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papathe5th · 3 days ago

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I've been very feral at the idea of Papa V Perpetua slowly conditioning the reader until he has complete control over them. Bonus points if this reader is close to Copia--possibly even Copia's assistant? :3

- 🦇💜

At long last, I have completed your order, 🦇 💜 Anon. And, if you liked the WIP I posted, then I know you’ll love the finished product.

Pairing: Papa V Perpetua x GN!Reader

Rating: E (explicit)

Words: 3700

Tags: love-bombing; manipulation; co-dependency

You couldn’t breathe without Papa V Perpetua.

Tonight, as your text messages piled on top of each other without an answer to topple the rising tower, your heart sank deeper into your stomach and thrashed as if it were drowned in acid.

Forgive me, Papa.

Whatever I did, I regret it.

Please forgive me.

Tonight, as you scrolled through all your shared secrets and sweet nothings, you bitterly remember the beginning.

💀☠️💀💜💀☠️💀💜💀☠️💀

It began like all of your late night shifts, with an email. And, like all of the emails you sent out, you signed it with “From the Office of Frater Imperator.”

Do you have a name, or should I call you Office?

The response came a minute after midnight, and it was from Papa V Perpetua himself. Or, as he signed everything he got his hands on, PPV.

In your journey to the past, through the many messages you sent ecah other, you stumbled upon the first time you ever addressed his signature.

Shouldn’t it be PVP?

You texted him weeks later, when he convinced you that it was perfectly acceptable to reach him on his personal phone. And after you took it upon yourself to become his confidant and not just The Office of Frater Imperator.

PVP? Player vs. Player?

A laugh escaped from you and your boss caught it. You made sure he didn’t catch you slipping your phone back into your hidden suit jacket pocket.

“What are you squeaking about, little mouse?”

You weren’t lucky he was in a good mood that evening. You had worked hard on keeping him happy. Cooking his favorite dish to take to work, then pretending to be too full so that he could have the rest of the huge portion you packed. It was one of the many ways you laboured for The Ministry.

It was also labour nobody was paying you for, but you gained a feeling of satisfaction watching Frater Imperator, the Papa Emeritus at the time of you joining The Clergy, moan while enjoying something of yours.

When you made your excuses and said you were happy that he loved your cooking, you meant it. You were happy to see him eating at all.

When he first ascended to the highest position, you watched him waste away in his temporary office for weeks. It was you who encouraged him to eat and to go to sleep while you took over his duties from 5 PM to midnight.

That was how it all began. During a late night shift, when you met the new Papa, his fraternal twin. And you used your real name to sign an official email for the first time.

💀☠️💀💜💀☠️💀💜💀☠️💀

Tonight, you were hopeless. A hopeless hyperventilating mess. After a couple of hours of boundless bliss in Papa V Perpetua’s presence, you have fallen into the bottomless pit of despair.

Papa.

I’ll stop now.

I’ll stop texting.

You had met him in the flesh for the first time only hours earlier, during The Black Mass. It was his first time preaching to The Ministry, and he was fresh off performing the newest plasm to the European congregation. He was equally as excited as he was nervous and he shared these secrets with you. He shared all his secrets with you. You were his confidant.

Papa V Perpetua let you know that he appreciated your presence without a word. He made eye contact, melting you in the pews. When he winked your way, you had chills running up your down your body, almost as if his long lash had stirred a wind inside the chapel. And, as he placed the Body onto your tongue, his thumb pulled at your bottom lip before you placed the upper one atop it.

Hours earlier, you lingered behind after every other sibling had returned to the dormitories.

“There you are!”

He appeared once more at the altar, looking relaxed after discarding his mitre and opening his collar. He even rested on the edge of it, his head leaning on one side and his smirk halfway up his painted cheek. “What would I do without you?” Patting the spot next to him, he sighed like he had just shrugged off a heavy weight off his shoulders. “You really are an angel.”

“You would’ve figured something out,” you smiled wide, walking slowly towards the marble slab so that you wouldn’t sprint into his arms.

“I mean it,” he lowered his voice, looking down at you, so that not even the Dark Lord Himself could hear his latest secret. “You are my guiding light through these trying times. You are my angel.”

The hand that had patted the hard surface was now squeezing the soft flesh of your side, the leather it was wrapped in keeping you body safe from being electrified by his touch. It was too late for your soul for he had you burning yourself out like the light he needed you to be.

And he breathed into you. When he pulled down your bottom lip all the way and your mouth fell open for him, he breathed into you.

His tongue slithered inside and your surrender was immediate. It lay flat against the bottom half and allowed him to slither across it, the lingering smoke and a sting of red wine seeping into your taste buds, saliva splashing against him like waves. And just as you adjusted your jaw to fit him, Papa pulled away and dragged a string of drool. And it tethered your moaning mouth to his sharp grin.

“I’ve dreamed of this,” he sighed in satisfaction, licking his lips and breaking the link, clearing more black paint off the pink. “I dreamed of you looking at me just like this.”

And you almost cried out when you saw your saliva disappear between the pink, puffy exposed lips of his. You wanted to melt into his mouth. Or have him shove himself down your throat. Whatever it took to meld your mortal souls together.

Papa pressed his chest against yours, smashing your lungs. His hand on your side held you high against him and his fingers under your chin kept all your attention on him. As if you could ever survive without the white flame in his left eye to warm your your chilled spine.

“I dream of you every night,” you gasped, grasping onto his forearm as if you would fall down. “Every day, too.”

You couldn’t picture tomorrow without seeing your phone screen light up next to you on the bed. And you didn’t want to fall asleep while he was still awake.

I can’t sleep. I can’t believe you’ll finally be at the Ministry tomorrow.

Tomorrow will come sooner if you sleep. Sweet dreams, my angel.

He filled your dreams with the same two words he fulfilled them this evening.

My angel.

This evening, your phone buzzed in your hidden pocket, under your black ceremonial robes. And Papa felt it as he shoved his thigh between yours. You didn’t, being too busy listening to the beating of his heart as it slammed against your ribs.

“Who is that?” His smirk shrinked, teeth tucked away and his hand patting you down. “Who’s calling you?”

“Oh,” you settled your breathing, but it was a struggle. “Nobody.”

“That’s not what my brother is called,” he read the notification out loud.

“Fuck,” you focused your glazed over eyes on the screen when he forced you to face it. “It’s a timer. I…I’m supposed to have dinner ready for him in an hour.”

“Hmm?” Papa pressed his naked lips together, a line of pink on the white canvas of his painted face. “He still hasn’t learned to keep himself from starving?”

“He’s been…stressed.”

You tried to take back your phone, but Papa insisted on looking at the notification again.

“Too stressed to meet with his long lost twin brother,” he turned his lips into a frown, a shadow falling on all that white paint. An exaggerated expression. “He’s lucky he has you to calm him down.” His lips returned right side up, showing you his smirk.

“I can try talking to him again.” Your hand slid from his shoulders to his chest, soothing the wrinkles in his silk cassock and the broken heart it was dressing.

One was Papa’s biggest secrets were his feelings about his brother. He had confessed to you that the rules Frater Imperator enforced in his Office were not only insulting, they were arrows aimed at his heart. And, when your boss didn’t even bother to welcome him in The Ministry, sending Marika Psaltarian to give him a tour that skipped the wing in which you worked out of, your heart bleed for him.

“Don’t bother, angel,” he sighed, but the heavy burden didn’t slide off his shoulders this time. “You’re not the one who made up those ridiculous rules. And I don’t want you breaking them by mentioning my existence in his presence. You did say he has been stressed lately.”

Many a messages have been exchanged between the two of you about Frater Imperator’s moods. And, while Papa sounded understanding in text, and even over the speaker of your phone, the pain of those pointed arrows couldn’t be masked anymore.

This evening, he returned your phone and sent you off to your night shift with a kiss to your forehead. And, tonight, you replay it in your mind until his kiss fades from your brain like it had after you rubbed the smudge of stage paint off your skin.

💀☠️💀💜💀☠️💀💜💀☠️💀

Tonight, without him, you couldn’t breathe. You replayed everything he ever wrote to you, recorded for you or said to your face. All his emails, his text messages, voice notes and the memory of his mouth. We’re within walking distance but we can’t be with each other.

The last words he ever said to you tonight. The text message you keep scrolling back to.

Was he feeling your absence? Or was he setting your boundary? Did he miss you now? Will he hate you forever?

You sent out one more message before tears flooded your eyes and headache clouded your mind.

Papa.

I’ll stop talking. I’ll stop texting.

I’ll stop coming to your sermons.

But I want you to know that if you were on the other side of the door, I’d let you in. I wouldn’t keep you waiting like your brother.

Tonight, while sitting alone in Frater Imperator’s office and wallowing in your own misery, a knock came at the large, locked door.

The sound of it startled you out of your sorry state, and your eyes cleared of tears enough to see the time: eleven o’clock. The others left six hours ago, Frater Imperator had left four hours ago and you had another one to suffer through. There was nobody left here but you.

“I thought you weren’t going to keep me waiting.”

“Papa,” you cried out, choking on the bitterness until your throat opened up and you could breathe again.

“My angel,” he breathed down on you and blew a wind to fill your lungs.

His face paint and mask was in place and his clerical robes were nowhere to be seen. He manifested out of the darkness, coming to you in all black, from where the paint ended on his throat to the tips of his boots. Black suit jacket thrown on casually and a button up that blended into the paint. His trousers seemed to grow out of shadows under his shirt and his boots made themselves heard on the new polished floors.

“Breathe, angel. Breathe. Have you been crying?”

His gloved hands reach for your face and you let him smother you to his chest where you can relearn the music that his heart plays and teach your own the rhythm in which to beat again. And you apologized. You lost track of how many sorties you spilled all over his shirt. But you still remember the burn of his lips at the crown of your head. It was one for each apology.

“I can’t leave you alone ever again, can I?”

You begged him not to. And, when he brought the both of you into the large, airy office, as he sat you down on the big, soft sofa, Papa had you confess.

And your own secrets poured out of you, while his were written down for you to read. You feared that you might’ve upset him. You feared that Frater Imperator might’ve been keeping the two of you apart. You feared that your own fear got in the way of the two of you being together. And you feared you let him down when you couldn’t use your position to have the two brothers finally see eye to eye. Literally. Then, if Satan was willing, spiritually.

What you feared the most is not being his confidant anymore.

“You’re not my confidant anymore,” he whispered, the warmth of the words against your wet cheeks invoking chills. “Don’t you know that, my angel? Don’t you know I’d be lost without you? I wouldn’t even be here without you!”

Before you could answer, with another round of tears of which you were drained or a prayer which you knew many of, his black lined lips sealed your mouth with a kiss. A kiss that suffocated you and also breathed life back into you.

When you remembered how to breathe on your own, he released you. He freed you of his embrace, and let you fall back into the feather-stuffed pillows. And you could’ve died under the light of his left white eye right there and then. Before he shined it on the surroundings.

“And I need you to give me a tour.”

You held onto Papa’s arm with both hands as you took a walk around the room. He had something to say about interior decor, even as he admired he knew next to nothing about it. It was mostly about teasing the tastes of the brother he had never even spoken to. And he had a lot of praise for you when you made it to Sister Imperator’s personal tome collection, the one you organized and preserved yourself. He admitted to you that he remembered his mother though he never met her. And he feels like maybe he’ll get to meet her once he has access to these pages.

“Mother was on the road with me,” he laughed, something sour in the sound of it. “So was Father,” he squeezes your hands, settling in Frater Imperator’s chair as you rest on the edge of the desk. “My uncles. Hell, the whole family was there.”

“Except for the one I shared a womb with,” he hid his eyes from you, looking down at your hands before bringing them up to kiss. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t even know about his poor health. And I wouldn’t be in any better shape either.”

In text form, he appeared like he had a dark sense of humour whenever he brought up his family. Tonight, in person, you see how much your Papa has been suffering in the absence of his only living family member.

Tonight, you struggled to reassure him that Frater was getting better at taking care of himself. As his lips moved from your knuckles to your wrists and further up your arms, you struggled to speak. And you had the most difficult time sitting straight before he pulled you down into his lap, guiding each legs on either side of his thigh.

The sweetest of struggles was the thrashing of your heart at the side of your throat, inside the vein that his mouth chose to close around. He suckled the skin and tenderised your flesh with his teeth and you begged he make your body sore.

“How many months have you been dreaming of this?” he laid his lips under your ear.

“Three,” your own lips trembled, your fingers fidgeting on his shoulders.

“You’ve been touching yourself to the thought of your Papa?”

You gasped, the growl that he let out as he let his teeth sink into your skin. No sound came out as your mouth went slack and no more air entered your lungs without his explicit permission.

“Breathe,” he licked the puncture wounds and poured his sweet words down your blood stream. “Breathe, my angel.”

While your body sufferendering to your senses, your mind pleads fealty to him. And he orders you to give in. So you listen to your instincts and strip your coat, and unbutton your shirt. And he follows the flow and undoes your buttons.

“Turn around,” he kissed your cheek so tenderly, and ripped your trousers off so savagely. “Spread ‘em,” he groaned when you grind down on his groin, lifting your legs and laying them on either side of the keyboard on the desk surface. “Now, my angel, give me a hand.”

You offer both of them, and do as he orders, you undo the lacings in his lap while the leather of his gloves teases you between your thighs. Once your fidgeting fingers figure it out, Papa pulls himself out of his trousers, the shimmering of precum hitting your eyes before the swelling of his shaft does.

Tonight, between the burn of his tongue at the side of your throat and the head of his head at your entrance, your insides are incinerated with the passion of your own flesh.

“You better keep breathing,” he nips at your beck as your body opens up to him, as his cock crams himself into you, and your mouth falls slack in the shape of him.

“Papa,” you praised the sheer size of him, the pain muffled by the pleasure.

He grited his teeth, squeezing your thighs until they bruise as they twitch around his leather grip. “That’s good. You’re doing good.” His praise lubricates your heart and soothes the sting.

“You feel so good, angel,” his teeth take hold of the other side of your throat, his fangs sinking in as his cock bottom out.

Tonight, you breathe in the smell of the two you, the sweat and the tears running down your skins and meeting at your sexes. You breathe him in as he knocks the air out of your lungs. He stole your breath away every time he picks you up by your shivering thighs and shoves you down his twitching cock.

“You’re not dreaming, angel. We’re under the same roof, we’re in the same room. And I’m inside you.”

You rolled his head back on his shoulder, reaching your hand behind you and raking your nails through his hair. And Papa presses your lips against yours, stamping more black and white paint onto your flesh, marking you over and over again.

And, when he finally forces you down on him and secures you atop his sack, he marks your insides with a lung-emptying moan that has the two of you harmonizing as you come together.

Tonight, you heard Papa V Perpetua giggling for the first time. You felt it bubbling in his chest, the rise and fall of it against your spine. You sensed it as he blows air out his nose and over your punctured, sweaty, paint-smeared neck. Then, you heard it in your ear and it wiggled its way into your brain and you began to echo him.

“Did we just fuck in my brother’s chair?”

“No,” you shook your head, caressing his curls. “We fucked on my boss’ chair.”

Tonight, only minutes to midnight, you and Papa untangled your limbs and unlatched your lips. As you broke into giggles again, revealing to him the boxes of tissues Frater Imperator stored in his desk, you both hurried to wipe away any evidence.

“Do you really want to be rid of my paints?” Papa spit on the side of your neck where there was an open wound. He was teasing you, dirtying you with even more of him. Come, sweat, spit and paint. He seemed proud of all of it.

“Papa,” you begged, but you weren’t sure what. Was it to use that spit to wipe away any trace of him or to continue covering you with it.

Papa made the decision of you, and slowly cleaned the wound and the streaks of black and white,

Taking all the tissues out of the office and into a trash bag, you closed all the lights and locked the door behind.

Tonight, because you couldn’t be seen walking together out of Frater Imperator's wing, he gave you a bare-lipped open mouthed kiss. He pulled you into the shadows for it, suffocated your protests, squeezed your sides until you were smothered into his chest again, and then returned the air to you when blew it over your swollen lips.

Waiting for you back in the dormitories, in your phone’s inbox was a good night text.

💀☠️💀💜💀☠️💀💜💀☠️💀

This morning, you stopped breathing for an entire minute. In front of Frater Imperator's office, in your pockets, you couldn’t find the keys. And you were close to fainting, of collapsing on your knees, before Mrs. Psaltarian came to the rescue.

“You’re late,” she held the door open for you. “I told you all those late nights will get to you eventually, child,” she welcomed you inside.

While your mind was still racing, tracing your steps back to the dormitories, your eyes closing while picturing every marble floor your keys might’ve fallen onto, Frater Imperator arrived. And he was in a worse state than you.

“Little mouse,” he called to you, inviting you to collapse onto the couch next to him. “Did you come to me after midnight?”

He had given you permission to come to him before. He had even invited you. Though you knew he didn’t mean while he was resting. You had to convince him to spend time in his own room during the night. You had to work until midnight to keep him in his room. Why would you want to rouse him from his rest? Why would anyone want to?

“You probably thought you were being funny scaring me, but do you see me laughing?”

“Frater, it wasn’t me.”

“Who the fuck else has the keys?”

This morning, you were hyperventilating. The room spun and you couldn’t stop it. It moved so fast, some of Sister Imperator’s tomes had fallen off their shelves and into the shadows. You lost your balance. You lost your keys and your mind last night. And your ability to breathe on your own.

#the band ghost #ghost #papa v perpetua #papa v perpetua x reader #perpetua x reader #papa v #papa 5 #fan fic #my fan fic

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