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.
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?”
He places the soft material in your hands, smiling from ear to ear as he did so.
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
You smiled immediately. “Aww”
He thought he had won, until.
His smile drops. “Excuse me?”
You held the shirt tightly to your chest. Smirking. “I love that you got me one.”
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.”
”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.
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?”
Désiré stared, mouth feeling dry. “You’re wearing Marseille.”
you shrugged “I noticed yes.”
He shook his head in disapproval. “Here? To PSG training?”
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.
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.”
”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 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.
There you were, standing against the railing.
But not in light blue and white. Not in Marseille colors.
You were wearing his shirt.
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.
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.”
”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.”
wait because i liked writing this
