Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I see it!”

“What? What do you see?”

“Some light. I can see it from here. We’re almost there, Bernd, I can feel it.”

They’re currently in an abandoned tunnel, deep under the city of Berlin. A mission with the German council has gone horribly wrong, leaving them trapped there. With Bernd’s provision dwindling dangerously, he has had to tap into his reserve light energy to keep himself alive, a feat that proves to be difficult when you’re stranded inside a place with no solar power whatsoever to recharge yourself. And Marc hasn’t fared any better, with only a progressively weakened Bernd as his supply for blood, he’s been cautiously taking a small amount each day, just barely enough to sustain himself. They’ve been surviving like that for goodness knows how many days, exploring aimlessly through the tunnels, trying to find their way out somehow, though they both know, the chances might be second to none.

But now, as Bernd cautiously climbs through the rocks to get by Marc’s side, he can see that the younger man was right. There’s a small opening, far, far above them, too far for anyone to see or hear them even if they try to yell. Yet, soft rays of moonlight still shine through that opening, which might be a good sign for their quest to escape.

“Can you gain solar energy from that hole?” Marc asks. “Just enough so we can get out?”

“I can try,” Bernd says, squinting at the moonlight. “Not sure yet, though. We have to see in the morning.”

The night feels longer than any other nights they’ve spent inside that underground tunnel, and the anxiety regarding their possible escape doesn’t make it better. Bernd urges Marc to drink some of his blood, which Marc refuses at first, seeing how thin and pale Bernd currently is, but the older man insists, saying Marc will need it. Finally, the vampire relents, and as he sinks his fangs inside Bernd’s neck, he tries not to mind the numerous fang-marks mottling it. Usually, Bernd is able to heal pretty quickly when he’s in his full power, and Marc only feeds from him every so often anyway, so he rarely leaves any marks, but right now they have no choice. Thinking that they might be able to find a healer to fix the scars once they get out, Marc leans to Bernd and falls into a fitful sleep.

The faint rays of sunlight and the sudden loss of somebody’s weight beside him snap Marc awake in the morning. Bernd is currently standing right under the opening, arms spread out as if he’s trying to gather as much sunlight as he can. And Marc swears, he can see tiny light particles come showering themselves upon Bernd, giving his skin a soft glow.

And the vampire thinks he never sees anything more beautiful.

Then, Bernd blinks and, probably realizing Marc is staring at him, the glow around him dims significantly. “You’re awake?” the older man asks rather needlessly, as he gathers their few belongings.

Marc nods. “I am,” he replies, taking his own belongings as well. “So, how’s it? Did you recharge your power?”

Bernd hesitates for a while. “I did,” he finally answers after what feels like the longest pause. “I think I can gather enough solar energy to propel us both out of this tunnel, but you’d have to hold onto me, and…”

He trails off, and Marc suddenly realizes the problem lying before them. In order to break out of there, Bernd would have to coat himself in his pure light, and that might prove harmful for Marc. And while Marc, being a “modern” vampire, is normally able to withstand sunlight, a direct contact to one might still be too much, not to mention that he’s currently in a weakened state.

“Of course, you don’t have to come with me directly,” Bernd quickly says. “I might be able to come outside, get some help, and then come back for you, and…”

“No,” Marc interjects. “That’s a bad idea. Even with your powers recharged, I doubt you’d be able to find help that quickly, and what am I going to do until then? Rotting alone here?”

“But…”

“Besides we’re both pretty much dying anyway, some more injuries won’t matter too much.”

“Marc…”

“Look, what are you waiting for?” Marc snaps rather impatiently. “Just take my hand, and get us out of here.”

The doubt clouding Bernd’s eyes clears somewhat, and he nods slowly. “Alright,” he says. “But I have to apologize to you in advance, that it’s not going to be pleasant. You might end up with burns all over, or even worse…”

Marc sighs and takes Bernd’s hand. “Just do it, Bernd.”

The older man nods again and takes a deep breath. “Close your eyes.”

Marc does exactly that, and the last thing he sees is a blinding flash of light, followed by a scorching pain all over his body before he feels himself getting pulled upwards.

Chapter Text

Leandro stares. And stares. And stares. 

Because there just cannot be a giant banner hanging in the middle of the dressing room. Especially if that said banner reads “HAPPY 595th BIRTHDAY” with black, red, and yellow streamers all around it. Not to mention a three-tiered cake, with miniature bats and red frosting dripping all over it in an obvious attempt to look like blood, on a small table in the middle of the room. 

“Well, this is new,” Leandro says at last after a few minutes of silence, save for a few muffled snickers all over the dressing room. “I never expected my birthday to be celebrated this way.”

Ben (because he’s the perpetrator, of course) gives a small shrug. “Well, we figured that you never had a birthday party before, so we took it upon ourselves to give you one,” he says with a toothy grin. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Leandro groans and rubs on his face. “What’s with the banner anyway?? Do you really think I’m THAT old??”

“You won’t tell us your real age,” Aaron points out. “So we have had to…uh, make a gross estimation.”

“And the cake? Please don’t tell me you baked it with real blood.”

“Of course not,” Ben says, looking scandalized. “It’s for us, of course. Your ‘cake’, well, it’s here.”

Bukayo opens the door to the big cupboard that they usually use to store some random unused knick-knacks, and Leandro blinks. Because from that cupboard, out steps Mikel Arteta, their very own manager. Not just that, but he’s wrapped in nothing but a Gunnersaurus-patterned wrapping paper with a big red bow on his hair.

“Just so you know, it’s their idea,” Mikel says through gritted teeth. “Not mine.”

A lot of questions whirl inside Leandro’s mind at the moment. “How…how the heck did you do this??? Are you saying Mikel is my ‘cake’? And Martin… If Martin knows…”

“Leo, relax!” Declan laughs, throwing an arm around Leandro’s shoulders. “We have…our way, let’s put it like that. Martin knows, and he’s agreed to this, saying you deserve this for your birthday. And yes, Mikel is your ‘cake’... because you love his blood the best among everyone else in the team, no??”

Well, yes, Leandro cannot deny the last part. While he never openly admits this to anyone but Martin and Kieran, he always thinks Mikel’s blood is the closest thing to perfection he’s ever tasted – very rich and exquisite, with the right texture, right level of sweetness, right amount of spice.

“So here’s the deal,” Declan continues, still with the same huge grin on his face. “You go and enjoy Mikel here as a birthday present from us. Make sure you have a huge meal. Then you can surely be strong enough to score some more nice goals for us on the weekend. And yes, we are the best teammates you can ever expect, no need to thank us.”

Leandro wants to glare at Declan for that, but seeing his teammates’ sincere smiles, he knows that, despite this slightly extreme celebration (he’s not even THAT old, for goodness’ sake), they do this because they genuinely care about him. And that knowledge alone nearly brings tears to his eyes, for he cannot remember the last time his coworkers/teammates/friends have ever been this nice to him.

(Also, it’s not every day that he can have Mikel for a ‘meal’, and he shouldn’t let this chance go.)

“Thank you,” he finally manages to speak amidst the lump growing in his throat. “This is…very kind of you guys. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Aaron laughs, ruffling Leandro’s hair slightly. “Just enjoy your ‘cake’, will you?”

Leandro smiles, his fangs glinting slightly under the lights. He certainly will.

Chapter Text

At first, Bukayo barely notices it. After all, tattoos are pretty normal among footballers, so he barely lifts an eyebrow when Emile appears in training with half his arms full of ink. Okay, perhaps he’s a tad annoyed, because he’s supposed to be Emile’s best friend, and best friends usually inform each other before making such big, permanent decisions like tattoos, but again, it’s nothing major, so Bukayo just lets it slide.

But then, weird things keep happening so Bukayo can no longer ignore them. How new patterns keep popping on Emile’s arms while they certainly weren’t there before, with no sign of his skin being red and puffy like new tattoos are supposed to look. How Emile gets tired more easily during training and has to retreat to the infirmary afterwards, face grey and hollow. How Mikel keeps leaving him out of the squad even after he recovers from injury. How he always flinches and grabs his left upper arm whenever someone comes in contact with it. How two men in identical black suits seem to appear at Colney most of the days, and Bukayo could swear they keep their eyes on Emile at all times.

Now, Bukayo is no fool. Being a young wizard, he has yet to develop the full extent of his magic, but he’s pretty confident in his ability to detect other supers. He can’t always see what kind of creature they are or what kind of superpower they possess at first glance, but still, every time he encounters one, he just knows. And Emile simply just doesn’t give off that kind of feeling. Moreover, every time Bukayo tries to ask, he’ll just dodge the question, much to the younger’s frustration.

Things only come to light a few months later. They’re all in the training ground as usual, preparing for their next game, when the sky suddenly turns dark and pieces of dark clouds seem to fall from the sky.

Naturally, Bukayo stays to fight the dark creatures with his fellow supers, while the normal humans retreat inside a magical chamber built in Colney’s basement for their safety, Emile among them. Bukayo catches a glance of him staring forlornly towards the pitch before following Granit inside, as if he wishes to join in with the fun, but cannot. Sighing, Bukayo turns around and focuses on the battle before him. The “normals” always think it’s all fun and games to have powers, which could be in some occasions, but on the other hand, they’re not burdened with such duties like this one. He’ll talk to Emile about this later.

But the dark creatures prove to be more resilient than usual this time. Even with Bernd using his light to illuminate the whole place in an attempt to weaken them, they’re still pressing and fighting. The battle goes on, and Bukayo is starting to exhaust his magic when he hears a loud roar.

A lion is standing before them. Not just any lion, but he stands nearly seven meters tall, with what seems like black flame surrounding his head instead of golden mane. His eyes glow red, and when he walks closer, Bukayo can feel intense heat crackling from him. But that’s not even the most shocking thing about this monstrous lion, no. It’s the sight of Emile, sitting on the lion’s back, clutching his now bare left arm, his face pale and glistened with sweat but determined.

“Go,” Emile whispers.

And the lion attacks.

-

“So you’re a super after all,” Bukayo states matter-of-factly.

They’re currently in the infirmary at Colney, with a few white beds around them and a faint smell of antiseptic in the air, Emile having collapsed right after the battle. The squad brought him in, and Dr. Gary has promised to stay up all night if needed to watch over him. But Bukayo has insisted on staying until Emile wakes up, so there they are.

“What gives it away?” Emile asks, trying to sound lighthearted and a little sarcastic, but his pale, sunken face and gaunt eyes betray him.

Bukayo sighs. He has no time nor patience for this. “You know what I’m talking about, Em. The tiredness, the constant ‘injuries’, and most importantly, the tattoos. Those are, what, summoning marks? I don’t understand why you feel the need to hide them from me.”

Silence stretches between them like an invisible barrier.

“Just be honest with me, Em. Are you my best friend, or not? I won’t judge you, I promise.”

After what feels like the longest time, Emile finally lets out a sigh. “Yes,” he says simply, pulling up his sleeves so Bukayo can see all his tattoos in their full glory. “But they’re… they’re not exactly power, B. They’re…curses.”

Bukayo holds back a gasp, and Emile must’ve taken it as a good sign to keep talking, for he continues. “Apparently one of my ancestors, they made a deal with a demon for riches and power, so the demon gave them…this. Some of them are summoning marks, and some allow me to perform some demon magic… And so this curse is passed through generations like a family heirloom, manifesting on the oldest sons every time they reach their 20th birthday…”

“But I still don’t understand,” Bukayo interrupts, frown deepening on his forehead. “Why do you call them curses? They seem pretty cool to me.”

“Because I’m still not a demon, and never will be,” Emile says, a haunted look in his eyes. “So every time I use them…there’s a price to pay. And the price…is my own lifespan, B.”

“WHAT???” Bukayo exclaims, voice rising higher than he himself thinks is possible.

“Yes,” Emile confirms. “You see the clock above the lion?? This is the demon's clock, B. Every time I make use of the curse, the hands will move, showing me how much time I have left.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “My parents, the coaches, they all told me not to use the curses at all so I will have a chance to live a long, happy life, but today, seeing you guys struggle against the monsters, I just couldn’t hold myself back…”

“You…you did that? Even if the price was your own life?”

“Well, I couldn’t let you guys die, could I??”

“...And there’s no way to break the curse?”

Emile shrugs. “Perhaps there is. But I’m afraid the price will be even higher than my own life. Whatever it is, it’s not a can of worms I’m ready to open yet.” He takes a deep breath. “I know what you’re going to try to tell me, B, and I cannot say I will stop using my curses completely, especially with all the ‘situation’ surrounding us… But I will promise that I will only do it whenever things have become too dire, when you guys don’t have a choice but to accept my help. How about that?”

Bukayo laughs, soft and shaky. “Guess that’s the best I can ask from you right now.”

They lapse into silence again, watching as the sky outside slowly turns into dusk.

Chapter Text

It’s late at night, and Robin is tired to his bones. The “job” that night hasn’t been easy, and he’s been forced into one or two unfortunate situations with the souls he’s supposed to pick up, but he manages it in the end, so he’s satisfied. Manifesting a black ipad on his hand, he checks the last name on his list before finally starting his way home.

Alright, “home” might not be the proper word here. It's the international break, and therefore he has to return to the Spain training camp, not his house in Madrid. But, Robin thinks philosophically, home is not simply a physical place, but where his heart is, and there are two pairs of hands holding it in the camp at the very moment.

The building is mostly dark when Robin arrives, but he doesn’t mind. He knows exactly where his room is, and if anything, he’s a little relieved, because they would’ve been asleep, so he can avoid uncomfortable questions. Spotting a certain corner window on the second floor, he flies down, carefully pries the window open, steps in and shakes his wings away, trying not to make any sound so as not to wake them up…

“Where have you been??”

Crap. Robin freezes as the room is suddenly illuminated with light, and he slowly turns around to find two men before him. One is shorter, clean shaven, standing with arms crossed and a slight pout on his face. The other is taller, sporting a beard and closely cropped hair, trying to look serious and intimidating but cannot help an amused look in his eyes.

“I said, where have you been??” the shorter one repeats, eyes flashing. “Your Atleti teammates have arrived earlier and you’re not with them. Meri and I have been waiting for you since then, and it’s almost midnight now. Care to explain?”

Robin swallows. He should’ve known this would happen. “I…I am sorry,” he manages to say once he finds his voice again. “I had a job earlier, I think I’ve told you that…”

“Yes, but you hardly ever return this late. What happened?? Did Cholo give you extra work again??”

Robin’s guilty look must’ve been enough for an answer, for the shorter man sighs and plops himself on the bed. “Knew that,” he grumbles. “Damn, Robin, when will you learn??”

Robin sighs and sits beside him. “I’m sorry, Zubi,” he repeats. “But it’s not like I can do anything about it. Cholo will have my head if I say no. Besides, I’m alright, I’ve taken much more work before, and…”

“And how did that work out for you?” Zubi shoots back, and Robin can feel himself shrinking. “Last time you took more work, you ended up feeling too tired in the morning and getting a red card in the game and…”

“Zubi, calm down,” the taller man finally speaks up and puts his arm around Zubi. “Robin is here now, not worse for wear, and we still have the whole international break to spend time with him.” Turning to Robin, he says again,” And sorry for Zubi, Robin. You know how he’s always overly worried about us, but he never meant to hurt you. He’s just…a little naggy.”

As if by magic, Zubi’s shoulders relax considerably, and he lets out a loud huff. “Well, I won’t be that naggy if I don’t have boyfriends who keep worrying me with their…uh, out-of-the-pitch shenanigans,” he says, leaning himself to the taller man’s shoulder. “And that includes you, Mikel Merino!”

Merino laughs good-naturedly and kisses the top of Zubi’s head. “I know, baby. And I know you wish to catch up with Robin and everything, but it’s really late now. Let’s just have our rest, and then we can talk in the morning, alright?”

Robin secretly lets out a breath of relief. Thank Merino for being the voice of reason among the three of them, having his back and calming Zubi down at the same time. And it seems like he succeeds too, for Zubi finally pulls Robin closer to him and says, “Fine, if that’s so, I want you two to hug me while I sleep. And no funny business for tonight, or I’ll be so pissed.”

“We won’t,” Merino assures him, and Zubi rolls his eyes before curling himself up between his two boyfriends.

Soon, darkness embraces the room back and there is Zubi, lying there in peaceful slumber, his breaths soft and steady, flanked by Robin and Merino.

“Funny how we give in so easily to him, don’t we?” Robin whispers, running his fingers gently through Zubi’s hair. “And he's ‘only’ human, while we’re both dark creatures.”

“He’s so small and fragile,” Merino agrees, pressing his lips gently to Zubi’s neck. “But that’s why we both want to protect him, don’t we?”

Robin hums in agreement and kisses Zubi as well. “Anyway, nothing happened in London while I’m not there with you guys?”

“Nothing,” Merino replies, though Robin senses that his answer comes just one-nth second too quickly. “I’ll tell you the details tomorrow, okay?”

Robin sighs. He’ll let it slide for now. “Alright then. You go to sleep as well, Meri, you’ll need it. I love you both.”

“So do we, Robin.”

Chapter Text

“Well, you sure did take your sweet time to rescue me,” is the first thing Joshua says when Leon’s face finally pops between the bars of the jail holding him up.

“I’m here now, am I not?” Leon huffs as he produces a bunch of keys from his coat pocket and begins to jiggle with the lock. “Also, is that how you speak to the savior of your life?”

Joshua rolls his eyes, but nevertheless his face softens as Leon finally manages to pry the door open and then moves towards the handcuffs. “Thank you, by the way.”

Leon hums in acknowledgment. “We have to be quick,” he says, sliding the handcuffs away from Joshua’s wrists. “Serge’s trying to pull their attention away from you, but I don’t know how long he’d be able to hold on. We’d better get away before he exhausts himself.”

Joshua shakes his wrists. They sure do feel sore after being chained for so long. “Why don’t we go find him?? Serge might need some help, him alone against those monsters…”

“We cannot,” Leon says, exasperated. “Our priority here is to save you. Besides, Manu hasn’t heard about this for now, but if we take too long…”

Leon is still talking, but Joshua pays attention to him no longer. His eyes fall to the small metal door right across his prison room. When he was dragged away yesterday, he saw his weapons getting taken there, though his captors might’ve thought he was unconscious at that moment. But if they're still there… 

Quickly, he grabs the keys on Leon’s hands and begins fiddling with the lock.

“Jo, what are you doing?” Leon asks, panicked. “I told you, we have no time for this!”

But Joshua pays him no attention. Finding the correct key at last, he slams the door open and looks around. It seems like a Lost and Found room of some kind, or more precisely, a storage room for whatever weapons they have managed to confiscate from their prisoners. And much to Joshua’s delight, he can see his sword and shield lying on the nearest table, probably meant to be studied or something but they haven’t had the chance to.

Grabbing the sword and strapping the shield on his back, Joshua turns to Leon. “Let’s go and kick their asses,” he says. “They will pay for treating a son of Ares like this.”

“But…” Leon begins, only to be interrupted by the sounds of footsteps rushing to their direction.

“See?” Joshua grins, eyes sparkling. “They’ll catch up with you anyway no matter whether I do this or not. And now that I have my weapons, I can fight better. Come on!”

Leon sighs, but he has to admit Joshua was right. And now, with the enemies on their tails, they have no choice but to fight. Quietly turning his fists into metal, he follows his friend.

Chapter Text

As a footballer, Marc is used to his teammates being touchy. A hug on the pitch after a win, proud pats on his head and shoulders after a particularly tricky save, a hand squeeze on the bench during a tough game whenever he doesn’t play, even some out-of-pitch special stuff in the dressing room or hotel room. Those are part of being a team, and Marc can say he mostly enjoys it.

What he doesn’t expect is that sometimes he can get touchy opponent too.

“This is annoying,” Yann grumbles as he leans onto Marc’s shoulder, taking a sip from Marc’s bottle of wine. “All this cold air and no heating whatsoever in my room. Do they wish to kill me or something?”

What are you doing here then, Marc wants to ask. Despite said problems, surely the Swiss goalkeeper could find somewhere else to retire until the heater gets fixed? He has the whole Switzerland NT to tend to his whims! He doesn’t need to go to another hotel entirely to find Marc, barge into his room and then act like the place is his. Marc won’t even think of doing so, broken heater or not. But then again, he supposes Yann is technically able to enter any place without permission.

“Why are you so quiet?” Yann asks. “You don't want me here? Shall I leave?”

“No, no,” Marc says in alarm. Despite Yann’s audacity, he’d be lying if he says he doesn’t enjoy the older’s presence there. He always has a soft spot for Yann, who has done a great job guarding Gladbach’s net after his departure to Barcelona, and he’s always wanted to know the other man better, despite the countries and leagues separating them. “I was just…startled. You see, I didn’t expect any guests, and…”

Yann shrugs. “Fair enough,” he says, taking another sip. “And I’m sorry for this, I guess. I didn’t mean to surprise you like this. But we didn’t have a chance to talk much during the game earlier, and I suppose…I want to get to know you better.”

Was it a flash of shyness that Marc just catches inside Yann’s deep brown orbs?

“Alright then,” Marc smiles and pours himself a glass of wine. “What do you want to know about me?”

-

Three bottles in, and Yann is now rambling about their mutual rival, who is none other than one Manuel Peter Neuer.

“I mean, I don’t hate hate him,” Yann says, his speech only slurring slightly. “But he’s just, you know. He’s Manuel Neuer. Germany’s golden boy and best ever goalkeeper. And while I respect him and everything, there were times when I wondered what would happen if he’s never there.”

Marc nods in agreement. “Same with me. I wish he would soon retire, so that I can finally claim my long-awaited spot as Germany’s first choice goalkeeper.”

Yann sighs. “Everyone just loves him so much. Every time I make a mistake, it’s always ‘Neuer would not have done that’ and ‘You’re just too short to be a proper deputy for him’ and so forth. I mean, he is amazing, yes, but can’t they see that I am also a good keeper in my own right??”

“That’s right!” Marc exclaims, fiercely slamming his glass on the table. “Really, I get it, Manu has won everything that could be won – by a goalkeeper at least – but you don’t need to compare other goalies, especially me, with him, like. Every. Single. Time.”

They keep talking, voicing their displeasure louder and louder, but despite that, their hearts feel warmer. Because finally, there’s someone who can offer more than mere sympathy. Finally there is someone who understands.

-

After six bottles, Yann finally slumps on Marc’s bed, hair all mussed up and eyes closed.

“Are you asleep?” Marc asks, prodding him gently. He hates to wake Yann up, but the older man might need to return to his team hotel that night, and he doesn’t want to get accused (and therefore has to face the wrath of one Granit Xhaka) of kidnapping Yann.

Yann doesn’t respond for awhile, and Marc is starting to contemplate calling someone from the Switzerland NT when he finally speaks up, “I’m fine. Just a little plastered, that’s all. Hey, you won’t mind if I crash here tonight, will you? I don’t think I can walk back to my team hotel by myself.”

You don’t need to. There are taxis outside, and I can even lift you up there by myself if needed, Marc thinks but doesn’t say. For he finds himself not wanting to lose Yann’s presence beside him yet, and feeling giddy at the very thought of spending the night with the Swissman.

“I don’t want to be a burden, of course,” Yann quickly says, certainly mistaking Marc’s silence for hesitation. “In fact, you can even take ‘payment’ from me.”

Marc raises an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“You can drink from me.”

Marc inhales. He doesn’t know how Yann knows what he is, but he supposes it’s not actually a secret anymore, among fellow footballers at least. “How can you be so sure about that? I might end up hurting you.”

“You won’t.”

Those two words, simple and casual yet full of trust, almost have Marc feeling overwhelmed. While Yann is not the first one who’s willing to let him feed, barely anyone would make that kind of offer on their first meeting, and Marc has to admit, that’s very touching.

“I cannot take you on that offer yet,” Marc says. “First of all, I just fed this morning before the game, and secondly, you’re drunk. I don’t like to taste anyone while they’re drunk.”

“Really?” Yann asks laughingly. “You’re serious about that? Not just because you don’t wish to hurt me?”

“I am,” Marc confirms. “So I won’t do that tonight. But…” he adds, eyes sparkling, “I might come for that payment sometime later, so be prepared.”

There’s a smile in Yann’s lips and voice when he speaks again. “Promise?”

Marc nods, gentle but firm. “Promise.”

Yann’s body feels so warm beside him when they drift off to sleep.

Chapter Text

They lost to Liverpool, 4-0. Needless to say, Xabi is more than a little pissed. Alright, he knows Liverpool is a strong, formidable team, and they’re playing at Anfield too, but after leading Leverkusen to a league title, and an unbeaten season to boot, he couldn’t help feeling a little optimistic. The fact that they managed to hold Liverpool to a draw until the 60th minute also fueled the ambition, only for Luis Diaz to swoop in and score a hattrick, with Cody Gakpo also adding another.

Well, there goes their unbeaten start in the Champions League group phase.

The Leverkusen players trudge back to the dressing room, defeated and disappointed. Xabi knows he ought to follow them, to give them one or two words of encouragement, but for some reason, his legs won’t walk him there. Instead, he goes to the other part of the stadium, where some trophies and important photos are displayed.

He always loves Anfield. It’s been 15 years since he left Liverpool as a player, yet the city and the stadium still feel like home. Xabi smiles and closes his eyes as memories start flooding back – those grueling training days under the rain, Rafa barking orders from the sideline, his hand on the gleaming Champions League trophy with Steven beside him…

“Xabi?”

That soft voice, tinged with a Scouse accent, snaps Xabi out of his reverie. Turning around, he holds back a gasp as he finds himself face to face with a familiar someone that he’s known since his Liverpool days. A little older maybe, and not so lean, with deeper wrinkles on his forehead and hints of grey on his dark blonde hair, but he’s still the same person.

“Hi,” Steven smiles, showing two rows of pearly white teeth. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Steven,” Xabi whispers, suddenly feeling a little helpless. “I…I didn’t know you’re watching the game.”

Steven shrugs. “Well, I didn’t really tell anyone,” he admits. “But I know you’re going to be at Liverpool for this game, so I think, why don’t I go watch it, and probably I can catch up with my old friend.”

Old friend. That’s what he is right now. “Well, I’m flattered you want to spend time with me, I guess, but how do you know I’m here?”

Another shrug. “I just have a feeling that you are.”

Of course he does. Xabi swallows and looks away, trying not to think that it’s probably not a mere ‘feeling’, that Steven simply understands him more than anyone else, and probably has guessed that Xabi would come here even before addressing his own players.

“By the way, your players did really well despite the loss,” Steven says. “No wonder you managed to lead them to win the league unbeaten. Congratulations for that, by the way.”

“You’ve told me that before,” Xabi counters, and indeed Steven has shot him a text congratulating him barely a minute after Leverkusen cemented their league title. “And if we’re talking about unbeaten, you did that first, with Rangers.”

Steven barks a laugh. “Indeed, but with all due respect to the Scottish Premiership, I imagine it was harder to do in the Bundesliga, while breaking Bayern’s dominance to boot. And my coaching career after Rangers has been a mixed bag, so to speak. I’m so proud of you, Xabs.”

So proud of you. Been many years since Xabi last heard it directly from Steven, yet those words still send his heart soaring to the sky.

Steven moves towards the photos on the wall and examines them closely. “Those were good times, weren’t they?” he asks, pointing towards a certain set of pictures depicting them winning the Champions League in 2005. “Look, there’s even a picture of us kissing.”

Xabi notices that too, and he cannot help a grin curling on his lips. He doesn’t know who’s responsible for putting that particular picture there (he suspects it might be Carra) but it brings back another set of memories – the taste of Steven’s lips against his own, the gentle touch of his hand every time Xabi feels troubled, the feel of their bare skin against each other on the bed…

And the sight of Steven’s tears, begging him not to leave when Xabi already has one foot in Madrid.

Xabi shakes his head. This is not the time to think about it. “It’s a long time ago, Steven.”

“Yes,” Steven nods. “But haven’t you ever reminisced about it, sometimes?”

The truth is, Xabi does. He tried to keep it out of his mind during his playing days, but after his retirement and he suddenly had a lot of time on his hands, he found himself thinking about it again and again. If only he’d stayed at Liverpool at that time. If only he’d been brave enough to act on his feelings. If only he hadn’t left Steven…

No matter what, Steven Gerrard will always be the biggest what if in his life.

“Xabi,” Steven speaks again, his tone soft, almost pleading. “I know things haven’t been going as well as it could’ve been between us, but I just want you to know that I never hate you.”

“You don’t?” Xabi hears himself ask.

Steven nods. “I don’t,” he confirms. “And I’m here not to make you feel guilty, Xabs, I genuinely want to catch up with you. So…could you, please? For old time’s sake? If you don’t mind, of course.”

Xabi feels a smile tugging on his lips. Trust Steven to say the right thing. And Xabi cannot deny that he also wants to have a long talk with his old friend as well. “Sure. But my players are still waiting for me, I…”

“You have to go and talk to them first,” Steven agrees, smiling back. “I’ll be waiting for you here, Xabs, I promise.”

Xabi nods. He trusts Steven. Turning back, he speeds down the corridor to see his players who undoubtedly have been wondering where the hell he is, his steps feel much lighter than before.

It’s not much yet, but Xabi feels that it could be one step towards something big.

Chapter Text

“Is that all?”

“I guess. Weren’t you the one who picked my last suitcase from the bedroom?”

“...I think so.”

A short laughter reverberates all over the otherwise silent front room. “Alright, I’ll go check. You stay here and watch in case my agent comes early.”

Manu watches as Thomas’ lanky legs make their way back upstairs before looking around, heaving a sigh. A bunch of suitcases and boxes scattered all over the floor. A few missing photos on the wall. Thomas hasn’t taken too many, saying he doesn’t want to leave the house completely bare, besides he’ll hang them back once he returns to Munich for good anyway, but their absence reminds Manu of one painful, undeniable fact.

That Thomas won’t be living in that house anymore. He has accepted an offer from Vancouver Whitecaps in Canada after Bayern made a decision not to extend his contract. It’s nothing personal, Manu knows, Bayern simply wants a regeneration and needs to bring in younger players and so forth, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get hurt all the same. And it’s been Thomas’ own decision to go to Vancouver. 

Manu has tried to be cheerful and supportive for this big move, but he cannot deny that he feels hollow and sad inside. Without Thomas, there won’t be anyone to go to training with him, chattering nineteen to the dozen the whole way. Without Thomas, there won’t be anyone who hugs and comforts him whenever he’s injured or simply feeling sad. Without Thomas, there won’t be anyone who tries to cook him dinner (and usually fails). Without Thomas, there simply won’t be his husband, his best friend, his longest teammate, his closest companion…

“Manu?”

Manu blinks and a single tear inadvertently rolls down his cheek. He hasn’t heard Thomas walking down the stairs, obviously too caught up with his own sadness to realize that. And he definitely hasn’t meant for Thomas to find him crying. Yet, seeing the younger’s concerned face, he knows there’s no use hiding it anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Manu says, trying his best to smile. “I didn’t mean to cry, honest. I was…I was just thinking of you not being here anymore, and I…”

“You couldn’t help it,” Thomas finishes for him, voice soft and quiet. “Oh, Schatz, why didn’t you just tell me earlier??”

Manu shrugs, his lower lip quivering. “Because I want to support you? Because I didn’t want to make you feel burdened…? Oh, Thomas, I don’t know.”

He begins to cry helplessly, and Thomas silently pulls Manu into his embrace. For some time, there’s no sounds except for Manu’s shaky sobs. It's kinda funny, Manu later realizes, since he’s a good few inches taller than Thomas, but at that time he feels like a little kid crying to his bigger older brother.

“Manu, you know I won’t leave you no matter what,” Thomas whispers once Manu quiets down. “We…we aren’t divorcing, or anything. You’re still my husband, and you will always have me. I will come to visit a lot, heck, you can even create a portal to visit me there…”

“Still not the same as having you by my side 24/7,” Manu mumbles, pressing his lips against Thomas’ messy, mousy-brown hair. “I will miss you so much, Thommy…”

“I know, Manu. I will miss you too.”

Manu manages a weak smile. “What if you meet another pretty man there in Canada? And with sweeter blood too, maybe?”

“No one will be as pretty and sweet as you,” Thomas replies confidently, and Manu feels hope bubbling in his chest. “And I trust that you won’t find anyone else either. I believe in us, Manu.”

“...You do?”

“Yes. Unless you already have plans on replacing me?”

This earns him a playful slap, a little harder than usual but Thomas knows Manu will never slap him for real. “Of course I won’t. Don’t be silly!”

Thomas grins and gives Manu a quick peck on the cheek. “Then there is no need to worry.”

And Manu knows there isn’t, for sure.

An SUV rolls out just by their window, and Thomas peeks outside. “That must be my agent,” he says, throwing himself into Manu’s arms. “Well, I guess I have to go now. See you again real soon, Manu. I love you.”

Manu smiles and kisses him gently. “Love you too, Thomas.”

Chapter Text

“You’re dating Fabio,” Bukayo says. It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“Yes,” Gabi answers, voice so quiet it’s almost a whisper. Despite his eyes not meeting Bukayo’s, guilt is still largely written on his face.

Bukayo sucks in a deep breath, once, twice. “Since when?”

“...Two weeks ago, I think?”

Bukayo closes his eyes, his fingers curling into fists. His mind is telling him to scream, yet when he opens his mouth, all he can manage is a small, “How could you?” which he hates himself for. Goodness, it sounds so pathetic.

He’s been having this huge crush on Gabi ever since the young Brazilian has stepped foot on Colney. Medium height, with shy smile and awkward English and oversized suit that he clearly has borrowed from his dad, but with flair in his footwork that has caught Bukayo’s eye from the very start. And soon, as Gabi begins getting more minutes and speaking more English, they start spending more time together, having short conversations here and there and even doing their own celebration on the pitch.

Also, it’s not like Gabi doesn’t know about Bukayo’s feelings either. At the end of 20/21 season, they had huddled together, steaming and reeling after finishing 8th and failing to get to any Europe competition, and Gabi had leaned into Bukayo’s arms, trying to find some comfort.

“I love you, Gabi,” Bukayo had said back then. “And I know you know that.”

“I know,” Gabi had responded. “I…I do have feelings for you too, B. But I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship yet. Can we take things slow?”

Bukayo had agreed, thinking it’s not a big deal. After all, they’re still teammates, they still see each other almost every day and all, they’re just waiting for the right time. Nothing bad could happen, right?

But when 22/23 rolled along, with it came Fabio Vieira. Small and lean, full of spirit after winning the domestic double with Porto, and most importantly, he speaks Portuguese. And Gabi, while having a pretty good grasp on English now, must’ve been happy to find someone else who is around the same age as him and speaks the language. Before anyone realizes, they’ve started spending every waking moment together, inside and outside the pitch.

Bukayo has tried to calm himself down, telling himself that Gabi and Fabio are just best friends, nothing more. But then he caught them kissing in the dressing room one day after training, which brings him to this moment.

He wants to yell at Gabi, telling the young Brazilian how he’s broken his heart, but Bukayo knows whatever he says won’t change anything. Because he and Gabi aren’t boyfriends. Never were, and probably never will be.

So he says instead, “Congratulations.” The very word feels bitter in his tongue, but he goes on. “You and him look so good together, and everyone can see that you two are soulmates. And he can also heal you better than I ever could. So yeah, I…I hope you will be happy with him.”

He turns around so quickly that the floorboard creaks slightly under his heel, and he begins making his way to the door.

He can hear Gabi calling softly, “Bukayo” but he doesn’t look back. He just keeps on walking, so fast that he misses Gabi’s next words.

“I still love you.”

Chapter Text

Leandro’s whole body trembles as he leans himself against the concrete wall. The basement is cold, and there’s not much light to go around, but after what happened earlier, he rather welcomes the darkness. For some time, he just sits there, closing his eyes, waiting until his breaths go steady again.

Then he feels an arm draped around him, and he heaves out a relieved sigh. While he doesn’t mind being alone there, it feels good to have someone else with him.

“Ben?” Leandro calls out quietly without opening his eyes. “Is that you?”

The other person laughs, soft and short. “Who else?”

Leandro hesitates for a bit. “But…the training…”

“Coach has given me permission to skip this one session and watch over you,” Ben answers calmly. “The physios also tell me to bring you this.” He thrusts something cold into Leandro’s hand, and the latter opens his eyes to find a blood bag. “Besides, who else can do this but me?”

Leandro nods silently as he takes the blood bag from Ben’s hand. Their teammates know he’s a vampire, but seeing him doing vampire stuff is a bit too much for most of them. Ben is the only one so far who’s perfectly fine with it, maybe because he also has his own unusual method of feeding. So, knowing the younger man won’t get disgusted, Leandro simply sinks his fangs into the bag and starts drinking.

“You should see the medics after this,” Ben informs him. “They say they would need to examine your burns, making sure you’ll heal properly and everything…”

Leandro winces and looks down, but he cannot see the burn scars properly under the dim light. “Are they that bad…?”

“A little, but I won’t worry too much about that,” Ben says. “If I were you, I’d be more curious about who’s done this to you.”

The venom in his voice makes Leandro flinch, and he looks down at the restriction bracelet on his wrist. That thing is usually worn by superpowered footballers to prevent them from using their abilities in a match, but he has another reason to wear it. His own bracelet has a special amulet attached on it which protects him from the sunlight, hence allowing him to play football, but some idiot had replaced it with a fake one earlier, and Leandro would’ve burned to death if his teammates hadn’t pulled him back in time and thrown a blanket over him.

“I’ll be fine, Ben,” Leandro says, hoping his voice sounds stronger than he feels. “I have some spare bracelets at home, I…”

“Yes, but that’s not the point,” Ben insists. “If that person is still around, they can do it again, Leo, and…and you might not be so lucky next time.”

His voice cracks at the last part, and Leandro looks away. He knows he and Ben aren’t dating for real, but sometimes it’s hard to think that way when the younger man shows genuine concern for him. Whether it’s because he does actually like Ben or simply because not many people care about him that deeply, Leandro has no idea. But he knows he cannot burden Ben even more about this, not after everything Ben has done for him.

“Just take it easy, alright Ben?” Leandro whispers, trying his best to sound reassuring. “I’m not dead, and my burns will heal in no time. I’ll ensure to be more cautious so that no one will do this to me anymore. And…and perhaps I’ll make a report to the English council so that they’ll open an investigation about this. You needn’t worry at all.”

Ben doesn’t seem convinced, but eventually he nods slowly. “Alright,” he says, pulling Leandro into a tighter embrace. “But just remember, Leo…you’re not alone, okay? If there’s anything, you can always tell me.”

Leandro can only nod back, swallowing a lump in his throat.

Chapter Text

He’s tall, significantly taller than Livi, with thick black eyebrows and a mole on his right cheek. And when he smiles, showing two rows of perfect white teeth, there’s a flutter in Livi’s heart that has nothing to do with the game he just endured earlier.

“I’m Yassine,” he says, reaching out a hand. He has taken off his gloves, and Livi notices how Yassine’s hand is rough and callused, with tiny scars all over it – a goalkeeper’s hand for sure. “Yassine Bounou. You had a good game earlier.”

“Thank you,” Livi replies, taking Yassine’s hand and pulling himself up. It’s been an exhausting game, with him trying to goalkeep and manage the magic on the pitch at the same time, so he’s glad for the 2-1 scoreline and third place award for Croatia. “You didn’t do so bad either.”

“Ah, we still lost though,” Yassine says, scratching his head. “But we’ve done our best, so…guess we’re not much of an embarrassment after all.”

“You aren’t,” Livi nods encouragingly. Morocco has indeed done all they could to snatch the win, making a lot of good attempts too, but there could only be one winner in that game and Livi was going to make sure it’s Croatia. “You’ve made your nation proud.”

Yassine perks up and is about to speak again when some of his teammates call his name, and, from what Livi can catch, say something about the dressing room and their coach. Seeing there’s only a little chance before it slips away forever, Livi quickly says, “Anyway, you’re not going to fly back home right away, no? We might…we might be able to get coffee or something.”

Yassine’s wide smile is the only answer he needs.

-

A long distance relationship isn’t easy, especially when you’re not even playing in the same country, but Livi and Yassine somehow make it work with millions of texts, thousands of video calls and plenty of sneaking around whenever they can. 

Now it’s been almost two years since they first started dating, and Croatia finally is going to play against Morocco again. Alright, it’s only a friendly match to prepare the team before Euro 2024, but Livi is happy all the same, because there’s nothing at stake in a friendly, and that means Yassine will be flying to his country and they can spend some time together without needing to sneak away from their respective teams. 

His national teammates seem to know how he feels, for they start ribbing him at breakfast the day before the long-awaited game.

“Someone is happy~” Dom sing-songs as he walks past Livi.

“Well, small wonder, he’s going to meet his boyfriend. Right, Livi?” Josko grins and elbows the now blushing Livi lightly.

“Look how red his face is,” Ivan giggles.

“Just don’t lose focus and concede an own goal or something,” Mateo “helpfully” advises. “Friendly or not, Coach won’t be pleased with you.”

They all laugh at that, while Livi stares down at his breakfast, face burning redder than a tomato. It’s easy for them to say, with most of them in steady, non-long distance relationships or marriages! They don’t know his struggles to meet Yassine even only for one day, that a friendly match against Morocco almost seems like a reward.

“Guys, give him a break,” Luka, bless his heart, finally interjects. “It’s perfectly reasonable for him to miss Yassine, since they’re usually so far from each other, and you shouldn’t tease him like that.”

The laughter dies down immediately, and some of them even look embarrassed. Luka is a quiet guy most of the time, but whenever he speaks up like that, everyone knows they’ve stepped out of line.

“Sorry, Livi,” Josko says sheepishly. “I didn’t realize you’re THAT hurt, and I was just joking, I swear…”

“Yes,” Mateo puts in. “In fact we are fully supportive of you, and if you wish to sneak out to see Yassine, we’ll help to cover it up from Coach.”

Livi fights back a smile. His teammates can be annoying at times, but they are supportive in this matter, and if they’ve promised to help him, they really will, so Livi trusts them.

“I’m still a little curious on how you managed to snatch him, though,” Ivan muses. “Especially since you’re the one who stopped his nation from getting third place in the World Cup.”

Everyone laughs again, but this time Livi doesn’t smile. His mind keeps replaying Ivan’s words again and again in his head. You’re the one who stopped his nation from getting third place in the World Cup…

For Ivan, unknowingly, has hit the bullseye. Yassine has known a lot of things about Livi, but there’s one thing Livi hasn’t told the Moroccan – that he’s a wizard.

The bronze medal in the 2022 World Cup has been a team effort, yes, but Livi, being Croatia’s team wizard aside from Luka, was the one who controlled all the magic on the pitch during that game. He had read all the magic lines, cut off almost every single one of Morocco’s attempts to break his shield down, everything. It’s not cheating – it’s literally his job as team wizard – but still, Yassine might not be looking at him too kindly if he finds out about it. 

The thing is, Livi doesn’t know Yassine’s stance about magic. In Croatia, and also in Turkey where he now plays club football, magic and supernatural stuffs are recognized, but they’re not something to be talked about openly. And Livi knows some people don’t do well with magic for some reasons. What if Yassine is one of them? What if he comes to hate Livi after knowing what he can and has done?

Livi lets out a quiet sigh and massages his temples.

He knows he has to tell Yassine, eventually. But how?

-

Training didn’t go well that day. Livi was too antsy to focus, and as a result, he made several goalkeeping mistakes, one of them a rather hard tackle on Stani, which thankfully only resulted in a slight bruise.

Zlatko calls him to his office after the session.

“What’s wrong with you??” the manager demands, crossing his arms “You made mistakes and even nearly injured Stani. And you know we cannot afford another injury, not before an international tournament! This isn’t like you at all.”

Livi swallows, hard. He doesn’t know whether Zlatko knows about him and Yassine, but he doubts that saying how he feels nervous about his upcoming meeting with a rival goalie who also happens to be his boyfriend would go well with his manager.

“I am fine,” Livi finally says rather weakly, trying his best to look Zlatko straight in his eyes. “Just…just had an off day, that’s all.”

The manager eyes him sharply, and Livi forces himself not to tremble. “Are you sure that’s all? There’s nothing happening with your family, or your magic?”

“Nothing,” Livi answers, albeit a little too quickly. There are rumors that Zlatko can read minds, and it’s definitely not a theory that Livi wishes to test, especially now, so he better get away from this situation fast in case the manager is tempted to use that ability. “I’m just a little tired, Coach. Maybe I should call it an early night, just in case.”

He doesn’t know how he manages to convince Zlatko, but after what feels like forever, the older man finally lets out a sigh. “Alright,” he says. “But if you feel something, anything, in the morning, you go straight to the infirmary, you hear me?? And if you make any more mistakes like that, I can and will kick you out of the camp. No one is irreplaceable in this team, not even you.”

Livi can only nod and murmur a thanks, swiftly escaping the office before Zlatko can say anything else.

He’s barely back in his room when his phone starts ringing. Quickly fishing it out of his pocket, he cannot help a smile spreading across his face when he realizes it’s Yassine. Without further ado, he swipes right on the screen to take the call. “Hello, dragi.”

“Hi, habibi. I just finished my training, how about you?” Yassine says, voice slightly distorted, probably from the bad connection but still endearing all the same.

“Same,” Livi replies. He doesn’t need to tell Yassine how he got called to Zlatko’s office earlier. “Just got back to my room, in fact.”

They fall into their usual routine, chatting about their day and teammates and so forth, and Livi is starting to relax when Yassine suddenly says, “Oh, I have nothing to do tonight. Think we can sneak out to see each other? I’ve missed you so much, habibi.”

Livi’s heart skips a beat. He desperately wants to agree. He’s missed Yassine so badly as well, more than he can ever admit, and his teammates have promised to protect him, right? It should be okay even if he breaks his promise to Zlatko to take an early night. But as he opens his mouth to say yes, he suddenly remembers his secret that he still keeps away from Yassine and how it has resulted in the disastrous training session earlier.

No. As much as it hurts, he cannot see his boyfriend right away, not until the match ends at least. Sure, it’s just a friendly, but Livi needs to show Zlatko that he can play well and keep his spot as Croatia’s No. 1 goalkeeper, or else he’ll get replaced, or worse, jeopardize Croatia’s chances of winning the Euro.

So, swallowing hard, Livi says in the tone that he hopes is assuring, “I’m so sorry, dragi. Believe me, I want it as well. But I have a team meeting tonight, and after that it’ll be too late for us to see each other. You sure wouldn’t want to be too tired right before a game, I know.”

He can see the disappointment in Yassine’s eyes, and he looks away. Hurting Yassine is the last thing Livi ever wants, but this time he has no choice. After a silence that feels like forever, the Moroccan finally says, “Well, I guess it cannot be helped. But we’re going to meet each other right after the game, no?”

Livi nods, short but firm. “I promise.”

-

By some miracle, Zlatko still picks Livi after all to start in the friendly against Morocco. Livi knows he probably won’t play 90 minutes, that Zlatko wants to experiment with his lineup, but he doesn’t mind. The most important thing is that he does start, and as he walks outside the dressing room to walk down the tunnel, he cannot help feeling strangely giddy.

And he spots Yassine. Towering above almost everyone else in his team, he looks solemn as he whispers something to Achraf Hakimi – talking about the game or something else, Livi doesn’t know. But then he turns around and spots Livi, and the Croatian’s breath catches in his throat.

He’s seen Yassine a lot through pictures and video calls, but still, seeing him in person like this hits different. The Moroccan has gotten more tanned, probably from the Saudi sun, and there are more fine lines around his eyes and mouth, but otherwise he’s still the same Yassine that Livi knows and loves. And when he smiles, Livi thinks his soul must’ve ascended to heaven.

“Livi,” Yassine greets him warmly. “Nice to meet you here.”

Livi knows why Yassine doesn’t immediately jump and kiss him on the spot. There are too many staff and cameras around, it’s too unsafe for them to have a moment. But Yassine’s eyes twinkle when he looks at Livi, and when they stand in line beside each other in the tunnel, the older man subtly reaches out his hand, their fingertips softly and quickly brushing against each other before they step out to the pitch.

The referee blows his whistle, and Livi immediately presses hard from the beginning. A little counter-curse here and there, a protection spell when one of his teammates falls, just normal stuff. He’s rather surprised to find himself being able to focus, but Yassine being one whole pitch away might’ve helped with that. And his efforts don’t come in vain, for in the 17th minute, Andrej manages to grab a loose ball and slams it to the net, just barely missing Yassine’s outstretched fingers.

The cheers and claps from the Croatia fans are deafening, and Livi’s heart jumps with joy. He feels sorry for Yassine, who’s currently yelling something towards his defenders, but still, a goal from his team always feels sweet, and it means one step closer to victory.

They don’t end up winning after all. Livi gets subbed off for Ivica in the 60th minute, but then Ivica accidentally crashes onto Youssef En-Nesyri, and despite the whole team’s protests, the ref awards Morocco a penalty, which En-Nesyri executes perfectly, The Morocco fans immediately erupt into cheers amidst Croatia fans’ groans of disappointment, but Livi cannot care less about that. His eyes are transfixed on Yassine.

The Moroccan plays like a deer running on a meadow – quick and light on his feet, graceful despite his height. It’s the first time Livi ever sees him play in such a close proximity, and despite every save from him screams trouble for Croatia, Livi cannot help feeling proud of his boyfriend. He even allows himself a small smile as Yassine jumps to claim a particularly high cross from Josko. 

And as if he can feel the smile, Yassine turns towards the Croatia bench, ball still in hand, and winks at Livi.

Livi’s heart flutters. It might’ve been a pure coincidence that Yassine looks at him when he’s smiling, but Livi knows that Yassine knows how proud he is towards him. And just like that, a mutual respect springs between them, not as boyfriends, but as fellow goalkeepers.

And just like that, Livi knows what to do.

-

The game ends 1-1, which is kind of disappointing, but they have played their best and avoided a loss, so Livi hopes Zlatko is satisfied. Not that he cares much about it though. Slipping inside the tunnel right after the final whistle is blown, he immediately grabs Yassine’s hand and drags him towards a more deserted spot in the stadium, murmuring, “I need to talk to you.”

Yassine’s face is a mixture of confusion and excitement. “Of course,” he says, taking off his gloves. “What is it, habibi? Do you miss me that much?”

“Yes,” Livi says without missing a beat, and Yassine raises his eyebrows in amusement. “But that’s not what I want to talk about right now. There’s something I need to tell you.”

“More important than the fact we haven’t met each other in months?” Yassine jokes, and Livi feels his face flush a little. “But it’s okay. I understand. So, go on. What is it that you want to tell me?”

Livi takes a deep breath. “Promise me you won’t freak out,” he warns.

“Habibi, trust me, I’ve seen loads of strange things in my life, I don’t think anything that you wish to tell me will surprise me that mu–”

Yassine’s words are cut short, for at that point, Livi has grabbed his hand again and pulled him through a portal. And just like that, they’re no longer in the stadium with the chatter of people all around them, but inside Livi’s room in Croatia’s national team camp, small and clean and quiet.

The Moroccan looks bewildered. “Livi…”

“Dragi, I know it sounds impossible, but this…this is what I’ve been wanting to tell you. The portal…that’s my doing. I…I am a wizard.”

Yassine is quiet for some time, and Livi doesn’t dare to raise his head, for he’s afraid to see the older’s expression upon receiving the news. Disgusted? Hate? Disappointed?

“I understand if you hate me for this. I…I’m a freak of nature, as some people have told me. And I’ve been lying to you all this time as well,” Livi says, a single tear rolls down his cheek. Perhaps he’s been too optimistic earlier, thinking Yassine loves him enough to understand. Perhaps it’s too fast for him to reveal who he is. But there’s no turning back now, he has to live with the consequences, whatever it is…

“I don’t hate you,” suddenly he hears Yassine say.

Livi lifts his head up in astonishment, barely believing what the Moroccan just said to him, only to find a smiling Yassine, his left hand stretched out to show a beautiful red rose growing on his palm, while his right hand wipes Livi’s tears gently.

-

“Wait, wait, wait,” Luka says, trying to hold back a laugh. “So that’s why you’ve been so antsy yesterday? Because you were nervous to tell Yassine that you are a wizard??”

Livi throws his arms up in frustration. “How would I know he’s also one??”

“I don’t know, perhaps you could’ve asked me?? I mean, the whole La Liga practically knew back then that he’s a wizard…”

“WHAT???”

“Yeah, perhaps try not to overthink it too much next time.”

Chapter Text

“Is that true?”

Frank blinks and stares at the sight before him in disbelief. While he has indeed given Mason the key to his house, the younger man usually uses it responsibly, and always informs Frank whenever he wishes to drop by. To have Mason barging inside his private office without warning, hair sticking out to every direction, wearing only a pair of sweatpants and one of Frank’s old Chelsea training jackets is something he never experienced before.

All the same, Mason is here now and he definitely expects answers, so Frank guides him to a chair, pours him a cup of tea and asks gently, “What’s ‘that’, Mase?”

Mason glares at him and sets the tea aside as a show of defiance. “Don’t play dumb, Frank. You know what I’m talking about. All the news outlets are talking about it now. Did you or did you not get sacked by Chelsea??”

Frank sighs and slumps down on his own chair, unable to meet Mason’s eyes. He’s known that this would happen, actually. When Chelsea started getting a string of poor forms, he’s been called to Abramovich’s office more than once, with the owner not-so-subtly hinting about his removal if things didn’t improve in the following weeks. And he’s been trying, he really does. But after only two wins from Chelsea’s last eight league matches, the Russian has finally lost his patience and axed Frank for good.

Frank has wanted to tell Mason about this earlier, to prepare the younger for the news, but he can never find the right words, thus leading to Mason figuring it out from Twitter eventually.

“I’m so sorry,” Frank finally says, still looking down at his desk. “I didn’t mean for you to find out about it that way, Mase, really I didn’t. But I just…I don’t know how to tell you.”

Mason’s fist clenches, and for a second Frank thinks the younger is about to punch him. But when he speaks again, it’s weirdly as if all the anger has been blown away from him. “Why? Why would they do this??”

Frank risks taking a peek at Mason’s expression, and what he sees nearly breaks his heart. The midfielder looks completely betrayed and defeated, his shoulders slumped down and his hands trembling.

“Mase, face the reality,” Frank says quietly, reaching out to touch Mason’s hands. “Chelsea is not doing well. We only had two wins from the past eight games, we are currently only 7th in the league…and the board, they’re not happy with this. They want Chelsea to win everything, and wins they shall get, no matter what it takes… It’s always been like that, even during my playing days.”

“But it’s unfair,” Mason insists. “They didn’t even give you a fair chance. You’re a young manager and all, you’re basically still learning on the job, they should’ve been more patient… They didn’t even give you certain players you wanted in the summer. And most importantly, is that how they treat a Chelsea legend??”

Frank has to bite back a smile at the last statement. There’s a part of Mason who, despite his current status as one of Chelsea’s best players, is still a Chelsea fanboy who looks up to Frank as his footballing idol. But Frank, flattered as he is, knows that his legend status alone isn’t enough to save his job at Stamford Bridge. The board will want to hire someone new, someone (hopefully) better to guide Chelsea to the trophies they deserve.

He doesn’t bother explaining all of that to Mason. After all, the midfielder is an adult, and he will understand once a new manager comes along. So Frank simply says, “Drink your tea. It’s getting cold.”

Mason fixes him another glare, but this time he dutifully takes the still steaming cup of tea and takes a sip. Two blocks of sugar, just a little drizzle of milk. Frank might be an asshole, but he knows perfectly how Mason takes his tea.

“And about my dismissal,” Frank continues, looking solemn for the first time. “Again, I’m sorry, Mason. Both for that, and for not telling you. It’s a…complicated situation, per se. But I assure you, I’m only leaving my post as Chelsea’s manager. I’m not leaving you. And no matter what job I’m taking or whatever club I’m coaching, I will still love you.”

This time it’s Mason’s turn to avoid Frank’s eyes as he looks down at his shoes, trying to hold back tears.

“Do you trust me, Mase?”

And finally, finally, Mason’s head gives the tiniest bit of nod before he leans forward to capture Frank’s lips in a kiss.

Chapter Text

Can you hold me?

Chapter Text

The atmosphere after a win is always great, and Kai is all giddy as he walks through the tunnels in the Emirates Stadium. Sure, he’s not playing any part in the win itself because of his stupid injury, but there’s no rule saying he cannot see his teammates to congratulate them, which he fully intends to do.

As he makes his way to the home dressing room, he can hear faint yelling from the direction of the away one, and he cringes a little. Cholo has always been a hard man, and he definitely doesn’t hold back with his players after they let themselves get beaten 4-0 by Arsenal. Shaking his head in pity at their fate, he turns around and immediately staggers backwards as he bumps into someone.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the person immediately apologizes, reaching out a hand to help Kai stand. “Are you okay?”

Kai is about to take the hand, but then blinks and stares at the person before him. There’s nothing too striking about that guy’s appearance actually, he’s quite thin and tall – though not as tall as Kai – with pale skin, messy brown hair and slightly droopy brown eyes, but that’s not what surprises the German the most. No, it’s the fact that the guy isn’t a staff member or a teammate, but an opposition player!

“Robin?? What are you doing here?”

Robin Le Normand – because that guy is him, of course – also blinks and opens his mouth in surprise as if not expecting to see Kai there, but swiftly regains his composure. “I…well, we just played against Arsenal, no?” he stammers a bit as he pulls Kai up to stand. “Is it that weird for me to still hang around here?”

“Yes, but this is the way to the home dressing room, yours is over there. What happened, are you lost?”

“I’m not lost!” Robin sputters, a little indignant. “I…I just have something to do, that’s all. Don’t worry, Cholo knows I’m here.”

“A job?” Kai asks, a little alarmed. “But why did Cholo assign you for that? No offense, but this is my territory.”

For some reason, a faint blush is spreading across Robin’s cheeks, and he looks away. “N-no, it’s not actually a job,” he manages to reply. “Just…some tasks I really need to do. You needn’t worry, alright, Kai? And I am not taking over any of your jobs here. I’ll…I’ll just leave now, you go on, I know your teammates must’ve been wanting to see you.”

Kai stares in confusion as Robin disappears into another corridor. The Spaniard is being unusually suspicious. But being a fellow Grim Reaper, he knows Robin decently well, and trusts that he won’t actually do anything bad, so Kai eventually shrugs and makes his way to the home dressing room.

As predicted, it’s all cheery and chaotic there. Declan is trying to take selfies with every single person there, Gabriel and Willo are standing on the table singing Viktor’s chant on the top of their voices, while Martin is vainly trying to get them to quiet down a little. Kai smiles a little as he slips in and sits on his usual seat, soaking in all the celebrations.

Then his gaze falls beside him and frown lines immediately appear on his forehead. As they all sit in the order of their squad number, it’s usually Merino who takes that seat, but now it’s empty. Well, not that empty, because Kai can see Merino’s washbag and towel and spare shoes there, but the owner himself is nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Meri?” Kai asks Riccardo who sits on the other side of him, gesturing to the deserted seat.

The Italian shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says, taking off his hair tie and letting his wavy locks fall on his shoulder. “I saw him with Zubi earlier before I came in, but they must’ve gone somewhere else, because Zubi isn’t here either.”

Kai frowns again. He knows Merino and Zubi are boyfriends, and both can be a little reserved, but they usually at least still join in with any post-match celebrations, and not sneak away by themselves like this. Besides, they live together anyway, so they supposedly still have all the time in the world to ‘celebrate’ by themselves, right?

Unless…

Kai blinks as a hypothesis starts to form in his mind. Standing up and slipping out of the room before any of his teammates even notice his disappearance, he quickly heads towards the corridor where he’s seen Robin disappearing earlier. Having been an Arsenal player for more than two years, he’s basically known the Emirates Stadium like the back of his hands, and he understands that the particular corridor leads to the physio rooms. But luckily, no player got any injuries in this match, so if that place is empty…

“Ngh… Meri, please, please…”

Kai freezes as the voices float from one of the rooms right into his ears. To be precise, those words are spoken in French, but thankfully being a Reaper comes with a certain degree of omnilingualism.

“I’ll be a good boy, but Meri, please… Harder, please…!!”

A little pause, followed by the sound of a playful slap, and then Merino’s voice asks teasingly in Spanish, “Did I allow you to speak French?”

“Meri, stop teasing him,” this time it’s Zubi’s voice, sounding eager as if he’s about to try out a new tactic on the pitch. “Besides, it’s my turn now, so move away.”

At this point, Kai’s curiosity has gotten the better of him, so he quietly sneaks closer. Much to his surprise, the door isn’t locked, which he takes as an invitation to take a peek inside.

Robin is there, sitting on the sofa while leaning on his back, his shorts down to his ankles with Zubi kneeling between his legs, Merino standing not too far from them, licking his lips. From where he stands, Kai cannot see what Zubi’s doing, but he’s had a pretty good guess for that, especially when Robin’s eyes start to roll upwards, a strangled moan of pleasure escapes his lips, and a mixture of French and Spanish words begin to tumble out.

“Ahhh…Zubi! Y-yes, there… “

“Please, Zubi, don’t do t—ohhhh…”

“Fuck, fuck, Zubi, fuck me…”

Kai stands there, transfixed, his brain completely comes to a standstill. He’s indeed hypothesized what’s been happening between Merino and Zubi (and Robin by extension) but still, seeing it in person is a different thing altogether. His brain is screaming at him to walk away, telling himself that this is an invasion of their privacy, but those three keep on going, and it’s just so hot…

Then he suddenly feels a strong hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, Kai, you cannot stay here,” Riccardo’s voice whispers to him, soft but firm. “Just leave them alone, and follow me.”

Kai lets Riccardo drag him away from that spot until they reach the corridor leading to their dressing room. Only then does he turn around at the Italian and ask, “You know this would happen?”

Riccardo shakes his head. “I didn’t. Well, not until they actually started doing it, and by then I was able to sense it. And then I thought of you since you hadn’t returned to the dressing room, so I came to fetch you up. They need their privacy, you know.”

“I know, “ Kai says, embarrassed. “I just…I couldn’t look away for some reason, but I won’t do it anymore.” He takes a deep breath. “How did you handle it anyway? You’re an Incubus, I thought you would want to join them or something.”

He’s afraid he has gone out of line with that, but thankfully Riccardo only laughs good-naturedly. “Being an Incubus does not mean I am a slut, you know. And mind you, I have my own moral code. No fucking or participating in that kind of stuff without consent from all parties.”

Kai nods in understanding. So that’s why.

“Although, I won’t mind if you want to recreate what Meri, Zubi, and their cute French boyfriend there are doing…”

Kai flips him off and walks away.

Chapter Text

There’s a crunching sound when Nick Pope swings his leg towards Viktor, sending the striker cluttering to the ground, holding his leg in pain. For one-nth second, everyone falls silent before everything explodes at once.

“Ref, that’s a clear foul!”

“Penalty! Penalty for Arsenal!”

“Pope, you bastard! You’re just a shit Ramsdale!”

Jarred Gillett, the referee for that game, tries to calm everyone down while Bukayo and Bruno Guimaraes, the team captains, come towards him to talk about the incident. From where he’s sitting, Viktor cannot tell what they’re saying, but judging from Bukayo gesticulating wildly and pointing towards the 18-yard box, he knows the winger is trying to appeal for a penalty.

After a while, Gillett seems to get an instruction from his earpiece and he jogs towards the pitchside monitor, for what reason, Viktor doesn’t know. A few grueling minutes, and then he jogs back, gesturing at the penalty spot and shaking his head. 

Viktor cannot believe it. It is a clear penalty, everyone can see it! Well, perhaps except those referees, indeed. He’s been told that PGMOL hates Arsenal for some unknown reason, and would do everything in their power to stop Arsenal winning games. He hasn’t believed it before – or maybe doesn’t want to believe it – but now he sees that his teammates were right. 

The Arsenal players and supporters seem to share his sentiment, for they start booing and yelling again, despite Gillett’s attempts to explain that Pope has played the ball.

“They didn’t even touch it, ref!” Declan is complaining, spreading his arms wide in frustration. “No one has touched the ball but Viktor!”

But the ref is undeterred, and Viktor feels anger starting to rise inside him. Unconsciously, his left hand slides towards his right wrist, where his restriction bracelet is located, wrapped in a bandage.

A cold hand touches his shoulder, and Viktor turns around to face Leandro. “Don’t,” the Belgian whispers, grabbing his hand. “I know what you wish to do, but we cannot do that.”

“Easy for you to say,” Viktor growls under his breath, hand still unmoving. “That’s a stonewall penalty, and they didn’t give us that!”

“I know, Vik, and believe me, I’m as mad as you, but using our power to help winning games, that’s illegal here. If the FA knows you charm the ref into giving us preferable results, we’ll get sanctioned, and that’s the last thing we want in our title race. Just calm down. The match is still long, we can still score.”

Viktor grumbles again, because this feels so unfair, but he knows Leandro is right. They cannot risk getting punished, especially in a game where the referee is clearly one-sided. So he reluctantly removes his hand from his wrist and jogs back to his position as the game restarts.

For some time, it doesn’t seem like Leandro’s words would come true. Newcastle takes the lead first, a goal from Nick Woltemade, and Viktor really feels like punching the giant’s smug face as he celebrates his goal. 50 tense minutes follow after that, and then finally, finally, Declan manages to dink a ball towards Merino who wastes no time poking a lovely header past Pope.

The cheers and chants from the Gooners are deafening, which is a minor miracle considering that they’re playing away, and Viktor feels hope rising in his chest. He knows Newcastle has always been an annoying opponent for Arsenal, and they haven’t won any game in St. James’ Park for a while. But now they’ve cancelled the opener, and perhaps there’s still time to win the game after all…

And win it they do! A long, precise cross by Martin from a corner kick in the dying minutes, which Gabriel powers towards Newcastle’s net as well, giving them a 2-1 score. For a second, Viktor worries that Gillett will either annul the goal or try to extend the injury time so Newcastle can still score, but that doesn’t happen, and when the final whistle is finally blown, relief washes over him like a rain after a dry season.

Viktor, of course, does a little walk around the pitch clapping the Arsenal fans who have come to this game. He’s a little vexed for not being able to score a goal himself, but football is a team game and a win is a win, so he’ll take it.  As he makes his way towards the tunnel, he nearly bumps into Gillett, who’s been having a hushed discussion with his assistants and linesman, looking devastated despite his best attempts to hide it.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t see you there, ref,” Viktor says in his sweetest voice. “Anyway, good game earlier, and great officiating. Looking forward to having another game led by you.”

He can see the corners of Gillett’s eyes twitching slightly, but he knows the ref cannot lash out at him without indirectly admitting he made a “mistake” earlier, so after a tense handshake, Viktor resumes his walk to the dressing room, a diabolical grin still painted on his face.

Chapter Text

When Ben opens his eyes that morning, there are a few things he immediately notices.

Firstly, he’s in his room at St. George’s Park.

Secondly, he’s naked.

And thirdly, there’s someone else with him on the bed, also naked, hugging him from behind under a blanket.

Almost instantly, he jumps out of his bed as if it’s on fire, pressing his back against the wall. “The fuck??” he screams, his voice coming out a little louder than he’s meant.

The other person stirs under the blanket, obviously startled by Ben’s scream. As Ben watches, the blanket slowly slides down, revealing a head full of light blonde hair, bright blue eyes, pale skin littered with a few freckles, a rather square jaw full of stubble…

“Aaron…?” Ben breathes in disbelief. “But why…? What are you doing here…?”

Aaron doesn’t answer immediately, instead he lets out a big yawn before looking at Ben, sleep still clouding his eyes. “Hmm? You mean you don’t remember?”

A flurry of bad thoughts start crowding Ben’s mind, and he’s barely able to take a breath. “What are you talking about? You mean…you mean we did fu–” He cannot say it, despite how easy that particular word escapes his lips usually.

Aaron stares at Ben for a few seconds, and then he begins laughing. “Oh no, no,” he manages to say, laughter still bubbling out of him in such a way that Ben, despite his distress, feels slightly less tense somehow. “We didn’t do anything of that sort, Benjamin, I can assure you. I mean, you don’t remember what happened in training yesterday?”

Training. Of course. Ben blinks as realization slowly dawns on him, his mind piecing together the last memories he had before everything went black. Him collapsing mid-runs. His teammates screaming his name. And of course, Aaron’s panicked face before his strength shut down.

Ben shakes his head. As relieved as he can be because Aaron does worry about him, it’s not the time to think about it now. “Then why are you here in my room…? And why were you hugging me naked??”

“Because when the medics checked on you, they concluded that you collapsed from the lack of energy,” Aaron explains. “And that you hadn’t been feeding for some time, so someone needed to.” He takes a deep breath. “But we knew it would be…unethical for any of us to fuck you while you’re unconscious, so I offered to do that. They said it should be enough for you to gain some energy until you can feed for real.”

Only now does Ben realize that both he and Aaron are still wearing boxers, which he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed for. “But again, why…? Why would you do that for me?”

“…We’re friends, no?” Aaron responds, uncertainty written all over his face. “I don’t need a reason to help you, Benjamin. Besides, that’s not the point here. The point was why you exhausted your energy yesterday.”

Ben falls silent, looking down at his toes.

“Tell me, Benjamin. Why haven’t you been feeding? I know your feeding method is…different, but I thought you never found any problems with it before.”

And indeed, Ben never did, previously. He never possessed the feeling of slight inferiority most dark creatures seem to have, instead he’s always perfectly poised and confident in himself. It’s not until Aaron’s arrival in his life when he finally feels like there’s something wrong with him, that eventually renders him unable to feed. But how can he explain it to Aaron?

Aaron is still waiting patiently, sitting on the bed as the first rays of sunlight starts to shine through the chink in the curtains, creating a soft, golden halo around him. He looks so beautiful there that Ben wishes to just come closer and kiss him, but the defender quickly looks away. He cannot do that to Aaron, he just cannot…

“Benjamin?” Aaron calls, again sounding unsure. “If you don’t want to tell me, it’s alright. I’m sorry for being too pushy. But look, you cannot keep doing this to yourself, you need to feed somehow, you…”

“It’s because of you.”

Aaron blinks, once, twice. “Pardon?”

“It’s because of you,” Ben repeats, eventually deciding to just go through with it, thinking resignedly that if Aaron feels disgusted or even turns against him afterwards, he will just make sure he doesn’t need to face the goalkeeper directly ever again, and he can just return to his “normal” way of living anyway. “You’re the one who prevents me from feeding.”

“But why?” Aaron asks, completely bewildered. “I know I did ask you for movie marathons with me and so forth, but you can always say no if you need to feed or…”

“It’s not that.” Ben interrupts, eyes blazing. “It has nothing to do with the movie marathons.” He can feel Aaron’s eyes on him, and words finally tumble out of Ben’s mouth. About how he felt the first time he met Aaron, with the latter introducing himself as a light elemental and Ben thinking how much he looks like a sunshine personified. How they get closer thanks to all the team building exercises during the training camp. How Ben tries to feed but finds himself thinking of short blonde hair and muscles instead of long brunette hair and curves. How he feels disgusted at himself for thinking that way about Aaron…

“So there,” Ben finishes, gaze fixed firmly to the floor. “I cannot ask you to feed me for obvious reasons. And I cannot feed from other people either, because I’ll just end up thinking about you anyway. I was trapped, Aaron, and I don’t know what to do…”

Silence ensues in the room. Ben still won’t look at Aaron, so he doesn’t know what face the goalkeeper is making. Shocked? Offended? Or even grossed out? Well, he has made his bed, and now he has to lie in it, no matter how Aaron’s reaction might be…

“Are you being serious, Benjamin??”

There. There it is. Of course Aaron is outraged by it. Sighing, Ben responds, still looking down, “I know, Aaron, and I’m terribly sorry for that. Look, I thank you for all you’ve done for me, but I promise, I won’t disturb you anymore, I will even remove myself from your life, I–”

Ben’s words are cut off because by then, Aaron has shut his mouth up with a kiss. The defender blinks, his breath caught in his throat as he tries to comprehend what’s happening, but Aaron’s lips feel so soft against his own, his body so warm, his hands cupping Ben’s cheeks so loving…

“Oh, Benjamin,” Aaron sighs when they finally break apart, and now that Ben is finally willing to look at him properly, an amused look is dancing in his eyes. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

“…I am perfectly aware of that, but why…?”

“Because you have worried over nothing, dumbass. You could’ve just told me that from the very start. I won’t mind feeding you. If anything, I would love to.”

Ben is pretty sure he hears wrong. “You…would love to?”

“Yes.” Aaron nods confidently. “I know you need it, and it would be much easier for you to just go to my room and do it instead of roaming around finding prostitutes in goodness knows where. Besides,” he adds, suddenly looking shy for the first time this morning, “I also love you, so why would you think I’m going to refuse you doing that to me…?”

Ben’s eyes shoot open in disbelief, and he searches Aaron’s face, trying to find any signs of the goalkeeper pulling his leg or something. But Aaron’s eyes show nothing but honesty as they stare into Ben’s, his voice clear, his smile wide and unwavering. And the defender doesn’t need anything else.

He jumps towards Aaron, pushing the goalkeeper back towards the bed. Aaron’s mouth lets out something between a chuckle and a gasp, but he allows Ben to take off his boxer, and soon there’s nothing in the world but the two of them, the feeling of their bodies against each other, Aaron yelling Ben’s name as they reach climax, Ben finally feeling alive again for the first time in days…

There are still a lot of things to talk about. Heck, Ben hasn’t even known why Aaron fell for him. But now they’re together, and they love each other, and that’s all that matters for now.