#six of crows fanfic

[ravenyenn19]

Kaz: Alright, so now that the plan is in motion, let’s move.

The other Crows, having no idea what plan is in motion nor where Kaz has been the last 24 full hours:

(under his breath)

kaz: no. no, you may not.

[happyyyandcrazyyy]

love and tattoos (kaz brekker x reader)

summary: in which jesper has a theory and kaz might be the matching tattoos kind of guy.

or

it’s two small words, a raven and a crow, a broken lock and a key, and a band around their ring finger.

or

“He has to be drunk, or high, or something, because there is absolutely no way he’s just seen a band of ink around Kaz’s ring finger.”

warnings: brief panic attack (not detailed), mentions of wounds and blood (not detailed, canon typical), set in the future, kaz has worked on his touch aversion

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: here i am, once again, because apparently im incapable of stopping myself from writing for kaz brekker. i have so many wips but kaz always calls to me😭😭 this one was so much fun to write, it just flowed, and i hope you enjoy it just as much as i did!!

i. a band of ink around his ring finger, part one.

Jesper must be hallucinating, he has to be. He blinks once, twice, looks down at the drink in his hand, briefly wonders if it’s been laced with some sort of drug powerful enough to have his brain imagining things— because Jesper does not have the imagination to be making this up, he wishes he did —and then looks back up. The ink remains in place. Nope, no way. He shakes his head, presses his eyes shut. He has to be drunk, or high, or something, because there is absolutely no way he’s just seen a band of ink around Kaz’s ring finger.

It’s not the tattoo itself that shocks Jesper. Although, maybe it does freak him out a bit, a band around the ring finger can only mean one thing, and Jesper has never believed Kaz to be the marrying type. (Then again, he never thought him to be the matching tattoos kind of guy, and the last couple of months have had him discovering that Kaz very much could be.) No, what makes Jesper spiral is that he’s seen that exact same tattoo on (Y/N)’s own ring finger.

ii. you break, i mend.

Jesper has seen the tattoo on the inside of (Y/N)’s left wrist more times than he can count.

The word ‘mend’ in all lowercase, the typography delicate and elegant, the font somewhat rounded. Jesper has never asked what it means— because everyone in the Barrel has been branded, either by choice or against their will, and Jesper knows the black ink carries memories, promises and pain, he knows better than to ask —but he thinks it’s fitting for her, both the word and the style. Because (Y/N) is a gentle force, someone who provides emotional care to those close to her, a fixer. She loves proudly and deeply, and Jesper has never met someone in this wretched place that is so unafraid to be kind. He doesn’t know what she does to remain untainted, to keep her soul so pure in spite of their line of work. He envies it, sometimes. But then he’ll hear muted sobs through the thin walls, wake up at the sound of screams caused by nightmares, and he’ll wonder if feeling and caring that much is even worth it.

Jesper doesn’t think much about (Y/N)’s tattoo— it’s pretty and it suits her, and, yeah, he gets the desperate need to ask for a backstory whenever he catches a glimpse of it, but never does. There’s nothing more to it. That is until he spies a word on Kaz’s own wrist.

He only sees the tattoo because Kaz takes his gloves off. That doesn’t happen very often, if at all. But it’s the hottest day of summer they’ve had in Ketterdam in years, and they’ve been out in the sun all day, so Jesper is only mildly surprised when they reach Kaz’s office and he takes the black gloves off. What does take him completely off guard, however, is the inked word on his right wrist, partially hidden by the sleeves of his shirt.

‘BREAK’. In uppercase, with jagged and fragmented lettering. Jesper only catches a glimpse before Kaz twists away and the ink is completely sheltered by his clothes, but he’s almost sure the tattoo has some sort of optical effect, makes it seem like the words have been shattered, all sharp and angular lines.

Kaz is saying something and Inej is responding, and it’s probably important and he definitely should be paying attention, but Jesper’s mind is elsewhere because (Y/N)’s delicate tattoo suddenly comes to mind. The similarities are just right there and now all Jesper can think about is how odd of a coincidence it is that (Y/N) and Kaz have mirror tattoos. Same place, but opposite wrist. A single word, one neat and elegant, the other harsh and precise. Jesper does not believe in coincidences, but it can’t be anything else— because believing it to be something else would mean believing Kaz to be a matching tattoos type of person and Jesper would bet his guns against that —so he simply ponders over the possible coincidence, just for a quick second, before Kaz is directing questions towards him and Jesper is forced to shove the information in the back of his mind.

He ends up forgetting about it. Not forgetting forgetting, more so in the way he forgets his debts until there are collectors knocking on his door. The information is there, stored in some corner of his brain, ready to be brought back into his consciousness with just the right push.

The right push comes a Saturday night, two months after he first notices Kaz’s tattoo.

(Y/N) is out on a job. Jesper doesn’t know any of the details— not the target, nor the entry and exit routes, nothing at all —but he knows something is wrong because Kaz has been pacing for the last half hour.

“She should be back by now,” is all Kaz says when he asks. He doesn’t really need to say more. Jesper feels the way his chest constricts, panic slowly building. (Y/N) is never late.

Just as Jesper feels like he’s about to start pacing himself, the door of the Slat opens. She’s got her hood on, doesn’t look up from the floor when she walks in. There’s a certain drag in her limbs, something that tells Jesper that something is wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Where the fuck were you?” The words aren’t directed towards him, but Jesper cannot help but flinch. Kaz doesn’t get like this often, cold and harsh because he’s worried, so the job must’ve been important, high stakes, the type where survival isn’t assured.

(Y/N) looks up, and it’s only then that Jesper notices the blood. It’s everywhere. It drips down the slope of her nose, it trails down her lips. She walks closer and with the change of light he notices that it’s also embedded in her clothes. The most disturbing thing, however, are her eyes. Glassy, distant, unseeing. She’s shaking. Full body tremors.

By his side, Kaz deflates completely at the sight of her. He’s already moving towards her when she whispers brokenly, “I’m sorry.”

The apology goes ignored, “Where are you hurt?” Kaz asks. He reins his panic well enough, but Jesper can still taste the traces of it, they float around in the air.

(Y/N) doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge Kaz as he comes to stand right in front of her, trying his best to assess for injuries. It’s hard when all there is to see is blood.

“I’m not hurt,” she responds, and it’s like she’s in a trance, capable of responding but not truly present. Jesper furrows his brows, catches the concerned look on Kaz face. Does she not realize she’s covered in blood? She raises her hand to gesture at herself, and it’s only when she does so that Jesper notices the blade. She waves it around. It’s stained red, all the way to the handle. “Blood’s not mine.”

Jesper freezes. Kaz stops dead on his tracks, too.

Kaz looks back at him and understanding passes through them. She snapped. Something made her snap.

It seems like she’s just processing it, too, because a second after she mutters those words the knife falls from her hand and her knees wobble. It’s like Kaz had been expecting the sudden crash, because he’s quick to help her down. He grabs her by the sleeves of her tunic and sits her on the floor, back against the wall.

Her breathing begins to come out hard and labored, she clutches at her chest, hard.

“Look at me,” Kaz instructs, but she’s not here anymore. Jesper cannot help the way fear courses through him at the sight of her faraway eyes and the sound of her disordered breaths. He’s only ever seen (Y/N) like this once before, and even then, it hadn’t been this bad, she’d been responsive to Kaz, and very much able to breathe properly. Right now, not even Kaz’s words are cutting through the haze.

The wheezing becomes louder, more intense. The more she panics, the less she breathes, the more Jesper feels like he, himself, isn’t capable of getting air into his lungs. Kaz keeps talking, but she doesn’t seem to hear him.

“I can’t—” Her lips are slowly losing color.

Jesper is still frozen in place, and he can tell that Kaz is also beginning to panic by the way he grabs her clothed hand and presses it against his own chest.

“Breathe,” he orders. Insistent, firm. Kaz’s words leave no room for argument and (Y/N) reacts accordingly. Like it’s instinct to do as Kaz says, she takes in a deep breath, ragged.

“Good girl.” Kaz’s hand, the one that isn’t on top of (Y/N)’s own, pressed against his chest, hovers over her cheek. He ends up grabbing the end of the hood that still partially covers her face. “One more time.”

She repeats the action, another deep breath, interrupted by a brief coughing fit.

“You’re okay, match my breaths.” She nods weakly and does as best she can, eyes shut. The hand that is on Kaz’s chest has become a fist, rumpling his shirt. She holds onto him like a lifeline.

“I’ll get her water,” he finds himself saying.

Kaz doesn’t turn to look at him, “Bring a wet cloth, too.”

Jesper nods and slips out of the room and into the kitchen. He feels like he’s having an out of body experience, his body working automatically on pouring tap water in a glass, on finding a clean cloth. His mind is miles away.

Saints.

It’s disconcerting to see someone as serene and put together as (Y/N) so rattled and distraught. He feels disoriented, like the world has shifted off his feet. He’s never seen her snap so badly that she ends up spiraling into a panic attack. Jesper doesn’t know much about her past, but Kaz had once mentioned something about a complicated upbringing, about being raised as a weapon not a child. He doesn’t want to begin to imagine what he’d meant.

The soft murmur of words brings him back to reality, grounds him and guides him once again into his body.

“Are you with me?”

No response, but Jesper imagines that she must’ve nodded because he hears the soft sigh of relief that Kaz lets out.

It’s quiet for a little while, Jesper focuses on the sound of water flowing through the cloth in his hands, the feeling of it getting damper.

“I’m sorry.” The words come out soft, filled with emotion and embarrassment.

“None of that.”

“I didn’t mean to…”

“I know. It’s okay.”

The silence lingers before being filled by quiet noises. Jesper has heard her sobs through his wall enough times to identify them. His heart tightens painfully.

“It’s okay,” Kaz repeats, softer this time. It’s a tone Jesper has never heard him use with anyone else.

“There were children, Kaz,” Jesper has to strain to make out the words, they’re muffled by something, “little kids. And it just reminded me of… I couldn’t...”

“I know.”

A sniffle, “I’m sorry,” followed by a broken laugh, soft and sad. “I’m a mess.”

Jesper turns off the faucet, twists the cloths to remove any excess of water. He grabs the glass of water with one hand and the cloth with the other and then, just, waits. He knows this conversation is not one he should be present for, he doesn’t want to be present.

It’s a good thing, too, that he doesn’t make his way towards them, because he’s pretty sure he would’ve stumbled and dropped everything at the next words that fall out of Kaz’s mouth.

“If you break, I mend, remember?”

(mend

BREAK)

Jesper places the glass of water on the kitchen counter and blinks once, twice.

Saints be damned.

Kaz might be the matching tattoos type of person.

iii. a raven and a crow

The matching tattoo theory, as Jesper likes to refer to it, remains just that, a theory. Because Jesper has no real way of proving it, not unless he finds the will to ask (Y/N)— which he just can’t do, she’s so open about everything that prodding just feels unfair —or unless he brings his curiosity to Kaz— which might just end up with him losing a finger, and Jesper likes his limbs just as they are, thank you very much. So, for now, it’s merely speculation, something that could be played off as a coincidence. And he thinks it must be a coincidence, right? Matching tattoos are too sentimental for someone like Kaz. (Then again, he has always been different when it comes to (Y/N), so maybe Jesper shouldn’t be that surprised.) And they aren’t matching tattoos, not really, they are more like, well, mirror ones. It’s different. Probably nothing. He might be connecting dots where there’s absolutely nothing to connect.

He can’t help the way he begins to observe more, trying to find anything to sustain or disprove his theory. It’s only natural, he tells himself, Jesper is nothing if not a curious man.

It’s only because he becomes so attuned to them, and whatever that thing is that they have going on, that Jesper notices little things.

“Inej?”

“Good.”

Kaz keeps on making roll call, making sure all of them are there and unharmed.

“Jes?”

“Very much alive,” he grunts in response, letting himself flop into the haystack. His heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest, but at least it’s still beating. He cannot believe a blizzard of all things is what saved their lives.

He looks to his left. Even Inej looks slightly winded. She pats the pocket of her coat, sags in relief immediately after. Jesper does the same, touches his inner pocket, feels the edges of the glass key, and sighs.

The goods are safe.

“Nina?”

“Here.” Her cheeks are rosy. Jesper isn’t sure if it’s because of the dreadful cold or the exertion.

There’s silence after, the room filled by only harsh breaths. Jesper snaps up, looking around frantically, because Kaz is not calling (Y/N)’s name and that can only mean that she’s not there or she’s…

His mind quiets down when he takes in the sight in front of him.

Kaz is not calling (Y/N)’s name because he already has eyes on her. Probably always did.

And that’s when Jesper sees it, a little thing, something that tilts the scales in favor of his theory; the softness in (Y/N)’s face as she listens to Kaz.

(Y/N) is always kind— with battered gang members and hungry street urchins, with the loud customers and even with those who dare gamble against her —but Jesper is just now realizing that there’s a different gentleness when it comes to the way she takes Kaz in. The look in her eyes becomes quieter, more intimate, delicate. She says something, much too quiet for Jesper to hear, and smiles. Kaz shakes his head fondly, responds with a hushed whisper. It’s tender, precious, private. It makes Jesper feel like he’s intruding.

And then something Jesper has never seen before happens. Kaz takes (Y/N)’s chin with his gloved hand, thumb and index fingers holding her. He moves her face around, looking for any visible injury.

There goes another detail in favor of the matching tattoo theory.

Jesper thinks he might’ve just entered some sort of altered reality because what is he even looking at right now. He looks around but Inej and Nina aren’t paying them any mind, too engrossed in their own conversation.

Great, he’s all alone in trying to figure this thing out.

“I’m okay,” he hears (Y/N) reassure.

For the most part, Jesper thinks to himself, because he doesn’t miss the way she’s pressing her hand to her abdomen. Apparently, it hasn’t slipped past Kaz either, because he hums and raises his eyebrows, eyes pointedly trailing down to the wound.

She rolls her eyes at him, even that action looks fond, “It’s not deep.”

Kaz is more tactile with her, Jesper realizes with a start. It’s not a word he would ever use to describe Dirtyhands, but it’s the only one that comes to mind. (And Kaz has gotten better over the years, he has. It’s been gradual, and Jesper has no clue as to how or what he’s done, but he hasn’t missed the way Kaz doesn’t cringe away from the Crows anymore, how he doesn’t pale when someone brushes against him. He doesn’t seek touch, but he doesn’t lose all semblance of control at it either. Still, tactile is farther from what Kaz is, and this? This is huge. This is the greatest display of touch Jesper has ever seen him do.)

“You’ve got it?”

“Yeah, I’ll stitch it.”

His gloved thumb brushes her skin, briefly, before he taps the bottom of her chin gently, in approval, and lets her go.

“I can help you with that,” Nina pipes up.

Jesper turns around, immediately catches the look in the Heartrender’s eyes. Seems like he might not be the only one noticing things.

(Y/N) nods in agreement and Nina follows after her. Jesper decides, after taking only two seconds to ponder on the thought, to trail behind them. He wants to listen in— because he knows Nina won’t be able to keep herself from commenting or questioning and he’s aching to know —but he’s also hoping the Heartrender will take pity on him and heal some of his bruises.

“What do you want?” Nina asks him as they settle on a small corner of the stable. (Y/N) leans against a wooden post as she begins to undress, untucking her shirt.

Jesper simply points at the bruise he can already feel forming on his cheekbone, offering a cheeky smile.

“I’m not a nurse, Fahey.”

“You’re gonna stitch her up!” (Y/N) is watching with amusement and when Jesper points at her she raises one hand in surrender, the other still pressed against her wound.

“Yeah, well,” Nina shrugs, needle and thread in hand, “She’s my favorite.”

(Y/N) chuckles. There’s a broken-down iron chest and she sits on it as well as she can, leaning back so that Nina can work. She winks at him, “Privileges, Jes.”

He pouts.

“Saints,” Nina mutters when she catches a look of him. She’s decided that kneeling by (Y/N) side will be the most comfortable position for her to work. She cleans the wound, pours water over it, and doesn’t turn to him as she says, “If you stop doing that face I’ll see what I can do about the bruise.”

He smirks to himself, “You’ve got it, boss.”

Jesper can’t see it, but he’s sure she rolls her eyes at him.

“Try not to move,” she instructs (Y/N), voice gaining a softer, less teasing edge. The needle pricks the skin.

It’s not a deep wound, (Y/N) had been right about that. It bleeds, but the flow seems to be slowing down. It’s a little bit over her hipbone, but not quite on her abdomen. Judging by the injury, if Jesper had to guess, he would say it was probably caused by a straight back blade.

He had sort of expected Nina to immediately fire away, to start unabashedly questioning, but she doesn’t. She moves her hands in a repetitive motion, closing the skin. Then, she casually comments, “That’s not a crow.”

It’s only then that Jesper notices the ink; just over (Y/N)'s hipbone, only visible because she’d pulled her trousers a bit down to give Nina more skin to maneuver around.

“No, it isn’t,” (Y/N) confirms. She’s got her eyes closed, looks a lot more like she’s sleeping and not like she’s having her skin stitched back together. Either Nina has an amazing ability or she’s somehow managing to dissociate from the pain.

“A raven?”

“Yeah.”

Jesper leans away from the wall to get a better look at it. It’s small, simple, just the silhouette done in thin black lines. He has no idea how Nina managed to identify the bird.

Nina stays quiet for a split second, musing. She keeps her hands steady, thread pulling skin. Apparently, she decides she does not care about decorum— just like Jesper had expected —because she ends up stating, matter-of-factly, “Kaz calls you that.”

Jesper sort of forgets how to breathe. That’s why Nina hadn’t gone on a tangent regarding the touches and the glances, he realizes in that moment. She’d been distracted by something much more interesting.

And she hadn’t identified the bird, she’d just made an informed assumption. Because Kaz does call her that, raven, and sometimes, when he's feeling particularly fond, little raven. He uses it interchangeably with her name and often enough that when Jesper had initially joined the Dregs, all those years back, he’d assumed it to be her name. He’s not quite sure how Nina, who’s been with them for a shorter period of time, managed to make that connection quicker than him.

(Y/N) lets out a breathy laugh, “That he does.”

Instead of further grilling (Y/N) about the tattoo, as Jesper had expected, Nina changes the line of inquiry.

“Why?” She stops sewing and looks up at (Y/N), eyes filled with curiosity.

Oh, she’s insane, Jesper thinks to himself. He sort of wishes he’d have the audacity to ask such direct questions.

(Y/N) doesn’t seem bothered by the prodding, only mildly amused. She chuckles, “You would have to ask him that.”

Not even Nina is insane enough to dare do that. Probably. Nina is sort of a wild card, Jesper can never get a complete read on her.

She proves her sanity by taking the easier route, she whines and pouts, “C’mon. Tell us.”

(Y/N) laughs, louder this time. The reaction is immediate, the wound oozes more blood, and she flinches, moving her hand towards the injury and managing to stop herself millimeters before touching it. It makes Nina get back to stitching.

“You’re bold,” (Y/N) opens her eyes and looks straight at Jesper. There’s something in her eyes, a glimmer that passes quickly, like she knows something that Jesper doesn’t and it amuses her. “Jes would never dare ask.”

“Hey!” He pretends to be offended but isn’t really. She knows him too well.

“You know it’s true.”

He only grumbles in response, hates that she’s right.

Nina is suddenly tense, as if she isn’t quite sure if (Y/N)’s words are meant as a compliment or a reprimand. (Y/N) closes her eyes again, rests her head against the wall and reassures her, “I like that. Your boldness.”

And Nina preens, subtly, but she does. Jesper understands. (Y/N)’s approval somehow comes to mean everything to those around her. She’s like an older sister you’re always trying to impress.

Jesper thinks she won’t be saying anything more, but (Y/N) does.

“Ravens are softer than crows, more playful,” she mumbles quietly. Jesper, who isn’t even far from her, strains to hear, “Gentler, too.” And it’s like she knows exactly where the ink lays on her skin, like she has it memorized, because she manages to avoid Nina and the needle and trace the outline of the tattoo, eyes still closed, “And yet they manage to survive in the same brutal world that crows do.”

The words sink in. Jesper blinks once, twice, shifts on his feet, somewhat uncomfortable. It feels like he’s just gained insight on something much too private, into the feelings and thoughts of Kaz Brekker. Because what she just explained, vaguely and in simple words, has a much deeper meaning, and Jesper doesn’t miss that. It’s how Kaz sees her, an equal. Someone as strong as a crow, as fierce and resourceful and capable, but softer, gentler. That’s (Y/N) to him.

“That’s it?” Nina sounds perpetually unimpressed, but she doesn’t get it. She hasn’t been with the Crows long enough to understand.

(Y/N) smirks, like she knew the words wouldn’t mean much to her, and that tells Jesper something. There’s even more to the meaning of the nickname and she won’t be sharing.

“If you want more you can just ask Kaz.”

Nina huffs and pouts, pulls at the thread a bit harsher than necessary in retaliation. It probably doesn’t even sting, but (Y/N) plays along.

“Ow!?” The smirk remains on her face.

“Sorry,” Nina says, not sounding the least apologetic.

(Y/N) only chuckles, “I really do like your boldness.”

It isn’t until later that night, as Jesper sleeps in the haystack and shivers from the cold, hoping to the Saints that the smell of horse can be removed from his clothes, that realization strikes him. His eyes snap wide open.

The image of a letter R inked in Kaz’s forearm flashes through his mind.

R.

A Raven.

No fucking way.

He has no evidence of it, no evidence that those tattoos might be complementary, but something in his gut tells him they are, and he decides to listen to his instincts.

Great, that’s yet another circumstantial piece of evidence in favor of his theory.

(Jesper doesn’t know, will never know, but he gets it both wrong and right. The letter R that is permanently etched on Kaz’s skin means something else entirely, but he does have the small silhouette of a crow, different from the one on his arm, over his ribs.)

iv. a broken lock and a key

Jesper and (Y/N) stay behind. It’s Jesper’s fault, he’d landed wrong when they jumped off the cliff, too busy on firing his guns to focus on the landing, and the resulting sprained ankle made it hard to keep up with the rest. (Maybe it was sort of Kaz’s fault, too, because who even decides on an exit route that includes free falling off a cliff. Jesper should be used to Kaz’s antics by now, but the man keeps on outdoing himself.)

(Y/N) had quickly offered to match his pace, to keep him company while the rest went ahead.

After a quick discussion Kaz had agreed to it. Jesper hadn’t missed the way they’d said goodbye. Their pinky fingers interlacing with one another.

He might not be completely sure about his matching tattoo theory— denial, really, he’s in denial, and he’s man enough to admit that to himself —but he has absolutely no doubt there is something going on between them. Jesper hasn’t put a name on it yet, he’s not even sure they have, but one would have to be blind to deny it.

Wylan had volunteered too, but Kaz needed him for the next phase of the plan, so he wasn’t really an option. A shame, really, Jesper would’ve enjoyed some alone time with his boyfriend, but he can’t complain, (Y/N) is good company. She doesn’t whine about how slow they’re going, doesn’t mention the fact that, by now, they’re probably two days behind. She keeps the air between them filled with light chatter and that makes it more bearable, makes him feel less of a burden.

On the third day of their journey Jesper wakes up alone. He’s not immediately filled by dread because he’s a light sleeper, he’s sure he would’ve woken up at the sound of any commotion, and he’s even more certain that (Y/N) would’ve had any attacker down on the floor with a gun to their temple before they even had the chance to breathe too close to them.

So, he’s not worried, but there’s something about not having (Y/N) within his line of sight that feels wrong, partly because he’s got no idea where she is, and mainly because Kaz had given him a cautionary glare when they’d ventured ahead, an easily interpreted warning to keep her safe or else.

It’s only when he begins to look around that Jesper notices her knapsack is also missing. He closes his eyes and focuses. Somewhere in the distance he can hear running water. He follows the sound before he can think too much, limping along the way.

Jesper finds her easily. He sort of wishes he hadn’t found her. Because she is showering in the lake and she is completely naked.

“Saints!” It’s a knee-jerk reaction to turn around, eyes screwed shut. “I am so sorry.”

(Y/N) snickers, unbothered, “Relax, Jes. It’s okay.”

And she’s saying that, but Jesper is pretty sure Kaz would gauge his eyes off is he found out he’s just seen her completely nude.

He shakes his head, over and over. Ah, Kaz is going to kill him. He is a dead man walking.

She must be watching him because she lets out a laugh.

“Oh, please.” There’s amusement in her tone, “Nothing you haven’t seen before,” she teases, and Jesper regrets every single thing he’s ever told her about his sexual encounters.

He huffs out a laugh. It’s got nothing to do with that, Jesper isn’t a prude, he’s just trying to process the fact that if Kaz ever finds out he will more than likely lose a finger, or his life. But he can’t say that, that’s a conversation he’s not ready to have, so he settles for, “You’re like my sister, it’s not the same.”

“Fair enough,” she responds. Jesper catches the affection in her voice. He doesn’t think he’s ever told her how she sees her as family and she must’ve known, their bond runs deep, it goes unspoken, but maybe it’s different to hear it out loud.

“It’s my fault anyways, I shouldn’t have left without telling you where I was going,” she disrupts his thoughts. “But you were finally sleeping.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles. Obviously it wouldn’t slip past her that in between the pain on his ankle and the cold of the night he’s been having a hard time falling asleep.

“You shouldn’t be standing for long,” she points out, and Jesper agrees. His leg is beginning to ache and if they’re going to travel long today, he must rest as much as he can. But the idea of walking back to camp and leaving her alone doesn’t sit right with him— even if he knows she’s capable of defending herself, she would probably do a better job than him, given his state —so he limps towards a big rock, back still towards her, and sits.

“You’re gonna keep me company?”

Jesper hums in response, “Talk so I know you haven’t suddenly been kidnapped.”

She doesn’t talk, instead she sings. It’s an old Kerch song, Jesper knows because of the mournful feel. It builds up slow and steady, flows with the morning air. She's got a nice voice. Jesper never gets tired of hearing her.

It’s as he listens, slowly being lulled into a peaceful mindset, that the memory of the ink flows through his mind. It’d been the thing his eyes had zeroed in, the black mark on the back of her neck.

Maybe it’s the soothing music, or maybe he’s slowly becoming more daring, but the words slip out of his mouth without thought, “Is it a key?”

(Y/N) stops midway through the bridge of the song.

“What?” she asks, confusion permeating the lone word.

“On the back of your neck,” Jesper clarifies, gesturing to his own neck.

There’s silence, long enough for Jesper to start thinking that maybe this wasn’t the best idea, before the air is filled with laughter. She chuckles as if he's just said the funniest thing.

She’s still giggling when she says, “I can’t believe you caught sight of it.”

He’s confused by her reaction and settles for responding with a teasing, “I’ve got a great vision.”

“That you do,” she replies. "It is a key," she confirms and then the singing starts again, more of a humming this time around, a much brighter song.

And Jesper must be really really losing the filter between his mouth and his brain— he blames the pain and the lack of sleep —because he finds himself asking, “Does Kaz have a lock, by any chance?”

He’s teasing, but not really. It’s a good enough question, not truly invasive. It gives her room to answer as she wishes.

To his surprise, she says, “Yes, he does.”

His head snaps towards her, momentarily forgetting that she’s naked and that Kaz will definitely kill him for seeing her naked twice. To his luck, (Y/N) is already getting dressed, water dripping down her hair and staining her shirt.

“What?”

There’s a sharp glint in her eyes, knowing, almost playful. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, just enough hint of mischief to make Jesper doubt the truthfulness of her words.

“Yeah,” she repeats in mock seriousness, “he’s got a small lock around here,” she points the area around her collarbone, close to where her heart is. “It’s very pretty.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

(Y/N) snickers, “Maybe I am.” She ruffles his hair as she walks past him.

Weeks later Jesper realizes that she had been fucking with him, but not lying. Kaz’s shirt rips during a heist and Jesper catches the briefest glimpse of the image of a broken lock, inked right above his heart.

v. a band of ink around his ring finger, part two.

As if summoned by his thoughts, (Y/N) materializes by his side. She takes a look at his face, follows his line of sight, and snickers.

“Did you finally figure it out?”

He turns to her. Blinks once, twice.

“What?”

She looks highly entertained by the evident confusion on his face.

“I caught you staring at my tattoo sometimes,” Jesper follows the movement of her fingers, watches as she rubs the mend on her wrist absentmindedly. “And then you would get this constipated look on your face.”

Jesper sputters, “I do not look constipated.”

“Only when you’re thinking too hard,” she teases, her smile bright. “So, I figured, well…”

“That I might be losing my mind trying to figure out if Kaz is the matching tattoo kind of person?”

“Yep, something like that,” she takes a sip of her drink. “He is, by the way.” (Y/N)’s not looking at him anymore, her eyes have drifted. He follows her sight and isn’t surprised to find her looking at Kaz. She softens immediately. “All the tattoos were his idea.”

Jesper feels like he’s really entered some other reality. He can’t believe she’s just telling him all this. Does this mean that he could’ve known months ago if he’d just asked?

“And,” he dares ask, because apparently (Y/N) is in a sharing mood, and apparently he's grown bolder. It must be the alcohol. “You’re married?”

He doesn’t miss the way she rubs her thumb against her ring finger, the one that contains the exact same band of ink as Kaz’s.

“Yeah.”

“Actually?”

She pulls her necklace. A wedding band lies there. It’s anything but traditional. Black, probably forged from oxidized steel. Sleek, unadorned and somehow still elegant. There’s something engraved on the inside. Jesper just catches the letter R.

“Got the documents to prove it, too.”

Jesper sighs, astounded, “You never said a thing.”

“We didn’t really keep it a secret, just private.” It sounds like an apology somehow. “It's just, in a place like this," she gestures around, "some things you have to keep to yourself."

Jesper understands.

He shakes his head, still somehow feeling like he’s drugged.

Kaz Brekker, a matching tattoo and marriage type of person. Who would’ve guessed.

“Lovers, huh?”

(Y/N) smiles, before she slips away and makes her way towards Kaz, Jesper hears her whisper.

“‘Lovers’ feels too small a word for what we are.”

[spider-stark]

GREED IS GOD

Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary - If Kaz Brekker insists on being a jerk to you, then why does he keep threatening the boys you like?

Warnings - fem!reader, toxic, subtle power dynamic, kaz being emotionally constipated, could deviate from canon, based more on book!kaz than show, !minors dni 18+!

Word Count - 2.2k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

“You had no fucking right, Brekker!” 

The words tear straight from your throat, rageful as you swing open the door to one of the Crow Club’s private gambling parlors. Inside, several heads snap to where you’re looming in the doorway. Some of them wear baffled looks, unsettled by the violence of your intrusion, while others look as if they’re holding in a cheeky laugh behind tight lips.

You’re not sure what they find so funny, whether it’s the prospect of Kaz Brekker getting his ass handed to him by a girl or something to your expense.

The grunts—about ten of them, in total—sit around a black poker table, the center of which is lavishly adorned with the striking silhouette of a crow, styled in sleek, bloody crimson. At its head is Dirtyhands himself, his elbows digging into the bolstered edge, leather-clad fingers pressed together in a stiff steeple. 

His eyes slide to yours, cold and detached. 

Your chest locks, lungs constricting around a breath. 

“I assume you’ve all been introduced,” Kaz rasps, a terse nod in your direction, “to the Dregs dearest asset and resident instigator.” 

There’s a snort or two, but no laughter. No one can ever tell when Kaz Brekker is making a joke, and as such, it’s best to never laugh at him. 

In the main hall behind you, the Crow Club’s usual clamor seems to grow, low-lives and thugs barking over games of Blackjack and Craps. It’s loud and obnoxious, a rival to the incessant pounding in your head, your blood turned to an erratic rush in your ears. 

It hits you this might’ve been a bad idea. 

Then—like an idiot—you choose to double-down. 

“You had no right.” The words catch in your teeth, serrated on the way out. You point at him. “You over-fucking-stepped, Brekker!” 

It’s a domino effect, the low snicker of one grunt setting off the next until they’re all laughing at you, chortling like a bunch of rowdy pigs. Your fingers curl, rage smarting—but then there’s embarrassment, too, red hot as it crawls up your neck. 

Why is it that a man's anger earns restraint, but a woman’s is entertainment? 

Before you think to find the answer in the way Jesper would—by drawing the pistol at your hip and shooting a Saintsdamned hole in the ceiling—Kaz lifts a commanding hand. 

“Shut up. All of you.” 

Kaz doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. 

The grunts fall into a wary silence. Kaz’s glower drags around the table, marking each face. The men start shifting in their seats like the cushions have been set on fire, but they’re too afraid to stand up. 

“Get out.” 

Chairs screech back. Cheap boots scuff against polished floors, the grunts shuffling toward you in a disorganized heap. You suck in a breath, turning sideways to let them file out past you. They avoid your gaze—not because they’re scared of you, of course, but because Dirtyhands had already snapped their leash once tonight. 

When the last grunt skulks out, Kaz gives you an order, too. 

“Close the door.”

And damn if your feet don’t obey, so used to blind obedience that you immediately step into the parlor and do as he bids, a palm pressed flat to the door's glossy-black paint, feeling it in your bones when it clicks shut. 

The air shifts. 

A lump forms in your throat. The sensation of a noose getting tighter, tighter—the persistent, strangling fear of a child who knows they’re about to be scolded, who's still innocent enough to wonder if maybe, just maybe, they can escape it by crawling under their bed, by keeping their back turned. 

But you’re not a child. And this isn’t your fault. 

You turn around. 

“Do you know what keeps men in line?” Kaz asks, giving you no time to answer before he continues, “I’ll give you a hint. It’s not respect. Not loyalty, either. So what is it? What keeps a gang from going off the deep end, from turning order into chaos?” 

You swallow. Try to feign nonchalance. “I don’t know, Brekker. The enduring power of friendship?” 

Kaz doesn’t so much as blink. 

“Fear,” he answers simply, firmly. “Fear keeps them in line. Fear of consequence, fear of uncertainty—” he leans slightly forward, gaze unnervingly intense—“fear of me. And do you know what jeopardizes that fear?” 

Your skin feels tight. “Me?” 

An irked, tight-lipped smile. “Exactly. You.” 

Kaz relaxes back into his chair, and it strikes you how he almost looks like a fixture of the room—his dark, austere style blending seamlessly with the parlor’s imposing black-and-crimson decor. Or maybe that’s not right. Maybe it’s the other way around—the parlor, the Crow Club itself, exists merely as an extension of Kaz. It’s his blood woven into the crow’s silhouette, the blackness of his soul that paints the walls. 

A tired, gloved hand combs through his slicked hair. Pink lips part with a sigh that feels purposeful. “So. Next time you want to act all big and make a fool of yourself, give me enough time to clear the room, hm? That way, I don’t have to deal with men getting it in their heads that they can talk back to me all because you do it without losing your tongue. Understood?” 

You suck on a tooth, glancing off to one side. It takes a minute for words to find you, and when they finally do, they spill out in a frustrated heap. “Raske told me about Leon,” you tell him, more an accusation than a statement. 

Images flash in your mind, the spattered freckles and gap-toothed smile of the dealer you’d gotten sweet with. 

The dealer that, as of a few days ago, disappeared from the Crow Club without a trace. 

“What,” you press, brows lifting expectantly, “you’re not even gonna say anything? Deny it, even?” 

His expression is one of perfect neutrality. Still, the tiniest hint of satisfaction slinks into his tone. “I’m not sure why you’re so upset,” he tells you, almost patronizing. “Did Raske not tell you everything? I was quite gracious, all things considered. He even convinced me to let Leon keep his tongue.” 

A scoff pushes from your lungs, frustration bubbling into childish fury. It takes all your restraint to keep from stomping your foot at him. 

“You broke his hand, Kaz!” 

He looks offended. “I broke both of his hands,” he corrects you, the distinction incredibly important. “Leon should consider himself lucky I didn’t take a finger for all the times he’s been caught skimming. So long as the bones heal, he should relearn his shuffle just fine.” 

But you’re no fool. The bones won’t heal. Not properly. 

Leon will never deal again. You’ll never see him. And Kaz… 

Kaz wins. 

“Leon isn’t a skimmer,” you defend, a bitter growl as you stomp for the poker table. You stop opposite him, palms pressed flat to the felt-top as you hold his stare. “And even if he was,” your voice cracks, “we both know that wasn’t your reason, Brekker.” 

Kaz lifts his chin, the muscles in his shoulders tensing in a slight, barely perceptible shift. “Oh?” 

You count on your fingers. “Leon. Junip. Teller.” 

Each name tastes acidic in your mouth, cheeks burning with the memory of friends and almost-lovers, boys with nothing more than the misluck of smiling at you in a place where Dirtyhands could see. 

“Kerrigan, Donni.” Your voice climbs, “Mikael, Alyn!” 

How many have been punished? Made to pay for fallacies at the cost of shattered bone or cut-off digits? And why, why is it that anytime you seek happiness, Dirtyhands comes to tear it away? 

“Do I need to keep going?” you finally spit. “Or have I painted well enough for you to get the picture, Brekker?” 

He nods, dusting a speck of lint from his suit coat. “Oh, you’ve painted plenty well enough. This is becoming an epidemic, isn’t it? Parents giving their children such stupid names.” A harsh shadow flickers across his face. “Or was the point simply that you get around?” 

The words land like a blow—and you falter with the impact. 

Your stare drops, nails scraping against the felt-top. “This isn’t fair,” you mutter, head shaking. 

“What isn’t?” 

“This!” 

It’s an exasperated breath, an explosion that wracks through your body. You shove back from the table. Kaz sits straight, a line between his brows. 

“I do my job, Kaz!” 

“As is expected.” 

“I do more than my job!” you argue. “I do everything you ask!” 

“Good.” 

“I scale every rooftop, climb through every window, gather dirt on every fucking rat in this absolute sewer of a city!” 

His head tilts, antagonizing, “As does Inej.” 

You jab a finger to your chest. “I helped you steal a DeKappel!” you hiss, careful not to speak too loud of the one-hundred-thousand kruge painting you’d nabbed from Van Eck. “A fucking DeKappel, Kaz!” 

A sigh slips from his nose. Two leather-clad fingers press to his temple, rubbing in circles as if to soothe some budding ache. “Could we speed this along?” he asks. “I’m a busy man, and dealing with Leon took precious time out of my–” 

“Why?” Your voice is wretched, desperation lashing with every syllable. “Why is it never enough? Why can’t I have one, just one thing outside of my obligations to you? One thing to make me happy, one thing to-” 

His hands brace the table, shoving to his feet so quickly the chair screeches from underneath him, clattering back onto the ground. “Because it makes you weak,” he snarls, low and threatening. “It distracts you.” 

Bullshit. You audibly call bullshit. 

Then something snaps. 

Kaz slams a fist against the table, hard and loud enough to make you jolt. He won’t look at you. “Because,” he starts, pained as if the words have to slash and claw up his throat, “it distracts me.” 

Everything. 

Your wretched feelings, your childish fury, your anger for Leon. 

It all fizzles into something static. 

“It… what?” 

“You heard me.” 

You blink. Once. Twice. 

A third time for good measure. 

“Well—I did, but… Why?” 

Kaz sucks a breath deep into his lungs. Low, to himself, he admits, “Because Inej was right.” Dark eyes look up. “I am selfish and violent. Hungry to the point I feel it in my bones. Greed is my god,” he rasps, wavering, “and you, you are my altar.” 

Oh. 

You take a step back, nearly stumbling over your own feet. “Sorry, I…” a breathy, humorless laugh. “What do you… what does that mean, exactly?” 

Fucking hyperbole. 

A gloved hand rakes through his hair. “That I want,” he starts, only to trail off. 

But then the words settle. Become their own sentence. 

“I want.” You’ve never heard Kaz this desperate. Never seen his eyes this soft, this hazy with apprehension. “It’s abhorrent and I’ve tried to stop, but I can’t. I can’t stop wanting,” a pause, a space left for the word he can’t quite form. You. You, you, you. 

There’s a moment. 

Silent consideration, internal debate. 

Kaz is a monster, one part of you argues. He doesn’t think before he speaks, shatters the bones of any boy you bat eyes at. 

Kaz is a shield, whispers the other. He’ll dismiss a room on your behalf, threaten the lives of any who might hurt you. 

There’s a moment. 

Then, all at once, there’s motion—glorius, frantic, thoughtless motion. The scuff of your boots across the floor; the shocked catch of his breath; the feel of stiff fabric bunched between your fingers, pulling him closer closer closer by his lapels, brow furrowing when his head turns to dodge your lips. 

Gloved hands settle on your waist, the electrifying feel of cool leather brushing bare skin, shirt lifting as Kaz pushes you backwards, up onto the poker table. 

“I can’t,” he struggles. But your legs tighten around his waist, core pressed to the growing bulge in his trousers, and hips seem to meet yours to the tempo of Oh, but I want to. Saints, I want to.

“I can’t,” it's a pant, a moan, his head shaking, dark eyes fluttering, “I can’t be what you deserve.” 

“Then be what I want,” you beg, “be what I need.” 

Your palms lay flat against his chest, slowly drifting up toward the smooth nape of his neck. Your fingertips barely graze the warmth of his skin before a leather-clad hand snaps from your waist, roughly taking hold of both your wrists. 

“No,” he almost chokes, desire held back by fearful restraint. “Not yet.”

His grip loosens—trusting you to obey, to let him set the pace.

And he does.

Nimble fingers are already sliding your pistol from the holster at your hip, sliding it across the table before setting to work on your trousers, fiddling with the flimsy closures before tugging them down, bearing witness to the parts of you he’d only ever seen in dreams. 

Not yet, you think, hot and desperate, cool leather grazing against sensitive skin. But eventually, inevitably. 

Perhaps greed is your god, too. 

a/n - yeah, idk guys? i guess i just can't write smut. the amount of times i walked up to my sister while writing this just to scream "I can't take Kaz Brekker's pants off" was alarming. alas, this exists now and maybe some of you will enjoy it! i'll give true smut another go at some point, probably will something shorter so i don't get distracted with other things lmao

anyways, would love to hear what you think (what works, what doesn't work, what you love, what you hate lmao) and thanks for reading! 

[petertingle-yipyip]

ALWAYS BEEN YOU - KAZ BREKKER

//follow-up to this (for context, really) but can be standalone// also @darker0moon221b asked for this//

Pairing: kaz brekker x reader

Word Count: 3,146

Summary: On the heels of a rough night and unbelievable confessions, Y/N still has to make sure Kaz is alright. What comes after is… shocking.

“I loved you first.”

“What?” Your head snapped up and your hands around the kit tightened till your knuckles were white. “You don’t mean that.” You laughed nervously.

Kaz didn’t waiver in his eye contact, dark eyes boring into yours. You shifted slightly under his gaze but he didn’t speak. Even when you rose to your feet, he didn’t look away, didn’t say a word. He just watched you intently, like if he looked away you would vanish.

Those four seemingly simple words bounced around your skull. You tried to imagine what his expression was when he said them, but you couldn’t. There was no way for you to know what he was thinking. That cursed unreadable expression crossed his features and you would’ve given anything for any of his other looks. That near smile that only you seemed to get or even his widely recognized scheming face.

“I loved you first.”

You had imagined it, right? He gave you nothing to think otherwise. Yes, that’s all it was. A tired brain mixing with a yearning heart to play on your own foolish infatuation. Kaz Brekker was many horrible things and few wonderful. But he was not someone who confessed love. Maybe he didn’t know love. Maybe he didn’t want to. Either way, it wasn’t about you. That much you could convince yourself.

“Okay.” You said finally. You had no idea how much time had passed while your thoughts ran rampant. “Well, make sure you eat and drink something to help with the blood loss. I’d say something with some sugar. Oh! Nina was by earlier, brought some new pie. You might like it.”

“Y/N?” He tried but you pretended not to hear him.

“I’ll come check on it in the morning, if that’s alright. Make sure no infection has set in and you still have your wits.”

“That’s all?”

“Is there anything else?” You cringed slightly at the desperation in your voice.

“You tell me.”

You swallowed the thoughts that threatened to embarrass you further and simply nodded, lips pressed tightly to a line. You moved to grab your fallen book but once your eyes went down, Kaz seemed to know your intention. Of course he did. You immediately stopped when you saw his movements, the stretch of his long yet muscle bound bare limbs.

You also realized he was still shirtless.

You turned on your heel instead and briskly walked out the room. You made sure the door was firmly shut behind you and then you practically ran to your own room. You all but slammed the door and dropped your kit to your desk. You yanked off the remaining glove and pushed your hands into your hair. You let out an uneven breath and tried once more to piece together the night.

You were reading in Kaz’s office. He came in, covered in blood. You cleaned him up and he smiled at you. He said he loved you.

You laughed slightly and then put a hand to your mouth.

“Oh Saints, I’ve gone mad.” You said to yourself. You shook your head and decided to sleep it off.

But your dreams were simply replays of that damn smile.

The next morning, you dragged your feet to get ready. You brushed your hair and teeth, then washed your face leisurely. You knew Kaz was likely already waiting for your promised arrival and he’d have some comment locked and loaded, just itching for an opportunity, but that only made you want to avoid it more. But the deal was the deal.

You tucked a pair of gloves into your pocket and cut a new bandage wrap from your fabric pile before you headed to see him. You greeted the few Dregs that were up at the early hour before you hesitated outside his office.

You tugged on the collar of your shirt, just so you didn’t pat your pocket, and shifted on your feet. You hated the fact that you were dreading something you were good at, simply because you had gotten something you had only dreamed of. And for what? Because you couldn’t believe it? Because you decided to want something so simple from the one person it always seemed so improbable from?

Then again, improbability wasn’t impossibility.

“Why are we staring?” Jesper whispered loudly and you jumped. “It’s just a door.”

“Ha ha.” You said sarcastically and jammed your elbow into his ribs. “And it’s not that I’m staring. I’m stalling, it’s different.”

“Okay… Why are you stalling? Meeting with the boss you don’t wanna deal with?”

“Of a sort.” You nodded. “Do you think…”

“Wylan would say no but I beg to differ.” He shrugged and glanced over with a wide grin. “What’s on your mind?”

You nodded towards Kaz’s door.

“What’d he do this time?” Jesper sighed and his smile fell.

“When he’s come back after having the ever-loving shit kicked out of him, have you ever heard him say anything strange?” You tried to keep it vague. Telling Jesper was just as bad as screaming it across the Barrel. You loved your friend but he was a gossip.

He gasped dramatically, thus confirming your hesitation. “Is there news?”

“Maybe… I’m hopeful, don’t get me wrong, but I also can’t convince myself it happened.”

“Well, what was it?”

“So you can tell all of Ketterdam and get us both in trouble?” You laughed. “No way.”

“Oh, come on!” He tried.

You shook your head with a smile and knocked on the office door. After a second, you could hear the tapping of his cane coming closer. You looked back at Jesper, who was still staring with wide, pleading puppy-dog eyes. The door cracked open so you shot your friend a wink and ducked inside.

“You took your time.” Kaz complained once you shut the door.

“Good morning to you too.” You rolled your eyes, both glad and disappointed to be back to your usual banter. You turned and found him sitting in your chair, cane resting against the arm while he rubbed out his bad leg. “How do you feel?”

He shrugged. You could’ve been mistaken, but he seemed more irritated than usual.

You made a face to yourself and crossed the room. You stopped a few inches from him, not even letting your shoes touch, and leaned in quietly. His eyes went wide for a moment and it almost seemed like he had a forward lean of his own. Your eyes were on the cut of his forehead, checking the length of it once then twice then a third time just for the hell of it.

But even with your focus on the injury, you could see the movement of his own eyes. Darting between yours, following the shape of your jaw, your lips, trailing down your neck.

“That one looks good.” You leaned away and nodded. “You didn't feel any sort of dizziness or sickness after I left?”

He seemed to lose himself in his thoughts before he answered you. You knelt in front of him, nudging his knees apart. The jostle seemed to bring him back to the moment, which caused a new flash of surprise. You wondered for a second if it meant something in your favor or if he was feeling some sort of after effect from the fight.

“Kaz?” You tried waving a hand in front of his face. “Is something wrong?”

He reached out and took your hand in his. You said nothing, but your expression betrayed you. Kaz let out a small chuckle and let himself smile again, smaller than the one that threw you last night but still genuine. Your eyes were wide and soft in awe at the simple contact but coming on the heels of the confessions last night, it had to have some weight.

“Nothing’s wrong.” He said quietly. “Truthfully, Y/N, I worried I had misunderstood you.”

“What?” Your brows furrowed.

“Do you remember what you said last night?”

You winced. “In painful detail, yes.”

He chuckled again and you lost the fight to hide a smile. “I thought about it all night.”

“Really?”

“I wondered if I had misheard you, if I had misread your cues.”

“Hang on.” You cut in, snapping into focus as if you had been hit with cold water. “Cues? I wasn’t giving cues.”

“Really?” He challenged lightly. “Should I list them?”

“Please do, but while you try and embarrass me, unbutton your shirt so I can check your side.”

“Those wide eyes that always find me in a room.” He pointed to your eyes before taking off his gloves to work the buttons. “You ask something specific of me then change it to mean everyone. The way you curl up in this chair and face my desk, pretending to read but you’re looking over your book towards me. Hell, even the way you say my name.”

“That’s… a good list.” You said carefully, admittedly embarrassed. You dropped your eyes and pulled the gloves from your pocket. 

“Do you want to know what really convinced me?”

“Not particularly but I’m sure you’ll tell me anyway.” You confessed with a sigh. Once your gloves were fitted to your hands, you leaned an elbow on his knee and looked back at him.

He leaned in as if to tell you a secret, though it was likely just to free some space while he wriggled out of his shirt sleeves. You wanted to lean in and meet him, finally kiss him, but you knew better. Instead, you forced your eyes to stay on his side. You tried not to let your gaze wander across his muscle-bound, scar-riddled torso.

Focus, Y/N.

You shifted to sit up on your knees and reached in. Your rubber covered fingers met his skin carefully and you gently prodded and pulled on the injury.

“Nothing to say anymore?” You asked lightly, hoping to break the now thick tension.

You dared a glance at his face and his eyes were closed, head leaning against the back of the chair. Your movements froze as you simply looked at him. He almost looked content, so much softer when his eyes were closed. It was small moments like that that made you forget he was the Bastard of the Barrel, Dirtyhands Brekker. He was someone to be feared. Men with any sense wouldn’t dare to cross him. Women with any sense swooned and batted their lashes for his attention. Kids with any sense feared their closets because the monsters come from there.

But to you, especially in those fleeting vulnerable instances, he was just Kaz. And that was always enough for you.

You shook the thought and went back to your examination. You ran your fingers over the length of the wound and frowned when you realized one of the stitches were looser than it should’ve been.

“Were you messing with these last night?” You accused quickly.

“What?” He finally spoke. “No.”

“Dammit.” You cursed and pulled your hands away. You dropped to sit on your heels and blew a sigh while you threw the gloves on the floor in annoyance. “It’s not as tight as I’d like it to be. Must’ve been the gloves.”

“Do you need to fix it?”

You looked over at the discarded gloves and frowned. “More practice is what I need.” You muttered before looking back at Kaz. “It should be okay. It’s clean so as long as you keep it covered, it won’t bleed through your clothes or anything… But it’ll scar for sure now.”

He shrugged. “What’s one more?”

“You never told me what tipped you off.” You said, looping back to the prior conversation.

You knew you should’ve left, let the unspoken thing between you two stay unspoken, but you also knew you needed closure. You needed to know with certainty if your pining was obvious. If you needed to pack up and run from your embarrassment. Maybe Inej would let you join her crew next time she came to port.

He held his hand out to you and you went for it, then hesitated. You kept your hand just out of his reach before closing your fingers to create just a bit more space. The idea of putting your hand in his - his bare hand - was something you had only dreamed about. You heard him make a noise of impatience at your hesitation and he leaned forward again to take your hand in his.

“You’re always careful of my space.” He began carefully. It was a list he knew, something he had drafted and gone over a million times in the past few weeks. Or maybe it was months. It could’ve been years for all Kaz could tell. Everything with you seemed to come together in the best and worst ways. “You’re careful of contact.”

“Because I know you don’t like it.” You shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone seem to avoid you for one reason or another?”

“Well, yes, but you do it to be considerate not because you’re afraid.”

“I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

Kaz took a deep breath and his eyes finally met yours. You could see the war raging behind his eyes. The contact of your hand in his must’ve been driving him insane. You could see his chest rising and falling with deep breaths, like he had to consciously force the air in and out of his lungs. His jaw was tense. Hell, his whole body was wound tight as elastic, ready to snap. To shove you away, to scream at you, to start a fight neither of you would hold back in. But he didn’t. He willed himself to maintain the contact, even when you gave the slightest tug to free your hand.

“No.” He finally spoke. “Never you.”

“What are…” You tried, but the question wouldn’t form. What was he thinking? Why wasn’t he letting go? Why was he tormenting himself just to hold your hand?

“When I felt your gloves last night, it all made sense.” He explained and the grip on your hand seemed to tighten slightly. “I knew I hadn’t been crazy.”

“I might be.” You said mindlessly and he chuckled.

“We both might be.” He agreed. “But still… You didn’t have to use gloves, but you did, because you wanted to be able to help me. Right?”

“Someone has to.” You tried to sound casual.

“They don’t.” He corrected. “But you want to.”

“Because I care about you, Kaz. You’ve been my friend for years. I’d hate to lose you.”

“Do you love me, Y/N? Truly.”

You swallowed hard, licking your lips to stall. Your free hand twitched and knowing your pockets were empty, you tugged on your shirt to adjust the fabric. Suddenly, the room felt very warm.

“I…” You began slowly. “You’re still holding my hand.”

“Yes.”

“Without your gloves.”

He let out a shuddering breath. “Yes.”

“And that doesn’t make you want to run?”

“It does.” He answered tightly. “But I don’t want to run from you.”

“You don’t have to do this.” You put your other hand on his knee. “Let go, Kaz.”

“No.”

“Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“Because how can I be with the woman I love if I cannot bring myself to touch her?” He answered quickly and your eyes went wide. “If I cannot hold her hand or touch her face, her lips… If I cannot bring myself to hold her, what kind of love is that?”

“If she truly loves you, she’ll bear it.” You offered. 

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“Me?”

“Yes.” His expression shifted slightly to relief. “Yes, you, Y/N. It’s always been you.”

“So I didn’t imagine it last night? You said you loved me first.”

“Truthfully, I was worried I had imagined it all. But I couldn’t stop thinking about those damned gloves and how I wanted to feel your touch without them… Just be honest with me, Y/N. Do you want this?”

“Of course I do.” You said without thinking. “But I can’t ask you to torture yourself just to be with me.”

“You’re always so gentle.” He spoke softly, admiringly even, and it made you blush. “You don’t have to be so with me. I can take it.”

“And you shouldn’t have to.” You managed to wiggle your hand free and you watched his chest rise and fall with a heavy sigh of relief. “I do love you, Kaz, in a way that scares me. But I won’t be the reason you force yourself to do something you can’t.”

You stood and reached for the book you left the night before.

“No one forces me, Y/N.” He stood in front of, one small step to block your reach. “I want to do this for you.”

“Don’t make me move you.”

“You wouldn’t push a cripple without his cane, would you?” He feigned innocence.

“I’m serious, Brekker. Let me get my book so I can go and you can think this through.”

“I’ve spent weeks thinking it through.” He shook his head. “I want to try. For you, yes, but also myself… I want to hold you and kiss you and touch you for myself.”

“If I give in and if I’m with you.” You said firmly, pointing your finger near his face. “We need to be very open about limits. I won’t push and I expect you to stop when you need to.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted sarcastically and you had to refrain from kicking him in the shin. “Anything else?”

“You need to give me your word, Kaz.”

“Don’t trust me?” He raised a brow.

“I trust you with my life you buffoon.” You rolled your eyes with a small smile. “But I need to know you’ll commit yourself to what I’m asking.”

“Y/N, darling. I give you my word, on any and all Saints you want to invoke, that I will take that time I need so long as you’ll let me.”

“Good.” You nodded. You thought if there was anything else you could or should have him agree to. Your mind was blank so you shoved your hands into your pockets. “I suppose that means we’re together now.”

He grinned and you couldn’t help but smile in return.

“Finally.” He said and you could tell he was truly happy. “Can I kiss you?”He took a step closer.

You freed a hand and gingerly brushed your fingers along his temple, sneaking into his hair for a second. He gasped but you noticed he didn’t flinch. Feather-light, your touch went along the angle of his jaw and danced down his neck, curved with his shoulder, and skimmed his arm until you reached his hand. He interlaced his fingers with yours and you felt his other hand under your chin, tilting your head back.

“If you’re sure you can bear it.” You said quietly.

[rcksmith]

Sun and Water - Kaz Brekker

Couple: Kaz Brekker/ Fem!Reader

Warnings: A LOT OF ANGUISH. Lots of mention of post-traumatic disorder. Curse words. Mention of death. Blood. Slave market. Mention of murder. VERY EMOTIONAL. VERY SWEET.

Word count: 4k

A/N: This one was very emotional for me. I cried writing with my playlist on full blast. I hope you love it as much as I do.

💕 English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

------------

Ketterdam smelled of trickery, poison, desecration and danger. It was a dark place by birth that housed even darker people. Its soil was stained with blood and despair; of both Grisha and ordinary people. Their hiding places were for tormented souls who had long lost their humanity.

If you walked the wrong streets at night with an arrogant attitude, you would definitely not return alive. But if you turned south, and had a little money in your pocket, your feet would take you close to the huge, shiny, flashy casinos run by Pekka Rollins. You would pass clubs where the smell of beer mixed with cheating, and the laughter of drunks drowned out the screams of convicts across the boat harbor. The colors of these establishments ranged between red, orange and yellow, a vibrant explosion that, in such a funereal place, became infinitely more macabre.

If you were more adventurous, and had a little more money, you would pass by pleasure houses. With pink and purple facades, provocative titles and women perched in the windows, waving at any gentleman who smelled a fair amount of kruger, their chants insinuating and seductive. The silk pieces of these places waved like a Land in Sight flag for the lost and tormented men in that sea of stone that was called Ketterdam.

To less experienced - and novice - eyes, those places were just grotesque pieces that were part of a strange scenario. Just a bad city, without many mysteries or secrets. But Kaz Brekker, whose mother's name was Ketterdam, knew that these establishments were more profane than they first appear. Its sins were part of a long list of money laundering, human and arms trafficking, drug exports, a meeting point for commissioned murders and, deep in the corrupt heart of that city, the headquarters of the black market. He knew that Ketterdam was not just a land of trickery, poison, desecration and danger. It was the place where anyone could have absolutely everything for the right price.

And that's how he found you.

Kaz didn't like to remember that day. But it was engraved on his skin like a tattoo, like a hot iron. A damned, cursed reminder that despite his Herculean efforts to be the monster everyone whispered about, Kaz was still a man of flesh and warm blood. With a heart that writhed.

Something about that day in the past wasn't right. It was like a mysterious whisper in the breeze, an omen in the unknown eyes of the wanderers, a mistake in a painting that made his nerves itch. And Kaz Brekker always hated mysteries that he didn't know how to solve.

His cane banging against the thick, crooked stone floor in that even darker part of Ketterdam, the hem of his black coat swinging from side to side in the cold wind. He had 2,000 kruger in his pocket - the Crow Club's only money to pay employees, bribes, drinks and bills. He used and abused Ketterdam to offer everything at the right price, and now he was going to pay his debts to men who provided information, to locals who spiked the beer with water and sold it for a cheaper price, and to women who seduced targets and facilitated robberies. It was the only money he had.

He didn't have to look to the left, there was nothing for him there. He didn't have to wonder why people seemed to crowd closer to the curve of the last street. But, in a way that Brekker could never explain even in confidential whispers to his own soul, he turned that corner.

With his cane tapping on the ground, money in his pocket and responsibilities to fulfill, he approached, against all odds. Step by step, the air grew thicker, the invisible ropes tightened unjustifiably on the pulse of his neck, the ghostly sensation of the icy water approaching like the waves of the dark sea.

Those sensations were getting more confusing with each pump of blood. The physical consequences of his soul being shipwrecked at sea never came lightly, and this was a warning. A warning that Kaz Brekker should have turned around and walked away. While he still could.

The men around were euphoric. The women looked sadistic. And the racket of voices was too loud for him to be able to focus on a single line of conversation. The hands of men and women were raised and clutched money notes tightly, waving in the wind as if it were a flag, their sadistic, depravity-hungry eyes staring forward like predators in hunting season.

Perhaps in a parallel reality, Kaz would have followed every sign Ketterdam gave him to turn his back and leave. There's nothing for you here, Dirty Hands. Ketterdam needed demons and monsters to stay stand, it fed on trauma and anger to perpetuate the ‘everything for the right price’ market. People's chaos and hell were what maintained the local economy. Any possibility of redemption, peace and, worst of all, love, were severely condemned.

Go away, Bastard of the Barrel. Maybe Kaz would have exerted the steely control over his veins more tightly, maybe he would have listened to the city's singing and paid more attention to the sea that swelled its tide, and then there would have been a life in which he wouldn't have widened his eyes at the scene.. Go away.

The sea roared, the waves broke, the putrefying hands of the bodies drowned in the depths of the ocean grabbed his ankles with more ferocity, preventing, restricting, screaming that his place would forever be there with them in the dirt of the sea. But it was already too late. He looked at the reason for all the commotion. The sun fell on that girl's hair and it was as if the rays had also penetrated the deepest waters of that vast oceanic darkness, exorcising all the claws that retreated with infernal screams, letting go of his ankles as if they were burning.

It was like a ship's anchor being pulled up with extreme brutality, splashing water everywhere, pushing the dying pieces into the depths of hell, scaring birds in the air, and finally, finally, bringing his soul out into the warm air.

Kaz Brekker felt his entire body shake as if he had just died and been reincarnated, it was like an explosion in the darkest depths of his chest that made his blood warm again, his heart show that it was beating and his soul breathe.

The scene in front of him shouldn't have caused any commotion in his spirit. Ketterdam was not a good place, and it was home to even less good people. That open-air slave market was nothing new. It was repulsive, disgusting and disgusting, but not new. And it wasn't something Kaz got involved in. Everyone had problems with him, and he didn't play anyone's hero. Never.

Until now.

One of the girls was sitting on that improvised wooden stage, eyes extremely scared and that damn sun shining on her hair that shone like the heat of release that made him breathe for the first time. She was young, small as a rabbit, and her fur didn't belong on those rusty chains on her wrist. You.

That was all an lapse. A powerful lapse not only in his judgment, but in his long-tormented soul. He blinded himself for the first time since Pekka.

The deprivation of air, the burning of the claws sunk to the bottom of the cruel ocean, the ice that shook his bones and the smell of dead flesh swollen with rotten water had finally given him a respite.

A truce so portentous and so overwhelming that, for two blissful, desperate seconds, Kaz fucking Bekker felt fucking normal. He was breathing, for the love of the Saints. He felt the heat of the sun, his muscles were light, his heart was swollen and the corners of the world were as colorful as when he was 8 years old.

He felt Kaz Rietveld.

All because that girl was in his sight. As if her sight was a miracle to his torment. As if she were a curse to Ketterdam. No good feelings have a place here.

But it was already too late. That lapse made Kaz approach as if he no longer controlled his feet. It made his heart beat with blood that wasn't his. It made him take out the only money in his pocket and hold it up high as the biggest proposal. None of that insanity was coming from Brekker. But from Rietveld.

“Her.’’ he said in a voice he didn’t recognize as his own.

Yes, Kaz didn't like to remember that day. Because it was confirmation that the boy he had tried so hard to keep dead and drowned in the sea was as alive as tangil. And that beating heart was his. Fucking hell. That lapse cost a lot; all the money the Crow Club made in that month. Kaz Brekker had countless dangerous people to pay and he had no idea what would do. But what irritated and infuriated Kaz the most was that, when he looked into the eyes of that girl as fragile as a rabbit, he didn't regret it.

Not at all. Not a bit. Even when he had every reason in the world to regret it.

He didn't regret taking you out of those horrible rags you wore and buying you a dress. He didn't regret bringing you to his quarters even when still had no fucking idea what he would do to you now.

What use would such a small, fragile and beautiful girl would have? You looked like a little rabbit. He made a fucking mistake, because now this little rabbit was looking at him with those big eyes full of emotions: fear, innocence, curiosity. Brekker hated it. But his soul was smiling.

''Don't worry. I won’t touch you’’ Kaz said that day. His words dripped with venom, disgust, and self-loathing. He constantly thought that his condition was a sarcastic and cruel joke from the Saints that Inej prayed so much to; doomed to never stand a touch, to always be a broken and pathetic bastard to the point of mortal weakness. This always aroused anger, hatred, and a thirst for revenge against Pekka.

But looking into your big eyes…he felt as if something very valuable had been brutally ripped from him long before Kaz understood what he wanted.

Inej was wrong. The Saints were not merciful. They were as fucking sadistic as the demons of Ketterdam.

--------

The days passed, and Kaz still had no idea what to do with you. Or how to pay his debt to so many people or how to replenish Crow Club drinks. He hid you from the rest of the dregs because he didn't want to and didn't know how to explain the situation. What would he say? Kaz Brekker never did anything without a plan. Everyone knew that. And your presence refuted ALL the certainties and theories that Kaz always had a motive.

Until one day, what he knew would happen happened; fate than those who do not pay powerful people. If he didn't have money, then he had to pay in blood. As it always would be in Ketterdam.

--------

The moon was paler than usual that autumn, sending icy golden rays across the dark city. The breeze smelled of sea air, smoke, sand and blood.

Kaz sat down in his writing chair, gasping as the thud made his broken ribs hurt. His teeth clenched tightly and dropped the broken cane to the floor, his blood on the silver raven combined with the dried blood around his face.

“Oh My God’’ the voice that Rietveld’s soul loved so much sounded, terrified and in panic.

You.

Kaz closed his eyes tightly, cursing under his breath that you had chosen to come in at that exact moment. It had been 2 weeks since you were here, with him, but your presence still made his hate the reactions and sensations he had.

Brekker couldn't have feelings. Ketterdam didn't accept that, it didn't tolerate that. And the proof of this was the bloody state he was in. Sentimentality is a weakness. He repeated to himself. But why then did his soul not regret anything when he saw you? Damn, he'd probably do it all over again.

“Get out of here’’ his voice was hoarser and lower than usual. And, when you did the opposite and took a step forward, Kaz looked at you warningly ‘’Now’’ Brekker could handle a beating, he'd had it his whole life. He could deal with broken ribs, with a bloody face, with a broken cane, with wounded pride. But he can't deal with the feeling that, when you looked at him, what hurt and tortured him more than anything else was the fact that he was robbed of your touch. He couldn't touch. And it never sparked anything but a fire of rage and revenge. Until now.

Kaz Brekker couldn't feel you. Not even if he fell to his knees on the floor and prayed to all the Saints. Not even if he sobbed asking for just one day of mercy. Just one day. Just a memory of how your skin felt beneath his hands. It had been more than a century since Brekker had touched another skin, warm skin. His was always cold, cadaverous, wet even when it was completely dry. And that was never a reason for despair. Until now.

He wanted to touch you more than he wanted to breathe. He wanted to slide his fingers across your cheek more than he wanted to slide his hands across money notes. But the sensation would send him back to the waters of Ketterdam. Back to the sickening feeling of rotten flesh and death surrounding him, making his chest tighten and his vision blacken as that traumatic memory would drag him back into.

The Saints were a fucking sadist. “Please…’’ your voice was broken and completely tearful. Please…

That single word - that single word alone had the power to bring his gaze up to you. Your pleading voice, your eyes filled with pain, not for your own, but for his, the way you whispered as if you was about to crumble.  You looked more scared than the day he took you from the slave market. Kaz fought down the tightening of his chest, his throat closing in. Please. Oh. He wanted to throw caution in the wind. Just once. Only for you. He wanted to put his gloves aside, just once. Just to hold your face. The desire to beg the Saints on one knee came back with more force. ''No" Kaz looked at you, staring into your eyes, as he saw you step closer. He watched the silk green dress flow, the fabric he bought for you, and for some reason it made him ache more. Damn dress.

He kept his eyes locked on that green silk for longer than expected. His body was completely bruised, but his thoughts were just feeling envious of that dress. That dress was on your skin. Feeling something he could never feel. Lucky dress.

Kaz heard your sobs get louder. "I beg you’’ You were about to fall apart “let me help…’’ He didn't know the extensions of his own injuries, but the look in your eyes said they were serious. Perhaps there was more blood than he expected.

Yes. his soul, Rietveld, screamed. Screaming so loud his bones shook. Yes. Touch me, make the cold go away again. Take me out of this ocean one more time. Help me. Touch me! Make the hands of the corpses leave my neck. Touch me. Saints, this is the most unbearable thing in the world. Kaz had no idea how long it had been since he had heard a person sob for him, but your voice broke something in him like nothing else. Kaz could get stabbed and beaten and shot, but this—this was the one thing he couldn't bear. "No'' Yes!

But you seemed in tune with his soul. As it has always been since he first saw you. You seemed to see beyond Brekker facade. Your footsteps reached him like desperate birds, your beautiful eyes growing wider every moment you saw the details of his injuries.

He didn't move from the chair, even when he should have, even when you fell to your knees between his feet, looking at him with so much fear and panic that he felt his heart skip a beat. Damn organ.

Yes. You looked beyond Brekker, You looked at Rietveld. And no one ever looked at Rietveld. “I promise to be quick. Just let me clean up the blood. Let me sterilize the knife cuts.’’ Your voice had so much pain that Kaz thought you were the one who suffered the beating. Which was impossible. Because Kaz Brekker would never let anyone touch you. but he can't touch you either. Yes, his fucking fate.

He wondered if you were so shaken because of guilt. Did you know that the 12 men he owed money got together to beat him? Did you know that he just hadn't paid because he used all the money to buy you? That's why you were so sentimental? Because the guilt. Out of pity. But it was impossible, Kaz never said anything about it. Maybe he was just looking for reasons to justify the magnitude of your concern with something other than feelings of the heart. “Please… I can't- I can't see you like this.” Your voice took him out of his thoughts, realizing that no matter how much he screamed inside, his expression remained as hard as a stone.

“I’m scared that something irreversible could happen.’’ you were honest, exposing your heart because you knew he wouldn’t expose his “Please, the thought of you dying makes me scared.’’ Yes, you were scared…like a cute rabbit. His body was hurting too much to know which stab wound was deeper, which were more superficial and which caused you so much panic.

Kaz swallowed around the lump in his throat, his heart beating wildly in his chest, but for a reason completely different from the wounds and bruising that plagued his body. Kaz wanted to put his guard up and push you away, but the sight of you kneeling before him, your eyes pleading for his consent as you raised your palm up to his battered and bloodied skin, that pleading tone - And that dress. The fucking dress he bought for you - was making him lose.

Kaz looked down at your face. His heart was burning. What am I doing? Your eyes, gazing up at him with tears rolling down your cheeks, you were breaking because of him, for him. And saints — he couldn't…Not when you looked that way. Not when every fiber of his being wanted you. Touch me. Make me come out of the sea. Make me breathe again Kaz closed his eyes, his breath sharp as he braced himself. A moment of hesitation before he finally speaks. "Quick."

It was another lapsus. The biggest mistake he could make. Ketterdam was again screaming in the background in the form of furious winds; that city did not allow pure emotions, redemptions and love.

You were so quick to get up and run to the bathroom, returning with a damp towel and a desperate but relieved look. Your knees dropped to the floor once again between his feet, and your breathing was faster than it had ever been before.

You were going to touch him

It was a mistake. An absurd error. A sin and a profanation of the worst kind.

The tide of the icy ocean within him changed course, beginning to churn its waters and threatening to drown Kaz Brekker once again. The sensation was as if his skin was swelling from the cold waves, like a corpse that had been discarded at sea for centuries. And that wouldn't be far from the truth. Kaz Rietveld was shipwrecked in that ocean along with Jordie. Along with all the other unfortunate people in that damned city.

So why did he also feel Rietveld now more than ever? when you were about to touch him.

Kaz's soul stirred, perhaps in desperation, perhaps begging for release. Maybe for both things. The emotions were so strong that he felt like vomiting the salty sea water stuck in his lungs. Then he focused on one point: the smooth skin of your neck.

You were so nervous and desperate that he could see your vein pulsing, a few errant droplets of sweat running from behind your ear to your slender neck, making their tempting way, mocking Kaz for not being able to follow the same path with his fingers.

Would he be able to fool his demons if he made that journey with his mouth? Could it be that his tongue also carried his traumas?

The wet towel went over one of his cuts, and Kaz swore so loudly that it scared you. His fingers locked for a second in the chair, but your fear of him changing his mind was greater than your fear of his reactions. You pressed the towel again, and again, and moved from one wound to the next. Your movements were in automatic mode to want to take advantage of his permission as much as possible, to help as much as possible in a time limit that you didn't know.

The invisible clock chimed like a premonition.

With one hand, you used your trembling fingers to move a piece of his cut shirt to the side. And your and his skins brushed

Holy Mother of Saints. Kaz grunted, letting his head fall back and pressing his fingers into the wood of the chair's arms even more. He closed his eyes tightly. The avalanche of emotions raised a tisunami in his sea and crashed over him with such brutality that Kaz felt he might die again. And revive.

Your fingers brushed against his skin once again, and this time his chest exploded on a different note; as if the heat of the sun was fighting to rescue him from the bottom of the sea. Making its way through the petrifying waters like a ray of heat. Like a chance. A hope. Or as an illusion.

Kaz Brekker never cried. He came out of that ocean swearing revenge, like a ghost, a monster, the murderer of Rietveld. Vowing to be a knight of the apocalypse. But he was none of those things. Kaz was a man of flesh and blood. With a heart that bled every day, with a soul neglected and so massacred that it bordered on unrecognizability: but not total annihilation.

Kaz Brekker never cried. But Kaz Rietveld did.

Being touched, after so many years without even human contact, made Brekker want to vomit, scream, cut his hands off, drown himself with Jordie, blow Pekker's brains out. But it made Rietveld want to cry, to cry out to the saints for salvation, to beg that he could have just one good thing in life. Please. his soul tore in prayers. Please…let me have this moment…for the love of God, have mercy on me just now. Somehow, he didn't vomit, and his skin on his became more like being caressed by the sun. He squeezed his eyes closed even more and imagined himself on the roof of the Crow Club, beneath the midday sun of the height of summer.

You were the sun. Just it.

Your hands pressed bandages into his deep cuts.

You were the sun. Just it.

Your breathing was heavy and your fingers pushed the rest of his bloody shirt away.

You were the sun. Just it.

Kaz repeated that like a mantra. A prayer. A choir. An exorcism. But his midday sun at the height of summer was beginning to be clouded, the sea on the horizon was beginning to swell, and Jordie's voice was beginning to rise from the dead in the air. The second he couldn't take it anymore, you pulled his hands away. Brekker breathed a sigh of relief. Rietveld screamed in despair.

‘’You’re going to be fine’’ your voice was as shaky as his emotions.

Kaz couldn't open his eyes yet. Not now. Not at this moment and… the absence of touch gave way to the feeling of extremely warm lips touching one of his bandages for a second.

This removed him from his disabilities. Stunned and perplexed, Kaz opened his eyes immediately and tilted his head towards you the same second his your moved away.

If your touches had been the sun, that micro kiss had been the entire fire.

“My mother one day said that kissing the wound makes it heal faster.” Maybe you were holding on tooth and nail to all the things that guaranteed you that Kaz Brekker would survive that moment.

Maybe a kiss heals wounds faster... indeed. Kaz Brekker thought before a curve of a smile painted his lips.

[eclipsedechoesofmywords]

kaz brekker x reader where reader is hurt and kaz helps tend to her wound and then he tells her how much he loves her and it’s soft and super fluffy

"Comfort in Chaos"

[Kaz Brekker x fem!reader]

Masterlist

Summary: After a reckless adventure leaves you injured, Kaz Brekker takes a moment to care for you.

Warnings: injury, fluff, not proofread

Word Count: 580 words

A/N: hi!!! so the reason this took so long was because I was trying to figure out how to write it and still stay true to Kaz's character. I tried my best, so enjoy?

You shifted and winced as the wound pulled. Kaz sat across from you, a concentrated look on his face as he gathered supplies from a small box.

"Stay still," he instructed, his voice low but steady.

You nodded, biting your lip to suppress a wince as he carefully cleaned the injury.

"Why do you always get into trouble?" he murmured, more to himself than to you.

"Maybe I like the thrill," you teased, trying to lighten the mood despite the discomfort.

His eyes remained serious. "The thrill doesn’t feel as great when you’re bleeding," he replied, applying the ointment. His touch was surprisingly gentle, as he wrapped the bandage around your arm.

As he worked, silence settled between you. The way he looked at you made your heart race.

"Kaz…" you started, but he hesitated seeing a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. First time for everything.

"I dislike seeing you hurt. You mean more to me than I can say," he said, his voice softening.

You smiled. "I care about you too," you confessed.

Kaz finished wrapping the bandage, his fingers lingering on your skin for a moment longer than necessary.

Maybe I should start taking care of myself better," you suggested, "I wouldn’t want to keep you from your… important plans."

He scoffed. "Plans can wait. You’re more important than any job I have." his tone was dismissive, but his words were sincere.

"What if I got better at dodging trouble? Would that impress you?"

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "You’d have to do better than that. You’re too reckless for your own good."

"Kaz, I know what I’m doing. I wouldn’t put myself in danger if I didn’t think I could handle it."

"Right. And yet, here we are," he replied, "Just promise me you’ll try to be more cautious. You are an investment that is difficult to replace."

You snort. "Gee, thanks."

"You’re infuriating, you know that?," he sighed, "But you’re also brave. You challenge me in ways I didn’t think were possible."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Good. You should," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Because it’s the closest I’ll get to admitting I’m fond of you."

You laughed, the sound light and joyful, as Kaz tried to hide his smirk.

"Then I guess we’ll both have to work on being less infuriating," you teased.

"Or we’ll continue to drive each other mad," he said

"Either way, I’m glad you’re here." You leaned closer, the warmth radiating between you almost palpable.

Kaz’s gaze held yours. "You really mean that, don’t you?" he asked, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down your spine.

"Absolutely," you replied, "You make everything—"

"Dangerous?" he interrupted.

"Exciting," you corrected, "Every moment with you feels alive."

He tilted his head, studying you intently. "Alive is one way to put it. Other people might call it reckless."

"Recklessness has its charm," you countered, "Besides, you thrive in chaos. I think you secretly enjoy it."

"Do I?"

"You love it. And me," you said, grinning.

"Love is a strong word."

"Is it?" you shot back.

Kaz raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I just tolerate you because you're entertaining."

"Entertaining, huh? I’ll take it," you replied.

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "You’re incorrigible."

"And you’re impossible," you shot back, "But that’s what makes us work."

"Just promise me you’ll be careful," he said, his tone suddenly serious.

"Only if you promise to keep looking out for me."

"Deal," he replied.

You both shared a moment of silence, the air thick with unspoken words. Finally, you broke it, teasing, "So, when are we getting into trouble next?"

"With you? I can’t imagine it’ll be long."

[frankencanon]

Six of Crows AU where there's some sort of International Farmers Association that has big meets every now and then where farmers come from all over and Jesper's father has met Kaz's parents there before so when Colm (Jesper's father) meets Kaz he recognizes him almost immediately

"Do I know you?" Colm asks, "That is, have we met before?" And then, before Kaz or anyone else even has the chance to respond: "The Rietvelds! You're the Rietvelds' boy, aren't you? Now, which one are you, then? Jordie or Kaz?"

Someone, inevitably: "Kaz is a farmboy?!"

-

Edit: I give full blanket permission for anyone to write fanfic of this AU, btw. <3

[byeol-ssi]

nothing more, nothing less

Kaz Brekker was acquainted with different monsters. Those wrapped in expensive silk and bathed in sickening perfume. Those who spouted beautiful lies, enticing unwitting men into their dens. Those with hands stained crimson, preying on children and fools alike. His reflection on a mirror.

But the green-eyed beast proved to be a terrifying match.

Or, Kaz gets jealous.

✦ kaz brekker x gn!reader | grishaverse

✦ tags: jealous kaz, lieutenant!reader, (kind of?) enemies to lovers, set sometime after the events of crooked kingdom

"Brekker."

"Darling," KAZ drawled without looking up at your arrival, his tone more mocking than affectionate. "You're two bells late. Do you have the—"

A roll of parchment zipped through the air, landing in the middle of his desk with startling accuracy and ruining the neatly arranged blueprints spread atop it.

"I told you to quit calling me that," you muttered darkly. "One of these days, I'll really cut off your tongue."

He huffed, concealing his amusement. He enjoyed calling you all sorts of endearments after discovering how easily they riled you up.

There are times when Kaz allowed himself to feel, to act, like a boy again. Reconcile with a distant past, one that echoed Jordie's voice and carried the smell of fresh grass.

This was one of them. Similar to a child, Kaz reveled in your attention. Regardless if they came as threats, insults, or downright disdain.

He'd swallow a bullet first than ever admit it, though.

"How terrifying," he said, unfazed, and made swift work of straightening out the floor plan you brought him.

Silence fell, interrupted only by the soft shuffling of papers. From the corner of his eye, he noticed you shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

Normally, Kaz would come up with some sort of excuse to make you stay, but it seemed that something was on your mind.

And so, he waited.

You cleared your throat. "Do you need anything else?"

No, but thank you. You did well. Please, get some rest, his thoughts supplied. He ignored them. Instead, he simply settled on, "No."

His movements stilled. The question was unusual, especially coming from you.

"Nothing more, nothing less," you had once told him, seated on the ledge of a stadwatch tower that overlooked Ketterdam's shores. He'd nodded in agreement back then, mesmerized by the early sunlight that caressed your face.

You lived by the old saying for as long as Kaz has known you. After all, when you grew up in the Barrel, you'd learned early on that acting out of the goodness of one's heart only left a person broken. Penniless. Or worse, dead.

As such, you weren't the type to seek additional assignments without an offer beforehand. The fact that you had gone out of your way to ask was... suspicious.

His eyes finally flicked to yours. He could never afford to look at you for too long, as it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to stop once he started.

He cocked his head to the side and searched your gaze. "Why?"

You blinked, clearly caught off guard. He rarely indulged you in idle conversation or pried into your affairs.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Because despite everything you've been through together, this was the nature of your relationship too. Neither of you tried to change it, even after every scar he unraveled and laid at your feet.

Even after numerous nights spent confined in his office, shoulders almost, but never brushing one another as you pored over schemes for hours.

Even after repeatedly saving each other's necks and during the intimate silences that followed when the adrenaline wore off. Moments taut with charged tension, heaving breaths, and unspoken truths.

"I've got plans," you explained rather cryptically.

"Plans? Has someone else hired you for a job? I hope you don't forget that you belong to—"

"No, someone asked me out on a date."

Me, insisted the voice in his head, rich with desperation. You belong to me.

Kaz scoffed in disbelief. "A date? In Ketterdam?"

Fear clawed its way up his throat, determined to make itself known. It warred with another emotion he was too proud to name.

This... feeling was absurd. Sentimental. Kaz was no stranger to loss.

The seas granted Inej her freedom. A new chapter awaited Jesper and Wylan. Nina stumbled upon a second chance at love. Matthias found peace.

Yet, deep down, each farewell left him a little more empty than the last.

You were bound to Ketterdam only by virtue of being the Dreg's sole lieutenant. In truth, nothing else was preventing you from leaving.

Leaving him.

After promoting you, a tiny seed of guilt buried itself in his cold, wretched heart when he realized he held you back. That he never gave you the opportunity to pursue your dreams. Your position forced you to assume several roles, to fill in the shoes the others had given up.

But his greed outweighed his guilt and Kaz was a selfish man indeed.

The mere idea that someone could whisk you away from him brought forth a hateful bitterness from within.

"Where is the unfortunate fellow taking you?" he asked, keeping his voice deceptively calm.

You narrowed your eyes, ignoring the jibe. "It's a quaint little bar called 'none of your business.'"

Nothing more, nothing less. The phrase taunted him now. The green-eyed monster inside him rattled his ribcage ferociously, driving him to boast.

He curled his fingers around the desk's edge tightly. "Funny. I run the entirety of the Barrel, and I don't recall an establishment operating under that name."

"I'll have you know that he actually owns the place he's bringing me to," you snapped defensively.

Good, good. More information.

"And how long have you known each other?"

You shrugged. "A few weeks."

The answer relieved him somewhat. His possessiveness ebbs, its rhythm steady, before it swelled again, rising with the current of his emotions. One should always be more sure of everything. He'd learned that the hard way.

"And he's aware of who you truly are?" Kaz pressed on. "Of what you do?"

There were only a handful of possibilities. The person could have ulterior motives for approaching you. It wasn't unlikely, considering your power was only second to his.

Perhaps it was a spiteful soul he'd wronged, plotting to take advantage of you and get revenge on him.

On the other hand, there was also a chance that they weren't privy to your true identity. He couldn't blame anyone for wanting you but it was common knowledge whispered in the streets that Kaz Brekker was a man unwilling to share.

Anyone who didn't heed that advice and went against it anyway was just recklessly bold. Or stupid. The Barrel never seemed to run out of those.

This time, you broke away from his gaze. "It doesn't matter." You sniffed, feigning indifference.

The person didn't know then, he surmised. You probably met him during one of your undercover assignments, disguised and masquerading around with an alias.

Sensing his disapproval, you attempted to defend your date-to-be by adding, "He's kind. Sweet. Honest."

Everything he was not. The words, sharp as glass, ripped him apart. Crushed him with an overwhelming weight of sorrow.

"It seems naive of you to form an impression of him in such a short amount of time," he said through gritted teeth.

Pretending as if he didn't care should have been easy for him. Right now, all his years of experience in perfecting that charade were useless.

You rolled your eyes. "Not everyone is cynical and distrusting of the world like you. People can be good, Brekker."

And you deserved everything good and more. Better people could love you, he knew.

Someone who would not flinch every time you drew near. Someone who would freely kiss away your every fear.

Kaz had survived gunshots. Knife wounds. Sickness, nightmares, and grief. But the very thought of someone else soaking in your warmth was an ache he could not bear.

He felt the words scorching his tongue, his demons voicing them with unbridled cruelty. "There is a difference between being cautious and acting like a love-sick fool!"

Your eyes widened in shock, hardening in anger a second later; then they softened with disappointment, and all Kaz could see was the reflection of himself, a frenzied animal. A blown fuse. Inhumanely hollow.

He opened his mouth to speak, beg for your forgiveness, but you had already turned and walked away.

"I'll come back when you aren't hissing at me like a wet cat," you said, slamming the door behind you.

Kaz clenched his gloved hands into aching fists and hung his head, trying not to think of how jealous the idea of another man made him.

He wasn't too late. Dealing with his emotions was uncharted territory for him but scheming came as effortlessly as he breathed.

Kaz never lost a fight and he wasn't about to start now. Even if he needed to play dirty. His greed outweighed his guilt and he wasn't called Dirtyhands for nothing.

"Brekker!"

Kaz had just finished speaking with another gang member, Roeder, when he heard the heavy stomp of your footsteps, followed by the frustrated yell of his name. You appeared on the stairway landing soon after, rage thundering in your wake.

"You're dismissed." Kaz waved to Roeder. His eyes shifted to you momentarily and cast Kaz a wary glance. Not wanting to get caught in the crossfire, he scurried off, slipping past the both of you.

Kaz began to ascend the stairs, you trailing behind him. He could sense that you were shooting daggers at the back of his head, probably cursing him out silently.

"You're back early," he finally said once you entered his office. He circled back to the same place you'd left him hours earlier and sat in his chair. "How'd the date go?"

You stormed closer, wedging yourself between him and the desk, stopping him from hiding behind the pretense of work.

"You know exactly how it went," you snarled.

In spite of your anger, you remembered to maintain your distance. Not once have you commented on his aversion to skin-to-skin contact, though he was certain you harbored your own questions.

"I'm afraid I don't, darling." He raised his chin to hold your gaze, his expression carefully blank. A tailored mask. "I wasn't there."

"You had him taken by the Dregs." The hurt on your face was unmistakable, enough for Kaz to feel a tad remorseful.

It was hardly sufficient, though. Screw righteousness, old habits die hard. "Ah, I had no idea he was your date," he lied again.

"Bullshit."

"But, what I do know is that he laundered money from our coffers and forced children into building the same tavern you were just in."

Kaz went over records of the jobs you'd accomplished in the last two months. After connecting the dots, he successfully identified your date and paid Roeder to look into his background. It was pure luck that the man was a merchant who managed to con Kaz's old boss.

Pulling the strings for his capture was practically child's play. Not that he'd ever tell you that.

Your fury dissipated, replaced by defeat that slumped your shoulders. "You were right," you said quietly, avoiding his eye once more. "I'm sorry."

Kaz rose from his chair and stepped forward. Taken by surprise, you backed away instinctively, only to find yourself trapped by the desk now digging into your hip.

"Let me make it up to you," he spoke with an unfamiliar softness. It almost sounded wrong.

You furrowed your brows in confusion. "What?"

"I ruined your evening. I could have ordered the others to seize him after you finished dinner."

But I didn't want him to walk you home. Wrap his coat around your shoulders. Kiss you goodnight at the Slat's doorstep. Kaz would've probably loaded his pistol at the sight. Broken every limb that touched you with his cane.

You snorted. "Okay. Are you going to give me whatever we steal next? Increase my cut?"

"No, although we can discuss it another time. I'm inviting you out on a date."

You blinked once. Twice. Slowly, you said, "Brekker, you ask someone out when you like them."

His lips pulled into the slightest frown, mildly impatient. "I know."

"You don't like me."

"Whoever put that silly idea in your head?"

"You did. You don't like anyone."

"I may not be the best at showing it, but you know that there are exceptions to that rule," he argued. "Especially when it comes to you."

He continued to lean over you, ignoring the pressure of panic beating against the walls of his chest from the proximity.

"You called me an idiot," you countered. You refused to move a muscle, most likely out of consideration for him, but he closed the distance himself.

He dipped his head further. "Again, I never said that."

"Fine," you conceded, sounding fond. "You implied that I was an idiot."

"I'll be kinder from now on," he promised. "I can try to be sweet, if you give me time and chance to learn. And I'm being honest right now."

Nothing he could do would ever atone for his sins. But although he was renowned as the Bastard of the Barrel, he was prepared to do it right by you.

Hesitantly, you raised a hand. Every inch of his flesh wanted to turn itself inside out, but every bone in his body yearned for your touch.

A quivering sigh escaped his throat as you reached for his cheek, your fingers warm and gentle on his skin.

He braced himself for the familiar scent of death. The ocean. He willed himself to focus on the details that made your face. The line of your jaw to your ear. The slope of your nose. The curve of your lips, hanging onto them as if his life depended on it.

It did, in a way.

"Your answer?" he rasped, suppressing a shiver.

You dragged your thumb against his skin in a delicate but paralyzingly manner and whispered, "I accept."

He had never been held with such tenderness before. Your touch made him feel like he was somewhere else, far from the memories that haunted him.

Growing concerned, you attempted to withdraw your hand but Kaz grasped your wrist before you fully could. He steadied himself with your pulse, each beat, each hymn, anchoring him to the present.

He was here. With you. In his office. Nothing in the world could hurt him.

Eventually, he slid his own gloved hand so that your palms pressed together. Your lashes fluttered and you asked, "Is this really happening? Are we really going on a date?"

He hummed in affirmation. "And I'll do it properly."

Seriously, who in their right mind would bring you to that side of Ketterdam? He took the sealed envelope containing your dinner reservation from inside his coat and handed it to you.

"Thank you." Your mouth curved into a shy smile. "And for the record... you don't have to be anything else other than yourself."

"Ruthless, callous, and dishonest cheat?" His voice held a hint of insecurity, betraying his attempted nonchalance. It was a question hauled from the inner depths of his soul, the boy inside him who wondered if he could ever be worthy of love.

"You forgot insufferable," you teased, although your earnest gaze belied the lightness of your tone. He knew you could see right through him. "But, yes. Just you, Kaz. Nothing more. Nothing less."

At that moment, Kaz knew you would be his salvation and destruction. You could shatter his heart and every single piece would still cry out for your name.

He squeezed your hand. Soon, he'll make you, and everyone else in the Barrel, realize that he had no intentions of ever letting you go.

✦ byeol’s notes: new year, new fandom ?!

✦ reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated! thank you so, so much in advance! <3

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Four Crow Investigation II: Lovebirds' Outfox" - Kaz Brekker x Reader

[Four Crow Investigation]

☽ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ☾

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi

SUMMARY: Nina and the rest of "crow-vestigators" are not as inconspicuous as they think. Being a little too spiteful for your own good, Kaz and you string them along. What the amateur detectives consider "evidence" of an affair is actually a well-thought-out scenario.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.1k

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist&lt;<

You stare with amusement as Wylan, Jesper, Inej and Nina are sitting around the table in a hardly inconspicuous manner. They’re leaning so close to each other, their bodies are covering their faces but you don’t need to read their lips or expressions to know exactly what they’re talking about. Meaningful glances, small nudges, animated whispering - none of that escaped your attention.

Then, you feel Kaz squeezing your hand in an attempt to shift your focus from the gossiping friends back to him. His eyebrows are slightly raised in a silent question.

"Do you think they know that we know that they know?" you ask, cringing at the word salad filled with repetitions.

"No," Kaz answers without hesitation. "Considering how long it took them to notice something so obvious, their observation skills are more underwhelming than I had originally thought."

The two of you glance towards your friends once more, left to only guess what tall tales they were making up. Observation skills, Kaz’s voice resounds in your head. Yes, they are good at noticing things they are desperately looking for, so, maybe, if they are looking for crumbs…

"Actually, I have an idea,” you begin in a hushed tone.  Kaz turns to look at you, his expression hardens the moment he notices your mischievous grin. “Up for a bit of roleplay?"

It’s been a wild week for the four Crows. They sat down at a corner table, across the club from you and Kaz talking about something by the bar counter. Absorbed by the conversation, you’re pouring a drink in a record-long time. Your hand hovers above the rum bottle as you’re closely listening to Kaz saying something. Then, to the surprise of the gossip club, you erupt in laughter.

Jesper frowns. “I’m telling you, there’s two of them. She gets the nice Kaz, we get the mean one.”

“No, the mean Kaz is still inside,” Inej refutes. “The nice one is making an effort to bury him but he’s definitely in there. Saw it myself.”

He turns back towards the group. Jesper puts his finger up in a warning gesture and speaks slowly: “Do not tell me Kaz Brekker is a knight in shining armour because there is no way I’m treating that as anything but a bad joke. I’m barely believing the stuff I’ve seen with my own two eyes.”

“N-no, there is some truth to that,” Wylan interjects. “I didn’t see him get angry,” he quickly adds, ”just… strangely protective.”

“So we can agree,” Nina says with expected giddiness, “there is passion in the perpetually grim Kaz Brekker.”

Jesper squints his eyes with suspicion. “I hate the fact that you used passion and Kaz in the same sentence but at the same time I’m curious why.”

“Oh, you’re going to love it!” She taps the table excitedly. “I’ll go first.”

╚ Nina’s Evidence ╝

You’re pacing around the office, jumping from one leg to another, shaking and fidgeting as much as you can without making much noise. While preparing to fool the Heartrender’s power, you’re ensuring that you look the part:

“Is this obscene enough?” you ask unbuttoning your shirt further. Tugging at your clothing, you’re making yourself look even more disheveled. Even the smallest sound outside the office door makes you jump as you’re impatiently waiting for a certain creek of one of the steps.

Kaz doesn’t answer. His watchful eyes are following your movements as he’s focusing on keeping his attention on the task at hand. That bright mind of his, however, fights relentlessly to memorize your unkempt look instead.

Not hearing him respond to your question, you turn around to look at Kaz. Leaning against the desk, he’s just staring at you with a quite inexplicable intensity. His unspoken passion is only making the voice in the back of your head louder: what if it was Him undoing my shirt?

But you stifle this thought. It’s not the time for this. Searching for distraction, you look at Kaz’s collar - the first two buttons are undone but they make him appear more sleepy rather than caught red handed at a moment of weakness.

“May I?” you ask, gesturing towards his garment.

“Go ahead,” he quietly answers. There’s a lot of trust in his lack of movement and calmness about your closeness.

Carefully, you grab the hem of his collar and open his shirt further, while making sure your fingers do not even graze the bare skin underneath, despite the urge sitting deep inside your abdomen. Then, you take a step back, examining his general state and whether it sets a believable scene. A proud smile creeps onto your face.

“You’re really enjoying this,” Kaz states.

“Actually,” you say as you lean against the table, fairly unaware that because of your disheveled clothing your cleavage is significantly more visible, “I’d be enjoying this little scheme a lot more if we were in fact being scandalous.”

Whether that was your objective or not, Kaz’s heartbeat picks up noticeably, his rogue mind flashing explicit images before his eyes.

A creek of stairs.

You and Kaz give each other a meaningful glance and you push the paperweight off the desk, knowing that Nina can hear it. The door swings open and you’re immediately in character, looking away with the most embarrassed expression you could muster.

Kaz clears his throat. “Is there a reason why you’re barging in?”

Nina looks a bit lost, still piecing together what she might have just interrupted. “I… uhm… I talked with Lizzie Hardy. She’s in, we can count on her.”

“Understood,” he says in a low, firm voice. “Now go. And learn to knock.”

A half-grin enters her face as she gets rid of any doubts as to what the two of you had been presumably occupied with before she entered. With a skip to her step, Nina throws a “You bet I will!” before leaving the office. She’s quite sure no one will have a better gossip than her.

╚ Wylan’s Evidence ╝

Wylan is startled by your yelp of pain, almost dropping the delicate vial in his hands. His focus immediately shifts to you, who is now frowning with your hand raised slightly above your head. A string of curses leaves your mouth as you check the wound again - yes, still there and still bleeding.

Right, bleeding.

“Are you okay?” he asks in a worried tone. Part of you feels guilty for fooling Wylan because of the sheepiness he wears most of the time but, on the other hand, he is part of the gossip girl club. This little scheme is just a consequence of his choice.

“Yeah, no problem. I’m a big girl, I’ll just wrap this and I’ll be fine,” you answer casually.

Pretending to look for something that can work as a bandage, you’re praying that Wylan can’t smell the cranberry preserve slowly dripping down your forearm. There’s an urge deep inside you to lick the jam, almost tasting the sweet and sour fruit in your imagination.

Kaz, who was waiting for the well-played-out yelp, rushes into the room with a grim expression. The moment he’s supposed to notice your injury, he makes a show of dropping his shoulders. He’s not saying anything, only giving short sighs and annoyed grunts as he reaches for a random rag laying around. 

“I’d advise against cutting off your fingers,” he says loud enough for Wylan to hear as he’s tightening the wrapped rag around your palm. "You need to be more ca-" Kaz cuts himself off, suddenly realizing he was about to use an off-limits word. "You need to pay attention to what you're doing."

Looking over Kaz’s shoulder, you see Wylan nervously glancing at the two of you out of the corner of his eyes. Jesper is going to hear world-shattering news in the next hour - on that you can safely bet any number of limbs.

╚ Jesper’s Evidence ╝

Too busy retelling what he had learned while following Lizzie Hardy, Jesper doesn’t notice the tiny signal you give Kaz while the three of you are walking through the streets of Ketterdam.

Air, cobblestone, a lost dog - it doesn’t matter. You stumble over something but ever watchful Kaz manages to grab you by the waist, preventing you from falling. To be honest, until this moment you weren’t completely sure this is going to work out because you never practiced this with Kaz. Well, you did, once, but the two of you got significantly distracted early on. So the plan to outfox Nosy Jesper was a leap of faith - literally and figuratively.

Jesper, the man in question, halted his story as he’s watching the unbelievable occurrence of Kaz having a caring reflex. For a moment he considers whether this wasn’t some kind of miraculous coincidence but on the other hand, the movement looked so natural and purposeful that it simply had to be deliberate.

Standing on your own, you look towards Jesper, who’s still staring at you and Kaz with furrowed eyebrows and his mouth slightly agape. “You were saying?” you coax him to continue as though nothing happened.

“Yes, right, the thing,” he stutters out as he’s trying to remember what he was talking about before seeing something so strange he’s questioning his own sanity.

╚ Inej’s Evidence ╝

Due to the late hour, or rather an hour so late it can be considered early, the club is deserted except for you and Kaz sitting by the bar. He’s silently watching your profile as you’re applying another layer of theatrical paint and makeup.

“Does it look realistic?” you ask for the hundredth time while examining the bruise in a small hand-held mirror.

“It’s good enough.”

You set down the mirror and look at him. To a degree, you know he won’t agree to your proposition but you try anyway, just to make sure:

“Maybe you could hit me?” you suggest. His expression grows colder. “Just for good measure. To really sell this,” you add in your own defense, as though there is a possibility of him retaliating for such a ridiculous proposition. Even when furious beyond imagination, you’ve heard him yell exactly once out of anger.

He leans closer towards you. Paradoxically, it’s you who is uncomfortable with the sudden intimacy but maybe the uneasiness is not due to the proximity but the chilling tension that has sprouted between the two of you. Kaz studies your expression for a moment, his jaw relaxes and clenches over and over again as he’s clearly pondering the earthiest way he can put his thoughts into words.

“I will never raise my hand against you,” his voice is quiet and wavering with emotions, “even if my life depends on it. So don’t ask again. Ever.”

Suddenly, you feel strangely small next to him as though Kaz is but a shadow that quickly grows larger as candlelight dims. “Right, sorry,” you answer awkwardly.

The door to the club opens with a creek and the nervous conversation has to be cut short. You cover your face with hands, having rubbed some chili seeds into your palms earlier. As the capsaicin reaches your nostrils and eyes, forcing yourself to cry is easier than ever. Pretending to be agonizing over something, you keep reminding yourself not to actually touch your eyes or nose.

You can’t see her face but you’re sure Inej is wearing a worried or confused expression and you’re quite correct in your guess - she walks towards you and Kaz with apprehension as though she’s still wondering whether she wants to intrude. Inej momentarily grows anxious, noticing the vibrant bruise on the side of your face.

Then, in a truly dramatic fashion, Kaz gets up from the bar stool and storms out of the club as you had agreed beforehand. While he’s passing Inej, she calls out to him:

“Kaz-”

But he’s quick to cut her off in a harsh voice:

“Not now, Inej.”

The door closes behind him with a slam and considering the state of the two of you, she prefers not to ask questions. It will be easier to sleep at night.

“They’re staring,” you inform Kaz while pouring him a drink.

“As far as I know, they have a reason to,” he answers, taking a sip of the beverage. His eyes are boring into you like his trying to look past your skin and bones, into your mind if not your very soul.

A wide smile brightens your face. You lean on the counter, face close to Kaz’s. Although it’s been some time, it still makes your heart flutter that he doesn’t move away. Perhaps it’s just his unreadable expression or maybe he really is unbothered by the proximity.

“To be honest, I enjoyed our little theatrics.” Smiling at him, your teeth glisten in the dim light inside the club.

“You make an impressive con artist, I have to admit.”

“Ah, forget the con part,” you wave your hand in dismissal. “It was entertaining, alright, but the best part was just spending time with you.”

Kaz almost chokes on his drink.

____ @moonstruckpoet @shara-ne @queenkalico

[marsplastic13]

'Complicated' (part 16) - Kaz Brekker x Reader

Idea - Kaz Brekker hires a prostitute to overcome his touch aversion, and be a better man for Inej, but things take an unxepected turn. Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Prostitute!Reader, (had to use y/n because I'm bad at names) Genre: modern AU, slow burn word count: 6k notes: enjoy :)

@millercontracting @coldmermaidhologram @syd649

@luffysprincess @cryptidghostgirl @beekeepingageissome

@hufflepuff-16 @lukepattersin @jay-is-a-pinguin

“So,” she continued, her words more deliberate now, “I’m in love with you. You’re in love with me. What now, Brekker?”

The admission hit Kaz like a tsunami, the raw honesty of her words crashing over him. The fight and the confusion seemed to dissolve in the face of her drunken declaration. His mind raced as he tried to process what she had just said. How had they arrived at this point, and what did it mean for them now?

Kaz leaned in closer, his gaze locked onto hers, searching for the truth behind her words. Despite her inebriation, he could see the sincerity in her eyes, the vulnerability that she often kept hidden. It was clear that she had come to him not just out of the need for refuge but to confront the feelings she had been grappling with.

Kaz studied Y/n with a mix of relief and anxiety as her confession sank in. The words she had just said, in her drunken but brutally honest state, were the ones he had both longed for and dreaded. They were finally out in the open, but the emotional messiness of the moment made it hard to process what came next. He had been waiting for clarity, and here it was wrapped in a veil of alcohol and vulnerability.

As he tried to gather his thoughts, Y/n filled the silence with a half-joking question, her tone light but her eyes earnest. “Are we going to hold hands and spend our Sundays at Ikea?”

Kaz’s lips curved into a soft smile. He reached out and took her hand in his, feeling the warmth of her skin against his. “Sure, love.”

Y/n’s smile widened, her eyes sparkling with humor and affection. “Fight over who has to do the laundry or the dishes?”

“Absolutely,” Kaz replied, his grip tightening slightly, savoring the closeness.

Leaning in closer, Y/n continued, her voice dropping to a more conspiratorial whisper. “Burn all the steps and hate each other by the time we reach 40?”

Their noses almost touched, and Kaz could smell the faint, intoxicating trace of tequila on her breath. It was a heady mix of sweetness and sharpness that only added to the surreal quality of the moment.

Kaz cupped her face gently, his thumbs brushing against her cheeks as he looked deeply into her eyes. “Get a messy divorce?” he suggested, playing along.

“Fight for the custody of our children?” Y/n responded, her voice trembling with laughter and something deeper.

Kaz raised an eyebrow, trying to keep the mood light despite the intensity of their conversation. “Are we having children now?” he asked with a laugh.

Y/n nodded seriously, her expression softening as she gazed up at him. “Of course, I want them.”

“Then yes,” Kaz whispered, his voice low and filled with emotion, “all of that.” He closed the remaining distance between them, gently pressing his lips to hers.

The kiss was slow and tender, a stark contrast to the mess of their earlier confrontation. It was filled with unspoken promises and the depth of their mutual feelings, conveyed through the softness of their touch and the warmth of their embrace. In that moment, amidst the mess of their lives and the chaos of their emotions, they found a brief moment of clarity and connection. The world outside seemed to fall away as they shared this intimate, honest moment together.

Y/n lay back, dragging him down on top of her. Their kisses grew more urgent, more desperate, a mingling of relief and passion that neither had anticipated. Between their heated exchanges, she managed to murmur against his lips, “Am I your girlfriend now?”

“Yes,” Kaz replied without hesitation, the word sounding like a promise.

Y/n let out a small laugh, breathless and teasing. “At least ask me properly.”

Kaz paused, his lips hovering over hers, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Marry me,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, “Marry me, Y/n.”

She arched an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. “Get me a ring and I’ll consider it.”

Kaz smiled against her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin right under her jaw, making her shiver. “Consider it done,” he murmured, his hands tracing a path down her sides, memorizing every curve and dip.

Y/n’s laughter turned into a soft moan as his lips found her pulse point. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” she whispered, her voice filled with disbelief and longing.

Kaz pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes, his gaze intense and unwavering. “I’ve never been more serious,” he said, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “I want everything with you, Y/n. The arguments, the messy mornings, the kids, the forever.”

She looked up at him, her own eyes reflecting the depth of her feelings. “I’m scared of forever,” she admitted, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Kaz’s expression softened. He took a deep breath, his fingers lightly tracing her jawline. “Then give me tomorrow,” he said, his voice gentle but resolute.

Y/n reached up, cupping his face with both hands, pulling him closer. “Tomorrow I can do,” she said, her lips brushing his in a tender, reassuring kiss.

Kaz’s heart swelled with emotion as he kissed her back, his hands sliding down to her waist, pulling her even closer. “I’ll ask you every day,” he murmured against her lips. 

Y/n nodded, her eyes closing as she savored the warmth of his embrace. “I’ve never had anyone want me like this,” she confessed. “It’s... terrifying.”

Kaz smiled, pressing his forehead against hers. “You’re worth the fear,” he whispered. “Every bit of it.”

They kept kissing, their movements becoming more urgent and filled with desire. As they shifted to stay more comfortable on the couch, Y/n wrapped her legs around Kaz's waist, pulling him closer. “I want you, Kaz, now,” she breathed against his lips.

Kaz grinned, his eyes darkening with need. “Do you want to get started on the kids part?” he teased, his voice low and husky.

Y/n snorted, her laughter blending with her growing arousal. “Before the wedding? No way,” she replied, her hands deftly working to unbutton his pants. Kaz's hands moved up her thighs, lifting her already short dress, exposing more of her to his touch.

Kaz's lips trailed down her neck, planting hot, open-mouthed kisses that made Y/n shiver in anticipation. “Are you sure?” he whispered against her skin, his fingers teasing the edge of her underwear.

“Yes, Kaz,” she moaned softly, her body arching into his touch. “I need you.”

His hands became more insistent, tugging at the fabric of her underwear and pulling it down. Y/n's breath hitched as she felt the cool air against her skin, followed by the warmth of Kaz's hands as he touched her.

Their movements became a blur of passion and urgency. Kaz's pants were discarded, and Y/n's dress was pushed up further, allowing them to press even closer together. Kaz’s hand cupped her face, their eyes locking as he entered her in a single, smooth thrust.

Y/n gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as she adjusted to the feel of him. Kaz groaned, his forehead resting against hers as they found a slow rhythm, their bodies moving in sync. Every kiss, every touch, was an affirmation of their feelings, a promise of the tomorrows they would share.

“Y/n,” Kaz murmured against her ear, his voice strained with desire. “I love you.” He kept repeating it, over and over, each time underlined with a slow thrust inside of her.

He felt her growing restless under him, her breaths coming faster and her body arching into his. “More, baby, please, faster,” she begged, her voice almost a whimper.

“No,” he said, kissing her forehead gently.

Y/n opened her eyes, frowning slightly. “What do you mean no?”

“No,” he repeated, looking deeply into her eyes. “You deserve so much more, love. All the time in the world. I want to take my time with you, to show you just how much you mean to me.” He brushed a strand of hair away from her face, his touch tender. “I want to kiss every inch of your skin, to make you feel good as you deserve.”

He saw the blush deepen on her cheeks, her usual confident demeanor replaced by a shy vulnerability that made his heart swell. “Are you blushing?” he teased, his voice soft and warm.

“No,” she protested weakly, her lips curving into a shy smile, unable to hide her blush.

Kaz chuckled, leaning in to kiss her softly. “You are, and it’s adorable,” he whispered against her lips. “I love seeing you like this, vulnerable and beautiful.”

He shifted his weight slightly, adjusting their position to make her more comfortable. “I want to hear every sound you make, every gasp and moan. I want to feel you trembling beneath me, knowing that I’m the one making you feel this way.”

Kaz’s hands moved slowly over her body, his touch gentle yet possessive. “I want to memorize the way you look right now, flushed and needy. I want to remember how your eyes light up when you look at me, how your lips part in pleasure.”

He kissed her neck, trailing soft kisses down to her collarbone. “You deserve to be worshiped, Y/n. And that’s what I’m going to do, every single day.”

Y/n’s breath hitched, her hands clutching at his shoulders. “Kaz,” she whispered, her voice filled with emotion.

“Yes, love?” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear.

“Don’t stop,” she pleaded, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

Kaz smiled, his heart aching with love for her. He could see how she was so used to having sex but not accustomed to being cared for, to being loved. The realization killed him a bit—Y/n, so strong and independent, coming undone because he was showing her tenderness, kindness. He wanted to give her the love and security she had missed out on, to be the person who made her feel safe.

As he held her, Kaz felt a fierce determination to change her perception of intimacy. He wanted her to associate it not just with physical pleasure but with emotional connection, trust, and genuine affection. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Y/n. I’m right here, and I’m never letting you go.”

As their bodies moved together, Kaz continued to whisper sweet words into her ear. “You’re everything to me, Y/n. I want to spend my life making you happy, making you feel loved.”

Y/n’s breath came in short gasps, her body arching into his touch. “Kaz, please,” she moaned, her voice a desperate plea.

Kaz hummed in satisfaction, relishing the control he had. He kept his slow, measured rhythm, whispering sweet nothings in her ear. “Please, love, give me more,” she pleaded between broken breaths.

Kaz increased his pace just enough to keep her on edge, watching how she arched and moved beneath him. “You're a show, love.”

“Just for you,” she replied, her voice trembling with need.

“Come for me, darling. I want to hear you,” he urged, his words guiding her closer to the edge.

Y/n’s breaths grew ragged, her nails digging deeper into his shoulders as the tension built inside her. “Kaz,” she moaned, her body tightening around him.

“That’s it, love,” Kaz whispered, his voice husky. “Let go for me.”

Her release hit her hard, her body trembling and her cries filling the room. Kaz watched her with a mix of awe and adoration, feeling her pleasure echo through him. But he was far from done.

As she came down from her high, he continued to move, his thrusts steady and insistent. “I’m not done with you,” he teased, his lips brushing against her ear.

Y/n shook her head, her breath still coming in gasps. “No, please don’t stop,” she whispered, her hands roaming over his back, pulling him closer.

Kaz kissed her deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth as he increased his pace again. His hands roamed over her body, savoring every inch of her. “I’m going to make you come again,” he promised against her lips.

Y/n’s body responded eagerly, her hips meeting his thrusts with renewed urgency. Each movement was a symphony of passion, their bodies perfectly attuned to one another. As the intensity grew, she gripped his chin, forcing him to look into her eyes, the connection between them deepening.

“Do you like it, Kaz? Being the one in control?” she asked, her voice a sultry whisper, tightening her walls around him. The sensation made him hiss in pleasure, a raw sound escaping his lips.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his control slipping under her influence.

“Answer me,” she demanded, her eyes blazing with desire and challenge.

“Yes, yes I like it,” he admitted, his voice husky with need.

Y/n’s lips curved into a satisfied smile. “How do you want me, love? Tell me,” she coaxed, her hands tracing over his chest, her touch both soothing and electrifying.

Kaz’s breath hitched, his mind racing with the possibilities. “From behind,” he said, his voice firm with decision. “Lean against the cushions of the couch.”

Y/n hummed in approval, a glint of amusement in her eyes. “Someone has been studying,” she commented, her tone teasing but approving. She shifted positions, moving gracefully to comply with his request, her body arching enticingly as she leaned against the cushions.

Kaz watched her, his desire mounting as he took in the sight of her. The way her body curved, the soft light casting shadows that only highlighted her beauty. He moved behind her, his hands sliding over her hips, savoring the warmth of her skin.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her shoulder before positioning himself.

Y/n looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes dark with anticipation. “Then show me, Kaz. Show me how much you want me.”

With a low growl, he entered her again, his movements less deliberate and controlled. He set a rhythm that was both slow and intense, while Y/n’s moans filled the room, a symphony that spurred him on.

His hands roamed over her back, caressing and exploring, each touch a testament to his desire. He leaned forward, his chest pressing against her back, his lips finding the sensitive spot just below her ear.

“I love you,” he whispered, his breath hot against her skin.

“I love you,” she replied, her voice breathless and sincere.

They moved together, the world outside fading away. Their breaths mingled, creating a rhythm that was both frantic and harmonious, the intensity between them growing with each passing second. Kaz’s pace quickened, their bodies moving in perfect synchrony, each thrust a testament to the passion that had built between them.

“More,” Y/n pleaded, her voice a breathless whisper, her body trembling with need.

Kaz responded immediately, increasing his pace, his movements becoming more urgent. His hands gripped her hips with a possessive intensity, each thrust deeper and more demanding. 

In a moment of raw, unrestrained desire, Kaz sank his teeth into her shoulder, the sharp sensation making Y/n scream, a mix of pain and pleasure that sent shivers down her spine. 

“Y/n,” Kaz murmured against her skin, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re everything.”

Her only response was a series of moans and gasps, her body arching to meet his every movement. The room seemed to pulsate with their shared energy, each sound, each breath a testament to their connection.

As their passion increased, Kaz felt himself losing control, his thrusts becoming erratic. He reached down, his fingers finding the sensitive spot that drove Y/n wild, applying just the right amount of pressure to send her over the edge.

“Kaz!” she cried out, her body convulsing around him as she reached her climax, the sensation was intoxicating, but he wanted more. "Another time, love? For me," Kaz whispered in her ear, his voice a mixture of desperation and longing.

Y/n turned to look at him, her eyes glazed and lost in the intensity of their connection. "Really?" she whispered, her voice almost incredulous, as if she couldn’t believe he was asking for more.

"Please," he said against her lips, his breath warm and his tone a desperate plea. His eyes bore into hers, filled with raw emotion and need.

A spark of determination flickered in Y/n's gaze as she took in Kaz's earnest expression. She knew he wasn’t just asking for physical gratification—he was seeking affirmation and reassurance of their connection. "Okay," she whispered back, her voice filled with resolve and deep affection. “Sit down.”

Kaz moved quickly, and Y/n positioned herself on top of him with swift, fluid movements, not giving him time to process what was happening. Her hands gripped his hair harshly, pulling him closer. “Look at me, Kaz,” she ordered, her voice firm but loving.

He opened his eyes, and the sight of her took his breath away. Her makeup was running down her cheeks, black-stained tears tracing paths on her face, and her neck was marked with his bites. She looked raw and beautiful, a vision of passion and intensity.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said in awe, his voice filled with genuine admiration and wonder.

She grinned, maintaining her fast pace, her movements rhythmic and precise, making him struggle to keep up. As she rhythmically squeezed her walls around him, Kaz felt all control slipping away. The sensation was overwhelming, and he found himself talking without fully comprehending his words. “What are you doing to me?” he murmured between moans, his voice a mixture of awe and desperation.

Y/n responded by sucking on his bottom lip, sending him back into a state of pleasurable confusion. Her lips moved from his mouth to his jaw, trailing kisses and harsh bites down his neck, each touch sending shivers through his body. Kaz's hands roamed over her back, gripping her hips tightly as he tried to ground himself in the overwhelming sensations.

“You drive me crazy,” he whispered, his voice strained with desire. “I can’t think straight when I’m with you.”

“Good,” she replied, her voice breathy and filled with satisfaction. “I want you to lose every bit of that control you really like to have.”

Their pace quickened, the intensity of their movements increasing with each passing moment. Y/n’s body moved with a grace and confidence that left Kaz breathless. He watched her, mesmerized by the way she moved, the way she took control, and the way she made him feel.

Kaz felt the pressure building, his climax approaching rapidly. He gripped her hips harder, his fingers digging into her flesh as he tried to hold on a little longer, to savor the moment. “Y/n, I’m so close,” he warned, his voice trembling with anticipation.

She smiled, satisfied, leaning in to speak into his ear, her breath hot against his skin, hell, she probably whispered directly inside his brain. “Fill me up,” she said, her voice a soothing balm to his frayed nerves, but also an irresistible command.

His eyes shot open, the words sending a jolt of electricity through his body. “Fuck,” he muttered, his control slipping away completely as he was overtaken by a series of incoherent rambles and moans.

Her words and the intensity of the moment pushed him over the edge. He held her tightly, his body shaking with the force of his release, each pulse a testament to the raw and unfiltered passion between them.

As the tremors subsided, Kaz’s grip on her softened, his hands sliding up to cradle her back gently. He pressed his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling as they both came down from the high. 

“What was that?” he whispered, his voice hoarse but filled with awe and love.

y/n shrugged, with a proud smile, “You needed to be put back in your place. Too much confidence.”

Kaz chuckled and gently kissed the spot where he had bitten her, his touch tender now, a stark contrast to the ferocity of moments before. 

He insisted on carrying her to bed, despite the protest of his injured leg. Every step was a reminder of his physical limitations, but he couldn’t care less. They made a brief stop in the bathroom, where they cleaned up her smudged make up and their disheveled bodies as much as they could. The intimacy of the moment, the simple act of caring for each other, was grounding after their intense encounter.

Once they reached the bed, Kaz settled her down, and then slid in beside her. Y/n pressed herself against his side, her head resting on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting sound. Kaz wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on her back.

The first light of dawn was already creeping through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Kaz kissed her forehead, his lips lingering there as if to imprint the moment into his memory.

“Can I say it now?” he asked, his voice a gentle murmur in the quiet room.

Y/n shifted slightly, looking up at him with tired but content eyes. “Yes.”

“I love you,” he said, his voice filled with all the emotion he had been holding back. It was a confession, a promise, and a plea all wrapped into three simple words.

Y/n’s eyes softened, a small smile curving her lips. She reached up, cupping his cheek in her hand. “I love you,” she replied, her voice hoarse but sincere.

Kaz woke up to the soft glow of morning light filtering through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. His eyes slowly adjusted to the sight before him—Y/N lying peacefully beside him, her back exposed as she slept soundly. The sheets were a tangled mess around her legs, barely covering her as she breathed in a slow, steady rhythm. His gaze drifted to the vivid mark on her shoulder, the bite he had left in the heat of the moment. It was a bright red against her skin, a stark reminder of the intensity they had shared. A flicker of guilt passed through him, but it was quickly overshadowed by a sense of possessive pride.

Her hair was a wild messy cloud on the pillow, and Kaz couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and touch it. He twirled a few strands between his fingers, feeling their softness, and thought about how far he had come. There was a time when even this simple act would have sent him into a spiral of panic. But now, here he was, not just touching her but waking up beside her, her presence bringing him a rare sense of peace.

As if sensing his gaze, Y/N stirred in her sleep, shifting slightly to roll onto her back. The movement caused the sheets to slip further, revealing more of her body. His eyes traced the pattern of love marks scattered across her skin—faint bruises where his lips had pressed too hard, red trails from his nails when he lost control, and the deep crimson of that bite. Each mark made him smile with a quiet satisfaction.

He admired her, soaking in every detail. The way her chest rose and fell with each breath, the curve of her waist, the way the early morning light kissed her skin. 

He still couldn’t believe what had happened a few hours earlier, and a small voice in his head told him that maybe for her it was just a drunken mistake. Kaz shook his head, dismissing the thought. He wanted to spend all day in bed, wrapped in the warmth of their newfound connection, but he hadto meet some people for work, and the boss was already mad at him.

Kaz sighed as he forced himself out of bed, feeling the lingering warmth of Y/N’s body fade away as he moved. His muscles protested with every step, especially his leg, which throbbed with a dull ache from the previous activities. The limp was more pronounced than usual, a reminder of the rough passion they had spent together on the couch.

He shuffled into the living room, eyes narrowing as he assessed the state of the couch. The cushions were askew, one of them clearly worse for wear. He tilted his head, studying the ruined cushion. After a moment's consideration, he decided to flip it over and deal with the damage later. There were more pressing matters to attend to, like finding the scattered clothes that lay around the room.

As he bent down to pick up Y/N’s dress, a sharp pain shot through his leg, causing him to groan. What happened between them had been worth every ache and pain he was feeling now, but that didn’t make the discomfort any easier to bear.

Clothes in hand, Kaz made his way to the bathroom, each step reminding him of the price he paid for their rough intimacy. He dropped the clothes on the counter, eyeing himself in the mirror as he reached for the painkillers in the cabinet. He popped two into his mouth, washing them down with water from the shower, the cool liquid a stark contrast to the lingering heat in his body. 

After finishing his shower, Kaz dressed quickly, the painkillers were starting to kick in, easing the worst of the discomfort.

Turning his attention to the mirror, he studied his reflection. The love bites on the side of his neck reclaimed his attention, two vivid marks that stood out against his pale skin. They were evidence of Y/N’s possessiveness, and the sight of them brought a smirk to his lips.

For a brief moment, he considered covering them up, knowing his boss would notice and undoubtedly have something to say. But then he shook his head, dismissing the thought. 

“Screw him,” Kaz muttered under his breath, he was getting tired of working for that idiot anyway, the Dregs wouldn’t survive an afternoon without him and it was time that everybody became well aware of it. He ran a hand over the love bites, feeling a surge of possessive pride. His girlfriend left them. 

His girlfriend. 

The thought made him shake his head with a smile. 

Kaz made his way to the kitchen, his steps still slightly uneven from the lingering ache in his leg. The scent of freshly made coffee began to fill the air.

As he reached into the cabinet, his fingers brushed against the small blister pack of birth control pills she had left there, grateful for the justifiable lack of trust she had in the two of them. 

With two steaming mugs in hand, Kaz returned to the bedroom, finding Y/N already stirring, her hand lazily rubbing at her eyes as she tried to shake off the remnants of sleep and hangover. Her hair was a wild mess as she tried to comb them with her fingers.

“Morning,” he greeted her, his voice low and steady as he sat on her side of the bed. He placed his coffee on the nightstand, offering her the mug with a small smile.

She looked up at him, her eyes still heavy with sleep but brightening at the sight of him. A slow smile spread across her face, and she reached out to take the mug from his hand. “Breakfast in bed? You’re taking this girlfriend thing seriously,” she teased, her voice playful but tinged with genuine affection.

Kaz let out a breath. Her lighthearted tone was a relief, reassuring him that she wasn’t rethinking everything that had happened between them. He had half-expected her to wake up with second thoughts, to retreat behind walls of her own. But instead, she was here, teasing him, her words hinting at a shared understanding that made his chest tighten in a way he wasn’t entirely used to.

“Can’t risk you changing your mind after just six-ish hours,” Kaz quipped, his voice carrying a teasing edge as a smirk played at the corners of his lips. He handed her the blister pack with a casualness that belied the nervous energy still thrumming under his skin.

Y/N took the pack from him, her fingers brushing his for a moment. She studied it, then looked up at him, her expression suddenly serious, a frown tugging at her brow. “I thought we were having kids.”

Kaz, who had just taken a sip of his coffee, nearly choked at her words. He froze, the mug suspended in mid-air as her statement sunk in, his mind spinning. He had imagined a future with her, sure, but kids? Now? His thoughts raced, trying to reconcile the casual morning banter with the gravity of what she’d just said. It felt like his heart had skipped a beat, then another, as panic set in.

“To quote you,” Y/N continued, her tone perfectly even, “‘I want everything with you, Y/N. The arguments, the messy mornings, the kids, the forever.’ Did you forget already?”

Kaz blinked, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for words, any words, to respond. He remembered saying that, what kind of memory did she have? 

“I... I didn’t—” he stammered, his voice uncharacteristically unsteady.

Y/N’s serious facade cracked, and she burst into laughter, the sound light and teasing as she took the pill with a sip of coffee. “Saints, I’m kidding,” she grinned, watching the tension drain from his face. “Relax, love, you’re sweating more than the guy who does my taxes.”

Kaz let out a breath, his shoulders sagging with relief as he set the coffee mug down on the nightstand. The panic subsided, replaced by embarrassment and the undeniable warmth of being completely disarmed by her. “Not funny,” he muttered, though there was a trace of a smile on his lips.

“Oh, it was a little funny,” Y/N teased, leaning in to nudge him playfully with her shoulder. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she watched his reaction. “You should’ve seen your face. I didn’t think Kaz Brekker could look that terrified.”

Kaz couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head in amusement and lingering disbelief. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, still trying to shake off the lingering adrenaline from her joke.

She set the cup on the nightstand and moved closer to him, her expression suddenly more serious, though he could see the playful glint still dancing in her eyes. “You know,” she began, her tone shifting to something more thoughtful, “I would have to leave my job if we have a baby.”

That left Kaz completely speechless. He stared at her, his mind racing but unable to form a coherent reply. He’d thought she was done joking, but the way she said it made him question everything. Was she serious? Was this something she’d thought about?

Y/N’s laughter broke the silence again, and she leaned back, shaking her head in disbelief. “Unbelievable,” she said, her laughter infectious. “You’re really considering it. I think we should go back to condoms; I don’t like that look on your face.”

Kaz sighed, rubbing his temples as if trying to ward off the headache he felt coming. “I can’t stand you already,” he groaned, though his voice carried no real irritation—just exasperated affection.

“You’re the one who wanted this,” she shot back with a grin, her voice light and teasing. “I told you to stay away from me.”

Kaz smirked, shaking his head as he pulled her closer, his arm wrapping around her waist. “And yet, here we are,” he murmured, his voice softer now, more sincere. 

“You’re already all dressed up,” she commented. “Plans?”

“I have a work thing I can’t skip, but you can stay here and sleep more if you want. I left you the spare keys on the table.”

“You know I’ll have to go back home sooner or later?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, to pack your things,” Kaz shrugged, trying to sound casual.

Y/n raised a brow, a mix of surprise and amusement in her eyes. “Are we really doing this? Moving in together?”

“Yes,” he replied with a crooked smile.

Y/n tilted her head, studying him. “I don’t want to live in a place where half of the furniture was chosen by your ex.”

“Then find another house,” Kaz said, raising his shoulders, meeting her intense gaze. “I’m not kidding, Y/n. I want this.”

She stared at him for a moment, searching his face for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, she nodded slowly. “I’ll start looking then.”

Kaz leaned in, kissing her softly on the lips. “Good.”

“Do we have time for something quick?” she murmured, her voice laced with playful intent as she grabbed his loose tie, gently tugging him closer. The smirk on her lips was almost irresistible, a clear invitation in her eyes as she pulled him over her.

Kaz’s breath caught in his throat as he hovered above her, his resolve wavering as he looked down at her. “No,” he replied, though his voice lacked its usual conviction, his eyes betraying the internal struggle as they flickered between her lips and his watch.

“Super quick?” she coaxed, her fingers toying with the fabric of his tie, her tone teasing yet full of promise. She arched up slightly, closing the gap between them, making it even harder for him to say no. 

Kaz let out a low groan, his forehead pressing against hers as he fought the pull of her body against the ticking clock in his mind. “You’re making this difficult,” he murmured, his hand sliding down to rest on her hip, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of the sheets.

“Good,” she whispered back, her lips brushing against his, her breath warm against his mouth. “I wouldn’t want it to be easy.”

Kaz’s grip on her hip tightened as he tried to keep control of the situation—or at least of himself—but the way she looked up at him, her eyes full of desire, made it nearly impossible. He felt his resolve slipping with every passing second, his mind battling between duty and the undeniable pull of her. “You’re going to get me fired,” he warned, though the words were more of a formality at this point, his body already betraying his intentions as he leaned closer.

Y/N’s lips curled into a wicked smile, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. “Oh, tell your boss to shut up and suck it,” she shot back, her tone dripping with playful defiance, “or I’m telling everyone that he cries after he comes.”

Kaz blinked, momentarily thrown off by the unexpected remark. His brain scrambled to process what she’d just said, the absurdity of it clashing with the intense desire he was feeling. “Why?” he groaned, half-exasperated, half-amused. “Why did you have to put that image in my head right now?”

Y/N chuckled, a light, melodic sound that only added to his frustration. “I thought you liked a challenge,” she teased, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him even closer. “Consider it motivation to stay focused. Come on, we don’t have time.”

Kaz shook his head, unable to suppress a smirk despite the ridiculous mental picture she’d just painted. “I don’t know what to do with you,” he muttered, his voice low and rough as he finally gave in, their lips meeting in a heated kiss.

Y/N’s laughter faded into a satisfied hum as she kissed him back, her body arching into his as if to claim victory. “Love me,” she murmured against his lips, her words a sultry whisper that sent a shiver down his spine.

[meadowscarlet]

inflicted desire ━━━ kaz brekker.

pairings: kaz brekker x fem!reader.

summary: you were simply a crow and nina's closest friend, but kaz doesn't understand why he feels the need to be near you or protect you when you can protect yourself; he is closed off and unreadable, and he couldn't articulate his feelings properly, until you were hurt on the job.

warnings: the normal six of crows shenanigans.

author’s note: a reposted fic. do not copy, post on another site, translate or claim any of my works as your own or you will be reported! nav.

Kaz Brekker did not make mistakes. He was a thief, not a fool, the Dregs' leader, and Ketterdam's most notorious man. He had a sharp intellect and was astute; no one ventured to cross him out of fear, or they were rational enough not to.

His plans were meticulous, and if something went wrong (which was unlikely), he had hundreds of backup plans ready to go. And everything went well, but there was a glimmer of realization that Kaz had made the biggest mistake of his life. It was bothering him, and he had a nagging feeling of uneasiness.

If he had merely noted when he met you—charming and intriguing—when he visited the House of the White Rose to inform Nina about a job; he should have simply ignored you when you passed him in the hall without a second glance, but Kaz had been effectively intrigued.

Nina told him that you were her closest friend and the one person in the White Rose who kept her sane. Nina was cautious, with a guarded gleam in her eyes and a reluctance that could get you killed in Ketterdam, when Kaz inquired whether you had any skills.

Nina had given Kaz a sharp gaze and said, “Recruiting her in the Dregs is dangerous.”

“Nina dear,” Kaz drawled. “It's dangerous everywhere in Ketterdam. And I think your friend would appreciate getting out of here every now and then.”

Nina told Kaz about your bewitching qualities with a little more trepidation. You were charismatic, a pretty face and a cunning smile that could tempt wealthy merchants to give you kruge and a wise convincer. Nina also mentioned that you had good combat skills. Kaz Brekker had smirked at the time, his thoughts racing. He was well aware that he needed you on his team.

That was his very first mistake. You were good at your work—you did a brilliant job and Kaz knew you were a terrific addition to the Dregs—but as the days passed, he began to have an underlying feeling inside him that he quickly dismissed whenever you were there. Kaz often wondered if he should have heeded Nina's advice about not recruiting you in the Dregs, but he'd been blinded by his curiosity, and he bitterly regretted it.

He recalled one mission in which they were meant to spy on a handful of Pekka Rollins' men. Kaz remembered how meticulously he had prepared for this; he had gone over blueprints over and again until his eyes were weary, but he would not rest—never. Kaz was scrupulous with his plotting especially since it involved Pekka Rollins.

When there's a lovely girl around and they're inebriated, men are simple to seduce. So, of course, your main task was to play the inquisitive girl, allowing men to reveal their drunken secrets while you sat, looking pretty. Despite the fact that you were skilled in this vicinity, Kaz didn't like the plan, but he needed Inej on the roofs and Nina by the door, so you were left as an option.

As he saw you woo one of Rollins guys, he felt a prickling sensation inside him. You were dressed in a velvety white dress that accentuated your contours; you stood out in the darkness of Ketterdam, and you shone brightly. Kaz may not believe in Saints, but he was convinced you were one by the radiance of your smile and dress.

He despised seeing you sitting on a drunk Dime Lion man's lap, and Kaz noticed you looked uneasy, so he fought the impulse to smash the man's head with his cane until his skull cracked satisfyingly. He reminded himself that this was a job, and he needed to do his part. Despite your unsettled expression, he could see your ears perk up, and that's when Kaz recognized the man had begun to speak.

Kaz watched you giggling and touching the man's forearm while drinking your drink; you were playing your part wonderfully as usual. And it all happened very quickly; when the drunken man leaned close to you, another man approached him to stop him, and Kaz realized the man knew who you were.

The man had said something to the inebriated man, and the latter had suddenly sobered up, and Kaz realized chaos had occurred. Because of the drink you drank, you appeared tipsy, but Kaz could see how your eyes flared in terror and your gaze immediately darted to him.

Kaz had set out on foot to get you, but Nina had beaten him to it. Nina had grasped your wrist and pulled you away in alarm before the man could grab you. Shots were being fired, and Kaz could see Jesper rousing his revolters to fire back at the men who were shooting at you and now at Jesper.

Kaz was so concentrated on the men and the bullets that he missed you limping in Nina's arms as he pulled his own gun. Nina wore a worried expression on her face and was essentially bearing half your weight. And Kaz could see it: there was blood on your abdomen that was obvious and evident through the white of your dress. As Kaz focused on you, gunshots faded into the background, and he was startled out of his reverie when Jesper told them to leave.

He didn't normally listen to Jesper because he was the one who gave the directions and commands, but now his feet followed Jesper's, his leg jerking in pain as he hobbled, yet his step was swift. He remembered the blood on your adobem, the way Nina's eyes widened, and he was filled with dread. It was terrifying. Since Jordie, he hasn't felt like this in years.

Kaz knew Inej was close behind him, quiet and concealed like the Wraith she is, as his Crows hurried to the Slat. As you limped beside Nina, Kaz could see you being held by her, and he turned to Jesper, a sensation inside him that he didn't want to convey.

“Run after Nina," Kaz rasped coldly. “Help her with Y/N.”

Jesper didn't need to say anything else as he ran to Nina, and when he caught up with both girls, he grabbed your waist and helped half of your weight as Nina and Jesper carried you to the Slat. Kaz despised hearing a hint of fragility in his voice, but Jesper didn't seem to mind.

It didn't matter to Kaz if Nina could hear his rapid heartbeat. Kaz saw that the others were watching him as his eyes swept you laying on your bed with Nina mending your wound. Even though your face was pale and your breathing was unsteady, you were alive, Kaz was not soothed. Despite her concerns, Nina had been firm, requesting medical equipment from Matthias, who had followed orders.

Kaz isn't concerned about the Rollins information right now; all he wants is for you to be alright. He remembered your eyes widening in panic and searching for his first. He swallowed a lump in his throat and shook his head, focusing on you instead. And there was so much blood, Kaz gripped his cane tightly in his fist.

“Heal her,” he murmured.

Nina gave him a cold stare. “I'm trying, Kaz, but there's just too much blood.”

“I don't care,” Kaz said icily, his gaze matching hers. “Zenik, heal her.”

Inej had left, but not before praying to her Saints for you to be well. Jesper walked away as well, noticing the gloom in Kaz's voice and Nina's gaze. Matthias was retrieving more medical supplies, creating a tense atmosphere with only a feverish Kaz, an anxious but indignant Nina, and an alive yet barely Y/ N.

“You should leave, l'll get to you once l'm done,” Nina remarked as she resumed working in your wounded abdomen.

Kaz stood firm in his position. “I'm not going anywhere.”

With a shake of her head, Nina replied, “Your heartbeat is distracting me.” Kaz noticed her hand quivering. “I can sense your nerves, Brekker, and it doesn't help that l'm worried about her as well.”

He was terrified; he had shown vulnerability, and Nina had noticed. She knew he cared about you, and he had never experienced anything like it with anybody else. When Inej was stabbed, Jesper was shot, or Matthias, Wylan, and Nina were hurt, Kaz's heart didn't rush as rapidly. It was always you who made his heart race with nerves and a need to protect you if you were harmed.

When Kaz glanced at your hand, palm up, he felt compelled to grasp it. Not Jesper, who had brought you to the Slat, or even Nina, who stroked your hair away from your face every now and then, but he should be the one holding you and aiding you. But Kaz knew that idea alone was impossible; he couldn't think about it without shivering with distaste, so he stayed, a safe distance away, with a tremendous desire to hold you.

Nina fixed her gaze on him. “I assume she'll be a little hazy when she wakes up, so don't ask her any questions about the information.”

“I don't give a damn about the information,” Kaz remarked indifferently.

Kaz despised the mischievous glimmer in her eyes as she shot him a shocked glance. “Kaz Brekker not caring about the information that's about Pekka Rollins? Somebody pinch me.”

He gave her a skeptical look as he rolled his eyes. “Keep her alive by doing your work, Nina dear.”

Nina shrugged her shoulders, but her eyes were gloomy. “She's not dead, Kaz,” she said with a shake of her head. “Since the blood loss, she'll be unconscious, but she'll be fine—she usually is.”

Kaz nodded in agreement. What Nina said was right; it was not uncommon for someone in the Crows to be hurt—it happens all the time, especially during heists and jobs—but the jobs were mostly successful, and Kaz had been blunt in assigning you the safest task (charming people) because a selfish part of him wanted you to be in the middle of the job so he could keep an eye on you.

But, despite his composed demeanor, he seemed to crumble everywhere around you. Perhaps you had charmed him, as you had charmed so many others, by bewitching him with your entire being, causing his black heart to seek you out. When you were around, there was always an inflicted desire within Kaz, which he had always disregarded until now.

Kaz wanted to kill the man who had touched you, as well as track down the person who had shot you. He remembered your bright eyes dampening in fear and a brief tremor of despair as you realized you'd been caught, then blood splattering across your white dress and Nina's worried expression as she carried your limping weight.

Nina snarled, “You're doing it again.”

With his dark eyes, Kaz looked at her. “What?”

“I know you love her and all, but I need to focus, and your heartbeat is incredibly distracting right now,” Nina rambled.

Kaz stilled as he heard the word he didn't want to associate himself with. “In Ketterdam, love is neglected; it is reserved for the weak.”

Nina surprised him by laughing. “What are you doing right now? Whenever Y/N is hurt, you appear weak—you're in your vulnerable form.”

Kaz wanted to kill Nina by saying things he knew were true, but he was ignorant and stubborn to accept it. Nina gave him a knowing look as she cleaned, healed, and wrapped a cloth around your wound before kissing you on the forehead and leaving Kaz alone with you.

Kaz strolled over to where you were laying after a few moments of contemplation. He examined your flawless face, which, despite seeming pale and near death, was nonetheless lovely. Kaz paused for a while before raising his gloved palm to your cheek and tucking the errant strand of hair away.

He sat down near your bed, putting his disgust aside. Despite the strong temptation, he did not grasp your inviting hand. Kaz had stayed by your bedside the entire night, never leaving your side. Nina had stopped by every now and then to change your bandage, but she had said nothing about Kaz's overstaying or even asked him to leave.

When Nina was treating your wound, she had said, “You should rest, Kaz.”

Kaz gave her a sidelong glance. “Don't tell me what to do.”

Nina may have been right, but she was also wrong. Kaz did not believe he was capable of love, yet he had a great desire to be with you. To be in your company, to receive your gorgeous smile, and to simply be in your presence. And this time he wasn't going to ignore it.

[redamancyys]

Three Moments - Kaz Brekker

SUMMARY ◆ Three moments in which Kaz shows his love for you.

WARNING(S) ◆ fluff, implied smut, unedited, me word vomiting.

WORDS ◆ 2k

»»————-　✼　————-««

You were certain that you were always meant to burn together. To love him was to love the hot embers of a forest fire, pressing your hands farther and farther into the flames no matter how much your body screamed to let go. It was all consuming, a love that suffocated you like smoke and left you burning for days. He was always burning, and sometimes you wondered if you just got caught up in the flames. Heartstrings woven together, not sure if you were the anchor or he was . . . Saints, who were you kidding? He definitely was not the anchor. 

It took him a long time to understand that he needed you. 

He was the bastard of the Barrel, unafraid of getting his hands dirty because he hid under a pair of gloves. On his worst days when he came home, they were caked with dirt, dust, and blood. It wasn’t his blood, he rarely had a cut on him. Most of the times when you stayed up until he returned, he would glance in your direction, give you a small nod, and make his way up to his room at the tallest point in the Slat. The next morning he never acknowledged it. His hair was slicked back, porcelain skin perfectly clean on his face and his gloves were as well. Fine, black leather worn down on the fingertips in the same places he gripped his cane. You wondered why he never let even those closest to him see him in any way disheveled. You didn’t understand the danger of looking weak the way he did. It wasn’t your fault, no one had ever understood what he had been through. Not that they ever could know anyway.

One night you were awake once again, making an excuse that you couldn’t sleep and had to make tea, though many knew that you stayed up until all members of the Crows were back home. You sat in the corner, a favorite book in hand and sipping on some mix of tea when you heard the door open and you thought for a moment your eyes were playing tricks on you. Because there he stood, cuts on his face and parts of his shirt ripped off at the arms. He was beaten, bloody, unlike anything you had ever seen before. He stood there, looking at you, watching as you took another sip and waited for him to go up the stairs like he always did. But this time he kept standing there, watching, as if he was waiting for your attention. He glanced over at the box on the table where you all kept bandages, and then back at you. 

Soon enough you were both sitting at the table, you were reaching for the tiny bottle of alcohol and white wrap up bandages. 

“Who was it this time?” You asked, dumping a cloth in a water bowl to clean his wounds. He looked at you, as if to say, it doesn’t matter. Though you kept pressing on, your eyes peered into his coffee brown ones, eyebrow popping up in question. “I waited up for you, which means you can’t keep any secrets from me, Kaz Brekker.” 

His name seemed to pop him out of his thoughts, pushing him back to reality in which he was there, sitting with you, rather than in the future thinking about plans or in the past pondering about the people he’s lost. Kaz glanced down at his gloved hands and then turned his attention back to you, watching your face carefully. 

“Someone didn’t pay me back for a favor,” He said. “It wasn’t an easy confrontation but it’s over now.” 

That was all you needed. You knew it was all you would get right now. Empty words were his forte that no matter how long you spent trying to read in between the lines of his metaphors and hyperboles, you were left feeling more confused than how you began. It took you so long to understand that it wasn’t about what he said, it was what he did. He never told any of the members of his crew how much they mattered to him, how important it was that they stuck around. In fact, sometimes you wondered if anyone mattered to Kaz Brekker, or if he was destined to keep himself alone, closed off, coldhearted. 

Your hand with the towel came up to his face and he flinched, making you falter for a single second. You waited for him to say something, but it never did, and you finished your motion by slowly wiping away the dried blood from the cut on his face. It wasn’t deep, it wouldn’t scar, and for some reason that made you glad. He would still look pristine in the morning, with a little help from you. You wondered if this is what he did alone in his room when he came back, healed wounds that never saw the light of day. Some part of you wished that he would show this side of him more often, the one that was vulnerable. Both of you stayed silent while you wiped the blood away and bandaged up your arm, though soon enough he was on his way back to his room, leaving you downstairs. 

~

You two took care of each other. It took until a heist went wrong that you saw that for sure. Too many things were against the group that day. Jesper’s guns stopped working when he had to take a critical shot, Nina was almost taken hostage . . . You yourself had suffered a striking blow to the stomach, becoming winded and almost passing out from lack of oxygen. Everyone ran away, knowing to meet up later at the Crow Club when they got the opportunity. You ran into an alley, head spinning, gasping for air as you leaned against a wall. Men ran past, most likely looking for you and your partners, though were not smart enough to look down the dark alley to their right. You could barely walk, knowing that several of your ribs had to be broken. 

“You need to keep moving,” A voice spoke from behind, startling you enough to grab the gun from your belt and aim it in the direction of the voice. Your eyes caught up with your target and realized it was Kaz, able to sneak up on you because he was without his cane for the blown heist. “Guards are looking all over for us.” 

You huffed, shaking your head. You couldn’t do it. All you wanted to do was lay there until you got better, not caring about the dirt and grime on the ground. When you tried to walk it felt like someone was stabbing you in the lungs, you stumbled a little and would’ve fallen if Kaz’s hands hadn’t grabbed you and kept you upright. 

Your vision was spotty as you both stumbled out of the alley, slowly making your way back. “I can’t do this,” You said, tears welling up in your eyes. “It hurts so much, Kaz, it hurts.” You were rarely this emotive, you were the glue of the group, keeping everyone together even through the toughest of times. Everyone always came to you, you’re the strongest one of them all. Every single second you wondered if your caved in ribs would puncture one of your organs and this would be your last day. Your last time with the people you cared so much about. The world was spinning, but Kaz’s arms and touch brought you back to reality, and soon enough you were within feet of the Crow Club and you collapsed, letting the darkness consume your mind. 

It was a few hours before you woke up in your room, opening your eyes to the soft glow of a candle near your bed. The softness of your blanket gave comfort, though the moment of relief that you were alive seemed to wash away as the pain came back to reality, a bandage wrapped around your torso that impeded your motion. 

For the next couple of days you were in and out of consciousness, Inej came to visit you a lot in order to give you food and some company, sometimes Jesper would tell you about his day and about Wylan. But still no sign of Kaz. You hadn’t seen him since he had brought you back to safety. At first you thought nothing of it, though the idea that he was avoiding you began to boil and fester, leading you to question Jesper the next time he arrived in your room with tea in hand. 

“I understand that comfort isn’t his thing, but I thought that Kaz would at least come and visit once,” You stated to Jesper, sucking in your bottom lip whilst moving to sit up, minding the tiny pain in your chest. 

Jesper’s eyes widened, shaking his head a tiny bit in a way that made you think he was hiding something from you. You gave him a puzzled look, urging him to speak his thoughts to you. 

“He’s been sitting outside of your door every chance he gets. I thought you knew.”

~

His kisses were soft despite his tough exterior, but they were not without intention. Every time his lips made contact with a piece of your skin you could feel his want, his desire, like he couldn’t get enough of you no matter how hard he tried. It was like you were his church and he was on his knees, praying for forgiveness for his sins, praying to your body that he worshipped unlike all the faceless saints in the world. Your hands collided with his hair, intertwining the soft locks of dark brown and pulling on it, pulling him closer. 

He would only kiss you in the confines of the Crow Club, where others couldn’t see. It bothered you at first, wondering if he didn’t want others to see that underneath all the cold and hard exterior he put towards the world: Dirtyhands could love. But that was just the thing, he didn’t want any of his enemies to come for you like he knew that they would. He didn’t want to put you in the face of danger anymore than you already did for him on a daily basis. To love him was to have a target on your back. 

At this point you knew of his aversion to touch, how his brother died, how it pained him to feel the skin of another upon his own. Instead of pulling away from his scars like he thought you would, you brought him closer, vowing that you understood, that you were sorry, that you would do whatever you could to make him feel better. Kaz thought for so long that he was a monster, and that may be true, but you weren’t a child, you weren’t afraid of the darkness that he had enveloped himself in for so long. You were willing to love him for who he was, no matter how much he tried to hide you from his truths. 

He could handle your kisses, finding solace in your mouth, the way it tasted like warm tea and the softness of your lips. And he accepted your small touches, starting slowly with tracing your fingers across his skin. You felt along his veins, taking extra care with his scars, pressing a kiss on the ones that looked particularly new. His gloves would come off and he would do the same to you. Eventually more clothes came off, more skin against skin. He found solace again in your tiny sighs and moans that left your lips when he kissed there and there . . . and especially there. Neither of you had ever surrendered yourself to another person in this way, it was intimate and sent you both over the moon. It was just you both, alone in either of your rooms, loving each other no matter what. 

After both of you would lay in one another's arms, the glow of the candlelight enveloping both of your bodies. There wasn’t much talking, maybe some if there was something particularly on either of your minds. You idly traced patterns on his skin, comforting him when he flinched, reminding him that you were there. He would be okay. 

[happyyyandcrazyyy]

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 an 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’d been five of them in the beginning. Only three remained. She’d plucked one guy’s eye out, going deep enough to 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.

[spider-stark]

A BOY'S FIRST PEST

Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary - Kaz Brekker thinks Per Haskell's daughter is a (very lovely) pest

Warnings - fem!reader, traumatraumatrauma, the woes of troubled youth, light mentions of blood and death, these bitches trauma bonded yo, could deviate some from canon, based more on book!kaz than show, NOT EDITED WE DIE LIKE MEN

Word Count - 2.0k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Everyone knows Kaz Brekker put his own money into fixing up the Slat. 

He hired men to patch the leaky roof (though it still drips during a heavy rain) and put proper insulation in the walls (which keeps the house warm enough, even if it does nothing to muffle the noise of its occupants). He had all the doors fitted with working knobs (but easily picked locks) and ensured the kitchen was capable of making a warm meal (even if seriously doubted any of the Dregs knew how to cook). 

And while he would never admit it aloud, Kaz was also the one who made sure there were always clean linens in every room (albeit the cheapest Ketterdam has to offer) and spare clothes in every closet (sizes ranging from wafer-thin to barrel-chested). In keeping, he also takes it upon himself to keep the bathing room stocked with a steady supply of toiletries (because if someone uses his toothbrush again, he’s going to kill everyone in this place and then himself). 

Because of Kaz Brekker, the Slat was more than just a safe place to hole up. It was a haven, the closest thing many of the Dregs had to a home. 

But it did, of course, have one enduring problem. 

The pests.

Or, namely, the one pest—one that he could never quite exterminate (though the spider privy to the inner-workings of Kaz Brekker’s mind might argue the merit of replacing ‘could never’ with ‘would never’). 

Per Haskell’s very annoying (and very lovely) daughter. 

In the midst of Ketterdam’s hottest season, you find yourself lying sprawled on your back atop the dark sheets, clad in the skimpiest nightclothes you own: a matching set of black silk shorts and flowy, thin-strapped camisole. The air is thick and near stifling in the attic-bedroom, but you don’t mind it. You prefer being hot to cold, if only because the heavy weight of winter clothes makes you feel trapped, eliciting the urge to crawl straight from your skin. 

When the door finally swings open, you eagerly push up onto your elbows. 

Kaz doesn’t so much as spare a glance in your direction. He’s got one hand on his cane, the other shoving the door shut behind him as he limps toward his desk, guided by the bright moonlight spilling in from the muggy window. 

Your shoulders slump, huffing out a breath. “Seriously? You’re not even gonna greet me?” 

With his back turned to you, Kaz removes his hat and places it on the desk. He doesn’t look at you. “You’re in my room.” 

“Yeah—so I was actually thinking something more along the lines of hello,” you drone, lips pursed. “Y’know, that thing normal people say when they see their friends.” 

“We’re not friends.” 

A hand flies to your chest, as if struck by his words. “Um, ouch? Rude. For your sake, I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” 

Kaz tugs off his signature gloves and tosses them next to his hat. “I can always repeat it,” he says, so impassive you can’t tell if it’s a joke. 

Knowing Kaz, you’re pretty sure it’s not. 

You push up the rest of the way, scooting down to sit cross-legged at the end of his bed. It’s so much nicer than yours—the sheets softer, the mattress plusher, the smell so familiar and warm. 

If it were up to you, you’d sleep in here every night. 

And most nights, that’s exactly what you do. 

“Would it kill you to be nice sometimes?” you ask. 

“Not usually, no.” Kaz faces you, his weight leaned back against the desk, his cane propped against it. “But we both know you’re a special case.” 

“Is that a compliment?” 

“Not at all.” 

Your bottom lip juts into a pout. “Has anyone ever told you you’re an asshole?” 

Aside from the subtlest lift of his brows, Kaz’s expression remains vague and disinterested. “Regularly,” he deadpans, looking the image of austere melancholy. 

Your laugh comes so sudden it sounds like a snort. “I should’ve guessed,” you nod, forever unphased by Kaz’s forbidding attitude. 

This is the way things have always been between you. Ever since a surly twelve year old marched head-high into your father’s office to see if the Dregs needed a new grunt, oblivious to the girl beaming up at him from a lonely corner, weaving colorful scraps of thread into bracelets for the friends you’d yet to make. 

Kaz Brekker is dark and foreboding while you’re bright and bubbly; he’s rude and standoffish while you’re sweet and flirtatious. Some may liken your relationship to oil and water, but you prefer thinking of it as a carefully crafted balance—a yin and yang sort of thing. 

Kaz, on the other hand, would simply say you’re a thorn in his side. 

Fortunately for yourself, you’re not an easily offended thorn. 

The rickety floorboards creak as Kaz starts around the desk. His bare fingers trail along the varnished edge for support. His limp is always at its worst by this time of night, so you’re not surprised to see the flicker of relief that slips over him when he finally sinks into the chair. 

“Have you ever considered that maybe you work too hard?” Your voice teeters on the edge of concern, tracing idle shapes against the sheets with your nails. 

His answer is curt, and contradictory to the purple smudges beneath his eyes. “No.” 

Fumbling with his cufflinks—simple, unadorned things—Kaz rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. Afterwards, he flips open the thick ledger laid before him, plucking up a pen and dipping it into an awaiting pot of ink. 

Kaz keeps track of the Dregs expenses in his head—a skill you’ve always found most impressive, since you can hardly do a simple equation without scratch paper. Still, he keeps the physical record for the sake of having something to point to in case someone’s ever stupid enough to claim Dirtyhands flubbed the numbers. 

As he works, boredom quickly becomes a chip on your shoulder. 

Your legs unfurl, bare feet stretching toward the floor as you slip off the edge of the bed. Every step is purposeful, traipsing toward him with a look that’s not so unlike a cat readying to toy with its favorite mouse. 

“Maybe we should take a holiday,” you suggest, your voice a soft trill. 

One part of you expects to be ignored, the other to be shot down. 

He lands somewhere in the middle. 

“And go where? His eyes remain focused on the ledger, dark brows drawn tight in concentration. You envision numbers flashing before him, adding and subtracting at the steady pass of the nib scratching against parchment. 

“I don’t know. Ravka, maybe?” 

“Ravka?” It’s like the word tastes sour on his tongue. “Why?” 

You stop just short of his desk, an answer instantly rapping at your mind. You quickly replace it with one that’s far less tragic. “I wouldn’t mind seeing Nikolai Lantsov with my own eyes,” you drawl. “Nina says he’s quite the looker, y’know.” 

Kaz sits up a little straighter, shoulders pinned with newfound tension. 

“Of course he is.” He seems to press the nib down harder, his disinterested tone bordering close to resentful. “He’s a prince—looking pretty is all they’re good for.” 

Your head tilts. “Well, he’s actually a king now, so…” 

There’s the briefest falter in the smooth motion of his jotting wrist. “I’m not taking you to Ravka so you can seduce the Lantsov bastard.” 

“And why not?” You reach for the tip of his cane, still propped against the desk, skimming a finger over the crow’s head. “You think I can’t do it?” 

The pen keeps on scratching, accented by the dull hum of the Slat’s perpetual motion—doors slamming, voices cackling. Your ego grows larger for every second Kaz stays silent, your satisfaction settling into a feline smirk. 

Simply, yet firmly, Kaz eventually maintains, “We’re not going to Ravka.” 

Your exhale is something over dramatic, laden with feigned disappointment as you huff, “Fine!” Kaz never looks up, continuing with the ledger. 

Abandoning the crow’s head, you swipe one of Kaz’s abandoned gloves off the desk, fiddling with the smooth leather. Still recovering from their civil war, you imagine Ravka isn’t an ideal travel spot right now, anyway. Not unless someone has a morbid desire to tour the sites where Saints met their often-grisly ends, that is… Besides, for all Nina’s praise of the Lantsov king, you’ve never actually had a thing for blondes. 

And yet— 

“I really would like to go someday.” Your voice is hardly a whisper. Your other answer—tragic and rapping—crawls up your throat in a hoarse admission, “My mother was Ravkan.” 

That persistent scratching finally comes to a sudden halt. 

For the first time since he entered the room, Kaz looks up. There’s not a hint of pity in his eyes, though they gleam with solemn understanding. Your lips thin, pressing his glove tight to your chest. 

In the winter of your fourteen birthday, you snuck into your father’s office and stole a full bottle of kvas. Dressed in clothes too light for the frigid weather, you sped up the crooked stairs to Kaz’s attic-bedroom, pleading until he begrudgingly agreed to join you on the moonlit roof. For a boy who claimed such an aversion to you, he was always doing things you asked—even if he’d griped the whole time. You both gagged after the first sip of hard liquor. After an hour or so, the full bottle had dwindled to just a drop, your tongues seeming to move with more freedom. 

Neither of you had been prepared for the way the carbonated joy in your chests fizzled to something stagnant. 

I don’t like being alone, you told him, fiddling with the frayed strings tied around your wrist, the friendship bracelets no one ever wanted. If I’m alone, it means I’m thinking, and if I’m thinking, it means my mother won’t stop dying. 

You told him of the endless montage in your head. How at six years old, a walk along the Stave in your favorite winter coat ended with getting crushed beneath the weight of your mother’s last act of devotion, shielded by a body crumpled and crimson, shorn in the crossfire of unexpected gang violence. When you fell silent, Kaz drained the last drop of kvas and told you about a coffee shop near the Exchange. About a sickboat and a boy named Jordie, about a frosty harbor and an impossible swim that left him unable to bear the touch of another’s skin. 

When neither of you had any soul left to bear, Kaz chucked the bottle off the roof. You don’t remember hearing it shatter, and maybe it never did. Maybe it hit some hapless pigeon and fractured his skull. Maybe it ceased to exist the moment it went over the edge. The bottle didn’t matter. Not to you. Not when Kaz Brekker reached for your wrist, leather-clad fingers gently tugging the bracelets off your wrist. 

Don’t make a thing of this, he told you, stuffing them in his pocket. You’re still a pest.

But it was a thing. A strange, beautiful thing—and both of you knew it. 

“Fine.” Kaz’s voice—the rasp of stone on stone—drags you back to the present. He sits the pen down beside the ledger, a strand of black hair swaying with the subtle shake of his head. “We’ll go to Ravka. You’ll seduce some sorry prince and live happily ever after in a gaudy palace. I’ll make my fortune snagging the Lantsov Emerald and use it to hire a proper bookkeeper. Deal?” 

Your lips twitch, still hugging his glove to your chest. “King,” you correct him. 

His eyes roll, but a flicker of something warm betrays his affection. “Pest,” he calls you, though it doesn’t sound like much of an insult. 

“I imagine the Grand Palace has fine exterminators,” you muse. 

“Then I suppose your marriage will be short-lived.” 

“Will you save me, then?” Your heart leaps with the question, how it slips from your tongue before you can grasp it. 

Kaz hesitates. Then—remarkably—smiles. 

“Maybe.”

a/n - you know what they say. a bottle of kvas is never just a bottle of kvas, amirite

(☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

anyways, i was procrastinating an essay and thought "lets write something with a somewhat ambiguous ending!" and voila, a boy's first pest is the product. now everyone say: lainie, go work on your original writing and stop writing so much fan fiction! (but i'm already thinking of a kaz smut drabble so) anyways, comments and reblogs much appreciated, i cry with joy every time someone actively interacts with my work so THANK YOU

[petertingle-yipyip]

BECAUSE OF YOU - KAZ BREKKER

Pairing: kaz brekker x reader

Word Count: 3,741

Summary: Getting through to Kaz Brekker is damn near impossible. One night after a seemingly rough run-in, something brings out a confession in you both. //follow-up//

You’d been in the Dregs for what felt like your whole life. Practically born into it. You always said they raised you, taught you, but that didn’t mean Per Haskell wasn’t going to get his piece. You had a contract with the Barrel boss as soon as you could read and write. That didn’t mean you understood what any of it meant when you signed.

So when you stood in his office, money in your bag to get out of it, it suddenly didn’t feel right. Maybe it was because of your loyalty to the Dregs. They were all you ever had and the tattoo seemed to burn as you thought of leaving. Or maybe it was because it wasn’t Per Haskell in that seat.

“What business?” Kaz asked without sparing you much of a glance.

His voice snapped you from your daze but your mouth felt dry. You swallowed and had to refrain from reaching for your bag. The hardest part of being a thief was the patting of your pockets to ensure you had what you needed. You always felt you had forgotten something so you needed that checklist sometimes.

It makes you an easy mark. Kaz always scolded you. He would tap your hand with the crow’s head of his cane when you started to make the move whenever you two went on jobs. But it didn’t stop him from bringing you with him whenever the Wraith wasn’t available.

“Y/N?” He asked after an extended silence.

You finally met his eyes and he stared intently. You adjusted your bag and dared a step deeper into the office so the door closed behind you.

“I had a deal with Per Haskell.” You began, trying to control your voice, but the way his expression shifted from annoyance to scrutiny told you that you hadn’t. “It was to end my contract. I hope you’ll honor it.”

“Hmm.” He lifted a brow and flipped through some papers, the material of his gloves gliding easily across the thin materials. You used to wonder how he could do everything with the gloves, especially his sleights, but it was one of many mysteries of Kaz Brekker. One of his allures, you supposed. “A fair deal?”

“No.” You smirked slightly. “The old man was desperate when it came to finding you so he took the short stick so I’d help him.”

He tossed your paperwork on the desk and his elbows rested on the surface. He folded his gloved hands and watched intently as you came closer.

“An opportunity you’d be stupid not to take advantage of.” He said simply, as if it was a fact.

You looked down at the papers, your young and messy signature. You saw the scratched out words and numbers, their replacements added with Per Haskell’s initials. You were still surprised that you had worked it out with him.

“I didn’t help him.” You added. He had to have known, even if Inej didn’t tell him. He always knew everything as far as you could tell, or he had a very educated guess at least. “Whenever he asked me to look somewhere I just wandered around.”

“Is that sentiment I hear?” He teased and you glared at him. “If you want out, you can have it. I have no intention of forcing you to stay if you have your own means.”

“Well aware, thank you.” You answered sharply. Did you want him to ask you to stay? Your brain was telling you to do something. Move closer, reach out to him, check your money. But you put a hand over the tattoo under your sleeve instead while you looked back to your contract. “Just seems unreal.” You finally settled on.

“I need a lieutenant, if you’d like reason to stay.” He offered and your eyes snapped back to him. He leaned back in his chair and offered a small shrug. The move was almost defensive, like he’d been caught. “Who else would you suggest I pick?”

“Inej would’ve been your best option.” It was your turn to shrug. “I’d need a new contract.”

“Close out that one and we’ll draw it up.”

“Kaz.”

“Yes?”

You said nothing. The hesitancy had to show in your face because he seemed to soften, a miniscule difference that you’d only notice if you knew to pay attention. And you always paid attention to Kaz.

“I’ll give you a fair deal, Y/N. You’ve earned that much, more than that even.” He said honestly. You felt the flush of your cheeks and stood at the edge of the desk. From there, you could see that his bad leg was stretched out beneath the desk and the crow-topped cane was against the desk beside him. “The choice is yours.”

“I…” You sighed, giving in to the idea and slipping your hand in your bag to your bundle of money.

Kaz smirked and you frowned, knowing you were caught.

“Still?” His brows raised. “Who’s going to rob you here?”

“You. In fact, I’m sure you have at least once.” You deadpanned and then broke into a smile. He nearly returned it. “Your lieutenant, huh?”

“If that’s what you wish.”

“Is that what you wish?”

He stood, leaning a hand against the desk as he came around to stand in front of you. You took an automatic step back. It was drilled into you that Kaz needed his space. You had once put a hand on his arm when you stumbled, your finger just barely finding the small gap between his jacket sleeve and his glove, and he jerked away from you so quick you had almost fallen again. The glare he pinned you with was so intense you kept your eyes down for the rest of the day.

“You…” He let out a deep sigh and his hands flexed. “You are more important here than you know.”

“I’m sure the others can pick up the jobs without me.”

“I don’t mean for jobs.”

“Right…” You nodded slowly before pulling out the stack of money. You held it by the end, pushing your hand forward so he could take it. “It’s all there but feel free to count.”

“I trust you.” He nodded and reached forward.

Gloves fingers grazed yours and you were quick to withdraw your hand. You watched his face for a reaction to the touch but nothing happened. He continued with his movements as if nothing happened, grabbing the contract and skimming it, while you were stiff as a board awaiting his reprimand. When he began to thumb through the money, you relaxed.

Maybe it wasn’t as bad if he initiated the contact. Another mystery.

He split the stack into two uneven portions and handed you the bigger of the two while he dropped the smaller stop the paperwork. Your brows furrowed and you took a small step back.

“What are you-“ You began but he shook his head and silently closed the distance. He grabbed your wrist and put the money in your hand. You had to clench your jaw to keep it from falling open.

“As I said, you’ve earned this.” He said pointedly. He seemed more focused on the words he said than anything else. “I’ll send Haskell his cut and that’ll be that.”

“He’ll be furious.” You reasoned. “He’ll come for me.”

“He won’t.” Kaz insisted, keeping his eyes on yours. “After what happened here, he wouldn’t dare show his face.”

“That doesn’t mean I’d be safe.”

“It’s Ketterdam. No where’s safe.” He shook his head, hands slipping from yours. You almost missed the feeling of his gloves. “At least here, you’ll have people who care about what happens to you.” He leaned onto the desk behind him.

“You mean Jesper and Nina.” You answered, burying the sadness that rose when you knew he likely didn’t include himself in that.

“Everyone here will watch your back, Y/N. As I’ve said, your presence matters here.”

“Will you?” You asked before you could think the question through. “Watch my back, that is.”

“Haven’t I always?”

“You call me a pigeon whenever you can.” You deadpanned again.

“Then stop patting your pockets when we’re on a job.” He retorted and it almost sounded playful.

“I tried!” You exclaimed and threw your hands forward. “I can’t help the dread that I’ve forgotten something.”

The cursed expression that bordered a smile and smirk crossed his features. His arms came across his chest and he leaned closer to you. “What do you say then?”

You chewed your lower lip in thought. You had no real plan as to what to do when you left so would staying be that bad? And it was Kaz asking you to stay, after all. Not Jesper or Nina, not even Inej. Kaz.

“The deal is the deal.” You nodded and he smirked proudly.

That interaction had been years ago. You signed on as Kaz’s lieutenant and you two had been working together in the time since. Inej came through occasionally and when she did, Kaz left you in charge. It was always a bit of a sting when he went off to spend a few days with her, but she was his first love. You knew that much, whether the stubborn bastard would admit it or not.

You also came to learn that Kaz had an overall aversion to physical touch. He admitted to you one night when you two were alone, staking out some target for some heist he had planned. You made an off-hand comment about the gloves or the coat even in summertime and he gave a brief, almost strangled reason. He didn’t say when it started or why it started, just that he’d rather die.

However, you noticed you had won small victories. With a barrier, of course. He offered you his hand to get up from your seat or to climb up or over something. If you two were assuming the role of a couple, he let you put your arm through his. His hand would rest featherlight against your back when you two passed through tight quarters so you wouldn’t be separated. He once even let you put your head on his shoulder when you were holed up in a small room late into the night while you waited for the stadwatch to pass.

Now, you were in his office waiting for his return. Usually you did your work in your own room, but since there were no upcoming jobs, you simply sat in the velvet lounge chair you had convinced him to leave there for you and read a book. It was a fascinating story of demon-hunting nephilim. You were flipping the page quickly and the door slammed open.

You jumped and let the book fall from your hands, flying to your feet. You rested a hand at the knife strapped to your thigh but let out a sigh of relief when it was only Kaz.

“Saints, Kaz.” You laughed in relief. You looked over at him and noticed he had a hand tucked under his jacket and a clench to his jaw that was tighter than usual. “Are you alright?” You asked carefully, daring a step closer.

He stepped in and leaned against the wall, knocking his cane against the door so it would slam shut. With the new privacy, he let the cane clatter to the floor and panted heavily. You were at his side quickly and reached forward to put a hand on his shoulder.

“Kaz?” You tried but he refused to look at you. You took in a quick scan of his injuries. His usually carefully combed hair was aggressively disheveled and falling into his eyes, a dried stream of blood across his chin, a dribbling line from somewhere above his eyebrow. “Go sit and I’ll get my kit.”

He shook his head and you weren’t sure if he was denying the chair or your help, or simply trying to shake off whatever was rattling around in his head. You groaned slightly and grabbed his jacket sleeve. You carefully put his arm over your shoulders and tucked yourself into his side, opposite of the one he clutched tightly. You moved quickly enough that he couldn’t shove you away but you still figured the move would get you in his bad graces.

You spared a glance and saw the dark liquid staining the already dark fabric. You shook your head slightly and began to drag the man across the room. His posture was rigid, his limp more prominent, and you knew you’d get an earful for grabbing onto him but he gave you no choice. You didn’t want to risk him collapsing to the floor or waiting for him to move on his own.

“I’m sorry.” You confessed as you ducked out from under his arm and helped him into the chair. “Just… I didn’t want you to bleed out over there.”

You couldn’t find other words so you left. You hurried to your own room for your kit and practically sprinted back to his office. You locked the door behind you, knowing Kaz would hate for anyone to see him in a vulnerable state. Except for you, it seemed. He trusted you just enough to let you see some of that. Not all of it, you could tell, but enough.

“Can you move your hand?” You asked and you knelt at the side of the chair. You didn’t dare to kneel in front of him.

He winced and moved his hand, which allowed no better view. You reached forward and flicked the material of jacket away, but the fabric of his shirt was already stuck to the wound.

“You’ll have to take your shirt and jacket off.” You said, trying to maintain composure. “The material’s stuck to it. I can’t see anything… Or at least unbutton them.”

Asking Kaz to sit shirtless in front of you was a huge deal. He had his touch aversion, and you respected that, but it bordered on being too intimate. He tensed at your request but his eyes met yours in question. It wasn’t whether or not you were sure. He knew as well as any Dreg that you had the best handiwork when it came to wounds, Grisha aside of course, so if you asked for something like that, it was necessary. The question was more for himself, if he could handle it.

You dropped your eyes to your kit instead. You knew you had to let him come to a decision on his own so you prepped your materials instead. Clean strips of fabric to clean the wound, a sturdy thread looped through a skinny needle, long cloths for bandaging, and a pair of gloves. You slipped your hands into the rubber and flexed your fingers to ensure they fit. The material stuck to your damp skin and you realized your hands were clammy.

You looked back at him cautiously and saw he had unbuttoned his shirt, only moving the side with the wound out of the way. He took a deep breath and held it for a second. You knew you should wait until he said something but judging by the tightness in his jaw, he wouldn’t be saying anything anytime soon. He breathed out and you saw the smallest of nods, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

You reached in carefully, pushing the fabric aside a little further to see the wound. You kept it to the side with one hand and grabbed for the fabric strips with the other. You angled your arm to keep his open shirt back and touched your fingers to his side. His head snapped towards you so fast you feared he’d get whiplash. You could feel his stare in you but you refused to look at him, focusing on clearing the blood for a better view of the wound.

“Snagged a box from a clinic delivery.” You explained. “Had to relearn some things like stitches but I figured…”

“Why?” He asked and the single word seemed to scrape at his throat. Whether it was from the situation or the fight he came from, you weren’t going to ask.

‘Because of you’ you wanted to say. Because you wanted to touch him without triggering a panic attack. Because it was the least you do to show you cared.

“Would you let me do this without them? Besides, it’s cleaner this way…” You shrugged. “If you can pick locks and do sleights with yours, I could learn this. Trust me, it’s nothing.”

“It’s everything.” He nearly whispered.

“Do you wanna tell me what happened?” You tried to keep him talking, hoping it’d keep him distracted so he wouldn’t jolt away from you.

You had the wound clean by then and knew it’d scar, but a few quick stitches would be easy enough.

“No.”

“Okay.”

You swapped the fabric for the needle.

“This’ll sting.” You warned and sat up on your knees for a better angle. You looked up at him for an answer and his eyes were surprisingly softer than you’d ever seen them. “Are you alright?”

You two stared at each other for a moment longer and you recognized what it was. Appreciation.

“Other than that?” His chin dipped towards the slice on his side.

You chuckled slightly and shook your head before turning your focus to the stitches. You had to move relatively slower than usual. It was the first time you had done stitches on a body with gloves. You practiced on your blankets or your clothes. Truthfully, Kaz was the only reason you learned with the gloves.

You could feel him watching your hands. Maybe he was just admiring your intentful movements. Maybe he was thinking about the gloves, thankful for the barrier between his skin and yours. Regardless, he said nothing and neither did you.

When you were done, you swapped again for the longer strip. You offered it to Kaz first.

“Do you want to do it? If you wrap it, I can tie it.”

“No, you can…” He trailed off.

“Okay.” You nodded. “Can you stand?”

He pushed himself up with a grimace. You collected your material and stood, waiting for him to shrug his shirt down his arms. You put one end on the wound and took his hand to hold it in place. You made sure to walk around instead of reaching to maintain his space. When you got to the end, you looped it under one of the layers and tied it in a knot. You tucked the knot and ran a gloved hand over the material quickly to ensure it hadn’t gotten twisted.

“What about your head?” You took a step back. “Does it hurt?”

“Y/N…” He said quietly. Your head cocked in quiet interest and he took your hand in his.

He peeled your glove off, his remaining in place, and held your hand loosely in his. One barrier instead of two, clearly making a difference to him. Your brows furrowed but you bit your tongue to keep any comments to yourself. You feared if you acknowledged it, it would end. He took another deep breath and winced. Whether from the wound or the situation, you didn’t dare ask.

You reached your other gloved hand up and carefully pushed his hair away. You saw the cut on his forehead and frowned slightly.

“It doesn’t need stitches but I could at least clean it.” You offered. “Make sure you’re presentable again.”

He snorted a small laugh, a tight-lipped momentarily smile grazing his lips.

“Presentable… Without a shirt?”

That was your preferred view but you did wonder if Kaz knew that. Did Kaz know that you thought about him in ways you shouldn’t? That you waited to know he was back when you didn’t go with him? That you relearned your techniques with gloves to meet him somewhere in the middle? That you sat in that corner chair, reading a book while he worked, just to be near him?

Did Kaz know you loved him?

“Did you hit your head?” You asked, flicking your gaze to either of his eyes to try and gauge his awareness. “You may be concussed.”

“No, I’m…” He began but his brows furrowed in thought for a moment. “Well, yes, I did, but that’s not- It doesn’t-“ He sighed.

“Just sit down.” You shook your head and gently pushed on his shoulder. He obliged, but there was a hint of a pout on his face.

Kaz Brekker didn’t pout. What was going on with him?

You stood in front of him this time after gathering your materials. You kept them in your ungloved hand and only made contact with him using the covered one. You didn’t dare push or intrude any further than you already had. You cleaned the wound easily enough, but those damn eyes were still wide as they stared at you.

“Are you sure your head’s alright?” You quirked a brow and knelt down in front of him.

“No.” He shook his head. “Not when…”

“Kaz, I don’t know what you’re trying to say.” You sighed and crossed your arms over your upraised knee. “I don’t speak in half sentences.”

“Thank you.” He said instead and your eyes went wide.

“You’re welcome.” You answered carefully. “And I’m sorry I had to push my luck tonight. I had to make sure you’d be alright.”

“The way life goes around here.” He reasoned, forcing a casual tone.

“It’s different.” You muttered.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ll just be thankful you don’t send someone to kill me.” You said instead.

“Not you. Never you.”

“Oh…”

“Y/N, there’s something I need to tell you.” He blurted, as if there was an unseen clock ticking down.

“Okay?”

“I…” He closed his eyes and cursed quietly.

“I love you.” You said quickly without thinking. Your mouth dropped and you smacked your ungloved hand to it. “OhmygodIdidnotjustsaythat.” You mumbled against your own skin.

Kaz’s eyes were wide with shock before he gathered his wits and smiled at you.

A real, honest smile.

Your cheeks burned and you could feel your stomach tightening. You dropped your eyes and scooted away to collect the rest of your kit instead.

“Y/N?” He was leaning over the arm of the chair.

“Kaz?” You answered but your voice was embarrassingly high pitched. If your hands were empty, you would’ve smacked yourself in the forehead.

“I loved you first.”

[rcksmith]

Brick by Brick - Kaz Brekker

Requests: “Heyy, I wanted to request a Kaz Brekker x reader fic where y/n is Pekka Rollins' innocent and naive daughter, and she stumbles across Kaz when he breaks into Pekka's house. Kaz tells her to stay quiet and stuff and y/n obviously has no idea who Kaz is, only that he's handsome as fuck and she kinda falls in love with him despite the fact that he's literally robbing her father

Love, anon :3

P.S. I love your writing.”

Couple: Kaz Brekker/ Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing.

Word count: 2k

A/N: Thank you very much for your kindness and sorry for the delay. I love you. My loves, requests are open and I am banning Kaz's smut request rules. U can ask for anything in the original universe, without being in a UA. I hope you like💕 English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

------------

Ketterdam was not a good place. It wasn't safe, it wasn't pretty, it wasn't healthy. Every dark corner, every ghostly street, every edge whispering curses, was fulfilled the entire list of unholy sins and harbored monsters as horrible as the harbor rats on the coast. If the soil in that place was cursed, the people were demons.

Pekka Rollin’s knew this like he knew how to count kruger. He was one of those monsters. He taught profanity and stained the ground on which his feet walked with innocent blood. Pekka destroyed homes, hopes, kicked people's dreams and hit each one soul with his staff of damnation.

Each one.

Because of it that he kept his daughter under lock and key from the ugly world, far from that wretched city that he himself helped build the horrors and desolations. Maybe it was out of love, maybe it was out of sensitivity. Or maybe it was because you were the only healthy and intelligent heiress capable of leading his empire one day. You represent too many precious things for him to risk losing control over you. Maybe Pekka would never be able to love anything or anyone other than his own greed.

Whatever it was, he covered your eyes to Ketterdam. He decorated the blood-stained walls with sparkling pink and said to you that the smoke that covered the tops of Ketterdam's houses at night was Aladdin's magical fog, which pointed the way to a cave full of treasures, and not that it was the incinerated bodies of his enemies, nosy people and families who starved to death on their land. Pekka deceived you with pretty tales that the big mansion you lived in was because he would always give you the best, and not that it was bought with money stolen from honest people and that he liked to see in material forms the extent of his capabilities of evil. Like a trophy.

Rollin’s wove the ties around your limbs like a cursed puppet, and pulled your strings according to his unscrupulous interests of greed. For all of Ketterdam, Pekka was a demon of the worst kind. But for you, he was a bearded, loving father who made you see magic and romance in every corner of that city condemned by God.

The worst types of monsters were those who tricked and manipulated their children like pawns in a game of chess. But, again, perhaps Pekka wasn't capable of loving anything other than his own greed.  And, if the price for having an heir who agreed, trusted him for the rest of the life, who would follow in his footsteps and obey all his order, was to make you believe in his goodness, in the beauty of a life with him only to implant wonderful - and illusory -  memories in your childhood, so be it. After all, you were a girl, and in his view, girls were sentimental. So how would you go against him in the future, or not act according to his orders or not run his business as he wanted when he was too old, if you only had memories of him being an excellent and loving father? You will feel so guilty! You would fall under the weight of your own mind's arguments that everything he once did was to protect and give you the best, so your only obligation would be to be a good girl and return the favor by obeying your father's orders.

Loyalty.

Maybe, if you were someone else and this was a different story, you would have realized the hoax at 16 years old. Maybe you would have born with a strong, inquisitive and responsive personality. Maybe you would have developed that spark and fire that wouldn't let you lower your head to any man, that would make you stamp your foot on the ground, lift your chin with petulance and unravel the mysteries of that dark empire alone and take justice into your own hands.

But this was no different story. And you were just you.

You were born with a sweet aura and gentle personality. You liked butterflies and flowers since birth because their color and beauty attracted you and made you smile. Your romantic nature was not only accepted by your father, but encouraged and recharged every day - for his dark game. 

For 19 years you lived in the theatrical farce that Pekka created with monstrous hands, believing and agreeing with every story in your bubble. But the blame can never fall on the shoulders of the pure in heart, who blindly believed in words and stories just because it didn't have a single wave of malice or disbelief in the veins. One should never condemn the soul that was born naturally sweet and destined to be the breath of light that such a terrible world as Ketterdam needed. 

 You believed in love, fairy tales and pure honesty, and that was not a defect. The Herculean guilt should fall on the shoulders of the devil who abused the innocence of a girl for his greedy benefit.

In your perfect world manipulated and distorted by the unscrupulous Pekka, you blossomed like a dazzling lily in the middle of Plato's allegory of The Cave. You acted with honesty, patience and affection towards everyone who crossed your path: employees, cooks, gardeners, bakers, painters, stylists, delivery people, friends of your father.

You were, genuinely, a kind soul. Your interests were related to literature, cooking and painting, your heart vibrated with the sunset, with the first snowflake falling to the ground and how twilight seemed even more stunning in books when they portrayed a couple in love beneath it.

You always saw the poetic, lyrical, angelic side of life, with the eyes of an artist and a passionate soul, smelling mystery and romance in the air when others only smelled wet grass because of the rain.

And being like that was, perhaps, the reason for your downfall.

It was three o'clock in the morning on a Friday the thirteenth. A combination so full of superticities, curses, fears and prague. While some saw that day and time as a condemned and satanic sign, you saw it as something mystical, mysterious and enigmatic. And maybe that was your mistake. Maybe you should be careful about the things you think, the things you wish. Maybe three in the morning on a Friday really was the devil's time. Because as you crossed the hallway of the mansion's library, unable to sleep, you saw him.

Dressed in black like the darkness outside. Skin as white as the moon's glow. Hair personified as a raven's feathers. He seemed to belong to the mysteries and occultism of the world as sin belonged to hell. The huge Victorian window behind illuminated him like an apparition, a mirage, a nightmare…an erotic dream. Or like a demon.

You should have screamed. You should have ran away. You should have done something other than get stuck in that same place, anything other than feeling inside you squirms and something sinks into your belly like warm honey.

His eyes, as blue as the deadly waters of icy Fjerda, were fixed on you with as much intensity as the dangers of Shadow Fold. For a split second, a human emotion passed through those irises; surprise?

An inattentive observer would not have noticed such a tiny sign, but you lived 19 years analyzing every detail of life.

Would a demon have such a mundane emotion?

“Who are you?” Your voice came out like a breath in winter. 

Your concentration should have been on your dad book under that man's arm, but it wasn't.

A single thick, black eyebrow of his was arched, and only there were you able to run your eyes over the details of his appearance.

“Do you always ask questions for thieves?” His voice was like the scratching of sand on a stone, like a withered willow branch brushing against human skin.

That man, in his entirety, seemed to have come out of the dark romance books that you read hidden in your room in the early hours of the morning. You should have focused on the fact that he just called himself a thief, not the way your soul seemed to be shivering because of his voice.

“Or you´re just stupid?” the thief continued.

Kaz never made decisions based on fear. Only in despair. 

His analytical mind rewound every step of the years he spent investigating Pekka Rollin's; every detail, every day, every season, every strand of gray that appeared in Pekka's red hair. Where had Kaz gone wrong? Pekka had no children. And Kaz made no mistakes. Never. But the girl in front of him, too curious for her own good and common sense, had too similar traits to Pekka to be anything other than his daughter.

Desperation hit.

This made EVERYTHING infinitely more Herculaneum. Your existence meant that Pekka had many more secrets than the Kaz discovered in their constant meticulous investigation. You were a loophole, and that meant there could be others. Loopholes that Kaz had no idea about. Kaz Brekker felt naked, even though he was covered from toes to neck. Being without clothes wouldn't have bothered him any more than the damn fact that he hadn't come up with the perfect plan. He failed. And that disturbed him deeply.

Suddenly, that library seemed sneaky and questionable, even though Brekker had studied the layout of the mansion for months.

How the fuck did he didn't have the knowledge about that girl?!

A daughter meant many things. But being caught by his daughter created a LOT of problems. Problems involving Kaz Brekker on a gallows.

Fucking hell.

The Barril's bastard waited for a scream, for an accusation, waited for the guards to be alerted at any moment and…the silence was sepulcher. A silence so solemn that he heard the sound of his own blood running through his veins. None of his muscles relaxed, but the part of his brain that worked in despair was activated.

Or he could kill you. But a body would add an extreme problem and…

‘’Who are you?’’ Your voice was so feminine that for a second Kaz thought he had fallen backwards and landed in a bed of roses.

Which was bullshit. Because he never falls. And he had never touched a rose in his entire life

Were you really talking to the man who was robbing your house?! Where was your instinct?! Your common sense?! Your discernment?! And where, by the damned Saints, were you all these years?

“…you don’t look like a thief’ That voice again. That damn voice that made him think of roses he never touched.

Why didn't you shut up and run away?

“Have you seen enough thieves to know one?” Normally Kaz had higher control, but he couldn't hold back his whip tongue, which seemed somehow wanting to hurt you the same way he was being hurt.

That atypical creature blushed. You blushed! For the love of the saints! Who blushes face to face with imminent danger?! Were you stupid or just terribly naive?! And why did that sweet blush remind him once again of a rose?

Bloody hell, where have you been all these years?! Why didn't anyone tell him about you?!

“No’’ you replied like a little animal being caught biting the sofa “but common thieves wouldn’t have that much intelligence to be able to bypass the security of this entire mansion’’

You had a point. But why were you worried about arguing with a damn thief instead of running away?

“That's yet another reason why you should keep your mouth shut about what you're seeing here.” His voice dropped to deeper, more threatening tones. “Bypass security is not as difficult for me, just like hiding a body''

That should have scared you. It made you scared; but with less than it really should. He was threatening you with death, his voice as cold and hoarse as a grim reaper, his eyes as serious as prophecies of the apocalypse. So why you could only think that this about him was overwhelmingly enthralling?

Maybe it was because there was a lack of excitement in your life, maybe it was because you've read a lot of erotic books about mysterious men entering the towers at night and taking the girl away, or maybe it was because Pekka deprived you of the world so much that he left you unaware of the true gravitas of situations. Whatever it was, there was something that grounded you like the roots of ancient trees, something that made you want to look at that thief more closely. Perhaps you liked the danger... That nameless man represented a large part of all the danger of Ketterdam that was so diligently hidden from you for 19 years. He represented death. But he also represented the new, the mystery, the unknown. And you, romantic by nature, loved the occult and its secrets. That man came from a world of shadows, mists, risks, deaths. Where every night was full of adrenaline and every second was a fight to stay alive. He smelled like the ghostly five a.m. fog that you watched envelop the mansion every winter, that made your heart clench with the feeling that there was so much more to the world than you knew. Very quickly, Kaz - even though you didn't know his name yet - became everything you'd always wanted to know, but had always been deprived of.

Once again, you weren't a different person to know about Pekka's disgusting game, but you were romantic enough to feel your soul begging for adventure. Even if these adventures meant ruin. A downfall.

Did it only take one handsome, mistery man for you to throw all your comfort in life out the window and want to ruin yourself with him? Want to get lost with him? The same stranger who just threatened to kill you? Apparently, yes.

You took a step into the library, and Kaz stood firm on the ground, his blue eyes boring into yours like a shining knife. Brekker thought you were extremely naive. Who knew that damn Pekka Rollin's daughter would be so pure? He would bet the Crow Club on the certainty that, if Pekka saw you now, he would have a heart attack. The monster sure had kept you in a little pink bubble your entire life, given that you seemed to not have a single ounce of survival instinct left in you. And how would you have? You certainly didn't know what pain, loss, hunger, cruelty were. This was comical and irritating to Brekker. You were a daddy's little girl. But it was in these waters of thought that his ship hit one fact: you must be very valuable to Pekka. Because otherwise that idiot wouldn't have made so many efforts to hide you from the entire world. To hide the wrong eyes from you. Eyes like Kaz's.

A shiver ran through Brekker's body; a damn good chill, a note of music he'd been waiting to hear his whole life. Revenge.

Brick by brick.

Oh, how ironic fate was. The boy who lost everything at Pekka's hands, was face to face with what was everything for the man. Like a breaking violin string, you have become the most valuable item in all of Ketterdam to be stolen. The most valuable item for Kaz Brekker.

The corner of his mouth turned up, as if pulled by the devil's rope as he set the book down again. He had something else to take away.

Kaz advanced towards yoou. And suddenly, as fast as lightning that cuts through the darkness, everything in your vision turned black and you fell into the abyss of unconsciousness as something pressed against your nose and mouth.