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lis-likes-fics · 3 months

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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...

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undiscovered-horizon · 1 year

Note

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

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bakerstreethound · 1 year

Text

Nightmare Calling

Relationship: The Corinthian x afab!reader

Warnings: sexual themes, knives and blood, eyes, Corinthinan being an impossibly lovely slut, but slightly soft

Summary: Cori wakes you up causing you to be entangled in bed for hours for some much-needed alone time. Little does he know you have a couple surprises yourself.

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound (Do NOT claim, repost, copy or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Word Count: 1.5k+

A/N: Weeks ago, I had this idea around 3am and jotted it down in my notes. This is my first time writing for The Corinthian so I hope you enjoy, especially @novaracer who has been enabling me to write him. Graphic by @firefly-graphics. Comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!

You feel the cold press of metal along your cheek, though hazy in your sleep you can feel its familiar pressure along your jaw. You try to will your lips into a frown, wondering for a second if the wrong person is in the room. Yet your heart rate remains the same. Silence meets you when you open your eyes, and dawn barely filters into the room illuminating the man....or nightmare sitting at the edge of your bed.

"Took you long enough to wake up, darling" the southern drawl stirring something within you a touch of fear mingled with familiarity, an odd combination. Who would've thought?

You pull him back into bed and he chuckles twirling his knife and gliding his tongue along it before sheathing it. You secretly hoped he would cut his tongue on it before kissing you so you could taste the delightful metallic while being entangled.

"Careful"

"You tried to steal my eyes again didn't you?" You grump burying your face in his neck.

He nipped your neck, tangling his long legs with yours his glasses sliding down to where his eye mouths stared back at you and you find yourself raising your index finger to one of them them.

They respond in kind nipping at your index finger, causing you to groan while Corinthian’s hand rested flat on your back, tugging you closer to him as the eye mouth nipped harder, drawing blood. You sigh in borderline ecstasy. You don’t know how you could resist him.

“You have lovely eyes, such a shame I can’t put them in the jar” He playfully fake bites the air to get his point across. Somehow you found that look supremely electrifying and alluring. Of all the things the Corinthian did, that particular one made your skin crawl in anticipation and delight.

Others would’ve run in fear from him, but despite him being a literal nightmare, his eye mouth teeth clicking in a mixture of excitement or disapproval, it mattered not. You felt comfortable in his presence while running your hands along his chest, gasping when his hands gripped your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he maneuvers himself on top of you, trapping you against him.

You certainly have no complaints, not when his hand caresses your thigh before reaching down to spread your legs apart while he nips your index finger with his mouth, drawing more blood. He groans in delight, sucking on your finger more, utterly consumed by you at the moment.

"I should wake you up like this more often, darling," his accent drawls when he breaks away from his ministrations on your finger, making you shiver as you run your arms along his back.

"You liked waking up with a knife caressing your pretty face, right?"

His scoffing admonishment almost made you roll your eyes but it allowed for the distraction you needed as you responded, "well I was a good sport about it wasn't I? I can't exactly complain nor am I in a position to."

You barely gave him time to register one of his beloved blades now in your hand, tilting up his chin as you rolled on top of him, the tip pointing into his neck just barely, causing a hint of a proud smile to form along his lips.

"Well, what do we have here?" He cocks his head, his smile shifting to a smirk, nonchalant, so easygoing. He fears nothing at this moment, taking absolute delight in your confidence. He likes it more so, when your hand grips his jaw tight, forcing him to look at you intently, feeling the heat between the two of you, almost crackling and searing, begging to be put out.

You mirror his smirk in kind. “What? I thought you liked a little surprise, Cori,” you pout, daring to lick the blade of the knife, his burning gaze not leaving yours, sending your pulse thrumming.

He cocks his head slightly, as much as your grip on his jaw would allow, and chuckles. “There is somethin’ ‘bout ya when you do surprise me, makes me want to teach you a lesson is what.” He lets his accent linger and thicken and it takes all your willpower not to loosen your grip on him but he’s already devouring your lips not giving you a chance to think or calculate your next move.

You groan, consumed by him and the way his hands hold you tight, pulling you against him impossibly tighter the two of you couldn’t have been closer. Each breath you took was in sync, you could feel your erratic heartbeat when you grasped his hair tighter, trying to steady yourself before he’s reaching down to lift your leg around his waist groaning at the impact of being in such proximity to you.

No other being made him feel this manner and he was one well-traveled nightmare. But this…you were intoxicating, the first and last thing he needed a taste of morning, noon and night.

And so he took you, every bit of yourself you had to give and he responded in kind, relishing in the noises you made, his fingers coaxing the most delightful sounds from your parted lips while you clung to him, your head falling back against the pillows, seeking more support. Just like that it’s you and him…almost right on the edge placated red hot full of desire and all consuming need-

When the all too familiar sound of his phone goes off, pinging, then buzzing, you goan half in frustration, half in ecstasy. You couldn’t keep him for long, but you decide to tease him all the same. “Is that your newest eye delivery arriving?” It still doesn’t deter the makeout session, how he leans further on top of you, drowining you in the softness of the mattress.

“We have a couple more minutes to spare, darling.” He swipes his tongue along your lips and you sigh in delight stroking his back gently, rubbing soothing circles along his shoulders.

His phone on the nightstand rings once again, pulling you once more from the throes of bliss. He sighs in annoyance reaching for it as he answers it his mouth forming into an annoyed scowl. You attack his neck in kind, wrapping around behind him leaving gentle little love bites, smirking to yourself when he fights off a groan. And finally after what felt like eons, he set the phone down, leaning back into you.

“What, business already this early? What kind of call is this?” You tease lightly, hoping to lessen the darkening mood that threatened to ruin a blissful morning.

“Unfortunately, an important one,” he replies, resisting falling back into you and your embrace as he maneuvers his long legs off the bed.

You watch him saunter towards his closet, already feeling the dreadful emptiness creeping in. “Can I come with you?”

You reach out to him, willing yourself out of bed and he kissed you deeply, meeting you halfway, your hands running through his hair, tugging the strands hard and gasping when he pins you to the wall.

“That’s a mighty generous to offer to keep an eye on me, but it won't be needed. We can’t have dear old Dream coming after you now, yeah?” He traced his thumb along your lower lip and caressed your jaw in slow smooth circles. “However, I will be needin’ this.” he sheaths one of his beloved knives, the exact one he woke you up with in its holster and leaves it on the chest of drawers next to the closet. “And don’t move just yet.”

He smirked again at the reaction he garners the way you fall into him as he pulls you closer, his breath hot against your neck, whispering nothing but promises for the night if you were patient. Whoever said patience was a virtue was so wrong.

You watch him carefully before he disappears in his closet, and sit on the edge of the bed, not wanting to disobey him, but it was worth it to see what he chose to wear.

The all white ensemble fitted his form perfectly, crafted from the finest silk, draped over him like it was tailored to his very being. Every fine line was smooth, the detailing exquisite. He could be mistaken for an angel, but you knew that was not in his intended nature.

You look him up and down appraising the ensemble. You can’t say you’re not impressed, the nightmare has style and knows how to flaunt it. “You look finer than wine, Corinthian. Might need to unwrap you later.”

A sly smile darkens his features as he grins, looking at you, his eye teeth clicking in anticipation before he dons his signature sunglasses. “Well, I’ll hold you to that promise darling.”

“Also, don’t ruin it before I can get my hands on you.” You smirk, sauntering over to run your hand along the crisp lapel of his suit jacket.

The smile forms into a wolfish grin, his following words punching you right in the gut. “Don’t worry, I intend to.”

******

@bakerstreethound @lilythemadqueen @frostandflamesfanfic @feral-for-strange @novaracer @starks-hero @azu21 @strangelockd @roguelov @dearly-dreaming @starstruck-loner @wint3r-h3art

#the corinthian #corinthian x reader #the corinthian x reader #the corinthian x you #the corinthian imagine #the sandman imagine #look I like a serial killer #whattt oh nooo #he's kinda cute though

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morpheusbaby3 · 1 year

Text

Imagine:

You and Corinthian were excited to see the new Barbie movie, but during a fight with demons, you ended up losing your tickets.

Morpheus notices how quiet and sad you've become like wet kittens. Our Lord decides to create a movie theater and yes, there was the Barbie movie. Desire, Death and Delirium also appeared. Then everyone had a fun movie session. Morpheus decided to give the residents of the Dreaming a break and this resulted in the biggest movie theater imaginable.

(I'm using a translator btw)

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 years

Note

HI!!! Can I make a request for headcanons for a the Corinthian x reader but the reader is sort of like an exorcist/warlock like Johanna Constantine?? :)))

Yeah! Absolutely you can! Also I felt so stupid not knowing that this motherfucker was also the dude who placed Donald Pierce in Logan 🦦

Nightmares has long since became your only company thanks in due to your line of work as an demon exorcising Warlock, sending them back to the depths of hell of which they came from but not without losing some innocent bystanders who believed that they could be of aid to you in the process.

Sure the pay was rewarding but what wasn’t as rewarding was the amount of scars each exorcism left upon your mind, body and soul, causing your sleeping patterns to be out of wack and extremely concerning with the little amount of sleep you’d accumulate when sleep did decide to take pity on you. However upon your first encounter with the man, well…nightmare, who would later become your boyfriend was an unfortunate case of wrong place wrong time as you crossed paths just as he was getting off the high of his latest kill.

Wiping away the blood off of his blade, Corinthian felt as though he wasn’t alone, like he was being gawked at; wanting to see if that was the case, he peered over his shoulder and down the entrance to the alleyway he had taken his victim for more privacy before he took their life -and their eyes- there you stood, eyes darting from the blade in his hand to the dead body on the dirty floor then back up at him. Unfortunately for him, instead of screaming and running away like he expected you to, you merely looked unfazed, de-sensitised to the blood and death presented before you as though you’ve seen it all before in a thousand lifetimes of your lineage. Like you’ve witnessed much worse things to ever be done to a human.

“Ain’t it past your bedtime little one?” He taunts to gauge a reaction, seeing as your expression reminded him too much of a certain dream lords unbothered face a little too much for his linking the longer he looked. “Ain’t it past yours grandpa?” You replied snidely, having heard through certain crowds and news outlets of a ‘Corinthian.’ A murderer who specialises in the taking of his victims eyes and had always managed evaded capture through some mysterious means to kill another day. You didn’t need it spelling out to you that he wasn’t human, considering how dated some of his most notorious kills were compared to this day and age; Sure he had taken the form closest to that of a human being but beneath the pearly white smile and charismatic silver tongue of his, there was a sinister side to him that humanity wasn’t ready for.

Needless to say on that very night you had peaked Corinthian’s interest, which never ended well for anyone who had caught his interest temporarily, while you were determined to avoid future interactions with the nightmare; rightfully suspecting nothing good would come of it. Though it seemed that fate had intentionally placed most of their favour into Corinthian, who was already in the process of preordaining your future encounters ahead of time, confident that his influence had already rooted itself deeply into society into offering up everything he could ever want in exchange for a few choice words of his silver tongue.

So for several weeks and countless encounters later you and Corinthian were past the awkward acquaintance stage and headfirst into the ‘friends who are borderline dating but refuses to make it official because commitment issues’ stage. You playfully flirted through every way possible. Standing closer to the other, shoulders and hands brushing against one another teasingly, longing stares, shared smiles and hushed whispers that ended in bouts of hearty laughter filling the room, leaving others within proximity a little confused as to what your relation to one another was exactly.

Corinthian found himself taking a more protective approach towards you during this period of your friendship, viewing anything and everything as a possibly threat while also making certain that you were as far as one could be from his business with Dream/Morpheus because to the ruler of the Dreaming, you were his ticket to his rouge nightmare and Corinthian didn’t want that for a multitude of reasons; the main one however being the fact that he would be taken from you before he could formally ask you out on a long overdue date you both kept joking about. He also feared that once Morpheus tells you the truth of his origin you would see him how everyone else does and leave him…the only person who didn’t fear him and treated him as an equal.

It was hard on you both to place trust in one another, it was a hefty process to get through but you both managed to emerge from it, grasping onto each other’s hand as if it was your life line and gaining newfound respect for one another. The nightmares that once plagued your mind seemed to dissipate temporarily whenever Corinthian was near so when one night the nightmares gotten to their very worst, you instinctively ran to Corinthian and buried yourself into his chest, grasping onto him tightly with eyes clenched shut. “Woah, hey what’s wrong sugarplum? Is it the nightmares again?” He asked, keeping you against him as he could only hope his presence brings you a sense of comfort. “Not nightmares…memories from my failings as an exorcist.” Your heartbroken words moved the nightmare in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. He hated the fact that you were plagued by the past and the added fact that he couldn’t kill it for you as your source of conflict didn’t have a physical form for him to stab to his hearts content.

“What you want me to do, kill em?” The sound of your broken laughter brought Corinthian peace as he felt you loosen your grip but his only tightened out of instinct that you’d fade from his grasp like sand. “Can I stay here, just for the night Cori?” You asked, somewhat embarrassed at your behaviour, “you make them go away, even if it is for a little while, a little while is all I need because I’m just so damn tiered.” You practically rasped the last part out, burying your tear stricken face back into Corinthian’s chest to muffle your sobs as he hushed you softly before picking you up into his arms and carrying you back to his room; vowing to chase away every nightmare, every bad memory from ever entering you pretty little head.

Pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he tucked the both of you in tightly, taking off his shades but manoeuvring his head so you couldn’t see the empty sockets of where his eyes should be, haven’t yet found the strength within him to show you his most inhumane feature out of insecurity and worry that it would be the driving force in you fearing him as much as you did your inner demons. “Don’t worry darlin’,” he whispered when he noticed that you had fallen fast asleep against his chest on the way up to his room, clinging onto him like a cute koala. ��I’ll protect you, those memories can’t touch you while I’m here.” These weren’t words he says on a whim to just anyone, these were a vow, a contract binding himself to you as your protector and if there’s one thing Corinthian is best at, it was committing to a part.

When the day came where Corinthian finally did show you what laid beyond his shades, steeling himself for the worst of reactions he’s ever received, only for you to hold his face in your hands as you stared at the teeth lined sockets with a softness of which he has never been privy to from anyone since his creation. “I’m honoured that you trust me enough to show me this Cori, it must’ve been really hard on your behalf making that decision; but know that this doesn’t change how I feel about you in the slightest, your still my cocky little shithead of a nightmare.” If Corinthian could cry in that moment, waterfalls of tears would’ve streamed his cheeks, pooling within the palm of your hands. For once in his life he didn’t regret placing this amount of trust in you, he felt relived and a little stupefied at your calm, reassuring response.

“You mean, you aren’t…scared of me? Of them?” He asked, gauging your every reaction right down to the movement in your muscles. “I don’t believe it is in my right to judge your appearance when all you’ve been done in return is accept me at my worst; sometimes encouraging it but Cori…all I see is you.” You responded, running your thumbs just under the sockets gingerly. Corinthian smiled widely as he leaned against your touch, moving his head to kiss your palm, holding it tightly with his own in a means of preventing you from pulling away from him, from everything you’ve experienced together.

“I love you, you know that sweetheart?” He confessed so casually, his body filled with a comforting warmth at your acceptance of all of him that the words just came out of him without a filler. “You do?” Your eyes brightened and your smile widened, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “Of course you do, after all how could you not, I’m quite the catch.” You joked, not having experienced many people expressing their romantic interest in you before. “Quite the catch indeed.” Corinthian echoed before pulling you into a gentle kiss.

Your relationship after that was filled with PDA, gentle goodnight kisses despite sleeping in the same bed, rough kisses after particularly hard days or petty arguments where neither of you would verbalise your apologise but instead says so through action instead; tight yet comforting hugs when all seemed lost and the only thing you knew was the safe haven that was your lovers arms. It was a healing balm to your fractured souls, it was a dream came true to finally have someone who didn’t fear the demon within, the unfavourable side of one’s being. However long your relationship may last, you and Corinthian were in no rush in actively spending every ounce of it that you could with one another; as quite frankly it has seemed that fate has blessed this odd coupling of a nightmare and an exorcist to an enteral dream state of a life together.

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witchybitchycrybaby · 1 year

Text

You're kinda cute

Pairing: The Corinthian x reader

Summary: your nightmare becomes the one who adores you

Genre: maybe fluff

✨✨✨

You were furious.

And Corinthian loved it. He adored this raw emotion, how the mimic of your face changed with every second and how your cheeks flushed with scarlet. But there was one particular thing that never failed to catch him off guard and sent shivers down his spine: your eyes. He was always captivated by them, ever since he first looked at you all this time ago. They were bright, oh so innocent, sometimes mischievous but above all, your eyes held so much love for him, that he thought it was going to break him.

This time, however, your eyes were dark and the storm that rolled behind them sent flashes of lightning everywhere you laid your gaze.

Corinthian loved it because every time it reminded him of the night you met.

You were dreaming, of course, and in this dream you were standing in the field; there also was a city far away, barely visible on the horizon. Wildflowers grew everywhere; delicate violets and yellows danced in the wind in a jungle of green. It was a good peaceful dream, and Corinthian was just about to turn it into ruins.

As the dark clouds flooded the sky and the wind grew stronger destroying everything around you, you strangely stood still. The Nightmare thought you were going to start screaming and running away terrified, but you remained calm. When you took in the horror he made with a small smile on your lips, he decided to finally show himself to you.

He stood right before you in the eye of a hurricane. You looked him up and down and noticed the dark glasses covering his eyes, a white buttoned-up shirt, and an equally light suit. The man was taller than you and was so close you could feel delicate puffs of air when he breathed. His lips were adorned by a smug smile. There was something about him though, that made you feel safe, protected somehow.

"Shouldn't you be afraid now, little human?"

His voice was soothing, not exactly calming but you caught yourself relaxing a bit. And it fit him.

"You don't look very scary."

"Is that so?" Corinthian leaned over so that his mouth was right next to your ear. When he spoke his warm breath tickled your sensitive skin. "Then why is your heart beating so fast?"

You shivered involuntarily. God, he even smelled amazing. You knew he wasn't good and everything about him screamed that he would gladly harm you, but you just couldn't stop yourself from saying your next words.

"Because you're kinda cute."

It caught him off guard of course, but also led you both to where you were now: Corinthian sitting comfortably on the couch and you standing in his kitchen wearing one of his buttoned-up shirts. Nothing but the shirt, to be exact.

The sight of your body in his clothes always woke this primal beast inside of him that wanted you near at all times, and yelled "mine!" every time someone else approached you.

"Y/n, darling, you know it's not the end of the world and you can always make another one?" He asked amused. He tried to hide the smile that crept onto his lips but failed miserably.

"Well, here's the problem, darling, I only had this many ingredients. And patience. I've had one shot at this red velvet cake and I fucked it."

You were furious. You knew the recipe by heart and still managed to mess it up. You hated when something was not going your way. Especially when this something was meant to be a gift for a person you loved the most. And this person was sitting right next to you watching you fail.

"Come to me."

You looked up at the Corinthian, your eyes still shrouded in darkness, and saw him tapping his thighs encouragingly.

You sighted and, not even glancing at the mess of a cake, came closer to your lover. When your knees touched his, he took you gently in his arms. You sat on his lap straddling him, your arms wrapped around his neck. One of his hands was pressed against the small of your back, the second was drawing small circles on your thigh.

"I hate it," you said quietly, resting your forehead against his.

"I know" he murmured, giving you a minute to calm down. "We can remake it though, sugar."

You raised your eyebrow suspiciously. "We? You don't even know how to cook or bake in the first place."

"Then show me." He kissed the tip of your nose and you giggled. You weren't mad anymore. "And then..."

"And then what, my dear nightmare?"

"And then we'll go to our bedroom and I'll show you some different things."

"That's disgusting." Another giggle escaped your mouth, but deep down you liked this idea of his.

"Well, in that case, we will do nothing if you don't want to..."

"I never said such a thing," you said indignantly and got up from his lap. A mischievous smile bloomed on your lips as you reached for his hand. "Come now, darling, if we're going shopping, I need to change my clothes. Wanna help?"

Blood boiled in his veins; you knew the answer, why even bother asking? Corinthian without a word took your hand in his and led you to your bedroom.

The fact that you didn't do much baking that day goes without any word of comment.

#sandman #the sandman netflix #the corinthian #corinthian x reader #corinthian x y/n #corinthian x you #the sandman #Corinthian #english is not my first language #the corinthian x reader #the corinthian x you

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2braincellslz · 1 year

Text

Rest Your Eyes

Ship: male!yn x The Corinthian

Desc: Yn has a nightmare and wakes up in a cold sweat. Cori helps him calm down and go back to sleep.

You were running. From what? You didn't know. Just kept going. Keep running and running and running. Something was chasing you. You knew that much. Something wanted you and was going to get you so you had to keep running. You didn't even think to look around the hall you were running down. All you knew was that the door to your freedom was getting further and further away with each desperate step.

You ran as hard and fast as your legs could take you till they gave out, causing you to tumble into a bookshelf you had passed a dozen times.

You pulled your knees up to your chest, hiding your face away into your knees. Choking out soft broken cries for your safety.

You felt a presence, you heard the floorboards creak as something stepped closer to you. A hand rested on your back.

¨no more of this. It's over now.¨ a familiar monotone voice said but you refused to look up.

¨ Look at me. It is time to go.¨

¨No, please. No more.¨

You let out a blood curdling scream as pain enveloped your body.

You shot up, a cold sweat dripping down your forehead.

That nightmare played over and over in your head. The same ordel night after night. It was hard to get to sleep in the first place. You dreaded hearing the stranger's voice. The few times you did look up you were met with a shadow of a figure with two wide eyes staring back at you and teeth turned into a twisted smile. As if Dream was punishing you for… well…

You heard something shift next to you. Looking over, you saw the blond that had been ¨hiding out¨ in your apartment. Except he really wasn't hiding out, was he?

He looked peaceful. You didn't know nightmares could sleep yet here he was. He wasn't really a nightmare to you though. A charmer and a gentleman. A sweetheart.

He wasn't wearing his sunglasses but his eyes were closed. After about two or three months of living together, you caught him without his sunglasses on. He had to explain the whole Dream world and Nightmares and Morphus and his ordeal. You already knew about his… activities… but you didn't really care. As long as he cleaned up the carpet. This whole Nightmare thing was just frosting on the cake, per say.

After you saw him without his glasses, he started being more genuine to you. He was more careful around you. Treating you as if you were a fine art. He would compliment you more often, pulling you closer to him while the two of you watched movies, preparing food.

From that, stemmed dates. The first time he asked you out, you nearly screamed yes. You didn't know how to tell him you wanted to go out, so thank god he made the first move.

Dates where the usual kind of boyfriend boyfriend dates. Dinners, movies, arcades, the beach, trips.

Then you met Dream. He was a lot less scary than you had first thought and he was a lot more tired. Makes sense though. You had practically begged on your hands and knees for Dream to let The Corinthian stay around. Must have worked, because he made a deal with the two of you. As long as The Corinthian did not harm anybody innocent, Morphous wouldn't bother us.

It was all domestic fluff from then on with the occasional scolding Cori about keeping the rug clean.

The sheets beside you shifted again and a long groan was let out.

The Corinthian flipped over on his back, usually he would use his arm to cover the sun from his eyes or eye mouths but it was still dark out.

"Darlin?" he blinked his eyes open. "what time is it?"

"uh… 3 in the morning." you sighed, rubbing your temples.

He sat up, streshing his arms up in to the air. "why are you up?"

"nightmare." you said simply, pulling your knees up to your chest and looking away.

"nightmare? Want to talk about it? I know a thing or two about nightmares." he chuckled.

"i was running down a long hall. The door kept getting further and further away. Then i tripped and some void thing caught up with me. Then i was in a lot of pain." you layed back down. Corinthian smiled, leaning on to one hand so he was looking over you.

"You are so pretty when you are tired."

You let out a audible groan, rolling your eyes. "Cori." You whined.

He just laughed and layed back down, pulling closer with his arm wrapped around you and his other behind his head.

You layed your head on his bare chest, tracing circles in to his skin.

"Do you want me to see if I can do anything about thoughs nightmares? Talk to Morpheus?" He asked, gently rubbing your arm with his finger tips.

"Would you? As long it's not to far out your way."

"Oh sweet boy, if you need me to do anything then it isnt too far out."

"You are too good to me, Cori" You hummed, letting your eyes flutter close.

"Whatever you say... rest your eyes, try and get some sleep."

You yawned, letting the warmth of sleep and Cori rock you to sleep.

Corinthian stayed up a little bit, making sure that you were dreaming of him.

#gays on the fyp #the corinthian x male yn #the corinthian x reader #the corinthian x you #the corinthian #the corinthian x male reader #the Corinthian x trans reader #trans safe #the Corinthian x ftm reader #the Corinthian x masc reader #the Corinthian x masc yn #the Corinthian x ftm yn #we stan #stan gay icon #nightmare #i just want to sleep #the sandman fic #the sandman

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writeyouin · 2 years

Text

The Corinthian X Reader - Your Eyes Drabble

The Corinthian ground his perfectly straight teeth together, entirely frustrated. He hated feeling such a way when he was usually so confident and self-assured, the perfect predator in every sense of the word.

Still, even perfect Nightmares such as himself had off days wherein they just needed a diversion.

Sitting in a near empty park, the Corinthian saw the perfect opportunity to cheer himself up. You were entirely on your own, watching the sun set, your eyes hidden behind sun glasses which protected then from the bright light.

The Corinthian had always loved sunglasses. He loved taking them off his victims to discover what kind of eyes they hid; it was like freeing a present from its wrapping.

Were yoyr eyes brown? Blue? Green? Were they tired eyes, or ones that lit up when you smiled? What did your eyes say about you? The Corinthian planned to find out, delighting in how easy it would be to murder you.

With a reassuring smile, he approached you, prepared to flirt to get his way. However, before he could get to you, you got up, stretched, and in the fading light, you removed your glasses.

The Corinthian paused mid-step, taking a breath in wonder. Yours were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen, and, as was in his design by Morpheus, they were the only eyes he could not bear to damage; you were his soul mate, the one human he wouldn't kill.

Yet, just because he wouldn't kill you, didn't mean that he wouldn't collect you. Granted, it would be near impossible for the Corinthian to keep you in his life, each day desiring to steal your eyes, but always restraining himself so he could behold their beauty. Yet, that was a battle worth fighting.

Taking a moment to compose himself, the Corinthian jogged over to you, determined to keep you in his life.

#fanfiction #reader #reader insert #fanfic #drabble #the corinthian #the Corinthian x reader #the corinthian x you #the sandman netflix #the sandman #neil gaiman

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angelsxwords · 2 years

Text

— weak.

that’s what he is for her. corinthian x f!reader | nsft 18+ mdni warnings; brief mention of eating eyes, but nothing like that is actually happening. this is really just sweet smexy time with cori + a bit of him being a simp. somewhat. (and a meanie). a/n; no glasses during s3x. suddenly had this in my head, so just have it.

A feeling that must be akin to entering heaven above washes over Corinthian once she embraces him with all she has. Her fingers are entangled in his blonde hair, tugging on the short strands and twisting them between her thin digits — and she’s all pressed against him, her warmth fully enveloping him.

Corinthian growls; low and possessive. His hands swiftly grab her hips to keep control of the pace, her rapid movements. His breathing is heavy with need for her and that perfectly sculpted body of hers. A goddess, that is what she reminds him of. Corinthian wants to eat her — absolutely devour her, dig teeth into her delicate skin and bite and bite until it‘s all decorated with his marks and no one else’s.

He follows the siren‘s call. Hides his face in the juncture between her neck and shoulder and sinks into her flesh, eliciting a throaty moan from her. She welcomes the dull ache and shudders for him.

"Fuck," Corinthian mutters into her skin, gripping her ass as if it is his one and only lifeline. He lifts her up, and drops her down on him again. Repeating the motion over and over, until he brushes sweetly against the one spot inside her that makes her eyes roll and her back arch. She cries for Corinthian so prettily, lost in the pleasure he’s bestowing upon her. A chorus mixed with her song and skin slapping against skin echoes through the grand space of their bedroom. It is a beautiful addition to the pleasure.

"That‘s it," each word carefully punctuated with an especially deep thrust and fuck she holds onto his hair even tighter, "just how you like it, hm?"

Corinthian‘s low and breathless tone erupts a warmth within her core that spreads like a wildfire. It consumes her in seconds and she can’t stop it — reaches the high and lets herself fall, knowing there’s nothing Corinthian loves to watch more.

She sobs. He guides her through the sparks shooting through her veins and the exploding stars in her eyes, while gnashing his teeth. There it is again, that enticing itch as he sees her lose herself, watches her pupils dilate in the pool of tears. It drives him feral, much like her impossibly tightening around him until he can barely think anymore.

"There, there, darling."

Corinthian leans in closer, kisses along the streak of tears and collects the tiny droplets all the way up to her eyes. His own eyes, no more than an accurate reflection of his hungry mouth, find their desired prey and nip just at the corner of her eye socket — careful not to damage his treasure.

She boldly yanks him away by the hair, trembling all over, and forces a groan from him. She kisses Corinthian‘s neck, still rolling her hips, grinding against him, prolonging their shared pleasure. Shivers race down his back, her lips an angel's feather on his skin. Sweet and innocent. One of his hands abandons their prior position to reach between their bodies, finding her sensitive little bud. His favourite thing, really. And it’s utterly mean of Corinthian, perhaps meant to be a punishment for interrupting him, but he pinches and rubs it in slow, agonising circles, listens to her breath hitch, feels her twitch — too much, too much.

"One more, yeah? Give me one more."

He wraps his other hand around her throat, without applying any pressure. Just to better keep her there, in his lap, to prevent her escaping the touch. No safe word reaches his ears, thus he keeps bullying her clit and bites his lower lip as he watches her eyes dart up and down, left and right. Her lips fall open in a silent scream as she helplessly submits to the tidal wave of pleasure crashing down on her.

Corinthian enjoys it. Fully relishes in her falling apart on him. His head spins and his cock twitches and burns with the need to finally fill her up. He needs her as much as she needs him, but his patience rivals a saint‘s. Almost.

"Corinthian," she moans, pleads. It’s all she can do, call out for him. The name is like honey dripping from her lips and Corinthian immediately craves a taste.

He pushes her against his lips and drinks her dreamy melodies like the starved nightmare he is, tongue eagerly exploring the cavern he knows so well. It’s enough to push her over the edge again and he does not stray behind this time. Corinthians bucks up into her, eagerly decorating her insides and marking her most intimately.

He finds her behind once more, gives it a rewarding slap before he grinds her down on him again, chasing the aftershocks of their orgasm. With his lips tugged up in a pleased grin he leans back against the headboard of their bed and gazes at their connection — at the little puffs of cream that drip from her.

"Good girl, fuck," Corinthian guides her to lay on top of him, letting himself rest inside her for a little longer, "did so well."

Praise always has a wonderful effect on her. It all but causes her to melt in his arms, and clench around him too. She’s warm on top of him and tries to catch her breath. Corinthian puts an arm around her, angling his head a little awkwardly to try and see her, still.

A chuckle escapes him. Her eyes are already closed, too heavy with exhaustion, but there’s a smile on her lips that makes Corinthian stupidly proud. He can’t name a reason why, thus he doesn’t think about it.

"All tired now, hm? You go and rest for me. I‘ll keep the bad dreams away."

It’s ironic, really; She feels safe here, in the arms of the Corinthian. She believes him without a second thought when he promises to keep her safe. She’s naive and she doesn’t make any sense.

He holds onto her just a little tighter. With a kiss to her eyelid, he sends her away to the Dreaming, hiding her from everyone and everything while waiting for her return. Corinthian will wake her with a nice breakfast — and eat her pussy while he’s at it, as a treat for himself and her. She‘s so sweet to him, after all. He might get a toothache, but can’t get enough of her.

#the corinthian #the corinthian x reader #corinthian #corinthian x you #corinthian x reader #the corinthian x you #corinthian x y/n #the corinthian x y/n #the sandman x reader #the sandman

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bakerstreethound · 1 year

Text

A Walk in the Park

Relationship: Single Father!Corinthian x reader

Warnings: brief mention of losing a child, absent parents, flirty Corinthian, pining, and sensual undertones towards the end if you squint.

Summary: It all starts when you see a single father in the park playing with his kid. Alas, there’s more than meets the eye, for you find yourself drawn to the blonde stranger in dark shades and the child he has. What happens when his child just so happens to be the cause of a meet cute? Will something blossom? Or will you refuse the offer of his charming, albeit, handsome father?

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound (Do NOT claim, repost, copy or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Word Count: 1.6k+

A/N: When @novaracer and I get together, we tend to have crazy ideas this was one of the ones that came out of a brainstorm session. I have never created an OC child before, but I can’t wait for you all to meet Levi! Needless to say I dedicate this fic to them because hehe I definitely made them a sucker for some single father Corinthian. I hope you all enjoy. Graphic by @firefly-graphics. As always, comments and reblogs are most appreciated!

You watch them from your bench in the park where you have a baguette next to you, your warm drink cold when you bring it to your lips, infatuated by the sight before you.

The blonde stranger’s lips form into a subtle smirk while he watched the child before him tumbling through the grass, his blond curls wild are carefree, eyes a brilliant shade of blue.

You smiled to yourself infatuated by the sight; you never were one to pay attention to children but the intelligence, the life, the joy pouring from the tiny human was enough to make you feel warm inside, a joy you thought had been long extinguished with the passing of your beloved Sam.

You sigh, finishing off your sandwich before walking over to the trash to deposit the leftovers of your lunch, inhaling the fresh air, that is until you feel small arms wrap around your lower legs and you see him, the cute kid from before peering up at you with his beautiful baby blue eyes, blinking hopefully.

“Hey there little fella, where’d you go?” A smooth southern accent breaks you from your thoughts and you see the tall blonde fellow in front of you, a smile forming on your face as you meet his gaze from beneath his dark sunglasses.

“Are you looking for someone?” You ask, your heart racing and you wink down at the kid conspiratorially. He blinks up at you, giggling quietly.

The stranger shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. “Nah, just my son. He likes to get up and play hide and seek when I turn my back you see. You haven’t happened to come across him, now?”

The grip around your leg tightens and you fight off a smile. “Nope, don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting the little fellow.”

“You sure now? I did promise him ice cream if he didn’t get himself into trouble and all…”

You can only imagine how wide the boy’s eyes grow at the mention of a treat and he squeals from behind you as he wiggles between the space between you and his father.

"We can get ice cream?"

“Ahhh there you are!”

You can’t help but smile at the exchange, the soft smile along the strangers lips widening a fraction. You can't help the warmth that spreads through you at the affection. “That did the trick, now didn’t it?”

The man chuckles, pulling up the child in his arms, setting him promptly on his shoulders, the child squeeling happily.

“The pretty person knew where I was the whole time!”

“Well good thing she did, cause now I’ve got you back where you belong, son,” the southern accent drawls, his sunglasses meeting your gaze once again. You wonder briefly if you overstayed your welcome. You surely don't want to intrude but something about this man and his kid well you want to know more.

“Why don't you join us?” He inquires, inclining his head toward you. From this angle you can see his jaw catch in the light, its sharp edges cutting through the sunlight like glass. Something about this man felt otherworldly, but you can’t pinpoint why, or this draw you feel to him.

You blink and shake your head, trying to pull yourself from your stupor.. "No please I couldn't possibly interrupt the rest of your day. I've already caused far too much trouble."

"Nonsense, I insist."

"But-" your mind blanks. Why shouldn't you go with him? You'd only met minutes before after observing his son but for some reason you find yourself saying 'yes' and the man smiles at you.

"Well alright then, let's go!"

You find yourself giggling, chasing around the little boy, his father smiling proudly at the two of you. Cori doesn’t want to admit it to himself either, but he’s enjoyed your company immensely and the way you took to his son was uncanny.

“Haha! I got ya, little tyke,” you grin, the boy clinging to you profusely laughing as you tickle his sides, before he takes off running behind a tree while you follow swiftly behind.

“Sir? I believe you forgot these?” The man at the icecream trolley rolls his eyes, huffing as he hands off the cones to Cori and he makes a mental note for his next target. What a shame to let him go to waste, he thinks. Truly a shame. “Ice cream is going to melt if you don’t get here faster!” His voice grabs his son’s attention and he smiles, making a beeline away from you over to him.

You’re gasping for breath by the time you make it to the picnic table, and you hate to think of the state you’re in now while the man flashes a smile before his tongue swirls out to lick a stray drip of ice cream on his cone before handing one to you. “Hope you don’t mind I took the liberty of getting us all vanilla.”

“That works fine for me,” you grin, and take a lick, the perfect balance of cold and sweetness hitting your tongue. You groan softly. This was much needed.

“Good, right?”

“Oh my gosh, yes.”

“Yummy!” The kid pipes up, a messy smear of vanilla along his chin, makes you laugh as the man wipes it up.

“Gotta be careful there, son.”

“You and your boy are really close.”

“Little Levi and I have had lots of adventures together in recent years. His parents aren’t quite in the picture anymore so I stand in for them now.” He shrugs and takes a bite of the ice cream and your gaze falls on Levi. Little Levi, his father’s voce was full of affection, some deeper meaning than he was letting on beyond the surface. You don’t have any right to prod further and the stranger seemed content enough to share what little he did with you.

“He’s lucky to have you, not many children get a chance for so attentive of a guardian.” your finger brushes along the top of his hand before you can stop yourself, his gaze locking on to it, burning and searing through your skin. You swallow the lump in your throat. What are you thinking? you barely know this man, hell, he could be trying to garner your sympathy for money for all you know.

He huffs a laugh as if he doesn’t believe the sincerity of your words. Why should you feel so empathetic towards him? You know what loss is, though you dare not think about it, the familiar pain deepening inside you, a past you thought was long forgotten.

“Well, it looks like it’s time for us to go, Levi,” the man’s accent lays on thick this time, you swear it’s to startle you from your darkening thoughts, but your heart twinges at Levi’s boyish grin the last of his ice cream gone, dripping from his little hands as he pouts. His father smiles gently, wiping off the sticky mess with a napkin.

“No! Wanna stay with pretty person!” Levi retorts, crossing his arms, the pout deepening.

“We can come back tomorrow, perhaps, but you can play a little longer. We’ll be right at that bench, alright Levi?” the man smiles, pushing up the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose as he offers you his hand which you find yourself taking and sit next to him on the bench a few paces away under the welcoming shade of an old oak tree.

The silence passes comfortably between you both while watching Levi chase around butterflies and picking up wildflowers, giggling happily, carefree joy radiating through his very being. You find yourself wishing to return to a day where you could find joy in the simplest of things, but you supposed today provided more than you found in the previous months you’ve been alone.

He finally ends the silence. “You’ll come back tomorrow, won’t you?” He sounds so hopeful, gosh and you still can’t deny the inexplicable draw you feel to him. You want to say yes, but you knew how the ritual goes, how it only ends in pain. One question to make it or break it. You didn’t want to break again. It’s why you kept yourself alone, locked away but for a few friends and acquaintances in the world.

“I’m not sure,” you find yourself responding. You’re surprised how sincere you sound. “Perhaps if there’s good reason to. I might have made plans.”

“Darlin’ if you had plans your phone wouldn’t be so void of calls and text messages.”

“Well if I did, then would you still be so presumptuous?” You snip back, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Perhaps I wouldn’t but it was unfair of me to make such an assumption. Would you perhaps think about it?” His demeanor is quiet, the confidence protruding from him undeniable, but under all that, the softening of his face you can tell he means well, is sincere. You reach out between the space between you where his hand is resting on his leg and you trace the top of his hand with your index finger gently.

“I’ll think about it, then.” You find a smile tugging on the corner of your lips.

Without another word he brings your hand to his lips, kissing the top of it, lips soft and warm along your skin before he pulls back, smiling as he slides a card into your palm. “Well, we try to drop by once a week, Same time, day and place. You’re always welcome to join us.” He scoots closer on the bench the heat between you thickening his, lips brushing the shell of your ear, “and if you ever get bored, I’m only a call away, sweetheart.”

“But I-” You sigh, there’s no sign of them you would’ve believed you dreamt the whole thing. You didn’t even know his name, the card in your hand was real, though, your fingers brushed along the typography, the numbers spelling out your future or perhaps your eternal doom.

******

@bakerstreethound @lilythemadqueen @frostandflamesfanfic @novaracer @starks-hero @azu21 @strangelockd @roguelov @dearly-dreaming @starstruck-loner

#the corinthian #corinthian x reader #the corinthian x reader #the corinthian x you #the corinthian imagine #the sandman imagine #look I like a serial killer #but what did i do #I gave him a kid #that he cares for #he did care for daniel in the comics #but also come on #how can you not like levi

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