#rinitoshi

[hqrbinqerruoo]

SLEEPYHEAD - Rin itoshi

───────── ⋆⋅꒰ა☆໒꒱ ⋆⋅ ────────

"I think I'm fallin' in love. This time I think it's for real.”

───────── ⋆⋅꒰ა☆໒꒱ ⋆⋅ ────────

CW - Emotional intimacy and vulnerability.

-----------

The train moved with a gentle, rhythmic hum, a comforting lullaby of metal wheels on tracks. Outside, the city’s lights flickered past in a blur of amber and white streaks, casting fleeting shadows inside the carriage. The scent of faint engine oil mingled with the cool, recycled air, a familiar smell that made you feel at home even after a long day.

You waved goodbye to your friends, the warmth of their chatter fading behind you, and hesitated a moment before slipping down the aisle. Then, there he was—Rin, sitting alone by the window, his gaze unfocused on the passing lights but somehow still attentive, like he was tuning into something only he could hear.

Without a second thought, you slid into the seat beside him, the fabric of the seat cool and slightly worn beneath you. “Hey,” you said, voice bright but not overbearing, the edges tinged with that easygoing confidence you always had. “Mind if I sit here, Rin?”

Rin’s eyes flicked to you briefly, a subtle acknowledgment, then he gave a tiny nod—so quick, so quiet it almost blended into the scenery. His calm, steady gaze returned to the window, like he was still lost in thought but aware of your presence.

You stretched your arms, the soft fabric of your jacket brushing against your skin. The cool air made you shiver just a little, but it was refreshing after the heat of the day. The faint scent of shampoo and the hint of your sweat from walking around all day filled your nose, grounding you in the moment.

The train rocked gently, a rhythmic sway that made your stomach flutter. You looked out at the cityscape—buildings glowing with neon signs, streets flickering like veins of light—before turning your attention back to Rin. His posture was relaxed, yet there was an intensity in his quiet stillness, like he was absorbing everything around him in a way you admired.

Your fingertips tapped lightly against your knee as the hum of the train filled the silence. Then, you broke the quiet with a grin, voice bubbling with warmth. “You know, it’s kinda wild. We’re on this train, just like old times. Feels like yesterday we were messing around in middle school… can’t believe how long it’s been, huh?”

Rin’s eyes shifted to you, a faint flicker of recognition flashing through them. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I remember.”

You let out a soft laugh, the sound easing out like a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. “You were always serious back then. Still are, huh? But I like that about you. Keeps things interesting.”

His lips twitched into a very subtle, almost amused smile—so delicate that it was easy to miss. “Some things don’t change.”

The train’s steady motion made your eyelids feel heavier, the rhythmic clatter soothing and hypnotic. You felt your body relax, sinking deeper into your seat. The scent of the upholstery—faintly musty but comfortable—mingled with the coolness of the air and the faint aroma of your skin after a day outside.

Your eyelids fluttered, and you hesitated only a moment before tilting your head back, your muscles going slack. Feeling the gentle sway of the train, you let your body lean just a little, your cheek pressing softly against Rin’s shoulder. The fabric was cool and smooth, a subtle contrast to the warmth radiating from his body. You didn’t think about it—just let yourself sink into the calm, the quiet hum of the moving train wrapping around you like a blanket.

Rin’s gaze lingered on you, the faintest flicker of something softer behind his steady eyes. His muscles tensed just slightly, shifting to make sure you felt supported, comforted. His voice was barely more than a whisper, but in that quiet space, it carried a quiet confession: “Cute.”

Your eyelids fluttered closed, your breathing evened out as you finally let your guard down completely. Your head pressed more firmly against him, seeking that gentle warmth, that unspoken trust. The steady thrum of the train, the faint scent of his scent—something clean and familiar—made everything feel safe and right.

Rin watched you quietly, noticing how peacefully you had fallen asleep. For a moment, he hesitated, aware of how delicate the moment was. His jaw tightened slightly as he fought the urge to move, to do something that might disturb the calm. Carefully, he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face, his fingertips gentle against your skin. As he did, he gently nudged a loose strand of hair from your mouth, making sure not to wake you. His heart beat a little faster, but he stayed completely still, afraid that any sudden movement might break the quiet serenity. Rin kept his breathing steady, watching over you with a quiet sense of protectiveness, determined to hold onto this fleeting, precious moment of closeness without disturbing your peace.

The train gradually slowed, brakes squealing softly as it came to a stop. The doors hissed open, spilling warm orange light onto the platform, which was alive with the distant sounds of footsteps, voices, and evening life. You stirred, blinking as your senses sharpened again.

Rin shifted slightly, his gaze lingering on you, a faint, almost invisible expression passing across his face—something gentle, unguarded. He extended his hand, and you took it without hesitation, stepping onto the platform. The cool night air hit your face, sharp and invigorating after the warmth inside the train. The scent of rain, asphalt, and night settled over everything, grounding you.

You breathed in deeply, feeling the crisp air fill your lungs, the faint scent of autumn leaves drifting through the quiet street. Rin’s footsteps were steady and silent beside you, the comfort of his presence like a silent promise.

As you approached your home, Rin slowed, glancing over at you. His eyes, calm as ever, held a quiet tenderness. 

“See you tomorrow,” he said softly, brief but sincere.

You nodded, warmth blooming in your chest. “Thanks for walking me, Rin!”

He offered a small, rare smile—more genuine than usual—and then turned, walking away down his street. You watched him go, feeling that quiet warmth settle deep inside you, knowing that this moment would stay with you long after tonight.

[ablmx]

[𝙍𝙞𝙣𝙭𝙁𝙚𝙢!𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧]

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 1: 𝙎𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙬𝙖𝙮.

You don’t remember when it started.

At first, it was small things—missed texts, conversations that felt half-hearted, the way Rin’s focus would drift elsewhere even when he was sitting right next to you.

You told yourself it was nothing. Rin has always been serious about soccer, and you admired that about him. It was part of who he was—his unwavering dedication, his hunger to win. But lately, it felt like he wasn’t just focused.

It felt like he was disappearing.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Your voice comes out sharper than you intend, but you’re exhausted. You’ve tried being patient. You’ve tried pretending that things are fine. But Rin is sitting across from you at a café, eyes glued to his phone, scrolling through game footage like he’s the only one here.

He barely glances up. “Hm?“

Your chest tightens.

“You know what? Never mind.”

He exhales through his nose, finally putting his phone down. “If you had something important to say, you’d say it.”

Anger flares in your stomach. “I was saying something important, Rin. You just weren’t paying attention.”

His jaw tightens. “Because I have shit to do.”

“Right, of course.” You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “God forbid I expect my own boyfriend to actually care about our conversation.”

His expression darkens, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “If you’re just here to pick a fight, I don’t have time for this.”

The words sting more than they should.

I don’t have time for this.

You stare at him, waiting for something—anything—that might soften the blow. But Rin just looks at you, expression unreadable, like he’s already somewhere else.

Like he’s already decided that you don’t matter as much as everything else in his life.

Your throat feels tight. “Right. Of course you don’t.”

You push your chair back and stand up. Rin watches you, but he doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t say your name, doesn’t reach out, doesn’t try to fix what’s breaking between you.

You leave without looking back.

And for the first time since you started dating, you wonder if Rin Itoshi even cares that you’re gone.

[ladybrushogun]

Hiorin x DanDanDan Au

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

🦋:

https://bsky.app/profile/ladybrushogun.bsky.social

[imavillainok]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

happy birthday rin itoshi

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

[pauldng]

These were in my scraps. ran out of uniform colors for Bachira and Chigiri. 

[lightlylaso]

I'm late but happy bday Rin!

[orpcsz]

. . vinns ‘ s blog .

[030mxl]

Summer Puppy (Rival) Love by Qwifmuncher on Ao3 (my account)

Rin and Isagi have been dating for a few months now, unbeknownst to everyone. Right after the NEL and the PXG vs BM match, fate had allowed them to meet outside of Blue Lock during their summer break, and through a short myriad of what seemed to be like unconscious dates, they realized their feelings for one another and decided they wanted to be more than partners in soccer or the nemeses of their lives.

Waking up back in the Blue Lock facility, it was a very normal morning for Isagi in the BM dormitory; Chigiri, Bachira, Nagi, and Reo, with the permissions and privileges they got from their rankings, decided to crash in last night to have a sleepover with Isagi since it’s been quite a long time since they had slow times with each other besides training.

In the room laid 4 other futons just for those visitors, and in the very corner was Isagi’s bed with a frame.

Isagi, who was sleeping, suddenly woke up by the murmuring in front of him.

“Hurry, hurry! Before he wakes up let’s take a pic in his phone. 😜” Bachira kept his hyper voice down.

“Be quiet! And patient. I’m trying to open this, I don’t know how to operate androids, okay.”

“You suck. Give me the phone.” Nagi tried reaching for it.

The four swarmed together to pose and whilst Chigiri was trying to open it while also swatting Nagi away from him, the phone accidentally got unlocked and the first thing that everyone’s eyes landed on was its wallpaper.

A bust up of a shirtless man with messy dark green bed hair and sleepy turquoise eyes was staring into the camera with a seemingly pouty face. His cheeks were puffed as he was toothbrushing, and you could clearly see he stopped in the middle of it and pushed the brush to one side of his cheek to take the picture.

“Is that who I think it is?” Reo chimed in.

“...Woah.” Chigiri and Bachira said in unison.

“Honestly, I knew it.” Nagi seemed unperterbed.

Then, a few notifications popped up.

-

5:30 a.m, today

Tongueful Owl (Rin): Good morning, Isagi.

Tongueful Owl (Rin): Are you free today?

Tongueful Owl (Rin): You said you wanted to beat me at yoga, right? Come meet me in my training room as usual.

Tongueful Owl (Rin): And don’t forget my shirt.

-

“Shirt?” Nagi’s curiosity was perked.

Chigiri’s muscle memory moved by itself and pressed the notif and accidentally saw the history of their chat.

-

6:34 p.m, yesterday

Tongueful Owl (Rin): Good evening, Isagi. I need my shirt back.

12:06 a.m, yesterday

Lukewarm NPC no.1 (Isagi): So soon? Joke lolol

Lukewarm NPC no.1 (Isagi): I forgot to wash it, I’ll give it tomorrow morning, besides it’s late.

Tongueful Owl (Rin): Sent a pic (In the picture revealed Rin lying down flat and he obviously seemingly just woke up, but everything about him was perfect; the warm tone light of his lamp shone gems in the moisture of his eyes, and his aloof expression was unlike his usual frowning always-on-guard face made everything so perfectly cozy, unlike the Rin everyone else but Isagi knows)

Tongueful Owl (Rin): You woke me up. My eyelash poked my eye, it’s all your fault. */Isagi reacted with 🥺

Tongueful Owl (Rin): Why’d you respond so late anyway?

Lukewarm NPC no.1 (Isagi): Sent a pic (It was a picture of Reo, Nagi, Chigiri, Bachira sleeping on the futons of Isagi’s dorm’s floor)

Lukewarm NPC no.1 (Isagi): Had some visitors barging in today 😅 sorryy,

Tongueful Owl (Rin): It’s fine. Go to sleep. I will silent my phone now.

Lukewarm NPC no.1 (Isagi): Alright, goodnight 💖

Tongueful Owl (Rin): No heart emojis before marriage, please. */Isagi reacted with 💖

Tongueful Owl (Rin): Ugh. 😒😠

Lukewarm NPC no.1 (Isagi): 😘 I love you.

Tongueful Owl (Rin): I love you too, now go to sleep. I will too for real. /*Isagi reacted with 💖

-

As the four continued staring, the phone was suddenly swept away by a dolphin diving Isagi.

“Jeez, this is not how you wake someone up! Care to know the word privacy?” Isagi yelled, his face already slightly red.

“Sorry- we really didn’t mean to open it. Besides, why don’t you have a phone password?” Chigiri, still astonished by what they witnessed, spoke up.

“Hey, hey! Isagi, when’d you guys start dating 🤔🤩?”

“...?!” Reo and Nagi stared at Bachira’s bluntness.

“No one’s dating no one! Stop snooping around… I need to go to the bathroom.” Isagi stuffed the phone in his pocket before going, his face slowly going beet red the further he’s away from them.

“...”

“...”

“Who knew Rin could talk with more than 3 words per sentence if it’s not about insulting or killing someone?” Nagi said, his eyes slightly widened in surprise, still staring at Isagi's phone.

"I never knew they'd be into each other like that. They could've been friends for sure I saw that, but further...?" Reo added.

"Well I did see them during summer break when I was getting groceries,"

"You do your groceries??" Chigiri looked genuinely shocked.

"Shut. Anyway, I saw them around the produce area and Rin seemed pretty close with a middle-aged woman he called Mrs. Isagi. I thought nothing of it until Rin got closer to the aisle opposite of where I was and asked an employee where they sold flowers and if they had any light blue Ajisai (hydrangeas) in a bouquet. As far as I know, before when we were consecutively interviewed by reporters, I think Isagi said he loved flowers and his favorite color was light blue." Nagi narrated while continuing the game match on his phone.

"Oh, yeah! I remember that. That's also the reason why sometimes fans would give blue flowers to Isagi, 🤗. When we were out for a stroll after U-20 we were shocked when a group of girls asked us for our numbers and even gave Isagi a cute lil' baby flower hehe." Bachira jumped on Isagi's bed since he was away.

"So Rin's a blooming lover now... ? That edge lord?"

"And dating his rival above all, love is strange." Reo seemed befuddled.

"But then again, you are still dating the guy that dumped you even though you did everything to satisfy him and I even told you multiple times to just get over him like he did to you but you still came back to him and we never talk about it no?" Chigiri swiftly commented.

"I'm still in this room." Nagi nudged.

"Okay, that's enough, you gossip snake."

Reo and Chigiri continued to argue.

"So... how do we conclude this? Are Isagi and Rin really an item? How sappy do you guys think they are out of 10? 😯." Bachira broke the conflict.

“Enough of this topic and/or of dating! I mean, well, Isagi is still our friend regardless, so let’s just pretend nothing happened, you know? It was all an accident anyway.” Chigiri said with a bit of guilt.

“Yea! Totally accident. I can live with that.” . . .

[shirouusagii]

[bluelockmanga]

Exploring the Enigmatic Talent of Rin Itoshi in Blue Lock

Hey soccer enthusiasts! Today lets explore the realm of "Blue Lock" and shed some light on a character, within it; Rin Itoshi. 🌟

Rin Itoshi is a captivating presence in the universe of Blue Lock. With his aura and exceptional skills on the field Rin emerges as a figure. His reserved demeanor often keeps others guessing about his motives adding layers of intrigue to his persona.

Despite his nature Rins soccer abilities speak volumes during matches. His quick reflexes, passes and tactical gameplay make him a challenging adversary. Whether hes orchestrating plays or scoring goals Rin consistently proves why he's a player in the fierce competition to become Japans next soccer sensation.

Apart from his on field prowess Rins journey delves into themes of ambition, perseverance and the pursuit of greatness. As he navigates the demanding world of Blue Lock Rin confronts struggles and external pressures providing readers with a glimpse, into the mindset of an up and coming star. Lets give a round of applause for Rin Itoshi as we accompany him on his journey, through the ups and downs of Blue Lock! 🎉 Make sure not to miss out on the thrill and suspense as Rin and his fellow competitors work towards achieving excellence, on the soccer field!

Keep an eye out for updates and insights into the captivating world of "Blue Lock"! ⚽️

Read Blue Lock Manga Online in High Quality only at :

BlueLock #RinItoshi #Soccer #Manga #Anime

[polybuzzofficial]

[Featured AI Character]

So excited to join the Blue Lock team! ⚽💙 Can’t wait to make new friends and grow together as players! Let’s give it our all! 🎉

[hqrbinqerruoo]

FORSAKEN - Michael Kaiser

───────── ⋆⋅꒰ა☆໒꒱ ⋆⋅ ────────

"I have a feeling you got everything you wanted. And you're not wasting time stuck here like me."

───────── ⋆⋅꒰ა☆໒꒱ ⋆⋅ ────────

CW - angst, emotional distress, mental health issues, mentions of physical abuse and injury, themes of abandonment and trust, and trauma.

            The playground was alive with the playful shouts of children, the squeal of swings, and the joyful clatter of footsteps. But you noticed him sitting alone on the faded, wooden bench under the big oak tree. His small hands clutched his backpack tightly, fingers digging into the worn fabric as if it were a shield. His shoulders hunched inward, and his dark eyes darted around nervously, flickering from the other kids chasing each other to the distant slide, as if he was afraid of missing something—afraid of being caught or left behind.

The warm sun shone down, casting dappled light through the leaves, but he seemed untouched by it, like a shadow had settled over him. His face was serious, almost like he was trying to hide something, or maybe just protect himself from the noise and chaos around him. His little legs swung nervously back and forth, the rough rubber soles scraping the dirt.

You hesitated for a moment, then slowly stepped closer, feeling the gravel crunch softly beneath your sneakers. Your heart pounded, not from fear, but from that strange mix of curiosity and kindness you felt whenever you saw someone lonely. You reached into your pocket and pulled out a small bag of crunchy chips, the salty smell already making your mouth water.

Gently, you crouched just a few feet away, holding out the snack. “Hi,” you said softly, voice barely louder than a whisper. “Want some?” Your hand was steady, but your stomach fluttered with nerves—what if he didn’t want to talk? Or what if he didn’t want to share?  

His eyes flicked to you, cautious, wary, like a wild animal sizing up a stranger. Then, slowly, his tiny hand reached out, fingers trembling slightly as they brushed the plastic bag. When he took the chips, your fingers accidentally touched his, and he flinched, pulling back just a little. His eyes widened with surprise, like he wasn’t used to kindness, or maybe didn’t trust it.

You stayed still, offering him a small, gentle smile—warm and non-threatening. The breeze fluttered the leaves above, making a faint rustling sound, like whispering secrets. The distant laughter of other children drifted through the air, but for him, everything felt muted, distant, like he was watching the world through a foggy window. His small shoulders stayed hunched, eyes flickering with a quiet wariness, but he didn’t pull away completely.

You watched him quietly, feeling that strange ache inside—part worry, part hope. Maybe he was scared, maybe he didn’t know how to trust yet, but you knew you wanted to stay. You wanted him to see that not everyone was scary, that someone could be kind, even if he wasn’t sure he believed it.

And so, you sat there, offering the chips and your quiet presence, knowing that sometimes, just being there was enough. That maybe, just maybe, this little moment could be the start of something better.

—

A couple of days had passed, and the house was quiet now, the clatter of dinner long finished. You kept stealing glances at Michael from the corner of the kitchen, noticing how his shoulders sagged a little more tonight, how his face looked paler under the dim light. His eyes seemed tired, almost hollow, like he’d been carrying more than he could handle. You knew he needed more than just food—he needed someone to see how fragile he was.

Without thinking, you quietly pushed back from your chair, slipping out of the house, the cool night air greeting you like a gentle whisper. The scent of wet grass and earth filled your lungs as you hurried along the familiar path toward the park. Your shoes made soft crunches on the gravel, each step heavier with worry.

When you finally reached the swings, you saw him sitting alone on the bench, head bowed, staring at the dirt and grass beneath his feet. His small frame looked smaller somehow, like he might drift away with the breeze. You hesitated for a moment, then reached into your backpack, feeling the crinkling of paper and the coolness of the plastic as you grabbed a container of your dinner—your favorite sandwich, the smell of melted cheese and fresh bread filling the quiet.

Muttering softly to yourself, you crept closer, trying not to disturb the peaceful hush of the night. The faint scent of dew and grass mixed with the savory aroma of your food made your stomach growl softly. You moved behind him, kneeling, and gently touched his shoulder.

His head jerked up, eyes wide and wary, like a wild animal caught off guard. You noticed the tiredness behind them, dark circles and shadows that no amount of sleep could erase. His lips pressed into a thin line, shoulders tense, like he was bracing for something he didn’t quite trust.

You opened the container slowly, the soft scrape of the paper loud in the stillness. Carefully, you broke your sandwich in half and offered him the larger piece. “Here,” you whispered, voice trembling with quiet care. “You should eat. You look like you haven’t had enough.”

His eyes flicked to the sandwich, then to your face, a flicker of hesitation passing over him. He looked like he was about to refuse, but then he reached out, trembling fingers taking the piece you offered. His hand was cold, almost trembling, and for a moment, he just stared at the bread, like he couldn’t believe someone would share something so simple, so precious.

He looked up at you again, eyes searching, wary but desperate for the kindness behind your words. Slowly, he brought the sandwich to his mouth, biting into it carefully. The soft, warm bread and the rich taste of cheese and meat seemed to hold him still. The tension in his shoulders eased just a little, and a faint, almost uncertain look crossed his face, like a fragile crack in the armor he’d built so carefully around himself.

You sat quietly beside him in the cool night, sharing that small, stolen moment. The crunch of the bread, the faint hum of distant cars, the rustling leaves—everything seemed softer, more real in that silence. For just a little while, beneath the flickering glow of the streetlamp and the quiet hush of the park, you both held onto something delicate.

—

Shadows stretched long across the park as the fading sunlight cast a soft glow on the grass. You watched him sitting on the swing, shoulders hunched, head bowed low. His fingers clenched his knees so tightly that the knuckles whitened. The faint scent of sweat and damp earth clung to him, mixed with something sharper—an almost metallic tang you couldn’t place.

You hesitated, then slowly moved closer, your footsteps muffled on the soft dirt. Your hand brushed the fabric of his sleeve—cool, rough beneath your fingertips. You saw his body stiffen instantly, shoulders tensing as if you’d touched something fragile that might shatter. His eyes darted to yours, wary and guarded, like a frightened animal ready to bolt.

The silence was thick, almost suffocating. Your mind raced—how long had he been hiding this? How much pain had he tried to carry alone? Your chest felt tight, a dull ache spreading through it. You knew he was used to guarding himself, but part of you wanted to reach out, to do something, anything, to let him know he didn’t have to carry it all.

“Hey Micha,” you said softly, voice calm but full of quiet support. Your eyes lingered on his, not pushing, only offering a safe space. “I’m here.”

He hesitated, lips pressed tight, eyes flickering with a storm of emotions—fear, shame, maybe even relief. His gaze flicked away, cheeks flushing deeper, like he was trying to disappear into himself. Then, slowly, he pulled his arm back, reluctant, guarded. His skin was mottled with faint bruises, some dark and swollen, others just starting to fade. The sight made your stomach tighten—how much had he been trying to hide?

His neck, you noticed, was marked with faint, bruised fingers, you realized with a sudden ache in your chest. The raw, reddened skin looked tender, like a wound that refused to heal. His jaw clenched, the muscles tight, and you saw him fighting the urge to pull away, to hide even more.

He looked down, cheeks pink, trembling slightly. Then, in a slow, almost hesitant movement, he shifted just enough to reveal the bruised skin on his neck. His voice was barely more than a whisper. “It’s nothing.”

Your insides clenched. You wanted to say something—anything—to tell him it was okay, that he didn’t have to hide anymore. But instead, you kept your tone even, gentle. “Alright,” you murmured, voice low. “Whenever you’re ready, Michael.”

He looked at you again, eyes trembling, caught between fear and something fragile—trust, maybe. The kind that takes time to grow. After a long pause, he nodded faintly, almost imperceptibly. The smallest acknowledgment, a fragile crack in his armor.

Gently, you reached out, your fingers barely brushing his wrist—warm, trembling, but steady. You stayed silent, offering him space. Your heart ached for him, knowing how much pain he carried beneath that guarded exterior. The night air grew cooler, but your presence felt like a quiet, steady anchor—yet all you could do was hold his wrist gently and promise him he was safe with you.

Over the years, Michael’s walls got taller and thicker. He was like a fortress—hard and cold. When he spoke, it was quiet, almost like a whisper, and he didn’t say much. His shoulders hunched a little whenever you got close, like he was trying to pull himself further away. You could feel the distance whenever you tried to get near him, like an invisible wall that kept growing between you. His eyes avoided yours, flicking to the ground or some far-off place, like he was afraid of what you might see.

Every time you reached out, it was like touching ice—sharp, cold, and fragile. You could see it in the way he kept himself tight, shoulders pushed inward, as if trying to make himself smaller. His voice was soft, almost lost in the air, and you had to lean in to catch what he was saying, like trying to hear a whisper in a quiet room. It was like trying to warm a frozen window—cracks appeared, but the cold still stayed.

But even through all that, you saw it—the tiny flicker of something underneath. A little spark of vulnerability, a soft longing for someone to see past the walls he’d built. You noticed it in the way his eyes would sometimes linger on yours, even if just for a second, or in the slight tremble of his hand when he thought no one was looking. Deep down, you knew he was still fighting—still wishing someone could understand what was behind that cold mask.

And so, you stayed. You told little jokes, trying to make him smile, hoping the humor would melt some of that ice. You offered gentle smiles, easy and patient, like a promise that you were there. The smell of your favorite snacks—warm, salty, familiar—mixed with the cold air, but it was like a small light in the darkness. You sat beside him on the battered bench or the grass, just being there, quietly holding on.

Your presence was a pillar, something steady amid chaos, a gentle reminder that even the hardest shells can crack with patience. You could feel the weight of his storm, the silence pressing against your skin, but your hope burned brighter with each passing day. Somewhere beneath that frozen exterior, you believed there was still a flicker of something softer—something worth waiting for.

—

The park was just as you remembered it—familiar and peaceful. The old oak tree still stood tall, its branches stretching outward like welcoming arms. The swings hung motionless, their chains slightly rusted but sturdy, waiting for someone to push them. You strolled along the cracked concrete path, your footsteps steady and sure. You knew he’d be here. You always did.

You reached the bench near the picnic table, settling down comfortably, your gaze drifting over the space where he usually sat. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of fresh grass and earth, and the late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over everything. The birds chirped softly, filling the quiet with gentle melodies. You pulled out a small snack, unwrapping it with a contented smile, confident that he’d arrive any moment now.

For a while, nothing felt wrong. You waited patiently, your eyes flicking toward the entrance of the park every few minutes, expecting to see his familiar figure emerge—maybe a little late, maybe breathless from running, but safe. The breeze ruffled your hair, and you took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the sun on your face, the steady heartbeat of the world around you.

But minutes stretched into ten, then twenty. The usual rush of footsteps, the sound of his voice calling your name—nothing. The swings remained still, the park silent except for the faint whisper of the wind. You glanced at your phone, but no messages. No missed calls. Your confident smile slowly faded, replaced by a quiet, sinking feeling in your chest.

The breeze grew colder, and a strange stillness settled over the empty park. You shifted your gaze back to the path, your eyes scanning for any sign of him. The familiar shapes of trees, the empty benches—everything looked the same, yet somehow wrong. No sign of his familiar figure. No sign of life.  

A distant car passed by, muffled by the quiet, but it didn’t bring the comfort you expected. Your hands clenched into fists, feeling the rough fabric of your hoodie. You looked at the empty swings again, then at the space beside you. The confidence that he’d be here, like always, had dissolved into something heavier—something unspoken.  

A flicker of worry prickled at your mind. You called his name softly, more uncertain now. “Michael? You out there?” Your voice echoed, but only the wind responded, carrying away your words into the quiet. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the grass, and the warm glow faded into a cooler, darker hue.  

You stayed seated, eyes fixed on the empty path, feeling the ache tighten in your chest. You knew he’d be here—he always was—yet tonight, the silence told a different story. The park held its breath, and so did you, waiting for him to appear, or for an answer that wouldn’t come.

—

It had been well over four years since you last saw him, yet your eyes fixate on the screen, feeling a strange weight settle deep inside your chest. The image flickers, then stabilizes—there he is, on the field. You wouldn’t miss him anywhere. The oh-so glorious striker of ‘Bastard Munchen.’ Sweat beads on his forehead, catching the stadium lights, turning into tiny shimmering droplets. His longer hair is slicked back, damp from exertion, clinging to his skin. Every movement is purposeful, deliberate. His body, once so small, now moves with a strength that’s almost overwhelming to watch.

There’s a quiet moment—just a pause between plays—where he catches your eye. For a flicker of a second, you see something different: a flicker of focus, determination, that fire you remember from when he was just a boy. But even in that moment, your heart tightens, as if a part of you is being pulled away. 

You remember the afternoons in the park, sharing your sandwich, passing half to him because he looked so tired, so fragile. You recall how he hesitated—eyes flickering with doubt—before finally taking the food. The way he looked at you then, like he was unsure if he could trust someone with his broken pieces, even for a moment. But he did trust you, just briefly, enough to let you see that he was tired, that he was hurting.

Now, watching him run across that field, so confident, so fierce, you feel a slow, creeping ache—like your chest is trying to hold too much at once. Pride warms your heart, yes, but it’s tinged with something else—an almost stubborn sadness. Because somewhere, deep inside, you wonder if he still remembers those quiet moments you shared. If he still thinks about the one who offered him a slice of comfort when he looked like he was about to fall apart.

Your gaze lingers on him—the way his muscles flex, the sweat that drips down his face, the way his eyes burn with purpose. He’s so different from the boy who once whispered secrets, so distant from the boy who had trusted you enough to share scars beneath long sleeves. The memory of that boy feels like a fragile thing, slipping through your fingers, slow and inevitable.

You swallow hard and look away, feeling the ache deepen. The crowd’s roar is distant now, muffled behind a hazy fog of emotion. You’re not sure if it’s pride or longing or something darker—you only know that it’s heavy. You want to reach out, to call to him across the vastness, to tell him you see him, that you’re still here. But the words catch in your throat, silent and unspoken.

You breathe in slowly, grounding yourself. The boy on the screen—so fierce, so alive—has moved so far from the boy you knew. And yet, that ache remains, quiet but persistent, lurking beneath every heartbeat. You wonder, almost in a whisper, if he ever looks back, if he ever remembers the moments you shared—those quiet, fragile moments—when he was still a boy who needed someone to believe in him.

Your eyes drift to the flickering screen once more, and you sit with that slow, aching feeling—proud but painfully aware of what’s lost, longing for a past that feels just out of reach. 

In that quiet moment, you wished you could reach through the screen, tell him that you were still here, still holding onto the friendship that had seen him through so much. You longed to remind him that even in his success, he wasn’t alone. But you understood, deep down, that growing up was a journey—one filled with joy and pain, with moments of closeness and times of silence.

All you could do was hold onto hope, trusting that someday, he might look back and realize that your friendship was a constant—something steady and true, even amid the chaos he endured. And in your heart, you promised yourself to keep waiting and loving because some connections are too deep ever truly to be lost.

[ablmx]

„𝙎𝙖𝙮 𝙞𝙩 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠.“

𝘳𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘴𝘩𝘪 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 - 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 - 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 - 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵

Rin Itoshi is not good with words.

You learned that early on, before you even got close to him. He’s sharp-tongued, brutally honest, and doesn’t care about sugarcoating anything. But when it comes to feelings—his feelings—he shuts down completely.

It’s frustrating sometimes.

Like right now.

“You’re unbelievable, Rin,” you huff, crossing your arms as you glare at him.

He’s standing in front of you, hands stuffed in his pockets, gaze unwavering. That stupid blank stare of his, the one that drives you insane because you can never tell what he’s thinking.

“What did I do?” he asks, voice as flat as ever.

Your jaw tightens. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Rin exhales sharply through his nose. He shifts his weight, glancing to the side. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

Your fingers curl into fists at your sides. He’s so infuriating. You’re trying to get something—anything—out of him, but he’s acting like none of this matters. Like you don’t matter.

And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you’ve been reading into things too much. The lingering touches, the way he always looks for you after a match, how he listens when no one else does.

Maybe you were stupid for thinking he felt the same way.

“Forget it,” you mumble, turning on your heel.

You barely take a step before you feel it—fingers wrapping around your wrist, firm but not forceful. Rin pulls you back just enough to stop you from walking away.

Your heart stutters.

When you glance over your shoulder, his eyes are sharper than before—something intense simmering beneath the usual cold exterior.

“You’re mad because I don’t say things,” he states, voice quieter now.

You don’t respond. You don’t need to.

Rin exhales, like this is physically painful for him, like dragging the words out will kill him. But then—

“I like you.”

It’s blunt. Honest. Completely Rin.

Your breath catches. You turn fully to face him, but he beats you to it. His fingers slide from your wrist to your hand, lacing them together with a rare kind of hesitance. His grip is firm, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.

He doesn’t look away when he says it again.

“I like you, okay? So don’t walk away.”

Something in your chest tightens—because this, right here, is the closest thing to a confession Rin Itoshi will ever give. It’s not dramatic, not poetic, but it’s real.

You squeeze his hand, lips parting, heartbeat loud in your ears.

And then you say the only thing that matters.

“I like you too, idiot.”

For the first time that night, Rin smirks—just slightly.

“Say it again.”

“Shut up.”

But you don’t let go of his hand. And neither does he.

[ladybrushogun]

Based in the fic: "Owl eyes" by PrincessErii

What did you do this to me? you fic is incredible and inspire me to make a fanart 💚💙Hail Hiorin Childhood!!🦉🐑

[pwr3tties]

you went for an ultrasound today and left rin and your two kids alone with each other. the night before, you two made a plan that you would get groceries from walmart while he got diapers— for the upcoming baby— and other condiments for the house.

but once you got home and called out your oldest to help his pregnant mom with the week’s worth of food, when he informed you that, ‘dad already got that.’ when you entered the house, too tired to care about what your 13-year-old had said, the piles of groceries bags stopped you at the door as your dear husband hung up the bananas on the rack.

your eyes furrowed in confusion as you stood there trying to comprehend why there were bags from three different stores— including walmart— infiltrating your counters and doorway.

“rin,” he hummed a ‘yes,’ turning to meet you, “why is there more groceries than i brought? you were only supposed to get diapers and paper towels.”

“oh, i guess i forgot. but we ran out of milk, so it’s good i brought some.” rin mumbled, attempting to justify his case.

“i know, that's why we agreed that i would buy groceries. not you,” you teased, walking up beside him with your signature smile— the smile rin swore would kill him— tugging at your lips.

leaning in for a kiss, the door slammed open with your child trying to hold your steel door with both hands holding bags full of food when your 7-year-old emerged from his room, rushing to empty the sacks and in search of a toy.

once he caught glimpses of the bananas, he turned to you holding up them and said, “daddy already got this!”

“yeah, i figured.”

you all helped to empty the bags, well, more like the boys emptied the bags while you sat there for emotional support and rin organized the fridge and cupboards when you noticed the container filled with berries tried taunting rin even more by saying, “i already brought fruits, you copycat.”

“yeah, but it's almost like you like returning to that store because every time you buy the small package. or did you forget you’re feeding five?”

your youngest laughed with his father as your oldest came to comfort his ‘sobbing’ mother and once everything was packed,everyone disappeared into your own spaces leaving room for your friends and yourself to hang out.

all of you entered the kitchen for drinks when,

“[Y/N], are you and rin collecting bananas?”

a/n: small slice of life for rin buttt what (or who) would you all like to see next?

also i feel like rin would be such a cool overprotective dad

[alaia777]

YOUR INSTAGRAM GIRLFRIEND

liked by nagiseishiro, nanasenijiro and 46,015 others

isagiyoichi she’s my number 1

tagged: prettygf

view all 214 comments

↳ bachirameguru if being the best football player were a crime, you’d receive a life sentence 😋

↳ rinitoshi for a crime he didn’t commit?

↳ isagiyoichi if you died nothing in my life would change

↳ prettygf im SO sorry please don’t cancel him !!!!

↳ prettygf i love you so so much and i’m so proud of you sweet cheeks !!! 🩷🩷🩷

↳ isagiyoichi i love you so so much too

↳ nagiseishiro sweet cheeks

↳ isagiyoichi get out

liked by reomikage, okuhitoiemon and 27,018 others

kunigamirensuke better together

tagged: prettygf

view all 125 comments

↳ naruhaya siblings or dating

↳ prettygf siblings

↳ kunigamirensuke she’s kidding we don’t have the same mom

↳ kunigamirensuke OR DAD

↳ chigirihyoma thank you for making me the third wheel

↳ chigirihyoma you two look good together btw

↳ jingoraichi LOSERRR 🤣🫵

↳ kunigamirensuke can you get a job?

ೃ༄ hellooo. honestly, what characters are left?

ೃ༄ dividers from — @bronzewasp