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guéla doué x friend!f!reader

;; are you two really just friends??

#@̲ i2pod #footballer x reader #football #football fluff #guela doue #guela doue fluff #guela doue x reader #guela doue x you #strasbourg #rc strasbourg #rcsa #racing club strasbourg alsace #fc strasbourg

meuf je sais que tes requests sont fermé mais une histoire avec guéla qui genre se moque/ ou trouve choux l’accent de reader en français ça allait trop bien

-✨

ACCENT;

⤷ ゛masterlist ˎˊ˗

guéla doué x f!reader.

dating.

note: thanks for ur req babe jpp dire non à mon chouchou guéla 😋

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you have an accent when you speak french and guéla can't help himself from laughing.

#footballer x reader #football #leiswork #football fluff #guéla doué x reader #guela doue fluff #guela doue x reader #guéla doué fluff #rc strasbourg #rcsa #racing club strasbourg alsace #fc strasbourg #strasbourg #football x you #football x reader

  the birthday kiss

Guéla Doué x Fem!Reader

sy: you and guéla shared your first kiss when you were thirteen, swore you'd never speak of it again, and kept that promise for seven years… until your twentieth birthday makes him admit he's been in love with you ever since.

a/n: ngl i think this one came out kinda cliché 😭 i was lowkey out of ideas bc i don't rlly know much about guéla, so it was hard to come up with something, but i still hope u guys like it and Lei @dixheuresdix, this one's for u lol. hope u enjoy this lil silly thing, happy birthday!! hope ur day is just as special as u are. big kiss <3 sorry if there are any writing or translation mistakes

You were thirteen and the party was over.

The balloons were still tied to the backyard chairs, some slightly deflated, and there was a forgotten slice of cake on the table that nobody had taken. The music had stopped. The guests had left one by one with hugs and happy birthdays and now it was just you and him, sitting on the backyard swing and the july sky full of stars with that generosity summer has.

He was pushing the swing lightly with his heel. You had your arms crossed over your chest, looking up.

"Everyone at school has already kissed someone," you said, with no complaint in it, more like a statement, the kind of thing you say out loud when you've been thinking about it for a while and finally find the space for it to come out.

He didn't answer immediately. You heard the swing creaking.

"What if I get to high school without knowing how to kiss?"

He laughed — not mocking, the laugh he had when something caught him off guard and he didn't have a ready answer. Then turned to you with that expression you knew better than any other expression in the world. "Then we solve that now."

You looked at him and he looked at you.

And you both leaned in at the same time and it was awkward in the way things can only be at thirteen when you're trying to do something you've seen in films but never practised — you knocked teeth, laughed in the middle of it, you covered your face with your hands and he turned red in a way that was visible even in the faint light of the backyard.

"We never talk about this again,"

"Never," he agreed, with entirely false solemnity.

The swing kept creaking. The stars stayed where they were.

Seven years are enough to change most things.

Life had reorganised itself around both of you with the indifference that time has — you at university with the routine of exams and internships and a shared flat that smelled of old coffee, him in the world he had chosen, spending his days training, chasing trophies under stadium lights, giving interviews, boarding flights before sunrise, living out of suitcases and match schedules, so different from yours in scale and schedule and everything that defined a day.

You were still best friends. That hadn't changed. But months had passed where best friends existed mainly on screens. Late night messages, video calls that always started with someone saying finally, the kind of friendship that survives distance but resents it anyway.

The twentieth birthday party had something special of parties made with real affection and a student budget. The flat arranged with care, the right playlist, people who genuinely mattered scattered through the rooms. You were in the middle of all of it being twenty, trying to feel the round weight of the number, when you heard the doorbell.

You weren't expecting anyone else.

You opened the door and he was there.

In a jacket, with that smile that hadn't changed in seven years even though everything around it had, and you stood for a second with your hand on the door before laughing and pulling him inside by the arm.

The party continued around you with the normalness of parties, but there was something different in how aware you were of where he was in the flat — when he was close and when he wasn't, the way conversation became easier when he joined a circle and emptier when he left. You noticed this and stored it without examining it.

When everyone sang happy birthday and you closed your eyes for the wish and blew out the candles, you opened your eyes and swept the faces around you, his were the ones you found first.

And there was something in them you recognised before you understood what you were recognising, to the look that you had seen before and belonged to some memory that went blurry when you tried to focus on it.

You would only understand where it came from later.

The party emptied with the natural slowness of good parties, and at some point you found yourself wandering the neighborhood with him until you reached a small playground tucked between two quiet streets. You sat together on a weathered bench, the empty swings creaking softly in the night breeze. It wasn't where it had happened seven years ago, but somehow it looked enough like it that the past slipped into the present.

The sky was clear. July again, stars again.

"Seven years since the worst kiss of my life," you said, with the tone of someone setting up a joke they know the punchline to.

He smiled. Not the laugh from before, something quieter, more internal. "Funny. I've spent seven years thinking about it."

You laughed, because it was obviously a joke, because it was the kind of thing he said to make you laugh, and you waited for him to deliver the funny part.

He didn't deliver the funny part.

He looked at the sky for a second, and when he turned back to you there was something on that face you knew better than any other face in the world, an expression you hadn't seen before. Or maybe you had seen it at the party when you blew out the candles and found his eyes, and maybe before that too, in other moments you had stored without knowing you were storing them.

"Actually," he said, slowly, like someone arriving at something that had been waiting a long time, "I think that's when I started falling for you."

The silence that followed had weight.

Not the uncomfortable silence of things that shouldn't have been said, the other kind, the one that exists when something true is said out loud for the first time and the space needs a moment to accommodate it.

You looked at him with that sentence still in the air around both of you, and something was reorganising itself inside you with the slowness and clarity of things that were always in the right place but that you can only see from a specific angle.

You knew.

The way you sometimes know something before you have complete thoughts about it, just the recognition arriving whole.

"Seven years," you said, more to yourself than to him.

"Seven years," he confirmed, quietly.

There was something in his eyes that was old and new at the same time — the permanence of someone who had always been there and the vulnerability of someone who had just said something that couldn't be unsaid, and you held both things for a moment before breathing.

"Do you think at twenty we can do better than at thirteen?" he asked, quietly, with a small smile at the corner of his mouth that was simultaneously nervous and hopeful and completely him.

You tilted your head slightly toward him, your shoulders already close enough that the movement was minimal, and he raised his hand and rested his fingers against the side of your face with a gentleness that had nothing of thirteen in it, that was adult and right and completely different from anything that had come before.

The kiss was slow.

No knocked teeth, no laughing in the middle, none of the things that had needed a pact to be forgotten. It was simply time arriving somewhere that had been waiting for it, two years of university, late night messages... All of it present in that kiss as context, as history, as the reason that moment had the weight it had.

When you pulled back, the sky was the same. The stars in the same place.

You looked at him for a second with your heart doing "Much better," you said.

And he laughed — that laugh you knew better than any other laugh in the world.

#football #footballer x reader #football fluff #guéla doué x reader #guela doue fluff #guela doue x reader #guéla doué fluff #rc strasbourg #rcsa #fc strasbourg #strasbourg #football x you #football x reader

Racing Strasbourg just won 2:1 against Paris!

Tifo from before the match:

"Contre mauvaise fortune bon coeur : à eux les millions, à nous le ticket gagnant" - “Grin and bear it: You have the millions, we‘ll have the winning lottery ticket!”