dream smp oneshotsssss 😎

Oneshot No. 188 (1238 Words)

"Right! Then, if the police even suspect that his body was taken out there, and the dog's sniff it out, all they'll find is the animal. It's a nearly flawless plan," George agrees.

"The police aren't gonna find out," I snark. "No one else saw this go down."

"Guys, I-" Bad starts.

"Not a word. Not. A. Word."

-- ARRIVING AT TAMPA --

"Okay. We'll drive off road for thirty minutes," I say, steering the car off onto gravel and sand.

I press my foot down on the pedals, driving off into no where.

Once we've been driving for at least twenty minutes, I put the car into park.

George and Bad get out of the car.

"Shit, it's hot," George mutters.

"It's Tampa, of course it's hot," I say. I open the trunk to two body bags. One for the body, one for the animal.

George and I pull the body bag for Sapnap out whilst Bad starts digging a hole.

After ten minutes, the hole's pretty deep.

"Alright. Here we go..." I mumble.

I drop Sapnap's body into the hole.

"So morbid..." Bad says under his breath.

"It's a fucking dead body. You think it's gonna be all cute and polite?" I snark.

Bad stays silent. He starts putting the dirt, gravel and sand back into the hole until half way.

This time, George opens the body bag for the animal and shuffles the small, dead raccoon out.

Bad finishes digging it back up and puts the shovel in the back, then we start the drive back to Orlando.

-- THE NEXT NIGHT --

The blood on the living room floor has finally been cleaned off. All three of us head to the kitchen. George and I sit on the kitchen stools whilst Bad stands across the counter from us.

"How do we tell our fans?" Bad asks.

"A Twitlonger," I say instantly.

"What's his new death?" George asks.

"Make something up. Say he had a rare disease and died because of it. There. Am I gonna have to come up with everything?" I scoff, standing up.

"Well, you are the one that killed him!" Bad exclaims.

I turn my head, glaring at him.

"Keep that tone up and I'll fucking murder you the same way I did to him."

"You couldn't," Bad says.

"Don't test me, Bad. I'll ram your head into a concrete sidewalk if I have to. So watch your mouth, you got that?"

"Guys! Calm down," George says.

I turn around, headed for my room, but then Bad says something.

"I can call the cops on you."

I pause.

"Yeah. Not so tough now," Bad continues.

I turn around, and look at him. He walks up to me, until we're face to face, eye level.

"Guys-" George starts.

"I'll kill you right now if you say one more word. I've killed before and I'll do it again."

"Try me."

I grin, feeling my fist clench. I ram my fist right into his face. I can feel the bone in his nose completely shift and break as he stumbles backwards, tripping.

George doesn't even try to stop me.

Bad props himself up on his elbows, laying on the floor as he wipes the blood spilling out of his nose and mouth.

I kick him right in the guts, and his coughing lingers with blood.

I kneel down, and push him onto his stomach. Just like Sapnap, I sit on his back, his arms pinned down. He can't do anything

"Hmm, why does this look familiar?" I ask sarcastically, leaning close to his ear.

"Please, Dream, don't kill me," he whines.

"George. Pass me a knife and a table cloth."

"A-are you sure?" George chokes out.

"Now," I demand.

George passes me a knife, carefully. He then passes me a table cloth.

I hold the knife in my mouth, biting down on the handle.

I wrap the table cloth around his mouth, just so he can't scream.

I grab the knife from my mouth.

"Maybe this'll teach you," I whisper, nice and close to his ear, so only he can hear it.

I twirl the knife in between my fingers, a smirk on my face. George steps away.

I plunge the knife into his back. I pull it out, then stab him 6 times. Blood spits everywhere.

I wipe blood off my face with my forearm. A red puddle forms around him, the same red liquid splattered everywhere around me and on me.

I find myself breathing heavily.

I drop the knife, sliding it to the side.

"Don't you dare tell anyone about this," I say, looking at George.

I get up, off the body.

"Another drive to Tampa...?" George asks, quietly.

"Get the shovel."