#itoshirin

rin just got out of a shower when his phone rang. when he looks over to see who's ringing him at this time of night, he immediately grabbed it when he saw your name on his screen.

“hello, is this itoshi rin?”

rin furrowed when he heard not your voice but a man's voice.

“it is, who are you?” and why are you holding y/n's phone.

“the owner of this phone is currently at *** convenience store and she's drunk. she passed me the phone to dial—”

before the person on the other side finish his sentence, rin was already putting his clothes on and walking straight out of the door.

it's late in the night, why is y/n getting drunk? that idiot, i swear.

so the idea is a rin x reader where he uses collars, leashes, and marks the reader with bites or hickeys… and somewhere in the moment, he whispers “you’re mine” while taking them hard 👀 just that possessive energy 😮‍💨

anyways i really hope this isn’t too much!! love you and your fics so so much, they always go crazy 🔥 pls take care of yourself too, okay? you’re doing amazing bestie 💗💗

꒰     ᩧ ֺ ۪ 　　　"ALL FOR ME"     ʾ       ˖

── .✦ ꒰ rin itoshi x f!reader ྀ ꒱ —

rin itoshi has mostly been invited to these football gatherings with famous people, which you dont have a fucking clue about, but as his girlfriend you always just go with him.

tonight, you wanted to wear a new dress you bought last week, a black spagehtti dress with a slit. it looked to sexy on you in the mirror. you paired the dress with your YSL heels, and were ready to go.

you waited for him to call you so that he can pick you up. most of the times, you are at his apartment, but this new dress of yours was at your place, so you were at your house.

rin parked his black nissan gt-r infront of your apartment, getting out and leaning on his car with a flower boquet of blue and white hydrangeas.

as he drove his hand on your thigh, few glances here and there. his eyes always going down to that slit of your dress.

time passed by, you both reached at the event, his hand placed firmly on the small of your back at all times. guiding you through the huge crowd.

"hey, go sit over there, ill get us drinks." he whispered in your ear softly, pointing at the bar. you nodded and made your way there, as he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you alone.

as you walked towards the bar, you looked around, recognizing famous soccer players. oliver aiku, bachira meguru, and.. isagi yoichi. the only one whose eyes were already on you.

you gave him a small smile, and waved. you had met him before, even talked to him before! your first impression of him off field was.. "oh, what a nice guy"

few drinks later with yoichi, you were a bit drunk. not hella drunk, giggling and chatting smoothly with yoichi. subtle flirting from his side, which you didnt shut down, just ignored it.

rin on the other hand, was surrounded by people, his legs spread, drink in hand, eyes on you and yoichi. oh, his jaw was clenched, he was possibly even more than pissed, but you did not pay attention to any of that.

now, it had been an hour. yoichi kept you company, slapping his hand on your shoukder every once in a while as he laughed. you were getting bored, and eventually, rin approached you. "come on, lets go home."

"byeeeeeeeee yoiichiiii", you squealed as you put your entire weight on rin, he stiffened. a vein popping on his forehead. you made it to the parking lot, as you mindlessly yapped your rinrin's ear off.

in the car, rin finally spoke "did you have fun?", trying not to snap. "huhhh? yesss vevyy.. pleh..." rin would have normally found your drunk state very cute, but not today. not when you were in the company of another man. but, he did not say anything, yet.

as soon as you both reached his home, he hastily removed his shoes, unbuckled his belt, removed his stupid tie, and unbuttoned his shirt. you, completely oblivious, was admiring and fixing your mascara in the mirror, as if you did go out again.

you kicked off your heels and flopped on the bed, legs slightly parted, dress riding up. you blabbled a bit more, then you plopped on your elbows, looking around for rin. he was unbuttoning his pants, dead eyes locked on to yours, to which you raised an eyebrow.

he pounced on you, discarding your clothes on the floor. spreading your legs apart, placing few kisses on your inner thigh.

considering the fact, that you would be wet already, he just pushed his boxers down, shoving his dick in your pussy, with slow and deep thrusts. rin's throbbing and big dick in your wet and tight cunt. leash on your neck. kitty band on your head.

"f-fuck- t-too much.. rinnieee"

your moan muffled by the pillow, as he fucked your aching cunt, lord knows how many times he made you cum, his hand pushing your face deeper in the pillow, as you drool even more.

"you can take it, slut. wanna go and fuck other boys huh? wanna be a whore for isagi, hmm?"

he mindlessly blabbered whatever the fuck he thought. his possesive instincts pushing in.

and if your head is buried too deep in the pillow, to the point he couldnt hear you blabber, he would tug on the leash, grabbing and pulling your hair which made you arch your back even more..

“you’re mine,” he muttered, voice soft now, lips brushing your jaw. “no one else gets to touch you like this. not isagi. not anyone. just me." him putting you in press just to make you shut up. your legs folded, his body flush against yours, face buried in your neck as he places wet kisses on your neck, and some hickeys here and there.

you had never come harder in your life.

ෆ a/n note: thank you for the request girly! and no problem, you did not request anything too much! sorry for taking so long to write! (⁠ー⁠ □ ー⁠゛⁠) ⁠ヘ

───────── ⋆⋅꒰ა☆໒꒱ ⋆⋅ ────────

"The feeling that I'm losing her forever.”

───────── ⋆⋅꒰ა☆໒꒱ ⋆⋅ ────────

CW - themes of emotional neglect, heartbreak, loneliness, and intense emotional pain.

-----------

Rin Itoshi’s fingers trembled as he unfolded the fragile, crumpled letter, his eyes fixed on the words he’d never expected to find.  

You said you couldn’t keep doing this.

A certain scene played over and over in his head. The room was silent, heavy with unspoken words. You lay beside him, trembling softly in the quiet darkness, your hand resting gently on his side—an instinct, a desperate, trembling plea for connection. Your fingers curled slightly, fragile and uncertain, aching for him to notice, to reach out. All you wanted was for him to see you, truly see you, your love, your pain, your longing.  

Suddenly, he shifted. Without a word, his arm jerked away, shoving your hand off his waist as if it burned him, like your touch was a burden he couldn’t carry. His eyes flicked open just for a moment, and when they landed on you, he saw that same peaceful, fragile smile.  

But it wasn’t real. A silent, gentle mask concealed the silent plea to be loved–yet behind it, eyes reflecting something raw and hollow. You smiled because you wanted him to believe you were okay. After all, you wanted him to see the love you carried in silence. But inside, your heart was breaking—cracked and bleeding, aching for him to hold you, to love you the way you desperately needed.  

You just wanted him to love you. To hold you like you mattered, to see the pain in your eyes that you never dared to speak aloud. Every night you begged silently, hoping, praying that someday he’d notice—the way your love was wrapped around him, tender and real, though he never saw it.  

And yet, in that moment, he pushed you away again, oblivious to the invisible scars he’d left behind. His rejection cut deeper than any words could, stabbing into your soul, tearing at the fragile hope you clung to.  

He looked at you and saw only the peaceful smile, not the storm of ache behind it—the longing that screamed inside you, desperate to be loved, craving just a fraction of the affection you’d sacrificed everything for.

All you ever wanted was to be loved. And in that quiet, cold night, you had shown him your love—hopeful, trembling, real—while he had only seen the mask. And that realization tore him apart, gut-wrenching and raw, knowing he’d lost someone who loved him more than words could ever say.

Your handwriting was shaky, trembling with unspoken pain, each word heavy with sorrow and regret, echoing the ache he had left unacknowledged.  

“I feel like I’m just another thing you forget about,” you wrote.  

On another night, he remembers seeing you standing there, trembling in the cold, clutching your phone as if it were the only thing keeping you tethered to him. Your shoulders hunched, not from the chill but from the weight of silent despair, eyes empty and dull, staring past the flickering streetlights like you were already dissolving into the night.  

He remembered glancing at his screen and seeing your message—how you had begged for just a moment of his attention, a quiet plea that you mattered. But he had been too wrapped up in his world, too consumed with training to notice. His thumb hovered over the dismissive reply, then moved on, ignoring your call that night.  

And despite everything, you had forced a fragile smile, trembling as it touched your lips—a ghost of a grin that barely masked the ache inside. Your eyes flicked up, trying desperately to meet his, to show you were okay, even as the tears threatened to spill over. You looked so exhausted from waiting, shoulders hunched, as if trying to shrink into yourself to disappear. Silent. Broken. Hopeless.  

He couldn’t forget the look in your eyes—how hollow and tired they had become, how your face betrayed the exhaustion of pretending. You looked so drained from waiting, from holding back the tears, from pretending you were fine when every second in that cold, silent night was ripping you apart inside.  

And now, as he remembered it, that ache in his chest grew heavier, a suffocating weight of regret and grief. He had let you stand alone, abandoned your silent cry for help. You had begged him to see, and he had looked right past you, too blind to notice the cracks that were breaking your soul. 

You were tired of being ignored.

He often remembered how you would sit alone on the couch, eyes fixed on the worn carpet beneath you, as if the world around you had faded away. Your gaze was distant, lips pressed into a thin line, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. You looked so small, so invisible, as if you were trying to disappear into the silence, your quiet presence heavy with unspoken hurt.  

He’d storm past you, lost in his own chaos, barely registering how your body tensed at his passing. Sometimes, he’d snapped at you, voice sharp and dismissive, brushing aside your worries about his schedule as if they were trivial. “It’s not a big deal,” he’d said, waving you off like an annoyance, as if your concerns meant nothing.  

And yet, he often replayed that look in your eyes—how you’d glance up at him, desperate for a sign that you mattered, that he saw you. But he’d turn away, blind to the silent plea, as if you already knew he’d never truly notice.  

He realized how you’d tried to be invisible, hiding your pain behind a fragile mask, knowing deep down that no matter how much you needed him, he wouldn’t see. 

“I’ve given you everything I had, but it’s never enough for you,” you admitted.  

He remembered that night as if it were etched into his skin—how his voice had erupted, harsh and unforgiving, each word a lash that cut deeper than any physical blow. His anger had blurred his judgment, and he shouted at you with a fury that made his chest ache. In that moment, he saw himself, voice rising, accusing, blaming—words sharp and cold, dismissing your pain as nothing more than an overreaction, as if your tears were just an inconvenience he didn’t have time for.  

He could still feel the weight of your trembling shoulders, the way your hands had clenched into fists, trembling so violently it seemed you might shatter. Tears shimmered in your eyes—unshed, but so close to spilling—yet he’d dismissed that too, as if your hurt was a lie, a drama you’d invented for sympathy. He didn’t see how your voice cracked, how your body shook with the effort to stay composed, to hold back the storm threatening to drown you.  

In his mind’s eye, he watched you slowly retreat, head low as if trying to make yourself smaller, to disappear from the storm he’d created. His shouts echoed louder, each word a blow that pushed you further away, further into the silence where he couldn’t reach you. The gap between you widened with every shouted accusation, until you looked like a ghost slipping into the shadows, broken and invisible.  

He saw himself shouting, his voice raw with anger, pushing you back with words that sliced into your heart and made it ache so painfully he thought he might break. And then, just like that, you were gone—silent, retreating into a space where nothing he said or did could reach.  

And in that quiet aftermath, he finally saw it—the hollow, shattered look in your eyes, the way your trembling shoulders betrayed your attempt to stay strong. Every cruel word, every angry shout, had left scars he’d never seen until now, until it was too late to undo what he’d broken.

“Sometimes I wonder if you even see me,” you wrote.  

He remembered your quiet tears—how you looked at him with hope, only to be met with cold indifference, your eyes searching his face for just a flicker of love.  

A memory drifted back—nights when he sat on the couch, shoulders hunched and brows furrowed, lost in his frustrations. His phone was glued to his hand, screen glowing, as he scrolled through whatever was bothering him. You’d sit nearby, trying to catch his eye, voice quiet as you reached out, fingers trembling as they brushed against his arm. But he didn’t look up. He simply pulled away, as if he hadn’t noticed. His focus didn’t shift, not even for a second.  

You sat there, shoulders hunched, eyes shimmering with unshed tears, fighting to hold back the ache in your chest. You looked at him like he was the only thing that mattered, your gaze searching his face for just a flicker of warmth, a sign that he cared. But his face remained distant, cold, unmoving—like he was somewhere far away.  

He sat in the silence, but he could almost feel it— the ache in your chest, heavy and relentless. It was in the way your shoulders hunched, as if carrying an invisible weight, and in the trembling of your hands clutching that small bag so tightly. Your eyes, filled with quiet desperation, begged silently for him to notice, to understand, to care. You looked at him with a hope that sheathed your trembling voice, waiting for a sign, a single glance that might tell you he saw what you were feeling.  

But he didn’t look up. He didn’t move. His gaze remained fixed on his phone, lost in a world that didn’t include you. The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating, as if the very air around you refused to acknowledge the ache you carried. And still, your eyes searched his face for just a flicker of warmth, a sign that he cared—even as he remained unaware of the silent plea you’d been making all night.

“I don’t think I can keep waiting for you to change,” you said.  

He saw you standing by the door, your hand trembling as it clutched a small bag. Your shoulders shook slightly, and your voice cracked as you tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. You looked exhausted, like you’d been holding back tears all night, and now they threatened to spill over.  

You expected him to stop you, even just for a second. To reach out, to say something—anything—before you left. But he didn’t. His eyes stayed fixed on his phone or somewhere else, completely ignoring you, as if you were invisible.  

You hesitated, your breath hitching, then forced out the words that broke his heart: you loved him, but you needed more—something he couldn’t give. The desperation in your voice made it feel like a knife stabbing through him, yet he couldn’t move.  

He watched as you took a small, trembling step back, then another, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears, quietly slipping away without resistance, like you'd already prepared yourself for this moment, like you’d known it was coming all along. The soft click of the door closing behind you echoed in the silence, no fight, no goodbye, just a quiet, final departure.  

He didn’t care at first. He didn’t think you were leaving for good. He told himself that you’d come back, that it was just a moment of pain, a temporary goodbye. But then he found the letter hidden under your bed, the words faint but clear on the worn paper. One whole month before he found your letter. That’s when the ache began—the yearning, the regret, the terrible truth he had ignored for so long.

He can still remember hearing the final click of the door closing behind you, the silence that followed echoed louder than any words spoken in anger.

His eyes stay fixed on the final line, each word burning into his mind.  

He couldn’t look away, even as his hands trembled uncontrollably.  

That last line—the unspoken farewell—felt like a punch to the stomach, leaving him breathless.  

His tears blurred his vision, falling steadily, soaking the paper as he stared at it, unable to stop.  

They blurred the ink, smudging the words he desperately wanted to remember.  

Gently, he folded the fragile paper, as if afraid it might tear further.  

But no matter how carefully he handled it, the pain inside him only grew worse.  

He realized he had lost someone who loved him quietly, who had only wanted to be seen.  

And now, that silence was deafening, leaving him with a hollow ache he couldn’t shake.

—

Dear Rin,

I feel like I’m just another thing you forget about.

I’ve given you everything I had, but it’s never enough for you.

Sometimes I wonder if you even see me

I don’t think I can keep waiting for you to change.

I just wanted you to see that I was enough.

                                                    Sincerely, Y/N.

—

The weight in his chest grew heavier with each breath, like a stone lodged deep inside him, pressing down until he could barely breathe.  

His eyes darted back and forth over the crumpled paper, hands trembling as he reread every word—the raw, aching truth bleeding from each line, as if reading it could somehow make it less real.  

He was caught in a loop, every sentence stabbing anew, each one a mirror of the heartbreak he’d refused to see.  

He remembered your trembling hand reaching out, your eyes flickering with hope that he had refused to notice, your voice trembling as you begged silently for just a moment of his attention.  

Now, the silence was deafening—an unspoken void that screamed louder than any words ever could.  

He felt the ache of what he’d lost—what he’d shattered—like shards of glass lodged in his chest, bleeding pain he could no longer ignore.  

He finally saw the love you’d poured out, quietly, unrelentingly, the kind of love that never demanded, only gave, and hoped he’d see it someday.  

I-I-II..I drew my dearest Rin-chan!!!

I think, that if he will find it, he is going to get very angry and hit me...😅😅😅😅 oh well, Rinnie sticking his tongue out like a dog with rabies?~

I'm going to run, now. Bye sweets!!

tbh i feel like itoshi rin would be so insanely touch starved to the point if you even place ghost kisses over his face he'll go insane and start whimpering, face red and flustered

Hiorin x DanDanDan Au

I also have blueskyif you wanna cheak up more draws <3

🦋:

i allow ocs tooo!!! there areng much roles yet since im still working on it heheh