#Osamu | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rosierin · 5 hours ago

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just a kiss (it wasn’t) | suna rintarou

synopsis; (y/n) and suna share the story of their first and only kiss. they don’t talk about it much but that doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten

warning; NSFW, mature content, explicit content‼️

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

It was a rainy Saturday evening—which, in this household, meant one thing:

The perfect excuse for a movie night.

The pitter-patter of rain filled the living room, the sound rousing the sort of mood that made you want to burrow under a blanket and never crawl out. The scent of burnt popcorn (courtesy of Atsumu) still lingered in the air, barely masked by a candle someone had lit a few minutes earlier. On the TV, a romcom played, casting lights across a couch that had seen better days.

They were all tangled somewhere on and around it.

Suna was slouched in his armchair, one hand tucked behind his head, the other loosely holding the remote. The couch, meanwhile, was a mess of limbs. (Y/n) was wedged between the twins, blanket pulled over her legs, comfortable enough not to apologise when her thighs accidentally bumped one of theirs. It was cramped, a little too warm, but somehow still perfect in that lazy, lived-in way.

The movie was halfway through.

Some soft-hearted childhood-sweethearts plotline—filled with lots of longing glances, a slow dance in the kitchen, and a romantic first kiss on New Year’s Eve under fairy lights.

It was sweet and frankly a little bit sappy. But to (y/n), nostalgic in a way that made the room feel warmer than it was.

‘Course Atsumu had to go and ruin it.

“Okay but like,” he gestured towards the screen, “it’d be so weird kissin’ someone you’ve known since you were, like, six. Right? Isn’t that basically incest?”

(Y/n) sighed and pressed her eyes shut. “That’s… not how incest works.”

“No, but you get what I mean,” Atsumu rambled. (Y/n) didn’t grace him with a response. “You’ve watched ‘em eat glue and pick their nose yer whole life. How d’you go from that to makin’ out?”

Osamu made a thoughtful noise. “I mean, I get it. It’s weird if they feel like family.”

“Exactly!” Atsumu said. “Just feels wrong.”

Suna, who had diligently said nothing for the last fifteen minutes, shifted in his chair.

(Y/n) glanced at him, saw the barely perceptible twitch of his mouth, and cleared her throat.

And for whatever reason—maybe it was the sensual kissing scene playing on screen, maybe it was the quiet thrum of mischief in the air—she spoke without thinking.

“I’ve kissed Rin before.”

For a moment, nobody spoke. The rain drummed steadily against the windows.

She could practically hear the gears turning in the twins’ heads, the words ricocheting around their skulls before slotting into place.

Atsumu’s frown was pure instinct. “…Huh?"

Osamu turned his head, eyes widening a fraction. “You what? Seriously?”

Suna gave a lazy shrug. Then, with a quiet hum—like it wasn’t worth making a fuss over—he responded, “Yeah.”

“Wait. Hold on.” Osamu pointed between them, a grin tugging at his lips. “You two. Kissed. Like—on the mouth?”

(Y/n) raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smile. “Is there another way?”

Atsumu’s eyebrows pulled together, not quite a glare, but close. “Wait—when?” His tone sounded as though he didn't know whether to be be confused, angry, or both.

She hesitated.

That was the thing. It had been years ago. Just once. A long, blurry night tucked behind them like a folded photograph they never took back out. But even now, her face grew warm.

“It was… a while ago. We were… eighteen, I think. Funnily enough it was on New Year's too." She pointed to the movie.

Atsumu turned toward her fully, one leg folded beneath him, the other dangling off the couch. His brows were drawn tight, mouth parted. “And yer just tellin’ us now?!”

(Y/n) offered a weak shrug. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Oh, it was.

It definitely was.

But she wasn’t about to give the twins the full retelling.

The whole time, her attention was drawn to Suna—trying to get a read on him, even though he wasn’t giving her much to work with. Still, she had a feeling he was more invested than he let on.

“Was it, like... a dare?” Osamu asked.

Suna shook his head. “Nah.”

“So... a practice thing?”

He popped a kernel into his mouth. Smirked just a little. “Ask, (y/n).”

Bastard.

At once, both twins turned to look at her.

Atsumu was the image of impatience. Leaning in, eyes narrowed like he was half expecting her to admit she was joking.

Meanwhile Osamu, calmer but no less curious, raised one brow in silent question.

She shrank back against the couch cushions, suddenly hyper-aware of the space—or lack thereof—between them.

Two sets of expectant eyes on her.

Two completely different expressions.

One identical intensity.

She swallowed.

She could still remember it—the quiet pop of fireworks outside Suna’s window. The way his eyes looked that night, different somehow. Older.

The memory made her pause, words caught somewhere between embarrassment and pride.

She glanced at Suna and their eyes met.

He didn’t say anything outright, but his shoulder lifted slightly. A silent go on. And if she hadn’t known him for so long, she might’ve missed the faint flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. The quiet, smug little challenge that said:

Go on. Tell them. Let’s see what version you pick.

She cleared her throat and chose her words carefully, eyes darting between Atsumu and Osamu.

“So… we were alone. Remember? We’d gone to his parents' house over the holidays. You guys had gone back to Hyōgo to spend Christmas with your family.”

The twins nodded. Let her continue.

“Anyway, at first we were just talking...” Her fingers toyed with a loose thread in the blanket over her lap.

“Then he looked at me,” she went on, gaze drifting towards Suna. She paused, unsure how much he was willing to let her to share—if he wanted her to tell the rest.

He didn’t look her way. Just let the silence stretch, eyes fixed on the credits like none of this concerned him.

Right. Point taken.

“And he just… I don’t know—you know how guys have that specific look when you wanna kiss someone?”

Osamu snorted. Atsumu shook his head. "No?"

(Y/n) rolled her eyes. "Okay, well—you do. Anyway. He gave me that look and..."

“And?” Atsumu clicked his tongue. “Jesus woman, how long ya gonna keep edgin’ us for?”

Her fingers curled into the couch cushion as she shot him a weak glare. “Well… after that, he kissed me. So… I kissed him back.”

Her tone was even, but a flicker of a smile tugged at her lips—because no matter how nonchalant she tried to sound, the memory still lit something warm in her chest.

Osamu let out a low whistle.

Atsumu gawked—shocked, maybe a little relieved. “That’s it?”

She risked a glance at Suna.

It was faint, but she could tell he was biting back a grin. That quiet glint was there again. Something so typically Suna—aloof, amused, and just a little bit smug. Like he was remembering it too.

“She’s leaving out the good part."

(Y/n)’s heart jumped. “Rin—”

Suna either missed the flicker of panic on her face, or ignored it. He just sat up with a slow stretch, sweatshirt riding up to reveal a sliver of skin. A sound slipped from him—half sigh, half yawn.

“It wasn’t just a kiss,” he stated—flat, but a little too suggestive. Probably on purpose.

Osamu’s eyebrows shot up, eyes locked on Suna now. “You guys…?”

“No,” Suna said before anyone could finish the thought. “We didn't get that far."

That earned him a full double take from both twins.

“Go on," Atsumu demanded.

(Y/n) was at a loss for words. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the twins. It’s not like they’d go around repeating the story—why would they? But even so. Nobody knew about her past… lore with Suna. Not a soul.

And while she didn’t mind mentioning the kiss, the rest—well. The rest was, for lack of a better term, not safe for work.

Not safe for her dignity, either.

That night had been a lot of things.

Spontaneous, yes. Heated. But also more complicated than she'd ever admit out loud.

She’d known the twins for years—ever since they were teenagers. And yet, she’d never told them about her crush on her best friend. Never told them about one of the most pivotal nights of her love life.

And perhaps tonight wasn't the night for that.

Instead, she shook her head, cheeks burning as the memories began rushing in. “I dunno what to say! We were just… stupid and curious and just being your typical horny teenagers, that’s all.”

That earned a quiet snort from Osamu, who looked more amused than surprised at this new piece of backstory.

Atsumu, on the other hand, didn’t laugh. He just stared, like he was trying to figure out what to say but didn’t quite know how to frame it. His lips parted, then pressed shut again.

As for Suna... He simply kept quiet. Knowing him, he was probably just as torn about sharing the details. If anyone valued their privacy, it was Suna.

And (y/n)—despite herself—felt her gaze drop to her hands in her lap, fingers twisting in the sleeves of her hoodie Her skin prickled—not quite from embarrassment, but from the heat of the memory... and the leftover tension hanging in the air.

Mercifully, neither twin pressed any further. Even Atsumu, surprisingly.

(Y/n) exhaled a little breath as Osamu pulled his brother and Suna into a brainstorm about which movie to watch next.

Hopefully not another romance.

She wasn't sure if he'd done it out of sympathy, or if it just happened to be good timing. Either way, she was grateful for the distraction.

They never brought it up again.

But that didn’t mean her mind didn't.

Every now and then, she’d glance over at Suna. He looked relaxed—detached, even—but she couldn’t help but wonder if his mind was buzzing too. If his hands had gotten clammy. If his heart had even skipped a beat.

She was too caught up in her thoughts to notice him pull out his phone.

Her phone buzzed seconds later.

Blinking herself out of the haze, she looked down at her screen and gawked.

From: Rin tell your brain to be quiet can hear it from here

She ignored his message.

And glared at him instead.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It was right after graduation. In winter, on New Year’s Eve.

A night with no romance, no candles, no feelings—just the quiet kind of chaos that only happens when trust, timing, and tension mix in the worst possible way.

They’d known each other since they were nine.

Back then, it was simple. He was the quiet kid who liked video games and hated group work. She was the chatty one who always finished her lunch first and dragged him out of the house. They just… clicked. Simple as that. A friendship built on years of inside jokes, late-night calls, and knowing each other like the backs of their hand.

It wasn’t until middle school that her feelings began to change.

Not overnight. Far from it. But somewhere between study calls and the first time he pulled off his hoodie in front of her, something settled in her chest. It crept up on her like a slow burn. A feeling you don’t notice until it’s already been there a while and planted its roots.

She started caring more. Laughing harder at his jokes. Noticing when his replies came slower, when his voice sounded a bit more tired than usual. Being around him just felt... better than being around anyone else. There was comfort. Trust. And the type of closeness that made her heart ache for all the right reasons.

Love, probably. But the shy, unspoken kind. The kind you don’t confess because you're afraid it might ruin everything.

And then, of course, they both had a glow-up—that was just the truth. He got taller. His voice dropped. His jaw sharpened. And she noticed.

The same way he noticed her legs that summer she started wearing shorts more often. The same way his eyes lingered a little too long when she bent over to grab something. The way his teasing lost a bit of its brotherly edge and got a bit more... biting.

She wasn’t stupid. He found her attractive. She knew that.

But she also knew that’s where it stopped. It was purely surface-level. Because Suna wasn’t the type to fall easily. And if he ever saw her as anything more, it never lasted long enough to mean something.

Not like hers had.

She’d been in love with him for years. Secretly. Hopelessly. Love you don’t act on because it’s easier to carry in silence than risk putting it down and never getting it back.

So no—

They weren’t a thing. They weren’t anything.

Except... aware.

Almost as if something sat between them, constantly humming just beneath the surface. A quiet almost that only one of them seemed to feel.

Until that particular New Year’s night, when the hum turned into something louder.

His house was quiet. His parents and little sister were off celebrating with friends, and he’d bailed last minute with the most Suna excuse ever:

“Too many people. Too much noise. Don’t feel like pretending to care about countdowns.”

(Y/n) had agreed without thinking. Like always. By now, saying yes to him felt like second nature, so when he suggested she stay the night, it didn’t even feel like a choice.

Now they were in his room—lights off, movie playing in the background, the faint sound of fireworks crackling somewhere in the distance. Her legs were curled up on his bed, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. Suna sat beside her, phone face-down, arm draped loosely across the back of the mattress.

They weren’t saying much. Just watching. Existing.

Until the scene changed.

And—what the fuck?

Where the hell did this come from?

Out of nowhere, the couple on screen were now tangled up on a couch—shirts half-off, lips clashing. Moans slipped out between kisses, fingers clawing at fabric like they couldn’t get close enough.

The scene wasn't explicit by any means, but showed enough to make (y/n) cringe. Flushed skin. Bare thighs. The unmistakable rhythm of two people getting lost in each other.

Her spine straightened on instinct.

She cleared her throat and looked away, shifting in her seat under the guise of getting comfortable.

She could feel Suna's eyes on her.

“Do scenes like this make you uncomfortable?” he asked, voice laced with amusement.

She stiffened. “No. I mean—maybe a bit.”

He hummed, glancing sideways. Her eyes flicked between the couple on screen and Suna, trying very hard not to combust at the explicit sounds that now filled his moderate sized bedroom.

“…Do they not make you uncomfortable?” she countered.

He shrugged, gaze slipping back to the TV with that usual calm. “Nah. Not really.”

Typical.

She narrowed her eyes. "What does make you uncomfortable, then?"

His response came far too fast. “Kita.”

She fought back a grin. “Seriously?”

“Correct." He gave a curt nod. “Kita Shinsuke freaks me out.”

Out of all the things. His stoic volleyball captain from high school is what got him?

She snorted, shaking her head a little. “How come? I think he’s nice!”

Suna’s face stayed neutral, but she could've sworn she saw him shudder.

“Try having him breathe down your neck for a day,” he mumbled. “That guy’s terrifying.”

“Kita’s not scary,” she argued. “He only picked on you ’cause he knew you were a major slacker.”

His lip twitched. “Only one who got scouted to Inarizaki though.”

(Y/n) nodded, conceding with a half-smile. “That you were.”

Thankfully, by the time she turned her attention back to the TV, the sex scene had ended.

Thank God.

Unfortunately, it was only then that she noticed how close they were sitting. She blamed the way she’d shifted earlier, trying to act normal. That was on her. And maybe it was the scene that had just played out on screen, but now the space between them felt… tight.

Suddenly, the movie wasn’t the only thing messing with her focus.

She looked over at him once. Then again.

Their thighs brushed every now and then. Not fully touching, but enough for the heat of him to bleed into her side. Every shift he made—the way his hoodie rustled, the subtle rise and fall of his breathing—felt loud in her ears.

She tried to focus on the movie. Really, she did.

But her eyes kept drifting.

Just for a second. Then another.

He looked good. Effortless like always with his hoodie half-pulled over his messy hair, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, eyes half-lidded like he could fall asleep any second.

But he wore his tired well. Even the faint shadows beneath his eyes didn’t make him look worn—they made him look soft. Still strangely handsome.

Her gaze slipped to his jaw. Then the sliver of collarbone visible beneath his hoodie, the way the fabric stretched across his broad shoulders.

Then lower—to where his hands rested in his lap, fingers loose and half-curled, adorned with a silver ring on each pointer finger. She didn’t remember when he started wearing them.

Her throat tightened slightly. They suited him. She’d always thought his hands were pretty. Usually, it was just a fleeting thought. A simple observation.

But tonight—tonight, she found herself wondering what those hands could do. What they’d feel like against her skin.

Her cheeks flushed. She looked away. Cleared her throat.

Get a grip, (y/n).

It wasn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. She was over him. Had been, for a while now. This was the movie's fault. Or maybe some leftover curiosity—that’s all.

“Hm?”

Suna's voice drifted over, pulling her from her daze.

She straightened a bit too fast, hating how guilty she sounded when she replied, “What?”

There was a twitch at the corner of his mouth when he glanced over. “Were you checking me out?”

Her response was like a bad reflex. “No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I was just—” Her eyes dropped to his lap, and she could've cursed at the mindless action.

Why'd I do that?

He's probably gonna think I was looking at—

She caught the way his brows lifted as she looked back up, his smirk broadening into something almost boyish.

Of course.

"Your hands,” she clarified, louder than intended.

“My hands?” He echoed, almost innocently. But something in his voice sounded suspiciously pleased.

She could’ve brushed it off. Could’ve left it at that. But her mouth had already run ahead of her.

"Mhmm. I was just thinking how nice they are."

If her words weren't enough to make her cringe, then Suna's reaction was. He didn't bother hiding his amusement this time, not as he slowly lifted a hand in front of him and flexed his fingers a few times.

She hated how her gaze lingered on the movement, on the glint of silver on his fingers, the subtle shift of muscle beneath skin, pronounced with each curl.

Lazy, controlled—like he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Thanks," he drawled.

She swallowed.

God.

Her mind went somewhere it absolutely should not have gone.

Her thighs squeezed together under the blanket.

He dropped his hands back into his lap without a word and looked at her.

She daren't meet his gaze.

She shouldn’t be having these thoughts. Not about him. Not now. They’d sat like this before—shoulder to shoulder, legs touching, even sharing a bed more times she can count. But it had never felt like this. Never made her pulse quicken or her mind wander the way it was tonight.

So why now?

Maybe it was the quiet. The late hour. Maybe even the stupid movie.

Or maybe it was the fact that it was just the two of them—alone in his room with nowhere to be, nothing to do, and too much unsaid sitting between them.

Because something about being here with him like this always brought old feelings to the surface.

“Do you think we’ll be different this year?”

The words slipped out before she could stop them—quiet, barely a whisper.

Suna’s eyes flicked to her face. “You mean like… emotionally evolved?”

She tried not to fidget too much and nodded once, lips pressed together, already regretting her question.

But Suna didn't make her feel guilty. Didn't tease. Didn't overreact. Just held her gaze and asked, “Did you want it to be different?”

The question made her stomach twist, eyes drifting to the way her hands fiddled with the sleeve of her hoodie. She could feel it, that pulse of awareness between them. The one that made the hairs on her arms prick up. The one she used to feel and thought she’d finally outgrown—until now.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “Probably not.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. But it certainly wasn't the kind she was used to.

She swallowed the lump in her throat as Suna turned to her fully. The slight shift in position was negligible, probably nothing but a few centimetres. But she felt it enough to make her heart stutter.

It took her a great amount of effort not to shrink beneath his gaze.

Suna and his damn eye contact.

"Something's on your mind."

It wasn't a question. More like an observation that landed straight in her gut.

Her breathing shallowed. "How can you tell...?"

“You’re acting weird tonight,” he murmured. Not an insult, but something almost like curiosity.

“So are you,” she shot back, voice mirroring his hushed tone.

A ghost of a smirk. “Yeah?”

“You’re sitting closer than usual.”

“Am I?”

“You’re looking at me different.”

Indeed. He didn’t deny it.

His eyes were half-lidded. Hazy. Fixed on her like he was seeing something he hadn’t let himself look at before.

She recognized that look.

She’d seen it in other guys before—guys at parties, in passing glances, in moments that felt fleeting and charged.

But never from him. Not Suna.

And now that it was him—looking at her like that—her stomach twisted with something half-forgotten. Old and perhaps unfinished.

Something she thought had burned out long ago.

Her voice came out smaller than she intended, tight in her throat. "...What’re you doing?"

He didn’t answer right away, but the dip in atmosphere was palpable.

“Tell me to stop.”

Her heart lurched—at the words, at the tone. Silken, but brazen. Familiar, but suddenly foreign.

The feeling in her chest felt like reopening a book she’d shelved a long time ago.

A chapter she never thought she’d revisit.

She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just sat there, heart hammering as he leaned in—close enough for her to catch the scent of his cologne. For her eyes to flick to his mouth—once, then back up.

"...What?"

Usually she'd deflect. Change the subject. Look away. But she couldn't this time. Or rather... she wouldn't.

“I said,” he murmured, gaze dropping to her lips, “tell me to stop.”

Her mouth parted, but no words came out.

Not as he tilted his head, lips brushing hers in the faintest whisper of contact.

Not when his nose bumped hers and her breath hitched.

She barely had time to register what was happening.

Next thing she knew—

He was kissing her.

No rush. No pressure. Just the feeling of his mouth on hers, tentative and warm, slow enough to give her time to pull away, soft enough to make her brain fog.

And in her head, all the years came rushing in.

The laughter. The teasing. How she used to look for him in every room like it was second nature. The late-night calls. The company that had always felt like safety.

She thought she was past this. She really did.

But now, with Suna kissing her like that—like she was something precious and just barely his—she wasn’t so sure.

His mouth moved against hers with a kind of lazy confidence, lips parting just enough to make her dizzy. Her body tensed beneath the softness, thighs pressing together, fingers twitching where they rested in her lap, aching to reach for something. Him.

And just when she thought she might actually lose her balance, he pulled away. Not far. Just enough to look at her.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Just stared. Eyes locked on hers like he was watching her process the moment in real time—studying every twitch, every breath. Waiting to see if she’d move first.

But (y/n) was in a daze, her lips still parted. Eyes bleary and blinking as if she was seeing a different reality entirely.

She had kissed Suna.

Suna.

Her best friend Suna.

The one she had pining over for years.

And better yet—he had made the first move.

"Earth to (y/n)..."

His voice reeled her back in. Soft and teasing.

"I..."

Suna’s brows lifted just slightly as she searched for words.

He didn't press. Didn't joke. But there was something playful in his gaze, and maybe just a little bit restrained. Like he was holding back on purpose. Not just out of respect, but to test her. To see what she’d do next.

A quiet dare.

Her nerves flared. She tried to fight it—tried to keep still. Tried to fight the urge to do something truly and utterly reckless. But failed.

Because for a moment, her nerves didn’t matter.

The second-guessing, the what-ifs—gone.

Fuck it.

She reached for him, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie—and crashed her lips onto his.

Harder this time. No hesitation.

He groaned low in his throat—surprised for half a second before melting into it, as if that was all the permission he needed.

His hand came up fast, fingers sliding along her cheek, then down to the hinge of her jaw, guiding her into him with an impatience that felt so unlike him.

(Y/n)'s body lit up at the contact—something involuntary slipping past her lips, a soft, needy sound she didn’t mean to make.

Suna was on her in an instant, tongue slipping past her lips without hesitation—slow, coaxing, claiming, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment to break her open.

A shiver rolled down her spine.

She fisted the front of his hoodie, tugging him closer, anchoring herself to him. The kiss felt good. Intoxicatingly good—like finally getting something you stopped wishing for.

She wasn’t sure what it meant. But right now, she didn’t want it to stop.

His hand moved almost carefully, brushing her jaw, then dropping down to her thigh. Warm. Grounding. Asking without asking.

Her body responded before her mind could make sense of it all.

Buzzing. Yearning. A little afraid.

She broke the kiss for half a second, lips brushing his as she whispered, “Rin”—barely more than a plea.

“Still with me?” he asked smoothly.

She nodded.

He leaned in again. This time his mouth found her neck.

Her breath caught.

Then his hand slipped under the hem of her hoodie, fingers dragging along her waist, slow and tailored to make her shiver.

She let out a shaky breath. “This is insane.”

“Yeah,” he rasped. Then, with a tinge of humour, “Don't worry, I locked the door.”

She almost laughed, but then his hand slipped higher beneath her shirt, and all she could do was gasp.

His fingers traced her ribs. His mouth brushed the spot just beneath her ear, where her pulse fluttered.

She was trembling, and yet he didn't stop.

But he did pause. Looked up at her again. “Still okay?”

She nodded.

She didn’t know what started it—maybe the silence. Maybe the look in his eyes when he was about to kiss her. Maybe the way she didn’t stop him when he leaned in.

Whatever the reason, she didn't have it in her to pull away. And clearly, neither did he.

Not when his mouth claimed hers again—slow, heated, open.

Not when his hand slid up the back of her hoodie and skimmed her bare spine as though he’d been holding himself back.

Not when he pulled her onto his lap, her knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his thighs, bodies flushed, hearts thudding in sync.

The kiss deepened. Got messy. Hot. A mixture of pants and breathy sighs.

They barely parted for air before their mouths collided again, each kiss more desperate than the next, breaking only when their lungs forced them to.

Every kiss said, Don’t stop. Every inhale said, More.

Her hands slid into his hair, threading through the soft strands at his nape—pulling, guiding. He groaned softly into her mouth as his tongue brushed hers, slow and filthy. And when she let out a soft, helpless sound against his mouth, he gripped her tighter.

She felt it then—him—hard beneath her, pressing up where she was aching, and her body reacted in the most hopelessly honest way.

She rocked against him once.

He sucked in a breath.

The reaction must've snapped something in him, because in a blink, he was kissing down the column of her throat—eager hands roaming her flushed curves. His mouth working its way along her skin, teasing, but never quite giving her what she wanted.

He pulled her hoodie up in one fluid motion, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank it over her head. Her top followed, peeled away with the same quiet urgency, until she was left in nothing but her bra.

His gaze dipped once and everything soft about him disappeared.

She barely noticed the cold.

She noticed his mouth.

On her collarbones. On her chest. Open, warm, teeth dragging lightly just to make her gasp. She tilted her head back, lips parting around a little sigh, hips unconsciously rolling into his lap again and again like her body was trying to chase something it didn’t fully understand.

His hands found her hips, head hitting the headboard with a quiet thud.

Suna made a noise, low and hoarse—like the air had been knocked out of his lungs. His jaw went slightly slack. His hands tightened.

“Do that again.”

The authority in his voice was mind-numbing. She could’ve sworn goosebumps rose along her arms at the command alone.

Her cheeks flushed, heat prickling across her skin. But her hips moved again, experimentally and obediently. The drag of her clothed core against him made them both stutter a breath.

Something curled in her chest. Not quite pride. Not quite shock. Just a quiet thrill—sparked by the way he looked at her, like she’d just undone something in him.

His eyes were half-lidded, dark and heavy. Every shift of her hips made his lips part a little more. His breathing became ragged, jaw tightening when her movements grew bolder. His fingers dug into the dip of her waist like he was trying to keep her steady, or to keep his own hips from bucking up.

She ground down again—this time with more pressure.

His head fell back. “God, (y/n)—”

She kept going.

Grinding in slow, shallow rolls. The heat between her legs was blinding, the friction building in waves. She could feel the outline of him beneath her, hard and twitching through thin layers of clothes. His hoodie had ridden up his abdomen, her thighs trembling against his joggers.

Yet, Suna—despite the state he was in—was somehow still completely focused on her, like he physically needed to watch her fall apart in his lap.

His hands slid up under her bare stomach, raking over her waist, ribs, then cupping her clothed breasts. His thumbs brushed over her nipples and she gasped, hips jerking at the sudden contact.

“You like this,” he muttered darkly, “You’re getting off on the thought of riding me."

She bit her lip, but couldn't bring herself to deny it.

For a moment, she wondered what that non-verbal confession had done to him. If she’d imagined the glint in his eye. The way his muscles tensed beneath her.

She got her answer soon enough.

With one rough, fluid shift, he flipped them—her back hitting the mattress with a soft thump. Suna hovered over her, one knee pressing between her thighs, caging her in.

She looked up at him with wide, glazed eyes as he bent low, hooked a finger under her shorts, and gave them a slight tug.

“Next time we do that,” he murmured, “I’m taking these off.”

She didn’t answer—just whined as heat coiled tight in her abdomen.

His hand slid between them.

Inside her shorts.

Then inside her underwear.

Her whole body seized up.

His fingers found her—hot, slick, already aching—and he hissed like the feel of her actually hurt him.

“Shit,” he muttered, jaw flexing as his eyes dropped. “Already?”

He looked up again, lips curling slow. Confident and just a little bit smug. “I barely even touched you.”

Disbelief flickered across her flushed face, her eyebrows pinching above her lidded eyes. “You’re joking, right?” she whispered, a little breathless.

Suna just smirked.

His fingers moved again—confident, unfairly skilled, trailing through her slowly without slipping inside. Testing. Mapping her with long, maddening strokes.

She could feel the way her body clenched around nothing, the unmistakable warmth pooling between her thighs. Every nerve ending lit up, impossible to hide.

Her face burned.

He didn’t rush.

It was almost cruel, how calm he was. He didn’t need to ask what felt good. He could read it in her breath, every soft gasp that slipped from her lips, every poorly concealed moan as he deliberately avoided the places that would’ve undone her too quickly.

She pressed her forehead to his shoulder, his name slipping past her lips in a quiet whimper.

He worked her open with soft, torturous rhythm. One finger, then two. The stretch wasn’t new, but it still made her gasp—tight, full, a pulse-deep pressure that had her legs falling open wider, heels digging into the sheets.

His fingers curled deep, knuckles pressing just right against that tender spot inside her, and then he started moving—slow, sinful, obscenely precise—each thrust dragging just enough to make her clench around him, like her body couldn’t bear the emptiness he kept leaving behind.

Her head fell back. A broken sound slipped past her lips.

“Please,” she whimpered. “Don't stop—”

She didn’t care how her voice sounded—needier and more desperate than she’d ever heard, her fingers clutching at Suna’s arm. Her best friend's arm.

Her hips pressed into him, seeking that pressure, riding the curl of his fingers like her body couldn’t help it. Her movements weren’t shy or composed anymore. She was writhing, desperate for more—chasing every thrust of his hand with a helpless pace.

Suna watched her like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

His mouth was slightly open. Eyes cloudy, fixed to the point where their bodies met.

“Look at you," he breathed.

She barely heard his voice.

She just kept moving, breath hitching every time his thumb caught the right spot. The pressure inside her was building too fast, overwhelming, but she didn't stop. Couldn't.

“Usually so sweet,” he crooned. “So polite. So proper.”

His smirk was lazy, laced with awe. “And now you’re fucking yourself on my fingers."

A shaky, flustered sound escaped her throat. “Rin—please—”

“Didn’t know you could be this filthy,” he teased, lips brushing her temple. “You were holding out on me.”

She whined, hips stuttering for a second—mostly from pleasure, partly from shame.

“Bet you touch yourself thinking about this,” he muttered. “About me doing this to you. Making a mess of you."

She bit her lip, eyes squeezing shut. Her body was moving on instinct now—hips rolling into his hand like she didn’t care how it looked, how desperate it felt. And maybe she should’ve cared. Maybe she should’ve been mortified by how easily she came apart for him. But right now, with his fingers buried inside her, and that voice in her ear—

She couldn’t bring herself to stop.

“Oh, fuck, you do,” he groaned. “That’s why you’re squeezing me like that.”

She was close. So close. Her body burned, curling toward his hand, her movements frantic now, messy—rocking hard against him like she couldn’t hold out any longer.

Her stomach tensed. Her entire body locked up.

“I’m—Rin—”

“I know,” he murmured. “That's it—just like that."

One more stroke. One more definitive grind of his palm against her and the tension inside her belly snapped.

Her whole body arched into him. Her hands clutched his shoulders, lips parting in a silent cry as she came on his fingers—thighs trembling, chest heaving, whimpers spilling out between broken sobs of his name.

Suna didn't ease up yet, working her through it, his fingers slowing just enough to guide her through the last wave of it.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he muttered, watching as she fell apart. “Good fucking girl."

She twitched, chest rising and falling in shallow gasps as he finally relented. He eased his fingers out, gliding them slowly through the mess between her thighs.

(Y/n) was limp against the sheets—dazed, flushed, and thoroughly exhausted.

And yet, amid the wreckage of her orgasm, one stupid thought surfaced like a stray balloon floating into the mess of her mind.

Has Rin always had such a potty mouth?

Something must’ve shown on her face—maybe the pinch of her brows, the slight narrowing of her eyes, or the way her lips parted in quiet confusion—because Suna glanced down at her with a bemused expression.

“You okay?”

He had the audacity to look as casual as ever, hovering over her with one arm braced beside her head. She tried not to shudder as his other hand slowly traced the length of her bare thigh, and instead met his gaze with an almost sceptical stare.

“…Since when are you so chatty?”

He stared. And then, to her delight—he actually laughed.

It wasn’t his usual dry, sarcastic snort either. No—this was one of his rare laughs. Breathy, warm and genuine. The sound made her chest feel funny. The sight even more so: the slight crinkle of his nose, the way his sharp eyes softened like the moment meant something.

“That’s what’s on your mind right now?” he asked, half laughing as he said it.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes but her cheeks flushed anyway, one hand coming up to brush her hair back from her face.

“Well—yeah,” she huffed. “It was just—you know, a lot.”

His smirk lingered, followed with a slight tilt of his chin, brows raised in quiet expectation. If he was waiting for her to elaborate on that statement, he was sorely mistaken.

She groaned and covered her face with her arm. “Don’t make me say it," she grumbled. "You clearly had a lot to say. You never talk that much, even during volleyball.”

He chuckled, quiet but no less smug. “Guess we’re both full of surprises tonight.”

That line landed like a spark on open flame.

She dropped her arm just in time to catch the pointed look he gave her. Like he hadn’t forgotten the way she’d been squirming under him moments ago, how she’d clutched at the sheets and rolled her hips into his hand like a woman possessed.

Her face burned as she averted her gaze.

“Don't,” she warned weakly.

“C'mon, I thought we were past the shy part.”

She kicked weakly at his thigh, but her heart was thudding all over again. That look in his eyes—it wasn’t gone. If anything, it had simmered. Softer, but no less heated. Like he was watching her come back down just to see if he could wind her up again.

And then he just… looked at her.

Not in the lustful, primal way from earlier. This was quieter. His gaze flicked over her face in that typical, unreadable Suna fashion.

She shifted beneath it, suddenly aware of her appearance—her smudged makeup, her flushed skin, the way her hair was probably a mess against the pillow. Something about the way he stared made her feel more exposed than before.

She wondered what was going on in that indecipherable mind of his. What he was seeing. The flaws. The cracks. All the little imperfections she’d spent years picking at in the mirror.

Then his hand lifted, thumb brushing her cheekbone with a tenderness that sent butterflies loose in her stomach.

“Pretty girl,” he murmured.

That was it. Just two words. And yet they hit her square in the chest. Her breath caught, the corners of her eyes prickling with the irrational urge to cry.

His gaze lingered on her, searching or admiring.

“You look surprised,” he mused softly.

She blinked at him, stunned. For a second, it felt like they were fifteen again—a time when her words jumbled and her mind raced. A time when everything felt awkward, flustered, and a little too much like love.

“You’ve never called me that before,” she whispered.

His thumb kept moving in slow, reverent strokes across her cheek. “Doesn’t mean I haven’t thought it,” he said. “You’ve always been beautiful."

Something swelled in her chest, something old and warm. And when he traced his hand lower to run his thumb over her bottom lip—slowly, like he wanted to memorize it, brand it into memory—her heart cracked a little.

Still, her mouth parted for him.

And he stared, stared at the way she wrapped her lips around the pad of his thumb, at what she was allowing him to do. She caught the subtle clench of his jaw, the flicker in his eyes—the exact moment his restraint gave out.

His kiss wasn't soft.

His body pressed flush to hers, and she could feel him now, fully. Hard. Hot. Nestled right where she was still sensitive.

His hips ground against her, slow and firm, swallowing the tiny gasp she let out. She arched up, and he groaned low. His breath was hot against her ear when he spoke.

“You gonna take me for real this time?”

He shifted again, one hand gripping her thigh, spreading her legs just enough. He slotted between them, the thick heat of him pressing right against her core, only the thin layers of her shorts and his sweats between them.

He rocked once. Harder.

A moan slipped past her lips, more drawn-out than the rest.

“Yeah?” he crooned, almost breathless. His hips rolled again, the length of him dragging slow and heavy right against her clothed core. She felt how hard he was. How ready. How badly he wanted in. "You want it? Just say the word."

“Okay,” she whispered. Her hands were already in his hair. Her hips lifted.

He reached down, hooking his fingers into her shorts and underwear in one motion. She lifted her hips without needing to be asked, then raised her legs so he could pull them all the way off.

Then she felt him.

Skin to skin.

Hot, flushed, heavy against her entrance.

He didn’t push in—yet. Just lined himself up. Let her feel it. Bare and hot and right there, rubbing slowly against her—back and forth, teasing, testing her breath.

The pressure. The stretch. The way it would be.

And it hit her.

Each inhale came shakier than the last. Her body tensed, but not like it had before.

She wanted to want it. God, she really did.

But something cracked inside her chest. Like a wave of uncertainty slamming into a brick wall.

Her mind felt loud all of a sudden.

This wasn’t just a hook-up. Not with him. It couldn’t be.

Not after everything.

Not when her feelings had just barely begun to quiet down.

Not when she still didn’t know what this meant. Or what it didn’t.

Her body buzzed, but her heart tripped over itself. And it was like her mind finally caught up to what was happening.

This is Suna.

Her best friend.

The boy she’d loved.

The boy she was supposed to be over.

And she wasn’t ready for what would come after this.

The weight. The shift. The maybe.

Her breath hitched. Her fingers stilled in his hair.

He noticed instantly.

He didn’t push in. Just stayed right there, wary, his breath stalling as he searched her face.

“(Y/n)?” he asked, voice softer now. Cautious.

He hovered. Silent. His fingers flexed where they were gripping her thigh, like he was holding himself back from giving in completely.

She could feel him twitch against her. Feel how close they were to crossing that line.

She bit her lip, and the world narrowed to nothing but heat and heartbeat.

She couldn’t do this. Not like this.

“I…”

She stared up at him—at the flushed cheeks, the blown pupils, the lips that had been all over her skin. At her best friend. She felt the pressure of him, still right there. Felt the heat in her cheeks, the racing of her heart, the way her thighs clenched tight without meaning to.

“I can’t,” she rasped, throat tight.

He nodded. Instantly. Pulled his hips back. “Okay.”

“I want to, but—I just…”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, face burning.

“Don’t be.”

“I thought I could but—”

“Hey.” His voice was soft now. Calming. “It's okay. I get it.”

She looked at him. Really looked.

And what hit her hardest wasn’t disappointment or frustration—it was the absence of it. He wasn’t angry. Didn't look bitter or impatient. He just remained still, like he was giving her space to breathe, letting the moment settle without putting more weight on it.

Maybe that’s what made the guilt feel worse.

Her skin still tingled from the way he touched her. Her body was still wound tight from the high he gave her, and he hadn’t gotten anything in return. He’d given her so much—his hands, his patience, his restraint—and she’d unraveled completely under him, only to stop short. She felt raw. Vulnerable. Embarrassed. And above all, selfish.

He kissed her forehead, slow and lingering, and pulled the covers over her exposed body.

The act was so gentle it nearly broke her.

“Thanks for stopping,” she murmured, barely a whisper.

“Hey,” he started. But his voice, although mostly gentle, was laced with something serious. “Don’t ever thank anyone for that. Promise?"

Her throat tightened. She forced a nod.

He laid back beside her, one arm slipping beneath her shoulders, tugging her gently into the space beside him. No questions. No pressure. Just his steady presence.

She didn’t know what she expected—to cry, maybe. Or for him to roll over and distance himself. But instead, he did the opposite. He held her in silence like nothing had changed. Like she hadn’t just flipped the entire dynamic between them on its head.

She curled into him, tucking her face into the crook of his neck, too ashamed to look him in the eye. His scent was still on her skin. Her pulse was still racing, her body still warm—and yet her chest felt hollow.

His hand rested on her back, moving slowly in comforting strokes that made her feel fragile. Not in a bad way. Just… a bit vulnerable.

The room was quiet for a long while.

Then, his voice—

“Did I scare you?”

Her eyes, drooping slightly like she might fall asleep, immediately shot open.

She debated moving so she could look at him. But Suna didn't move. Just stayed where he was, breathing steadily, his thumb still brushing small circles against her spine. But it was his voice that gave him away. Quiet. Careful. Laced with something unspoken. Guilt, maybe. Or doubt.

Her chest ached.

“No,” she said softly. “You’d never scare me.”

And she meant it.

But she didn’t know how to explain the rest—that it wasn’t fear holding her back, but the opposite. That it was the feelings she had buried, the ones she had never voiced that made her back down. The ones that had clawed their way back to the surface the moment he touched her tonight.

She swallowed, choosing her words wisely.

“It just… felt like a lot, all at once.”

A pause.

Then a quiet hum from him. Not disbelieving, not dismissive—just thoughtful. Like he’d been hoping for more, but wouldn’t ask.

Instead, he just pulled her closer.

His hand settled again on her back, firm and grounding. Like he was telling her, wordlessly, that he was still here. That nothing had changed.

She let herself believe it.