bitemefightme

[bitemefightme]

Finale part of my period sex with the Papa's train of thought! (Unless I talk about ghouls but idk)

Primo who's reclined in a plush arm chair, lazily fisting his cock while he watches you, tied up so pretty for him and dangling from the ceiling. Blindfold over your eyes, gage in your mouth, and a bullet vibe on your clit. He just watches as you cum over and over while your slick and blood puddle into the bowl on the floor underneath you. He has more than enough for the ritual later but... Maybe just a little more would hurt. Just a few more ounces, lamb. That's it. Keep begging.

[bitemefightme]

two bad bitches at the same damn time 💅

The urge to pull his tail

[bitemefightme]

Copia stumbling weak kneed and disheveled from the ghouls den, covered in hickies and bite marks.

That it.

That's the post.

[bitemefightme]

You're new to this ministry location. You don't really know anyone here yet, the only person you can say you even kind of know is Frater Imperator and that's only because you've been working directly with him for the past few weeks.

Well... Know might be the wrong word. You've only made some small talk with the occasional joke or flirt but being the former Papa's assistant ment that you were by his side more often then not.

Which is why when you wake up in the middle of the night, heart pounding in your ears, breath caught in your throat, and tears filling eyes you have no idea who to go to except Copia.

Thankfully your apartment isn't far from his. Set up in such a way that if he needed you late at night or early in the morning it wouldn't take long for you to be at his side.

Your bare feet pad against the cold marble floor and you make your way down the hall, legs shaking and body wrapped in your blanket. When Copia answers the door after you lightly knock you're thankful to see that it doesn't look like you woke him up. He was wearing a red track suit and a shirt for an old metal band you didn't really recognize at the moment. His reading glasses perched atop his nose telling you that he has either been reading or going over some paperwork that couldn't wait until morning.

Copia is shocked to see you at his door at this time of night, bundled in a blanket with tears staining your face.

"I- I'm sorry to bother y-you but I didn't..." You trail off, not knowing how to explain your nightmares and anxiety to him.

"Oh, dove, it's alright." Copia coos as he wraps his arms around you. Comforting others came naturally to him. "Come in. Come tell your P-... Your F-frater all about it."

He guides you inside, closing the door softly behind you before leading you to a couch and sitting down with you, your hands tightly clasped between his.

"Now, what's gotten you all worked up into a tizzy, hm?" Under Copia's kind but intense stare you can't help but spill your guts about where your mind was at. Your fears, your trauma, your stresses, everything came flooding out with your tears.

You're not quite sure when it happened but you're tucked to Copia's chest by the time your tears dry, he's cooing and whispering soft sweet comforts while his hand lazily cards through your hair.

"I'm sorry." You mumble as you pull away from him, wiping the remainder of your tears from your face as you let your gaze fall to the floor. "It's late. I shouldn't have kept you up with my nonsense for so long. I should just-"

Copia catches your chin with his hand, turning your head until your eyes are on him again. He has a stern but still comforting look in his eyes.

"It's not nonsense." He chides. You want to look away again but he holds your gaze with his own. "I care about you, dove. We have to work close together, it would be nice if we could trust each other and come to each other with these kinds of things, yeah?"

You nod and he releases you, giving a small smile.

"You can come to me any time you want, okie dokie?" He holds your hands firmly in his own, giving them one last comforting squeeze before standing up. "How about a glass of wine before you go? It always helps me relax before bed."

You each have a glass or two of wine while you talk well into the night. Much later than you probably should have but it was nice to get to know each other.

By the time you make your way back to your own room you can hardly remember what had been bothering you in the first place. You were more comfortable talking to Copia from then on as well, and eventually it became a nightly ritual to go to each other's rooms to have wine and talk or watch a movie before retiring to bed. Even if most of the talking eventually turned to gossiping about other people in the ministry or letting Copia vent about Perpetua, it was nice to have someone to go to and just talk about whatever was on your mind.

At some point your nightly hangouts turned into sleepovers, ending with both of you passed out inside of a pillow fort or sprawled over the bed. And sleepovers turned into date nights and before you knew it you were a couple without really ever meaning to become one. You were always close to each other in some way, shape, or form. Touching and joking and flirting more than you were getting work done sometimes.

You didn't wake up to nightmares anymore and Copia starts to enjoy being Frater Imperator, just a little bit. You still complain and gossip and vent to each other but now, it feels like fewer tears are shed. You both feel safe, loved, and warm with one another, and really, who could ask for more?

[bitemefightme]

He needs to be sluttier!!!!!

Perpetua’s outfits just aren’t tight enough

THERE I said it

[bitemefightme]

For real tho? How is Copia caked and Perpetua not? Toblerone Fudge what witchcraft is this????

Copia knows there is one thing that Perpetua can’t steal from him and that’s all the cake he was blessed with! 😤

[bitemefightme]

Mary Goore likes having sex with you while you're on your period because it's the only time you'll let him be covered in blood and have sex with you. He'll eat you out so it's all over his face, he'll finger you and then wipe his hands on his chest, and of course, he'll fuck you while laying back so your blood covers his thighs, crotch, and lower stomach. Nothing puts Mary on cloud nine like the sticky feeling of being covered in blood while also fucking up into a pretty cunt.

[bitemefightme]

Finally! Ghost fucking in the ghost fandom my beloved!

Seriously tho, I can never find any fics with spectrophilia in this fandom and all things considered it's kinda weird.

my first @keepfandomweird prompt! this time it's haunted house with some sentient location thrown in. enjoy!

words: 2k

pairing: primo x f!reader

rating: e (penetrative sex [vines as tentacles]); age gap; belly bulging; squirting

They say the greenhouse is haunted.

Mostly reports of this have come from couples looking for a place to canoodle. They say that they slipped into the old building under the cover of night and something irritated chased them out with slapping branches and rattling windowpanes. If the greenhouse is haunted, you can’t say you blame it for its actions; you’d probably be annoyed if you were once resplendent and full of life, but now only used as a sanctuary to have a quick fumble.

You steer clear of it, honestly, because it only ever makes you sad. It was a lovely place once, verdant and blooming, all sorts of beautiful smells drifting out of it to make one honey-brained in pleasure. Ever since Papa Primo’s death it has been ignored. Some of the glass has cracked in jagged fractures, revealing how the plants inside have grown wild and sickly. It seems a damned shame. You know how proud Papa was of that place.

The first time you enter there yourself is to try and get away from your roommate. She’s been trying to corral you on a double-date with her and some guys from the local town, something you are absolutely not interested in doing, but she will not take no for an answer. So, like a respectable adult, you’re hiding. She knows all your usual haunts - the abandoned belfry, the darkest corner of the library - so you have to get creative. 

The greenhouse it is, then, a paperback tucked under your arm and the desire to disappear heavy in your soul.

The door creaks as you creep inside, looking around the place, and you can see where the rumour comes from. It feels like someone is watching you as you step tentatively forwards, careful where you put your feet, minding the overgrown leaves as you sneak in. The hair on the back of your neck stands up and you find yourself glancing over your shoulder, certain you’ll find that you have company… but you are alone.

Still, though, you didn’t realise how much of a mess it was here. Plants jostle and fight for space and light, those hardy enough to go without water for any length of time dominating the space. You see that weeds have managed to make it into the clematis growing in the corner. Weeds! You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth in dissatisfaction. 

“This won’t do at all,” you mutter, putting down your book and searching for some gardening gloves. It doesn’t take you long to find a pair, old and worn but certainly still usable, and you knock a woodlouse from their fingertips as you slide your hands inside. You were planning to read but this is just as good a pastime as any - so long as it keeps you hidden you’ll take it, to be honest.

It’s hard work, digging in the compost and ripping the weeds out, especially as you want to make sure that you get the roots completely. As you go that feeling of being watched intensifies. You can almost feel a figure towering over you, leaning down to observe your work. It isn’t unpleasant, though. In fact it almost feels companionable. After a while of labouring under that sensation, sweat running down your forehead from the effort of your labour, you decide to speak out.

“Papa Primo? Are you there?”

No answer.

A beat.

Slowly, ever so slowly, one of the clematis flowers opens from the tight bud it had wrapped itself in. Your breath catches in your chest.

“Is it alright that I’m here?”

Another beat. Another flower opens. It doesn’t feel aggressive or chiding, so you assume he must be fine with it. You smile.

“Good. Thank you, Papa.”

Though your heart is in your mouth, you continue with your work, unable to ignore the ghostly presence you’re now thoroughly tuned in to. Well, what do you know, the greenhouse is haunted. You just need to not piss off the thing haunting it and it’s pretty welcoming.

Eventually the sun begins to set and you’re sure your roommate will have gone out by now. You’re pretty much done anyway. You stand, stretch out your muscles, and survey your accomplishment: one flowering bush, free of weeds. You grin at a job well done.

Well. You’ve done one bit of the greenhouse. It doesn't make much sense to stop now, does it? Not when you’re only just beginning a project. 

“I’m going to come back tomorrow Papa, okay?”

The clematis bursts into bloom, and you giggle.

Your roommate is annoyed at you for ditching but nothing can dampen your wonderful mood. You are incensed to have been let into this little secret - with the ghost of a Papa of all people! You do return the next day, the moment after you’re done with breakfast. There’s a spade and an old watering can waiting for you when you arrive, laid out just in front of the greenhouse door. An invitation, a welcoming gift.

“Thank you Papa!” you call out, and you swear the sun shines just a little bit warmer through the glass.

Your work from then on is methodical: composting the unsalavageable plants, nursing the ones who you think are worthwhile patients back to health. You do a lot of tying stalks to bamboo canes and begging them to stay upright, a lot of repotting and uprooting. It’s exhausting but worth it. You thoroughly enjoy being here, the sensation of Primo hovering becoming akin to visiting a friend. His presence is never incredibly pronounced but you’re aware of it constantly: a curling leaf here, a lush aroma there. You can almost feel him reaching around you to help you weed, his arms bracketing yours as you dig up the rot together.

It feels intimate. You love it. You find yourself chatting out loud, just discussing your day, and you can feel in the warm air around you that Primo enjoys these times too, enjoys you.

Yes, indeed, his presence is never incredibly pronounced… at first.

One day your stomach rumbles as you’re working on a peach tree, and you watch as one of the little green nubs suddenly ripens before your very eyes into the most delicious-looking piece of fruit you’ve ever seen. You reach up to take it and it drops from the branch into your hand, plush and juicy.

“Thank you Papa,” you call, taking a bite and moaning at the sweetness of the soft flesh. Syrup drips down your chin and into the dirt beneath your feet, your eyes rolling back in delight. The greenhouse grows unbearably warm.

On another, you work yourself so hard in a tulip-bed that you find yourself dozing off during your break, a half-eaten sandwich falling into the dirt from your limp hand. As you stir some time later you notice that all of the flowers have opened their petals full and bright, welcoming you back to the land of the waking in a bed of beautiful blooms. In your hypnagogia you can almost feel the weight of a lover on top of you, lips caressing your neck and hands tracing your body.

You stop coming to the greenhouse for the plants, and start coming there for the ghost.

It feels strange to be harbouring these sorts of feelings for someone who is not only far older than you but also dead and manifesting himself through his plants. Your love life has never been conventional though, and the Ministry is hardly known for being mundane. You figure what the hell, both you and Papa seem to be enjoying this little arrangement, so why question a good thing?

You sit with your back up against a tree, some months after you began your new vocation as Ministry gardener, finally reading the paperback you first ventured in here with. You’ll probably need to relocate this one outside soon, it’s getting far too big to still be in the greenhouse really, but you feel a little possessive over it - you’re not ready to share it just yet.

You lean your head against the bark and luxuriate in the sun beating warmly on your skin, swearing you can feel someone brush their fingers along your arm.

“Papa,” you sigh, “I wish you were here with me properly. I want to touch you.”

There is a noticeable change in the air of the greenhouse. It becomes heavy, loaded. Like the atmosphere between two lovers about to consummate their relationship for the first time.

And then you see the vine snaking towards you.

It’s slow, deliberate, waiting for you to get eyes on it, appearing from satan-knows-where in the underbrush. Firstly you only notice the one coming towards your leg, deliciously thick and enticing, but then you’re aware of a heaviness on your palm: another has come to wrap along your hand, entwine itself with your fingers. You gasp as its blunt head rolls fat and heavy against you, a bead of sap running down its length and across your knuckles.

“Oh…” you whisper, entranced. The other vine slowly circles itself around your foot and begins to move up, up, ever so slowly. Almost like you’re being asked if this is alright. You inhale sharply and nod, edging your legs open further to allow it access to you. The vine slides along your calf, your thigh. When you feel it brush against your sex you gasp.

“Ah! Ah, hang on…”

You manoeuvre so you can hitch up your habit and tug your panties to the side, allowing Primo easier access. The vine does not miss its opportunity, the green tip pressing against your cunt just deliciously, writhing in a way which seems pleased with how wet you already are. You gasp as it dips inside just a little, exploring, then burrows in deeper when your desperate pussy allows it access.

“Papa!” you groan, and it likes that. The vine slides even further in, filling you up nice and full, more and more of it twisting its way into your guts. You choke at how much of it you’re able to fit, every time you think you can’t possibly have any more of it inside the vine rearranging itself to add another inch. You grip onto the one in your hand, squeezing tight and groaning as sap drips down your wrist in thick, fat globules.

“Oh, Papa! I knew you were big but this is… this is…” you are lost for words as the vine moves inside your pussy. There were always rumours about Primo’s almost impossible length, and it feels like he’s trying to show you how big his cock is the best way he can. He may not be able to fuck you like that any more but he can fuck you like this, an agglomeration of pulsating plant life in your yearning cunt.

Then he starts to move, to work the tendril in and out of you, and holy fuck you almost lose your mind. You’re glad you have the tree to brace yourself on because you’re certain that you’d be pushed along the ground with the force of his thrusts, bringing the pseudo-cock almost all the way out before winding it back inside you again, each time showing you how it drips with your arousal. You grip the one in your hand for dear life and it squeezes back, like how you’d interlock fingers with a lover. Quite without realising you rest your other hand on your stomach and you can feel how he fills you as your belly bulges outwards, movement just beneath the skin, the mass of plant inside your body as he ruins you for anyone else.

“I’m going to–!” you barely get a chance to warn him before your orgasm envelops your body and you come hard all over the vines. It gushes out of you and drips into the wanting soil where your release is immediately soaked up by the greedy ground. It feels like a rocket ship has taken off from your body and you lose control of your motor functions for a second, going limp and light-headed.

In that moment you hear a chuckle in your ear, a ghostly kiss upon your lips.

Bene, fiore mio.

Nobody questions when you’re made head gardener at the Ministry, they’re mostly just glad that the ghost has stopped making itself a nuisance. They do wonder why the greenhouse steams up whenever you visit it, though, or why you always leave its confines with a huge smile on your face.

But there is no doubt that the plants have never looked more beautiful. 

[bitemefightme]

Continuing with my period sex with the Papa's train of thought

Secondo fucking you against a wall, one leg pressed to your chest because he loves to watch your blood, slick, and cum run down yours and his legs. The sticky feeling of it on his thighs makes him feral istg.

[bitemefightme]

Recently read the sister Imperator comics and something about them didn't quite sit right with me. The story is amazing and the art is gorgeous but that's not what I'm talking about. The story that sister is telling the reporter doesn't feel 100% real??? The best way I can think to describe it is that Imperator is an unreliable narrator. What she's saying may hold some truths but the larger part of it feels fabricated. Like she making stuff up to either mess with the reporter or throw him off.

Idk, maybe I just don't want to accept the whole circus storyline but I'm going to stick with the idea that a major part of the story she tells is made up.

[bitemefightme]

Boss makes a dollar, I make a dime, that's why I'm horny for fictional satanic popes on company time.

[bitemefightme]

Ok but what if I kiss his face until it's covered cartoony red lipstick marks? What then????

Perpetua feeling like a monster, unable to accept that he does deserve love, and gentleness, and kindness. Perpetua feeling like a twisted thing when he sees his reflection, despite his partner(s) saying hes lovely, and beautiful, and handsome. Perpetua who is afraid to initiate physical touch because what if they recoil or reject at his touch

[bitemefightme]

Sorry, I'm listening to some angsty music and I just had the thought ...

What if Perpetua never forgot Copia like how Copia forgot him? What if all these years he's had the memory of a brother who he used to play with... Who loved him and took care of him. And then he finally gets the opportunity to see him again and... The doors locked.

He doesn't get the chance to see the brother he only faintly remembers before being swept away to go on tour. He keeps on hoping that maybe he'll get to call him or he'll come to a show if he has time, only to find out that he not only had forgotten about him but also hates him now.

All the hope he'd felt for having a real family again gets crushed and replaced with a seething hatred and loneliness but also confusion. He doesn't understand why this is happening and he doesn't have time to unpack it so all he can do to keep from breaking down is build up walls of hatred towards people he doesn't even know anymore. Towards a brother who forgot him. Towards a mother and father who abandoned him.

[bitemefightme]

Terzo cornering you in a dark alcove at the end of the hallway, gloved fingers dipping into the waist band of your underwear but not getting much farther because you grab his wrist, eyes wide, and he's worried he's overstepped a boundary.

"I... I'm on my period" you admit, face red.

"Ah" is all he says before withdrawing his hand. You think that's the end of it but he doesn't let you go. Instead, he catches the finger of his glove between his teeth, tugs it off, and slips it into his pocket. Then he rolls his sleeve up to his elbow before returning his hands to their previous place on your body, making their way farther down when you don't stop him again.

"Thank you for the warning, blood can be such a pain to remove from leather and silk, you know."

[bitemefightme]

The closer it gets to midnight the more horny and feral I become. Your ask box is no longer safe. My posts border on unintelligible and unhinged. I might just say the fucked up things my brain comes up with. No one knows where the night will go honestly.

[bitemefightme]

Violently holds him in my mouth and then my throat and then my mouth and then my throat and then-

gently holds him in my mouth

[bitemefightme]

Wrapping it around my hand and using it like a handle while I fuck him

Sorry I mean what?

The urge to pull his tail