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LIKE A BOY — CYBERPUNK!SUNA cw: description of murder, violence, alcoholism & drug mentions / takes inspiration from cyberpunk: 2077 and cyberpunk edgerunners
suna stares at the view in front of him. night city is a giant, glimmering monster of neon from his perch on the rooftop of this abandoned skyscraper, one of many that dot his line of sight. flickering holograms advertising everything from subway passes to nightclubs rapidly flash, and the sounds of whirring trains and cars surround him in an endless cacophony. the stench of acid and smoke from the factories mingle to create a toxic blend of air that only a true citizen of the city would be able to withstand.
he hates it. he hates it all so much. if there was a world where the clouds, instead of raining sulphur, rained lighter fuel and he could ignite a matchstick just to throw it off this building, he would set night city on fire in a heartbeat.
he's certain he's losing his mind. he doesn't need to be doped out on glitter or teetering on the edge of cyberpsychosis to feel the way he does. every couple of weeks, when the endless slashing and maiming and killing gets a bit much, when he conflates the face of his previous target with the next, his head gets a bit blurry. his hands seem to be perpetually dirty — and scrubbing them to no end, like that germaphobe sakusa — does nothing to clean them. he's overcome with the urge of slitting the throat of anyone within five feet of him, if that'll make him feel better.
the price of devotion to inarizaki must be quantified in blood. it's a mandatory tax he needs to pay, a burden passed down from his father from his grandfather. a burden that's becoming increasingly difficult to pay in a city where every next target is more metal, and less human.
suna can only do so much with his hands before he either sees them as weak or splattered with blood from different beings.
peeling off his shirt, caked with blood and damp with sweat, he wonders what he's doing here instead of trudging back home in japantown.
the click-clack of your heels crunching through broken glass and discarded syringes up the stairs reminds him. if suna's a loaded gun waiting to be fired, you're both the trigger and the safety.
he supposes the only reason he's still somewhat who he was and not some mindless lapdog for the gang is thanks to you. the princess of arasaka, set to inherit their pharmaceutical empire, playing anchor for someone who'll always be second-best in inarizaki. he's so beneath you that it's pathetic. he sometimes thinks he has a better chance of building a stairway to the moon than seriously being with you.
and yet, here you were, rushing out of whatever meeting your parents had trapped you in, taking the godforsaken subway that you'd normally never step foot in, climbing up three flights of stairs in heels that would cover a week's worth of bounties, just for him.
your perfume greets him before you do. it's a delicate floral number he knows you only reserve for important days, so he feels just a little guilty, until your cold hands come to settle against warm, bare skin and he can't think at all.
"hi," you breathe, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. your nails — is that a new set? — adorned with pretty flecks of chrome mixed in with pink glitter gently graze against him, and he can't help but melt into your touch.
"hey," he mumbles in response, bringing one large, calloused palm on top of yours. there's a low magnetic hum from where your ring meets his, and they clink in a comfortable sound as you join him in dangling your legs over the edge of the building, content with resting your face in the crook of his neck to watch over his shoulder at the neon cityscape.
"long day?", you whisper, not wanting to disturb him. truthfully, he thinks you could start screaming about a new dress you ordered from paris and he'd still be grateful to just have you there with him.
"mhm." you shift, just a little, so you're now sitting next to him. he does look a little worse for wear than usual, and you can't help but feel the dull bubble of anger that consumes you at just how tired he looks. he rests his head on your shoulder, and the smell of copper and smoke is a heady mixture that envelops you. you don't budge, not one bit, even as he's sweaty and dirty, and every instinct of yours is screaming at you to return to the boardroom you're supposed to be in instead of bailing and spending the night at a polluted building on the outskirts of the city with a man who'd otherwise make light work of killing you and claiming the millions of eddies that are set on your head.
fate is at its best when it works in diametrically opposite ways.
you run a hand soothingly over his arm, concerned every time about the new scar he's picked up just underneath his elbow.
"wanna talk about it?", you hesitantly offer. you know the suit of events like the back of your hands.
"no," he mumbles, and he nuzzles closer into your neck, fanning the juncture near your clavicle with his hot breath.
"not even a little?", you ask again, feeling his eyelashes flutter. how someone could be so pretty, bathed in the ugly, harsh glow of pink and purple light even while exhausted will always confuse you. suna was so achingly pretty that you were scared. scared of how you'd respond when he'd ask you to stay, just for a little longer, like he always asks you on nights like these, nights that turn to daybreaks being spent in his arms.
he strips away any rationality you hold. he knows that. you don't know for how much longer you can keep giving in, but that was a worry for another day.
"no," he grumbles again, and his grip on your waist tightens. you giggle at his petulance.
"i think it'll make you feel better."
he may be fatigued beyond words, but he can spare you one of his trademarked dramatic sighs, a sign that there's still the suna you know so very well underneath the layers of the complicated, messy, dangerous persona he has to maintain.
"work today was.... shit," he exhales, thinking of the hostage situation he'd been forced to mediate. a mother being held at gunpoint by her husband, who'd been driven into a deep state of cyberpsychosis after embedding a militech chip into his brain. a chip that suna, who was originally supposed to recover it quietly from new harbour, had to retrieve by sifting through the splattered brains of mother, daughter and husband. that's what the husband gets for fucking with what isn't his. the mother and daughter, though, were collateral damage that hit a too little close to home for him.
"then i went home and that was shit too," he laughs harshly, finding perverse amusement in the irony of his life. rei was all out of her chuupets, and that led her to hiding out in her room and crying for dear life as his dad chose the literal worst time to come home drunk, bitching and yelling to his mother about yet another day spent in miya senior's shadow and how it was all her fault.
the old-fashioned yet highly modified katana suna uses, engraved with the prophetic words of the gang, we don't need the memories, felt heavy in his hands as he chose to run away from home and bury himself in a pile of bodies. he shouldn't have taken so many commissions on, but he did. all to make him think of anything but the broken bottles and rei's wails as he carried her in his arms to kita's place, where he deposited her for the rest of the day.
"do you think i'm a coward?", he asks you, because you're the only person who knows who he truly is, what he truly is, and still decides, every day, to be with him.
you study his amber eyes, so observant despite what they let on. it's not even a question worth asking.
your lips are on his before he can even anticipate it. it's sweet, and desperate at the same time, like you're kissing frantically him so any doubt can disappear from his brain and he's only thinking of you. you're soft, and he can taste the cherry of your gloss when you part your mouth to let out the quietest noise of contentment that he drinks up when his hand creeps up the short dress that hits just right at your mid thigh.
it takes a phenomenal amount of self-control for you to pull away and not kiss him senseless. he's clearly disappointed, and groans when you rest your forehead against his. how you manage to flip his switches so effortlessly will always bewilder him.
"you're perfect. you've never been a coward, and you never will be," you breathe, and for someone who has to measure their words and consider the weight of all their actions as a part of a grander corporate scheme, you find yourself unrestrainedly honest with suna. it's difficult not to be. you kiss his forehead gently, and suna thinks he's going to explode at just how saccharinely sweet you are to someone like him.
"you're too fuckin' good to me," he sighs, lacing his fingers through yours. "too good for me," he adds as you let out a hum of disapproval, beautiful face scrunching up into an annoyed expression.
"should've never bought you that drink," he chuckles wearily, reminiscing about the day he decided to shoot his shot at his deskmate at the academy when he'd spotted you at manhattan's bar.
"you never should've said yes," he grouses, but he doesn't mean it.
"stupid boy," you chide, flicking the same spot of his forehead where you'd just kissed him. the remnants of your gloss are still there.
"you know you're going to buy me a drink in every universe. and i'm going to keep saying yes."
a/n hello hi sorry if this was a bit ,,, dreary but i promise i'm going to make this fun, i plan on doing a little cyberpunk sunarin miniseries because i'm missing the show so much :( also i know suna's ooc in this but i love making my men a little pathetic <3
april 29th and rintarou suna was questioning his fidelity
april 29th and rintarou suna was annoyed from the advances of his current girlfriend who makes him feel nothing anymore
april 29th and rintarou suna was gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white, easily going 15 over the limit in a rush to see you
april 29th and rintarou suna didn’t tell his girlfriend where he was going
april 29th and rintarou suna was tapping his foot waiting for you to open the door, regret growing with every second you stalled
april 29th and rintarou suna instantly had his tongue down your throat the second the door opened, hands on your waist tightly, shutting the front door behind him
april 29th and rintarou suna was pulling your dress over your head in a flash so quickly you weren’t sure he wasn’t magic
april 29th and rintarou suna was shoving his middle and ring fingers past your pretty lips demanding, “suck.” as you undid his white button up shirt
april 29th and rintarou suna was palming your soaking pussy through your pretty lace panties, watching your eyes flutter shut and your head roll back at the sensation. “rintarou, please.”
april 29th and rintarou suna was pinching and pulling your clit and your nipples to make you cum without him even touching your pussy. panties still on, and now drenched.
april 29th and rintarou suna had taken one of your breasts in his mouth, rolling his tongue over the soft skin and nipping at the flesh to leave pretty red and purple marks, the other in his hand as he played and squeezed and pinched to make the sensations equal
april 29th and rintarou suna told you to open wide only for him to direct his spit to land on your cheek rather than in your mouth, and proceeded to rub it around your face with his thumb, coating your skin in his saliva. “you look so pretty like this, babydoll. you’re so so good for me.”
april 29th and rintarou suna’s thighs were shaking, abs were clenching, and fist was tight in your hair as he dragged you by your hair up and down his dick, his other hand being sure to reach down and press a thumb to your clit in your most sensitive spot
april 29th and rintarou suna had his soon-to-be wife’s best friend gagging on his dick as the most vulgar, vile, desperate, sinful sounds fell from your lips
april 29th and rintarou suna had you screaming louder than anyone’s ever made you be, bent over with a leg over his shoulder and one wrapped around his waist as he lifted your hips to stick your ass in the air, face shoved down into the blankets which aided in muffling your sobs and screams
april 29th and rintarou suna had bruised and bitten and pinched your entire body enough to cover you in love bites and marks, showing you off as his. something he’d never done much of with his fiancée.
april 29th and rintarou suna had you holding your orgasm with the most fucked out glassed over eyes he’s ever seen, begging that “if you just let me cum i promise to be the best girl you’ve ever seen, rinnie”
april 29th and rintarou suna meets the abused and overstimulated flesh between your legs with a solid pro volleyball player strength slap anytime you cum without permission
april 29th and rintarou suna has long since stopped worrying about being nice to your body. his tight grips and sharp bites and hard slaps and clit & hair pulls: every pain inducing thing he did to you? the more it hurt the better it felt
april 29th and rintarou suna had you creaming all over his dick, his cum leaking out of your overused hole, body more severely fucked than ever before
april 29th and rintarou suna had ensured you’d be walking funny for the following week
april 29th and rintarou suna swirled your clit with his abnormally long tongue before tongue fucking you like the pussy god he is
april 29th and rintarou suna didn’t bother showering before returning to his fiancée, reeking of sex and of your perfume. shirt messily buttoned and wrinkled, belt long gone (still on the floor of your bedroom), hickeys littering his skin, and not even a second glance at his wife to be. 
april 29th and rintarou suna had ruined his promises of fidelity.
do you really wanna know where i was april 29th?