#and also i didn't have confidence that i could make good-looking cat silhouettes so i just. didn't VGEYIAGV

[quirkle2]

i love putting my blorbos in silly little outfits

[undiscovered-horizon]

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

[MASTERLIST] | [Sandman-inspired playlist]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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