from the vault:
but what can I say? / rules must be obeyed
》 The Winner Takes It All, ABBA
》 Alexia Putellas x Reader
》 winner takes all [idiom]: used to say that the winner of a round will win the whole contest
No one looks puzzled when a seven-year-old boy comes rushing into Barcelona’s training centre, some even high fives him or cheers as he passes them at full speed.
Rafael is well known and loved in the building, even more for his joyful personality than for the last name he wears on the back of his jersey.
The kid turns a sharp line to join the team outside. Despite his short legs and his clumsiness in most situations, he has quite control of his footing.
The perks of being Alexia Putellas’ son.
“Looks like our mascotte is back”
“The best Putellas!”
The girls notice him as soon as he sprints from the doors, dribbling around some coaches without much effort, but trampling over a discharged pair of boots. The boy lands hands first on the grass. He takes his time to get up and clean his now stained jeans, quickly assessing the damage and deciding he doesn’t really care.
Jana catches the kid as he comes running once again, lifting him up with a bit more effort than the last time she saw him.
“Jaja put me down, I wanna hug mama!”
“Ouch, I’m not your favourite tia anymore?”
“No, Mapi is”
The girls close enough to hear the exchange burst out laughing, luckily for Jana’s ego and the team’s well being the said defender is not around to brag about it.
“Ohi, mi vida!”
“Mama!”
Hearing Alexia’s voice, Rafael manages to escape the girls’ affection to literally run in her open arms. The hug is emotional even just to watch, his tiny hands holding on the blonde’s neck as she keeps him as close as possible.
“I missed you, monito”
No one wants to interrupt the moment, so your arrival is the perfect distraction.
You excuse yourself and the little troublemaker for crushing the training session to everyone you meet on your path. They assure you it’s fine, you two are always welcome, and today is a special one after all.
A lot of hugs and jokes are exchanged, you take your time to greet all the girls, holding more firmly the honorary daughters Alexia took under her wings ages ago. You missed them.
“My favourite Putellas!”, Claudia shouts as she crushes in your arms.
“You just said that to Rafa”
“He’s the best Putellas, you’re my favourite”
“I’m barely a Putellas anymore”
“I thought you were supposed to arrive tomorrow”, Alexia’s tone is nothing but happy for the change of plan, your boy secured in her arms and quiet for the first time in weeks.
“We were, but it’s your last training session and he wanted to be here”, you move closer, messing your son’s hair as you attempt an awkward half hug.
“Mum said we could surprise you! Are you surprised?”
“I’m surprised, monito”, everyone smiles at Alexia’s open laugh.
Rafael’s arrival completely shifted the atmosphere, somehow making it more emotional but definitely lighter. Jana has been on the verge of tears for days now, hiding behind Patri as the weight of their captain’s retirement comes crushing on them.
It’s the right thing and it’s the right time, but it doesn’t mean it is any easier.
Despite all, despite her family’s fear and her teammates’ concern, Alexia is at peace with the choice. Despite your insecurities, Alexia’s certainty when it comes to important decisions like this one still manages to reassure you.
“Can I go shoot at Cata?”, Rafael asks with his mastered puppy eyes, as you drop your gaze at his stained jeans and the Catalan studies the shoes he’s wearing.
Damn puppy eyes.
“You can go, but make sure an actual adult is there too”
“Is Mapi an actual adult?”
“No, ask Ingrid or Rolfo if they want to join”, you add.
He nods enthusiastically, sprinting away toward the bubble of players who are more than happy to welcome the kid as the training session ends on a high note. You’re sure it will be difficult to interrupt their game later.
It’s easy to notice the two of you are left alone, her teammates giving you space but mostly eager to spend more time with your son.
“He just wants to score”
“We’re working on his selfishness with the ball, I swear”
You smile at the blonde soft defence, still amazed about their bond and how considerate she has been about Rafael’s passion for football. Never pressuring, never patronising, always just as supporting as any other parent could be.
“Thank you for bringing him here, I know you’re supposed to be in London for the week and I really appreciate your support”
“Don’t even mention it, Alexia”, you reassure her, “It’s important for you and It’s important for him, I’m more than happy to support it all”
“How long are you staying?”
“Just a couple of days, but we’ll be at any ceremony, don’t worry”
Alexia mumbles unamused, pretending the presence of her family alone is not enough to make her comfortable and confident to face all the events she’s supposed to attend as a celebration of her career.
“He can stay longer, I’ll be back when it’s my turn again”
“Are you sure?”, she is not really able to hide her excitement.
The new and strange routine is just starting to feel like it’s working in the first place, even if dividing a kid between two countries and two parents who didn’t manage to save their marriage is the most painful thing you both ever experienced.
Neither of you wants to upset Rafael and destabilise him even more, or worse, make him feel unloved.
“I’m sure, he’s the winner”
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thinking about how as Aemond’s wife you are the model of perfection.
Your back is straight as you curtsy when you first meet him and hair neatly braided with fine jewels. Your voice is even and never waivers as you speak to him of your family and how grateful they are for this union.
You are intelligent and beautiful, the perfect wife.
It’s why Aemond hardly ever spends time with you.
He bears no ill will toward you, of course. There is no resentment or hatred to his lady wife, but there are no fond feelings either.
He knows of courting and romance, his mother taught him everything from a young age. The poor woman would hold her son’s hands tight and explain that a man must not only respect his wife, but truly cherish her. Love her in the eyes of gods and men. As he grew older he noticed the way his father would wave off her constant advice and concerns until the dreaded night where she was the only one defending him after he lost his eye.
But practice was one thing. When you were nothing but a concept. A figment of Aemond’s imagination when he was ten and marriage was only spoken of during his lessons. Before he lost his eye. Before he heard the ladies of the court whispering about his mutilation and before he watched a whore flinch at the sight of his scarring when Aegon dragged him to a brothel on his thirteenth name day.
He learned then that no matter how much he would love and worship his wife, it would not be returned.
Rather than attempt to force it (he was no brute and had no intentions of doing something so cruel) he simply let you be by yourself.
Yes you were married. You sat by one another at every meal and formal event and on the rare occasion he would even ask for your hand in a dance. But Aemond’s affections toward you were few and far to find.
But there were moments.
Where his icy facade would weaken and you found yourself able to slip through the cracks.
Alicent had told you of his “moments” when the engagement had been announced. The queen herself taking you by the hand as you walked through the garden and explaining gently of Aemond’s condition.
“There are times where he feels a great deal of pain because of the-” She paused, chewing on her cheek while trying to find the most inoffensive way to describe the tragedy that befell her son. “-incident he had as a child.”
You knew enough of it. Many rumors flew through court the day Aemond targaryen walked in with a patch on his eye after Laenor Velaryan’s funeral at driftmark. Some day it was from a sparring incident, others say it was a mark he bore from the first time he mounted the mighty vhaegar. Others say that the Rouge Prince Daemon Targaryen himself gave it to his younger cousin after crude words were exchanged behind closed doors.
You didn’t know what was the truth. Aside from the day the princeling got his scar, was the same he got his dragon.
A fair trade, some would say.
But they didn’t live with the attacks he did.
Nerve damage, is what the maester’s called it when you asked them for more information. His wound may have healed years prior but the prince would continue to live his life with constant bouts of mind-numbing pain brought on by the slightest touch or too sharp of a wind to his cheek.
“Senseless fits.” Aegon called it. When he heard about your curiosity about his brother’s condition he had all but cornered you late at night in the hall. “Anything will set him off and send him throwing a tantrum like a belligerent child. It’s quite entertaining.”
But there’s a moment where the elder brother frowns and you see a shred of concern in his eyes.
“He doesn’t like to be touched during those moments. It makes the pain worse. So if you’re trying to find some way to comfort him I’d recommend you do something else.”
What was ‘something else’ you learned, was simply being there.
Sitting by his side when he curled into himself, trembling fingers reaching out to grab yours and not complaining when his nails dig into the palm of your hand as he cries out in pain. When his breath evens out and the pain subsides, he crawls to you and presses his face to the crook of your neck. He’s far too tired to cover the gnarled scar covering the side of his face but you show no fear or disgust at the sight of it. Your fingers run through his hair, gently combing back the silver tresses and ignoring the tears that stain the shoulder of your gown.
The next morning your husband would wake in your arms and takes a moment to watch your peaceful expression and the way the morning sun kisses your skin.
That day Alicent notices her son sits closer to you at breakfast, speaking softly to you of something she cannot understand. But when she sees his hand reach out and grasp yours, she smiles.
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