#dro x reader

Dro’s first team debut. You can hardly believe it’s actually happening. You’ve known him forever, like, since you were four years old. You’ve been side by side through all the scraped knees, the late-night video calls, the first crushes, the heartbreaks, and the magic moments. But now, this is different. This is big.

It’s early morning in Japan, the stadium buzzing with fans and a hum of anticipation. The preseason tour around Asia feels like the perfect stage for him to shine, and today it’s against Vissel Kobe. The sky is clear, just a little warm, and you’re sitting in the stands, clutching your scarf, wearing the team colors with pride. Your heart is racing like it’s about to jump out of your chest. You spot Dro warming up on the pitch. His face is calm but focused. You know that look, he’s ready.

You think back to when you both first kicked a ball around in the neighborhood park. He was always a bit shy, but on the pitch, he became a different person. That confidence, that spark. You remember the first time you realized you liked him, when you were fourteen. It was like everything made sense then. Supporting him now feels like the most natural thing in the world.

The game starts and the stadium roars. You scream and cheer every time Dro touches the ball. The way he moves is so fluid, like he’s been born for this moment. You catch his eye once and he gives you a quick smile, just enough for you to feel like you’re the only one in that huge crowd. He passes, dribbles, defends, and then comes that moment… he scores.

The entire stadium erupts and your voice is hoarse from shouting, but you don’t care. You jump up, tears pricking your eyes. That goal wasn’t just a point on the board. It was proof. Proof that he belongs here, that all those years of hard work, sweat, and late nights paid off.

Between plays, you watch him wipe the sweat from his forehead and take a quick glance your way. Your heart does a little dance every time. You know how much this means to him. You’ve heard the stories of his sacrifices, the mornings he got up before dawn to train, the nights he wondered if it was all worth it. But here he is, on the pitch, making you proud in ways you never thought possible.

As the game wraps up, the scoreboard reads 3-1, Barcelona victorious. Dro comes off the field, his chest heaving but his smile bright. You rush down to the tunnel area where the players exit, and there he is. No fancy celebration, just that familiar grin. He pulls you into a tight hug, his hands trembling slightly.

“You were amazing,” you whisper into his ear. “I knew you would be.”

He laughs softly. “Couldn’t have done it without knowing you were watching.”

The rest of the team filters out, but you and Dro stay there for a moment longer. You’re wrapped in his arms, and suddenly all the nerves, all the pressure, melt away. It’s just you two, like when you were kids playing football in the backyard.

Later, you grab some food together at a small street stall near the hotel. Dro’s still buzzing, and you tease him about scoring on his debut like it’s no big deal. He shakes his head, his eyes shining.

“Feels unreal,” he admits. “I’ve dreamed about this since we were kids.”

You smile at him. “And now it’s real.”

He takes your hand across the table. “I want you to be there for every moment. No matter what comes next.”

You squeeze his hand back. “Always.”

The city lights glow softly around you both, but honestly, you’re only seeing him. You know the road ahead is long and full of challenges, but for now, you’re basking in this perfect moment.

He leans over and kisses you gently. It’s warm and tender, a promise of what’s to come. You pull back and grin, the kind of grin that says this is just the beginning of something truly incredible.

You glance at your phone again, heart hammering in a way it hasn’t for weeks. Dro had been texting all day, cryptic little hints about tonight being special, but never giving anything away. You weren’t complaining. The suspense was half the fun.

When the doorbell finally rings, you practically leap to open it. There he is, looking effortlessly good in a crisp button-up shirt and jeans. His hair is just messy enough to be perfect, and when he smiles at you, the world seems to tilt a little.

“Hey,” he says softly, leaning against the doorframe. “Ready?”

You nod, fumbling with your bag. “Yeah, yeah, totally ready.” Your words are faster than your thoughts. Two years. Two whole years of Dro, and somehow, every time he shows up, it feels like the first time all over again.

The drive is quiet in a comfortable way. He hums along to the radio sometimes, and you find yourself smiling at the sound. He catches you looking at him and raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just… you,” you mumble.

He grins. “Smooth,” he teases, but there’s a softness in his eyes that makes you forget how to breathe for a second.

The restaurant is cozy and elegant, just the way he knows you like it. Candlelight flickers across the table as he pulls your chair out for you. You roll your eyes playfully but let him do it anyway.

“Two years, huh?” he murmurs as you settle in. His hand brushes yours across the table, light and casual, but enough to send a thrill through your chest.

“Yeah,” you say, smiling. “Feels like… forever, but also like no time at all.”

Dro’s fingers intertwine with yours, and his thumb brushes your knuckles. “Forever’s a long time,” he says softly. “But I wouldn’t mind it with you.”

Your chest tightens in that good way. “You’re cheesy,” you whisper.

“Cheesy but accurate,” he counters, leaning back with a satisfied smirk.

Dinner is delicious. You laugh through the awkward first bites, and Dro tells stories that have you snorting into your napkin. The way he laughs, deep and warm, makes your stomach twist pleasantly. Every so often, your fingers brush, deliberately or not, and you have to resist leaning over the table to kiss him right there.

After dessert, he excuses himself briefly, coming back with a small, neatly wrapped box. Your heart skips a beat.

“What’s this?” you ask, eyes wide.

“Just a little something,” he says, shrugging like it’s nothing, but you catch the slight blush on his cheeks. “Open it.”

Inside is a simple bracelet, silver with a tiny charm shaped like a football and a heart. You look up at him, breathless.

“It’s… perfect,” you say.

“Only the best for my girlfriend,” he says, reaching across the table to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger for a heartbeat, warm and gentle against your skin.

The walk home is quiet, the sunset painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Dro keeps your hand in his, thumbs brushing over each other. It’s comfortable, like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

“You know,” he says after a while, “I was thinking… maybe we could stop doing these big anniversary things when we’re older. Just keep it simple, like this.”

You look up at him, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he says, squeezing your hand. “It’s not about the fancy stuff. It’s about us. Being together. That’s enough.”

Your chest feels like it might burst. “I like that,” you murmur, resting your head against his shoulder for a moment as you walk.

He hums softly in response, the kind of content sound that makes you melt. The streetlights flicker on as the sun dips below the horizon, and you both slow down, taking in the quiet beauty of the evening.

When you reach your front door, he hesitates. “You coming in?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “Not tonight. But… can I get a goodnight kiss?”

You nod. He grins, leaning in slowly. The kiss is gentle, soft, and just long enough to make your knees feel like jelly. Pulling back, he presses his forehead to yours.

“Happy anniversary,” he whispers.

“Happy anniversary,” you echo. You can feel it in every beat of your heart. Two years, and somehow, it still feels like the beginning of something infinite.