» maturity and age are not always the same, but sometimes they are.«
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TAGS: angst, hurt/comfort, suna x reader based on taylor swift's "all too well (10 minute version), age gap (5 years), happy ending
a/n: thank you so @tetsurousharlot for commissioning this fic!!! this hurt my heart so bad to write, but it was truly so wonderful <3
[commission honee here!]
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Things weren't supposed to end this way. They weren't supposed to end at all. But he wasn't what you expected.
—
TEN MONTHS AGO
"And here we have Suna Rintarou of EJP Raijin — Tell us, Suna, how you think you played today."
You watch him with wide eyes, hands gripping tight onto the barricade around the court. You can't believe that's him. That's him.
Suna Rintarou, EJP Raijin, #7, Middle Blocker.
The man whose career you'd followed with razor sharp focus since his performance on Japan's national team. Standing less than ten feet from you, being interviewed.
"Ah, yeah, I mean, it wasn't my worst game-"
"You scored five points all by yourself-"
He laughs, the sound running down your spine, and then he runs his fingers through his hair, a smirk decorating those perfect features. "I feel like we said the same thing."
You laugh, endeared by that arrogant personality he gives off in every interview.
His eyes flash to yours at the sound.
It freezes you in your spot. You don't know what to do.
His eyes flick down to your shirt, EJP gold and black, and you can only let him. You won't realize it until later, but these tournaments made up of dozens of teams means that seeing EJP fans is kind of rare for him.
He smirks, and you can't tell if it's for you or the interviewer, because his eyes are snapping back to the man in front of him.
You stand there for the whole interview, wondering if you can ask him to sign your shirt or if that's not allowed. Wondering if he's actually glancing at you regularly or if you're just hoping he is.
When he finally says goodbye, he drops his towel over his head and scrubs the sweat away, his feet carrying him right past you. You open your mouth, starting to let out a quiet 'excuse me-', but he's already gone. He disappears around the corner of the barricade and through the door, just to your left.
You deflate, sighing under your breath, trying not to be disappointed. Trying to refocus on the rest of the EJP players, scattered around the court doing interviews. Wondering if you might get another chance.
"Nice jersey."
You turn over your shoulder, that voice all too familiar.
He's definitely looking at you this time.
Your mouth opens, closes, opens again. Finally snaps shut. He watches it happen, eyes trained on your mouth and his own lips curling with amusement.
"Hi." It's all you can get out. You feel like an idiot.
He tilts his head. "Hi." Your feet are glued to the ground, but he changes that with just a few words, his power over you enormous. "You gonna keep standing all the way over there?"
You wobble over to him, only separated by the metal bars between you. He's much taller than you'd expected, your neck craning back just so you can meet his gaze.
"Can I," you start, swallowing hard. His eyes flick to your throat, watching, and then come back. "You played amazing today."
His grin this time is real, and you only know it because he looks away, his laugh breathy and surprised. "Thanks. I didn't expect any fans. People mostly watch for Komori."
It registers to you then that the back of your shirt has his name and number on it. You purse your lips.
"Did you wait to say hi until you could see whose jersey this was?" It's bold, but the reward is immediate, his gaze playful and his grin tugging higher.
"Of course I did. What if it wasn't me you were here for?"
"Why would anyone be here for anyone else?"
You hadn't meant to say that.
He looks like he just won a game you didn't realize you were playing. "You're really something." You hope that's a good thing. "You got a name?"
He watches your mouth when you say it. You watch his when he does, too, the syllables of your name stacked just right on his tongue. You don't think you've ever liked your name this much.
"You were gonna ask me something earlier," he says, the depth of his voice painfully distracting. "What was it?"
"Uh-I-" You blink stupidly. "Uh-my jersey-"
"My jersey," he corrects gently, flashing a toothy grin when you visibly warm and look away.
"Can I get it signed?"
"Hmm… I dunno." When your eyes betray the confusion you're feeling, he just nods down at the phone that's been in your hand this whole time. "Can I get your number?"
"My… number?" When he just stares, eyebrows raised expectantly, you nod. "My number. Yes." And then much stronger, more certain. "Yes-Of course. Yes."
You hand your phone over, your hands shaking, and have to keep from burning through your own skin when his fingers brush over yours.
"Got a marker?" he asks, typing in his number and then calling his own phone. You give him the one from your pocket, and he gestures for you to turn around after he gives your phone back. He places one hand — gentle but firm, warm from his game — on your arm to keep you steady while he signs the back. "There. Keep that one somewhere safe, but, uh-" You make a noise, confused.
He slips his own jersey off and puts it right in your hands. Your jaw drops, and you cycle between trying not to ogle him and being shocked that you're holding Suna Rintarou's shirt.
"-wear that from now on, okay?" When you just stare up at him, open-mouthed and stupid, he laughs, his eyes sparkling. His fingers toy with the sleeve of your jersey. "Little more realistic if it's actually my size, don't you think?"
You just curl the shirt up to your chest, unable to breathe. "Thank you." You suck in a breath, blinking. "Suna."
"Rin," he says quietly. "Rin is fine. Better." He stares down at you when you don't respond, unable to do more than nodding and staring back up at him. "Say it," he coaxes.
Your face burns. "Thank you, Rin."
His smile sears its spot right into your soul.
—
On the uber ride home, you stare down at his jersey in your lap, surrounded by the smell of him and the memory that that did in fact just happen.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket.
[3:22 PM]
Rin: it was great to meet you, yn.
Rin: can i see you again?
—
NINE MONTHS AGO
You're not sure what to call this. Not sure you want to bring it up, because it might pop the bubble you've found yourself in with him.
He takes you out the week after you meet — a little pub where no one knows his name and no one asks questions about the baseball cap he keeps low on his forehead.
"Don't want any interruptions," he says, and you believe him, because the moment you're seated in the corner with his back to the door, he spins the cap backwards and gives you his full attention. Asks your major — 'Fine arts. I want to be an artist.' — and lets out a surprised breath when you tell him you're only twenty-one — 'Five years' difference. You seem… older.'
You ask how he got interested in volleyball, because you already know the facts of his high-school and pro-player career. You want to know about him.
"It was just somethin' to do. I guess I realized I was good at it."
You give him a curious tilt of your head. "But do you enjoy it?"
He looks shocked that you ask. "Uh… I guess so? I wouldn't say I don't enjoy it." When your eyebrows furrow, he gives a low laugh. "No one's ever asked me that before. Never thought about it."
The only reason you don't feel like you've overstepped is that he leans forward on his elbows, gaze open and direct.
"No one's ever asked me that, Y/n," he repeats, a low murmur. You feel the weight of it, even if you don't totally understand.
"Do you wish they would?"
His eyelashes flutter, and the depth of his gaze burns through you. "Two for two, fangirl."
You won't love that name later, but you love it now.
"I'm gonna get us some drinks," he sighs, pulling his wallet out. "What's your drink of choice?"
You chew on your lip, contemplating the route of pretending. But you don't want to start out like that with him, don't want to lie just to impress him. "Diet coke? On the rocks?" you joke. "I like 'em crispy."
He stares, eyes flicking between yours in confusion and then — all at once, wallet dropping down to his lap — he understands.
"Oh, fuck. You don't drink." When you just smile sheepishly, his gaze unfocuses. "Wait, you're old enou-"
"Yes," you laugh. "I'm old enough. I just don't like it."
"Damn," he whispers. You start to panic, thinking he's disappointed. "Damn. I wish you'd told me," he says, scrubbing at his brow. "I wouldn't'a brought you here. I look like a dick, don't I?" His laugh is nervous, and you're quick to shake your head.
"Not at all! I didn't wanna tell you… Didn't want you to think I'm lame or something."
He levels you with an amused look. "You must know some really shitty people." And then he stands, spinning his cap back around and holding a hand out to you. "C'mon. I got a better idea."
The little diner he takes you to is perfect. Comfortable. He tells you that he used to come here while he was training for EJP, that the booth you're currently in — in the far corner, hard to see — is his favorite and always has been. That the old woman who runs the place used to toss in freebies for him before EJP signed him, because he was broke, alone, and far from home.
That same old woman emerges from the back and fawns over you, telling you 'Little Rin's never brought a girl here before' and then smacking him with her apron when he cops an attitude with her — 'C'mon, old lady, don't kill my vibe like that.' He looks embarrassed, so you try to hide your pleased grin behind your burger, but it clearly fails, because he's whispering 'Oh, shuttup' and snickering through a mouthful of fries.
You learn about him here, the way you wanted to at the pub, and he lets you see more of him than you'd expected to.
He asks about your classes, your goals. When you tell him you want to own an art gallery, his grin is wide, and he mumbles something about loving a girl with ambition, only shaking his head innocently when you choke and ask him to repeat it. And then he all but begs to see some of your art, wrangling your phone from your hand when you inevitably give in. He swipes through your photos, shaking his head with a fond look and a downward grin, whispering 'You're gonna be big one day, fangirl' more to himself than to you.
He makes you feel special.
When he drops you off at home that night, it's with a quiet walk up to your apartment door and him standing close but not too close.
"Don't want you to get the wrong impression about me."
He isn't shy, but he's not the arrogant Suna Rintarou he lets the cameras see. He's just Rin, his head dipped low and his forehead brushing against yours, the words 'Can I kiss you?" whispered into the space between you.
He's everything you'd dreamed he'd be. Lips soft, hands gentle. Never straying anywhere he shouldn't, taking his time to treat you right. Backing away after a moment, away from your door, to show you that he'd meant it. He's not expecting more.
You invite him in anyway, not because you feel you have to, but because you don't want him to leave, innocent or otherwise.
He just tilts his head, green eyes fond. You like that you've seen that expression so often today.
"Not tonight, fangirl. I wanna do this right."
You tell him to drive safe. He tells you he'll text when he gets home, just so you know he's alright.
He does exactly that.
That was a month ago. Today — many similar dates later — he's just the same.
He takes you to that diner again, telling you on the drive over about how practice had gone. He lets the owner fawn over you again, the embarrassment gone now and replaced by something akin to pride when he watches how you interact with her. He lets you try to slide some money toward him when the bill comes, a genuine laugh leaving him as he slides it right back, the words 'You're funny, fangirl' his only response.
When he takes you home, you invite him in again, like you always do. This time, however, he says yes. Doesn't comment on the poster you have of him in your living room, but you catch him biting down on his lip to keep the laughter in. When you start to make excuses, he just kisses you. Doesn't protest when you lead him down the hall, only picking you up and asking 'Which way?'. The only indication that he's nervous is the breathy tremble in his voice.
He's gentle as ever, taking his time with you and just shaking his head every time you try to tell him you're ready. 'Not yet,' he breathes, his head slotted between your thighs. 'Not yet, princess.'
Later, you realize that the foreplay is as much for him as it is for you. He enjoys it, his eyes always trained on your face when you get close and his grip always a little tighter when his name falls past your lips.
After you're done, you worry quietly that he might never return. It's irrational, but there's a little part of you that remembers that he's Suna Rintarou, and you're just you.
But he assuages it easily, his body curling around yours in your bed that's way too small for both of you, moonlight painting streaks over where he rests his face on your chest.
"Hey… Y/n?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you wanna be my girl?"
Your head flies up, and you find yourself staring down at the top of his. "Huh?"
He turns his face, relaxing his other cheek on your chest as he gazes up you. "Be my girlfriend."
You don't remember what you'd ever been anxious about.
—
EIGHT MONTHS AGO
Dating him is like living in eternal paradise.
He does all the things you'd consider the bare minimum, of course, but you'd met enough men to be surprised that he's doing them at all. Holding doors open for you and helping you out of his car, even though you don't need him to. Paying for everything, even though you don't need him to. Walking you to your door every night, calling you whenever he's not in practice, sending flowers to your apartment if he's out of town for a game — even though you don't need him to.
"I know you don't. Doesn't make me wanna do it any less."
You learn that he just enjoys it, shooting you disgruntled side glances whenever you try to interrupt his habits. You don't want him to think you're leeching off of him — off of Pro Volleyball Player Suna Rintarou — but it seems like second nature to him. It seems like he really believes you should be treated like a princess.
"I got it, princess."
"Cut it out, princess, you know that's my job."
"You like it, princess? I'm glad."
You learn that his Hyogo accent, subtle and hard to hear in interviews, comes out when he's comfortable. When he's with you.
"Hey, what'do ya think about this? PR team sent it t'me."
"Nah, yer not meeting my high school friends. They're all fuckasses — they'll try t'take you from me."
"Careful, fangirl, you'll burn yerself stirrin' it like that. Gimme."
He's the perfect gentleman, never expecting anything more than you give. He turns out to not be one of those guys who takes a mile if you give him an inch. He stays right where you leave him, taking things at your pace and backing off if he feels you get overwhelmed.
He learns to read you. Your words, your body language, even the things you don't mean to write down.
He knows what your faces mean, what it means when you purse your lips to the right and why it's different from going to the left. He figures out what your breathing sounds like when you're sleeping soundly, knows to whisper your name in the dark when the pattern's not quite right. He learns that there's a balance between taking care of you and leaving you be when you're stressed, when school and life get hard and he can only help so much.
But… He still hasn't introduced you to the public or to his team. You don't want it to bug you, but it kind of does.
You bring it up one night, unsure how dating a celebrity athlete is supposed to work.
"Not yet," he says, combing his fingers through your hair and pulling you flush to his body in bed. He's still coming to your little rundown college apartment, because there's paparazzi outside his skyrise building. You don't mention that you wonder about that, too. "Soon, but not yet."
"Not sure about me yet?" you half-joke, a grin pulling at your lips. He sees through it, like he does with everything lately.
"You know it's not that." It's murmured against your temple, his other arm cradling your head against his chest. His fingers toy with the hem of your pajama shirt — his jersey, the same he'd given you that day. "People are just… really nasty sometimes. This is still new. I don't want them fuckin' with it."
You close your eyes, a lingering dissatisfaction sitting in your chest, but you understand what he's saying. You're not sure you're ready for it, either.
"'m sorry," he mumbles. "I know you're not happy with that answer."
"'s okay," you whisper back. "I can wait."
—
SEVEN MONTHS AGO
He compromises on the situation, without ever needing to hear about it from you again. You start to forget about it, honestly, but it's clear that he doesn't, because he texts you one day.
[1:27 PM]
Rin <3: come by the gym when i get out of practice?
You: what time?
Rin <3: four
You: i have studio hours until 5 :((( do you want me to bail? whats up?
Rin <3: no no dont bail
Rin <3: my little artist has macaroni art due at 6
You: this macaroni art's taken me three weeks
Rin <3: macaroni sculpture :')
You grin, finding it endearing that he does that. Teases in that way that's his, in the way that makes it clear he understands your commitments.
Rin <3: okay how bout tmr at four
You: that works
You: but whats up??
Rin <3: see you tmr <3
When you show up the next day to EJP's home gym — overalls splattered with paint and smudged with clay and oil pastels — you find him at the door. The hood of your sweater is pulled up high over your head, because you know there's cameras here.
"Hi," you say, rushing to him. "What's up?"
"Come inside." He's grinning, ushering you through the door. "C'mon, c'mon."
He leads you down the hall, ignoring your questions and just dragging you around different corners until you're at a door that has 'MEN'S LOCKERS' plastered on the front.
"Wait, wh-"
His hand wraps around your wrist, and you're dragged inside. You slap a hand over your eyes, protesting about being pulled into a locker room.
"Guys," he calls out.
A range of voices echo back, ringing louder the further he drags you into the room.
His hand on yours, lowering it from your face gently, is the only cue you take, your eyes cracking open.
EJP Raijin.
You recognize them all — of course you do, who are you kidding? — but it's a truly unique experience to have them all looking at you at once.
"This is Y/n," Suna says, breathing out a pleased sigh.
All the curious stares break when he says it, the group of men relaxing into sounds of recognition.
Komori Motoya calls out from the back, and you find him easily. "So this is your mystery girl."
Washio Tatsuki's voice is somewhere off to the left. "Wouldn't fuckin' shut up about this perfect woman he'd met-"
Someone unseen cuts him off, a snicker accompanied. "Isn't she kinda young, though?"
You realize how you look, your eyes dropping to your outfit.
You look like a damn idiot. A child. Overalls on top of a hoodie, splattered with a mess of art supplies. You might as well have been finger painting.
You scrub at your legs, glancing up at Suna with panicked eyes. "You didn't tell me — I would've changed!"
He's busy glaring at the unknown voice. "She's not young, you fucking asshole."
You're a little young. You know that, and so does he.
"I'm, uh-" You glance around the room, face burning. "I'm finishing up college soon." And then you lower your eyes, tears pricking at the corners because you feel like a fucking fool. Like you're embarrassing him. "It's really great to meet you all. I'm a huge fan-"
"Oh," someone else teases. "A fan, Suna? Really?"
You can see why he was hesitant to do this. To associate himself with you.
"Hey," he snaps, the knife-edge of his voice something you've never heard before. "Make her feel welcome, or don't say shit at all. No third option."
The knot in your throat loosens just a little. He doesn't look as embarrassed as you feel.
"Alright, alright-" Komori calls, pushing through the bodies to get to you. His hand is warm in yours, shaking it gently. "It's good to meet you, Y/n. Thanks for keeping him in line," he laughs, nodding at your boyfriend. "He's been different lately. Better."
Now Suna looks a little embarrassed. But his smile, small and hidden, gives him away.
—
"You didn't have to do that, you know," you mumble, tugging your fingers through his hair. He'd claimed his spot that first night, arms draped around your middle and head perfectly comfortable on your chest. It's the only spot where he can sleep properly.
"Wanted to," he grumbles. "'m sorry they were assholes about it."
You sigh to yourself, careful not to let him hear it. "'m sorry I showed up looking like an idiot."
"You didn't," he protests. "You looked great. I like your outfits and your paint splatters and your messy hands." He gestures down to the spot where your hand rests on his bicep. You move it, noticing the blue smudge of oil pastel on his skin, right between the lines of his tattoos. "I like it all."
You want to say thank you, but your heart feels heavy. "I feel like I make you look dumb-"
"You don't," he bites. That knife-edge from before is back, the back of the blade sliding along your skin. It doesn't hurt, but it warns that something might if you don't heed his feelings. "You don't make me look dumb. You make me better."
You just nod, fingers trailing along his jaw and trying to move on. "I can see now why you wanted to wait."
He's quiet for so long that you wonder if he's asleep. "I don't want them to hurt you," he starts. "I don't wanna hurt you. I-" He swallows, face radiating heat against your skin.
"You what?" When he doesn't answer, you tilt your head so you can look at him. "Rin?"
"-think I love you."
Later, you'll blame this moment for being the reason that half of your soul is missing, passed on to him in the dark of your room and the quiet of his confession.
The truth is that it'd happened long before this.
—
SIX MONTHS AGO
"I don't know, Rin-"
"It's fine, princess, I promise. Please just stop looking at it."
You stare down at your phone, scrolling through a series of tweets tagged #sunayn. There's a few in there that are kind and supportive of Suna Rintarou showing his domestic side, but the majority are made up of comments on things you aren't sure you can fix.
'That's her? She's so plain."
'She's kind of a mess…"
'Look at her hair and her clothes. Did she roll around in mud?'
'She looks like a kid lmao what does he see in her'
Suna gently tugs your phone from your hand, dropping it on the table between you. You're sitting with him at a cafe, your hood pulled all the way up. It's not because he's worried about being caught this time — in fact, ever since going public with your relationship, he's been much more open about being seen with you.
But you feel like an idiot.
"You can't read all that shit, Y/n. It's gonna mess with your head."
You purse your lips. "It already has."
He sighs. "That's why I told you not to look. But you got curious and hurt your own feelings."
There's a part of you, not small in any way, that wishes he'd comfort you a little more.
You pick at the dried paint on your sleeve, feeling his eyes on you as you examine yourself.
"I mean," you start. "Do I look… Is it hard to be seen with me?"
"You know it's not," he says right away. "I've told you that. So many times."
"I know, it's stupid-"
He sighs again, and you get the feeling he's started to get frustrated. "It's not stupid. I just wish you wouldn't get insecure like this."
You don't know what to say. You know it's silly, because he'd chosen you, and that's should be enough. But that terrible, itchy feeling still sinks into your skin, making you doubt yourself. And you wish he would see that.
After a few more moments of this tense silence, you try again. "Would you like it if I cleaned up a little more before meeting you? Dressed a little better?"
Suna's jaw clenches, and you watch him lean back in his chair. Away from you. "Y/n-"
"Would it help?" you cut him short. "Would it help with all this…" You don't know what to call it, so you just gesture vaguely at your phone. "With all this."
He watches you for a moment, examining your face and the tight set of your pursed lips and the unknowable look in your eyes — defeat, frustration, pain.
"Yeah," he finally says, no more than a grunt and the turn of his eyes out the window. Away from you. "It'd probably help."
It hurts more than you'd realized, but that's on you. You shouldn't have asked if you didn't want the answer.
"'Kay."
He sighs, and you hear it. He'd been waiting for you to be upset with him. "Y/n, don't do that to me-"
"I'm not!" You lean forward, bringing your voice down and staring up into his eyes, pleading. "I'm not, Rin. I'm not angry or hurt-" Lie. "-and I completely understand-" Lie.
His eyes flick between yours for a moment, trying to find what it is that you're not saying. But then his gaze flies over your shoulder, his attention caught by something. He smiles politely, and you turn, realizing there's a girl approaching your table.
"Oh, my god," she laughs, her excitement barely contained. "You're Suna Rintarou. Holy shit."
He laughs, one of those fake ones that you'd grown to dislike ever since you'd met his real ones. "Yeah, I suppose I am."
She squeals behind her hand. "Can I get a picture? Or, like, an autograph? Will you sign my shirt?"
Your heart flies into your throat, but neither of them notice — she doesn't notice you because you're not important, and he doesn't notice you because he's too busy standing for a photo. But you notice them — her.
Had you acted that way when you met him? Is that how you'd looked?
No, it can't be. If it were, he'd be treating this girl the way he'd treated you, with his flirty one-liners and his breathy, real laugh. But he's not. He's just taking a photo and signing her shirt, and there's a clear distance that he's placing between them.
"It's really nice to meet a fan," he says, handing her marker back. "Thanks for stopping by."
She squeals again, going in for a hug. He returns it, smiling, and then he glances down at you. You try to hid your feelings, but you know how well he can read you.
"This is, uh-" he starts, leaning away from her and gesturing to where you sit. "This is my girlfriend."
The look she passes over you makes it clear that you'd been wrong. She had noticed you. She just hadn't cared.
"Oh, right, I heard about that." Her voice is saccharine sweet and painfully ingenuine. "Nice hoodie," she says, smiling. And then she points down at your paint-covered sleeves. "But you got a little…"
Your hands drop to your lap. "Yeah. Thanks."
Suna shoots you an alarmed look, quickly interjecting with a kind 'thanks again. nice to meet you.' as the girl walks away. When he sits, it's with furrowed brows.
"What was that?" He looks annoyed when you just stare, wide-eyed and confused. "You can't be rude to my fans. It's not gonna help."
"I wasn't being-" You sigh, swallowing. "I'm sorry. But she was making fun of me."
You've never seen him roll his eyes before. "She wasn't."
You don't respond, don't feel like arguing about something so stupid in this cafe. You just stare down at your sleeves, picking at paint until he sighs and says he's ready to go.
When he drops you off at home, he doesn't come inside. He just plants a kiss on the crown of your head and says he needs to talk to his PR manager.
And then he leaves.
He texts you a few minutes later.
[3:47 PM]
Rin <3: see you tomorrow
Rin <3: love you, fangirl
It makes your day worse.
—
FIVE MONTHS AGO
The fan drama never really goes away. You just choose not to bring it up again, because the few times you'd tried, Suna had only told you to stop thinking about it. To stop worrying about it. To stop looking for problems.
To stop looking for problems.
You hadn't known what to do with that, either.
So you move on, learn to turn your head when it hurts, because Suna Rintarou being able to read you is no longer the fairytale you'd dreamt of.
Things are still okay, otherwise. Sometimes. He's still proudly showing you off, still holding tight to your hand when the cameras flash. You make sure to dress up for him, taking a change of clothes to class with you and doing laundry twice a week instead of once. You don't tell him that your bills have gone up, because he looks so happy to run off the court after his games and gather you in his arms, cameras flashing when he plants his lip on yours.
It feels worth it. The doubt feels worth it, because Suna Rintarou is worth it.
That's what you tell yourself now, head drooping and then flying up suddenly, his voice quiet in your ear.
"The food here is so interesting. Did you know that they eat pasta with pickles? Sweet ones."
You hum, exhausted. "Don't we have some places like that here, too?" You glance at the clock. Three in the morning, but the middle of the day for him.
"Do we?" he mumbles, slurping loudly through the receiver. When you grunt in response, he swallows and stays quiet for a moment. "You okay? You sound weird."
"'m okay, just sleepy."
"What time is it?"
"Three."
"Oh, shit, you said you were tired like two hours ago," he laughs. "'m sorry, babe. I didn't realize. Will you just stay on while I finish eating?"
You want to cry. You're so tired. And-
"'s it okay if I go to sleep, actually? I have a presentation in the morning-"
"Aw, c'mon, princess. Just a few more minutes. I skipped lunch with the team so I could call-"
"Rin, please, I'm exhausted," you whine. "And my presentation's not done yet, so I was gonna get up early and finish it, and I wanted to practice, but now I don't know if I'll have time, and it's worth 50% of my grade, and-" Your voice cracks, tears pricking at your eyes.
"Okay, okay," he says, his voice tight. "Alright. Go to bed."
The air between you doesn't feel good.
"Rin, I'm sorry-"
"No, it's fine."
You mute yourself while you cry, making sure to do it fast so he doesn't ask why you're not talking.
"'m sorry," he mumbles. "I jus' miss you."
It makes you feel worse.
"I miss you, too," you say quietly, knowing he can hear the knot in your throat. "I'm just worried about my grade-"
"I know. Go to sleep, fangirl. I love you."
You've been meaning to tell him you don't like that name anymore.
"Okay. I love you, too."
You wake up at 8:30, with less than two hours until your presentation.
—
FOUR MONTHS AGO
Suna Rintarou is properly famous now, mostly because of his career but certainly in part due to his "questionable relationship with a younger fan".
You've all but altered your behavior, paying double in electric and water bills and being extra careful with not getting paint on your clothes. It comes at the expense of your art, because you're so worried about staying neat and clean that you start to feel smothered any time you pick up a brush.
But it's worth it, you tell yourself. It's worth it, because Suna's able to counter the 'she's too young' slander with the presentation of a perfectly pristine girlfriend, your posture straight and your clothes clean and your smile practiced.
It's worth it. Even if he's changing, too. Even if he's started searching himself online almost obsessively, overly pleased with his image. Even if he's started getting more attention in restaurants and shops and cafes, even if you're unable to go on a single date without him disappearing halfway through it to take photos and sign autographs.
Even if, when you bring it up, he makes you feel bad.
"What the fuck," he laughs, watching you pace your bedroom. "You serious?"
"I don't feel like I'm asking for a lot-"
"You're asking me to ignore my fans. They're basically the reason I get sponsorships and raises and basically a check at all-"
"I'm not asking you to ignore people, Rin," you sigh, tugging your fingers through you hair. "I just would like a little more time with you. I would like to go on a date and not be alone for half of it. Is that really too much?"
"It comes with the territory!" he argues, throwing his hands out, like he has no idea what you want from him. Like you haven't been expressing that very clearly. "That's just how things are, babe."
"And I get that-"
"I don't think you do-"
"I get it," you bite. "But you don't have to always encourage it. You use your name for reservations, and you make sure everyone can see your face when you go places, and-"
"You want me to hide?"
"Oh, my fucking god," you groan, crouching and dropping your head in your hands. "No, Rintarou. No. I just think that, by doing that, you're encouraging people to see and find you when we go out, and that means that I'm basically alone the entire time we're out!"
"Y/n, this is ridiculous," he breathes, shaking his head in frustration. "This is ridiculous. You know I can't control this shit. I can't fucking control that people come up to me when I'm out. That's like half of my job!"
"Okay!" You give up, shaking your head and planting your ass on the floor. "Okay. Fine. What about when it's just us here? When no one's around?"
He looks at you like you're crazy. You don't like that face he's making. At all.
"What about it?"
"You're always on your phone," you say. He groans, a laugh of disbelief leaving him. "You are! You're always fucking googling yourself and seeing what twitter has to say about you, and that's all you do!" You start to tear up. "You don't pay attention to me at all, Rin. Even when we're alone-"
"Stop." That knife-edge starts to hurt. "Stop it, Y/n. And stop fucking crying!" He looks frustrated, confused, like he's trapped. "You always cry when you're angry with me! You're always making me feel like a piece of shit-"
"That's not what I'm doing! I'm just hurt-"
"I can't help that!" he yells, standing. Hovering high over you, the difference between you so clear. "I can't help that my lifestyle isn't what you want. And- the phone? Seriously, that's your argument? I'm not always on my phone!"
"You are," you mumble, staring down at your lap. Defeated. "You are. You don't pay me any attention at all-"
"Attention," he laughs, bitter and sharp. "You could hardly wait to get off the phone with me the last time I was out of town. You didn't want to spend time with me then, and now you want attention?"
You stare up at him, eyes watery and wide and betraying how hurt you are. "I told you what that was about! I told you my presentation was worth half my grade-"
"Right, right," he nods, pacing around you. "Right. Your classes, your grades, blah, blah, blah."
You can't believe this. "What happened to loving a girl with ambition?" you snap, standing. Refusing to let him take that from you. "What happened to that, Rin? What happened to thinking I'm amazing?"
He shakes his head, eyes cold and sharp, knife-edge. "Don't fucking do that. Don't fucking treat me like that." When you start to argue again, he bites out venom. "This is childish, Y/n. You're acting like a fucking child. I can't do this shit."
You can't help it. You want to be strong, but those words — 'I can't do this' — have created a sense of doom, a surge of panic and fear that he might mean it. That you're too much, too childish. That everything you've fought so hard over the last few weeks to contain —
Smile, there's a camera there.
Stand up straight. Not like that.
Something on your sleeve.
You start to sob, your face cracking and your body shaking with the force of the cry that rocks through you. A wail rips out of you, your throat straining as you curl up at the foot of your bed. You feel him step back, clearly shocked, but you can't bring yourself to care. You're so hurt. So hurt.
You don't know how long he lets you sit there, soul aching. But he eventually drops to the floor, right next to you, and whispers 'I'm sorry'. Gathers you up in his arms, holding you tight when you struggle weakly and pulling you between his legs so he can envelope you completely.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "Fuck, Y/n. I'm sorry. I don't want to fight."
It's not really an apology. He's not really saying he regrets what was said. He's not really taking it back or saying that it was out of line. He's just sorry that it continued for so long, that it's not already over.
But it's an apology. And he'd just made it seem like he was going to leave you, so… if he's apologizing, he's not leaving.
Right?
Right?
He curls his fingers into your hair, guiding your face up to his and nudging his forehead against yours. "I'm sorry, princess. I hate this. I'm sorry." You're still crying, so he pushes his mouth against your cheeks, against your tears. "Please. Let's not fight."
By the time you come down, your face is pressed into the crook of his neck and he's holding you tight and the smell of him — warm, subtle — is wrapped around you, making you feel safe.
You let it, not willing to wonder if it's true.
"I'm sorry," he whispers into your hair for the tenth time. "Please talk to me."
You lift your eyes to his, let him see the tears and the burn. "Feels like you're leaving me behind, Rin." Your voice is weak.
He just stares down at you, fingers scratching at your scalp comfortingly.
"I'll be better about it. I promise."
—
Promises are easy to make. Easy to break.
—
THREE MONTHS AGO
"You must be joking-"
"This is insane, Rintarou," you laugh, ripping the bobby pins out of your hair and trying not to trip on your gown, long and flowy and green to match his eyes.
His tie hits your couch, fingers tugging on the buttons so hard that one flies off, hitting your floorboards like a gunshot.
"I'm not the one making something out of nothing-"
"You didn't speak to me once tonight!" you yell, struggling to unzip your dress. He doesn't help, just pacing your living room and shaking his head. "You let me just stand next to you like a shadow, like some freak!"
"Everyone knows you're with me," he laughs. "Everyone knows who you are! No one was surprised to see you with me!"
"So, you admit you didn't speak to me once."
He rolls his eyes and breathes out a sigh that speaks of exhaustion. "Yeah, go ahead, Y/n, word it in the worst possible way." When you scoff, he throws his hands up. "Of course I fucking spoke to you tonight! You were my date!" And then he lifts his eyebrows high. "To a PR event that was about me, by the way. But thank you for making it about you!" He rips his cuff links off, tossing them somewhere unknown. "Thank you, yeah. Great end to the fucking night."
"I'm not making it about me! Anyone with eyes could see that I was the perfect girlfriend, beside you the whole night while you ignored my presence and had your back to me all night!"
"Ignored your-I didn't!" He's making that face. That face you don't like at all. "I didn't ignore you, and if I did, it was a fucking accident! I'm sorry that I had a million people to talk to tonight — I'm so sorry I couldn't give you the attention you wanted-"
"Fuck you," you bite, your eyes burning with anger and tears. But you hold those back, because you don't want to give him something else to mock you for. "Fuck you, Rin. It wasn't about that tonight. It was about the fact that you made me a PR prop and had me trailing behind you all night like an idiot! You didn't even introduce me to anyone-"
"Who gives a fuck?!" He's laughing now, deranged and angry and bitter. "Who cares if you didn't meet them? You don't care about sponsors and press and investors — I barely care!"
You just stare at him. None of this even matters. It doesn't matter that you didn't care about the people who fawned over him tonight. What matters is that he didn't care, either.
He takes your silence poorly. "Let's just stop fighting, Y/n. Please. You'll get it when you're older."
You feel like you've been slapped. He seems to realize what he's said only once it's too late.
He sighs. "Y/n-"
"You can sleep out here tonight," you state, voice plain and empty. "Or don't. I don't really care."
You leave him in the living room and sleep without him for the first time in a while. There's a part of you that knows this is a test. You want him to stay, want him to be here in the morning. You're scared to find out that he won't, scared there's a chance you won't see him after tonight.
—
He's in your kitchen when you wake up the next morning, pushing eggs and bacon around a pan with a solemn look on his face. You can tell by the way he moves that he slept uncomfortably.
But he stayed.
He stayed, and he's still here, setting a plate and a mug of coffee down in front of you when you sit gingerly at the dining table. He stayed, and he's pushing his fingers through your hair, tilting your chin up so he can drop his lips lightly to yours.
"'m sorry."
You don't ask 'for what', even though you would, were he anyone else. You don't ask, because it'll start a fight, because you know he doesn't have an answer.
You just thank him for the breakfast and let him pull you into his lap once you're done, his affection heavy and full of regret. His eyes full of longing and a hint of desperation.
Like he knows something's not right.
—
TWO MONTHS AGO
He gets more famous. Things get worse.
—
"Don't fucking say it, honestly-"
"You expect me to be okay with that?"
"I didn't do anything!"
You start to pace. It's a common practice now. "I told you that it's hard for me to always be dressed up and perfectly spectacular for all of your games and all of your public appearances all of the time-"
He sighs. "Babe. I am not asking that of you-"
"But you are, Rin!" You laugh. "You're not saying it in words, but you love to point me out in the crowd when I'm perfect and beautiful, but I come in with a little paint on my jeans and you suddenly don't know who I am-"
"I don't even remember that!" he yells, pacing around you. "I don't remember that. I'm sorry I don't mention you to the cameras every time, but seriously, are you that insecure?"
"Tell me it's not true then!" you say, prompting him with raised eyebrows. "Tell me I don't embarrass you when I look like this." You wave down at yourself, at your stained overalls and hoodie, the set he once loved so much. "I told you I don't always have time to change after class! Your games start ten minutes after my studio hours end — I'm sorry I'm a mess!"
"You looked great before!"
You blink. He blinks back.
"Yeah," you say, voice cold. "I looked great before-"
"Y/n, that's not-"
"-because I was going to class basically in business attire!" You stare him down like it's obvious. "I've been so damn careful for the last few months, just for my grades to go down because I'm worrying about your reputation-"
"Yeah!" he yells, eyes wide. "Yes, that's exactly it! You are part of my reputation now, how do you not see that? If you don't look good, I don't look good!"
The space between you is cold. Empty.
"You've changed," is all you say.
"People change," is what he says back. "I know you're young, but you might wanna try it one day."
There's nothing left here.
"Get out."
The door slams behind you.
—
ONE MONTH AGO
You haven't seen him since that argument. You've talked, once on the phone but more often just a simple 'good morning' and 'good night', too much left unsaid for you. Too much lingering for either of you to be able to ignore it.
Still, he's leaving town next month, and he's starting to plan flights and hotels and his first thought is apparently you, because he calls one night.
"Hi, fangirl."
You bite down on your tongue. "I don't like that name anymore."
"… Can we please not start like this?"
"Fine. What's up?"
"Come with me. To Europe. Please?"
You sigh, knowing that he's trying. Knowing that this is him trying to get you back to him, back to what's good between you. Not knowing how to solve it but trying nonetheless.
You pull your laptop onto your lap, sinking into your couch. "When is it?"
"… You don't know my game schedule?"
You sigh again, far too common these days, and shake your head. "I know it, Rin, but I'm barely pulling my calendar up. I don't remember everything off the top of my head."
"Oh. Alright. It's the sixth to the eleventh."
You grimace. "I can't. Finals."
"Wait, what?" He sounds far too surprised for your liking. "You don't have exams anymore. You're a senior."
"I still have projects due. You know that." When he doesn't respond, your eyebrows go up. "Did you not know my semester schedule?"
"Babe, come on. Why would I know it? I haven't been in school in ages."
"So I have to remember your entire season schedule, but you can't remember my important deadlines?"
"Babe. I'm sorry-"
His apologies don't work on you anymore.
"No, seriously, Rin. You don't remember anything about my life anymore, is that what you're saying?"
"God, you're being so dramatic," he sighs heavily. "Don't make it sound that bad. And can't you just finish your projects early? You've known my schedule for months — can't you work around it and come with me?"
"It's not that simple, Rintarou. I've been working on them all semester, even with the fucking setbacks-"
"How long could it fucking take to paint something? Just work around it, Y/n, please."
You stay silent long enough that it clicks, what he's just said. What he didn't.
"Princess. I didn't mean it like that. I know how hard you work. I know it's not that easy-"
"Are you just saying what I want to hear?"
He laughs, quick and sharp. "What? Why would I-"
"Because you always happen to understand the problem after you've already fucked up. You never care enough to think of how your words will hurt me before you do it."
"Y/n. None of this has to be that serious-"
"Have fun in Europe, Rintarou."
—
TODAY
You stare down at your phone, gaze unseeing. He's calling, back to back to back when you don't answer. He texts, but the previews come and go without you ever reading them.
[1:22 PM]
Rin <3: baby please pick up
Rin <3: it's not what it looks like i swear
Rin <3: i promise you it's not
Rin <3: please just pick up yn
Rin <3: they completely blew it out of proportion
Rin <3: she was just a fan. it was just a hug, i swear to god
The previews come and go, but the picture on the tabloid stays. The picture that leaks all over twitter stays. A photo of Suna Rintarou with his arms wrapped tight around a girl that looks just like you. Same height, same hair color, same smile.
Suna, #7 written on the back of her gold and black jersey.
You haven't worn yours in weeks.
You wonder if that's why it happened. Because you weren't enough of a fan anymore.
[1:23 PM]
Rin <3: yn i promise you on everything, i would never do that.
Rin <3: please.
You don't answer.
Hours later, with forty missed calls and double the texts, you sit on your couch, staring at nothing. Your dinner untouched on the coffee table.
The doorbell rings.
You don't want to get it.
It rings again. And then again. And then again.
You rip it open, if only to stop him from continuing.
His eyes are bloodshot and red. He's been crying.
"Please, Y/n."
"Did you cheat on me?"
"No!" His voice cracks, and he grabs you by the arms. You push him off. He lets you. "Y/n, I swear I didn't. I would never. I love you. You know I love you-"
"That's the thing, Rin." You shake your head, your voice wobbly and tears clouding your vision. "I don't think I know that anymore. I don't think I've known for a while now."
"Y/n, you have to trust me-"
"Trust you!" you laugh. "You haven't given me a reason to trust you in months! I'm nothing but a pretty little prop for your fucking reputation."
"That's not fucking true-"
"Please, Rintarou." You sigh, looking away. Never letting him in the door. "I can't keep doing this anymore. Just go away. I'll send your shit back later." He stops the door when you try to close it in his face, but you just glare up at him, all anger and pain and betrayal. "Go away, Rintarou."
He lets you slam it this time.
—
Getting over him is nearly impossible. It hurts too much, feels too raw. Every day that passes should feel like a step toward healing, but any — any — memory of him hurts. For weeks and months, it hurts.
For years, it hurts.
—
FIVE YEARS LATER
You glide through the gallery, greeting potential buyers and casual viewers alike. It's not yours — not yet, you hope — but your work is being displayed. Your work is being bought.
You stand by the far wall, taking in the amount of people that have showed up. The friends and family that are here. The strangers that are here. The people who've seen your work posted online and decided it was good enough to be present for.
You take another scan, smiling to yourself.
Until it falls.
He looks different. But it's him.
He's staring up at one of the walls, and even without approaching or rounding the corner to see it, you know it. You know it deeply. Because it's him.
Gold and black, smudged and smeared in anger and pain and betrayal. Smeared in love and longing, for the sake of a man you miss but can't seem to get rid of. Smudged until it's not him, even though it is. Even though he knows it is.
You don't want him to see you. But you can't look away.
He feels your gaze.
You've never forgotten those green eyes, not once.
He swallows, blinks, looks away. Glances again and runs a hand through his hair.
Someone passes between you, and he's gone. You wonder if he was ever really there — you've had more than one moment of imagining him.
"Hi." It comes from your left.
You don't turn, keeping your back to the wall and your head turned to the right, out toward the room.
"Hi," you echo. "You're back in town."
"You knew I was out of town."
You pull your keys out of the pocket of your slacks. There's an EJP Raijin keychain, the number #7 glinting in black against the gold coin.
"You played like shit last week."
He sighs heavily. "Did it make you happy?"
You turn finally, facing those green eyes even though you're not ready.
"No," you say plainly. "Not at all." There's hurt in his eyes, the same you feel deep in your bones. "How did you find me?"
He doesn't look away. "Why wouldn't I keep tabs on you, Y/n?"
You scoff. "Stalker."
"If you say so."
Your eyebrows arch. "Are you here for anything in particular?"
"Just looking around. Interested in a purchase."
"Not for sale." You start to move away, but he stops you. Lays two fingers inside of your wrist, firm but perfectly easy to break if you wanted.
You don't.
"Please, Y/n. Five minutes."
You stare up at him, breathing hard.
"Show's over at eight."
He doesn't even check the time. "I can wait." And then again, stronger. "I'll wait."
—
You've never been back to this diner. Never had the nerve or the courage, because it's always been his.
"Where's the owner?" you ask softly. "Is she well?"
He doesn't meet your eyes. "She passed. Last year."
You choke down the knot that's forming in your throat. "I'm… I'm so sorry, Rintarou."
He nods. "It was a nice funeral. She has a big family. Her son runs the place now."
There's something in your chest that screams of time passing and regret, but you push it away.
You order your food and then stay quiet.
He opens his mouth a few times, but nothing ever comes out. He looks terrible.
"Y/n," he croaks, voice cracking. "I need you to know, with no uncertainty at all, that I never cheated. That I never did and I never woul-"
"I know," you breathe, staring down at your hands. There had been a part of you that had always known. You'd known that he'd changed, but that there would never be a version of Suna Rintarou who would go that far. That he never would, because you remember the man he once was.
You know now that you'd just been looking for a way out.
"I know," you repeat. "I know, Rin." The name falls out, because you still can't get rid of it. It's written into your skin.
He swallows, his knee bouncing under the table and his jaw clenching and unclenching. "The way that I treated you. It haunts me."
You hum. "Which part?"
"All of it." He shakes his head. "Making you feel ignored, making you feel crazy for feeling that way. Making you feel small and unimportant, like I was the only one that mattered." His eyes are starting to water. "You were never small and unimportant. You were never childish or immature. It was me." Both knees are bouncing now. "It was me. I was terrible. I was young and fucking stupid, and I didn't appreciate you the way I needed to. The way I should have." He swallows hard. "I was stupid and selfish and obsessed with my image. And all you'd ever done was love me."
Your eyes burn, but you choose to let the tears fall, because it's okay now. "I'm your age now, you know."
"I know," he says right away. "I know."
"I feel as stupid as I did back then. Maybe even more."
He hears what you're saying. That he wasn't stupid because he's terrible or because he's some evil man who can't ever learn to love the right away.
He was just young. He was young and stupid for falling into the trap of being young.
His eyes meet yours. You'd known it this whole time, but it still weighs heavy — the fact that you will never lose this feeling. The fact that he will never leave you.
First love, painful or otherwise.
"Is there anything else?" you try, your voice rough, tight.
He looks like it's killing him, the thought that you might get up and walk away.
there appears to be a surge of newly created tumblr blogs mass reaching out to people who post anything related to writing (under writing-related tags) and offering to "beta read their works" for them.
I don't know if they are bots trying to trick people into handing their works to them (so they can then use these works to train their ai machine), or if they have any other ill intentions. but the way they are approaching people (and how all of them are newly created blogs) makes me extremely wary.
as someone who prefers to work alone without a beta reader and someone who will only reach out to a trusted friend (whom I personally know) for beta reading, if I ever want one, I don't know if it's normal for people to reach out to random people and offer to beta read their works for them like this, but I've never seen it before until recently. and I've always been under the impression that a beta reader, especially for fanfics, is someone within the same fandom an author is in, and someone who's friends with an author (or at the very least online mutuals). these new "beta-reading blogs" are apparently reaching out to a lot of random people across various random fandoms, and if I'm being honest, they sound extremely sketchy.
I will apologize if they are legit and if they are real people who genuinely want to help, but from how things look right now, I don't trust them. and I'd advise that you be careful, especially now with the rise of scam bots that are plaguing both tumblr and ao3.
Hi, hello! I was really hoping I wouldn't have to do something like this, but job hunting for something steady has been a bust lately and the contract work I do have has gone from painfully inconsistent to nonexistent recently. Currently, my options are donations + commissions, or moving back in with my toxic relatives, which I'd like to avoid if at all possible for the sake of my mental wellbeing.
The last few months have been rough. I was dealing with some health issues (physical and mental) in August, and about a month ago I had an emergency vet visit unfortunately end with one of my cats being put to sleep (and a lovely bill to top it off). Any commissions (or donations) would be greatly appreciated right now.
If you do choose to leave a ko-fi donation, please feel free to also leave a request (sfw + nsfw). I'm also open for writing commissions or work as a freelance writer/editor.
Thank you for your support over all my years on tumblr! Have a great day!
a feel like the new generation of fanfic readers NEED to understand that clicking on a fic (interaction) does nothing. ao3 has no algorithm. your private discord discussions of fic do not reach the authors. if you do not actively engage with writers they will stop posting. this isn’t social media this is community.
the rule of fandoms is that if someone has a character in their url or bio they either understand that character well enough to give a 3 hour unscripted lecture on the subject OR they're really obsessed with their version of that character thats an entirely different made up guy. and theres literally never an in between
NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.
If you do this with my fics, or anyone's fics, please know I HATE you. I hate you more than every troll comment, every "your writing sucks kys" comment, every "update soon" comment. I hate you. Other authors hate you. If you want my fic, you either WAIT for it or you pay me for it. And if you won't do one of those things, you don't deserve my fic or anyone else's.
All this does is tell me that you don't see me as a person. All I am is a content machine, and if I'm not working fast enough, you'll feed my writing into a different machine and gobble down whatever it shits out for you.
TBF this problem has been growing for a while. The rise of Generative Artificial Garbage simply makes it really, really stark.
This is seriously one of the biggest insults you can EVER do to a writer. Imagine putting your heart into a project and someone takes that project and feeds it to a machine because they could not wait for the creator to do more. It's genuinely appalling.
I am begging people to be normal about completed fics, and in particular one shots.
I am begging people to stop demanding more from authors, and insisting that one shots need to be longer or have sequels.
I don't think yall understand how many fanfic authors are one more "where's the rest of it?" comment away from throwing out any plans they might have had to continue an idea.
Unless an author like specifically says they might write more for an idea, just-- assume something marked as completed is complete, and respect it as it stands, please.
