of tears flowing down his victim’s cheeks. Oh!

He could get drunk off the power alone. 

“You’re so beautiful when you cry.” He said, before going in for the kill. 

Ao3 || Kinktober List || Ko-Fi

[ealeczander]

Imma expose myself here but my favourite ship of all time is a horny, bratty, downright psychotic (sometimes serial killer) sub and his calm (way more capable and smart) dom

[honey-im-hotdog]

Make Me Melt 

Ty Shaw x reader

Author’s Note: Look this is short, I know. BUt there is nothing, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, for this man and I have to change that damnit! He deserves better, this sweet angel baby! I hope you enjoy! 

As always, reader is supposed to be gn+vague, so if you catch any mistakes related to that please let me know.

Words: 0.7k  

Warnings: pet names (baby, darlin’, and sweetheart); mention of cotton candy; the fair; earrings, but could be read as clip-ons or the pierced kind (and even then the type of earring isn’t specified); fluff, like too much. I think that’s all. 

Summary: A little sweet moment between reader and Ty while they’re on a date at the fair.

Check out my other stuff :)

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“Oh, look!” You grab Ty’s hand and start tugging him along, “C’mon, c'mon!”

He chuckles as you somewhat manhandle him to the booth with handcrafted jewelry. He seriously can’t get over how excited you are—how excited you’ve been all day, honestly. When he had first suggested going to the annual fair for a date, he hadn’t expected you to jump at the idea. And even then he had wrongfully assumed you two would mostly walk around, enjoying the colors and sounds and smells, and the joy radiating throughout the place. Maybe go on the ferris wheel, let him win some stuffed animal for you.

But oh boy, was he way off! If he had been any less enamored with you, he’d probably complain about his hand cramping from how tight you’d squeeze it in excitement. You had nearly bounced in your seat the whole way to the fair since he picked you up; and then squealed every time you saw something you wanted to check out. And to think that you hadn’t even made it to the cotton candy stall yet…

“Ooh. These are so beautiful!” Ty zones out as you converse with the girl manning the stall. He can’t take his eyes off you. The pure joy vibrating off of your body is enough to fill the place single-handedly. He finds the lights and colors reflecting in your wide eyes more beautiful than the actual thing. For the hundredth time that day, Ty asks himself, how did I get so lucky?

He zones back in when you let his hand go to pick up two earrings, one on the daintier side, and the other chunkier.

You hold each one up to your ears and look in the small mirror attached to the stall. “Hmm, they’re both so pretty. I don’t know,” you blink at your reflection. Turning to your boyfriend, you ask him what he thinks.

Ty’s first reaction is to giggle at how serious you look, but then he schools his expression into a faux serious one, with his lips pouting and brows furrowed. He lightly pinches your chin between his thumb and index finger, turning your face this way and that, as he hums. “I like this pair,” he indicates the ones in your right hand.

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh. Frames your face better,” he gives a too-serious nod.

You laugh and pivot back to the girl, handing over the pair he had picked out and putting the other one back. “How much?” you ask as you look down into your tote bag for your wallet. However, when you turn to hand over the money, you notice Ty having paid already.

When you whine out his name, he chuckles and replies with: “Lemme treat ya, baby.”

And god, does the way he says “baby” melt your insides.

Ty throws an arm around your shoulders as you both move on from the booth. You’re still admiring your newest purchase when you feel your boyfriend tug you to a stop. Looking up with a curious expression, you’re met with his brilliant smile.

“Well? C’mon, put ‘em on!”

You smile, a bit bemused, and shrug your shoulders up, “What, now?” He nods in response. You laugh a little as you reply, “Ty, I might need a mirror—”

Before you’re even finished with your sentence, he says, “‘s okay, you got me, darlin’,” like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Your hands, which had been holding up the earrings, fall down to your sides and your shoulders shag, mouth falling open slightly. His words melting you right into a puddle. You lean into him, hiding your face against him, and you whine out his name again, “You can’t just say things like that to me!”

His chuckle vibrates through his chest as he envelopes your shoulders underneath his arms, one hand cupping the back of your head and pulling you tighter into him. “Why not, baby?”

“Because you turn me into goo!” Your hands fist his shirt by his hips and tug him closer. “Stop making me fall deeper in love with you, Tyler!”

You feel his warm breath against your head as he nuzzles you, “No can do, sweetheart.”

[mrsdesade]

I wrote a small paragraph about Lara and the Corinthian, this help me a lot in moments when I'm deeply stressed or sad about something. Don't expect much, it's just fluff 🫶🏻🥹❤️‍🩹

Home;

The morning air, fresh and saturated with the scent of damp earth, filtered through the small kitchen window, creating a muted, enchanting atmosphere. It was the morning after, and they lay in a calm silence full of complicity.

The dawn light, pale and golden, painted the kitchen walls with soft hues, illuminating the details: the rusty stain on the old teapot, the collection of mismatched cups lined up on the shelf, the white cat napping on the windowsill, her white fur seeming to glow.

Lara, wrapped in an old t-shirt with a faded logo, was sitting on the faux-wood countertop by the stove, her legs dangling. She watched her reflection in the window, blurred by condensation. Her sleep-tousled hair framed a serene face marked by a slight blush.

The Nightmare, still bare-chested, approached her, placing his hands on the counter on either side of her body. Finding her skin warm, her presence reassuring. He smiled with an unusual gentleness, a reflection of a peace he never thought he would experience.

"Good morning."

Lara smiled back, resting her forehead against his. Facing each other, they lost themselves in a moment of deep connection. He smiled, immersed in an emotion that Lara couldn't quite decipher. But she didn't care, the peace of that moment was all she needed to be happy.

"Would you like some tea?" she asked, handing him a cup that was a short distance from them.

"Let's pretend I need to eat, but yes, I'd like that." he replied, following her gaze.

Lara made two cups of tea, adding a generous amount of honey. Without ever moving from that ridiculous position, in which she found so much comfort. He continued to watch her, fascinated by the humanity of her every gesture.

When it was ready, they made a delicate toast with the old ceramic cups, and took their time to watch the elegant movements of the smoke that escaped from them. In silence, listening to the purring of the cat, and the distant sound of traffic. The city was slowly waking up, but for a while longer, the world could do without them.

Lara's cat, awakened by their movement, stretched with a long yawn, meowing softly. It approached them, rubbing against the Nightmare's legs, seeking attention.

"Look who's awake." he said amusedly, stroking the cat's head. There was something deeply peaceful in that moment, a sense of calm and well-being that they were both fully savoring.

"Maybe she has a sixth sense for handsome people." he added with a light tone.

"Or maybe she's just hungry." Lara replied, giggling.

They laughed again, enjoying the quiet of the morning and each other's company. The first sunlight streamed through the window, creating patterns of light and shadow on the walls and floor, intertwined with the glow of the Christmas lights Lara kept up year-round.

"I like to think that this is just the beginning of something beautiful."

The Corinthian looked into her eyes through his dark lenses, and in that moment Lara swore she could see something sincere in his gaze. "I really hope so." he replied, simply.

They hugged each other again, holding on tight as if they were afraid to lose each other. Outside the window, the sun began to rise, painting the sky pink and gold.

"I've always loved this place." he said, looking around. "It's quiet, cozy, full of memories."

"It is." Lara agreed. "It's the little piece of paradise I've built for myself in this city, it's not much, but it's all I have."

"It's perfect just the way it is."

The cat at their feet, meowed again, as if to say 'I'm here too'. Lara picked it up and held it close, laughing at how little the cat could tolerate being hugged by two people at once.

"You know, I've never had a place like this. A place where I feel… at home."

"You have it now! You're home with me. You'll always find me here waiting for you." she replied without hesitation, giving him a big hopeful smile.

The Nightmare looked into her eyes, and in that moment, under the morning light, he saw himself reflected in them. An image he never thought he could see: a semblance of humanity, a possibility of normalcy. She would show him the way.

They remained wrapped in a silence thick with promises. While the cat, Maya, tired of so much love, moved away and curled up on the table, watching them with lazy curiosity. The metropolis outside the window moved slowly, but for them, in that small, insignificant corner of the world, time seemed to have stopped.

For a few moments more, the sands of time would be kind to them.

------

Hope you enjoyed this as much I did! Kisses for all of you <3