touteslespetiteschosess

[touteslespetiteschosess]

Love To Hate Me || Kylian Mbappé

Chapter 6 : Liar, Liar

Plot: A surprise return makes y/n question her relationship with Kylian.

Word Count: 1902

A/N: In celebration of Kyky's birthday, here's an update xxx

Chapter 5 Masterlist

Y/n's phone began to buzz loudly on her desk; she sighed and rose from her desk, a small smile gracing her face at the sight of her brother's name. Taking the phone, she headed out of her office, deciding she was in need of some fresh air anyway.

"Hey, James." she smiled, answering the call.

"Hey, y/n. You busy?"

"I'm at work but I'm owed a break anyway. Speaking of, shouldn't you be working?"

"The kids are on lunch, so I thought I'd see my little sis' is doing."

Her brother, James, was a primary school teacher back in the UK. He was two years older than her and growing up, the pair had been incredibly close. Nowadays, they didn't get the chance to talk as much, between their two busy jobs and their entirely separate lives in different countries.

"I'm good."

"Still having a hard time at work?"

As she strolled down the corridor, she sighed, "Well, the lack of headlines says not. It's calmed down a little."

"Good, you deserve a rest."

"Well, I'll have time for a rest when the transfer window closes. Until then I'll just have to suck it up."

As she strolled past Luis' office, the coach's door swung open. James continued to chat, "With the wage you're on, they're not paying you to relax." he chuckled but y/n had stopped listening to a word he was saying. From Enrique's office, not only did the coach emerge but so did Kylian. Her heart stopped.

It had been two weeks since their evening togehter as well as two weeks since she'd seen him at all. By the time her alarm had gone off- 5am- he'd slipped out, every trace of him gone, save a large, white hoodie he'd left on her bathroom floor.

Sure, she'd enjoyed the night with him; he was handsome, and good in bed, and he'd held her in his arms as they fell asleep, and it'd made her feel safe and loved and... She didn't care that he'd left in the night or that he hadn't called after that. It had been a one night thing, they'd both known that. He was leaving PSG, so what was the harm?

It was just a goodbye fuck, knowing they'd probably never see each other again. An acceptance of their attractions and their urges, admitting them to one another before he faded into TV screens and perfume adverts. So why was he here now?

"James, I've gotta go, I'll call you later though, alright?"

She didn't wait for a response before she hung up.

"Y/n, just the woman I was looking for!" Enrique grinned.

She turned around, her eyes fixed on Luis, stringently avoiding acknowledging Kylian's presence. She forced a smile, "Hey, are you okay?"

"Yes, Kylian and I finalised his contract yesterday. Elizabeth is bringing a file containing the details over to you. I need you to draft a press release about his return ASAP."

She faltered, "Kylian's coming back?"

The footballer cleared, his throat, "Yes, I am."

She shot him a glare before looking back at Luis, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I am doing."

"Okay, but some advance notice would have been nice, given that it involves my department."

"Well, this is your advance notice, so I'd appreciate it if you'd have the statement drafted and sent over to me within the hour."

With that, Luis nodded firmly and marched off; Kylian's feet were glued to the ground beneath him and he gawped at her like a goldfish. Her scowl deepened and she hesitated momentarily, as though she was going to say something. Then she spun around, her hair whipping after her, and stormed off.

Two or three days had passed since Kylian had appeared at the training centre and y/n hadn't seen the man since. Much to her dismay, she'd had to schedule in and would have to attend a press conference regarding Kylian's reintegration, which she'd announced on social media earlier that day. Now, her chances of avoiding the man in question were significantly decreased.

Sporting black suit trousers and a long-sleeved bodysuit, she walked into the press conference room. She lingered at the back for a few seconds, arms folded over her chest, holding a stack of files tightly as she surveyed the room. Tens if not hundreds of journalists sat on the rows of chairs in front of her. There was a loud hum of chatter as expectant glances were cast at the panel in front of them.

She slipped back outside and headed for the room Luis waited in. As she stepped in, she was met by the sight of not only Luis but Kylian and his father.

She smiled tightly, "Good morning."

"Miss y/l/n, good to see you."

"Sorry, I'm late. I was just running a little behind schedule, but here are some cards for you to read from." she rushed over to Luis and handed him a stack of prewritten cards. She spun around to the player who watched her carefully, "Kylian." she spat, placing the cards in his hand.

Her skin brushed his, he was close enough that she could smell his unforgettable scent. His warm, soft skin on hers took her back to that night. All of a sudden, it was like his hands were all over her again, squeezing, exploring, rubbing. She could hear his voice, calling out her name, singing her praises. She could feel his hands on her tits as he pressed kisses up her neck, on her lips, her cheeks, anywhere he could. They were tangled in his soft sheets, her legs wrapped like a vice around his waist as he held her so easily, like she weighed nothing more than a feather.

"Y/n."

He'd cried out, chanting her name like a prayer. But no, he really was speaking now. He said her name, his thumb grazing her palm as she handed over the cards. He spoke quietly, almost whispering her name.

She cast him a fleeting, strange glance before turning back to Luis, "Are you ready to go?"

He nodded and she headed out into the wilderness, where the pack of reporters were gathered. At the sight of the doors opening, they all began to clamour before seeing it was only y/n.

She stepped up to the panel and spoke into one of the microphones, "Bonjour à tous et merci d'être venus. Il y aura une section pour les questions à la fin. Et maintenant, Luis et Kylian."

Cameras began to flash as everyone turned to the door she'd emerged from. She stepped down from the raised panel and stood to the side of the room. As the footballer and his coach took their place before all of the cameras, Kylian's father came up beside her.

She glanced up at him and offered him a small, polite smile, before turning her gaze back to the press conference which was starting. Luis began speaking, though she didn't understand a word of his Spanish.

"So, you're the one who's been sabotaging my son's career?"

He was so nonchalant she wasn't even sure he'd spoken or if it was just a creation of her imagination. She glanced up at him but he just stared straight ahead.

Hesitantly, she replied, "Sorry?"

"You're the one who has been dragging my son's name through the mud?"

"Usually I go by y/n."

"Oh, I know. I've heard all about you, y/n."

"Right." she pursed her lips, "Well, it's all worked out just fine, hasn't it?" she shrugged, nodding her head in the direction of the press conference.

“Hmm, for you.”

She drew back, looking up at the much taller man, “What’s that supposed to mean? I gave him every chance to leave, you are aware that PR doesn’t encompass transfers or contracts. I just broadcast what I’m told.”

“Y/n, I know what is best for my sons and I won’t have anyone getting in the middle of that.”

She frowned, what the hell did that mean? Before she could question his ambiguous statement, there was a flurry of excited voices and her head snapped back to the conference at hand.

Kylian nodded to a journalist, who stood up, "Kylian, pourquoi avez-vous pris la décision de rester à Paris?" Kylian, why have you made the decision to stay in Paris?

"Paris est l'endroit où j'ai grandi. Je tiens à cette équipe, c'est ma famille et je veux le meilleur pour eux." Paris is where I grew up. I care about this team, they are my family and I want the very best for them.

"Mais vous allez devoir quitter cette équipe à un moment donné. Pourquoi pas maintenant?" But you are going to have to leave this team at some point. Why not now?

Maybe y/n was going insane but she swore Kylian glanced at her before he spoke. Surely not. He hadn't called her. He didn't care about her more than her body. Of course, he was probably just looking at his father. But she just felt his gaze deep within her, like the ground beneath her was shaking.

"Je n'ai pas l'impression d'avoir terminé mon travail ici et j'espère encore accomplir davantage" he paused before adding, "avec mon équipe." I don't feel like I have finished my work here and there is still more I hope to achieve... with my team.

A few more questions were asked before the conference ended and they returned to the room next door. Y/n began to regather her files, "That was good, guys." she declared, offering a half-hearted smile, "I hope this puts it all to bed once and for all."

She nodded firmly before starting for the door; she headed out into the quiet corridor and let out a breath she wasn't even aware she'd been holding. It was like stepping out into fresh air, just being out of a room with him. His presence made her sweat and forget how to breath or think or speak.

"Y/n!"

And she couldn't breath again, and the temperature was rising, and she almost tripped over her own feet at the sound of his voice.

She snapped around, "What?"

"Wait."

She blinked at him and when he said nothing more, frowned, "Well?"

"Are you upset with me?"

"Of course not." she spat, sarcasm thick on her tongue.

"What did I do?"

She rolled her eyes and turned to leave again, "Just forget it."

"Y/n!" he yelled. When her pace didn't falter, he chased after her, catching up easily. He caught her arm and a flush immediately raced across her cheeks at the contact, "Y/n! Stop! Is this because I didn't call you after that night?"

"Forget it." she annunciated, still marching on.

"No, not if you're just gonna ignore me!"

She laughed bitterly, "That's rich."

"So it is because I didn't call?"

She spun around so abruptly that he almost crashed into her. "No, it's because you told me you were leaving! I wouldn't have fucked you had I known we were still going to have to work together! I'm mad at you because you lied to me!"

He didn't have time to reply as a door behind them opened and they both swiftly fell silent. Luis and Wilifried both walked out into the corridor, too deep in friendly conversation to notice the heated moment between y/n and Kylian.

She raked her eyes up and down him then quickly disappeared.

Masterlist

#football #footballer #kylian fanfic #kylian mbappe #kylian x reader #mbappe #mbappé #fanfic #france #kylian imagines #kylian mbappe x you #kylian mbappe x reader #kylian mbappe x y/n

[touteslespetiteschosess]

Love To Hate Me || Kylian Mbappé

Chapter 5 : It's Complicated

Plot: Just as y/n's feelings toward Kylian are starting to change, the team return and a contract changes everything.

Word Count: 2569

Masterlist Chapter 4

Easily, she slid out of her car, looking him straight in the eye and folding her arms over her chest. She wore a straight-legged, neatly ironed, black pantsuit, her hair, as always, slicked back into a low bun. As usual, she wore her high, jet-black heels, and flicked one leg in front of the other.

"Good morning, y/n," he smirked, leaning against his car.

She frowned, shutting her car door and locking it, "Kylian."

As she headed inside, he chased after her, asking as he caught up, "How was your date?"

"I... didn't go."

"What?" he laughed loudly, "You stood him up?"

"No, I just said I needed a raincheck."

"Because of the coffee... on your tits?" he asked, his face entirely serious.

She slapped his arm, "Kylian!"

He glanced down at her, as she grinned to herself, "What? Your words, not mine."

Affectionately, she shook her head, "My accidental words."

"What does that even mean?"

She glanced around, "Why's the car park so busy today?"

"Kylian Mbappé fan convention?"

"Nice joke. Really witty."

He was silent for a few moments, as they walked into the building's reception. Suddenly, he asked, "Why did you cancel your date?"

She laughed, "Don't make me say it again."

"Well, I don't believe it was really because of the coffee... on your tits."

She frowned at both parts of his sentence, "What are you implying, Kylian?"

He shrugged, "I'm not crazy, I know what you wanted last night."

"To wash the coffee off my dress?"

She watched as he licked his lips, shaking his head, "And you knew what I wanted."

"Past tense?" she hummed.

"Nope."

Her feet ground to a halt and she gazed up at him; it took him a few moments to realise she wasn't at his side. He hesitated, glancing back at her, trying to read her expression. She looked confused, a little hurt, maybe, or was it pain? There was a difference.

"Kylian?" a voice calling down the corridor broke the heated eye contact between them.

She glanced over his shoulder and her eyebrows quickly knitted together at the sight of Enrique approaching them. Shit. The team came back to training today. How could tat have slipped her mind?

"Luis, comment ca va?" she asked, stepping in front of Kylian, taking control of the situation.

"Trés bien." he glanced between the pair, folding his arms over his chest, "Is there something you two need to tell me?"

Her mind snapped back to last night; his hot breath brushing her skin, smattering goosebumps up and down her neck. His lips had been so close to grazing over hers, his strong arms trapping her against that door.

Surely her cheeks were flushing red right now.

How did Enrique know?

Before she could gather her thoughts, Kylian quickly answered, "No."

"Really? Because I'm not quite sure why you're here today, Kylian, unless you two have sorted out some sort of contract between you?"

"I'm here to train?" he frowned.

"Well the first team are training today, so you're not welcome."

"Are you joking?" he scoffed, "Are you fucking kidding?"

"Kylian-" y/n tried, softly.

"No! This is a joke! Do you know how much you're paying me for this day off?"

"Go home, Kylian."

"Merde." he spat, spinning around and walking the other way.

She chewed on her lip, deep in thought, as she watched him march off. Luis' voice snapped her out of it, "How have things been without me?"

"Stressful at first but the press storm has calmed down."

"And how's Mbappé been?"

"I'm not too sure, I've just been locked up in my office." she shrugged, only half-lying.

Really, she hadn't gone out of her way to see Kylian, and she hadn't really spent all that much time with him. Then again, the few moments they had shared had played over and over in her mind, as though she'd simply been reliving the moments for the past two weeks.

"Really? Because you two looked quite friendly there." he hummed.

"Did you not see the stunt he pulled, posting that photo with the loft? I've just been trying to keep tabs on him."

"Good. He's unpredictable. I need you to predict him."

"Well, I've kept him quiet enough the last week, haven't I?"

He smiled at her, "A week, y/n. Only a week."

"Rome wasn't built in a day."

"I should get to training. Liaison with the media team, see if they've edited the videos from the tour for me, yeah?"

She nodded and as the coach turned to leave, she called, "Luis." he glanced back and she hesitated, "Are you in talks with Kylian?" When he didn't respond, she prompted, "You know, for a new contract."

"We'll meet about this later." he declared, marching off.

What did that mean?

She got on with her work, finding herself instinctively glancing out at the pitch every five minutes, though of course, Kylian wasn't there. She had a few meetings, one with her team to recalibrate after they'd been away for so long.

Eventually, Luis' assistant knocked on her door, asking for her to come to the boss' office. When she entered, Luis' desk was coated in papers, as he read over one sheet. Another man sat in one of the two chairs on the other side of Enrique's desk. At the sound of the door opening, they both looked up at her.

"Miss y/l/n, come on in. Have you met Mr Al-Khelafi?"

Her heartbeat picked up and she held her hand out, feigning confidence, "I don't believe I have."

The man stood up and she gazed at his neat suit, which was probably worth more than her previous salary. He shook her hand firmly and they exchanged pleasantries before she sat in the other seat.

"Now," Luis began, "we have received an offer for Mbappé from a Saudi-Arabian team, Al-Hilal."

When neither of the men went to say anything more, she nodded, "Okay?"

"A significant offer, to the value of three hundred million in signing fees alone, and much more for Kylian during his time over there," Khelafi explained.

"Okay. Do you want me to publicize this? Has he agreed to the contract or-"

"No, he's not exactly agreed. We need you to release the information... discreetly."

"You need me to leak it?"

"Not exactly. Well, yes but-" Luis tried to explain, "Kylian has been a little resistant to the offer and this offer is the best possible outcome for both of us."

"Aside from Kylian, who has to leave his family, and move to Saudi Arabia."

"For almost a billion euros in a single year." Luis pointed out.

"Have you even had discussions with him yet though?"

Khelafi frowned, "I pay you to do as I say and not to question it, Miss y/l/n. I expect it out tomorrow morning. That will be all."

Did he seriously just dismiss her? It's not even his office! Well, it was in the sense that he paid for the building and everyone in it but this was Luis' office.

Smiling politely, she left the room, refraining from rolling her eyes until she was out. Luis' office was near enough to the pitch and she needed to speak to one of the photographers who was currently out there anyway.

He was on the pitch, snapping photos of the training session. She tried to signal his attention from the sidelines. When it didn't work, she hesitantly strolled onto the pitch.

Out of nowhere, a ball flew in her direction, hitting her smack in the side of the head. She let out a loud curse, her hand flying up to clutch the side of her face.

"Shit, are you okay?" a man called out, running toward her.

She glanced at him and immediately recognised him as Hakimi, one of the first team's defenders. Dembélé followed behind him, trying to stifle a laugh.

"A pretty girl walks onto the field and you have to boot the ball into her face immediately?"

"Sorry! I'm sorry! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she muttered.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, weak kick anyway." she joked.

Ousmane cackled loudly, slapping Achraf's arm; the defender's face dropped and he asked, "Sorry, who are you?"

She smirked, holding her hand out, "Y/n y/l/n, head of PR."

"Oh." he shook her hand.

"Why are you on the pitch?" asked Ousmane.

"I'm looking for Sebastian." she glanced at the photographer, "Sebastian!" she called to him.

As the photographer approached them, Achraf watched her before suddenly blurting, "You're Kylian's friend, aren't you?"

She furrowed her brow, "Um, I don't think so?"

Achraf just hummed and she was about to question him before Sebastian, the photographer, spoke up, "Did you need to see me?"

"Yes, where did you upload your photos? Marcus can't find them."

As she and Sebastian spoke, Ousmane and Achraf watched on,. Ousmane asked, "So, who is she?"

"The girl Kylian won't shut up about."

All it had taken was one phone call. Y/n had made one phone call and every sports newspaper worldwide was plastered with four words: 'Mbappé's €300 million deal'.

She sat on her sofa, a bowl of pasta in her hands and her laptop open, scrolling through an article on the Al-Hilal offer. Faint honks and shouts sounded from the city a few stories below her but her apartment was quiet. Her window was wide open, letting in a breeze, a feeble attempt to cool the stifling room. Occasionally, the papers scattered across her coffee table ruffled with the draft.

Three loud bangs on her door snapped her from the article. Shovelling one last mouthful of pasta into her mouth, she started for the door. She was still chewing her food when she swung the door open. Her mouth stopped moving at the sight of Kylian Mbappé in her doorway, steam practically blowing out of his ears.

"Are you fucking happy? Are you and Enrique gonna go out for a meal in celebration?"

She gulped, swallowing her pasta, "Kylian?"

He shoved past her into the apartment, "What's your problem with me? I thought we were becoming friends!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He didn't say anything for a while, just glared at her. Only now that he'd stopped yelling did he take in his surroundings. Her apartment was a mess, not what he'd expected from such a seemingly put-together woman like her. Papers were strewn on every available surface and dirty dishes were piled up in the kitchen. The place was pretty small, an adjoined kitchen and living room with a shabby couch. Two doors led out of the room, one was open, showing her bathroom. The countertop was coated with makeup but other than that it was fairly clean. The other door was closed; he presumed it led to her bedroom.

His glare landed back on her, "Don't lie to me!"

"Kylian, how many times do I have to explain that I have a job to do? How hard is that for you to understand?"

"Yeah, that doesn't mean you have to fuck me over. You didn't have to do that."

"I was doing what I was told!" He shook his head and she sighed, "What do you want, Kylian? I want to help you but I don't understand you!"

"What do you mean?"

She didn't reply. A beat passed, then another, and her gaze softened, quietly asking, "Are you going to Qatar, Kylian?"

"Why would I tell you?"

She shrugged, "I thought we were becoming friends."

He scoffed but then glanced down and back up at her, "I don't want to live in Qatar."

"Not even for 300 million?"

He wandered over to her sofa and sat down, deep in thought, before he slowly said, "I don't know, y/n." he hesitated, "Would you miss me if I left?"

"I've known you for like two weeks." she said, "I suppose I like having you around."

"Wow, thanks." he scoffed.

"Would you miss Paris?"

"Of course, this is my home. My family's here, I grew up here, and this is where my entire life is but I know it won't last forever. I have to leave at some point."

She still stood behind the sofa and when she didn't reply, he glanced back and watched her for a few moments. "Why are you looking at me? I can't make this decision for you."

"No, but you can give me a reason to stay."

She paused. Only now did she notice that the city was quiet. For the first time since she'd arrived here, the streets faded into nothingness, as if her little box of an apartment was suspended fifty feet above a vast countryside. She swore the air was hotter than it had been before, a hot flush settling over her entire body.

"I think I could only be a reason to go."

She folded her arms over her chest and glanced at the hard wood floor. He frowned, "Well, I need something to tip the scales either way. Whatever happens I'm the bad guy."

She rolled her eyes, "You aren't the bad guy."

"I go to Qatar, I'm a money hungry wasted talent. I stay here, I'll never reach my potential. That's what they'll say."

"Who cares what they say?"

"Me, clearly. I'm here in your living room, aren't I?"

"I thought you just wanted to see me, chump." she teased.

He smirked to himself, "Maybe I did. Keep your enemies close, right?"

She rounded the sofa, stalking towards him, "Oh, so I'm your enemy. I thought we were becoming friends?"

As she perched beside him on the sofa, he laughed, "Don't make fun of me."

She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, "You know I'd never."

The touch of her hand seared through his shirt, sending his stomach in somersaults. Her soft eyes gazed at him, taking in every little detail of his appearance.

"Tell me to sign the contract."

His words were all but a whisper, staring deep into her eyes. Only a few seconds passed but it felt like years. Eventually, she let out a quiet, "It doesn't matter what I say. You'll sign it."

"Will I?"

"You'll be gone by the end of the week."

"Maybe."

She edged forward, closer to him, moment by moment. She could feel his body's warmth, wrapping around her like a blanket. Her eyes flicked down to his lips, then back up to his eyes, ever so quickly, but not at all subtly.

"Do you ever think about me?" she whispered.

He hesitated, his lips parting for a moment before he replied, "More than I want to."

And just like that, his lips were on hers, his rich scent driving her insane. His strong hand found her hair, holding her face closer to his. Her hands rubbed up and down his back and her lips parted, allowing his tongue entry. As his tongue explored her mouth, his hands did exploring of their own, tracing a line down her spine, making her shiver. His hand toyed with the waistband of her joggers before sliding beneath the material, grabbing desperately at her peachy ass. As he did, she let out a small moan into his mouth, her grip on his shoulders tightening.

Suddenly, she pulled back, gazing longingly at his face, "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

"I'm leaving anyway. We've got nothing to lose."

That was all she needed.

Chapter 6 Masterlist

#football #footballer #kylian fanfic #kylian mbappe #kylian x reader #mbappe #mbappé #fanfic #france #kylian imagines #kylian mbappe x you #kylian x you #kylian mbappe x reader

[touteslespetiteschosess]

Love To Hate Me || Kylian Mbappé

Chapter 4 : Changing In Rooms

Plot: Kylian really can't figure out why y/n is on his mind all the time.

Word Count: 2541

Masterlist Chapter 3

Why was he doing this?

It was late night- early morning, really. He sat on his balcony, in the hot, stifling night air, trying to cool off. All he wore were a pair of grey gym shorts, lounging out on a wicker sofa.

His phone rested in his hand as he scrolled relentlessly through Instagram. Y/n's Instagram, specifically. That girl sure loved posting. She had enough content to feed a man for months- and Kylian was starving.

It had all started with one simple question: how many y/ns could Luis Enrique follow?

The answer: so many.

He must have checked the posts of at least 17 girls called y/n before he finally found hers. Y/n Y/l/n. That had a nice ring to it.

He scrolled through her posts and her highlights for at least an hour, only partly conscious of what he was doing. He stared at photos of her: at galas in gorgeous dresses, out with her friends in London, on holidays in skimpy little bikinis and... God, what was he doing?

He quickly closed Instagram, tossed his phone across the sofa, and leaned his head back, taking a few deep breaths to try and stop the blood rushing to his cheeks... and his dick.

Kylian, what are you doing? Perv.

He hadn't meant to stalk her like this, really. It had started with his innocent question and he'd only looked through her page out of curiosity and habit. He really hadn't realised quite how hot she was until he'd seen the treasure trove that was her Instagram. She was very hot. Very, very, very hot.

Shut up, Kylian!

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to erase the image of her from his mind. Sharply, he stood up and headed inside, refusing to so much as think of the word y/n.

"Good morning, Kylian." His heart stopped, thoughts of the images he'd seen last night, seared into his eyelids. He kept walking down the corridor, acting like he hadn't heard her voice behind him. She hesitated, screwing her face up at the sight of his retreating figure. She considered just staying quiet, not wanting to further embarrass herself, but she really couldn't stand his rudeness. Despite her inner turmoil, she called out, "I was just going to say thank you for the lift last night!"

He kept walking and she just huffed. What's his problem?

She knew they weren't one another's biggest fans but he'd literally dragged her into his car last night. The man was surely bipolar or maybe had multiple personalities. How could he giggle at her jokes and chat with her that easily and then just ignore her twelve hours later?

She frowned as he disappeared outside, and then she headed for her office. Of course, she couldn't forget how much work that man was causing her. Things were calming down a little, though there were always transfer rumours to handle, as well as all of the press for their Japan tour that she now had to handle remotely.

She began to get to work, drafting a summary of the team's activities in Japan, trying not to get too jealous. Halfway through, she got slightly stuck, unsure of the correct wording. She rested her forehead in her hands, thinking for a few moments. Then, she cursed herself for stressing over this. She ought to appreciate the fact that she wasn't currently dealing with Kylian Mbappé.

Still trying to think of the correct phrasing, she spun in her chair and there he was. Right outside her window.

Well, her window overlooked the pitch, where he was. Even from here, she could see him laughing, bending over, his mouth wide open, as one of his teammates slapped his back. She could almost hear that loud, obnoxious laugh (cackle, really) though she knew it was only in her head.

Then, he stopped laughing and he looked up, at her. She swore he was looking at her. Surely he couldn't see her though, she was miles away. His eyes lingered for at least ten seconds, his hands on his hips.

One of his teammates tapped the ball through his open legs and he was distracted, though she didn't miss the fleeting glance he cast in her direction as he ran off.

Y/n sat in the canteen, staring down into her plate of salmon and rice. At the sound of voices, she glanced up, as the loft team entered, spearheaded by Kylian. They all laughed loudly at something he'd said and as he glanced forward his eyes locked with hers. His smile fell.

Quickly electing to ignore his presence, she turned back to her food but it wasn't long before her peace was once again disturbed. Kylian sat down opposite her and she glanced up, a sceptical expression painted on her face.

Innocently, he smiled, "So, you finally got a break from work?"

It had been almost two weeks since Kylian had given her a lift home and since he'd completely ignored her on the corridor, they'd stayed out of each other's way.

She'd seen him around a few times but he never acknowledged her and she certainly wasn't going to initiate things. She scowled at him, "What, you're speaking to me now?"

He shrugged, "I've been busy."

"No, you haven't."

"You've been watching me. Don't think I don't see."

"I've been looking out of my window. You just happen to be there."

He smirked cockily, "Sure."

"So, you flirt relentlessly with me, then ignore me for a week, and now you want to be best friends? Let's trade lunches, hm?"

He watched her face, which was etched in disgust, and he thought she looked so much nicer smiling. No. He wasn't the kind of guy to say things like that. He didn't tell girls they'd look prettier if they smiled or make covertly sexist comments. He didn't look at girls and immediately think of all the dirty, disgusting, and disgraceful things he wanted to do to them. But with y/n, he did.

There was something different about her: something that drove him crazy. Sure, she was crazy hot, but he'd never been driven to sheer assholery by any girl before. Was he into her or did he hate her? Even he wasn't sure. It varied from moment to moment, hence a few moments ago, he'd seen her sitting here and decided he simply couldn't go on with his day without speaking to her. Now, here he was, sat opposite her and he really wasn't sure why.

"Well, I just had to make sure you weren't going to launch any press attacks on me and then we could reunite."

"You're such a dick," she muttered, shaking her head.

"Chérie, you wound me."

"My job is to protect the team's image. You don't have to be a complete ass to me just because you don't like the work I do."

"It's not that."

"Oh, so it's me as a person? I see." she hesitated, "You don't have to like me. That's fine. So, leave me alone. I don't know what you think you're doing with this whole hot and cold act but I'm not putting up with it." she declared, standing up.

He was going to call after her as she walked off but he really didn't have anything to say. She was right. No quip or joke could get him out of that.

It was late and y/n flicked her laptop shut, standing up with a sigh. As she reached down for her handbag, she knocked the cup of cold coffee that sat on her desk straight down herself. She let out a loud string of profanities and, in vain, tried to wipe it off herself.

Of course, this had to happen to her on top of her already shitty day. And, of course, it had to happen today when she actually had somewhere to go after work. She'd worn her nice red dress, so that she could go straight on her date once she finished up here but now her entire outfit was ruined and she only had an hour to get to her date, which was at a restaurant an hour away.

Hurriedly, she rushed out of her office to the bathroom nearby, which- just her luck- was occupied. Huffing, she glanced around, conscious of the quickly drying coffee all over her dress. Behind her was a set of stairs which she hurried down. The corridor down there was darker and much narrower than the one her office was on. It had short twists and turns, completely the opposite of the floors she'd explored before. One door had a male symbol on it and she couldn't see a female one anywhere in the vicinity.

Whatever, she was only using the sink, and it was late, pretty much everyone else had gone home.

She opened the door into a spacious room, its walls lined with cupboards and benches. Great, so it was a changing room. She ventured further inside and peered around the corner. There was a small bathroom behind one wall, with a few toilet cubicles and sinks

She leant over one sink and ran the hot tap, tossing water at her chest, where the majority of the stain was. Suddenly, she heard the door shutting and footsteps clicking loudly on the laminate floor. Quickly, she switched the tap off and held her breath, backing into one of the toilet cubicles. The door began to shut in front of her and she scrambled to catch it before it made a noise. In the nick of time, she stopped it but in doing so, she caught her finger in the shutting door.

Instinctually, she let out a quiet curse, then winced as the sound of movement from the other person in the room stopped. A few moments of silence passed before a voice called out, "Bonjour?"

She'd know that voice anywhere- half of France would.

Of course, it had to be him that walked in on her right now, out of every person who worked in this building. Silently, she slunk back into the cubicle as footsteps sounded once again, drawing closer and closer.

Kylian rounded the corner and watched the cubicle, staring underneath the doors. In the gap between the floor and the doors, he saw a pair of distinctive black heels and frowned.

"Y/n, why are you hiding in the men's toilets?" She stayed silent, feeling her face flush more and more by the second. He pushed the door open, revealing her standing there, a large water stain on her breasts and an embarrassed frown on her face. He smirked, "Hey."

She stared at him as he stood there, in only a pair of black boxers, one hand resting on the door frame. His head was cocked tilted to the side slightly and we wore a cocky triumphant smirk but her eyes weren't really focused on his face, as much as she wanted them to be. Fuck, even from here she could see it was big.

"Why are you naked?" she asked, raking her eyes up his toned abdomen to his face.

"I was getting changed... you know, in the men's changing rooms?" he paused, "Pourqoui tes seins sont mouillés?"

"Could you put on some clothes?" she mumbled.

"Don't worry, chérie, you can look." She rolled her eyes, her cheeks flushing ever more scarlet by the second, and she shoved past him out of her cubicle. "Ay, y/n, I was joking!" he called after her, as she started for the door.

"Funny." she declared not stopping.

As her hand landed on the door handle, he caught it, stopping her from opening the thing. She glanced at his hand resting on hers then back up at him- god, he was close.

"Where are you going?"

She swallowed then parted her lips though words wouldn't come out, caught in her throat. His eyes fell onto those lips, so plump, so kissable, gawping up at him like a goldfish.

Quickly, she pressed her lips together, her tongue darting out to dampen them. Then she hummed or was it a squeak?

Only then did he notice that the fire that burnt within him whenever she was around had stopped. The butterflies that only came to life at the sight of her face had suddenly settled down.

Suddenly, her face fell into its usual flat line and she declared, "Out of the men's changing room."

And suddenly those butterflies came right back to life... Strange...

"You never answered my question."

His eyes were on hers and hers on his but her body was turned away from his, still facing the door. His face was so close to hers and so was his body now, trapping her against the door.

Hesitantly, she asked, "What question?"

"Why are you in here?"

"Coffee... on my tits." she said before immediately turning as red as a tomato.

Why did she say that? On my tits. Idiot! But he was so close, really, and she could smell him and how did he smell so good after a day of playing football? And... and he turned her brain to mush.

He glanced over her shoulders and tsked, "I can see that."

She spun around, "Sexual harassment in the workplace is a crime."

Fuck. He was even closer than she'd thought. She could feel his warmth... and now she was really warm. Fuck, had they turned off the AC in here or... Their bodies were almost touching and his face was inches from hers. She liked the view.

He kissed his teeth, dark eyes raking over her figure, "Sue me."

Her eyes disobeyed her, flicking from his dark, dark eyes, to his plump lips. He noticed.

She cleared her throat, now looking anywhere but at him, "Legal fees are expensive."

His free hand landed on the other side of the door, just beside her hips, fully trapping her in place. She glanced at his hand, then up his arm, her eyes settling on his bicep. Then, she looked back at his face to find him studying hers.

"Why are you all dressed up?"

She hesitated, "I have a date."

It was only when he began to move back that she noticed how closely he'd been leaning towards her. His hands dropped to his sides and he let out a quiet, "Oh."

She nodded, "Mhm."

He stepped back, starting for his stuff, which was piled up on a bench. She watched him walk away, wondering whether she should say something or not.

Pulling on his shirt, he casually asked, "Who with?"

"Just some guy I met on Tinder." she shrugged, folding her arms over her chest and looking at the floor.

"Tinder. Really?" he scoffed, pulling on his joggers.

"What?"

"Not the most romantic, is it?"

"It's a dating app, Kylian. Everyone uses dating apps."

"I don't." he huffed, pulling his shirt on.

"You're not everyone." she frowned, "And I don't have girls worshipping the ground I walk on."

"Thanks, you're not too shabby yourself, chérie. Are you going to talk to him about me? I'm a good conversation starter." She rolled her eyes and moved to open the door, "You still have coffee on your tits!"

Before storming out, he turned back to him, a scowl imprinted on her face, "I'll survive."

Chapter 5 Masterlist

[touteslespetiteschosess]

Masterlist

Guide: s (smut) a (angst) f (fluff)

Kylian Mbappé:

series: Love To Hate Me one two three four five six

one shots: Going For Gold s Is It Over Now? a

[touteslespetiteschosess]

Is It Over Now? || Kylian Mbappé

Plot: Kylian and y/n have been fighting for so long, she's not even sure she knows what they're fighting for anymore. Angst.

Warnings: toxic relationship

Word count: 3458

Masterlist

y/n well done on your goal, amour x will you want dinner when you get home? i'm making myself some pasta so i'll do extra for you x do you know what time you'll be home? i've left some food in the fridge for you x kylian can you reply please? i'm worried it's getting late, where are you?

A deep frown was etched on her face, she stared at her ignored texts, the oldest sent five hours ago and the most recent nearly an hour ago. None of them had received a response and neither had her calls.

She hadn't been able to go to his match today, as she'd already arranged to go out for her friend's birthday in the morning. Kylian hadn't minded though, it wasn't a particularly important match and she rarely missed any of his games, so she could be forgiven for this. Surely that wasn't why he was ignoring her. Well, knowing him at the moment she could easily conclude that there was no reason behind the radio silence. He was just being Kylian.

Dick.

She knew he probably had no reason to ignore her; he was most likely just over at Achraf's and didn't value her emotions enough to dain her with a text back. Still, having been alone in the house for so many hours with only her thoughts to keep her company, she couldn't stop her mind from wandering. It only felt natural to pick up her phone and she really couldn't help herself from opening Instagram. Her thumbs had a mind of their own, opening one of his fan accounts.

Then there he was, grainy footage of him on their story at some club in Paris, surrounded by his teammates. And then there was somebody else. Some girl sat at his side- on his side more really- his arm flopped lazily over the back of the booth behind her.

She was saying something and he was laughing. He was laughing in a way that he never did with y/n anymore. Wow, he was really laughing- surely nothing she said could be that funny.

The video was short, maybe five seconds, but she restarted it, watching it again, feeling a fire raging within her. The next story was a photo that some stranger in the club had taken. The pair were on the dance floor, none of his friends were in sight now. Her hands were up in the air and only now did y/n notice the girl's outfit. She wore a little red dress, just like the one that hung up in y/n and Kylian's shared closet. It was his favourite dress and she knew it.

At the sight, the fire that burned within her suddenly settled, an eery calm setting over her. After a few moments, she headed upstairs and drew a bath, watching the water slowly rise up the tub's sides. She loved that bath; the tub was huge, yet elegant, and sat right in front of a huge window which gave the most amazing view of the Eiffel Tower. Besides that, she and Kylian had spent some memorable nights in this bathtub. Not for a while though, she thought.

Now that she really considered it, she wasn't sure how many good memories she had with Kylian in the last six months. Maybe after three years together, she'd just grown used to the knowledge that she loved him and hadn't considered if he still deserved it. Maybe she hadn't considered if he still deserved her.

Maybe she'd been so caught up in the idea of the perfect man she'd met in that bar three years ago. She still remembered that innocent smile so vividly, the way he'd lift his glass to sip, almost hiding behind the thing. How every time she'd flirt with him, he'd blush like a schoolboy, and then suddenly shoot back with the most outrageous comment.

How a month after they'd started dating, the pandemic hit, and he'd turned up at her door, much to her disapproval. Then, he'd immediately asked her to move in with him. She still remembered his words.

Take a chance. If we're gonna go down, let's go down in flames. I don't wanna forget you, baby.

That aged like room-temperature milk.

He'd convinced her so easily, his charming smile and smooth words always getting the best of her. And he'd been right. Those had been the best few months of her life.

And even after lockdown, when she was back at work and football became more full on, everything had just seemed so right. He just seemed so right.

Every time he'd go away for matches, he'd always find some stupid trinket to bring home for her. The tradition had started the week they'd met, when she'd asked him out on another date and he'd had to turn her down, as he was playing away in Italy. He'd brought her back a little keyring- a pizza with Italia written on it. It was so tacky and so cheesy that she immediately fell in love... with the keyring. Their fridge was still littered with far too many magnets to count, very out of place in his black and white, minimalist kitchen.

Of course, she remembered the first gift, and she remembered the first time he'd forgotten. It was after an away match to Manchester City. An away match that had knocked PSG out of the Champions League- in the semi-finals.

It wasn't that she'd been expecting a gift- no, she completely understood. It was difficult for him; he'd been injured and therefore couldn't play the second leg. He'd had to go all the way to Manchester and didn't even get to kick the ball. He just had to sit on the bench and watch his dream fade before his eyes.

Despite not playing, she knew he blamed himself. He always blamed himself. For the injury. For not scoring in the first leg. For everything.

At the time, she hadn't been upset that he hadn't bought her some shitty magnet for their already cluttered fridge or a bottle opener for their already stuffed drawer. Besides, Manchester didn't have much to offer in the tourism department besides football, so she could forgive him for not wanting to search through shops full of his opponents' memorabilia, just to uphold their tradition.

Looking back on it though, that was the moment he snapped. Three weeks later, he'd returned from Reims empty-handed; when she'd playfully questioned him, asking how she was supposed to sleep at night without an 'I <3 Reims' t-shirt, he'd grunted something about being busy with work and she tried not to let her face fall, wishing he'd have just made some stupid joke in response.

Y/n, I can't afford to keep buying you all these presents.

Honey, nobody hearts Reims.

Well, I had some grapes for you but I got peckish.

But no, he'd just grumbled some excuse and gone up to their room. They'd won the game too. The last match of the season. Sure, they hadn't won the league but that fate had been sealed weeks ago.

Of course, at the time, she hadn't sat up at night, tossing and turning because her relationship was over. She'd understood. For him, she'd understood.

Then, the trinkets began to come every other away match, then once a month, once every few months, and then they stopped coming. The last remnant of their once-sacred tradition still sat on her fridge. He'd brought it back after an unremarkable league tie against Nice. A little magnet in the shape of a palm tree, in the colours of the French flag, with two words on it.

Trés Nice!

What did that even mean? Neither of them were sure. She loved it.

After that, however, the keyrings, and magnets, and bottle openers, and t-shirts, and pens had suddenly stopped. Not trés Nice!

The bath was full, the bubble bath she'd added working a treat. Slowly, she eased herself into the warm water, sighing as she settled back in the tub. She didn't even have her phone but she really didn't care. For what must have been an hour, she stared out the window at the city below her. From his castle, she watched his kingdom, knowing she didn't have a place in it anymore.

She stared at the dark streets they used to haunt, giggling hand in hand as they snook out of their apartment for late-night strolls (though it was always technically morning) down streets that at any other hour would be packed with hundreds of people, pointing at Kylian. Or when they used to go to tourist attractions in the middle of the winter and he'd pull on a balaclava, dragging her up the Eiffel Tower or the Champs Elysees, insisting her liked the thrill. In truth, so did she.

She liked standing hand in hand with him, knowing the crowds around them had no idea Kylian Mbappé was in their midst, and they never would because he was her Kylian. For that moment, at least.

It was late when she heard the door downstairs, the security system blaring loudly. She didn't panic, as it quickly turned off. He didn't say a word on his arrival. She could hear him drawing closer to their bedroom, his feet heavy on the stairs, in the hallway, in their room, approaching the bathroom door.

She thought he'd let his guard down when they first met, telling her his worries and fears, but maybe he only truly knocked down his walls that night in the bathroom months ago, showing his true self.

Maybe she only truly got to know him after Qatar, when he really snapped. When she'd tried to comfort him and he'd yelled at her because she'd never truly understand what he was going through. She'd told him she was sorry. She'd apologised. For what? She still wasn't quite sure.

Maybe she only truly knew Kylian when she'd been struggling at work, doing overtime to catch up on her ridiculous workload at home. She'd missed his match and he'd lost; then, when he returned home and she hadn't been in the mood for kisses and cuddles, he'd been furious. He'd said it was her fault she was stressed- she'd brought it on herself. She could quit her job any day and never worry about money again. She'd tried to explain but he couldn't comprehend her need for self-reliance. If anything, he was insulted that she didn't trust him enough to let him take care of her. He'd never been overly traditional or had an obviously fragile masculinity but that night she'd questioned everything she thought she knew about him.

Of course, he'd apologised the next morning and she'd forgiven him. They were both stressed and there was no reason to let one pressure-fueled spat escalate into more than it needed to. Then those one-off spats became more and more common until they were the norm. If they weren't in silence, they were fighting.

They only found peace when they were fucking. Even that physicality wasn't what it once was, no longer the same slow, gentle love-making. Now it was always quick, desperate, his once soft kisses now left bruises and his whispers of sweet nothings had morphed into wordless grunts and moans.

Is that all this relationship was anymore? Physical.

Light flooded the dimly-lit bathroom, as he swung the door open carelessly. He looked almost taken back at the sight of her, his eyebrows raising a little, as though he hadn't expected to see her here- in her own house.

Then again, maybe it wasn't her house. Sure, she'd lived here for almost as long as they'd been together but it was never really her house. It was Kylian's house in Kylian's city, and she was here too.

He stared at her for a few seconds before smirking, "Hey." he mumbled, already stripping down to join her.

She sunk further down in the tub, allowing the thick layer of bubbles to give her back her modesty. Silently, she watched him, her lips a flat line, her eyes on his face, not his naked body. He wasn't looking back at her. He was too focused on hastily ripping of his trousers and his shirt.

Without hesitation or any more words exchanged, he climbed in the tub and she leant forward as he slipped behind her. She wanted to be held in his arms just one more time, to feel his body against hers. He positioned his legs on either side of her, his arms flopping over her shoulders, as he pulled her back into his chest. Resting his face on her shoulder, he let out a noise, somewhere between a contented hum and a whine.

She ignored him, turning her head to stare out of the window. The city's skyline was dark and at this time, the tower's lights were off. Now, it was just a dark silhouette against a dark horizon, only made visible by the bright light of the full moon.

"What are you sulking about?"

As he spoke, she could smell the alcohol on his breath and she almost wretched at the scent. Her voice was calm and steady, as she asked, "Where have you been?"

Her voice sounded like she had an innocent curiosity in the question as if she didn't already know the answer, or she was merely asking to make small talk.

"Oh, some of the team wanted to go out to celebrate the win."

He didn't lift his head from her shoulder, placing a soft kiss on the damp skin. He lied with such ease. Well, he hadn't entirely lied, just withheld some important elements of the truth. Maybe she'd have preferred it if he'd just lied to her. At least then he would have had to make a conscious effort to deceive her. No, this felt so much worse; he spoke with such ease, as though it was the whole truth, and maybe he too believed it. Maybe he believed that she didn't need to know about the girl in the red dress, just like he'd believed she didn't need a text back, or a kiss goodbye before he left the house this morning, or a goodnight before she fell asleep last night or the night before that or the night before that.

"And who was that girl?" she asked, her voice still chirpy, not a hint of bitterness showing in her tone.

"Huh?" he twisted his head, the side of it on her shoulder, gazing up at her face.

"The girl you were with. She was in a red dress, like the one I have. Blonde hair and-"

"Oh," he cut her off quickly, "she's one of Ousmane's friends, I think."

"You think?"

"Mhm, I don't really know. I didn't speak to her that much."

Now, that wasn't a half-truth, that was simply a lie.

"Oh, okay. Just 'cause you seemed really friendly with her."

He scoffed, lifting his head, his tone suddenly switching, "What, were you stalking me?"

"No, but you didn't reply to my texts and you came home seven hours after the match finished, so I wanted to make sure you weren't dead in some ditch."

"Of course, I wasn't. Can I not have a night out with my friends?"

"Yeah, that's fine but you didn't fucking text me back and the next thing I see you've got some random girl in your lap at the club and you don't even have the courtesy to tell me about it."

"It wasn't like that! Why would I come home and tell my girlfriend that some nobody had been coming onto me in the club?" he snapped.

"Because you were coming onto her too! Don't you think I deserved to be warned that people were going to post pictures of my boyfriend with someone else! It's fucking humiliating!"

She stood up and climbed out of the bath, wanting to get as far away from him as possible. She quickly grabbed her robe from where it hung and wrap it around herself. She sat on the little ottoman in the corner, hugging her arms around herself.

"What are you saying? You know I wouldn't cheat on you!"

He yelled the statement as though it were a fact. Maybe he believed it. He seemed to believe a lot of things. Maybe he just didn't think about her perspective much.

"No, I don't! What reason have you given me to trust you?"

His face fell into an expression of fury, "What are you talking about?"

"I don't know, Kylian!" she almost yelled and almost sighed, somewhere in the middle, "I don't know. What are we even doing this for?"

"You tell me! You're the one picking a fight for no reason!"

"No, not this just... why are we here? We keep fighting and I don't know what for."

He stood up, "What..."

"I'm not happy! You're not happy! What's the point!"

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he rushed over to her, "I'm happy, of course I am!"

"Well, I'm not." she murmured, standing up from the seat and heading for the bathroom door.

"What are you doing, where are you going?" he asked, panic setting over him.

"Away," she muttered, heading to the closet.

"No, you're not." he declared, chasing after her, "Look, baby, I'm sorry, okay?" Ignoring him, she began to change into some joggers and a hoodie. "Y/n, you're not leaving me."

"Why not? All we ever do is fight! There's no point in us being together if we make each other fucking miserable!"

"I told you, you make me happy! You make me happier than anyone else in the world!"

"Why don't you treat me like it then? Why don't you treat me like I'm worth anything? Like I'm a fucking human being!"

He was quiet, watching her as she grabbed a bag and started to toss clothes into it. "Y/n, I love you. I-"

"Do you, though? Really?"

"I do. Look I know I've been busy with work but you know how stressful my job is. I'm trying to be here for you and do my best for the team-"

"No, you're not. I know how hard you work but I have needs too. I can't keep doing this."

She dropped to her knees, zipping up the bag, packed with enough clothes for a few days. He stood in the doorway, blocking her exit as she tried to get her toothbrush from the bathroom.

As she stood in front of him, he took her hands in his, "Please, baby, I'll change. I'll do it for you, I swear."

"It's too late, Ky," she said, shoving past him. He didn't budge, "Kylian, get out of my way."

He clutched her hands as though his life depended on it, placing soft kisses on both of them, "I need you. You can't leave me."

"You should have thought about that before, shouldn't you?"

She shoved him out of the way and grabbed a few things from the bathroom before heading for the front door. He chased after her, his mind racing and his heart pumping a mile a minute in his chest. He swore it was working so hard he could hear his heartbeat in his ears- or was it the sound of her feet on the stairs?

"Y/n," God, her name sounded so right on his lips, he wanted to say her name forevermore, "she meant nothing. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have entertained her like that." Tears were forming in his hazel eyes, he watched her putting on her shoes, "Y/n, you can't leave me, I love you. I- I don't want to live without you. I don't want to be on my own."

"Kylian," she stood up and cupped his cheek. Her hand was so warm and fit so perfectly around his face, as though it was moulded just for it, "you know I'll always love you."

Covering her hand with his own, he shook his head, a single tear rolling down his cheek, "Don't do this to me, amour."

She hated seeing him like this: he barely ever cried. In all of their time together, she'd seen him cry maybe four times and it had never been because of her.

Her soft thumb wiped away the tear, "Don't cry. You'll be okay."

Then she was gone. The door was open and then it was closed. She was there and then she was gone.

He watched the space she'd been stood in for far too long, as though she'd swing the door open at any moment and declare that she'd had a sudden change of heart. But she wouldn't.

She was gone. It was over.

Masterlist

#kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe x you #kylian x reader #kylian fanfic #kylian imagines #kylian mbappe x reader #kylian mbappe x y/n #mbappé #mbappe #footballer #france #fanfic #football #french

[touteslespetiteschosess]

Love To Hate Me || Kylian Mbappé

GIF by kykygif

Chapter 3 : Unfortunate Circumstances

Chapter 2

Plot: Just when she thought things couldn't get worse, y/n's car breaks down and only Kylian is on hand to help.

Word Count: 1771

"Shit, shit, shit!" y/n yelled, slamming her palm into the steering wheel several times.

No matter how many times she twisted the key, her car's engine refused to start. It kept revving up, giving her a snippet of hope, before the rumbling noise died out again.

For a little while, she sat, her forehead against the wheel. It was dark outside, which since it was July, was saying something. After Kylian's backhanded Instagram story yesterday, she'd been dying at the office and had only managed to escape her ever-mounting workload at this late hour.

Now, thanks to her stupid, ten-year-old car, her entire night was ruined as well as her evening and her day. Besides the night security team, nobody else was at the facility. She'd have to order an Uber, which would take forever to come, given that the facility was miles from the city. Plus, paying for an Uber would bankrupt her, on top of the mechanic fees she was going to have to pay.

One final time, she placed her hand on the key, "Come on, baby, you can do this."

No, it couldn't.

For the second day in a row, she sat alone and let out a loud yell, a roar really, except this time she received a response. There was a loud knock on her window and she glanced up, a frown immediately descending on her features.

Right outside her window, Kylian Mbappé stood, a self-satisfied grin on his face. When she just glared at him, he raised his hand and waved condescendingly.

Mortified, she wound down her window, the fact that her window was manually rolled down only adding to her embarrassment. Inch by inch, it slowly squeaked down, while she twisted the handle, and she glanced back up at him, sucking on her teeth awkwardly.

"You okay in there?" he asked peering down at her.

"Peachy." she declared, "Can I help you?"

"Car trouble?"

"No. I just like sitting in here, don't worry."

Unimpressed, he frowned, "Do you need a lift?"

"No, thank you." she cleared her throat, "I'll just... be fine, thanks."

"Get out of the car; I'm giving you a lift. Which arrondissement do you live in?"

"I don't need a lift, thank you, Kylian."

He frowned, folding his arms over his chest, "Get out of the car."

Sinking down in her seat, she stared straight ahead, out the windshield, arms folded over her chest, "I'm perfectly happy here."

"You can't sit in your car all night to spite me. You need to get home."

"I'll be fine." she declared, getting back to work winding the window up, "Goodnight."

As soon as she finished the window, he swung her door open, "Come on." he declared, sternly.

"Do you always demand random women get into your car?" she asked, refusing to stare anywhere but out of her windshield.

Grabbing her arm and pulling her out himself, he murmured, "Seulement les jolies."

A scowl rested on her face but she followed him to his car, well aware that he was right, she really did need a lift home- not that she'd ever tell him that. His car was nice, a large, blacked-out Mercedes, the kind of car a soccer mom would drive, which she found quite amusing. Hesitantly, she climbed into the passenger seat, relaxing into the comfortable leather.

As he started the engine, she mumbled, "Thank you."

He glanced out the window at her beat-up little car, as he drove past it in the parking lot, "Why do you drive a toaster?" he asked, not looking over at her, "Enrique been skimping on your paycheque?"

"I'm yet to get my first paycheque. Besides, I just moved to Paris, do you know how expensive that is?"

As much as she had a point; his car made hers look like a horse and cart. Besides, her lump of metal on wheels probably should've been scrapped before she was even born. She settled into his heated seat, watching the GPS on the screen.

"What, did you waste all your money on pantsuits?" he asked.

"I'm wearing a skirt."

Why did she say that as though he hadn't noticed?

They both settled into awkward silence, as he pulled out of the facility. After a few minutes, he quietly said, "Where am I taking you?"

She leant forward, typing her address into the car's GPS. He watched her and commented, "You live in the 18th?" At first, he looked a little puzzled, maybe concerned, though she highly doubted that as she wasn't too sure he experienced emotions besides horny and amused. However, when his face morphed into a smirk (an amused smirk), she already knew what was coming, "Are you a-"

"No, I'm not a fucking prostitute." she finished for him.

He grinned widely as she scowled furiously, "I was joking, jeez. That's a rough neighbourhood."

"Unfortunately, not everyone in this city can afford to live ten metres from the Eiffel Tower in a twenty-bedroom penthouse."

"You're the head of PR at PSG, I don't think you're exactly on minimum wage."

"Well, until two weeks ago I was just some PR junior at Chelsea." she paused, "This was a big promotion but I know how temporary these can be. I'm living below my means because I know my means can change like the wind."

He puffed out air, "Do you never wanna treat yourself though?"

"Easier to treat yourself when you make 2 million euros a week."

"Only if you round up." he muttered, "What were you doing at the office that late anyway?"

Flatly, she asked, "Do you really want me to say it?"

"Dealing with me?"

"You know, I relaxed for all of five seconds last night. It was so blissful until I saw your Instagram."

He contemplated apologising for maybe five seconds before remembering that it was a she-devil trapped in a supermodel's body, who sat in his passenger seat. "You follow my Instagram?"

"Literally my job."

"I'm not going to follow you back."

"Didn't ask you to."

"But you want me to, secretly. I mean, how cool would your little brother think you are?"

"I don't have a little brother." she shook her head, "Every time I think you have any redeeming qualities or you seem the least bit likeable, you just wreck it all."

"I can be very likeable." he shrugged.

"That doesn't mean you're likeable or nice. Anyone can lie."

"But I am likeable and I am very nice." he declared.

"I see, so it's just me who gets this side of you?"

"Yep." he popped his 'p'. She didn't reply.

After a while, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. She turned, casting a glare in his direction. Her eyes dragged down to his biceps, bulging out of his tight t-shirt and- No. She wasn't drooling over his muscles, no matter how big they were or how much she wanted to touch them. No! Sure, he was handsome, but he was a complete ass! He'd just admitted that!

She sighed, "I don't hate you."

"Well, hate is a very strong word." he conceded.

"Okay. But I don't hate you."

"Apology accepted."

"It wasn't an apology."

"Well, if it was I would accept it."

She shook her head, turning to look out of the window to hide the slight smile creeping onto her face, "I have nothing to apologise for."

"You ruined my reputation."

"You brought it on yourself, really. Besides, you'll recover."

He hesitated, "The old head of PR never cancelled me."

"The old head of PR got fired for a reason, and you're not cancelled."

"I feel pretty cancelled."

She rolled her eyes, as they approached the city, leaning her head on the cold window. They cruised through Paris, the street narrowing more and more the further into the urban landscape they grew.

As they neared Montmartre, she quietly said, "You can just drop me here if you want, you don't need to go out of your way."

Dryly, he laughed, "No." he softened his tone, "You shouldn't be alone at night here, it's not safe."

"It's fine. I'm a black belt in kung fu."

"What, really?"

"No. But I'm fine."

"What, have you got someone waiting to protect you at home?"

"Nope, but it's not the 18 hundreds, I don't need a chaperone."

"So there's no boyfriend in the picture or-"

"Are you seriously trying to flirt with me after lecturing me for cancelling you?"

"No, I just thought you would. You know, a good-looking woman like yourself, who knows the Kylian Mbappé. What guy wouldn't be interested?"

"Well, I don't officially know you. You don't follow me back on Instagram, after all."

Without even thinking about it, he laughed, leaning back into his seat He shrugged, "Hey, if you release a statement displaying PSG's adoration of me, maybe I'll consider liking a couple of your posts."

"Have you ever spoken to a woman before?" she asked.

"I'm not flirting." he huffed.

"So you're just asking me if I have a boyfriend because I'm good-looking and you're curious?"

"Yeah. I'm just being friendly and sociable." he hesitated before adding, "And nice and likeable. Your name is y/n... something, you don't have a brother, you don't have a boyfriend, you're not very good at kung fu, you're wearing a skirt, you make less than 2 million euros a week, you used to work at Chelsea, and you now live but don't work in the red light district."

She was a little taken aback but she didn't let it show on her face. After a moment or two, she declared, "I have a brother."

"You said you didn't?"

"I said I didn't have a little brother. He's two years older than me."

"And he's a big Kylian Mbappé fan?"

"Nah, he thinks you're-" she cut herself off, clearing her throat, "No, not really."

"He thinks I'm what?" he asked, glancing at her.

She hesitated before admitting, "A conceited prick who causes his sister week-long stomach aches."

"Oh."

"You asked," she mumbled.

"Maybe he has a point. But I can be very nice."

"You keep saying that. I'm still waiting on the evidence."

He pulled the car over, "You'll see."

She glanced out the window, up at her apartment block, then turned back to him, "Thank you for the lift, Kylian."

"You're welcome, y/n."

She opened the door and climbed out of the car, a satisfied grin on her face as her back was to him. Then, she headed inside, unaware that his eyes were fixed on her until her front door closed. He watched her leave the car and cross the street, just to make sure the freaks that hung around in her dodgy neighbourhood didn't try anything with her. Then, even once the door had closed, he watched for a couple more minutes, just to be sure.

Not because he cared about her of course. Because he didn't. He made that very clear in his mind. Just because he was a nice person. He'd do the same for anyone. Even y/n.

#kylian mbappe #france #kylian x you #kylian x reader #kylian fanfic #kylian imagines #kylian mbappe x reader #footballer #football #fanfic #kylian mbappé #mbappé #mbappe

[touteslespetiteschosess]

Love To Hate Me || Kylian Mbappé

Chapter 2 : Try Friends?

Chapter 1

Plot: Kylian's benched and now, so is y/n. What could go wrong?

Word Count: 1378

Masterlist

"You're joking?" she scoffed, watching Enrique across his desk.

"Afraid not." he sighed, tapping the pen in his hand on the desk a few times, "Send your best team to Japan with us but you're not coming."

She sat up a little straighter in her chair, "Luis, I'll be able to effectively handle the team's image from Japan- where they are- you said that yourself."

"I said that when all of the risks to our image were going to be there with us. I need you to keep a close eye on Kylian, here. Stay close to him, maybe get to know him a bit, that way you'll be able to predict his next moves. I know you're good at that."

"The man hates me. I'll have James or Louis stay back here with him, they're just as good as me, and Kylian will actually speak to them."

"We both know you're better than your entire department combined."

"Clearly not, since I'm the one who let this entire disaster happen in the first place," she grumbled.

"You know I didn't bring you here for your good looks." Luis joked, walking around the desk to her side, as she stood up, a frown marring her face, "I know what you're capable of, this team doesn't. Show them the y/n I know. You show Kylian who's boss."

Folding her arms over her chest, she allowed him to guide her out of his office. "I was looking forward to a holiday."

He stopped in his doorway, as she carried on back to her own office a few corridors away, "Tell that to Kylian!" he called and she smirked to herself.

A day had elapsed since her meeting with Enrique and y/n sat in her office, typing rapidly on her laptop. The entire training centre was quiet since about 80 per cent of the staff had jetted off to Japan that afternoon.

Just her luck that her first holiday of the year would get cancelled just so she could hang back and work. Not that the trip would have been a holiday anyway, she would've been working, but she was supposed to have a few hours to explore Japan or maybe just lie in her hotel room in the dark for a while. That would be nice.

No, here she sat, alone in her office, not having said a word since she greeted the receptionists this morning. Her fingers had a mind of their own, flying over the keyboard before she even had to consider what she was typing.

Her stomach rumbled. Loud.

She hit send on another email and went to open one more when her stomach sounded again. Maybe a yoghurt wouldn't sustain her all day.

Hesitantly, she flicked her laptop shut and headed for the door before stopping in her tracks. She stopped and turned back for her laptop- she really didn't have time to spare eating lunch, so multitasking it was.

Quickly, she headed down to the canteen and got herself a bowl of chicken and rice as well as an apple. She sat alone- it wasn't like she particularly wanted to sit with anyone in there anyway. There were maybe ten people max in the hall. A few of the coaches, who were fairly low down in the ranks, so were subject to coaching Enrique's rejects- the loft. Said players were also scattered around the room, laughing in small groups together, not a care in the world.

She opened her laptop again and got back to work, starting to draft an email in response to l'Equipe, stating their reasons for excluding Mbappé from the Japan squad.

Here at Paris Saint-Germain, we are not only a team, but a family. We appreciate Kylian's incredible talent but we cannot condone-

"I hate this."

His voice made her head snap up and her face fell. He sat across the table from her- she wasn't sure when he'd got there. She scoffed, sarcasm dripping off her tongue, "Sure, you can sit here."

A scowl was painted on his face, his arms folded over his chest like a toddler throwing a hissy fit. "I hate this place and this stupid team. I shouldn't be training with them."

"What, you think you're too good for them?" she asked, bored, not glancing up from her laptop.

"Yes!" he exclaimed.

"Nobody likes a huge ego," she murmured.

"Well, thanks to you, nobody likes me right now anyway."

She looked up, meeting his eyes, "Thanks to you, really, I'd say."

He seethed, watching her through narrowed eyes, lips pursed, "I want out. I want to go back to my team."

"Well, I'm not the person to speak to about getting a contract drawn up but-"

"Not like that. You can't make me train with this new team. You can't bench me. I'm-"

"Kylian Mbappé?" she finished for him, "I know. You've said." Uninterested, she shifted her gaze back down to her laptop, declaring, "Maybe you should try being nice to them. Get to know them."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because whether you like it or not, your old teammates are in Japan and you're here. Until further notice, it will remain that way." she glanced across at the group of men, chatting and laughing as they ate their lunch, "That's your team now."

He was quiet for a moment- a miracle, she thought! Then, he reached across the table and snatched her apple, taking a large bite, "You're right." he said, through his mouthful of fruit.

"My apple!"

"You want it back?" he asked, holding the half-demolished thing toward her.

She grimaced, "You owe me an apple."

Standing up, he hummed, "Oops."

She blinked up at him, fluttering her lashes in a way that she had to know did something to him, "Goodbye." she said, in a clearly fake, sweet tone.

"So eager to get rid of me?" he mused, an infuriating smirk on his face.

"I've got work to do. No thanks to you."

"I'm on my best behaviour now, promise." he declared, strolling off.

She frowned at his retreating figure- conceited prick. Glancing back down at her laptop, she typed a few words and then stopped. Blankly, she watched the screen for a few moments, as a small smile crept onto her face.

Sure, he was still a dick, but maybe he'd quiet down now. He'd settle with the loft for now, two armies of lawyers would get to work behind the same, and maybe, just maybe, she'd finally catch a break from the two-week-long headache that had been plaguing her incessantly.

Y/n sat on her sofa, some Netflix show playing on the TV, though she hadn't heard a word. Finally, she'd replied to all her emails and drafted all the responses she needed to- for today at least.

Her phone buzzed and she scrambled in search of the device, before eventually fishing it out from down the back of the couch. She checked the notification: her best friend had sent her some reel on Instagram. She watched it, it was something stupid, which she responded to wth a simple double tap.

Almost instinctually, she navigated to her home feed and opened the first story to pop up. Her heart fell.

For at least a minute, she glared at her phone, as if she could stare so hard it'd turn him to stone on the other side of the city. God, how she wished it would.

Maybe Kylian Mbappé had much more going on in his life and didn't think about her as much as she thought about him. It was her job, of course, that was the only reason. Nevertheless, this felt like a personal attack, and she was more than ready to fight back.

She was not a loser and she wasn't a quitter.

He'd almost gotten off lightly, then he'd pulled this shit? He'd fooled her for a few hours and made her pay for it. Big mistake. He didn't know what was coming.

Sharply, she tossed her phone straight back onto the couch, with so much force it bounced back toward her. As she scowled at the plain walls of her apartment, she let out a loud yell. Who cared if her neighbours thought she was delusional?

"Fuck you!"

Chapter 3 Masterlist

#kylian mbappe #kylian x you #kylian x reader #kylian fanfic #french #kylian mbappe x reader #kylian mbappé #kylian mbappe x y/n #kylian mbappe x you #france #equipe de france #fanfic #football #footballer #mbappe #mbappé

[touteslespetiteschosess]

Love To Hate Me || Kylian Mbappé

Plot: Kylian had it all figured out, he'd finally move away from PSG after one more year in red and blue, so why did this random woman have to come and ruin everything for him?

Warnings: Kylian being very mildly sexist (for character growth of course<3)

Word Count: 1276

Masterlist

"But you leaked it?"

"No, I didn't."

Kylian's face was a flat line, though with every word she said, his lips inched closer to a frown. His hazel eyes were fixed on her, sat across from him.

"Your team did and given that the main man in your team is your father, I'd say you were well aware it was going to happen."

Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, each strand neatly slicked back. Surely that hurt her head, maybe it restricted blood flow to her brain- maybe that's why she was such a dick!

His life had been perfectly planned out, his career finally making sense, looking like it was going somewhere. Then, the new manager had arrived and so had his stupid, new PR head. What had been wrong with the old head of PR? Nothing! Sure, he was elderly, out of touch, and not very good at his job and his replacement was young and sharp and beautiful and... that wasn't relevant to her work.

How dare she barge in here in her six-inch heels and her tight, tight blouse and tarnish his name? Who even needed heels that high for work?

He was Kylian Mbappé; he'd given everything for this club and for his country and when he'd written that letter all he'd wanted was a peaceful exit from the team. Now, not only the Parisian media but all media in France and worldwide hated him. Maybe the only people who liked him right now were Spanish journalists.

"Kylian, I admire you greatly. You are a brilliant player and I know your worth." Enrique, the coach, said from his seat beside y/n, "So do my superiors and surely you're aware that we really can't let you go on a free transfer."

"I didn't ask to go on a free transfer, I just said I am not willing to extend my contract." he defended.

"But you want to play until the end of the season when your contract runs out, and no team in their right mind would therefore buy you weeks before you become a free agent."

Y/n spoke quickly yet clearly, sure in her words and sure in herself. When she finished, her lips, painted a dark rose, settled in a line, as she blinked once, twice, her long lashes fluttering.

"Last time I checked, dealing with transfers wasn't in your job description," he bit back.

"No, I'm in charge of the team's image which your transfers are really tarnishing, so you've kind of dragged them to my attention yourself."

"I told you, I didn't leak the letter."

"Oh, well if you say you didn't, you must be telling the truth. I will get my goons to slowly torture each of your teammates until one of them admits to the crime."

Her composed watch didn't shift from him. He glared at her. If looks could kill.

"That won't be necessary, Miss Briggs. Kylian, we have two options here." Enrique said, calmly, "Option one, you and your posse agree to start negotiations with us for a contract extension and-"

"I choose option two." Kylian cut in, bluntly, scowling at the entire room.

"Great. So, option two, we'll exclude you from the squad for the Japan tour and you can spend the Summer training with the loft." Enrique declared, standing up and gathering his files from the desk, "Great talk. Very productive."

As the coach exited, his team leaving with him, Kylian sat there dumbfounded. The only person who remained in the room was y/n, as she jotted something down in her notebook. Finishing writing, she snapped the cover shut and slotted her pen into her blouse's chest pocket. His eyes followed it. Glancing up, she watched him watching her for a couple of seconds before she stood up.

"So, that's it, I'm just fucking cut from the squad?" he seethed.

She nodded, easily humming, "Mhm. What did you expect?"

"You know I love this club. You and Enrique can't just march in here and bench me. I'm Kylian Mbappé."

"I didn't bench you." she scoffed, starting for the door.

"Please, I don't know who you are but for some reason, Enrique listens to what you say and I know you had a hand in this. I don't know why he trusts your opinions since you don't even know football, but stay out of my way, okay?"

She stopped dead in her tracks, spinning around slowly, her mouth slightly agape, though her lips curled up ever so slightly in a way that told him he was a dead man walking.

"Luis respects what I say because I'm good at my job. I know that you're not used to working alongside women and maybe your fragile ego can't handle being booted out of the squad but you brought this on yourself, Mbappé. I don't work for you or Luis, I work for Paris Saint-Germain and I'll do what's best for the club. So, here's my advice, from one master of their field to another, get your shit together and sign a new contract or come September time you might find yourself at a club you like a whole lot less than this one. How does the Qatari league sound? Your whole internalised chauvinism thing will go over a treat there. Like one of the locals already!"

With that, she stormed out of the door, her hips swaying, and he was truly alone in the huge meeting room. Hesitantly, he pulled out his phone and quickly punched in a Google search: chauvinism definition.

chauvinism: excessive or prejudiced support for one's own cause or group, in particular male prejudice against women

He frowned, surely that was a bit far. He didn't hate her because she was a woman. He hated her because she was ruining his life. That had nothing to do with her gender. Well, maybe his burning desire for her contributed to his hatred. He'd never hated the old head of PR this much and maybe that was because he was old and wrinkled and didn't wear blouses that tight or skirts that tight or watch him with eyes like that and-

No, he wasn't attracted to her. Well, not like that. Yes, she was a very attractive woman, that was a fact, but he knew lots of attractive women. He wasn't attracted to her, he could just appreciate that she was, well, attractive and- God, what was he doing? Why were his thoughts spiralling like this, perv?

Maybe he just hated her because she was loud and arrogant and seemed to think Kylian was the enemy and that in vanquishing him, she was doing Paris, nay France, a great service. Noble warrior.

Well, she'd made a big mistake.

Maybe journalists and fans would turn against him for a couple of weeks, caught up in the excitement of his gripping transfer saga. That didn't matter because at the end of the day, he was Kylian Mbappé. He'd lead France to that trophy in 2018, even if he'd been a teenager, and he'd scored three goals and a fucking penalty in the world cup final after that. The country wouldn't turn against him for long, that was for sure.

She'd tried to turn him into the enemy but all she'd really done was make the biggest mistake of all. She'd made herself his enemy, and she'd sorely regret that.

Groaning, he stood up, his chair scraping against the floor as he did and stormed out of the meeting room. He wasn't leaving and he wasn't signing that new contract. Nobody could make him: not Enrique, not Al-Khelaifi, and most certainly not y/n.

Masterlist Chapter 2

#kylian mbappe #kylian mbappé #mbappé #mbappe #football #psg #paris saint germain #kylian x you #kylian x reader #kylian fanfic #kylian imagines #kylian #kylian mbappe x reader #y/n #equipe de france #footballer

[touteslespetiteschosess]

Going For Gold || Kylian Mbappé

Plot: It's the evening of the Ballon d'Or but Kylian has his eyes on a different trophy.

Warnings: pda, fingering

Word count: 1726

Masterlist

Lights flashed, the second Kylian's dress shoe hit the tarmac. Easily, he slid from his leather seat, out of the blacked-out car. He strolled around to y/n's side and opened her door for her. Taking her hand, he helped her out and she stood up, glancing at her surroundings.

The road was packed with fans, yelling and screaming at the sight of Kylian. They clamoured at the metal barriers, hundreds and hundreds of phones pointed in their direction. She smoothed down her dress; it was silver and shimmered in the bright lights. Its tight, sequinned fabric hugged her curves, accentuating her perfect hourglass figure.

He rested his hand on the small of her back and guided her toward the red carpet. As they walked toward the crowd on the carpet, his hand left her back and found her hand instead, ensuring she wasn't pulled away from him.

A large camera pointed at the pair, broadcasting their every move to millions of people. Kylian swerved from the path his security team were forging for them, signing a fan's shirt and posing for a couple of selfies. Y/n hung at his side, smiling politely at people; this was Kylian's domain, his night, she knew nobody had come to see her.

Once he'd finished, they started down the carpet again and he leant down to whisper to her, "Are you okay?"

Smiling softly at his handsome face, he glanced up, "Peachy."

He squeezed her hand, their fingers intertwined; a woman in a black blazer and skirt approached them. "Kylian, suis-moi pour les photos. Y/n, attends ici un instant." she instructed, briskly whisking him away. Kylian, follow me for the photos. Y/n, wait here for a moment.

Cameras flashed as he smiled, hands folded in front of him. She almost drooled at the sight of him in that well-fitted suit, the exact same shade as her dress. His watch's gold accents glimmered on his wrist and she eyed the single button of his suit jacket, thinking about how efficiently she could undo it.

Suddenly, the same woman from before ushered her toward Kylian, who wrapped his arm around her waist. The second the woman stepped out of shot, cameras started flashing, as the pair smiled for them. After a few seconds, they began to move away from the cameras but once again, the woman rushed over, stopping y/n.

"Y/n, quelques photos en solo maintenant." she said, ushering Kylian to the side. Y/n, some solo photos now.

Y/n glanced after him hesitantly but as the cameras resumed their incessant flashing she looked back to them smiling. She hadn't expected them to want photos of just her. Not that it was a strange request- after all she was probably equally famous to her boyfriend in her own career. The actress was only here to play Mrs Mbappé tonight though.

As she finished with her photos, she glanced over at Kylian, who watched on with the closest a human could physically get to heart eyes. She wandered back over to him and his hand rested on the open back of her dress, discreetly rubbing the smooth, exposed skin.

Her cheeks flushed as his hand crept lower, sneaking beneath the fabric, "Kylian..." she murmured.

"What?" he asked innocently, though his dark eyes glistened with desire.

"Do you know how many cameras there are here?"

"Only two hours until we can go back home." he shrugged, moving his hand up to her back again.

As they stepped through the theatre's grand entrance, she quietly said, "You don't have to act so miserable. You're nominated for a Ballon d'Or, crack a smile."

"Well, I've not won. We all know Leo will win again and it's a waste of time I could be spending at home with my beautiful girlfriend." he hummed, glancing around nonchalantly.

"Thanks, hon." she smirked.

A man with a clipboard approached them, toying with the hem of his neat, navy suit. "Monsieur Mbappé, es-tu prêt pour la cérémonie? Nous avons besoin de toi dans les coulisses." Mr Mbappé, are you ready for the ceremony? We need you backstage.

"Ouias." he nodded, dropping a kiss on y/n's lips, "You know where you're going, amour?" she nodded and he was quickly whisked off.

Heading toward the auditorium's doors, she glanced to the usher, "Y/n y/l/n." He guided her to her seat, which was in the very front row, beside Kylian's. Confused, she glanced at the usher, "Sorry, I thought that plus ones sat separately from the players?"

He shrugged, "This is where you are on the seating plan." When she still looked perplexed, he offered, "You're a big star. They probably want reason to give you more screen time- it'll attract viewers."

As he walked off, she glanced around at the seats next to her. Kylian sat on one side of her, Erling Haaland on the other- which meant she was going to be consistently sandwiched in every shot that was broadcasted. The rest of the name plaques on her row read the names of other footballers, not a single wife or girlfriend in sight. Great.

As the rest of the theatre behind her began to fill up, her row remained entirely empty and she sat there, awkwardly. Eventually, the lights dimmed and she slipped her phone into her purse, getting ready as the ceremony began.

One by one, all of the nominees stepped out onto the stage until finally they called Kylian's name. Confidently, he stepped onto the stage, one hand tucked into his pocket as he strolled to the front of the stage.

After a few minutes, they were sent to their seats and he locked eyes with her, smirking. As he sat down, his hand found hers, resting in her lap.

The ceremony dragged on for hours and hours, a camera continually fixed on Erling and Kylian and, in turn, y/n. As they wrapped up handing out the women's trophy, Kylian, who'd been growing more and more impatient, let his hand slip under the thigh split of his dress. Her breath caught as he slid his hand around to her inner thigh, nipping at the sensitive skin.

She hissed, "Kylian, stop."

"What?" he shrugged, staring ahead at the stage, as he rubbed circles on her thigh. David Beckham walked out onto the stage and as he began to speak, the camera continually cut to Kylian but he didn't seem to care. She caught his wrist and pulled his hand up to a more appropriate position. "Fuck," he whispered, "I can't wait to get you out of here."

"Keep it in your pants." she scoffed, patting his hand.

Trying to hide her flushed face and rosy cheeks, she readjusted her hair, flicking it over her shoulders. "Let's discover the four finalists of this year's edition. Who will succeed Karim Benzema?" the host said.

A montage of clips of Kylian, Haaland, Messi, and De Bruyne played but Kylian didn't even bother cracking a smile or pretending to be interested.

Beckham flicked his envelope open, "The winner of the 2023 Ballon d'Or is... Lionel Messi."

Kylian didn't even flinch, his expression remaining the same bored line. She squeezed his hand but he really didn't seem to care. After Messi had wrapped up his acceptance and the ceremony ended, everyone headed to a reception.

Kylian's hand held y/n's firmly but as they got to the drinks reception, he carried on, pulling her after him toward the exit. "Kylian!" she called, glancing around self-consciously, "Kyky! What are you doing?"

"Getting you out of here," he muttered, wrapping his arm tightly around her waist.

She stopped, firmly digging her heels into the ground and refusing to move, "No, hon, you've got to stay at the reception for a little while. It's rude to leave."

"I don't have to do anything. What are they going to do, cancel me?"

"Obviously not but it's just polite." she scoffed.

His hand moved to her ass, giving it a squeeze, "I will actually fuck you in the bathroom if we don't get out of here soon."

She giggled, "Sure, bud."

"Do you want to try me?" he asked, deadly serious, practically shoving her out of the door.

Fans still waited outside, yelling for his attention, but this time, he elected to ignore them. The second the car doors shut, his lips were on hers, hungrily. His hands squeezed her sides as he moaned into her mouth. Her lips parted, allowing his tongue to explore her mouth.

His hands worked lower and lower, once again slipping under her dress through its slit. He cupped her heat through her panties and she pulled back slightly, "I'll never be able to look your driver in the eye again."

"Don't mind." he declared, latching onto her neck. His lips worked lower and lower, pressing kisses onto her chest. His fingers pushed her panties aside, "Fuck, baby, you're so wet for me already."

"Kyky-" she warned, though it came out as more of a moan, as he applied pressure to her clit.

"What was that?" he asked, squeezing one of her breasts with his free hand.

With his other hand, his fingers gathered up slick before diving inside her. He slowly began to move his digits, twisting, curling and pumping them up inside of her. Her hands gripped his shoulders so hard that her knuckles turned white, as he quickened his pace.

"Fuck, amour," she murmured, resting her forehead on his.

His hand finally left her tit, sliding down the strap of her dress. She didn't wear a bra beneath her dress and he groaned at the sight. His mouth latched onto her tit, sucking hungrily. His long, calloused fingers continued working their magic.

"Kylian," she whined, "I think I'm close."

His lips moved back to her neck, "You can cum for me, baby."

As he sucked on her sweet spot, the coil in her gut wound so tight it snapped. She bit down on his shoulder to stop herself from yelling. Stars overtook her vision, as she rode out her orgasm on his hand.

As she rested her head on his shoulder, trying to catch her breath, he pulled his fingers out and sucked them clean of her juices. Softly, he brushed her hair out of her face, dropping a kiss on her temple.

He smiled at the sight of her, whispering, "Je t'aime, ma belle."

Masterlist

#kylian mbappe #kylian mbappé #mbappe #mbappé #kylian x reader #kylian imagines #kylian x you #kylian fanfic #football #footballer #psg #smut