#shadow and bone x reader

[rubysunnday]

to leave you behind

a/n: let's not talk about how long its been or the fact this is likely (maybe) the last time i'll write for s&b...

summary: reader takes jurda parem instead of nina and kaz is losing it

To Y/N, they'd all accepted their imminent deaths far too easily. They'd done the impossible, they'd broken into the Ice Court. They were not about to die in a tank, a few hundred metres from the Ferolind and freedom.

She glanced over at Kaz. They'd hardly spoken since he'd fainted in the prison wagon. He'd been avoiding her gaze whenever they'd been together and barely acknowledging her existence.

Y/N was growing tired of it. She loved him, she'd come to accept that truth whilst wafting through the crowds at the Ice Court. Perhaps, deep down, hidden and suppressed, he loved her too.

But she had been waiting for too long. Her heart was aching and her mind was tired of the not knowing, of the constant hatred and love all at once.

Y/N looked from Kaz to the rest of their group. She loved them all in different ways. She trusted them all and knew that she'd gladly die for them all.

Which made the next decision that bit easier.

She turned to Kuwei. He noticed her gaze and looked back at her. Y/N didn't speak. The boys eyes widened.

"You don't understand -"

"I understand, Kuwei," Y/N said softly.

Kuwei reached into his pocket and pulled out the little leather pouch that had begun this whole heist.

"Y/N, what are you -" Kaz trailed off as his eyes fell upon the pouch, its rim stained with a rust-coloured powder.

"You're all out of tricks, Kaz," Y/N said, taking the pouch from Kuwei. She shrugged, a sad smile on her face. "What else is there?"

"No, Y/N, don't be ridiculous," Inej warned.

"Personally I think this is my greatest idea yet," Y/N replied, trying to hide her shaking hands. "Besides, not everyone gets addicted after the first dose."

"You can't risk it, Y/N!" Inej exclaimed.

"No, Y/N, she's right, it's not worth it," Nina said. "I'll do it."

"No," Matthias said, shaking his head furiously.

Y/N laughed tiredly. "I have no one to fight for me, Nina," she said softly, trying not to look at Kaz. "You do."

The voice echoed out from amongst the Fjerdan ranks, counting down, getting ever closer to the end. Y/N took a deep breath in. She mentally counted to three and then turned to look at Kaz.

She was aware of everyone else around them trying not to look. Y/N shifted her weight from right to left, bringing herself closer to Kaz. Their elbow brushed.

Y/N raised her hand and gently placed it against Kaz's cheek. She let her thumb trail over his cheekbone. He flinched, his eyes closing tightly. Y/N swallowed the disappointment.

"I expect ten percent of your cut for this, Kaz," she whispered.

Before anyone could realise what was happening, before Kaz could ground himself back into reality, Y/N tipped the parem into her mouth, forcing herself to swallow it in one stodgy swallow.

Instantly, her blood began to thrum, power surging through it, the fire making it grow hotter. She could hear her heartbeat, pounding away over and over and over again. Her cheeks were burning, sweat was running down the back of her neck.

Her fire was screaming to be released. All it needed was one spark.

No.

It didn't need any spark.

Y/N could feel it at her fingertips. It throbbed.

Her gaze moved across the Fjerdan soldiers. She could feel the gunpowder waiting to be lit. She could hear the pistols being loaded and cocked. She could feel the flicker of the flames dancing off the torches they held.

She tilted her head to the left. She focused her gaze on a bomb filled with gun powder.

Her fingers snapped. The fire shot across the space between them and hit the fuse, burning it up in seconds.

The bomb exploded.

Orange light lit up her face, she could feel the heat burning her skin. It was thrilling.

Everything was burning around her and Y/N could still feel fire burning through her veins, desperate to be released into the night.

Y/N took a deep breath in, letting the cold air burning her nose as she did so. As she exhaled, fire flowed from her fingers, lighting up the sky as it soared across and over the soldiers, sending them all scattering to the sides and into the water.

"Drive," Y/N said softly, looking ahead, staring at the fire as it burnt its way along the ground.

Kaz looked at her, a hint of fear in his eyes.

In the middle of the True Sea, there was no fire. Y/N's desire to burn the whole world to the ground had faded to a dull ache. Instead, it'd been replaced be a reluctant sense of acceptance for what was to come.

She was sat on the main deck of the boat, her legs dangling over the edge. It was quiet out here. Everyone seemed to be avoiding her and, when they did run into her, giving her pitiful looks.

Y/N sighed, tilting her head back, letting the ocean spray hit her skin.

"I'm presuming you can't just burn it out your system."

She didn't even react. "No. I'll be burning myself from the inside out."

Kaz stepped forward and pivoted on his heel so he had his back to the railing. He leant backwards, holding his cane loosely in his hand.

"I won't take anymore," Y/N said quietly.

"I wasn't going to mention it," Kaz replied.

"Then why are you here?" Y/N asked, turning her head so that she was looking at him.

Kaz didn't speak. He didn't acknowledge that Y/N had spoken for a while. Eventually, he looked down at her.

"I wanted to talk before it begun."

Y/N nodded, turning back to look at the water churning as they passed. "I fear you're too late."

Kaz glanced down. Her hand rested on the railings, shaking even as it sat there.

As the sun rose, the aches set in. Everything hurt, from her jaw to her toes. All Y/N could do was lie there, shaking, trying not to cry. Inej sat with her for a few hours, her cold fingers combing through her hair, massaging the back of her neck.

Nina, they had decided, was going to be a last resort. If she absolutely had to, she would lower Y/N's heartbeat enough that she went into a coma, allowing her body to work through the drug without causing her too much pain.

Every candle on the ship had been extinguished. Y/N could feel them burning even if they were the other end of the ship from her.

A few hours later, her skin began to burn. She lay on the bed, wearing the thinnest shirt she could find, unable to tolerate anything else touching her. All the blankets had been thrown to the side and her shirt was soaked in sweat. Y/N kept her eyes shut, trying to fall asleep, trying to pretend that what was happening to her wasn't happening.

When the tremors began, Matthias was sat beside her. In her delirous state she'd vaguely realised that they were all taking turns to sit with her, to watch her.

They're waiting for you to die.

"Do you need me to get Nina?" Matthias asked, gently dabbing her sweat covered forehead with a wet cloth.

Y/N shook her head. "No... not, not yet."

"Do you -"

"No," Y/N said, clutching her hands into fists. "No, I can't fall down into it, I can't Matthias, I can't."

"Okay, okay," Matthias whispered, dipping the cloth back into the water and then placing it back on her forehead.

Y/N didn't remember Matthias leaving. One minute he was next to her, the next he was gone and -

"Kaz?" Y/N whispered, turning her head to look at him.

"Y/N."

He'd undressed to just his shirt sleeves, rolling them up to his elbows. He still had his gloves on and his cane was resting against the wall next to him. But he was there.

"Why... what -"

"We're taking turns," Kaz said, his voice hoarse and quiet. "It was mine."

Y/N smiled but, as she did so, the aches overwhelmed her. Her bones felt like they might burst through her skin and her head was pounding, being squeezed through a vice. Her skin was burning, her face was on fire.

She groaned, arching her back as she tried to escape the pain, to free her sweat covered back from the mattress.

A cold hand landed on her arm, pushing her back onto the bed. Y/N groaned, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her heart was pounding, she could hear it.

"Kaz, I can't - can't do this, I can't -"

"Don't give up," Kaz said, leaning forward. His hands were bare, holding her arm down and combing through her hair. "Don't, promise me."

"I can't, Kaz, I can't," Y/N sobbed. "Please, please just -"

"No, don't you dare," Kaz replied, his voice firm. "You're not dying on my watch, Y/N."

Y/N cried, her back arching again, her nails digging into her palm.

The door opened. Kaz looked over, watching as Nina quietly walked in.

"I could hear her heartbeat getting faster," Nina replied, shutting the door behind her. "I wanted to check..."

Kaz looked back at Y/N. He turned to Nina. "Please, Zenik," he said quietly. "Just do it."

Nina stepped forward and sat on the edge of the bed. She took her wrist and pressed her fingers to her pulse point.

"Kaz," Y/N said, whimpering. "Kaz?"

"I'm here," he said, leaning forward. "I'm here."

"Stay till the end," she whispered, her tremors slowing down, her eyes growing unfocused.

"Y/N -"

"Promise me."

"I promise you," Kaz whispered, hand stroking her hair back from her face. He watched her eyes close as Nina gradually slowed her heart down. Y/N's eyes closed and her grip on Kaz's hand weakened, her body going limp as Nina put her body into a coma.

Kaz held tight to Y/N's hand. "I'm not going anywhere, Y/N."

[spider-stark]

EVERYTHING

Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary - Kaz Brekker doesn't make any sense—and trying to understand him is getting to be exhausting.

Warnings - fem!reader, reader worked at a brothel, subtle hints at past abuse, some major dog / master symbolism idfk, mentions of blood/weapons, close proximity, could deviate some from canon, based more on book!kaz than show, NOT EDITED SO IF THERE'S A TYPO IDK

Word Count - 3.8k

!MINORS DNI!

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

“Touch me.” 

You’ve only just slipped inside Kaz Brekker’s room at the Slat, and you’re convinced you’ve misheard him. The door’s still cracked, after all—and the mindless clamor of those playing cards down in the foyer is loud enough to play tricks on anyone’s ears. 

You push the door shut, habit making you click the lock into place before spinning around to face him. “Pardon?” 

The lanterns burn low, dim light chasing shadows across the spacious attic. Kaz stands over by his desk, leaning his weight against the edge in lieu of his cane. He’s dragging a gloved hand through his hair, looking uncharacteristically flustered. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t hear me,” he snaps. 

Your laugh comes out breathy and awkward. “We both know I’m a shit actor, Brekker.” 

It’s why you’re never picked when the Dreg’s need a decoy—some girl to saddle up next to a sleazy merchant or another hapless mark, distracting them with batted lashes and a well-timed hand on their thigh. In Jesper’s words, you’re so socially inept that you’d probably blow the operation before it even got started.

To your dismay, Kaz doesn’t repeat himself. With his gaze carefully pinned to the tops of his black boots, he demands, “Why are you here?” 

Your brow quirks. “At the Slat?” 

“In my room.” 

The answer eludes you. Why did you come up here? It’s not like tonight was the first time Dirtyhands has ever skipped out on playing Blackjack with the rest of the group, and yet he’d caught your attention when he slipped from the foyer and went limping up the stairs. 

Then again, that’s not so surprising. Kaz always catches your eye, doesn’t he? 

In the year since you joined the Dregs, you’d earned an unfortunate nickname for yourself around the Barrel: The Bastard’s Pet. Wherever Kaz Brekker goes, you’re sure to be hot on his heels, following after him like a dog, loyal and clingy. 

You tell yourself it’s because that’s your job—to keep Kaz safe, to watch his six. But the devil’s got eyes in the back of his head, and you know Kaz Brekker doesn’t really need protection. 

So, it begs the question: Why are you here? In his room, at the Slat, as a member of the Dregs? Why does he keep you around? 

Unsure of the answer, you simply avoid giving one. 

“You should play games with them sometimes,” you tell him, giving a subtle nod over your shoulder. Their voices are muffled now, but you can still hear everyone downstairs exchanging jeers as they shuffle another round. “It makes you look like a recluse, always sneaking off to be by yourself.” 

Kaz drums one finger against the desk. It’s an erratic beat, following no set rhythm. “I am a recluse,” he grinds out. 

You almost snort. Clearly. 

It’s not like anyone joins a gang with the hopes of making friends—and none of the Dregs are dumb enough to think they’ll find a buddy in the infamous Dirtyhands, anyway. Still, you don’t think it’d kill him to try being a little more sociable. 

The others would like having him around. 

You like having him around. 

“I’ll ask one more time.” Dark eyes flick up, heavy as stones when they land on yours. Suddenly, the large attic feels awfully claustrophobic. “Why are you here?” 

A lie comes easily enough, slipping right through your teeth. 

“I got bored playing,” you tell him. “And Jesper’s cheating, anyway.” 

“They’re all cheating,” Kaz points out. 

“But Jesper’s bad at it,” you argue. Lifting a shoulder, you add, “It ruins the fun.” 

His finger falls still against the desk, ceasing its rhythmless beat. Warm light flickers all around him, dark shadows dancing over the harsh angles of his face. You watch his jaw tick, note the subtle curl of his upper lip. You’re overcome with the distinct feeling that you’re staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. 

Probably because you are. 

You’ve seen this face before. Been the one to clean the bloody mess left behind by whoever was unfortunate enough to find themselves on the receiving end of it. Now, as the one standing in the line of fire, you feel your stomach start to twist. 

You tell yourself it’s dread. Anxiety for what’s to come. 

“From where I was standing,” Kaz grinds out, his stare unflinching, “you looked to be having plenty of…” A sharp breath, his tongue gliding over pearly teeth. “Fun.” 

There’s something hidden in the word. A meaning that goes well beyond its dictionary definition. Is it a challenge? A dare, maybe? Or—perhaps the most unlikely of the options—some sort of plea? 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” you ask, finally daring a step closer, slowly drifting from the closed door. 

Kaz shakes his head. “It means what it means.” 

As you draw closer, he moves around the desk and takes a seat. He stretches his bad leg out in front of him, mindlessly rubbing a hand down toward his knee. It’s always bothering him by this point in the night. 

“Go back downstairs.” An order—not a suggestion. 

Across from him now, you place both palms on his desk. The smooth wood is cool against your skin, though the rest of you feels impossibly warm. It’s a side effect of standing too close to him, you think. The flushed cheeks and the vice around your lungs, always leaving your mind fuzzy and your pulse erratic. 

You hate him for it, sometimes. For the effect he has on you. 

“Why?”  you ask, riding out your little bold streak. “So you have a reason to gripe some more about me having fun?” 

“I’m not griping,” Kaz shoots back, very evidently griping. 

“Griping, carping, quibbling, or complaining—doesn’t matter how you word it, all of 'em fit you to a T right now, Brekker.” 

He’s not looking at you anymore, focused instead on the swirling patterns of the wood grain or the neat stack of papers or anything else that gives him an excuse to keep his head low. A month or so after you joined the Dregs, Kaz told you that you had a talent for getting under his skin. Maybe that’s why you don’t need to be able to see his face to know just how annoyed he looks. 

“Go downstairs.” 

“I will,” you vow. “After you explain what you meant.” 

Frustrated, he insists, “There’s nothing to explain.” 

“What did you say when I came in?” 

“Go downstairs.” 

You throw your hands up. “If you won’t tell me what you said, then at least explain why ‘fun’ is such a problem!” 

“Go. Down. Stairs.” 

“Make me.” 

Wood screeches, the chair flying back as he shoots to his feet. The stiffness in his leg makes the movement a little clumsy, and you don’t miss the subtlest flash of a wince before he leans against the desk. 

“Do you know why I brought you in?” 

For a moment, it’s all you can do to blink at him. Because, no—you don’t know why Kaz offered you a place with the Dregs. 

You’re not a sharpshooter like Jesper or a trained Grisha like Nina, not as smart as Wylan or as silent as Inej. You’re decent when it comes to sleight-of-hand and slightly above average with a blade, but even those skills are ones you’ve only learned since joining the gang. 

Back when you first met Kaz, you were nothing and no one. An unlucky girl roped into an indenture with Pekka Rollins, forced to work out of the Sweet Shop—the nastiest, most dangerous brothel in all of Ketterdam. 

“Because you’re secretly a big softie with a heart of gold?” You hope your sarcasm is enough to mask the twinge of shame brought on by your past. 

But Kaz is too good for that. Nothing gets past him—evident by the tiny wrinkle of concern that forms between his dark brows, instantly picking up on the faint dip in your tone. 

Fortunately for you, being observant doesn’t equate to being consoling, and so he doesn’t mention it. 

“Because you didn’t make me sick,” he answers, low and even. You’re not so sure if it’s an insult or compliment, and before you get a chance to ask, Kaz continues, “It was late. And raining. I’d just finished teaching a Razorgull lackey what happens when you breach parley. He was a real bleeder—made a mess of my suit. I ended up leaving him for Jesper to deal with. Thought I’d avoid eyes by sticking to the shadows, walking in the alleys behind the brothels.” Your eyes must be betraying you, because you almost think that’s a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “Imagine my surprise when a runaway harlot nearly knocked a helpless cripple like me off his feet.” 

You bite your cheek, still deciding if you want to slap him for calling you a harlot or laugh in his face. In spite of his limp and cane, Kaz Brekker is far from what you’d consider helpless. 

“So, what? You had me join the Dregs because I nearly bulldozed you in an alley?” That whole night was spotty for you, the panic you’d felt having rendered your memory foggy and incomplete. 

“Inej had told me about you,” Kaz says. “That Pekka Rollins got a new girl—an escape artist, always trying her luck at running away.” 

You didn’t know that, but maybe you should have. Inej isn’t the best spider in the Barrel without reason. She knows everything—and all she knows is reported directly to Kaz. Even so, you’re not sure you’re catching his point with all this. 

As if he can see you trying to mentally connect the dots, Kaz says, “Maybe I had another purpose in walking behind those brothels. Maybe I wanted to see just how quick on her feet Pekka Rollins’ escape artist was.” His head tilts slightly. “Or maybe I just didn’t want anyone to see me when I wasn’t looking my best. Either way, I left that alley knowing you’d be a part of my crew.” 

Your memory of that night may be spotty, but the one after is still crystal clear. A Suli spider had crawled through your window at the Sweet Shop, told you that Per Haskell was willing to pay a very hefty sum to buyout your indenture if you agreed to work for the Dregs. To this day, you’re still unsure of how Kaz managed to convince him you were worth it—or why he bothered. 

“You’re not making any sense, Brekker,” you admit, rubbing at your temple. A headache burrows there, seeming to grow worse with every minute. “Is that why you wanted me for the Dregs, then? Cause I’m… fast?” 

It sounds stupid. It is stupid. 

You’re no faster than anyone else—and you certainly hadn’t been fast enough to outrun Pekka Rollins’ goons. Everytime you made a run from the Sweet Shop, they dragged you right back, kicking and screaming the whole way. 

“No.” Kaz sighs. Drags a hand through his hair, tugging at the dark locks. “I wanted you-”

Kaz doesn’t finish that thought. 

A violent CRASH! steals your attention. Both of your heads snap toward the closed door, listening intently for any sign of danger.

Instead, you hear Jesper’s boisterous cackle chime. Wylan starts shouting about something indiscernible—vase, shattered, and moron among the words you catch.

A smile sneaks up on you. 

But, when you turn back to Kaz, it’s promptly wiped away. 

He looks like he’s had a lemon rind forced into his mouth, scowling at the door. “What’s going on with you and Van Eck?” 

You blink. “What?” 

“You heard me.” 

You did—but hearing him is a far stretch from understanding him, and it’s seemed like Kaz has been talking in circles since you came in. What’s Wylan have to do with any of this? 

“I don’t get what you’re asking.” 

“Stop making me repeat myself.” 

“Then stop being so confusing, Brekker!” you huff, crossing your arms. “I don’t understand-”

Kaz cuts you off with a look. Cold as death, he grinds out, “Are you fucking him?” 

Shock. Confusion. 

They course through you in equal measure, coupled with slight amusement. The latter must show on your face, because Kaz’s scowl deepens before he looks down at his desk, pretending to fiddle with something. 

“I have work to do,” he says stiffly. “Go downstairs.” 

Your feet stay firmly planted, the desk’s width all that separates the two of you. “Why would you think that?” 

Of all the assholes and degenerates in the Dregs, Wylan’s probably the closest you have to a real friend. It came with the territory—both of you having become newbies around the same time, trying to learn the ropes and fit in. 

You’re not fucking him, though. 

Kaz sinks back into his chair. His usually-squared shoulders curve slightly, as if some weight is pressing down on them. “Go downstairs.” 

“I thought you didn’t like repeating yourself?” you ask, almost taunting. 

“Go.” The word strains between his teeth. “Now.” 

For no good reason, you make a stand. Stare down the barrel of the gun, unafraid and unrelenting. How strange, you think. The tightness in your chest has never once been apprehension. 

It was excitement. Anticipation. 

You’ve always liked getting under his skin. Finding out what makes him tick, figuring out which words earn the sharpest glares. You want him to pull the trigger, if only because it means you have his attention—and like a dog waiting at its master’s feet, you could care less if it comes with an open hand or a closed fist. 

So long as it comes. So long as he notices you. 

“What did you say when I came in?” You uncross your arms, make yourself stand up tall. “Tell me.” 

Dark eyes shoot up. Kaz almost looks shocked, the dull echo of emotion creasing the lines of his face, parting his lips. You wait, but no sound comes out. 

Dirtyhands is used to giving orders. Not taking them. 

“You’ve heard what they say about me.” You wave a dismissive hand toward the shoddy window overlooking the Barrel. “Brekker’s Pet. Always with you, always following you around! Ask any sod in Ketterdam and they’ll say the same—the only way I’d have time to fuck someone is if you were in the room!” And even then, it wouldn’t be Wylan. 

A steel rod takes the place of Kaz’s spine, turning your words over in his head. “Fine. Maybe you haven’t,” he relents. “But you want to.” 

It’s a gamble. An unusually shitty one, at that. 

You blow out an exasperated breath. This whole thing is getting old. “Saints, Kaz. What’s your deal?” 

He opens his mouth. Shuts it. Then opens it again. 

“I saw you downstairs,” he says. “Touching Van Eck.” 

Your brows lift, fists clenching. You don’t know what you expected from him, but it certainly hadn’t been a bold-faced lie! 

But then you start thinking of the moments before you saw Kaz head upstairs, laughing and playing Blackjack before you folded your hand to follow after him. You’d been sitting cross-legged on the threadbare rug, wedged between Wylan and Raske, when you noticed—Shit. 

Kaz is right, and that makes you want to scream. Why is Kaz always right? 

It was after you noticed Jesper was cheating, that he’d poorly marked the deck with daub; a sticky, ash-colored substance. You’d leaned in close to point it out to Wylan—your hand against his forearm, your lips dangerously close to the Merchling’s ear. After he noticed the marks, you both exchanged quiet giggles over just how bad Jesper was at swindling. 

Still, there had been nothing sexual about it. Nothing between you and Wylan. 

But, even if there was, why would Kaz care? 

I saw you—touching Van Eck. His words race through your mind, pulsing in time with the dull ache in your temple. Touch me, touch me, touch me. 

All of a sudden, the fog begins to clear. Something in your memory clicks. 

That night behind the brothels—when you were running from the Sweet Shop, when Kaz had been drenched in the blood of some Razorgull. Barefoot and frantic, you really had almost knocked him off his feet. Gloved hands had held your arms tight, keeping you still. His hair had been messy and your mind a blur—and when you’d seen the crimson smeared across his cheek, you hadn’t thought twice before wiping it away. 

You’d done what so few have. You had touched Kaz Brekker, skin-on-skin. 

Because you didn’t make me sick. 

When you don’t speak, Kaz shifts in his chair. Straightens an already-neat stacks of papers. “You won’t try and deny it?” he asks. 

Maybe you imagine the quaver in his voice. Or maybe you don’t. 

Either way, you start around his desk. Your every step is slow—cautious. 

You stop beside him, and Kaz shifts again. You’re standing closer than you’d usually dare to get, so close that you can hear it when he swallows. 

“You should go downstairs,” he tells you, lower than before. 

Your head tilts, hair shifting over one shoulder. “Is that what you want?” 

His answer hides in silence so thick it’s a tangible presence. It curls around you, makes gooseflesh prickle along your skin. Your mouth feels dry, your stomach like it’s tied in knots. 

Suddenly, you don’t need him to repeat what he’d said. 

As always, Kaz was right—you'd heard him the first time. 

“Ask me again.” The words drip from your tongue, an order and a plea. “Ask me and I’ll do it.” 

Kaz gives you a look, one you’ve never seen before. Dark eyes rove over you, brimming with worry and stress and—and Saints, a sense of desire so strong it makes your toes curl in your boots, a feeling like lightning coursing up your spine. 

In a voice like stone on stone, raspy and urgent, Kaz breathes out, “Touch me.” 

So you do. 

You cup his face, graze your thumb over his cheekbone. Kaz stiffens, swallowing once more—but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t try to pull away. 

“You know, to be such a bastard,” you start, a note of teasing in your voice, “you’re awfully pretty, Brekker.” 

Heat blooms against your palm, a deep blush crawling over his pale cheeks. 

“Shut up,” Kaz grumbles. 

You grin. “Want me to go downstairs?” 

A gasp rips from your throat as a gloved hand clamps around your wrist, Kaz pulling you down toward him. Anxiety still tightens his features, but beneath it he looks all too pleased with himself when you stumble clumsily into his lap. 

For the sake of comfort, you adjust your legs—careful for his bad one—and settle your arms over his shoulders. Then, when it fully settles that you’re straddling Kaz-fucking-Brekker, it gets a lot harder to breathe. 

“Should I take that as a no?” It sounds like a pant, your lungs constricting. 

He lifts the hem of your shirt, the feel of leather cool against your skin as Kaz jabs a finger into your side. “Do I always have to repeat myself around you?” he asks. Dark eyes dip past your jaw, his tongue gliding over his lips. You don’t think he actually cares to hear your answer, which is good—because you’re pretty sure you just forgot how to speak. 

Kaz drags his finger up the curve of your waist, his touch tentative and featherlight. It feels a lot like being studied—the way his dark brows knit together, staring at you as if you’re a magic trick he’s yet to master, a puzzle he hasn’t quite figured out. 

“It’s not because you’re fast,” he says, somewhat distracted. It takes a minute for you to realize that he’s referring to your earlier question—Is that why you wanted me for the Dregs, then? 

“Good,” you manage. “Because I’m not.” 

The slightest twitch of a smile. “No.” He takes his time tracing over every divet in your ribs, slowly trailing up, up, up. “You’re not.” 

“But I didn’t make you sick.” You’re not prepared for the wave of sickness that comes with the reminder, stomach roiling. 

The Bastard’s Pet. Is that truly all you are? All you’re worth to the Dregs? Useless at saddling up next to sleazy merchants, but good enough to curl up at Kaz Brekker’s feet. 

As if he can read your mind, Kaz’s hand goes still against your side. “Wipe that sour look off your face, would you? If I only wanted you to touch me, I would’ve just come to the Sweet Shop instead of getting my ass chewed by Haskell.”

You wiggle just enough to knock one knee into his hip, glaring at him. Both of you pretend not to notice the catch in his breath—or the growing hardness straining against his trousers, pressed against your core. 

Gruff, Kaz continues, “You were in an alley and saw a man dripping with blood, and your first thought was to reach out and clean his cheek.” His head shakes, a strand of coal-black hair swaying near his temple. “It was ignorant,” he tells you. “And… decent. Innocent.” 

You almost laugh. Innocent. That’s hardly a word you’d use to describe yourself. Especially right now, your every muscle straining in an attempt to keep your hips perfectly still, hands folded at the base of his neck. 

“I didn’t know innocence like that could survive in the Barrel.” His hand starts again, tracing little shapes against your side. “Even if you never touched me again, I wasn’t gonna let Pekka Rollin’s crush someone like you between his grimy little fingers.” 

“So that’s the answer?” you ask, nibbling on your lip. “I’m in the Dregs cause I’m innocent?” What a reason to have someone join a gang. Hey, you seem pure! Wanna get corrupted? 

“You’re in the Dregs because you know how to persevere,” Kaz answers, holding your gaze. “How to get up and try again, no matter how many times you’re knocked down.” The sensation of smooth leather drifts higher. “Because you’re a survivor.” Your eyelids flutter, sucking in a breath as he palms the plump curve of your breast. “Because you’re loyal,” he starts, and it’s almost reverent the way he almost whispers, “my perfect little pet.” 

The world grinds to a halt. 

Outside of this room—this moment—nothing exists. 

Too quiet, you ask, “What do you want from me, Kaz?” 

You want him to feel in control, to be the one that decides how this is gonna go. But your self-restraint is a fraying cord, mere seconds from snapping in half. 

If it were up to you, how far would you go? How much of Kaz Brekker would you explore? As far as I could, you think, desperate. As much as he’d let me. 

That’s the trouble with dogs. They’re loyal and clingy, forgiving and insistent. They want for everything and take whatever they’re given. They’ll spend hours begging at your feet. Lick scraps from the floor until their tongues begin to bleed. 

When it comes to Kaz Brekker, you’ll take whatever he has to give. 

And you’ll never stop begging for more, more, more. 

“Everything.” His breath is warm against your lips, the leather cool on your breast. “I want everything.”

a/n - just in case anyone couldn't tell, i obviously just finished reading six of crows (yeah ik i'm very late to the party). i randomly started writing this while i was stuck in traffic and it just sort of spiraled over the past 24 hours and now here we are! this was born! idk if i'll get anymore kaz ideas, but it was fun writing something more dialogue heavy (dialogue has my heart<3)

[prettiestb4byd0ll]

Painful Petals | Aleksander. M

A/N: Its based off that one tik tok audio Warnings: softer!aleksander? Fem!Reader WC: 1485

Part two

You smiled at genya as she fiddled with your hair.

“What is it?” She questioned with a small, tired smile. “I’ll miss this with you genya…” She tilted her head to the side curious at your words.

“You’ll just be moving rooms after the fete, not like you’re going away….you’re not leaving, right..?” She questioned.

“No, but it’ll be a bit different around the palace after tonight..” You trailed off, thinking of a certain newly found couple in the little palace that included your husband.

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

As genya walked out of your room and towards Alina she ran into aleksander who paced around the halls.

“Ms Saffin.” He greeted.

“General.” She nodded back. As she went to turn into alina’s room she stopped in front of the doors and turned to aleksander.

“Is lady kirigan alright?” She questioned, making aleksander raise his head and look at genya with an unreadable expression.

“Why do you ask?” 

Genya shrugged.

“Just seemed off this morning.” She said before walking into alina’s room to get her ready for the fete.

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

You looked at your dress with a heavy heart, it wasn’t your husband’s black, it was a dark green gown. 

Tears fell as you looked over your closet and noticed the farthest item in the back being your wedding kefta. 

You sighed before wiping away the tear and closed the closet doors before walking towards your bed and opened the nightstand.

WIth shaky hands you pulled out an old journal, you flipped through pages til you found your desired page.

“Hanahaki Disease | Death do you part.” 

Your tears fell down your face as your felt a dreadful cough crawl up your throat.

It had begun before alina had arrived to the little palace, when aleksander hid his affair with zoya from you. 

You noticed in the beginning you delt with weird petals in your coughing fits, you had panicked and ran to a healer where they claimed you as fine.

The second thing you took note of was when you had coughed up flowers buds and thorns mixed in.

When you had discovered the journal you had been tempted to hide it away, it wasn’t till you had hard time breathing properly you went back to the journal to read the rest, you had learned of your condition and kept in silent, it was already hectic with the new sun summoner around.

You had brokedown when you found out the outcome of your illness, you had grown to accept your fate, who knew possibly the saints were going to reward you for being brave by dealing with the illness by giving you a loving life in the next.

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

You smiled as you greeted guests who passed by you.

“That’s general kirigan’s wife, poor thing hasn’t got a clue..” Two ambassadors gave you pity looks as they noticed zoya walking by aleksander who spoke ivan and feydor.

“Saints, bless her..” They whispered as you excused yourself to walk over to aleksander.

“Gentlemen.” You greeted, making them turn to you and greet you back.

“May i steal him away for a bit?” You questioned, your arm looping aleksander’s for support.

“Of course, lady kirigan!” You smiled and walked yourself and aleksander to the nearest balcony.

“You look nice tonight, aleksander..” You smiled as him as you let yourself go from his arm and held onto the balcony railing.

“You as well.” He looked around the balcony and noticed your gaze on the dark sky.

“I still remember when you snuck us out to see the stars..” You chuckled to yourself.

“You remember that?” Alexander asked, surprised.

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

“I don’t we should be doing this, what if we get caught by someone, we don’t have a chaperone..” You rambled as aleksander helped you onto his horse. 

“Well, i’m their general..” He tried to argue back.

“Oh my bad, you’re the general, that changes the story now!” You both laughed as he had the horse trott through the forest.

“Where are we even going?” You questioned, looking around at the passing trees.

“You mentioned, the palace grounds were always to lit to see the stars.” He turned his head to see your embarrassed expression.

“You remembered?” You smiled as he slowled the horse down and helped you get down.

“Why are you surprised?” He chuckled as you looked at the sky with a wide grin.

You both had sat on the grass and watched the stars for a bit before your spoke up.

“No ones snuck me out of my room to show me stars, thank you aleksander..” You turned your head to him where he smiled at you.

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

“Had a hard time explaining why I had grass stains on my nightgown..” you both laughed at your words.

Before aleksander could say anything else, ivan came to tell aleksander of the lantsov’s.

“If you excuse me..” You grabbed aleksander’s kefta sleeve.

“Before you go, i just wanted to tell you, that you were a wonderful husband experience..” you smiled, sadly at him.

“Thank you, now i must go greet the lantsov’s.” 

You left go of his hand with a heavy sigh, you quietly stood out on the balcony, weeping at your upcoming fate.

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

As you walked into the palace you watched as alina and aleksander do their demonstration.

You felt your stomach twist as you caught the way he stared at her, it was how he looked at you during your wedding.

Without anyone noticing you had ran to your new room, all of your things had been put away and set in their correct spots.

Finally being alone in your room, you broke down.

You cried over the lost of your marriage, your husband and soon your life.

You had questioned why the saints were torturing you by the thoughts of your husband with alina or zoya.

A rough cough came out of your mouth, bloody rose buds fell out of your mouth along with petals and thorns.

You gasped as it got stuffier in your lungs to breath properly.

Your eyes watered as you fell to your knees, giving up as a rose blossomed out of your throat, choking you out.

Your times with aleksander fled your mind as you laid on the floor, accepting your fate.

He was a wonderful experience.

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

A scream from down the hall made alina and aleksander jump from their position on the war table.

As the pair tried to brush it off a rapid knock on the doors made aleksander sigh and moved away from alina to answer.

“Yes, what is it?” Aleksander was taken back, it was a tearful genya and sorrow looking feydor who stood in front of him.

“Lady kirigan…” genya broke down as she tried to explain it.

“We’re sorry…lady kirigan has..passed on.” Feydor explained, aleksander stood up at the news.

“Excuse me?” He questioned. 

The pair lead him to your room, where the servants had laid you in your bed, ivan watched over with a pitiful expression.

Aleksander walked over towards your bed and noticed the curtains surrounding the bed were drawn closed.

He drew back the curtain and froze at the sight of your body. 

There you laid, lifeless. A bloody rose blossomed out of your mouth, ivan had been the one to shut your eyes to let your rest.

“What happened to her?” He questioned, his hand running to your hand were is was barley warm anymore.

“A servant found her on the ground with bloody flower petals and thorns around her..” Ivan explained.

Aleksander kept his eyes on the rose. “Everyone out.” He commanded, his voice wavering a tad.

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

Once the door had shut, he let tears fall as he held your hand.

“I had just seen you hours before, you were fine..what happened?!” He ranted, shaking your hand, hoping for you to stir and tell him it was a cruel harsh joke.

Memories of you played in his mind as he held your hand to his cheek.

“You look nice tonight, aleksander..” You smiled as him as you let yourself go from his arm and held onto the balcony railing.

“You as well.” He looked around the balcony and noticed your gaze on the dark sky.

“I still remember when you snuck us out to see the stars..” You chuckled to yourself. It was nice to hear your laughter again.

“You remember that?” Alexander asked, surprised. It had been years since. 

“I had a hard time explaining why I had grass stains on my nightgown..” you both laughed at your words.

Before aleksander could say anything else, ivan came to tell aleksander of the lantsov’s.

“If you excuse me..” You grabbed aleksander’s kefta sleeve. 

“Before you go, i just wanted to tell you, that you were a wonderful experience..” you smiled, sadly at him.

“Thank you, now i must go greet the lantsov’s.” He rushed off, unbeknown to him, it would be the last time he left you behind.

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

“You were, my everything.” He whispered quietly.

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

Y'ALL

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[that-one-ostrich-friend]

Could I request a Jesper X reader where reader breaks down after a heist and he comforts reader? 🖤

Comfort

jesper x reader - comfort

word count: 2k

summary: after a messy heist jesper finds y/n ridden with guilt and comforts her

warnings: mentions of violence

a/n: first time writing for jesper so i really hope i did him justice <3 also i can’t believe i forgot how cute kit is

The warehouse smelled of gunpowder and saltwater. Echoes of shouting still seemed to reverberate in the air, though the crew had long since scattered to regroup at the safe house. Y/n stumbled through the labyrinth of crates, her chest heaving as she tried to steady her breathing.

     The job was a success—technically. The prize was in Kaz’s hands, and the rest of them had made it out in one piece. But it had been messy. Too messy. Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d pushed their luck too far this time.

     She turned a corner and collapsed against the wall, sliding down until she was sitting on the cold, damp floor. Her trembling hands clenched into fists, trying to banish the image that haunted her: the guard who had stepped in her path, the knife in her hand, the sudden, sickening warmth of blood.

     Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She knew the rules of the Barrel as well as anyone. Kill or be killed. It wasn’t personal, it was survival. But knowing that didn’t stop the guilt from twisting her insides.

    Y/n curled her knees to her chest, burying her face in her arms as silent sobs wracked her body.

━━━━━━━•✧°•°𓅦°•°✧•━━━━━━━

     Jesper Fahey had a knack for finding people who didn’t want to be found. Usually, that skill came in handy when he was tracking marks, but tonight, it served a different purpose.

     He’d noticed Y/n slipping away after the heist, her expression guarded but her hands trembling just enough for him to catch it. The others were celebrating their victory back at the safe house, but Jesper couldn’t bring himself to join them. Not when Y/n wasn’t there.

     He found her in a shadowed corner of the warehouse, her figure hunched and small against the vast, empty space. Jesper approached quietly, not wanting to startle her.

     “Y/n,” he said softly.

     Her head shot up, her tear-streaked face illuminated by the faint glow of a nearby lantern. She blinked rapidly, trying to compose herself. “Jesper,” she croaked, her voice raw. “What are you doing here?”

     Jesper crouched a few feet away, giving her space but making it clear he wasn’t leaving. “Looking for you. The others are at the safe house, but you weren’t there.”

     Y/n turned her face away, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. “I just needed some air.”

     “Air doesn’t usually make people cry,” Jesper said gently, his tone devoid of his usual teasing.

     Y/n let out a bitter laugh, her shoulders slumping. “Guess I’m bad at lying.”

     Jesper smiled faintly, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know.”

     For a moment, Y/n didn’t respond. The weight of Jesper’s words hung between them, and she fought the urge to spill everything.

     “I didn’t mean to,” she whispered finally, her voice cracking.

     Jesper tilted his head, his dark eyes soft with understanding. “Didn’t mean to do what?”

     Her hands clenched around the fabric of her pants, knuckles white. “The guard. He wasn’t even trying to attack me. He just—he was there. And I panicked.”

     Jesper’s heart ached at the pain in her voice. He knew that guilt, that gnawing feeling that you’d crossed a line you couldn’t uncross.

     “Y/n,” he said, his voice steady but warm, “you did what you had to. It’s ugly, and it’s unfair, but it doesn’t make you a monster.”

     She shook her head, her tears spilling freely now. “You don’t understand. I didn’t have to kill him, Jesper. I could’ve done something else. I could’ve—”

     “Hey,” Jesper interrupted, scooting closer to her. He reached out tentatively, his hand hovering near her shoulder. “Look at me.”

     Reluctantly, Y/n met his gaze, her watery eyes reflecting the faint light.

     “You’re human,” Jesper said firmly. “You make split-second decisions in the middle of chaos, and sometimes they’re not perfect. That doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. It means you’re trying to survive in a world that doesn’t play fair.”

     Y/n let out a shaky breath, her shoulders trembling. Jesper hesitated for only a moment before draping an arm around her.

     “Come here,” he murmured.

     At first, she stiffened, unsure if she deserved the comfort he was offering. But the warmth of his embrace was impossible to resist. Slowly, she leaned into him, resting her head against his chest.

     Jesper’s heart was racing, but he kept his voice calm. “There we go. That’s better, isn’t it?”

     Y/n let out a soft laugh, though it was tinged with exhaustion. “You’re impossible, Fahey.”

     “And you’re stubborn, so I guess we balance each other out.”

     They sat like that for a while, the silence between them comfortable now. Jesper’s arm tightened around her, his fingers lightly tracing circles on her shoulder.

     “Thank you,” Y/n whispered, her voice barely audible.

     Jesper smiled, though it was softer than his usual grin. “For you? Always.”

     He didn’t mean to kiss her head—it was instinctive, a fleeting gesture born of his overwhelming affection for her. His lips brushed against her hair so lightly she might not have noticed.

     If Y/n had any reaction, she didn’t show it. Instead, she let out a long, slow sigh and nestled closer to him, letting his presence anchor her in the storm.

     Jesper didn’t know when he’d started falling for Y/n, but it had hit him like a bullet. Hard and fast, knocking him off balance.

     She was different from anyone he’d ever met—quiet, steady, with a sharp mind that could outwit even Kaz on a good day. But it wasn’t just her intelligence or her skill that drew him in. It was the way she carried herself, like she was always on the edge of breaking but refused to let the world see it.

     Jesper was obsessed. He noticed everything about her, from the way she absentmindedly twirled her hair when she was thinking to the way her eyes lit up when she solved a problem.

     And now, sitting here with her in his arms, Jesper realized just how far gone he was.

     Jesper couldn’t help but notice how perfectly Y/n fit against him. Her head rested just below his collarbone, and the way her body relaxed, melting into his side, made his heart ache in the best way.

     He wanted to say something, to confess how he felt, but the moment was too fragile. Y/n’s breaths were evening out now, the tension in her body easing as the storm inside her quieted. Jesper didn’t dare ruin it.

     Instead, he kept his arm wrapped around her, grounding both of them in the silence.

     Y/n’s voice broke through the stillness. “You’re too good at this.”

     Jesper tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. “At comforting beautiful women after high-stakes heists? It’s a niche skill.”

     She huffed out a laugh, the sound soft and warm. “I mean it. You always know what to say. How do you do that?”

     Jesper’s grin faltered, replaced by something more sincere. “It’s easy when it’s you,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual.

     Y/n turned her head slightly to look up at him, her brows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean?”

     Jesper hesitated, his heart pounding. He could play it off, throw out a joke to deflect, but the weight of the moment held him still.

     “I mean…” He swallowed hard, his usual bravado failing him. “I care about you, Y/n. A lot. Probably more than I should.”

     Y/n blinked up at him, her breath hitching. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. The vulnerability in Jesper’s voice, the way he refused to meet her eyes now, struck her like a bolt of lightning.

     “You—care about me?” she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

     Jesper let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand. “Care about you, like you, borderline obsessed with you. Take your pick.”

     Y/n stared at him, her mind racing. She’d always known Jesper was charming, a flirt with anyone who crossed his path. But this… this felt different. It felt real.

     “I thought you just flirted with everyone,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

     Jesper looked at her then, his dark eyes serious in a way she rarely saw. “I do flirt with everyone,” he admitted, “but not like this. Not like you.”

     The air between them grew heavier, the unspoken feelings hovering just out of reach. Y/n bit her lip, her heart thundering in her chest.

     “I don’t know what to say,” she confessed, her voice trembling.

     Jesper’s smile softened. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know. And—well, I’m not expecting anything. I just… care. And I’m here, for whatever you need.”

     Y/n’s eyes filled with tears again, but this time, they weren’t from guilt or sadness. They were from relief, from the overwhelming comfort of knowing she wasn’t alone.

     “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “For everything.”

     Jesper reached up, brushing a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb. “Always, darling.”

     The term of endearment slipped out naturally, but this time, Y/n didn’t flinch or roll her eyes like she usually did. Instead, she smiled—a small, tentative smile that sent warmth blooming in Jesper’s chest.

     “I mean it,” she said, her voice stronger now. “I don’t know how you do it, but you make everything feel… lighter. Like it’s not all on me.”

     Jesper’s heart swelled. “That’s because it’s not all on you. It’s on us. And you’ve got me, whether you like it or not.”

     Y/n laughed softly, the sound like music to Jesper’s ears. “I think I like it.”

     Jesper’s grin turned softer, more vulnerable. “Yeah?”

     Y/n nodded, her gaze holding his. Her eyes were still glassy from tears, but they held a quiet determination now, like she’d made a decision she wasn’t going to overthink.

     “You mean it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

     Jesper tilted his head, his dark eyes locked on hers. “Every word.”

      Y/n hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. Then, before she could second-guess herself, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

      Jesper froze for a split second, his mind going blank. Then he melted into the kiss, his hand sliding to cup her face as he deepened it just enough to make her breath hitch.

     Y/n’s hands clutched at the front of his coat, pulling him closer. There was nothing rushed or frantic about the kiss—it was warm and slow, filled with all the emotions neither of them had been able to put into words.

     When they finally pulled back, Jesper couldn’t contain the stupid grin that spread across his face.

     “Well,” he said, his voice slightly breathless, “that wasn’t on my bingo card for tonight, but I’m not complaining.”

     Y/n laughed, her cheeks flushing as she shook her head, an expression that Jesper wanted to bottle up and carry with him forever. “You’re ridiculous.”

     “Ridiculously into you,” he quipped, earning a giggle from her.

     But when Y/n leaned in again, her lips brushing against his for another kiss, Jesper decided he’d never been happier to be ridiculous.

━━━━━━━•✧°•°𓅦°•°✧•━━━━━━━

     The safe house was alive with the sounds of celebration, but Jesper and Y/n lingered outside the door for a moment, their hands entwined.

     Jesper turned to her, his expression soft but playful. “So, does this mean I can flirt with you openly now, or should I keep pretending I’m subtle?”

     Y/n smirked. “You’ve never been subtle a day in your life.”

     Jesper grinned. “Good. Because I think everyone should know how hopelessly smitten I am.”

     Y/n rolled her eyes but tugged him inside, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

     And as the others welcomed them back with cheers and questions, Jesper’s hand never left hers, a silent promise that he’d be by her side, no matter what.

[ijbolgawon]

THE BASTARD'S WITCH. kaz brekker

in which. kaz finally gives in, even if it makes him look weak

wc. 1.2k

a/n. i suggest listening to this song since it's one of the main reasons i even wrote this lol

Kaz Brekker knew the sound of footsteps approaching, the distinct rhythm of each person who dared step into his office. He heard the short creak of the floorboards outside his office, the subtle shift of weight, and for a brief moment, he thought it was her.

Y/N.

His grip on his cane tightened as he turned around.

But it wasn't Y/N. It was Pekka Rollins.

Two of Pekka’s men loomed behind him, their postures too relaxed, too sure of their authority.

“Mister Brekker, isn't it?” Pekka greeted, his voice like the slow drag of a blade against stone.

Kaz didn't move. He slowly watched as the man pulled a chair in front of him as his men grabbed Kaz’s shoulders, kneeling him in front of Pekka.

He made a show of looking around, as if he were the one letting Kaz stay here, rather than the other way around.

“You’re after the Heartrender,” Pekka asked, even if it sounded more like a statement.

Kaz’s expression didn’t waver.

Pekka smiled, all teeth. “Go ahead. Take the job. But if you do, I’ll make sure your little Summoner doesn’t see another sunrise.”

A long silence.

Kaz forced himself to remain still. Not to react. Not to show the way the words latched onto something deep, something ugly.

“She’s not my concern,” Kaz said. Even to his own ears, it sounded hollow. He felt his own cane being pressed to his throat.

Pekka chuckled. “That so? Then why does it feel like she is?”

He leaned forward, slowly. “I’ve been watching her, Brekker. Ever since she came to the Menagerie, I knew she was special.”

Kaz’s fingers twitched inside his gloves, his hands itching with anger.

“She still wears that collar,” Pekka continued. “Still belongs to Heleen. Which means —” His voice dropped, his words slow and deliberate. “She belongs to me.”

Kaz said nothing.

Pekka studied him, his head tilting slightly. “So here’s the deal. If you want the Heartrender, you kill her. If you want Ghafa’s freedom, you do it for me.”

He continued, a slight smirk forming on his lips, “Or maybe I’ll just kill the witch myself. And we’ll see if you still care to finish the job after.”

A heartbeat of silence. Then another.

“I’ll deal with her.”

Pekka’s smirk widened. “That’s what I like to hear.”

And then, just as quickly as he came, he was gone, leaving him alone, knees stuck on the wooden floor. Kaz stood there for a long moment, his mind already working, already calculating.

He would deal with her.

The job was supposed to be simple. In and out. No blood.

Yet Y/N found herself gasping against the alley wall, pressing a trembling hand against the wound just below her ribs. The knife had been quick. She hadn’t even seen the attacker’s face.

One moment, she was making her way back from the job Kaz had sent her on, the next, steel in her ribs. Blood seeped through her fingers, warm and thick.

She straightened, forcing herself upright as she heard footsteps. Making her way back to Slat, barely alive, a trace of blood sticking to all the buildings she had passed by.

Throwing herself on the nearest chair inside, she ripped her coat open, fingers grazing over the bloody cut. Her free hand grabbed the aid kit, mindsely searching for the needle and the thread.

There is no way she could've done it by herself, but she didn't want anyone to find out she had failed at the easiest job: she was a Grisha after all.

As soon as she began stitching, Jesper made his way inside, a soft smile on his face.His grin faltered when he saw her.

“Well, that’s not good.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, “Brilliant deduction.”

Jesper walked forward, gaze flicking to the blood darkening her coat. “What happened?”

“I accidentally stabbed myself”,she jokes, showing him that she was not in the mood.

Jesper sighed, defeated. “Kaz is already pissed, you know. And now this?”

“Why is he pissed?”, he takes in her frown, then his face suddenly changes. Like the realization hit him. ‘You can't tell her’, he recalls Kaz's words, and he wishes he hadn't opened his mouth.

Jesper hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Pekka paid him a visit.”

Not failing to notice the way she stiffened, he continued.

“He made a deal,” his voice was too casual, too careful. “A million kruge. Inej’s freedom. But there’s a condition.”

Y/N swallowed. “What condition?”

The door slammed open. Kaz barely had time to look up before Y/N stormed in, her coat unbuttoned just enough to reveal the blood staining her shirt.

He took it in immediately: the slight hitch in her breath, the tension in her shoulders, the fire burning in her eyes.

“You’re going to kill me for a million kruge?” she asks, voice latching with despair.

Kaz shut his ledger. “You should be resting.”

She scoffed, stepping forward despite the limp in her stride. “Is a million kruge more important than me living?”

Silence.

Her breath came sharp, uneven. She reached into her belt and pulled out a knife, flipping it so the hilt faced him.

“Then do it.”

Kaz didn’t move. Her fingers curled around his wrist, forcing the knife into his palm. “Do it, Brekker.”

He felt the weight of it, the cool steel pressing against his skin.

Then, slowly, he placed the knife on his desk and stepped toward her.

She backed away instinctively, but her wound betrayed her, her knees buckling, and she stumbled.

Kaz caught her before she could hit the ground, his gloved hand draped around her waist.

Her breath shuddered, their lips almost touching. “You’d do anything for your freedom, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Her fingers curled around his sleeve, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Then kiss me.”

A command.

Kaz saw the shift in her eyes, the pull of her power curling around the words. But he had already anticipated it.

His fingers pressed into her wound.

She gasped, her body jolting as pain lanced through her. And then he kissed her.

His lips crashed against hers, sharp and unyielding, stealing the breath from her lungs. It was not soft or gentle. It was the same as everything Kaz did: calculated, precise, deliberate.

When they finally pulled away, she winced, a sharp inhale cutting through the silence. Kaz looked down.

Blood.

His hand was still pressed against her wound.

Understanding flickered in her eyes, then horror.

“When a Grisha is in pain, their powers don’t work,” Kaz murmured. “I knew you were about to command me.”

He had been pressing on her wound from the moment she stumbled. Not to hurt her. Not to stop her.

But to choose. To choose the kiss. To choose her.

Y/N’s hands trembled against his arm, the pressure he was applying making her even more dizzy.

“Kaz…”

He stepped back, his touch remaining as a ghost on her skin. The weight of the moment settled between them, thick and suffocating.

“I’ll deal with Pekka.”

Then, before she could say anything else, before she could look at him like that, he turned and walked away.

[atlabeth]

mine forever

request from @nghtwngs

pairing: nikolai lantsov x fem!tidemaker reader

a/n: SO sorry for posting this early and having to delete 💀 i was formatting and didnt realize i was not saving it as a draft lmao. but thank you for sending this in love!!! and PLEASEE send in as much nikolai as you want i miss writing for him so much

wc: 1.4k

warning(s): hurt/comfort. reader is insecure, nikolai is the sweetest as usual

join in on my 3k celebration!!

“You’re avoiding me.” 

Your eyes didn’t move away from the horizon when you heard Nikolai’s voice, though you felt your muscles tense. 

“Clearly not well enough,” you remarked. “Seeing as you found me.” 

“You know I’ll always find you,” Nikolai murmured. “But that means little if you will not talk to me.” 

Of course you were not talking to him. You did not know how to talk to him—not when you so clearly didn’t understand the issue plaguing you. 

All you’d ever known was the life of a Grisha. You were tested when you were young, revealed to be a Tidemaker, and whisked away to the Little Palace, where you’d been honing your abilities ever since. You rebelled against the one thing you knew, joined the side of the Sun Summoner, and now you were in the midst of a war for the very survival of your people. 

There were so few Tidemakers left after the Darkling’s massacre, which meant Alina and Nikolai were counting on you more than ever in their fight to reclaim Ravka. 

But when you needed your powers most, they disappeared. 

You— you just didn’t understand, because it didn’t make sense. You’d spent years studying the Small Science and how to wield it, how to manipulate the water around you no matter how miniscule. 

This was not merzost. You had never tampered with the way of the world, never attempted to bastardize the abilities you’d been granted.

Like called to like. There was a part of you that connected to the water, that allowed you the affinity for all of this.  

You had just… lost it. For no apparent reason. 

“There is nothing to talk about,” you stated simply. The cold of the railing shocked your fingers as you set your hand down, but you welcomed any sort of feeling. 

“Do not be ridiculous,” Nikolai said wryly. He came out onto the balcony and stopped beside you. You could see him looking at you through your peripherals, could feel his intent gaze. “Nobody avoids me unless they have a reason.”

You huffed a bitter laugh. “I certainly have a reason, moi tsarevich.”

“So we’ve gone back to titles?” Nikolai’s lips quirked up. “Shall I start referring to you as Grisha? Tidemaker, even?”

You scoffed. “That would be inaccurate.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “We’ve reached the root of the problem.”

“We hardly did anything,” you said. “Do you talk just to hear the sound of your own voice?”

“I do, as a matter of fact,” Nikolai said. “But you should know your scornful words have no effect when I’m aware of your true feelings.”

“If you are aware of my true feelings, you should know I would like to be left alone.” 

“You want to be left alone because you feel useless without your power,” he said. “Any man worth their salt would not fall to that, and fortunately, I’m worth quite a lot.” 

You finally turned to look at Nikolai, though you could not muster the full force of your anger when you did. He had that slight smile still, the glint in his eyes, and all you could think was that you didn't even deserve this kindness. 

“Because I am,” you said. 

He shook his head. “You are not. Far from useless, actually.” 

“You served in the First Army, didn’t you?” 

“I hardly see how that’s relevant—” 

“Just answer my question.” 

“...Yes,” he said. “I was infantry. The 22nd Regiment.” 

“And if you had lost the ability to shoot a gun, would you be allowed to stay on the front lines?” 

Nikolai shook his head. “I will not participate in hypotheticals to help you feel worse.” 

“Because you know it’s true.” You looked back out at the horizon—the sun was steadily setting. “I have no place here anymore.” 

He said your name with a slight huff. “That is not true.” 

“I’m not Grisha anymore!” you exclaimed as you whirled back to face him. “The only reason I have ever gotten anywhere— the only reason I am here, the only reason I ever met you in the first place— it is all because of my power.” You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself in the wake of a cold wind. The material was noticeably thinner than your kefta, but you could not bring yourself to wear it anymore. “I’m useless now. To— to Ravka, to the Second Army— to you.” 

His brows furrowed. “You are not useless to Ravka— and you could never be useless to me.” You averted your eyes, unable to meet the full weight of his softened gaze, and his frown deepened. “That’s what this is about then? 

“Don’t act like it’s so ridiculous,” you muttered. 

Nikolai had the nerve to laugh, and you glared at him. He held up his hands in defense, but he could not fully bite back his smile. 

“I apologize, lapushka, but I did not even consider that as an option for why you were so upset.” 

Nikolai took your hands in his, hands that had been the key to your power the entire life, that were failing you, and he held them like nothing else in the world mattered. “Do you know how absurd the thought of me not loving you is?” 

You glanced away, but Nikolai gently cupped your chin with a few fingers and tilted you back to meet his eyes. 

“Because it is,” he continued, letting his hand fall back down to grasp yours. “I love you with everything in me. I love you because you are you—not because of your powers. Not because you are Grisha.” 

“Who am I if I am not Grisha?” Your voice came out as little more than a whisper, near a desperate plea. You’d never felt weaker, never felt smaller. The only thing you’d known all your life had been ripped away from you, and you felt as if you’d been shoved into an endless void. 

Nikolai said your name softly as he squeezed your hands. “You are a soldier of great renown. A revolutionary on the right side of history. The most loyal friend someone can have. And lest you somehow manage to forget it, you are the woman I love.”

“You deserve better than—” you swallowed the lump in your throat. “—than some broken, failed Grisha.”

“You are not broken,” Nikolai murmured, and he never looked away from your eyes as he lifted your hand to press a kiss to the back of it. “We are merely on… a different path.” 

“A different path,��� you repeated, and you could not help your wry laugh. 

“Yes,” he nodded. “And we will go down every step of it together. Do you understand that?” 

Nikolai fought for everything he had, despite his standing as a Lantsov. He was a soldier on the front lines, he rose through the ranks on the sea under a pseudonym, and now he was clawing his way through useless formalities in order to take back the throne that he deserved. 

And here you were—someone who was given everything because of some power inside you. And now you didn’t even have that. 

It just did not seem right. It did not make sense. For a man as powerful as Nikolai to stick by your side despite such a misgiving. 

“If you don’t, that is alright.” Nikolai shrugged. “I will just have to spend extra time showing you how much I revere your very being.” 

“Nikolai,” you murmured, and his grip on your hands tightened. 

“I cannot pretend to understand what you are going through,” he said. “I cannot lose what you have lost because I’ve never had it in the first place. But I can promise you wholeheartedly that we will figure out what is wrong. Together.” 

“And what if we don’t?” you asked. You couldn’t help it. 

“Then nothing will change,” Nikolai vowed. “Milaya, nothing can tear me away from you, whether you are Grisha or not. Do you understand that?” 

A part of you still could not. Who were you if you were not of use? 

But when you met Nikolai’s eyes, those beautiful hazel eyes that seemed to glow with the sunset, full of softness and admiration and love, you found that you could start to.

You may not have believed in yourself, but Nikolai did. And that had to mean something.  

“I’m beginning to,” you murmured. 

“Good,” he said, and his lips quirked into a smile. “But fear not, milaya. I hold enough love for you inside of me for the both of us in the meantime.” 

[marvelmusing]

Baby, It’s Cold Outside

Pairing: Modern!Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader

Summary: When you find yourself with nowhere to live, your friend Alina offers you the perfect solution - her Uncle Aleksander’s empty townhouse. What you don’t know is that Aleksander’s security cameras watch your every move, and Aleksander himself is almost instantly captivated by you.

Warnings [18+]: smut, dom!Aleksander, reader is staying in Aleksander’s house (supposedly) without his knowledge, subtle mafia vibes, power play, voyeuristic vibes from Aleksander, unspecified age gap, reference to oral (fem receiving), slight cnc vibes (no verbal consent but a safeword is established), smidge of size kink, very subtle hints that Aleksander wants children, he’s quite intense but she’s into it.

A/N: happy christmas everyone!

My Masterlist

Aleksander receives an alert the moment his front door is opened. One glance at the screen of his phone reveals that Alina’s key card had deactivated the alarm system.

It isn’t unusual for her to invite herself into his townhouse in one of the affluent boroughs of the city. He rarely uses the space himself, preferring his smaller apartment in Central Os Alta due to the vicinity to his workplace. What is unusual, however, is that she has company today.

Aleksander has an extensive number of security cameras and microphones placed throughout his home. It helps to ease his paranoia and sate the need to control his surroundings. He doesn’t tend to check on Alina when she visits, leaving her to her own devices, but your presence has his interest piqued.

Alina doesn’t bother to take her shoes off, per usual. But you do. After dragging your feet over the doormat - twice, one foot after the other - you tug off your shoes, placing them neatly beside his shoe rack before hurrying to catch up to Alina as she heads towards the kitchen.

He’s proud of the townhouse, a space he had curated as a safe haven for himself and a currently non-existent significant other. Seeing you stare, lips parted as your eyes drink in the furniture and decor in what seems like awe, has a warmth gathering in his chest. He will admit, your admiration of his house is rather adorable.

Curious, he unmutes the sound on the security feed, just in time to hear your voice as you ask tentatively,

“You’re sure your uncle won’t mind?”

Alina opens up a cupboard, retrieving a bag of snacks which she examines with a small frown, before she rips the packaging open and begins to munch on the treats inside. She shrugs through a mouthful.

“He barely ever stays here.”

“But you did ask him… didn’t you?”

Aleksander vaguely remembers Alina mentioning a friend of hers that needed a place to stay. What he doesn’t remember is giving her permission to accommodate said friend in his house. But he watches Alina nod, scrunching up the bag as she finishes her snacks.

“He wants someone here to receive his parcels,” she says, tossing the crumpled wrapper towards the bin. She misses.

He doesn’t order anything to his house. All his parcels are delivered either to his work or his apartment. The townhouse is his hidden treasure, though strangely he doesn’t loathe the idea of letting you stay there. Perhaps he should place a few harmless orders, to aid Alina’s lie. Something inconspicuous, that you might enjoy, like a monthly flower subscription. He likes the thought of you assembling a cheerful bouquet in his living room.

“And you’re sure he doesn’t want any rent,” you say, picking up Alina’s rubbish and placing it in the bin. You’re already a perfect houseguest, though he hopes you might be able to feel comfortable enough to relax in his house.

Aleksander almost feels offended by your suggestion and is relieved when Alina shakes her head.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll tell him I’m the one staying here. Besides, you’re like my sister. What’s mine is yours.”

“Even your Uncle Sasha?” you ask with a shy smile and this tiny glimpse at your humour has Aleksander wanting to devour you.

Alina grins.

“Especially him.” She pushes away from where she’s been leaning on the kitchen counter. “I’ll give you the password to his grocery account. Order whatever you like.”

That nervous expression returns to your features.

“Are you sure?”

“He gives me an allowance that I never use. You can have it.” She opens one of the kitchen drawers, rummaging through the contents despite Aleksander’s meticulous organisation. It doesn’t take her long to find what she’s looking for. “Here’s a key card to disable the security alarms and the wifi password.”

Aleksander watches you take the objects slowly, holding them in the palm of your hand before closing your fist around them protectively. Alina gestures upwards towards the rest of the house.

“Pick whatever bedroom you like best.”

Unknown by you, the moment you choose Aleksander’s bed to sleep in you become his.

»»---------------------►

As the owner of the internet router at his house, Aleksander can see what sites you visit while using his internet - a power that he abuses fully. He enjoys the insight into your thoughts and interests. The questions you have about the world and the things that make you happy.

During his lunch one day, Aleksander is scrolling through your recent search history when he spots something interesting. His name. Initially just a google search. Then you had examined his Instagram and Facebook, before moving onto his company website.

He’s tempted to pull up the security feed and rewind it back to the moment you had first typed his name, just to see your reaction to what you’re seeing. Especially when he sees how long you had spent reading the tabloids and swiping through images of him. It seems he has captured your attention.

»»---------------------►

It takes a small nudge from Aleksander for you to stop buying only the necessities during your grocery order. Just a few small taps of his thumbs and he adds enough random baking supplies for you to perceive it as an accident when it arrives.

One day, Alina visits him at work, a small box of cupcakes tucked under her arm. Instantly, he recognises them as one of your creations. He had watched you bake them yesterday head bobbing to your music as you had decorated them with an adorable frown of concentration and a smudge of buttercream on your face.

He waits until she leaves before cracking open the box, allowing the sweet sugary scent to invade his senses. The moan that escapes him during his first bite is obscene. He wonders whether your cheeks would flush with heat at the sound. His mind wanders, thinking of kissing the cream off your cheeks.

Aleksander finds himself imagining what it would be like to come home to you, the house warm and inviting as you await his arrival with a sweet treat and an eager smile. He would sink to his knees on the kitchen tiles, slide your skirt and apron up to your waist so that he can kiss your pretty cunt until his name is the only word you can manage.

»»---------------------►

Aleksander hates seeing you cry. But that job of yours was doing you no good. Waking up early to catch the bus and arriving home so tired that you don’t have enough energy to cook yourself a hot meal. Now, after Aleksander has pulled a few strings, you can sleep for as long as you like and spend time creating food that brings you joy.

He has already logged onto his grocery account and amended your weekly order to include a few recipes you wanted to try and some additional treats in an attempt at lifting your spirits. All he wants is for you to be happy.

He’s sorely tempted to go to you now. To wrap his arms around you, hold you against his chest and kiss the crown of your head while murmuring reassurances that this was for the best. He doesn’t like seeing you so despondent. He wants his happy girl back, who tends to the flowers and reads curled up in his armchair beside the fire.

He could just go to you. It’s his house you’re staying in after all. But he doesn’t want to rob you of your safe place. If he turned up now, he knows you would feel pressured to leave, even when you have nowhere else to go. His sweet girl, so terrified of taking up too much space. One day, very soon, he will be able to appreciate you how he longs to.

»»---------------------►

He thinks you might be trying to kill him.

Aleksander’s home gym is a room occupied by a treadmill and a few stray pieces of equipment that he hardly ever uses, there to fill the space he hopes will one day be converted into a nursery.

Currently, you’re stretching yourself out over a yoga mat he didn’t even know he owned, twisting your body into a rather enticing position. His mouth goes dry at the sight of you, shifting in his seat to alleviate some of the ache in his throbbing cock.

Whilst he’s glad you’ve found another hobby to fill your time - and the thought of your improved flexibility pleases him - he almost wishes he hadn’t checked in on you. Now, he is going to have to sit through a meeting and resist the urge to continue watching you.

»»---------------------►

Once a week, Alina stays over with you, spending the evening catching up and talking about all manner of things together. Aleksander likes to listen in while he’s working, imagining that he’s actually in the office across the hall from the living room.

Alina’s suggestion of a blind date for you makes him stiffen, lifting his eyes away from his papers and onto the screen. He’s somewhat glad that you seem apprehensive.

“I thought you didn’t like Mal?” you ask Alina, fidgeting with the edge of the velvet cushion in your lap.

She shrugs.

“Just because he wasn’t right for me doesn’t mean he won’t be right for you.”

Aleksander can say with absolute certainty that Mal is nowhere near the right man for you. He can remember when Alina was infatuated with the boy. If he strings you along like he did with Alina, Aleksander won’t be able to stop himself from interfering.

“I don’t know…”

“Don’t be mad, but I might have already made a reservation for you.”

“Lina!”

You swat her with your cushion - almost playfully - but Aleksander can see your anxiety in the set of your shoulders. To hell with not interfering. He mutes the sound on the screen, picking up his phone and dialling a familiar number.

“Zoya, I need a favour.”

»»---------------------►

He needs to play this carefully. With Zoya’s intervention at the bar where Mal was meeting his friends for a drink beforehand, he will never make it to your date. Aleksander needs to leave you waiting long enough to be relieved by his arrival, but not so long that the rejection damages your self esteem. From a corner of the restaurant, he watches your face carefully.

Each time a waiter appears, he sees you grow a little more agitated, fidgeting with your fingers as you insist that your date will arrive soon. It’s only once he sees you inhale shakily that he decides to pick up his coat and stroll over to your table.

“Is this seat taken?”

Embarrassment touches at your features as you glance up at him, then the tables surrounding you as you seem to assume he’s asking to take the chair to his own table. He watches your lips press together before you shake your head and gesture defeatedly at the chair.

“It’s all yours.”

He smiles widely, draping his coat over the back of the chair before he sits down.

“Thank you, milaya.”

The look of surprise on your face is delightful, even more so when recognition sparkles in your eyes.

“Mr Morozova.”

He’s exceptionally proud of the feigned confusion he spreads over his features.

“Do we know each other?”

“You’re Alina’s uncle.”

“Yes,” he says, the hint of a question at the edge of his tone. Ducking your head bashfully, you tell him your name.

He repeats your name slowly, as if it is the first time he’s ever spoken it, trying to ignore how wide your eyes are at the sound of your name on his lips.

“Alina mentioned you were looking for a place to stay in the city. Did you manage to find somewhere?”

You seem startled at the thought of him remembering you.

“Oh, yes. I did, thank you.”

He smiles. Alina had lied to him, telling him that she was the one staying at his house. Whilst he doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable, the urge to make you squirm a little pokes at him.

“Do you like where you’re living now?”

He watches you shift nervously in your seat, but your response is earnest.

“Yes, I do,” you admit quietly. “It’s lovely.” He hums indulgently, hoping you might continue speaking, and you nod. “One of the nicest places I’ve ever lived.”

He wants to keep you forever.

Instead, he offers to buy you dinner, which you agree to after a little convincing from Aleksander. He asks for your order, calling the waiter over to place it for you both.

Now that you’re front of him, after watching you through a screen for so long, Aleksander can’t look away from you. In such proximity, he can observe every minute detail. The way you fidget with the charms on your bracelet. The way you attempt to be subtle when you glance at him, only to find his eyes already on you.

He drinks in the sight of you, warmth in his chest as you tuck into your meal. He will admit, he pays little attention to his own plate, choosing to watch as you eat eagerly with soft sounds of pleasure in response to the taste. All the while, he coaxes you into conversation and by the time you’ve finished you seem much more relaxed in his presence.

Aleksander leans back in his chair, swirling the wine around in his glass with nimble fingers. With a polite gesture to the waiter, he orders another bottle of wine. When the waiter mentions dessert, Aleksander raises a questioning brow at you. He can see the nervousness creep into your eyes at the thought of asking for more.

After you refuse his offer, he orders a plateful of dessert that he intends on sharing with you. When it arrives, he takes a few mouthfuls for himself before he offers a spoonful to you.

“Come on, milaya. I bought it for us to share.”

When you relent, leaning forwards to take the spoon from him, he retracts his head, pulling it out of your reach.

“Ah, ah. No hands. Let me.”

After ducking your head bashfully, you look down to avoid his gaze and Aleksander can see how flustered his words have made you. Still, you nod obediently. He moves the spoon back towards you, feeding you the dessert when you open your mouth for him.

He stares as your eyes flutter closed and you hum in delight at the rich taste with a pretty smile on your face.

Saints, you’re so perfect.

Aleksander pays the bill. He keeps his hand on your lower back as you walk to the entrance of the restaurant. He frowns at the sight of goosebumps prickling over your skin.

“Where’s your coat, milaya?”

“Alina gave me a lift here and I left it in her car.”

He tuts quietly in disapproval.

“Well, that won’t do, will it?” Aleksander places his coat over your shoulders, thick wool draped over your frame to shield you from the cold. He smiles at the sight of you, helping you tuck each of your arms into the sleeves. “There we go.”

You give him a bright smile and begin to play shyly with the buttons at the front of his coat.

“Thank you.”

“Let me give you a lift home.”

Immediately your smile falters and you refuse his offer.

“Oh no, I’m fine walking, thank you.”

“You’re walking?” The moment you nod he begins to shake his head. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m not living in the city centre. It’ll be too out of your way.”

“Nonsense.”

“Mr Morozova-”

“Call me Aleksander, please.”

“Aleksander,” you state slowly. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“I’m not going back to my apartment tonight.”

There’s a waver in your voice as you say,

“You’re not?”

He shakes his head.

“I have a house not far from here.”

He watches the internal struggle play over your face. Realisation. Anxiety. Words scrambling from your mind to your tongue as you attempt to create a confession. Sweet girl. Always so honest.

“Aleksander, I…” He watches you wring your hands, the sleeves of his coat covering all but your fingertips. “Alina’s been letting me stay at your townhouse. I’m so sorry for not telling you.”

He doesn’t respond.

Instead, he smiles at the valet, standing behind you as he waits for the man to retrieve his car keys. Leaning down, he presses a pacifying kiss to your temple, smoothing his hands over each of your shoulders, stroking your biceps. He can see the confusion in your eyes at his reaction.

“We’ll discuss this at home, darling.”

His tone leaves no room for argument, though he doubts you would ever openly disagree with him. He feels you shiver at the command in his voice and a thrill runs through him at the thought of you enjoying the role he has picked out for you.

The short walk to the car is silent, a few stray snowflakes beginning to fall. Aleksander keeps his arm around you, ensuring you don’t slip on any ice. He holds the passenger door open for you and keeps his hand on your thigh for the entire journey, ignoring your squirming.

“Aleksander,” you whisper. “I really am sorry.”

“Not now, milaya. Let me concentrate on the roads.”

He feels your skin flush with embarrassment at his condescending tone. The snow has quickly covered the world in white, thick flurries falling faster with every passing moment.

When you finally return home, he slips his coat from your shoulders, hanging it up in the hallway as he nods at your shoes, a silent order for you to remove them. With the height of your heels gone, you seem so much smaller than him as he looks down at you.

“I do not tolerate lying, milaya.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr Morozova. I can move my things out now-”

He presses his thumb against your mouth, index finger curling under your chin.

“I do not want to hear another word from those pretty lips of yours. Safeword is shadow. Understood?”

Excitement sparks in your eyes as you realise what is happening, and when you nod obediently Aleksander feels his cock throb. He knows you will enjoy this. He knows your preferences - what you search for when you’re eager to get yourself off.

“Good girl. Now go pour me a drink.”

Aleksander settles down on his favourite armchair in the living room, watching as you unlock the alcohol cabinet and pour him a small sample of whiskey, the liquid falling smoothly into the crystal glass. He stretches his legs out; his knees always ache during the cold weather. Soaking in a hot bath with you is certainly an enticing thought - perhaps for tomorrow evening.

There’s a slight tremble to your fingers as you hand him the glass.

“Thank you, milaya. Be a dear and take my shoes off - I can’t reach them too comfortably at my age.”

With fumbling fingers, you manage to untie his laces and loosen the shoes away from his feet, slipping them off easily enough. The sight of you between his thighs, kneeling on the ground is utter perfection. He smiles down at you, stroking his knuckles over your cheek.

“There’s a good girl. Place them in the hallway for me?”

In the time it takes you to move into the hallway and place the shoes down on the rack beside his front door, Aleksander has freed his cock from the confines of his trousers and underwear, hissing slightly as he grips himself.

When you return, the sight of him has your footsteps faltering in the doorway. He leans his head back, watching you through hooded eyes and a tense jaw. He sees your eyes widen, like a little deer in headlights. He sees your gaze flicker down to his exposed cock and your thighs tremble as they press against each other.

He tilts his head at you.

“Come sit on my cock, milaya.”

A slight shake of your head.

“It won’t fit.”

“Yes it will. Come here.” Still you don’t move. “I won’t ask again.”

His tone has you stumbling forwards.

As you struggle to straddle his lap, he pushes the hem of your dress, velvet smoothing easily upwards to reveal bare skin. The underwear you’re wearing is nice, though he knows you own much prettier sets. That knowledge reassures him that you hadn’t intended on sleeping with your date tonight.

Retrieving his drink from the table beside him, watching you with a self satisfied smirk as he lifts his glass to your lips.

“Some liquid courage for you.”

He breathes out a soft laugh when he sees your nose wrinkle at the taste; evidently you must have swallowed more than you were anticipating.

“Now let’s have a look at what we have here,” he muses, pushing the gusset of your panties aside to reveal your glistening cunt, flushed and glossy with arousal. A perfect little mess. “Have you been in this state since we arrived? Or during the car ride home?”

He can feel your body burning as you admit,

“Since dinner, sir.”

“Oh sweet girl, have I left you wanting?”

“Please,” you whisper weakly. He brushes the head of his cock over your quivering entrance, grinning at the sound of your whimpers.

“Let’s start with the tip, shall we?”

He begins to ease you onto his cock, stretching you out slowly and a small cry escapes from your lips at the sensation. Sweat glistens over your chest as you heave in a few hurried breaths.

Aleksander praises you with every inch, telling you how perfect you are as you writhe and buck against his hold. Once you’re fully seated on his cock, he runs his hands over your thighs soothingly, encouraging you to relax as your cunt continues to twitch around him.

He tugs the front of your dress down, revealing your breasts for him to fondle freely. His hands wander over your body, squeezing the sensitive flesh. Almost absentmindedly, he begins to play with your nipples, pressing kisses from your forehead down to your jawline.

“Such a pretty sight. How are you feeling, my love?”

“So full,” you whine, on the verge of tears. “So good. Aleksander.”

“That’s it, darling.” He holds onto your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re mine, aren’t you?”

A weak shake of your head that doesn’t convince him. He suspects you can’t even convince yourself that you don’t want this. Nevertheless, he can’t help but argue with you.

“Who’s been housing you, and feeding you, these last few months?”

He watches your expression crumble in defeat, giving in to your desire.

“You have.”

“That’s right, milaya.” He grasps onto your hips, encouraging you to begin bouncing on his cock.“You have no idea..” The feeling of your cunt squeezing him like a vice makes him groan, hands gripping your trembling thighs. “…how difficult it’s been to resist buying clothes for you as well.” His words are breathless, panted out against your lips as he presses your foreheads together. “Dresses and skirts and pretty lingerie sets. But we have a wedding to save for, don’t we?”

His question seems to catch you off guard, as an obscene moan is ripped from the back of your throat. He rolls his hips upwards, notching the head of his cock against that sweet spot inside you that makes you clench violently. Something akin to a sob heaves at your shoulders as you tremble.

“I’m going to spoil you, darling. I want my ring on your finger. I want you in white lace and diamonds.”

Aleksander moans at the feeling of your nails digging into his arms through the fabric of his shirt. He keeps one hand on your hip, occasionally stroking the tense muscles of your abdomen, the other hand cupping your face so that he can kiss you.

He sees your toes curl, calves twitching as your cunt pulses an erratic beat that makes pleasure rocket down his spine. Aleksander moans your name softly, over and over until you’re shaking with overstimulation as you near your climax. When you begin to plead, he hushes you soothingly.

He knows you haven’t touched yourself in quite some time. He knows that the orgasm you’re seconds away from will unravel you completely. He can’t wait to see it.

“Let go, milaya. I’m right here,” he says warmly as he reaches down to rub firm circles over your swollen clit. “Cum around my cock like the good girl you are. Let me have you.”

Aleksander would consider it something of a religious experience, watching you lose yourself to pleasure. To see something so intimate, so sacred, in such proximity, when he has only ever seen you through a screen for months. The orgasm that hits you is lengthy, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through your body as your cunt pulses around him. Every movement, every sound you make, is so breathtakingly beautiful that he stares openly at you with his lips parted in awe. His beautiful girl. His.

That final thought is what pushes him into completion, spilling inside you with a deep moan. He looks down at where the two of you are joined, admiring the glistening mess there. He kisses your forehead as you slump down against his chest. There’s a dazed look in your eyes as you stare down at the buttons on his shirt, fidgeting with them absentmindedly.

“I can leave, if you’d like,” you suggest in a quiet murmur. He places his hands on your lower back, keeping you pressed to him.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You would freeze out there.”

Aleksander lifts you upwards, squeezing your hips gently as he does so, and his cock slips out of you. He leans forwards, kissing you again as he tucks himself back into his trousers. He sucks on your lower lip, dragging it lightly between his teeth as he buttons up his trousers with one hand.

“Stay,” he says.

The smile you give him is shy as you nod, whispering,

“Okay.”

He hooks his hands under your thighs, lifting you up into his arms. Instantly, you wrap your arms around his neck, coiling yourself around him as he carries you up the stairs.

Some of his cum slips out of you, as he lowers you down onto his sheets. He presses his fingers against your cunt, pushing his spend back inside you where it belongs. A quiet groan catches in his throat at the sensation of your warm cunt clinging to his digits, desperate to keep him inside. He curls his finger, pressing his thumb against your clit.

Aleksander grins when you cant your hips forwards mindlessly.

“What a mess we’ve made. Let me clean you up, milaya.”

Then he ducks his head between your thighs and enters heaven.

»»---------------------►

Aleksander nudges the front door closed with his hip, his hands occupied by shopping bags. He kicks his feet together to dislodge some of the snow stuck to the sole of his shoes, wondering if you’re still asleep.

He finds his answer in the kitchen; you’re dressed in one of his t-shirts. At the sound of him approaching you turn, wide eyed as he stands in the doorway, snowflakes in his hair. He notices your tears immediately, staining your cheeks as you sniffle.

“Milaya?”

“I thought you left me.” The words wobble on their way out. “I woke up and you were gone and I thought you’d left me.”

He lowers the bags, stepping towards you to take you into his arms. After the events of last night, it seems you’re in a somewhat fragile state. He folds his arms around you, giving your body a gentle squeeze as you press yourself tightly against his chest.

“The snow is getting heavy. I thought I would stock up on some essentials to last us until the weather improves,” he explains calmly. He hears how your breathing shakes with emotion. His clothes are still cold from his trip outside and you are delightfully warm. “As if I could ever leave you, my sweet girl.”

He kisses your forehead and your grip on him tightens.

“I’m here,” he murmurs gently, swaying the two of you from side to side as he strokes his hands down your body.

He ducks his head down, hooking a finger beneath your chin to tilt your head backwards so he can kiss you properly. His lips move slowly against yours, palms cupping your cheeks tenderly.

He ensures that you remain attached to him as he puts the perishables away, your arms looped around his neck and your body nestled into his side. Then he abandons the rest of the shopping, opting to bend you over the kitchen countertop, shoving his trousers down so that he can drive his cock into you.

He heaves a sigh of relief at the sound of your breathy gasp, kissing over your neck as you scramble for purchase against the marble.

“That’s it,” he breathes out with a smile, nuzzling his nose into the hollow of your throat. “Isn’t that better?”

Aleksander grips at your waist, dragging you towards him, delighting in your moans as he rolls his hips forwards. He curls a hand around your throat, squeezing lightly to bring your attention to his face. His nose grazes against yours as he insists,

“I meant every word I said last night.”

He leans in, kissing you throughly until he has to stop and breathe. Lowering his hand, his fingers circle your clit, causing you to jerk forwards with a soft moan as he sucks on your lower lip.

“I’m not letting you go, milaya.”

»»---------------------►

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[swanimagines]

Hello! So I've been reading a lot of your works *cough* mainly Kaz and Pin *cough* and I was wondering if I could request one? If so, A6 from your dialogue prompt list with Kaz Brekker. Have a great day <3

Prompt: A6. “Ugh, people are so weird.”

A/N: I still can't look at him without remembering I actually have HUGGED that man and I get to do it once more in two months I-

RUMOUR TOLD ME

Ketterdam, in its darkness and grimness, was the last place Kaz would expect to find someone like you. You, a cheery, warm person who believed all people were good unless proven otherwise. And even working with the Dregs hadn’t wiped that attitude off you, which had always puzzled Kaz. And maybe it was the way you always saw the good in everyone was what made him develop feelings for you. Or rather, as he convinced himself, he was maybe slightly interested, but not necessarily romantically.

Either way, he treated you like he had always treated you, as another Crow, and he thought everyone else thought so too. And maybe that’s why it was so shocking when you came to the Slat one day, laughing as you slid to sit at the bar counter, one stool away from Kaz.

He stared at you for a moment, and you locked eyes with him. “I just heard the funniest thing.”

“Can’t wait to hear it,” Kaz mumbled, glancing at the barkeeper who immediately started preparing a drink for him.

“There’s a rumour circling around that Kaz Brekker has a crush,” you snickered, and Kaz immediately froze. “And the crush being me. Ugh, people are so weird.”

A short silence descended upon you, and your giggling echoed in Kaz’s mind.

He closed his eyes for a moment. Get it together, Brekker.

“And you find it funny?” Kaz grumbled, which earned a frown from you.

“Well, we are complete opposites. I mean, I guess people who sent this rumour going are probably avid romance novel readers whose favourite trope is ‘opposites attract’ but I have no idea what kind of drink they took to get themselves so drunk that they spun out this kind of theory.” You shrugged, gesturing to the barkeeper to prepare a drink for you too.

Kaz scowled. “Those kinds of rumours should be cut off before they have a chance to fly.”

You laughed. “Oh come on Kaz, it’s just some children spinning stories for their entertainment, it won’t hurt anyone.”

Kaz almost barked at you, telling you that children of Ketterdam should know better than joke with things like that before someone teaches them what it’s like to lose the fun in their life forever, but he held himself back. His mind momentarily filled with pictures of what could happen if the wrong kind of people found out about that rumour and believed it. You’d disappear and eventually come back to the Slat, carried by Matthias, with a knife in your heart, your body already cold, eyes open, beginning to rotten, your mouth opened in an eternal scream–

Kaz shook his head, forcing himself to stop thinking about that scenario. 

“Rumours are dangerous,” he said, leaning towards you slightly. “Even ridiculous ones.”

You scoffed, waving your hand. “I know, but no one is going to believe something like that.”

Kaz withdrew, taking his cane and gripping the silver crow head. He wanted to tell you you’re off duty for a while. He wanted to claim he needed help in office work, which would bind you into Slat for a few weeks. He wanted to find whoever is spreading this rumour and warn them off, threaten them. Maybe even break their legs to ensure they won’t sing about it.

But even if that would work, and Kaz knew it would, it could be a sign that the rumour actually had truth to it. It would make him look weak, even if that person would never tell about his visit.

You got the drink and downed it, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, before you looked at Kaz again. “Do you have any tasks for me? If not, Inej said she’d like to have company when she goes to run an errand but if you have something more important to do, I’ll pass on that.”

Kaz clenched his jaw, staring at his still full glass of kvas. “No.” Be careful.

You nodded and disappeared to the crowd, and Kaz told himself to not look at you walking away. And as soon as your steps faded, he downed the drink and stood up, making his way to the attic. He needed to take his mind off of… this, whatever it was.

But of course, on his way, he came across Jesper waiting by Wylan’s door, spinning his other revolver. Kaz already saw from Jesper’s grin what he was going to say, that he had also heard the rumours. “Hey, Boss. Word is you’ve got a crush on our Sunshine the Second.”

Kaz cocked an eyebrow at him. “What makes you think that?”

Jesper stopped spinning his revolver and shrugged. “Well. It’s been obvious for all of us for a while. I suspected it, so I told Nina, and she listened to your heartbeat while our star Sunshine was around, and–”

“And nothing,” Kaz barked. “Whatever you have heard or understood, is not true.”

Jesper cackled, and Kaz wanted nothing more than to stuff the handle of Jesper’s beloved revolver into his throat at that moment. But it was more because he realised everyone knew. His Crows, at least, knew.

When Jesper stopped cackling, his tone was more serious. “But hey, I understand that this… thing isn’t a good thing to be circling around. If you want some of us to go uh, find out who put the rumour to circle in the first place, just tell us.” He winked. “And of course, no telling your beloved.”

Kaz thought, staring at Jesper. He wanted to keep denying it, tell Jesper everyone are idiots, doubt Nina’s skills as a heartrender. But he knew that nothing would work anymore, everything would just confirm their every suspicion, those that were true and those that were not true.

So he nodded. “Deal with it. Quietly.”

Jesper nodded in return. “Always, boss.”

And when Kaz continued ascending the steps, he could almost hear Jesper’s grin. If there had been some doubt in Jesper’s mind, now there most definitely wasn’t.

Kaz knew that his Crows knowing except for you was miles better than the whole Ketterdam knowing. If everyone knew, or if such suspicions would rise to any extent, they would inevitably eventually go straight to rivaling gangs. And at that point, depending on how stupid they were, they could follow the rumour just in case and ambush you.

They would be stupid because if you were killed by a gang, Kaz wouldn’t rest before each one’s guts had painted every wall of their past territory, but they would also be smart because they’d take away the one thing Kaz truly cared about in this world, and it would be the second time around. Kaz wasn’t sure if he would ever recover, which would potentially make him weak in a way, maybe even suicidal with his hunger for bloodshed. He could be the most feared person in all of Kerch for a few weeks, but constantly throwing himself in situations he could get killed would eventually kill him. It could even be his goal, to die fighting and take as many of his enemies with him before that.

But after those little gossipers would be getting caught and warned off, things would maybe become better, and Kaz would be able to forget about this whole mess.

---

Requests are open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

[littlest-w01f]

Shaken

"Overstimulation" with:

Stermhond x Reader

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Summary: Being unable to sleep at night on the Volkvolny, the Stermhond provides you with the perfect distraction

Cw: Overstimulation, fingering and oral!F receiving, MxF, Smut 18+ MDNI

As you stood at the rail, gazing out over the vast expanse of water stretching endlessly to the horizon, strong hands came to rest gently on your shoulders. The scent of salt spray and pine-filled your nostrils as a deep, rumbling voice spoke close to her ear.

"Sightseeing, little one?" The Stermhond asked, coming to stand beside you, hand draped over your shoulder. "Or perhaps... looking for a distraction?"

You turned to face him, taking in his ruggedly, slightly scared, handsome features. A smirk played at the corner of his lips as he looked down at you, his arm still resting on your shoulder.

"I… I was hoping to clear my head," You replied, barely above a whisper. You couldn't help but feel drawn to him despite not knowing him for long, despite the danger he represented. There was something about him that both excited and terrified you. "I've never been on a ship before... It's... Daunting... And I can't sleep"

The Stermhond chuckled, a low, sensual sound that made your heart race, his bold red hair framing his face a little, contrasting against his beautiful green eyes. "And what thoughts were troubling you so, little one? Perhaps I could provide a more… stimulating distraction."

"Is that an offer?" You teased, a coy smile playing across your lips. Despite everything you knew about pirates, or privateers, as he called himself, there was an undeniable allure to this man. His rough edges called out to the adventurous spirit inside you. "Because it seems like you're rather good at making them but would you be able to keep up?"

The Stermhond grinned, a playful glint sparking in his vibrant green eyes as he leaned in closer, bringing his face mere inches away from yours. He smelled like sea air and something undeniably masculine that made your knees weak. "Why, little one, when it comes to distractions, I'm an expert," He murmured, his voice a rich baritone that sent a thrilling shiver down your spine.

At that moment, surrounded by the endless blue expanse, the thrill of the unknown, and the intoxicating presence of this pirate, you felt a hunger stirring within you, a primal urge to surrender to the wildness that dwelled in these waters and in the man standing before you.

His breath ghosted over your skin, sending tingles racing through your body. You could almost taste the salt on his lips, the promise of adventure and forbidden pleasure hanging heavy in the salty air between you. His hand slid from your shoulder to cup your chin, tilting your face up to meet his intense gaze. "Tell me, sweet thing, what sort of distraction do you crave?" The Stermhond purred, his thumb stroking your lower lip as he waited for your response, emerald eyes burning with desire.

You kissed him hard, standing on your toes, as your lips met his, a growl of approval rumbled in his chest. The kiss was fierce, passionate, and filled with an unspoken promise of untamed pleasures yet to come. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling yourself even closer to him, your breasts pressing against his firm chest.

He began to peel off his layers, revealing muscles earned from the life at sea, each layer discarded leaving you wanting more. The sight of his muscular torso sent a jolt of arousal coursing through your veins.

With surprising strength, the Stermhond hoisted you on a single arm, breaking the kiss only momentarily as he walked back to his quarters inside his ship. Once inside his quarters, he tossed you onto the soft bedding, the motion, paired with the ship's movement causing you to bounce enticingly as you landed. With a predatory grin, he towered over you, his towering frame casting a shadow across your curves.

He pulled you up, singlehandedly undoing your corset, pulling your dress as he kissed you roughly, he wanted to hear his name from you, but his identity was too big a secret, "I want you moaning 'Nik' as I fuck you." As he spoke those words, pressing into you fully, adrenaline coursed through your veins, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. His rough kisses left you breathless, his hands exploring every inch of your body as if committing it to memory.

With a swift tug, he removed your remaining garments, exposing your bare body to the cool air of the cabin. The contrast of warmth and cold made your skin prickle, heightening your senses. He wasted no time in lowering his mouth to your breasts, taking a nipple between his lips and sucking hungrily.

You let out a gasp as he effortlessly undid your corset, pulling your dress down to reveal your cotton garments underneath. His touch was possessive, claiming every part of you as his own. His words echoed in your ears, sending shivers down your spine. "Nik…" You whimpered, feeling his hardness press against you through your clothing. The thought of being taken by him was both terrifying and exhilarating.

His calloused fingers trailed over your soft skin, tracing the curve of your waist and hips before settling on the apex of your thighs. He stroked your slick folds, teasing your sensitive bud as he watched your face contort with pleasure. "So responsive already," he mused, relishing how easily he could stoke the flames of your desire.

His fingers circled and rubbed, building delicious pressure as you writhed beneath him. You arched your back, pushing your breasts further into his hungry mouth as you gasped and moaned his name.

"Please," you panted, desperate for relief from the building tension. "More…"

With a wicked grin, he started to kiss down your body, kissing his way down your quivering stomach, he settled between your legs, spreading them wide to grant him unfettered access to your most intimate area. His hot breath fanned over your slick folds, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. He licked along your slit, tasting your sweetness, before focusing on your throbbing clit, flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

He descended upon your cunt, his tongue delving deep to lap at your slick folds. He groaned at the taste of your arousal, savouring the tangy sweetness as he explored every crevice. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open for his ravenous ministrations.

He flicked his tongue rapidly over your clit, the stimulation sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. At the same time, he thrust two fingers into your tight channel, curling them to stroke that sensitive spot inside that made your legs quiver.

"Nnngh, yes!" you cried out, your nails digging into his scalp as he worked you over with relentless fervour. The dual assault of his mouth and fingers had you teetering on the brink of climax, your inner walls clenching around his digits in anticipation.

He continued his oral assault, alternating between long licks and focused attention on your swollen nub. Your juices coated his chin as he lapped at your essence, the obscene sounds filling the cabin mixing with your increasingly loud moans.

As your peak approached, he doubled his efforts, sucking your clit between his lips and flicking it mercilessly with his tongue while pumping his fingers faster, deeper, determined to make you fall apart on his mouth.

"NIK!" Your cries reached a fever pitch as your orgasm crashed over you, your inner walls spasming around his plunging fingers. He worked you through it, prolonging your ecstasy until you collapsed back onto the bed, spent and panting.

As you rode out the aftershocks, gasping for air, he slowly withdrew his slick fingers, bringing them to his mouth to lick them clean, savouring the taste of you. "Mmm, you taste divine," The privateer hummed.

Rising above you, Sturmhond captured your lips in a searing kiss, forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue. He settled himself between your thighs, grinding his thick cock against your quivering cunt. You could feel how hard he was, how much he wanted you.

Breaking the kiss, he gazed down at you with raw, animalistic lust blazing in his eyes. In one smooth motion, he pushed himself inside you, stretching you deliciously around his girth. A low groan escaped him at the sensation of your heat enveloping him so perfectly.

Your cries echoed throughout the ship, a lewd symphony that only added to the eroticism of the moment. Each thrust of his cock sent vibrations through your body, amplifying the sensations. You could feel every vein, every ridge of his shaft buried deep within you, stretching you to accommodate his size.

"I'm going to ruin you for other men," He growled as he drew back and slammed into you again, setting a punishing pace as he took you hard and fast, the slap of skin against skin ringing out in the small space. "You'll only be mine."

Your moans increased in the wooden walls as he pounded into you relentlessly, the force of his thrusts making the bed creak ominously. Each plunge of his cock seemed to strike that magic spot deep inside, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your nerves.

The privateer's grunts grew louder, more bestial, as he chased his own release. He hooked your knees over his elbows, angling you to take him even deeper, the head of his cock slamming against your cervix with each brutal stroke.

"Nik! Nik! Oh gods, yes!" you wailed, your voice hoarse from screaming. Your nails scored down his back as he ravaged you, the pain only serving to heighten your pleasure. The intense pleasure triggered your next climax, sending you spiraling into yet another mind-shattering orgasm. Your inner walls clenched and rippled around his cock, milking him for all he was worth.

As he stayed inside you for a long while, he pinched and pulled at your clit to make you cum on his cock, your juices gushing out and coating his shaft as he rolled his hips, grinding against you to prolong both your orgasms, your brain turning mushy from the overstimulation. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as he shuddered and jerked above you. He bit down on your shoulder, panting heavily, he collapsed onto you, his weight pressing you into the mattress as you both struggled to catch your breaths. After a moment, he lifted his head to gaze down at you, a satisfied smirk playing about his lips. "Still think I can't keep up?"

Sturmhond's movements became erratic, driven by primal instinct as he neared his climax. His cock swelled within you, his balls tightening in preparation for release. He leaned down, capturing your lips once more in a bruising kiss, muffling your screams as another powerful orgasm tore through you simultaneously with your last one. He roared your name like a battle cry, his seed spurting into you in hot, pulsing jets.

"Not bad for an old man," You panted, a mischievous glint in your eye despite your exhaustion. Your words seemed to ignite something within him, a renewed surge of energy and lust. With a growl, he flipped you over onto your stomach, pulling your hips up to present yourself to him. His hand cracked across your ass, the sharp sting quickly followed by soothing caresses.

"You're playing with fire, little girl, besides, I'm only two years older than you." He warned, landing another hard spank, watching his cum spurt out of your cunt with each impact. He spread your cheeks, exposing your dripping cunt to his hungry gaze. Leaning in, he dragged his tongue through your slick folds, savouring the musky flavour of your cum mixed with his own seed.

His fingers probed your stretched opening, scooping up the creamy fluid before bringing it to his lips for a taste. "Mmm, look at you…so messy, so dirty…" He murmured, his voice a low, seductive purr. "I'm going to have to punish this naughty cunt."

Without warning, he plunged two fingers knuckle-deep into your soaked heat, curling them to rub that sensitive spot inside. His thumb found your clit, circling it firmly as he finger-fucked you with ruthless intensity.

You whined with your face pressed into the pillow, sound muffled as you screamed in pleasure. His rough handling sent waves of bliss coursing through your body, rendering you utterly helpless beneath him. You could do nothing but accept his brutal fucking, the slap of flesh echoing in the room with each powerful thrust of his fingers.

"Oh gods, yes! More!" You begged, your hips bucking back against his hand, seeking more of that exquisite torture. The feeling of being so thoroughly taken, so completely fucked, drove you wild with desire.

"That's it, take it like the desperate slut you are." He growled, adding all four fingers to your already stuffed cunt, thumb still massaging your swollen clit. The stretch burned so good, pushing you right to the edge of too much. Just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, he scissored his fingers inside you, spreading you open wider.

Tears streamed down your face from the overwhelming stimulation, drool pooling on the pillow below. Your entire body shook and twitched with pleasure, your mind hazing over with pure lust. He worked you closer and closer to another explosive climax, the pressure building in your core to unbearable levels.

His relentless assault on your cunt pushed you over the brink, your body convulsing as another orgasm ripped through you. Your inner walls clamped down on his invading fingers, rhythmically squeezing them as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over you.

As you came undone beneath him, squirting your release all over his hand and the bed, he continued his merciless fingering, continuing to pump his fingers in and out of your quivering cunt, drawing out your pleasure until you were a boneless, trembling mess. Finally, he slowed his movements, gentling his touch as he coaxed you through the final tremors. Only when your body went limp did he finally withdraw his drenched digits, admiring the sight of your gaping, twitching hole left behind.

With a wicked grin, he dived back into pleasuring your sensitive cunt. His tongue lapped at your wetness, savouring every drop of your sweet cum. He focused especially on your throbbing clit, flicking it mercilessly with his tongue.

He licked and sucked at your sensitive flesh, alternating between broad strokes and teasing flicks, keeping you balanced precariously on the knife's edge of sensation.

"Too much," You cried out, buckling your hips as he held them still, it felt like you could cum from a single touch by him, "Ah-"

Your legs began to tremble, threatening to give out entirely if not for his firm grip on your hips. He could feel you teetering on the brink again, your body tensing, preparing for another shattering climax. With a final, hard suck on your clit, he sent you hurtling over the precipice once more, your vision whiting out as rapture consumed you.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping and shuddering helplessly beneath him. He rode out the aftershocks with you, his tongue never ceasing its relentless assault on your oversensitive clit until you were a whimpering, spent mess.

Finally, he pulled back, giving your abused clit one last tender lick before crawling up your body to claim your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue delved deep, tasting himself on your tongue, mingling with the remnants of your own arousal.

Breaking the kiss, he looked down at you, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction and a hint of cruel amusement. "So many orgasms in one session? That's impressive," He mused, wrapped an arm around you.

His laughter rumbled through his chest as he gathered you close when he noticed your dropping eyes, tired, your sweaty bodies pressing together intimately. He rolled onto his side, pulling you with him so that you lay draped across his broad frame. One large hand stroked idly along your spine while the other tangled in your damp hair, gently massaging your scalp. For several long moments, you simply lay there, basking in the afterglow. Gradually, your breathing slowed, and heart rates returning to normal, eyes dropping shut.

[lady-ashfade]

🗡️ Table Of Contents 🗡️

-`｡ﾟ˘: ﾟ⋆––✷☽ ᱬ ☽✷––⋆ ﾟ: ˘ ﾟ｡.`-

╰･ﾟ✧☽ I only make fics for readers, y/n's. Please read the rules because I feel bad when you request something and I can’t do it because you haven't read the rules. But I love all of you the same. You can call me ash, or anything you want to really. Also a chubby person runs this account.

[classes and work are killing my motivation]

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Request WIP For Now

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Backup account is @lady-fadeash , You may follow @ms-fade for some 18+ fies, I know them well!

-`｡ﾟ˘: ﾟ⋆ ––✷☽ Information ☽✷––⋆ ﾟ: ˘ ﾟ｡.`-

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Rules For Requesting ´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Characters I write for. ´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒

Basic Prompts list ´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Quotes Prompts List ´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ My tag-list. ´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ A Place Of Reminders ´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Fics I Recommend

Takin by the talented @madame-fear please go check out their work!! She can write better then the moon and the stars

ꜜ -`｡ﾟ˘: ﾟ⋆ ––✷☽ Masterlists ☽✷––⋆ ﾟ: ˘ ﾟ｡.`- ꜜ

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Other Concepts

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Actor’s

╰･ﾟ✧☽ OC Concepts

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Tv Shows

╰･ﾟ✧☽ House Of The Dragon

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Game of thrones

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Percy Jackson

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Bridgerton

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Cobra Kai

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Stranger Things

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Umbrella Academy

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Julie And The Phantoms

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Wednesday

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Lockwood And Co

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Shadow And Bone

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Heartstopper

╰･ﾟ✧☽ The Walking Dead

╰･ﾟ✧☽ The Rookie

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Anime Category

╰･ﾟ✧☽ My Hero Academia

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Demon Slayer

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Movies

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Narnia

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Spider-Verse

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Marvel

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Karate Kid

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Blue Beetle

╰･ﾟ✧☽ DeadPoll

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Video Games

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Baldur’s Gate 3

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Fallout

[system-to-the-madness]

Bet ya - Kaz Brekker x Reader

Pairing: (can be read as any gender, no pronouns used) Genre: fluff Word Count: 2 311 Warnings: alcohol, Reader kisses Wylan (oops, but no cheating), OCC Kaz, betting (not on money) Summary: Kaz makes a bet with you and doesn’t like the way it turns out for him Prompts: bet, game, constest

“You’d never win a bet against me.”

“Is that a bet?”

Kaz rolled his eyes at you, adjusting in the seat at the bar of the Crow Club. “Why are you so desperate to lose to me.”

“We don’t know if I’d lose,” you reminded him, tilting your head at him playfully.

“Why do I even bother,” he murmured, more to himself than you, but you still heard him over the noise of the guests, the music and the clinking of glasses and coins.

“Come on, Kaz,” you encouraged him, nudging the leg of his chair with your foot, knowing better than to touch him. “It’s a game!”

“A stupid game, and that’s Jesper’s specialty, not mine.”

“Indulge me, just this once. All the others played too!”

“What’s your current score, then?” Kaz wasn’t looking at you as he waved to the bartender for another glass of whiskey.

“Sooo… I won against Matthias,” you start counting, “lost to Nina and Inej, won against Wylan and the bet with Jesper is still ongoing. Currently it does look like he’s going to lose, though.”

With a sigh Kaz turned back to you, taking in your appearance. His blue eyes were cold as always, but you had learnt better than to be intimidated by them. Sure, he was a dangerous man, but in a relaxed situation like right now, considering how close you were, there was nothing you had to fear from him. For the time being.

“Fine,” he agreed eventually, rolling his eyes again as an excited grin spread over your face. “But first: who would you rather kiss, Wylan or Jesper?”

You, you wanted to say, but you were no idiot and certainly not drunk enough to answer that. Even if he wouldn’t mind you basically confessing your annoying little crush on him, even if he would want to kiss you too, he couldn’t. Not with the way he flinched at any form of physical contact or even the mental image of standing too close to someone.

Quickly you tore your thoughts back to his question. Really, you had no desire to kiss either of the young men, even more so because you knew they were going out. But you had the distinct feeling one of their names would annoy him more to hear than the other.

“I don’t want to kiss either of them,” you told him honestly.

“Assume you are being forced. Who would you choose?”

Worrying your lips between your teeth, you glanced over at the table in the corner, where the rest of the crows were laughing together. Matthias sat in the very back, Nina cuddled into his side, Inej in safe distance at his other side with Wylan and Jesper on the bench opposite them.

“Do I have to choose?”

“Yes,” Kaz’s answer came cooly and not without a hint of pleasure at your discomfort.

“Jesper,” you eventually decided, just in time looking back at Kaz to see his face fall. Jackpot.

“And who of the two are you more scared of?”

“Scared of?” You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped over your lips. “Why would I be scared of either of them?”

“Maybe you upset them? Broke Wylan’s favourite flute, or Jesper’s gun…”

The way Kaz was looking at you now reminded you of why people were so scared of him. There was something truly… demonic- in the way he was watching you now. You were his mark and his whole focus was on trying to find a way to bring you down. You just wished his whole focus would be on you even without trying to drive you into ruin.

“I mean, Jesper has his guns, but Wylan has his explosives,” you thought out loud. “So, I’m gonna go with Wylan on this.”

“Hm, not ideal,” Kaz told you, his eyes flickering from you over to the table with his friends. You had about an idea what he was going to bet you on, you just didn’t know who he would choose, Jesper or Wylan.

“Don’t stress yourself out,” you joked, trying to overplay your sudden nervousness. “You don’t have to come up with a masterplan for a simple game of betting.”

“Who would I be if I didn’t,” Kaz asked, turning back to you with a devilish grin that made a shiver run down your spine. Jup, Matthias’ nickname for Kaz was accurate indeed.

“Fine, hit me with all you’ve got,” you sighed, leaning a little closer than before as if conspiring with him. Instead of leaning away, as you had expected him to do, he leant closer, close enough for you to smell the whiskey on his breath.

“I bet you wouldn’t go over to Wylan and kiss him. On the mouth,” Kaz grinned diabolically.

Yeah, you had known he’d go for this as soon as he had asked the first question.

“That’s not a bet, that’s a dare,” you educated him, but got up from your chair anyway, Kaz’s eyes widening slightly. “What do I get if I win?”

“You won’t,” Kaz told you, his confident smile seeming frozen on his lips.

“Well, then what do you get if you win,” you asked, adjusting your shirt, turning to him expectedly.

“The pride of knowing you ruined your own bet,” Kaz decided.

“How chivalrous of you. I’ll take a coffee with winter spices from the café down the street as my prize, but the coffee with cream, the good one,” you told him, before turning away and walking over to the corner, where your friends were seated. All the way over you felt Kaz’s eyes on your back.

“Hey! Did you finally leave the resident rain cloud and decided to join the fun,” Jesper laughed as he spotted you approaching.

“Not quite. Hey Jes, remember our bet from before?”

Jesper nodded, his grin growing broader. “Am I winning?”

“You just might,” you told him. “But I’d have to kiss your boyfriend for that.”

Jesper stopped for a moment, as if he was thinking, then he looked up at where you were standing behind him, over to Kaz, to Wylan and back to Kaz.

“Oh, if it’s just for the bet, you’d have to ask Wylan, not me.” The grin was returning to Jesper’s face, and you had the sudden thought that he actually might be into you kissing Wylan. Oh saints, that man.

“I would ask him either way, you genius,” you sighed, “I just don’t want to get shot by you over a bet.”

“Fair enough,” Jesper agreed.

“So, Wylan, would you mind if I kissed you? No tongue or anything. It would help me win a bet against Kaz and possibly help Jesper win a bet against me.”

Wylan blinked for a few seconds, trying to process what you were asking, then his eyes skipped over to Jesper, who you saw nodding encouragingly from the corner of your eyes.

“I guess, it’s okay,” he nodded, making you smile.

“This shouldn’t be as hot as it is,” Jesper mumbled behind you.

“I’ll keep it short, I promise,” you told him, placing a hand on his shoulder and leaning down to come to level with him. His dark eyes flickered over your face and from this close up you could almost count the freckles that were sprinkled over his nose and cheeks. He definitely was cute. Not your type, but cute. You could understand why Jesper was so in love with him.

You closed your eyes, and leant forward, determined to get this over with as quickly as possible. But your lips had barely touched against Wylan’s, hadn’t even yet registered his warmth, when suddenly the others on the table gasped. It wasn’t the kind of ‘oh, they’re actually kissing!’-gasp, it was more of a shocked, if not even scared gasp. Before you could even try to make sense of it, something hard and pointy landed on your shoulder and you got yanked backwards.

“That’s enough,” Kaz’s icy voice cut like a blade through the noise of the Crow Club.

And without giving you the chance to properly stand up or let you look at him, he used the crow beak of his cane to drag you backwards. Instead of trying to figure out the various levels of amusement and terror on your friends’ faces, you twisted, trying to turn around to Kaz, who marched straight out of the Crow Club. In the dark, cold street outside, he walked a few more meters before he came to a halt and unhooked the cane from your shoulder.

“What was that about,” he almost shouted, his frame seeming taller and more dangerous than usually. Finding yourself on the bad side of Dirtyhands was not very pleasant, you realized, but also you didn’t understand what his problem was.

“What do you mean,” you asked, “you bet I wouldn’t do it, and I did. You lost, so what?”

“You kissed him!”

“Hardly! You stopped me before it was even a proper kiss. With that crow cane of yours.” Annoyed you rubbed the aching part of your shoulder, where the tip of the beak had bored into your muscle.

“You weren’t supposed to kiss him,” Kaz argued.

“You bet I wouldn’t. You have to expect people to win a bet by doing the opposite of what you want them to do. That’s how bets work!”

“I didn’t think you’d really do it! I thought you’d- or- I don’t know! I didn’t think you’d go through with it!”

“Why not? I told you, it’s a game. What’s so bad about wanting to win it?”

“I thought- I thought you wouldn’t kiss him, because you liked m-” Kaz stopped himself before the last word fully slipped over his lips, and turned away, exasperated. Running a shaking hand through his hair, he sighed. “You weren’t supposed to kiss him.”

“Kaz,” carefully you stepped closer behind him. His breath was irregular, and he was clearly upset and emotional. Under normal circumstances you would have placed your hand on his back, but knowing Kaz, you refrained. “Kaz, you do know it was a game, right? It didn’t mean anything. And- I only kissed Wylan because I though you wouldn’t mind.”

“Wouldn’t mind?” Kaz turned back around to you. “Of course I mind! Do you think I don’t wish I could be the one who-”

“Quick question!” Without warning the window beside Kaz and you got thrown open and Jesper poked his head outside. “Kaz are you jealous? And does that mean I won our bet?” The second part was directed at you.

“Not now, Jes,” you told the Zemini man and slammed the window shut again.

“Listen Kaz,” you took a step closer to Kaz, still leaving a safe distance between him and you to not upset him further. “If I had known it would upset you this much, I would have rejected the bet. I really was convinced you didn’t care about if or who I kissed. But now I know better, and it won’t happen again. And for the record. When you asked, who I wanted to kiss between Jesper and Wylan, my initial response would have been someone else entirely.”

You exchanged a long look with Kaz, one that left no doubt that you had meant him, even if you lacked the courage to put it into words.

After a few moments, Kaz bowed his head slightly.

“Sorry for lashing out,” he mumbled.

“Since when does Dirtyhands do apologies,” you teased, making Kaz groan.

“Don’t ruin it,” he threatened, making you laugh.

“Alright, alright. But now that we have that settled, does this mean I won a bet against you?”

“One,” Kaz emphasized. “I won’t make it so easy next time.”

“Why, what’s the next bet? Kissing Nina?”

“You won’t be kissing anyone,” Kaz grumbled, a blush beginning to rise into his cheeks.

“Not anyone? Not even the great Kaz Brekker?” It was bold, that was for certain, but you had hit bullseyes it seemed, as Kaz fought back the red on his cheeks and instead turned to you with an expression that probably was his attempt to threaten you. The thing with Kaz Brekker was that he was incapable of believably threatening the people he cared about.

“I might make an exception for him,” he mumbled, before turning to the door. “Let’s go back inside; it’s cold.”

Trying not to let your giddy excitement show, you followed Kaz back into the bar, but before he entered the main room, he stopped and turned to you.

“What was that bet you had going on with Jesper,” he asked with furrowed brows. You couldn’t help but notice that his body language had changed. Where before he always stood straight and with a certain distance to every person he encountered, he now seemed to be leaning more towards you as if trying to close a distance you knew he couldn’t. Not yet anyway.

“He bet, you would get jealous over me before the end of the month,” you admitted, watching Kaz tilt his head. “I was convinced it was impossible.”

Kaz’s jaw tensed, and his eyes met yours with an unspoken confession, but the moment was interrupted by a drunk guy stumbling through the door, bumping into you and apologizing terribly.

Kaz and you exchanged glances, your more amused than his annoyed one, before you walked back inside, getting hit by a wall of noise and the smell of alcohol. The others waved you over cheerfully, and when Kaz and you pulled your own chairs over to join them at their table, nobody mentioned the way Kaz rested his arm on the backrest of your chair or how he leant over to whisper in your ear that he hadn’t forgotten about the prize for you winning the bet but only under the condition that he got to accompany you to the café.

[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

[heliads]

You and Me (A Whole Lot of History)

Based on this request: "y/n is a historian with access to old schematics so kaz hires her for a job. he keeps inventing reasons to find her afterwards until he’s forced to admit his feelings"

masterlist

You only get to study about half a chapter of your textbook before you’re interrupted by a criminal. It’s not like you mind having to put down the heavy tome you’ve been leafing through; estate law of centuries past is not your idea of some fun light reading, but you’ve been helping to piece together some fragments of an old mansion from pre-Unsea Kerch, and you’d really like to be able to decide if the master of the house your tattered documents keep referring to is the eldest son or the second eldest. 

It all depends on very specific details that refuse to make themselves known to you. So no, having an excuse to stop all this isn’t terrible, you’re just a little distracted by the fact that you’re in a private study room in the historical library of Ketterdam, and you know for certain that you locked the door that has just been opened.

You know who’s just broken into your study space. Not personally, that is, but just as well as any resident of the Barrel knows the one they call Dirtyhands– through bated breath, in stolen whispers of expensive heists and bodies left behind, no traitors tolerated and none allowed to live. The fact that Kaz Brekker has taken it upon himself to enter your study room of all the empty ones still available in the library is not promising, to say the least, although you have absolutely no idea what you’ve done to appear on his radar.

You are, in fact, quite possibly the last person Kaz would even be aware of. You’re a historian, specializing in a few select centuries and powerful families in the Kerch area. This means that you spend most of your time in old and crumbling buildings, not out in shady dealings or shootouts or any of the other places Brekker tends to frequent.

This doesn’t seem to stop Kaz from closing the door behind him and taking a seat opposite your desk. He folds his hands in front of him, idly contemplating the textbook you’re still supposed to be perusing, but remains frustratingly silent.

It falls to you, then, to pick up a conversation, which is unfair considering the fact that he’s the one who’s barged in on your space. “That door was locked for a reason, you know,” you point out.

Kaz arches a dour brow. “Yes. I opened it.”

He’s not making this easy for you. “Why?” You ask.

Instead of answering you, Brekker jerks his chin towards the book in front of you. “What’s that about?”

There is no earthly reason one of the most notorious gang leaders in the Barrel should be asking about the homework you’re doing for your job. Still, he has, so you must answer, no matter how confused you are about it. “Inheritance disputes of the fourteenth century Kerch nobles. Why, are you interested in checking it out after me?”

Kaz scoffs. “No. I just want your information, not that book.”

You feel yourself leaning back slightly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Trust me, whatever information you’re after won’t be found from me.”

Kaz shakes his head once. “No, actually, I think it will be.”

He reaches for something under his coat, and you’re hit with the brief terror that he’ll get a gun or something and you’ll die here and now, but then his gloved hand comes back out into the light carefully holding a rolled up piece of paper, which he smooths out onto the desk before you. You tuck your textbook away so you can get a better look at the thing, more curious now than afraid.

It turns out to be a copy of house blueprints. As you study it, you realize that you recognize the place. You were there recently for a project for your employer, checking up on the preservation of a few rooms. “Is this the old van Haarst mansion?” 

Brekker’s eyes flash, reminding you of the slick of oil on water. “You know about it?”

“Yeah,” you say, peering further at the blueprints. “I’ve worked there before.”

Kaz nods, looking pleased. “I’d like to buy your services. I need information on this building and your silence on the matter. Are you interested?”

Your brow furrows. “What information do you need?”

To answer you, Brekker tosses a stack of kruge onto the table. You can see the numbers on the edges, and know even without counting that this payment will be far more than what you’d earn even for a year at your job. This is the deal, then. He’ll only tell you more if you accept his money, and if you accept his money, you agree to whatever he wants.

Honestly, not the worst bargain. Ghezen knows you’ve had worse supervisors on other jobs. At least you can trust Brekker to be honest so long as you are too.

You put the stack of bills into your bag, and turn back to the blueprints with renewed interest. “Are you trying to get in or get out?”

“Both,” Kaz tells you. “I’m assuming you’ve heard rumors of Marysa’s Diamond?”

You choke out a laugh. “Have I ever.”

Marysa’s Diamond is like the Saints in flesh for historians. The van Haarst family was exceedingly rich, and one of their matriarchs, Marysa van Haarst, was said to be in possession of an incredible gemstone, the diamond named after her. It disappeared when the family abandoned Kerch for Ravka following the death of three of Marysa’s sons, and no one has seen it since.

You blow out a low breath. “You think it’s in the old house somewhere? Historians have been all over the place, we would have found it if it was there.”

“It wasn’t always,” Kaz tells you. “It’s been moved there. I have good information that the van Haarst house will act as a safe house for the stone while it’s being moved from hand to hand. They’ll keep it there overnight. I will be entering the estate with a team and taking it.”

He goes silent, as if waiting for any objections. You don’t really care about the morals of the affair, though. You have your money and you get to be the foremost expert on a historical favorite of yours. Robberies happen every day, not something to get teary eyed over.

When you don’t speak up, Kaz continues on. “They’ll be keeping the stone in a place no one can find. There will be a window of exactly one bell in which the old owner leaves the house and is replaced by the new owner, carefully staggered so the stadwatch aren’t alerted by too many people in the estate after hours. That means it would have to be a damn good hiding spot. If you were hiding a gemstone in this house, where would you put it?”

You consider the blueprints before you again. There are a thousand and one places you could hide something in there– tucked inside the grand piano, in a safe, under one of a hundred carpets– and there’s no way Brekker’s men could find it in time.

However, that means the person meant to be picking up the diamond wouldn’t be able to find it as well. They would have to find somewhere in the estate hidden to everyone else but the recipient of the gemstone.

The answer occurs to you in a flash. “Oh,” you say, “Secret room.”

Brekker blinks at you. “What?”

You point at the map. “It’s totally going in the secret room. I mean, they don’t want it to be found by anyone else, right? That’s, like, the whole point of a secret room.”

Were it not for the fact that he’s, well, Dirtyhands, you’d swear his voice turns sarcastic. “That was my understanding of a secret room, yes. Where is it?”

Were it not for the fact that he is in fact Dirtyhands, you would roll your eyes. “There’s an entrance off of the secondary hallway leading off of the dining room. Unlock the door using a little latch under the bottom of the ugly painting of the old duchess of Belendt.”

He stares at you. “How do you know that? It’s not on any map.”

You lift a shoulder. “I wanted to know why they’d keep such a foul portrait around. The elites of that time period were huge on perfectionism, every one of their paintings had to be absolutely glorious or it would get removed from their sight. That’s why there are so many old paintings in the surrounding villages, actually, the nobles would just leave these expensive oil paintings outside the castle because they couldn’t take the sight of them anymore. There was no reason they’d let such a dreadful portrait stay unless it was hiding something.”

You had been focused on the map in your hands during the majority of this little speech, fondly recalling little anecdotes from your history classes, but you remember yourself soon enough. You look up and Kaz is staring at you, almost fascinated.

You feel your cheeks heat up. “Sorry, I’m rambling. Got distracted.”

He shakes his head brusquely, although there’s a hint of pink on the tops of his cheekbones that wasn’t there before. “No, no. It’s important information. So we should be aware of any suspicious paintings?”

“Yeah,” you muse, “just look for the bad ones. Pretend you’re an art critic or something.”

The edges of Kaz’s dour glare turn themselves up into something of a humored smirk. “Will do. Thank you for the advice, L/N.”

You nod. “Have fun with the heist. Hey, if you see any older books on the history of the family, would you mind grabbing one or two for me? I’ve been trying to do some research for ages, but the library keeps stalling on getting resources to me, no matter how many requests I send.”

Kaz’s brows draw close together. “That would be unbelievably risky. We can’t take more things than we need or we could be caught.”

You grin. “I know, I’m kidding. Just a joke.”

Kaz’s expression lightens microscopically. “Yes, a joke.”

He leaves soon enough, pushing his chair away from the desk and rolling up the blueprints with a crisp snap of the paper. He warns you to keep your mouth shut about the plans, but you’re not sure that he does it with the fire you expected of a notorious gang leader. Instead, the words are soft, like he’s cautioning a friend.

You don’t hear from him again, not for a while. You’re not sure when this mysterious diamond deal is going down, and you doubt the unlucky men Kaz will grift can go to the stadwatch about this. In fact, you have no idea if it’s happened at all until about a week later. You had gone about your day like normal, not suspecting a thing until the moment you unlocked your door.

And there, centered perfectly on your desk when you get back home despite the fact that you never gave keys to your apartment to anyone, are three books. Aged, cracked covers, gilded writing. You hesitantly pick up one and read the title under your breath:  A History of the Bendtsen Family, 1200-1500. Another:  The van Almelos of the Belendt Region:  Two Centuries of Political and Economic Legacy.

Kaz. He actually got the books. Never mind that you were joking, never mind that he knew that, Kaz Brekker went out of his way to risk a heist just so he could help you out with a research project. Saints. And they say chivalry is dead.

You don’t expect to get the chance to thank him for it until he randomly crosses your path not two weeks later. He’s alone again, miraculously turning up outside your company door just as you leave to walk home. Kaz informs you that he’ll need your services again, exchanging some kruge for more words. This time, he wants details on an office building down the street, one that used to be a city hall. You’re able to take him in yourself thanks to access granted to all historians for historic places, and turn a blind eye when he grabs a few documents regarding interport commerce.

He walked you to your door that night, lingering over the threshold like a teenager not wanting to leave a first date. He shows up again after a month, using an excuse that’s less polished and more finicky. The next time, he doesn’t have an excuse at all. It’s just him, standing in front of you. No money, no plan. He just wanted to see you.

Kaz calls it ‘checking up on an investment,’ but you get the feeling that it’s not something he usually does. He walks with you by the water, he buys you drinks at a bar not even in his own pocket. It’s unusually sweet, so you can’t bite back your questions anymore and confront him about it when he hovers in front of your door for the dozenth time.

“What is this about, Kaz?”

He blinks at you in surprise. “What?”

You gesture between the two of you. “All of this. This isn’t for a job anymore. Why?”

Kaz looks away. It’s rare for him to not have a perfect poker face. Perhaps it’s yet another sign that this means something more, something that you can’t help but wish for. “I wanted to make sure you were safe. I’ve called on you for several jobs that can risk the players involved in the game.”

You shake your head. “You’ve gone out of your way to make sure no one knows about me. It’s just us, Kaz. You did that on purpose.”

“Yes,” he admits at last, “I did. I wanted something for myself. Something that wasn’t as bad as the rest.”

He risks a glance over at you, and his shoulders square slightly when he realizes you aren’t trying to fight him on this, or worse, leave. “You’re good, Y/N. Good things don’t last long around here. I want to make sure you do. I want you to stay forever.”

With me, he means. He wants to keep you in his life. His eyes flicker to your hands, and although you know he won’t take them, not yet, he wants to. That’s why you finally put together the pieces. Kaz Brekker is not good at verbalizing his feelings. Perhaps he never will be. This is the best shot he can give you, and he could not even say the word ‘love’ if it ripped his heart out with bleeding fingertips.

You've had so much over the years, and it has never been enough. Not once, not ever. A thousand coffers could empty themselves, a hundred men die and be reborn. It has never once stopped you. This, by contrast, is nothing. A canal rat's promise, most likely broken before the night is through. You know it, Kaz knows it. This is nothing. 

Yet it is the most true thing you have ever had, the one solid stone in a wall about to come crumbling down. It is small, barely there at all, but still worth it. Maybe that is why you stay, for the hope. For him. It is enough.

grishaverse tag list: @rogueanschel, @cameronsails, @deadreaderssociety, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @eclliipsed, @mayfieldss, @gods-fools-heroes, @bl606dy, @auggie2000, @baju69, @crazyhearttragedy

[starshipsofstarlord]

being the only person kaz can touch would include:

warnings. haphephobia (the fear of being touched or touching others), some angst and fluff, vomiting, hidden feelings (0.7k)

divider credits. @cafekitsune

being a trusted member of the crows for quite some time, and growing up as part of the dregs with him prior to him earning his high standing position

if anything, he would feel the most comfortable with you as he had known you for years, although that did not make it any easier for him at the start

it isn’t that he didn’t want to be able to touch others, as it was a weakness that repulsed him to his very core, but he just couldn’t

the act of flesh touching his own would slip him into a state of sickness, both mentally and physically. kaz despised it, though he had gotten used to not being able to hold skin to skin contact

but he wanted to overcome the vigorous discomfort that he felt amidst it, and have some relief in conquering a minuscule part of it. even if it was with only a singular person. it would grant him a feeling of power and control over his greatest fear

he asked you, as you were never one to pry in regards to him constantly wearing his gloves and him grimacing at the sight of wounded flesh

the two of you were in his office, just the pair of you when he brought it up in conversation. kaz felt comfortable that you would not judge him, you had known each other long enough for your mind to hardly draw focus to his phobia

he had even in the past trusted you with his gravest secret - the reason for his phobia, and you understood the experience that he had had as a child could contort his mind into repelling human contact

“i know this may seem rash…” his words had you concerned until he explained his motives; he seemed certain on what he wanted, and whilst you wished to abide in helping him, you yourself were afraid of bringing him discomfort, especially when it involved such a hardwired fear he had

nevertheless you agreed on the conditions that you would proceed with the process slowly, and he would let you know if it got too much

kaz agreed to your terms, silently appreciating the care that you had for him, daring not to voice it. he was not the best person at expressing his feelings if they were not within the realm of anger or rage

small steps, he reminded himself, not wanting to overwhelm himself before the two of you started in battling his fears, or let you become wise as to the reason he had wanted you to be the one to help him

when you first touched after years of knowing one another, you held kaz’s hands. he still wore his gloves as you had told him to, and he felt guilty for the bile that rose in his throat and the vomit that left his mouth

the feeling was so foreign, but he knew that it was his own nerves gnawing at him. he still had his gloves on for saint’s sakes, and that did not usually stop him during brawls with the dime lions if it was necessary

but it was his fault, he told himself. kaz had been imagining himself not wearing the barriers of leather, picturing your hands held together with nothing in between

you did not blame him, nor physically try to comfort him, knowing that neither would enlighten or make kaz feel any better. instead, you told him that you could both try again some other time if he wished, making sure that he did not feel any pressure to do so if he either did not want to or did not feel comfortable 

he made a point of continuously calling you to his office after that, to try and try again. and over time, the impulse to vomit subsided, and he got used to holding your hand whilst wearing his gloves

one day, he surprised both of you by removing the leather from his hands, choosing on impulse to touch your own. he had expected to be sickened, but instead his mind distracted him, thinking of how warm your skin was - nothing like jordie’s had been when…

you were shocked, a smile pulling onto your features and pride swelling in your chest for Jim

though you had reminded him to go at his own pace, you could not help but hug him, and he awkwardly embraced you back, feeling comfortable enough due to all of the layers of clothing that were between you

it was a work in progress, but Kaz wanted more, his greed overwhelming him. he did refrain but he had every intent of eventually progressing, fighting his greatest fear so that one day he would be capable of kissing you…

[cupids-archives]

thinking about teasing…

contains.. (grinding, office sex, pnv sex)

bending over in front of your easily flustered boyfriend can only go so far. tight pink panties showing under your short skirt, revealing just enough before standing up and pretending nothing happened. you know the effect you have on him but that doesn’t stop you from attempting to get him all hard and needy for you.

even going as far as to pretend to drop something just to get on your knees and crawl around. ass up in the air as you search for something for uncomfortably long, pouting suggestively.

you bend over the desk, ass in his face as you pretend to be grabbing paper, pretending to trip and fall right into his lap.

“ahh-! I’m sorry!!” you scream, being convincing as you can as you sit on his lap, pressing into his bulge. “Im so sorry sir..” you tease, still rubbing against him despite your apologetic regards.

you don’t even attempt to get to, slyly rubbing his cock through his pants, grinding on his dick while making innocent pleas. he doesn’t attempt to push you off, enjoying how he can feel you growing wet from under your panties but the heat rushing to his face is unpleasant, his dick becoming heavy in his pants.

“p-please..” he begs, tracing his hand down to your stomach and to your already swollen clit, the constant rubbing sends shivers up your spine, not even trying to hide your moans. you don’t say anything to him though.

his hands push you further down to his lap, his breath becoming heavy as he undoes his pants wasting no time before moving your wet panties to the side and pushing himself in.

he bites at your neck sucking on it as he bounces you on his cock, his breathing becoming faster and faster as his thrusts speed up.

“your such a good stress reliever darling”

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