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novthirty · 3 months ago

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OUT OF BOUNDS | you get isekai-d into the N109 zone

— pairing: sylus x non-mc! reader

— synopsis: you land in the world of love and deepspace. with no way to return home, sylus offers you the job of his personal secretary. wc: 3.8k

— tags: isekai/transmigration, fluff, angst, pining, slice of life, birthdays, holiday season, reader is not the main character, boss/employee relationship

— edit: i’ve since turned this into a multi-chapter fic! this will continue to function as a standalone one-shot, but you can find the series here.

ao3 | masterlist | requests are open!

It was just your luck to be walking home from a 7PM class on a desolate road, only for a vehicle to swerve and crash into you. The impact is like a sledgehammer to your body as you hear the crunch of glass and the snap of bones. This is it, you think, as the world around you blurs into nothingness.

—————————————————————

You wake up in a hospital bed, where you promptly have a panic attack from the IV attached to your arm. You desperately thrash against the nurses’ hold, trying to remove the intrusive line from your body, but it’s no use as your injuries and the numerous drugs hamper your movements. You hear muffled explanations— inaudible to your clouded mind— before they decide to sedate you. You drift back to sleep.

Sometime later, you wake up again, this time with the IV detached and a familiar face sitting by your bedside. You laugh, thinking you must be in some sort of dream or coma-induced hallucination. Because why was Sylus, a love interest from Love and Deepspace— the game you’ve been obsessed with for the past few months— sitting beside you? You say as much, and the only response he deigns you with is, “Did you sustain brain damage on top of your other injuries?”

You shake your head at the absurdity of your delusions, quickly falling back into a medically-induced sleep. Things should be back to normal when you wake up.

—————————————————————

Newsflash: they weren’t. Days passed, and you gradually had to accept that whether it was reality or not, you were gonna be stuck here until you figured out how to go back to the normal world. Sylus visits you from time to time, the strange girl who landed in his backyard and claims to be from another world. It turns out that the place you’ve woken up in is not a hospital, but Onychinus’s medical ward.

When you’ve healed enough to be discharged, you have nowhere to go. So you turn to the only person you’re familiar with in this world.

You had been a college student, just months away from graduation before you found yourself here. It fills you with spite, how everything you’d worked hard for was taken away in the blink of an eye. But you push the bitterness aside, offering whatever skills you have to Sylus so he doesn’t kick you out. You know that this world isn’t kind, the N109 Zone one of the worst places you could have ended up. A normal civilian such as you wouldn’t survive here alone. Though you don’t have much to contribute to a criminal organization, you’re grateful when Sylus offers you the job of his personal assistant.

Although you don’t have much work experience, your previous internships and methodical nature help you to excel at this job. Never has the leader of Onychinus been so…. organized, his colleagues around him observe the stark change in the following months. You whip him up to shape, scolding him when he arrives late to meetings, making sure he actually calls back when he says he will. His business partners now call his office to be greeted by a chirpy voice, “How may I help you? Oh, Sylus isn’t here right now. Would you like to leave a message?”

He had initially given you this job as more of a placeholder role, so you can occupy yourself with the illusion of real responsibility while he investigates his suspicions about you. Where did you come from? Who sent you? And most importantly, how did you manage to infiltrate his base right under his nose? But his investigation leads him to the simple truth: there was nothing on you. It’s as if you materialized from thin air. No records, no blood ties, no evidence of your existence before you walked into his life.

But if reincarnation can be fact, and dragons more than legends, why deny the possibility of other realities? This, more than anything, makes him inclined to believe your claims.

Besides, you’ve proven yourself to be… useful, he supposes. Although the fear he instilled in his business partners was enough to put them in their place, he now had you to act as a buffer to their complaints and concerns, handling matters that were beneath him. You easily adjust to his nocturnal schedule; you’re like a little crow chirping at his shoulder at all times of the day, reminding him to leave on time for meetings, to eat three meals each day (even going so far as to ask his preferred meals to inform the chefs in advance). You physically force him out of his office the moment noon hits in an attempt to prevent him from overworking, “Sun’s up, boss. It’s time to hit the sack.”

Your office is connected to his, although it's less a room and more an alcove he cleared away when he gave you the job. You have a small desk, a fluffy pink swivel chair, and a shelf covered in the trinkets you spend your salary on. (Another thing you have in common with Mephisto, he notes to the ever-growing list.) He finds amusement to idly watch you during his downtime, twirling the strands of your hair and chewing your pen as you talk on the phone about weapons shipments and insuring someone who lost a finger in an operation.

Contradictory to his initial expectations, you prove yourself in a professional capacity and cement your place in the ranks of Onychinus.

—————————————————————

The first surprise is truly when the clock strikes twelve on April 18, and he enters his office to find a cake on his desk. Decorated in black and maroon frosting, it’s topped with his name in crooked cursive and a crow-shaped candle to boot. Moments after, you stride in from behind with Luke and Kieran, all carrying gifts and wearing patterned party hats, singing a terribly off-key rendition of the birthday song.

“Happy birthday, Sylus! Make a wish!”

He blows the candles (and wishes for the only thing he truly desires).

“Do you like the cake? The chefs helped me decorate it!” You say as you slice it into even triangles, giving him the largest one. Mephisto is perched on your shoulder, with his own red party hat, as you feed him small bites of your own slice. (The resemblances between the two of you are truly uncanny). The celebration is a silly endeavor that lasts no more than an hour before he kicks everyone out of his office. But try as he might, he can’t wipe the grin off his face for the rest of the day.

When May comes, you rope him into the preparations for Luke and Kieran’s birthday. Due to your incessant nagging, he’s since discovered your shared digital calendar— complete with monthly, weekly, daily, and hourly agendas— and chosen to ignore it. “The calendar exists for you to be on time,” You seethe whenever he steps into his office late, the little shit smirking as if you didn’t just rearrange his schedule to hell and back for that one hour-long meeting he missed. However, that doesn’t mean he’s exempt from any festivities you force upon the household.

The twins’ celebration is a significantly more chaotic affair than his, involving a two tiered cake and a booking for a laser tag arena, and ending with a trip to the medical ward. Despite the casualties, it’s the most fun Luke and Kieran have had since they joined Onychinus. (Fun that wasn’t self-orchestrated, at least).

Your presence brings a liveliness to his found family, something that grounds you all in this high-paced line of work. A presence that, little by little, seeps into his life to the point he can no longer imagine living without it.

—————————————————————

When he finds you on a cold midnight in November, sitting alone on the kitchen island with a puny cupcake and a candle, he asks you what the hell you think you are doing.

“Well, it’s just a birthday. I didn't feel the need to have a lot of celebration this year." The answer is nowhere enough to appease him, especially given your grandiose efforts to celebrate literally everyone else’s birthday. So, you admit to him, “I felt a bit sad, I guess. This was my last year of college. I had so many plans for before my entry into the workforce… and now, I can't really do any of them.”

Without missing a beat, he asks, “And what were those plans?”

You list off the various places you wanted to visit, the items you were supposed to cross from your bucket list this year. As you reminisce on old plans, you split the cupcake with him and bid him goodnight, returning to your office to catch up on work.

When you wake up at 5 PM later that day, it’s to streamers and balloons in the living room.

“Happy birthday!” Everyone in the house cheers as you enter the room, decked out in all sorts of party favors. Even Sylus, who was notoriously un-festive, is wearing a cone-shaped party hat striped with your favorite colors.

What follows is an impromptu day-off for everyone in the base (you feel an oncoming migraine thinking of how you’re going to readjust Sylus’s schedule). They bring you to Linkon City, your first time visiting since your arrival, following an itinerary that matches your original plans to a T.

Sylus is upset that you’ve kept the date to yourself for so long, but more than that, he’s angry at himself for not bothering to ask. So he does his best to make up for it in the final hours of your birthday. Throughout the evening, he drags you to every activity that had been on your wishlist, lavishing you with all sorts of presents on the way. It’s a little too much. You’re not used to being spoiled, not used to treating yourself without deserving it first, and you tell him as much.

He tips your chin upwards with a feather-light touch, his gaze unreadable as he asks, “And who says my lovely secretary doesn’t deserve the world at her feet?”

The atmosphere shifts, the effortless ease at which you interact with him dissipates into stutters and heated stares. You ride home on the back of his motorcycle, finding yourself flushing despite the winter chill in the air. It’s a comfortable silence, yet your heart is thumping loudly against your chest. Does he hear how he makes you feel? You wonder.

Before he retires to his bedroom, you place a soft kiss against his cheek. “Thank you for today,” you whisper before shutting the door behind you.

—————————————————————

From then on, things are significantly more… tense, between the two of you. What were once casual interactions turn tense with every brush of your fingers, with every meeting of your eyes across the room. He's always lavished you with the sweetest of pet names; darling, little bird, sweet girl. You assume it’s just his speech pattern, given what you had known of him from the game. But why does it make your heart race every time he refers to you with such terms of endearment? Why does it fuel your delusions of having something more?

—————————————————————

It comes to a head during the week of Christmas, where you once again strong-arm him into having your festive way at the Onychinus base.

You were appalled at their lack of holiday spirit for the previous years, “How can you run an organization like this?!” So you drag your boss out to the nearest Christmas tree farm. “You’re rich enough to afford a real one,” You decide definitively. He rolls his eyes but drives you there anyway.

Each night on the week before Christmas goes similarly. The moment your work is done for the evening, you drag the whole house into some sort of festive activity. Decorating the tree, baking a gingerbread house, making eggnog. Holiday tunes fill the Onychinus base 24/7 and for once, Sylus finds that he doesn’t mind. Not when he sees the way you dance to yourself when you think no one’s looking, the way you know the words by heart and hum them under your breath. But he doesn’t participate much, mostly checking in and making a sardonic yet supportive comment before returning to his work.

One evening, he decides to bring his work to the living room while you’re setting up the tree. It was a great source of amusement to see you struggle on your toes to place the ornaments, hoisting yourself up on whatever surface was available to you. But even he found it a bit too pitiful to watch you struggle to place the star, too vertically challenged to place the finishing touch. Couldn’t you just get a ladder? “Let me help you,” His breath tickles your ear as he grabs your waist and lifts you up.

You squeal, holding tight to his arms and kicking at the air beneath you, “Sylus, what the fuck! Put me down!”

“Place the star, darling. While I'm still being nice.” In the end, you call it a team effort, despite his only contribution being his role as a human ladder.

—————————————————————

You’ve been very festive and cheery the whole week of Christmas, so it disturbs him when the eve of the 25th arrives and you’re downtrodden. A shell of your typical self. He's never seen you like this before— absentminded and listless, it takes you a whole minute to realize he’s calling your name for the grand Christmas dinner you had insisted upon. You open presents with everyone in the early morning, smiling and thanking at the right cues, but he can tell your heart’s not in it.

After the gifts have been given and the wrapping paper cleaned up, he takes you to the rooftop to ask what’s wrong.

And so, you bare your heart to the only person who holds enough of it to break it.

It’s a bittersweet Christmas for you, the first one you’ve ever spent away from home. For the first time since you were whisked away to this surreal world, you speak of your original life. Your family. Your friends. Your dreams. A fragile boundary that you haven’t touched with anyone here, for it hurts too much to speak of what you left behind. Of what was taken away from you.

And it is here, underneath the midnight sky where he tells you of his search for the other half of his soul. He speaks of a similar homesickness, resonating with how out of reach home feels for you right now, as he’s waited what seems like a millennia for the person he calls his.

You already know, of course, that sooner or later, he will meet her. This world was once your favorite game, and you had shed tears at their loss, at their cursed fate. You stay silent, listening to the tragic tale from the man himself. The affection in his tone as he speaks of her— his sorceress, his soulmate— makes you hurt for this man, for the trials he’s endured in the name of true love. But it is also a bitter reminder that you have no place by his side.

—————————————————————

On New Year’s Eve, he doesn’t even give you the chance to feel homesick. The moment the sun goes down, he takes you on a joyride to Linkon City, bringing you to a cafe to have dinner together and sightsee the various festivities for the holiday; making sure you don’t even have a moment to feel sad.

He brings you to the tallest building in the city, for the best view of the sky when the fireworks show starts. Despite the chilly air, his hand is warm in yours, clutching it in a tight grip as he wades through the crowd of people who had the same idea. You find a secluded corner where the two of you sit down and sip your milk tea, talking about your new year’s resolutions.

“I don’t do resolutions,” He waved a hand, unimpressed. “If I want to change an aspect of my life, I won't wait until the start of a new year to do so.”

“Boo, you’re no fun,” You stick your tongue out at him. He rolls his eyes, but he’s internally pleased with how well he’s distracted you thus far. “My resolutions are always the same. Exercise more, eat healthy, and save money!”

“Dear, there is a private gym back home that you haven’t touched even once,” Your heart flutters at the word home. A word that brings you melancholy most of the time, but now fills your heart with a sort of domestic bliss.

“Well then, it’s perfect! I'll have no excuse not to start tomorrow.”

He shakes his head in fond exasperation. Your eyes are glued to the magnificent colors soaring through the sky, legs bouncing in time with the countdown. But unbeknownst to you, his gaze is entirely on you.

When the clock strikes midnight, you jump to give him a hug. “Happy New Year, Sylus!”

He cradles you in his arms, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, “Happy New Year.”

—————————————————————

As the months pass by, you grow more accustomed to the harsh edges of your new job. It's not exactly the first job you had envisioned for yourself; you had once hoped to start somewhere more in line with your aspiring career, somewhere you could make use of your degree. But plans don’t always work out. What you do is unorthodox, but it’s fulfilling and allows you to live in this dangerous world from a safe vantage point, almost like dipping your toes into a ten feet pool.

That doesn’t mean you’re completely sheltered from all the dangers of the job, however. Given the type of clientele you handle, more often than not, you’re faced with threats of being maimed over the phone when you can’t give somebody what they want. Each time, Sylus promptly takes over and matches their energy twicefold with a more heinous, yet very real threat.

The worst days are post-missions, when you have to witness your newfound family return bloody and bruised in the name of Onychinus. You become conditioned to waiting with a first aid kit and a change of clothes for Luke and Kieran, immediately patching up their wounds. But Sylus— you almost think he’s invincible, with how he returns from even the most high-risk operations without a scratch.

That is, until one night when he walks through the front door, leaving a bloody trail in his wake. His evol is working overtime to knit his skin back together, but the blood still pools beneath him on the marble tile. You stay by his side through the night as he recovers, listening to deluded murmurs about a time long past, and an ever-so-familiar name.

You grip his hand in yours throughout the night. But it’s not your hand to hold.

—————————————————————

Over the span of a year, you become one of Sylus’s closest confidants. He treats you with all the gentleness and care in the world, revealing to you a softer side of him that you knew existed in the game, but that he rarely ever showed to anyone else. You feel honored that he trusts you with these facets of himself, but you also feel guilty.

Because what Sylus doesn’t know is that he was your favorite. You, a student facing burnout in your final year of university, began to cope with a game suggested to you, subsequently becoming engrossed with one of its newest characters. His soft treatment of the main character, juxtaposed with his violent nature, had drawn you to him. Your heart had fluttered at every tender moment, each call and text message, each appearance in the main story. You had foolishly indulged in the delusions of romance with a fictional man.

When you landed in this world, there was a cognitive dissonance as you came to terms with the difference between the 2D character that lived on your phone screen and the living, breathing person in front of you. For a while, you were too focused on your new situation to even think of the implications of the fictional character you’d been crushing on being in close, real proximity. He had not trusted you, either. You could practically visualize his defenses in each interaction, as he contemplated what to make of you.

At the time, you thought that by now, surely you would have woken up from this coma-induced hallucination already. Surely you would have woken back up to reality. But as you grow to accept that the situation you’re in is real, and the likelihood that you may be stuck there for the foreseeable future— before you knew it, he had crept into your heart.

You don’t know when it started. All you know is that his presence in your life is more than the surface-level distraction it once was in your reality. No, Sylus— the living person who comforted you on the saddest birthday you’ve had, who indulged your demands for a Christmas celebration, who makes your heart race like no other— has you wrapped around his finger. He could ask anything of you, and your heart could do nothing but surrender to his whims.

But in the back of your head, always lurking, is the distant reminder of the main character. The vivacious hunter whose life is tied to his. The other half of his soul. There’s no chance you could ever come between something destined by the universe itself, so you yield in the face of their cosmic love. You shove away your feelings and resign yourself to finding a way back home, desperately, before this world forces you to lose a love you never had a chance at.

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What you don’t know is that he’s desperately blocking off every potential lead back to your world, not wanting to face a reality where you are not in his life.

He finds himself conflicted, because his soul is tied to her. His sorcerer, his soulmate, whom he has yearned for for what feels like a millenia. But here you are, his lovely secretary, the woman who forces him into mundane festivities and stays by his side even in weakness. The two images war in his head; the dragon roaring at how distracted he’s become from searching for his mate, and the man, falling fast and hard for a woman from another world, brought to him by pure fate. A love born out of an unexpected connection.

His search for his long-lost love continues, but alongside it are his attempts to tie you down to his world, to keep you in his grasp. Because he cannot, will not, live without you.

He will watch the world burn before he lets it take his love away again.

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So, the two of you continue in this cycle of push and pull, of moving closer but not close enough. You live in a limbo, desperately searching for ways to get home before the main storyline catches up to you. Haunted by the narrative, you two move in and out of each other’s orbit, just out of reach. Just out of bounds.

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like and reblog if you enjoyed!

i’ve since turned this into a multi-chapter fic! this will continue to function as a standalone one-shot, but you can find the series here (comment there if you’d like to be tagged!)

#novthirty-writes #out of bounds 🐦‍⬛#love and deepspace #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x non mc #sylus #qin che #lnds sylus #lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x non mc reader

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satancopilotsmytardis · 19 days ago

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A Prayer Paid with Dark Desire

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Commissioned by @plutopiranha on Tumblr. When magic became something that everyone could wield and was no longer a gift given by the gods, the people stopped believing in the powers that had kept them safe and cared for for centuries. When Dabi is thrown aside after he burns, he turns to the book of the old faith to find a deity who can make it possible for him to get his revenge on his father. The King of Decay hears his prayers.

Contents: Fantasy AU, Eldritch God!Tomura, Religious Themes, Public Sex, Public Nudity, Exhibitionism, Master/Slave Dynamic, Body Horror, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Tentacle Sex, Non-Human Genitalia, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Dry Orgasm, Dacryphilia, Physical Abuse (Brief), Past Child Abuse, Piercing, Famine, Animal Death (Mentioned), Murder (Arachnophobia warning)

Word Count: 17,593

The old faith is not practiced the way that it once was. Two generations ago, that faith was the thing that got their village through so much. Barbaric, some neighboring villages called it, superstitious others said. And when the advancements in the arcane from the larger cities finally reached them in their isolated valley, they brought with them books, charms, and other enchanted objects. And from that exposure to magic, more and more of their people started to find their own sources of it, and with that, the faith waned. The adults don't celebrate the old gods at all anymore, but some of the younger people take any excuse they can to go out at bonfires in the middle of the night and dance naked together, not looking for the power of gods to spur them to their goals when they have magic of their own, only wanting to find an excuse to take pleasure from the willing bodies around them and plenty of drink as well when they can pretend that the animal masks they wear over their features actually make them impossible to distinguish from their peers.

When he was Toya, he never went to one such gathering. Enji not only didn't believe in the old faith, but actively spited it, saying that it was mortal ingenuity that brought mortals high, not some false gods that no one has even seen in generations and that took their scorning without a fight. Dabi, now burned out of his magic and broken in a way healers tell him that they will never be able to fix, wonders if that's why three of his four children were not blessed with the magic that Enji and Shoto hold. But he voiced those thoughts once after he awoke from his coma and his father had beaten him so badly he'd nearly slipped into a new one right then. None of his siblings have ever gone to the hidden festivals that are held out in the woods. Not that they really are hidden when they can see the light of the fire even through the thick woods that surround the village. But there are rules. While the adults know that the youth sneak out to pretend to consort with gods in an act of rebellion, and they are not allowed back into the city after dark, as no one is allowed back in once their gates close at sundown. If they snuck out over the walls, then that is their problem. No guards will be called to help them if they're attacked in the woods, be it by the gods they pretend to invoke, wild animals, or dark monstrosities that sometimes roam the land and hunger for flesh.

Dabi knows that if he's caught sneaking out of the house now, his father will never let him back in again. He has always looked for a reason to be able to fully write him off and not have to be associated with his failure anymore. So Dabi hopes that the god that he seeks out to join tonight, the night of the new moon, when only the stars above and the bonfire will blaze light into the sky, will understand the risk that he has taken just to go to his festival grounds. The red fabric was difficult to come by, woven in such a thin, fine silk that it is see-through, and he had to save the coppers that he had left over from buying items to maintain the household for two years to afford it. It has taken another three for him to stitch the intricate wings of a moth along the drape of it, so that when he places the veil overhead and hooks the ties to either wrist, he can spread his arms and show off the stitching that he has done his best to make as beautiful on the inside as the out.

The wolf mask was easier. His father is a warrior of some renown, and a hunter of monstrous beasts when the work is required of him. He's had the taxidermied head of a wolf mounted on the wall of their living room since Dabi was still Toya. And he stole it. He loosened the glue, tore the glass eyes from its face, broke the lower jaw from it, and hollowed out what he needed to. It took hours of effort over the course of the past two days, but his father had not come home and won't until later tonight. So Dabi took his time and made the wolf's head into a mask that he can wear on top of his head, the lower half of his face visible beneath the row of sharp teeth that he leaves intact. He could have found a mask in town, made of paper stiffened with a mixture of flour and water that teens and young adults craft to join in on the festivities, but none of those people have ever had an encounter with one of the gods. He wants to be certain when he reaches out to the King of Decay. To that end, he packs his rucksack that he may have stolen from his youngest brother with a hand mirror he stole from his sister, the cloth, a jar of cow's blood, and a brush he used to use for calligraphy. He doesn't tell his siblings what he's doing or where he's going. Natsuo, even with his own hatred of their father bright in his chest, may try to convince him not to do this. Fuyumi would have certainly told Enji what he was doing to stop him from leaving, desperate for them to someday see eye-to-eye and find reconciliation of some kind. And Shoto... well. He hasn't spoken to Shoto in years. The failures aren't supposed to distract or taint him. He has no idea what he might say to him, how he might treat him. But it doesn't matter now. All that matters is that this will work. It has to.

Dabi sneaks out as his siblings sleep and he goes to the wall. There are plenty of places to sneak out, but the Todoroki property is backed up right against one of the easiest avenues. He climbs over the wall, only managing to be grateful that the parties that are thrown are done at the base of the mountain he burned on, rather than the top of it. He can already smell the smoke in the air as he runs, hoping that none of the guards will see him leaving as he makes his way deeper into the forest.

///

When Dabi can see the light of the flames ahead of him more easily than he can see the wall of the village, He stops and sets down his bag. He strips out of his clothes and removes the mirror, paint brush, and blood from his bag, and he squints through the darkness as he paints his skin with the blood. It looks as black as ink in the dark, but the foul scent of copper makes him all the more aware of what it actually is as he brings it over his chest. He doesn't know how well the branching limbs will show up on parts of his body that are dark already with his scars, but he does his best anyway as he paints the image of a spider on his chest. When the blood is tacky against his skin, he puts his bag aside, not sure if he'll be able to find it again in the dark, but in the morning, he should be able to manage it in the morning if he needs to. He takes the veil and drapes the fabric over his face, the so little light to see by that it gives the world a faint extra haze that turns to red only when he looks towards the light. he puts the ties on his wrists and pulls the wolf mask over his face, obscuring him further, though everyone who sees him will know exactly who he is from his distinctive scars. He knows that he will be looked at, watched, that they'll know. And he is going anyway because this isn't about them. This is about finding the power that people had for centuries and that they threw away because they got a taste of something else. He was thrown away just the same and he hopes that he and the god he's looking to can find some common ground on that front. He walks, the cold ground and sharp twigs poking at his feet as his heart beats loudly in his chest. The wings of a moth to invite death and rebirth. The legs of a spider blooming from his chest in blood to represent the god's patience and cunning. The mask of a wolf to showcase the violence and resilience that he seeks now. A veil beneath it to invoke the ones his high priests used to wear when this religion was practiced the way that it should be.

Dabi goes onward and he doesn't stop until he hears the beat of drums and the frantic zeal of strings being played, people laughing, chattering, and stomping along as the bonfire flares up into the sky, tall enough to reach well over his head and so large that he completely loses sight of people as they dance around it. Some wear their undergarments to preserve a bit of modesty, but most others are as naked as he is. Plenty have already started to slip away into the shadows and onto blankets that have been set up, fingers dipping into cunts and curling around cocks as they indulge the way these gatherings used to be full of indulgence. Dabi is the only one who is dressed in something so elaborate, the only one who is not taking this just as an opportunity for revelry, but one that he needs to work. So he moves across the earth that is soft from how many times bare feet other than his own have trampled it and he stands in front of the bonfire, trying to not tremble from how that heat nearly touches his skin the way the magic of his fire engulfed him when he was so young. He tears a staple from his palm and lets the blood gather in his palm before he flicks it out into the heat of the flames along with the fastening.

"King of Decay, the Unmerciful, the Wrathful, He Whose Touch Withers All He Finds Unworthy, hear my prayer and know that I offer myself to you on this, the darkest of nights when all other gods slumber." He says the prayer softly, under his breath, so that none of the people moving near him can hear the words beneath the revelry that is ebbing and flowing all around him. The fire doesn't answer him, but Dabi still manages to stop holding his breath now that he's made his offer. He can't force the god to accept it. He can only do as he's supposed to and try to entice through his own revelry. So Dabi strays from the fire, finding one of the barrels of mead that have been brought out for tonight's excitement, drains a glass, and then moves back into the throng of bodies so that he too, can begin to dance.

///

The spider on his chest is smeared, the drops of sweat rolling over his skin marring it even though the cool night air keeps him from feeling too overheated. He hasn't ever danced before, but he finds the rhythm of it easily enough, even if he has been doing so alone for the past two hours. He doesn't care. His dance isn't for anyone other than the god that he wants to catch the attention of and he will stay here dancing until the sun rises if that means that he will know that he's exhausted every effort that he could to make it so.

That's probably why, when two cold hands catch his hips and pull his body back into a firm chest, he startles so badly. His veil keeps their bodies from touching, technically, but the fabric is so thin that he can feel every dip and curve of the man's muscular body against his back even through it. The man sways with him a moment, his hands moving up Dabi's sides and pulling away just enough so that when he coaxes his arms out as his fingertips graze the undersides of his arms until he's catching Dabi's fingers between his own, the veil can flare out and show off his intricate embroidery. He only keeps one of Dabi's hands in his own and spins him out before pulling him back in, making Dabi face him. Dabi gets a good look at him then, and the man is wearing an intricate moth mask, his eyes bright red behind it, a mane of wavy, shaggily cut white hair flowing around his face, shoulder, and down his back, drawing Dabi's eyes lower. His form is scarred, pockmarks in him as if he's taken arrows of crossbow bolts against his skin before, a winding maroon scar that creeps across one hand and all the way up that arm, tendrils of it reaching towards his chest, a thick slash through the opposite shoulder like someone might have taken a knife to his flesh. But that pale, scarred flesh is layered over thick, cut muscle that speaks of his strength even though the man is perhaps a centimeter shorter than Dabi. While neither of them can be considered particularly imposing in that department, when Dabi's eyes stray lower, he sees that the other's manhood is something to be impressed with, the sight of him already long and thick without even being aroused yet, and so enticing that Dabi feels his face heat as he brings his eyes back up to this stranger's as he pulls him back in so that they can fall back into step with the dance that is spilling out in concentric circles around the bonfire.

The stranger does not introduce him or let Dabi stop dancing for four songs. Not until the musicians who have been playing are taking a short break for libations of their own, other people dancing without the music or gathering around to make games of refilling and, of course, rapidly emptying their cups again. This man pulls him closer, but out of the fire light, into the cooler night air and he presses Dabi's back against a thick tree trunk. He doesn't stop him, breathless that someone would look at him with the heat that he is finding in those red eyes as they roam over his features.

"One embellishment is traditional." His voice is a smooth tenor that rings through Dabi's body and makes him want to arch into his touch as he keeps him pinned against the rough bark of the tree.

"Traditions failed this village. If I want the attention of a god, I want all of it."

"And why do you want that now? Your people don't even believe that the old gods are worth worshipping anymore."

"The King of Decay is, at least to me. I want something that only he can offer." Dabi tells him. He hasn't spoken with many people outside of his family, not since he burned. But he doesn't think that he's ever felt such a clipped conversation arch from his tongue like lightning is saturating the air between him and this stranger.

"And what is it you want..." he considers a moment, like he's looking deep within his mind to recall the name before it slips over his tongue as if he's savoring each letter, "Dabi?"

He doesn't know if his body has ever felt warm like this, but he's never had anyone's attention on him, so singularly, in his life. Certainly not when they were both stripped naked and they could be entwined like so many of the other couples, or more, who have chosen to partake in the joys of flesh, the sounds of their pleasure louder now as the music has drawn to a stop. "I want to destroy Enji Todoroki. I want him to know that the power he thinks he was born with is nothing in comparison to that of a god. And I want him to know that I was the one picked to make him understand that."

The stranger watches him for another long moment and then he catches the edge of his vail where it sits a few centimeters below his chin. "The high priests traditionally wore black." He tells him.

And it's a guess, a prayer, a desperation in him that has Dabi breathing, "I know. But the books said that red was your favorite color."

His eyes sparkle behind that mask and the God of Decay takes his hand again pulling him away from the tree and towards the center of the party. Dabi goes with him, breathlessly, as the god leads him to the altar that is overgrown, cups being poured from around it as the sacred stone has been turned into a table. The god doesn't touch it. The long shadows cast by the fire rear up and lash out as inky tendrils, sweeping the mead aside and causing the people around it to shriek and try to back away quickly as the King brings him closer.

His voice is clear and rings through the space, stopping people where they are as all eyes turn to them. "You have soiled my lands, reveled in my space without appropriate tribute, and forsaken me in your lives. But tonight, one of faith has remembered the truth of this ritual and now a god stands among you. You will bear witness as he gives his body to me, and when the blood streaks from your eyes and you run to your village that would not stand without my mercy, you can tell everyone inside of those fragile walls that it will be his decision if they continue to keep you safe."

And with his magic, the music spills out through the clearing again, a heavy drum beat that echoes the racing of Dabi's heart in his chest. He knew what he was offering, but to actually know that it has been accepted? The nerves start to crawl beneath his skin as he realizes that he's not only going to be naked in front of all of these people, but that he will be expected to service the god who has accepted his flesh as payment for his ambitions. He's never even shared a kiss with someone else before, let alone put his hand on a cock that is not his own. But this is what he wanted and Dabi, through the fear, is determined to prove to the god that he is worthy of having it. He lets the creature lead him up the stone steps of the dais, one tendril reaching from the darkness to give the King of Decay a tankard of the mead that has been passed around so liberally tonight. He makes Dabi face him and lets go of his hand.

"Lay down." His voice is softer, the way it had when they spoke before, not the rumble of it that echoed through the clearing. Dabi's heart is still pounding behind his ribs as he lays down though, the cold stone slab not insulated at all through the thin fabric of his veil. He watches as the dark tendrils of shadow bloom out again, this time creeping up the sides of the slab and reaching towards his body. They trail along his ankles, up his calves, and along his sides. They aren't cold or warm, they're just so smooth and inhuman as they start to map out his body as the god takes up a position beside Dabi's head, his body turned out so that it faces the blazing fire. He can see the cut of his jaw, his well-sculpted lips, and the small... almost mortal imperfections of how the skin across them is chapped as well as the scar that carves through one part of them and the modest birthmark that is the darkest spot of coloration on his entire body. But the mask hides the rest of his features from Dabi. Red eyes look out at him from that mask and Dabi is breathless as he watches the god lift an arm, holding the tankard in his other hand. The dark lashes out and splits open his skin. It cuts him deeply and black blood beads up from the wound far more literally than Dabi would have thought possible. He watches as he bleeds into the cup, each fat drop falling as little spheres into it. He fills it until the liquid and blood nearly run over the edges of the cup and then he flicks his hand, the cut sealing away before he reaches down towards Dabi.

He doesn't think he's about to be hurt, but his breath still catches in the back of his throat as the god puts his hand over the mask he'd made. He pulls on it, and Dabi lifts his head enough that it can be taken off and pulled away, letting the god see that his face is truly as ruined as the rest of his body. He's not expecting for the King of Decay to smile at him so sweetly when the mask comes away and only the red fabric of his veil separates their sight.

"Only those who don't understand what they have in their hands, don't fear true power when it is finally theirs." He speaks so softly that Dabi has no doubt that the crackling of the fire would make hearing his speech impossible to the people below. The god lifts the veil, letting it fall away before he curls his hand around the back of Dabi's neck and gently lifts his head. He brings the tankard to his lips and Dabi can see his blood. Little round droplets of it that are swimming around in the mead like he's being offered a cup full of frog-spawn. He is afraid, elated, breathless with anticipation, with the worry that this isn't real and all that he has an opportunity to become right now is a dream brought on by smoke inhalation and too many drinks. But he wants this to be real. Wants to give himself to the King of Decay if he can make the ways that magic destroyed Dabi ripple out into this land that forsook them both.

He opens his mouth and he takes the first swallow of mead. He's had this flavor on his tongue a few times tonight, but it is different with the god's blood inside. The little pearls of his essence slip over his tongue, feeling so inconsequential that he only notices them at all because they somehow retain the taste of a thunderstorm in early winter, when it hasn't quite gotten cold enough yet to turn to sleet or hail. The god makes him drink every drop, supporting his head as he tilts the glass back and back until Dabi is arched off of the slab, his veil slipping free of his body completely, as he swallows everything that he's given.

When Dabi is finally able to take a real, gasping breath again as the deity tosses the tankard aside to thud against the stone steps, he immediately uses it to speak, "Thank you, my Lord."

"Aren't you just the sweetest little thing?" The King's words are a soft purr as he moves so that both of his hands are cupping Dabi's ruined cheeks, his thumbs stroking beneath his eyes, across his scars. "Have you ever had someone touch you like this before, my sacrifice?"

Dabi feels his face go hotter in the god's hands. He knows better than to lie to a god, but it is a sharp humiliation that goes through him when he can barely breathe, "No."

The deity smiles at him, still serene. "Then no one else's hands have ever gotten to taint you before you could reach me. I was rarely so lucky to receive that even among my priests, so you can be certain that I will savor your flesh now."

Dabi knows what these rituals are, knew that the people who the god took for his bedmates were often ravaged to the point of tears, but when he imagined how this would happen, he never thought that the god would hold him so gently as he brought their lips together for a kiss. His mouth slants against his, and Dabi's heart races in his chest, sending blood through his veins that feels... wrong. That feels a little too thick in his veins in a way that he can't quite make sense of as the King of Decay tries to monopolize his attention as he parts his lips and something too smooth to be a tongue slips out and drags over his skin, prodding at Dabi's mouth. He opens. It doesn't matter what the god wants from him, he'll give it all to destroy his father.

The things that slip into his mouth are textureless and tapered, long and winding, and far more dexterous than a tongue, though he gets that too after a moment. The tendrils of shadow and his tongue move inside of his mouth, flicking over parts in Dabi's that he didn't know could feel good as the god shifts so that he can move onto the stone slab with Dabi. That too thick blood pounds along with his heartbeat as he flattens his palms to the dais, not certain if he should touch the ancient creature that is making himself at home above Dabi's body. He doesn't want to overstep and show anything but reverence for being given his attention in this moment. The god's hands slide down Dabi's neck, over his chest, his fingers teasing his nipples lightly, before they drift along the planes of his stomach, tracing along one of the seams that splits him there before they curl over his hips and move lower. Dabi's breath catches in the back of his throat. He's hardly certain if he's even kissing the god the correct way, he's nowhere near calming his nerves enough to manage to get hard right now. But he'll figure it out. He knows that he will. The sex cannot be the hardest part of everything he's worked for to end up in this position. He doesn't know if the god can sense his nervousness, but he moves his hands to the tops of his thighs first instead of Dabi's cock, and runs his fingers along those scars as well before he coaxes them wider. Dabi is breathless as the King of Decay spreads him open wide enough that anyone who wants to look will see every inch of him, before he settles between them. He pulls Dabi closer with his strength that moves his body so easily, but doesn't do so in any way that might be rough. He thought it might hurt. The books talked about how much the god reveled in licking the tears off of his sacrifice's cheeks.

"You don't need to be nervous, little one." The god murmurs when he draws away from his mouth, the chapped texture of his lips has gotten more otherworldly, his skin splitting open with black cracks that he sees more of those dark tendrils retreating back into. "I am going to savor you, and you are going to feel so good, my pet." He reaches for Dabi's chest, putting his hand over his heart, and when Dabi looks down to see what he's doing, he is burdened with the understanding of why his veins felt so thick before. The drops of the god's blood that he swallowed with the mead have spread through his body and he sees them crawling beneath his skin, trailing over his stomach and moving lower. As he looks down the lengths of their bodies, his mind feeling like it may shatter from the sight of the things that have made a home inside of him, as they move to his cock. Dabi whimpers, the god cooing at him like the sound is adorable and amusing, as they start to move through that sensitive part of his body, running just beneath his flesh across his balls and length, stroking his nerves and coaxing more blood to pool there so that he starts to harden. Dabi watches it happen until the god shifts so that he can bring his lips along the edge of his jaw, peppering the skin there with licks and nips. His body starts to block Dabi's view, but not before he watches as more of those cracks open up along the deity's skin, around his cock, black slashes that birth more of those tendrils of darkness that surround his hard cock like a flower opening up.

Dabi trembles. "Thank you," is all he manages to say, his voice thin and terrified even as the tadpoles beneath his flesh start to make his body warmer and those tendrils of darkness reach to stroke along his cock from the outside too.

The god smiles at him and then he leans back down to give him another kiss as two more of his tendrils snake out and start to move over Dabi's hole. His breath catches in the back of his throat as they begin to prod inside and Dabi is able to take a part of the deity's essence inside of his body. Another touch of divinity inside of him and rather than making him feel powerful, Dabi feels so small as the creature on top of him starts to stretch his body to bend to his machinations. He is small beneath a god. He is powerless against the endless possibility that the King of Decay stretches out in front of him. Dabi has felt helpless so many times since his magic burned out, but this is the first one that he thinks has ever made him feel like that... isn't a bad thing. He should be helpless beneath this God. He is nothing now so that he can be filled up with every scrap of power that the other creature is willing to give him. The kiss isn't violent. It doesn't hurt him. The King of Decay kisses him like he adores him for every stitch that pricked his fingers, for the sleepless nights that came because he saved coppers to buy the cloth instead of making sure that he had enough groceries to fill his stomach.

And when he parts, he uses the hand that could shatter the world if he held onto it tightly enough to cup Dabi's cheek, and coax his head to the side. Dabi's breath catches in the back of his throat as he sees the other festival goers standing around the bonfire, rooted to the spot with their horror and the tendrils of darkness that are keeping them there. Their paper mache masks flicker in the fire and from their stares he sees that they are in different states. Shocked, terror clutching at their throats, humiliation bright on their cheeks as they watch the god feed two of his tendrils into Dabi's body. The slick appendages are thin and tapered at their tips, opening him up easily and gently, slick with a translucent black fluid that drips against his skin. Dabi shivers as his nerves are touched inside and out as the beads of foreign blood beneath his flesh start to work through his body and make his skin grow hotter and hotter.

"Don't fear, little one," the god purrs as his lips move along Dabi's jaw and down his neck. Dabi isn't sure if it's the command or the tone that makes his body tremble, he just knows that he's never had someone's voice so hot against his skin before and that it makes the warmth of his arousal feel more his own beneath his skin. "You were brave enough to seek me. You were determined enough to present yourself. You were alluring enough to hold my attention." Every word is paired with the tendrils moving deeper into his body and then back out again, twisting against each other and his walls over and over in an undulating, sensuous touch that has Dabi gasping and his blunt nails scraping weakly over the stone beneath him. "You are such a rare creature in this world, my pet, and I am going to anoint each part of you to ensure that any who look upon you know that. They are bearing witness to your great ascension, pet. If you cannot revel in knowing that they watch you come undone with envy in their hearts, then pity them for they will never achieve the heights of power and pleasure that I will bring you to."

He doesn't know how he's supposed to feel anything but overwhelmed as the god fucks him open on the tendrils, the tadpoles beneath his skin finding a place inside of him to circle. It's something inside of him that makes a sharper pulse of pleasure move through him as the tendrils join that internal pressure by rubbing up against that spot through his walls. It's a sensation that goes deeper than the sensitivity of his cock, but it feeds into that pleasure as well. Good. Dabi feels something inside of him snap. It's not the tadpoles that do it, not the nerves that he carried with him throughout his determination to sway things so that he would end up right here, not the fear that he has always held in some deep, subconscious part about dying alone and untouched once he burned. He has felt things break inside of him before and all of those other times the things that shattered broke him in some awful way that reverberated through his entire being. But when this thing breaks now, the god offering him the words that he thinks he needed to hear without knowing that he was looking for them, the pleasure that was so separate from him becomes his own. He is allowed this. He should be thrilled to feel it, should be proud that he was able to get to this point, he should be elated to have the god moving over him and ravaging his body like he's worthy.

He reaches without thinking and when his hands tangle in the King of Decay's hair, he's not at all surprised by the softness of the wild locks, only overjoyed when he moves so easily, letting Dabi bring their mouths back together. He opens his wide and accepts each of the four tendrils that enter his mouth. He presses his jaw open as widely as he can to do so, moaning as they creep in and push deeper into the back of his throat the way that he has seen people even just tonight do to their partner's cock. He swallows and sucks around them and when the god hooks his hands beneath his lower back, he arches and tries to hold some of his weight himself as he shifts so that his lower body is more open for the other man. And the tentacles inside of him push a little deeper, the ones around his cock stroking a bit more deliberately, and Dabi takes the pleasure and doesn't run from it. He moans and savors the way the sound vibrates against the intrusion in his throat. So many others took their pleasure here tonight. He danced naked among some of the most attractive people in his village, and his offerings, his visage, was enough to earn him the favor of a god, even if only for the night. He deserves to have his pleasure however he can obtain it. He deserves to enjoy it as the god takes one of the tendrils from his cock so that he can put it inside of Dabi's body instead.

And how long has it been since the King of Decay has been offered someone the way that he should have been when they were enjoying a festival originally made to honor him? He is Death and Rebirth. He is made to destroy all of the things that stray into his path, but he can bring them back too when he wants. This revelry was meant to be a celebration for all aspects of his being. A festival on the new moon, one where people would strip their clothes, their responsibilities, their shame by putting their faces behind masks, and they would get to revel in the firelight, in the warm glow that can create and destroy as easily as the god, celebrating and mourning the things that they may have lost in the same night-long dance.

"My King," He gasps when his tongues slip from his mouth as he pushes his tendrils deeper into Dabi's body. He squeezes his eyes shut, his toes curling as the sensation going deeper inside of him makes his pleasure heat him starting at the base of his spine and seeping up through his whole body. He keens weakly as the sensation makes his cock twitch, a gush of thin fluid escaping him as he feels like his orgasm might be creeping all the closer to the edge of his nerves. "Please, " he means to beg him, not for his own satisfaction, but to show him how to be good for him. How to make this being who has had hundreds, if not thousands, of other bodies beneath him, sated in the way that the others who have been in this position must have been able to. But the deity just reaches one hand for Dabi's cock instead, his teeth dipping lower so that they can catch one of Dabi's nipples. His teeth graze over the skin then, with just enough force for the twinge of pain to tangle with the tadpoles and turn the signal into sharper pleasure as it hits his nerves. And Dabi's face flames even as he throws his head back on a moan as that sends him over the edge. He feels the muscles in his hole tighten around the tendrils as his cock pulses and paints the evidence of his enjoyment all over his and the god's stomachs, soiling the skin of a deity with his seed instead of being anointed by his. It feels sacrilegious even though Dabi knows that this was something that the other man was inviting him to do when he told him not to deny his own pleasure. He didn't mean to take his so greedily before he could give it to the god.

But the King of Decay will have what he wants anyway, and he worries at the buds on Dabi's chest, one of his hands shifting so that he can stroke Dabi's cock through his orgasm and after. Until his nerves are aching so sharply with how much it can hurt after feeling so good just a moment before as his cock is unable to go flaccid against his palm. The tadpoles inside of him keep his blood there and the god forces him to understand that there is some sharper note that lives between pleasure and pain and it is exquisite. Impossible for him not to do as the god instructed and not pity those watching it happen because they don't know what this pleasure truly is.

The sounds that slip out of him as the deity shifts between his legs, finally taking his last tendril from his prick and pushing it into his hole, sound animal and desperate, caught up in the wind and smoke and hanging in the air around the clearing to tell everyone just how completely he is unraveling. And the god soaks them in. His skin does not bead with sweat the way that Dabi's does, his body does not grow warmer over him, his breath never wavers, but he opens him up with all of those tendrils and angles himself above Dabi so that he is able to look down at their joining. So Dabi can watch and tremble as he realizes that he is finally going to get the thick, human-looking cock that sits at the center of the sea of black and void that his tentacles are reaching out of. And Dabi didn't know his body could feel sharp from his arousal. He thought that the note made from that arousal being pushed beyond how much he thought his body could have would mean that he wouldn't be able to feel anything else. But as the King of Decay sinks that last cock deep inside of his body, his way smoothed by the fluid coating the others and how they hold his walls open for him, Dabi is suddenly also full in a way that he didn't know that he could feel, and it is so good. He was certain that the oversensitive ache of his cock would be the thing that shredded apart his sanity, but feeling the other man carve out a place inside of his body for him, feeling his walls stretch past the point he thought possible and still not tear because of the deity's gentle and intentional machinations before he truly starts to take his pleasure from Dabi's body, it makes him all the more aware of how wonderful, how perfect this joining is.

His mind doesn't break, but he does stop caring for any form of coherence. He lets the god teach him how to roll his hips up into his. He lets him drag another orgasm out of his body, this second one so sharp that it has him sobbing dryly before the god lifts him from the stone, pulls his cocks out of him, and bends him over it so that Dabi has nowhere else to look but out at the sea of faces that are watching him as he is ravaged by the god. His vision is swimming as it happens, his eyes misting over red as he can't keep his mouth closed, moans and panting breaths coming out of him too fast for him to manage to try and find even a sliver of composure. They can all see him fall apart. They watch it happen when he is so aroused by the things being done to his body that when his third orgasm comes, it does so with Dabi giving a hoarse cry as his aching prick jumps, but not a drop of cum manages to slip out, even as the other being thrusts into him so perfectly, making certain that his tadpoles and tendrils are stroking that special place deep inside of him that makes him feel so good. Good, so good. Dabi sobs and the King of Decay folds himself along his back so that the tendrils he has alongside his tongue can reach out to lick away the blood on his face. Taking the crimson Dabi has offered him twice tonight without hesitation.

Dabi doesn't know how long, how many positions, or how many times that his body manages to orgasm dry from his cock or deeply from his insides being fucked, before the King of Decay finally has his fill of him. Before he feels the tendrils inside of him spiral around his central cock and stroke himself as he thrusts so roughly into Dabi's body as his orgasm finally comes for him as well. What Dabi does know is that the force of it, the way that his walls are painted with the other's cool spend, the feeling of more of those seeds of destruction entering his form-- it all would have all made him gasp and tremble from the sensation alone.

But when the King of Decay cums inside of him, his pleasure ripples out through the land. The bonfire extinguishes and sends them into the pure black of night for a moment as their eyes adjust to the thin starlight that is being filtered through the moonless sky and Dabi swears that the dark shadows that spill out from the altar have the shape of creeping many-jointed legs, the snarl of fangs, and the flicker of antennae. His power spills out over the land, but the wildness of it seems to release the people who were being held witness. And there is screaming, running, those people fleeing the clearing because they don't understand how wonderful this moment is as the god lets himself revel in the offering that Dabi has made of his body. They can't possibly understand the singular bliss that flows through him as Dabi feels a chill deep beneath his skin settle through him as every drop of blood and cum that the deity has had him take into his body since they began suddenly bursts and becomes immaterial. They turn to liquid beneath his skin, in his veins, between the different layers of tissue that makes him him, and they envelop every cell with a soothing, cool embrace. It feels... right the way that the burning embers inside of his body never did and when Dabi cries now, it's out of relief, out of reverence, as that sensation sends his vision rushing black as its shadows coat his eyes as well.

///

When he wakes it's because there are chilled hands against his skin and he is being moved gently. The body that he is laying on top of is firm and perfect against his touches, and insulates him from the frigid, hard stone slab of the altar that they were on before.

"Everyone in the village has surely been awoken now," the King of Decay tells him, his hands soothing Dabi's skin that still feels so sharply over sensitive, his cum sticky against their bodies, but every drop that the other gave him sunk into his veins to anoint him the way that he'd promised. The sky is starting to lighten, not enough to turn the orange of dawn, but just beginning to take on lighter shades of indigo as the sun begins to take back the heavens. The King of Decay catches his chin and makes Dabi look at him. He doesn't know if it's because the night is over or if it's because they are alone in this clearing with the evidence of revelry all around them, but the god is no longer wearing his mask and Dabi can see his face now. He has more of that cracked texture around his eyes, another scar cutting through one of them, and he is handsome. Of course he is. He can't be anything else. And he looks at Dabi with a satisfaction that takes his breath away again. "You will walk into the village, when the guards try to stop you, you will declare that I will destroy the village on the next winter solstice if they do not renounce their arcana and make amends for how they have failed to worship me." Dabi will do that, but when he opens his mouth to ask about his revenge, the god stills his tongue with the magic that he has rooted deeply in Dabi's body. "They will prove this by having Enji Todoroki forsake his magic and offer it to me. I will reach inside of him and tear it from his chest and he will have no power. Not from his own veins, not from me, not from any of my kin. He will be a mortal man in the way that his short-sightedness made you mortal, and he will be forced to live like that forever, his goals never in reach again." The god smiles at him serenely. "And if he cannot give up his power, if he tries to fight, then the village will tear him apart for you as I come to claim my retribution out of their flesh instead. Is this a satisfactory exchange for your sacrifice, pet?"

Dabi is breathless as he says, "More than gracious, my lord."

The god smiles at him so easily and the way that makes Dabi feel small doesn't hurt the way that he felt so worthless and inconsequential when he was cast aside by his father as a child. "My true name is Tomura Shigaraki, and with it, you will be able to open the temple doors. I will take that as my domicile again, and you will serve me inside of it, do you understand me, pet?"

"Yes, my lord." The name of a god, a new home to take within the city, nine months to watch as his father struggles to find a way out of this, because he surely will try, and his body is already humming with delight. He thought that he would be given magic again, channeled through the god to fight his father to the death. But this is better. This means that everyone in the village will be forced to learn just how selfish Enji truly is.

"You will address me as 'master', pet." He is gentle as he corrects the form of address and Dabi's whole body goes a little warmer despite the chill living inside of him now. But before he can apologize for getting the words wrong, Tomura Shigaraki soothes him with his hands stroking along his shoulders. "You will not earn my spite for such an error, Dabi." Like the essence in his body, this reaches deep to the core of him and knows the curve of the scars that the god cannot see written so plainly over his skin. "You will always know if and when I am upset with you. My emotions will not be a mystery and my wrath is not capricious. There will always be an opportunity for you to assuage it." Just as he's giving the village a chance now, even if Dabi's sacrifice made Shigaraki's wrath against Enji absolute. His hands move along Dabi's shoulders, down his waist, and as they do, Dabi feels his essence inside of his body call back to his palms and it moves. It rushes up to Dabi's flesh and seeps black out from every open scar and staple across his body, bleeding across his skin until he is in pitch black trousers, a black high-necked tunic, with long sleeves that open airily along his forearm and hang loose around his wrists. Shigaraki reaches for the veil that he spent so long making and the silk ripples and flows, transitioning from the vibrant red to the deep shadows of his essence as it lengthens and changes its shape. It becomes a cloak that Shigaraki secures around his throat with a broach that he realizes is the split lower jaw of the wolf skull he discarded with his bag in the forest before he came to dance to earn the god's attention. The ties of the cloak go around his wrists, cinching his sleeves tight there and lending the shirt a more dramatic shape. He is given well-made and perfectly fitting boots that encase his feet, and even with all of the new clothes, the chill living inside of his skin never lessens.

"There. Now go sow the seeds of your father's destruction. When you are done, you will join me in the temple and attend me."

"Yes, master." Maybe it says something unfavorable about his pride that Dabi doesn't feel the need to fight this. He offered himself. All that matters is that he gets what he was after in the first place. He slips off of the slab, able to hold his spine straight for the first time in a long one, as he takes a slow, deep breath of the cold morning air before he starts to move towards the village again.

///

There are guards at the gate, at least two dozen of them, with Yagi and Enji standing shoulder to shoulder at the front. Yagi, who was elevated to the village leader after decades of service in the guard where his magic had so much might that he had been considered a god in his own right when rumors about him spread to neighboring territories. He had the respect, power, and importance that Enji always wanted. But he never gathered it in all of his time like this. Now he steps up to face Dabi alongside the man who has been his silent rival for years, who, in some ways, is the reason that Dabi and his family suffered everything that they have.

And Yagi addresses him first, "Toya--"

But it's Enji who cuts him off and says, "You will not be given admittance to this city. You are a thief, you broke curfew, and you have tangled with magic that is forbidden. Leave now or you will be removed."

And that chill through Dabi's body swells in even sharper, his limbs feeling like they might go numb with it, but no gooseflesh rising across his skin. Of course they would make him the villain, of course Enji would try to angle things so that it would seem like this is the only course of action to take. He feels those drops of the god's blood rush through his body and his fingernails bleed black, starting to spill the energy like ink onto the ground beneath him. As the shadoe starts to pool around his feet, his father starts his flames around his hands, but their light cannot chase the shadows that Dabi's god has given him away. "This land was given to us by the gods of the old faith that you and yours forsook because you thought that the arcane could bring you above the divine." He feels more sure in voicing these words than he has ever felt speaking anything in his life. "You stole these powers, you used them to break the laws that we were supposed to live by and you left no recourse or salvation for the people who could not fill the mold that you determined to be the one that all should live by." The shadow spreads and Yagi tries to cut in,

"Young Todoroki, people within the village are still able to practice the old religion--"

"Stand down or I will finish what the fire started all those years ago." Enji snarls at him, not hesitating to throw a gout of flame at the shade. Dabi watches as the orange glow is swallowed up and changed. He feels his father's fire enter the essence of power that he has been given and he knows all too suddenly that is nothing compared to what he can do himself. It is a sharp, furious, vindictive thing that blooms out inside of his chest as he raises his arms, and for the first time in eight years, his fire comes back to him. His father never got to see it blue. He never got to know that Dabi burned so much hotter than he ever could. But he makes the entire village see it now as he lets the flames spill from his palms with no pain as the black ichor coats his palms and protects them from burning again. He doesn't stop what he's doing, he sends it out as far as he can go and circles the entire wall, burning through a swath of the forest all around them and creeping the fire higher than the walls themselves so he can hear the people hiding behind them scream.

"This land was given to you by the gods and you, Enji Todoroki, are a symbol of the true greed that turned these people from faith. On the Winter Solstice, this land will be returned to the King of Decay and everyone within will perish, unless you offer your magic, your home, your position in the guard, your ambitions to him. You will become the nothing you have made me for years, or this village will fall in your stead." Dabi flares the fire bright and uses it as a lance, breaking the ranks of the guards as they dart out of the way to avoid being incinerated as completely as the trees he's already sundered. "I will be staying within the temple of my deity. You will find me there if you ever choose to do what's right for the people and not only what serves you best."

He moves forward and no one stops him. He moves forward and people watch him with terror rather than disgust, and Dabi is able to hold his head high for the first time in years. He makes his way to the small temple that has been made for the god. It is badly overgrown throughout the gardens, the windows are filthy, the doors sealed shut with a heavy lock. But he touches the worn wood and whispers, "Tomura Shigaraki," and he hears the tumblers inside turn until the lock opens and Dabi is able to step into a place soaked with the scent of dust and silence.

None of the guards come to knock on the door again once it has swung shut behind him.

///

Nine months. That is how many were given to Enji Todoroki, to the village, to make their choice. And during the first month, Dabi cleans the temple. He has been a servant in his family's house since he woke from his coma and at least getting the temple in order is a little less demeaning because he knows he is serving a god and not just the person who abandoned him. He polishes the dark wood floors until they shine, cleans the windows and replaces the broken panes, trims back the overgrowth of the garden while the plants are dead as the ground just starts to thaw as winter turns to spring, hoping that he will be able to replant and make the grounds better for them when it comes time for the growing season.

And Tomura Shigaraki stays with him in the temple. He never leaves the ground or strays too closely to a window, and Dabi doesn't believe anyone knows that he is there. But he is. He spends each day as Dabi's shadow, watching him as he does his work, giving him orders here and there so lazily that he makes it clear that he has never been told 'no' before, because who would dare deny a god what they want?

"On your knees, pet." It's only been a month, but Dabi spent the day on his knees. There is a stone pathway that has an intricate mosaic laid into it, and it was entirely overgrown between the stones with weeds. He spent all hours of sunlight on his knees, taking them from between the stones to hopefully prevent that overgrowth from happening again. He is tired, sore, and still needs to prepare their nightly meal. And cooking, something he once thought he was good enough at, is now a constant source of fear as well now that the god insists on at least sharing the nightly meal with him. Because that means that every dinner he is having to make, he does so with the terror in his chest that he will serve him something he does not like and will earn his ire.

"Yes, master." He says anyway because he doesn't have a choice. This is the price he is paying for power. For the ability to walk the streets and have people cower from him instead of looking at him with pity for how completely his failure was known by everyone around him. He gets on his knees, the god having made a home for himself while he was working in the front of the room that once must have been the actual church. There are empty benches in two neat rows behind them and the god stands at the front, looking out over them.

He reaches down, his fingers still always managing to be cold as a corpse, and Dabi shivers as he catches his chin and makes him look up. "You lack so much enthusiasm now, pet." He tells him and Dabi feels his face flush.

This is an honor, it's a blessing that he was ever able to get the deity's attention, and even more so one that he was able to get such a satisfying way to take his revenge on his father. He is supposed to be happy with this now. He isn't supposed to feel so... dissatisfied? Frustrated? ...Annoyed with the god's demands at every hour of the day.

He's not expecting for Shigaraki to smile at him again, a viciousness in him now that Dabi doesn't recall having ever seen before. "You start to resent me the same way you resent your father, even though I have always given you the attention you so desperately seek."

"No--"

The slap that comes snaps his head to the side and makes it hurt so badly, but it doesn't shatter his bones. Just the thing inside of him that he was trying to tether his sanity to. Just the part of him that knows that this is a god, not a man, and he is not supposed to rage against him the way that Dabi used to rage against everyone who tried to make him small after his magic burned out.

"Don't touch me!" He snarls, his flames jumping back to his palms, his body springing up from the floor so that he can look at the god in the eye. He is a centimeter shorter than Dabi, especially when Dabi is wearing his boots while the other creature walks barefoot with a robe of shadow around his bare flesh. "I'm not a slave-- I'm not nothing!"

"So quickly you forget, just as they all did," Shigaraki tells him, that smile gone and a coldness in his tone that makes Dabi all too aware of how completely he has just laid the path for his own ruin. He snaps his fingers and the flames go out, smothered by the icy chill of Shigaraki's power in his veins. The seeds of darkness beneath his flesh tug and Dabi's muscles go weak, making him fall back to the floor again so hard that the impact jars his knees and cuts through his pants, putting a sharp pain through the bones so intense that he's not sure if it's that sensation or the helplessness that he feels crashing back in on him that makes the corners of his eyes prickle with bloody years. "You gave yourself to me for these abilities, did you not? You said that you would be mine, Dabi. A month only, and you are already regretting your decision? Will I hate you for an eternity and never again enjoy your presence as you turn the devotion you spent years weaving into your offering into resentment so quickly?"

He catches Dabi's chin again and makes him look him in the eye, and that look is... familiar. It is furious, terrified,... hurt the way that Dabi remembers seeing on his own features whenever he found himself trying so hard to look at himself and see whatever was left that wasn't the worth that other people placed on his existence. And something in him hurts again, bringing all of that to the surface of his mind for the other creature to taste as he knows every inch of Dabi so completely now that his essence is wrapped around every cell of him.

Shigaraki's lip pulls back in a snarl and Dabi doesn't want the god to think that he's insulting him further by offering pity. "You told me I would know if I displeased you. You said that you would give me rewards when I was doing well. You have left me to toil in my anxiety and misery, to isolate me again in my worship of you, to ensure that you are my entire world. You crush me with your silence and your callousness and wonder why the grains of sand beneath you hate the weight of your sole on their back."

He expects to be hit again, but instead Shigaraki stares at him.

"You are all I have," Dabi tells him, reaching shakily for the hem of his robes. "I have given myself up to you entirely. I spend every day trying to ensure that your domicile on the mortal plane is worthy of you after years of neglect. I have not spoken to my siblings, I have not ever strayed from this place. Tell me that this can be enough. Tell me that I can be enough for you, that I can take away the decades of neglect that have been given to you in the ways that I am able to provide. Or else tell me that you will resent me always for only being one man, unable to offer you the devotion of an entire village, and sunder me from this plane now. Just do not make me live again with the knowledge that I am completely incapable of being what the person I've devoted myself to wanted me to be."

The pause that comes after his words is... long. It's very long, and very weighted, and it allows Dabi to feel the ache of the bruise forming on his cheek from where the god struck him. He cannot help flinching when Shigaraki finally does move again, reaching to his cheek with his knuckles, the light, frigid brush of them against the tender skin taking away the swelling and ache that he brought him. "You are one. I spent centuries having hundreds worship. Then starved for decades as I was cast out. I have been looking to feast on you, but one man cannot provide that to me." And there is a tone that is near enough to apology in his voice that Dabi lets himself lean into the softer touch as the god soothes the hurt in his knees as well. "You can only give so much, and I will learn to savor that, my pet. I will not condemn either of us to the... absence that we lived in before."

"Thank you, master." There is real relief in the words, but real fear that comes now as he realizes that if the god were even half as capricious as he might have been before his isolation, that could have ended far, far worse for him. He can't help it when a sob breaks his chest or how hard his body shivers as Shigaraki tries to soothe away his tears. He doesn't make dinner for them that night, and the next day, when he wakes and already feels exhausted and is freshly afraid that he's slept past sunrise and the start of his daily chores, Dabi thinks that he is going to be punished for it. Instead he finds that the god has tucked himself away in the shadows, out of his sight, and there is a small basket of crabapples on the table in the kitchen. There was a tree, in the back that looked as though it grew diseased and died years ago. Dabi had been planning on tearing it out as soon as the ground got soft enough for him to do so alone. But when he looks out into the yard, he sees that it is full of life again, fresh blooms and green leaves, the fruit hanging abundant from the branches despite no life in that tree the day before.

Dabi eats one of the fruits and it is ripe and perfect against his tongue. When he makes dinner and brings it as an offering for Shigaraki later that night, the god strokes his knuckles along his cheek again and manages a soft, "Thank you," that Dabi has never heard leave his lips before.

///

The second month comes and the village has seemingly shaken its shock. Dabi has gotten the temple in order, the grounds starting to grow again, thriving more quickly than the rest of the land, and Shigaraki filling their gardens with fruits, herbs, and vegetables so that Dabi only has to go to the market for things like meat, milk, and grains. He has no money, cut off from the Todoroki fortune, with currency being something well beneath his deity. But it doesn't matter. The people in the village are so fearful of what horrors he could bring that when he does his shopping, he is able to simply take what he wants from them. He never takes anything in excess, but he doesn't feel badly about stealing in plain sight. His father already named him a thief in front of the entire village. As far as they are concerned he is a creature without honor who has brought the beginning of the end for their arrogance. His father has not budged on his stance that this god will not be able to withstand the might of their magic, but there are days where some enchanters come to the temple and attempt to break the wards and come inside. Every time their magic shutters and fails when it brushes up against his master's.

Dabi brings back good meat, cheeses, and a bottle of wine tonight. The temple is a relatively small building. There are two stories and the plumbing is indoors unlike the homes on the outskirts of the village, with a bathroom upstairs and a kitchen that are able to pull running water from pipes rather than requiring the use of the well that is out back and originally made for this purpose. Apart from the bathroom, his bedchambers and a linen closet are the only things on the second level. On the first, the entry way leads to the temple to the right, while the left takes one into the kitchen and dining area, and beyond that, the living room and the door to the back of the property. It is a very small, modest domicile, and one that Dabi can hardly believe used to be filled with people who would come in and out and pray to the King of Decay.

Dabi has heard whispers about tonight, and he knows that there will be no teenagers and young adults sneaking out into the dark to revel naked in front of a bonfire. No, after the last new moon, there is no way that anyone will be lighting the bonfire. So he goes back to the temple and arranges a fine spread of the fruits, meat, cheese, and honey that he's gotten, brings the flames high in the fireplace in the living room, and he spreads blankets down around it to make the area softer and more comfortable. And then he strips away all of his clothes but his veil-turned-cloak and waits. When Shigaraki melts out of the shadows, he catches Dabi's face between his palms and murmurs so softly,

"Kneel," his eyes sparkling in the flickering orange glow. Dabi does so, and the god brushes his thumb over the seal of his lips. Dabi opens his mouth and takes his cool flesh inside. Two months now, and Shigaraki has not demanded his sex as a form of worship since the first devotion. Dabi knows that his appetites before were insatiable, but he has never pushed this. He didn't know that he would want this so badly, but with his hands on his face, Dabi wants nothing more than to be allowed to show his devotion to the god the way that he did the first time. He knows that the King of Decay can taste his emotions when the shapes of them are so close to the surface. "You will be worshipped tonight, and I will make your pleasure echo in the dreams of everyone in the village who tries to find their restless slumber. They will know that you are being given the attention that you so deserve and that your pleasure fuels the will of a god that creeps closer to taking away everything that they hold so dear."

Dabi's face flushes as the god speaks to him, the shiver of arousal that goes through him still foreign, even though it's good. Shigaraki's lips quirk up into a smile again.

"I thought I tasted your excitement burning hotter when you knew that you were being watched as you fell apart beneath me. I will make you a sight so stunning that none will be able to turn their attention from you in disgust ever again."

"Thank you, master." But his face burns as he asks, "What of your pleasure?"

"Oh, my pet, there is nothing in this world you could do that would stop me from finding it as I have your body beneath mine. But you may open your mouth again, I wish to give you your first blessing for this night."

He does as he's told and the god feeds his many wisps of darkness and his cock into his mouth, he teaches Dabi how to lick and swallow around him until he allows himself to spill his seed over his tongue, the pearls of his essence slipping down his throat and making a new home for themselves inside of him. When Tomura realizes that just being used in such a way sent Dabi over the edge as well, he lays him back against the blankets and sinks his cocks inside of his pliant body, spurring his arousal higher by tugging at the parts of himself inside Dabi's veins. And again, this night he is forced to experience so much pleasure that Dabi unravels completely, all with the knowledge that although they are in a quiet room together, there are hundreds of eyes on him as he falls apart beneath the god who has given him his favor. He is so completely in bliss that by the time they are finished, he hardly notices that the god spends the rest of the night simply feeding him from the tray that Dabi prepared, rather than indulging in any of the food himself.

When he has to go back to the market for supplies a few days later, other people turn away from him, their cheeks pinking this time rather than naked fear casting shadows over their expressions, and Dabi somehow manages to stand even taller.

///

Over the third month, summer breaks through the village and Dabi leaves the door and windows open in the temple to let in a cooler breeze from outside. The robes he wears, despite the dark color, stay perpetually cool against the beating sun, but he does spend long days tending the garden. He still keeps the temple in order, but it feels... very different than it did at the start. Shigaraki no longer disappears for all hours of the day and only reappears to ask him to prove his devotion. He stays close by now, watching him doing mortal things over his shoulder, commenting here and there when he feels like it. The god himself, no matter how otherworldly he is, is more than capable of forming opinions and preferences like that of a mortal, and over time, Dabi no longer speaks to him with such rigid formality, because the god himself is not always so rigid either.

"I can't eat an entire pig, and neither can you before your aspect will leech out and make the remaining meat entirely unsuitable for either of us to consume." He tells the god as the summer solstice starts to creep closer. It's the longest day of the year, but even then, Shigaraki still intends to celebrate. But roasting an entire pig the way that the old festival used to begin by the hunters bringing back a wild boar for the celebration, is entirely unreasonable. It is broad daylight and they are sitting on the porch that curls around the back of the property. Dabi has the god's head in his lap, his fingers carding through his long hair just because... he's been allowed to do so. Shigaraki is so handsome. Of course he is. It was nearly the first thing that Dabi took notice of. But that beauty does not dull for him, even knowing that he gets to see the other being each and every day.

"Disagreeing with my commands? I should have your tongue stripped from your mouth for such insolence." But there is no malice in the words that might have once been there. There is only the god reaching up and rubbing his thumb over the press of Dabi's lips.

"I can have a leg brought for us to roast. I will make a grand spread of our vegetables and I will make you a sweet fruit tart for the end of our feast. And when you have finished feasting to your heart's content, you can enjoy my tongue as many times as I am able to service you before my mortal body fails me." For as much as the King of Decay embodies wolves and spiders, he is also a moth. Dabi has seen his viciousness and knows that his jaw parts around sharp teeth for blood, but he also sips softly at sweet wine, savors the juice of a fresh strawberry as it bursts over his tongue. He is making peace with the traditions that Dabi can adapt to their new circumstances and has not lashed out at him for that not being enough since the first month of his devotion.

But the god is still great and terrible even as he lounges in the sun across Dabi's lap. "I will enjoy your tongue even more if it belongs to me."

"All of my body belongs to you." Dabi tells him, his brow drawing together.

"Show me." He coaxes Dabi's mouth open, and despite the twinge of fear that goes through him, he opens his mouth as he watches Tomura's nail turn black and grow out into a wicked claw with a needle-like point. Red eyes meet his, waiting for him to waver. But Dabi steels himself. He has hurt so many other ways in his life for a devotion that went nowhere. This, at least, he knows will bring the one he's given himself to pleasure as well.

His nail sinks all the way through Dabi's tongue and the pain is sharp and throbs deeply through his mouth. But Tomura only pierces his flesh, he doesn't carve it away the way that he had suggested before. Dabi tastes the hot rush of his blood spilling out of the puncture as the god pulls his nail out of the wound, but the soft pad of his finger quickly moves over it and Dabi feels, mixed with the ready spill of his blood, two of the seeds of destruction slip out on the top and bottom of the wound and join together. They stem the bleeding and after another few seconds, the pain begins to ebb away, and Dabi is left with the tadpoles permanently spearing the flesh of his tongue. he rolls the intrusion against the roof of his mouth, against his teeth as he feels how it has solidified, as solid and sure as the metal that pierces through his cheeks. It feels strange, but not bad as it sits there.

"Beautiful," Tomura tells him, his thumb rubbing over his bottom lip again before he sits up so that he can kiss Dabi. The black tendrils from his mouth slip inside of Dabi's, and when they do so, the stud seems to hum with recognition, making the kiss feel sharper as it blooms heat through his veins as he's given it. Dabi is ready to start showing his physical devotion to the god right now, right here, where anyone could watch them as they do so if they only dare to walk past the property. But the King of Decay breathes a soft chuckle against his lips before he parts. "You have a leg of hog to bring me, a salad to prepare, and a tart to bake, pet. There will be time for more later." Dabi doesn't pout, but only just as he prepares himself to go to market. "Bring back three live hens, a rooster, and a goat. It is time for this village to understand that a god does not make idle threats."

Dabi doesn't know what that means for the rest of the village, but he doesn't hesitate to say, "Yes, master." Before he stands. He keeps toying with the stud in his mouth throughout his entire shopping trip.

///

In the month after the solstice, livestock starts to die. Goats, horses, cows, sheep, and pigs stopped growing pregnant. The ones that already were miscarried or gave birth to stillborns. Chickens stopped laying eggs. It happened slowly at first, but by the end of that month, eggs were nearly impossible to come by, milk had dried up, and there was the starting worry that there would be less food to go around. The goat in their care still gives milk even though it has no babe to care for, and their chickens continue to lay fertile and infertile eggs for them to use, and their garden thrives. And when the next month comes, bringing with it the start of the harvest season, with only four months left until the winter solstice, a rot spreads through their fields. The grain in silos becomes infested with weevils, their soil retains too much water during uncharacteristic summer storms, and the plants that they try to cultivate mold in the ground. Dabi watches as the offerings at market get slimmer and slimmer, and soon he no longer goes at all, knowing that what he has in his garden is better than anything he will find there. He knows quickly that the hunger coming for people will breed resentment and fear and he hopes that is turned on his father. But instead he hears someone in the backyard one night. Shigaraki is not in bed with him and he scrambles up to get his robe on before he rushes downstairs to see the commotion. He finds a group of guards plucking his plants from the ground and trying to take them. He doesn't even have a chance to shout for them to stop what they're doing before one has shoved a crabapple between his teeth.

That man doesn't get the chance to scream before the flesh bursts and spills thousands of spiders over his tongue and down his throat, over his chin, and blackening his tunic in the moonlight. He gargles the sound of his terror as the arachnids bite and crawl down his throat, and through his nose, suffocating them with the mass of their bodies as they try to take from the garden of the god of death that Dabi has devoted himself to. Each of the men meets a death more gruesome than the last, and when they are all limp against the ground, Dabi watches breathlessly as Shigaraki emerges from the shadows, stepping over their bodies effortlessly as moth wings unfurl from his back.

"Go back to sleep, pet." He instructs gently, reaching him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I will ensure that the village knows what will happen to any who dare try to steal my bounty without meeting the demands we have made."

And Dabi is trembling, from the horror of watching the guards die, from knowing that this power will lash out and take this same toll from everyone in the village if his father does not surrender himself. He knew that already, but seeing it happen lends a far different sensation to it all. "Yes, master." His voice sounds smaller than it has when he's spoken to Shigaraki in ages, but the god just presses a kiss to his brow. Tomura doesn't try to assuage his fear. He knows that Dabi should be afraid of the power he wields and would never diminish himself to offer him comfort. He will just give Dabi more avenues through which to accept it.

He does that tonight by letting his essence crawl beneath his skin once he has gotten back into his bed. They move along his muscles and soothe away the tension like his god is in the bed with him, stroking his cool hands over his skin. And when the fear changes to a thready arousal, Tomura's essence stokes that higher too as the beads move along his cock, making his skin look wrong as they wind through his veins. But the sensation of them is too good for his nerves to deny the pleasure, and all too soon Dabi is writhing alone in his sheets, his body certain that he is being fucked from the inside out, and an orgasm crashing along his nerves. The gentle sensations of the tadpoles continue long after that, until Dabi is slipping back into sleep.

He finds out two days later that the corpses were hung in the tree outside of his old bedroom window at the Todoroki house, and the village truly begins to starve.

///

As fall draws to a close, Yagi grows desperate for something, anything to help their people get through the winter. He empties the city coffers to send out a small caravan of guards so they can procure what they need from other nearby cities. The village will be forced to ration throughout that time, but they will be better off when the winter comes. Dabi, meanwhile, has found sacks of the rotten grains that have been thrown away and brings them back to the temple. There, Tomura proves again that he is death and rebirth as he makes the sacks of flour and oats like new. He puts together small baskets that have half of a loaf of bread inside along with three eggs and two squash that still grow abundant in his garden, and then he opens the temple doors. He never was a public speaker, never has seen a church service put on because of the way the arcane stole the reverence from the gods in their village, but he opens the temple doors and he reads the books that he used to learn about the old gods for an hour or two each day. People who come and listen to him are able to take the baskets of food back to their families and they are a little more insulated from the wrath of the god that is still being spited by Enji walking around with his head held high like he will find a way to be the savior of this place.

The day that the caravan is supposed to come back, Tomura helps him get up to the top of the roof. There is no bonfire, no music, but the god pulls him into a dance over the tiles of the roof, catching Dabi and making his steps sure any time that he thinks that he might stumble. He twirls Dabi along the shingles, pulls him close and presses his lips to his skin, and they dance as the sun sets and in the distance they start to see the torchlight that guides the caravan through the last mile of forest before they will reach the gates with the spoils of their trip. And then Tomura wraps his arms around his waist and he holds him against his chest as he lets Dabi watch as a pack of wild wolves sets their sights on the caravan. They can see the flickers of arcana, hear the screams of the people on the wagons as they are attacked, and even when the guards from the gate are sent out to try to get the situation under control, they return with more wounded and dead than they do bags of supplies to help get the village through the winter.

Dabi finds out the next day that Enji nearly lost an eye from the wolf that tried to kill him, and he stands taller when he walks through the city to the mass funeral pyre that has been made for all of the people that were not lucky enough to escape the wolves. He offers a few words for their loss and reminds the village that the King of Decay has made a simple demand. Once it has been satisfied, this pain and suffering will stop. If they wish to learn more, then he will be holding another sermon the following afternoon.

He's surprised that Fuyumi brings her students with her when she comes, but her eyes are watery when she asks if each student will be able to take a basket of supplies, even ones that come from the same house and Dabi relents. For each active listener, he will give what he can.

Over the course of the next few weeks every bench is full and the aisles clogged with people who listen to him as he reads.

///

Dabi thought that the town would turn, that the guards would, that maybe his father would prove that there was once something truly good in him and not just a bruised ego that needed to be fed constantly, and that he would come to the temple and give up his magic. But even as he grows thinner and weaker as the hunger starts to seep through the land as the first snow falls thick and blankets the village in misery, his father does not waver. He does not buckle even as the last month before the solstice comes and ends with the new moon. No one has gone outside of the village since the wolves attacked, so when Dabi tells the village that any adult may make their way to the ritual grounds to partake in the night of the new moon, there is trepidation that cannot be understated. Over the past month his garden tends itself even in the dead of winter, his animals always produce enough for himself and anyone who has chosen to accept the miracles of Tomura's mercy, and making bread is an activity he does early in the morning with many hours of waiting between the steps that create the final loaves. So he has spent his time taking the leather that he was able to trade for and craft new masks. Simple ones, for certain, but ones that are more finished than the paper ones that used to be worn. He takes the mead and wine that turned to vinegar from Tomura's decay and has them brought back to the peak of their flavor, and he takes a cart, pulled by the very wolves that caused so much bloodshed, out into the forest. He builds up the fire pit again, makes sure that there is food and lays out the appropriate attire near the opening of the clearing, and he waits.

The people who join him must do so after walking from the village, naked, their feet bitten at by the snow, and they must dawn the offered masks when they arrive. He has made them all moths. No wolves, no spiders. These people need to be reborn. They need to see that the enchantments that they had used to bolster themselves up above the gods did not make them anything but arrogant. They need to kill the unwarranted pride that made bloom in their breasts and be reborn. They can keep their magic, Dabi doesn't care about that and neither does Tomura. They just need to understand that no mortal conjuration could ever replace the will of a god. The frigid pilgrimage and then being forced to showcase their devotion as they engage in a ritual that was made a mockery of its purpose for decades, now given back to them in its purest form is what they need.

And so many of the common people come. Not the families of guards, save for his siblings who each arrive and don a mask as it is offered, none of them making eye contact with him as they do so. Dabi, who is the only one allowed to wear the mask of a wolf, a new one, one made for him by his master, his veil changed back to its original form so that his status as a... high priest is even more apparent. He brings in the people who no longer think that the guard and government of the village can protect them, and he lights the fire which burns blue and hot throughout the night, chasing away the chill in the air and clinging to their skin, until they are dancing in mud as music begins to play as some of the bards take up their instruments, the snow melting away underfoot. People eat the food and drink that is gathered, they dance naked and through the terror and stress that has been building throughout the past eight months, they try to find the bitter joy that can sometimes come entwined with grief as they grapple with the helplessness that has been weighing on them all for so long as things have gotten worse and worse in a village that once used to be the most prosperous in all the land.

And when the revelry is in full swing, Dabi is moving through the rings of dancers and finds his hand being caught within a chilled grip that is all too familiar to him now. He lets himself be pulled in again as he did that first night, Tomura wearing the mask of a spider this time, as he brings Dabi into his orbit for a new dance. He lets his hands roam over his body, his tongues and lips too, and Dabi doesn't care how many eyes are on them. He is the High Priest for the King of Decay, the Unmerciful, the Wrathful, He Whose Touch Withers All He Finds Unworthy, and he is worthy. He gives his body gladly to the other man and when they join on the altar as they did all those months ago, Dabi's back is arched, his pleasure loud and unashamed as he rocks his hips in his god's lap, taking each inch of his cocks at the rhythm and pace that he knows his master enjoys. He lets those below look on him as he gives his worship to his god and knows that this time the fear in them is reverent as they fail to even imagine that they could ever have this power for themselves.

It's only after the festival has ended, when Tomura wraps him in his moth wings and takes him through the long shadows to their temple again, that Dabi presses his chest to the other's, his arms winding around his neck, his mask tossed aside, as he whispers against his god's lips, "Thank you." But these words have a different shape to them than they ever have before.

Tomura kisses him again, slow and sweet, "Your devotion will sustain me for eternity, my love." He promises him in turn. Dabi can only hope that's true. That he will be reborn again and again to find Tomura through the ages so that they never have to truly be without each other at any point. "But it is late, and you need to rest now, pet." He doesn't say it, but he indulges Dabi further by allowing him to do so in his arms, keeping him in his bed until well after sunrise the next morning.

///

It is three days before the winter solstice, and every person who has not attended a service at the temple, who did not go to the festival in the forest, or who has not silently offered their prayers to Tomura, sleeps in their beds without waking. There is so much of the village that is still and silent now, the way that Dabi was rendered still and silent in his coma for so many years after his magic gave out on him. Now their faith in that misguided idol has laid them low. The only people who remain awake that Dabi knows have not engaged with the old faith are Yagi and Enji. Yagi who goes to different households trying to do what he can to help them. And over and over again proving that he can't. Dabi spends his day sitting on the roof, watching, waiting. He does not have a sermon, he tells all who come to wait in their houses for the next three days. A fast of that long isn't too much to ask those who he has been feeding to wait. And he watches alone from the roof, his body chilled, but not in a way that can matter to him now.

He watches as Yagi goes to Enji's home and tries to beg him to give up his magic so that the village survives, his senses stretched unnaturally far through the gifts of his god. He sees how, even though there was a moment of Enji wavering as he realized the gravity of the suffering in the village, that ultimately, as he understood that this would mean he would be weak and powerless for the rest of his life, Yagi would still have all of the power that he had used to best him throughout his entire career. And he watched as his pride stopped him from ever being able to make that final sacrifice. He would not make himself weak, surrender his chance at overcoming Yagi, have his legacy decided for him because of the child he had tried so hard to throw away. No. He would not do that. And he slammed the door in Yagi's face.

///

On the winter solstice, Dabi makes Tomura his favorite sweets. He bathes himself in milk and honey to soften his skin, and he dresses in only his cloak again as he stands on the temple steps and waits. He knows his father, knows his arrogance, pride, and determination, and he is not at all surprised that he comes to the temple and raises every ounce of magic that he can through his starving body and tries to burn it and Dabi to death. Dabi lets the flames lick around him, he lets them try to bite against the wards that his god uses to keep him from harm. And he listens to every word of vitriol that is spewed his way as Enji Todoroki is made to feel as weak, helpless, and useless as Dabi was the night that he burned alone on the mountain. It's all the more satisfying when he notes that lights are on, windows are open in the neighboring houses, those who are still awake listening to one of their top guards shatter apart into pieces. Dabi could have restrained him, Tomura could have used his shadows to do so. But it's far more satisfying when Yagi arrives with Shoto. When Yagi proves once again that he has always been, and will always be stronger than Enji as he holds him down and begs Dabi,

"Please, take his magic and allow us to survive the winter."

Tomura emerges from the shadows then, stepping up beside Dabi and regarding the man with a coldness that cannot be matched even by the darkest night of winter. "My emissary was very clear. Enji Todoroki needs to have offered himself to me, or the village will perish. You bring him to me as a sacrifice, but you offer nothing in turn."

"I will give up my own magic as well, please, King of Decay." He bows his head as much as he can as he holds the struggling Enji in place.

Dabi doesn't really want to see everyone in the village die, and he knows that Tomura can taste that on his skin. But still Shigaraki says, "For your sacrifice I will spare the faithful."

It's more than Dabi thought would get mercy and he is ready to watch the deity do his work, but Shoto speaks up as well.

"Please, our father's greed and cruelty infected every aspect of his being, including his choice to become a father at all." Shoto says as he takes a step forward. "He knew that he would never have sorcery that outmatched Yagi's, so he had children to carry that ambition for him." Tomura knows all of this already, but he lets his brother speak. "Even if you take his magic here, he will always have some hope that he will be able to rise back up to prominence on the back of my success. If you spare all of the lives of the people in this village, if you allow us to begin to grow again and come back to the old faith, then I will gladly give up my magic as well and ensure that he will never find the satisfaction that he sought from his greed."

Dabi... wanted to kill Shoto. When he was young, when his little brother was so small and had still shown more aptitude to be a sorcerer than he ever had at that age. And then Dabi was thrown out and he never really saw the perfect son. His siblings said he grew up kind despite it all, and he had come to the festival and joined in the revelry with the amount of reverence for the event as had been warranted. He hadn't thought of taking away the magic that flows through his veins and as it is offered now, he doesn't know if Shoto shouldn't be allowed to keep it. The point of all of this has never been to take away all magic from mortals forever. No, it was simply to show them that their power was not equal to that of a god. That such arrogance could, and would be punished by the pantheon if they continued to do so. It was only right that Tomura was the god to reach out to teach them this lesson, not only because Dabi opened the door for him by participating in the ritual that he did, but because he, of course, would have to be present if the old faith had truly died. Of course he would also have to be the god who stayed if it was renewed instead.

Dabi isn't certain how he feels about his brother giving up his magic for that. He does not want Shoto to be considered a savior and himself a villain when history recalls this moment. But ultimately, it is Tomura's decision to make. All he owed Dabi for his servitude is his revenge on his father. "Your magic, your father's magic, your leader's magic." Tomura says, as if savoring the words. "Enji Todoroki will never know peace, he will never know home, light, love, or family. He will walk in exile until he has begged for forgiveness at every temple of every god of the pantheon, and even then, it will be my priest who will decide if his suffering has ever been enough." He addresses Yagi then. "You will ensure that the old festivals are celebrated, that your people never forget that they live because of the gifts that my siblings have bestowed on the world. And you," he says to his brother finally, "will give me not just your magic, but your legacy. You will never be known for the sacrifice you make now throughout all of history. You will live and die, unremarkable and unnoted in the stories told by generations to come. The Todoroki name will die in shame with your progenitor."

It is, to all but his father, a fair trade to the men who are gathered, and Tomura's shadows reach inside of them and extract their price. Each man falls to the ground unconscious, and though the shadows send Enji's body outside of the gates, Yagi and Shoto are returned to their homes and the village is very still and very quiet for a long time.

///

People sleep through the rest of winter, through the cold bitter chill of early spring, and they wake the night of the new moon after the spring equinox. They come sleepily to the center of the village where Dabi has set up a new bonfire pit so that their revelry can be enjoyed in the home of the temple instead of having to hide away outside of the gates like it is some shameful practice that must be separate from their homes. He dances with Tomura throughout the night, he feasts on wine and flesh when the god offers it to him, and he is drunk on pleasure beyond anything he could have ever envisioned for himself as he god turns his veil to the purest of white as he declares him his devoted in a language so old that it makes mortals' ears bleed as he proves to Dabi that he will be allowed to stay with him, to serve him, to love him, even now as his revenge has been completed. He has had his ambition, his ruthlessness, his death. It is time now to be reborn, and he is more than happy to become anything that this god wants of him. Especially as he is drawn in close and given another kiss sweeter than any that a mortal could give, and shown once again that his master has found a way to love the faith that Dabi has given him in turn.

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