#the corinthian smut | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lis-likes-fics · 4 months

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Rhyme and Reason

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

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

It took so long to find him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you looked for inspiration. And you found it.

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

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

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

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

The Corinthian.

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

It took so long to find him.

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

And he is beautiful.

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

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

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

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

“Well, hello there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wow,” you whisper. “What about her?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah,” you mutter.

“Well?” he wondered. “Anyone?”

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

He reminds you of someone.

“Him.”

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

“Very nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again, you nod. He knows best.

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do I?”

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

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

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

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

What a wonder you are… An angel from heaven.

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

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

He grins. “Whatever you say, doll.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckles, amused, “Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your fingers curl over your palm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks beautiful, you think.

“Different.”

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

You nod gently.

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

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

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

He nods. “Right there.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Your first one,” he says.

“My first one.”

“How does it feel?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say it.”

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

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

“Just like you.”

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

“A nightmare.”

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

“Just like me.”

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

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

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

Corrupted. You like that word.

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

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

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

“Cor–”

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

You moan. “A whore.”

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

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

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

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

He nods, “That's right.”

“What I can be.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod quickly, “Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could still hear him singing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, for a moment, you think of Dream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sing me a song, sweetheart.”

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

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

Now, you belonged to him.

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

#the corinthian #corinthian #the corinthian x reader #the corinthian x you #the corinthian smut #the corinthian fanfic #the corinthian fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #the sandman #the sandman fanfic #the sandman fanfiction #reader insert #female reader #10 days of smutmas

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morpheusbaby3 · 1 year

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in the fanfics morpheus x reader x corinthian, the reader always chooses morpheus, and i love him obviously… but i really wanted someone to write something where we choose to stay with corinthian and not morpheus, especially corinthian 2.0. someone please do this.

(I'm using a translator btw)

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salvador-daley · 1 year

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Stranger

The Corinthian x Klaus Hargreeves

A/N: A little crossover to shake off the cobwebs. Hopefully written in such a way that fans of both shows should be able to get something out of it. Especially if they are horny...

CW: This fic is short, smutty and very very dark. Read the tags, you little buggers. 😈😈

Summary if you’re a Sandman fan: While searching for Rose Walker, Corinthian becomes distracted by her eccentric roommate.

Summary if you’re a TUA fan: Klaus plays host to a mysterious stranger… and gets railed to within an inch of his life.

If you’re a fan of both: Well, today is your lucky day.

Words: 2.8k

Snippet: The man who swings the door open is tall and slender, painfully pretty, with a head of jaw-length dark curls which poke out from beneath a turban formed in grubby pink velvet.

His robe - a silk kimono decorated with an explosion of exotic birds in blues and reds and yellows - is untied, allowed to fall open somewhat lewdly or perhaps merely carelessly.

Beneath, the man’s skin is tanned - almost olive - pristine apart from a single dark mole orbiting the man’s right nipple and a large tattoo across his stomach - something intricate and religious, peppered with text in Thai that isn’t quite legible from this angle.

The rest of the man’s outfit consists only of a set of military dogtags and a small pair of black leather briefs with a lace-up detail over the crotch, accompanied by a pair of worn rubber flip-flops.

This man is, by far, one of the strangest creatures he’s ever seen, which is really saying something.

The man squints. A cigarette dangles from the guy’s mouth, bobbing as he speaks. “Sorry, darling, we’ve already found God here. Moody little madam, she is. Maybe try next door.”

Read the rest on AO3

Tagging because you haven’t told me to stop: @badsext @softforklave @falloutby @merry-melody @neist @purblzart @maerenee930 @firstpersonnarrator @allisoooon @cemeteryklaus @super-unpredictable98 @mokolataddict @pickledbeefwastaken @love-is-dirty-baby @rina-cydonia @inspiremeandsetmefree @jender123 @vonkimmeren @narnianaos @sylvertyger @merrilark @rob-private @pietro-t1me

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yourmomxx · 2 years

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warnings: mentions of sex, corruption kink, praise kink, age gap

Your father had the tendency for hosting all different sorts of events. Galas, gatherings, parties, whatever he desired.

He was quite famous for them, too.

He enjoyed the attention they brought him. He craved the people’s flattery and praise, may it be for the recent decorations, the appetizers - or you.

After all, an unmarried woman with no partner, of a somewhat wealthy family and a beauty so stunning it made every man stop dead in their tracks, was worth complimenting.

You did not pay attention to them. They all had the same slow, pompous way of talking, using difficult words to prove that they somewhat knew more than you, that they were rich and respected businessmen that you should never be able to deny.

And they bored you.

Which is why you did them the favor of conversing with them for a little while, before putting them aside like worn-out jewelry. Or at least, you did that to most of them.

The tall man with the blond hair was one of your father’s ‘guests of honor’. You did not know his name. He never told you it. He never tells you much about himself, really.

But the truth is, as long as a person chooses the right words and gestures to use, you do not even realize how little you in reality know about them. Or you do not care.

Somewhere, in the back of your head, you were aware that what you were doing with him was wrong. Corruption of a woman before marriage. If anyone were to find out, it would bring disgrace upon both you and your father.

But you could not help it, he had you hooked on him like a helpless fish on a rod.

From the moment he had met you, he had lured you in, whispering smallest things in your ear, praises and compliments that made your heart beat faster and your head spin.

It did not take long until he first had touched you. Really touched you. Tender and lingering where he would graze your skin, dreams at day and in the night filled with the hoarse rasp of his voice that promised to take care of you.

A woman should have her husband take her innocence from her. But instead you had given it to a tall, elder man with sunglasses who vowed to gift you the world if you asked. A grown man that was an associate of your father, but that took care of you in all the right ways.

He offered you the attention your father did not, and he gave it to you in a way no other man would ever be able to.

Whenever he attended your father’s get-together’s, the two of you would sneak quick glances or touches between one another, although you would sometimes catch him staring at you shamelessly.

Just as he was right now. Standing tall next to your father, he was holding a drink in his right hand, and watched you as you were politely conversing with one of your father’s female work associates.

You were wearing a black dress which’s fabric laid on your body like a second skin. A dress that you were wearing nothing underneath, he knew, because he had your panties stuffed deep into the pocket of his dress pants.

Your father was talking to him, he vaguely noticed even though he wasn’t listening, too focused on you while he thought of the things that had been a few hours ago, and which would be again as soon as he caught you in an available position.

When you suddenly started making your way over to the two men, he realized that your father had his hand reached out for you in a silent command to come over.

“Y/N, lovely, would you not want to offer our guest a bite of our appetizers?” He said.

“Of course father.” You nodded at his request with a slight smile and moved away from them, only to return a moment later with a silver plate in your hand, stacked with different kinds of canapés and caviar.

He waved his hand thanks when you held the plate out for him. “I’m afraid I have to deny you,” he said apologetically, “But I don’t need anything to eat for now.”

Your father patted his friend on the back. “Ah, come on now,” he said, “A bit of space is always for those delicious mini-bites. Come on Y/N, you tell him.”

You nodded your head agreeing. “Indeed there is, father.”

The blond man denied again and your father threw you a look, so you held the plate up a bit closer to the honored guest’s face.

“Oh please sir, I beg of you,” you said, and batted your eyelashes at him with an ambiguous smile.

It amazed him, how you were able to speak those words in such an innocent fashion, when you had said the same to him just a few hours ago, on your knees with wide blown pupils and drool dripping from your chin.

His mouth twisted into a grin, whether it be from your words or his memories, one would not know, and he reached for the hors d'oeuvres.

“Well then, how could I say no?”

You beamed up at him as he put one of the small bites full of caviar in his mouth.

Your smile was sweet. And you were so polite. So flawless.

Anyone who would see you like this would never think of any sort of evil in you.

But he knew different, as soon as he had you all to himself in a small room where no one could hear you. When he would bend you over and make you suffer from bliss, would force your eyes open to see you fall apart under him, and would then send you back into the crowd and make you pretend as if nothing had happened, when he was still dripping out of you, slowly down your leg.

Your father reaching for the hors d’oeuvres interrupted the eye contact between you and him, drawing your attention to your father again.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said, raising the canapé he picked, and you knew you were dismissed. You nodded polite goodbyes to both of them and left.

The tall man’s sunglassed eyes followed you, paying specific attention to the way your hips moved in the heels.

“I have actually been trying to find a husband for her,” your father suddenly told him, as they watched you get caught up next to a brunette man that looked around your age. You were smiling up at him with a drink in your hand, while he talked to you about probably the most dull topics one could possibly talk about.

“Oh I’m sure she charms them all,” he replied, smiling politely. A frown settled in between your father’s eyebrows and his eyes turned thoughtful. He meant he had seen worry in them for just a mere second.

“They are all swooning over her, indeed, but none of them seem to spike her interest enough.” Your father shook his head. “They all treat her very nicely but she always finds something to complain about them.”

The blond man raised his glass to his lips. “Is that so?”

He looked back in your direction, just to find your gaze already fixated on him, and locked eyes with you.

He watched you swirling your tongue around the olive slightly longer than necessary, before you slowly bit down.

He watched as your fingers ever so steadily went up and down the elegant glass, around the rim, before you set it to your lips.

“I just don’t understand, because she has always been so lovely to everyone,” your father continued. He had not noticed the exchange between his daughter and his long-time friend, being too busy staring into the depths of his nearly empty cocktail glass.

The man almost scoffed at this pathetic excuse of a human being. In the end, he did not.

Your father was right. You were sweet. Lovely. Or at least you had been. Before he had come along. Flashing bright smiles, charming every man around you with your grace.

Daddy’s perfect girl.

But now you were his. And of course none of them could ever possibly compare to him. To the things he whispered in your ear in the dark of an abandoned room, the feeling of his touch lingering on your body even days after, the thrill of being caught doing something as sinful as you were.

To the way he told you how perfect you were, because he could feel it, could feel you, and how there was no one that would ever be able to compare to your body around his.

With every sweet word his hypnotic voice said to you, he wrapped you even deeper into his grasp. Not that you would ever want to free yourself of it.

No, he had made you reliant upon him. Absolutely cock-drunk, for him. And he wouldn’t let you go just like that.

He had given you a taste of hell. And now he was planning to drag you down all the way.

#I just want a rich white man to take care of me okay #the corinthian #the corinthian imagine #the corinthian x reader #the corinthian smut #dc comics #the sandman #the sandman imagine #the sandman netflix #the sandman spoilers #netflix the sandman #morpheus #dream of the endless #yourmomxx #the corinthian fic #the sandman fic #the sandman smut

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just-some-random-blogger · 9 months

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The Dreaming Estate

Dream of the Endless x Gadling!Reader + Corinthian x Gadling!Reader

Summary: You inherit the Dreaming Estate from your recently deceased mother. She instructs you to perform a ritual for the house every month. One month, you fail to do so and receive a call from... The Dreaming Estate.

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: alternate universe, fem!reader, mystery/thriller?/horror? themes, protectiveness, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: lmao if you like this thank @sloanexx for kinda pressuring me to finish this. cross-posted on ao3 Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @shadow-pancake9 @roguelov

12am. A full moon. The final day of the month. The phone begins to ring. Ring! Ring! Ring! No one answers. The ringing stops. It begins again. It rings until someone answers. You finally wake up. You roll over on the bed. Your lover clings onto you tighter. You grab your phone and answer the call from an unsaved contact, "hello?" His voice is deep and rich, "this is The Dreaming." It wakes you up, "w h a t ?" "This is The Dreaming." You pull your phone away. 12:05am. +1230XXXXX. "... who is this?" "The Dreaming." "The dreaming?" you sit up from the bed. "Yes." "What does that mea-" Goosebumps form when he calls your name, "Miss Gadling, you need to come home." "... who is this?" "The Dreaming." "As in the Dreaming Estate?" you sound panicked. "How are you calling me from the Dreaming? Who are you?" "I am The Dreaming." "..." "Come home."

"Baby, can you get me my coffee?" Cori points to the counter. I get his mug and the car keys, then hand him his drink.

"Thanks, sugar," he says, pulling his one earpod out as he turns from his laptop to me. He moves forward to give me a kiss and I knock the glasses off his face when I place my hand on his cheek.

I readjust his glasses as I pull away.

"Call me when you get there," Cori mutters as he turns back to his screen.

"I will," I head for the door and turn over my shoulder as I point, "make sure to take out the trash, okay?"

Cori puts the other earpod on and raises a thumb though he does not respond to me, "ah, yes, Mr. Takashi. We opened the branch in downtown New York about-"

The door closes.

I get to the parking and drive out of my apartment building, heading out of the city.

I grunt as I reach a red light, "fuck." This was going to be a long drive.

I can't fucking believe I was going to sacrifice my day off all because of that stupid prank call. I clench my jaw and turn to my bag in the passenger seat. I reach for the book in my bag, rubbing my finger on the browning pages.

It can't be because of this. And yet... I can't shake the feeling.

I drive when the light turns green.

"Relax," I mutter to myself, "the police didn't find anything," I take a left turn, "it was probably someone..." pulling a prank? But how did they get my number? How did they unlock the door? I swear I remember locking it when I left because my coat got stuck the last time.

"Fucking hell," I come to a halt when I am met with a bottle neck, "it's fucking Wednesday. Why is it so traffic?! Geez."

What if- I turn to the book in my bag again - it is because of this?

I take in a breath. Calm down. Forgetting to do the weird ritual last month has nothing to with this call.

And yet when I pull up to the Dreaming, parking just outside the gates, it's the first thing I want to do. I grip my handbag as I walk up the path to the front door. My phone was ringing Cori.

Though I knew the front door was open, I had the mansion's key in my hand. I turn the knob, finding it was, in fact, unlocked. I stuff my keys in my pocket.

Cori finally picks up, "hello?"

"I'm here at the estate," I retort as I step in. As nervous as I was to drive up here alone, I felt nothing while surveying the house. I didn't feel the creeps, didn't feel like an axe murderer was about to pop up. It just felt like home. After all, I grew up here. And although the land was large, it wasn't like I didn't have neighbors.

"Oh, that's good. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," I walk into the grand foyer, looking at the large curved staircase that connected to the second floor landing. I look up at the high ceilings and the chandelier that cascaded down like shooting stars. I walk into the kitchen, "everything really just looks normal."

"Well, it better," Cori chuckles, "the police in the area better not play because all the residents there are rich fucking Karens."

I snort as I survey the marble counters and head for the fridge I knew was unplugged and empty. I open the door. Yep, still unplugged and empty. It would be funny had someone left a cake though... I think.

"I'm just gonna do the ritual and come back home."

"Okay, sugar. You still want to cook steak tonight? I can go to the supermarket to buy some stuff."

"Yeah," I place my bag on the counter, "can you buy some cake too?"

"The red velvet one from 15th?"

I look at the empty cake stand from across the room. Its glass was collecting dust, "no. Blueberry cheesecake. I'm feeling sentimental." My mom used to make the best blueberry cheesecake.

"Okay then. See you later, bunny."

"Mmm, bye. Love you."

"I love you too."

I huff as I place my phone down and pull out the book.

The voice of my mother rings in my head: We must love and protect the Dreaming because it loves and protects us. When a bunch of evil men tried to burn the house, Granny Lucy survived because the house saved her.

I clench my jaw as I flipped the pages. I huff as I get to the bookmarked page, "don't question it," I tell myself, "just- just- it's better not to be the one who breaks this weird generational chain-" I look around the room and find a chill run down my spine. I shake it off and look back at the page.

My thumb rubs the paper and my face tightens when I feel something wet on it. I smell my finger, "shit." My hand sanitizer got on the page.

"Fuck," I lean forward and try to wipe the paper. The ink smudges. "Fuuuuck."

I go through my bag but find no tissues. It's fine. It's fine. I kind of have the words memorized anyway. Let's just say this awful Latin hex-shit and be done with it. I take the book in my hand and read the words the way I always did.

For the most part, I don't need the book to know what to recite but then I reach the part where I smudged and, just my luck, I can't fucking remember what to say. I know I'm not supposed to stop- fuck- don't ask why, I'm just not- but a pit of dread bubbles in me over the idea of saying something wrong. I decide to omit the words that were smudged in the end.

I look around the kitchen when I finish.

I grab my bag and my book and check the other rooms.

I go to the living room, the washing room, the study, the library, the main bathroom, all five bedrooms, the garden backyard, the pool-- every place... but nothing. Nothing happened. The house was just the house. And, honestly, I felt nothing. Nothing felt out of the ordinary, so I go home.

Ring! Ring! Ring! Your eyes widen at the caller contact. "the dreaming guy". You instantly pick up, "hello?" "The incantation didn't work. I am still here." Your stomach drops, "what?" "Come home." You suck in a breath. He had to call during your lunch break. "I will wait for you in human form." Your heart drops. "What?" "I will wait for you to return to me in my human form." "..." "Unless the thought disturbs you." "..." "..." "..." "..." "... are you... Dream?" "I am." I shudder, "the Dreaming..." "I am also." Fuck.

I drive to the Dreaming Estate after work. I try calling Cori to tell him about it, but he didn't pick up. I don't blame him though. He was swamped at work. I mean I was too, which was why this was insane of me to do right now. I left him messages though. Hopefully, he'll call.

I pull up outside the gates again, but this time, I sit in the car, clenching the wheel. My body is unwilling to get out. Why? Because of him.

A dark figure walks over to me. He is tall, pale, and dark haired. My heart races as he nears. I check to see if my door is locked. It is.

As he gets closer and I can finally make out his face, I rack my brain, trying to think if I've seen him before. The longer I look, more I am convinced this is the first time I've seen him.

He stands in front of the gate; he opens it for me.

"Miss Gadling!" he calls, "would you like to drive inside?!""

That was definitely the caller.

I don't respond to him. I do nothing but stare at him.

"Will you stay in the car the whole time?!"

I stare at him for a moment. He stares right back at me. I undo my seatbelt and grab my bag. I peak my head out of the window. I don't know why, but I find myself asking, "what were the missing words in the ritual?!"

The man tilts his head. He leans on the metal grill. A wind blows his coat back, "in luce et tenebris!"

I pull out my book and look at the page. I examine the blotted area, "it does look like that."

"You cannot perform the incantation outside!" the man calls, "please, come in!"

My eyes dart up to him. I suck in a breath. This was probably the worst idea ever. I look at my phone. No calls or texts from Cori. I huff and step out of the car.

The man is pleased to see this.

I slowly walk over to him.

He smiles. It is warm. As I examine his expression, it feels free of malice. And though his aura did not feel eerie, I am skeptical of him.

He reaches a hand out to me, "would you like for me to carry your things?"

I clutch my bag to my chest as well as the book still in my hand, "I got it."

"Very well," he says, making way for me to enter.

I watch him as he closes the gate, I watch him as he motions to the front door, I watch him as he walks off first and leads me in, I watch as he opens the door to my home, I watch him as he peruses through like it was his.

"I apologize that was unable to prepare anything for you," he says.

I knit my brows, "what do you mean?"

"You have not stocked food in the kitchen. I was only able to gather some strawberries from the garden."

See, any sane person would have called the cops by now, if they had a moment of stupidity not to do it before arriving here. But the thing was, he took strawberries in the garden, which means he knew where the strawberries were. The strawberries were behind a hedge in the backyard; you would have to go over the hedge to see them.

"How do you know where the strawberries are?"

The man straightens, "I know where all things are in the estate."

"Pah. Everything?" I raise a brow.

"Everything," he nods.

I scoff, adjusting the straps of my bag on my shoulder, "then do you know where Grandpa Hob was buried?"

"He was not buried. His ashes were scattered in the garden."

My breath hitches. I take a step back.

The man merely looks at me.

He's- no... He must have... how could he have-

"Where is the garden gnome placed?" I find myself blurting.

"In the attic. Behind boxes."

I give him a look. Nah... he could have looked there. "What about my diary?"

"Which one?"

"What?"

"You have one diary stuck in the gutter by the pool, and you have one hidden in the floorboards in the bedroom that used to be yours."

My skin pricks with goosebumps. My heart is racing. I take more steps back. I gasp and jolt when the floor creeks.

"Please," he raises a hand, "do not be frightened. I know you and you know me," he steps forward, "I am the Dreaming."

"Stop!" I bark, raising a finger, "don't come any closer."

He stops.

I breathe heavily and bring the book to my hands, opening it. I look at the page where the ritual is. I begin to read it.

"It will not work."

I ignore him and continue to read.

"You spoke it once before. It will work only at the end of the month now."

I ignore him still and continue reading, making sure to add the part I was unable to say last time.

"Those were not the words."

"SHUT UP!" I snap and turn to him.

He stiffens and looks down, "apologies."

I huff and lean against the wall. The man looks up at me as I do this. I bring one hand behind me and use my nail to pick at the wall, "when I asked if you were Dream and you agreed, what were you agreeing to?"

The man fidgets then rolls his shoulders back, "this. My human form is Dream."

He even knew that. My uncles used to tell me that the house was sometimes a man called Dream. I take in his features, the curve of his nose, the gleam of his eyes. To be honest, I didn't know what Dream should look like, save for the fact he was apparently very strong. This man looked like a he could barely lift things with how scrawny he was.

"What does the ritual do?" I clutch the book in one arm.

"It binds my spirit to the house."

I give him a look, "so you're a spirit?"

"I am," he nods.

"So you're a ghost?"

"I am not. I am the Dreaming."

"But you said you were a spirit."

"I am the spirit of the Dreaming."

I straighten up and release a breath. I go through my bag and pull out a pen, "so if I do this," I chuck the pen at him, "it'll go through you-"

It his him on the cheek and he grunts. He rubs his cheek and gives me a look, "that was most disrespectful."

"... ... ... sorry."

Dream sighs, "all is well."

I chew on my lip and begin to pace around. My eyes never leave him once. His don't either. He watches me walk around him. He places his hands behind his back. I raise a brow, "why did you call me here then if I can't... bind you back?"

"You are my master," he tilts his head back, "my function is to serve you. I will fade if I have no function."

I stop in my tracks and furrow my brows, "what does that mean?"

"It means if my spirit fades and someone breaks in, nothing will stand in their way."

"So you saying you're the protector of the estate?"

"Indeed."

"I thought you were the estate?"

"Is it not instinctive to protect oneself?"

We stare at each other for a moment.

I am meant to question him some more, but then Dream turns around and looks outside of the window. He mutters lowly, "someone is trying to open the gate."

"What?" I run to the other window.

"He is calling your name."

I look outside and see the man, "it's Cori!"

Dream turns to me, "who?"

I turn to him, "did you lock the gate?"

"I am barring him out."

"What?!" I shake my head and make a face, "let him in!"

Dream furrows his brows at this. I give him a look. He relaxes his expression and sighs. I turn to the window when I hear the telltale creak of the gate. I then run out the door and meet Cori halfway.

The moment I'm close enough, I hug and kiss him.

Cori embraces and kisses me back. When he pulls away, he looks at me with worry, "I saw your texts. What happened? Did you call the police? Is someone-" he stops himself when he looks up.

I turn around and look where he was. There was Dream, staring back at us.

"Who the fuck is that?" Cori mutters as he grabs and pulls me behind him.

And I don't know why, I really don't know, but I retort, "he's the butler."

Cori turns to me, "what?"

I look at him, "turns out... we have a family butler and he-" I turn to Dream back to Cori, "-he's the one who called."

Cori shifts in his spot, "you mean he's the guy posing to be the fucking house?"

I shake my head, "no. It was a misunderstanding. I-"

"Greetings, sir."

The both of us turn to the dark haired man who was now in front of us. Cori raises a brow at him while looking him once over. He bows, eyes not leaving Cori as he does so, "I am Dream," he straightens up, "keeper of the estate, in servitude of Miss Gadling."

Cori chuckles, "Dream, huh? Funny you should say that," he extends a hand, "Corinthian Dream," he tilts a head towards me, "Miss Gadling's beau."

Dream stares at Cori's hand for a moment. He looks up at him when takes it, shaking it once before pulling away.

"Shall I prepare bedrooms for the two of you?" Dream asks, turning to me with a softer expression.

"Nah," Cori answers, "I just need you to explain this mess of a prank call and we'll be on our way," he places his hands in his pockets.

A dread builds in my stomach as I watch the two stare at each other. Dream's expression darkens. Cori's face hardens as he adjusts his shades.

Knowing him, I was getting nervous. "Cori," I tug at his arm.

He ignores me as Dream gives a pinched smile, "of course," he motions to the house, "shall we talk inside?"

Cori tilts his head and smirks, "sure thing, butler."

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stranger-nightmare · 2 years

Note

🌹

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.

from kinktober day thirteen - somnophilia with The Corinthian

for every 🌹 in my inbox I’ll post one random line from a wip

-hope

#the answer to your nightmare #kinktober #the corinthian #the corinthian smut

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badgirl411 · 2 years

Text

Devil In The Darkness: PART 4 (Corinthian Fanfic) 18+ SMUT WARNING

Pairing: The Corinthian x f!reader

Summary: A sexy night with your mystery dream man continues.

Warnings: Smut, Strong Language, oral (male receiving), penetrative sex (m + f), DDlg themes, multiple orgasms, praising .

PREVIOUSLY ON DEVIL IN THE DARKNESS:

He needs to be inside you, needs to feel your warmth wrapped around him. Needs you clenching round him, needs you moaning no screaming. This is it there’s no turning back for him now you are his, no one else can have you.

He withdraws his fingers once your orgasm subsides, lifting two fingers to his mouth he sucks them cleaning off the wetness from your cunt. God the taste of you is better than he imagined, it’s making him absolutely feral. A low growl erupts from the base of his throat when he licks of the rest of the wetness from his fingers.

“Baby you are mine now.”

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He lifts you up throwing you over his shoulder making his way towards the bed a possessive hand on your ass. You land with a thud on the bed still recovering from your first orgasm. He eyes you hungrily taking off the zip up and discarding it on the floor revealing a toned muscular body.

Sitting up on your elbows you admire the sight in front of you, breath heavy with anticipation. Undoing his belt the rest of his clothes come off leaving him with nothing but his rock-hard cock.

“Take off your dress baby, daddy wants to see that beautiful body.” He hisses pumping his cock at the end of your bed. You bring yourself to your knees hands gripping the fabric of your dress lifting it up and over your head throwing it off to the side. You make your way towards him crawling your way down the bed kneeling on the mattress in front of him, lips explore his body covering every inch of his skin with kisses making your way down his body until you get to his cock. Kissing the area just above his breath comes out harder, wrapping your lips around the tip of his cock a deep moan erupts from him fingers find their way into your hair. The weight of him on your tongue mixed with his moans make you clit throb, sneaking a hand between your thighs you circle your clit as you suck him off. He is getting close you can feel it his cock throbbing in your mouth.

“Wanna be inside you baby, need to feel that cunt.” He pulls you off his cock breathless and sweating.

Making his way in-between your legs he looks to you for confirmation it is ok to continue with your endeavour. Nodding he grips his cock stroking a few times before settling the tip at your entrance gathering the wetness dripping from you, a whine leaves your lips. Pushing the tip inside you you wince slightly adjusting to the feeling of his large cock stretching you out, nodding you give him the go ahead to fill you up. Now his cock is fully sheathed inside your cunt, you feel delightfully full. Slowly pulling out he is staring at you intensely, setting a slow and hard pace the pleasure is slowly building leaving you mewling.

“Such a good girl taking my cock so well.” He utters, a punctuating snap of his hips as he calls you a good girl.

The tip of his cock is hitting that spot inside you making your eyes roll to the back of your head, moans coming more frequently. Your hand on his chest as he pounds into you, your high approaching rapidly.

“Daddy” you mewl repeatedly.

Your cunt is tightening around him he knows you are going to come soon, fingers circling your clit to bring upon your high. Within seconds you are screaming, cunt pulsing around his cock bringing about his high.

“Fuck fuck fuck ugh baby you are squeezing daddy so much. Feels so good.” Buried to the hilt inside you he cums.

Pulling out of you a whimper leaves your lips, no longer feeling full. Both of you lay on the bed out of breath and completely fucked out. His hand comes to your jaw, lips pressed against your hair breathing you in.

“Little one that was incredible.” He huffs out a laugh. You turn your head slowly blinking a smile spreading across your face still too exhausted to speak, tiredness invading your senses.

Soon you fall asleep absolutely exhausted after having two orgasms, at some point throughout the course of the evening you roll over going to wrap an arm around the man who was beside you but instead you feel nothing. Opening your eyes the space where the man lay was empty, bed made on the side he should be. Looking down you see you are wearing a crop top and a pair of shorts and not lying naked, confused you look over the edge of the bed hoping to see a dress discarded on the floor but there was nothing.

Had this all been a dream? You could feel everything you were sure it was real.

You decide it is best to go back to bed as you were up for work in a few hours.

Sometime later your alarm sounds and you start your usual routine getting ready for your work day. Leaving your apartment slightly earlier you make your way to your favourite coffee shop picking up a large latte to go. Walking up the street a few blocks away from your office a figure bumps into you a hand on your arm.

“Little one last night was amazing, you’re all mine now.”

#the corinthian #the corinthian fanfic #the corinthian x reader #the corinthian smut #the sandman #the sandman netflix #the corinthian x f!reader #the corinthian imagine #boyd holbrook #my fic

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bakerstreethound · 10 months

Text

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."

******

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lis-likes-fics · 4 months

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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!