#sin.writes

"Daddy!" You whined.

From above you, Dabi watched your face contort in pleasure. His cock throbbing inside of you, slamming every inch of his length into your hole. He chuckled, watching tears drip down your face from those pretty eyes of yours. Dabi loved watching you hiccup and sob as he fucked into your tight hole.

"Daddy, huh?" He teased.

Your face went red, brightening as you looked up at the extensively scarred man that was railing you. His thrusts were precise, slamming into that spot that felt so so good. You could lay there, moaning and panting. Especially at the sound of slapping that reverberated throughout the room, accompanying that sound was the faint sound of the desk you were laid on being moved ever so slightly due to how hard Dabi was fucking you. You whined in direct response to his teasing.

"You're my little whore now. Aren't you?" He growled, "So, cry for your Daddy, doll."

You gasped, feeling his palm press against your thigh, whining amd whimpering as his palm heated up. That curseded fire quirk of his and that curseded fire kink of yours. You only nodded, moaning and crying as he fucked you.

"Use your words, doll." Dabi grunted.

"Please Daddy! Fuck me! Fuck my hole!" You offered immediately.

“Why are you doing this?” Tommy whispers. His nose is still bleeding. The blood drips onto his shirt.

“For fun.” Dream shrugs. “I think you’ll be fun.”

“You’re fucking sick.” Dream gives a non committal hum in reply. “Please. I - I won’t tell anyone. I’ll tell Sam I - tripped, or something. Just let me go.” Dream shoots him an amused look at that.

He calls you his pet, and it sounds like friend. You think he doesn’t really understand what friendship means, but that’s okay. You can show him.

He calls himself a god. You’re not stupid, you know it’s true. You know a little about godhood yourself, after all, but you know that he is a truegod. Far more powerful than anyone else you’ve met. It can be a little scary, but his ire is rarely directed at you, and he never stays angry for long. He’s not that scary, you don’t think.

He calls himself your friend, and you tease him for it. He doesn’t get angry, just a little bashful, and you can tell this is a new experience for him. You’re happy to be by his side, even if he can be terrifying when he feels like it.

He talks of books, dropped a millennium ago, only one of which has been found. He drops a hint as to where the other might be. It seems like he favours you. You can use this, you think.

He makes you immortal, and it’s a rush in your veins that you haven’t felt in years. It’s like something you didn’t even realise was out of place has shifted back into its rightful position. It feels right.

You climb to the top of your tower, and gaze over what you’ve built for him. It looks beautiful in the sunset. He’s given you a gift, and you let yourself fall to the ground, knowing his gift will keep you safe. It does.

----------

He calls you his pet, and it feels like a leash around your neck. It feels like a noose, tightening by the day. You don’t try to escape. Being owned is better than being alone.

He calls himself a god. He laughs and it chills you to the bone. He’s lying, he has to be, because if he’s truly a god, how could you ever hope to be free? You beg to be let out, you cry for help, but he just laughs and laughs and laughs.

He calls himself your friend, and it has to be true because if you don’t have him you don’t have anything. You smile and agree, and he pats your head, and it feels awful even as you lean into the touch.

He talks of a book. You can barely understand him, head still pounding and body aching all over. He’s excited, animatedly explaining to you what it does. You don’t care. You just want out.

He says he’ll make you immortal, and you can’t think of anything you want less. You can’t even climb tall buildings without looking longingly over the edge, and you know all too well what he has in store for you will be nothing but cruelty. You just want to be left alone.

It starts with a kid in his basement.

Well – not his basement, exactly, it was more a hole under his basement, tunnelled into the rock, with a ash stained bell and a bunch of blankets on the floor arranged in a fashion that Techno could maybe define as a bed if he really stretched the definition of the word, and –

“Are those my gold blocks?!” Techno asks, exasperated. He already knows what the answer to that question is, and, yep, he checks upstairs and his gold blocks are missing. He goes back down to salvage whatever else Tommy has stolen off of him – he knew stuff was going missing, he thought it was just Phil messing up his chest organisation – and the kid continues talking his ear off. He’s doing his Tommy thing again, where he says eight different sentences in the space of a minute and finishes exactly none of them, but Techno thinks that there’s an edge of hysteria, desperation, to it that wasn’t there before. Or maybe not. Techno’s not a Tommy expert. And he’s got his own issues to work through right now, anyway. He doesn’t have time to look after some random kid.

… Tommy really doesn’t look good.

During one of his incoherent ramblings paired with over the top gestures, he stumbles into Techno and doesn’t even seem to notice he’s leaning his full weight on him, just continues talking about Dream and exile and Logstedshire and how he’s never going back there, which, good for him, Techno guesses.

Techno surveys the room he found Tommy hiding in once more. It’s kind of pathetic. Techno is very aware of the fact that Tommy is not physically capable of building something that looks nice, but he feels like this is a new low for him. And Techno saw Pogtopia. That was definitely not the most pleasant place he’s ever slept.

“Techno?” Tommy asks, looking up at Techno expectantly, still leaning on him. Techno hasn’t pushed him off because… anyway. What were they talking about again?

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Tommy?” Techno asks, changing his tone to be a little more gentle than it has been throughout the rest of this conversation. A pained look flashes across Tommy’s face.

“I don’t… I can’t go back to L’Manberg, they exiled me, they don’t – and I can’t go back to Logstedshire, because Dream was – Dream was my friend, but he was just there to watch me, so I can’t go back there, and I was hungry, and really cold, and I just thought, I could maybe, you know, stay here, I’ll just stay in this little hole, and I’ll stop stealing off you. Well, no, I definitely won’t do that but I’ll steal less, and please just tell Dream to fuck off if he comes here, he can’t know I’m here, please, Techno –“

“Okay, okay, let me just sort through those problems before you continue talking to me.” Techno interrupts, and Tommy shuts right up and looks at Techno with far more hope and expectation than Techno feels like he’s earned. “First of all, I want my gold and emeralds back, you can’t have those. And my channel membership sign, not because I can’t make a new one, just as a point of pride. If you do that, then maybe I will consider lettin’ you stay.” Maybe this will end badly, Techno thinks, but Phil’s already messaged him saying he’s stuck in L’Manberg for the foreseeable future, and the idea of being alone right now makes Techno feel vaguely nauseous. And there’s worse company than Tommy. Probably. Maybe.

“Thank you, Techno, thank you so much, have a stack of gapples as a token of my gratitude,”

“Those are my gapples!”

“They are now! Anyway I will definitely not be a bother at least that much, thank you again Technoblade, you are so cool and poggers.” Tommy finally stops leaning his entire body weight on Techno, and collapses to the floor almost immediately. “I’m fine, doing great, don’t mind me, just a little leg cramp.” Techno has a hunch this might be symptomatic of a bigger problem. He crouches next to where Tommy is decidedly not attempting to stand up again and gently presses the back of his hand to Tommy’s forehead. It’s freezing to the touch. When he retracts his hand, Tommy looks almost dazed.

“You need to warm up. Come on.” Tommy just stares at him. “It’s too cold underground, I have a fireplace upstairs.”

“I’m allowed?” Tommy asks hesitantly. Techno’s never heard Tommy ask permission like that for anything before. It’s unnerving.

“Sure.” Techno replies, instead of investigating further. Feelings have never been his strong suit. “You’ll just make yourself sick if you don’t. And it’ll ruin my real estate value if someone dies here.” Tommy huffs out an amused laugh, and Techno pointedly ignores the flare of pride in his chest.

He has to half-haul Tommy up the shoddily made ladder to his actual basement, when he realises that Tommy is barely even capable of putting weight on his feet. The feeling of anxiety grows when he basically carries (a strongly protesting) Tommy up the stairs to sit on one of the armchairs in front of the crackling fire, and Tommy feels far, far too light for a sixteen year old who’s over six foot.

He leaves Tommy there, for a bit, firmly impressing on him that he has to actually stay there, and goes to the kitchen to make food. He has a strong impression that if he makes something too rich, it’ll just make Tommy sick, but he needs actual food, and not the gapples he’s been munching on every few minutes or so. Techno doesn’t mind too much, he has gapples to spare, and Tommy clearly needs some nutrition, but getting dependent on gapples has never been healthy for anyone. Expensive addiction, anyway.

He eventually makes his way back into the living room with two bowls of soup, where Tommy’s sat, arms curled tight to his body, staring intensely at the dancing fire.

“Tommy.” Tommy jolts like he’s been shocked, turning to Techno with a wild, desperate fear in his eyes and almost falling out of his seat. “Hey, it’s just me.”

“Yep, I knew that, you just surprised me, I got distracted, you know me, easily distracted.” Tommy nods, and it seems like he’s trying to convince himself more than Techno.

“Had the ingredients lyin’ around for mushroom soup, so…” Techno holds a bowl out for Tommy to take, but Tommy just stares at it, face suddenly pale. “Tommy, come on, you need to eat real food.”

Tommy shakes his head. “I can’t. Not this, I just – I can’t, something else, I’m sorry, I can’t eat that.” Techno fights back the urge to make a snarky comment. Tommy looks absolutely miserable at the thought of eating mushroom soup, which is weird, but Techno can just make something else. It’s fine. He has other food in the house.

Techno’s halfway through making another meal when he feels a presence behind him. He turns to see a shivering Tommy hovering very forlornly in the doorway. The shivering’s a good sign, at least. It’s worse when they’re not shivering – something Techno knows all too well.

“What are you doin’.” Techno says flatly. “Go back and sit down.”

“I can help.” Tommy replies, but his voice is wavering.

“You can barely stand, Tommy. If you don’t rest it’ll just get worse and then we’ll have to cut your legs off.” He says it as a joke, but realises a little too late that it might not be one. He’s seen what prolonged cold can do to a person. The fear in Tommy’s eyes tells Techno the kid knows it wasn’t really a joke either. “You can help when you’re better.” Techno adds in a gentler tone.