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all mine : rintaro suna x bimbo!gf notes from the writer : fluff, 0.4k words
Suna doesn’t say no when you crawl into his lap with a handful of hair clips and a look of intense concentration on your face.
He doesn’t say yes either.
He just sighs, long-suffering, like this is something inevitable that happens to him now.
“Don’t move,” you tell him, already tugging his hair forward. “I’m being careful.”
You are not being careful.
You pull too hard, stop midway, then get distracted by a clip shaped like a little star. “Oh my god, this one’s cute.”
Suna hums in response, eyes half-lidded, phone abandoned face-down on the couch beside him. He had been scrolling five minutes ago. Now he’s watching you instead—every tiny frown of concentration, the way you stick your tongue out when you’re focused, how proud you look every time you manage to get a section right.
All of his attention, completely on you.
You shift closer, knee knocking into his thigh. “Does this hurt?”
“No,” he says immediately, even though you absolutely just yanked his hair again.
You smile at him like that settles it. Like he’s done something good just by existing. His chest tightens in that quiet, annoying way he never talks about.
You keep working, hands warm, movements messy but gentle in intent. You pause every few seconds to ask his opinion.
“Pigtails or half up?”
“Which side looks cuter?”
“Wait—does this look dumb?”
Every question pulls his focus deeper, like he’s being invited into your little world on purpose. He answers all of them, softly, seriously, like your choices matter more than anything else in the room.
When you’re finally done, you hop off his lap and spin the phone toward him so he can see.
“There!” you beam. “I made you pretty!”
He looks at the screen. His hair’s uneven. One clip is crooked. Another is definitely upside down.
He doesn’t change a thing.
Instead, he reaches out, hooks a finger into the belt loop of your shorts, and pulls you back between his knees—not rough, not fast. Just enough to keep you there.
“You done?” he asks.
You nod, pleased. “Mhm!”
“Awe man,” he says, gaze lifting back to your face. “I wasn’t finished lookin’ at you.”
Later that night, he posts a picture. Just the hair. Just the clips. No caption.
The comments blow up.
You don’t notice. You’re too busy sitting beside him, playing with the sleeve of his hoodie, while Suna ignores his phone entirely—because right now, you already have all of him.
© ruecifix — do not copy, repost, translate or fed any of my work into ai.
