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amaranthinespirit

the two couldn't be more different. simon was years older than his brother—your boyfriend—to the point where simon was already graduated when his little brother had entered primary. the two weren't particularly close, the considerable age gap being the culprit.

they never bonded over women because being born in two different eras did that, or what music they listened to. simon liked heavy rock, the kind that thrummed a headache in his skull if put on blast. his brother liked soft, soothing instrumental such as classical or jazz.

one thing they could agree on was you. whether simon admitted it or not, he liked you. a lot. more than he should like his baby brother's shy little girlfriend, with soft mannerisms and shy gate. it was wrong the way his eyes lingered, dark irises consumed by the black of his pupil. he's been told countless times he had a staring problem. did it offset him?

never.

he got worse.

because he saw the way you squirmed under his gaze while wrapped under his brother's arm. he saw how possessively you were tugged along beside him, like you were a mere doll to be puppeted around and shown off.

and he saw the soft, purple bruises that marred your skin before you tugged the sleeve back down. he wondered how many more of those ugly blemishes ruined your perfect skin, how much happened behind closed doors that he didn't know about.

perhaps it was the age gap that simon didn't realize what a piece of scum his father made of his younger brother. because when you showed up at his doorstep, out of all people, with rear tracks down your puffy cheeks and dried blood from an unknown source on your skin, he saw red.

it didn't matter that it was his blood he shared, he was going to spill it for tainting your purity, and keep you for himself.

with your pretty eyes and soft smile, the way you'd lean close to the metal that kept you from the rest of the world. you were such a risk that they'd keep a personal guard outside your cell, and who happened to be stationed there but simon riley.

he was young into his career, still a bit gullible despite being fresh out of the military. the way he clutched his gun was clumsy, his eyes scanning too slowly to be efficient. you watched him like the anomaly he was, practically drooling at how perfect he'd be to keep you entertained.

simon was solid in the beginning, learning to tune out the yells and shouts from other cells and blocks, and your incessant rambling as you tried to get him to listen.

but unfortunately for him he was susceptible to a pretty face. it wasn't hard to lure him in, it only took you a couple weeks before you had him responding and engaging with you. it wasn't much, a few clipped words here and there, some firm orders, a raised brow for you to continue with whatever you were saying.

most of the time, he'd keep his back to you. he knew if he met those deep eyes of yours, he'd sink right in and be lost forever. but talking with you? different story.

especially when you started asking about him. his family. his job. his childhood. what brought him to the spot right outside your cell.

and he answered every question, enjoying the way you listened without interruption, showered him with all your attention. he lavished every drop up, becoming desperate for it. it was spiraling into something out of his control, and you both knew it.

simon figured, one day, a single look couldn't hurt. he's seen your mughshot plenty of times, what's the difference with your real face?

there was a big difference. with your wide eyes staring up at him, head perched on your arms as you leaned against the metal bars of your cell. lips pulled into a friendly smile. despite the dirt and grime of the prison, you were a dream, and that's how you doomed him.

the shift wasn't immediate, but it was progressing faster than you expected. maybe you smelled the gullibility on him when he first stood outside your cell, but you knew he wasn't like the other guards you had before.

you drank him in like he was a five star meal. how casually he leaned against the brick, thick, muscly arms crossed over his broad chest whenever he talked with you. he was strong and capable, unlike any other guard you've had before.

the two of you inched closer as the days went by, until you were inches away without him pulling away. so close, you could feel his breath ghost over your skin, and the warmth radiating from him. it laid over you like a blanket.

when your lips grazed his, you couldn't help yourself. you didn't care if he recoiled with disgust or fear, or if he would get you sent to isolation. he was within your grasp, and you couldn't muster any more restraint.

to your surprise, his eyes darkened and his throat bobbed. "y'think you should be doin' tha'?" his voice was deeper, raspier, like he was trying his best to hold back.

"I think i don't care about the rules." you batted your lashes. "I won't tell, sir. I'm good at keeping secrets."

"is tha' right?"

"mhmm."

"guess we'll figure out." he whispered, letting you close the distance. his lips were warm, plush, and so careful. you were sure and passionate, dragging him closer by his collared shirt. the metal bars bit into your face, only allowing you to get so close.

simon was dizzy, adrenaline rushing through his body almost unnaturally. this was more heart pumping than any military mission he was ever deployed on. as it went on, he gained more confidence, but you had to separate to breath, or you'd kill the poor man.

"unlock my cell, simon." you purred, running your hand down his chest. his face was flushed red, lips swollen.

he let out a shaky breath. "why would I do tha'?"

"because I want more."

he argued with himself in his head, wondering how far he would allow this to go. how far he could go before he was unable to pull himself back from your claws that sank deep into his brain.

after warring with himself for a mere second, he ordered. "step back, swee'heart."

"yes sir."

"little minx." he grunted, glancing both ways down the hall as the keys jingled in his hands. he memorized the key to your cell, knew it by heart.

the door swung open with a deep creak. now there was nothing separating the two of you from being together. you'd been beside him before, but never without your cuffs. this was different, this was new.

you didn't even leave simon time to think before you pushed him down onto your bed—if you could call it that. it was a thin, grimy mat on a metal bed frame. it creaked loudly, not used to the heavy weight of a man's body.

"jesus—" he choked out, unable to stop your desperate hands pawing at his belt. it had been years—since you were incarcerated—since you'd gotten a good lay. the guards always yelled at you to cut it off when you sank your fingers into your pussy, never allowing you that relief.

you were fast, wasted no time—because someone could notice simon's absence any minute. you didn't have the luxury of exploring each other, mapping out every inch of one's body. so a quick fuck would have to do.

simon was already hard and leaking when you freed his cock, panting at your touch. his hands pawed at your hips desperately, steading your weight as you straddled him. this wouldn't last long, but you didn't care.

you sank down onto his thick cock, prison grade panties pushed to the side as he stretched you wide. simon was too starstruck to protest, overwhelmed by the pleasure and sensations that engulfed him. your soft moans, the slaps of your skin with every bounce or roll of your hips, the dainty hand you wrapped around his neck.

he came with a choked groan, one hand leaving your hip to massage your clit with his thumb. you'd done all the work after all, it was the least he could do to help you orgasm.

simon swore he saw stars with your pussy clenching around him, couldn't help the second orgasm you forced from his body, but as quickly as it came, it went. he all but shoved you to the side, fumbling with his pants and belt while you watched with a satisfied smile. his hair was messy, shirt half unbuttoned, chest gleaming with sweat.

"break me out of here, simon." you whispered from behind him, arms curling around his torso.

"y'know I can't do tha'."

"why not?" you pouted. "you love me, don't you?"

"love's a bit of a strong word."

"is it?" you licked up his neck, enjoying how he tensed under your tongue.

he didn't say anymore, just pushed you away and locked the cell behind him. his mind was reeling with what he just did, what he swore he wouldn't do. he took an oath, and he broke it.

simon didn't even know your crime. it was an unofficial rule not to look up what these people did if you were the one guarding them. it was for peace of mind, but he couldn't help asking a fellow guard later that night.

"wha's the deal with tha' bird in cell 66?"

"didn't ya know?" the other guard furrowed his brow. "gutted people like fish, tha' one. don't look in 'er eyes too long, or you won't be forgettin' them anytime soon."

simon's heart dropped, and static rushed his ears. bile rose in his throat, and he had to hold himself back from puking all over the bricks.

he shrugged, turning away from simon. "she's a charmer, though. best be careful, mate."

"right."

he had made a massive mistake, having convinced himself that you weren't as bad as the others in this place, but it was his own naivety that put him in this situation. he resigned his job as your guard immediately and found new a job at a different prison.

when your new day guard showed up? he ended up dead, and your cell was found empty.

guys why is marketing a book so hard

simon knew you were crafty, had a bunch of hobbies that you always wanted to try out—and he would always spend the money on. you made him some things here and there, cutesy and definitely not his style, but he cherished them. even if his squadmates poked fun at him for it. they didn't have girlfriends making them cute charms or handmade wallets.

but it wasn't until you two moved into an apartment together that simon realized just how messy your crafts can get. we're talking spread out over the floor, taking over the room messy. you were in your element, laid on your stomach or sit criss crossed with the worst hunch known to man. fabric strewn everywhere, scissors haphazardly thrown somewhere. simon still finds threads from the previous craft weeks after it's been done.

he can't count the amount of times he's tripped over your little art zone, but he wouldn't change it for the world.

well, scratch that. he did change it, but it was in the name of crafts. he guided you, blindfolded, through your apartment, reassuring you with gentle squeezes at your nervous laughs.

when the blindfold was shed? you gasped at the new craft room he put together for you in what used to be the guest room—you never had many guests, but if you did in the future, they could have the couch. this was yours.

this man is beefy. years of hard work, slaving away in the gym to form thick, rigid muscles. scars from his military days all over his arms, torso, and legs that only serve to swoon the ladies in the crowd.

he wears his signature mask, recognizable skull pattern with dark, daunting eyes smeared with eye black–or guyliner when he's too lazy. nose crooked from being broken so many times. tight shorts that ride up his thick thighs, heavy bulge prominent just from the sheer size of his cock underneath the fabric. his chest glistens with sweat from the heavy and brutal fights, blood occasionally sprayed over his flush, pale skin.

he's an instant favorite. from the day he was initiated into the wrestler lineup, women would swarm him. he'd never felt so awed and looked at, and it boosted his ego tenfold. simon knew he was attractive, knew muscles were a woman's weakness, but he never understood the extent.

of course, the WWE is scripted. it was a well known fact, but he didn't care. he saw what the others did for a fat check, and while he didn't care about the money, he'd play along to whatever "romance" storyline he had, or epic rivalry to another wrestler. it was just another means of production, and he'd probably end up joining the dozens of wrestlers who had a scripted romance.

it was mid season, in the heat of the competition and height of his staged romance with one of the female wrestlers in the women's league. he was in the midst of a brutal right that could go either way if fought fairly—but of course, it'd be scripted to go his way.

until he spotted you in the crowd. a pretty girl with animated eyes, sign clutched in your hands that spelled out in bubble letters, "marry me, Ghost!!" it took the breath from his lungs.

there were plenty of pretty girls, plenty of signs and plenty of pretty girls with signs, but none like you. he was completely enamored at the sight of you in the crowd, just over the shoulder of his opponent.

that split second distraction had him slammed to the ground, head banging hard enough to leave him with a dizzying concussion and a lost match. he'd get his ear screamed off later for this, but he took in the pretty face that darkened with his vision while he still could.

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY ☆ MASTERLIST (nsfw content: potential dark themes!)

instead of a traditional masterlist with the links to every post, I'm going to be trying something new and use tags since tumblr won't let me edit my current masterlists or post them without getting them flagged. this will also help me keep it regularly updated, since I just have to add it as a tag when I post instead of having to edit a separate post.

it'll be organized like my masterlist (general simon riley, neighbor, roommate, etc.) and you just click the link and it will show you everything under that tag. it might take me a few hours, but it will be easier in the long run and hopefully it allows me to keep everything in one place.

so right now, i'm going back and adding the tags. they'll all start with ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🧸 ꒱ so its unique to my blog. the new masterlist post will hopefully be posted today or tomorrow at the latest. I'm just crossing my fingers and hoping it won't get flagged.

I'll keep my original masterlist up for the moment just to make sure that nothing gets flagged with the new one I'm making, but once its all figured out, I'll probably private post it or delete it!

much love!

you know your writing is good when someone steals it. you know it's amazing when it still gets 2k notes.

"forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. it has been a week since my last confession."

a grunt sounds from the other side of the cage-like mesh that separates you from your church's priest. your thighs press together, and you chide yourself for the reaction it incites. you're disgusted with yourself at your sin, yet you cannot stop the thud beneath your ribcage that excites at the thrill.

"back so soon?" his words are merely teasing, condescending, unlikely for a priest, but simon tends to get off script. "what is it this time, kid? steal again?"

no. you shook your head despite the wall that separates you. the silence is deafening, save for the creak of the chair you're sat it, wood carved with delicate curves and ornate crosses.

"no, Father. forgive me for my lust and the actions I have committed."

"lust, you say?" he goes silent, save for the rustle of fabric on the other side. it makes you anxious, even more guilt-ridden than before. you swear you can feel his judgement through the wall that separates you. "go on."

a shaky sigh escapes you, your knuckles turning white with your clenched fists in your lap. "yes, Father, lust. I... viewed pornography."

red hot embarrassment coats your skin, much like the blood of those who died for your sin. you were a meek teenage girl, barely eighteen with insatiable urges and an inappropriate crush. you could only confess one of those sins, for the latter is the more shameful one of the two.

a sound of interest cuts the silence. "what was the pornography? a video? a photo?"

"videos, Father."

"multiple?"

"yes." you admit shamefully, biting your lip. you still remembered how your dainty fingers circled your clit, riddled with disgust as you got yourself off on the religious display of porn. a priest and his devotee.

a satisfied hum comes from the other side, and you want to die of mortification. "describe the video."

"wh...what?" you blanched.

he surged onwards without a hint of awkwardness or shame. you couldn't begin to imagine the expression on his rugged face. "describe it. how many people were there?" he queried.

"there...was two people, Father. a man and a woman."

"where were they?"

your face burned further. you almost didn't want to admit it, but silence was a greater sin than admittance and pleading for forgiveness. with a hushed mumble, you spoke into your chest. "a church."

"what was that?" he pushed. "speak up, kid. can't hear ya when yer mumblin'."

"a church." you hated how the words seemed to echo off the walls, lingering within the silence that consumed and gnawed at your conscience. like the whole world needed to hear your sin.

he hummed with interest. "is that so?"

"yes, Father."

silence stretched. it was unbearable, an uncomfortable itch settling beneath your skin that, along with your urges, you could scratch. he finally spoke, "who were they to the church?"

"I...I can't say."

"you are ashamed." it was more statement than question because it was obvious from the way you stuttered, to how your words shook, to how you refused to go onwards. "'ts okay. best thin' y'can do is ask for forgiveness. get it off yer chest."

"yes, Father." you said, but it was a mere whisper. you didn't want to confess, for it would unveil the true nature of your indulgences—not just the fact you'd watched videos of people fucking but that they were of a priest and his devotee.

your fantasies were immoral and shameful, something to be deeply ashamed of, but your body couldn't help but react. it was wrong, you knew it, and indulged it anyways. rewarded your body with your fingers circling your swollen clit and plunged deep in your soaking pussy, replacing them in your mind with the thick, rough fingers of your priest. his hand strong, veined and capable of providing you with everything you craved and ached for.

but you couldn't admit it. couldn't admit your priest was the source of your sin, with his tall stature that towered over your meek in comparison frame. thick muscles that strained at the seams against his cassock and clerical collar—because there wasn't a size available to fit without constraint. you could only imagine how mouth watering his bare skin was—carved like marble to create a masterpiece. the epitome of sin. veins that flexed and rippled under his pale skin with his every word.

he cleared his throat, killing the silence. you had forgotten to continue, leaving you two in a deafening quiet until he reminded you. "talk to me, baby. who were they?"

your pussy fluttered at the pet name, forcing your thighs to clench together. the dampness in your panties was apparent, arousal sticking to the cotton and your skin. it shouldn't affect you this much, considering he called all the young kids at church some sweet endearment—sweetheart, honey, baby. it was innocent, but to your debauched conscience, it was anything but.

"it was..." you begin, the words catching on your tongue. with a shaky sigh, you forced it out. "a priest and someone from the church."

he didn't say anything, letting the creak in the wood speak for them. the harsh rustle of fabric whenever either of you moved an inch. you could never come back here, you decided. overran by your debauched immorality, you'd have to find a new church, forget about the brutish priest with sharp features and alluring eyes.

"hm." was the only sound he made for a while, letting you soak in the filth of your indulgences, brew in the depravity you couldn't help but live and breath in.

after an agonizing handful of minutes that felt like years, he finally spoke. "you wish to seek forgiveness?" the words caused a flutter, static rushing your ears. it drowned out the sound of a zipper and the soft clank of metal.

you breathed out in soft relief, nodding with an unmatched amount of desperation. "yes, Father. please."

a sharp slap of wood hitting wood filled the air, coming from beneath the lip of the confession booth. you peeked your head underneath, heart thudding so hard, you feared your ribs would break and allow your heart escape.

there was a small, circular hole that opened up to the other side. on the other side, a familiar, veiny hand strained around a thick, aching cock dripping with pre. it throbbed an angry red, and it twitched with every squeeze of his hand. you froze in shock, but couldn't help the way your mouth watered.

"get on your knees and pray for forgiveness then, baby."

THANK YOU FOR 10K FOLLOWERS

I started this blog about two years ago with no expectations. I just loved Ghost/Simon Riley as a character, and the complexities that you could explore within him. My early Simon days are sweeter and innocent, and now I explore some darker themes while still incorporating my original writing days.

In the two years I've had this blog, i've done and experienced so much, and even with weeks to months worth of breaks, every time I could back, it's like I never left. despite my inconsistencies, this blog is one of my favorite things ever, and it wouldn't be possible without all the people who follow me and their support.

I'm not sure how else to celebrate except by saying thank you and hoping that i can put out some new imagines regularly (fingers crossed).

I'd love to see people's requests and ideas that they have if they want to send them in. I'll try my best to get to a lot of them. You can also ask me questions about myself! I don't get a lot of those, but I would love to answer them.

Again, thank you for an amazing two years. It's surreal to me to have gotten to this point, especially when I'm so close to publishing my first book and moving to a new state for school. So many things are changing, and I can't wait to see where this blog goes!

love, liz <3

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ amaranthinespirit

it was risky, you knew, but something about him just enthralled you. sitting at the other end of the bar on a saturday night, you spotted a big brute of a man dwarfing a glass of amber liquid. with a mask pulled up onto his crooked nose, it exposed the scarred skin of his chin and jaw, and chapped, rough lips. something about the way his dark eyes scanned the room made your thighs quiver and your belly ache.

simon didn't look your way to know your eyes were on him, burning into the skin of his lower face and thick neck that bobbed with every sip of alcohol. you were a curious little bunny that couldn't help but be captivated by his wolfish appearance, and it was going to get you bitten.

you were sad when the man didn't look your way. he appeared alone and refused to pay mind to anyone except the bartender. you wondered how long he'd linger as the bar started emptying old customers and flooding with new ones. the population never staggered, and in fact, only increased with happy hour. how long was the man going to sit in that very seat?

it was hard for him not to look your way, the knowledge that your attention kept returning to him gnawing at his brain until he couldn't help a glance when he was sure your gaze was fixed elsewhere. god, you were so pretty and completely oblivious to the fact he'd been shadowing you for months, but he'd caught your attention now. how long was it going to take for you to bite?

you weren't sure how much time had passed, but the man downed his drink, left a large bill on the bar, got up and left without a word. this was your charge. mirroring his actions with your own, smaller bill, you left with a fleeting glance to the patrons around you. you didn't dare risk losing sight of your newfound interest, but he wasn't hard to lose.

simon heard you stumble out the door behind him. you were clumsy, didn't bother hiding the loud clacks of your heels against the pavement, but he didn't give away that he knew. he played along, had to make sure his prey felt in control when in reality, he was the one twisting you like the puppet you were. he tugged on his helmet, flung a leg over his sports bike and turned it on. the question was, did he want to lose you, or give you what you wanted?

seeing him wrap his thick thighs around the gas tank only caused the throb in your pussy to intensify, his sharp, dark eyes that lured you in hidden behind the visor. you went to your own car, turning it on in time just as he pulled out of the parking lot. naturally, you followed, keeping what you thought was a non suspicious amount of distance between him and you.

but simon noticed. he had a keen eye when it came to you, and he laughed underneath his helmet that his little rabbit was the one chasing him, not the other way around. regardless, he led you through winding streets and back roads until he can to a stop in front of an isolated cabin. if his bunny had any brain, you'd have realized he led you to the middle of nowhere.

but when you were tunnel visioned on the object of your desire, you lost sight of everything else. you wanted him, or at least to watch him to see what he got up to. an interesting looking man had to have a life that reflected that, right? you parked your car just down the street when you noticed he took a turn into a driveway far between others.

he swiftly turned off the bike, leaving his helmet on for protection—thats what he told himself, but little old you couldn't harm him if you tried. you were a little bunny compared to him. he hid around the side of his house, near one of the big windows that would tempt you to look inside. he was grateful he had remote control lights.

you crept with what felt like light feet, noticing the lights had been switched on. now where was he? you snuck up to that same window he knew you would peer into, standing on your tiptoes and hands curling around the windowsill for one peek.

but a scream fell silent on your lips when a hand tugged your waist into a hard, warm chest with another on your mouth. heavy breaths moved against your back with a shocking hardness pressed to your ass.

"caught ya, bunny."

hey! there's a person taking other COD blogs' work and uploading them without permission—mine included! their user is @whimsyunicornxd

be wary of this person, and please report it if you can!

you and your boyfriend had a great relationship. you've been together for years, and it was secure. he loved you, albeit more than you loved him. it was like a safety net, something you knew you could fall back on if you needed emotional stability.

but you weren't 100% compatible. don't get it wrong, you loved him—for the most part—but there was a little something to be desired in the bedroom. you couldn't understand why.

maybe it was because he was too careful, too nice, when he fucked you. it was slow and worship, and while you enjoyed vanilla sex, you wanted more. you craved more, but he had offhandedly mentioned before that anything crazier wasn't in his wheelhouse. therefore you were never fully satisfied.

you felt guilty, especially since having sex began to feel like a chore rather than a connection you craved, and you had a high drive that even he couldn't sate. you just needed more.

for the last couple of weeks, you've been dropping hints to your boyfriend about the possibility of a threesome—to add some spice to your life—with one of his friends. any of them would do, even if you had pictured a specific friends of his. saying stuff like along the lines of, "I wish I had two of you," or "imagine how fun it'd be with another you."

your boyfriend wasn't dumb. he knew what you were hinting at, and yeah, it was out there. he also knew how you looked at his friend whenever you two went to the pub for a drink with his friends. how you got flushed whenever his brooding friend looked your way, or when you grazed each other.

he thought if he invited simon into your shared bed, you'd scratch the itch that's been gnawing at you. a single night to get what you wanted, and everything would go back to normal.

but he underestimated just how well simon could satisfy you.

simon was the opposite of your boyfriend. all rough touch and calloused skin, with dirty words and hard thrusts that punched the breath from your lungs and tore tears out of your eyes.

his cock stretched around your drooling pussy, filling you in ways you'd never felt and hitting spots that had you mewling. his balls slapped your clit with the relentlessness of his hips, thighs slapping against him and turning red. his hands were wrapped around the entirety of your neck, using it as leverage to pull you back against him. it left you breathless and keening for more.

and your boyfriend watched helplessly. reduced to a naked cuck, he sat back on his knees in front of you, still hard and unsatisfied, while he watched his precious girlfriend get defiled in a way he's never even considered. he didn't think you'd be into hardcore sex—because this was hardcore to him.

hands around your neck, one leaving to slap your ass occasionally before finding its home on your throat again. strangled noises he's never heard you make before, moaning louder after every dirty word whispered to you. the rotation of positions, not stopping after one, two, three orgasms as he put you into a mating press, doggystyle, missionary, cowgirl, you name it.

simon didn't purposefully leave out your boyfriend. he fully expected him to be just as engaged in the threesome as he was. after all, your boyfriend suggested it to him, but it didn't go farther than sinking his half hard cock into your pussy while you choked on simon's dick.

this was a bad idea because it brought him to the realization that this is something that can't be fucked out. he liked safe and vanilla sex, and you wanted wild, energetic, and borderline toxic fucking.

because the weeks that followed—yes, your boyfriend didn't take it as a sign to break up—was a significant sign that the relationship had changed, and not for the better. after that night, you got simon's number and kept in touch, often spending most of your time exchanging messages or talking about if you could convince your boyfriend for another threesome

simon didn't mean to steal you from your boyfriend. he just enjoyed his time with the two of you—even if the man didn't do anything but watch you get fucked by his friend—and wanted to do it again, especially since you enjoyed it. but when you showed up at simon's place with tears down your face, you wouldn't end up leaving.