#SUNA RINTAROU

[beebabae]

rintarou suna is the type of boyfriend to make out with you when his friends leave the room, then immediately fling himself across the room to dismiss any suspicions of you two doing anything once his friends come back.

and you’re just there, trying your best to regain your composure while he’s just there smiling like a dork in love.

“what are you so giddy about?” atsumu smirked knowingly.

“nothing.” rintarou grinned, peering at you with hearts in his eyes as he licked clean the residue of your cherry flavored lip gloss off the corner of his mouth.

did i mention he sucked at not being obvious?

✩ sincerely, b. <3

[rosierin]

when the world isn't kind (at least they are) | atsumu, osamu, suna

synopsis; (y/n)'s day has been a string of minor disasters. she’s cold, wet, and one comment away from crying. lucky for her, she lives with three people who know just how to fix a bad day.

a/n; thanks anon for the request!! i enjoyed writing this ☺️

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

She hadn’t woken up in a bad mood.

In fact, she’d actually felt kind of hopeful. The sky had been soft and grey, the air cool enough to wear a sweater, and she’d hummed her way through brushing her teeth, already thinking about the green tea and toast she’d have before work.

But the kitchen... had other plans.

No green tea. No jam. Just an almost-empty jar that looked like someone had scraped it clean and then smugly put the lid back on. She stood there for a moment, toast in hand, chewing on dry disappointment and reminding herself it wasn’t a big deal. Minor inconvenience. Not the end of the world.

Then she missed her bus. Not by a lot—just enough to watch it glide past her like a cruel joke, her half-eaten toast still in hand. She stared after it, mouth full, heart already starting to sink. The next bus was late. The air was muggy. Her tote bag strap kept slipping off her shoulder.

By the time she got to work, the café was already drowning in orders. They were short-staffed, the espresso machine was being temperamental, and one of the to-go lids kept popping off no matter how hard she pressed it down. A customer complained that her “vibe” was off. Another one yelled at her because they ordered almond milk and somehow got oat. She burned her hand. Her manager raised an eyebrow like it was her fault the universe was visibly against her.

Still, she kept it in. Smiled when she had to. Made it through the day on muscle memory and caffeine and one lone protein bar she found at the bottom of her bag—probably the one Suna gave her earlier that week. At least it was her favourite flavour. Small mercy, she supposed.

When her shift finally ended, she didn’t even clock the clouds until she was pushing the café door open. The bell above her jingled. The air smelled damp.

She stepped outside—and sighed. A deep, resentful, resigned, and exhausted sigh.

Rain.

Not the soft, misty kind—the drizzly kind she could potentially work with. No. It had to be the cold, needly, drench-you-in-seconds kind.

Her eyes widened slightly, lips parting.

And of course. Of course.

Today of all days, she hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella.

Because why would she? The morning had been grey, not stormy. And she was tired. And her brain was full of everything except weather.

So she just stood there for a second. Let it hit her. Let the water soak into her sleeves, her shoes, her skin.

Then she walked. Head down. Shoulders hunched. Rain dripping from her hair and one minor inconvenience away from a full-blown breakdown.

By the time she pushed open the front door of the apartment, all she wanted was a bath. Maybe a hot chocolate—if they even HAD any—and then bed. No boys. No banter. No dinner table nonsense. Just steam, silence, and sleep.

The apartment was warm, dimly lit and quiet. It smelled faintly of something Osamu had probably cooked earlier, something homely and rich. Her keys clinked into the bowl by the door as she slipped off her shoes with a sigh, water squelching in her socks.

From the living room, she heard the low murmur of the TV. Suna’s armchair creaked slightly, and Osamu’s spoon tapped against a bowl. Neither of them called out to her, but she felt the shift in energy—the subtle way the room quieted at the sound of the door, like they had somehow already picked up on her bad vibes.

“Hey,” Osamu said, voice low and even. Gentle, but not pitiful.

Suna’s eyes flicked toward her, taking in her drenched clothes and the unmistakable aura of someone on the brink. “You okay?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

She nodded once, already moving toward the stairs. “Just gonna shower.”

Neither of them stopped her. No jokes, no teasing. Just a quiet “Alright,” from Osamu and the return of the TV hum as she trudged past them.

But then—

From the kitchen came him.

Mister Tactless himself.

Atsumu, barefoot and fresh from a snack raid, rounded the corner with a slice of cold pizza in his hand and a mouthful of something stupid to say.

He barely looked at her before the laugh slipped out.

“Shit—ya look like a drowned rat.”

It wasn’t cruel. Just thoughtless. Reflexive. The kind of teasing that normally earned him a shove or an eye-roll.

But tonight it landed differently.

Her breath caught in her chest, like something inside her clenched all at once and just... snapped. She didn’t even say anything. Just… stood there, dripping on the hardwood floor, lip trembling before she could stop it.

Atsumu blinked. The smile slid off his face.

“Wait—hey, I didn’t—”

Her hands came up to her face, and then it happened. The kind of crying that didn’t make a sound at first—just shaking shoulders and a sharp inhale, like her body was trying to hold it in but failing.

Osamu stood up, face hardening as he shot Atsumu a look. Suna didn’t say anything, just dragged his chair in a slow pivot to glance at the scene.

Atsumu was frozen. Like someone had unplugged his brain. Even the pizza seemed to droop slightly in his hand.

“Shit, okay—c’mere.”

He set his food down and crossed the room fast, arms hesitating for a half second before he wrapped them around her, warm and solid and stupidly gentle for someone who’d just called her a wet rodent.

“'M sorry, ’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, rocking her a little like that might help. His voice was quiet now, words pressed into her hair. “'M sorry sweetheart. I thought you’d joke back. I didn’t know, I swear."

She shook her head against his chest, her fingers bunching the fabric of his shirt.

“No, it’s not you,” she mumbled, voice watery. “I just… I’ve had a really shitty day.”

She didn’t pull away right away. Just stayed there, tucked into him like she was trying to disappear. Her breath hiccupped against his chest, damp clothes clinging to both of them now.

Atsumu ran his palm up and down her back in slow, shaky sweeps. Like he wasn’t totally sure it was helping, but couldn’t stop himself.

“Wanna tell me what happened?”

She exhaled through her nose, shaky and tired. “Just… everything. It honestly just felt like one thing after another. I kept it in all day and now it’s like—” She pulled back slightly, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s stupid. I just wanna take a bath and go to bed.”

“S'not stupid.”

He said it instantly. No teasing. No grin. Just a low murmur with an edge of guilt clinging to the end of it.

“Alright,” he added after a pause, stepping back like he didn’t want to crowd her, “Go run yer bath. I’ll heat somethin’ up in case ya get hungry later.”

She nodded, still blinking back the last of her tears, and gave him a tired half-smile. Not quite forgiveness. But close.

He watched her retreat down the hall, water still trailing behind her, and rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks pink.

Behind him, Suna muttered mockingly. “Drowned rat?”

Atsumu clicked his tongue. “Shut up.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The bathroom filled with steam in minutes, fogging up the mirror and softening the harshness of the day. She sank into the water slowly, letting out a shaky breath as the warmth wrapped around her like a balm. For the first time since she’d woken up, her shoulders started to lower. Her jaw unclenched. Her eyes fluttered shut.

The bath salts she’d been saving for a “bad day” finally got their moment. Lavender and eucalyptus curled through the air, calming her nerves as they prickled beneath the surface. Her hair was damp and messy, her eyes still puffy, but the silence was kind. Her breath came easier here.

She didn’t stay in long. Just long enough to stop shaking. Long enough to feel like herself again.

After wrapping herself in her softest pyjamas and towel-drying her hair, she padded barefoot back toward her room, ready to collapse into bed and forget today ever happened.

But when she opened her door, something else caught her attention.

There, sitting neatly on the centre of her bed, was a single daisy from the living room vase. It was slightly crooked, like it had been plucked in a hurry. Next to it sat her favourite kind of chocolate bar—half-melted around the edges like someone had clutched onto it too tightly.

A folded scrap of paper sat beneath the daisy. Her name jotted across it in messy, slightly smudged handwriting.

She recognised it instantly. Picked it up with a curious hum.

Sorry again for earlier. You’re not a drowned rat. Also Samu said I’m banned from the kitchen so if you’re hungry I’ll just order ya somethin. Just say the word. Please don’t hate me. – Tsumu ♡

She stood there for a long moment, lips twitching into the kind of smile you don’t even feel at first. Then she placed the flower gently on her nightstand, unwrapped the chocolate, and read the note one more time—tracing her thumb over the messy little heart at the end.

And just like that, the heaviness in her chest loosened a little.

Suddenly, she didn’t feel like being alone anymore.

She padded out of her room and down the stairs, blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a cape. Her hair was damp and slightly frizzy, her cheeks still a little pink from the bath, but she didn’t care. Not anymore.

Suna looked up first. He didn’t say anything—just raised his eyebrows slightly in greeting and moved his legs so she could sit down.

Osamu glanced over from the armchair. “There’s soup on the stove,” he said casually. “And hot chocolate in the thermos.”

Atsumu twisted around on the couch, too swift for it to be casual. His face lit up in that boyish, unfiltered way he never quite managed to hide around her.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Feelin’ better?”

She nodded, curling up between him and Suna with a tired little sigh. “Yeah.”

He draped an arm over her blanket cocoon, hesitating for a second like he wasn’t sure if he was still in trouble.

Then she leaned her head against his shoulder.

Forgiven.

They watched some random show for a while. Nothing important. Nothing serious. Suna handed her a mug of hot chocolate without looking. Osamu disappeared into the kitchen, then reappeared with a warm bowl of soup and a slice of bread, setting it on the coffee table like he could already sense her hunger even before she did.

No one said much.

But her eyes stopped stinging. Her chest felt a little less heavy. And when Atsumu nudged her knee and whispered, “yer the cutest rat I've ever seen” she rolled her eyes—but smiled this time.

The world hadn’t been kind to her today. But her friends were.

And that made all the difference.

[xlettex]

Suna Rintarou has ignored you for seven hours, twenty-three minutes, and forty-five seconds. Not that you’re counting. He hadn’t looked at you when you waved good morning. Didn’t reply when you texted him during lunch. And now, during practice, he’s pretending you don’t exist—unless it’s to rotate away the second you step near him. Which is why you’ve had it.

You march across the gym floor with fire in your veins, stopping right in front of him during a water break. The rest of the team goes quiet, curious eyes flicking between you and the tall, unbothered middle blocker who’s carefully unwrapping sports tape like it's the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Rin, what the hell is your problem?”

Suna doesn’t even look at you. “I don’t have a problem.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been ignoring me all day.”

He scoffs. “Why don’t you just go hang out with your boyfriend?”

You blink. “I’m sorry— my what now?”

Now he looks at you. Flat expression. Bored tone. “The guy you hugged this morning.”

You stare at him. Then you laugh—one short, incredulous breath. “You mean my little cousin?” 

Suna freezes. A beat. Another beat. A visible oh, shit creeps across his face as the team collectively chokes behind you.

“Oh,” he mutters. “Well. He was… tall.”

You slap his arm. “He’s, like, an inch taller than me. And he was just thanking me for lunch money.”

“Well, it didn’t look innocent,” he grumbles, ears now bright pink.

“Are you serious right now?! You’ve been sulking all day over my cousin?”

He shrugs and drops his gaze. “Didn’t know he was your cousin.”

You narrow your eyes. “And what if he wasn’t?”

Silence. The team holds its breath.

Suna exhales, then mutters, “Then I wouldn’t like it.”

Your heart stutters.

His eyes meet yours again—and this time, he really looks at you. His voice is no longer bored. It’s quiet. Honest. “Seeing you with someone else, I mean.”

You tilt your head, a smile curling on your lips—sharp and smug. "Then do something about it.”

Behind you, Atsumu lets out a low, delighted cackle. “Ohhh, shiiit—she got you.”

You don’t wait for a response. Just turn on your heel, walking out of the gym with your head held high. But not before glancing back once—

And catching Suna frozen in place, face red, as the entire team starts swarming him with grins, whistles, and way too much noise. You smile to yourself.

Let him squirm.

[ctrlkenma]

TEXTS W RIN!² ɞ

ʚ f!reader, suna lowkey wants u, mentions if blood and injuries

©ctrlkenma, 2025.

comment to be added in the taglist!

[katescorner]

suna "we're just friends" rintaro who's actually in a secret relationship with you, but feels the need to keep it a secret until it gets more serious because he's scared. except the miya twins have caught on, and they have a running bet going for who's going to spill first. atsumu thinks suna would rather keel over than admit to them he's dating someone, but osamu is smugly convinced that his friend's resolve is weaker than yours. so they decide to put it to the test.

it starts off . . . weird. osamu is putting moves on you, and you have no idea what to make of it. he's asking to walk you home and tells you that you should come to watch them practice. he even shoves atsumu out of their usual seat in the cafeteria to invite you to sit next to him. he seems really interested in you, and you don't want to be mean, but you also can't lead him on.

you're too focused on osamu's strange behavior to notice that he only acts this way when suna is around. so you don't see the way your boyfriend clenches and unclenches his fists when he overhears osamu wanting to walk you home after school. you don't hear the huff he lets out or how he slams his locker door a little harder when osamu invites you to watch them play with a well practiced smile. and you certainly don't realize the sheet white paleness that grows on his face when osamu shoves atsumu off the bench to make space for you.

suna doesn't blame you. his friends are idiots and getting on his last nerve. but everything comes to a screeching halt when osamu puts his arm around your shoulder, and suna absolutely loses it.

"we're dating!" it's the closest he gets to yelling without actually, but it's loud.

"damn it!" atsumu shouts, but suna doesn't hear. he practically has tunnel vision, zeroed in on where osamu connects to you.

"we're dating," he repeats through gritted teeth. "so get your grimy slimy spiker little hands—" he stalks over to osamu with surprising speed to knock his hand off of you, "off of my—"

"rintaro," you scold softly, and the twins try not to react when their usually unbothered and finicky middle blocker . . . listens?

"he—you're my—i'm—" he erupts in an aggravated groan and quickly decides to pull you to his side, away from osamu.

suna starts mumbling things under his breath they can't hear. his words are clearly reserved only for you, but the twins watch quietly anyway as you smooth away the worry lines growing on his face from his furrowed eyebrows and press a soft kiss to his cheek that has leaves them dusted in the slightest pink. he's whipped, and suddenly the only thing the miyas could think of was—how the hell did they not notice sooner?

yes i'm a soft lovesick sunarin truther. that man is a simp and i take no arguments

[cosmic-evening]

ᯓ★ 3:30 am

suna rintarou x gn!reader

(loosely) based on while you were sleeping by laufey

a/n: i've been absolutely drowning in work this month AND i have writers' block but here's a blurb

hq m.list | gen m.list

SUNA RINTAROU never slept well, and you both knew it.

it had become part of your nightly routine to lay in bed with him — your head on his chest, tracing patterns on his arm, lazily talking about your day.

you always try to stay awake with him to talk, you really do; but most nights, you end up falling asleep mid-sentence, leaving rin to tuck in the blankets around you.

the silence after that is peaceful, with the faint sounds of nightlife seeping in from the windows, and your deep breaths filling the room.

it's nothing new — rin was used to mindlessly scrolling on his phone while you rested. but some nights, when the silence gets a bit too overwhelming, and time seems to be running away from him, he's filled with an immense sense of gratitude for you.

what had you done? the fluttering feeling in his stomach, foreign but welcome — it's so surreal.

and it's those nights, when the alarm clock on the table reads 3:30, where something turns in his heart.

it's when he realises, with devastating certainty, that he's in love with you.

[megapteraurelia]

suna rintarou who knows how to tie the stem of a cherry into a knot with his tongue. who is intent on teaching you how to. who beckons you closer with a wave of two fingers, curling up against his palm.

"open," he hums, his nose caressing yours, hands splayed out on your thighs, fingertips pressing into your flesh.

when your lips part, he had already tipped his head towards yours, tongue sneaking into your mouth. he tastes warm, sweet; the pink muscle wet and teasing against yours. he pushes something rough into your mouth, the stem scratchy and faintly covered in cherry juice. it feels weird, foreign next to the familiar touch of him.

one hand of his sneaks back to grip your neck tightly, pushing your lips closer to his. his tongue moves swiftly, dancing around yours as you let him devour your mouth. victim to his demonstration, a thin trickle of spit smears on your chin and a slight gasp isn't far behind.

within a couple seconds, he pulls back and lets you feel out the knot he tied in the stem.

"how—?"

a faint chuckle escapes him, and he broadens his tongue, licking up the remnants of spit on your chin up to your mouth.

he murmurs against you, "let me show you again."

he says that but when he gets up on his knees and looks down at you, thumb pulling down your lower lip to inspect your gums, your teeth, the red of your swollen mouth, the cherry stem is fast forgotten.

instead, there's a vulgar twitch in his lazy grin and an amused glint in his sharp eyes.

"open," he says again, and when you listen, beads of spit drop from his lolled tongue into your awaiting mouth.

blushed cheeks, heavy breath, crazed look in his eyes at how readily you take anything he gives you. for a second, he wonders how your mouth would look like with his cum and saliva painted all over your lips like his own special brand of lip gloss. he aches, and his spine catches fire at the fantasy.

before you know it, it's just him licking the inside of your mouth, hips grinding up your thigh, one hand of his buried in your hair to press you closer to him, the other shoved down your pants to find how wet you are.

rutting against your leg, he kisses you messily, sloppy; his pants growing wetter and wetter with each groan that leaves your mouth, because fuck, he can't wait to make a mess out of you, mix both of your fluids together like one of those damn witch's concoctions you brewed as kids, lick it all off you again, lose himself in your mouth and your heat.

his abdomen squeezes and your thighs tremble.

his cum, spit, your arousal — check, check, check.

TAGLIST | @takes1 ; @lale-txt (suffer with me, lale)

[literatooru]

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧

pairing: f!reader x suna rintarō

warnings: 18+ (NSFW) (MDNI), fingering (f!receiving), handjob, unprotected sex, jealousy sex, best friends to lovers

College parties are absolute trash—Suna's known this for a long time, which is why he’d rather stay in his dorm, binge watching shows or something of the sorts. However, he knows you like them, which is why he forces himself to go every time.

He watches you from the distance, the way he’s always done when you aren’t looking. He downs the rest of his beer in one go, keeping the liquid in his mouth for just a second longer, plastic cup now empty in his hand.

It’s been like this for quite some time now; you find some random guy, flirt shamelessly with him, take him somewhere away from prying eyes and hook up. He’s watched the process multiple times, always with the same burning jealousy that makes his blood boil. He especially hates the part where you tell him exactly how they failed to satisfy you because you never keep any details to yourself—you describe from the way their inexperienced hands roam your body to the way they practically asphyxiate you with their tongue and everything that happens after. And Suna just listens because, as your best friend, that’s what he’s supposed to do.

You’ve always taken his random, slightly bitter remarks about your miserable love (and sex) live as him just being a nice, concerned friend, so you never pay much attention to the rolls of his eyes or his low scoffs. You’ve always told yourself it’s him being as protective as an older brother would be, that he couldn’t possibly see you as anything else. You’ve known each other for too long—shared too many moments together. You’re sure the only kind of love he feels is entirely platonic.

Truth is, Suna has a not so small crush on his best friend. He gives a scornful chuckle at the thought; it’s silly to call it a simple crush. Suna Rintarō is —and it was extremely difficult to even admit it to himself— crazy, madly, deeply in love with you. Therefore, all he can do is watch from the distance, the way he’s been doing all night, as you smile up at your new random one night stand.

Really, he’s not the type of guy to say he’s happy if you are, because yes, your happiness is important to him —extremely so—, but he wants to be the reason for it. And it should be him; not some guy you’ve just met a couple minutes ago.

His piercing green eyes remain on your frame from the moment you give that tantalizing smile that indicates you’ve found yourself successful to when you guide the douchebag (holding his hand, which makes him crush the plastic cup in his tight grip) toward the stairs and up. And, heaving a sigh, he strides toward the steps and sits right at the bottom.

It’s not too long before he sees the guy you went upstairs with coming back down with a smug grin on his face (which he desperately wants to wipe with a well placed punch). Rintarō simply huffs, rolls his eyes and starts looking for you. He finds you in the bathroom, hunching over the sink as you look at yourself in the mirror with pursed lips. He quietly walks in, shuts the door behind him and rests his weight against it. Suna watches you as you tiredly rub your eyes with an exasperated sigh and he readies himself; he knows what that sigh means.

He straightens up and walks toward you to stand right behind you. You look into the mirror to meet his gaze through it, and he offers you a smile, which you return feebly.

“Hey, Rin,” you say. He hums softly to acknowledge you. You take another look at your own reflection, a light frown making its way onto your face when your eyes study the smudged makeup on your lids. “God, I’m a mess.”

“A very pretty mess,” he says, placing his hands on your shoulders in what he hopes is a comforting gesture.

You fight the smile threatening to make an appearance.

“Even with my raccoon eyes?” you ask, pointing at your face.

“Especially with your raccoon eyes.”

You laugh and swat his hands away, turning away to rummage through the drawers until you find some makeup wipes, and start getting rid of the stains on your eyes. You took it as a joke, but he meant it. He does love it when you look like that, because you usually make sure to look your best, and this is something only he’s gotten to see. He treasures the small moments kept between you two, like it’s a secret you’d only ever share with him. Those have always been his favorite.

When you give another deep sigh, his lips form a thin line. He doesn’t say anything, instead letting you do all the talking. And you proceed to tell him all about yet another miserable sexual encounter.

As you explain, you finish wiping your face and take your shirt off —he seriously tries to look away, but even though he’s seen you like that a couple times, he still can’t help the butterflies that wreck havoc in his stomach—, placing it under the faucet to try to rinse a big stain of… something. Might have happened when you accidentally knocked into someone on your way to the bathroom, but you’re not sure. Suna is quick to take off his jacket and place it over your shoulders, and you thank him mid rant and slide your arms into the long sleeves.

“He was rubbing so hard, Rin. It didn’t even feel good,” you groan. “It was just uncomfortable. And I’m pretty sure he came on record time, which obviously means that I didn’t.”

“That sucks,” he says in a low voice, trying to help you with your hair to make it look somewhat presentable. He’s frowning deeply in what you assume is concentration, but really, he’s thinking that he hates the fact that the asshole left any trace of him on you, because how dare he.

“Right? I don’t think I’ve ever given a louder fake moan in my life, he was so bad. It was pretty convincing though, you should’ve heard it,” and then, to his horror, you proceed to imitate the moan —which is very convincing—, and all of a sudden his jeans start feeling a little tighter. You suddenly turn around, and he leans against the sink and shifts his legs in a feeble attempt to hide his crotch from your view. Surprisingly, you don’t notice it. “You know what? At this point I think I should just give up. I’m never going to find the right guy,” you say with slumped shoulders.

You head toward the door and place your hand on the knob, but you’ve only just started opening it when Suna suddenly slams it back shut, hand pressed against it over your head. You jolt in your place, turning to give him a startled look.

“Rin? What are you—”

“Has it ever even crossed your mind that maybe you’ve been looking in the wrong place all along?”

You blink up at him, resting your weight against the wooden surface. There’s something in his eyes—something you haven’t seen before. Something intense, burning. It makes your stomach churn with something oddly similar to excitement.

“What do you mean?” you whisper, and he lets out a shuddering breath.

He gets closer, and that’s when you feel his growing erection against you. Your eyes widen in surprise and you instinctively try to take a step back, forgetting that there’s no space for you to actually do it. Suna brushes his knuckles along the soft skin of your cheek, letting his hand wander downward to brush his fingertips against your throat, then trailing lower until they graze the mount of your breasts. His touch is barely there, ghosting over your skin like a whisper, yet it makes your heart race and your breath hitch in your throat.

Suna Rintarō, with a single touch, has managed to do what no one else has—leave you breathless.

“They could never satisfy you—not the way I could,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers against your crotch. The featherlight touch makes you squeeze your thighs together. “I could make you cum so hard— make you scream so loud. I could make you forget about the whole fucking world… if only you let me. Because— fuck, I’ve wanted you for so long.” He brushes his nose along your neck and lets out a soft groan when your scent floods his senses.

“Suna Rintarō,” you say, gulping as you place your hands on his chest. He pulls back a little, and he suddenly looks terrified, because you never call him by his full name. He’s sure he’s fucked up—you’re going to tell him to go to hell and you’ll never talk to him again. “You’re just drunk,” you say instead, which you already know to be a lie, because you have seen him absolutely plastered, and this is not it. “And horny. You’re going to wake up tomorrow and forget all about this.”

He strokes your cheek with the back of his hand with a light frown. Softly, he shakes head.

“I’m not,” he says, meaning he’s not drunk because he’s definitely horny. “Thing is, no matter how wasted I get, I haven’t been able to forget how I feel about you.” He knows this to be a fact, because he’s tried multiple times. “If anything I’ve only managed to forget my own name. But I can’t seem to forget yours.” You suck in a sharp breath, gulping once more when his lips brush against yours when he whispers, “Give me chance to show you what I can do. I’ll make you feel so good… please.”

Instead of giving him a direct answer, you tilt your head to capture his lips in yours, getting a groan out of him when you press your body flush against his.

Suna's dreamed about your lips for so long—wondered how'd they taste, pictured them wrapped around him, kissing every inch of his body— that it takes every single ounce of self-control in his body to pull back and break the kiss. You shoot him a confused look.

“What?” you breathe out.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“I thought it was implied—yes,” you say, latching your lips to his once more.

He doesn’t waste a single second, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you so close that not even a sheet of paper could fit between your bodies. His lips are desperate, devouring yours like you’re the last meal he’ll ever have and he’s been starving for years.

His wide hands explore your body, his touch has you panting against his lips, especially when he slips a hand under your skirt to rub his fingers against you. He’s surprised to find your underwear to be already wet—he’s barely even started.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pushing your panties to the side to have more access.

Suna slides his fingers between your soaking folds, coating his fingers with your slick to circle your clit with gentleness. He’s not too rough; he applies just the right amount of pressure, goes just fast enough. It’s perfect.

He shudders visibly when you mewl softly in his ear, stifling his own groan against your lips as he meets them for another kiss. It’s crazy how much your moans turn him on; his jeans feel extremely asphyxiating, he’s painfully hard.

As if hearing his thoughts, you fumble with the button of his jeans and the zipper, making quick work of them to pull him out. His cock is warm and thick in your hand, head oozing pre-cum. You smear it along his velvety skin with a couple strokes, paying close attention to the sounds he lets out. You know you’ve found the right pace when his fingers hesitate against you and he lets out a soft, whiny whimper you never thought you’d hear him emit, and he curses through gritted teeth. His breath catches in his throat when you run your thumb along his slit, applying pressure. Suna can’t help bucking his hips lightly trying to match your rhythm.

“Wait, stop,” he gasps, clutching your wrist. You’re about to ask whether you did something wrong when you’re interrupted by your own, shaky whimper when he pushes one of his digits past your entrance and starts pumping slowly. “I want to focus on you,” he says. It’s not exactly a lie, but he’s not being entirely truthful, either. He actually stopped you because he was sure he was going to cum if you touched him for a second longer, and that would have been cumming on record time.

When he adds a second finger and curls them in a come hither motion, you moan, “Rin! God, don’t stop.” And he swears he almost passes out.

Hearing you moaning his name —something he had only heard in his dirtiest fantasies, jerked off to the thought of— drives him feral. His lips are on your neck, sucking and biting. He wants to leave a couple marks there, wants the world to know who finally managed to make you cum. He’s imagined how you'd feel on countless occasions —usually late at night, when he’s by himself and has no other option but to find relief by his own fist (which, to be honest, he’s always thought of as pathetic)— but the thought of actually feeling you wrapped around him makes his cock twitch with need.

His fingers do wonders inside you, and you’re so wet that it’s easy for him to push a third digit in, using his thumb to rub your nub. And you don’t know if it’s just that he’s good, or the fact that it’s him, but you find yourself arching your back, mouth hanging open in a silent scream as you come around his fingers. You’re clenching them so hard Suna has to bite his lip to keep himself from moaning, and he just can’t wait a moment longer.

He unzips the jacket open, pushes your drenched panties down your legs, picks you up with ease and bunches up your skirt around your waist. His cock slides between your folds, he makes sure to coat it completely with your arousal so there won’t be any discomfort, because he just wants to make you feel as good as possible.

You squeeze your eyes shut and moan loudly against his neck when he starts pushing himself in inch by inch, pausing a couple times to allow you to adjust. And you thought you felt full with his fingers. Huh.

He whispers sweet nothings in your ear to comfort you, digging his fingers in the soft skin of your thighs when you clench around him. It takes everything in him to keep his hips still; he’s quick to apologize when he gives an involuntary thrust or two—but you just feel too good. That single squeeze almost makes him cum on the spot.

“Rin, I don’t think I can— ngh.”

“You can take it,” he breathes out, struggling to keep his voice steady. “I know you can take it.”

And take it you do.

He gasps when he bottoms out—the way your tight cunt hugs his cock, how your walls still flutter from your previous orgasm, your heavy breathing in his ear—he must be dreaming. There’s just no way this is real. He wouldn’t be surprised, he’s had this dream infinite times already. But when you kiss him, oh, it’s real, all right.

He pulls back until he’s almost completely out and gives a gentle thrust to go back in, sharpening his hearing to catch even your lightest sigh as he continues giving experimental thrusts. He speeds up little by little until you’re clawing at his back, scrunching his shirt in your fists as he keeps the rhythm up, heaving pants against your cleavage. His breath is hot against your skin, his hands are warm and gentle as they roam your body freely, making sure not a single part of you is untouched—he wants to erase any trace the other guy might have left.

“Rin, fuck, more!”

You arch your back at an especially deep thrust, moaning his name loudly, tugging on his hair. He’s relentless, snapping his hips against yours over and over again until your legs tremble around his waist. He snakes a hand between your bodies to rub your clit again, the loud, wet, squelching sound of your pussy sucking him back in with each snap of his hips fills his ears, and he lets out a series of soft moans and whines against your chest, his voice rumbling against your skin.

“They could never touch you like this, make you feel like this,” he growls. He’s still envious that others had a taste of you way before he did, and he wants to make things clear. He takes a bunch of your hair in his fist and pulls on it to expose your throat to him, which he marks a little more. “I’m the only one who’ll get to see you like this. I’m the only one this pussy belongs to,” he says, giving sharp pats on your clit that make you squirm against him. “They could never love you like I can.”

Your eyes snap open at that last sentence, but he doesn’t give you a chance to say anything—and it’s not like you could, what with the way he’s pounding into you. It’s not too long after that you’re creaming around his cock. You’ve never cum so hard. You can tell he’s close by the way his breath catches and his hips stutter. Despite knowing you’re on the pill —you’ve literally told him everything there is to know—, Suna starts pulling out, but is stopped by you. You wrap your legs tightly around his waist and keep him in place, and he shoots you a panicked look.

“y/n, let go, I gotta—”

“I want you to come inside me, Rin,” you gasp, clenching around him, and that’s all it takes.

He moans loudly, mouth hanging open as his abdomen contracts with spasms with each thick rope of cum he shoots deep inside you. He rides out his orgasm with a couple lazy thrusts, panting heavily and resting his head on your shoulder when you’ve drained every last drop he has to offer.

Suna pulls out, grimacing at the sensitivity, and lets you down gently. Something catches his eye, and he looks down only to find his own cum slowly dripping down your thighs. He gulps, and watches you as you grab your discarded panties and slide them up your legs.

“Don’t want it to go to waste,” you say, looking him straight in the eyes, and he gives an incredulous, breathy laugh, because—what the fuck that was so hot. He has to look away and hold his breath to keep it down. “So,” you say casually, leaning back against the door. You don’t want him running away. “You said something.”

Suna blanches, and his eyes look at everything but you. He busies himself with pulling his jeans up.

“I said a lot of things,” he murmurs, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish chuckle.

“All right, let me help you remember, then. It starts with L, and ends with ove.”

He deadpans at you, the way you said it making him forget his embarrassment for a second as he rolls his eyes.

“You can’t be serious.”

“The question is, were you?” you ask, taking a step forward. He pointedly averts his gaze, eyes downcast as he twiddles his thumbs. “When you said it?”

“Of course I was,” he admits in an almost inaudible whisper, but you’re still able to hear him. It’s the most honest you’ve seen him. “Do you… not want me to be serious about it?”

He fears the answer, but he has to know it. If all you want is to be friends with benefits, he’ll take it. He’ll take whatever you give him—anything you give him.

“I like that you are,” you say, peering up at him and brushing his damp hair back. “Because I’m serious about it too.”

His eyes snap up to meet yours, a dumbfounded expression taking over his features. You did not just say you reciprocate his feelings.

“So… hypothetically speaking,” he starts, trying to find the words. “If I were to ask you out on a date, what would you say?”

You give him a bright smile, placing a soft kiss on his cheek and patting it lightly, cupping it afterwards. He leans into your touch.

“Non-hypothetically speaking, I’d say yes.”

[akiisks]

Foxes 🦊

[piftamere]

the eclipse

six - void

fun facts

"dexter the kid scientist not the serial killer" is his full name, to avoid misunderstandings

suna and yn didn't talk about labels but the vibe was very casual

she found a new name for suna but it stays between them

author's note

i had a goldfish named dexter as a kid (but named after the serial killer)

iwaizumi hajime is the only man ever actually

the eclipse - next

taglist : open!

@lvtilzs @evilari111 @keijicentric @loriiiroari @itsdragonius @haechansbbg @wordsofelie @rowensboat @luvvmae @hrithi11 @graveantics @0rangej0e @sugacor3 @lissyneedstopissy @softtashoney @iluv-ace @sexylexy12 @aspinny @cuteandohsodeadly @folksmione @yosuk-e @nscuit @shozuken @h3xi2g0n3 @heyhihellowhatsup @physicallynothere @sunarinnnnnnn @torkorpse

[plagalkey]

late night takeout (street racing au)

[dyerink]

kita the savior! & bonus samu:

[fic-dumpster]

SOURCE <- @/Freaka_LoonyZ on X/Twitter

[lale-txt]

if you see me getting manipulated by a 6'3 aquarius man who plays for ejp raijin with number 7 on the jersey and an extremely bendy waist do NOT save me i'm exactly where i want to be

[ketoshiewillie]

sketches 🦊🦊🦊

im down bad

[ctrlkenma]

TEXTS WITH RIN!³ ☆

ʚ f!reader, situationship kinda situation iykwim, suna wants u even more, mentions of weed, suggestive.

©ctrlkenma, 2025.