#codsmut

summary: simon sees a cute little girl in his neighbourhood.

perv neighbor ghost! who sees a new young girl move to their neighborhood and immediately thinks of a plan to get to know her.

perv neighbor ghost! who sees that you’re struggling with your boxes and suggests his help because (oh!) he was just nearby and saw a poor girl struggling. he definitely isn’t staring at your small round ass when you’re bending over for another box.

perv neighbor ghost! helps you with your boxes and asks you if you’re living alone, if your family lives here, if you have friends here. of course your innocent little brain will never understand that you should never answer such questions. it is suspicious but you will never understand the real intentions behind them.

perv neighbor ghost! puts his chair at his window and keeps his binoculars around his neck to watch you comfortably whenever he wants. you are too innocent and dumb to close the blinds, aren’t you? but simon only enjoys that, obviously. he’s thankful that you’re so stupid. because he can so easily see those beautiful petite tits of yours. oh, but his favorite is definitely your ass, he can tell it’d be small in his giant heavy hands, but that’s exactly how he likes it.

perv neighbor ghost! who knocks at your door one day with a bag of chocolates. “hello, lass, remember me? i live in a house on the other side of the road, helped you with those heavy boxes of yours.” he said with a charming smile. he could tell you fell for it immediately. “usually the neighbors greet new people with some homemade but i ain’t no cook, lass. chocolates will do, eh?”

perv neighbor ghost! chuckles seeing how flustered you are by his ‘kind’ action. oh, aren’t you just so adorable for letting him in and offering tea? of course you would do just that. so when you put those chocolates on the table and sit to chat with him, he doesn’t even touch them. but did your stupid little brain notice that? highly doubtful. you didn’t even notice his hand on your knee, silly.

perv neighbor ghost! who watches you get dizzier and dizzier. your movements slowing down. “s..sorry, i’m getting slightly dizzy.” i you said, putting your hand on your head. “don’t worry ‘bout it, lass. are you alright?” he asked with a great sense of concern. of course. however, it quickly vanished the second your eyes closed.

perv neighbor ghost! who immediately pulls your pants down the moment it happens. he shouldn’t be licking his lips like a wolf getting ready to eat its prey. but he does, because the moment he spreads your legs open he latches his mouth on your cunt. he just can’t help it. the moan he lets out at the taste shouldn’t be so loud either.

perv neighbor ghost! who grabs his phone way faster than he thought he would and takes way too many pictures of your cunt, not forgetting to spread it with his fingers too. he lets out another long moan at the tightness inside. turning you on your stomach, he takes even more. he enjoys the fact that he can just lean forward and inhale your scent just like that. his hands squeeze the smooth cheeks, smiling approvingly.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

C/W: Smut, unprotected P in V, sexist-type humor, size kink

Word Count: 3k

Previous part

“You want some tea, love?”

***

You’re now sitting at the small round dinner table watching as he tilts the kettle into the mugs. He walks the mugs over to the table and sits across from you.

“Didn’t have anyone to stay with, did you?” He asks before taking a sip.

“I sure didn’t. Everyone is still avoiding me like the plague.” You stare down at the mug. 

“It’ll end soon.” He wipes his bottom lip with his thumb. The action catches your attention and he doesn’t miss the sparkle in your eyes. For a stone-cold man, he sure was catching himself smirking a lot tonight. 

summary: a night in the club that was supposed to be a part of your healing journey turned into all shades of black when you saw his face.

he wasn’t supposed to be here. simon hated clubs, hated being in crowded places. he would sell his soul to be in his flat right now. probably reading some book with a cigarette and a bottle of good whiskey. but he couldn’t say no to his friends. soap was way too convincing. so he went.

and you weren’t supposed to be here, you hated clubs. they made you feel uncomfortable, exposed and unsafe. but your girls wanted you to unwind. they wanted you to get distracted from the misery you currently were swimming in. in other words, from your current life. but you felt bad saying no. so you went.

alcohol tasted good tonight. it tasted like an escape, like all of the memories and pain never even existed in the first place. so you had a little too much. so, naturally, you found yourself in the farthest corner of the hallway. it was relatively dark, so you felt safe crying your eyes out. you were quiet with it, but the giant mascara stains definitely didn’t help with hiding your tears. the cool wall behind your back felt like an escape from the hot air of the club.

“shit.” you mumbled seeing your cup empty. you drained everything, every last drop is gone. so you tossed the plastic cup aside with a scowl. you sniffled, feeling like every little thing acted as a trigger for your tears. covering your face with your hands, you swallowed all the whimpers and whines, crying silently. it still hurt you so much to be apart from simon. he was the only man you have ever loved.

your love could be described as something incredibly chaotic, passionate, intimate, destructive, deep, raw. it was real, perfect and horrible at the same time. you were ready to kill for each other, but you were incompatible. simon was a walking red flag. cold, mean, traumatized, emotionally unstable and unavailable. but he loved with all his heart, he just couldn’t properly show it. you were so good to him, he felt like a better person with you. but the constant fighting, toxicity and disagreements forced you to end things. you couldn’t take it anymore.

so, when you removed your hands and saw him standing there, on the other end of the hallway, you flinched. “whatever hallucination this is, get the fuck outta here.” you said, alcohol slowing your speech m, as you messily waved your hand. you were sure it was just alcohol playing tricks on you. but through your half-lidded eyes you saw him get closer. then you felt him. “oh, fuck no.” you whined, realizing that it was all real.

“looks who’s here, dove.” he said softly. he grabbed your chin, tilting your head up, so you’d see him properly. “it’s me, dove, see me?” you could only nod. your head fell on his shoulder, legs slightly bending. “had too much, huh? think the alcohol will erase me, my dumb little bird?” his chuckle felt like a knife. you would’ve argued if you had energy for that. but you could only look at him, crying again. “oh, come now, what’s this for? i am here now, ain’t i? thought i’d leave my missus? no, it’s fate, dove, we’re meant to be together.”

you tried to push him away, “simon..” you whined weakly. “you’re not good for me.” he only shook his head, like he always did when he heard you say that. “bullocks, dove. we’re meant to be.” you didn’t even feel his hands pull your dress up. it pooled at your waist as his hand went straight to his favorite place. “wet for me, like always. bad for you, eh? your cunt says otherwise, luvie.” he said cooing mockingly at you. “we met here for a reason tonight, lassie. it’s been too long. i need to feel that cunny, yeah?”

you shook your head but moaned anyway when he entered with a single thrust. his pace was quick, desperate even. he forced your legs around his waist, as he pushed you against the wall. he didn’t care about the footsteps behind him, the bathrooms were near after all. but it only made him fuck you harder. “yeah, missed me?” he said squeezing your cheeks together as he held your jaw. he knew you did. he felt it in the squeeze of your cunt. he felt it in his heart. because he did too. he needed to feel you again, and he knew he wouldn’t let you escape again.

“gonna breed this cunnie, eh, lassie?” he said laughing at your suddenly wide eyes. he saw the sheer discomfort and fear in your eyes at that idea. “no worries, dove. m’not leaving my missus alone with a baby.” you tried to climb off him, you really did, but his hand kept your ankles locked at his waist. so with a few powerful thrusts, he hissed, watching a creamy ring form at his base. “yeah, like that.” he whispered, nodding. “my seed’s powerful, luvie. knocked you up real good. think it’ll work? i think it will.” he added. he didn’t care that you kept shaking your head.

ickydad!price who is so close with his daughter everyone praises them for their healthy, sweet dynamic.

ickydad!price who’s dynamic with his daughter is truly sweet but nobody knows that behind closed doors you two are fucking like rabbits every chance you get. putting you to bed? cunny inspection time. nightmares? a little internal massage will help. mom’s going out? he’ll spend an evening with his little dove, watching his cock bulge in your stomach.

ickydad!price who loves to show you off to his friends. “look at her, all grown and pretty, yeah?” he says turning you around to show them how plump and pretty your ass looks in his heavy hand as he gropes it.

ickydad!price that loves taking you hunting with him just so he would show you how to properly catch a good game. and obviously so he would bend you over and fuck you so hard that the entire forest hears your screams.

summary: dbf johny enjoys the innocent little daughter of his friend with his mates.

it was scandalous. it was horrible, you thought. but it was also so fucking hot. getting fucked in a pub, right on the pool table, with your father’s friends around it, watching. but who exactly was fucking you? his best mate. john was your father’s childhood friend, a gross, perverted man who kept eyeing under your skirt whenever he would visit you. this time, with the bar empty, save for this small group of men, he fed you a little too much alcohol (by accident, of course, obviously not because he had a wicked plan created with his friends, no). now next thing you know, his cock is buried deep between your welcoming, young walls. your moans were mixed with protests, too tired to fully protest, too good to stop.

“fuck, she’s tighter than i thought” said gaz, who’s been hovering slightly to get a good look at your cunt.

“oh, if only you’d know just *how* tight” price groaned, pressing your bent legs to your chest with full force. he moaned louder at even more depth.

the action elicited a whine out of you as you tried to lazily push him. gaz caught your hand, pressing a kiss instead.

“think she’ll get a gap by the time we’re done?” asked soap, standing on the other side as he watched intently.

that is only for them to see, and for you, when you’ll wake up next morning.

simon riley, your best friend who sometimes fucks you when you both share a joint or two.

the smoke floated in thick, milky clouds from his nose as he hissed. it was hard for him to think straight at the moment. maybe it was the weed, maybe it were your movements. his hands were gripping your hips with a force he couldn’t currently control. he partially forgot the joint between his lips, his entire focus was on you. the way you bounced on him, up and down, up and down. like a bunny, he thought.

your moans sounded criminally pornographic to him. your eyes were foggy, your mind completely elsewhere. eventually your weed filled brain could not properly move anymore. it was too messy and too sloppy for his liking, so simon took matters into his own hands.

he wrapped a hand around your wrists, locking them at the small of your back. he moved his hips quickly, smiling at your lost expression.

“is it my cock or my weed?” he asked not really expecting any answers. and rightfully so, because you couldn’t reply. you couldn’t form any coherent sentences at the moment. you could only whine. your blurry eyes focused the way his cock moved in and out of your cunt, abusing it with its pace.

it was always like that, he’d stop by at your place. he’d give you some weed, you’d fuck, cuddle and fall asleep with no evidence of his existence in the morning. but god, was he good. you’d never stop.

summary: you met him on a gas station, and suddenly your juicy couture skirt was not the only juicy thing you had.

Simon knew a few things well: good cigarettes, cars, anything military related, and sex. Despite his age, he knew exactly how things worked and what needed to be done - he knew how to handle women. Unlike most men, he knew precisely where the pearl was inside the shell. After countless unserious hookups he thought he had seen it all. However, with you it was completely different, he could tell.

You were a candy, figuratively speaking. A silly, sugary girl who couldn't even fill up a car on her own. And yet, there was something about you that kept drawing Simon in. That's why his gaze kept finding your body as you rode in the car toward the nearest motel.

"You're not worried I might have some kind of venereal disease?" he asked, glancing briefly at you. Your puzzled look made him smirk, but it wasn't until he decided to clarify that he really started laughing. "You know—an STD."

"Well, I never promised you to fuck," you said. That made him pause. And she was right - there had been no promise of sex, just a promise to show him her pussy. That was the deal. Clever girl, after all.

"Fair enough." he shrugged, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He could hardly wait till you got to the motel.

“Got a condom?” you asked twirling a strand of your hair around your slender finger. Your raised eyebrow elicited another chuckle from him, what an audacious, absolutely shameless girl. He started liking you even more. Despite that, he shook his head. Condoms were forbidden in his moral code.

“Nah. Hate ‘em.” he brushed begrudgingly, biting on the toothpick between his teeth. It was evident that you weren’t impressed by the way you rolled your eyes and huffed. Seems like that wee little cunt of yours wanted his friend in her after all, what a pity.

“Pathetic.” you mumbled, turning your head to stare at the window.

The women at the reception looked almost bewildered and calm at the same time when she saw the two of you standing in front of her. After all, you have all kinds of guests in your practice.

The room looked quite nice despite it not being a five-star hotel. After all, Simon was not short on money and still wanted some comfort. Good, you thought.

You threw your juicy bag on the chair, plopping down on the edge of the bed, legs crossed. As you leaned back on your hands, your leg swayed slightly, gaze studying him again.

“No condom, no entrance for your friend, backdoor included.” your voice was confident, like you’ve done that more times that he could imagine. However, you were no ordinary whore, he could tell. Just having some fun, like him.

“So only fingers and mouth.” you added, darting your tongue to graze over your glossed lips. Fair enough, he could work with that. He nodded once and stepped forward.

“That’ll do.” he replied pointing to his belt “get to work then, sugar.”

You managed to unbuckle his belt with ease, not wasting any more time. When your hands swiftly pulled his jeans and boxers down, he saw you licking your lips like you were about to eat a lollipop. Well, you could call it that. Your manicured hand looked absolutely gorgeous wrapped around his cock. He could barely suppress a delighted moan once you began moving your hand, it was too slow for him.

“Fast and deep, love.” he said stepping closer again, putting his palm on the back of his neck. He was worried you’d ditch the idea of a good bj but to his delight your lips were on him next second. This time he let himself be vocal.

Your throat was warm and stretched out just perfectly for him to fit. Your head bobbed up and down as you took more and more each time. You didn’t have a gag reflex and your eagerness made Simon think for a second that this definitely wasn’t your first time sucking a dick. Good for him.

He pushed you deeper, moving his hand to your head, to keep you there. You hummed around him, sending vibrations down, and more pleasure for Simon. His hips moved forward a few times as he looked down at you. He never promised to go easy on you, did he? He pushed your head back, pulling you away with a loud pop. What a pretty sight, all drool and gloss.

“That’s good, got a good mouth on you, sugar.” he said pushing your head back down. He hissed, feeling your hands on his testicles, what a wonderful, considerate girl. “Perfect, darlin’.”

You looked up at him, makeup ruined and mouth covered in drool. It looked like you were doing your best for him. You definitely deserved a gift for your hard work. A few of your erotic sounds left you as you moved faster. Once again his heavy, warm hands kept you down for a few moments before pulling you back by your hair. His touch wasn’t painful or rough at all, but definitely dominating.

“Just a bit more.” he said almost cooing. Then, your mouth was around him once again. However, this time, he kept you in place and moved his hips himself. Under the strong waves of pleasure, he didn’t care about being gentle anymore, pounding in your mouth sloppily. His head fell back, fingers tightening their grip in your hair.

“Yeah…” he whispered, hissing again. It was long before he pulled out, angling himself at your face. His thick cum drizzled all over your face, falling into your mouth as well as you kept it opened. Eager, greedy.

“T’was good.” he said nodding approvingly “Gonna let me feast now?”

You were waiting for that moment not wanting to feel the needy pulsating in your cunt anymore. It was impossible to take.

Your back hit the mattress as you plopped down, You didn’t have to do much, only bend your legs and spread them, the short skirt doing a perfect job and disappearing up to your waist. He rubbed his hands together as one would do before a good feast.

Simon crouched at the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands up and down at your inner thighs. There was a lot to feast on, he could tell. Earlier as well.

“That’s a pretty thin’ y’ve got there.” his voice was low as he practically inspected you. You didn’t feel uncomfortable under his scrutinizing gaze, you were perfectly shaven, smelling nice and natural, since you cared a lot about your hygiene and inner beauty.

“Gonna stare at me or maybe do something?” you said with a tired-horny sigh. You couldn’t wait any longer. Your eagerness and impatience made him chuckle. His fingers moved to your panties. He wasn’t surprised to see a pair of pretty, leopard vs’. That’s what you were after all, a bombshell of the day. Week, month, even.

He carefully pushed those aside, huffing at the grand reveal. Yes, very much puffy. Puffy and impatiently sticky.

“Well, well. You kept your promise, darlin’. What a wee little thing.” he said grazing his fingers over your slit.

What a lucky day.

Honey and Hemlock. part 0. Introduction. cult leader john price x psychology student reader tw: dead dove do not eat. weird asf price, dubcon, slow horror, extremely manipulative price. no mentions of y/n. female anatomy. smut.

summary: hemlock is a beautiful plant, but its ability to kill you is astonishing. it does it slowly, gets under your skin unbeknownst to you. add a drizzle of honey and eat it.

You had read somewhere that cult leaders were supposed to have something wrong with their faces.

A tic. A coldness in the eyes. Something you could point to later and say: there, that was the sign, I should have seen it. It was obvious because it was visible. Right on the surface.

You were thinking about this as you stood outside his gate, clutching a recorder you’d charged twice that morning, your heart doing something stupid in your chest. You were a young girl, only 20, however, you had never been afraid of making mistake or being wrong. It was a way to grow, your father would always say. You did have phobias though - silence, maybe. Small spaces, dark, the way your mom would call you by your full name when you were in trouble - but never being wrong. Mistakes were fixable, wrong was just data that hadn’t been sorted yet. A healthy mindset, isn’t it? Right.

This is exactly what you told yourself while the wind pulled at your hair and the gate's iron latch bit into your palm. It was rusty, had seen years already. You had chosen him for your thesis because he was soft. That was the word you’d used in your proposal, soft. A soft-spoken spiritual leader with no criminal record, no leaked documents, no former members shouting on youtube. He was a perfect subject. The kind of man who would bore your committee into approval. Because it was that easy.

You had not chosen him because you didn’t have any other options. You had not chosen him because you hadn't slept well in months, or because your apartment echoed when you laughed, or because you couldn't remember the last time someone looked at you and saw something other than a deadline or another interesting short documentary. You had chosen him because you knew he’d be a great option, road to success, instant A+ on your exam.

That was the lie you carried up his driveway, light as a borrowed coat. The wood of his door scratched your knuckles as you knocked twice. The door opened. And the first thing you noticed (the thing you would later lie awake remembering) was that his face had nothing wrong with it at all.

It threw you off even more. Because you swore that nothing could be that good and maybe he looked sweet and kind only on pictures. You were wrong.

“There y’are.” the words came wrapped in a thick British accent, slow and deliberate, as if he'd been waiting to say them for some time. They cut through the fog you hadn't realized you were lost in. A shiver raced down your spine - however, not from cold how you would have loved to claim, but from the sound of him. His voice was deep, gravelly, exactly how one would expect him to sound.

Jonathan Price was handsome, very handsome. That was not an observation, it was a fact, as obvious as rain or gravity or the way night followed day. But you had learned, somewhere along the way, to name the dangerous things for what they were. And beauty, you reminded yourself, was an unnecessary distraction. Especially in this case, you knew that keeping that thought away from your mind was the most effective thing to do. He was a dangerous, manipulative person and you are here solely for academic purposes.

“Yes, mr. Price?” internally you were ready to rip your hair out for the nervous and innocent tone that he definitely noticed.

It was difficult to resist his gaze, it was kind, yet pressing. The kind of kindness that didn't ask permission. It simply arrived, and expected you to make room. You noticed immediately that he had a way of enveloping you like a thick fog, or steam, perhaps. Warm. Careful. Complete. You didn't walk into it so much as you exhaled and found yourself already inside.

His cabin was large. Unreasonably large for one man but the word that rose in your throat, unbidden, was cozy. A lot of soft, cozy rugs on wooden floors, books stacked on every surface, not arranged but lived among. There was a fireplace which was nice on a such a cold, august day. It was windy, gloomy, warning. The air smelled of cedar and something…earthy, woody?

For a moment you thought: there is absolutely nothing more fitting for him than this.

Strange. How utterly normal it all was. What had you expected? A row of frightened faces and a pile of dead bodies? Silly little girl.

"You're looking for monsters," he said from behind you. You hadn't heard him move. A true predator, said your subconscious, unbeknownst to you, it seems. "S'understandable. Y'came here with a thesis. I get that."

His accent made thesis sound like a small, fragile thing. Thee-sis, the first vowel stretched thin, the second almost lost. It sounded so amusing and almost..sweet? When you turned, he was by the window now half-lit by the grey afternoon, his hands clasped behind his back. The sight made you slightly uncomfortable.

“Let’s begin.” you said already making yourself comfortable on one of the armchairs. that action looked like you were asserting dominance, but his smile made your shoulders slump in realization that you looked like a deer running from a bear in hopes to escape.

He took a seat with careful slowness.

"So begin, then."

You had to clear your throat. For a fraction of a second, because apparently you had lost faith in your own voice, what an irony. It had simply vanished, as if your body knew something your mind refused to admit.

The first few questions were only a surface scratches. What did you do before? Former SAS captain. He said it the way someone might say I used to bake bread. Casual. Unbothered. As if the weight of those words, captain, former, didn't press against the room. What brought you to create the community? Spiritual enlightenment. His smile didn't waver. Neither did his gaze, if anything, you saw his eyes light up. But his answers remained short, gave you an itch to ask to elaborate. But it was useless since you had obviously done your research.

Were you aware of the women who disappeared near your territory?

That one landed differently. You felt it land, the shift in the air, just slightly, like a door being pulled shut by a draft. And h didn't answer immediately which, to be honest, had you shift nervously. Instead, he slowly tilted his head, almost feline-like and let the silence stretch until it became its own question.

"Are you askin’ me if I kidnapped them?" he had corrected your question and it was so gentle, like a father guiding his daughter. But his victorious smile curled at the corner of his mouth, and you realized, with a cold trickle down your spine, that you had just become the prey who had forgotten the predator was in the room.

The poor deer. Couldn't avoid the bear's sharp claws after all. He had managed to scratch it, just the spine, or perhaps a leg, but harsh enough to warn. And to remind yourself where exactly you are.

"I didn't do it," he said, leaning back in his chair, his accent thickening around the words like syrup settling at the bottom of a cup. "If tha's the question y'wanted to ask, darlin'. I didn't do it."

Darlin'.

You hated when men were stepping over your boundaries and had the audacity to give you names. But this time, surprisingly even for yourself, you didn’t mind. Maybe he was just being kind?

"But y'see," he continued, reaching for his tea, not rushing, "tha's not really what you're askin’, innit? You're not asking if I did it. You're askin’ if I am aware."

Although you didn’t say anything recorder was running. The little red light blinked like a heartbeat, steady and indifferent. When your gaze focused on it it also reminded you of something ominous.

"So let me answer the one y'actually meant. Could I take a woman? Make her disappear? Keep her somewhere she doesn't want to be?" You noticed how his voice dropped, it sounded lower, did you irritate him?

"Course I could. M’not a fool, an' I'm not a liar. I've got the skills. I've got the space. I've got the sort of face people trust." He shrugged, as if admitting to something mundane. "But havin' the ability to do a thin’ isn't the same as doin' it. An' I haven't. Not those women. Not any." He held your gaze, why did it feel like he was forcing you to agree with him? "Tha' satisfy your thesis, love?"

You cleared your throat again. Your voice, when it came, sounded smaller than you wanted it to. "For now, yes, it does, thank you. Let’s move on to the second part of our first interview.”

He smiled again, licking his lips and you could swear that it looked like an animal getting ready to pounce on its prey. The smile of a man who had just given you exactly what you asked for, but nothing of what you needed.

"Great," he said “then ask me the next one i’ve got all afternoon."

"Thank you very much for the interview. If you don't mind, I'd like to film your territory and your people tomorrow morning." He nodded once and that was all. A single, deliberate dip of the chin. No following questions. No why or what exactly do you plan to film or let me see your credentials first. Just the nod. You had already learned this about him, Jonathan Price was a man who spoke once. His first word was his last, he didn't repeat himself, didn't clarify, didn't fill silence with nervous chatter the way lesser men did. When he said something, or when he signaled assent with that small, motion of his head, it felt like a stone dropped into still water. You told yourself this was efficient, this was convenient. You told yourself that now you had permission to film, and all you needed to do was capture the footage and leave. Simple.

The word echoed in your head as you walked back to your car, your boots crunching on the gravel driveway, the cabin growing smaller in your rearview mirror. Simple. You had your interview, you had your access, you had a thesis to write and a deadline to meet and absolutely no reason to return after tomorrow. You would film his people, his land, ask them a few questions and just drive home. Transcribe your notes, and never think about the way he said darlin' again. That was the plan. That was always the plan.