#relgion

Priest!Toji Zenin X Demon!Reader

❦ WC: 1,219

❦ CW: Priest, Demon, Dark? Religion, Churches, AU, Fem!Reader, pathetic Toji, who is hopeless, blood, doubt of beliefs, scratching, humiliation, no demon description besides long nails. MDNI, 18+. 

❦ Summary: Father Toji seeks to understand why he doubts his faith and his prayers get answered by a demon who binds herself to him, pledging to become the object of his devotion. 

Toji Zenin was a respected man; he had committed himself to the priesthood nearly ten years ago, and he couldn't be prouder of his life. His routine never varied, and his days were quite predictable. He followed the same rituals every day just as he preferred. 

He woke up before everyone else, went for a long jog around the monastery and the cemetery that honors greater powers. 

Afterward, he bathed in steaming water, dressed in his robes, and wore that white collar with honesty. He then ate breakfast with his peers and started the morning mass. Some days were busier than others, keeping up with confessions and guiding volunteers, but Toji always made sure to end his day on his knees by his bed with a prayer. 

Each night marks the beginning of the terrors, disrupting his carefully crafted routine. Every prayer seems to haunt his dreams, as if the chessboard has been overturned and he's ready to play in your wild games. Toji either doesn't know what you are or refuses to entertain the suspicion that you're real. 

They had been going at it for two weeks when, during the witching hour, he was awakened by your shadowy silhouette at the foot of his bed. His body was paralyzed with fear, leaving him little time to react as you moved closer, running your long claw gently down the side of his neck with a burning pressure. He swore to himself that you were just a figment of his deepest secrets and his overwhelming lack of faith.

How could a man preach what he didn't believe? Was it the safety the church held so tightly and overhead, a constant reminder of what might happen if he left? 

The day after your initial appearance, he woke up with a red, angry mark scratched down the side of his neck, proving how real you had been. 

This continued for weeks, with him waking up to scratches or welts as if he had been punished with a leather strap. Toji couldn't remember how he received these marks, so he doused himself in holy water and clutched his rosary tightly to his chest. 

Pathetic, he felt, that pride he once held so closely to his being was shed and replaced with helplessness. Toji felt deserted by what he once revered. 

He was alone in the church again, and none of his brothers could see the fear haunting him. The bags under his eyes seemed to deepen as the days wore on, his cheeks appeared more drained of life and hollow from his lack of appetite, and his lush lips were chewed raw from constant paranoia. 

"Please God, make the reign of nightmares end." His voice was broken and scratchy. He hadn't spoken much in the past few days, keeping his head down and suppressing any urge to confide in someone. He knew that if he told anyone about the dreams, he would be regarded as if he were the Devil himself. 

"Poor little Priest, I almost feel sorry for you," You say in a soft coo. He had been hearing your voice for days, but never anything more than a whisper in the wind and a shiver down his spine, "Watching you beg fills me with such delight." Your voice travels around him, and he sucks in a deep gust of air, the divinity of worship on the tip of his tongue, the aroma of incense like a drug to his senses. Your cooing voice was a lull in the gaps of his pleas.

While you found some amusement in his desperation and near hysteria, your patience was wearing thin; his exhausted demeanor was starting to tire you. 

Toji kneels at the altar, his hands pressed together in prayer, eyes tightly closed as he recites scripture. You softly chuckle, causing him to tremble. Smoke drifts in, blending with your presence as you stand above him on the very altar where he's praying. "Open your eyes," you command, and without a second thought, his rear opens, his mouth falling agape as he watches you in awe and horror. You weren't hiding behind some guise of humanity; you stood in your true daimon aura. 

"How are you in here?" Toji finally speaks, prompting you to tilt your head in acknowledgment as you glance around the sacred sanctuary. "Am I not allowed to pledge my holy being? You should know we were all angels once," He blinks and sits back in his knees, "You have been tormenting me for weeks, how is that holy?" His boldness excites you; it has been many years since a human has challenged you.

"I did not come unwarranted, you had been a pest," you say as you descend the velvet stairs, their deep blood-red hue leading to your doom—back to the man who has captured your attention, a priest, a mortal, everything you should not desire.

 Toji backs away until his back touches the pews, gripping the wood as if it might anchor him. You laugh and crouch, grasping his chin. "You do not remember? Begging anyone to prove that your religion wasn't a falsehood." "I didn't intend for a demon to appear after my lapse in judgment!" he shouts, tearing himself away from your hold. You blink, and you run your tongue along the sharp edges of your teeth. He watches and gasps at the blood that pools at the tip of your tongue from your fangs catching on the skin. 

You lunge forward, pushing him into the pews and gripping his neck, forcing his head to crane to you on top of him. "Your pleas, father, are not ignored. I will reveal the entity you cling to; you won't be able to rid yourself of me—only seeking my affection until I become what you devote your heart to." Your hand moves up, claws digging into the veins on his neck. You grip his cheeks, causing them to pucker, and gather a bead of blood on your tongue. Then, you lean in and seal your lips to his. 

Toji struggles against you, hands gouging into your hips. Your long tongue delves into his warm, supple mouth, his teeth clenched down hard on your tongue, and you laugh as more blood wells between your intertwined souls. 

The taste of red wine and ruin corrodes his sense, and soon, before Toji understands his own tongue in lapping up the blood from your mouth, your mouths moving in harsh rhythms of temptation and salvation, he pulls away, gasping for air to fill his burning lungs. 

Blood smears on the corner of his mouth, and you grin as you slide your hand down his chest pressing into his thumping heart, beating so fast as if it were a rabbit trapped in the claws of a predator. "You will be mine forever. You don't even realize the contract you've just sealed, my pathetic Toji. Oh, how I will ruin you." 

Where saints lie

I haven't been to a church service outside of funerals and when my [various obligations] drag me there, but I have joined my childhood church's quilting group, and I've been going every week for the last five months. It's me (recent graduate) and like fifteen to twenty retirees, and I'm thriving.

I'm learning a new skill with two very involved mentors-slash-personal-instructors. I'm making things with my own two hands that are then being donated to the community. I'm chatting with people I'd never have spent any time with before. I'm bringing tired old Tumblr jokes back to life, and they think I'm the funniest enby on God's green earth.

I'm talking politics with my pastor, who also has a poli-sci degree, over coffee and treats. I'm talking academia with a soft-spoken old man who has a PhD in botany, used to be a professor, and hates seam ripping so much he's decided to make me do an impromptu monologue to distract him.

I'm touching the metaphorical grass.

Champaign and Podiums as a sort of Baptism