elxxor

[elxxor]

𝐇𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐬 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐀 𝐍𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐫

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐.

𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐥 𝐕𝐚𝐧 𝐃𝐢𝐣𝐤 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✧ in which you have a fat crush on your brother's best friend, without getting much success.

Liverpool added to their story.

Your phone notified you, immediately dampening your mood. Everything was related to him.

It's been two months since Virgil shattered your heart after that nightmare of a night. The funny thing is that a part of you didn't hate him, a part of you that still loved him existed.

You had waited for him to text you to ask how you were and if you were free to hang out. And by the time you realized that he wasn't going to, it was too late... too awkward for you to ask as well. So, both of you had resorted to ignorance and hostility.

Life eventually went on, even though you had cut one of the most important people out of your life.

And you'd see yourself by night, in your dreams.

All these faces in the crowded city of Liverpool, and for some reason, you'd still try to find his. Virgil was no longer yours.

Although he never was.

The first time Virgil saw you after that night was a couple of months later, at a family lunch. The two families Van Dijks and yours-had united in your family's garden for a little lunch to catch up on life. You had turned twenty four and Lyon was old news.

But Virgil's eyes were stuck on your body as he watched you sit between his sister and your brother just before him. Sipping from a glass of wine that you most likely didn't like, he glanced at you.

Your brother had brought his new girlfriend with him and even though you were still as close as ever, his attention was on the pretty blonde talking to your nanny.

Virgil had spent so much of his life avoiding you, but after the night of the party, he just wanted to make sure you were okay. Although he just couldn't.

"Dear, will you serve me a little piece of that cake?" Your mother had her plate in her hand, waiting for Virgil to react. It took him about five seconds to come out of his trance and then he served her what she had ordered.

He was too busy thinking about you.

"So, Virgil... when is your next match? Your dad told me you were playing for the Netherland." Your mom tried to lighten up the mood since you were not bickering with Virgil as you were on other occasions.

Virgil smiled up while you looked at him and caught a glimpse of his beautiful Cheshire cat smile.

"I'm playing next week, on Sunday..." He looked around at everyone and proceeded. "You are all invited, of course."

After an hour or two, everyone stood up, scattering around the decorated garden. Virgil grabbed his phone from the table and headed to the kitchen in search of a beer.

In the background, the voices of the two families blurred together as you finished washing your plate. Both Virgil’s sisters were busy playing card games with their mother and your brother was having a talk about politics, which you were not at all interested in. You had no one to talk to.

Suddenly, you feel someone behind you trying to open the refrigerator. That bloody refrigerator, which, being so old, could not be opened correctly. You turned around, not expecting to see Virgil looking at you.

You headed to the refrigerator to open it, so the footballer moved from where he was previously standing, leaning on the kitchen counter. You gave the refrigerator a little kick and it opened.

"Thanks..." He said grabbing the beer, the tension being palpable in the air. After a long pause, you continued:

"How are you?" you asked, he could feel your eyes staring into his side profile, but he stared at the sun setting over the British landscape.

"I'm alright."

Scoring some scarce points with Liverpool has become almost impossible under a year ago now, and you really felt sorry for him, knowing everything he and his team put in.

"How are you holding up?" you stood next to him, nudging his shoulder with yours, before looking down at the floor. You felt the look of pity that Virgil was giving you, but you tried to ignore it.

"Thank you, really. Virg…"

He looked in your eyes this time, he looked so sad, so broken. So desperate for a hug. You didn't pressure him to answer your question, instead, you gently placed your head on his shoulder looking along the garden in silence.

"It will be alright, you know." He hummed, knowing you were still hurt because of what he had said.

"I know." You whispered back. "And don't worry much about scoring, in the least expected moments your shot is the one that serves the most."

He hated how much you believed him because at that moment he felt like the six-year-old boy with dreams bigger than the world itself, who thought everything was possible.

Virgil looked down at you, the smile on his lips was enough to melt your heart, and threw his head back in a laugh.

"I don't think I'm ever getting rid of you."

Now it was your turn to laugh. After all the laughing he noticed how your eyes shifted from his own to his lips, and then he remembered why he was avoiding you in the first place. He did a face.

"I know, I know." You said with a sad look on your face.

"You know l'm too old for you, right?" Virgil whispered as he leaned his forehead on yours.

"I'm in it for the long game, Van Dijk."

It felt like your heart was twisting and stuttering, sometimes beating too quickly that you were afraid it was going to push you over the edge. You wanted him to notice, to do something to fix it.

Time went on flying, the last few days being hectic. It was already Sunday and today Virgil was playing with the Netherlands and obviously, you were more than proud. He had invited your brother,his best friend, you and your family to watch him from the special box for family and friends.

The cold air hits your face as soon as you enter the box with your family. Excited, you see you’re neighbours siblings. You were so nervous that your hands were even sweating.

You sit next to Stacey, Virgil's older sister. She gives you a smile.

"Nervous about the game?" she asks.

"A bit, yes..." you say as you settle down, your eyes scanning the pitch, looking for him. For Virgil.

"This should be an easy game, the Netherlands has a better team."

"You never know." you reply. You were almost freezing, you only had the basic Netherlands t-shirt on.

Stacey noticed that you were shivering from the cold and decided to take off the sweatshirt she had tied around her shoulders. She put it on your lap and smiled.

"Put it on, otherwise, you'll freeze to death here." she said, laughing.

"I'm..." You said about to deny it. For a second, you thought about the cold that you would catch without the sweatshirt, so you decided to take it.

"Oh, never mind."

The sweatshirt was orange and had his number and surname printed on the front, in a blue font.

This made you remember the uncountable times when you stole Virgil's sweatshirts just to have his number on you.

Stacey, without you seeing, grabbed her phone and texted his brother: "Just wanted to say that she's here and she's got your name on her sweatshirt. Good luck! We're all rooting for you. And don't worry, she'll wait for you."

All of a sudden, Anna, Virgil's niece, came up to you asking if she could sit in your lap to have a better look at the pitch. It was no secret that Anna enjoyed seeing you, as she had grown up seeing your brother and you in the Van Dijk household.

"Look over there, Anna! There is your uncle." said Stacey, and both Anna and you looked over to where the players were entering the enormous pitch. There he was, beautiful as always.

The whistle was blown and the match started.

Everyone was immersed in the excitement of the box, watching the match carefully. The atmosphere was electric, and each second increased the tension.

"Yes!" You screamed when Virgil's friend, Denzel, scored the opening goal, feeling your heart beat against your chest rapidly. Anna looked up at you with wide eyes, before she started giggling. You smiled and leaned down to where she was and kissed her on the forehead.

The second half started and your eyes only followed Virgil running up and down the pitch.

Only one goal was scored in the whole 45 minutes of the first half, that being Denzel's goal.

Abruptly, Memphis stole the ball from a player on the opposing team. He ran alone, jumped over some defenders and, feinting, the ball passed to Gakpo on the right side. He analyzed the position of the players spread around the pitch before passing it to Frenkie, who was almost close to the goal.

He passed it to Virgil and he, avoiding the players, aimed and kicked with all his strength.

The world went silent for a moment. He had scored.

After realizing that he had scored a goal, Virgil ran to the end of the field, right where you were.

The atmosphere was pure shouting, people jumping and celebrating but you only had eyes for the footballer who just scored.

He looked towards the box looking for those who truly love him and just at that precise moment, you connected glances. With a shaky breath, you stood up from your seat and waved to him, also trying to hold Anna up with your other arm.

Virgil's heart melted when he saw that scene and many things went through his head: he couldn't believe he had scored a goal after so long and he also couldn't believe how beautiful you looked with his niece in your arms.

In celebration, he pointed to both of you and you could only sigh in love. The game ended with a great performance from Virgil and a win for the Nerherlands.

As soon as he stepped into the box, he scanned the room for you, but Anna caught him off guard.

"Uncle Virg!" she ran toward him and he picked her up, planting a kiss on her cheek while she wrapped her small arms around his neck.

"My favourite person! " His eyes fell on you and he didn't know if it was his imagination or the fact that he hadn't seen you in days, but you looked prettier than usual.

You were standing at the back, watching Virgil greet his family. You felt shy and awkward, which made you hate the feeling even more. All you wanted was love from him and for that, you haven't slept well in the days after the family lunch with the Van Dijk's.

"I played well, all thanks to you." He kissed her head and his niece giggled. The little girl ran toward her mother and then closed the door, leaving you and Virgil all alone. Your family had congratulated Virgil before and told you they were waiting outside.

"How have you been?" His voice was gentle like he was afraid to say something.

"Virgil!" you laughed. "You just scored a tremendous goal for the Netherlands and you ask me how am I? Sometimes I don't understand you."

"Alright, alright. You have a point!" he laughed, definitely not missing those nervous butterflies in his stomach. He felt like a little boy.

His gaze searched yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. He scratched the back of his neck and then looked at your sweatshirt with his surname and number.

His number looked very good on you, he thought.

He gazed at your lips and he came dangerously close to you. You stepped back, hitting the table.

Virgil was looking straight into your eyes when he suddenly grabbed you by the waist and sat you on the table. You let out a little squeal. The air was thick with tension, and all you craved was to pull him close and kiss him passionately.

"We-we should go." you said, clearing your throat. "Your family is waiting."

Quickly, Virgil grabbed your wrist.

"Virg... You don't have feelings. You don't have a heart."

Now he's frowning as he tries to unravel your words. His breath hitches.

"I feel things..." your heart twirls with the way his voice sounds. You had always loved his voice.

How croaky and deep it was. But you never imagined that it would turn your entire world upside down to hear him say that.

Pushing his hand down, you look back, weak and concerned. He worries you might have suddenly regretted all of this. That you would walk away and never want to talk to him ever again.

What he didn't know is that he's everything you were imagining those long nights... he had never kissed you, not even touched you.

"It's okay if you want to stop" he said, while you slid your hands under his t-shirt. Running up and down your hands through his lower torso, you felt his abs contract.

"Virg, I'm certain that I'm okay." you said, giggling.

He smirked. Your core grows tighter with his expressions, now holding onto his broad shoulders.

Unexpectedly, you both heard from behind the closed door someone shout: "Mate, are you there? The party starts at ten, hurry!"

Fuck. That was your brother.

Virgil had completely forgotten about the party in honour of their win. How the fuck was he getting out of that room with a hard-on? He had to calm himself.

You, on the other side, felt your heart falls into pieces. You thought about how long you had waited for this exact moment, every time you gave your endless hope all you ended up doing was bleeding. And this time, not only he was about to leave you alone but he was going to leave you turned on.

"I'm-I'm sorry..." he said, exiting quickly from the room.

After that match, you only heard from Virgil through your brother. He had told you that after the match, at the party, Virgil had rejected every girl who appeared to flirt with him.

Apparently, you've had an effect on him.

Virgil hated how his heartbeat boomed in his ear when he saw you standing in his parents' house, with a red Liverpool shirt that had printed out the number 4 on the back, hugging your figure.

You had blossomed into a beautiful young woman, you had for sure gone through puberty.

He didn't like to stare but he found it hard not to sometimes. Especially on family boat trips when you would wear a bikini in front of him.

"So, we're leaving after lunch. Do you want to meet at the stadium or at home?"

You took a minute to understand. "What?"

"The game, remember? We're having lunch here and then driving up to watch the game." Said your brother, while getting on the boat. About three weeks had passed since you almost kissed Virgil and now you were about to hop on the Van Dijk’s boat in Portsmouth.

You had completely forgotten about the game.

During your conversations with your brother, you could sense that Viegil hadn't mentioned anything about that night which was, in a way, kind of relieving.

Just like you, Virgil had also forgotten that your family was coming over. But when his sister sent him a text saying that your family would join him before his game, he was flabbergasted.

You both hadn't spoken since the night of the win, but you both were thinking about that interaction since then. To forget that incident, he had spoken to one of his best friends, Ben, in search of a solution.

"Mate, what you need is a good fling. Maybe you should invite someone next time you're going on a family boat day" said Ben, laughing because of what the footballer was asking him.

You got on Virgil’s boat, feeling heavy-hearted once again. After an hour, you were seated on the floor, helping Stacey with a puzzle, after your mom expelled you from the kitchen when trying to help her. Meanwhile, Virgil and his mother sat down on the couch.

"She has grown into a beautiful woman, don't you think?" His mom said teasingly, already knowing that you were not the only one fallen for someone.

"Yes, she has." He looked at you, seeing you laugh at something his sister had said. "Mom... l think I fucked up."

"If you had fucked up, she wouldn't be here."

"No mom, I really" Virgil got interrupted by the entrance of a tall, dark-eye, skinny blond, almost gotten out from a runway. She turned toward Virgil and presented herself as Daphne, a friend. Virgil’s mom now understood why her son said he had fucked up really bad.

Your brother, seeing Daphne the supposed fling of Virgil talking with him, turned to you.

"Forget your stuff, let's just get off this boat."

"Don't turn around okay?" his hands gripping strongly your shoulders. He knew how much you liked his best friend.

You laughed and followed your brother down the steps of the boat before stopping in your tracks.

"Since when have I ever listened to you? Dear God, i " Your mouth fell open as you turned around to be met with Virgil and his mother, and the presence of a girl that looked like an actual model.

She was leaning on him and he was laughing at whatever she had to say, while Virgil’s looked at you with pity. You felt like he had personally ripped your heart out, for a hundred times.

"You knew?"

Your brother sighed before running his hands through his hair: "She's only a side thing, a onetime fling. I mean she's not you, but he decided to find someone before Christmas." He shrugged his shoulders and you felt the rage creeping up your body.

"What about me? When will I be happy? " you said, crying.

That sentence broke your brother's heart.

19 years to be exact, that's the time you've been waiting for him.

✧.・。.・゜✧・.・✧・゜・。.✧

𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐫😭

[elxxor]

𝐇𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐬 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐀 𝐍𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐫

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏.

𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐥 𝐕𝐚𝐧 𝐃𝐢𝐣𝐤 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✧ in which you have a fat crush on your brother's best friend, without getting much success.

You watch proudly in his shirt as you clap in the game's first minutes, chanting while taking pictures of him.

The first half was pretty equal, with some shots from both teams but neither could score. You could see that Virgil was getting nervous. He stopped his movements abruptly when the referee called for a corner and looked at the crowd, his eyes sparkling with tenseness.

He gazed down at where his family (and therefore also yours) was and licked his lips. You couldn't help but wonder what would your brother think of your little huge crush on his childhood best friend.

In the 34th minute, he passed the defenders and tried to score with a pass from Cody Gakpo, making the goalkeeper lose his balance and thus scoring.

You celebrated the goal screaming it to your brother's face and he couldn't help but smile at you, happy that you were having a good time.

Your cheeks were red after Virgil approached the stands and celebrated the goal, dedicating a kiss to where you were.

And that was the effect that Virgil Van Dijk had on people, especially you.

Virgil was your brother's best friend, you had known him for years. It was a stupid crush that all your friends grew out of but not you. You had to keep drooling every time he was near you, that being almost every day because your brother had him over to dinner nearly every night.

You remember the day the Van Dijk family moved next to your house, a loud and proud Dutch family. The day after they had moved in, his siblings asked if your older brother was interested in playing football with Vrigil.

It didn't take long for your brother to become close to Virgil, both at the cusp of boyhood.

Their friendship only bloomed from there.

After spending almost every weekend watching your brother and Virgil training, to spending most afternoons around the Van Dijk’s house playing, you felt like family.

You always found yourself drawn to the boy next door although he was away a lot of the time, playing different matches and training. Virgil’s natural affinity and talent for the game, ensured the quality of his skills.

He was slightly older so no doubt he found you childish and would always moan when his parents made him spend time with you.

"Mom, not again! I don't want to play with her, she's boring!" Virgil exclaimed with an expression of obvious annoyance on his face.

Virgil’s mother was the first to figure out your crush on the boy. She first noticed it when you joined the Van Dijks at a family dinner when you were around thirteen.

Both families were playing football, as usual, while the adults were preparing supper. When you had the ball you felt your body lean way too far back and Virgik tried to act on impulse, stretching his body to catch you in time.

"Hold on to me!" Virgil exclaimed, extending his arms towards you. However, the weight of the fall was too much, and in an instant, they were both on the grass, in some sort of mess.

"Virg, God, I'm so sorry! I dragged you with me!" You apologized, feeling the blood rise to your cheeks, turning them crimson red.

He brushed the grass off his jacket with an angry expression.

"Well done. First minutes into the game and you're already annoying."

"Thanks for trying!" you laughed, shyly.

When there was a long silence, you realized that Mason was not joking and was serious. "Sorry, I..."

Virgil’s mom looked from afar at the little girl carefully while she kept her eyes glued to her son's. She watched her cute little cheeks tinted red as Virgil scoffed and begged you to stay away from him.

The mom would soon get used to it as she watched you fall in love with her son over the next few years.

Until your first boyfriend. An age difference of three years was not a big deal since it was a common factor among your friend's partners. You had recently turned sixteen years old and you thought that you had met the boy who could take you out of the charm that had her wrapped around Mase.

Lyon was older, he was eighteen years old, like Virgil. You had met him at school on a spring afternoon. You walked through the school hallways, books clutched to your chest. A gust of wind caused some of the books to fly out of your hands, scattering them across the hallway floor.

Lyon was passing by and noticed the scene. He approached you with a smile and that is how the story started.

Your brother didn't approve of your new boyfriend. He knew that her sister just wanted to show his best friend that the age difference wasn't that important.

Being with Lyon was great at first. You knew that he was not the love of your life, but for the moment he seemed to play the role quite well, so that was fine with you. It was a Friday night and you and your brother were at a party at the house of one of your brother's friends.

You were downstairs in the kitchen while your friends watched you drink alcohol like there was no tomorrow. They realized something was bothering you, but decided not to mention it.

"Where is the lover boy anyway?" Spoke one of your friends.

Your lack of response was when they realized that Lyon was the reason for the sadness that was painted on their best friend's face. He abandoned you, once again. This seems routine, they thought.

You slammed your empty red glass against the kitchen counter, wiping the drip from your chin as you decided that was enough.

"I'll go look for him."

From the corner of the room, your brother wished you good luck and with courage, you stumbled through the party. The house was huge.

Enormous windows covered the entire house.

From the kitchen window you could see the river of lights going down to the beach.

And there he sat, on the stairs leading to the illuminated outdoor pool, Lyon. A thin blonde girl was sitting on his lap, probably older than you.

She took the cigarette from Lyon's lips and placed it on top of her painted red lips.

Tears welled in your eyes as you returned to the house with your heels in hand. With all the bad luck in the world, as you returned, you heard in the background:

"Baby, relax." You ignored your boyfriend's call as you made your way through the crowd to return to the kitchen, hoping that your brother was still there.

You made it to the kitchen before your boyfriend grabbed you by the back of your arm and pushed you against the kitchen island.

"Come on, I didn't even do anything"

"She was on your lap."

"It's not that serious, okay?"

"It's a big problem! I'm humiliated! " You shouted back, creating a scene you desperately wanted to avoid. Lyon's grip tightened around your arm as he tried to wriggle out of your grasp.

"Let go of me, you're hurting me." That only made his grip tighten around your arms.

"Let her go, man." Your vision was too blurry to focus on what happened next, but you felt Lyon back away.

"Oh yeah?... and what are you going to do about it, Virgil?" That's when the punches were thrown and Lyon was left hunched over holding his split lip.

Your now ex-boyfriend was grabbed by someone else before he could lunge at who you assumed was your brother, but when you turned your head you saw Virgil shaking your hand out of pain.

His knuckles were red and his eyes were darker than what you were used to.

"Let's go to the car." Said Virgil, you nodding your head. "Get in the car." He said. His tone was strong, not what she was used to.

Still, the ride to your house was silent, you sitting in the front with Virg, while your brother passed out in the back seat. Faint English music played on the radio as Virgil’s eyes were firmly fixed on the road.

You’re childhood crush finally spoke. "You really don't know how to choose them, don't you?"

You could only sob again, unable to answer him mainly because he was right and you were ashamed. When the car stopped, he unbuckled his seat belt and murmured that he would walk you to your door.

Virg rocked on his heels as he watched the moonlight highlight the tear-stained cheeks of his best friend's sister. He thought you looked beautiful that night even though you had been crying for the last half hour, your hair hadn't been brushed, and you were digging through your purse like crazy.

Although he would never admit it.

"I got them!" You laughed, waving your keys in the air before bumping your nose with the keychain. You paused as you pushed the key into the door, turning to look Virgil’s in the eye for the first time since the party.

"Thank you." Mason didn't want to hear it. You were just her best friend's sister.

"It's no big deal."

"No... really thank you, Virgil," you smiled and Virgil listened too, mainly because it was probably the first time you had called him Viegil and not Virg.

After a moment, you dropped your bag to the floor and wrapped your arms around the boy's waist, your head resting on his chest as he quickly moved his hand and rubbed your back.

"Just... make sure the next one isn't a complete idiot, yeah?" he whispered, his chin resting on the top of your head.

That sentence broke your poor little heart.

✧.・。.・゜✧・.・✧・゜・。.✧

𝐈 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝. 𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫!🤪

[elxxor]

𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐲 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐥 𝐕𝐚𝐧 𝐃𝐢𝐣𝐤 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

✧𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒑𝒐𝒐𝒍 𝒅𝒆𝒇𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑽𝒊𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒍 𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒆𝒓 𝑳𝒆𝒂𝒈𝒖𝒆 𝒈𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒚, 𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒂 𝒉𝒊 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝑴𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑼𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒋𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒃𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒓𝒚. 𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒉 𝒐𝒇 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒂 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒅𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒂𝒘 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆.

The roar of the crowd still echoed in Virgil's ears as he strode through the door, the Premier League trophy gleaming in his hands. Liverpool had done it. Champions. But the smile faltered on his face when he saw you, sitting on the couch, clad in the scarlet jersey of Manchester United. His blood ran cold.

"Really?" He dropped the trophy on the coffee table, the thud reverberating through the room. "Tonight? You chose tonight?"

You didn't look up, eyes glued to the muted television screen showing highlights of Liverpool's victory.

"What else am I supposed to wear? You've stained all my clothes red."

He ran a hand through his hair, the joy of the win curdling into frustration. "You know how much this means to me. To us."

"Oh, I know," you finally said, turning to face him, a smirk playing on your lips. "It means you get to gloat for the next year. Congratulations."

"Don't be like that." He knelt in front of you, taking your hands in his. "Can we just...can we just celebrate together? Just for tonight, put aside the rivalry?"

You pulled your hands away, standing up. "I can't, Virgil. It's in my blood. United is in my blood."

He rose as well, towering over you. "And I'm not?"

"You're...complicated," you admitted, avoiding his gaze. "You're the enemy I happen to love."

He stepped closer, backing you against the wall. "Then let me show you who the real champion is." His voice was low, a husky promise that sent shivers down your spine despite your best efforts.

"Virgil, don't," you breathed, but the protest lacked conviction.

He didn't stop. His hands found the hem of your jersey, slowly pulling it up, revealing the bare skin of your stomach. "This is just a shirt," he murmured, his lips grazing your ear. "It doesn't define you. I do."

You shivered, the heat of his body melting away your resistance. "You're insufferable."

"But you love me," he countered, his fingers tracing the outline of your breasts beneath the thin fabric of your bra.

"Maybe," you conceded, tilting your head back to give him better access to your neck.

He took the invitation, nipping and sucking at your skin until you moaned, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders. "Take it off," he commanded, his voice rough with desire.

You hesitated, your eyes flickering to the discarded trophy. "What about your big win?"

"This is my celebration," he growled, tugging the jersey over your head. He tossed it to the floor, then unhooked your bra, letting your breasts spill into his waiting hands.

He cupped them, kneading and teasing your nipples until they were hard and aching. You gasped, arching your back, offering yourself to him. "Please," you whispered, your voice thick with need.

He obliged, his mouth latching onto one nipple, sucking hard while his fingers danced over the other. You cried out, your legs trembling. He was right. He did define you. He controlled you.

He pulled away, his eyes burning into yours. "On your knees."

The command was unexpected, shocking. You stared at him, defiance flickering in your eyes. "What?"

"You heard me," he said, his voice brooking no argument. "Get on your knees for the champion."

A battle raged within you. Pride warred with desire. Loyalty to your team clashed with the overwhelming need for him. Finally, with a sigh of resignation, you knelt before him.

He smirked, a predatory glint in his eyes. He reached for his belt buckle, the metallic click echoing in the silent room.

You watched, mesmerized, as he slowly unbuttoned his jeans, revealing the thick, hard length of his cock straining against his boxers.

He pushed the fabric down, freeing his erection. It sprang forth, thick and heavy, pulsing with anticipation. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry.

"Open wide," he instructed, his voice a low growl.

You obeyed, parting your lips. He guided his cock to your mouth, the head nudging against your teeth. You took him in, slowly, reverently, savoring the taste and feel of him.

He groaned, his hands tangling in your hair, guiding your head. You sucked him deep, your tongue dancing over his shaft, teasing and tormenting him. He bucked against your mouth, his hips thrusting in time with your ministrations.

"Fuck," he moaned, his body shaking. "You're so good."

He pulled you up, his grip tight on your arms. "Now it's my turn."

He lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist. You clung to him, your bodies pressed together, skin to skin. He carried you to the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.

He laid you on the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. He straddled you, his knees pinning your arms to the mattress. "I'm going to fuck you until you forget your name," he promised, his voice a husky rasp.

He plunged into you, his cock filling you completely. You gasped, your body arching in response. He began to move, slowly at first, then faster and harder, driving you both to the edge of ecstasy.

You cried out, your nails digging into his back. He kissed you, his tongue plunging into your mouth, mimicking the rhythm of his hips. You were lost, consumed by the fire that raged between you.

He pulled out, hovering over you, his cock glistening with your combined fluids.

"Say it," he demanded, his eyes burning into yours.

"Say what?" you gasped, your breath coming in ragged pants.

"Say Liverpool is the best," he growled.

You hesitated, your pride warring with your desire. But the need for him was too strong to resist. "Liverpool is the best," you whispered, the words tasting like ash in your mouth.

He smirked, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. He plunged back into you, driving you both over the edge. You screamed, your body convulsing in a series of intense orgasms. He roared, his own release shaking him to his core.

They lay entwined, panting, their bodies slick with sweat. The animosity had been washed away, replaced by the raw, primal connection that bound them together.

After a few minutes of catching their breath, Virgil rolled off you, his eyes still locked with yours. He traced the curve of your cheek with his finger, a soft smile gracing his lips.

"Was it worth it?" he asked, his voice gentle.

You looked away, shame washing over you. "I don't know," you mumbled.

He chuckled, pulling you closer. "Don't worry," he whispered in your ear. "I'll make sure you never forget who's in charge."

He kissed you again, a slow, lingering kiss that promised more to come. And as you surrendered to his embrace, you knew, deep down, that he was right.

He was the champion, in every sense of the word.

✧.・。.・゜✧・.・✧・゜・。.✧

The next morning, you woke up first, the sun streaming through the window. The events of the previous night seemed like a dream, a fevered fantasy fueled by passion and rivalry.

You sat up, stretching, your muscles aching in protest. You glanced around the room, your eyes landing on the crumpled Manchester United jersey lying on the floor. A wave of conflicting emotions washed over you.

You reached for the jersey, smoothing out the wrinkles.

You couldn't deny that Virgil had gotten to you, had broken down your defenses and forced you to acknowledge his dominance. But that didn't mean you had to like it

You stood up, determined to reclaim your pride, to assert your own identity. You walked to the closet, rummaging through the clothes until you found what you were looking for: a brand new Manchester United jersey, still in its packaging.

You ripped it open, pulling the jersey over your head. You strode to the mirror, admiring yourself in the scarlet fabric. A smile played on your lips. The battle wasn't over. It had just begun.

Virgil walked in, a cup of coffee in each hand. He stopped short when he saw you, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Good morning," you said, your voice challenging.

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Wearing that again, are we?"

"Yep," you replied, popping the 'p'. "Just wanted to remind you who I support."

He chuckled, handing you a cup of coffee. "As if I could forget."

He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He nuzzled your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "You know, there's only one way to settle this once and for all."

"Oh yeah?" you said, turning to face him. "And what's that?"

He leaned in, whispering in your ear. "Another round."

You laughed, pushing him away playfully. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

But as you looked into his eyes, you knew that resistance was futile. The game had changed, but the rules remained the same. He was the champion, and you were his willing opponent.

"You know," he said, "I was thinking about something."

"Oh?" you replied, raising an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"I think it's time we introduced a new element into our little rivalry," he said, his voice low and suggestive.

"And what would that be?" you asked, your curiosity piqued.

He leaned in close, whispering in your ear. "A little bit of...punishment."

You gasped, your eyes widening in surprise. "Punishment?" you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," he said, his voice growing more insistent.

"For every time you wear that United jersey, you'll have to pay the price."

"And what price would that be?" you asked, your heart pounding in your chest.

He smirked, a predatory glint in his eyes. "That's for me to decide."He reached for your jersey, tearing it open, revealing your bare skin. You gasped, your body trembling with a mixture of fear and excitement.

He began to kiss you, his lips rough and demanding. You moaned, surrendering to his touch.

He pulled away, his eyes filled with desire. "You're going to regret this," he whispered, his voice a promise.

He bent down, lifting you into his arms. He carried you towards the bedroom.

As he closed the door behind you, you knew that you were entering a new and exciting chapter in your relationship. The rivalry would continue, but now it would be laced with a delicious dose of pain and pleasure. And you couldn't wait to see where it would lead.

"You thought you could get away with it, didn't you?" he growled, his voice a low rumble. "You thought you could flaunt your little jersey and get away with it?"

You didn't answer, your heart pounding in your chest. You knew that you had crossed a line, and now you were going to pay the price.

He threw you onto the bed, his eyes filled with a dark and dangerous passion. You gasped, your body arching in anticipation.

He ripped off your panties, his movements rough and impatient. You lay naked before him, your body exposed and vulnerable.

He straddled you, his body length and weight making you feel weak while he pinned you, to the mattress. You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of fear and desire.

"You're mine," he whispered, his voice a husky rasp. "And you're going to learn to obey me."

He bent down, kissing you roughly on the mouth. You moaned, surrendering to his touch.

"I'm going to punish you," he whispered, his voice a promise. "And you're going to enjoy every minute of it."

He began to kiss you, his lips rough and demanding. You moaned, surrendering to his touch.

He worked his way down your body, kissing and licking every inch of your skin. You gasped, your body trembling with anticipation.

He reached your breasts, sucking and teasing your nipples until they were hard and aching.

He moved lower, kissing and licking your stomach, your hips, your thighs. You moaned, your body writhing in pleasure.

He reached your pussy, his tongue darting between your lips. You screamed, your body convulsing in a series of intense orgasms.

He pulled away, his eyes filled with a dark and love. "You like that, don't you?" he whispered, his voice a husky rasp. "You like being punished."

You didn't answer, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

He stood up, his eyes never leaving yours. He walked to the dresser, opening the top drawer.

He pulled out a pair of handcuffs, his eyes filled with a dark and dangerous passion.

You gasped, your heart pounding in your chest. You knew that you were in for a long and painful night.

He walked back to the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. He knelt down, attaching the handcuffs to your wrists.

He pulled your arms above your head, securing the handcuffs to the bedposts. You were trapped, helpless, at his mercy.

He stood up, his eyes filled with a dark and dangerous passion. "Now," he said, his voice a husky rasp. "The real fun begins."

He reached for his belt, unbuckling it slowly and deliberately. You watched, mesmerized, as he pulled the belt from his waist.

He wrapped the belt around his hand, his eyes filled with a danger.

You gasped, your heart pounding in your chest. You knew what was coming, and you were terrified.

He raised the belt above his head, his eyes never leaving yours.

He brought the belt down, striking you hard across the ass.

You screamed, your body arching in pain.

He raised the belt again, striking you again and again, each blow more painful than the last.

You screamed and cried, begging him to stop. But he didn't listen. He continued to strike you.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he stopped.

You lay on the bed, sobbing, your body covered in welts and bruises.

He stood over you. "Do you understand now?" he whispered, his voice a husky rasp. "Do you understand who's in charge?"

You nodded, your body trembling with fear.

He smiled, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Good," he said, his voice a husky rasp. He bent down, kissing you roughly on the mouth. You moaned, surrendering to his touch.

He began to fuck you, his movements rough and demanding. You cried out, your body arching in pain and pleasure.

He fucked you harder and harder, driving you both to the edge of ecstasy.

You screamed, your body convulsing in a series of intense orgasms.

He roared, his own release shaking him to his core.

After a few minutes of catching their breath, Virgil rolled off you, his eyes still locked with yours. He traced the curve of your cheek with his finger, a soft smile gracing his lips.

The room was quiet, the only sound coming from the gentle hum of the air conditioner as you lay on the bed, still catching your breath. The aftermath of the heated encounter left you both exhilarated and exhausted.

Virgil shifted beside you, his eyes softening as he took in your flushed cheeks and the way you were still trembling slightly. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering against your skin.

"Hey," he said, his voice low and soothing. "You okay?"

You nodded, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside you. "Yeah, I just... needed a moment."

He turned onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow, his gaze steady and reassuring. "I know I got a bit carried away."

There was an edge of concern in his voice, and it made your heart swell. "I just wanted to remind you who’s in charge, but I didn’t mean to push you too far."

You smiled weakly, appreciating his care. "It was intense. But I think I needed that."

Virgil’s expression softened further. "I’m glad you enjoyed it. But I also want to make sure you feel safe and cared for, too." He reached for a damp cloth from the bedside table, gently wiping your forehead and tracing the contours of your cheeks.

His touch was tender, and you felt the warmth of his affection wash over you. “You did so well,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’m proud of you.”

“Really?” you asked, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks.

“Really,” he affirmed, a smile breaking through his earlier intensity. “You’re amazing.”

As he continued to gently clean your skin, you felt the tension of the night fade away, replaced by a sense of comfort and intimacy. His fingers grazed over the marks left on your body, and he frowned slightly, his thumb brushing over a particularly sensitive spot.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, concern etched on his face.

“Just a little,” you replied, your voice soft. “But it’s a good kind of hurt. I promise.”

He leaned down, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “Let me know if it gets too much. I don’t want you to feel pain unless you want to.”

You felt a warmth spread through you, and it had nothing to do with the heat of the moment before. His protectiveness was comforting, and you reveled in the knowledge that he cared deeply for you.

Virgil got up momentarily, returning with a bottle of water. “Here,” he said, handing them to you. “You should drink this. And if you need anything else, just tell me.”

You took the water gratefully, sipping it slowly as you watched him. He settled back beside you, pulling you close against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calming your racing thoughts.

“Thank you for being so understanding,” you said, your voice muffled against his skin.

“Always,” he replied, his fingers running soothingly along your back. “I want you to feel safe with me. I’ll always take care of you, no matter what even if you’re a United fan.”

You chuckle and nestled closer, feeling the warmth of his body enveloping you. “I know,” you murmured. “And I trust you.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, holding you tighter. “Let’s just relax for a bit. No football talk, no rivalries. Just you and me.”

You smiled, content in the cocoon of his arms. As the moments passed, you both drifted into a comfortable silence, the bond between you deepening in the aftermath of the night’s passion.

With each gentle stroke and whispered word, you felt the tension of the earlier struggle fade away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of belonging and connection. You knew that despite your differences, you were both on the same team in this relationship.

“Hey,” he said after a while, breaking the silence.

“Next time we celebrate, how about we wear each other’s jerseys? A little compromise?”

You laughed softly, looking up at him. “You mean I’d have to wear a Liverpool shirt?”

“Only if you promise to wear it with pride,” he teased, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Alright, deal,” you replied, a grin spreading across your face.

As you settled into a comfortable silence, you knew that this was just the beginning of a new chapter in your relationship—one filled with love, trust, and the perfect mix of rivalry and affection.

✧.・。.・゜✧・.・✧・゜・。.✧

𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲! 𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚t 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞😊

[elxxor]

𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐓𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐨

𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐥 𝐕𝐚𝐧 𝐃𝐢𝐣𝐤 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

✧𝑶𝒏 𝒂 𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒚 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑽𝒊𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒍 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓'𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒌. 𝑨𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒂 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒔 𝒂 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒂 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒐𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕, 𝒂 𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔. 𝑶𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒎𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒛𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒅𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒍𝒚 𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖.

The sound of the front door clicking open pulled you gently from your literary escape. A gust of wind, carrying the scent of rain and Virgil, accompanied his entrance.

"Hey, love," he called out, his voice weary but warm.

"Hey you," you responded, placing your book on the coffee table. "Tough day?"

He shrugged, a weary smile playing on his lips. "You know how it is. Long travel, intense practice. Just glad to be home."

He dropped his kit bag with a soft thud and came over to the sofa, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. "I'm going to hop in the shower. I stink of sweat and disappointment after that training."

"Sounds like a plan," you chuckled, playfully pinching your nose. "Don't be too long. I'm making your favourite carbonara for dinner."

He grinned, his eyes lighting up. "That's the best news I've heard all day. Ten minutes, tops."

You settled back into your book, the rain outside intensifying its gentle lullaby. You knew how much these quiet evenings meant to Virgil. Being in the public eye, constantly surrounded by cameras and clamoring fans, could be draining.

Here, he could just be Virgil, your Virgil, and that was enough.

The minutes ticked by, accompanied by the soothing sound of running water from the bathroom. You were just getting to a crucial plot point in your novel when you heard the bathroom door open.

Virgil emerged, a cloud of steam trailing behind him. His hair was still damp, slicked back from his forehead, and droplets of water clung to his sculpted chest.

He was only wearing a pair of grey sweatpants, the drawstring pulled low, and your breath caught in your throat. He was undeniably handsome.

He made his way over to the sofa, a towel draped around his neck. "Right, where were we?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

You couldn't help but smile. "I think I was just getting comfortable," you teased.

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through you. He settled down next to you, pulling you close until your head rested on his shoulder. The warmth of his skin radiated through his damp hair, and the clean scent of soap mixed with his natural musk filled your senses.

"Better?" he murmured, nuzzling your hair.

"Much," you sighed contentedly. You closed your eyes, letting the rhythm of his breathing soothe you. The rain continued its gentle drumming, and you felt utterly at peace.

After several minutes of comfortable silence, you shifted slightly, wanting to get a better angle to see something in your book.

As you moved, your fingers brushed against his chest. You absently traced the contours of his muscles, enjoying the feel of his warm skin.

Then your fingertips met something different. Something raised, and textured.

You frowned, pulling back slightly to get a better look. The light in the living room was dim, but your eyes adjusted quickly. You leaned forward, your heart beginning to pound in your chest.

There, on the left side of his chest, just above his heart, was a new tattoo.

It was intricately detailed, a beautiful rendition of your name, written in elegant cursive, intertwined with a depiction of your eyes, rendered in stunning detail. They were your eyes, the exact shade of hazel with flecks of gold that always seemed to catch the sunlight.

You gasped, your hand flying to your mouth. "Virgil… what is this?"

He opened his eyes, looking at you with a mixture of concern and anticipation. "Do you…do you like it?" he asked, his voice suddenly sounding hesitant.

You were speechless. You reached out again, your fingers gently tracing the lines of your name, the curve of your eyelashes in the tattoo. The artistry was incredible, but it was the sentiment behind it that took your breath away.

"Like it?" you finally managed to whisper, your voice thick with emotion. "Virgil, I… I love it."

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. You couldn't believe he had done this.

He’d etched your name and eyes, a part of you, permanently onto his skin, right next to his heart. It was the most beautiful, most heartfelt gesture anyone had ever made for you.

He let out a relieved sigh, relaxing back into the sofa. "I wanted to do something… permanent," he explained, his voice low and sincere.

"Something that showed you how much you mean to me. Being away so much, with the games and the training, it feels like I'm always missing out on time with you. This... this is a reminder. A reminder that you're always with me, no matter where I am.”

He reached up and gently wiped away a tear that had escaped down your cheek.

"I know it's just a tattoo," he continued, "but I wanted you to know that you're always on my mind. You're my anchor, my home. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

The tears were flowing freely now, but they were tears of pure joy. You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his neck.

"I love you so much," you sobbed, your voice muffled. "So, so much."

He held you tight, his strong arms wrapped securely around you. "I love you too, schatje," he whispered into your hair. "More than words can say."

You stayed like that for a long time, wrapped in each other's arms, the rain drumming a gentle rhythm outside. Finally, you pulled back slightly, needing to see his face.

"When did you get it?" you asked, your voice still shaky.

He shrugged sheepishly. "Yesterday. We had a free afternoon before travelling. I snuck away. It was a tough sitting, but totally worth it." He grinned, his eyes sparkling with affection.

You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs tracing the curve of his cheekbones. "You're incredible," you said, your voice full of love. "Absolutely incredible."

You leaned in and kissed him, a long, slow, tender kiss that spoke volumes of your love and appreciation.

He responded with equal passion, his arms tightening around you, pulling you closer.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, you knew that something had shifted between you.

Your love had always been strong, but this gesture, this permanent declaration of his feelings, had deepened it in a way you never thought possible.

The aroma of the carbonara you had been preparing earlier wafted into the living room, a gentle reminder of the present. You pulled away from him reluctantly.

"I should probably go finish dinner," you said, smiling.

He grinned. "Only if I can help," he said, standing up and extending his hand.

You took his hand, and together you walked into the kitchen, hand in hand, your hearts full of love. The rain outside had stopped, and a sliver of moon peeked through the clouds, casting a soft, ethereal glow on everything it touched.

It was a perfect ending to a perfect evening, made all the more special by the permanent reminder of your love etched on his heart.

You knew this was a moment you would cherish forever, a testament to the depth and beauty of the love you shared.

And you knew, with unwavering certainty, that you would spend the rest of your life loving this man, Virgil van Dijk, the man who had given you his heart, literally.

The carbonara was a symphony of creamy sauce, perfectly cooked pasta, and salty pancetta, a culinary masterpiece born from love and appreciation.

As you and Virgil ate, the conversation flowed easily, filled with laughter and shared jokes. You recounted funny anecdotes from your day at the office, and he told you about a particularly challenging drill he’d been working on with his teammates.

After dinner, you cleared the table together, the comfortable silence punctuated by the clinking of dishes. You loaded the dishwasher, and Virgil stood behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist. He rested his chin on your shoulder, humming softly.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked, leaning back into his embrace.

“Just how lucky I am,” he murmured, his breath warm against your neck. “To have you, to have this… this peace.”

You turned in his arms, looking up into his eyes. “I’m the lucky one,” you said, your voice sincere. “You bring so much joy and light into my life.”

He kissed you softly, a gentle promise held in the touch of his lips. “How about we watch a movie?” he suggested. “Something completely mindless and relaxing.”

You agreed, and soon you were both curled up on the sofa again, a fluffy blanket draped over your legs. You chose a cheesy rom-com, something that required minimal brainpower.

As the movie played, your eyes kept drifting back to Virgil. He was so handsome, so kind, so utterly perfect.

As the credits rolled, you snuggled closer to him, feeling drowsy. “Thank you,” you whispered, “for everything.”

He smiled, gently stroking your hair. “Anytime, love. Anytime.”

You knew you were falling asleep, lulled by the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart.

Just before you drifted off completely, you felt him carefully lift your shirt slightly. You stirred, but didn't open your eyes, trusting his touch implicitly.

He gently, almost reverently, brushed his fingertips over the tattoo on his chest, the one that bore your name and eyes. You could feel the heat radiating from his skin, a tangible symbol of his love for you.

Then, he whispered, so softly you almost thought you’d imagined it, “Goodnight, my love. You’re always with me.”

And with that, you fell asleep, your dreams filled with images of his smiling face, the drumming rain replaced by the steady beat of his heart – your heart, too. You were home. You were loved. And you were finally, completely, at peace.

✧.・。.・゜✧・.・✧・゜・。.✧

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭😊

[elxxor]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

✧𝑬𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒂, 𝒅𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒍 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝑿𝒂𝒗𝒊'𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆. 𝑯𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒈𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒉𝒓𝒍𝒑𝒊𝒎𝒈 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒈𝒐 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆. 𝑰𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒔, 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒖𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒕𝒚.

Thursday nights had become a predictable battleground. A battlefield where the war was waged not with swords and shields, but with textbooks and deadlines.

The enemy?

The relentless onslaught of schoolwork that seemed to swell each week, threatening to drown Elara in a sea of research papers, problem sets, and readings.

Elara slumped in her desk chair, the worn wood groaning in protest under her weight. Her shoulders ached, her eyes burned from staring at the laptop screen for hours, and the caffeine coursing through her veins felt more like a frantic tremor than an energizing boost.

The small desk lamp cast a harsh circle of light, illuminating the scattered mess of notes and highlighting the dark circles blooming under her eyes.

She blinked, trying to refocus on the complex algorithm sprawled across her screen. Computer science, a field she once approached with wide-eyed enthusiasm, now felt like a cruel and unforgiving mistress.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating, unsure how to proceed. The code swam before her, each line a mocking reminder of her perceived inadequacies.

A sigh escaped her lips, a weary sound that seemed to carry the weight of the entire week. She glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen – 9:47 PM. Still so much to do. Still so far to go.

Just as despair threatened to engulf her, a subtle shift in the atmosphere registered at the periphery of her awareness. A warm, comforting presence began to fill the room, chasing away the chill of her anxiety. Without a word, Xavi, her boyfriend, had entered the fray.

Elara felt rather than saw him moving around the room. A soft rustling of sheets, the gentle thud of pillows being plumped – small sounds that resonated with a profound sense of care.

A corner of her mind, still sharp despite the exhaustion, registered the familiar scent of his cologne – a blend of sandalwood and citrus that always managed to calm her frayed nerves.

He didn’t speak, and she was grateful for it. She didn't have the energy for conversation, for explaining the mountain of work looming before her, for articulating the frustrating feeling of being perpetually behind. He seemed to understand that, instinctively, knowing that his presence alone was a balm to her weary soul.

When she finally glanced over, she found that he had transformed their bed into a haven of comfort. He'd arranged a nest of fluffy pillows, draped a soft, worn quilt over the duvet, and placed a small side table within easy reach.

On the table was a carefully curated assortment of snacks: her favorite dark chocolate, a bowl of brightly colored gummy bears, and a bottle of sparkling water with a straw already inserted. He knew her weaknesses, her little indulgences that could coax a smile even on the darkest of days.

He stood back, surveying his handiwork with a quiet sense of satisfaction. Then, he looked at Elara, his eyes filled with an unspoken invitation. He simply gestured towards the bed, a silent promise of respite and affection.

Elara hesitated for a moment, torn between the allure of comfort and the nagging voice of responsibility. But the pull towards Xavi, towards the warmth and security he offered, was too strong to resist.

She crawled into the bed, sinking into the plush pillows with a sigh of contentment. Xavi settled in beside her, not too close, not too far, just the right distance to offer support without feeling intrusive.

He propped himself up against the headboard, his eyes fixed on her with a gentle concern that melted her heart.

He didn't say a word, just waited for her to readjust and get comfortable. Then, he reached out and gently took her hand, his fingers interlacing with hers. His touch was warm and reassuring, a silent reminder that she wasn't alone in this struggle.

Elara turned back to her laptop, placing it on the small table Xavi had provided. She tried to refocus on the code, but her mind still felt fuzzy and resistant. Xavi remained unobtrusive, a quiet presence beside her. He didn't offer advice or suggestions, didn't try to solve her problems. He simply stayed there, a solid anchor in the storm of her academic anxieties.

Every so often, he would lean closer and plant a soft kiss on her temple, a fleeting gesture of affection that sent a shiver of warmth down her spine. Or, he would take her hand and gently massage it, working out the knots of tension that had accumulated from hours of typing.

And then there were the doodles.

At first, she barely noticed them. A light tickle on her thigh, a brief sensation that she dismissed as a stray strand of hair. But then she felt it again, a deliberate, playful stroke that made her skin prickle with awareness.

She glanced down to see Xavi, his eyes twinkling with mischief, using his finger to trace patterns on her jeans-clad thigh. A small heart, a wobbly star, a miniature stick figure – simple drawings that were imbued with a playful affection.

Elara couldn't help but smile. It was a small, fleeting smile, but it was genuine. A momentary break in the clouds of stress that had been hanging over her head.

He continued his artistic endeavors, his touch becoming bolder, more suggestive. He traced the curve of her hip, drawing lazy circles that made her breath catch in her throat. He drew a question mark on the inside of her thigh, his finger lingering just a little too long.

Elara found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on her work. His playful teasing was a tantalizing distraction, a siren call that threatened to lure her away from the shores of responsibility.

Then, he leaned his head against her shoulder, his warm breath ghosting across her neck. He smelled of soap and comfort, a familiar and intoxicating scent. He closed his eyes, his body heavy against hers, a silent plea for her attention.

He began to caress her, his hand gliding smoothly over her arm, her back, her waist. His touch was gentle but firm, exploring the contours of her body with a reverence that made her feel cherished and desired.

He knew her sensitive spots, the places where a light touch could send shivers of pleasure through her entire being. He traced the line of her jaw with his fingertip, lingered at the pulse point on her wrist, and gently massaged the nape of her neck.

And then he began to whisper.

Soft, sweet words that were meant to distract, to seduce, to coax her away from the glowing screen.

"Good girl," he murmured against her ear, his voice low and husky. "You're working so hard. You deserve a break."

He kissed the delicate skin behind her ear, sending a jolt of electricity through her.

"You're so smart," he whispered, "so incredibly intelligent. I'm so proud of you."

He kissed her temple, a gentle, reverent kiss that spoke of admiration and respect.

"You're so cute," he continued, his voice laced with affection. "I just want to cuddle you all night long."

He kissed the corner of her mouth, a playful nip that made her lips tingle.

"You're so hot," he breathed, his voice deepening with desire. "I can't keep my hands off you."

He kissed her neck again, lingering there, tasting her skin.

"I'm so lucky to have you," he whispered, his voice filled with genuine emotion. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

He knew exactly what to say, exactly how to say it. He knew her insecurities, her vulnerabilities, and he used his words to soothe and reassure. He reminded her of her strengths, of her beauty, of her worth.

He wanted her to stop working, he knew how stressed she was, how close to the breaking point. And he knew that the best way to distract her was to appeal to her senses, to remind her of the pleasure and intimacy they shared.

He kept teasing, his touch growing bolder, more insistent. He traced the outline of her breasts through her shirt, his fingers lingering on her nipples, making them harden with anticipation. He slipped his hand under her shirt, his skin against hers, sending shivers of delight through her body.

Elara finally paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to regain control. But it was no use. His touch was too intoxicating, his words too seductive.

She knew she should be working, she knew she had deadlines to meet. But she also knew that she needed this, she needed him. She needed the comfort of his presence, the warmth of his touch, the reassurance of his love.

With a sigh of surrender, she closed her laptop and turned to face him, her eyes filled with a mixture of desire and exhaustion.

Xavi smiled, a knowing, tender smile. He had won.

He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her, holding her tight. He kissed her deeply, a long, lingering kiss that spoke of passion and affection.

When they finally broke apart, Elara felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. The stress of the day, the pressure of her schoolwork, the constant anxiety – it all seemed to drain away, leaving her feeling weak and vulnerable.

Xavi seemed to sense her weariness. Without a word, he reached for the remote and turned on the TV. He navigated to her favorite streaming service and selected a lighthearted romantic comedy, a movie they had both seen countless times but still enjoyed.

He dimmed the lights, creating a cozy, intimate atmosphere. Then, he reached for the snacks, offering her a piece of chocolate.

"Here," he said softly. "You deserve this."

Elara took the chocolate, savoring the rich, decadent flavor. She leaned against Xavi, resting her head on his bare chest. She could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear, a soothing, comforting sound.

He began to stroke her hair, his fingers gently massaging her scalp. It was a simple gesture, but it was incredibly relaxing. Elara closed her eyes, letting the tension drain away.

She ran her hands over his stomach, tracing the contours of his abs. He was toned and muscular, but not overly so. He was just right.

He chuckled softly, a warm, rumbling sound that vibrated through her body.

"Ticklish?" she murmured, her voice drowsy.

"Maybe a little," he admitted.

She continued to caress him, enjoying the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips. He was warm and solid, a source of comfort and strength.

They watched the movie in comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional whispered comment or shared laugh. Elara found herself drifting in and out of sleep, lulled by the warmth of Xavi's body, the gentle rhythm of his breathing, and the soothing sounds of the movie.

Eventually, she succumbed to the exhaustion, falling into a deep, restful sleep. Xavi continued to stroke her hair, watching over her with a tender gaze. He knew she needed this rest, she needed to recharge her batteries.

He stayed awake for a little longer, watching the movie, enjoying the feeling of Elara's body pressed against his. He felt a deep sense of contentment, of gratitude for the love they shared.

Finally, his own eyelids began to droop. He turned off the TV, adjusted the blankets, and closed his eyes. He held Elara close, breathing in the scent of her hair, and drifted off to sleep.

The weight of Thursdays, for one night at least, had been lifted. The battle had been won, not with force or aggression, but with love, compassion, and a quiet understanding.

And in the stillness of the night, nestled in each other's arms, Elara and Xavi found solace and peace. The relentless demands of the world outside faded away, replaced by the simple, profound comfort of being together. The world could wait. For now, they had each other, and that was enough.

✧.・。.・゜✧・.・✧・゜・。.✧

(𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲😭)