cucunot

[cucunot]

#his hands

[cucunot]

In Defense of Sex Scenes

I'm stewing in my own rot at the moment, but seeing "discourse" /"backlash" about how (mostly) women are happily talking about reading books with smut is the downfall of society. Comparing two to three hundred page books with a fraction of those pages being smut to internet porn addiction.

Often I see people dismiss sex is fictional stories as "pandering" or fan service. Anyway, I'm rambling, here is someone much more talented than me explaining it better:

There are some stories you can only tell with the vulnerability of sex and intimacy. Those stories can be grand or just a fun fantasy.

#wow #that was so deep #i 100% agree

[cucunot]

Thanks for including me 💖

Here's mine (I'm fucking tired)

Le tags @yawnderu @konigsblog @ave661 @ravenrune @unreliablesnake

Tag game!!!

Do this quiz

And this picrew

And tag people(obviously)

@anartistwithamask @gummy-axolotl @shadowthegay @auseryoumayknow @copper-ichor @moonysfavoritetoast @alexthescaredenby @invaderxeya @fungal-boy-witch-yay @artists-void @hazbin-hotel-lucifer-simp @ka1-the-pr0ot @theautumnalcat

[cucunot]

banging fists on table NIKTO

SHASHAHS WHY HE'S SO HARD TO DRAW,,,,,??

#HOT

[cucunot]

Happy birthday Rodion world's most special guy. canon americaboo with the best lines in the entire game. when I close my eyes I hear him going "GOT you козёл" "HEH. comeback baby 😈" "you like that shit?!" and "LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOO"

#cutie pieee

[cucunot]

Thinkin bout just yk

Sitting on nikto's lap and helping him shave, I mean hear me out (the trust needed) the emotional turmoil in him and his anxiety, trust issues, I mean what. (Also maybe kissing him afterwards idk he looks like he whimpers)

No but this is so adorable bestie 🥺

You got me right in my feels. The vulnerability of our troubled soul Nikto. 😩 how he’d only let You do that with him, see his face and be so close!

It took months for Nikto to take his mask off around you. First he graduated to tugging it up to his nose to kiss you or consume food and drink.

Even then, it was tentative, aquamarine eyes focused on your face. Nikto was waiting for the disgust, expecting it to curl into your features at the sight of his scars.

But it didn’t come. You barely even blinked when he exposed his savaged jawline. The warmth in your eyes remained, as you looked at him happily, not caring an iota about the marks he bears for life.

So he got bolder, feeding off your acceptance. One morning he pulled it almost all the way off, head buried between your thighs, because he wanted more of his skin touching your slick.

Eventually, while you showered, Nikto slipped in next to you. It took a couple of moments for you to realise he was free of the dark balaclava, usually worn in the comfort of your shared home.

Wiping shampoo out of your eyes, you gave him the most dazzling smile. Nikto isn’t prone to blushing, but your understanding of what being exposed like this means to him, almost made his tattered face glow.

Now he doesn’t hide his past from you at all. The moment he walks through the front door, his mystique is abandoned. Nikto is unapologetically himself and you worship it.

The night before deployment is always tough. Uncertainty about what he’s going to be doing, makes your stomach churn with anxiety.

Nikto misses the access you give him back to his true self while he’s away. He does his job because he’s a great soldier, but you’re the thing he truly works for. Always wanting to be better, love you with more of himself.

You’re sitting in his lap, holding up the little hand mirror so he can shave before he leaves. Nikto cherishes these moments of intimacy with you, those soft thighs clenching around his.

“You look handsome.” Nikto’s eyes glaze over slightly as your fingers curve their way along his chest, soothing the bumps and raised patches you find.

“Can I do it?”

Nikto nods, blinking slowly at you, like he’s transfixed. Carefully your hands take the blade from him. It makes a steady pathway through the shaving foam over the ridges of his scars.

He lets out a low sigh.

“I love you, do you know this?”

You grin, half of his face is still covered in white bubbles, but your lips find his anyway.

“I do, and I love you too.”

A low, rough whimper leaves his damaged lips in response.

You know you’re emosh when you can’t even bring yourself to put a funny picture here.

@cutiecusp @pxssygxblin @sigrid666

#panting and crying and throwing up i need him

[cucunot]

Please, I need a continuation of the story of !kidnapper Krueger and Nikto! Please!!

New Neighbours Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, obsession, non-con touching, condescension, manhandling, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 1k Boy, it been a fat minute since I wrote that small Drabble.

There was a knock at the door, three blunt and powerful hits of sturdy knuckles shaking your door with how strong - you presumed - the person was. Dropping whatever you were working on, you walked to the door and peering through the peep hole, shocked to see the familiar black and khaki fabrics of your new neighbour. You’ve seen them once or twice in the month between their first move and today, the grizzly look and scarred skin of a brash-toned and brutish man you came to know him as from the few times you met him. He would stare at you, wide, owlish gazes that left you shuddering from the gleam in his brown eyes, a deep-seated darkness as he… appraised you. 

He called himself Sebastian, presenting himself one night when you were stumbling home from a tiring day at work, stopping to help you up the stairs since his door was right across from you. You thought he lived alone, but was surprised to see another man, covered from head to toe in black and army green, hiding any identifiable feather apart from his pale, blue eyes and his broad shoulders, big and bulky even in his skin tight clothes. Sebastian’s roommate had only stared at you, unblinking and unmoving, seconds spent gazing at your anxious and uncomfortable form, messing with your sleeve while Sebastian helped you moved the bags to your kitchen table. 

If you thought Sebastian the weird one, then Nikto - he was spoken for - was the odd one, a fierce man that only knew how to stare silently to upset whatever and whoever he was glaring at. You only saw him once, and that was a blurry and tired view of him from the open doorway across yours when Sebastian was helping you. You had little to go on for him, being more familiar to his roommate and occasionally exchanging a few words when you crossed path —though rarely, the seemingly never left their home.

“Hey, Sebastian,” you tilted your head in greeting, opening your door only wide enough to pop your head out and kept a hand firmly wrapped around the knob in case he did something. You’d always been cautious, and Sebastian and Niktowere suspicious men, “How can I help you?”

“Ja, I need help with something,” his soft, yet brash tone made his accent more apparent, something small but attractive despite your apprehension towards him, “A woman’s touch.”

A woman’s touch? You didn’t know what he meant exactly, but when you looked down to his thick and crooked fingers - perhaps from his work, broken and reset too many times that it started to heal crooked - you could guess what he implied. Your fingers were smaller, lither than his with fat on your knuckles and smaller palms, it made working through small and complex affairs easier. Despite your understanding, you grew uneasy, squinting at him from the safety of your door, but Sebastian was nothing if not determined. So you nodded, excusing yourself to change your clothes from a small top and shorts for a t-shirt and sweatpants before you met him at his entrance, locking your door behind you.

This was your first look into the world they lived in, a bare and minimalist home, scantly decorated apart from the few vests and- was that a gun? And knives littering the kitchen counter with other dangerous items… Seemingly aware of your fright, Sebastian explained how he and Nikto were private contractors, working for a PMC, a private military company, and that they were just on leave, but would always be ready for a call back. Shaking off your paranoia, you followed him deeper into the kitchen, seeing the machinery littered on the table and beside it sat Nikto, ramrod and tense in his seat.

“женщина,” he growled out, his voice so raspy and low that you wondered if it hurt to speak a single word. [Woman]

“Nikto,” you returned, following Sebastian to the table and ignoring Nikto’s wide stare, his vacant eyes and lingering gaze, roving over your body and obsessively admiring you like a hunter would, “Is this what you needed help with?”

Sebastian showed you what he needed, explaining where each small piece went into the box, guiding you around the confusion machinery while Nikto watched, a sentinel in his own flat. You were so engrossed into fixing this small box, brows pinched with concentration get this thing fixed as quick as possible to return to the safety of your apartment, that you missed Nikto’s silent stalk towards you, his broad and silent figure looming over your unsuspecting form until a rough hand gripped your hip. 

You jumped, dropping the box and turned your head to gawk at Nikto, looking back at his - still - vacant eyes and wide and hungry glint. Frowning at him, you sunk your fingers into his hand, trying to move an unmovable wall that pushed himself against you, backing you into the table until he bent you over the now broken box you were first invited to fix. You struggled against Nikto, growling out a warning and clawed at his covered forearms, but it only riled him up. Sebastian stood and watched with a perverted eagerness as Nikto rutted against you, holding you down by the nape, scruffing you like you would a misbehaving dog. 

“Get off me!” You yowled, reaching back with your arms, trying to elbow a man you knew you wouldn’t be able to forcefully remove with how built and big he was, “Get off me, Nikto!”

“Shut up,” you could hear his bared teeth, the cold and condescending tone of his rasp, sliding his knee between your kicking legs, your feet arbitrarily hitting the air, “Stop struggling and listen.”

A low rumble left the man before you, your glare meeting the Austrian who found this situation funny, his chuckle slow and mirthful, finding enjoyment in your useless struggle and hissing. 

“I would listen to him, Schnuckel, ” he lowered himself to show the eagerness in his dark eyes, a cruel smirk curling the corners of his lips and a teasing tilt of his head, “Be good for us, nicht?”

You shouldn’t have accepted to help him, you should have listened to your gut feeling, but you have no one else to blame expect yourself.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

#part 2 when

[cucunot]

#when is it my turn

[cucunot]

Sick <3

Zombie!Ghost x Survivor You ☢️🖤

Part 3 - gore, eating Bambi (I’m sorry but needs must), Ghost trying to communicate with you in his own way 🥲, he’s very dead, but so are you without him…

It would be so pretty here, if you weren’t visiting in the middle of an apocalypse.

You’re sitting with your back resting against a tree, surrounded by tall grass. A warm breeze plays over your face, as you absently pluck daisies for the chain you’re making.

“Okay, next question - would you rather have legs for arms or arms for legs?” You ask Ghost, focusing on threading the small flowers together neatly.

Ghost grunts. Everyday it gets closer to a laugh, like his vocal chords are waking up from a deep sleep.

“Blink once for arms as legs, twice for legs as arms.”

Slowly, he blinks once, lids sticking over his dry white orbs slightly.

It was beyond exciting to Si, when he realised he could flutter his blonde lashes at will. He seemed to have complete control over that, no input needed from the virus.

You were bloody slow on the uptake though, not twigging the hidden messages behind his timed blinks.

Eventually he grabbed your arm and stuck his face in yours, damaged jaw working furiously, so he accidentally covered you in spit.

But ever since you realised Ghost could give you basic replies, he hasn’t been able to shut you up. You’ve chatted at him non stop.

The piece of Si trapped inside the prison of his cadaver loves it. It reminds him of the 141, normality and being with friends.

“Yeah I’d go for arms as legs too.” You beckon him down, from where he’s been standing as a look out over you.

With a huff and a dubious clicking of his knee caps, he sinks onto his heels in front of you. He doesn’t usually get this close.

The virus kicks up a notch, sensing living tissue to infect, but he firmly forces it into submission.

As you put the daisy crown on his head, his glare suggests he’s just about tolerating it.

“You look so cute!”

But you sound happy, and that makes him happy too. Even if he does look like a complete twat, a walking corpse decorated with whimsical flowers.

Your stomach rumbles loudly. Supplies are low and you haven’t had a decent meal in a few days. A flicker of something close to concern passes over Ghosts face.

He’s known hunger, in this life and the previous one. It’s not pleasant. Si’s voice nags at him; You could catch something to eat, don’t be a useless git.

It’s true, he could, but it would involve unleashing a part of him he doesn’t like.

When he watches you crunch the last of your stale crackers however, looking thoroughly miserable, Si takes the reins.

As night falls and you’re fast asleep, tucked away in an abandoned jeep, he lets the infectious parasite in his mind loose.

All that survival training pales into insignificance, when confronted by the inhuman nature he now possesses. The urge to feed, backed up by the senses and strength to bring that instinct to fruition.

At dawn, he returns with a deer slung across his broad shoulders. With fumbling, uncoordinated hands, he starts to skin it from pure muscle memory.

He was a butcher’s apprentice after all, though that feels like an age ago.

Softly, Ghost leans over you, snoring in the rear seat. One gloved hand reaches out to play with a piece of your hair.

“Fuck!” You wake with a start, to see his opaque eyes inches from your own, while one clumsy finger twirls a strand back and fourth.

Scooting away from him as quickly as possible, you nearly yank the chunk he’s gripping clean out. He lurches back slightly, trying to give you space.

Ghost pretends it doesn’t hurt his feelings, to see you react like that. He can’t blame you though, distorted face and the stench of Bambi's blood fresh on his dead skin.

“What is it?” You ask anxiously, looking at the dark liquid covering him.

Slowly, one cold hand reaches for you. Still rubbing your eyes, you hesitate, his gloves are drenched in the worst smelling fluid.

Sensing your reluctance, Ghost pulls one off roughly, then gives you his bare palm. He looks almost hopefully at you, then down at his arm.

So you take his outstretched invitation. His flesh is freezing, solid like marble because all his muscles are in fluctuating rigour mortis.

Proudly, he shows you the meat he’s prepared for you.

“Jesus Christ, please tell me that isn’t a person?” Your shaking hand is covering your face, eyes peering through the gaps in your fingers.

Ghost shoots you what can only be described as an old fashioned look, then shakes his head with a jerk.

His mouth starts to work furiously, low groans and gurgles spilling over his thin blanched lips. But words just won’t come, so he ends up blinking twice for no at you, wishing he wasn’t drooling so heavily.

“Can I eat it?”

One lethargic blink.

Eventually, you decide you’d rather not know exactly what it is. As long as it’s not a human, you’re hungry enough to light your camp stove and cook it.

Ghost sits happily beside you, tearing raw strips of meat off the bone with two big hands, aiming them towards his mouth and slurping. He’s becoming more dexterous, along with clearly wanting to speak.

“That’s grim. You know that right? If we find any other survivors, you’re gonna have to improve your manners.”

“Heh!”

It’s a laugh, clearly a laugh! Admittedly it sounds like a strangled donkey bray, tearing through his throat, but still.

Ghost looks surprised. Then does it again.

“S’not funny.” You reply, belly now full, thinking about his gentle gesture earlier.

You haven’t touched another hand in ages. It was strangely comforting.

“Thank you for looking after me.” Your voice is soft.

He huffs in response, lopsided face trying to curl into a genuine smile.

Ghost might even have blushed at that, if blood was capable of flooding his cheeks.

The masterlist is here <3

#dead dog ghost agenda

[cucunot]

Sick <3

Zombie!Ghost x Survivor You ☢️🖤

Part 2: Mentions of gore, bit of a longer one soz about me - I just love the thought of Si battling for his humanity, he’s very dead, but so are you without him…

You pick your way through the undergrowth that runs alongside the road, your constant shadow stalking after you.

He smells better, since you washed the stench of destruction off him. But the lack of muck covering his face, throws the absence of life into sharp relief.

Most of the time, you just talk at him. Knowing he won’t reply. It keeps you sane.

But Ghost enjoys your chatter, the human part of his brain purrs at the sound of your voice. The undead bit remains restless though, he has to snack while you’re asleep, doing anything he can to keep the hunger at bay.

Dead animals mainly, there aren’t any survivors left to pick off round here. He doesn’t like to imagine what you might do, if you saw him eating raw meat greedily, blood and saliva dripping down his throat.

Ghost would rather you didn’t see him like that actually. Feral and rabid.

You sit down on a tree stump, wiping sweat off your brow.

“Wish I knew your name. I need something to call you.”

Ghost gazes at you blankly, pale eyes just watching.

“Skull face seems a bit obvious.” You concede, eyeing the mask he still hasn’t taken off. “You’ve got a UK flag on your gear, maybe I should call you Brit?”

The voice of Si sniggers in his echoing brain. From somewhere inside that muscled chest, he lets out a grunt.

You stare at him, it’s the first vaguely intelligible noise he’s made around you. Or at least the first sound you can interpret. Normally it’s gurgling or strained huffs.

“Did you just agree?” Your voice is shrill. “You want me to call you Brit?”

Ghost just looks at you again. One gloved hand clenches, then releases. It’s impossible to read his expression, mask and white gaze not giving anything away.

“No? Yes? Make that noise again if it’s a yes.”

He stays stonily silent. Then something odd happens. The part of him that still remains Si and isn’t consumed by the virus, fights for dominance. With a Herculean effort it seems, he beats a palm against the little pocket on his vest.

You eye him, then you shrug. This situation can’t possibly get any odder, so you might as well keep living it. Moving slightly closer, you examine his pocket.

Looking up, you see his pallor, the way his teeth look ashy white in their bluish gums. But there’s something in his milky eyes, a fierce determination that’s crystallised behind the opaque lenses.

Ghost lets out a tiny sigh. There’s no air in his lungs to expel, but he wants to communicate with you so badly.

When he was alive, he was a man of few words. Now, he wishes he could have at least some of them back, to use again for you.

Carefully you open his pocket. Inside are dog tags, the metal flashing as it catches the light.

“Simon Ghost Riley?” You smile at him.

The exertion of his small voluntary action has exhausted him. But he forces a low grunt from his mouth again, before Si recedes back under the weight of the virus.

You place the tags around your neck.

“Come on then Ghost, we’ve got ground to cover.”

As night begins to fall, you manage to locate an empty stone outhouse with a reasonably sturdy door. It’s the best you can do. There’s some stuff inside you can use to barricade yourself in at least.

Picking through the random tools and crap, you look up to see Ghost hunched in the doorframe. It looks like he’s keeping watch, your endless sentry, unblinking and chilling to behold.

It’s not rational to trust him. But you do. Inexplicably, you’re sure that whatever is going on in his subjugated mind, isn’t going to hurt you.

Unrolling your sleeping pad, you try and select a comfy piece of concrete. You wait for him to leave, as usual, before you settle in. But he doesn’t shift an inch.

“Need to shut the door now Ghost. See you in the morning.”

Slowly, he moves his head on a stiff neck and looks at you colourlessly. He’s so fucking stubborn, even dead, planting two booted feet firmly on the floor.

“Go on!” You encourage him, like he’s a badly behaved puppy who won’t go outside. “Stop being a ratbag!”

He lets out a huff, then grimly makes his way over to a corner. Obstinately he parks himself against the wall, misty eyes now staring out of the small window.

The panes of glass are dirty, but the virus has made his senses sharper. Useful in tracking the living, but now they keep you safe from the other monsters that roam the night.

Si knows he is a monster too, but surely the fact that he’s able to acknowledge that counts for something. Sets him apart from the others?

He doesn’t look like he wants to move. But you raise your voice and try again.

“Ghost! Please can you leave and let me sleep?”

There’s a tiny jerk, just a small hitch of his chin. It’s probably old nerves firing, but it sure as hell looks like he just shook his head.

Maybe it can’t hurt, after all if he disappeared in the night you’d be lost without him. So you lock yourself and your undead friend inside.

Sleep comes quickly, brought on by the miles you’ve put underneath your feet as you look for any sign of life.

Simon doesn’t rest. Obviously he doesn’t need to. He watches the evening blend seamlessly into the early dawn outside the window. Back when he first signed up, he used to do guard duty all the time, enjoying the peace and quiet of life before the world woke up.

It’s no different now. He likes the way the birdsong fills his sensitive ears. Every snap of a twig is registered and even the wind whistling under the door is peaceful.

You shiver slightly, tugging your sleeping bag up in the draught.

So warm and soft. Still alive, you can feel the cold. The virus howls for him to move closer, seek out that sweet body heat you possess. But Si reins it in.

He’ll scare you if he gets too near. Also, Simon doesn’t usually act without permission, a habit formed from years of service.

Simon had people touch him without permission in his former life, and the consequences of that were very nearly his undoing.

Instead he just watches, haunts you. Living up to his name. A tangible spectre.

Human Si would have loved the sight of you in his dog tags. The steel sitting close to your heart.

Even now, he’s fighting so hard to get some measure of control back over his body. Wanting to do more than just follow you around like a stray dog. Growling at any other infected individual that dares to come near you.

In death, Ghosts presence is just as commanding as it was in life. You told him yesterday he was the king of the zombies, after he warned off a particularly venomous looking corpse.

The chuckle inside his head at that statement, almost felt like it might burst out of his broken mouth.

Si has faced his own mortality so many times. Now he’s the reanimated incarnation of it.

There was a fleeting part of him, that wondered if he should try and turn you, so you could live out the remainder of eternity together.

But he just couldn’t resign you to that. Simon isn’t a selfish person, not in life and not in undeath.

Still, it’s getting easier to access the parts of his consciousness that are unaffected by the virus. Since he met you, the voice of Si has become louder.

There’s a glimmering hope inside him, that even if you both manage to locate civilisation in whatever form, you’ll let him stay with you.

You’ve come on leaps and bounds in a few weeks. Now you’ve let him watch you sleep, when you’re at your most vulnerable.

That’s a level of trust that would have had the old Si grinning from ear to ear. But as his face doesn’t seem capable of that anymore, he contents himself with humming instead.

You wake to the sound of Ghost, mumbling a croaky tune, the sound strained through a voice box that hasn’t been heard since he died.

It sounds a lot like Three Lions. So you sleepily sing footballs coming home, until a flicker of life flashes across his wasted face.

Masterlist for this series is here

#dead dog ghost agenda #hes so gnngngngng

[cucunot]

Sick <3

Zombie!Ghost x Survivor You ☢️🖤

Thank you to the anon who gave me the inspiration for this cheeky series. Mentions of gore and injuries. I know the broken jaw background isn’t strict canon but in this version of reality it is. Who knows where your adventures will take you! He’s very dead, but so are you without him…

“Sit down!”

Ghost‘s frosted eyes gaze up at you. You swear you can see a hint of defiance in them, even through the virus that has ravaged him.

He can’t talk, not since he broke his own jaw before he turned. Hell, he doubts his voice box even works anymore. If he could, he would tell you to sod off.

It’s the strangest sensation, being trapped in his own body. The vague consciousness he still possesses, is now enslaved to a drive to consume everything in it’s path.

But Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley has always been tough. Even through everything life has thrown at him, he’s remained stoic. He’ll be fucked if this virus shit gets the better of him.

Carefully you squeeze out a sponge on his head, making his short blonde hair dark with water. He’s filthy, covered in blood, gore and mud. There’s absolutely no way he’s coming under your roof, smelling like death itself.

Because you can’t be parted from him now. Not since he found you, cowering in the ruins of a military base, surrounded by hungry demons itching to rip you apart.

Ghost snarled so ferociously at the corpses circling you, he sounded almost human.

This is it, you thought, watching him closing in on you while the others faded from sight. But instead of chowing greedily on your hot flesh, the giant just stared down at you.

Even when you cautiously stood up, legs trembling, he didn’t move. Ghost just gazed on with a strange familiarity.

Then he followed you home, the lost soul that he is. He always felt slightly rudderless in life, that was partly why he enjoyed being a soldier, but now he’s found a new purpose.

Looking after you.

At first you were completely unnerved, and you kept trying to shoo him away. He was so utterly menacing, trailing behind you, the undead soldier covered in crimson and darker stains you’d rather not know the origin of.

Unbidden however, he kept you safe, frightening off any dangerous creatures in your path with his indomitable presence. The more you moved into the darkness, the closer he got, like a bodyguard.

It didn’t take long for you to realise he could understand you, even if he couldn’t reply. Ghost huffed lightly when you shouted at him to fuck off and his eyes crinkled, like he wanted to smile.

It’s been so lonely since the outbreak took hold. You were travelling with work when it happened, alone in a foreign country as city after city fell. Desperately, you tried to get home as your companions died or turned around you. Then there was no one. Just you and your wits.

Given that he’s had plenty of opportunities to eat you alive, you made the decision to let him into the little cottage you’ve been using as a base.

At worst, he’ll kill or turn you, and your solitude will be over. At best, he could help you to stay alive.

Ghost doesn’t care why you’ve allowed him into your sanctuary, as long as you stay close to him.

So, with a creak of joints, he folds his long legs into the tub and lets you try to make him presentable. Ghost represses the urge to snap at you, when you gently rub the congealed blood from his cold white flesh.

He’s beyond pale, almost blue, frozen in time because blood no longer pumps through the veins spanning his body.

“Better!” You tell him happily. Ghost lets out a haughty gurgle in response.

“Hop out. I need to wash your clothes now.”

He glares at you like you’re an idiot, broken jaw hanging slack.

“Don’t look at me like that! I let you keep your boxers on.”

You’ve gathered up his gross tactical gear, along with some laundry powder scavenged from a long departed neighbours empty house.

He looked so concerned when you started to undress him. One freezing hand grabbing your wrist with surprising strength for a dead man.

When you attempted to encourage him to give you his briefs, he growled like a mutt, clouded gaze narrowing. So you let him keep them on, deciding it probably wasn’t worth losing your life over.

With freakish agility only one of the infected could display, he stands tall and exits the bath. Water drips all over the floor as you pat him dry calmly. Ghost shakes his head slightly, which makes the stagnant fluid in his spine crack. You wince at the sound.

It feels strange to have someone else touching him after so long. Not bad, just different. Your eyes move over his scarred torso, taking in the marks that decorate his bloodless skin.

There’s a deep wound on his neck, teeth marks, flesh ragged with angry burgundy streaks surrounding it. That must have been how he got turned.

Ghost lets out another low gurgle when you try and lift up his mask, batting away your hand. He doesn’t want you to see him, worried the sight of his sunken features will frighten you.

“Am I going to have to muzzle you? Or are you going to behave.”

Somewhere, deep in the human part of his brain still functioning, a voice that used to be Simon’s laughs. It quite likes the idea of you putting a muzzle and a leash on him. Or trying to anyway.

For the time being, you put him in a flowery dressing gown, located inside an upstairs cupboard. The disgust radiating from him at that is almost visible in the air.

Ghost stands perfectly still, while your fingers brush against his colourless skin, now almost translucent in the dark.

Unable to help himself, drool starts to collect in the corner of his mouth. It forms one long string of liquid, leaking over his chin. You wipe it up carefully with a cuff.

He sniffs, the thrumming pulse in your neck spreading your scent around him, his enhanced smell picking up on the notes in it. Your own personal perfume is yummy.

Ghost huffs, suppressing the viruses calls to taste you, find out whether your flesh is as delicious. It’s surprisingly easy to ignore his base impulses around you, even through the clamouring infection clouding his personality.

You look up into his face warily.

“Don’t do that.”

He groans in response, which isn’t exactly reassuring, even if he wants to tell you he’d never act on it. Unsure what else to do, you back away.

It’s weird. You know it’s so weird.

But still, the thought of having another body that doesn’t outwardly seem to want to kill you, is comforting.

You lock the door to the bedroom when you sleep, leaving him loitering in the dark hallway, a strange guard dog made of mutated flesh and sinew. Just as a precaution, you don’t think you could fight him off if he did decide you were a snack.

When you wake up, you wonder if it was all a fever dream. Then you hear a loud creak from the floorboards downstairs.

Ghost is waiting for you, almost exactly where you left him.

Masterlist to this series is right here

#dead dog ghost agenda

[cucunot]

I feel like nikto would eat non stop but only the most strangest shit ever. Like bro will wake up at the crack of dawn just to swallow a raw egg yolk like it's liquid gold

Bestie this absolutely ‘cracked’ me up 😂😭

Sorry I’m the worst

I agree I agree.

I reckon you’d also find him snacking in the middle of the night. Eating nonsense like peanut butter and raw onions or something.

A little hungry gremlin. He eats in bed and gives no fucks about crumbs. (Awful)

I imagine the egg is for “protein” 😒

If we’re talking about roommate Nikto, I think he’d always want to try what you’re making.

Perve, he’ll be asking to eat it off your spoon 🙄

#He can eat it off my belly if he wants to

[cucunot]

Ooooooouhh my toes are getting all sweaty and curly at the thought of him snookums

-({;})

YASSS bby ({;}) curly toes 🤣💗

I present to you…

Cringe things with Nikto 🫣🤍

Nikto truly believes he’s the best cook in the world. He isn’t, his food is borderline inedible. One birthday he made you a cake, used salt instead of sugar. You had to pretend to enjoy it while your eyes watered.

When you first met, Nikto was barely domesticated. Sleeping at weird hours and prowling around the house. Then he started reorganising all your kitchen cupboards to try and keep himself busy. Now he gets genuinely heartbroken if you move a single tin out of it’s place. “It’s my masterpiece milaya, don’t spoil it.”

Pounding you into the mattress one night, you both went in for a sloppy kiss at the same time. It was dark, his head smacked against your chin. You ended up in the doctors office with a profusely bleeding lip, dressed only in your lingerie and a coat. Nikto kept telling him it was a sex injury, while you died of embarrassment.

Nikto will call you at all hours of the day, wherever he is in the world, for almost feral phone sex. If you don’t pick up he leaves you the horniest voicemails. You made the mistake of answering your phone, at a set of lights with a cop car next to you once. Both officials gave you the thumbs up, as your boyfriend grunted through your vehicles speakers at full blast.

After your first minor fight, Nikto thought it was over. He got absolutely wasted because he was so miserable. Then you had to go and pick him up from the bar, while he told you vehemently how much he loves you. The slurring resulted in a lot of spit going everywhere, then he passed out fully clothed in your bed. Snored all night. You didn’t catch a wink.

You tried to go out for a nice meal one time, something romantic. But you both got chucked out of the restaurant, because Nikto managed to sweet talk his fingers into your panties. The owner threw a glass of water over him, when he asked them what the problem was. Needless to say it didn’t cool him off in the slightest. You’ve never been able to go back.

You bought one of those mould your own dildo kits, because you miss his cock when he’s abroad. You both got plaster everywhere, it ended up looking like a wonky mess and you couldn’t stop laughing. He chases you around the house sometimes with it.

He absolutely loves chick flicks, the cheesier the better. Has been known to shed a tear when the couple make their declarations of love at the end. It makes you giggle, seeing your extremely fierce man well up over the worst plot lines.

Nikto talks a big game, but when you get on top and ride him, he gets absolutely fucked dumb. Barely able to do anything but moan, eyes screwed up so he doesn’t cum on the spot. You could offer him reverse cowgirl and he’d give you anything you want in exchange.

[cucunot]

That last cringe nikto hc has me spinning in circles on a freshly waxed linoleum floor ≧﹏≦

But I raise you by one, what if, we had nikto being VERY needy in bed? Acting like a true power bottom?(´･ω･`)

-({;})

My pooks ({;}) I won’t lie, I am firmly in the camp that Nikto fucks rough and he wants you to ride him half to death. Grunting, sweating, biting and scratching.

But having said that - Needy Nikto…

God knows I stan a whimpering man.

In true power bottom style, he’s begging you to go faster, take him deeper. Big hands on your hips, driving you up and down, while those pretty blue eyes are rolled back in his head.

The man is almost sobbing when your thighs squeeze him.

“Please little one! Keep going! You fuck me so good!” He whines, trembling because it just feels too damn intense.

He’ll try and thrust himself into you harder, doing anything he can to get off in you. When you tell him no with a light hand around his throat, he nearly cums on the spot.

Bonus points if you keep bouncing on him, post nut, making him sniff and huff because he’s so overstimulated.

I need a cold shower and a beer.

#get me a bottle of fireball and a 10 gauge #im gonna go shoot holes in the ground

[cucunot]

Pietà Occulta (details), 2018

~Roberto Ferri (1978-)~

#when #me when #this is a question

[cucunot]

next a bite button PLEASE

[cucunot]

#WHY ARE THEY SO CUTE #this is the only ghoap fanart i enjoy