#suna time skip

[realcube]

AT THE SAME DAMN TIME! *.°★* 。

hot with hq duos !

ft .. all timeskip! hinata + oikawa // osamu + suna // yamaguchi + tsukishima // bokuto + atsumu

tws && tags .. nsfw, vaginal, threeways (mmf). hookups, anal, fingering, breeding k!nk, size k!nk // handjobs, oral (m receiving), praise, general mess // handjob, fingering, anal, degredation, praise // oral (m receiving) , degredation, daddy kink, semi-public sex — minors dni!

HINATA & OIKAWA wanted to have fun together during their time in rio, and naturally, that entailed hitting up local bars and clubs during the night. and who were to condemn them if that led to bringing a sweet girl back to their hotel rooms? it’s part of the culture, after all. however, the issue lay in the fact that they both had their eyes set on the same woman  — and neither of them had any intention of compromising.

alas, their joint stubbornness is what led them to their current situation.

the three of you would drunkenly stagger back to their hotel rooms — while they feign being helpful and wrap their arms protectively around your body under the guise of stablising your inebriated form. but in actuality, they were probably far worse off than you, and would often lose their own balance while handling your hips or lower back, which would then lead to you tripping over too.

eventually you reach their hotel rooms, and due to the fact oikawa lost his keycard at some blankened point during their escapade, it was hinata's room that you all ended up stumbling into.

even while on the lively streets or during the brief intermission in the silent elevator together, the three of you were inappropriately close; leaving slopping kisses on any pieces of exposed flesh and grabbing at parts of each other that could only be described as intimate. thankfully most pedestrians were more involved in their own business, and any onlookers that did notice your PDA were far too drunk to care.

and the affection was only accelerated as soon as you stepped foot into the privacy of hinata's hotel room. almost instantly it became a hot mess; an entanglement of limbs and appendages, furiously trying to get as close to each other as possible.

of course they were more focused on you than each other, and you tried to pay them each and equal amount of attention. thus your clothes became the immediate victims of both their scrutinies, and were torn and ripped off your body urgently by the various hands wandering over your supple figure. for the most part, you let your eyes drift shut and your mind cloud over while their big hands saturated your soft skin, occassionally flicking your nipples or pinching your clit. four hands on you at once.

however if you paid attention, you could tell whose hands belonged to whom.

oikawa was positioned closely behind you, to the point where you could find his firm abs against your back and his breath tickling the crook of your neck. his hands were slender and expert, and his touch was far more playful. fondling your tits or teasing your sensitive clit; all of which he would use as fuel for his growing erection, that you could feel growing against your plush thighs, even through the fabric of his pants. whenever he would elicit a cute moan from your pretty lips, you could feel him huff a chuckle into your neck.

hinata's hands were a bit smaller, but much faster and more keen. he was stood in front of you, and seemingly couldn't decide what he wanted to do. he'd engage you for a deep kiss for around ten seconds at a time, and just before it would get too heavy, he pull away to shift his full attention back onto your body. allowing his daring touch to slip behind you and fully grope your ass, or sink between your legs and excitedly finger you. he was a bit erratic, you could never tell what he was going to do next, and you liked that.

this trite foreplay, however sexy, didn't to satiate them for long though. soon, they became hungry for more of your intoxicating figure.

oikawa was the first one to make a move. while you were sandwiched between the boys, hinata's fingers were knuckles' deep inside your hole, thrusting into you over and over, while squelching noises filled the room. his lips were connected your delicate neck and he was sucking harsh hickeys into your skin. that, in combination with oikawa's arms snaked around your waist so he could rub your clit, was enough to have your knees buckling under you and a lewd string of moans pouring from your heart.

since your mind was clouded with pleasure, you hardly noticed the disappearance of oikawa's stiff cock against the back of your thigh. he shifted away slightly, but only so he could pull his cock free from the confines of his pants with one hand. with the other, he gathered all your sticky arousal from your clit and between your thighs, in order to lubricate his dick until it had the perfect glossy sheen. then, without wasting anymore time, he jammed himself right into your tight asshole.

"nghh—fuck— ahh!" you choked out a broken chain of moans and profanities at the abrupt intrusion. although you'd be lying if you said you weren't into it — which you kinda gave away when you began subconciously grinding back against his fat cock, wanting to urge him deeper inside you despite the fiery pain. it stung so good.

"too big for you, huh?" he hums as he peppers soft kisses across your shoulderblade, "sadly we can't all be fun-sized, so you're just gonna have to take it, baby." you can feel him chuckle to himself lightly against you.

"fun-sized." hinata tuts; thankfully he is too drunk to take it personally and will probably forget that snide remark come morning and the memory will be replaced by a splitting headache. still, he felt the bubbling need to impress you and prove himself. plus, he didn't realise he was allowed to insert himself without a condom, but if oikawa was doing it, hinata was sure to dive in as well.

like everything else he does, he was quick to whip his cock out and slip himself between your plush thighs. using the abundant wetness accumulated around your glistening folds to facilitate his enterance into your tight cunt.

"how's that?" he wasn't exactly his 'fun-sized' as oikawa proclaimed, thus taking his entire cock within your homey walls was not easy by any means.

"mmph, too much.." even with all your natural lubrication, you could feel your twitching walls have to stretch and pull to contain him, and he continued to ram his dick right the way inside you.

"c'mon, (y/n). that's it. ta— shit— take it."

but once you finally managed to keep him all inside, it felt ineffably good. both of them would thrust into you at their own pace, angled upwards which led to your tits constantly bouncing at the impact. with both your holes entirely saturated by their thick cocks, there was no spot inside you left unstimulated. hence, it wasn't long before your legs literally gave out from under you, but thankfully you had two pairs of strong arms to hold you and keep you upright for as long as they needed to use you for.

"gunna.. uhh— mph!" you groan. due the mass amounts of overstimulation, it wasn't long before the growing knot in your abdomen erupted all over hinata's dick, and your very first orgasm had you squirting all over his length.

this obscene display, along with your convulsing walls and pornographic moans was enough to fuel his first climax too, and he spilled his hot seed into your constricting cunt. "d—damn, s-so fucking tight!" he pulled out as he did so, hence some of his cum remained deep inside you or plastered to your sticky walls, while some of it painted your folds and dripped onto the hotel floor.

even while all of this was happened, oikawa's steady and rough pace never relented. he continued ploughing into your ass even as hinata stood for a moment to catch his breath and get hard again, but hinata — as well — immediately buried his fingers into your pussy to replace the absense of his dick.

with a bit more longevity, oikawa's first climax occured a few minutes later, as alluded to by his increasingly brutal pace into your puckered hole. basking in the snug cling of your walls, he remained inside you and planted his hearty load deep into your ass.

this warm sensation flooding your insides was enough to prompt your second climax, which had your legs shaking and your holes gripping onto oikawa's dick and hinata's fingers for dear life, rendering both of them unable to move. not that oikawa intended to anyway, he stayed stationary in your ass until you had thoroughly milked him dry, only then did he pull out.

"shit," he heaved.

"ready to go again, pretty?" newly erect hinata asked innocently, subtly aligning himself with your sticky enterance before you even managed to focus your eyes on him.

"shoyo, we'll switch, huh?" oikawa mused, idly rubbing your raw hole with his fingers. hinata nodded at the idea and hurriedly switched places with oikawa.

now in front of you, oikawa admired your fucked-out expression, and your wet lashline, "pretty girl, aren't ya? even after two loads." he pressed his lips againsts yours for a fierce kiss, during which he wraps his arm around your waist and guides you forward, so that you land perfectly on top of him as he stumbles back onto the hotel double bed.

hinata eagerly follows the two of you, and while you are laying on oikawa, he positions his cock by your ass.

after that night, you learned your lesson about getting in bed with olympic level athletes. the expensive booze and nice hotel rooms might be tempting, but their stamina is unmatched — you just about had to open your third eye to be able to keep up!

OSAMU & SUNA hadn't seen each other in so long. hence, when osamu invited suna to visit him back in hyogo, they had a lot to catch up on. due to his busy schedule and distant location, suna wasn't able to visit his hometown very often and shockingly, had never even been to onigiri miya. naturally, that's the first thing osamu wanted to show him when he arrived.

and how could osamu show suna his store without introducing him to his favourite worker?

your knees ached against the cold tiles of the backroom. the bleak, damp area where osamu would keep stacks of crates and cardboard boxes filled with random crap he bought in bulk — it was cramped and there wasn't enough room to swing a cat, but you make it work.

osamu and suna stood over you, gazing down in amusement as they watched you eagerly pump their fat cocks with each of your hands, simultaneously. your face wound in concentration, as your head bobbed back and forth between the two men's dicks; either licking the tip or taking a substantial amount into your mouth for a quick suck, then hastily retreating and servicing the other — lest either of them feel neglected.

but they could count on the fact that each time you'd give their girthy shaft a lick or pop their buldging tip into your mouth, your gaze would promptly flicker up to their faces, seeking approval in the form of a smile or a nod or a moan.

it was disgustingly cute how desperate you were for validation.

osamu even aknowledged your attention-seeking with a low chuckle, rasping out in a hushed voice, cautious not to let slip a moan from your furious hand-work on his cock, "good girl, ain't she?" even as he spoke to suna, he's eyes never parted from your needy figure below him.

and suna was the same; entirely fixated on you as he gritted, "y—yeah.." when you switched to licking his length and lapping up the salty precum leaking from his tip, he leaned down and cupped your chin with his strong hands, "mgh— fuck. can i- take her home?" what was supposed to be light-hearted joke, came out more as a staggered breath. a plea, even.

osamu tangled his fingers into your hair, and used his grip on your head to slowly guide you back towards his cock, smiling warmly as you gracious accept his whole length in your mouth again and begin frantically sucking. "hm, how's that sound, (y/n)?" he hums, greyed eyes locked with yours, "wanna go home with suna?"

he pushes you even further into his cock, and they both chuckle under their breath when you try to respond but all that ends up coming out is a muffled 'mmph!'

however, the vibrations of your lips against his cock are enough to send him hurtling over the fast-approaching edge, and osamu reaches his climax while buried in your mouth. just as he tips into his high, the waves of sharp bliss coarsing through him causes him to relax his grip on your hair, allowing you to finally jerk backwards and gasp for air.

although, these two occurences happening in tandem only leads to a sticky mess. his first couple spurts splash all over the lower part of your face, from your upper lip to your chin, and thus dripping down onto the breast area of your origiri miya uniform. as you continue to pump both their cock's with your tight-fists, any cum after that was angled directly into your agape mouth, to prevent any further disarray.

but what you weren't prepared for, was this obscene sight to cause suna to reach his own orgasm shortly after. so while you are still focused on osamu and trying to lick his tip clean of any remnants, suna — with nothing but a muted groan for a warning — furiously ejaculates all over the side of your face and hair, making you even messier.

being the behaved girl osamu trained you to be, you pumped him through his orgasm too and tried to gather as much of his bitter seed in your mouth as you could, but your efforts were in vain. you had been completed soiled with their sticky cum, and once he had finished, you had to wipe it away from your eyes before you even dared look up at them both.

their loads mixed together on your bruised lips and chin, stained your previously prisitine work shirt, and dripped from the loose strands of your hair. they had left you entirely dishevelled; it was so hot.

"what a cute mess." osamu wipes a bit of his semen off your chin, and held his finger in front of your mouth. you promptly opened up and licked it clean, a small whine escaping as you do so. "good girl. think you can go again?"

you pout up at him, silently, and osamu stroked your cum-stained cheek, while suna slumps against the wall and tries to catch his breath, "c'mon, suna won't be here for long. he's going home on friday." osamu bargains, but you don't seem to waver at that. so instead, he propositions, "i'll buy your favourite pretzels next time i go to the wholesaler."

now that piques your interest, and you nod enthusiastically to show your agreement. at which, he bend over and places a firm kiss against your forehead, while cupping your chin, "there's my angel." he rasps, "my employee of the month."

YAMAGUCHI & TSUKISHIMA paid extra to be roommates in college. little did they know, the fee they paid only guaranteed that they would be put in a room together, and not that no one else will be in their dorm with them. and that's how they met you.

thankfully you were chill though, the three of you got on quite well. there were two rooms in the flat — tsukki and yams shared one, and you got the other one. another girl was supposed to move into your room but she ended up dropping out. which was probably for the best, another person's presence might've disturbed the very delicate relationship the three of you have.

which basically means, the two of them are bests friend and they both think they are fucking you behind the other's back.

you knew you were into both of them at the same time, and at any point you could've pulled the plug on the whole charade and come clean, but you love the thrill of it. how tsukishima would ghost his fingers over your clit under the table while you all ate dinner together. or how you'd attempt the world's fastest quickie with yamaguchi whenever tsukishima would step outside of the flat for ten minutes to smoke. and how your heart would race in your chest as you both are half-naked, scrambling to get your clothes on when you could hear tsukishima's keys jaggling in the door.

thankfully you made it just in time, and tsukishima was way too tired to notice that you were wearing a karasuno hoodie and yamaguchi was wearing your lace cami.

regardless, you managed to keep this ploy going for almost a year. but as they say, all good things must come to an end. and that day came in the form of the night after your final exam for the semester, and the three of you were celebrating by boozing in your flat.

you started in the kitchen, making all sorts of concoctions out of the drinks you had splurged on. every single thing you made tasted vile and had around 60% alcohol content. you'd throw a splash of orange juice into a jug of everclear, pour into fancy glasses and call that a cocktail. cheers!

next, you migrated to their bedroom to do shots off the radiator. truthfully, you all calmed down a bit by then. each of them were sat on their own beds, and you were sprawled on the floor in the centre. you each had your own beverage and would sip it casually while recollecting on this last semester at college.

finally, once it got dark outside, you stumbled into the living room and plopped yourselves down in front of the tv to watch the bachelor and play a drinking game. however, around three episodes in, you were all so wasted you could hardly look at any more alochol, and were more absorbed into the show.

or, at least, they were. you were in a predicament. sandwiched between two cute guys on the couch, but if you were to make a move on one of them, the other would undoubtedly notice and that would spoil your entire shenanigan that you spend the whole year honing.

but fortunately, you were far too drunk to care.

without thinking much of it, your left hand moved slyly, hidden under the dark, towards yamaguchi's elastic waistband, playing with his drawstrings idly. his uncertain gaze met your own — and if it wasn't for the fact his better judgement was nullified, he would've immediately jolted away from this situation. but for some reason, he stayed docile and doting as you slipped your hand into his trousers to handle his hastily growing erection.

your eyes remain locked to each other, until tsukishima must've finally noticed the suspicious motion out of the corner of his eye, as he sits upright and yells, "what the hell are you—" evidently he was going to call to question you pumping his best friend right beside him on the couch, but you were quick to shut him up by snaking your other arms behind his neck and pulling him in close for a passionate kiss.

he's stiff and apprehensive at first, but it doesn't take long for him to melt into your touch, and your kiss gets so heated you're basically moaning into each other, lips weaving together fiercely and only parting for brief gasps for air.

of course yamaguchi noticed this too, but he was so out of it, he couldn't find it in himself to care — with the fuzzy drunk feeling, and the salacious stimulation from the friction of your palms against his cock, he was on cloud 9 and there was nothing that could bring him down. if anything, the sight of you and his best friend making out only turned him on more.

tsukishima's hands began to wander as you kissed; fondling your tits and pulling the neckline of you tanktop down so he could roll your pebbled nippled between his fingers. "tsukki.." you whined into his mouth, and he only glared down at you through his foggy glasses. "i need you inside me.."

before tsukishima had a chance to respond, yamaguchi must've overheard your request and thought it was directed at him, as he grabbed you by your hips and lifted you onto his lap, where his firm cock stood against his abdomen. you squealed slightly as this happened and held onto tsukki's shoudler for stability.

momentarily, their goals aligned simultaneously and both of their hands gripped onto the top of your pyjama pants and began tugging them down urgently; tsukishima working on getting your right leg out while yamaguchi did your left. and before you knew it, your bottom half was entirely bare as you were slumped back on yamaguchi's lap.

you could feel the imprint of yamaguchi's dick on your lower back and it was incredibly stiff. it was a miracle he had the patience to reach forward and massage your damp folds. tsukishima did something similar. he was sat beside you and it didn't take long before you both started kissing again, but this time it was less feverish and more gentle, fleeting even. and his fingers were glued to your cunt too, but unlike yamaguchi, he was nothing but an agitator. he'd pinch your clit and tug at your labia and tease your sopping hole, all while chuckling lowly into the kiss whenever he would elicit any kind of irritated reaction from you.

"ow, kei.." you moaned.

yamaguchi also noted what his friend was doing and huffed, "leave her alone, tsukki.. be gentle.." you pout and gently nod in agreement with yamaguchi's statement, and tsukishima simply rolls his eyes.

in contrast to his previous proclaimation, yamaguchi utilises his hold on your hips to hover you over his lap slightly, allowing him enough space to navigate his cock towards your puckered asshole. you're so absorbed in your kiss with tsukishima and his fiendish touches on your cunt that you don't realise what yamaguchi is doing until he's already sunk his throbbing tip into your hole.

your face contorts to reflect the lewd stretching sensation he's brought upon you and a whiny moan is ripped out of your throat. " ta— adashi!"

tsukishima is able to infer what's happened from your shriek-like moaning, and an amused smirk spreads across his lips, "what happened to being gentle?" he commented sarcastically, and you're too overcome by the conjestive sensation of yamaguchi's cock worming into your tight ass to even bother pay tsukki any mind. but tadashi did glare daggers at him on your behalf.

yamaguchi cradles your waist in his hands and tenderly rubs your supple skin, attempting to relax you to aid your hole accepting the rest of his length. "almost there, that's it." he muses quietly into your ear as you slowly fit more of him inside you. and with one last deep breath, you're able to reach his base. "there we go." yamaguchi praises.

"ngh!" you groan in triumph, chest heaving at the mental energy took just to try fight against your restrictive walls. but oh, it felt so rewarding to win.

tsukishima clicked his tongue, leaning back against the couch while his hand lazily made it's way between your thighs and inserted it's digits into your slobbering hole. so wet that your juices were foaming around his knuckles, as he curled them inside your pussy.

although he was silently jealous that yamaguchi was the one who was balls-deep in you, he couldn't falt his friend for taking the initiative. plus, it meant he got the pleasure of watching the erotic show that was your facial expressions while trying to take dick; your eyes would screw shut and your pretty lips would press together in discomfort, and your perky tits would bounce around when you would constantly shift yourself to angle his cock better inside you, but clearly all your efforts were futile.

but now yamaguchi wasn't doing anything. he wasn't taking advantage of the oppertunity like he should be. he just laid there like a dead-fish, in tsukishima's eyes. but what kei wasn't seeing, was how yamaguchi was revelling in the unreal sensation of your ass clinging onto him. even without stimulation it was enough to get him off and get him high.

but tsukishima was just bored. even if his fingers were buried in your cunt and your lips were peppering kisses on his neck. so he had nothing better to do than turn the tv back on with his spare hand.

and that's how the three of you spent a considerable portion of the night — with your ass cockwarming yamaguchi's throbbing erection, and tsukishima's fingers terrorising your poor pussy.

and of course the next morning was spent cleaning absurd amount of alochol, cum squirt and other bodily fluids off a couch that didn't belong to you.

BOKUTO & ATSUMU were both slumped on the bench after a long day of training with the MSBY jackals. it was especially intense and laborious today as they have a big game tomorrow, so the pressure is truly on. the two of them were both sat, sipping their water bottles and cooling down while talking about their upcoming match, until their assistant manager approached them.

"how are you feeling about tomorrow, guys?" you ask cheerily, holding their volleyball under your arm.

they glance nervously between each other; a strange sight from two men who are usually confident and upbeat. "uh.." atsumu starts, avoiding eye-contact by means of looking anywhere else.

"could be better." bokuto finishes his teammate's sentence with an awkwardly wide smile.

"awh, yeah. it's a lot of pressure, huh?" you chirp, and if it were coming from anyone but you, it would probably be patronising. with an innocent tilt of your head, you inquire, "anything i can do to help take away some of the stress?"

bokuto and atsumu both stare up at you with wide-eyes, and then turn to each other in unison.

what you had in mind was more to do with preparing their meals or helping them take their equitment to their car, but their idea works too.

in the jackals changing room, they had you bend over in between them. bokuto was sloppily pounding into your pussy with his monster cock while you were leaned over just enough that you were able to suck atsumu's dick at the same time.

at first it was a very strenous position, but eventually they ended up doing all the work. your knees just about went limp as soon as bokuto jammed his full length into your wet cunt, so he had his arm hooked under your abdomen to hold you up. to the point where your feet were basically hovering milimeters above the ground.

meanwhile, atsumu kept a firm grip on your hair and ensured you were slurping up every last inch of his cock. he'd grind into your face, enthralled by the way you were forced to deepthroat him and would moan lewdly into his base, "shit! good girl." he roared in pleasure. and since he towered over you, he was easily able to lean over and plant a harsh smack on your ass, with a hearty chuckle.

bokuto watched the jiggle and with a goofy smile plastered on his face, "yeah, good girl," he repeated, landing another spank right on your other ass cheek. however, he doesn't know his own strength at times and his slap actually stung, which caused you to instinctually gasp with atsumu's cock in your mouth.

and that really seemed to do it for him.

"what a naughty slut for daddy, huh?" he gritted, cradling your chin in his hands, "tryin' to impress me or something?"

tears prick at your lashline as you gaze up at him innocently. but there's nothing innocent about the way he shoves his cock into your mouth, or the way your tits sway as bokuto thrusts manically into your pussy.

"nasty bitch.. wanna impress me?" something about the way you feign purity really turns him on though, and that's what prompts him to keep an iron hold on your hair, even as he reaches his climax. "swallow it all like a good whore." he grits with a crazed smile. groans stumble off his tongue as spurts of his hot cum lauch down your throat, and you do what your told and swallow it all, not that you're given much of a choice.

"y-yeah.. just like that. fuck yeah, drink it all up, (y/n). drink it up for daddy." he grumbles with his head tossed back in ecstasy. all the while, bokuto is still relentlesly piercing into your tight cunt, basically splitting you in half with both his pace and his length. the twitching veins of his cock rub deliciously against your spongy walls, and are sure to send you over the edge any second n—

"uh, excuse me."

hm. perhaps it was due to atsumu's obnoxiously vocal orgasm, or bokuto's loud and passionate moans, or perhaps the sheer volume of the squelching noise eminating from your soaked pussy, but none of you were able to hear sakusa approaching and entering the msby jackal changing room.

thus, he was stood awkwardly by the enterance, staring at your current circumstance.

"uh, kiyoomi.." atsumu heaves, trying to focus his eyes after the post-orgasmic haze. "want to join?"

"always room for another bro." bokuto chimes in with a innocuous smile.

sakusa shuffles his feet slightly, wavering between staying and confronting the situation or just heading straight for the door like this gut wanted him to. but when he catches a glimpse of your cute face, still stuffed with atsumu's cock, and your ass in the air, grinding against bokuto's chest, that is enough to win him over.

"sure.."

[noorpersona]

Favourite Positions: Suna

Suna Rintaro was patient. Too patient.

He liked to take his time, to watch, learn, memorize—every reaction, every sharp inhale, every way your body responded to his touch. He was never in a rush. Never let his ego get ahead of him. But this?

This was new.

You were pinned beneath him, legs hooked around his waist, your body shaking as he pushed into you—deep, slow, relentless. His hands were firm against your thighs, keeping you open, keeping you exactly where he wanted. The feeling of your warmth wrapped so tight around him sent a slow, burning pleasure through his spine, but what really had him losing his mind was you.

The way your breath stuttered every time he rolled his hips. The way your nails scraped at his arms, your legs twitching as he stretched you out. The way you gasped his name like it was the only word you knew.

And then it happened.

The moment he angled his hips just right, just deep enough to press against that sweet spot—

Your breath hitched—

Your entire body tensed—

And then, you came.

Fast. Hard. Too hard.

Suna felt it, the way your walls squeezed him tight, the way your legs locked up, a choked cry breaking past your lips. The way your hands clawed at his back, searching for anything to hold onto as you shattered underneath him.

He stilled—just for a second—his sharp eyes flicking up to watch you completely fall apart beneath him.

Oh.

Oh, yeah. This was it.

A slow, wicked smirk stretched across his lips. He liked that.

"Didn’t even last a minute," he murmured, voice low, teasing, smug.

You barely registered his words, your body limp, your mind foggy with the aftershocks. But Suna wasn’t done.

He let you catch your breath for a second, his hands rubbing slow, lazy circles over your thighs. But then—

He pressed his weight into you, rolling his hips again—deeper, slower this time, dragging out the pleasure until you gasped, your body twitching from oversensitivity. And he felt it. The way you clenched involuntarily, still on edge, still sensitive.

"Oh?" His grip on your thighs tightened, his smirk deepening as his voice dipped into something darker, lower. “Still sensitive?”

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest as you whimpered, your nails digging into his arms. He was going to have fun with this.

One of his hands left your thigh, sliding up the length of your body—slow, teasing, purposeful—before wrapping around your throat, his thumb brushing over your pulse. His mouth hovered just above yours, his breath warm, teasing, his words coated in amusement.

"That was too fast, baby," he murmured, tilting his head slightly, watching your dazed expression with something like satisfaction. "Guess that means this is my new favorite."

His thumb pressed against your jaw, tilting your face up toward him. His dark, lidded gaze roamed over your features, soaking in the flush on your cheeks, the parted lips, the way your chest heaved. You were wrecked. And that made something primal twist in his stomach. He wanted to see it again.

So he moved.

Slow. Deep. Unrelenting.

The pace was different this time—no teasing, no holding back. He wanted to feel you come apart again. Wanted to feel your walls flutter around him, to watch you drown in the sensation. He wanted to chase that reaction again and again until it was burned into him.

"Too much?" he mused, his voice dripping with false innocence as his thrusts got sharper, pushing you right back toward that edge.

Your response was lost between a gasp and a moan, and Suna grinned.

"Nah, I think you can take it," he murmured. "You were made for this, weren't you?"

You barely had time to process his words before he angled his hips just right again— and that coil in your stomach snapped.

Your head tilted back, a cry tearing from your lips as pleasure flooded through you, crashing over you even harder than the first time.

Suna groaned, feeling your body clamp down around him, squeezing him so tight that his rhythm stuttered for half a second. His grip on your throat loosened, his hand sliding down to grasp at your waist instead, holding you steady as you shook beneath him.

"Fuck," he muttered, watching the way your body trembled, the way your fingers scrambled at the sheets. He let his hips slow, dragging out your high, letting you feel every second of it.

And when you finally collapsed, boneless and wrecked beyond belief, Suna pressed a kiss to your jaw, his smirk returning as he murmured—

"Yeah... definitely my favourite."

[clawsdevour]

pervy

wc: 0.5k content warning: post-timeskip, established relationship, suna x reader, smut, masturbation, not proofread.. pervy suna is the vision :3

့✿⠀ —

suna's not one to admit, unless caught red handed, that he is one heck of a pervert.

ever since you two started dating, you can't help but notice his eyes staring at you through the mirror whenever you changed in his bathroom. testing this theory, you always left a little visible crack to see if he'd be right behind the wooden border that divided the two rooms.

it was no coincidence either whenever you open your drawer to grab a new pair of undies or a bra to put on and see them out of order.. what a perv. always, you can't help but set up these "traps" to catch suna in the act. though, you haven't caught him fully in the act, just slightly.

a few days ago you slept over, and maybe left all your dirty clothes at his place to which he'd do the laundry for. heading over, you thought it'd be nice to help suna with the laundry since you should probably also take your stranded pieces of clothing home as well instead of just leaving it somewhere at his place.

whenever you came over, you never bothered to message him since you have his location. a tap away, is how you'll know suna's home, and of course he was.

using the spare key he gave you, you quietly turn the knob to do a sneak attack to surprise him. though, walking in, it was pitch silent. not a word, a sound. the lights were all off. you're thinking to yourself, something's weird, maybe he's still asleep since it's still early?

dropping your stuff on the couch, you walk to suna's room. at the door is when your ears start to pick up on something. though, it wasn't very audible. pressing your ear on the cold door, squeezing your eyes shut trying to focus on the sound.

okay well.. suna's definitely awake right?

biting your lip as you focused even harder, suna's groaning... and calling out for you? was he having a nightmare?

well shit, i gotta do something if he's having a nightmare.

putting a hand on his doorknob, you slowly and quietly twisted it to ensure he was napping. however, he wasn't… well, suna was rather engrossed in his own little hobby that made all the noise.

the moment you saw was the moment the door squeaked and caught suna's attention. making eye contacted as you both your eyes widened in shock, you slam the door shut behind you while your cheeks flush a vibrant shade of pink.

there you go, you just caught suna in his perverted acts. you saw him sitting on his bed using your panties from the other night to help get him off. his t-shirt was held up using his teeth while he skillfully thrusted his cock up and down his grip that surrounded your panties that were damp with his essence.

his brows were so furrowed at the thought of you, pretending his hand was your warm and tight cunt that wrapped around his length. a sheen layer of sweat covered the top of his forehead while it creased to the of pleasure spread upon his skin. his slender eyes were shut so tight the moment he was about to reach his climax till he heard the door squeak open.

maybe you should help suna out.

masterlist here

[rosierin]

heat of the moment | atsumu miya

synopsis; it started with a massage. she’d had a long day, he offered, and she didn’t think twice. but then his hands slip under her shirt, his hands slowed, and suddenly they’re somewhere they were never meant to be.

warning; very suggestive!!! mature content

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

The apartment was dark when she stepped in—just the faint glow of the hallway lamp left on, humming gently against the silence. The scent of fresh linen and something faintly sweet lingered in the air, a comfort she didn’t know she’d been craving.

Her shoes hit the wall with a dull thud as she kicked them off with little ceremony, limbs dragging like she was wading through molasses. Her legs were heavy. Her spine ached like it’d forgotten how to hold her upright. And her shoulders—tight as wire, wound so high they nearly brushed her ears.

She didn’t sigh. She groaned. The kind that came from deep in her soul, coaxed out by too many hissing steam wands, clattering mugs, toddler meltdowns, and customers who still couldn’t grasp the concept of boiling water.

And of course, it had to be Free Drink Day.

More like Free Mental Breakdown Day.

They say not to cry over spilled milk, but after the third oat latte incident of the day, she was ready to weep into the mop bucket.

Her bag dropped with a final, resentful thud. She muttered something obscene under her breath and shuffled toward the living room like the ghost of capitalism’s finest victim—burnt out, steamed dry, and foamed to death.

“Rough day?” came a familiar voice—low, lazy, and way too smug for someone who didn’t just spend eight hours on their feet dealing with entitled customers who kept insisting on speaking to her manager.

She didn’t look at him, just flopped face-first onto the couch with a grunt. “Don’t speak to me, Miya.”

Soft footsteps, then:

“‘Miya,’ huh?”

She could hear the grin in his voice.

“Don’t.”

“I’m just sayin’. You only call me that when you’re feelin’ a certain way.”

“Yeah, when I'm tired, cranky, or borderline murderous."

He snorted. “You sure it ain’t somethin’ else?”

Her only reply was a muffled groan into the couch cushion.

Normally, she’d have some kind of quip locked and loaded—something dry, vaguely threatening, maybe even flirty if she was in the mood. And sometimes she did use his last name with that teasing edge, just to get a rise out of him.

But not tonight.

Tonight there was no smirk behind it. No playful undertone. No provocative lilt that made it sound like something else.

When she said Miya, she meant it. Plain and simple. No code. No joke. Just: leave me alone before I bite.

She was tired. Everything hurt. And she wasn’t in the mood for verbal sparring or Atsumu’s usual theatrics—not even a little bit.

Not tonight.

Beside her, the floor creaked.

And then she felt it—his fingers, brushing the fabric of her hoodie aside, settling gently on her shoulder.

“Let me help.”

Her head lifted slightly and—ow. Even that took a great amount of effort. “What?”

“You're all wound up,” he murmured, thumbs circling slow against the knots in her back. “Let me fix it.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but god… the way his hands were already working over her hoodie—firm, warm, grounding—it was hard to protest.

“Take this off,” he said, tapping her back.

She shot him a glare over her shoulder. Everything?

He raised his eyebrows, amused. “The hoodie.”

“…Oh.”

Still grumbling, she pulled it over her head and tossed it aside, revealing the flimsy camisole beneath. She settled back onto her stomach, cheek pressed to the couch, breath leaving her in a long exhale.

Then his hands returned—bare, strong, and unfairly skilled.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

She hated how good he was at this. How steady his palms felt against her skin. How his fingers dug in deep enough to hurt, but just enough to make her feel relaxed. Like he knew exactly where the tension lived—exactly where to press, where to drag his thumbs to unravel her piece by piece.

“You’ve done this before,” she muttered, face still buried in the couch.

“Mmhm.”

“Who?”

“Not important.”

That annoyed her more than it should’ve. But the way his hands pressed into her lower back, dragging down, circling, gripping—god, it was hard to stay mad when her brain was slowly turning to soup.

A breath she hadn’t realized she was holding left her in a soft sigh.

“You know,” he said casually, “there’s a dangerous amount of trust involved in lettin’ me touch ya like this.”

“Don’t ruin it,” she mumbled.

“M’not. Just sayin’. One minute I’m bein’ nice and helpful, the next…”

She didn't let him finish his sentence.

“Atsumu?”

“Yeah?”

“Be quiet.”

He laughed—quiet, smug—and kept going, kneading along the tight lines of her shoulders, down the dip of her spine, slow enough to make her toes curl.

The kind of slow that made her forget things. Like how tired she was. How annoyed she’d been walking through the door. How many hours she’d spent on her feet.

Each pass of his hands pulled her deeper into the couch, deeper into herself. Her thoughts blurred into a soft haze. And for a moment, it didn’t feel suggestive or flirty or like something to overthink.

It just felt good.

Safe. Easy. Blissful.

Until he shifted.

Straddled her hips.

The weight of him was gentle, careful—not overwhelming. But it still took her by surprise.

“Wh—what are you—?”

“Better angle,” he said, offhand. Like it was nothing.

Somehow, it wasn’t very convincing.

His hands returned, slipping beneath her shirt. The change in temperature made her shiver, but his palms were warm—gliding lazy, deliberate lines along the soft skin of her back. Steady. Measured. Too measured. Like he was focusing too hard on not making it something else.

“You’re tense here,” he murmured, thumbs pressing slow circles just beneath her shoulder blades.

That’s when she heard it. The dip in his voice—the subtle, sultry shift she’d learned to recognize. Rare, but unmistakable. The tone he only used when his thoughts wandered somewhere they shouldn’t. The kind that meant trouble.

(Y/n) tried not to react. Tried not to read into it—keep it casual. But her skin was too aware of his hands. Her breath, too shallow. Her thoughts, not nearly as neutral as she wanted them to be.

“Mhmm,” she hummed, noncommittal. A deflection. Weak, but it was all she had.

His thumbs slid lower.

“And here.”

His fingers fanned at her waist, dragging down her sides with a softness that didn’t feel so clinical anymore. It felt…curious. Attentive. Too much like a question.

Her breath caught. Not loud. Just a flicker—a stutter of air through parted lips. But he caught it. Of course he did.

He chuckled—low, quiet, maddeningly pleased.

“I can feel your heart racin’, y’know.”

She didn’t answer right away. It was difficult to when she was now hyperaware of every point of contact.

“I’m—tired,” she mumbled weakly. “...Not turned on.”

A pause.

Then—

“Liar.”

It wasn’t a tease. Not really. Barely a whisper, but it landed like a spark to dry leaves.

(Y/n) stiffened. Her brain scrambled for something—logic, protest, retreat—but her body had already gone still. Listening. Waiting.

Because suddenly, the room felt smaller.

The couch felt warmer.

The line between playful bickering and something dangerous blurring far too fast.

And Atsumu—still perched on her hips, hands firm and steady at her waist—felt like something more than a friend doing her a favour.

His hands never stopped moving in those slow, rhythmic circles. Not rushed. Not forceful. But no longer innocent, either.

And then—he moved.

Just a small shift of his hips. Barely there. But it was unmistakable.

Intentional.

She sucked in a breath. Her body tightened instinctively, unsure, unprepared—but she didn’t pull away. Not yet.

Atsumu exhaled—quiet, shaky, like he hadn’t meant to do it in the first place. Like her reaction had knocked something loose in him.

“Shit,” he muttered, almost to himself.

He rocked his hips again—slower this time. More tentative. Deeper. Lower.

Her lips parted.

She didn’t mean to make a sound, but it slipped out anyway—a soft little breath, something between a sigh and a gasp, too quiet for full embarrassment but loud enough that he heard it.

Felt it.

His hands tightened at her waist.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he breathed, voice frayed and mildly stunned. “You keep makin’ noises like that and I’m gonna lose every bit of sense I’ve got left.”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because somewhere between the first touch and now, her resistance had started to unravel. Not all at once. Just enough to let him in.

Her body betrayed her—arching, pliant, already so far gone.

Her eyes were shut tight, pulse hammering in her throat as he ground against her again—slow, controlled, like he was savouring every second of it.

“You feel that?” he murmured, hips moving just enough to make her thighs tense. “That’s what you do to me. You come home all tired and soft and whiny and y'expect me to behave?"

He leaned down, mouth at her neck, hot breath tickling her skin.

“All those little sounds you’re makin’. The way you're meltin' under my hands. You gotta know what you’re doin’ to me.”

Another roll of his hips—harder this time.

Her mouth opened.

A sound escaped her—quiet, shamefully honest. Just enough to make his breath catch this time.

He stilled.

Then groaned. “Jesus.”

Something cracked open after that.

He braced himself over her—slow and heavy—elbows caging her in, breath rasping as his hips ground down again, rougher now, less restrained. Over and over.

His mouth brushed her shoulder blade—hot and barely contained—and then he kissed her there. Once. Then again. Then a third time, slower now, lips dragging over her skin like he couldn’t help it.

(Y/n)’s eyes squeezed shut.

And that’s when it hit her—really hit her. The weight of his body. The heat of his skin. The way his hips pressed into hers like it was instinct, and the way her body arched into him like it had a will of its own.

Her mind screamed at her to push him off. To tell him to stop.

This was too much.

Too intense. Too close.

They didn’t do this.

This wasn’t banter. This wasn’t teasing. This wasn’t some flirty game they’d forget by morning.

This was heat. This was need.

This was her—on her stomach, panting into the couch cushion—while Atsumu Miya kissed down her spine like he was about to lose his goddamn mind.

She should’ve told him to stop.

But she didn’t. Couldn't. Not when her every nerve in her body was screaming for his touch.

“Atsumu,” she breathed.

His movements stuttered—just a fraction. One word. Just his name.

But fuck—did that turn him on.

He groaned softly into her skin, hips still locked against hers, grinding like he needed the friction. Like it physically hurt not to move.

“...What are you doing?” she managed, voice hoarse, thin with disbelief.

“Losin' it,” he whispered, like it wasn’t obvious.

His hand slid up her back, fingers tangling in her hair—then tugged. Lightly. Just enough to lift her face from the cushions, just enough to bare the sound that slipped out of her—something between a wince and a moan, sharp and breathy.

His mouth found her shoulder again—open-mouthed this time, breath hot, tongue brushing slowly over her skin like he was trying to memorize the way she tasted.

“I shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he muttered, more to himself than her, like he was trying to convince his body to back off.

He didn’t.

And she didn’t stop him.

Her fingers dug into the cushion. Her breath caught in her throat. Her body burned in places she didn’t know could ache like this.

Every roll of his hips sent a shockwave through her spine, and every kiss on her skin made her forget why this was a bad idea in the first place.

She felt his breath by her ear.

Felt the restraint in the way his hand clenched at her waist, like he was holding himself together with threads.

And then his mouth was at her neck—warm, open, hungry—before his teeth sank in just enough to make her gasp.

He exhaled hard, barely catching himself as he pressed his forehead to her shoulder, like he needed the anchor—like staying close was the only way to keep from falling apart completely.

“You’re lettin’ me,” he said hoarsely, disbelief threaded between his words. “You’re not tellin’ me to stop.”

She didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Because if she spoke, she’d confess something they couldn’t take back.

And maybe he knew that—because his hand slid from her hair, tracing along her cheek before curling around her jaw. Gentle, but firm. He tilted her face toward him, made her look at him.

And god, he looked ruined.

Eyes blown wide. Lips parted and pink. Expression completely wrecked.

And still, he moved.

Hard. Needy.

Her moan slipped out—quiet, involuntary, the kind that tore straight from her chest.

It was all he needed.

“Fuck, baby—” he breathed, voice shredded and barely holding together. His hips stuttered, movements turning messy, desperate—like he couldn’t slow down even if he tried.

His mouth found her skin again. Kissed whatever he could reach. Sloppy. Starved. Every kiss less precise than the last.

He was close.

Too close.

A deep, broken sound tore from his throat as his hand locked tighter at her waist—his other still cupping her jaw like he needed to see her. And for one breathless, blinding second, the world narrowed to this:

Heat.

Friction.

Sweat.

His hips snapped into hers, too drunk on her to stop. Like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

They were right at the edge of something they weren’t supposed to reach.

So close to—

CRASH.

A loud, metallic clang. Something hit the floor in the kitchen.

They both froze. (Y/n) almost whined.

A beat of stunned silence—

Then:

“For fuck's sake—My ramen!”

Suna’s voice cut through the moment like a slap.

A second later—

“YOU’RE CLEANIN’ THAT!”

Osamu’s voice, furious and far too loud.

Just like that, the spell shattered.

Atsumu collapsed onto her back with a guttural groan, his entire weight slumping down like the wind had been knocked out of him.

“…I’m gonna kill 'im.”

(Y/n) didn’t move. Just whimpered into the cushion. “...Why are they like this?"

He slid off her slowly, like he wasn’t sure how his limbs worked anymore. His breath was still uneven, his cheeks flushed. He flopped onto the floor beside the couch like he’d just fought for his life.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

A long, awful silence stretched between them.

Her heart still pounded in her chest like it hadn’t gotten the memo.

Then—

“…Three more seconds and I'd have bust.”

She blinked. Then let out a broken, exhausted snort. “Miya.”

He covered his face with both hands and dragged them down his face. “Don’t say my name like that right now.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Bonus:

The next morning...

The apartment smelled like eggs and impending doom.

(Y/n) sat stiffly at the dining table, fingers curled around her mug like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. She hadn’t spoken more than four words since she entered the kitchen. Not because she was mad. Not because she was tired.

Because Atsumu was in the room.

Leaning against the counter.

Hair messy. Shirt slightly wrinkled. Cheeks still flushed from whatever godless dreams he probably had last night. Arms crossed over his chest like they hadn't just been gripping her hips twelve hours ago while whispering pure filth and sin into her shoulder blades.

She took a long sip of coffee.

Don’t look at him. Don’t think about it. Don’t clench your thighs.

“You’re bein’ real quiet this mornin’,” Osamu said, setting down a plate of toast in front of her.

She blinked. “Hmm? No, I’m fine. Just a bit tired is all."

Suna, across the table, didn’t look up from his phone.

“Someone’s tense,” he muttered. “Again.”

Her soul left her body.

“I’m not tense,” she snapped a little too fast.

Atsumu made a small choking sound behind her. She didn’t turn around.

Osamu raised an eyebrow, glancing between them. “Did you two fight or somethin’?”

“No,” she said.

“No,” Atsumu echoed.

Osamu squinted. “Weird. Yer both lookin' a lil guilty."

Suna finally looked up, eyes slow and calculating. “Did something happen?”

“No,” she said quickly.

“Nah,” Atsumu added, voice a little too casual.

A long silence.

Suna’s eyes narrowed. “Y’know, the couch is looking kinda... dented this morning.”

(Y/n) stared at her mug. “Rin, please stop speaking.”

“And there was a hoodie on the floor. Yours, I think,” Suna added.

Osamu frowned. “Weren’t you wearin’ that last night?”

Suna turned fully in his seat. “Don’t tell me.” Seconds passed. Then—

“No way. Did you guys fu—”

Atsumu broke into the broadest grin.

(Y/n) turned bright red.

“NO!”

Osamu almost spit out his orange juice.

Suna's jaw actually went slack. “Holy shit.”

Osamu looked offended. “On the couch? Seriously?!”

Atsumu leaned forward, elbows on the counter, smirk straight out of a rated-R movie. “All I’m sayin’ is… ya leave a man alone with a pretty girl complainin’ about her back and—”

“It was JUST a massage!” (y/n) yelled, utterly mortified.

The room went silent.

Suna slowly pushed his plate away, crinkling his nose.

Osamu looked like he needed years worth of therapy. “I eat on that couch.”

"Okay," she blurted, pushing her chair back with the grace of a dying goose. "I’m going back to bed. None of you speak to me.”

“You didn’t finish your toast,” Suna called.

“You didn’t finish your massage, either,” Atsumu added.

(Y/n) stormed off, narrowly missing the doorframe on the way out.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Her door slammed shut.

Her body hit the mattress.

Her soul left her body.

She face-planted into her pillow with a strangled groan—the same noise people make when they think they’ve beaten a final boss, only for it to regenerate full health and announce a hidden phase two.

Her brain felt like the scrambled eggs she'd left behind.

Because it was replaying everything—every. single. second.

The massage.

The way his fingers dug into her back like he knew where she was most vulnerable.

The phantom warmth of his hands still lingered on her skin, like her body couldn’t quite let go of his touch. And the weight of him—solid, hot, heavy—still pressed against the back of her hips like muscle memory. Like her body remembered what her mind was trying to erase.

His mouth on her shoulders, her neck.

His voice—needy, breathless—almost desperate.

Her whole body flushed so violently she was surprised she hadn’t burst into flames on the spot.

What the hell was that?!

They didn’t do that. They never did that. Sure, Atsumu flirted—he flirted with everyone. She was used to it. Used to rolling her eyes and brushing it off, calling him insufferable while secretly liking the attention.

But this?

This was not harmless.

This was him, grinding into her like he was trying to memorize the shape of her body. This was her, moaning into a cushion like she was part of some kinky romance novel. This was—

“I should’ve pushed him off,” she muttered into the pillow.

But she didn’t.

She let it happen.

Worse—she wanted it to happen.

Oh my god.

The doorframe she almost walked into? Deserved.

The toast she didn’t eat? Deserved.

The ghost of his voice still echoing in her ears, haunting her?

Absolutely deserved.

She flopped onto her back, stared at the ceiling, and whispered:

“What have I done."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Meanwhile in the kitchen...

Atsumu wasn’t proud of himself.

Okay, maybe a little. But also not really. Not when Suna was staring at him like he was one word away from committing a crime, and Osamu looked ready to throw up in the sink.

“You touched her where?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I already told ya,” he said, sinking deeper into the kitchen chair. “It was a massage. She was tired. I was bein’ helpful.”

“Helpful?” Osamu echoed, crossing his arms, his expression somewhere between offended and utterly gobsmacked. Probably both.

Atsumu winced. Yeah, maybe that hadn’t been the best word.

“What happened to runnin’ her a bath? Or—I dunno—cookin' her dinner like a normal person?”

Atsumu just shrugged.

Not defensively. Not exactly confident, either.

Just that lazy, noncommittal lift of his shoulders—the kind he pulled when he didn’t have a good answer and hoped no one would call him out for it. Sheepish. A little guilty. Mostly trying not to squirm under the look Osamu was giving him.

Suna, meanwhile, hadn’t blinked once. Didn’t even flinch. Just stared at him, jaw tight. “You’re genuinely insane.”

Atsumu threw his arms up. “Whaaat? (Y/n) didn't seem to mind."

Osamu made a noise. Something resigned, possibly a little traumatised.

“Keep it to yourself,” Suna muttered, voice low, sharp.

“You asked!” Atsumu protested, slouching into the kitchen chair like he was halfway through a trial he was absolutely guilty of. “It wasn’t supposed to go that far.”

“But it did,” Osamu snapped, gesturing dramatically. “On the couch. Where I eat.”

That earned him a grimace. “Okay, ya don’t gotta say it like that.”

He slouched further. Rested his chin in one hand. “It wasn’t even a thing. She came home all cranky and— I dunno. I just wanted to make 'er feel better.”

That was the truth, wasn’t it? At the time, it was innocent. Mostly. He hadn’t planned to grind on her like a man starved.

But then she'd moaned, and the rest was history.

“Right,” Suna said, and something in his voice made Atsumu look up.

The usual flat deadpan wasn’t there. Something sharper had taken its place.

“Are you sure she was okay with it?” Suna asked, meeting his eyes at last. “She didn’t look like she was in a good mood this morning.”

Atsumu blinked. His heart stumbled over itself.

“What? She’s probably just—embarrassed,” he said, a little too quickly. Then, bristling, “Are you sayin’ I did somethin’ she didn’t want?”

Suna didn’t back down. “No. I’m saying you didn't think." A beat passed. "'Least not with your head."

The kitchen got quiet. That kind of quiet that made Atsumu want to throw something just to fill it.

His nostrils flared. He straightened in his seat, bracing his hands on the table like he was ready to stand.

Suna just stared.

Unflinching.

Judging.

Calm and lethal as always.

And yeah, okay, maybe Atsumu hadn’t thought it through. Maybe he had gotten carried away. But he wasn’t some creep.

“She didn’t stop me,” he muttered, then immediately winced because wow, what a terrible sentence.

Osamu, to his credit, jumped in before the stare-down turned into an actual fight. “Alright, both of ya, enough.” He slapped a palm to Atsumu’s shoulder, forcing him back down when he’d started to rise. “I’m sure (y/n)’s fine. She probably is just embarrassed. But, 'Tsumu—” He gave his brother a look. “Make sure ya check in on 'er."

The tension thinned. Barely.

Atsumu slumped back into his chair.

But he never looked away, still locked in a silent death stare with Suna, waiting for someone to blink first.

Osamu rolled his eyes and went back to his breakfast.

But the words were already climbing up Atsumu's throat, too big to keep inside.

“…She moaned.”

Osamu’s fork hit his plate with a clink.

"Please," he groaned, covering his ears. “Spare me.”

“I’m not makin’ it up!” Atsumu insisted, leaning forward like this was somehow a defence. “I wasn’t even doin’ that much and she—" He cut himself off, then added in a desperate whisper, “She was movin’ with me, so she definitely—”

“Atsumu.” Suna’s voice was cold. Firm. “We get it.”

Atsumu’s mouth snapped shut. His ears burned. God, he sounded like a perv.

Osamu exhaled slowly, like his brain had just rebooted. Then, against all odds, he snorted. Covered his face, elbows braced on the table, but that stupid grin was peeking through his fingers.

“What is wrong with you guys?”

Atsumu stared at his cereal. Suddenly way too aware of how pathetic he must’ve looked, sitting here like a kicked puppy, talking about a moan like it was a Nobel Prize.

Still… his lips twitched.

“...What?” he said, trying for innocent. It came out boyish.

Osamu didn’t even look at him. “Nothin’,” he muttered, voice muffled and lowkey judgmental.

Suna shook his head and pulled out his phone. “You’re the horniest person I know."

Atsumu sighed.

Ran both hands through his hair.

And smirked.

Guilty as charged.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The kitchen was quiet.

Dim, too—lit only by the under-light above the stove, casting everything in a sleepy haze. It was late. Past midnight, maybe. She’d lost track of time after her shower, after the world stopped spinning quite so fast.

(Y/n) padded in with socked feet, her damp hair sticking to the back of her neck, water bottle loose in her grip. She wasn’t even thirsty. She’d just needed somewhere to be that wasn’t her room. Somewhere her thoughts wouldn’t chase her down and pin her to the bed like they’d been trying to do all evening.

The massage.

The weight of him.

The way her hips moved.

The sound she made.

God.

She opened the fridge just to cool her face against the blast of cold air. Stood there a moment longer than necessary, trying to freeze the memory out of her skin.

She stared at the contents without really seeing them.

If she was lucky, she could grab a drink and slink back upstairs before anyone—

The floor creaked behind her.

She knew that creak. Recognised the rhythm of those lazy footsteps.

Atsumu.

Of course.

She didn’t turn. Just shut the fridge, hugging the bottle to her chest like it could absorb the flush threatening to rise to her face.

“Hey.”

His voice was quieter than usual.

Not cocky, not teasing, but... soft.

Her heart stuttered.

She braced herself, then glanced up at him. “Hey, ‘Tsum.”

He looked like he’d come down for something too, but now he was just… standing there. In his sweatpants, hair mussed from his pillow, rubbing at the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure what to say.

Her chest tightened. It was impossible to ignore it.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked.

“Somethin’ like that.” He shrugged, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Figured I’d grab somethin’ to drink. But…” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck again, “…guess ya beat me to it.”

She gave a breath of a laugh, barely there. “Sorry. I was just... thinking.”

A beat of silence stretched between them.

He hummed, mulling over his next words, like he wasn’t sure if now was the best time to ask—but he did anyway.

“You okay?”

(Y/n) blinked.

The question was soft. Careful. And completely sincere.

It disarmed her more than it should have.

She opened her mouth—then shut it. Swallowed. “Mhmm. I'm okay.”

Atsumu nodded, but didn’t move. Didn’t turn back around like he meant to leave. Instead, he stepped a little closer, resting one hand against the counter, glancing down at her.

“How’s your back?” he asked, lips quirking slightly.

That earned a glare. She stood up, arms folding over her chest, suddenly too aware of how warm the kitchen was. "Very funny."

He almost smiled again—but this time, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She was dodging. That much was obvious.

And he hated that he almost let her.

“What? Too soon?” he offered, like the teasing might lighten things again.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Ya love it, really,” he shot back—without thinking, without blinking. It was one of those lines. One of his lines. Something he said all the time, to her, to anyone, usually with a smirk and no consequences.

It rolled off the tongue like second nature. Easy as breathing.

But this time… it landed different.

Because her face changed.

She looked down at her water bottle, fingers tightening around the cap. Her smile—if it could even be called that—faded. Not annoyed. Not offended. Just... gone.

And for the first time, Atsumu regretted saying it.

He felt the air shift. He took a breath.

“…Listen,” he said, more seriously now, his voice low and laced with hesitation. “About… y’know. The other night.”

She stiffened.

And he noticed.

“I shouldn’t have—uh, gotten so carried away,” he added, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to make things weird. I was just—”

“—It’s okay,” she cut in, too fast.

He blinked.

She still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s fine, 'Tsumu. Let’s just… pretend it didn’t happen, okay?”

His heart stuttered.

Pretend it didn’t happen?

He watched her closely. She was fiddling with the bottle cap now, like it was the most interesting thing in the room. Her expression guarded. Tight.

She was embarrassed.

Not because he crossed a line—he was sure of that—but because she didn’t know what to do with what happened. Because she let it happen, and maybe, just maybe, she regretted it a little.

And that stung him a little.

“Really?” he asked, careful.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Like. It was a one-time thing. Heat of the moment. Whatever.” She waved a hand in the air vaguely. “Let’s just never bring it up again.”

A one-time thing?

He tilted his head, slowly. “…Never?”

She looked at him then. Briefly. But it was enough.

“Never,” she confirmed. Then, a little firmer: “Forget it ever happened.”

He paused.

“…Even the part where you—”

“Yes.” Her cheeks flared. “Especially that part.”

There was something so sharp and exasperated in her voice that he couldn’t help it—he pressed his lips together, biting back a laugh. “Ya sure? ‘Cause I think about it like… hourly.”

“I swear to god—”

“Alright, alright.” He looked at her a second longer than he should’ve, hands held up in surrender, then forced a grin. “Forgettin’ it. Totally gone. Brain wiped.”

He paused. Tilted his head.

Then, dryly: “…What were we talkin’ about again?”

She groaned, but her mouth twitched too. Just a little.

And he'd have been blind to miss it.

The way she tucked her hair behind her ear, how her shoulders finally relaxed. He wouldn’t push. Not tonight. But he also wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t feel it—didn’t want it.

He cared. More than she probably realised.

And if forgetting it made her feel safer, more in control… then fine.

He’d let her forget.

For now.

[millenialfanfictionaddiction]

Being Their Pregnant Partner Featuring

Kita, Suna and Akaashi

Kita Shinsuke x Pregnant Reader; Suna Rintaro x Pregnant Reader; Akaashi Keiji x Pregnant Reader

Warnings: fluff

AN: and again : D

Kita

The beautiful sight of his fields at sunset were nothing compared to your gorgeous, full figure walking towards him with a basket full of food. He stopped his work, gathering up his equipment before making his way to you at the edge of the field.

“I thought you were suppose to be resting dear,” he asked you, smirk across his face as you scowled back at him.

“Well, you’ve barred me from field work so I guess the only thing I can do now is make you food and laze about the house, which I might add, is boring!”

Kita knew you’d have a hard time with the end of your pregnancy and with getting the required rest the doctor had ordered for you. At first, he tried everything to get you to just take one nap a day to rest and relax. Eventually he gave up on his quest and let nature take its course. Now that you were 8 months, your body essentially forced you to take a break which you absolutely hated.

“Why don’t you work on your knitting? You always complain you never had time for that when you worked the rice fields with me,” Kita suggested as you sighed.

“Well now that I have time I don’t want to do that, I want to work!”

You’re pout drove Kita insane but he knew there was little he could do to help you at this point. You absolutely were not allowed to help him in the fields but maybe there was something else you could do.

“Hey what about helping with packaging? You know that’s something you can sit and do,” he declared, waiting your response.

“I guess,” you groaned, admitting defeat, “I guess it’s better than nothing.”

Kita smiled, kissing your forehead and you both sat down to enjoy your food.

Suna

Suna couldn’t help but laugh at the sight before him. There you were, on the floor covered in paint as you tried to maneuver the piece of baby furniture you were painting.

“Hey Rin!” You spoke, face and hands completely covered in green paint as you continued to happily paint ground edges with great detail.

Suna wasn’t sure how you managed to be so careful with painting the dress or yet so messy with yourself

“Babe, I told you I’d help you tonight when I got home from practice,” Suna laughed, coming over to you to help you get off the floor in your extremely pregnant state.

He held out his hands as you gripped them, pulling yourself up and into his arms. You giggled as your painted body touched his and his EJP hoodie, making the colors now yellow, black, white and green.

“Good thing I got like 50 more of these in my closet,” he joked as you smiled

“You mean in my closet, I borrowed at least 10.”

Suna just chuckled, thinking how lucky he was to have such an amazing and wonderful partner.

Akaashi

“You’ve been working on that article all night babe, don’t you think it’s time you take a break?” You interrupted, bringing in a cup of tea and some late night snacks for your husband who had been working all day.

“It’s not an article love, it’s a letter your baby,” Akaashi answered as you stopped, eyes shifting to him as you set the tea down.

“A letter to the baby? May I ask what it’s about?”

Akaashi shrugged, “well it’s kind of about how you and I met and how our lives were before baby.”

Tears welled up in your eyes at your husbands thoughtful gesture. Akaashi noticed the tears, getting up and hugging you tightly as you sobbed in his arms.

“T-that’s got-got to be the cu-cutest thing I’ve e-ever heard Keiji,” you bellowed as Keiji just chuckled, consoling you, one hand on your back and one on your belly.

[piftamere]

something real (wc : 1.4k)

secret santa fic for @eussstasss as part of the hq x reader secret santa by @/lale-txt, i hope you'll like it! i had fun writing it <3

synopsis : she asks her dear best friend, Suna Rintarou, to accompany her to her family Christmas party as her pretend boyfriend, too embarrassed to go alone another year. no ulterior motives.

content : suna rintarou x f!reader, fake dating, friends to lovers, fluff

divider by @nectardaddy

Year after year, the questions were the same.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Are you still single?"

"Are you ever going to bring someone home to your family?"

And every time she had to disappoint them, forcing a smile as she replied she wasn’t seeing anyone. She could see their own smiles drop and their faith in her weaken.

This year, she couldn’t take it anymore. Something snapped. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out that she'd have someone accompany her to the family Christmas party.

The moment the lie left her lips, she wanted to take it back, but it was too late. Relief washed over her parents’ faces, her mother rushing to the phone to give her grandmother the big news.

She couldn’t shatter their happiness now, not when she’d seen how much it meant to them.

A few weeks later, she was slumped over her best-friend's couch, face buried in a pillow.

"I still haven’t found anyone," she whined, her voice muffled as she groaned in frustration. "It’s tomorrow."

Suna leaned against the armrest, amused. ''You sure you tried everything?"

"Yes, everything."

"And now you’re giving up?"

"Yup." She replied, defeated.

"So… no Christmas?"

"Nope."

As she was blocking out the mocking snicker Suna was making, an idea struck her. A desperate, ridiculous idea. She turned her head just enough to look at him, eyes pleading, peaking over the pillow.

"Wait…" she began hesitantly. She sat up, clutching his arm. "Do me this one favor. I’ll owe you forever. Please."

He raised an eyebrow, almost sure he knew what she meant, his lips stretched into a mischievous grin. "What?" He wanted to hear her say it.

"Be my fake boyfriend. Please."

"Why not just tell them you broke up with your imaginary boyfriend?"

She groaned again, burying her face in his sleeve. "I can’t. I can’t deal with the pity stares or them thinking i made it up. Please Rin, pretty please."

He wanted to reply that technically, she did make it up, but her desperation must have struck a chord because, after a beat of silence, he sighed, "Fine."

If she’d had more time to think it through, maybe she’d have asked why he agreed so quickly. Maybe she’d have wondered about that smirk on his face. But with the clock ticking, she ignored the signs.

She was going to regret this.

The next day, they were standing on the doorstep of her childhood home, a freshly bought pie in her hands. She glanced at the front door, now having second thoughts, her stomach tying itself into knots.

As Suna reached for the doorbell, he suddenly paused, his lips letting out a mischievous chuckle. "Wait a sec," he said, stepping closer.

She shot him a curious look. "What are you doing?"

Without answering, he slipped his arm casually around her waist, pulling her snug against him. She flinched, nearly dropping the pie.

"Relax," he said with a playful wink, his smirk slightly infuriating. "We have to sell it, you know?"

His hand rested comfortably on her hip, like it was the most casual thing ever. She swore she could feel the warmth of his touch burn her skin through the thick fabric of her coat.

Her cheeks flushed, both from embarrassment and the sudden realization of how committed he was to the whole thing. "You’re enjoying this way too much," she muttered under her breath.

"You begged me for this, remember?", Suna replied nonchalantly, reaching for the doorbell with his free hand.

Before she could respond, the door swung open, revealing her mother who practically dragged them inside.

It felt surprisingly good to walk around the house, introducing her "boyfriend" to her relatives. The warm smiles, the approving nods and whispers. She'd almost fall for the act herself.

If only she could ignore the strange, fluttery feeling settling in her stomach every time she looked at him.

At dinner, he played his part a little too well. In the name of being believable, his hand lingered on hers as it rested on the table. She had a hard time getting used to the soft squeeze of his fingers when he leaned back in his chair, cracked a joke with her father or complimented her mother's cooking. She blinked, taken aback by how effortlessly he seemed to fit into her family, like he’d been part of it all along.

She caught herself stealing glances at him, feeling peculiarly shy at this unfamiliar, charming side of him.

After dinner, they gathered around the Christmas tree to exchange gifts. The soft glow of the lights, the scent of pine in the air and the laughter of her family made this moment feel all too real.

Suna turned to her, a small, neatly wrapped box in his hand. She wasn't expecting this. How had he found the time to buy her a gift? She was trying not to read into it.

"Here," he said casually, holding it out to her.

"You got me something?"

"Of course. I’m your boyfriend." he replied with a small grin.

Their fingers brushed as he handed it to her, and for a fleeting moment, their eyes met. Something in his gaze, something warm, playful, and maybe a little too sincere for comfort, made her heart thump loudly against her ribs.

It was becoming harder to remember this was all an act.

She tore her eyes away, focusing on unwrapping the gift in an attempt to hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. Inside was a delicate bracelet, a thin chain with a beautiful charm that shined faintly in the tree's glow.

"So? Do you like it?" He asked, watching her reaction intently. He almost sounded nervous.

She nodded, "Rin… It’s beautiful. I didn’t think-"

"That I had taste? Ouch-"

She sighed and rolled her eyes, a smile still on her lips. "That you'd go this far."

Suna leaned in, his voice dropping just enough for only her to hear. "What can I say? I’m committed to my role."

Carefully, she took it out of the box. She was struggling to put it on, when he took it from her hands.

"Allow me," he gently wrapped it around her wrist and skillfully clasped it. His touch lingered on her skin, longer than necessary, but neither of them moved.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur, but her mind was far away. Every stolen glance at him, every playful touch, only made the knot in her chest tighten even more.

A little lost in her thoughts, she found herself by the window, gazing out at the snow-covered yard as she mindlessly fidgeted with the charm on her bracelet. The calming view was a welcome distraction as she tried to untangle the mess in her mind.

"Look what we have here." Suna whispered, coming up behind her, his voice tinged with mischief.

She turned, slightly startled as her eyes followed his hand pointing to the branch of mistletoe over her head.

"Seriously?"

"I don't make the rules," Suna replied, stepping closer. He shrugged, raising his hands in defeat.

Fed up with how confident he’d been all day, she sighed and tugged firmly on his sleeve. He stumbled forward, caught completely off guard. Now impossibly close, he stared at her, wide-eyed. For the first time since they arrived at her parents’ house, he was dead silent. She couldn’t help but savor the moment of peace.

Maybe for a moment too long, because the surprise was wearing off, a playful glint returning to his eyes. "What? Lost your-"

"Oh shush." she cut him off, her voice firm. Before he could react, she leaned up and kissed him.

His lips were still, as if the shock hadn’t quite worn off. But then he kissed her back, his hand coming to rest on the side of her face. His playful demeanor becoming gentle.

When they finally parted, her cheeks burned. His usually half-lidded eyes glinted with something she couldn’t quite name, something intense, real.

A little breathless, he spoke, "You said you’d owe me forever, right?"

Her brows knit in confusion, her heart still racing. "Yes?"

His lips quirked into a small, almost shy smile. "Go out with me. For real this time."

She stared at him, her mind reeling. And as she looked back on today and their relationship, that always seemed tainted by something a little deeper than friendship, she realized the feeling gnawing at her insides since this morning wasn’t anxiety, it was hope.

And maybe it was time to stop pretending.

[struwberrii]

haikyuu boys in relationships ˚⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

here are my headcannons on how i think haikyuu boys would be in relationship (inarizaki edition :3)

characters: kita, atsumu, osamu, suna

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🦊

kita

takes such good care of you and always packs stuff for you that he knows you’ll probably forget

memorized all your favorite products and randomly buys you refills when you’re running low

helps you study (he’s better at teaching than the teacher)

not one for pda but def leaves kisses on the top of your head and cheek quickly, love language is probably acts of service or quality time

always joking about marrying you (it’s not a joke guys i think he wants to marry you)

very open with how he’s feeling/his emotions, believes communication is key

genuinely the healthiest relationship guy ever

loves to bake for you, i feel like he’d make really good bread

his grandma loves you

atsumu

stupid but in a cute way

work him up on purpose he’s so cute when he’s frustrated with you

like a puppy in love with you, like he is genuinely star struck by you

calls you beautiful/pretty/handsome 24/7

loves carrying you in his arms.

i feel like his love language would be gift giving so your bed is covered in plushies from him and he’s constantly giving you chocolates

super flirty, always keeps you blushing, but he’s also like rlly cute about it idk

osamu is tired of you guys and constantly makes fun of tsumu for being so obsessed with you

takes you on surprise dates to like aquariums or arcades

jokingly makes fun of you often

osamu

brags about you/ shows you off constantly

also obsessed with you but more nonchalant about it

cooks for you, loves inviting you over to cook with him as a date night too

love language is probably words of affirmation or quality time

his mom loves you so much

always keeps you laughing

asks you to help him studying but you guys never actually end up studying

has a 3 month tiktok streak with you

has matching bracelets or rings with you

will make flirty/bold comments then get super embarrassed and blushy

his profile picture is you and him

always talks about his goals and how he plans his future with you

forehead kisses

suna

nonchalant king

very funny and bold on text but like chill and quiet irl

that one meme where ur talking all that game thru text then get all shy in person

also teases you jokingly but if you do it back he gets really flustered really fast

loves when you touch/play with his hair

love language is probably touch or quality time

always has an arm around your shoulder

gets you snacks and walks you home everyday

knows all the coolest spots in town and takes you there late at night to stargaze

he knows everything about everyone bc he’s quiet and kind of just eavesdrops so he tells you all the drama

randomly sends pics of u he secretly takes

[kenmasssperson]

ִ ࣪𖤐. PINTEREST RECIPESִ ࣪𖤐.

ᴷᵉⁿᵐᵃ ᴷᵒᶻᵘᵐᵉ ˣ ᶠᵉᵐ!ᴿᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

Synopsis: Its a lazy sunday for Kenma and his girlfriend, so why not spend it following Pinterest recipes?

Tags: Kenma Kozume x Fem!Reader, fluff, mentions of hickeys, post timeskip.

(Inspired on a fanart i found in Pinterest but i think belongs to @hakodama5 on X)

.•°•......•°•......•°•......Ƹ̵̡⁠Ӝ̵̨̄⁠Ʒ......•°•......•°•......•°•.

Kenma's golden cat like eyes glanced down at his stained shirt almost condescendingly, with the characteristical air of indifference that seemed to cling to him.

Toothbrush still in his mouth, he rubbed his slender thumb on the fabric of the black oversized shirt he used for sleeping, but the toothpaste mark didn't bulge.

With an annoyed scrunch of his nose he let go of the black cloth he had been holding onto with just the tips of his long fingers, letting out a tired sigh and placing the toothpaste tube on the pearl white surface of the bathroom sink.

Kenma walked back to his room almost lethargically, leaning against the door frame with a cat like yawn.

"What are you doing?" He questioned lazily, his voice still husky from sleep, looking at his girlfriend laying on his bed and scrolling throught her phone.

"I'm on Pinterest" she answered, her hair messily spread across his pillows and the red marks Kenma's teeth had left the night before perfectly visible on the soft skin of her neck.

A ray of early sun had snuck in the room and it danced across her features, giving her face the kind of warm glow seemingly out of a fairytale, and Kenma thought she looked cute.

"You'll go back to your house?" He questioned. She had gotten used to this kind of questions from his part. It sounded like he was trying to get her to leave but in reality, Kenma only asked about what he cared about, and he cared about this because he wanted her to stay.

"Mm, maybe later" she said unconvinced, staring up at him, admiring how good the loose bun looked on him, the way his long big shirt clung to his slender frame and the way the sun caught on his dark hair with dyed blonde ends. She could still remember the time when the dark part of his hair was just overgrown roots and the majority of it was blond. It brought a small smile to her face everytime.

"I thought maybe we could cook or bake something...?" She asked, gazing up at Kenma with big innocent eyes that intenteded to plead with him.

Her boyfriend raised and unimpressed brow as his thumb rubbed on the stain of toothpaste of his t shirt distractedly, his voice coming out in a lazy "Nah".

She chuckled softly and stood up, stretching and yawning in a way Kenma found incredibly endearing. She slightly accomodated the mess of pillows and covers she had made of his bed just to sit on it directly after, fluttering her eyelashes at playfully as she stared at him, "Not even apple pie?" She taunted, her voice sweet and mocking.

"Not even apple pie" he confirmed, his calculative cat like eyes following her every move with laziness, "C'me here"

She pushed herself up and made her way to him, kicking to the side a pair of shoes and the shirt she had discarded last night to wear Kenma's.

His slender fingers closed on the fabric of the dark blue t-shirt he had leant her and tugged her closer once she was within reach. She didn't hesitate to wrap her arms around him, burying her face on his chest and breathing in his scent: cinnamon, green apple, a touch of vainilla and warmth.

He stared down at her with half lidded golden eyes, his expression indifferent while he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, exposing the redish mark on her neck.

His fingertips barely brushed against her skin as he traced the hickeys carefully, apreciating them. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and he leaned down until she could feel his breath fanning her neck.

His lips slowly pressed a lazy kiss to the blooming bruise, making her shiver, as he rested his head on her shoulder.

Her fingers found their way to his hair, gently playing with the loose strands of his bun.

"Maybe we can bake something..." He murmured softly into her ear, closing his eyes at the feeling of being pet, "One of those Pinterest recipes"

A bright smile formed on her face and she chuckled at the blissfull state of her lethargic boyfriend, "Really?" She teased softly.

"Mmm, really" he hummed lazily against her neck, his fingers tugging on her shirt just a bit more, "If you stay home with me"

.•°•......•°•......•°•......Ƹ̵̡⁠Ӝ̵̨̄⁠Ʒ......•°•......•°•......•°•.

Comment if you want a part two (ill probably write one anyways), but i hope you liked it!!

(it was so hard because it got completely delated and i had to re-write it so maybe some details got lost...)

[st4ringlow]

SWEET PATROL — rintarou suna

pairing; police officer!rintarou suna x fem!reader wordcount; 440 [rewritten fics]

main masterlist

the gentle purr of the engine seemed to echo your anticipation as you approached the roadblock, the late-night air carrying a sense of mystery. it was past midnight, and the streetlights bathed in everything in a soft, golden hue. there, standing resolute in his uniform, a too-familiar figure whose mere presence was a beacon of warmth in the cool night.

you rolled down the window, the night breeze caressing your face as your eyes found the fox-like one infront of you. a hint of smile played on his lips, the sternness of his duty dissolving at the sight of you.

"evening, officer," you said, your voice laced with playful affection. it was a ritual between the two of you, a secret game that added a touch of whimsy to the seriousness of his role.

"evening, ma'am," he replied, his tone steady but tinged with warmth. "license and registration, please"

you handed over the documents, your fingers lingering just a moment longer as they brushed against his. that simple touch sent a wave of warmth through you, a reminder of the deep connection you shared. "just got off work, gorgeous?" he asked, a subtle slanted smile forming on his lips.

"you know it, sir," you replied, amused tone in your voice. "how's your night going?" you asked, trying to keep your voice casual despite the concern in your eyes.

"better now that you're here," he said, his eyes softening as he glanced at the documents. "been a long night, but seeing you makes it all worth it,"

your heart fluttered at his words, the blush on your cheeks unmistakable. despite the uniform and the authority it represented, he was still the man who knew how to make your heart skip a beat with just a few words.

"cheesy. does your boss know you're flirting with ladies while on your duty?"

"im the boss, and you mean singular lady, which i chose to put a ring on," he said, before leaning into you and pecking your lips. you let out a small giggle, eyes sparkling as you bat your eyelashes to him.

"promise you'll stay safe, rin," you whispered, the weight of your emotions hanging between you.

"i promise," rintarou said, his voice filled with sincerity. "just knowing you're out there waiting for me makes all the difference,"

he handed back the documents, his fingers brushing yours once more. you saw the concern in his eyes, mirrored by your own. "now go on mrs. suna, before i get in trouble for holding up traffic."

with a reluctant nod, you rolled up the window and continued your way, a smile tugging your lips.

[okumadechan]

REPOSTING THINGS FROM TWITTER/INSTAGRAM TO CREATE A NEW PROFILE HERE!!!

[2021]

[miyasstan]

Streets are saying Haikyuu Time Skip is being animated!!!!! I am afraid of the person I'm gonna become if it happens, you better hide Mr Onigiri Miya, EJP Middle Blocker Suna Rintarou, Argentina official setter Oikawa Tooru, Brazil Hinata Shoyou and those MSBY idiots or respectfully I am omw :)

[renardiererin]

YOU SHOULD’VE COME OVER a social media au starring finance man! suna x reader !!

a one night stand always stays just one night. never a repeat in the sheets, and definitely never seeing each other again. that’s always how she’s played things. at least, it was, until she’s sneaking out of a stranger’s bedroom for a big meeting at her new job and finds herself face to face with the man she just snuck out on.

warnings: sexual allusions / suggestive content, language, substances, etc.

meet the characters

table of contents 1. bedsheets are ablaze

tags/keywords: smau, social media au, rintarou suna, rintarou suna smau, banter, tension, one night stand to ??, boss, forced proximity, close quarters, suna x f!reader, possible love triangle..?

divider by heavenurl

taglist [open!] @itsdragonius

[noorpersona]

Jealousy: Suna (NSFW)

The night had no plans. And that was the plan.

Warm lamplight painted the apartment in soft amber hues, flickering gently across a half-finished bottle of wine, socks abandoned near the doorway, and the lazy sprawl of two bodies tangled beneath a fleece blanket on the couch. Outside, the city murmured in the distance—traffic, wind, someone’s music a few blocks away. But here, the only sounds were the low thrum of a playlist you both forgot to turn off and the occasional clink of glass as you sipped.

Suna Rintarou sat at the opposite end of the couch, half-lidded eyes drifting toward the TV screen though he hadn’t looked at it in twenty minutes. One knee bent, the other foot on the floor, hoodie loose around his shoulders, collarbone peeking out where the fabric hung unevenly. His phone rested facedown on the coffee table—abandoned, for once.

You lay curled into the armrest, sipping your wine, cheek pressed into the pillow, watching him with the slow, foggy fondness of someone three glasses deep and completely content.

He looked relaxed. Comfortable. Maybe a little too smug.

"You ever get bored of being effortlessly cool?" you asked, voice low and amused.

Suna didn't even glance at you. “You ever get bored of talking out your ass?”

You smirked into your glass. “Mm. Nope.”

The silence between you was warm. Familiar. Filled with shared breath and the lazy weight of the night.

After a moment, you tapped the side of your glass with your fingernail and looked over at him, eyes half-lidded. “Wanna play something?”

Suna raised an eyebrow without moving. “Like what?”

You shrugged, smiling. “Truth or dare.”

He blinked slowly. “…What is this, a middle schooler’s basement?”

You laughed and kicked him in the thigh with your socked foot, not even hard. Just enough to say shut up.

Suna grunted on impact, shooting you a narrowed glance as his hand caught your ankle under the blanket.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said.

“You love me,” you shot back easily.

He didn’t answer—just let your leg go and leaned forward to set his glass down on the table with a soft clink.

“Fine,” he said, finally. “You first.”

The couch creaked quietly beneath you as you shifted upright, adjusting the blanket to pool at your waist. Your glass was nearly empty now, fingers curling loosely around the stem while your legs curled underneath you. Suna stayed reclined, eyes on you now with that low-burn stare—quiet, unreadable, like he was already trying to guess what you’d ask.

You toyed with the rim of your glass, lips twitching. “Okay. Truth or dare?”

His answer came without hesitation. “Truth.”

Of course. It was always truth with him. He’d rather be caught dead than do something performative, especially under your watchful, goading eye. Suna Rintarou didn’t dance for anyone—but he’d let you look inside, if only a little.

You hummed, pretending to think, even though you’d already decided. “What was your first impression of me?”

He scoffed softly, dropping his head back against the cushion and staring at the ceiling for a beat before turning his gaze lazily toward you again. “Honestly?”

“Obviously.”

“You were annoying.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Wow.”

“In a cute way,” he added with a lazy grin.

You lifted your leg and nudged his thigh again. “You’re cruising for another kick.”

“Worth it,” he muttered, taking a sip of his drink.

He set the glass aside again, arm draping along the back of the couch behind you, fingers brushing the fabric near your shoulder.

“My turn,” he said.

You met his gaze, chin raised. “Hit me.”

“Truth or dare?”

You grinned. “Truth.”

Suna’s eyes lingered on your face for a beat too long. Then: “Top three best times you’ve ever had in bed.”

You blinked. Hard.

A short laugh escaped you. “Are you—seriously?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “You asked.”

Your cheeks warmed—not from embarrassment, but from the audacity. He was leaning into the cushion now, head tilted slightly, eyes hooded, watching your reaction like he was tracking the slow spread of heat across your skin.

“Okay,” you said finally, placing your glass on the coffee table. “Fine.”

You sat back and raised three fingers.

“Number one…” you began, grinning. “That night you came home after being gone for four days? Didn’t even make it to the bedroom. You dropped your bag and practically tackled me into the wall.”

Suna made a small, satisfied sound in his throat, but didn’t interrupt.

“Number two: the kitchen. I don’t even remember what started the fight, but you shut me up pretty effectively.”

His lips twitched, the barest hint of smugness there now.

You raised your third finger—and then paused. Let the silence stretch.

“And number three,” you said, tone suddenly breezy, “was probably this one time with my ex.”

Suna didn’t react at first.

Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.

You waited.

Then he turned his head slightly, slow and measured, like processing a minor glitch in a system. His eyes dragged across your face. He looked calm. Relaxed. His arm still hung behind your shoulders.

“You’re putting someone else on that list?” he asked quietly.

You smiled, feigning innocence. “Didn’t think you’d be the jealous type.”

“I’m not,” he replied.

Then he shifted.

His legs uncrossed, knees spreading slightly as he leaned forward, forearms braced on his thighs, eyes still locked on yours.

“I’m competitive.”

You opened your mouth to respond—something flirty, maybe a little smug—but before you could speak, he was already moving.

One hand slid behind your neck, the other gripping the back of your thigh, and he pulled you forward in one fluid motion. Your knees hit either side of his hips as he dragged you into his lap, not rough, but not exactly gentle either. It was purposeful. Controlled.

You gasped softly, wine-blushed hands flying to his shoulders for balance. The heat of his body met yours in a slow burn as his mouth grazed your jaw, barely touching, the edge of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“Third place,” he murmured. “You serious?”

You opened your mouth to tease him—but he cut you off with a kiss.

It wasn’t soft.

It was deep and slow and toeing the line between affection and punishment, his tongue sliding into your mouth like it belonged there, like he was reclaiming territory he thought he already owned. One of his hands found your lower back, pressing you flush against him, your hips cradled perfectly against the slow, rising hardness beneath his sweats.

He pulled back just enough to murmur, “You said top three, right?”

Your breath hitched.

He tilted his head slightly. “Let’s make it a clean sweep.”

You never made it to the bedroom.

You didn’t even make it to your feet.

Suna laid you back against the couch with a quiet, measured ease, like he was tucking you into something soft instead of preparing to ruin you. The throw pillows shifted behind your shoulders as he moved over you, the heavy drag of his hands along your thighs lighting every nerve with anticipation.

Your shirt was still on. Your panties, around your knees. Everything else was tossed aside: the rules, the game, the ex you’d mentioned like it wouldn’t cost you everything.

His fingers gripped the backs of your knees, pushing your legs apart until you were open—displayed—for him and only him. You felt the chill of the air hit your slick skin, and then the warm press of his palms smoothing up your inner thighs like he was marking them.

You were already wet. Ridiculously so. The kind of wet that made your skin sticky and your mind hazy. He hadn’t even touched you properly and you were half gone.

Suna didn’t speak. Didn’t ask. Just lowered himself between your legs and settled in like this was his seat.

The first press of his tongue was slow. A long, deliberate drag from your entrance up to your clit, tasting you like he already knew exactly what he was about to do.

You gasped—back arching, fingers twitching against the cushions as his mouth closed around your clit, lips plush and wet, tongue circling until your thighs trembled.

He moaned, low and hungry, like you were a meal he’d waited all day for. And then he began to eat.

It wasn’t messy. It was precise. Calculated. He licked in slow, repeating patterns, pressure building perfectly with every stroke. The couch dipped under his weight as he adjusted, one hand splayed across your stomach to keep you pinned, the other trailing over your thigh with soft, absentminded affection.

Your hips tried to move—tried to chase the friction—but he held you there.

“You taste better when you beg,” he murmured into you, voice deep and quiet like it wasn’t meant to be heard. His lips never left your skin.

You whimpered, hands flying to his hair, gripping the strands like you were trying to ground yourself. You couldn’t.

Your first orgasm crept up before you could stop it—warm and relentless, your stomach tightening as he flicked the tip of his tongue over your clit in tight, practiced circles. You shook beneath him, thighs clamping instinctively, voice cracking as you gasped—

“Rin—oh my god—Rin—”

“That’s one,” he murmured.

He didn’t stop.

He pushed two fingers inside you, slow and deep, curling them up until you let out a sharp, broken moan. You were already pulsing, already drenched, and he was fucking into you with just his fingers and tongue like he had all night to unravel you.

The second orgasm hit harder.

You choked on it, the pleasure sweeping through your body in sharp, dragging waves, so intense your fingers went numb and your vision blurred. You tried to close your legs again. He held them apart, fingertips digging into your thighs like they belonged there.

“I’m not done,” he said simply.

You were crying now—soft, helpless tears slipping down your cheeks, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You didn’t know if you were begging for more or begging him to stop. Your body didn’t care. It wanted everything.

“Rin,” you whimpered. “I can’t—”

“You can.” His tongue flattened against your clit, firm and unrelenting. “I know you can.”

Your third orgasm snapped like a thread pulled taut too long. Your body shook, hips jerking off the couch, mouth open in a soundless cry. Your hands were everywhere—gripping the cushions, his hair, your own thighs—anything.

He finally pulled away, lips and chin slick with you, and looked up through his lashes like he was barely winded. His hand was still working inside you, fingers slow and deep, pressing against that soft spot that had your toes curling.

“Still thinking about him?” he asked softly.

You couldn’t speak.

Suna kissed the inside of your thigh. “Didn’t think so.”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood, shoving his sweatpants halfway down before sinking back onto the couch—grabbing your hips and hauling you down the cushions like you weighed nothing.

Your back hit the armrest, legs dangling off the edge, and he was lining himself up in seconds.

You felt the press of him at your entrance—thick, hot, already leaking—and then he pushed in.

You moaned—loudly, mouth falling open as he filled you inch by inch. He didn’t stop until he was buried to the hilt, the stretch so deep it made your whole body arch.

He stilled, breathing hard through his nose, eyes on your face.

“So tight,” he muttered. “So fucking wet. You’re shaking.”

He pulled out halfway—slammed back in.

You cried out, nails dragging down the armrest as he fucked into you, hard and deep, every thrust sending shockwaves up your spine. The couch rocked. Your body bounced. And all you could do was take it.

He found your clit again—this time with his thumb—and rubbed tight, fast circles that had your fourth orgasm snapping violently through you, your cunt clenching so hard around him he cursed under his breath.

“You gonna come again?” he murmured, hips still snapping into yours. “You gonna give me five?”

You sobbed. “Rin—yes—yes, I can’t—”

“Yeah, you can,” he whispered. “You will.”

The final orgasm came like nothing you’d ever felt.

You screamed—loud, raw, pleasure flooding every part of you. Your entire body went stiff before it collapsed, twitching, legs trembling as you came so hard your ears rang.

Suna groaned deep in his chest, fucking you through it until he came too—hips jerking, cock pulsing inside you as he filled you up with every last drop.

When he stilled, you were ruined.

Sweaty, twitching, wrecked.

He leaned over you, pressing kisses to your temple, your jaw, your cheek, as your chest rose and fell in ragged breaths.

The air smelled like sex and sweat and your perfume still clinging to his hoodie.

You didn’t move.

You couldn’t.

He kissed your shoulder once more, nuzzling into the space just below your ear, then whispered—

“So…”

A pause.

“Did I make the leaderboard?”

Your brain was mush. Your limbs were jelly. Your body was still throbbing.

And all you could do… was nod.

Suna smiled.

“Good.”

[clawsdevour]

undressed

wc: 0.2k content warning: had a thought where suna enjoys watching u get changed.., suggestive, suna x reader, not proofread

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

Suna, your husband who always enjoys the sight of you getting changed right in front of him. His narrow eyes darting up and down at your silhouette, taking in your slight curves dilating his pupils larger the more he stares. 

His teeth slowly bitting down softly on his bottom lip in lust and desire watching you attempt to unhook your bra from within his t-shirt you wore to bed. Sliding the straps off your arms through the oversized shirt, he continues to observe through his half-lidded sleepy eyes, which awoke when he felt the weight lift off the mattress.

Dropping your bra down and onto the bedside table, you let out a small yawn of drowsiness before crossing your arms to reach the bottom hem of the shirt. Fingers holding on tightly while you slowly rose the shirt up to reveal your skin to the cold crisp air. Suna’s fighting back on his lack of sleep to continue feasting at the sensual sight. 

The moment it’s off your bare shoulders, your back facing him, you can hear him shuffling in bed to inching to get closer. Looking behind you, his toned half-nude body makes its way toward you with his low, and needy grumbles. 

The moment his cold hands slithered their way onto your waist, you were immediately pulled back into his warm embrace. His hands tightening around you.

masterlist

[wordsofelie]

🏠one goodbye, a million hellos

A Phoenix and Ashes & Don’t you dare run away short story (can be read as a standalone)

Suna x f!reader

Summary: Suna is invited to the wedding of his ex. he goes there with a broken heart and leaves with a loving one.

Content warnings: alcohol consumption, non-explicit bed scene, swearings, timeskip, manga spoilers

Words count: 3.5k

Suna knew from the moment he woke up that morning, that today was going to be shitty day. First, his alarm didn’t go off—luckily, his lazy cat decided to scratch at the door, waking him up. Bleary-eyed, he noted that the noise outside was way too loud for it to be 6 a.m. That’s when he checked the time. It was 8 a.m.

He launched out of bed and stumbled as his ankle twisted slightly. He barely registered the discomfort because he simply had no time to waste. Then he checked the weather on his phone: a sunny day ahead, or so he thought. However, all he had to do was cross the threshold to realise that he’d checked the forecast for Hiroshima, not Tokyo, and that it was pouring rain in the bigger city.

The way to the gym didn’t help ease his mood. He had to wait for two overcrowded trains to pass before he could squeeze onto the third, only to watch in horror as his wallet tumbled out of his bag and skidded across the station floor. Two teenagers shot him a pitying look and smirked.

His coach made him run ten extra laps of the court as a punishment.

Anyway, it was shaping up to be the shittiest day.

Only two things can possibly redeem it now, Suna hopes: the company of his chubby, grey cat and the arrival of his long-awaited new volleyball shoes.

When he finally reaches his apartment building, he rushes to the mailbox.

Fuck, the shoes aren’t there.

He sighs heavily and sorts through the stack of mostly junk mail. There’s an ad for the new yakiniku restaurant that opened in his neighbourhood, a fan’s letter (how did they find his address?) and then, at the bottom of the mailbox, a delicate, white envelope with his name inked in familiar handwriting. Suddenly, his chest tightens. Suna feels his lungs closing, as if they can no longer inhale the breath from outside. Because, even if he wishes he could unrecall the way his ex-girlfriend used to write his name, he can’t; and the letter is from her. He doesn’t need to open the letter to know what it is. She wouldn’t use such elegant paper for him—not anymore. So, he knows, even before reading a single word, that it is an invitation to her wedding.

Her wedding to Miya Osamu.

But just in case his hunch was wrong, in case she dumped his former teammate and wants Suna back in her life, he decides to unfold the paper, carefully.

Honda Airi & Miya Osamu are pleased to invite you...

That’s enough for today.

He shoves the letter into his bag, in a harsh move. Yet somehow, he can’t bring himself to crumple or shred it to pieces for it is certainly very precious to Airi.

When he enters his apartment, he mumbles a shy “tadaima”, it’s unusual for him. He never much cared for the ritual of announcing his return, but his mother used to insist on it, so he only does it with her and his younger sister when he visits them. And Airi once complained when he didn’t. He never knew why it mattered so much to her.

“It’s just… I love having someone to say ‘okaeri’ to,” she said.

Only now does Suna understand the warmth of having someone to greet when coming home, or rather, Suna understands the coldness of having no one to go home to. Not even Peko-chan, his cat, bothers to look up at him, it doesn’t seem like that ungrateful bastard is going to come and ask for cuddles anytime soon.

He finds a single lollipop on the kitchen counter and unwraps it, it’s sweet but somehow tonight, it tastes bitter.

The letter stays in his bag for weeks. Airi tries to call him a few times, leaving messages of “hey, I was wondering if you had received a letter?”, and “tell me when you have received the invitation… I’d like to talk with you about it.” Which turned into “everyone received theirs so I don’t know if you moved out or if you’re ignoring me… anyway, please call me back.”

She sounds so worried; it makes him feel bad and so, he calls her back.

Airi seems to be thrilled when she talks about the wedding plans. There’s this spark in her voice that reminds him of everything he once loved about her. For a brief moment, he almost forgets it is supposed to hurt.

She begs him to come because “you’ve always meant a lot to me, and… I still think of you as a close friend. And Osamu’s entire team from high school is coming. It wouldn’t feel right without you there. But I understand if it makes you feel uncomfortable-”

“I’ll come.” He simply replies. Suna has always been a man of few words. He believes he hears a sigh of relief in her voice.

She thanks him one, twice, thrice, Suna pretends it is a pleasure. Which it is (because he made her happy) but also isn’t (because all the regrets he pushed aside for years suddenly resurface).

That evening, he reads the whole invitation. It is so quintessentially her—simple and graceful, the venue will be in the mountains, of course she loves the mountains. The wedding will be held in summer, near her birthday. Every detail seems to fit her perfectly, even the name next to hers, and despite the hurt and regrets, Suna Rintarou has to admit that Miya Osamu is a way better choice than himself for her; he had always been.

The day comes and Suna feels his stomach hurt when he arrives at the venue. It’s a small gathering, which only makes him more visible when he parks. He glances at the people that are already there, and takes a deep inspiration—yet, even in the calm, he can feel his pulse race. A few seconds after, he hears Atsumu tapping on his window.

“Sunarin, my man!” Atsumu’s grin is wide as ever, and Suna’s response is his usual faint smile.

Atsumu explains everything to him from what’s planned for dinner to where the restrooms are but soon after that, excuses himself to go see his brother who’s almost done getting ready.

To stay close to people who are calm and won’t ask too many questions, Suna makes his way to his senpai, Aran and Kita, and nods through conversations, pretending to be his normal self, quiet and unbothered.

Suna doesn’t remember a lot about what happened after, maybe because he was to focus on trying to make the pain in his chest go away.

But when Airi arrives, he finds her beautiful, but he also admits to himself that his heart doesn’t beat the way it used to. The man realises that it is not her that haunts him, but the regrets and the “what could have been?”. It’s the longing to have someone by his side to cherish. It’s the fact that the only true love story he had experienced ended in tears—because of him—and when he tried to fix the broken glasses, it was too late.

This goodbye will forever hurt.

By the reception, Suna attempts to control his drinking—partly because he is a professional athlete, but mostly because he fears he might say something stupid to Airi, “Could it have been us?”, he nearly asks when he bumps into her at the buffet. But instead, “I’m happy for you,” comes out.

“Thank you, Rin. It means a lot coming from you.” the hurt eases even slightly.

Still the alcohol starts blurring his mind a little bit and he turns, only to find himself spilling his drink on someone.

“Shit,” that someone says.

“Oh-sorry!” he mutters, reaching for a napkin to help.

She says nothing back, and doesn’t even look at him at first, not out of annoyance, Suna concludes, but because her attention is glued to her camera, which took the brunt of the spill (and that thing seems the hell expensive).

After a minute or so, she sighs heavily and mumbles a “thanks gods, it’s still working.” As she raises the camera, she snaps one picture of Suna.

The man raises an eyebrow, genuinely taken aback.

“I need to remember the man who almost made me lose my job.”

She grins. And Suna can finally see her whole face. She’s more radiant than a thousand suns.

“Your job?”

“Yep. Honda-san, I mean, Miya-san now, hired me to be the photograph for tonight. My shop is close to her workplace.” She says, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she extends her hand to introduce herself.

“Mmh, nice to meet you. I’m Suna.”

He’s cold. Suna knows he is, but it’s not like he can do anything about it, that’s just who he has always been. Somehow, she doesn’t seem impressed or upset by it. She simply scratches her chin and frowns.

“Are you here for the bride or the groom… Wait, let me guess. You’re pretty tall and handsome. Volleyball player, right? So, the groom’s side, I’d say.”

Suna doesn’t know how to respond to that because after all, he’s here for both.

“Actually…” He hesitates. “I was in high school with them.”

“Oh, I’m sure you were the mysterious type and cool guy all the girls had a crush on?”

Suna laughs, a short huff through his nose. “I don’t know. Were you the stalking girl who took pictures of her crush?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Did you take many pictures of me tonight?” He wheedles and crosses his arms.

“Who said I had a crush on you?”

That girl is probably smarter than he would ever be, Suna concludes and just when he’s thinking about what he can argue back, she chimes in.

“But, if you want to know, you’ll have to stop by my shop sometime.”

He’s surprised when his heart skips a beat and finds himself wanting to know more about her. They chat naturally for the next half an hour, like old friends or something close to it. She mentions Momo, her cat, a clingy, high-maintenance furball that couldn’t be more different from his laid-back pet. He shows her a photo of said pet, and she laughs about how nonchalant he looks (“like his owner” she adds). She still thinks the felines would look good together. Suna wonders if they would.

“Well, I just forgot I’m supposed to be working and I saw that dude who looks like an owl doing a backflip on the dancefloor. I think Miya-san wouldn’t want me to miss this.” She leans just an inch so that Suna is close enough now to inhale a fragment of her scent. “Guess I’ll see you around… Mister Cool Guy.”

Before he can say anything, she slips back into the crowd. Suna thinks he catches a slight blush on her ears, he smiles, and it makes his cheeks hurt.

Two weeks after, Airi calls him.

“Rin, I hate to ask, but I’m in Osaka right now, and the wedding photos are ready. Could you pick them up?”

Suna wonders if she has some sixth sense or if fate is intervening, but either way, he decides to take the chance.

When he arrives at the shop, she’s there, and the man swears he caught her smile widen when she saw him. She’s helping a young girl with some identity photos, telling her jokes, and making funny faces to get a smile from the child. The way she acts with her makes him think that she has that ability of making everyone feel at ease.

“Here for the photos?” she asks and hands him the envelope.

He takes it, but something holds him back from leaving just yet. He’s here to do his ex a favour, but as he heads toward the door, he finds himself turning around.

“What are you doing after this?”

“Nothing,” she answers, almost too quickly.

The middle blocker holds back a teethfull smile, “There’s a new yakiniku place nearby. I’ve been wanting to try it.”

“I close in twenty minutes.” She informs.

“I’ll wait,” he replies, and finally lets a rare smile break through.

The dinner’s great, they talk about everything and nothing at all. He grills the meat, she eats it while telling him about her degrees and her previous experiences working in a rigid company, why she hated it and how her boss was a butthead. Suna notes that her eyes shine when she explains how she finally followed her dreams and became a professional photographer. She asks him about his dream, impressed when she searches for his name on the internet and sees the number of followers on his public profile.

By the time they’re walking back, neither is in a rush to leave the other. Their feet drag slightly, as if it would help delay the moment they part ways.

“Next time, I’ll try the karubi,” she exclaims, nudging him.

“Next time?”

“What? Aren’t you going to take me on another date, Suna Rintarou?” She smirks, bright and clear.

Everything inside him moves and his heart aches. But this time, the feeling soothes him.

And so, he agrees to go out with her again. The dates become regular and slowly, as the days pass, fingers intertwine, soft kisses land at the corner of lips, and “i like you” are whispered under the moon.

With her, it’s never awkward, never forced. And Suna thinks that maybe he isn’t cursed to be loveless after all.

A few months later, when her apartment lease ends, they move in together. Suna, with his ever-pragmatic mind, decides they know each other well enough to make it work. She’s clumsy, messy, and can sleep till noon—he often returns from his morning run to find her still in bed, though now she tries to get up and wait for him with two steaming cups of tea. She has a tendency to comment on absurd reality shows about people fighting in a villa, and while he doesn’t admit it aloud, Suna finds an odd comfort in her quirks.

At first, her cooking is questionable, bad even, but he finds her watching YouTube tutorials on “How To Meal Prep for Athletes.” Soon, her omurice (that was a bit too burnt in the beginning), packed with olive oil for good fats, protein-rich chicken and eggs, rice for carbs, and fiber-loaded courgettes and red peppers, becomes something he actually looks forward to. Her repertoire of healthy recipes grows, and they fall into a rhythm that makes Suna feels nothing less than at home: he handles the cleaning, and she deftly manages bills and taxes.

On the weekends, they play video games and go on hikes—though never too long ones, because she stops constantly to capture everything. “You already took a picture of that flower,” he points out, and with her innocent smile, she replies, “But the light’s different now.”

She respects his boundaries, never pressures him to do things he dislikes, and doesn’t complain when his responses are short and of few words. She doesn’t make him feel bad when his training runs late. No matter what hour he comes home, she’s waiting—half asleep on the couch, two cats curled in her lap, an almost-empty packet of low-salt and 0% fat crisps by her side. He kneels before her, murmuring “tadaima,” and her eyes squint and then shine as she responds, “okaeri, my love.”

She never misses his games, always making sure to snap the best shots of him. Sometimes, she even sneaks alongside the official photographers, scolding them for not taking enough pictures of Suna.

“What a bunch of idiots…Can’t you see he’s the ace of the game?” (it got her to be kick out of the gym once).

She learns all the rules from volleyball even though she still gets confused with the rotations. One day, from where he stands on the court, Suna hears her protest when the referee whistles for a foul he made (even though it was obvious he touched the net with his chest).

In return, Suna never fails to attend her exhibitions. He strokes her hair and kisses her cheeks when she cries because “no one came” and “I’m a failure.”

He lists every reason why she’s mistaken and how she’s the most talented person in this entire universe. It makes her cry even more, but with happy tears this time. He keeps on believing that her art will be celebrated worldwide someday, but that he’ll remain the first to stand in line when queues of fans will show up to see her masterpieces.

After a hard day, he runs her a bath, (always putting a little bath bomb that smells like roses, her favourite). When he’s away for matches, he brings back mugs from every country. The shelves are now overflowing, and they had to buy a new cabinet, but she still asks him for more.

He discovers what makes her feel good, the spots on her skin that sends shivers down her spine (her upper thigh, the back of her shoulders). He learns what words make her lose her mind, what pace she enjoys most.

When he messes up, she’s never afraid to call him out. “You’re a piece of shit,” she shouts sometimes when she’s pissed at him, and they burst into laughter because they can never be mad at each other for more than fifteen minutes.

During the Paris Olympics, they explore the city for what she calls their “honeymoon” (they’re not married, not even engaged, though Suna wouldn’t mind giving her his last name, or taking hers). She photographs every single croissant they try, and even makes him pose like he’s holding up the Eiffel Tower, much to his dismay. The man grunts but does it anyway (it’s a total fail).

She jumps in his arms when Japan wins against Argentina. He almost stumbles, but happiness overwhelms him at the same time.

He meets Airi’s gaze, who came with Osamu and his parents to cheer for Atsumu. She beams at him, and he smiles back.

(After all, going to that wedding wasn’t quite a bad idea.)

And just like that, a year transforms into two and into three. His career is stable while hers flourishes.

When he turns 30, she shows him a video montage that leaves him flustered. He laughs at her for getting teary-eyed even though she’s the one who made it.

“Where did you get all these pictures of me as a kid?” he grumbles, embarrassed.

“From your mum, of course! She was happy to help.”

“To help humiliate me?” he asks, and she tries to shut him up with a quick, “I love you.” He rolls his eyes but smiles anyway.

For her birthday, he gifts her the camera she’s been dreaming of her entire life. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Please, keep taking pictures. I love them... and I love you,” he tells. She answers she could die happy.

Her first picture with the new device is, shamelessly, Suna’s “beautiful and too-hot-for-public-decency back muscles.”

“Are you taking nudes of me, darling?” He raises an eyebrow when he catches her in the act.

“But this is my favourite scenery.” She tries to explain with a pout. He lets her snap more pictures.

She heads to New York for a major exhibition where she wins an award for best nature photography. From their shared apartment in Tokyo, Suna congratulates her over the phone.

But the week drags on and her absence is painful. He craves her omurice and the low-salt crisps (which taste suspiciously like cardboard), and even finds himself calling out “tadaima” to no one at all. And it seems like, he’s not the only who feels depressed since both cats have decided to start a hunger strike because apparently what Suna feeds them doesn’t meet their standards (even Peko-chan refused the tuna he gave him.)

He looks at the photo album she made of their travels before bed. Suna is convinced that one day, their shelves will be overflowing not only with mugs but with albums (because they have many years ahead of them, many more moments to share).

He forgets what his life looked like before her, not that it matters anymore, Suna wouldn’t mind erasing every memory from his head to keep exclusively the ones with her.

She finally returns home with the award, and he picks her up from the airport (driving a little too fast and barely stopping at red lights, don’t tell her). When they step in the doorway, Suna grabs her waist and pulls her against him tightly, his face nestles in her neck.

“Rintarou…” she chuckles and grabs his hair—he loves when she does that—“I stink because of the flight, let me take a shower.”

Her cat meows to get her attention.

But Suna wants her all to himself.

“Say tadaima,” he orders, sounding like a child.

She blinks in confusion, then takes his face in her hands, planting a soft kiss on his lips. “Tadaima, my love.”

Suna wants to breathe the words, make it his oxygen. His lungs open, his whole blood is filled with an air he never felt before.

Gosh, she’s everything, he tells himself.

“Okaeri.” He responds.

They take a shower together (until the water runs cold), they order take away (burgers with an extra slice of fries), they watch her stupid reality show (Suna starts to be invested in the drama), he falls asleep on her lap, the cats join him.

That night, Suna dreams that it lasts forever.

(It will.)

author notes: if you read Phoenix and Ashes and Don’t you dare run away you know that i haven’t depicted suna as the most loving and kind human being, but what i enjoy so much about writing is that we can develop complex characters who evolve, fail, get better or worse, and make them experience life-changing events. so i really loved describing this new version of suna and make him fall in love again.

anyway a lot of talking haha when i just wanted to give sunarin a happy ending <3

i hope you enjoyed reading this and I’m gonna go working on the kageyama fic now 👀

[mrs-kodzuken]

early christmas ⟢ rintarou s.

synopsis: you get an early christmas gift from your boyfriend and love it beyond no end, timeskip!suna x fem!reader, christmas time, fluff, short fic

“You've been on that thing forever, at this rate you’re likely to forget me soon.” Rin deadpanned, almost regretting buying that damned thing for you.

Almost.

He could see how happy it made you, especially now that when he got on the game with his friends, you weren’t completely lonely with your new switch lite.

Of course, Christmas was coming up but with being stuck in the house for days due to snow and not being able to make it to work, he knew the best solution for his dear girlfriend.

He watched carefully as you concentrated on digging perfect holes to place trees in, your face was definitely one to remember. He loved seeing your joy filled face as you explained the animal crossing terms to him, even though he'd probably forget half of them within the next hour.

"Uhh, nuh uh." you retorted, not even looking up at him from where he was standing. After Rintarou surprised you with an early Christmas present, even though the big day was less than a week away, you could not stop playing. It was like an excitement that was slowly becoming an addiction.

You took your nintendo lite with you everywhere, to the bathroom when taking long, relaxing baths, to the bar in the kitchen where you both eat breakfast.

And even so far as playing it in public during downtime if you both were able to leave the house. You loved every minute of your new game console, especially since it was in your favorite color too.

However, Suna had to draw some lines when you pulled an all-nighter playing your game because you 'just had to get something done'.

"I think it's mostly your fault though, you let me open it early, so." you trailed off, sticking your tongue out wherever you thought he was from your peripheral.

Your eyes stuck to your little character as she ran around the plaza trying to talk with every villager. You couldn’t help but to get so happy when you saw the Christmas decorations around your island. As well as hounding on your game for so long, day and night, you were able to make lots of progress.

You barely noticed that Suna sat down beside you on the king sized bed, his PS5 left on and if you really paid attention, you could hear his friends calling for him.

"Love, at least give me a kiss before you leave off into the island of Y/n." he joked, you tore your eyes away from the screen and started to feel bad in the way that you were ignoring your boyfriend.

"I'm sorry Rinnie, I just really love the game, but I'll be sure to take breaks and spend actual quality time with you." you promised, saving and putting your game console away.

The relief basically melted off of Suna, now he finally understands the other side of the story when he used to not pay enough attention to you when gaming.

"Thanks, love." he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, relishing in the fact that he could taste the leftover dark chocolate crumbs on your lips from when you snack as you play.

"You're such an angel, you know that right? My angel." he couldn't help the smile that broke out across his face when you laughed and rolled your eyes. You were such the purest sight ever to him, this is what he missed. Of course he loves when you have an enjoyable hobby but physical contact was so much better in his opinion.

"Want to ditch the games for the rest of the night and watch a Christmas movie with me?" you giggled into his black sweatshirt, it smelling of his fancy body wash that you gifted him as a 'just because' gift.

"Obviously, anything to spend more time with you love." he hopped up, turning off his own gaming console and sending a text to his group chat before lounging with you in bed.

After a small discussion on which streaming service, you both finally decided on Hulu to watch Elf.

As the movie played and the lights were dimmed in the bedroom, you got sentimental, watching Rintarou’s handsome features being lit up by the movie.

"You know, I'm really grateful for my gift. I love it." you said quietly, hiding your face even though you both have been together for almost four years now.

He squeezed you tighter to him, loving your small confession, his heart felt unbearably warm at the act.

"I'm glad love, only the best for you." he kissed your temple knowing that his small confession would ring true when he got the balls to get the ring box out of his sock drawer and pop the question.

But for now, he smiled and watched your reactions to the movie, wondering how he got so lucky. 

a/n: hihi! i've been obsessed with animal crossing lately, so sorry i've been inactive!! i hope you enjoy, and requests are open! <3