#sein x reader

Sure, he did pick you up at a bar. But you were already seated and served by the time he got there. And he was all up on you from the moment he sat down right next to you, buying you round after round while chatting you up. If anything, you should be the one who’s as drunk as he looks right now. The way he kept boozing you up and watching with interest as you spilled every little messy detail about your (current lack of love) life tells you that.

​

Either way, it was no surprise when he asked if you wanted to get out of there and go somewhere a little more private. You, already ready for a quick enough fill to make a new notch in your bedpost, happily agreed. If he’s bad, you can always just try to forget him in the morning. If he’s mediocre, at least you can brag about that pretty face of his and the fact that you bedded a priest. And if he’s good? Well…you weren’t exactly expecting good. But you should have. You really, really, should have.

​

Because maybe that would have prepared you more for what’s happening right now. Maybe that would have prepared you better for what you began to notice the moment you pulled him into your hotel room and locked the door behind you. Maybe that would have prepared you better to witness the way he looks at you. In the moments you’re facing each other. In the moments you step away to grab something. Even now, as you’re forced to face the mirror- forced to face him in the mirror and the way he looks at you. It’s strange. It’s strong. It’s intense. And in your eyes, it’s not the look of a guy who’s only had a couple of ciders. It’s the guy who’s plastered- lost on something. Hooked on something. And you don’t have the gall to say it’s all because of you.

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“What a view…”

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But he does.

​

“S-Sein…” You mutter, gasping softly as he suddenly ruts his hips and reaches deep inside of you. Through your pleasure-induced haze, you can see how his own cloudy expression locks onto yours as he utters something else about you. Something about how he loves to watch his ass move as he fucks into you. How glad he is that you said yes to his offer. How is he going to make you feel so good for as long as you’ll let him. And all you can really do is take it. “Fuck…you feel so good…”

“Squeezing…squeezing me like a vice…” He responds breathlessly, the raw confession punctuated by a particularly filthy groan as he momentarily loses the pace he set. He’s full of praise for you. Reverent words and phrases spill from his lips messily as you rock back onto his cock on all fours, trying and failing to keep up with him.  The two of you are a mess right now. Aside from the dirtied sheets and the pile of clothes thrown haphazardly across the floor, you’re both a mess of sweat, arousal, cum, saliva (who knew a priest could be selfish enough to leave hickies on a woman who is not yet his own?), and possibly more.

​

At some point, he left a mark on your neck- one big and pretty enough for him to keep running his mouth back over it to deliver kisses and licks and nibbles that send shivers down your spine. At another point, you had torn his hair free of its ponytail. He could do nothing but flip his hair back out of his face over and over again. Although he stopped trying to deal with keeping it back once he found that you really, really liked having something to hold that wasn’t the sheets whenever someone was devouring your cunt.

​

The point is, he’s a mess. You’re a mess. You got picked up by a priest at a bar. You said yes to taking him home. And your biggest regret is underestimating him and believing the bedroom freaks couldn’t hold certain occupations. Now you’re stuck getting your mind and your back blown out. But honestly? He’s more than just a good fuck. He’s more than just a man who knows exactly what he’s doing and when to do it.

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He’s the best you ever had. And you’re not exactly sure how to feel about that.  

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“Sein…” You whimper his name yet again, eyes squeezing shut and mouth falling open as he lands hit after hit to g-spot with nearly practiced precision. In response to the soft call of his name, the man behind you grunts as his grip on your hips tightens. Doggy-style was his idea. As was fucking you in front of your room’s floor-length mirror. As was doing everything and everything to make you feel good- to make you feel worshipped. And because of that, there’s more than just praise. There’s more than just fucking.

There’s touching. And touching and touching and touching.

​

Tight grips. Lingering kisses. Slapping parts of you that bounce back at him. Stroking of your skin. Holding you tight. Holding you down. Stretching you out. Consuming you whole. You name it. He does it. And he does it all. Because of that, his hands move often. Never staying in one place- never praying to one place for too long. They jump from your waist to your hips to your love handles to your stomach to your ass to your breasts to just about anywhere else he can grab for leverage. Just to fuck you deeper. Just to make love to you harder. Just to hold you closer.

​

You swatted his hand away once. He grabbed hold of something- a part of you that you didn’t quite love like the rest of you. He responded by forcing himself closer. He wrapped his arm around your neck just enough for him to tug you upright and back into him. The shift in position made you gasp, his cock instantly hitting a new angle and depth inside of you as he pulled your body flush against his strong, toned body, and rolled his hips like a madman. In between strokes, he made you promise not to pull away from him again. In between desperate, gasping breaths, he told you that it’s been far too long for him. That he’s traveled so far. That he’s waited so long. That he can’t be stopped now. Not while he’s so close.

​

You had a funny feeling that some of those words weren’t exactly meant for you. That perhaps he had the image of someone else- of something else when he was muttering and mumbling in your ear. But then he unwrapped his arm from around your neck and pushed onto your stomach on the bed, and suddenly, you weren’t thinking about his words anymore. No, you were thinking only of the cock Sein had just slipped back inside of your wet, puffy, lower lips as he lay down on top of you and fucks you in the prone position like bedding you is his dying wish.

​

You’re not sure. You’re not selfish nor arrogant enough to assume that all of this is because of you and for you.  Even if the kisses he presses to your shoulders are starting to feel less like those of a stranger or more like the start of something new, you’re not selfish enough to believe one night with you is all that’s needed to corrupt someone holy. You aren’t. You aren’t. But it doesn’t matter what type of person you are. It doesn’t matter what you believe. What matters is the low, breathless words he grunts out between the seconds he thrusts his cock back inside you. What matters is that…that and…

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“...I don’t…don’t have to worry about you…going anywhere…right?”

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…and whatever he’s bold enough to admit.

After all, when you brought him back here, he told you to just lie back and let him take care of things. Like you’re something deserving of that much care. Something worthy of that much attention. Or perhaps even something holy that he’s been searching for all his life.

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If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he was drunk. And in some ways, maybe he is. What he’s drunk off of, you’re not exactly at liberty to say. Not just because you can’t think straight. But because there’s more than one way for a priest to commit a sin.

"It helps us stay close to the goddess." He puts down the card deck to take a swig of his beer, leaving a trail of white foam on his upper lip.

"Does it really?" You pick up the empty mug from his table.

"No," He wipes his mouth with his sleeve, "But it's a great conversation starter with pretty barmaids." And you blush, almost forgetting yourself in his green eyes.

"I wouldn't say it's great."

He chuckles, soft and low, with a hint of redness on his cheeks which you weren't sure if came from the drinks or your words, and it's enough for you to think about him even after the tavern closes, with the rain still knocking on your window as you try to fall asleep.

-

"A drunk traveling priest?" Your friend locks eyes with you as you recollect the memories from the other night, "What good would that do? You should find a nice guy from the village. Better a hunter or an owner of some shop; they always have something to bring back home." You stand and nod at the sensible comments, cleaning yesterday's mugs as you throw looks at the table the priest sat at only hours ago, wondering if he'll come again today.

And he does. He walks in with a cigarette already lit and avoids your gaze as he finds the furthest seat from the bar counter.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"What do you have?" And he watches you laugh, the thought crossing your mind that he's probably already used to the big-city taverns.

"Well, you see.." You say, making a deliberate pause, which he catches on to, "Sein." He adds, and you grin, already pouring a drink. "Well, you see, Sein. This is a unique tavern, unlike those you've probably been to a thousand times. We serve beer on weekdays, but on weekends, it's beer - and sometimes - but only on very special occasions, there's this drink that we serve. I mean, I could tell you, but it's kind of a secret."

"Is it beer?" Sein asks, the ashes falling off his cigarette as he chuckles.

"How'd you know?" You pull a surprised expression while you make your way with the drink to his table.

"Just a hunch."

-

"Sein!" You exclaim, running towards him on the path leading out of the village, "Leaving already?"

"Just going to get some medicinal herbs," he smirks, "why, think you'd miss me?"

"I would miss the money left on your open tab." And he blushes, a hand reaching out to rub the back of his neck.

"Oh, I - uh, It's fine, I'll pay it tonight." He stutters, watching the grin disappear from your face.

"Oh goddess, no, it's a joke!" Your face flushes red as you're reduced to babbling incoherence to excuse yourself from the situation.

-

"Let me help," he extends a hand to lift a few mugs from the now-emptied table, the tavern's dim light reflecting in his eyes.

"I couldn't possibly let a customer help," you reach to grab the mugs from his arms, "besides, I heard you're leaving tomorrow; you should go get some sleep before it's too late."

"I don't mind." he takes the mugs up to the bar counter, watching the last intoxicated villagers leave the place, their drunken laughter still audible through the door.

You clean up silently, watching him wipe the tables as you sweep the dirt left on the floors. A slight unease grows when you think of his imminent departure, your eyes drifting toward his face, lingering for a little too long as you try to memorize his features.

"I heard the mayor almost lost his finger." You finally say.

"Hmm?" He picks up his gaze, "Ah, well, a healing spell mended it rather quickly. He was ecstatic, you see," He curled his pointer finger in front of his face, "It's the one thing that makes his wife happy."

And you blush at his words, "It's the what?"

"I mean, if he couldn't pull the string on his hunting bow, it would have made for a terrible winter." He stops in his tracks, "Why, what'd you think?"

"N-nothing," you stammer, and he burst into laughter, almost dropping the cloth from his hand. You feel a tug in your heart, a passing notion that you would miss that laughter more than you should, "You vulgar priest," you mutter under your breath.

"I think it's rather clean now, don't you?" He watches you swipe the broom over the spotless floors over and over again, and you sigh, knowing that you can't prolong the moment any longer.

"Yes, I think it is." You put the broom down by the counter, leaning on a table next to Sein, "Well, I think it's goodbye now, isn't it?"

But he doesn't move from the seat he took by the table, his leg bouncing on the wooden floor. "I guess it is."

"Ah, don't look so sad, priest. There are many towns and many taverns on the way to your destination, aren't there?" You find the courage to smile.

"It's the barmaid I'd miss." He confesses.

"You'll make the barmaid blush if you keep talking like that," you mumble, "and you never even asked for her name."

"(Y/N)." he utters, getting up from his seat, "You really think I wouldn't ask around for the beautiful barmaiden's name?"

And you taste the tobacco on his lips as he presses them onto yours, and the fading flavor of beer on his tongue when he slips it into your mouth. He draws your body closer to his, and a shiver crawls up your spine at the warm touch of his palm on the back of your neck before he lets his hand get lost in your hair.

"I thought priests weren't supposed to kiss," you smile when you break away from the kiss for a moment.

"They really aren't," he leans in closer again, "but it's the best kind of vice."

-

"I still have to leave tomorrow," he says, his voice hushed from the guilt.

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Professor Layton :

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Silco :

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Vox :

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