#shoei

Soft tummy, plush thighs, and plump hips.

You and Shoei are opposites in many ways, but that doesn’t matter to him because he’s also painfully and utterly in love with you. 

The day in which he found himself no longer drowning in the acknowledgment that you made him feel an immense sense of vulnerability–his mind working overtime to grasp that he now wanted to care for something more than himself and soccer–was the day in which he finally let go of his desire for control. He finally gave the old, ‘fuck it’ shrug and let whatever was happening–because at the time he sure as fuck didn’t know–happen.

And when he finally allowed himself to sit in those feelings, he realized he hadn’t actually been drowning. Drowning implies suffocation–something your body tells you to fight because you’re on the brink of experiencing something unpleasant or life-ending. No, he hadn’t actually been drowning at all. Instead, he was being pulled–pulled by a force that was unbudging and, quite frankly, inevitable.

But back to opposites. 

Shoei doesn’t desire a fucking clone. The fuck would the world do with two kings anyway? He needs someone who grounds him while simultaneously calling him out on his bullshit, supports him when he has rare moments of doubt, and gives him that vision-blurring, head-swimming, ‘fuck, I might cum too damn early if you keep sucking me like that, baby girl’ type of head.

And even though he had never experienced those things before, god, he sure became comfortable with them quickly, often sinking into the blissful familiarity of your voice, smile, touch, and simply you.

You, his perfect, sweet girlfriend, are an anomaly to everyone else.

You, who has his usual cold gaze—relegated for the most annoying of pests and stubborn of donkeys—softening. 

You, who has him running straight towards you after a game, jumping over the crowd-control divider and lifting you into his arms to plant a hungry, adrenaline-laced kiss to your lips, asking if you saw that last goal he made because it was all for you. 

You, who has him doting on you as if lifting a finger, would not only be a waste of your time but also an offense to him. Never mind that the man doesn’t believe you should spend any money you make but instead provides you with anything you could ever want and everything you would never think to ask for.

And while the world may know Shoei Barou as bold, blunt, and a rude egoist—to you, he’s a yearner with a taste for you, and only you, with gentle touches laced with invocation and whispered praises that leave no room for argument about how he feels about his girl.

To Shoei, his queen came into his world exactly as you are: perfect. You’re the literal embodiment of everything he’s ever needed; there’s not a damn thing he’d change about you, and he would whisper it like it was a goddamn mantra in your ear if it meant etching it into your brain like the truth he knows it to be, especially during those moments when you’re feeling a bit insecure. 

He has no qualms with letting you know how deeply he worships you, fucking craves you with every fiber of his being.

It doesn’t matter if it’s morning, night, while he’s away playing a match, or even while he’s splitting you open on his cock and fucking you within an inch of your life. 

“Keep your eyes on that pussy when she’s swallowing my cock, baby girl.”

But he needs you to see that, so sometimes, when he’s not getting through to you, he sits you in his lap, your back pressed against his chest as he faces you toward the full-length mirror in your shared bedroom. 

Your reflection is so often your enemy as it spotlights every piece of you that you wish either didn’t exist or was different, but in Shoei’s lap as his eyes rake over you, smoldering with the kind of love that is unchallenged and all-consuming, you see what he sees. 

His iron-hard cock is nestled between your soft, warm thighs, the head slicken with precum poking through the top of your legs and throbbing incessantly as he presses his lips against your kiss-swollen ones with reverence.

“I love these lips,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, offering a playful nip to your earlobe and then soothing it with a quick lick. 

“Love how they curl into a smile when you say my name or call me your king.” His thumb drags across your bottom lip, the pad of his finger sliding in just enough to stroke at the bottom row of your teeth.

He shifts under you, strong hands gripping the meat of your thighs and lifting you easily as he guides your drooling cunt onto his cock. 

The heat of you makes him ache, and he revels in it, dragging the head against your slick folds, spreading the essence of you all over his shaft like his own personal bottle of lubricant. 

You're both mesmerized as the tip presses against your snug entrance, meeting some initial resistance because no matter how wet you are, it’s still an effort to take in his girth. But you both find the struggle delicious, eyes glazing over, your tongue lolling out of your mouth as Shoei pushes against your resistant cunt. You aid him like a good girl, wiggling your hips back and forth, love handles jiggling for him with each shimmy as your cunt accepts him with an audible squelch.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck, baby girl, such a tight fit for me. Open up for Daddy like a good girl. Thaaaaaat’s it. Suck me in.”

He wastes no time, pistoning his hips upwards from tip to hilt, the mirror shamelessly showing everything–how your clit twitches with the need to feel the pads of his fingers stroking her, how your labia spread obscenely as his cock buries inside of you and how your slick not only coats your inner thighs but his balls, droplets blanketing them with the dew of your arousal.

God, and the way he works you over, it’s with the same studying, dedication and determination that got him to be the best on the field. As an expert of your pleasure, he knows precisely where to drag his cock to make you gasp and moan, the pressure building up to a boiling point almost immediately as he molds your pussy to the shape of his cock. 

And not once does he take his eyes off your face, watching it contort into the type of pleasure only he can provide. You’re writhing on top of him, moaning wantonly and it’s enough to not only make his own cheeks heat up, eyes half-lidded as he groans into your ear but also cause spurts upon spurts of precum to dribble inside your wet heat.

“Shoei! T-too much! I’m going to cum!” You whine; your voice is high-pitched with a mix of desperation, embarrassment, and obvious arousal. Sure, you want to cum, but not this soon, not when you have all night.

“Do it,” he coaxes. “You think I give a fuck if this sweet cunt gushes on me a little fucking early? First of many, baby.”

As white-hot pleasure courses through your brain like an electrical shock to your system, Shoei’s grip on your thighs grows tighter, spreading your legs and baring it all to his hungry gaze and your post-orgasmic blissed-out one, allowing you both to see the way you squeeze around him, trying to siphon every drop of his release you can coax out.

But he’s not there yet; finding pleasure in watching you come undone several times over before he allows him the privilege to join you is something that he takes pride in. His queen always comes first–literally and figuratively. 

“Goddamn, you’re so sexy, baby, so sensitive for me.” All the while, his hips had never stopped moving, only slowing to coast you through your orgasm. Once he feels the fluttering of your pussy subsiding, his thrusts increase in speed again. He grabs your hand, guiding it down to your cunt.

“That’s my girl. Use those pretty fingers and spread her open for your king.” And you obey, using your middle and forefinger to spread your labia like he asked. Shoei licks a long stripe from your jaw to the curve of your cheek, crimson eyes never breaking eye contact with you in the mirror as he claims you while simultaneously challenging you to object, which you never do.

His hands are all over your body, squeezing, mapping, and committing every part of you to memory like the work of art you are. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fuckin’ perfect, baby! Look at you. How’d I get so fuckin’ lucky, huh? Ah, ah, don’t look away. Look.” He growls, but there’s no bite to his command, only a plea for you to open your eyes and not shy away from the reflection of the person he would burn the entire world down for. 

“Please?” He whispers in your ear, his voice hitching as he hits a particularly sensitive spot for you both. And with the way he’s asking, how can you not take a chance and look? 

When you finally muster the courage to open your tightly shut eyes, you see yourself through his eyes: the way your hair sticks to your sweat-slicked skin, the way your body is flushed from the exertion, but most importantly, the way you fold so neatly, so perfectly into him. 

There’s beauty in these moments you two create and beauty in the way that you are everything to him. You are his love, his life, his blood, and his soul, and that, among other things, is what Shoei sees.

“That’s my girl.” He groans. “You’re so beautiful, baby. I can’t fuckin’ take it anymore. Gonna cum in this pretty pussy, yeah?”

You watch as his thrusts quicken, his cock pistoning in and out of you in almost a blur, his fingers digging into your thighs so much that you can see the minor indentation marks he’s leaving. Your eye twitches as you feel the unmistakable feeling of another orgasm building up deep at the base of your spine, but fortunately for you, Shoei isn’t too far behind. 

He’s so close, and in the same vein that he’s become an expert of you, you’ve done the same: the way his jaw clenches, his balls tighten, and his words are coming out in a jumbled, garbled mess tells you that he’s about to free-fall off the ledge with you.

Shoei throws his head back; loud, visceral moans rip through his throat as a jet of hot, white cum soaks into your womb. You don’t often see Shoei exhausted, but pouring love into you and doing his damnedest to build you up takes effort that he exerts happily. 

Heavy breathing and whispers of love are shared amongst you both post-coitus. Shoei wastes no time getting you what you need: a washcloth, fruit, a glass of water, cuddles, or more dick if you’re interested.

And it’s moments like this, moments of tender worship by your king, that you feel you’re worthy of yearning for.

@interstellar-inn @pixelcafe-network