A Pre-Game Special
Timeskip!Miya Atsumu x Fem!Reader
just you taking him full in your mouth before his game against Schweiden Adlers, trying to get him relaxed.
cw: nsfw, male receiving, oral, lmk if I missed any!
As MSBY made their way toward the locker room, Atsumu barely had a second to react before he felt a familiar tug on his wrist. He turned, only to find you there, eyes gleaming with mischief.
“Oi, what—”
“C’mere,” you whispered, fingers lacing with his before he could protest. With a quick glance to make sure no one was paying attention, you pulled him down the hall, your pace determined.
Atsumu followed, a little confused but not about to complain, “Sweetheart, I got, like, ten minutes before warm-ups—”
“And I just need five,” you shot back, smirking as you led him past the usual lockers, past the training rooms, straight to a small, inconspicuous door near the back of the gym. "Come on."
Atsumu blinked, “Wait a minute—”
You pushed the door open without hesitation, the dimly lit storage room greeting you both with the familiar scent of old sports equipment and fresh laundry detergent. It was quiet, out of the way, and, most importantly, you knew no one would bother looking here. After all, you hung around the gym often enough to know which rooms were rarely used.
Atsumu barely had time to process before you dragged him inside, shutting the door behind you with a decisive click. He turned to you, mouth opening—probably to ask what the hell was going on—but you were already on him, pushing him toward the nearest chair with enough force that he fell into it with a soft grunt.
His brows lifted in amused surprise, “Damn, didn’t know ya were this strong.”
You just smirked, already reaching for the hair tie on your wrist, “Shut up, Miya.”
“What’s this about, huh?” he asked, lips quirking upward despite the uncertainty in his voice.
You didn’t answer, at least not with words. Instead, you tied your hair back into a ponytail, your fingers moving deliberately slow, knowing he was watching—knowing exactly what that simple motion would do to him.
Atsumu's smirk widened as realization dawned on him. He leaned back, spreading his legs slightly, his confidence returning in full force.
“Oh? Now this is interestin’.”
Your hands ghosted along his hips, teasing, testing, as you toyed with the waistband of his sweatshirt. His breath hitched, but he covered it up with a shaky chuckle.
“Yer trouble, y’know that?”
“You love it.”
You lowered his sweatpants slowly, taking a good lock on his big, hard cock.
"Didn't know you're hard already, Miya," you smirked, looking up at him.
"Yeah, it's difficult not to whenever yer around, baby," he said, before pulling your jaw and kissed you.
But you knew he didn't have much time before preparing for the game, and you could kiss him anywhere. But this? You can't do this in public.
His fingers found their way into your hair, threading through the strands as he let his head tip back slightly, the sharp inhale of breath betraying his otherwise cocky demeanor. You take his length slowly, it throbbed slightly under your touch.
You stroked a few times, trying to get warmer than this. And then Atsumu's grip on your shoulder tightened as your lips brushed against him, his control slipping with every passing second.
“Shit—” his voice cracked, followed by a breathless laugh. “You really don’t play fair, huh?”
You didn’t respond, but your tongue swirled around him. His jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling in uneven waves as he struggled to keep himself together.
Atsumu’s fingers tangled in your hair, his grip tightening just enough to make you shiver. His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, his golden eyes dark with something dangerously close to reverence as he looked down at you.
“Fuck—” he groaned, his head falling back for a moment before he forced himself to watch you again. “You—shit, ya look so damn good like this.”
You hummed again, the vibrations making him suck in a sharp breath. You sucked it, saliva helping you to move smoothly. His tip was deep in your mouth, and your free hand roamed around his inner thigh.
You always loved his thigh, a perfect place to either sleep, sit, or even ride. Your fingers barely skimmed the surface of his skin, a featherlight touch trailing along the base of his thigh. The warmth of him radiated against your palm, muscles taut even in his seated position.
His thighs—big, muscly, and undeniably strong—had always been a favorite of yours. Built from years of training, of relentless drills and never skipping leg day, they were firm beneath your fingertips, shifting subtly under your touch as he tensed.
The contrast was intoxicating—how easily he could dominate a game with those powerful legs, yet here, under your hands, he twitched at the slightest graze of your nails against the sensitive skin. You traced the ridges of muscle, following the curve where strength met softness, reveling in the way his breath hitched.
Your touch danced dangerously close to where he wanted it most, teasing, testing, savoring the way he responded before you even fully claimed him. His other hand found your neck, grazing his rough fingertips from touching the ball every day.
“Damn, sweetheart,” he muttered, a cocky grin tugging at his lips even as his voice wavered slightly. “Didn’t know ya liked my legs this much.”
To respond to that, you took him faster. Your tongue and lips worked their way, like they were in the right place. Savoring Atsumu's cock.
Atsumu groaned, golden eyes hazy as he glanced down at you, his lips parted.
“You like it, don't ya? Teasin’ me like this, actin’ all sweet while touchin’ me like that—” his words dissolved into a ragged breath as you applied just the right amount of pressure. His grip in your hair faltered, his knuckles turning white.
“My pretty thing. You wearin’ my number, makin’ me feel this good? You really love me, huh?” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction as he finally able to find his voice. “You really tryna kill me before the game, you know.”
You glanced up at him, your eyes playful, teasing. The jersey—his jersey—hung loosely on you, oversized and draped just enough to show the straps of your top underneath. And that damn miniskirt? He was already obsessed with it, but now? Seeing you like this, between his legs, doing this for him?
“Yer so good at this,” he rasped, his voice breaking on the last word as he fought to keep himself together. “Shit, sweetheart, you were made for this.”
His fingers tightened in your hair for just a second before he forced himself to loosen his hold, not wanting to rush—not wanting to lose control just yet. But God, you were testing him.
His free hand trailed along your jaw, his thumb swiping against your cheek. You moaned and you could feel him twitching in your mouth, his nails dug your skin.
“Fuck—just like that, sweetheart," Atsumu groaned. “Yer gonna ruin me.”
Oh, yeah. You could tell—the way his fingers twitched, the way his thighs tensed—that he was close to coming. His hips jerked forward as your throat tightened around him. You could feel his abs clenching as he tried to fight the sensation.
And when he finally came, his whole body shaking as he gasped, letting out a string of curses and your name, his voice rough and unguarded. And he swore he’d never felt anything better in his life.
"God," Atsumu's voice cracked as he was drown in ecstasy. "F—fuck, yer so good, takin' me like this. Fuck!"
Panting, Atsumu slumped back in the chair, trying to gather himself while you—ever the perfectionist—made sure there was no mess left behind. You wiped the corner of you lips with the back of your hand after you swallowed, equally breathless.
When you finally met his gaze again, his pupils were blown wide, his lips slightly parted as he reached for you. Without a word, he pulled you into his lap, and you could feel his cock hardening under your skirt. He captured your lips in a desperate kiss, rough and needy. His tongue swept against yours, tasting himself, tasting you.
“Damn,” he muttered against your lips, still breathless. “Best pre-game ever.”
You grinned, running your fingers through his hair, “Feeling relaxed now?”
He let out a low chuckle, resting his forehead against yours.
“Oh, baby, I feel like I could take on the whole damn world.”
And he did.
When he finally strolled into the locker room, his grin was impossibly smug, his energy noticeably lighter. He carried himself with a looseness that hadn’t been there earlier. His usual confidence was always noticeable, but this? This was something else entirely. His grin was impossibly smug, his shoulders rolled back like he had no worries in the world.
His teammates all exchanged questioning glances, brows raised at his uncharacteristically serene demeanor.
“Alright,” Sakusa drawled, narrowing his eyes. “The hell happened to you?”
Atsumu just stretched, rolling his shoulders like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“Nothin’ much,” he said, though the cocky glint in his eyes told another story. “Just can’t wait for the game.”
Bokuto raised a brow, giving Atsumu a once-over, “You look suspiciously… at ease. Which is a good thing, I guess.”
“Real motivated today,” Atsumu replied, stretching dramatically as if he hadn't a single muscle tight in his body. He threw himself onto the bench, arms draped over the backrest like a king surveying his court.
Meian, never one to miss a detail, flicked his gaze over his setter with mild interest, “Uh-huh. And why’s that?”
Atsumu just smirked, tilting his head back against the lockers with a satisfied sigh, “Let’s just say… I got some extra encouragement before the game.”
The team exchanged looks, and though no one said it outright, they all knew. The cockier-than-usual grin, the glint in his eyes, the way he was way too damn pleased with himself—it all pointed to one thing.
“Disgusting,” Sakusa muttered, shaking his head with a frown. “Get a fucking room.”
Atsumu only laughed, grabbing a volleyball and spinning it lazily in his hands, “Already did.”
And with that, he stepped onto the court and gave the best damn sets his team had ever received.
