𝐋͢𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐎, mcyt imagines

✧ blame

SUMMARY: AFTER A STUPID ARGUMENT, YOU FIND YOURSELF GIVING DREAM THE COLD SHOULDER.

"Why can't you just tell me what I did wrong?"
Dream motioned to where you sat at your kitchen table, reaching in your fridge and grabbing a container of juice, and taking a glass to pour himself the rest of the contents of the container. You continued eating your eggs, ignoring his question, and focusing on what interesting finds you could discover on your Instagram explore page.

You and Dream had gotten into a pretty nasty argument the night before, which left your feelings considerably hurt, and ended up with Dream sleeping on the couch. He tried greeting you in bed the morning after, hoping you had gotten over the unintentionally mean things you'd spat at each other, so that he could get in a few hours of cuddling before having to get to work for the day.

However, you'd woken up that morning in an even worse mood than the night before, one where you wouldn't so much as acknowledge Dream's presence in your bed, even if he was just right beside you. You got out of bed, drug yourself downstairs, and started making yourself breakfast- all while Dream kept bugging you about what had made you so upset.

Of course, you were quick to give him the cold shoulder, practically ignoring every advance he made towards you. He sounded so sincere, yet so naive at the same time- you remembered what he did woke with such clarity, so you figured he did too, he just didn't want to admit it. So for now, until he owned up to it, you refused to mutter as much as one word to him.

He's asked you again, this time he was bent down one one knee in front of you, holding your left hand in his, as he pleaded for you to comply, "Pleassseeeeee, baby, beautiful, wifey?" You continued eating your breakfast, without even nodding your head an inch in his direction, and trying not to laugh, seeing as how amusing it was by how frustrated he was becoming.

He took a step back from your chair, gaining his higher ground above you, and placing a hand on the small dip in your back. You tried not to look at him, but seeing as his mischievous little mind had thought of a particularly evil new plan to get you to pay attention to him, you couldn't exactly ignore him any further. He laughed and leaned down to whisper in your ear, "I know Im
the one to blame, but-" He slid his other hand beneath your thighs, lifting the lower half of your torso off the chair slightly. "You're not gonna win this round."

He swung you out of your chair with an incredible amount of ease, and swifty rolled you onto the floor, before using his knees to pin you down, and started tickling you like his life depended on it. You screamed in excitement, trying to pry his knees off of your torso, while trying to contain the obnoxiously loud laughter you'd been producing. "CLAY YOU ASSHOLE- ST-STOP!" You yelled, though it became semi-garbled between you trying to breath and laugh at the same time.

He grinned smugly. "You gon' talk to me now?" You kicked your legs, as he continued to continue to tickle you with no trace of mercy in sight. He repeated the question, which caused you to nod your head viciously, hoping he'd finally budge and give up his torturous tactics. "Yes- Yes I'll talk I'm sorry!" He finally let go of you, and with a smirk firmly planted on his face, he spoke:

"Yeah, that's what I thought."