Kymb 10 - Tumblr Posts

The Marriage Series | Part I (Chocolat)

Plot: (requested) Inspired by the song Dodo by tayc

Genre: Dom! Kylian, smut

Warnings: a bit...kinky

A/N: I apologize in advance cause this is a bit... Um.. how do I put this... 🌚 just see for yourself. Also I know I say this every time but going through the scenes with Jana really helps lmao so special thanks to my BBG 🩶

Taglist: @okayymochi @kevjrr @darlingmbappe @fictional-l0v3r @neymarloverxxx @jkkyks @xanjoy @mounthings @mywhimsyjournal @mitruscity @anaofc @ihazels @sangriaswined @karotland @venusesworld @brideofmbappe @luz45789 @suzysface @edgyficuselastica @giannislovesney

“GOD!”

Just the slight of your tired mind was enough to release the breath you didn't even know you were holding.

It was a compromise between passion and directed studying, and you needed to have a solid comprehension of that fall outside of your “passion drive.”

Usually, self control becomes more important to you. But your frustration was growing by every minute.

You gulp down some of your water, and place the galss on the table. Everything around you becomes more interesting when you have to study.

You've never really took a close look at that vase in front of you, but suddenly it was so interesting to you.

You turn the antique vase over and over, your eyes following the engravings, enchanted. Your mind spins back to centuries before, one day someone carved this with such love in their heart, how else could it be so beautiful?

You burry your head in the space between your crossed arms on the table.

Focus, girl. Focus.

Focus? jumping straight out of the window when you hear your husband giggling in the other room.

“Dieu, Ousmane! Tu vas nous faire perdre!” (You will make us lose!)

His giggle rolled about the room like a child's spinning top, vibrant and heart warming as it moved around you in its chaotic way. It came in fits and bursts - loud to soft to nothing at all and back to loud again.

You sigh deeply. He'll keep it down soon, he knows you're studying. But his giggle was a stone bouncing across a glossy lake.

“Kylian! Can you keep it down, amour?” You shout from the dining room, but he didn't hear you.

Of course. He had his headset on. You lick your lips in frustration, and move towards the living room.

The moment you stand by the door, he was squirming again, raising his shoulders to hide the thick neck he had. He then straightens his back, and sits with his legs wide apart - and it only complimented his masculinity even more.

Relaxed posture.

Smooth, gentle hands, yet gripping so hard on that controller.

Brawny, tanned thighs.

Your eyes fell right on his groin. His dangly bits quite tempting and alluring. Though it wasn't his intention to lead your thoughts into oblivion.

Focus.. Remember?

“Kyky?” You call, and only then he notices you're standing right there. You notice it on his eyebrows first, the way they twitch up when he's just noticed something, then in his dilated pupils - he moves the left headset speaker away from his ear.

“Mm?” He hums. “Are you done?”

“No. Can you please keep it down a notch? I'm trying to focus.” You ask, and he simply nods, putting the speaker back on his left ear.

“Bon sang, les gars! (Damn it, you guys) I was only gone for one minute?!” He scolds his mates and you grow even more irritated.

You cross your arms in front of your chest.

“You know what?” You complain, dropping your hands to slap your thighs in annoyance. “I'll take a break.”

You observe him being concentrated on the game with his mates. He relaxes back on the couch, man-spreading again, and you can't help but fantasize about the fact that you fit right there in the space between his legs.

Perhaps a little break is just what you need to get your concentration back on track.

But when he screams for his friends to shoot and then groans, fuck.

The nerve endings in your body - especially inside of your thighs produce a vigorous tingling.

You lean onto the door frame and watch him with needy eyes. Biting the frustration off your nail.

You feel a sense of need, the need to be filled and touched. To be fucked roughly and finally satisfied.

“Bébé...” You say with a sultry voice. “I said I'm taking a break.” You hint towards your desire for him, instantly squinting your eyes, the corner of your lips tilt upwards in a seductive smile.

Alas, he's a man behind a screen, in short: not focused.

He refuses to pause the game and just shows his notice with merely a thumbs up.

“I'm in the zone, babe.” He whispers and his eyes are once again glued to the screen.

How dispiriting!

You feel hunger for his touch - anywhere, everywhere. And you want to do whatever he wants because you need him to release you from that pain. 

You never knew you could be that impatient. But here it is, and you needed a solution for that; quickly.

It was a mixture of annoyance and frustration when you look at his surroundings. How unfocused he gets whenever he plays FIFA with his friends. It was starting to get on your nerves how discouraging his behavior was getting. You glance at the coffee table that was separating you from him and notice the unfinished dessert plate.

“You haven't even finished eating your chocolate mou-”

Spark.

That spark in the mind when it comes up with a wicked idea is the most satisfying to you.

You smirk.

Slow steps.

It’s both incredibly irritating and the most empowering thing. There’s an added dimension to every movement, every step, that just signals “I’ll let you eat me up, if you just tip me over the edge…”

You are about to let yourself off-leash, because if he weren't to notice your sexual desire, you might as well pull him into your orbit, totally focused on pleasing you.

You inspect the mousse. Its dark and rich, it reminds you of the taste of him.

“Well, if you don't want it, I might as well finish it for you..” You coax.

You dip your finger into the richness and swoop a bit of the mousse. And when you finally catch his attention, you take it in your mouth. The tender caress of your tongue and the tiny nibbles on the end of it is a very provocative teaser for what’s to come - If he'd only play it right.

His eyes stare, as if climbing imaginary stairs to some fantasy about you licking his finger instead. His excitement is increasing, and you watch the fireworks commence in his eyes.

“Mmmm..” You wail, and he panics, wide-eyed, pressing his index vertically on his lips as a gesture to shush you. You smile playfully.

Hm.

He has the microphone turned on.

Fun.

His tensed body eases into a more relaxed position when he sees you take the plate with you. He probably thought you would just give in to reality and continue studying with dessert as an emotional support, but you weren't backing out so easily.

To his surprise you climb onto his lap so you're straddling him in a kneeling position and hold on to his left shoulder as you lower yourself onto him.

He holds his breath as he turns off the mic.

“Fine, you want some cuddles?” He fusses and embraces your body with his arms, only to grab the controller and move his head a bit to the side to get a better look at the screen.

Excuse you, Mr.?

You grab his chin and forcefully turn his head to make him lock eyes with you. You had made your lust a consternation of shamless actions and in the bloodshot eyes you held with his, your eyes were speaking volumes of appetite.

If all your previous attempts didn't succeed in gaining his attention, this definitely will.

You dip your finger into the chocolate mousse again, and bring it to his mouth instead. He opens it, sucks your finger clean; A moment of bliss to the tongue as sweet as the moment a rose opens for the eyes.

It causes a tightening sensation in your chest, you kinda feel your breasts expanding. Your loins feel very sensitive, in a good way, and throb, as if it has a heartbeat of its own.

You wipe another bit of the sweetness from your finger on his bottom lip, and kiss him slowly and tenderly, a taste that deserves to be savored.

You feel his hands slide to your waist, and after that he tucks his fingers underneath your shirt and slips them up your back. Kylian pulls away from your mouth to look at you. His hand curves over your hip, and after that slides over your ass, squeezing it.

You lean toward him and keep your bodies close together as you take control of the speed of rolling your hips over him. You could feel his bulge and manoeuvred your butt cheeks until they were either side of it. He was pressed against the back of the couch. Fighting the urge, but you started rocking slightly, trying to make him hard.

“Fuck! Can we do this later, please?” He inquires through heavy breaths, and you shoot him a sophisticated, doubtful look.

You don't answer, instead you wrap your arms around his neck and slide your lips over his jaw.

You observe as chills break out over his arms. He moans, and after that rests his hands on your butt. You roll your hips on his hardness, wanting to feel him hard against you, and he meets your movement with a yielding groan, causing you to chuckle gingerly.

“Just... 30 minutes, baby.” He tilts his head to make more room for you to relish his neck with tongue-kisses. He moans, and the sound encourages you to get that out of him again.

“Kyks? Are you there?” You hear Achraf through the speakers. Kylian scoots you up, clearing his throat to hide the horseness of his voice, then turns his microphone back on.

“Ouais, je suis là. (I'm here.)” He lies while closely watching you execute your evil plan.

You place the plate on the coffee table. Settling your mouth over his ear, you cover up the mic with your hand. Your lips tilt up in a wry smile and you whisper: “Let's see if you can keep quiet..”

You're needy, but kind enough to let him keep his shorts on, you only yank them down a bit along with his stretchy boxers to release his hardness from the pressure of the hugging textile.

You take the remaining bits of the mousse and spread it over his swollen head. He takes his headset off, and wears it around his neck instead. Warning you with his eyes, biting hardly on his lower lip. You can already tell that his blood was rushing through his skin, raising the temperature.

One last look,

It was all you gave him before you kiss the tip of his cock, moving down to the underside with the tip of your tongue. You move up and down his shaft with a series of light, gentle kisses before licking the rest. You swirl your tongue around his tip. Coating it with a mixture of his flavor and the bitterness of cocoa.

“Oh, Bordel de merde. (Oh, for fuck’s sake)” He curses as he plops his head back to rest on the backrest.

Focus becomes... not difficult, exactly, but narrower and shallower and not easy to control.

“Are you alright, Kylian?” Ousmane asks on the other end of the call.

“Mhm..” He fights the urge to groan, but when you push him so deep and choke a bit, he releases the trapped air in his chest.

“Are you in pain or something?” Achraf worries.

He seems to suffocate in this minute and you'd gladly lament it. He might catch fire from this and joyfully turn to cinder. And you seem to enjoy it a little too much; being right here, your mouth doing magic as he sinks into this feeling, his heartbeats undefined from yours.

This. 

Until the end of time. This.

“I'm...” He sighs mid-sentence “, perfectly fine.”

Gathering your hair in his hand, he involuntarily thrusts into you, and you taste him, rub his legs, easing his body under your touch. The heat from your mouth and your breath make him throb with anticipation — practically begging you to slide it back in your mouth. He battles back a moan, torment and joy twining together as he pushes your head up and down in a more profound and harder way.

His grip around the controller loosened, and he was unsure of where to put his now free hand, so he rests it beside him.

“Kylian, you're not paying attention..” Achraf says.

“I am paying attention..” He confesses as he looks at you taking him well.

His legs shake strongly under your hands. You take a frequent break from his member, and move down to lick his balls. Gently massaging and sucking on your man's testicles.

You overpower him with an extraordinary pleasure that feels like nothing he has ever known. It's reckless. Uncontrolable, it's distinctive and wild.

He starts to breathe a little quicker. Everything feels tight and unbareable. You feel him getting incomprehensibly close, and because you're a masochistic she-devil you pull out before he can come.

He turns the mic off, clearly annoyed. “Tu fais quoi là, putain?! (Are you fucking kidding me?!)” He scoots up.

“Sorry..” You cover his private part by pulling his shorts back up, and move backwards with slow steps. “We ran out of chocolate mousse..” You wink, and his freakiness is on the loose.

Something between anger and desire knocks revenge and demonization in his soul. It awakens the most intense desires in him.

“Les gars,... (You guys..) I gotta go..” He gets up, and you swear to yourself that if you don't inhale the ecstasy of existence from his temper, then all this asceticism and restrictions were for nothing.

“No, I just have to take care of something.” He explains as you bite your lip playfully and take your shirt off. You toss it on his face while he throws his headsets somewhere on the couch and hurls after you.

“That's it, young lady. You're gonna get fucked now.” He threats, but you secretly took it as a well deserved treat.

You hurry towards the dining room and giggle, you want to run behind the table for a little more fun and chase, but you married one of the fastest football players in the world, so you didn't really stand a chance. You don't make it that far. He already has his tight grip around your wrist.

“You want to play?” His voice was a snarl. “Fine, we'll play.” He grasps the back of your neck, spins you around, and slamms his lips against yours. Outrage still brimmed inside him, and you push against his hard chest. You can't even tell when he took his sweatshirt off.

He pulls your head back, and you look into his eyes; A strong brown, a sort of visual poetry in the way it magicked tall oaks into your thoughts. And you knew right then you weren't getting slow and sweet.

He was planning to fuck you mercilessly.

“Don't fight me.” He breathes on your lips, and effortlessly pulls your pants down. “You won't win.”

What infuriated you the most is his complete ability to negate your will, that he could control every atom of you, all your upright corners bow down from the look of his eyes, submit to him.

He longs for your weakness, and you long for your immoral truth with him.

You didn't care; if your death were at his hands, what is life to begin with?

What is life if you don't take it from his lips?

He runs his hands over your skin. And you take note how they felt distinctive; slow and concious. You close your eyes when he pulls you against him and buries his face in your neck. Feeling his bare skin against yours, it took you a moment to speak.

“Kylian,....”

He brushes his lips along your neck from one shoulder to the other, unsnapping the clasp of your bra, then tears it totally off, and pushes your back down onto the table. The hard surface cools your back as his warm hands rekindle your soul. He goes for your full breasts, taking each one in his mouth and grinds his hips between your thighs until you were both past ready.

A calm groan escapes his throat when he squeezes his pelvis against yours, and you could feel how much he needed you through his shorts. You hold your breath, knowing the only thing keeping you from that final step was only two thin pieces of fabrics away.

He runs his hands up and down your breasts, making you squirm and float towards him. “How do you want to be fucked?” He purrs.

“I can take you against the table. You'll wrap your legs around my waist like the good girl you are, won't you, sweetheart?”

You bite down on your bottom lip. His messy words and his touch drive you insane.

“And then I'll pound inside you so hard, you'd rub your back against the table. Or I can take you on the floor on all fours until your knees bruise from how hard I'll push in and out of your tight pussy. Oh, the choices we have.”

His hand meanders down your stomach, to the highest tip of your thighs and coast over your folds. “Hmm. You're soaking wet.”

Your eyes close briefly.

You're not wet, you're burning. And his touch is like spilling gasoline on fire.

More.

You need more.

But he doesn't touch you were you mostly needed, instead he cups your breasts with his hands and plays with your nipples as he tastes your neck again.

Earlier, he was tenderly kissing down your throat, now he is sucking hard on the skin at the base of your neck.

“Kylian, baby. You're not gonna leave a mark on my neck. Are you?” You worry.

“That depends...” His sloppy kisses don't stop. “Do you taste less better than last time?” He smirks against your skin, then rips your panties off, the elastic burning your thighs from the friction.

In the years of your marriage he had learned to not touch his naked wife, but to admire her first. So, he walks backwards like a noble being, watches you with the eyes of a king, and all your existence is in question.

You were prepared for anything he had in mind. You prop your upper body up on your elbows to watch his next move.

“Now what?” You ask.

He pushes a chair away from the table and sets it down so he's sitting opposed of your clit.

“Now, while you're sitting there, I want you to look at me with your pretty eyes, and play with yourself.” He commands and everything in you is rushing to fulfill it.

He leans back on the chair, his legs part and he licks his lips in anticipation: “Go ahead, I'm waiting.”

You swallow hard, then part your folds with your fingers. Your head falls back with a delicate groan.

“Eyes on me.” He demands, and you lift your head back up to look at him.

He slips his shorts down over his hips, and after that off his legs. He closes his eyes, and his breathing is deep and heavy as he starts to stroke his long member.

You drill your fingers inside yourself as he pleases himself. You're attempting to hold onto something, the sound of you fingering yourself is louder than your pants. His palm strokes his length in a synchronized rythym.

“Faster.” He inquiries, and you know just by the depth of his look, with their intensity, with his persistence that he is enjoying this torture. All his words, all his muffled groans, penetrate you.

He grunts, “You like that, don't you.”

You can't stop, feeling your stomach twist as the pleasure keeps building up, “You're so fucking wet. Are you gonna squirt for me?”

You nod, because you can't stop what he needs you to do. You can only hold on, hearing your juices squelch around your fingers.

“I'm close. I'm so close.” You whine.

“Look at me.” He says. In your debilitated state, you roll your head down and with your legs parted, you can see everything he is doing to himself clearly.

Your pussy is stretching over your fingers, your swollen clit over it, and you are forced to see him play with himself. You speed it up enough until you feel your release almost hit you.

Your legs start to shake.

“Mmmm....” He groans. “Stop.”

The fuck?

“What?”

“Hands off.” He orders, and his body is hovering over yours again. He grazes your lips with his thumbs. “Tell me, Y/N. What do you need?”

“I need…I need to come.”

“You think you deserve to come?” He kisses the top of your breasts, taking little nibbs and enjoying the view of them squeezed hard against his chest.

There is arrogance and confidence in him, which makes you realise that he will certainly set out towards your destruction. You do not know how to expose your eagerness further, how to make him take you off with his madness.

He is in control now that you had declared your submission.

“Only if you want me to.”

The desire and hunger that seethed inside the profundity of his eyes frightens and turns you on.

“Ask me nicely,” he asks.

“Please, make me come.”

“Oh baby, I'm going to do more than make you come. I'm going to mark each sweet inch of your fucking body with my teeth, and when I'm done, you'll know who owns you.”

He kisses you hard, taking your neck in his hands. “Since you're so much into games, lil miss. We'll play a little...” He bites your lip shortly, but hard.

What now?

He takes your hand, and licks your juices off your fingers.

“I'll ask some questions about myself, and if you answer them correctly, you get to come.”

“Ky...?” You gulp.

“How old was I when I started playing for Monaco?” He asks, teasing your opening with his head.

You close your eyes and answer: “16..”

You open your eyes when he breathes a laugh against your mouth. “Good girl.”

You feel the burn of his cock as he thrusts into you.

“Fuck.” You mumble.

“What were my first trainers?”

“The...God, um... The Nike AirMax..” You pant. He leans in and places a sloppy kiss on your lips. This kiss makes you curve your back shakily when chills spread all over it.

He starts to move in and out of you. Your breathing gets so unsteady to the point where you feel like there's a knot to your chest.

His lips are now focusing on one spot in particular. Your mouth falls open whereas your hands slap on his firm shoulders.

He grins when he sees you under his mercy. He was mostly reluctant with you, but the time has come for him to disturb your comfort, to shift your pieces, to tease you, and to come to you with all his power, violence, and revolt.

“Last question, petal.” He indicates, the sweat beads already dripping down his forehead. “How many goals did I score at Monaco?”

Shit.

Your mouth goes dry and your eyes close shut. You know the answer. You know it, it's stored somewhere in your brain, but fuck! Where is it when you need it?

You look at him, your hand grasping his arm that is traveling up your back.

You don't want him to stop.

“Allez, bébé..” His movement turns slower.

“Uh...” You stutter. “18?”

“Wrong.” He declares, and pulls his cock out of you so harshly, you jolt at the sudden emptiness. “The answer is 16.”

“Kylian, please.” You beg with your eyes.

He stares into them, he has a poker face, but his eyes were twitching. Not a good thing to make him angry again.

“You want it?”

“I want it…”

Your chest trembles. Your sticky skin is hot, your core throbbing with the desire to be drenched in his cum.

He leans over you again. Whispers against your mouth: “I'll have you how I'll have you..” He says generously against your lips. “and I'll take you how I'll take you, and there's not. A single. Thing. You can do about it.”

He takes your mouth into his, then breaks the kiss.

“Turn around.”

You couldn't, cause he has already spun you around with force.

“Bend over the table.” He presses your chest flat on the cool wood.

“If you like chocolate that much, take it.” and he doesn't even warn you before he shoves his dick into you.

You gasp, slapping your palm flat on the table.

“I'm the one fucking you,” He growls, driving his cock even harder into you.

“I control when and how hard you come. And right now, I want you to take my cock like a good fucking girl and come all over it. Understood?”

Your lips part and you give into submission.

“Yes.” you pant.

With the pressure he was pounding into you, the table was squeaking. That beautiful antique vase dropping onto the table. The water glass nearing the edge with each hump. You close your eyes when you see it fall.

Cling!

Luckily it doesn't break, but the water reaches your toes and it cools them down.

“Tell me you like it, Y/N.” He had to know that you loved this. That this is not the last time he will do this.

That you were his.

You never planned to allow anybody take you like that ever since you met him.

You were already his. All along.

“Tell me, baby. Say it.”

“I...” You whimper as he moves his hips in a wild I-will-do-that-all-damn-night motion that had you breathing difficult.

You push your hips back, and he thrusts more harder into you. “Say it.”

Tour eyebrows knot together at the great sense of pain as chocked on your words. “I love it.” You breatge. “I love it with you. Fill me up with cum, baby…” Your eyes snap open.

Fuck, what did you just say??

Kylian's eyes widen. His lips part and a frantic fussing pant leaves them as his head drops back, and he moans, “Fuck, yes.”

You have no time to be alarmed by what you just said to him since your body is rubbing against the soft surface of the table.

“Kylian... Oh, Kylian.” Your breast heaves against the table.

Calloused fingertips skim the sensitive skin of your throat as his palm circles the base.

He rocks you many more times, one commanding hand on your hips, and the other presses you down by your neck so you won't be able to escape.

He does not rest until he pounces with all his might, and removes all your strength with the fangs of his lust. He has folded you into the deserted chambers of his mind. Has left his madness and disorder, retreating away from himself.

“Your body is my favorite thing.” He takes an earned breath.

“And seeing my hand around your throat like a necklace is my favorite piece of jewellery.”

His mouth opens. At this point, you have no idea how loud you were being. You might be screaming for all you know…

Your blood is surging and rushing up your ears.

Gulping, you look over your shoulder at his smooth, damp chest. He licks his lips and drops his head. Your eyes meet, and Kylian thrusts even harder to shove his dick into your slit.

His fingers tug onto your hair, holding your head whereas you lose youself under the sense of his bouncing cock.

His deep grunts and groans has your walls clench around him as your cries resound around the room,

Kylian's stomach tightens, his thrusts getting messy. A low moan escapes him, followed by a gravelly fuck, as he spills into you. He rests his cool chest on your back, and kisses it, breathing against it.

He pulls it out gradually with a shuddering breath, dragging the swollen head over your folds.

Your brain is a mixed mass of statics, the sexual cloudiness filling the room as his fingers untangle your hair and he chuckles in satisfaction. Catching for breath for as long as you can, until the climax wears down.

The feeling jerks your body wakeful, and your legs feel paralyzed.

“I don't know about you, but..” He whispers, and you push your body up, turning around. “That was one of the best fucks we've had.”

You attempt to walk, but hold onto him for more balance. He chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist, planting kisses on that soft spot behind your ear.

You smile, and duck down to take your panties.

“What are you doing?” He wonders.

“Getting dressed.” You imply.

He snortles. “Gimme that.” He snatches your underwear. “Here's what you're gonna do.” He drops your undies on the ground, and your eyes do it too. “You're gonna go to bed, and wait for me there.”

Your eyebrows tie in a knot. “To do... what exactly?”

His lips quiver into a sultry smile, his hands squuze your butt cheek. “to play another game, of course.”

His mouth presses on yours, and you stand still while he walks past you.

“Say, we do have some ice, right?”

“Mhm.” You confirm, and then your eyes go wide when you get his hint.

“Kylian!”

Well,

Wrong man to mess with.

Lesson learned.

A/N: THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE POSTED AN HOUR AGO, BUT TUMBLR DELETED MY PROGRESS!!! URGH.

Hi babes!

I’m leaving for two weeks (vacation) but when I come back I’ll be writing a new one shot.

I have A LOT of requests in my inbox 📥

What’s it gonna be?

I just picked the ones I actually wanted to write. (Apologies to the anon whose request wasn’t up there 🩷)

I totally agree

What type of fics do you prefer to read the most

I love me some angst 😮‍💨 I don‘t really love to read/write fluff

But I low-key search for angst and dramatic, forbidden love kinda fics. These hit the best

WOAHHHH 🤩 AMAZING 100/10❤️

A Masked Obsession

Plot: After helping your lover with moving out to another country, you find some stuff that comes to your interest. Unbeknownst to you, a certain mask comes to benefit.

Pairing: Kylian x Reader

Genre: Smut, Dom!Kylian

Warnings: kinda kinky, spitting (requested), hardcore

A/N: I hate how my brain gives me stupid ideas before I go to bed...

“What about that one?” You say, holding some grey joggers up for him to see.

“Nah, leave it here.” He shrugs and continues packing his bag.

The late afternoon light spills into the room as you stand in front of his closet, helping Kylian pack for his move to Madrid. His suitcase is open beside him, half-filled with neatly folded clothes and a few personal items. He’s focused, methodically folding a favorite jersey, the weight of the move hanging in the air between you like a quiet, unspoken goodbye.

You hand him a stack of shirts when your fingers brush against something smooth and unfamiliar. Curiously, you pull it out—a black protective mask, worn and slightly scuffed. Recognition sparks immediately, and you smile.

“Wait, is this the mask you wore when you broke your nose?” you ask, holding it up, remembering the match where Kylian played through the injury, that mask becoming a symbol of his resilience and determination.

Kylian looks over and grins, a mixture of pride and nostalgia in his eyes. “Yeah, I didn’t realize I still had that. Thought I got rid of it.”

You can’t resist the urge to slip it on, the cool material fitting snugly over your face. You turn toward him, your voice slightly muffled behind the mask. “I’m batman!”

He chuckles, throwing another shirt into his suitcase. “Don’t you mean Batwoman?”

You grin beneath the mask, peeling it off with a playful flourish. “No,” you say, voice softening into a low, teasing tone. “I have always been on team Catwoman.” Your eyes meet his, glinting mischievously as you draw out the last word. You curl your fingers into mock claws. “Miaau.”

Kylian freezes mid-laugh, his smile fading just a bit as something shifts in the air. His gaze flicks to your hand, the way your fingers mimic the slow, teasing swipe of claws. You didn’t mean anything by it—at least, not at first—but now there’s a heat building in his stare that makes your heart skip.

He clears his throat, trying to brush it off with a casual shrug. “Catwoman, huh? That’s cute.”

Cute?

You rock your hips as you walk across the room. “Careful, sweetheart… I play rough.”

“Stop,” he cuts you off. But you notice the change. Something in his voice has thickened, a hesitation beneath his words. Sensing his sudden interest, you decide to push it a little further. Crawling onto the bed, you prowl closer, your movements slow, deliberate. “What, afraid of a little scratch?” you ask, your voice dipping lower, more playful.

“Y/N....” he warns. “Come on, I’m trying to pack. My ride to the airport is going to be here in an hour.” His voice suddenly hard, darker than you’ve ever heard it. His expression has changed, the usual boyish grin gone, replaced by something far more intense.

He looks away for a moment, as if trying to shake off whatever’s stirring inside him.

You sit by the edge of the bed, legs crossing. “It’s just a little teasing.” You tease.

“Well, you’re playing a dangerous game,” He murmurs, his voice rougher than before, his body tense, as though he’s holding something back.

Your heart races, but you can’t resist pushing a little more. “Maybe I like danger,” you say, your smile coy, your lips barely curving as you sit back, still playing the part.

Kylian’s eyes finally snap back to yours, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. He should laugh it off. He should make a joke, push you away, anything to bring things back to normal. But he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a slow step closer, “Good.” he says. His gaze locked on yours, the heat in his eyes unmistakable now. “I’ll make sure you get an unforgettable dose.”

You swallow hard, his gaze darkening as his resolve starts to crack. He’s close now, too close, and you feel the air between you change—charged, electric.

Your breath hitches, the air between you charged with something dangerous, something unspoken. His fingers brush against your cheek, trailing down to your jawline, tracing the edge of the mask. It’s a light touch, but it sends shivers through you. There’s a possessiveness in the way he looks at you now, as if the mask has unlocked something darker in him and he’s waiting for you to surrender.

You don’t move, don’t dare to break the tension as his hand slides lower, curling gently around your throat. His grip is firm but not harsh. “Let’s see how far you’ll go..” He whispers, lips brushing the edge of the mask. “, Kitty cat.”

And then, without warning, he closes the distance. His mouth crashes into yours, fierce and unapologetic, a kiss that’s raw, possessive, full of dark longing. It’s not gentle; it’s hungry, like he’s been holding back for too long and now, with the thought of leaving, he can’t anymore. His hand tightens at the base of your neck, pulling you closer, as if he’s claiming you in that moment, his body pressed flush against yours.

The kiss deepens, the taste of him overwhelming, his tongue sliding against yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. Every touch, every movement, feels like it’s laced with a deep desire, the urgency of time slipping away, and the desire to make this moment last. His other hand grips your waist firmly, possessively, like he can’t let go, as if everything else ceases to exist in this instant.

The mask on your face amplifies the tension, making you feel both vulnerable and powerful, like you’ve stepped into a side of him you’ve never seen before. His breath is hot against your skin as he pulls back, his voice hoarse with desire.

“I just hope...” He strips off his shirt. “.. You know what you’re getting yourself into.“

He’s on top of you again, gives your lips a taste and takes your hands in his, pinning them above your head.

“These stay up.” He lets you know.

Then he kisses you again, this time slower, but no less intense, like he’s savoring the moment, as if trying to memorize every inch of you before the world pulls him away. Instantly your hands move to grab the back of his neck and he pulls away, pinning them once more above your head.

“Up, I said.” He warns, and you gulp.

He pulls your shirt up, and the cups of your bra down to suck on the soft flesh of your breasts.

“Fuck,” you mutter, then you close your eyes, lips pressed flat. Heat hitting your cheeks.

This time you intend to comply. But oh, his kisses...

His kisses were fire, ever burning on your skin. And you can’t fight the urge not to grab him by his neck and pull him closer to you.

So you do as you please. You pull him closer and he shoots back by leaving your breasts bare. His eyes are dark, intense, and magnetic, holding a captivating depth. They shimmer with an untamed desire, as if constantly yearning for something just beyond reach.

“I guess we’ll have it my way then.” He breathes, undoing his belt.

The click of the metal buckle clinging in your ears and your heart. The rustling of the freed belt sends a shiver down your spine. He ties your hands with his belt. The leather is slightly cool on your wrists. Pinning your hands above your head once more.

“They stay up there.” He orders and you nod.

His gaze lingers on you, his eyes reflecting the promise of what is to come, as you lay there, hands bound and heart pounding, completely at his mercy.

He strips your lower part naked.

“Now..” His eyes darken. “I’ll have you as I’ll have you. And I’ll take you how I’ll take you. And there’s not a single thing to do about it.”

You clear your throat and you contemplate whether you should say something or stay silent.

“Spread those knees, baby. Let me see that pussy from up here.”

You part your knees, allowing him to see you. And his expression turns hard.

“Now, while you’re down there you’re gonna look up at me with those eyes and watch me lick you clean.” His words are demanding and dark. It makes your stomach feel funny. He gets down on his knees and your stare at his back muscles flex as he grips your thighs in a possessive manner.

You jolt as he starts kissing your thighs and making his way to your core. His breath fans over your clit, and you whine, doing your best not to moan.

“Now who’s playing rough, huh?” He whispers. And before you can answer, his head dips, and his dark hair tickles against your legs seconds before his mouth fastens around your clit. Your hips buck, but he holds you still, gripping your thighs to hold you in place, and to anchor his face right where he wants it. He’s sucking and flicking his tongue at the same time, ratcheting up the pleasure with each passing second. It’s almost too intense.

It’s almost too much.

He merely growls against you, the vibrations of his voice driving you that much closer to that powerful edge.

Sweat accumulates under the mask.

The scent of your arousal mingles with the musty smell of the mask, creating a heady and intoxicating aroma that fills the air. His tongue is rough yet gentle, devouring you with a skillful touch. The texture of the protective mask scratches against your nose, adding to the overwhelming sensation.

“Kylian... Oh fuck, please...”

He wrenches his lips from your clit.

“Please what?”

“I can’t.. Please...” You beg, you can’t form words. But he doesn’t give you what you want. He works according to his own book.

He sucks on your clit until the pressure becomes unbearably hot. White stars dance behind your eyelids as you whimper in short, choppy breaths.

You can’t say it, but by the way your fists are clenched and your hips are bucking, lips pressed flat. He knows you would be begging for him to go faster, harder, to be touched all over. Your hands are clasped together like you’re praying, and he wonders how good you’d look kneeling on the floor. But he’ll save that for later, right now he wants you to suffer a bit. So he stops completely and you gasp out in frustration.

“Fuck!” You groan angrily. Trying to move your hands to do it yourself, he smirks that you are tied up nicely. And he thinks that you’ll have to do this more often.

“Tell me how bad you want me to touch you.” He whispers.

“So, so fucking bad,” you whimper. “I’ll do anything.”

“You wanna make me proud, don’t you?”

You nod. “Yes.”

“So, make me proud. Come on my face.” He thrusts his tongue in your opening, and you shamelessly scream in pleasure.

He dives into your core, licking your clit slowly and running his fingers through your slit. He doesn’t hesitate to put in two fingers, watching as you muffle a gasp out in pleasure. He pumps them in and out slowly, reaching with his free hand to squeeze your hip.

“Kylian... I—.. I’m coming, I’m coming.” You repeat and he smiles before kissing your thighs again and then looking back at you. Pulling back.

Why the fuck is he pulling back?

“Kylian...?” Your eyebrows furrow. “Don’t do this, please.”

He stands tall and your eyes follow his every move.

“Kylian... I swear to God..” You threat. Eyes burning in fury. “Don’t play this game.”

“What’s the matter? I thought you liked games?” He bites his lower lip and it irritates you. It frustrates you how you allowed him to take control and he’s taking advantage of it.

“Please, Kylian. Let me.”

“Let you what?”

“Let me come.”

“Mmm.” Pretending to be thinking. He stands tall and unbuttons then unzips his jeans to ease the tightness in his pants. Then he towers over you. “Non.”

Then his fingers are inside you again. With each flick of his finger on your nub, he turns the pace up slowly, higher and higher, until your breaths are shallow and whimpers sound.

“Please. I’m sorry—so sorry.” There are tears welling in your eyes. You just want to be released. “I shouldn’t have teased you. Really, I shouldn’t have. But I couldn’t help it.”

“Ouais.” He pulls his fingers out and lifts his hand to his mouth, his two fingers coated with your cream. He savors the sweetness. A soft *click* echoes as his lips release them. “You shouldn’t have. But I’ll make sure you learn your lesson.” His expression is one of indulgence, completely absorbed in the creamy delight.

He hovers over you and grabs the belt that’s wrapped around your hands and effortlessly pulls you up. You sit in front of him. On the same level as his torso.

He amends the issue quickly, standing before you and pulling his jeans a bit down, just enough to free his hard member. You watch with undivided interest when his length springs free of his boxers. Your gaze locks right on it, deepening into a look of pure want.

“Do you see this cock? Do you see that pre-cum? Dripping already.” He teases you, pumping himself once as his blood rises to the surface.

“Do you see how it’s not in your mouth?” He strokes his length with his fist. “Too bad it’s gonna stay that way.”

What?

“Kylian...” You try to complain, but he cuts your words.

“Play with yourself. Play with it the way I like to watch.” He demands while stepping backwards to rest against one of the moving boxes.

Shock pummels through you, but you don’t hesitate, not with his face looking so intense. You don’t question his demand, not once. And with your fingers you reach for between your wobbly legs, throwing your head back.

“No, no, no. Keep your eyes on me, baby.”

You make eye contact. Your face hot, and he bites his lip at the sight. How you’re completely and entirely helpless. How your eyes glaze over with pure bliss.

“Look at you being a good girl already. It would be a damn shame to stop. Wouldn’t it?” He asks and you whine.

Slicking up his hand, wrapping it around his member, and rubbing it up and down. You can see the skin sliding back and forth.

He strokes it faster now, his breath rigid.

“So..” He breathes. “Stop.”

What the fuck?!

“Kylian, no!” You shout, already frustrated by his mind games.

“Hands off.” He orders. “On your knees, face down.”

You lean forward, facing away from him. Your arms rested on the mattress when you hear his devotions; words spoken in a voice that drifted away from you. Being most devout he stands behind you and growls.

“You’re gonna get fucked the way you deserve. Do you understand?”

You whimper.

“Come here.” He grips your hips and you gasp.

*Ding-dong*

The sudden, sharp sound of the doorbell cuts through the quiet, startling in the room.

“Hmm. Would you look at that. It’s my ride to the airport.” He pushes himself away from you, putting his clothes back on. “Keep it wet.”

Kylian moves quickly to the door as you fall quiet, the tension easing just slightly. The sound of the door creaking open is followed by muffled voices outside. His tone is low, almost casual, but there’s an edge of urgency in his words. Through the door, you catch snippets of his conversation.

“Yeah, that’s them… Just grab the bags... There’s one more upstairs. I’ll go get it.” He says, his voice faint but clear enough to recognize the familiar instructions.

He bounds up the stairs with quick, purposeful strides, the soft thud of his shoes barely muffled by the carpet. The muted creak of the wooden steps follows him as he ascends.

He clothes the door behind him. His eyes suddenly turn to mischief.

“Keep. Your mouth. Shut.” He warns.

He grasps the back of your neck with firm fingers, pulling you toward him with an intensity that leaves no room for hesitation.

“He can wait.” He says mid-kiss. Then your lips collide again with a raw force, his breath mingling with yours as he claims your mouth in a heated, possessive kiss. As if trying to consume every part of you in that moment. He snatches his lips away from yours.

He doesn’t say anything. He simply grabs his bag and hurries downstairs. It takes him good two minutes to get back to you. Closing the door behind him.

He exhales sharply, his shoulders slumping as the frustration washes over him. Then he walks toward you. “Open.”

Open what?

He slaps your left thigh with his hand to part your legs. And then you hear him spit. It wets your core with a faint splatter.

He pounds into you with a deep, strong thrust. And a sharp moan pours from your throat, followed by his name.

He’s grunting through the thrusts and you lick along the seam of your lips, as if to taste his name on your tongue. And you moan loudly.

“That’s a good fucking girl. That’s a good fucking girl.” He praises. Sweat building up.

Wanting more of a friction. More of him. You throw your head back and you match his movements. Bouncing back so he can get even deeper into you and hit that spot.

“There you go, throw it back. Bounce that ass on me the way I like it. Come on.” He groans. His tone frantic.

You flinch, your brain beginning to split and latch on to the fact that you’re being fucked in a way you never knew you would like.

He pulls you by your hips and you sink your face on the mattress because you can’t take it no more. Screaming into it with pleasure.

“I’m gonna ride you. I’m gonna fucking ride you till you can’t fucking walk.”

He groans into the skin of your back.

“This is what you’ve been waiting for, isn’t it? Well here it fucking is, so fucking take it.”

He fucks you harder, seeming to get off on your body.

This entire situation is beyond fucked up. Yet, it becomes impossible to feel a damn thing outside of the orgasm looming.

Cries pour from your throat, and he moans them all off, proving just how starved he is.

“Don’t stop,” You gasp, your voice strained. “Fuck, Kylian, please.”

His lips retreat from your back, and he hovers over your back only to grab your jaw and turn your face to the side and take your lips between his teeth.

His thrusts are even deeper now as he moans against your mouth. “Take that fucking cock. Come on. Come on. Fuck me.”

His kiss trail down to your neck. You lose all coherent thought, your surroundings becoming disjointed and incomprehensible. The pleasure is like a disease, shutting down your nervous system and taking control. You’re a slave to his power. Drunk on his love, and there’s nothing you can do but succumb.

“Fuck me good.” He whimpers. “Fais-moi jouir.” (make me cum) He repeats and your bones liquefy, the muscles surrounding them seize. Vaguely, you feel rather than hear the broken cry leave your throat.

“I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum.” He whispers hazily.

And with that announcement, his body tenses up. Your back is arching like the string of a bow.

He closes his eyes as the orgasm surges through him, tidal waves at first, turning into ripples that slowly ebb out, leaving every muscle of his body absolutely exhausted. Then he releases, your head slumping forward as he explodes into his orgasm, groaning loudly, shamelessly, probably having the chauffeur worried.

Time stills, and you shatter just as he releases on your back, sending blood rushing to your head, intensifying the explosion detonating throughout your body.

Your thighs shake, your eyes roll back in their sockets and you scream out your orgasm, and clasp one hand over your own mouth, moaning quietly.

You allow yourself to fall flat on the mattress. Your cries still audible. Catching for breath as you remove the sweaty mask.

He rests his head on your back. His sweaty face pressed against it. His body going completely limp.

He stands with his dick in his hand, mind completely empty, panting heavily, eyelids fluttering. You feel disoriented, like you don’t really remember where you are.

“Shit.” He mutters. “I have a plane to catch.”

You sit on the edge of the bed and watch him get dressed as you do too.

The light from the window illuminates the dust motes dancing in the air, and the room feels a mix of nostalgia and emptiness.

You leave for the bathroom to pull yourself together. It’s not like it’s the first time he leaves for another country.

Deep breaths and a few wipes against your face fixes the issue... For now.

You get back into the bedroom to see him sitting on the bed, phone in his hand.

“Got everything?” You block your sad thoughts.

“Not quite yet.” He gets up, then presses the black mask into your palm and you laugh.

Did you just unlock a new kink in him?

“You’re not serious...”

He surprises his smile and shows you his phone screen.

You glance at the phone, your eyes widening as you take in the detailed design of the costume. The soft, velvety material and the delicate, whiskered mask were perfectly tailored. Then your eyes dart to the sentence:

‘Thank you for ordering Smitten Kitten Costume!’

You look at him.

“We need to have a serious conversation, young man.” You imply.

He tucks his phone in his pocket and smirks. “Call me batman.”

A/N: I’m sorry... No I’m not.