YOUR BOYFRIEND, JULES KOUNDÉ, IS ELEGANCE IN HUMAN FORM— not just in how he dresses or moves on the pitch, but in the way he owns every moment without ever trying.

Fire wrapped in calm. Talent wrapped in humility. Confidence wrapped in that devastating smirk he saves just for you.

And tonight? Tonight he was unreal.

Barcelona were down 0–1 at halftime. Then your Jules — calm, sharp, unstoppable — decided he wasn’t letting the night slip away.

Minute 50: Goal. Minute 53: Another.

Two goals in three minutes. Barcelona 2–1 Eintracht Frankfurt. Man of the Match. The hero, the name everyone was chanting.

And still… the first person he wanted afterward?

You.

—

You’re waiting in the Players & Family parking lot, already buzzing because you know exactly what he’s like after a game like that.

Then he appears.

God.

Still in his designer coat, chains catching the light, curls perfect, jaw unfairly sharp. He looks like he just stepped off a runway and onto a scoresheet.

And that smirk.

The one that’s pure heat, pure promise.

He stops right in front of you, eyes dropping to your lips before meeting yours again.

“Well?” he murmurs, voice low. “Did I make you proud?”

As if he didn’t just carry the entire match alone.

Before you can answer, he slides a hand to your waist, the other brushing your jaw, slow and intentional.

“You were beautiful when you were cheering,” he whispers. “And now…” his gaze drags over you, hungry, sure, “now I want you all to myself.”

The smirk deepens.

“Come on,” he breathes, leaning close, “let’s go celebrate properly.”

And you know— from that look alone— Jules Koundé isn’t done winning tonight.