dreamer_fire



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    “Is this supposed to be a power play or something?”

    Rin turns around. Isagi’s holding the shirt out with a slight look of confusion on his face, squinting for a moment before turning it around for Rin to see.

    Right there, blazed across the back of the shirt, says Itoshi Rin. An old practice shirt, he thinks. All he really brought to Blue Lock was jerseys and such. “It’s a fucking shirt, Isagi. Wear it.”

    Face tinged with red, Isagi drags off his jersey and replaces it with Rin’s shirt. It’s big, on him, and Isagi twists to see his reflection in the mirror above his dresser, tugging at the sleeves. The bold, black lettering stretches across his shoulder blades. It’s a little odd, seeing his own name on someone else. But it isn’t really just someone else, is it? It’s Isagi. It’s Isagi, wearing his old practice jersey, soft from use— wearing his name.

    ———

    “You shouldn’t say shit like that,” He says, low.

    Isagi’s growing smirk as well as the remnants of blush painted across his face look fucking delectable. “Yeah? Or what?”

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    25 Jul 2026

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    “Hey, Kenma?” Kuroo said suddenly, tilting his head back a little to look up. He was close enough that his hair tickled Kenma’s arm.

    Kenma glanced over, then back at his game. “Hm?”

    Kuroo took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m in love with you.”

    Kenma blinked, losing track of his game for a split second. He paused it and looked down at the top of Kuroo’s head. The moment stretched on. “Oh,” he said, because there was nothing else he could think to say.

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    24 Jul 2026

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    "I think I'll follow Kenma home instead..."

    Kenma swallows, wondering if he should run for it. Kuroo's grip tightens like he knows.

    "... After all, I've always been told to follow my dreams."

     

    --

    Or: In which Kuroo uses bad situational pickup lines, and Kenma tries to pretend that he hates it.

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    23 Jul 2026

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    This is when Oikawa turns towards him, facing Iwaizumi fully. One of his legs is slightly folded and tucked against his front, with both of his hands resting atop of his thigh. His eyes roam across Iwaizumi’s face as though he’s searching for something; subjecting Iwaizumi to that familiar scrutinizing gaze that often leaves him feeling strangely exposed. “You practice,” he says matter-of-factly. “With me.”

    Iwaizumi can feel the exact moment his brain decides to short-circuit.

    or: oikawa teaches iwaizumi how to kiss.

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    22 Jul 2026

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    Iwaizumi’s eyes carve a line that runs along the length of Oikawa’s spine, pausing when they reach the spot where his hands have settled — a little above his hips.

    He resists the urge to do something foolish like stroking his side with his thumb, or drawing Oikawa towards him until his back is firmly pressed against his own chest. Briefly, he imagines what it would be like; to feel every exhale that passes through Oikawa’s chest as though it were his own; to allow his hands to roam freely, exploring warm skin and listen to the way Oikawa’s breath hitches when Iwaizumi’s fingertips dip below the waistline of his pants.

    Inhaling sharply, Iwaizumi quickly retracts his hands when they reach their destination.

    or: iwaizumi gets a little jealous during his trip to rio de janeiro with oikawa.

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    22 Jul 2026