❥ the many times you & suna get caught making out at school.
i. case one : the bleachers, during practice.
suna rintarou makes eye contact with you in between each successful block.
you ignore it. or try to. but your thighs are squeezing & he’s licking lips & you’re mean with want so you decide you can’t wait any longer. kita calls for a water break & you call rintarou to the stands. dumb dog doesn’t even hesitate.
“what.”
you mouth a come here & he raises a brow, but his feet shuffle after you regardless. he helps you over when you’re just about to stumble under the bleachers, & before the poor boy can regain a balance of his own you’re shoving him against the wall like he’s sack wheat.
he grabs your thighs like it’s instinct.
sugar lips. sticky gloss. heavy palm that can’t decide between your back & your throat. you’re pulling him deeper by the collar & he’s tapping your inner thigh desperately as if to say ‘baby baby lemme breathe’
“where the hell is suna?!”
but his tongue is down your throat so you don’t hear kita’s yell. suna’s palming your hips & squeezing your waist & you’re gasping his name while thumbing his neck and—
“AYOOOO,”
atsumu’s pointing to both of you with gaping mouth & widened eyes. “kita i found them! they’re doing foreplay under the—!”
you’re mortified. suna on the other hand? doesn’t even bother to wipe your saliva dribbling down his chin. he stares at atsumu with twitching brows & twisted face.
“you’re so annoying,” / “and you’re so in trouble”
atsumu doubles over as kita comes in & drags suna out by the collar. you on the other hand shuffle out quietly, quick to sneak away before you can fall victim to further embarassment.
★ Y/N L/N ⎯⎯ STUDENT RECORD.
offense: EXPLICIT BEHAVIOR IN STUDENT GYM
punishment : banned from entering the gym for a week.
issued by: kita shinsuke, sports president.
‘y/n, i expect better from you. and suna, you’re on probation.’
ii. case two : rooftop roughhousing
you think you’re so intelligent.
lunch break & you’re on the school rooftop with a skip in your step. you dragged suna rintarou away from his teammates during lunch & now he trails behind you with hands in his pockets as you hop unto the railing.
thighs crossed. hair in the wind. lopsided grin with blood drenched cheeks & eyes star-achingly bright. “tell me you love me.”
he’s rolling his eyes but his palms find your thighs. “i love you.”
you pout. “say it like you mean it.”
he kisses your neck instead.
you squeal, dodging suna’s kisses as he chases your lips with a grin. he pulls away teasingly before you tug him in by the tie.
you don’t hear the door unlock behind you.
rintarou’s tongue licks your molars. you kiss at his teeth & his thumb grazes your inner thigh as you giggle between his lips. he mutters something about how your gloss tastes like home before a voice sends a jolt down your spine:
“OUT.”
the home room teacher with obnoxious clipboard in hand & outfit desperate to align with the office siren aesthetic. you cling to suna as he quickly lifts you off the railing, palm still gripping your skirt even when he sets you on the ground.
busted.
★ Y/N L/N ⎯⎯ STUDENT RECORD.
offense: INAPPROPRIATE RELATIONS IN RESTRICTED AREA
punishment: detention.
issued by: madam keqing, homeroom teacher.
‘such behavior is not tolerated on school grounds. should this happen again, parents will be notified immediately.’
iii. case three : security snitching
suna’s tapping your thighs like it’s morse code for ‘mine.’
5PM thursday / behind the school gym / your fingers & suna’s belt loop. the middle blocker’s especially hungry today. god knows that thursdays mean you don’t get to share a single class with the athlete; so on days like this when school is long closed & you think no one’s watching he kisses you like he can’t fucking breathe.
point of empasis: you think no one’s watching.
the security camera overhead gets a front row seat to your antics. suna says your gloss spoils in the heat so you lick him off your wrist like honey. he’s pressing you against the wall with teeth on your earlobe like if he bites a little more you’ll seep into his skin. you let him unbutton your shirt & kiss you till he’s love-drunk & bleary eyed.
friday morning starts off in the vice-principal’s office.
black & white images neatly printed on the desk, a fan that blows just loud enough to cover up your feet tapping. you’re mortified. suna’s fingers, however, drum on your thigh like he’s not in trouble for kissing you silly on a midsummer day.
“what do you have to say for yourselves?”
“crazy work.”
you pinch him under the table. you don’t miss the grin that tugs at his lips as he takes a good look at the photos.
“interesting response, mr.suna,” the vice-principal’s eyes narrow. without them leaving suna he continues, “and ms. l/n ? i expect better from you. both your parents will be notified.”
you’re about to apologize & plead on your behalves, but suna notices the worry in your eyes & beats you to the punch.
“wait,” he clears his throat. “i have an explanation.”
“yes?”
“we’re in love.”
he says it like it’s the cure to all your problems. you resist the urge to slap him (and yourself).
“thank you, you are both dismissed. and again, your parents will be notified.”
busted.
again.
★ Y/N L/N ⎯⎯ STUDENT RECORD.
offense: EXPLICIT BEHAVIOR ON SCHOOL PROPERTY
punishment: parent report issued, two-day detention and required report on student ethics.
issued by: mr. ayato, vice principal.
‘inarizaki high makes it a point to ensure student safety by strictly prohibiting sexual or explicit acts on the premises. we hope ms.l/n will heed our warnings, regardless of whether or not she is “in love.”
it’s been four months since you broke up with suna rintaro. four months since you’ve cut ties, went no contact, and even avoided any gatherings with mutual friends. all that effort for four months just to end up in his bedroom, pinned under him, screaming his name again.
“aah—fuck, rin! nnngh—slow down—“ you gasped, body jolting forward with every snap of his hips. your back arched off the sheets, nails digging into his shoulders as he pounded into you relentlessly, every drag of his cock against your velvet walls sending sensations throughout your body. “you’re clenching so hard for someone who hates me.” he murmured against your neck, trailing his kisses all the way to your jawline. “thought you were avoiding me, what happened? missed me that bad?”
“n—no—unngh fuck—!” tears slipped from the corner of your eyes, vision blurring with every sharp thrust. you refused to admit it, but you hadn’t been stretched out this good for a while and god, you forgot how addictive it was having him inside you. “no? really?” he mocked, pulling back just enough to leave his tip in before slamming back into you in one harsh thrust. “listen to yourself, baby. your pussy’s dripping all over my cock, and you’re saying you don’t miss me?”
his pace was brutal and merciless — tip punishing your cervix with every collision of his hips against your ass, punching the air out of you. every brush of his blunt head against your sweet spot had you squirming under him, your moans turning into incoherent sobs. he’s fucking you hard, making you cry out his name as he leaned down, lips brushing against your ear before murmuring, “crying my name like that.. this is what you call hate? sure doesn’t fucking sound like it.”
every word that left his lips left a sting, stirring up forgotten feelings and something like need, something like desperation — an ache that you refused to name. “haah—rin—please.. want you—“ you choked out, cheeks flushed and expression dazed as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close. “hm? what is it? say it louder f’me, baby.”
“mmnghh—need you, rin! stop teasin—“ he shut you up with a kiss, tongues entwining as if speaking an unspoken language, swallowing every moan as he bullied your aching cunt. with a loud mewl of his name, your walls spasmed around his length, squeezing him so tight he could barely move. “fuuuck, baby. squeezin’ me like that.” he grunted, forcing your legs apart with his hips as he watched you soak the sheets, still rutting into you ruthlessly. “look at you, so fucking messy.”
“mmmnghh—aah—too much—can’t take anymore!” your body was convulsing under him now, breathless gasps replacing your cries. “just a little more, baby. you can take it, can’t you?” he said, breaths turning shallow as his hips jerked erratically against you. every whine of his name had his cock throbbing and twitching, feeling the familiar strain his lower abdomen before he let go, filling you to the brim.
“shiiit—this pussy’s mine, okay?” he growled, fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs. he pulled out slowly, watching him cum leak out of you before tilting your chin up so your gaze met his. “no one else can fuck you like this, don’t forget it.”
⋆ cw ; sex, fem! reader, rin’s ability to say something ridiculous no matter the situation.
Rin taps his foot when he’s about to cum.
It’s a habit. One he’s not aware of. For the longest time it slipped under your radar too. The only moments you would’ve been able to notice it, a.k.a. riding him or sucking him off — are spent focused on the cock inside you.
One night, in the master bedroom, Rin’s pinned you to the wall. Palms braced on the smooth surface, ass pushed out to arch your back. He’d started out by clutching your hips, thumbs flexing and digging into your skin every few lazy thrusts.
“Rin,” you moan, breathless. “Right there — fuck, right there!”
His hips smack even louder against your ass with the next thrust, cock hitting your g-spot. Rin pants and laughs. “Right there Rin, right there!” He teases as he slips an arm around your stomach, bending to press his warm sweaty chest to your back. His other hand comes up to rest on the wall nearby.
Your head drops between your shoulders, the mocking sending a hot rush up your spine. Toes curling in your socks. “You’re gonna make me cum, Rin,” you whine, pussy tightening.
Rin moans deep in his throat. “Fuck me,” he says through his teeth. “Play with yourself babygirl, wanna feel you cum.”
It’s instant, the way your fingers fly to your clit. Rubbing tight, fast circles, pussy squeezing and releasing over and over. Rin’s breath hitches then blows out warmly over your neck.
Your eyes start to roll and then flicker towards the floor, catching Rin’s sock covered foot tapping in a steady rhythm, almost silent on the hardwood floor.
Mind numbing, syrupy warmth rushes through your limbs, lower belly knotting up. The force of it brings you to your toes, your husband’s name falling from your lips.
“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” Rin babbles, voice splintering as his foot taps faster. You’re sinking down to the balls of your feet when Rin thrusts again and stops, grinding his hips hard. His cock throbs as he cums, an overheated forehead resting on your shoulder.
Five, ten, however many minutes later, as you’re cuddled in bed, you remember.
“Your foot taps when you’re about to cum, Rin. Like a bunny. Did you know that?”
He doesn’t move, boneless in the sheets. Naked as the day he was born. “I mean, I was fucking you like a rabbit.”
The call rang twice before he answered, the sound of sheets rustling before his voice finally came through. “Something happen?” It was low and raspy like he’d just woken up, or maybe he was about to sleep.
“No, nothing happened.”
“So what are you calling for?”
“Just wanted to say goodnight, I’m going to bed.”
He let out a puff of air, somewhat akin to a laugh. “Why are you telling me that?” His voice was a bit farther now, the sheets rustled again, and the phone clattered like he was picking it back up. “Baby, we broke up a while ago.” The name came out quick, casual, like he never got used to calling you anything but that.
“Yeah, I know.” You paused, taking in a breath of air before adding. “Just wanted to say goodnight.” You bit down on your lip, trying to suppress the giggle fighting to break through. “Well, goodnight then!” You pressed the button to hang up before he could even attempt to get any words out.
The phone lit up with a message before you could even put it down. “Missed your voice.” Your laughter caught in your throat, eyes tracing the message before another one followed. “Call me back.” Your fingers hovered over the call button, mulling it over in your head.
After a moment, and a few deep breaths, you called him back. The call barely having time to ring before connecting. “You could’ve let it ring, Rintarou.” You huffed out a laugh, shifting in your spot the couch. Legs thrown over the armrest, hair splayed out underneath you.
“And leave you waiting?”
You puffed out a breath of air, eyes trained up at the ceiling. The cold phone pressed flat against your cheek. His voice rang through again. “I meant it,” You hummed, urging him on though he would have continued without it. “I missed you, I miss you. Every fucking day, [name].” His voice was heavy and low like it hurt him to speak.
If you closed your eyes you could almost see him in your home again. His shoes by the door, wallet on the coffee table, hoodie thrown over the back of the couch. You could almost feel his hand running up your legs, finger skimming underneath the hem of your shorts. His eyes glued to the tv, making comments on whatever show he had landed on this time.
“Fuck,” You brought a hand up to your face. Trying to wipe the thought away with a heavy palm. “Yeah, I missed you, too.” The words were quiet, barely carried through the phone.
“[Name],” Followed by a deep breath, more rustling. This time like he was getting out of bed. “Baby, let me come see you.” The words were almost whinny, about as close to it as you’ll get with Rintarou. Breath caught in your throat, all you could mumble was a quiet “I'd like that,” before the call disconnected.
Suna Rintarou has ignored you for seven hours, twenty-three minutes, and forty-five seconds. Not that you’re counting. He hadn’t looked at you when you waved good morning. Didn’t reply when you texted him during lunch. And now, during practice, he’s pretending you don’t exist—unless it’s to rotate away the second you step near him. Which is why you’ve had it.
You march across the gym floor with fire in your veins, stopping right in front of him during a water break. The rest of the team goes quiet, curious eyes flicking between you and the tall, unbothered middle blocker who’s carefully unwrapping sports tape like it's the most fascinating thing in the world.
“Rin, what the hell is your problem?”
Suna doesn’t even look at you. “I don’t have a problem.”
“Bullshit. You’ve been ignoring me all day.”
He scoffs. “Why don’t you just go hang out with your boyfriend?”
You blink. “I’m sorry— my what now?”
Now he looks at you. Flat expression. Bored tone. “The guy you hugged this morning.”
You stare at him. Then you laugh—one short, incredulous breath. “You mean my little cousin?”
Suna freezes. A beat. Another beat. A visible oh, shit creeps across his face as the team collectively chokes behind you.
“Oh,” he mutters. “Well. He was… tall.”
You slap his arm. “He’s, like, an inch taller than me. And he was just thanking me for lunch money.”
“Well, it didn’t look innocent,” he grumbles, ears now bright pink.
“Are you serious right now?! You’ve been sulking all day over my cousin?”
He shrugs and drops his gaze. “Didn’t know he was your cousin.”
You narrow your eyes. “And what if he wasn’t?”
Silence. The team holds its breath.
Suna exhales, then mutters, “Then I wouldn’t like it.”
Your heart stutters.
His eyes meet yours again—and this time, he really looks at you. His voice is no longer bored. It’s quiet. Honest. “Seeing you with someone else, I mean.”
You tilt your head, a smile curling on your lips—sharp and smug. "Then do something about it.”
Behind you, Atsumu lets out a low, delighted cackle. “Ohhh, shiiit—she got you.”
You don’t wait for a response. Just turn on your heel, walking out of the gym with your head held high. But not before glancing back once—
And catching Suna frozen in place, face red, as the entire team starts swarming him with grins, whistles, and way too much noise. You smile to yourself.
all you wanted was to spend the holidays convincing yourself you didn't need anyone. so when your friends-with-benefits drags you to his parents' house for christmas, you fail. spectacularly.
tags: mentions of unhealthy family dynamics, suggestive language, no explicit smut, suna's family loves y/n, sending any and all holiday blues straight to hell this year! 🤍
"So what are you doing for Christmas?"
You flinched at how easily he had asked the question. How casually.
"Why?" you asked from the foggy bathroom, shaking your wet hair out with the towel Suna had tossed you from the dryer. "Thinking of having me over again?"
"...no?" Suna replied, eyes never leaving his phone screen. His long limbs were splayed across his wrinkled bed sheets, and he wore nothing besides a pair of boxer briefs and a frown.
"Then why do you ask?"
"Because I want to know?" The YouTube video he'd put on rushed to fill the silence. "Because it's a thing people ask each other?"
"Yeah, at company holiday parties," you snorted. You secured the towel around your bare chest, flicked the faucet on, and plucked your toothbrush from the mug by the sink. "Seriously. You don't have to pretend like you care."
"We can talk about something else," he offered, unfazed by your accusatory tone. "Like your favorite color. What your major was in university..."
"Okay, okay." You rolled your eyes, knowing full well he knew the answer to both of those questions. "You really want to know?"
The flat stare he shot you from bed told you yes, he really did, and no, he would not have asked you if he didn't. You braced yourself against the bathroom counter and sighed.
"I'm watching Die Hard, doing laundry, and catching up on work. There, happy?"
You were too busy massaging the near-empty tube of toothpaste to notice Suna's broad, six-foot-one body now standing in the door to the bathroom.
"Really," he said. Not a question. Not entirely a judgement, either. "You're not spending it with your mom?"
"She's going on a cruise with her newly minted Peruvian boyfriend," you laughed. "And before you ask about my dad, I don't particularly feel like hanging out with the children he hid from us for seven years."
"Wasn't going to," Suna scoffed, plucking the toothpaste from your hands and squeezing it onto your brush himself. "The guy's an asshole."
"Least he felt bad enough to invite me," you huffed, attacking your molars with enough force to break enamel. "That way, he can't say he didn't try."
The faucet roared as Suna brushed his teeth beside you. Hair tousled. Eyes tired. Mouth filled with foam as he mumbled out his next question.
“What if you spent Christmas with my family this year?”
You choked on your toothpaste.
“What?” you coughed out. “No, I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because!” you spat, flecks of fluoride flying out onto the mirror. You wiped them off with a flattened palm, taking all the condensation with you. “Because friends-with-benefits don’t do that. Because I don’t want your parents getting the wrong idea.”
“They won’t get the wrong idea.”
“Kumi might.”
“Kumi’s sixteen. What does she know?”
"Enough to know that inviting your fuck buddy to Christmas is weird!"
Suna rolled his eyes as you stuck your mouth under the sink and rinsed. This was a ridiculous argument; it didn't help that you could barely hear each other through mouthfuls of Crest cavity protection.
"My family doesn't know about us, okay? For all they know, you're my good friend," he argued. "Besides, they don't read into things like that. If I bring someone over for Christmas, they'll just assume you didn't have any other plans."
You folded your arms across your chest and pouted.
"I have plans."
"I know." He shrugged, spitting into the sink. "Mine are better."
"Why?"
"Because who wants to do laundry and watch Die Hard on Christmas? It isn’t even a Christmas movie!”
A muscle ticked in your jaw at that horribly inaccurate statement. "I don't need your pity invite."
Suna exhaled through his nose and ducked inside his closet for a t-shirt and sweats. "It would only be a pity invite if I didn't actually want you there. But I do."
The words burned inside your stomach as you stormed into Suna's bedroom, swiped a clean thong from the top of your overnight bag, and yanked it over your legs.
"...I don't have gifts, though."
The silence that followed made you antsy.
"What?"
"For your family. I don't have gifts," you ground out. "I can't just show up empty-handed. It's rude."
Suna emerged from the closet with an extra t-shirt — an EJP Raijin freebie you'd worn the past couple of times you'd been over.
"Don't worry about that," he told you, tossing the t-shirt in your direction. "Just be ready the morning of the twenty-fifth with your overnight bag and a pair of pajamas. My parents will be taking an embarrassing photo of us."
You tucked yourself into the side of the bed closest to the wall, terrified by the ache in your chest, the slight rise in your spirits.
It was just a dumb family tradition. One that would definitely blur the lines of your and Suna's arrangement, should you choose to partake in it.
But as he settled into the mattress and threw an arm around your waist, you allowed yourself to picture it. The corny smiles, the plaid pajama bottoms. The camera mounted on a tripod in front of a decorated Christmas tree.
As corny and compromising as that photo would be, there was also something...nice about the idea of it. Mundane.
"I'd need to Amazon Prime pajamas before Thursday," you said. Voice quiet. Stripped of its usual edge.
You felt Suna smile against the back of your head.
"Is that a yes?”
The following week, you met Suna outside your apartment building with an overnight bag, three Snapware containers of baked goods, and the Amazon Prime package you hoped were your pajamas.
"Merry Christmas," he drawled in amusement, leaning against his beat-up Toyota Corolla. He pocketed his phone, jutted his chin towards the baked goods, and asked, "Those for me?"
"Just the cinnamon rolls," you snapped, grabbing the top container and shoving it towards him. "I also made cream cheese brownies for your parents and gluten-free chocolate chip cookies for Kumi."
Suna slid the duffel bag from your shoulder and threw it into the backseat. "You didn't have to go through all that trouble."
"Please. It's the least I could do for crashing your family holiday," you grumbled, nerves already buzzing in equal parts embarrassment and anticipation. "Merry Christmas, by the way. Can I have aux?"
The heater warmed your skin as Suna pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road, a single hand guiding the bottom of the steering wheel.
"What's wrong with my music?"
"Nothing's wrong with it. We just listen to it all the time," you said. You thumbed through your Spotify playlists in search of something you hadn't grown tired of. "Makes my ears want to bleed."
"I think our tastes are more similar than you think."
You huffed. "In what way?"
"Arctic Monkeys, Phoebe Bridgers, Gorillaz — "
"I swear, if you make me listen to another minute of Gorillaz, I'm never sleeping with you again."
"They're a good band!"
"Yeah, when we were in middle school!"
The dimples on either side of his lips always deepened when he teased you. "You're just embarrassed because you had a poster of 2-D in your bedroom."
At your incredulous expression, he admitted, "I saw an old photo of it on your Instagram."
"What — did you stalk me?"
"Course I did!" he scoffed. Like you were the crazy one here. "I don't sleep with just anyone."
You pulled your knees to your chest in the passenger seat, the city quietly flitting past your window. "Fair point."
"Let's not pretend you didn't stalk me, too,” he drawled.
"Well, duh. I saw all your grungy bathroom selfies from high school. You’re lucky I kept talking to you.”
The car settled into a comfortable silence save for the sound of the engine running, the tires scraping against patchy asphalt.
"You know, I never thanked you for keeping me company," Suna said, voice surprisingly sincere. "That night, at Atsumu's party."
"Please," you scoffed, though it didn't quite land the way you wanted it to. “As if I wasn’t looking for an excuse to get out of his beer pong tournament.”
You remembered that night vividly. The loud music. The collective body heat. The brain fog you'd been trying — and failing — to break through all day. You didn't expect to like anyone at Atsumu's end-of-season rager. But when you spotted Suna by himself on the balcony — eyes tired, hands nursing a bottle of Dos Equis, you wondered if you'd found your crowd.
"This seat taken?" you asked, gesturing to the empty patio chair beside him.
His green eyes flicked to yours in what you would later realize was his way of looking amused.
“Depends,” he said. “Did Atsumu send you here?”
“God, no,” you laughed. The cold seared through your dress as you sat. “I’m trying to hide from him, too.”
You disclosed far too much of yourself on Atsumu's balcony that night. Your stress-baking habit. The kind of music you downloaded in middle school. The way your chest tightened when you answered your mom's phone calls, unsure whether you would be her daughter, her therapist, or the subject of her backhanded compliments.
I'm not looking for a relationship right now, you'd messaged him after the party. But if you'd ever like to hang out, I'd be down.
You'd obviously done more than that. But that was besides the point.
"I wasn't in the best headspace that day," you confessed to him now. "Talking to you really helped me. Distracted me. So really I should be thanking you."
Your words lingered in the air as Suna gave you the softest flicker of a smile.
"Glad I could help."
You sucked in a sharp breath. Ignored the way your chest ached at his earnest expression.
"I'm going to put on my Liked Songs now," you told him unceremoniously. You retrieved the phone from your lap, punched in your passcode, and hit shuffle on the right playlist.
Then, because your Spotify algorithm hated you —
"No," you groaned.
"Oh?" Suna drawled, cocking an eyebrow at the first song in your queue. "Not a big fan, I see?"
"Traitor," you told the Apple CarPlay as Clint Eastwood by Gorillaz blared through the speakers. "I'm skipping this — "
"Too late. I'm already singing it," Suna said, looking wholeheartedly pleased by this turn of events. Your face burned as he turned up the volume. "I ain't happy, I'm feeling glad, I got sunshine in a bag —"
"I hate you."
The smirk he gave you made your chest ache a second time.
"Guess you're never sleeping with me again."
Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth ticked into a smile as Suna rapped the entire six-minute song just to spite you.
Two hours and several miles of suburbia later, you pulled into the driveway of Suna’s childhood home.
You’d heard a lot about this house. The birthday parties. The pre-tournament carb nights. The big family Christmas gatherings — although most of Suna’s extended family had since moved.
You opened the car door, climbed out of the passenger seat, and wondered what it would have been like to live in a place like this. To have friends over. To help your parents line the roof with Christmas lights.
The daydream was short-lived, however, as Suna’s mom jogged down the driveway to greet you.
“You made it!” she cheered, bringing you into her arms like you’d known each other for years. “Merry Christmas, love. Did Rinnie drive safely?”
Your brain short-circuited as the scent of her perfume — light and citrusy — filled your nose.
“My neck’s a little sore from the whiplash, but I’ll survive,” you said with a nervous chuckle.
Suna Yumi merely squeezed your shoulders with an affectionate laugh.
“No wonder you two get along so well. You’re just as sarcastic as he is,” she hummed in delight.
Your cheeks flushed pink as she crossed the driveway to greet her eldest child.
"Merry Christmas, ma," Suna murmured with a smile, tucking her into his chest. "You sleep well last night?"
"Oh, you know me. Can't sit still when we're expecting a guest." She waved off his stern look and went to grab your bags. "Come in, come in! Your dad's just putting the finishing touches on the hot pot."
Your breath unfurled into the crisp winter air as you shouldered the rest of your belongings and teetered towards the front door.
"Thank you for having me, by the way," you said sheepishly, the hearty scent of tonkotsu broth greeting you as you entered the house. "I know it was kinda last-minute."
"Oh, don't worry about that, love. It wouldn't be the first time Rinnie had a friend over for Christmas," she reassured you with a laugh. "Remember when Tsumu got into that huge fight with his brother? He practically stormed over here and refused to leave."
Suna slid you a wry look once his mom turned her back.
"See?" he murmured under his breath. "Nothing to worry about."
You merely rolled your eyes, kicked your shoes off, and followed the smell of tonkotsu into the kitchen.
You half-expected to feel like a martian in Suna's house, surrounded by people you'd never met and Christmas decorations you'd only ever seen in Pottery Barn catalogues. But as you shook his dad's hand and greeted his little sister, you were surprised by how nice it was to talk to them. How easy.
"So Rin tells me you like to bake?" Suna's dad asked. He prepared the bok choy for hot pot with a rhythmic chop of his kitchen knife.
"I do, yeah. Gives me something to do with my hands," you told him with a soft smile. "Something within my control."
Suna Iwata's green eyes crinkled when he smiled back.
“Well, it was very kind of you to share your talents with us,” he said, wiping his hands on his apron. “I’m not much of a baker myself. Just can't get the proportions right.”
"Yeah, and Rin's smelly volleyball friends never bring us anything," Kumi said around a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie.
She shot her brother an annoyed look from across the kitchen and tilted her chin in your direction.
"Can you bring her around more often?"
Not gonna lie, you felt good about yourself after that.
The nerves escaped you the longer you were there. Helping Iwata plate the leafy vegetables for hot pot. Trading stories with Yumi over the dining room table. Laughing as their children bickered over the last of the ribeye.
"I'm on a bulk right now," Suna drawled, shoving his little sister's chopsticks out of the way. "Captain's orders."
"And I'm iron deficient, asshole," she said, shoving him back ten times harder. "That's ten times more important than your fake diet."
It was the kind of argument you wished you'd had more with your family. The trivial, teasing kind. In fact, as you finished lunch, threw on your pajamas, and posed for a photo on the staircase of Suna's house, you found their bickering...sweet. Endearing, almost.
"Dad," Kumi groaned as the camera flashed in your faces five seconds too early. "You're supposed to put the timer on for ten seconds. Are you sure you know how to do it?"
"Kumi, you talk to me like I'm a senior citizen," Iwata huffed, easing from his spot on the staircase. "I know how to work a simple camera."
He doesn't, Yumi mouthed to you and Suna over a discreet shoulder before standing to help her husband.
"...having fun?" Suna asked you, then. Voice amused. Eyes tracing the unchecked curve of your smile.
Stubborn as ever, you elbowed him in the ribs and said, "Just smile for the camera, Rinnie."
It would be six more tries before you eventually got the photo.
"Can I ask you a question?" Kumi asked you now, eyeing her hand you'd just painted a gorgeous shade of Pine and Dine green.
You dragged the applicator brush across the index finger of her other hand and said, "Go ahead."
"Why are you spending Christmas with us and not your own family?"
Her tone was quiet. Curious, even. You met her stare across the dining room table and continued painting.
"Because I don't really have one," you told her, the words coming out before you could stop them. At her perplexed expression, you said, "I mean, I do — we just don't celebrate Christmas together."
"Must be nice," Kumi mumbled, frowning at her family's Christmas decorations like they had personally offended her. "My parents get so embarrassing around the holidays."
"I dunno. I think it's kinda sweet that they still do all this for you guys." You gestured to the manicure kit they'd gifted her as a case in point. "Besides, my mom is on a Caribbean cruise right now with a man half her age. Talk about embarrassing."
Despite herself, Kumi laughed at that.
"…okay," you murmured once you were done. You studied Kumi's nails from multiple angles before eventually releasing her. "That'll be forty-thousand bucks, please."
You stopped yourself from fist-punching the air as a small grin worked its way onto her face.
"This is so much better than I could've done," she gushed, admiring your handiwork beneath the dining room lights. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." You twisted the cap back on the glossy top coat you'd used and plunked it back in the carrying case. "Should we paint your brother's nails next?"
You bound up the stairs and stood outside Suna's bedroom not a moment later, a goofy sort of smile on your lips.
"Hello, Rinnie," you stage-whispered, knocking twice before pushing your face through the crack in the door.
Suna shot you an amused stare from where he lay in bed, scrolling through Twitter.
"Have you been drinking with my sister?"
"No." You pouted. "The nail polish fumes killed a few of our brain cells, though. Can I come in?"
He gestured you in with a lift of his hand as you pushed open the door, his bedside lamp casting lazy orange hues across four deep blue walls.
"Sorry it's a little cluttered," he said, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and shoving his feet into slippers. "My mom is sort of a memory hoarder."
"No! No, I like it," you reassured him as you looked around. "Feels like I stepped inside the Smithsonian."
"Okay," he snorted. "I'm not that much older than you."
You fell quiet as you swept your gaze across the room, the details of Suna's childhood tucked into every nook and cranny. Volleyball certificates tacked onto the wall. Family vacation photos arranged atop the dresser. Homemade CDs stacked in neat rows on the shelves.
"My mom would do this thing where she'd burn a CD of all the songs we liked that year," Suna explained when you plucked one off the shelf. "That one's from 2014."
You read the track list Yumi had written on the disc in permanent marker with a soft laugh.
"Clint Eastwood by Gorillaz. Classic."
"What can I say?" Suna lifted his shoulder. "Middle school Rinnie was goated."
It was such a small thing, to have a mom who knew your music taste. To have a dad who took more pictures than necessary and a sister who rolled her eyes at you every chance she got. But as you returned the CD to its rightful place and swallowed back the lump in your throat, it didn't feel small to you at all.
"You okay?" Suna asked you gently, catching the way your expression slipped, your eyes grew distant.
"Yeah!" You stepped away from the shelf and massaged the growing ache in your chest with your palm. "Yeah, I just..."
God. What were you supposed to say? That your brain fog had turned into something painful? That being here made you miss the things you never had? Suna was already kind enough to have invited you here — you didn't need to ruin it with the grief now threatening to swallow you whole.
But as a small, jagged cry escaped your throat, splintering whatever composure you had left, Suna just tucked you to his chest and held you.
You came undone in the minutes that followed — chest heaving, steady cries reverberating off the bedroom walls. Suna's white shirt grew soaked by a combination of your snot and tears, and you didn't even have the energy to be embarrassed as you wailed in his arms like a baby.
"Fuck, sorry," you apologized with a loud, ugly sniffle. "This day has just been really weird."
"I know." He lifted the hem of his t-shirt and wiped your face. "Thanks for putting up with my family all day."
"Are you kidding me?" you scoffed. "Your family has been the best part about all of this. It's me that's making it weird."
"Yeah?" he asked. Not agreeing. Just curious. "And why's that?"
"Because," you lamented. As if it were obvious. "Because I'm not used to any of this. Because I couldn't spend a single Christmas without my dad stress-smoking — or my mom nitpicking my weight to distract herself from her shit marriage."
Your face crumpled at the memory. The way it paled in comparison to this strong, colorful spectacle Suna's family had offered you.
"Being here, seeing you with your family, it just...it makes me homesick for a place that doesn't exist," you told him. "For people I always wished for but never really had."
Before you, Suna's eyes filled with an emotion you couldn't quite place.
"Well, the people in this house care about you," he said. Voice gentle. Laced with honesty. "And you can always come here when you want."
His words made something inside of you break.
"Why are you being so nice to me?" you breathed.
Suna gave you a mildly exasperated look and asked, "Is it so surprising that I've grown to like you?"
You folded your arms across your chest and frowned.
"No. Maybe. I'm a highly likable person, just..." The sarcasm died on your lips. "Kinda broken if you squint."
"Come on," he drawled. As if you knew better. "You're not broken. You're...tough. Resilient."
"You make me sound like a weather-proof car mat."
"I'm serious!" he said, though he was laughing now. "You can't choose your family. It sucks and it's unfair, but...you're not broken. I've never once thought that about you."
You squirmed at the sincerity in his voice. Forced yourself to sit with it for a second longer than you normally would.
"Thanks, Rin," you said after a long while. "I needed to hear that."
"You're welcome," he huffed with a soft smile. "Wanna stay up here for a little longer? My family always watches a Christmas movie during dinner, but you don't have to if you're not up for it."
"No, I'm up for it," you sniffled, wiping your nose with the sleeve of your pajamas. "What movie are we watching?"
He peeled off his snotty t-shirt and smirked in your direction.
"You'll see."
His dad was already struggling to rent Die Hard on the TV by the time you'd returned to the living room.
The next morning, Suna walked you to your apartment and set your overnight bag on the doormat.
"I actually got you a gift," he confessed, sliding a flimsy package from the inside of his coat. "I know you said you didn't want anything, but my family insisted."
"Oh?" You set down the bag of leftovers Yumi had prepared for you and took the gift into your hands. The dimples on either side of Suna's lips deepened as you ripped into it like a child.
"Figured you could use it for your next stress-bake."
The apron — made of high-quality canvas and adorned with pockets and adjustable straps — was easily the nicest thing you'd ever owned. And on the front? The words 'Having a Mental Bake Down,' stitched in your favorite color thread.
It was ridiculous. Incredibly thoughtful. It made you laugh so hard you started crying.
"It's perfect," you breathed, wiping the tears from the corners of your eyes and clutching the gift to your chest. "Thank you."
Before you could even process what you were doing, you pushed yourself onto your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his cheek. Somehow, it felt more intimate than anything else you'd done with him.
"...Rin?" you asked. Voice tiny. A little nervous.
"...yeah?" he replied, a blush creeping up his neck.
"Will you go on a date with me?"
The expression he gave you was stunned.
"An actual one, this time," you clarified. "With cute outfits and a reservation and candlelight so dark we have to use our flashlights to read the menu."
It didn't escape you that this was the first time you'd seen Suna flustered. It also didn't escape you that the only thing keeping you from dating was, well, you.
Suna knew this, too, given the question he asked you next.
"What made you change your mind?"
Your lips ticked into a small smile.
“Come on, Rin. Is it so surprising that I've grown to like you?"
His laugh made your chest swell in affection.
"I'm not very good at the whole dating thing," you warned him. "I'm stubborn and evasive and I say things I don't mean — "
"Really?" Suna drawled. "I couldn’t tell."
You elbowed him in the ribs.
"I want to try, though. With you," you continued. "I can’t let my shitty family be the reason I don’t. They've taken enough from me already."
Suna nodded, something like trust in his green eyes.
"...okay," he said. "Let’s try, then.”
"Great." You grinned, fumbled for your keys, and unlocked the apartment door. "I'll pick you up this Saturday at six?"
The smile he gave you was better than any gift he could've given you.
And when he texted you the cheesy family photos later that evening?
You realized you'd finally gotten what you wished for. Who you wished for, rather.
The thought alone was enough to make you cry a third time.
۶ৎ content warnings: fluff, playful banter, first kiss, photobooth shenanigans, new relationship dynamics
۶ৎ notes: sometimes the awkward moments make the best memories ig (not proofread)
ᝰ KAGEYAMA TOBIO ࿐
a few weeks into dating, and you realized there were barely any pictures of you and kageyama together, which was exactly why the photobooth in the arcade caught your attention.
“tobio, come on, we should try it!” you urged, pointing at the photobooth up ahead.
he stiffened immediately, eyes darting from the flashing machine then to you. “… the photobooth?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, as if trying to figure out why you’d even suggest it.
“yes… the photobooth,” you laughed, tugging on his arm and dragging him straight towards it.
reluctantly, he ducked inside with you, shoulders tense as he squeezed onto the narrow bench. the way he sat, you’d think he was studying an opponent’s match – his posture straight, jaw tensed, eyes fixed on the screen in front of you.
3…2…1. the first flash almost blinded him, and the photo captured him scowling like he was being interrogated. you, on the other hand, were grinning so wide it made the whole contrast even funnier.
“tobio… relax,” you nudged his shoulder.
“i am relaxed,” he muttered, trying but failing to sound convincing.
the second countdown started. you leaned against him, flashing a peace sign, while he stayed completely still, staring blankly at the camera. as the third countdown went off, you tilted your head towards him and whispered, “… smileee.”
“i am smiling–” he insisted.
flash. the camera caught him protesting, mouth slightly open, while you were staring at him.
the last countdown ticks. you were ready to do something silly – maybe squish his cheeks, or stick your tongue out – but kageyama suddenly went rigid. his hand hovered awkwardly before settling on your wrist, and his eyes darted from the screen then to you, as if he was gathering the courage to do something.
“… uhh i’m gonna–” he blurted, his words tumbling out in a hurried whisper. and then, just as the flash went off, he leaned in slowly and pressed his lips against yours. everything about the moment caught you off-guard as you hadn’t expected him to do something like that at all; not with how he usually is.
when the photo strip slides out, you stared at the final frame: the two of you frozen in your very first kiss. within seconds, kageyama snatched the strip from you and stuffing it straight into his pocket, while his face was tinted pink all the way to the tips of his ears.
“n-never mind,” he muttered, eyes averted. “… we can take another one if you don’t like this one.”
ᝰ BOKUTO KOTAROU ࿐
“Y/N!!! LET’S GO IN!!” bokuto doesn’t even wait for you to suggest it — he’s already bounding towards the photobooth, practically dragging you along with him.
“bo, slow down! we haven’t even–”
“c’mon, it’ll be fun!!” he insists, shoving coins into the slot before you can even say no.
you tumble in after him, and the two of you squeezed close together on the narrow bench. bokuto has always been the adventurous one; he’s always the first to light up at the chance to try out something new and the photobooth is no exception.
3…2…1. during first flash: he beams, his grin so wide his teeth are on full display as he throws up a peace sign while you’re caught mid-laughing, not even posing properly yet.
once the second countdown starts, he flexes his bicep dramatically right in front of your face. “LOOK!! I’M STRONGGG!!” he crows. you shove his arm down, giggling so hard you know the photo will probably turn out blurry.
on the third countdown, bokuto suddenly scoops you onto his lap, holding you tight against him. “better fit this way!” he insists. you squeal, both of you pressed so close together that your heart starts racing.
the last countdown begins. he goes still, nerves flickering across his face. suddenly, the atmosphere feels tense – almost like he’s bracing himself for something. “hey love,” he murmurs, softer than before. “i’m gonna…”
you don’t have time to react before the flash goes off – and right as he leans in, his lips press against yours in a fleeting kiss. it’s hesitant, a little quick, like he’s second-guessing if he’s doing it right, and you can feel him holding his breath the entire time. his hand trembles on your waist, gripping a little too tight as if to steady himself. the whole moment makes your chest ache since it’s your very first kiss with him.
when the photo strip slides out, bokuto grabs it first, staring wide-eyed at the final frame. then his smile returns, even brighter than before.
“LOOK!!” he shouts, waving the strip in the air. “our first kiss!! and it’s caught right here!!”
he lifts the strip to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to it before carefully tucking it into his wallet. when he looks back at you, there’s a spark of pride and excitement in his expression.
“i think we should take more!!” he declares, already dragging you back inside with him.
ᝰ SUNA RINTAROU ࿐
it had only been a couple of weeks since you and suna started dating, but that was all the excuse you needed to pull him straight towards the photobooth glowing in the corner of the arcade.
“you’re kidding,” he groans the second you tug him towards it. “a photobooth? really?”
“don’t be such a killjoy,” you whine, already shoving him inside.
he drops onto the bench, legs spread carelessly, while making no effort to move. you squeeze yourself in anyway, nudging his knee since he’s hogging most of the space.
“move!”
“nope.” he says, with a smirk already forming on his lips. if theres one thing about him it’s that he always loved getting under your skin, even back when the two of you weren’t together yet.
3…2…1. the first flash captures him blank-faced, eyes half-lidded like he’s about to fall asleep, while you throw in a cheeky peace sign at the camera.
“… rin,” you mutter. “why do you look like you’re at your own funeral?”
“that’s just my face,” he says flatly. you swat at his arm, and he immediately hisses out a quick, “ow!” rubbing the spot.
the second countdown begins. you poke his cheek with your finger, trying to force a smile out of him, and the flash catches the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth as he slips an arm around your shoulder.
“... cute,” he drawls, eyes flicking to you from the side.
by the third countdown, his smirk had settled in, with his head leaning lightly against yours. you roll your eyes at him, before quickly changing it to a wink just seconds before the camera flashes.
“well, at least you’re finally smiling,” you tease, and he only shrugs in response.
the last countdown begins – and he does something that instantly catches you off-guard. leaning in, his hand comes up to grab your face, and he presses his lips against yours, holding you there just long enough until the flash goes off. you’re left wide-eyed and shocked, while he looks like he knew exactly what he was doing.
when the photo strip slides out, you instantly reach for it, but he snatches it up first, eyes scanning it with amusement.
“rintarou–”
he leans back, arms stretched behind the bench, with a lazy smirk plastered on his expression.
“thought this was gonna be cringe at first,” he admits, eyes flicking towards you, “but… i actually enjoyed this.”
A typical lazy afternoon in Inarizaki High’s gym is all about the sound of volleyballs hitting the floor, which echoed around the court, accompanied by the squeak of shoes and the occasional shout of “Nice receive!” or “Out!” The boys’ volleyball team was in the middle of their usual practice, but if you asked anyone, most of them were only half-focused.
Why?
Because all eyes kept flicking to the corner of the gym, where Suna Rintarou and you were having one of your typical interactions—if you could even call them “typical.”
“Rin, you forgot your towel again,” you sighed, walking up to him with a pink towel neatly folded in your hands. You stood just outside the boundary line, your expression a mix of fondness and exasperation.
Suna turned his head lazily, his eyes softening at the sight of you. “Did I?” he said, voice low and amused. He made no move to take the towel, so you huffed and tossed it lightly at his chest.
“You’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached to your neck,” you muttered.
“Maybe,” he said, catching the towel and draping it around his shoulders with a knowing smile on his face, “but that’s what you’re for, right?”
A chorus of muffled snickers erupted from the sidelines. Aran tried to hide his grin behind a water bottle, while Atsumu didn’t even bother. “Man, just date already!” Atsumu hollered across the court. Osamu smacked the back of his twin’s head for that, telling him to mind his own damn business.
“Shut up, Miya,” Suna called back, his expression unreadable—but the faint pink at the tips of his ears betrayed him. You just rolled your eyes, though a quiet snicker betrayed you.
“Seriously, Rin,” you said, lowering your voice so only he could hear. “You’d lose everything if I didn’t remind you.”
“Not everything,” he murmured, leaning down slightly. “Just everything except you.”
That earned a visible pause from you. Because, wow, since when did your socially constipated childhood friend suddenly become this forward? Did he hit his head and get a concussion? “You—” you started, evidently caught off guard, but he’d already walked off to rejoin the line-up for serve drills, the smallest smirk ghosting across his face by now.
Damn him.
As practice continued, you busied yourself by the benches, flipping through your notes for class. But your attention kept drifting to the court—specifically to one tall middle blocker whose usually stoic face softened every time he caught you watching. When your eyes met, he raised a brow as if asking, “What?” and you responded with a tiny shrug. You didn’t need words. Everyone else, though, was losing their minds.
And it’s in those small, fleeting interactions that have your stomach overflowing with butterflies and that have your head spinning from a billion thoughts per second.
“Are they or are they not together?” Osamu whispered to Kita during a water break.
Kita gave his usual calm shrug. “They act like they are. But we can’t assume.”
“Yeah, but no one’s said anything,” Aran added, shaking his head. “It’s like s’me kind of suspense drama.”
Atsumu grinned, leaning on his knees. “Bet ya hundred yen they’re in the talkin’ stage.”
Osamu shrugged. “Sure.”
Meanwhile, Suna wiped sweat off his forehead and walked over to you, who instantly handed him a cold bottle of water without even looking up from your notebook. As if it’s second nature. A routine at this point in time.
“You read my mind,” he said, accepting it.
“You’re predictable,” you replied.
“Or you just know me too well.”
“That, too,” you said, a faint smile slipping through.
For a moment, you let the silence dance comfortably between you two. The noise of the gym faded in the background, and it was just you—for some reason, in the midst of everything that’s happening, it’s just you two—and Suna, who casually sat next to you as he took a breath.
“You eaten yet?” you asked quietly, still not looking up.
“Not yet,” he said.
“You should. Don’t skip dinner again.”
He tilted his head, studying your face. “You worry too much.”
“Someone has to,” you said, closing your notebook with a soft snap. “You’ll be all gloomy if you don’t eat. Or get dizzy. It’s either of those two.”
“I’m always gloomy.”
“Don’t make it your whole personality now,” you laughed, “but at least when you’ve eaten, you’re less of a zombie.”
Suna smiled—not the taunting smile everyone knew, but a small, genuine one that made itself known in his lips. “Then maybe I’ll eat, but only if you eat with me.”
You blinked at him, startled. “What?”
“Dinner. After practice.”
“Are you asking me out?” you teased, but you couldn’t deny that it felt as though your heart was about to leap out of your throat.
He shrugged his shoulders, sighing quietly. “If that’s what it sounds like, then yeah.”
The gym erupted again—because, of course, everyone had been eavesdropping. Atsumu practically whooped, “FINALLY!” As Aran covered his face, muttering, “We’re never hearing the end of this.”
Suna took one good look at them and decided he did not hear nor see them whatsoever. “Let’s go eat after practice,” he says again to you, softer, much more sure this time. “You like that ramen place down the block, right?”
You sighed, defeated, though your eyes were warm at the fact that he remembered that even though it was a passing thought. “Uh huh, but you’re paying.”
“Anything for my favorite reminder.”
And if anyone at Inarizaki had doubts about whether you two were dating before, they didn’t after that day—because Suna Rintarou was smiling more often, and you were and will always be the reason. They were sure.
Because, after all, he had his eyes only for you and you alone.
