#k mbappe

You laugh quietly. “Kylian, what are you doing?”

“Just— trust me,” he says, grinning even though you can’t see him. “No peeking.”

You sigh, but it’s already useless. You turn around and cover your eyes anyway.

You carefully step as he holds you close to him.

You hear the lights flicker on. You can hear him moving behind you — the shuffle of shoes, the pull of fabric, something heavy sliding slightly across the floor.

There’s the sound of fabric being tugged, a small pause, and then his voice — softer, almost reverent.

„Okay..” He says. „Ready?”

“You’ve been smiling since breakfast,” you tease. “So yeah, I’m ready.”

“Okay. You can look.”

You drop your hands and blink.

A brand-new car sits in front of you — sleek, deep blue that shifts almost black under the lights. The lines are sharp, perfect, polished like glass. For a second, you just stare, processing. Then it hits you.

“You bought it?!” The words come out louder than you expect, half a laugh, half disbelief. “Oh my god, Kylian!”

He’s already grinning, that smug, delighted kind of grin he gets when he knows he’s done something big. “Look at her,” he says, walking around the hood like he’s introducing you to someone important. “Hybrid engine. All custom. It does zero to a hundred in under three seconds.”

You blink at him, still laughing. “You memorized the numbers?”

“Of course I did,” he says, mock-offended. “You think I just bought it without knowing?”

“You’ve been in this garage all week, I should’ve known something was up.”

He shrugs, leaning against the car now, all pride and satisfaction. “Worth it though, right?”

You walk around the front, fingertips grazing the edge of the hood. The paint catches the light perfectly, smooth as water. “It’s… wow,” you admit, smiling despite yourself. “She’s beautiful.”

He nods, like that confirms everything. “I told you.”

Then, quieter — “You like it?”

You glance up at him, that grin still tugging at your lips. “I do. But—” you gesture over your shoulder to the other two cars lined up neatly behind you, “what about these? You starting a collection now?”

He laughs, the sound bouncing off the concrete walls. “Maybe.”

He opens the driver’s side door with a little flourish, like he’s unveiling a secret. “Come here,” he says, his grin returning. “You have to see the interior.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile that pulls at your mouth. He looks so proud — like a kid showing off a trophy.

You step closer, and he gestures for you to slide in. The seat hugs you instantly, the leather smooth and cool under your fingertips. It smells new — sharp, clean — and a little intoxicating.

Kylian leans in through the open door, one arm braced against the roof. He’s close enough that you can smell his cologne, faint and familiar, mixed with the leather and the faint hum of the car’s electronics.

“See this?” he says, tapping the console with a finger. “Full digital dash, instant torque, adaptive drive…”

You glance up at him, his face lit softly by the dashboard glow, his eyes bright with that restless, confident spark you know too well.

“You sound like a salesman,” you say, your voice lighter than you mean it to be.

He laughs, low and easy. “If I were, I’d have you convinced already.”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Maybe you already do.”

His grin shifts — still playful, but there’s something quieter under it now. For a second, neither of you says anything. His hand stays resting on the car roof above you, his body angled just close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him.

You break the silence first. „How much?”

He presses his lips together in a flat line and avoids your gaze. Hoping you’d never ask. „That’s not important.”

You raise a brow and his quick movement indicates his slight nervousness.

“Wait,” he says, leaning past you to the console. “You gotta hear the engine.”

Before you can respond, he presses the ignition.

The car rumbles to life with a deep, throaty growl that vibrates through the garage. The sound presses against your chest, making it impossible to look away.

He leans back, glancing at you with that grin that always makes your chest flutter.

He sits behind the wheel, black clothes hugging his frame, every line of him sharpened in the dim glow of the overhead lights. His hands rest on the leather wheel — strong, steady — fingers curling around it like he owns it, like it’s an extension of himself. You notice the way his veins trace along his forearms, subtle but definite, pulsing with the quiet power of the engine and him.

Your eyes travel up to his face. The faint light catches the slope of his jaw, the slight rise and fall of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. His eyes meet yours, dark and unreadable for a heartbeat, and then there’s that half-smile — the one that makes your chest tighten without warning.

The faint scent of him reaches you — clean, slightly warm, that familiar cologne you always notice when he’s close. It mixes with the leather and oil and new-car polish, and for a moment it’s all you can focus on.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” he murmurs, voice low and easy, though there’s a glint of pride in his eyes.

You swallow. “Yeah,” you say, voice quieter than intended, because it’s not just the car you’re noticing. “Beautiful…”

He tilts his head, just a little, still watching you. The engine hums steadily beneath him, but it’s like a backdrop to the heat of noticing him here — in control, confident, alive.

You find yourself leaning forward slightly, almost without thinking, drawn to the rhythm of him: the quiet power, the tension in his shoulders, the calm way he sits back and watches you take it all in.

He shifts the wheel slightly, just enough that you see the flex of his hands, the subtle movement of his forearms. You can’t look away from his eyes now, bright and aware, watching you notice him, and your pulse kicks up just a little, quickening in that inescapable way.

He leans back just slightly, still holding your gaze, that half-smile lingering, and for a moment the garage is just the two of you, the hum of the car beneath him, and the awareness of him in ways you can’t quite put into words.

“You wanna ride?” he asks, voice low, teasing.

“Mhm,” you murmur, already leaning forward slightly. “You bet I want to.”

He chuckles, reaching for the door handle. “Alright, hop in—”

But before he can move, you shift closer. Your hands rest lightly on his shoulders as you slide in, sitting eagerly on his lap.

He freezes for a fraction of a second, eyes widening just slightly, and then that familiar, amused smirk spreads across his face. His hands instinctively rest on the wheel, but you notice the subtle tension in his arms — the way he’s trying to stay composed while still fully aware of you.

The scent of him — leather, faint cologne, warmth — hits you stronger now, closer, and your heart picks up its pace. His eyes flick down to you, then back to the dashboard, then back again, and you catch that glimmer of something playful, aware, and just… intense.

You lean back against him just a little, enough to feel the strength of his chest beneath you. The heat in the small space is suddenly palpable, and the quiet hum of the engine seems to underline the electricity between you.

He tilts his head toward you, eyes darkening in that familiar, teasing way, and the half-smile that never fails to make you weak appears again. The world outside the garage fades, leaving only the two of you, the low rumble of the car, and the undeniable tension of being this close.

“Bold,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing, the corners of his lips twitching into a grin.

“Mm,” you reply, tilting your head to look up at him. “I could say the same about you.”

He laughs softly, a sound that rumbles under you as his hands tighten slightly on the wheel. The veins along his forearms are visible now, subtle, alive, pulsing with the quiet energy of him. His eyes never leave yours, and you catch that little sparkle in them — the way he’s turned on by your boldness, by your closeness.

The dim garage light catches the curve of his jaw, the slope of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, the subtle pulse in his neck. His eyes lift to meet yours, dark and aware, and the faintest raise of his brows lets you know he feels it — the sudden closeness, the warmth, the tension.

Your eyes meet, and the air seems to thin.

He’s still trying to act composed, hands loose on the wheel, but you can feel the tension running through him. His eyes flick between yours and your mouth, like he’s weighing something he won’t say out loud.

The corner of your mouth curves. “You’re really not gonna make the first move, huh?”

He laughs softly — a short breath that sounds more like surrender than amusement. „Do I have to?”

„Only you, Kylian Mbappé lottin, can bring me to my feet.” you confess and then you kiss him.

The kiss lands urgent and needy, not rough but insistent — like all the quiet moments you’ve been holding in for weeks are spilling into this one touch. His hand moves from the wheel to your waist, pulling you closer, and your fingers brush his collar, anchoring yourself to him as his lips press more firmly to yours.

The hum of the forgotten engine, the bold scent of his cologne, the warmth radiating from his chest — everything feels heightened, alive. It’s not frantic, but it’s full of the kind of longing that makes the world shrink to just the two of you.

You press just a little harder, and the tiniest bite on your bottom lip slips out — soft, teasing, instinctive. You feel him catch it, his own lips curving into a small, knowing smile against yours. That tiny gesture, almost playful, makes the air between you pulse even more.

You pull back, just enough to breathe, his eyes are locked on yours, dark and open, raw in a way that makes your stomach twist.

It’s not a quick glance — it’s steady, focused, like he’s trying to memorize something he can’t quite name. The curve of your mouth, the way the light hits your hair, the soft crease at the corner of your eyes when you smile.

His hand leaves the wheel and finds the curve of your waist, the other brushing the side of your neck. The warmth of his palm seeps through the thin fabric of your shirt, steady but eager.

You feel it before he says anything — the weight of that look, hot and unguarded.

“I think you need to blink.” you tease.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t try to deny it. The corners of his mouth lift just a little.

He bites his lip for a mere second. “Can’t. I might miss something.”

„Then you’d better keep watching..” you smirk, noticing the hunger in his eyes and the bob of his apple when he swallows.

You take off your shirt in a delicate way and toss it on the passenger seat to your left.

Your hands then rest lightly on his shoulders. He’s watching you with that half-lid look that never quite hides his dilated pupils — the one that tells you he’s pretending to be composed, but every muscle in him is buzzing.

You are wearing black exspensive looking lingerie that you spent alot of time considering before purchasing. He appreciates it for a few seconds before he decides they need to be off your body.

He unclasps your bra and loses himself in you, and you are wanting him as well.

He cups your breasts and starts to kiss them.

He is smelling you, and feeling your soft skin, the gentle give of your body so willing against his, and he is lost. Drinking in the sensations of your body.

He can feel, and likely even hear your heart beating so steady and strong, he can hear and feel your breathing, and he feels close to you.

You realize you are in control of him now because he is lost in your ecstacy. And you know what he wants.

He wants your heart.

He wants your love.

He wants to be inside of you, and told it’s okay while he is.

You bring your mouth to his again. Deeper, warmer, like neither of you meant to go this far but neither wants to stop. His hand finds your waist, steady and sure, while yours slips into his growing hair, pulling him just a little closer.

This kiss — a quiet release of everything that’s been unspoken between you. His fingers tighten slightly, anchoring you; your hand finds the edge of his jaw, feeling the shift of his muscles as he exhales against you.

You move down to his neck.

His jaw.

Near his ear.

And he moans.

You can feel the thrum of his pulse under his skin, the subtle rise and fall of his chest. He shifts just slightly, adjusting the rear-view mirror, not out of vanity but because he wants to see you — the way you’re looking at him, the closeness between you reflected back in silver light.

„Oh my God.” he mutters low at the sight of your bare back.

He leans into the kiss, deeper now, and you can feel his heartbeat where your chest meets his.

Then your shoulder nudges the steering wheel and— HONK.

You both jump, startled, before breaking into helpless laughter.

He drops his forehead to your shoulder, shaking his head, still laughing, his smile wide and boyish. “Don’t mind her,” he says, he grabs a hip firmly with one hand while running the other hand across your jaw and back to your neck, nodding toward the wheel. “She’s just jealous.”

He presses a button and the engine dies.

His hands then make their way to your butt, squeezing and pushing it up to allow you some support as you adjust yourself on top of him. Grinding on his aroused length.

„Mhmm” You arch a brow. „Well she’s about to get real jealous right now.”

You shift slightly, fingers brushing the small lever at the side of his seat.

click - and the seat eases back. He exhales, caught between surprise and something softer, the movement leaving him half-reclined, eyes on you.

“Fuck.” he exclaims, and the small honesty of it hangs in the air. You lean down before either of you can think your way out of it, brushing your mouth to his in a kiss that feels like finishing a sentence you’d both been speaking around for too long.

It’s slow, not tentative- an unhurried press that deepens only because neither of you wants to pull away first. The world feels dim and still; all you can hear is your lips smacking and his ragged breathing.

You part, and he’s looking up at you, a little dazed. a little amused.

With him beneath you, you continue looking at him, hands resting on his firms chest, while every inch of your bodies rub against each other.

You look him in the eye, with a feeling of restless, impatient sexual desire, before he grabs your hips and assists you to dry-grind on him. He bites his lower lip at the sight of your hard and sensitive nipples he’d like to rub and pinch, and watch how his slightest touch sends vibrations through your body.

A sort of warm flood of invigorating energy, a sense of anticipation, and a breathless longing overcomes him. He feels tense but also strangely relaxed. His senses seem sharper but his mind starts to get a little hazy and calm. 

“Go on baby,” he admits finally, voice low, teasing, and his gaze is impossible to look away from. „Ride me.”

You grin in triumph as your hand travels down to unzip his pants.

You start off slow, easing him into it while he is still trying to comprehend what is happening. His shirt is flying off, zippers undone, soft, smooth skin rubbing with your lips sliding over his.

You take off your pants. Then a slick heat engulfes him and sends a surge of pleasure throughout his body, making him clutch your ass and dig his fingers into your skin.

He is still in a daze, but he soon finds his pants slacked low on his thighs. You leave him a little impressed that he could be outdone, except you had been the one taking his clothes off for him, and had apparently gotten too impatient to finish the job.

Kylian never thought he’d see the day when he’d have sex in— well, not exactly public.. but if anyone walks into his garage, he’ll get exposed.

And yet here he is, getting some of the best sex of his life in the driver seat of his car, your naked body grinding on him in ways he didn’t even know were possible.

You lower yourself on him, and you gasp.

He opens his mouth and groans: “Oh, you’re wet..” he remarks, and closes his eyes. “Oh, you are so fucking wet! you’ve got to be fucking kidding me..”

Your hips lift and sink on his length, taking him deep then rising again, and your ass bounces over and over on his thighs, the slap of your skin interlacing with his husky moans and groans of your name.

“Fuck, y/n..”

He is guiding every roll of your hips at first, or trying to through the haze of his brain, but you are perfectly fine finding your own rhythm, and it happens to be one he could barely handle.

You are consistent too, keeping the wild, erratic pace while occasionally switching it up, and he swears you are trying to make him give up everything about him because at that moment he’d tell you whatever you want to know—his credit card number, bank account, social security—just as long as you don’t stop giving him the greatest pleasure he’s ever felt.

Your moans on his ear are some of the sexiest he’d ever heard, but they are easily drowned out by his uninhibitedly loud groans, gruff and raspy with his teeth grazing her collarbone.

“Kylian..” you call, and he squeezes your ass tighter, earning a throaty mewl from you as you tighten your arms around his neck and bury your face in his shoulder. “Kylian... You are being very loud.”

He barely hears you, too busy trying to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his head. But when he does, his hands rise up your back and he bites into your neck to muffle his groans, but that does little to solve anything when you end up liking it and moving faster against him.

There is only so much space in the seat of his car, and damn you are using up every inch.

“Fuck me..” he breathes, hissing through clenched teeth when you roll your hips and take him in particularly deep. “Fuck—”

You moan softly in response, holding the side of his neck and squeeze your eyes closed.

“Fuck the cum out of me.” he groans, but your lips cover his, muffling his moan while your tongue works inside his mouth.

God.

Can he get any louder?

His hands fall to your hips, feeling the motion of your grinds as your ass rubbs against his thighs. You place your hands over his and interlace your fingers, gliding his hands up your sides to your bouncing breasts. Your lashes lower over your eyes as you sweep your tongue across your upper lip, tempting him, and he doesn’t need to be told twice to knead and massage your soft chest in his big hands.

You moan louder and he smirks, leaning forward and swirling his tongue around your racing pulse. He takes back some control, he wouldn’t let himself be outdone—but then you start nibbling his ear before giving a moan, sending him crumbling under your needy voice.

“Shit..” he hisses, holding your waist and pressing his fingers into your skin.

“Mmm..” you moan, your breaths coming in shuddering gasps as you near your release.

You press your body against his, clutching his hair and capturing his lips while he groans against you.

Your head tilts and you wetly suck his lower lip, sliding your tongue against it before tugging it with your teeth. A husky groan rips through his teeth when you pull away, his head tossing back while your lips travel down his neck.

“Y/N..” He utters in defeat. “Y/N.....” you sense a tone of warning to it and you hum in reponse. “Y/N, pull out..”

You suck on his pulse while his throat bobs against you, taking a trembling breath as his body sinks into his seat.

“Y/N.. Fuck.. Pull out. I’m about to come.”

Your tongue glides up his neck before your moans come higher-pitched, catching in your throat while your eyes shut tight.

“Y/N.. Baby.. I’m gonna cum.” He confesses.

But you, caught in the ecstasy, can’t bring yourself to stop now.

You shudder and clench your thighs around him, sinking your nails into his shoulders.

“Y/N, If you don’t pull out right now..” he warns and your lusty eyes meet his.

He stops ordering you about and watches you as you hit your peak, your body stilling on his lap and your throaty cry muffles in his neck. You fall limply against him, sagging against his chest with your soft breaths fanning his collarbone.

“Mmm..” You purr, leisurely nuzzling his neck while he stares in awe.

Sitting back up, you take his shirt in your hands, laying it on his chest and press a sweet kiss to his lips.

You are completely naked on top of him, with him still inside you, sitting in his car in the middle of the afternoon. But you are snuggling him like this totally wasn’t out of the ordinary, at all.

The heat between you is still thick and heavy, pressing in from every side.

Every shift,

Every sigh,

Every brush of a hand left its mark on the glass, swirling into shapes that vanished almost as soon as they appeared.

The smell of the warmed interior seems to thrum with your presence.

The windows fog instantly, thick, curling swirls that blurs the world outside. Heat pools between you, heavy and insistent, pressing close enough that every inch of space feels charged.

There is only the press of warmth, the taut pull of tension, and the unspoken need coiling between you, thick and relentless like the foged glass that keeps the world at bay.

“So.. when do I get to take this babe for a ride?” you peep quietly, giving a small, timid smile before beginning to pull the strap of your bra up your shoulder.

He merely stares at you, still trying to comprehend what the hell had just happened.

Low-key he is hoping that the babe you wanna ride was him, but dare he speak?

“You...” he begins, and you glance at him, frowning at the daze in his dark eyes. “You just had your way with me and let me cum inside of you.”

You suddenly feel the heat in your cheeks. “............. Uh...” You swallow your nervousness down. “.. Same time, next week?”

He smiles back, his arm slides around you. With an easy motion, he lifts you off his lap, steady and unhurried, before setting you gently on the passenger seat.

“Only if you take the wheel.”