Chapter Text
Isagi Yoichi is dangerously close to failing out of Blue Lock.
Unfortunately, this is mostly because he accidentally built his entire soccer philosophy around Itoshi Rin's ass.
Also because he has math later today and he sucks at math. So Bachira has been sitting at the campus Starbucks with him, trying to teach him geometry or something.
Bachira sighs impatiently over his notes. "Isagi, are you paying attention."
"Yeah—yeah…."
He's not.
There's a TV mounted right behind Bachira. And when it's not playing that played out NG11 propaganda—highlight reels of the current top Blue Lock players show up.
Which means Isagi is nowhere in sight…
But Itoshi Rin on the pitch.
In those shorts.
Isagi feels the heat, the sweat forming along his nape, down his back.
Rin pulls his shirt up, wiping the sweat from his face with it, then he squats low, gripping his thighs, pushing his ass out and Isagi feels the heat lower.
In his lap.
Isagi reaches for his coffee like it's a cool drink of water to refresh him, to bring him back to his senses.
It's not. It's coffee. It's hot so he instantly yanks his hand back.
Rin's highlights cut to an interview segment and Isagi watches, sucking on his scorched thumb as Rin coolly answers whatever the hell they just asked him. There's no volume, just subtitles. The TV is mute, but Isagi hears every word Rin says and he mouths along with him.
"I am Itoshi Rin and I am the world's best."
Stated as fact.
Already decided.
Like Itoshi Rin already knows who he is and nobody gets to change that.
So arrogant, Isagi thinks with the biggest grin on his face as he's suddenly filled with the urge to do something reckless. Inspired to do something dangerous.
He opens his mouth and the words just spill out:
"I am Isagi Yoichi and I am—"
"—not paying attention," Bachira finishes for him.
"Yeah— yes, I am…"
Isagi blushes as Bachira just smirks knowingly at him. Almost like Bachira can read Isagi's mind…
But Isagi is just being paranoid. And anyway he is paying attention to… math.
He glances over at Bachira's notebook, at the math, at the geometry of the situation, and sees nothing but lines graphed. Lines that bend and slope and he sees curves… curve after curve—round and voluptuous,
Butt cheeks.
Isagi swallows.
And Bachira just sits there tapping his pencil against the curves.
He knows.
Whatever, math is stupid anyhow and you never use it, and Itoshi Rin is on TV using his thighs to do something incredibly genius. Isagi reaches for his coffee again without thinking, without taking his eyes off Rin, those thighs, and that perfect round ass and he just wants to touch, he just needs to gently hold both butt cheeks with both his hands palms open and the cup burns his fingers.
The coffee is hot.
He yanks his hand back. Like a coward.
But Rin doesn't pull back, Rin surges forward on the pitch, and it's not without thought. It's a higher level of process and action. Instinct, intuition.
Absolute need and zero fucking fear.
Rin heads straight to the most dangerous spot.
Straight to the defensive line, the goal—where risk of failure is high.
He pivots, his back turned to the goal and the camera catches it, the lift of fabric, the hem of his shorts riding high
thighs tensing as he traps the ball.
Isagi grips the cup. It's hot, but he doesn't pull away.
Defenders on either side of Rin, big, muscular men, closing in, up against him, trying to work around him but Rin's ass is working harder, dropping low, settling, stretching the fabric of his shorts over the curve of his ass bouncing when he shifts, bouncing when his hips push back, dropping low, ass still working, thighs still holding, controlling, Isagi's thigh bounces, foot tapping rapidly, it's tense, he grips the cup tighter and lifts it closer towards his lips when Rin's hips drop a little lower and the fabric stretches over both curves—pulling tight
hot rim pressed to Isagi's mouth
Riding up, revealing the barest, most intimate curve of skin where thigh meets
Ass.
Ass.
Ass. Ass. Ass. Ass.
Isagi bites down hard on the plastic rim of his coffee cup, squeezing his thighs together tight, as he leans in towards the table, closer to the mounted TV, right as Rin kicks the ball in.
Right as those muscular legs make light work of every man who dares to challenge him.
He imagines everyone of them probably cursing Rin's legs like
Fuck those thighs.
Isagi wants to fuck those thick, muscular Itoshi thighs. Slide his cock right between them and just let Rin break it off.
He doesn't care if his dick stops functioning after that, so long as he gets to use it at least once just for that.
"Anyhow, that's how you solve for that function," Bachira says, pointedly, like he just knows he wasted his time explaining something Isagi will never understand.
But Isagi understands, maybe a little too well—this is exactly why he's probably going to fail out of Blue Lock.
And not become anything or anyone, let alone, number one.
Because Itoshi Rin is crushing his dreams with his stupid thick ass thighs.
And also because Isagi has math today.
His day could not get any worse…
Isagi chews on the rim of his coffee cup, mumbling, annoyed, "God, why did we have to have geometry today…"
"Oh, actually, you mean calculus," Bachira corrects.
Even worse, Bachira's right.
Isagi groans. He doesn't even know what fucking class he's in.
He needs to lock the fuck in, right now. Focus.
That's what caffeine is for.
He takes a sip of his coffee.
"Fuck!"
He spits it out—
Something about it tastes wrong, it tastes like— like—
FUCKING ASS!
And also it burns his tongue.
And also he bites his tongue and he gets up immediately and bumps the table and spills the coffee in his lap. And also that almost burns his dick.
The TV screen behind Bachira has Rin's ass on it.
"Oh, that's not good," Bachira says, watching Isagi pat his lap down with his math notes.
"No shit, genius."
Isagi flashes Bachira a fake smile.
The TV behind Bachira flashes to a Starbucks ad. Itoshi Rin in the weight room, doing leg presses. Absolutely no coffee in sight.
Just thighs. And
Ass.
But it's a Starbucks ad.
Well, just like Itoshi Rin, Isagi doesn't think, he heads straight for the most dangerous spot—the Starbucks counter midday. High noon. High traffic. Isagi cuts to the front of the line and slams his empty coffee cup down in front of the cash register.
The barista blinks.
Reo snorts at Isagi's lack of etiquette. Reo was next in line.
As soon as the barista is about to ignore Isagi and go right to assisting Reo, Isagi just goes for it.
He declares:
"I am Isagi Yoi—"
"—No," the barista says, flat.
"And I would like a refund."
"No."
"You got my drink order wrong…"
"Nuh-uh."
Isagi chokes, almost laughing in disbelief. He looks around confused. "Wait—no to which part?"
"I don't know… To all of it, man." The barista doesn't even shrug, and that somehow just feels offensive.
Reo takes half a step forward, poised to order, and Isagi just knows whatever he orders is going to take forever.
"I deserve compensation!" Isagi shouts, sliding his ass between Reo and the counter like he's on the pitch defending the ball. He slams his empty cup down again for emphasis. "Refund, please."
The barista finally moves. He leans a little, peeks skeptically over the register for a second. "Okay, hold up man." He settles back behind his register, head tilted, eyes down like he's searching for the right button on his keypad.
Then he reaches across the counter and tilts the empty cup, inspecting it, then tilts his head back down trying not to laugh.
He laughs, a little.
"Looks like you drank the whole thing, man. I can't refund something that doesn't exist."
"I—"
The line of people that Isagi cut starts to murmur.
Isagi takes a step back from the counter. Far enough so the barista can see below his waist. "I didn't drink it— It's on my pants!"
He gestures wildly at his coffee stained crotch.
The entire coffee shop bursts into laughter.
Including Reo, but at least he does it politely behind his hand. Obnoxiously and loud, but shielded daintily behind his hand.
The barista wants to laugh so badly, but he actually doesn't. He just grips the register like a lifeline, head down and wheezing like if he looks at Isagi he'll die of laughter.
Isagi's crotch is humiliatingly warm from being made the spectacle. He just presses it against the counter, coolly hiding it, and leans in towards the barista. Then confident this next move is the best one he can make, Isagi says the six words everyone was dreading to hear:
"Let me speak to your manager."
The line groans, cursing and wishing death upon Isagi like he's the villain of this story.
The barista raises an eyebrow, but then he turns and walks towards the back, chuckling, "Okay man, but he's just gonna tell you the same thing…"
Two seconds later, a holographic projection of Ego appears at the counter.
Ego is the manager.
Ego tells Isagi the same thing.
Well, sorta. Ego just looks down at Isagi—peers down at him through his glasses, as a projection, and says:
"No."
Then disappears.
Isagi's jaw drops. "Wait—no to what?!"
Ego reappears and just answers completely unbothered. "No to all of it—the coffee stain, the refund and your," he gestures vaguely at Isagi's face, "attitude. I don't like it. It's against store policy."
Ego disappears.
Isagi blinks confused. Wait which part is against store policy—my attitude or the refund?
Reo edges up to the counter finally ready to order. And Isagi is just gently pushed aside.
The barista mutters under his breath, "You have to think you're some kind of genius to try to get a free coffee from Ego…"
"I don't think I'm smart," Isagi snaps, stupidly snatching his empty cup from the counter like claiming it means something. "I'm just telling you that your coffee fucking sucks!"
Isagi turns on his heel to leave, but on his way out he hears Reo ordering a vanilla latte. Literally the same drink Isagi order. But then Reo proceeds to customize the hell out of it until he takes everything out that makes it a vanilla latte and Isagi nearly explodes.
And the worst part?
Reo orders it with such effortless confidence that Isagi just knows that drink order is going to come out perfect, divine, tasting like the gods themselves poured it.
Isagi grabs his things from the table where Bachira is still seated with that shit eating grin. "So remember we have calculus next," Bachira says.
"Kill me."
Isagi heads for the door. He hears the barista at the counter right as he exits:
"So, what's the name for that order?"
And then:
"I am Mikage Reo."
Isagi rolls his eyes. Life sucks. Reality fucking sucks.
His little fantasy wasn't great to begin with, but it's ending too soon. Itoshi Rin is gone from the TV screen. And nobody in the entire world cares who Isagi is or what he wants.
Isagi's phone buzzes in his pocket against his thigh.
He gets an email from ao3.
His favorite author just posted a new chapter.
Isagi smiles so hard it hurts.
Could today get any better?