Kréme / Driller Oneshots

Fatal

My exams are over 😍😍😍😍😍

This is a really fun oneshot guys, I hope you enjoy very happy fluffy Mm

I've realised that nearly every fight scene I write is in snow but but but but

🫦

Blood is pretty in snow

 
 
The air was frigid. Snowflakes consumed the air, spiralling from the sky to crash into the snow. It made breathing sharp, every breath like a prickle of needles. Pine trees bowed beneath their weight, groaning with each cruel breath of wind. Each crunching footstep echoed off the rough tree trunks, trapped in the clearing where the blue sky beat down upon them ceaselessly. The sun watched.

Copper burned on his tongue. Spitting red, Dream wiped his mouth with the back of his glove and ignored the smear it left behind. His body ached, weighed with the burden of time and stung by experience. Blood leaked from the rough scratch on his chest, messy. He was sure that through the numbness, he could feel two ribs broken. He had taken a beating that would leave repercussions for at least three days. But he was still standing. His opponent wasn't.

Twisted on the floor, someone gasped for breath. His heels dug into the snow, fingers grasping unsuccessfully at air. His hoodie and clothes were ruffled, shirt hitched to show bruised ribs. His eyes eyes were wide, silver pupils slits. Black tar stained his cheeks, running down to his neck where it pooled before dripping into the snow that surrounded him. Crimson blossomed at his chest, spreading with feather-like fingertips over his chest to seep into the snow, staining it mauve. A fibreglass spear jutted from his jest, split through his sternum and cracking out his spine the other side.

With each wheezing breath the fallen skeleton gave, he stepped closer. He was duly aware his leg might be broken, his foot dragging with each step. But it didn't register, mind only able to focus on the fact that he'd done it. After years of fighting, years of torment, he'd finally struck him. Killer had survived death, avoided capture, outlasted teammates and escaped Dream since the moment they'd first met. And now, finally, he'd wasted the last of his nine lives.

Lying broken on the floor like that, Killer looked decidedly unattractive. He usually had a cruel quality of handsomeness to him, a sharp smirk and enticing eyes. Now however, with blood dribbling from his lips and expression ashen, he had lost that fire. Twisting his neck to the side the assassin gave a hacking cough, blood painting the snow in burning flecks. Death was never pretty.

As he crouched slightly Dream became aware of yelling behind him. Tipping his head, he glanced back to watch the skeleton's teammates.

Dust had caught sight of what had happened, his fight against Blue forgotten as he watched the man he'd grown up with be beaten to the ground. "Killer-!"

It was one of the first times he thought he'd heard Dust speak, his voice gravelly and scared. His shoulder rolled back, ready to rain a curse down upon him. Dream's gaze managed to flick to Blue in time to see him tackle Dust before the words could spill from his lips. The two tumbled across the snow, leaving scuffs of dirt and blood as Dust tried his best to break free. Bones speared through his body, ripping through his shoulder to pin him to the floor. The other yelled, ripping ligaments and snapping limbs.

A brush of air washed the back of his neck and he cursed, rolling just in time to miss the stab of a jetting tentacle. Nightmare snarled, claw-like fingers striking his side and nearly removing his hipbone from its socket. Staggering to his feet he lurched out of the way of two more tentacle strikes. The Negative Lord wasn't someone he was currently capable of fighting.

From his position in the snow, he watched as Nightmare crouched over Killer's feeble body. One claw like finger reached down to brush over the wound on his chest before he was struck around the back of the skull. The crack was haunting, echoing across the forest as the metal banded tip of a particular large paintbrush collided with bone. The artist was a bur, swinging the brush around again to send him crashing into the nearest tree.