#rintarou suna

Reader:F
Character:Rintarō Suna, Kentarō Kyōtani
Rating:G
Summary:Your boyfriend was a punk and since you’ve been dating so long. You wanted your own jean vest and customize it to your liking.
Warning:Fluff, Punk AU
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Suna noticed that you always played with the spikes on his vest when you sat in his lap when you hung out at the Foxhole. His baby girl in his arms while he wore his ‘battle vest’, his lips against your cheek while you played with the dull spikes that he meticulously attached to the vest.  

  “I should make you one.” He remarked one evening while he drove the both of you home from the clubhouse that the rest of the so-called foxes hung out in after hours. 

  “One what?” You asked as you looked up from your phone, your bag in your lap. Your long sleeves pushed up to reveal the tattoo of Suna’s name on your forearm. The only tattoo you had. 

  “A vest.” He replied, “Something you can wear to the Foxhole. I’m pretty sure Atsumu and Osamu would be impressed by it. Make you one of the guys.” 

  “That sounds awesome!” You chirped, “I’ve been collecting pins at all of your shows and the roller derby games. Maybe we can make patches too!” You looked giddy at the idea of your own vest. 

Suna reached over and pat your thigh, “Anything you want, precious. It’s your battle vest.” And thus started the hunt for a battle vest. There were many trips to the local thrift store. Suna was very particular about the type of vest he wanted you to have, he didn’t want something flimsy and could fall apart with age. He wanted something sturdy, even a Levi’s jean jacket that you could cut the sleeves off. Eventually you two found a light denim wash jacket for a reasonable price.

Before you could pull out the thousand yen bill to pay, Suna already had enough change out on the counter to pay. You couldn’t get a word in when he said, “Just let me pay for it, it’s what a good boyfriend does.” Before he took the paper bag that held your new jacket that’ll become a vest. 

And the construction of Suna’s girl’s vest began in the Foxhole. Suna bought you some paints from the dollar store to make your patches from the left over denim material from the sleeves, he found some Sharpies in drawers and you brought a hot glue gun from home and the pins you’ve been collecting. 

Everyone was lingering around the Foxhole, smoking, eating a late dinner, blasting music. You were on the floor assembling your vest while Suna looked on. He fed you fries while you drew outlines of patches on leftover material. 

You outlined the logo of you and Suna’s favourite band and then filled in with paint. You stuck pins on the front pockets and Suna helped you cut put the fabric of what used to be the sleeves. He didn’t want his baby girl to use sharp scissors.

  “You should put a fox on it, then no fuckers will mess with ya.” Osamu suggested as he lit another cigarette, “But make it grey, then they’ll know for sure.” He winked. 

Suna flipped him off, “I’m not branding my girl with your shit.” 

Atsumu laughed, “Yeah, Samu, get your own girl.” Then took a bite of his sandwich. 

  “I’m going to make my own fox, the red fox.” You smiled, “I’ll be the red fox with my vest.” 

Suna chuckled and kissed the top of your head, “Sounds good to me.” Then watched you attach the last pin on the vest. You held it up in front of his face and he said, “Perfect, put it on.”

You slipped it on your shoulders, it was a men’s jacket turned vest so it was a little baggy in some areas. But otherwise it was perfect for you and with all the deep pockets you had now, you could keep all kinds of things in them. 

  “I could get rid of my purse now.” Your eyes lit up, “I have so much room now!” 

Suna chuckled, “Perfect. Now you got your own battle vest. You’re one of us, precious. Now c’mon, let’s take it out on the town. You guys want anything at the 7/11?”

  “Bento.” Kita responded.

  “You’re paying for yourself.” Suna said as he got up from the floor then helped you up to your feet, the vest still on you. He leaned in for a kiss, before Kita and Osamu threw some bills at him. He smiled at you lovingly, his punk rock girl. That had a ring to it, and as time goes on you’ll have more to add to the vest.

Kyōtani liked to think that his vest was a visual statement of his beliefs. From the dyed black denim, the weight of all the pins, to the craftsmanship of your name hand embroidered over the heart. 

Whereas a lot of the crew slapped together their vests, Kyōtani took the time to learn skills to improve his. It was his most worn piece of clothing, he wanted to make sure it stood out, the way his blond hair or sharp eyeliner did. But in all honesty, it was the snake bites that made people cross the street when they saw him. 

You were his baby girl, his precious little flower that he loved so much that it almost pained him. He never had a girl like you before, and since you had been dating for long enough, it was time his girl got her own vest. 

  “You want one, baby? A vest of your very own.” He asked one afternoon after he took you out to a cafe. He was watching you dig your fork into the strawberry shortcake you were sharing. 

You looked at him, “That would be cool, but won’t it be super hard.”

He chuckled, “Thrift stores are wall to wall jeans. We could fish something out of the piles, I’ll even show you all my tricks to making it the best jacket. Don’t listen to Oikawa for tips, Iwaizumi had to help him.” He smirked a little bit.

You giggled, “I’d love my own vest, it would beat having to steal yours to look tough.” 

He reached across the table and wiped some cream off your cheek, “You’re tough to begin with, the toughest princess out there.”

The following week and an adventure across the city to almost every thrift store you eventually found what you were looking for, a well fitted jean vest. Kyōtani thought you looked stunning in it and couldn’t wait to customize it to your liking. 

  “All you need is a needle and thread.” He took up sewing as a means to fixing his clothes to his liking, and that meant a large collection of thread. He had to thank his grandmother for all the thread and for teaching him the basics.

You soon found yourself in his bedroom, band posters everywhere, the stereo on playing the music he loved. The loud, brash lyrics and the thump of the rhythm that had him nodding his head along as he found some pins to put on the vest for you. 

  “Hold open your hand.” He said as he turned to you. He watched you open your hand and he placed a button of a cat in your palm. When you looked at him, he said, “It’s good luck to have your pin given by someone. C’mon, put it on.”

You took the pin, looked at it in awe as you stuck it right on the collar for all to see. Kyōtani then got the fabric paint from his desk drawer and sat with you. He kissed the side of your head and you giggled. 

  “I need a pencil to sketch out the kitty cat on the back.” You said as you tried to imagine how the cat would look on the back. Soon a pencil was placed in your hand and you started to sketch it out. It took a few tries before you got the shape you wanted.

You decided that unlike Kyōtani’s vest, yours was going to be more cute. His was a loud statement about politics, beliefs and ideologies, that all aligned with his punk nature. But you wanted to take a smaller approach, something that contrasted the black and white with splashes of red and blue. He had enough fabric paint to make something pretty cute. 

 “Can I draw something too?” He asked as he sat with you shoulder to shoulder, his ratty old sketchbook was in his lap as he watched you outline your design, “I promise it won’t be too graphic.” He was referring to there not being something like the melting skull he painted on his jacket. 

  “Sure, tomorrow when I work on it some more. It’s going to get late soon and I’m getting hungry.” You stretched out your back before you hunched over once more to get the paint sorted out. 

Kyōtani continued to sit beside you and sketch out ideas. He kept showing you designs. One of them was a pair of cute angel wings, another was a cactus in a pot with a pastel flower coming out of it. There were many options and he noted which ones you reacted to more positively than others. 

 “They all look good.” You mentioned.

 “Gotta find the best, only the best for my girl.” He said. 

By the time you finished the sun was starting to set. He hung up the vest in the bathroom with the fan on to circulate the air better to dry it. He smiled at you as you stood in the cramped bathroom admiring your handy work. 

  “Good job, kitten. Final step is to put my name on it.” He winked at you.

You playfully nudged him, “We’ll see. Maybe if you’re a good puppy.” Then turned away and left the bathroom. You heard your blonde boyfriend chuckle and follow behind you to hug you from behind and kiss you on the neck. 

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be a good pup. Just for you, my punk rock kitten.”

icons!!

why’d you only call me when you’re high ; suna rintarou

warnings mentions/usage of marijuana, and suna being a dick

genre angst (?), modern au, college au

word count0.6k

inspiration wyocmwyh by artic monkeys ( and this tiktok i saw )

synopsisyou’re upset that suna only wants you when he’s high while he’s indifferent

author’s note saw this tiktok of suna to this song the other day and i’ve been obsessed since. and i rarely wrote things that don’t end with a happy ending so spare me. also sorry if i didn’t use the right terminology for weed and stuff! i just went off my common knowledge.

There was silence until you heard the sound of Suna opening the drawer to his side table. The usual. You inhaled deeply, shutting your eyes. You always wondered to yourself why you thought it’d be different every time you came over. He beckoned you the same way every time.

Three in the morning, maybe even two, high off his ass, and only asking for sex when you arrived at the door.

Yet, you came in each time. You followed his trails of the smell of weed that you hated. But you put up with it each time. You laid under him, under the clouds marijuana while you let him lazily trail sloppy kisses along your collarbone or suck the skin of your thighs. As much as you loved that, you couldn’t push away the thoughts that came with it.

Your sighed when you heard the clink of his lighter. Slowly opening your eyes to the sight of Suna taking a drag and inhaling the drug. The question you’ve been wanting to ask tickled at your throat. It’s what came of those thoughts. It kept you up at night.

Did Suna even like you? Or was this just something he did while his head was in the clouds? It bit at you. You gulped audibly, mind racing.

Before Suna could bring the joint to his lips again, you spoke. “Why do you only call me over when you’re high?”

“What?” Suna angled his head down at you in question. You stared into his eyes, he obviously wasn’t sober.

You cleared your throat. Eyes shooting to avoid his tinted pink, “Why do you only call me over when you’re high, Suna?” Your tone was softer. You could feel your confidence slowly going out as he continued to stare down at you in silence.

Without a word, he fixated his view forward again and brought his joint to his lips. You internally scoffed. Well, there you had it.

You watched him exhale, craning his head backwards. It was the last time you were going to watch this. You couldn’t take it. No matter how good Suna made you feel, no matter how many times he managed to get you over the edge with the keen of his fingers or the thrust of his hips. No matter how many times he asked you to stay until the sunrised just for you to watch him cloud his mind right when he woke up.

“Fine.” You shuffled out of his bed, grabbing your clothes.

You visibly winced when you heard him snort. “Wait. You’re being serious?” He croaked. Your mouth opened to retort but nothing came out. Just the feeling that came when you were on the verge of tears.

Ugh, don’t cry over him.It’s not worth it. You repeated to yourself over and over while you got yourself together.

“___,” he called out for you. You slipped into your shoe, looking at him through your lashes.

“Forget it, Suna.”

He laughed again. “You’re being ridiculous…” You could feel the tears swelling up in your eyes.

You scoffed, heading for his bedroom door. It would be the last time you would be going through it, you were going to make yourself that promise. There would be no more walking into a waft of smoke just so you could be pleasured in the middle of the night by someone who obviously didn’t care.

“That’s fine. Just make sure to find someone else you can call when you get high and bored.” Your voice was on the borderline of shaky, but you still stood your ground.

There was no laugh this time. You watched his face twist up in confusion. Opening his door and stepping out into the clear hallway, you looked back one more time.

“Bye, Suna.”

sunarin: sometimes i think my boyfriend is japanese linguini

Word Count:2200

Fluff, Romance, Domestic, Established Relationship, Cuddling

Summary: Rintarō thinks Motoya looks the most beautiful in the golden morning sunlight.

Rintarō inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled. The sheets rustled over his bare chest as he did, sliding down a little with the swell of his lungs. His eyes fluttered open; his fuzzy vision adjusted, the slowly-rotating ceiling fan and the popcorn ceiling gradually coming into focus. The pale golden light of the dawn spilled in through the window, and with each slow rotation of the ceiling fan blades, their slim shadows splayed across the whitish-gray ceiling. The sunlight also caught on the dust filtering in the air, making it look like little golden fairies were flitting above him. 

The bed creaked beside him, and Rintarō turned his head. Through the strands of oak-brown hair that fell into his eyes, he could see Motoya rolling over in the bed, his arm splaying out on the pillow above his head while the other laid over his chest. His mouth was hanging open just slightly, little breaths puffing past his shiny pink lips with each rise and fall of his chest. Occasionally, his round brown eyebrows would twitch, and he would breathily murmur something incomprehensible. 

Adoration swelled in Rintarō’s chest. He boosted himself up on his elbow—carefully, so as not to awaken his sleeping partner—and leaned his cheek in his hand. So many mornings that Rintarō had been graced with this view, in the five years that he and Motoya had been together, yet each time felt as magical as the first. The golden sunbeams danced over Motoya’s skin, making it seem like pure aurum itself. They threaded into his tawny tufts of hair to illuminate the threads of gold within, threads that only Rintarō could weave through his fingers. Just watching the sunlight-laden hairs shift with the subtle movements of Motoya’s body made Rintarō’s fingers twitch, and soon his hand was sliding across the mattress. 

Rintarō let out a gentle sigh as soon as his fingertips brushed against the softness of Motoya’s locks. Gently, he twisted the little curly tuft by his sleeping lover’s ear around his index finger. It felt like pure silk, far finer than the Egyptian cotton they were currently laying on. With the hair wound around his finger, he gently ran up and down the length of it with his thumb. So soft, yet it excited his nerves in the most exhilarating way, making little tingles bloom across his entire hand and up the length of his arm. Rintarō couldn’t resist diving right in, splaying his hand across the curve of Motoya’s head to bury his fingers into that downy cushion. 

A light chuckle pulled him out of his muddled thoughts. He looked back down at Motoya’s face to find one of his eyes cracked open and a sleepy smile on his lips. 

“Oh, do go on,” Motoya said when a haze of pink appeared on Rintarō’s cheeks. His voice was much deeper than usual, laden with the thick syrup of sleep. “I’m quite enjoying it.” Like a cat, he closed his eyes and butted up into Rintarō’s hand. His smile almost looked like a cat’s little grin, even. Smiling softly, Rintarō resumed his ministrations, gently petting across Motoya’s scalp as he played with the fibers of his hair. 

“Mmm… Has your alarm gone off yet?” Motoya mumbled sleepily. Rintarō always woke up before Motoya. For everything they shared, they also had their set of dichotomies; while Rintarō preferred crisp morning runs where the warming breeze cooled his perspiring skin, his lover favored jogging in the twilight, the water vapor bursting against his skin as the night humidity coated him from head to toe. But dawn had only just arrived, and so it would be another fifteen minutes or so before the tones of Rintarō’s alarm replaced the calm silence of the bedroom. 

“Not yet,” Rintarō answered, his voice as soft as the locks he was caressing. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“Oh, but didn’t you?” Motoya responded with a teasing purr. He cracked both his eyes open this time, two slits that did little to hide the mischievous glinting in his dark brown irises. 

Rintarō flushed and looked down at the mattress in embarrassment, though he didn’t relinquish his gentle hold on Motoya’s head. So long they had been together, yet Rintarō still found himself coy. Even still, he struggled to express his feelings, the true depth of the affection that pooled within his heart. It was like an endless ocean, a blissful abyss with no bottom. How could he ever find the words to convey such love? How could he ever find the actions that would translate such endearment? 

Somehow, when the veil of sleep still partially covered them like sheer, delicate fabric clinging to soft skin, Rintarō found it slightly easier. Perhaps the fog shrouding his mind made it harder for him to get too engrossed in his thoughts, or the sight of Motoya in the golden sunlight was just so ethereal that all the things he wanted to do and say were summoned forth. Either way, Rintarō didn’t feel too reserved to draw himself closer to Motoya, flushing his front to Motoya’s side so he could bury his face into that goldenrod hair. 

“Jus’… Wan’ be close to you…” he mumbled. His body shook with the rumble of Motoya’s laugh, then tingled with the feeling of his lover’s slim arm slithering through the small gap between his hip and the sheets so he could loop it around his waist. Motoya was still lying on his back, and his left arm languidly rose to begin tracing abstract patterns into the skin of Rintarō’s arm where it crossed over the bottoms of his pectorals. 

“What is it? Did you have a bad dream?” Motoya questioned gently. 

His lover’s consideration made Rintarō feel fuzzy and warm. He hid his bashful smile into the side of Motoya’s head. 

“No. I just… I like you like this,” he attempted to explain. It was honestly difficult, even with the barrier of sheepishness removed. He just couldn’t even begin to explain how gorgeous Motoya looked in the pale light of the dawn, how much Rintarō enjoyed waking up to him by his side every day. He did it far more often than Motoya realized; often, his lover snoozed on, oblivious to Rintarō looking upon him with complete and utter tenderness. Rather than attempting to clutch onto sleep, if Rintarō happened to awaken early, he would spend each minuscule moment drinking in the sheer divinity of his lover’s existence. 

“Like this?” Motoya echoed. Rintarō’s blush deepened, mostly out of frustration at the fact he couldn’t voice his feelings into words. As he wriggled beside Motoya, Rintarō buried his face further into his partner’s hair, like he was attempting to just burrow right in it so he could escape the question. 

“I… I just think… You look beautiful in the morning…” he forced out in clipped, awkward splutters. A silence fell back over the room, interrupted only by the rhythmic whap-whap-whaps of the ceiling fan and the twitters of the thrush that lived in the tree just outside their apartment window. Motoya didn’t tense at his words; his body remained lax, but Rintarō could feel his surprise in the way he held his breath. When Motoya finally let out a deep exhale, Rintarō cuddled further into him, apprehensive about how his lover was going to react to his admission. 

“You think I’m beautiful in the morning?” There was a lilt of amusement to Motoya’s voice. It made Rintarō’s body flush hot. Was he embarrassed? Relieved? Excited? The fog of the morning was beginning to dissipate from his mind, allowing the anxious doubt to flood back in like the tide rushing into the bay. Oh, Motoya wasn’t going to tease him, was he? He usually didn’t mind his lover’s playful attitude, but Rintarō didn’t think he could bear being derided for this—for laying his feelings raw and whole before him. 

“Motoya…” he groaned. A pitiful attempt to try and object, though he didn’t know about what. His lover chuckled, then grabbed Rintarō around the middle to forcibly pry him away from his body so he could look him in the eyes. Rintarō’s bottom lip jutted out in a pout, and he defiantly kept one hand shoved in the messy locks of Motoya’s hair while he was pushed back onto his own pillow. He tried to seem obstinate, but he knew that Motoya wouldn’t miss the hints of disquiet hidden into the lines of his sulky expression. 

“What’s with that look?” Motoya laughed. “You say something that cute, and I’m not allowed to look you in the face?” 

“You… You think it’s cute?” He sounded like a toddler carefully probing the conversation, but he didn’t care. Hope fluttered within him, making his pout slowly ease into a wee bashful smile. Motoya purred, his hand coming up to gently sweep a swathe of Rintarō’s hair out of his face and tuck it behind his ear. 

“Of course I do,” he reassured him. “Tell me more.” 

Rintarō fidgeted nervously and began to worry, his bottom lip between his teeth. It had been so hard to word emotions in the first place, and now he had to try and do it while the cold fingers of hesitation were slowly wrapping around him in their icy, tight grip. It squeezed his body, making it feel like his lungs were swelling to bursting and his heart was pounding erratically against his ribcage. But he wanted to try—he didn’t want to let the words die on his tongue this time, didn’t want them to fade away with the golden dust fairies like they did every other morning before. 

“You just… You look golden.” His face twisted into a frustrated frown as soon as he comprehended what had exactly left his mouth. How does that make any sense? However, Motoya didn’t laugh at him, didn’t even crack a smile; he just continued to study Rintarō intensely with that half-smirk, half-smile dancing on his lips. Rintarō swallowed thickly, taking his silence as a request to continue. 

“It makes your skin glow…” Hesitantly, he reached up to trace the pads of his fingers over Motoya’s face. His eyelashes fluttered in response to his fingers brushing the area underneath his eye, his nose crinkled at his featherlight touch over the bridge of his nose, his lips twitched higher into a smile with the ghosting of his fingertips over the corner of his mouth. “And it lights up your hair in little places, like it’s got golden thread…” His other hand, still buried stubbornly in Motoya’s hair, emphatically twisted the strands around his fingers. “I just… I love waking up to you… Thinking about how someone so amazing that the sun feels like it needs to shine down on them… illuminate them from head to toe… is mine. You’re just… golden.” 

Rintarō swallowed. He felt like his explanation was bungled, still short of the true profundity of his feelings. He’d never been the eloquent sort, and he had never wished that he was before right then. He wanted to speak poetry about Motoya, weave him a tapestry of beautiful words to perfectly encapsulate the way he felt. But he wasn’t capable of that, and so he hoped the attempt in itself would be all that was necessary. 

And of course, it was. 

“Wow,” Motoya laughed, but it was bashful, not chaffing. “That’s… wow. I don’t even know what to say to that.” 

Now you know how I feel, Rintarō thought with a rogue smile. 

Motoya had resumed tracing those nondescript patterns over the skin of Rintarō’s arm again, though he hadn’t noticed it while he was speaking. Motoya’s fingers skimmed up the length of his arm, traced circles over his shoulder, then slowly drifted back down to the top of his hand to trace circles there instead. 

“Well, I’m happy to be yours, Rintarō,” Motoya hummed. “There’s no place I’d rather be, golden or otherwise.” 

Rintarō couldn’t help but snicker. Leave it to Motoya to be totally nonchalant about all this. Though, Rintarō knew that it was only an attempt to hide his own feelings; the smile on Motoya’s face was so wide it was close to bursting his face at the seams, and the glimmer in his eyes put even the golden sun to shame. 

Rintarō scooted closer, but he didn’t try to hide his face in Motoya’s hair this time. Instead, he brought it close to Motoya’s, so close that the tips of their noses bumped a little with his movement. Motoya just watched him, his eyes slowly growing lidded with contentment and the dancing of his fingers over Rintarō’s arm growing languid and sluggish. 

“I think I’ll turn the alarm off today,” Rintarō decided aloud. “I’m really not feeling up for a morning run… Maybe I’ll go running with you today instead.” He loved the way the sunrise played over Motoya’s body, and now he was wondering how he looked in the sunset, too. 

Motoya just hummed in response. 

“Fine by me,” his lover agreed. 

And the golden sunlight shifted once more over his face as he leaned in to wrap Rintarō’s lips up in a slow, sweet, sleepy kiss—a kiss that tasted nothing short of liquid gold, ichorous and divine.