the forbidden romance of the norm

They shared a long, passionate kiss, the world fading away as they surrendered to the intensity of their emotions. When they finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, Dimitri, his eyes twinkling with mischief, said with feigned seriousness, "Well, I was supposed to be released from the hospital in a few months. But thanks to you and your… enthusiastic kissing, I'm clearly not fit for discharge just yet."

A laugh escaped Anya's lips, a sound as light and carefree as the feeling in her heart. She playfully nudged him. "Oh, Dimitri," she teased, "if you can't handle a few kisses, how are you going to handle the pressure of carrying an entire football club's reputation on your shoulders?"

Dimitri grinned, the playful banter easing any lingering tension. "Good point," he conceded, "I suppose I need all the strength I can get."Dimitri, his eyes burning with determination, spoke with a newfound resolve. "I'll be better than my father," he declared, his voice low and intense. "But for now, it's not just about winning against Real Madrid. It's about pride, about restoring my reputation, about erasing the humiliation of that last match. I won't let it slide. I won't let Ramos get away with it."

Anya, sensing his simmering anger, showed him a video on her phone. It was a recent Instagram post by Sergio Ramos. The video showed the tackle that injured Dimitri, with a mocking caption: "Poor boy. Thought it would be easy."

Dimitri's anger flared. "He's trying to provoke me," he growled, his voice tight with frustration. "He's a bully. Ask my father about him; he'll tell you how dangerous Ramos is."

A cold, almost chilling nonchalance settled over Dimitri's features. "My father was so good, Ramos was humiliated countless times by him. This is revenge. He's trying to get at me through me. I'll show him. I'll step over him, I'll run him over. I'll humiliate him right back."

Anya, witnessing the intensity of his anger, felt a wave of fear wash over her. "Dimitri, please… don't do anything reckless."

He smiled grimly, the anger fueling his determination. "Don't worry," he reassured her, his eyes glinting. "The rematch is tomorrow, at Anfield. Get ready to witness an insane comeback—a humiliation of Real Madrid they won't forget. I'll show them what humiliation truly means."Night fell, and a gentle knock sounded on Dimitri's bedroom door. He opened it to find Anya standing there, her eyes soft and inviting. "Can I sleep with you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "We said we'd be together, didn't we?"

Dimitri's eyelids drooped slightly, a smile playing on his lips. "Why not?" he murmured, his voice husky with sleepiness. He gently took her hand, guiding her towards his bed.

They cuddled for a long time, their conversation meandering from lighthearted banter to deeper, more intimate exchanges of affection. Finally, Anya posed a question that held significant weight. "Dimitri," she began, "what do you think about… us getting married?"

Dimitri's eyes twinkled with a subtle humor. "If you agree," he said, his voice teasing, "I'll do it right now."

Anya chuckled, her heart fluttering at his words. "We'll make it official in three months," she proposed, "after the World Cup qualifiers are over. That'll give me time to ease my tension."

Dimitri's eyes lit up with excitement. "Really?" he asked, his voice brimming with joy.

"Why not?" Anya replied, leaning in to kiss him. It was a passionate kiss, full of unspoken promises and the joy of their shared future. They fell asleep in each other's arms, Anya gently touching Dimitri's cheek before drifting off to sleep.Dimitri awoke to find Anya waiting for him, a tray laden with breakfast. "Why the breakfast in bed treatment?" he asked, amused.

Anya smiled. "Just to cheer you up. It's just cookies and your favorite milk."

Dimitri returned a warm smile. "You care a lot, and you're not even trying to hide it. I like that," he said, his tone playful yet heartfelt.

"I hope you like me too," Anya replied softly.

After a brief exchange of playful banter, they packed their bags and headed to Anfield. The atmosphere was electric; the Liverpool fans were roaring their support for Dimitri. The match began, and Dimitri unleashed a barrage of shots, scoring six goals in the first half alone. Just before halftime, Ramos attempted a dangerous tackle that could have resulted in a red card, but Dimitri anticipated the move, deftly avoiding the challenge and scoring another goal, making it 7-0. Ramos was substituted at halftime, leaving Zidane, Real Madrid's manager, furious.

In the Real Madrid locker room, Zidane's rage was palpable. "Ronaldo, David," he bellowed, "what is this? Is Dimitri some cheap imitation of Ronaldo and David? We're supposed to be the best, yet we're being dominated! We have to stop him!"

Ronaldo responded with a grim shake of his head. "There's nothing we can do, boss. Their team is superior. Dimitri's too agile, too quick. We can't stop him."

Zidane eventually ordered a three-man defensive wall—Casemiro, Alaba, and Modrić—to shadow Dimitri relentlessly. Despite this, Dimitri, with a stunning display of skill, slipped past the defenders, passing to Salah, who scored two more goals, dedicating them both to Dimitri's father.

The final score was a staggering 9-0 victory for Liverpool. The Anfield crowd erupted in a joyous roar, while some Real Madrid ultras, furious with Dimitri's performance, attempted to cause a disturbance. However, their attempts were thwarted. Dimitri's father had a notorious reputation for dealing with aggressive fans, and his legacy of protecting the stadium instilled a sense of fear in even the most hardened ultrasThe Real Madrid ultras unleashed a torrent of abuse towards Dimitri. "If you weren't Ronald Dimitri's son," one shouted, "we'd kill you. You're only alive because of your father's legacy!" Their words, though hateful, betrayed an underlying fear—a recognition that Dimitri's skill and the name he carried commanded respect, even from those who despised him.

Dimitri, instead of reacting with anger, began to speak, his voice calm yet carrying the weight of his father's legacy. He recounted tales of his father's bravery, his legendary skill, and his unwavering determination. The ultras, initially defiant, began to show signs of unease. The bloodline, it seemed, did indeed hold a certain power.

Dimitri smirked, a flash of defiance in his eyes. He raised his middle finger towards the jeering crowd. This enraged some ultras, who surged onto the pitch. "He's just riding on his father's name!" one screamed. "We'll show him what he truly is!"

Thirty ultras charged toward Dimitri, but he met their aggression with a display of both skill and terrifying brutality. His punches landed with bone-jarring impact; the stadium security and staff had to help carry the injured men off the field. Dimitri's skill and his power were undeniable.