COLLIDED
I’m glad my world collided with yours
The Collision-> Pt.1 Collided->Pt.2 Crossfire->Pt.3 Crimson -> Pt.4
Content : Romance x Tension x Butterflies.
“If waiting my whole life meant ending up with you, I’d wait a thousand more years without a second thought.”
He hadn’t meant for things to start that way. After that stupid, avoidable accident. For reasons he couldn’t name, that small incident became the best thing that had happened to him in his 26 years.
Kylian had a habit of moving too fast. On the field, on the road, even in thought. But with her, time slowed down, even through the screen of his phone.
He texted her the next morning after they met at the mechanic ,like it was nothing, but his heart had raced faster than it did during any sprint.
The next day, he texted again. And then again.
And somehow, they became part of each other’s daily routines before they even noticed.
Y/N’s POV
He had this way of slipping into my mornings, like sunlight sneaking past the curtains.
Sometimes it was a meme. Sometimes a streak , sometimes a selfie,hair messy, shirt half on, grin tired but real.
Sometimes just a “☕?” that meant are you awake yet?
I was always either getting ready for work or rushing out the door, and God forbid, it’s not like I don’t check my phone every few minutes to see if he sent that coffee emoji , just to make sure he woke up for training or still asleep.
It became a routine, ever since I woke up, I’d wait for his text, that one little message to tell me he was awake. Then, finally, my favorite morning notification dinged.
Kylian ➤ Y/N:
☕️?
Y/N ➤ Kylian:
☕ I’m making coffee. Guess how many spoons of sugar today.
Kylian ➤ Y/N:
At least five. You’re basically drinking dessert.
Y/N ➤ Kylian:
It’s called survival.
Kylian ➤ Y/N:
Then I want to survive too. Send one over.
He makes me laugh more than I wanted to admit.
And sometimes, in between the jokes, he’d send something that made me stop, reread, smile quietly.
Kylian ➤ Y/N:
You know, I actually like mornings now.
Y/N ➤ Kylian:
Since when?
Kylian ➤ Y/N:
Since you started texting me in them.
I didn’t answer that one right away. I just stared at it, feeling something soft and unfamiliar unfurl inside my chest.
K y l i a n’s
Training was harder these days, not because of the drills ,but because every time his phone buzzed, his brain stopped working.
He’d sneak glances at it between sets, towel around his neck, pretending to check his heart rate while grinning at her messages like an idiot.
“Bro, are you seriously texting again?” Jude threw a towel at him. “You’re worse than Endrick with his girl.”
“Mind your business ,” Kylian shot back, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him with a smile.
“Who is she?” Jude pressed.
Kylian just smiled. “Someone whose car I kinda ruined.”
Vinícius snorted. “Romantic.”
“Bro’s in love,” Jude teased, snapping his towel at Kylian.
“Just send her VIP tickets, man,” Jude chuckled.
Vini chimed in, “To El Clásico, but just pray we don’t lose.”
Kylian looked up. “Will she even take it as a date, though?”
Jude leaned back, grinning. “Pray we win, take her to dinner after. Perfect date.”
Perfect date…
Yeah, that didn’t sound too bad.
The idea sat in his mind all afternoon, quietly burning.
Later, after training, they were all piled in Kylian’s hotel room, the air still heavy with the clean scent of soap and sweat. Jude had insisted on putting on some random horror movie none of them were really watching. The lights were low, laughter coming in bursts between jumpscares.
Kylian sat against the headboard, hair still damp from his shower, a towel forgotten around his shoulders. The others were busy arguing about the movie’s plot, but his thoughts were far away , circling back, over and over, to her name glowing on his phone screen.
And that’s when he finally gave in.
Kylian ➤ Y/N:
Random question. How do you feel about El Clásico?
Y/N ➤ Kylian:
Is this a trick question?
Kylian ➤ Y/N:
VIP seats. My treat.
For a moment, there was nothing. Just the blinking cursor and the sound of his heartbeat.
Then—
Y/N ➤ Kylian:
You’re joking.
Kylian ➤ Y/N:
Do I ever joke about football? Or you?
He stared at the screen, smirking when the next bubble appeared.
Y/N ➤ Kylian:
Then… I’ll definitely be there.
He jumped up, fists in the air. “HA!”
“F*** OFF, DUDE!” Jude groaned. “You scared me!”
“She said yes!” Kylian laughed, tossing a pillow at him.
“Congrats, lover boy. Now go score a hat-trick or something.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, eyes gleaming, “I will.”
Y/N’s POV
I don’t think I’ve ever screamed into a pillow that loud in my life.
He’d invited me. To El Clásico.
And not just any seats , VIP. My heart couldn’t decide whether to explode or faint.
The week that followed felt endless. We still texted every day, he’d tease me about what I’d wear, I’d tease him about not tripping on the pitch, but under it all, there was this unspoken current, pulling tighter each day.
By the time the match came, I’d replayed our messages a hundred times.
The stadium roared louder than anything I’d ever heard, but somehow, my heartbeat drowned it all out. I spotted my seat right away, a single red rose resting on it. A smile tugged at my lips as I picked it up and sat down.
When he stepped onto the field, it was as if the universe itself had taken its time sculpting him , every movement precise, powerful, alive. Confidence radiated off him in waves, that effortless kind of grace that only he could carry.
And then, through the roar of the crowd, his eyes found my section. He spotted me in less than a heartbeat, and when that familiar smile tugged at his lips, that small, knowing curve meant just for me , everything around me stilled. The cheers faded, the world blurred, and all that existed was him.
If only he knew how fast my heart beats for him now… how each message, each glance, each shared silence has become part of my every day. But I’m terrified, terrified that if I cross that invisible line, I’ll lose whatever this is. And what we have right now… it’s too special, too essential to risk.
And who are we kidding? The Kylian Mbappé doesn’t just score once. No, he struck once, then again, and then a third time, each goal more breathtaking than the last. It was like watching poetry written in motion, every sprint, every touch, every shot a declaration of who he was.
Every goal sent the stadium into chaos, but I was too busy laughing, jumping, clapping and screaming like a maniac withe every goal and assist. I didn’t care who saw me. I was beyond proud of him.
And each time he looked up , he looked for me and smiled at me.
K y l i a n’s
He told himself it was just another game, but it wasn’t.
Every time he scored, he turned instinctively toward her.
She was easy to find, the only person jumping like her heart was playing, too.
And every time, something inside him softened, like he’d just remembered what joy felt like.
When it ended, he was drenched in sweat, adrenaline still buzzing under his skin, but his first thought wasn’t the reporters or the fans , it was her.
He found her waiting by the tunnel, the noise of the crowd still fading into the night. She stood there, his jersey pressed to her chest, fingers curled around the fabric like she wasn’t quite ready to let go of the moment.
When he appeared, hair damp, another player’s jersey hanging carelessly around his neck, that familiar post-match glow about him, she smiled. Not the polite kind fans give, but something small and real that softened her whole face.
He slowed when he saw her, something easing in his expression. For a second, he just looked, taking in the sight of her standing there under the dim stadium lights, holding his name against her heart. The chaos behind him blurred into nothing.
“Good match, Mbappé,” she said, teasing, but her voice gave her away, warm, a little shaky, full of pride she couldn’t quite hide.
He chuckled, stepping closer, the corner of his mouth lifting. “You think?”
Their eyes met, and he reached out without thinking, just a light brush of his thumbs against her hands, quick and gentle, as if grounding himself.
“Yeah,” she said softly, her smile deepening. “I think you did okay.”
He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Just okay?”
“More than okay”she grinned up at him again, his heart gave the same wild kick it always did when it came to her.
She waited while he showered. From outside the players’ entrance she could hear the muffled echo of laughter, the sound of water against tile. The night around the stadium still pulsed with the afterglow of victory. The crowd noise had faded to a distant ocean sound, leaving only the occasional burst of chanting from fans who refused to go home.
When Kylian finally appeared, hair damp, jacket slung over his shoulder, the air around him seemed different,looser, lighter. He caught sight of her and the grin that spread across his face made something in her chest tighten.
“You didn’t look too bored in the stands.” His tone was playful, but there was a question hiding under it.
“Bored?” She laughed. “I almost lost my voice.”
He tilted his head, amused. “Then I did my job.” He handed her a bottle of water from the crate by the door. “You’ll need this.”
When she reached to take it, his fingers brushed hers, just barely, but it was enough to make her feel suddenly aware of how close he was, how the scent of his shampoo mixed with the night air. She looked away quickly.
Charles, the driver, already waiting by the van, gave a knowing smile. “Good to see you again, madame. No crashes this time, oui?”
She laughed nervously. “Let’s hope not.”
Stepping into the van, she noticed a 3 beautiful red roses, resting on the seat. Smiling, she picked it up.
Kylian watched her, a grin tugging at his lips as she inhaled its fragrance. Climbing in beside her, he hummed softly, the tune from the locker room still lingering. “To El Cielo, Charles,” he said.
Her head jerked up, the rose momentarily forgotten. “El Cielo? That’s a five-star place, Kylian.”
He shrugged, eyes glinting. “Nor am I ready for fancy.”
“Then why pick it?”
He looked at her, almost shy, then smiled. “Because the food there is super, it’s aesthetically pleasing. I reserved it for us so I can actually talk to you there and enjoy food”
The city lights slipped past the windows. Neither of them spoke for a moment. She watched the way his reflection flickered across the glass, jawline sharp against the streetlight glow. He looked… tired, but content, like he’d finally let go of the noise around him.
“You’re really different after a game,” she murmured.
He turned his head. “Different how?”
“Calmer. Like you finally breathe.”
He thought about it, then nodded. “Maybe because I stop overthinking for once.” A beat. “Or maybe because you’re here.”
She laughed softly, shaking her head. “You say things like that too easily.”
He leaned back, smirk still there. “I only say what’s true.”
At the restaurant, the waiter led them to a cozy corner table with a breathtaking view of Madrid’s skyline. The city lights stretched endlessly below, glittering like spilled stars. Her eyes fell on another 3 red rose waiting on the table, and she chuckled. “Am I collecting roses now?”
Kylian smiled as he sat down after making sure she was comfortable. “There’s something about this,” he said, nodding to the rose, “that feels more exciting than just giving you a bouquet.”
She giggled, her fingers nervously fiddling with her napkin.
“I’m not exactly dressed for this,” she whispered.
Kylian glanced down at his own outfit—black jeans, a plain shirt under a jacket—and smiled. “Neither am I. But no one’s even around to look at our clothes.”
She rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “You’re impossible.”
He took the menu from her hand gently. “Let me order. You’ll like it.” Then, softer, almost to himself, “I hope you will like it.”
While they waited, he watched her. Not in the way people watch someone they’re trying to impress, but as if he couldn’t help it. Her fingers traced the rim of her glass; her eyes darted between the candle flame and the view outside. He found himself memorising those details.
She caught him staring. “What?”
“Is it good where you’re sitting?” he asked lightly.
She frowned. “Yeah. Why?”
“The lights are blinding me.” He stood up, walked around the table, and slid into the seat beside her. “Can’t see you properly.”
Her pulse jumped. “That’s not… how light works, you know.”
He grinned. “Maybe I just needed an excuse.”
He was close enough now that she could feel the warmth radiating off him, the faint scent of cologne. Their shoulders brushed, and suddenly every movement,her reaching for her glass, him unfolding his napkin,felt deliberate. Electricity in the smallest things.
“Better,” he murmured, and turned his head so his lips almost grazed her ear. “Much better.”
She looked straight ahead, pretending to study the skyline. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe.” His voice softened. “But this—tonight—it’s nice.”
Because he was left-handed and sitting beside her, their movements kept overlapping, passing a plate, reaching for the same glass, brushing fingertips when neither of them pulled back fast enough.
Each accidental touch felt charged, electric, and every time it happened, she felt her breath catch, her pulse stutter, as if her whole body had learned to notice him before her mind did.
When his leg brushed hers under the table, she froze. He didn’t move away; instead, he kept his eyes on his plate, pretending not to notice, with a smile playing on his lips.
She tried to sound casual. “You know, I can do shady things too and call them accidents.”
He looked up, eyebrow raised, pretending confusion. “What do you mean? It was an acci—”
She leaned in and kissed his cheek. Quick, light, but enough to stop him mid-word.
He blinked, startled. She leaned back, smirking. “Like that.”
For a second, the only sound was the clink of glasses from another table. Then he exhaled a quiet laugh, still dazed. “You know,” he said, “I like this.”
She tilted her head. “Like what?”
He met her gaze. “Us.”
The word hung between them, so simple and so dangerous. She choked on her sip of water. He burst out laughing, half in panic, half amusement, reaching over to pat her back. “Breathe, ma belle, breathe.”
“I’m fine,” she managed, face warm.
When she set her glass down, his thumb reached out, almost on its own, brushing the corner of her lips. The gesture was soft, almost reverent. But he was leaning in and then she went still.
Her pulse stumbled. “I—I forgot something.”
“What?”
“I have work tomorrow. I need to go.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Work? Since when do you work Sundays?”
“The project,” she said quickly. “Didn’t I tell you?”
He leaned back, pretending to think. “We talk every day. You didn’t mention a project.”
“Well… it came up suddenly.”
He smiled, slow and knowing. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m not lying!” She laughed, nervous and breathless. “I just—”
He kissed her.
It wasn’t rehearsed or careful, just a quiet inevitability. One hand slid to her cheek, the other resting against the back of her neck. The world shrank to the warmth of his mouth against hers, the faint tremble of surprise in both of them. Her fork slipped from her fingers, clattering against the floor. Neither of them moved to pick it up.
When he finally drew back, his voice was barely above a whisper. “See? Much better lighting from here.”
She laughed then, shaky and real. “You’re impossible.”
He smiled, thumb still tracing the line of her jaw. “And yet you’re still here.”
Outside, the city glowed quietly, cars drifting by below. Inside, they sat in the soft candlelight, caught in that strange, suspended moment where everything feels both new and inevitable.
The ride back was quiet at first. Madrid blurred past in streaks of gold and navy, the hum of the city soft against the windows. Inside the van, the air felt heavier,filled with all the things they hadn’t said at dinner.
Kylian sat beside her, one arm resting casually along the back of the seat. His fingers brushed her shoulder as the car turned, a light, unthinking touch that sent a shiver down her spine. She turned her head slightly, their faces closer than either of them had planned.
“Are you always this quiet after you eat?” she asked softly.
He smiled without looking away. “Only when I don’t want the night to end.”
The van rolled through a red light’s glow, painting his face in fleeting crimson. She watched the way his eyes lingered on her, how the teasing spark had softened into something slower, deeper.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered.
“Like what?”
“Like you don’t want me to escape .”
He leaned closer, voice low. “Maybe I don’t .”
The driver’s gaze stayed fixed on the road ahead, silent and professional, but the space between them seemed to shrink with every heartbeat. Her hand was on her lap, fingers tracing her thighs, until his hand found her hand. Just a brush at first, then his thumb pressing lightly against her palm.
Her breath hitched. “Kylian…”
He didn’t say anything, just laced their fingers together, the quiet gesture speaking louder than words. Then, with that same careful slowness, he turned her hand over and pressed his lips against her wrist. The touch was soft, barely there—but it burned.
Her pulse stuttered beneath his mouth. “Kylian I-,” she murmured.
He interrupted her leaning in, eyes dark. “Tell me to stop.”
She couldn’t.
Instead, she let her head rest back against the seat as he leaned closer. The van turned another corner, and the faint city lights caught in her hair. When his forehead brushed hers, the world outside disappeared,just the warmth of his breath, the scent of cologne and rain, the quiet thrum of her heart keeping time with his.
He kissed her then, slower than their first kiss, deeper, like he’d been holding it in all night. It wasn’t rushed,it was intentional, full of the quiet urgency of two people trying to memorize a moment before it vanished.
Her breath caught halfway between surprise and surrender. His hand cupped her jaw, thumb tracing the line of her cheek as if he were learning her by touch. The world outside disappeared,no streetlights, no city hum,just the faint rhythm of her heartbeat against the silence.
The warmth of his mouth lingered, soft and unhurried, tasting of something familiar yet new. She could feel his hesitation melting into certainty, every second stretching into forever. Her fingers gripped his jacket, anchoring herself to something real, something him.
When he tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss, a shiver ran through her like a pulse of light. It wasn’t just physical,it was everything he didn’t say, every glance and every unspoken love confession pressed between them.
For a heartbeat, it felt like the universe had shrunk to the small space they shared—his breath mingling with hers, her pulse echoing against his touch, both caught in the fragile, weightless feeling of falling and knowing the other was falling too.
When they finally broke apart, the air between them trembled, charged and golden. His forehead rested against hers, their breaths uneven but in sync, as if the world had finally slowed down just for them.
By the time they pulled up in front of her building, neither spoke. The engine’s low hum filled the silence. He took out a rose from his jacket smiling. She giggled taking it adding the rose to the bunch of roses she has now. He brushed his thumb along her jaw once more, almost reverently.
“Goodnight, ma belle,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “I ll text you”
She smiled soft, aching and slipped out of the van. The door closed behind her, the sound echoing like the end of a heartbeat.
He watched her walk toward the building, every step pulling her farther away from him. Just before she reached the door, she turned back, eyes meeting his through the tinted glass. A small smile. A silent promise.
Then the van began to move, the city lights reflecting off the windows as if carrying away the night itself—the night that made him realize, with a quiet certainty, that he was madly, deeply in love with this woman.
That thought alone made him laugh softly to himself, a helpless smile tugging at his lips as he looked out at the blur of Madrid. For once, the noise in his head was gone,replaced by something lighter, warmer.
His phone lit up. A message from her.
Y/N ➤ Kylian:
attached photo Guess what???
It was a picture, she was wearing his jersey, the one she’d teased him about earlier.
He chuckled, thumb hovering over the screen as he opened the photo. His smile deepened as he zoomed in,her face, her hands, that familiar sparkle in her eyes… and her lips. The same lips he’d just kissed. For a moment, he just stared, caught between disbelief and wonder.
He reacted love on the photo and saved it immediately then typed back:
Kylian ➤ Y/N:
What is it gorgeous ??
Y/N ➤ Kylian:
I met my favorite player today… and he gave me THIS.
He laughed out loud, shaking his head, the driver glancing up in the mirror as if to check on him. Still smiling, he typed back:
Kylian ➤ Y/N:
He’s definitely down bad for you.
The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
He leaned back, grinning to himself, imagining her expression,the flushed cheeks, the nervous smile, the way she probably bit her lip trying to find the right words for his almost confession.
The bubbles flickered once more before her reply finally came through:
Y/N ➤ Kylian:
….so is the girl.
His breath caught, and then that helpless, boyish smile returned,the kind that reached his eyes and refused to fade, no matter how hard he tried.
He tucked his phone away, gaze drifting back to the city lights outside, still smiling like an idiot. For the first time in a long while, everything felt right.
A/N : I have been kicking my god damn feet non stop!!!!!!!!!!
