Alexia has got to stop putting Catalan TV shows on and expecting me to sit there and watch them with her. Usually, I'll wait around five minutes before pushing her down on the sofa, sometimes to distract her, other times to fall asleep. It's unfair that today I can't afford to be groggy from a nap, and have been surviving on three coffees since training ended.

Bored out of my mind and with places to be, I make a move, unfurling my legs and planting my feet onto the floor. Stopped by a loud protest, I turn to Alexia with a frown. "I don't want to watch it," I say, tired of lying for her sake. Jaimie is already bullying me about turning from orange to red. (It's not true.)

"But it's so good!" She grabs my wrist, pulling me back down.

"I need to get ready."

"Get ready for what? To finish season three with me?" She scoffs, "amor, if anything, I'd want you to get undressed." She places a kiss on my knuckles with the intent of trailing up my forearm until she reaches my bicep, but I catch her chin with my free hand and shake my head.

"To go out with the team." Her confusion is evident, head tilted to the side, lips puckered but frozen in a pout. "Were you not invited, capi?" She mumbles something I don't hear, and I see the clock hands point dangerously close to the time Mapi said we'd leave by. "Ale, I promised, and I don't like being late."

"I thought we were going to stay in," she says quietly. "But you're... going out?"

"Well, yeah. Ingrid asked me to."

"So you're actually going to go?"

"Why do I get the sense that you turned down the invitation?"

The blankets on the sofa rustle against the cushions as she shifts her weight in a fidgeting guiltiness. "No." It's a lie. "No, no. I am coming too. Go, get ready. See you in..."

"An hour," I provide, saving her ego because I really do like her and one must sacrifice victories for those they–

"Yes! An hour, of course. Vístete, amor, y nos vemos prontito."

"And Ingrid and Mapi."

"And Ingrid and Mapi," she parrots. "Esmee, too."

I shake my head, amused by her failing attempt to cover up what she must have perceived to be a nice quiet night between the two of us; "no, she has university work to do. She's offered to pick me up if it's not too late, and then tomorrow she'd agreed to fetch breakfast."

There's a pause, and I hear Alexia's heart thump against her chest.

Then, curious and as cocky as she can make her recovery seem, "what are you going to wear?"

I smirk. "You'll see." With that, I escape her apartment as though it were filled with spiders and race downstairs to get myself sorted with as brilliant of an outfit as I've indirectly promised.

Esmee does not appreciate the sea of clothes I have drowned her bedroom in. She looks up from her laptop, typical unimpressed expression pencilled across her bored lips, eyes flickering down to the screen as she sees my face as if she has to force herself to care about my problems.

It is only when she takes in my wide eyes and pleading pout for help does she sigh – unnecessarily loudly, might I add – and point to a pile of one colour.

Right. One decision down.

"Do I wear a dress?" I then ask desperately, valuing her opinion because she will not lie to me if I choose something disastrous. "Is a skirt better, or, I don't know, trousers? And are you sure black is a good idea? Is it crossing a line if I get you to help me choose what goes underneath?"

She blinks.

I watch as she leans over to her bedside table and takes a long sip of water from the metal bottle she keeps beside her bed. Her hands hover for a moment before I hear the soft click-thud of her laptop closing, and then the groan she lets out as she stretches down to place the device on the floor. I am tempted to throw one of the things I have dumped on her bed at her if she draws out her answers any longer.

"Skirt, no, black is good, and you've already crossed all my lines by harassing me and sucking face with your girlfriend on the kitchen worktop yesterday morning when I was trying to eat my breakfast!"

It's my turn to be slightly speechless, deciphering her outburst as though I am losing the ability to speak my native language.

"Wait, so, black?" is the main takeaway. I think she hurls the top she wants me to wear at my head, followed by tactically off-target launches of the shoes I had presented to her as options earlier.

"Yes, black," sighs Esmee, huffing out the air as though I have just insulted her grandmother. "Now fuck off so I can work." I collect the majority of my things, knowing that she won't notice if I leave some stuff on the floor of her bedroom, seeing as though she hardly tidies up. It's a wonder Esmee knows what colour the planks beneath her feet are. Before I cross the threshold into shared space, she clears her throat. "And if you are coming back with Alexia, go to the apartment that isn't shared!"

━━━━━━━

The club is relatively crowded, despite us being ushered into the VIP section upon arrival. It's a mezzanine that overlooks the packed dance floor, and the music is just a touch quieter here.

We arrive as a four: Mapi, Ingrid, Alexia, and me. It's not out of the ordinary, especially considering we all live in the same building. Only Mapi teases Alexia, and after some passive aggressive words, she is dissuaded from disrupting the night.

I sit with Aitana and Ona, our new signing from Manchester United. Someone from the team hands me a vodka tonic, and the girls I am with don't argue when I suggest we all take a shot. I catch sight of a lighter – a flash of shiny purple hidden in a stranger's pocket – but rationalise with myself that here and Amsterdam are different places.

"How come you now wear fourteen?" slurs Ona, happily buzzed and leaning into the side of her friend with a grin. "Thought it was Aita's number, no?"

"It was," Aitana says as though she has already explained this. "We agreed to swap if we won the Champions, and we did that."

"I don't like it." It's been slightly odd seeing such familiar digits on the back of a red and blue jersey.

"You are too humble. The Ballon d'Or can't spend her season on top in a number that isn't hers." The honesty is nice to hear, and hard to deal with – as honesty often is. Aitana then smirks, glancing at Ona before angling herself towards me. "And you are now closer to Ale, so you can kiss whenever you want."

I laugh because it is the best way to shrug the comment off. "Alright, let's do shots!"

Alexia and her friends have been having their own fun, ignoring the rest of the team as they dance in their own little world.

Head clouded and spinning from the last round of shots (never tell Keira there's Fireball at the bar, note to future self), I grapple my way through the crowd, finding some bodies to belong to my teammates and others to their friends or strangers. My destination embraces me with an amused chuckle, whispering in my ear that I have miscalculated my route. "I'm not Alexia," Mapi murmurs, followed by another laugh as she finds herself to be the world's newest comedy star.

Mapi sets me upright, although the help really isn't needed. I grin and gear up to pass on my announcement. "We're doing body shots if you'd like to join."

"No, you are not," Alexia interjects with a frown, captain-mode initiated and apparent drunkenness forgotten. She barely pronounces her words, so I briefly commend myself for understanding what she has said.

"Who is 'we'?" Sandra asks, interested enough to have stopped swaying her and Alexia to the music.

I try to remember the list of names who are waiting at the bar. "Well, me," I start with, but the rest are lost to the depths of my mind the minute I flit my eyes from Sandra's to Alexia's. Dark, hooded, fuzzed with alcohol and filled with... "Me and Ona, I think. Hey, Mapi, I bet Ingrid could be convinced."

"We should get back to the others," Mapi begins to say, the easiest to convince. I snatch the defender's hand and drag her with me, because if one of them goes, it is almost certain the others will follow. I'm sure Alexia wouldn't pass on the opportunity to stand behind me tonight anyway, with Esmee's choice of skirt being so impeccable that she will never again not be consulted on what I should wear.

They're all distracted.

I place my hands on Alexia's waist, but it isn't enough for anyone to find us out. It looks more friendly than not.

"No," she says firmly before my question makes it out of my mouth. "Don't... don't give me that look!" Somehow, I am no longer holding her, instead occupying my hands with a pot of salt and a slice of lime. Still in the VIP section, the bartender doesn't seem too busy, and a quick sweep of our surroundings confirms that everyone we know has gone down to the main floor to dance.

"It'll be fun!" I encourage her, well aware of how I sound. I move closer, pressing my front against hers, feeling the heat of her body, smelling the scent of sweat lingering on her collarbones. I press a quick kiss to the juncture of her neck and shoulder. "Just one, and then I'll free you and you can go bore Jana with some regaling tale of tactics or something."

I know that she is going to fold as soon as my hair brushes her shoulders and my tongue runs along the side of her neck. It's inevitable; the sensation one that I have found Alexia simply cannot resist. I rely on this knowledge.

And I'm right.

She gives in and the salt must tingle her skin, the bitterness of the lime making her nose scrunch. The bartender pours me my tequila, not entirely impressed but also professional enough to not care.

After licking the salt from Alexia's skin, I press the shot glass to my lips, drawing out the process so that a tanned hand reaches into the space between us and nudges the bottom of the glass with a fingertip to coax the liquid down my throat. I swallow, pulled into Alexia soon after, my cheeks stretched as I grin. My teeth sink into the lime in her mouth so that there is now juice running down her chin, but I carry on grinning, all the way to when she spits out the green peel and wipes her face with the back of her palm.

"You're so sexy," I tell her after recovering from the burn of the tequila in my chest. I press the words into her ear like a secret kiss that only she can hear, and I intend to keep it that way. "Beautiful, too. Incredible, maybe." Alexia's hands run up and down my sides, indecisive about how low down she can get away with settling them. "Do you want to dance?"

Blushing, she nods.

It's very messy in the centre of the club.

The DJ booth is around ten metres away, and there is no one in the near vicinity who makes it clear that they know us. There are no teammates in sight, either. (We passed the edge of their huddle on our way into the crowd, only suffering a smirk from Ingrid.)

Alexia sings along to the noise bursting out of the speakers, arms resting on my shoulders now as her hips sway from side to side. I take in her outfit properly. It's tight and tasteful and revealing enough to remind me of exactly what is underneath. The silver fabric of her dress shines under the strobe lighting, catching the colours as though even physics cannot resist her.

We make eye contact and the noise rushes away, leaving us alone. I see flecks of green, brown, gold, all woven with the darkness of desire. Her gaze drops to my lips, and I do not need any persuasion to surge forwards and kiss her.

Alexia is not patient at all, grabbing me to get closer, sliding her tongue against my bottom lip to draw it between her teeth. My moan slips out involuntarily. I can feel her smile. "I'm trying very hard not to be too turned on right now," she somewhat chastises me. Her hands are almost too far down for it to be publicly acceptable, and her lips have taken a new course of action by exploring up and down my neck, so I take it as a compliment.

It's hot in the club with all of these people around, but nothing compares to the searing warmth of her teeth grazing just above my collarbone and my hands scraping her hair back. She's relishing my quiet whimpers that keep on becoming audible, doing more, biting, sucking, kissing. The lights flash, almost a blinding white, so I look down at her instead, dropping the bleached curls that fill my hands, watching them fall back against her as softly as snow floats to the ground. My fingers grip her chin, now, bringing her face back to mine, bringing her back to me.

"Hòstia," moans Alexia as I take my turn to bite and suck and make her feel good. Her fingers play with the hem of my skirt, pulling it down, pushing it up, deciding whether she can wait. Of course I'm going to make her wait if she can't, because I don't want that getting out, but I let her entertain the thought because finding her sweet spot when the stupid drink is hitting me has become harder than expected.

I do find it, and it has her biting her tongue, but when I meet her piercing eyes again they've changed and she's alert. "Let's go back," I almost beg, if not for the fact I don't want to be here anymore, then because there's been a growing ache between my legs ever since she touched me. "Ale, let's go." I take her hand and tug it gently, trying to pull her out of whatever's turned my girlfriend into a statue. She nods slowly after a second. I turn around to find a gap in the web of people, finding myself staring straight up at Alba Putellas, who laughs and steps aside.

"Millor que em truquis demà al matí, Alex. Has d'explicar alguna cosa."

I have no idea what Alexia's response is, because I am whisked away too quickly to even begin to translate from Catalan to Spanish (and then to English).

In the morning, after Alexia has spent a lengthy amount of time sitting on her balcony and arguing with her sister over the phone, I get extended a tentative invite to a 'small family dinner'. I'm glad that I have a busy day of admin to distract me from my inability to give her an answer. 

notes: 

Millor que em truquis demà al matí, Alex. Has d'explicar alguna cosa = u better call me tmrw morning, you've got some explaining to do (badly translated Catalan defo bc I can't for the life of me get my head around it without sitting down and decoding it)

OKAY OKAY 

I HAVE THINGS TO SAY ABT THIS 

firstly, one of the tasks fleur had to do was approve the list of interviewees for her doc. it currently consists of

Jaimie 

Fleur 

Pieter de Voss (father)

Anna Wilson (mother)

Jonatan Giraldez (Fleur's coach)

Emma Hayes (Fleur's ex-coach)

Leah Williamson (Jaimie's girlfriend)

Lize (cousin)

Juan Ruiz (Jaimie's coach)

Iga Swiatek (Jaimie's competitor)

to name a few! probs sarina wiegman for fleur's segment too, and some tennis hall of famers for jaimie 

second, sandra and mapi knew that alexia was only there for fleur. fleur doesn't know that this is one of alexia's first times going out during the season with no reason behind it, but the team does. though mapi knows alexia is there for fleur because they're dating, everyone else just takes it as Alexia pining lol

ALSO on tumblr I posted a little imagine art how leah proposed to jaimie so go check that out x 

there are more imagines to come so if u sent in a request, just letting u know that I've seen it and will be replying once I've written it!!!

ok as of right now that is the stuff that's coming to mind but I swear there is more stuff somewhere in my brain x

thanks for reading!!!!!