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#i wrote this bc i lost my sunarin mochi today and ive been so d*pressed abt it
animatedrapture · 1 year
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— bet on stones. / suna rintarou x f!reader.
— fluff. all fluff. (a lot of flirting and teasing.) established relationship. some cursing. pro-player!suna. post timeskip suna.
— teasing sunarin for his short hair. ggez btw.
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"rin," your voice is barely above a whisper, but the corners of your lips are twitching, trying your hardest not to laugh.
and listen, while suna has the softest spot for you, the glare he gives you is well-deserved.
"don't start," he says—all warning and frowning.
"what'd—" the giggle escapes you, it can't be helped, "what'd you do to your—your hair, oh god," you almost whimper, trying to reign it in.
suna groans, reaching a hand to his hair and running over it in a ruffle. his hair—so short and barely framing his face—and he's still pretty, but it's a sight to see.
especially when he just walked in your apartment this way, avoiding your gaze the moment he stepped foot inside because he just knew; he knew that you'd be there on the couch waiting for him and for the life of you, you won't be holding back your laugh or any quick-witted comment on his hairstyle.
but then, you're standing from where you were, walking towards him by the door.
a grin decorating your face, the urge to laugh still evident by the crinkle of your eyes, and your hands reaching to cup his face. "hi, pretty boy," you greet him, thumbs over his cheeks.
he sighs. narrow, green eyes looking back at you with some exasperation, some hint of softness, all at once. he leans in, pressing a fleeting kiss to your lips, before he speaks, "learn to shut up more often, yeah?"
you immediately pout, "what?" you sound offended. "i'm flirting with you, rin," you tell him cheekily, "short hair, weird-looking you—"
"ooookay," he cuts you off. it's all monotone, the way he says it. and you can't tell if you've truly annoyed him yet but with a pinch to your waist and a hand over your mouth, he's moving you, turning you over and backing you up against the door.
your eyes widen as he leans in—all six foot three and broad body over you, still in his ejp jersey—he levels his gaze with yours, watching your reaction.
he licks his lips before speaking, "y'got somethin' more to say, babe?"
you shake your head slowly. truthfully, if your weakened knees and your hands now on his arms on a tight grip is any indication; suna, even in his weird short hair, is still the prettiest person you know.
he hums in thought, like he doesn't buy your answer, but he keeps a straight face as he removes his hand from your mouth, only raising an eyebrow at you with some sort of challenge.
"who did your hair, babe?" you opt to ask instead, biting your lip to prevent a giggle.
suna's responding glare is quick, but sighs in defeat at his answer, "fuckin' atsumu miya."
the snort you let out is enough for suna to tease you for, but he lets you have it instead. besides, you let him tease you more often and let him get away with it more than you should.
you reach up to his cheeks again. with his hands still on your waist, it's a picture right out of a romcom, were anyone else to see you two.
"you lost a bet, didn't you?" you ask, already knowing the answer, "but why would you trust atsumu with your hair, rin?"
"cause," suna answers you, "he would've turned his hair rainbow—that's funnier."
"how did you lose the bet, anyway?" you tilt your head, cause you know that despite how careless your boyfriend could be, he rarely loses these.
this time though, instead of answering you, he shakes his head and picks you up—it's effortless, the way he does it, bringing you back to the couch.
"is it that bad?" he mutters while he's peppering kisses all over your neck. it's overwhelming, the sensation of his lips and his larger body over you, the clean smell of his shampoo and his skin against yours because he likes taking a shower before coming home to you.
he takes your breath away, really.
"no," you sigh, because he's lingering a kiss right against the pulse on your neck.
"actually," you start, moving to try and meet his gaze, your hands finding his soft, dark hair, massaging against his scalp. "i have a boyfriend but maybe you can tell me your name and we could go on a date?"
suna's chuckle vibrates against you, his lips tugging with a small smile. "mm, 'm not sure you're worth gettin' a fight over."
you gasp dramatically, faking offense, "i'm asking you out on a date!"
"don't you have an athlete boyfriend, though? suna, yeah? pretty sure he can fight."
you shake your head, "hmm, he likes making me happy, though. i think we can just break up if it makes me happy, right?"
he hums in thought, not too worried about his too-short hair and your teasing anymore, "don't know if you'd be a good girlfriend, though."
it's your turn to make it physical this time, tugging playfully at his hair, "that's offensive, rin. i bring a lot to the table!"
suna smirks, trying not to laugh at you, "yeah? like what?"
"well, i can cook out of love for you. i'll wear your jersey proudly for your games. i'll wait for you to come home every day. in bed—"
the list goes on. this, suna knows the best. on his end, it's the only reason why he lost the bet anyway, because there's a ring hidden in the box in his training bag he thought he would've given to you by now.
atsumu, six months ago, told him he's too chicken.
no one can really blame suna for being nervous about it, though. so nervous that now, six months later, with a bet lost and a ring he's got for you still hidden, his hair is cut short.
it's because he loves you like this.
but with the list still going on, he thinks you're right: he should take you on a date, then maybe, if you say yes, make you his wife.
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