interdit, ˚⊹ jules koundé

𝟎𝟎𝟑.

𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡, 𝐦𝐲 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬

several pairs of eyes followed jules onto the pitch, as he nervously made his way over to where the girls were stretching. their comments and whispers didn't fall short of his sharp ears, and all he could do was try to block them out.

he had never imagined training with a group of athletes who were both smaller, and weaker than him could be so daunting; he kept his head down as he warmed up his hamstrings.

his own train of thought was so encapsulating, that he hadn't noticed someone had come to stand right next to him.

"you're going to have to change your shirt." a female voice demanded nonchalantly, and jules glanced up to be met with a pair of onyx eyes that sliced right through him. he noticed her stature, she had her arms folded dominantly, with a disinterested glare upon her face.

"why's that?" he muttered, staring up at her as he was currently kneeling during part of his stretch.

she pointed at herself. "i'm the number five around here. if you wanna be one of us, when you're on my pitch you follow my rules." she told him indignantly, as the warm, catalonian wind nipped at the two defenders.

he glanced at her bicep, and found the captain's armband he had been expecting.

"no, i don't want to be one of you." he spat. "i'm here because i have no other option." 

"really? because from what i heard, you asked to be here." the woman turned around deftly, catching a ball from one of her teammates.

"technical drills in five minutes, aline?" the pale brunette who had thrown the ball called, sporting a british accent and a cold stare as she eyed jules up and down and laughed.

"yes, i'll see you there in a moment, bronze." the captain replied, before turning back to face the man. "did you, or did you not?" she cocked her head to the side.

jules rolled his eyes. "i'm barcelona's number five, and i won't be changing my shirt." he stood up from his stretches and mirrored her actions, folding his arms.

"then you won't play on my pitch." she shrugged, shaking her head and walking away from the boy.

he watched his favourite number ripple on her back, it shrank in size as she retreated further away from him. "you look way too delicate to be a number five. you sure you're not just pretending?" he scoffed.

aline paused in her tracks, slowly turning around in a manner that shook jules' nerves slightly. "excuse me?"

jules didn't respond, but simply returned her unforgiving stare. she shook her head in disbelief, and marched back over to him. 

"who do you think you are?" she sneered.

"jules koundé." he shrugged. "2018 world cup winner, barcelona's best number five." he smirked.

"well, jules koundé." she mocked him. "this is the women's team, and as of right now, you're not welcome here." she spat. "now go change your fucking shirt, before i call your boss and have you sent back to the under fifteen's B team." 

──★ ˙ ̟🌷 !!

is it really one of my stories 

if the tension in the first few chapters 

couldn't be cut w a knife?

♡