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Tags: nsfw, smut, rough sex, flirting, teasing, choking, name-calling, objectification, being a brat, power dynamics
Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions
A/N: I still haven't seen the rest of the anime but I don't have to. I just have to love Baro, and I do.
There were a few thing Baro really loved about you. Your body and pussy were pretty high among them but what he loved just as much was how hard-headed you were. Almost as much as him and that is in impressive accomplishment for anyone.
"Why do you have to be such a brat when we don't have time for that?" Baro had hand on the back of your neck and the other on your hip, pinning you against the lockers and against himself.
"It's more fun this way. Make me beg for it. I know you love it when I beg. It makes you come so much, makes my pussy overflow with your cum. You love seeing that right?" You squeezed your inner walls around him the moment you felt him shove his cock back into you. He grumbled under his breath as he stepped a bit closer, shortening his thrusts.
Glancing at the clock he was you didn't have that much time. "Don't have time for this shit. You're gonna make me come weather you like it or not! Because... fuck... because I'm ordering you to. Got that? You don't get to mouth off to me, you stupid locker room whore!"
"Fuck... yes! But I'm your whore right, Baro? Your whore, and you're gonna make me come around your cock? Please? I know you'll make my pussy come, only you get to- get to fuck it! Please, Baro, please make my pussy come!" You felt your lungs burn as you begged past the grip he had on your neck. Baro groaned, his thighs smacking against yours in a wild fury.
You couldn't tell if he was pissed off at you or in a real hurry but that didn't matter. "Of course it's me who'll make you come! Who else?! You're mine to fuck, mine, a pretty cocksleeve for me to use whenever I want!"
Oh he was angry for sure. He didn't want to admit it but you forced his hand, you made him fuck you how you wanted, when you wanted.
Helllooo, can we have honey toast, matcha latte with brioche (preferably with rin or barou but you can choose hehe) from your bakeryy? Hehe i loooovee your writings
all set! one honey toast, a side of brioche, and a matcha latte coming right up. savor every moment ♡
“sho, come onnnn!” you whined, tugging on his sleeve like an overexcited puppy. “it’s just a little rain!”
“no,” he deadpanned, arms crossed, looking like he was seconds away from barricading the door. “you’ll get sick.”
“i won’t!” you insisted, beaming up at him. “pleaseee? just a quick walk? it’ll be fun!”
sho’s scowl deepened, but you knew better. he always looked like that — like the world owed him a personal apology. but under that grumpy face was a guy who was a total mom. the kind that remembered to bring you an umbrella even when the forecast said sunshine all day.
“fine,” he grunted, turning to grab your coat. “but you’re bundling up.”
“yayyy!” you cheered, practically bouncing on your heels.
“and wear this scarf.” he tossed it to you. “and gloves. and—”
“sho,” you cut him off with a giggle, “i’m not climbing mount everest. it’s drizzling.”
“don’t care,” he muttered, shoving a beanie on your head before tugging it down over your ears. “if you’re dragging me out in the rain, you’re staying warm.”
you grinned, linking your arm with his as you both stepped outside. the cool air hit you first, followed by the soft patter of raindrops. “isn’t this nice?” you sighed, tipping your head back to let the rain kiss your face.
“no,” sho grumbled, tugging you closer so his arm was like a protective barrier.
you giggled again, watching him scowl at every puddle like they were personally out to get you. but when you slipped your hand into his — cold fingers finding warmth in his — his scowl softened just a little.
“you’re impossible,” he muttered, but his hand squeezed yours anyway.
it was too funny to not do, he's such a meme sometimes || 0.3k || m.list
Your husband was a clean control freak. Which wasn’t bad: the house was always spotless and he gave a cute little lecture on how to keep said house looking spotless when you first moved in with him.
It was just his way of living, so you never made it any harder for him….usually.
In your opinion, it wasn’t really your fault, but Isagi had sent you a tiktok of a girl placing piles of glitter around the house to make sure her husband actually did the cleaning— and since you know Shoei cleans every nook and cranny, well…
How could you resist? You couldn’t.
Which is why, before you left the house, there were exactly twenty small piles of bright red glitter hidden throughout the house.
The first time Baro saw glitter behind the coffee pot in the kitchen, he was confused. The second time, he found another pile on the dish strainer, and was getting suspicious. By the third glitter pile, which he found on his favorite cleaning sponge, he was calling you up and demanding:
“Why the hell is there glitter all over the kitchen?!”
And while you would’ve loved to hold your composure and play dumb, you just couldn’t help yourself from nearly howling with laughter like a hyena.
Through tears, you told him there were secret piles everywhere, and with a cursed grumble, he hangs up (but not before saying ‘I love you’ and waiting for response) and goes on a hunt to find said piles of glitter.
By the time you got back, the house was turned upside down and your husband was, dare you say it, pouting on the couch.
“Twenty piles. Twenty damn piles of glitter!” He fumes incredulously, but you know he wasn’t really mad.
“Twenty piles of glitter that made you think of me twenty times.” You grinned, rubbing the crown of his head.
“I always think about you. Don’t need glitter to do it.”
You’d be swept off your feet from his words if he hadn’t already done that literally; strong arms carried you straight to the cleaning supplies.
Shoei Baroi. fluff.
cw. implied mental health struggles. alcohol use.
You rest your cheek on the broad muscle of his shoulder, watching the lights pass by as you leave the city. They streak your vision like meteorites burning in orbit. Barou was a responsible driver, considerate of the weight you add to his cruiser. The tires of the bike surf along a gentle current rather than navigate rubble-studded streets like most riders do.
You shift in the leather prison that is his old riding jacket. It is sweltering outside and the humid summer only just began to cool with the transition into twilight. He still insisted on wearing leather regardless, Mr. Safety as always. He looks so good in riding gear anyway, so you don’t complain. He even insists you wear the leather prison hand-me-down despite your protests.
“Don’t be a fucking moron,” he growled, throwing the jacket into your arms moments before leaving his apartment. A man of action more than words, but you could read him clearly when he spoke: ‘please be safe.’
You stroke the cherry-wine leather along his obliques, adoring the smooth suede texture over the curve of his muscle. If something were to happen – if the bike ever fishtailed out of control – he would never forgive himself if he didn’t dress you up in protective gear. He cared more than you could ever hope for you.
When you met him, you really did think he was a delinquent or some gangster. You asked to kick a soccer ball around and he asked if you were ‘fucking stupid’. You weren’t. You just needed a physical outlet when your skin crawled from the clutter of your apartment. Some how, he obliged and taught you some tactics. Barou never asked about you and you never really asked about him. Every now and again you’d catch each other and decide to kick a ball around.
At first, he really seemed like someone who only gave a shit about himself. Soccer seemed to be the only thing he genuinely cared about or talked about. You asked him what he did for a living one day and that’s when you learned he worked at a bar. It was a little bar that salary men and women frequented. Occasionally, college students would go there and get plastered.
You’d visit him when he worked, and he’d walk you home when you were too drunk to go alone. He never touched you more than he had to in those times – just enough to keep you steady. But like a rat being trained to push a lever, his warm hands were a treat drawing you back each night. You learned that when he wasn’t obsessing over a straight shot, he was a great listener to his customers. You’d see him give water, offer bags of chips, and just quietly listen as the man in a pinstripe suit cried about his lost marriage.
You even unloaded some life woes onto him: You talked about how it was hard to function some days. Work was a lot to handle when you could barely manage to garner energy for the laundry. The world seemed foggy, and you didn’t have a compass. The city was loud and overstimulating. The heat was sticky and drained you of whatever life force you had. Going to the bar and seeing him was pretty much what kept you showering. Barou was appalled by the fact that you would drink nothing but protein shakes and vitamins to keep up sometimes, so he’d just give you food off the menu for free. You even cried about your ex, who apparently hadn’t even thought you were in a relationship!
When all this began, you couldn’t imagine that one day he’d help you clean your grubby apartment (while complaining and lecturing you, of course). He’d help you with laundry and dishes. He’d help you cook and teach you a few cheap recipes that you could microwave. Because he worked out, he’d drop off some vitamins for you when he bought supplements for himself.
Eventually, you two were just... together. Peacefully. Coexisting.
The bike comes to a gentle stop. Barou kicks the bike stand out and swings off. He pulls his helmet off, espresso locks swept around his shoulders. Your gaze softens on him, “You’re so pretty.”
“Thanks,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his head. He extends his hand to you, helping you off, “Now close your eyes.”
“Awe, I thought you didn’t like surprises,” you jest with a fake puff of your cheek.
He squishes the air out of your cheeks with just one hand, thumb one the right cheek and the rest on the left, “But you do. So close your eyes, or you’ll spoil it for yourself.”
“Alright, alright. Feisty tonight!” With a laugh, you close your eyes. The familiar hold of his fingers around your shoulders melts you to your core. You’re guided away from the side of the road and down a little hill, “Shoei, where are we—”
“Quit yapping,” he barked, “It’s not far. Watch your step, there’s a branch.”
Soon enough, you both stopped. The city sounds were drowned out by the songs of cicadas. With his permission, you open your eyes.
The soft surface of water spread out across the expanse before you. The reflection of the stars above, seen only miles out from the city, came to greet the earth by the grace of the lake. Surrounded by trees and darkness, the only light was the moon and the colony of fireflies searching for their mates.
You open your mouth, then close it, squeezing your lips together as you bite back the lump in your throat. Everything had been so overwhelming lately. The world, work, keeping up with your own needs. Barou helped you so much, but even with his help, you could fall behind on yourself. But here, it felt still. It was serene. The air was cool now that night overtook the sky and the breeze picked up the lake’s chill.
“Gimme,” Barou’s voice snapped you out of your mind.
“Huh?”
“The jacket. Give it to me,” His fingers gestured to hand the leather demon suit over, “You don’t like wearing it, anyway.”
“I—” You rub your eyes free of the moisture piling at the lashes, “Yeah. It feels gross, and I’m sweaty.”
“Then let’s get it off of you,” Barou tugs the zipper down steadily and peels it from your arms. He folds it neatly and places it on top of the bike seat. You feel his eyes roam your form, dressed in a tank top and shorts. The sweat along the surface of your décolleté radiant with scattered light. He drank you like a finely crafted wine, admiring every little bit that you offered him.
As always, he seldom said how he felt, but you could always tell by the softness of his eyes and the ease at which he kissed you that you were a treasure he would never let go of. You were his gem that he polishes each day for the joy of seeing it shine. When he wipes away your grateful tears with a loose grin, you know for certain that he didn’t just care about soccer.
barou shoei who cooks for you because “i’d rather not die today from your cooking skills”
barou shoei who’s not used to being gentle with anyone but still tries his hardest because he doesn’t wanna hurt you :(
barou shoei who gets flustered when you call him a nickname but acts all annoyed and irritated
barou shoei who loves hearing you laugh and would not even notice that he has started smiling
barou shoei who complains how his teammates started teasing him because he read a text from you in front of them and got all red
barou shoei who always has an arm around you because “holding hands is for losers”
barou shoei who would let you play with his hair if you give him enough kisses
barou shoei who has no idea what to do on a date so he (reluctantly) asks his teammates. best believe he got teased a lot that day
barou shoei who always goes home first to you even when his teammates invite him out for drinks after practice
barou shoei who has to be forced by you to go to team parties and would NOT go to said party unless you go with him
barou shoei who always matches his ties to whatever you’re wearing
barou shoei who comes straight to where you’re standing in the stand after he scored the winning goal for his team and would kiss you in front of every eye watching
barou shoei who doesn’t know how to show his love for you but he’s still trying his best because you deserve it<;33
