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hainge · 1 month ago

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Sixth bullet: Timed too well

cowboy!kaiser x fem!reader

part 6 (wc 6.7k) from Silver Bullets and Stolen Hearts

part V part VII

warnings: MDNI!!!, little angst, strong language, abuse, human rights violated, gun usage, violence, blood, slaughter, fire, mention of characters death

“I’ve been planning something,” your father said quietly, voice low as if confessing a sin more than making an announcement.

He moved slowly, dragging out one of the kitchen chairs with a soft scrape against the floorboards. He gestured for you to sit across from him, and though confusion furrowed your brow, you obeyed.

“Planning… what exactly?” you asked, watching him carefully.

He looked down, one hand rubbing his jaw. There was a long pause, thick with whatever weight he was carrying in his chest. Then finally, he exhaled.

“We’re moving,” he said.

“…Moving?” you echoed, blinking once, not sure you heard him right.

He gave a short nod. “Yes… in a few days. Five, to be exact. I just got the chance to tell you now.”

You didn’t speak right away, not because you were upset, but because something fluttered in your chest, a light, breathless excitement that caught you off guard. It rose faster than you expected, leaving a ghost of a smile you couldn’t quite hide.

Your father caught it. His own face softened with a gentle smile, worn at the corners with age and fatigue. “I want better for us, Y/N. Truly. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. You’ve got a fire in you, something bright.You deserve a future, a real one.”

That softened you more than you expected. You looked down at your hands for a moment, your lips curving just slightly, and that was enough for him.

“Where are we going exactly?” you asked.

He leaned back a little in the chair, pride gleaming faintly in his eyes. “The city of Gotham,” he said, smiling.

You paused. “…Wait. Gotham? You mean New York? No. No, Dad, you’re joking.”

He shook his head slowly. “I ain’t. Gotham City, Y/N. Right across the damn country. That’s where we’re headed.”

Your breath hitched slightly, and you stared at him as if he’d just said he bought a piece of the moon. New York. All the way east. The place you’d only ever read about or heard in the chatter of travelers passing through town. A place of carriages and steamships, of galleries and stone buildings tall enough to scrape the clouds.

Your father let out a small laugh. “Come on now, don’t look at me like I just pulled a rabbit from a boot. It’s real. And it’s happenin’. We’re leavin’ this town in five days.”

And for the first time in a long while, the kitchen didn’t feel so quiet.

It felt full of possibility.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you whispered.

Your father waved it off with a small shrug. “It’s alright. You don’t have to say anything. Just start gettin’ your bags together. You got five days.”

You didn’t even try to hide the excitement that burst in your chest. You pushed back your chair and stood up so quickly it scraped loud across the floor.

But then, he stopped you.

“One thing, though,” he added, and your feet stalled mid-step. “We won’t be travelin’ alone.”

“…Wait, what?” you said slowly, your brows pulling together.

“There’ll be others. A few folks from around here, some from nearby towns. They’ll be comin’ with us.”

Your voice rose before you could stop it. “Why? Why them?”

“Mind your tone,” he said calmly, though his gaze carried a note of warning.

“Sorry,” you muttered, lowering your eyes. You were still standing, your excitement tangled now with something else.

He exhaled through his nose and rubbed the back of his neck. “The attacks, Y/N. Out here in Texas they’re gettin’ worse. There’s been raids… outlaws, trouble along the borders. Some families are takin’ the chance to get out while they still can. My old trailmates are gonna ride with us for protection.”

“…What?” The single word left your mouth dry.

Your mind raced to the letter, the strange timing. Of course it made sense now, of course. Evacuation. Quiet warnings. Plans unfolding just beneath your nose.

“You might even get the chance to talk to Michael again,” he added casually, though there was something unreadable in his eyes.

“What? No, come on! I thought it was gonna be just us. You and me!”

He frowned, slow and stern. “Y/N… don’t be selfish.”

“Selfish?” you repeated, stunned. “How is that selfish? I don’t even understand what this all means!”

But the words weren’t born of logic.

Your stomach twisted.

Your father looked at you with steady patience, though the edge of concern tugged at his jaw. “You think I’m hiding somethin’ from you?”

“I-” You froze. No. You couldn’t mention the card. If he found out you had gone through his things, there’d be no forgiving that. No understanding.

“…No. I don’t.”

He held your gaze for a moment longer, then nodded. “Then why the fuss? Why the overreaction? These people are doin’ what’s best for them. And truth is, it’ll make the journey safer for all of us. You may not see it now, but this is how we get through.”

You couldn’t argue. Not really. But you hated the way your body sank into itself. The way you felt like something important was slipping through your fingers and you couldn’t say why.

Your shoulders dropped, and your mouth formed no words. You only sulked as your father stood and left the room, leaving behind a quiet that felt far too loud.

“I know it hasn’t been a good day for you, and I’m sorry,” your father said gently. “Y/N, like I told you, I want the best for you. But I also want the best for other people.”

“Okay, I understand,” you cut him off, your voice sharp and clipped.

You didn’t wait for another word. Your boots hit the steps hard, each stomp echoing up the narrow staircase. Behind you, your father let out a slow sigh, raising his brows in a silent, weary gesture, as if to say Lord, give me patience.

Inside your room, the door shut behind you with a thud. You didn’t breathe. You didn’t think. You just acted.

In one harsh sweep, you cleared your table, everything crashing to the wooden floor. The box Kaiser had given you, the canvas, the brushes, the ribbon, the gold earrings… all of it tumbled down like they meant nothing. Maybe something cracked. Maybe something bent. You didn’t look. You didn’t care.

Your body felt too small to hold all this chaos. Rage. Sadness. Confusion. Your heart had been pulled in so many directions today, it felt like a splintered bone waiting to snap.

With a grunt, you slammed both fists down on the table, the impact shaking through your arms and up into your shoulders.

“He’s hiding,” you muttered under your breath, chest heaving. “They’re hiding.”

You weren’t just talking about your father anymore. You were talking about all of them. The men he rode with. That so-called cowboy circle who always knew more than they let on. The way they spoke in glances, shared secrets in plain sight. You weren’t stupid. Not anymore.

And worst of all, you had forgotten. Forgotten the very first thing you wanted to do when you left the table downstairs. You had wanted to see Kaiser. You were ready to chase him down, to demand more than a letter, more than a box of apologies.

But now?

Now your mind was swimming in things too heavy to hold. Questions. Regrets. Things unsaid. And the weight of it was dragging you under.

You sank down onto the bed, still shaking.

Everything felt unreal. You didn’t know who to trust. You didn’t even know what to feel anymore. It was too much.

So you did the only thing you could.

You curled beneath your blanket and let the silence swallow you.

You closed your eyes.

Let this day be over. Just let it end.

And with that final thought, the world slipped into darkness. "Y/N..." "Y/Nnnnn..." "Y/N!" "Y/N!"

You shot up with a sharp gasp, your hand instinctively clutched to your chest as your eyes flicked around the room, breath shallow. The morning light spilled in through the curtains in soft yellow streaks, dust dancing lazily in the beam. Your ears strained.

“Umm…?” you mumbled groggily, still half-lost in sleep. "Who the hell was calling me..."

Silence. Just the early sounds of life outside, the clatter of a passing wagon, a distant dog barking, the murmur of wind brushing the windowpane.

You rubbed your eyes, trying to ground yourself, then looked down, only to see the chaotic mess on the floor. Everything from your desk, tossed in a storm of emotion just hours ago, still lay scattered. The brushes, pencils… even the small golden earrings glinting faintly beneath a crumpled sketchbook.

"Seven a.m.," you muttered to yourself, catching sight of the small, ticking clock near your window. You let out a slow sigh and pushed off the covers.

Despite the weight in your chest, your movements were automatic. You knelt down and began picking up what you'd thrown, each item a reminder of what you’d tried to forget.

“To my dearest Y/N...” you murmured quietly. His handwriting, elegant and sure, flashed in your mind. So unlike the sharp, reckless boy you remembered. You bit your lower lip, pressing it hard to stop the wave threatening to rise again.

Your eyes drifted to the window. That same dusty town, half-awake under the pale morning sun. Soon, it would be behind you. Soon, you’d walk cleaner streets, maybe live among things that sparkled and shone. But the idea of getting there—with them—with other people.

Your jaw tightened.

“It makes sense now,” you muttered bitterly. “The card my dad got... it’s all connected.”

You paused. Then shook your head.

Outside, a high-pitched squeal echoed down the street, kids yelling and running past. “No, it doesn’t. Not yet. Not really." You blinked, the sound breaking your spiral like cold water.

“Okay. Good timing,” you said under your breath. You weren't going to drag yesterday into today. That was your rule. So you got dressed.

The blue dress you'd sewn yourself, the one with the cinched waist and careful embroidery along the collar. You buttoned it up slowly, smoothing down the skirt with practiced hands. Then came your jacket, dark and trim. You braided your hair into two polished pigtails, tied each with a delicate white bow. You checked the mirror once, twice, then nodded once to your reflection.

This day would be different. You’d make sure of it “Maybe Cupid won’t miss… maybe,” you hummed the tune under your breath, a silly little melody you’d made up long ago, your voice barely above a whisper as you stepped out of your room. The air in the house was still, and when you glanced toward the parlor, the space where your father usually nursed his coffee, it was empty.

Gone already. Where? You hadn’t the faintest clue.

The front door creaked lightly as you pushed it open. The morning sun spilled across the porch, and the dry wind brought the smell of dust and prairie bloom. Right on cue, as if the town never changed, two familiar voices shouted from the road.

“Y/Nnnnnn!”

You didn’t even have time to blink before Leon and Alex barreled toward you with grins wide enough to split their faces. Alex’s hair was a mess of curls, and Leon still wore mismatched boots, same as always.

“Good morning,” you greeted, brushing your dress and bracing for impact.

“Why did your dad close the saloon?” Alex blurted.

“…Excuse me?” you asked, raising a brow.

“Your da closed the saloon,” Leon repeated with full confidence, like he’d seen it himself.

You blinked. The saloon? You hadn’t heard that yet.

“…Ah-yes,” you fumbled, trying to catch up, “he did.”

“Why?” Alex demanded with a furrowed brow.

“Stuff,” you said curtly, hoping they’d drop it.

“Noooo, tell usss,” they both whined in unison, as dramatic as always. Leon even tugged at your sleeve.

You sighed. It wasn’t in your nature to lie, not to them.

“I’m… moving out...?” you admitted, instantly regretting it.

The boys froze, their grins melting away, expressions twisting in disbelief like they’d just watched the sky fall out of place. You wished, with a sudden pang, that you could pull the words back into your mouth. Since you’d first come to this dusty corner of Texas, friendships hadn’t come easy. The girls your age whispered behind fans and fenceposts, and the boys either avoided you or wanted something you weren’t willing to give. But Leon and Alex, loud, stubborn, full of questions and wild schemes, had slipped past all that. Without even trying, they’d become the one steady part of your day. They never cared who your father was or how quiet you stayed. They just showed up, every morning, like clockwork, like the sunrise. And in their company, those early hours didn’t feel so hollow. Didn’t feel like you were always waiting for something that never came.

“You’re lying,” Leon said quickly, voice cracking a little. “You’re not leaving.”

“For the best,” you replied softly. “Sorry, boys.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, Alex suddenly lit up, eyes wide with realization. “But now you can become a fashion designer!”

You blinked, a little taken aback by his excitement.

“Ahh yes,” you said, deciding to run with it, “I can make as many clothes as you boys want.”

Leon grinned. “Especially the suit for my wedding.”

“Of course,” you teased, ruffling his hair. “And your suit too, Alex.”

Alex grabbed your hand without warning and tugged with determination. “Can you take us to school?” “Of course” you smiled at him. The sun wasn’t even fully up yet, and the town was already stirring with the sounds of hooves, wagon wheels, and distant voices. The dirt roads kicked up soft clouds as you walked alongside the boys, the dry breeze tugging gently at your skirt.

“We learned the last letter yesterday! Z!” Leon declared with his chest puffed out like a rooster.

“Hmm, great on you boys,” you said with a grin.

“Will you play with us before you leave?” Alex looked up at you, hopeful.

“I’ll try,” you replied, ruffling his hair.

They slowed their steps as the schoolhouse came into view. Alex turned and hugged your waist tightly. You bent slightly, hugging him back with the care you’d give a porcelain doll. Then came Leon, who clung around your middle like a determined barn cat.

“Pay attention in class,” you said, voice gently teasing as you brushed his hat into place.

“We will! We will!” they chorused, already half-running toward the front steps, laughter echoing in the morning air.

You stood for a moment, watching them disappear into the little building.

Just seeing those two bedbugs was enough to brighten up your day. Every time. They didn’t need to say much. Their presence alone was enough to remind you that not all parts of this town felt heavy or hollow.

And that’s how it went, day after day, in those final mornings before you had to leave. The same old dusty Texas town, but everything felt a little lighter. Maybe it was the quiet now that your father’s saloon was closed. No more drunken fools leering from the porch, no more sharp words exchanged over spilled beer and bad card hands. What a relief. That gave you more time for sketches, for wandering in the sunlight, for those little conversations with the kids, even the ones you only shared a few good memories with.

As for Kaiser? He’d vanished. Not a single sighting. Four whole days, gone like smoke on the wind. The wagon stood behind the house, its wooden sides worn but sturdy, wheels creaking gently under the weight of the growing load. The sun had climbed higher, casting long slants of gold across the dusty yard. Chickens wandered nearby, clucking lazily as they kicked up dirt.

You stood at the back of the wagon, folding a blanket into one of the trunks while Leon handed you a satchel and Alex tried to roll up your old drawing case, though it kept unraveling in his hands.

“Careful, don’t crumple it,” you warned softly.

Alex gave a sheepish grin. “Sorry…”

Leon, meanwhile, was peering back toward the house with furrowed brows. “What are you gonna do with the piano?”

You turned from your packing and followed his gaze, where the old upright piano sat just beyond the back window.

“My father’s selling the house,” you said gently. “The piano comes with it. I don’t need it anymore.” You tried to smile, though it didn’t reach all the way. “I’ll get a new one in New York.”

Their faces shifted at once, both boys’ expressions falling in that unmistakable, quiet way that scraped at your chest.

You knelt between them, brushing a bit of dust from Alex’s cheek. “Hey now,” you said softly, “we’re still gonna write, remember? Cards. I talked with your parents. We’ll keep in touch.”

“It won’t be the same,” Alex muttered, his voice small. “We won’t have you here to draw with us. Or to play music.”

“We have other friends,” Leon added, not quite meeting your eyes. “But you’re our favorite one.”

You took a breath. The ache behind your ribs grew sharper, not just from saying goodbye, but from knowing what it meant to be someone’s safe place. Even if only for a while.

“I know it’s hard,” you said gently, smoothing down Leon’s hair. “But y’all gotta think of it this way, the town stays the same, right? Dusty, noisy, little bit boring… But if I’m in New York, you’ll have someone who’s seen a whole different world. I’ll draw it all for you. Tell you stories. Send you pressed flowers from places you’ve never been.”

Alex blinked up at you. “Really?”

“Of course,” you smiled, finally reaching them this time. “And when you grow up and come visit me, or better yet, when you make it out of here yourselves, you’ll already know where to find me.”

That gave them pause. A spark of something hopeful lit behind their eyes.

“Now,” you said, turning back toward the wagon, “hand me that bag, will you?”

Leon tried to pass it to you, but it was heavier than expected. You tried to lift it onto the wagon’s bed, arms tightening, back tensing.

“Need help?”

The voice came low and smooth, from somewhere behind you.

You turned, breath catching slightly.

There he stood. Michael Kaiser. Tall, clean as ever in his usual dark coat and neatly tied bandana, dust clinging to the soles of his boots. His white horse stood just behind him, reins slack in the breeze.

“I-” You swallowed lightly.

He stepped forward and took it from your hands with ease, lifting it into the wagon without effort.

“You always pack like you're moving a small kingdom?” he asked, brushing his palms off on his trousers. “What are you doing here?” you asked, narrowing your eyes. “Knew you’d need help. You always had trouble pickin’ up heavy things,” Kaiser said with a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. You rolled your eyes. “You can go. I don’t need your help.”

Unfortunately for you, the next bag was just as heavy, if not worse. You barely got it off the ground before he stepped in again. He let out a low chuckle. “See? Let me.”

Without struggle, Kaiser hoisted the bag and tossed it into the back of the wagon like it weighed nothing.

“Wow, you’re really strong,” Leon said, wide-eyed.

Kaiser smirked at the praise. “You’ll be like me one day, trust me.”

He ruffled the boy’s hair, and Alex immediately chimed in.

“You’re a cowboy?” he asked.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Can I try your hat?” “Can I touch your gun?” “How many people have you killed?” “Is it true you got more enemies than friends?”

Kaiser laughed at the barrage of questions, indulging them one by one. He let Alex try on his hat, let Leon peek at the revolver’s holster, just enough to stir their excitement without being reckless. You stood off to the side, sulking as you continued organizing the crates and sacks in the back of the wagon.

Then a voice cut through the air. “It’s gettin’ dark.”

You looked over your shoulder. Your father stood behind you, cigar in hand, the smoke curling lazily around him.

“Hello, sir,” Kaiser greeted, polite and steady.

“Hm… hello, Mihya. You’re already here,” your father muttered, squinting as he stepped closer. “Is everything in place, Y/N?”

“Uhum, uhum.”

“I don’t understand ‘hum’ language.”

You sighed. “Yes. Everything’s in place.”

He nodded, taking another slow drag from his cigar. The sun had dipped lower, painting the sky in shades of dusty gold and red while the boys still giggled and clung to Kaiser like he was some kind of hero. And you, well, you kept your hands busy, trying to ignore the storm of thoughts circling your head. “We’re leavin’ in twenty. The rest are on their way. Michael, come here” your father said as he stepped off toward the far side of the house.

Kaiser gave a short hum and went after him, leaving you and the boys by the wagon. As soon as he was out of sight, Alex and Leon pounced on the cowboy’s prized possession.

“Don’t toss it like that,” you warned, grabbing the hat before it hit the ground. “It’s expensive.”

You turned it in your hands, eyes catching on the label inside the brim. Boss of the Plains. “Dayum,” you murmured, impressed in spite of yourself.

On the other side of the house, Kaiser walked beside your father, the wind picking up a little as the horizon deepened with gold and violet. The wooden boards creaked under their boots. Smoke from the man’s cigar drifted lazily into the cooling air.

“Ego, Noa, and their groups are likely near Shvespere by now,” your father said, staring off at the setting sun.

“That fast?” Kaiser asked, brows drawn.

“They left four days ago.”

Kaiser exhaled through his nose. “You think it’ll take longer now? More people this time. Families. Elders…”

Your father rubbed his temple. “Forty souls. That’s countin’ your group, me, and Y/N.”

He let out a long sigh.

“Two to three months on the road, like Ego promised.”

Kaiser clenched his jaw. “Three months? I promised-” He stopped short and looked away. “Never mind.”

Your father’s voice dropped. “They hit another town. South of here. Not much left of it.”

Kaiser turned back, eyes narrowing. “Anyone made it out?”

“No one.”

A heavy silence fell between them. Crickets had begun their nightly chorus, faint at first.

“They’ll be here soon,” your father said quietly.

Kaiser looked him in the eye, tone dark. “Soon means?”

“Noa said five days… but I don’t trust that number.”

“Neither do I.”

Kaiser’s eyes shifted to the trees at the edge of town, scanning the shadows like they might already be here.

“You think we can still get folks out in time?” he asked, voice low.

“I don’t have an answer for that yet. People know what’s comin’, Michael. They just don’t all want to believe it.”

Your father looked down at the dirt, thumb brushing against his cigar.

“I just don’t want it weighin’ on Y/N’s head,” he added. “She can’t know. Not yet.”

Kaiser was quiet for a beat.

“She’ll find out.”

“I know.”

“She won’t forgive you for keepin’ it.”

“Maybe. But at least she’ll get to New York alive.”

The last light of the sun dipped past the edge of the hills, and the wind carried the smell of smoke and dry grass. Kaiser stayed still for a moment longer before nodding once, slowly.

“…Then let’s make sure she does.” “You won’t forget to send us the cards,” Alex whimpered, his small hands clutching at your sleeve like he might hold you back.

“I won’t…” you whispered, brushing his bangs out of his teary eyes. “I won’t forget, I swear it.”

He hugged you tightly, nearly knocking the breath out of your chest. Leon followed right after, arms thrown around your waist, his face buried in your coat. You held them both as tight as you could, like you could squeeze the memory of them into your bones. If only you could take them with you. If only the world were gentler.

Alex cried harder, his shoulders shaking, and your arms started trembling too. You bit the inside of your cheek to stop the sob rising up in your throat, but it betrayed you anyway. A tear slipped down your cheek, and then another, and another. The mask you always wore, the calm and cool that folks expected from you, cracked in front of them.

You didn’t care.

Not this time.

From the other side of the wagon, Kaiser stood watching. His brows were furrowed, jaw tense, but the look in his eyes was soft. Understanding. There was a silence in his posture, a quiet kind of grief, that told you he saw everything and wouldn’t say a word to break it.

“Time to gooooo~” Shidou’s voice cut through the dusk like a wild chord. He swung onto his horse with that usual manic grin.

“Y/N…”

Kaiser’s voice was quieter than before, more careful. He tilted his head slightly toward the wagon trail. The look on his face said enough. It was time.

You let out a long, trembling breath and leaned down one last time to hug the boys again, tighter than before. If you stayed any longer, you’d break in two. You whispered something they wouldn’t remember in words but would carry in their hearts.

Then you stood, the weight of goodbye pulling at your knees.

Your father was already at the reins of the wagon, silent, waiting.

“Y/Nnnn…” Alex cried again, desperate, and that time, it almost broke you.

Before you could say anything else, Kaiser stepped in. Gently but firmly, he knelt beside Alex, placing his expensive, perfectly-kept hat onto the boy’s head.

“Keep it for luck,” he said, smoothing it over the boy’s dark hair. “It’s yours now.”

Alex blinked up at him, sniffling, touched by the gesture in a way only a child could understand.

“I’ll take care of Y/N,” Kaiser promised, his voice steady. “She’ll be alright. I swear that to you.”

You didn’t expect the way his arm wrapped around your waist, not possessive, but certain. Like he was making a vow and you were part of it. His presence steadied your shaking limbs, but your heart was still raw. And when he turned to you, his hand rose to your cheek, catching your tears before they could fall too far. “I got you,” he said quietly, thumb brushing the salt from your skin. “You’re safe now.”

And for the first time all day, you let yourself believe it. He turned you both around without a word. You looked back one last time at your two favorite boys, their small hands waving, their eyes full of everything you could no longer hold. You raised your hand slowly and waved back. They didn’t stop waving. Not even when the wagon wheels creaked into motion. Not even when your figure began to blur behind a veil of golden dust.

Their silhouettes grew smaller with every turn of the wheel. Smaller and smaller, until the shadows they cast vanished completely into the fading light of town.

The sun was low now, hanging behind the hills like a dim lantern. The world was dipped in amber, and the trail ahead was quiet save for the soft rumble of hooves and the crunch of wagon wheels.

The wagon pulled to a stop. You leaned forward and peeked out. There were other wagons ahead. People, too. Most from your town. Some from nearby, others you had never seen before. A handful of children chasing each other near a cart. A few adults your age, faces worn and eyes sharp, like they’d lived double the years you had.

It felt like too much at once.

Your father left you alone to mingle with the others. “Go on, stretch your legs,” he’d probably muttered before disappearing into the crowd. You didn’t. You stayed in the wagon, nestled behind the bags you had packed yourself, tucking your knees in and burying your face against the fabric.It was quiet for a while.

“Boo!”

You flinched. “Kaiser!” you hissed, turning around sharply.

He was crouched by the edge of the wagon, leaning in with a crooked grin.

“Sorry, princess,” he said, clearly not sorry at all.

“What do you want?”

“Talk to you.” He hopped up and sat beside you, resting his face lazily against his arms. “You feeling better now?”

You blinked twice, caught off guard by the gentleness in his voice. “Yes… I guess so.”

He smiled a little. “Still mad at me?”

“Not much.”

“You read my card?”

You nodded. He looked down and bit his lower lip, nervous all of a sudden.

“Why do you feel that way about me?” you asked, voice quieter. “What do you even see in me?” There was a pause. Kaiser looked at you with a strange softness, the kind that didn’t show up often on his face.

“Something about you is just…different...distant,” he said finally. “I can’t explain it clear, not even to myself. But ever since we were kids, my gut’s been telling me there’s something in you I ain’t supposed to lose.”

Your breath hitched slightly. The way he said it, quiet, certain, honest, made your chest tighten.

“Do you accept my apology?” he asked, voice even lower. “Or do you want something more? I’ll do it. Just tell me what.”

You met his eyes. “No,” you said, shaking your head tenderly. “It was enough.”

His smile returned, softer this time. He didn’t say anything after that. He didn’t need to.

He leaned a little closer, his voice low and casual. “By the way it’ll take us at least three months to get there.”

“Three?” you repeated, startled.

“Would’ve been faster if we weren’t draggin’ half the town behind us,” he said, exhaling as he settled more comfortably at your side, his new hat tipping just enough to shade his eyes. “Three months to get to know you better, after all these years.”

You turned to him with a narrowed gaze, but he was already smirking.

“So, for starters,” he began, tilting his head toward you. “You’ve got a fine attitude. Sharp tongue, especially with men. Impatient?...Cheeky. A little sensitive-”

“Stop there,” you interrupted firmly.

“There’s my point,” he said with a light laugh, tapping your knee once. “I find it cute.”

You rolled your eyes, though a faint smile tried to betray you.

Just then, your father’s voice cut through the moment. “Michael, what got you here?”

Kaiser glanced over lazily. “Just bored. Thought I’d give your daughter some company.”

“You can go back to your horse.”

“I’d rather stay here.”

“Michael.”

“Please,” Kaiser said, dry as ever, flashing a grin like he didn’t care one bit for your father’s tone.

A few quiet minutes passed. The wagon creaked along the dusty trail, wheels crunching over gravel and twigs. You thought he might drift off beside you, but instead, he started talking, little stories at first. About the time he got chased out of a saloon in El Paso. How he once won a horse in a card game and lost it three days later in another. You didn’t speak much, but you listened. And he kept going.

“I’ve been in Paris, too,” he said after a short silence, glancing toward a trail.

“Where haven’t you been?” you asked.

“Hmmm… Lisbon. Rome,” he replied with a smug grin, crossing one leg over the other.

You raised a brow. “You planning on going?”

“Only if I’ve got the right company,” he said, voice playful. “How ‘bout we take my horse instead? Just the two of us. Faster. More fun.”

“She’s staying here,” your father cut in sharply from up front, without even looking back.

Kaiser sighed like he’d expected that answer all along, then leaned back beside you again, smirking to himself.

“Worth a try.”

Another beat of silence passed. Then he nudged your arm gently with his elbow. “I’ll make sure the new place feels like somethin’ good, if I can help it.”

You didn’t answer right away, but something about the way you looked at him, soft, wary, maybe even hopeful, said enough. Then, without warning, he rested his head gently on your shoulder.

Your body stiffened for a second, you weren’t prepared for that. Your guard slipped.

“Why-”

“You don’t mind if I stay like this for a few minutes?” he murmured.

“…No,” you said after a breath.

“Nice.”

He took his hat off, settling it on his lap, and closed his eyes with a soft sigh. You stayed like that, him leaning against your shoulder, the two of you quiet, as the sky turned deeper and darker. The only thing above you now was the moon, bright and solemn as it followed the trail alongside the wagons. Everything else had faded into blue-black silence.

Then, the wagons creaked to a stop.

“We’re stayin’ here,” came your father’s voice from the front.

You turned slightly and nudged Kaiser. “Kaiser… Kaiser! Michael,” you hissed.

“Huh?” he blinked groggily, lifting his head slowly. “We reached-?”

“Yeah.”

“Ahhh, finally,” he groaned, stretching his arms until his joints popped. “What time is it… ten? God.” He rubbed his face, then looked down at you with a faint grin.

Before you could move, he offered his hand. You took it without thinking, and he didn’t let go. Instead, with one quick motion, he grabbed you by the waist and lifted you out of the wagon like you weighed no more than a sack of feathers.

“Michael!” you started, but your feet had already touched the ground.

“Easy there,” he smirked.

In front of you stood an old large roadside inn, the kind with flickering lanterns and crooked signs. It wasn’t fancy, but it looked dry and warm enough.

“We’re stayin’ there?” you asked.

“Just for the night,” your father called over.

Before you could walk, Kaiser casually pinched your waist, making you flinch.

“Don’t you dare,” you warned under your breath.

He only grinned, already stepping ahead with that swagger like he owned the whole dusty road. You were just finishing packing your small bag, a spare dress, a comb, some wrapped bread your neighbour had insisted you take, when you heard the sudden thunder of hooves cutting through the quiet. Heads turned. Three horses charged into the clearing.

Men. Cowboys. From your father’s side. Scouts, maybe.

You were close to the edge of the group, right next to Kaiser, who instinctively kept you near. One of the riders, a young man with long red hair, jumped down from his saddle before the dust even settled and ran straight toward your father and Kaiser’s group.

“They attacked,” he said breathlessly.

“What?” your father asked, stepping forward.

“Already. They weren’t supposed to move yet,” the redhead added. “We were wrong about the date.”

“Bullshit,” your father barked, his face twisting into a scowl.

You stared between them, confused. Kaiser’s body had gone stiff next to you. When you looked up at him, his eyes were wide, scared, even. You swore you’d never seen that look on his face before.

Even Shidou, who usually looked like he enjoyed every kind of chaos, wasn’t smiling anymore. The group around you fell quiet, their chatter replaced by tension in the air. Something bad was coming.

“What is happening” you began.

Kaiser stepped away from you without answering and stalked up to the red-haired boy.

“Are you fucking serious?” he asked, his voice low.

“Why would I lie?” the boy snapped. “They’re moving faster. A lot faster.”

“Shit.” Kaiser turned away, ran a hand through his hair, then buried his face in both palms. You could see his back rise and fall sharply. He was thinking. Almost panicking.

Your father said nothing for a moment. Then he turned sharply to his men. “Hide the wagons. We can’t let them see how many we are. Now.”

“Dad” you tried.

“Not now, Y/N,” he cut you off. Everything around you was still. Even the wind had stopped. And in that silence, the weight of what was coming began to settle on everyone’s shoulders. Nothing, and yet everything, was starting to make sense now. The card. The tension. You turned around, your breath shallow, heading toward the red-haired boy who now looked just as frustrated as he did shaken. Two other men stood behind him, one with stark white hair, the other with dark violet. Both were quiet, their gazes fixed on the dirt like it held all the answers.

“What’s happening” Your voice cracked. “What the hell is happening? Please. Tell me.”

He looked at you. “The… the town. It was attacked.”

“What?” Your stomach dropped.

He didn’t say anything else. You didn’t even get the chance to press him.

“Back off from her, Chigiri,” someone growled behind you.

A hand clamped down on your shoulder and shoved you back a step. Rin.

“Look, Y/N,” he began, trying for calm, “it’s just an attack.”

But then you heard it. A horse’s sharp neigh. All heads turned. Your blood ran cold.

Kaiser had climbed up onto his white horse and was already galloping toward the place, back the way you’d all come.

“MICHAEL!” your father roared, running after him too late.

You stared at the dust his horse kicked up, frozen.

Then something in your chest snapped.

The signs. The patrols. The strange cowboys coming into your father’s saloon. The way people stopped talking when you walked in. It was a warning.

You didn’t think. You ran. Past your father. Past the others. Toward the line of horses where a few were still tied.

“Y/N?!” your father shouted, his voice growing louder. “Y/N, STOP! DAMN IT, GIRL-”

You jumped onto the closest horse you could reach. He jerked his reins.

“Why mine?” Rin groaned from behind, half in disbelief.

You kicked the horse gently, pushing him forward. You didn’t answer.

You just chased the only person riding straight back toward hell. The full moon cut through the night like a silver blade, painting the hills and path ahead just bright enough to follow him.

You kept low, urging the horse forward. The town wasn’t far, twenty minutes, maybe less, at this speed. But no matter how hard you pressed, no matter how fast your heart raced, you couldn’t quite catch up to him.

Kaiser didn’t look back. He didn’t know you were there. Or maybe he didn’t want to know.

Then you saw it.

At first, it looked like strange clouds on the horizon. But then they flickered. A shine. Glowing embers lifted toward the stars like fireflies dragged from hell.

You reached the top of a ridge and pulled the reins. The horse reared slightly, but you steadied it, swinging yourself off and stumbling forward on foot.

And there it was.

Your town.

Or what was left of it.

Flames devoured rooftops and walls. Ash rained from the sky. Screams bled out from the streets like they had no end. Gunshots cracked the silence of what should’ve been night. Smoke stung your eyes, but you forced yourself forward, trailing behind Kaiser who was already deeper in, lost in the storm.

You tied the horse to a post just beyond the blaze. The rest, you ran.

You weaved through the wreckage, through the street you knew by heart. Or thought you did. Now, everything looked different. Wrong. Burnt.

You turned a corner and stopped cold.

A side street. Bodies.

And among them

“No,” you whispered behind your palm.

Alex.

Leon.

Sprawled against the cobblestones like discarded dolls. Still.

Your knees buckled, but you didn’t fall. You turned away, heart slamming against your ribs, and ran until the heat from the fires felt distant again. You couldn’t let yourself cry. Not now. Not here.

In the distance, you spotted him.

Kaiser. Running toward something, someone.

A small cottage. Burning.

He reached it. Stopped. Stumbled.

And fell to his knees.

You didn’t know what waited inside that house. But you knew, somehow, it was something he couldn’t save.

taglist: @jjklover365daysayear @silverwings920 @talkinboutinnitt @rroxii @byzantiumhollow @amy-briar03 @ladykamos @emikikus18 @chuua-l0ver @strwbrryrsh @zinflo

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hainge · 2 months ago

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hainge · 2 months ago

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Fifth Bullet: Where the Fire Left Ashes

cowboy!kaiser x fem!reader pt. 5 (wc 3.6k) from Silver bullets and stolen hearts part IV part VI warnings: MDNI!!!! swearing, violence, gun usage, mature language, mention of death/blood

“Pfft-” Shidou clapped a hand over his mouth, his shoulders jerking with the effort not to laugh.

“You can laugh. I don’t give a damn,” Kaiser muttered, puffing on his cigar and glancing out the window like he wasn’t hoping for a distraction.

Shidou lost it. “P-PHAHAHAHAHAH! You got all sour and moody over that? That? You sittin’ here lookin’ like a kicked dog ‘cause of some sentimental shit?”

Kaiser’s jaw twitched. He exhaled smoke slow, like it’d calm him. It didn’t. He shot Shidou a glare, then gave him a firm shove off the bed.

Shidou let out a wheeze as he hit the floor with a thud. “Aaah, Mihya, you amuse me,” he said from the rug, grinning like a damn fox. “Makes me feel all poky inside.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Shidou sat up, rubbing his back, eyes glinting. “By the by, mind explainin’ why your calendar’s sittin’ on August of 1885? It’s May, dumbass. It’s actually starting to piss me off”

Kaiser didn’t even look. “Because I was gone for nine months, you nosy ant. Try keepin’ up.”

When he finally glanced Shidou’s way, the bastard wasn’t on the floor anymore. He was standing near the dresser, poking at the neat little pile of art supplies Kaiser had laid out earlier.

“Oooh, what’s this? For lil’ ol’ me? You shouldn’t have.”

“Don’t touch it,” Kaiser warned, voice low.

“These pens,” Shidou said, lifting the box with a twinkle in his eye. “I knew a fella who had these exact ones. Real pedo. Found him facedown dead in a ditch, pens shoved straight up his ass”

“Stop,” Kaiser growled, and snatched the box out of his hands with a sharp motion. “Don’t fuckin’ touch it.”

Shidou threw his hands up in mock surrender, that grin never leaving his face. “Whoa there, sweetheart. I ain’t mean no harm.”

He wandered casually around the room, inspecting the walls like he lived there. “So…this is for her?”

Kaiser didn’t answer. He sat back down, propped his elbow on his knee, and took another drag from his cigar.

“When you plannin’ on givin’ it to her?”

“Hopefully never,” he muttered under his breath.

Shidou let out a snort that turned into a strange wheezing giggle. “What kinda laugh was that?” Kaiser shot him a disgusted look. “You sure you’re not possessed?”

“I might be,” Shidou shrugged, crossing his arms with dramatic flair. “Possessed with secondhand embarrassment, considerin’ how shit you are at apologizin’. Lord, it’s painful watchin’ you try.”

Kaiser narrowed his eyes. “It’s not exactly my strong suit.”

“Yeah, no kiddin’. You hand over flowers like you’re surrenderin’ at war and mutter some half-dead ‘I’m sorry’ like it’s gonna erase the whole mess. Brother, she’s got more reason to shoot you than to hug you.”

Kaiser looked away. “I know.”

“You want her back?”

There was a long pause. The only sound was the faint ticking of the clock on the wall and the soft crackle of the cigar.

“…I want her to be okay,” Kaiser said finally. “That’s all.”

Shidou tilted his head. “That ain’t all. You love her. Which means you’re gonna have to grow a damn spine and say what matters.”

Kaiser ran a hand through his hair. “You make it sound easy.”

“‘Cause for once it is, dumbass. Just tell her you’re sorry like a man. No riddles, no dramatics. Just plain words. You’re only makin’ it harder the longer you wait.”

Kaiser didn’t answer. He just stared at the pencils in the box like they might give him courage.

“Can I give it to her?” Shidou asked with a wink.

“Touch it again and I’ll break your wrist.”

Shidou laughed. “There’s my boy.” You sat at the table, eyes fixed on the card as if it might shift or speak if you stared long enough. It had been sitting there for nearly an hour now, untouched except for the crease your thumb had left when you placed it down.

The quiet was broken by the soft jingle of keys at the front door. A moment later, your father stepped inside, boots dusted from the road, his hat in one hand.

“Hello, Y/n.”

“Hi…” you replied, voice low and unfocused.

He walked over to you, eyes filled with the kind of softness only a father could carry. His hand came to rest on your shoulder, warm and steady.

“How’s it going? You feelin’ any better?”

“Huh? Oh…yeah, better,” you said quickly, eyes flicking away from the card. “Better, I guess.”

He gave a small nod, not quite convinced, and turned to head toward the bathroom, talking over his shoulder about the rough ride home and the broken wheel on the wagon. He got a few steps before he stopped, voice dipping just enough to catch your attention.

“You know, Kaiser told me it was just an argument. Said it got a little heated.” His eyes scanned the floor. “Didn’t expect to come home to a broken vase.”

Your stomach twisted. “Ah- I forgot to clean it. Sorry, I…”

You trailed off as he sighed and crouched beside the shattered pieces still resting in the corner.

“I couldn’t think straight,” you admitted, guilt curling in your voice.

“It’s alright, dear. Everything’s alright,” he said gently, gathering the larger shards with care. “You don’t need to apologize for that.”

When he stood again, he glanced at the table and his eyes landed on the card.

“This from me?” he asked, stepping closer.

“Yes. It’s for you.”

“From who?”

“I don’t know…it didn’t say.”

He hummed low in his throat, thoughtful, and took the card into his weathered hands. His eyes scanned the front, but he didn’t open it. Instead, he slid it into his coat pocket.

“I’ll open it later,” he said, voice unreadable.

That made your head tilt slightly without meaning to. There was a shift in the air, subtle, but not unnoticed. Like something unspoken had just taken up space between you.

He didn’t explain. He simply gave you a soft pat on the shoulder and walked into the next room, leaving behind only the echo of that strange, deliberate pause. "…Without any hint of escape…without any hint of escape…" you murmured, barely aware you were speaking aloud. Your gaze lingered on the closed door your father had disappeared behind, but you said nothing. You just thought. And thought. Something in you stirred uneasily, like a clock ticking too fast. You didn’t know what, or when, but you felt it, soon, something would happen. Something that would finally give you a hint. A clue to whatever message that card held, and who had sent it.

"GO, GO, GO, GO, GO-" BANG "HEADSHOOOOOT!" Shidou’s voice cut through the woods like a whipcrack of chaos.

Kaiser exhaled and lowered his rifle. The rabbit lay still, just a few meters away.

"Could’ve gone a little higher," Isagi muttered, adjusting his aim as he studied the next cluster of bushes.

"Like you could shoot a damned thing if your life depended on it, you empty-skulled fool," Kaiser snapped, tossing the rifle carelessly onto the patchy grass. He leaned back against his pale-coated horse and lit a cigar, the match flaring briefly against the afternoon sun.

Isagi rolled his eyes and raised his gun again, more focused on the movement in the brush than on whatever insult Kaiser had thrown his way.

"That one’s mine," Shidou grinned, tongue slipping out of his mouth as he pointed toward the rabbit. "That’ll be my dinner tonight. Hope it ain’t riddled with bone."

Ness, off to the side, stayed quiet, his fingers moving deftly over a pair of disassembled revolvers. He glanced at the sky like it might tell him something.

"What’s our next stop?" Ness asked finally, not looking up.

Kaiser didn’t answer right away. He took a long draw from the cigar, then breathed the smoke into the air like he was tired of everything around him. His voice came low and steady.

"You three go wherever the hell you feel like. I’m headin’ to her place."

Shidou gave a sharp whistle, grinning wide. "Well, I’ll be damned. The Emperor’s finally makin’ a move. You be sure to use some protection, now-"

BANG

Isagi fired again, taking down another small creature without so much as flinching.

Kaiser flicked ash off the cigar, ignoring Shidou’s crude comment, and pulled himself up onto his white horse.

The other three men watched as he settled in the saddle.

"Good luck," Ness offered, his voice dry, but not unkind.

Kaiser rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath, then tugged the reins and set off down the trail without another word.

Behind him, Shidou laughed to himself. "Bet he forgot how to apologize properly."

Isagi didn’t even look over. "Bet he never knew how in the first place."

"How much we bettin’?" "Twenty dollars," isagi replied "Deal," Shidou smirked as they watched Kaiser ride off toward town.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long golden streaks across the dry dirt road as Kaiser rode his white horse through the narrow path back toward her home. The wind tugged at his coat and ruffled his already-messy hair, but his hands stayed tight on the reins. His lips moved quietly, breath shallow, voice barely audible over the rhythm of hooves on packed soil.

"I can do this…no, I can’t…no, shut the hell up, you’re doin’ it…" He exhaled hard and looked down at the small box tied with a velvet ribbon in his saddlebag, now repacked and neater than when he bought it.

"Just say the damned words…mean it for once…" He slid off the horse as he reached the porch, dusted off his coat, and held the box in one hand. His knuckles were white around it. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the door like it was a firing squad.

Then he knocked.

From inside, you were leaned against the kitchen counter, chewing lazily on a biscuit you had scrounged up, still caught somewhere between aimless thought and bitterness. Then came the knock. Sharp. Intentional. Not impatient, but certainly not casual either.

"Now what in the world…? Better be someone with a damn good reason," you muttered to yourself as you wiped your hands and made your way to the front.

You should have asked who it was.You should have waited.But you didn’t.

You opened the door, and there he stood.

Not a smirk in sight. No swagger. Hair a tousled mess like he hadn’t touched a brush in hours, though his coat was elegant, expensive as always, like he’d made a rushed effort to appear respectable.

"what the hell are you doin’ here?" your voice cracked somewhere between disbelief and rising fury. "I told you not to come near me. Not again. I told you to never speak to me"

"Y/N…" he said, almost like a plea.

"Leave, Michael. I swear, you stay one more second and you’ll make it worse. Dad!" your voice rose as you turned back into the house.

"Wait," he said quickly, stepping forward, though not crossing the threshold. "Please, just…listen for a second. I’m not here to start anything. I’m just..."

You stopped, but your eyes burned.

Kaiser swallowed and looked down for a second, the hand holding the box tightening ever so slightly.

"I am not good at this," he admitted, voice low and steady, but vulnerable in a way you’d never heard before. "Hell, I’ve never been good at it. Never knew the right words, and when I did, they always came too damn late. You were right to be mad. I was wrong, and I was careless. I said things I shouldn’t have. Did things worse."

He finally looked at you, really looked at you.

"I don’t blame you for hating me, not after what happened. I hate myself plenty for it. And I ain’t askin’ you to forgive me. Not now. Maybe not ever. I just needed you to know…I’m sorry. Sincerely. I don’t expect that to fix what I broke, but it’s the only honest thing I got left to give."

He slowly held the box out to you.

"This…isn’t a bribe. It ain’t a trick. It’s just something I picked up, thinking maybe you’d like it. That’s all."

You stared at it, not moving at first. The box was beautiful, the ribbon tied too neatly for someone like him. Suspicion warred with something softer in your chest, and your brows furrowed.

You finally reached out and took it. The moment your fingers touched the box, your arms dipped downward.

"For the love of---what the hell is in this? Rocks?" you muttered.

Kaiser gave a faint chuckle, the corner of his mouth twitching despite the heaviness in the air.

"Quality ain’t light, sweetheart," he murmured, then immediately regretted the familiar term and looked away. "Sorry. Habit."

You didn’t reply.

The weight of the box in your hands was nothing compared to the silence hanging between you both. You looked away, completely at a loss for words. Your lips parted slightly, but nothing came. There was nothing for you to apologize for.

"I…will get going. See you," he said, almost under his breath, before turning around.

"Bye…" you murmured, so quiet it barely reached the air behind him.

That wasn’t the Michael Kaiser you’d seen at the bar just a few days ago. There was no trace of that smug confidence, no heavy swagger. Just a tall, tired man with something you hadn’t seen in a long time, remorse. But beyond that, behind the eyes, behind the tension in his shoulders, you still saw the little boy you used to know. You didn’t want to think about that right now.

You turned back into the house, closed the door with a soft click, and looked down at the box still heavy in your arms.

"To my dearest Y/N," you read aloud from the small card tied to the ribbon. Your fingers brushed it once before tucking it against the lid.

Without letting your father hear the stairs creak beneath you, you made your way up to your room, step by quiet step. Once inside, you placed the box gently on your table, hands still unsure, then slowly pulled the ribbon loose.

You didn’t read the card first.

Instead, you lifted the lid and froze.

Shock hit you first.

Inside was a full set of art supplies. Not just a few scattered items, but a careful, curated collection. The canvas you had been saving up to buy today. Brushes, new ones, still bound in paper that matched the exact size and shape of the ones you needed most. A thick leather-bound sketchbooks that practically begged to be filled. Then your breath caught again.

A pair of earrings nestled in a small velvet pouch. Gold. Not plated. Real. Elegant, yet small enough to wear without drawing attention. You blinked.

Your gaze swept lower.

"Are you joking…?" you whispered as your fingers touched a pristine, untouched tin of Faber-Castell pencils. The real kind. Imported. The kind artists dreamed about but never got to hold in their hands.

And there, folded neatly at the bottom, was a single ribbon. Soft, sky-blue, with a delicate floral edge. You ran your fingers along it without thinking, unable to stop. The texture was smooth, almost like silk. So pointless and pretty. You couldn’t look away from it.

Your mouth had gone dry, but still you felt your focus pull in tighter and tighter. The longer you looked at everything, the harder it became to breathe evenly.

This was too much.

Far too much.

And somehow, exactly right. You finally looked over at the card, fingers hesitating only for a second before you opened it. The paper felt thick between your hands. And his handwriting, surprisingly, was beautiful. Elegant, almost aristocratic. A part of him you’d never seen before, like a secret he hadn’t meant to share.

To my dearest Y/n,

I don’t know if you’ll ever want to read this, not after the way things ended between us today. Maybe you’ll tear it up. Maybe you’ll let it sit unread in a drawer somewhere until the ink fades and the corners yellow. But if there’s even the smallest chance that you’ll read it, then I have to write it, if only to stop myself from going mad.

It was stupid, all of it. The arguing, the way I snapped at you. I don’t even remember what lit the fuse, just the way the fire took hold and burned straight through us like dry brush in summer heat. You looked at me different after. Like you were done. Like you’d seen some part of me you didn’t recognize anymore.

And I hated that more than anything.

I’ve been carrying something heavy for a long time now, something I never dared lay down between us. I kept it hidden in my chest like a loaded gun, pointed inward. I figured if I never named it, it couldn’t ruin what we had. But maybe that was foolish. Maybe not saying it out loud is what ruined us instead.

Y/n, I think I’ve loved you since we were kids, long before either of us knew what love meant. You, with your grass-stained skirts and scraped-up elbows, telling me I was being reckless again. You, who always knew when to call me out, when to pull me back. You were the only one who ever looked at me like I wasn’t just wild trouble. You saw something good, even when I couldn’t.

Do you remember the time we raced down by the river, when the water was high and the wind near tore the hat off my head? You laughed so hard you could barely breathe, and I thought right then, God help me, I’d give anything to be the reason she laughs like that forever. I never said it. Never had the guts. And now I wonder if maybe I waited too long.

You were always meant for more than this dust town and the mess of boys who don’t know how to hold onto what matters. I was afraid of that. Afraid you’d outgrow me, leave me behind like boot prints in the dirt. So I kept my mouth shut and let the years pile up, thinking maybe someday I’d be enough.

But today proved I’m not. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

I’m not asking you to forgive me. I’m not asking for anything. I just wanted you to know the truth before the silence between us sets in too deep. If this is the last thing I ever get to say to you, then let it be this:

I loved you before I even knew I was capable of it. I love you still, even now, with my pride cracked.

And if you never speak to me again, I’ll understand. But I’ll carry you with me, always, tucked into the spaces between all the things I never had the courage to say.

Yours, Michael Kaiser

You didn’t move. Not at first. You just sat there, the card resting on your thighs, the room silent save for the faint creaking of the old wood beneath your chair.

Your eyes had gone wide without realizing it.

Then, without any warning, a single tear traced its way down your cheek.

Your fingers loosened against the card as your gaze shifted toward the box beside you. You looked at it like it had changed, like the objects inside now meant something more than what they were.

"Michael…" you whispered.

You looked around the room, as if expecting someone to explain it to you. But no one came. And you didn’t know why.

You didn’t know why it hurt.

Or why it didn’t.

Not yet.

You stared back down at the card, unmoving.

It was hard to believe the same boy from your childhood, mud on his boots, reckless glint in his eye, always one bad decision ahead, was the one who wrote this. That’s what made it all the more difficult. That’s what turned your throat tight and your chest hollow.

Maybe that’s what made you feel like crying in the first place.

With a trembling breath, you folded the letter and stuffed it back into the box. You couldn’t deal with this right now. Not this. Not when the walls of your room suddenly felt too small, like they were closing in on you along with your thoughts.

You had no choice but to shove the box under your bed, out of sight. Maybe your father wouldn’t notice. Maybe you could pretend none of this ever happened, just long enough to breathe.

But the moment you stood up, your heart betrayed you.

No, you needed to see him.

Right now.

You didn’t care if it made sense. You didn’t care how badly he’d hurt you just days ago. All you knew was that if you didn’t see his face, hear his voice, something inside you might crack for good.

You bolted down the stairs, almost tripping over your own feet as you made for the door.

But your father’s voice caught you like a rope pulling back.

"Y/n, can I talk to you?"

You blinked. "Hm?"

He was standing near the parlor with a faint look of concern etched into his brow. One hand rested on the back of the armchair, his shoulders stiff like he hadn’t quite figured out how to ask what he needed to.

"Just for a moment," he said, his tone gentle. "It won’t take long."

You stood still, torn between two kinds of weight, your past waiting behind you and your future galloping out the door ahead.

You swallowed.

"...Sure. What’s going on?"

taglist: @jjklover365daysayear @silverwings920 @bach-ira @rroxii@byzantiumhollow @amy-briar03 @ladykamos @emikikus18 @chuua-l0ver

#blue lock #michael kaiser #bllk #fanfic #kaiser x reader #x reader #bllk kaiser #kaiser x y/n #michael kaiser x reader #for real #micheal kaiser x reader #micheal kaiser #bluelock #blue lock kaiser

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hainge · 2 months ago

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Fourth bullet: A bow for the bruised

cowboy!kaiser x fem!reader pt. 4 (wc 6.5k) from Silver bullets and stolen hearts part III part V warnings: MDNI!!! blood, violence, trauma, panic attacks, emotional breakdown, mention of death, intense emotional distress, swearing

“Listen to me, goddamn it!” he shouted, his hand grabbing at your neck, tightening just a little too hard, almost choking you with the weight of his desperation.

You froze.

Your breath caught. For a moment, everything stopped, the air, the sound, the light in the room. You could only stare at him, eyes wide in disbelief.

Realizing what he'd done, Kaiser’s face dropped in horror. His hand slipped away from your skin like it burned him. “Shit… I didn’t mean-” he turned sharply, dragging a hand over his face as if he could wipe away the guilt. “Fuck, sorry,” he muttered, voice low and tight with frustration, though not at you. At himself.

You were still frozen, shaking, your pulse hammering in your ears.

“You’re not him,” you whispered again, like if you said it enough, it might all go away.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” his voice was clipped now, colder than before. It cut through the air like a blade.

You backed away from him with a glare, your voice trembling but fierce. “Don’t even think about reaching for me again.”

Then you turned and stormed off, footsteps heavy and fast up the stairs. You didn’t look back.

“Fuck!” Kaiser roared, slamming his fist into the nearest wall. The thud echoed through the house, followed by the sound of his harsh breathing.

Upstairs, you stumbled into your room and slammed the door shut behind you. You couldn’t breathe right. Your hands were shaking uncontrollably as you collapsed into the chair by your desk.

You gripped the sides of your head, nails digging into your scalp as if the pressure might stop your thoughts from spiraling.

Tears streamed down your face, and with a broken sob, you wiped them away with the sleeve of your shirt, harsh, dramatic, like trying to erase something permanent.

You reached for a pencil. Drawing always helped. It always grounded you. But this time, the lines came out shaky, the sketch unrecognizable. Your fingers trembled, and the paper blurred beneath your tears.

It wasn’t working.

Nothing was.

And for the first time in years, even art couldn’t save you from yourself.

Kaiser stormed out of the house, frustration bubbling inside him. His jaw clenched as he made his way to his white horse. Why’s she gotta be so difficult? he muttered under his breath, the words tasting bitter as they left his lips.

In a swift motion, he mounted the horse, the tension in his body mirrored by the sharpness in his gaze. He didn't know where his anger was taking him, but it seemed like his instincts knew better. The ride was a blur, his thoughts clouded with a mix of frustration and worry. Before he knew it, he found himself standing at your father's office, the door creaking open as he stepped in.

Your father, engrossed in important papers, looked up with a raised eyebrow when he saw Kaiser. The tension in the room was immediate. “Tell me,” he said, his voice cool, assessing.

Kaiser slumped into the chair opposite him, his expression vacant but clearly laced with anger. “I fucked up,” he muttered, the words heavy on his chest.

Your father didn’t flinch, merely watching him with a steady gaze. “You didn’t tell her?”

Kaiser let out a frustrated huff, running a hand through his hair. “I did. I tried. But… she kind of overreacted.”

Your father’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he remained silent, waiting for Kaiser to explain further.

Kaiser shifted in his seat, trying to organize his thoughts. “She… she was already losing it. Woke up from those damn nightmares again, and then, when I tried to talk to her, I-” he stopped himself, visibly frustrated. “I didn’t even get to finish. She freaked out on me, told me to never reach for her again.”

Your dad placed the papers down, his fingers lightly tapping the desk as he sighed, absorbing the weight of Kaiser’s words. “I understand...” he murmured, his voice calm but carrying the weight of understanding.

Kaiser clenched his fists. “It’s my fault,” he said, his tone dark, self-critical.

Your dad shook his head. “Don’t say that.”

“I pushed her too hard,” Kaiser continued, his frustration getting the better of him. “I didn’t even let her breathe, and now she’s completely shut me out. I didn’t mean for it to go like this.”

Your father leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful. “She’s been through a lot. You need to be patient with her.”

Kaiser’s jaw tightened. “I know, but... What if it’s too late?”

“I think we still have time,” your father said quietly, his voice carrying a mix of reassurance and caution. “You’ll need to approach her carefully, but don’t give up on her.”

Kaiser’s eyes hardened. “I’ll try talking to her when I get home, but I don’t think she wants to hear from me right now.”

Your dad nodded, his eyes softening just a touch. “I’ll handle it,” he said. “Give her some space, but don’t let her shut you out completely.”

Kaiser hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. But he nodded, standing up from the chair. “Thanks.”

As he left the office, the weight of the conversation hung over him, heavier than ever. He knew the path ahead wasn’t going to be easy, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to fix this, no matter what. He walked into the saloon, his boots dragging a bit more than usual. The light chatter and clinking glasses barely registered in his mind. He made his way to the bar, eyes shadowed, shoulders tense.

"A beer," he muttered to the bartender, voice low and tired. A part of him wished it were you behind the counter, giving him that cautious stare, maybe even asking what was wrong.

When the drink was placed in front of him, he didn’t thank the man. He just took a sip and stared at the amber liquid, letting his thoughts drown in it. Your eyes, your voice, the way you pulled away from him, it all played over and over in his head.

He let out a long sigh, his thumb rubbing against the rim of the glass. Then, without meaning to, he set the glass down harder than he should have. It hit the bar with a loud thud, making the worker flinch. Kaiser didn’t even apologize. Threw few coins on the counter and walked out without a word, the saloon doors creaking shut behind him.

Back in your room, you sat hunched over your desk, sketching with a tight grip on your pencil. Your fingers trembled, but the lines were cleaner now, more deliberate. The drawing wasn’t of anyone in particular, just some imaginary figure with eyes too sharp and a mouth too kind. Still, it looked more alive than anything you'd drawn recently. You’d calmed down just enough to hold the pencil straight, but your chest still ached, tight and twisted like something inside you was slowly collapsing.

“Fucking dumbass,” you hissed under your breath, jaw clenched. Of course, you were talking about Kaiser. Who else?

Your hand snapped forward. The page tore out of the sketchbook in one swift motion. You crumpled it into a tight, wrinkled ball and threw it hard at the wall. It bounced off with a soft thud and disappeared somewhere under the desk, but it wasn’t enough. The anger didn’t leave. It sat under your skin, boiling.

“Idiot, idiot, idiot,” you muttered, punctuating every word with a sharp tap-tap-tap of your pencil against the sketchbook cover. Each hit was a little louder, a little more frantic. Then, without thinking, you hurled the whole book across the room. It smacked the wall and landed with a heavy flop on the floor, the sound slicing through the stillness of the night like shattered glass.

And just like that… you broke.

You curled up on the chair, arms hugging your knees to your chest as you slid down, burying your face. A choked sob clawed its way out of your throat, then another, and another, until they came in a stream. The tears came fast, warm and salty, blurring everything. You couldn’t see through them, couldn’t speak—just small, broken cries and shaky inhales filled the room.

You didn’t even know what you were crying about anymore.

Maybe at first it was Kaiser, his recklessness, his smirk, his gall to play with your heart like it was a game, but now… now you weren’t crying over him. Not really.

You were crying over everything.

Over every mistake you made. Over every word you shouldn’t have said. Every fake scenario you played in your head where you were braver, cooler, stronger. Where you weren’t you. You cried for every time you bottled it up, every time you smiled when you wanted to scream. Every time you let people in who walked away like you were nothing.

The tears weren’t about him anymore, they were about you.

This, somehow, was how you comforted yourself. Not with kindness or softness. But with this: sadness. This hollow, aching thing that wrapped around your shoulders like a blanket. You curled into it, held it close. The crying, the pain, the numbness that followed, it was familiar. Familiar enough to be soothing in its own twisted way.

And so you stayed there, alone in your room with tear-streaked cheeks and a storm in your chest, holding yourself as if you could keep all the pieces from falling apart. The sun had just risen over the hills, painting the dirt-strewn land in hazy blue and gold, but the air was already thick with dust, sweat, and something fouler, tension.

Behind the old millhouse, tucked in the shadow of a crumbling stone wall, four men stood in a crooked circle. Kaiser leaned against a wooden crate, turning an Apache revolver in his hand with absent precision. The brass glinted with each lazy spin of the cylinder, but his eyes didn’t follow it. They were distant, unfocused, as though his mind was somewhere far away, or stuck on someone far away.

Ness watched him out of the corner of his eye. He stood a pace back, hands tucked behind his back in his usual prim fashion. "Kaiser," he asked softly, almost like a whisper not meant to be heard, "is everything alright?"

Kaiser hummed in response, a low, noncommittal sound. He didn’t lift his gaze. Didn’t blink. Just kept turning that gun in his hand like it was the only thing keeping his thoughts from unraveling.

Ness fell silent. He knew better than to push.

“OI,” Shidou barked, snapping the silence like a whip. He stepped toward the trader, the jittery man with a gut too big for his vest and a twitch in his eye. “You tryna rob us, old man? This here’s not even Colt steel. You polish up some rusted trash and think we wouldn’t notice?”

The man paled. “I told you it’s genuine! French issue. Mercenary-grade!”

“Looks like you fished it outta a pig’s ass,” Shidou growled, reaching for his belt. “We could just shoot him and take the rest. Save us the goddamn trouble.”

“That’s against the rules,” Rin’s voice cut in cold and calm, like steel in a snowstorm. He stood with his arms crossed, posture rigid. His sharp gaze flicked from the gun to the man, calculating.

Shidou whipped his head around, scoffing. “And since when do you speak, Mr. Daddy Long Lashes?”

Rin’s jaw clenched. “Since you started running your mouth like a rabid dog. We’re here to do business. Not butcher street rats in broad daylight.”

The trader nodded eagerly, desperate to side with someone, anyone. “Y-yeah! Listen to your friend here. He’s got a brain-”

“I wasn’t defending you,” Rin snapped. “You tried to sell us rot disguised as gold. You think we’re blind or just stupid?”

“I’m telling you, it’s all clean! Nothin’ wrong with the-” "-And you think dragging your ass to us with lies wouldn’t blow back? Who do you think you’re dealing with?” Rin stepped closer now, his voice low but lethal. “This isn’t some street corner trade. You try to cheat us, we don’t forget it.”

The trader’s face twisted. Maybe it was fear. Or maybe pride scraping up what little spine he had left. “Don’t act so damn holy,” he spat, looking between them. “You’re all outlaws playin’ dress-up in town colors. And you” he pointed a shaky finger toward Kaiser, “all this hell lately? All ‘cause your little slut got herself mixed up in something she shouldn’t.”

Everything stopped. Ness’s quiet humming faltered. Even Shidou’s usual smirk twitched, as if caught between surprise and fury. The wind seemed to hush for a moment, letting the silence ring louder.

Kaiser didn’t look up. Didn’t speak.

CRACK.

The revolver slammed into the side of the trader’s jaw with such force that his knees buckled before the pain even registered. Blood sprayed in a thin arc as the man collapsed into the dirt, gasping through grit and broken teeth. His body twisted in a spasm, half-conscious already.

Kaiser stepped forward, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. He planted his boot against the side of the man's skull and leaned his weight down. Not enough to kill. But enough to make the man freeze, trembling under leather and steel.

“Say it again,” Kaiser muttered, voice calm, too calm. “And I’ll take your pitiful little life right here. I’ll gut you like the pig you are, and let the buzzards eat your pride.”

The man whimpered something unintelligible. Kaiser pressed down harder.

“Where’s your boss?” he asked again, low and cold.

“I-I don’t know!” the man coughed, voice hoarse. “I swear it-he moves around-never tells us where-”

“I knew it,” Kaiser muttered, half to himself. He stepped back and landed one more kick into the trader’s ribs, sharp and efficient. The man wheezed, curling into himself like a crushed dog.

“Fucking cowards,” Kaiser growled, turning his back. “Always hiding in someone else's dirt. Rats under states that should’ve burned a decade ago.”

He didn’t look at the others. Just kept walking, revolver still in hand, the morning light making the barrel gleam.

“Take everything,” he called over his shoulder. “And him.”

The three moved at once.

Ness crouched to begin gathering the crates, rifles, revolvers, cartridges, and a crude satchel of homemade explosives. His movements were quiet, practiced. No hesitation.

Rin grabbed a small bundle of dynamite sticks, tied neatly with a crude cloth strip, and examined the capped fuse like he was checking the craftsmanship of a blade. “Crude but functional,” he muttered. “Could bring down a wagon.”

“Could bring down a town,” Ness corrected softly, wrapping the satchels in burlap and tossing them into the back of the trader’s own horse wagon.

Shidou tied the man’s hands and legs with rope from the supply packs, not bothering to be gentle. “Guess we’re keepin’ you,” he said, tugging the knots tight enough to make the man groan. “Hope your boss likes sendin’ flowers to corpses.”

The trader didn’t respond. He was half-conscious, his face bloodied and his pride long gone.

Once everything was packed, Rin and Ness mounted their horses. Shidou climbed up into the wagon bench, reins in hand, humming a mocking tune as they pulled away from the millhouse.

Meanwhile, Kaiser rode alone.

His white horse moved smoothly beneath him, hooves crunching over the dry gravel path that led through the outer farmlands. The sun had climbed a little higher now, painting the sky in pale amber and blue. A breeze tugged at his coat.

The horse let out a soft, low whinny.

Kaiser patted her neck gently, fingers brushing through her mane. “What is it, beautiful?” he murmured. “Hungry? Yeah… I figured.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead briefly to the side of her head. “We’ll stop by the next ridge. Get you something good. Something sweet.”

Then he sat back up, jaw clenched and eyes ahead.

But his grip on the reins never tightened. Shidou hadn’t stopped talking since they left the millhouse. The poor trader, now tied up in the back of the wagon with a bloody rag stuffed in his mouth, sat hunched between crates of dynamite and stolen rifles, looking like he was reconsidering every decision that had led him to this moment.

“Look at you,” Shidou jeered, grinning wide as he leaned over the side of the wagon. “Sweatin’ like a hog in church. I bet your wife left you 'cause your breath smelled like bad clams.”

The man didn’t respond, but the dead-eyed stare he gave back said enough.

“No, no, I got it,” Shidou continued, slapping his knee. “You were breastfed with moonshine, weren’t ya? That’s why your brain so small.”

Up ahead, Kaiser’s white horse slowed at the fork in the road. Without a word, he steered left, veering away from the wagon’s path.

“Oi! Where you goin’?!” Shidou hollered after him.

“I’ll be there after six” Kaiser called back, voice half-lost in the wind.

Shidou rolled his eyes. “Jeez. So bipolar.”

“Bipolar people aren’t like that,” Rin muttered coolly, not even glancing his way.

“Boy, shut yo bitch ass up.”

Rin’s expression darkened, but he said nothing. Kaiser rode into the quieter part of town, the clip-clop of his horse echoing softly in the still morning air. Dust clung to the hem of his coat, and the handle of the Apache revolver still poked from his holster, but he didn’t care. His mind was far from guns and gangs right now.

He stopped in front of the small, weathered storefront with faded green lettering above the door:

“Sage & Tallow: Books, Paints, Supplies”

The moment he saw it, the memory came back like a sudden breeze.

You were here once, not long ago. Not drawing, no. You had your arms full of brushes and ink bottles, a new journal tucked beneath your chin as you grumbled at the shopkeep about him not having the right paper weight. He remembered watching you from the street. Just watching. You hadn't noticed him at first, or if you did, you didn’t care.

He remembered the way you barely looked up when he walked inside. How you gave him a bored glance, barely more than a flick of the eyes. He’d tried to flirt, some dumb line about how people like you shouldn’t be allowed to roam around unsupervised with that kind of beauty.

You blinked. Bought your things. Walked right past him with a disinterested, “Excuse me.”

He’d fallen even more for you.

The bell above the door jingled softly as he stepped inside. The smell of paper, dried paint, beeswax, and wood polish washed over him, grounding him for a moment. Shelves stood crooked with age, packed tight with art supplies, tools, and handmade stationary.

“Good morning, sir-”

“Uhum. Morning,” Kaiser muttered, barely glancing at the shopkeeper as he headed toward the back aisle. He walked past rows of rolled-up parchment and watercolor tins, his hand brushing over jars of powdered pigment and delicate brushes.

He wanted to find anything that might mean something to you.

He didn’t know what to say, not really. Didn’t know how to apologize for everything that had happened. All he knew was that words wouldn’t be enough. Not from him. Not now. So maybe a gift would say it better. Kaiser stood in the middle of the aisle like a lost outlaw in a library, completely out of his depth and starting to get annoyed by it.

He stared blankly at the shelves. Pens. Sketchbooks. Paintbrushes. Pencils. Canvases. All things he could name, sure, but beyond that? Useless. He had no damn clue what any of it meant in your world. Would be dumb to buy you something you probably already had five of. And he sure as hell wasn’t about to grab the first thing that looked vaguely artistic and call it a day.

A voice chirped beside him.

“Need any help, sir?”

He glanced sideways, startled. It was the same shopgirl from before, young, bright-eyed, and entirely too observant for his liking.

“Uhhh-” he started, trying to collect a single coherent thought.

“Looking for something in particular?” she cut in before he could finish. She smiled like she already knew the answer.

Kaiser’s brows twitched together. The hell was her rush? Couldn’t she let a man think for a damn second?

“Yes?” he said, confused and slightly irritated.

“What is it? I can see you’re clearly not into this stuff. Did you come here to get a gift for someone?” she asked sweetly.

Kaiser blinked at her, jaw slack. What the hell—how does she— He caught himself and scoffed, making a face that landed somewhere between what the fuck and mind your business. But she wasn’t wrong.

“…Yeah. That.”

“Well then,” she grinned, “how can I help?”

He turned his face away slightly, hiding his tightening jaw and sharp exhale. He hated feeling out of control. Even more, he hated asking for help. But if this girl got him out faster, so be it.

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “Stuff to draw or something.”

“Ooooh, perfect!” she clapped her hands lightly. “We just got a new shipment this morning. Faber-Castell pencils, from Germany. Ever heard of them?”

He perked up at that. “From Germany, you say?”

“Yup!” she beamed. “Very high quality. Is the person a painter? Designer?”

“Uhhhh… I’d say both,” he answered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Then these might be perfect,” she said, grabbing a sleek black box off the shelf and handing it to him like it was a sacred relic. “Clean lines, smooth finish. Good enough for professionals, but easy for anyone to use.”

Kaiser hummed, flipping the box over in his hands. He didn’t really know what the hell he was looking at, but he liked the feel of it. Solid. Elegant. Thoughtful.

“I’m gettin’ these,” he said firmly, as if it were his own idea.

“Great! Anything else?”

That question spiraled into an unexpected whirlwind. Somehow, Kaiser left the shop twenty minutes later with a full bag of stuff he didn’t understand, several kinds of paper, a book on composition, two charcoal sets, a tin of graphite sticks, some brushes with animal-hair bristles, and a handful of accessories the girl promised were useful.

He didn’t remember agreeing to all of it. But she had talked fast and looked so damn sure of herself, and by the time he realized what was happening, he’d paid for half the store.

Still…one thing stood out.

The last item the girl had added, almost as an afterthought, was a simple little blue ribbon. Velvet, soft to the touch, tied in a delicate bow.

Kaiser stared at it in his hand as he walked out, boots kicking up little clouds of dust. The color was nice. Soft and cool, like the sky before nightfall. He imagined it in your hair, swaying as you walked ahead of him like always.

He smiled to himself, just a little.

“That one’s my favorite,” he muttered.

Not that he’d say it out loud. Kaiser stepped out of the shop with the bag of supplies slung loosely in one hand, the soft blue ribbon draped over his fingers. The sun was climbing now, casting long, golden streaks across the dry street. His boots struck the wooden planks of the sidewalk with slow, deliberate thuds, each one echoing like the tick of a clock.

When he reached his horse, the mare let out a sharp snort and immediately craned her neck toward him, trying to nibble at the dangling ribbon.

“Hey hey! Quit that,” Kaiser barked, pulling his hand back with a chuckle. “I’ll get your food, calm down. This ain’t for you.”

He rubbed her neck affectionately, trying not to smile too much. The ribbon was for you. He wasn’t sure what it would do, if anything, but he had to try something. Words weren’t exactly his strong suit. But this? This might get him halfway there.

Downstairs, in the soft quiet of the parlor room, you sat at the upright piano. The room was dimly lit, dust dancing lazily through the sunlight that filtered through the slats. Your fingers moved slowly across the ivory keys, tentative, delicate, like they were testing the floor after a storm.

You weren’t playing anything in particular. Just letting the notes bleed out of you. You’d calmed enough to stop shaking, but your breathing still came uneven, and now and then a sniffle would escape, quiet, involuntary.

Your voice, too, broke through in fragments. A soft murmur, barely audible, singing the words you half-remembered from somewhere long ago:

“At least the sea where liberty…will stand in place to seek the rule...the world…”

Then—knock, knock, knock.

Your hands froze mid-phrase. The final note rang out, hung in the air for a moment, and faded.

You sat still for a second, staring ahead. Then, with a soft sigh, you wiped at your cheeks and rested your hands on your thighs, grounding yourself before rising to your feet.

You moved toward the door slowly, hesitantly. “Who’s there?”

A voice answered, muffled but clear. “Letter carrier.”

You opened the door just a crack at first, cautious. A tall man stood there in a dust-coated coat, eyes politely lowered. “D/N L/N?”

You blinked. “…I’m his daughter.”

He gave a slight bow of the head, pressing a knuckle to the brim of his hat as he extended a single envelope.

“Delivered express. No charge today, miss.”

“…Thank you,” you murmured, taking it gingerly.

Without another word, you shut the door quietly behind you.

But you didn’t move.

You stood in the stillness of the hallway, eyes fixed on the card in your hands. The envelope was thin, off-white, sealed with a wax crest you didn’t recognize. You hadn’t even broken the seal yet, but your breath had caught in your throat, held hostage by whatever it might contain.

You pressed the card to your chest and stood there in silence, listening to the wind outside… and the sound of someone’s boots approaching, slowly, from beyond the porch.

You’d always respected your father’s privacy. His letters, his papers, his silences, you never once crossed that line. But this card...something about it didn’t sit right. It wasn’t the seal or the handwriting, it was the strange, heavy feeling in your chest the moment you touched it. Like a warning, almost.

A little glance…won’t do no harm, you told yourself.

You sat down on the worn velvet seat by the piano, folding your skirt beneath you. The envelope trembled slightly in your fingers as you broke the wax seal with care. The paper inside was thick and slightly yellowed at the edges, freshly written, but old in the way it made you feel.

You let out a quiet sniff as your eyes scanned the words.

Your lips moved silently, murmuring the contents like you needed to hear them out loud to believe them.

"Sent under discreet channel—by order and concern of the council. As of the latest developments in our district, the following names must be accounted for and relocated in silence. All moves must be made without suspicion or any hint of escape. Towns and villages are not to be warned in advance. Targeted searches will increase over the next days. Those named are considered priority for transfer, regardless of social or familial status. If resistance arises, secondary measures may be initiated..."

Your brow furrowed.

What…?

As you read further, you recognized several names. Men who worked with your father, names you’d overheard over dinner or in passing through his study. Associates from other cities, maybe even counties. You had never thought much of them. Just business. And then, your name.

“Y/N L/N.”

Right there in the middle of the list. No title, no explanation. Just your name, bold and solitary on the line.

“…without any hint of escape…”

You blinked at the words. Your fingers tightened around the edges of the letter.

“Why…?” you murmured.

Your heart began to beat a little faster, slow and uneven. You read the paragraph again. And again. The message didn’t explain much, just orders. Instructions. Warnings disguised in formal language.

Relocated in silence. Targeted searches. Priority for transfer.

You swallowed hard. The names kept running together now, the letters blurring slightly as the weight of it pressed down on your chest.

Why were you on that list?

Why would someone send this to your father, in secret, and include you?

You stared at the letter, the silence in the room suddenly deafening. The soft scent of dust and old wood from the piano didn’t soothe you anymore. You weren’t just scared.

You were suddenly aware that whatever was happening, it had already started.

The midday sun hung heavy in the sky, casting long blades of light through the thinning branches overhead. A dry breeze rustled through the grass, brushing over the scattered straw where Kaiser lay stretched out, hands behind his head, coat spread beneath him. His white horse grazed nearby, nosing at a patch of wild clover with lazy interest.

Kaiser’s eyes were closed, his face relaxed, almost boyish in the rare moment of quiet. One leg bent at the knee, boot rocking gently in rhythm to some half-thought tune in his head.

"Do ya think she’ll like it?" he asked aloud, voice muffled slightly by the arm he’d thrown over his eyes.

The horse huffed softly.

"Hm? Why you not answerin’?" he teased, lifting the arm to squint over at her. “Tch. Ungrateful.”

The mare gave a slow flick of her ears and went back to chewing.

“Uhum...she’ll like it. Of course she will. She’s not that heartless,” he said with a lopsided grin, letting his head fall back into the straw. His voice lowered to a murmur, more to himself than anyone. “Y/N, Y/N… Y/N…”

He said your name like it had just occurred to him how it really sounded, how it tasted when spoken softly, without rage or urgency. He stretched it out, slow and thoughtful, like a name carried on wind.

“You know,” he began, almost conspiratorial, “I had a dream ‘bout her last night.”

The horse didn’t look up.

“She was in my bed,” he continued, a lazy smirk pulling at his lips. “You should’ve seen her,” he muttered to the horse, who didn’t so much as glance up. “She looked so damn soft. Weren’t wearin’ no corset, no boots, nothin’ that kept her distant.”

He smiled to himself, slow and private.

“She laid next to me, no anger, no glare, no tension in her brow. Just…quiet. Just her. She had her hand on my chest like she meant to stay there.” His fingers pressed lightly to his own sternum, right where he remembered the warmth of your palm. “And she kissed me. Real slow-like. Not rushed. Not ‘cause we were drunk or pissed off. Just ‘cause she wanted to.”

His voice dipped lower.

“I remember her voice. Whisperin’ things she’d never say while awake. Callin’ me by my first name like it was a secret. Told me she missed me. Said I made her feel safe.”

His eyes fluttered shut at the memory, lips parting just a bit.

“She touched me so gentle, I thought I’d imagined it. Her fingers ran down my neck, my arms, like she was memorizing me. And when she climbed on top, she didn’t say a word. Just looked at me…like I was hers. and then…god”

A dry laugh escaped him.

“Never seen her look like that. So sure. So warm. Like she knew what she wanted and it was me, no one else.”

He paused, the grin fading slightly into something more fragile.

“And I held her close, real close, her breath on my skin, her heartbeat next to mine.”

He rolled onto his side in the straw, facing the horse now.

“I didn’t want to wake up,” he admitted, voice hoarse.

The horse gave a small snort but didn’t move.

Kaiser sighed, brushing a hand down his face.

“She ain’t ever looked at me like that in real life. Maybe she never will.”

He reached over to his saddlebag and fingered the corner of the blue ribbon peeking out.

“But maybe she’ll wear the ribbon. And maybe that’s a start. But I’m still mad at her ok?”

He leaned back again, the name still dancing unspoken at the edge of his mouth. And for the first time in hours, he let himself hope. " I think she’s good in bed," Kaiser murmured, eyes half-lidded as he stretched out on the straw with a dopey grin. “Especially on top - A-OUCH!”

THWACK!

A thick leather belt snapped across his backside like a viper. He jolted upright with a yelp, rolling halfway over and clutching his hip.

“Ah! Miss Ir—ow ow ow—Miss Irene, why?!” he whined like a caught schoolboy.

Behind him stood the small, sturdy silhouette of Ms. Irene, arms crossed, her Sunday apron stained from cooking, and her belt already pulled back for a second swing.

“Been callin’ you for lunch for the past ten minutes, you little mule!” she barked, wagging the belt like a sheriff's badge. “You out here layin’ in dirt talkin’ about bed things like a fool in heat, leave your filthy dreams alone and get your boots in the kitchen!”

“You heard me?” Kaiser asked, scandalized.

“Yes, I did! Heard every damn word, and may God strike me blind if I ever hear it again!”

“I thought you had hearing problems-”

WHACK.

The second lash came quicker than a rattlesnake’s strike. He scrambled back, holding up his hands in surrender while laughing through his flinch. “Okay, okay! I’m coming, I’m coming-!” he cried, rolling to the other side, only to thud hard off the haystack.

He hit the ground with a grunt and a puff of straw, face down, groaning. “You fight like a veteran,” he muttered into the grass, rubbing his sore rear.

His horse, hearing the commotion, trotted over with a slow clip-clop and poked him gently in the ribs with her nose.

“I know, I know,” Kaiser sighed, rolling onto his back and brushing off his shirt. He reached up and gave her a little pat between the ears. “Stay here, alright? Don’t eat the ribbon.”

The mare flicked her tail, unimpressed.

Kaiser stood, brushing hay from his pants, wincing slightly with every step as he limped after Ms. Irene, who was already muttering about “young fools and their rotten brains.” The warm scent of stew and roasted vegetables filled the old wooden kitchen. The table creaked as Kaiser leaned forward with a lazy grin, one hand holding a fork like it was a revolver.

“You haven’t changed at all,” Ms. Irene muttered as she brought over a basket of fresh bread. “Twelve years, dealin’ with the same creature.”

“Mind you, I’m twenty-one now” Kaiser said, puffing out his chest proudly.

“Still growing,” she replied flatly without missing a beat.

Kaiser scoffed. “At least I got a little more mature now, no?”

“Not at all,” Ms. Irene quipped, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Awwwhh…” Kaiser pouted, slumping in his seat like a scolded puppy.

“You did get a little more mature,” came Mr. Ritter’s gravelly voice from behind a rustling newspaper. “Don’t listen to her.”

“See? Nice observation,” Kaiser smirked, turning his smug face toward Irene only for her to walk over and dab his mouth with a towel like he was a toddler. “What was that for?!”

“Eat your vegetables,” she ordered sternly.

“I don’t like ‘em. They’re green.”

“Michael.”

“I hate broccoli,” he grumbled.

“Michael Kaiser.”

“Fine…” he groaned, poking the broccoli with the tines of his fork like it had personally wronged him.

“You want me to feed you again?”

“Nononononono—!” he blurted in panic, shooting her a horrified look.

“Then eat.”

Ms. Irene marched back to the sink, mumbling something under her breath about “overgrown children and empty heads.”

Kaiser huffed dramatically and rested his cheek against his palm, sulking into his plate. “I come back here after nine months and this is how I get treated. I’m not ten anymore,” he muttered, spinning a single carrot like a roulette wheel.

“For us, you are,” Mr. Ritter said, lowering his newspaper with a smirk. “Our little cricket.”

Kaiser barely had time to react before the old man ruffled his hair, rough and affectionate.

“Jeez stop ittt!” Kaiser groaned, batting his hand away while laughing. “Y’all are lucky I like you.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t tan your hide for the things you said to your horse,” Irene called from the kitchen.

"for your information, her name is Athena" Kaiser slumped even lower in his seat, muttering, “and I said I was comin’ to lunch…”

The broccoli remained untouched. “You don’t understand how perfect she is to me,” Kaiser said, turning on his heel with theatrical flair. One hand on his chest, the other gesturing to the heavens, his smirk full of smug devotion. “Y/n was made for me.”

Ms. Irene didn’t even look up from kneading dough. “Mmmhmm.”

“I’m tellin’ you, she’s got that glow, the kind only the good ones got. I can tell she’d be great with kids.”

“You’d be enough for her to babysit,” she replied dryly, patting the dough flat with a sharp thwack.

Kaiser’s face dropped. “Okay, that’s harsh”

He stood up from the chair but something caught his eye, a photo album and numerous faded pictures scattered on a shelf. He paused mid-step and reached for the album, curiosity overtaking his fatigue.

“Wow, wow, wow…What’s this?” he murmured, flipping through its pages. A soft smile tugged at his lips as he discovered snapshots of himself when he was just a kid.

He picked up a particular photo, squinting as he examined it. A kid with a crooked grin stared back at him, all front teeth and scabbed knees, golden hair a wild mess.

“I look adorable,” Kaiser smirked, holding it up like a trophy.

“You were ten there,” Mr. Ritter replied, not even glancing up from his chair.

Kaiser chuckled, flipping to another picture. Then another. His smirk softened. His fingers slowed. The more he looked, the quieter he became.

“I was cute,” he said with a chuckle.

“You were eleven here,” came the steady voice of the man who had helped you earlier, leaning casually against the wall.

Kaiser’s smile widened as he studied the image. “How come I’ve never seen these before?”

The man nodded toward the album. “We lost this album for a few years. Didn’t get a chance to show it to you. This picture-” he pointed gently at one photo, “-was taken on the very same day you came here.”

Kaiser examined the photo closely. Compared to the other pictures, his eyes in this one were dark and tired, as if they had recorded not just a day, but a lifetime of weary determination.

“Anymore important memories, huh?” he murmured, voice soft with a mix of nostalgia and wonder. “I gotta go.”

“Already?” Ms. Irene asked, half-amused and half-concerned.

“Important stuff to do,” Kaiser replied with a wry smile.

With one last glance at the photos and the memories they held, he turned and headed to his room to change, leaving behind the remnants of his childhood, and maybe, just maybe, the promise of new beginnings.

He didn’t want them to see it, but a part of him was still raw, still quietly burning. All from you. And yet, he didn’t want to be mad at you. He couldn’t be, not really. So he swallowed it down, bit back the sting, tucked the ache where the rest of his storms lived, and shut the door behind him.

A beat of silence passed.

"MICHAEL, YOU DIDN’T EAT YOUR VEGGIES!!" came Ms. Irene’s shrill voice from the kitchen, piercing through the house like a bullet through peace.

Kaiser groaned from behind the door. “I knew I forgot something.”

he blinked. Once. Twice.

Then frowned.

He looked over the edge of his bed, only to be met with the sight of Shidou, lounging on the floor like he owned the place, arms behind his head, legs crossed.

“The hell you doing here?”

Kaiser didn’t bother sounding surprised. He knew better than to think a locked door would ever stop Shidou.

“Missed my favorite little bedbug,” Shidou smirked, teeth flashing. “Besides, thought you might wanna hear the latest disaster.”

Kaiser didn’t respond. He just stared, waiting for the inevitable madness.

Shidou sat up with a lazy stretch and spun his body around to face him, cross-legged like a mischievous schoolboy. “Remember that geezer from earlier? Somehow he escaped. Don’t ask me how, probably slipped through a drunk guard’s shadow or some dumb shit.”

Kaiser just raised a brow. Still not reacting.

Shidou grinned wider, undeterred. “Yeah, well, the bastard went straight for revenge, or insanity, who knows. Burnt down a flower shop with one of his old war buddies. A flower shop, bro. The one owned by that sweet lady with the cats? Gone. Toast. Ashes.”

“...How do you miss that bad?” Kaiser muttered under his breath, annoyed but not surprised.

“Right?” Shidou laughed, flopping back onto the bed before propping himself on his elbows. “Anyway. We figured we’d soften him up a bit first, y’know, break the man down.”

Kaiser glanced at him warily. “What the hell does that mean.”

Shidou wiggled his eyebrows. “We tossed him in a room with a few of the local ladies of the night.”

“Jesus Christ-”

“One round in,” Shidou interrupted with a flourish of his hand, “and the guy loses his damn mind. Starts yelling about ghosts, heaven, his wife, foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog. Then boom. Drops dead. Right there. Pants still on his ankles.”

Kaiser stared at him, arms crossed, unimpressed. “That’s not a story. That’s a war crime.”

“And that’s showbiz, baby,” Shidou replied with a wink.

“Oh- and one of the prostitutes took a bullet. Some trigger-happy idiot thought she was holding a knife. She was holding a shoe. And yeah then the old man disappeared after the shot”

Kaiser groaned and dragged a hand down his face.

Shidou beamed. “So. What’ve you been up to?”

taglist: @jjklover365daysayear @silverwings920 @bach-ira @rroxii @byzantiumhollow @amy-briar03 @ladykamos @emikikus18 @chuua-l0ver

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hainge · 2 months ago

Text

full bllk timelines for anyone who needs it:

- nov 20: bllk entrance day (tuesday)

- dec 20: team z finishes first selection (thursday)

- dec 30: start of second selection (sunday)

- jan 6: isagi + red team completes second selection (sunday)

- jan 30: end of the second selection (wednesday)

- feb 27: u20 japan match (wednesday)

- mar 10: start of nel (sunday)

- mar 20: 1st and 2nd nel matches (barcha vs bm, pxg vs ubers) (wednesday)

- march 30: 3rd and 4th nel matches (manshine vs bm, barcha vs ubers) (saturday)

- april 9: 5th and 6th nel matches (ubers vs bm, pxg vs manshine) (tuesday)

- april 19: 7th and 8th nel matches (pxg vs barcha, manshine vs ubers) (friday)

- april 29: 9th and 10th nel matches (pxg vs bm, barcha vs manshine) (nagi elimination date) (last day of the nel) (monday)

- april 30: current day in chapter 301, blue lock parade (tuesday)

nov 20 - dec 20: first selection

dec 21 - dec 30: ten day training in preparation for the second selection

dec 30 - jan 30: second selection

jan 30 - feb 26: third selection, preparations for the u20 japan match

feb 28 - mar 9: blue lock break in celebration of the successful u20 match

mar 10 - april 29: neo egoist league

*nel match days are ten days apart, with two matches every ten days.

———————————————

may 23 - june 15: irl 2019 (bllk takes place in 2018-2019) u20 world cup time frame. this isn’t confirmed, and likely won’t be the actual days for the u20 world cup in bllk. in chapter 301, which takes place on april 30 from the math, it is stated that there are 50 days until the u20 world cup. 50 days from april 30 is june 19, so the bllk date for the u20 wc probably won’t add up to the official 2019 wc date irl.

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hainge · 2 months ago

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hiiii hope ur doing well!!

could you do blue lock dads at the beach with their kids? like what they do and chaos some can create. can you do kaiser,rin, isagi, bachira, sae,ness and any of your choice?!

PS: I love your writings so much please dont die

Vacation Foul: Blue Lock Boys, Off Duty

a/n: hihi I’m doing good! hope you’re doing well too!! and don’t worry I’m imortal...and I’m sorry I couldn’t do bachira's one :( I really tried writing something for him but nothing sounded good for me and thank you for the request! I enjoyed writing this!!

bllk!dads ft: Michael Kaiser, Itoshi Rin, Isagi Yoichi, Alexis Ness, Shidou Ryusei, Nagi Seishiro and Itoshi Sae

Michael Kaiser

The sun was relentless over the Greek coastline, casting golden rays over the sparkling blue sea and warming every grain of sand beneath your sunbed. The three of you, Michael, Felix, and you, had flown out for a short family vacation to escape the chaos of city life. Kaiser, naturally, had insisted on bringing a soccer ball. Felix had insisted on bringing his ever-present attitude.

You were stretched out comfortably on a lounger, sun hat tilted just enough to keep the glare off your face as you flipped a page in your book. The Mediterranean breeze smelled like salt and summer fruit. Your son was parked nearby with a bright red plastic bucket and a frown, methodically building a rather intimidating sandcastle complex with tall, crooked walls. His brow was furrowed like a mini architect under a tight deadline.

Kaiser, sprawled on a towel a few feet away, sighed loudly for the fourth time in five minutes. He sat up, staring at the soccer ball lying beside him like it had betrayed him.

“Hey, buddy,” he said, getting up and brushing sand off his shorts. “Wanna play a little?”

Felix didn’t even look up. “Get out.”

Michael blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’re in my property.”

Kaiser glanced down and realized his foot was edging into the sandy perimeter Felix had carefully built as a fortress wall. He stepped back quickly, raising both hands in mock surrender. “Better?”

“Leave me alone.”

Kaiser rolled his eyes, used to the five-year-old’s default setting being mildly hostile. “C’mon, I’m bored. Play with dad.”

“No.”

A tense standoff. Then, slowly, Michael nudged the soccer ball with his foot, softly, gently, so it tapped into one of the towers and knocked part of it down.

“STOP!” Felix screeched. He grabbed the ball, wound up with all the strength in his little arms, and chucked it right at his father.

“Felix!” you said sharply, lowering your book. Your voice carried just enough warning to make both of them freeze. “And you, Michael, stop messing with him.”

Kaiser opened his mouth to protest, thought better of it, and flopped onto the sand with a groan. Felix was already huffing, back to rebuilding the damaged castle.

Without a word, Kaiser scooted closer and began helping, patting damp sand into walls with begrudging patience.

A few minutes later, Felix muttered, “Your castles are ugly.”

“Okay, sorry, Mr. Perfectionist.”

“Die.”

“Hey! We don’t say that!” Michael began, only to get a face full of sand.

“Jeez man calm down” he sputtered, spitting grit and shielding his face as Felix reached for his plastic shovel.

Before the shovel war could escalate, you stood and called, “Let’s go to the water, boys.”

Felix instantly dropped everything. “Yes!”

Michael, still recovering from his sand attack, muttered something in german under his breath but followed as Felix ran ahead, kicking up sand in excitement.

You walked beside Michael toward the waves, and he quietly slipped his arm around your waist, leaning into you like he needed emotional support just to survive his own child. “Why is our son so aggressive?”

“You raised him,” you said lightly, nudging him with your elbow.

Once at the water, Felix didn’t hesitate, he sprinted straight in, no floaties, no fear. He’d been swimming confidently for months now, thanks to Kaiser’s patient lessons (even if one of those lessons had ended with Kaiser choking on seawater while Felix had calmly doggy-paddled circles around him).

As soon as Kaiser stepped in, Felix turned around and immediately began splashing him. Relentlessly. Wave after wave of cold water to the face. Michael stood there, drenched, blinking as you laughed from the shallows.

Then, with one swift motion, Kaiser lunged forward, grabbed Felix, and launched him into the air with practiced ease. Felix shrieked, pure, high-pitched glee as he soared for a second before crashing into the water with a splash.

“Michael!” you gasped through your laughter, hand to your chest. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“He’s fine!” Kaiser called, grinning as Felix resurfaced, cheeks puffed and hair slicked to his forehead.

“Again!” the little gremlin shouted, already swimming back toward him.

Michael glanced at you, water dripping from his hair, and gave a long-suffering sigh. “He hates me.”

You just smiled, stepping into the waves beside them. “He adores you. That’s the problem.”

“No wait! Throw Mama! Throw Mama!” Felix chanted, splashing toward you with sparkling eyes and betrayal in his tiny heart.

You backed up slightly in the water, waving your hands. “No. Michael, don’t even think about it.”

But Kaiser was already grinning. That smug, mischievous grin that meant you were doomed.

“C’mon,” he teased, wading toward you like a predator in beach shorts. “Just once.”

“I don’t want to wet my hair!” you argued, voice rising as you instinctively started to flee deeper into the sea. “Michael- no. I’m serious!”

He caught you anyway, wrapping his arms around you from behind like some dramatic, soaking-wet Romeo.

“MICHAEL, NO!” you screamed as your feet left the sand.

You were airborne for half a second, a blur of sun and sky, and then you hit the water with a loud splash.

When you surfaced, your hair was plastered to your face, your expression absolutely murderous. Felix was clutching his stomach with laughter, Kaiser right beside him howling like it was the funniest thing he’d seen all year.

“Ugh! Baby, why?” you groaned, blinking water from your lashes.

Felix wheezed. “Mama looks like a sea monster!”

“Watch it,” you warned, splashing water at them both, but they only laughed harder.

Kaiser leaned in, brushing a soggy strand of hair from your cheek with zero remorse. “You still look hot, by the way.”

“Flattery won’t save you,” you muttered, and pushed him to the water.

Kaiser accepted your rejection with a dramatic groan, hands lifted in surrender, and let himself flop backward into the sea. Water splashed up around him as he sank, arms splayed like a fallen martyr.

Felix immediately swam over with enthusiastic strokes, his little arms slicing through the water with impressive determination. The waves barely came up to your hips, but to him, it was the open ocean.

You swept your hair back, still wet and clinging to your cheeks, and watched as your two troublemakers rejoined like magnets.

“Throw me again!” Felix demanded breathlessly while jumping like a kangaroo.

“Nah,” Kaiser replied with mock laziness, leaning back on his elbows in the water.

“Please!”

With an exaggerated sigh, Kaiser stood up and hoisted Felix effortlessly into his arms. But instead of tossing him right away, he began spinning him around in slow, exaggerated motions, one arm cradling his back, the other under his knees like he was lifting a sack of potatoes.

Felix shrieked in delight and mild panic, flailing as he was held upside-down, sideways, and every which way. “You’re doing it wrong!”

“That’s the only way I do things,” Kaiser said smugly.

Then, without warning, he launched the boy into the air with perfect form, like a human trebuchet. Felix went soaring with a high-pitched scream and belly-flopped spectacularly into the water.

You gasped, hand flying to your mouth. “Michael!” You smacked his arm. “Don’t throw him like your dad again!”

Kaiser, clearly unrepentant, wore the smug grin of a man who had just nailed a personal best. “That throw had finesse.”

“Finesse my ass,” you muttered, eyes darting to the water. “Felix, baby, you okay?”

The boy resurfaced with a splash, blinking water from his lashes and grinning like a gremlin. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

You froze. “What?!”

You turned to Michael, aghast. “Was it you?!”

Kaiser raised both hands in mock innocence. “What? Me? No, of course not.”

He casually turned and began swimming away, shoulders hunched in retreat, but you weren’t letting him off that easy.

“Oh no, you’re not leaving like this,” you said, wading after him. You reached out and grabbed those infamous rat tails.

“OW-!” he yelped, flailing backward as you tugged him toward you.

“You taught our son to swear!” you accused, dragging him through the water like a soaked cat.

Michael turned with a sheepish smile, saltwater dripping from his lashes. “In my defence…he used it correctly.”

You sighed, releasing his braids with a splash. “You’re impossible.”

“But sexy” he added with a wink, rubbing his head dramatically like he’d been mortally wounded.

Felix ran toward you both again, bright-eyed and fearless. “Your turn!”

“Absolutely not,” you said firmly, stepping back as both boys turned on you with matching, mischievous glints in their eyes.

Kaiser smirked. “You said ‘absolutely.’ That’s halfway to ‘abso-fucking-lutely.’”

You shoved his head in the water.

Itoshi Rin

The sun hung high above the glittering sea, casting shimmers across the calm, glassy waves of the portuguese coastline. It was one of those rare, perfect afternoons, quiet except for the gentle hush of waves and the soft voices of your little family.

Rin sat cross-legged beside Masako on the beach towel, carefully applying sunscreen to her porcelain-smooth shoulders. She sat perfectly still, hands folded in her lap like a little empress awaiting her coronation.

“You can go now,” she said politely once he’d finished, flashing him a soft smile.

Rin arched an eyebrow but said nothing. He was used to taking orders from this particular seven-year-old.

“Papa, let’s go!” Masako said, standing up and smoothing down her pink ribbon swimsuit. “Let’s build a castle.”

“Castle,” Rin repeated flatly, rising to his feet.

“Hum,” she nodded with approval.

He gathered her carefully curated beach toy set and followed her down to the damp shoreline. Masako stopped just before the tide and knelt, picking up a stick. With slow, precise strokes, she drew an intricate floor plan in the wet sand.

“This is the main hall. That’s the tower. I want the bridge here,” she pointed decisively.

Rin crouched beside her, already scooping and shaping as instructed.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” he muttered, eyeing the spot she wanted the bridge to span.

Masako turned to him with a serene expression and said, “Everything is possible when you’re the one doing it.”

He paused, sighed softly, then resumed digging.

Soon Rin was carving out a small moat-like pool, carefully shaping the edge with his hands. Masako knelt beside it and dipped her fingers in.

“The water is warm,” she said thoughtfully. “But I want it colder.”

Then, daintily, she brushed the sand off her swimsuit using a little scoop of seawater, stood, and grabbed her father’s hand. “Let’s ask Mama to come with us.”

She took off running toward you, her long dark braid bouncing behind her.

“Mamaaa!” Masako called sweetly, sliding to a stop beside your sunbed.

You opened one eye “What’s up, baby?”

“Stop tanning and go to the ocean with us,” she said as if it were a polite royal decree.

You laughed, rising with a stretch. “Alright, alright. Let me put more sunscreen on Papa first.”

Masako turned on her heel with regal flair, already retrieving her donut-shaped floater. She marched toward the sea like a model on a runway, head high, arms poised.

Meanwhile, Rin stood with his eyes narrowed as you approached him with the sunscreen bottle.

“You burn so easily,” you teased, dabbing some on his cheeks. “Don't make that face.”

He didn’t reply, but leaned into your touch slightly as you smeared the cream across his nose.

A few minutes later, the three of you walked into the water together. The waves were cool against your legs, refreshing and playful. Masako let out a soft, delighted sound when the first splash kissed her ankles.

She held up her hand like a little princess awaiting a royal escort. Rin took it wordlessly and led her forward, her donut floater bobbing behind her.

In deeper water, Masako twirled with the grace of a ballerina, her float spinning with her. “I’m a ballerina!” she declared, holding out her arms.

Rin turned to her stiffly, arms half-raised as if unsure what to do with them.

“Papa,” Masako said with perfect seriousness, “you have to act like a gentleman. Not like Slender Man.”

Rin froze mid-movement.

From behind them, you burst into laughter. “It’s his nature, sweetie.”

Masako giggled and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay. You’re still my gentleman.”

And with that, he bent slightly at the waist and gave her the most dignified nod he could manage, just before she twirled again, splashing both of you with seawater.

You waded a little deeper into the sea, the water cool and refreshing as it lapped against your waist. Holding Masako’s small hands, you guided her carefully through the gentle swells. She hummed softly to herself, some delicate, dreamy tune she’d likely made up on the spot, her expression serene as always.

Her donut-shaped floater bobbed up and down with the waves, and she rode them like a queen on a pink throne, chin slightly raised, posture impeccable. Every so often she glanced toward Rin, who mirrored her pace in the water, keeping just enough distance to let her feel independent, but always close enough to catch her if she slipped.

The waves rolled in slow and calm, until they didn’t.

From the corner of your eye, you saw a larger swell forming in the distance. Rin noticed too. Calmly, he reached for Masako’s hands again. Then, just before the wave hit, he let go and gave her floater a gentle push toward shore.

She laughed, spinning slightly as the wave lifted her and carried her forward like a sea princess on parade.

Her floater touched the shallows, and she began to wriggle out of it, preparing to stand gracefully and stroll back to you like she was disembarking from a yacht.

But Poseidon had other plans.

Another wave came crashing down, larger, sudden, and completely uninvited. It hit her squarely in the back and sent her tumbling forward in a surprise backflip. Legs in the air. Head under. The kind of wave only siblings and the ocean could deliver.

She resurfaced seconds later, hair plastered to her face, pink swimsuit full of sand, mouth full of seawater, and completely stunned.

You let out a loud laugh

Masako paused. Composed herself with startling grace. Smoothed her hair back with both hands and stood up like nothing happened, only slightly staggering as more sand shifted under her feet.

She swam back to you with quiet dignity, though her swimsuit sagged a little from the weight of seawater and her braid looked like a mop. Her cheeks were pink. Her silence, deadly.

Rin, watching from where he stood in the water, had a very small, very smug smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You leaned down, still laughing. “That was the most elegant backflip I’ve ever seen.”

Masako huffed “I’ve decided,” she announced with great seriousness, “we are not friends with the ocean anymore.”

Rin raised an eyebrow. “You just said it was your kingdom.”

She glared at the sea like it had personally betrayed her. “It’s a rebellious province now.”

After the great betrayal by the ocean and her royal decree to disown it, Masako seemed to recover her mood. She held out her hands toward Rin, her expression once again softened, grace restored.

“Swing me, Papa,” she said sweetly.

Without hesitation, Rin took her hands, gently lifting her in slow, swooping circles over the water. She giggled as her legs skimmed the surface, droplets sparkling in the air like seafoam.

You swam closer, smiling as you floated nearby, soaking in the calm moment. The three of you drifted like that for a while, the sun painting golden ripples across the water, everything blissfully normal, like a picture of a healthy, balanced family.

Until Masako suddenly gasped, her mouth forming a perfect little "O" of discovery.

Her eyes locked onto something just behind you.

A little girl floated by in the shallows, lounging like a sea queen in a pastel purple mermaid float, complete with glitter fins and a tiny raised tail that bobbed with each wave.

Masako pointed instantly, urgency in her voice.

“I want one!”

You turned, squinting. “The mermaid?”

“Yes!” she said. “I need it!”

Rin blinked. “You already have seven floaters.”

“No, I have this donut,” she began, counting off on her fingers, “the unicorn, the turtle, the Disney princess one, the shark, the white duck, six. And now I want the mermaid!”

“That’s seven,” Rin deadpanned.

Masako pouted, hands folded over the edge of her donut like a mini lawyer preparing for trial. “You said math isn’t everything when we went to the aquarium and I got the dolphin toy.”

“That’s not what I-” “Pleaseeeeeee?” she asked, voice full of manufactured sweetness and ocean sparkle, dragging the word out like it might hypnotize him.

Rin stared at her. Then stared at you. You shrugged. “It’s really cute.”

He sighed heavily, as if agreeing was the worst possible fate.

Masako beamed.

The next morning, she strutted across the beach in her brand-new mermaid float. Donut forgotten. Order restored. Ocean forgiven.

Except she didn’t dare take it into the water. Not even once.

Instead, she carefully dragged it to the perfect sunny spot, plopped herself inside with a pair of pink sunglasses, and used it as her royal beach throne, for sunbathing only. "Are you kidding me," said Rin flatly, arms crossed as he looked down at her.

Masako pushed her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose with one finger, acting just like Miranda Priestley from The Devil Wears Prada, and said coolly, “I don’t do peasant activities.”

“And what could they be?” he asked, already bracing himself.

She pointed toward a group of kids playing in the sand, hair tangled, bodies streaked in sunblock and grit, chasing each other like little goblins. “That,” she declared.

Rin sighed loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Who do you think you are?”

“The royalty,” she replied without missing a beat, crossing her legs dramatically in her glittery mermaid float like she was lounging on a yacht.

Rin just stared at her, defeated.

Itoshi Sae

The moment her sandals hit the sand, Kimiko took a deep breath and turned to you with the poise of a six-year-old dictator. One hand on her hip, the other gesturing grandly to the ocean, she launched into a monologue.

“So! First of all, frogs can breathe through their skin. Did you know that? And zebras, zebras are actually black with white stripes, not white with black, Mama, are you listening? Because I’m talking.”

You nodded patiently. “Of course I’m listening, baby.”

Meanwhile, a few feet away, Sae silently slipped the inflatable shoulder floaties, onto Haruki’s thin little arms. Haruki blinked once, completely unbothered by the world. The sun, the sand, the fact his sister was halfway through an impromptu TED Talk, it all washed over him like background noise.

“You two are already going to the water?” you called as Sae started walking away, Haruki’s hand in his.

“Hum,” was all he offered, monotone as ever.

Kimiko spun around like she’d just been personally betrayed.

“You have to wait for the sunscreen to set! That’s what the bottle says! You’ll get burnt and then cry, and then-”

“Kimiko,” Sae interrupted flatly, “don’t yell like a seagull.”

Before you could even try to intervene, she grabbed her rainbow floater and took off after them in a huff.

“Kimiko! I need to put sunscreen on your face-!” Too late. She was halfway to the water, dragging the float behind her like a warrior hauling a battle flag.

Kimiko marched across the sand with righteous fury, dragging her rainbow floater behind her like she was leading a revolution. She stopped just behind Sae and Haruki, arms crossed, her little chest puffed up with indignation.

“You have to wait for it to set!” she barked, voice sharp and precise. “You can’t just go in without protection.

Sae didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch. Just looked over his shoulder at her with the expression of a man being lectured by someone half his height and six years old.

“You always talk like you run a spa,” he said flatly. “We’re going in the water, not doing skincare commercials.”

Sae looked down at Haruki, who blinked up at him like a silent witness. Then he looked back at Kimiko.

“So are you coming,” he asked casually, “or are you gonna stand there yelling like a sunburnt pelican?”

Kimiko opened her mouth. Closed it. Let out a high-pitched noise of disbelief. “I was trying to help!”

Haruki quietly resumed smacking the water with his hands like a bored seal.

Sae raised an eyebrow, turning toward the waves again. “Suit yourself.”

Kimiko stood frozen, completely scandalized, before letting out a dramatic huff. “I’m not going!” she snapped.

“Good,” Sae replied. “Less noise in the water.”

Kimiko watched them, bottom lip trembling. Her fists tightened at her sides. Her pride waged war with her feelings for a good three seconds, then she tossed her floater dramatically onto the sand and turned on her heel.

You were just finishing rubbing sunscreen onto your calves when she returned, dragging her feet. Her brows were furrowed, lips wobbling, and her dark eyes brimming with tears.

“Hey…” you said softly, sitting up straighter. “What happened, baby?”

“I don’t want to be with them anymore,” she said, sniffing hard. “Papa’s mean. Haruki doesn’t care. I’m cold. My feet are sandy. And I was trying to help.”

You opened your arms, and she crawled into your lap like she was still two, her little body warm and trembling from holding in frustration.

You kissed the top of her head. “I know, sweetheart. You were trying to take care of them, huh?”

She nodded, pressing her forehead into your shoulder.

“They don’t even deserve your floater,” you whispered conspiratorially.

“I know,” she mumbled, wiping her tears.

You smiled gently, brushing her hair back. “Want to build a castle with me instead?”

She sniffled. “Will you listen to my frog facts?”

“Only if you promise to tell me everything.”

You and Kimiko had moved on from heartbreak to architecture, both of you hunched over a slowly growing sand kingdom near the umbrella. With her tiny pink shovel and an intense sense of focus, she directed construction like a tiny CEO. Every now and then she'd sniff dramatically, just to remind the world she was still mad.

Then, out of nowhere, came the sound of feet pattering over wet sand.

“Mommm!” Haruki called out, wobbling slightly as he approached, carrying something heavy in both hands.

You turned and saw him gripping a bright blue bucket, water sloshing inside. “Hmm? What is it, baby? What do you have there?”

Haruki didn’t say a word, just tilted the bucket toward you.

Inside: six crabs scrambling across wet sand, trying to escape.

Your eyes widened. “Woooow! Did you catch them yourself?”

Haruki blinked once. “No. Papa did.”

Sure enough, Sae trailed behind at his usual calm pace, a second bucket in his hand. Probably collecting sea water to keep the crabs happy, or alive. Hard to tell with him.

“Wow, they’re so cool,” you said, beaming at your son and gently tapping the rim of the bucket.

Kimiko, still kneeling at her castle-in-progress, didn’t even look up. Her lips were pursed. Her shovel was stabbing sand like she meant it.

Sae finally stopped a few feet away, glancing at his daughter.

“Are you still gonna keep fuming at me?”

Silence.

She didn’t even blink.

“I don’t like you,” she replied coldly, voice sharp like cracked seashells.

Sae’s brows lifted a fraction, but you saw it. The dangerous glint in his eye.

“Hmm,” he hummed.

And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he tilted his second bucket and dumped the cold seawater directly on her back.

Kimiko let out a scream so high-pitched a flock of seagulls took off behind you.

she sobbed, face scrunching up as fat tears spilled down her cheeks. “You ruined everything!”

You gasped. “Sae!”

He blinked once. “She looked hot.”

“Sae!”

Kimiko turned to you in despair, both arms stiff at her sides. “I didn’t even finish my castle!”

“Oh, sweetheart,” you said, quickly reaching for a clean towel.

You wrapped it around her gently, kneeling to dry off her arms as she sniffled dramatically. Her mouth was still wobbling, her eyes red with fury. Even as she let you pull her into your lap, her tiny fists were clenched inside the towel.

Haruki, completely unaffected by the drama, crouched by the crab bucket again. He studied the little creatures as they scrambled around inside, then calmly reached in and grabbed one with his tiny fingers, like he did it every day of his life.

You watched him with a mix of pride and concern. “Haruki, careful-”

He stood up and turned toward his sister, crab wiggling in his hand.

“Do you want it?” he asked, holding it out to her like a gift.

Kimiko turned, saw the crab’s tiny legs twitching and absolutely lost it.

“AAAAH!!” she screamed, throwing her arms up in panic and nearly knocking the towel off. “GET AWAY FROM ME!!"

Haruki blinked, unfazed. “It’s just moving”

“I don’t want it! I don’t want it!!”

You couldn’t help it, you burst out laughing.

Sae, now squatting nearby like a man enjoying the chaos he started, tilted his head. “You said you liked marine life.”

“I meant dolphins!” Kimiko cried, dramatically burying her face into your shoulder.

Haruki shrugged and walked off with the crab, mumbling something about naming it Doraemon.

You patted Kimiko’s back gently. “No more crabs, promise. Just princess castles and sunscreen.”

She sniffled one last time. “And dolphins.”

“Of course.”

Sae leaned back, eyes on the sea. “She’s definitely your daughter.”

You smiled. “Oh really? I was about to say she’s all you.”

After the chaos with the screaming and the cold splash, Sae and Haruki returned to the shoreline, a bucket full of squirming, twitchy crabs in tow.

They knelt near the water’s edge, Haruki squinting at the shifting tide.

“Daddy, look! A seagull!” Haruki pointed with his whole arm, his voice full of wonder.

Sae followed his gaze lazily. “Hm. Yes. A seagull.”

“Can I give it the crabs?”

Sae glanced down at him, half-lidded eyes calm as ever. “Do what you want.”

And so Haruki did.

One by one, he plucked the crabs from the bucket and lobbed them toward the unsuspecting seagull. The bird jumped, flapped wildly, and then pecked curiously at the offering. None of the crabs made it to safety except one.

“Can you catch the seagull?” Haruki asked suddenly.

“Why?” Sae raised an eyebrow.

“It’s like a duck.”

That made something flicker in Sae’s expression, half disbelief, half amusement. He let out a soft chuckle, rare and short-lived. “You want to eat it?”

“Yes,” Haruki said, completely serious.

“You know we can’t.”

Sae stood up, brushing sand from his hands before grabbing Haruki’s small one.

“Let’s find another crab and put it on your sister’s head.”

Haruki nodded like it was a noble quest. “She’ll scream again.”

“That’s the point,” Sae muttered.

Shidou Ryusei

You knew it was a mistake before even stepping foot on the plane. Thailand sounded like a dream getaway, until you remembered you were traveling with the human equivalent of a sugar-rushed raccoon and his pint-sized twin in spirit.

The airport? Chaos. The hotel? A war zone. Temples? You don’t even want to talk about it.

So by the time you reached the beach, your expectations were buried six feet deep in the sand.

“RYUSEI, THE SUNSCREEN!” you shouted like a lifeguard with no authority, watching two gremlins, one large, one small, bolting into the waves like wild animals. You barely managed to slather a protective layer on Shoko’s little cheeks before she escaped your grasp and leapt into the water with a feral “RAAAWRR!”

They were yelling like jungle creatures, Ryusei hunched over in the waves like some unhinged sea monster, eyes wide and mouth stretched in a toothy grin as he chased Shoko in zigzags. You caught a few concerned glances from nearby parents. You just smiled politely, mentally preparing your apology speech.

Once you’d finished laying out towels and beach bags, because of course they hadn’t thought to help, you stood at the shoreline, still in your sheer beach shirt, shielding your face from the sun.

“Ryu, come here!” you called.

“Nah, Mama! We don’t need that!” he yelled back, flicking saltwater dramatically as he twirled with Shoko clinging to his back like a barnacle.

“I’m serious!”

“Don’t be! It won’t kill me!”

“At least let me put some on your back"

But he was already swimming off with Shoko screaming gleefully, her little arms waving as she shouted.

You groaned and after like five you stepped into the water. The cool waves lapped at your legs as you waded deeper, tension loosening from your shoulders as the sea pulled at you.

You reached Shoko, who had now migrated to her yellow duck floater, bobbing like royalty. You swam beside her, gently holding the float as she kicked her feet and hummed something vaguely off-key.

“Where did your dad go?” you muttered, scanning the surface. The water was deep enough now to reach your chest, and there was no pink-haired chaos gremlin in sight.

Then-

Something grabbed your legs.

You shrieked, flailing on instinct.

Suddenly, two strong arms hoisted you up, and the next thing you knew, you were on Shidou’s shoulders, high above the waves, hands gripping his damp hair for dear life.

“RYUSEI, PUT ME DOWN!” you yelled, voice half panic, half fury, hair dripping seawater over your face.

“Anything for my beautiful wife!” he chirped like this was some kind of honeymoon.

Before you could deliver a proper threat, he grinned wickedly, grabbed your ankles, and pushed them up. Your body tilted backward like a ragdoll, and with a scream, you went tumbling into the sea behind him, hitting the water with a dramatic splash.

You surfaced with a gasp, soaked, furious, and already planning his funeral.

Shoko was cackling, nearly tipping out of her duck.

Shidou swam over, smug as ever, pushing his wet hair back. “You look majestic”

And just when you thought your day couldn’t possibly get worse, Shidou decided it was crab-hunting time.

“Shoko, be careful-” you warned, eyes flicking over from where you were prepping snacks on the mat, trying to enjoy at least five minutes of peace.

“Let’s catch dinner, Shoko!” he interrupted gleefully, already jogging toward the rockier part of the coast, your five-year-old cackling as she bolted after him, plastic bucket swinging in her grip.

You blinked. “Dinner?”

By the time you looked up again, Shidou was climbing onto the rocks, water splashing over the stone as waves rolled in, and he had the audacity to lift Shoko higher, like she wasn’t a tiny human with fragile limbs and zero fear.

You dropped the fruit container with a sigh that turned into a growl and marched across the sand, heart racing.

“RYUSEI, GET OUT OF THERE!”

“Woman, calm down,” he called without looking back, that stupid grin plastered across his face as he dunked a crab into Shoko’s bucket.

“Ha! Daddy, this is the biggest one so far!”

“Shoko, get down! You’ll slip!”

“I won’t, Mommy. Don’t worry!” she placed the bucket down and started crawling toward another crab, her little hands and feet finding shaky purchase.

“Shoko--RYU--goddamn it, GET HER!”

“Uuuh~, another crab!” Shidou announced like he was hosting a cooking show. “This one’s small, right Shoko?”

“Yes, we don’t need it.”

“Have it, Mama.” And he threw it.

At. You.

You yelped, leaping back as the crab landed in the sand at your feet like it had been launched from a trebuchet. “Are you INSANE?!”

“Daddy! There’s a big one righ-ah!”

Her scream made your soul leave your body.

You saw her hand slip on the wet rock, her little body tilting sideways.

“SHOKO!”

But before panic fully kicked in, Shidou moved like lightning. He dropped the crab, lunged, and caught her mid-fall with a grunt, pulling her tight against his chest.

“Gotcha,” he said, breathless.

You didn’t move. You just stood there, pale, heart thudding, fists clenched.

Shidou glanced at you, then smirked.

“Get. Down. Here.”

That did it. He and Shoko finally took your words seriously, making their slow descent from the rocks. The moment Shidou’s feet touched the sand, you stormed over and grabbed his ear like he was your third, most difficult child.

“We. Are. Going. Home.”

“Noooo, Mommmm!” Shoko whined, holding the crab bucket protectively.

“No crabs. No more swimming. No more fun,” you said, dragging your overgrown gremlin of a husband away by the ear.

He pouted. “You're being dramatic.”

You glared at him. “Wait until tomorrow when your body feels like it’s on fire.”

He rolled his eyes.

He stopped rolling his eyes at 2 a.m., when he woke up screaming with the worst sunburn of his life.

You, of course, offered no sympathy. Just aloe vera, and a smirk.

The crabs were released. Shoko forgave you.

Shidou? Not so much.

But that was his problem.

Next year? Mountain vacation.

No crabs allowed.

Isagi Yoichi

The first thing you did when you stepped onto the beach was let out a long, satisfied sigh. The warm sand under your feet, the salty breeze tugging at your clothes, and the sun casting a golden shimmer over the ocean, it was perfect.

“Feels so good,” you murmured, closing your eyes for just a second of peace. “What do you think, Isamu?”

No answer.

You turned.

There he was, standing beside you in his little sunhat and sandals… completely glued to his Nintendo.

“Isamu,” you said, unamused.

Still no answer.

So you did what any mother would do, you snatched it from his hands.

“NOO!!” he whined, arms flailing as he jumped for it. “Give it back!”

“What did I tell you about bringing games on vacation?” you scolded, holding it up like a trophy out of reach. “You need vitamin D!”

He pouted, kicking the sand dramatically like a boy betrayed. “This IS my vitamin D…”

“And where’s your father?” you asked, scanning the beach.

You spotted Isagi already at the assigned beach chairs, setting up the towels like the responsible MVP dad he was. “Oh. He’s already there…” you muttered. You sighed again, less relaxed this time, and walked over to help him.

Once you’d gotten everything in place, you finally walked back over to where your boys had started kicking a soccer ball between them.

“Wanna go to the water with me?” you asked sweetly.

“Yeah sure-” Isagi started.

“No,” Isamu cut in flatly, not even looking at you as he flicked the ball back to his dad.

“Why not?” Isagi frowned.

“I wanna play soccer with you,” Isamu said, determined.

“We’ve been kicking the ball for fifteen minutes.”

“I’m not done.”

They launched into a low-grade argument, Isamu passionately arguing for just five more minutes and Isagi trying to remind him that even pro players take breaks. You just shrugged, gave them a little wave, and walked off to the water.

You floated in the waves, enjoying the serenity, alone with your thoughts and the sound of gulls overhead. It was blissful. But the second you turned to look back at shore, you spotted your boys still at it, and Isamu now begging for something.

“Dad, get me ice cream.”

“You already had two before we even left the hotel,” Isagi replied, clearly exhausted.

“I want another one,” Isamu whined, retrieving his Nintendo (from your beach bag, no less) like it was his emotional support device.

“I think that’s enough screen time for today...” Isagi said with a sigh, glancing at the water. His eyes softened when he saw you, drifting peacefully in the waves, completely detached from the father-son showdown on land.

He wanted to join you so badly.

But he couldn’t leave Isamu alone.

“Will you go in the water if I get you an ice cream?” he bargained.

“No.”

“Then no ice cream.”

“…Fine. I will.”

“Then c’mon,” Isagi said, standing up. “Let’s go to the beach café, and then we’ll swim.”

Isamu stood up, eyes still glued to the screen.

Isagi rolled his eyes, took the Nintendo from his son’s hands, and zipped it firmly back into the bag.

“And we are leaving that here.”

“NOO”

They strolled across the warm boardwalk toward the little beach café, sandals kicking up dust.

“So, what ice cream do you want?” Isagi asked, glancing down at his son.

Isamu stared at the freezer like it held the secrets of the universe. “Uhhh…this watermelon-shaped one. No, wait—the Oreo one. Nah… the, uh… the, wait, no, um…”

Isagi’s patient smile slowly faded as Isamu’s brain short-circuited under the weight of too many options. “I’m not buying you anything if you keep nagging,” he said flatly.

“Vanilla,” Isamu blurted.

“Fine.”

“Strawberry.”

Isagi sighed through his nose, rubbing his temples.

They finally left the café, Isamu holding a two-scoop vanilla-mint cone like it was a trophy, tongue already painted faint green.

“Is it good?” Isagi asked.

“Hm,” Isamu mumbled, too absorbed in the dessert to give a real answer.

“Good. Now hurry up and eat it so we can go meet your mom.”

“Take the ball,” Isamu added, holding it out with sticky hands.

Isagi blinked. “Magic word?”

“Please.”

“…Fine.”

You were floating near the shore, sunlight glinting off the water as you lazily kicked your legs. The breeze tickled your skin and the waves gently bobbed you like a buoy. For a moment, it was heaven.

Then you spotted them.

“Finally,” you called, pushing damp hair out of your eyes. “Took you long enough.”

“Yeah,” Isagi muttered, wading in beside you, one arm holding the soccer ball and the other herding a very full Isamu. “We’re here. And he’s had his third ice cream of the day.”

“The water’s cold,” Isamu announced dramatically, dipping in toe-first before slowly letting his body float with the help of the soccer ball clutched under his arms like a life ring.

“You don’t need floaters Isamu?” you asked, smiling as you swam over to wrap your arms around Isagi’s shoulders, letting him hold you close in the water.

“I don’t” Isamu mumbled stubbornly, paddling his feet in place and clinging to the ball like a sea otter.

“He’s so cute,” you whispered, nose brushing Isagi’s cheek.

Isagi leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple, his hair tickling your forehead.

You grinned.

“Ew,” Isamu deadpanned from a few feet away.

“Sorry?” Isagi called, eyebrows raised.

“Disgusting,” Isamu said louder, turning his back to you dramatically. Then, without warning, he kicked both feet out, splashing water right into your faces.

“ISAMU!” you yelped through laughter, wiping your eyes.

“I didn’t see anything,” he declared innocently. “I was just swimming.”

“Oh, you little-” Isagi lunged playfully, sending another splash his way while Isamu squealed and paddled away as fast as he could, giggling like a maniac.

After drying off and towel-wrapping Isamu like a spring roll, you settled onto the lounge chair with a cold drink and a wide-brimmed hat. Meanwhile, your boys couldn’t sit still for more than two seconds.

“Let’s go, Dad!” Isamu chirped, already bouncing the ball between his feet.

“Didn’t we just come out of the water?” Isagi asked, towel still draped over his shoulders.

But Isamu had already run ahead to an open patch of sand, looking back expectantly. Isagi sighed and jogged after him.

The next ten minutes were filled with laughter, sand flying, and father-son one-touch passes. Isamu was getting bolder with each kick, trying to copy every trick Isagi demonstrated, even if it meant falling on his butt half the time.

“Alright, last one before we head back,” Isagi said, dusting his hands.

Isamu nodded, eyes sparkling with determination. He pulled his leg back for what he clearly thought would be the most powerful kick of his life.

“Careful with th-”

Too late.

The ball shot through the air like a cannonball, and nailed a little girl in the face as she walked by, ice cream splattering dramatically.

Everyone froze.

“Oh no,” Isamu whispered, eyes wide.

“Shit” Isagi muttered.

Nagi Seishiro

Having Shizuku with you was like having a tiny angel, calm, sweet, and never demanding too much. If only you could say the same for your husband.

It had been nearly an hour since your feet hit the warm sand, and Nagi Seishiro had done absolutely nothing but sleep under the umbrella, his hoodie pulled over his face like he was avoiding reality. You looked over at him, sprawled like royalty, arms folded, lips parted slightly, and drool dangerously close to escaping.

Meanwhile, your daughter had been content enough with you, eating a small vanilla ice cream, giggling when it dripped on her hand, and building modest sandcastles shaped like lumpy clouds. But eventually, her gaze wandered to a group of kids near the shoreline, splashing around in little dug-out tide pools. One in particular caught her eye.

“I want to make a pool,” Shizuku said softly, pointing.

You brushed some sand off your legs and smiled. “Sure.”

“With papa.”

You followed her eyes back to the umbrella where Nagi remained deeply committed to his beach nap.

“Sei…” you nudged his side gently with your foot. “Seiii…”

A groggy “hmm~?” came from beneath the hoodie.

“Make a pool for your daughter.”

“A pool?” he mumbled, already curling tighter. “Such a hassle…”

“Come on, don’t make her dig it herself,” you coaxed.

A pause. Then a long, dramatic sigh. “Hm… fine.”

With his usual slouchy gait, he dragged himself off the towel and joined the two of you in front of the sandcastle ruins. Shizuku looked up at him with quiet excitement, holding a small red plastic shovel.

“Where do you want it?” he asked, squatting beside her.

“Here,” she said, pointing at a patch of damp sand closer to the tide.

He grabbed a plastic pail and started scooping.

“You know we have an ocean ten feet away, right?” he muttered.

Shizuku was gently patting a mound into a wall. “The ocean water is cold.”

“Then why not ask your mom?”

“You rarely play with me.”

His hands stilled.

He looked up at her, blinking slowly, that guilty pang landing somewhere in the middle of his chest. Shizuku wasn’t the kind to complain, she barely raised her voice when she wanted something. For her to say it… it meant she’d been thinking about it.

“Sorry,” he said quietly.

Shizuku turned to him, her cheeks pink from the sun, and smiled. “It’s okay. I still love you.”

Nagi exhaled, then gave her head a gentle pat. “I love you too, Zuku.”

He got back to digging, more focused now. The pool was sloppy, but wide enough. He started dragging buckets of water over from the sea, sloshing most of it out along the way, but trying.

Shizuku giggled as she smoothed the edges with her hands. “This is the best pool.”

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Because you made it.”

Nagi looked over at you then, you were watching, chin resting on your hand, lips curled in a smile.

“…Not bad for a hassle,” he murmured.

Shizuku sat back, satisfied, as her little pool glimmered under the sun. Plastic toys floated lazily on the surface, her rubber dolphin, a chipped pink shovel, and a yellow cup shaped like a duck. You were dusting your hands off after finishing the last bit of the sand wall she asked for when she reached up and tugged at her father’s sleeve.

“Papa,” she said, gripping her small blue bucket. “Let’s get more water.”

Nagi blinked at her slowly, then glanced at the nearly full pool.

“Still not enough?” he murmured with a yawn, but took her hand anyway.

You smiled watching them walk to the edge of the ocean together, your sleepy husband matching her tiny barefoot steps, both of them silent in that serene, quiet way they shared. They came back moments later, carefully pouring more salt water into their handmade pool. After a few tries, it was full.

Shizuku then busied herself again, searching nearby patches of sand. “I want shells. And pretty rocks.”

“Mm,” Nagi hummed, dropping lazily onto the towel beside you.

She returned a few minutes later with a palm full of damp, glistening things. “Papa, what do you think of this one?”

Nagi sat up slightly and peered at the flat speckled stone in her hand. “Hm… it’s pretty.”

You leaned over and wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your chin on his shoulder to take a look too. “Yeah, sweetheart, it’s beautiful.”

Time passed peacefully, until Shizuku stood up again, staring out toward the sea.

“I want to try going to the water.”

You blinked, surprised. “Really?”

“I want to learn how to swim.”

You grinned and gave her a little kiss on the cheek. “Alright. Let’s get your floaters hm?”

You carried it over your shoulder, adjusting their straps as Shizuku held her father’s hand. Nagi walked beside her, more alert now, already watching the water patterns. When the tide brushed her toes, she squeaked and jumped back.

“It’s cold,” she murmured, tucking behind Nagi’s leg.

“Shizuku, it’s okay,” you said softly. “You’ll get used to it, promise.”

It took… a while

Shizuku sat like a queen in her floater throne, legs tucked, arms relaxed over the sides, slowly drifting back and forth with the tiny waves. You and Nagi sat beside her in the sand, the sun warm, your feet buried. Nagi had his hand lazily resting on the edge of her float, keeping her from floating off too far.

“This is nice,” you murmured.

“Mm,” Nagi agreed with a yawn, eyes half closed.

Then the ocean had other plans.

A new wave appeared in the distance. It didn’t seem that big. Just… a little suspicious. You squinted.

“Sei… that one looks kinda-”

Too late.

The wave came in fast, suddenly not so little. It barreled in with the force of a caffeine-rushed toddler and slapped right into Shizuku’s float. The girl let out the tiniest “hm?” before the entire donut flipped dramatically, legs up, arms flailing, one plastic toy flying like it was ejected from a spaceship.

“WHOA-” Nagi lunged for her like he was doing a beach version of a FIFA save. He caught her mid-splash, but the wave wasn’t done yet.

It smacked both of them like a giant wet pancake and dragged them backwards like socks in a laundry cycle.

You stood up, mouth open in shock as you watched your husband and daughter being politely escorted by the ocean eight full feet downshore, looking like soggy laundry drifting away.

“SEI?!”

“Mmgh I got her,” Nagi replied, barely lifting his head above the water. He sat up with seaweed stuck to his hair and Shizuku dangling over his shoulder like a soaked burrito.

Shizuku blinked slowly, clearly trying to understand what dimension she had just entered. She had a clump of wet sand on her cheek and a single plastic dolphin toy wedged into her armpit.

“Papa… the ocean betrayed me,” she mumbled.

“Yeah,” Nagi coughed, looking mildly offended. “That wave was aggressive.”

You ran to them as they returned like two castaways from a shipwreck. Shizuku didn’t even cry, just looked incredibly done with nature. (she’s never stepping a foot on the ocean again)

Nagi plopped down on the sand with a grunt, holding her upright like a broken action figure.

“She still wants to learn how to swim?” he asked you, blinking away saltwater.

“I think we just learned how not to.”

After the chaos of the wave incident, Shizuku officially called it quits on beach life.

She didn’t whine, didn’t cry, just quietly wrapped her arms around her dad’s neck and mumbled something about “not trusting wet things anymore.” Nagi, soaked to the bone, didn’t protest. He sat on the shaded lounge chair like a human towel rack while Shizuku curled up in his lap like a little dumpling, wrapped in a dry towel from head to toe, only her nose poking out.

You brought them a warm juice box and sighed as you watched your daughter knock out completely in Nagi’s arms, her tiny breaths matching the rhythm of the ocean.

“She’s done for the day,” you murmured, pulling your phone out. Nagi looked up, a strand of seaweed still clinging to his hair like it lived there now.

“Don’t take a pic,” he groaned softly.

Click.

Too late. You zoomed in. Nagi’s arm wrapped securely around her, his other hand lazily draped over the towel like a cat napping in the sun. His face was still a little squished from the wave attack, hair sticking in weird directions, but the moment was perfect.

“You look like you just survived a shipwreck,” you teased.

He peeked one eye open. “Feels like it.”

You chuckled and sat beside them, resting your head against his shoulder.

The ocean roared, kids screamed in the distance, and yet here you three were, silent, warm, sun-kissed, and completely still.

Vacation chaos? Absolutely.

But moments like this?

Worth every wave.

Alexis Ness

You thought it would start the vacation well? Oh, you were totally wrong.

Your little kids were already fighting over beach toys while you and Ness placed your things in place. You had barely finished laying out the towels when you heard the first screech.

“I got it first!” Emma whined, pulling the red shovel to her chest “But it’s mine!” Hugo grunted, tugging it back with both hands like it was a medieval sword.

You looked up from the bag of snacks you were organizing, already regretting not packing earplugs. Ness, meanwhile, stood with his hands on his hips, sighing like a man preparing to walk into a hurricane.

And then, Hugo bit her.

“OUCH!” Emma shrieked, clutching her finger like she’d been maimed.

“Papa! He bit me!”

“She’s lying!” Hugo snapped, eyes wide with faux innocence.

Ness didn’t flinch. He walked over calmly, in full Dad mode. “Give me the toys. All of them.”

Hugo reluctantly handed over the bag full of plastic shovels, buckets, and a tiny rake like it was a national treasure.

“Apologize to your sister.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

Ness smiled the way a patient executioner might. “Fine. Then no toys for either of you until you both settle it.”

Cue the dramatics. Emma let out a wail and plopped down on the towel, arms crossed. Hugo threw himself onto the sand and stared at the sky like life had no meaning. It was silent warfare.

Meanwhile, you were trying to make lunch with the portable cooler balanced on your lap, slicing fruit like this was a survival challenge.

Ten minutes passed. Neither child moved an inch toward the other. Just passive-aggressive silence and the occasional glance of death.

You and Ness, side by side now in the shade, were deep in a conversation about some ridiculous thing that happened at work last week. It almost felt like a date—if your date had a background track of grumpy children sighing every thirty seconds.

“Emma, do you want some fruit salad?” you asked, offering the chilled container as you knelt by her.

“No,” she muttered, not sparing you a glance as she angrily dug her heel into the sand, creating a sad, stubborn little crater.

“Alright… Hugo?” you turned, spotting your son sitting with his arms crossed and his lower lip sticking out like he was chewing on it.

“Hugooo.”

“What,” he replied without moving.

“Want some fruit salad?”

“No!”

You huffed, louder this time, and stuffed the container back into one of the beach bags. “Fine.”

You dusted off your hands and stood, grabbing Ness’s wrist like a lifeline. “Let’s have a walk.”

“No.”

“No,” the kids echoed in perfect unison, like gremlins.

“Why not?” you frowned, dramatically placing a hand on your hip like this was the final straw.

“We’ll get ice cream,” Ness added smoothly, already reaching for his wallet.

That did it. Their heads snapped toward him like meerkats. They stood up silently and followed like obedient ducklings.

You blinked. “They listened to you.”

Ness smirked. “They know who funds dessert.”

Now the four of you sat at a beach café. Music played softly from overhead speakers, the scent of sunscreen mixed with espresso and sea salt. People laughed, seagulls screeched, and the beach stretched in golden heat just beyond the railing. It finally felt like an actual vacation.

Hugo was at your side, quietly eating his ice cream with the most aggressive scooping motions imaginable. Emma sat across from you, next to Ness, and made sure not to look at her brother even once. She licked her cone with the delicacy of a cat pretending not to be mad.

Ness leaned forward on his elbows, looking between them. “Are you two gonna be like this for the rest of the day?”

No answer. Not even a twitch.

They both stared at their ice creams like they’d just been given divorce papers.

“I want a sister,” Emma muttered suddenly, licking a stubborn drip of strawberry ice cream off her thumb.

Ness blinked. “What?”

“I want a sister. I don’t like Hugo.”

You nearly snorted your iced coffee through your nose. Ness chuckled quietly beside you.

“Charming,” you said, raising an eyebrow at her.

“I want a brother,” Hugo added from your side, not missing a beat. He didn’t even look up, just scooped another oversized bite of his vanilla-mint like it was a declaration of war.

You burst into soft laughter. Ness leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out with a smile.

“I think you two are more than enough for each other,” he said. “Trust me. No one else could handle you.”

There was a moment of silence, the café chatter humming around you like a warm breeze. Then:

“Mom should’ve been more cautious when birthing Emma,” Hugo mumbled, quiet and deadly serious.

You froze, straw halfway to your lips.

Ness turned to your son slowly. “What?”

“Where did you even hear that?” you asked, trying not to choke on a laugh. “Hugo, you’re seven.”

He gave no reply. Just kept eating his ice cream with that unreadable older-brother expression like he was pondering the mysteries of life… or Emma’s existence.

Emma, not to be outdone, calmly lifted her middle finger and pointed it right at him across the table. No emotion. No hesitation. Just a slow, theatrical gesture of tiny-sibling fury.

He looked at you, eyes amused “Next time, we’re bringing noise-canceling headphones. And duct tape.”

You leanedforward, laughter still lingering in your chest. “And birth control.”

Emma looked up innocently. “What’s that?”

“Your bedtime,” you both said at the same time.

Back on the beach, the sun was gentler now, casting a warm golden hue across the shore as the afternoon slowly leaned toward evening. Ness handed Hugo and Emma each a colorful bucket and a bright orange net, the kind used to catch unlucky butterflies.

you felt strong arms circle your waist. Ness rested his chin on your shoulder, humming softly as he watched the kids with you.

“Why did you bring the net, Emma?” he called.

She turned back toward you both, proudly holding it high like a sword. “I’m going to catch a fish!”

You stifled a laugh at her seriousness.

“You can’t even swim, idiot,” Hugo muttered behind her, squinting at the waves like he was judging their strategy.

“Shut up,” Emma snapped, but it was already too late.

Hugo shoved her with the casual cruelty of an older sibling. She toppled forward with a surprised shriek, landing face-first into the shallows, just deep enough to earn a mouthful of gritty seawater and damp humiliation.

You gasped, hand flying to your chest.

“Oh my god-” you started, but Ness didn’t move.

“She’s fine,” he said with zero concern, still holding you calmly. “Call it a life lesson.”

Emma stood up sputtering, hair soaked and tangled over her face like seaweed, sand stuck to her cheeks, eyes wild with betrayal.

“I’M TELLING MOM!”

“She is watching,” Hugo said smugly.

Emma flung her net at him like a weapon, and missed.

“Okay,” you sighed, patting Ness’s arm. “Time to play referee again.”

“You got this,” he whispered, kissing your cheek. “I believe in you.”

You groaned. “Coward.”

He just grinned and tightened his arms around you, watching as chaos unfolded before you both like a perfectly scripted sibling disaster movie.

Emma had long abandoned her dreams of catching a fish.

The net now lay forgotten on the sand, tangled in seaweed like a monument to her failed hunt. Instead, she happily floated near Ness in a bright pink boat-shaped floater. she sat comfortably like a tiny captain.

“Wheee!” she squealed, kicking her legs in the water as Ness gently spun her in slow circles.

You lounged nearby in the shallows, half-submerged, arms lazily drifting at your sides as you watched them. Ness gave her a small push with both hands.

“Let’s send you to sea,” he joked.

“NO! Dad, take me back!” she shrieked, already paddling awkwardly with her hands to get closer again.

You laughed. “You made her sound like a siren.”

“I just wanted a moment of peace,” he teased, rolling his eyes fondly as he brought her back.

She grinned, dripping water and joy. “Again!”

He pushed her off again, slower this time, and she squealed dramatically like she was being cast off a pirate ship. “I’m abandoned! I’m alooooone!”

“She’s got your flair for drama,” you murmured to Ness, watching him chuckle.

But the peace didn’t last.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Hugo inching closer in the water, suspiciously quiet, and suspiciously smirking.

“Hugo,” you warned too late.

He grabbed the side of Emma’s floater and yanked hard and it flipped.

With a splash and a squeal, Emma toppled into the sea, limbs flailing like a startled octopus. Her float bobbed upside down, abandoned. She popped back up with her hair plastered to her face and sea foam in her lashes, gasping for air.

“HUGOOOO!” she roared.

Ness immediately pulled her toward him, checking her quickly. “You okay?”

Emma coughed and clung to him like a drenched koala. “He tried to murder me!”

“She’s fine,” Ness said over his shoulder to you.

“She inhaled half the ocean.”

“She’s dramatic.”

You came closer, pushing Emma’s float upright. “Hugo, get over here.”

“I was just helping her get more used to the water!” he said, shrugging like a lifeguard-in-training.

“Your sister’s going to file a lawsuit.”

“She’s got no evidence.”

Emma stuck her tongue out at him as Ness carried her back to the shallow waters. “You’re not getting my ice cream later!”

Hugo scoffed. “I’ll get dad to buy me two.”

You sighed, looking at Ness as he carried Emma back. “They’re exhausting.”

“Yeah,” he said, grinning as Emma wrapped her arms around his neck. “But they’re ours.”

265 notes · View notes

hainge · 2 months ago

Text

Third bullet: Drop your guard

cowboy!kaiser x fem!reader pt. 3 (wc 6.2k) from Silver bullets and stolen hearts part II part IV warnings: MDNI!!!! angst, abuse, child abuse, murder, violence, gun usage, burning, trauma, swearing

Kaiser left your room with a dumb grin plastered across his face. Each step down the stairs was light, almost bouncy, like a boy who’d just won himself a prize at the county fair. He adjusted his hat, still slightly crooked from your drunken hug, and ran a hand through his tousled hair with smug satisfaction.

He pushed the saloon doors open with both hands, boots clicking dramatically on the floorboards as he stepped back into your father’s bar. The place was a little quieter now, the late-night crowd thinning into smaller clusters of card games and quiet drinks. Your father glanced up from his seat behind the bar.

Kaiser tipped his hat and gave him a lazy smirk. “Your daughter’s been delivered, safe, sound, and sleeping like a baby. Can’t say the same for your liquor cabinet, though.”

Your dad snorted, blowing smoke from the corner of his mouth. “Good. Don’t let her catch you braggin’ about it.”

Kaiser chuckled, but just as he turned to walk toward his crew, still gathered around their table like outlaws plotting mischief, your father’s voice cut through the din.

“Kaiser.”

He stopped and glanced back. The grin faded a bit.

“Yeah?”

“Office. In twenty minutes. Bring the boys.”

Kaiser’s expression shifted into something colder, more collected. The lightness drained from his face, and he gave a quiet nod. “Yes, sir.”

He turned on his heel and made his way to the table. As he approached, his men perked up. Ness leaned back with a grin, Lorenzo clapped once like they’d just hit a jackpot, and the others raised their drinks in mock salute.

Kaiser ran a hand across the back of his neck and smirked, eyes closed in overplayed glory. “Boys,” he said with a dramatic breath, “I gotta tell you, I’m the luckiest damn man alive.”

Ness whistled. “What’d she do, marry you?”

“Not yet,” Kaiser replied, falling into the seat with a thud. “But hell, she don’t hate me anymore. That’s progress.”

“Careful, boss,” said Shidou of the others with a grin, “sounds like love.”

Kaiser laughed, but there was a strange quiet to it. Like something in him had shifted, just a little.

“Wait for me!” The boy’s voice echoed joyfully behind you as your bare feet padded fast over soft grass. You laughed, glancing over your shoulder. He was trying to keep up, blond hair messy from the wind, cheeks flushed with energy.

“Don’t go to the water!” your mother’s voice rang out from the garden. “We won’t!” you both yelled back, giggling in unison, already lying through your teeth.

The two of you ran hand in hand toward the river that glinted like silver under the sun, the air thick with the scent of honeysuckle and wild mint. Your dress, a soft purple one with hand-sewn flowers stitched by your mother, fluttered behind you like a ribbon. He wore suspenders over a dusty linen shirt and trousers that were a tad too short for his legs.

You arrived at the riverbank breathless, grinning. The water trickled and rushed over smooth stones, cool and alive. The trees above swayed with a lazy breeze, dappling the ground in speckled light.

The two of you sat and started skipping rocks. “What’s your grandma makin’ today?” he asked, adjusting the bandana around his neck. “Pork with beans and carrot soup, I think.” “Ummm.” He grunted as he flung a flat stone across the water. It bounced three times. “I won.” “You did not!” you protested, grabbing a stone. You threw—one, two, three, four bounces. “I WON.” “Oh…” he mumbled, pretending to pout before laughing again.

Later, you both wandered into the forest nearby, a place that felt like it belonged to just you two. You filled a basket with odd treasures: bright yellow wildflowers, dried snail shells, rocks shaped like hearts and faces, even a patch of moss that felt like velvet. He handed you a crown made of weeds and violets he’d clumsily tied together.

“For the princess of the forest.” “I’m not a princess.” “Then you’re just pretty.” You rolled your eyes at him, but the truth was, your cheeks were warm. Both of you ran back to the river, the golden sunlight still dripping through the treetops, but something in the wind had begun to change. Your house wasn’t far, just beyond the hilltop where the old willow tree leaned, and your grandma always said she liked to keep an eye on you from the porch.

Now, with a new “member” of your daily adventures, she seemed happier than ever, her warm eyes always following your games with a knowing smile, her hands never idle as she knitted, or snapped peas for supper.

You dropped to your knees by the riverbank and started arranging your treasures. You were sorting the rocks by color: grayish-blue ones in one pile, honey-yellow ones in another, and some pinkish stones with stripes in a third. He sat cross-legged beside you, naming every dried snail shell and flower he picked like they were magical creatures.

“You can have this beige rock,” you said quietly, holding it out to him with both hands. He looked at it, then took it with a small grin. “Thanks. I’ll keep it forever.”

Together, you wrapped your shared bounty in a soft, hand-stitched towel your grandma had given you, covered in faded sunflowers, and gently tucked it into the basket. The sound of the river, the birds, the wind in the trees…it was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Screams, sharp and sudden. Agony.

You both froze. Then- PIM! A gunshot cracked through the air like a whip.

Your heads snapped toward the house. The porch was empty. Your grandma had vanished.

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

You turned to the boy beside you. His expression was pale, confused. “We should check what happened,” you whispered, fear curling in your throat.

He nodded silently.

Still clutching the basket, you reached for his hand again, tighter this time, and started toward the house. Each step up the hill felt like it echoed. There were no birds now. Just silence…and a distant voice. No, voices.

Men. Muffled. Low.

Not your father’s.

Your fingers trembled as they gripped the wooden door handle. Slowly, ever so slowly, you pushed the door open. It creaked, too loud. Your heart thudded in your chest like it was trying to warn you. The first thing you saw was blood.

It was pooled on the wooden floorboards, thick and dark, smeared like someone had tried to crawl. The second thing you saw were two men descending the stairs, heavy boots stomping down as if they owned the place.

“There you two fuckin’ are,” one growled.

Before you could move, he grabbed a fistful of your hair so harshly it yanked your head back. You squealed in pain, tears springing to your eyes. The other man had already seized the boy, clamping his hand over the back of his neck and shoving a rag or cloth into his mouth, muffling his protests, keeping him from biting.

You both struggled, but it didn’t matter. You were just kids.

You were dragged to the living room like livestock. Your little feet scraped against the floorboards as the man holding you grunted, and then, he shoved you forward.

And that’s when you saw it. You froze. Your whole body locked up.

Your grandmother, the one who always waved from the porch, was slumped against the wall, struggling for breath. Her dress was soaked in blood, her hands pressed to her gut, trembling as she tried to hold herself together. Next to her, your auntie lay unconscious, her head bleeding where it had hit the corner of a cabinet, blood slowly streaming and joining the pool on the floor. And your grandfather. He was dead, his body slumped in his wooden chair like a puppet with its strings cut. His head tilted back, eyes wide open, a gunshot wound square in his forehead.

You stood in silence, blinking, shaking, trying to understand what you were seeing.

But the sound that pierced everything-

Was your mother’s sobs.

She was on the floor. On her knees. Begging. One of the men had her by the hair, yanking her face upward like she wasn’t even human. She was praying. “Please don’t… not my kids-” You broke.

“MAMA!” You shrieked and lunged forward. The man holding you caught you by the back of your dress and yanked you back hard, knocking the air from your lungs.

The boy beside you was thrashing now, trying to kick his captor, but he was smaller and couldn’t do much. “Found you,” another man muttered. He was carrying a canister, something that smelled sharp, acrid. Gasoline.

He set it down and reached for the boy, grabbing his face roughly. But you didn’t care. Not about that. Not about yourself.

All you could see was your mom’s terrified face, blood on her cheek, eyes swollen from crying. Her arms reaching toward you.

“Sweetie, don’t move, everything’s going to be-”

CRACK.

She hissed in pain. The man yanked her hair tighter and brought a gun to her temple.

Your legs buckled. You screamed again. Your voice cracked as your world collapsed around you. The man in red stood tall and quiet, towering over everyone like a phantom from a storybook turned nightmare. He wore a long, crimson coat and a white cowboy hat pulled low, casting a shadow that hid his eyes. He didn’t speak, just raised a gloved hand and gestured toward you.

One of the men grabbed you hard by the arm and shoved you toward the stairs, forcing your small body against the banister beam that supported them, thick wood, worn and smooth from age. Your little wrists were yanked forward and bound to the beam with coarse rope, the fibers biting your skin as they tied you down.

Outside, through the door, you saw the blond boy being dragged away, fighting in silence, muffled by the rag in his mouth. Your mother followed behind, her arms bound behind her back. She kept looking over her shoulder, at you.

“MAAAAA!” Your voice broke, raw from screaming. You thrashed in place, legs kicking wildly, rope scraping your skin, but you were too small and too weak.

Your mother turned her head again, tears soaking her cheeks. “Y/N, please-” she sobbed. “Don’t look-”

You didn’t listen.

You couldn’t.

You looked right at her.

“I love you, Y/N! Please, take care of-”

PIM. The shot cracked through the air like lightning. And then your mother’s body crumpled, boneless and silent, hitting the dirt outside your front door.

You stopped. Everything stopped.

The screaming caught in your throat, choked and strangled by the force of your grief. Your eyes went wide. Your mouth hung open, no sound coming out. Your breath hitched in jagged stutters.

Dead. She was dead.

The smell of blood. The buzzing of flies. The way your grandma’s head lolled against the wall. Your aunt’s weak, pitiful little whimpers. Your grandpa’s eyes still open, staring at nothing. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe.

You wanted to die too.

The men around you didn’t stop. They moved quickly, methodically. Pouring gasoline across the floorboards, across the tables and rugs and shelves, but they avoided the bodies, stepping carefully around them, like keeping them intact was part of some cruel plan.

“Everything done? Got the money?” a voice asked.

Another man came down the stairs holding bags of jewelry, coins, your grandma’s sewing box. “All of it. Let’s move.”

The man in red turned to look at you one last time.

You stared back, still gasping silently like a fish out of water, your hands trembling against the wood beam.

He lit a match, small, bright, flickering between his gloved fingers. He held it there for a moment, stared at it and then at you… then tossed it to the floor.

The flames spread fast, faster than you thought possible. The moment they touched the soaked wood, the room lit up in a flash of orange and crackling heat. The fire ate everything in it’s path, the curtains, the couch, the walls. Smoke rose in plumes, thick and choking, filling your lungs, blinding your eyes.

You screamed. You cried.

Louder than ever.

“HELP! PLEASE!! MAMAAAAA! SOMEONE-!”

The fire roared back in response.

You yanked against your bonds, legs flailing, feet slipping on the wooden floor. The air got hotter and heavier by the second. The smoke burned your throat and made your eyes water until you couldn’t see anything at all. All you could do was scream into the chaos. The minutes felt like hours.

The last thing you remember before everything turned black-

Was the sound of the door opening. GASP.

You shot up like you were being yanked from underwater. Your chest heaved, breath ragged and broken, pulling in air like it might save you from drowning. Your fingers clutched the sheets with a grip so tight your knuckles turned white. You were shaking, all over, your arms, your knees, even your jaw.

Your head throbbed. Your stomach twisted. You felt sick. Too sick.

“It’s just another nightmare, Y/N… just another nightmare…” you whispered, but your voice cracked, like your throat was raw from screaming, like you really had been screaming.

You blinked fast, trying to focus on your surroundings. The moonlight leaking through the window barely illuminated your room, but you recognized the shape of your dresser, the edge of your bed, the chair where you left your boots. You were home. But you didn’t feel safe.

“Dad…?” you croaked. No answer.

You tried again. Louder. Desperate. “Daaaad!” Still nothing. The silence pressed down on you like a weight. You needed him, needed his voice to shake you out of this fog like he always did.

Panic crawled up your spine like cold fingers. You dragged in another breath but it felt shallow, as if the air couldn’t get all the way to your lungs.

“Dad...please,” you muttered again, a whisper this time, choked by panic and nausea. You swung your legs off the bed, feet touching the wooden floor, and you swayed. The room tilted. Your body felt like lead, frozen, trembling, aching from within. Your skin was cold, your clothes stuck to your back with sweat.

You gripped the banister at the top of the stairs like it was the only thing tethering you to the earth. If anyone saw you, they’d think you were a ghost, pale, hollow-eyed, trembling like a leaf in a storm.

“Last night…” You whispered it to yourself, trying to remember.

You closed your eyes, images swimming in... Laughter. Music. His hand on your waist. The swirl. The shot-

You gasped again, this time from clarity hitting you like a blow to the stomach. “Kaiser… the dance… then-”

It blurred. The nightmare had bled into your memory. You couldn’t tell what was real for a moment.

Your hands gripped the banister harder as you descended, step by step, your bare feet nearly silent against the wood. Anxiety clung to you, sharp and biting, like you were being watched. Every creak of the floorboard sounded like a gunshot. Every shadow looked like blood.

You needed your dad. You needed answers. You needed to feel safe again. Because right now, your whole body was telling you, you weren’t. 7 Hours Ago — 1:27 AM, Bar’s Office

The office was dimly lit, clouds of cigar smoke swirling lazily under the flickering ceiling lamp. The air was heavy, not just with smoke, but with something else. Tension. Coiled and ready to snap.

Ego stood at the head of the room, sharp-eyed, impatient. The boss of them all. He wasn’t just a strategist; he was a war machine in a suit. Every man in the room listened, or pretended to. Kaiser sat slouched, legs stretched, arms crossed, blue eyes glazed over like he was somewhere far away. His mind wasn’t here. Not in this suffocating room.

Kaiser’s group was there:him, Rin, Shidou, Ness, Aiku and Lorenzo, but they weren’t the only ones. A few other crews were gathered in the corners of the room, quieter, less recognizable, but clearly summoned for the same reason. All under Ego’s command tonight.

“Kaiser,” Ego snapped. No answer.

He tried again. “Kaiser!”

The blond didn’t flinch, didn’t move. He was thinking about the way her smile had finally cracked through that frozen wall she wore like armor. About the way she had laughed, leaned against him, looked up with wide, trusting eyes that didn’t know the half of what was coming.

“We’ve received word,” Ego continued, pacing slowly like a predator, “that he’s returned.”

Silence blanketed the room. Even Shidou stopped grinning for a second.

“That man, he's wiped out a town, Copperbend. Estimated thousand bodies, barely any survivors. No traces, no hesitation. Same M.O. from twelve years ago.” He turned to face them fully. “This is not just revenge. He’s sending a message.”

The temperature seemed to drop several degrees. Rin’s eyes narrowed but he said nothing. Aiku exchanged a glance with Oliver, their jaws set. Ness swallowed hard.

“What’s the plan then?” Lorenzo asked with a smirk that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “We storm hell and shoot the devil in the face?”

“Something like that,” Ego said flatly. “I want eyes on him, on his people, on his routes. We draw him out with what he wants. And I think we know exactly what that is.”

The room stirred, and with it, the sharp snap of tension. Shidou laughed suddenly, leaning back with his boots up on the desk like this was comedy night. “Let him come. I want to see if he burns like the rest of ‘em.”

Noel Noa, silent until now, finally spoke. “This isn’t a job. This is suicide. I’m not sending anyone into a slaughter.”

“You think you get to say no?” Ego asked, voice deadly. “He won’t stop. Not until everything she ever touched is ash.”

Shidou clicked his tongue. “What a shame. I was starting to like the bar.”

Arguments broke out. Voices clashed, Shidou and Lorenzo loud and unbothered, Ness clearly on edge, Rin stone-cold silent. Oliver leaned forward like he was ready to throw punches. Even members of the other groups shifted, some whispering, others muttering curses under their breath. One of them stood, ready to argue back before-

PIM-

A shot rang out.

Silence.

Everyone turned. Kaiser stood, gun still smoking, eyes dark and fixed on the floor. Slowly, he looked up, finally meeting their gazes.

“You’re all yelling like drunks,” he said quietly, a sneer barely hidden beneath his voice. “We’re not going to argue about her. If he wants a war, we’ll give him one.”

He holstered the gun, stepped back, and walked toward the door like none of this was out of the ordinary.

“I’ll handle my part.”

And just like that, he left the room, still thinking about her.

Current time: 8:49 AM

You were in the kitchen, still shaking and trembling. The air felt heavier now, like something had latched itself to your skin. Your eyes scanned the counter until they landed on a small note folded in half.

You reached for it with hesitant fingers and unfolded it.

“Hi sweetheart… I won’t be home today, got some important things to do, will probably be back tomorrow morning. I left some money for you upstairs and Kaiser to take care of you.”

“Kaiser?” you murmured, confused. “What?”

You continued reading.

“He needs your help for something if you don’t mind. He will be there around 9 AM.”

Your gaze snapped to the clock on the wall.

8:53.

Your eyes widened a little more.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

You jumped, heart skipping.

Your gaze slowly traveled to the front door. The knocking wasn’t loud but in your state it felt like thunder. You took a deep breath and tiptoed toward it.

“Who’s there?” you whispered, barely audible.

“Kaiser.”

You froze.

You hadn’t brushed your teeth. You hadn’t brushed your hair. You were in yesterday’s clothes. Your skin felt clammy, your stomach was still twisted in knots. You hated it. To everyone’s knowledge, you never left the house looking unkempt. Never.

But you had no other choice.

You turned the handle and opened the door.

There he was.

Kaiser. In his usual relaxed stance, arms loosely crossed, smirking like he had no idea your whole world had flipped upside down last night.

“Oh wow, good morning sleeping beauty.”

His tone was teasing at first, but then he stared a little longer. His smirk slowly faded, replaced by something more careful. Observing.

“Is everything ok?”

Your mind snapped back. You were so lost in your own head you forgot to even pretend to be fine.

“I-y-yes.”

He hummed, clearly not convinced, and stepped inside without another word. “Looks like someone woke up from a nightmare.”

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

“Did I hit the mark?”

Still, silence.

“Come on, throw me a bone here.”

“No,” you said quickly, sharper than intended.

He pouted exaggeratedly. “Ouch. And to think last night you were spilling secrets like I was your diary.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t remember?” He chuckled, brushing it off. “Guess that’s fair. You were kinda gone.”

His smile lingered, lighthearted but curious. You offered a weak smile in return, the kind you gave when you didn’t want to explain too much.

“I think you should get ready for the day,” he added, more gently this time.

You nodded and excused yourself upstairs, still feeling the weight of the dream clinging to your skin like smoke. Despite your trembling hands, you tried to compose yourself. You brushed your teeth with soda water, ran a comb through your tangled hair, and changed into something a little more put-together, simple but elegant, like your mother might’ve dressed you once.

Walking down the stairs, your fingers gripped the banister a little tighter than usual. Memories clawed at the back of your mind, vivid and cruel. You blinked hard, steadying your steps until you reached the last one.

Kaiser was lounging on the couch, a journal in his hand, your father’s, from the look of it. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned when he saw you.

“There she is,” he said, eyes flicking over your outfit. “Looking like she just stepped out of a painting.”

You didn’t react. Not even a twitch. Your face was calm, but your eyes betrayed the hollowness inside.

His smile faded just a little. He watched you, more carefully this time. His voice dropped into something warmer, quieter.

“Hey… come here, Y/N. You don’t have to be afraid.”

He opened one arm out for you, an invitation. Not a command. Not a tease. Just something real. To you, his soft voice didn’t quite fit. It felt strange, unnatural, almost eerie, like watching a wolf try to wear sheep’s wool. Still, what other choice did you have?

Your dad wasn’t here. The one person who always knew how to bring you back when the dreams dug their claws in, gone for the day. And Kaiser… well, he was trusted. At least, by your father. That had to mean something, right?

Even if he was just another slick-talking cowboy with too much confidence in his step.

You moved to the sofa slowly, quietly, as if your bones were made of glass. Kaiser’s eyes followed you, not hungry, not amused. Just… watchful. Studying.

He didn’t move when you sat, only shifted slightly to rest his arm along the back of the couch. You noticed how he did it deliberately, leaving a space between you. A silent gesture of awareness. Respect, maybe.

He glanced sideways at you. “So,” he said lightly, “what was the nightmare?”

You turned your head toward him, furrowing your brow. “How do you even know it was a nightmare?”

“Your dad’s mentioned them,” Kaiser replied simply. “Said you look and act just like this when they hit.”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t sure what to say. The weight in your chest was still too heavy to lift into words.

He let out a quiet breath, then said, with a kind of careful edge, “Was it about that day?”

Your heart stuttered. You blinked, like your brain couldn’t process the question fast enough. “What…day?”

Kaiser kept his eyes forward. His tone turned even, serious. “When those men came. When they, killed your family.”

The words hit like a slap. You froze. Your eyes widened. For a second, the breath in your lungs turned to ice.

How does he know?

Of course, he works under your father. But still...hearing it spoken so plainly made the air feel thinner.

“What?” Your voice cracked.

“Don’t overreact,” he said quickly but firmly. “I’m not here to poke at scars. Just trying to understand you better.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Your thoughts tangled, dragged by the sudden flood of memory, blood, smoke, screams.

“Y/N…”his voice was quieter now, almost gentle. “Hey.”

You blinked hard. “Huh?”

His eyes finally met yours, calm but searching.

“Can we talk about it?”

You froze, your breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. Your heart pounded so loud it echoed in your ears, sweat pricking at your brow like tiny warnings. Then his hand came up, gently, slowly, to cup your cheek. The contact made you flinch, just a bit, just enough for him to notice.

“Y/n,” Kaiser murmured, voice lower now, softer. “I need you to talk to me… please.” His eyes searched yours, not with that usual playful glint, but something steadier. Realer. “Was it about that day?”

You didn’t move. Seconds passed like slow-burning matches. Then, finally, you gave a small nod.

He exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment as if to rein in his thoughts. “I actually came here today to talk to you about it… but I didn’t expect to see you like this. Shaken to the bone. That part wasn’t exactly in my morning plans.”

Your head throbbed like someone had taken a hammer to it. The nightmare still lingered, its sounds, its smells, the heat, the fire. You weren’t sure if now was the time to talk, if your voice would even come out right. But somehow, his calm pushed you a little closer to the edge of trust.

“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked quietly.

“Um…”

“How did it start?”

He waited. No teasing, no jokes, just silence held open like an invitation.

“I used to live in the forest,” you finally breathed, the words escaping all at once. “A little far from here… There was no dust. No gunshots. No death. Just… life.”

He didn’t interrupt, just nodded once to show he was listening.

“I lived with my parents, my auntie, and my grandparents. We had a garden. A river nearby. There were birds in the morning, frogs at night.” Your voice cracked and you looked down, eyes catching the glint of the jewelry hanging from his neck. So many pieces. Gold, silver, a couple leather strings. Like trophies, or maybe charms. One pendant in particular caught your eye—it was oval-shaped, reflective, elegant in its simplicity.

“And?” he asked, his voice barely louder than a breath.

Your eyes returned to his, heavy with memories you couldn’t fully grasp. You blinked slowly, your voice quiet but steady.

“There was a boy too… my parents kind of adopted him. I don’t remember his name or his face. Just that he had blond hair.”

Kaiser’s brow lowered slightly, his gaze soft but curious. “You don’t remember his name? And the others…?”

“I don’t remember my aunt’s face. Or my mom’s. Or my grandparents’,” you murmured. “The pictures… forget it.”

“No no, tell me,” he said gently, his voice grounding.

You hesitated, then let the truth fall.

“My house burned down. I lost everything,” you said, your tone hollow. “Some men… they did it.”

He listened in silence, every part of him focused on you. You opened your mouth to continue but your voice cracked.

“I…”

Kaiser leaned in just a little, his tone softer now. “Do you want to stop here?”

You nodded, and the moment you did, it all broke loose.

Your body trembled as tears poured down your cheeks. You brought your hands to your face, trying to hide, trying to hold it in. But it was no use.

Kaiser looked unsure for a second, like he didn’t know if he should move. His hand hovered, waiting, almost asking.

And something in you gave him the answer without words.

You leaned in, and that was enough.

He pulled you gently into his chest, arms wrapping around you with quiet care. One hand moved slowly along your back in a calming rhythm.

You cried against him, sobs wracking through your chest, sharp and breathless. You hated how broken you felt, how much you needed this. But you couldn't stop it.

He didn’t speak. He just held you, firm and warm, his chin resting against your head like he was grounding you to something real.

And for the first time in a long while, you let someone hold your pain with you.

You lowered your hands from your face and gripped the fabric of his coat, expensive under your fingers. The crying had quieted, but every breath still trembled, every sob felt sharp in your chest. Your eyes drifted down again, drawn to the shine of his jewelry like a moth to a lantern in the dark.

That same piece caught your attention, oval-shaped, smooth and polished, a warm beige that seemed to glow in the morning light. Your fingers reached out, barely brushing it at first, the texture cold but comforting. Kaiser didn’t notice right away, but when he felt the soft graze of your hand, he looked down.

“Hm?” he murmured, his voice low.

His eyes lingered on you. And for a second, the world stilled for him. You looked like something fragile and faraway, like a memory made of glass and sunlight, all quiet pain and soft edges. There was something about the way your lashes were wet, how your gaze stayed fixed on the necklace like it held a piece of your past. You were silent, except for the shaky sniffles that slipped out of you.

“Caught your eye?” he asked, voice quieter now.

You swallowed thickly, then nodded, eyes never leaving the piece. He watched you for a moment longer before reaching up, fingers gently brushing the tears from beneath your eyes.

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” he said, honest and serious in a way you hadn’t heard from him before.

You blinked, his touch light against your skin. And then your thoughts started turning. Why are you trusting him? A cowboy. A man. The kind of man you swore to keep away from. Why are you letting him hold you like this, touch you like this? Why are you letting his voice be something that makes you feel okay for once?

You didn’t know the answer. Maybe it was the way he looked at you like you weren’t broken. Maybe it was the silence he kept instead of forcing empty words.

Or maybe it was because, just for a moment, you didn’t want to be alone. He glanced down at your hands, still fidgeting with the smooth beige stone resting between your fingers. “Why are you so drawn to it?” he asked softly.

You kept your eyes on it, brows slightly furrowed. “I don’t know, I just...get a feeling from it.”

“What kind of feeling?” he murmured as he leaned closer, resting his forehead gently against yours. His warmth sank into your skin, steady and grounding.

“Like I’ve touched it before,” you whispered, “like I’ve held it a long time ago... it feels familiar.”

He let out a small smile, brief and faint. “Hm,” he hummed, then pulled back slightly, his face becoming more serious again.

“You don’t remember anything else about that boy?” he asked.

You shook your head slowly. “No, just that we were really close, like… almost siblings.”

He paused for a second, watching your face. “And you know it’s not your fault, right?”

Your eyes lifted to his. “What?”

“That you don’t remember his name, or his face. Same as your mom, your auntie, your grandparents…”

“I know…” you replied, but your voice was low, unsure.

“Do you know why?” he pressed gently.

You hesitated. “What do you mean?”

“Your dad, or a doctor, never told you?” he asked again, voice quieter now, steadier.

“Told me what?” you said, confused and a little tense.

“That what happened that day,” he began, “left scars on your life. The kind no one sees. That kind of trauma… it steals things from you. Your memories, your sense of time, your childhood. You didn’t forget because you wanted to, you forgot because your mind had to survive.”

His words sank deep. You looked at him, heart stinging.

“It’s not your fault,” he said again, firmer this time. “And it’s okay that you don’t remember. You lived through something no kid should ever see, let alone carry with them. The fact that you’re still here… that means something.”

You swallowed hard, eyes starting to burn again. But this time, the tears felt different. Not just from sadness. But from the weight of being understood. He gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers light and careful, like he didn’t want to startle you. The gesture felt more than just comforting, it felt like a message, something he wasn’t saying out loud.

“Why does it sound like… like you’re trying to hint at something?” you asked quietly, eyes searching his.

He didn’t look away. “I’ll be honest,” he said, voice low, “I am.”

You stared at him for a few seconds, unsure of what he meant, then slowly turned your gaze back to the rock resting in your hand.

“You can have this beige rock,” “Thanks, I’ll keep it forever.”

Your breath hitched as something shifted in your chest. Suddenly, the line between past and present began to blur. You saw the river again, the trees swaying in the wind, the little boy’s laughter in the distance. That same beige rock, your purple floral dress, your hand holding his. Everything began piecing itself together like a puzzle that had been missing too many pieces for too long.

You looked at him again, a tremble in your voice. “You’re… the boy? You were that boy?”

He nodded slowly, his eyes gentle but unwavering. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s me.”

You blinked, the tears building again. You looked down at the stone in your hand for what felt like the hundredth time, heart pounding, memories clawing their way back to you.

“I missed you,” he said softly, almost like a confession, “a lot, actually.” You shifted back, eyes wide, breath ragged. Your body felt too hot, too heavy. Everything was spinning, your memories, your thoughts, your reality. It was all bleeding together.

“Yn?” he stepped forward cautiously, but you shook your head, backing away like a wounded animal.

“No,” you whispered, voice cracking. “No, no, you’re not him…”

“Yn, where are you going?” Kaiser called after you, confusion and worry climbing up his throat as you almost tripped over the edge of the carpet. You could barely hear him.

“You’re not him,” you repeated again, louder this time, your voice trembling. “You’re not…”

Your hands clutched at your head, your breath shortening into sharp gasps. He moved to get closer, but you flinched away.

“Yn, dear, I would never lie to you,” his voice was softer now, pleading, but it only made it worse.

“Stop,” you whimpered, stumbling further. “Stop, stop, stop!”

“Please,” he begged, voice cracking now too, “just listen to me-”

“I don’t want this!” you screamed, eyes brimming with a fire that was born out of pain. “I don’t want this!”

“What...what do you mean?” he reached for you again, and your hand flew to the nearby vase. Without even thinking, you hurled it across the room. The shatter echoed like a gunshot, like the shot from that day.

Your nails clawed at your cheeks, desperate, wild. You couldn’t feel anything but heat and terror crawling under your skin.

“Yn!” Kaiser rushed to you, alarm written all over his face. He grabbed your wrists gently but firmly, trying to stop you from hurting yourself. You thrashed under his grip.

“Let me go!” your voice broke into sobs, and then you collapsed, legs giving in beneath you. You fell to the floor with a thud, your body folding in on itself.

“Goddamn it, Yn,” he dropped to his knees beside you, trying to hold you, trying to pull you out of whatever storm had just swallowed you whole. “Please, please listen to me-”

But you couldn’t. You were shaking, whimpering, your mind caught in a loop of pain and disbelief, too full, too loud. You weren’t even sure where you were anymore. It all hurt too much.

Kaiser could only stare at you, frozen in his own helplessness, his thoughts screaming.

"What did I do? What did I do? God, what the hell did I just do?"

taglist: @jjklover365daysayear @silverwings920 @bach-ira @rroxii @byzantiumhollow @amy-briar03

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hainge · 3 months ago

Text

Second bullet: Aimed at you

cowboy!kaiser x fem!reader part 2 (5.2k wc) from Silver bullets and stolen hearts part I part III warnings: MDNI, gun usage, mention of death and murder

You woke up stiff, your body aching like you'd been tossed around in your sleep. Maybe you had, nightmares don’t leave bruises, but they sure do wear you down.

You pushed yourself up on your elbows and blinked around the room, slow and groggy. A groan slipped past your lips as you dragged yourself to your feet, limbs heavy like wet laundry.

The water from the basin was cold when you splashed it onto your face, chasing sleep from your eyes. You scrubbed your teeth with baking soda and a worn bristle brush and brushed your hair. You slipped into your best skirt, the one you’d sewn patches onto just last month, and laced your boots tight. Apron tied, blouse tucked. You looked nice, for Texas.

Just not New York nice.

You headed downstairs, adjusting your apron, only to see your dad sitting at the small table by the window, a cigarette between his fingers and a folded journal in the other hand. Smoke curled around his face in lazy spirals.

“The bar is open today?” you asked, voice still scratchy from sleep.

He didn’t look up. “After ten.”

You nodded, then hesitated. “And what about that man-” you paused. “The one Kaiser shot?”

He finally looked up, exhaling smoke through his nose. “Ain’t nothin’ for you to fret about. That fella was a thief. Town’s better off.”

You gave a quiet hum but didn’t feel any better. “And Kaiser? The others?”

His eyes narrowed slightly at that, but he didn’t answer right away.

“What about ’em?” he asked flatly.

You fidgeted with the string of your apron, uncertain whether to press. “Who were they, really?”

Your dad leaned back in his chair, ash falling to the floor. “They’re workin’ under my boss. Men like that, they don’t ride into towns without reason.”

“So you know them?”

“I know of them. We’ve crossed trails before.”

You crossed your arms. “I saw you talking with Kaiser. Looked more than just acquainted.”

A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “He’s a handful, I’ll give you that. But ain’t all bad. Got his own way of doing things.”

“He’s a damn nuisance,” you muttered.

Your dad barked out a laugh. “Most folks like him are.”

“He shot a man. In front of everyone.”

Your father shrugged, as if that sort of thing didn’t mean much around here. “Fella had it comin’. Kaiser’s got a knack for keepin’ order in places that ain’t got much.”

You stared at him. “You’re telling me killing is just some hobby now?”

He tapped the ash from his cigarette. “’Round here? Sometimes it is.”

“God, don’t tell me you’re starting that again, like when I was little. I don’t wanna see you dragged into blood and bullets again.”

He looked you square in the eyes, face hard but not unkind. “Ain’t goin’ back to that, sugar. Those days are behind me.”

You exhaled slow through your nose, letting the words hang in the silence.

Outside, the sun was already starting to beat down on the town, and you could smell the dust in the wind.

You’d dress your best, serve bitter coffee, and pretend today wouldn’t be like the last. But you had a feeling that trouble, once it walks in, don’t leave easy.

“I’m headin’ out to buy eggs. Maybe a few other things,” you mumbled as you tied your coin pouch to your belt.

Your dad didn’t look up from his paper. “Swing by the pharmacy too, would ya? Pick up some pain powder.”

“For what?”

“Head’s been poundin’ since yesterday.”

You sighed. “Fine.”

“Thank you, darlin’.”

You stepped out into the warm, dusty morning with your skirt brushing your boots and your bag swinging from your shoulder. The town was already busy, horses trotting down the street, folks hauling crates, kids chasing each other barefoot.

The grocery store was quick. Eggs, apples, carrots, potatoes. All heavy. You paid the grocer and stuffed everything into your cloth bag, the one you’d sewn with little stitched flowers.

“Ugh… heavy,” you muttered, adjusting the strap on your shoulder as you stepped out into the street.

As usual, your eyes drifted along the buildings, the porches, and the passersby, until something made you stop.

There he was. Kaiser.

Sitting in a wooden chair outside another saloon, chewing on something lazily.

His black cowboy hat was the same as yesterday, silver band glinting in the light. He wore a pale turquoise shirt, low-cut at the neck, with a few red and silver necklaces clinking softly against it. His cropped jacket, dark and lined with studs, rested just right on his shoulders. Same flared jeans, same polished black boots.

He wasn’t smiling, more like scowling at the world.

But the moment your eyes landed on his face and so did his. His head tilted.

And then, as if he’d been waiting for you to notice him, his eyes sharpened and his expression shifted.

He smirked, mouth still chewing, then raised one hand and gave you a slow, lazy wave.

You cursed under your breath. You ignored his little wave and kept walking like you hadn’t seen a damn thing. After the pharmacy, you clutched the small paper bag of medicine and let out a proud scoff, eggs, vegetables, and pain powder. Not bad. Almost felt like the shooting yesterday hadn’t happened.

Your boots clacked along the wood planks outside the shop when a familiar voice cut through the morning air.

“Why do you need meds?”

You froze, brow twitching. You turned slowly.

Kaiser was leaning against the wall with one leg propped up, that same damned grin playing on his lips.

“What do you want?”

“You,” he said without a hint of shame, pushing off the wall and strolling toward you.

“What made you come out here?” he asked.

“None of your damn business,” you muttered, not even slowing down.

“Aww, c’mon,” he drawled, trailing beside you. “Mind if I keep you company?”

“Go to hell,” you huffed, hopping off the little porch step.

He just chuckled and kept walking. “Ain’t like I don’t know where you live.”

You kept silent. You didn’t like how easy he made everything sound.

“Bar open today?” he asked after a pause.

“After ten.”

“Figures…”

You shifted the bag on your shoulder with a soft grunt, and before you could stop him, Kaiser took it right off you, like it was light as feathers, and slung it over his own back.

“Hey! Give it back!”

“I’m the man here,” he smirked.

“I don’t care. You’ll probably rob me anyway.”

“Now why in the world would I steal from a lady like you?”

“I-”

“I. Don’t. Steal. From. A lady. Like. You,” he said slowly, cocking his head.

You shut your mouth.

“Good girl,” he grinned wider.

You shot him a glare full of disgust.

He laughed at it and placed a hand on your back, gently guiding you forward like y’all were on a Sunday stroll.

“So, did you sleep well?”

You didn’t answer.

“Ynnnn…” he sing-songed.

“Quit it.”

“How ‘bout you quit ignorin’ me?” he teased, stepping closer.

Before you could react, his arm slung around your shoulders. You tensed, ready to shove him off, but then he added, voice dripping with mock disappointment:

“And here I went and spent good money on a pretty little dress.”

“…Huh?”

“A dress. For you,” he said, drawing out the last word like he was talking to a stubborn child.

You gave him a puzzled look, and he grinned down at you.

“I don’t believe a word of that.”

“Well,” he shrugged, “to be fair, it ain’t here yet. And it ain’t done neither. Got someone workin’ on it special. Just for you.”

You didn’t respond. Didn’t even blink.

“Just like you wanted.”

“I never told you what I wanted.”

He smiled wider. “Saw that sketchbook you left on the kitchen table.”

You stopped in your tracks, staring at him.

“Light blue. Real elegant. Fitted bodice, nice n’ tight at the waist. Big ol’ bow at the back, layers like waterfalls, and a skirt that touches the ground like it’s afraid to make noise.”

You shoved his arm off.

“Why the hell were you lookin’ at my sketchbook?”

“You left it out in plain sight. Thought you wanted folks to see.”

Your gut twisted, remembering last night, the guns, the deal.

“You’re a creep,” you spat, yanking your bag from him and storming ahead.

“Oh, c’mon now!”

Your head spun with too many thoughts, his words, that damned smile, that dress. Before you could gather yourself, he stepped in front of you, blocking the path.

“Let’s talk about it, yeah?”

“I don’t even know you.”

“You know me.”

“I met you yesterday.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Yes the hell I did—!”

“We met twelve years ago.”

Your feet froze. “What?”

“You don’t remember, do you?” His tone softened.

You frowned, eyes narrowing.

“I see,” he murmured, smiling again, but this time, something about it was different. “You don’t remember. And that’s alright.” ... “Will you go out with me?” he asked, voice light, teasing.

Your brain short-circuited. “What-?”

“Tonight. Seven o’clock. Your daddy’s bar.”

“No-!”

“We could talk more about that dress,” he added with a sly smile.

You stared at him, unsure if you were about to punch him or pass out.

“Please?” he tilted his head. “I’m better than I look.”

“Your job and your mouth say otherwise.”

He chuckled, then reached down and gently took your hand. You didn’t pull away, not because you didn’t want to, but because something in you was hesitating. Damn hesitation.

“One chance,” he said, softer now.

You glanced down, trying to sort your thoughts. Your gut screamed no, but your heart whispered something else. Something reckless.

“…Fine.”

His grin stretched ear to ear. “Perfect. I’ll be there.”

You both continued walking back toward your home. The sun was already high, dust swirling around your boots as Kaiser casually kept pace beside you.

He exhaled a long breath, a real one this time, and smiled, not cocky, but honest. “Never been this happy in my whole damn life.”

He stood in front of your porch now, hand half-raised to wave goodbye.

“See yo-”

You slammed the door in his face.

Tossing the grocery bag on the kitchen table, you stormed upstairs. You barely made it to the bed before you collapsed into it, face first, groaning into the pillow.

“I’m so stupid,” you muttered, hands buried in your hair. You spent the better part of the afternoon trying to keep your thoughts busy, anything to avoid replaying that conversation and everything that followed. You tried sewing, sketching, even cleaning your room twice, but your mind wandered back to his smirk. His words. That damn wink.

Eventually, you glanced at the clock. Time to work.

With a tired sigh, you tied your apron around your waist, pulled your hair back with a worn ribbon, and threw on your coat. The late sun cast long shadows over the dusty path as you walked to the bar, boots clicking lightly on the wooden planks of the town walkway.

As you pushed open the door, the familiar scent of tobacco and old whiskey welcomed you. Inside, your father sat at a table with his usual crowd, three of the same rough-edged you always see with him, laughing quietly over cigars and playing some kind of card game. Their guns lay holstered, but you knew they weren’t just for decoration.

You sighed and got to work, wiping tables, stacking empty glasses, and sweeping the corners.

Time passed fast, the bar filling little by little. Around seven o'clock, just as you wiped the last table down, the door slammed open.

PAH.

Heads turned.

And there he was.

Kaiser.

Same black hat. Pale turquoise shirt under his cropped studded jacket. He walked in like he owned the place, trailing five men behind him, three familiar that stepped in your house, the other two that were at the bar yesterday, with smug grins and eyes that scanned the room like predators.

You instinctively ducked behind a few bottles on the shelf, but it was useless.

“Hello, darlin’,” Kaiser called out, leaning casually against the bar, one elbow propped up as he looked at you.

You slowly turned. “Can I help you?”

“Just a whiskey, please.”

“Again?”

“What d’you mean again? I had one yesterday, not today.”

You sighed and poured the drink into a glass, sliding it toward him. “There.”

He took a sip, nodding. “Thank you kindly.”

You turned your back on him, hoping that would be the end of it.

“Did you miss me?” he asked with a smirk.

“No.”

“Great.” He chuckled under his breath.

You felt his eyes on you as you grabbed a cloth and began wiping down the counter, pretending you weren’t rattled by his presence.

A few musicians started tuning up near the corner of the bar, and soon a lively tune spilled from their strings and keys. The room brightened as people stood and began dancing, boots thumping against the floor, laughter echoing loud.

Kaiser glanced toward the crowd, then back at you. “Wanna dance?”

“I don’t dance.”

“You don’t know how to dance?”

You didn’t answer.

“I can teach you,” he offered, voice smooth. “Let’s forget about the dress for now, yeah?”

Before you could shut him down again, he slipped behind the bar and stood in front of you. “What’re you doin’? You can’t be here! I’m at work!”

He waved a hand toward your father. “Your old man and his buddies can run things. You deserve a break.”

“Kaiser-”

“You said one chance, didn’t you?”

You hesitated. His hand was outstretched now, palm open, waiting.

After a long pause, you placed your hand in his.

From across the room, you didn’t see it, but Kaiser gave your father a quick wink. Your dad, shaking his head with a sigh, raised his thumb in quiet approval. You were already regretting every decision of the past ten minutes. Your brain screamed “I’m so stupid” louder than before, almost like it was trying to shake some sense into you. And yet, here you were, standing in the middle of a crowd, staring at him.

Kaiser didn’t give you much time to think. He gently pushed you forward into the circle of dancing townsfolk, boots stomping and skirts swaying all around. Laughter, singing, the strum of a banjo, and claps filled the smoky air. He turned to face you, hands already finding their place, one slipping to the small of your back, the other wrapping gently around your hand.

“I can’t,” you blurted, a little panicked, eyes darting between his and the moving feet around you. “I don’t know how-”

“Just follow my steps,” he said, voice low, calm, and surprisingly soft beneath the noise. “I won’t let you trip, darlin’.”

The way he said it, like you were safe, made your stomach twist.

He started moving, slow and deliberate. His steps guided you, gently tugging you along with him. You stumbled a little, but he steadied you with a quiet chuckle. “Easy now,” he murmured, eyes never leaving yours.

Your boots scuffed the floor at first, but soon, you started catching on. His hand would give the lightest push here, the smallest pull there. You could feel the rhythm in the way his palm rested at your waist, strong and warm, confident.

“You’re doin’ just great,” he said, smiling wide.

You hated it.

You hated how warm your face felt. How the pit in your stomach wasn’t fear anymore. How you didn’t even notice the small, breathy laugh that escaped when he swirled you with ease, spinning you under his arm like you weighed nothing.

“Wow, you can smile?” he teased with that same cocky smirk from earlier, but now it felt different. Almost… fond.

You didn’t have the strength to glare. You were too caught in the moment. You couldn’t stop smiling. Couldn’t stop laughing. It felt easy, like you belonged in the music, in the lights, in the warmth of his arms.

Like you weren’t furious with him yesterday. Like you didn’t watch him shoot a man in the head. Like he hadn’t been striking shady deals with your father over a table full of guns.

“I can’t smile now?” you asked, breathless, grinning like a fool.

“Oh, you can…” he said, but his voice had dropped a little, lower, gentler. His teasing smile softened. “Your smile’s beautiful.”

Then he twirled you again, holding your hand just a second longer as you spun back into him.

“You should smile more.”

You didn’t even get the chance to react before he pulled you deeper into the crowd, your body moving faster now, trying to match the rhythm of his steps. The music was louder, feet were flying, skirts swishing around you. He moved like he belonged to the dance floor, smooth, natural, confident, and you were caught in his orbit.

You laughed again, louder this time, eyes crinkling with it. You weren’t even sure what was funny anymore. You were dizzy, not from the spinning but from the feeling spreading in your chest. Warm. Light.

What was this?

You’d never been this close to a man before. Not like this. And definitely not to him. Not the man who nearly traumatized you 24 hours ago. But now, he wasn’t the outlaw who swaggered into your life and ruined your peace, he was just Kaiser, holding your hand, laughing with you like you were the only people in the room.

And somehow, that scared you more than anything else. The music was reaching it’s peak, fiddles screeching joyfully, boots slamming against the wooden floorboards in rhythm, cheers and claps echoing through the bar. The pace picked up so fast your boots could barely keep up. Kaiser held you firmly, leading you through a whirl of steps with practiced ease.

It felt like something straight out of a saloon tale, like that bar scene from a fairytale you once read (tangled if you guys get the reference), with people stomping and twirling in boots and skirts, mugs sloshing and laughter thick in the air.

You almost stumbled when the song hit its climax, your breath catching, but Kaiser didn’t let go, he turned you in a final swirl, smooth and sudden, and your chest landed right against his.

You gasped, nearly breathless, your grin wide and childlike, cheeks flushed with heat and adrenaline. His arm tightened briefly around your waist to steady you, and he looked down at you, cool and composed, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. Like he’d planned it all.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. His eyes did all the talking.

The band kicked into another tune, lighter this time, and to your surprise, he didn’t let go of your hand.

You ended up dancing again. And again. He taught you the footwork between soft murmurs and chuckles, letting you step on his boots a few times without complaint. His friends even joined in. Shidou caused a chaos by spinning two girls at once.

You lost track of time.

Eventually, you and Kaiser slipped away from the crowd, breathless, your body warm with exhaustion. He guided you back to the bar, sliding two shots your way without asking.

“What is wrong with me,” you muttered under your breath, resting your elbows on the counter. “I’m not even drunk.”

He leaned next to you, brushing a strand of messy hair from your face. “Did you enjoy it?”

You paused. Then, without thinking, “Yes!”

He laughed at the way you said it...so honest, so unguarded. Then, gently smoothing your hair behind your ear, he said, “You were… amazing.”

Your brows lifted, and you looked at him.

“You think so?”

“For a newbie?” he shrugged, sipping his shot. “A hundred percent impressive.”

You chuckled again, couldn’t help it. Something about his voice, or maybe his stupidly confident face, made everything feel easier. Your laughter pulled a glimmer from his eyes, he looked almost boyish for a second.

You downed your own shot, hissing at the burn. He grinned and poured another.

You lost count of how many followed. You weren’t drunk, but everything was soft around the edges, his voice, the flicker of lamplight, the comfort of the bar’s wooden walls. You sat close, talking about things that didn’t matter.

You found yourself smiling at him again. Just watching him talk like an idiot, hand waving in the air about some story he probably made up.

And he looked at you like he’d just won something.

Like you were a puzzle he cracked.

Like he knew he had broken through your carefully built walls, and he was proud of every little crack.

He was falling fast.

And you? You had no idea. Kaiser tilted his glass toward you with a lazy grin. “So,” he drawled, “what does a girl like you do when she’s not wiping tables and dodging bullets?”

You snorted. “Not dodge men like you, apparently.”

He laughed, loud and genuine, tilting his head back. “Touché.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. He kept the conversation going, spinning half-exaggerated stories of his time riding south near the Mexican border, run-ins with bounty hunters, poker games where he almost lost his boots, and a wild night spent locked in a tailor’s backroom in New York.

That last part made your ears perk up.

“New York?” you echoed, sitting up straighter ...

You couldn’t hide the glint in your eyes. “So your coat, was it made there?”

He smirked proudly. “yes. Specially tailored. Black suede, lined with silk, silver threading. Cost more than a whole damn horse.”

“Why?” you asked through a giggle.

“’Cause I like lookin’ better than the men I shoot.”

That made you laugh, loud and unfiltered. He chuckled with you, soaking in the sound like it was a song only he got to hear.

The minutes slipped away, drinks flowing too easily. Your head started feeling light, the room a little tilted. Your giggles became softer, your eyes slightly glazed.

Kaiser leaned back, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Already drunk?” he teased, arching a brow.

“Shut up,” you mumbled with a crooked smile before your forehead dropped to the wooden bar with a soft thunk. You groaned.

Kaiser rolled his eyes in mock exasperation and leaned closer, his voice gentle now. “Do you wanna go home?”

You peeked sideways at him, eyelids heavy. “Nooo…”

He glanced to the far side of the bar. Your father was standing in the corner, cigarette glowing in one hand as he watched the room with a tired gaze. Kaiser made a few subtle motions with his fingers, pointed at you, then toward the door, raised a questioning brow.

Your father paused, gave a long exhale of smoke, and nodded once before turning back to his drink.

You were too gone to notice.

“What are you doing with your hands?” you slurred softly, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Nothing important,” he replied, standing up and rounding the bar to you. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”

He offered his hand, and you blinked at it, uncertain. When you didn’t move, he chuckled and gently pulled you up by your arm, wrapping his own around your back to steady you.

Getting you home turned out to be a hell of a task, not that Kaiser minded one bit.

You were leaning heavily against his side, his arm firm around your waist, guiding you through the dusty path back to your place under a warm, dark amber-toned sky. The street was quieter now, lamps flickering to life, casting long shadows on the dirt road.

He hadn’t expected you to be this talkative while drunk, or this… clingy.

“So there was this man,” you began, words slurring just enough to make it funny. “Real fancy one. Wore a velvet coat and kept callin’ himself Sir Davenport or some dumb name. Thought he owned the bar just ‘cause he tipped with coins.”

Kaiser looked down at you, amused. “Did he now?”

“Mhm. My pa told me to serve him, right? So I went and gave him a drink and he said ‘Thank you, darlin’, why don’t you sit on my lap while you’re at it?’”

Kaiser snorted. “He said that to your face?”

“Yup. So I poured his whiskey on him and threw the cup at his crotch because he tried to kiss me.”

He let out a laugh that echoed down the street. “You did not.”

You looked up at him with a smug little grin. “I did. He left with a wet shirt and a bruised ego.”

“That’s my girl.”

You clung a little tighter to his side, laughing as your boots dragged through the dirt. Then, with no warning, you threw all your weight on him, and the both of you stumbled.

“Shit!” Kaiser cursed, catching you just in time before you hit the ground. You gasped, wide-eyed for a moment, before bursting into uncontrollable laughter against his chest.

“Hm, dear,” he muttered, trying not to grin as he steadied you again. “You’re hard to deal with like this.”

“I’m a delight,” you mumbled proudly.

He opened his mouth to tease you again, but stopped short when he felt something shift, something cold and metal.

“Hey-” he glanced down to see you holding his revolver, eyes full of drunken curiosity. “Where’d you-?”

You examined the weapon like it was some kind of puzzle, turning it over in your hands. “How do you use this thing?”

“Careful,” Kaiser said, taking a cautious step toward you. “Don’t press-”

PIM!

A deafening shot rang out, echoing down the street as the bullet zipped through the air and struck a wooden post nearby. Dust flew, and silence followed for a split second.

Your eyes went wide as saucers.

Kaiser stared at you with the expression of a man who just watched a toddler almost blow up the house. Then, with a slow blink and a breathless laugh, he reached out and gently took the revolver from your hands.

“You scared me for a second,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Christ, you’re trouble.”

You just giggled, eyes still wide, holding onto his arm like nothing happened.

He holstered the gun, still smiling. “Let’s get you inside before you take out someone’s kneecap.”

The walk back to your house ended quieter than it began, the buzz of laughter fading into tired little sighs as your drunkenness turned to exhaustion. The porch light flickered softly, casting your shadows across the wooden steps.

“Why don’t you come inside?” you asked, voice low but unusually gentle.

Kaiser paused, one boot on the bottom step. He tilted his head and stared at you like he was trying to read your thoughts.

Then he gave you a small smile. “I’ve got some things to do.”

“Important?”

He shrugged, “Wouldn’t call them important.”

“Then come over,” you said, matter-of-fact, pushing lightly at his hand.

“Whoa,” he chuckled. “What got into you?”

“I’m just being nice. Where would my manners be otherwise?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think your daddy would be too happy about this.”

“Don’t worry,” you mumbled with a sly grin, already dragging him toward the stairs, “he’s nice.”

“I know he’s nice,” he laughed, letting himself be pulled along.

“Where are you takin’ me?” he asked, mock caution in his tone.

“To my room.”

That made him stop for a second. His expression flickered, lips parting just a little in surprise. But then he caught your drunken grin, saw the flushed heat on your cheeks, and that cocky smirk returned.

“Just to show me around, huh?”

“I want you to see my room,” you clarified, dragging your feet up the stairs.

“Alright, darlin’,” he murmured under his breath, following behind.

Your room was… unexpected.

It smelled like lavender soap and wood polish. The window was open just enough for the night breeze to stir the thin, white curtains. Everything was neat, clean linens tucked tightly, a small shelf with worn books, a few dried flowers in a little jar by the windowsill. There were faded sketches on the desk and scraps of fabric, delicate embroidery threads in a teacup, and a sewing basket half-covered by a folded dress in progress.

Kaiser stood in the doorway, scanning it all slowly. His voice dropped low as he said, “Your room’s… nice.”

“I know right?” you slurred, before stumbling a few steps in and collapsing onto your bed with a heavy groan.

Kaiser blinked at you, amused. You didn’t even take your boots off. One arm flopped across your stomach, the other barely holding your weight up before you gave up and sank into the mattress.

He walked in a little more, quiet for once.

After a moment, he sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb you. His hands slid into his coat pockets, shoulders slightly hunched forward. His gaze swept across your room again. This wasn’t what he expected from you. Not in a bad way-just… different.

He looked back at you, your breath now slow and steady.

“You’re something else, y’know,” he murmured, voice barely above the sound of the breeze outside.

And for once, he didn’t smile. “Huh?” you mumbled, your voice soft and blurred by sleep and whiskey.

Kaiser looked over his shoulder at you, surprised by the way your arms wrapped gently around his waist. It wasn’t tight, just a lazy, half-conscious hug. You were smiling, cheek pressed against his back like he was something warm and familiar.

He let out a breath of a laugh, shaking his head. “Look at you…”

His voice dropped to something quieter. “The girl who couldn’t stand me yesterday. Who wouldn’t even look me in the eye this morning.” He glanced down at your arm, your fingers barely curled around his coat. “Now you’re clingin’ to me like I ain’t the same bastard who walked into your life with a loaded gun.”

You let out a sleepy hum, and he smiled to himself.

Kaiser stared at the far wall, his voice almost wistful now. “It’s kinda funny. How easy you are to be around, when you’re not tryin’ to act tough.” He paused. “I think I like that side of you.”

You smiled faintly, still not opening your eyes. And in one careless, drunken motion, you shifted back, pulling him with you.

Caught off guard, Kaiser let out a quiet laugh as he tumbled onto the bed beside you, bracing himself with a hand as to not crush you. He rolled to face you, head resting in his palm as he propped himself up on one elbow.

For a moment, there was nothing but the soft creak of the house settling and your mingled breaths.

You blinked slowly, and your gaze met his, his features sharper from this close, eyes darker and softer at once. You could see the stubble along his jaw, the silver thread in his earring catching the light, the way his mouth twitched like he was holding back words.

Neither of you said anything.

Sleep was already pulling at you again. Your eyelids fluttered.

He watched you for a beat longer, then leaned in, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth, light, lingering.

“Goodnight,” he whispered.

You were too tired to answer. Too tired to question how fast this all was, or what it meant. So you just let yourself drift, warmth and confusion tangled like sheets around your mind, and sleep finally pulled you under.

taglist: @jjklover365daysayear @silverwings920

#blue lock #michael kaiser #bllk #fanfic #kaiser x reader #x reader #bllk kaiser #blue lock kaiser #michael kaiser x reader #micheal kaiser x reader #micheal kaiser #kaiser michael #bllk x reader #bllk x you #blue lock manga #blue lock fanfiction #mdni

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hainge · 3 months ago

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hainge · 3 months ago

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First bullet: The emperor walks in

cowboy!kaiser x fem!reader part 1 (4k wc) from Silver bullets and stolen hearts warnings: MDNI, blood, threats, character death, gun, violence, criminal scenes, swearing

The coffee’s bitter. You made it that way on purpose today.

It’s early, too early, and already the heat is pressing against the windows of the bar like a drunkard looking for a fight. You move behind the counter without thinking, sleeves rolled, apron tied, hair pinned with the same rusted clips you’ve used for the past two years. The bar still smells like old whiskey and sweat from last night. The kind of scent that never really leaves.

You catch your reflection in the mirror behind the shelf of liquor bottles. Your blouse is clean, your skirt pressed, and you’d added that little bow on your collar because it matched the new trim you sewed onto your hem last week. Still, it’s not them. Not the women in those New York fashion journals with their silk gloves, their high collars, and perfect skin. You stare for a second longer than usual. Then you turn away.

The regulars are starting to crawl in. Ranch hands, miners, men who speak more with their boots than their mouths. You serve them with practiced ease, dodging slurred jokes and lazy eyes. They laugh too loud, slap coins on the counter like they’re doing you a favor, and act surprised when you don’t smile back.

You never smile back.

You’ve learned the trick to keeping peace, quiet enough to be ignored, sharp enough to be left alone. Most days, it works.

This town, this dry, cracked corner of Texas, wasn’t made for people like you. You know that deep in your bones. You want New York. You want lace and glass windows and people who don’t spit on the floor. You want a name on a label, a window display with your dresses lit up under gaslight. You want out.

But for now, it’s just you, a chipped coffee cup, and the sound of boots scuffing against the wood floor.

“Y/n, can you get me a cup of water?” one of your usuals asked, lighting a cigarette with a practiced flick. “Yeah, sure,” you replied with a sigh, casting one last glance at your reflection before turning away.

You actually liked him, Mr. Brooks, one of the few who didn’t make your skin crawl. Chill, respectful, didn’t talk unless he had something worth saying. You handed him a chipped glass of water and went back to wiping down the counters, half-lost in the rhythm of cloth against wood.

Then BAAM—the door swung open with a slam and a scream of rusted hinges. You jumped, just a little.

Laughter erupted like a thunderclap. Loud, unfiltered voices followed, spilling into the room like a dust storm. Six men entered, their presence as sharp and suffocating as the heat outside.

Your father appeared from the back at that exact moment, drawn by the noise, wiping his hands on a stained rag like he’d been expecting them.

The men were dressed too well for this town. Their boots didn’t stomp, they announced. They reeked of money, dominance, power… and something darker. Death, maybe. The kind that doesn’t need a reason to follow a man around.

And then there was him.

He caught your eye before you could stop yourself. You hated that.

He wore a weathered black Stetson pulled low over sharp eyes. Blonde hair and blue ends spilled from beneath it. His shirt, a cream cotton number, was unbuttoned far enough to toe the line of indecency, the sleeves rolled up to reveal faint tattoos snaking along his forearm.

A silver concho belt cinched his waist, holding up dark, flared denim trousers tucked into high riding boots, the kind worn thin by miles of desert. Spurs shimmered at his heels, chiming with every step. A revolver rested at his hip in a too-pretty holster, a thing both beautiful and dangerous.

You didn’t realize you were staring until he looked directly at you, and smirked You turned your gaze back to your work like nothing had happened. The men, these cowboys dressed like aristocrats, strode straight to the main counter and sat directly in front of you. You’d seen cowboys your whole life, but never ones like them. There was something off about them. Something too clean, too deliberate, too dangerous.

Your father, owner of the bar and no stranger to strange company, greeted them with an ease that told you they’d met before, or at least, that he knew the type. Still, you could feel the blondish one’s eyes on you. His stare was weighty, like he was trying to peel back layers.

You were drying a row of cups when you heard the scrape of wood, someone shifting in their seat. A new presence settled directly in front of you.

“And who is this darling right here? Hmm~?”

You didn’t look up. You didn’t need to, his cocky smirk was practically audible.

“You’re a hard one, I see,” he sighed with exaggerated drama. “Could you at least tell me your name?”

He leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper. You could smell the faint leather, sun, and something sharper on him, gunpowder, maybe. You finally looked up.

Up close, he was worse. His features were too sharp, too pretty for someone who likely killed men before breakfast. Blonde locks fell loose as he leaned in, framing a face that knew too well it was attractive. He raised his eyebrows, waiting.

You said nothing. Just turned back to your cups as your father laughed at something the other five said.

Then, a soft clink.

A small velvet bag hit the counter near your elbow, the unmistakable sound of coins shifting inside it. You turned.

The blond gave you a grin that had lost its smugness but none of its boldness. “A whiskey...and your name, please.”

You sighed and reached for the whiskey bottle. “Y/n.”

He echoed it, slow, testing the sound like it was a foreign word he intended to learn by heart. “I like it.”

You just hummed, disinterested, sliding the drink across to him.

“So, Y/n... could you tell me more about yourself?” he asked, tone light, teasing.

“Why would I?”

“What do you—”

“I’m not interested in you.”

He blinked once, caught off guard for a split second before his smirk returned, sharper now. “You’re too harsh for a lady like you,” he said, leaning back slightly. “The ones in New York didn’t quite look good like you, but at least they had a filter for their tongue.” “New York?” you repeated, barely above a whisper.

He caught the shift in your tone immediately. Something in your eyes flickered, interest, maybe. Hope.

“Mm,” he murmured, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Best city I’ve ever seen, if you’re talkin’ looks and luxury... but it ain’t made for men like me.”

He took a sip, slow and deliberate, never breaking eye contact. You stared a little too long this time, forgetting yourself.

“What’s it like?” you asked, almost despite yourself.

That earned a slow smile, crooked at the edges. He leaned in just slightly, not enough to crowd you, but enough to feel intentional. His voice dropped, warm and low, like he was telling you something meant to be kept.

“Bright. Loud. Full of noise, people, ideas that don’t sleep. Streets paved in cobblestone and ambition. There’s shops on every corner, real ones, display windows lit like stage plays. Dresses you’ve only dreamed of, stitched in colors this desert’s never seen. Silk, lace, velvet... no dust in sight. The people wear shoes so polished they catch the sun. Everyone's got somewhere to be and no time for pleasantries. The air smells like coal smoke and rain. Different kind of heat there. The wet kind, not the kind that bakes your bones like this place.”

You listened, head tilted slightly. For a moment, the bar, the sweat, the haze, it all fell away. Your eyes softened, lit by something you hadn’t felt in a while.

“Most of my clothes,” he added with a subtle grin, brushing a hand down the front of his shirt, “come from a little tailor shop off Broadway. Costs a pretty penny, but you wear somethin’ like this and people listen a bit closer.”

Then, his gaze sharpened. The softness in your face reminded him of something, but not enough to change him.

“But it’s nothin’ compared to Texas.” His voice shifted, deeper now. A darker smile curled his mouth. “Here, we’ve got death. I like it better that way.”

Your breath hitched. The glow in your chest snuffed out in an instant. Right. A cowboy. How could you forget?

He watched the light leave your face with a certain cruel satisfaction, like he’d tested something and gotten the answer he wanted.

“You’re one of ‘em, aren’t you?” he asked after a beat. “The dreamers. One of those girls aching to leave this place behind.”

“What?” you replied flatly.

He set his cup down on the counter, sliding it toward you without looking.

“Don’t play coy now, darlin’. I can see it in your eyes. That kind of fire doesn’t belong in a place like this. Not forever, anyway.”

You stared at him, your jaw tight. But your fingers still reached for the bottle, refilling his glass like your hand had a mind of its own. "You hate Texas, don’t you?"

You paused. "What makes you think that?"

"The way you reacted. The way you dress..." he gestured lazily toward your outfit with a flick of his fingers, "like you're trying to look like one of those high-society women from New York."

It hit too close to home. Unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong. You did try. You tried with every trim, every fabric scrap stitched under candlelight. You copied styles from the fashion journals your father left strewn across the kitchen table since you were a kid. But the fabric here, cheap, stiff, dull, never lived up to what you imagined. Nothing ever did. Just the same old browns, blacks, greys, and whites. Dust-colored dreams.

"So... am I right?"

You gave a single, reluctant nod.

He grinned. "Poor thing."

You shot him a look, unimpressed.

"Maybe I could change that," he mused, eyes trailing your face. "What do you think?"

"I told you, I’m not interested."

"You say that to every man who tries talkin’ to you."

Your brow lifted. "And how would you know that?"

He didn’t flinch. Just shrugged like it was no big secret.

"Don’t worry. Your father told me. Guess I just remembered it now."

"What—?" you started, but he cut you off.

"I’ve known your father for a while. You probably just never noticed me."

You didn’t respond, though your mind was racing. If that was true, why had your father never mentioned him before? Your father's friend,appeared at the counter with a charming wink.

"Y/n, make me a Martinez, would you?" he said, pointing toward his table.

You nodded and reached for another glass. You didn’t need to ask for the recipe, you had it memorized.

The blond watched you again, elbows resting casually on the bar.

"Ah, where are my manners?" he said smoothly, voice warm and theatrical. "Don’t think I’ve introduced myself yet, have I?"

You glanced at him, then back to the bottle in your hand.

"Name’s Kaiser," he said, with that same insufferable confidence. "Michael Kaiser. God’s chosen emperor, if you’re asking for the full title."You only hummed in response, neither agreeing nor denying. He sighed, not a tired sound, more like amusement wrapped in curiosity.

"Just wondering... why aren’t you interested in me?"

You didn’t even look at him. "Because you’re a cowboy."

He laughed softly through his nose. "That all?"

"Hitman."

"Mmm... wouldn’t call myself that." "Stupid" "Nah, not that"

"Robber."

"Hmmmmm."

"Criminal."

He tilted his head, grinning. "Alright, that one’s not entirely wrong."

You finally looked at him, unimpressed.

"I defend myself when I have to," he added with a lazy smirk. "It’s not the same as murder, sweetheart."

You didn’t bother to respond. Your eyes must’ve said enough, because he chuckled.

"What’s that look for, darlin’?" he teased. "You look like you’re tryin’ to solve a riddle and hate the answer."

"You’re weird."

That only made him smile wider.

You grabbed the finished Martinez and walked it over to your father’s friend, who was sitting comfortably and chatting with the others. As you left, you didn’t see the way Kaiser’s eyes followed you, dragging down your figure like he was reading something private.

"Damn..." he muttered under his breath, lips barely moving.

When you returned, you stepped behind the bar again, but this time on the same side as him, moving toward the lockbox to drop in some of the day’s tips.

He didn’t miss his chance.

An arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you in before you could step back. Your breath hitched, caught off guard. His grip was firm, not aggressive, but firm enough to keep you close.

Your heart thudded in your chest, betraying you. You weren’t used to this. Not touch, not warmth. Certainly not this kindof attention.

"Weird, am I?" he murmured, his voice close to your ear.

You stiffened, trying to pull away, but he didn’t let go.

"Come on, dear... just one chance," he said, his tone softer now, playful, but almost sincere.

Your jaw clenched, heart still unsteady.

He was dangerous. Arrogant. Trouble wrapped in silk and gunpowder.

But for a moment… You didn’t move. A loud thud and a shout from one of the corner tables snapped your attention away from Kaiser.

You turned just in time to see a group of men crowded around a game of cards, voices rising, a few of them already standing. Money was scattered across the table, and one of the players, red-faced and furious, slammed his fists down.

“You cheatin’ son of a bitch!” he barked, knocking over his chair as he stood. His face was twisted in rage, hands trembling as he pointed a finger across the table. “That was my last damn dollar!”

Kaiser’s grip around your waist went unnoticed as your focus locked on the growing commotion.

The man he was shouting at, older, lean, and too calm for the moment, barely flinched.

“Should’ve folded, friend,” the calm man muttered, leaning back in his chair with a bored expression.

The shouting man’s hand went to his belt. “You lyin’ bastard, I’ll shoot you where you sit!”

The bar collectively inhaled. Gasps, scattered murmurs, the scrape of chairs pulling back.

Kaiser’s eyes flicked toward the scene, but he didn’t move. Instead, his gaze dropped to his hand on your waist, and then a little lower.

A bottle smashed against the wall near the card table. Shards flew.

Kaiser’s men at the other end of the bar wheezed with laughter, one of them let out a low whistle, another muttered something in another language, too fast for you to catch.

The angry man drew his revolver, trembling with rage. “You think I won’t do it?!” the man reloaded his gun to shoot and-

In the next instant- PIM. A single shot rang out.

The shouting man’s body dropped to the floor like a sack of grain, blood blooming beneath him.

A silence fell like a curtain. Someone whimpered near the entrance. A glass hit the floor behind you, rolling.

You stumbled back, instinctive fear taking over, but in your panic, you backed right into Kaiser’s chest.

“Headshot,” he whispered, not even trying to hide his pride.

You turned to him, wide-eyed. His revolver was still raised, a thin stream of smoke curling from the barrel. He exhaled calmly, blowing the smoke away before sliding the weapon back into its holster in one smooth motion.

He looked at you, smirk curving one side of his mouth.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asked, voice softer now, more dangerous in its gentleness. Some people left after the shooting. Others stayed, too drunk or too used to death to care.

You had finally pulled yourself away from Kaiser’s grip, muttering something vague as you slipped past him, your breath shaky and legs unsteady. You pushed open the back door of the bar and didn’t stop walking until you were back in your room.

Now, the heat of the evening clung to your skin like a fever. Your chest rose and fell too quickly, your forehead damp, throat dry. You lay curled up on your side, but sleep wouldn't come. Every time you shut your eyes, all you saw was the man collapsing to the ground, blood soaking into the floorboards.

You didn’t cry, but your body felt like it wanted to.

Hours passed. The moon had already climbed high. Still, your father hadn’t come home.

Eventually, exhaustion weighed too heavy. You changed into your nightdress, climbed under the thin sheets, and let the dark wash over you. You weren’t sure if you'd go back to work tomorrow. You weren’t sure if you could.

Then a sound woke you.

A soft thud. The creak of the front door. Voices.

Your father?

You sat up slowly, the bedsheet still tangled around your ankles, heart thudding. You crept to your bedroom door and cracked it open. A low voice said something below, then another answered, deeper, rougher.

You moved down the stairs slowly, barefoot and quiet. Halfway down, you stopped. You recognized one of the voices.

Kaiser.

Your breath caught.

You tiptoed down and peeked around the corner into the kitchen. That’s when you saw it.

On the kitchen table, laid out like a collection of cursed jewelry, were guns, many guns.

Long-barreled revolvers with mother-of-pearl handles. A polished rifle with intricate engravings on the barrel. Short, brutal-looking shotguns with the wood worn from use. Cartridges, bullets, a bowie knife or two. All gleaming under the flickering oil lamp.

Your father sat at the end of the table, tense but composed, a cigarette burning low in his fingers.

Across from him were four men.

Kaiser lounged in one of the chairs like he owned the whole town, legs stretched. His blond hair was messier now, a few strands falling over his eye.

To his left sat a man with light brown hair with pink ends, soft magenta eyes that missed nothing. His expression was calm and kind. His clothes were dark, minimal, quiet and lethal.

“Ness” earlier in the bar you overheard your dad talking to them and memorised their names. He was calm, methodical, the kind of man who didn’t raise his voice, but you’d believe him if he said he’d killed before breakfast.

Next to him, a second man leaned with his arms crossed. He had a striking resemblance to Ness, but sharper. Taller, his jaw clenched, brows furrowed. Cold, distant. His light teal eyes burned with quiet judgment, and his coat was thrown over his chair like he didn’t care for rules.

("Rin.”)…

And then there was the last one. The wild one.

Bleach-blond hair with pink streaks at the tips, a manic grin stretched wide across his face. He had one leg propped up on the table like he was just waiting for someone to pick a fight. Gold hoops in his ears, a scar running just beneath his eye. He kept drumming his fingers against a sawed-off shotgun like it was a game.

"Shidou," you guessed. And the grin confirmed it.

They were deep in conversation with your father.

Kaiser: "We’ll only need three of the rifles. Rin wants the long-range. Shidou’s not gonna touch one unless it kicks like a bull."

Rin: "And I want the bolt-action. Not the lever." (He said it quietly, but firmly. No room for debate.)

Your Father: (rubbing his jaw) "These ain’t cheap, y’know. I can part with ‘em, but I’ll need to see the gold first."

Ness: (calmly, voice soft but firm) "We pay fair. You know that. But we won’t be swindled."

Shidou: (grinning, bouncing his knee) "Why not just rob the place? Save us all the back-and-forth."

Kaiser: (chuckled) “We like him. He makes good whiskey and raised a daughter with a spine." (He said it with that lazy smirk, but his voice dropped a note at the word “daughter.”)

Your Father: (eyeing him) “You sure, Kaiser? She don’t need your kind."

Kaiser: (tilting his head) "I’m everyone’s kind, old man. She just hasn’t figured that out yet."

(They all laughed)

Your blood went cold. You stepped back quietly into the hallway before they could see you.

The night outside was still and heavy.

So were you. You decided to head back upstairs, but your sleep-blurred eyes betrayed you. Your hip clipped the side table and a porcelain vase wobbled dangerously. You gasped, lunging to catch it just before it hit the floor. With a shaky sigh, you placed it back in its spot and knelt to steady yourself.

“Clumsy little thing, aren’t you?”

You snapped your head toward the voice. Kaiser stood at the foot of the stairs, leaning lazily against the banister like he owned the house.

You stood quickly, brushing off your shirt. You made to walk past him, but he reached out and stopped you with a hand on your arm, the same hand that had pulled the trigger just hours ago.

You froze.

His grip was firm but not cruel, his thumb brushing once across your sleeve before he let go. “How long you plan on pretendin’ I’m not here?” he asked, voice low, more curious than annoyed.

You scowled, stepping away from him. “As long as I need to.”

He gave a soft, almost amused exhale and nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. Then, with that same casual charm, he asked, “You mind pointin’ me toward the bathroom?”

You narrowed your eyes but turned and led him down the short hall. “It’s there,” you said flatly, nodding toward the last door on the left.

You moved to turn around, but before you could step away, he cut you off, closing the space between you and the door. His arm pressed just beside your head, trapping you. You stiffened.

“I reckon you heard what went down at the kitchen table earlier,” he said, voice low and unreadable.

Your brows furrowed. “Heard what?”

He tilted his head. “Don’t play dumb. The crates. The firearms. The talk of routes and prices.” He paused. “The money.”

You glared at him. “So what? You made some dirty deal with my father?”

He leaned in closer, enough for you to catch the scent of tobacco and clean leather. “Not dirty,” he said quietly. “Strategic. Your old man’s got connections, and I’ve got need for goods that don’t go through official lines. That’s all there is to it.”

“Sure,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “And what about the pile of guns laid across the table like it’s the damn Revolution War”

He grinned, but his eyes didn’t match the humor. “Tools of the trade, sweetheart. We ain’t bankers.”

Your jaw tensed.

He reached down, his hand brushing lightly against your waist. You should’ve shoved him away, but your body betrayed you, your breath hitched.

“I swear on my life,” he murmured, tone more sincere than you expected, “it ain’t what you think. I ain’t draggin’ your father into nothin’ dangerous.”

You shoved his hand off you. “Go to the bathroom. You stink of gunpowder and lies.”

He chuckled, stepping back. “Now that’s the attitude I like.” With a wink, he pushed open the bathroom door and disappeared inside.

You didn’t wait around. You headed upstairs, heart thudding harder than you cared to admit.

Roughly twenty minutes later, you heard the front door creak open, then shut again. Curious, you peeked out your bedroom window and spotted them outside. Kaiser and his fellas, loading wooden crates into the back of a wagon. Two strong horses stood at the reins, snorting softly in the cool air. The men moved fast, efficient. Then, just like that, they climbed up and rode off, leaving only a cloud of dust behind them.

You stood there staring at the empty road long after they disappeared.

Then, finally, you let yourself fall onto your bed, burying your face into the pillow.

Sleep took you quick, but not before the image of Kaiser’s smirk lingered in your mind, unwelcome yet unforgettable.

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