#Jules x Senait | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

emjayewrites · 21 days ago

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in between the lines • jules kounde (1/4)

SYNOPSIS: At Zuri’s engagement party, Senait meets her best friend’s fiancé, Aurélien, and his friend, Jules. A spontaneous hookup with Jules sparks undeniable chemistry, but when Senait ghosts him afterward, she finds herself wrestling with her insecurities as the casual fling begins shifting into something deeper.

PAIRINGS: Jules Koundé x Senait Kiros (@/subanbrn)

WARNINGS: football b.s., cursing, smut, drama, mentions of cheating/past relationships, dominant!jules. MINORS DNI (18+)

TAGLIST: @trenterprise @f1-football-fiend @lettersofgold @hopefulromantic1 @deonn-jaelle @vile-harlot @perfecttrashface @2serenity0 @saturnville @planetmimi @muglermami @sucredreamer @julescpu @greyishbach @shelovesfootie @certifiedlesbianbaddie @trinitoldyouso @greedyjudge2 @elyseesarchive

A/N: This is the last 'book' of the "football baes universe". Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist. Gif by @doinggreat

Senait arrived at the engagement party with a mix of excitement and nerves. It had been a month since she'd last seen Zuri, and the thought of catching up brought a genuine smile to her face. As she stepped into La Quinta de Jarama, the boho-chic venue adorned with traditional Bamileke décor, warm tones of earthy reds, yellows, and browns enveloped her, showcasing Zuri's style perfectly.

If Pinterest threw up an engagement party, this would be it, Senait thought.

Before she could fully take in the scene, Zuri spotted her and rushed over, wrapping her in a tight embrace.

"Senait!" Zuri's voice was filled with joy, making Senait feel lighter.

"Girl, look at you," Senait teased, pulling back to assess Zuri's radiant outfit. "Fiancé life looks good on you."

Zuri laughed, her happiness infectious. "You're one to talk. Madrid clearly agrees with you."

"It really does," Senait said, smirking as she ran a hand through her curls. "But seriously, it's been too long. I almost forgot what your face looked like."

Zuri rolled her eyes playfully. "Trust me, it's been a whirlwind."

"And now, you're engaged to some guy," Senait teased, glancing around the room. "Where is he?"

"Come on, I'll introduce you," Zuri said, leading the way.

It didn't take long to spot him. Aurélien stood out, not just because of his height and broad shoulders, but because of the calm authority he carried. His traditional Bamileke attire made him look like royalty, the intricate patterns complementing his deep brown skin. There was an ease to the way he held himself, as if he was used to commanding attention without asking for it. His smile when he saw Zuri approach was genuine, and it softened his otherwise sharp features.

"Guys, this is my best friend, Senait," Zuri said, beaming. "Senait, this is Aurélien and his friend Jules."

Senait's gaze shifted to Jules, taking in his athletic build and easy posture. There was an unmistakable grace to his movements, even when standing still. His warm brown eyes held a hint of amusement, and when he spoke, his French accent added a layer of intrigue to his words.

"Enchanté," Jules said, his voice a low, pleasant rumble. There was an undeniable charisma about him, a quiet confidence that caught Senait's attention.

Senait, quickly regaining her composure, turned to Aurélien. "So you're the one who's stolen my Zuri away," she said, eyeing him with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

"Guilty as charged," Aurélien replied, a flicker of self-consciousness crossing his face under her scrutiny.

Before the conversation could continue, the sound of drums filled the air. A group of traditional Bamileke dancers emerged, their colorful costumes a blur of motion as they moved to the rhythmic beat.

Zuri and Aurélien walked through the crowd behind the dancers, their eyes sparkling with excitement. An elder approached them, wrapping their wrists together with some decorative rope—a symbolic gesture that sent a ripple of joy through the onlookers.

Senait stood back, watching the scene unfold, when she felt Jules beside her. His presence was solid, grounding. "So, what do you think of the party?" he said, his accented voice just loud enough to be heard over the music.

She offered him a sidelong glance, intrigued despite herself. "It's vibrant," she replied, her gaze still fixed on Zuri and Aurélien. "Definitely fits Zuri's style."

"And what about you?" Jules asked, a hint of playfulness in his tone. "Is this your style?"

"Please," Senait shot back, her sass evident. "But I'll give credit where it's due. This party is pretty nice."

As the ceremony concluded, the music shifted to a blend of traditional Bamileke rhythms and contemporary beats. Couples began to fill the dance floor, Zuri and Aurélien at the center, laughing as they danced.

Jules turned to Senait, his posture relaxed but purposeful. "Dance with me," he said. It wasn't a question, but neither was it a demand. It was a statement, confident and unhurried.

Senait hesitated, caught off guard by his directness. For a moment, she considered declining, but something—perhaps the magic of the night, or the quiet intensity radiating from Jules—made her reconsider.

"Alright," she said, surprising herself. "But don't expect me to be impressed by any fancy footwork."

A ghost of a smile played on Jules' lips as he guided her to the dance floor, his hand a gentle presence on her lower back. As they began to move to the music, Senait found herself appreciating his natural grace and the way he led without being overbearing.

"You know," she said, unable to resist, "I usually require at least dinner before I dance with a guy I've just met."

Jules chuckled, the sound rich and warm. "Then consider this an appetizer," he replied, his accent wrapping around the words in a way that Senait found unexpectedly charming.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, curious now. "An appetizer?" she repeated, her brow lifting slightly in mock skepticism. “I usually have a say in what’s on the menu."

Jules smirked, his fingers brushing a little lower on her back, just enough to make her aware of it. “I’ll take suggestions, then.”

His voice was smooth, unhurried. There was something about the way he spoke, the way he let the moment stretch without feeling the need to fill it with more words, that made Senait feel… at ease. In control, but not entirely. It was an interesting push and pull, and she found herself leaning into it more than she thought she would.

As the song continued, she let her eyes wander over him, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the hint of stubble on his chin, and the quiet intensity in his eyes. There was something about him—something that was drawing her in without her fully realizing it. He wasn’t overbearing, wasn’t rushing, but the attraction was there, simmering just under the surface.

He caught her looking and smirked, just enough to let her know he noticed, but not enough to make it awkward. “I get the feeling you don’t do this often.”

“I don’t,” she admitted, tilting her head as if considering him. “But you’re making it hard to resist.”

He leaned in a little closer, his breath warm against her ear. “Good. I’m not here to rush you. Just enjoying the moment.”

There it was again—his calm, unhurried confidence, the way he made it feel like this was just a natural flow. She could sense his attraction to her in the small, unspoken cues: the way his fingers subtly tightened around her waist, the way he mirrored her movements without overshadowing them. He was giving her room to play, and the more she danced with him, the more she liked the way he let her set the pace.

And, if she was being honest, the longer they stayed pressed together like this, the more her thoughts began to shift. She hadn’t come to the party thinking about anyone—least of all hooking up with someone. But Jules was… intriguing. Sexy, in a quiet way. His energy was just different, and that difference was starting to get to her.

Her mind flickered briefly to the idea of what it would be like later, when the music stopped and the space between them closed. She wasn’t against it—the casual hookup, the fun of it. She just hadn’t planned on it tonight. Yet, with the way his body moved so seamlessly with hers, it was hard not to imagine how good it could feel to let herself indulge in him.

Jules seemed to pick up on the shift in her thoughts, but, true to form, he didn’t push. He kept the same steady, self-assured energy, his eyes never leaving hers. His presence was like a quiet challenge, letting her know he was here if she wanted, but he wouldn’t be the one to say it first.

Senait bit her lip, feeling the weight of the moment settle in between them. She didn’t need to say anything.

As the music shifted to an upbeat Afrobeats track, the atmosphere transformed. The infectious rhythm filled the air, drawing people in, and Senait felt herself responding to the beat instinctively. She turned to Jules, a mischievous smile spreading across her face.

Without thinking, she pressed her body against him, swaying her hips in time with the music in a slow whine. Jules’s eyes widened slightly, a spark igniting in his gaze as he adjusted to her new boldness. His hands found her waist again, but this time, he let her lead, mirroring her movements, their bodies fitting together as if they were made for this.

“You’ve got some moves,” he said, his voice low, laced with amusement as he followed her rhythm.

“Maybe you just bring it out of me,” she teased, glancing back over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of the hunger in his eyes.

“I’m not complaining,” he replied, his smirk growing. There was something about the way he watched her—intently, with a hint of challenge—as if daring her to take it even further.

The heat between them intensified as she moved, her body brushing against him, a grind that sent shivers through her. She could feel the tension in his grip, the way he held her close but left just enough space for her to take charge. It was intoxicating, the freedom to explore without pressure.

Senait turned slightly, catching his gaze again, and the world around them seemed to fade away. “So, what’s next?” she asked, her voice playful, as if they were in on a secret.

Jules leaned in, his lips nearly brushing her ear, his breath warm and inviting. “That depends on you. I’m just here for the ride.”

With that, she tilted her head back, feeling emboldened. The air around them pulsed with energy, and for a fleeting moment, the possibilities stretched out before her. She could indulge in the thrill of this connection, let herself be swept away in the music and the heat between them.

“Then let’s see how far this ride goes,” she replied, her words a silent promise as she led him off the dance floor.

Senait took his hand, threading them both through the crowd as a pulse of adrenaline buzzed through her veins. The party around them felt like a blur—glamorous guests, laughter, the warm hum of celebration—but she only had eyes for Jules. They slipped into a quiet hallway near the restrooms, and before she could talk herself out of it, she tugged him into the nearest one, the door clicking shut behind them.

Her back hit the door, and she exhaled, half laughing at her own recklessness, half consumed by the anticipation simmering between them. “This is crazy,” she whispered, her voice hushed but thrilled. “Hooking up at my best friend’s engagement party with a stranger.”

Jules’s hands found her waist, and his lips curved into that lazy, self-assured smile that made her stomach flip. “Yeah, it is,” he murmured, leaning in, his breath warm against her skin. “But you’re still here.”

Before she could come up with a witty response, he kissed her, and the world seemed to tilt. His mouth was warm, hungry, and she melted into him, every inch of her body attuned to the way he pressed against her. She reached up, fingers tangling in his locs as he deepened the kiss, pulling her closer.

God, it had been so long since she felt like this—desired, wanted. Her ex had a way of making her feel small, crushing her confidence piece by piece with infidelity and careless words. But here, now, with Jules… she felt different. Powerful. Desired. It was a high she didn’t want to come down from.

Jules’s hands roamed over her hips, slipping under the hem of her dress. His touch was firm but reverent, making her shiver as he pushed the fabric higher. When his fingers brushed over her panties, he groaned into her mouth when he felt the dampness there. “Fuck,” he whispered, his voice thick with want. “You’re so wet.”

Her heart stuttered, and she arched into him, wanting more, needing more. His fingers teased her, making her gasp as he explored the heat between her legs. She could feel herself losing control, her head spinning from his touch, but he pulled back slightly, just enough to leave her breathless.

His forehead rested against hers, and he exhaled a shaky laugh. “We should probably save this for later,” he said, though the regret in his voice told her just how badly he wanted to keep going. “Before I forget we’re still at a party.”

Senait’s lips curled into a smirk, but her cheeks were flushed, and her body was still buzzing with electricity. “You’re right,” she breathed, trying to catch her breath. “But you owe me.”

His thumb brushed across her lower lip, his gaze heated. “I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

They straightened themselves out, laughter spilling between them as they tried to look less disheveled before heading back out. The noise of the party hit them again, and Senait immediately grabbed a drink from a passing caterer’s tray, downing two shots of tequila in quick succession to steady herself. A flicker of doubt threatened to creep in, but she swallowed it down, reminding herself she deserved this—a night of fun, of feeling wanted.

She glanced over at Jules, who had joined Aurélien and Zuri as they opened engagement gifts. Zuri was radiant, glowing with happiness, and Senait felt a twinge of guilt for sneaking away during such a special moment. But then she reminded herself: Zuri would understand. Maybe even laugh about it later.

Jules caught her gaze, his eyes warm and inviting, and she felt her pulse quicken again. Gathering her courage, she walked over, reaching for his hand. But just as she was about to pull him onto the dance floor, an announcement rang out, signaling the start of the farewell ceremony.

Jules leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. “Ready to get out of here?” he murmured, the question sending a thrill straight through her.

Her heart skipped a beat, but she didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

With one last look at her friend, she followed Jules out, the promise of whatever came next leaving her feeling more alive than she had in ages.

Senait and Jules slipped into the back of the Uber, and the car pulled away from the venue, the city lights blurring as anticipation curled between them. The silence crackled, thick with the energy of what they had started back at the party, but they didn’t need words. Jules kept her hand in his, his thumb brushing circles over her knuckles, and every stroke sent little sparks along her skin.

By the time they arrived at his hotel, the tension had built to an unbearable crescendo. He led her through the lobby, the cool air of the space doing nothing to soothe the heat pulsing through her. His suite door barely clicked shut before he spun her around, pressing her back against the wall.

“Where were we?” Jules murmured, his voice husky, eyes dark and wanting.

Before she could answer, his lips claimed hers, and she melted. His fingers slid beneath the fabric of her dress, tugging it up and over her head in one smooth motion. He stepped back, drinking her in, and she felt the weight of his gaze, how mesmerized he was by her body. It seemed crazy—insane—that someone like him could look at her that way, but the desire in his eyes was undeniable.

“Damn,” he whispered, reverence thick in his voice. His hands found her breasts, caressing the soft curves before sliding down to cup her ass, pulling her flush against him to help her ease out of her thong.

A shiver ran through her, and she reached for his shirt, eager to even the playing field, but he caught her wrists, playfully swatting her hands away. “Nah,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You don’t get to do all that shit here. I’m the boss tonight.”

His words sent a fresh wave of arousal surging through her, and she felt herself getting wetter, if that was even possible. He guided her to the bed, laying her down gently, and she surrendered to the way he looked at her—like he was savoring every inch.

He took his time, kissing a path down her neck, over her collarbone, and lower, until he was between her thighs. Her breath caught as his tongue found her clit, teasing and circling with expert precision. Her back arched, a moan slipping from her lips as he sucked, licked, and explored, driving her wild with pleasure. Every touch was a new kind of bliss, his name tumbling from her mouth as she lost herself in the rhythm he set.

When she was on the edge, trembling with need, Jules pulled back, leaving her gasping, and quickly undressed. He reached for his suitcase, rummaging for a condom. Tearing the packet open, he rolled it on, his gaze never leaving hers. Senait smiled appreciatively at his thick length and the muscled planes of his athletic body.

He went back to the bed and hovered over her, his voice dropping into that low, sexy timbre. “Ready?” he asked, and she nodded, her body aching for him.

With one swift, smooth motion, he entered her, filling her completely. She clung to him, overwhelmed by the sensation, and he began to move, rocking into her with a perfect, relentless rhythm.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. “Tu te sens si bien. So perfect.”

Her nails scraped down his back, and he groaned, the sound sending shivers across her skin. “Keep talking,” she managed to say, her own voice breathless.

“Je veux que tu ressentes tout ça,” he continued, his accent wrapping around her like a caress. “Every bit of it.”

He kept his pace steady, his hips rolling into hers as he guided her through every wave of pleasure, whispering words that made her body sing. Senait lost herself in the moment, in him.

Their bodies moved together in perfect harmony, each thrust sending Senait closer to the edge. She clung to him, savoring every second, the intensity building until it finally shattered. She cried out his name as her orgasm took over, and he followed shortly after, his deep groan vibrating through her.

The room fell quiet except for the sound of their heavy breathing. Jules gently pulled away and disposed of the condom before sliding back into bed beside her.

“Damn,” Senait muttered, a lazy grin spreading across her face. “That was… something else.” The best dick I had in awhile….

Jules chuckled. “Yeah, it was.” His fingers lazily traced patterns along her arm, and for a few minutes, they lay in a comfortable, post-bliss silence. Then, he broke it, his voice curious. “So, tell me about yourself. What’s your story, Senait?”

She tilted her head to look up at him, amused. “My story? That’s a loaded question for after sex.”

He laughed, and the sound was so genuine it made her smile. “Fair point. Maybe just the basics, then? Where you’re from, what you do.”

She shifted slightly, propping herself up on one elbow. “Alright. I’m from New York, but my parents are from Eritrea."

He raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Habesha girl, huh?"

Senait couldn’t help but laugh, a warm sound that filled the room. "Yeah," she nodded, her curls bouncing slightly. "You know about Eritrea?"

"A bit,” he admitted, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Enough to know Habesha girls are known to be trouble."

She laughed again, rolling her eyes. "Oh, is that what you heard?"

"Mm-hmm," he teased, catching one of her hands and bringing it to his lips to kiss her knuckles. “But I think I like a bit of trouble."

She felt her heart do a small flip, a flutter that caught her off guard. But she masked it with a smirk. "Well, you don’t seem so innocent yourself, Jules."

He chuckled, his gaze holding hers, and for a second, the playful exchange melted into something deeper. It made her chest tighten, but she didn’t hate the feeling.

"What about you?" she asked, shifting to face him more.

"I was born in France but my dad is from Benin,” he replied, his tone softening. “And my mom made sure I knew my roots."

She smiled, the kind of smile that reached her eyes. "That’s beautiful."

They fell into an easy rhythm of conversation, swapping stories about family traditions, favorite childhood meals, and dreams of places they still wanted to see. He shared little quirks about himself—like how he had a weird obsession with trying out different hot sauces—and she couldn’t help but giggle.

"Hot sauce? Really?" she teased, her laughter melting the last bit of tension between them.

"Hey," he said with mock seriousness. "Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it."

After another round, they eventually decided to call it a night and sleep claimed them both before either one could object.

_____________________________________________

Senait squinted at her phone screen, the bright light offensive to her barely-awake eyes. 10:47 AM. Shit.

She carefully extracted herself from Jules' warm embrace, pausing as he stirred slightly before settling back into deep sleep. Sunlight streamed through his suite’s window, catching the defined planes of his back. Senait allowed herself a moment of appreciation – both for the view and for the memories of the night before.

All that from some hip movements and good conversation, she thought, amused at herself as she searched for her clothes.

She found her dress first, then her thong, silently congratulating herself on her decision to wear the simple black one instead of anything complicated. Her heels could stay where they'd landed last night – she wasn't about to risk clicking across his floor at this hour. The clutch, thankfully, was right by the door.

One last glance at Jules' sleeping form, and she slipped out, ordering an Uber as she made her way down in the elevator. The morning air hit her skin, fresh and crisp, a stark contrast to the heat of last night's memories.

Back at her hotel, Senait stepped into a scalding shower, watching as water sluiced away the evidence of the night before. Jules' cologne had lingered on her skin, and part of her was reluctant to wash it away. Now you're really being ridiculous, she chided herself.

Another Uber, another ride across Madrid. As she approached Aurélien's impressive front gates – definitely a footballer's house – she pressed the intercom button.

"YOU BETTER TELL ME EVERYTHING!" Zuri's voice crackled through the speaker, followed by the immediate buzz of the gate opening.

Senait walked up the path, taking in the manicured gardens and modern architecture. Before she could even reach the door, Zuri burst out, practically vibrating with excitement.

"You disappeared!" Zuri exclaimed, pulling her inside. "One minute you're dancing with Jules, looking like something out of a music video, and the next – poof!"

Senait couldn't help but laugh at her friend's enthusiasm. "Sorry about that. Your engagement party was lovely, by the way."

"Oh, don't even try to change the subject," Zuri said, steering them toward the kitchen. "Coffee first, then details. All of them."

As Zuri busied herself with the coffee maker, Senait settled onto one of the sleek barstools, grinning at her friend's obvious curiosity. The morning sun streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating a kitchen that looked like it belonged in a magazine.

"So," Zuri said, sliding a steaming mug across the counter. "Jules, huh?"

"Jules," Senait confirmed, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic. "Let's just say... those football skills translate well to other activities."

Zuri's eyes widened with delight. "I knew it! The way you two were moving together... I had to do a double-take!"

"Says the woman who was basically giving Aurélien a lap dance by the end of the night."

"Hey, he's my fiancé, I'm allowed!" Zuri protested, laughing. "But seriously, I've never seen you like that with anyone. Jules must be something special."

Senait took a long sip of her coffee, considering. "He's... interesting," she admitted. "But don't go planning another engagement party just yet."

As Zuri leaned forward, eager for more details, Senait settled in for what promised to be a thorough interrogation. At least the coffee was good.

"You can't just ghost people like that, Sen," Zuri was saying, her voice taking on that familiar lecturing tone. "Especially not good guys like Jules."

Senait shrugged, taking another long sip of her coffee. "I'm focused on myself right now. Not looking to complicate things."

"That's such a cop-out and you know it—"

The sound of the front door opening cut off Zuri's impending sermon. Aurélien's voice echoed through the house, followed by footsteps and – Senait's stomach did an unexpected flip – a familiar French-accented laugh.

Of course, Senait thought, maintaining her composure even as her pulse quickened. Of course he'd be with Aurélien.

Jules appeared in the kitchen doorway behind Aurélien, looking unfairly good in track pants and a fitted t-shirt. His hair was damp from a shower, and in his hands were her abandoned Louboutins.

"I found this, Cinderella," Jules teased, his eyes dancing with amusement as he held up the heels.

Senait rolled her eyes, but she couldn't quite suppress the smile tugging at her lips. "How original," she drawled, sliding off the barstool to retrieve her shoes. "I'm sure you've been waiting all morning to use that line."

"Actually, I had a few others prepared," Jules replied, not releasing the shoes immediately when she reached for them. Their fingers brushed, and Senait tried to ignore the tiny spark of electricity that shot through her at the contact. "But I thought I'd save those for when you're not running away."

From the corner of her eye, Senait could see Zuri and Aurélien exchanging looks. Aurélien had moved to lean against the counter, his arm around Zuri's waist, both of them watching the exchange like it was their favorite TV show.

"Bold of you to assume I'm running," Senait said, finally securing her heels. "Maybe I just had better things to do."

Jules stepped closer, just enough to make her have to tilt her head back slightly to maintain eye contact. "Better than breakfast?" he asked, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "I know a place that makes excellent crêpes."

"Does that line usually work?"

"You tell me."

Senait was acutely aware of their audience, could practically feel Zuri vibrating with anticipation across the kitchen. But something in Jules' steady gaze made it hard to look away, hard to maintain her usual wall of detachment.

"I don't normally do breakfast," she said finally, but her voice lacked its usual firmness.

"Lunch then," Jules countered smoothly. "Or dinner. I'm not picky about meal times."

A snort of laughter from Zuri's direction broke the moment. Senait glanced over to see her friend hastily trying to compose her face into something neutral, while Aurélien didn't even bother hiding his grin.

"Don't mind us," Aurélien said, raising his hands when Senait shot him a look. "We're just here for the show."

"Glad we could entertain," Senait deadpanned, but she could feel warmth creeping up her neck. This wasn't how her morning-after escapes usually went.

Jules hadn't moved away, his presence a warm, solid thing behind her. "So?" he prompted. "What's it going to be? Because I can keep going. I have all day, and Aurélien just restocked his coffee."

"You're persistent," Senait observed, turning back to face him.

"You're worth persisting for."

Zuri made a sound that could only be described as a squeal, quickly muffled against Aurélien's shoulder. Senait ignored her, focusing instead on the earnest look in Jules' eyes, the slight vulnerability beneath his confident exterior.

This could be dangerous, she thought. But for the first time in a long time, the danger felt more thrilling than threatening.

"Fine," she said finally. "Dinner. But I'm choosing the place."

The smile that spread across Jules' face made something warm unfurl in her chest. "Deal."

"Oh my God, this is better than Netflix," Zuri whispered loudly to Aurélien, who chuckled and pressed a kiss to her temple.

Senait picked up her coffee cup again, hiding her own smile behind it. Maybe mornings after weren't so bad after all.

Monday morning found Jules stretched out on his hotel bed in Clairefontaine, absently scrolling through his phone while his teammates' voices echoed from the hallway. His thumb hovered over Senait's contact for what felt like the hundredth time.

The weekend's memories kept playing through his mind: the way she moved against him at the engagement party, her quick wit, that laugh that seemed to catch him by surprise. And then... nothing. Radio silence. Again.

Aurélien had been sent back to his hotel in Paris with a foot sprain, leaving Jules alone with his thoughts. Maybe he should cut his losses. Women usually made it clear they were interested in him – perks of being a professional footballer – but Senait? She was different. Challenging. Made him work for it.

And maybe that's exactly why you can't stop thinking about her, he mused, remembering their verbal sparring, the way she'd match him comment for comment, never backing down.

Jules smiled despite himself. He'd always preferred the chase, and Senait definitely wasn't making it easy. His mind wandered to possibilities – maybe he could get her to Paris, or even Barcelona. The thought of showing her around, seeing that sharp wit directed at his favorite places...

Fuck it, he thought, hitting the call button before he could talk himself out of it.

One ring. Two. Three. He was about to hang up when—

"Hello?" Senait's voice came through, sounding both surprised and slightly amused.

"So she does answer her phone," Jules teased, settling back against his pillows. "How's New York treating you?"

A soft sigh. "It's there. I'm tired. Really not feeling work tomorrow."

"Public relations, right?" He couldn't keep the smugness out of his voice.

"I see Zuri's been running her mouth," Senait scoffed.

"Ease up on my sister-in-law. She's just being a good friend, looking out for you."

"She's trying to play matchmaker."

"And what if she is?" Jules challenged, his voice dropping lower.

"Listen," Senait started, and he could practically see her straightening up, preparing for battle. "You seem like a good guy, Jules. But I'm not looking for a relationship right now. And even if I was, the distance? Come on. You're in France, I'm in New York, then you're in Barcelona—"

"Who said anything about a relationship?" Jules interrupted, smirking. "We can be friends. Friends who occasionally fuck."

Senait's laugh burst through the phone, genuine and surprised. "You're impossible."

"I've been called worse," he said, then added more seriously, "But I hear your warnings. I just don't give a shit."

"Jules—"

"How soon can you see me?"

A pause. "It'll be a while."

"Don't you work remote sometimes?" he pressed, remembering another tidbit from Zuri.

Senait's sigh was heavy with resignation. "Fridays and Mondays."

"Perfect. I'm going to wire you some money. Book a flight."

"No—"

"That wasn't a question, chérie. That was a demand."

Before she could protest further, Jules ended the call, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. He immediately opened his banking app, then sent her a quick text with the transfer details.

His phone buzzed almost immediately:

You're fucking crazy.

Jules' smile widened as he typed back:

Crazy about that ass. Book the flight. 😜

Putting his phone down, he laced his fingers behind his head, feeling more energized than he had all day. Senait could protest all she wanted, but he'd seen the way she looked at him, felt how she responded to his touch. She might be running, but Jules was more than ready for a chase.

And he had a feeling the prize would be worth every step.

________________________________________

Senait slouched deeper into the couch, balancing her laptop on her knees as she clicked through another IT training module. The Parisian afternoon light filtered through the curtains, a constant reminder that she'd actually done it – actually let Jules fly her out to Paris.

This wasn't part of the plan, she thought, absently picking at the remains of her breakfast croissant. The past week had been a constant back-and-forth in her mind, her finger hovering over the "book flight" button more times than she cared to admit.

This was supposed to be her time. Finding herself, exploring her interests, having fun without complications. But then again...

You can have fun with a fine-ass footballer who wants to fly you out and dick you down, her inner voice reasoned. That's technically self-care.

She hadn't told Zuri about any of this. Her best friend had enough on her plate with Aurélien's sprained foot and her father being... well, being Ernest. Senait had never liked that man, but that was neither here nor there at the moment.

At least the red-eye flight timing had worked in her favor. These self-guided trainings meant she could take it easy, and by 2 PM, she'd finally finished the last module. After polishing off her leftover breakfast, exhaustion hit her like a wave. She stretched out on the couch, telling herself she'd just rest her eyes for a moment.

What happened to be hours later, the sound of a keycard in the door jolted her awake. Before she could fully orient herself, Jules was already entering, still in his national team tracksuit with a duffel bag over his shoulder.

"You could've at least knocked," Senait said, voice raspy with sleep as she sat up.

Jules clicked his tongue disapprovingly as he dropped the bag near the bed. "Is that how you greet me?" His accent was thicker tonight, his voice carrying that commanding tone that made something flutter in her stomach.

Finally focusing properly, Senait took him in – he looked tired, a bit frustrated, but somehow still unfairly attractive. "Rough match?"

"Lost to Italy. 3-1," he said. "Not our best showing."

"I saw some highlights," she lied, having accidentally slept through the entire thing.

Jules shot her a knowing look. "The drool on your chin says otherwise."

Senait quickly wiped at her face, making him laugh. "Have you eaten?" he asked as he sat down on the other side of the couch, already reaching for the room service menu.

"Not hungry."

"You're going to eat now. I don't want you fainting later."

Before Senait could protest, he was on the suite’s phone, ordering in rapid French. She caught bits and pieces, enough to know he was ordering way too much food.

"Come here," he said after hanging up, patting the space next to him.

Senait shook her head. "I'm fine where I am."

"Senait." His voice dropped lower, taking on that tone that seemed to bypass her brain and go straight to her clit. "Come here."

Damn him, she thought, even as she found herself moving toward him. Jules wasted no time pulling her against his chest, arranging her exactly how he wanted her.

"I don't do cuddling," she protested weakly.

"You do now," he replied simply, his hand stroking slowly up and down her arm. "Relax."

Gradually, despite herself, Senait felt her body melting into his warmth. They talked about nothing and everything – his frustration with the match, her work, the best cafes in Paris. She found herself enjoying his company more than she wanted to admit.

He's annoying, she thought, even as she nestled closer. So bossy and sure of himself. But remembering their night together after the engagement party, how he'd taken control with such easy confidence, how he seemed to know exactly what she needed... maybe bossy wasn't such a bad thing.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" Jules murmured, his fingers playing with the ends of her hair.

"Just thinking about how annoying you are," Senait replied honestly, making him laugh.

"And yet here you are, in Paris, in my arms."

"Don't get too cocky."

"Too late for that, chérie." His voice held that dominant edge that made her pulse quicken. "I already know exactly what I want, and I usually get it."

Senait turned her head to look at him. Yeah, Jules definitely knew what he wanted. And God help her, she was starting to think she might want it too.

"You weren't like this at the engagement party," she observed, studying his profile. "All dominant and bossy."

Jules' laugh was low and rich. "Had to reel you in first, didn't I? Don't worry, chérie, you'll get used to it."

"Bold of you to assume I'll stick around long enough to—"

A knock at the door cut her off. Jules untangled himself from her, the loss of his warmth immediate and, annoyingly, noticeable. He answered the door with that easy confidence of his, greeting the waiter in French and gesturing him inside.

The waiter wheeled in a cart, lifting silver covers to reveal what was possibly the most luxurious version of comfort food Senait had ever seen – perfectly constructed burgers, golden fries, steaming French onion soup, and what looked like a sinfully rich chocolate dessert.

After tipping the waiter and closing the door, Jules arranged her plate in front of her with a flourish. "Want ketchup?"

"No, I'm good."

Jules pressed a hand to his chest in mock horror. "You're just going to rawdog the fries? No sauce at all?"

"Did you really just say 'rawdog'?" Senait laughed, picking up a fry. "And yes, I am. Die mad about it."

"Uncultured," he teased, settling back beside her with his own plate.

They fell into easy conversation as they ate, Jules telling her more about the match ("That ref was clearly wearing an Italy jersey under his uniform") and Senait filling him in on the office drama she was missing ("My coworker definitely scheduled these trainings just so she could take over my project").

Then, casual as anything, Jules said, "When we're done eating, I want you naked on the bed."

Senait choked on her Coke, barely avoiding spraying it across the room. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me." He took another bite of his burger, the picture of nonchalance.

Senait blinked slowly, opened her mouth, closed it again. She stared at him, but Jules just continued eating, acting like he hadn't just short-circuited her brain with his words.

The audacity of this man, she thought, even as heat pooled in her belly. She forced herself to focus on her food, very aware of the growing tension in the room.

They finished their food in charged silence, Senait taking her sweet time with the last few fries, Jules watching her with growing annoyance. When she finally set down her napkin, Jules fixed her with a look, his brow furrowed.

"Senait..."

"Yes?" She blinked at him innocently, as if she hadn't spent the last ten minutes deliberately ignoring his earlier command.

His eyes darkened. "You're testing me."

"I'm just enjoying my dinner," she said primly, examining her nails. The defiance was instinctive – she'd never been good at taking orders, even ones that made her pulse race.

Jules leaned forward, his voice dropping to that tone that seemed to vibrate through her. "I'm not in the mood for games tonight. The match has me frustrated enough." His accent thickened as he continued, "I told you where I want you. Don't make me say it again."

Senait remained in her seat, raising an eyebrow. She wasn't about to give up control that easily, even if part of her was dying to comply.

"Un." His voice was dangerously soft.

She crossed her legs.

"Deux."

Her heartbeat quickened, but she held her ground.

"Tr—"

"Fine," Senait huffed, standing up. As she walked toward the bed, she heard him mutter under his breath in French, something about fucking the sass right out of her.

Senait sauntered over to the bed, her hips swaying defiantly. She took her time undressing, piece by piece, her eyes never leaving Jules. Each discarded article was an unspoken taunt, a silent reminder that she wasn’t one to simply submit. Finally, she lay back on the sheets, her skin warm under the soft glow of the room’s ambient lighting.

Jules, still perched on the couch, watched her with barely restrained patience, the muscle in his jaw ticking. He rose slowly, crossing the distance between them, and pulled off his sneakers with methodical precision, followed by his tracksuit and then his underwear. Even though she’d seen his body before, it never failed to stir something deep in her.

He approached the bed, climbing onto it with a confident grace, settling between her legs. His large hands pushed her thighs apart, spreading her wide so he could take in every inch of her exposed pussy. His gaze was heavy, almost reverent, and he reached out to touch her, fingers trailing along her wet folds.

A low chuckle escaped him. "You’re always so fucking wet for me."

Senait’s breath hitched as he spit onto her pussy, the added slickness making her shiver in anticipation. And then his mouth was on her, lips and tongue working her in ways that sent sparks of pleasure racing up her spine. He sucked at her clit, teasing and tugging with his teeth before soothing with long, lazy licks. His fingers slid inside her, curling in just the right way that had her arching off the bed, a strangled moan slipping from her lips.

He added another finger, stretching her, filling her in a way that made her head spin. Each flick of his tongue, each thrust of his hand, was deliberate and skilled. Senait felt herself unraveling under his touch, fully understanding how addictive this man could be. He was so good at this, at drawing out her pleasure until she was trembling and gasping, her nails digging into the sheets.

Jules eventually kissed his way up her body, pausing to circle her nipple with his tongue, sucking lightly before continuing upward. When he finally reached her mouth, he kissed her sloppily, taking complete control. His lips claimed hers with a hunger that left her breathless, and she knew her mouth would be swollen later. His hands gripped her waist, holding her steady as he devoured her, leaving no space between their bodies.

Pulling back just slightly, Jules slid off the bed to grab a condom from his tracksuit. Senait’s heart raced as she watched him, every movement of his toned body another tease. He rolled the condom on with practiced ease, standing at the foot of the bed, his dark eyes locked on hers.

With one firm tug, he pulled her toward him by her ankles. Her body slid across the sheets effortlessly, and he leaned down to kiss her again, his mouth hot and demanding. Then he lined himself up, pressing into her in one fluid motion, filling her completely.

Senait moaned, the feeling of him inside her overwhelming. He set a punishing pace, his thrusts deep and relentless, each one making her cry out. The room was filled with the sound of skin meeting skin, her breathless moans, and his low groans of pleasure.

"Look at you," Jules said, his voice husky, full of heat. "Taking me so well. Like you were made for this."

His dirty talk had her shuddering, her body tightening around him. He lifted her easily, her legs wrapping around his waist as he kept driving into her, never breaking his rhythm. The power in his movements, the way he controlled her so effortlessly, had her surrendering completely, her mind foggy with pleasure.

Her small frame was no challenge to his much larger one, and all she could do was hold on, gasping and moaning as he held her tight. Her nails scraped down his back, and he hissed, the sound only spurring him on.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he whispered, his voice a mix of English and the occasional French phrase, his words rough and dirty. "So tight, so perfect."

Senait’s world narrowed to the feeling of him, the heat and pressure and the way he filled her up. Every thrust pushed her closer to the edge, her mind a haze of desire. She was lost to him, and she never wanted to be found.

Jules’s grip tightened on Senait’s ass as he thrust into her with a controlled intensity, his body pressed so firmly against hers that she could feel every ridge of his muscles. The friction between them was overwhelming, pushing her closer and closer to the brink. Her moans grew louder, her hands clutching at his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor herself.

"Jules," she gasped, her voice breaking as he angled his hips just right, hitting that spot that made her toes curl.

He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. "Yeah? You gonna come for me, bébé." The way he spoke, his deep voice dripping with authority, sent a shiver down her spine. His words were a command, not a question, and she could only nod, too breathless to respond.

"Such a good girl," he murmured, his lips trailing down her neck, his accent thick and his breath warm. "Let me feel you."

The combination of his thrusts, the heat of his skin, and the praise sent her spiraling. Senait’s body arched, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave. Her cries echoed through the room, and Jules groaned, feeling her clench around him. He slowed his pace, drawing out her pleasure, his own body straining as he held himself back.

When she finally came down from her high, her limbs felt boneless, her body buzzing with satisfaction. Jules kissed her deeply, his hands roaming over her curves, grounding them both. But he wasn’t done yet. His thrusts picked up speed again, his grip on her ass firm as he chased his own release.

"Fuck," he bit out, his voice tight with pleasure. With a final thrust, he came, his body shuddering as he carefully pressed her down onto the bed. They stayed tangled together, their breaths coming in ragged pants, skin slick with sweat.

For a moment, there was only the sound of their heavy breathing and the quiet rustle of the sheets. Jules pulled out gently, disposing of the condom and then collapsing beside her. His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her close.

Senait’s head rested on his chest, her fingers lazily tracing patterns over his skin. The silence between them was warm, filled with the afterglow of what had just happened.

"You’re something else, you know that?" he said, his voice low and still laced with a hint of his earlier desire. "So hardheaded."

She laughed softly, the sound vibrating against him. "So I’ve been told."

The Barcelona sun streamed through Jules' windows, painting his living room in warm afternoon light. His phone buzzed with a text from Senait, breaking her latest bout of radio silence:

How's it going?

A smile tugged at his lips. Three days of nothing, and now she pops up like she hadn't disappeared again. Typical Senait.

Jules settled deeper into his couch, memories of Paris flooding back. That weekend had been... intense. After she'd finally given in to his commands that first night, it was like a dam had broken. They'd barely left the hotel room, ordering room service between rounds of what he could only describe as the best sex of his life. He'd had her every way but loose – against the wall, on the balcony (thankfully hidden from view), in the massive shower, bent over the—

His phone buzzed again: Earth to Jules

He smirked, typing back: Just thinking about Paris 😈 💦

S: Stop that

J: Why? I particularly enjoyed that thing you did with your—

S: JULES!!!!

He could practically hear her exasperated tone, picture the way she'd roll her eyes even as a smile played at her lips. That was the thing about Senait – she tried so hard to maintain her walls, but he'd seen behind them. Seen the way she melted under his touch, the way she'd curl into him after, despite her "no cuddling" rule.

The pattern had established itself pretty quickly after Paris. She'd ghost him for a few days, then pop up with a text or call like nothing had happened. At first, it had frustrated him – he wasn't used to women playing hard to get, especially not after sleeping with him. But Senait wasn't playing anything. This was just who she was: fiercely independent, resistant to attachment, and absolutely terrified of letting anyone too close.

Their late-night FaceTime calls had become his favorite, though. She'd be in her NYC apartment, usually in some oversized t-shirt, hair piled messily on top of her head. No makeup, no pretense. Just Senait, raw and real.

"I don't even know if PR is what I want to do," she'd confessed during one such call, about a week after Paris. "It's my first job out of university, and everyone acts like I should be grateful just to have my foot in the door, but..."

"But?" he'd prompted, watching her fidget with her sleeve.

"But sometimes I feel like I'm just going through the motions. Like I'm doing what's expected instead of what I want."

"And what do you want?"

She'd gone quiet then, chewing her bottom lip. "That's the problem. I don't know."

Jules had listened as she talked about her frustrations – the office politics, the endless meetings about meetings, the feeling of being stuck in a role she'd fallen into rather than chosen. He'd offered advice when asked, but mostly he just let her vent.

These were the moments that got to him the most. Not the sex (though that was incredible), not the witty banter (though he lived for it), but these quiet moments of vulnerability. When Senait would let her guard down just enough to show him the uncertainties beneath her confident exterior.

His phone lit up with another text:

Work is kicking my ass this week

Come to Barcelona, he typed back without hesitation. Take a break 👀

There was a long pause before her response:

S: Jules...

J: I'm serious. You can work remote, no?

S: It's not that simple

J: I'll make it simple. Let me take care of everything

Another pause. He could almost see her internal debate playing out.

S: I can't just drop everything and run to Barcelona

J: Why not?

When she didn't respond immediately, he called her. She answered on the fourth ring.

"Because normal people don't just jet off to different countries on a whim," she said by way of greeting.

"Since when are you normal?" He stretched out on his couch, grinning at her scoff. "Besides, you did it for Paris."

"That was different."

"How?"

"It just was."

Jules hummed, unconvinced. "Sounds like excuses to me. You're scared."

"I am not—"

"You are," he interrupted smoothly. "You're scared because Paris was good. Really good. And now you're worried about what it means that you want to do it again."

The silence that followed told him he'd hit the mark.

"It doesn't have to mean anything," he continued, his voice softening. "Come to Barcelona. Work from here for a long weekend. Let me show you the city. No pressure, no expectations."

"Just a friend showing me around?" Her tone was skeptical.

"A friend who happens to enjoy fucking you senseless, yes."

Her surprised laugh warmed something in his chest. "You're impossible."

"Is that a yes?"

Senait sighed, but he could hear the smile in her voice. "Let me check my calendar."

"Check it now."

"So bossy."

"You love it."

"I tolerate it," she corrected, but he could hear her typing. After a moment: "I might be able to swing next week. My team has another training thing, and I could do it remote..."

"Perfect. I'll send you flight details."

"I haven't said yes yet!"

"But you will." He let his voice drop lower, the way he knew affected her. "Because you can't stop thinking about Paris either."

Her sharp intake of breath confirmed it. "You're very sure of yourself."

"With good reason." He glanced at the time – he had training soon. "Think about it. But not too long. Barcelona's lovely this time of year."

After they hung up, Jules found himself scrolling through his photos, stopping on one he'd snapped in Paris without Senait noticing. She was standing on the hotel balcony, early morning light casting a glow around her, coffee cup in hand as she looked out over the city. Her guard had been down.

That's how he liked her best – real, unfiltered, not running from whatever this thing between them was becoming.

His phone buzzed one more time:

Send me the flight details. But I'm not promising anything.

Jules grinned. She could play hard to get all she wanted, but they both knew she'd end up in Barcelona. And this time, he planned to keep her around a bit longer.

TO BE CONTINUED…..

#emjayewrites #jules lore #jules kounde #jules kounde x black reader #jules kounde x black oc #in between the lines #Jules x Senait #footballer x black reader #footballer x reader #fcbarcelona fanfic

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emjayewrites · 18 days ago

Text

in between the lines • jules kounde (2/4)

PAIRINGS: Jules Koundé x Senait Kiros (@/subanbrn)

WARNINGS: football b.s., cursing, smut, drama, mentions of cheating/past relationships, dominant!jules, instant attraction/fast development. MINORS DNI (18+)

TAGLIST: @trenterprise @f1-football-fiend @lettersofgold @hopefulromantic1 @deonn-jaelle @vile-harlot @perfecttrashface @queenshikongo3 @2serenity0 @saturnville @sinflowersugar @hotfudgeslug @muglermami @serpenttines-library @sucredreamer @julescpu @tchouathon @greyishbach @shelovesfootie @certifiedlesbianbaddie @trinitoldyouso @greedyjudge2 @peyiswriting @shelovesfootie @127hydrangeas @rosiesdior

A/N: This is the last 'book' of the "football baes universe". Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist. Gif by @tchouathon

Barcelona's streets hummed with late afternoon energy as Jules left training, his body pleasantly sore and his mind, as usual, drifting to Senait. Her latest text sat unanswered on his phone:

Just booked the flight.

A smile played on his lips as he slid into his Lamborghini Urus. Everything with Senait felt like a delicate dance – one step forward, two steps back, but always moving to some rhythm only they understood.

The drive home gave him time to appreciate how different she was from anyone else he'd pursued. Her unpredictability should have frustrated him, but instead, it only made him more intrigued. Where other women were an open book, Senait was a story that revealed itself one carefully guarded page at a time.

Their late-night conversations had become something he looked forward to, not just for the content but for those rare moments when her guard dropped completely. Beyond the sass and witty comebacks was someone thoughtful, complex, and surprisingly vulnerable.

Pulling into his driveway, Jules checked his phone again. The flight details still seemed surreal – as if he'd somehow managed to convince a wild bird to willingly fly into his hands. His mind wandered to all the places in Barcelona he wanted to show her, though he knew she'd probably resist half his suggestions just on principle.

Inside his house, he dropped his training bag and headed straight for the shower. The hot water soothed his muscles as anticipation built in his chest. Everything about Senait challenged him – her sharp mind, her fierce independence, the way she matched him stride for stride without backing down.

His phone rang just as he was stepping out of the shower. Zuri's name flashed on the screen.

"Your best friend is impossible," he said by way of greeting.

Zuri's laugh crackled through the speaker. "She's coming to Barcelona, isn't she?"

"How did you—"

"She called to complain about how pushy you are." He could hear the amusement in Zuri's voice. "Said something about you being 'criminally dominant' and 'annoyingly persuasive.'"

Jules grinned, toweling off his hair. "She's not wrong."

"Just... be careful with her, okay?" Zuri's tone turned serious. "Senait's independent to a fault. She's been hurt before."

"I know." Jules sat on his bed, sobering. "I'm not trying to cage her, Zuri. I just want..."

"Want what?"

Good question, he thought. What did he want with Senait? "I want to know her," he said finally. "The real her, not just the walls she puts up."

Zuri was quiet for a moment. "You really like her, don't you?"

"She's... different." It felt like an inadequate description, but it was the best he could do.

After hanging up with Zuri, Jules checked his messages again. Senait had sent another text:

This is crazy. I have meetings.

I have excellent wifi, he typed back.

S: That's not the point. J: What is the point?

There was a long pause before her reply:

You're too much.

Jules smirked. You haven't seen anything yet.

He could almost see her rolling her eyes. Another message came through:

S: I have to go. Some of us have actual work to do. J: Have dinner with me when you land Thursday. S: We'll see. J: That wasn't a question, chérie. Her response was immediate: You're so fucking bossy. J: You love it. S: I tolerate it. Barely.

Jules laughed, settling back against his pillows. This was what he enjoyed most – their back-and-forth, the way she pushed back against his dominance while simultaneously responding to it.

The rest of the week passed in a blur of training sessions and match preparation. Jules found himself checking flight trackers, making sure Senait's flight was still on schedule. He'd arranged for a car to pick her up from the airport, knowing she'd protest but do it anyway.

Thursday evening found him pacing his living room, checking his phone every few minutes. Her flight had landed twenty minutes ago. She should be through customs soon.

Landed, came her text. Then: Your driver is very persistent.

J: Good. Let him take you to the hotel. S: I could have gotten an Uber. J: But you didn't need to. Stop arguing and get in the car.

There was a pause, then: So bossy.

Jules smiled, knowing he'd won this round. He gave her time to check into the hotel before calling.

"Hello?" Her voice was tired but carried that edge of amusement he'd come to recognize.

"Dinner in an hour," he said without preamble. "Wear something nice."

"I just got here. I'm jet-lagged."

"Perfect time for dinner then. One hour, Senait."

He heard her intake of breath, could picture her preparing to argue. But then she surprised him: "Fine. Text me the address."

"No need. I'll pick you up."

"Jules—"

"One hour," he repeated, then hung up before she could protest further.

Exactly fifty-eight minutes later, Jules stood in the hotel lobby, ignoring the appreciative glances from other guests. He'd chosen dark blue pants and a Jacquemus men's horse-print camp shirt that he knew looked good on him, though he suspected Senait would roll her eyes at his effort.

The elevator dinged, and there she was. His breath caught slightly – she wore a fitted spaghetti-strap pink mini dress that hugged every curve, her hair falling in tight curls around her shoulders. She looked incredible, and from the slight smirk on her lips, she knew it.

"You clean up nice," she said, approaching him.

Jules let his eyes roam over her deliberately, enjoying the way her breath hitched slightly. "You look edible," he replied, his voice low.

A faint flush colored her cheeks, but her voice remained steady. "You're impossible."

"So you keep saying." He placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the exit. "Yet here you are."

"Against my better judgment."

"Your judgment isn't as good as you think it is."

She laughed despite herself, the sound making something warm unfurl in his chest. "Where are you taking me?"

"You'll see."

The restaurant he'd chosen was one of Barcelona's hidden gems – intimate without being overwhelming, elegant without being stuffy. He'd called ahead, ensuring they had a private corner table with a view of the city lights.

Senait took in the space with appreciative eyes. "Trying to impress me?"

"Always." He pulled out her chair, his hand brushing her shoulder as she sat. "Is it working?"

"Maybe." She picked up the menu, then frowned. "It's in Catalan."

"That's why you have me." Jules settled across from her, enjoying the way the candlelight played across her features. "Let me order for you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Bossy as fuck."

"You knew that in Paris."

"Paris was different."

"Was it?" He leaned forward slightly. "Or are you just scared it wasn't?"

Senait met his gaze, something vulnerable flickering in her eyes before her walls came back up. "I'm not doing relationships right now, Jules."

"Why do you keep saying that? Maybe I just enjoy your company. And the way you moan when I—"

"Jules!" She glanced around, but no one was paying them any attention.

He grinned, unrepentant. "Just stating facts."

The waiter approached, and Jules ordered in fluid Catalan, including a bottle of wine he knew she'd love. When they were alone again, he studied her face.

"What?" she asked, fidgeting slightly under his gaze.

"Just thinking about how beautiful you look when you're pretending not to be affected by me."

"Your ego is astronomical."

"It's well-earned."

She rolled her eyes, but he caught the smile she tried to hide behind her wine glass. "Tell me about your week," he said, genuinely interested in her life beyond their charged exchanges.

To his surprise, she did. She told him about work drama, about a funny incident with her neighbor's cat. He listened, offering input when needed but mostly just enjoying seeing her gradually relax.

"What?" she asked again, catching him watching her.

"Nothing. I just like seeing you like this. Real."

"As opposed to fake?"

"As opposed to guarded." He reached across the table, taking her hand before she could pull away. "You don't have to protect yourself from me, Senait."

She stared at their joined hands, something uncertain crossing her face. "I don't know how to do this."

"Do what?"

"This. Whatever this is. I'm not good at... letting people in."

Jules squeezed her hand gently. "Good thing I'm patient then."

She looked up at him, and for a moment, her walls completely dropped. The vulnerability in her eyes made his chest tight. Then she blinked, and her usual sass returned.

"Patient? You literally demanded I come to Barcelona."

He laughed, accepting her need to lighten the moment. "And you came. What does that say about you?"

"That I have questionable judgment?"

"That you want this too." His voice dropped lower. "Even if you're not ready to admit it."

The rest of dinner passed in a blend of comfortable conversation and charged silences. Jules paid the bill despite her protests ("Let me be a gentleman, Senait") and led her back to his car.

"Taking me back to the hotel?" she asked as they drove through Barcelona's lit streets.

"Eventually." He glanced at her, enjoying the way the city lights played across her profile. "But first, I want to show you something."

He drove them up to one of his favorite viewpoints, where the whole city spread out below them like a carpet of stars. Senait's soft intake of breath was worth the detour.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, stepping out of the car.

Jules moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. To his surprise, she didn't resist, instead leaning back against his chest.

"Thank you for coming," he murmured against her hair.

"Thank you for being annoyingly persistent."

He laughed softly. "Stay with me this weekend. At my place."

"Jules..."

"If you're not comfortable with that, let me know. But let me show you my city. Let me have some quality time with you."

She was quiet for a long moment, and he let her think, content to hold her while she processed.

"Okay," she said finally, so quietly he almost missed it.

"Okay?"

She turned in his arms, looking up at him with a mix of uncertainty and determination. "Okay. But I have conditions."

"Name them."

"I need to work at times during the day. And... and I need you to understand that this doesn't mean..."

"I know what it doesn't mean," he interrupted gently. "Let's focus on what it does mean. You're here. With me. The rest we'll figure out."

She studied his face for a moment, then nodded. "You're still annoying."

"And you're still pretending not to like it." He bent down, capturing her lips in a kiss before she could argue further.

Above them, Barcelona's stars twinkled, witnesses to whatever this was becoming. Jules didn't know where it would lead, but for now, he was content to have her here, in his arms, gradually letting her walls down.

The drive back to her hotel was charged with possibility. Jules found himself hyperaware of every small movement Senait made – the way her fingers tapped lightly against her thigh, how she kept stealing glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking.

"Stop analyzing me," he said without taking his eyes off the road.

"I'm not—"

"You are." He reached over, placing his hand on her knee. "Still trying to figure out your escape route?"

She didn't immediately brush his hand away, which he counted as progress. "Maybe I'm just wondering why you're so intent on... whatever this is."

Jules squeezed her knee gently. "Because you intrigue me."

"That's a dangerous word."

"I like dangerous." He glanced at her then, taking in her profile against the passing city lights. "And you like that I like it."

Senait turned to face him, challenge sparking in her eyes. "You think you've got me all figured out?"

"Not even close." Jules smiled, genuine rather than cocky. "That's part of the appeal."

When they reached her hotel, he killed the engine but made no move to get out. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

"Coming up?" Senait finally asked, her voice carrying a note of something almost like nervousness.

"Not tonight."

That got her attention. She turned to him sharply, brow furrowed. "Excuse me?"

Jules enjoyed the flash of indignation in her eyes. "You heard me." He leaned across the console, close enough to feel her breath hitch. "You're still settling in. Get some rest."

"I don't need you to—"

"I know you don't need anything from me," he interrupted smoothly. "But I want you fully present when I have you again."

The way her pupils dilated told him his words had hit their mark. "You're infuriating," she muttered.

"So you keep saying." He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. "Dinner tomorrow night. I'll pick you up at eight."

"What if I made plans?"

"Cancel them."

She narrowed her eyes. "You can't just—"

Jules cut her off with a kiss, deep enough to make her grab his shirt but brief enough to leave her wanting more. When he pulled back, her eyes were slightly glazed.

"Eight o'clock," he repeated, enjoying the flush in her cheeks. "Don't be late."

Senait gathered herself, trying to regain her composure. "You're not as irresistible as you think you are."

"No?" He traced her jawline with his finger. "Then why are you still sitting in my car?"

She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile as she got out. Jules watched her walk into the hotel, admiring the sway of her hips that he knew was at least partially for his benefit.

His phone buzzed as he pulled away from the curb: This doesn't mean anything.

J: Keep telling yourself that, chérie. S: I mean it, Jules. J: Get some rest. Dream of me. S: I fucking hate you.

Jules grinned, imagining her expression as she read his texts. He'd learned that Senait's protests were often directly proportional to how much something affected her. And tonight? Tonight she'd been affected.

Back at his place, he found himself restless with unused energy. The thought of Senait, just a few miles away in her hotel room, was maddening. But he meant what he said – he wanted her fully present, not jet-lagged and guarded.

His phone lit up one more time before bed: I don't dream about annoying men.

J: Liar. S: Goodnight, Jules. J: Bonne nuit, ma belle. Don't fight it too hard.

He could practically hear her scoff through the phone, but she didn't respond. Progress, he thought. Small steps.

Just as he was drifting off, another text came through: Thank you for dinner. And the view.

Jules smiled into his pillow. Senait offering genuine gratitude without a sarcastic comment? Definitely progress.

J: Thank you for letting me show you. S: Don't get used to it. J: Too late.

Tomorrow, he thought as sleep pulled at him. Tomorrow he'd show her more of his city, more of himself. And maybe, if he played his cards right, she'd show him more of herself too.

Sleep had eventually claimed Senait, but it wasn't Jules who invaded her dreams. Instead, her subconscious dragged her back to a moment she'd tried hard to forget:

Tymir, lounging on their college apartment couch, barely looking up from his phone as she confronted him about another girl.

"You really don't care, do you?" Dream-Senait had asked, her voice cracking.

Tymir had just shrugged, the gesture so casual it cut deeper than any words could. The same shoulders she'd massaged countless times after his basketball practices, the same nonchalance that had once seemed cool back in high school now just felt cruel.

Senait woke with a start, her heart racing. Fucking perfect timing, brain, she thought, glancing at her phone. 6 AM. No point trying to sleep now.

As she made coffee in her hotel room, memories she'd carefully tucked away began surfacing. High school Senait – glasses, braces, always first to raise her hand in AP classes. The kind of girl who spent lunch periods in the library, who tutored other students in calculus, who had a ten-year plan before she even hit puberty.

Then came Tymir. Star shooting guard, dreads always perfectly maintained, smile that made every girl's head turn. When he'd first started showing interest in her junior year, she'd thought it was a joke. Guys like him didn't go for girls like her.

But he had. He'd wait for her after her tutoring sessions, charm her with that easy confidence of his. "My smart girl," he'd call her, and she'd melt every time.

God, I was so naive, Senait thought, settling at the desk with her laptop. Work would be a good distraction from this unwanted trip down memory lane.

Her phone buzzed: Morning, chérie. Sleep well?

Jules. Of course he'd text first thing. She stared at the message, suddenly hyper-aware of the similarities. The confidence, the natural authority in their bearing. Hell, they even both had dreads, though Jules wore his longer.

Fine, she typed back, not wanting to engage too much. Her mind was too full of ghosts.

They'd followed Tymir to college – her on an academic scholarship, him on a basketball scholarship. That's where she'd met Zuri, in their freshman orientation. They'd bonded over being some of the only Black girls in their communications seminar, and soon became inseparable.

Zuri had never liked Tymir. "He doesn't deserve you," she'd say, especially after the first time she caught him with another girl at a party. But Senait had forgiven him. And the second time. And the third.

Her phone buzzed again: You're quieter than usual.

Working, she responded, though she'd been staring at the same email for ten minutes.

It had been the injury that changed everything. A bad landing during a game their junior year – torn ACL, shattered dreams of going pro. The coach had been kind, allowed him to keep his scholarship, even offered him a position as student assistant coach.

But Tymir's pride couldn't take it. He'd spiraled, started partying more, caring less before eventually dropping out. And through it all, Senait had tried to be there, to be understanding. Even when understanding meant turning a blind eye to lipstick stains and late-night texts from unknown numbers.

Stay focused, she told herself, forcing her attention back to work. But memories kept intruding.

Senior year. The final straw. Not even finding out about his latest cheating from another girl, but the casual way she'd mentioned her pregnancy. As if Senait was the afterthought, the footnote in someone else's love story.

Her phone lit up: You're in your head today. Tell me.

Senait stared at Jules' message. That was another similarity – the way they both seemed to read her so easily.

Just tired, she lied.

J: Liar.

She almost smiled despite herself. Almost.

The hours ticked by, a blend of actual work and unwanted reminiscence. Jules checked in periodically, each message carrying that same quiet authority that both attracted and unnerved her.

By 7 PM, she felt wrung out, but somewhat happy to be able to log off work early. The emotional toll of the memories, combined with jet lag and the lingering effects of the dream, left her wanting nothing more than to curl up alone.

Not feeling up for dinner, she texted Jules. Rain check?

His response came quickly: You can rest. But you're still coming over.

S: Jules… J: What snacks do you like?

The question caught her off guard.

S: What?

J: Snacks, chérie. Simple question.

She found herself listing her favorites, almost on autopilot. Salt and vinegar chips, dark chocolate, Swedish fish candies, peanut M&M’s…

At 8 PM sharp, a knock on her door announced Jules' arrival. He stood there, looking unfairly good in casual clothes, eyeing her oversized sweater and leggings with amusement.

"Comfortable," he commented, picking up her weekender bag before she could protest.

"I told you I wasn't feeling up for—"

"You can rest at my place just as well as here." His tone brooked no argument as he guided her to his car.

The drive to his house was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Jules seemed to sense her mood, not pushing for conversation. His hand found its way to her thigh though, thumb stroking absent patterns that somehow managed to both soothe and unsettle her.

His house was exactly what she'd expect from a bachelor athlete – modern, minimalist, but with personal touches that made her smile despite herself. Action figures lined the soundboard beneath a massive TV, various gaming consoles neatly arranged below.

"Very adult," she commented, gesturing to what looked like a limited edition Naruto figure.

"Judge all you want, but that's worth more than your monthly rent."

She rolled her eyes, but found herself relaxing slightly. This was better than being alone with her thoughts in the hotel room.

Jules disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a bowl of her favorite chips and the exact candy she'd mentioned. "Bathroom's through there if you want to change," he said, nodding toward a hallway. "Make yourself comfortable."

The casualness of it all – him providing comfort food, not pushing for conversation – made something twist in her chest. It was thoughtful in a way Tymir had never been, even in their best moments.

Don't, she warned herself. Don't compare them. Don't fall into old patterns.

But her traitorous mind kept pointing out the differences. How Jules noticed when she was off-balance but didn't demand explanations. How he managed to be commanding without being controlling.

When she emerged from the bathroom in sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt, Jules had set up what looked like every pillow in the house on his massive couch. He patted the space next to him, and she went, telling herself it was just because she was tired.

"Want to talk about it?" he asked as she settled in.

"No."

"Want me to distract you?"

She glanced at him sharply, but his expression was innocent. Well, mostly innocent.

"Not like that," he said, though his small smirk suggested he wouldn't object if she changed her mind. "I have every Studio Ghibli film ever made. Your choice."

His thoughtfulness – remembering she'd mentioned loving these films during one of their late-night calls – made her throat tight.

"Howl's Moving Castle," she said finally, her voice smaller than she intended.

Jules pulled her closer as the movie started, and Senait found herself gradually relaxing into his warmth. This was dangerous territory – this comfort, this ease. She'd been here before, let herself believe in the security of strong arms and gentle touches.

But as Jules's fingers played absently with her hair, as the familiar story unfolded on screen, her inner voice spoke up: He's not Tymir.

It was a dangerous thought. More dangerous than any physical attraction, any heated moment. Because physical she could handle. Physical was safe, contained.

This… this quiet intimacy, this understanding without demands… this was what had broken her before.

"Stop thinking so loud," Jules murmured against her hair.

"I'm not—"

"You are." His arms tightened slightly around her. "Whatever ghost you're wrestling with, let it rest. Just be here."

Senait closed her eyes, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her cheek. Just be here, she repeated to herself. Don't overthink it.

But as she drifted off to the sound of Sophie and Howl's adventure, one last thought slipped through: He's not Tymir. And maybe… maybe that's exactly why I should be worried.

______________________________________________

Consciousness came to Senait slowly, her mind registering sensations one by one: soft sheets that weren't hotel-issued, a mattress that cradled her body just right, and the gentle sound of a spoon clinking against china. The last detail made her eyes flutter open.

She was in Jules' bedroom – presumably having been carried here at some point during the movie – and beside her, propped up against the headboard and wearing his durag, was Jules himself. He held a delicate teacup in one hand while his other worked steady circles into her shoulder, touch firm but gentle.

"Tea?" she mumbled, voice rough with sleep. "In pitch black darkness while watching..." She squinted at the massive TV mounted on the wall. "Is that The Dark Knight Rises?"

Jules' chuckle rumbled through his chest. "Don't judge my nighttime rituals, chérie."

"Oh, I'm definitely judging." But she made no move to escape his touch as his fingers found a particularly tight knot in her shoulder. "Professional footballer drinking tea like a British grandmother."

"It's chamomile," he defended, setting the cup aside to use both hands on her shoulders. "And you're incredibly tense."

Senait bit back a moan as his thumbs dug into a spot that had been bothering her for weeks. "Occupational hazard. Hunching over laptops isn't great for posture."

"When's the last time you had a proper massage?"

She had to think about it. "Before graduation maybe? Zuri treated me to a spa day after..."

After finding out about Tymir's baby mama, her mind helpfully supplied. She felt Jules' hands pause momentarily, sensing the weight in her unfinished sentence.

"That's too long," he said simply, resuming his ministrations. "I'll arrange for someone to come by tomorrow while I'm at training. My regular masseuse is excellent."

"Jules—"

"This isn't a discussion." His fingers found another knot, making her gasp. "You're carrying too much tension. It's not healthy."

"You're bossy even about self-care," she muttered, but there was no real bite to it.

"Someone has to be." He worked his way up to her neck, touch careful but firm. "You're too busy taking care of everyone else's PR nightmares to look after yourself."

The accuracy of that observation made her uncomfortable. "I take care of myself just fine."

"Is that why you're wound tighter than Aurélien before a Clásico?"

She wanted to argue, but between his skilled hands and the late hour, she found herself drifting off again, lulled by the quiet sounds of Gotham's reckoning and Jules' steady breathing.

An unfamiliar sound jolted Senait awake. Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, and she found herself alone in Jules' massive bed. The sound came again – was that... a rooster?

Confusion drew her from the warmth of the sheets. She spotted one of Jules' hoodies draped over a chair and pulled it on, inhaling the lingering scent of his cologne as she went to investigate.

She followed the sound through the house, down the staircase, and onto a beautifully landscaped patio. There, in what appeared to be a luxury chicken coop that probably cost more than her first car, stood a proud rooster.

"Ah, I see you've met Maurice."

Senait turned to find Jules leaning against the doorframe, looking unfairly good in training clothes.

"Maurice," she repeated flatly. "You have a rooster named Maurice."

"Technically, Aurélien has a sense of humor and I have a rooster named Maurice."

The absurdity of it made her laugh despite herself. "Explain."

"Aurélien gave him to me as a housewarming gift," Jules explained, looking far too fond of the preening bird. "Said every proper Frenchman needs a rooster. You know, since it's our national symbol."

Maurice strutted over to the edge of his enclosure, eyeing Senait with what she could have sworn was judgment.

"So naturally, you kept him."

"Of course. Look at him – he has excellent posture."

Senait turned to stare at Jules, trying to reconcile this image – the elite athlete who kept a gift rooster – with the dominant man who'd commanded her to Barcelona. The contrast shouldn't have been charming, but somehow it was.

"You're ridiculous," she informed him.

"You like it." He guided her back inside, toward the kitchen. "Breakfast?"

She watched as he moved efficiently inside his kitchen, beating eggs with the same precision he probably used on the pitch. There was something domestic about it all – the morning light streaming through windows, the sounds of Maurice greeting the day, Jules cooking while explaining his training schedule.

"I'll be done around three," he was saying, sliding a perfect omelet onto her plate. "The masseuse will come at four. Then dinner?"

"You just assume I'll still be here?"

He set a cup of coffee in front of her – prepared exactly how she liked it, because of course he'd noticed that detail too. "You will be."

"Awful confident there."

"Just observant." He leaned against the counter, studying her face. "You slept better here than at the hotel."

She wanted to argue, but he was right. Despite the emotional turbulence of yesterday, she'd slept more soundly in his bed than she had in weeks.

"That's because your mattress probably costs more than my yearly salary."

"Among other reasons." His smile was knowing. "Eat. The food will get cold."

They ate in comfortable silence, interrupted occasionally by Maurice's commentary on the morning. Jules' phone buzzed with messages – probably from teammates – but he ignored them, focusing instead on her.

It should have made her uncomfortable, that focused attention. It had with Tymir, eventually. His gaze had gone from admiring to possessive, from protective to controlling.

But Jules... Jules watched her like he was trying to solve a puzzle, not own it.

Dangerous thoughts, she warned herself. Very dangerous thoughts.

"There you go again," Jules murmured. "Thinking too much."

"Some of us have to think. Can't all coast by on good looks and football skills."

He laughed, the sound rich and genuine. "You think I'm good looking?"

"Shut up."

"Make me."

The challenge in his voice sent heat pooling in her belly, but before she could respond, his phone buzzed again.

"Time for training," he sighed, standing. He bent to kiss her temple, the gesture so casual it made her heart stutter. "Rest. Let the masseuse work her magic. I'll bring dinner."

"I didn't agree to—"

"Senait." His voice dropped to that tone that seemed to bypass her brain and go straight to her nerve endings. "Stay. Let yourself be taken care of, just for today."

She wanted to argue. Wanted to maintain some semblance of the control she usually clung to. But something in his eyes – concern mixed with that quiet authority – made her pause.

"Fine," she conceded. "But I'm not promising to be here when you get back."

His smile said he knew better. "Whatever you say, chérie." He grabbed his training bag, pausing at the door. "Oh, and feed Maurice around noon. He likes classical music with his lunch."

"You're joking."

"Am I?" With a wink, he was gone, leaving Senait to stare after him.

Through the window, she watched him get into his car. The morning sun caught his dreads, and highlighted the easy grace of his movements.

He's not Tymir, her mind whispered again. Not even close.

That thought should have been comforting. Instead, it terrified her. Because Tymir she knew how to handle. Tymir was a familiar hurt, a known quantity.

But Jules? Jules with his tea and his rooster and his gentle hands that could so easily command her? Jules who noticed everything but demanded nothing?

Jules was uncharted territory.

And as Maurice continued to crow his morning opinions to the world, as the scent of Jules' cologne lingered on the hoodie she wore, Senait realized she was already in deeper than she'd planned.

Fuck, she thought, but couldn't quite tell if it was despair or anticipation coloring the word.

Only time will tell.

_______________________________________________

Training had been intense, the Barcelona sun unforgiving even in the cooler months. Jules wiped sweat from his forehead as he headed toward his car, his muscles pleasantly sore from the session.

"¡Julio! ¡Hola, Julio!"

He turned to see Lamine Yamal jogging toward him, still full of energy despite the grueling practice. At seventeen, the kid seemed to have endless reserves.

"¿Puedo practicar conducir en tu coche de nuevo?" Lamine asked, flashing his most winning smile. "He estado mejorando!" (“Can I practice driving in your car again? I've been getting better!”)

Jules snorted. "¿Quieres decir que es mejor casi estrellarse?" He nodded toward the parking lot where he spotted Lamine's mother waiting. "Además, parece que tu viaje está aquí." (“Better at almost crashing, you mean? Besides, looks like your ride's here”.)

"Vamos, ¿solo una vez alrededor del lote?" ("Come on, just once around the lot?")

"No después de la última vez. Todavía tengo pesadillas sobre mi transmisión.” (“Not after last time. I still have nightmares about my transmission.")

Lamine rolled his eyes. "No fue tan malo." ("It wasn't that bad.")

"Confundiste el freno con el acelerador”. (“You confused the brake with the accelerator.")

“Menor detalle”. ("Minor detail.")

Jules ruffled the teenager's hair, earning a protest. “Vete a casa, chico. Tal vez cuando tengas dieciocho años”. ("Go home, kid. Maybe when you're eightteen.")

“¡Seré mejor conductor que tú para entonces!” ("I'll be a better driver than you by then!")

“¡Establezca metas realistas, Lamine!” ("Set realistic goals, Lamine!")

Sliding into his car, Jules couldn't help but smile at the exchange. But as he started the engine, his thoughts drifted back to Senait. Something had been off since last night – beyond just the usual walls she put up. The way she'd tensed when mentioning that spa day with Zuri, the shadows that had crossed her face…

He checked his phone before pulling out. She'd answered his texts throughout the day, but sporadically:

J: Masseuse coming at 4. Don't overthink it. S: I know how massages work, Jules.

And later:

S: Maurice is judging my lunch choices. J: He has refined taste. S: He's a rooster. J: A sophisticated one.

J. Cole's voice filled the car as Jules navigated Barcelona's streets. He'd been surprised to learn Senait liked Cole too – another little detail he'd filed away during their late-night talks.

A thought nagged at him – what if she'd left? But no, she wouldn't. Not without saying goodbye at least. Besides, he'd seen how she melted under his touch last night, how she'd curled into him despite her usual aversion to cuddling.

He pulled into his favorite restaurant, one that made the best paella in the city. The owner, Maria, greeted him warmly.

"Lo de siempre, Julio? (The usual, Jules?)"

"Y alga extra gambas al ajillo (And some extra garlic shrimp)," he added, thinking of how Senait had mentioned loving garlic shrimp once.

While waiting for the food, he sent another text: Bringing dinner. Hope you're hungry.

Her response came quickly this time: Can't move. Your masseuse is a sadist.

He grinned. Good. You needed it.

I hate that you're right.

The drive home was filled with anticipation. Jules found himself thinking about how natural it had felt, waking up with Senait in his bed. How she'd looked wearing his clothes, sleep-soft and unguarded.

Don't push too fast, he reminded himself. He could sense her skittishness, knew there was a story behind her careful distance. But patience was one of his strengths – on and off the pitch.

The house was quiet when he entered, but he could hear soft voices from his home gym. Following the sound, he found his masseuse, Clara, instructing Senait through what looked like some final stretches.

"Breathe through it," Clara was saying as Senait winced. "These knots didn't form overnight."

Jules leaned against the doorframe, taking in the scene. Senait lay on the massage table, face down, looking both relaxed and slightly murderous.

"I'll let you finish," he said, enjoying Senait's half-hearted glare. "Dinner's getting set up."

In the kitchen, he arranged the food, opened a bottle of wine to breathe, and tried not to think too hard about Senait's bare skin under Clara's expert hands.

Twenty minutes later, Clara emerged. "She'll need another session," she told Jules as he walked her out, accepting his generous tip. "Lot of old tension there."

"I'll set it up," he promised.

Senait appeared in the kitchen, wearing his hoodie again, her hair piled messily on top of her head. She looked soft, relaxed in a way he had come to enjoy.

"Your masseuse tried to kill me," she accused, but her voice was languid.

"You'll thank me later." He guided her to sit, placing a full plate in front of her. "Eat."

The appreciative sound she made at the first bite sent heat through his veins. "Okay, maybe I'll thank you now."

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, Jules watching as some of her usual sharpness returned with each bite.

"Stop analyzing me," she said without looking up.

"Can't help it. You're interesting."

"I'm really not."

"Disagree." He topped off her wine. "Want to tell me what was bothering you last night?"

She tensed slightly, then consciously relaxed �� probably feeling the ghost of Clara's warning about tension. "Not particularly."

"Okay." He let it drop, knowing pushing wouldn't help.

Senait looked surprised at his easy acceptance. "That's it? No interrogation?"

"You'll tell me when you're ready." He shrugged. "Or you won't. But I'm here either way."

Something flickered in her eyes – surprise, vulnerability, maybe both. She covered it by taking another bite, but Jules caught the slight tremor in her hand.

"Tell me about your day instead," he offered. "Did Maurice actually judge your lunch choices?"

That got a laugh out of her. "He turned his back on my sandwich. Literally turned around and ignored me."

"He prefers a proper meal. Very French that way."

"He's a bird, Jules."

"A French bird."

She rolled her eyes, but he could see her smile. This was what he loved – how easily they fell into banter, how her wit matched his step for step.

Loved. Dangerous word. He filed that thought away for later examination.

As they finished eating, Senait seemed to relax more fully. Whether from the wine, the massage, or just the comfort of the moment, her usual guardedness had softened around the edges.

"Thank you," she said suddenly. "For… this. All of it."

Jules reached across the table, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "My pleasure, chérie."

She leaned into his touch, just slightly, but it was enough. He stood and drew her up against him.

"Jules…"

"Shh." He traced her jawline with his thumb.

When he kissed her, she tasted like wine and possibility. Her hands fisted in his shirt as he backed her against the counter, deepening the kiss. She made a small sound in the back of her throat that drove him crazy.

"Still planning to leave?" he murmured against her lips.

"Shut up," she breathed, pulling him back down.

Jules smiled into the kiss. They both knew she wasn't going anywhere – at least not tonight.

And tonight was all he was asking for. For now.

Jules guided Senait over to the couch, his touch gentle but insistent. He sank down, settling her on his lap, her legs straddling his thighs. His hands slipped beneath her hoodie, pushing the fabric up and over her head, revealing bare, beautiful skin.

He paused, taking in the sight of her breasts. A low, appreciative groan rumbled in his chest, and he leaned forward, pressing kisses to her collarbone before his mouth found one sensitive nipple. His tongue swirled and flicked, and she let out a soft, breathy moan, arching into him. His large hands cupped her breasts, kneading and teasing as he lavished attention on her, making her squirm and press herself even closer.

"Jules," she whimpered, her voice cracking under the pressure of his touch.

He looked up, his lips curving into a wicked smile. "Mm, I like the way you say my name." His thumbs brushed over her hardened nipples before he helped her shimmy out of the rest of her clothes. Each piece fell to the floor, leaving her bare and flushed under his intense gaze.

Her eyes fell to the bulge straining beneath his pants. Senait slid off his lap and dropped to her knees between his legs, her fingers working on the waistband of his pants. Jules lifted his hips to help her, and she peeled the fabric away, followed by his boxers, freeing his dick. He was already hard for her, the head flushed and glistening with precum. The sheer size of him made her bite her lip in anticipation.

She leaned forward, her tongue darting out to taste him. She ran it along the length of his shaft, swirling around the tip, savoring his reaction. Jules let his head fall back against the couch, a deep groan spilling from his lips. His hands found their way into her hair, fingers tangling as he watched her work.

"Merde," he muttered, a smile pulling at his lips when she tried to take more of him into her mouth. She had gotten better since their last time in Paris, but even now, she could barely fit him in. The way her mouth stretched around him, though, was enough to send a jolt of pleasure through his body. Senait’s hands moved to play with his balls, and he hissed in pleasure, his hips bucking slightly.

She hollowed her cheeks, doing her best to take him deeper, but he was still too thick, too overwhelming. The challenge of it only made him harder.

Jules tugged gently at her hair, guiding her off of him, and his eyes were dark, filled with need. "Come here," he instructed. "I want you to ride me."

Senait climbed back onto his lap, but not before grabbing a condom from the sideboard. She tore it open and rolled it over his length with practiced ease. He watched her with hooded eyes, hands steadying her hips as she positioned herself above him.

Slowly, she sank down onto his dick, and both of them moaned as he filled her inch by inch. The stretch made her head spin, a delicious ache that left her gasping. Jules groaned, his fingers digging into her hips as she took him all the way.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he growled, his hands guiding her as she began to move. Senait’s hips rocked against his, her movements slow at first, savoring the friction. But as the tension built, she quickened her pace, riding him with growing desperation.

Jules’s hands slid up her sides, one coming to wrap around her throat, applying just enough pressure to make her whimper. "Look at you," he whispered, thrusting up into her. "Taking me so well."

The dirty talk spurred her on, her nails digging into his chest as she bounced on him, her moans growing louder. His grip on her throat tightened, sending sparks of pleasure through her. He thrust up to meet her movements, their bodies colliding in a frenzy of need.

"You like that?" he taunted, his voice low and rough. "Like me fucking you like this?"

"Yes," she gasped, her voice breathless. "God, yes."

The room filled with their sounds—moans, grunts, and the slap of skin against skin. Jules’s control was slipping, his thrusts growing more erratic as he chased his release. The feel of her, the way she moved on top of him, was almost too much. He wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her close, his other hand still lightly squeezing her throat.

Senait’s head fell back, her entire body trembling as she came, her walls tightening around him. Her orgasm sent him over the edge, and with one last thrust, he followed, spilling into the condom as he groaned her name.

They stayed there, tangled together, catching their breath. Jules finally let his hand drop from her throat, cupping her cheek instead and pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.

"Crazy," she whispered, a smile curving her lips.

He chuckled, his thumb brushing over her flushed skin. "Yeah. But you liked it."

She laughed softly, leaning into him, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.

Senait was curled up in Jules' home office, half-listening to a virtual meeting, when her phone buzzed with the news alert. The headline made her stomach drop: "Police Visit Real Madrid Star's Home Amid Domestic Dispute Claims."

"Fuck," she breathed, quickly unmuting herself to make an excuse about technical difficulties before dropping from the call. Her fingers flew over her phone screen, pulling up the article.

The tabloid's tone was deliberately salacious, painting Aurélien as some kind of monster. But Senait knew better. She could see Ernest's fingerprints all over this – the strategic leaks, the twisted narrative. Her PR brain picked apart the story even as her heart ached for her friend.

I should have been there, she thought, guilt gnawing at her. Here she was, playing house with Jules in Barcelona while Zuri dealt with this nightmare alone.

Before she could spiral further, she hit call on Zuri's contact.

"Hey," Zuri answered, sounding tired but steady. "I guess you saw?"

"Why didn't you tell me it had gotten this bad?" Senait demanded, already pulling up flight searches on her laptop. "I can be in Madrid in two hours."

"Sen, breathe. We've got it handled." There was a rustling sound, like Zuri was settling somewhere comfortable. "The police visit was just a wellness check. My father's accusations were so obviously false they didn't even need to do a full investigation."

"Still—"

"Still nothing. We're actually moving forward with a restraining order. And…" Zuri paused. "We're planning a trip to New York. Going to handle this face to face."

Senait sat back, processing this. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"Probably not. But necessary." Zuri's tone shifted, becoming lighter. "Now, enough about my drama. Tell me about Jules."

"Zuri…"

"Come on, give me something good. I need the distraction."

Senait couldn't help but smile, even as she rolled her eyes. "He's… attentive."

"Attentive how?"

"Like, I can barely walk some mornings attentive."

Zuri's delighted laugh filled the line. "Get it, girl! Though I have to say, I'm surprised you're still there. Wasn't this supposed to be just a weekend thing?"

The question hit a nerve Senait had been trying to ignore. "Yeah, well…" She glanced around the office she'd somehow claimed as her workspace. "His team lost to Osasuna last night. He needed cheering up."

"Mhmm. Very selfless of you."

"Shut up."

They chatted a bit longer before hanging up, but Zuri's question lingered. What was Senait still doing here? She should be back at her hotel, maintaining some semblance of boundaries. Instead, she'd seamlessly integrated into Jules' space – her laptop on his desk, her toiletries in his bathroom, her clothes hanging next to his.

This is getting to be too much, she thought, eyeing her hotel app. She should check out, stop wasting money on a room she wasn't using. But that thought felt even crazier – actually moving into Jules' house?

"You're thinking too loud again."

Senait jumped. Jules stood in the doorway holding a plate of what smelled like his signature chicken and rice.

"Just work stuff," she lied, accepting the plate. He gave her a look that said he didn't believe her but wouldn't push.

"Eat," he said simply, dropping a kiss on her head before leaving her to her 'work stuff.'

Soon the sound of his PS5 drifted down the hall, his voice mixing with his friends' as they played some shooting game. The rapid-fire French was oddly soothing, domestic in a way that made her chest tight.

Stop it, she chided herself. This isn't real life. You're going back to New York on Wednesday.

But even as she thought it, she knew the truth – she'd be back. Jules would make sure of it, with his quiet commands and knowing smiles. And worse, she'd want to come back.

Her mind drifted to this morning, how she'd woken to find him watching game footage, absently stroking her hair. How natural it had felt to curl into his side, offer observations about the opposing team's defense. How he'd listened, actually considered her amateur analysis.

"Putain!" Jules' curse carried through the house, followed by laughter from his gaming friends. Senait found herself smiling before she caught herself.

This was exactly the problem. She was getting too comfortable, too attached. What had started as a steamy weekend fling was morphing into something… else. Something that made her think about time zones and flight schedules, about whether her company had a Barcelona office — it did not, but still.

Absolutely not, she told herself firmly. You are not reorganizing your life for a man. Not again.

But Jules wasn't Tymir. The thought snuck in before she could stop it. Jules noticed things – like how she took her coffee, which shoulder carried more tension, what made her laugh genuinely versus when she was deflecting.

More dangerous still, he noticed but didn't use it against her. He just… stored the information away, used it to take care of her in ways so subtle she often didn't realize until later.

Like now – she'd mentioned once, offhandedly, that she struggled to eat during workdays. So he'd started bringing her lunch, never making a big deal of it, just ensuring she was nourished.

"Merde!" Another French exclamation, followed by what sounded like good-natured trash talk.

Senait stabbed at her chicken, annoyed with herself. This was exactly how it started with Tymir – the small comforts, the easy intimacy, the gradual entanglement until she couldn't imagine her life without him. Until she'd lost herself trying to keep him.

She had to leave Wednesday. Had to go back to New York, back to her carefully constructed independence. Back to late-night calls with Jules that felt safer, more controlled.

Her phone lit up with a text from him, even though he was just down the hall: Stop overthinking and eat.

Stop bossing me around, she sent back.

Never. You like it too much.

And that was the real problem, wasn't it? She did like it. Liked how he took charge without taking over. Liked how he pushed without pressuring. Liked him.

Fuck, she thought, not for the first time since arriving in Barcelona. But this time, there was definitely more despair than anticipation in the word.

Because this thing with Jules? It wasn't just fun anymore. It wasn't just physical. It was becoming real, with all the terrifying possibilities that entailed.

And Senait wasn't sure she was ready for that. Wasn't sure she'd ever be ready for that.

But as Jules' laugh echoed through the house, as she sat in his office eating food he'd prepared just for her, she had to admit – ready or not, it was already happening.

The only question was: would she let it?

A week of silence from Senait felt different this time. Jules found himself checking his phone more often than he'd like to admit, even while being photographed at the Messika show during Paris Fashion Week. The flashing cameras caught him adjusting his cuffs, but missed him checking for messages beneath the table.

Nothing.

His texts had gone from casual to concerned: Miss your morning sass. Maurice is depressed. He needs his daily judgment. Chérie, talk to me.

Even his calls went straight to voicemail. This wasn't like her usual ghosting – something felt off.

It wasn't until he was back in his hotel room, fashion week obligations finally complete, that his FaceTime call connected. The sight of her face made his chest tight – eyes puffy, dark circles beneath them barely concealed.

"Senait," he said softly, all his prepared lectures dying at the sight of her obvious distress.

"Hey." Her voice was rough, like she hadn't used it much lately. "Sorry I've been... away."

"What happened?"

She shook her head, trying to deflect, but Jules wasn't having it. "Don't shut me out," he said, his tone carrying that authority he knew affected her. "What's scaring you?"

"I'm not scared," she snapped, but it lacked her usual fire.

"Liar."

They stared at each other through the screen until Senait finally broke. "I ran into my ex at Whole Foods," she said, the words coming out in a rush. "Him and his... them. With the baby."

Jules felt his jaw clench. "And?"

"And nothing. It just..." She gestured vaguely. "Triggered some stuff."

"You want that nigga back?"

That got a reaction. "What? No! God no." Her eyes flashed with genuine anger. "That's not... I don't want him. I just..." She deflated slightly. "It brought up a lot. About choices. Mistakes."

Jules studied her face through the screen. "You took time off?"

"A few days. Then threw myself into this new project." She rubbed her eyes. "Deadlines don't care about emotional breakdowns."

"Your anxiety is through the roof," he observed. "Take more time."

"Can't. Unless I quit—" She cut herself off at his expression. "Don't look at me like that. I have bills, Jules. Rent in New York isn't exactly cheap."

"That job is killing you." He leaned forward. "What about your calligraphy? The Etsy shop?"

Senait laughed, but it was hollow. "That barely covers my coffee habit. I can't support myself on—"

"You could expand it," he interrupted. "Make it a lifestyle brand. Manifestation journals, wedding invitations, calendar books—"

"Jules, stop." She looked tired. "I can't do that right now."

"Do you enjoy it? The calligraphy?"

"Of course I do, but—"

"Let me help you start up."

"Absolutely not." Her response was immediate, sharp.

"Senait—"

"I have to get back to work." She was shutting down, he could see it happening. "I'll talk to you later."

"Don't do this," he warned, but she was already reaching for the disconnect button.

"Bye, Jules."

The screen went dark. Jules slammed his hand against the hotel desk, frustration coursing through him. She was running – not from him, he realized, but from the possibility of change. From letting anyone help her.

But he wasn't about to let her push him away. Not when he'd seen how well they fit together, how she came alive when she felt safe enough to be herself.

His phone lit up with a text from Aurélien: How's Senait?

Stubborn, he typed back. Scared.

A: Sounds familiar. Zuri was the same way.

Jules thought about that. About how Zuri and Aurélien had found their way despite the arranged marriage, despite family drama. About how sometimes the best things in life required fighting through the fear.

I'm not letting her run, he sent to Aurélien.

A: Good. Zuri says she needs someone as stubborn as she is.

Jules smiled slightly, already forming plans. Senait could try to push him away all she wanted. But he'd seen the real her – curled up with Maurice, lost in her calligraphy, laughing freely in his kitchen.

That was the woman he... that was the woman he wasn't letting go. Not without a fight.

His fingers hovered over his phone, considering his next move. Finally, he typed:

I know you're scared. I know you're trying to protect yourself. But I'm not him, chérie. And I'm not going anywhere.

He sent it before he could second-guess himself. Then, after a moment:

Maurice misses you. He's playing Chopin to cope with his depression.

Let her try to resist that. His stubborn, beautiful, frustrating woman who thought she had to carry the world alone.

She'd learn. He'd show her.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

#emjayewrites #jules lore #jules kounde #jules kounde x black oc #jules kounde x black reader #footballer x reader #footballer x black reader #fc barcelona fanfic #fc barcelona fanfiction #jules kounde fanfic #in between the lines #jules x senait

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emjayewrites · 5 days ago

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in between the lines • jules kounde (3/4)

PAIRINGS: Jules Koundé x Senait Kiros (@/subanbrn)

WARNINGS: football b.s., cursing, smut, drama, mentions of cheating/past relationships, dominant!jules, instant attraction/fast development. MINORS DNI (18+)

TAGLIST: @trenterprise @f1-football-fiend @lettersofgold @hopefulromantic1 @deonn-jaelle @perfecttrashface @queenshikongo3 @2serenity0 @saturnville @sinflowersugar @hotfudgeslug @muglermami @serpenttines-library @sucredreamer @julescpu @greyishbach @shelovesfootie @certifiedlesbianbaddie @trinitoldyouso @greedyjudge2 @peyiswriting @127hydrangeas @rosiesdior @whoevenisthiz

A/N: This is the last 'book' of the "football baes universe". Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist. Also, I don't know much about Eritrean culture besides Google...so this might be a tad wrong. Gif by @hopefulromantic1

Senait's mother had outdone herself with the spread – injera perfectly laid out, zigni and shiro steaming in their bowls, the rich scent of berbere and traditional Eritrean coffee filling the air. But the real feast, apparently, was Senait's love life.

"Dr. Tekle's son just finished his residency," her mother said, carefully casual as she spooned more zigni onto Senait's plate. "He's moving back to New York next month."

"Mama..."

"He's very handsome. Good Eritrean family."

Her father nodded in agreement, the gesture familiar from years of backing up her mother's matchmaking attempts. "His parents are from Asmara, like us."

Her phone buzzed on the table. Jules' name lit up the screen, accompanied by a photo of Maurice. She flipped the phone over, but not before her mother caught the smile she couldn't quite suppress.

"Who is that making you smile like that?"

"No one."

"Lies." Her mother's eyes sparkled as she began preparing for the coffee ceremony, the familiar ritual a backdrop to her interrogation. "Tell me about this no one."

Senait pushed food around her plate. How could she explain Jules? The professional footballer who had a pet rooster, who drank chamomile tea and watched Batman, who somehow managed to be both dominant and gentle in a way that terrified her.

"He's just... someone I met through Zuri."

"Zuri?" Her mother perked up. "The one married to the footballer?"

"Engaged," Senait corrected automatically. "And yes."

Her phone buzzed again. Another message from Jules: Maurice misses you. Judging my dinner choices don't hit like yours.

"You're smiling again," her mother observed.

"I'm not—" Senait's protest was cut short by her work phone ringing. Her boss's name flashed on the screen.

"On a Sunday?" her father frowned.

"Sorry, I have to take this." Senait escaped to the hallway, already feeling the familiar knot of anxiety tightening in her chest.

Twenty minutes later, she returned to find her parents having a silent conversation with their eyes – one perfected after twenty-six years of marriage.

"Senait," her mother said softly. "You don't look happy."

"I'm fine."

"You look tired. Stressed." Her mother reached across the table, taking her hand. "This job..."

"Pays the bills," Senait finished firmly. But even she could hear how hollow the words sounded.

Her personal phone buzzed again. Jules had sent a video this time – Maurice strutting around his enclosure while classical music played in the background.

His music taste shifted a bit. He prefers Bach over Beethoven now, Jules texted. I blame you.

Despite herself, Senait felt the tension in her shoulders ease slightly. This was Jules' way – gentle persistence, humor mixed with genuine care. Never pushing too hard, but never quite letting go either.

"There's that smile again," her mother said. "Tell me about him."

So Senait did. Not everything – not about the heated nights or the way he could command her with just his voice. But about Maurice, about his tea ritual, about how he noticed when she was stressed and never made her feel weak for it.

"He sounds... different," her mother said carefully. "From Tymir."

The name still caused a twinge, but a duller one now. "He is."

"Then why do you look scared?"

Senait stared at her half-eaten dinner. "Because what if he's not? What if I'm just... seeing what I want to see again?"

Her father cleared his throat. "Or what if you're letting fear of the past rob you of something good?"

Before Senait could respond, her work phone buzzed again. Three emails marked urgent, all requiring immediate attention.

"I have to—"

"Go," her mother sighed. "But Senait? Sometimes the biggest risk is not taking one at all."

Back in her apartment later that night, Senait found herself surrounded by work files but thinking about Jules. About his offer to help her with the calligraphy business. About how he'd noticed her true passion for it even before she'd really admitted it to herself.

Her Etsy notifications pinged – another order for custom wedding invitations. She'd been getting more lately, word of mouth spreading about her work. But it wasn't enough to live on, not in New York.

But it could be, a small voice whispered. With the right support, the right planning...

Her phone lit up with another text from Jules: Stop working. It's midnight there.

S: How do you know I'm working? J: Because I know you.

Four simple words that shouldn't have made her heart race. But they did, because they were true. Jules did know her – had taken the time to learn her, to see past her walls.

And she'd been pushing him away.

I'm scared, she typed, then deleted it. I miss you, she typed, then deleted that too.

Finally: Maurice has terrible taste in music. Bach over Beethoven? Don't blame me for this switch-up.

Jules' response was immediate: He gets it from his godfather.

S: Aurélien?

J: Oui. Terrible taste, that one.

Senait found herself smiling, even as her work phone buzzed with another "urgent" email. The contrast was stark – the anxiety that immediately rose with work notifications versus the warmth that Jules' messages brought.

Her mother's words echoed in her mind: "Sometimes the biggest risk is not taking one at all."

Opening her laptop, Senait pulled up her calligraphy portfolio. Really looked at it – the wedding invitations, the custom journals, the manifestation cards that had started as a hobby but gained a following.

Then she opened her work email, filled with demands and deadlines and soul-crushing projects.

"Let me help you start up," Jules had said.

Her phone buzzed again: You're thinking too loud, chérie.

How can you possibly know that?

Because I know you, he repeated. And I know you're probably sitting there surrounded by work, thinking about all the reasons why you can't change anything.

Senait stared at his message, feeling exposed. Stop being right all the time.

Stop being scared all the time.

The words hit her like a physical blow. Because he was right – she was scared. Scared of change, scared of dependence, scared of letting someone see her fully and decide she wasn't worth the effort.

Like Tymir had.

But Jules wasn't Tymir. Jules noticed things, cared about details, supported without suffocating. Jules had a ridiculous rooster that liked classical music and a tea ritual that would make British grandmothers proud.

Jules was... Jules.

I'm not ready, she typed finally.

J: For what? S: To quit my job. To take risks. To... J: To let someone in?

She swallowed hard. Yes.

There was a long pause before his response: Good thing I'm patient then.

And that was Jules in a nutshell – understanding her fears without letting them become walls, supporting without pushing, being solid without being suffocating.

I do miss Maurice, she admitted finally.

J: Just Maurice? S: And his terrible taste in music. J: And?

Senait took a deep breath. And his annoyingly persistent owner.

J: See? Was that so hard? S: Shut up. J: Make me.

Heat pooled in her belly at his words, remembering exactly how she'd shut him up before. In his kitchen, in his shower, against his—

Her work phone buzzed again, breaking the moment. But this time, instead of immediate anxiety, Senait felt something else: resolve.

Maybe she wasn't ready to quit her job. Maybe she wasn't ready to let Jules help her build something new. Maybe she wasn't ready for a lot of things.

But she was ready to stop pushing away something good just because she was scared it might turn bad.

I have next weekend free, she typed before she could talk herself out of it.

Booking your flight now, came his immediate response.

And for once, Senait didn't argue. Didn't push back. Just let herself feel the anticipation, the warmth, the possibility.

Because maybe her mother was right. Maybe the biggest risk wasn't in letting someone in.

Maybe it was in keeping them out.

_______________________________________________

LaGuardia's familiar chaos felt different this time. Senait wheeled her carry-on through security, phone pressed to her ear as Zuri's excitement bubbled through the speaker.

"You're really going to do it?" Zuri asked for the third time. "Like, actually quit?"

"I'm thinking about it," Senait corrected, finding her gate. "Which is crazy enough."

"Not crazy. Overdue." Zuri's voice took on that influencer tone she used when discussing manifestation. "Your current job is literally killing your soul."

Senait couldn't argue. Working at Precision PR wasn't terrible – the mid-sized firm handled decent clients, and her junior account executive position kept her afloat in New York, even if just barely. But fifty-hour weeks managing entitled clients' social media crises while making just enough to afford her small Bushwick apartment and once-in-a-while luxuries wasn't exactly living the dream.

Big ups for my side job and savings though.

"The new intern's been helpful at least," Senait said, settling into a seat. "Pretty sure Kelly would sacrifice her firstborn for a full-time offer."

"Good. Let her handle the bullshit while you plan your exit strategy." There was a pause. "You know, I could promote your calligraphy—"

"Zuri, no."

"My platform's growing! Ever since the media found out I'm dating Aurélien—"

"I appreciate it," Senait cut in. "Really. And if you want to refer actual clients my way, amazing. But I need to do this myself."

"Fine, fine." Zuri's smile was audible. "So… two extra days with Jules, huh?"

Senait was glad her friend couldn't see her cheeks flush. "I had the PTO saved up."

"Mhmm. Nothing to do with missing him?"

"I miss Maurice."

"Girl, please. You're literally flying to Barcelona for dick."

"I'm hanging up now."

"Tell Jules I say hi! And that if he hurts you, I'll have Aurélien break his legs!"

Senait ended the call, shaking her head but smiling. Her phone immediately lit up with a text from Jules: Boarded yet?

S: Still at my gate. Flight's on time though. J: Good. Maurice is preparing a welcome concert. S: You're ridiculous. J: You like it.

And she did, that was the problem. She liked everything about him – his playfulness, his quiet strength, the way he commanded without controlling. Even his absolutely absurd relationship with that rooster.

The flight passed in a blur of work emails (mostly Kelly asking clarifying questions about projects) and half-hearted attempts at napping. By the time they landed in Barcelona, Senait's body was confused about what time it was, but her heart knew exactly where it was going.

Jules waited by baggage claim, looking effortlessly sexy in a pair of shorts, a plain white t-shirt, and Adidas Sambas. The sight of him – tall, dreads pulled back, quiet confidence radiating – made something in her chest tighten.

"Chérie," he murmured, pulling her into his arms. She melted against him, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne.

"Hi," she managed, suddenly shy despite everything they'd shared.

His hand found the small of her back, guiding her toward the exit. "Tired?"

"A little."

"Good thing I have a very good shower."

The drive to his house was comfortable, Jules' hand resting on her thigh as he caught her up on Maurice's latest musical preferences ("He's now developed a thing for jazz") and team gossip. Senait found herself relaxing, the constant tension she carried in New York easing just from his presence.

"You're quieter than usual," he observed, pulling into his driveway.

"Just thinking."

"About?"

Senait watched him carry her bag inside, appreciating the view. "Life. Work. Changes."

Jules set her bag down, turning to study her face. "Good changes?"

"Scary ones."

He stepped closer, tucking a curl behind her ear. "Tell me."

So she did. About Kelly's eager assistance providing unexpected breathing room, about her Etsy sales increasing, about possibilities she'd never let herself consider before.

Jules listened, his hands working the tension from her shoulders as she talked. When she finished, he kissed her temple.

"Shower first," he decided. "Then we talk more."

The shower was exactly what she needed – hot water sluicing away travel grime, Jules' hands gentle as he washed her hair. For once, there was nothing sexual about it. Just care, just comfort.

"I missed this," she admitted quietly, letting him work conditioner through her curls.

"Just this?"

"Maybe other things too."

His chuckle rumbled through his chest. "We'll get to those other things. But tonight, you rest."

"Jules—"

"Not a discussion, chérie." His voice carried that tone that brooked no argument. "You're exhausted, stressed, and probably haven't eaten properly in days."

She wanted to protest, but he wasn't wrong. "Since when are you the voice of reason?"

"Since you needed one." He rinsed her hair carefully. "I have food warming. Then sleep."

"So bossy," she murmured, but there was no heat in it.

"You love it."

And maybe she did. How he took care of her without making her feel weak. How he commanded without constraining. How he just… knew what she needed.

After the shower, Jules wrapped her in what had to be the softest towel she'd ever felt. "Better?"

Senait nodded, letting him guide her to his bedroom where he'd laid out one of his t-shirts for her to sleep in.

"Food first," he insisted when she eyed the bed longingly. "Then sleep."

They ate on his balcony, the Barcelona night warm around them. Jules told her about training, about everything and nothing. His voice washed over her, soothing in its familiarity.

"I missed you," he said suddenly, seriously. "Not just the sex. Just… you. Here. Being yourself."

Something in Senait's chest cracked open at his words. At their simple honesty, their quiet certainty.

"I missed you too," she whispered, the admission feeling like surrender and victory all at once.

Jules smiled, the expression soft in a way few people ever got to see. "I know." He stood, pulling her up with him. "Come on. Bed."

As they settled under his ridiculously high-thread-count sheets, Senait found herself curling into him automatically. His arms came around her, solid and sure.

"Sleep," he murmured into her hair. "We have time."

It was at that moment she realized this wasn't just a fling anymore, wasn't just physical attraction and witty banter.

This was becoming something real. Something with potential for both great joy and devastating hurt.

But as Jules' breathing evened out beside her, as the distant sound of Barcelona nightlife mixed with the occasional comment from Maurice, Senait found she wasn't as scared now.

Because Jules was right – they had time. Time to figure this out, time to face those scary changes together, time to see where this could go.

And for the first time in a long time, Senait was ready to take that time. To see what happens when she stop running and start building instead.

Even if what she was building involved a French footballer with a musically inclined rooster.

Especially if it involved that.

_______________________________________________

Jules couldn't stop smiling, even during Flick's intense training drills. The past few days with Senait had been perfect – watching her explore his favorite spots in Barcelona, her genuine excitement over the vintage Hermès scarf she'd found at his go-to shop, the way she'd curl into him during their Netflix marathons.

And the sex... well, that was getting better too, if that was even possible. Something had shifted since her arrival this time. She was more open, more present, less guarded about showing how much she wanted him.

"¡Julio!" Lamine called, sending a cross his way. Jules controlled it perfectly, muscle memory taking over despite his wandering thoughts.

Between training sessions, he grabbed his water bottle and checked his phone. Senait had finally posted about Barcelona – a carousel of photos that made his heart do something stupid in his chest. The first was of her in that vintage shop, wrapped in various scarves, laughing at the camera. Then shots of various cafes, architecture, and finally – Jules grinned – Maurice in all his glory, mid-strut with the caption: "Met a very sophisticated gentleman."

He liked the post immediately, scrolling through the comments. The usual suspects were there – Zuri with a string of heart emojis, some of Senait's work friends, her cousin...

Then a comment made him pause: "Still looking good, Sen 🔥"

The username caught his eye: tymir__gants

Something in Jules' gut tightened. He clicked on the profile, finding himself looking at what had to be Senait's ex. Recent photos showed him with a baby, some pickup basketball shots at local courts, gym selfies.

Jules scrolled, a sick curiosity driving him deeper into the profile. Then he found it – buried at the bottom, probably forgotten to delete: Senait and Tymir together, her looking younger, softer somehow. The caption read: "My smart girl 📚❤️"

"Pedazo de mierda," Jules muttered, taking in Tymir's perfectly curated feed. The man had a whole new family, had hurt Senait in ways that still affected her, yet had the audacity to comment on her photos?

"¿Estás bien?" Pedri asked, passing by with his own water bottle. (“You good?”)

"Sí." Jules locked his phone, shoving it back in his bag. He wasn't mad at Senait – she'd probably delete the comment as soon as she saw it. But the nerve of this guy...

The rest of training was intense, but Jules' mind kept drifting back to that profile. The more he thought about it, the more things clicked into place – Senait's careful distance, her fear of getting too attached, the way she'd tense sometimes when he was too openly affectionate.

"Jules! Focus!" Flick called out as Jules misplaced a pass.

He shook his head, forcing himself back into the moment. The Sevilla match was crucial, and he needed his head in the game. But during water breaks, he found himself thinking about Senait's face when she'd mentioned seeing Tymir at Whole Foods, how small her voice had gotten.

My smart girl. The caption echoed in his head. Like she was some possession, some trophy to be claimed and discarded.

"You're thinking too loud," Lewandowski commented during their cool-down stretches. "Girl problems?"

Jules managed a small smile. "Not exactly."

But maybe it was. Because Senait was at his house right now, probably working on her laptop, wearing one of his shirts like she belonged there. And some piece of shit from her past thought he had the right to comment on her photos like he hadn't broken her trust in the worst way.

"Heard she's coming to the Sevilla match," Lewandowski added in, always up for some gossip. "First time watching you play, right?"

"Yeah." The thought warmed him despite his irritation. Senait had been adamant about not being a "football girlfriend" but had casually mentioned wanting to see him play. Progress.

After training, he showered and changed, but then Jules found himself scrolling through Tymir's profile again in his car. The guy played pickup basketball now, probably still dining out on his almost-went-pro story. His recent photos showed him at parks, at clubs, with his baby mama – living his life like he hadn't nearly destroyed someone else's.

His phone buzzed with a text from Senait: Your rooster is judging my lunch choices again.

Jules smiled despite himself. What are you eating?

S: Leftover pizza. J: No wonder he's judging.

There was a pause, then: Come home and feed me better then.

Home. She'd said it so casually, probably didn't even realize. But it made something warm unfurl in Jules' chest, temporarily displacing his anger about Tymir.

J: On my way, chérie.

As he drove, Jules thought about how different Senait was with him now – still sassy, still independent, but softer around the edges. More willing to let him take care of her, to lean into the comfort he offered.

His phone buzzed at a red light. A notification that Senait had deleted a comment on her post.

Good girl, he thought, satisfaction curling through him. She didn't need him to fight her battles. She was handling it herself, just as he'd known she would.

Still... the audacity of that man. To cheat on her repeatedly, get another woman pregnant, and then have the nerve to comment on her photos years later like he had any right to her attention.

Jules pulled into his driveway, cutting the engine. Through the car window, he could see Senait on his balcony, laptop open, Maurice strutting nearby. She had one of his hoodies on despite the Barcelona heat, her hair pulled back into a low bun.

This was what Tymir had thrown away. This brilliant, beautiful woman who could match Jules wit for wit, who challenged him even as she melted for him, who was slowly learning to trust him with her walls down.

His loss, Jules thought, heading inside and then upstairs to his room. My gain.

"Your rooster is a menace," Senait called as he approached. "He knocked over my water trying to get to my pizza crust."

"He was saving you from yourself." Jules bent to kiss her, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo mixed with his hoodie. "Pizza for lunch? Really?"

"I was working! And it was there."

"Clearly I need to come home for lunch more often."

She rolled her eyes but didn't protest when he pulled her up from her chair. "I have deadlines."

"You have ten minutes while I make you real food." His hands slid under the hoodie, finding warm skin. "Then maybe I'll let you get back to work."

"So bossy," she murmured, but she was already melting into him.

"You love it."

She didn't deny it, just hummed noncommittally. Progress.

As Jules went downstairs to prepare a proper lunch, he watched Senait return to her work at the counter. She belonged here, he realized.

And really, that was the best revenge on Tymir's audacity – Senait, happy and thriving, choosing her own path.

Choosing someone who saw her value, who wouldn't take her for granted.

Choosing him.

He smiled, plating their food. Let Tymir keep his Instagram comments and pickup games. Jules had the real prize – Senait, in his hoodie, on his balcony, building a strange friendship with his judgmental rooster.

And he wasn't letting go.

Sunday morning found Senait setting up her away messages with unusual determination. "Out of office until Wednesday - limited access to email," she typed, finger hovering over the send button before adding, "For urgent matters, please contact Kelly."

For once, she meant it. No sneaking peeks at work emails, no "quick responses" that turned into hours of crisis management. This was her time – to watch Jules play, to explore Barcelona, to figure out what this thing between them was becoming.

You're getting so fuckin' soft, Sen, her inner voice warned. But maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Maybe she needed soft, needed balance, needed to stop treating her life like one endless PR emergency.

The Luís Companys Olympic Stadium loomed before her, Camp Nou's temporary replacement humming with pre-match energy. Jules had arranged everything – her ticket, instructions on where to meet after, and a security escort who spoke perfect English.

"First football match?" the escort, Maria, asked as they navigated the crowds.

"That obvious?"

Maria smiled. "You have that look. Don't worry - just follow the crowd's energy. They'll let you know when to cheer."

Her seat offered a perfect view of the pitch. Senait tried to absorb the atmosphere – the chants she couldn't quite understand, the sea of Barcelona colors, the electric anticipation in the air. This was Jules' world, she realized. So different from her Manhattan conference rooms and endless Zoom calls.

The match itself was… well, she mostly followed along. She recognized Jules instantly – his graceful movement distinct even from her elevated position. She found herself holding her breath when he had the ball, cheering with the crowd when Barcelona scored.

By the time they won 5-1, Senait's voice was hoarse from yelling. She followed Maria's lead to the designated waiting area, noticing immediately the small crowd of women already gathered there.

"Player chasers," Maria explained quietly. "Every club has them."

Senait watched the women, all perfectly made up, designer bags on display. They wore Barcelona jerseys like fashion statements, giggling and posing for social media.

This is why Jules keeps us quiet, she thought. Not because he was ashamed, but because he was protecting whatever this was between them from becoming public consumption.

When Jules emerged, freshly showered and changed, several phones raised to capture him. But he moved past the waiting fans and groupies with practiced ease, finding Senait with unerring accuracy.

"Ready?" he asked simply, hand finding its usual spot on her lower back.

They slipped out a back entrance, the night air cool on Senait's flushed cheeks. In his car, Jules finally relaxed fully.

"Hungry?" he asked, pulling into traffic. "I know a place."

The place turned out to be a hole-in-the-wall serving the best street food Senait had ever tasted. They sat at a tiny table, Jules explaining plays she'd missed while she tried not to moan over her patatas bravas.

"El Clásico's next Saturday," he mentioned casually. "In Madrid. You should come."

Senait paused mid-bite. "I leave Tuesday."

"You could extend your stay."

"Jules…"

"The project can wait."

She shook her head. "It really can't. And I've already used so much PTO—"

"When's the last time you took a real break?" His voice was gentle but firm. "Not working through vacation, not checking emails between meetings. Just… lived?"

The question hit harder than she expected. When had she last truly disconnected? Even this trip, she'd planned to work through it until something in her finally rebelled.

"I'll think about it," she offered finally.

Jules seemed to accept this, turning the conversation to lighter topics. But his question lingered in her mind as they drove back to his house, as they climbed the stairs to his bedroom, as he pressed her against his door.

"You're thinking too loud," he murmured against her neck.

"Your fault. Making me question my life choices."

His laugh rumbled through his chest. "Good. Someone should."

Then his mouth found hers, and thinking became secondary to feeling. To the way he walked them backward toward his bed, to how his hands always knew exactly where to touch.

Home, some traitorous part of her mind whispered as they fell onto his ridiculously comfortable mattress. This feels like home.

But instead of panicking at the thought, Senait just pulled him closer, let herself sink into the sensation of his weight above her, his hands in her hair, his mouth trailing fire down her throat.

Maybe she would go to Madrid. Maybe she wouldn't.

But for now, she was here. Present. Living.

And that felt like progress.

_______________________________________________

Wednesday morning hit differently when you landed at LaGuardia at 2 AM. Senait stifled another yawn, staring at her laptop screen as the words blurred together. Her body was still on Barcelona time, still remembering Jules' goodbye kiss at the airport.

Her phone buzzed: Did you get any sleep?

Define sleep, she typed back to Jules.

That's a no. Take care of yourself, chérie.

Before she could respond, Kelly appeared at her cubicle, looking nervous. "Greg wants everyone in the conference room. Like, now."

Senait suppressed a groan. Greg Schultz, VP of Account Management and certified dickhead, was the last person she wanted to deal with on three hours of sleep.

The conference room was already half full when she arrived. She caught Maya's eye, her coworker subtly rolling her eyes. They'd spent enough happy hours commiserating about Greg's various microaggressions – like the time he'd told Maya her braids weren't "professional enough" for client meetings, or how he always seemed to question Senait's strategy decisions more harshly than her white colleagues'.

"Good morning, team!" Greg's fake enthusiasm filled the room. At forty-five, he embodied every corporate cliché – from his Brooks Brothers suits to his "work hard, play harder" mentality. "Big news about the Thompson account."

Senait's heart sank. Thompson meant overtime, meant endless revisions, meant—

"All hands on deck for this one," Greg continued, confirming her fears. "We're talking late nights, weekends, whatever it takes to make this launch perfect."

There goes Madrid, Senait thought, barely registering the rest of Greg's speech about dedication and career growth.

"Everyone but Senait can go," Greg announced as the meeting wrapped up. "Need a word."

Kelly shot her a sympathetic look as she filed out with the others. Senait stayed seated, already knowing where this was going.

"Senait," Greg settled into the chair across from her. "You're one of our best. But all this time off recently? Not a good look."

"One was a medical emergency," she started, careful to not mention how seeing Tymir had triggered an anxiety spiral that left her barely functional.

Greg waved his hand dismissively. "We all have personal stuff. But you want to make senior account executive? You better learn to sleep when you're dead."

Senait blinked, processing the casual disregard for her health.

"Look," he continued, "there's potential for promotion here. Small raise, bigger projects. But you need to get your head in the game. Drop everything else. The work needs you. Understand?"

She nodded automatically, mind already spinning.

"Good. That's all."

Senait left on autopilot, pausing only to tell a shocked Kelly, "Taking lunch."

"It's 11 AM!"

But Senait was already gone, her tote bag clutched like a lifeline as she headed for the elevator.

Three years. She'd given Precision PR three years of overtime, of cancelled plans, of rarely ever taking time off, of stress headaches and anxiety attacks. And for what? To be told her health didn't matter? That she should be grateful for the possibility of a "small raise"?

Her phone pinged – new Etsy notifications. Three orders:

Custom wedding signage and place cards: $2,500 (deposit paid)

Birthday signage and place cards: $1,600 (deposit paid)

Baby shower personalized 'welcome' signage: $500

Then, like the universe was trying to tell her something, an email from Raima Barcelona: "Re: Calligraphy Instructor Position - 32€/hour, Part-Time."

Senait looked up at the lobby ceiling. "Are you fucking with me?"

But maybe this wasn't a joke. Maybe this was permission.

She had savings – she'd always been careful with money, living well below her means even in New York. Her parents had made it clear their home was always open if things got tough. Zuri would help promote her work (though Senait would need to swallow her pride to accept). And Jules…

Jules, who'd offered support without pressure. Who saw her potential even when she doubted herself. Who'd probably book her a flight back to Barcelona right now if she asked.

"Fuck this job," she declared to no one in particular, heading to her favorite deli.

One Reuben sandwich and large coffee later, Senait sat at her desk, fingers hovering over her keyboard. The resignation letter was simple, professional:

"Dear Greg,

Please accept this letter as formal notification of my immediate resignation from my position as Junior Account Executive at Precision PR.

Thank you for the opportunities for growth over the past three years.

Best regards, Senait Kiros"

Her cursor hovered over "Send." Three years of stability, of knowing exactly what each day would bring, of comfortable misery – all balanced on one click.

But as she sat there, Senait noticed something: the constant tension in her shoulders, the one that had briefly disappeared in Barcelona, was already back. Not even 24 hours in New York and her body was already bracing for impact.

She hit send.

The next thirty minutes passed in a blur – clearing her personal items (fortunately few) from her desk, backing up relevant files, heading to HR with her laptop and badge.

"But… why?" the HR rep, Susan, stammered. "Was there an incident?"

Senait thought about Greg's dismissal of her health. About three years of racial undermining. About putting her job above everything else.

"It's just time," she said simply, turning in her company property. "Time for something new." And better….healthier. Time to live my life on my terms.

As she walked out of Precision PR's glass doors for the last time, Senait felt something she hadn't expected: peace.

Her phone buzzed – Jules again: Did you eat yet?

Senait smiled, stepping into the New York sunshine.

S: Actually, yes. And I have news.

J: Tell me.

She took a deep breath, typing: I just quit my job.

The three dots appeared immediately, then: Finally. When are you coming back to Barcelona?

Senait laughed out loud, startling a passing businessman. I JUST QUIT. Like, five minutes ago.

J: Perfect timing. El Clásico is Saturday. S: Jules… J: Book the flight, chérie. Maurice misses you. S: Just Maurice? J: And his very persistent owner.

Standing there on the sidewalk, free from Greg's toxicity and corporate expectations, Senait felt lighter than she had in years. Was she scared? Absolutely. But for once, the fear felt like excitement rather than dread.

Her phone buzzed again: I'll take care of you.

Three years ago, those words would have sent her running. Now, they felt like permission to fly.

Booking the flight now, she typed. But I'm paying for it myself.

J: Whatever you say, chérie. Just come back.

To Barcelona. To Jules. To a life she was finally brave enough to choose.

See you tomorrow, she sent, already pulling up flight options.

Sometimes the biggest risk was not taking one at all. But sometimes, Senait was learning, the biggest risk paid the biggest rewards.

And she was ready to collect.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

#emjayewrites #jules lore #jules kounde x black reader #jules kounde #jules kounde x black oc #jules x senait #in between the lines #fcbarcelona fanfic #fc barcelona fanfiction #footballer x reader #footballer x black reader

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emjayewrites · 5 days ago

Text

all mine (in between the lines epilogue) • jules kounde

PAIRINGS: Jules Koundé x Senait Kiros (@/subanbrn)

WARNINGS: football b.s., cursing, smut, drama, mentions of cheating/past relationships, dominant!jules, instant attraction/fast development. MINORS DNI (18+)

TAGLIST: @trenterprise @f1-football-fiend @lettersofgold @hopefulromantic1 @deonn-jaelle @vile-harlot @perfecttrashface @queenshikongo3 @2serenity0 @saturnville @sinflowersugar @hotfudgeslug @muglermami @serpenttines-library @sucredreamer @julescpu @greyishbach @shelovesfootie @certifiedlesbianbaddie @trinitoldyouso @greedyjudge2 @peyiswriting @127hydrangeas @rosiesdior @whoevenisthiz

A/N: This story is finito! Thanks again for all of the love/support for my football baes series! Gif by @doinggreat

one month later.....

Senait watched the French countryside blur past their van window, still jet-lagged from her NYC trip. The visit home had been productive – boxing up most of her Bushwick apartment, moving things to her parents' house. The decision to leave New York hadn't been as hard as she'd expected. Barcelona had become her new home, complete with friends, a thriving business, and Jules.

The meeting at the Spanish embassy had been encouraging. The visa process would be complex but doable – she'd need to prove financial stability (her business was helping there), show ties to the community, and complete the necessary paperwork. Spring 2025 felt like a reasonable timeline, especially with her subletter already lined up through April.

"I still can't believe you're really moving to Spain," Zuri said, squeezing her hand. The three girls had claimed the back row of the luxury van, leaving their men to occupy the middle seats.

"Neither can I," Senait admitted. "But it feels right."

"Speaking of right," Lila wiggled her eyebrows, "let's talk about how Jules calls you chérie."

"Oh my God, stop—"

"No, no," Zuri jumped in, grinning. "We need to discuss this. The way you melt every time he speaks French."

"Like you're any better with Aurélien," Senait shot back. "Miss 'oh daddy' in two languages."

"At least the French make it extra sexy," Zuri defended.

"Excuse me," Lila protested, "try teaching an Englishman to sound sexy. Though trust me, Daddy works just fine."

"Unless you want to get fucked in this van, Li," Jude turned around, smirking, "I think you should cut it out."

Lila's face flushed as red as possible, while the others erupted in laughter.

"Look who's quiet now," Senait teased.

"Leave her alone," Zuri said, though she was still laughing. "Not her fault Jude's got her trained."

"Big Daddy Bellingham," joked Senait in a low voice that was somehow still heard by the guys.

"And you better not forget it," Jude chimed in with a wink and it made the whole van erupt into another fit of guffaws.

"I hate all of you," Lila muttered, but she was smiling.

The lodge appeared through the snow – a massive wooden structure with huge windows and multiple balconies.

"Proper winter wonderland," Jules commented as they unloaded their bags.

Even knowing Jude and Lila could only stay until Christmas Eve – family obligations in Bergen calling – the mood was festive. The couples claimed their rooms, unpacked, then reconvened in the main living area where a fire already blazed.

"To friends," Aurélien raised his glass of wine. "And to being together."

"To being together," they echoed.

______________________________________________

Senait stood on the lodge‘s porch, wrapped in one of Jules' sweaters (stolen, of course), watching snowflakes dust the fairy-light draped chalets of Megève as she thought about last therapy session before the trip, which had been particularly enlightening.

"You're not running anymore," Dr. Obazi had observed. "You're moving forward. There's a difference."

The difference was currently in the kitchen with Jude, both of them playfully judging Lila's hot chocolate methodology. Jules caught Senait's eye through the window, throwing her a wink that still made her stomach flip, even after all these months.

"Senait," Zuri's voice broke through her thoughts, appearing beside her with two steaming mugs. "You're doing that thing again."

"What thing?"

"That soft smile you get when you look at Jules." Zuri handed her a mug. "You know, the one you swore you'd never have?"

Senait accepted the cocoa, breathing in the sweet aroma. "Therapy's helping," she admitted. "Making me see things differently."

"Like?"

"Like maybe being scared of something good is worse than risking getting hurt." She took a sip, the warmth spreading through her chest. "And maybe Jules is worth the risk."

Zuri's smile was knowing. "Finally figured that out, huh?"

Inside, laughter erupted from the kitchen. Jude had lifted Lila away from the stove, declaring her marshmallow-to-cocoa ratio "criminally sweet." Jules was recording the whole thing, Lila protesting in between giggles, and Aurélien continuing to instigate the entire ordeal.

"They're good people," Senait said softly. "Your friends."

"Our friends now," Zuri corrected. "That's what happens when you stop fighting the good things, Sen."

Later, on the slopes, Senait felt that truth in her bones. She and Jules moved in sync on their snowboards, their bodies finding that natural rhythm they'd always had. But now it felt different – less like running away from intimacy and more like running toward it.

"Show off," she called as Jules executed a perfect jump.

His grin was wicked. "Want me to teach you?"

"Want me to end up in the emergency room?"

"I'd catch you."

The simple certainty in his voice made her heart stutter. Because he would – had been catching her, in fact, since that first night at Zuri's engagement party. She'd just been too scared to let herself fall.

_______________________________________________

The next evening, after saying their goodbyes to Jude and Lila, Senait curled up by the lodge's fireplace and watched her friends. Zuri and Aurélien shared a blanket and whispered jokes as they played a card game. Jules sat beside her, close enough that she could feel his warmth but not so close as to pressure. Always giving her space to choose.

"I have another therapy session scheduled for when we get back," she said quietly.

"Good." His hand found hers under the blanket they shared. "Proud of you."

"Jules?"

"Mm?"

"I think… I think I'm ready. To make this official."

He turned to look at her fully, his expression serious. "You sure?"

Senait thought about Dr. Obazi's words about moving forward versus running. About how Jules had become home without her even noticing. About how being scared of happiness was worse than being scared of pain.

"Yeah," she said, squeezing his hand. "I'm sure."

His smile was slow, beautiful. "About time, chérie."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

So she did, kissing him right there in front of their friends. Zuri's whoop of celebration made her laugh against Jules' lips.

"Finally!" Aurélien called out, abandoning their card game. "Does this mean we can stop pretending like we don't know you practically live together?"

Senait felt her cheeks heat, but Jules just pulled her closer. "Means whatever she wants it to mean," he said simply.

And that was it, really. The beauty of them – how Jules let her set the pace while making sure she knew he wasn't going anywhere. How he'd waited while she worked through her fears in therapy, supported her growing business, given her space to choose him properly.

The Alpine night wrapped around them like a blanket, fairy lights twinkling against fresh snow. Senait curled into Jules' side, feeling the solid warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart, and was finally at peace with everything in her life.

This was what choosing happiness felt like. What moving forward felt like.

THE END......

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING MY FOOTBALL BAES SERIES AND HERE'S A LITTLE SOMETHING FOR SENAIT & JULES......

June 2030

Senait couldn’t help but marvel at how far life had taken her, from bustling streets of New York to the enchanting city of Barcelona. When she left New York officially in 2025 to be with Jules, she had no idea how seamlessly her life would transform alongside his. Those first three beautiful years together were filled with long, sun-kissed vacations to bucket list destinations, late-night drives along the Mediterranean coast, and spontaneous adventures as a couple. Jules had showered her with love in every corner of the world, and she’d fallen for him over and over again. Then, one balmy summer evening, he’d gotten down on one knee and proposed, making the life they’d built together official.

In those years, Senait’s career blossomed into something she was truly proud of. Her lifestyle brand had taken off, focusing on manifestation journals, productivity planners, and sleek, minimalistic calendars designed to keep life inspiring and organized. It wasn’t a multimillion-dollar empire—at least, not yet—but her profits had been steadily growing, and her work was loved by an ever-expanding community of motivated women. Venturing further into her passion for design, she had opened a small floral shop in Barcelona. Designing arrangements brought her a unique kind of peace, a creative outlet that felt like love in bloom.

Jules had been thriving, too. His football career soared to new heights: winning two Champions League with FC Barcelona and even lifting both a Euros win and World Cup with the French national team. The two of them had created a life bursting with love and dreams realized, and now they were eagerly awaiting the newest chapter—becoming parents.

Today, though, they were in Tuscany, celebrating Jude and Lila's wedding. But first, they had a mission in Florence.

"Chérie, we've been to six different shops," Jules said patiently, watching his pregnant wife peer into yet another chocolate boutique window.

"It has to be the right one," Senait insisted. "The one with the gold wrapper and the hazelnut filling. Remember? We found it that time we came for your Champions League match."

Jules wrapped an arm around her expanding waist. "That was two years ago, love."

"But it was perfect." Her voice wavered dangerously. "And the baby wants it."

"The baby, huh?"

"Don't tease me when I'm emotional."

Three more shops yielded nothing but frustration. By the time they reached the wedding venue, Senait was fighting back tears.

"Hey, Jules and Senait are here," she heard Aurélien call out.

Zuri appeared immediately, taking in Senait's flushed face and teary eyes. "What happened?"

Senait sniffled, one hand resting on her five-month bump. "I wanted a chocolate bar from that shop we loved in Florence, but they're out. And it's not available anywhere else in Italy!"

"Oh honey," Zuri pulled her into a hug, careful of her bump. "Pregnancy cravings are the worst."

"It's not just cravings," Senait hiccupped. "I wanted to share it with the baby. Tell them about our first trip to Florence, how their papa scored the winning goal that night."

Zuri bit back a laugh, exchanging a knowing look with Aurélien. Pregnancy hormones were no joke. "Hey, they've got some amazing snacks in Lila's room," she said, wrapping her arm around Senait. "Go on, I promise it'll make you feel better."

Senait nodded, allowing herself to be comforted, and made her way to Lila's room, leaving Jules and Aurélien to talk. The men shared a chuckle, with Jules shaking his head in disbelief. "Pregnancy, man. Never a dull moment."

As Senait walked down the hallways, she couldn't help but remember her own wedding. Now here she was, five months pregnant, crying over chocolate.

"There's my favorite pregnant lady!" Lila appeared in a silk robe, her hair in rollers.

Senait laughed. "You're beautiful!"

"So are you. Even with those tears. What happened?"

"I don't want to go there," Senait sighed dramatically, but she was smiling now. The baby fluttered – their newest trick. She placed a hand on her bump, still amazed by how natural this felt. How right.

"Come here, you emotional mess," Lila pulled Senait onto the sofa, where an impressive spread of snacks covered the coffee table. "I had them bring up everything – sweet, salty, spicy."

"You're an angel," Senait grabbed a chocolate-covered strawberry. Not the same as her Florence chocolate, but it would do. "This baby needed some chocolate."

"Speaking of babies," Lila said as she was helped into her gown, "have you two started thinking about names yet?"

Senait smiled, remembering Jules' late-night conversations with her bump. "Jules likes Feven for a girl. It means 'bright' in Tigrinya."

"And for a boy?"

"Théo. After his grandfather."

Lila nodded approvingly while the bridal stylist buttoned the back of the dress. "That's great. Some men have awful taste in names."

Just then, Zuri made her way into the room and smiled brightly at both of her friends. The baby moved again, more pronounced this time. Senait had noticed they were most active during these moments of laughter and joy, as if already wanting to be part of the fun.

"Sometimes I still can't believe this is my life," she admitted softly from the couch. "Barcelona, Jules, the baby... if you'd told me six years ago this is where I'd end up..."

"You'd have run screaming in the opposite direction?" Lila supplied.

"Probably."

"And now look at you," Zuri squeezed her hand. "Living your dream life with your dream man, growing your dream baby."

The tears threatened again. "Stop, I just fixed my makeup."

"Blame the hormones," Lila suggested cheerfully.

A knock at the door interrupted their laughter. Jules poked his head in, his expression softening when he saw Senait surrounded by snacks and friends.

"Better?" he asked.

Senait nodded, holding out her hand. He crossed the room to take it, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Guess what?" he murmured against her hair. "Aurélien made some calls. That chocolate shop? They're sending a box directly to Barcelona. Should be there when we get home."

Fresh tears spilled. "I love you."

"Je t'aime aussi, mon coeur." His hand found her bump. "Both of you."

"And on that disgustingly sweet note," Lila announced, "I need to finish getting ready. I have a wedding to star in."

The bridal stylist jumped in at that moment and helped Lila with her veil.

When she was done, Senait watched as Zuri placed a gentle hand on Lila's shoulder. "You look so perfect," she whispered.

Lila smiled, her eyes glistening. "Thanks, Zu. I just can't believe this is finally happening."

Zuri smiled, her hand resting protectively over her own bump. "Believe it, girl. This is your moment."

_______________________________________________

The reception was nothing short of magical: fairy lights draped over ancient olive trees, long tables adorned with white roses and silk drapery, and soft music that danced on the breeze. Senait felt warm and content, holding little Eti, who had been passed to her while Zuri and Aurélien took on their wedding party duties.

Later, Senait swayed gently with Jules as they danced under the canopy of stars, surrounded by laughter and clinking glasses. The DJ shifted the song, and suddenly Hey There Delilah started playing. Jules grinned, his eyes bright with mischief, and the two of them began singing along jokingly with the rest of the guests, trying to outdo each other with exaggerated gestures.

After dancing until her feet hurt, Senait noticed a young man she recognized as Jude’s brother, Jobe, standing off to the side, deep in conversation with a stunning young woman somewhat familiar. She nudged Zuri, who had just returned from mingling. "Who’s that?" she asked, nodding toward the pair.

Zuri followed her gaze and let out a little laugh. "That’s Justine, you remember, Jobe’s ex from Birmingham. Lila invited her, of course."

"That's her?" Senait said, eyes alight with curiosity. "Spill the tea."

Zuri smirked. "Well, you know they broke up a few years ago, and Justine moved to the States to go to grad school and teach for a while?" Senait nodded her head vehemently and her friend continued. "So now she’s back in the UK, and Lila is playing matchmaker, hoping they rekindle things."

Senait's smile grew. "I kind of like that idea."

Before she could comment further, Jules came up behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist, his lips brushing against her ear. He whispered something filthy, making her cheeks flush furiously. Senait swatted his arm, laughing. "You have to wait. We’re not doing that here."

Jules sucked his teeth in mock disappointment, then turned to Zuri with a grin. "Sorry, I’m stealing my wife now."

Zuri rolled her eyes with a chuckle, "Go on, then. Just don’t keep her too long."

Jules didn’t hesitate, pulling Senait away from the lively crowd to a quieter corner of the reception. He pressed her gently against the wall, cupping her face and kissing her deeply, passion igniting between them once again. When they finally broke apart, Senait laughed, breathless.

"Ugh, I hate you," she said jokingly, her voice husky.

Jules brushed a lock of hair from her face, his gaze softening. "I love you too," he replied simply, and then he kissed her again, both of them lost in the moment, savoring every heartbeat and memory shared between them.

____________________________________________

four months later…

The Barcelona hospital room was filled with anticipation and the soft beeping of monitors. After twelve hours of labor, Senait was finally ready to push. Jules hadn't left her side once, letting her squeeze his hand through each contraction, whispering encouragement in French and English.

"You're doing amazing, chérie," he murmured, wiping sweat from her forehead.

Her mother, Askalu, stood on her other side, while her father, John, paced the waiting room. Sophie, Jules' mother, had been in and out, her limited English made up for by her expressive face and comforting presence.

When Feven Sidonie Koundé finally entered the world at 3:47 AM, her powerful cry filled the room. Jules' eyes welled up as the doctors placed their daughter on Senait's chest.

"Elle est parfaite," he whispered, voice thick with emotion. "Perfect like her mama."

The next few hours passed in a blur of skin-to-skin contact, first measurements, and proud grandparents meeting their granddaughter. Askalu and John couldn't stop crying as they held Feven, marveling at her tiny features.

"She looks just like you did," Askalu told Senait, gently touching Feven's full head of curly hair.

Sophie was equally emotional, her broken English mixed with rapid French as she cooed over her granddaughter. "Ma belle petite-fille," she kept saying, tears streaming down her face.

The nurse brought in Senait's first 'push present' – a large tray of sushi she'd been craving throughout her pregnancy. Her mother shook her head as Senait did an excited wiggle in the hospital bed.

"You have more presents at home," Jules said, amused by her reaction to raw fish.

"Nothing better than this," Senait declared, already reaching for a piece of salmon nigiri.

Her phone lit up with a FaceTime call from Zuri. On screen, her friend appeared with baby Zulaika in her arms, two-month-old and perfect, while little Eti peeked into frame.

"She's here!" Zuri squealed. "Show me my niece!"

Jules carefully tilted the phone so Zuri could see Feven, now sleeping peacefully in her bassinet.

"Oh my god, she's gorgeous," Zuri gushed. "Our girls are going to be best friends."

"Unless it's El Clásico time," Aurélien's voice came from off-screen. "Then they're enemies."

Jules chuckled, but the sound was cut short by Feven's hungry cry. "Speaking of enemies, time for another feeding."

"Go be a mommy and daddy," Zuri smiled. "Love you all!"

Jules carefully lifted Feven, still amazed by how tiny she was, and brought her to Senait. He helped position the baby, remembering all the steps from their parenting classes.

"Support her head like that," Senait murmured. "There we go."

Watching his wife feed their daughter, Jules felt his heart might burst. He couldn't stop staring at them – his whole world in one hospital bed.

"Can we have another?" he asked suddenly, eyes locked on Senait's.

She rolled her eyes, but her smile was fond. "Give me six months and I'll think about it."

His grin widened as he leaned in to kiss her. "Je t'aime, chérie."

"I love you too," she whispered back. "All of this. Even if your daughter already has your appetite."

Jules laughed softly, careful not to disturb Feven's feeding. Their families would be staying to help – Sophie for two whole months – but right now, in this moment, it was just them. Their little family of three.

Complete. Perfect. Everything they never knew they needed until they found each other.

#emjayewrites #jules lore #jules kounde #jules kounde x black oc #jules kounde x reader #jules kounde fanfic #footballer x reader #footballer x black reader #fc barcelona fanfiction #fc barcelona fanfic #in between the lines #jules x senait

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emjayewrites · 5 days ago

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in between the lines • jules kounde (4/4)

PAIRINGS: Jules Koundé x Senait Kiros (@/subanbrn)

WARNINGS: football b.s., cursing, smut, drama, mentions of cheating/past relationships, dominant!jules, instant attraction/fast development. MINORS DNI (18+)

TAGLIST: @trenterprise @f1-football-fiend @lettersofgold @hopefulromantic1 @deonn-jaelle @vile-harlot @perfecttrashface @queenshikongo3 @2serenity0 @saturnville @sinflowersugar @hotfudgeslug @muglermami @serpenttines-library @sucredreamer @julescpu @greyishbach @shelovesfootie @certifiedlesbianbaddie @trinitoldyouso @greedyjudge2 @peyiswriting @127hydrangeas @rosiesdior @whoevenisthiz

A/N: Gif by @doinggreat

Not having a return flight felt both terrifying and exhilarating. Senait lay in Jules' bed, watching shadows play across the ceiling as sunlight filtered through the curtains. Her phone hadn't buzzed with work emergencies for the first time in three years. No crisis meetings, no client demands, no Greg's passive-aggressive emails.

Just... freedom.

Scary, overwhelming freedom.

Jules had insisted she take the day to rest, popping in between his training sessions to check on her. Each time he'd find a different way to make her smile – bringing her favorite snacks, curling around her for quick naps, even convincing Maurice to perform an impromptu concert.

"You're hovering," she'd accused during one such visit.

"I'm caring," he'd corrected, pressing a kiss to her temple before heading back to training.

Now, as evening slowly approached, Senait could smell something amazing wafting from the kitchen. She found Jules at the stove, looking so sexy in sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"Sit," he commanded, nodding toward the counter. "I have something for you."

"Jules..."

But he was already pulling out a carefully wrapped package. Inside, Senait found a collection of high-end calligraphy supplies – inks, nibs, and papers she'd only dreamed of working with.

"I did some research," Jules said, watching her face. "These are the good ones, right?"

Senait ran her fingers over the supplies, emotion catching in her throat. "They're perfect. But Jules, I can't—"

"Let me help," he interrupted softly. "Not because you need it, but because I want to. Because I believe in you."

She kissed him then, trying to pour all her gratitude and confusion and hope into it. Jules responded immediately, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss until they were both breathless.

"So," he murmured against her lips, "when are you going to make an honest man out of me?"

Senait froze. "What?"

Jules pulled back slightly, studying her face. "We've known each other for almost two months. Things are moving fast – which I'm not complaining about – but maybe it's time to make it official."

"I... I just quit my job," Senait stammered. "And now you want..."

"A commitment? Yes." His hands stayed on her waist, grounding her even as panic fluttered in her chest. "Why does that scare you so much?"

"Because!" She pulled away, needing space to think. "Everything's changing so fast. I need... I need to figure things out first."

"Like what?"

"Like therapy," she admitted quietly. "Like dealing with these walls I've built. Like not fucking this up because I'm too scared to let anyone in."

"You're so fucking stubborn," Jules said, but there was fondness mixed with his frustration. "You think I don't see your walls? Your fears? I'm still here, Senait."

"I know." She wrapped her arms around herself. "And I want... I want to try. With you. But I need to do this right. I need to work on myself first."

Jules was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Go to therapy. Work on yourself." He stepped closer, tucking a curl behind her ear. "I'll be here. But don't use it as an excuse to keep running."

Senait leaned into his touch. "I'm trying not to."

"I know, chérie." He kissed her forehead. "Now eat before the food gets cold."

_______________________________________________

Madrid held different memories for Senait now – her first visit for Zuri's engagement party months ago felt like another lifetime compared to being here for El Clásico. The energy around the match was electric, filling every corner of the city.

She met Zuri in the hotel lobby, where her friend was waiting with a woman Senait instantly recognized from social media – Lila Hamilton.

"Finally!" Zuri exclaimed, hugging Senait. "You guys didn’t get the chance to meet at the engagent party but Lila, this is my best friend, Senait. Sen, meet Lila – Lewis' sister and Jude's better half."

Lila's smile was warm, her British accent elegant as she said, "Heard so much about you. Zuri says you're the one who finally tamed Jules?"

"I wouldn't say tamed," Senait laughed. "More like... reached a mutual understanding."

"With Jules?" Lila raised an eyebrow. "That's practically the same thing."

The three women clicked immediately. Senait found herself drawn to Lila's dry humor and genuine warmth. It was clear why she and Zuri had become such close friends – they shared the same straightforward approach to life.

"So you're actually supporting Barcelona?" Lila asked as they made their way to the Bernabéu, noting Senait's scarf. "Brave, considering you're walking in with two Madrid supporters."

"Trust me, I'm as surprised as you are," Senait admitted. "But apparently I have... priorities."

"Jules being one of them?" Zuri teased.

"Jules being the only one," Lila corrected with a knowing smile.

The Santiago Bernabéu was a different beast than the Olympic Stadium. Senait felt the electricity in the air, the tension between the two sets of fans palpable even as she followed Zuri and Lila to their seats.

"Ready for your first Clásico?" Lila asked, adjusting her Real Madrid scarf.

Senait fingered her own scarf – one of Jules' that she'd stolen despite her protests about not being a "football girlfriend." But here she was, heart racing every time she caught sight of him warming up on the pitch.

The match itself was intense. Senait found herself on her feet more often than not, shouting things she barely understood but feeling them deeply. When Jules made a particularly brilliant play, she screamed his name without thinking, earning knowing smirks from both Zuri and Lila.

Barcelona's dominance was clear from the start. Each goal felt like a physical rush, the away section erupting in celebration. Senait watched Jules' confident movements, the way he controlled the midfield, and felt a surge of pride she wasn't quite ready to examine.

By the time the final whistle blew at 0-4, Senait's voice was hoarse from shouting. She linked arms with Zuri and Lila as they made their way down the stadium steps, the Barcelona fans' victory chants echoing around them.

"Never thought I'd see the day," Zuri teased, nudging her. "You really are Jules' number one fan now, huh?"

Senait rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress her smile. "Don't get used to it. It's a one-time thing," she quipped, though she couldn't help glancing toward the tunnel where the players would emerge.

The wait seemed endless. Senait watched as Aurélien appeared first, his disappointment evident despite his dignified bearing. Zuri immediately went to him, wrapping him in a comforting embrace. Then Jude, his frustration clear as Lila quietly led him away.

And then Jules – still radiating that quiet confidence she'd come to associate with him, his eyes finding her immediately in the crowd. Heat pooled in her belly at the look he gave her, pride and possession and promise all mixed together.

"Enjoyed the show?" he asked, pulling her close despite her token protest about his sweaty state.

"You were adequate," she deadpanned, but her smile gave her away.

Back at the hotel room later, a celebration took a more private turn. Jules had her pressed against the door almost before it closed, his hands possessive on her hips.

"Been wanting to do this since I saw you in my scarf," he growled against her neck.

"Is that why you let me steal it?" Senait gasped as his teeth found a sensitive spot. "Part of your master plan?"

"Everything's part of my master plan, chérie."

And maybe it was. Maybe this had all been inevitable from the moment she'd met his eyes at Zuri's engagement party. Maybe all her running had just been delaying the inevitable.

Later, curled into his side, pleasantly sore and completely satisfied, Senait traced patterns on his chest. "I made an appointment," she said quietly.

Jules' hand paused in her hair. "For therapy?"

She nodded. "Found someone who specializes in relationship trauma. She's got great reviews."

"I'm proud of you." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "When?"

"Next week. Virtual session." She propped herself up to look at him. "Is that okay? Me staying in Barcelona but..."

"Working on yourself?" He smiled. "More than okay. Though I warn you – Maurice might try to join your sessions. He's very interested in psychology."

Senait laughed, the sound free and genuine. "Your rooster is a menace."

"Our rooster."

She tensed slightly at that, but not in fear. More in... anticipation. Because 'our' didn't sound as scary as it used to.

"One step at a time," Jules murmured, clearly reading her reaction. "No pressure. Just... possibility."

Senait settled back against him, letting his heartbeat steady her. "I like possibilities."

"Good." His hand resumed its gentle stroking of her hair. "Because I have quite a few in mind."

As she drifted off to sleep, Senait thought about how different this felt from every other relationship she'd had. How Jules pushed without pressuring, supported without suffocating. How he saw her walls but didn't try to break them down – just waited patiently for her to build doors instead.

Maybe that's what real love was supposed to feel like. Not the desperate clinging she'd had with Tymir, not the constant fear of not being enough. But this – this steady warmth, this gentle strength, this quiet certainty that whatever came next, they'd face it together.

One step at a time.

Two weeks after El Clásico, Senait sat cross-legged in Jules' home office, laptop balanced on her knees, finalizing another custom wedding signage order. Maurice strutted past the window, the speakers nearby playing what she swore was Vivaldi.

"Your taste in music is getting crazy, my guy," she called out to the rooster, who merely preened in response.

Her Etsy notifications kept pinging – the surge in orders since quitting her job felt almost cosmic. The universe's way of saying "about time" perhaps. She'd spent the morning researching web designers, knowing her business needed a proper site. Her makeshift Instagram business account already had a decent following, helped by Zuri's subtle promotions to her now-massive audience.

The call with her parents had been full of "I told you so" energy, but the loving kind. "See what happens when you finally listen to your mother?" her mom had teased. They were happy to see her actually living her life instead of just surviving it, even if that life currently involved a French footballer and living with him on a different continent.

The therapy sessions were helping too. Dr. Obazi had a way of making Senait see patterns she'd been blind to. "You're not afraid of success," she'd said in their first session. "You're afraid of deserving it."

That had hit home hard.

So had finally blocking Tymir on everything. She'd hesitated over the button for a moment, years of history making her finger pause. Then she'd remembered his comment on her photo, his casual assumption that he still had the right to her attention.

Click. Done.

"Better late than never," she'd muttered, and felt lighter immediately.

The past weekend in Paris had been surreal. Jules' friend Axel had thrown an elaborate Halloween party, and she'd found herself swept into Jules' inner circle. His Dracula costume had been simple but effective – all black with a dramatic cape and subtle fangs. She'd matched him as his bride, in a flowing white dress with intricate lace details, dark makeup, and artfully messy curls.

"We have the most predictable costumes," she'd teased.

"Sexy," he'd corrected, eyes darkening as he took in her outfit.

Meeting his friends had been surprisingly easy. Axel, with his easy charm and quick wit. Wilhelm, quieter but sharp as a tack. Hugo and Manuel, who treated her like they'd known her forever.

"So you're the one who's got Jules actually answering his phone," Hugo had teased.

"Someone has to keep him in line," she'd shot back, earning appreciative laughs.

The party had been a blur of expensive champagne and elaborate costumes. Jules had kept her close all night, his hands growing increasingly possessive as the alcohol flowed. What happened back in their hotel room... Senait felt heat rise to her cheeks just thinking about it. Jules, it turned out, was even more commanding when drunk, and she'd been more than happy to submit to his... demands.

Her phone buzzed, pulling her from the memory: The guys want to come over to watch game footage. That okay?

S: As riveting as that sounds... J: You can work in the office. Just want you near.

Simple. Direct. So Jules.

S: Fine. But I'm not watching football. J: You watched every minute of El Clásico. S: That was different. J: Because you're my biggest fan?

Senait smiled, remembering Zuri's teasing about the same thing. I'm hanging up now.

J: This is a text. S: Goodbye, Jules. J: See you in a bit, chérie.

A notification pinged – another order. A massive corporate client wanting custom place cards for their holiday party. The kind of order that could fund a proper website, maybe even a small studio space.

She was settling into a routine she'd never planned but couldn't imagine living without. Mornings with Maurice's concerts, days split between calligraphy work and exploring the city, evenings with Jules that usually ended tangled in his sheets.

Barcelona was beginning to feel like home. Her favorite café knew her order. The local art supply store kept her preferred inks in stock. Even Maurice had accepted her as part of his audience.

More than that, she was happy. Actually, genuinely happy. The kind of happiness that came from choosing yourself, from letting people in, from building something real.

She glanced around Jules' office – now unofficially hers too during work hours. Her calligraphy supplies had their own drawer, her laptop had a permanent spot on the desk, and she'd even added some plants to the space. Small changes that spoke of bigger ones.

The sound of the front door opening announced Jules' return. Soon the house would be full of his teammates, their animated conversations filling the space as they analyzed game footage. She'd pretend to be completely focused on work, but would probably end up watching anyway, just like she always did.

This was her life now. Not the one she'd planned, not the safe corporate path she'd thought she needed to follow. Instead, she had a growing business, a weekly therapy appointment, and a man who knew exactly when to push and when to be patient.

Jules appeared in the doorway of the office, fresh from training with slightly damp dreads. Just looking at him made something warm unfurl in Senait's chest – a feeling she was slowly learning not to fight.

"Hi," he said simply, crossing to where she sat.

"Hi yourself." She tilted her head up for his kiss, meaning to keep it brief. But Jules had other ideas, deepening the kiss until she was breathless.

"The guys will be here soon," she murmured against his lips.

"Mm. Ten minutes." His hand slid into her hair. "More than enough time."

"To do what exactly?"

His smirk was wicked. "To properly greet you."

Before she could respond, he'd pulled her up from her chair, pressing her against the desk. His hands found her hips, lifting her to sit on the edge.

"Jules—"

"Let me just..." He stepped between her legs.

Jules’ lips traced a line down her neck, making Senait shiver as he teased the sensitive skin just beneath her ear. His fingers slipped under the hem of her shirt dress, pushing it higher up her thighs until he had a full view of the lace panties she’d chosen that morning. She opened her mouth to protest, but the words turned to a sigh as his hands gripped her waist tighter.

"Just a quick one," he whispered, his voice low and rough, sending a thrill down her spine. His eyes were dark with desire, and Senait found herself nodding, anticipation already pooling within her.

Jules stepped back just long enough to fish something out of his pants pocket. Senait couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up when she saw it: a condom.

"You planned this," she accused, her laughter fading into a gasp as he slipped his hands under her thighs, dragging her closer to the edge of the desk.

"Always prepared," he murmured with a grin, dropping both his pants and boxers to lay around his ankles and then ripping open the foil packet. As he sheathed himself, his gaze stayed locked on hers, filled with heat and mischief. Senait's pulse quickened, her body already humming in anticipation.

With a firm tug, he pulled her panties to the side, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of her. He didn’t waste a moment, pressing into her slowly, making her toes curl. Senait clutched at his shoulders, the edge of the desk digging into the back of her thighs as Jules began to move, setting a fast, relentless pace.

"Fuck," she whispered, her breath coming in short, needy gasps. Jules had her pinned in place, one hand splayed across her lower back to keep her steady, the other gripping her thigh. The slight roughness of his fingertips, the way he filled her so perfectly, had her clenching around him, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through her.

He leaned forward, his mouth brushing her ear. "You feel so fucking good, chérie," he groaned, the strain in his voice making her core tighten. The office was filled with the sounds of their rushed, desperate joining—the rhythmic slap of skin on skin, the creak of the desk beneath them, and the breathless, incoherent sounds that slipped from Senait’s lips.

Her fingers tangled in his damp hair, pulling him in for a kiss, desperate to muffle her own cries as the pressure built inside her. Jules responded eagerly, swallowing her moans, his rhythm never faltering. The intensity of it all—the risk of being caught, the wild passion in his eyes, the feeling of him claiming her—had her teetering on the edge faster than she expected.

"I’m close," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rush of her heartbeat. Jules’ grip on her tightened, his hips snapping forward harder, his own breathing ragged.

"Let go for me," he urged, his voice thick with urgency. Senait’s body obeyed, pleasure exploding through her, making her shudder and cling to him as her climax washed over her. Jules followed soon after, his groan deep and satisfied as he buried himself in her one last time.

For a moment, they stayed like that, tangled together, breathing heavily. But the moment of bliss was broken by the sound of the doorbell ringing, echoing through the home.

"Shit," Senait whispered, her eyes wide. Jules pulled out of her with a grin, discarding the condom and adjusting his clothes swiftly.

"Go clean up," he said, smacking her ass as she wobbled off the desk, her legs still shaky. The playful sting of his hand made her yelp, and she shot him a glare over her shoulder.

"Asshole," she muttered, though she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. He just laughed, his expression smug and satisfied.

"Better hurry," he teased. "Don’t want the guys to see you looking all… well, like that."

Senait rolled her eyes, gathering herself and making her way out of the office and down the hallway. But the flush on her cheeks and the way her legs trembled with every step were undeniable reminders of what had just happened, and she couldn't stop the grin that spread across her lips.

In the bathroom, she caught sight of herself in the mirror – hair mussed, lips swollen, that unmistakable post-sex glow. The sound of voices grew louder – boisterous laughter as the guys settled in the living room.

After making herself presentable, Senait padded back to the office, settling in with her laptop. She tried to focus on her work, but found herself listening to Jules' voice among them, authoritative and sure as he discussed strategy.

This was her life now. And somehow, impossibly, it fit perfectly.

Sometimes Jules still couldn't believe how naturally Senait had integrated into his life. Watching her work in his home office, Maurice strutting past the window like a personal guard, felt right in a way he hadn't expected when this started.

Her therapy sessions were making a difference – he could see it in how she carried herself, how she was slowly letting her walls down. They weren't official yet, but he could wait. She was worth waiting for, worth giving time to heal and grow at her own pace.

"Ready?" she called from the office. They had errands to run – art supplies for her growing calligraphy business, orders to ship at the post office. Her Etsy shop was thriving, custom orders piling up faster than she could handle them.

The art supply store was their first stop. Jules watched as she carefully selected papers, inks, specialty pens. Her face lit up discussing different techniques with the shop owner, passionate in a way that made his chest warm. This was the Senait he loved seeing – confident, in her element, fully herself.

The post office queue wrapped around the building, but Jules didn't mind. Senait's arms were full of carefully wrapped packages – elaborate wedding signage, custom birthday installations, pieces that showcased her unique style. She'd worked late into the night finishing them, and watching her now, checking tracking numbers and insurance details, he felt overwhelmingly proud.

"Tu novia tiene mucho talento," the postal worker commented, admiring one of the visible designs. ("Your girlfriend's quite talented.”)

Jules didn't correct her assumption. Instead, he helped Senait balance the packages, stealing glances at her focused expression, the way she bit her lip while calculating shipping costs.

The sneaker store was where they slipped up. A small group of teenagers recognized him, eyes widening as they nudged each other. Jules tensed slightly – he was careful about public appearances, especially with Senait. His PR team had helped keep their relationship private, away from the football gossip machine.

"¿Te importaría una foto?" one boy asked nervously.

Jules glanced at Senait, who had already stepped back, understanding without words. He took a few quick pictures, signed some shoes, then they made their exit.

"Sorry about that," he said once they were in the car.

"Don't be. It's part of who you are."

Later, floating in his pool on one of his loungers, the Barcelona sun warm on their skin, Jules thought about Aurélien's text. His friend had been through hell with Zuri lately – family drama, media scrutiny, the works. The suggestion of a group trip to Megève had come with a note about needing peace, about wanting to share that peace with the people who'd supported them.

"Aurélien's planning a trip," Jules said, watching Senait's reaction carefully. "Megève in December. Him and Zuri, Jude and Lila. Thought we could join."

She turned in his arms, water droplets clinging to her eyelashes. "Sounds nice."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Small steps, but progress nonetheless. Jules pressed a kiss to her temple, content just to have her here, in his pool, in his life. Two months ago, she might have balked at the idea of a couples' holiday. Now she was planning it with him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Maurice's indignant crow from his enclosure made them both laugh. The rooster had taken to protesting when they used the pool, as if offended by their water activities.

"Your bird is jealous," Senait said, shifting to watch Maurice's dramatic display.

"Our bird," Jules corrected automatically, and smiled when he heard her hum noncommittally.

They stayed in the pool until the sun started to set, talking about everything and nothing. Her latest orders – a massive wedding installation that had her excited about the creative possibilities. His upcoming matches, training schedules, team dynamics.

It felt domestic in the best way. Like they'd been doing this forever, would keep doing it for years to come. Jules found himself imagining more moments like this – Senait in his space, planning futures together, Maurice providing the soundtrack to their life.

After showering and ordering dinner, they settled on his couch. Senait was sketching design ideas while Jules watched match footage, her feet in his lap, Maurice performing his evening concert in the background.

Even if she wasn't ready to name it yet, even if she still needed time to heal and trust and grow – Jules knew what this was. Knew that all the waiting, all the patience, all the careful steps forward would be worth it.

Looking at her now, completely absorbed in her sketches, wearing one of his t-shirts like it belonged to her, Jules felt something settle in his chest. A certainty that hadn't been there before.

This was it. She was it. Everything else was just details they'd figure out together.

THE END….epilogue coming soon…..

#emjayewrites #jules lore #jules kounde #jules kounde fanfic #jules koundé fanfiction #jules x senait #in between the lines #footballer x black reader #footballer x reader #fcbarcelona fanfic #fc barcelona fanfic

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emjayewrites · 19 days ago

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I was planning on posting Chapter 9 of FBF but it's too triggering and deals with p*l*ce so would you guys like Part 2 of the Jules x Senait's story instead?

#emjayewrites #ask emjaye #jules x senait

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emjayewrites · 5 days ago

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are you with me or what? (fouled by fate epilogue) • aurelien tchouameni

SYNOPSIS: Aurélien Tchouaméni, one of football’s rising stars, is used to navigating the pressures of the pitch—but nothing could prepare him for an arranged marriage. With his family’s legacy and cultural traditions at stake, Aurélien reluctantly agrees to marry a woman he barely knows. But as they’re thrust into the public eye, sparks fly in unexpected ways. The two must navigate the complexities of love, duty, and fame, all while figuring out if they’re playing on the same team—or if their hearts are destined for different paths.

PAIRINGS: Aurélien Tchouaméni x Zuri Awanto Nchang (faceclaim Samira Ahmed @/iamsamiira)

WARNINGS: cursing, football b.s., dry humor/wit, slight arguing, friends to lovers, instant attraction, angst, eventual smut (18+/minors dni)

TAGLIST: @trenterprise @f1-football-fiend @lettersofgold @hopefulromantic1 @deonn-jaelle @perfecttrashface @2serenity0 @muglermami @sucredreamer @julescpu @azzurvertz @greyishbach @shelovesfootie @certifiedlesbianbaddie @trinitoldyouso @bbgkoo @lottins-only @pepfectionary @peyiswriting @rosiesdior @yeea-nah @kj77 @imjustheretomanifest @judesvirtual @whoevenisthiz

A/N: This is the official end to ZuZu & Aurelien's story! I can't believe we are done! ZuZu and Aurelien are my OTP - I'm so happy to complete their story.

The last echoes of the crowd’s chants still hung in the air as Zuri made her way down the stadium steps, linking arms with Lila and Senait. The outcome of El Clásico had been brutal: Real Madrid had suffered a harsh 0-4 loss to FC Barcelona. Despite the sting of defeat, Zuri found herself laughing with her friends, her spirits lifted by the infectious energy surrounding them.

Senait was the most surprising of them all. She had spent the match enthusiastically cheering for Jules, and seeing her wave her Barcelona scarf and shout his name had almost felt surreal. Now, as they waited for the players to emerge from the showers, Zuri couldn’t resist teasing her.

"Never thought I’d see the day," Zuri mused, nudging Senait. "You really are Jules’ number one fan now, huh?"

Senait rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. "Don’t get used to it. It’s a one-time thing," she quipped, though her gaze flicked to the tunnel with undeniable anticipation.

Lila snickered, while Zuri exchanged a knowing look with her. Jules and Senait might have been taking things slow, but today’s public display of support spoke volumes.

As the players finally began filtering out, Zuri’s heart softened at the sight of Aurélien. Despite the loss, he held his head high, his hair still damp and his shoulders tense from the intense match. She stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him, offering comfort.

"You were amazing out there," she whispered, even if the score said otherwise.

Aurélien exhaled, the frustration still evident in his eyes, but he softened at her touch. "Merci, mon cœur," he murmured, leaning into her embrace.

Meanwhile, Jules emerged with a smug grin, immediately gravitating toward Senait. His confidence was unshaken, and the chemistry between them was undeniable. Zuri couldn’t help but smile, happy that her friends were finding their way, too.

Jude, however, was another story. His disappointment was palpable, and his jaw was set in a hard line. Lila noticed, slipping her hand into his and whispering something softly. The concern in her eyes spoke of their deepening connection, and she led him away, promising to catch up with the group later.

The scene shifted quickly after that. By the time Zuri and Aurélien were back in their home, the focus had turned from football to something far more exciting: packing for New York City. Malik’s engagement party was just around the corner, and Zuri carefully folded her dress into her suitcase. The gown, a stunning piece designed by a renowned Eritrean designer, honored Brynn’s heritage with intricate, hand-stitched patterns that shimmered under the light. The rich gold and deep red fabric felt like a celebration in itself, and she couldn’t wait to wear it.

Aurélien came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "You look like you’re daydreaming," he teased.

She leaned back into him, a smile spreading across her lips. "Just thinking about how far we’ve come."

Indeed, so much had changed. Zuri had filed the restraining order against her father, and Aurélien had secured a cease and desist letter, deciding not to press for defamation. Malik had been her rock throughout the ordeal, and her mother had begun to find her own strength. Now living with Malik and his fiancée, Brynn, her mother was healing, and Zuri’s relationship with her was growing stronger by the day. The future, once clouded with uncertainty, now felt full of promise.

Madison Square Garden felt like coming home in a different way for Aurélien. He'd been to countless Knicks games over the years, but this was his first time bringing Zuri. Usually, he'd come with Jules, Cama, or other football friends during off-season breaks, but watching Zuri's excitement as they walked through the tunnel to their courtside seats hit differently.

"I still can't believe you're a Knicks fan," she said, settling into her seat. "Thought all Europeans were obsessed with the Lakers."

Aurélien grinned. "Been coming here since I was nineteen. The Garden just hits different."

A few of the regular courtside faces nodded in recognition – they were used to seeing him here during his NYC trips. Jalen Brunson came over during warm-ups, dapping him up.

"Thought you had a match this weekend," Jalen said.

"It got postponed," Aurélien explained, then turned to Zuri. "Babe, this is JB. JB, my fiancée Zuri."

Jalen's eyes widened. "Fiancée? When did this happen? Last time you were here you were talking about focusing solely on football."

Aurélien glanced at Zuri, who was trying not to laugh. "Long story, bro."

The game itself was electric – Knicks versus Cavs always brought intensity. Aurélien found himself splitting his attention between the court and Zuri, loving how she got into the game's rhythm.

"Your brother teach you all this?" he asked during a timeout.

"Please. Malik wishes he taught me about basketball," she shot back, making him laugh.

Speaking of Malik – tomorrow's engagement party loomed in Aurélien's mind. A chance for both families to come together, to show that the drama with Ernest was behind them. Zuri seemed to read his thoughts.

"Stop worrying," she said, squeezing his hand. "Tomorrow will be perfect."

His attention shifted back to the game as the Knicks went on a run. The Garden erupted, that familiar electricity he loved filling the arena. Zuri jumped up beside him, caught in the moment, and he pulled her close when she sat back down.

During halftime, they grabbed drinks – him sticking to water while Zuri nursed a beer. The second half was even better than the first. Knicks pulled ahead in the fourth quarter, Brunson hitting clutch shots that had the crowd going wild. Watching Zuri celebrate each basket, trash-talking with the Cavs fans nearby, Aurélien felt that familiar warmth in his chest.

When the final buzzer sounded – Knicks winning 115-109 – Aurélien felt that familiar Garden high. Zuri was still arguing with a Cavs fan about a questionable call in the third quarter, her energy infectious.

"Come on," he laughed, pulling her away. "Don't start an international incident."

"Did you see that travel though?" she protested as they made their way through the tunnel.

"Clearly you've been watching too much football. Getting all technical about rules. I see you, lil' ref."

The night air hit them as they exited MSG, the city alive with its usual energy. They'd both walked these streets countless times, but tonight felt different. Maybe because tomorrow would change everything – Malik and Brynn's engagement party marking a new chapter for their families.

"You're thinking too loud," Zuri said, wrapping both arms around one of his as they walked.

"Just thinking about tomorrow. Your father—"

"Won't be there," she finished firmly. "Mom's coming though. And she's excited about the traditional dances Brynn's family has planned."

Aurélien nodded, remembering the last conversation with Zuri's mother. The way she'd apologized, really apologized, for doubting him. For letting Ernest's lies cloud her judgment.

They walked past the bright lights of Penn Station, the sidewalks still bustling despite the late hour. A few people recognized him, but no one really cared about European football players in this city.

"You know what I love about being here?" he said, guiding Zuri around a halal cart. "No one cares that I play for Madrid."

"Humble," she teased. "But I get it. It's nice being normal sometimes."

They stopped at Zuri's favorite late-night spot – a hole-in-the-wall pizza place she'd discovered in college. The owner, Tony, brightened when he saw them, and Aurélien was surprised that he remembered him from his last visit with Zuri weeks ago.

"Lil' Zu and her soccer boy! Where ya been?"

"Back in Madrid," Aurélien explained, ordering their usual slice. "Here for my future brother-in-law's engagement party."

"Malik's finally doing it, huh?" Tony said, sliding their pizza across the counter. He'd heard all about her family during her previous late-night visits. "About time."

As they settled into their usual corner booth, Aurélien watched Zuri devour her slice. These simple moments – pizza at midnight, post-game highs, walking New York streets – felt precious now. After everything with Ernest, every peaceful moment felt like a victory.

"Stop," Zuri said, not looking up from her pizza.

"Stop what?"

"Looking at me like that. All soft and worried." She met his eyes. "Tomorrow is about Malik and Brynn. About celebration. No drama."

"Tomorrow's going to be beautiful," Aurélien said, stealing a bite of her pizza. "The venue Brynn chose, mixing both of their personalities... it's perfect for them."

"Like us at our engagement party," Zuri smiled. "Though with less family drama."

"Your mom's been different lately," he observed. "More like herself."

"She is. Finally seeing clearly again." Zuri wiped her hands on a napkin. "She keeps apologizing, you know. For believing him."

"She's your mother. She was scared."

"Still. The way she treated you..." Zuri shook her head. "But tomorrow's not about that."

They finished their pizza and headed out into the night again. A car zoomed by, hip-hop blaring from its windows. Tomorrow would be all tradition and family, cultural dances, and ceremonial blessings. But tonight was just them – a footballer and his fiancée, full of pizza and post-game excitement, walking New York streets like any other couple.

"We should head back," Zuri said eventually. "Early morning tomorrow. Brynn will kill me if I'm late helping with preparations."

Aurélien flagged down a cab, but before opening the door, he pulled Zuri in for a kiss. She tasted like pizza and possibility, like home and adventure all at once.

"What was that for?" she asked when they parted.

"Because I can," he smiled. "Because we made it through everything. Because tomorrow we get to celebrate love winning."

"Not you being a full-on sap."

"Only with you."

The cab ride back to their hotel was quiet, Zuri curled into his side, both of them watching the city blur past. Tomorrow would be grand and meaningful, but these moments – just them, just peace – were the ones Aurélien treasured most.

_______________________________________________

The evening was vibrant, alive with the rhythms of Cameroonian and Eritrean music blending seamlessly. The venue in Brooklyn had been transformed into a kaleidoscope of culture, draped in colorful fabrics and traditional decor. Brynn looked radiant, her intricate Habesha kemis dress sparkling under the twinkling lights, while Malik beamed with pride beside her.

Zuri’s dress caught the attention of many, the gold and red fabric flowing around her as she moved through the crowd. She found her mother near the dance floor, and before she knew it, they were swaying together to the beat, laughing like they hadn’t in years. The weight of the past few months seemed to lift in that moment, replaced by the pure joy of celebrating love and family.

Aurélien soon joined them, his broad smile lighting up his face as he pulled Zuri into his arms. They danced together, caught up in the music, the energy of the room, and the warmth of each other. Zuri felt her heart swell with happiness. They had faced so much, but love had carried them through every storm.

Malik’s voice cut through the music as he raised a toast, his arm around Brynn. "To family, to love, and to the future we’re all building together!" he declared, his deep voice full of emotion.

The room erupted in cheers, and Zuri felt tears prick her eyes. She caught Aurélien’s gaze, and he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"I love you," he whispered.

Zuri looked up at him, her smile radiant. "I love you too."

They danced into the night, surrounded by laughter, love, and the promises of tomorrow.

in december…

The Alpine air was crisp, a delicate chill carrying the scent of pine and freshly fallen snow. Megève looked like something out of a snow globe, with its cozy chalets draped in twinkling fairy lights and the hum of holiday cheer spilling from bustling cafes. Zuri had never seen anything quite like it, she couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty around her.

The lodge buzzed with activity. Lila, bundled in a thick cable-knit sweater and her hair pulled back into a bun, was bustling around the kitchen, making hot cocoa for everyone. Jude stood beside her, watching with an amused expression as she meticulously arranged marshmallows on top of the steaming mugs.

Zuri joined them, her own chunky sweater swallowing her frame, and she reached for one of the mugs. "Is this your famous hot chocolate recipe?" she teased Lila, who was known for adding a secret ingredient to make it extra sweet.

Lila grinned. "Of course. Only the best for our holiday crew." She passed Zuri a mug, then handed another to Jude, who pulled her in for a kiss.

Watching them, Zuri couldn’t help but feel a pang of happiness for her friend. Lila and Jude’s relationship had grown so much, and it was clear how deeply they cared for each other. Their love had a quiet strength to it, something Zuri admired and felt inspired by in her own relationship with Aurélien.

As she sipped her cocoa, she glanced over at Senait, who was lounging on one of the benches outside. Senait was bundled in what looked to a sweater belonging to Jules, her dark curls framed her thoughtful expression as she watched the snowflakes fall. Zuri's eyes then moved to Jules, who made his way into the kitchen to grab a mug of cocoa.

What's going on with these two? she wondered before grabbing another mug and making her way outside.

"Senait," Zuri's voice broke, appearing beside her best friend. "You're doing that thing again."

"What thing?"

"That soft smile you get when you look at Jules." Zuri handed her a mug. "You know, the one you swore you'd never have?"

Senait accepted the cocoa, breathing in the sweet aroma. "Therapy's helping," she admitted. "Making me see things differently."

"Like?"

"Like maybe being scared of something good is worse than risking getting hurt." Senait took a sip of her cocoa. "And maybe Jules is worth the risk."

Zuri's smile was knowing. "Finally figured that out, huh?"

Inside, laughter erupted from the kitchen. Jules had lifted Lila away from the stove, declaring her marshmallow-to-cocoa ratio "criminally sweet." Jude was recording the whole thing while Lila protested in between giggles.

"They're good people," Senait said softly. "Your friends."

"Our friends now," Zuri corrected. "That's what happens when you stop fighting the good things, Sen."

Later that afternoon, the group made their way to the ski resort, the mountain a breathtaking landscape of pristine white snow. Zuri had never skied before, and she was grateful to have Aurélien as her instructor. Dressed in sleek ski gear, he looked every bit the confident athlete, and she couldn’t help but tease him as he helped her adjust her boots.

"Are you sure you won’t leave me stranded at the top of the mountain? Like how Gabriel did to Emily?" she joked, her nerves bubbling to the surface.

"Fuck no," Aurélien scoffed, standing up then leaning in to kiss her nose. "I’ve got you, mon cœur. Always."

She rolled her eyes but felt her cheeks warm at his words. With Aurélien’s patient guidance, she managed to make it down the bunny slope without falling too many times, and by the end of their practice session, she was laughing so hard that her sides ached.

Senait and Jules had opted for snowboarding, and they moved together with an ease that spoke of unspoken understanding. There was a connection between them that couldn’t be denied. Senait caught Zuri’s eye at one point, and they shared a grin, both of them feeling the joy of the moment.

Jude and Lila, on the other hand, had ventured further up the mountain, their playful banter echoing through the air as they raced each other down the slope. When they finally rejoined the group, Lila was breathless and giggling, while Jude wore a triumphant smirk.

"I totally won," Jude declared, though Lila was quick to argue.

"No way! You cheated, and you know it!" she accused, her laughter spilling out as she playfully smacked his arm.

Watching them, Zuri felt a contentment settle over her. There was something magical about being surrounded by love and friendship, especially during the holiday season.

________________________________

The next day, Before Lila and Jude headed to the airport for his family’s Christmas celebration in Norway, the group had planned a special late lunch at a charming mountain restaurant, complete with twinkling lights and a roaring fireplace. Zuri had dressed in a velvet green dress that hugged her curves, and Aurélien couldn’t stop staring.

Much later that night, as Zuri and Aurélien lay in bed, tangled in each other’s arms, she felt a deep sense of gratitude. This year had been a whirlwind, full of highs and lows, but it had led her here, to this moment, with the man she loved.

Aurélien kissed her forehead, his voice soft in the darkness. "Merry Christmas Eve, mon amour."

Zuri smiled, her heart full. "Merry Christmas Eve, Aurélien."

And as the snow continued to fall outside, blanketing Megève in its gentle embrace, Zuri knew that this Christmas would be one she’d cherish forever.

THE END........

PLEASE CHECK OUT IN BETWEEN THE LINES FOR JULES & SENAIT'S STORY BUT HERE'S SOMETHING FIRST.....

June 2030

The morning sun streamed into the room, casting a golden glow over Aurélien and Zuri as they lay entangled in each other’s arms, the remnants of their passion still heavy in the air. Zuri, now seven months pregnant with their second child, tried to catch her breath, smiling at the way Aurélien’s fingers traced patterns over the swell of her belly. He kissed her shoulder, his lips warm against her skin, and grinned.

"You’re insatiable, you know that?" Zuri teased, her voice breathy but amused.

Aurélien chuckled, pressing another kiss to her neck. "I can’t help it. You’re beautiful like this." His hands gently cupped her belly, and she rolled her eyes at his shameless adoration.

"Right," she replied, laughing softly. "Enjoy it while you can, because after this one, I’m done. Two is the limit."

Aurélien gave her a mock-horrified look. "We’ll see," he teased, but Zuri playfully smacked his chest, making him laugh again.

______________________________________________

"Eti, please don’t give Mama and Papa any trouble today," Zuri begged as she finished packing the diaper bag. Aurélien walked in, effortlessly lifting their wriggling son and planting kisses on his chubby cheeks, eliciting a giggle from the baby.

"Ready to go?" Aurélien asked, his tone full of the practiced patience of a seasoned dad.

Zuri nodded, her fingers trailing over her bump. "Let’s hope Eti behaves for Uncle Jude and Auntie Lila."

Yet, as fate would have it, the drive to Lewis' Tuscan villa was interrupted by a major blowout. They’d suspected it might happen, which is why Eti wasn’t in his little wedding suit yet. By the time they changed him in the car, both parents were laughing and shaking their heads in disbelief.

"Alright, second outfit of the day," Zuri declared, her voice dry with humor.

Inside, Zuri was greeted with the familiar chaos of a wedding day, and an hour after they arrived, her son had another blowout. She cradled Eti as they navigated through the villa, finally arriving at the groom's room, where Jude and his groomsmen were making last-minute preparations. She paused just outside, bumping into Lila's maid of honor, Jade, who was rushing by.

"Hey, Zuri!" Jade called, then noticed Eti's situation. "Oh no, another one?"

"Would you mind?" Zuri asked, nodding towards her son.

"Of course not. Come here, sweet boy," Jade cooed, taking Eti. "I'll watch him while you talk to the guys."

Zuri then poked her head into the groom's room, spotting Jude among his groomsmen. All the guys were dressed in their tuxes, the room thick with cigar smoke and laughter. She made a beeline to her husband and whispered in his ear.

"Another blowout?" Aurélien asked, kissing his teeth in exasperation. "I'll be right back. Eti had another blowout."

"Damn, what are you guys feeding him?" Trent joked, adjusting his bow tie.

"Seriously," Jobe added with a laugh. "Give him some medicine or something. Poor lil' dude has to have tummy issues."

Zuri was about to follow her husband out when Jude caught her wrist. "How's Li doin'?" he asked, nervous energy radiating off him.

She folded her arms over her bump, giving him a pointed look. "No, I can't tell you anything."

"What? Not even if she's okay?" Jude deployed those puppy dog eyes that probably worked wonders on Lila. "Please, Zu, just tell me."

"Fine," she groaned dramatically, leaning in closer. "She's eating... and crying because your Mum gifted her something blue. It was your grandmother's earrings."

"At least she's eating," Jude mused.

"Yeah... weird stuff too... like she's—" Zuri stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowing as she studied Jude's face. She leaned in to whisper, "She's pregnant?"

Jude's smug grin was all the confirmation she needed.

"Wow, wasted no time, did you?" she teased, though she couldn't hide her surprise.

"They both have my last name, so it doesn't matter," Jude shrugged, still grinning.

Zuri shook her head, laughing softly as she left the room. Trust these two to start their family before they even made it down the aisle. But then again, who was she to judge? She found Aurélien holding a wriggling Eti while thanking Jade profusely for watching him.

"Two blowouts already," Zuri gave a tired but amused sigh. "He's determined to make today memorable."

Jade laughed. "It wouldn't be a family event without some chaos."

They found a bathroom and changed Eti into a plain shirt and chinos, deciding to fully forgo the suit. As Aurélien gave him some medicine to settle his stomach, he shook his head. "Maybe those strawberries for breakfast weren't such a good idea."

"We should probably make an appointment with Dr. Martinez when we get back to Madrid," Zuri mused as they left the bathroom, watching their son's face for any sign of discomfort.

"Hey, Jules and Senait are here," he said, nodding down the hallway.

Senait's face was flushed, eyes brimming with frustrated tears. At five months pregnant with her and Jules' first child, she was visibly emotional. Jules' face had concern etched into his features as he tried to soothe her.

"What happened?" Zuri asked, rushing over.

Senait sniffled. "I wanted a chocolate bar from that shop we loved in Florence, but they're out. And it's not available anywhere else in Italy!"

"Oh honey," Zuri pulled her into a hug, careful of her bump. "Pregnancy cravings are the worst."

"It's not just cravings," Senait hiccupped. "I wanted to share it with the baby. Tell them about our first trip to Florence, how their papa scored the winning goal that night."

Zuri bit back a laugh, exchanging a knowing look with Aurélien. "Hey, they've got some amazing snacks in Lila's room," she said, wrapping her arm around Senait. "Go on, I promise it'll make you feel better."

Aurélien smiled, his eyes drifting back to Zuri. "Tell me about it." He adjusted Eti, who was now babbling happily, oblivious to the chaos he'd caused.

"I'm taking Eti to the groom's room," Aurélien informed Zuri, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

Zuri watched them leave, her heart swelling with love. Despite the mishaps and the stress, there was a deep sense of peace she felt in moments like these. Her family was her world, and as she made her way to check on Lila one last time, she couldn't help but think about how blessed they all were to share in this day.

Lila was fussing over the final details of her dress, looking every bit the fairytale bride and Senait was in much better spirits.

"Sometimes I still can't believe this is my life," Senait admitted softly from the couch. "Barcelona, Jules, the baby... if you'd told me six years ago this is where I'd end up..."

"You'd have run screaming in the opposite direction?" Lila supplied.

"Probably."

"And now look at you," Zuri stepped in and squeezed her hand. "Living your dream life with your dream man, growing your dream baby."

Tear welled up in Senait's eyes. "Stop, I just fixed my makeup."

"Blame the hormones," Lila suggested cheerfully.

A knock at the door interrupted their laughter. Jules poked his head in, his expression softening when he saw his wife surrounded by snacks and friends.

"Better?" he asked.

Senait nodded, holding out her hand. He crossed the room to take it, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Guess what?" Zuri heard him murmur to Senait. "Aurélien made some calls. That chocolate shop? They're sending a box directly to Barcelona. Should be there when we get home."

Tears spilled from Senait's eyes. "I love you," she said to Jules.

"Je t'aime aussi, mon coeur." Jules' hand found her bump. "Both of you."

Zuri's heart swelled at their tender exchange. Sometimes, her friends could be too adorable for words.

"And on that disgustingly sweet note," Lila announced, making every stare at her, "I need to finish getting ready. I have a wedding to star in."

The bridal stylist jumped in at that moment and helped Lila with her veil.

When she was done, Zuri placed a gentle hand on her friend's shoulder. "You look so perfect," she whispered, her eyes taking in the custom Zuhair Murad gown that fitted Lila exquisitely.

Lila smiled, her eyes glistening. "Thanks, Zu. I just can't believe this is finally happening."

Zuri smiled, her hand resting protectively over her bump. "Believe it, girl. This is your moment."

_____________________________________________

Looking around the small, recently renovated church at the edge of Lewis' Tuscan estate, Zuri couldn't help but smile. It had been six years since Jude first fell in love with Lila, and now here they were. The white roses and silk drapery seemed to glow in the Italian sunlight, the entire setting as romantic as anyone could dream.

Her hand rested on her bump as she thought about her own journey. Aurélien's proposal in late 2025, their wedding in 2026, deciding to wait for kids until she felt ready. Now here they were, expecting their second while Eti, safely nestled in Jules' arms in the crowd, kept them on their toes. So much had happened in those years - Aurélien's Ballon d'Or, France's Euro and World Cup victories, and her own success in building one of Madrid's most respected boutique influencer marketing agencies. Life had unfolded in ways she never could have imagined when she first arrived in Madrid.

The sound of "Ave Maria" starting pulled her from her thoughts. It was time. As she stood in her place with the other bridesmaids, Zuri caught Aurélien's eye across the aisle where he stood with the other groomsmen. He winked at her, and her heart swelled just as it had the first time they met. She watched as Anthony walked Lila down the aisle, tears streaming down his face, barely able to speak when the priest asked who gave this woman away. Lewis had to step forward to comfort their father, and Zuri felt her own eyes welling up at the emotion of it all.

Some arrangements might start unconventionally, but they could still lead to the most beautiful love stories. Looking at Jude and Lila exchanging their vows, at Lewis’ three daughters, at her own growing family, Zuri knew this to be true. Love had its own timeline, its own way of working things out.

______________________________________

six months later…..

The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over their Madrid home's garden, transformed for Zulaika's naming ceremony. Aurélien watched with pride as Zuri, dressed in vibrant traditional fabric, spoke confidently in Bamum and French, directing the preparations with an ease that made his heart swell.

This was a far cry from the uncertain woman he'd met six years ago. Now she commanded respect effortlessly, switching between languages as she consulted with Elder Nkeng and greeted arriving family members.

Mamie Adzoa, Zuri's grandmother, hadn't stopped beaming since she arrived from Cameroon, constantly cooing at four-month-old Zulaika in her arms. The sight reminded Aurélien of Etienne's ceremony - how nervous they'd both been then, first-time parents trying to honor traditions while navigating modern life.

"Your wife has grown into her heritage beautifully," Elder Nkeng commented to Aurélien in Bamum, nodding approvingly as Zuri organized the ceremonial elements.

Amina, Zuri's mother, was directing the food preparation, while Malik and his wife Brynn struggled to keep their twins from disrupting the carefully arranged offerings. The boys had been much smaller at Etienne's ceremony, barely walking. Now they were energetic four-year-olds, fascinated by their new baby cousin.

As Elder Nkeng began the blessing, bestowing Zulaika with her ceremonial name - Ngouenet, meaning "blessed gift" - Aurélien caught Zuri's eye. They'd already planned their next trip to Cameroon, waiting until Zulaika turned nine months and completed her vaccinations. Just like they'd done with Eti, they would introduce their daughter to her ancestral homeland.

The ceremony blended traditional elements with modern touches - ancient Bamiléké blessings alongside contemporary celebrations. It was a perfect reflection of their family: rooted in tradition but growing into something uniquely their own.

"Photos!" Brynn called out, corralling her twins. Aurélien stood next to Zuri, who held Zulaika while Etienne stood in front of them. Mamie Adzoa insisted on being seated in front next to her great-grandchildren, her face glowing with pride.

"En français!" someone called.

"Non, en Bamum!" another voice contested.

"Just smile!" Malik laughed.

After the formal photos, Aurélien pulled Zuri close, pressing his lips to hers in a tender kiss. Malik's twins made exaggerated gagging sounds while the adults chuckled.

"I love you," Aurélien murmured against her lips.

Zuri's eyes sparkled as she looked up at him. "I love you more," she replied, then added in Bamum, "Forever and always."

Watching their families blend together - his parents chatting with Mamie Adzoa through a mix of gestures and translated phrases, their children being doted on by relatives from both sides - Aurélien felt complete. This was everything he never knew he needed until Zuri walked into his life.

#emjayewrites #aurelien tchouameni #aurelien tchouameni x zuri awanto nchang #aurelien tchouameni x black oc #aurelien tchouameni x reader #real madrid fanfic #footballer x black reader #footballer x reader #fouled by fate

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emjayewrites · 24 days ago

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ABOUT ME:

call me mj/emjaye • 27 • teamlh

my fics include either a black reader or oc, if you can’t get with that then ✌🏾

FOOTBALL BAES UNIVERSE:

these are all of my works highlighting a interconnected world between 4 footballers and their significant others. links go to first chapter in series.

hey there, delilah (jude bellingham x lila hamilton) synopsis: real madrid football star jude bellingham has had a big crush on delilah “lila” hamilton, the younger sister of formula 1 legend lewis hamilton, for a while.

fouled by fate (aurélien tchouaméni x zuri awanto nchang): synopsis: aurélien tchouaméni, one of football’s rising stars, is used to navigating the pressures of the pitch—but nothing could prepare him for an arranged marriage.

one shots: monster mash (jobe bellingham x justine)

novellas: in between the lines (jules koundé x senait kiros) — part i, part ii, part iii, part iv, part v synopsis: at zuri’s engagement party, senait meets her best friend’s fiancé, aurélien, and his friend, jules.

MASTERLIST

dividers @cafekitsune

#emjayewrites #football baes universe #jules kounde #jude bellingham #jobe bellingham #aurelien tchouameni #hey there delilah #fouled by fate

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emjayewrites · 16 days ago

Note

https://youtu.be/HtCVz3EimUs?si=iQCZgizMI9mOSQvS

Listened to this after a while and it instantly reminded me of Jules & Senait

I can see where it would remind you of them. For me it’s definitely Saturn by SZA or Brain by Banks. I have a whole Jules x Senait playlist lmao.

#emjayewrites #ask emjaye

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emjayewrites · 20 days ago

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@hopefulromantic1 sexy confident Jules is seriously the freaking best! This man!!!! I love him so much.

in between the lines • jules kounde (1/4)

PAIRINGS: Jules Koundé x Senait Kiros (@/subanbrn)

WARNINGS: football b.s., cursing, smut, drama, mentions of cheating/past relationships, dominant!jules. MINORS DNI (18+)

TAGLIST: @trenterprise @f1-football-fiend @lettersofgold @hopefulromantic1 @deonn-jaelle @vile-harlot @perfecttrashface @queenshikongo3 @2serenity0 @essaysbyciara @saturnville @trentswrld @planetmimi @muglermami @shepgurl @sucredreamer @julescpu @tchouathon @greyishbach @shelovesfootie @certifiedlesbianbaddie @trinitoldyouso @greedyjudge2 @elyseesarchive