ziahex

Helloo!! I welcome you all to my first ever blog! I’ve started my writing journey many years ago but haven’t had the courage to pick up on it again but here i am!

Pls treat this blog with love and respect, reblogs, likes, and commentary would be very much appreciated<3 hope you enjoy my work!

Current Masterlist:

His Little Spitfire

My Darling

“I’m Right Here”

College boyfriend!

wc 2,6k

who refuses to let you go—whether it’s pulling all nighters over assignments, stealing your warmth under the blankets, or dragging out every goodbye like he isn’t already late

contains fluff! no angst i swear, college kuroo! rahh, established relationship, some swearing, just our man being clingy and adorable, akaashi & kenma cameo lol 𑣲

College had a way of turning nights into something blurry and endless. Especially when Kuroo decided sleep was optional. Late nights like this were never really quiet with Kuroo around—especially when he refused to stop working, no matter how tired he was.

You furrowed your brows worriedly, eyes raking over his tired form, “baby, you look like you haven't slept in days, why don't you take a break, yeah?” you murmured from across the room.

Without looking up from the screen, he huffs dramatically and types a few more aggressive keystrokes. “Break? What’s that?” he mutters sarcastically before finally glancing at you with one tired eye. His usual mischievous grin is nowhere to be seen, just pure exhaustion.

You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest. Of course he’d say something like that, “Tetsu..I'm serious” you muttered, “i’m worried about you.”

“...Fine. But only if you come here and make me.” A lazy smirk tugs at his lips as he pats the spot next to him, clearly hoping for physical intervention (or affection).

You rolled your eyes, “If I come there will you promise to actually get some rest?”

He dramatically clutches his chest, feigning offense. “Ouch. Suspicious?” But the way he instantly scoots over—making room for you on the bed, betrays him. His tired smirk softens into something more genuine as he mumbles, “...Yeah, yeah. Promise.”

Then with a slow blink, like a cat begging for pets, he adds, “but only if you stay too.”

You sighed softly, making your way over to your shared bed as you slid in beside him. The second you settle in, he immediately drops his head onto your shoulder with a content sigh—laptop still open but forgotten. His messy hair tickles your neck as he nuzzles closer. 

“..Knew you’d cave,” he mumbles, voice already slurring with sleepiness. One arm drapes heavily over your waist like a possessive and very tired cat. “Five minutes..then i’ll work again.” A blatant lie—his breathing is already evening out against you.

“Alright..mind if I move this?” you asked, gently maneuvering his laptop aside.

He makes a tiny, sleepy noise of protest—more reflex than actual objection, as you adjust the laptop. But when he feels your fingers brush his wrist, his grip on it loosens. “..Mmh. S’not like i was getting anything done anyway,” he admits in a muffled voice against your shoulder. His free hand blindly gropes for yours and laces your fingers together with half asleep clumsiness. “...You’re warm.”

“And your hands are freezing.” You said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as you settled in the sheets.

He lets out a quiet sheepish laugh, breathing uneven from how deeply he’s already sinking into sleep. “Chem lab..fuckin’ arctic,” he slurs, nuzzling his cold nose against your neck in retaliation. His fingers curl tighter around yours as if to say ‘your problem now.’

“..Steal your body heat or whatever.” A yawn cracks through the threat. The laptop lid finally snaps shut on its own—victory.

“If we were in the same major, I’d just come find you and warm you up myself,” you muttered, your free hand drifting up to brush through his hair.

The moment you rake your fingers through his messy locks, all tension in his frame seems to melt away. His eyes flutter shut with a content sigh, and a sleepy smile tugs at his lips. “Mmm..you’d be the best labmate ever.” he murmurs, already sounding half hallucinating. One knee gently hooks around your legs, like he’s trying to wrap himself around you. “Would make chemistry way more fun..” he breathes sleepily, voice thick with exhaustion.

“More fun, or more distracting?” you joked, letting out a soft chuckle as your fingers went through a knot on his hair, threading it free gently.

He laughs hoarsely at that, the sound interrupted by yet another stifled yawn. His sleep mussed hair pokes at your jaw as he rests his chin on your shoulder. “Can it be both?” he muses, eyes still closed. “You wearing a lab coat though? Hot as hell. I’d totally get away with staring the whole time.”

“Weirdo” you muttered with a smile, placing a peck on his head before slumping deeper into the comfort of the sheets.

He lets out a snort at that, burying his face into the crook of your neck with a breathy laugh. “Your weirdo,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin. His hands slide under your shirt, splaying warm against your bare back as if to press you closer. “And you love me for it.” He punctuates the word with a soft kiss just beneath your ear.

“Yeah..I do” you said, continuing your soothing threads, successfully lulling him to sleep.

The steady rhythm of your hand through his hair and the soothing sound of your voice seem to be just what he needs. His weight becomes a comforting deadweight against you as he finally gives in and drifts off. The quiet hum from his lips becomes steady breaths, deep and slow. His fingers still cling to your hand like a lifeline, even in his slumber. And he murmurs something incoherent against your shoulder—probably a sleepy, muttered 'love you,' but he's too far gone to make it understandable.

You smiled, watching him doze off in your arms as you placed a final kiss on his hair for good measure. “G’night my weirdo..” you whispered.

He lets out a content murmur at the kiss, shifting slightly to bury his face into your neck even more. But he's too far gone to respond. It's clear that sleep has him in its clutches now, leaving only the sound of his calm, steady breathing. And as you lie there with his warmth pressed against you, he looks much younger like this, all the stress and worry from the day erased by the vulnerability of sleep.

୭ ˚. ᵎ

Morning light filters through the curtains, and Tetsurou stirs with a groggy groan, still half asleep but instinctively tightening his arm around your waist when he feels you move.  "...Mm. Five more minutes," he mumbles into your hair, voice gravelly from sleep. His other hand blindly gropes for the blanket to yank it over both of you like a human burrito. Your efforts to wake him are met with stubborn resistance. He groans and mutters something unintelligible, as if to avoid the rude awakening altogether.  

"Mmph. Don't wanna get up..." he protests, words slurring together. One hand is still curled around your waist, anchoring you close like a sleepy, clingy cat. "Just... five more minutes, babe please..." he pleads in a drowsy grumble, voice hoarse and muffled.

“Tetsu…you’re gonna be late, you’ve got that 8:30 lecture remember?” you murmured, softly patting his back in an attempt to wake him.

He lets out a dramatic, long suffering sigh at the mention of class, like you’ve just personally betrayed him. But your godly hands in his hair make his eyes crack open halfway, revealing bleary hazel slits.  "...Fuck that 8:30," he grumbles, voice still thick with sleep as he nuzzles against your palm. "You woke me up for nothing. S'not even worth it."  

“Tetsu..i mean it, get your ass up or i’m kicking you off the bed” you grumbled, attempting to tug him away from your buried self.

A low, exaggerated groan escapes his parted lips at the idea of waking up fully, punctuated by a dramatic roll of his eyes before he reluctantly lifts his head to give you a groggy but annoyed look.  "You're a cruel, cruel woman...depriving me of those extra minutes of sleep," he complains, voice still hoarse from sleep. But he doesn't loosen his hold on you, instead, he pulls you impossibly closer, until your bodies are practically melded together. 

You rolled your eyes, a muffled groan slipping out. “Off—c’mon, get up,” you huffed, only for him to let out a petulant sigh and yank the blanket over both your heads like a makeshift fortress, plunging you into warm darkness.

“Nope. We’re in witness protection now. Tell the professor I died.” He said,  voice muffled but stubborn. A beat passes before he peeks one sleep crusty eye at you, then quickly hides his face again with a whine. “...Or just carry me to class. Your call.”

You chuckled, shaking your head in mock disbelief as you tugged the sheets down and sat up, earning an immediate, unhappy sound from him. “Well, I’m gonna be late for class if you don’t move, so scoot—I need to get ready.”

He lets out a pitiful groan as the covers finally give way, exposing him to the harsh reality of the morning light. “Nooo…” he protests, clinging to you like a toddler refusing to let go of their favorite toy. “Don’t make me move. I refuse.” he buries his face against your stomach instead, wrapping both arms firmly around your thighs to cling like a koala.

“Tetsu…” you sighed, gently trying to pry him off you. He lets out another groan, his grip on you only tightening in stubborn protest. He lifts his head to look up at you with half lidded eyes, attempting a pleading expression. 

“Babe..please..?” he whines, voice still thick with sleep and stubbornness, coupled with a hint of desperate pleading. “Can’t I just..skip the first period? Please?”

You raised a brow, “It’s your call Tetsu, but i’m not skipping mine, now move!” you squirmed, managing to break free from his hold—despite his dramatic complaints.

He flops onto his back with a theatrical sigh, limbs sprawled out like a starfish as he watches you escape his clingy grasp. His voice is laced with faux betrayal.

”Wow. Cold. Leaving me all alone in my time of need..” A pause—then he peeks at you from the corner of his eye, lips twitching into a smirk. “Guess I'll just have to come shower with y–OW.” He cuts himself off when you toss a pillow directly at his face.

He lets out a soft grunt at the impact, momentarily stunned by the unexpected pillow attack. But it only takes a few seconds before he dissolves into sleepy snickering, holding the pillow against his chest as he playfully sticks his tongue out at you. “Worth a shot..” he chuckles, his morning hair even more dishevelled than usual now. “Can’t blame a guy for trying, right? I was desperate.”

“You’re unbelievable” you deadpanned, disappearing into the bathroom.

He props himself up on his elbow, his messy bedhead and lopsided grin making him look ridiculously endearing in his sleepy haze. "You love me anyway." He said, tone lighthearted, tinged with exhausted mischief. He doesn't make any move to actually get up yet, simply watching you make your way to the bathroom with a lazy, cat-like gaze. His gaze drifts to your side of the bed, where a faint imprint of your warmth still lingers, and he snuggles into it with a sleepy murmur, inhaling your lingering scent still clinging to the sheets. A few moments pass in lazy comfort, and he's almost lulled back to the verge of sleep when his phone buzzes on the nightstand. 

He groans, groping for the phone with one hand without bothering to check who's texting. He squints at the screen through his sleepy haze, the bright light of the screen making him wince. "Who the hell is texting so early...?" he grumbles, fumbling to adjust the brightness and unlock the device with one eye open.

The second he reads the message, his bleary eyes widen—as though the words on the screen are a stark bucket of ice cold water against his exhausted brain.

"Ah, shit." he mutters, sitting up all of a sudden with a jolt. His earlier sleepiness quickly fades, replaced by an instant rush of awareness. He swings his legs off the bed, feet hitting the floor with a thump as he hastily starts rummaging through the rumpled blankets. He mutters under his breath, muttering a stream of profanity as he frantically searches for something amidst the chaos. The realization of being late to class finally dawns on him, and he's now in full panic mode. He finds his phone again, checking the time and wincing at how late it is.

"Double shit." He finally locates his jeans half buried under the sheets, and he swiftly zips them on with a rushed urgency. He's just started buttoning up his white undershirt when he hears the bathroom door open.

You stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around you. “Baby? I thought you said you were skipping class” you murmured, one brow raised as you watched his sudden flurry of movement.

He freezes mid buttoning, shirt half tucked and hair sticking up in even wilder directions from his frantic movement. His eyes dart to you, still damp and towel-clad, then back to the door with a guilty grimace. "Uh. Hypothetically speaking," he starts, voice pitching slightly higher, "what if I said...hypothetically...that Akaashi just texted me about an 'emergency lab meeting'?" A beat passes as he processes your unimpressed stare. "...Or y’know. Hypothetically, I panicked."

You gave him a flat, unimpressed look. “Then I’d suggest you hurry your ass up—hypothetically speaking, of course,” you said, a hint of teasing in your voice as you leaned against the doorway and watched him scramble.

He barks out a startled laugh—half relief, half disbelief at your deadpan delivery. His shirt gets yanked the rest of the way down in one frantic motion as he scrambles toward his backpack.

"Hypothetically," he mutters, shoving textbooks into his bag with zero organization, "I might’ve also forgotten my notes are still on Kenma’s desk from last night."

A pause. He shoots you a wince over his shoulder, "...Hypothetically?"

You sighed and walked past him toward your vanity. “I can stop by Kenma’s place and drop them off your class later” you said, already starting to get ready.

He shoots you a grateful look, his hurried scurrying about the room suddenly coming to a halt. He abandons his half zipped backpack, striding over to you with a slightly harried expression. "You're a lifesaver, babe," he murmurs, gently cupping your cheek and leaning down to place a hasty kiss on your forehead before his brain kicks back into gear. He quickly resumes his frantic packing, pulling a jacket over his shirt.

“Yeah, yeah—what would you do without me, right?” you murmured back, sarcasm in your tone, though you couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at your lips.

"Probably fail all my classes by the end of the semester," he replies with a wry laugh, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "Seriously, you keep me on track. I'd be so screwed without you." He checks the time on his phone again, his eyes widening with renewed panic. "Crap, I'm seriously gonna be so late."

You waved him off with a hand, “shoo! I’ll meet you on campus later.”

He snorts at the dismissive wave, shooting you a mock offended look. But the corner of his mouth lifts in a half smile, betraying the fondness beneath the feigned drama.

"Rude," he huffs, but it's lacking any real heat. He takes a couple steps toward the door, before suddenly doubling back, capturing you in his arms in a sudden, whirlwind embrace. His hold is tight, bordering on clingy, and he mumbles into the corner of your neck.

"Love you. See you later."

You let out a surprised oof sound at his sudden embrace before smiling, “love you too, idiot” you said, turning your head to place a quick kiss on his cheek before shoving him away gently, “now go!”

He laughs softly at your playful shove, reluctantly untangling his arms from around your waist. His hand takes a lingering moment to brush against yours, almost refusing to completely let go. "Yeah, yeah. I'm goin'. I'm goin'."

With one final, almost lingering glance back at you, he finally forces himself out the door—though not before shooting you one final, cheeky wink over his shoulder.

You’re lucky you loved that idiot.

synopsis: he looks at you like you’re something worth saving, you look at him like home, and still—it’s not enough, not tonight, because love isn’t always about who, sometimes it’s about when

pairing: itadori yuji x f!reader

wc: 8,5k

cw: angst, hurt/comfort, toxic! relationship, mentions of emotional abuse and self doubt, bestfriend! yuji has my heart, slightly suggestive, reader is kinda oblivious (<3), just emotional damage and making out bye ily 𑣲

You didn’t mean for the night to end like this. Not with too much alcohol in your system, not with your thoughts spiraling back to him, and definitely not with Yuji being the one to pick up the pieces again.

But somehow, it always ends like this. You should’ve known tonight would go wrong. Maybe it was the unanswered messages, or the way your ex’s name still sat heavy in your chest, or the fact that no matter how far you run, you always end up in the same place—right back with him. Your best friend.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to push yourself like this?” Yuji snaps, frustration tightening his voice. His brows knit together, a deep frown settling in as he looks at you. “You’re staying at my place tonight. There’s no way I’m leaving you alone after this.”

He can still remember sending that same warning over and over when he found out you were out partying—Don’t drink too much. Don’t overdo it. At least fifteen messages, each one laced with worry. And still, you ignored every single one.

Muttering under his breath, he steps closer, resolve hardening his expression. He bends down and, with practiced ease, slides one arm beneath your knees and the other behind your back, lifting you without hesitation. You feel heavy from the night, but his grip is steady, unyielding. Protective instincts take over as he carries you off, determined to get you somewhere safe.

“Yuji…” you grumbled against him, instinctively nuzzling to the steady warmth of his chest as you let him carry you.

Yuji’s heart clenches at the sound of you mumbling his name. He adjusts his grip to hold you abit tighter, his expression softened as he gazes down at you. Although he’s still upset about your overindulgence, he can't deny the comfort he finds in your presence.

“Yeah, I'm here,” he responds quietly, the anger from earlier melting away as he focuses on your safety. “Just hold on to me. Let’s get you inside, okay?”

You groaned, your words slurred as your hold around his neck tightens for a fraction, “you know you’re my best friend right..?” you mumbled.

Yuji’s steps falter for a second, his face flushing slightly as he processes your words. His grip on you tightens just a little—not out of frustration this time, but something else entirely.

“Yeah? Well, best friends don’t let their best friends get blackout drunk and wander the streets alone,” he mutters back gruffly—though there’s no real bite to it now. More like..relief? A tiny smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “But thanks for remembering that part.”

“You’re like, the only one who really ever cares for me..” You said, continuing on with your drunken rambling.

Yuji’s heart clenches at your words, his expression softening further. He lets out a small sigh, his grip on you shifting so he can hold you just a little bit closer.

“Of course I care about you, you doofus,” he mutters gently, his tone a mix of affection and concern. “And don’t say that ‘Im the only one’ crap. You have more people who care about you than you realize.”

“Apparently he thinks differently..” You muttered lowly, a faint frown pulling at your lips. Yuji knows exactly who you mean—your boyfriend… or maybe ex is the better word now. Two years of being on and off, breaking up and getting back together so many times even he’s lost count. He’s seen all of it—the fights, the tears, the way it keeps tearing you apart.

Yuji’s expression darkens as you mention him. He knows all too well about the tumultuous relationship you have with your ex, it was an endless cycle of pain and heartache. And he started to have a faint idea on why you allowed yourself to get this drunk tonight.

“Don’t even start with that scumbag,” he mutters, the edge returning to his voice. “You deserve better than him, you know that?” he adjusts his hold on you again, as if unwilling to let go.

“You always say that” you muttered, making Yuji huff out a frustrated sigh.

“And I'll keep saying it until you finally get it through that thick head of yours,” he retorts, his tone tinged with both annoyance and frustration. “You’re better off without him” he continues, “why do you keep going back to that jerk?” he glances down at you, golden eyes narrowing slightly.

“I’ve been with him for two years, Yuji, it’s not that simple.” You answered, voice quieter now.

His jaw clenches at your words, he knows that it’s not that simple–he’s seen the toll that this toxic relationship has taken on you. The fights, the tears, the constant cycle of making up and breaking up. 

“But is it worth your happiness?” he questions sharply, voice rising in slight irritation. “Yeah, you’ve been with him for two years, but what has it really brought you? Except for heartache and disappointment.”

You let out a wince upon hearing him, heart clenching uncomfortably at the sheer weight of his words. “Didn’t know I'd be getting another lecture tonight.” You mumbled under your breath.

He rolled his eyes at your grumble. He’s frustrated, not because of you, but because he cares so damn much he can’t stand watching you settle for less than what you deserve. “It’s not a lecture, it’s me worrying about you,” he snaps back. “You’re always running back to him, even though he treats you like crap. I don't understand it, and it drives me insane!”

“Im planning to break up with him, for good this time.” You said firmly, though Yuji has heard those words more times than he can count. 

He lets out a weary sigh, a mix of hope and skepticism warring within him. “You’ve said that before,” he mutters, his grip on you still tight. “And yet, you always end up back in his arms. Why should I believe you this time?” He doesn’t mean to sound cynical, but he’s been through this song and dance with you before. It’s hard to believe that things will be different this time around.

“Because, I mean it this time.” You said as the both of you reached Yuji’s apartment, watching as he fumbled with the keys in his pocket and unlocked the door, he carefully adjusts you in his arms as he kicked the door shut behind him, walking towards his living room where a plush couch sits against one wall. He gently lowers you onto the couch, making sure you’re comfortable before slumping down next to you with a low grunt.

“You mean it every time.” He mutters, his voice edged with equal parts frustration and concern. “But then you go back to him.” He reaches out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear casually, his touch tender and unhesitant, not matching his harsh words.

You barely register his act, too buzzed to even put mind to it as you clumsily try—and fail—to kick off your shoes. “Can we just… not talk about it tonight?” you mumble.

He watches you struggle to kick your shoes off in your drunken state, a small frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. He knows he should press the issue, but he also doesn’t want to upset you further.

“Fine,” he concedes, voice gruff but relenting, “we won’t talk about it tonight.” He gently helps you remove them, hands careful and gentle despite his earlier irritation. As he sets them aside, he glances at you again, eyes searching your face.

“Thanks…” you murmur, offering him a small, grateful smile that slowly curves into a faint grin. “And, uh… could I get a glass of water while you’re at it?”

Yuji rolls his eyes at your request, but he can’t help but smirk slightly. “Demanding as ever, even when you’re half-drunk,” he teases, standing up from the couch. “I’ll get you your water princess. Just sit tight.” 

You groaned at the nickname he gave, “I hate you too by the way” you exclaimed as he disappeared into the kitchen with a lazy grin, clearly amused despite himself.

“Wow, hate me? That’s rich coming from someone who nuzzled into my chest like five seconds ago.” He shoots back teasingly, returning a quick moment later to crouch down in front of you, holding out a glass of cold water with a playful glint in his eyes. “Drink up before I start calling you ‘whiny drunk’ for real.”

You rolled your eyes, receiving the glass from his hands, taking a deliberate sip, sighing as the coolness of the water soothed your throat. “I wasn’t nuzzling into your chest, you idiot. It was freezing—and you happen to have the body heat of a child” you retorted. 

His jaw drops in mock offense, his eyes widening dramatically as he leans back on his heels. “Excuse me? A child?!” he repeats, indignant. “First of all—rude. Second of all,” he pokes your forehead lightly, “you were totally nuzzling! I felt it! And for the record, my body heat is perfect and you know it.”

“First of all—ow. Second of all,” you paused, taking another long sip of water—just to further annoy him on purpose, as you continued, “I’m totally taking your bed tonight whether you like it or not.”

Yuji’s smirk turns into disbelief, “You are not taking my bed,” he retorts immediately, narrowing his eyes at you. “I don’t care how drunk you are, you can crash on the couch, and that’s it.” He crosses his arms, a stubborn look on his face. He’s not budging on this, not when you’re all clingy and inebriated.

“What?! I always take your bed! Y’know I hate sleeping on the couch, it’s freezing.” You protested, letting out a frustrated huff.

An exasperated sigh left his mouth as you brought up your usual sleeping arrangement. You do have a point, he’s well aware of your dislike of the couch..especially how cold it gets at night. “Damn it, you and your need for comfort,” he grumbles, resolve crumbling just slightly. “Fine, you can take my bed. But only because you’ll whine at night otherwise.” He glares at you as he says this, as if daring you to take advantage of his giving nature.

You grinned in victory, handing the empty glass back to his hands as you immediately swung your legs over to stand up from the couch. He takes it away from you with defeat. He stands up too, his expression still slightly grumpy but resigned now. He can’t argue with your stubborness, especially when you look so damn satisfied with yourself.

“You’re lucky I'm too tired to argue with you,” he grumbles, gesturing towards the doorway leading down the hall. “Go on then, princess. Make yourself comfortable in my bed.”

“I told you to stop calling me that, you dork.” You glared at him, padding your feet away towards his bedroom to go shower and change to some fresh clothes. 

Yuji snorts at your glare, watching as you walk away. He can’t help but smirk, your playful insults just egg him on more. “Yeah, well, you also said you hated me, and yet you’re about to sleep in my bed,” he teases back, “so I'll call you what I want.”

You rolled your eyes in response, choosing to just ignore his last words—for now, disappearing to the bedroom and closing the door behind you. He shook his head in mock amusement, stepping away to wash up your empty glass.

He could hear the shower running shortly after, he settled back on the couch again, opting to scroll on his phone while he waited for you. He was in the middle of checking his messages when he noticed a soft light glowing from your phone on the table, noticing you had left it there. At first, he didn’t think much of it, casually turning his head in its direction. But notifications started blowing up relentlessly, the barrage was hard to ignore. He didn’t want to pry into your personal conversations, but his curiosity got the better of him. He tried looking away, yet he couldn’t help stealing a glance—and froze as he saw your ex’s name flashing repeatedly, each message more harsh and unpleasant than the last. His hands curled into tight fists, his knuckles turning white, anger rising within him at the sight of those harsh words. 

The shower is still running—he has time to think, but the words on screen burn into him. He jabs the silent button with way more force than necessary before tossing it back onto the table like it personally offended him. He drags a hand down his face, exhaling sharply through gritted teeth, “that bastard..” he murmurs under his breath. “No wonder you’re drunk out of your mind.” 

A part of him wants to barge in and demand answers—why are you even still entertaining this guy? But another part—the one currently winning, knows better than to push when you’re vulnerable like this, so he just paces near the door instead.

After a hot while, you emerged from the bathroom, popping your head out as you called out to him, “Hey Yuji?”

Yuji, who had been pacing anxiously near the bathroom door, snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of your voice. The sight of you peeking out from the doorway, with your hair damp and slightly disheveled, sent a jolt through his entire being. He cleared his throat, voice rougher than intended. “You..done in there?” he managed, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.

“Yeah, can you lend me some clothes for the night? I know you’d say yes but im asking anyways” you muttered. He blinks at you, momentarily thrown off by the polite request. It’s so unlike your usual drunk self—usually you’d just rummage through his drawers without asking.

“Uh..yeah,” he mutters, pushing off the wall. “I mean. Obviously? They’ll be huge on you but..” he trails off as he heads toward his closet to dig out a hoodie and sweatpants for you. “Just don’t lose anything.” He adds gruffly—as if that were possible.

“You say that as if I haven't stolen plenty of your shirts before” you said, snorting at him in mock amusement. He rolled his eyes, turning to hand you the clothes. But he stops dead, completely taken aback—there you are, wrapped in nothing but one of his towels. He swallows hard, the sight of you nearly making him choke on his own saliva. He’s seen you like this once before, accidentally, when the bathroom door was left ajar… but this close? Never.

He cleared his throat and managed to maintain a somewhat indifferent expression. He pushed the clothes forward, his tone gruff, “hurry up and change,” he said.

You raise a brow at his sudden shift in demeanor, but choose not to dwell on it as you take the clothes from his hands. “Thanks,” you mutter casually.

He let out a deep sigh as you disappeared back to the bathroom to change, running a hand through his pink hair in frustration. He needed to control himself, damnit. You were vulnerable, inebriated, and definitely not in the right headspace for his thoughts. He decided to distract himself by setting up the couch for the night, grabbing some extra pillows and blankets, anything to keep his mind occupied.

Not long after, you step back into view, now fully dressed. You catch him fluffing the pillows on the couch. “Going to bed soon?” you ask. 

He heard your voice behind him and turned his head, the sight of you in his clothes was almost too much to handle, but he schooled his expression, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah, I was just about to turn in,” he replied, fluffing the pillow on the couch. “You’re taking the bed, remember?” he shot you a pointed look.

“Yeah, I remember,” you say, huffing at him before your tone softens. “Thanks for letting me stay again, Ji” you murmur quietly.

Yuji’s chest tightened at the way you said his nickname, so soft and sleepy, he let out a slow breath, turning to face you. “Don’t mention it,” he muttered gruffly—though there was no real heat behind it. His gaze flickered over your frame drowning in his clothes before he forced himself to look away, “Just..get some rest.”

A beat of silence passed between you two—too loaded for comfort, before Yuji cleared his throat and added, “..And don’t be a stranger when this hangover hits tomorrow.”

You snorted, chuckling softly as you replied, “I wouldn’t be a stranger to my own best friend now would I?”

He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the hint of a smile on his face. Typical you, he thought. Shaking his head, amused by your reaction. “You say that now, but I know you’ll be whining and complaining like hell in the morning.” He shifted slightly.

“Yeah yeah whatever. i’ll be off to bed then, Mom” you teased, waving him off as you turned on your heel.

 He watched as you headed for the bedroom, his eyes following your every move until you disappeared through the doorway. He let out a sigh once you were out of sight, running a hand down his face. The thought of you alone in his bed, surrounded by his scent, buried in his sheets, was driving him insane. He shook his head, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts from his mind. He was your best friend, damnit. He needed to get a grip. He shoved his thoughts to the back of his mind before dropping onto the couch, burying himself beneath the blankets as if they could smother everything he didn’t want to feel.

༄.°

It was well into the night, both of you long since asleep, when Yuji suddenly stirred awake. A dull thirst pulled him from his rest, and with a quiet sigh, he dragged himself up and made his way to the kitchen. He was halfway through a sip of water when he froze. His ears catching the sound of soft sniffles… uneven breaths… quiet, shaky gasps. The sound sent a chill through him—and it was coming from his bedroom. His attention snapped towards the door, a wave of alarm rushing through him. He carefully placed the glass down, his heart rate suddenly picking up, was something wrong? Was it..

He quietly made his way towards the bedroom door, silently peeking through the crack left open. There you were, on his bedroom floor, curled in on yourself, knees pulled tight to your chest as quiet sobs shook through you. He took in the sight of you, crumpled on the floor in tears, and his heart ached at the sight. His gaze flickers to your phone lying beside you, the screen dim but still lit from recent activity. The pieces fall into place almost instantly—his jaw tightening as it clicks. You must’ve woken up, reached for it… and seen the messages.

Of course you did. He didn’t hesitate for a moment, pushing the door open and gently approaching you on the floor. You gasped as you heard him enter, looking up at him as you tried to hastily wipe at your tears. “Sorry Ji..didn’t mean to wake you, I'm fine, I just—it was just a nightmare” you say, your voice unsteady.

Yuji could see right through your lie, the tears staining your cheeks betraying your words, he crouched down beside you, his expression tender yet filled with concern. He sighed, gently taking your phone from your trembling hand and setting it aside.

“Cut the bullshit,” he said bluntly, “you’re not fine, and we both know it wasn’t a nightmare.” His gaze searched yours, his eyes filled with a mix of protectiveness and anger.

Your gaze lingers on him a moment too long before it clicks—he knows. He had to have seen them earlier… there’s no other way. You should be upset, maybe even angry—but you’re too drained to feel anything that sharp. You exhale softly, shoulders sinking. “You saw the texts, didn’t you…?”

He nodded, his expression hardening at the memory of the awful words on your screen. Anger towards your ex had flared within him, but he pushed it aside for now, his focus on you. 

“Yeah, I did,” he admitted, “Saw everything.” He reaches for you without a word, gently pulling your trembling form against his chest. You hesitate for a split second, afraid that if you let yourself lean into him, you won’t be able to hold it together—but you let him anyway, you always do. 

You let him draw you closer, your arms slowly wrapping around him as the tears spill freely. “I feel so stupid…” you murmur, your voice shaking. You let him hold you tightly against his chest, one hand gently stroking your back in slow, soothing circles. 

He could feel the tension in your body as you let out a shaky breath—like admitting weakness to him physically pained you. “Don’t,” he muttered firmly, “You’re not stupid. That guy’s just trash.” He pressed his chin on top of your head, breathing deeply before adding quietly. “..And I'm here now.”

You sniffle, tears soaking into his shirt as you cling to him tighter, “I hate that despite it all, I can’t stop replaying the good memories we had..the promises he said..i hate that a part of me still holds onto it..” 

Hearing you mourn over that scumbag’s false promises ignited a fire within him—part jealousy, part protectiveness.

“You’re better off without him,” he said through gritted teeth, “Those memories and promises..they mean nothing to him. He just used you.” He tilted your chin up, making you look up at him. “You deserve so much better than that bullshit.”

Your brows knit together as you look away, and he gently lets go of your chin, a faintly defeated look crossing his face. “I probably do..but I’ve said some things too..I can’t help but think i don’t deserve better..” you admit, voice barely a whisper.

He didn’t like where this was going—you were blaming yourself again, giving that guy too much credit. His expression darkened at your words, his eyes narrowing in disapproval. “Bullshit,” he said gruffly, tone sharp. “You said what you said because he pushed you to that point. You snapped, but that doesn’t make you undeserving of better.” He gently turned your chin towards him again, making you look him in the eye. “Stop being too damn hard on yourself.”

“I..I still love him Yuji..and it kills me that I can’t just let him go..that’s what makes it so hard to move on..” you murmured, clenching his shirt weakly with your fist.

He could see the pain and conflict in your eyes, the truth of how deeply you still cared for your ex despite everything. He wanted to argue, to say that you were better hating that bastard’s guts and forgetting him completely. But the pain in your voice held him back. He let out a frustrated sigh, raking a hand through his hair. It killed him seeing you like this.

 “I know..” he muttered reluctantly, “But..you can’t keep hurting yourself like this.”

You dropped your gaze, “It hurts to realize this is the only kind of love I’ve felt..that it’s all I've ever known..I hate that loving feels so natural—even if it terrifies me.”

Your words were like a dagger twisting in his chest. He couldn’t stand hearing you talk about yourself that way. He knew how much that scumbag had messed you up, and seeing you internalize his abuse like this..it was like watching the best parts of you slowly fade away. 

“That’s bullshit,” he hisses, eyes flashing angrily. “You don’t deserve any of that. You don’t deserve to be treated like crap.” 

“You think so..?” you asked, hesitant, unsure, your voice small and uncertain, barely above a whisper.

Yuji grasps your arms steadily, not to hurt, but to convince. He needed you to understand. Needed you to believe him, to see what he saw in you. He hated how your self-worth had been diminished, how you couldn’t see your own worth. 

“I know so, dumbass,” he muttered fiercely. “You’re worth so much more than what that asshole can ever give you. You deserve real love and respect, not this bullshit.”

He watched your expression change—the confusion and doubt in your eyes slowly shifting as his words struck a chord within you. His heart clenched at how your ex had broken you to the point where you couldn’t grasp the idea of being loved properly. 

He reached a hand to your cheek. His touch tender yet firm, “You deserve kindness, loyalty, and someone who adores you like you’re the goddamn sun.”

Someone like me, he thought, the words dying on the tip of his tongue.

“You talk like I’m actually deserving of that…” you reply, a sad chuckle slipping out before you even notice.

God, he wanted to scream, to shake you, make you see yourself through his eyes—through the eyes of someone who thought the world of you. 

“Because you fucking are,” he said roughly, his grip on your arms tightening slightly, “you just can’t see it because that jerk made you doubt yourself.” He paused for a moment, searching your eyes—trying to get through to you, to make you understand. “You’re kind, you’re smart, you’re loyal, and for some reason, you’re stubborn as hell,” he listed, voice a rough whisper. “You’re beautiful, and you light up every goddamn room you step in. So yes, you’re damn well deserving of it, you idiot.”

You paused, blinking up at him as you took his words in, did you just hear that right? “You..you think im beautiful..?” 

He froze. Crap, he thought, his words replaying in his head. His grip on your arm loosened slightly, a faint flush creeping up the back of his neck at your question. 

“Did I stutter?” he muttered gruffly, avoiding eye contact now, “I mean—objectively speaking. Obviously.” He cleared his throat awkwardly and pulled you into a tighter hug to hide how flustered he suddenly was.

You’re momentarily at a loss for words, caught off guard, before letting out a small, shaky sigh. “Thanks, Ji… but I know you’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

He groaned internally. Your inability to believe that he could genuinely find you attractive was both infuriating and heartbreaking. But he couldn’t blame you. “You think I’d lie to you, idiot?” he muttered quietly into your ear.

“No… that’s exactly why you’re my best friend. You always tell me the truth, even when I’m used to hearing lies.” you said.

His heart ached, yes, he was your best friend but hearing you label him as such just reminded him that he was stuck in the friendzone, while another guy got all your love and affection. Instead of voicing his frustration, he just clung to you tighter, desperately wishing he could take back the word ‘friend.’

“You shouldn’t be so damn used to empty lies,” he muttered, voice tinged with a hint of bitterness.

You rested your head against his chest tiredly, your tears had mostly dried down by now, he could feel the warmth of your body seeping through his shirt, and it only made him want to hold you even closer, protect you from everything and everyone who dared to hurt you. “I shouldn't..but that’s just how things are” you muttered.

“Bullshit,” he cursed, his chin resting on top of your head. He desperately wanted to tell you the truth, to confess how he really saw you..but he knew he couldn’t. “You deserve the world, idiot.”

You manage a small, sad smile, convinced he’s just saying things to comfort you—which, somehow, it is. “Sorry for waking you Ji… I’ll try not to weep like a baby next time,” you joke lightly, the humor shaky but genuine. He hated that you didn’t believe his words. 

He frowned at your forced smile. He wanted you to understand how serious he was, but he knew you weren’t ready for that.

“Shut up.” he grumbled, his grip on you tightening as he spoke. “Don’t apologize. You have every damn reason to cry. You don’t have to bottle things up.” 

“You’re too nice y’know..i know you hate it when I say that but you are.” You said as you pulled away from his hold gently. He reluctantly let go, his arms dropping to his sides. He hated how you kept downplaying your own feelings, how you kept dismissing the things you deserved..like the love and respect he wanted to shower you with. 

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “Im not nice,” he grumbled, “you just need better standards.”

“I probably do,” you say, offering him a small, tired smile before turning to climb back onto the bed. You appreciate what he said—you really do—but right now, all you want is to curl in on yourself and just disappear for a while.

He continued to stare at you for a moment, his expression torn between anger and affection. The urge to tell you the truth was growing stronger, his frustration at your lack of self-worth and the pain he felt knowing he couldn’t have you eating him alive. “You..you really don’t see how much of a catch you are, do you?” he finally blurted out, frustration seeping into his voice. 

“What are you talking about Yuji..” you muttered, wrapping yourself under the comfort of the blankets.

His frustration reached its peak as he let out a low groan, you were just so goddamn clueless, and it was killing him. “You’re intelligent, you’re funny, you’re sweet, you’re loyal, and for some damn reason, you put up with my bullshit,” he replied, voice rising slightly, “And you have no idea how damn attractive you are, do you? How guys trip over their own feet just to talk to you?”

“Alright Yuji, you’re just making shit up at this point.” you gruffed, irritation slipping into your voice as your frustration starts to show.

His jaw dropped in disbelief, his hands clenching at his sides. He was this close to just–

“Making it up?!” he snapped, gesturing wildly towards you. “Look at yourself! You’re literally drowning in my clothes and still somehow the most attractive thing I've seen all day!”

A pause. His face burned red the second those words left his mouth.

You finally blinked, turning to look at him, your brows knitting together. “Yuji… that’s enough,” you snap, fully convinced he’s still just trying to make you feel better.

He could feel his patience running thin, his irritation at you completely oblivious to your own worth increasing with each passing second. “It’s not enough,” he gritted out, taking a step towards you. “Damnit, you just don’t get it, do you? I'm not saying these things just to make you feel better. I'm speaking the goddamn truth.”

“Okay, but you’re getting ahead of yourself.” You blurted out, sharper than you actually intended.

He couldn’t take it anymore—he couldn’t stand you downplaying his words and completely missing the point. He took another step closer, his eyes locking with yours. 

“Im getting ahead of myself?,” he repeated incredulously, “You’re sitting here, in my clothes, talking about how you don’t deserve love and respect, and I'm getting ahead of myself?” His tone was gruff, frustration, and affection interwoven.

“What are you even trying to say..” You met his gaze, confusion etched on your face, your voice wavering with a mix of frustration and something more uncertain beneath it.

Did he really have to spell it out for you? He wanted to grab your shoulders and shake you, to make you understand how much he cared about you..how much he wanted you.

“Do I have to spell it out for you, you goddamn idiot?! I'm trying to tell you that you deserve way better than that bastard..and that i..i–damn..” He paused, voice lowering,

“Im right here.”

You look at him, fingers tightening around the sheets. “Yeah, no shit—you’re right there. I’m not blind, Yuji… what are you really trying to say!” you press.

“For the love of God, I'm telling you that you deserve so much better! And that i’ve been right here, loving you for so goddamn long..waiting for you to see me too.” There it was. He finally lets it out, the words breaking free all at once, his voice rough with everything he’s been holding back. 

A pause.

“You..you what..?” You breathe, eyes widening as your grip on the sheets slackens, shock washing over you.

His heart pounded in his chest as he watched the realization slowly dawn in your eyes. He had finally said it—laid his feelings bare for you to see, to accept or reject. 

"You heard me," he said gruffly, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'm goddamn in love with you, you idiot. Have been for a while now. But you're too goddamn blind to see it."

“Yuji—I…” Your breath hitched as you stared at him, still trying to process, still in disbelief. “I…I don’t know what to say…you’re in love with me…?”

The pounding of his heart went louder in his chest as he watched you struggle to process his confession. His expression was a mixture of nervousness and hope. "Yeah, I'm in love with you, idiot," he repeated, his voice a low growl. "And I've been in love with your stubborn, clueless, beautiful self for so damn long. And now I've finally said it aloud. Happy?"

Your chest tightened, breaths coming faster as you looked down, gripping the blanket tightly again. “Yuji…you’re my best friend…this..you can’t be in love with me!” you exclaimed.

"Don't tell me what I can and can't feel," he snapped, taking another step closer. "I'm allowed to love who I damn well please. And right now? That's you."

A pause as he took a shaky breath, trying to rein in his emotions. He was tired of being stuck like this—tired of watching someone else have your heart when he had been waiting patiently for so long.

“I…Yuji…you—you can’t…” You mutter softly, your voice heavy with sadness, turning your gaze away to avoid looking at him.

Yuji clenched his fists tightly, your refusal to look at him and your muttered denials sending a bolt of pain through his heart. He had laid it all out there, his feelings bare and vulnerable…only to be shut down.

 "And why the hell not? Huh?" he said gruffly, his voice cracking slightly. "Why can't I be in love with you? Give me one goddamn valid reason."

“Because! We’re best friends, Yuji—that’s how it’s always been!” You finally lift your gaze to meet his, frustration and disbelief lacing your voice.

His heart ached as you said that—as if being best friends with him was somehow inferior to being partners. He let out a low scoff, frustration and hurt filling him.

"So? So what if we're best friends?" he retorted brokenly, "does that mean I'm not allowed to fall for you? To love you in ways that go beyond friendship? Is that really what you're saying right now?"

“im not saying you aren’t allowed, im just saying that now probably wasn’t the right fucking time to suddenly confess your feelings to me!” you pressed.

"Oh, really?! And when was the right time, huh? When some other guy sweeps you off your goddamn feet? When you're in another relationship with another idiot who doesn't value you the way I do? When?!" he fought, voice rising higher, already regretting the words he had spit out.

Hurt tightens across your face—even if he didn’t mean it that way, it still hits a nerve. “Because my own feelings are all over the place right now, Yuji! Heck, I just cried in your arms, for Christ’s sake!” you snap, voice cracking slightly.

He felt a pang of guilt—he hadn't meant to snap at you and unintentionally bring up your recent vulnerability. But his frustration at being constantly put in the friendzone was still present. "And what about my feelings, huh? I've been harboring these feelings for you for so long, watching you go after the wrong guys…and then coming back to me every damn time they hurt you…" he gritted out.

“I never asked you to take care of me! I would’ve never let you—never done any of this—if I knew you had feelings for me!” You blurted back.

He knew you hadn't asked, but goddamnit, he had wanted to take care of you since the moment he realized his feelings for you. "You don't get it, do you? I wanted to take care of you. I wanted to be the one you turn to when you're sad...not some idiot who doesn't care about you." he shot back bitterly.

“Because that’s what best friends are for, Yuji! We’ve always taken care of each other! But now… knowing this, I…I don’t…I don’t know what you want me to say!”

"What I want you to say is that you feel the same damn way about me!" he snapped, taking another step forward, frustration and hurt evident in his voice. "That you see me as more than just your friend and best goddamn companion." Yuji's frustration hit its peak—you just didn't seem to understand the depth of his feelings for you. It was more than just being there for each other as friends, he wanted to be your partner, your protector, your everything.

“How can you say that, knowing the state I’m in right now! You…you’re being selfish, wanting me to juggle my feelings like this!” You shout, your voice trembling, tears threatening to spill again.

His expression darkened at your accusation. He knew he was being selfish, but damn it, he couldn't help it. "Don't call me selfish, damn it! I've stood by your side, watching you go through heartbreak after heartbreak, all the while silently loving you in the background! So don't you dare call me selfish for wanting a chance with you when I've been putting my own feelings aside for so long."

“So what!? you want to hear me say i love you back? Is that it?!” you shouted, rage and confusion consuming you without thinking.

"Yes, goddamn it!" He closed the distance between you. "That's exactly what I want to hear. I want you to say that you feel the same way. I want you to see me in the same light that I see you in. Is that so goddamn selfish?!"

“You—fuck you, Yuji!” You shout, turning your face away, chest heaving as you pant, emotions crashing over like waves.

"Fine, go ahead and curse at me! But you're not gonna shut me up that easily," he retorted, his own breathing ragged. "I've had enough of being in the friendzone with you, watching you give your heart to assholes who don't treat you right. I'm standing here right now, putting my feelings out there, asking for a chance."

“You’re mistaking your feelings…” You mutter, refusing to flinch as he moves closer on the bed, eventually sitting down across from you, his gaze steady, not leaving yours.

"Don't you dare tell me I'm mistaking my own damn feelings," he said through gritted teeth, his voice gravelly. "I know exactly what I feel for you. I've felt this way for so long, it's consuming me."

“It shouldn’t…How could…how could you even love me…when I’m still in love with him…” You whisper, voice breaking as the weight of your words hangs between the two of you.

Yuji felt like he'd been punched in the gut, your confession of still loving your ex driving a dagger through his heart. "How can you still love him after everything he's put you through? After every time he's broken your goddamn heart and hurt you?" he shot back, his voice cracking slightly. "What does he have that I don't?"

“Stop it! Don’t you dare make me compare the two of you!” You shouted, turning your head to face him again, chest tight and trembling.

"Why not? Why should I stop? You're sitting here, still in love with a scumbag who doesn't deserve you, when I'm right here, confessing my fucking feelings for you." Yuji's voice rose again, his emotions getting the best of him. "You say you still love him after everything he's done, but what about the way I feel for you? What about what I can provide for you?! What about me?!"

“Just stop it, Yuji! I don’t love you!” The words slip out before you can stop them, your heart aching with every syllable.

Yuji froze for a split second at your sharp words—your blunt rejection like a punch to the gut. But then his expression hardened, frustration and pain twisting into something reckless.  

Fuck it.

"Fine." he growled low in his throat, "If you don't love me—if you never will—then say it to my face."  

Before you could react, he closed the distance between you in one swift motion, cupping your jaw roughly as he crushed his lips against yours. It wasn't gentle or sweet—it was desperate and furious, pouring every ounce of pent-up emotion into that kiss.

Your eyes widen in disbelief, but what catches him completely off guard is that you don’t pull away. Instead, you lean in, meeting his lips with a fierce, desperate intensity. The kiss is urgent, almost feverish, and somehow—some impossibly perfect way—your mouths move together as if they’ve always known exactly how to fit. Every doubt, every fear, every suppressed feeling seems to melt into that moment, leaving only the raw heat, pressing impossibly close.

Yuji felt a jolt of shock go through him at your response—the fact that you were kissing him back so fervently taking him by surprise. But he quickly regained his composure, his grip on your jaw tightening ever so slightly as he deepened the kiss. The emotions that had been boiling inside him ignited in that moment, passion and desire fueling his every move. His free hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer to him, as his mouth claimed yours hungrily, almost as if he couldn't get enough of you.

You let him pull you closer, lost in the kiss as you practically had your legs around him now, straddling his lap as your hands tugged at him closer desperately. It was like you wanted—no, needed, more of him. Yuji lets out a low growl, his hands sliding from your waist to your hips, his grip possessive and tight. He could feel your body pressed against his, the proximity fueling the flames of his desire. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, his need for you driving him to the edge of insanity. He deepened the kiss, one hand drifting up your back, fingers tangling in your hair as he held you impossibly close.

It’s when a low hum escapes your lips against his mouth that reality hits. Shit. Your eyes fly wide open as you pull back abruptly, pushing him away and untangling yourself from his lap. Scrambling up from the bed, heart hammering. “Yuji, what—that wasn’t supposed to happen!” you stammer, panic and what seems like embarrassment flooding your senses.

His eyes widened as you pulled away, chest heaving from the intensity of the kiss. The sudden distance between you both made him feel cold—empty. "Wasn't supposed to happen?" he repeated roughly, his voice still laced with lingering heat and frustration. "You kissed me back just as hard as I did! Don't lie to yourself—or me."  

A pause. His gaze burned into yours before he muttered bitterly, "...Unless that was just pity."

Your chest heaves as you run a hand through your hair frantically, struggling to catch your breath. “Don’t—don’t do this, please… th-that was a mistake, Yuji,” you stammer, voice trembling with panic and shame.

Yuji let out a scoff, anger and hurt rising in him as you dismissed the kiss as a mistake. It hurt. It hurt so goddamn much. He clenched his fists at his sides, trying to keep his emotions in check.  

"A mistake, huh? It didn't feel like a mistake the way you were kissing me back just now. The way you had your body pressed up against mine…that didn't feel like a mistake to me. It felt real. It felt right to me."

“Stop! just stop—i…that shouldn’t have happened.” You repeated.

His patience snapped. He shot up from the bed, towering frame looming over you as he pointed a finger in your face. "Then tell me why it shouldn't have happened! Give me one goddamn reason that isn't just 'because I still love my ex'!" he roared, his voice cracking with frustration and hurt. "You kissed me back—don't lie to yourself or to me. So if this is really a mistake…then why did it feel so right?"

“Please, Yuji, just stop! I… I wasn’t thinking straight—we both weren’t thinking straight,” you plead, voice shaking as you step back, trying to put distance between us.

Yuji's breath hitched as you said that—your words like a knife twisting in his gut. He had hoped, for just a second, that maybe this kiss had changed something between you…but now? Now it felt like he was being torn apart. 

"Wasn't thinking straight?" he repeated bitterly, "So all of this—that meant nothing to you?" A harsh pause before he added quietly, "...Just tell me if there's any part of this that doesn't scare the hell out of both of us."

“Yuji… please, I can’t think properly right now. I don’t want to hurt either of us any more than we already have…I just…I need time to figure out my own heart before we destroy what we have” you gritted.

The pain in your voice cut through his anger. He wanted to reach out for you, to touch you, to pull you close in a desperate attempt to cling onto you. But he stayed rooted, his shoulders tense as he tried to keep the hurt in check. "You're hurting me more by pushing me away like this, you know that? You're tearing me apart by brushing this off as a damn mistake."

“I’m sorry…” You whisper, voice breaking, thick with regret. “I never meant for any of this to happen…I don’t know how to fix it, and it hurts me just as much as it hurts you.”

"I know you are. I know you aren't doing this to hurt me on purpose, but it does, damn it. I'm standing here, pouring my heart out to you, and all I keep getting back is you trying to push me away." His heart ached even more—if that was even possible, the genuine hurt and apology in your voice breaking through his anger and making his heart squeeze painfully.

He stepped closer again, fingers lightly reaching out, hesitating for a moment before gently holding onto your wrist. "Just…just look at me," he said softly, his eyes locking onto yours, "Look at me and tell me it felt wrong. Tell me that kiss was nothing but a mistake. Lie to my face and say you don't feel a fucking thing for me."

You look at him, hurt and conflicted, letting out a shaky breath. The truth is…it did feel right. It did feel like it was meant to happen—you just couldn’t bring yourself to fully admit it yet. “Would it…make you feel better if I said it?” You murmur, voice barely above a whisper, torn between honesty and fear.

His heart raced as you looked up at him, his grip on your wrist tightening just the slightest bit. He could see the conflict in your eyes, the unspoken emotions in them. It gave him a glimmer of hope, but also made the pain in his chest feel ten times worse. 

"I—I don't know," he replied in a hoarse voice, his gaze never leaving yours. "I don't know if it'd make me feel better to hear you say it was a mistake, or if it'd break my damn heart into even more pieces."

“Then I won’t say it…for the sake of both of us. But please…just know that I never meant to hurt you, Yuji” You whisper, your voice trembling with sincerity, the weight of unspoken feelings heavy between the two of you.

He lets his eyes close for a moment, taking another shaky breath as he fights to keep his composure. Your words were like a gentle yet painful touch on his raw, aching heart. He knew you didn't want to hurt him, and that somehow made it even harder for him.  

"I know, I know you didn't mean to…" He exhaled deeply, his hand tightening around your wrist as he looked at you again, desperation and pain warring in his eyes. "It still hurts like hell, though."

You watch him release your wrist, a deep part of you aching, longing for his touch again. He takes a slow step back, those sad eyes never leaving yours. “I’ll let you rest…we can talk about it in the morning,” he says softly, his voice heavy with unspoken emotion.

As he suggested talking about it the next day, you wanted to protest, to feel his touch under your skin again and keep him there with you…but you couldn't. You just couldn't.

 "Yeah…yeah, we can talk in the morning," you replied, voice strained and thick with emotion.

You watched him turn away, chest aching as the space between you two grew wider. You wanted to call out—wanted to stop him from leaving you like this. But instead, you just clenched your fists and exhaled shakily.  

"Goodnight," he muttered under his breath, “Y/n..”

The name slipped out in a whisper—one that carried all the unspoken love and frustration he couldn't bring himself to say aloud right now.

You stayed rooted in place even after he left the room, your eyes glued to the closed door. Your mind was reeling, bombarded with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. 

The feel of his body against yours still lingered on your skin, the taste of his lips on yours still on your tongue. You wanted to go after him, to plead for him to stay…but you knew that would only make things worse right now.

With a frustrated huff, you fell back onto the bed, burying your face into his pillow—strongly clad with his scent, cursing yourself and the entire situation. Heart still pounding from everything that just happened. His absence feels heavier than the space he left behind, and the memories of him cling to you like a stubborn shadow. Your mind races, a tangled mess of regret, longing, and confusion, yet somewhere deep down, a small, undeniable part of you knows that nothing will ever be the same again. You curl further into his pillow, as if holding onto him could somehow make him stay. Every heartbeat echoes with the weight of words left unsaid, of feelings tangled and unclaimed. The ache in your chest is sharp, a reminder that some things—no matter how much you want them—cannot be fixed in a single night. A shaky breath left you, tasting the memory of him on your lips, nothing dulls the storm in your chest. Part of you wants to chase him, another part knows you shouldn’t—and somewhere in the middle, a dangerous question takes root. 

What happens when neither of you can stay away?

a/n: so…part 2? hope that was as gut wrenching as i envisioned, my first jjk fic can u believe it?! put my heart into this one (i love my bby yuji sm<3) likes and commentary very much appreciated

Read here :

My Darling

Summary: A ruined match, a harsh outburst, and a week of silence. When you confront Draco at last, everything he’s buried—hurt, pride, and the truth he’s terrified to say—comes undone in one explosive moment.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Wc: 4,5k

Cw: hurt/comfort, angst, slightly suggestive, cursing, lowkey toxic! Draco

Enjoy!

It all began the weekend of the Slytherin–Gryffindor Quidditch match.

Draco had been determined to beat Potter that day—more determined than anyone had ever seen him. The pressure from his father, the expectations from the team, the entire House watching him…it was suffocating. And when Potter caught the Snitch right under his nose, the humiliation hit Draco like a physical blow.

He stalked off the pitch furious, breathing fire, convinced he’d at least find you waiting for him—the one person who always grounded him after disastrous matches.

But you weren’t there.

You’d meant to be. You really had. But time slipped away in the library as you struggled through a Potions essay, and by the time you realized the match had ended, Slytherin had already lost…and Draco was already gone.

He noticed. Of course he noticed. And it stung far more than he admitted.

By Monday, the tension was unmistakable. You tried to approach him after Divination, gently—the way you always did when he was wound up and bristling. You spoke softly, tried to calm him, tried to pull him back from the storm that always followed a defeat.

But pride is a vicious thing.

He snapped instead—words dripping venom, thrown like daggers because he was hurting and you were close enough to bleed. The class went silent. Your face fell. And Draco felt the first flicker of regret—quiet, poisonous, immediate.

You didn’t argue. You didn’t confront him. You simply stepped back like you’d been struck and walked away.

And then you stayed away.

The entire week.

He had pretended he didn’t care. He told himself he didn’t notice when you switched seats in Potions. That his stomach didn’t twist when you laughed with someone else in the library. That the empty space beside him in the courtyard meant nothing.

But every night, he stared at the common room door waiting for you to walk in. And every night, you didn’t.

Malfoys didn’t apologize.

Malfoys didn’t chase.

Malfoys certainly didn’t lose their minds over a girl.

Yet here he was—restless, irritated, wand tapping against his thigh because you still wouldn’t speak to him.

He missed you.

He hated missing you.

And he hated that he’d caused it.

Draco stepped into the dorm room, rolling his wand over his knuckles with a familiar nervous tic, though he’d never admit it. His leather satchel slipped from one shoulder and hit the desk with a muted thud. He dropped into his chair, long legs stretching out, one hand running through hair still mussed from flying.

Gods, Crabbe and Goyle snored like trolls, he thought, lips tightening. Blaise shot him a lazy look from the next desk.

“Enjoying the prefect life, Malfoy?” Blaise asked, voice smooth as always.

Draco gave a satisfied chuckle. “Oh, most certainly, Zabini,” he drawled. “Especially knowing Potter’s scrubbing quills for Umbridge right now.”

He flicked open his Potions text, dipped his quill, and began his essay on moonstone properties.

Blaise hummed. “Satisfying indeed.” A grin curved his mouth. “What about Potter’s face when he saw Grubbly-Plank?”

Draco snorted, smirk tugging at his lips. “Good one, Blaise.” He continued writing. “Father says the Ministry’s determined to crack down on incompetent teaching. Even if that overgrown oaf returns, he’ll be sacked.” Satisfaction bloomed across his features.

Then the door opened.

His smirk vanished instantly.

“Merlin,” he drawled without looking up, “don’t you think it’s a bit late?”

Your presence prickled under his skin—and not in the pleasant way it usually did. He hadn’t spoken to you in a week…not since the match…not since he’d snapped at you in Divination like a cornered animal.

You’d ignored him since. Aloof. Distant. Cold.

And Draco Malfoy, whose temper was sharp as a blade and pride twice as brittle, hadn’t known how to bridge the gap.

So he hadn’t.

He continued his essay, jaw tight, tapping his fingers against his thigh—pretending not to notice you.

“Out,” you said suddenly, your voice tight but steady. You gestured toward Blaise and the two sleeping lumps in the corner.

Blaise raised a brow. “Demanding tonight, aren’t we?”

“Out,” you repeated, firmer.

Draco scoffed under his breath without lifting his head. “Out? How dramatic.” He finally looked at you, pale grey eyes sharp. “Since when do you give orders in my dorm?”

But he flicked his wand anyway. “You heard her, Zabini. Move along before you start snoring like the other two idiots.”

Blaise rolled his eyes, smirking knowingly as he ushered the groggy duo out. The door clicked shut behind them.

Silence.

Draco leaned back, arms folding across his chest. “Well? Now that you’ve played commander…” His gaze swept over you, cool and biting but edged with something else. “…what does the Muggle-born queen want?”

There it was. The mask. Cold. Sharp. Cruel.

His tone was ice and fire—sharp enough to cut, hot enough to burn. But beneath it? A flicker of something softer. Almost regretful.

You crossed your arms, brows flickering with frustration and hurt bubbling up in your veins, but you refused to show it to him, "we need to talk" you said sternly.

He pushed away from his desk, chair scraping against the floor as he stood, a graceful motion that spoke of the pureblood elegance bred within. He didn't approach you, not yet, instead leaning against the stone wall opposite you, arms still folded lazily.

He cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowing as he met yours evenly. "Fine," he drawled, tone indifferent. "Talk."

"Why are you acting like this? What's gotten into you?" You asked, tone harsh and questioning, one you knew he never liked.

He pushed off the wall, crossing the room in a few strides, looming over you, his six-foot-two frame making you look smaller. "You want to know why I'm acting like this? Because everything's a bloody mess," he said. 

You scoffed, undeterred. “You think you’re the only one in a mess?”

His eyes narrowed dangerously at the challenge in your tone, it was infuriating, how you managed to get under his skin like this—always questioning, always defiant. “And what would you know about messes? You—a girl who barely knew magic existed until her eleventh birthday,” he sneered, looking down at you.

He regretted it the second it left his mouth. He was being cruel, he knew it. But pride had a way of taking over sometimes.

The way your breath hitched—small, sharp, gutted him. You refused to break in front of him, not now. "You're being mean." you whispered.

He looked away first, jaw clenched tight enough to ache. “Mean?” he muttered, voice lower now—almost rough. “No. Just honest.”

He turned back slowly, grey eyes locking onto yours with that infuriating Malfoy calm. "But if you want real mean...I could've said you've been avoiding me like I've been cursed since Divination."

A beat.

Then softer—barely above a whisper. "You didn't have to follow me here just to fight."

“I didn’t want to!” your voice cracked. “Clearly you're not getting the picture here. Don’t you think there’s a reason I avoided you?”

His expression hardened as anger flared. Gods, you were just so bloody stubborn!

“Oh, I understand perfectly well you’ve been avoiding me,” he snapped, sarcasm dripping like venom. “I’m just shocked you didn’t bother being mature enough to talk to me.”

He took another step forward, nearly standing over you now. "So go on then, explain it to me. This mysterious reason of yours for avoiding me as if I have the plague."

“How can I explain anything when you’re shoving me off with your words?” you shot back, voice trembling.

He felt a pang in his chest as your words hit him—but he kept his face schooled in a perfect mask of indifference. Damn it, you were right.

He let out a frustrated huff, raking a hand through his hair. "You could've talked to me any time in the past week," he retorted. "But you chose not to. So what exactly should I have done? Chase after you like some lovesick—"

“That’s exactly what you should’ve done!” You stepped forward. “You couldn’t apologize even once?!”

He froze. Your words slammed into him like a hex. Pale fingers twitched, aching to reach you, and for the first time, the mask slipped. Just slightly. Just enough. 

“Apologize?” he echoed. “For what? Snapping in class? Being cold after? Gods, do you even know what you’re asking—?”

“Yes!” you cut in. “Both! You embarrassed me. You hurt me. That’s why I avoided you!”

He stared at you, truly stared, and the anger cracked. "And what about how I feel? You didn't even come to the match that day when I needed you most. I kept looking for you—and you weren’t there,” he retorted.

“I lost track of time! Not all of us get O’s without trying. Some of us have to actually work for an extra point in Potions!”

“Oh please, you could’ve told me!” he shot back. “And now you're here expecting me to chase you. To say I'm sorry, and what would that prove? That I've gone soft? That Draco Malfoy kneels?" He turned away from you again slightly, staring at the dark stone walls like it held answers.

Then quietly—barely above a whisper, "I didn't think you'd want me to."

Your breath hitched, eyes flickering in hurt. The crack in your voice was tiny but fatal.

“…It would prove that you love me.” You swallowed. “And that you respect me as your girlfriend. But clearly that's not what I'm getting at right now.." 

The words were like a stab to his heart. He bit the inside of his cheeks so hard it bled, willing his expression to stay indifferent. But a muscle in his jaw jumped, betraying him.

Love.

Girlfriend.

He'd never said those three words out loud. Barely even let himself think them half the time. But hearing you say them so openly, with that hurt in your voice—it made something in him snap. "Is that what this is about?" he scoffed, "you wanted me to say the words?"

"What do you mean..?" you asked, tone wavering.

"You wanted me to say ‘I love you’. Like some pathetic declaration." The words tasted bitter in his mouth. He swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “You wanted me to kneel. To beg. To get on my knees and plead for forgiveness, and what then? You'd take me back? Kiss and make up?"

You couldn't believe his words, “that is not what I said! All I wanted was for you to apologize, is that so hard to ask for?" you remarked, muscles twitching, the frustration and hurt twisting your gut into knots.

“But that’s what it feels like!” he hissed. "Merlin, you have no idea what you're even asking of me." he finished

It sounded even worse out loud.

“You hurt my feelings, why is it so hard for you to grasp that?!” You snapped, fists now clenched at your sides.

"Hurt your feelings?!" he echoed, mask slipping more with every word. "Are we really doing this? Acting like a couple of Hufflepuffs now, talking about feelings and apologies?"

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair, but he didn't move away as you stepped closer. If anything, he stood his ground. Because despite everything, some part of him—stupidly, foolishly—was drawn to your anger, like fire to oxygen.

"You can't demand an apology from me like it's some potion recipe." he added, adding more hurt to the already open wound.

"How could you even say that.." you said, voice lowering with a waver.

"How can I not? God, you're so infuriating!" He closed the distance between you in a few strides—so close now he could see every flicker in your eyes, read every emotion in your face. He was close enough to feel the heat off of your skin. It was infuriating...or intoxicating. He couldn't decide.

His gaze locked into yours, grey eyes burning like a storm. He couldn't back down now. Not when pride was at stake. "You act like everything I do is a personal attack against you." The words came out harsher than he meant them to. But he was frustrated—so damned frustrated. Because here you were, looking like some bloody goddess in the moonlight, and all he wanted to do was touch you. Hold you. Apologize. Beg you to forgive him.

“How can it not be personal? You fought for me—you asked me out—you made me fall for you, and now you treat me like nothing.”

The truth hit like a punch.

He felt his resolve cracking. He couldn't look away from you, you had this hold on him—always had. And now, the pain in your eyes felt like a blade to the heart.

He wanted to yell at you. Push you away. Be mean. Anything to stop this bloody feeling in his chest.

Instead he grabbed you. Hands finding your hips, pulling you close.

"Dont." you yanked his hands away, pulling from him harshly.

It hurt more than anything you’d said. The sharp rejection felt like a slap. He froze—hands hanging awkwardly in the air where you'd just pushed them away—a stark reminder of the rift between you.

He stared at you—at the fire in your eyes, the cold set of your jaw, and something in his chest twisted painfully. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

"You..you don't want me to touch you?" He asked hoarsely, the bravado fading from his voice.

You let out a pained laugh. "Now you want to touch me? Do you have any idea how you're making me feel right now?” you added.

He took a shuddering breath at your words, letting his hands fall to his sides. Gods 'he'd been an idiot' he thought, A proud, stubborn fool who'd let his own self destructive pride nearly drive you away. Even now, it was hard not to reach out and hold you. But he made himself stay still. 

"How..how am I making you feel?" he asked lowly.

You swallowed a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Like I’m unlovable,” you whispered. “Like I’m just something you can pick up and put down when you feel like it.”

He felt something crack in his chest. Unlovable, nothing...It was all his worst fears coming to life through your voice. He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat.

"Is that really what you think?" he forced out. "That I don't care about you? That I see you as some meaningless thought?" he asked.

"Just minutes ago you seem to think that way yes.." you turned away from him, finding yourself looking through his bedroom window, hands around your body in a sense of self comfort.

The air in the room turned heavy—colder. He watched you turn, your silhouette framed against the moonlit window, arms wrapped  tight around yourself, like you were trying to hold the pieces together.

And Merlin, it killed him.

For once, Draco Malfoy—the boy who never lost composure, who sneered through detentions and stood unshaken under his Father's cold gaze—felt something dangerously close to fear.

Not of punishment. Not of failure.

But of losing you.

He took one slow step forward. Then another. The space between you felt wider than a chasm now—not because of distance, but because he'd built walls with every cruel world and icy silence this past week.

"I.." his voice came out rougher than he intended, broken at the edges. "I don't see you as nothing."

A pause. The wind outside rattled the glass behind you like a warning or maybe an omen.

"You think this is easy for me?" he said quietly, "caring about someone who doesn't care about bloodlines? Someone who argues with me in front of Slytherin..stands up to me..makes my chest feel like it's on fire just by walking into a room?"

He swallowed hard, pride screaming at him to stop—but for once, he ignored it.

"You're not a mere thought," he whispered fiercely, "..and Merlin help me—I've wanted you since third year when you hexed Pansy for mocking Muggle-borns during Defense."

A faint smirk almost touched his lips at the memory—but it faded faster as it came.

"And yes..you're my bloody girlfriend. Whether we've said all those sappy words or not." His voice dropped lower, the arrogance gone now replaced by something raw and trembling beneath. "So if that means swallowing every stupid piece of Malfoy pride..if that means saying it outright.." He stepped closer until only breath separated you from behind.

"..then fine."

He let out a shuddering breath.

"Im sorry."

You turned to look at him as he said those words, He saw the glimmer in your eyes—the unshed tears that made his chest ache like a curse wound had split open under his ribs. You were still looking at him, like you could see past the mask he'd worn since first year.

And Merlin help him, he didn't want to hide anymore.

Because this wasn't about him fixing things without touch or charm.

This was about proving, without words made hollow by pride—that you mattered.

More than bloodlines.

More than Malfoy name.

More than himself.

"You're sorry..for what exactly?" you tested, voice quiet and careful, you didn't want to cave into his words just yet. You knew better than that.

His gaze snapped back towards you—eyes meeting yours dead on as the last vestiges of his mask cracked away. He took one more step towards you.

"For everything, alright?" he said. "For being a fool, for being cold. For hurting your feelings. For treating you like bloody vermin this past week." He ran a hand through his hair again that night, his next words coming out strangles.

"For being a coward." He forced himself to meet your eyes again. "Because you're not some toy, damn it. You're my girlfriend." he said sternly.

A tear fell, managing to slip down your cheek. Despite your attempts to give in and pull yourself to his arms, you held your ground. "Why did you yell at me that day during class..i know you were upset about the match..but.." your voice trailed off.

He let out a slow breath, shoulders tensing at the memory. "I was angry," he admitted, "humiliated. Potter caught the snitch again-and again-right under my nose."

A pause. The truth clawed its way up. Bitter and raw.

"But that's not your fault. You.. you tried to calm me down after Divination like you always do. With that stupid soft voice of yours." He swallowed hard, eyes dropping to the floor. "And I snapped at you because..when everything else goes wrong, you're the one thing that doesn't feel like it belongs in my world—the Malfoy world—and I hate how much I need that."

He looked up slowly.

"I wasn't mad at you.." his voice dropped to a whisper, "i was scared of needing you this much..so instead of saying that? I pushed you away."

Another tear slipped down your cheek, and this time, before you could pull back,

He reached out.

Gently—so gently—he brushed it away with his thumb.

"And now look where we are.." he finished.

"You say cruel things sometimes..things I know you don't mean..I hate it when you do that.." your facade completely broke, voice a shaky waver.

He watched as the tears fell. The sight shattered whatever was left of his composure.

"Merlin," he whispered, voice breaking, "I hate that I do that."

Slow, careful, this time, he reached out to your face. His thumb brushing away your tears like it was something fragile..precious.

"I say cruel things because they're easy," he admitted, drawl gone now—just raw honesty in its place. "Because it’s safer than saying this."

He cupped your jaw, soft and steady.

"That you matter to me. That when you walk into a room, I stop breathing for half a second just so I can watch you. That your laugh makes Blaise look at me like he wants to hex me." A weak smirk tugged at his lips—quickly fading. "But if saying those things out loud means you stop looking at me like this.." his voice wavered. "Then I'll say the words every damn day.”

“And if I have to swallow my pride and apologize every single time I'm a dickhead.." 

His fingers skimmed over your cheek, tracing it like you were worth everything he ever wanted.

"Then I will."

The air hung heavy between you two—charged and buzzing like a Crucio curse. Every breath felt labored. He was close enough now that the scent of you was in his lungs. And yet he still hadn't touched you. Not the way he wanted. Not the way he'd dreamed of all bloody week.

You looked at him deeply, eyes raw and broken, but despite it all, despite the aching tug at your veins, your longing for him never wavered. "Do you love me?.." you asked, quietly.

The question hit him, knocking the breath from his lungs. He stared at you. Really stared. Your eyes, wet with tears, searching for him like they could tear open every secret he'd ever burned. He opened his mouth. Closed it.

Then-

"..Yes.."

One word. whispered, raw—like he'd torn it from his ribs.

"I do."

A beat of silence as he swallowed hard, jaw clenched against the storm inside him. He leaned closer, until your breaths mingled.

"-you're all I do care about."

His thumb brushed your cheek again, this time lingering—tracing down to your jaw, he could see the faintest ghost of hope flicker in your eyes at his words..and for once, he didn't try to crush it.

Because you—Merlin, you were everything he wasn't.

Slowly, his hand dropped from your cheek, fingers tracing a gentle line along your arm until they tangled with your hand. "If you'll still have me."

"Say it..give me a reason to stay.." you whispered, heart hammering against your chest.

The raw pain in your voice nearly dropped him to his knees, his fingers squeezing yours like a lifeline.

But if there was one thing Draco Malfoy wasn't—it was a quitter.

Taking a shuddering breath, his other hand found your waist, gently pulling you flush against him so nothing but air separated you.

"I love you," he breathed.

"Because every time i don't say it..you look at me like this." he added

"Like what..?" you asked softly, eyes fluttering up at him gently.

His thumb went to your cheek again, his thumb swiping away a stray tear. He could feel the heat of your skin under his touch—warmth and life and everything light he wasn't.

And he hated himself for wanting it as much as air.

“Like you can see everything I'm trying so damn hard not to feel." he admitted softly.

"Don't hide your feelings away from me Dray..not this time.." you said, hand coming up to rest over his shoulder.

He let out a slow, unsteady breath—like he was tearing open his ribs with his bare hands.

"You want me not to hide?" He leaned in until his forehead rested against yours, breaths mingling in the quiet dark. 

"Then here it is. No lies. No Malfoy pride." he said, every word now like fire on his tongue.

"I love you, my darling..not because you're powerful or perfect." His voice dropped to a whisper. "But because you're real. You challenge me. Call me out when I'm being an arse..and still—you stay."

"And that terrifies me..because what if one day. You don't?" his fingers tightened gently around you. "So I push first..so I can pretend the fall wasn't mine."

Another beat of silence—just your breathing in the cold stone room.

"But not tonight," he whispered. "No more hiding. If staying means hearing those words.." He pressed a trembling kiss to your temple—soft, broken, honest—

"I love you. Let that be your reason."

You couldn't hold yourself back anymore, with every ounce of your heart, you cupped his face and pressed your lips against in a seer, passionate kiss.

And all the fear, all the doubt, all the bullshit he'd held back for days shattered at the touch of you. His arms wrapped around you like a lifeline, pulling you closer as he pressed his lips to yours. This wasn't a playful kiss, like all the time he'd teased or pushed you away before...No.

This was a promise.

He loved you. 

He wanted you.

He lost himself in the feel of your body against his, the heat of your breath, the soft sound of your sigh as your mouths moved together—lips and tongues and teeth. Gods, a week without you had been a week too long.

He sighed against your mouth, fingers tangling in your hair as he gently backed you up against the wall.

"I love you too Dray...if that's what you wanted to hear.." you whispered as you pulled away slightly.

A low groan rumbled in his chest at the sound of his name in your voice. He leaned in again, his lips skimming down your throat, pressing kisses everywhere he could reach—like he was trying to memorize every contour of your body.

"My darling.." he murmured, voice ragged against your neck, something fierce and feral flared in his gut as he felt your hands fisting the back of his shirt. He nipped at your throat, drawing a soft gasp from your lips.

He pulled back, grey eyes searching yours for a second as your chests heaved against each other. It was like every emotion he hadn't felt for a week was crashing down on you two all at once—raw, burning, uncontrollable.

Then his mouth was on yours again and he was kissing you like there was no tomorrow. Every touch was messy, desperate, the soft sounds you made set his heart racing.

"Merlin,” he gasped, breaking away just for air. "I love you, I bloody love you."

His hands found your hips, hiking you onto the edge of his desk—papers scattering and ink staining the wood as he stepped between your legs. Your fingers tangled in his hair, nails scraping over his hair. He groaned to your lips, hands skimming down over your thighs, up to your waist.

"I missed you," he panted, lips trailing across your collarbone, to the pulse that throbbed in your throat. "So damn much."

"I missed you too.." you panted, hands never leaving his hold.

The sound of your voice made him shiver—like a thrill down the spine. He nipped at your pulse, tongue flicking over your skin.

"A week is too long, he murmured, fingers tracing the curves of your body like mapping a new spell. "I can't go that bloody long without you again."

"Then don't mess up.." you murmured breathlessly.

He pulled back to look at you, you were beautiful like this, all flustered, cheeks flushed, and lips parted and Gods, He loved you.

"Never," he swore, "I swear to bloody Merlin, I'll never push you away like that again." 

"Is that a promise?" you asked, a soft smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“I swear on my life,” he whispered fiercely, gaze meeting yours.

"Whatever it takes to never lose you again."

Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader

Summary: The morning of the biggest Quidditch match of the season, Draco Malfoy is more tense than ever and you're the only one who can get through to him. But when the game takes a dangerous turn, what began as rivalry becomes something far more personal. Pain, fury, and fierce love collide in the aftermath, and you're left clinging to the one thing that matters most—him.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader

Wc: 4.8k

Cw: hurt/comfort, slight angst, established relationship, mentions of injury & slight violence, cursing, fluff! draco has my heart, comedic(?) slytherin! friend group

Enjoy!

The Slytherin common room was quieter than usual for a match day.

Most of the team was still in the Great Hall, probably forcing down eggs and toast between nerves and strategy talk, but you knew exactly where Draco would be. He always disappeared before big games—not to hide, exactly, but to be alone. To think. Or maybe to spiral a little, if you weren’t around to stop him.

You made your way down the stone corridors, footsteps echoing softly as you turned the corner near the empty classroom where he always went to be alone before a match. Sure enough, the door was cracked open.

“Go away,” came the immediate reply—sharp, tired, and unmistakably Draco.

You opened the door anyway.

He was sitting on one of the desks, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, still in his school uniform. His green tie hung loosely from his collar, and his broom leaned against the wall beside him like it had been there all night.

Draco looked up, startled at first—but when he saw it was you, the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly. Not gone, but cracked.

“Thought you were Zabini” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

You let out a soft smile, walking closer. "Still brooding?" you said, sitting down beside him, close enough that your knees touched.

He didn't answer.

You slid your fingers up into his hair, brushing it back from his face. "Dray..talk to me."

He exhaled through his nose, closing his eyes for a moment like he was debating whether to admit anything at all. "I need to win today." He muttered, gaze still avoiding yours.

"You always want to win."

"No," he said, opening his eyes again, this time locking them with yours, stormy gaze ever so steady. "This isn't just about house points or beating Gryffindor. I need this. The team's counting on me. My father-"

You leaned in before he could finish the sentence, pressing your forehead to his, hand coming up to grip his jaw in a gentle yet comforting manner you know he seeks.

"Hey. Stop. I don't care what your father thinks. Or the team. Or what anyone says. You don't have to prove anything to me—or to them."

His hands came up to your waist, holding you like you were the only steady thing in his world right now.

"I hate how much this gets in my head," he admitted softly. "How much I let it."

"You're allowed to care. You're allowed to feel pressure," you said, brushing your thumb against his cheek. "But you're also allowed to breathe, Dray. You're not alone in this. I've got you—always."

He didn’t say anything right away. Just pulled you closer, resting his head against your shoulder like he needed to anchor himself for a moment.

“Stay in the front row today?” he murmured, voice quieter now. “I want to be able to find you.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “You’ll see me. You always do.”

And for the first time that morning, he let himself believe it.

The stands at the Quidditch pitch were filling up fast as students eagerly awaited the start of the annual Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match. The atmosphere buzzed with rivalry and anticipation, fueled by the intense training both teams had undergone.

You could hear the roar of the crowd before you even stepped into the stadium. The chill October air bit at your cheeks as you wrapped your house scarf tighter around your neck, heart thudding louder with each step up the stands.

Your eyes searched the sky before the match had even begun, instinctively drawn to the silver-blond figure hovering effortlessly on his broom. He looked calm, collected—as always, but you knew better. There was a tension in his shoulders, a sharpness in his posture only visible to someone who knew him like you did.

"Did you manage to calm the storm?", came a voice beside you, Pansy, your best friend, gaze half-amused, half exasperated.

"I tried my best," you said with a huff as you glanced around looking for his familiar face up in the air, "he's stubborn as ever though."

"As expected, Blaise said he nearly hexed him to next week for merely knocking his cup over this morning," she added, ever the biting tone in her remark.

You sighed as you gripped the stands from sheer nervousness or excitement, you couldn't tell, probably both.

Your eyes finally found him. He was looking for you too—a fleeting glance over his shoulder, eyes locking with yours for the briefest second before the whistle blew and he was gone, a blur of green and silver streaking across the pitch.

The players took off as Hooch called the match to start. The roar of the crowd once more deafening. Draco soared above everyone, his focus solely on scanning the field for that glittering golden snitch. Occasionally, his gaze would flick back towards you in the bleachers, grey eyes gleaming fiercely as he maneuvered skillfully around the other players.

As the game progressed, it was clear how fiercely competitive both teams were. With heavy rain now soaring down the fields, harsh thunder occasionally rumbling across the stands, the air was thick and brooding. The score was neck to neck, Gryffindor was in the lead, but barely by ten points. It was all going to come down to the golden snitch.

Draco pushed himself even harder, cutting through the air with practiced ease. He was laser-focused, using wind as a mere plaything as his body weaved and coiled in midair.

The game took a sharp turn as the Gryffindor team, desperate to secure their lead, began playing far more aggressively, bordering in brutal. Cormac McLaggen slammed into Blaise during a high-speed pass near the goal posts. Though no foul was called, Blaise was thrown off course, nearly tumbling from his broom.

From the corner of his eye, Draco saw it—his jaw clenched in fury.

Then came another dirty move, Ritchie Coote, Gryffindor's beater, faked a feint and swung his elbow hard towards Marcus Flint's back as they raced for position. Pansy let out an audible grunt from beside you out of sheer frustration, "Merlin..they're going to knock someone out of their broom at this point," she stated.

Draco's voice cut through the roar like ice. "Play fair!" he snarled towards the Gryffindor's mid-flight, a rare display of temper for him—eyes blazing with cold fire as he glared at them across the pitch.

But then…movement.

A flash of gold flickered near one of the lower hoops, a wisp no bigger than a coin, and then gone again just as fast.

The snitch had appeared—and both seekers saw it at once.

The chase was on, a flurry of robes, wind, and shouting as Draco darted at top speed towards the same wisp of gold in his sight. But what had started as a fair race soon took a nasty turn.

It was Cormac who swerved in suddenly, knocking into Draco's shoulder. The impact was powerful, unexpected, and Draco went spinning off-course.

"Damn it!" he snapped, struggling to regain control over his broom as it wobbled drunkenly through the air.

You gripped the stands harder, anxiety bubbling up in the pit of your stomach as your eyes never left his every move.

But before he could recover, another Gryffindor Beater, trying to knock a bludger away from one of his teammates, misjudged the trajectory.

The black ball shot wildly off-course and slammed straight into Draco's back with a sickening crack.

A collective gasp rose from the Slytherin crowd as Draco cried out-half in pain, half in fury-his body jerking violently. He lost hold of his broom entirely this time…and began to fall.

"DRACO!" you screamed before you even realized it.

But he wasn't falling fast enough for anyone else to react properly. His limp form plummeted like a stone as everyone, including you, watched in horror.

He hit the ground with a jolting thud, the force of the crash sending a cloud of dirt and grass up around him. There was a collective stunned silence, before Madam Hooch blew her whistle shrilly-stopping the game immediately.

You felt your blood run cold. A chill much colder than the soaring rain, surging through you as panic set in. You shoved through the crowd, each heartbeat thundering like a drum in your ear. Desperate to reach Draco's prone body on the pitch. He had landed awkwardly, his limbs twisted and his cloak rumpled up under him…but mercifully, his chest was still rising and falling.

He layed motionless, his face pale and drawn, a dark smear of blood glistened at the edge of his mouth, stark against his pale face. You knelt beside him, a shaky hand coming to cup his face. His eyes were closed, lashes damp with the rain that soaked his clothes and the grass beneath him. Even as you reached for him tentatively, the rain continued to pour down in a relentless torrent.

"Draco…" you whispered desperately. His chest rose and fell slowly, his breathing shallow.

"Dray please…" you whispered desperately, panic clawed at your throat, tears stinging at your eyes. Madame Hooch was already by our side, a steady hand coming to touch your shoulder, "He's unconscious, we need to move him to the infirmary" she said as she assessed the situation swiftly.

"He's taken a hard fall," she said. Her voice steady but with a hint of concern in her eyes. "We need to get him out of here right away."

You nodded, your heart pounding painfully in your chest. "I'll help."

Madam Hooch gave a brief nod. signaling for two burly school staff members to assist you as they carefully lifted Draco's limp form off the sodden grass.

You watched as they took him away across the crowd, following suit behind, your eyes never leaving Draco.

That was when you spotted the burly beater, Cormac McLaggen, who had barely turned the corner as he reached the ground.

Like a spurt of fire, anger filled your veins, surging forward towards him as your fist connected with his jaw, the sharp crack of skin hitting bone echoing through the dispersing crowd without warning.

He stumbled back, shocked, clutching his face as a red mark began to bloom across his nose. Rain slicked your hair to your face and tears mixed with the downpour as you glared at him with fury, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

"You did that on purpose!" you screamed over the rumble of thunder, voice raw with outrage. "You saw him go off-course! he wasn't even near you and you still aimed that bludger at him!"

McLaggen's eyes widened—not from pain now, but from genuine surprise. "I didn't mean for it to hit him!" he shouted back defensively. "It was an accident—I lost control!"

"An accident?!" You took another step forward despite Pansy suddenly rushing up behind you and grabbing your arm. "He's lying there unconscious because of what happened out there and don't tell me it was just bad luck!"

Blaise appeared at her other side now, firm but gentle as he helped Pansy pull you back before you lunged again.

"He's not worth it," Blaise said lowly into your ear over the storm's roar. "Draco would want us watching him, not wasting time on this idiot."

Your chest heaved—the fire in your veins still burning—but slowly..reluctantly…you let them lead you away.

Behind you, McLaggen stared after Draco being carried towards the castle—a flicker of guilt crossing his face before vanishing beneath prideful defiance.

But one thing was certain:

The rain kept falling like mourning skies weeping for what had been shattered today..

And something deep inside you had snapped—for love…for Draco Malfoy.

Your knuckles were sore and red at this point, but you paid no mind to it. After what seemed like forever, Madam Pomfrey finally drew back the curtains, allowing you to step closer to where Draco had laid on the bed.

"Please tell me he's okay..." you cried out to Pomfrey shakily. She turned to you, her expression weary but calm—the look of someone who had seen too many broken bones and bruised hearts to count. Rain still dropped from your hair and robes onto the infirmary floor as you stood there trembling, fists clenched at your sides.

"He's alive," she said firmly, voice low but carrying. "And that's something."

You exhaled shakily, tears brimming again. "But?" you whispered.

Pomfrey hesitated before speaking. "He suffered a severe impact to the back-fractured vertebrae near the lower spine…concussion…internal bleeding we've stabilized for now." She looked directly at you then. "He was lucky, another inch higher on his spine..." She didn't finish.

Your knees nearly buckled.

"But he'll wake up?" Your voice cracked like thin ice over water.

"Yes," Pomfrey said with quiet certainty. "When his body is ready." She stepped aside slightly, allowing space between the drawn white curtains of Draco's bed—revealing him at last in full view.

Pale beneath layers of bandages wrapped around his chest and torso. His usually sharp features softened by unconsciousness…lips parted slightly with each slow breath. You sighed shakily in both relief and heartache, immediately coming up beside him, gripping his hand tightly.

Your touch seemed to spark something in Draco as his fingers moved slightly, a barely-there twitch against yours. He groaned softly, eyes still closed but fluttering as he fought his way back to consciousness.

Madam Pomfrey appeared by your side again, her hand reaching to check the pulse at the side of his neck—the concern on her face giving away to her relief as his vitals remained stable.

"He's waking up," she murmured to you. "But be gentle…he won't be entirely clear yet."

You nodded and sniffled, turning back to face his awakening state, "Dray..?" you asked carefully. Draco groaned again in response, this time his eyelids fluttering more noticeably-fighting the pull of unconsciousness for another moment before finally managing to open his eyes.

"Mmh..?"

His voice was weak and raspy, eyes clouded with confusion as they slowly focused on you beside him. He squinted against the faint infirmary light, trying to make sense of where he was and what was happening.

"Oh my Merlin.." you cried out as you leaned closer to him, a hand coming to cup his face gently, "You're alive…"

At the feeling of your touch on his face, Draco seemed to rouse further, his gaze finally settling properly on yours. There was still disbelief, and pain in his eyes, but a glimmer of recognition too.

His hand twitched against yours, as if trying to squeeze tighter. He opened his mouth to speak—but instead of words, all that came out was a low, ragged cough. He groaned softly between the fit, face contorting in discomfort.

"Shhh..don't..hold on" you let go of him briefly and reached for the glass of water on the bedside table, left there by Pomfrey earlier, bringing the glass to his lips slowly, propping a hand up under his head in the process to aid him.

Draco leaned into your touch as you gently raised his head, the cool rim of the glass pressing to his cracked lips. He took small sips-hesitant at first, then more steadily, as if relearning how to swallow. Water trickled down his chain, and you brushed it away with trembling fingers, your eyes never leaving his face.

"Easy," you whispered. "Take it slow…"

When he finally pulled back slightly—a quiet sigh escaping him, he blinked slowly up at you. His voice was still rough, barely above a whisper when he spoke. "You're…here?"

A single tear rolled down your cheek as you nodded rapidly. "Of course I'm here," you choked out. "I haven't left since they brought you in."

His eyes searched yours like fire flickering in the dark. "You scared me Dray...so much" you muttered, tears continuing to roll down your cheeks as your hand came back to hold him.

Draco's hand closed weakly over yours, his thumb brushing across your cheek in a feeble attempt at comfort.

"M'sorry…" he mumbled softly, each word an effort. "Didn't mean to…" He winced again, another cough racking his frame.

You leaned closer, smoothing the hair away from his forehead, "don't talk if it hurts," you murmured. "Just rest…" you assured softly.

His gaze drifted down to your hand in his grip..and then to the other, where your knuckles were now noticeably red and bruised. His eyes widened slightly as he noticed the fresh injury, his grip on your fingers tightening slightly.

"What happened...?" his voice was still raspy but held a note of concern now, his gaze flickering to your face. "Your hand…"

"Shhh…it's nothing i promise..just rest" you said, trying to assure him.

He shook his head—a stubborn glint in his eyes despite his fragile state. "…No," he mumbled stubbornly. "Not nothing." His fingers brushed lightly over the bruised knuckles—barely more than a feather-light touch. "Tell me," He presses stubbornly, eyes not relinquishing yours.

You sighed as you recalled the earlier events, you dropped your gaze, lips pressed in silent unease, "I may or may not have punched someone..." you admitted quietly.

"You what?!"

Despite his pain, Draco managed a look of near-scandalized outrage. It would have been comical, if not for the circumstances.

"You…punched someone?" he repeated, trying to sit up straighter only to wince as his injuries flared, "who the hell did you punch?!" he asked.

"Dray please…" you placed a gentle hand on his arm, trying to assure him back to rest, "the beater who hit you..." you admitted truthfully after a sheer moment of silence.

"You…punched Mclaggen?" he breathed out slowly, voice low with disbelief. Then, against all odds, a weak but unmistakable smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. A quiet chuckle followed—but it turned into another painful groan as his fractured ribs protested the movement.

"Merlin's beard," he managed through gritted teeth. "I get thrown off my broom and nearly paralyzed, and you go full feral on a Gryffindor Beater?" he looked at you then—not angry, not disapproving—but in awe,

"My little spitfire…"

His hand tightened around yours again. "Did you at least knock him flat?"

You let out a small chuckle at that, "I think i might've broken his nose."

A deep rumbling laugh escaped Draco's lips, "broke his nose?" he repeated hoarsely, voice thick with pride, "and here i thought i was the one with the temper" he added.

He lifted your bruised hand gently to his lips and presses a slow, tender kiss right over the knuckles—his eyes never leaving yours. "Next time," he murmured against your skin, voice rough but laced with quiet fire, "let me watch first."

Then he added under his breath, "waste of good violence..doing it when i wasn't awake to see it." You couldn't help it—you let out a watery laugh mixed with tears still clinging to your lashes.

"You're impossible," you stated, "you could've died and you're proud that i punched someone?"

His expression softened instantly.

"Because I almost died," he said quietly, the humor fading into something deeper. "Because you didn't run..or hide." His thumb traced over your pulse point. "You stayed…fought back..for me."

He swallowed hard—like those words cost him more than any injury ever could.

"I couldn't just stand there and do nothing about it..." you said, voice raw with truth, your hand brushing his hair back gently. he closed his eyes momentarily, letting your touch soothe his pain-wrecked body. He inhaled shakily—a ragged sound, then slowly opened his eyes again, gaze locking onto yours.

"Still stupid on your part," he managed, voice raw but edged with a hint of it's usual bite. "What if something happened to you?" his free hand clenched at the covers, "what then…?"

"I'll live" you smiled softly and leaned in to peck him on the lips ever so softly, the feeling of relief that he was alright and alive washing away your worries. He leaned into the brief touch of your kiss against his, a tiny sigh escaping his lips. His fingers tightened around yours almost immediately, as if afraid you'd slip away the moment he let go.

"You better," he muttered—the words half-scolding, half-plea. "Promise me..you won't do anything like that again." his eyes held yours, pleading for reassurance.

You shook your head slightly, ever so stubborn and grinned, "you know i won't make promises i can't keep." A playful tone in your words.

He groaned, tilting his head back against the pillow with an exasperated huff, "of course not," he muttered, eyes squeezing shut. "My girlfriend…a beautiful disaster with fists like a dragon's tail." He opened one eye to glare halfheartedly at you, "I'm cursed."

You laughed softly—real, warm, and full of relief, tucking the blanket more snugly around him. "I'm right here," you whispered. "And I'm not going anywhere." you promised.

As if right on cue, the door to the infirmary pried open, your dearest friends stepping in. The sudden arrival of Pansy, Blaise, and a still-sleepy-looking Theo sent the moment scattering—like ripples in a lake.

Draco groaned again, this time in pure annoyance. "Merlin's beard…can a guy get a moment?" he tried sitting up straighter once more, wincing as his injured ribs protested. "Great timing as always-" he muttered. "What do you lot want?"

"So the man lives!" Pansy stated dramatically, "Merlin's beard Malfoy you scared us all half to death," she added, "and you! you knocked the nose out of bloody McLaggen!" she pointed a not-so accusing accusatory finger at my direction. "You'd probably have hexed him till next week if i hadn't held you back."

Draco's eyes widened slightly as Pansy's words hit him, and he turned to you with a slow, proud smirk—like she'd just confirmed a legend.

"You tried to curse him?" he asked in hushed awe. "Which one?"

"Draco!" Blaise interjected before you could answer, shaking his head. "Don't encourage her."

Pansy dropped dramatically into the chair beside the bed, still glaring at both of you. "Honestly! I swear—if either of you dies from dramatics or violence before graduation, I'm going to Avada my own self out of sheer frustration!"

Theo leaned against the wall quietly for a moment, then said dryly, "at least now history would remember that Draco Malfoy was brought down not by war…but by a rogue bludger" he snickered at the end.

Draco shot Theo a withering glare from his pillow, the comment drawing a snort of surprise from Blaise. Pansy meanwhile was now leaning forward with her chin in her hand, studying Draco closely, "You do look terrible, you know," she said almost off-handedly.

Draco scoffed, which turned into a cough that made his entire torso shudder. He swallowed, wincing again, and shot her a weak glare. "Thanks," he rasped. "You really know how to comfort a bloke."

"For the sake of your poor girlfriend's heart, please don't ever scare us like that again." Pansy said sternly as you smiled at her comment.

Draco rolled his eyes at that, "I'll add it to my list of things not to do," he mumbled wryly. "Right after getting hit by bludgers."

Blaise and Theo both snorted again at that.

Pansy looking less frazzled by the second, leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, "how's the pain?"

Draco grimaced, shifting slightly under the sheets before answering in a low voice. "Feels like someone dropped a piano on my spine and set it on fire. But otherwise—brilliant."

Pansy made a face, "dramatic prat." Then she reached over and smacked his uninjured arm lightly—just hard enough to make him yelp.

"Ow! Christ!" he snapped, glaring at her with narrowed eyes, "I'm injured!"

"Exactly," Pansy shot back coolly, arching an eyebrow. "And you're being insufferable about it." She turned her attention to you then—softening slightly as she took in your red-rimmed eyes and messy hair still damp from earlier rain.

"And you. Miss Fists of Vengeance—you need rest too," she said firmly. "You've been camped here since he got brought in."

You shook your head stubbornly, much to her dismay, "no, I'm not leaving him, don't worry about me I'm alright."

Blaise and Theo exchanged a look from the corner—one equal parts amusement and wariness. Draco, meanwhile, was trying to muster another glare, but he seemed to exhausted even for that.

"Stubborn as a dragon." he huffed, sagging back into his pillow. "Remind me why I find that so attractive, again?"

Pansy rolled her eyes dramatically, "I don't know. Masochism perhaps?"

"Ha Ha." he shot back dryly. "I'll have you know, I have impeccable taste." He glanced over at you, eyes softening despite the bickering. "At least I did until a certain little brute went all gladiator on a Gryffindor Beater." he added.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you huffed playfully, crossing your arms in the process.

Draco smirked, clearly enjoying himself despite the pain. "Means I'm dating a savage," he said, voice laced with dry amusement. "But-" he lifted your hand again slowly, pressing another soft kiss to your bruised knuckles

"…a beautiful one."

Pansy groaned to her hands dramatically. "Merlin save me from lovebirds."

Blaise chuckled and clapped his hands once-sharp and decisive. "Alright. Enough emotional chaos for one day." He looked at Theo and Pansy, "let's give them a minute."

Theo pushed off the wall with a quiet nod while Pansy stood still muttering about drama, but she paused before leaving to gently squeeze your shoulders. "Don't let him push himself too hard," she murmured just loud enough for you to hear.

Then they filed out of the room, leaving you two alone again, the rain still tapping against the windows like distant drums...

"Do you need anything—water? more pillows maybe?" You asked worriedly.

He shook his head slightly, "I'm fine," he said quietly, "don't fuss." he tugged you closer gently until you were seated right beside him. You could tell he was trying hard not to show it, but the pain was getting to him—it was in the tight line of his mouth and the shadows under his eyes.

"I just want you here" he admitted after a moment, voice rough. "That's all."

"I'm not going anywhere" you answered softly as you held onto his hand tighter, a silent promise.

Draco closed his eyes briefly, savoring the warmth of your touch. The pain was still there—a constant throb, like the aftermath of a deep bruise, but having you close made the edge less sharp, the ache more bearable.

"You're too stubborn for your own good." he murmured again, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Anyone ever tell you how infuriating that is?"

"Nothing I'm not aware of" you replied, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

He opened one eye to look at you, "Oh, you're aware," he drawled dryly—voice still rough from pain but gaining some of it's usual bite back. "But unrepentant about it."

He lifted your injured fingers again then, studying the now-swollen knuckles with a mix of disapproval and reluctant pride. "Pansy was right, though," he said, thumb now tracing the bruised skin. "You are a savage."

"Okay okay" you rolled your eyes wryly, "no need to rub it in" you said with a hint of sarcasm before your gaze filled with worry again. "You should get some sleep love…you need it."

He made a half-hearted attempt at a groan of protest, but the exhaustion in his eyes betrayed him. "I'm not tired," he mumbled stubbornly. "Not even a little."

"Stubborn as a dragon" you bite with mock seriousness.

He chuckled at that, but the yawn that cracked through his next words made a liar out of him. He winced as the movement strained his injuries again, cursing quietly under his breath.

"Shhh.." you caressed his hair gently, "just sleep..I'll be here," you said.

Draco's attempts to stifle another yawn was useless. He huffed out a resigned breath, knowing he couldn't win this fight—not when he was exhausted and in pain.

But he still had to have the last word.

"You'd better stay put," he mumbled weakly, eyes closing as the exhaustion began to take hold. "Or else I'll…"

And then the words trailed off, fading into a sleepy hum as he finally gave into his body's requests.

A soft smiled reached your lips as you leaned in to give him a soft chaste kiss on the forehead, your thumb tracing idle patterns on his hand. The kiss lingered on his skin like warmth after firelight.

Even asleep, Draco's fingers twitched—reflexively tightening around yours as if he could hold onto you through dreams.

Outside, the rain finally began to ease. The storm passed. But in that quiet hush of the infirmary—the steady drip of a water pipe, the distant roll of thunder fading into silence, something unspoken settled between you two.

A promise not said aloud… But felt all the same.

You stayed by his side, thumb tracing slow circles over his hand, watching every breath rise and fall beneath white bandages and torn pride.

And in that moment…Love wasn't just fierce. It wasn't just snarky or passionate or protective.

It was here.

Quiet Steady. Unbreakable—even when broken pieces were all that remained.