#corinthian x reader

[devilishcupid]

hot evil characters who i want to fix but will make me cry if i actually meet them in real life>>>>>>

[auroraborealyss]

𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐚𝐧'𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬.

⊹ pairing: the corinthian x reader

⊹ summary: how your favourite nightmare loves. this is a slightly dark version, as the corinthian is a nightmare. you don't expect someone like him to love someone in a good, pure way, do you?

⊹ warnings: descriptions of violence (eyeball popping), borderline nsfw (in par with his character since his only scenes are either being a serial killer or serial fucker)

⊹ word count: 3193

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝗳𝗳𝗶𝗿𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 with a voice that oozes charisma and is thick and sweet like honey, (makes you want to open your mouth to him), you bet words will be the love language he uses in abundance. but is he talking to you sweetly or manipulating you? does it really matter?

morpheus seems to have given the corinthian the verbal skills he himself lacks

this nightmare is a talker. as you can see by how hooked everyone is on his words, from little jed, naive rose, and by inspiring a cult of serial killers, this man knows how to use his looks and his words to get people to do what he wants: to trust him

but the first time he meets you, he is speechless

the person he's talking to and who he was going to kill later that evening, is forgotten as he's too struck to do anything else but look at you curiously. your eyes meet across the room, and the room goes in a bit of a haze as all he can see is you.

obsessed with you immediately, and he doesn't even know why (guess he takes after his creator in having intense, all-consuming relationships)

approaches you and talks to you immediately. in minutes, has your back against a wall, his body covering yours from others and has your attention the entire night. has one hand on the wall beside your head

stands close enough that you can smell his aftershave and woodsy cologne

he has never lathered on as much sweet talk to a person as he did that night to you

by the end of the night, you are as consumed by him as he is by you

he loves to talk to you. domestic bliss with him is him telling you all about his day—the weather, the news, what he had for lunch

abundance of pet names, but mostly sweetheart, baby, and a little darling—all said with that slowed, drawl of his that just hearing is enough to make you tense and your breath hitch

enter: praise talk (is this still sfw?)

he'll praise you for every single thing you do, and make it sound like you did it for him. after awhile, you get used to his praises and get hooked on it. you start doing things just to hear him praise you, and don't you worry, he will

he does this thing where he watches you from the side as you do something, then he'll praise you

"i see you for who you truly are." (did i just take out of context the quote he said to serial killers? yes)

builds up your self confidence with an onslaught of compliments and praise

"you look beautiful, darling."

"with that on, everyone in the room will be staring at you and grow envious of me for being with you."

never lets you doubt yourself and your abilities for one second

is actually quite encouraging for whatever your aspirations are. who is he to judge, after all?

the first time you try to take someone's eyeballs, he's standing off to the side, leaning cooly against the wall, his tongue running over his lips from how dry they've become at watching the person he loves doing something he loves. but taking eyeballs is careful work, and you fail. the nerve snaps in half

at the first dismayed sound you release, he's by your side immediately and cupping your face, murmuring reassurances that you did so well for the first time and he's so proud of you

he shows you how proud by taking your hand and placing it over the tent in his pants

the first time you successfully take someone's eyeballs, his praises are said with a voice low and from the back of his throat

"well done, sweetheart."

"you did so good, baby. so good."

he moves in front of you and takes the eyeballs from your hand, but you move your hand away. he's confused at first, but then you raise your other hand towards his shades and remove them—all while looking at him with innocent eyes that have become slightly hooded with lust and adrenaline

he drops to a fucking knee and tilts his head up at you. he looks at you reverently, like you are the only higher being he'd submit to. he holds onto your wrist, more to steady himself than control you, as you bring the eyeball to one of his eyes (or is it still called mouths?), never breaking eye contact all the while

and when he's done, and you kiss away the blood that escapes down his cheek, he rises and kisses you hard and leaving you with no sense of direction but him, him, him

𝗾𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 the corinthian has always been demanding with your time, but after morpheus is released, he starts bringing you everywhere you go. he doesn't know if it's to keep you safe so morpheus can't take you from him, or him just wanting to spend as much fleeting time as he can with you.

the two of you are stuck to the hip, and it's not you being clingy, but him, not that he'd ever admit it

it's him who insists that he go everywhere with you in case something bad happens?

corruption kink

you're definitely innocent the first time he meets you. but there's something in your eyes that's not quite...right. you're innocent but accepting. too accepting. meaning you'll see a person commit the most atrocious act and still somehow understand them. empathize with them

it turns him on, not gonna lie

takes you with him on his kills

the first time he does, it's a test to see if you'll scream and run away and he has to take your eyeballs

you don't and pass his test

the next few times, you don't do anything. you just stand or sit to the side while he does his usual thing at the office

but one day, he sees it. a glint of interest in your eye. the tilt of your head that tells him you're interested in whatever you're watching and trying to memorize it.

he confirms his suspicions when he beckons you to come over to him with a tilt of his head. he nearly forgets to kill his victim as he's too busy kissing you against the wall

from then on, you alternate

while killing them is more satisfying to him, it's the way you feed him afterwards that makes him willing to let you kill since that intimacy always brings him to his knees

but during off hours when you're both not being an infamous serial killer couple, you both like to sightsee

the corinthian has been to a lot of places in the past hundred years, and has grown to like travelling just so he can experience many countries'…delicacies

you accompany him as you fly business class everywhere. coliseum in rome. great wall of chine. northern lights in iceland

he's also a surprisingly good babysitter

exhibit a: that episode with jed (yes, he was lowkey kidnapping him), showed that he's good at handling them. (he teased jed if he wanted to drive and kept him safe from that one serial killer)

so when the time comes that you ask him to babysit someone with you, he's actually quite good

the kids like and trust him immediately

seeing you with them could give you baby fever, and the smirk on his face tells you he knows what he's doing

he's that cool, laidback dad who lets you do things the other parent doesn't as long as you keep your mouth shut for it

(why am i alternating between nsfw headcanons and dad headcanons?)

𝗽𝗵𝘆𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝘁𝗼𝘂��𝗵 did you see how firm yet gentle he was with the people he hooked up with? this nightmare will caress you too ruin

caress

that's the only appropriate word to describe how this man touches you. the brush of his knuckles against your cheek while you sit on the edge of the bed while he stands in between your legs

sometimes closes your eyes with the pad of his thumb and gently rubs it

some couples get kisses on the cheek or the forehead

you get them on your eyes

he'll gently close them with the paid of his thumb and rub it slightly. then he presses a soft, lingering kiss against that soft, fragile skin that protects the organ he loves the most

has a thing for pushing you against objects when kissing you (exhibit b: pushes roommate-lover against bed, pushes fake serial killer-lover against wall)

shoves you on the bed before getting on top of you

pushes you against a wall, hands cupping both sides of your face, forcing you to stay still as he kisses his way with you

grows aware that you need oxygen to breathe but he needs your kisses more than you need that

the first time you remove his glasses, he's surprised at how intimate that is, and how he falters at your touch. the first time you do it is also the first time he realizes that his emotions for you surpass lust and he might actually love you—whatever that entails

and when this does happen, he just gets so much more protective of you

and possessive

in public, hand always on your waist

kisses you (with tongue and lip biting) for the entire world and their mother to see

might even kiss you in front of morpheus to show off to his maker what he has and what morpheus doesn't

even with shades on, there's still intense eye contact

it's the way his entire body faces you

does this thing where he stands behind you, his chest warm and flush against your back. crooks a finger around your hair to brush it back, then hovers his lips right next to your ear so you can feel his whispers and it makes you shiver. he then presses a kiss to your neck, as if he's pleased with the reaction he's elicited from you

you know that couple thing where the boy will stand behind a girl and put his hands over hers as he teaches her how to play golf, or do billiards, or during pottery? that's him when teaching you the proper way to pop out an eyeball

his calloused hands wrapping over your soft hands around the hard handle of a knife

that same hand trailing up your arm, down the side of your chest, brushing your waist, then coming to a rest on your hip as he grips you slightly while bending you over

the protectiveness that grows after morpheus is freed, is also laced with a desperation to stay with you

on one hand, he holds out hope that he'll stop morpheus from taking him so he can stay with you. on the other hand, there's a feeling of inevitability and he can feel himself running out of time with you

he becomes softer but firmer with you

each kiss lasting longer than the last

starts to savour you. whispers his last prayers against your skin. draws his apologies on your arms

he stares at you more often, as if trying to commit your face to memory because if he is unmade, it could be centuries that have passed before he is made again. he doesn't know if he'll retain memories of you, but either way, you'll be long gone

and when the time comes that morpheus catches up to him and he is unmade, morpheus is able to feel the genuine love the corinthian had for you

because the corinthian didn't want you to stay with him, but him to stay with you

you become the corinthian's sole redeeming quality, and as you wail and plead against morpheus' coat to bring him back or to unmake you too, morpheus takes pity and grant your wish: which one is up to you to decide

𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗶𝗰𝗲 what else do you expect a serial killer nightmare to do for the person he loves? kill for them, of course. scaring others is what he was made for anyways

the first time you tell him someone's been giving you some trouble at school or at work, that someone ends up dead with their eyeballs taken out

the corinthian takes you out for dinner in a restaurant directly in front of that someone's apartment. as you eat dinner in front of a window, rather than be engrossed in the flickering candlelights, you focus on the blue and red lights of the police cars and hear the ambulance sirens as they load the dead body up to an ambulance that's heading straight to the morgue

happens every time you tell him about someone giving you trouble, even if it was just them cutting in line by accident. sometimes, he tells you what he did to them. other times, he doesn't

it's no problem to him, really. think of it as you packing him a little...snack

given that he bleeds charisma, parties are a regular occurrence for both of you

he makes you be his plus one to the parties he's invited to, and when you're invited to go to a party, he expects you to ask him to be your plus one as well

always has a hand around your waist during these events

kisses your cheek occasionally

if you're wearing lipstick and you leave a kiss mark against the bottom of his jaw, he won't wipe it away

might even intentionally move his head to the side to expose it, like it's a badge of honour

apart from killing others though, i don't think he'd go out of his way to do much else for you. at least, domestic things.

why would you need to cook if he can just hire a maid? folding laundry? maid. walking the dog? hires someone

but the one thing he always makes sure you do is eat (exhibit c: he asks jed if he wants more ice cream)

whether it's because you're so accepting of his diet or just because he puts a lot importance in eating, meals are the one thing he always looks out that you do correctly

and it's not just ensuring you eat three meals a day

but eating three healthy meals

he cooks for you—whatever you want. hell, he even learns to cook for you. it's the one thing he doesn't hire a maid for

you feed him, he feeds you mindset

always orders more of his meal because he knows you like to take some of his

unless you have a good, healthy reason for going on a diet, he won't entertain it

ice cream after dinner is a must

has your coffee order memorized, and you can trust him to order ahead at a restaurant

always drives you everywhere with a hand on your thigh that slowly creeps up

gives you his suit jacket when he's cold—and that's how you know it's true love

but the biggest act of service he does for you is not bring you to the cereal convention

it's not about not wanting to expose you to serial killers, but rather morpheus

though he hopes that he might walk out, on the event that he doesn't, he breaks his need to bring you everywhere and keep you at home

all so you don't see him be unmade, as he fears it will break you

and it would have

his last act of love to you

𝗴𝗶𝗳𝘁 𝗴𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴 have you seen the expensive suits he always wears? this man lavishes himself and his serial killer lifestyle, so he'll do the same for you

like his creator, this man is a giver. it might be one of the things morpheus put from himself in him

if he can dress in an expensive suit everyday all while maintaining its pristine state given his...lifestyle, then he expects the same from you too

introducing: matching outfits

you wouldn't think he's one for it, but he is. maybe not identical, but in a cool, stylish way that makes it clear the two of you are meant to be seen together and as one

suits or dresses that compliments his outfits

and it's not you matching to him, but the other way

he wants to match with you

he always waits for you to get ready and pick out an outfit first before going through his closet and finds a suit that matches

and jewellery

he strikes me as someone who wants to give his partner jewellery for them to wear—his way of marking them, so make sure to always wear one

necklace (choker), anklet, belt, hair accessory, ring

always watches you put it on. he likes its when he's the one putting it on, but falls to his knees (is his knees okay?) when you ask him to help you put it on

you need help putting your necklace on? turn around and he'll brush a finger down the nape of your neck, enjoying the way you shiver, as he clasps the necklace and places a kiss where the metal and your skin meets

might even leave a hickey

and if you wear socks or stockings, he'll drop to his knees (there he goes again) and slowly rolling the fabric up your legs, going higher and higher. kisses your inner things while he's there. his hands keeps climbing and climbing until his hand reaches your—

ahem.

black card user

"you want to go shopping? take my card, baby."

when the bill goes to his phone for what you bought, he sends you a text praising you for using it and says he can't wait to see you try it on

and if it's lingerie, he might ask for a photo and tell you to come home so he can see and take it off—

sets aside a trust for you

you get to take advantage of his lavish lifestyle. you don't really own a home, but instead live out for a few months at a time in various five star hotels before moving on

and if you do bring up settling down, he'll just smile at you and explain patiently why he can't settle down and why he wouldn't be able to bear being so far away from you for such long periods of time.

"i can't live that far from you, baby. can you live without me for that long?"

and how can you argue with that logic?

so you stay with him. and he gives you presents to praise your "choice"

yes, he loves to give you gifts. but more important, he wants you to love them

he likes seeing the special containers you put the jewellery he gifts you in and how you handle them so carefully, as if treating them as an extension of him and his love for you

and when you lose him, they are all that remains of him

and perhaps morpheus takes pity on you as he sees the genuine love you have for him

he uses his sand to recreate a better version of the corinthian using one of the objects he gave you

then maybe it's your turn to corrupt this new corinthian to change him back into the version you know and love

and that's okay

in conclusion, while i might not have been in love with mr. mouths-for-eyes, writing this headcanon and witnessing my eventual failure from keeping sfw might have changed my mind. he does, after all, have a very nice voice...

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗎𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇: 𝖽𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗁-𝖾𝗒𝖾𝖻𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗈? 𝗈𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗈u𝗍𝗁𝖻𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌? 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌? 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝖾𝖽.

𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈, 𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖺𝗇'𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌'? 𝗈𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒'𝗋𝖾 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗈𝗂𝗅𝗌? 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖺𝗇, 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗆𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝖻𝗒 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝖽𝖾, 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌' 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗐𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝖾'𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝖽𝗆𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝖽, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾. 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖺𝗒—

𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖺𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌: 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘶𝘴' 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴, 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘶𝘴' 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘸 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯

𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧!

𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @aurorarevenclaw1927, @juniebugg

[the-darklings]

I saw Cori and Wanderer went to the Dreamfall for a bit, do you mind writing a drabble for that? I think it would be so cute.

If you don't have time is ok

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dreamfalling into nightmares.

pairing: the corinthian & f!reader (wanderer), background dream of the endless x f!reader

summary: “We’ll remember each other forever at this rate.”

wc: 1.9k+

notes: been missing them hours, so this was a joy to write.

series masterlist | ao3 |

The knock comes promptly after sunset. 

Tugging the door open to your private room, you discover a tall, handsome, grinning nightmare in your doorway, a hand propped against the frame. Corinthian’s appearance has not changed since earlier this afternoon when he found you napping in Fiddler’s Green. Pale clothes clad his body, and dark glasses conceal his eyes from everyone, even you. 

“Why, hello there,” he greets in a drawl, a dimple creasing his cheek.

Your grin matches Corinthian’s—sly, biting, certainly fond in your case. 

“A punctual nightmare,” you say playfully, opening the door wider to permit him entry. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Oh, I’m full of those,” Corinthian retorts, strolling inside. 

He examines your room methodically, everything from the bed to the wooden table slotted in the corner, halting only once, on the windowsill. No—he snags on the object placed as a silent protector over your space. His figurine of himself. His Dreamfall present. A nightmare watching over someone’s dreams. Perhaps ironic—no, certainly ironic, but you don’t dare to speak while he ambles over, his finger lightly brushing over the figurine’s head. 

“Ready for the celebration, I assume,” he voices suddenly. “You dressed up. That’s nice. He’s going to love… that.”

“It was implied I should,” you reply. “Something about being the guest of honour.”

Corinthian steps away, his arm dropping back to his side with a faint hum. “More than that, troublemaker,” he says, turning to face you with a crooked grin. “Why you’re the first ever.”

Your brows wrinkle. “First… guest? Wait, you mean no one has been invited to Dreamfall before?”

Corinthian huffs a breath as if your lack of knowledge is deeply amusing to him. “Do you imagine Dream has many friends? His family has attended in the past, or so I heard. Predates you or me, though.”

Warm heat unruffles inside your stomach, a sunbeam crawling through your body and heart. A tiny smile graces your face, and Corinthian appears all the more amused for it. His arm slots behind his back, extending another your way, bent at the elbow.

“My mission is to escort the honoured guest tonight.”

Grinning, you reach to hook your arms, falling to his side effortlessly as he leads you across the room and outside. “Here, I reasoned you enjoy spending time with your favourite mortal.”

His scoff is scornful, biting but amused. “Perish the thought. I can’t stand you.”

Chuckling, you shove your shoulder against his. Evidence of his smirk gets swallowed by shadows as you walk together. Cutting across the winding, silent corridors, you can’t help but be grateful for his presence. For the way, he’s a treacherous, conniving shadow a step behind you at all times. 

“Thank you for coming with me,” you whisper. “Even if you didn’t want to and Dream ordered you.”

The golden-haired nightmare glances your way, says nothing, and then continues your steady trek. You're about to question him on the odd behaviour when he speaks: 

“He didn’t order me,” he responds, pursing his mouth to a point his nose wrinkles. “Dream asked the pumpkin to escort you. As if I would let that happen.”

Floaty smugness swells in your chest, your features alighting with barely suppressed glee. He’s as good as admitting the notion of anyone else escorting you is some imaginary slight against him. There’s no doubt in your mind it’s a matter of pride. Merv and Corinthian had never gotten along, much the same way Lucienne and Corinthian have never seen eye to eye. Now that you consider it closely, you realise you’ve never seen the nightmare getting along with anyone. Ever. Others tolerate him, but Corinthian carries himself with unbridled air of self-importance and haughtiness. With each step taken, Corinthian asserts he’s the best, most masterfully crafted, and he’s not even slightly modest about being Dream’s most superlative creation. 

“How sweet. I’ll be sure to ask Merv a dance to make sure he’s not feeling left out.”

Corinthian’s expression rearranges into a slight grimace at your nonchalant words. He makes a point of not gracing that with a response, and you have difficulty biting back your gleeful grin. 

Outside the castle, the views are otherworldly. Magical doesn’t do it justice. Dreaming has always had a life of its own; a beating, pulsing core of pure imagination, making anything possible here. If you can only think of it, it’s real. There are no limits, no too much, only freedom. 

But Dreamfall…

A gasp slips past your parted lips the second you exit the castle. Preparations have been ongoing for three days now—with most bustling activity stretching from dawn to nightfall—but seeing it upon completion now robs you of breath. 

Will-o’-wisps float aimlessly through the pleasant night air; trees, paths, buildings and most available surfaces sit covered in warm, gauzy lights. Flower blooms have been twined around bannisters leading everywhere, and you spot tiny fae-like creatures napping and playing on the bright, lustrous petals. Dust sprinkles from their wings while they dance, and you chuckle under your breath, eyes skipping everywhere so you don’t miss anything. 

Corinthian slowly leads you to the castle courtyard, letting you absorb the magnificent sights as you go. But when you finally arrive, you hardly recognise what you’re looking at. What was once the courtyard has now become an open-air ballroom. Hundreds of dreams and nightmares have packed into the space; outside the castle parameter, you see thousands more: bonfires and glowing tables as far as the eye can see. Birds and winged creators take up celebration in the starlit skies above. And it is when the music hits you; light, dreamy, joyful. Tonight there are smiles and drinks everywhere. 

Dream’s creations are here to be celebrated—to celebrate themselves, and your heart inflates with happiness for them, soft and warming from within. Some are horned, winged, or scaly. Creatures that barely resemble human shapes are wherever you glance. Their skins vary from white to purpose to yellow and all the hues between. Their eyes are many, few, or none in sight. They communicate in growls, high-pitched whispers or companionable silences. Some resemble wraiths, others merfolk, while several take on faery forms. There are females and males and those who hold no gender, for they come from realms even you have not broached yet, where mortal logic does not apply or is necessary. 

This is a mirror of life. Dreams and nightmares reflect the universal whole. And you’re helplessly in love with everything within the vicinity. 

“Don’t you look besotted,” Corinthian draws, making you jump from your musings. “Shouldn’t you be running screaming?”

As if. 

You squeeze his arm closer. “This is incredible.” 

Corinthian follows after you when you drag him towards the buzzing crowds, weaving in between different dreams and nightmares. Tables litter the courtyard, drinks and food laid for all to feast upon. Half of it looks foreign, and the other half you would worry about putting in your mouth were you not cursed. 

Some dreams are dancing to your left. Instinctively, you almost skip towards them, loosening your hold on Corinthian to grasp his hand instead. 

“Come on!”

His grip constricts, making you glance towards him, but he only nods his head to your right. You follow his line of sight. 

Dream of the Endless sits on a makeshift throne of carved alabaster, Jessamy perched on top. It may not be as exquisite as his throne inside the castle, but he is nevertheless a sight to behold. Dream fits it perfectly, regal and subtly imposing the way only Endless could be. Tonight his black robes seem blacker than any ink, blacker than the darkest edge of the universe. Stars glimmer inside his collar, flickering flames licking the blackened material where his coat pools by his feet. 

His attention is already on you when your eyes meet, piercing and hooded, honing in on you through the busy throng of his creations as if you’re the only one present. Over Corinthian’s body, you offer Dream a subdued but warm smile, inclining your head, giving tribute to the Dream Lord on the night all living beings capable of dreams do. 

His head lowers marginally in your direction. 

Pressing closer to the nightmare you’re still holding onto, you prop your chin against his chest. “Dance?”

Corinthian’s head falls back towards you, listening, but his attention does not stray from his foray into observing his indirect kin surrounding you. It’s then you notice the cold, sneering way his face has contorted. Several individuals in the crowd are eyeing you with subdued suspicion and dislike. 

No, eyeing him. You with him. Many in the crowd are known to you—through association or because you were there for their creation. Even more are known by name, by their stories. But it’s then, holding onto your friend, that his earlier words crawl back to the forefront of your mind. 

Surely you’ve noticed? How many others around here look like me? Like you?

None. In a crowd of thousands—each more fantastical than the last—you two are the most unconventional sight. You stick out due to your sheer humanity. Due to your curse and wrongness in a land of plenty and wonder, but Corinthian…

The first time I became aware of my existence, I saw two things. Him, Dream of the Endless, my creator, and… you.

Crafted for humanity, a macabre reflection of them, a masterpiece for you. 

“Let’s dance,” you say, curving your fingers tighter around his. “It would be a shame not to give them a show with all their ogling.”

Corinthian perks up at your quieter addition, his fingers curling near possessively around yours in return. Cool but firm to the touch. 

“Now, that doesn’t sound very nice,” he hums, tugging you towards the dancing crowd. “Whatever would Dream say?”

I don’t care. No one looks at you like you’re wrong. Like you shouldn’t be here with me. You were the first—the first I saw made, the first I said ‘hello’ to, the first one I loved. You’ve always been mine, and you belong here, with me. 

An airy laugh slips free from you, “Don’t care.”

His eyebrows jump up, wiggling. “Rebellious.”

He sounds far too delighted by the notion. He lifts his arm, and you hold onto him, spinning in a slow, uncoordinated circle. 

“Says you. You’re the worst.”

He drags you closer, chest to chest, his teeth bared in a wicked, feral manner. He’s a nightmare. He will always be an entirety of chaos when left unchecked. But right now, Corinthian is merely here, celebrated and deserving of celebration the way all of Dream’s creations deserve tonight. 

“Oh, I know,” he exhales, dragging out the words with deliberate slowness and a guileful grin. 

You quirk a challenging brow just as another melody splits through the Dreaming, spinning a new dream for all those celebrating. 

“Remember the steps?” you challenge. “Just how I taught you.”

“I remember everything,” he reminds, a touch sardonically. 

“So do I,” you shoot back bitingly. “We’ll remember each other forever at this rate.”

The nightmare’s arm settles around your waist, his hair glowing from the hazy lights and the dreams appearing in the inky skies above—ready for their fall, their journey here, back home. 

Corinthian doesn’t smile this time. In his dark sunglasses, you only glimpse a ripple of yourself reflecting from him. “I’m counting on it, trouble.”

And then the nightmare spins you into a dizzying, euphoric circle that’s all but endless. 

an: I have such a deep-seated fondness for them. hope you enjoyed this. it's nice to write something happy after the last two chapters & overall a very meh day dealing with ten different mentally and emotionally draining things. hope this was able to give you all some much-needed comfort, and I'm sending anyone having a hard time rn all the love in the world 💕

[plethora-of-imagines]

Endearments they Call You

Dream/Morpheus:

Little dreamer/little one, he would never admit to it but he does have a bit of a fixation on how you are so much "smaller" than him. He's a personification of a concept, anyone other than his siblings is "smaller" than him. But you're his special dreamer, one he aims to serve, please and protect more than any other.

My nightmare, he only dares call you this spontaneously once when you are angry on his behalf. The poor reaction you have at first teaches him not to call you this without a clear sign of affection. You're only human so it doesn't have the same fond connotations to you as it does him. Slowly you are growing to understand it is meant with love

Precious one, of course he calls you precious. It's practically your name in his mind.

Beloved, a more formal nickname that he uses in front of visitors to the realm or when he does not want to show the full extend of his adoration to others around you

Starlight, this nickname is from how you light up his life. He so often has stars in his eyes when he looks at you, what he considers to be a reflection of what he sees when he looks at you

Desire:

Sweetness, you are far too sweet. Always asking Desire what they want. How could they resist calling you what you are.

Pet, you’re a cherished pet to Desire. They are called Desire as that is their function, so it only makes sense to call their pet, pet.

My heart, it's a sappy nickname that Desire tries not to use too often. But you hold the metaphorical heart of theirs in your continued existence.

Kitten, you are their kitten, duh. 

Corinthian:

Sweetheart, this nightmare may never have been made in the south but you still can't take the southern out of him. It's a classic nickname but not one exclusive to you.

Little morsel, its playful and one he only ever calls you. He wouldn't actually eat you up, but he loves to tease about doing so. 

Daydream, saved for the most sentimental of moments. He's almost embarrassed when he lets it slip past his lips. The rarest one to hear from him. He could almost be called shy about it.

[bakerstreethound]

Safe With Us

Relationship: Hobrintheus x gender neutral reader 

Warnings: domestic immortals, consensual polyamory, mentions of eye eating, anxiety, and implied sexual themes

Summary: After a relaxing morning with your lovers, you find your mind racing with tasks you needed to complete for the trip Hob planned on a whim. However, your lovers are quick to lend a hand and ease your worries. 

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

Word Count: 2.3k+

A/N: I’m late to writing this but my beloved @roguelov​ sent in a kissing prompt months ago and I decided to go ahead and run away with it. I haven’t written a polyamorous fic before but I hope you enjoy the antics of Hob, Corinthian, and Morpheus. Divider by @firefly-graphics​. Fanfic cover designed by me! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 

A usual morning for you begins in the kitchen after you untangle yourself from the limbs of your three lovers who string themselves across your bed, each one insisting they should cuddle you. You found it endearing how attentive they are to you and each other. 

You wouldn’t have it any other way, for you adored them more than anything and you would for eternities and lifetimes.

When you do make it to the kitchen, you’re greeted by The Corinthian who also managed to slip away from the pile, and wrapped his lean body in an apron. It looked ridiculous on him, but it fit right, his sunglasses sitting crookedly on his face. He scowled, setting them atop his rumpled hair. 

“Still sleepy?” You inquired, wrapping yourself around him, his back pressing into your chest, shoulders tensing for a moment before relaxing and muttering under his breath. 

“Morpheus wasn’t that mean. He likes putting you in your place is all,” you say, softly stroking Cori’s chest, feeling every edge of his the rise and fall of his steady breathing. You kissed his shoulder, releasing him so he could continue his morning ritual. 

You knew Morpheus could get overzealous in the bedroom with his adoration and by extension, poured out his desires upon Cori. The purple bruises on his neck contrasted against his skin, glimmering and forming a secret map only Morpheus knew. 

You were certain they trailed lower down his chest, his hips likely bruised from Morpheus’ grip. 

Cori didn’t tell you how he lived for your reassurances, those moments where it was the two of you with you on the counter, his lips pressed against yours, losing himself to you and your comfort, the occasional eyeball you would feed him if you infiltrated his stash, a flirty smile when he accepted your offering, his tongue gliding along your two fingers dripping with blood. 

They are sacred moments for the two of you; no words are needed but companionship and familiarity. 

“Morning loves!” Hob’s boisterous voice fills the cozy kitchen as he drags a bedraggled Morpheus along, who clung to him like a koala, his starry eyes meeting yours, gazing at you softly, traces of sleep apparent, but a fond smile tugged at his lower lip. 

You smiled back at them both, hugging Corinthian again before hopping off the counter and turning your attention to Hob and Morpheus who crushed you in their embrace, one soft and warm, the other cool and breezy, like the gentle night wind. 

You could lose yourself in all of them for hours. This was where you felt safe and nowhere else you’d rather be than with the three of them. 

You continued in your ritual of making hot chocolate, calm in the rhythm you’ve come to embrace over the years. 

You did your best to push aside the impending list of errands you’ve been neglecting for over a month from your mind, the upcoming trip you’d planned with your trio in the farthest corner out of reach. Packing and planning destinations was a whole other ballgame you didn’t want to muddle over right then. 

Morpheus’ gaze fell upon you, glassy starry-eyed and you welcomed him into your arms after settling at the table, the steaming cup of cocoa before you, letting your thoughts slip away, calmed as you stroked through the messy strands of Morpheus’ hair. 

Hob whistled when he passed by, piling the eggs he scrambled from the skillet onto a large plate and setting it on the middle of the table. ‘Aren’t you two the cutest, wouldn’t you say, Cori?” 

“If I agree they’re going to complain.” Corinthian chewed on a piece of bacon, placing it next to the eggs and pressing a kiss to your forehead, pulling away from Hob’s shoulder squeeze; he wasn’t the most affectionate around Hob, yet, preferring his creator and you to provide affection. 

Hob shrugged in understanding, pressing a kiss to both you and Morpheus’ cheeks before joining you properly at the table while Morpheus continued to sit in your lap, shrinking himself to the size of a cat. 

You don’t mind, enjoying the comfortable silence passing between you. You cherished these lazy mornings with your loves and could think of nothing better. You definitely did not want to take another moment to think of the countless errands you’ve fallen behind in the meantime. 

Still, the thought continued to plague you beyond breakfast well onto midmorning where you struggled to check a single thing off of your never-ending list. Work was in a few days and you still had so much to do to prepare for your vacation Hob booked last minute, insisting the beach was a much-needed investment for all of you. 

You had to admit, Corinthian complaining about getting sunburned was hilarious, not that he had anything to worry about in the slightest; he liked to rile up Hob the majority of the time. 

“Hob, you can’t make me go, I’ll get sunburned.” Corinthian groaned when he looked up from the paper sighing heavily from his favorite armchair.  

Hob rolled his eyes, from where he was draped over Morpheus who held his hand, rubbing circles on it with his thumb. “What the hell do you mean? Morpheus made you out of sand, you’re not getting out of it that easily, old boy.” 

“A break would be nice,” Morpheus mumbled, and you raised a brow in turn from your armchair across from Cori. 

“Oh, come on it’ll be good old-fashioned bonding time. I already booked the house for the four of us in two weeks, there’s no backing out. I insist,” Hob grumbled, “The lot of you are a piece of work.” 

“Well we are workaholics, you have that right,” you remarked, turning a page of your book. 

“Don’t I know it? It’s like the lot of you have no concept of relaxation, especially the both of you,” Hob glared at you playfully before Morpheus pressed his lips to Hob’s silencing the protests.  

A rattling noise brought you back to the present, with Hob battling the coffee machine, as it was likely turned to the wrong setting, courtesy of Cori. 

He sighed in frustration, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, looking the part of a bedraggled professor on a typical Monday morning as he changed after eating. His cardigan pulled over the fitted short-sleeved shirt he wore, paired with the tailored trousers looked impeccable on him, rounding out the look. 

You made a mental note to yourself to steal the cardigan one day.

“How you manage to look nice after the night we have astounds me,” Corinthian grumbles, a fraction of an easy half-smile on his lips before he pecks your cheek, ruffling the now normal-sized Morpheus’ hair as he swaggered by, a newspaper in hand before settling in his large highbacked armchair in the living room.  

You murmured incoherently, trying to focus on the list before you desperately wanted to do anything except the one task today. “It’s the Hob charm I assure you. No way I could look nice after the lot of you are through kissing me.” 

“We do like to kiss you, that is certain, along with other things,” Morpheus’ voice grazed your ear, familiar warmth flowing through your body your mind wandering to the hours of the night they had you captured in their arms, a hand around your throat, a pair gripping your hips, in your hair, all-consuming, making you lose your mind over and over. You couldn’t get enough and never would. 

“At this rate, you three will have me locked in the house the rest of the day and I have countless things to do. If you’ve forgotten we have that vacation to plan for, which, by the way, means we have to shop, clean, and get supplies and who knows what else!” Your hands gripped your hair tightly, breathing ragged while regaining some semblance of your composure. 

You hadn’t meant to cause such an outburst, but sometimes when all was quiet and still, you craved chaos, the unpredictable, afraid when all was too calm, there was a great disposition on the horizon. 

However, that disposition seventy-five percent of the time always came back to you. 

“Shhh it’s alright we’re here. We can take care of things, right?” Hob cupped your face resting his forehead against yours before kissing you gently, wandering off to grab your notepad from the table as Morpheus wrapped around behind you, his chest sure and steady offering support. Nevertheless, you are thankful for it and let yourself fall back into his embrace. 

If Cori had eyes, you are sure he’d be rolling them into the back of his head by now, but he swooped by, kissing your forehead, not uttering a sound, his eye teeth clicking at the sound of your weary sigh. 

Your chest fluttered, awakened by all the attention, baffled. "You're all so good to me….I don't understand it." 

Morpheus' lips found your neck, not paying an ounce of attention to your outburst and your protests when Cori draws nearer to kiss you properly, his tongue swiping along your lower lip, making you groan. 

Hob nodded in approval. "Much better." He scribbled notes down on the paper, glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose and you wanted to peel that cardigan off of the longer you looked at him. 

You couldn't think beyond the kisses that were bestowed upon you and soon forgot about the next day and the following week when you're tossed in the middle of the large bed, Corinthian settling behind you, Morpheus on your front. 

You certainly don't complain when they're this attentive, a shiver going down your spine when Corinthian reached out for Morpheus, pulling him into his arms, devouring his lips fervently. 

Their moans fill the large homey room you'd spent many a day in filled with countless memories and moments you stashed away for a lifetime. 

Soon you caught a glimpse of Hob leaning against the doorway, notepad in hand, twirling a pen between his fingers, looking upon the three of you, still scribbling away marking up and down the paper’s margins, unfazed by the makeout session. 

However, you knew him well enough to see it took most of -if not all his restraint to join his lovers and let himself indulge in your whims. 

“Hob, you’ve been a dear, but please join us.” You pouted, swiping your tongue along your lower lip, watching the pen in Hob’s hand wavering, eyes snapping to attention, fixated upon you, dragging over to Morpheus and Corinthian tangled fighting for dominance in a quiet dance of their own.

 "You're insufferable." 

"You created me and that's your problem," Cori quipped back, pinning Morpheus beneath him, devouring his creator, who responded in kind, clawing at his creation’s back, digging his nails in deep. 

No matter how many times they tried to deny it, once they had their hands on each other, they were impossible to stop, of that you and Hob knew. 

Hob sighed, leaking over to your embrace, mumbling under his breath.

"I agree we're all insufferable, Hob." That earned a smile on his soft face and you kiss him as if your life depended on it and in a way it did. You couldn't have been more grateful for him or Corinthian and Morpheus.

 "Get in here you lump," Cori muttered backing away from Morpheus who left ample bite marks along his neck, the purple bruises more prominent, and slight teeth indentions making his skin look all the more inviting. 

Without hesitation, Morpheus pulled Hob into his arms, yelping at the sudden touch, yet the smile on his face was bright and full of love and grace. Meanwhile Corinthian scooted closer to you, pulling you up to straddle his thigh, his lips cool and warm along your neck before connecting with your lips drowning out your thoughts.  

You’re surprised by each kiss they bestowed upon you and how easily your worries drifted away, the simplicity of them being near you and kissing you enough to calm the raging storm within. 

You sighed in bliss, murmuring praises to them as Hob and Morpheus come over on the other side of you, cocooning you in their warmth. Cori ruffled your hair as he laid you on the bed next to him, kissing your forehead once more a fond expression etched along his face. 

Even with a lack of eyes, you can tell he is being sincere, his usually cold heart open only to you and his other lover (even still, getting used to Hob was still a work in progress). Hob’s arms draped around you next and you smile, utterly content and happy.

"I'm still sorry for being such an inconvenience…." 

Hob's lips brushed along yours. "Love, it's not a problem. I- we'd do anything for our favorite person." 

"Everything is going to be alright, darling." Morpheus tumbles on top of you much to Hob’s dismay burrowing against your chest and giving you a kiss before settling in properly his cloak draped around him for warmth as he tosses a sharp glare at Hob.

Cori hummed quietly, enjoying the moment, albeit used to the bickering. “Can’t blame you, Hob. Morpheus was your favorite person before me.

“You’re all of our favorite person,” Morpheus grumped.

Cori muttered in annoyance once more his eye teeth clicking, as he runs a hand along Morpheus' back causing his creator to purr in content. 

There you stayed, nestled in the warmth of your lovers, their reassurances warming you, sparking your confidence, safe and sound with them. 

Everything would be alright, each of their kisses drowning out your doubts while they continued drawing you in their warmth and love. You playfully shoved Hob’s hand away, your back met with his bare chest and shivered.

"Hob keep your hands to yourself,” you murmur playfully as his hand wraps around your waist. 

“Not a chance, dear one. Not a chance." 

******

[n1ghtlux]

"We'll remember each other forever at this rate."

"I'm counting on it, trouble."

I would die for the Corinthian and Wanderer. No questions asked. Thank you Kat for all these hours spent writing and creating this story <3

@the-darklings , today I bury you in me; Maria Petrovykh, "Love me. I am pitch black"; Taylor Jenkins Reid, The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo; Natalie wee, "least of all"; art by me

[angelsxwords]

— pretty little eyes.

corinthian likes your eyes.

a/n: corinthian brainrot so strong i revived my writing blog. warnings: mentions of eye-stealing. he doesn’t actually steal them. intended to be fluff. gn! reader. short drabble.

corinthian loves your eyes. they entice him; their shape, their colour and all the little details they reveal. he enjoys to see the way you roll your eyes when something annoys you, or the way they are blown wide and almost seem to sparkle when something fascinates you. your eyes speak to him more than your lips — and they could show him so much more, if…

he presses a kiss to the thin skin protecting them from harm, lingers there for a moment to feel them tremble beneath his lips in response to the unfamiliar pressure. corinthian smiles and kisses your eyelid again, before moving to the little space in-between your eyes.

“do you have, like, an instinctive need to take my eyes that you need to control?”

corinthian chuckles at that.

“not really. i just like them, especially yours.”

his fingers trace the bags underneath your eyes. with you trusting him as much as you do, it would be easy to take them. corinthian could do it now, whilst you two are enjoying this quiet moment in bed. yet, he doesn’t — and won’t, which is the promise he seals whenever he kisses your eyelids.

[lis-likes-fics]

Rhyme and Reason

Pairings: Corinthian x dream!Reader Word Count: 8.7k words Prompt: Corruption Kink Warnings: NSFW, 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: There are only two left, guys! I might be able to do this! This took a minute to write cause ADHD is a bitch. But I finished and I hope you like it! Thank you and Happy Holidays!

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...

[roguelov]

Look at You

Summary: With his back turned, you decided to try on your love’s, the Corinthian, sunglasses. But, only trying them on will come with some consequences.

Word Count: ~2.2k

Reader: Afab

Warning: Smut (fingering, dirty talk, teasing/begging, unprotected sex (doggystyle), mirror sex)

Requested by the sweet @dreamstatednightmare

MINOR DNI/ 18+ ONLY

You inhaled softly, awaking to a new day. Cracking open your eyes, the yellow hues of the morning sunlight streamed in through the windows. Dust particles - that hung loosely in the air - now twinkled like your own galaxy trapped within your four walls.

You sighed, and snuggled deeper into the warmth of bed and sheets. Your head lolled over to the side. A smile - so joyful, pure of adoration - crossed your lips.

Your miniature stars of your galaxy floated down, haloing around your love’s face. He basked in the early morning golden hue, like a god sculpted by fire and wonder. His voice was a deep vibrato, a harmonious symphony, that hummed within your bones down to your soul. It uplifted you. His touch was downright intoxicating that left you addicted and always wishing - aching - for more. His essence enveloped you, he became the sun to your barren earth.

He was perfect.

“You’re staring again, sweetheart.”

Still smiling, you snorted. “Is that a problem?”

Corinthian titled his head over to you. He opened his eyes, smiling widely.

Nightmare. A monsterous vision.

Teeth - yes, teeth - stared at you where eyes should be. Pearl white teeth that clicked together - a sickening click meant to haunt dreams. Yet, despite all of it, you continued to smile back at him.

“No, not at all.” His rich syrupy voice inflected with a southern drawl, even more pronounced with the lingering effects of sleep.

You completely rolled over, facing him. “Good.”

He laughed once. “You really are somethin’, aren’t ya?”

“Yeah, your problem.”

With quick reflexes, he threw his arm out over your waist and drew you in, pressing you firmly against his chest. Your smile only widened, despite being face to face with a literal nightmare. No fears, no worries, only love flooded over you. Such a dizzying warmth.

“You are just too sweet, I could eat you up.” He popped the ‘p’, then tossed you a wolfish grin.

“You could, but who would keep you company?” Your hands skimmed up his chest.

“You think I couldn’t find someone else?” He teased.

“No one as good as me.”

He clicked his tongue. “Now, you may be right about that.”

“I’m always right.”

“Oh, now don’t go pushin’ on it.” He leaned in and pecked your forehead. But, neither of you were satisfied with it, so he kissed your lips. So sweet, so addictingly sweet. Smirking, he whispered against your lips. “You know I was thinking about hopping into the shower, care to join me?”

You hummed in thought. “Tempting.”

“But?”

“But, I’ll sit this one out … for now.”

“Ooo, I like that promise.”

He kissed your lips once more before rolling out of bed. Your eyes trailed after him, hungrily taking him in. He strolled into the bathroom shutting the door behind him, hiding him from your view.

You flopped onto your back, sighing.

The pipes creaked as the shower turned on.

Now, you could get up to start your day as well. Maybe, you could make breakfast for the two of you … or you could stay in the comfort of your bed just a little while longer.

You peered back over to the closed bathroom door, but something was caught in your peripheral - something shone, glittered, in the sunlight. All your attention shifted.

Sunglasses.

It was frankly an ordinary pair of sunglasses neatly folded on the nightstand. However, ordinary also wasn’t the correct word. It was a unique pair because it was the Corinthian’s sunglasses which hid his true nature out in public. Sunglasses he freely tossed aside once in the confinements of your home.

He trusted you, wholeheartedly. Trusted and loved you enough to shed his mask.

Unfortunately, in this moment, you only had one thought in mind: to try them on for yourself.

You snuck a glance to the bathroom door. Still closed, and the shower still ran. If you listened closely you could hear the soft whistling from the Corinthian. Biting back a giddy smile, you scrambled across the bed and plucked up the dark circular sunglasses.

You slipped them on. You were taken back by how dark the room became, it was nearly pitch black.

How does he see in these?

You hopped out of bed and walked over to the full length mirror hanging on the closet door. You smiled at yourself. You had to admit you loved how they looked on you. Like how they framed your face, how they made you feel. Staring at yourself, you started to goofy faces then just downright admired yourself.

You laughed, having your fun and turned away.

Arms snuck around your waist.

Your breath was taken away, your heart leapt up into your throat. Turning your head back to the mirror, your eyes locked onto the Corinthian directly behind you. His pale blonde hair slicked back as water droplets occasionally dripped off the one loose strand. His body, his skin still damp and slightly red, radiated an intense heat from the shower. Your clothes soon stuck to his bare chest. And to top it off, all he had covering himself was a towel tucked around his waist.

And although he couldn’t see your wide shocked eyes, he could perfectly picture it in his mind. He chuckled, tightening his grip. “Having fun, darlin’?”

You laughed once, a little nervous. Would he be mad? Upset? “Yeah, uh, sorry.”

“Oh, now don’t be sorry, sweetheart.” He dropped his head, his lips skimmed over your neck. “I think they look good on you.”

You tucked your chin to your chest, feeling both relief and bashful by his honey sweet words.

He chuckled softly. You were certainly something, something he loved sinking his teeth into. His hands glided down and gripped your hips. He nipped at your neck. You gasped. He smirked, the same buttery smirk he always wears. He brought your hips back, making you grind on him just a bit. At the small sensation, a pleasant hum vibrated in the back of his throat.

You shivered. Your head tipped forward, craning to the side to give him better access. His glasses slid down the bridge of your nose

A hand snaked up your body - over your curves and valleys, leaving a trail of goosebumps - and wrapped gently around your throat. It tipped your head back, so you could look at yourself in the mirror head on. Corinthian smiled deviously. “Now, now, sweetheart, I think you need to see this.”

His sunglasses hung on the tip of your nose. Looking over top of them, you made eye contact with him. He only smirked, one that held a hidden agenda. His hand - wrapped around your throat - came up and pushed his glasses back properly on your face. His face nuzzled into your neck, starting to bite and bruise you.

“I want you to keep them, sweetheart.” He mumbled into your skin. “And keep your eyes on me, on what I do.”

His fingers traced down your body, loving how easily you squirmed. His fingers landed on the waistband of your sweatpants. He picked at the elastic, humming in minor disapproval.

“Step out of those pants for me, would you darlin’?” You obeyed without a second thought. You shimmed out of your sweatpants then kicked them to the side. “And these too.”

He tugged on your underwear. You pulled them off, and decidedly your shirt too, tossing them to the growing pile. Your heart hammered in your chest, absolutely thrilled by the quick turn of events.

His eyes raked over your body. He smiled, showing all his teeth like a ferocious hungry animal. “Perfect.”

His arms shot out and yanked you towards his body. He twisted you around, ensuring you faced the mirror. He peppered kisses down your jaw and neck. Each kiss, you fell - fell into depravity, fell into his waiting arms. His fingers danced over your body, tracing over your curves. Your skin screamed - ached, yearned - for more. His fingers skimmed down your thighs then towards your core. But, he only teased. With a feathery touch, he glided over your inner thigh.

Leaning into him, you let out a shaky breath.

He smirked, deviously. He kissed your neck - a mere distraction. With one finger, he dipped down, swiping along your wet folds.

Your breath hitched.

“My, my, what has you all turned on?” His finger teased your entrance again. Your heart pounded against your flushed chest and ears. All his doing. “Come on, answer me, sweetheart. Who has you all in a tizzy?”

Licking your lips, you breathed out, “You.”

“That’s right.”

He circled around your clit, playing with it - teasing you as he always did. You dropped your head back into him. Fluttering your eyes closed, a string of curses passed under your breath.

“Ah, I want you to look.” With his free hand, he grabbed your chin making you look at the mirror.

Darkness stared back.

You shivered.

Your naked body was solely supported by him, while he hid from view. All you saw his smirk and of course his fingers. How they wondered over your body, and reflected in the light with your juices. You swallowed, nervously. Your eyes locked onto his hand, onto his skillful fingers as they dipped between your folds and inside of you.

You whimpered.

His fingers pumped in and out of you, slowly working you to your high. “You’re okay, I got you.” He whispered in your ear.

Even through the dark glasses, you could easily see how his fingers disappeared inside of you. And if you couldn’t see, you could most definitely hear the sinful wet noises.

Your hands flew up, threading into his damp hair. You tugged on the golden strains, needing to cling to him, needing all the support to keep you upright. You greedily grinded down on his fingers.

He moaned, loving how you were losing yourself in such intense feelings. “Hmm, just like that sweetheart, just like that.”

The heel of his palm grinded into your clit. Moaning, you bucked your hips. More. His fingers curled. Your walls fluttered. More. He smiled to himself. He pumped faster, giddy how close you were reaching your end. You yanked on his hair, whining. You rocked your hips desperately chasing your high.

He chuckled. A deep vibration felt in your chest. Yet, despite knowing how close you were, his fingers slipped out of you.

You whined, unabashedly.

“Come here.”

He moved you around the bed, and easily bent you over the edge - all in front of the mirror, or so you could look at yourself head on. Your hands rested on the bed with your ass sticking out. Nerves and excitement fluttered through you. His towel dropped with a soft thud, and your heart rate spiked. He grabbed your hips and his cock teased your entrance.

You were needy, you were desperate. You immediately pushed back, wiggling your hips.

He purred. “Slow down, sweetheart.”

He continued to tease you, just sinking his tip between your folds. Oh how he enjoyed how you became more and more vocal. Such a devious man in such a beautiful package.

Such trickery, such irony, such poetry.

“Please,” you begged.

He hummed. “Say it nicely.”

“Please, Corinthian.”

He hissed through his teeth. “Darlin’, I don’t know.”

You whimpered. “Please, please, I want you.”

Your words hung in the air. He said nothing, as if weighing them. Then he leaned down, his lips brushed over the shell of your ear. “Now, that is begging, sweetheart.”

His cock slipped inside you, and your wall eagerly welcomed him.

“Ooo, look at you, sweetheart.”

Your eyes flickered up, over the edge of glasses. Your mouth had fallen apart into a silent moan. Corinthian smirked from behind you, looming behind you. His skin glistened in sunlight like a god made of stars. He radiated warmth, but his actions always said otherwise.

His was a contradiction, but your contradiction.

He rocked his hips, sliding in and out with such ease. You dropped to your forearms. “Fuck.”

Corinthian chuckled. His fingers dug into your hips, definitely bruising them. He began to pick up his pace.

Your head tipped forward, burying into the sheets. Unbothered by how the glasses pressed into your face. Your whines and moans were muffled. You pushed back, grinding into him.

He moaned. “Ooo, just like that darlin’.”

He pounded into you, and you matched his pace. His skin smacked against you, such a resounding delicious sound. Higher and higher you both rose. Your walls fluttered around him. His cocked twitched and he moaned.

You whined. “Corinthian.”

“Come on, come for my sweetheart, I know you can do it.” He lifted your head, making you look at yourself in the mirror again. “I want you to watch yourself.”

His cock kissed deep within you, hitting such delightful spots.

You whimpered.

With each hit, you reached higher and higher and -

And you finally crashed.

You moaned, watching yourself as you came around him.

Corinthian chuckled. He grabbed your hips forcibly and continuously pounded into you making you ride out your orgasm while chasing his own. And you watched, utterly entranced by him. Your nightmare wrapped in a dream. He closed his eyes, tipping his head back to the gods. His mouth fell open and he moaned out your name.

You shivered.

He dropped his head, opening his eyes. He connected with yours in the mirror. He tossed you a tired smile, and bent over you. The same smirk, cocky and somewhat arrogant, wormed its way onto his beautiful lips. He whispered into your ear. “Care to join me in the shower now?”

You laughed, breathless. “Absolutely.”

[unabashednightmarepizza]

NSFW SANDMAN TWITTER PACK

ೃ⁀➷Morpheus/ Dream of the Endless

Morpheus is a passionate one, always taking his time with you and your body, which would glisten with the first peaks of morning...

With the Dreaming glowing behind you, him benath you and showing all the passion and love he felt for you through his kisses, Morpheus looked up at you as if you were the one who made the sky shine brightly. Maybe it was true, the Dreaming was him and he never felt as blessed and horny... And your moans and the sound of kissing were only the proof that all the dreamers would have happy dreams, since the maker of them was happy with his love laying beside him.

You have been needy all day, everything he did only drove you mad. The way his huge and boney hands layed on the surface of the book he was reading, or how he was currently resting it over your thigh, occasionally rubbing it up and down which made a patheatic whine coming out of your mouth, widening your eyes in embarrassment when he caught it and smirked knowingly while closing his book. "Have I neglected you so much that you crave just my fingers, beloved? Don't worry, I shall take care of my Queen and make her crave my cock for weeks after I'll be done with her..."

He knew how you always wanted to please him, even though it was too much for your body to handle his stamina. So in return of your care and love, he gave you one of the many best nights ever, kissed your shoulders, cheeks and held you until you slept, protecting you even in your sleep.

ೃ⁀➷Hob Gadling

Seeing your lover with his usual teaching attire was a huge turn on for you... Fortunately both him and you had a time off before he went to his class. And if a student asked about the stupid grin on his face, he didn't mention anything... and about your panties in his pocket.

"You can be as loud as you want to be, baby... No one is here to hear you, and I will take advantage of it, fuck you in every single corner of this college until all you will remember is how my cock made you feel and I swear to God, I won't stop until your legs will be shaking so bad that people will see you here with me the next morning, all wet and full with me..."

ೃ⁀➷Lucifer Morningstar

Lucifer knew how teasing you were, always having a hand on a lord of Hell, always listening to them, showing kindness and making them think that they could actually have you. She was the ruler of them all, of course she knew what they thought... She also knew how to show them you belongt to her and how the only way they would see you bare before them was through her pleasuring you..

Lucifer wasn't used to being taken care of, after all she much preferred to serve you like the Queen you were. But how could she refuse your begging eyes and your soft voice pleading to her to let you love and cherish her? The way your soft lips kissed hers, her trying everything in her powers to not her hunger consume both you and her, she closed her eyes in bliss when you slid down to her throat and rocked against her... Maybe she could still feel Heaven, as long as she had you.

"OH MY GOD!" "You dare to think about him when I'm fucking you? Is that not enough, little one?" Lucifer was possesive, jealous and maybe a little bit scared to loose you. The mention of him felt like a bitter taste on her tounge and she was determined to make you forget everything about and related to him, her new goal setting a fire inside her that wrecked both you and her.

It was known that Lucifer was a show-off, especially about you, their beautiful Queen. And what's the best way to do that, except giving the Lords a first view while you tried to cover your most private parts?

ೃ⁀➷The Corinthian

Corinthian never imagined you to last this long, without breaking apart or him just not finding killing you in himself after so many nights spent together. He didn't understand why he suddenly started to feel fond of you, he loathed your kind. They were stupid morons who didn't understand the value in anything, they killed without care and they destroy everything good in life but... Not you. You helped him, stayed even after learning what he was and what he does, you stayed even after you told him that you would wait for him when he kissed you hard and fucked you... He never in his life felt this much confusion and heart ache before so, he put all of his frustration and anger into fucking you good, absolutely wrecking you until you only knew his name.

He just looked so good, and handsome. Were you really to blame to have jumped on him as soon as you saw him?( male!reader)

ೃ⁀➷Desire of The Endless

Desire liked to be seen as a dom but... they were nothing but a whiny mess while clutching the pillows beneath them while you fingered them in rhytm with your strocks over their cock. Screaming your name for all the universe to hear.

It all started with a cocky "Your face would look better between my legs." from them but oh boy, they weren't ready for what was about to come.

[stranger-nightmare]

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 | 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐚𝐧

requested by @psychedelic-ink

A/N: you guys don’t understand how bad I just wanna kiss this man’s neck, like seriously I am enamoured, I could write a whole fic just on giving him beck kisses I swear... um anyways, thank you for the request my beloved Sil!! I really hope you like it

extra warning: as this is somnophilia it does involve slight dub-con, but trust me reader is very happy about it once she wakes up

You’d been asleep when he’d finally snuck his way into your bedroom. It was a frequent occurrence now for The Corinthian to visit you at night time. Usually the two of you would get up to all sorts of smut together when he came to see you, but tonight you had fallen asleep before he’d arrived.

That wasn’t going to stop him though.

He hums a deep groan as you shift under the covers, revealing to him that you had gone to bed wearing nothing. He kicks off his shoes, quickly and quietly ridding himself of the rest of his clothes swiftly after. He’s then silently crawling his way into the bed beside you. He shuffles close to you, but not close enough to touch you. Not just yet.

For a moment he just takes in the sight of your glorious chest, carefully pulling the sheet all the way off you to expose your entire naked body to him. He smirks to himself as he revels in the idea of just how vulnerable and exposed you were to him. The thought makes his cock twitch as it quickly starts to grow hard.

His gaze roams freely and shamelessly over you as he starts to stroke himself next to you. He squeezes and tugs at his dick hastily as he watches your breasts rise and up down with your breathing. He admires the way your plump lips are hanging open, almost inviting in their shape. A light grunt escapes him as you shift again in your sleep, your legs falling open slightly.

That was the final straw for The Corinthian. He simply couldn’t wait any longer; he needed to be inside you. He gently grabs onto your waist, turning you so you lay on your side, your ass now facing him. He almost lets out another groan as your body seems to move instinctively, your ass pushing out to meet his crotch.

At this point he’s aching for you, desperate to get inside you. He has to bite back a growl as he finally pushes inside you. A soft, sleepy sigh falls from your lips as he slowly starts to fuck himself into your sleeping body. One of his hands comes to rest on your hip, pulling you back against him to meet his hips with each thrust.

It’s not long before he’s fucking himself quite hard into you, the wet sound of slapping skin and his breath groans filling the room. It’s just moments before you’re slowly waking up with a moan. Your back arches, pushing against him, as one of your hands comes up to curl around his nape, tugging on his light blonde hair.

“You’re here,” you muse drowsily, a lazy smirk on your lips, as you twist your torso slightly to face towards him.

He brings his hand up from your hip to cup your jaw lightly.

“Having a nice dream?” He taunts darkly, placing a deep kiss to your lips.

You smile as he kisses you languidly, deeply, his hips still loving against you, his cock stroking deep inside you.

“Mmm,” you hum sleepily against his lips, “a nightmare, actually…”

Main Masterlist // Kinktober 2022 Masterlist

[auroraborealyss]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐋 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐢𝐢.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader, corinthian x reader if you squint

⊹ summary: you reunite with an old enemy and an even older friend, the corinthian, and confront him about his betrayal to morpheus, and more importantly, to you

⊹ tags: unexpected hints of a love triangle (more like a love V since there's no third line), contains more corinthian than morpheus in this part

⊹ warnings: violence, spoiler for 1.09

⊹ word count: 3492 (an absolute menace)

⊹ previous part: part ii

⊹ up next: part iv → coming soon

⊹ now playing: run boy run by woodkid

𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚢 𝚛𝚞𝚗! 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚢 𝚛𝚞𝚗! 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢'𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞

The basement is cold and empty.

You shiver as you walk quietly through the hall. The years have taught you how to step lightly as if you were gliding on the marble rather than stepping.

Even though there was no logical reasoning that bound the Corinthian and you, you can still feel his presence. He was somewhere on the floor, getting closer and closer with each step you take even though your not working purposefully in a directions. You can feel him waiting for you to find him. To come to him — ironic, considering it’s been him chasing you all this time.

You don’t know what will happen when you see each other again. Will he hurt you? Try to claim the very bounty he set on your head? Has he finally gotten tired of your cat-and-mouse game?

Your thoughts are put to a pause when Jed Walker appears ahead, just a few doors from where you’re standing. You whisper his name but it goes unheard as he pushes open a set of doors and steps through, disappearing from your view. You still don’t know what the Corinthian could want with two young mortals, but given his track record, you don’t trust him with them. If saving them means your game has to continue, then very well.

“Jed!” you whisper louder. You hurry after the boy, slipping through the doors just before they close and nearly bumping into him.

The room isn’t empty. In fact, there are four—technically, three—other people in the room. A dead mortal, two killers, and in the centre of it all, the Corinthian himself.

The Corinthian smiles at you.

You push Jed behind you. He grips onto the back of your shirt, trembling in fear as you and him both look at the Corinthian and the man being stabbed to death behind him.

Even with those dark shades on, you know the Corinthian is looking at you. You can feel his stare burning into you, taking in every inch of you greedily. It has been a century since he last saw you, after all. An entire century since he stopped you from entering the basement of Rodrick Burgess and freeing your husband and his maker, and instead put a bounty on your head.

“Hello, my lady,” the Corinthian says, his honey-like drawl drawing shivers from you. He takes a step towards you, and you take three back. “I’ve missed you.”

He hasn’t changed much since the last time you saw him—nearly a hundred years ago. He still insists on indulging his materialistic side—something he got from Morpheus’ tendency to spoil you, probably—by wearing high-end suits. His golden hair is still the same length, though he no longer wears his hat. And he still wears those damn shades that covers his eyes—eyes that Morpheus spent days crafting specially for him.

You shove Jed further back, and the boy thankfully takes the hint and bolts. You stay.

“Who’s she?” one of the killers, a woman with straight hair, asks.

“She’s mine,” the Corinthian says dismissively. “Just continue with him.”

The woman looks at you before shrugging. She raises her hand to resume stabbing the man.

“Both of you, stop,” you command, and the two behind him immediately stop. Not just their arm, but every muscle in their body has frozen in compliance with your order. Even their hearts have frozen, and though you’re sure they’re feeling terrified, their bodies can’t show it because of what you’ve done to them with a single spoken word.

“All these years, and you still can’t control it, can you?” the Corinthian says. Though he sounds slightly disappointed, he keeps his tone light, as if remarking that it was raining when it should have been sunny. The casualness in his voice enrages you.

He’d always been a nightmare, but the last time you saw him, he had also been your friend. Not the maker-and-created relationship he has with Morpheus, but a friend. You hadn’t been surprised he’d want to keep Morpheus trapped and stop you, but you hadn’t expected for him to put that bounty on your head and reveal Morpheus’ and your’s, secret. To Morpheus, it was an act of defiance. To you, it was an act of betrayal.

“Corinthian."

His features softens slightly at the name you chose and gave to him. “My lady.”

“What have you done?”

“I inspired people, just like you said I would be able to.”

You flinch, as he’s spat your words back at you verbatim. You and him had been walking through the Dreaming once, your arm linked around his. It had been after your wedding to Morpheus but before the power transference ceremony. The Corinthian had asked what your intention was for him, as while it had been Morpheus who crafted him for you, you had decided his purpose. Even Morpheus had been surprised that you would choose to craft a nightmare rather than a dream, but you defended the Corinthian by saying nightmares had just as much power influencing a person and their decisions as much as dreams did.

“Confronting one’s fears challenges a person, but when they emerge, they come out stronger and firmer in their beliefs,” you had told him. “That’s what I want you to be. To be a mirror for humanity’s darkest self so they would choose to be better.”

He had smiled down at you in response, and dipped his head in a small bow. You tightened your grip on him as you resumed your walk, the sun warm down on both of you—so different from the cold that filled the air between the two of you now.

“I wanted you to inspire others to be good, Corinthian. Not…this.”

“I’m letting them be their true selves.”

“You’ve taught them to be selfish and cruel.”

He tilts his head before taking a step forward. You take another three back until you hit the door. But you don’t run. Not yet.

“Are you disappointed in me, my lady?” he asks lowly.

You toss your nametag to his feet in response. Of all his atrocities to you, that was the worst. “You made me that,” you spit out. Lady of Whispers. The name he gave you. He was the one who blew on the flames and built your reputation when he knew that you never meant to hurt anyone. It was his fault that people feared you, when you had been the complete opposite in the Dreaming. 

“I gave you a name of your own,” he says through gritted teeth. “Something for people to know you by other than being someone’s wife.”

There is truth behind his words. People still knew you as Lady of the Dreaming, but now they feared you for you, and not because of Morpheus solely.

The two killers behind him fall to the ground, dead. Death was always the only one able to put a stop to your powers.

The Corinthian bends down to pick you your name. As he does, you seize his distracted nature and run, going after Jed wherever he is. As the doors swing shut behind you, you hear the Corinthian’s throaty chuckle, the sound raising bumps all over your arms.

You sprint up the stairs rather than wait for the elevator.

Floor after floor, you search the halls, hissing out Jed’s name. By the fifth floor, you’re breathing heavily. By the eight, there’s a sharp cramp in your side. On the tenth, you’re forced to stop against a wall to catch your breath. As you will the fire in your lungs to go away, you remember the key in your back pocket. The room reserved for you is on this floor. It’s a completely irrelevant point, but you can’t help but wonder what you would find if you entered that room: one bed or two.

A girl walks past you, her head tilted upwards to the room numbers. You stare after her in surprise, recognizing her from the picture you’re carrying.

“Rose Walker?” you ask.

She turns to you. She blinks, and you see the recognition flare in her eyes. “I know you, don’t I?” she says thoughtfully. “I think I’ve seen you in my dreams.”

That wasn’t possible. Mortals already rarely remembered the full extent of their dreams. They rarely remembered Morpheus being by their side as they went through the Dreaming, you even more, talking to them and guiding them through. The most they remembered was the warmth of your presence.

“Y/N,” she says. “You’re Dream’s wife.”

You stop. “How do you know who I am?”

“He told me I’d know who you were.”

“My husband?” You step closer. “He’s spoken with you? Is he here? Is he alright? What did he say?”

“He told me to tell you something.”

“What is it?” you ask insistently, the desperation clear in your voice. Was it an explanation for why he isn’t here? Anger or hurt? Understanding?

“He told me to tell you that I’m a vortex,” Rose says.

You freeze and stare at Rose. It takes a few seconds for the pieces to click—why your husband would want her to tell you that apart from everything else. But when it does click, your shoulders relax and you smile at her. Of course he’d have her tell you that. You never would have figured it out on your own.

“Why would he tell me to tell you that?” Rose asks. “Does it mean something special to you?”

Of course you pity her for what has to be done, but you’re also relieved that you’re almost done. But before you can give her an answer—a partial truth to not be so cruel—someone calls her name.

You both look down the hall and see Jed Walker standing there. Rose breaks into a smile, forgetting you, and hugs Jed tightly. You recognize the man behind Jed, Fun Land, who’s too busy looking at him like prey. He moves forward and starts to tug Jed from Rose, who screams at him and you for help.

You rush forwards and slam your elbow down on Fun Land’s neck, hitting a nerve that sends him crumpling to his knees.

“Run, Rose!” you bark at her, and though her eyes don’t turn gold, she does as you command anyway.The three of you sprint down the hallway, only to be forced to a stop as you reach a locked green door. You try to kick it down, but the lock is thick and made of metal. As Rose and Jed begin to knock on it desperately, shouting for help, you think about who you’d call for help—Morpheus. But he isn’t here. At least, not yet. And you couldn’t let someone like Fun Land appease the appetite that the Corinthian had inspired in him.

“Cover his ears,” you command Rose. As Fun Land reaches you, you shove the kids behind you, using your body as a protective shield. 

“Stop,” you command. Gold fills his eyes, swirling in his irises like sand. Fun Land halts a few step from you, standing completely still and waiting for more instruction. “See yourself for who you really are.”

Immediately, he flinches and recoils into himself. He starts to whimper and seek forgiveness from Jed and Rose and every other unfortunate child he’d collected that would not and should not ever be given to him.

“What are you doing to him?” Rose whispers.

“Exactly what I said,” you say coldly. If the Corinthian inspired them to be who they really are, then let them see just that. He would see the monster he is.

Fun Land’s whimpers begin to turn into screams as he slaps his hands over his eyes to hide the world. Because that isn’t enough, he digs his fingers into them, the squelch as he hits his eyeballs echoing in the hall despite Rose’s horrified gasp and Jed’s cries. You only continue to stare, true, merciless and just, just as the Lady of Dreaming should be.

Fun Land’s cries are cut off when he suddenly drops dead. His body falls to the floor, a dagger protruding from the back of his head. Standing behind where he one stood, is the Corinthian.

“What a waste of a snack,” he says with a tut of his tongue. He licks his lips. “But my lady. We haven’t finished our conversation. Shall we?”

The Corinthian tosses your nametag to you. Out of instinct, you catch it.

“I did not make you this way,” the Corinthian says. “Dream did. If there’s anyone to blame for your talent, your gift, it’s him. He made you this way, just as he made me this way.” He takes a step towards you. “This is who we are, and if you would just stop running for one second and look in the mirror and see how much better you are in this form—with your powers and without him—you would be a lot happier.”

“With you?”

The Corinthian looks taken aback. “What?”

“Do you think I would be happier with you than with my husband?”

If Morpheus made him, then perhaps he had put his affection for you in the Corinthian as well. Perhaps that was why the Cortinthian insisted the bounty be for you to be taken alive, and why you had never been able to use your powers to stop him. You’ve always known those emotions were there, even if it went unsaid by you or him. Even before Morpheus’ capture, the Corinthian’s affection for you had always been soft, gentle. Lingering touches on your arm, laughing a little too loud at your jokes, his gaze on you longer than a friend’s should. But you always ignored it, as you never saw him in the way you saw your husband. You loved the part of him that was Morpheus,, but you could not love him completely. You could never.

“I did them for you,” the Corinthian insists. “Inspired them for you. They worship you, just as everyone should. Dream never let the others see your beauty and talent, but I did. I let them see you as you really were and they adored you. Because of me, you are loved.”

His words and the veneration in his tone—something you wish he was faking but can tell is genuine—struck you into silence. He’s standing before you now, one hand brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His movement is gentle. A caress.

“My lady,” he says quietly, his voice deep and thick with emotion. “I have missed you.”

Was it possible that he was right? That he loved you in a way Morpheus loved you differently? In a way you should be loved? Whereas Morpheus hid you from the world to protect you, the Corinthian showed you to the world and gave the world a reason to fear you—your own protection. Was he right?

He’s about to brush your cheek with the pad of his thumb when you grab his wrist tightly; painfully. A stark contrast against his touch.

Through his shades, your eyes meet. “Don’t. Touch. Me.”

Though you don’t see his eyes, you know they fill gold as the effects of your powers take control. The Corinthian yanks his hand back like you were the surface of a hot stove. He tries to slap you, but his hand stops inches from your cheek and he cries out in pain as his other hand grabs his wrist and pulls it away forcefully. He stares at his hand in repulsion, then up at you in anger, and just like that you know that whatever emotions he has for you is gone. The Corinthian had rebelled against Morpheus so he would not be under his maker’s will, and now you had just forced him under yours.

His lips curl into a nasty smile. He directs his attention to Rose, who’s been watching with fearful eyes this whole time.

“You don’t think she’s going to protect you, now do you, Rose Walker?” the Corinthian says, his tone sickly sweet and charming. “Do you know who she is?”

“Dream’s wife,” Rose says hesitantly.

“Oh, she’s so much more than that. She’s one of his tools.”

“His tools?”

“Dream is known for three of his tools: his pouch of sand, his helm, and his ruby. But what’s lesser known is his fourth tool: his wife. While the first three were crafted, his fourth was given to a mortal that he fell in love with.”

“Enough,” you snap, but the Corinthian doesn’t listen.

“The ceremony was beautiful. A slice from his palm to draw blood, which he placed on top of hers so that his blood may enter her veins. In his blood was his power. When the blood had dried, it was done. She had been remade into one of his tools, and like his other tools, she has powers. Did you see what she did to Fun Land?”

“She told him to stop,” Rose says slowly. You can hear her piecing it together, and as you turn to her, you see the growing fear and apprehension in her eyes. “You told me to cover Jed’s ears…it’s because you didn’t want him to hear what you would say. Your order. Is that your power? You can tell people what to do?”

“The proper term is she inspires,” the Corinthian said.

You aren’t blind. You’ve seen the slow, small steps he’s taken to Rose, as if he’s offering her his protection. And you can see how Rose has been leaning away from you and towards him too. He’s always been good with words. That he got from you.

“Dream stored inspiration in her,” he says. “The ceremony turned her into the physical manifestation of inspiration; of the aspect of our thoughts and dreams that incline us to do something.”

Rose looks at you, perhaps waiting for you to say he was lying or there was more to the truth, but you don’t say anything. You can’t.

“Dream’s coming to kill you, Rose Walker,” the Corinthian whispers in her ear.

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re the vortex.” He turns to you. “And as Dream’s tool and his wife, she’s going to kill you too if she can.”

There’s betrayal in her eyes towards you as she tugs Jed closer to her. And fear. That’s what’s in her eyes. That’s how everyone’s looked at you in the past century.

“Is he telling the truth?” she asks. “You’re both going to kill me?”

“You have to die, Rose,” you say, void of emotion. “For everyone. For your brother’s safety. You are the vortex.”

“Is that why he had me tell you that I was one? So you could finish the job if he couldn’t?”

Perhaps it was one of the reasons he told her that, a sign that he still had trust in you. But you knew the main reason he had her tell you that was to reassure you that he still loved you and was coming for you. As the vortex, Morpheus had to come for her. His message—the unspoken words behind it—was to tell you to stay close to Rose Walker so that he could find you.

In other words, he was asking you to wait for him.

“I’m sorry, Rose,” you say softly. Behind your back, you reach for the hilt of your dagger. Morpheus will find another way to get to you. But he won’t be able to do that if the Corinthian has Rose.

But before you can grab onto it, the Corinthian moves. He’s a blur of speed and strength, and you’re soon slammed against the wall with a syringe sticking out of your neck. You gasp and dig your nails into his wrist, hard enough to draw blood, but it’s too late. When he pulls the syringe out, it’s empty. The liquid burns through your veins and dulls everything immediately, and you go slump against his body as he brushes your hair out of your face.

“He’ll come for me,” you mumble.

“Oh, I’m counting on it, sweet thing,” the Corinthian murmurs. He grips your chin with his thumb and points and points your face towards him. “What do you think the reward for the bounty is?”

Your eyes widen in horror. The Corinthian smiles and nods.

“Dream, your husband who’d do anything to get you back. Well. Let’s see just how much he means that, shall we? When you get home, why don’t you tell your husband that I’m waiting for him?”

You try to push away from him, but you’re too weak. Soon, you can’t feel your limbs. Then, you begin to drift. For the first time in a long time, you’re falling asleep and entering the Dreaming. But before you do, you feel the Corinthian press his lips against your forehead. His words are the last you hear.

“I’m sorry, my lady.”

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ…

Morpheus walks slowly towards the Corinthian, the weight of his footsteps and anger to be felt by all as the world tremors. Across the waking world, dreamers encounter nightmares that haven’t been seen since the Morpheus was first captured. They stir and cry out in their sleep, unable to wake and escape the monsters. Some wake up and find that the monsters have followed them into the waking world.

They all scream.

But in the hotel, where the cult of serial killers are asleep in their seats, it is only the King of Dreams and Nightmares and the Corinthian.

“Where is she?” Morpheus asks eerily calm. His voice is deep and dangerous; wrath being barely restrained from being unleashed on the Corinthian.

The Corinthian smiles. “You can feel her, can’t you? Feel her strength? Or shall I say, her strength diminishing?”

“What have you done, Corinthian?”

“I want to kill you, Dream. And what easier way to kill you, than to kill your wife.”

ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ…

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗂 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗂 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀? 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗎𝗇𝗂'𝗌 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁. 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗌, 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌??? 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗋𝖽 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗄 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂'𝗆 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖽??? 𝗐𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇.

𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗇𝗈 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋. 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗒. 𝗂'𝗆 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝗂'𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 (𝗅𝗈𝗐-𝗄𝖾𝗒 𝖺𝗇 𝗈𝖼) 𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾'𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍!

𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗋, 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂 𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖽, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝗐𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗂 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌: 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝖻𝗒 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗅𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆.

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵!

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧!

𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩:   @aurorarevenclaw1927, @hueanhdang, @queen-taryn, @cyanide-mustard, @azrielloveselain, @sherazyjade

𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @justviktormlolm, @amirahroronoa, @sunna-fangirls, @mrs-captainsteverogers, @absbdbshhs, @urbanbts, @theamuz, @ac-procrastinator-13, @thegreatestsandwich, @julegrav009-blog, @harrypotter55, @blossomedfloweroflove, @lestaikkeullsokka, @thetrashypanda423, @ponyboys-sunsets, @izzicle, @dilfsandtherapy, @mischiefmanaged71, @grippleback-galaxy, @cynic-spirit, @thecrazytealady, @violet-19999, @junobutbored, @avanisbored, @redskull199987, @bilesxbilinskixlahey, @ladymoon666, @celestialceremonials, @mm2305, @ttae-yong, @thegreatestsandwich, @notabotiswear, @boofy1998, @crimsonsabbath, @megumimind, @itsnanabun, @spygrrl99, @regulusblacksimpsblog, @maverey, @storm4433, @writerinlearning, @lokigirlszendaya, @thesadvampire, @thestarsanctuary, @floreoo, @pinkpunkdynamite, @jesllianaquilesrolon, @aegeanblues, @anjimimimoo, @imaginativefanatic, @book-place, @littlemoistcarrot, @lorosette, @wondermia69, @commanderfreethatdust, @flowerpersephone, @carrietrekkie, @mividaesmeh,

@tea-effect, @lex-the-flex, @dreamamubarak, @witchxlove, @mxtokko

𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗌, 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎!

[angelwritesthings]

The way the Corinthian asks Jed “Do you want another one?” Without hesitation in regards to ordering jed another ice cream after he ate the first one. That’s it. That’s the post.

[macabre-mangled]

Hello. I had an idea for The Corinthian where the reader and him are best friends and maybe he shares his secret and takes off his sunglasses and unbeknownst to him the reader has actually dealt with the supernatural before and isn't freaked out and tells him how pretty and handsome he is(your choice if it turns romantic)

Oooo yes I actually had a similar idea

Gnashing Teeth

Small Corinthian x reader blurb

Warnings: canon typical violence and innuendos,mention of body horror,gore, supernatural entities

He should’ve been skeptical. YOU should’ve been scared shitless. That’s how it usually happens. They see his eyes. They see that they’re just mouths and an empty void. They run. He has to kill them. You on the other hand aren’t doing any of that. He’s almost worried. But relief wins out. He’s not used to loving people. He usually does one night stands. But you. You’re different. And yes he knows it sounds cliché but he really does mean it. Especially now. “Why aren’t you running?”

His tone was inquisitive but not above a whisper. Your face didn’t change. Your expression was one of wonder and compassion. He knew you were more analytical than others but he didn’t expect this. Your hand slowly reaching to caress his cheek. He felt himself physically lean in. He wasn’t usually this vulnerable. If he was this vulnerable with anyone else he’d be hurt again. Not with you though “I’m not scared of you. I’ve seen worse things. You’re beautiful.”

His expression must have betrayed him. As you were leaning in more closely. His eyes or lack there of were watching in awe. “I love you.” You uttered softly

He thought he died and was in the afterlife. This was more than he ever could’ve dreamed of. Nightmares can’t dream but you proved that wrong.

[miraclesabound]

Faithful to the End

Summary: Morpheus’s wife has a nightmare - or more accurately, a Nightmare tries to have her.

Pairing(s): Morpheus/F!Reader, one-sided Corinthian/F!Reader

Notes: Set post-Season 1. I’m using the show’s continuity, along with Neil Gaiman’s statement that the version of the Corinthian in the show is pansexual. Also available at AO3.

Warnings: Sexual harassment, unwanted kissing, threat of sexual assault, nightmares, suggestions of smut. Reader is never in any true danger, but she doesn’t know that at first.

Tag List - @writeforfandoms, @insomniamamma, @darklingveracruz, @morpheus-helm, @bowieandqueen11, @mylifeisactuallyamess​, @whovianayesha​, @blueeyesatnight​​

“Beautiful weather, isn’t it?” your driver asks. “You made the right decision asking for the convertible today, Your Grace.”

You smile, your eyes half-closed against the sun. “I thought so too,” you say. “Thank you, Corinthian.”

“Not at all,” the blond Nightmare says. If he’s squinting as well, you can’t tell – he’s wearing his usual black sunglasses. “Now, where did you want to go?”

“Hmmm…OH!” You sit up higher in your passenger seat. “Over there!” You’ve been driving through rolling hills, and on the next ridge, you see a large tree. “That’s perfect!”

“You got it.” When he’s close enough, the Corinthian drives the car under the tree’s shade. Cutting the engine, he steps out and around, opening your door and offering his hand. You smile and take it, using the extra support to stand up.

Getting a closer look at the tree, you’re glad you stopped. There are blossoms here that you’ve never seen before in the Dreaming, and they glitter like spun sugar. “Oh, they’re wonderful!” you say, and start to walk forward to the tree.

However, you’re stopped by the Corinthian’s hand - it’s still gripping yours tightly. Looking back, you ask him, “Is something wrong?” To your shock and horror, he turns your hand over, bringing it to his lips and kissing the palm.

“What are you doing!?” you shriek, yanking yourself free from him. “Are you trying to enrage my Morpheus?”

“No, my queen – if I wanted to do that, this is what I would do.” Before you can stop him, he pulls you into his arms and kisses you deeply. You push and shove at his chest, but he’s too strong. Without breaking his lips from yours, he backs you against the tree, pressing his body against your curves.

For a few awful seconds, he has you at his complete mercy, pinning your hands above your head while he explores your mouth with his own. Just when you’re about to pass out from lack of air, he pulls away, smiling at you. “I’ve wanted to do that for years,” he says.

You can’t break his grip, so instead, you spit, managing to hit his glasses. “You’re going to pay for this insult,” you hiss. “When my husband gets here –”

“Your husband is pathetic,” the Corinthian interrupts, his smile turning even more frightening than usual. “You deserve someone strong, someone who knows what to do for such a fine woman, someone who won’t abandon you for a century.” Letting your wrists go, he removes his sunglasses, exposing those horrific eye-sockets. “Say you’ll be mine, and we’ll rule the Dreaming for ourselves.”

Instead of answering him, you let out a scream. When your shriek pierces the air, a crack in the ground opens, pulling you out of his reach. “You’re the pathetic one here, Corinthian,” you say. The tree he’d used to trap you lowers a branch for you to sit on, and you lean into it as if you’re settling into a hammock. “Do you really think I need your help to shape the Dreaming? I am the Dream King’s bride – this land loves me as much as he does.”

The Corinthian sinks to his knees, and for a moment he looks almost wounded. “My queen, please…I’ve been in love with you for so long – do you truly feel nothing for me?”

Your branch carries you gently across the chasm, and you land on your feet in front of him. “You were my friend until now, and I treasure that – but no. I don’t love you.”

His look of pain becomes a snarl. “Then you’ll pay.” He begins to pull a blade out from within his blazer.

“NO.” Morpheus’ voice echoes all around, and you feel him appear behind you. “This ends now.” He pulls you close and whispers in your ear. “Darling, you need to wake up.” You blink – and the meadow around you disappears, along with the Corinthian himself.

--

When you return to yourself, you recognize your and Morpheus’ shared chambers in the Palace. The two of you are still in bed, and he strokes your cheek to make sure you’re fully awake. “Are you all right?” he asks. “I could sense everything that was happening.”

“I think so…” You scoot in close to him, feeling the solidness of his body. “Is the Corinthian back?”

Morpheus kisses your forehead. “He’s safely in the vault until I can figure out what to do with him,” he promises. “The being you saw is a scrap of memory.”

“A false memory, then,” you say. “He certainly wasn’t in love with me, I would have remembered.”

Your husband has never been especially talkative, but his silence after your statement is concerning. “…he wasn’t, surely?” you ask.

“It…wouldn’t be impossible.” Morpheus tilts your chin up, and you see the concern in his beautiful eyes. “You’re right that the Dreaming looks after you because it’s part of me. But the Corinthian had part of me too. If he inherited any of my affection for you, he would have thought you the queen of his heart.”

You shudder, remembering the mania on the Corinthian’s face in your dream. “And with his tendencies…”

Morpheus strokes a finger down your spine. “That’s half of why I was so angry when he began rampaging among the mortals. You’d been friends with a beast that I had created. How many times had I accidentally put you in danger? And while I was locked up…” He shakes his head. “I worried what would happen if he decided to come back and find you.”

“And now you know,” you tell him. “I would have fought him, even if the Dreaming was weakened.” You’re more awake now, and you kiss the curve of his jaw. “I would never have forgotten who I belong to.”

Morpheus senses your intent, and he kisses you properly. The two of you don’t get out of bed for several hours, not until he reminds you who he belongs to as well.

[angelsxwords]

— 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.