intro : three years together, private but never a secret relationship until one of them decided to hard launch their love on instagram
note from me : just a short one because my brain turned off half way. english is not my first language, please excuse the grammars or any weird wording. please let me know what you think. thank you 🤍
The relationship was never a secret. It just wasn’t fed to the public. People had their evidence. They always did.
Blurry paparazzi shots of you slipping into the backseat of his car at 2am after your concert. A shaky fan video of him sitting across from you in a dim restaurant, baseball cap low but his smile unmistakable. Instagram vacation photos during his break with a glimpse of his silhouette that people recognized immediately.
It was obvious. You and Kylian just never said it. No posts. No captions. No confirmation. Until he decided to be annoying. You were lying on your bed, hair messy, wearing one of his old France training shirts. Your phone buzzed.
Ky 💙: send me a selfie.
You frowned in confusion.
You: why?
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Ky 💙: because I miss you.
You rolled your eyes, smiling anyway.
You: liar. you saw me this morning.
Ky 💙: still. send.
A second later:
Ky 💙: with me
You snorted. You scrolled through your camera roll until you found one from last week. The two of you were standing in his kitchen. His back against your chest, your arms wrapped around his waist, your chin resting on his shoulder. He was mid-laugh, eyes closed. You were kissing his cheek.
It was soft. You didn’t think much of it. You sent it. Delivered & seen. You went back to scrolling mindlessly completely unaware of the chaos you had just handed him. Thirty seconds later.
Notification: @k.mbappe added to their story.
Your stomach dropped. You froze. No, he wouldn’t. You tapped it. And there it was. That photo. Your arms around him. His smile. Your lips pressed to his cheek like you belonged there. And at the bottom, in simple white text with white heart emoji.
mon trésor. 🤍
Your breath caught. Your heart started pounding so loud it filled your ears. Your phone buzzed again. And again. And again. WhatsApp. Instagram. Twitter. Your group chats were exploding. You opened Twitter. It was already over.
Kylian & Y/N was trending worldwide.
@footballhub: HE CALLED HER MON TRÉSOR??? 😭
@popcultureinsider: KYLIAN MBAPPE WON AT LIFE FR😌
@mbappeupdates: MON TRÉSOR MEANS MY TREASURE IM SICK😫
@y/nfanaccount: BACK HUG + MON TRÉSOR??? THEY'RE SO IN LOVE
You stared at the screen in horror. And then your phone buzzed again.
Ky 💙: did you see it? 🤓
You FaceTimed him immediately. He picked up on the first ring, already smiling.
"Why," you said, voice thin, "did you post that?"
"You sent it," he replied simply.
You facepalmed yourself.
"You called me mon trésor."
He was quiet for a second. Then, softer, "Because you are." Your throat tightened. Your phone buzzed nonstop in your hand. The entire world was watching. Reacting. Losing their minds. Because for the first time ever, he posted a picture basically confirming he was in love and the person was no other than you. But he sounded calm. Certain. Like it was obvious. Like it had always been obvious.
"Why?" you asked.
He shrugged casually, smirking.
"Why not?"
It kinda annoyed you but you were hiding a smile. You opened his story again. Your arms around him. His smile. Those two words.
this is just my two cents but kylian deserves love, he really does but with me just because he has to focus on his career doesn’t mean he can’t be in love. there are plenty of football players who have successful careers and great seasons while being in relationships or married but i also understand why some RM fans are upset. he was supposed to be recovering in paris but instead he was seen going on dates and clubbing till 5am. i think kylian just chose the wrong timing to be publicly seen with her but at the same time, i feel like even if he were seen with her sooner or later, people would’ve criticized him anyway so maybe he just thought “fuck it” but still he could’ve chose a better timing but i guess he can’t keep his dick in his pants
happy belated valentine’s day?? just a short one. read it or leave it. do whatever your heart desires. will there be a part 2? depends on my laziness. no warnings. leave your thoughts or feedback or whatever. thank you. buhbye.
Ten years is a long time to build a life around someone and even longer to try and dismantle it. On this first Valentine’s Day alone, the air in your office felt heavy the silence punctuated only by the aggressive clicking of your mouse as you tried to bury yourself in spreadsheets. Then came the knock.
“There’s a flower for you at the front.” your assistant whispered offering a look that was half-pity, half-curiosity. You felt a familiar tightening in your chest. Standing up you smoothed your blazer a nervous habit and walked toward the reception area. Resting on the marble counter was a single architectural white orchid in a sleek glass vase. No roses.
Kylian always knew you found red roses a bit cliché. You reached for the small cream envelope tucked into the moss. Your breath hitched as you recognized the sharp confident slant of his handwriting. “I passed the florist we used to walk by in Bondy. The window was full of these and I realized I didn't know how to spend a February 14th without making sure you had something beautiful on your desk. I hope you’re drinking enough water and actually taking your lunch break. Always, K.”
The sting in your eyes was immediate. Ten years of history from the early days in Monaco to the bright lights of Paris doesn't just evaporate because of a signed piece of paper or a moved out suitcase.
You touched a petal realizing that even though you weren't "you and Kylian" anymore you were still two people who knew the rhythm of each other's souls. He knew you’d be working late. He knew you’d be skipping meals. He knew that despite the breakup you’d be feeling the sudden coldness of the date.
“Is everything okay?” the receptionist asked softly. You took a deep breath the scent of the orchid faint and clean. “Yes.” you managed a small bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. “It’s just... a reminder.” You picked up the vase cradling it against your chest. It wasn't a reconciliation and it wasn't a plea to come back. It was a bridge a quiet acknowledgment that eight years of love is too much to simply forget even when you're learning to walk alone.
watching the video of kylian driving makes me wanna write something about it but i can’t think of the ending..like the plot is in my head but how do i want to end it tho ugh
