Desiré fic where he has a hard time getting out of bed even though he knows he has training. But when he finally gets out the door and arrives at the training ground he has forgotten all his training stuff at home. So he calls the reader in a hurry to get her to come with his things, and when she arrives he runs over to her kissing all over her face thanking her, and all his teammates and coaches is just watching and laughing.. he kinda gets bullied the rest of the day
OOPS
desire doue x f! reader
masterlist
:: He was already running late. But forgetting his training bag at home? That was the cherry on top.
The shrill sound of his alarm echoed through the bedroom for what felt like the hundredth time that morning.
A hand lazily reached out from beneath the blanket, blindly patting across the bedside table until it found his phone.
Another alarm rung as a groan escaped Desire as he buried his face deeper into the pillow.
"I know," he mumbled to absolutely no one. "I'm getting up."
The room fell quiet again until another alarm buzzed. This one he couldn't ignore. With one eye barely open, he reached for his phone and immediately sat upright.
7:48
Training started in less than an hour.
He threw the blanket off himself so quickly it landed on the floor, nearly tripping over it as he rushed toward the bathroom.
"I'm late," he called, practically sliding across the hallway.
You looked up from the kitchen where you'd been making breakfast. "I noticed."
"I overslept."
He leaned over the counter just long enough to steal a piece of toast from your plate.
"I'll eat on the way."
"That's mine."
"You still have another." He said still scattering to have everything organized.
You laughed, shaking your head as he hurried around the apartment trying to do six things at once.
One sock somehow ended up in the living room. His hoodie was inside out. He spent a full minute looking for his car keys before realizing they were already in his hand.
You watched the entire disaster unfold with an amused smile. "Need help?"
"I'm completely under control." The sentence had barely left his mouth before he walked straight into the hallway wall.
You covered your mouth, trying not to laugh.
He looked at you, annoyed. "Dont."
Your smile grew wider, "I'm trying not to."
Five frantic minutes later, he finally stood by the front door. "I'll see you later."
"You only had toast."
He started opening the door slightly, "I'll survive."
You rolled your eyes as he leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before rushing out the door. The apartment fell quiet again. You looked around, then your eyes landed on something sitting neatly beside the couch.
His training bag. Cleats, water, training gear, everything.
You sighed, already knowing exactly what was about to happen. Right on cue, your phone started ringing.
You smiled before answering. "Hello?"
"Baby," He sounded completely out of breath. "Please tell me you have my bag."
You looked toward the bag laying on the ground. "The one sitting right next to me?"
"I forgot it."
You couldn't help laughing. "I'll bring it."
"I love you."
"I know."
"No seriously, you saved my life." You could hear his voice slowly sounding more relieved.
"You've said that because I found your charger before." You laughed.
"That was life-saving too."
"I'll be there in fifteen." You said grabbing his bag.
"Thanks, I owe you."
"Hmm, you owe me breakfast tomorrow, and flowers, and maybe even bring me my favorite chocolate."
"I think you're taking advantage of my current situation." He sighed dramatically. "But fine, please just hurry up."
The training ground was already buzzing by the time you pulled into the parking lot. You grabbed his bag from the passenger seat before making your way toward the entrance.
One of the staff members spotted you immediately. "Looking for Desire?"
"I think he's looking for me."
The staff member laughed. "He hasn't stopped talking about forgetting his stuff."
"I can imagine."
"I'll let him know."
Before he even had the chance A familiar voice echoed across the training ground. "Baby!"
You barely had time to react before Desire came jogging toward you with the biggest grin on his face. "There you are!"
He reached you in seconds, wrapping both arms around you in a quick hug before pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Thank you."
Another kiss landed on your cheek. "Seriously."
One on your other cheek. "I love you."
You laughed, trying to gently push him back.
"Desire."
"But seriously, thank you." He said sincerely.
You handed it over, unable to stop smiling. "Next time."
You tapped the side of his head. "Use this."
He laughed. "I'll try."
Behind him. A slow clap echoed across the pitch. Desire froze, before turning to look behind him.
Almost the entire squad had been watching. One of his teammates called out with a grin, "Need another kiss before training?"
Another added, "Think he forgot his boots on purpose."
Desire rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking far more embarrassed than he had five seconds earlier. Unfortunately the teasing didn't end there.
For the rest of training, every good pass came with, "Nice one, lover boy!"
Every mistake earned, "Too busy thinking about those kisses?"
And when training finally ended, one teammate walked over holding Desire's water bottle. "You sure this is yours?"
Désiré frowned. "Yeah?"
"You sure your girlfriend doesn't need to hand it to you first?"
The entire dressing room erupted into laughter. Desire buried his face in his hands.
⊹ 𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀. the kind of night you wish would never end. the kind you keep replaying long after it’s gone. the kind that feels like a memory before it even becomes one.
⊹ 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘀. soft fluff, emotional comfort, quiet longing, désiré doué feels like he is not enough, late-night drives, hand holding, stolen moments, désiré doué being a sweetheart, not wanting the night to end, emotional intimacy, mutual pining, gentle teasing, lingering touches, one more moment, kissing, romance with a hint of steam, bittersweet feelings.
there was something about late-night drives that made everything feel more honest. maybe it was the empty roads. maybe it was the darkness outside the windows, leaving only the two of them inside the quiet warmth of the car. conversations felt easier after midnight. silences did, too.
she rested her elbow against the window, watching the city slip by. she glanced at the dashboard clock.
12:43 a.m.
he was supposed to be taking her home. streetlights swept across the windshield in slow intervals, painting brief streaks of gold over désiré’s face before disappearing into the night again. neither of them spoke. it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence.
the windows were cracked just enough for the cool night air to slip inside, carrying the scent of rain that hadn’t fallen yet. the music was low, soft enough that it blended into the background rather than filling the silence. she liked that about him.
he never rushed to fill quiet moments. he let them exist.
she rested her head against the window, watching the city blur past.
“you know…” she murmured, breaking the silence.
désiré hummed in response, one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel while the other on his thigh.
“i don’t think i’ve ever seen the roads this empty.”
he glanced at her for the briefest second before looking back at the road, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
oh how she loved that smile.
“that’s because you’re usually asleep by now,” he said, the smile in his voice arriving a second before the one on his face. “you never make it this far.”
his fingers drummed lazily against the steering wheel as he considered her comment. a quiet chuckle slipped past his lips.
she scoffed, turning in her seat to look at him.
“you say that like it’s my fault.” one eyebrow raised in mock offense. a smile threatened at the corners of her lips, but she did her best to suppress it.
désiré let out a quiet hum. another stretch of empty road opened up ahead, illuminated only by the occasional streetlight.
“whose fault is it, then?” he asked, flicking his eyes towards her for just a second. he wasn’t expecting to find her already looking at him. he wanted to hold her gaze, but the road demanded his attention.
she held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary, as though genuinely weighing her options. then she smiled—a slow, knowing smile.
“yours.” she said, a grin tugged at her lips as she leaned over and gave his shoulder a gentle bump.
the warmth of her shoulder lingered long after she’d pulled away. a soft laugh escaped him. god, she had no idea that even the smallest moments with her meant everything to him.
“mine?” he breathed. his heart stumbled somewhere behind his ribs. he risked another glance at her.
she nodded once, folding one leg beneath her on the seat as she faced him a little more. she watched the way his hands rested on the steering wheel before murmuring. “you’re too good at driving.”
he let out another quiet chuckle, shaking his head.
“that’s a new one,” his smile lingered longer than he intended. he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead, though he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at her again. “i’ve never had anyone blame my driving before.”
“i’m not blaming it…” she protested, her voice soft.
she wondered if he knew what he did to her without trying. how every late-night drive seemed to slow the world just enough for her to breathe. how the silence between them never demanded to be filled. how his quiet presence unraveled knots she’d spent all day carrying.
she didn’t have a name for the feeling yet. peace, maybe. comfort. something warmer than either of those. whatever it was, she found herself chasing it every chance she got—finding excuses to linger, to stay in the passenger seat a little longer, to let another song play before either of them mentioned going home.
his voice pulled her gently from her thoughts. she blinked, realizing he'd been waiting for her answer. he scratched lightly at the side of his neck before loosening his grip on the steering wheel, only to tighten it again a moment later, as though it were the only thing keeping him grounded.
he didn't rush her. he never did.
she let out a quiet breath, her gaze drifting back to the windshield.
“it’s just…” she paused, searching for words that never seemed big enough to hold the feeling. “you make everything feel easy.”
he looked at her like she’d just handed him something fragile, something he didn’t want to break. this woman had no idea what she meant to him. she had become his peace. he just let her words sit between them, like he was afraid moving too quickly would break something. the words seemed to catch him off guard—not because he didn’t like them, but because he wasn’t used to hearing them.
then he smiled softly. unable to hide the warmth in his expression. how could he?
“that’s a pretty big thing to say.” his voice was quieter this time, almost like he didn’t want to disturb the feeling settling between them.
she looked down at her hands, suddenly aware of how much she’d revealed. the honesty of it sat between them, warm and unfamiliar.
“is it?” she asked gently, almost afraid of what he might say.
for a moment, he didn’t answer. he just looked at her. not the way people usually looked at her—not searching for something, not expecting something. just taking her in like he was trying to memorize the moment. like she was something worth slowing down for, in a world that never seemed to stop moving.
outside, the city continued moving around them, but inside the car everything felt still. the soft music. the warmth of the seats. the quiet sound of his breathing beside her.
“yeah.” he said softly.
his eyes returned to the road, a small smile tugging at his lips. and somehow, he couldn’t make it go away. every time he thought it had faded, it came back again—a quiet, helpless smile that she had somehow put there without even trying.
“because i don’t think i’ve ever wanted to be that for someone.”
“what?” she turned towards him, her brows pulling together slightly.
his fingers moved slowly over the steering wheel, tracing the same absent rhythm they had been tapping all night. for a moment, he didn’t look at her. like the words were harder to say when he had to see her reaction.
“someone’s peace.”
the sentence was barely above a whisper. she went quiet.
a few cars passed in the distance, streetlights disappeared behind them, the world continued like nothing had changed. but inside the car, something had changed. time seemed to slow, leaving only the quiet between them. the world outside slowly lost its importance.
“someone they don’t have to pretend around,” he continued softly. “someone who makes things feel a little lighter.”
his throat moved as he swallowed, his eyes staying fixed on the road ahead. then, he glanced at her for a second, and there was something almost vulnerable in his expression.
“i don’t think anyone’s ever looked at me and thought…” he paused, searching for the right words. “that i could make their life feel easier.”
her chest tightened. because he said it like it was something he never believed he could be. like being someone’s comfort had always felt impossible to him. she wanted to tell him that he was wrong. that he had no idea how much he changed the atmosphere around him. how his presence alone could quiet every thought that had been overwhelming her all day.
but the words felt too big.
so instead, she reached across the space between them. her fingers found his where his hand rested near the gearshift, hesitant at first, giving him every chance to pull away.
he didn’t.
his fingers curled around hers almost immediately, warm and familiar, like his hand had been waiting for hers to be there. as if the touch had always belonged there. and somehow, that said everything she couldn’t put into words. she knew. she just knew.
she would always choose him.
the road ahead slowly became familiar. she recognized the streets before she even saw the sign. the turn towards her neighborhood was only a few seconds away. and suddenly, the warmth inside the car felt a little more fragile. neither of them said anything. the music continued quietly in the background, filling the space between them as if it knew neither of them wanted to break the moment.
she watched the familiar buildings appear through the windshield. then she noticed. the turn was coming. she looked over at him.
he knew too. she could tell by the way his fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel. the indicator never came on. the car kept moving. past her street. past the turn. she blinked, looking back at the road behind them.
“dés…”
his eyes stayed ahead, but she caught the smallest smile pulling at his lips.
“yeah?” his voice was soft, almost too casual.
“you missed the turn.”
for a second, she expected him to look surprised. to apologize. to make some excuse about not noticing. but he didn’t.
a quiet breath of laughter left him.
“i know.” he said quietly, his voice steady and certain.
she stared at him for a second, her heart warming at the certainty in his voice. she smiled before she even realized she was doing it.
“aren’t you going to turn around?” she asked, but a part of her hoped he wouldn’t.
this time, he didn’t answer immediately. he just looked at the empty road ahead, the city stretching endlessly in front of them. their hands were still intertwined between them, warm and steady. his thumb brushed against hers absentmindedly, like he needed the reminder that she was still there.
when he felt her fingers shift against his, his grip tightened without thinking. just slightly. like letting go was the one thing he couldn’t bring himself to do. a silent answer before he could find the words. then, softly, almost a whisper, but with the weight of a promise—
“not yet.” his voice carrying a weight that made her chest tighten.
not a refusal. not an excuse. a plea. he said it like he needed her to understand. two simple words. but somehow, they meant everything. she understood, because she knew what he was really saying.
stay a little longer.
don’t make me say goodnight yet.
he just wasn’t ready to let the night end. the space between them suddenly felt different. like it wasn’t a space between them anymore, it was the last thing standing between everything they had been afraid to admit and everything they had been hoping for.
he lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a quiet kiss against her knuckles, a small gesture that somehow said everything he couldn’t. then, his fingers gently intertwined with hers, slower this time, like he wasn’t afraid of what it meant anymore. like holding her hand wasn’t a risk, but a place to rest.
she watched him, almost afraid to believe it. afraid that if she moved too quickly, if she wanted too much, she would break the quiet little moment they had finally found. she stayed there, holding his hand and letting the silence speak for them. for once, she didn’t need reassurance. she didn’t need promises.
he just kept driving, one hand holding hers, his attention on the road but his heart finally somewhere else. for once, he wasn’t thinking about the exit. he wasn’t looking for the easiest way out, wasn’t counting the seconds until he had to let go.
he was just there.
then, at the next red light, he stopped. the engine hummed softly, and every few seconds another streetlight washed over them, lighting her face just long enough for him to steal another glance before darkness tucked them away again. and for the first time that night, he let himself look at her without searching for a reason to leave. like he was seeing her without all the fear that usually stood between them. like he was finally allowing himself to want this, to want her. his eyes softened, and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
a quiet reassurance.
she wondered if he knew how much that tiny gesture meant to her. how something so simple could feel like an answer to all the doubts she’d carried. neither of them moved. they didn’t need to. everything they had been holding back was sitting there between them, every almost, every goodbye that never happened, every feeling they were too afraid to admit.
all the times they stood too close but still found a reason to step away. all the words that stayed stuck in their throats because saying them out loud would make everything too real. and now, there was nowhere left to hide. just the quiet understanding that, somehow, after everything, they had still found their way back to each other.
she looked at him, and he looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time and remembering her all at once. every little thing he had tried not to miss, every feeling he had tried to bury, was suddenly impossible to ignore. the silence wasn’t empty. it was full of everything they had been waiting for.
he leaned closer, slowly, giving her the choice. as their eyes stayed locked, she tugged his head down and their lips met in a featherlight kiss.
the kiss was gentle at first.
careful. desperate.
neither of them rushed. they couldn’t. not after all the time they had spent holding back.
his hand left hers slowly, as he turned towards her in the driver’s seat. his fingers found her cheek, his palm warm against her skin, holding her with a tenderness that made her chest ache. his thumb brushed along her cheekbone, slow and gentle, and the small gesture carried everything he couldn’t say. she leaned into his touch, closing the last bit of distance between them, and something in him finally broke open.
the kiss became deeper, not because they were desperate to take something from each other, but because they had spent so long denying themselves this exact moment. she smiled slightly against his lips, unable to hide how happy she was. her fingers found the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him in a quiet way.
désiré’s mouth crashed over hers again, and there was nothing exploratory about this kiss. she tilted her head slightly, meeting him halfway instead of letting him carry the whole moment. his tongue tickled her bottom lip. his perfect teeth gave it a tiny nip. then he buried his face in her neck and lavished it with soft, open-mouthed kisses that left shivers in their wake.
breathless.
his hand stayed against her face, his fingers brushing gently through her hair, grounding himself in the reality of her being there. of them being here. she gave him another small kiss, softer this time, like reassurance rather than desire.
the traffic light turned green. neither of them moved. the dashboard lights flickered gently across her face, making the whole moment feel unreal. he was memorizing her. the way she looked at him, the warmth of her hand, the quiet between them—he wanted to remember every second of it. every little detail felt like something he wanted to keep, something he could come back to when this moment was no longer theirs.
he should have started the car. he knew that. but his hand stayed where it was. a small smile tugged at his lips, almost like he couldn’t believe he was actually here, that this was real.
“dés.” she whispered softly, almost like a reminder that the traffic light had changed, that they couldn’t stay here forever.
his eyes stayed on hers.
“i know,” he said, barely audible.
he knew he should put his hands back on the wheel and pretend his heart wasn’t fighting against the idea of leaving this moment behind. but he did none of that. he leaned closer, his forehead resting against hers, his voice dropping to a quiet whisper.
“just… stay with me for a second.”
and suddenly, she understood. he wasn’t asking her to stay because he thought she would leave. he was asking because some part of him was still afraid that beautiful things were only meant to be temporary. she wanted him to know. he didn’t have to hold onto this second like it was the last one he would ever get. because she wasn’t just a moment.
she was here.
the light was still green. but right now, all he wanted was one more moment with her.
the night passed slowly. the city kept moving. the lights kept changing. the world carried on like it always did.
but their kisses stayed. the warmth of it stayed. the feeling of it stayed. and even when the night was over, even when the road eventually led them somewhere else, a part of them would always remain there.
in that car. under those lights. in the moment they finally chose each other.
but sitting there, with her beside him, somewhere between the quiet kisses and the moments where neither of them needed to say a word, he had realised something.
he didn’t want to leave. not this time. not her. he wanted this. her laughter in the passenger seat. her hand in his. the quiet. the peace. and he was wondering how to keep it. how to keep her. he didn’t want to find the road home.
Summary: France have lost the 2026 World Cup semi-final against Spain.
Author's Note: This whole fic was inspired by that one video of him crying. I believe how f***** fine he is. WTF?!?! This is a teaser.
The stadium had emptied itself by the time you returned to the pitch. The supporters were gone. The interviews had ended. The cameras and sponsor boards had been packed away. Beneath the stands, you could still hear equipment cases rolled over concrete, their wheels catching every few seconds with a dull, uneven knock.
Most of the floodlights had been switched off.
Whole sections of seating had disappeared into darkness, leaving only the outlines of the upper tiers against the night. One light still burned above the penalty area. It hummed. The sound was low and constant, almost too quiet to notice, until there was nothing else left to hear.
Désiré stood beneath it.
He had changed out of his shirt and but still wore his shorts and socks. His boots were unlaced. Grass clung to one knee, and a dark streak of soil ran along his shin. His arms hung stiffly at his sides. His shoulders were raised, the muscles across his back held so tightly that even from a distance you could see the strain in them.
You stopped at the touchline. You had expected to find him in the dressing room. You had not expected him to still be standing on the pitch where France had just lost the semi-final.
Spain would play for the World Cup trophy.
France would not.
“Désiré?” He did not turn.
You crossed the grass slowly. The gold-dusted ends of his hair caught beneath the floodlight. Every time he shifted his head, they flashed against the darkness. He looked almost unreal standing there, illuminated alone after everything else had been put away. Beautiful, you thought. Then immediately felt guilty for thinking it.
When you reached him, you placed your hand between his shoulder blades. He recoiled so violently that your hand remained suspended in the air. It was not the startled flinch of someone who had not heard you approaching. His whole body tightened away from you, as though your touch was spirit that had found exposed flesh.
Neither of you spoke. The light continued to hum above you.
“Hey.” You stepped around him.
His face stopped you. His eyes were wet. The skin around them had turned red, the colour spread down towards the bridge of his nose. His nostrils were pink too, as though he had been rubbing at them. His light-brown eyes looked brass beneath the stadium light, bright with fresh tears. His lips glistened. He must have kept running his tongue over them because they were wet despite the dry skin around them. And his jaw was locked so hard that a small muscle jumped beside his cheek.
He looked beautiful. And wrong.
You lifted your hand towards his face but he turned away before you could touch him.
“I should’ve been better.”
His voice was low and scraped raw.
“You don’t have to talk about it now.”
“I should’ve been fucking better.” The sound of it seemed too large for the empty stadium.
“You did everything you could.”
“No.”
His head snapped towards you. His eyes had changed. They were still wet, but there was a hardness in them, something that had not been there just a moment before.
“Don’t do that.”
“I’m only trying to—”
“Don’t tell me I tried. Don’t tell me I gave everything. Don’t give me that, y/n.”
He turned and drove the toe of his boot into the grass. A piece of turf came loose.
“It means nothing.”
He kicked at the same spot again.
“It means absolutely nothing to me that I tried. Do you understand that? Trying is what you say about somebody when they weren’t good enough to do the thing.”
“Désiré—”
“Everybody tries, y/n.”
He paced several steps away, then turned back.
“Everybody fucking tries. Every player who has ever stepped onto this pitch wanted to win. Every player who has ever gone home after losing can say they tried. So what? What is that supposed to give me?”
His voice rose, then dropped without warning.
“Do I put that in a cabinet? Do I show my children one day? Look. Here is the night I tried.”
He gave a short laugh but there was nothing amused in it.
“You think Spain tried? You think my country cares about that? You think anyone is going to remember how badly I wanted it?”
“No one is blam—.”
“They will only remember that I failed.”
His answer came immediately.
“It was not your fault alone.”
“I was there.” He struck his chest with the heel of his hand. The sound was flat and hard.
“I was there, wasn’t I? On the pitch. In the shirt. In the semi-final of the fucking World Cup.”
Again.
“Was I not there?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then I was responsible.”
His voice had become strangely controlled. Each word landed separately, as though he were reading charges against himself.
girl noooo please keep posting. it doesn’t even have to be a lot but give them the happy ending they deserve 💔💔. a redeemed desire and a yn that finally gets the love she deserves 💔💔.
ཐི❤︎ཋྀ tox1c Doué epilogue ཐི❤︎ཋྀ
─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ this is a fake scenario, noting is real and all the pictures are from Pinterest.
in which désiré tries his hardest to make you wear his club colors.
a/n : this was an amazing request that i loved so idc if you’re not a marseille fan, im not either just use your imagination idk i just though this would be a fun little thing.
NOT PROOFREAD
You’d dedicated your whole life to l’olympique de Marseille. Proudly wearing their colors, attending their games, celebrating their victories. You were a true fan.
The first time Désiré gave you a PSG shirt, he was so confident that you’ll love it.
He walked into the room, proudly holding a bag from the club shop. He grinned as he got closer to you, hugging you from behind. “Close your eyes.”
You laughed. “Is this another one of your terrible surprises?”
”Just trust me.”
So you do.
He places the soft material in your hands, smiling from ear to ear as he did so.
”Okay.”
You slowly opened your eyes, adjusting to the light as you glanced down at your hands.
A brand new PSG home shirt. His name stretched proudly on the back
DOUÉ
You smiled immediately. “Aww”
He thought he had won, until.
”It’s really pretty..”
He sighed. “But..?”
”I’m not wearing it.”
His smile drops. “Excuse me?”
You held the shirt tightly to your chest. Smirking. “I love that you got me one.”
”So wear it.”
”I can’t”
He groaned, accepting defeat. For this time at least.
So he slowly made it his mission. Getting you to wear a psg shirt.
Every couple weeks he tried again. He was nothing if not persistent. But you rejected his offer every single time, the shirts piling in a corner of your dresser. Slowly collecting dust.
One morning, you were making breakfast in an old blue and white Marseille shirt. You wore it proudly, it was your grandpa’s first football jersey, and he’d passed it on to your dad, and later on to you.
But when Des walked into the kitchen. He immediately stopped. Sighing dramatically. “Again?”
You dont even look up, eyes fixated on the eggs you were currently trying not to burn. “Good morning to you too.”
”I bought you four PSG shirts.”
”And that’s lovely really.”
”So..”
you frowned “So what?”
”Why are you wearing… That?” emphasis on the that, he looked down at your shirt in disgust.
You glanced down, smiling to yourself. “Because this one’s lucky.”
He rolled his eyes. “You don’t even believe in lucky shirts.”
”I do when it annoys you.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re unbelievable.”
You smiled sweetly, knowing all of this was just a silly game, and you were clearly winning. His annoyance clearly making you laugh.
”Yet here you are.”
Désiré had even convinced you to come watch one of his trainings. So you showed up to the training ground. Wearing jeans, trainers, and an Olympique de Marseille hoodie.
You’d honestly forgotten you had it on. But it only fueled your desire to mess with him even more.
As soon as you walked to the pitch, the players noticed. All heads turned to you as you walked proudly onto the pitch.
One of them pointed. “Is that…”
another squinted. “No way.”
Warren started laughing before anyone had the courage to. “Désiré”
He turned around, eyes instantly landing on you, and going wide as soon as they did.
The giant OM crest across her chest.
He froze. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He quickly walked over to you. “What are you wearing.”
You look down at your hoodie, acting surprised. “Oops.”
The boys were absolutely losing it, watching the pair, one shouted. “Your own girl supports l’OM?”
He shook his head in disapproval. “Here? To PSG training?”
”i also noticed that.”
the entire team is trying not to laugh, watching the scene.
Someone finally asked. “Does she at least own a PSG shirt?”
Désiré answered quickly before you got to. “Four.”
You nod in agreement. “He’s right.”
Everyone goes silent, listening.
”They’re all folded neatly in my wardrobe.”
More hope. “Next to my Marseille shirts.”
The laughter is almost deafening.
Des actually walks away whispering, “i dont know her.”
We were one day away from le classique.
PSG vs OM.
All week the internet had gone absolutely crazy, joking about where you would sit. Tagging you in edits.
People just couldn’t stop asking. “What side are you on.”
Even journalists were asking Désiré during media day. “Will your girlfriend finally wear psg colors this weekend?”
He smiled awkwardly. “I dont think so.”
And so, the night before the game, you were lying in bed. Curled up against his warm body.
He asked quietly, “Can i ask you something?”
You looked up, smiling. “Always.”
”Does it bother you that i play for PSG?”
You immediately shook your head left to right. “No.”
“Really?”
”I fell in love with you, not your badge.”
He looked honestly a little relieved, and you carried on.
”But Marseille is home to me. My dad raised me like that. I cried when we lost finals, i celebrated titles. I can’t just pretend that never happened,”
He nods slowly, “I know.”
He closed his eyes, sighing softly, “I’d never ask you to.”
So he stopped trying to convince you.
The next morning, it was finally match day.
He told you there was no pressure about you showing up to the game. You both knew it would be awkward. You still told him you’ll think about it.
He assumed you wouldn’t.
He walked out the tunnel.
The stadium was absolutely packed.
The Parc des Princes looked incredible.
The ultras chanted loudly. Music, flags, and noise. It was all so overwhelming, in a good way.
During warm up, he scanned the crowd. Eyes landing towards the family section out of habit.
He stopped.
There you were, standing against the railing.
But not in light blue and white. Not in Marseille colors.
You were wearing his shirt.
His name, his number.
He completely forgets what he’s doing, movements going flimsy. He couldn’t stop smiling.
One of the older players noticed his cheesy smile. “What are you smiling at?”
He didn’t answer, just looked up at the stands.
You caught his eye from across the stadium.
Grinning as you pointed to the name on your back.
He gently shook his head in disbelief.
PSG won.
But he barely celebrated.
First thing he did was lightly jog towards the stands.
You were already waiting for him. The second he got close enough, he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist. Head dipping in your neck, taking in the scent of the brand new jersey mixed with yours. He whispered. “You wore it.”
You laughed into his shoulder. “I did.”
He pulled back lightly, arms still holding your waist tightly.
”I thought you said you never would.”
”I said i’d never wear a psg shirt.”
He frowned, glancing at your shirt once again to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “This.. is a psg shirt.”
You gently ran your fingers over his number, feeling the stickier materiel on your hands. “No.”
He tilted his head, obviously confused. So you continued, “It’s your shirt.”
He smiled.
”I didn’t wear it because of psg. I wore it because your name is on the back.”
He just stared at you for a second, confusion sprawled across his face. Obviously trying to process your words. “So…”
You smile, knowing exactly where this is going. “No, I still support Marseilles.”
He laughed, “Yeah okay figured.”
So you reached forward, placing your hand on his cheek gently. “But for ninety minutes…”
Your other hand reacher for the collar of his shirt, tugging at it lightly.
”…I’ll always support you.”
The words instantly made him melt, leaning instinctively into your lips.
The kiss was sweet and gentle, until his hands started moving all around the material of the shirt. Fingers wondering right underneath it slowly. Fingertips tickling your hips and slowly moving higher towards your waist.
You pushed back gently, looking at him, a smile still sprawled on his face. “I think this is the closest i’m ever getting to converting you.”
