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AI artwork featuring #Blue Lock, #Bachira Meguru and #Isagi Yoichi

Bachira Meguru, Isagi Yoichi

#Blue Lock #Bachira Meguru #Isagi Yoichi

Published on Nov 10, 2026

Izanagi

character: bachira_meguru, artist: blackwhiplash, copyright: blue_lock 1boy, solo focus, bachira meguru, multicolored hair, two-tone hair, short hair, blonde hair with black streaks, yellow eyes, femboy, slim waist, wide hips, big fat ass, thick thighs, short cropped football jersey riding up, bare midriff, low-slung shorts pulled taut, locker room, isagi yoichi, dark blue hair, blue eyes, standing onlooker, from behind, looking back, over-shoulder composition, all fours, arched back, hip sway, twerking, ass shake, shaking hips, seductive dance, half-closed eyes, smug, lopsided grin, blush, tongue out, looking at another, parted lips, sweat, shiny skin, dramatic lighting, high contrast, 2boys The camera sits low and behind Bachira, looking up along the back of his thighs: his knees are planted wide apart on the locker room's wooden bench, both palms flat on the bench slats ahead of him so his shoulders dip and his spine arches into a deep curve, and that arch throws his hips up and back toward the lens -- the cropped jersey bunched at his ribs, the shorts stretched thin over the full round weight of his ass, the fabric creasing into the seam of each cheek. He is caught mid-shake: his hips swung a hand's width to his left, the right cheek lifted and tensed, the left cheek still carrying the jiggle, one thigh braced harder than the other so his weight teeters on the ball of his right foot. His head is turned back over his right shoulder, chin low, yellow eyes half-lidded and aimed straight at Isagi, a smug lopsided grin pulling one corner of his mouth with the tip of his tongue just showing, a hot blush across his cheekbones. Isagi stands in the midground facing him, one hand still on the open locker door he has just pulled wide, the other slack at his side, his blue eyes fixed down on Bachira's face, mouth slightly open, a flush rising on his own cheeks, his weight frozen mid-step with one shoe on the bench-side floor and the other still on the changing mat. Behind them both, a row of dented metal lockers runs off into the dark, a few doors ajar with towels hanging out of them, jerseys draped over the bench backs, a scatter of boots and shin guards on the floor; a tall frosted window high on the left wall lets in a hard shaft of late-afternoon light that cuts across the room and lands on Bachira's raised hip and the sweating small of his back, leaving his face and Isagi's chest in warm shadow, and the light glancing off the polished bench edge throws a bright wet highlight where his palm presses the wood. The palette is tight -- steel grey lockers, cold blue window light, hot orange skin tones under the lamp, the jersey's white and the shorts' black -- nothing else admitted. Sweat beads sit only on the upward-facing planes of his back and the tops of his thighs, and a single drop hangs from his jaw about to fall. The linework is heavy and inked, colours blocked in flat with hard shadows and a hot saturated rim, exaggerated anatomy drawn with confident, weighty curves. Effortlessly filthy, teasing.

Bachira Meguru, Isagi Yoichi

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