#bl x reader

YOU WERE ONE OF THE BIGGEST INFLUENCERS IN THE WORLD. With a growing following of over half a million and thousands of likes on every social media post you post. You were the daughter of a legendary soccer player (now coach). You've accomplished everything you wanted, thanks to your father's funds. You've got your makeup business that's been booming since you were a teenager. Now that you were young and living your life, you couldn't help but dip your toes in the dating pool of sports players. Collecting jersey numbers like they were the bright infinity stones Thanos collected in the Marvel movies.

You were young, so why settle down so soon. Why was it such an issue that you kept your options open? You couldn't help that you gravitated towards the sports players. From the basketball players in the NBA to one of MSBY Black Jackals players. You've sat courtside during so many games that you have lost count. However, now that you've taken a break from the dating pool and decided to be single for a couple of months—you are interested in getting a taste of your next prey.

And it just had to be him. Oliver Aiku.

You thought you could use the same charm as him during your father's charity ball that brought many soccer players (both old and new) together to auction off legendary and expensive things to help fund little league soccer teams worldwide. You bat your eyelashes at him flirtatiously. You tried to impress him by being the highest bidder on an item you could care less for. The usual charms that would have had any other person eating from the palm of your hand were a complete fail.

Or so you thought.

You remembered the goosebumps that decorated your skin as you stood outside the luxury hotel where the charity event was being held. Mumbling to yourself how you were ready to go home—mop about being curved to your best friend and then do some retail therapy. That was until you heard his voice behind you.

"Leaving your own father's event so soon?" His head tilts slightly while he's shoving his hands in the pockets of his nicely tailored suit.

Even you could tell he was a bit uncomfortable in the attire he had to wear tonight. You rubbed your arms, hoping it would help warm you up as you waited for your driver to pull around with the car.

"I've done my duties as his daughter. I showed up." Your shoulders shrug before you go back to doing what you were doing.

It wasn't anything you could say to him after you made a fool of yourself by attempting to flirt with him just to be met with a very cold, harsh steel door. You could feel his presence next to you as if he wasn't going to leave until you eventually got in the car.

"I've heard about you." Oliver's voice trails off, alluding to the things you already knew about yourself.

You already had to read about it in gossip magazines, so hearing it from a guy you had your eyes set on—wasn't new. Your eyes glance over at him, and you don't even notice how intensely he stares at you. You watched as he let his tongue glide across his lips—drinking in your looks for the evening. Instantly, the once coldness you felt due to the crisp nightly air went away from your body, radiating heat just by the way Oliver looked at you. The ball was no longer yours to guide like usual, he had the upper hand, and he knew it.

"Hm, nothing new. I'm a slut, and my father needs better control over me. I've heard about me too." You sighed while opening your clutch.

You were searching for nothing. Just to avoid having to meet those green and purple eyes of his. Those heterochromia eyes could put any woman in a trance. Similar to a snake charmer trying to guide a rattlesnake.

"Yeah, something along those lines and that you are a jersey chaser." His chuckle was low enough for you to hear him. "That's fuckin' hilarious."

"Hahaha, laugh it up." Sarcasm oozes from your tongue, and you realize that he is getting a rise out of his.

"So what do you do? Steal their jerseys after breaking their precious little heart so severely that they can't focus on their game?"

You finally turned to look at him. Swapping the weight of your body from one red bottom to the other. Your arms crossed over your chest before rolling your eyes, "If you didn't curve me, you would have found out, Mr. Aiku." You had seen your personal driver pull up in front of the hotel.

Your driver, whose known you since you were little, would rush to open your car door, but he immediately stopped his actions due to Oliver stopping you from opening the door yourself. The door to the black Benz truck slapped shut, and you couldn't help but eye Oliver questioningly. You hated the fact that the ball was no longer yours—he had full control, and you couldn't entirely read him to gain the ball back.

He inches closer, abruptly closing the gap between you two. He's holding a hotel room card between his index and middle finger—waving it in your face as if it's your father's credit card. "Then show me."

Your eyebrow raises at him, wondering when he changed his mind. However, you had no time to wonder when this was the perfect opportunity to regain control of the ball. Beat him at his own game. You told your driver that he could go home for the evening, considering that you planned to spend the whole night with Oliver. Your plush lip gloss-covered lips curve into a harmless smile before you turn towards the hotel entrance, dragging Oliver swiftly by the black tie he had around his neck.

You didn't care about the people in the lobby seeing you with him. That's the thing, you never cared about being caught out with another person because it wasn't their business. Your manicured finger jabbed at the elevator button, and as soon as the doors slid open, you waltzed inside with your head held up. As soon as the elevator closed with the two of you inside, it was as if a switch had gone off between you. You instantly let your lips crush upon each other, grasping each other bodies. Your leg hooked up his waist as your back was leaned against the elevator wall. Before you could mumble about people walking on the elevator as it was going up, your lips gasped apart, feeling his hands reach between your thighs.

Oliver nibbled on your lip, teasing, letting his tongue glide across it afterward before he pulled away as soon as the elevator opened on the floor you two were going to. You watched completely breathless as he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked off the elevator as if the two of you weren't so close to tearing each other clothes off right in the elevator. "Cocky bastard." You mumbled to yourself.

You followed behind eagerly, though just as he reached his hotel room. He unlocked the door, but before he opened it, he leaned against it and looked at you. "You know what you're getting yourself into, right?"

Your eyes roll at his words, "Of course, I'm not some timid little girl." You push your way into the hotel room.

You didn't waste time stripping from the elegant velvet gown you wore tonight. The hotel air sent a chill down your spine as you plopped down on the king-size bed. The warmth of the sheets hitting your bare skin caused you to close your eyes. You were completely basking in the scent of the hotel room. It smelled like Oliver if you focused hard enough. Just as you were about to complain about what was taking him so long, you could feel something getting thrown at you.

"Put this on." He mumbles as he walks around the hotel room, removing the attire he wore tonight.

You sat up, extending the clothing he had thrown at you. It was his jersey. "Why'd you want me to wear this?" You asked. You tugged the jersey over your head to put it on.

Oliver glances up from removing cufflinks that had his initials engraved in them. He looks you up and down from head to toe. From how your hair seemed to be in the perfect shape to how he could even get a peak of your ass with each movement you made with his jersey on. He understood why many sports players gravitated towards wanting to even get a date with you. You were stunning—absolutely breathtaking. However, Oliver wasn't like the others.

"You look good in it, don't you think? Better than wearing that volleyball play jersey." Oliver smirks as he closes the gap between you two.

Some buttons were undone on the crisp white button-down shirt he wore. His black slacks hung loosely around his waist, and his hair was now disheveled from his slender fingers combing through it.

You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat, noticing that he was moving closer toward you. The ball still wasn't in your grasp. As soon as you willingly slide his jersey on your body to be entrapped by the scent of him from the piece of clothing, you no longer have the upper hand.

"Don't you think you'll be even prettier with my cock in your mouth?"

Your brain never got so stuck on a question. Primarily when you were known to dodge red-carpet report gossip questions. Your fingers toyed with the ends of the jersey, not sure what to say.

"I think you would look prettier. Mouth full of cock, drool dripping down, staining my jersey..." Oliver's voice trails off like a broken poem spoken during open mic night.

Your panties grew damp with each syllable that rolled off his tongue to the point where you were mentally cursing yourself for folding so quickly.

So much for attempting to gain control?

Before Oliver could say anything else, you're dropping to your knees without another word. Your eyes met with his as you're thirstily tugging the black slacks down his ankles. Your hand teasingly brushed against his bulge through his boxers. "What you waiting for, for me to shove it in your mouth?" His tone comes off as significantly condensing—as if he is growing impatient.

"Didn't know you were in a rush." You commented as you leaned forward on your knees, fingers grasping at the band of his black-colored Calvin Klein's.

Your mouth watered at the sight of his cock. Oliver's lips parted to spit out a sarcastic comment, but before he could give you the pleasure of that—you're pushing yourself closer on your knees to take him in your mouth. Instantly your hand grasped at the shaft of his cock that couldn't fit into his mouth, slowly stroking it teasingly as you pucker your lips to kiss the tip of his cock. Your lips began to stain with the taste of his precum that leaked through the slit of his tip, and you seemed to moan at the feeling of your mouth being stuffed. Your eyes shifted close to relinquish the sense of pleasuring Oliver.

With your teasing kitten licks, Oliver took it upon himself to buck his hips to feel more of your mouth. With each thrust forward, the tip of his cock tapped at the back of your throat, causing you to gag. Your drool begins to pool out your mouth messily, and Oliver's eyes glistened in amusement at the sight. His fingers toy with your curls before he pulls you off his cock with a seductive pop.

Your tear-filled eyes stared up at Oliver, completely breathless as you were attempting to enjoy being able to breathe once again. Oliver's lips curve into a devious smirk as he leans down to grab hold of your face, his callous hands squishing your cheeks together for your lips to pucker. He's leaning in as if he wants to kiss you, but he pulls away.

"If you ball your left hand in a fist, maybe, just maybe, you'll handle my cock in your mouth better." He teased before he tried again.

His cock once again took comfort in your mouth, and you're taking note of his tip this time. Your fist balled up while you inched forward. Slowly his cock disappears in your mouth bit by bit.

Your drool stained the jersey on your body with each brash thrust forward. Your eyeliner smudged down your heated cheeks as you looked up at Oliver through your teary eyes. Even though his thick cock was taking your breath bit by bit—your eyes still twinkled in admiration for the soccer player, and your panties grew damper.

"Give me one good suck; remember what I told you. 'kay?" His fingers grasp at your coils as if he was your hair stylist—ushering you forward some more to deepthroat him.

In just a quick second, you're willing to shove Oliver's cock back in your mouth until the tip of your nose is met with the coarseness of his pubic hair. His hand instantly pressed on the back of your head, entrapping you from escaping of the fiery feeling of your throat being used recklessly. As he told you, you breathed through your nose while your hand grasped his toned thighs. Your manicured nails dug into his flesh, but you knew he could care less about some nail marks on him when his cock was in your pretty mouth. Your eyes closed just in time for a single tear to drag down your cheeks before he let your head snap back so you could catch your breath. Similar to drinking your first cup of alcohol, your throat burns. The string of saliva connected between your plush bottom lip and his cock was quite a sight if you two were filming a porno.

Your knees ached from the carpet below your body as you watched Oliver finally kick his feet from the slacks around his ankles. He palmed his cock effortlessly to coat the remainder of your saliva on him.

"Get on the bed on all fours." He urges with proficiency in his tone.

"You want to be a jersey chaser, but you must earn the jersey first, princess."

His words sent a shiver down your spine. You did what you were told too quickly; you wanted to question yourself if he had some spell cast on you. You not spitting out some snarky comment during comments weren't your thing. Perhaps his cock bruising the back of your throat put you in your place, but it was too soon to judge when his cock hadn't driven its way inside you.

With your butt up in the air, you quivered, feeling his callous fingertips trace alongside the curve of your spine. His thick cock resting in between your cheeks. Your hips bucked back just to feel some friction—your pussy twitching in anticipation of feeling Oliver's cock.

"Don't be so impatient. My dick isn't going anywhere." His fingertips teasingly trace his name on your spine.

You felt the pad of Oliver's thumb brushing against your pussy lips through your soaked panties. Your teeth nibbled on your lower lip before you spoke, "Could you stop the teasing?"

Oliver ignored your question as he tugged the lace fabric down your thighs. As if you're a fragile doll, he's helping you out of your panties. "Now I see why you're so impatient," Oliver mumbles as he grabs hold of his cock, guiding it towards you.

The relaxed sigh that came from Oliver when his cock felt how wet you were was like music to your ears. Your body felt so hot, feeling him shove his cock inside you little by little. Not because he wanted you to get used to his size but to push you further to the edge to beg for more.

"Please." You whimpered out as your fingers intertwined with the sheets.

"That's what I wanted to hear." He leans over, placing the sloppiest kisses down your spine.

You felt so strange because, during your other hookups, you never felt like this. Your body never felt like it was going through a continuous fever by just a subtle task like pasting kisses on your spine covered with his jersey. Your pussy never fluttered around a man's cock in anticipation. Simply curious about how exactly the Oliver Aiku strokes were.

They started off slowly; perhaps he was getting used to your drooling cunt gripping around him like a tight glove. Then the pace quickened, and the grip on your waist tightened. He now had a pace that was pleasurable for both of you. It left you creaming and fluttering around his cock, making you feel like you were on top of the world. It made Oliver feel so pussy drunk that he saw stars. The adrenaline going through his veins at the moment felt similar to when he was doing what he does best on the field. His multi-colored hair began sticking to his forehead due to the sweat droplets dribbling down his forehead. His hands grasped at his jersey that you wore so perfectly—using the jersey to yank back on his cock like a toy yo-yo.

The lewd sound of heated skin slapping against each other could be heard in the hotel room. You were sure Oliver didn't care for the guests residing in the neighboring hotel rooms. With each buck of his hip, it seems to have more aggression to it. Each thrust felt like he was attempting to express something.

Your whimpers and his hushed whines continued to intertwine with each other like a sultry tune. In such a pornographic position with your hip gripped so tightly that you were sure it was getting bruised—you adored hearing Oliver's moans. They were brash yet whiny. He was enjoying this just as much as you.

"Where does my pretty little slut want my cum, hm?" Oliver asked.

With each word that came out, he pushed his hips forward harshly to meet the plumpness of your handprint-stained ass cheeks. Your tears stained the sheets below your body as you let out muffled moans at Oliver's question—completely ignoring his question because you were so close to crumbling down yourself.

"Your back." His grip on your waist tightens as he bottoms down inside of you. Shoving his full weight upon you, completely entrapping you from running away from his harsh thrusts.

"Or maybe inside this pretty pussy of yours, hm? So many choices." He grunts out.

It became too inaudible for you to answer his question when the only feeling you could feel was the sensational feeling that sat at the pit of your stomach. Your thighs shook violently, feeling Oliver's pace only quicken. In a matter of seconds, you saw stars in your tear-filled eyes, and the only form of language you knew was Oliver's name while your cunt fluttered around his thick cock—just in time for him to finally decide where to cum at.

Despite the two of you hitting a high of pleasure—that didn't stop Oliver from filling you up with his cum. His hips sloppily push forward to ensure no droplets of his cum escape. Oliver released his grasp on your waist as he hesitantly pulled out, his cock coated with a ring of his cum.

When exhaustion finally hit you, your body felt like a fresh bowl of Jell-O. Your limbs felt like you did the same training your dad would put guys in his training camp through. Instantly, you're sitting up to grasp your gown on the ground—but Oliver stops you.

"I don't stay the night when this.." Your hand motions between the two of you. "Happens." You add.

"Now you do; you're too exhausted to even move."

"No, I'm not."

"Well, want to go another round?" Oliver grins down at you, and you glimpse up at him before letting your body drop back on the mattress below your body.

"You're insane, I'm going to sleep."

As you got comfortable on the king-size mattress, you heard Oliver chuckle and disappear into the bathroom. Before uttering any other snarky comment, you drifted off to sleep with Oliver on your mind.

The following morning, you woke up to the sun kissing your soft skin and the constant dinging of your cell phone. Your eyes fluttered open, and you stretched like an exhausted black cat before reaching for your phone on the nightstand. You pushed yourself up and grasped at the hotel sheets. The previous night was a vivid blur until you noticed the spot where Oliver was laying was empty. You woke up alone with the scent of Oliver engraving your skin and breakfast on the table in the corner. Your hand went to rub the sleep out of your eyes while scrolling through your countless social media notifications. You would have thought that you had flashed a stranger with the way your phone had been going off.

Your plan of silencing your phone and returning to continue your beauty rest was halted when you finally saw the post that had everyone in a frenzy. Oliver had tagged you in a picture wearing his jersey. You assumed he took the picture after you had dozed off after the amazing sex the two of you engaged in. The caption had your eye twitching in annoyance—but it reminded you that with Oliver, he'll always have the upper hand.

According to Oliver, you were no longer collecting jerseys.

You extended out your hand, reaching out to the poor boy beat down to the ground. He looked up to you with sadness in his eyes and defeat in his inconstant breathing. He clasped onto your hand and you pulled him up from his misery. The two of you stood on the soccer field alone, and the sadness in his eyes were washed out with relief as he embraced you, crying into your shoulder.

When Bachira pulled away, you noticed the snot that ran down his nose was tinted red, mixed with blood, and you yelped in surprise, pushing him out of the soccer field with you. He laughed at your concern as the two of you made your way towards his household.

Holding his soft hand, you maneuvered around his home as you've been there several times, towards the bathroom where you were to take care of Bachira. You set him on the edge of the sink, directly in front of you, and brought out the first-aid kit stowed away in one of the cabinets of the bathroom.

Sighing, you thought to yourself, "I wish Meguru didn't have to go through all of this. I'm here for him, and I hope he knows that." You looked up at his innocent face, dabbing the wounds inflicted by his teammates with water, washing away the dried blood. He flinched when you began treating his wounds with alcohol, and to calm his nerves you placed a hand over one of his, tightly gripping the edge of the sink on which he sat. Bachira watched your face, intently focusing on tending to his wounds, and he could feel his heart racing, not from the adrenaline of the game the two of you just played, but from how you cared for him and how you were always there for him, despite all the names he'd been called for playing independently and strangely on the field.

Bachira Meguru wanted to say he was in love with you. Though he wanted to laugh at himself for being in love at only age ten, he knew that these feelings that he had for you were real. The monster in his heart whispered in his ear, telling him so. He knew that you, too, had a monster within yourself, caring for him like the gentle spirit it was. While Meguru's own was wild and reckless, consuming his whole being, yours was there to pull him up before he sank deep into madness. He wanted to say he was in love with you because he knew you felt the same.

"Good game out there," Bachira said instead, breaking the comfortable silence. The hand on his own moved up to pinch his mouth shut, not letting him speak anymore.

"Don't talk, Meguru. Some of the dirt on your cheeks might get into your wounds." He hummed, agreeing to your command.

"You're pretty skilled at your age, (Y/N)-chan. Are you gonna be a nurse when you grow up?" Bachira asked, irking you as he agreed not to speak just seconds ago. You were a passionate lover, and it got on your nerves that Bachira didn't follow what you just advised, creating the chance that he might infect his own wounds.

"Meguru, please."

He gave a single, short nod.

When you finished, Bachira hopped off of the sink and gave you another hug, wrapping his arms around you to the point where it felt like he could touch his own shoulders. Letting go, he thanked you, and as you acknowledged his gratitude, you made your way towards the front door, leaving.

That's how it always had been: you would play soccer with Bachira and his teammates almost every day, no matter the weather or the time, and typically by the end of the game he was beaten up by whoever because of his playing style. You thought it was cool—impressive, even—but apparently his teammates didn't think so. After everyone had left, you'd lift him up from wallowing in the grass with his tears and the monster in his heart to accompany him and bring him home (sometimes on your back) to tend to the injuries he'd gotten. It was a painful routine for you to follow, but it was all you had to do to stay by Bachira's side. After all, you loved him with everything you had.

Seven years later, you were there when Bachira opened up a letter inviting him to attend a training camp called "Blue Lock." Thinking it was a mere training camp to better his skills in soccer, you thought it was something that would last a week, or probably even two, but you didn't realize that the last words he would tell you for several years were "Make sure you've got something warm for me when I come back!"

It was the first time since forever when the two of you went separate paths, and even as you continued on in high school and into university, Meguru never left your mind. You wondered if he still remembered you, as soccer would be the only thing running through his own mind at an intense training camp like Blue Lock. You have heard of boys dropping out of the camp every few weeks ever since Bachira left, and though you didn't want to admit it, you wished that he would come home to you, holding him in your arms as he cried to you about his ruined dreams. It was an unpleasant thought that sat in the back of your mind, taunting you about your selfishness. It was ironic that despite how generous you were with caring for Bachira, you were completely selfish with keeping him to yourself. Perhaps that was the effect love had on you, though you weren't so sure if he was still in love with you, too.

He was. He knew he was, and always will be in love with you as much as he was in love with soccer. He missed you everyday he was in stuck in Blue Lock, and he would constantly tell the friends he made about his love. One night, Isagi Yoichi asked him as they laid in bed about who you were, and the former might as well have called Bachira's description of you his bedtime story because he rambled on for hours on end about you. The lilting tone in Bachira's voice was reason enough for Isagi to know how much you meant to the boy.

There was a knock on the door, several years since Bachira left for Blue Lock, and you let go of the book in which you were studying for medical school to open the door. In front of you was Bachira Meguru, weary and tired. Right away he fell into your arms, and his whole weight dropped on top of you. You wrapped your arms around his torso, and he exhaled deeply. From over his shirt you could feel his toned muscles that he grew from undergoing the extensive physical training.

Bachira pulled away from you, and upon seeing your face, he smiled just as he did when the two of you were children. "It's nice seeing you again, (Y/N)-chan. I missed you." He pinched your cheek with his calloused fingers, to which you whined. He laughed heartily at the exchange, and held your hand as he dragged you out of the house.

"Meguru! I was studying!" The two of you talked as if he never left.

"You can do that later! Let's go out!" He exclaimed, pulling you to his side.

Flustered at his words, you stuttered out what seemed like a question. Bachira simply laughed at your response. He took you towards the nearby beach of Chiba, and as soon as your feet touched the sand he collapsed onto the soft surface, beckoning you to do the same. An uneasy silence, unfamiliar to how it was in the past, rested over you two as you watched the calm waters in front of you.

"So, how was Blue Lock?" You asked, hoping to get some answer of the mysterious program. You had so much to ask him and to tell him after all these years. You turned your gaze to Meguru who still stayed watching the quiet waves.

"They didn't want me. I was playing against real monsters, (Y/N)-chan. More than the monster in me. In you." Bachira turned towards you and poked your chest. The both of you chuckled a bit. He sighed, then fell onto the sand, lying down. You did the same, and you were both looking up at the afternoon sky. "I don't know, (Y/N). I went to Blue Lock to find someone who could play with me, and don't get me wrong, I found people, but..." He paused.

"I also went to improve and get better. Like everyone else there. And I guess I just wasn't enough."

Frowning, you felt a pang in your heart and the initiative to reach out to him again.

"Don't say that, Meguru. You're amazing at soccer. You're always impressing everyone on the field, making everyone seem like a fool."

Bachira turned to face you, and you to him. "You really think so?"

"Of course. You're an amazing person, Meguru,” you told him with absolute certainty in your voice.

“I love you, (Y/N)-chan.”

“I love you too.” A pause. “Wait, what?” You sat up in the sand to look at Bachira, who lay beside you, smiling giddily up at you with a slight blush painting his cheeks. His hands were rested behind his head.

“I said I love you. And you love me, too.”

“I also missed you,” you added. Bachira noted how you never denied your loving him.

“I missed you, too. Did you know I never stopped talking about you one night that everyone on my team kicked me out of our room and I had to sleep in the bathroom that night?”

You laughed. “Did you really?”

“Yes! And it was so cold in there, too. No one gave me any blankets or anything!” The both of you laughed as you extended a hand to reach out to Bachira, helping him sit up on the sand. He never let go of your hand, and instead he clasped his fingers between yours. You both watched the intimacy of his actions, and you were slightly afraid he could feel the sudden warming of your hand.

Looking into his golden eyes, you could sense a seriousness about him. “You know, I wasn’t kidding about what I said,” he told you.

You had a feeling you knew what he was talking about, but you wanted to confirm it. “What did you say?”

“That I love you,” Bachira said.

“And I love you too,” you replied, pushing him down with you on top. Laughter rang in the air as you cupped his cheeks, shaking with his giggling.

“Shh, Meguru,” you said, leaning down. You gave him a soft kiss on his lips. Pulling away, he looked at you like you were his everything, as he placed a hand behind your neck to bring you down for another kiss. Whispers from others on the beach floated around you, some laughing at how ridiculous the two of you looked. Meguru opened his eyes to look in their direction, his insecurities from back when he was younger awakening.

“Meguru, don’t pay attention to ‘em. Who cares if they think we look weird? I’ve told you this before, but I don’t think you’re weird. I don’t think we’re weird!”