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Mike Driver
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@polkadotzz99
♱Welcome to my blog♱
Masterlist
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This is a dark blog!
WHAT DO I WRITE? JJK, OLDER MEN, SUPERNATURAL, TRUE DETECTIVE, TABOO/DARK CONTENT, DEADDOVE.
- I DO NOT WRITE INCEST, EXTREME HARDCORE, UNDERAGE CHARACTERS -
Read at your own risk. 18+
Posting older man toji teaching reader about pleasure n’ porn either tomorrow or Friday then getting onto past requests. <3
Heads up, the fic will contain taboo subjects and darker themes.
Dirty lil’ mouth
☥
[Pervert Dentist Toji x Dumb Reader]
Going to the dentist was scary, but meeting your dentist was even scarier. For him, you were a blessing in disguise. In reality, Dr. Toji Fushiguro was a sick pervert in disguise.
Poor you, always eating sweets and unfailingly landing a seat in Toji’s clinic. He’d always claim how you were his favorite patient, how you’d always be good with keeping your mouth open and wide. Maybe it was because he was money hungry, or maybe it was because you’d let him do whatever he wanted without you truly knowing what his intentions were. You just somehow always ended back here, right in front of him.
“You’re a bad, bad girl. Mommy and Daddy ever tell ya candy is bad for you?”
He’d squeeze your shoulder, squeeze your cheeks, always look you in the eyes to see your cute reactions. The way your eyebrows always furrowed. Gosh, did that do something to him.
He’d purposely lower the dosage of lidocaine he’d give you just so he could get pleasure off of seeing you in pain. The way your eyes watered when he’d shove his fingers too far down your throat when he’d examine your teeth, the way he’d hit the nerves of your tooth just to hear you moan in pain.
He just wanted to see those watery eyes look into his. He could only imagine what you’d look like with his cock in your mouth. Just the way your mouth opened and how you’d gag on only his finger touching the middle of your tongue,
“Wouldn’t bare a chance with it in yur mouth.”
“Wha..?”
He was so lost in what he was doing to you, always talking to himself. You were just irresistible. I mean, maybe you did already suck him off. Just moments before you came in for your appointment, he was stuck in the bathroom thinking about you, hand wrapped tightly around his cock as he whispered your name, mentioning how good of a girl you were.
Those same hands were now shoved in your mouth, getting your saliva all over his bare hands as he examined whatever he claimed to be bad.
Seeing those salty tears slip from your pretty little eyes, your cheeks and nose turning red, it just made him appreciate his position even more. He had full control over you, could lie whenever he wanted just to get you back in front of him. At the end of the day, he was Dr. Fushiguro.
He’d slip his gloves off after “fixing” your cavity and give you the warmest, innocent smile. Oh how he loved dumb, innocent girls like you. Always using your daddy’s card and never really knowing what was being done to your mouth.
He’d slide his bare finger across your lips, rubbing the pad of his thumb across your teeth before taking his hand away. Beautiful teeth you have, too bad you’ve got a dirty mouth.
“Better take care of that dirty lil’ mouth of yours, sweetheart. Don’t want all that beauty going to waste now, do we?”
CW: Perv!Toji, Perv!Nanami, Implied crime, implied torture, peeing on lap, dark content, taboo
Do not proceed if uncomfortable. ⚠️
You should've listened to your father. Should've been home before 8.
You shouldn't have hopped into that random old chevrolet pickup truck. The beaten up red truck you'd always see around town in the most remote areas nobody dared to go to.
The two priests in town, Nanami and Toji. Who would've thought they'd be driving around this late at night on the outskirts of your small little town.
The small teeth dangling from the rear view mirror that looked awfully human like—told you they "keep em' as souvenirs from killin' coyotes."
When they saw a pretty girl like you walking down a dirt path at sundown, desperate to get home before her daddy gets upset, it was like god giving them a gift. A predator being served prey without any effort.
Baskets of berries and apples in their car, telling you they were bringing them home to their wives.
Oh, how happy you looked sitting on Toji's lap, eating an apple one of them offered to you. "Don't tell my wife," nanami jokingly told you from the drivers seat, his large hand patting your bare thigh and coming awfully close to your panties.
How clueless you were, didn't see the blood under his nails or the scratches on his hands that seemed to be fresh.
"Were just takin' the scenic route," Toji told you once you realized they passed by your house a long time ago. The area became unrecognizable, the sun long gone and the night settling in quickly.
No help, no service, no escape.
You should've noticed the pattern of missing girls in this town, if only you connected the dots and realized.
Should've noticed how tight Toji's grip was getting on your waist, how Nanami just locked the doors from inside as he slowed the car down in an area you've never been to.
A pair of pliers and rope sitting below Toji's dirtied up boots, not even trying to hide it from you. "Pretty girls like you should've been careful," the dark haired man said. "Hasn't yur daddy told you not to take ride's from strangers?"
Feeling your heart race and your panties go wet out of fear, not realizing you were pissing yourself, feeding into their perverted fantasies.
"Awee, poor lil girl's peein' herself. Couldn't hold it in, could you?" Toji whined, laughing at how frightened and vulnerable you were.
Feeling his jeans go damp and dark, the seat getting all wet and making a mess.
"I- I-," but they were quick to mock your stuttering. "I- I-I-, y'can't even talk right," the blonde man snickered before slapping you across the face harshly, your lip instantly bleeding.
“Got my car all dirty, you cunt.” Nanamis tone wasn’t anywhere near kind or soothing, became scary, almost threatening.
You cried, not even attempting to escape—more of accepting your fate. They were too big for you, blocked the only two doors on the car. The faint sound of broken up country music played on the radio, filled with almost pure static due to the secluded area you were in.
Should've paid attention to Toji. Next thing you knew you felt a strong pair of hands grip your mouth, telling you to "Open wide, pretty girl. Gotta collect some souvenirs," as his other hand shoved a pair of dirtied up pliers into your mouth.
Flashes of white burning into your eyes as Nanami captured the beautiful moment, Polaroid after Polaroid.
Didn’t realize photos of you were about to be stuffed into a small drawer they kept of other girls they’ve taken and did god knows what with.
Screams and cries, a red pick up truck in an isolated area far from any help, rocking back and forth, flashing of white lighting up the area around it
Poor you, should’ve known.
Next to publish
Toji teaching you about porn and proper pleasure
Dark web and trafficking plot Ft. Nanami and Toji (darker themes⚠️)
Dangerous Farmer Toji (Blackmail, deaddove⚠️)
Drabble /piss kink\
He can be cruel in bed, even when you’ve just woken up—telling him you need to leave to use the bathroom, only for him to hold you tight and not let you go just so he could hear you moan in discomfort.
You struggle and fight, but it’s not worth it—not when his grip is like iron and his other hand is painfully pushing down on your lower stomach to practically force the piss out of you,
and when the wetness starts to seep through your panties and his covers, he lets out a sigh of disappointment.
“Ahh, you’re a naughty lil’ girl. What’d’I tell ya about wettin’ the bed, darlin?”
Second psy student to say, yes, psychologists stand behind using fiction to cope. It's essentially play therapy. It helps the brain process what has happened in its own way in a setting that's safe. OBVIOUSLY won't work for everyone, so do NOT engage with fiction that would trigger you. It's not a *requirement* to heal, but it doesn't mean it's not a tool.
I tried Light and Sound therapy to help with my depression. (It also has scientific backing that it USUALLY helps with chronic migraines as well, according to my therapist). Well, it didn't work for me and honestly, it set off my migraines. Does it mean I will stand on a rooftop yelling at everyone that uses it it will give them constant headaches? No. Because there are people this will help and there are people it won't and that's how tools work.
thank you for sharing
✝︎ Cherry Chaser ✝︎
CW: OOC Toji, kidnapping, cheating, mentions of stalking, non-consensual/forced drugging, slight abuse, pissing, angst, taboo/dark content. 18+
4K words
The farmers market was a complete ghost town under the southern heat. Just rows of produce, empty aisles that needed to be filled up, and the hum of the old refrigerators that held all the dairy.
This market carried an eerie vibe. Almost no one came here on days like this, and he adored that. It just meant that he could have you all to himself and watch you.
He leaned against the checkout counter that was near the back of the store, taking puffs of his cigarette here and there as he admired your figure that moved around the store.
The radio on the corner of the counter played an old country tune that had more of static to it than words, where only hitting it would fix it for just a few minutes before it went back to its broken state.
After the semester finished, you had devoted all your time and effort into volunteering at the local church—bringing food and sweets, even confessing all your dirty sins from when you were away at college.
You were never one to go to church, always protested against going when your father tried forcing you to go.
Clearly something in you changed when you were away since now even Toji had been seeing you on Sundays when he was with his wife. Not only that, but you had been coming to his farmers market every Thursday to pick out the best cherries to make your infamous cherry pie. That’s when he started to keep his eye on you, started to get closer to you and put on a friendly act.
Knowing that just a few months later you’d be leaving again to go away for college, he just had to do something. He wanted you, needed you.
You hummed to whatever song was playing through your wired earbuds as you picked through the options of fruit that was displayed in front of you, completely unaware of the predatory set of eyes that were glued to your figure.
Cherries, flour, butter.
“Well ain’t this a sight,” he called out to you, slowly walking over to you with his hands on his hips. “Didn’t see ya walk in, darlin.”
God, you were even cuter close up, sweating a little on your forehead from the heat, and your cheeks a little rosy.
“O-oh hi, mister Fushiguro.” You were startled by his figure creeping up on you out of nowhere, quickly taking out your earbuds and giving him a warm smile. He was so much bigger than you, scarier. It wasn’t often that you’d talk to him. It would usually be his wife running the store, not him.
“Awww, still callin’ me ‘Mister Fushiguro,’ huh?” His smile widened as he chuckled, his larger hand coming out to ruffle the top of your head in a playful way. You could smell the fresh tobacco off of his breath, his jaw noticeably clenching from the innocence that radiated off of you.
“Been years now.. you can just say Toji, darlin’.”
His voice was sweet, his tone sounding fatherly almost. You smiled, looking down in a way that you were embarrassed for being corrected.
Oh, that sweet smile of yours, it made his stomach twist—Every. Single. Time.
His eyes dropped down to the basket that was in your hands. Flour, butter, milk, very few cherries–all pie ingredients. He knew your routine by heart. Cherry season meant you’d be here every Thursday without a fail.
“You makin’ that delicious pie again?” he asked, tilting his head, “the one with the lil’ star in the middle?”
You were quick to nod your head. “My pa really loves it when I make this pie. Figured I'd pick up extra ingredients to make some for home instead of church.”
His expression softened when he heard you talking about your father. He always loved how sweet you were about your father, how eager you were to make him happy.
He remembers that star shaped crust perfectly. The way you’d carefully press it into the top before baking. He’d eaten slices of that pie at community gatherings, pretending to just be another neighbor enjoying your baking.
“That’s real sweet of ya,” he said with a fake, warm smile, “takin’ the time to bake somethin’ special for him.”
His eye twitched at the fakeness that smoothly rolled off his tongue. He wishes it could be him–that you could have loved him as much as your father, that you could be baking pies for him every Thursday instead of that stupid church.
He wonders, are you as sweet as the pie you bake? You were just so sweet on the outside, you just have to be the same on the inside.
Even on the days he wasn’t working at the counter, he knew you stopped by just by the scent you'd leave. You wore this certain perfume that smelled sweet like the pie you’d bake. Hell, everytime he’d smell your scent he’d have to sneak off to the barn just to yank one out. You’d make him so unbelievably hard without even trying.
He glanced at the clock that sat high on the wall behind you–nearly noon, it read. The market would stay empty for another hour or so, farmers were all out harvesting in this heat anyways.
“Y’know..,” he paused, taking off his maroon colored hat and fixing his hair, “I got some fresh cherries in the back. Bigger, juicer than what’s out here.” He tilted his head towards the wooden stockroom door. He had that charming look in his eyes.
You were sold when he leaned down close to you, his lips brushing against your ear,
“On the house..just don’t tell my wife,” he whispered before pulling back and giving you a friendly wink. “So, you wanna see ‘em? Could grab ya some extra good ones for that pie.”
He spoke to you in a convincing tone, like he wasn't about to lead you into a dangerous trap, and when he sees that pretty little head of yours nodding yes, his emotions don't change. Just perfect, friendly Toji gesturing you to follow him towards the back to get some big ol’ juicy cherries.
He liked that about you, how naive you were, how you could trust anyone despite not knowing much about them. You knew Toji, sure, but you didn’t know him well enough to understand what his true intentions were when he was around you.
The stockroom he led you into was dim, cluttered with boxes of produce, and shelves stacked high with canned goods. It was cold— almost seemed like no one had stepped foot in here in a while, that nobody even tried to care for the place. The wooden floor had dust and broken bits, the items on the shelves also appearing to be unorganized.
He held the door open for you before he closed it, locking it without you realizing.
He doesn’t rush, just walks past the crates of fruit and other items, whistling that same country tune from before as he leads you deep into the dim room where only a bare, flickering bulb that only flickered through rough movement created an eerie yellow glow.
He stopped whistling before crouching down. “Here they are,” he said with faux happiness, “the best ones.” Lie.
You didn’t move, just stood close to the door, waiting for him to grab your cherries. It was dark in here, cold, kind of smelled rotten but you weren't sure if that wasn’t just common smells from the farm. You were shivering in your small dress, holding onto your bare arms as goosebumps rose off your delicate skin.
He peaked back at you from behind one of the shelves, his hand waving you over. You obeyed, pulling your dress down to give you a source of warmth in this cold room, but it failed.
“Thank you mister Fushi- Toji,” you mumbled, catching yourself.
This was so nice of him, for him to be giving you freebies of something he worked hard to get. When he saw your dirtied up boots from behind him, that’s when he stood up.
He was big, towering over you at six foot four. He wore a smile, not the same one as before, no. This smile seemed darker, like it held a wicked meaning behind it. He tilted his head–waiting for your reaction.
Before saying thank you, the smile on your face disappeared, quickly turning into a frown. What he held out in front of you wasn’t what you expected. A basket full of shriveled up cherries, bugs, n’ mold. Not only that, but it was then that you realized that your surroundings weren't fresh fruit, but fruit and vegetables that seemed to be on the brink of molding.
You’re confused, yet disgusted by realizing you were now in a room that would just be used to hold all spoiled items.
The air in the back was thick with the smell of spoilage. Rotten pears, shriveled apples, old onions. He ignores the decay, setting the spoiled cherry basket on an empty crate near the last shelf before he turned to face you fully, one hand behind his back.
He sighs, his expression not changing, but his green eyes darkening. He didn’t explain the rot, doesn't react to your confused stare. He just watched you for a beat, looking at your scared state that slowly backed away from him.
“I-.. I hafta to head back now. My pa doesn’t want me to be late.” You were quick with your words, leaving your basket right where it was, which made him realize that this wasn't going to end the way he wanted it to end.
It was clear you were uncomfortable, too scared to be in the same vicinity as him. Dumb, dumb girl. You don’t turn your back to animals, do you?
Though you rambled on about obvious lies on why you needed to hurry back, he knew that wasn’t the case. He remained under the dimly lit bulb, watching you walk to the door at a quick pace, knowing it was locked. You didn’t dare to look back, your only main focus being that you needed to get out of here.
He didn’t speak, didn’t make any noise, didn’t try to explain anything as to why he purposely led you back here into this dump–just watched you with a predatory look.
Next thing you knew, you were yanked by your wrists at a shocking speed, causing you to stumble around in shock by the violence of his roughness, and crashed into his hard chest.
Before you could register what was happening or even gasp or scream, his hand that was from behind his back was quick to clamp over your mouth with a crumpled white rag soaked in chemicals.
You kicked and clawed, but your body quickly ran out of energy. He was too big for you, too strong. In fact, it was humorous for him—seeing you put up a fight knowing it’s not worth it.
“Shhh,” he whispered against your ear, “I got ya.” He made sure to shove the rag into your nose and mouth, forcing you to inhale the sickly sweet chemical smell, which would soon flood your senses and take you out.
The smell was overpowering, eyes watering, lungs burning as you instinctively tried to pull away.. But he didn't budge–grip was like iron. Your knees then buckled under you and your muscles turned into jelly. Your eyelids grew heavy and his grip grew weaker, arms wrapped around your shoulders like a lover's embrace–except its not affection, its restraint.
Your vision gives out, colors bleeding into grays, the sounds of his groaning and heavy breathing muffled like you're under water. The last thing you saw before the blackness took over was his face. Calm, almost loving as he watched your body give out and your eyelids flutter shut.
He caught your dead weight easily when you slump forward, going limp against him. For a moment, he just stood there, hands combing through your hair, words of sweetness leaving his lips in a way to calm your unconscious state down.
Then, he adjusted his grip. One arm under your knee, the other supporting your back. God, you looked gorgeous when you slept. Your soft colored lips parted, chest slowly rising and falling, head slightly hung off his arm.
He kicked open the side door that led to a hidden basement stairwell behind the stacked crates. It wasn’t often that he’d come down here. The only things that were kept down here were old items they never used–saved throughout the years of living on this isolated farm.
Workable tools were neatly arranged, a single mattress in the corner that had no sheets, and crates full of items that were ridden with dust. It almost seemed like this place was a hideout, and maybe it was. The walls were concrete, and the only source of light came from a small bulb in the corner that seemed to be newly put in.
He sets you over on the mattress, his rough hands adjusting your dress so it didn’t reveal too much of your panties.
He then begins securing you–rough rope around your wrists, tying them to a bar that sat right next to the bed and was secured in both the wall and floor. When finished, he steps back.
He doesn't do anything, doesn’t listen to see if anyone arrived at his market–just looks at you for a long moment. His heart races at the site– your unconscious body, head lolling slightly from lack of support.
He then grabs a chair and sets it in front of you, his arms crossed and his expression stern. Sitting down, he exhales, long and slow, like a predator who's been waiting for their meal. The only sound from down here was his heavy breathing mixed with your soft breathing as you remained heavily drugged and unconscious.
Minutes tick by, the basement kept silent with occasional drips from a leaky pipe elsewhere. You looked so peaceful, so unaware of where you were or what was coming to you. As time passed by and turned into dreadful minutes, he couldn’t take it anymore.
He towered over you, eyes remained on your resting face before he began to lightly slap your cheeks.
“There we go,” he muttered under his breath once he saw your eyelids begin to flutter as the drug wore off.
Your eyelids felt heavy and sticky, like they had been glued shut. The first thing you registered was the coldness, then the smell. Mildew and old wood. Then, before you could even open your eyes properly, a large shadow moved in front of them and blocked any source of light that was to get to your eyes.
His face is blurry at first, but the more you blink, the more you see his green eyes come into sharp focus, watching you intently as awareness slowly washed over you.
You’re confused, sweaty, and scared. Yet, he doesn't speak, just stares. Before the panic could fully set in, he reached out, his large hands cupping your cheek with his rough fingers. It wasn’t kind or gentle, his hands were painfully gripping your cheeks so he could make sure all the awareness and consciousness was back.
He could tell by the way terror dawned in your eyes and your eyebrows furrowed. The second he saw you grasping an idea of what was going on, his lips curled into a smile.
“Hey now,” he said softly, “don’t look at me like that.” His tone was hostile, like he was hurt by your fear, like this was somehow YOUR fault for reacting this way. His hands that were squeezing your cheeks now slid to the back of your head, tangling in your hair. It was rough, but not painful, more threatening almost.
His expression that was soft and caring before shifted slightly as the fake warmth across his face faded and his jaw tightened. You saw his true form, the predator that hid beneath him. The look on his face–it was cold, hungry, calculating.
Your heart thudded against your chest as tears spilled from your eyes realizing what might happen–trying to wrap your head around why someone like him would do this. You swore all the blood drained from your body with how sickly you felt at the moment.
He watched, watched those tears roll down your soft, rosy cheeks. For a moment, his grip in your hair loosened, but he didn’t let go. Cute, is what he thought. He paused for a second eyes squinting, like he was thinking, but slowly brought his hand up to your face.
The rough pad of his thumb swiped under your eye, catching a tear. You were unable to tell what he was feeling right now. His expression remained the same–cold, but something about his touch, the look in his eyes. It held no comfort, no pity, he just observed you like you were some fascinating creature caught in a trap that he set.
“Aww,” he cooed, “you cry so pretty.” You could smell the faint tobacco off of his breath, smell the dirt and sweat off of him with a hidden scent of cologne. His compliment was just so grotesque coming from him right now.
You couldn’t hold it in any longer, the pain in your throat growing stronger, trying to suppress your cries. With the way he faked his empathy and care for you easily, it made you nauseous. Not even seconds after those words rolled off of his tongue, you broke down. Stream of tears crowding your face, lip quivering, snot slowly running down.
He was surprised for a second. He hasn't seen this side of you before. The sweet, shy girl who would blush at any compliment that flew in her direction, who brings him jam and smiles at his jokes? You never cried like this.
He squints his eyes at you again, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Was it annoyance? Frustration that you’re ruining his fantasy with your sudden resistance, or perhaps anger at being rejected by someone he considered his?
With the downfall of emotions that washed over him, he strikes you across the face with no ounce of remorse showing after. A gasp leaves your lips, the chains rattling behind you from a failed attempt to cover your face. You were restricted, scared, and alone with this man who you thought was a friend of yours–family almost. The slap was sharp and brutal, your cheek burning almost instantly with hot pain.
You didn’t scream or say anything, just whimpered like a wounded animal. Something about that.. It pissed him off. He exhaled through his nose with a controlled sound, tilting his head side to side and rolling his shoulders in a way to shake off anything he was feeling.
“Don’t cry, darlin.” His tone sounded sarcastic. “Now yur makin’ me feel bad.”
You could feel the heat of blood on your quivering lip begin to trickle down. All you could do was just stare in disbelief. You didn’t know it could reach this point, that he would ever lay hands on you. He adored you, and looked forward to seeing you in the market.
He could read your expression at this point, that look of disbelief, the look that screamed betrayal. With no words shared between you two, no guilt from doing such, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a dirtied up handkerchief, roughly dapping your bleeding lip like you were some messy kid who scraped their knee.
“There, all better.” He smiled. It wasn’t with care, wasn’t gentle, more efficient..a quick fix so the evidence of his past doing wasn’t obvious. You finally broke.
“W-why are you doing this?” Your voice was shaky and quiet. He furrowed his eyebrows.
“W-w-why?” He repeated your words in a mocking way. “Because I can.”
Your stomach turned. It wasn’t the answer you wanted. It was a simple, honest, cold response. He lifted his hand up again, not to hit you this time, but to trace the area on the cheek, right where the sting of his slap still lingered. His thumb presses down on the tender spot where he struck you, just lightly, watching your face twitch in pain.
He liked that, liked seeing how every little touch affected you.
“You ever think about me? At all?” His eyes still remained on your cheek, not once looking up at your eyes. His words weren’t romantic nor filled with jealousy, but more curious–curious if you even considered him beyond being a ‘nice neighbor’ who brought eggs to your father on the weekend.
“N- what are you even talking about?”
God, you sounded so confused, and it annoyed him with how you genuinely didn’t understand, and that he has to spell it out.
“You really don’t get it, do ya?” His jaw clenches. “I been watchin’ you for a while. You think I just smiled and waved ‘cause I liked your daddy?”
It just got worse the more he confessed what kind of man he truly was. It was repulsive, making you even more scared. He adjusted his grip on your cheek, now forcing you to look at him, even if you tried to pull away, it was no use against his violent strength.
“I wanted YOU,” he abruptly said, spitting the last word into your face with what felt like disrespect. It was an obsession in its purest, ugliest form.
Not even seconds after he said that, a wet warmth spread under you. It felt humiliating and shameful that you just peed yourself out of fear. Did he care though? No. In fact, the sight of piss dripping down the bed made his lips curl into a wicked smirk.
“Ohhh, baby,” he cooed. “Baby, baby. It’s okay.” He spoke quickly, trying to comfort you, like someone who just got scolded for doing something they shouldn't be doing, but wanted to do it in a way to make sure that you were safe.
With how many emotions he had gone through, you’d think he had a type of personality disorder.
He spoke to you in a sickly sweet tone, “Ain’t nothin’ to be scared about darlin’. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” Lie after lie, it’s all he ever does. He absolutely will.
If only you didn’t chase cherries, you wouldn’t have ended up here.
Uff ok I’m actually gonna write good stuff this week
CW: non consensual drug use, drugging
Drabble
Toji is such a creep. Watching you passed out on the sofa, drool slipping out of the corners of your mouth, quiet, soft snores vibrating through your chest.
He just found it amusing--how one second you were talking to him, the next you were slurring your words, stumbling around, whining
"M’not feeling s..so good"
All he could do was smile and sip on his whiskey as he saw you struggling to hold yourself up before you slowly lost consciousness and fell to the ground.
You really didn’t see him slip something into your drink? He made it right in front of you, but I guess you were just too clueless to know what was going on.
“Hasn’t your daddy ever told ya not to go home with strangers, hmm?”
CW: dark/taboo content, implied crime, corrupt priest nanami or toji, panty sniffing, teeth pulling, drabble
Proceed with caution. ⚠️
It’s like, he gives you subtle hints of what kind of man he is.
In church when you go up to be given the small wafer, he tells you that “you have lovely teeth.” Of course, you giggle and reply thank you at the strange compliment. You were too dumb, too innocent to realize the deep meaning behind his strange words.
Slowly, he began to slither his way in. So easy, you were. It was almost laughable.
“You should join the church activities sometime,” he’d say with an innocent smile on his face.
“We sneak out to the creek after 9, but don’t tell anyone I told you that,” he’d wink to you.
He’s never really paid much attention to you, not until after a couple of the girls in church went missing. It was never brought up in the holy place—never knew why, but no one ever questioned it either.
It was unfortunate, rumor went around that theres been a few coyotes spotted out late at night. Farmers been tryin’ to hunt em’ down, yet they couldn’t catch em’. It helped the sinful man out at least.
No one really expected him to do anything of such anyways. Always blamed the rabid animals first, but not the animals within the holy place they’d say hi to everyday—the disgusting animal who claimed to be a loving priest.
Curfew had been set for the whole town to not wonder past dark, which is why he told you not to tell anyone that him and the ‘others’ usually snuck out after 9 to go to the creek to swim. Or, was it really because he didn’t want others to truly know what he was doing during that time?
Excuses, excuses. In reality, the beloved priest had been fucking the church girls in his rusty ol’ truck in the middle of nowhere—surrounded by trees, dead leaves, n’ miles of nothingness.
Asking those poor girls if they had ever done anything like this before, ever seen a cock like his before, or if they were afraid of the afterlife.
When he’s done, he doesn’t even bother to give them after care. Just brushes the sweat off of his forehead, puts his pants back on, and makes the girls give over their panties before they’re hit unconscious and have at least a few teeth ripped out before he dumps them into an isolated area no one would ever think to find them in, just the coyotes.
He’d wait and wait, sniffing the panties of those who were in his car moments before, before he tossed them onto the dead grass and drove away as if this was another normal day for him.
When you finally give in and sneak out of your house, you’re only met with him and his lonely truck. Tells you that the others are waiting by the creek.
“I don’t hear water,” you’d innocently say to him as you were now trapped with him in the remote area that only he was familiar with.
“Can you keep a secret, darlin’?”
“Don’t cry now, sweetheart,” he’d say to you, smearing your tears across your soft skin.
“Tears ruin the photos. Makes em’ less pretty.”
“You don’t remember me drugging you? Let’s see how close I can get to you again.”
Where priest Nanami and Toji like to go to corrupt the innocent and turn them into more missing cases in town
