Pairing: Blue Lock Masters x Female Reader
Summary: Seems like your boyfriend can’t contain no more his desire for you. Even when he’s in the middle of a game. "I’m gonna take such good care of you."
Tag/Warning: Explicit language, suggestive content, WAG, crossposted on TikTok. Not proofread.
a/n: Im so ashamed by this one so I decided I’m not the author. It appeared in my drafts just like that shitty Argentina win.
"And it’s a goal from the world number two, Chris Prince!"
The whole stadium erupted, cheering wildly for the prodigy with the most perfect physique on the pitch.
Clapping alongside the crowd for your boyfriend, you watched him celebrate his goal with his teammates, every camera in the stadium trained on the player who had opened the scoring just a minute after kickoff.
Before every single game you attended, he would always tell you he gave it a hundred times more just because you were in the stands, eyes fixed on him.
He had way too often told you this, but you always thought it was just empty flattery, a tricky way to boost his confidence even more.
But no, that’s just how he was, and he wanted to remind you of it.
Sitting a few meters from the corner flag, you were taken by surprise when you saw him running toward you, a big smile plastered on his face.
You hated knowing what he was about to do, how this huge grin was full of lustfulness.
With disconcerting ease, he jumped over the advertising boards to literally leap on top of you, thanking god for that railing that kept him to lay you down on the seats.
The stares of the fans surrounding you were just as intense as the heat emanating from his body, his sweaty arms curled around your neck.
"Told ya’ I played better when you’re there."
Kissing your cheek again and again, you giggled under such attention, amused by how excited them fans cheered behind you two.
"Alright, I believe you now. But I think you should go back-"
He pulled you toward him, much closer than necessary, his burning lips against your ear.
And for a moment, time stood still, noise faded away, and it was just him and you in a stadium filled to the brim.
The way his breath echoed in the crook of your ear.
The way his body pressed against yours.
The way his words were about to be lewd.
"Once I’m done, I’ll take such good care of you. You gonna experience how my opponents get fucked when I'm on the field."
You were dumbfounded, truly.
How could he have been so at ease saying those words when cameras from all over the world were watching him?
Yet, in such situations he couldn’t care less, wanting for this said world to know you were about to get treated right tonight.
"If I score a hat trick before halftime, we’ll have a blast for the last 45’ of the game without me setting foot on the field."
And without even waiting for an answer, he turned away from you to head back out onto the pitch, glancing back over his shoulder one last time to catch that look of astonishment on your face.
It goes without saying that he scored five goals that night and was absent from the second half of the match without any explanation.
His shot was perfectly executed, flying deep into the net.
Noa wasn't the type to celebrate with great fanfare; often contenting himself to simply signal to his team to keep their momentum going.
Even so, sometimes he would stand in front of the ultras' stands, their drums reverberating across the field where he stood.
Chanting his name, their voices satisfied him, but not enough.
Sitting on the bench, you waited for the coach to give his instructions for the rest of the game, your eyes fixed on the club’s star player.
Taking your eyes off the field for just a second to ask for the play call, you didn’t expect to see Noa behind the white line.
"Your goal was perfect, as always!" He truly was the only one player to whom you could say such things.
And maybe, ever since you realized he played a little better when you praised him, you haven't been shy about giving him compliments.
As you handed him your water bottle, you could never have imagined that he would pull you by the arm to draw you toward him… very close to him.
"Noa? What are you doing? They are looking at us-"
It’s not that your relation was taboo or anything—like some forbidden romance between an assistant coach and his player—but rather that Noa was a private person.
As if playing time had been suspended, you saw shock climbing up to the face of every one on the sidelines.
A bit of an exaggeration for some of them, perhaps, but understandable given the circumstances.
"Keep your praise for the bedroom, you gonna’ need them."
He whispered in the crook of your ear, his raspy voice unsettling to hear in such circumstances.
"What you see on the pitch is nothing compared to how hard I'm going to work to take care of you."
You've never loved stadium announcers quite as much as you did now, their voices drowning out your boyfriend's dirty talk.
"Alright, Noa I think you should go back-"
"No, not until the whole stadium realizes that you're in for a treat. Tu comprends?"
It was hard not to give in when he started speaking in French, his voice sounding even more lecherous.
Snatching that bottle from your hand, he drank without taking his eyes off you, tossed it God knows where, and returned to the field as the referee signaled the restart of the game.
Of course, that night ended up already far into the morning, the celebration of his victory taking its sweet time.
When the star of the club scores, the whole city trembles under the supporters’ cheers.
So did you, amazed at how they held dear your husband in their hearts, chanting his name as he opened his arms to the crowd, daring them to scream louder.
"The fourth goal of the game is indeed scored by Snuffy again! Who can stop him tonight? It's unbelievable!"
He was on a roll tonight, never missing a chance to give you looks that made your head spin.
The rumor that he went above and beyond when his wife was in the stands was once again hammered home tonight.
And, seemingly unsatisfied by how loud their chants resonated, he wanted to celebrate his achievements with you too.
Stepping over the billboard, he rushed toward you. The fans reached out toward the player, hoping and praying that he would brush even lightly their hands.
But no, he had only one thing on his mind: you.
Finally reaching you, he wrapped his arms around your figure, hand 'accidentally' slipping down to the small of your back.
"So, my hat trick? I hope you haven’t forgotten about my gift."
Of course he hadn't forgotten it.
A gift you had suggested as a joke, without really meaning it. A silly game to find out if the rumours were true.
Well, now it seemed he really wanted it.
"I really hope so, love. I couldn’t get it out of my head. I’m already imagining how good I’m gonna take care of you."
He whispered for you only to hear, his fingers clenching a bit tighter around your waist.
Landing a kiss in the crook of your neck, you stood motionless, frozen at the thought that the people around you might hear his lewd words.
"Don’t worry, we’ll see for that-" You tried to get out of this whole mess your dirty words had caused.
"You have no idea how much I'm dying to feel your body against mine," your heart hammered strangely good within your chest. "But don’t worry, I'm going to skip the press conference—I hate waiting when you're the only thing on my mind."
Offering you one last kiss, he stepped away, running back to the pitch.
Immediately scoring a goal once the game resumed.
Maybe promising him the world wasn't such a bad idea after all; observing him give it his all was kind of exciting.
And that excitement didn't fade once the game was over.
If Lavinho don’t want to, he certainly will not play at the top of his game, simply making passes when necessary.
Yet, every now and then he played as if his life depended on it, racking up goals and assists.
Yet, this little game happened to coincide with your visits to the stadium.
When he knew full well that your eyes were watching his every move.
He was a show-off, the kind of guy who goes all out only when women are watching him and whispering compliments.
"Lavinho is offering us the performance of the year tonight! Who can stop him?!"
Scoring his second goal of the match within five minutes, the fans set off smoke bombs, engulfing the players in a cloud of smoke that added to the excitement of the celebration.
Taking advantage of this camouflage, he didn't waste a single second rushing toward your section, knowing exactly where to find you.
You were surprised to see him emerge from the smoke, a big smile plastered on his face.
A lustful sparkle gleaming in the back of his eyes you couldn’t ignore.
Cupping your face in his hands, he kissed you over and over again, a soft chuckle escaping your lips.
"So, love, do we still think I'm only good half the time?"
Maybe was he a little too eager to prove you wrong, his kisses quickly sliding down to your neck, his hands a bit too wandering on your lower back.
"Alright, I get that you’re the best player now!"
He giggled breathlessly, looking up at you with that expression of wonder.
As if holding something as important as the World Cup trophy.
"This game is so boring. I really want you. Like, right now."
And there you go—it took him less than a minute to slip up, whispering his somewhat urgent desires to you.
"Lavinho, Gosh. Your media training is terrible-"
"Want to meet me in the locker room at halftime? I really can't wait ‘till the end of the game to take care of you."
A somewhat interesting invitation, one you definitely couldn’t refuse.
"We gotta be quick, but don’t worry we’ll resume after the end of the game."
Kissing your lips one last time, he returned to the pitch, the fog slowly drifting away.
And when the teams returned from halftime, puzzled glances were exchanged.
Everyone wondering why Lavinho seemed even more out of breath than he had been before the break.
A dirty little secret confined to your lips.
