Lovers Rock by TV Girl on Repeat

She/Her✨️ the blue lock obsession is a problem| Main Account @empresskadia

[dreamdragonkadia]

I've received a few messages, so I wanted to clarify: my inbox is completely open to anyone! Whether you have ideas, requests, or just want to chat, feel free to reach out. That said, it might take me a bit to get to requests—sometimes I need to be in the right headspace, or I might not have an immediate idea for it. My brain definitely cycles through fandoms, so my current active one will always be listed for transparency.

Current brain rot; Blue Lock Haikyuu My Hero academia

[dreamdragonkadia]

So, Wind Breaker is rioting in my brain.

Oh, what it is to be loved by Hajime Umemiya. A man who didn’t expect to fall in love the way he did and was ready to hand you the sun and moon even before he realized how utterly doomed he was.

A man who isn’t afraid to show you, the town, or the world just how closely you hold his heart in the palm of your hand. Umemiya loved loudly. So loudly that it only took one look at the hopelessly soft look on his face for even strangers to understand what he felt for you.

There was no doubting his love. Not when he said it so often it slipped from his lips as naturally as breathing. Not when he showed it in every little thing he did. Not when Umemiya craved your presence like it was something vital to him, something necessary.

He’d complain dramatically to his friends if he hadn’t seen you in more than four hours, slumping against them with a deep sigh like he’d been abandoned for years instead of an afternoon. The boys of Bofurin had long since learned to ignore it, though they still teased him relentlessly for how whipped he was.

And God, he was.

Umemiya loved with his entire body, his entire soul. There was no hesitance in it, no uncertainty. When he looked at you, it was with the quiet certainty of a man who had already decided: this is it. This is the person I’ll spend the rest of my life loving.

He’s the type to unconsciously search for you in every room he walks into, eyes immediately softening the second they land on you. The type to always keep a hand on you, somehow, your waist, your shoulder, your fingers hooked together, because it reminds him you’re really here.

And Hajime Umemiya is not a subtle man.

He’ll kiss you in the middle of conversations because he felt like it. He’ll grin at you from across the street like you personally hung the stars above. He’ll proudly introduce you to anyone and everyone with that bright laugh of his, arm slung around your shoulders as if loving you is the greatest accomplishment of his life.

Maybe it is.

Because Umemiya, for all his strength, loves with a frightening tenderness. The kind that shows itself in quiet moments more than grand gestures. In the way he remembers every little thing you mention offhandedly. In how he instinctively shields you from the rain with his own body before even thinking about himself. In how he always saves the last bite for you, despite whining dramatically about wanting it moments before.

He loves like someone who spent so much of his life carrying the weight of others that finally being allowed to lean into someone else feels sacred.

There are nights where he simply looks at you with this indescribably soft expression, thumb brushing over your knuckles while you talk about something completely mundane, and you realize he’s not even listening anymore. Just staring. Just thinking about how lucky he got. And when you ask him what that look is for, he only smiles that warm, boyish, devastatingly kind smile.

“Nothing,” he says, voice full of too much affection to mean the word at all. “Just thinking about how I’m gonna marry you someday.”

As if it’s already decided. As if there was never another possible outcome for him besides loving you for the rest of his life.

[dreamdragonkadia]

Thank you so much for responding! I would just like to add, I LOVE your poly ACOTAR fic! Writers block is absolutely awful so please don’t feel like you have to go back to it. I just wanted you to know it’s a great fic and I loved reading it! The premise behind it is honestly so cool and I love seeing a more in-depth fic about life outside the night court 🥰🥰

AHHH thank you so much, honestly that fic had me in an absolute chokehold for months too. I got so obsessed with the idea that the Night Court had this entire history and life before the series starts, like Rhys and the others had centuries before Feyre ever arrived, and there had to be past loves, losses, relationships, and all these complicated pieces of themselves we never really got to see.

That’s kind of where the whole “Lady of the Night” concept came from because I really wanted to explore what it would actually look like to love someone like Rhysand before canon, and how that changes the dynamics of everything afterward. Plus I’ve always loved the idea of exploring more of Prythian outside of Velaris and the Night Court bubble.

I definitely want to continue it soon because I miss writing her so badly 😭 and I miss Estella too. There’s still so much I want to explore with her struggles, the court politics, the family dynamics, all of it. Your message genuinely made me so happy, though, so thank you for taking the time to say this

[dreamdragonkadia]

PUHLEASE write more for noel noa!! maybe pregnancy smaus pls and thanks

100% yes!!

✦ Noel Noa pregnancy messages ✦

[dreamdragonkadia]

Hello! I was just wondering if you were still writing for ACOTAR?

Hi hi,

It's mostly off and on. Right now, I have no requests for ACOTAR besides writing my poly series, which I'm having some writer's block with.

[dreamdragonkadia]

Men who yearn...

Noel Noa, who yearns quietly. Who doesn't misinterpret his feelings, he simply refuses to indulge them. Noel, who recognizes the pull toward you with a clinical understanding and chooses, again and again, to file it away as a distraction, as inefficiency, as something beneath the discipline he's carved into himself.

And yet, Noel, who notices everything. The shift in your posture when you're tired, the cadence of your laugh when it's genuine versus when it's forced. Noel, who catalogs you like data and then lies awake at night, realizing none of it feels objective anymore

Noel, who stands too close for too long under the guise of correction, who adjusts your stance with steady hands that linger a second past necessity. Noel, who thinks about that second for far longer than he should. Noel, who will not unravel, but feels the tension pulling at every seam, wondering when, not if, you'll be the variable that breaks them.

✦

Sae Itoshi, who yearns in silence. Sae, who doesn't understand why you stay on his mind when nothing else does. Sae, who has spent years perfecting detachment, only to find you slipping through every gap he thought he'd sealed shut.

Sae, who replays conversations he pretended not to care about. Every offhanded comment, every glance you thought went unnoticed. He cataloged, dissected, and remembered. Sae, who doesn't reach for you, not because he doesn't want to, but because he doesn't know how to do it without meaning it. And once he means it, there's no taking it back.

Sae, who sits in the quiet of his own thoughts, irritated by the way you've settled there so comfortably, like you belonged. Sae, who won't say it, won't name it, but feels it in the way his gaze lingers just a fraction too long, in the way he never quite looks away first.

✦

Michael Kaiser, who yearns loudly, until it becomes real. Michael, who flirts like it's second nature, who toys with affection like it's a game he's already won, until you stop playing along the way everyone else does. Michael, who doesn't understand why your reactions matter more. Why your attention feels earned instead of given. Why your absence feels...noticeable.

Michael, who spirals in private. Who grins and teases and provokes you in public, only to lie awake at night replying every moment you didn't rise to the bait, every time you looked at him like you saw through it all.

Michael, who wants (desperately) to close the distance, but hesitates at the edge of something real, something that might not bend to his will. Michael, who burns bright, who craves control, who is used to being desired...and finds himself undone by the quiet, terrifying realization that this time, he's the one chasing.

✦

Bunny Iglesias, who yearns like it's effortless. Like it's something soft and natural and a little bit reckless. Bunny, who doesn't fight the pull toward you, he follows it, curious, amused, a little too eager to see where it leads. Bunny, who gravitates toward you without thinking, who leans into your space, who reaches for you absentmindedly and only realizes later how often he does it.

Bunny, who misses you in the middle of a game, in the middle of the noise and the rush and the adrenaline...your absence louder than the crowd. Bunny, who texts you nonsense just to hear back, who slips into another language when he is soft, when he forgets you won't understand, only to laugh when you call him out for it.

Bunny, who feels everything fully, openly...and still finds himself caught off guard by how deeply you've rooted yourself in his orbit, like you've always been meant to belong there.

[dreamdragonkadia]

✦ Julian Loki Daily Messages ✦

[dreamdragonkadia]

Omg what app do u use for ur smaus

Hi hi,

I use Postfully

[dreamdragonkadia]

The yugioh fanfics are just non-existent, guess someone is gonna have to fix that.

[dreamdragonkadia]

This might be hard to ask of but there’s such a lack of it so i was wondering if you could do general/basic percy x PoTS!reader? :)

- merry ho ho if u celebrate 🫶

First, I'm so sorry this took me this long to answer. Second, I wasn't familiar with PoTS until I looked into Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, so I approached this respectfully and realistically as I could. When you said general/basic, I leaned into headcanons, let me know if you want full scenes too. Thank you for your patience.

It’s safe to say Percy is dramatic on his own, but when it comes to you, it’s so much worse. The first time he witnesses an episode, he genuinely thinks you’re dying.

There’s no hesitation, just immediate panic. His voice goes dangerously serious, hands already hovering like he doesn’t know where to touch without making it worse, calling your name over and over, as if he says it enough, you’ll stay right there with him.

He’s halfway to carrying you to the infirmary before you can even get a full sentence out.

And even after it’s explained, after you walk him through it, after someone like Annabeth or a camp medic reassures him that this is something you live with, not something that’s about to take you from him, Percy still takes a while to settle.

Not because he doesn’t understand. But because he does, and that somehow makes it worse.

Once it clicks, though? Percy adjusts faster than you’d expect. He starts noticing things.

The way you pause just a second longer before standing. The subtle shifts in your breathing. The way your fingers curl slightly when you’re trying to push through something instead of asking for help. He doesn’t make a big deal out of it, doesn’t hover in a way that feels suffocating, but he’s always… there. Close enough to catch you if you need it.

Percy becomes ridiculously attentive in small ways.

He’ll casually suggest sitting down before you even realize you need to. “Hey, c’mere, just for a second,” like it’s nothing, like he’s the one who needs the break, easing you down beside him without ever making it feel like you’re fragile.

If you get dizzy? His hand is already on your back.

If you forget to hydrate? He’s pressing a water bottle into your hand with a lazy grin like, “Doctor’s orders.”

(He is not the doctor. But he says it anyway.)

He hates it when you try to tough things out alone. And not in an angry way (never that), but there’s this silent frustration that slips through when he realizes you didn’t tell him you weren’t feeling well.

In his mind, it’s not a burden. It’s not something you have to handle by yourself. It’s just… you. And he wants to take care of you the same way you take care of everyone else.

Bad days hit him harder than he lets on.

He always stays calm for you. Steady voice, ready to catch you if needed, helping you through it without a second thought. But afterward? When you’re okay, when things settle, he kind of lingers.

Sits a little closer. Keeps a hand loosely wrapped around yours. Watches you like he’s memorizing the fact that you’re still here.

Sometimes he’ll press his forehead against yours and just… stay there for a second. Not saying anything. Just breathing with you.

Percy absolutely learns your limits, and respects them. He’s never the type to push you past what you can handle, even if it means adjusting plans or slowing down. If anything, he gets a little stubborn about it.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” he’ll mutter, half-serious, half-soft, when you try to brush something off. And if anyone else does push you?

Yeah. No.

They’re getting a very firm, very protective Percy Jackson shutting that down immediately.

On lighter days, though? He makes it feel normal. Not something that defines you. Not something that overshadows everything else.

You’re still laughing with him by the lake, still getting pulled into stupid arguments, still dealing with his sarcasm and seaweed brain moments. He doesn’t treat you differently; he just loves you better in the ways that matter.

And when you apologize, because sometimes you will, even if you shouldn’t–

Percy just frowns, like the idea doesn’t even make sense. He nudges your shoulder with his, voice softer than usual. “Hey,” he says, like it’s obvious. It’s pretty simple to him. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re stuck with me.” And he really means that with all the love in his heart. “I’ve got you.”

[dreamdragonkadia]

hai uhm do you ever plan to continue writing "call me king"...? it's such a good read and i can't seem to find a part 2 so I'm assuming it hasn't been made hence the ask

thank you for the fic either way, it's a great read!

Hello! I do eventually plan on posting the last part; it's about halfway written at the moment. I don't have a timeline for when it will be posted yet, unfortunately. I'm stuck on a certain part and can't get past the writer's block.

I'm glad to hear that you've enjoyed the first part! Thank you for your patience while I'm still working on the second part <333

[dreamdragonkadia]

Sometimes, Bunny just gives me jealous vibes

✦ Bunny Iglesias Daily Messages ✦

[dreamdragonkadia]

You run the Hugo x reader and I love you for it 💋

Glad to be here, babe. This is the only contribution I can give to the fandom 💅

[dreamdragonkadia]

What do they say about redheads in bed?

*slowly slips my tea*

I did not expect someone to follow up on that

[dreamdragonkadia]

You know how Hugo has that random, almost intrusive impulse to bite his partner?

Yeah. Bunny Iglesias has something similar. Except instead of biting you… he just crushes you.

And the kicker is, Bunny knows exactly what he’s doing.

He knows he’s big. Knows it in the way he moves, in how doorways seem just a little too small when he walks through them, in how people instinctively shift out of his way without even realizing it.

It’s written into him at this point. Hours on the field, relentless training, a body built to endure, to push, to dominate space without trying.

One hundred ninety-one centimeters of solid muscle isn’t something you just forget about.

He towers over most people without effort, and when you’re out, especially somewhere loud, crowded, a little too close for comfort, it feels like cheating. Like you’ve hacked the system.

All it takes is one look at him standing behind you (broad shoulders, relaxed posture, that deceptively calm expression) and suddenly no one’s brushing past you too close, no one’s lingering too long.

Scary dog privileges.

And Bunny plays into it, too. Not in an aggressive way, he’s not starting fights, but there’s a quiet satisfaction in the way he rests his hand on your waist, or lets his chin hover just over your shoulder, like he’s reminding the room, this one’s mine.

But the second you’re home? All of that shifts.

Because Bunny isn’t just big. He’s clingy. And you are, very unfortunately, his favorite thing to cling to.

It always starts the same way.

You’ll be doing something normal, whether it'd be washing dishes, scrolling on your phone, or standing at the counter half-focused on whatever you were in the middle of, and then suddenly–

He’s there.

No warning or sound. Which is ridiculous, considering his size, but somehow he manages it anyway.

Arms sliding around your waist from behind, pulling you back into him before you can even react. His chest presses flush against your back, and there’s this familiar weight to him, mostly comforting...

–for about half a second.

Before he fully leans. Like his bones just decided to give up.

All of his weight drops onto you at once, and you barely manage to catch yourself before you’re pinned between him and the counter, the edge digging into your hips as your breath leaves you in a sharp, startled wheeze.

“Cariño,” he murmurs into your hair, voice soft and entirely too pleased with himself, “gravity turned off. I can’t stand anymore.”

“Bunny–” you choke out, hands immediately pushing at his forearms where they’re locked around you, “you are lying, get off–”

He doesn’t. If anything, he relaxes further, like your protests are just background noise to whatever affection this is supposed to be. And the worst part? He’s warm. Safe in a way that makes it impossible to actually be mad about it. Even when you’re being actively suffocated.

“You’re crushing me,” you try again, weaker this time, because your strength is already giving out.

A pause. Then, thoughtfully, like he’s really considering your words...

“…Mm. No.”

You don’t even have the energy to argue. This is just how he is. And it’s not just the kitchen.

If you’re on the couch, he’ll fold himself over you like you’re some kind of personal pillow, limbs everywhere, heavy and unrelenting until you’re half-trapped beneath him. If you’re sitting, he’s draped over the back of you. If you’re standing, he’s leaning. If you’re walking–

God help you if you’re walking.

Because he’ll hook an arm around your shoulders and drag you into his side, all easy affection and casual strength, like you’re just something he’s meant to carry around with him.

And it shows most when he’s tired. Which is when he’s at his absolute worst.

Because if you’re already in bed when he gets home (fresh off a run, skin still warm, hair damp, energy not quite burned out yet) you get maybe a second. Two, if you’re lucky.

The door opens, you look up, and then he drops.

Not gently. Never gently.

The mattress dips hard under his weight as he either full-on body slams onto the bed with you caught underneath him, or just collapses directly on top of you like gravity hit him all at once.

There is an entire empty half of the bed that he completely ignores.

You’re squished beneath him in seconds, a startled laugh punching out of you as you try to shove at his shoulder.

“Bunny–there’s space–”

“Mm,” he hums, already settling in, cheek pressed somewhere near your collarbone. “This is better.”

Of course it is.

His arm wraps around you, pulling you closer, like that was even necessary, and then his hands start wandering. Not in any rushed or suggestive way, just… habit.

Slipping under your shirt, palms warm against your skin as he keeps you pinned beneath him, like contact alone isn’t enough unless it’s skin to skin.

You squirm, half-heartedly trying to free yourself. “I can’t breathe–”

“Sí puedes,” he murmurs, voice lazy, teasing. “You’re talking.”

“That’s not the same thing–”

He shifts slightly, just enough to tilt his head, looking down at you with that soft, amused expression that tells you he’s enjoying this far more than he should.

“¿Qué dijiste?” he adds, switching languages mid-sentence like it’ll somehow absolve him. “I don’t understand, cariño.”

You stare at him. “You’re literally fluent.”

A beat before with zero shame

“…No.”

And that’s it. You, slowly being crushed into every available surface. And him, pretending gravity is a personal problem he can’t fix.

That is part of the relationship.

[dreamdragonkadia]

omg,, pls write more hugo

y'all know what they say about redheads in bed, right?

The first time ever meeting Vivien Hugo, the only thought that came to mind was that he was insane.

And no, you didn't mean it in that passable way people usually meant it. Oh, no, there had been something far too assured about him. Too certain for it to be brushed off as a joke. Simply put, what kind of man walks up to a complete stranger, uninvited, unfazed, and tells them–in French, no less– that they're part of his future?

Those kinds of promising words to a complete stranger.

You hadn't even understood him the first time. Just blinked up from the table, coffee halfway up, as he spoke a simple fact like it was already true. Like it had already happened in some alternative reality.

And when you stared at him blankly, obviously not comprehending his words, he didn't falter. No laughing it off like some might do. Nor did he backtrack.

He repeated himself in English. More clear and a tad slower. Somehow more certain in the statement, saying it a second time.

"You're going to be important to me."

You remembered the way your brows had drawn together, the way your lips parted– clearly not in awe, but disbelief. This man is insane. You'd heard of the Frenchmen audacity before, but never thought of something like this. A stranger declaring something so absurd, so personal, with that kind of confidence should have been laughable.

It should've been. But he hadn't been smiling. That was as clear as day in those first memories.

The second time meeting Vivien Hugo, you decided fate had a twisted sense of humor.

Because, really, what were the odds?

A sponsored visa for a sudden opportunity you were sort of unqualified for to do a temporary position working with the French U-20 team that came into your life so abruptly, you barely had time to process it before you were back on a plane. It had felt like luck, like something was finally going your way.

Right up until you walked into the training facility and saw him.

Vivien didn’t even look surprised. That was the worst part. While you felt the jolt of it, all he did was tilt his head slightly in your direction, as if your presence was nothing out of the ordinary.

There was no double take, no flicker of confusion that would reflect your own. Just that same certain gaze settling on you, like you were exactly where you were supposed to be, like he had been expecting this all along.

“See?” he’d said, casual as anything, like he was pointing out the weather. “I told you.”

The clipboard in your hands had nearly thudded on the ground.

It was clear to him that this wasn’t coincidence. It wasn’t chance. It was reinforced proof. Another piece of whatever narrative he’d already built in his head, one where the two of you inevitably circled back to each other.

And somehow… he only got more insufferable after that. Not exactly loud about it. Not obnoxious in the way you expected.

Just… quietly persistent.

Little comments during training. Offhand remarks slipped between drills, like of course you’re here, like this was always going to happen. Never pushing too far, never crossing the line into something you could outright reject, but always there. Always present.

Like he was waiting.

The third time you met Vivian Hugo (really met him, outside of schedules and obligations and that thin barrier of professionalism) was the moment something shifted.

A week into the job. Long enough for the novelty to wear off, for that tired feeling to settle in your bones. You’d been running around all day, stuck doing the kind of work no one notices unless it goes wrong. Carrying equipment, organizing paperwork, making sure everything stayed moving.

And of course, it happened when your hands were full. The box too heavy, your grip already slipping, attention split in too many directions at once.

'The paperwork needs to be delivered next. Then maybe going on–"

Your foot caught on nothing. Or maybe everything. The world tilted, and instead of the hard, cold ground–

–you hit something solid. Something a little too warm.

Your breath stuttered as the impact knocked the air from your lungs, the box in your hands jostling dangerously before a second pair of hands steadied it.

“Careful.”

That voice. The one that had been as persistent as a fly lately. Of course he'd be the one.

You didn’t even need to look up to know.

“Are you serious?” you muttered, still caught somewhere between embarrassment and irritation as you straightened, fingers tightening around the edge of the box. “Do you just linger around corners waiting for me to show up, or is this a scheduled thing?”

There was a brief pause, just long enough to register, and then a quiet huff of laughter, softer than you expected. Something that you'd never really thought could come out of him.

When you did look up, Vivien was already watching you. Close. Too close. His hands still lightly braced against the sides of the box, like he hadn’t fully decided whether to let go yet.

“I wasn’t waiting,” he said evenly, though there was a faint thread of amusement beneath it. “You just have bad timing.”

You scoffed, trying to ignore the way your pulse hadn’t quite settled yet. “Right. My bad for almost eating concrete.”

“Mm.” His gaze flickered briefly over your face, quick but thorough, like he was checking for something. An injury, maybe, or something less obvious. “You didn’t.”

“Thanks to you,” you shot back dryly. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

That earned you a look. Not offended, he never seemed to be, but more focused. Interested.

“It was already there,” he replied simply.

God.

You should’ve rolled your eyes. Walked away. Said something dismissive and ended it there like you always did. There was no way his 'destiny' talk was right.

Instead, you lingered.

Just for a second, long enough to notice that he hadn’t stepped back, that his attention didn’t waver or drift the way most people’s did. It stayed on you, like he was actually seeing you.

Not the position. Not the role. Not the temporary label attached to your name.

Just seeing the person in front of him and waiting for them to look back.

“…You’re really serious about that, aren’t you?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

His head tilted slightly. “About what?”

You hesitated, then quieter, “The whole… us thing.”

There it was, the line you’d been skirting around since the day you met him.

Vivien didn’t answer right away. For once. But when he did, there was no hesitation left in his voice. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

Simple. Direct. Unapologetically him.

And somehow, that was worse than if he’d joked.

The grip on the box shifted, your gaze dropping briefly before lifting again, searching his face for any sign of doubt. Any crack in that certainty.

There wasn’t one.

“You don’t even know me,” you said, softer now. Not defensive, just… honest.

“I know enough.”

“That’s not how that works.”

“It is for me.”

That doesn't surprise me, you almost said.

Because that’s who he was.

Vivien Hugo didn’t seem like the type to hesitate. Didn’t second-guess. He saw something, wanted something, and moved toward it like it was already his.

Like failure wasn’t part of the equation. Like you weren’t something uncertain. And maybe that should’ve scared you.

Maybe it did, a little.

But in the current moment, standing there, something else slipped in too. Something that felt..comfortable and weirdly right.

For all his absurdity, for all the confidence that bordered on delusion, he hadn’t been wrong so far.

You were here. You had met again. And now, you were still standing in front of him.

“…You’re ridiculous,” you murmured.

A small beat passed. Then, shifting the box in your hands, your voice a touch lighter than before, you added, “Yeah… but I guess I can give you a chance.”

Not a confession. Not quite acceptance. But not rejection, either. He at least deserved a chance.

And for the first time, Vivien smiled. Just a certain small smile.

Like he’d known exactly how this would go all along.

[dreamdragonkadia]

3 a.m. thoughts, unfortunately.

But hear me out, Noel Noa gives loverboy. Just… not in the way people expect.

I’ve said it before, I know. But it keeps coming back to me, because the more you actually look at him, how he moves, how he thinks, how he prioritizes things, it stops feeling like a stretch and starts feeling inevitable.

yes, objectively? He could be difficult to be with.

Emotionally, he’s not equipped in the way most people would want. He doesn’t soften his words, doesn’t circle around a point to make it easier to hear. If anything, he strips things down to their most efficient form, truth. It's delivered plainly, regardless of how it lands.

And that can hurt. A lot. There’s no instinct in him to immediately soothe or backtrack, because in his mind, honesty is the most useful thing he can offer you. If it stings, then it’s something you’ll adapt to, the same way he has adapted to everything else in his life.

And football (his football) will take priority in ways that aren’t always fair. During something like the World Cup, during training blocks, during periods where he’s chasing improvement with that almost obsessive focus… he will disappear into it. Not physically, necessarily, but mentally. You’ll feel it in the way his attention shifts, the way conversations get shorter, the way his world narrows down to the field and nothing else.

Depending on who you ask, that alone is enough to walk away.

But here’s the thing, Noel isn’t careless. He’s selective.

He doesn’t give his time freely. Every second of his day is accounted for, weighed against whether it makes him better or more efficient. So if he chooses to spend that time on you, if he lets you exist within that structure he’s built so meticulously, it’s not casual. It’s not temporary.

By the time he calls you his, he’s already decided you’re worth the investment long-term. You don’t become part of his life unless he’s already envisioned you staying there.

Because once you’re in, he doesn’t waver.

He’s loyal in a way that isn’t loud or showy, but absolute. Fame, attention, people constantly orbiting him, it doesn’t matter. None of it holds weight compared to what he’s already decided is his. And when he decides that includes you, it’s not something he treats lightly.

Not with his past.

Not with the way he had to build everything from nothing, with discipline instead of comfort, with effort instead of luck. It’s easy to imagine that he didn’t have many things that were just his growing up. So now, the things he does have? He keeps them. He cares for them.

And that’s where his version of love shows up.

Not in confessions. Not in long conversations about feelings. But in attention.

He learns you.

Not surface-level things, not just your favorite color or what food you like, but patterns. He catalogues it all, quietly, the same way he studies opponents or analyzes his own performance.

So when you talk, he understands. Conversations feel easy, not because he’s expressive, but because he’s already done the work to meet you where you are.

And then there are the things he does without saying anything.

You’ll notice it slowly. Things being handled before you even think to ask. Your preferences being accounted for in ways you never explicitly explained. It’s subtle, almost to the point where you could miss it if you weren’t paying attention, but it’s constant.

He won’t tell you he’s been thinking about you all day. But he’ll show up exactly when he said he would. Every time.

He won’t say he misses you. At least, not often. But his hand will find you instinctively.

He won’t open up about what’s weighing on him. That part of him stays locked down. But if you talk? If you let your thoughts spill out, your feelings, your worries, he’ll listen. Fully. No distractions, no half-attention. Just quiet, like he’s storing every word somewhere safe.

And then there are the things he definitely won’t admit unless you corner him with it.

Like the album on his phone.

Something simple. Probably titled Mon amour, or something just as straightforward. You wouldn’t even know it existed unless you went looking, but it’s there. Filled with photos of you. Not just the obvious ones either. Candid shots. Blurry ones. Ones you didn’t even remember taking. Pictures you sent him at random times, saved without comment.

And in between them, other things.

A cat he passed on the street. A flower growing through concrete. A sunset he barely had time to look at.

If you ever asked him why those were in there, he wouldn’t hesitate. Wouldn’t get flustered. Wouldn’t try to brush it off.

“It reminded me of you.”

No embellishment. No attempt to make it sound prettier than it is. Because to him, it doesn’t need to be.

And maybe that’s the point. With him, love isn’t something he performs. It’s something he permanently integrates into the way he lives his life.

I could go on about this man for so long. Like, it's not gonna be all sunshine and rainbows with him, but he does love deeply.