One-shots [Reqs: 5]

ur awful, i love u

untitled crossmare fic which i wrote for a book of crossmare oneshots that also includes several other writers, it's on A03

cross likes nightmare i think

anyways, tw, they kiss and it's grossly descriptive

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horror: [getting his skull bashed in by nightmare]
cross: god i wish that were me

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Nightmare was furious.

The air buzzed with high tension, even the shadows seemed restless, fizzling like static. Cross was tempted to brush against the whispy blackness, to get a feeling of Nightmare's anger. He resigned himself to standing a mere inch away from them, feeling only the slightest hum against his outstretched hand. It almost called to him, the shaking void within the shadows. Cross wasn't sure he'd be able to resist it should it call a little louder.

Something shook the castle, loose dust and bits of rubble rained down, little pebbles tinking against Cross's skull and burrowing into the fur of his hoodie. He shook his body, shrugging off the fallen layer of powder. He reluctantly pulled away from the shadow he'd been fascinated over, his feet near silent as he wandered through the halls, drawn to the heart of Nightmare's rage.

It was potent, and utterly enthralling, as everything about Nightmare seemed to be. It sparked some sort of nihilistic cravings, an odd type of excitement, in Cross's soul to simply be near his king. And what a king Nightmare was. Regal, powerful, cold, unrelenting. A king worthy of the worship he demanded. Cross would bow and grovel at his feet, anything, if only to please Nightmare. A prickling feeling rolled over his bones, a shiver of delight, at the thought. Nightmare could very well be the god he claimed to be. His otherworldly elegance, whatever you wanted to call it, it was too perfect for him to be anything but a higher being. A God, a King, all of the above.

Cross slipped into Nightmare's throne room, his breath stalling as Nightmare whipped around, his eye a thin sliver of pure unbridled rage. It was breathtaking, the sheer emotion on his face, his nasal bone wrinkled with a snarl and his eye wide, his brilliantly white teeth bared in a handsome scowl, sharp fangs peeking out, a temptation on their own. His corruption rippled, shining a muted cyan in the light of the torches, his tentacles damn near dancing at his back. Cross couldn't help but hope that the threat they posed was a promise.

Mouth dry, Cross gave a deep bow, offering Nightmare the respect and submission he was entitled to. He held the position, even as his spine began to ache, his eyelights locked onto the tips of Nightmare's shoes. He didn't dare move, frozen in his awe, as Nightmare's voice filled the room, his voice a deep growl that had Cross trembling. "Should I explain the purpose of this meeting, or am I spared of your stupidity for once?" He spat the word, his tendrils slapping the floor as if to punctuate his words.

Cross watched those shoes pace back and forth, his very being hanging on Nightmare's every word, desperate to hear more. Generously, Nightmare blessed them with his voice again, barking a demand. "Answer me, you wretches!!" Not even Killer dared to answer, his constant need to speak seemingly absent entirely. Good. Cross wasn't sure he'd be able to let it stand if Killer had interrupted Nightmare.

Cross tore his eyes away from his king, only briefly, to look at his teammates, taking in their rigid forms. Killer's hunched form resembled a loyal disciple, his forehead flat against the cold floor, his shoulders braces, and arms outstretched, palms up, as if he were worshipping a god. Perhaps he was. Disgustingly, his tainted determination dripped onto the floor in a growing pool, the black substance sucked up by the sleeves of Killer's coat. The stain continued to spread, slowly absorbing the tar-like liquid. Another stain to add to the collection.