“INSTAGO”
Kylian had never been in a truly stable relationship before, so now that he finally is, shaking off his old “single” habits wasn’t exactly easy.
Content : angst x rom.
The apartment was too quiet.
TV muted, colors flickering across your face but meaning nothing.
Your phone lay in your hand.
You weren’t even scrolling.
Just… breathing around the heaviness in your chest.
And then a X notification of you getting mentioned from a big reporter account, slid down like a blade:
Tweet : @k.mbappe liked @model’s photo again , poor @y/n.
The replies were merciless.
“He keeps liking all these models when he has a goddess at home???”
“Sometimes I really don’t understand men.”
“If she’s not his type, why is he even dating her?”
Your breath hitched. Instinctively, your thumb opened the model’s Instagram page, and there it was. He really had liked her photo.
You locked your phone trying to not break down, closing your eyes in disappointment.
Footsteps padded toward you, lazy and innocent.
Kylian walked in wearing gray sweats and a hoodie, hair damp after a shower.
He didn’t even look at you at first.
“Everything good?” he asked, opening a bottle of water.
Silence.
He looked over, frowning.
“…Y/N?”
You didn’t move. Didn’t look. Didn’t breathe right.
He stepped closer, blocking the TV, that you weren’t even watching to begin withz
“Hey? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
He laughed, sharp, irritated.
“Yeah, okay. That’s your ‘nothing’ face.”
You turned away, jaw tight.
He came closer.
Too close.
“Talk to me,” he said firmly. “Something happened.”
You shook your head, throat burning from the pressure of everything you were holding in.
“Y/N,???” he said, voice dropping, “you’re not fine.”
Silence thickened.
He exhaled sharply.
“Alright. What did I do?”
Your eyes flickered to your locked phone, a mistake.
His gaze followed immediately.
“…Is this about something you saw?”
Your stomach twisted.
“What did you see?” he repeated, stepping toward you.
Nothing came out.
And he snapped. He hates being ignored.
“I’m done guessing,” he barked. “What. did. you. see?”
Your voice cracked on the way out:
“You liked another model’s picture.”
He froze.
Then scoffed.
“This is about Instagram?”
Your lips parted, hurt slicing through your chest.
“Don’t dismiss what bothers me like th—”
“No, seriously,” he cut you off, eyebrows raised, voice sharp. “THIS is why you’re sitting here acting like the world is ending?”
“It hurts?,” you said, breath shaking.
“It’s a LIKE,” he said louder. “You’re mad because I tapped my screen?”
“I’m mad because it makes me look—”
“What? Threatened?”
“Small!” you burst out. “It makes me look and feel small!”
He stared at you, disbelief all over his face.
“That’s ridiculous?”
You flinched like he slapped you.
“Don’t call my feelings ridiculous.”
“I’m calling the SITUATION ridiculous!” he shot back. “You’re blowing nothing into—”
“Nothing?!”
Your voice rose instantly.
“How is it nothing when you’re giving attention to every girl on your feed when you are supposedly not single anymore?”
Kylian dragged a hand over his face.
“Oh my god, Y/N, stop twisting everything—”
“I’m not twisting anything! I’m telling you exactly how it looks Kylian, you act like you are still single!”
“And I’m telling you you’re overthinking!”
“And I’m telling you you don’t care how it makes me look!”
He stepped in, angry, frustrated, too close.
“You think I’m TRYING to embarrass you?”
“I think you don’t STOP to think how it looks!”
“Oh please,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Here we go—”
Your chest tightened, hurt boiling into your voice.
“I am telling you something hurts, why are you acting like I’m crazy!?”
“I NEVER said you’re crazy!”
“You act like it!”
He laughed, cold, defensive, reckless.
“You’re making this into some huge insecurity spiral and dragging me into it—”
Your breath stopped.
“Kylian… don’t.”
He kept going.
“If you’re this insecure,” he said, jaw tightening, “why are you even with me?”
The words slapped the air.
Hard.
Your breath stopped instantly.
Kylian’s face changed the second the words left his mouth.
Regret hit him like a punch.
But the damage was already there.
Your voice trembled as the tears spilled.
“You really think that’s what this is, me being insecure?”
“Y/N—”
“No,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Say it. You think I’m insecure for being hurt? You think I’m pathetic?”
His eyes widened.
“No—fuck, no, that’s not what I meant—”
But you were already shaking.
Already crying in a way you couldn’t stop. Angry? Hurt? Shocked? Triggered? EVERYTHING ALL AT ONCE.
And that broke him open.
He stepped toward you and you stepped back, flinching,not from fear, but from the depth of the wound.
That single step backward, it destroyed him.
“Don’t—” his voice cracked. “Please don’t back away from me.”
You wiped your cheek, tears falling faster.
“You don’t get to call me insecure,” you whispered, voice shaking violently. “Not when your actions are reckless and pathetic”
His throat tightened, guilt flooding his expression.
“Okay let’s talk-” he begged, voice trembling now.
You shook your head, sob choking out of you.
“I wasn’t insecure but you gave me reasons to feel not enough.”
That was the line that finished him.
Kylian’s chest collapsed in a sharp breath.
He closed the distance in two steps and pulled you into his arms before you could push him away.
Your sob hit his chest hard and he gasped like the sound physically hurt him.
“No—no, no, no—don’t cry like that—please—”
His voice broke completely as he wrapped both arms around you.
“I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean ANY of it.”
You tried to pull away but he held you desperately — not forceful, just terrified.
“Please don’t pull away from me,” he whispered against your hair.
“Please. I’m begging you.”
Another sob ripped through you and his hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you gently as the tears soaked into his hoodie.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over, voice cracking.
“I’m so fucking sorry, baby. I hurt you. I know I did. I know.”
Your hands finally gripped his hoodie, holding on through the shaking breaths.
He cupped your face, wiping your cheeks even as more tears fell.
“Look at me,” he whispered.
You shook your head.
“Baby, please,” he said softly, forehead touching yours, breath shaking.
“I love you. I love you more than my own pride. I’m sorry I forgot that for a minute and all I was thinking was that I HAVE to win this argument”
Your breath trembled against his lips. He kissed your tear-wet cheek.
Slowly.
Tenderly.
Then the other.
Then the corner of your mouth. You shivered at the soft warmth of it.
The apology in it.
He kissed your jaw, your temple, the bridge of your nose. Every kiss slow, gentle, meant to undo the damage he caused.
Your hands slid up to his shoulders, gripping him.
He finally kissed you, deeply this time, a broken, desperate kiss, full of guilt and love and fear and need.
Your tears mixed with his breath as his lips moved with yours, soft at first, then deeper as you melted into him.
His hands held your waist, pulling you closer onto him, holding you like he needed your heartbeat against his.
The kiss broke slowly, breath to breath.
His forehead touched yours.
“I’m yours,” he whispered, voice raw.
“Even when I fuck up. Even when I say the wrong thing. Even when I hurt you, Even when I’m dumb.”
His thumb stroked your cheek.
“You matter to me more than any girl on my earth not just my phone.”
A soft, trembling kiss landed on your lips again.
“I won’t make you feel or look small again,” he whispered.
“I won’t make you feel unseen.”
Another kiss.
Softer.
Lingering.
“I choose you. I’m here. I’m staying.”
You breathed out shakily, lips brushing his.
And finally,
You let him hold you.
Let him kiss you slow.
Let him whisper apologies against your skin.
Let him love you the way he should’ve from the start.
Wrapped in his arms, in his warmth, in his regret, in his lips, you broke together and healed in the same breath.
His lips were still brushing yours, slow and aching, when he whispered against your mouth:
“Come here… come closer.”
You didn’t even have the strength to argue anymore.
Your body leaned into him instinctively, letting him pull you onto his lap on the couch.
He kissed you again,not desperate now,just deep, warm, lingering.
His mouth moved with yours like he was trying to memorize you, he leaned u back slowly on the couch with him softy going down with you.
Your fingers slid into his damp curls and he groaned quietly, the sound vibrating against your lips. His hands spread across your back, holding you tight, pulling you in like he was terrified you’d slip away again.
“Don’t cry anymore,” he murmured, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips again.
“I’ve got you. I’m here. I’m can never let you go.”
You were tired emotionally drained,
barely holding yourself together.
His forehead rested on yours, your breath shaky as his thumbs wiped the last traces of tears.
He kissed you slowly, gently, over and over until your body softened, tension melting under his hands.
Eventually, he tugged the blanket higher around you and leaned back against the couch, guiding your head onto his chest.
You felt him exhale, a deep, relieved breath, as he whispered into your hair:
“Sleep, baby. I’m right here.”
And for the first time that night, your body finally unclenched. Your breaths evened out, little by little, and the exhaustion pulled you under.
Within minutes, you were asleep, curled into him, face tucked into his hoodie, fingers still tangled in the fabric like you were afraid to lose him even in your dreams.
Kylian didn’t move.
Not an inch.
Not until he was sure you were fully gone, breathing slow and soft in his arms.
Only then did he carefully reach for his phone on the table, the screen still dark, still holding the thing that started everything.
He swallowed hard, guilt tightening in his throat.
Then he unlocked his phone.
Notifications.
Likes.
Comments.
The usual noise.
He went straight to his activity, his own likes.
And suddenly…
he saw it.
Her picture.
Her body.
Her filters.
Her pose.
His username right underneath, the little heart glowing red.
And then scroll after scroll,
More girls.
More photos.
More hearts.
More attention he didn’t even think about because it never meant anything, that was his life all along somehow.
To him.
But looking at it through your eyes?
His stomach dropped.
It looked awful.
It looked careless.
It looked disrespectful.
It looked like he wasn’t choosing you.
He closed his eyes, jaw tightening. Regretting being this stubborn when you weren’t even 1% wrong.
“Fuck…”
He whispered it softly, the word cracking in the quiet room.
He looked down at you asleep against his chest,your lashes still damp, your lips slightly parted against his hoodie, your fingers curled near his heart.
You trusted him enough to fall apart on him.
To sleep on him.
To stay.
And he’d been careless with that.
He wrapped both arms around you again, holding you tighter, not enough to wake you, just enough to promise something silently:
He wasn’t doing this shit again.
He wasn’t hurting you like that again.
Kylian pressed a long, slow kiss to the top of your head, letting his lips linger there as his hand stroked your back softly.
“I get it now…” he whispered, almost to himself.
“I see it. And I’m gonna fix it. I swear.”
You shifted slightly in your sleep, nuzzling closer into him, and something in his chest cracked open.
He kissed your forehead.
Then your hair.
Then held you until his own eyes slowly closed , your body warm and safe against his,
when Kylian stared at his phone again and felt something inside him twist.
He looked down at you.
And he opened Instagram.
He went straight to his “following” list.
And he started unfollowing.
One by one.
Every model.
Every random influencer.
Every fitness girl.
Every actress he didn’t know.
Every woman who only existed on his feed as a face and a body and nothing meaningful.
Unfollow.
Unfollow.
Unfollow.
His thumb moved faster as the list got thinner.
It dropped from hundreds…
to 200…
to 100…
to 70…
to 68.
Only a handful left:
✔️ Real Madrid teammates
✔️ France NT players
✔️ A couple of childhood friends
✔️ His foundation
✔️ His family
✔️ And you.
Just you.
He stared at the number,
68 —
and exhaled like something heavy had left his chest.
He didn’t need eyes on anyone else.
He didn’t want eyes on anyone else.
He kissed the top of your head softly.
Then he went to his camera roll.
He found the picture instantly
one from two weeks ago, the night he’d received his Golden Boot.
You were beside him on the carpet, hand wrapped around his arm, the flash catching your smile, the kind of smile he’d been chasing for half his life without realizing it.
He selected it.
Clicked “Next.”
Wrote the caption slowly, thumbs shaking a little, because this wasn’t a PR caption.
Wasn’t a media caption.
Wasn’t a team caption.
It was yours.
It was for you.
It was an apology in front of millions.
He typed:
“I was the last one to settle down. Not because I couldn't... but because I refused to settle until I found you. And I won't lose you. Not for fame, not for pride, not for football. I'm sorry, amour.🤍”
He stared at the screen, heart pounding, thumb hovering.
This wasn’t a breakup post.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It didn’t explain the details.
He needs to change , he needs to act as a taken man, not single anymore. Maybe all this years of being single was the main reason for him to get defensive when he was called out for his usual action.
But anyone with eyes, anyone who knew him, would understand this was something personal, something deep, a promise, something he was taking responsibility for.
He hit “Share.”
The post went up.
The comments exploded instantly.
But Kylian didn’t look.
He locked his phone, set it on the table, and tightened his arms around you.
He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in like it calmed something wild inside him.
“Je t’aime,” he whispered into your sleeping form.
You stirred lightly, the softest movement, and your hand instinctively grabbed his hoodie tighter.
He closed his eyes.
Held you closer.
Kissed the top of your head again.
He’d apologized to the world.
But the real apology, the one he cared about,
was the way he held you as you slept,
like you were the only thing in his arms worth protecting.
A/N : HOPEFULLY YOU GUYS ENJOYED!!!!!!
I had to use a model to create that AI photo, and I didn’t want controversy so I used myself and took my face out, y’all better love the dress and the hair cuz THEY ARE MINE. Perks of being an editor😋
