i'm love you

He craved the silence of before. When the only people that criticized him were his friends. When the only pair of watchful eyes he had to be cautious of were his mother’s.

Now, it seemed like the whole world was watching him closely, scrutinizing him, waiting for the slightest slip up. That way they could get their headlines, their talking points for their under-watched shows that somehow managed to garner thousands of views whenever he was mentioned.

It was infuriating, but he kept his mouth clamped shut. Besides, it wasn’t all that bad. Kicking a ball around for a living gave him benefits others could only ever dream of, and he was beloved by many.

Not for him, though, no. Just for the simple fact that he managed to score goals and win games for their favorite team.

At first, the love was overwhelming. Thousands of strangers exclaiming their love for you when they didn’t even know you was hard to get used to at nineteen, but as time passed, he’d grown accustomed to it. Numb, even.

Love was no longer something he had to fight for. A few passes here and there and the fans would give it up like it was nothing. And that was exactly what it had become.

Nothing.

Love had become an empty word.

Even more so when Kylian realized they could take back their love in seconds and replace it with hate on his bad days.

They didn’t really love him.

Even the women he’d sleep with didn’t love him. He knew they just loved the idea of getting to sleep with a famous footballer, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was getting a good fuck.

He’d always imagined himself getting married in the future. Finding a nice woman to get settled down with, and maybe having a kid.

He used to criticize the men that would sleep around because why would you want that when you could have one good girl for the rest of your life whom you shared a real connection with?

Sex was a sacred thing. It was special. Not something to just give out—but he was a hypocrite.

Marriage was the last thing on his mind now, and he didn’t care to form a connection with every single girl he fucked.

He tried giving relationships a chance, but the voice in the back of his head always told him to stop. They don’t want you. They just want your money. They just want to use you.

It was a horrible way of thinking, and it left him feeling so empty after he’d come. He’d mentally curse himself for doing it again, having sex with a woman and leaving her in the dust afterwards. But surely they’d understand. They knew who he was. Kylian Mbappé didn’t have time to entertain relationships.

In the end, it was just sex, it wasn’t a commitment.

The only commitment he had was to his curse.

He was a footballer first, and maybe that was all he’d ever be to anyone.

Kylian's move to Real Madrid came as a shock to many, but for him, he knew it was inevitable.

Sure, he loved PSG (to an extent), but with the way things were playing out, he knew that it'd never be the club he'd end his career with. 

He loved Real Madrid as a child. He dreamt of playing for them, of representing the white and gold anyone could recognize with just a single glance, even from all the way up in the stands. Not to mention how good of a team they were. He'd be an idiot to pass on the opportunity of a lifetime.

Some criticized. Others gloated. Kylian just prepared himself for the barrage of eyes that were going to be watching him now more than ever.

The expectations were weighing on him heavier than before. He had to succeed with Real Madrid. He might've scored hundreds of goals already, but what did that matter if he never had anything to show for it? No UCL. No Ballon D'or. It just proved what everybody said about him. Overrated. 

He hated that word. Despised it. It made him want to punch something every time someone echoed the word. It replayed itself in his head, spun around in circles, gathered in clusters so he wouldn't be able to get it out. It haunted him from Paris to Madrid, followed him everywhere he went, and he was sick of it. So he knew what he had to do. 

Kylian was going to win this time. He had to.

Kylian kept a smile on his face as he was shown around Real Madrid's facility. It wasn't fake, but it was definitely a little exaggerated because he had a tendency to play it up for the cameras. Years of media training and the fact that people over-analyzed everything he did were a part of the reason why. Just imagine the outrage if he didn't look content enough—he'd rather not.

They eventually brought Kylian over to the medical wing to meet some of the staff.

"Kylian, these are our physios. Lara, Raúl, Santiago, and Y/N."

His tour guide, who he had already forgotten the name of, pointed at each person. Kylian scanned over each of their faces, and then paused at you because yours just stood out more. When he remembered the cameras were still rolling, he cleared his throat and darted his eyes back over to the first woman, Lara.

He stepped forward with a charming smile and started to shake the hand's of the physios, going down the line until he stood directly in front of you.

"Y/N, right?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer. You just nodded, which caught him off guard, but he didn't let it show as his hand finally fell back down to his side. "Nice to meet you. I'm glad to be working with you."

"Yeah, me too."

That was it?

He didn't mean to sound like an asshole, but he expected a bit more… excitement? Awe? Enthusiasm, even. He'd gotten a little bit of that from your coworkers, but you… you looked like you were ready for the interaction to be over.

Kylian stepped back, ignoring the burn he felt in his chest from the way you unintentionally bruised his ego. "I look forward to working with all of you," he called out, voice tighter than before, before him and his guide were exiting from the room, cameras following close behind.

He thought about that interaction for the rest of the day. That thirty second interaction managed to stir something in him, annoyance and intrigue all at once. He wasn't used to being brushed off, he was used to people gawking over him, stumbling over their words and practically tripping over their feet when they spoke to him—but not you.

But he knew he could change that. He would. 

Kylian had been through it hundreds of times in his career. Evaluations. Stretching. Taping. It wasn't anything new. The only change that came from that was the person helping him do it.

Lucky for him, he got stuck with you.

Chatter from the other players floated around the treatment room as you settled him onto a table. 

While you were busy prepping the athletic tape and looking over your notes, Kylian sat quietly, eyeing you. He watched as a strand of hair loosened and fell over your eye so, gently, you placed it behind your ear. He was shocked at how you seemed completely clueless to the obvious way his gaze was burning into you. It was irritating, even.

He was bored out of his mind, and you weren't exactly giving him anything to work with. It made him wish he'd gotten stuck with one of the other physios.

Obviously, it wasn't expected of you to give him anything other than your help. You were doing exactly what you were supposed to do—your job—but that didn't mean that you couldn't do the bare minimum and talk to him. 

Kylian let a few more beats of silence between the two of you pass by before he finally asked, "So… how long have you been working with Real Madrid?"

You stopped whatever you were doing, putting your notes down to look at him. "Uh, not long. A little over a year now, I'd say."

"Oh, that's cool." He nodded, pretending to be interested even though the answer was one he honestly didn't care about. He paused, as though he were thinking, before adding, "do you recognize me?"

You gave him a slight once over like the question was supposed to be a joke, but it was far from it, and when you realized he was being serious, you let out a snort. "Of course, I do. You're Kylian Mbappé."

"Well, yeah, I just meant…" he trailed off, realizing that it was a stupid thing to ask. Everyone knew who he was. He could feel the heat lick up his nape, so he brought his hand up to cup it, cool palm rubbing softly against his skin. "You don't seem all that surprised to see me."

And he didn't blame you. The world didn't revolve around him, but for some strange reason, all he wanted was to see just the subtlest sign that you cared to be talking to someone as big as him. Or just that you cared about him in general.

Your face stayed the same, but he managed to spot something before it disappeared into oblivion: the way your eye twitched in a fleet. It went as quickly as it came, but it let Kylian know one thing—he had annoyed you with his words.

He'd wanted to see a reaction from you, just not that kind of reaction.

"Are you always this full of yourself?"

It was those words that had his brows shooting up. "Excuse me?"

"It's just…" you bit your lip, like you were holding something back, and Kylian waited. Waited for your words to spill over, anticipated it even, like he wanted to hear whatever you had to say about him, but in the end, nothing ever came. "Never mind. I shouldn't have said that. I'll tape you up, now."

Somehow, that stung more than whatever reality check you were going to give him.

Madrid's sun beamed down on Kylian, ultra-hot and unforgiving. He never minded the heat. It was a feeling he enjoyed, like whenever he went on vacation—not when it licked up his skin and left him dripping in so much sweat, he had to use a towel to dry himself off. He could feel his breath come out sharper with each drill he had to run, and the only motivation he had to keep going was the fact that inside, there'd be cool air blasting from the AC whenever the team was through with practice.

Kylian was jogging down the line when he swore he could feel the prickle of something against his skin. It wasn't from the heat, it was something else, something different. It made him shudder. The feeling burned against his skin hotter than the heat of the damned sun—and it was coming from one place.

Kylian swerved his head around to the sideline where the coaching staff stood. 

You stood there too, but your gaze wasn't on him, it was focused on watching the other guys. But, coincidentally enough, just as his eyes flicked over there, the sensation faded as well.

When he found no plausible answer to the feeling, he huffed and switched his focus back to whatever he was doing before. He chose to blame it on the heat and how it was probably messing with his head and making him imagine things.

Yet when the feeling came again without warning, he felt a frustration bubble up inside him and found himself craning his head again. That was when he caught something, just for a split second. How you turned your head away just as his eyes peeked over at the sideline.

The knowledge that you were likely staring at him made his mouth go dry. It wasn't like getting stared at was uncommon. It was the way it left him feeling afterwards that was uncommon. He didn't like it, nor the fact that it'd made him physically shudder. He shouldn't be losing his cool over something so trivial, yet he felt himself slipping. 

He stood still, eyes trained in on your shoes like they were the most interesting things in the world, not quite ready to look away yet because he knew the second he did, you'd look at him again and he'd lose his cool.

How were you making me feel like this?

It wasn't until he heard the manager yell out his name that he finally snapped out of his daze. The heat of embarrassment rose in him next as he went back to jogging like nothing ever happened. And the feeling never came again after that.

The AC felt like a blessing when Kylian finally stepped inside the building, his body absorbing the much-needed coolness of the air.

The rest of the team headed to the locker room to change, but a pair of footsteps approaching behind him made him stop. He turned his head, hoping his expression didn't give away to how his stomach had suddenly tightened.

"Are you okay?"

Kylian heard the question loud and clear, yet he didn't answer, like his mind was suddenly running on empty, and it couldn't have chosen a better occasion than this one.

"What?" he breathed out after a beat of silence.

"I asked if you're okay," you repeated, even though he definitely heard you the first time. He swore that looked like concern on your face. Not the fake shit everyone always gave him. Genuine concern. "I saw you running out there and you looked pretty out of it. I understand, it's really hot today."

Kylian almost couldn't believe it. You were asking if he was okay? Maybe he was really out of it. Here you were, doing your job, and here he was, doing what he hated most when it was done to him—over analyzing.

"Yeah," he nodded hastily. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"Okay, good," you said, lips pursed into a tight smile. "Uh, well, if you feel any different, you know where to find me."

You turned, ready to walk down the hall. That was when Kylian felt something creep up his throat, the word "wait" now on the tip of his tongue, but it never came. He let the moment pass until you were out of sight and he was left standing alone in the hallway with nothing but his thoughts and the cool breeze of the AC cooling his skin.

Maybe you actually cared about him. 

Maybe.

Kylian couldn't sleep that night. He didn't even try. It was pointless because his mind was plagued with images of you. A woman he barely knew. He didn't even know your last name or how old you were. All he had was your first name. Y/N.

He found himself repeating it under his breath, enunciating each letter, as if he were preparing for the day he'd have to call out your name.

Y/N. Y/N.

The name was perfect for you. It just made sense. You looked like a Y/N in the best way possible.

You were just a woman, he had to remind himself because he suddenly realized he was going off the deep end. He tried distracting himself by going on Instagram and looking at different women. His eyes flickered over at each post, rubbing himself just to get himself going, but his attempts at raising his libido fell short.

Kylian cursed, head falling back against the pillow in defeat. In a last ditch attempt to elicit some sort of pleasure from himself, he opened up an adult website. 

Instead of clicking on the first video he saw, he went into the search bar, fingers hesitating over the keyboard, like they knew what he was about to do was shameful and had given him a chance to back out, before he was typing in a description of you.

The girl in the video didn't exactly look like you, but it was good enough for him. He pulled down his boxers, freeing his aching cock from its confinement and fisting the length.

He pressed his thumb against the slit of his cock and let out a hiss, smearing the precum over his tip as the video started. He usually loathed the lengthy dialogue of pornography, but especially now more than ever.

He skipped ahead until the girl was finally on her knees in front of the male actor. She unzipped his pants and stuck his cock inside her mouth, sucking him off until saliva dripped down her chin.

All the while, Kylian gripped his cock harder, palm gliding easily along his length. He'd never felt this desperate for an orgasm before, but with you in the back of his mind, that was all he wanted.

He imagined it was really you, not sucking off some actor, but him instead. 

He imagined how warm your mouth would feel, how you probably couldn't take him all the way in without your throat constricting around his cock like all the other girls, but he imagined you trying anyway, just to show him you cared.

His vision blurred out, video long forgotten as he finally came, crashing back against his pillow with ragged breaths. On the tip of his tongue laid one word—a name—and this time, he didn't hesitate.

"Y/N."

Kylian was fine. He was just fine. He'd been through plenty of step backs before to let them deter him, now.

Still, it felt like he'd been going crazy for weeks, and for more than one reason.

You hadn't talked much since that day beyond whatever was necessary. It was also partly due to the shame he felt whenever he looked at you. It was like he had developed an itch he couldn't get rid of, even after all of the scratching he did. It was probably going to take more than meaningless small talk for his itch to finally disappear.

He wanted you to show some sort of interest in him beyond the job or football. So many girls would give up anything just to have him for a night, but you were so chill about him. Did you really not care? Had he gotten it all wrong?

Whenever his thoughts got too rowdy, he reminded himself that he barely knew you and there was no point in acting like a mad-man over an ordinary woman when his life was already so chaotic. Still, he found himself growing antsy as the days passed by. 

He should've been focused on improving whatever he was lacking which—according to the internet—was everything. The weight on his shoulders was unbearable and it was only his first month with Madrid. The only thing missing was an injury.

He felt the burn in his thigh by the 70th minute against Alaves, but he pushed through it because it wasn't the first time he'd felt something like that. To his disappointment, the strain didn't fade, but rather, it increased to the point where it was obvious to Ancelotti that Kylian had to come out of the game.

Kylian was frustrated, to say the least, as he stepped off the pitch and over to the bench, a huff blowing past his lips as he plopped down onto a seat. As irritated as he was, he felt relieved as well when the sharp pain in his thigh began to ebb slightly. 

The game continued without him.

You were the first person to come to him, sinking down onto the empty chair beside him. You angled your body toward him, unintentionally bumping your knee against his. The contact was subtle, meaningless, but it made him tear his gaze away from the game in an instant to look at you instead. His eyes found yours and, like before, he felt a warmth spread across his nape, shame bubbling up inside him.

"It's something in your left leg, right?" You asked, but Kylian knew it was more of a rhetorical question. "I saw when you started limping a little. And how you started favoring your right leg as well."

Kylian couldn't help but be impressed at how easily you'd read him—and hoped that was the farthest your reading of him could go.

"Uh, yeah. I think I strained my thigh a bit, but it's nothing major," Kylian explained, tone laden with the familiar sound of dismissal. It had become a habit for him to downplay his injuries whether they were serious or not. He'd always push himself until his legs gave out because he despised missing games. Despised sitting on the sidelines and missing out on the opportunity to play because his body wasn't cooperating. "I'm sure it's nothing."

A small, almost sympathetic smile played on your lips. "Doesn't matter. I wasn't really asking. I'll check you out properly when the game's over." 

You had already decided for him. Kylian realized that you'd likely decided it before walking over to him. That realistically, there was no need for you to come over and talk to him. No one else had—which was what usually happened when he got injured in a game—just you. 

You were the only one that really noticed.

The whistle eventually blew into the air, but Kylian had forgotten the game a long time ago, eyes focusing on the details of your face, your lips, the slope of your nose, while your eyes watched the other guys.

They always watched the other guys.

Kylian expected there to be someone else in the room during his check up, but no. It was just you and him, and the obnoxious sound of the AC blasting.

He noticed pretty early on that you weren't one to talk when you worked, opting for silence instead. You hadn't told him much of what exactly you were going to do. Just that you needed to check how tight his muscles were, meaning you'd be feeling up his thigh. He didn't mean to be that kind of man, but he was almost a little eager to have your hands on his thigh after he spent so long fantasizing about you.

When your hands finally connected with his thigh, it was as if his whole body had burst into flames. His heart had begun to beat faster and faster until he felt it thump rapidly against his chest, and as you prodded at his thigh, fingers pressing into the tight muscle, he prayed to god you couldn't see how badly your touch had affected him. 

Kylian had always been confident, had always been in control, had rarely been shaken by anything, but now, with your hand fondling his thigh, he felt himself unraveling.

"Stop," he choked out, voice tight, breathless, and your fingers stilled the second you heard him, but they didn't pull away yet.

"Is it too much?" You asked, the same concern from before evident in your voice, and it only made him feel guiltier for stopping you because he couldn't control himself. "I can do it softer, I just need to—"

"No." His voice was strained, more than it had ever been in his life. He felt the panic bubble up in his throat because he had no logical way to explain why he just needed you to stop. 

You'd find out the reason. 

You'd find out the reason and be mortified and never look his way again.

His hands almost shot out to grab your face the second you turned your head back down, in hopes that he could stop you from seeing just how much you'd affected him, except he didn't, and now it was too late.

He watched as your eyes widened, a flustered look spreading across your features when you caught sight of the obvious hard-on growing in his shorts. Your hands ripped themselves from his thigh in an instant like it was venom, and he found himself missing the feeling already.

"Oh." 

He saw the way your body stiffened, like you didn't know what to do with the knowledge that you got him hard. He made you uncomfortable and it was his fault. All his fault for not being able to control himself when you were just doing your job.

"Shit, I'm sorry." The words spilled out of his mouth, a hand moving to hide himself in shame. "I—it wasn't your fault, or well it—it's just—it's always like this for me."

"It's okay, Kylian." But the hitch in your voice told him otherwise.

"It's not. I made you uncomfortable. I'm an idiot."

"We're all human. It's a normal, human reaction. It's fine, really."

For some reason, your words did little to comfort him. He found himself growing irritated instead. You were being nice—way too nice to him—like you were trying not to hurt his feelings, just like everyone else. He didn't understand you. He didn't understand you at all.

Kylian didn't reply after that, figuring it was better to leave it at that rather than arguing back and forth about who was right.

You stood there awkwardly, swaying from heel to heel, until you turned and walked over to your bag, digging inside until you found what you were looking for. You returned to him, clutching the object in your hand, a flash of red catching Kylian's eye.

"You know, I always bring a pomegranate with me on game days." Kylian's gaze flickered to the fruit as you rolled it between your palms. "Weird, right?"

If only you knew how weird he was. "Not at all." 

You smiled wryly. "It's my favorite fruit, if you couldn't already tell. You should have it."

It took a moment for Kylian to register that you had your hand out, ready to give him the fruit. He expected a lot of things, just not this. He hesitated before reaching out to grab the pomegranate, all the while ignoring the delicate way your fingers grazed his.

He clutched the fruit in his hand before looking back over at you. "Thank you," he finally said, his voice carrying an edge.

"Yeah, no problem." You nodded before something else flickered in your eyes. "But, now you owe me."

Kylian had the feeling you were only joking, but he knew he'd be more than willing to pay you back.

"Okay. I owe you, now."

For the first time since stepping into the room, Kylian felt his body ease.

And when he got home, he held the pomegranate between his palms, thumbing over the skin. Both of his thumbs dug in suddenly until the fruit broke open, juice squirting out and spilling down his arms. Yet he paid it no mind.

He brought the pomegranate up to his mouth, lips wrapping around the seeds, a moan of content leaving his mouth as a combination of sweetness and tartness spread across his tongue.

He wasn't the biggest fan of pomegranates, but you'd given it to him and that was enough for him to keep going, eating with the greed of an animal, like he'd been starving for years, until there wasn't anything left. Only the skin in his hands, the juice that spilled down his chin, and a hunger that hadn't quite been satiated.

Things had gotten a little better for Kylian. At least in terms of you, not in football. People were still claiming he wasn't doing enough. He'd heard it time and time again, yet it still bugged him. 

He tried to push down all the hurt he felt inside and shift his focus to the next match, the next interview, to whatever was important. But at night, instead of being asleep, getting the rest he needed, he stayed up to scroll on his phone, heavy-lidded eyes scanning through articles and articles of criticism until the tightness in his chest became too much to bear.

You'd become a good distraction for him—not that that was all that you were. You were more than that to him, expect, he could never say it out loud because one: you technically worked for him, and two: you'd made it clear you weren't friends. Just coworkers in a way.

Another thing that bothered him, but Kylian wouldn't push his luck. Not yet, anyway. He was content with how things were, the casual conversation, how you actually seemed like you were interested in hearing what he had to say. He didn't want to blow it up like he almost did last time.

On the day of his first Clásico, he felt like he'd gone back in time to when he was younger. Sweaty palms, heavy breaths, racing heart. Nervous. Kylian was nervous, which was the last thing he needed.

He couldn't stand still for the life of him. He swayed from heel to heel, picked and bit at his nails, darted his eyes from object to object, all in hopes of distracting himself.

Kylian gave up hope by the time he was getting ready to line up with the team by the tunnel, but before he could go far, he felt a hand touch his arm. He spun around, only to find you. You hadn't said a word yet, but your presence alone, and the way your hand lingered on his arm, was enough to ebb his nerves.

"Are you nervous?"

You reading him had become a common occurrence, a thing Kylian hadn't grown accustomed to just yet. He hated it, but liked it because he never had to admit how he felt. Somehow, you always knew.

"Crazy, right?" Kylian said, shaking his head like he couldn't believe it. "I mean, I've played football for over ten years, now."

"This is different, though," you replied, looking around the tunnel before your eyes settled on him. "Don't let their words get to you. You're better than what they say. And… I know you'll be great."

Something in Kylian shifted then. All of the noise in the tunnel drowned out. His surroundings blurred, and the only thing that was clear to him in that moment was you. It was a strange feeling. One he hadn't experienced before. It hit him harder than anything else ever had.

He'd heard the words so many times before, but none of it compared to the way it made him feel when he heard you say it.

Grounded. Warm. Calm.

He thought he was crazy for feeling that way. He spent so many years numb to the way people cared about him. Their words of love and praise always seemed forced, only spoken to make him happy, which he rarely ever felt.

But something about your words felt real. And what he felt was real.

"Thank you," he finally replied—and he meant it.

Kylian expected a couple different outcomes. Losing 0-4 in his first Clásico wasn't one of them.

The frustration grew in heaps with each step he took to the locker room. He sat and listened to whatever critiques the manager had to say. How the team needed to improve. How they were better than that.

It didn't soothe his frustration. In fact, it only flared up at the speech.

Kylian was collecting his things so he could go take a shower, to hopefully cool off and wash off all of the disgusting grime that clung to his skin, when he felt the same touch from earlier on his arm. But instead of turning around like he knew he wanted to, he shrugged it off like it meant nothing to him. "Not now."

"Kylian—"

"What part of not now don't you understand?" He hadn't meant to be so cruel. He couldn't help it. All he wanted was to be alone and wallow in self-pity. He couldn't handle being around other people in his current state.

No other words came out of you after that, but Kylian could sense the way you deflated. Your footsteps rang in his ears as you walked away, and he had to stop himself from turning around to beg for you to come back.

Fuck. He needed something strong. He needed a drink.

By 12AM, he was slumped over a bar, eleventh drink of the night resting beside him, half-empty. The bartender insisted that he should stop by the 7th drink, but he couldn't really deny Kylian Mbappé service—not with the generous tips he was receiving.

It was only when he noticed that Kylian was completely out of it that he realized he should probably do something. He was hesitant, but eventually reached for Kylian's phone. Coincidentally enough, the phone was unlocked, and on the screen read a message Kylian thought about sending—I didn't mean to snap. I can apologize properly over drinks—before he grew too wasted to do so.

The bartender fought back a laugh and called you.

You arrived twenty minutes later, completely unbeknownst to Kylian. He was too preoccupied with trying to down the rest of his drink, and failing miserably because he had the urge to vomit it all out.

He thought he was hallucinating when he heard the familiar lilt of your voice. He turned his head towards that direction, catching a flash of your figure. It must've been the world taunting him for what he had said to you earlier because there was no way you were actually here. Not after he had been such an asshole. 

Maybe he really had sent you that message.

"I got it from here, thanks."

He heard your footsteps approaching, but made no effort to move. He was quite comfortable where he was. Drowning in alcohol and not worrying about whatever was going on in his life.

"Kylian," you called out, and he noted the obvious concern in your voice. "Are you okay? Come on, get up. You need to get home."

You placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, and that was enough for him to finally turn his head all the way up. 

You really were here. Here for him.

Out of all the people he wanted to see in that moment, you were the last one. It was humiliating, after all. He was supposed to be a professional, stable, but he wasn't. Not now. Instead, he felt heavy. Light-headed. Despite all the drinks, they weren't enough to mend the hurt of that loss—and the thought that you may hate him after what he had said.

"Why're you here?" 

"Because. The bartender said you were drinking yourself to death." You sighed, eyes darting around the place. "What are you doing here with no security? You know that's dangerous."

He scoffed, like the words were ridiculous. He was a goddamn adult, not a child. "I don't need security to get a drink."

You let out a humorless laugh, your fingers flexing around his bicep. "You and I both know that's not true. Not for you. Now, get up, seriously. It's late."

Kylian wanted to argue, but he was far too drunk to bother, and his head was beginning to ache. He supposed you were right, anyway.

You helped him get up, but not without him staggering out of his seat and right into your body because the world felt like it was spinning. His hands instinctively shot out, fingers wrapping around your biceps until he stopped swaying from side to side.

He could've let go the second he gained his footing, but he didn't want to. Being in your vicinity was nice. He could look at you, at all the details he missed before. How nice your eyebrows looked. The zits along your cheek. Things he'd remember after tonight even though he wasn't sober. That was how easy it was for you to get into his head without even meaning to.

"Come on, my car's just outside," you said, nodding toward the exit. There was a subtle tightness in your voice that wasn't there before, and Kylian had the feeling that, maybe, you didn't mind being that close, either.

Each step he took was slow and steady, your warmth seeping into his side as you walked with him, and whenever he was close to stumbling forward, you were there, like a pillar, holding him up with your hand pressed against his back. He let himself lean into you, pressing his weight against you, and he could do it without looking crazy because he was drunk. 

You didn't seem to mind, and he was thankful for that.

The ride back to his place was primarily silent, save for the sound of the radio playing on low. He pressed his forehead against the glass, watching as the colors blurred together. So much so, he thought he might get sick as the urge to vomit rose up his throat. He shut his eyes, hoping it was enough to stop the nausea.

"We're almost there," he heard you say, like you knew how he felt. 

Kylian held on, just until the car came to a stop. He wanted to get out, but his body wasn't cooperating. He sat still, eyes still drooped shut. His mouth twitched, ready to ask you for help before remembering how badly he despised the idea of asking anyone for help.

His silence must've been enough of an answer for you because you were getting out of your seat and walking over to the passenger side.

"I got you," you said when you opened the passenger door. Kylian believed you without thinking twice.

You led him to the front door, where he sloppily entered the code twice before stepping inside.

"Bathroom," he slurred, pointing down the hall, and you wordlessly steered him in that direction.

The second he entered the bathroom, he let himself drop down onto his knees in front of the toilet.

"Damn," he muttered, angry at himself for getting so wasted. The constant throbbing in his head wouldn't go away, no matter how much he willed it to. He was on the verge of exploding from stress, from anger, from all of it. "Damn it all."

Kylian gripped the seat so hard, his knuckles turned white, forcing himself to gag so he could yack all of the alcohol out of his system.

He emptied himself into the toilet with so much force that his ribs ached, his throat burned, leaving behind a gross aftertaste Kylian no longer wanted in his mouth. 

It wasn't the first time he had gotten so drunk, he could barely stand, but it was the first time tears glossed over his eyes. 

Loser.

His head fell against the toilet seat, shoulders shaking as he let out a choked sob. 

He was a loser.

He'd already humiliated himself so much so why bother hiding it, now?

When he felt your hand on his back, he had the urge to cry harder.

"What's wrong?" you asked, worried—always worried. "Kylian, why are you crying?"

You just wanted to help him and he didn't like it. He couldn't understand why you hadn't just left after helping him inside. Why you even bothered showing up to the bar. Why you were still here.

He shook his head rapidly, wiping away the snot from his face. With a heavy chest, he managed to say, "you can go. You've helped me enough."

But that was beyond the truth. 

The truth was that he wanted you to stay—he needed you to stay—and he didn't know why. And that hurt. More than losing a game or hearing strangers curse his name.

"Kylian," you repeated, as if his name were something fragile. As if he were something delicate. "I can't leave you like this."

He finally plucked up the courage to look at you, eyes all red and puffy. "Why?"

"Because…" you paused, unsure of what to say. "Do I need a reason?"

Yes. He wanted to say. What's your motive here?

Instead—"Even after what I said?" He stuttered. "Even after I was an asshole?"

You let out a sigh, kneeling next to him, your velvety voice right next to his ear. "You weren't an asshole. You were just upset. I should've listened the first time you told me you weren't in the mood."

Kylian shook his head again. "No, I was," he insisted. "I can't help it sometimes, it's just… it's just that I… we lost so badly and I got angry. I always get angry and I just push people away."

His head bowed in shame. "I could've done more. I should've done more. All I've done is prove people right. I'm not even that good."

Kylian felt more vulnerable in that moment than he'd ever felt in his entire life. He felt like shit, felt heavier than he'd ever felt before. He had no reason to tell you anything because you weren't close. Weren't friends. But he couldn't control his mouth around you.

He just needed to tell someone, and he wanted to tell you.

Something cracked in your expression then. The room may have been dark, but he saw it. The way you looked at him with pity, none of which he believed he deserved.

"You're wrong," were the words that broke the heavy silence of the room. Kylian let out a dry laugh, but you continued, "the loss isn't all on you. You did what you could."

"It wasn't enough."

"Are you listening to me?" Your voice came out firmer, desperate to make him listen. "Kylian, you did what you could. This is a team sport. And—and I don't know why you bother listening to anyone else. I've never seen anyone play the way you do. You're special, and you're crazy if you think otherwise."

He opened his eyes, really opened his eyes, and in that moment, he could tell that you were serious. No faux concern. No overdoing it. Just you sat next to him, looking at him, waiting. And he felt your words like a physical thing, hitting him in ways he never thought he'd feel.

You cared.

Kylian was left defenseless under your gaze. He couldn't open his mouth. Couldn't tear his gaze away from yours. He didn't want to. He wanted to stay like that. He wanted time to slow so he could stare into your eyes longer. He wanted you to stay because for the first time in years, he felt something. Something that didn't leave him feeling hollow inside.

He didn't speak. He let his head fall forward until it landed on your shoulder. "Are you gonna leave?"

Your body stiffened, and knowing him, he'd probably spoiled the moment like he did every other one, but he didn't care. There wasn't an ounce of shame left in his body. 

"Don't." His voice was quiet, on the verge of breaking. "I can't stand being alone anymore."

It was an invitation. One he hoped you would take because watching you walk away again would hurt more than you'd ever know.

"Stay."

The room filled with a heavy silence. Kylian's throat suddenly grew tight with regret, and he held his breath, awaiting your inevitable rejection, until you said, "Okay."

It was a single word. Two syllables. Okay. Oh-kay. But it was enough for Kylian, air filling his lungs once again.

You led him to his bedroom where he flopped down onto his bed with an exhausted huff.

"Are you okay like this?"

Kylian shook his head no. "It's hot."

His fingers went to his zipper, pulling it down roughly. He got annoyed when it stopped half-way down, muttering, "stupid zipper," and realizing how childish he probably sounded. He gave up after a few more attempts, throwing his head back against the pillow in defeat.

You cleared your throat, lingering near the bed. "Do you want me to help you?"

The thought of your fingers that close shook him to his core. Considering what happened the last time you touched him like that, he was hesitant to accept. But realizing he was in no position to do it himself, he eventually nodded.

He ignored the shiver that ran down his spine as your fingers reached for his zipper, pulling it down with a calmness he hadn't, until it came all the way down.

"Lift your hips," you said, and he obeyed without hesitation.

Slowly, you tugged down his jeans, freeing him from the suffocating confines of the denim, and leaving him in nothing but his boxers. The air bit against his skin, cooling his warm legs.

"Is that okay?" 

He nodded, his body lighter than it was before.

You stood there, glancing around the room, as if you were trying to find the will to lie down next to him. Kylian noticed.

"It's okay." He shifted, scooting over and making sure to leave you enough room on the other side of the bed. "…you don't have to if you really don't want to."

Please stay.

The smile that you gave him was small, noting the nervousness that bubbled up on your features. "No, no, it's fine. It's just… I haven't slept next to anyone in a long time."

Your body finally moved forward, knees pressing into the mattress as you positioned yourself on the empty side of the bed, leaving space between you. You were far enough to where he could turn to his side, shift over, and he wouldn't touch you.

It was perfect, safe, and despite it, in his own strange way, he could still feel you. It was as if something were drawing you to him. 

Now, he wished you were closer. 

He longed to know what your weight would feel like on top of him, especially after an exhausting match. After he was left spent and boneless, body sore. You pressing down on his chest, sinking into him, and he would let you. He'd welcome your warmth seeping into his worn out body and let it bring the life back into him.

Soon, his racing heart eased into a steady pace. From the corner of his eye, he watched as your body relaxed, shoulders sagging down, chest rising slower. Your scent infiltrated his nostrils, and he inhaled the sweet smell of you.

It all brought him comfort. The way neither of you spoke. Neither of you moved. Like there was a silent understanding between the two of you—there was no need to do anything. Laying side by side was enough to satiate his need for company.

There was so much he was warring with. He spent so many nights awake, unable to fall asleep, and only when his body gave into the exhaustion did he rest.

Expect now, Kylian's eyelids drooped down. His breathing slowed, evening out, and he let it happen. Let his body relax, and for once, he could pretend that everything was okay.

As his vision blurred, and the room faded into darkness, with one final effort, he breathed out, "Goodnight, Y/N."

And he'd never get to see the crack of a smile on your face as you replied, "Goodnight, Kylian." 

There was a thumping in his head when he woke up the next morning—right next to the looming sense of shame.

The sun peaked out from beneath the cracks in Kylian's blinds, shining right into his room and hitting him in the face, prompting him groan in annoyance. He almost snuggled himself deeper into his sheets to get more sleep before the memories of last night flickered through his mind, a sick taunt of sorts.

He turned over to his stomach, his face planted in the pillow so when he screamed, it would come out muffled. Something he needed to get out of his system before he was forced to get up and face you again.

He eventually found the courage to push himself out of bed, ignoring the lingering smell of you in the air, but then paused once his eyes landed on his nightstand.

A bottle of ibuprofen. And a note.

Had to leave early for work, but I'll see you there. Make sure you take one or two before you leave. -Y/N

Of course. Last night hadn't been enough for you. You had to finish pushing the dagger into his heart.

Kylian got looks from his teammates as practice went on—his passes, his shots all sloppier than they'd normally be—looks of which he pretended were nonexistent. If he pretended everything was fine, then surely it had to be true.

Nothing had went on last night. Nothing that anyone needed to know of. 

He silently prayed that you wouldn't tell of his antics, leak information that he was drinking after a big loss to the press, or even gossip with the other staff about how pathetic he had been.

It would shatter the illusion of who he was to the public. A strong, confident leader who always knew what to say, and who was always so sure of himself. But as he passed by you in practice, and could barely look at you for a few seconds before having to look away, he wasn't so sure that was who he really was.

His confidence had wavered, leaving him vulnerable under your gaze. You could see right through all his bravado, and it shook Kylian. It made him want to run away to where you could no longer see him.

Eventually practice wrapped up and Kylian found himself running inside the building. He didn't bothering sparing anyone a glance as he changed into his normal clothes. All the while, the word coward circled in his head.

Kylian didn't want to believe he was a coward. He was just giving you some much needed space. After all, he'd bombarded you with his actions far too many times, with most of them teetering between the edge of professional and inappropriate.

As he strode to the parking lot—ready to rot in bed, probably think of you as well—his pace slowed when his ears caught the sound of laughter.

Kylian realized that he was approaching your office, and that the sound was coming from inside.

He found himself stopping a few feet away from the door, despite knowing that he should do himself a favor and pretend he hadn't heard anything. Yet that sound—it ticked something in him because it wasn't just anyone's laugh. It was yours.

The sound replayed itself in his head over and over again, that sweet, sweet sound. He hadn't heard it before, but hearing it now made a part of him feel like he was going insane.

He got closer, peering through the door's window, only to still once he caught sight of who was inside. You were there, smiling, laughing, not with a coworker like he'd originally thought, but with Jude Bellingham.

Something twisted in his stomach then, an ugly green feeling of envy spreading through his body, making him tense up. He had no right to feel this way, yet he felt it anyway.

You never laughed like that around him, you rarely ever spared him a smile.

What had Jude done to deserve you beaming up at him like that? Laughing so carefree, like you two were the only people in the world?

The longer Kylian stared, the dizzier he grew. He needed to go, needed to leave before he did something reckless, like storm inside and tell Jude to back off.

Kylian hadn't done anything to deserve that right.

He wanted to hear you laugh, but not with Jude. He wanted you to laugh with him. Now, your laugh was the sweetest torture, fading away as he walked to his ride.

In typical Kylian fashion, he chose to avoid you for the next few weeks because what better way to solve your problems than to avoid them?

Not that you were the problem. It was definitely him and his treacherous mind that seemed to think of you whenever it could. But he knew he couldn't avoid you forever, and eventually, the world would force him to face you again.

The moment came too soon for him to be prepared for it. After the game against Leganés, he received an invite from his teammates to go to dinner to celebrate the win.

He almost rejected the offer, too eager to go back to his hotel room and sleep off the aches deep in his bones. Then he heard you were coming, and now the offer sounded far too tempting for him to say no to.

He'd never seen you all dressed up before. The dress was nice—you looked nice—simple, but enough to make his breath catch in his throat. He pulled his gaze away, going back to a conversation he wasn't really listening to.

It had been an hour since the dinner had started, which meant an hour of him pretending he actually wanted to be there had passed, and the only reason he came had yet to talk to him. Not even so much as a glance his way. 

It was like Kylian was invisible, and the feeling made him uncomfortable because it was something he wasn't used to feeling.

No. You'd rather spend most of your time with Jude, laughing at his awful jokes.

Kylian wasn't jealous. He didn't get jealous. He had everything he wanted, but for some strange reason that he refused to acknowledge, he wanted you to come over to him.

He watched you from the corner of his eye, and when you placed a hand on Jude's bicep, that was all Kylian could take. He excused himself from the conversation—they barely noticed—to walk out of the room, finding a secluded area, a small balcony, just to breathe properly.

What would your father say? Kylian thought. Seeing his son so unraveled over a woman?

He was so in his head, he hadn't registered the click of heels approaching.

"Kylian."

It was enough to break his trance and throw him off all over again. The world was against him. There was no other reason for you to be here, calling his name, unless it was to torture him further.

Kylian reeled his head over to look at you in your nice dress. You were a few feet away, gazing up at him.

"Hey," he said. It was all he could bring himself to say. He looked away again, at the scenery before him. He was afraid that, if he looked at you for too long, his memory would wander in places he didn't want to be in.

"Did you need some air, too?" Your tone was casual, the opposite of how Kylian felt. He wished he could be as casual as you.

"Yeah," he murmured. "What did you need air for? You looked like you were having a good time in there."

There was probably a bitter edge to his words, one he couldn't help.

You laughed, not like the ones you let out with Jude. This time, it was amused.

"I guess I was." You hummed, your hands perching upon the balcony's railing. You were closer to him that way, and he could already feel your heat radiating off of you. "But honestly, after a while, Jude's jokes start to get annoying."

Was it bad that hearing you say that made Kylian feel a little better?

His lips twitched a little, but he fought back against letting himself chuckle. Instead, Kylian pulled back enough to look at you. His heart jumped against his chest when he found you already looking at him.

"He's not even that funny." His voice betrayed him. He tried to appear as cool as you, only to sound like a bitter boyfriend.

You smiled, wider that time. "I know. But I'd feel bad leaving the kid hanging."

Kid. Kid. Kid?

Still, he refused to get his hopes up.

"He's 21. Not exactly a kid."

"He just reminds me of having a little brother. Having to fake being entertained by his jokes." You paused. "You know what that's like, don't you? You have a younger brother."

By now, Kylian should be happy with the victory—you just called Jude a little brother. The mention of his own caught him off guard instead.

"I… do." He had no reason to be so cautious. It was public knowledge that he had a younger brother. That didn't mean you mentioning it so suddenly hadn't caught him off guard.

He supposed it had something to do with the fact that you showed no interest in him beyond the job. Or at least, it was what he chose to believe. Believing anything else would only fuel his crazy delusions.

"…but, he doesn't joke around me much anymore," he suddenly revealed, the words feeling so achingly honest, too honest for the moment, that he almost regretted speaking entirely. "I try doing it with him, but I guess he's too cool for that."

"Seeing him grow up must be hard," you remarked, somehow knowing what to say, like it came naturally to you. "But I think it's sweet. The fact that he treats you like an older brother. He might pretend to not like joking around with you, but I know deep down he enjoys your nagging."

If your plan was to cheer him up and make his heart rate quicken simultaneously, you had succeeded. Kylian couldn't help the way a smile curved up onto his lips.

"Nagging?" He asked, the word choice almost enough to elicit a chuckle from him.

He watched you falter for a split second, a first from you—which made him celebrate internally—before you grinned. "Well, I'm sure that's how your brother would describe it." Another pause from you. "And I see the way you are in practice. You like to joke around."

Maybe it was silly considering you were a physio, but even then, knowing that you had watched him, noticed his personality—remembered it—made him a little hotter, despite the cool wind blowing past him.

"I'm glad you keep tabs on me." 

"You're Kylian Mbappé. I'm sure I'm not the first lady to keep tabs on you."

"No. But you are the first one to do it like this."

It was meant to be teasing, another thing to keep the banter going because he loved it. His voice, however, came out raspier, lower, strained, as if he were fighting something back.

That desire to just touch you.

Your body tensed. Kylian saw it because he was watching you so intensely. He hadn't been able keep his eyes on you before, but now, he couldn't seem to look away.

You swallowed, tongue swiping out to lick your dried lips. The ones his gaze kept flicking to. "I'm not sure what that means."

"I'm not sure, either."

Kylian should just leave it at that. He should say his goodbyes and walk away, but that would mean another night plagued with the image of you burned into his mind—him reaching out, only to be left depleted because you weren't really there.

And Kylian, he was done restricting himself from what he really wanted. What he really needed. It was you.

"Are you doing something later?"

You shook your head. "Past 8PM? Probably not. Why—"

"Do you want to come with me?" For all Kylian had done in his career, his life, he felt as if this was by far the hardest thing he'd ever done. "I mean… I owe you still, don't I? There's a spare pomegranate in my hotel room."

He stayed calm, prepared for the worst, the inevitable no, yet it never came. What did come was your lips twitching into a smile—a real one.

"Everyone says you're so cool. So fearless. A maverick. I guess you can say that about how you play." You tilted your head, eyes gleaming up at him. "But, I think you're the strangest man I've ever met."

The smile never left your face as you backed away from the balcony's railing, slowly heading toward the exit, like you were waiting for him to follow in suit.

"How can I say no to a pomegranate from you, Kylian?"

And Kylian—he didn't hesitate to follow.

There was an incessant buzzing thrumming throughout his body on the ride back to his hotel room.

Was this really happening? He couldn't believe it. Surely he'd blink and you'd fade away from his gaze in seconds, but that hadn't happened yet.

Each step to his room felt heavier than the last, giving him one last chance to turn back before he made a mistake, but then you grinned at him, and that was all the reassurance he needed to push his door open, inviting you into his space.

It was tidy, just the way he liked it, but he could excuse your clothing being littered around his carpet this once.

Kylian reached into his bag, digging around the insides before his fingers glided along the familiar skin of a pomegranate. 

He pulled it out, turning back to you, only to catch you snickering at him. "What?"

"You actually have a pomegranate?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I?" 

Kylian hadn't meant to be funny. He was being serious about that part. He'd been saving it for when he finally got the courage to talk to you.

"No, you're right. My bad." Your fingers traced his bedsheets as you took a step closer. "You don't happen to have a knife somewhere?"

He didn't. He hadn't planned that far ahead. So he shook his head and took the fruit between his two palms. "It's okay. I can open it like this."

"But the juice will—"

Your words fell onto death ears as Kylian's thumbs dug into the pomegranate, cutting open its skin, and with enough force as he could, cracked the fruit open.

"Get everywhere…" You looked both perplexed and amused.

Kylian held out the fruit to you, the seeds glimmering underneath the lights, red, as if he were holding out his heart—offering it to you.

Take it. He thought. Take all of me.

You padded over to him, eyes flickering between his face and the pomegranate. You took it eventually with subtle hesitance. When your fingers grazed over his skin, he shivered.

"Your hands are all sticky," you said, pressing your lips together.

"It's fine, I can just wash them," he assured you, but it wasn't good enough for you. Your smile turned nervous as you set down the fruit on the nearby table.

Wordlessly, you reached for his hand, and he let you take it, feeling buzzier now more than ever before. You inspected it, watched the juice roll down his fingers, and then brought his hand closer, up to your mouth.

You paused there, his fingers barely grazing your lips just to look him in the eye. An unsure flicker passed through them, but Kylian wasn't complaining. He wasn't moving. He was barely even breathing.

He didn't know what to say to you, if he should even ask, so he kept his mouth shut and waited with baited breath.

Kylian's eyes never wandered away from you. He watched as you opened your mouth, pulling his pointer and middle fingers inside, wrapping your lips around them. All the while, your eyes never wandered from his.

"Y/n," Kylian breathed, his body trembling with the force of trying to stay still when what he truly wanted to do was take you in his arms, pull you into his bed, and love you how he wanted to be loved.

Just as quickly as you put them inside, you pulled them out. "I'm sorry."

You were so flushed now, chest heaving up and down, your expression swollen with fear, with regret, with everything akin to the way he'd felt the night you helped him.

Instead of saying anything, he slowly brought his hand up to your cheek, his palm heavy, sticky, against your skin. You both stood there for a few seconds, and the distance suddenly felt insufferable.

His thumb traced the curve of your lips, tugging your bottom lip down gently. "You don't have to say sorry to me," he whispered so softly, it almost hurt to hear.

You didn't know it, but Kylian did. He had surrendered to you a long time ago. He had surrendered for the first time in his life, and he didn't care about coming off as weak.

He was weak for you.

He always was.

He refused to lose his chance, so he surged forward, lips pressing against yours, so unlike the kisses he'd given before. There was no finesse, no stability in it. It was desperate, messy, uncoordinated, everything he tried not to be. 

He breathed in the unmistakable scent of you, sweet and entirely you, and knew he wouldn't be able to ever get it out of his head.

"Don't ever be sorry," he rasped against yours lips, voice cracking with desire.

Kylian's other hand grasped at the back of your head, fingers digging into your scalp, pushing you closer—as close as he could get you because anything less would kill him.

Your lips parted, letting out a sigh of pleasure that he swallowed. He took the opportunity to slip his tongue between your lips, gliding his over yours. It made his body tremble, and his heart raced. He felt yours too, pressed up against his chest, thumping rapidly, just like his, like your hearts were synchronized, fighting to keep themselves contained and failing miserably.

He used to body to nudge you forward, practically refusing to pull his lips away from yours, and yanked you down with him, your back hitting the bed, making sure to land over you softly.

"Can I touch you?" he asked, the words coming out as more of a plead. "Please, let me touch you."

You nodded your head the second he stopped talking. "Yes. Yes, Kylian, please, touch me."

Kylian nodded feverishly, planting kisses upon your cheek, your jawline, down your neck, over the fabric of your dress, feeling your body react to all of it.

His hands were practically shaking as they snaked underneath your dress, grazing your panties, but he didn't take them off yet. He let his fingers graze over your clothed slit, the fabric already dampened, a groan ripping itself from his throat at the feeling.

He would've loved to bury himself inside you in that very moment. However, the urge to satisfy you, to make you feel good, was stronger.

Kylian lifted your dress just enough to reveal your panties—pink, lace, beautiful.

He hooked his fingers underneath the fabric, sliding it down with anticipation, revealing everything to him. Everything he'd dreamed of was on full display, right in front of him.

His cock twitched, strained against the denim he was wearing. "You're so beautiful," he said in awe. 

Kylian leaned down, leaning in closer, parting your legs further to give him enough space, hooking a leg around his shoulder, your dress riding up further. Centimeters away, he inhaled your scent, his breath fanning over your bare pussy.

He glanced up at you one last time, making note of your appearance—mouth open, already disheveled, despite barely touching you.

Then, he was moving, mouth attaching itself to your cunt, licking a stripe up your slit before flattening his tongue against your clit, wrapping his lips around it, sucking like his life depended on it.

Each moan that fell from your open mouth only egged him on, made him more desperate to push you over the edge, to see how you looked when you came.

He lapped up your arousal, letting out a pathetic moan as if he were the one being touched. On instinct, his hips twitched, grinding down against the bed, chasing the sweet sensation of friction.

He brought a hand up to grip your plush thigh, spreading you open further, eating you up like he had been starving for years.

You let out a gasp, head falling back against his bed. God, did he love that sound.

With his other hand, he dragged it up, using two fingers to spread your folds apart, spitting inside your cunt—hot, messy—before slipping those two fingers inside.

"You taste so good." His voice is absolutely wrecked, taking in the glorious sight of you flushed, your eyes glazed over with pleasure. "Can't get enough of you, chérie."

The name slipped out on accident, but you didn't seem to mind considering the way your pussy had just spasmed around his fingers, clenching down harder on them.

He dragged them out before pushing them back inside, eliciting a cracked moan from you. "Oh, fuck, Kylian."

"I know," he heaved out, lips reattaching themselves around your clit, fingers moving in tandem. He was chasing your high just as much as you were. "I'll help you come, baby."

He was relentless with only one goal in mind—making you come. And he could tell it was working, could sense the way you had become overstimulated, your senses overwhelmed with pleasure.

"Kylian, I can't—"

Your vision blurred, head thrown back, mouth open, crying out against the bed as your orgasm ripped through you. Kylian didn't move. He stayed right where he was, his fingers slowing, helping you ride through your high until your body relaxed.

Kylian was breathing as heavily as you, and though he loathed the idea of pulling away from you, preferring to stay right where he was, inhaling you, he chose to sit up on his knees, getting a good look at you.

Your chest raised slowly, up and down, reminding him that this was real. It was real. You were real. So fucking real.

"Are you okay?"

"More than okay," you breathed out, your eyes finally fluttering open to look at him, then down at the way his cock was straining against his pants. "I don't think you are, though."

He followed your eyes, but he didn't feel any shame. Not like the last time you had seen him like that where he wanted to die.

Now if he died, it wouldn't be out of embarrassment. He would die happily if it meant having you wrapped around him.

"I don't have a condom." Not that he actually cared. He was just being considerate.

"That's fine."

God. If he hadn't been hard already, he definitely would be after hearing you say that.

He freed himself from his jeans in seconds, his cock already leaking, heavy, unraveled, maneuvering himself until his thighs were touching yours. He almost wanted to say I love you then and there, but it was far too soon.

That could wait. Kylian couldn't.

He pushed his hips forward, his cock nudging your entrance, both of you twitching. He kept his eyes on yours, and yours on his. A thing he would've considered meaningless now meant everything to him.

He managed to push past your folds, splitting you open, and his eyes grow wider with each nudge forward until he was fully cocooned inside you.

Your pussy spasmed around him, at the wide stretch, and he grew dizzier from how hard you were squeezing him. It almost brought a tear to his eye.

"Putain," he cursed, his voice cracking. "Don't squeeze me like that—I'll come."

He wasn't ashamed to admit it. He was far past having shame around you. 

Kylian forced himself to pause for a few seconds, watching you intently, making sure you were comfortable enough to move on. Then, he shifted backward, his mouth falling open as he pushed inside you again, watching as your tits bounced with the force of his thrust.

"Keep going," you whined.

With each thrust, Kylian moved faster and faster until his pace grew ragged, desperate, keeping an eye on your expression. You wouldn't fade away this time. You wouldn't because this was real.

Being inside you was intoxicating, your cunt warm, your walls turning gummy around him as he stretched you further. He pulled back all the way, his tip still nudged between your folds before slamming back inside.

"You feel so good," he grunted, his hands gripping your hips, pushing you down against him. "So good—oh god—this pussy's so good."

He was mindlessly blabbering, unable to concentrate on anything but the feeling of your walls wrapped around his dick. There was nothing more he wanted than to stay inside you. He would die content if it was with him inside of you.

Kylian leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his chest pressing down onto you. "'m gonna come." He sounded like he was on the verge of breaking. "Gonna come inside you, need to come inside you, please, please—"

Your pussy pulsed around him, sucking him in deeper, involuntary answering him. You nodded hastily, your hands gripping his shoulders. "Please, Kylian."

"Come on my dick," he begged until his body was convulsing, his dick twitching, making sure to bury himself to the hilt as he spilled inside you, white-hot, giving you everything, all of him.

His mouth stayed open, feeling your back arch against him with the force of your own orgasm until your body fell limp.

In the aftermath, you were both left slick with sweat, chests heaving against each others, skin to skin.

Kylian's muscles ached, the good kind. It took a while for either one of you to move. Kylian didn't want to because he was selfish. He wanted to stay there, keep you plugged up with his come. But when he managed to come to his senses, with visible reluctance, he forced himself to pull out, a hiss spilling from between his clench teeth.

His dick glistened with your arousal. It wasn't obscene to him. In fact, he thought it was beautiful.

He hovered over you for a few more seconds, basking in the afterglow, and then asked, "are you okay?"

Your lips twitched up. "You're so sweet."

Kylian actually blushed at that. "I just want to make sure… it wasn't too much, was it?"

You brought your lips up to his, planting a soft kiss over them, the kind that couples would give each other. Kylian's breath hitched because even after having sex with you, you still had that affect on him.

"Best I ever had."

Kylian smiled too, dimples appearing. "Are you just saying that?"

"Wish I was," you admitted, eyelids growing heavy. "I guess Kylian Mbappé is good at everything."

He paused at that, blinking down at you before rolling over to lie next to you. "That's what everyone thinks, but I don't think it's very true."

Was he souring the moment? He hoped not. He was just in the mood to be strangely honest. He never had the chance to in his previous sexual encounters. It had always been just sex. But he didn't want it to be justsex with you.

He wanted more.

Kylian could feel your gaze on him, heavy, curious, not pitying like he expected it to be.

"To think I thought you were another self-righteous footballer." You sighed, thinking over your words carefully. "And maybe you are a little, but I see past it. You're just a man. I saw it in all of our interactions, and I can admit that I never let any of them go. You're just a man and that's a good thing. I'm… grateful that you let yourself be vulnerable with me. But I'm not sure why me."

His heart jumped. He thought his body would tense up, and that his first instinct would be to put his walls up. Instead, he let himself relax.

"I'm not sure why either, but…" He opened his arms a bit wider. An invitation. "I like talking to you. And I think I'd like if you stayed. Only if you want to."

He never asked anyone that sober before.

Kylian couldn't find the strength to look over at you, the fear of rejection overcoming him once again.

He heard the rustle of his bed sheets, and the weight of you piling on top of him, grounding him, reminding him that it wasn't his imagination playing tricks on him.

Your chest rested upon his chest, your ear pressed right where his heart lay, beating for you.

"I do want to."

His arms wrapped around you, holding you closer, encouraging you to put all your weight on him. Put everything on him. He would carry it, just as you had carried his previous burdens.

An unspoken form of love—it was all he longed for.

He knew then that he didn't have to admit it out loud, and neither did you.

It came in the way his eyes grew heavy with exhaustion. He wasn't afraid to fall asleep first. He let sleep take over his body, carrying him away until he was drifting asleep.

In his final moments before losing consciousness, he held you close, smiling because he knew what you had said. 

"Goodnight, Kylian."

"Goodnight, Y/n."

translated from french mon acour—my love tu m'as tellement manqué—i missed you so much alors… comment s'est passé le congrès—how did the conference go ma chérie, c'est si bon de te voir—my dear, is so good to see you et ta mère, elle va bien—and your mother, is she doing well?

The front door swung open.

You had heard the commotion in the hallway a few moments earlier, low voices, the shuffle of shoes on the tiled floor, the faint metallic clink of something heavy being shifted. Kylian’s schedule was etched in your mind after so many overlapping seasons: he should still be at Valdebebas for at least another hour, maybe longer if they were doing extras. The surprise dinner you’d planned, pasta slowly simmering, parmesan freshly grated, the kitchen warm and lived-in, had been timed with care. You weren’t here to disrupt his rhythm, this was simply a quiet gesture, the kind real couples carved out when lives pulled them in different directions.

“I swear, it’s just a tiny—”

His voice carried through the doorway first, familiar and laced with that trademark mix of exasperation and charm, mid-sentence as if continuing an argument that had started in the car or the elevator. Then the door swung fully open, and everything paused.

Kylian stood frozen just inside the apartment, one hand still on the door handle, training bag slung loosely over his shoulder. Behind him, Marc, the club physiotherapist, carried a hard black medical case, while Isabelle, his long-time player liaison who had been with him since the Saint-Germain days, hovered with her iPad and that perpetually composed expression. She was older, elegant, unfazed by football drama but deeply attuned to Kylian’s rhythms.

Your boyfriend blinked, surprise washing over his face so genuinely that your stomach did a small flip despite the immediate knot of worry forming.

“…Mon cœur?”

The words came out softer than the hallway debate, laced with disbelief and a spark of delight that cut through the fatigue etched beneath his eyes. His mouth curved into that boyish smile you knew so well, the one that reached all the way despite the subtle tension in his posture. You could already see it, the way he favored his right side ever so slightly even while standing still, the minor hitch that most people would miss but that sent a quiet thread of worry through your chest.

He wasn’t supposed to be home this early, not with company, not unless something had pulled him off the pitch.

A slow smile tugged at your lips despite the knot forming in your stomach. “Surprise,” you said lightly, setting the spoon down. “I got back this afternoon.”

Kylian’s whole face transformed. The corner of his mouth lifted into that trademark grin, the one that lit up stadiums and press conferences alike, before he let out a low, delighted laugh.

"Give me a second," Kylian said over his shoulder, he shrugged his windbreaker off as he stepped inside, tossing it onto the console table with the kind of accuracy that came from doing it every day, before giving Marc a small nod toward the apartment. "Close the door, will you?" Only then did he make his way toward the kitchen. His gait was almost normal, enough that most people wouldn't have thought twice about it, but every few steps his right leg hesitated just enough to betray him.

It wasn't dramatic, just a careful shift of weight, a fraction less push-off than usual, but you caught it immediately, long before he reached you.

“You made dinner?” His gaze flicked to the stove, then back to you, softening with something deeper than hunger. Without missing a beat, he glanced over his shoulder at Marc and Isabelle, voice dripping with playful theatrics. “Well… you two can leave now,” he announced, gesturing loosely with his free hand, the charm turned up to full Mbappé levels. “Clearly I’ve recovered. Private recovery session incoming.”

The line landed perfectly. Marc snorted, and Isabelle’s lips curved into a knowing smile, but she shook her head with fond exasperation. Your boyfriend caught your eye again, the corner of his mouth lifting into a small, conspiratorial smile before giving you a quick wink as if the conversation behind him no longer mattered.

That single quip, tired as he was, mildly annoyed at the injury, yet instantly prioritizing you, felt exactly like the boy Isabelle used to taking care of in early Paris games: cheeky, affectionate, and completely unafraid to tease the people tasked with keeping him in one piece.

Isabelle sighed with the weary fondness of someone who had spent years losing the same argument. "One day," she said, "you're going to discover we're usually right." Kylian let out an incredulous laugh, looking to Marc for support only to find the physiotherapist already nodding in agreement. "Unbelievable," he muttered, earning another laugh from the pair. The easy banter gave you just enough time to step around the counter and greet them properly with a warm smile and a small wave. It wasn't until your attention returned to Kylian that the warmth in your expression quietly faltered.

You noticed the limp the moment he took those first careful steps forward. Subtle, but there, his right leg never quite accepting full weight, a minor hesitation that most fans scrolling highlight reels would never catch. Usually he’d push straight through something like this. The fact that he was home early, escorted by staff, sent a quiet ripple of worry through your chest.

“Kyky…”

He reached you in the kitchen, one hand finding your waist with easy familiarity while the other brushed dampness from the shower from his own forehead. The touch grounded everything, the faint scent of his shower gel mixing with garlic and tomatoes, the warm ambient light spilling across the countertops. His shoulders were still tight with the residue of training, but they eased a fraction as he drew you closer.

“I’m okay,” he murmured, forehead dipping toward yours. “Precautionary. Just a little adductor pull during acceleration work. Planted awkwardly, nothing dramatic.” The humor lingered in his voice, that signature lightness cutting through the fatigue. “I feel fantastic now, honestly, bebé.”

Isabelle draped her blazer over a nearby chair with efficient grace, the two staff inside the star's apartment slowly walking towards you and Mbappé, the familiriaty of colleagues being thrown in the Madrid night air as they got closer to where you both stood.

“We’ll give you two a proper hello,” she said, her tone carrying that maternal steadiness. “Treatment table’s still in the car. Ten minutes.” She shot Kylian a pointed look, no stairs, no heroic, but there was affection beneath it. Marc set the case down with a soft click, exchanging a quick glance with her before they slipped back out.

The door clicked shut.

The apartment felt smaller, softer, the professional “game face” melting away as Kylian’s shoulders dropped fully. He let out a slow breath against your hair, both arms wrapping around you now, holding you close in the quiet hum of the kitchen.

« Tu m’as tellement manqué, mon cœur… » The words were a low murmur against your skin, rich with quiet longing. His voice carried that familiar warmth, the one reserved only for these stolen pockets of normalcy.

You smiled, unable to help it, your hands sliding up his chest. “I’ve only been gone four days, Kyky.”

“I know.” A soft chuckle rumbled through him. “Still a tragedy.”

You laughed quietly, the sound mingling with the gentle simmer of the sauce on the stove and the distant hum of Madrid traffic filtering through the tall windows.

He leaned in then, kissing you slowly, unhurried, lingering just a second longer than usual, as though savoring the taste of home after days apart. When he pulled back, he didn’t go far. One hand traced higher along your back while the other rubbed slow, absentminded circles against your waist, his touch warm and grounding amid the savory scent of garlic and tomatoes filling the kitchen.

« Alors… » he murmured, studying your face with that intent gaze, like he needed to memorize every detail to make up for lost time. « How was the congress? »

The question came so naturally it almost made you forget the subtle hitch in his step when he’d crossed the room. You told him about the long days, the endless speeches, the half the room pretending to follow the keynote graphs, and your own presentation that had gone better than expected. He listened with genuine interest, chuckling at the familiar absurdity of it all, his thumb still tracing gentle patterns on your hip.

“And you?” you asked gently, searching his expression.

Kylian's smile settled, the playfulness easing into something more honest. He shrugged one shoulder, still holding you close. “Normal session, acceleration work... The staff stopped me before I could push through.” He paused, reading the concern in your eyes. “I argued, of course, but they won this time.”

Your fingers drifted from his hair to the side of his face, tracing the line of his jaw, the kitchen felt smaller, warmer, the golden light from the overhead fixtures casting soft shadows across the countertops, the faint steam rising from the pan behind you. “You came home early,” you said softly. “You never do that.”

“I know.” His voice was quieter now. Silence stretched comfortably between you, thick with years of learning each other’s truths beneath the public answers.

You searched his eyes carefully, the kind of attentive look that came from loving someone whose body was both his greatest gift and occasional adversary. He didn’t look away. He simply let you study him, tired, mildly annoyed at the interruption to his flow, frustrated with the minor betrayal of his adductor, but not scared, no hidden tension, no minimization that didn’t hold up.

Eventually, a small, amused smile tugged at his lips. « Bébé… » He brushed his thumb across your hip again, voice dropping softer. "Look at me."

“I am looking.”

“No. Look at me, not the injury.” His smile deepened, gentle and reassuring. “I’m okay. If I’d been stubborn and stayed on the pitch, Marc would’ve reminded me how stupid I was for the next month. I’d rather miss three days than three weeks.”

You held his gaze a moment longer, testing for any flicker. You found none, only the honest exhaustion of a man who had learned the hard way when to listen. Your shoulders relaxed, and he sensed it immediately, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead with quiet triumph. "See?"

“I hate when you’re reasonable,” you murmured, a smile playing on your lips.

“I know.” His eyes sparkled with that boyish mischief. “It’s very inconvenient. I can be unreasonable tomorrow if it helps.”

“You probably will.”

“Oh, definitely.”

The easy rhythm wrapped around you both like a blanket, the kind of domestic exchange that grounded everything beyond the headlines and stadium lights. For a moment, it was simply the two of you, your independent lives intersecting here in his kitchen, pasta sauce bubbling softly, his arms still around you as if he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.

The apartment door opened again before the moment could stretch further. Marc stepped inside backwards, carrying the folded treatment table over one shoulder, while Isabelle followed with the portable ultrasound unit tucked neatly beneath her arm.

“There he is,” Marc announced dryly. “Patient of the year.”

“I’m literally standing,” Kylian replied, though he didn’t pull away from you, only loosening one arm while keeping the other securely at your waist.

“Exactly,” Isabelle said without missing a beat, her tone warm but firm. “And we’d like to keep it that way.” She set the ultrasound down with practiced efficiency, already glancing toward the living area as if mentally mapping the best spot for the table.

Kylian sighed dramatically, pressing one last quick kiss to your temple before glancing at you with a conspiratorial glint. “See?” he muttered under his breath. “Five minutes together and they’re already interrupting.”

“They’re keeping you employed,” you whispered back, lips twitching.

“I preferred your first answer,” he teased softly, the corner of his mouth lifting in that signature way that made the whole room feel lighter.

Isabelle’s gaze shifted to you, and her expression softened instantly into something genuinely maternal and affectionate. She crossed the kitchen with a few graceful steps, pulling you into a quick, warm hug that smelled faintly of her signature light perfume. “Ma chérie, it’s so good to see you,” she said in French, her voice rich with that familiar Parisian warmth. “You look lovely. The congress went well, I hope? What about your mother, is she alright?”

You returned the hug easily, smiling. The two of you had always gotten along, Isabelle had known Kylian long enough to treat you like family rather than just “the girlfriend,” offering quiet advice and gentle teasing in equal measure.

“It was productive. Long, but good to be back. Mom's doing great as well. Just complaining that I've been coming to Madrid more than Paris for the last few months.”

Marc offered a polite nod and a quick “Hello” from the edge of the kitchen, keeping a respectful distance. Kylian caught his eye and gave a small, approving nod, silently granting permission for him to move deeper into the apartment. Marc headed off toward the small gym room down the hall, the treatment table balanced easily on his shoulder, his footsteps fading against the hardwood.

Kylian stayed right where he was, one arm still looped around your waist, listening with quiet contentment as you and Isabelle exchanged a few more pleasantries, light updates about travel and how the apartment had felt too quiet without you. His thumb continued its slow, soothing rhythm against your side, a subtle anchor amid the conversation.

After a moment, Isabelle glanced toward the hallway with a knowing smile. “I’ll go help Marc set up. We won’t be long.” She gave your arm a gentle squeeze, her eyes sparkling with understanding. “Enjoy your hello. Properly this time.”

As soon as she disappeared down the hall, Kylian turned his full attention back to you. He studied your face carefully, the playful glint in his eyes giving way to something warmer, almost protective.

He glanced over at the simmering pan, and his eyes lit up with genuine excitement.

“Pasta,” he said, a boyish grin spreading across his face. “You have no idea how good that smells right now, bebé.”

He studied your face for another quiet moment, taking in details he hadn't seen over video calls, the faint traces of makeup you'd never quite managed to wash off after traveling, the way a loose strand of hair had escaped behind your ear, the familiar expression that only ever belonged to home.

"Have you eaten properly today, mon cœur?" The question came softly, almost as an afterthought. Before you could answer, he continued. "With the flight... and the congress..." He shook his head a little. "You always forget when things get busy."

He searched your eyes for a second, his expression gentling even further.

"You're okay?" he asked quietly. "Not too tired?"

You couldn't help smiling. It wasn't unusual for him to check in like this after you'd been away, especially knowing how easily you'd get caught up in work when you were excited about it.

Leaning into him, you rested one hand lightly against the front of his training top, the lingering scent of shower gel mixing with your body wash.

"I'm okay, Kyky," you assured him. "I ate on the flight."

His eyebrows lifted just enough to say really?

"Promise," you added, already smiling because you'd recognized the look.

Only then did his shoulders loosen. He nodded once, almost imperceptibly, before leaning down to brush another unhurried kiss against your forehead. His nose lingered briefly against your hair afterwards, taking a slow breath that sounded suspiciously like relief.

"Good," he murmured, one arm tightening around your waist for just a moment.

Before you could reply, Marc’s voice drifted in from the living room, patient but insistent. “Kylian.”

Your boyfriend closed his eyes, pressing his face into your hair with a quiet groan. “Ignore him,” he muttered, the words half-muffled and entirely unserious.

You laughed softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Kyky.”

“Five more minutes.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. He sighed with dramatic reluctance, stealing one last quick kiss, easy and familiar, before his forehead rested against yours for a beat longer. “This is harassment,” he declared under his breath, though the grin tugging at his mouth gave him away.

“It’s your medical team.”

“Same thing.” He squeezed your hand once, light and instinctive, before finally pulling away with the exaggerated resignation of a man being sent to his doom. “You’re taking their side, I don't like it.”

“I’m taking the side of your adductor,” you replied lightly.

“Traitor.” The word carried no heat, only that playful spark that always surfaced when he was caught between what he wanted and what his body needed.

With one final glance over his shoulder, he headed toward the living room. Marc had already unfolded the treatment table near the sofa, the portable ultrasound ready on the coffee table. Isabelle stood nearby, tapping notes into her iPad without looking up. Kylian dropped onto the edge of the table with a theatrical sigh.

“Miraculously recovered?” Marc asked dryly.

“Apparently not.”

You turned back to the stove, lifting the lid to let another wave of fragrant steam rise. The sauce was still perfect, the pasta nearly ready. Behind you, the familiar rhythm of low questions, answers, and the rustle of medical tape blended into the quiet sounds of home. It wasn’t the quiet evening either of you had pictured when you’d planned the surprise, but as Kylian glanced back and caught your eye across the room, the small, tired smile he gave you said he didn’t really mind. Not one bit.

author's note — hello ballblr my name is zerocoded. ig i overdid the french sentences for the non-french speakers like me, 'm sorry 😔. pretend i'm not spamming football content in my kpop dominant account pls. you'll see a lot of me here for the next couple of days pls don't hate me.

A — Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

I believe before Kylian started dating you, he was sort of lacking in this department. Not that he neglected the women he had been with before, but it wasn’t anything serious to him. After he met you, however, he realised the importance of aftercare.

Now, Kylian always makes sure to be attentive to your needs and absolutely puts you before himself. No matter how the night went, whatever position he was in, as soon as you both tap out, he's at your beck and call. Cupping your face gently and double—no—triple checking to make sure you are okay.

After you both are cleaned up and back in bed, he's very cuddly. Prefers when you're facing him so he can hold you to his bare chest, gently stroking the curve of your head while his other hand runs up and down your side.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Kylian loves his hands. He's known that you've loved them well before you both started dating, so he's always used them to his advantage. When you're both fighting for the upper hand in bed, those slender fingers are a cheat code.

He loves the size difference too—your hand looks so small compared to his. It's the first he notices when he puts his hand into yours. It drives him crazy, thinking about how he notices it when he's pinning you down with his hands, too.

On you, Kylian loves your thighs. He loves to lay his head in your lap, the soft plush of your skin being the best pillow. But he also loves the feeling of your thighs claiming shut around him as he eats you out like a deprived, needy man. He will wrap his arms around them as he does so, hands gripping your flesh. And when he's particularly desperate, he will squeeze your thighs around his face, feeling the need to be absolutely suffocated by you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’s not particularly picky, especially in the earlier years. Loved to cum on you—thighs, stomach, and maybe even your face. He liked seeing you marked with more than just his lovebites and what better way to finish (literally) the night?

But now, Kylian loves to cum inside you over everything. The more serious your relationship gets, the more his desires change. Develops a serious breeding kink. Realistically, he knows he's in his prime, and you're far too deep into your career to think about children, but he can't help but let his mind swirl with the ‘what ifs,’ and suddenly he's coming more than once inside.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Kylian would never suggest this to you, but in the darkness of a hotel, when you're miles away, and he's all alone, he wishes he had a tape of you going down on him. Only for him. However, Kylian is too nervous about someone hacking into his iCloud and having it uploaded to the internet. He would rather die.

Despite his fears, the idea drives him wild while you’re apart.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Even though the man has been busy with football his whole life, Kylian is pretty experienced given his fame; he knows what he's doing. It works perfectly when you both want to try new things.

If you get with Kylian in his younger years (2017-2019), then he's pretty average. Knows the basics and knows a few tricks from the hookups he's had, but you learn together for the most part. However, Kylian is very perceptive and naturally talented in everything he does/tries so even if he isn't sure, he will figure it out in seconds to make you feel good.

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

I feel like he has a top three: reverse cowgirl, doggy style, and missionary. And Kylian can't choose only one because he fucking loves all of them. But if we take his love for your thighs and ass into consideration, then doggy style would be his favourite because he loves the way your ass perks up in front of him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Kylian definitely doesn’t ruin the moment, but when you are intimate in the mornings, especially, his mischievous personality gets the best of him. Maybe a little chuckle or two, a few jokes. Nothing ridiculously cheesy.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Well groomed. I don't think he gets fancy with it, but he definitely doesn't let it get out of hand.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

As I’ve said before, a younger Kylian didn’t really care about this with his hookups. They were just hookups. But when he met you, he valued romantic and emotional connection during sex highly. A gentleman after everything, and I could see him being into pillow talk—unless he is too tuckered out from his match (and sex).

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

You try to spend as much time together as possible, but with Kylian’s crazy schedule, he ends up having to jerk off pretty often. He would like to wait to see you again, of course, but sometimes he can't help it. Kylian thinks about you all the time, and when you're not there, he gets imaginative. (Pro: he gets new ideas on how to spice things up the next time he sees you.)

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

I think this goes without saying. Again; he definitely has a breeding kink. Listen, he's young and doesn't have the time to commit to being a father right now, but have you seen him with children? I think he wants to have several in the future. And the idea that you will be their mother immediately gets him hard at the thought of it.

Kylian also speaks three different languages; so rest assured that he will be grunting dirty babble into your ear. Especially if he's frustrated after a loss, he doesn't shut up. And the way you react by squirming and moaning even louder? It urges him to be oh-so condescending. He would be laughing at you if it were any other situation.

On the softer side, Kylian loves when you compliment him and praise him while you're having sex, especially if you're on top of him, riding him, and telling him how good he makes you feel, how much you adore his cock. But he also enjoys praising you, cooing at your reaction to each compliment. (again: big fan of dirty talk.)

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

For peace of mind, Kylian’s favourite place to have you is the bedroom but he also loves bending you over things. The back of the couch, the kitchen counter, hell, you name it, he's probably bent you over it or planning on it at least once.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It's the little things with Kylian. If you interact with children around him in any way. Or if you are touchy-feely with him. Sends him reeling when you hold his hand and graze your thumb back and forth absentmindedly against his.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Nothing that involves you getting hurt. He might indulge in some spanking and maybe squeeze your neck a little while he fucks you, but nothing beyond that. Kylian would never think to harm you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

I think right now, Kylian prefers to give rather than to receive. As I said before, he loves everything about your thighs and the way they latch onto the sides of his head as he goes down on you. But he would never say no to the sight of you on your knees, struggling to get all of his cock inside your sweet mouth. Which is just as addictive as burying his face between his face and eating you out.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Again, it depends on the context. Kylian is slow and sensual when you're doing it first thing in the morning or maybe after date night. He needs to feel you, but doesn't have too much energy to make it fast and rough. But for the most part, Kylian is fast and rough. Have you seen him on the pitch? After a few days of not seeing you or after a frustrating loss, he gets desperate and needs to ruin you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

A younger Kylian, like most people, wouldn't mind. Sometimes he needed that extra boost in confidence before an important match, and he would always have you at any chance he could get. Plus the adrenaline rush of such a spontaneous rendezvous was extremely exciting to him.

But currently, quickies aren't Kylian’s favourite thing ever. He prefers to take his time with you, to get the full experience of being connected to you—even if he is rough. For him, spending the whole night together is better than twenty quickies in a day.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Kylian is quite risky. He would never put you in an extremely embarrassing position, but he would do you anywhere, whether there are people around or not. Think maybe the empty locker rooms, office, or a bathroom at a Michelin-star restaurant.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Unsurprisingly, Kylian’s stamina is a fucking beast. He is an athlete after all, and he is regarded as one of the fastest footballers. It's like he has a recovery time of near zero—Kylian is always ready for round two—three—four with you. You end up being the one who needs a break.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I don’t see Kylian owning any toys while dating you. He strikes me as more of a simple man who prefers to please you with his fingers or cock. But as I said before, he is open to anything as long as it doesn’t harm you. And who knows? Maybe you both will discover something new you like.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

I mean, we all know Kylian loves to tease. It's one of his favourite things in the world.

From something small like touching your arm or waist when you're doing chores around the house, to something much bigger like sending you dirty texts when you're halfway across the world from him. He loves feeling you tremble in his arms every time he touches you, even if it's innocently; and when you're flustered in public, trying to hold yourself back? A piece of art that belongs in the Louvre.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

I feel like Kylian isn't the loudest, but he definitely makes some pretty, quiet sounds when he's inside you. He can't help it.

I see him more as a dom than a sub, so as I said before, he loves to grunt out dirty things—stumbling over his words as he relentlessly thrusts into you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the person)

Although Kylian isn’t the biggest fan of quickies… he may have fucked you in some secluded area at Real Madrid’s campus after a hard match that left him fuming with anger. The press, his managers, and the entire team were looking for him, wondering where the hell he was, while he was fucking you mercilessly in some bathroom or closet.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Normal, maybe slightly above average. Maybe around 7 inches?

I feel like it’s thick, though. And he knows how to use it, which actually is the only thing that matters. I feel like he has a pretty cock—like those that are nice to look at. It looks delicious when he’s hard; all veiny and with a nice, thick head.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High as fuck. We already said that you have to spend some days apart from time to time, so he knows he won’t be able to be with you all the time; thus, he always has his hands on you and gets horny pretty easily. In fact, stress doesn’t kill his drive but rather makes it skyrocket. I’m sending prayers in advance.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Bless him. Kylian puts everything into sex, so he’s usually tired after everything. He stays up to clean each other up, have some deep pillow talk—but he eventually lets sleep cascade over him. He’s so exhausted that he will fall asleep with you tightly in his arms. And there’s no place on this planet that Kylian would rather be at.

You couldn't believe you were married to her.

To Joan Ferguson.

The notorious stone-faced governor of an entire prison. To others she was stern, cold hearted, cruel. But to you she was sweet, kind, caring. Sure she was a tough nut to crack, but once those walls were down she became the easiest person to know. Inside, she was just a big softie.

And here she was, standing in the doorway, one hand on her hip while the other casually laid flat against the doorframe. She was wearing a matching black lace set that hugged her frame perfectly, and pushed her tits up. You could see the nerves radiating all around her.

The two of you have never been intimate before. Joan originally wasn't ready, clearly anxious about the whole ordeal. And you accepted that. It didn't bother you one bit, you left the ball in her court, letting her know that when she was ready, you'd be there for her.

You were okay with not doing anything. Her presence alone along with the cuddles and the kisses were all more than enough to keep you satisfied.

And now, seeing her standing in front of you with a red hue to her cheeks and the matching set adorning her beautiful figure, you couldn't help the giggle that fell past your lips. You covered your face in the pillow and groaned, a smile visibly plastered on your face.

"Fuck..." you bit your lower lip, looking back at the woman in front of you. "Baby... I— you— are you sure?" You were sure you looked like a kid in a candy shop admiring and drooling over sweets.

"I'm sure.." She smiled and shook her head at your reaction. She was blushing like crazy, and you had never seen her this bashful. "You like it?" She asked, slowly spinning in a circle so you could eye all of her, and immediately check out her plush ass.

Her salt and pepper hair fell loosely down her back, and the image in front of you nearly had you drooling. "My god, I love it," you squealed, unable to contain yourself any longer. "Baby, come here," you urged her.

Joan chuckled, before sauntering over towards the bed, her hips swaying more than usual as she walked. You could feel yourself getting giddier as she drew closer.

You could see her nerves slowly dissipate when she reached the end of the bed. To reduce the nerves more, you praised her as she crawled onto the bed towards you. Your legs spread to welcome her in, arms opening wide to make room for her to crawl on top of you.

"You look so damn beautiful," you murmured as she straddled your hips. "I can't believe I get the honor of calling you my wife." Your hands were quick to fly to her full, round hips, holding her close to you.

Her hair fell perfectly down and around your face as she engulfed you in a passionate kiss. Words had left her in the moment. You could feel her clammy hands as both of them made home on your cheeks, pulling you impossibly closer.

Your hands grabbed at the plushness of her ass. Joan's lips parted in quiet sigh, making room for your tongue to slide into her mouth. It wasn't a battle for dominance, but sheer desperation from both of you as the kiss turned heated.

You could feel Joan rock her hips forward, searching for friction. One hand left her ass to come to her front and grab a handful of her full breast. Fingers pinched at her hardened nipple, eliciting the first moan you've ever heard the woman make.

In an instant, you flipped her over to have her lay flat against the bed while you sat atop of her, gazing down at her with a newfound hunger in your eyes. Her hands gripped firmly at your thighs as she gazed up at you with blown out pupils.

"You're shaking..." You murmured, the fingers on your thighs noticeably trembling. Lips met once more in a small, reassuring kiss. "We don't have to rush into anything—"

"Nonsense, just keep going.." She sighed, holding your head as you kissed your way down her body. Lips wrapped around her rosy nipple, licking and sucking on her supple flesh, other hand gripping at her large breast. "I need you, baby.." Joan's fingers threaded softly through your hair. "I want this. I want you."

You made sure her tit was lathered before switching to the other, squeezing and kneading at her breast. Joan deserved all of your attention. Every inch of her.

"God, I could live here," you mumbled against her skin, mouth full of her. "My wife is so damn beautiful.."

My wife. Those two words had Joan shivering. She didn't realize how much they had turned her on even more. Her grip on your hair tightened as you spoke, back arching to push her tit further in your mouth.

Your words. Your praise. Your worship. She was in a trance. And she never wanted to get out of it. She wiggled as your mouth fell lower, kissing along her stomach, past her navel, and over her mound.

You could feel the warmth radiating from her. Joan's thoughts were running wild. Everywhere all at once. She didn't know where to focus until her dark brown eyes saw you nestle between her legs.

Tender kisses were placed along her thick thighs. Thighs you couldn't wait to squish you. Cut your airway off. If you died there, you'd be okay with it.

"Fuck.." Joan let out a whimper when you finally buried your face between her legs. The first lick up her folds had her moaning. And damn, was it the most divine sound you have ever heard.

"Taste so good.." you mumbled, Joan bucking into your face at the feeling. She didn't know where to grab, leaving one hand in your hair while the other held a deathly grip on the bedsheets.

She couldn't take her eyes off you. And when your eyes shot up to meet hers, hips bucked again. She wanted so desperately to take control. It was the one thing she knew best. But, her body denied her.

She was too far gone.

"Need more." Her hips bucked again, but your hand fell flat to her belly, keeping her pinned to your best ability. "Baby..." Her mouth fell agape as your tongue explored her entire core.

You licked with a passion, eating her out like it was your last meal on earth. You were hungry. Starving. All for her. Lapping at her pussy, alternating between long strokes, and deep thrusts with your tongue to her dripping hole.

Joan was a mumbling mess. Her eyelids were halfway closed, mouth agape with pretty little moans coming out of it. Your lips were glistening with her desire, the wetness dripping down your chin.

She was squirming, legs tightening around your head, her back arched, and she came with a pornographic moan. You weren't expecting her to be so vocal, but now you wanted to hear more.

You helped ride out her high, not completely stopping, but slowing your pace to prolong her orgasm as long as possible. That is, until she pulled you up by your hair to engulf you in a kiss.

She moaned, tasting herself on your tongue. She grabs the back of your head, pulling you impossibly closer to her. The action itself was invigorating.

"Are you okay?" You asked against her lips. Your hand clutched her cheek, and you rubbed your thumb along her soft skin.

"More than okay," she chuckled. "Now do it again. I need more..” She said, clutching at your hips.

You pressed your lips against hers once more, savoring the taste of her. Giggling at her words, you broke away only slightly just to whisper back.

"Keep asking like that and we'll be here all night, love."

Short, jagged nails dig into your jaw, demanding your attention, demanding your eyes to look at her and only her.

“Beg for it.” Her voice strong and husky, one that rattles bones. Such simple words that drip from between vicious lips yet the venom that slides through your mind relaxes you into her hold.

“You know I can’t do that.” It’s barely above a whisper but she hears it, she hears everything. Your body heats in her shadow, standing tall above your quivering body. Your knees digging into the cold cement, the power she holds emanating over you, like a cool protective blanket pushes acceleration through your veins.

“I know you want to let go,” She says as a dare, her lips pulling into a barely noticeable smirk. Her hand releases your jaw moving to cup it softly, rubbing her cold thumb over your lips. Her intention is to unwind your very being, to make you putty in her hands and unwind she does.

“So let go.” She squats in front of you, nose inches from your own. Her perfume, her scent, fills all your senses. That voice is breathy, urging you to let her have you. Her certainty clouds your hesitation, her eyes gazing into yours intently.

“Please governor.” Is all you can say, her presence already making the decision easy. She wants to take your control and you are dying for her to have it, to give it to her willingly. You can barely have time to see it but her lips pull in a full smirk, she’s teasing you. Reminding you of the power imbalance, how she’s the one who holds all the power. Her eyes spur you on, letting you sit in silence.

“Please Joan.” You beg, you whimper. Anything to get her to touch you, to make you forget about the world around you.

“Ah there it is, there's my good girl. Always so eager to please their governor.” You nod pathetically, you can’t help it. Not when you can feel her breath on your lips. Her hand slides over your throat, gently adding pressure.

“Tell me what you want. What does my darling want so dearly that she’s willing to let this whole prison hear how desperate she is, huh?” Joan says, a hint of entertainment in her voice.

“Governer please, I need you inside of me. I’ve been dreaming about you. You visiting me when I'm in the slot, you watching me touch myself on the cameras, moaning your name. I want to taste you Ms.Ferguson. I want you to use my mouth, I want you to use me. Please. I’d do anything for you.” You lean into her hand letting her eyes take you in. How you bottom lip pulls between your teeth, how your eyes are glossed over, how they sparkle with a willingness to endure.

“Please.” That’s all it took for Joan to break. Her lips softly connected with your own. She wasn’t going to give you rough like you asked, not right away at least. Your body wanted to be listened to, to be navigated with confidence. Your body wanted her, her hands, her mouth.

She wants you needier, she wants to be shown how much you’ve been craving her touch. Her hands moved from your throat to your hair line, your lips move in sink before she slowly moves away to stand, casting a shadow over you once more. Your heart pounds. Those eyes appraising every inch of your body.

“Get up darling, we’re going to my office.” Her palm cuts through her shadow waiting for you. Expecting your smooth palm to hold hers. You follow her lead, putting your hand in hers and standing up, wiping off your knees. Her grip on your hand is steady as she guides you to her office, closing the door and hitting the button to shut all the curtains and plunging you into darkness.

“I’m going to lead you to my couch okay? Then I’m going to retrieve a surprise I brought for you, understood?” You nod in agreement and she stayed true to her word. The couch was cold black leather. Even in the dark I knew black leather is Joan’s kryptonite, it’s clean and elegant. Her two favorite aesthetics. The couch was cool against your thighs, leaving you to your thoughts as she moves to a small locked box attached to the wall.

Her footsteps are quiet, almost too quiet but her gloved hand now running up the back of your neck was an indication of where she was. Gloved fingers slip through the hairs on the nape of your neck, tugging your head back, putting a strain on your neck. Exposing it to her, making sure you not only know her power she holds but you feel it. That you feel it deep within your chest. It sparks your wants, your needs, your deepest desires for her.

“This is what’s going to happen my darling. You’re going to ride my cock, I made sure to pick your favorite one, I will fuck you to the brink and push you even further, you will listen to my every command. Is that understood love?” She wasn’t asking a question, she was telling you to understand.

“Yes, Governor." You hiss when she pulls your hair just a little bit harder, an added punctuation.

“Good. Now what’s the safe word we agreed on? I do not wish to take it easy on you tonight. You have tempted me too much.” Joan asks reassuringly. She wants to wreck you, to use your body but she loves you too deeply. A confession she will not yet tell. One she can not, it would risk your life, she is too broken.

“Dragon.” There was a pause in your voice. A pause to check–in with yourself. Joan’s ready to take you, all of you, and you needed to make sure you were ready for such a commitment.

“I do not wish for you to take it easy on me.” You admit, and the fire in Joan’s eyes explodes.

“As you wish.” Joan sits next to you, strap standing high with confidence radiating off of her. Her nimble fingers work to start taking off the leather gloves once she releases your locks.

“No, please. Keep them on for me, please.” You plea, taking the initiative to crawl into her lap and prepare the awaiting strap. A line of spit leaves your addictive lips, dripping onto the tip, slowly sliding down her length.

“You are positively naughty, inmate.” She spat with faux disdain.

“Don’t just sit there. Put that mouth to good use, why don’t you.” She says, guiding you quickly to the floor and pushing your mouth to the faux cock. You’re quick to wrap your lips around her member, taking as much as you can into your mouth. Your head bobs, laud noises filling the room. Those gloved fingers tangle into your hair holding your head in place while her hips jet forward, sliding the cock further down your throat. Joan’s moans fill the room, like she could feel every inch of your mouth and tongue. Your hands grip Joan's clothed thighs, digging your nails into them to ground yourself, to wrap your mind around this. That the fantasy you’ve had so many times has come true and will continue to do so.

“Yes, fuck. Keep going, my love.” You moan around her, the nic-name warming your core. So you keep going. You go hard, taking her full length, and reaching up to massage those plump breasts, tugging at her taunt nipples.

“That mouth is heavenly, my darling. Making your Governor cum just from how much of a pretty slut you are. That’s it, love. Only a little bit more.” She removes her fingers from your hair to grip at the couch. You pull back, circling your tongue around her tip before taking her whole length once more. You do it repeatedly. Till the Governor roughly pulls your head from the strap, making you look her in the eyes. There is something in those dark eyes of hers, something viscous. Like she wants to eat you alive.

“Get on.” She demanded, eyeing your body. You stand, making sure to touch her thighs as leverage. Hoping to not be punished for it later. You slowly unzip your sweatshirt, running your fingers between your breasts before turning around to discard the garment. Your hands rub over your hips, slowly easing your pants down your legs. Black leather finger tips dig into your hips pulling you backwards with such a force you’re no longer fully on your feet, those strong hands are the only thing keeping you up.

Joan expertly guides her strap into your awaiting cunt, only holding you with one arm. Your legs find their play on top of Joan's, and her hand is quick to wrap around your throat, pulling your back against her chest. Just enough for her lips to ghost your ear pulling a pathetic moan from you.

“I said get on, not undress in such a manner.” Her forearms lift you slightly, comfortably resting your thighs on top of them. Your brain is too foggy to realize her intention until she lifts you with ease just to quickly put you down, effectively pumping her cock in and out of your wetness. You moan loudly, you can’t help it. With her hands all over you, you can’t focus on anything but her. How her hands feel gripping your thighs from behind, her arms holding you with such ease, her breath hitching behind you, those beautiful breasts rubbing against your back. She was everywhere.

“Awe what’s wrong love? Do I feel too good you can’t even think? Come on my darling, use your words. How does it feel?” It feels like torture for you to answer her, to find the words when her cock is all you can think about.

“I- fu- I can’t.” Her strap doesn’t slow, her hands move to just your hips. Lifting you slightly just to pull you back down hard, like she's trying to chase her own high. Like she will never get enough of how you feel or the little noises you make.

“Yes you can, My stunning little whore. Always willing to listen to every word I speak. Isn’t that right?” Joan chuckles a deep dreadful laugh. She knows who has the control in this moment and she loves it.

“Yes, yes Governor.” You move your hips with her pace, drawing out more pleasure. You’re a moaning mess for her, drool easing from the side of your lips. She’s trying to fuck you dumb and it’s working. Her hands let go of your hips all together, one arm wraps around your waist while the other hand grips your jaw pulling your face to her own, you can even feel her breath against the corner of your lips.

“Grind.” It was one command, one word. Plain and simple, you just nod and do as told. The strap moves perfectly within you, hitting that sensitive spot.

“That’s it, darling. Get yourself off.” Her lips touch yours as she speaks.

“Open your mouth.” You do as told and take the liberty to stick your tongue out so she has full access, she angles your head more towards her and she spits into your mouth as the hand around your waist moves to rub tight circles around your clit. Your hips jolt up, your body feeling like lava.

“Kiss me.” It is a quiet demand. A demand that covers the fear of you disappearing right in front of her. Her mind is fighting her but all that goes away when your lips meet hers, all the negative thoughts go radio silent and there is only you. You pull away just to look her in the eyes, to show how thoroughly she's pleasuring you.

“I’ve dreamt about this Joan. You’re making me feel so good.” Joan’s fingers rub tighter and faster circles around your clit, a reward for your good behavior. You back arches off her chest as her lips crash into you, muffling your moan. Her tongue invades your mouth and pushes you close to the edge. Joan notices the shift of your body, how your hips start to spasm, your thighs shaking. Yet much to your demise her lips detach from yours just to say your favorite saying.

“Cum for me.” She says it in that cold, dark, deep tone that hits you right in your clit. A tone that makes you give up your control, to give her that privilege willingly.

So you listen, you gush around her cock, instinctively squeezing your legs shut, trying to stay on that high as long as possible.

“How pretty you are, coming undone so perfectly for me.” Joan’s hands move to your hips to gently and slowly remove you from her now soaked strap. She’s quick to remove the harness and pull you back into her lap, both your legs over hers and your head resting in the crook of her neck. Warm gloved hand rubs circles across your thighs.

“You did such a good job for me. The way your thighs shake around me, how your cunt drips and clenches around my cock drives me wild darling.” Her hand wedges between your thighs, slowly inching up your inner thighs.

“You’re just so beautiful when you cum. Don’t you think?” The tip of Joan’s leather pointer finger found your swollen clit, rubbing a soft circle around it. Not truly touching the swollen bud.

“Yes Joan.” Her fingers stop all movements, a whine pulls from your lips. Even when you are sensitive Joan was not close enough, you needed her inside of you, you needed her hands all over your body.

“Come on doll, you know that’s not my name. Try again for me.” Her tone was soft but you knew she was testing your mental clarity. She wanted you to mess up.

“Yes Ms. Ferguson.” You knew that was the wrong answer when an annoyed sign came from the women you were sitting on. Her hand turned your whole body face down before your brain could even catch up. Her hand met your naked behind with a sharp slap. The sound echoed through the dark room.

“You get two chances to say the right name before I put you in a wet cell, naked and cold. Try. Again, whore.” You whine pushing your ass further into her hand.

“Yes, Governor.” Her hand met your ass once again making you moan into the soft pleather of the couch. You clench around nothing, too busy imagining her fingers ramming into you.

“Say it again.” She’s stern. She’s not Joan anymore, this is the Governor. Ruthless and ready to take what truly belongs to her.

“Yes, Governor. I won’t do it again I promise.” You knew you shouldn’t be making promises, not with how foggy your brain is but you really wanted to please her. . You wanted to not have to think. You were in her hands and that was enough for you.

“That’s right.” A slight movement came from her before her leather covered fingers entered you with no resistance. A moan tears through you as your hips go searching for more friction.

“It’s too much.” It was, her pace was picking up. Her thumb caresses your throbbing clit and it was too much. Too many sensations. You try to move away, you really did but it was no use compared to the sheer strength she possessed. My fingertip gripped at the arm rest overhead, your knees trying to find a good place to sit but she didn’t stop. She only went faster.

“You can take it.” Joan wasn’t one of many words but she made them count. You could hear how wet you were. Joan only smirked, seeing you a mess over her. Having you in her lap as she pulls multiple orgasms out of you. The thought of someone else touching you spikes something in her.

Her fingers leave you, leaving you to feel empty and shaking.

“Sit up.” You groan as you move from laying over her lap. She takes this chance to sink to her knees right in front of the couch. When you're barely sitting up, she’s between your legs, she puts your legs on her shoulders. Her big hands grip your hips and pull your dripping cunt to her desperate lips.

“I just can’t help myself.” She chuckles lowly.

“Wha-“ you can’t even get the sentence out before her tongue devours you. The flat of her tongue licks up your slit, taking in the flavor of you. The palms of your hands dig into the couch trying to get her to let up, she can’t, not with her determination. That talented tongue circles your clit before licking down to your entrance. Her tongue enters you as you try to escape the overwhelming pleasure.

Joan’s arm tightens around your thighs, locking you in place. With her strength you can not move an inch, there’s no fighting when she will always win. Her nails bite into your skin, making your back arch off the couch.

“Governor please. I can’t do it.” The governor hums into your clit, sending a jolt through your body once more. The build up is intense. You feel it in your stomach, your clit, the coil deep within your core. Her mouth is all over you, moaning at how good you taste. Her fingers tap your hip, a signal to let yourself go, to let her have you wholeheartedly. You crash, you can feel it gushing out of you but she keeps going. Even when your thigh crushes her skull, her tongue still works diligently.

This is Joan’s favorite place. Your perfectly plump thighs around her head, her whole world right in front of her. Each lick, each taste, is getting her more soaked. She imagines all those times you’re between her thighs, drawing her to the edge. How beautifully your mouth works on her. How you ask so politely, how you listen to her body. Something pinged in Joan’s heart, she wanted to have this, to have you, for the rest of her life.

“I love you Joan.” You moan loudly, you couldn’t help it. Those words stopped Joan’s whole world. She paused, only long enough to process the words before her mouth is on you again. This time there’s something else within her passion. All the insecurities that plagued her mind were gone, only filled with the love you held for her.

When your cum drips into her mouth for another time she pulls away. Gently rubbing the indent her nails made on your thighs.

“I love you more than anything.” Her tone was soft. Joan pulls you down to the floor with her, having you straddle her lap. Her arms wrap around your body, fully enclosing you in her scent. Your arms wrap around her, kissing her jaw, her neck, anything you can reach. Partially licking the left over cum up.

“Can we try something?” You ask nuzzling into her now ruined uniform.

“Of course my darling.” Her clean hand cups your face, letting her thumb slide over your cheek. You blush at the attention.

“Can you get the double sided strap? I want to ride you, I want you to use me. Please, Governor.” You say it in that breathy tone that you know always gets to her. You feel her hips shift under you.

“As my darling wish. One thing though, you will not be riding me. I want to pound into that pretty pussy until you're scratching and begging for me to stop.” Joan whispers the last part in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I know it’s odd but can we try another something new?” Joan nods, rubbing you back to encourage further detail. You play with her hair out working through the doubt of her saying no to your request.

“Can you slap me? Or my tits? Or blindfold me? I’ve just always thought about it and I’ve been wanting to try it with you. I love your hands and everything so I thought slapping would be fun, if you don't like the idea that’s okay, I understand.” You search her eyes still looking for Joan to think the idea is unsettling but she smiles and rubs your arms.

“I can certainly try slapping, if you don’t like it then please do not hesitate to tell me. As you're the blindfold we will have to wait for another time. I want you to see what I do to you. Now if you would sit on the couch while I get everything ready.” She smiles confidently at you. Your body listens without you having to process Joan’s underlying sharp tone. Your arms shake, your legs almost give out as you slump into the couch.

“That’s my good girl.” Her lips meet your thighs in a quick peck on her way up. You almost fall asleep right on the couch, her perfume all over you, her scent on the couch. It felt like a warm blanket.

“Don’t go falling asleep on me. Get your sexy ass up and go lay on the desk, sweetie.” Her voice cuts through the tiredness. You do as told even when your legs threaten to give out. Your finger tips dig into the black sleek desk, holding yourself up.

“That’s such a good girl.” You whip around only to be touching noses with the Governor. You sit on the desk, surely soaking it from your last activities. Joan’s hand rests on your sternum, tenderly guiding you down.

“I put on what you requested dear. Just let me do the work.” Joan’s voice was kind but you knew better. She’s playing with you, your mind, giving you that false security. She massages your clit as she watches your gears turn. Successfully distracting you from what she has planned, her cock sliding into your soaked pussy.

Joan pumps into you ruthlessly , not giving you time to adjust to the sear size of her. Her hips snap with such precision you try to move away from the pleasure. You hip lift off the desk, your arm attempting to pull you away. Joan’s strong hands stop you, fingers roughly digging into your thighs only letting go to land a stern slap to your cheek. You moan, loud. You let everything out, you’ve lost all control of how your body is moving, how your volume continues to escalate. Joan rips orgasms from you, over and over again. Hitting your third one as her hands come up to grab your shoulder and the angle shifts. She hits something deep within you, sending you spiraling in pleasure.

“Please Governor, please. I can’t take it, I can’t take it. It’s too big, too much.” You beg desperately. Your nails dig into her flesh, her forearm tensing around you.

“Shut up and take it. You wanna make your Governor proud, right? Only a couple more.” Her tone is deathly sweet. Joan’s body bends over you, her lips wrapping around a painfully hard nipple. Your back arches high off the desk, pushing your chest further into her mouth. She moans, those deep sinful groans, vibrating your nipple, sending waves of pleasure through your system.

“Just a little bit longer, I'm so close, baby. You like making me cum, huh?” Her voice is shaking as she pounds into you, her hips hitting your clit over and over again.

“Yes yes yes, fuck.” Your hands scratch at her naked back, leaving welts in their leave. The pain only fuels her. When she looks at you your eyes are closed, your breath is labored, a shen of sweat glistening over your skin. You look like a goddess.

“Look at me.” She says lowly but you're too lost in the feeling of her. Her hand meets your cheek once again, not enough to hurt just to get your attention. Your eyes meet hers out of shock, they plead for Joan to give you everything, to taste you every chance she gets, to feel the inside of your now swollen cunt. The thought of taking you, making you full hers only pushes her closer to her orgasm.

“Yes Governor, you feel so good in me. Breed me, please, please cum in me.” You don’t know why you said it but it felt so right. You wanted Joan in every crevice of your being.

Those words are exactly what Joan needed, her hips shuttered before her top half rested on your chest, the strap coming to stop in you only after riding out your orgasm. Her lips kiss at your chest, up your neck to your lips. You met her in a lazy kiss. Just needing something soft.

“I’m going to move, is that okay?” She asks intently, gently moving a piece of sweaty hair from your face. You nod, laying your head fully on the desk and taking a deep breath, relaxing your body. When Joan moves out of you, you hiss in soreness. You're left to come back to reality as she quickly discards the faux cock and moves her arms under you, lifting you to the couch. A place where she lays you down. She placed a small pillow under your head before slowly releasing your head.

“How are you feeling?” Her thumb caresses your cheek as you smile up at her.

“I feel really good, you were so amazing. Thank you for trying what I asked. I just have another request. I can not seem to get enough of you and I really really want to taste you. Please Joan.” You pout your lip giving her the most innocent eyes you can. She looks like she might say yes but Joan chuckles, shaking her head.

“My horney horney darling. We can do that another day. Perhaps this weekend. You are also very welcome, I’m more than happy to oblige, thank you for taking me so well. I truly love how your body reacts to me.” Her finger tips massage your scalps. Her free hand grabbing the extra water bottle from the side table, letting you grab it and take a small sip before speaking.

“I think it is simply because I can never get enough of you. Can’t I please taste you?” You hand the water bottle back to her. Your hand rubs her thighs, trying to get Joan to bend.

“You can sit in my face. It’s a win win. I won’t move, I’m guessing that's what you want me to do, and I get to eat my lady out.” She eyes you with uncertainty.

“Yes, you got me there, that is what I expect of you darling. Get comfortable.” She gives in so easily. You are so giddy with excitement, a huge smile is plastered across your face as you scoot down to give her knees enough room. The couch wide enough for you to practically be laying down.

“I’m ready. Are you ready?” Your hand reaches hers, gliding over the back of her hand. Reassurance that you are okay and you want to please her. That you won’t leave her side. She smiles warmly at you.

“I’m ready.” Milky thighs engulf your skull, her left over cum dripping onto your lips. You couldn’t wait any longer, there were too many late nights picturing your mouth on her once again.Your arms instinctually snake their way around Joan’s thighs pulling her down to your mouth.

Joan's hands quickly reach out, her fingers dig into the couch, the others running through your hair. A loud moan heaved from her lips. Her hips jerk against your tongue, your hand massages her thighs, working through her tenseness. Your tongue circling her sensitive bud, her taste filling your mouth, moaning at the taste alone.

“Fuck.” Joan’s voice is down right sinful. Those fingers in your hair hold your head in place as her hips grind into your tongue, your moans vibrating through Joan’s body causing her heart to race, her thighs to shake.

“Yes, right there. You feel so good darling, don’t you dare stop. Suck my clit for me baby.” She throws her head back as your lips suck her clit. Only letting go to slip your tongue into her entrance. Your arm moves over her thighs to reach her clit. Even with your forearm cramping, your fingers find the throbbing bud and rub tight circles around it.

Joan hums in appreciation, her thighs shake. The circles get tighter and tighter as your tongue moves faster, so desperate to make her cum. Her breathing is rough above you, her fingers are no longer entangled into your hair, now digging into the leather of the couch. When you look up her head is thrown back, her tits sitting so perfectly, a sweat shine contours each perfect groove. Those powerdry nipples hardened against the cool room. Your fingers work faster, moving through the pain.

“I’m so close, baby.” Joan lets out a cry, one of profuse pleasure, one of overstimulation. She clenches around your tongue fully coming undone. She collapses on top of you, her body overtaking yours. Her thigh moved to straddle your thighs, her chest meeting yours.

“That was wonderful, I had forgotten how talented you are with that tongue. You knew all the right spots.” Her lips lazily kiss at your neck while your hands rub at her, what you can imagine, sore hips. You two laid like that for a while, Joan teeth grazing the sensitive part of your neck, sucking and nipping to create small hickeys anywhere she can reach. She pulls any sounds she can out of you.

Her head pulls back to take you in, the way you smile at her, how your eyes sparkle with admiration, how your hands never falter when she looks into your eyes.

“I love you too.” She says, responding to your earlier statement. You just smile even bigger, your eyes glossing over. You wrap your arms around her, rubbing her back and playing with the ends of her hair.

“I love you more than anything. I know we have to keep us a secret while I serve my time but when I’m out in a month can we go public? I have my old apartment already in line and a job as a bartender.” You say nervously. It has been one of the few times you’ve brought this up, needing extra reassurance. You may not know why but Joan has always been sweet to you, seeming like she has a soft spot for you.

“Don’t be silly dear. You are more than welcome to stay with me, it is a quite lonely space when alone but keep the job, you always feel better when you get out of the house and socialize. I’ve been thinking about our future and I want to marry you one day darling. I want to have a life with you, and maybe some animals. You’ve added so much joy to my life, even when I am away from you I find myself smiling. I’ve never experienced this kind of love.” Joan has never been subtle and even now there is no uncertainty in her voice, no room for you to have your doubts.

“Joan, you have no idea how much that pleases me to hear. Ever since I met you I couldn’t stop thinking about you, the way you commanded a room, how everyone respects you. Even when you hold all the power at work you leave it there. You are so kind to me, you go above and beyond to make sure I’m safe and comforted. You held my heart since day one and wouldn’t have it any other way.” You confess, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and rubbing her back.

“You’re the most stunning woman I’ve ever met. I just- I can’t get enough of you.” She chuckles at that.

She flips the two of you over until you’re partially laying on top of her. You could stay like this forever but the alarm for five minutes till cell checks rings, dragging you back to the dreadful reality of things. Your lips meet in a hurry as she sits the both of you up.

“I’ll escort you. Even though I’d love to have my mouth on you one more time.” She moans trying to drag you back to her when you attempt to fully stand up. The moan alone sends shivers through your body.

“As much as I would love that Governor I will be slotted if I don’t go but I will give you this for your understanding.” Your fingers venture in between your legs, gliding through your still soaked center, only to find their way between the Governor’s lips. Joan’s pupils are blown as she stares at you. You feel her skillful tongue work around your digits, licking every inch in them. She lets them go with a pop only when there is nothing left to lick.

“How delightful, I will destroy your pussy next time. I can promise you that.” She’s quick to stand, pushing her body into your own, wrapping a hand roughly against your throat, preventing the air from flowing.

“Do not let anyone touch you, not a hug, not a kiss on the forehead, nothing, you are mine and mine only. Is that understood?” She was quiet but her voice held so much power.

“Yes, Governor. I only belong to you.” You rasp out. Your heart raced, a spike of excitement vibrating through your stomach. You loved how possessive she was over you and your body, you loved how she touches you, how she gets into your head.

“Good girl. Now go before they get you.” Joan says in a chuckle. She releases your neck and gives your butt a small tap as you get dressed.

Her uniform is practically fully on when you are done dressing.

“You look so hot in uniform, I should grind into your thigh and cum all over you. That would be so hot to see how I ruined your uniform, okay bye love you!” You say as you run out, careful not to be caught by those strong arms. The alarm rings again, marking one minute till cell check.

“You were almost late… Again.” Franky says as you round the corner.

“My apologies, the Governor wanted to talk about the garden I wanted to start.” You smiled sickly sweet at her. Now standing in front of your own cell.

“More like she wanted a bite.” Boomer laughs motioning to you hickey covered neck. Despite the slight jab you can’t help but laugh along.

“You could say I’m the sweetest fruit in the bunch.” That got everyone giggling.

“Okay that’s enough, we already have the screws up our ass we don’t need to give them more reasons to be going through our shit. Is that understood fruity? You can’t be risking our unit like that. Do you really think Ferguson will give a shit about you if they found booze in your cell?” Franky implants the doubt in your head. From your knowledge there’s nothing in your cell, but you haven’t been here all day. Someone could’ve tampered with it.

“Okay line up girls.” One of the screws says

“God what happened to you?” They question eyeing your neck.

“Wouldn’t you like to know fucker.” You spat at him. You eye Franky every time a screw turns their back, but all she does is smirk back at you. It was a mistake telling these girls about yourself and Ferguson, a huge mistake. If the Governor finds out you told you fear what she’ll do. Would she feel betrayed by you? All color drains from your face at the realization. Would she value this job over you? Over your connection?

There’s no way right? Too many thoughts fill your head as the screws leave and the lights shut off, leaving all of you in your cells.