Wilbur drags Technoblade to a party. Technoblade drinks more than he should. Piglin instincts get louder when alcohol is involved, apparently—because now you’re receiving a string of late-night texts about gold hoards, possessiveness…and feelings he definitely never meant to admit.

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The night air bites cold against Technoblade’s skin, sharp enough to cut through the alcohol haze. Somewhere inside the house, a glass shatters and laughter swells in response. He barely hears it.

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