stories
suna rintarō x f!reader
rintarō is the type of guy to lose his entire mind over a singular “hey” from you.
wc: 1.8k
it started with a picture of a lukewarm puddle reflecting a flickering streetlamp at 3:14 am.
the caption was just a single, lowercase “pain.”
suna rintarō was currently vibrating at a frequency high enough to shatter glass, but physically, he looked like a discarded piece of laundry on his bed. his phone light was the only thing illuminating his face, casting a ghoulish glow over his sharp features as he scrolled through his own story archive. he had posted thirty-eight times in the last three hours. each post was more cryptically “deep” than the last—vague angles of his ceiling fan, a blurry shot of his volleyball shoes, and a particularly dramatic photo of a single grain of rice.
he wasn’t sad. he wasn’t even having a bad day. he was just playing the most high-stakes game of digital fishing known to man, and the bait was his own dignity.
‘if she doesn’t see the one of the gym floor with the caption ‘empty like my soul,’ i might actually have to pass away,’ he thought, his thumb hovering over the upload button for a forty-ninth story—a photo of his own hand with the caption “built to hold nothing, apparently.”
he was a silent, lethal middle blocker on the court, but off the court, he was a victorian widow pining by a window, except the window was a glowing oled screen and the black veil was his oversized hoodie. he refused to double-text. he had standards. he had pride. he had a biological need to be perceived by you without looking like he wanted to be perceived.
then, it happened.
a little notification banner popped up at the top of his screen, and suna nearly threw his phone into the stratosphere.
y/n replied to your story: “you good?”
he didn’t wait. he didn’t ‘play it cool’ by waiting five minutes. his fingers moved with the speed of a thousand suns. the ‘read’ receipt appeared so fast it was borderline terrifying.
“better now,” he typed, his heart doing a chaotic gymnastics routine in his chest.
he immediately screenshotted the interaction, cropped out his own embarrassing stories, and posted it to his ‘close friends’ list—which consisted entirely of him, atsumu, osamu, aran, and a burner account he used to check how his profile looked to others.
the caption: “she texted me 😎💔. i told my mom that i have a fiancé now.”
the next day at school, suna was a ghost. he drifted through the hallways with his hands in his pockets, his eyes half-lidded and lazy, looking for all the world like he hadn’t spent the night calculating the exact angle of a lamp post to elicit sympathy from you.
when he saw you near the lockers, his internal monologue turned into a high-pitched tea kettle whistle. you looked like sunlight personified, like the first bite of a warm cinnamon roll, like every good thing that had ever happened in the history of the universe.
“hey, rintarō,” you said, tilting your head. “you looked a bit... intense on instagram last night. did you catch that ghost you were looking for?”
suna leaned against the locker next to yours, his limbs feeling like overcooked noodles. “i was just having a vibe,” he said, his voice a low, honeyed drawl that betrayed absolutely none of the screaming happening inside his brain. “the moon was beautiful. i had tons of thoughts.”
“including a grain of rice?” you teased, stepping closer to check your reflection in your locker mirror.
suna’s lungs forgot their primary function. you were so close he could smell your shampoo—it smelled like peaches and safety. he wanted to melt into the floorboards and become a permanent part of the architecture just so you’d walk over him every day.
“that rice was a metaphor for the isolation of the modern man,” he lied effortlessly. “but anyway. you’re wearing that clip today. the blue one.”
you blinked, reaching up to touch the small butterfly clip holding back a stray strand of hair. “oh, yeah. i didn’t think you’d notice stuff like that.”
‘i notice everything,’ he thought, the gears of his devotion grinding into high gear. ‘i know you wore it three tuesdays ago when it rained. i know you only wear it when you’re feeling productive. i have a mental spreadsheet of your hair accessories that could rival a government database.’
“it’s hard not to notice when things look right,” he said aloud, shifting his weight. “gives the eyes something actually worth looking at.”
your cheeks tinted a soft, dusty pink, and suna felt a surge of triumph so potent he felt like he could jump over the school building. he wanted to bottle that blush and drink it. he wanted to frame the air between you.
“you’re such a weirdo, suna,” you laughed, shoving your books into your bag. “come on, walk me to class? since you’re already haunting this hallway.”
“i guess i can spare the energy,” he said, already falling into step behind you like a devoted shadow, a silent guardian of your backpack’s safety.
at lunch, suna sat with the twins, but his phone was out, hidden under the table. he wasn’t eating. he was too busy recording a three-second video of the back of your head from four tables away.
“yer creepy,” atsumu muttered, shoving a fistful of rice into his mouth. “just go sit with her. yer starin’ like a cat lookin’ at a bird it wants to eat.”
“shut up, atsumu,” suna said without looking up. “you don’t understand the nuance of observation. she’s talking to someone. i’m monitoring the threat level.”
“the threat is a girl from the art club asking for a pencil,” osamu pointed out, bored.
suna narrowed his eyes. “a pencil is a gateway tool. first it’s a pencil, then it’s a coffee date, then it’s marriage. i’m protecting her future.”
he zoomed in on your hand as you handed over the pencil. his heart did a little flutter. your fingers were so delicate, so perfect. he felt a physical ache in his chest, a desperate, clawing need to be the only person you ever gave pencils to. he wanted to be your pencil. he wanted to be the paper you wrote on. he wanted to be the very oxygen you converted into carbon dioxide.
he opened his ‘close friends’ story again. a black screen. white text.
“she’s so generous. a saint. i’m losing my mind. if she looks this way i’m calling an ambulance for myself.”
just then, as if sensing his gaze, you turned around and waved. suna’s phone nearly slipped from his sweat-slicked palms. he didn’t wave back—that would be too much. instead, he gave a slow, rhythmic blink and a tiny nod, the ultimate sign of ‘i am perceiving you and i am vibrating.’
the walk home was the highlight of his existence. he moved at a glacial pace, trying to stretch the three blocks into a cross-country trek.
“you’re really quiet today,” you noted, swinging your bag. “even for you. everything okay?”
suna looked at you. really looked at you. the way the afternoon sun caught the gold in your eyes, the way your lips curved naturally into a smile even when you weren’t trying. he felt like he was looking at a masterpiece through a magnifying glass and the lens was starting to smoke from the heat.
“just thinking about how gravity works,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.
“gravity?”
“yeah. how everything in the universe is just pulling toward something else. planets, stars... me.”
you stopped walking, turning to face him. “are you saying you’re a planet, suna?”
“i’m saying you’re the sun,” he said, the words slipping out with a raw, unpolished honesty that made his own pulse thrum in his ears. “and i’ve got a very strong gravitational pull toward you. it’s actually getting a bit inconvenient. i can’t focus on anything else. my brain is just a loop of your voice and the way you laugh at stupid stuff.”
you stared at him, your breath hitching. the air between you turned thick, sweet, and heavy. suna felt a desperate urge to reach out and pull you into his space, to tuck you under his chin and never let the world see you again. he wanted to build a fortress out of his own arms and keep you there, safe and adored.
“rintarō...” you whispered, stepping closer.
he didn’t move. he couldn’t. he was a statue of devotion. “i’m serious. if you told me to jump off a bridge, i’d ask if you wanted a backflip or a dive. i’m completely wrecked by you. it’s embarrassing. i post pictures of lamp posts because i don’t know how to tell you that i want to spend every waking second making sure you’re happy.”
you reached out, your fingers grazing the sleeve of his jacket. “you could have just said that, you know. instead of the rice photo.”
“the rice was important,” he insisted, though his heart was melting into a puddle of goo.
“you’re so dramatic,” you laughed, and the sound was like music to his ears. you reached up, standing on your tiptoes, and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his cheek.
suna rintarō effectively ceased to exist as a solid object. he felt his soul leave his body, do a victory lap around the moon, and return with a golden medal.
“does that help your gravity problem?” you asked, eyes sparkling.
suna blinked slowly, his face flushing a deep, wonderful red. he reached out, finally, wrapping his long fingers gently around your wrist, pulling you just an inch closer.
“it made it worse,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your pulse point. “now i need the other cheek. and maybe the forehead. and definitely a signature on a legal document saying you’re mine forever.”
you laughed, a bright, genuine sound, and leaned your head against his chest. suna wrapped his arms around you, squeezing just tight enough to let you know he was never, ever letting go. he rested his chin on the top of your head, closing his eyes as he inhaled the scent of you.
“i’m never washing this jacket again,” he thought. “i’m going to get this laminated, this entire moment, into my room.”
as you walked the rest of the way home, hand in hand, suna took his phone out with his free hand. he snapped a quick, blurry photo of your joined shadows on the pavement.
he posted it to his main story. no black-and-white filter. no cryptic caption.
just a single heart emoji and the text:
“found the sun. gravity is working just fine.”
he didn’t care who saw it. he didn’t care about the twins’ teasing or the teammates’ confusion. he had your hand in his, and as far as he was concerned, the rest of the world was just background noise to the absolute masterpiece that was you.
n: i haven’t written for sunarin in so long ( ´～｀)
rin’s taglist 1/2
@cvntyandfasionable @the-bloopsters @moon-blizz0 @trulyylee @nelinkythoughts @kukikoooo @averys-place @sxnnee @anzuuhoshi @evilari111 @tetsurae @rabbitcola @nivabiva @yeonette @forgottensniper @michexoxo @katzline @pelicanpizza @george-russell-defender @han0vyc @knkzshx @fiannee @eri0-0 @babybird-meena @depressinglyobsessed @buriedfifii @ghostwifeyy @bigdaddyyaoii @perpetuallydone @mptality @qardasngan @crystal-lilac @methiart @wensurr @alyriaschoenheit @suha-reads @sillylule @horanghaepaws @imjustanobody2024 @hibernatinghamster @olliesoxenfree @mitzukita @griffincorn @kkkkkyatory @starzlytoetsie @ceramic-raven @nekoffie @littlemissfix-itfic @kuroofangirl67 @lov3shin
© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners !
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