୧ 𝓚 ＹＬＩＡＮ Ｍ ＢＡＰＰＥ

BEING JUDE’S LITTLE SISTER had its perks — private boxes at Champions League finals, first dibs on unreleased England kits, the whole football world lowkey knowing your name. but one perk you definitely weren’t supposed to take advantage of? kylian mbappé.

you met him at a post-match dinner jude dragged you to in madrid. he said hi. you said hi back. and just like that — texts at 2 a.m., facetime calls that lasted ‘til your phone died, flirty voice notes that made you bite your lip and roll your eyes at the same time.

eventually, you told jude you were crashing at your best friend’s for the night — movie marathon, snacks, girl talk. nothing suspicious.

reality? you were tucked into kylian’s apartment in madrid, his hoodie drowning you, his voice low as he told you stories from training — laughing, animated, completely at ease. his fingers absentmindedly played with yours the whole time, like he didn’t even notice. like he’d done it a million times before.

you stayed the night. nothing wild — just soft kisses and whispered “stay a little longer”.

and in the morning — barefaced, hair a mess, drowning in one of his tees — you wandered into the kitchen in search of coffee.

what you didn’t expect? kylian. jude. camavinga. tchouaméni. all posted up in the kitchen like it was a casual sunday brunch.

you froze. jude blinked. camavinga smirked.

“you sure she was at her best friend’s?” he muttered, sipping his juice.

you wanted the floor to swallow you whole.

kylian, on the other hand, just smiled — casual, like this was all part of the plan — then slid an arm around your waist like it belonged there.

“morning, amour,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. like nothing was out of place. like this wasn’t your actual worst nightmare. like your brother wasn’t about to throw hands over scrambled eggs.

jude just stared at you, jaw tight. you blinked at him. innocent. kinda. “hi?”

yeah. you were so grounded.

but also? kind of totally in love.

@𝓜𝐑𝐒𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐒