tee

pairing: kylian mbappé x reader

summary: Childhood sweethearts. After a tearful, transformative departure at just 19, four years pass by. And now, at 23, you are being forced to awkwardly reunite with your ex-boyfriend to fulfill your dreaded journalistic duties.

authors note: HIIII AGAINN!!! i just want to say a quick thank you for all the love you guys have given me over all or nothing despite having to wait so long. hopefully these two chapters can keep you fed whilst i finish up chapter 4, (i won't make you wait 500 years for the next chapter i promise!!) i have so much in store,, anyways enjoy <33

previous chapter here

“Y/N?” 

That voice. A voice you knew all too well. A voice that evoked the feeling of sweet nothings, sticky fingers, infectious grins, tears, cocoa and comfort. Genuine serenity, the type that made your heart slow a couple beats and your eyes shut longer. That voice. It reminded you of everything good and all the bad that shortly followed. 

You turned hesitantly, facing him from the other side of the room. It was you and him. The passers-by in the hallway are all too consumed with work, or too stressed to notice the look that you’re giving each other. You lock eyes. He’s clearly still recovering from an intense match, it was visible. His socks are stained with muddy debris, one hand holding his defaced cleats, his chest slick with sweat as he hangs his shirt on the back of his shoulder. He’s changed a startling amount since you last saw him. His face matured, as you inspect the way he grew into his features. His dimples still popped out with every contortion, and his eyes still were downturned with big brown pupils. Your breathing was hollow.

The confusion on his face was evident but somehow you could still make out a speck of relief. Slowly, he inches towards you, crossing the invisible boundary. Your instinct pushes you to step back into the bathroom behind you, essentially hiding away from him. You try to catch a breath alone, but your solitude is quickly disturbed as he enters without a care in the world. You internally thanked yourself for choosing the one bathroom with only one stall.

“You can’t-”

“Hi.” He breathes out, watching every part of you, almost as if he was unsure whether you were real or not. He keeps a glare on you as his breath catches in his throat.

His eyes introspectively scanned the entirety of your face. 

You couldn’t speak. Your dehydrated throat becomes a physical nuisance. Your head throbs, the images of your early morning dream disturbing your functionality. 

“Shirt.” You squeak out. You regret the one syllable that flew out of your mouth as soon as you uttered it. You think of how this looks, you and an engaged, shirtless Kylian Mbappé squeezed into a bathroom stall. 

He glances down to his torso, grabs the shirt laying on his shoulder before pulling it over his head in one swift motion. 

“I-”

“How are-”

You both pause at your joint state of haste. A small simper creeps up on Kylian’s face as you shut your eyes and shake your head in a bashful manner.

“You first.” Kylian says, as a coy smirk creeps up onto his face. You look up at him, taking note of that.

“I’m with you.” You state blankly, and Kylian’s eyes pop out of his head. You giggle quietly, realising how he completely misinterpreted your sentence. “No, as in, I'm with you for the interview.” Unbeknownst to you, his heart jumps at the sweet sound of your joy. He sounds an ‘O’, nodding his head in realisation. You try your hardest to bite back your laugh, cautious to not create any false impressions between you two. You were here for work and you’re sure he was getting married soon. You wondered when or if he was going to tell you, or whether you should bring it up. You wondered what else he could be hiding and whether he would bring that up too.

“You okay?” Kylian asks. This makes you furrow your eyebrows, posing the question of whether you were thinking out loud again.

“You didn’t say anything, you just have this look on your face when you’re overthinking stuff.” He declares whilst unintentionally answering your question. Kylian knew all of your facial expressions and what they meant; flared nose and squinted eyes typically meant annoyance whereas wide eyes and pinched lips meant admiration. He’s known them since you were both just a pair of moody children, and he’s sure he’ll never forget. He doesn’t want to anyways. Another amiable smile is plastered onto Kylian’s face, which swiftly reminds you of the lack of time. 

“We need to do this interview. Like right now.” You blurt out quickly, wary of your time limits. Kylian’s eyes droop down to your neck, glancing over the gold necklaces. He squints at one of them, trying to figure out why he felt so drawn to one of them. You gulped harshly and hoped he wouldn’t ask any questions.

“Kylian-” The rest of your sentence faded out in his ears. Your sweet voice warmed him. It also sped up his train of thought. It's been four years since you’ve said his name. Four years without your unforgettable intonation. 1460 days without you. 

“How are you?” Kylian asks again, his head turning with intrigue. You sigh discreetly. “If you’re worried about the timing, don’t be. I’ll sort everything out.” He states, answering your concerns.

You roll your eyes at his nonchalance. That’s one thing about him that always puzzled you. His ability to stay absolutely chill in every single circumstance, whereas you lost your mind at the mere thought of a stressful outcome. It was a good dynamic for you two. You couldn’t imagine having a boyfriend that was always just as stressed as you were.

“You know what? I’m feeling quite sad right now Kylian.” You declare, frowning to keep your statement believable. “And do you know what would make me feel better? Doing this interview with me, so I can go back to my hotel room and take a nap. A nap. That’s all I ask for.”

Kylian sighs, wiping off all the concern of his face. “T’es vraiment chiant.” (You’re really annoying.)

You let out a smirk at his blank face without a second thought. “On y va?” (Let’s go?) You question, as you both make your way out of the bathroom, and walk towards the pitch, walking through the tunnels. It’s silent as you begin to walk. You’re both very careful not to cross any boundaries. The two of you tread carefully, opening and closing your mouths at the attempt of sparking conversation to try and block out the deafening silence. Kylian succumbs first, piecing together a string of words. 

“You know, when I first saw your name. I thought, what are the chances? There was no way it could be you.”

“Until I walked into your changing rooms.” 

“Until you walked into the changing rooms.”

You sigh deeply, as you walk alongside him. Every breath you let out is coated with utter embarrassment.

“Let’s just forget that ever happened.”

“Forget what?” He replies predictably, looking down towards you with a smirk.

You shake your head and make your way towards the stands, close to where you and Neymar were previously, but you opted to stay closer to other people. A seat between you two acts as a barrier, as you prepare your questions. You quickly scan them on your phone, mentally preparing yourself for the interview ahead. You begin, leading with the topic of leadership within the team. But, the whole interview your eyes are locked onto your phone screen rather than your interviewee. You felt his eyes burn into you, so instead you made the wise decision to ignore any form of eye contact in case you got distracted. You grew coy in his presence, making your voice hushed. At certain moments, Kylian leaned forward to hear you, completely entrancing you with his evocative scent. After a few more questions and insightful answers, you cut the interview short, afraid of completely getting off track. 

You both get up, making your way towards the tunnels. 

“Thanks.” You thank Kylian for a great interview, smiling gently.

“It’s nothing. I didn’t do much. Thanks for your questions.” Kylian replies with a smile, redirecting the praise from him and onto you. You laugh at his inability to accept a compliment, looking up at him.  He laughs staring back at you, before he pauses.

“Y/N-”

Kylian is cut off from the loud ping of a text message. You make an apologetic look and unlock your phone, viewing a message from your boss checking if everything is going smoothly. This reminds you of his request. You internally cringe at the thought of asking.

“What is it?” Kylian asks, noticing your sudden silence.

“My boss- he’s a big fan- honestly you don't have to-”

“He wants a signature?” Kylian finishes your sentence, laughing at your hesitation. You nod shamefully, embarrassed at asking your ex for a signature. “Honestly it’s fine-” Kylian pauses mid sentence, as if a new idea just popped into his head. You can physically see a smirk grow on his face. “Actually, you know what? Earn it.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as a scoff leaves your mouth, “Excuse me?” 

“Earn it. Come to my studio to receive it.” 

“Really Kylian? You can’t be serious?” You say, laughing.

“I don't think I’ve ever been more serious.” He replies, staring you dead in the eyes with his arms crossed. “See you later.” He walks off into the tunnel, leaving you shocked, your mouth wide open. The nerve of this guy, you thought to yourself, sighing at the extra work you have to now endure. His studio?

“Bold of you to assume I remember where your studio is.” You call out to him, dropping your hands down to your sides in puzzlement.

“We both know you remember.” He turns back around with a smirk plastered on his face, as he turns, leaving the hallway.

And as much as you hated to admit, you still remembered.

-

next chapter here

taglist: :@aechii @kylians-world @mrs-bellingham @imjellyjenny @xjval

pairing: kylian mbappe x reader

summary: Childhood sweethearts. After a tearful, transformative departure at just 19, four years pass by. And now, at 23, you are being forced to awkwardly reunite with your ex-boyfriend to fulfill your dreaded journalistic duties.

authors note: heyyyy… heyy.. how y'all doin.. 😭😭 guys i can’t even explain how sorry i am!!! exams have killed me…. two more weeks and i’ll be done!!!!!! anyways enjoy and im publishing chap three tonight lol.. love love you guys and forgive me s'il te plait

previous chapter here

2022 | LONDON, SOHO

You were startled by the view of a disturbingly familiar bedroom. Your tight curls laid pressed against a luxurious satin pillowcase, and an oversized shirt stuck against your perspiring skin. Before you could even wholly register the circumstance you were in, a tall figure bursts into the room. Intrigue floods your mind. 

“Kylian?” You questioned, as he walked in topless, with a flimsy white towel draped around his V-line. You sat up against the headboard, beginning to process where you were. For a reason you couldn’t quite comprehend, you were back in Kylian’s studio. Despite your confusion, your heart felt at ease, unphased by the absurdities of your surroundings. 

Kylian didn’t respond, as he approached you nonchalantly. 

He sat upon the fresh white sheets, eyes drooping to your plump lips. His ample lips parted slightly, moist as morning dew. His slender hands cupped the side of your jaw, caressing your tender skin. Every breath he took delicately brushed against your long eyelashes. Your eyes widened, perplexed - but not opposed - at what was truly about to occur. His lips grazed yours, hovering and provoking your eagerness. You leaned forward instinctively, inching closer before he dipped back, connecting your foreheads instead of your mouth. Open mouth breaths tickled your spine, as his head dropped to your shoulder. Your back arched as he peppered ginger kisses upon your collar bone. You picked up his head, and stared into him. Kylian stared back vehemently, triggering your erratic breathing. His eyes introspectively scanned the entirety of your face.  He dipped his clenched jaw, pressing his lips against yours. Hot breaths and trapped moans escaped your lips as Kylian nibbled and suspired into you. Blissfully, your eyebrows knitted together and your cheeks burned at the sensation.  His hands roamed across your face, attempting to keep you as close as possible. Veined hands were placed into the curve of your neck, whilst your arms were draped around his shoulders, leaving you to intertwine your fingers behind him.

He broke apart from your swollen lips, and breathily uttered one word. 

“Y/N.”

The blaring of an rambunctious ringtone sounds through your ears.

Your eyes shoot open, facing your ceiling. Your chest heaves, falling up and down intensely. You place your hand on your tight chest, hoping to transfer some frigidity to cool you down.

What the fuck just happened? Why the fuck am I-  You think to yourself. Glimpses of your audacious dream overwhelm your thoughts for the next five minutes, leaving you to reflect in solitude. You were more disturbed than anything, trying to decipher any cause or trigger.

Before your body allows you to fully process your dream, your phone pings, alerting you of a new message.

Boss:

Morning Y/N. Your train is in three hours so I hope you’re up and ready. Please prepare to be in Paris for a couple weeks, as I’ve managed to get a great deal. For the next couple weeks you will be interviewing PSG players on the relationship between the club and their supporters, the bonds between players, and seeing how this influences gameplay. You will also be communicating with PSG’s coach, watching training sessions and suggesting team bonding exercises etc. Your hotel details and stadium passes will be emailed to you.  Don’t be late and remember my requests. Enjoy. But not too much.

Your legs hang out from the side of your bed and you exasperate deeply. You get up swiftly, wary of the time you have left, and throw any promising outfits into your suitcase, toiletries and some other travel and work essentials. You plop back onto your bed once you're finished, landing with a slight bounce. Chills tickle your spine, reminding you of your lascivious dream. You decide to push this into the very back of your mind, because you already couldn’t imagine how you'll function when you see him and you’re sure those lewd thoughts won’t help in the slightest. You quickly make your way to the bathroom, and face your mirror. You take in your appearance and wince at your visible fatigue. You had some work to do.

You went for a business casual look, as although you had an interview to perform, you also had a lengthy three hour train ride. You adorned a fitted black turtleneck dress that reached your knees. You were wearing two gold necklaces layered upon each other, one being a chain and the other being a necklace he gave to you. It used to have his initials but, since you liked the necklace so much and didn’t want to embarrass yourself, you unclipped the charm and wore it bare. You knew you should’ve gotten rid of it the minute you parted ways, but for a reason you can’t come to terms with, you couldn't. Your hair is parted in the middle of your symmetrical face, your bouncy coils reaching your shoulders. Blush and brown lip liner was flawlessly applied upon your face. You knew you looked good.

You leave your apartment after triple locking and glide your suitcase across the train station floor. A flaky croissant is clutched in one of your hands, and you’re sure that illustrious crescent shape was entirely deformed. You speed walk, determined to make it on time, driven by the rhythmic pattern of your heeled boots against the floor. 

After three coffees and a dozen different announcements, you’re sitting in your train seat, one step closer to arriving in Paris. You nibbled on the inside of your cheek, as anxiety began to creep up on all of your senses yet again. You battle the urge to puke by gurgling a complimentary bottle of water, helping your breathing regulate. You dab any signs of perspiration on your face with a napkin, and blink away any fuzziness. ‘I’m going to be fine.’ was the mantra that you repeated to yourself again, and again. 

“Not much could’ve changed in four years, right?” You whisper quietly under your breath, so much so that you’re not even sure if it wasn’t just a thought.

At this point, you were feeding yourself lies to make yourself feel better, but it wasn’t even working. You knew everything changed. He was engaged to another woman, and the thought of him getting down on one knee made you feel sick - not with envy, but betrayal. You couldn’t help but feel this unjustified feeling of betrayal. No matter how hard you tried to wash it down, it left a weird aftertaste in your mouth, like an expired piece of poultry. It was insane to you how there was a point in your life with Kylian where you would tell each other everything. Even during your awkward teen years, where everyone your age suddenly became hyper aware of every interaction with the opposite gender, you and Kylian remained closer than ever, revealing the deepest secrets a 15 year old Y/N and Kylian could possibly attain. You knew you broke up with him, and you both agreed to cut communication for the unforeseeable future, but after all, you didn’t expect him to get down on one knee, at least not yet. But that wasn’t your concern anymore, you knew what you would do. You were here to do your job, and ignore him as much as humanly possible, then you would return back to the UK, write up your article and reap the rewards. You release a sigh of contentment at the thought, and loosen up as the train moves.

Your train comes to an abrupt halt, quickly you make your way off the train and get into the taxi that has been waiting. Barely anytime to waste, you’re sitting down in the back of the black cab. You make small conversations with the taxi driver in french, grateful to have the chance to speak your mother tongue again. You leave your bags in the car, as you were informed it would be the same taxi to pick you up. Once the friendly conversation begins to fall flat, you check your email once again and rehearse the questions that were prepared on the train. Before you know it you’re outside the Parc des Princes. Easily getting in with the exclusive stadium passes, you walk with intention embedded into your every step. You knew the Parc des Princes was big, but you forgot just how colossal the stadium truly was. 

You step onto the freshly cut moss green, and make your way down the sidelines of the pitch. You scan the area quickly, and no players are anywhere to be seen. You sigh outwardly in relief, knowing this means Kylian is also nowhere to be seen. You sit down in the area designated for journalists. You looked around, only seeing a couple old men and bulky cameras in your vision. You heave, as the chance to make friends was eliminated from your thoughts. ‘This was going to be a very lonely trip’ you thought to yourself.

“Olá!” A jovial man calls out, interrupting your train of thought. He limps towards you with a visible knee brace. Taking a quick glance at his tattoos and curly brown hair, you immediately put two and two together and realised it’s Neymar calling out to you. You instinctively grin, the smile alone giving its own reply.

“You’re with me?” Neymar asks, with a slight tilt of his head. This leaves you confused for a moment, before realising he's talking about the interview. You realise you must’ve quickly glanced over this part in the email, and you quickly whip out your phone to double check the very first name you see. You adjusted your name tag, and stood up.

“Yes, I am,” You confirm with a simper plastered on your face. He puts his hand out and you shake it cordially. He nods, smiling genially. “Where should we go?”

“I don’t mind. There?” He suggests, pointing to the empty side of the stadium where the seats were painted red and blue. You smile, nodding, as you both make your way towards the seats. You both almost trip at the tight spaces between the seats, Neymar held back by his injury, and you, because of your natural clumsiness. Thankfully, you were both there to graciously keep each other upright. You both laugh at your miserable efforts like two old friends, before finally reaching the empty area. 

You briefly explain your article’s topic, and try to make the atmosphere as comfortable as possible. After a successful round of questioning, you wave Neymar goodbye and scribble down some notes linking to your article, trying to make things easy for your future self. You check your phone, properly viewing the list so you could prepare yourself appropriately for whoever is next. You were aware that you would interview at least two players a day, due to the busy nature of PSG, so you hoped you could continue the pleasantries until the end of the day. You open your phone, and carefully read through the email you once skimmed through. You glance at the names one more time, ensuring you read correctly.

NEYMAR JR - 45 MINUTES

KYLIAN MBAPPE - 45 MINUTES

You sigh deeply, cursing to yourself in both a mix of English and french. You knew it was coming but you hoped it wouldn't be this soon. You thought you could at least prepare yourself for arguably the most awkward reunion of your life, but it was too late. You shake your worries out of your mind and begin to make your way to the bathroom.

You’re confused. You wander down a hallway squinting at miniscule signs in the corner of the blue ceilings, trying to look for any sort of direction to the toilets. You probably look insane, rushing through hallways with a distinctively clueless expression plastered on your face, but you needed to go. Your nerves translated into a burning urge to pee, an urge that you couldn’t hold in for another hour or so. You see a stick figure plastered on a door, and burst into it, in the hopes that it meant a bathroom. You couldn’t believe how puzzling the journey to the bathroom was.

“Qui est la jolie journaliste dans le vestiaire?” (Who is this pretty journalist in the changing room?)

You hear a dozen brazen remarks before you can even process your surroundings. You look up to about fifteen different pairs of eyes staring you down like a piece of meat. Fuck, you think to yourself. You freeze, your body not even allowing you to process the wave of embarrassment just yet. Your mouth opens and closes, struggling to formulate a sentence as your hands get sweaty, making you wipe them on the material of your dress; the one you became extremely self aware in, as you felt post-game, sweaty, triumphant and not to forget, half-naked men, look at you with mixed faces of irritation and surprise. 

You finally switch on, making your way out swiftly and stating “Je suis vraiment désolé.” as many times as humanly possible, in the most flurried french accent imaginable. You just couldn’t believe that this was your life for the next couple weeks, and this is the way that you would start it. You blow out long breaths of air and shake your head in disbelief as you reach the toilets, directly opposite of the changing rooms. As you place your hand on the frigid steel doorknob, the hairs on your arm stand up for no apparent reason.

“Y/N?” 

-

next chapter here

pairing: kylian mbappé x reader

summary: Childhood sweethearts. After a tearful, transformative departure at just 19, four years pass by. And now, at 23, you are being forced to awkwardly reunite with your ex-boyfriend to fulfill your dreaded journalistic duties.

authors note: this chapter is essentially the build up to when they meet again next chapter, so bear with me :)) thank you for all the love and comment if you want to be in the tag list!

previous chapter here

2022 | LONDON, SOHO

You shake off your nerves as you enter your boss's office. You were specifically called over, which was extremely rare for a journalist of your level. Sympathetic glances are shot over from your colleagues, having you anticipate the worst. You wrap your trembling digits around the frigid doorknob and heave deeply. 

“I’m removing you from Educational Journalism and switching you to a different sector.” Your boss declares bluntly, barely leaving any time for your feet to be firmly planted on the floor.

“Wh-”

“I believe your writing is better fit for a more riveting sector than Education. Something along the lines of Entertainment and Sports.” He continues, blocking out any sort of inquiry you may have. The word Sports rings in your head. It was only just four years ago. Four years ago since you last saw him. Of course, you saw the odd headline of him or a trending hashtag/tweet debating just how good of a player he is, but you made it your (extremely difficult) mission to ignore and block out as much as possible of your ridiculously illustrious ex-boyfriend. You prayed that your boss would lean more into the entertainment sector, as you definitely wouldn’t mind interviewing and writing about celebrities and media around the world.

“Okay well, is there any sort of training I need to take before I start?” You question quickly, wary that you would be cut off again.

“Your writing is just what we need, so no, none at all. In fact, you have a train to Paris booked for 7:45 am tomorrow, as you’ll be interviewing a popular football team at their stadium. I’ll confirm more details in the morning.” The ringing in your ears grows louder, almost deafening. Suddenly, your trembling fingers become slick with perspiration and your tongue abnormally scratchy. There’s no way, what are the odds? you think to yourself. Your breathing becomes more hollow and rapid, now audible.

“Ms. Y/L/N? Are-” 

You interrupt this time, (unintentionally, but nonetheless it felt good). “Is this confirmed? Is there any way to deny this? I have a lot of things going on-”

“Y/N, this job is highly sought after, so the fact you’re even considering denying this job is very telling of your dedication to your role.” Your boss reprimands, making you purse your lips in shame. “And, yes it is very much confirmed, both the train ticket and the interviews. I get it, it’s normal to get scared and anxious when meeting celebrities of such calibre, but, you’re a journalist and this is a part of your job. Paris Saint Germain is one of-” Your boss’s voice fades out in the abundance of thoughts swirling around in your throbbing head. Now, you’re regretting a lot of things. You’re regretting not keeping in touch, which would probably drastically reduce the levels of anxiety you’re feeling but also your insistence on keeping your relationship with him private, because if it wasn’t, maybe your boss would understand how uncomfortable this situation is. Although, it did save you a swarm of hate comments and death threats.

You tune back into your boss’s ongoing rant, “-I, myself, am a fan of PSG, so if you could maybe get a signature or two from a couple players, that would be great.” He suggests, voice evident of enthusiasm. You roll your eyes subtly before heading your way out of the office. 

“Oh, Y/N?” He calls out, making you turn back promptly. “A signature from Mbappé in particular.” He comments, a small smile on his face. You pinch your eyelids shut and nod, already embarrassed at the thought of asking your Ex best friend/boy friend for a signature. 

---

On the tiresome commute home, you take advantage of the empty bus and call your best friend to communicate your uneasy thoughts.

“Imani, should I quit?” You ask, slouched in your seat, head facing the bus ceiling. One of the first and only friends you made in London, Imani is the only person outside of your immediate family that knows of your past relations with the footballer. Initially, she thought that it was a very well thought out prank, before realising that it was, in fact real and ended up screaming down the phone at you in bewilderment, leaving you to explain the extensive history of Y/N and the Mbappé.

“Girl, you have bills to pay. So delete that from your options,” She states bluntly, earning a hearty chuckle from you. “Unless,” She says, dragging out the ‘S’.

“Unless what?”

“Unless you get back together with him, that financial burden is lifted off your shoulders, and I can become WAG adjacent again! Win win for all of us!” 

“Imani.” You say exasperated.

“I’m kidding. Kinda. If I’m being honest, I still don’t understand why you broke up with him. You guys were so cute.”

“First of all, It was mutual. Kinda.” You recall the series of events, remembering your desolation and ache. You bite your lower lip, not liking to think too much about the feelings that day.

“Yeah mutual, yet he was begging for you not to leave him.” Imani responds, making you giggle quietly at her cut throat attitude.

“That wasn’t funny.” You say blankly, not giving her the satisfaction of making you laugh. “Plus, that was years ago, he probably has a girlfriend now.” The thought scans your mind briefly, leaving you to ponder.

“I love you, and I don’t want to be with anyone else but you, Y/N."

“You know what that means.” Imani declares, interrupting your train of thought.

“Late night stalking session?” “Late night stalking sesh.” Imani affirms. A late night stalking session, consists of one dedicated hour to finding out everything, ever imaginable about a possible romantic interest. In this case, a past romantic interest. This should be easy, you think to yourself, due to his famed status.

After a long journey home and sixty fatiguing, extensive minutes of harassing online search engines, you and Imani concluded two things:

Ethan has grown a lot since you last saw him.

Kylian, as a matter of fact, does have a girlfriend, who apparently, he’s engaged to.

---

i could cry,,, comments like these make my day <333 thank you so much for your support and a new chapter should be out vv soon!! 🤍

pairing: kylian mbappé x reader

summary: Childhood sweethearts. After a tearful, transformative departure at just 19, four years pass by. And now, at 23, you are being forced to awkwardly reunite with your ex-boyfriend to fulfill your dreaded journalistic duties.

author’s note: AHHHH!! i’m so excited to carry out this series honestly,,, this first chapter is a bit of insight of y/n and ky’s relationships <3333 first time writing angst also so… 🫣 give me feedback!! enjoy <3

2018 | BONDY

“I’m done.” 

You stated, as a saline tear slips out from your eye. As the tear crossed your frigid cheek and seeped into your mouth, it painfully affirmed your dread. Your gaze is stuck to the floor, tracing out patterns with weeping eyes. You realised everything too late, too late for reconciliation or any broken apologies. After the renowned World Cup win a couple months ago, the dynamic between you and Kylian changed. It felt like you two were in two completely different universes, attempting to find a common ground. It just wasn’t feasible. You felt neglected, and he once knew how much you despised feeling needy. You hated begging your boyfriend to talk to you for a couple minutes or to kiss you for a few seconds.

You were sat at the kitchen island, as Kylian stood in front of you, grasping your hands and scanning your solemn face intently, attempting to decipher the magnitude of your statement. Just minutes prior, you called him here to discuss something dire, not expecting yourself to be capable of wholly following through afterwards.

“Wh- What?” Kylian stuttered, clearly confused at your revelation. One hand left your right hand’s grasp, and squeezed your forearm fondly. The other hand, cupped your chin, picking up your jaw and forcing your irises to connect with his. You could barely make out his face with tears clouding your vision, but in spite of that, you could still make out a distraught expression on his countenance. 

“Please stop crying, Je t’aime. Talk to me.” He uttered, as he placed a small peck on both your eyelids. You shivered under his touch. It was the first time in months that you were physically  reminded of his affection for you. That he once loved you. Instinctively, you leaned forward to meet his forehead, remaining connected. “Talk to me.” He murmured gently, his thumb still rubbing your shaking hands.

With an exasperated sigh, you broke off from him tearfully, because you knew if you stayed any longer, all of this pent up courage would be gone and you would fall right back into his doting arms. He pinched his lips together, apprehensive of what’s to come.

“I’m breaking up with you,” You couldn’t believe the words that were stumbling out of your mouth. Your sweaty hands quivering, you try your hardest to clasp any sort of poise. Kylian stood still, on the other side of the island, utterly in shock of what you’d said. He bit his bottom lip and pulled his head back towards the ceiling. 

“Don’t do this. Please. You’re the only thing in my life that feels right.” He whispered, under his breath, his voice trembling. Your heart pulsated harshly, feeling a deep, throbbing hurt in every inch of your body. Tears threaten to spill from the crevices of your eyes, so, similarly to Kylian, you tip your head towards the ceiling and fiercely bite your tongue.

“This is probably the longest we’ve been together in weeks, Ky. We barely- We don’t talk to each other anymore. We don’t touch each other, it’s like I’m living with a stranger. It hurts, but- despite everything, despite all the hurt, I don’t want you to sacrifice your ambition for anyone. Not even me. I’ve told you that since we were fourteen. And even though I told you to, right now, you’re so focused on these dreams, that I don’t know whether to be proud or hurt.” You expressed, without much thought or pause.

He nodded mindlessly. His nostril flared outwards as he breathed out shakily, flashing an unsolicited dimple. In a few strides, he engulfed you in a hug. You counted each heartbeat that reverberated against your face, as he stared down at you lovingly. “You know when I told you we were different, unlike other couples?” You whisper against his chest. He hesitated briefly, his breath catching in his throat at the memory, then nodded. “I meant it. Which is why I know we’ll find our way back to each other again.”

He pulled out of the hug steadily, and made his way towards a seat. His lean arms propped up on his knees, he places his strained eyes in his calloused palms. “Kylian?”

He sits up, his eyes blood red. His eyebrows slanted inwards, he shakes his head painfully. A wave of sadness crashes into your heart, as you watch him fight back tears.

“I love you, and I don’t want to be with anyone else but you, Y/N. Je veux fonder une famille avec toi. Épouse-la. It’s always going to be you. Only you. Forever and always. You are my past, present and future. Ma vie.” He says strained, his breath catching and forming a feeble hiccup. You grew up with him, and both of you knew that you wanted to continue doing so with each other. You couldn’t imagine it any other way. You let out a deep sigh and bit the skin of your cheek. You walk towards him, leaning down to cup his tear stained face.

“Kylian Mbappé, I am in love with you. I have been my whole entire life, and that won’t change. No matter how much it may look like it, I will never be able to love someone like how I love you. Right now, we both need time to ourselves. To get better, to grow. We aren’t giving each other our 100%, and we’ve always said-”

“All or nothing.” He finished your sentence, nodding regrettably. 

“All or nothing.”

- - -

pairing: neymar x reader

summary: Neymar and Y/N’s relationship, typically remain between the two counterparts. Y/N and Neymar. Amidst all the rumours, they take to Instagram to hint at their status, hoping to drive people away from them, not realising that it would do the absolute opposite.

author’s note: tried something new!!! was honestly so fun making these, but my next fic should be written. short and cute, enjoy!!!

yourinstagram

liked by neymarjr and 1,404,767 others

yourinstagram ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 PÁTRIA !!!!

neymarjr 😂😂❤️

↳ user160707 the love heart 👀

user172873 is that davi and ney in the first pic?? 😭

rafaella 💖

↳ yourinstagram 💞💞

↳ Y/N_neymar_obsessed Comment from rafaella??? ITS CONFIRMED

user1718928 Y/N and Neymar>>>

neymarlover163 😍😍

richarlison Você e ney devem nos visitar em breve! (You and Ney should visit us soon!)

liked by yourinstagram

/

PDA GALORE: NEYMAR AND Y/N SPOTTED BACK FROM THEIR TRIP TO BRAZIL

The two Brazilian prodigies, Neymar the illustrious football player and Y/N, the distinguished actress, have arrived back from their spontaneous trip to Brazil. Despite not confirming nor explicitly posting each other on their social media’s, fans (and us alike) believe the two seem to be settling into a profound romantic pairing.

View their romantic photos here.

/

yourinstagram

liked by neymarjr, thiagosilva and 2,111,627 others

❤️💙 & 😴💤

user168889 they definitely don’t care about being private anymore

user146766 maybe they’re just really close friends

ney_marlover NEYMAR!!!!!

thiagosilva 💜

↳ user46567 THIAGO TELL US THE TRUTH

/

yourinstagram

liked by neymarjr, zendaya and 1,111,446 others

work, trabalho, work

Y/N_fanpage her lifestyle >>>

user1617798 can’t WAIT to see her new series

user1010 okay… where’s neymar

↳ yourinstagram At home?

↳ user71827278 WDYM?? AT HOMEEE

↳ user78988 WHAT THE-

↳ user676775 IVE BEEN SAYING OMG

↳ Y/N_ney_lover ITS OFFICIALLLLLL

This user has disabled their comment section.

/

yourinstagram

liked by neymarjr, and 15,664,788 others

yourinstagram Feliz aniversário para o amor da minha vida. Eu estava esperando para mostrar ao mundo como você é fofo. (Baby N 🥺). Eu sou seu para sempre. ❤️

Happy birthday to the love of my life. I’ve been waiting to show the world how cute you are. (Baby N 🥺). I’m forever yours. ❤️

neymarjr Eu te amo para sempre ❤️

↳ yourusername Te amooooo 💞💞

TERRITORIAL

pairing: mbappe x reader

summary: On the day of one of Kylian’s vital matches, speculations cloud the pitch. Both Y/N and Mbappe learn the crucial power of privacy, realising what people don’t know, they can’t ruin.

author’s note: angst!! possessive and jealous mbappe!! honestly i love writing for him!! plus i tried some new things <33. hope u enjoy and sorry for the long wait :) + i imagined blonde kylian whilst writing this

Kylian startles me, as he comes from behind me and wraps his toned arms around my waist. His chin resting on my shoulder, I let out a long exhalation of relief, feeling a wave of serenity among the bustling Parisian lights. I glanced up, staring deeply into the blinking lights that illuminated the city, and then looked back to Kylian, attaching my lips onto his. Today marked our six month anniversary, and Ky decided to bring us back home to celebrate. Paris always had a special fondness in my heart, as it is where I spent the first seven years of my life, where most of my family resided and where I met Kylian. Although our night had to be cut short due to Kylian’s match at Parc des Princes tomorrow, we both made sure to relish each other’s presence to the fullest.

It was rare we had each other to ourselves like this, due to our demanding and famed lifestyles. If I was free, Kylian had training and if he was free, I had a photoshoot. As if this wasn't enough of a hassle of its own, the added factor of secrecy makes things completely infeasible. Disguises, secret locations and body guards were just some of the thousands of precautions taken to ensure our privacy. So far, it worked, as Kylian was being linked to essentially every Woman in Paris except me. No one had the reason to relate the two of us, as to some, I lived in a completely different universe to Kylian Mbappe. And it was all worth it, as despite everything else about us being in the forefront of the public eye, we finally had something that was utterly and wholly ours. Just ours, and only ever ours.

“Je ne me lasserai jamais de ce vue.” (I will never get tired of this view.) I mention, entirely enthralled by the glimmering tower in front of me.

“Moi aussi.” (Me too.) Kylian responds quickly, and I whip my head back to find his stare unreservedly fixated on me instead of the tower. I smile softly, and drop my eyes to the floor attempting to conceal my bashful state. He can obviously see me try to hide my face, as he erupts into a fit of shameless laughter. This only makes me even more coy, as I physically cover myself with my hands to avoid eye contact. I rest my head on his chest, which reverbates as he continues to laugh at my timidity, as he begins to cradle it and kiss my head. His forwardness has always made me feel shy, which was one of things I liked about him.

“Let me take a picture of you.” He asks, staring directly into my dilated irises. I nod as he takes a couple with me doing funny pictures in front of the tower, some idyllic selfies of the two of us and some with my back turned, facing the view. I decided to choose one to upload to my story, appreciative of the views ahead of me.

-

Game day. I made my way towards the stadium, riddled with nerves. As I sit patiently, my phone lights up seeing Ky’s name appear. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, since at a time so close to the game, he would never go on his phone, it was apart of his pre game ritual. I answer hesitantly.

“Y/N,” Mbappe says, and my worry quadruples in size.

“Yes?” I answer, and he lets out a sigh. “Ky, what’s up?”

“Have you checked your phone recently? Or seen your twitter?”

“No? Why? Do I need to?”

“Check your messages.”

Suddenly, I get a notification from Kylian, viewing the attachment he sent me. I gasp.

I go silent, and Kylian understands my thoughts, as he begins calling out my name. That was me and him, on the front cover, kissing, for everyone to see. How did we not know? How could we be so thoughtless?

I tune in to our conversation and listen to what Kylian has to say.

“Listen, there’s good news and bad news.”

“Je pense que la mauvaise nouvelle est très évidente, what’s the good news? (I think that the bad news is very obvious,)

“Your face is not seen in the article, that’s good, right?” He says, attempting to lighten the tone. I giggle at his ridiculous positivity.

“It says undetected not unknown, I already know they are just waiting for the perfect time to say my name.”

“Speaking of that, there’s one more piece of bad news. Check your twitter.”

I sigh, and my Twitter is on the verge of crashing down with the amount of notifications I have. I go to the trending page and view my name in capitals.

“Kylian…”

I tap on the hashtag and see tons of threads and tweets labelled:

A TIMELINE OF Y/N Y/L/N & KYLIAN MBAPPE’S RELATIONSHIP

THE FRENCH IT COUPLE: Y/N AND MBAPPE

Y/N & MBAPPE??? UNDER THE EIFFEL TOWER,, KISSING???

Y/N IS THE GIRL IN THE PHOTO AND HERE’S WHY…

“Oh God.” I blurt out, realising just how bad this situation is.

“Yeah… essayez de ne pas trop vous en soucier, d’accord?” (try not to worry about it too much, okay?) Kylian says with his voice soft and gentle, trying to console me. I realise his game is getting closer, and he needs to focus, not calling me.

“You too. I’ll still be rooting for you in the stands. I love you.” I affirm, not allowing any trivial tabloids, trending hashtags or headlines get into my head.

“Je t’aime plus. (I love you more.) See you later, Ma vie.” (My life.)

Eventually, I reached Parc des Princes. This was the first time I would be going to one of his matches, due to our privacy precautions and coincidentally it was also the first time I went out as ‘Mbappe’s girlfriend.’ Great. We planned out this for months, ensuring that I could still have a good view, whilst still being hidden from the public eye, and now that all went to waste. As soon as I stepped out of the Uber, I heard haunting shutters and clicks of cameras, something which still irked me after all the experience. Mbappe made sure to increase the security, even before this whole situation, so I wouldn’t be bothered by anyone. Three different guards surrounded me, and escorted me to the seats, which, initially I thought was excessive, however now, I’m more grateful than ever. After navigating endless hallways and shortcuts, I finally sat down in my seat. I scan the pitch to find him, and I immediately see him, more unfazed than ever. Seeing him like that makes me feel more confident in turn, so I straighten up my posture, cross my legs, fix my hair and breathe. The whistle blows, and I just pray this match goes well.

Within minutes of the whistle sounding, Kylian is smoothly assisted the ball from Hakimi, before a defender from the other team viciously slide tackles into Mbappe’s ankles. He drops brutally. The crowd roars in anger and the referee whistle is sounded. I jump up instinctually, genuinely stressing. To everyone’s surprise, Mbappe limps up and begins to confront the heated defender. They argue aggressively, foreheads pounding, vicious shouts and boyish shoves and grunts consuming the screen. Just as the teammates from the respective teams begin to diffuse the situation, seemingly reaching a state of stillness, the defender utters something, which was completely unintelligible on the screens, but was clear enough to make Kylian charge towards him again.

Kylian releases himself from his frenzied team mates grasp and dashes towards him. Still provoking him with his comments, Kylian shoves the player with his utmost force and in turn, he drops to the ground immediately, rolling around to finish off the performance. I could tell Ky was extremely, extremely irritated by him, and was on the brink of losing control. The melodramatic player stops rolling around and gets back up, muttering more comments towards him. Kylian finally reaches his edge, as he shoves the player with intense acceleration. The crowd jumped in shock, the game turning into utter chaos as both teams failed to diffuse the situation miserably. The referee swiftly puts a red card above his head, something that Kylian was practically waiting for. He knew what he did was stupid. Before he left, I could make out the words ‘Parlez encore d'elle’, ‘Redis son nom’ and ‘Voir ce qui se passe’.

I could tell he was still angry as he left the pitch, as he ignored consoles from his manager and teammates and headed straight out towards the tunnel leading them back to the changing rooms. Suddenly, I make the executive decision to go, picking up my feet and explaining to bumptious guards that I am perfectly capable of going to the bathroom by myself.

Reaching the hallways, I hear the thump and strikes of objects being hurled around the room laced with a string of unrefined french swears. I breathed out Kylian’s name, before following the sounds as it became increasingly louder. I perceive erratic breathing and I become alarmingly worried at his state. Placing my fingers upon the door, I push outwards revealing the catastrophic conditions of the changing room. I see him, sitting on the floor against a disfigured locker door. His head hung back, facing the ceiling and his eyes pinched shut, as if he was trying to erase something from his mind. I murmur his name from under my breath, and he looks up at me, prolonging unfeigned eye contact. I begin to make my way towards him, before Kylian jumps up and moves back from me. I frown, puzzled but nonetheless I remain immobile maintaining a gut wrenching distance.

“Ky, qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?”(What’s wrong?) I ask gently, tilting my head and giving him further inspection. I glance down to his knuckles, bruised and red. “Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé là-bas?” (What happened down there?) My voice slowly started to become less and less unfaltering as it grew with concern.

He shakes his head and compresses his lips together, his hands placed firmly on his hips. He starts pacing around the room, opening up and closing his mouth in an attempt to formulate a sentence. Seeing him this anxiety-ridden makes my heart pound with sympathy, so in a couple strides, I come towards Kylian and grab his attention. I cup his face, staring into his dilated irises. I see flicks of hesitation scan his face, before I begin to calm him down.

“I love you. You can trust me.” I reassure him, as his broad shoulders slowly become less uptight.

“I know I can. C'est moi, en qui je n'ai pas confiance..” (It's me, who I don't trust.) He mutters shamefully, expressing the extent of his anger.

“Well I do. I trust you completely.”

Kylian heaves, before his attentive glare left mine and watched the walls. “He- They know about you. He was talking about you on the pitch. The whole team.” I sigh, before softly dropping my hands from his face. He notices this, as he grabs my hands to hold them before they fall against my sides.

“What did they say?”

His head hangs low, and his gaze meets the floor. I look up at him searching for the eye contact I desire, but his eyes remain glued to the ground. “Ky-” I’m cut off as he looks back at me.

“First they said you were pretty. They kept saying your name, congratulating me for getting someone as sexy as you. Afterwards, they began to threaten me about how I need to get up from the ground so I won’t embarrass you. Then one of them started to talk about how they can treat you better. That they can fuck you better than me. When I pushed him down, his teammates started to say the same thing, saying your name, imitating you, moaning. It was disgusting and I’m sorry that you-”

I connect my lips onto his, overwhelmed. It felt like the only correct answer at the moment, as Kylian’s temper was rising by the minute. His resentment translated into ardent concupiscence, as his hands shifted against my body frantically. His hands in my hair, and my arms linked around his shoulders. I hoped my appreciation for him was communicated. A million thoughts condensed into one single moment.

I slowly detach my lips from him, as our foreheads touch. Trying to regain my breathing, I still see Ky’s eyes closed and his lips pressed together. Eventually, his eyes flutter open and I begin to laugh at his state. Face flushed, red lipstick staining his lips it was truly a heavenly sight. As our laughs reverberated against the changing room, he grabbed my waist and pressed it towards him in a snug embrace. After a few beats of silence, I place my chin on his chest to look up, “Is it bad to say I like it when you’re jealous?” He looks down and furrows his eyebrows. His dimple pops up as he talks, “I wasn’t jealous.” I laugh at his denial, because clearly his actions presented differently.

“So getting a four match ban isn’t a result of your jealousy?” I remark snarkily as Kylian pouts, slightly saddened by my words. I laugh quietly to myself, before I apologise profusely and kiss the tip of his nose.

He continues to plead his case saying “Je ne suis pas jaloux, je suis territorial. (I am not jealous, I am territorial.) Jealousy is when you want something that’s not yours, and I was just protecting what’s already mine.”

-

thank you for the request, and honestly, it all depends on the feedback i receive on i’m yours, i never want to write anything you guys won’t like :))

pairing: richarlison x reader

summary: Y/N is lavishly flown to Qatar to accompany her industrious boyfriend in the World Cup. When Richarlison finally manages to get an evening off his busy schedule, he makes sure not to waste a second more away from his solicitous girlfriend, whose mind is occupied by one shameless scenario. Him, her and their massive private pool.

author’s note: enjoy :) + apologies for any bad portuguese - PURE EXPLICIT CONTENT/SMUT!!! You’ve been warned lol — (also i can’t believe i spelt surprised wrong in my last title 😭😭)

He walks us down the pool steps, and his hands stay glued to mine even in water. He peppers heavy kisses alongside my neck and collarbone, forcing me to produce light whimpers in response. The kiss was frantic. My legs still are wrapped around his, trying to relieve any friction.He pecked me on my cheeks, nose then chin before kissing me on my lips. Tongues grazing and biting my bottom lip, a raspy groan emitted from his throat making my back arch from the pool wall. We pull back from each other, and take in each other's state. I look at him, a slender silver chain hanging from his neck.

Richarlison re-positioned me so I was right on top of him. His hand ran through my navel, caressing my skin, eventually travelling to the curve of my lower back. His hand touched the button of my bikini top and he looked at me.

“Can I?” He whispered, I nodded embarrassingly fast hoping that it would satisfy his question, but it didn’t. “Use your words, princesa.” He said, with a stupid grin on his face.

“Please.” I said little under a whisper, shame coursing through my body at my eagerness. His eyes solely stared at my lips as I commented. Biting back down a smirk, he made his way to my back. I leaned down to his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around me to unhook each button. My skin came in close contact with his chain, stinging my skin with its frigid touch. He was smooth with each clasp, soothing every fragment of exposed skin that was left under the cover of my top.

Once finally removing my top, he embraced my chest and began to leave love bites in the valley of my breasts. Shuddering moans left my mouth involuntarily which in turn, made Richarlison ridiculously lustful. He shifted under me and his chain glistened against the city lights. He noticed my staring and I realised my slight obsession with it.

Before getting to react, he unclipped the chain and clipped it around my neck.

“Fuck. It definitely looks better on you.” Richarlison practically groaned out, adjusting the necklace against my breasts. Spontaneously, I decided to pick it up and place it between my teeth and suck on it. After popping it out, I could’ve sworn I heard a weak whimper from him. His hands moved to my lower half, smoothing the material of my swim bikini. He peels my bottoms off me as I look down at his black trunks before he quickly begins to unzip them.

Once it was off, we attached our lips together once again, fitting together like the missing puzzles in a puzzle piece. His tongue intertwined with mine, leaving absolutely no room for breathing. His hands moved against my skin frenetically, cupping and squeezing my breasts making me moan deeply into our kiss. I firmly grabbed onto his broad shoulders, guttural groans leaving his mouth. I shivered at his noises, adjusting my position on him. His head whipped back, breathing heavily.

“Deus, a maneira como você se move deve ser ilegal.” (God, the way you move should be illegal.) He stated, completely exasperated, his mouth slack and his eyes glued to our bodies. I smirked confidently and before I even got to relish in any sort of cockiness or superiority, he grabbed my throat with his ringed hand and began to shift under me, with the pressure of the water creating a sensational feeling. An unmanageable amount of whines and moans left my mouth.

“I hate you.” I declaimed in embarrassment of how quickly he can make me submit to him, my head leaning back to the ceiling.

“No, you don’t.” He replied, grabbing the tip of my jaw with his thumb and forefinger and reconnecting our lips. As we kissed roughly once again, I got off him and submerged into the water. I pulled him down to meet me underwater, air bubbles floating around our faces, I smiled at him before closing the gap between us. I kiss him again, my hand firmly planted on my jaw and his hands on my lovehandles.

We emerged from the water and I practically whined at the lack of touch. “Touch me, please , just touch me.”

“You want me to touch you?” He asked shamelessly, wanting to hear me beg. I nodded in response. “Is that so?” Richarlison questioned, cupping my face. “Well, what do you say then?” He whispered, our faces in such close proximity that his breathing made my eyelashes flutter.

“Please.” I moaned out, my back arching uncontrollably.

“Good girl.” He began to lower his fingers towards my heat, past the water, and swiped his fingers through my mess.

“Tão viciante. Why are you so fucking addictive? Your lips,” He began kissing me, before ripping apart from me. “-addictive. Your skin,” His tongue swiped against the skin on my neck. “-addictive. You,” Richarlison dragged his hands against the curve of my body seductively. “-so, so fucking addictive.”

“Richarlison, I need you in me now.” I breathed out, almost under a whisper. The truth being, if he said anymore, I would come before he properly even touched me.

He stared into me, silenced by the request I gave him. He bit his lip and opened his mouth to confirm and I nodded my head before he even finished asking. He turned me around, as I faced the city view as he stood behind. Before I realised, he was placing himself in me, a loud and throaty moan erupted from Richarlison’s mouth. He felt so good, it didn’t even feel real. His hands were on my waist, as my eyes were pinched shut. He guided me rocking back and forth as I rode him. I brought his chain back up to my mouth and bit on the tip of the silver, restricting my noise. Deciding to go at a slightly faster pace, He pounds into me hard, a moan leaving my mouth. He filled me up, as I practically felt his bulge in my stomach. His hands left my waist, as he ran his hands through his hair and then started to grip onto my ass. Another whine left me, as I felt his piercing hands on me.

“Tell me how you feel.” Richarlison demanded, through moans. I don’t know if I had the capacity to speak or if I could. Pure pleasure and bliss took over my body, leaving me no choice but to ignore his request.

One of his hands wrapped around my lower waist and the other grabbed my neck, squeezing the sides. It felt euphoric and I was once again moaning. “Princesa, I said tell me how you feel, speak to me.”

“Good, Rich. So fucking good.” I could practically hear the smug, satisfied smile that formed on his face as he continued pounding into me so hard that tears clouded up my vision. Wanting to hear him vocal again, I began to sink all the way down him, making him create the most confounding and intense moan I’ve ever heard and I was completely adherent to it.

“Oh my God, - Por favor, assim mesmo.” (Please, just like that) He groaned hard, the water splashing against our torsos. Somehow, I sank even lower, and his cock confidently reached my G-spot. Before I cried out in intense pleasure, he cupped my mouth to prevent extreme levels of noise leaving the room. I was still biting on Rich’s chain, my red lipstick staining his silver. I bounced up and down his length, as he leaned forward, creating a love bite on the left side of my neck as I moaned overtly. I kept bouncing up and down, a ringing clapping noise filling the room with the sounds of our skin. Rich’s hands made their way back to my hips and started slamming me down into him.

“Richarlison, oh my-“ I responded to his motion, black mascara stained tears falling down my cheeks. “I love it when you say my name like that..” He said between pounds.

Before getting to reply, my body shakes and tightens around him as I’m a couple rides away from coming. “How are you this tight?- Oh-” He muttered in disbelief, his moans thundering throughout the room.

“I’m so close-” I essentially scream out, my climax reaching me. Richarlison’s pace goes faster, slamming into me with such force, leaving both of us a whimpering mess.

“Y/N-, just come all over me.”

My climax hits me, ecstasy spilling out of me as I come in him. Leaking everywhere, he carried on and groaned with every hit whilst every limb of mine shook. The water suddenly began to feel heavy, as it began to feel like I was floating. Eventually, he came too with an accompanying booming groan leaving his lips as he filled me up. Every nerve in my body and brain was electrified. My body had a temporary paralysis, my mind unable to process the pleasure so fast. I fell backwards into him, shaking in his hold as he wrapped his arms around me. Pulling out of me, I realised just how sore I am, but all is forgotten as I’m in his hold showered with Richarlison’s kisses.

“That was a great surprise, princesa.” He whispered into my ear, kissing the back of my neck.

“Sim,” I agreed and turned around to face him, leaving a kiss. “But didn’t you score twice today?” He smiles and looks me straight in the eye. “What are you suggesting?” He says, tilting his head.

FULL OF SURPRISES

pairing: richarlison x reader

summary: Y/N is lavishly flown to Qatar to accompany her industrious boyfriend in the World Cup. When Richarlison finally manages to get an evening off his busy schedule, he makes sure not to waste a second more away from his solicitous girlfriend, whose mind is occupied by one shameless scenario. Him, her and their massive private pool. 

author’s note: (part 2) how is it possible to fall in love with someone i wrote? enjoy :) + apologies for any bad portuguese 

My boyfriend was hot. I always knew that and now, everybody else did too. Ever since the World cup started, Richarlison was fostering an unbelievable amount of attention from women and girls across the world, and not only just for his looks but for his prodigious football skills, which consequently made him even hotter. Attractive and great at his profession? It was simply too much for me to handle. I was conflicted. Ever since we landed in Qatar, Richarlison has been fully committed to training and preparing himself for his upcoming games. Although I was so proud, I was becoming restless, dangerously restless. Laying around in this opulent hotel room surprisingly got boring very quickly, as there wasn’t that much I could do without compromising my safety and being bombarded by the paparazzi stationed outside the hotel. 

I hated being needy, but my needs slowly began to become uncontrollable. Realising the match against Serbia was in a couple hours, I decided to text him and make a deal.

From Me.

“score for me tonight, and i’ll give you my own special celebration at the hotel?”

From Meu coração (Richarlison)

“Bebê…”

From Meu coração (Richarlison)

Obrigado pela pressão!! 🙄 (Thank you for the pressure.) Now I have to score, I will never forgive myself If I don’t

From Me.

then you know what you have to do ;)  good luck amor, eu te amo xx

From Meu coração (Richarlison)

Eu te amo mais, até breve (I love you more, see you soon)

I smile at myself, successfully managing to get a night alone with him. My mind went crazy at the amount of things we could do tonight, making up for all that lost time. Eventually, the game came around and I was elated. Our seats were close to the match, so I made sure to give him a sweet reminder of our deal tonight. I decided to press my curls spontaneously, giving me a silky jet black look. My hair was parted in the middle, and stopped at the cuff of my Brazil jersey. I felt ready.

Before I even realised, it was already 1 - 0 to Brazil, scored by the man himself, Richarlison. I smiled to myself as he pointed to me in the stands, nobody other than us knowing what this meant for our evening plans. Within minutes, the ball was assisted to Richarlison before he kicked it back up in the air, moved his legs in a pedalling motion and struck the ball in midair. I jumped up, as his goal hit the back of the net. I yelled, jumping up and down at his phenomenal goal with the whole stadium essentially shaking in astonishment. Goosebumps pricked my skin, as he ran around the pitch, before he stopped at my section, held up two fingers whilst mouthing to me “Dupla surpresa?”(Double surprise?) and then got bombarded by his teammates as they collided into him in celebration. I rolled my eyes at his understandable cockiness and bit my lip instinctually, feeling more attracted to him than ever.

Eventually, the match ended and I essentially ran back to the hotel, getting ready for tonight. I pull out my phone as I walk into the elevator, going up to the suite, and decide to send him an update.

From Me.

well done meu amor, meet me in the pool tonight..