Untitled

down bad crying at the gym over this stupid rat-tailed blue rose

[silverwings920]

Masterlist

Request rules (link)

(For now, anyway. I don't really have the motivation to make this look nice right now, but maybe later.)

This includes all of my fics (and fleshed out fic ideas) in upload order.

Every Word, A Bell (idea, now written on Ao3 here): Isagi Yoichi x Michael Kaiser

The Winning Ticket (one-shot): Michael Kaiser x reader

A Study in Connection (series): Michael Kaiser x reader

The Way I Loved You (idea): Isagi Yoichi x Michael Kaiser

An Unexpected Anchor (one-shot): Michael Kaiser x reader

Claims: Marks on Skin, Whispers in Silence (one-shot): Michael Kaiser x reader

Wasted Magic? (fic start): Michael Kaiser x reader

Petals of Affliction (fic start): Michael Kaiser x reader

The Soulmate Script (ficlet): Michael Kaiser x reader

Vespers in the Night (one-shot): Michael Kaiser x reader

The Emperor's Throne (one-shot): Michael Kaiser x reader

Ground Zero (one-shot): Michael Kaiser x reader

What's in a Name? (one-shot): Michael Kaiser x reader

Need You to Need Me (one-shot): Michael Kaiser x reader

Should've Kissed You Anyway (one-shot): Itoshi Sae x reader

The Imperial Fortress (one-shot): Michael Kaiser x reader

Specter's Favor (ficlets): Michael Kaiser, Itoshi Rin, Itoshi Sae x reader [separate]

Little Victories (ficlet): Michael Kaiser & reader For Luck (ficlet): Michael Kaiser & reader

A Creature Made for Love (one-shot): Michael Kaiser x reader

Sometime Worth Coming Back To (one-shot): Michael Kaiser x reader

Snowfall and Stray Hearts (one-shot): Michael Kaiser x Alexis Ness x reader

Found Shelter (one-shot): Michael Kaiser & Alexis Ness & reader Found Home (one-shot): Michael Kaiser & Alexis Ness & reader

Hand in Hand, Down I Go (drabbles): Nagi Seishirou, Michael Kaiser, Itoshi Rin, Itoshi Sae, Bachira Meguru, Chigiri Hyouma, Alexis Ness, Mikage Reo, Barou Shouei x/& reader [separate]

Satin, Suede, and Silk (drabbles): Michael Kaiser, Chigiri Hyoma, Aryu Jyubei x reader [separate]

Anytime (one-shot): Michael Kaiser x reader

Warmth We Stumble Into (one-shot): Michael Kaiser x Isagi Yoichi x reader

Your Heart in a Plastic Box (one-shot, on Ao3 here): Isagi Yoichi x Michael Kaiser

Headache (But You Love Me Anyway) (one-shot): Michael Kaiser x Reader

#kaisagi trending (one-shot, on Ao3 here): Isagi Yoichi x Michael Kaiser

A Tragedy in Extra-Extra-Large (one-shot): Michael Kaiser x reader

Three Squeezes and the Weight of Words (one-shot): Michael Kaiser x reader

Eyes on You, Pretty Boy (one-shots/drabbles): Michael Kaiser, Nagi Seishirou, Itoshi Sae, Itoshi Rin, Alexis Ness, Kurona Ranze, Chigiri Hyouma, Mikage Reo x reader [separate]

Scissors were Considered (one-shot): Michael Kaiser x reader

Sweeping the Emperor Off His Feet (one-shot): Michael Kaiser x reader Even Emperors are Chosen (one-shot): Michael Kaiser x reader

Where Pride Goes to Bleed (one-shot): Michael Kaiser x reader

The Vending Machine Incident (one-shot): Michael Kaiser x reader

[silverwings920]

tfw when you're actively trying to edit down but somehow are still editing up???????

sum1 plz save me from this hell (i'm fine, i love writing kaiser, i just- editing this is draining me & i need my brain to stop spitting out new ideas)

might actually take a short break from the fake dating au (like a week or two) & write some other shorter stuff 4 a while to refresh myself

[silverwings920]

just a small update: i have finally finished drafting out every scene in the fake dating au fic i promised. (it took so long because i kept adding more scenes T^T... that's not to say i won't extend any individual scene, but there won't be any new ones now... i think) i'm still a little busy, so it'll take a bit longer to finish editing everything. (plz don't get too angry, it's literally 70+ pages long at this point. i said i didn't do long fics, but then i pull this shit lol)

ps. if anyone wants to be tagged, just comment below.

[silverwings920]

hihi! hearing that you were working on my veil request made me really happy it inspired me to draw kaiser as aleksander (ᵔᗜᵔ*)

...hahaha, yeah, i'm still working on ur req. i actually didn't know what veil was when you sent that in, so i figured i'd search up a summary and see if i was interested. there ended up not being much material besides two or three really old reviews with descriptions that honestly didn't tell me much about the vibe besides slice-of-life adjacent so i went ahead & tried the first volume, and then went ahead and devoured all six volumes in one night. (then proceeded to read slower for like the next week to fully process. crying because you can kinda tell when this req was sent in bc the seventh volume has come out since then)

it was so- idk how to describe it, but the art, the fashion, the little excerpts, (especially of the inanimate objects), the casual and sparse dialogue, all of it was so good. genuinely, though, as i've said in some previous posts, idt i've got the prose to match. i think i've rewritten scenes like 5 or 6 times atp bc i'm nvr satisfied. at some point i might just go "fuck it" and post anyway, but for now it's still a work in progress

and you draw! i'd love to see the final product, if u're willing to share ofc. more kaiser art is always welcome!!!

[silverwings920]

Hi! I just wanted to say I really love your work 🫶 I found your fic while scrolling through Kaiser x reader stories, and yours genuinely stood out—it was so fun to read, and I’m really looking forward to your future works!

If your requests are still open (no pressure!), I wanted to drop a few Kaiser x female reader ideas I’ve been thinking about:

1. Comic relief “side character” reader x Kaiser A self-aware, chaotic reader who calls herself a side character and is a devoted Kaisagi fan. I’ve always loved comic relief characters and wanted to see one actually get the love interest treatment for once.

2. Housekeeper reader with SS+ MOM skills x Kaiser

Half Japanese, half German reader who nags Kaiser like a mom—cleans his place, cooks amazing meals/bentos, scolds him for unhealthy habits (like the cola scene), and is the only person he can’t argue with. I’d love an obsessive/yandere Kaiser who’s especially intense when vulnerable. (Inspired by Tamon’s B-Side.)

3. Reincarnated reader x Kaiser

Reader reincarnates into Blue Lock but isn’t a fan and doesn’t know the plot. She has a system that gives her missions—mostly teasing and provoking Kaiser. Plot twist: she’s Isagi’s older sister, and the system forces Kaiser interactions to “move the story forward.”

4. Deaf / Blind / Paraplegic reader x Kaiser inspired by A Silent Voice, Josee, A Sign of Affection, and Veil manga. A soft, emotional story focused on communication and daily adaptation, mostly from Kaiser’s POV—from teasing and ignorance to understanding, love, and devotion.

5. Single mother reader x Kaiser x Ness

NEL timeline. Reader is a Blue Lock manager has twin toddlers girl and boy. The kids instantly like Kaiser and call him “Papa,” turning Kaiser & Ness into accidental babysitters. Focus on found family, healing, and Kaiser slowly letting people into his world.

Note: there are some dark tones to this one as reader was bullied and raped on her previous school and there she stopped her schooling also she became pregnant and had kids and got to work.

Concept explores:

Kaiser and Ness finally found a mother figure

Kaiser seeing reader in a different light where she expressed her backstory and the pressure and humiliation she faced of having to be pregnant at such a young age. And remember about Kaiser's self deprecation? When reader told her story and when she asked him "Do you find me disgusting?" And he was left stunned.

Time goes by in the NEL and Kaiser began to low key show affection for reader and the children

6. Ego’s niece reader x Kaiser with 30 Kids inspired by Horton Hears a Who.

Ego bloodline = terrifying fertility. Kaiser can handle 30 kids… until he realizes most of them inherited his personality.

Kid's in order and character appearance and personality inspiration from these anime/manga/manwha:

1st Triplets (26 yrs old)

Viktor Kaiser - sports agent - (Satoru Gojo)

Niklas Kaiser - professor of cognitive psychology and applied physics -(Kei Uzuki)

Lilian Kaiser - horror and thriller book author -(Osaragi)

1st Twins (24 yrs old)

4. Silvia Kaiser - professional boxer - (Kaneshiro from Windbreaker)

5. Stella Kaiser - salon owner - (Yumi from Windbreaker)

2nd Triplets (22 yrs old)

6. Oscar Kaiser - soccer prodigy (regular)- (Owen from Windbreaker)

7. Nora Kaiser - tattoo artist and band vocalist (side job) - (Noah from Windbreaker)

8. Selina Kaiser - olympic swimmer - (Shelly from Windbreaker)

9. Oliver Kaiser - (20 yrs old) - formula 1 racer- (Oliver from Windbreaker)

10. Klara Kaiser - (19 yrs old) - biochemical and research prodigy - (Clover from windbreaker)

Sextoplets (17 yrs old)

11. Charles Kaiser - soccer prodigy - (Charles Grey from Black Butler)

12. Erika Kaiser - tennis prodigy - (Riko Amanai)

13. Sena Kaiser - teen fashion model and actress- (Sena Narumi)

14. Louis Kaiser - comic and manga author and artist- (Koyuki Ayase)

15. Leon Kaiser - olympic figure skater - (Yuri Plisetsky)

16. Mona Kaiser - professional solo idol - (Mona Narumi)

1st Quadruplets (16 yrs old)

Inspired from Who Made Me A Princess Characters

17. Lucas Kaiser - boy genius/scientific prodigy

18. Ijikiel Kaiser - jurist/legal prodigy

19. Anastasia Kaiser - linguistic/rhetoric prodigy

20. Jeannette Kaiser - humanitarian/education prodigy

2nd Quadruplets (13 yes old)

Inspired from Black Butler

21. Seiglinde Kaiser - stem and robotics prodigy

22. Ciel Kaiser - genius chess master and board game prodigy

23. Alois Kaiser - genius child actor

24. Elizabeth Kaiser - genius fencing/swords master

Delico's Nursery

25. Theodor Kaiser - math genius (7 yrs old)

2nd Twins (5 yrs old)

26. Lucia Kaiser - likes playing with musical instruments

27. Elena Kaiser - likes storytelling and acting

3rd Twins (3 yrs old)

28. Angelico Kaiser - likes soccer and basketball

29. Raphael Kaiser - likes arts and crafts

30. Ulrich (or Ul) Kaiser- 10 months old baby

oh, wow, this is a lot! thx sm for the love!!

yes, my reqs are open rn (though i'm currently working on a few big projects that i wanna actually finish and post, so i'll be taking longer to get to any asks).

i don't want you to wait for a response on this, especially since there are so many ideas, so here's a bit of stream of consciousness response to these reqs in the meantime:

okay, this one sounds super fun. i love a little silly chaotic fun, i might actually do this as one of my breaks from all the serious vibes (character development, plot lines, heavier topics) of my current priority (the fake dating au)

i actually love tamon's b-side. it's sooo fun!!! i also happen to have already started something heavily inspired by it bc utage's fawning over tamon reminds me so much of my relationship with kaiser. it's just uhhhhh... somewhere in my wips (help, i have too many lol)

this one also sounds pretty interesting for, maybe, a one-shot in the near future. i do wonder how kaiser x reader interactions would actually move the bllk story forward tho, something to think abt for sure

someone else actually also requested a veil inspired fic, which i've been working on for a while, but so far my prose just really isn't up to par with the manga's and i haven't even gotten close to satisfied with it, unfortunately

oh, this one's a bit heavier. seems like a longer project to tackle sometime down the line. i did do a short set of vignettes where reader adopts kaiser and ness (entirely platonic) a while ago (link 1, link 2) if you haven't seen that yet, but idk off the top of my head how i'd juggle the mother figure and romance thing.

i'm gonna be honest, as of right now, i'm not really interested in writing or characters outside of blue lock. also, while i love a lot of the series mentioned here (though admittedly, i don't recognize all of them), that is just too many characters to juggle easily for me atm (aka it seems like it'd require way too much setup just to explain who each character is), so i don't think i'll ever be doing this one

thx again for all the love, and for the many ideas 🥰💕

[silverwings920]

The Vending Machine Incident

a/n: a short thing to tide y'all over while i work on the fake dating au. (which btw, ik i said i was like 75% of the way through the outline, but i ended up scrapping most of the last scene i was working on bc i hated the flow, so i'm back to about 50%, yes, this is going to take for-fucking-ever, T^T) i needed a break from my more serious, actually pays attention to shifting dynamics and emotions, so enjoy my little silliness.

The vending machine hums ominously—then swallows Michael Kaiser’s money whole.

He stares at it.

Stares like it has personally insulted him, his lineage, and everything he stands for.

“…Are you seeing this,” he asks, slow and dangerous. “It’s mocking me. Don’t laugh.”

You don’t even try to hold it in.

“Oh. My. God.” You double over, clutching your stomach as laughter spills out of you. “Your face—”

The sound you make next is somewhere between a cackle and a wheeze.

Kaiser’s hand snaps out, grabbing you by the waist and yanking you hard against his side.

“Shut up.” His voice is a low growl, heat threaded through it—pure frustration, sharp and electric, with something softer lurking underneath. “You think this is funny? Huh? When I’m this close to throwing the whole damn machine out the window?”

He leans down, lips brushing your ear.

“Laugh one more time… and I’ll make you pay for it.”

You’re still laughing, shoulders shaking as you look up at him. “Yes, yes. Whatever you say, Your Most Imperial Majesty.” You pat his arm in the most patronizing way possible. “Now, did you want me to actually get you your cola or no?”

The look on his face darkens instantly.

Your sass only fuels him. His grip on your waist tightens, fingers digging in just a little more than necessary. He huffs, clearly irritated by everything: the machine, your laughter, and the fact that you’re enjoying this way too much.

“Just get it for me,” he grumbles.

You grin. “Yes, of course. Your wish is my command.”

Then, without ceremony, you step back and kick the vending machine—hard. Twice.

The clang echoes down the hallway.

Kaiser lets out an exasperated groan, rolling his eyes as the machine rocks slightly, its internal light flickering like it’s reconsidering its life choices.

A low tch leaves him as he narrows his eyes at it, as if it has personally betrayed him.

He looks back at you, unimpressed.

“This is your genius method?” His eyebrow arches, lips pulled into a deep scowl.

“Yes. Well, not all of it.” You slap the side panel near the buttons. “C’mon, trust me. There’s a method to my madness. When have I lied to you before?”

Before he can answer, your fingers fly over the buttons in rapid succession, like you’re inputting a cheat code.

He crosses his arms, gaze dark.

“Don’t,” he mutters, “you get cute with me. Or make me list out all the times you teamed up with the damn clown to play pranks on me.”

He doesn’t mention how those pranks usually end: with him chasing your brother around the complex, yelling, while you escape with nothing more than a grumbled warning.

The corner of his mouth twitches despite himself.

“Make it quick. Or I’ll drag you out of here instead.”

“Oh, shut it.” You crouch down, peering into the machine’s lower compartment. “For Mr. ¥400 million, you sure get fussy about the smallest amounts.”

You glance up at him, smirking. “And it’s not even an efficient use of money either. If you’re gonna fuss, you should buy in bulk instead of begging machines to properly participate in a goods exchange.”

Before he can respond, you shove your arm up into the dispenser chute—farther than feels entirely safe.

His jaw clenches.

Arms folded tight across his chest, he looks down at you with a disapproving scowl. He clearly wants to argue, but the sight of your arm disappearing into the machine gives him pause.

“That’s how people lose hands.”

“Awwww,” you coo. “He cares!”

Your fingers brush cold metal. One can shifts. Another teeters.

His scowl deepens. He’s annoyed that he cares. Annoyed that you’re teasing him. Annoyed that you might actually get hurt.

“Get your goddamn hand out of the machine immediately,” he snaps, already reaching for you. “I don’t appreciate being made a fool of.”

“One second-”

You give the machine one final shove with your shoulder.

It gives up.

When you pull your arm free, not one but two cans clatter down into the dispenser.

“Victory!”

Kaiser just stares.

He looks at the vending machine. Then at the two sodas. Then back at you.

For a brief, unguarded second, the corner of his mouth lifts—eyes glinting with reluctant amusement—before he schools his expression back into something sharp and composed.

He scoffs.

“Lucky shot.”

You retrieve both cans and hand them to him. “Interest for not paying out right away,” you say smugly. “Aren’t you glad to have me?”

He takes the sodas with a scoff, but doesn’t correct you. He wouldn’t dare admit that yes—he is. Glad. Annoyingly, infuriatingly glad.

His fingers brush yours, and he keeps your hand there a second longer than necessary before letting go.

“Don’t push it,” he mutters. “Or I’ll start charging you rent for how much space you take up in my head.”

You laugh and shove him lightly. “As if you’d actually let me pay for anything—especially for living in your mind rent-free.”

And in the most obnoxious sing-song: “You looooove me.”

He rolls his eyes, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him.

Instead of denying it, he grabs your waist again, pulling you flush against him.

He leans down, murmuring against your ear, voice low and dangerous in that familiar way.

“I’m starting to consider evicting you, smartass.”

You slip out of his grip, sticking your tongue out at him and running down the hallway. “As if you could!”

Behind you, the vending machine hums quietly—defeated.

[silverwings920]

the fake dating au won my last poll, so, as promised, that's what i'll be working on most for now, but i have another question:

i've been working on it for a long while now & the google doc is, uh... 30+ pages* at this point (just the draft, not the outline) and i'm only about 75% of the way through my outline. of course, i might end up cutting out large chunks of it, but i imagine it'll still be super fucking long either way, so...

* (for reference, Where Pride Goes to Bleed was 17 pages long)

(more details below the read more)

how do y'all want me to post it?

together in one giant post

separated into chapters

Voting ended onJan 23

btw, this result will also prob apply to the vaguely medieval au knight commander!kaiser x princess!reader fic bc that one's getting pretty long too

one giant post:

i imagine this will prob take at least another 10+ days to get out

separated into chapters:

i can prob go back and edit and have the first (and shortest) part out by this weekend

genuinely idk about the rest, though

i might still post a few of my shorter ideas throughout either way, but just note that i will not be posting near daily for a while bc of this awful thing we call life.

[silverwings920]

i was gonna just log off of tumblr for the next 24 hrs to wait for the poll results, but i was unfortunately subject to listening to the news, when i heard this line:

“you mate with him or he devours you”

which, like, okay, i got the point in context, but my first thought was literally just a slideshow of a million panels of blue lock

the way this stupid manga has rewired my brain needs to be studied

especially regarding the word: devour

and just generally the concept of eating other people

because, like, there was a time where my first thought hearing humans consuming other humans was cannibalism, or maybe capitalism

but at this point, i'm in so fucking deep with this series and fandom that i can't process the damn word (and concept) without having these panels (and so many others) flashing through my mind

[silverwings920]

i have a bunch of wips that are nearing first fully fleshed-out drafts, but idk how much time i'll have to edit all of them bc i've been super busy lately (hence me not posting for the past few days). basically, i'm making y'all do my decision-making for me again lol. so...

(more details under the read more)

which one should i work on first?

a follow-up to "Where Pride Goes to Bleed" (the promised Saturday at-home date)

a fake dating au with actor!kaiser and music artist!reader

a vaguely medieval au with knight commander!kaiser and princess!reader

idgaf, just give me my kaiser fix (super helpful, btw, can you hear my sarcasm?)

all of these suck ass, think of better ideas (then send me requests ppl)

Voting ended onJan 21

to be clear, i'm pretty sure all of these will be posted eventually. y'all are just helping me decide my priorities

"Where Pride Goes to Bleed" follow-up

pretty sure this one's self-explanatory

the Saturday at-home date

i was quite surprised at the reception of that fic so i tried compiling a bunch of little thoughts i had about the date together

reader and kaiser are both a lot softer when they're not fighting

lots of making food bc i was very hungry when i outlined this lol

(i did kinda forget abt reader's dog in the process, though, feel free to throw pitchforks at me)

Status: closest to finished for now (which is why i'm not going back and threading the puppy back in, sry)

Fake Dating AU

kaiser is a really big-time actor with a million fans and awards, reader is a small-time niche singer-songwriter artist, they are both under bastard münchen's agency

kaiser runs into a crazy stalker assault scandal situation (yes, i literally threw as many things together as possible lol)

bm decides that kaiser and reader should fake date to entirely undermine the scandal's basis, typical celebrity fake dating stuff

they're also not so lowkey big fans of each other's work, but reader can't stand his emperor playboy persona in the least and makes it very known

Status: outline done, finished drafting most of the scenes

Vaguely Medieval AU

kaiser is a mercenary-turned-knight-commander when he saves reader after an assassination attempt

reader is a princess in a bloody succession battle for the throne

ummm.... ppl do get hurt, but i don't wanna spoil

promise it doesn't end sad though

Status: still mostly a collection of various scenes with unwritten transitions lol (hence the least detailed notes)

irt "idgaf, just give me my kaiser fix" option

i putting this on here for my fellow constantly-has-decision-paralysis ppl, but genuinely, not helpful

am i hypocrite? yes. do i care? absolutely not.

irt "none" option

my asks are currently open, plz send in ideas, i'm begging

my inbox basically empty right now (except for that one Veil!AU request which i'm still struggling with, plz, forgive me for taking five years with it, but my prose is just not up to par)

request rules are here

extra note: while this is definitely a kaiser simp blog, i do actually enjoy writing many of the other characters, plz don't feel restricted to just my fave

[silverwings920]

Where Pride Goes to Bleed

a/n: idk how many of you read my author's notes, but i'll provide a little bit abt the setting for this fic here, as not much of it is explicitly mentioned in the fic. basically, kaiser accepts re al's offer and moves to spain. there, he meets reader (who i've written to be very similar to kaiser personality-wise, just with less of the trauma and therefore less of his complexes) and they become casual hookups. somewhere in there, they end up being exclusive. not because of any specific confession. it just happens (mostly bc compatibility). over time, they do end up truly desiring each other in ways that aren't just skin deep, but it's complicated. while they've been together for so long, w/o a clear starting point where they declared 'hey, i have feelings', they didn't often talk shit out. and that was "fine" when they were in the same place, but when kaiser's contract with re al is coming to a close, well, that's kind of where this fic starts

also, i kind of used this fic to see how far i could push myself with more suggestive content, so there's a sizeable chunk in the middle where that doesn't really add any plot, just more of a personal exploration. idk if i'm gonna go this far again though bc this was rly fucking hard to get to sound right.

“Come back to Germany with me.”

You never thought you’d see the day Michael Kaiser would cling to you like this—fingers locked around your wrist, grip tight enough to ache, as though letting go might erase you entirely. The emperor of the pitch stands before you not as a conqueror, but as a man braced against loss.

His ego is bruised. You see it in the way his gaze skitters away, in how his teeth worry at his lip until the skin pales beneath the pressure. He squeezes your arm once. Twice. A third time—each tightening like he’s counting down to something he doesn’t want to face.

“I won’t ask again.”

His voice lowers the longer you avoid the answer, irritation bleeding through the cracks of control. He’s running out of patience. Running out of room.

“And what if I say no now, but yes if you ask me again tomorrow?”

“You’ll be a fool.”

He exhales sharply, eyes narrowing as recognition flickers across his face. He knows exactly what you’re doing. You always have—pulling, testing, making him bend without ever lifting a finger. He hates how easily he gives in. Hates how natural it feels to be wrapped around you.

His grip tightens. His expression hardens.

“Stop playing around. Give me a straight answer.”

You give a loose strand of hair a twirl. “Hmmm, I’ll think about it. Ask me tomorrow.”

His jaw locks. For a moment, the tension in his body coils so tightly you think he might snap—might pin you down and force certainty out of you. Instead, he releases you like the contact burns.

“Fine. Tomorrow, then.”

He drags a hand through his hair, irritation written plainly across his face, annoyance warring with something dangerously close to need.

The easy give makes you pout. “Awww. Now, that’s no fun. I wanted to see you a little more desperate.” Since when did the emperor acquiesce without a fight.

That does it.

His eyes flash, sharp, dangerous, as he takes in your words. He knows you’re testing his patience, but the urge to give in to your whims is much stronger than he’d ever admit. In the next breath, he’s on you, stepping forward until your back hits the wall. His hands slam down on either side of your head, caging you in, his presence overwhelming in its certainty. Heat rolls off him in waves.

“You want desperation, huh?”

He leans in, voice dropping, breath hot against your ear.

“I can give you desperation, alright.”

“Really? Let’s hear it then.”

A slow, lethal smirk curves his mouth. His fingers dig into the wall like claws, as if restraining himself takes physical effort. He leans closer until his voice is nothing but velvet and threat.

“Say my name again.”

There’s the hitch—just barely there—but you catch it make his voice go breathless. He won’t beg outright. Not yet. But the way his jaw trembles? The way his eyes flicker between yours and your lips?

“You love this,” he murmurs, following your eyes, even as something inside him fractures. “Watching me burn.”

You consider your current position and give him a little treat. “Alright. Michael.” But you don’t forget your bite either, rolling your eyes as you continue. “Did that satisfy you? I thought you were here to ask me to abandon my life here, my friends, my family, my job, and follow you to Germany. Again.”

The smirk falters.

Pride flares—sharp and defensive—before it cracks under the weight of everything he hasn’t said. He yanks you forward by the collar, grip harsh and sudden, then releases you just as quickly, like touching you burns him.

“Friends?” he scoffs. “They don’t care. None of them do.”

His eyes lock onto yours, fever-bright.

“You think they’d move mountains for you? Die for you? Call your name in their sleep?”

A beat.

“I would.” A beat. “I have.”

He steps closer again, fingers grazing your jaw—possessive, trembling with restraint.

“And as for family… I’ll be your family. Your job? They’ll beg to have you when they see what I’ve made of you in Germany.”

The arrogance resurfaces, brittle but intact.

“But none of that matters… because you already know the truth.”

“You belong with me.”

You scoff. His arrogance can be, and often is, charming in its own right, but it’s a thing to be tempered. “Surely you’re not still under the delusion that you own me.”

For a fraction of a second, he freezes.

Then a low, dangerous chuckle slips free as he leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Delusion?” His voice is smoke. “You think this is about ownership? No… Schatz. This isn’t possession.”

His hand cups your throat—not squeezing. Just resting there. A promise. A warning.

“This is fate.”

“You don’t belong to me.”

His other hand tangles in your hair, grip rough, grounding.

“You are part of me. And I will bleed you dry before I let you walk away from what we are.”

He pulls back just enough to watch your reaction, pupils blown wide, chest rising a beat too fast.

The smirk returns.

“Now ask me again: who’s deluded?”

You feel no more inclined to bend than you did when he appeared at your door earlier this evening, entirely unannounced. “Still you. I’m not the one at your doorstep begging you to stay.”

Something ugly twists across his face—frustration, fury, wounded pride all colliding at once. His attempt to mask it all is entirely fruitless.

“You’re infuriating,” he hisses. His fingers tighten in your hair, tugging your head back until his breath ghosts your lips. “You think this is just me begging. Like some dog. You think I’m weak for it.”

He scoffs, sharp and bitter.

“I’m not the boy you once knew. This is me claiming what’s mine.”

His other hand slides from your throat and finds your hip, gripping it in an iron-tight hold.

“Again with the possessiveness. Haven’t we been through this before? You can be mine, and I’ll take care of you, but that doesn’t make me yours.”

The words land harder than any shove ever could.

You feel it immediately—the way his body goes rigid, the way the grip on your hip tightens just enough to hurt before he seems to realize what he’s doing. His eyes darken, pride flaring instinctively, but beneath it, there’s something more fragile trying—and failing—to stay hidden.

“Take care of me?”

He repeats it slowly, tasting the words like an insult he doesn’t know whether to reject or cling to. His voice drops, threaded with mockery that doesn’t quite stick.

“You’ve got it backwards, Liebling.”

His thumb moves despite himself, rubbing slow circles against your hip—touch betraying tenderness his expression refuses to show.

“You’d be lost without me. I’ll take care of you.”

He scoffs again, turning his face away as if that settles it.

“You just won’t admit it.”

Your eyes narrow. Perhaps you’ve been too lenient in your past rebukes. “You think showering me with money and gifts and luxury experiences is taking care of me? You think fucking me is taking care of me? You think bringing me to all your galas and events is taking care of me?”

You don’t raise your voice. You don’t need to. Each sentence is measured, deliberate—placed exactly where it’ll hurt the most.

“No. That’s me taking care of your ego.”

His breath catches, barely audible.

“You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if you couldn’t ‘pay the price’ for my attention. If I didn’t shower praise upon you at night. If you couldn’t show me off to the world.”

You watch the emperor persona strain under the weight of your gaze.

“I keep you around because I can see what’s underneath that carefully crafted emperor mask. And I let you do things your way because I know you need it.”

You don’t soften it. Not this time.

“But abandoning my life here for someone who treats our relationship as transactional, however misguided or trauma-based the sentiment is? I’m. Not. Interested.” You punctuate your last words with sharp jabs to his chest.

Michael goes very still.

The arrogance. The smirk. The control—it all shatters.

For a heartbeat, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.

Then, a crack. His hand slips from your hip. His fingers tremble at his side.

“You don’t get to say that.”

His voice is low. Raw. Not angry. Hollow.

“You don’t get to pretend this is about money or ego when you feel it too.”

He steps back, jaw working like he’s swallowing broken glass.

“You think I bring you to galas to show you off?” A bitter laugh escapes him. “I bring you because I can’t breathe in those rooms unless I see your face in the crowd.”

His voice drops further.

“You think the gifts mean nothing? They’re not for me. They’re excuses—to touch your life when you won’t let me do it properly.”

When he looks at you now, there’s no mask left. No emperor. Just Michael—raw and exposed, blue catching the light like something fragile.

“I know what I am,” he admits. “Arrogant. Broken. Possessive. A piece of shit. Worthless.”

His breath stutters.

“But every night when I beg for praise… when I kiss your hands like a starving man…”

The silence stretches, heavy.

“I need it because without it…”

“…I’m nothing.”

His eyes harden again, armor snapping back into place.

“If that makes me weak in your eyes,” he whispers, “then fine.”

“But don’t pretend our love isn’t real just because mine terrifies you.”

“I’m not pretending anything.” The words are out of your mouth before you can really process them. Still, Kaiser’s were so far off the mark, they were going to be your next words anyway.

You don’t back down. You never do.

You tell him why you haven’t said no. Why you keep delaying the inevitable. Why it’s him—and only him—who’s earned this much patience. Anyone else would have been dealt with at the first available opportunity.

You tell him you’re waiting to see if he’ll change.

Michael’s expression shifts—defensive, wounded, searching. He studies you like a puzzle he can’t quite solve, trying to understand the words you’ve said and the ones you won’t.

“Change?” he repeats. “Who says I need to change?”

He scoffs yet again, ego rearing its head, a well-worn shield.

“I’m offering you the world and you want me to be humble about it?”

“You want me to be like everyone else?”

Your next words don’t come easily—but you say them anyway.

“Michael. I’d still care about you even if you didn’t offer me the world. Even without the money. Even without Germany. Even if this ends here.”

“I’d still you on when I watch your games. Hell, I’d probably still sometimes think about what could’ve been. Still wonder. Still ache.”

“But I can’t trust you with all of me as you are now.”

“You can say it’s fate, destiny, written in the stars, all you want, but that means nothing without trust.”

Honestly, you don’t know why you’re saying all of this. How were you still ping-ponging back and forth between going for broke or cutting it off immediately?

You sigh heavily and deliver the ultimatum. “At this point, if you refuse to change, I refuse to go with you. End of story. And while we’re at it, I’m not interested in long-term long-distance relationships, so we should break up now, too. If only because staying like this would just hurt more in the long run.”

Kaiser’s jaw clenches. His fury explodes—not at you, but at himself. Your words cut too close, too deep. He knows you’re right, but pride and hurt and a lifetime spent building walls make admitting it impossible.

“You think it’s that easy?” he snaps, stepping forward. “You think you can walk away from three years like it’s nothing?”

“No. I know it won’t be easy. You’re right, three years of wonderful, beautiful, if sometimes turbulent, experiences won’t just fade in a few days. Still, I know I’ll get hurt more if we stay like this.”

“I want to just follow you, you know? Risk it all and have our whirlwind romance abroad. Even I am tempted by the prospect.”

“However, I can’t up end my life purely on hope that you might change one day.”

“I need some proof.”

Michael stands frozen, your words sinking in like blades wrapped in silk. Something raw flickers behind his eyes. He looks away, jaw working as if tasting ash.

“Proof?” He repeats, voice lower now. Not mocking. Not defensive. “You want proof...”

He steps back slowly, hands curling at his sides.

“I’ve never done this,” he says hoarsely, a dry laugh escapes him. “Never needed to. Never wanted to.”

Then—suddenly, but without drama, without flair—he drops to one knee.

Not commanding.

Not grand.

Just... collapse.

His fingers curl into the fabric of your pants—desperate, anchoring—not demanding, but clinging like a man drowning.

“I don’t know how to be soft,” he admits, his breaths harsh. “I don’t know how to give without money or proving I’m better.”

He looks up at you, eyes burning—not with pride, but fear.

“But I’ll learn.”

“If you stay.”

“One year... No gifts, except your birthday, unless you ask.”

“No galas unless you want them.”

“I’ll do whatever stupid thing couples do. Couples outfits? Hand holding? Picnic dates?” He swallows. “I’ll even fucking cook if that’s what it takes.”

His grip tightens, truly desperate now.

“Just… don’t leave me yet.”

“...Let me prove I can love you right.”

You take in his current state, and at the end of the day, he is still yours. So you offer him something smaller. “How about we start with just this week?”

Cancel the event. Come see you instead. Leave the theatrics at the door.

Michael hesitates. Simplicity unsettles him.

“And you’ll give me this week?” he asks, eyes searching for any shred of deceit. “As long as there are no galas. No fancy outfits. No photographers. No pretending?”

He has to know you mean it. Those exact words.

“Just… you and me. Rusks. And your puppy. Just that?”

“We’ll just start with a week. I’m not expecting a hard pivot, but we can make space in our lives bit by bit. I know your contract’s up the end of next month, and you don’t wanna renew it.” You were honestly a little surprised he offered a full year just for you.

“Just as I don’t want to ignore my own wishes for my future, I’d never want you to cast aside your own. And, if by,” you do a quick mental calculation, “let’s say, the 15th of next month, I can see you’re still all in on me, regardless of any possible stumbles, I’ll plan our lives around each other. How does that sound?”

You watch him as you speak—really watch him.

The way his shoulders loosen a fraction with every measured sentence. The way the fight drains out of his posture, replaced by a quiet consideration. You aren’t issuing ultimatums anymore. You aren’t asking him to kneel again. You’re offering him a structure—something solid enough to stand on without tearing either of you apart.

Your reasoning cuts through his ego like a knife—the way it always does—and he finds himself begrudgingly admitting the wisdom in your words.

“You’ve always been too smart for your own good.”

The complaint lacks heat. It sounds almost fond, like he’s irritated at the universe for giving you clarity when it never gave him the same mercy. There’s reluctant respect threaded through the words, something he doesn’t bother hiding this time.

A beat passes. Then another.

“Alright.”

The word lands heavy—not dramatic, not triumphant. Earned.

“One week,” he says. “No galas. Just us. With your dog.”

His eyes narrow, already reaching for control where he can still claim it. “And I pick the movie.”

You laugh. It’s hard not to find him adorable like this. “Alright, your pick it is.”

You gesture lightly, teasing, but your touch doesn’t push him away.

“Now get up. You should be thankful nobody’s out this late.”

You glance around, mock-conspiratorial.

“What if someone saw THE Michael Kaiser crying on his knees in front of me?”

Your tone softens just enough to keep it playful.

“We may have been together for years in the public eye, but your fangirls would still skin me alive.”

Michael huffs as he straightens, scowl firmly in place—but there’s a faint flush along his cheekbones that gives him away.

“Crying? I wasn’t crying.” He brushes at his pants like the ground offended him personally. “It was dust. Poor lighting. Allergies. Whatever you want to call it.”

He glares at you, but there’s no real heat behind it—just the remnants of wounded pride and something dangerously close to relief.

“And for your information, my fangirls can burn in hell.” Then, quieter. A step closer. “You’re the only one who’s ever gotten me on my knees.”

A smirk curls at the corner of his mouth as he leans in.

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Well,” you can’t help but quip, “if you do this right, I’m expecting you kneeling at least one more time.”

The shift is immediate.

The air tightens. His attention snaps back into focus, sharp and hungry, his smirk turns into a wolfish grin as he catches your meaning. The arrogance is back in his touch. His hand slides around your waist, drawing you flush against him.

“Careful, Schatz.” His eyes gleam. “Keep saying things like that and I’ll have you on your knees first.”

“Why not?” Your mouth curves to match his, as you push open your door. “I don’t mind you tearing up and pleading with me in another context.”

His eyes flash, something dark and feral igniting behind them as his grip on your hip tightens. Whatever vulnerability lingered from earlier vanishes, sealed away beneath a familiar veneer. Heat coils low in his gaze, sharp and hungry all at once.

“You think I’ll beg, huh?” His voice drops an octave, rough and dangerous, curling around the words like a challenge, as he follows you inside, locking the door behind him. “You think the great Michael Kaiser will be so desperate for your touch… that he’d kneel and plead?”

He steps closer, presence looming, daring you to flinch.

“Oh, I don’t think, I know so, your Imperial Majesty.” The title drips with sarcasm, deliberate and merciless.

Michael grits his teeth. Irritation flickers across his face, sharp and unguarded. He hates how easily you get under his skin—how effortlessly you challenge him, taunt him, refuse to back down. He fights to keep the upper hand, clings to his composure, but your confidence and that damned smile wear it down piece by piece.

One step.

That’s all it takes.

Before you can blink, your back meets a wall again, cold seeping through your clothes as his arms cage you in. His body blocks out the rest of the room, heat and tension pressing in from every side.

“Careful,” he warns quietly.

“Try me.”

Delight curls in your stomach as you watch your words snap whatever restraint he had left.

His eyes darken, control shattering as something raw and primal surges to the surface. He pins one arm against the wall with a growl, body flush against yours.

“You’re playing with fire, Liebling,” he hisses, voice low and rough. His hand slides past your waist, beneath your thigh, lifting. “Are you sure you want to find out what happens next?”

You slip from his hold before he can get you fully off the ground, turning away with deliberate slowness.

“And you don’t?”

You toss the words over your shoulder as you move toward the bedroom.

“C’mon, big boy, get moving already.”

Your cardigan slips from your shoulders as you cross the doorway, fabric pooling on the floor without a second thought.

“Surely you intend to keep your promise.”

Behind you, a low, guttural growl answers.

Michael moves immediately, stalking after you like a predator closing in on its prey. He shrugs off his coat and leaves it where it falls, eyes never leaving you as you disappear into the room. His heart hammers in his chest, adrenaline and need driving every step.

He pushes through the doorway and slams it shut behind him, gaze dark, intent, burning.

“You have no idea what you just started.”

You don’t hesitate.

“Me?” You grab him by the collar, drag him down to eye-level, and toss him onto the bed with a wicked smirk. “I know your switches like the back of my hand. You’re the one who still hasn’t learned your lesson after all this time.”

He hits the mattress with a growl—not from pain, but from pure thrill. He lets you do it. Lets you play at control. His lips twitch into a smirk that’s equal parts challenge and surrender.

“Lesson?” he laughs low, voice thick like smoke. “I’ve learned plenty.”

In one swift motion, he reverses you—suddenly above you, one hand pinning your wrist over your head, the other tracing your jaw with deliberate, possessive precision.

“But if I haven’t learned mine yet…” he leans in until his breath ghosts your lips, “…then punish me all you want.”

His eyes burn with something wilder than pride.

“Just don’t expect me to stay pinned for long.”

“Of course not,” you meet his gaze without hesitation. “I’m putting you to work. If I wake up tomorrow and one of my first three thoughts isn’t about how sore I feel, we are going to have problems.”

Michael laughs—low and dark, the sound rumbling through his chest. He dips his head, lips finding the curve of your neck in a possessive kiss, a clear claim.

“Are you saying you won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow?” he murmurs against your skin.

His hand slides down to grip your thigh.

“That you’ll be too sore to even get up from bed?”

He nips and bites along your collarbone, rough enough to leave marks, demanding without asking.

You arch an eyebrow. “Isn’t it up to you to make sure that’s the case?” This is the last button you need to push to get him exactly where you want him. “Show me how talented you are with that genius ace striker body of yours.”

A low growl tears from his throat, raw and dark. His eyes blaze with hunger as his control slips further, your words feeding the fire already consuming him. His grip tightens, body pressing you into the bed as he kisses down your neck, teeth grazing just hard enough to promise more.

“You should know by now,” he murmurs against your ear in a voice like gravel, “you don’t have to tell me twice.”

The rest of the night dissolves into heat and motion and breath—into tangled limbs and low sounds swallowed by the dark. Time loses its shape. Somewhere between his growl at your ear and the way your name breaks from his mouth, the world narrows to the press of bodies and the promise of morning.

When consciousness creeps back in, it does so cruelly.

The first thing you notice is the light—too bright, too insistent, slicing straight through your skull.

Fuck. The sun must be higher than it has any right to be.

You roll instinctively, burrowing deeper into the covers, muscles protesting the movement with a sharp, lingering ache. Your body feels heavy, boneless, like it’s been wrung out and left to recover at its own pace.

Your hand reaches out without thought.

Empty.

Cold sheets where warmth should be.

That jolts you awake faster than the light ever could.

You try to push yourself upright—and immediately regret it. Your legs buckle the moment your weight shifts, a sharp, unmistakable soreness ripping through you. You catch yourself on the bed and nightstand, breath hissing through your teeth.

Fuck. I really am sore.

Grumbling, you retreat back under the duvet, dragging it over your head like a shield against the morning and the consequences of last night.

From the doorway, Michael watches.

He’s already awake—showered, dressed, hair still slightly damp, looking infuriatingly put-together for someone who spent half the night proving a point. He’s been there longer than you realize, eyes tracing every sluggish movement with quiet satisfaction.

When you disappear beneath the covers, he chuckles.

“Trying to hide from me, Schatz?”

“Fuck you and your stupidly fit body,” you mutter, voice muffled. “It’s too damn early for me to deal with your shit.”

He laughs softly and sits on the edge of the bed, mattress dipping beneath his weight. Without asking, his hand slips under the covers, fingers skating gently up your sore thigh—careful, deliberate, almost reverent. He leans down until his breath brushes your ear.

“Didn’t you already?” he murmurs. “You were begging for more at three in the morning.”

His hand stills, thumb brushing slow circles just below your hipbone—the one place that doesn’t ache.

“And yet…” His voice tilts, darkly amused. “You still woke up thinking about me.”

A brief kiss lands on your shoulder—short, almost tender—before he pulls back. You hear glass clink softly as he retrieves something from the nightstand.

“Here.”

The bed shifts again as he offers you a glass of water and two painkillers. No smirk. No arrogance. Just quiet certainty.

“Drink. Then you can hate me properly.”

You flip him off without ceremony but comply, swallowing the pills before dragging the blankets back over your head to wait for relief.

Michael watches you for a moment, amused.

“And here I was,” he mutters, “thinking you might be awake enough to appreciate the breakfast I made. Turns out you’re just a grumpy baby.”

That gets you upright immediately. This man can’t cook to save his life. “Breakfast? You?” Alarm sharpens your voice as you sit up, eyes darting toward the kitchen like you expect smoke.

What you find instead is… acceptable. Heated waffles from your freezer. Sliced fruit. Everything recognizable. Everything intact.

Michael crosses his arms, leaning against the wall, smirk firmly in place.

“Don’t look so shocked. I can follow instructions.”

He gestures toward the plate, clearly pleased with himself.

“Five-star chef? No. But I didn’t burn down your kitchen.” A pause. “And I remembered you like extra honey.”

Then he steps closer, leaning in until his lips brush your ear.

“Consider it my practice.” His voice drops into a low purr. “One day… I’ll cook for you properly. No boxes. No instructions.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, seriousness cutting through the ego.

“But today?” “I’m feeding what’s mine.”

You don’t argue with the possessiveness. Not now. The edge of last night still lingers—warm, grounding, heavy in your limbs.

“Thanks,” you say quietly. “Did you eat already?”

Something in his expression softens, just barely. His fingers hover near your wrist, gaze holding yours a second too long.

“Yeah.” He lies through his teeth.

The truth? He hasn’t touched a single bite. Just sat at the kitchen counter, sipping black coffee while staring at your door, afraid you’d vanish if he looked away too long.

But he won’t tell you that.

Instead: “Don’t worry about me.” He nudges the plate closer. “Eat. Or I’ll feed you myself.”

You roll your eyes at this. “Yeah, yeah,” you say, already moving. “Now sit. If you get to feed me, I get to feed you too.”

He curses you silently. You see it in his eyes—the way his masks crumble when you read him too easily. He rolls his eyes, too, half-defeat, half-relief.

“Bossy this early in the morning, hm?”

But he sits.

You shove a small slice of waffle and a strawberry into his mouth without ceremony.

“Here. Try your handiwork.”

Michael’s lips twitch into a brief smirk as you shove the food in his mouth. It’s a test, he knows it, to make sure he isn’t somehow poisoning you with stuff from your own fridge—and he loves it. He'll play your game for now.

He chews slowly, gaze fixed on you, then hums exaggerated approval.

“Not bad,” he concedes. “For cooking for the first time.” Like he isn’t praising himself.

He opens his mouth again, expectant.

“You want more?” you tease, mock disappointment coloring your voice. “But I thought this was for me.”

His irritation flares instantly—hot, familiar, delicious. He knows you’re just messing with him, and it both pisses him off and turns him on. It’s so damn easy for you to get under his skin, and he hates how much he loves it.

“You’re a damn tease.” He yanks you onto his lap, grip firm. “And I’m damn hungry.”

“But you said you’d already eaten.” You blink up at him, the picture of innocence.

He smirks. “I lied.” His hand slides up your spine, tilting your chin down until you’re face-to-face. “I can never have enough when it comes to you.”

His thumb brushes your lower lip.

“You fed me one bite. Don’t expect me to be satisfied with that.”

“If you wanted a kiss, you could’ve just said so…” Your mouth does a complicated thing as you try and fail to cover your desire with reluctance.

Kaiser lets out a low, amused huff.

“Kiss?” He echoes voice dripping with mock offense. “Who said anything about a kiss?”

Then he takes your lips anyway—hot, demanding, claiming—pulling back just enough to smirk against your mouth.

“That was not a kiss. That was me reminding you who owns these lips now.”

Then, softer, quieter:

“But fine. If you want something sweeter…”

The pad of his thumb brushes your swollen lip.

“…I’ll give you one when you’ve earned it.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. “Me? Earn something sweeter?” You narrow your eyes. “Nobody would refer to you as the sweeter one in this relationship.”

So what if you have mean streak to match his? So what if it might be worse?

Michael raises an eyebrow at that, smirk twitching at your words. He can feel the shift in your tone, the edge beneath the playfulness—and it sparks a fire in him. He’s always loved this about you: the ability to match him step for step.

His grip on your hip tightens, his other hand moving to grip your chin, tipping your head up so you're looking into his eyes.

“Careful,” he warns. “I don’t need to remind you who’s in charge here, do I?”

You raise an eyebrow to match his.

“And who’s on probation right now?”

Damn. Touché.

He laughs low, conceding the point without saying it. He hates when you throw that in his face, hates being reminded he’s on thin ice with you right now. But he can’t deny the heat that stirs deep in his chest at your defiance either. You always knew how to get under his skin.

“You are insufferable.”

“Sure. I’m not above using our deal as leverage. It’s not every day I have such a clear high ground.”

You don’t bother hiding the smirk. Why would you? You’ve earned it.

“You would do the exact same anyway.”

Michael lets out a low, dangerous laugh—one that starts deep in his chest and curls around you like smoke, slow and suffocating and undeniably pleased.

“You’re right.”

The admission is rough, dragged from him without resistance.

“I would.”

His hand slides from your chin down to your throat—not squeezing, just resting there, warm and deliberate. A reminder. A promise.

“But don’t get too comfortable on that high ground, Liebling.”

He leans in until his lips brush your ear, breath ghosting your skin, voice dropping into something intimate and lethal all at once.

“I play to win. And I always get what’s mine—eventually.”

Then he pulls back just enough to look at you properly, blue gaze blazing with challenge and something darker beneath it—something patient.

“…Even if I have to earn it.”

You don’t break eye contact. “Good boy.”

The words are playful, patronizing by design. You even pat his head, fingers light and unrepentant, before leaning in to press a chaste kiss to his lips—soft, warm, affectionate in a way the words themselves aren’t. It soothes where the words provoke, the contrast deliberate.

Michael scowls immediately. He hates when you treat him like a dog. Hates how it scrapes against his pride.

And yet—

He also can’t help but preen at the praise.

It makes holding onto his irritation nearly impossible. Your kiss slips past his defenses far more effectively than any argument ever could, melting the sharp edges of his pride before he can stop it. The loss of control unsettles him. He hates how easily you do this to him.

His grip tightens around your hip, fingers digging in a little too hard as he scrambles to reclaim balance.

“Don’t. Pat. Me.”

But he doesn’t let you go.

And neither do you.

[silverwings920]

Even Emperors are Chosen

a/n: sorry for how long this took to get out. editing took forever bc i ended up reworking some bits. tbh, i'm still not entirely happy with the end result, but i can't take writing any more of a slow burn than this (it's nowhere close to my longest fic, but somehow it feels like the romance is drawn out like molasses, prob bc it usually takes just a scene or two to get to the dating, but here there are so many more.) honestly, idek if this technically prince!reader or not anymore bc i tamped down a lot on the flowery stuff (both literally and figuratively) that i added to the shorter one, reader's just rly considerate instead

Michael Kaiser does not expect to be humbled during a lecture.

The class is tedious and mandatory—nonsense the athletics department insists builds “well-rounded scholars.” He sits in the back, legs stretched out, presence alone enough to make people think twice before sitting near him.

Except you.

You slide into the empty seat beside him with a soft, distracted sorry as you juggle your notebook and coffee, completely unfazed by the way several people glance over like you’ve just committed a social crime.

He looks at you. You don’t look back.

Interesting.

Five minutes in, your pen runs out of ink.

You don’t sigh dramatically or whisper for help. You just pause, assess, then lean over slightly.

“Hey—do you mind if I borrow a pen for a second? I’ll give it right back.”

The politeness is… disarming.

He hands you one without thinking. You smile, quick, genuine, and return it after jotting something down, exactly as promised.

“Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”

Lifesaver. He scoffs internally. It was a pen.

Still, when class ends, you hold the door open for him as people funnel out.

“After you.”

He arches a brow. “I don’t need-”

You’re already holding it, unbothered. Not challenging. Just… considerate.

He walks through anyway, jaw tight, pride mildly bruised.

From then on, he notices you everywhere. Not because he's keeping track, of course, but you keep appearing.

Not in a suspicious way. Not hovering. Just… around.

In the cafeteria, you notice him scanning for a seat with his tray like he’s daring someone to challenge him.

You wave him over to your table, already half-occupied by other students.

“There’s room here, if you want.”

Not you can sit with me. Just room.

He sits, because refusing would be a waste of time—and because something about you feels oddly safe.

You notice he didn’t grab a fork.

Before he can stand back up, you wordlessly slide your unused one over and grab a spare from the utensil bin behind you.

No comment. No fuss.

He stares at the fork like it’s personally betrayed him.

“…I could've grabbed one by myself,” he mutters.

You shrug, smiling around a bite of food. “I know. I just wanted to.”

That answer sticks with him far longer than it should.

In the library, you catch him mid-scowl at his laptop.

You don’t interrupt. You just set a sticky note on his desk before passing by.

You’ve got this! (૭ ｡•̀ ᵕ •́｡ )૭ Don’t forget to stretch your hands your grip matters more than you think

He doesn’t even realize it’s from you until he sees your handwriting and the little drawing, and glances up, catching the back of your head disappearing down the aisle.

He shouldn’t care.

He absolutely should not tuck the note into his notebook like it’s something precious.

Whether he does is for his knowledge only.

At a campus event—some boring fundraiser the team forced him into attending—he watches you from afar.

You help a kid with a dropped balloon. You thank volunteers by name. You listen intently to someone rambling about something you clearly don’t care about, nodding like it matters anyway.

When you spot him, you wave.

Not excited. Not shy. Just happy.

“Kaiser! Hey. Are you enjoying yourself?”

He crosses his arms. “There's nothing about this for me to ‘enjoy’.”

You hum thoughtfully. “That’s okay. Thanks for coming anyway.”

Thanks… for coming?

The phrasing throws him off balance.

The compliments come next. And that’s when things get dangerous.

Not flattery—just observations.

“You explained that concept really clearly in class today.”

“You’re really disciplined. I admire that.”

“You always look so focused when you train. It’s kind of inspiring.”

Each one lands like a soft blow to the chest.

He bristles at first.

“…You talk like you’re encouraging a wounded knight.”

You grin. “Hey, even knights deserve encouragement.”

The knight thing is clearly a joke—but it lingers.

Because no one has ever spoken to him like strength doesn’t cancel out care.

By the third week of running into you everywhere, Michael Kaiser is convinced.

No one is that attentive by accident.

You remember his coffee order—black, no sugar—after hearing him mention it once.

You sit next to him in lecture even when there are other open seats.

You laugh at his dry, cutting humor like it’s genuinely funny, not intimidating.

Most damning of all: you look at him when he talks.

Not through him. Not past him. Not at the emperor.

At him. At Michael.

So of course he assumes intent.

One afternoon, you fall into step beside him as you both leave the gym building, autumn air sharp and clean.

“You played well today,” you say easily. “Your control’s getting even tighter.”

He smirks, hands in his jacket pockets. “Careful. If you keep praising me like that, people might get ideas.”

You glance at him, amused. “What kind of ideas?”

“That you’re trying to impress me.”

He expects flustered denial. Or coy deflection.

Instead, you shrug. “I already am impressed.”

He nearly trips.

You don’t notice—too busy waving at someone across the quad.

From then on, he leans into it.

He lowers his voice when he talks to you. Invades your space just a little. Starts offering his arm mock-dramatically when there’s a puddle or uneven ground.

“You going to escort me too, Prince Charming?” he teases.

You laugh, bright and unoffended. “If you’d like.”

The sincerity throws him every single time.

Kaiser decides to escalate.

Not outright—he’s not desperate. Just… subtle tests. Things that should earn him a reaction if you’re interested.

It starts back in the library.

You’re sitting across from him, studying, when he closes his book and leans forward.

“You know,” he says casually, “people keep asking if we’re together.”

You look up, surprised. “Oh? Why?”

Why?

That’s not the right response.

He shrugs, watching you closely. “We’re always around each other. You’re… attentive.”

You consider this seriously, then smile.

“Huh. I guess that makes sense. I’m glad you don’t mind.”

Mind?

“No,” he says stiffly. “I don’t.”

You nod, satisfied, and go right back to highlighting your notes.

No blush. No tension. No Oh, what do you think we are?

His chest feels oddly hollow.

He tries again later—harder.

At an off-campus park, golden leaves crunching underfoot, you sit on a bench together after running into each other by chance.

“Do you always treat people like this?” he asks suddenly.

“Like what?”

“Like they’re… important.”

You smile, soft and earnest. “I try to.”

His jaw tightens. “Even people who are barely in your life?”

You tilt your head, confused. “Why wouldn’t I?”

The answer is innocent.

It still feels like rejection.

He laughs it off, sharp and practiced. “You’re unbelievable.”

You grin. “Is that bad?”

He looks away. “…No.”

That night, he lies awake replaying the conversation, the realization settling in like frost.

You weren’t flirting.

You were being yourself.

The confirmation comes when he least expects it.

He’s in the cafeteria, tray in hand, when he hears your voice behind him.

“Hey—your bag’s open. You almost dropped your notebook.”

Not to him.

To some first-year student who looks like a startled deer.

You help them gather their things. Offer encouragement. Wish them luck on their exam.

The exact same warmth. The same attentiveness.

The same smile.

Something in Kaiser’s chest drops.

Later, he watches you help a teammate tape their wrist. Compliment another’s presentation. Sit with someone who’s clearly having a bad day.

You don’t ration your kindness.

You don’t reserve it for a select few.

It’s not something he earned.

He's seen it all along, but only just now noticing it extends to everyone you've ever interacted with.

And that realization hurts more than any insult ever could.

Because if you’re like this with everyone… then choosing him would mean choosing, not defaulting.

And Kaiser doesn’t believe—can’t believe—that he’s someone you’d choose freely.

The thought sits heavy in his chest for days.

At first, he thinks of pushing you away. Instead, he does something far more dangerous.

He adjusts.

He tells himself—very deliberately—that this is fine.

That your warmth doesn't belong to him.

That being near you, even like this, is already more than he deserves.

So he stays.

He still sits next to you in lectures, though he’s careful not to lean too close.

He still walks with you across campus, matching your pace instead of setting it.

He still lets you fuss—just a little—when you remind him to eat or stretch or rest.

He reframes it all.

She’s just kind. She’s just like this. Don’t be greedy.

When you praise him now, he smiles more softly, less sharp. When you offer help, he thanks you instead of bristling. He stops testing, stops pushing, stops hoping.

If he treats it like something precious but untouchable, maybe it won’t hurt so much.

There’s a strange peace in it.

You sit together at a campus event, shoulders brushing, and he listens to you talk about something you love—some book, some idea, some small joy. He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t tease. Just listens.

And thinks: I’m lucky. Even if this is all it ever is.

One evening, you run into him at the library just as he’s packing up.

“Heading out?” you ask.

He nods. “Yeah. Long day.”

You hesitate, then smile. “Want company?”

He does.

He always does.

“Sure,” he says, steady. “I’d like that.”

As you walk together into the cool night air, Kaiser feels that familiar warmth settle around him—not as a promise, not as an invitation.

Just as something he’s allowed to share in.

And he decides, quietly and firmly, that this is enough.

That wanting more would be selfish, would be more than he deserved.

That if being just your friend is the price of staying in your light, he’ll pay it gladly.

Even if it means wanting you in a way you'll never know.

Kaiser is doing fine.

That’s what he tells himself, anyway.

He’s adjusted to the shape of wanting you without asking for more. Learned how to stand close without leaning in. How to enjoy your presence without imagining a future that doesn’t belong to him.

It works.

Mostly.

Until one evening when everything is wrong in exactly the right way.

It’s late—one of those quiet campus nights where the paths are empty and the lampposts glow soft and forgiving.

You and Kaiser are sitting on the grass near an off-campus park, shoes kicked off, bags forgotten. The city hum is distant. The stars are faint but trying.

You’re talking about nothing important. Just a show you'd been hooked on as of late. Something silly. Something warm.

“And then,” you say, laughing, “I realized I’d been rooting for the villain the whole time.”

He snorts. “Figures.”

You bump your shoulder into his. “Hey.”

He doesn’t pull away.

In fact, he leans closer.

“You ever think,” he says slowly, eyes fixed on the sky, “that some people are only villains because no one bothered to see them differently?”

You glance at him, expression softening. “Yeah. I think that happens a lot.”

Silence stretches.

Not awkward. Heavy.

He feels it—the moment teetering, dangerous and alive. The warmth in his chest pushing upward, threatening to spill.

You turn toward him fully now. “You okay? You got quiet.”

He meets your eyes.

Really meets them.

This close, he can see every detail—the sincerity, the patience, the way you never look at him like he’s something sharp you need to handle carefully.

He forgets, for just a second, every reason he shouldn’t.

“…You make it easy,” he says quietly.

You blink. “Easy?”

“To breathe,” he admits, voice low. “To be… normal.”

The words are already more than he’s allowed himself.

Your smile is gentle. Encouraging. “I’m glad.”

That’s it.

That’s the opening.

His heart is pounding now, crown cracked, walls down. He leans in just a fraction more, voice dropping like a secret.

“There’s something I—”

A phone buzzes loudly between you.

You both flinch.

You groan, checking the screen. “Ugh—sorry. I promised I’d help someone with an assignment tonight. I completely forgot.”

He straightens immediately.

The moment evaporates like mist.

“Oh,” he says, too fast. Too composed. “Right.”

You stand, brushing grass off your hands. “Rain check? I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

Tomorrow.

He nods. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

You smile at him once more—warm, trusting—and jog off down the path, waving over your shoulder.

Kaiser stays seated long after you’re gone.

His chest aches.

Not because he didn’t confess.

But because he almost did.

And that terrifies him.

That night, he’s furious with himself.

He’d made a decision—to be grateful, to be content, to not ask for more.

And he nearly ruined it.

He imagines it: you smiling apologetically, gently letting him down. Or worse—trying to stay kind through the awkwardness. Treating him carefully, like something fragile.

He can’t survive that.

He can’t trust that the temptation won’t strike him again, either.

So he does the only thing he knows how to do when emotions get dangerous.

He locks them away.

The change is subtle at first.

He still sits next to you—but he scrolls on his phone instead of talking. He still walks with you—but he keeps his hands in his pockets, pace a little faster. He still listens—but he doesn’t linger.

When you compliment him, he deflects.

When you offer help, he declines.

You notice. Of course you do.

One afternoon, you catch him after lecture.

“Kaiser,” you say gently, falling into step beside him. “Did I do something?”

He stops.

For a second, the old him—the one on the grass, under the stars—almost answers honestly.

But he doesn’t trust that version of himself anymore.

“No,” he says flatly. “You didn’t.” Technically, it's not a lie.

Your brow furrows. “Then why do I feel like you’re… leaving?”

The word hits harder than he expects.

He exhales, forcing a careless shrug. “You’re imagining things.”

You search his face, clearly unconvinced. “If you ever need space, you can just say so.”

“I’m fine,” he insists.

And that’s the problem.

He’s too fine.

Too controlled. Too distant. Emperor restored, crown firmly in place.

You nod slowly, respecting his words even if they don’t sit right.

“Okay,” you say softly. “I just wanted to check.”

You let him go.

And Kaiser tells himself—again—that this is for the best.

That distance is safer than longing.

That if he steps back now, he won’t break later.

But as he watches you walk away, warmth withheld for the first time in weeks, one thought echoes in his mind, relentless and cruel:

You had your chance.

After that, Kaiser does everything right.

His grades don’t slip. His performance doesn’t falter. He still scores, still wins, still stands where he’s supposed to stand.

From the outside, nothing is wrong.

From the inside, everything feels… quieter.

Dimmer.

Lectures blur together. Wins feel procedural. Applause sounds distant, like it’s meant for someone else. He goes through campus and sees the places where you used to be—next to him in class, matching his pace, sitting close enough that he could feel your warmth even without touching.

Now, there’s space.

He told himself it was necessary.

He told himself this was discipline.

But discipline isn’t supposed to feel like mourning.

He catches himself looking for you anyway.

In the cafeteria. In the library. On the quad at sunset.

Sometimes he sees you laughing with someone else and feels a sharp, irrational flare of jealousy that he immediately stamps down. You don’t owe him anything. He’s the one who stepped back.

So he lives with it.

And when the silence starts getting too loud, he does something stupid.

Kaiser doesn’t go to parties.

They’re loud, pointless, filled with people who want something from him.

Which is exactly why he goes to this one.

He needs a distraction. Noise. Motion. Anything to drown out the way your absence has turned everything into background static.

The house is packed. Music thrums through the walls. Someone hands him a drink he doesn’t remember asking for.

He downs half of it in one go.

It helps. A little.

And then, like a cruel joke, he sees you.

You’re near the kitchen, talking to someone, hair catching the light. Laughing. Alive.

His chest tightens.

For a second, he considers leaving. Pretending he never saw you.

Then your eyes meet his.

Surprise flickers across your face. Then something else. Relief? Determination?

You don’t hesitate.

You cross the room and take his wrist.

“Come with me.”

It’s not a request.

You lead him through the house, past confused glances, out the back door into the cool night air. The music dulls to a distant thrum.

There’s a string of lights overhead. A small patio. Privacy, finally.

You let go of his wrist but stay close.

He opens his mouth—sharp remark loaded and ready—but you beat him to it.

“I’m done,” you say simply.

He blinks. “…Done with what?”

You take a breath, steadying yourself.

“With not seeing you anymore. With pretending this is fine.”

His heart starts pounding.

“You disappeared,” you continue, voice firm but not angry. “And I respected it, because that’s what you do when you care about someone. But I don’t want distance. I want you.”

The words hit him like a physical blow.

He laughs once, disbelieving. “You don’t mean that.”

You step closer. “I do.”

“No,” he insists, shaking his head. “You’re just- this is just how you are. You’re kind. You’re warm. You don’t-”

“I’m making a choice,” you interrupt.

Silence crashes down.

You look at him, eyes unwavering. “I like you, Michael. Not in some vague, universal way. Not the way just friends do. I like you. And I want to go out with you, to call you my boyfriend.”

His vision blurs.

“That doesn’t happen to me,” he says hoarsely. “People don’t- someone like you doesn’t-”

You reach up, cupping his face without hesitation.

“Listen to me,” you say gently. “I won’t let go without a fight. So if you’re trying to talk me out of this because you think for some misguided reason you don't deserve me or to be happy, it’s not going to work.”

Something inside him finally gives.

His breath stutters. His composure, so carefully maintained, crumbles. Tears spill before he can stop them, hot and humiliating and real.

He presses his forehead against yours, hands clenched in your jacket like you might disappear.

“…Yes,” he chokes out. “Okay. Yes. I want that. I want you, too.”

You smile through your own misty eyes and pull him into a fierce hug.

When he finally calms—when the world feels solid again—you laugh softly.

“I wanted to wait until you were ready, you know,” you admit. “But you weren’t going to say anything, so I figured I’d take matters into my own hands.”

His face burns.

“…You’re impossible.”

You grin. “And you’re dramatic.”

He scoffs, wiping his eyes. “You dragged me outside a party to emotionally ambush me.”

“You loved it.”

“I absolutely did not.”

You lace your fingers together anyway and start walking, tugging him along.

He squeezes your hand back, smiling despite himself.

“…You’re lucky I like you.”

You bump his shoulder. “Good thing I won’t let you forget it.”

And as you walk off together—bickering, laughing, hand-in-hand, party forgotten—Michael Kaiser realizes something terrifying and wonderful:

For the first time in his life, something truly amazing didn’t have to be earned.

It just… chose him back.

[silverwings920]

Sweeping the Emperor Off His Feet

a/n: ok, so i'm a lying liar, cuz i'm pretty sure i fell asleep in my chair like five seconds after i said i'd post this... (╥ᆺ╥；) also, idk when i'll get the time to post the other version. should be today, but no promises, cuz i apparently break those on the regular... anyway, this is the silly version of my prince!reader x kaiser idea, featuring, as promised, lots of pet names for kaiser, reader's flower aura power, and kaiser's soul leaving his body

Michael Kaiser first decides something is deeply, profoundly wrong with his life when he nearly eats shit on the stairs outside the athletics building.

It happens fast, bag slung over one shoulder, phone in hand, ego fully intact, until his foot catches the edge of a step and the universe decides to humble him.

He never actually hits the ground.

Instead, there’s an arm firm around his waist, steady and warm, pulling him back with surprising strength. Another hand grips the railing beside him, knuckles white with effort.

“Be careful, darling.”

Darling.

Kaiser freezes.

For half a second, he’s painfully aware of how close she is. Too close. Close enough that he can smell her shampoo, something light, floral, annoyingly pleasant. Close enough that if he turned his head even slightly, their noses would brush.

Then she lets go, stepping back as if she hasn’t just committed an act of emotional violence.

“You okay?” she asks, smiling. Bright. Easy. Like this is just… normal behavior.

Kaiser straightens, scowling reflexively. “I had it.”

“Mm,” she hums, clearly unconvinced. “Still. Falling down the stairs before practice would be a tragic way to go.”

She pats his arm once and walks off.

As she does, Kaiser swears—swears—that flowers bloom in her wake.

Not literally. That would be insane.

But the air around her feels… lighter. Like someone slapped a soft-focus filter over reality.

He stands there for a full ten seconds before Ness walks up beside him.

“…Did you just get saved like a damsel in distress? Is she your Prince Charming? Are you swooning now?” Ness asks.

Kaiser snaps, “Shut up.”

He comforts himself with a I'll never see her again and moves on with his life.

Or, well... he thought he did.

Instead—

It keeps happening.

Everywhere.

She crashes into him outside the library one afternoon, books clutched to her chest. The impact knocks the air from his lungs.

“Whoops- sorry, I didn’t mean to crash into you, beautiful. I'm in a bit of a rush.”

Beautiful.

Kaiser chokes. “I- what?”

She’s already kneeling, picking up the book he dropped. She hands it back with a grin, completely unbothered, completely sincere.

“No harm done,” she says, like she hasn’t just reprogrammed his brain chemistry.

And then she’s gone again, flowers in her wake, Kaiser staring at the spot she stood like it personally betrayed him.

The next time, it’s cold.

Unreasonably so. Late fall biting into early winter, wind sharp enough to cut. Kaiser’s outside the dorms, waiting for the team bus, arms crossed, refusing to admit he underestimated the weather.

She appears out of nowhere, coat slung loosely over one arm.

She takes one look at him and frowns.

“You’ll get cold, sweetheart.”

Before he can protest, the coat is draped around his shoulders. It’s warm. It smells like her.

“I don’t-” he starts.

She’s already stepping back, tugging her sleeves down against the cold. “There. Better.”

Kaiser stares at her, jaw tight. “I’m not fragile.”

She blinks, then laughs—soft, genuine. “I know.”

That somehow makes it worse.

Rainy night. Campus lights blurred and glowing, pavement slick. Kaiser’s got a big match the next day, and he’s sprinting back from the gym when the sky opens up without warning.

He curses under his breath—great, just what he needs.

Then—

“Michael!”

He turns. She’s running toward him, umbrella raised overhead like a knight charging into battle.

She stops in front of him, slightly out of breath. “Here. Take this.”

He blinks. “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine,” she says easily. “You have a game tomorrow. Can’t have you getting sick, precious.”

She presses the umbrella into his hand, fingers brushing his for half a second too long.

Kaiser’s heart stutters.

“You’re ridiculous,” he mutters.

She smiles like that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to her.

The drunkard happens outside a late-night convenience store.

Kaiser doesn’t even register the guy behind him until there’s a shout and the sound of stumbling feet.

Before he can turn—

She’s already behind him.

One arm shoots out, blocking the man’s unsteady swing with practiced ease. The other plants against Kaiser’s chest, pushing him back protectively.

“Hey,” she says firmly, calm but unyielding. “Not cool.”

The guy slurs something unintelligible before staggering off.

Kaiser just… stares.

She turns to him immediately, concern etched into her face. “Are you okay, angel?”

“…That's supposed to be my line,” he says weakly.

She tilts her head, smiling. “Looks like I beat you to it.”

Flowers. Everywhere. Practically choking him.

The final straw is the snacks.

He’s reviewing game footage in the student center, hands busy scrolling and jotting notes, when she plops down beside him with a bag of chips.

She eats a few, then pauses.

“Here. Have one.”

She holds one up to his mouth.

Kaiser gapes. “Absolutely not.”

“Your hands are full,” she says reasonably. “Open up.”

He should refuse.

He really should.

He opens his mouth. She feeds him the chip.

He dies instantly.

By the time Kaiser realizes what’s happening, it’s too late.

He’s offended—deeply. He is Michael Kaiser. A striker. An ego. A force of nature. An emperor. Not some delicate princess in need of rescuing.

And yet.

No one has ever looked at him like this.

Like he’s worth caring for. Worth protecting. Worth warmth and umbrellas and snacks and soft endearments whispered without irony.

One afternoon, he finally snaps.

“You do this to everyone,” he says, cornering her outside the quad. Accusatory. Defensive.

She gives a mildly confused hum.

“This whole prince shtick of yours!” he spits out.

She thinks for a moment. “Oh! I guess so.”

“…Why?”

She smiles at him, gentle and bright and devastating. “Because everyone deserves a little kindness.”

Something in his chest caves.

Flowers bloom. Entire goddamn gardens. He can't see anything beyond her annoyingly perfect face.

Kaiser exhales, defeated. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

She laughs. “Am I?”

He looks at her, really looks, and realizes he’s already fallen.

Prince Charming indeed.

And somehow, impossibly, Michael Kaiser is the one being swept away.

The realization settles in at the worst possible time.

Kaiser’s sitting on the grass near the quad, cleats off, socks half-peeled, ego already bruised from practice. She’s beside him, sharing a drink, legs stretched out, humming softly like the world hasn’t personally wronged her today.

Flowers. Again. Always.

He’s just accepted that this is his life now when she suddenly straightens, like she’s come to a decision.

“Hey, Michael?”

He looks over. Big mistake.

The sunset hits her just right. Golden light, warm smile, that stupid princely calm that makes his heart do that all-too-familiar-now flip-floppy twirling thing in his chest.

“Yes?” he says cautiously.

She turns fully toward him. “Would you like to go out with me?”

Silence.

Actual, physical silence.

Kaiser’s brain bluescreens.

“…Go out,” he repeats faintly.

“Mm-hm,” she says, nodding. “Like a date.”

“...With me?” He's so sure this is some sort of delusion, a hallucination his finals-fried brain has cooked up to deliver the final blow to his psyche.

“Yeah,” she responds, cheer lighting up her face. More flowers bloom. “I like you.”

Nope. Not even his delusions could conjure up this level of flower aura, sun-shining, sweetly worded bullshit. Wait- Holy shit- Does that mean this is... real? His spine locks up. “I- hold on. You can’t just- ask me out.”

She blinks. “Why not?”

“Be-because I’m supposed to-” He gestures vaguely, desperately. “My dignity- my image- this is completely backwards!”

She listens patiently, hands folded in her lap, eyes soft.

When he runs out of steam, she smiles.

“Is that a no?”

His face detonates.

“No!” he snaps immediately, then recoils. “I mean- yes- no- ugh.”

He drags a hand down his face. He can feel the heat creeping up his neck, into his ears, absolutely humiliating. “You’re impossible,” he mutters. “You make me look like some flustered idiot.”

“You’re very cute when you’re flustered,” she says gently.

That does it.

Kaiser turns fully red. Not dignified red. Not sexy red. Embarrassed, emotionally compromised, full bloom rose red.

“…Fine,” he grits out. “Yes. I’ll go out with you. Happy?”

She lights up.

No. Lights up is an understatement.

She positively beams, smile so bright it feels like the sun personally descended to smite him. Kaiser squints, genuinely overwhelmed, heart pounding like it’s trying to escape.

Flowers erupt. A full-blown visual novel CG.

He leans back on his hands, dizzy. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “You’re going to kill me one day.”

She laughs, delighted, takes his hand into hers, and gives it a kiss, eyes never leaving his. She looks straight out of a fairytale. “Promise I’ll take good care of you.”

Oh fuck. She knows exactly what this does to me. Kaiser swallows.

“…I’m never getting used to this,” he mutters, already lost.

And somehow—somehow—he doesn’t want to.

[silverwings920]

okay, so i was watching "In the Clear Moonlit Dusk" (i've been one hell of a shoujo kick lately & i'm li.ving.) when i decided i wanted to write a fem!prince!reader x kaiser (still a dude btw), but i ended up taking two different routes with the idea, and i can't decide which i like better, so...

(more details under the read more)

which one should i post?

silly version (shorter & somewhat ooc & 100% fluff)

serious-ish version (longer w/ a bit of angst, ends happy tho, promise)

both, both is good (i alr wrote out both btw, just haven't done edits yet)

neither, this is a stupid af concept (plz don't choose this—validate my ideas 😭)

Voting ended onJan 13

idk how much this tells you abt anything, bc i'm trying to avoid plot spoilers while still conveying vibe & idk how well i did, but-

silly version includes:

reader calls kaiser lots of different pet names (darling, sweetheart, beautiful, etc.)

reader has a flower aura (like the thing in anime that pops up when people r especially dashing)

kaiser getting emotionally and literally flash-banged in the final scene

relatively serious version includes:

reader is more toned down in this version, but is the always helpful, encouraging type

kaiser has a lot more introspection on his feelings and shit (and unfortunately gets in his head abt things)

features his issues w/ the concept of love...

tears of happiness!!!

[silverwings920]

holy, well alright then ig. thank goodness i put both as an option bc y’all r literally 1:1 w which version y’all prefer to see

i did actually check progress earlier today & saw this coming so the shorter silly one will come out in a moment. the longer one will prob take another hr to finish editing, i think?

i hope everyone enjoys whichever ones they were looking forward to (& that i didn’t set expectations to high…)

[silverwings920]

okay, so i was watching "In the Clear Moonlit Dusk" (i've been one hell of a shoujo kick lately & i'm li.ving.) when i decided i wanted to write a fem!prince!reader x kaiser (still a dude btw), but i ended up taking two different routes with the idea, and i can't decide which i like better, so...

(more details under the read more)

which one should i post?

silly version (shorter & somewhat ooc & 100% fluff)

serious-ish version (longer w/ a bit of angst, ends happy tho, promise)

both, both is good (i alr wrote out both btw, just haven't done edits yet)

neither, this is a stupid af concept (plz don't choose this—validate my ideas 😭)

Voting ended onJan 13

idk how much this tells you abt anything, bc i'm trying to avoid plot spoilers while still conveying vibe & idk how well i did, but-

silly version includes:

reader calls kaiser lots of different pet names (darling, sweetheart, beautiful, etc.)

reader has a flower aura (like the thing in anime that pops up when people r especially dashing)

kaiser getting emotionally and literally flash-banged in the final scene

relatively serious version includes:

reader is more toned down in this version, but is the always helpful, encouraging type

kaiser has a lot more introspection on his feelings and shit (and unfortunately gets in his head abt things)

features his issues w/ the concept of love...

tears of happiness!!!

[silverwings920]

Scissors were Considered

a/n: every single day, i wake up and argue with myself abt whether or not i like kaiser's hair. most days, it's a yes, obviously, even despite my quibbles, bc he looks so damn good with that fucking haircut, devil smirk, tattooed eyeliner, etc. etc. but i've been going through a streak of bemoaning the loss of his bm tryouts' hair days, so yh, this is me fighting my temptations

Michael Kaiser knows two immutable truths about you.

One: you are pathologically obsessed with long hair. Flowing hair. Pretty hair. Hair that looks like it belongs in a slow-motion shampoo commercial. If it’s long enough to tangle around your fingers, you are already emotionally compromised.

Two: you think his haircut is a crime against humanity.

Not him. Never him. Michael Kaiser himself is, unfortunately, devastating. Beautiful. A walking brand deal for arrogance. But his hair—his stupid, layered, ombre-dyed, slightly mullet-adjacent, rat-tailed hairstyle—is, in your words:

“Horrible. No good. Deeply offensive. How are you still able to pull it off.”

You tell him this often. Lovingly.

“Be specific,” Kaiser says one afternoon, sprawled across the couch like a bored emperor, head tipped back dramatically over the armrest. “Which part of my magnificence wounds you today?”

You stand behind him, arms crossed, staring down at his hair like it personally wronged you.

“The back,” you say immediately. “The back of your head is committing sins. Those little-” you make a vague scissoring motion with your fingers, face twisted in mock anguish, “-rat tails? Disgusting.”

Kaiser hums, amused. “You say that every time.”

“And every time it’s true.”

You lean closer, squinting. “I could fix it. You know. Just a tiny snip.”

He snaps upright so fast you almost headbutt him. “Absolutely not.”

“I would never,” you protest, hands up. “I’m just saying. Hypothetically. If I were a braver person. With scissors.”

“You are banned from hypotheticals.”

You sigh theatrically. “It’s just- God. You have such nice hair. Why would you do this to it?”

Kaiser grins, smug and unrepentant. “Because you keep looking at it.”

You freeze.

“…I do not.”

He leans in closer, voice low and teasing. “You do. Every time. Like you’re deciding whether to kiss me or fight my barber.”

Your face heats. “Shut up.”

He laughs, full, bright, unbearably pleased, and turns away again, settling back into his sprawl.

And that’s when the urge hits.

It’s not malicious. It’s not violent. It’s simply this: his hair is right there. Long enough to grab. Soft enough to tug. Perfectly, tragically—

YANK-able.

Before your brain can file a formal objection, your hand is already moving.

You grab a fistful of his hair and tug.

Kaiser yelps.

“HEY- what the hell?!”

“You know why,” you say serenely.

He twists around, eyes wide, scandalized. “Why would you do that?!”

“Because,” you say, deadpan, “it’s so damn yank-able.”

There’s a beat.

Then Kaiser splutters. “That is NOT a reason!”

“It is to me.”

“You’re insane!”

“You love me.”

“I am being assaulted in my own home!”

“You were fine five seconds ago.”

Kaiser reaches back protectively, smoothing his hair down with exaggerated care. “This is retaliation for rejecting your rat-tail propaganda, isn’t it?”

You smile sweetly. “I would never.”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re thinking about cutting it again.”

“No,” you say. Then, honest but tragic: “I’m thinking about how good it would look if you didn’t have the rat tails.”

“That’s it,” he declares. “I’m tying it up.”

You gasp. “Don’t you dare.”

He pauses mid-motion, elastic halfway stretched between his fingers. “Oh?”

“You know I like it down.”

Kaiser smirks. “So you admit it.”

“I like long hair,” you correct quickly. “On anyone. Everyone looks better with longer hair. It’s not about you.”

“Mmm.” He lets the elastic snap against his wrist. “Funny how it’s only my hair you keep touching.”

“That’s because you put it in my line of sight!”

“You yanked it.”

“You provoked me by existing with that haircut.”

He laughs again, softer this time, and shifts closer until his knees bump yours. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re the one with the mullet-adjacent situation.”

“Say that again,” he threatens mildly.

You reach out, fingers brushing through his hair—gentler now, combing through the strands like you’re petting something dangerous but beloved.

“…It is really soft,” you admit.

Kaiser preens instantly. “Obviously.”

“But still atrocious.”

He groans. “Why are you like this?”

You grin. “Because if I don’t yank it, I might actually grab scissors.”

He stiffens. “…You wouldn’t.”

“See?” You give one last, playful tug—not enough to hurt, just enough to make your point. “This is me being responsible.”

Kaiser stares at you, then bursts out laughing, collapsing against your shoulder.

“You’re impossible,” he says, fond despite himself.

You rest your chin on his head, smiling into his hair. “And yet.”

“…If you cut it while I’m asleep,” he adds, voice muffled, “I will behead you.”

You hum. “Worth it.”

He snorts, looping an arm around your waist and tugging you closer this time.

“Touch it again,” he murmurs, smug. “But try not to commit a felony.”

No promises.

[silverwings920]

Eyes on You, Pretty Boy

a/n: idk what to even say abt this, i just think that there are so many pretty boys in this series, sue me. like, head empty, no thoughts, just pretty, pretty, pretty, and you get whatever this is ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ also, i wonder if i'll ever not be biased when i write... though ig i was losing steam by the time i got to ness, sry (oh, and lmk if you want me to do anyone else. i might even go back and do better on the last few?)

Michael Kaiser — Only Look at Me

The park is empty in the way only late nights can manage, lamps humming softly, paths washed silver by moonlight, the distant sound of a city that hasn’t quite gone to sleep yet.

Kaiser walks like he owns it anyway.

Hands in his pockets, posture lazy but deliberate, blue eyes sharp even in the dark. You trail half a step behind, mostly because you’re distracted.

Again.

He catches you mid-stare without even turning around.

“…Are you going to keep pretending you aren’t doing that,” he drawls, “or should I turn around and give you a better view?”

You scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He stops. Slowly turns. One brow lifts, smug already curling his mouth.

“You’ve been staring at me for three minutes,” Kaiser says. “I counted.”

“Creepy.”

“Observant,” he corrects. “There’s a difference.”

You cross your arms, gaze still unapologetically fixed on him. “Maybe I just like the scenery.”

He steps closer, boots echoing softly against the path. Too close. Intentionally so.

“Of course, you do,” he says, tilting his head. “Look at me. I’m breathtaking.”

“Modest, too.”

“Painfully.” His grin sharpens. “Go on. Feed my ego. I know you want to.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You really never get tired of this, do you?”

“Why would I?” Kaiser leans down slightly, bringing himself into your line of sight. “You keep looking.”

He gestures vaguely to himself. “The hair? Immaculate. The build? Clearly superior. The tattoos?” He taps his arm. “Art. The jawline?”

“—is obnoxiously sharp,” you interrupt.

“Carved by destiny.”

“You forgot the nose.”

His smile freezes for half a second.

“Oh?” he prompts.

You smirk. “Isagi might be onto something. Big clown energy.”

The reaction is immediate and dramatic.

“Yoichi?” Kaiser laughs, loud and derisive, throwing his head back. “He's the clown. A court jester. A bumbling buffoon dancing for attention at the Emperor’s feet.”

“You’re so normal about him.”

“He should be grateful I acknowledge his existence at all.”

You hum thoughtfully. “Funny. He lives rent-free in your head.”

Kaiser clicks his tongue and reaches out, fingers hooking lightly at your waist to pull you closer. Not rough. Familiar. Intimate.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “You’re treading dangerous ground.”

“And yet,” you say, hands resting against his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady and warm beneath your palms, “you haven’t let go.”

His grip tightens just a little.

The banter fizzles naturally, the air between you softening as the night stretches on. You don’t even realize you’ve gone quiet until he notices.

“…What now?” Kaiser asks, less sharp this time.

You hesitate. Just a second.

“I stare because you’re pretty,” you say softly. “I can’t help it.”

The word lands differently than all the teasing before it.

Kaiser stills.

No grin. No boast. His thumb lifts, tilting your chin up gently until your eyes meet his.

For once, he doesn’t perform.

“…Good,” he says, voice low and sincere. “Then keep doing it.”

He presses his forehead to yours, breath warm, presence grounding.

“Out of everyone,” he murmurs, “I want your eyes on me.”

The park remains quiet around you—empty, unnoticed.

And for Kaiser, that’s more than enough.

Nagi Seishirou — Center of Attention

Nagi’s weight is familiar.

Heavy in the way that feels earned, by trust, by habit, by the unspoken agreement that this is where he belongs. You’re settled on the couch with him sprawled across you, long legs stretched out, your back against the armrest. He’s half in your lap, half molded to your front, controller loose in his hands.

The room glows softly from the TV.

Game sounds fill the air, movement, quiet intensity, but Nagi himself is relaxed, head tucked into the crook of your neck like it’s muscle memory.

Your fingers drift into his hair without thinking.

It’s soft. Always softer than you expect.

“Whatcha doin’?” he mumbles, voice low and lazy, eyes never leaving the screen.

You smile, carding your fingers through the pale strands. “Looking at you.”

A pause. A hum.

“…Why?”

“Because you’re pretty,” you say easily. “Pretty baby.”

Another hum. Deeper this time. Content.

“Mmm. ’Kay,” he says. “Keep doin’ it.”

You do.

Your thumb traces lazy circles at his scalp, nails lightly scratching in a way that makes him sink further into you. You press a kiss to the side of his face, then another—soft, unhurried, like there’s nowhere else you need to be.

He misses a timing window. The character on-screen stumbles.

You notice. He does too.

He doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he shifts his weight so he’s more fully on you, cheek pressing into your collarbone, controller resting against his thigh now instead of held with focus.

“You’re distracting me,” he says, tone utterly devoid of complaint.

“Am I?” you ask, kissing along his jaw.

“Mmm.” He nudges his face closer to your neck. “It's fine. Worth it.”

You laugh quietly and keep going, peppering kisses along his cheek, the corner of his mouth, the place just below his ear that makes him sigh without realizing it.

The game continues in the background, half-played, half-forgotten.

You watch him instead.

The slow rise and fall of his chest. The way his lashes rest against his cheeks. The complete lack of self-consciousness, how he lets you look, lets you touch, lets you linger.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs after a while.

“Yeah.”

“Again?”

“Always.”

He shifts just enough to tilt his head, pressing a lazy kiss to your jaw in return. Brief. Soft. Unforced.

“…Feels nice,” he admits. “Being what you’re lookin’ at.”

Your heart tightens a little at that.

“You are,” you say. “My favorite thing.”

He hums, satisfied, and finally lets the controller slip from his hand entirely. It clatters softly to the couch, abandoned without ceremony.

Nagi relaxes fully into you, attention claimed, claimed willingly.

Itoshi Sae — Yes, I Heard You

Sae likes quiet.

Not silence—quiet. The low hum of the room, the scratch of his pen, the faint click of his tablet as he scrolls through footage and formations. It’s late, and the world has finally slowed enough to stop crowding his thoughts.

You, unfortunately, are not helping.

You’re sprawled nearby, chin in your hands, eyes fixed squarely on him.

“You’re so pretty, baby.”

He doesn’t look up.

You know he heard you. You always do.

The pen pauses for half a second before moving again.

You smile to yourself. “You really are, you know.”

“Mm,” Sae says absently, eyes still on the screen.

You tilt your head. “That’s not an answer.”

“Yes, it is.”

You laugh quietly and scoot closer, resting your shoulder lightly against his arm. “I said you’re pretty.”

“Yes,” he replies evenly. “I heard you the first time.”

“Mmm. Good.”

He finally glances at you then, just briefly. Calm expression. Neutral mouth. Absolutely unreadable.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to memorize me.”

You don’t deny it.

His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly as he returns to his screen. But you catch it: the faint color creeping up his cheeks, the way his ears betray him every single time.

You giggle, quiet but unmistakable.

“…Stop,” Sae says, tone flat.

You lean closer instead.

“No.”

He exhales through his nose, pen tapping once against the table. “You’re distracting.”

“And yet,” you murmur, eyes tracing the familiar lines of his face, “you haven’t told me to leave.”

He doesn’t respond immediately.

When he does, his voice is softer. “Don’t get the wrong idea.”

You reach up, thumb brushing just beneath his jaw, light, fleeting. He stills at the contact.

“Oh, I have the right idea,” you say. “You like when I look at you.”

Silence.

Then, quietly: “…You’re finished staring.”

You don’t move.

He sighs, finally setting the pen aside. His forehead dips forward until it rests against yours, brief, grounding, intimate.

“…Five minutes,” he mutters. “Then I’m working again.”

You smile, victorious.

They’re the best five minutes of his night.

Itoshi Rin — Hold the Pose

Rin’s breathing is steady.

Slow inhale. Slower exhale. Muscles engaged, balance perfect as he holds the stretch with practiced ease. The living room is quiet except for the faint rustle of fabric and the muted sounds of the city outside.

You’re sitting on the floor nearby.

Staring.

He knows you are. He always knows.

“…What are you looking at?” Rin snaps, even though he hasn’t turned his head.

You smile to yourself. “You.”

He exhales sharply through his nose. “Tch. Obviously.”

This happens all the time. Usually, you say something predictable, like you work so hard, or you look cool like this, or, when you’re feeling particularly daring, you look hot.

He’s prepared for those.

What he’s not prepared for is—

“You’re really pretty, babe. You know that?”

Disaster.

Rin’s balance falters instantly. His foot slips, posture breaking as he stumbles forward with a sharp curse, barely catching himself on his hands.

“…Shit.”

You burst out laughing.

“That was unfair,” he mutters, scrambling back into position, face already burning red.

“Unfair?” you tease. “It was a compliment.”

He pointedly avoids looking at you, jaw tight as he resets his stance. “You didn’t have to say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like-” He cuts himself off, shoulders tense. “…Like that.”

You scoot closer, resting your chin in your hands as you watch him regain his composure. “Surely I’m not the only one who’s told you you’re pretty before.”

“…I don’t care about that,” he says quickly.

“Oh?”

“I care when you-” He stops, scowls, and mutters, “…I like it when you think I’m cool more.”

Your smile softens.

“Well,” you say gently, “you’re cool too.”

He visibly relaxes, just a fraction.

Then you add, sweet and deliberate, “My pretty boy.”

Rin’s face heats up all over again.

He holds the pose this time, barely, but his ears are bright red, and his breathing is definitely not as steady as before.

“…You’re unbelievable,” he mutters.

“And you’re adorable,” you reply.

He doesn’t fall over again.

But he doesn’t tell you to stop looking either.

Alexis Ness — Overheat Warning

BM’s training pitch is loud today.

Cleats on turf, sharp calls, the rhythmic thud of the ball moving back and forth. You’re seated just off to the side, legs crossed, watching with casual interest, until a familiar head of curls comes jogging over during a break.

Ness looks flushed, sweat clinging to his temples, eyes bright from the adrenaline.

He barely has time to slow down before you smile at him.

“You’re so pretty, Lexie.”

He stops dead.

“…Huh?”

His face goes red instantly. Not a subtle blush. Full, catastrophic, spreading fast.

“You- why- what kind of greeting is that?!” he sputters, hands flying up uselessly.

You tilt your head, delighted. “A truthful one?”

“Oh my god- please- don’t say it like that so casually-”

“Like what?” you interrupt sweetly. “That your eyes are really pretty when they’re all lit up like this?”

His ears burn. “S-Stop-!”

“And your hair’s doing that thing,” you continue, gesturing vaguely, “where it curls more when you’re sweaty, which is unfair, by the way.”

“I’m going to die,” Ness whimpers, clutching his chest. “You can’t just do this to me before I have to go back out there-”

You grin. “Relax. You’re practically a tomato now.”

“I am not-!”

“You are,” you say cheerfully. “A very pretty one.”

He lets out a strangled sound and turns away, pacing in a tiny frantic circle like that might help cool him down.

“Please- just-just stop complimenting me, or I swear I’m going to overheat.”

You hum thoughtfully, pretending to consider it.

“…Okay,” you say at last.

He visibly sags in relief. “Thank you-”

“But only because you’re just so pretty I can’t have you leaving me, Nessie-boo,” you finish brightly.

He freezes.

Then makes a small, helpless noise that sounds suspiciously like a whimper before bolting back toward the pitch, face still bright red, curls bouncing wildly as he goes.

You watch him for a moment, smiling to yourself. Awww... You were hoping he'd stay a moment longer.

Still—

Worth it.

Kurona Ranze — Neatly Braided

Your day off is supposed to be lazy.

The kind where time stretches soft and slow, the TV murmuring quietly in the background while the real focus of the afternoon waddles across the couch on tiny feet.

“Careful, Pocari-”

Too late.

The hedgehog teeters dangerously close to the edge, and Kurona reacts instantly, practically rolling off the couch to catch him. He lands awkwardly but victorious, cradling the little one safely against his chest.

“…Gotcha,” he murmurs.

You laugh, relief bubbling out of you. “Heroic save.”

Kurona sits back up, carefully setting Pocari between you again. When he does, you notice it—his braid has loosened, a few strands escaping, framing his face in a way that’s softer than usual.

You reach out without thinking. “Your braid’s messy.”

He glances up, then smiles, bright and easy. “Can you fix it?”

“Of course.”

He turns slightly, settling between your knees without hesitation. It’s familiar, comfortable—like this has happened a hundred times before.

Your fingers move gently, smoothing and gathering his hair, twisting it back into its usual neat pattern. He sits still, shoulders relaxed, trust evident in every line of him.

Offhandedly, you murmur, “You’re really pretty like this.”

Kurona’s breath hitches, just barely.

“…Yeah?” he asks, a little shy.

“Yeah.”

His ears warm, but he smiles anyway, tilting his head just enough to make your job easier.

When you finish, he turns back to you, eyes soft. “You’re pretty too, too,” he says, simple and sincere.

Pocari squeaks between you, and Kurona laughs quietly, scooping him up.

“Guess he agrees.”

You smile, warmth blooming in your chest.

It’s a good day.

Chigiri Hyouma — Handled With Care

The bathroom is warm with steam, mirror slightly fogged from Chigiri’s shower. Soft light catches in the long strands of his hair as he works product through it, movements practiced and patient.

“You’re so pretty,” you say. Again. For what must be the millionth time since you'd met. It was the first thing you'd ever told him.

He laughs softly, not even glancing your way. “You’ve mentioned.”

You lean against the counter, watching him like it’s your favorite pastime. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of saying it.”

“Good,” he replies easily. “Neither will I.”

He hands you the brush without ceremony. Trust, offered freely.

“The back, please.”

Your fingers are careful, reverent as you work through his hair, slow and precise. “Thanks for letting me do this,” you murmur. “I know it matters to you.”

Chigiri meets your eyes in the mirror, smile softening. “It does. That’s why I let you.”

You finish and step back, admiring your work. “All done.”

He turns, cupping your cheek briefly. “I care about you,” he says simply. “Of course I trust you.” He punctuates the statement with a small peck.

Then his grin turns playful. “Now sit.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Your turn,” he says, already reaching for his own products. “Fair’s fair.”

You laugh, settling in front of him as he begins his work with the same care you gave him.

“Guess I’m in good hands,” you say.

He hums, pleased. “Always.”

Mikage Reo — For My Eyes Only

Reo doesn’t bother fixing himself before he comes in.

He drops his bag by the door, shoulders slumped, hair damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead. His shirt clings slightly, wrinkled from a long day, tie loosened and forgotten.

You look up from the couch and smile.

“You’re really pretty.”

He blinks, caught completely off guard. “Oh. Wow.” A small laugh leaves him. “That’s new.”

He steps closer, amused and curious. “You don’t even get like this when I’m all dressed up for events. Makeup perfected, suit tailored, the whole nine yards.”

You shrug, fond. “You’re pretty then, too. That’s society-pretty.”

“Society-pretty,” he repeats, amused.

“But this?” You gesture to him, tired, real, and unguarded. “This is pretty for my eyes only.”

Reo stops.

Just… stops.

For a moment, he looks stunned, processing. Then his expression softens into something warm and sincere, the kind he rarely lets anyone see.

He glances at you, your comfortable clothes, hair undone, entirely yourself.

“…You’re pretty like this too,” he says quietly. “Relaxed. Real.”

He smiles, thoughtful now. “How about I get us matching loungewear?”

You laugh. “What brought this on?”

“For pretty pair perfection,” he says, utterly serious despite the wording.

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering there just a second longer than necessary.

“You see me,” he adds softly. “I like that.”

[silverwings920]

Three Squeezes and the Weight of Words

a/n: sorry, that i haven't rly been posting to lately. i've had like a million ideas, but a horrible case of, ig writer's block, but like in the sense of i know what i want to write, it's just that when it comes to putting pen to paper, nothing comes out the way i desire... anyway, i was feeling a little soft and fluffy at the moment, so here's a little something while i figure out if i'm actually going to continue my wips or not lol

Kaiser is good with declarations when they’re shouted.

On the pitch, he spits them like bullets—mine, watch me, kneel. Ego wrapped in gold and thorns, sharp enough to cut through stadium noise. Those words come easily, instinctively, born from a place he knows how to stand in.

But I love you is a different creature entirely.

It doesn’t roar. It doesn’t demand. It just… sits there. Heavy. Warm. Vulnerable.

It crawls up his throat at the worst times: when you’re half-asleep against his shoulder, when you hum while folding laundry, when you look at him like you already understand the parts he never learned how to explain. The words press behind his teeth, crowd his chest, surround him like a hug he doesn’t know how to return.

So he swallows them.

Again. And again.

You notice, of course. You always do.

It’s a quiet evening when it happens. No rush, no tension, just the two of you on the couch, your legs tangled, his hand resting loosely over yours. The TV murmurs something neither of you is watching.

Kaiser’s thumb drags along your knuckles, restless. He exhales through his nose, jaw tight, eyes fixed on nothing.

“You’re thinking loud,” you say gently.

He huffs a breath that might be a laugh. “Am I?”

“Mmhmm.”

Silence stretches. Comfortable. Familiar. Still, there’s something sitting between you, unspoken but very much alive.

You shift slightly, turning your hand in his so your palms align. He stiffens, just a little, like he’s bracing.

“Can I tell you something?” you ask.

Kaiser nods.

“When I was a kid,” you begin, “my parents weren’t… big on saying things out loud. Especially not feelings.”

His grip tightens almost imperceptibly.

“But they had this thing,” you continue. “If they wanted to say I love you, without saying it, they’d squeeze each other’s hand. Three times.”

You demonstrate, gently pressing into his palm.

Squeeze. Squeeze. Squeeze.

His breath catches.

“Three,” you murmur. “For the words.”

You don’t look at him when you add, “It helped. When the words felt too big.”

For a heartbeat, nothing happens.

Then, almost reflexively, his fingers curl.

Squeeze. Squeeze. Squeeze.

It’s firm. Uneven. Like he’s afraid you’ll miss it if he doesn’t put his whole soul into the motion.

You look up at him then.

Kaiser’s eyes are wide, bright, stunned by himself. His lips part, then press together, emotion flashing naked across his face before he can armor it back up.

“Oh,” he exhales, somewhere between awe and relief. “That’s-”

He cuts himself off. Shakes his head. Tries again.

Instead of words, he squeezes your hand three more times.

You smile, slow and soft, and squeeze back. Three times.

Something settles in his chest after that. Not gone, never gone, but bearable. Contained. Like finally finding a place to set down something he’s been carrying alone.

From then on, it starts happening everywhere.

Sometimes it is your hands—his fingers lacing with yours as you walk, squeezing three times when he thinks you’re not paying attention. Sometimes twice in a row, just to be sure.

Sometimes it’s the wall.

You’ll be in the kitchen when you hear it: three sharp taps from the entryway.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your lips curve before you even turn. “Welcome home,” you call.

He appears in the doorway, coat half-off, blue eyes softer than he ever lets the world see.

Sometimes it’s his arms.

He’ll come up behind you, threading himself around your waist, burying his face in your shoulder. His embrace tightens—

Once. Twice. Three times.

Like punctuation. Like a promise.

And sometimes, when he’s feeling bold, or reckless, or especially overwhelmed with it all, it’s your name.

He’ll say it quietly. Reverently.

“Hey,” you’ll respond.

He swallows. Tries to stop himself.

Fails.

Your name. Your name. Your name.

Each one softer than the last.

The kisses come later.

At first it’s careful—three kisses, pressed to the same spot on your cheek, like he’s testing the rules. Then three to your temple. Three to your jaw.

And then he forgets himself.

Three turns into six, into ten, into breathless laughter against your skin as he chases the feeling wherever it blooms. As if making up for every time the words never made it past his lips.

One night, curled together in bed, you trace idle shapes over his chest. His eyes are half-lidded, peaceful in a way that still feels new on him.

You squeeze his hand.

Three times.

He doesn’t hesitate this time.

He squeezes back.

Three times.

Then, quietly—so quietly it barely disturbs the air—he adds, “I’m learning.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“I know,” you say.

And in the space between your hands, where words are no longer required, Kaiser loves you in every way he finally knows how.