Elegant young woman with two white cats (1872) by Joseph Caraud (French, 1821 – 1905), signed J. Caraud and dated 1872 (lower left), oil on canvas, 38 by 26 1/2 in. (96.5 by 67 cm.), Private Collection
itoshi sae x f!reader smut. reader is needy and desperate and sae teases you all the more for it. reader referred to as girl and baby. size kink/size difference, cervix hitting, cumming together, p in v.
word count: 2k
Sae is always pretty, always attractive. Naturally, objectively. You have seen him over and over again and craving it each time must be something like being drugged. Sharp jawline that brushes against your cheek, the hard line of his body as you push him down onto the sofa, muscles that shift with every movement under your hands.
"Sae," his name leaves you with a breathless whine, he takes it all too smugly, delicate hands wrapped around you, steady as a lighthouse at sea. Your mouth is on his before he can answer, he lets you in with ease, plays with his tongue against yours, swipes the tip of his tongue against the back of your teeth and he's always doing this, isn't he? Making want so palpable, insatiable.
"Want you," it's as much of a phrase as you can get out, your hands at the hem of his shirt, pushing up to reveal his abdomen. The muscle there is relaxed now but it tenses under your touch. You know Sae well enough, he's far from unaffected by you. "Want you so bad. Please. Sae."
"Go ahead, then." His eyebrows shift up just slightly. Like amusement, like a challenge.
Or maybe you can't tell because all your head is fogged and filled with is him, him, him. With how warm his body is under your skin, lifting his shirt off and tossing it aside. But trying to return your hands to where they want to be — on him, making shapes over his muscles — has him catching them in his.
"You ask me for something, then you don't give me something in return?" There's a lilt to his voice, much too playful for how you grind onto him in impatience, with how heat pools in your gut and sparks up your spine, the firework crackle that makes its way to your chest. "Yours, off."
You oblige and he watches, forces you to move of your own will as he makes a show of checking you out, eyes that feel heavy and heated. It makes you hurry, pressing your lips to his again, if only to dull the intensity.
Not that it helps, not that anything helps. He's too gentle with you on purpose, letting you have him. "Give it to me, please." You pull on his belt, unbuckle it with trembling fingers. You miss twice, and you can feel the chuckle in his chest that's pressed against yours. "You always do this. You think I don't know? You do this on purpose."
"Blaming me?" It's unfair, really, how your breath comes short where he sounds almost normal. His voice is quiet, words meant just for you, kept away from the world, an experience only you get to have. His belt comes free, finally, falling to the floor with a thunk that you forget to register.
"You like it when I'm like this. Wanting you, desperate." You unbutton his pants, slide your fingers under his boxers just slightly. Testing the waters with the strip of skin, warmer than anywhere else. You feel his cock jump in his pants, can barely stop yourself from pressing down onto his hardening length again and again, until heat slips honey-slow down your chest like alcohol.
He taps you on the waist, heated palms wrapped around your hips. "Get up, take these off."
You stand up in a rush, your pants dropping to the floor. It's easier to follow his orders than deal with the consequences, and right now, all you can think about is what he could give you, all he has to offer.
"You're so mean to me." You tell him as you climb into his lap again, drawn to his warmth, pulled into him like the sea to the moon.
"I know." He kisses you slow, syrupy, makes the ache between your thighs that much worse, a reward for speaking your mind. "You're so good to me." Another chaste kiss to your lips, and then to your earlobe, starlight sparks in sensitivity. "My good girl. You can take it, can't you?"
"You're playing with my head." Your face falls into his shoulder, cushioned, his hands making their way up your thighs to trace around the hem of your panties. Looking down in the space between you both, your hands pull down his zipper, pushing down his pants just enough that you can feel his clothed cock against your own clothed cunt.
"Mm, I think it's cute." It's the most of an admittance you get from him, and the last thought you're capable of thinking. Because then the pads of his fingers are running up and down your clothed slit, every ridge apparent to him with how wet the fabric is soaked through. "You sure you're wet enough to just take me?"
"Doesn't matter. I want it. Want you so bad." It's like he doesn't get it, how bad it aches, how hypersensitive you feel, your quickening heart rate. He's the only person who can fix this, who can make this go away and make this feel good. You pull his cock out of his boxers, wrap your hand around the length and pump him once, twice. He matches you, pulling your panties to the side, runs his finger through your velvety folds and gets them coated with your slick before rubbing the wetness over the head of his cock.
"It's about to matter." His thumb finds your clit with ease, running a circle around it that has your hips jerking in his hold. He pulls you down onto the underside of his erect member, has you grind up and down the soft skin, honey-slick dripping over. Your throat goes dry with want, thighs tense. You feel like you want to scream, cry, something, anything if that's what it takes for him to just —
"Easy," he hushes, the head of his cock catching at your entrance. Yes, yes. You gasp and whine into his shoulder, hold on tight like being lost at sea with a buoy. He helps push your figure down, until you've taken the first inch of him in.
"Oh fuck, it's so good. It's so, so good. Thank you. Thank you." Your nails make crescent moons in his skin, pleasure rocking through you. It's at around the third inch that you start to remember how big he is, that maybe this was a little too ambitious, but then his thumb is circling your clit again and it starts to matter less. You're still part empty, and being full and filled with him is the only thing on your mind. You moan and he knows. Intuitively, innately. Pulling you back up to hear you cry at the loss of him only to push back in and add another inch.
"Baby," he leans his head back onto the sofa, watches as your slick starts to make streaks down his cock. It's so much like you, to make yourself known onto him. "Ah, fuck. Okay. Just a little more, okay?"
"You're a fucking liar." Your voice is muffled into the crux of his neck, where you can feel the way laughter makes its way through his body.
"Yeah." He sheathes more of himself into you, until your walls and thighs clench hard with a squeal, gives you a wet kiss to your cheek. "I'll make you feel good."
"You teased me —," something between a hiccup and a sob leaves you as you pull yourself up him again, dropping down more of him with a satisfied sigh. "All fucking day. All day. You're so mean to me. Just give it to me."
The world flips on its axis, a dizzy spin until your back lands on the sofa, Sae's body between your legs. "Don't brat to me." He spreads your knees a little further, pushes them towards you a little closer. "You've been good to me. Don't ruin it. Or I'll make it worse."
Another little cry leaves you as he presses into you again. "Okay, okay. Just —"
"I'm getting there." There's a rhythm now, enough of him inside of you to start one, centimeters that push into you with each thrust. "You're so needy. Can feel you clenching around me."
"God, Sae," the way he speaks to you is half-condescending, your desperation just another way for him to humiliate you. So why does it have more of your slick dripping over him? Your eyelids grow heavy with the pleasure, entirely full of him now, until the head of his cock starts to brush up against your cervix, and it's not until he starts to press up against it entirely that you feel his balls against your skin.
"Better?"
"Yes. Yes, fuck, so full." Your mind blanks with each push of his cock inside of you, and god does it make him groan with the way how soft and wet you are envelops around him. His necklace swings with each thrust and you wrap your hand around the metal of it lightly, pulling him down into a kiss that is so honey-slow it makes your heart ache. Teal eyes like stained glass admire you and ever gasp you make only has him fucking into you a little harder, love bitten lips that chase yours over and over.
"You're so pretty." His body presses closer to yours, almost lying on top of you entirely, his thumb brushing over your cheek and the mix of his gentleness and the hard way he fucks you makes you sob into him. Loved wholly, entirely. "Mm. You're gonna come for me, yeah?"
The warmth of his body leaves you momentarily only to pull you back down onto him by your thighs, before he leans into you again and you swear he might be even deeper this time, have no idea how you manage to accommodate him. Your mind swims and your legs try to trap Sae between them as his fingers run circles over your clit again, circular movements that have your back arching, firework crackle that kindles in your gut, flashes of heat that make you clench impossibly tight around him.
"That's it," Sae loves to watch you like this, how each part of your body tenses, how you make how you feel known to him in every movement. His cock throbs inside of you as your orgasm wracks through, the high-pitched noise that leaves you only makes him feel closer, until he cums into your oversensitive cunt, spilling into you and fucking you through the waves of your pleasure.
Sae catches himself short of falling onto you, leans against the arm of the couch above you, heavy breaths and reprieve.
"Wow," you exhale, and that makes a giggle jump out of you, until he chuckles and lands his face in the crux of your neck. "Oh wow, we should really do that again."
You can feel his smile against your skin, sunbeam-warm. "You were a little mad at me."
"I was frustrated. And rightfully so, you had your hands on me all day."
"You're cute when you're mad. Frustrated." He corrects easily, and then you're reaching for his face, peppering kisses over his lips until he holds you down and kisses you fully, properly, affection sweet on your tongue, sugared with his love.
Lines printed with the title: "Her memory, from old habit of mind / Went slipping back upon the golden days / In which she saw him first, when Launcelot came" (from Tennyson's Guinevere).
Anthony Harrison talks of the "extraordinarily wide dissemination" of Tennyson's Idylls of the King (605), and it enjoyed tremendous success throughout the period, despite the poet's traditionalist stance in Guinevere.
William Morris's "The Defence of Guenevere" put a different complexion on her adultery. Harrison notes that it was too radical for most readers when first published (1858), but became influential later. Brickdale's representation of her, as beautiful and at one with surrounding nature, seems to confirm a shift in sympathies.
