#just spit at my face and tell me my religion is childish and stupid instead! Save us both some fucking time!
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See, the issue with me is that every single time I replay Origins I fall in love with everything about it more and more.
Which consequently also makes me hate Inquisition more and more vitriolically each time.
#dragon age#dragon age origins#dragon age inquisition critical#inquisition critical#2 is the middle ground if you're wondering. it has a lot of flaws but I still love it a stable amount.#inq though. inq my behated. my beloathed.#at this rate my da keep will never be completed jhbjgs#Imagine setting up and fleshing out such a fascinating and wonderful dark fantasy world#only for the second successor to spit at everything you created- retcon half your shit and add nothing of value#not content to JUST sanitize it for mass consumption- but doing so by placing the protagonist as head to a fucking religious institution!#FORCED TO WATCH / T H E M / DO THE SANITIZING IN REAL TIME! MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM#Also i vehemently hate the '[x pagan/non christian coded god/ deity] revealed to just be some guy!' trope. I fucking despise it.#just spit at my face and tell me my religion is childish and stupid instead! Save us both some fucking time!#Then there's the whole plight of the mages being treated as fucking laughing stock and the wardens suddenly becoming incompetent babies#most likely just to bolster your protagonist's ego because look! This whole supposedly world saving order is stupid enough -#to fall to Coryphallus! But not you inquisitor- you're truly so strong and special and perfect and so much better than them!#just thinking about the wardens in inq. Mmm violence.#You know. darkspawn chronicles implies the Warden is the only reason the blight was defeated right?#similar to how the time traveling in inq implies the inquisitor is the only one that can stop corypenis#However the big difference is that 1. neither the warden nor the player explicitly know (could be assumed that Alistair/Riordan-#would manage without you)#2.though your recruitment was coincidental- it was still /earned/. and your connection to the taint is what influences it ending.#you're not a chosen one. just one of the chosen ones; in a sense#3. by inq- after seeing to protagonists accomplish way more with way less. I'm sorry but magic hand or no i'm not convinced-#that the inky is the only person capable of saving the world. Just not buying it.#And i'm not even done touching on HALF the things I hate! Yet another example: inq as a game has the strongest obvious agenda#and it's infuriating#Oh you're allowed to be a piece of shit to Sera; but you want to tear into mother Gizelle for literally spreading fucked up rumors-#about your love interest (talking about Dorian) and then having the GALL to come up to you fake concerned asking you to break up?#sorry mate the worst thing you can say is 'And where did those rumors come from?' mildly aggressively
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𝐩𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡
toji fushiguro x reader
You could have anyone you want
Why would you want to be with me?
I’m nothing special
WC- 8k+ || MINORS DNI !!
my fic for the “great conjunction collab”
Warnings/tags- (unprotected sex, oral sex, slight voyeurism, choking, nipple play, mating press, size kink, slight breeding kink) (historical AU, non-canon timeline, greek mythology, hades-persephone retelling, mentions of misogyny/sexism, depression, religion, hurt/comfort, angst, heartbreak, major character injury, descriptions of blood, violence and death, manipulation)
𝙀𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙖 - 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙙
It would be an understatement to say that Toji, despite being one of them, had never felt like part of the clan and had hated the whole Zenin bloodline through all his years of suffering.
And the only thing he hated more than his own blood? It was the damned nobles who looked down upon him- mocking his lack of power under whispers and rumours. The spineless cowards didn’t even have the courage to spit those venomous words at his face.
He kept note of every single one of them- it was hard not to with how their laughs echoed in his mind each night as he dug his nails into his palms. So of course his attention was bound to drift towards the mother and daughter from a titled family that happened to take residence in the Zenin estate when they got news that their home down-south had been attacked.
𝘼𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙚𝙖- 𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙮
Your home had not been attacked. It was all planned of course- your travel to the mountains up north that crossed the Zenin abode, your mother having fabricated the news so that she had an excuse to find an honourable match for you from one of the most powerful clans. Her sly spies had already done the dirty work, providing you with two suitable men- even if one of them was twice your own age and the other known for his aggressiveness.
The white gown your mother had dolled you in and the orchids she had braided into your hair had every single eye focused on you as you made your way up to your chambers. You kept your head down, too nervous to meet the eye of anyone- hoping no older man took an interest in your facade of purity and innocence and decided to stake his claim on your body. Oh, how you wished you could get away from this life, get away from the wretched woman you had to call your mother, get away from all of it- the stupid clan- the stupid suitors- the stupi-
“Ah!”
You yelped as your body crashed into what seemed to be a rock hard wall of muscles, the scent of night chilled mist and cedar taking over your senses. You blinked.
Gulping, you moved back a step, ready to start sputtering apologies before your mother peeled your skin off for already having embarrassed yourself. Instead, your words stayed stuck in your throat as your gaze met with an intense pair of orbs- filled to the brim with the rage of achilles, but somehow also his sorrow. Your breath hitched in your throat, and in the back of your mind, you knew you should do something- move, apologise, scowl like a noble lady would if nothing else- but all you could do was stand there stunned, the man’s stance mirroring your own.
You flinched as the pot-bellied butler who was leading you down the hallway came back, and you thought the dark haired man might kill him right there for interrupting the burning moment between you two. Instead, you were shocked as he let himself get pushed to the side, stuffing his hands into his pockets, head down as he made a beeline towards the exit.
You barely felt the crescent moons being engraved into your skin as your mother dragged you to your room by the arm, a clipped smile on her face.
𝙊𝙧𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙪𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙀𝙪𝙧𝙮𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙚- 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙗𝙞𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚
“Toji”
He continued walking, even as his eyes held a warning look. Gritting his teeth, he increased his pace.
“Toji-”
He shuddered. Say it again, he wanted to command, instead he turned the corner, hands curling into tight fists.
He had been confused at first, almost appalled, at you- at your audacity to try and act like he wasn’t who he was- a piece of scum, the lowest of the lowly in the clan. But it seemed like this is how you had decided to spend the rest of your time whenever you weren’t being flagged by suitors or being paraded around your mother as the ideal of a chaste loyal wife.
He had indulged you the first time you had struck up a conversation. Perhaps that was his initial mistake. His second being committed just now as he turned to you, the glee on your face making bile rise up to his throat. He had seen women like you before- well born “ladies” of the court in dire need of a good fuck, before they were packaged off like objects to a husband who’d only ever look at them as a vessel for carrying his children. Toji huffed in annoyance, eyes doing a quick scan of his surroundings before he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into one of the storage rooms right around the corner.
“Look-”
Toji cut himself off as he saw the baffled look on your face, your eyes starting to fill up with fear and panic. Somehow, he found himself speechless, the bitter words of telling you to go look for pleasure in a whorehouse now dissolving on the tip of his tongue.
He knew who you were being considered as a match for- having overheard the conversation during a clan meeting- it was supposed to be the sons of one of the higher ups and he could already picture the half wilted life you’d be living. And right then, something clicked in Toji’s mind- all those years of hatred and resentment flashing before his eyes as you hesitantly stepped back, tears welling up in your eyes, and right there, Toji knew what he wanted to do- what he had to.
He took a deep breath and your heart hammered even harder in your chest. He had been different from the rest of them- you had known it from the first time. However, now you doubted your own wits, trying to recall the ways of combat you had seen the soldiers back home perform- even though you didn’t quite see how you’d succeed against the tall burly mass of flesh that towered above you. You jumped back as he strode right towards you- eyes clenched shut, hands raised in front of your face ready for the impact and pain.
You were met with nothingness, barely feeling the light brush of his arm as he moved past you.
Toji sighed at your almost childish antics, even though he agreed your actions would have been justifiable if it was any other man having pulled you into such a secluded place. He waited for you to calm down, lazily looking for the latch of the huge glass window situated on the other side of the room. He easily lifted it open, biceps flexing as he did so- placing his hands on the ledge before pulling himself to the other side.
He turned back towards your gawking figure, rolling his eyes, ready to put forward the offer that would decide if you were worth his time and effort or not. He extended his hand, trying to ignore the heat crawling up to the tip of his ears at the giddy relief-filled grin that spread across your face as he asked,
“You ever visited the countryside princess?”
--
You must be an angel in disguise, he finds himself thinking. It terrified him- the time he had spent staring at the column of your neck, watching your chest fall and rise with every breath- and the time he could have spent simply admiring every crook and nook of your body.
You looked serene in the golden hour of the afternoon, lying on the grass with your eyes shut, sunlight cascading down your figure making it seem as if you carried your own halo. Toji was afraid you’d sprout wings any second now, disappearing away to someplace heavenly- someplace better than the hell you were about to be condemned to- someplace that didn’t have monsters like him. But at last, you were only a human- soon to be one of the Zenins if nothing else.
The time you had sneaked out to the lake in the countryside with him had not been the last of your rendezvous. You had been quite different from what Toji had expected. You hadn’t made any advances towards him but you weren’t the pure little thing everyone believed you to be either.
You were smart to say the least- a trait that families often suppressed in women of your status, trying to force them into nothing but submissive concubines for their future husband. You were oddly aware of it- had mentioned your doomed fate quite a few times now, and he was struck by how you always laughed, as if your own self being stripped away was a joke. You seemed to do that quite a bit, and he understood it in some twisted way of his own plight.
Even as his mind kept reminding him that you had still grown up being pampered, being spoiled, having others do your work for you- others like him. But conversation had flowed so naturally with you, he found himself showing you more and more of his places of solitude he had found all over the village through his years of misery.
You were also naive in many ways, but still blunt in twice as many. Toji had rolled his eyes as he had asked you what you did with your free time back home- the answer was expected- it always had to be something related to the arts and education, trying to pump the ladies full of culture so that they have something to talk about at the dozen balls and galas they’d be attending every month. However, he had almost choked on the pear he chewed as you had started listing names of erotica after erotica- the titles being lewd enough to let him know just how filthy the content inside would be.
You had burst into laughter at the look on his face, crumbs of fruit left on the side of his mouth making him look even more bizarre. You had reached up your fingers almost instinctively, eyes widening as you realised you had brushed them over the scar he never seemed to talk about. His hand was wrapped around your wrist in less than a second, halting it in place.
He had stared right back at you, breaths heavy, eyes calculating as he loosened the grip around your skin, but not before he lifted your fingers to press against the mark once more. You swore you could have heard the drumming of your heart, and perhaps he did too.
As you brushed away the remaining bit of the sweet fruit, you couldn’t help but notice the flush that had formed on his cheeks, even as he scowled.
𝙀𝙧𝙤𝙨- 𝙥𝙝𝙮𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙧𝙚.
“You’d better be quiet or everyone’s going to know what a naughty little slut you are.”
You’re bent over the table in the storage room that has somehow become your portal of escape from the person you have to pretend to be. It’s not the first time Toji has whispered his filthy administrations into your ear, but he’s never done it quite so close to where anyone could walk in and catch you red handed.
Perhaps it was the fact that his face had turned a sick shade of green at the sight of your suitor tucking your hair behind your ear, your lips twitching upwards at something he said- the same way they had twitched up the night before when he had risen from in between your legs, the taste of yourself flooding your mouth as he had pressed his lips to yours.
This is exactly what you were here for, and despite it, Toji knew who’s name you screamed at the end of every day. So then why did another hand on you ignite a bestial flame inside his chest? Why did he feel the need to pull you away in the dead of the night amongst the crowd of tipsy people, ridding you of the fabric of your dress in one swift movement as he had pressed you against the nearest surface.
You didn't panic for even a moment, you knew it was his hand just from the touch of it, his hot breath against the shell of your ear, and his throbbing member pressed against the curve of your behind as a thumb rubbed circles into your hip bone.
You throw your head back against his muscular chest, craning your neck upwards till you meet his eyes- they soften for the briefest of moments, but the way his tip brushes against your underwear-clad core seems to fill them with raw electricity once more. And you think he’s going to fuck you right there- make you cry out his name for letting another man so close to you. Instead, you gasp as his rough hands grab the flesh of your thighs, kneading the muscle as he spins you around, a smirk being flashed your way as he gets on his knees.
He looks ethereal in that moment. And your breath hitches in your throat as you realise you’ve made a fallen angel bow before you- have tricked him into thinking you can cleanse him of his deeds when the only sinner in this room was you. The way his lips press against the inside of your thighs, nose rubbing against your freshly flowing juices- it’s tantalising, even worse when he takes both your hands in his as they try to find solace in his locks, pinning them to your sides onto the table instead.
He rests his chin right below the apex of your mound, eyes wandering to your face as he sighs, the lazy but smug curve of his lips accentuating the scar you had grown to cherish as much as your own heartbeat.
Your chest is heaving, the sound of your heavy breathing hanging in the silence of the room as you look down at him. If this was to be his ruination- his fall from grace- Toji would die a happy man. The scent of you is lingering right below his nose, his mouth watering alone at the thought, but he cannot seem to pull away his eyes from your beguiling face, bathed in the moonlight. The words seem to escape him before he can think twice of them.
“Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s truly distracting.”
You’ve barely let his words settle in before he presses his thumb right against your wet heat, rubbing small circles onto your sensitive bud. You don’t have a chance to respond as he proceeds to dive into your drenched cunt- his tongue giving kitten-licks to your clit, lapping up any wetness that dares to drip down. You cry out loud as two of his fingers join his mouth’s onslaught, slapping a hand against your own mouth remembering where you were.
The sounds filling the room as he suctions your clit in between his lips are filthy- arms wrapping around and under your thighs, pulling your arousal even closer to his starving mouth, the new angle of your leg being thrown over his shoulder letting his fingers rub against the spongy spot inside your walls that makes the coil in your stomach snap. You’re grinding against his face and he’s letting you, nose pressing onto your clit as he licks up the remnants of your juices, fingers continuing to fuck you through your climax as they quiver and shake around his head.
You’re still coming down from your high, body hanging limp at an awkward angle against the hard wooden surface. His strong burly arms are easily lifting you up, carrying you towards the other side of the room- right towards the glass window. Your eyes widen as you realise the malicious idea that has popped up into your lover’s head, but you’re barely able to put in two words of protest before your feet are hitting the ground, the cold surface making you gasp as your tits are pushed against it. You’re crying out loud as he rubs his thick length against your soppy folds.
“Toji- someone could see us- we shouldn’t- ah!”
You’re cut off as he lines himself up at your entrance, a pleasurable burn down in your core as his girth stretches your walls. It always hurts. No matter how many times he’s made you cum on his fingers and tongue or prepped you up with an ointment- his size is something no one would ever get accustomed to. He knows it too, but tonight he seems to care less about taking it slow and letting you adjust. You honestly cannot care less too, not when you're gushing around him as such when he’s barely even halfway inside.
“Too big Toji- too much.” You’re mewling, hands trying to grip onto something.
“You can take it- fuck just let me-”
He’s hastily moving his fingers across your stomach to rub your pulsing bud, groaning lewdly at the way your cunt flutters around him, letting him move deeper inside of you.
The growl that leaves him as his tip hits your cervix is grossly animalistic, making you moan loudly. His other hand is coming up to grip your jaw, cheek pressed against the glass as he lifts up one of your legs, the angle letting him thrust in and out of your poor drenched hole even deeper. His thrusts turn sloppy, eyes clenched shut above you as the sounds of his balls slapping against your flesh with each thrust fill the room.
You’re both groaning in unison, his strokes getting faster as he feels your walls clamping down on him. You’re choking on a breath as his hand moves to wrap around your throat, the sensation making you moan even louder.
“Call me selfish-”
A sharp smack is delivered against the flesh of your ass causing you to arch your back, the action making your tits press up against the window even more,
“... but I don’t ever want anyone else to touch you.”
His lips have been suctioned to your neck, your delightful noises being muffled as he’s turning your head to the side till his tongue slips into your mouth. He tightens his grip around your neck and you’re seeing stars, along with the pace of his fingers on your clit and his rapid thrusts making the well in the bottom of your stomach come apart, tears of pleasure slipping your eyes, the feeling of his seed painting your walls making you clench against him amidst your own orgasm.
You barely feel the arms cradling your body, carrying you to set you down on the table. You furrow your brows as Toji strips himself of his shirt, and your eyes widen at the thought of him ravishing you once more so soon. Instead, you shudder as he swipes it against your sex, cleaning up his mess.
The way you beam at him, even in your exhausted state, is honestly worth the ruined shirt- he finds himself thinking as he moves to pick up your dress from the ground. He clicks his tongue as he realises just how much of shreds he had ripped it into in his feral daze. He’s lifting his head to meet your eyes, wondering how he’ll tell you that you have to find a way to get back to your chambers in this state-
“Oh-”
Your saccharine voice is pulling Toji out of his thoughts, surprise forming across his face as you burst into laughter at the sight of what he’s sure has cost twice as much as all the clothes he’d ever owned combined.
“How well do you think I’d fare going out in one of the potato sacks?”
How could he have not smiled right back at you.
𝘿𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙨- 𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙜𝙪𝙞𝙡𝙚
Toji had never wanted to rip his own heart out so badly before, inject his blood with ambrosia so that he could be worthy enough for the goddess that was ready to abandon her sanctity- her piece of heaven- for him. He had always known how it would end- in an empty heath of a fire gone out long ago, the only thing keeping it burning now regret and sorrow.
Love could not have sustained you when there was barely enough space to breathe, when there was barely enough food for your kids to live off of. Once the love faded, all that’d remain would be your wish to go back to the past, getting drunk on forgetfulness so that you can survive within the stone cold walls of a house- not a home.
Once again, Toji knew what he had to do- knew he willingly stepped into this hoping to ruin what was supposed to be the prize of his own blood- in order to humiliate them and fulfill his revenge.
He also knew he was the ruined one now as thoughts of you plagued his mind day and night- how his tactful game of cat and mouse had turned into sweet kisses and hushed giggles, and how all he wanted was to find a pit stop in time where his blood did not matter, where the sins of his past did not matter. But despite it all, he knew he couldn’t have dragged you into his own hell, even if you begged him to take you.
He sighs.
You had recited the exact conversation you had with your mother- laid yourself bare before him as you poured out your heart- letting him know that it’d be worth tasting the 7 seeds of evil even if it meant living in hell for half your life.
He had thrown his head back and laughed.
“You really thought our little getaways meant anything more than a fling to me? More than just a decent fuck?”
You stood still, mouth agape at the words that had slipped past his lips, a hand fisting the fabric of his shirt right above his heart, desperately searching for the pulse of the man you’d grown to adore over the past few weeks.
He had looked down at you, the scar you had so tenderly ran your fingers over twitching upwards- in amusement- in laughter, face contorting into one of resentment- of revulsion before he had suddenly stilled.
“Did you forget your place princess? Pretty little head got too lost in a fool’s paradise- did you forget you are one of them- always have been one of them.”
He had spat the last words at you and you wanted to shake your head, wanted to tell him he was utterly wrong, but all you could do was clutch on even tighter to him.
He had put his hand over yours and you had almost begged for him to tell you that this was a sick joke- almost pleaded for him to intertwine his calloused warm hands with yours as he always did- as he had when he made you scream his name, instead you had found yourself gasping at the icy touch as he flicked away your wrist, brows furrowing in repulsion at the contact- at you.
The tears that had slipped through your eyes had only worked to make him throw his head back like a giddy child once more. He had looked up at the sky as if he was mocking the gods in Olympus - look at how I’ve so beautifully wrecked what you created,
while you had stood there looking up at him as if he was your religion, mouthing,
this is not a joke, love me, love me.
𝙊ï𝙯ú𝙨- 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙮, 𝙖𝙣𝙭𝙞𝙚𝙩𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙛
You felt raw. But you did not fight the black hole opening up in your chest. You let it settle into your bones, nurtured the hollowness- ignited it until you felt it turn into flames instead.
You couldn’t have let the ice creep into your heart- it would mean giving up the tears, giving up the feeling of wanting to be swallowed whole by the ground beneath, and that would mean you no longer felt- no longer harboured the only thing that made you feel alive in the cage of bones and flesh your troubled mind resided in.
There was a heavy pain in between the arch of your shoulder blades- like your wings had been clipped and your halo ripped away.
You ignored the scowl that rose to her face, the way she flinched as you leaned over to rest your head in her lap. You couldn’t tell if the wetness on your cheeks was yours or hers- mourning the daughter she was going to lose. You felt your mother’s burning gaze through the back of your head all throughout the journey back home- could already feel the wrath of your father and the nasty bruises that were to come as her hand came down to rest on your head.
You instead found yourself being locked away immediately- not a single word from anyone. The only time your door opened was for a maid to serve you your half portioned meals. Not like you had an appetite or a will to do anything else.
Days passed by, perhaps weeks or months, and you counted the scattered marks on the wall beside your bed like you had done once with the freckles across his back, and you waited- for what? You weren’t quite sure yourself. You waited and waited until the day your door opened, but it wasn’t the regular pitter patter of steps of the maid who served the food.
Instead, your eyes met the raging ones of the head of your clan, and for the first time in days, an icy shiver creeped up your spine.
----
The torment you’re put through is much worse than expected. You were well aware you were to be disgraced, to be stripped of your title, but somehow the gaze of your own friends and family avoiding your beaten bloody form and ignoring your whimpers and cries of agony was what had stung the most.
The world seemed to be upside down, fading in and out of hues of colour and greys and blinding lights. You could barely feel the blood dripping down the back of your head and into your shirt as your gaze managed to remain focused on the window outside of the rattling carriage you lay in, panic rising in your chest as you recognised the familiar scenery.
You fought your hardest to stay awake, but you lost to the increasingly heavy pressure against your head, hoping your blood would run dry before you had to face the hell you were being thrown into. As your head lolled to the side, you wondered if satiating the hunger within you was worth the price you were paying- if this was what happened to every soul that had brought the god of the dead to his knees, wondered if you were the first to do so- wondered if you’d be the last.
𝙃𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙨- 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙙, 𝙜𝙤𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙩
Toji had left the clan- made a living of his own by doing what he did best, by doing what he was made to- destroying and causing wreckage till there was no piece of his soul left to be salvaged.
He had avoided news about you like the plague, and had still ended up finding out that you were locked away back at your home from the gossiping servants. He had chuckled bitterly, what had he been expecting? He was right after all, you'd never have to face any consequences in life, and soon this whole scandal would be swept under the rug and you would be well on your way to marrying another wealthy brat, having filthy little kids with him who’d have the same luxuries in life and-
Toji found his heart dropping, the axe along with the freshly chopped wood he carried thumping down against the forest floor as he reached the entrance of the wooden cabin he had taken residence in. He saw the pool of blood first- the familiar mop of hair later.
No-
He must be hallucinating-
But he still found himself moving out of his own accord, gathering the crumpled figure into his arms, feeling a thick fluid drip down his skin- stain through his shirt as he tried to pick you up. A chill ran down his spine as he realised what those savages had done for your body to resist even in an unconscious state-
And that’s when his eyes slid to the nails in the ground, the sharp metal going right through the flesh of your fingertips, a note pinned to your abdomen in between your shredded dirtied clothes-
“We don’t want the gross wreckage of your perverse ruination. Keep the whore since you wanted her so much.”
A sea of rage rose in the back of Toji’s mind but it stilled, the vicerating waves crashing against the shore that was the barely noticeable action of your chest heaving. He held back what was a choked sob, mind barely sane as he took out the nails as gently as possible- a man so familiar with death yet utterly horrified by it as he counted your laboured breaths, thanked every deity out in the universe for every huff of air that he could feel against his chest as he carried you inside.
—
How do you kill a god?
You had asked him once. He had raised his brow, ruffling your hair before pushing you down onto the bed once more, intent on at least letting you know how you got to heaven.
How do you kill a god?
It now echoed in his mind as he watched your broken body lay on his bed, having done everything he could have to fix you up even though he feared there would be wounds more than just the physical ones when you gained consciousness- if you gained consciousness.
How do you kill a god?
Pit him against another god. Let him stare at his own reflection and see all his glorious flaws until he’s falling to his knees, begging for the taste of ichor to be washed out from his mouth, begging to be stripped of his damned divinity- because the curse of immortality is a heavier burden to carry than the curse of mundane suffering- because it’s easier to drown in a sea full of blood than live with it staining your hands.
𝘼𝙥𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙩𝙚- 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚, 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣.
“How do you kill a god?” You had asked him once.
Afterwards, you had lain awake late into the night as he had given you a taste of his own holiness, bare in his arms as he had muttered the words into your hair, barely a whisper as they escaped past his bleeding lips,
How do you become a god?
The burning light attacked your eyes and you flinched loud enough for your own ears to ring, and then flinched even harder as the hot searing pain spread through your body, especially across the tips of your bandage covered fingers. You tried to use your voice but your throat was like a desert and your own harsh whisper scraped against your sensitive ears.
All you could do was stare up at the unfamiliar ceiling, lying numb, waiting for your saviour- or perhaps your torturer to come.
All had gone still once the door opened, your gaze falling onto the familiar hands that carried a bowl of water and about a dozen different small bottles in a basket. You stared through him, through his wide blown eyes and through the sigh of relief that left his mouth as he rushed towards you.
How do you become a god?
There was much more you had wanted to tell your mother. You had told her you were sick of pretending, sick of being the goddess of spring when everything you touched died in your hands- how every beam of light you emitted was a stolen one from another soul. Perhaps, you had always craved pomegranates and death - had always willingly walked into the darkness with a smile and open arms.
How do you become a god?
You let him plead and writhe to have a taste of your lips - make him believe it is his only salvation. And right when his lips meet yours, you dig your teeth in deep and not let go, even as his fingers grip the column of your throat and his growls rumble inside your mouth. You let the trail of crimson coat your tongue and feel his tears burn your flesh- you make him taste your blood and take his throne.
—
He says your name like it’s a prayer and you want to rip out his heart.
Instead, you turn your head towards the wall opposite to where he stands, clenching your eyes shut, hoping the next time you wake up it won’t be here.
Still, you can hear his voice. Every single day of every waking moment- even as you sleep- even as you wake up in cold sweat haunted by the bittersweet melody of his laughter the day he crushed your heart in two, or the time your own blood nailed you down into the earth.
But most of all, you hate it when you can hear the gruffness of his voice, still heavy from sleep as you let him cradle your head, shushing you- letting you know it was just a nightmare- but it was a nightmare you had lived through- a nightmare he had put you through.
Not that he didn’t acknowledge it equally as much. It was odd- almost laughable the way he was so desperate to bring even just a flicker of the light back inside your eyes, breaking free from his stoic and tight lipped demeanour to whisper grossly sweet nothings into your hair.
He had explained his regrets the first few days that you had refused to even look at him, simply staring at the wall as he stripped you of your clothes to redo your bandages, not even the barest of reaction visible across your face. He had caused this.
The first words you had muttered to him weren’t of hatred or anger or sadness- they were said into the heavy air, late into the hours before dusk at a point in time where your bones still couldn't support the burden of your body,
“I need to pee.”
You had said it through gritted teeth, had scowled throughout the process of him picking you up and carrying you into the bathroom, giving you privacy to do your business.
The second time you had spoken to him was right after and it had somehow dented itself much deeper than he had expected it to, even as it was all he had been preparing himself for in the past few days,
“I hate you.”
You had said it with no anger, no poison in your words- had simply stated it like it was a mere fact.
“I know.”
—
It was weeks later and you seemed to have fallen into a strange routine.
He’d go out to do his filthy work, come back bathed in blood and dirt, even as he washed himself off outside thinking he was sly with it. You’d pretend not to notice as you’d cook for yourself, sometimes leaving bits behind as leftovers even if you had purposely spilled the extra bit of rice- had regretted it as soon as you had realised you had done it because he hadn’t had dinner in three days.
Perhaps it was the irony of the situation, and maybe even the cold winter air creeping into your bones that let him move from simply holding you when you woke from your nightmares- to him warming your bed at night even when you dreamed of nothing but the scar beside his lip.
Still, you let him know you despised him every night that he pulled your body against his chest and every morning that he rubbed his warm hands up and down your arms. Even as you felt yourself leaning into his touch, felt your heart softening at how he’d mutter apologies into your hair while he thought you were asleep, how he’d pay attention to the foods you took more of and made sure to get twice the amount next time, how he’d shred his own shirts to provide you with cloth for when you got your monthly cycles. Yet, you couldn’t find any other words to say to him.
𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙥𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙚- 𝙌𝙪𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙐𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙂𝙤𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨, 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝, 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣
You had woken up alone as you did on most mornings, grateful that you wouldn’t have to face the shame that came with having your limbs tangled with him. The day was like any other yet different, perhaps it was the monotonous dread of living a life such as this- of having to live at all after being stripped of everything you had called yours.
You had somehow ended up taking steps outside of the wooden door, outside of the small garden the burly man used to grow his own vegetables, and even farther outside the vines and shrubs that kept the cabin hidden from any unwanted visitors.
You had walked and walked till your feet carried you to the edge of the world, a never ending fall down below from where you stared at, the sound of water flowing signalling the presence of a river running deep under the steep cliff.
You had stopped walking, the silence of the forest being the only noise to have outdone the heavy emptiness in your heart in months. And you simply continued to stand there, bare feet digging into the dirt and grass and stone, barely realising when the light faded away and darkness took over. Hadn’t it always been like this?
It had taken no more than two rounds of the house and the trail of footsteps in the garden out back for Toji to realise you had left. His heart had dropped into his chest as he had followed the dents of your feet in the ground, careful not to step on them as his mind bitterly reminded him that it may be the last of what’s left of you by now.
He knew where the trail you had walked along led- had himself sat on the edge of it once, legs dangling off as he his mind had replayed the memory of your glossy eyes and crestfallen face when he had hit you with those fatal words months ago. Toji’s breath hitches in his throat, hands shaking as he pulls away the last branch blocking the view of the edge of the cliff.
His feet are moving faster than his mind can think as he all but falls onto his knees, clutching your abdomen as if you’d disappear forever if he let you go now. You turn around in his arms, a look of confusion on your face, your eyes still as hollow as a void but all he cares about right now is the steady thumping he can feel with his chest pressed to yours. He’s clenching his eyes shut, taking a deep breath before he’s sliding his hand into yours. You don’t protest- letting him lead you back into the warm safety of his house and he’s too relieved to consider whether your lack of resistance is a good thing or not.
You’re sitting on the edge of the bed and you can hear him ruffling through something in the bathroom, door ajar, eyes glancing towards you every two seconds as if he’s expecting you to bolt out the door any second now. For once, you don’t want to stare at the wall as he walks towards you, getting down on his knees- making a blow of nostalgia hit you right in the gut. But your eyes remain fixed at the top of his head, at the dark locks that had grown out much more since the last time you had let yourself gaze at him.
You only realise what he’s been doing as you notice the bowl of water kept on the floor, hands gently lifting up your dirty feet, cleaning them of the mud and the blood from small scrapes. He’s lifting up your legs onto the bed once he’s done, adjusting your pillow as a gesture for you to lay down. He’s blowing out the lamps and soon enough you feel the mattress dip, his arms engulfing you tighter than ever before. You can feel the slight tremble in them and you feel guilty for the small pinch in your chest. You wait for his breathing to steady, head to fall limp into the crook of your neck before you roll over towards him in the dark, eyes set on the small crinkle between his forehead and brow.
The warm hand that cups Toji’s cheek has him convinced that he may have lost his mind. Opening his eyes, he knows for sure that you have. Especially as you slide your other hand into his, pulling it till it’s placed onto the crest between your collarbone and chest, adjusting it a little more towards the left. Toji’s staring intently at you, wondering if this is your way of telling him that you’re still alive- that even though you’ve been cursed and damned to living in this hell, your heart still beats- it still fights.
Toji bares his own emotions through a gesture- pulling the small hand that holds his to the apex between his upper ribs- pressing it till your fingers feel like they might just pass through his flesh. He hopes you know that if he could, he’d snap each one of his ribs open so that you can reach inside and press the palm of your hand against his beating heart, rip it right out of his body and spit inside the hollow space of his ribs with contempt- even then he’d survive on your hatred alone if it means surviving with you for the rest of his life.
“I don’t hate you.”
The words are whispered in the dead of the night with no emotion, no trace of forgiveness or affection- simply stated as if they are common knowledge.
The soft lips coming down on his own have his mind spinning. He realises what it is you wish for- to be able to live once again as a human, to feel once again as a mortal- he can almost almost hear you saying the words into his mouth as your fist bunches up the fabric of his shirt.
“I’m tired of being a god.”
He can feel his own sentiment being passed right through as his hands slide under the cloth of his shirt that you wore, exploring the expanse of your reverenced skin, mouthing his response against your cupid’s bow.
“I’ll worship you even after you fall from grace.”
And he does, pulling himself up on arms above you, dipping his fingers into your soaking sex, making quick work of ridding you and himself of your clothes. He’s tucking your legs against your chest, feet dangling over his broad shoulders as he comes forward to meet your lips. He’s pulling away and you’re mewling at the loss of contact- the loss of his taste.
“Do you want this? Do you want-” He takes a deep breath, forehead coming forward to press against yours till your noses brush against each other, “...me?”
Your response comes in the form of sliding your hands to the back of his head, pulling him forward till his lips crash against yours once more- bucking your hips up till the tip of his massive girth is brushing against your heat. He doesn’t miss the moan that escapes you, eagerly kissing you back, moving to litter a plethora of kisses against your jaw- your neck- your collarbone. When he comes back up to your face, he’s well aware of the effect he’s had on you- the want in your eyes as you lift your hips against his once more, a small plea leaving your mouth.
The need that comes over him is animalistic as he moves a hand down to position himself before sliding into your soppy hole, he swears he can see stars with how hungrily you swallow him in. You’re gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he strokes your insides so languidly. Your faces are close enough for you to feel his breath on your mouth, to feel the fall of the hot droplets on your cheeks, your own tears of grief- of freedom- of a love gone to waste so long ago combining as he continues to thrust in and out of you deeply.
He’s dipping his head and the tears are being kissed away as his hand moves down to play with your over sensitive bud. You can't stop peppering kisses against his lips, moaning his name in his ear as he hits a particular spot inside you. He can feel you getting closer with how your breaths get deeper, fingers moving faster, strokes getting sloppier.
You feel the tight coil in your stomach start to unravel, and all it takes is for him to lower his head and suction his lips around one of your nipples for you to come apart underneath him. He’s reaching his own arousal soon after, pulling out to spray his seed onto your stomach. He all but collapses on top of you, rolling over to his side once he catches his breath, another hitching in his throat as he finds you crawling onto his lap, legs straddling his waist as you bury your face into his naked chest.
This is what being a god feels like. The taste of wine coating your tongue and the way his lips meld with yours- swallow you whole and then spit you out. You reach for him again in the dark, his chest panting against yours as the moonlight cascading from the window hits his face. You rest your chin against the centre of his chest, looking up at him with droopy eyes, his own stare right back at you- filled with tenderness and affection.
“No one will ever hurt you again, I promise.”
His voice is gruff and heavy, but carries a sincerity warm enough to send tingles down your back. You can’t quite place the look on his face, it's determined- pointed. You can feel the unravelling of the violence beneath his skin as his hand comes to cradle your jaw, and you wonder just what kind of monsters the god of the underworld plans to unleash.
His hand moves to caress the back of your head, adoration-filled eyes raking over your still panting figure. He presses his lips to your temple and says your name like a prayer. It all floods in- the pain- the love- the sorrow- the joy- you’re sobbing and he’s holding you like he has time and again. Only this time, he finds himself awestruck by the spark of ember that comes alive in your eyes, even if just for a second, he knows you’re going to be fine.
-
The god of the dead had bowed before you, offered you his crown, his throne- would have ripped off the flesh from his own back and handed it to you without any hesitation if only you asked.
You were the goddess of spring and everyone had loved your life and light, but who except him had acknowledged the death and destruction that came along- had reached out their hands into the rotten parts of your flesh and kissed every bruise and scar?
This was Toji Fushiguro’s life now, coming back home to his precious darling each day- the only burst of spring in his everlasting winter, the only ray of light in his world swallowed by darkness.
Tonight, as you lay on him bare-bodied and covered in sweat from your previous feat, he finds you asking him about the season, about how far the harvest festival was. He’s confused at your sudden curiosity but answers you nonetheless, telling you it’s in a fortnight. He finds himself asking why.
“Every single member of our blood attends the festival- they had waited for it while they kept me away.”
It’s the first time you’re talking about the incident and he can feel you quiver in his arms. It makes his blood boil, and he finds himself protectively pulling you even closer into him.
“...they had wanted each and every single one of them to get a chance to cut through my skin.”
That’s all you say before falling asleep, the tears on Toji’s chest making a storm of anger rage inside his mind.
--
It’s a fortnight later and Toji watches the red and orange hues of the flames making your face glow brighter than the sun.
You’re standing there hand-in-hand with him, looking over the half wrecked ruins of the village, the screams of the people you had grown up with- who had taken no less than a second to turn their backs on you- who had left you to die- now echoing in your ears. Right on the edge of the hilltop you stand on, you see a small figure running towards the slope, clothes burnt, high pitched sobs filling the air as it succumbs to the heat that had spread through it’s bones.
She must’ve been eight or nine years old judging from her size and half burnt frills of the frock she wore. You know she’s at peace, much like the many others who would’ve faced nothing but agonising hardships being raised in the hands of your cruel persecutors- all of whom lay as nothing but bones and ash and dust now.
Toji’s worried that he’ll find the same emptiness he’s spent months breaking through as he glances over at your face. Instead, there’s a fire being reflected in your eyes, a sadistically deliciously smile stretched across your supple cheeks. He finds his own lips curving as he grips your jaw to turn your head and press his lips to yours, the screams and shouts of your monsters merely anything but white noise as your fingers come to tangle in his hair.
After all, Hades may have been the god of the dead, but it was Persephone’s wrath which brought upon the destruction.
© suna-reversed — all rights reserved. please refrain from modifying, translating, reposting of any kind. plagiarism will NOT be tolerated.
credit- prompt list
taglist-@captainmads2092 @mahitochan @nakachuchu @bakugohoex @jotazinha @osmosly @avasparks @p-each-y-day @lilshortcakess @saturnmoon @deary-darling @menaintshit23 @tobidabio @sukuna5slut @instantnuma @kuroshitsujjiii @half-baked-biscuit @duskamethyst @sukumen @radishfern
#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen angst#jjk smut#jjk tw#jjk angst#jjk hcs#toji angst#toji fushiguro#toji x reader#toji smut#toji x you#jujutsu kaisen x you#toji fluff#gojo smut#sukuna smut#hades persephone retelling
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The devil at your door
Kinktober day 3: Demon
Suptober day 3: Demonic
Pairing: Demon!Dean x reader
A/N: This one goes for @holylulusworld's 10k celebration, my trope was Lovers to Enemies. Congrats again, hon! And this is also my piece for @hardcoresupernatural 's Halloween challenge with the prompt: I'm not scared of you.
@deanmonandnegansbitch's asked: Deanmon x Reader, he realizes no one could tame the marks hunger like she did. And yet he lost her by sticking his dick in other women
Warnings: dirty talk, mentions of boob fucking, hints of dark sexual, angst if you squint, teasing
CATCH UP KINKTOBER: Day 1 / Day 2
Spending his whole life in imaginary chains had frustrated Dean Winchester more than he was aware of. He’d always done what his dad taught him; kept himself from what he wanted in order to be the good soldier — the hero — even if it was against his own desires.
Dean saved the world once or twice and didn't get a thank you, a break long enough to relax or even visit the beach for the first time. No, hunters were never kids. Hunters never had time for fun. Hunters were made to be hunting. He always found himself fighting winless battles and ending up drowned in whiskey and self-pity.
Now it was all gone. His old persona never had time to be human, so losing that side of him wasn't a big deal. If anything, he felt better now. Whatever his green eyes wanted, Dean would go and get it.
No barbed ward could contain a demon, much less the Knight.
At first, it was funny. Messing around with Crowley, fucking some good, new pussies after tasting only yours, and causing destruction whenever he felt like it.
Then the thrill expired. Honestly, the Winchester pictured it would last longer. Crowley started bitching around like a whiny little man and the new girls no longer could satisfy him — that is, if they ever did. Dean was pretty sure he liked them so much because the cat and mouse play of finding a new toy, but at some point, the cat gets enough of the foreplay and wants to eat the prey. They were so boring in all their humanly forms: they didn't have his stamina, they didn’t know his sweet spots, and they didn’t enjoy all the mischievous things he wanted to do.
Only painting his knuckles with an aleatory idiot's blood could get a real smile out of him these days. Nonetheless, even throwing punches gets exhausting when they stop fighting back.
Where was the fun of being free?
It clicked him like one of the worst sounds of tortured souls screams; you.
You used to be the wild in Dean's heart during hunter days. You knew all the bad things he wanted to do, and you moaned in pleasure through them. You knew his body and yours like religion and shamelessly worshipped them.
When he finds himself at your door after leaving a woman who just wanted some vanilla sex in a cheap motel, it shouldn't have been a surprise. At least, it's not in his uniquely demonic brand of rationality. As you open the door, the look on your face tells him you agree with that.
Or so his deranged mind said.
You crossed your arms, the angle exposing your cleavage more as you leaned against the rose-colored door that he helped you paint months ago.
Dean used to think this little apple pie life was so savage, something out of his reach that he’d only get to touch in case of a miracle, like caressing the fire only to get a feel for the burn. Now he can't help but scrunch up his nose, disgusted by domestic, urban pleasures.
“What do you want, Dean?” You looked him up and down, a humorless smile on your face. “Got tired of fucking everyone with a pair of boobs?”
“I'm more interested in your boobs, sweetheart.” Dean isn't put off by your sarcasm, countering with the same flirty tone that used to get you riled up all the time.
Isn't the past such a beautiful memory?
“Go find someone your species, Winchester.” You rolled your eyes and pulled away, pushing the door closed before Dean's foot interrupted you.
He faked a pout. “Wow. That's racist, Y/N. This demon’s got feelings, you know?”
His childish attitude heats your system. Only Dean, demon or not, could push your buttons and get on your nerves in a matter of seconds. You pushed the pink door fully open with enough strength to make it slam against the wall with a loud crack. Dean doesn't look affected, though. You furiously glare at his lopsided grin.
“Do you also have a brain? I told you to leave. Get lost.”
“Come on, baby girl. I know you miss my cock. What about a night to remember?”
Believing he was the man you once loved was getting harder with every word he said. Your body seemed to recognize him easier, aching for him like some kind of spell. All you had after Dean Winchester left was a longing body and fury.
“Do you really think I'm gonna let you in my house for a quick fuck like I'm one of your one night stands?”
Dean appeared to be considering it for a moment, eyes focused on anything but you. His lips pursed before he glanced at you with a malicious beam. “Yes. You always said I was the best sex you ever had. Why not get a bit of it? You already know you won't regret that, sweetheart.”
You studied him, picturing what would bring a man who ran away back to what used to be his home. Dean had left as soon as he became a demon, the only trace of his existence being a note addressed to Sam and pieces of your heart. When you and Sammy finally found the eldest Winchester, he made was certain to make sure that you were aware of his very active sex life. He’d tacked on that he'd kill Sam and you both if you tried to save him.
You let him run like water after this. The Winchesters might have that wondrous codependency, but you didn't need something like that in your life. Especially not with a demonic cheater and murder.
Your eyes were too wide to ignore the warning signs now. Yet, that didn't answer why he was in your doorway. If he wanted to be saved, he'd go for Sam and call you from there. If he wanted to kill you, he wouldn't spend time talking about fond memories. He didn't look like a lost puppy looking for shelter either. So, what the fuck was this green-eyed devil doing here?
Quietude thickened while you noticed Dean not seeming to notice your silence, his eyes too busy observing your breasts. Your Dean Winchester was always a boob man, and he was looking like he'd fuck your titties on your porch for all your neighbors to see. It certainly wouldn't be yours and his first time with public sex. Still, that wasn't the point: he was here, hair longer than usual and cock clearly starting to awaken in his jeans…
Because he had missed you.
You chortled in dismay, unable to discern whether he was kidding or not despite the bulge in his pants, and that glimmer in his eyes already confirmed your suspicions. You knew him.
The realization almost cheered up your soul. Your reasoning stopped you from collecting hopes about that demoniac form of a man. Dean was here for carnal desire, not love. He had sex with other women while you spent sleepless nights crying into his old shirts. He broke you as the monster that he was — he deserved to suffer.
You didn't care if your heart would be a little more broken, or you pussy a bit needier after that.
“You missed fucking me, Dean? Missed my tight pussy squeezing your cock? Maybe my mouth on it? Or how you got it between my boobs? Did you miss how I taste?” You took a step closer to him, making Dean lift his glare to your face again.
He wore a cocky smirk as he answered, “Not as much as you missed me.”
Dean was right. Your body cried for him, and so did your soul. Who fucking cares? He didn't before, and you would not now.
“Liar.” The word rolled letter by letter off of your tongue. “I can take care of myself, even call a friend to do that, but you came back just because you can't forget how eating my pussy like a fucking feast feels like. Can you, sweetheart?”
You used that stupid nickname that he often gave people. You were very aware that it would irritate him, as it was laced with the implication of another man putting his hands on you.
Dean quickly grabbed your waist tightly, pulling you closer to him. He groaned. It was that fucking sound he made when something truly made him furious, and you knew your panties were gone. His eyes flashed into darkness that replaced his glistening greens, and for some calamitous reason, that turned you on.
“You better not have let anyone fuck what's mine, Y/N. I'd rip his throat in front of you and fuck you right next to his body,” he spits out jealously. His posture radiated that usual, alpha-esque tenseness that tumbled you two into angry, possessive sex so many times before.
“So jealous. I loved to tease you only to get you rough on me. Throwing me against the wall, going so hard inside my pussy that the bed broke, holding me hard enough to leave marks. You wanted for my bruises too, right? How I'd scratch your back, bite your collarbone, ruin your neck for everyone to see you were mine, but I guess what you really liked about me was that I was as hungry for you as you were for me. I would’ve let you do anything to my body, and I did. Because I wasn’t scared of you, Dean, and I’m not scared of you now either.” The way your arms compulsively wrapped around his neck made you wonder if you really wanted to strangle him or pull him closer. You could smell his manly cologne mixed with sulfur. It shouldn't make you want him more. Your knees shouldn't be begging to kneel for him and suck his cock. Be stronger. “You could come in, throw my clothes away and fuck my boobs with your dick instead of your eyes. Hurt me good enough to make me ask for more. But you know what?”
“Mm?” Dean's reply came in a hum as you pressed your hips against his, causing his clothed cock to rub on your belly. It was a tiny bit of relief — finally. He missed this so much: he couldn't wait to slip into your tight pussy.
“You won't.” Your lips brushed against his before you pulled away. His hands left your body from his surprise at your words. A wry smirk was wrung from your lips despite your wet pussy. “You stuck your dick into other women as soon as you became… whatever this is.” You scoffed, pointing at him with a feigned disgust in your eyes that you knew your body disagreed with. “Go have fun with your hand, Dean.”
A light rose painted door was ultimately closed in his face.
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