Dull Shine
Summary: The circumstances might have dulled the shine she had. Feeling empty even with his company.
Warnings: cursing.
"What do you think about this?"
You turn your head away from your phone, looking at him up and down. "I like it, but maybe the black and white Jordan's?"
He nods, walking back into the closet and changing his shoes. You look at him while he does that.
It's like a routine for him, going back from training, quick visit to his mom or dad, going home to shower, and getting ready to go out.
He's been trying to spend as much as he can with his friends, Hakimi, Dembele and the team. They like to hit the club in a vip area, the other invite girls who look like the typical hooker.
You didn't worry about it, Kylian is not a cheater. He barely even acknowledged the girls. He likes to go there to be with the team.
"What about now?" He poses, showing you the fit and pulling his leg up your nightstand. "Do I look good?"
"Like a million dollar baby," you smile. Watching him get all cocky at the praise. "I feel like I should be worried. You're going out looking like this." You joke.
You walk over to him, smacking his ass in a playful way. He turns to you, smiling, wrapping his hands around your body.
"You know you're my only one." He kiss your neck. "If you want, you can come with me." He smiles into your skin. "Think about it," He says, kissing your neck again and pulling away to walk into the bathroom.
You are thinking about it, but you can't help but think of how the other girls go to those places. Dressed in the most expensive things, the best type of jewels, Cartier, Van Cleef, their expensive Louboutin or YSL heels.
You don't have that. You worked a nine to five job that didn't allow you to get the designer things.
You moved to Paris to study, wanting to get a better future for yourself. You were still paying some debt from your college.
Kylian begged you to move in with him a year into your relationship. You accepted only with the condition of him letting you help with some bills.
He obviously didn't allowed that. Letting you believe that you were going to help but in reality he was taking care of the two of you.
You never accepted his money. You loved your little job. It was not much, but it was enough for you.
You look into your things, finding a pair of cargos, and a backless bodysuit. You liked the combo, and you know he would too.
You weren't so sure about the shoes, you usually wear the outfit with some Jordan's to match him.
"I like that look." He says as you enter the bathroom, you smile, grabbing your makeup and lightly applying some.
"You look like a billion dollar baby, now." He says, kissing your cheek. "And what better way to match your look than with this."
He hands you a black box with a golden bow. You already know that there's something extravagant inside the box.
"Amour, we talked about this." You say, applying gloss. "What did we say?"
He rolls his eyes. "No gifts without consulting first."
"And what did you do?" You smile a little.
"Getting you something that my heart told me you would love." He left the box in the bed, walking over to you. "It will go amazing with your outfit, mon amour, s'il te plaît."
You sigh, nodding your head. You walk over him, kissing his cheek and thanking him. "Let's see." You fake a smile.
What you can't help but feel bad is the way he smiles that he has. He loves giving you things.
You pull a black Saddle Bag from Dior. you love it, you were trying to save for this bag for some time, always having some sort of problem and needing to use the money.
"Come here." He pulls your arm, walking you to the tall mirror in the closet. He grabs the bag from your hands. Positioning it on your shoulder. "What do you think?"
You feel bad from how much you love the bag and the way it goes with your clothes. "Thank you." You smile, turning around to hug him and kiss him.
"Now what if you put your things inside and we go meet my friends?"
You nod, kissing him one last time. You grab your bag, moving your things. You look at yourself one last time before joining him in the living room.
You were his designated driver since he didn't have a license. He picked one of his less extravagant cars, not wanting to call the attention.
The first person you see is Achraf, he was talking with this pretty brunette. "Don't let him trick you, he's still married." Kylian jokes, knowing that will make Hakimi awkward.
"I'm not, don't believe him."
The girl only nods, laughing and kissing Kylian's cheek. "Bonjour to you too."
"Y/n, come here." Achraf stands up, hugging your figure. "This idiot finally convinced you to come, so amazing."
You smile, smelling the alcohol in his breath. "I finally left the crib." You laugh.
"Pamela, this is Y/n." He introduced the girl to you. "She's Kylian's girlfriend. She's so amazing, talk with her." He push your shoulder down, making you take a seat next to her.
You felt uncomfortable, the girl clearly didn't like that either. You turn to see kylian and Achraf talking with Marqhinhos and Vitinha.
One waiter gets close to them, Kylian turns to you. "Something you want to drink, bébé?" He kisses the top of your head.
"Whatever you're having." He nods, turning and leaving you again with the very judgy girl. "I like your nails." You say, trying to start some conversation.
She scuffed, turning to you. "Where's Emma?"
"Emma?" You ask confused. "As Kylian's ex-girlfriend Emma?"
She nods, looking you up and down. "Yeah, I miss her."
You didn't answer, getting up to go next to Kylian.
"Hey, you left my girl alone." Achraf says.
"Your girl's an asshole." You say to him, making Kylian laugh. "You really suck at picking, Haki."
The rest of the night was good. You didn't feel like leaving Kylian's side, and he didn't seem to mind.
Once you're home, you find yourself next to him in the bathroom, both preparing to sleep. "We should go out again. It was fun." You nod, finishing with washing your teeth.
You felt so out of place tonight. All these girls, all these drinks and other substances. You didn't feel like doing all that again.
You didn't belong to his world. You were used to parties back in college, but the type of being in your pj's and drink cheap alcohol from a cup.
You can't get used to the extremely overpriced drink he likes, the extremely overpriced restaurants, trips, clothes.
You turn to him. He was applying some cream, too concentrated to mind the way you're questioning yourself.
✨️✨️✨️
"You have to be joking," Celine says. "That can't be real."
"I can't make this up. That freaking girl asked me where his ex was." You laugh, passing her another dress.
"Look at the bright side. She's just a one night stand, and you're the girlfriend."
You two share a good laugh. Celine is your boss, you started working for her in your second year living in Paris.
You loved her, and she loved you. That's why even when Kylian offered to find you something closer to where he lived, you said no.
She trusted you even when you barely understood French. She helped you and taught you a lot.
She has her own brand. It was very successful. She dressed so many french models and football wags. Like Antonella and Bruna.
She's not the type of designer to order and sit around her company. She loves her stores and mostly hangs around with you on the one you work.
"Well, at least you had fun."
"I don't know." You say honestly. "I feel so weird when I'm at these places."
"I used to feel the same, but it's all in your head. You do belong there, with him." You nod, smiling at her. "Now go. I got a fitting, and I'll close the store." You nod, saying your goodbyes.
You walk for a while, trying to de-stress. You text Ethan, sending him a pic of the cinema poster that's outside a mall.
You missed hanging with him now that he's more involved with football and practicing. But you were proud because he and Kylian were playing together.
When you get to Kylians house, you see Brice there. He was doing something with your boyfriends head.
"Getting Cinderella ready for the dance?" You joke, taking a seat in the coach next to where he's seated.
They laugh, explaining that the little trim was because of the party the club does for their foundation. They have an auction in order to raise money to help the foundation.
"You have your dress ready? Maybe I can get a tie to match you." He asks, looking at you.
You freeze, you forgot to think about a dress, even tho he told you about this a while ago. You even wrote in your notes to look at some dresses.
"Wait, when did you say was the party?" You ask, trying not to show your worries.
"In two days, mon amour."
You nod, excusing yourself to go upstairs. You can't help but panic, you did forget about getting a dress.
You see into your dresses, nothing is up for the occasion, nothing says exclusive party with extremely rich people.
You chat with your friend, asking her if you can borrow a dress from her. Sadly for you, her dresses were all short ones. And the party attire is long formal.
You search online for dresses, but all of them were way too expensive for your budget. You didn't want to ask Kylian for money.
Also, you didn't want to admit that you forgot about the party and that you didn't have anything to wear.
"I feel so dumb." You say to Celine. "I forgot about the party, and now I'll have to admit that I don't have a dress."
"Why don't you take one of the dresses we have?" She asks, confused.
You look at her, ironing some dresses. "As much as I love your dresses. I can't afford them."
"Aren't you dating the footballer who earns the most in Europe?"
You hate that reaction, Kylian wins his own money, but that wasn't yours to waste or to use.
"You say it. He's the one earning that money." You go back to ironing. "I think I'll just skip this. It's no big deal." You shrug.
She nods, walking over to the back. You can hear her opening something and moving things around. When she's back, she's holding a gorgeous orange and yellow dress
"I made this for a French singer. She never got to wear it. I think I can let you borrow it." She smiles.
You looked at the dress, it was beautiful, a classic figure and the colors were subtle, nothing crazy just beautiful.
"Are you sure?"
"Just keep the tags. They are there for reference of the model and size." She hands it over to you. "I think it will fit."
You smile, hugging her tightly. "I can't thank you enough for all you do for me."
She shakes her head no. "You can thank me by taking a picture with him and having him tag me."
You nod, smiling like crazy because now you can wear something pretty to the party. "I'll make him post a solo picture of me just to thank you." You laugh, hugging her again.
When you got off work, you asked Kylian if his chauffeur could pick you up. You weren't going to take public transportation with a borrowed dress.
"Bonjour madame." Kylian smiles, pulling his window down. "You asked for a ride."
"Did I?" You acted confused. "Well, I asked my boyfriend to pick me up, but since he's not here, can you give me a ride?"
He opens the door to get off the car. Closing the door and opening it again. "Ladies first." He says, a very deep tone to look more serious. "Careful with the head."
He joins you in the back of the car. Kissing your cheek as he lays his head on your shoulder. "Thank you for picking me up." You grab his hand and kiss it.
k.mbappe
k.mbappe 👔👩🏽❤️👨🏽📸
Liked by ethanmbappe, celinedesigns and 3,950,647 others
psg 💙❤️✨️
ethanmbappe love is in the air 😩🤪
celinedesigns the outfits 😍✨️
achrafhakimi where's the picture we took? 😔
"Oh great, Achraf brought his side chick." Carol says, rolling her eyes at the sight of Pamela.
"So I'm not the only one who doesn't like her." Alessia laughs.
"No, this one right here also dislikes her." Caron elbow you, you scuff.
You turn your head to where Hakimi and Pamela are, they are chatting with Marquinhos and Donnarumma.
"She asked me if I could bring her some wine the other day at the barbecue Marcos organized. When I told her it was a self serve kinda thing, she told me nannies aren't supposed to bother the guests and just follow orders."
You and Alessia just laugh, that girl definitely had the nerve to think she was better than others.
"Talking about drinks, I'm going to get one more, you guys coming?" They shake their heads, lifting their half full drinks. "I'll be back."
You walk over to the bar, ordering a cocktail. You feel someone tap your shoulder.
"I like your dress." Pamela says, ordering a drink. You nod smiling. "So Haki and Kyky are friends."
You squint your eyes at the nicknames. "Yes, I noticed that." You sarcastically say. "Also, I think the whole city of France knows that."
"What I'm saying is, I'm here to stay." She gets closer. "And I don't want us fighting, our men's are friend. We can be too."
You turn your head at where Kylian is, even tho he's leaving the team. You know Achraf is a very important person in his life.
"I like your dress too."
"Thank you, it's Versace." She smiles. "Where's yours from?"
"Celine."
"Oh, I didn't knew they did discounts."
You choke on your drink. The audacity of her to say that with the biggest smile like it's nothing.
"They don't."
"Well, Haki told me you work in retail, very Georgina of you." She scuffed. "And let's be honest, unless Kylian bought that for you or they gifted you the dress, I don't think your nine to five allows you to get expensive brands, with the way you dress regularly."
You stare at her, wanting to wipe that stupid grind off her face with a slap.
"Emma used to buy that brand all the time, I get you want to he like her, just don't make it that obvious." She laughs.
You smile. You weren't going to make a scene there like she hoped for. "Well, if you care to know that much, Celine herself gave me this dress to wear tonight. She's a good friend."
"Yeah, sure." She turns back to the bar.
You grab your drink, not wanting to spend more time with her. Just before you left, you got closer to her.
"Talking about copycats, maybe look in the mirror because Hiba's whole wardrobe was Versace. But not from the rack like yours, she knew Donatella."
You don't even walk back with the other wags, you walk into the bathroom trying to calm your anger.
Why did she think that because you have a regular job you were less. Yes, you couldn't afford a dress like the one you're wearing and maybe you couldn't do all the things Kylian does for you. But you were happy with your job, you liked being down to earth.
You wipe the tears that your anger made you let out. Not wanting for all the girls or even her to look at you like that, you walk out, trying to get some air.
After some time of not seeing you, Kylian asked Alessa where you were. She answered with a shoulder shrug.
You walked back into the venue at the right time. He walks faster to you. "Amour, where were you?" He kiss your cheek.
"I was taking air, needed it." You half smile. "Maybe I'll ask the chauffeur to take me to your house. I'm tired."
If there's something he used to do, it was reading you like an open book. You missed that. The way he would tell something was wrong before you even did.
"I'll just wait a little more because of the club bosses." He kiss you quickly. "I'll ask my bodyguard to accompany you to the car."
You nod, walking quickly to the table to say goodbye to your friends. Saying the same excuse. You're tired, but not physically, you are tired mentally.
From all the pressure you put yourself into. Even when you want to try, you can't do it. You don't feel like you belong to his world.
You change into your pajamas, as you wash your face and do your routine. You can't help but feel anger at the words of Pamela.
You looked at the dress before turning the closet light off. She was right. You couldn't afford it. You were playing Cinderella with it.
✨️✨️✨️
"Are you sure you don't want me to pay for the dry cleaning?" You ask again. "It's the least I can do, just let me-"
"Honey, since you wore that dress, my lines are going crazy for the same style in different colors." She smiles, taking the dress from your hands. "Actually, when did you say was the ballon d'or?" She laughs
"Not until a few months." You laugh with her.
"I think it's enough time to design something just for you. But that would be me as a brand, this was me as a friend."
You thank her again, turns out wearing her dress made not only the signer but other models want the dress.
You felt special when she told you that, asking you to help her with the online orders, even when she had a team she trusted you with her life.
"I'll see you tomorrow. Coffee is on me, by the way."
"Hey. Take tomorrow off, I think you deserve it after how hard you work."
You nod, saying your goodbyes and leaving the store. You got to your favorite coffee shop, getting yourself a treat.
Kylian asked you to pick up his mother's birthday gift, giving you his card and telling you to go crazy if you wanted.
"I called the bank and told them Ma femme is going crazy with the plastic." he says before leaving to practice. "If it's something like a bag, she wants it in blue."
You tried to find something blue because that's what she asked. You know she likes jewelry too. Maybe both can be nice.
You text Kylian a picture of the options you have. He was in a meeting with Luis Enrique, and they were creating a plan for the UCL game.
You walk out of the store with the bag for Fayza, moving to Cartier to get her some jewelry, maybe a necklace.
You get a pair of earrings and a necklace to match. You know she will like it, you and her have similar taste in clothes, bags and jewelry.
Kylian texted you to get him a bucket hat from Louis Vuitton. He wanted one for a long time, and now that you're out and about.
You picked two for him, a black one and a white one. You text asking if that will be all or if he would like something else.
You check the store, finding a cute Alma Nano bag that in your eyes was so cute, You think about what he says, you can spend as much as you want on his mom gift and if you want something you can pick anything.
You text Kylian a picture asking if he likes the bag. You were questioning if you should or not.
"Madame, I'll go get the hat you requested. I'll be right back." the sales girl says to you. "You can wait on the couch, or you can keep looking around."
You nod, looking around the store for something else. Eyes going back to the bag.
"Oh God, you're here." You hear someone saying. "If you're filling applications, I need a maid." Pamela laughs.
Her hands were full of designer brands. You smirk when you see the Versace one. "Trying to fill Hibas side of the closet, I see."
She rolls her eyes. The knife digging hard on her with all the ex-wife jokes. You enjoy the way her face turns kinda red.
She was about to say something. The sales girl interrupts her. "Madame, I have the items upfront per your request."
"Merci, I'll be right there." You pass Pamela, ignoring her for the sake of your evening. "Can I add this bag to my bill, please."
You pay for the things, getting out of the store without paying mind to Pamela. You didn't need her to ruin your mood.
The chauffeur was waiting for you, Kylian texted you to go pick him up after picking you up.
"Hello, sunshine." You smile as he opens the door of his car. "Long time no see, Mister Mbappe."
"Like what?" He asks, following your joke. "It's been like five years, isn't it?"
"So long, Paris." You dramatically say. "I got you your hat, two actually."
He kiss you hello, seeing the bags in the front seat. "Perfect, I can look fancy at the beach."
You two chat about his day during the way home. Kylian was excited about the ucl game and you loved that for him.
You two walk with the bags, well, he did. You carry his toiletry bag. "So you want to make something for dinner together?" You ask, leaving his things at the entrance of the house.
He nods, searching for a tutorial on something he's been wanting to do for a long time. You collect the ingredients, helping him with the preparation.
"Tomorrow we are invited to Hakimi's sister birthday party." He says, opening the oven and leaving the food there. "It's going to be at Hakimi's."
You think about the whole Pamela situation. You know you want to tell Kylian about it, but you're not sure if you want to ruin his mood today or ruin the whole invitation thing.
You think about it while you finish with the salad. You hate confrontation and you hate creating an opportunity for her to bother you some more.
"Ready, bébé." He says, placing the dinner on the table. "Let's eat and I'll tell you about my day" He says, kissing your neck.
He serves you two. You bring some water for him and a soda for you. Needing some sugar to sweeten your day.
Kylian talks about his day training and how he will shoot a new commercial for Oakley, the glasses brand that he models for.
"And I asked them for a pair of glasses for you. So you'll be the first one to try the new collection."
"Woow." You laugh. "Since we have connections, we are getting free sun glasses."
You finish dinner between jokes and talking about what to buy for Hakimi's sister.
You have to talk to him. You tell yourself that again, and again, and again. You don't want to look like the bitter friend of the ex who doesn't approve the new girl.
You move to your room, fixing the washed clothes into their designated spot in the closet. He was in the bathroom, applying his night skincare like you taught him.
"Hey, can I talk to you about something?' You ask loudly.
"Oui, bébé." He shouts back.
You keep putting the clothes in the racks. "I know this might sound weird, but I don't like Pamela." You began. "She's just so mean and such a freaking brat around me. Thinking she can diminish me because of my job and shit. I don't feel like putting the nice act with her anymore."
You let everything out, feeling more relieved now that it was out and you didn't have to tip toe around her in front of kylian.
You wait for his response. Silence is taking over the room. You can hear a sound of voices in the background.
You move to the bathroom, finding him with his phone in his hand, watching a video about a show or something like that.
"Did you even pay attention to what I said?" You ask mad.
He looks at you, pausing the video. "Pardon, oursamme sent me this video. It's so funny. Here, watch it."
You shake your head no. Walking back into the closet. You're mad at how you can hear him talk about everything, but he can't even hear you for two minutes.
You finish what you are doing. Walking into the room and finding him still watching his video. You roll your eyes and walk into the bathroom to take a nice shower.
You can't help going to bed mad at him. You felt trapped, he didn't pay attention to you, and you only want to be able to say things that you feel.
The next day, you didn't even say goodbye to him when he left, he was too busy with his phone to notice, only saying a quick goodbye and patting your head.
You spend the rest of the day in a mood. Not really caring about anything but being angry at how much he diminish your feelings and focus on something dumb.
The night approaches, you want to send him alone to the party, but Hakimi's sister was always friendly with you. And she came to your birthday last year with a nice gift.
You dress simple, a one-piece full bodysuit you like, since it was chilly you picked a jacket and your black and white dunks.
You fixed your hair and did your makeup. Something natural since you knew everybody there and everybody knew you with and without makeup at this point.
Kylian was sitting on the couch, waiting for you to be done. He was now aware of your mood. When he came home you just rolled your eyes and refused to heard about his day.
"Ready?" He asks.
You nod, grabbing the gift you got and grabbing the house keys. "Which car?" You ask, very dryly.
Kylian hates when he knows he fucked up but doesn't know at the same time. He can't piece what he did to make you mad.
"The chauffeur is waiting for us." He says, low tone. His hand find the small of your back. You move, not wanting to have his hands on you.
The whole trip was like that. He's thankful Achraf's house is relatively close to his own. Because he can't stand the silent treatment you're pulling on him.
"Hello" You smile, hugging Hakimi's sister as you enter the home. "Happy birthday, you look so beautiful."
You make some small talk, Kylian watching you. His sight is burning your skin. You can tell he's observing, he's like a hawk watching his prey.
"Happy birthday." He says, hugging his friend's sister.
You stayed with her, walking into the home and saying a quick hello to the other people. The list of invitations was mostly known faces.
"Thank God you're here. I can't stand being alone with that woman any more." She whispers, head pointing towards Pamela.
You roll your eyes. "I can't stand her either, she's a narcissist with pretty hair." You joke to get some frustration out.
The subject changes, you were talking about life, about updates on different topics you discussed in the past.
"Excuse me just a moment, I'll go check if the food is ready." Hakimi's sister says, walking to the kitchen.
You take the opportunity to go to the bathroom. Going quickly and checking your makeup. You apply a little more lip balm and go out.
"Well, well, well. Cinderella's here."
You sigh, not wanting to engage in the conversation you pass over Pamela, who quickly grabbed your arm.
"Didn't your parents teach you that it was rude not answering when you're being talked to or taught you basic manners?"
You lift an eyebrow, asking back. "Didn't your parents teach you how to respect others?"
She wanted to answer, trying to dig the knife she's been planting on your chest, but you're quick.
"And didn't you know that even with that prude face you're just a stuck up little bitch who thinks is better than anyone else but in reality, you're just an insecure piece of crap?" You whisper close to her, looking her up and down. "Look at you, hiding under all that. Your parents must hate you, having such a hypocrite for a daughter. Being such an ugly person on the inside must feel bad. So don't worry, I get what you're doing. It's not about my job or my clothes. It's that you feel inferior even with all that gold on you."
You walk back to the living room, leaving her there alone. You feel nice. Letting all that out was refreshing.
You went on with your night, some of the wives came to the party, leaving you with a nice circle and not only the birthday girl and you.
"Why is Hakimi looking at you like that?" Alessia asks, making you turn your back to where they are.
Hakimi was looking at you in a weird way. Talking to Kylian while doing it. He turned his head to find you.
"Don't know, maybe his gold digger told him something about me." You shrug, not minding it.
The night was good for you. You walk into the house happy and relaxed. Kylian was silent. You thought it was because of the silent treatment and decided to stop it.
"Hey, what if we see that movie you told me about?" You were finishing your night routine. He enters the bathroom, his eyes fixed on your reflection. "You okay?"
He sighs, not feeling like fighting. "I know what happened with Pamela." He confess.
You lock eyes with him in the mirror, his rough energy making it obvious that he was mad about the situation that happened at his friends house.
"You do?" You ask, making him nod. "Well, about time. She's crazy if she thinks she can get close to me again. What a loser."
He chuckled, shaking his head no. "Are you serious?"
You turn to him, confused about what he knows and how he knows it. "What?"
"You insulted Pamela." He says, his tone is so serious you feel like your parents are scolding you.
"What?" You repeat. "Are you serious right now?"
"Look, I know you didn't like her the night Achraf introduced you to her, but leaving her alone is one thing and belittled her about how Hakimi is just using her to forget his ex and how she's just replaceable is wrong."
You stayed quiet, not believing his words. How is it that you two are discussing the interaction her and you had in so different ways?
"I never say that"
"Well, she left saying you say that."
"Oh, so you believe her over me?" You ask offended.
"Non, but why would she lie? She even left telling Hakimi that she needs to think about their relationship because of what his best friend girlfriend thinks."
You laugh. "Is this a joke?" You ask, turning again and closing your creams. "Because if it is, it's a good one. Stop playing."
He's not laughing, he's quiet as a tomb. "I'm not laughing, am I?"
"Kylian, that never happened. How convenient it is that you get to believe her when a night ago I told you how she belittled me in every way she can."
"You never say that."
You turn back at him, mad at him. "I did."
"You didn't."
"I did, but you, asshole, were paying attention to that stupid video Ousmane sent you." You threw your hand towel at him. "I told you how I felt, but you chose to ignore me, and here we are."
"I don't recall that."
"How convenient." You exit the bathroom, grabbing your pillow and blanket. "You prefer to call me a liar and believe that I would do something like that than talking to me and getting my side."
"Where are you going?" He asks, joining you in the bedroom. "Don't be ridiculous, leave that there."
"No, Kylian, you can sleep alone tonight. I have a feeling that maybe you don't want to sleep with someone who belittles people the way I do and who treats people the way I do. Because it's how I am, of course, even after years of dating, you would think that and take someone else's side."
You walk out of the room, pillow in one hand, and blanket in the other. You enter the guest room that was near your room.
"And don't bother trying to get my story, I'm sure with her side, you have enough to make your own mind." You yell at the door frame. He's stood in front of your bedroom door. "Oh, and I know for a fact Pamela is not going to be the only one thinking about her relationship because I certainly am too."
You slam the door as hard as you can. Locking it . Not even ten seconds later he's shaking the doorknob, asking you to open the door.
"I'm not going to open the door. You chose her, Kylian." You yell again. "You chose to believe her over me." You say lower, crying about the whole situation. "I'm your girlfriend, and you chose her."
The overwhelming feeling of anger and guilt is making you cry, you don't even know why you feel guilty about what you say.
Kylian gave up after twenty minutes. You weren't going to open the door. The way your cries can be heard from outside the door is killing him.
He thinks about what you say, but he can't remember if you told him or not about how Pamela was treating you.
He remembers that you ask him to talk about something, but his stupid self didn't pay attention to the things you told him.
He couldn't sleep. He can't even rest because every time he closes his eyes, he can hear your cries. Even when you're sleep in the bed.
He needed to apologize. He texts Achraf, explaining that Pamela has been bothering you and you just responded back to her.
Hakimi knew you. He had never seen you disrespect anyone. You're friendly and kind to everyone, so maybe you're not lying here.
You woke up extra early, and he had a deep sleep, so when you got to the room and took your clothes and basic things to get ready, he didn't even feel it.
Your eyes were swollen from all the crying. You tried your best to cover your exhaustion with concealer.
The sad eyes you have are impossible to cover. That's why people say the eyes are the windows to the heart. Because you can lie all you want, but your eyes will tell the words your mouth can't.
"Bad night?" Celine asks, handing you a coffee. "It's a double, thought you might need it."
You gave her a half smile. Not wanting to say anything about the topic. She understood, not wanting to push your boundaries.
"Any plans for this weekend?" She asks. Trying to get you to talk and not look like a sad puppy.
"Kylian has an important reunion with his new coach. He invited only five of them with a plus one." You say, remembering the reunion he told you about during dinner on the weekend. "But I'm not sure if I want to attend."
"Why?"
"First, because I'm mad at him." You began telling, making Celine surprised about the first point in your list. "Second, some of these players I don't even know about. I've seen them, but never even talk with them." You exhale, already uncomfortable.
"And third?"
"I don't have anything for the occasion, I feel like my closet is a second-hand craziness that makes stupid bratty models think I'm not enough to be in their presence." You throw the pencil in your hand on the counter.
Celine listen closely to your words. "You are more than welcome to take any of the clothes from the store, you know that."
"And I'm grateful for that. Thank you so much for offering me to take something from here on a loan." You say with honesty. "I just feel like I'm playing dress up with your charity." You feel your eyes tear up. "Celine, I can't afford any of the clothes you design, and somehow, I'm posting on social media about me wearing them, like if I'm not five euros away from breaking the bank."
You can't help the sobs, walking to the bathroom to hide. You feel embarrassed, with your boss, with your life and with your social status.
You were done with people diminish you because you were a retail worker. People calling you a gold digger because you date Kylian.
You're done with pretending to be someone you are not just to be able to fit with the people he's around.
He can afford hundreds of thousands of dollars in clothes, in shoes, in hats or watches. You can afford some pieces from boutiques at the mall when you got a bonus or when you have a special occasion.
You live in a house he paid with a month of working. House you could never afford in this lifetimes or the next five.
You were basically living out of him, and still not even close to making ends meet because the neighborhood stores were five times more expensive that the ones downtown, because just in transportation to where his house is you spend half your income.
You were leaving a life that was not for you. Everybody around him knew that. It was just about time for him to figure that you were just a bump on his way.
You gather composure, thankful for your waterproof mascara. You walk back upfront, meeting a very concerned Celine.
"I'm fine, I don't want to talk about it." You say. Helping her with some things at the store.
You remained quiet for the rest of the day, feeling embarrassed. You missed your family, you missed your friends.
You feel alone. That was an issue.
You have Kylian's family. You have the wags who were your friends. You have Celine. But at the same time, you didn't.
You can't go over to his family to talk about things he does or to get advice because that's not correct in your eyes.
You can take advice when it's asked, but you are not going to rant about your issues with him like you would with your best friend.
You won't rant about the problems of being in the public eye and how people like Pamela treat you with disrespect. But they know about it. Some of them got the same comments, maybe not directly to their faces but on social media every day.
You need your family and friends.
Moving out to a different country with no one to relate to, with no one to talk to about the struggles of barely know the language.
"I'm going home. Do you need me to help you with something else before I leave?"
"No, it's okay." She smiles. Kissing you cheek goodbye. You nod, grabbing your things, giving her the report of the day like always. "Hey, Y/n."
You turn back to her. "Yes, ma'am?"
She hands you a bag. "Open it at home. It's something I forgot to give you." She smiles.
You nod, saying your goodbyes to her and telling her that you will text her when you are home.
You feel a headache, entering home and walking to the kitchen to get a glass of water. You find Kylian eating and sitting on the counter.
You don't like not talking to him. You want to hug him and cry in his arms. You want him to tell you that everything will be fine and that you are okay and safe.
He has earbuds on, not noticing your presence. You open the fridge and grab the water. Passing next to him and touching his arm.
He jumps a little, quickly taking his earbuds off to pay all the attention to you. "You're home."
You nod, drinking a whole glass of water. "Yes, you're early." You say, serving a glass for him. "What you got there?"
He thanked you, sipping some water. "It's a sandwich. Want a piece?" He placed the sandwich back in the plate and slid it to you.
You took a bite out of the sandwich. It tasted weird from all the ingredients he put inside of it. "It's an interesting flavor. But I think I'm not that hungry."
He finished the sandwich. You took a seat next to him on the counter, a glass of water in hand. "How was your day?" He asks.
"Good, same as always."
He nods, not sure how to approach the situation. He feels horrible about everything. "Can I be honest with you?" He asks.
"Always." You smile, reassuring him.
"I don't know what got into me, I should have listened to you instead of watching that stupid video. And I'm mostly sorry for making you cry and feel like you are something that you are not."
You want to speak, but you let him finish his rambling apology. Knowing he's being honest, this was his way of saying sorry, rambling about the thing he's sorry for, and then getting to a point.
"I know Pamela is someone I know before we even met, but that doesn't mean she's allowed to tell you things or make you feel a certain way. And I won't tolerate that happening to you. I know you and your character. I'm sorry about last night and any other night in the past, I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you don't matter, you do, to me you are the most important person."
You feel your eyes getting teary. You needed those words more than anything. You needed the reassure he's giving you. You needed him.
"Can I give you a hug?" He asks, getting down.
You open your arms, letting him get into your embrace. "Je t'aime." You kiss his neck.
The hug lasted for what felt like hours. That was what you both needed. Specially you.
"Want to go upstairs and take a well-deserved bath?" He asks, kissing your head. "I can even get some strawberries to eat with the chocolate you like." You nod, kissing his lips.
✨️✨️✨️
You didn't work on weekends, mostly because since you weren't just a regular worker at the store, you were upgraded to a little privilege of having you weekends off.
You spend the day organizing some papers you left unattended for a while now. You moved some books that you planned to donate to some students that needed them.
You still needed to find a dress for the activity that was taking place tonight. Ready to go back to Celine and see if she can help you pick something.
You promise her that you will always come to her for anything if you ever needed help. And as much as you feel like you're abusing your privilege, she will likely not let you pay for anything you pick even if you could.
You finish your organization and change into something more presentable to go out with. Asking Kylian's chauffeur to take you to the store.
"Bonjour, mon ange." Celine greets you when she seed you walk in. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm good, I'm sorry about that scene. I was just not in a right place that day." You hug her hello.
"It's okay. We all have those days." She laughs. "I know I'm a little lost when it comes to dates and days, but I know for a fact that today you are not working." She hums.
"I'm not, but I have an event, and I want to get something pretty. Maybe you can help me?"
You bat your eyelashes at her. Making her laugh and hug you by the shoulders. "I have the perfect dress for you."
She showed you some dresses, most of them way too formal for the event. But then you see this beautiful short long sleeve black sequin dress.
"It's perfect." You say. "Can I try it on?"
She nods, "Show me how it fits."
You try it. It fits like a glove, it's the perfect length, the perfect material, everything. "What do you think?"
"Fits like a glove." She smiles, making a sign for you to spin. "Parfait" she happily says.
You change quickly. Wanting to run home and get ready for the night. You pass the dress to her as you finish putting your shoes back on.
"So, here's that dress for you." She hands you the brand bag.
"Will you let me ever pay you?"
"I dont think so. But I think I have an idea. If you want, you can return it on monday or keep it." She smiles.
"I'll bring it back, I promise you that one day I'll be able to pay you back everything you do for me."
She hugged you goodbye. Wishing you a great night. You went back straight to the house. Excited about getting ready.
You took your time, getting your hair and a very natural makeup. Kylian got back home in the middle of your routine.
He got ready with you. He was wearing something between formal and not so formal. Nothing too serious, but nothing casual.
"Can you zip me up?" You ask.
He looks at you up and down. Your back greeting him. He runs a finger down your spine, making you arch from the sensation.
"Amour, no." You chuckle.
He kisses your shoulder, moves to your neck, and finishes with your other shoulder. "I love how you look." He whispers in your ear as he zips the dress.
You turn, kissing him and thanking him. "Ready, Mister?"
"Ready, amour." He smiles.
You two arrive at the house of Luis Enrique, his wife and daughter were there with him. He invited Zaire-Emery, Zague, Lee Kang, Vitinha and Kylian.
They came with their plus one, some of them brought their girlfriends and some of them brought their agents.
Kylian sat next to you, on the other side of him was Lee and on the other side of you was Zague.
Lee was with his agent. "You are Kylian's agent?" He asks. His English sounded so adorable since he's not used to it yet.
"I-" You were going to answer, but kylian interrupted.
"She's my girlfriend, Y/n this is Lee, Lee this is Y/n."
"Oh, nice to meet you, you are so pretty. Kylian always talks about you." He shakes your hand.
"Thank yo-"
"Hey Lee, did you saw that we are going to change the training schedule?"
You decided to remain quiet, Kylian was nervous, and that shows, he's very talkative with everything.
They keep talking about different topics. Luis Enrique and his wife were making sure everyone was comfortable.
"Can you pass the salt?" Zague asks. "I'm Zague, by the way, sorry." He laughs.
"Here that salt." You laugh too. "And I'm Y/n. Kylian's girlfriend." You shake his hands the same way with Lee.
"Nice to meet you. This guy always talks about you." He smile. "Are you from Paris? You don't sound french."
"No, I'm actually from -"
"Zague, Lee wants to tell Luis about that day you fell into the pool." Kylian laughs.
"Do it." He chuckle. "Sorry, I didn't get to hear your answer."
You were interrupted again by Kylian. Feeling a little off about it. Zague notices your face falling from the cut in your words.
Not that you were complaining, but kylian interrupted every single interaction you had with everyone. You feel dumb, people asked you things, and you were cut off almost every time.
The dinner was good. You got to sit in front of Luis's daughter, Sira. She was a cute girl and very talkative too.
"Horse riding? that's so cool." You smile at her.
"Yes, I love doing it."
"She's amazing. You should come to one of the competitions they do here in France. It's an experience." Luis says.
"She's afraid of horses." Kylian joined the conversation.
"I'm not." You laugh, thinking he's maybe joking. "I actually think horses are cute and powerful."
"Didn't you once fall off of one?" He asks.
Luis and Sira look at each other, confused about why kylian was bringing that up. "I've fallen a good amount of times. It's pretty normal."
"Yes, and believe me. At first, horses can be scary." Luis says. "Kylian, another glass of wine?"
"Yes, let me serve this one."
Kylian took the bottle, moving his arm a little faster and by mistake throwing your glass all over you.
You feel the cold drink hitting you, moving the chair back quickly, trying to save the parts where it didn't hit yet.
"Oh my God." Sira says, getting up and grabbing a napkin. "It's okay, I think my mom has a cleaning product."
"Let's not worry, your dress is black and I think it'll be safe." Kylian says, tapping his napkin on your legs where the wine hit.
You want to say something, but you are too mad at him to even say something. Being afraid that you will lash out in front of everybody.
"Wait, you have your tags on. Let me take those." Kylian tear off the tags. Making you let out an angry but small growl.
You close your eyes and inhale. "Luis, can I please use your bathroom?" You ask nicely, smiling to hide your emotions. "It's okay, it was an honest mistake. Please do take that glass of wine. I'm just going to dry myself, and we can keep talking."
Sira walked you to the bathroom. She even gave you some wipes and a towel to help with the situation.
"If you need anything else, I'll be over here at the rooms. Second door to the left." She smiles, leaving you alone at the bathroom.
You want to cry, you feel weird, you're dirty and sticky from all the wine you have on you. And kylian pulling the interrupting act was stressful.
You clean the wine off your legs and arms, and you fix your dress that was still wet, and you throw the used wipes and paper at the trash can.
Three knocks made you open the door. Kylian was standing there. "Hey, you okay?"
You roll your eyes, stepping outside. "Can we go home? I don't feel well, am sticky and uncomfortable." You whine.
"Yes, I'll go get your bag, wait for me outside." He says, hurrying to get your things.
He excuses you with everybody. Saying goodbye and thanking Luis for the dinner. They all understood and told him to tell you goodbye.
The drive home you were silent, trying to calm your anger at him. You don't want to yell. You don't want to fight. You just want a shower and a good night sleep.
You enter the house and take your shoes off. Leaving them by the door. You try to unzip your dress, but you can't reach the zipper.
You feel his cold hands, undoing your zipper. "I'm really sorry." He apologizes. Hands massaging your shoulders.
You put your hands in your chest to hold the dress. "Please don't touch me." You walk one step forward. "I'm taking a shower."
He sighs. "It's was an honest mistake, Y/n."
You stop your steps. Turning and walking down two steps. "Was you interrupting on everything I said also unintentional?" You ask, stern tone.
He shakes his head no. Moving upstairs to be at the same height as you. "I said I'm sorry, let's get ready for bed and call it a night."
"A tasteless sorry is supposed to make it up for me?" You walk the rest of the steps. He was already on the second floor. Walking towards the room. "I'm talking to you. Stop ignoring me."
He pulls the silent treatment card, going to the closet to change into his night clothes. You slam the bathroom door, angry at him.
You left the dress on the floor. Feeling nervous about ruining the dress Celine let you borrow.
You shower, taking that hideous feeling. Trying to calm down to be able to face what's outside the bathroom.
He's ignoring you. Under the covers with his phone. Back turned to you. You close the closet door. Not sure if you want him to address anything.
You try not to cry, you have been feeling ignored, you have been feeling bad bout different aspects of your life, and all because of him.
You let yourself get humiliated for the sake of not creating any drama that can get used against him.
You have been a good girlfriend. You're not a bad person. You won't categorize yourself as someone who deserves bad things because you never do bad things to others.
You grab your small suitcase. You pack some basics. You walk into the bathroom with a toiletry bag. Grabbing your most necessary products and things. You walk back into the closet. You finish packing.
You don't move the suitcase just yet. You get down to where your purse is. Walking back upstairs and locking yourself in.
You open the browser. Searching for a flight home, finding one in three hours. You book it.
Texting your friend and telling her that you will be home at the time the ticket says it's landing, she asks you if you are okay and you just say you'll talk once you are there.
You don't move for a few minutes, you tear about the fact that you will leave Kylian alone. That you will have to tell him that you will leave to be able to rest your mind.
You gather courage, order an Uber. Opening the door. He's now watching something on the tv. "Kylian, we need to talk."
"I don't want to fight. Let's talk tomorrow."
"I won't be here tomorrow." You say, your voice is shaking.
He turns, you're with tears rolling down your face, suitcase in hand. "Amour, what are you doing?" he throws the sheets quickly.
He walks over to you, trying to grab you. But you back off. Lifting your hand and making him stop.
"Kylian, I need time. I can't keep going with my days like this. It's not just about tonight. It's the whole Pamela situation. It's just too much." You cry.
"You don't need to leave. I'll go. But please stay here. Mon Amour, please."
"I have my ticket already booked. I'm going home. " You whisper. "I'm not breaking up with you. I just need time. I can't keep going like this."
"This is our home." he whines, not being able to get your reasoning.
"No, this is your house. Those are your friends, this is your country."
You walk past him. Feeling your heart break. You hurry to the strairs. The suitcase is not cooperating with you, wanting to go quickly.
He grabs the suitcase, making you turn to face him. "When are you coming back?" he asks, tears in his eyes. "Because you will be back, aren't you?"
You nod, sobbing. "I'll be back in two weeks"
He then gets your suitcase down the stairs. When you are at the bottom, you throw yourself on his arms.
"I'm sorry, Kylian." You cry. "But please understand that I need to do this. I need to get all this out of my head. I feel so unworthy. I feel so out of place that I don't fit in your world."
"Stop, you do. You are so worthy to me and to everyone around us who loves you and cares about you." he hugs you.
"I'll be back." You pull away. "My Uber is here." You say seeing the notification of the driver. "Je t’aime"
He kisses you. He dries your tears with his shirt. "Text me when you get there. You have the card I gave you? If you need anything please use it."
You nod, kissing his lips. You pull and walk outside. Once you are about to get into the car, you turn to see him standing there. You wave and close the car door.
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synposis: the story of how you met your sugar-daddy, nanami, at the cafe you work at. ♡ (the prequel to this drabble!)
ੈ✩‧₊˚ tags: sugar daddy nanami! (college student/barista reader x coo nanami), reader is fem, age gap (nanami is 30, reader is 24.), ceo gojo cameo at the start, flirty nd playful banter btwn reader nd nanami, anna is reader's coworker nd friend. nanami calls reader sweetheart once, nanami is just smitten with her as soon as he sees her. sweet fluff! as a whole, this is very light-hearted and unserious y'all. — w.c: 2.2k. ♡
angel's note: consider this my official comeback from my hiatus! thank you so much @preciousamethyst for beta-reading, love you downn. ♡
“you’re telling me out of the five blind-dates that i set up . . . you didn’t like any of them? not even a little bit?” satoru asks incredulously, the french-vanilla latte in his hand almost spilling on the table as he leans forward. “you’re too damn picky, nanamin! they all seemed like nice, respectable ladies to me.”
nanami sighs, looking up from his laptop with an annoyed expression on his face. “the last one didn’t have any teeth . . . and can you keep it down? i’m trying to focus and you’re making a scene, as usual.”
“oh, heh. my bad.”
nanami’s eyes linger on the white-haired man for a moment before focusing on the screen in front of him again. he’s not sure why satoru tagged along to this new cafe with him on his lunch break. (when he clearly stopped visiting his favorite one to avoid him.) it’s not like nanami could say no, anyway — satoru is his boss. his annoying and extremely invasive boss who always finds a way to be in his way and in his business.
it goes without saying that his dating life is certainly not off-limits.
unwrapping the chocolate eclair he just bought, satoru takes a bite of the puffy pastry, humming once the sugary goodness hits his tastebuds. “you were right, nanamin. this does taste amazing.“ he pauses between his words to lick chocolate off his bottom lip, then off his fingers. “maybe we need to try a different approach . . . dating apps! ever tried tinder or bumble—“
“no.” nanami slams his laptop closed, shooting all satoru’s incoming questions down. “i don’t need your help. let’s try ‘letting things happen naturally and staying out of my business’ for a change, yeah?”
“but i have everything planned out! it’ll take me two seconds to make your profile and i have the perfect bio for you — thirty year old trick looking for a pretty woman to spend all my money on — how’s that sound?”
“terrible.” nanami deadpans, placing his laptop into his briefcase. he lifts the sleeve of his shirt, checking the time on his breitling navitimer before standing from his seat. “you have fun with that. i’m getting my pastry to go, i’ll see you back at the office.”
satoru’s jaw is on the floor. “but, nanami—“
without another word, nanami leaves a whining gojo to make his way towards the line that was, thankfully, empty. the baristas don’t notice him, backs turned while they talk to each other by the back counter and nanami doesn’t mind — it gives him more time to decide on what pastry he wants anyway.
truly, he doesn’t understand the obsession surrounding his love life. while nanami is looking, he is by no means desperate. even he knew it was a bad idea to present yourself as a sugar daddy on a dating app, unless you’re an idiot or just lacking a single ounce of dignity.
both categories that satoru fits into, nanami thinks.
kneeling slightly for a better view at the assorted desserts behind the crystalline-glass case, nanami’s unsure of which one to choose. this cafè’s selection is extensive, they offer much more than what he’s used to; tarts, cakes and pastries that he’s never even seen before. ultimately, he opts to keep it simple with one of his favorites: a fluffy cinnamon roll with extra vanilla glaze.
“girl, i’ve been working real hard and i still don’t have enough saved to pay tuition.” you murmur, scooping a handful of coffee grounds into the filter and shaking the brew funnel to level them. “i’m stressed out.”
nanami’s eyes flicker to where the two of you stand. while he’s never considered himself to be a nosy man, he finds his focus shifting from his lunch to the conversation you’re having, ears perked in interest as he continues to weigh his other options.
your co-worker, anna, gives you a reassuring pat on the back, her face itched downward in concern. “yeah, you were telling me about that last week . . . how much more do you need?”
“around like five-hundred more.” you sigh, brushing your hands off on your apron. anna starts to speak but you stop her with a raise of your palm, already knowing what she’s thinking. “and yes, i’ve taken out loans already. my loans have loans at this point.”
anna raises her brows. “so what are you going to do?”
“i’m out of options.” you shrug, adjusting the valves on the coffee machine to their correct settings. with a heavy sigh, you lean your head on her shoulder with a pout on your glossed lips, “it’s either i start an onlyfans or god sends me a rich old man that wants to be my sugar-daddy.”
anna giggles and playfully swats your arm. even in a serious moment like this, you find a way to lighten the mood. she plays along, tapping her chin with her index finger, “hmm, that can work! maybe you can start stripping. you watched the tiktoks i sent you, right? they touch thousands on a good night.”
“oh my god, i didn’t even think of that!” you stand straight and cup your hands on your breasts through your shirt, poking your ass out a bit. “i might need a boob job and bbl if i wanna be serious about it, though . . . plus, isn’t twenty-four a little too old to start stripping?”
“girl, please. twenty-four isn’t old and you know that. you have a nice body and you’re pretty. they’ll throw stacks just based off that, trust me —”
that whole sugar-daddy thing that satoru was suggesting doesn’t sound half as bad to nanami, right now. you get the money you need and he gets to spend time with you, it’s a win-win.
“she’s right,” nanami agrees, unable to hold back the chuckle that leaves his mouth when the both of you literally jump at the sound of his voice, whipping your bodies around to see just who that deep, smooth timbre belonged to. “you’re very pretty miss . . .” his brown eyes shift down to your name-tag. “ . . . ( name ).”
you blink once, twice — lips slightly parted, heat slowly rising to your face once his sweet compliment slowly registers in your brain and how your name flowed so easily off his tongue. just looking at this man, you can tell that he has money. he’s handsome, even more so as your eyes shift from his chiseled face down to his body. nanami stands tall, he must be around six feet. sporting a white dress-shirt and navy-blue slacks that match his tie, nanami is built. the soft cotton of his shirt clings to his biceps, outlining each vein and curve. the very top of his shirt is unbuttoned, exposing a sliver of his toned chest underneath.
there is no way god answered your prayers this quickly.
in a trance, you stare at nanami like a deer in headlights, completely enamored until anna nudges your arm, snapping you back to reality. she whispers a curt ‘you better talk to that man, girl’ in your ear and that’s you realize that you didn’t even thank him yet, how rude.
“o-oh, thank you.” you move towards the register, giving nanami a sheepish smile whilst drumming your french-tip acrylics against the granite counter. “so um . . how much of that did you hear?”
“hmm . . . most of it.”
“the onlyfans part too?”
nanami nods with a grin. “and the old rich sugar daddy part.”
you cover your face with your hand, letting out a long sigh. this is just your luck, embarrassing yourself in front of this extremely sexy stranger. “let’s just . . . pretend that didn’t happen.” you’re certain that you were definitely not getting his number after this. “what can i get you, mr . . .?”
“kento.” nanami answers, leaning a tad bit closer and you have to crane your neck slightly to look at him, that grin still on his plump lips. “but you can call me ken.”
“oh?” you catch the cheeky switch in his tone, the teasing glint in those pretty pools of brown. he’s flirting with you and why not return the same energy? you’re interested in him, too. biting back a smile of your own, you hold his gaze, staring up at him through your wispy extensions. “ok, ken, what can i get you?”
“two of those cinnamon rolls, please.” nanami answers, pointing towards the case he’d been looking at prior.
you nod and grab a set of tongs, opening the glass to place the rolls into a small plastic bag, then into a paper bag on the counter. “just that, nothing else?”
pondering on the question, nanami’s debating the risk of what he’s about to say. it’s obvious that you’re attracted to him but this was a whole different ballgame, asking you to be his sugar baby? — really, the worst that could happen is you rejecting him and as much as he doesn’t want that, he’d just have to accept it. nanami inhales a deep breath once he gathers his thoughts. here goes nothing.
“well, there is something that i have. it’s a proposition of sorts for you.”
you look up from the register, one of your brows raised. “and what would that be?”
“allow me to take you out a few times a week, whenever you have the time . . . and i’ll pay your tuition.” nanami pauses and shakes his head, combing some of his blonde locks back with his fingers. “no, i’ll pay all your bills. as long as i get to see you, i’ll give you anything that you want.”
you tilt your head to the left and raise your brows. “you want to be my sugar daddy?”
nanami nods, chuckling at the look of sheer disbelief on your face on your face. “i’m missing the old part so i’m not exactly sure if i qualify . . . but yes, i do.”
you scoff at that. “. . . and you just want to see me, take me on dates, no sex?” did he think you were that naive? if there’s one thing you know for certain, it’s that nothing in this world is free — everything has a price and in this case, your pussy would be the desired currency. you pout, crossing your arms over your chest. “i don’t believe that. what’s the catch?”
nanami supposes you aren’t wrong for thinking this way. it does sound far-fetched, especially from a stranger you met not even an hour ago. he wasn’t a liar or a perv, and he’d just have to make you see how serious he is. “there is no catch. i think you’re beautiful and i want to get to know you better. i understand that this may seem too good to be true but i promise you, my intentions are pure.”
nanami isn’t surprised when you don’t budge, eyes slanted as you glare him down. (and you look so adorable while doing it.) he expected this reaction from you and little did you know, he’s already one step ahead. if his words don’t move you, then he’s sure his actions will get the point across.
fishing for his wallet in his pocket, he pulls it out, handing you a five dollar bill, “this is for the cinnamon rolls and this,” he takes out a set of bills, hundred dollar bills and you watch him, mouth ajar as he counts off each one before placing it in your free hand. is he serious? “this is for your tuition and a little extra to spend. we’ll handle the ‘loans that have loans’ on our first date, alright?”
you’re speechless, eyes shifting between nanami’s face and the money in your hand as you try your best to process what’s happening before you. from joking about needing a sugar-daddy to having one in front of you. and the man wants to spend time with you, no sex required! you surely couldn’t doubt him now, not when he gave you the money without you actually agreeing. maybe this was the blessing from god you’d been waiting for.
you clear your throat, nodding dazedly. “a-alright, yeah . . . we can talk more on our first date.”
nanami smiles once more, glancing at his watch prior to picking up the paper bag off the counter. “as much as i want to stay with you, i have to get back to the office.” reaching into his pants pocket, he slides a laminated card on the counter. “my personal number is on this card. when you get a chance, call or send me a text. i’ll see you soon, sweetheart.”
with a playful wink, nanami leaves the cafe — your eyes trailing his lithe frame until he turns a street corner, completely out of sight. it’s like you were frozen in place, the money still in your hands. when you finally decide to take a look at the business card he left, your jaw quite literally drops to the floor: this man is the coo of jujutsu, one of the biggest marketing companies in the country.
kento nanami
chief operating officer
jujutsu marketing and e-commerce, llc.
xxx-xxx-xxxx
now, you were definitely certain that god did indeed hear and answer your prayers. in more ways than one.
tagging: @sttoru @screampied @thebimbopalace @tojancy
© shaguro, 2023 - do not plagiarise nor repost anything on any other platform.
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Cleaning services (perv!Konig x fem!cleaner!Reader)
Konig needs help in decluttering and cleaning his house. Unfortunately for you, he takes quite a huge liking in having pretty things like you around. And he isn't very nice about it.
TW: Perverted Konig, age gap, Konig masturbates at you without consent, implied kidnapping, yandere
Word count: 3754
This work on AO3
There is no shame in having a professional cleaner, König tries to tell himself.
Yes, he is a grown man with a very dangerous job that requires having a lot of responsibility. He holds the lives of his soldiers in his hands and risks his life every day not for the sake of his country, but certainly for the sake of his wallet and the reputation of KorTac.
Hiring a professional cleaner for his house shouldn’t make him feel humiliated and embarrassed, and he knows it. Cleaners are basically like soldiers – doing stuff that other people can’t for a certain amount of money, providing services for the clients who can afford it. Besides, it’s a support of his local community – after everything he took from the people around his town, it’s only natural that he would support this growing business of cleaning services.
There is no shame in having some nice old lady cleaning his house and watching over it while he is too busy trying not to kill himself or drown his head in liquor after a particularly rough mission. When you lose two guys on a run that was supposed to be the quickest task possible when you’re returning home with an injury that isn’t really that serious but brings your whole mental state into a very dark place, and when you’re forced to take 3 weeks of leave in the place you hate, hiring a cleaner to take care of everything really shouldn’t make him so ashamed of himself.
Even if he can clean his space – the house is just too big for only one of him, and his ribs still have this funny feeling of fantom bullets traveling around his guts. So, he dials up the number of the cleaning services because he is too fucking old to understand their weird website and messenger ordering, even though speaking with a human operator on the other half of the line is somewhat more humiliating that having no idea of how to use a modern interface.
There is no shame in asking for help, his therapist is trying to shrill it in his head all of the time and yet he is still hesitant when the cleaning professional is knocking on his door, finding this place surprisingly fast. König braces himself, thinking about all the ways he could avoid having a conversation – he drew a quick map of the place, put down the room cleaner shouldn’t be entering – his gun safe, mostly, already repeated in his head how he would greet them and swiftly extract himself from the situation.
“Guten Tag, please, come in. This is the map of the place, don’t go to the red door on the right, don’t hesitate to ask questions, I will be on the second floor.”
He takes a few wide, swift steps to his door and stops. Thinks again, overthinking, thinking too fucking much about everything, anxiously checking on his phone to read the message that yes, his cleaner is here and he should probably open the door or they would burst down the window.
“Guten Tag, come in. Map of the place is here, don’t go to the red door to the right, please hesitate to ask questions, I will be somewhere around the house, lurking in the shadows”
He braces himself to open the door, ready to see that sweet old lady who would spend the next 8 hours cleaning his house and then turn back another day to rinse and repeat until his house stopped looking like a place where a very, very miserable man lives.
(Even if this is true)
But, there isn’t a nice old lady with a bunch of cleaning supplies and determination to make someone’s life easier.
But, there isn’t a cold middle-aged woman with a very professional no-nonsense attitude who wouldn’t even talk to him before going straight to work.
But, there is a young girl. Well, not a girl, of course, if he had to guess you were somewhere around the “Too fucking young, but definitely legal” spectrum. Young enough to not be alive when he was already going to school, young enough to make him sweat, and definitely not old enough to be accepting a job where you’d have to spend so much of your life cleaning and scrubbing and sorting and…
There isn’t anything shameful in ordering a cleaning service when you genuinely need it, but you’re young and you’re pretty and he isn’t even wearing a mask because he is an old dumbass that forgot about it, and you look at him with your shiny eyes and…
Maybe, he should clean on his own – would definitely be less shameful.
— Sir? H…hello? Good morning? Can you hear me?
Yes, he can hear you.
Yes, he would love to hear you every single day of his life, when he wakes up and when he falls asleep.
— Ja. I apologize, I…thought it was mail.
It’s a dumb excuse, but he can’t really say that he was just too fucking mesmerized by your shiny eyes and perfect hair and nice figure and basically everything about you. He has this nasty habit of imagining a future with people around him – with people who just fucking want to be left alone, and yet he still stares and looks and it’s probably ultra uncomfortable for them – but he can’t help imagining the life with every cute lady in the grocery shop or elegant lady sitting next to him on a train.
He has a pattern – people who are not interested in him in the slightest. He has a pattern, a preference, cute girls, smart girls, popular ladies that were never even so much as looking in his direction. He could probably score someone now, having a colonel’s salary and honorably discharged payments, but he gave up on trying to find anyone. He has friends, company, has work where he spent most of his life anyway – he doesn’t need anyone, he wants to think.
Then you waddle into his life with a bunch of cleaning supplies and a small vacuum, barely able to handle everything in your hands. He rushes to help and envelops your hands with his – you are so much smaller in comparison, he has bear-like arms and horribly big everything. he feels awkward when he gently removes everything from your arms – when he tries to help by simply putting everything on the table of the next room.
König hated this house – it was big, it was empty, and the only reason he didn’t sell it was because Mother’s things were still locked in her old bedroom and every time he tried to clean it and evaluate the cost of the house, he decided that he will Do It Other Day. Coincidentally, all of those days were also followed by three-month minimum missions, making him utterly unable to do everything about this place anyway.
This is why you’re here – a hired cleaner, a sorter, you promised to de-hoard everything and see if there is anything of value. Perfect for someone like him, especially since he is paying you double for spending the whole day and a few days more in his house exclusively.
Now, he looks at how awkward your smile is, how you fidget with the edge of the broom you brought, and how you can’t even start a conversation because he is simply staring at you, staying in the living room of this dead, almost abandoned house. Now, he looks at how cute you are, how perfect, and remembers that he didn’t score with anyone in half a year already – not even in terms of sex, the casual flirting was also forbidden since half of his unit was transferred and the new people weren’t really fun of his tough methods of breaking rookies in.
When was the last time someone genuinely smiled at him?
Ah, he is staring again. Scheisse.
— Where do you want me to start, sir?
He wonders how much he should pay you to clean him instead. Would you be gentle? Rough? Would you call him a pervert, which he is, and then slap him and yell at him for being such a horrible old dog who is ready to pounce at every pretty girl in his presence? He would do anything that would set his mind free of the thought about Mom. Her bedroom. This whole house that he can’t call home ever since he turned 6 and understood why Father was always so, so angry.
— The living room. If it’s not too much.
He barely stops himself from talking more – you look weird, you loom surprised, you look at him like he is fucking stupid and, in fact, he is. Of course, it wouldn’t be too hard for you, you’re his clean, for fucks sake. You come here to clean, you get good money for it, he shouldn’t feel guilty for using your services because, in some way, he actually provides you with a job and a cute thing like you shouldn’t go to other houses, with old perverts that can do unspeakable things with the adorable worker.
Ah, yes, perverts like him. God, he is hopeless.
— Alright. Do you want to note something, like if there is anything I shouldn’t touch?
He would allow you to take your adorable, yellow glow-wearing hands to get into his personal savings and all of his bank accounts, if you’d want to. He curses under his breath, hating how professional you are – hard worker, perfect, simply a fantastic person who deserves more than working for him. You aren’t trying to shy away from the job and he almost resents you for it.
You’d make a good soldier, he thinks – you’re able to hear the orders and oblige to them, you’re obedient and came even before the discussed time. You’d make such a perfect private for his unit, he observes.
Ah, right, he was supposed to answer you. Shit.
— No. Just don’t go to the second room on the left.
— Alright. Anything else?
He grumbles under his breath, trying to get into the right headspace to deal with someone like you. König knows it’s rude, to just ignore and leave you like this – but if he were to stay in he same room as you, he would do something horrible, disgusting, and completely dishonorable to you. So, he leaves – escapes – to his office. Father’s office, mostly, the only thing here that belongs to him are some documents and useless papers – and a laptop that he drags to every other room anyway.
He doesn’t like this room, it reminds him of the worst episodes of his early childhood – yet, this is his only reserve. He doesn’t want to leave the house because the territory is secluded and if something were to happen to you, he would be the only one able to help. He also doesn’t want to leave his gun collection with you – he doesn’t want you to find it and freak out or hurt yourself.
This is what he tells himself, at least. He wants to be there with you, in the same room preferably, but horrible for his anxiety, because he wants this illusion, phantasm of having a loving relationship. Of having a woman in his life, a lovely housewife who would cook for him, clean for him, and would be absolutely spoiled with gifts and attention. God knows he doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body – but he will carve one out of his ribs for you.
And he only knew you for an hour tops.
König feels like literally the worst man alive when he spread his legs and starts stroking his hard, glistening cock. He brushes over the swollen, red tip, not allowing himself to have any lube other than spit and oozing pre-cum – he tries not to cum embarrassingly quickly, thinking about your perfect gestures and smiling face. How perfect you look in your cleaning uniform – not like maids from the occasional porn he was watching, but still beautiful. Your body is perfect even with all of those ugly layers and grey fabric – and he can’t stop thinking about the sway of your hips or glimpses of your legs under your dress.
He thinks about you, bent over his couch, trying to clean the especially dirty spot on the furniture – how the material of your dress would be tight around your ass. The image makes him grunt quietly, stroking his barely wet dick even more – the pain from the dry sensation only makes the pleasure all the sweeter. He is hard, was hard for the past 10 minutes as you were introducing yourself and whatever your deal is. He is dirty, perverted, knowing only your name and your face – and he is still stroking himself, thinking about paying you extra just so you’d get on your pretty knees and suck him. Would you be sloppy, messy, get his cum all over your face so you’d have to wash it off? Would you be experienced, eager, trying to get as much seed as possible with that pretty tongue of yours?
He is a lost cause because he hears the sounds of vacuum – you’re only a few rooms away from him, trying so hard to clean his house for him, to work through every bit of furniture and everything he acquired for the past twenty years or so – and he moans loudly, knowing that you don’t hear anything. You’re probably listening to music or some silly girl’s podcast about planets and gardens and maybe some university lectures. He’d pay for your courses, he would get you any book you want – having his salary and barely spending it made him softer in the saving habits.
He can afford to splurge on a pretty girl who just needs a rich Austrian mercenary to sweep her off her feet. But, he is old – but, he is a monster who preys on someone helpless, using her pretty face to jerk himself off, and he doesn’t even deserve your number, although he has had it since accepting the service.
His cock is big, angry red in his hand as he runs his finger over the bulging vein, teasing the sensitive flesh – always loud in bed, with grunts and moans of pleasure, he can barely contain himself now, only forcing his mouth shut when he doesn’t hear the sound of vacuum anymore. He strokes his dick fast, angry, and slams it into his fist, trying to make the pain last longer, so he won’t cum after a minute or two. He has the stamina to last longer – but it’s also the first time he was so horny since…he can’t even remember.
König thinks about putting you in his bed – like a perfect housewife, you would hug his waist with your legs, would allow him to lick and grope at your tits, and won’t scream too much when he’d force his tongue inside of your precious pussy, taking every last drop of your pleasure. He wouldn’t want to be forceful, angry, you’re too precious for this and too weak for his strength – but he can imagine slamming into you in a matting press, cumming inside and not even pulling out, warming his cock in the heat of your body.
Father would kill him for doing something so dirty in his office – but he is long dead, devil save his soul, and it’s König’s office now. Even when he barely uses it, even if he doesn’t really need this. It came in handy when he had to jerk off to the pretty cleaning girl who cleaned up after him – so, somehow, his father managed to improve his mood 15 years after he died.
He cums with a low groan, whispering your name – he doesn’t understand how a pretty thing like you still works here and wasn’t taken by someone else already, but he would take what he can get. Never the one to get the first dibs, never being someone’s first choice – he feels terrible for thinking about you in such a low way, but his pleasure sticks to his fingers and, at this point, it’s too late to feel bad.
Drying the tip of his dick with a tissue, he spends a good few minutes with spread legs, his soft cock laying on the chair, with cum still oozing out – such a waste, honestly, would be much better to stuff you full of his cock or even take your pretty ass, spread you slowly. Keep only the tip in, not pressuring you into anything more until you’d start moving yourself, like a good slut you will be.
So perfect under him – the images and sounds of your voice are running through his mind, making him breathe heavily. If he was younger and had as much sex drive as before, he would already be hard – but he needs some time to relax, thinking about your pretty legs and adorable face.
It takes him a few minutes of listening to your sweet voice to understand that you were not, in fact, a hallucination or a mystical fairy coming to make him come. You were standing outside of the office door, looking embarrassed and clearly hearing at least some of his horny mumblings – you avoid looking at him, and your fingers are trembling when you tug at the sides of your dress. Guilt immediately rushes to him again, he looks at you like a perfect treasure you are – and he is a horrible monster trying to hoard all of it to himself.
— What is it, liebling?
Petname goes smoothly from his tongue and he can only hope that you don’t know German – he is too embarrassed to talk to you, too anxious, his newfound shyness is a result of both your beauty and the post-nut clarity that already made him feel like a monster. He contemplates just giving you money and sending you off, paying double for the false call, and leaving you a 5-star review so you won’t get in trouble with your boss.
You look so meek from his angle of view – he has to fight the urge to pinch your face, squeeze your cheeks, grab your waist in his firm hands, and just lift you in his arms, holding you to his bed. Maybe getting a nice set of cuffs to ensure you would never escape from him.
— I finished with the living room and…well, I just wanted to ask if you want the decluttering work to be done today or tomorrow.
He remembers how he basically paid you for a few days worth of work – and he smiles at exactly how perfect this decision was. Of course, you are a smart girl, a modest girl, you aren’t staying the night and would rather waste time on the road, much to his dismay, but at least he would see you for a few days already.
He might not even let you go after.
— Ach. Today, if it’s not too…
He stops himself again – of course, it’s not too much, you are a professional, not just a friend that comes to clean his place for a pack of beer and maybe some pizza. He doesn’t know how to talk to you, anxiety eats him whole, and he has to just avoid looking at you to avoid further embarrassment.
— Alright. I will do it right away then.
You smile awkwardly, your lips are twitching and he already knows that you could hear him moaning your name and sweet little praises while stroking his cock. You aren’t biting the hand that feeds you, not running away screaming at how perverted he is – poor girl, you probably need money more than you need personal safety if you’re fine with him heaving like this. If you were his, he would never allow you to be so careless.
He moves behind you in the most dreaded room of the house. Mother’s bedroom, a room that she only used for sewing and only allowed him in when he was extra whiny after another failed fight with his bullies. All of her thighs are here – ever since she passed away, he just moved everything to one room and locked it, barely bothering to keep a key. He hates being here, almost as much as being in Father’s office — this room smells like death and old paper and you scrunch your nose in an adorable expression when you take a step inside.
— I will divide everything into categories, alright?
— Gut.
You look at him nervously, clearly scared that he is watching over you now. It might feel like a logical decision – after all, it was his mother’s vintage things, who knows what kind of jewelry she kept here, something that he won’t even notice gone until it’s too late. You and him both know, however, that this isn’t the reason he is looming over you. A perfect obedient thing, you deserve something better than his affection, but he still locks his gaze with yours, looking at your hands and going through various furniture pieces.
You work like a fairy, not an ounce of laziness or exhaustion in your actions – even after you already spent a few hours cleaning his living room, you act like a Cinderella that got a bunch of magic mice up her rags. He licks his lips, looking at your perfect ass you as sit on your knees, starting with decluttering every little box there is.
— Can I just put it back in boxes or…
You look the the contents – vintage makeup, some jewelry, head pieces that don’t look particularly expensive but were definitely well-loved. You wonder who they belong to – probably a wife, or, maybe, some of his relatives who lived here. He doesn’t seem like a married or divorced man – he does, however, look insanely lonely.
It takes him a good few seconds to respond, too mesmerized by the little song you were humming a minute before. He imagines you in that old, chunky jewelry, some necklaces that cost more than your salary – and the thought makes him salivate.
He smiles, leaning closer to you – hot breath on your face, you shift immediately, scared. He is so fast for someone so big, his movements are perfect and his eyes are cold – you feel the chill deep in your bones when he moves even closer, his lips almost brushing against yours.
Suddenly, you are very aware of the fact that he locked the door to this tiny room when you both moved in.
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