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minecraft manhunt, but i relentlessly pester my crush

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Swords of steel gracelessly clash together, each of the handles in an iron grip and flashes of silver flickering every time the weapons catch in the light of the golden magma slowly but surely pooling around the fortress that the pair is currently residing in. 


Light pants and groans of triumph or frustration are the only sounds emitted from the two as they continue to duel on the top of the nether fortress, exposed to ghast fireballs or any other dangerous element that can appear in the fiery depths of hell around the duo.


The brunet lurches forward, his gaze set in stone at his perpetrator and the rim of his clout goggles splattered with fresh blood. Whether it's his or the other's, he isn't entirely sure.


The blond easily dodges the attack, resulting in the tip of the blade grazing past his iron chestplate. His hair is slightly tousled from their exhilarating battle and mask askew in order to have more breathing room, but his facial expression evokes one of pure glee. 


Dream has always loved doing these sorts of manhunts. The giddiness of being hunted down by his closest friends, the fear when he comes too close to comfort to dying and ultimately losing, and the absolute joy he feels when he wins and gets to rub it in the other’s faces. It is worth every scar, bruise, and loss of blood he has ever sacrificed. 


The fire in his eyes burns as he allows this battle to consume his very soul and watch it plunge into the depths of the skirmish.


And when he makes direct eye contact with George and sees the same sort of light aflame in his pair of auburn eyes, he decides that his best friend feels the exact same sort of frivolous passion.


George lets out a breathy sigh, his eyebrows furrowed in both annoyance and focus. Dream watches him like a hawk, waiting for his next move. 


Ever so carefully, George pushes forward again, trying to coax Dream to the edge of the fortress. He shoves his blade, centering it in front of Dream’s chest. 


Dream quickly recoils, backing up against the maroon nether brick, narrowly avoiding George’s attack. The contact of the brick against his back is scathing almost to the point of being intolerable. Dream distantly wonders how much longer it can hold his weight before collapsing into the bubbling death wish below.


George stands a few yards in front of him, smirk evident on his face and arms resting almost carelessly at his sides. His sword rests idle in his hand, blade aimlessly scraping the floor of crimson. Dream tilts his head, confused. The attack didn’t work, so why did he seem so pleased with himself?


“You have nowhere to run, Dream,” George giggles, voice slick with overbearing amounts of confidence and glee. 


One swift look around confirms George’s statement.


A sturdy fence surrounded by two dark pillars and littered with mushrooms is on his right side. On the other side of the gate is the blaze spawner; its cage-like figure has spawned too many creatures of fire and ember by now to surpass without taking serious damage.


The other side of Dream abruptly halts with a dead end. Bricks crumble at the edges and sprinkle down into the bubbling lava below the structure.


In front of him is George. Behind him is a wall. He may just be fucked.


But he isn't about to give George the luxury of winning.


As George starts to close in, Dream takes his sword in hand and slants it forward so that it is eye level with George's incoming blade. The weapons rattle together and reverberate throughout the Nether, emitting a wail from a distant ghast somewhere amidst the fog.


George grimaces, and adds on some extra force to attempt to push Dream backwards into the wall. Dream falters a little, and stumbles, one of his legs giving out and sliding across the dark corridor, resulting in his positioning being similar to a split. Not ideal at all.


With the newfound advantage, George pushes his sword forward again. Dream keeps his grip on his own weapon steady, refusing to give George even more of an upper hand than he already has. 


The blond presses onwards even more, summoning up massive amounts of strength that were restlessly swimming around in his body, waiting for just the right moment to strike. 


And it was the right moment indeed. George stumbles back just the slightest, giving Dream just barely enough room to veer left.


His efforts to escape would be futile, however, considering death is waiting for him below, in the form of a gurgling trench of gold and orange heat.


But Dream has always been known as a risk taker.


Holding his breath in anticipation, Dream feigns moving left.


Similar to a cat, George chases the movement and rushes to the side, awaiting a certain green hooded man who would never appear.


Instead, Dream takes the chance to back away from the wall, just as it is sent crumbling downwards into the sea of lava. 


At lightning speed, he scampers his way behind George, who is still foolishly looking over to where Dream should have been. 


Barking out a laugh, Dream pushes George, hard.


George trips and lands square on his side, just as the nether brick floor gives away and crumbles down, followed by a shrieking George. 


Dream wheezes, loud and boisterous, as he pulls himself up on the ledge opposite to the aforementioned wall, watching his friend disappear into the bubbling pit of fire and cheering silently at the death message popping up soon after.


He waits a few moments, then pulls out a steak to feast on, healing up before he comes face to face with the army of blazes. They stare at him, pale eyes emotionless, as Dream looks down to where George had died with a sort of blazing passion swirling around in his sight of hazel and green.


Manhunts have always been Dream's favorite activity to pursue with his friends. Especially when he wins.




Hiding behind a tree isn’t necessarily how Dream wanted to start out this manhunt, but beggars can’t exactly be choosers.


Early game is always the worst. Being chased down the second he starts running, having little to no resources to work with, and having his hunters at most a few yards away from him at every moment. His survival and quick thinking skills are essential to outlive the early game, and his first thought once George and Sapnap got him down half health was to hide


Surrounded by the woods of oak and birch, with nothing but a few seeds and a haphazardly put together wooden axe, Dream lies low and waits for his friends to inevitably find him. 


“Oh Dreeeeam!” Sapnap calls, obnoxiously drawing out the vowels in his name a few seconds too long. George’s snickers follow shortly afterwards. An involuntary shudder rushes up Dream’s spine. They sound close.


“We’re coming to get you!” George taunts. 


Clutching onto his axe like his life depends on it, Dream prepares himself for enabling his fight or flight mode. He keeps the seeds in his hoodie pocket, deciding to hold onto them in case they may be of any use later.

The leaves of the trees blow in the steady wind, whistling to each other back and forth as if they were mocking his disadvantage. He pays them no mind, and instead listens keenly to the pair of footsteps steadily approaching his rather lame attempt of a hiding spot. 


The movements get louder and louder, and when Dream catches sight of one of Sapnap’s checkered shoes in the corner of his eye, he scampers off, laughing rather loudly at the terror of it all, his heart beating rapidly in his chest and his eyes shining with unshed tears from the pace of his scamper away. He hears cries of protest a few feet behind him and wheezes giddily at the sudden exhilaration and turn of the battle. Now this is what he lived for. 


“George,” Sapnap yells, somewhere close behind, “get him! I’m going to the village!”


A sharp glance to his right confirms Sapnap’s exclamation. Surely enough, a small plains village stands a whiles away, just at the break of the three’s render distance. A blacksmith can just barely be spotted, but its location is definitely prominent. Dream suppresses a sigh of irritation and continues his frantic running. 


The pros of Sapnap leaving the pursuit to head towards the village instead means that George is the only one giving chase now, and Dream definitely has a few tricks up his sleeve that can throw George off track. 


He focuses back on his mad dash, proceeding north and heading towards a mountainous terrain. Veins of coal are just barely visible in the stone, and the mountain is joined adjacent to a rushing river populated with schools of cod and salmon. A definitely luxurious area in terms of resources, but he has to continue pushing forward, considering a steadfast Brit is right at his heel. 


Dream scours the lower side of the mountain, climbing his way up and digging frantically through the dirt every time he gets stuck at a nook. The time unwisely spent trying to get past the mountain allowed George to catch up to him, and he only belatedly realises this when he feels a strong pull at his hood. 


“Ah- George! Let go!” he hollers, requesting his wants to deaf ears. George giggles behind him and tugs at the green fabric, causing Dream to stumble backwards and slip down the mountain. 


“No way, Dream!” George replies, snickering in between his words. Dream rustles around a bit, trying to get George to loosen his grip at least a little. His efforts prove to be fruitless, as George just constrains him even more.


As a last resort, Dream distantly wishes his hoodie doesn’t suffer too much, and roughly pulls the hem over his head, slips his arms out of the soft cotton, and escapes from the death trap before George can do as much as react to his plan. 


George guffaws in surprise, staring down at a Dreamless hoodie in his hand before groaning loudly and continues the chase.


(he may have also tied the hoodie around his waist for safekeeping, but it’s obviously only to give it back to Dream later.)


“You little-” 


Dream cackles at George’s misfortune and makes his way down the slope of the mountain, rushing into the plains that lie dead ahead.


George’s infuriation seems to give him a burst of energy, because he’s back right behind Dream within seconds. 


Dream has always been a fast runner. Especially during these sorts of challenges, where his life is on the line, he runs as fast as humanly possible for as long as he can manage. George is notably much slower than him, and that is noticeable now, considering he has yet to properly catch him in a race like this. Though, food is a necessity when running for long periods of time, in order to keep saturation up and thus run as fast as the wind.


One recollection of what Dream had collected before he started this game of cat and mouse with George reminds him that he has no food whatsoever to spare.


And one look at his virtual hunger bar shows that he is down to four of those stupid looking chicken legs.




One more hunger bar lost and he would be stuck pathetically walking away from George, who would easily catch up to him and take him out without mercy. He needed to find some sort of food, and fast.


As he continues to scamper farther across the field, he turns his head to the right and parts his lips slightly, widens his eyes immensely, in pure disbelief of what the Minecraft RNG decided to bless him with.


A plethora of cows lie idly around or are lazily grazing at some of the tallgrass in the field. A few other animals wander around at random, some chasing each other playfully. Multitudes of cattle, sheep, chickens, and hogs are scattered around the fields. Absolute food heaven, and all at the mercy of Dream and his shit axe.


“It’s- Animal Meadows,” Dream mutters to himself in disbelief, eyes like stars as he turns a sharp right to head towards his newfound food sources.


He hears a raucous guffaw sound behind him, and tilts his head a little to see George, doubled over and laughing relentlessly, all his previous chasing at a halt. 


And if his luck couldn’t get any better, now he has George distracted from his stupid comment about a field full to the brim of animals.


An-Animal Meadows?” George incredulously repeats, giggling despite himself. His hair is tousled up and skin glistened with sweat; wooden sword in one hand and his other arm carelessly slapping his knee as he loses his composure through his uncontrollable laughter. “Dream-” he starts, wiping a fake tear from his eye, “you are so stupid.”


Dream would be a fool not to hear the painfully obvious amounts of fondness filtering through his accented syllables and escaping out of his voice. 


He would also be a fool not to acknowledge how his cheeks heat up on impact.


With George distracted, Dream takes his chance to land a few sharp attacks on him. He spins around on his heel and raises the axe of splinters and oak over George’s head, and strikes.


It all happened immediately: the cut off scream from George, the death message popping up in chat, and the puff of smoke that dissolved from George’s body and morphed into his wooden sword and a few other various items. 


Dream stares there, dumbfounded for a moment, then shakes his head to clear his thoughts and picks up the loot.


George must have been low. George got distracted by Dream. And Dream surely wasn’t about to complain.




It was instantaneous, the way Dream pierced an arrow straight through Sapnap’s heart, sending him tumbling off the pillar he built up and straight down to his demise. 


George shrieks from the other side of the large yet unsteady platform the three had build battled across: “Sapnap!” 


The tower sits high above the sky, past the tallest mountain and just a few mere blocks away from reaching build height. Nighttime is prominent and dangerous; the floor opening up to a cascade of monsters awaiting for their next prey to fall from the sky. Unstable and narrow, it easily proves itself to be both a hazardous and laborious battleground to step foot upon.


Dream laughs, low and evil, and jumps over to burn Sapnap’s loot, setting the tower on fire simultaneously. George stumbles backwards out of fear and lands flat on his ass, making the platform shake underneath the both of them. The fear in George’s eyes as he glances up at Dream was undeniable; so much that Dream almost pitied him for putting him in this position. Almost.


Dream, for the record, has the upper hand against the two hunters. He is decked out in full iron gear with a diamond axe, and has all the blaze rods and pearls needed to complete the end portal. After having just broken George and Sapnap’s bed, and killing Sapnap to send him back to spawn, victory seemed like it was right around the corner. 


The only thing blocking the way was George, of course. However, George had little to no gear to his name. A blue leather helmet and a few half broken weapons were probably the best items he owned; no match against Dream. And Dream, the teaser he is, intends to mess around with him for a bit before slaying the poor man.


George peers up at him, doe-eyed, bloodied, and vulnerable. Dream looks down to meet the gaze of the brunet, peels his mask off, and smiles devilishly. 


Teasingly, Dream comments, “You’re still wearing my hoodie, George.” 


Slowly, George glances down, and Dream’s gaze follows.


There it was. The same hoodie that Dream had to abruptly abandon during their last manhunt, it all its forest green and lime glory. Snug around George’s form like a blanket; hem reaching well past his torso and sleeves formed into sweater paws, draping over his hands and only leaving the tips of his fingers exposed. Impossibly large for his figure yet adorable all the same. Dream may just be gushing internally, but he would never admit that out loud; especially whilst keeping up with his demonic facade during a manhunt.


Dream shakes his head to clear his thoughts and positions his vision back to rest on George’s face, which has already bloomed into pretty shades of pink and red, heating up his cheeks and ears and setting both of their nerves alight. 


It was warm. Dream felt warm, seeing George all flustered like that, because of him.


“I-” George fumbles, trying his best to grasp any sort of words to help himself out in this situation, but conclusively failing. Dream snickers, content that he already managed to make the older speechless.


Practically purring, Dream rumbles, “You like wearing it?”


No response other than a sharp intake of breath and a face growing increasingly warmer.


“Is it comfortable?” 


A gasp; a hooded gaze. Dream drinks it all in. 


Tone an octave lower than usual, Dream murmurs, “It looks good on you, Georgie.”


Something must have snapped in George, because he shoots up similar to a skyrocket and stares down at Dream with as much false bravery as he can muster. Dream can easily see through his facade, however, if his tomato face and breathless appearance are anything to go by.


“Dream.” A warning. Dream has never been one to listen to them. 


“What?” he prods, taunting. “I’m not wrong; it does look nice.” 


George hesitantly steps forward, self-consciously stuffing his hands in the hoodie pocket. Basically armorless and utterly defenseless, he faces towards Dream and stares at him head on. The taller smiles, cheekily and flashing his teeth.




“I’m what?” Dream interrupts, already sure he knows what George will be saying.


George sighs, smiling despite himself. “You’re too much Dream.” It is the same as before; the disgustingly immense amount of fondness trickling through his tone like sand, and piling up at the bottom of his heart, reserved for just the two of them to hear and no one else to reciprocate. 


Just as before, George let up his guard, sending his walls crashing down. Dream would win again, sending George back to spawn and completing the game; later rubbing it in their faces.


But in hindsight, Dream feels as if this was much more than just a declaration for victory in his infamous manhunts; but rather a realisation that he enjoys making George feel this way. Open and red-faced, because of him. Sentimental and enamoured, because of his words. The realisation was steadfast and immediate; but appreciated all the same. 


Smiling even wider(somehow that was possible), he gives back to George the same amount of fondness in his eyes as his voice had previously held, and pulls his axe out of his back satchel. 


George’s eyes widen at the glistening blue weapon in Dream’s hand, and subconsciously puts up his own two hands in surrender; he has no possible way to escape this, and he definitely knows that.


“Perhaps,” a rise of the hatchet, aiming at the brunet. George cowers, and Dream moves closer, close enough that he can practically hear the brunet’s racing heartbeat thumping against his chest.


“I am.” Lips grazing the shorter’s ear as Dream leans in and swipes , sending George, poor, infatuated George, tumbling down from the pillar at high speeds and hitting the ground too hard.


Dream gazes down as a cluster of zombies limp over and grab at the piece of dyed leather armor and weapons of stone and iron at the many, groaning curiously at the loot that dropped from the sky.


The blond smiles sillily at the scene and distantly hopes George won’t be too mad at him later.


Crafting a handful of ender eyes and packing up his things to head to the end portal, his thoughts remained plagued with a certain British boy.





Dream firmly presses the palm of his hands over his ears as the dragon roars again, her merciless cries echoing throughout the end island. He spent a good twenty minutes trying to get Bad and Sapnap off his tail, who finally fell into the void a few minutes ago, beds previously destroyed, making them respawn all the way back to where they first started this manhunt. Which, frankly, has been going on for far too long for Dream’s liking. His legs and arms ached, his diamond armor was wearing him down, and he just wanted a break from all the action for one measly minute.


Is that too much to ask?


The scenery around him is vague, to say the least. Behind a pillar and close to the edge of the map, the pale yellow stone of the end and the pitch black void of death are the only things greeting him from this position. Another outrageous bellow from the beast of ender not so subtlety reminds him of why he’s here: to kill the dragon and win the manhunt.


Only half of the end crystals are broken, so the dragon is irritably still on full health. Endermen litter the area in unnatural amounts, so Dream has had to duck his head down in his entire time of being here. 


Once the beasts finally subsides her frivolous outcries, Dream peels his hands off his ears and relaxes into the pillar he is currently leaning on a little. 


It feels nice, just to lean back and relax, unaware of his surroundings and just taking in the fact that he made it this far, well geared out and alive.


The quiet pitter patter of steel against the endstone reminds him that he isn’t alone quite yet in this realm.


George lazily drags his sword across the ground, occasionally taking out a water bucket to fend off the few enderman that had taken a liking to him. His clout goggles are slightly bent from all the fighting that led up to this moment, and his hair is ruffled about on top of his head, some loose strands poking around his face. He sports a small, confused smile, keeping his stare rested to his feet, perhaps not to provoke any more of the tall black creatures. He is close enough to Dream that he can just barely make out a few freckles speckled across his face, but far enough away that his gaze at the floor doesn't catch any part of Dream. Like a fool, Dream takes a moment to practically ogle his best friend, remotely wondering to himself how someone can look that ethereal, even after hours of battling and chasing.


And a fool he is, Dream kindly greets, "Hey, George." 


George shoots up, eyes narrowed directly at Dream and sword raised in immediate response. He straightens his shoulders and stands up tall, staring down at Dream. Dream pretends not to notice the weapon slightly shaking in his grasp.


Dream steadily raises his hands up in faux surrender, dropping his azure axe on the ground. The two listen to its rattling for a moment, hearing it echo profusely until it dies down and they’re left once again in the uneasy atmosphere of the end. 


Reluctantly, George lowers his sword until it wedges itself into the ground. He tilts his head and furrows his eyebrows. Confused, George asks: “What sort of tricks do you have up your sleeve now?”


Dream shakes his head fondly, smiling despite himself. “None,” he responds, “I just needed to relax a little, y’know?”


George makes a show of lifting his goggles up, exaggeratingly rolling his eyes, and perching the glasses to rest just above his hairline. “You? Relaxing? During a manhunt? Oh, please.”


“It’s true!” he continues, letting his arms lie slack at his sides and walking towards George, “I just want to have some fun before I beat the game!”


George scoffs. “As if.” he doesn’t lift his sword up quiet yet, but keeps an untrusting gaze on the blond making his way towards him. 


Dream stops a few feet away from George and smiles. “Dance with me, Georgie,” he whispers, tone low and practically smothering the two in its stance of underlying affection.


George splutters, and takes a subconscious step back. “What?! I- no, Dream.”


Similar to a dog, Dream pouts and prods: “Awe. Why not?” 


“Because-” George starts, then interrupts himself with another round of sputtering disbelief. “You are so weird, Dream.” 


Dream whines yet again, annoying as ever. He swoops forward and wraps his arms around the brunet’s neck, pulling him close enough that their foreheads can touch. George leans into the touch, and Dream internally swoons. “Am I, now?” 


George makes a noise of agreement, but he doesn’t steer himself away when Dream moves one of his hands to rest by George’s waist and wraps his other arm around his upper back and lower neck, touch as light as a feather. 


And when George laughs breathlessly, and situates his arms over the small of Dream’s back, the realm around them seems to act accordingly to their needs- wants - and allow them to have this small yet ever so delicate and intimate moment together, at peace.


Slowly swaying back and forth, the pair find a perfect rhythm with each other. Dream humming a soft yet familiar tune, George burying his face in Dream’s shoulder and sighing, Dream chuckling fondly. It was almost like it was meant to be just the two of them, lost in their own little world; meant to forget their current predicament, drop their weapons and armor, and dance together like their lives depended on it.


When Dream glanced down at the brunet, his previously tense demeanour shaped into something more relaxed, George looked up at him in that moment and their gazes locked. The same swirling passion of adoration and childlike wonder swims around in their eyes, keeping their sight firm and steady as the only thing the colors of their iris pairs can see is each other, in each other’s arms.


Blushing, Dream rests his chin on George’s soft brown hair and inhales the sweet smell of faded lavender and the strong odor of armor shiner on steel.


Dream wants to take this moment as if it were a rich man’s entire fortune and lock it away securely, safe and sound, in the deepest depths of his heart to store there for eternity; as long as they both shall live. 


Cheesy yeah, but Dream always feels cheesy around George. Soft and mushy, easily able to break by a singular glance or motion; it’s exasperating, but he loves it.


He loves George.


Well, that entered his thought process quite abruptly, now didn’t it?


What also decided to knock on the door to his mindscape, albeit not as gentle and promising as his feelings realisation was, is that he is still in a manhunt and is supposed to be killing George right about now, not dancing around with him like some sort of lovesick teenager. 


Undulating back and forth, Dream subtly starts steering the pair towards the edge; the void. George pays no mind, and instead relaxes even further into the contact of the taller male, making this a whole lot easier for Dream.


As they near the edge, Dream swiftly turns George around so he is directly in front of Dream and the void rests, waiting, behind him. George gazes up from where his head was resting, gaze glazed over, and gives Dream a warm smile. Dream definitely feels guilty(a first), but it has to be done.


In a spectacularly swish movement, Dream wraps his arms around George’s waist and lower back and dips him. George shrieks happily, smiling like he had just witnessed a miracle anew. Unbeknownst to him, Dream started to lift his body backwards into the void.


At the last second, Dream smiles diabolically, removes one of his hands to blow a teasing kiss George’s way, and completely lets go.


George tumbles into a void, a second too late to completely process what had just happened, and his screams are announced to deaf ears as his body poofs away and his stuff falls into oblivion. 


Dream barely regards the death message in chat as he stares in the endless night for a second too long, shakes his head to clear some of his definitely not straight thoughts, and heads back to his dropped weapon to finish the rest of the end fight.





Sapnap, Bad, and Ant are fed up, to say the least. 


It is only still in early game, yet Dream and George are at it again , lost in their own little world and well away from the others.


Dream has George pinned to a large spruce tree, stone axe in hand and just barely grazing the skin on George’s throat. George’s Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps, the fear imminent in his posture. As well as something indescribable blazing in his eyes as he stares down at Dream. Dream has a sickeningly large smirk plastered over his stupid freckled face, and the same unmistakable something reflects exactly what is flooding out of George’s pupils and surrounding the two in their own atmosphere, as if they were the only people in the world and the other three hunters weren’t right there .


“The hell are they doing now?” Sapnap mutters, brows furrowing at his two best friend’s idiocy. 


“Language,” Bad chastises, but it sounds half-hearted; he is watching the lovesick pair messing around just as much as the other two are.


Ant doesn’t say anything, but the twitching of his whiskers tells the others that he’s just as annoyed. 


Dream whispers something to George, tone lower than usual, and the shudder that runs up George’s spine and through his entire body almost manages to set Sapnap’s nerves alight, and he isn’t the one currently pinned to a tree by a madman.


“God, can’t they be gay after the manhunt is over?” Sapnap complains, earning a symphony and shh and ‘quiet!’ from the other two members of their party. Sapnap glares daggers.


From the berry bush they’re hiding behind, they can see every movement the two make. Sapnap notices the way George shuffles his feet around nervously, and Dream cocks his head to the side more often than not after something George says. He can most definitely see the way Dream leans closer into the helpless brunet, not looking as if he wanted to kill him but rather, his intentions on the complete opposite side of that spectrum.


They couldn’t exactly hear anything, but it doesn’t take a wiseman to guess what Dream had said in order for George to react like that :


Lips parted in apprehension, face ablaze with various shades of maroon and crimson, fidgeting around even more , eyes flickering down to Dream’s lips and back up to his green gaze like lightning speed.


Now, Sapnap knows his best friend. Having the privilege of knowing Dream since he was the ripe age of twelve, he is confident enough to say that he knows every nook and cranny of his personality, every secret the man attempts to hide, and every quirk that makes him so distinctly unique and incomparable to others.


He knows Dream doesn’t just say something rather flirtatious or suggestive just to rile George up(though he would admit that is part of the reason). Dream holds meaning to his words and actions, treats them like his own, because they are. Locks them up and treads the waters carefully with each and every syllable that comes out of his Floridan accented mouth; knows when he’s crossed the line and when he can test the boundaries a little further. Dream wouldn’t just say something to make George react like that for the shits and giggles, he’d mean it with a cardinal passion and flutter of feelings exploding in his stomach and sharing his love language with someone who he cares ever so deeply for. 


Dream only says stuff like that to special people. And that special person he has in mind is George.


And so when Dream leans in, and starts to close the gap between their mouths, Sapnap isn’t too surprised.


Bad and Ant however, gasp simultaneously. Bad covers his eyes as his cheeks turn pink from the massive amounts of second-hand embarrassment, and Ant turns away, giggling nervously. Sapnap remains still, happy to see Dream finally do something about these feelings, although in the middle of a manhunt of all places isn’t exactly ideal.


Sapnap is surprised, however, just as George flutters his eyes shut and starts to lean forwards, that Dream suddenly recoils, latches out from his grasp on George, and hits him with that damned axe once, twice, and thrice. 


Four times more than enough for George to disappear like a gush of air on cool winter’s night and reappear back at spawn. 


Sapnap sits and watches, disappointed, as Bad and Ant give chase to the Floridan fucker, yelling a variety of colorful words and reprimandations his way as the blond runs off, wheezing insanely. 


That fucking idiot




George is pissed.


Beyond pissed, actually. Absolutely infuriated; he cannot begin to fathom how angry he is at Dream, that dumb green speedrunner, for toying with his emotions like this manhunt after manhunt. 


But, he can never exactly stay mad at Dream, but rather his irritable actions. Albeit, that may be one of the countless reasons he fell in love with the man in the first place. 


Dream knows how to push his buttons in just the right way, messing with his feelings and making him undergo massive fluttering sentiments toward the blond bubbling up inside of his chest and bursting at the seams. 


He is utterly infatuated with him; and he isn’t afraid to admit it. Dream, however, acts as if he is just messing around with him for his own benefit of winning the manhunt, but George can see right through him: his passions are just as ablaze as the brunet’s own.


And he decides finally that he is going to do something about it. 


Dream had just finished off the other three hunters mere seconds ago. They had taken multiple hits on him, getting him dangerously low; definitely close to death by now. George has yet to see him eat anything to regenerate health, so now is his chance. He has better gear, for once, and is more than ready to get his well overdue revenge.


He starts the chase. They’re currently rushing through a thick and luscious jungle biome, scampering across vines, avoiding leaves, and nearly tripping on loose branches. A really dangerous place to be running like the winds in, but the exit from the habitat is a well ways away.


George picks up speed as Dream does the same, staying a relatively close distance of just a few yards behind the younger. He notices every stumble the man makes, every crevice his foot slightly falls through, every twig he falters on. As minor as they all may seem, the mistakes add up exponentially, allowing George to gain a few inches every other second.


And there it is. Dream makes a wrong move, and faceplants into the vibrant green grass after catching his foot on a stump. A variety of different curses leave his mouth, and George distantly reminds himself not to swoon upon hearing the man’s voice.


Finally having Dream right where he wants him, George takes action:


Rushing the rest of the path, closing the distance between the pair’s trek across the jungle. 


Crouching down and awkwardly clambering on top of Dream, using full force to spin the helpless blond around.


Coming face to face, both blushing up a fire on their faces and lighting embers in their hearts.


Noses bumping, eyes locking in, no words are needed as they press their lips together.


It was instantaneous: George feverishly kissing Dream as Dream hungrily presses back with just as much force, their mouths moving in sync and their hearts beating at the tempo of an upbeat marching band song.


Tugging softly at his hair, George emits a quiet gasp from the blond below him, allowing George to deepen the kiss even more and bask in the moment of pure raw and unfiltered love, with the man who adored him just as much at his mercy and willing to be doing this.


Bodies pressed together, cheeks flushed, Dream and George kiss in the middle of a manhunt; and it could be considered magic - it is magic.


Except, for the fact, that magic doesn’t exist in Minecraft.


And Dream is still being hunted by his best friends.


Dream barely notices as George pulls away and a sword is shoved into his side, still relishing in the feeling of touching George, thoughts plagued by nothing but George, George, George .


He doesn’t realise what had happened until he wakes up back at the spawn island, no one there save for a chicken sending him a rather pathetic glance and a meager cluck .


He still can’t comprehend that he kissed his best friend(and his best friend kissed him! Isn’t that amazing?) until the hunters return and rub the win in their faces, after being stuck in the middle of a losing streak for so long.


As Bad and Sapnap build a trophy of golden blocks and terracotta and Ant scampers around giddily, Dream meets the gaze of George, and yet again, they’re back in their own little world.


George gives him a soft yet teasing smile, and Dream returns the gesture.


George definitely deserves that win after manhunt after manhunt of Dream tricking him and sending the brunet to his inevitable downfall.


But honestly, as George runs into his arms a few seconds later and nuzzles almost domestically into his chest, Dream considers that another win in his book of memories, as well.