Work Text:
After a full day of tormenting the humans via random weather phenomena to literally rain on parades, spreading bad luck across superstitious football matches, and even starting a few minor political feuds, you were still very much bored.
You are Disaster. As the name suggested, you were an Endless; the maker of mayhem, the creator of all things chaos. Your duty was to procure disputes. Havoc. Discord, even. And distribute it across humanity. To keep everything interesting. To invoke a little ruckus and riot now and then. To have selfish fun. It was amusing seeing the world push their own kind against each other for the sake of some absurd, worthless gain. Every fight sparred. Every war lost. Every battle won. They still couldn’t see how meaningless their conflict was in the grand scheme of eternity. And all you basically had to do was toss your feet up and watch.
Sadly, all good things must come to an end at some point. That’s how the universe worked. Centuries of bothering mortals became more of a chore. Your thirst for something to capture your intrigue was never quenched, so whilst living amongst the humans, your Endless duty became half-assed.
But things became very interesting when your big brother Dream paid you a little visit one murky afternoon.
A few moments of fumbling with the keys to your flat later, you found a dark silhouette sitting on your leather sofa. Its bright eyes stared straight through you, piercing your sight.
“I need your help.” Dream greeted with his signature gravelly, ‘I-just-woke-up-like-this’ voice, shifting a little in his seat.
“’ Evening to you, too, brother.” You said, turning on the lights and shutting the door behind you casually. “After a hundred and five long years, you’ve finally emerged from whatever place you were holed up in.”
The light revealed Dream to be extremely malnourished, at least more so than before. His skin was now a stark pale shade of white, which contrasted with the deep circles that fell underneath his eyes. His limbs were thin, his clothes felt a few sizes bigger than they should have been, and his hair was slightly matted and desaturated.
“I was captured.” Was his vague excuse.
“I noticed you fit the aesthetic of ‘Victorian boy’ more now, but I still find that hard to believe,” You crossed your arms. If he was telling the truth, he had really lost his touch.
“It doesn’t matter whether you believe me or not. I need you to help me.” Dream rose, towering over you by a couple of inches. Fine, ‘couple’ was an understatement. If you hadn’t thrown away those platform shoes you stole from a drag queen back in the 90s, this situation would have been much less intimidating.
“What’s the magic word?”
“Stop with your games, Disaster. This is of high importance.” Dream raised his voice, some furniture in the flat trembling in his resonance.“I need you to find an escaped nightmare of mine. The Corinthian.”
A vague image of some sun hat-clad man with sunglasses sailed easily into your mind. About a few centuries ago, your brother created a nightmare to stir fear into the dreams of mankind. Something about teeth for eyes, or whatever.
“Why should I help you—? No, more importantly, why can’t you do it yourself? It’s your nightmare.”
“I have my hands full. It’s a matter of convenience, mostly. You’re about an hour or two away from where my raven tells me he resides. A town called Cape Kennedy. And you are also very capable.” He stated, relaxing his shoulders and walking backwards, into the more dimly-lit area of the space. “Not to mention the fact that you owe me.”
You remembered the time you somehow, against all odds, managed to persuade your brother to inspire a handful of self-absorbed egoists to begin an entirely new form of entertainment back in the early 2000s. You think they called themselves ‘Influencers’ or something of the like. Watching them offend and bully and battle in a never-ending war of narcissists was good enough entertainment to pass the time.
“Fine,” You sighed begrudgingly, hating his persistent authoritativeness. He was such a pain.
“You have a week.” Was his loving goodbye.
Dream brought out a familiar pouch of sand resting in his coat, grabbed a fistful of the sand, and flung it to the ground. It dispersed in a giant golden cloud that engulfed him entirely and took him away.
“Goddamn bastard put sand on my carpet.” You muttered to yourself, frowning at the leftover grains on the wool spread.
…
Cape Kennedy was frankly very boring and did nothing to spark at least a little excitement. In fact, it was a bit dreary for a beach town. Moping, dull, miserable faces everywhere. A family with a pained father, pulled along by his harsh, incessantly micro managing wife. A middle-aged businesswoman sitting by the pier, looking at the ocean like she wanted to drown in it. A devoted girl on her last thread of hope, passing out fliers for some lost brother.
The only mildly good thing about the stupid town was the ice cream.
You had quickly given up on searching for the nightmare out of pure, unwavering boredom. Very typical. You decided the powers of chance would lead him to you somehow, as all bad things were always attracted to your presence. Perks of the job.
So, what better way to waste your time than following the humans’ example of wasting time? Among the list of what they dubbed ‘leisurely activities’, the one about wasting money on ‘a nice scoop of ice cream’ would be a somewhat enjoyable. You had found a little tourist spot lodged in the middle of a park. A beat-down ice cream truck, a mass of picnic tables, and a mob of sweaty, hungry humans.
“One scoop of pistachio please, babe. Wait, make it two. In a cone.” You told a disgruntled ice cream truck employee who couldn’t care less.
“That’ll be $4.50, please.” The employee replied in a monotone slur. “Card or cash?”
“Card. Why not?” You smiled, reaching into your pockets with both hands. One found your card, the other found a source of your powers, hidden within the folds of your trousers. A golden apple. But not just any golden apple, your golden apple.
The employee brought out a card machine and held it out. You swiped your card. It didn’t read.
“Sorry,” The employee grumbled, taking back the machine and pressing a few buttons. “Try it again.”
You tried it again. It didn’t work.
The employee mumbled another swift apology and pressed more buttons, this time in a more random order.
“Try it now.”
You tried it now. The machine didn’t read, but instead sizzled and sparked, and then lost power, the screen turning black. The employee looked frazzled.
A hurried clump of footsteps emerged from the back door.
“Shit. Boss is gonna kill me.” The employee spoke under her breath. A shining bead of sweat trailed along the side of her frantic head.
“McAdams? You broke the machine again, didn’t you?” The boss reprimanded, not ashamed to raise her volume in the least private place possible.
“It’s not me, Donna! It’s your stupid machine!”
“It’s always you. It’s the fifth time today.”
“It’s the fucking machine–!”
“All I’m hearing is one excuse after the next.”
“Oh, please, you’re just trying to find anything to blame me for. You have been like this ever since we broke up.”
“Don’t bring our personal life into this.”
“You are such a fucking hypocrite, Donna!”
“You’re fired.”
“What?”
“I said, you’re fired, Jen.”
The employee spared her one last furious glance before taking off her apron and throwing it on the boss and storming off elsewhere, steam practically releasing from her red ears.
“Cash, then?” You asked innocently.
A few short minutes later, you were rewarded with two scoops of slightly overpriced ice cream by another employee. The ice cream wasn’t the real treat, it was sparking a healthy, friendly little argument. True satisfaction that was sweeter than sugar.
While you were happily occupied enjoying your ice cream underneath the cooling shade of the surrounding trees, a blue convertible pulled up among the flood of monochrome cars.
Some instinct within you alerted you of its arrival. You stilled.
A blonde man with sunglasses and a beige overcoat hanging off his broad shoulders stepped out of the car. He leaned over to say something to the little boy sitting in the passenger’s seat, before straightening up and sauntering over to the ice cream truck. Admittedly, he was quite good-looking, harbouring a kind of classic, old Hollywood beauty. A good figure, a good facial structure, and a damned good smile.
Even if he was a nightmare, he was still very attractive.
That was no doubt the Corinthian. If it weren’t for the inhuman sense that lingered around him, the opaque condition of the lenses in his sunglasses gave it away pretty obviously.
You smirked, victory being so close from your eager grasp. You brought yourself to the ice cream truck happily, almost skipping on your way there.
“One vanilla in a cone, darling. Thanks,” The Corinthian said to the employee, flashing a perfect set of teeth in a charming smile, and sliding a crisp bill over to her.
“Careful, handsome. A few more of those and you’ll ruin your pretty smile.” You tutted from behind him.
The Corinthian let loose a rich laugh and turned to face you.
“Well, look who it is.” The Corinthian said amusedly, a slight Southern swing escaping in his speech. You were trying your best to remain your composure and resist the urge to find him hot the best you could. The best you could was not enough. He was more attractive up close. “Little sibling Eris.”
“It’s Disaster to you, blondie.” You rolled your eyes.
“I’m guessing my old friend Dream sent you, huh?” He assumed, leaning against the truck nonchalantly.
“Ding ding ding, we have a winner, folks!”
“Look, sweetheart, I’m sure as hell not going back,” He said, closing in on the distance between your faces. “I have things to do, people to see, if you catch my drift.”
Why did your brother have to make a nightmare that appealing? It wouldn’t have been so hard to copy and paste the wrinkly head of a turtle onto the body of an overweight gorilla, but, no. No, no, no.
“Well, I can’t come back to Dream empty-handed, good-looking.” You shortened the distance, challenging him further. You were now barely half an inch away from each other.
“You think I’m good-looking?” He whispered in exaggerated shock, cracking a smile.
“Yeah, without the whole triple-teeth thing, of course.” You replied, staring directly into those sunglasses of his. A pitch-black reflection stared back at you. “So, do you just keep them on during se—?”
“Sir, your ice cream.” The employee coughed, extending an ice cream-holding hand.
“Thanks, doll.” He broke away and took the ice cream. The vanilla dripped down his hand, so he intentionally brought his mouth to his wrist and licked it slowly and somewhat seducingly, knowing full well you were watching him closely. Damn.
“Slut.” You coughed unsubtly.
“Only for you, sweetheart.” A small grin spread on his well-chiselled face.
“Corinthian, enough with the chit-chat, you’re coming with me.”
“Oh, bossy,” He tutted amusedly. “And what if I resist?”
“Well, it’s either you come with me now and I’ll be gentle, or I find you soon and bring you to my dearest brother, and neither of us will play nice.” You said, granting him a cold stare.
“I’ll take my chances with the latter, sweetheart.” He patted you squarely on the shoulder and swaggered off back to his car and the boy waiting in it. You wondered what a nightmare like him was doing with a kid, but then realised very quickly you didn’t care.
Now this, this would be fun.
...
Apparently, the Corinthian had made a bit of a name for himself as a serial killer. But they didn’t like to call each other that. They were ‘collectors’. You had found this out not even two days later by trailing the nightmare all the way to a ‘cereal convention’ in an old hotel in Georgia, of all places.
“Hi. I’m here for the, uh, convention.” You said to the rather portly, glasses-wearing fellow manning the sign-up area and handling the convention attendees.
“Name?” He asked, not looking up, incredibly uninterested.
You quickly glanced at all the name tags on the table beside him and chose the coolest-sounding one.
“Reckoning.”
“Oh. It’s you,” The man faced you with a kind of admirable glint in his dark eyes. “Welcome. We hope you enjoy your time with us,”
“Thanks—” You squinted at the name tag he wore. “— Fun Land.”
...
You found yourself being guided into a large assembly hall, sitting with row after row of ‘collectors’ taking up flimsy plastic chairs neighbouring you. About five hundred, you estimated. Then, you spotted the Corinthian sitting two rows away from you. His arm was draped over the backrest of the person beside him, not that the inhabitant seemed to mind, stealing a sidewards glance at him every now and then. You couldn’t help but notice the unoccupied seat beside him, so you made the wise choice to shimmy past the path of legs to escape your row and join his.
“Is this seat taken?” You asked, resting your hand on the chair you implied.
“Not at all, sweetheart.” The Corinthian grinned, taking his arm away from the other person’s backrest. The other person looked a bit offended at that motion, which increased a secret level of smugness inside of you. “So, you come here often?”
“No, I just came to find somebody.” You replied.
“May I ask who?”
“Tall, blonde, wears stupid sunglasses, smiles a lot.”
“Rugged good looks, perhaps?”
“Mm, I think that’s pushing it too far.” You cocked an eyebrow, lying out of your teeth. But he didn’t need to know that.
“Then I don’t think I’ve seen him recently, I’m sorry.” The Corinthian faked an apologetic expression.
A balding man with rectangular glasses dressed like a car salesman tapped the top of a microphone on the centre stage. The slight feedback drew everyone’s attention to him, and silence ensued.
“Hello everyone. Welcome to the seventeenth annual collector’s convention!”
A round of enthusiastic applause filled the room, you were forced to contribute yourself.
“I’m Nimrod and it is my pleasure to be hosting you this evening. I see we have a lot of old faces, and some new ones too. We wish you a pleasant time.” The man continued, looking out at the audience. “Although, I have a bit of bad news to share. Sadly, the Family Man couldn’t make it as our guest speaker tonight.”
A collective jumble of grumbling and objections filled the pause.
“But, I am happy to introduce our replacement. Gentlemen, ladies, please give a big hand to the one, the only, the Corinthian!”
The room burst into thunderous applause. You were among the few people who cheered, even sneaking in a wolf whistle, which the aforementioned Corinthian gladly appreciated. He stood up, increasing the volume of the applause. He mouthed a few ‘thank you’s whilst waving at the crowd. After humbly basking in the appreciation for a few short seconds, he then proceeded to bend down and place a curious hand on your thigh. He whispered in your ear; soft, hot lips grazing your cheek–
“Excuse me, baby, I have to make a speech now.”
You blinked. Your cheeks began heating up. Why were your cheeks heating up? You coughed out an inaudible, nonsensical reply and stood to make room for him to pass out into the aisle.
“Thanks, sweetheart. We’ll finish this later.”
Then he did a brisk walk up to the stage, still waving, still smiling. He said something to the host that the microphone couldn’t catch, but he, in response, touched his shoulder and smiled back.
“Good evening!” The Corinthian began, the audience simmering down obediently to listen.
He then launched into a spirited speech about something and something else. You didn’t listen, save for the odd word caught here and there. You were staring at him, yes, but you weren’t too focused on the words coming out of his gorgeous mouth.
No, his regular-looking mouth. Damn it.
The only thing occupying your mind was the feeling of his warm hand on your thigh. God, you could feel the ghost of it through the thin fabric of your trousers. A fuzzy sort of warmth shot up inside of you. He knew what he did. Somehow, from up there on the stage, he could tell you were still preoccupied with his touch as he ended his speech, much to more blasting applause.
The Corinthian bent down to you again and levelled his mouth to your ear.
“How about you and I get outta here, sweetheart?” He whispered, his husky voice unsheathing a layer of greed.
You merely nodded because you knew words would fail you. This was your chance to sedate him and call Dream. You could do it. You promised your brother. You recklessly followed the Corinthian away from the hall into the hotel bar. A man clad in a navy-blue waistcoat poured you a ‘sex on the beach’ – chosen by you purely for the name, while the Corinthian received a classic martini.
“Quite a speech,” You began, sipping your drink.
“You were listening?” He turned on his barstool to face you fully.
“Uh, no, but I did catch the word ‘kill’ a number of times. Very inspiring,”
The Corinthian laughed his hearty, attractive, warm-blooded laugh. You smiled discreetly in return, turning your face away so he wouldn’t see the real smile he caused.
“Here,” You said, fishing something out from your pocket. Your hand emerged on the bar table with a golden apple, writing carved into its skin. You slid it over to the nightmare.
“For the fairest?” The Corinthian read the inscription on the apple. “You shouldn’t have, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, it’s sort of my trademark thing. Used it to upset a bunch of goddesses once a few thousand years ago – it doesn’t matter.” You wore a serious face. “One bite and you’ll go back to the Dreaming.”
“So, it’s an apple that takes me places I never want to return to?”
“Not exactly. It’s one of my symbols of office, the power it holds is pretty vague.” You shrugged, staring at its golden, shining surface, and your sad reflection in it. “Point is, you don’t belong here, do you?”
“A nightmare in a waking man’s world? No. A being who just wants a chance at life? Yes. Depends which way you look at it.” He said. “Glass half-full, glass half-empty.”
For once, a pained grimace made its way onto his lips. Staining that perfect face of his.
No, not perfect. Shit. Actually, yeah, perfect. Fuck. Motherfucker. Ass. Shit, shit, fuck.
You sighed, fully aware of the promise you’ve broken, the deal you’ve shattered. But, if anything, there wasn’t a single gleam of regret in your system. A part of you anticipated this from the beginning. And you were fine with that.
“Fine.” You groaned, reaching for the apple and tucking it back into your pocket. “You win. Happy?”
“How do you mean?” He raised an eyebrow, fully delighted.
“I’m not taking you back just yet. You’ve charmed me,” You stood up to be nearer to him.
“I’ve charmed you?” He repeated, a smirk dancing playfully, triumphantly on his face.
“Shut up,” You grunted, trying to hide your embarrassingly flustered state. You straddled his stupid waist and wrapped your arms around his tanned neck.
“Hm,” He hummed, his smirk growing into a nearly contagious shit-eating grin. “Eager now, are we?”
“Very. You’re too fun to let go.” You ran your thumb across his well-defined cheek. His grin almost melted away, too focused on your delicate touch.
“Am I?” He said thoughtfully, grabbing the olive from his drink and biting it from its skewer, smiling as he did so.
Then, that damned hand found its way back on your thigh, caressing it slowly.
“Fuck it,” You murmured, slightly breathless. “This will definitely piss off my brother.”
Before you knew it, with alcohol running through your body, adrenaline pumping in your blood, and your heartbeat loud enough to make your ears throb, you had led the Corinthian away from the bar into a secluded stairwell. Now you were alone, just you two.
It was the Corinthian who made the next move. He pushed you against the wall with a firm hand on your neck, almost too keenly. His toned body was flat against yours as he smashed his lips onto your own, his hands now wandering elsewhere while he worked. Everything was on fire and your mind was demoted to mush. Downwards his mouth travelled, to your bottom lip, to your jaw, to your neck, to your collarbone. He made sure to suck a little harder now and then, leaving a mark for the next morning.
You let your hands sink into his golden hair, holding on for dear life as he set your body ablaze. Every fibre in your being was screaming for him to continue. You were in his total control.
A raised knee to your crotch took you by surprise, but you grew accustomed to it as you grinded up and down on it, moaning through breaths when it hit a certain spot. The Corinthian seemed to be enjoying it, too. He groaned into your ear when you moved a certain way, or when your hands found a certain tenting shape.
“Fuck, that’s it, baby.” He whined.
And that only motivated you to do more, to hear that sweet, sweet voice sing your praises again and again. It was ironic how such an addicting, heavenly-sounding melody was sung from the mouth of a nightmare. You grabbed his collar and switched positions with him, his turn to be pressed against the wall. He was more than happy to oblige. Avidly, you peppered sloppy kisses all over his jaw while your hands made their way to his chest, impatiently unbuttoning his shirt. When you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore, you descended to your knees, tugging at his belt.
Just before you were about to continue, you heard the all-too-familiar sound of a whoosh sounding somewhere behind you.
There the King of the Dreaming stood. Morpheus. Dream of the Endless. Dream, the ultimate cockblock.
His raven squawked from the floor, its black, beady little eyes facing you. Shit, Dream had a raven that patrolled Cape Kennedy.
”I’ll take it from here, Disaster.” Your brother spat coldly, an unmistakable tone of disappointment emerging.
“Hello, Dream.” The Corinthian waved from his position up against the wall (his shirt still undone, and his blonde hair very much dishevelled), appearing unphased, if only the slightest bit irritated by his unwelcome intrusion.
“Not now.” You responded plainly to Dream. Two simple words wouldn’t be enough to scare him off, but it was worth a shot. It was more cautionary advice than anything.
”I said,” The King of dreams warned, his voice now dangerously verging on a near shout. “I’ll take it from here.”
“And I said,” You stood up, ready to face him. “Not now, Dream.”
The hotel began to shake, dust falling from the ceiling, and electricity flickering. All your doing, of course. This was your next warning. The question was, would he heed it?
“You wouldn’t.” Dream assumed, furrowing his eyebrows.
“Try me.” You challenged, eyes a dangerous shade of insane.
Out of pure spite, the building shook even more. Large chunks of rubble and debris began collapsing out of the structure in your act of defiance. It was as if a high-magnitude earthquake specifically struck the lot of the hotel. Right after a boulder-sized part of the building cracked and fell directly in front of Dream, he brought out his sand.
“This isn’t over,” Dream spoke, eyeing you with a high degree of rage, then, in a flash of sand, disappeared once more with his raven.
Oh, thank the stars. You didn’t expect that to work. But, once you started a path of ruination, you couldn’t stop it. You were Disaster. It wasn’t within the boundaries of your power to undo your own damage, similar to your other brother, Destruction, who taught you a few tips and tricks before his departure.
“So,” The Corinthian clapped his hands together, somehow still calm and collected while pieces of wreckage plummeted near him. “Shall we go back to my place, or..?”
“Put your hands on me,”
“Now?” He asked, dodging a small slab of ceiling, a bit taken aback, but still very much ready to.
“Not in that sense. I’m protected.” You neared him and pulled out a necklace with an ancient symbol hanging on the chain. “Can’t be Disaster if you can’t survive disasters,”
The Corinthian hummed an agreeing response and more than willingly snaked his arms around your waist. You had a feeling he enjoyed it more than he should.
It was as if an invisible shield covered you both, stray bricks bouncing off like ping pong balls, loose metal rods repelled by your presence. At last, you emerged from the crumbling hotel into the swarm of evacuated passersby. Wails of ambulance sirens and the rumble of big firetrucks accompanied the confused hullabaloo and concerned commotion. It was pure pandemonium.
“Thanks for scaring away your brother back there.” The Corinthian said to you, letting go of your waist almost regretfully.
“The things I do for a good time.” You sighed, pulling him closer by the belt. “C’mon, I’m not done with you yet.”
“I know a place.” He suggested, smirking insatiably.
“Lead the way?”
“Of course,”