𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐎𝐑, dreamnoblade oneshots

𝐱𝐢𝐢 | i'm still here

i'm still here
- i'm still here, jem & the holograms

1,165 words !

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IT'S so late, it may as well be early. The sun has yet to rise, but the moon is low in the sky. There's not a sound from the house. Dream is careful to keep it that way as he opens the front door. It's even harder when the house's inhabitant has inhuman hearing.

He turns to silently close the door, wincing as it clicks into place. The inside handle is warm, a contrast to the cold metal outside. Dream turns the lock and slides the deadbolt into place.

The darkness doesn't shake him in the slightest as he tugs off his cloak and hangs it. He's mostly going on muscle memory and what little he can see. His eyes adjust faster than most, but it's still not fast enough.

Dream kicks off his shoes, abandoning them in a pile next to the netherite armor. He does it all the time; if Technoblade had a problem with it, he would've said so by now.

Well, he does have a problem with it. The trek through the snow leaves the handcrafted leather boots sopping wet, and they're never dry in the morning unless they're left by the fire. Dream never leaves them by the fire. Whenever he complains about it in the morning, Technoblade glares at him and tells him to put the damn boots in front of the fire, fucking moron (but affectionately and with far less cursing).

He braces an arm against the wall for balance before dropping the almost knee-high socks on top of the boots. They're a necessity for living in such a snowy place; if the socks are any shorter, snow will get in them. It's disgusting.

Having successfully shed the more useless articles of clothing, Dream pads through the house. His footsteps are less than even a whisper against the wood. The temptation to make something warm to drink is strong, but he resists. That would definitely wake Techno up, and he'd be pissed.

Instead, Dream turns to the ladder and begins his ascent. It's a tad rickety and would normally release some concerning sounds as someone climbed up it, but not tonight. Dream is so, so careful to distribute his weight properly. He wants his return to be a surprise.

Dream pokes his head into the room, glancing at the bed. He can't see Technoblade's sleeping form from here, but he knows it's there. Soft exhales drift from the bed. They're a comforting knowledge that the Blood God lives.

He pulls himself up and tiptoes to the chair in the corner. It's hardly a chair at this point: you can't see the wood beneath the pillows stacked around it. There's a change of clothes atop the pile, and Dream grabs it.

Among the things that would wake Technoblade up (and therefore make him very unhappy) are wet clothes. Dream just spent all day trudging through snow and the beginnings of a blizzard, so his hoodie is dripping water everywhere.

He's not a sadist or a masochist, and there's no way he's getting into bed with wet clothes on. Techno would murder him. Brutally.

Dream slips into the bathroom and changes into his boyfriend's clothes. They're over-sized, but they're not cold and putting him at risk of hypothermia. Also, they smell like Technoblade. Win-win, honestly.

He leaves the wet clothes and ducks back into the bedroom. Techno is curled up on the left side of the bed, leaving the entire right side open. Good, because moving him would definitely wake him up.

After months of waiting and hiding and prepping, the mask feels like a permanent fixture on his face. Here, though, Dream knows his identity is safe. He reaches back and loosens the knot with deft fingers, feeling the ribbon slide against his skin.

Dream stares at the porcelain for a moment. He absently traces over a fracture—he'll have to get that fixed. There are chips and cracks in its once-smooth surface. Phantom blood lingers; even if he can't see it, Dream knows it's there. The thought causes a shiver to run through him.

He can't wait for this hell to be over. It almost is.

He picks up a hair tie left on the nightstand, replacing it with the mask. Long hair is kind of Technoblade's thing, but during the—

His hands clench.

Unclench.

Breathe.

During the time he spent separated from the server, Dream didn't have anything to cut his hair with. Normally, he kept it pretty short; Technoblade complains all the time about how long hair gets in his face. While Dream was there, though, he couldn't. There hasn't been any time since, and it's getting out of control.

Dream runs a hand through his hair, feeling the strands slip through his fingers. Yeah, he'll need to cut it soon, maybe tomorrow. Remind him of what things used to be.

(But does he want things to return to then? To order and perfectionism and a mockery of unity? If he did that, if Dream returned to the past, he'd lose Technoblade.

He can't lose Technoblade.)

He frowns but ties his hair back loosely, trying to shake those thoughts from his head. He'll always have Technoblade—the warrior promised.

Promises... They mean everything.

Dream crawls under the covers, relishing the warmth they bring. Technoblade is like a heater, and he has to resist the urge to press closer. His hands are probably freezing.

He doesn't really care. Technoblade is warm, and that he cares about.

Instead, Dream is patient. He waits for Techno to inevitably turn around. It's been a good ten minutes since he stepped onto the porch; if Technoblade hasn't noticed by now, chances are that he's dead.

He isn't. The warrior rolls over, blinking slowly, eyes slit. They widen as he takes in Dream before a gentle smile tugs at the corners of his lips. Dream returns it with equal fondness.

Technoblade reaches out a hand, resting it against Dream's cheek, and he sinks into the warmth eagerly. Gods, he can't wait to return here every day. Simply being around Techno makes him feel better, like there's a future for him after all.

The bed creaks slightly as Techno curls closer, dipping his head to press a chaste kiss to Dream's forehead. Dream exhales softly, and with that breath, with that gentle kiss, it's like every burden fades away.

No more thinking about how to control Tommy.

No more trying to predict what the fuck Wilbur's going to do next.

No more plotting his revenge on every single damn person who's wronged him.

It's just Dream and Technoblade, together, in a house in the middle of nowhere. Safe, protected, and without a doubt each others.

Having everyone under his control would be nice, but this... Gods, Dream wouldn't trade it for a damn thing.

There's not a thing out there that holds a candle to the god of blood, and to think that Dream owns his heart...

Well, that's worth quite a lot, isn't it?