PSG BOYS || đŸđđđąđ„đđ€đŁ
ćœĄCONTIENT ; dĂ©sirĂ© douĂ©, joĂąo neves, vitinha, warren zaire-emery, khvicha kvaratskhelia
ćœĄSUMMARY ; how they celebrate champions league title with you
ćœĄDISCLAIMER ; !Everything written here is FICTITIOUS, english isn't my first language!
ćœĄAUTHOR'S NOTE ; i enjoyed writing this and I hope you'll like it! let me know if you'd like to read more fics about PSG players!
When you finally step onto the pitch, the first thing you do is look for Désiré. Among the crowd of players, photographers, journalists, and staff members, it seems almost impossible to find anyone, but it only takes you a few seconds to spot him.
Heâs surrounded by cameras trying to capture every possible angle of him with the Champions League trophy, a huge smile spread across his face. He looks completely at ease, completely happy, like heâs exactly where heâs meant to be, enjoying every second of it because this is his moment.
You stay off to the side for a while, just watching him, even taking a few pictures yourself like the proud girlfriend you are, because itâs not every day that your boyfriend wins the Champions League.
At some point, he notices you. His eyes immediately find yours through the crowd and a smile appears on his lips as he shakes his head in amusement, realizing youâve been secretly taking photos of him.
He stands up, carefully places the trophy back on the ground, and motions for you to come over.
âBĂ©bĂ©, come here!â he calls, and you donât hesitate for even a second before joining him.
The moment you reach him, his hand settles naturally on your waist, pulling you against his side like itâs instinct.
For nearly fifteen minutes, the two of you do nothing but take pictures together. DĂ©sirĂ© doesnât even try to hide how much he enjoys it, especially with you there beside him.
You take dozens of photos, laughing the entire time, and in one of them youâre both holding the trophy together, except itâs much heavier than expected and you almost lose your grip.He immediately laughs, sliding his hands over yours and wrapping his fingers around them to steady it.
âCareful, baby,â he says softly, as the trophy ends up resting between both of your hands, his chest lightly pressed against your shoulder while photographers capture the moment.
In another photo, he places his sunglasses on your face before carefully taking off his winnerâs medal and hanging it around your neck, his arm never once leaving your waist.
Sometimes his thumb absentmindedly rubs your hip while the cameras keep flashing around you, but he doesnât care. His smile stays soft and victorious, his eyes filled with a thousand emotions at once, the pride of achieving his dream, of making his family proud, of making his fans proud but most of all, the happiness of sharing it all with you.
Later, once the celebrations have calmed down a bit, Désiré spends a long time scrolling through all the photos of the two of you in the dressing room. Eventually, he finds his favorite: a picture of you both smiling with the trophy between you.
Without overthinking it, he posts it on his Instagram story with the caption âmon cĆur,â simple but enough to instantly melt your heart, because it perfectly captures a moment neither of you will ever forget.
After the final whistle, while celebrating with his teammates, JoĂŁo has been looking for you the entire time. Even as the stadium shakes under the noise of it all, his eyes keep scanning the crowd, searching for you.
Then it happens when youâre finally allowed onto the pitch, the second you step into view, his gaze locks onto your silhouette and everything else disappears. His smile breaks wider instantly, softer in a way only you ever get to see.
âPrincesa!â he calls, his voice cutting effortlessly through the chaos, and before you can even fully react, heâs already running straight toward you.
You barely have time to laugh before he reaches you and crashes into you with full force, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he pulls you against his chest like he never wants to let go. His chin rests on top of your head, and he kisses your hair once, then again, like heâs been waiting the entire match just for this moment. You whisper how proud you are of him, of everything heâs achieved at such a young age, and instead of answering, he simply pulls back just enough to press soft kisses to your cheeks, one after another, unable to hide how overwhelmed and happy he is.
For a moment, itâs just you in his arms while everything continues around you. Even then, he doesnât let go properly. One arm stays around your shoulders as he keeps you tucked against his side, guiding you through the crowd toward the PSG supporters.
His teammates immediately start teasing him, calling him âloverboy,â which only makes him laugh while he still refuses to let go of you.
And as you walk beside him, you canât help but look at him more than anything else the soft features that make him look even younger up close, the freckles catching the stadium lights, the tiredness behind his happiness and you feel an overwhelming sense of pride, not just for what heâs won, but for him.
Youâre in the stands, surrounded by fans screaming with pure joy as Arsenal miss the penalty that seals PSGâs victory.
The whole stadium erupts. Youâre jumping with everyone around you, laughing, shouting, barely able to believe what youâre seeing. Across the pitch, players are running in every direction, some collapsing into teammatesâ arms, others disappearing under celebrations, but Warren doesnât move at first.
For a few seconds, he just stands there, chest rising and falling as he stares around the stadium, trying to process everything the noise, the lights, the supporters, the reality that PSG have actually done it.
Then suddenly he turns and starts running. Not toward the teammates, not toward the cameras, not even toward his fans, but straight toward you.
He sprints across the pitch like pure adrenaline is carrying him forward, weaving through staff, players, and security without slowing down. The moment you realize where heâs going, you push yourself against the barrier as far as you can, squeezed between celebrating supporters and overwhelmed security guards trying to hold everyone back.
âWarren!â you shout, your voice breaking between laughter and tears.
He hears you instantly. Of course he does. His head snaps up the second your voice reaches him, and within seconds heâs there, reaching the barrier, crashing straight into your arms. His forehead presses against your chest, his arms locking tightly around your waist as he holds onto you like he needs it to understand whatâs happening.
For a moment, he doesnât move or speak, just breathes you in while trying to ground himself after everything. You can feel him shaking slightly, overwhelmed by joy and disbelief all at once.
Behind him, his teammates realize he has completely disappeared, shouting and laughing as they point toward the stands.
You gently brush the damp curls from his forehead, and he finally looks up at you, his expression soft and his eyes are bit red.
âGo celebrate,â you tell him gently, but he immediately shakes his head.
âNo,â his answer comes just as quickly the second time, earning another laugh from you while the poor security guard beside you looks increasingly stressed by the entire situation.
Reluctantly, he leans forward and presses a quick kiss against your forehead before finally letting go.
And throughout the entire ceremony, he keeps his eyes on you.
Later, once families are finally allowed onto the pitch, Warren finds you almost immediately. Before you can even congratulate him properly, heâs already taking his medal from around his neck and placing it around yours instead. When you try to protest, he simply shakes his head and leaves it there.
From that moment on, he barely leaves your side. One arm stays around your shoulders as he pulls you into photos, celebrations, and conversations with his teammates. Even with the trophy finally in his hands, he keeps looking over at you with the same disbelieving smile, as if he still canât quite believe any of this is happening.
He should be running around with the others, jumping, singing, celebrating with the fans.
Instead, when you finally step onto the pitch, you notice heâs moving a little slower than everyone else. The season has been long, and you can see it now. In the way he walks, in the tiredness on his face, in the way he pauses between celebrations just to catch his breath.
After everything he gave this season, his body is finally feeling it. But the smile never leaves his face. Every time a teammate hugs him or he looks at the trophy or hears the fans singing, it only gets bigger.
Then his eyes find yours, and his smile softens instantly. Not the one heâs been giving the cameras all night, but the one thatâs only for you. Without thinking, you start running toward him.
You donât care about anything around you, you just want to reach him. The second he sees you coming, his arms open right away.
You reach him and nearly crash into him, and he laughs softly while steadying you, one hand on your back and the other around your waist. âIâm proud of you,â you whisper against his shoulder, holding him tight.
âYou were the best player on the pitch.â
For a moment, he doesnât answer. He just holds you closer, like heâs finally letting go of everything heâs been carrying all season.
When he pulls back slightly, his forehead rests against yours and his eyes close for a second.
âI just needed you here, meu amor.â he admits quietly. Your heart melts instantly. One of your hands goes to his cheek, and he leans into it without thinking.
From that moment on, he stays close to you the entire night, never really leaving your side. Every now and then, when everything becomes a little too overwhelming or when the pain and exhaustion catch up with him, he leans into you slightly, using your presence to calm himself and take a moment to breathe, like you're the only stable thing in the chaos around him.
‷ Khvicha Kvaratskhelia
During the celebrations on the pitch, most of your time is spent trying to find Khvicha, or at least trying to keep track of him.
Every time you spot him, a few seconds later heâs somewhere else; hugging teammates, running toward the fans, taking pictures with the trophy before disappearing again.
Heâs everywhere at once, completely carried away by the excitement, and watching him makes you smile because he looks so happy, almost like a child living the best day of his life.
Eventually, you stop trying to follow him, knowing heâll find you again anyway.
You spend time talking with other families, enjoying the chaos and laughter around you, until suddenly something is placed over your shoulders. You look down and immediately recognize it:
You smile instantly because there is only one person who would do that. Before you can even turn around, two arms wrap around your waist from behind, pulling you back against a familiar chest.
âYou were looking for me?â Khvicha teases, his voice close to your ear.
You laugh. âYou donât stay still for one second.â
His arms tighten briefly before he finally lets you turn around, and when you do, you see him slightly out of breath, hair messy, medal hanging crookedly around his neck.
For the first time all evening, he actually looks still. He leans down and presses a long kiss to your temple, and you stay like that for a moment, just enjoying the calm in the middle of everything.
But it doesnât last long, because this is Khvicha.
A few seconds later heâs already taking your hand and pulling you forward.
âKhvicha, what are you doing?â you laugh.
He grins. âThe party just started.â
And before you can protest, heâs already dragging you back into the celebrations, completely full of energy again,
like the night is only getting started.
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