ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕔𝕙 𝕆𝕦𝕥 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕋𝕠𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝔽𝕒𝕚𝕥𝕙- ℙ𝕦𝕔𝕔𝕚 𝕩 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣
Authors note: this is lwk my magnum opus, also this is heavily inspired by moviecritc's Pucci fic. Read it here after this one PLEASE ITS SO PEAK
Namesake: Personal Jesus- Depeche Mode
TW/Tags: talks of suicide, Catholic guilt, GN but reader wears heels to be fabulous, Pucci is a yearner, angst with good ending, non sexual but he lwk wants that cookie real bad
It had been almost a year since you last met him in the confessional. You told him everything- that you weren't even religious, you've done a lot of bad things in your life, and you weren't here to atone for yourself or to wallow about your regrets as if you had any. It was stupid to regret- it didn't fix the past. Nothing did. You were just there to have someone to hear you, even if you knew you were being judged by the stone-cold eyes of God.
Time has passed since then, swiftly on the nights when you kept a certain priest company, slowly when you weren't able to visit him. You had rarely attended the congregation either- mostly seeing him in his office in the evenings when the light would shine through the stained glass beautifully, painting an elysian color palette on his dark skin. When you came to the congregation, however, you sat in the back, head down, earbuds in when he became too preachy for your taste.
Sometimes- no, usually- you would stay long past the moon had risen. Strewn across the small loveseat in his office, exchanging words as it helped calm a storm within him. He always said that your presence made the long hours of the night less strenuous, less lonely. You felt the same, maybe without all the fancy wording.
He acted closer to a sinner than a saint if you had anything to say about it, whispering sweet nothings about how you made him feel, bordering on worshipping you as if you were the god he was so devout to. He was honestly equally as devoted to you as well as god, often on his knees in front of you, just almost praying, sighing that he would burn down entire churches if you told him to.
Another one of those nights came soon. You walked down a long corridor, shoes clacking against the cold tile floor, announcing your presence far before he saw you. Opening the creaking wooden door that needed to be oiled, you stepped into his office. The door behind you, labeled 'Father Pucci' had been abandoned by your hands.
He was just as quick to give you a smile as you were to sit on the worn loveseat and kick off your shoes, having grown comfortable and accustomed around him enough to drop formalities in the intimacy of one another. You sank into the small couch as far as you could- he always draped a fluffy blanket over it because the stuffing inside it was too hard for comfort.
His office was different than the rest of the church- it was warm, with books of old and new littered across shelves, and a plush carpet beneath you that was luxury compared to the cold tiling of the rest of the building. It was a dimly lit room, a few covered candles scattered about, with a warm headlamp faced directly towards an open book on his desk. It was nothing like the cold lighting of the rest of the church that made you shiver.
he started the conversation first, as always.
"You didn't come yesterday."
Taking your time whilst lazily shaking off your cardigan, you responded as soon as it was draped across the arm of the chair.
"I would've if I could've, Enrico. I think you forget that I'm busy too,"
You finished, lying down on the seat with your legs dangling off the armchair with no cardigan on it.
He nodded before standing up, his tall figure looming over you and the rest of the room as if he were a rogue statue that leaped off of the side of the stone-carved roof of the church. Slowly sitting down on the floor on his knees to have you within a perfect view, he continued talking as he took to holding your hand. He always got so romantic like this, seemingly knowing much more than a priest should.
"You're beautiful. Even if this is... Scandalous."
It took a second for you to understand him. He was a priest, he wasn't supposed to pursue anybody, much less someone who was non-religious. Even then, it was always a little bit of a surprise to hear the way he talked about how other people would view your relationship as if it were a sex scandal, especially because you didn't particularly care. Although you wouldn't care how people would view it, they would consider it scandalous, huh? Anyone definitely would after seeing how he looked at you with barely controlled lust. These thoughts plagued your mind before he interrupted your inner dialogue.
"I don't dream much, of people. But I dream about you. A lot, actually. Of... Running away. Running away from everything, starting anew, doing blasphemous things without the judgment of this life."
He paused, letting his confession slip.
"I don't know why I said that. Even if... Even if I can't show my love in certain ways, I want you to know I love you. I think about you. You remind me of myself before I turned to God."
There was a long silence, a familiar thickness grew in the air- it felt of guilt, of sin- of freedom.
"Why can't we do that, Enrico?"
You pleaded as his hand grasped yours tighter, giving it a faint squeeze.
You knew why. He was a man of faith, he couldn't just abandon that. But oh, how he wished to abandon the rules that came along with it- of lust, of romance, of worldly possessions, of you. His gaze had never faltered from yours, but yours had finally met him with a forlorn look.
"We could get away. Out of here, somewhere better where we won't be judged. I mean, aren't you tired of this being secret? And I know you can't stand half of the other priests here either,"
You inquired, with an almost pleading tone. You tried lightening the mood just for it to become heavy again as soon as the final word slipped your tongue. He had to stay for his heaven plan, and you knew that, even if you made it clear to him that you wouldn't be happy with it.
"I have to stay. After the heaven plan, maybe. We can go somewhere different."
He whispered, his head creating a dip in the loveseat near your hips.
You sighed. Another minute passed without saying anything.
"I would kill myself if I knew how my life played out."
You said after contemplating, stating it more bluntly than you had meant to. His eyes widened, head lifting up as he looked at you.
"I said what I said, ok? I don't want to know how or when I live or die. That wouldn't make anyone happy. I love you, Enrico... But... I've heard too many sermons."
Your words had trailed off as quickly as they had interrupted him. You were serious about it, he could tell with your frown, your downcast eyes, just everything.
"But why wouldn't you be happy? You would know your fate, everyone would! It would give you peace of mind, would it not? Besides, there's nothing more terrifying than not knowing what comes next... That's how humanity is. We fear what we don't know,"
Breaking eye contact, you responded.
"Enrico. Listen to yourself. You sound erratic. Not knowing what happens- that's what makes life, life. The only real reason to live is because you don't know what's coming next, isn't it? You're not thinking straight, Enrico..."
You sighed, stopping and staring to stop yourself from stuttering badly.
"I know how you think, alright? And I know you're not really listening to me. But please, listen. People don't want that chaos gone. It's what makes life worth living. You're not taking into account how the entire world would feel,"
There was another long pause as you caught your breath, nearly crying trying to convince him.
"Yo- you know, I... Until you came to me talking about this heaven thing, I had been taken granted how much I appreciate being unsure. Having that decision. It- it's what makes you stronger, what pushes you. You can't have motivation, no- you can't do shit if you don't have that. If you- if you don't have the fear or the uncertainty, you're mindless. You're mindless! And- and you'd be taking away free will, Rico. People couldn't decide. That's fucking torture, that's not heaven."
There was something in the air that felt different. You had never gotten angry at him before. But this time- you yelled, you cussed, you insulted him.
You not only insulted, but you cussed at a man of God.
His eyes were wide as something in him cracked. It shattered something in his faith- for Dio or for God, or for himself? He didn't know; maybe it was all three.
There was something in his eyes that changed. Whenever he talked of heaven, of Dio- his eyes changed. They grew violent as if he was manic, a storm within him that could not be contained nor calmed . But as he allowed your words to pierce his mind and bury themselves deep within his heart. His gaze grew softer, but not in the tender way he used to look at you. There was still a glint of that, sure- but something looked broken, like the parted red sea. You just tore apart his entire philosophy flawlessly, exposing what he was groomed into believing. He sighed, breathing in a deep, shaky breath before he spoke again whilst looking away from you.
"My fate is to reach heaven. I just wish yours would be as well."
More silence followed, the absence of talking leaving you with the sound of soft rain outside tapping against the glass. You couldn't help but roll your eyes. You knew he was in denial, but it still infuriated you to no end- he was changing but it wouldn't take one talk for him to do that. You were trying your best to be patient, but he was one devout man.
"It doesn't have to be. You can do anything you want, Enrico. I think fate exists, sure, but not like this. It doesn't force you to do bad things, or- or whatever you're trying to do,"
you grumbled, stumbling over your words as the priest looked at you with anxiety and adoration, and you looked down on him with the same feelings- but anger simmering there, growing by the second.
"Fate may exist but it's not for shit like this. It can be overwritten, Rico. You can form your own path, be your own person, do anything you want. I just want you to not want to do this."
you change your position, on your side now, looking directly at him with him looking back as if he was magnetized towards you.
"Dear, I've heard from a messenger of God himself. I was told-"
"I'd spit in the face of anyone who would try and tell me how my life goes."
You interrupted him, again, bluntly, hand now propping up your head.
"I thought you were better than this, Enrico. Smarter, or at least morally you would know how bad this decision is. And that I can't follow through with you. If you seriously do this, I will paint this exact ceiling red."
Your hand rose to point at the ceiling to his office, gaze furious as you just tried to make him understand.
His gaze still lingered, not exactly tender, but fixated and almost obsessed; it made it easy to tell there were gears turning in his head.
A still silence crept upon the environment as hundreds upon hundreds of scenarios entered and fled his mind.
He finally admitted. It wasn't defeat, not exactly, but you had sunken your way so far into his heart that it was hard for him to think about simply existing without you.
It was a decision that plagued him- either his religion, or you. You were dear to him, but so was his religion. You made him feel like a saint when his religion made him feel like a sinner. His fate might have been written in the stars, but he would go up into the blackened sky to crush each light himself with bare hands, just to weave constellations together that would ensure that you were his destiny and he was yours.
You sighed, his nickname rolling off your tongue with a combination of love and lethargy. You looked down at him with tired eyes- tired of being angry, tired of the talks of heaven, tired of hiding your love, tired of not being his first choice in everything. That was about to change sooner than you thought.
Your hand reached out to cup his cheek, his skin soft as he was passionate. He leaned into your touch with his eyes fluttering closed, taking in your touch carefully as he always did.
"Are you sure- really sure?"
He looked at you, opening his pleading eyes, looking as if he was going to cry from having to choose. You knew how he thought- how he thought uncertainty caused anxiety.
He was right, it did, but it also caused surprise. It caused relief when it was over. Uncertainty is the reason for living, and you were over halfway there to convincing him that was true. It doesn't matter what Dio or other "messengers of God" say; at this point he was more willing to believe you. To run away with you.
Minutes passed in stuffy silence. His position changed, still on his knees, not facing you anymore with the back of his head leaning against the seat.
All those minutes and your thoughts were nearly the same as his without knowing so. You both wondered- could love really change a person? Could you have changed him? He was so devout, you knew that, but there was always a part of him that he had locked away, and perhaps you had just the key for it.
Love is the most powerful thing in the world, able to heal and to hurt. But what happens when such a powerful force meets something that seems so immovable- something so opposite? Can it tear it down instantly in one swoop like a tidal wave, or does it have to go bit-by-bit like erosion? Maybe it's both, or maybe there's a different way for every way we love. Whichever, there's one thing for sure. It is the scariest and the most beautiful thing in the world, and it can do so much more than we think.
By the time words were whirling in your head and you had grown tired with your eyelids heavy, he spoke. It was hopeful, even if his cathexis of the past haunted him with his question.
"Where would we even go?"
He finally inquired with a heavy sigh, breaking the silence. Your eyes lit up ever so slightly, not knowing the answer and hesitating.
"Anywhere. Anywhere but here."
More silence as you both sat still, a hopeful miasma ghosting over the atmosphere of the room.
There was something about that statement. It wasn't a yes, but it excited you. It was a maybe. A maybe was enough after all this arguing. You had stayed in his personal quarters that night, as you did every other night, and slept well with a sound mind, tension broken and replaced with the romantic tenderness he always has shown previous nights. Even just as you fell asleep though, you thought about what he said.
Hey I caught you, still go read that other fic here.
Tags: @theshatteredstar @swamelon @matcha-narancia @coffinwhiteheart @meringuedete @moviecritc @joestarssluttybunny
Thank u to all these lovely ppl who inspired me to start writing <3
