Absolution, My Fine Friend (M)
Pairing; Priest! Jayce x Fem!Reader Word Count; 4.9k Warnings; Porn Without Plot (kind of), mutual masturbation, finger sucking, drooling (Jayce), he gets talked through it, misuse of the confessional, trying not to get caught, paper eating, misuse of a bible, blasphemy, religious kink, corruption kink.
Summary; Father Talis has done his best to forget the sin that permeates his office, taking refuge in the confessional. Maybe, by listening to other ask to be forgiven, Father Talis himself can earn his absolution.
First Sin; Temptation Second Sin; Absolution (currently here)
A/N; this can be read on its own, i think, but part one was a hit in my books and i couldn't stop thinking about Father Jayce and reader. Theres also a little someone on ao3 who sent the most amazing comment and I got a fire ignited under my ass so now we're here. Again, this is dedicated to my babies on discord, all of them. This wouldn't be here without them. Anywho, enjoy!
THIS IS NOT EDITED!
DO NOT COPY, REPOST ON OTHER SITES, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK WITHOUT PERMISSION!
Absolution; Formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment.Â
Itâs customary for the Priest to wait in the confessional, sitting in the small box for the small door on the other side to open, a person to come sit down, and confess to him their sins. From there, he would listen, give advice, and pray with them before sending them on their way. It was something he had done multiple times before, finding comfort in the enclosed space. His own body heat would keep him warm, heating the small space rather quickly. Taking off his rosary, he could drag the small chain through his fingers, playing with the beads. He would think of prayers, roll a bead between the pads of his fingers, grip the small cross and lightly kiss it. He would do this for hours, sometimes someone would arrive, sometimes there would be no one.Â
The sun was shining brightly through the small lattice on the door in front of him, directly in his eyesight, blinding him. Gold light filtered through stained glass, casting an array of colorful rays across the pews and patrons. Eyes clenched shut, he sits taller while leaning his head back against the wood, sighing. There was an imaginary clock in his mind, constantly ticking away, bringing a faux comfort. He could hear the slight commotion of people still in the church, talking to loved ones and neighbors who were all smiles and high off of the worship he held. He needed something more to keep him distracted, the LED clock in the confessional was silent, unlike the clock in his bedroom. Its ticking filled his mind now, his foot tapping the ground along with it.Â
Arms moving, he moves the slowly sliding bible back into its place on his lap, the book small enough to sit idly on his thigh. It rocks back and forth in time with the bouncing of his foot, the movement bringing yet another distraction.
He wished to go back to his room, sit at his desk in his office- no, the desk in his bedroom. He hadnât sat at the desk in his office for eight days, two hours- his eyes crack open to peek at the small LED clock in the corner of the confessional- and forty-five minutes. He prayed for the strength to sit at the mahogany desk, to write correspondence to other churches, and send letters to the people who gracefully sent donations.Â
Yet, perhaps he didnât pray hard enough, didnât kneel at the side of his bed long enough. Didnât sit in this small box long enough. Perhaps, God has turned his nose up at him, forsaken him from the greatness of being forgiven. Even now, your ghost had its claws wrapped around his heart like a vice, whispering obscenities into his ear while he was alone. You were the one who led him down this path, and now he searched for the bright light of God with his eyes closed.Â
Guilt eats away at the fibers of his soul, rips him apart late at night when the image of you appears in his mind, a giggling smile on your lips as they skim across his throat. Your hands were so warm, though, dragging across his body without condescendence. He would wake up and find himself sweating profusely in his cold room the next morning, breathing heavily as his hands grip the blanket. With shaking legs, he would sit up and rip the drawer of his night stand open, glare at the blue rosary that was tied tightly around a small bible, and grab his new one.Â
He would drop to his knees, heart racing, and pray until the sweat on his back dried.Â
Even now, he thinks he can sense you in this enclosed space with him. Your scent lingering in the air around him, permeating his clothes no matter how many times he changes or washes them.Â
Hands gripping his rosary, he hopes the metal cross cuts into his skin. Maybe then, if he sacrificed his blood, God would see he was punished long enough. Maybe then, he could be forgiven. Your face appears in his mind, and his teeth clench. How could you do this to him? Reduce him to nothing but the filth that lines the pristine floors?
Jayce startles when the door on the other side opens, his breath quick as he shifts in place. Clearing his throat, he waits for the person on the other side to get comfortable, their throat clearing. It's silent then, both Jayce and the newcomer getting comfortable with each other. Jayceâs eyes clenched shut, your scent washing over him with newfound strength, the hair on the back of his neck stands and as if he was struck with lightning-
âBless me, Father, for I have sinned.â
Your voice.Â
His heart shakes, muscles tight and his breath short. Immediately, he thinks he can zone in on your breathing, so calm and quiet. Eyes cracking open, his head tilts to the lattice, and he can see your lips curved into a smirk. It's sickening, how the sight of you can make him feel so electric. You ignite something deep within him, akin to a lighter held under a sparkler. His stomach clenches, and his leg stalls its bounce. Fingers gripping his rosary, the sudden weight of the bible in his lap taunts him.Â
âIâve never confessed before, could you guide me?â
âI-â his voice squeaked out, and he snapped his jaw shut. Swallowing, Jayce looks back to his lap, gazing at the rosary. Was it just him, or did it suddenly look like the blue one he cast aside? Was the small figure of Jesus gazing with accusatory eyes? Did he know what was reeling in his mind at the sight of you?
âFather?â
His eyes shut tight, head falling towards his chest, shoulders hunched, robes tight over his shoulders, âI listen to your confession.â
It took a lot of strength to force his voice into a steady cadence. The small box seemed to be a little too small, he seemed too big to be in here. What once was comfort, was now torment. Your voice filled his side, bouncing off the wood and surrounding him.
âI give you advice, and youâll- um,â he shifts in his spot, refusing to meet your gaze through the lattice, âYouâll be on your way.â
âAre you alright, Father?â Youâre smiling, he just knows it. He can see your face behind his eyelids, how bright your gaze is, how your pupils are dilating at the sight of him so unkept.Â
Nodding his head, he takes one more deep breath. He couldnât let you see him like this, he was supposed to push what happened between you to the back of his mind. Forget it, even. He was praying to God for forgiveness, and by letting you entrap his senses, he would be pushed back to step one.Â
âWhat was that?â Taunting, you hum, âI didnât quite hear you.â
Shivering, he lifts his head and finally gazes through the lattice, meeting your sharp eyes. Theyâre encapsulating, looking at him with knowing. You can see him for what he truly is, a man of sin.Â
Yet, it was your fault he was like this, why he swallows a whine and lets his mouth open to answer. If he were to put on a strong front, you would understand why he couldnât progress in this sinful back and forth. Couldnât let you torment him with your pretty words, or your addicting touch.Â
âIâm here to listen to your confession, please just-â voice trailing off, his hands grip the rosary for comfort, but all he finds is the sharp edges of the cross.Â
You chuckle, head leaning against the wood, raising your hand to tap your forehead, chest, and each shoulder.Â
âIn the name of the Father, Son, and The Holy Spirit. My confession, Father, is that I cannot stop thinking about you.â
Jayce smiles, gaze locked onto his rosary, âThatâs normal- Iâm your Priest-â
âNo, Father,â voice quiet. serious, you shift closer to the lattice, âI think of you when my fingers are inside me, I wish they were yours-â
Muscles tight, Jayce says the first thing that comes to mind, âthat was a mistake-â
âWas it? You seemed to enjoy yourself a lot, Father.â
âTemptation is a powerful thing, but you must find it in yourself to resist.â
Thereâs silence on the other side, your gaze assessing him. Humming, you let your head swing to the side, your own fingers rubbing across the tops of your thighs absentmindedly.Â
âHow can I resist, Father?â
Finally, his lungs allow air in. He breathes deeply, ignoring his shaking hands. He ignores the fire in his gut, how his thighs clench together, and recites words from the book still resting in his lap, âAsks for guidance out of temptation, and for the strength to use the Word of God as a weapon.â
âAh,â you sigh, âthe Word of God as a weapon? Do you really think thatâll save me?â
There's a teasing tilt to your tone, and Jayce ignores it. Voice closer, you whisper through the lattice, âhave you been saved, father?â
âI ask for forgiveness, just as you are now,â he whispers in return. Hands shaking, he lets his fingers return to fidgeting with the rosary beads. His mouth waters, wanting you to drop it into his mouth-
No, he cannot think of that. He was a holy man. Faithful to his God.
âSo, youâve confessed?â
Nodding, he bites his cheek, his skin burning, âI- I have.â
âLiar.â
White hot fear runs through his veins, and his hands unknowingly release the rosary. It clatters to the ground between his feet, and his eyes meet yours. They narrowed, disappointingly pointed his way; All of a sudden, he felt the roles reversed.Â
âNo-â
âHow often do you think of me, Jayce?â
Heart racing, his hands grip the tops of his thighs, feel the muscles beneath tighten.Â
His chest heaves, and his legs clench together. Pushing back that licking flame that ignited between his legs, all because of your voice. It's sticky-sweet like honey, drowning him in molasses that clogs his senses. He can feel his cock twitch, wanting your touch instead of his.Â
Head leaning back against the wood, he can feel a droplet of sweat run down the back of his neck, soaking into the roman collar. His shaking hands move to grip his bible, fingers sliding between the pages to seek any form of strength. He can hear it rip under the pressure of his grip, yet how else would he ground himself? His mind races, feeling your eyes staring at him through the lattice
âDoes your God know you think of me as much as you do him?â
Jaycesâ shuddering breath is loud, eyebrows furrowed as he wills his racing heart to calm. He must not give in. This must be another test for him, he thinks. This was God's way of seeing if he was worthy of forgiveness.Â
Yet, you seemed so genuine, even if you sounded teasing.Â
âWhat do you tell yourself at night? Maybe I could speak the same, so I can forget about you.â
A whine, and Jayce thinks he doesn't want you to forget him. He couldnât forget you, no matter what he did, what he said, or tried. Stomach turning, he can see your waiting eyes, how you wonât change the subject until he gives in.Â
âIf we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us of our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.â
âAh,â you nod your head once, âDo you want to be forgiven, though?â
Heâs silent, clenching his teeth, âOf course.â
You sigh, and with a low voice you talk with a harsh tone, âthen why are you still speaking to me?â
âI-â voice stuck in his throat, Jayce knows heâs had the opportunity to steer the conversation back, to not engage you in such sinful conversation. Yet, he craved it. To be told what to do, to be on his knees between your knees instead of the altar.Â
âOh,â you say, Jayce freezing. Had you read him so easily?
âOh, youâre liking this, arenât you?â
Whining, his thighs clench. You laugh, and it makes his chest seize. Cock jumping in his robes, Jayce refuses to touch himself. There were people outside, they would hear-
âIâm liking this too,â you whisper, and he can hear the first button pop from your pants. Shoulders tense, his breathing turns rapid.Â
âYouâve plagued my mind everyday, Jayce, its tormenting-â
A zipper, and Jayce can feel his thighs shake. His fingers curl against the pages, and he clenches his eyes shut. You were taunting him, you wouldnât touch yourself now, in the confessional of all places.Â
âYou-â he whines, âyouâve been tormenting me-â
âGood,â a sigh, and he wishes to be in the small space with you, to tear down this wall to see your form in all its glory, âshould we pray together, Father? Beg together for forgiveness?â
Shivering, he pushes his head further against the wood, swallowing with a dry throat.Â
âLord God, in your goodness have mercy on me: do not look on my sins, but take away all my guilt. Create in me a clean heart and renew within me an upright spirit-â
Your voice starts immediately after his, repeating his words, breathy and soft. The fire, slowly swelling in his stomach, licks and burns at his chest at the sound of your sweet voice wrapping around each syllable of the prayer. He sets the bible in the small space beside him, sliding his free hands across his torso.Â
He moves, fingers undoing the buttons of his robes. With a shaking grip, he slowly pushes it to the side, the air wrapping around his thighs. Cock jumping, Jayce whines softly. His hands rest on the inside of his thighs, his cock radiating heat under his boxers. Chest shuddering, his back slouches, legs spreading.Â
âforgive all my sins, renew your love in my heart, help me to live in perfect unity with my fellow Christians that I may proclaim your saving power to all the world.â
Tone shaking, he barely opens his eyes to find you already looking at him. Your own eyes were half lidded, chest heaving as your mouth opened to copy him once more. He can barely see you, but he can make out how your shirt was pulled up on your tummy, your pants undone, your hand hidden under the fabric. Your back was arching, neck exposed to the light that seeps in.Â
He canât help himself, his hands grip his cock over his boxers, hips jumping into the contact. Jayce growls, rough and gravely as he grips the base of his clothed cock.
âJayce,â you whimper, and he moans. You sounded so heavenly, his mind reeling at the cadence.Â
âDo you think weâll be forgiven?â You ask, smirking. He shakes his head, and watches as your gaze shifts to the ceiling. Eyes closing, your eyebrows furrow as you lose yourself in your own pleasure. Jayce whimpers, wanting to be the one giving you that pleasure, he wants you to be above him, using him, punishing him for being so sinful.Â
âKeep talking, Jayce, be a good boy.â
âHnng- I-â he chokes, snapping his gaze to his lap. There was a rapidly growing wet patch at the tip of his cock, he grips the top of his boxers, pulling the elastic away to push it down his thighs. The fabric is tight against his skin, straining. With his cock finally free, he softly trails the tips of his shaking fingers along the shaft. Twitching, he presses his finger into the beads of pre that seeps from the tip.Â
âTell me another prayer, Father,â it's harsh now, how your eyes glare at him. He bites his cheek, sparing a glance to the bible next to him, searching his mind for anything to say. All he could think of, though, was you.Â
âTherefore, confess your sins to- to one another and pray for one another-â he sighs, tears gathering on his waterline as he finally grips his cock tightly. His thumb swipes across the tip, and he moves his wrist once, slowly pumping his cock from top to base, and back up again, its uncoordinated, sloppy, âthat you may be healed. The p- hnn- prayer of a righteous person has great power as it- it is working.â
âI want to taste you, Jayce,â you whisper. He hips jerk, and his eyes snap to the lattice separating you both. Youâre so much closer, and when he leans close to look closer, he can see your pants pushed down your thighs. The soft skin of your thighs looked so inviting, spread as far as the restricting clothing will allow, your fingers circling your pulsing clit as your other hand grips onto the edge of the seat.Â
âYou canât,â he whimpers, much louder than he intended. He wanted nothing more than for your mouth to taste him, replace his shaking hand and bring him to euphoria once more.Â
âI can,â you reply with a hiss, âthe gap is wide enough, let me taste you.â
Jayce furrows his eyebrows, his focus turning to how big the gap actually was, it was small enough that at a glance you wouldn't be able to decipher what was on the other side. Yet, if you looked close enough, youâd be able to tell what was what. His hand leaves his cock, gathering his sticky pre onto the pad of his middle finger, and slowly raises it to the gap in the lattice. His chest shudders as he watches you move, meeting your lips on the other side.Â
His moan is loud, reverberating in the space as your wet tongue wraps around his finger. You're sucking hard, teeth grazing his skin, the breath escaping your nose warm on his already scorching skin.Â
Your mouth is gone just as quickly as it wrapped around his digit, your tongue swiping across your bottom lip as your hand drips deeper on your cunt, no doubt pushing them inside.Â
âYouâre an angel,â you whisper, and Jayceâs back arches slightly. His hand retracts from the lattice, immediately running the spit coated skin across his lower lip before sucking his own finger. He could taste you, the candy you ate, the coffee you drank, and he could taste himself. A tangy saltiness that lingers in the back of his throat.Â
He almost sobs, drool dripping down to coat his palm. When he pulls his finger away, his hands are replaced onto his cock, now glistening with the collection of his and your spit. He doesnât realize that heâs gasping for air, his legs shaking, the choked sound of a whimper pushing from his throat.Â
âBe quiet, Jayce.â
Licking his lips, he clenches his thighs shut, pushing his head back against the wood. His cock was throbbing in his grip, and when he slowly rubbed his thumb across the tip, he moaned.Â
âI-â he swallows, throat suddenly too dry, âI canât, Iâm sorry-â
You sigh, and he can feel his stomach clench, âgrab your Bible, show it to me.â
âWhat?-â
âShow me your Bible, now,â you hiss, and his hand leaves his cock to grab the leather-bound book. Raising it, he refuses to look at the gold writing across the front.Â
âGood boy, open it up for me, any page will do.â
Dropping it from your gaze, he lets the binding fall to any page, heaving as his eyes blearily look over the page. The text was so small, mixing together in a conglomeration of sentences and prayer he could no longer read. All he could think of was you you you you-
âRip out a page, and put it in your mouth.â
Freezing, Jayce finds it hard to breathe. Rip out a page? Thatâs blasphemous.
âSince you love to recite God's words so much, why don't you eat them so no one can hear what's rightfully mine?â
Jayce canât, he simply canât. By doing this, he would never be forgiven-Â
Yet, would you forgive him if he refused?
You can sense his racing mind, your voice a calm beacon in the rough waves of a storm, âTell me another prayer, Father- One more, just for me.â
Jayce breathes deeply, calming himself, âYou are my refuge and strength; no matter what happens, I trust You and will not be afraid.â
âGood boy,â you coo, âdo as you're told, Jayce.â
Mind over matter, Jayce forces his unwilling hands to rip a page, bringing it slowly to his lips. The pages were thin, and when he pushed it against his tongue, his spit immediately soaked through it. The ink was slowly seeping from the paper, bitter against his tongue. He looks at you, teeth chewing down onto the paper to keep it in place.Â
Smirking, you tilt your head, âanother.â
He rips multiple pages at once, pushing them between his teeth to meet the other.Â
You scoff, âsuch a good boy, doing what youâre told. Yet, you canât follow your own Godâs teachings.â
He can do nothing but whimper around the pages, his hand dropping the bible to the ground to grab back onto his cock, jerking his wrist to the sound of your voice.Â
âYou would do anything I ask, wouldnât you?â You taunt, your own hand picking up its pace. Sweat shines on your forehead, lips glistening with spit as you shift in your spot, your other hand joining the one on your cunt. Whimpering, you push your own fingers inside, the other still circling your swollen and throbbing clit.Â
âHow far would you go for me, I wonder?â A sigh, and your eyes close. Smiling at the thoughts that race through your mind, âwould you leave the priesthood for me?â
His head nods before he even realizes it, your head snapping to watch him, smile widening.Â
With the small semblance of clarity in his mind remaining, Jayce thinks of the forgiveness heâs been begging to receive for weeks.Â
Itâs always been you, he realizes. Youâre the one he seeks forgiveness from, youâre the one who he prays to each night. Not the God whose teachings he no longer follows. Not the God who judges him for feeling emotions only you can bring him. You would forgive him, you wouldnât judge him for his actions. He would do anything for you, he thinks. If you asked him, he would be yours- he was yours from the moment you sat on his desk.
His pleasure washes over him in waves, no longer held back by guilt. He allows his hand to squeeze, feels the bite of pleasure in his thighs.Â
Your whine makes his hand jerk faster, that sweet noise the only thing that he seeks out in the night. Breathing heavily, he bites down on the pages still lodged in his mouth. Some were becoming too soggy, the ink transferring onto his tongue.Â
âIâm so wet, Father-â you sigh, and he can hear your fingers run through your sloppy folds. Itâs pathetic, how his hips rise off the seat to chase after it. He wanted to see, wanted to taste you-
âDo you want a taste? I bet you do.â He whines, tongue pressing against paper and you laugh. It's quiet, airy as you release a breathy moan. His eyes strain to watch your mouth drop open, your fingers pressing against your tongue. Eyes watering, he clenches them shut and leans his head forwards against the lattice, the wood cool against his scorching skin.Â
Your fingers trail down your chin, chest heaving, and you push your hand back through your folds. Your soft skin glows in the light, blueâs and pinkâs coloring you Holy as your glistening fingers come back into view. Instead of raising to your lips, they slowly close in on the small openings of the lattice. Your other fingers were still inside you, he realizes, you were halting your own pleasure just to tease him.Â
âWhy donât you taste what I give? Rather than your God,â you taunt, glint in your eyes. Without hesitation he lets the soggy paper drop from his mouth, drool pouring from behind. Down his chin, soaking his beard. Bits of paper remain on his lips, the bitter taste of ink left behind. He can faintly hear the paper hit the floor, a wet smack, and he runs his tongue across his lip. He didnât want anything to dilute your taste, not even his own spit.Â
The tips of your fingers appear on his side, and he surges forwards to meet them. His tongue touches soft skin, lips pressed against wood. You push further into his mouth, your slick coating his taste buds. It washes away the taste of paper and ink, his body shivering as his hand grips tight onto his cock. It pulses, begging for your touch instead of his.
âI wonder what God would think, you forsaking his word for such sin.â
He whines, tongue parting your middle and ring finger to taste the slick between, feeling you press down onto his tongue, sliding as far as the lattice will allow. You almost hit the back of his throat, and he pushes harder against the wood, wanting you as deep as possible.Â
âFucking-â you hiss, retracting your finger and quickly licking across the tips before pushing them back between your folds. The sloppy-slick sounds louder than before, his hand trying to catch up to your rapid pace.Â
There's a fire growing inside him, quick and unrelenting as his hand sloppily jerks his cock. His thighs twitch, toes curling in his shoes as his lungs beg for more air. Although he was gasping, he felt like he wasnât getting enough air.Â
âDonât you fucking cum yet,â your voice growls, and he sobs. Pressure behind his eyes, scalding tears on his cheeks, his tongue searching for your taste that lingers.Â
âJayce-â
âPlease- I-â he whispers, hearing the horrifying sound of heels against the floor outside of the confessional. Could they hear what was happening inside? Hear how their priest was touching himself, committing a sin he was no longer guilty about?Â
His hand falters, cold humiliation creeping over his shoulders.Â
âIgnore them, puppy-â your voice borders a whisper, âkeep going- tell me another prayer.â
He looks to you, sniffling lightly as his hand resumes its previous pace. Nodding your own head, you encourage him. There was a gathering heat in his gut, embers collection to prepare a large bonfire. Your gaze threw wood onto it, flames catching quickly. His thighs felt gooey, his mind blank, but he wills himself to think of any prayer, just for you.Â
âTo all those- those that repent of in this wise- Oh, hnn- and look to J-Jesus- Christ for their salvation. F-fuck- I declare- that the absolution of sins is effected- please, oh fuck- In the name of the F-father- and of the son, oh- hnng âm gonna- Wait-â
âYou can finish father, come on-â
âMm- and- i canât- h-hold-â he begs, your voice pushing him impossibly closer.Â
âAnd of the Holy Spirit, Amen-â
Fire under his skin, and he feels his release begin. A raging fire in his gut, spreading to his thighs and chest. It tingles so intensely, and his hand clamps over his mouth, biting onto his palm to muffle his strained moan. Blinding white explodes behind his eyes, and he can faintly hear your cooing voice talking him through it. He wanted to hold your hand through this intensity, wanted your calming embrace rather than the prayer that was seared into his mind. God could no longer provide comfort, for you had burned him away to make space for your own presence.
He can hear your own whines, choked moans as you, no doubt, go through your own orgasm. You bite down on your cheek to keep yourself silent, hips canting into your hands to chase that pleasure. Jayce tries to watch, but his hands feel his thighs, and can't think of anything else but the euphoria he was feeling.Â
Heavy breathing is what he hears when he comes back, his hands and skin covered in his own sticky release, cock still throbbing and red, yet too sensitive to continue. His abs hurt, his arm was slowly relaxing from the cramping that occurred. Licking his lips, he brings his hand closer to his mouth, tempted to taste the opaque liquid that coats him.Â
Feeling your eyes on him, he looks over, youâre waiting on the other side of the lattice. With shaking hands, he raises his tired arm, slides his finger through the lattice, and feels your tongue wrap around the digit slowly. Heart in his ears, he makes circles on your tongue, feeling the muscle move and chase after the cum, a smile slowly stretching across his face.Â
Your hand appears, your own shining fingers pushing through the gaps in the lattice, and Jayce wills his lethargic body to move to wrap his own lips around your fingers. His cock twitches at the taste of your own cum, his tongue licking away the sweet-tart taste. Your face was so close, he could feel the breath from your nose against his cheek, your body heat seeping through in the slightest. When he pulls away for air, he opens his mouth to speak.Â
A voice beats him to it, though, older and questioning.
âFather?âÂ
Ice cold fear, and he tilts his head to stare at the door ahead.

















