𝙸𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝙸𝚝 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜, 𝚁𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐?

ɪɪɪ. 𝐡𝐲𝐩𝐨𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝

— IT JUST STARTED IN THE — 

— HAY — 

 — LOFT — 

im embarrassed i wrote this 

 WARNING: they ✨kiss✨  if that makes you uncomfortable, you probably should skip the first half of this chapter 

also fighting, minor gore 

George and Dream were both equally powerful in their own rights, but together, they were a force to be reckoned with. George played with the air, making it sharp and spiky. Dreams would fiddle with the way gravity affected people, usually making them stumble to the ground; too heavy to pick themselves up, or lift them up, right into George's spikes. It was gruesomely but effective. 

They played off each other without effort, making quick work of each police squadron. Dream had George's back, and George had his. A level of trust had been woven around them, so strong that nobody in their way stood a chance. They kept on giving each other quick looks, just glances, while they fought together. It took all of Dream's focus to fight and not run over to the brunette, because holy shit he looked good. 

Not saying he was into bloody, villain George... but he was totally into bloody, villain George. What could he say? He was a badass. 

George felt the same way about him. There was only one way to describe the way Dream looked in a fight, mask half-way off, revealed skin sticky with sweat, freckles of red painted across his features, kicking and punching people down with ease, and it was a simple one: hot. Dream was so fucking attractive he wanted to kiss him. Right now. In the middle of the battlefield. 

"You're stupid, Dream!" He called out, whirling around in a roundhouse kick. Three men fell to the ground around him, and he stepped on their bodies carelessly as more came to replace them. Dream punched a black-haired woman who had snuck behind the brunette, and tangled his pinkie with his as he blocked a crude elbow coming too close to George. 

"You're probably right! You love me though!" Dream faltered at the last part, eyes searching George's for confirmation. George laughed, the sound like twinkling bells bouncing through pandemonium. 

"Hell yeah I do." He grabbed Dream's collar, pulling his face down to inches away from his, and smirked. Dream's breath caught in his throat. 

And they kissed. 

George hadn't been kissed many times. There were occasional flings with both girls and guys, with the occasional , but nothing like this. His body felt like sparks had erupted everywhere, zingy and electric in his blood, mind spinning too fast to keep up with. Dream breathed his name, softer than a whisper. 

They broke apart slowly, uncertainty, eyes fluttering open while heat exploded in Dream's face. The crinkles in George's features deepened when he smiled, so widely you could barely see the whites of his eyes. 

 Subconsciously, George had shielded them with a hard bubble of air, keeping the fight out while they stayed inside. Paper-thin petals adorned the inside, blooming like the gentle warmth in his chest. Last time he had made flowers like this it had been two am, the night after he met Dream. God, that felt so long ago. 

 "You..." Dream's voice was small, breath a hitch in his throat. All of his skin was tinged a deep shade of pink, ears practically red, hands shaking the slightest bit. He chewed his bottom lip.