𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐘𝐔𝐔 | oneshots

20 MINUTES | S. EITA

TIMESKIP!EITA SEMI X FEM!READER | SMUT
a/n: thank you -_Sakura-Tea_- for the request <33

"eita, you got 20!"

you scroll through your phone mindlessly, legs slumped over the arm of a chair, back resting against the other. your boyfriend sits at his dressing table, two stylists working on his outfit and hair at the same time.

"you look stressed." you mumble, reaching over and brushing your fingers against his. "what gives." he sighs, fanning himself to avoid sweating his thin layer of tinted moisturiser off.

you can hear the crowds' screams, how frantic the staff are, you see the fully booked out stadium in it's full glory through the tv screen just to the right of you. you know eita hears it too, and it doesn't matter how many times he tours, it still weighs heavy on his anxiety.

"eita." he hums and eyes you from the side, creased eyebrows softening upon your gaze. you unintentionally flutter your eyelashes at him, and he clears his throat, peering at his stylists through the mirror.

"leave us." he dismisses them, and they nod, packing up their things and leaving quietly, closing the door behind them.

"sweetheart." eita mumbles, gesturing towards his lap which you take place on, chest pressed against his. "you're sweating," you point out, brushing his hair away from his forehead to let his skin breathe. "no shit." he sighs, craning his neck downwards and dipping his head into the crook of your neck.

"eita." you warn, placing a hand on his shoulder. "hm?" he exhales through his nose, tickling your nape. "careful.." you say as his fingers trail up and down your sides, slipping underneath your sweater. "hm.." he sighs, latching his lips onto the side of your neck, sucking gently. "need you right now."

you run your hands through his styled hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "if that's what you need, i'll be more than willing to give myself to you."

once given the confirmation he needed, he begins to feverishly roam his hands around your chest and back, sucking at your skin, rolling his hips upward into your clothed core. "off." he whispers, gesturing towards your lower attire.

you lift your hips, allowing him to pull the fabric down along with your underwear until they're completely discarded on the floor. "so pretty, baby.." he groans, pushing his fingers through your folds and coating them in your juices.

"kiss me," you order, picking up his chin and encasing his lips in yours. you raise your hips when you feel his index finger slip inside of you, slowly thrusting in and out, curling every time his palm meets your thighs. you sigh, relaxing your shoulders and allowing him to have his way with you as another finger joins, scissoring and stretching you out for him.

"you have ten minutes left." you remind him, breaking away from him with a string of saliva connecting the two of you. "yeah yeah," he unbuckles his belt. "..my stylists are going to kill me." he chuckles, his jeans and boxers down to his calves. your hand strokes him up and down, collecting his pre on your fingers and them in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the digits and basking in the taste.

his hands rest on your waist, kissing you softly. "come ride it pretty girl."

you swear it feels better every time. every time he bottoms out inside of you, it's like another version of you is born, and it plants an insatiable need for him in your core. each time your hips meet his, it creates a gently slapping noise which reverberates through the room. "i fuckin' love you, baby." he groans, throwing his head back.

you rest your head on his shoulder, focused on making him feel good. his hands slip underneath your sweater again, pulling your bra down and groping your breasts when they spill out of their enclosure. he traces your nipples with his thumbs, breath growing ragged the longer he endures you.

your thighs burn terribly, but his gentle whimpers and grunts keep you going. every sound he makes follows with your walls clenching around him. "five mi-.." you can't finish your sentence, cut off by a moan when his thumb presses down on your sensitive clit, rubbing at the bud in time with your movements. you whine, collapsing on top of him, still grinding your hips in circular motions.

"oh baby," he sighs, wrapping his arms around you and beginning to thrust up into you instead, determined to finish the job you started. "it feels s-so good." he pants in your ear, his thrusts gradually becoming more and more sloppy when he feels his patience snap.

"fuck it." he grunts, standing up with you in his arms. you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, watching him swipe at all the makeup and water bottles on the desk, slamming you down on it and letting out a guttural moan when he slides even deeper. throwing one of your legs over his shoulder, he rocks into you impatiently, sucking on your already made bruises from before.

your moans block out the blaring sound of the crowds cheering, and eita feels at ease, borderline euphoric with you in his arms. "i'm close sweetheart," he warns, once again reaching down and stimulating your clit, encouraging you to finish with him.

you nod frantically, eyes rolling back as you lay your head back on the table. "want it inside," you heave, arching your back further into him so far, you notice eita's fucked out expression in the mirror. you can see him pumping in and out of you, the sweat running down his chest, his parted lips; he's ethereal.

you gasp, moving to wrap both legs around his hips ultimately locking him in place as your orgasm washes over you. despite eita not being there yet, your expression pushes him over the edge. "damn-" he drops, stabilising himself above you with shaky arms, hips stuttering as he spills his load inside of you. laboured breaths escape his parted lips as he cools down, cupping your cheek and pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek.

"i love you too, by the way." you smile, sitting yourself up and picking up a hand held fan, switching it on and letting it cool you down. "feel better?" "much." he grins, slipping his shirt over his head as his manager knocks on his door. "eita? where are you?!"

"that's my queue." he kisses you passionately once more, tracing the hickeys on your neck with his fingertips before he's out of the room, leaving you to switch on the television and watch his performance.

safe to say he's never performed better.