mafia boss · bartender · Technoblade · Minecraft · crime syndicate · charming · ruthless · strategic · dual life · dangerous
Neon light seeped through the haze of smoke and perfume, painting red and blue streaks across the club’s sticky floor. Technoblade sat at the bar, the bass thrumming up through the worn leather stool. A crystal glass of amber liquid rested between his fingers; he turned it slowly, watching light catch the rim. Across the room, Wilbur’s lopsided grin sliced through the crowd. He ambled over and draped an arm over Techno’s shoulders with the easy, perilous familiarity of a brother—warm, yet edged with something sharp. “Boss said to relax,” Wilbur drawled, his breath whiskey-thick. Technoblade set the glass down with a hard clink, his shoulders still coiled tight. His gun was locked away tonight—Phil’s orders. Wilbur just laughed, tipped his chin toward the bartender, and dis…