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prettyinpurplelights · 1 year

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COME HOME

in high hopes for tomorrow’s psg game but also missing kylian and still feeling like a proud mom after his achievements this weekend so all of that kinda almagamated into this whatever this is to keep y’all off my back abt pt 6 of care (for now) 😭

*********

You wait nervously in the bed, your thumb nesting between your lips as your teeth chip away at the nail anxiously. So much had happened since you’d last seen him, almost a week ago. The firm had sent you to New Delhi to woo your new potential clients, a task that had taken you far too long, your planned two day trip extending into six, nearly seven before you’d managed to get the oil execs to finally close the deal. They somehow found a problem with every contract you’d drafted, anyone would’ve given up after the 75th hour and you had a feeling the firm knew this, hence why they sent you, their hardest, most immovable closer. And the most annoying part about all of this was you still weren’t done, you were due in London tomorrow, to present everything to the head office there before you’d be able to finally go back home to Paris. The one and only saving grace about this was the 7 hour layover in Munich before your flight to England, which couldn’t have come at a much better and more convenient time. Your phone pings in your lap and you pick it up, reading the text that had appeared.

we’re almost back from the press conference, did you get in okay?

You unlock your phone to reply.

yeah, the front desk were great. thanks for your help again.

always.

he still has no clue?

not one 😌

you’re awesome. i owe you.

make me your world famous carbonara next time i come over and we’re even 🍽️

You laugh as you type out your response.

you got it sergio 😂

You place the phone facedown on the bedside table, standing up and straightening out your pencil skirt. You move to the mirror opposite the bed, raking your fingers through your shoulder length hair, trying to bring some life to the curls that had lost their volume after 9 hours of being pressed onto the headrest of the airplane seat and another 3 hours on the hotel bed when you’d knocked out the second you saw the pillows. Reaching into your blouse pocket after you finally feel satisfied with your hair, you take out your lipgloss, opening the tube and spreading some of the shiny liquid along your plump bottom lip when you hear the door open, his voice drifting into the room as his laughter pulls your mouth into a smile.

God, you’d missed him.

“Putain!” He shouts at whoever was on the other side of the door.

“Good night! Save that energy for Bayern Kylian.” The other voice teases and you watch him flip its owner off. His back is still facing you as he closes the door, he was yet to turn around and notice you.

“Language Kyky.” You stand with your hand on your hips, a faux stern look on your face as he finally spins and jumps, a surprised gasp escaping his throat.

“What the fuc-“ Then he stops himself when his eyes zero in on you, drinking you in and realising who you are. “Y/N??”

“Hello 201.” You grin and he drops his backpack to the floor, rushing to engulf you in a hug as he lifts you off the floor instead.

“What are you doing here?” He says in a small voice, almost as though he was speaking to himself.

“Had to see my ooof-“ You’re unable to finish your sentence because he slants his lips over yours unexpectedly, heavy and hard, and you open your mouth to welcome him as your fingers grip his shoulders. His hands untuck your blouse from your skirt, slipping under the sheer material to hold your waist. You eventually grow light headed as he continues to kiss you passionately, needing to replenish the air he drew out of your lungs so you pull away. His chest rises and falls as he takes in deep breaths of his own, looking at you beneath his lashes.

“Sorry.” He smiles sheepishly but his eyes roam your face as though he is trying to commit every inch of your skin to memory before you fade away again. It’s intense, too intense and you can no longer hold his gaze, feeling your stomach turn to jelly so you drop your head to his chest, your ear pressed against his heart and he holds you there.

“I missed you.” He whispers into your hair, his nose nuzzling your earlobe as he breathes you in and you scrunch your nose, pulling your head back to face him. His arms are crossed behind your back over your blouse so your frame still leans against his from your upper body down.

“Ugh, don’t do that. I just spent almost half a day on a stuffy flight and I haven’t washed my hair since the last time you saw me. I forgot to take my shampoo with me and you know how those white ass hotel toiletries dry my hair out. I probably smell bad all over.”

“You smell like home.” And to make his point clearer, he dips his head to your neck, inhaling and exhaling deeply, his warm breath tickling you. You push against his chest, laughing and he pouts as the cool air from the room replaces the feeling of you against his body instead.

“Well you definitely smell like grass and sweat.”

He shrugs, throwing off his windbreaker.

“Didn’t get the chance to shower before the press conference. I was gonna jump in as soon as I got back.”

“Dang, so I interrupted something?” He looks up at you from a bent position as he pulls his socks off.

“Perfect timing actually. You get an exclusive performance.”

“Is that right?” You suck your bottom lip into your teeth as you watch him shimmy out of his shorts so he’s standing in just his boxers and long sleeved thermal. Both tight as hell and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

“And private backstage access.” He flicks his head towards a door you guess leads to the bathroom. “Join me.”

You twist your lips to the side, humming as though you’re deep in thought when he pulls the thermal over his head, now staring at you with nothing covering his tight torso, and your breath catches in your throat a little bit; he’s truly a sight to behold.

“Last chance.” He smirks, holding his hand out and there’s no way you could say no to his dimples, although you knew you were following him into that shower, dimples or no dimples. You stretch your arm, your palm landing on his and he closes his fingers over the back of your hand pulling you flush to him.

——

You end up in the bath again a while after the shower, Kylian between your legs as you run your manicured nails over his scalp in a fashion you know he loves. He had ordered room service for the both of you, not wanting to go down for dinner with the rest of the squad for the fear of losing out on whatever little time he had with you before you left. Kylian had thought it would somehow be possible to soak chocolate sauce through his skin as he wasn’t actually able to eat it or his nutritionist would have his head.

“Kylian that’s literally impossible.” You’d laughed as he spread the spoon covered in sauce over his bare chest.

“If the hagfish can do it so can I. Shhh.”

“What the fuck is a hagfish?” He laid back on the bed, his arms behind his head and his eyes closed.

“Some weird eel thing that absorbs food through its skin.”

“And you know that how?” You’d shifted so you were lying between his legs, your hands laced over his stomach and you rested your chin on top of them, watching him.

“Vitinha was shouting random facts he was googling on the jet here.” You nodded as you both laid there in a comfortable silence.

“I don’t think it’s working.” Kylian said after a while, opening his eyes to look at his chest to see the chocolate hadn’t diminished at all in quantity.

“Well no shit.”

“Wanna lick it off instead?” He had a cheeky shit eating grin spread across his face as he watched you crawl up the bed towards him. You stopped just as your lips brushed against his, your body hovering above him, careful not to rest your entire weight on him and risk getting the sauce on you too.

“I bet that was your plan in the first place.” You whispered against his mouth before dipping your head and running your tongue over his chest.

“Mmm, and it worked.” He replied, grabbing your face and pressing your lips together as your legs wrapped around his waist and he flipped you over, getting the sauce all over you in the process anyways. It was a wonder amongst everything else you did following that, the bed itself managed to stay clean.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” He murmurs, his hand laced in yours, the one that wasn’t in his hair.

“Only for a little while though baby. I gotta go catch my flight soon.” He grunts disapprovingly, squeezing your hand tighter. “I’ll see you in Paris in a couple of days though.”

“I wish you’d stay longer. For tonight at least.” You feel his shoulders tense against your chest and you move your hand from his head to his shoulders, trying to work out the knots. On nights when he’s feeling most nervous about a match, you knew he loved to sleep next to you, and wake up by your side, claimed it was his good luck charm or something of the sort. So much so that there had been several nights when you’d been woken up at ungodly hours by the buzzing of the intercom in your apartment, letting you know he was downstairs. You’d let him into the building, leaving your front door unlocked as you went back to bed, eventually hearing him enter your room and sliding onto the mattress, his arms instinctively wrapping around you. You’d lean wordlessly into him, letting him take whatever good luck he needed to still his racing mind and calm the nerves wracking his body. It had almost become a kind of ritual for him. And you know tonight, he needed it more than ever, your heart breaking slightly because you’d have to leave him in less than an hour.

“You’ll be fine Ky.”

“I don’t know.”

“Kylian Sanmi Mbappé Lottin, you just became the highest scoring player at one of the biggest football clubs on the entire globe at 24 years old. There’s nothing you can’t do, Boy wonder. World at his feet. The future of football.” You repeat the headlines that had been circulating the news following his historical feat. You wish you’d been there to celebrate with him in the moment, you’d been so proud of him, you were sure the hotel you were staying in in New Delhi had received complaints of the yelling coming from your room given it was well past 1am when you were watching him play and receive his award.

“There’s just so much riding on this match. I’m scared.” He sighs and you feel the heavy weight resting on him in your hands as you kneaded them across shoulders, wishing in your actions you could somehow take some of it on.

“PSG believes in you baby. Your coach, the staff, your teammates, the fans, they all believe in you. Your family believes in you. I believe in you.”

He turns to face you, the water sloshing over the sides as his eyes burn into yours. You smile, running your finger over the frown lines etched into his forehead as you smooth them out.

“You got this-“

“Move in with me.” You both speak at the same time.

This isn’t the first time he’s brought this question to you, and initially, you had been very hesitant. You loved him, no doubt about it, and wanted nothing more than to spend every waking second with him but there’s something so big and final about sharing a living space that scared you. You loved your apartment, your independence and freedom, proud of the life you’d managed to build for yourself. You knew Kylian appreciated that about you, he was never one to make you feel like you needed to depend on him to be better or worth more. He just wanted you around more. You’d thought about it a lot in the week you’d been in India, what that would mean for you and your relationship with Kylian.

“Ky-“

Your alarm goes off on your phone in the other room, the one you’d set to remind you you had 45 minutes to leave, and you’re silently grateful for the interruption.

“Come on.” You rise to leave the bath, ignoring the pained look in Kylian’s eyes as you wrap a towel around your body. “It’s almost 10, you gotta sleep and I need to get ready.”

You step out into the bedroom area, reaching for your phone to turn the alarm off. You’re in the middle of trying to put on your bra when Kylian eventually comes out of the bathroom, digging into his bag for a pair of fresh boxers. He pulls them on and kneels onto the bed, next to where you’re sitting, removing your hands from behind you, his rough fingers brushing against your spine and he fastens the clasp of your bra.

“Thank you.” You say.

“Lay with me until you have to go?”

You stand to lift the thick duvet as you slide underneath it, sitting up against the headboard with your arms open. The corner of his lips lift slightly, his body getting lost under the duvet as his head rests against your stomach, and you run your nails over his scalp once more, soothing him to sleep.

“I love you.” He mutters into your skin, his words vibrating from your abdomen and spreading their warmth all the way to your peripherals.

“I love you too.”

It’s not long before you hear his soft snores against your stomach; he never struggles to sleep when he’s next to you. You reach over to grab your phone, seeing you have less than 5 minutes to leave for your flight. Carefully and slowly, you peel his arms away from your midriff, slipping out of the bed, miraculously without waking him. You quickly put your clothes on and gather your things silently in the dark room (you knew Kylian was sensitive to light and you really didn’t want to wake him), making sure you hadn’t forgotten anything. You’re ready to leave when you take one last look at your boyfriend, resting peacefully albeit the frown lines still present above his brows. You watch the small slice of moonlight cutting through the gap in the drawn curtain illuminate his face ever so slightly, his lips slightly open, his right arm reaching out as though he is looking for you and your heart tugs. There, in that moment, you realise how much you hate you have to leave him, how much you hate to be without him, how much you did need him around you and you make a decision. You spot a hotel-branded pen and some post-it-notes on the desk, quickly scribbling some words onto the paper, hoping it would be legible in the daylight since you could barely see in the darkness. You rip the piece of paper off the pile and slip it into his right boot that he had lined up in front of the wardrobe next to his gym bag ready for the game tomorrow before leaving the room.

———

“COME ON BOYS! LET'S SHOW THEM WHO WE ARE!”

Verratti yells as chorus of “yeahh”s follows his motivational words. The air in the dressing room is thick with anticipation, and excitement and nerves as all the players get ready to make their way to the tunnel for kick off. Kylian blows out a big breath, grabbing one of his boots from his bag. He pulls up the flap as he puts his foot in, stopping when he feels his toes press against something crunchy. A small piece of paper falling out in the process of him removing his foot to figure out what was in the boot. He unfolds it, revealing messily written note, as though the person had written it with their eyes closed, but he can recognise your penmanship anywhere.

BRING IT HOME BABY xo

He smiles at first, not realising the deeper meaning behind your message until he notices several lines underlining the word “home”. His eyes widen as he reaches for his phone quickly, snapping a picture and texting you.

You’re seated on the plane back to Paris from London, having finalised everything with the office so you were free to go home, and you couldn’t wait to get back to your own bed, sick of living out of your suitcase for the past week. You are about to put your phone on airplane mode, per instruction from the in-flight cabin crew, just as your phone lights up with a new notification. You had texted him good luck earlier, and guess he is probably responding to that. You open the message to find he’d sent you a picture of the note you’d left for him with “you mean it????” You laugh to yourself, you know he’s not stupid, he would figure it out.

win the match and find out :)

gonna score two for you.

Kylian is anything if competitive, jumping up onto his feet as he locks his phone and throws it in his gym bag. He had his obvious reasons for wanting to win this game, the most glaringly clear one being it would bring him one step closer to winning a UCL trophy for his beloved club, their first ever. But now he had something else to win for, something he’d been wanting for months now, and absolutely nothing was standing in his way.

Ramos makes his way to Kylian, patting his shoulder firmly.

“You ready bro?”

“More than ever.” Kylian nods, before taking his friend’s hand and dabbing him up. “Listen, thanks again, for earlier man.”

“Don’t sweat it. And look at you, you're glowing! And got a little bit more fire in your eyes. Thank you Y/N!” He raises his hands and eyes to the sky, as though thanking god. Well you. A goddess. A true deity to Kylian himself.

The referee blows the final whistle, 3-1 to PSG, meaning they win by a point on the aggregate, and the ultras crowding the stadium go wild. After all the celebration, he finds himself in the dressing room, high off his win and claps of praise on his back from his teammates as he tries to find his phone to text you.

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket, knowing who was trying to contact you as your Uber pulled up outside the huge apartment complex. You’d seen all over Twitter that PSG had won, and you couldn’t help the surge of pride that bubbled up in your chest as you scrolled through the various tweets of congratulations for your boyfriend and his squad, especially for him winning man of the match. You wait until you’re inside the apartment, your suitcase resting on the wall by the front door before you pull your phone out of your pocket to read the message.

we did it. and i scored two for you.

i saw. had no doubt you could.

You hit send as you finally find yourself exactly where you wanted to be. You’re stood in Kylian’s living room, in front of the double doors on the far left of the large room that lead to the balcony, with the perfect view of the Eiffel Tower, a view you knew you didn’t get from anywhere in your apartment. You could see your yourself slightly in the glass door, you hadn’t turned the light on too bright, so the glare wouldn’t erase your reflection and the background but the monument was still visible.

Perfect.

You look down at your phone to see the bubble that showed Kylian was typing disappear before reappearing again.

so?

He finally sends.

so.

You quickly click on the camera icon in the bottom corner, lining the frame so he could see you in picture as well as your surroundings. You snap the picture and send it to him.

hurry up and come home.

*****

As always, lmk your thoughts, I love hearing from you guys, thank you to everyone who comments and sends me asks, love and appreciate each and everyone of you <3 also GOOD LUCK PSG! LETS GO! 😌💙

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