Feeling Good
pairing: shohei ohtani/wife!reader
summary: shohei pays you a quick visit before his game ;)
word count: 3.1k
warnings: 18+, semi-public sex, sort of dubious consent?
a/n: after spending the last several nights watching the world series, i just couldn’t stop myself from writing this…but i’m experiencing a fic-writing renaissance in general rn so soon i’ll finally be finishing up some other fics i’ve had in the works for months!
Dodger Stadium
October 27th, 3:30 p.m.
You’re standing on the balcony of the Ohtani family box suite, gripping the railing tightly.
You’ve never gotten used to this tension you feel before every game in the post season. It’s why you’ve arrived at the stadium a whole hour-and-a-half before the game is set to start tonight, plus a whole hour before the rest of yours and Shohei’s families are supposed to arrive. You would’ve gone crazy with nerves if you’d’ve sat at home doing nothing any longer.
Part of you is excited. It’s the first home game of the World Series, how could you not be excited? But another part of you—as you stare out over the baseball field below, watching various members of the Dodgers and Blue Jays teams march through their warm-up drills, feeling your body pulse with the waves of energy that swell through the air—feels a little bit like you’re about to charge into battle. Or more accurately, like your husband is.
You never know what could happen during games when everyone’s emotions are running high. Things could get very heated. Dangerous, even.
Over the course of this year’s regular season alone, you’ve seen dramatic team-wide brawls break out on the field. You’ve seen security guards have to step between the Dodgers’ manager and an opposing team’s coach. You’ve seen opposing pitchers intentionally throw the ball 100 miles an hour at your husband’s leg, arm, or neck in an attempt to make some sort of statement, to stick it to the Dodgers by injuring their best player. And you’ve seen your poor husband have to play the peacemaker time and time again in the fatherly, stoic manner of someone twice his age. Always telling his teammates to knock it off when they start jeering at the other team, then sighing and walking over to the other team’s dugout to make sure they relax too.
This madness is only intensified by the tens of thousands of fans who scream and spit at the players like they’re watching a back-alley dog fight. You shudder as you remember some of the more distasteful things you’ve heard certain fans of opposing teams yell at your husband as he stepped up to the plate.
Your anxious thoughts are mercifully interrupted when you hear a knock at the suite’s door. You recognize that knock…that loud rap-rap-rap of big heavy knuckles. You smile because the sound instinctively makes your nervousness dissipate a little. Just a little.
“Yes, come in,” you say.
The doorknob turns and suddenly Shohei Ohtani is twisting his big shoulders through the tiny crack he opens in the door. You catch a glimpse of his security guards gathered behind him outside, their eyes widening as they catch a rare glimpse of you—Shohei’s precious wife that he keeps so hidden from the public eye. The elusive woman everyone in the stadium always gossips about but no one ever sees. And then Shohei shuts the door and the security guards, along with the entire outside world beyond them, disappears as quickly as it appeared.
In the quietness that follows, you chuckle and ask Shohei, “What are you doing up here?”
You’re not surprised to see him, even though there are definitely some coaches in the Dodgers batting cages right now who are freaking out that Shohei isn’t down there to start that grueling warm-up routine they always put him through. But since the Dodgers executives have supplied Shohei with a million different assistants and aides, you figured at least one of them would have seen you on your way up to the suite and told him you were here. And once that happened, you knew he wouldn’t be able to resist sneaking upstairs to pay you a quick visit.
“I heard you got here early,” Shohei says, which confirms your suspicions. “I wanted to see you one last time. For good luck.”
You blush a little. “Oh, that’s nice,” you say.
You step away from the suite’s balcony to meet him back in the lounge area. He’s sitting down on the sofa, throwing his Dodgers-sanctioned baseball cap to the side, and pulling off his Dodger-blue sweatshirt. You start to wonder why he seems to be making himself comfortable in here…You know he doesn’t have much time to hang around. But then that train of thought flutters away with the breeze as you catch sight of the way his chest and bicep muscles strain against the tight compression shirt he has on under his sweatshirt.
Once you come within his arm’s reach—which is still a decent distance away from him, but he has an almost seven-foot wingspan—he grabs your wrist and you’re being pulled onto the sofa so that you’re lying on your back in front of him.
Before you can even react to what happened, Shohei leans down over you, blocking out all the light.
“Oh my—” you sputter. “Shohei!” Now you know what his real motivation was behind coming to see you. Any “good luck” you may be able to provide has nothing to do with it.
He replies to your surprise with nothing but a boyish laugh. Then he starts kissing your neck. For a second you’re lost in how good it feels. Lost in the way the heat from his lips electrifies your skin and zaps through your body. You lean into the firmness of his chest and run your fingers through the cute little curls at the nape of his neck.
He nibbles his way to the top of your throat. Then he works his way around your jawline and mouths hungrily against your cheek. He’s like an animal just barely restraining himself from fully sinking his teeth into your skin.
“Sho…” you giggle. “What has gotten into you?” But you already know the answer to that. His libido always seems to spike before important games because of all of his pent-up excitement. You and him have already had sex twice today before he left for the stadium. He’s never tried to do anything with you in your suite before, but you’re not shocked he’s taking this opportunity to try it, since this evening is the first home game of a pretty competitive World Series.
The only times during the regular season that Shohei becomes so insatiable like this is on days when he’s scheduled to pitch. And you don’t at all mind indulging his every need on those days because you always find yourself feeling pretty insatiable too, to be honest.
Watching him pitch does that to you. Most of the time he’s so calm and controlled, in public and private…so there’s something thrilling about the way pitching causes his aggressive side claw to its way out, no matter how many times he takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders and tries to suppress it like a Good Role Model™… something about seeing him bark at the catcher, his teeth flashing. Or seeing his cocky grin after he strikes someone out on just three pitches… something about his soft chocolate eyes turning to sharp selfish steel…After just a few innings of watching this, your heart is racing and your face is bright red.
Shohei’s unbridled energy is so infectious. You swear it has the power to make the entire stadium tremble around you. Or maybe that’s just what it seems like while you’re shaking with anticipation because you know you’re about to become the sole target of all his unbridled energy once you and him get home.
Shohei is practically devouring your mouth with kisses. He’s starting to unbutton your jeans…when you suddenly hear voices in the box suite next to yours. This immediately snaps you out of your trance and back to your senses.
You quickly squirm up on the sofa and away from Shohei so that your shoulders are propped on the armrest behind you. You smooth down the shirt you’re wearing—a Shohei Ohtani jersey, obviously—which you realize has become embarrassingly crumpled.
“What’s wrong?” Shohei murmurs, even though the little smirk on his face tells you he knows exactly why you’re backing away from him. But he’s so tall that he still looms over you, boxing you in. His mouth chases your skin. He wraps his calloused hand around your neck to hold you in place against the armrest before going right back to kissing you.
“Shohei, no!” you squeal into his mouth, smearing his lips against yours. The box suites in this stadium are so close together, and your neighbors—now that they’ve seemingly arrived—can see right into your lounge by simply walking out onto their balcony and peering over the two-foot-tall dividing wall. People up in the box suites don’t usually do things like that…they respect each other’s privacy. But someone might still catch sight of you by accident. What were you and Shohei thinking, full-on making out in here?
You grab Shohei’s head between your hands and guide it away from your face, which forces him to make eye contact with you. He looks so handsome with his thick black hair falling over his forehead and that five-o’clock shadow of a mustache on his lip…but you try not to let any of that distract you. You plead with him, “Sho come on, the people next door might see us. Or hear us.”
Shohei bends down and whispers his reply into your ear, “It’s alright, baby. We’ll just try to be quiet, okay?”
You shake your head. You cannot believe him.
Without further ado, he yanks both your jeans and your underwear down around your ankles in one urgent pull. You gasp as the cool autumn air blowing in from the balcony hits your naked skin. Then you gasp again as you see Shohei reach into his sweatpants and pull out his cock.
Your ears are pounding. You hear the voices next door growing louder as your neighbors—the family of some Hollywood high-roller, you can’t remember who—start making their way toward their balcony. You hear the scuffle of shoes through the wall as even more people pour in through their door.
“You’ve gone crazy,” you say to Shohei. You place your hands against his chest and try to push him away, but that does absolutely nothing. He’s like a big boulder. Unmovable.
Next you try crossing your legs and squeezing your thighs as tightly closed as you can, but that only results with Shohei letting out a snort of laughter and taking his hand off your neck to effortlessly push your legs back open again.
That only gives you another idea. You take advantage of the fact that he no longer has a firm hold on your neck. You twist around on your stomach. Then, laughing a little in spite of yourself, you start to crawl out from under him as fast as you can.
You’re so close to crawling over the arm of the sofa to safety…But just as you’re about to slip off the sofa, both of Shohei’s hands close around your hips. You hear the smile in his voice as he says, “Y/N, you know I’m not letting you go.” And then you’re dragged right back down onto the cushions.
You’re completely helpless as he maneuvers your hips so that your bare butt is sticking up in the air. He’s always manhandling you into whatever position he wants. It’s like you’re a ragdoll. Even during passionate moments like this, his naturally meticulous and controlling nature still finds a way to shine through. Everything in his life, even you, always has to be in its proper place, precisely to his liking.
“So beautiful,” he mutters. You aren’t sure if he’s talking about you or just your butt.
You close your eyes and brace for impact when you feel his hairy thighs press up against the backs of yours and the wide tip of his cock line up with your entrance. You already know the next several minutes are going to be all about him…all about him using you like an object to chase his release as quickly and efficiently as possible so that he can head down to the batting cages with a clear head. You should probably protest him treating you like you’re just another segment of his warm-up. But instead you feel your own wetness start pooling between your legs as Shohei rubs himself up and down against you a few times, forcing you to instinctively open yourself up wider for him.
When he enters you with a heaving thrust, huffing out the same grunt he lets out when he swings his baseball bat, you see stars and a small scream escapes you.
Shohei immediately reaches down and cups his hand around your jaw. He squeezes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, squishing your mouth closed so you can’t make any more noise. “Shhh, shhh,” he says, chuckling. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you want the neighbors to hear us.”
You try to bite back a retort but your voice is muffled by the grip he has on your cheeks.
Benevolently, he pulls his hand away to allow you to speak clearly.
"What?" he says.
“You’re not going to think this is so funny when someone does hear us,” you tell him. “Imagine they look over the wall and—” You pause to bite back what would’ve been an embarrassing moan as he pulls out of you then thrusts back in…then he’s pulling out again…. “—And what if they got us on video? It would—it would—” You can barely form a sentence. You’re not even sure you’re making sense. “—We'd be on every news station on earth by the end of the day."
“Well, then you’d finally get to have your moment in the spotlight,” he teases, referencing a joke you’d made earlier that day about how he always gets to be the center of attention, baseball's hero, while you’re stuck going stir-crazy at home most of the time.
“Yeah right,” you scoff. “N-no one would pay attention to me. They’d all be saying—” You put on your best baseball-sportscaster voice as you joke, “Wow, look at Shohei fuck his wife, isn’t he incredible? Such athleticism, on and off the field.” You hide your face in your hands at the mere thought of it, even though you know it’s a completely ridiculous thought…commentators wolf-whistling and cheering Shohei on as they watch a video of him pounding his bleary-eyed wife into the sofa.
Shohei chuckles, “Oh no no.” Then he slides his hand down between your legs to pacify you as he plays along, “Trust me, everyone would be looking at you, baby. They’d say, ‘Look at pretty Mrs. Ohtani.’” He brushes a gentle hand across your cheek and moves your hair off of your neck, admiring you as he talks. “‘Look how sweet she is. Look at how she takes her husband so well….’”
He trails off as the voices of your neighbors suddenly grow louder. You both look up to see that several people have made it onto the balcony at last. For now, they thankfully all have their backs to you, and they’re all standing a good distance away from the divider wall. But all they’d have to do is turn around and step a little to the right and—
To be safe, Shohei hunkers down on top of you and smothers you against the sofa. His body completely covers yours. So now if your neighbors were to glance over into your lounge, it’ll just look like Shohei is laying on the sofa all by himself, maybe taking a nap or something. You laugh. For all his unbothered talk, he’s just as nervous about getting caught as you are.
His thrusts don’t miss a beat as he hunches down, though they become slightly stiffer and more reigned-in. As his climax approaches, he starts to pant into the crook of your neck, hot and wet, “It’s okay, it’s okay. No one can see us—No one’s looking. Oh, baby, I’m sorry—You’re so good, letting me do this to you. I’m almost done, I promise. Almost done.”
“It’s okay, Sho,” you say breathily back to him.
Whiplashes of pleasure shoot through you. You grit your teeth into the cushion. Half of you doesn’t want this to ever end. But the other more rational half of you wants it to end as quickly as possible before some nosy person does happen to peek over and notice Shohei laying on the sofa over here…and then they start trying to yell to him about the game tonight or take photos of him…while he’s secretly buried inside of you.
Agitated by your own thoughts, you try to help Shohei reach his climax faster by arching your back into his warm teddy bear stomach and clenching around his cock. You think it shouldn’t take him much longer though, regardless of what you do for him. You can only imagine how aroused he is at this point, with all the anxiety-induced adrenaline coursing through his veins. And with the view he has of his last name plastered on the back of your shirt, branding you as his, as you whimper and squirm underneath him. You know he likes that sort of thing with how possessive he can be.
He drives his hips into you one final time, and your stomach fills up like a water balloon with his cum. The sensation causes you to tumble over the cliff of your climax too. Shohei seems aware of this because his hand comes swooping down to cover your mouth and silence you just as your orgasm fully hits and you accidentally let out another way-too-loud gasp.
Once you both finish, and you’re laying there, coming down from your high, your face still smushed in the sofa, Shohei lifts himself off of you with a soft grunt.
“Good work today, baby,” he jokes in the no-nonsense voice he uses when he says the same thing to his teammates after practice. “I’ll see you later, alright? I love you.”
“Love you too,” you respond weakly. But your voice is drowned out by a sudden barrage of gasps and shouts from your neighbors out on the balcony. Lo and behold, Shohei has been spotted.
“Ohmigod, no way!” you hear them all saying. “Wait, look there! It’s him!”
You lie as still as you can, hidden from view behind the armrest. You cringe as cum slowly leaks out of you while Shohei very politely and nonchalantly says hello to everyone.
Then Shohei pulls his sweatshirt and baseball cap back on with a happy sigh, refreshed and reenergized from your rendezvous. And he walks out the door to get ready for the game tonight.
not my best work so if you made it this far, you’re a saint! thank you so much for reading <3
