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rubylaufeyson · 14 days ago

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matching bracelets (kaz brekker x reader)

summary: when (y/n) buys kaz a bracelet she does so as a joke, she knows he’ll never actually wear it. imagine her surprise when she sees it dangling around his wrist.

based on the prompt: person A gets person B a friendship bracelet, expecting person B to never wear it, but when it’s given to them person B puts it on and is rarely seen with it off.

warnings: mentions of blood and torture (not explicit, briefly mentioned)

kaz taglist: @the-tpd-bau @ellievickstar @thestudiouswanderer | soc taglist: @ancientbeing10 (if you want to be added or removed from the taglist just dm me!)

a/n: guess who's back after a year of being mia!! i've been working on a lot of fics, but inspiration just hasn't been there, so i'm going slow, i don't like to force myself to write if i don't feel like it. anywaysss, i hope you enjoy this one! it was such a fun ride to write :)

Jesper opens the door with a loud bang, strutting into the Slat with his head held high and a slight jump in his step. He’s whistling good-naturedly, his left hand twirling a pistol and his right hand holding a rumpled piece of paper.

(Y/N)’s right hand— which had immediately reached for the pocket knife in her boot at the tumultuous noise— retreats back to her side. She relaxes, letting her shoulders sag and briefly looking down to make the final correction on a contract Kaz had her look over, left hand holding the pen and swiftly moving over the paper.

Jesper makes his way towards her, still whistling. She follows him from the corner of her eye, a slight smirk taking over her features. He’s in a good mood, the kind of mood he’s only ever in when the Gods are in his favor and he manages to miraculously not gamble away all his money. It’s not something that happens often.

“Did you win some?” she asks, already knowing the answer but enjoying the way the Sharpshooter preens under the attention. Jesper, very much in character and to (Y/N)’s delight, twirls around and does a ridiculous dance before taking a small bow.

“Baby, I won a whole lot.”

She huffs out a laugh, leaning back as she watches him place the pistol in its respective holster before plopping down on the chair by her right side and tossing her a small bag.

(Y/N) catches it smoothly, reflexes as sharp as always.

She doesn’t need to open the sack to know there’s kruge in there; the sound of coins jiggling against each other is a dead giveaway.

Jesper winks, a teasing smile on his lips. He tips his chair back, feet on top of the table, “Because you’re my favorite.”

It’s really because he owes her more kruge than he’ll ever be able to repay, but (Y/N) plays along. She’s never cared much about money, anyways.

“You sure do know how to charm a lady,” she smirks.

“I’m good at charming gents, too.”

“Versatile.”

“You know me.”

(Y/N) smiles, softer around the edges this time, something reserved only for her closest friends. She’s about to being correcting another contact— she has twelve to go through, all because she’d been bored and had decided annoying Kaz would be a great way to spend her time, he obviously hadn’t agreed —when Jesper slides over the piece of paper he’d been holding in his right hand. In the time he’d made his way towards her he’d somehow managed to crumple it completely.

She takes it, half curious, half willing to do anything to procrastinate revising and correcting those stupid documents.

“Brought this for you, too. I’ve got the feeling you’re going to enjoy this much more than the money.”

Her eyebrows furrow with curiosity as she slowly opens up the paper.

Ink contrasts the yellowish hue of the paper. Her own face greets her, drawn by hand, but fairly accurate.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N)

Wanted dead or alive.

1,000 kruge.

She can’t help the snicker that falls from her lips

Jesper is right. This is better, much better.

“Can’t believe it’s only a thousand this time,” she huffs, a small pout on her lips. “I must be losing my touch.”

Jesper snorts at that.

(Because she hasn’t lost her touch, not even a little, and they both know it. Just yesterday she’d managed to get vital information out of a Black Tip member with a single touch and a minimal amount of bloodshed. Three days before that she’d disposed of a rival gang member who’d been speaking too freely and she’d made sure his body would never be found. Two weeks prior to that Kaz had sent her to steal a miniature stature and she’d done it without a hitch, forging an identical copy in less than five days. No, she still very much has it.)

“I might have to go overboard next time,” she muses quietly to herself, “do something that will raise the bounty to at least two thousand five hundred.”

She traces the outline of her name, biting down a smile when Jesper snorts.

“You’re insane,” the Sharpshooter deadpans, the fondness in his tone almost tangible.

(Y/N) smiles wickedly at him, “So they say.”

Marbles is what they’ve nicknamed her around the Barrel. They say she’s lost them all. And it must be true, she must be out of her mind, because having a bounty on your head in Ketterdam is nothing less than a death sentence. It means having the most ruthless assassins coming after you, all looking for a way to make fast money. It’s living with the constant fear of someone sneaking up on you and slicing your throat, of having your food poisoned, of being choked to death in your sleep, of having your closest friends betray you as a means to survive. But to (Y/N), who has been part of the city’s underworld since before being able to formulate words, who has had any sort of ability to feel fear beaten out of her, this is nothing but one of the most amazing sources of entertainment. It keeps her on her toes, brings an adrenaline rush that does not compare to anything else. She must be crazy because any sane person would be paralyzed in fear, running for their lives, and yet all she can feel is the comforting thrill of being in mortal danger. (And, yes, it is comforting. She was raised to be a weapon, trained to withstand any form of torture; having Death peering over her shoulder is something she’s comfortable with, something she’s used to, something that soothes her). Besides, even if she wasn’t deadly confident in her own abilities (which she very much is), and even if she was able to feel terror overtaking her limbs (which she doesn’t think she’ll ever feel again), the title she holds would be enough to keep her relatively safe; she is Kaz’s right hand, and no one dares touch something that belongs to Dirtyhands.

(Y/N) stares at the poster for a little while longer— they got her nose wrong, made it too pointy —before smirking to herself. She knows how this will all go down, has seen it played out a few dozen times before (this is a regular occurrence, after all, a bounty is placed on her head every couple of months, whenever she loses her temper and murders someone who was deemed untouchable, or steals something much too valuable for her blood-stained hands). So, yes, she knows how this will go; the bounty will stay up for a couple of weeks, long enough for a few to dare try to kill her, and then it’ll be removed by whoever placed it once they realize it’s futile, once they see how everyone who even dares breathe too close to her winds up dead. She hopes the assassination attempts are entertaining, she hopes whoever dares come after her head gives her a good fight, if only to keep things interesting. It’s been a while since she’s had some unrestrained fun.

(Kaz keeps her on a tight rein, knows better than to let her run around freely. To say things can get out of hand when she’s left to her own devices would be an understatement.)

“Again?”

The voice comes from behind her, and (Y/N) doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is, she heard his steps since before he even walked into the room. (It’s easy to know when it’s Kaz, he subconsciously places more weight on his left leg to keep the right one from aching, it makes his footsteps distinctive.) Still, she angles her head to meet his eyes. He’s leaning over her chair, cold eyes watching the bounty poster with disdain.

He’s never said it but (Y/N) knows that he doesn’t appreciate her life being imperiled. She is, in a way, an extension of him, and therefore any threats to her he sees as direct threats to him. Dirtyhands doesn’t take it well to being threatened.

“It’s okay, boss,” Jesper calls out. He’s still tipping his chair back, now playing with his guns. (Y/N) is kind of tempted to lean forward and kick one of the chair’s wooden legs, just to watch him struggle, possibly even fall. But Jesper’s known her long enough to realize when she’s on the verge of becoming a nuisance because his eyes narrow playfully and he lets the chair’s weight drop forward, “I wouldn’t worry too much.”

From the corner of her eye, (Y/N) can see the way Kaz’s face morphs. It’s almost indistinguishable, but she notices it. She thinks she would be able to spot the most minimal change in Kaz, she’s known him long enough for that. (Y/N) watches in amusement as he opens his mouth, no doubt to argue that he isn’t worrying at all, because Gods forbid he ever outwardly cared about anyone, but Jesper beats him to the punch and keeps going, “Heard some of Pekka’s Lions talking ‘bout how they’re not even going to try to come after her this time.”

“How boring,” she mutters to herself in disappointment, reaching for her glass of whisky. She’d meant for the comment to go unheard but Jesper’s snicker tells her that she wasn’t successful.

She takes a chug as Jesper points an accusatory finger at her and smirks, “That’s all on you, Marbles.”

At her bewildered look, he elaborates, “Two of them said something about not wanting to meet the same fate as the Razorgull guy from a couple of months ago—” (Y/N) smirks at that. The guy had deserved it. He hadn’t just tried to kill her, but also grope her. Murder she could understand, respect even, but touching someone else without their consent? No, she drew the line there. She’d had him swallow his own testicles; it’d seemed fitting enough. “—and the other one said that even if you hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t come close, not with you being Kaz’s right hand,” Jesper pauses for a second, a smug smile appearing on his lips, “and his best friend.”

Their reaction is instantaneous; Kaz goes rigid at the words and a smirk takes over (Y/N)’s features.

Oh, if the night didn’t just suddenly get better.

She glances up at her best friend, only to find him already glaring daggers at Jesper, who shrugs helplessly and innocently says, “Just telling it like I heard it, boss.” The flicker of amusement in his eyes reveals that he’s very much aware of just how much ammunition he’s provided (Y/N) with.

(Y/N)’s smirk becomes wider and gains a teasing edge when Kaz looks down to meet her eyes. His eyes harden, explicitly telling her to not utter a single word. Sadly for him, she has never been one to follow the rules, and Kaz must notice she’s not about to obey because his face morphs slightly, just enough to show the most minimum amount of discomfort. He cringes just the tiniest bit, bracing himself.

He knows her too well.

“You hear that?” she asks him, tone light and filled with amusement, “We’re best friends!”

“We are not,” Kaz tenses his jaw as he replies. He backs away from her, as if creating physical space between them will somehow stop the words from leaving her mouth and making their way towards him. As if distance could make her less of an bother.

(Y/N) fake gasps, clutching the skin over her heart in the most dramatic manner, “You wound me deeply, Kazzy.”

Jesper snorts, coughing to try to drown the laughter. She might be the only one who doesn’t get a knife to the jugular when calling him that.

Kaz’s eyes snap toward the Sharpshooter and the look must be deadly because Jesper quiets down immediately and tries his best to evade the boss’s glare. Kaz’s gaze then shifts towards (Y/N) and she perks up at the way his eyes harden even further in annoyance. He’s told her a million times to drop that ‘ridiculously stupid’ nickname and she’s decided she never will, not when it drives him to this point of exasperation.

(She’s a thrill chaser, you see. That’s what happens when you’ve seen just about everything and lived twice as much; few things get your heart pumping. And getting on Kaz’s nerves? That’s always exciting. (Y/N) never knows what to expect of him. The Bastard of the Barrel is unpredictable in a way that’s just delightful.)

“If you call me that one more time—”

“What are you gonna do? You can’t possibly try to hurt me. Best friends don’t do that to each other,” she mocks.

His eyebrow twitches, her grin stretches.

Oh, she’s going to have a field day with this one.

It’s obvious that Kaz knows he’s not winning this discussion because he walks forward, snatches the revised contracts and makes his way back to where he came from.

“Get those done before tomorrow afternoon.”

Boring. She was expecting more banter.

(Y/N) turns around to watch him leave, unable to stop herself from throwing a sarcastic, “Sure thing, bestie.” She does her best to sweeten the last word in a way that she knows will infuriate Kaz.

He freezes.

Bingo.

Even from afar, (Y/N) can see the way he tightens the grip on his cane. She’s thoroughly disappointed when he doesn’t throw a dagger her way. That would’ve been exciting. He takes another route, one she should’ve seen coming.

“I’ve got seven more files that need to be corrected. Collect them when you’re done with those.”

The corner of her lips tugs upwards slightly. There’s something thrilling about playing this game with Kaz, of seeing how much one of them can push before the other yields. He’s skilled and she enjoys the competition.

She ignores his order, “Goodnight, Kazzy.”

He slams the door on his way out, the only visible sign that she managed to get on his nerves. That’s mildly entertaining. Causing even the slightest slip of Kaz’s control over his temper is a success in her books.

“You’re out of your mind,” Jesper informs her.

She raises her glass of whisky at him and winks.

And that’s how it begins, as a joke. (Y/N) refers to Kaz as her best friend on every given chance. His reactions never disappoint.

There’s a lot of death threats;

(“Don’t mind him, bestie here is always grumpy.”

Clenched jaw, an exasperated sigh. “I will murder you.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, Kazzy.”

There’s a knife thrown her way. (Y/N) catches it with ease, whistling good-naturedly. She smirks when she catches the look of annoyance in Kaz’s face.)

and a lot of not so kind words thrown her way.

(“I get special best friend privileges, right?”

“You get tolerated,” Kaz mutters, “barely.”

“That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me. Now tell me you love me.”

There’s that Brekker glare, one that would send anyone to an early grave. (Y/N) just smiles sweetly.

“Get out.”

“Whatever makes you happy, best friend.”

She cackles as she closes the door behind her, the curses Kaz is sending her way loud enough for her to hear.)

All in all, (Y/N) is as happy as can be. Having the time of her life, really. It’s not often that she finds something that makes Kaz fume. He plays the game too, of course. He has her going over financial documents and legal contracts on her free time, knowing just how much she hates the bureaucracy, and he gives her the household chores she despises the most. Still, (Y/N) doesn’t complain. She does everything with a smug smile on her face. The annoyance that flashes through Kaz’s face makes it all worth it.

The bracelet isn’t something she plans for, it really isn’t, but the Saints place the opportunity right in front of her and who is she but a mere mortal that must obey the signs evidently laid by otherworldly deities (or whatever bullshit those religious fanatics preach).

(Y/N) inspects the wristlets in her hand. They’re black and rough, made of broken-down nets that fishermen dispose of near the pier when the material has worn down beyond repair and is no longer useful. The little girl who had sold it to her couldn’t have been older than seven, and yet the design was more than decent. (Y/N) had offered three kruge for it, much more than it was worth. The child had looked delighted, had thanked her profusely as she’d placed the coins inside her worn-down shoes.

Oh, (Y/N) cannot wait to see Kaz’s face.

“What’s that?” Jesper asks as she meets up with him, eying the bracelets with a gleam of interest. He twirls his guns absentmindedly, missing the way some of the fishermen glance at him with distrust.

“Oh, you know, just some matching bracelets for me and my best friend.”

Jesper snickers, shaking his head and proceeding to let out a low whistle.

“This might be his breaking point.”

“Wouldn’t that be delightful.”

“You’re insane, Marbles.”

She gives him a wicked smile accompanied by a wink. She’s about to retort when she catches sight of a shadow on the corner of her eye. She recognizes it immediately as her target. Shopping, as fun as it had been, wasn’t the reason she and Jesper were waiting by the pier. They’ve got orders. She has people to torture and interrogate and dispose of— preferably in a quiet manner —and Jesper is Kaz’s way of making sure she’s got her back covered. (Not that she needs backup, but whatever, she has tried arguing with Kaz about it and it’s the one thing he won’t relent on, the one matter she’s accepted she won't ever win. Kaz doesn't play when it comes to her safety.).

“If you’re kind enough to hold these for me,” she places the bracelets on Jesper’s unoccupied hand, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

They make it back to the Slat before sunrise. (Y/N) had been quick and efficient, as she always was, and Jesper had been a quiet and solid shadow, as he always was.

“I assume it all went according to plan,” the Bastard asks when he hears their steps coming into his office. It’s late, or rather extremely early in the morning, and yet (Y/N) isn’t surprised by Kaz’s presence. He rarely sleeps.

“It went without a hitch, boss,” Jesper responds, resting against the doorframe.

(Y/N) hesitates for a split second, her memory providing a brief flashback to the interrogation she’d done, to three little words the man had let slip out: they’re coming for you.

A warning or maybe a promise.

Thrilling, either way. It wasn’t often that she was verbally threatened.

At the time, she’d dismissed the words, too filled with bloodlust to pay them any mind, but now, with a clear mind and a steady heartbeat, she suddenly remembers her face plastered on paper all over Ketterdam and wonders if the words might be related to the bounty on her head.

Oh, she hopes so. That would prove to be fun.

They’re coming for you. Good. Let them try.

She nods her head in agreement with Jesper’s words. Kaz nods in approval and then jerks his chin Jesper’s way, a clear sign of dismissal. The Sharpshooter never walks into Kaz’s office after missions like this. He’s an escort, a babysitter of sorts, merely Kaz’s way of making sure she heads his way instead of making a beeline for her bed.

(Y/N) sticks her tongue out at him and Jesper blows her a kiss in response.

Lucky bastard. It’s always her that has to stay up to report. And she hates to admit it, but she’s tired, she can feel the exhaustion begin to creep on her bones and settle in. She has been up for more than thirty-seven hours at this point, and she can feel it catching up to her. Still, she knows that Kaz prefers to hear details when the information is fresh on her mind, when she can provide as much detail as possible, so she pushes through for him. She just has to wait a little while longer before crawling into her bed and passing out for the next twelve hours.

“Marbles comes bearing gifts by the way,” is the last thing the Sharpshooters says before exiting.

A smirk takes over her features, sleep, exhaustion and the new information briefly forgotten.

Kaz is going to hate it.

Lovely.

Kaz seems to sense, probably by the wicked amusement on her face, that whatever it is it’s not something he’s going to enjoy. His face twists into a scowl.

“Out with it, then.”

She pulls out the dark bracelet from her pocket as she walks towards Kaz, dangling it in front of his face when she’s close enough.

Jesper had handed them back on the way home, tossing them over as soon as she’d wiped the blood off her hands. He hadn’t said a word, but (Y/N) knew that the action had meant to snap her out of the weird haze that clouded her mind after every mission, where adrenaline still coursed through her body and all she could think about was bloodshed, fingers itching to kill and maim and fight.

(It was a thing, the haze. When taking lives there was nothing but calmness and bloodthirst, the restlessness that always lingered beneath her skin subsiding as soon as a weapon was placed in her hand and orders were given. And as soon as the mission was done, as soon as the target was neutralized and she’d efficiently fulfilled her orders, fogginess followed. Her mind became clouded, as if somewhat trapped in a loop of violence, every nerve on edge and ready for any threat to emerge.

She was brought up as a killing machine, a child soldier, the best out of all the assassins produced by the Silent Blades, her father’s pride. She was ruthless, wretched, or at least those had been the words used to describe her when she’d been a child. She supposed the dissociative state she slipped into was normal when considering her upbringing, some sort of psychological shield that kept her from going insane.

She never spoke about it, but the Crows somehow knew. They often eased her out of it, knowing full well that when trapped in that state she had not ounce of thought and only muscle memory to rely on, which made her infinitely more lethal.)

Jesper’s actions had worked like a charm. With something else to do with her hands, the fogginess had ruptured. She’d absentmindedly tied one of the bracelets on her own wrist, fingers playing with the edges of the other.

It’s that bracelet, the one on her arm, that Kaz glances at now. It’s brief, but for a split second the scowl etched on his face softens and something that she can’t quite catch passes through his eyes. It’s gone before (Y/N) can even begin to process it.

“Best friends have to have matching bracelets, don’t they?” And if she wonders about it later, she’ll blame it on the exhaustion, but the words come out softer than she intends them to. A jest, but not any less truthful.

Kaz’s face morphs and she gets a fleeting glimpse at that flicker in his eyes again. His scowl melts into something a tad bit gentler, the look contrasted by the aggressiveness with which he snatches the bracelet from her hand, “You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.” He means that and his tone has enough bite to make her cackle.

Amusing.

Placing her hands on her back pockets and shrugging, she responds, “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Kaz snorts, “Go take a bath.” He dismisses her, turning around and making his way to his desk, “Reports can wait until you don’t look half dead.”

That’s unexpected.

(Y/N) raises her eyebrows, “You’re being nice.” It isn’t often that Kaz forgoes a report after a mission. He might’ve been more touched by the gift than he’s letting on.

“It’s for my own sake,” he retorts, not turning around, “you just stink and it’s making me nauseous.”

She does have a lingering smell of blood and sea water.

“Everything in this damned place stinks,” she responds. I know you’re lying, she’s saying, I know you’re being kind.

“Get out.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” (Y/N) mocks, walking out of his office.

She sleeps a full day after that, everyone knowing better than to bother her unless they want to lose to their head, and when she reports to Kaz the next morning the three words she’d heard from the man slip her mind. (Y/N) doesn’t remember them until a few weeks later when she’s tied to the ceiling by her wrists, face bleeding.

Now, she must admit, she’s impressed. No one had ever tried kidnapping before. There’d been more attempts on her life than she could even count; stabs resulting in blood being shed, never one drop of hers, poison that she had either swallowed down like a champ or identified before a single lick of it touched her tongue, because being raised an assassin meant she’d been trained in the art of toxins and she’d built up tolerance to pretty much every substance in existence, and that one time they’d tried to shot at her, which only resulted in (Y/N) stealing Jesper’s gun and placing a bullet right between the perpetrator’s eyebrows. All in good fun. Kidnapping was new, but only because those who had attempted on her life had never tried joining forces, all of them wishing to keep the financial reward for themselves.

Torturing, that was new, too.

She could endure, of course she could, she’d been trained for this. That did not mean she’d missed it.

The poster had stated she was wanted dead or alive and it was clear that the man in front of her wanted to take his time. It was personal, she could tell by the brunt of his hits and the delicate precision of his cuts. Had she been anyone else, she would’ve been begging for it to stop, but (Y/N) was a Silent Blade, even if she’d left the organization and that life behind, and she would never break.

The only reason she was in this situation was because the assailants had gotten the upper hand. They’d used one of (Y/N)’s street urchins— a little girl with piggy tails and two missing teeth, one of the ones who gathered information for (Y/N) and traded it for food and shelter —as leverage. And time had apparently made her soft because she’d hesitated. The brief second of doubt had been everything they’d needed.

Them subduing her didn’t mean she’d gone down without a fight. There’s been five of them in the beginning. Only three remained. She’d plucked one guy’s eye out, going deep sever the optic nerve and cause brain damage, and she’d ripped the other’s ear with her teeth before slitting his throat. She’d managed to stab one of the three men remaining with a dagger before being injected with some unknown serum. It hadn’t knocked her out, not the way it was supposed to if the incredulous look on her kidnapper’s face was any indication, but it had drugged her enough to allow them to overpower her.

And now here she was, slowly bleeding out.

“I intent on handing your corpse to them and claiming the reward.” He’s been quiet for so long that (Y/N) had almost forgotten his presence. She doesn’t raise her head, only looks up. It’s hard to do so when her right eye is swollen shut. “But they never specified the conditions it had to be in.”

The man has his back towards her, fingers running through a box of tools. He’s used almost all of them on her by this point. Amateur. A skilled torturer knows to go slow, to drag it out, to choose a weapon and stick to it until the person is weeping and screaming.

“It was my brother that you killed.”

That sparks her interest, a smirk taking over her bloodied lips. She looks at him, dead in the eye.

“Which one?” she taunts.

The sound of her voice, still strong despite the blood loss, startles him. He freezes for a split second, hand over a wooden baseball bat.

“What?”

She snickers, blood dripping into the floor. “I’ve killed a lot of men, darling.” The way he seethes, fury filling his features, amuses her. “So which one was your brother?”

“You had him swallow his own testicles.”

“Oh, him,” she nods her head in appreciation. “Can’t say I regret it.”

Now he’s fuming, hand shaking so badly he almost loses the grip on the bat. If (Y/N) looks close enough she can see the resemblance. Same brown hair, same nose, same crazy look in their eyes.

“I’ll make you regret it.”

“You can certainly try,” she concedes mockingly. Because, honestly, there’s nothing he can do to her that she hasn’t already withstood.

There’s a raging roar and then a burst of pain. A hit to her abdomen, which no doubt bruised a rib, and then two to her back. But it’s okay, she thinks to herself as she wheezes and coughs, trying to regain air in her lungs, she knows how to play this game and how to win it. Keep him talking, keep him angry, let him think he has the upper hand, keep him from noticing how she’s preparing to break free.

“I wonder…” he murmurs, bat dragging behind him. “You’re not particularly remarkable.” She scoffs as he begins circling her, a tactic supposed to drive the prisoner into panic at the lack of vision of their assailant. Her heart doesn’t stutter. She’s trained to identify people and objects by sound not sight. She knows precisely where he is, even if she can’t see him. “So, what makes you interesting enough for the Bastard to keep so close?”

She grins, feral and with bloodstained teeth.

“Why don’t you come closer and I’ll show you?”

His face does not change but his step falters. “You cannot believe me stupid enough to fall for that.”

“You were stupid enough to tie my wrists with handcuffs,” is all she replies before dislocating her own thumbs and releasing herself from the shackles.

She hits the floor hard, body swaying for a second. Her hands are numb, nerve endings frayed. It hits her, now that she has to keep herself outfight, just how much blood she’s lost. The edges of her vision blur.

There’s a cut on her thigh, it bleeds heavily. Her back is all flayed skin. Breathing is hard.

It doesn’t matter. She only needs four fingers and half a mind to hold and use a dagger. She shakes the dizziness off.

He comes at her, but she’s expecting that. Sidestepping him is easy, kicking him in the back as he passes by even more so.

“You’re not much without your friends and a syringe full of drugs, are you?” she stumbles a little as she taunts him. Time is not on her side, she knows this. He’s cut deep in her arms and legs, no major artery touched, but with precision to give her a slow and prolonged death. She’s been steadily bleeding for hours.

(Y/N) has to end this. Soon.

He comes for her again, and she dodges, punching him right in the gut. He feigns left and she moves away, noticing too late the fist that impacts with the right side of her face. Despite the pain, she manages to stomp his toes and slam her knee against his balls.

That does it.

A high whimper leaves his mouth and as he struggles for air, she backs up. Keeping her eyes on him, her right arm reaches back to the toolbox. She knows what she’s grasped as soon as her fingers graze it.

“Say hi to your brother for me.”

The scalpel lodges itself right on his carotid artery.

“Nice,” she mumbles in delirium as she hears him choke to death. It’d been a majestic throw.

The adrenaline is gone in a second. (Y/N) stumbles backwards, barely aware of all the tools scattering around in the floor. She lets herself rest against the wall, slowly sitting down on the floor.

She’s going to die.

It doesn’t matter that she’s managed to get rid of that poor excuse of a man. She’s too injured. She knows.

(Y/N) isn’t scared. She’s tangled with Death for a long time, and as cold begins to creep in and the edges of her vision blacken, it feels like welcoming an old friend. It feels like getting what she has always had coming for her.

The tips of her fingers begin to tingle, her body’s desperate effort at keeping her heart pumping. Her ears are ringing, hard enough that when shouts begin all that she can hear are muffled sounds.

Then someone’s touching her face. She greets the warmth.

“Fuck,” she hears as she tumbles forward, her forehead landing on a collarbone. Jesper grasps the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair. At least, she thinks it’s him. Her brain feels mushy, but her nose has never failed her, and it smells like gunpowder and mint.

She’s laid down on the ground gently, probably to inspect her injuries before moving her.

“You’re going to be okay,” the Sharpshooter reassures her, but his voice is trembling. He’s scared. She must look worse than she feels, and she feels like she’s been attacked by a group of Heartrenders.

She wants to speak, to tell him it’s okay, but opening her mouth feels like an impossible task.

“Save your energy.” That’s Kaz. His voice is steady, but she can feel the underlying tension, the worry in his words. “You are not dying tonight.” And he says it with so much conviction, like he would hold her soul with his own hands to keep it anchored to her body, like he would keep her heart beating with pure willpower.

Her eyes look for him, but she catches sight of something else entirely.

“You’re wearing it.”

She must make no sense, words slurred, but Kaz understands. His whispered words are the last thing she hears before slipping out of consciousness.

“How couldn’t I?”

Then there’s nothing. She loses track of time. She comes back to her body from time to time, able to hear words but incapable of pinpointing the speaker. She’s floating, but there’s pain and aching.

“…too much blood, I don’t know…”

“…keep her alive.”

“I am trying!”

“Don’t try, do it.”

“…punctured lung, broken ribs…”

“…don’t know how she’s still alive.”

When she comes to the first thing that she feels is blinding pain. Everything hurts. Her muscles complain as she sits up. She clenches her jaw to keep the tears at bay. The worst is already over, she will not cry.

“Don’t move,” (Y/N) freezes at the command, her head snapping towards the voice. “Nina stitched you back together, I doubt she would be very happy to see all her hard work ruined.”

She gently eases herself back on the bed, fingertips running over her bandaged stomach. She can feel the edges of the stitches poking through it. It must’ve been bad, then, if she required stitches to keep the wound together. Usually, she’s a fast healer, a result of all the training she’d gone through.

“How long?” Her voice is raspy after not being used. Her throat hurts, which might be related to the way she was choked to the verge of unconsciousness several times while held hostage.

“Four nights.”

Bad then.

(Y/N) can feel Kaz’s eyes on her, assessing. She meets his stare, and it’s when she’s looking at him that a vague memory comes back.

Her eyes drift down to his wrist.

The twin bracelet to her own, the one she keeps tightly wrapped around her wrist, as if part of her own skin, greets her.

“You are wearing it.”

Kaz frowns in confusion, until he follows her line of sight. He looks away, hand clenching and unclenching over the head of his cane.

“Even after almost dying you’re still insufferable,” he responds.

But when he looks back at her, (Y/N) can see everything in his eyes.

How could I not, he’d said, and he’d meant it. If friendship was something that could bloom in a wretched place like Ketterdam, Kaz was her best friend and she was his, even if they’d never discussed it, even if they would never admit it. You’re the steady order to my unrelenting chaos, she thought to herself, someone I would follow to the end of the world.

He nods, as if reading her mind and agreeing with her.

“Rest.” That’s an order, one she has no intention of disobeying.

“Sure thing,” she responds as Kaz makes his way towards the door, “bestie.”

(Y/N) can feel the amusement in his words, “Absolutely insufferable.”

She smirks, toying with the ends of the bracelet’s strings.

(Y/N) never takes it off. Neither does Kaz.

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rubylaufeyson · 16 days ago

Note

Hi! I’m absolutely in love with your writing and just came up with smth.

It’s with Kaz, hurt/comfort and fluff? Reader as a love interest on a previously established relationship w him.

So basically reader has anxiety and can’t sometimes handle loud noises. Wylan is testing some of his kaboom thingys and reader has a panic attack. Kaz has been very busy and stressed with the next job, reader knows so not wanting to add to his stress she doesn’t say anything or goes to him for help until he notices she hasn’t been up to his office in a while and finds her in the bathroom or their bedroom or whatever.

IM SORRY IF THIS IS CONFUSING ITS MY FIRST TIME REQUESTING HAHA. Also, don’t feel pressured to do this in any way! Thank you <3

Repose

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x gn!Reader

A/N: Hi!! Thank you sm, I'm glad you like my writing <333 And no worries, your request wasn't confusing at all :D Thank you for requesting this and I hope you enjoy reading it!

Summary: Kaz comes to comfort you after a panic attack.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 2.9K

Warning: mention of PTSD, trauma, explosion, throwing up, panic attacks, death (only mentioned)

It was ironic, wasn't it? An Alkemi that was sent into one anxiety attack after another when faced with loud noises. It was comparable to an Inferni with a fear of fire or a Healer that got squeamish at the sight of blood. Your former instructors at the Little Palace deemed you a hopeless case. What was the use of a creator that was afraid of his own creation?

It hadn't always been like that, of course. Loud and sudden sounds used to be something you just had to deal with. But after years of conditioning and the continuous threat of an impending war only left you with the striking feeling of terror whenever a bomb went off or a brutal altercation ensued. It always took you back to a time that you would rather forget.

Some might say that it was a terrible idea for a person like you to seek shelter in the Barrel of all places. The home of petty criminals, drunkards and the worst of the worst. It was unlikely, but you managed to find people that didn't think of you as worthless. People that opened their home - and heart - to you without caring about your weakness. All of them had their own demons to fight, yet they all kept their head above water. And so did you. After a while, gunshots and violence didn't bother you as much as they used to, they were an inevitable part of your life in Ketterdam and tolerating them became a habit.

Explosions still affected you, though. At least the ones that went off suddenly and without some sort of warning. If you were aware of a bomb going off or a building crumbling down, you had your ways to prepare for the impending dread surging through you. Your anxiety became manageable and you eventually learned to be alright with drawbacks and occasional relapses. Thankfully, you had someone right next to you who fully understood what it meant to deal with the aftermath of trauma.

Kaz and you had an utterly different upbringing and quite the contrasting set of morals, however, that didn’t stifle the connection you began to establish. It had been a rocky path to get to the point where the two of you were now, but after being part of his life for the majority of his later teenage years and adulthood made one thing abundantly clear: You needed each other.

This need manifested in different ways. You provided him with company and an open ear whenever the walls threatened to cave in around him. He respected your limits and boundaries when it came to jobs, and tried to comfort you in case something went wrong - well, comfort you in a very Kaz way, but that was enough. You supported him on the gradual journey of working through his touch aversion and past trauma. And he went out of his way to provide you with the needed safety at the Slat.

You had been pretty apprehensive about moving into the building at first. Living under the same roof as the Crow’s personal explosives expert. You absolutely adored Wylan, that was no question, but he could tend to be a bit impulsive, for lack of a better word. It used to be a regular occurrence for the team to hear an abrupt bang followed by a string of curses coming from the lab in the basement, announcing that another one of his experiments either went terribly wrong or terribly right. After a few weeks of this happening, Kaz put up a rule that forbade him from testing his new explosives unless he had been previously notified. He justified it by telling the others that he got migraines from the constant commotion coming from downstairs. That was utter and complete nonsense, though. Once Wylan would announce an upcoming test, Kaz always made sure to make you aware of it or send you out for the day. It was his way of keeping you safe, without exposing your secrets to others. And even though he couldn’t show you much physical affection as of right now, small thoughtful gestures like this were the only thing you needed.

Today should have been one of those days. The young redhead had told him days prior that he really needed to try out a new set of small-scale explosives, and today was that day. However, he didn’t notify you this time, nor send you out to run some errands for the Dregs. This time, he had forgotten about it. The preparations for the next heist had been taking up almost every second of the previous week, but he was so close to finishing it, that the issue just seemed to have slipped his mind. The fact that he only saw you when you would do your regular check-ups to see whether he already lost his mind or not didn’t help.

So you were blissfully unaware of the impending chaos that would ensue.

You were standing in the kitchen, absent-mindedly preparing a cup of tea for Kaz, when you remembered that you hadn’t seen Wylan at all this morning. That wasn’t too strange, since you knew that he enjoyed spending time in his little gremlin cave in the basement, but just like Kaz, he tended to overwork himself. Especially if he wanted to prove something. So without thinking much about it, you pulled out another cup of tea, adding a few biscuits to the coaster while you were at it. You left your partner’s drink on the counter to cool down a bit, and then you slowly crept down the creaky staircase that led to your friend’s makeshift lab.

The air down here felt cold against your skin, whilst still carrying a dank stench that could be ascribed to the collection of chemicals and other ingredients Wylan had accumulated over the years. As you got closer to the room, an uncomfortable feeling spread in your chest. You smelled something else, other than just the usual bottles and flasks he used to do his typical work. A distinct smell of metal mixed with almonds floated around the corridor, and you couldn’t help the unease in your head.

When you unlocked the heavy door, you instantly regretted your decision. Without the slightest hint of a warning, you were met with a low hissing sound, followed by an ear-deafening crack. You could only make out the faint form of Wylan hiding behind his testing barrier before a bright light forced you to shut your eyes. You wanted to scream, but the smothering sensation of an incoming panic attack had already sewn your throat shut, and you could only drop the cup you had been holding, stumbling back into the hallway until your back met the solid wall with an unpleasant thud. Needless to say, the sudden unexpected clashing of porcelain against the harsh slate flooring underneath you gave you another reason to flinch. With shaky hands, you tried to muffle the sobs escaping your mouth. You should have known. Metal and rancid almonds. You regularly had to call Squallers to air out the workshops back at the Little Palace, because the smell of metal and almonds had entrenched the entire station after an explosive went off. How could you forget that?

The irregular thudding inside your chest didn’t do anything against the dizziness circulating in your head. At this point, you were glad that there was a wall behind you because you couldn’t have made it upstairs without the support it provided. Images of buildings coming down around you shot through your mind. You could still hear the anguished screams of the people that had gotten blown away by the impact. Instead of almonds, your nose was filled with the metallic smell of blood and burning bodies.

You needed to throw up.

Your feet only carried you as far as the closest bathroom before nausea overran you. You bent over the toilet and wretched until you felt like all of the contents of your stomach had been removed. That was one of the things you hated the most when experiencing a panic attack. Not the rapid beating of your heart, the suffocating feeling that restricted your breathing, nor the occasional fainting spells you had to suffer from. Vomiting was always the worst. The bitter and acidic taste, the humiliation caused by having to run to the bathroom and the complete loss of control.

After emptying your mouth of the remaining spit that had collected along the inside of your cheeks, you let yourself fall back against the cold bathroom tiles, finally able to take more or less steady breaths. Since living with the Crows there had been only three instances of a panic attack this bad. And during all of these times, Kaz had been there to help you with your breathing. But you couldn’t bother him. Not now. Not when he was already stressed enough. You couldn’t expect him to carry that burden too.

Whilst you were still struggling to calm your heartbeat, Kaz hadn’t even seemed to acknowledge the bomb. What he did seem to acknowledge was the certain lack of something. When his eyes landed on the empty plate of food you had brought up for breakfast, he knew exactly what that something - or rather - someone was. He hadn’t seen you since this morning, which was more than unusual. It would have been more likely for you to pay him an extra visit just to make sure that he was alright, rather than staying away for this long.

Had he said or done something that might’ve upset you? Did something happen? The questions weighed heavy on his mind until his eyes landed on a small discarded piece of paper somewhere close to the edge of his desk. It was the note he had jotted down after Wylan had informed him about testing some new explosive. An explosive test he didn’t warn you about. Shit.

Abandoning his work, he reached for his cane, taking determined steps down the stairs to go and look for you. He secretly prayed that you might’ve used the good weather for a trip to the market or going out for waffles with Nina, but the rational part of his brain knew that this wasn’t the case. And a quick peek into the kitchen only supported that theory.

"Wylan, have you seen, Y/N?" His voice boomed, causing the merchling that was bent over the trash can to jump, almost dropping the shards in his hand.

"Saints, you really need to stop scaring people like that, Kaz." He let the rest of the broken porcelain fall into the bin, cleaning his hands off with a dry tea towel before turning around to face his boss. "No, I haven't seen them. But I think that I may have startled them a bit earlier. I only heard something shattering on the floor after I tested the explosives, and when I went outside to check, I only found a broken teacup and some biscuits. Since they're the only person in here that would be nice enough to do something like that, I assume that she got a bit scared by the noise." The boy chuckled, but Kaz didn't take that lightly at all. He internally cursed himself for not remembering. He had the note on his table and you regularly came into his office. How could he forget to tell you?

Without wasting another glance on the slightly confused Wylan, Kaz left the kitchen as quickly as he entered it, determined to find you.

He didn't have to search long. As soon as he passed the bathroom, ragged breaths coming from the inside of the room caught his attention. That had to be you.

He tapped the end of his cane against the bathroom door three times, hoping that you'd be able to answer him before his imagination got the better of him.

"Kaz?" Your muffled voice sounded from the other side of the door. A weight dropped from his shoulders when he heard that it was you. It was barely visible to anyone else, but he was buzzing with worry. The tight grip he had on his cane was an unmistakable indicator of that.

"Yes, it's me." He had to take a second to think about what he was going to say next. You barely ever had breakdowns this bad, and the few times you had, he had been there from the start. This was different. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't hug you like Jesper could, that would be way too much for him to handle right now. But he also wasn't a man of many kind words. If he tried to offer you some comforting words, he'd probably only make things worse. However, he knew that he had to do something. "Y/N, can I come in?"

"No, it's fine, Kaz. I'm alright." You sniffled, not sounding convincing in the least. "I just need a few more minutes and then I'll come out. You don't have to stay." That didn't sound convincing either.

"Y/N. I'm not here to argue and I'm not leaving until I see that you're fine." A brief pause followed during which only your shuffling could be heard, prompting his heart started to pound again.

"The door isn't locked. Come in." Cautiously, he pressed down the handle, stepping into the dimly lit room. You hadn’t moved from your spot on the floor, feeling way too tired to do so. Your heartbeat was still way too fast for your liking, and your mouth was still tainted by the sour, acidic taste of vomit. You must’ve looked like a complete mess, because just as Kaz laid his eyes on you, his face instantly contorted into a frown.

He didn’t need to ask questions about what happened. He had been through the same a hundred times before. After closing the door behind him - making sure that it was locked this time - he also joined you on the floor. There wasn’t much he could do, you both knew that, but leaving you alone was out of the question. So that’s what he decided on, sitting across from you on the floor, while you tried to calm down.

While his presence did help calm your heart, your breathing was still irregular, and tears threatened to roll down your cheeks. Everything had been way too much and you were simply exhausted.

“Hey.” His voice caught you off-guard for a moment. He tapped his foot against yours gently, causing you to focus back on him and pull you out of your daze. “Try to focus on your breathing. Nothing’s going to hurt you here.”

“I’m trying, but I… I can’t.” You wanted to avert your eyes, to search for literally anything else to look at, but Kaz wasn’t going to let your head sink below water again.

“Think of five things you can see.” You realized what he was doing before he even finished the sentence. A ground technique you had taught him years ago, the one that you used at the Little Palace when you were younger. It seemed childish to rely on it now, but it did help.

Five things you could see. The main objective of your vision was Kaz, also leaning against the wall opposite to you. You saw the faint scar across his lips that was still a prominent feature even years after he got it. You saw the trace of worry that hid behind the usually so indifferent look in his dark brown eyes. You saw the crow-headed cane, idly laying over his stretched out legs. You saw the gloves, that rested next to him on the floor. He knew that you didn’t expect him to take them off, no matter the situation, but it seemed to be the right choice right now.

“Think of four things you can feel.”

Four things you could feel. You felt the cold tiles against your back, seemingly pressing against the thick fabric of your clothes. You felt the more or less fresh Ketterdam breeze come in through the slightly tilted window. You felt the sting of the incoming headache in your temples. And you still felt the soft tap of Kaz’s shoe against yours.

“Think of three things you can hear.”

Three things you could hear. You heard the muted sound of instruments playing on the streets outside. You heard the laughter and ongoing conversations coming from the Dregs downstairs. You heard Kaz’s breathing - calm and collected.

“Think of two things you can smell.”

Two things you could smell. You smelled the strong scent of the chemicals Wylan kept in the bathroom to keep it sanitary. You smelled Kaz, the pleasant smell of ink mixed with his cologne.

“Think of one thing you can taste.”

One thing you could taste. The bitter taste was still on your tongue, but it was way less harsh than it had been just mere moments before.

“Thank you.” Was the only thing you could mutter, as you let your head fall back against the wall. Your breathing had gradually slowed down, and you were feeling a bit calmer now. "Sorry for making you take a break from work because of me."

"It's fine. I neglected to tell you about it, so that is probably on me." He sighed, the corners of his mouth quirking up a little when he saw you smile at him. No matter how long he had to sit on the floor of a bathroom, he would gladly do it again if that meant you were alright.

Taglist:

Grishaverse fics in general: @yesshewrites1 @dal-light

Kaz Brekker: @ell0ra-br3kk3r @juneberrie @writingmysanity @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r @fall-writes @brekkers-desigirl

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