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jkkymb-10 · 6 months ago

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She is the best writer.. do not argue with me on that one!!!!

26 Wishes

Plot: As winter blankets the city, you celebrate your boyfriend’s 26th birthday by fulfilling 26 heartfelt wishes, one for each year of his life.

Genre: smut, fluff, sub! Kylian, also dom!Kylian a bit

Warnings: brace yourself, it’s sweet but messy

A/N: I’ve changed the plot too many times. HAPPY BIRTHDAY KYKY!!!

Taglist: @okayymochi @kevjrr @darlingmbappe @fictional-l0v3r @neymarloverxxx @jkkyks @xanjoy @mounthings @mywhimsyjournal @mitruscity @anaofc @ihazels @sangriaswined @karotland @venusesworld @brideofmbappe @luz45789 @suzysface @edgyficuselastica @giannislovesney @sweeterthanacandy @kyliansmiste @olimpiiaa @kylianspsg @trentre @jkkymb-10 @janie-1111 @laveeelo @hynjamkook @inaya56 @ynkfreeastheocean @lottins-only @celinedept17

The snow crunches softly under the car tires as you turn onto the long, winding driveway leading to the secluded chalet. You glance over at Kylian, who had fallen asleep during the drive, his head tilted back against the headrest, and his soft breaths fogging the window. The sight makes your heart flutter; even in repose, he looks effortlessly handsome.

As you reach the chalet, nestled in a winter wonderland of snow-draped pines, you gently place a hand on his arm. “Kylian, we’re here,” you wake him softly.

His eyes blink open, bleary at first, until they land on the cozy log cabin glowing warmly in the fading light. He sits up straight, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Wait, where are we? I thought we were going out for breakfast?”

A grin tugs at your lips. “Change of plans..”

His gaze flickers between you and the chalet, a smile breaking across his face. “What is this place?”

“You’ll see.” you tease, leaning over to peck his lips.

Inside, the cabin was a haven of comfort against the biting cold outside. A fire roared in the stone fireplace.

You approach Kylian quietly from behind as he stands, watching the soft glow of the fire. You wrap your arms around his torso, and lean in close, your breath warm against his ear as you softly whisper, “Happy birthday, Kylian.”

He freezes for a moment, then relaxes into your embrace, a smile spreading across his face as he places his hands over yours. The moment feels intimate, simple, yet filled with warmth.

Kylian’s brows lift, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in awe. “You did all this?”

“I mean I didn’t actually light the fire—”

He laughs, a rich, warm sound that fills the room as much as the firelight does.

Still chuckling, he turns around, shaking his head. His hands rest gently on your arms as his grin softens into something more tender. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs before leaning down and pressing his lips to yours.

Your breath caught, your initial protests forgotten as his kiss deepens, warm and full of gratitude. When he finally pulls away, his eyes search yours, the firelight dancing in their depths. “Thank you,” he says softly.

You smile, brushing a hand over his cheek. “You’re welcome. Just don’t ask me to light a fire when this one goes out.”

His laughter fills the chalet once more, and as he kisses you again, the flames burn brighter, mirroring the warmth between you.

Kylian shrugs off his coat, his sharp eyes immediately catching the curious sight on the coffee table. Dozens of small circular notes, each sealed with a lipstick kiss, were scattered there, layered like fallen autumn leaves.

“What’s this?” he asks, moving closer, curiosity lacing his tone.

You walk over, gesturing to the table. “It’s your birthday gift. Twenty-six notes for twenty-six wishes, one for every year of your life,” you explain, your excitement bubbling over. “Each one has something special—a memory, a promise, or a little surprise I planned for today. But you have to open them one by one.”

“Seriously?” His face breaks into a wide grin, and he immediately reaches out, his fingers hovering over the notes like he couldn’t decide where to begin. “Oh, my God. Which one do I open first?”

You laugh. “Start with this.” You pick up the topmost note and hand it to him.

He turns it over in his hands, marveling at the kiss imprinted on the paper, as though it were a piece of your heart captured just for him. With careful fingers, he opens it, revealing your elegant handwriting inside.

“Wish 1: A peaceful morning with no distractions. Just us.”

Kylian reads it aloud, his voice softening as a smile spreads across his face. He looks up to you, his eyes reflecting the glow of the fire. “This might be the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

You can’t surprise your grin, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “It’s just the beginning. Now come on, sit with me, and let’s make the most of wish one.”

And as you settle by the fire, with the snow falling softly outside, Kylian couldn’t help but feel that this was exactly what he’d wished for without even knowing it.

Throughout the day, each note reveals another wish. Some are nostalgic, like “Wish 5: Let’s look through old photos and laugh at our younger selves.”

In one of the notes he had to teach you something new. And you insisted on the offside-rule.

*cough*

Playing with fire, but necessary. You just love seeing him irritated.

Another encouraged him to dream aloud, as you sit by the fire, imagining the future.

Some are playful, like “Wish 20: A snowball fight.”

You couldn’t tell who’s more excited about this, you or Kylian.

The snow sparkled under the late afternoon sun as you stand outside the chalet, bundled up in warm jackets and scarves.

Kylian raises an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his eyes. “You think you can beat me?”

The crisp air carries a playful energy as you scoop up a handful of snow. “I mean..” you straighten up. “I know sometimes in the life, you’re too competitive, you know, it’s good to be competitive on the fie— OUCH”

Kylian lobs a big snowball on you, catching you squarely on the shoulder.

„Serves you right.” He shrugs, laughing loudly like an idiot.

You squat to take a handful of snow and he smirks, taking steps backwards.

You throw it, but Kylian ducks behind a tree, dodging your attempts to hit him with snowballs, his laugh echoing through the frosty air.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?” you call out, a wide grin spreading across your face.

He laughs, darting behind a tree as he bends down to grab his own handful of snow.

“Come on, big football star. Let’s see what you’ve got!”

Kylian throws a snowball, but you duck, laughing as it sails past you. “You missed!” you tease, sticking your tongue out at him.

“Don’t get too confident,” he shoots back, his competitive side kicking in as he starts to circle you.

For the next few minutes, the air was filled with laughter, squeals, and snowballs flying back and forth. You managed to land a perfect hit on his chest, and he threw his hands up in mock defeat. “Alright, alright! You win!”

But as you step out from behind your cover to gloat, Kylian takes his chance. He runs toward you, dodging the snowball you hastily throws in his direction.

“Kylian!” you cry out between fits of laughter, half-annoyed but mostly amused. “No! You lost!”

Before you could escape, he lunges, tackling you into a soft pile of snow, pinning you playfully.

“Kylian!” You protest.

But he just laughs, then he props himself up on his elbows, hovering over you as you lay beneath him, your cheeks burning from the cold and the laughter. A mischievous grin spreads across his face as he reaches down to brush a bit of snow off your hair.

“You started it,” he murmurs, his voice softening as his eyes locked onto yours.

Your laughter fades, replaced by a warmth that spread through your chest despite the cold. His gaze lingers on her, filled with a mix of affection and something deeper, more intense. Slowly, he leans down and kisses you, his lips warm and soft against yours, melting away the chill of the snow.

The world around you seemed to blur as the kiss deepens, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that sent warmth coursing through your veins. You respond eagerly, your hands sliding up to tug on his beanie, holding him close as the intensity between you grew.

Time seemed to stand still as you lose yourselves in each other. His kisses are filled with an unspoken promise that spoke louder than any words could. Every brush of his lips, every gentle tug, every soft sigh told you how much you meant to him.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t move far. His dark eyes search yours, and his breath puffs in the air as he smiles. “Let me get you inside,” he whispers, his voice low and tender. Nibbling playfully on your bottom lip one more time.

You nod, your heart still racing as he helps you to your feet, brushing the snow off your coat. Hand in hand, you make your way back to the warmth of the chalet, your laughter echoing in the crisp winter air.

Once you’re inside, Kylian unfolds the note with an eager grin, his excitement bubbling over like a child with a secret gift. He glances at you before reading aloud.

“Wish 21: Let me show you something unexpected.”

He raises an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in his dark eyes. “Unexpected, huh? That’s vague. Should I be worried?”

You shrug, your expression innocent, though there was a glint of mischief in your eyes. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Alright, I’m intrigued. But first, I need something to drink. Want anything?”

“Just surprise me,” you reply, your tone light.

Kylian disappears into the kitchen, his footsteps fading as you turn toward the fire. The warmth of the flames dance over your skin, the flickering light casting golden shadows across the fur rug spread in front of the hearth.

With a small, wicked smile, you stand and begin undoing the buttons of your sweater, slipping it off and letting it fall to the side. The rest of your clothes follow until you were bare, the soft texture of the fur brushing against your skin as you stretch out on the rug.

The firelight made your skin glow, and you shift slightly, your head resting on your arm as you waited, your heart racing with anticipation. You could hear Kylian in the kitchen, the faint clink of glasses and the hum of his low voice as he mutters to himself.

A few moments later, he returns, two glasses in hand and a casual smile on his face. “Okay, so I figured—” His voice cuts off abruptly as he steps into the room and his eyes land on you.

The glasses in his hands freeze mid-air, his mouth slightly agape as he takes in the sight of you lying there, the firelight casting soft, golden shadows over every curve. You meet his gaze with a coy smile, your head tilting slightly as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

“I just thought I’d make the wish a little more interesting.” you tease, the sound sending shivers down his spine.

He manages to put down the glasses.

His mouth goes dry, and he swallows hard, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he tries to find words, tries to think of anything other than the way his pulse is racing out of control.

“You… you’re…” His voice is rough, uneven, his usual confidence utterly derailed.

He runs a hand over his face, exhaling slowly, trying to compose himself.

You prop yourself up slightly on one elbow, your movement drawing his attention again. “Are you gonna stand there forever?”

“Fuck, no.”

He takes a tentative step forward, then another, his gaze never leaving you. Then he kneels across from you and covers his mouth with the tips of his fingers. It’s like he’s still in a hazy state of mind; in denial of the quick turn of events.

Then he rubs his face.

Nope. Definitely not dreaming.

His gaze is intense, his dark eyes fixed on yours, a storm of emotions swirling within them—desire, frustration, and a challenge you couldn’t quite decipher.

He shifts a bit and then commands:

“Open your legs.”

“A bit too hasty, aren’t w—”

Kylian’s jaw tightens, his hands resting on his thighs as he straightens, his broad shoulders tensing. The look he gives you is sharp, almost predatory, his eyes narrowing as if he is daring you to test him further.

“Don’t make me say it again,” he warns, his voice softer now, but somehow even more commanding.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare up at him, your gazes locked in a battle of wills. You can feel the heat of his frustration mingling with the fire’s warmth, can see the way his jaw clenches as he waits for your response.

You slowly and deliberately shift. Your legs moved apart, your body stretching out languidly on the rug as your eyes stayed locked on his, challenging him in your own way.

Kylian’s glare didn’t waver, but something in his expression changes—a flicker of hunger, raw and unrestrained. His lips part slightly, as if he’d forgotten how to breathe for a moment, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

His eyes rake over your opening with an intensity that makes you shiver.

His control is slipping, you could see it—the way his shoulders rise and fall with each measured breath, the tension radiating off him in waves. He leans closer, his hand bracing against the rug beside you as his face gets closer to your inner thighs.

But just as he comes within reach, you raise your leg and press your foot firmly against his chest, halting him in his tracks.

“Ah-ah,” you forbid him,

His eyes snap back up to yours, surprise flickering in their depths.

“Sit,” you say softly, your voice calm but carrying an edge of authority that sent a shiver through him.

His lips part slightly, a sharp exhale escaping him as he searches your face, trying to read the sudden shift in control. You tilt your head, your expression unwavering, your raised brow daring him further.

A slow, almost incredulous smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, his eyes darkening with a mix of amusement and challenge. “Oh, so you’re giving the orders now?”

“Looks like it,” you reply smoothly, pressing your foot just a little harder against his chest. “So sit.”

He sits back, his eyes never leaving yours. The tension between you didn’t ease—it only grew, the charged silence making your skin prickle with anticipation.

“Take the next note.”

Your lips curve into a slow, deliberate smile as he takes the next one.

His brows knot together when he realizes this one is different. No words. Just an imprint of your lipstick—a vivid red mark. He turns it over, checking the back, but it has the same imprint.

He frowns, holding the note closer as if the answer might reveal itself. “What’s this supposed to—”

Before he could finish, you move with a burst of sudden energy, climbing onto his lap. His hands instinctively go to your waist, the note fluttering to the floor as he looks up at you, startled.

“Don’t overthink it,” you whisper, your lips curving into a wicked smile. You lean in, brushing your lips against his jaw, leaving behind the first unmistakable red mark.

Kylian freezes for a beat, his breath catching as the meaning dawns on him. “Oh,” he breathes, his voice low and strained.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

You help him take his sweater off and toss it aside. Then you lean in again, pressing a deliberate kiss just below his ear. Another red mark, vivid against his skin. Then one on his neck, trailing lower toward his collarbone. Kylian lets out a shaky exhale, his head tipping back slightly as you work your way down.

His hands slide to your hips, his grip firm as he lets you take the lead, though his body hummed with barely contained energy. “You’re enjoying this way too much,” he mutters, his words softened by the grin tugging at his lips.

“You think?” you tease, your voice muffled against his skin as you press another kiss to his chest, your lipstick leaving a perfect imprint. Your kisses travel further down, stopping at the rim of his pants.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, his voice rough with laughter and something deeper. “Go on.”

But you pull back, you lips slightly smudged, and Kylian was thoroughly marked, the evidence of your playful affection scattered across his skin. He looks down at himself, then back at you.

“Get the fuck over here and finish this.”

You laugh mischievously and then hover over him.

And then you lean in for a kiss, he couldn’t bring himself to care about the trail of red you had left—because every mark felt like a piece of you, and he wanted all of it.

Whatever restraint he had left crumbles, his mouth crashes against yours in a kiss that is fierce, consuming, and filled with all the tension that had been building between you. The fire crackles louder as if it, too, couldn’t contain the heat in the room, and you couldn’t help but smile against his lips.

You pull back and he is in awe. You pull out the next note and hand it to him. He snitches it from your hand, poking the inner side of his cheek with his tongue.

He didn’t look very pleased with the sudden deprivation of your lips.

He reads aloud.

“Wish 23: Sit and relax.”

Kylian’s hands rest on his sides, his fingers curling into the fabric of his pants as he watches you, his restraint hanging by a thread.

“Then I guess we’ll see what you have in mind,” he says, his voice husky, the firelight dancing in his eyes as the game between you shift once more.

Dropping to your knees before him, you unzip his pants and pull them down his legs.

His thick thighs are undulating, the perfect V cutting down to his cock that’s standing proud, tall, and thick. Completely proportionate to his body.

Your foggy eyes drop right to his length.

Pre-cum spills from the tip and you swipe it with your thumb, lubricating his tip as you stroke him.

He eagerly watches you, waiting for you to take him in your mouth and then, without hesitation you whirl your tongue around the tip, before pushing him deep.

“Just like that, yes.”

You kiss down his shaft to his balls, and use your hand to slowly massage the underside of his cock and then swirl your palm over it.

He puts his hand on your head and thrusts into your mouth.

“I fucking love you,” He confesses, barely having sufficient breath to talk. His head falls back, eyes closed as he concentrates on not coming in two seconds. “Oh my God, I love you.”

You pull away and take a wheezed breath to meet his look.

“Wha—“ he questions, but you pull out the next note for him to read and he groans in frustration.

“Wish 23: Yum.” he furrows his brows at you and you capture his wet lips in a messy kiss before you go back between his legs.

“I want you to come down my throat, baby.”

“Goodness, fuck,” he chokes out, pushing up when you take him into your mouth once more. It doesn’t take long till his dick beats in your mouth, cum hitting your throat faster than you could swallow.

You sit back up, pushing his seed that was dripping from the corner of your lips into your mouth.

He shivers at the sight, and takes a minute to regain his strength, then he lays you flat on your back, kissing the soft skin between your breasts.

“You weren’t made this beautiful for nothing, Y/N,” he mumbles, rolling your nipple between his pointer and thumb. “Fuck, you’re perfect for me.” He moans as he tastes your nipple roughly, causing you to halt your breath.

Mostly, he takes his time to play, but tonight his buttons were pushed enough and he is not in the mood for foreplay anymore.

His sloppy kisses trail down your stomach and you chuckle a bit until he is facing your core.

“Kylian..” you call.

And he hums against your folds. Your body jolts in pleasure at the sensation. A moan slips your mouth and you can feel him grin against your delicate skin.

“Spread your legs, baby.”

You do. No hesitation.

“Wider,” he whispers.

At this point he does it himself.

And then his tongue plunges inside you, and your head hangs back with a cry.

You snatch his head and move him to where you need him. He sucks and moans against your sensitive skin and your body tremors.

You wrap your thighs over his shoulders, and he buries his face between them.

His breath. His tongue. His words.

He licks you slowly. Your hips buck and he can feel you clenching your hands on his head.

“Uuuuuh, Kylian!” you scream, on the brink of an orgasm and he continues the pace, flicking his tongue over your clit within the perfect way to make you shout and buck your hips for more sensation.

He then abruptly pulls out of you and hovers over you.

He smiles at you then kisses you deeply with a hungry tongue.

The heat between you rivals the flames, each kiss longer, deeper, more consuming than the last, before you lightly push against his chest, your breaths mingling as you part. He looks at you with slight confusion, lips still tingling from the intensity. You reach next to you, retrieving a small note and the words “Wish 25” scrawled across the top.

“Here—”

“Fuck that.” he tosses the note into the fire. The flames quickly devour the paper, and you gasp in surprise.

Before you can protest, his lips capture yours again, his hands sliding to your waist as he kisses you with renewed fervor, silencing any words you might have had. The firelight flickers over his features, highlighting the gleam of determination in his eyes. Whatever wish you had written, it seems, can wait. Right now, the only thing he’s focused on is you.

He spreads your legs with one hand and pushes his length inside you.

You let out an unmistakable loud moan, savoring the feeling of his hardness, the feeling of hot skin squeezed against hot skin. You reach up and feel along the muscles of his rock-hard arms, his wide shoulders, his rigid back, continuously needing to touch him this way, investigating the smooth and unbending planes of his skin.

“Keep touching me,” he whispers, nibbling along your jaw, at that point down your neck. “Keep your hands on me, baby,”

You do as he says, your palms coasting over each portion of him, particularly enjoying the feel of his arms, the tight firm muscles flexing beneath your touch as he uses them to grip your waist and squeeze it.

Your bodies move in perfect rhythm on the soft rug. The golden glow of the fire reflects in his deep, expressive eyes, but it’s the way he looks at you—like you’re the only thing that matters—that steals your breath away.

His gaze never leaves yours as he makes love to you, filled with raw intensity, devotion, and something deeper, unspoken yet undeniably real. Every touch, every caress, every movement is deliberate, as if he’s memorizing every part of you. His hands slide gently over your skin, his whispered words mingling with your rapid breaths.

The connection between you feels electric, unbreakable, and when his lips find yours again, it’s slow, and full of meaning. In this moment, it’s not just passion—it’s the promise of everything he feels for you laid bare, without a single word spoken.

Your breath is rigid and your walls clenching against his member.

“I’m cumming!” you scream out but he doesn’t stop, his thrusts becoming harder and deeper. Your legs shake.

And then you moan his name. Your jaw hangs low. His eyes searching yours as you both come.

He stops moving and drops next to you. He rests his head on the ground and pants, closing his eyes to regain his breath.

You take the view of him in. The firelight dances across his skin, illuminating the faint sheen of sweat that clings to him, a testament to the intensity of the moment. His hairline is slightly damp, as his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. His skin glows under the amber light, warm to the touch as your fingers trace over his shoulders, feeling the subtle slickness beneath your fingertips.

His lips curve into a soft, almost teasing smile as he leans to the side. The heat radiating from him matches the fire roaring nearby, and when he looks into your eyes, the mixture of exertion and passion makes him utterly irresistible. There’s something raw and unfiltered about him in this moment, a vulnerability that only adds to the magnetic pull between you.

You sit up slowly, and reach for a final slip of paper you’d kept tucked away. With a playful yet meaningful expression, you hand it to him, your fingers lingering against his for just a moment.

“Wish 26,” you say softly, your voice carrying both anticipation and tenderness. He takes the note, his brows lifting in curiosity. He takes it with care. His eyes scan the words, and his breath catches: “Wish 26: Make a wish.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, his gaze shifts from the note back to you. The vulnerability in your eyes and the subtle curve of your lips seem to undo him. Kylian’s throat bobs as he swallows, his voice quiet yet steady when he finally speaks.

“I don’t need to make a wish, I already know what I want.”

He puts the paper down. And looks you in the eyes.

“I want you.” he says, “Not just for today, not just for a while—but for every day.” the words leave his lips with absolute certainty.

He pauses, his gaze never leaving yours. “But if I had to wish for something right now, it would be that you’ll say yes when I ask you to marry me.”

Tears well in your eyes as you smile, your heart pounding in your chest.

Your heart swells at his words, his voice echoing in your mind like a dream you never wanted to end. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, the weight of his love and devotion making it impossible to speak. Then, with a trembling smile, you whisper, “Yes. A thousand times yes.”

Relief and joy floods Kylian’s face, his smile radiant as he pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly against him. He kisses you again, this time slower, with all the tenderness in the world, as if sealing a promise that could never be broken.

The fire crackles softly in the background, its warmth wrapping around the two of you like a blanket. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he murmurs, “You’ve just made me the happiest man in the world.”

You laugh softly, wiping a tear from your cheek as you look into his eyes. “And you’ve given me the best wish I could’ve ever asked for.”

Together, you sit there in the glow of the fire, your futures entwined in a promise as unshakable as the love you shared.

A/N: PHEWWWWW THAT WAS A LONG ONE. NOW LEAVE ME TO MY READING. BYEEEEEE 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️

#kymb 10 #kylian mbappé

190 notes · View notes

jkkymb-10 · 6 months ago

Text

This was.... Painful,

.........but hot and uplifting

BROKEN

Plot: Haunted by the weight of expectations and unresolved emotional trauma, Kylian finds himself breaking under the pressure. Forced by you to confront the cracks in his life, Kylian shows you a side of himself you never saw.

Genre: Angst and it somehow turns into smut.. don’t ask.. TRUST THE PROCESS

Warnings: mental health issues, smut, swearing

A/N: I took breaks writing this

The stadium is deafening. Thousands of voices roar in unison, a sea of chaos and celebration, yet to Kylian, it is silent. He bends over, hands gripping his knees, sweat dripping from his brow onto the pristine grass below. His lungs burn with every inhale, his chest tight, not from exertion, but from something deeper. Something heavier.

He couldn’t shake the weight pressing down on him, invisible yet unbearable, like an anchor tied to his soul. The whistle blows, signaling halftime, but instead of relief, he feels dread. The pitch, once his sanctuary, now feels like a battlefield where he is losing a war he doesn’t even know how to fight.

As Kylian straightens, his gaze wanders to the stands. He scans the rows, barely focusing on the faces.

The locker room was no better. The air buzzed with the camaraderie of his teammates, but he sits in the corner, staring at the floor, his head heavy in his hands. His phone buzzes beside him, the screen lighting up with a message. His heart clenches. For a fleeting second, he hopes it was you, but the name on the screen brings nothing but cold reality.

Some news about him being Real Madrid’s worst player yet.

It wasn’t always like this. He remembers a time when the world felt lighter, when the pressure wasn’t suffocating. But lately, everything seems to spiral out of control—the relentless schedule, the media’s scrutiny, your muffled voice on the other end of too many phone calls. And then, the silence.

The silence was the worst part.

Outside, the storm clouds loom low, casting shadows over the stadium, much like the ones that had taken residence in his mind.

Kylian closes his eyes and let his head rest against the cold metal of the locker.

He pulls himself together, slipping the mask back on as he steps out of the locker room. He was fracturing, piece by piece.

And tonight, he wonders if anyone could see the cracks.

It was past midnight when Kylian trudged through the front door. The match had been grueling, a bitter loss etched into his every movement. His broad shoulders were slumped, his eyes dull as if the spark that usually lit them is buried beneath layers of frustration and self-recrimination.

He steps into the house, his bag slings over one shoulder. The weight of another disappointing day bores down on him. This match had been a mess; his body had moved, but his mind had lagged behind. He felt like he was running in quicksand.

He kicks off his shoes without care, letting them land haphazardly in the hallway. His mom isn’t home, her usual warmth absent. But that’s good, because he doesn’t want to see anyone tonight.

All he wants is silence.

But as he moves toward the living room, a faint scent stops him in his tracks. It was familiar—soft and floral, like lavender and something uniquely yours. His heart skips a beat.

It couldn’t be.

He drops his bag by the door, moving like a ghost. He didn’t bother turning on the lights; the dim glow from the streetlights outside was enough. He just wants to disappear, to fade into the shadows and forget the world existed.

But then he sees you.

You were sitting on the couch, waiting for him. He freezes in the doorway, his heart sinking. He hadn’t expected anyone to be here, least of all you. Especially since you were saying you have a paper to write before the deadline. For a moment, he considers turning around and leaving again, but your eyes meet his, and it is too late.

You stand nearby, watching him from the doorway, your heart heavy with worry. The match has been a disaster—a crushing loss that everyone blames on him. And as if that wasn’t enough, the hate was pouring in from every corner, vicious messages and headlines filled with lies about him. The latest scandal, the baseless allegations, have pushed him into a darkness you’d never seen before.

“Kylian,” you call softly, your voice a careful mixture of concern and hesitation.

“Hey..” He murmurs. He didn’t even look at you again as he brushes past, heading straight for the kitchen. The sound of the fridge opening and closing echoes in the silence.

“I saw the match,” you confess after a moment, following him to the kitchen.

But he says nothing.

He leans against the counter, his back to you, staring at nothing. The weight of your presence is unbearable, and the silence between you is sharp, like a blade presses against his throat.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” you suggest gently, testing the waters.

No response.

The quiet stretches between you, taut and uncomfortable, but you don’t push him. Not yet.

“Kylian, talk to me,” you press.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t even look at you. The silence is deafening.

“Kylian,” you try again, firmer this time. “You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep shutting me out.”

Still, he doesn’t respond. His shoulders rise slightly as he exhales, as if the weight of your words press down on him even more.

You bite your lip, frustration bubbling to the surface. “This isn’t fair. To either of us. I know you’re hurting, but I can’t help you if you won’t let me in.”

He turns around and crosses his arms in front of his chest. But still.. Nothing. Just the sound of his shallow breathing.

“Kylian!” you snap, your voice louder now. “For God’s sake, say something!”

Finally, he moves, his head snapping up to look at you. His eyes dark and glassy, the storm inside them breaking free.

“What do you want me to say?!” His voice erupts, raw and jagged, cutting through the air like a knife. “That I’m fine? That I’ll just bounce back like nothing happened? Is that what you want to hear?”

You freeze, taken aback by the sheer force of his words. “I don’t want lies, Kylian. I want the truth.”

“The truth?” He stands abruptly, towering over you, his movements sharp and angry. “Fine. You want the truth? I feel like a failure, okay? I feel like I’m drowning, and no matter how hard I fight, I can’t get my head above water. I feel like I can’t breathe.”

“Kylian—”

“No!” He cuts you off, his voice rising. “You wanted me to speak? I’m speaking! I feel like a failure. I let everyone down—my team, the fans, my family, myself. And then I come home to this!” He gestures vaguely, his voice laced with bitterness. “The hate, the lies, the accusations. People who’ve never met me are calling me a monster, and no matter what I say or do, it won’t go away. I can’t win—on or off the field!” His voice cracks, his throat tightening as he struggles to continue. “Do you know what it feels like to be called a rapist? To have people you don’t even know look at you like you’re guilty before you’ve even said a word?”

You don’t retaliate, didn’t rise to his anger. Instead, you stay still, waiting for the storm in him to pass.

His hands tremble as he paces the room, his emotions spiraling out of control. “They don’t care about the truth. They don’t care about me. All they want is someone to blame, someone to tear apart. And I’m so damn tired of it.”

You step toward him, your heart breaking at the sight of him unraveling. “Kylian, you don’t have to do this alone—”

“Yes, I do!” he shouts, tears fill his eyes. “Because who else is going to? Who else is going to fix this? No one! No one can fix it. I can’t fix it.”

Before you could say anything, he grabs the glass of water on the counter and hurls it against the wall. The sound of it shattering is deafening, echoing in the tense silence that follows. Water and shards of glass glitter on the floor, and for a moment, everything is still.

He stares at the kitchen tiles and the shattered glass, his body shaking with the force of his anger. “I can’t do this anymore,” he chokes out, his words muffled by his hands. “I can’t… I’m so tired. I’m so damn tired.”

And then he paces towards the exit. His hands tugging at the ends of his hoodie.

“Where are you going?” your eyebrows furrow.

“I just… I need to get out of here,” he mutters, his voice loud but distant.

“Out of here?” you repeat, incredulous. “What does that even mean? You’re just going to run?”

“I’m not running,” he snaps, finally stopping to look at you. His dark eyes were red-rimmed, brimming with frustration and exhaustion. “I need space. I can’t breathe in here.”

You step closer, trying to keep your voice calm despite the panic rising in your chest. “You think leaving is going to help? You’re not dealing with this, Kylian. You’re just avoiding it.”

“Maybe I need to avoid it!” he shoots back, his voice rising. “Maybe I need to be anywhere but here, where I can’t feel the walls closing in on me.”

Your chest tightens at his words, your hands trembling as you clench them into fists at your sides. “So you’re just going to walk away? From me? From everything?”

His jaw tightens as he turns toward the door. “Please don’t make this about yourself. I—” He closes his eyes shut and sighs deeply. “I can’t do this right now,” he mutters, reaching for the bag.

“Don’t you dare,” you say, your voice shaking with anger. “Don’t you dare walk out that door.”

He freezes, his back to you, but he doesn’t turn around. “I have to.”

“No, you don’t,” you insist, stepping closer. “You don’t have to do this alone. You just think you do because you’re too damn stubborn to let anyone in.”

He turns back to face you then, his expression raw and unguarded. “You don’t understand!” he shouts. “Everywhere I go, it follows me! The hate, the lies, the pressure—it’s everywhere. I just need to escape, even if it’s just for a little while.”

“You think you can escape your own mind?” you challenge, your voice rising to match his. “Because that’s what this is, Kylian. It’s not about where you are; it’s about what’s inside you. And running won’t fix that!”

But he is deaf to your advice. Instead, he turns back toward the door, his hands busy with the shoestrings.

“Come inside, Kylian..” You plea softly.

Not happening.

“Kylian...” You warn.

He stands straight up, ready to leave.

“SIT.DOWN!” you shout suddenly, the authority in your voice startling even you.

Kylian freezes, his hand dropping to his side. He turns slowly, his eyes small. For a moment, you think he might ignore you, but then, as if the weight of your words finally registered, he moves. He takes off his shoes and sits heavily on the couch, his head falling into his hands.

You approach cautiously, your heart pounding in your chest. “You don’t get to run from this, Kylian,” you say, your tone softer now but still firm. “You don’t get to shut me out and pretend that leaving will solve anything. You need to face this. We need to face this.”

He looks away from you. His broad shoulders slumping as his breath hitches. “I don’t know how,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

You sit down beside him, placing a hand on his back. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now.” you plead gently. “But you do have to stay. Stay and fight. With me.”

His body trembles under your touch, and when he finally looks up, his eyes were brimming with tears. “What if I can’t?” he asks, his voice barely audible.

“You can,” you tone firmly, meeting his gaze. “Because you’re Kylian Mbappé. You may have your down moments, but you step back up.”

For a long moment, he just stares at you, his expression a mixture of fear, exhaustion, and something else—hope. Then, slowly, he nods, the smallest of movements, but it was enough. Enough to tell you he wasn’t leaving, at least not tonight.

You reach out, pulling him into your arms. He resists for a moment, but then he crumbles, clinging to you like you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely. His tears soak your shirt, and you hold him tighter, one hand pressing his head closer to your chest, the other rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“I’m tired,” he sobs, his voice cracking slightly. “I’m tired of being everyone’s hero. Tired of feeling like I can’t breathe without someone judging me. Tired of—of... Y/N I’m so tired..” His shoulders heave with the weight of his emotions.

“I’m here,” you murmur, your voice breaking. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His grip on you tightens, his sobs slowly quieting as he let himself be vulnerable in your arms. For the first time in what felt like forever, he isn’t carrying the weight of the world alone. And in that moment, you know you’d do whatever it takes to help him heal, one step at a time.

He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch, his walls crumbling as his arms come around you, pulling you close. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“I know,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And as you hold him, his body slowly relaxes against yours, the fight ebbing away, leaving only the raw, tender truth beneath: he is human, and with you, he doesn’t have to be perfect.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know who I am anymore. I can’t live up to everyone’s expectations, yet alone my expectations.”

He stays silent for a while, then finally he speaks, his voice a hollow whisper. “I just want the pain to go away.”

“Make it go away,” he whispers, “Please… make the pain go away.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. You pull back and search his teary eyes, because no matter how hard you try, his head would still hang low, unable to look you in the eye. Your hands tremble as you reach out and cup his face.

Your heart clenches as he lifts his tear-streaked face, his eyes meeting yours, raw and desperate. “I just want to forget,” he begs softly, his voice trembling. “Just tonight… make it stop.”

You don’t respond with words. Instead, you slowly lean forward, your lips brushing against his softly at first, tasting the salt of his tears. It was hesitant, almost fragile, as though the kiss might shatter under the weight of his grief. But when he lets out a shaky breath against your mouth, something inside you brakes.

He kisses you back hesitantly at first, as if unsure he deserves the comfort you are offering. But then he melts into you, his hands sliding up to clutch your shoulders, his desperation bleeding into the kiss. It is heartbreaking, the kind of kiss born from shared pain rather than joy.

It wasn’t passionate or fiery—it was raw, trembling, and filled with sadness. Your tears mingle with his as your lips move against each other, a silent promise that you wouldn’t let him fall apart alone. His hands clutching at your arms as if you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

The kiss deepens, turning urgent and needy, and so you lift yourself up to sit on his lap.

Your lips move against his, pouring all the words you couldn’t say into the connection. His hands find your waist, gripping you tightly, his fingers digging into your sides as though you were his lifeline. His desperation bleeds into every movement, every press of his lips against yours.

Tears slip between you, warm and unrelenting, but neither of you stop. The sadness lingers in every touch, every sigh, but the kiss is fiery, passionate—a bittersweet collision of pain and longing. It isn’t about forgetting or fixing anything; it is about feeling something, anything, in the midst of the darkness.

You pull back to seek some relief in his eyes. His breath hitches, a quiet sob escaping him. You run your thumb along his cheek, wiping away the tears, and peck his salty lips.

You shift in his lap, framing his face with your hands so he couldn��t look away. His dark eyes, heavy with sorrow, flicker with vulnerability. But you weren’t going to let him sink into that darkness any further. Not tonight.

“Listen to me,” you say firmly, your voice steady, even as your heart aches for him. “The world might try to break you, but they can’t. You’ve proven that time and time again.”

His eyes flutter shut to let the words sink in and then he looks into your eyes again.

“You made the entire world stop and watch you at the world cup final. You brought a team back from the brink, carried a nation on your back, and made them believe in miracles. That wasn’t a fluke. That wasn’t luck. That was you.”

His lips part, but no words come. You go on, your voice unwavering.

“You are the man who makes people believe the impossible is possible. The man who gets back up no matter how hard he’s hit. And you’ll do it again, Kylian. You’ll make them all remember who you are. Not because of what they say, but because of what you do.”

His breath hitches, and his hands tighten around your waist.

Something shifts in his gaze—faint but undeniable. A flicker of strength, of determination, begins to return and you feel a pull.

You run your fingers over his back lightly and they travel to the front to slide down his chest.

But it isn’t just physical. It is the way you want to be the one to remind him of his worth, to rebuild him piece by piece until he was whole again. The ache in your chest mingles with an undeniable pull, a longing to see him strong and unshaken—not just for the world, but for you.

“They don’t define you,” you say, your tone softening but still fierce. “You define you. And the world? They’re watching, Kylian.”

His eyes search yours, vulnerable yet captivated, and his fingers press slightly harder against your waist. The closeness between you, the heat of his body beneath yours, makes your skin prickle with anticipation. You want to soothe him, to comfort him, but the intensity of the moment blurs the lines.

Your hands brush along his muscular thighs and your hand fumbles with the knotted drawstrings of his joggers.

“Make the world see..” you order while you untie the strings.. “Make them see what you can do.” you hoax and your breaths mingle as you lean closer, your heart pounding in your chest. You weren’t sure if it was your words or the unspoken energy between you that was drawing you together, but the need to make him feel good, to make him feel alive again, was undeniable.

“Make them see what you’re capable of.” Your voice is low, and he is perplexed by the way you easily pull down his joggers just below his butt.

“Y/N..” He utters.

When his dreamy gaze meets yours, a wave of darkness slithers through him. The lust reflected in your eyes was entirely his. “I don’t think I can—” He pauses, unable to admit that he might have trouble getting or maintaining an erection.

All his loud thoughts come to a halt when you both observe your hand halt at his boxers, where you trace the waistband with a finger. Each back and forth motion pulses in his groin.

“Let them bear witness...”

“.. Of what Kylian Mbappé can do.” You breathe.

His breath hitches when your fingers pull his waistband down an inch, revealing what you desire but can’t articulate.

Your hand brush the tip of his cock. That slightest touch turns his blood into liquid fire, beating hot and heavy within him.

You see him gulp when his member grows and pulsates, responding to your touch. It stiffens in an instant.

“Make them remember..”

You let him go and wet your lips.

“...the kinda man you are.”

You shift a bit, lift your skirt a bit and position yourself on top of him. Your hand guides the length of his dick inside of you; slowly lowering yourself on his hardness. “Ooooh, the kinda man you are.” You whimper and he swears, throwing his head back.

His tense body is brought to relief when you start grinding on him. When your hands grip his muscled shoulders.

His mouth— and yours agap, and he lets out a deep groan. Heat coiling at the base of his spine, sending a shudder outward. Nothing is lustful about his touch—in fact, it feels slightly uncertain, but he eases under your hotness and moans.

Your hot face radiates heat that he can feel. Your gentle cheek against his. His chest heaves as your nails dig at the skin of his neck; taking deep, panting breaths.

“Oh, fuck baby. Please...” He moans. “Make me feel good.”

He whisper his needs to your ear, urging and requesting. “I want to forget.” He closes his eyes. “Make me forget.” He leans his head back, getting lost in the ecstasy of the moment.

You lean a little forward and put your hands on his chest and move yourself up and down.

He moans when you move up until your clit is almost out and then back down while following his curvature.

You hit a good spot, and it’s at that moment where he guides your hips to different rhythms— grabbing your hips to rock back and forth while breathing out hard.

You shudder and tremble. He rises higher, feeling more confident, and runs a finger over the softness of your folds like petals. You moan as his tongue touches yours and his nails dig into your soft skin.

You kiss him wherever you can. As he desperately rubs your legs. Desire is obscuring your eyes and a furrow of bewilderment is on his face.

He pulls you close— mostly for kisses and sneaks his warm hands under your top along your back, thrusting up when you’re going down.

“You’re my man, Kylian.”

Your words pierce his mind.

“You are... my man.” You pant.

All you can think of is the warm rush of when he will climax for you. You keep riding his pulsating cock in a slow, sloppy manner.

And he squeezes your ass to press you harder against him, rocking his hips upwards for more fraction and more speed.

You let out a deep moan as you feel your own climax building up.

“I want you to cum for me.” You beg. “Cum inside me, Kylian. I know you want to.”

Filthy, detailed, and comforting words that beg him to release because this is precisely what he desires.

“Oh, fuck” you moan and he straightens his back to come closer to you, thrusting into you, hitting in just the right spot. Both your breaths are shallow as you make love to him.

You lean down to kiss him. His thick skin and pillowy lips become too much for you. You nib his lower lip and his eyes soften; rippling open. Observing you kissing him and feeling you slip in and out of him sends him over the edge. He trembles, groaning as you moan when you feel him getting close.

So much arousal, so much heat. An impatient throb runs through his cock.

“I love you..” He confesses. “Oh, I love you, I love you, I love you.” He reminds you by nuzzling your neck, reaching up and gripping your thighs hard.

His moans are muffled in your mouth, and he pulls back to shout:

“Fuck!”

You are drawn in by his pants, and as he reaches his high, you hear him call your name.

He spills his seed inside you, you stop moving, resting your forehead on the crook of his neck.

“That was...” he grins for a second.

“..needed” you complete his sentence and you kiss him delicately. He tosses his head back and gulps.

He puts an arm around your waist and pulls you down next to him as you pull out and he pulls the joggers up. You roll your head toward him, gasping, then smile politely. Peace softens his lips into a faint smile and tugs at his features.

He seems relieved.

He holds your face in his hands when you kiss.

He doesn’t want you to ever pull back. As if your mouth holds all the oxygen that keeps him alive.

You sit there for mere seconds, enjoying the silence of the living room. His hand eventually touches yours. In some ways, his loose interlocking of your fingers feels more personal than your intimate time a few minutes ago, as if he had just remembered who he is.

The glow of the city lights casts faint shadows across his face, accentuating the weariness etched once again into his features. You watch him silently, your heart aching at the sight.

“Are you scared?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and raw. For a moment, he doesn’t move, but then he exhales sharply, as if the words have struck something deep inside him. Slowly, he lifts his head to look at you, his dark eyes clouded with doubt.

“Yeah. I am.”

The admission feels like a confession, one he’s been holding back for far too long. He leans back against the couch, his shoulders slumping under an invisible weight. His gaze is distant and he sighs.

“Actually, I’m terrified. The match in a few days… it feels like everything is riding on it. If I mess up, if I don’t deliver…” his voice falters, and he rubs a hand over his face. “I don’t know if I can handle it.”

His voice cracks at the end, and you see the pain he’s been hiding behind his confident facade.

You shift closer, your gaze never leaving him. His vulnerability cuts through you, but you refuse to let him drown in it alone.

Reaching out, you gently place your hand over his. Squeezing his hand, your voice steady but full of warmth.

“You’re not a machine, Kylian. You’re human. And the people who matter—the ones who love you—they see more than just what you do on the field. You’re allowed to have bad days, to feel like it’s too much. But you don’t have to face it alone. I’m here. Always.”

His eyes meet yours, and for the first time that night, the storm within them seems to calm. He leans forward, resting his forehead against your shoulder as his breathing slows.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You smile at his comment, gently brushing the back of your hand against his cheek. “You’ll never have to find out.”

You stare at the shattered glass on the floor, Kylian looks anywhere but at you, his jaw tight and his hands shove into the pockets of his hoodie like a kid caught red-handed. You raise an eyebrow.

“So… are you going to clean up the mess, or should I call a glass repair hotline for your temper?”

Kylian’s head snaps up, his eyes wide and pleading.

“Are you going to lecture me, or help me clean this up?”

You hiss a small laugh and then crouch down, carefully picking up a shard of glass.

“I’m only helping because I don’t trust you not to injure yourself. I can’t have you blaming me when you show up to your next match with a bandage on your foot.”

He grabs the broom with an exaggerated sigh, muttering as he sweeps.

“This feels like punishment. Isn’t there, like, a rule against punishing someone this good-looking?”

You snort, shaking your head.

You burst out laughing despite yourself, and he chuckles too, the frustration melting away as you both work together to clean up his mess—literal and otherwise.

A/N: next fic is on the 20th of December 😉🎂

#kylian mbappe #kymb 10

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