A Knife In The Back

A Knife in the Back

A/N felt like coming back to writing here now that it’s summer and i’m working on rediscovering myself in order to deal with some mental health stuff. What’s a better thing to come back with than my roots? 

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader 

Background: This is very much inspired by the main relationship dynamic in the Hulu show ‘The Great’ (if you haven’t watched it and have a hulu subscription and are old enough I’d def recommend it). Basically this is just playing into the ‘i love you, but i’m supposed to want to kill you’ trope. Also inspired by Taylor Swift’s ‘My Tears Ricochet’ (i’m obsessed with the line ‘you had to kill me, but it killed you just the same’) 

Summary: Y/n has been groomed her entire life to take over as head of a major gang. Recently, she’s been working with the Crows. Tonight, though, she’s being put to the ultimate test of loyalty. No longer is this a game of cat and unaware mouse, because now she’s supposed to kill Kaz Brekker. 

this ends on a cliffhanger bc i wanted to do a two-part thing, so let me know if you’d be interested in that or want to be tagged :))

I was first exposed to the concept of taking someone’s life when I was about seven. I don’t remember what happened, but I remember that Cassandra hadn’t meant for me to find out about it. She didn’t take any care to keep it from me, but she didn’t exactly want me walking into her office after she slit the throat of the merchant that tried taking advantage of her.

She had blinked at me, then, before telling me that forcing death was just a part of life. She didn’t react when I ran out into the hall to throw up after the man’s blood soaked into my socks. She rubbed my back gently and told me that soon I’d learn how to kill efficiently so that I wouldn’t have to stomach much.

I was ten when Cassandra made good on that promise. I still remember the day she taught me how to kill with calculation. We spent the day together, plunging blades into foam mannequins. She presented me with my first dagger that day. 

That was years ago, and somehow, by some kind of miracle, I had avoided ever having to kill someone. Cassandra raised me, meaning that there’s always been someone else around to do the dirty work. Either Cassandra would do the ugly part of a job for me or one of her upper ranking underlings would be around in order to spare me.

But today is the day where all of that changes. Not only do I have to kill someone, but I have to kill Kaz Brekker. The pit in my stomach should only exist because of my fear of retaliation. I should only be concerned about what the Bastard of the Barrel will do if he realizes my betrayal, but that’s not why I’ve felt sick all day. 

When I first started playing double agent, I didn’t think it’d end like this for so many reasons. Cassandra never told me that her overall goal was to have Kaz Brekker killed. I also really, really didn’t expect to see Kaz as a person, let alone... 

I don’t even know. I just--I hated him. I was supposed to hate him and being exposed to his cruelty and lack of regard for life made it easy. And then--then one day it started to seem like maybe he isn’t made of darkness. Maybe he’s only touched by it, maybe he only wears it because he needs to. Maybe he’s more like Cassandra than I was supposed to realize.

“You alright, dovey?” 

I should roll my eyes at Jesper’s question and relax into my seat. I should act normal so that no one will suspect anything of me. All I can manage to do is slump into my seat. “A bit of a headache,” I mumble, “You know it happens from time to time.” My dagger is sheathed beneath layers of fabric but somehow I still feel the coldness of the metal. It forces a chill through me. “And don’t call me ‘Dovey’, we’ve talked about nicknames.” 

Jesper lets his head fall to the side dramatically. My eyes move to the glass in his hand. The amber liquid sloshes with Jesper’s movements. “You’re no fun when you’re in a mood.” I open my mouth to comment on how dramatic he’s being and the fact that I’m feeling perfectly fine, but he beats me to it. “Then again, with what boss-man said, I’d be in a mood, too.” 

What--what Kaz said? “With what who said?” 

Sobriety attempts to grasp Jesper, but he quickly dodges it. His eyes briefly shut as he takes a sharp inhale. “You don’t know.” 

Something in my stomach knots. Did Kaz find out who I am? “Know what?” He brings a finger up to his lips, signaling that it’s a secret. “Jesper.” 

“Y/n,” he copies the sharpness of my tone. I continue to glare at him. “C’mon, don’t put me in this position, today’s been hard enough. Our job went off without an issue, don’t drag--” I don’t stop glowering. “Y/n--” He sighs once. “Fine--I don’t--I didn’t hear much, just that your name--” Jesper pauses, struggling to arrange his sentence. “Your name came up during a deal. I couldn’t quite hear everything.” 

“Well, what did you hear?”

Jesper hesitates again, eyebrows pinching together in an unsettlingly pitiful way. “Some kind of contingency thing--something that would’ve--would’ve given the other man the rights to you.”

Something in me bursts into flame. The ice of the knife strapped to my skin is suddenly welcome. An old instinct in my chest understands the meaning of Jesper’s slurred words before the rest of me does. “The rights to me?” 

Jesper shifts uneasily. “If your headache’s not going away, maybe you should just have a drink for your nerves and go to bed.” I don’t move. 

“How can someone have ‘the rights’ to me? I’m not indentured--” 

“Kaz knows how to run with an assumption when it’s convenient.”

Something in my chest turns to stone. Jesper’s drunken testimony has left gaps in the story, but it’s not exactly hard to fill in. For whatever reason, Kaz put me on the line for a deal. It wouldn’t have been hard for him to make good on his promise. Kaz could slip something into my drink. He could overpower me or have someone do it for him. He could force me into something at gunpoint. He could--he could have sold me. 

I swallow once, wiping my eyes with my palm. “Listen, y/n, Kaz says whatever he needs to--” 

“His word means something, Jesper, you know that.” 

My voice must reflect how hollow I feel inside because Jesper sighs once. “Y/n-”

I swallow once, “I’m fine, Jesper. You didn’t hear everything, and you’re drunk, and nothing happened. Everything’s fine.”

Something in my chest has stopped. He was willing to sell me. I was wagered like the gambling chips from the Crow Club. Everything Cassandra said was right. Kaz Brekker may be a criminal like the woman that raised me, but he lacks Cassandra’s one redeeming quality. He lives without humanity.

I have heard the stories, I have seen what becomes of women sold and bartered. Cassandra has stolen so many women that were owned by men like the man Kaz just did business with. The man he was willing to sell me to just to get an edge on Pekka Rollins.

Thousands of images reflect in my mind. I can see them now, their empty eyes offset only by the litter of bruises against their skin.

“Y/n--” 

“I said I’m fine, Jesper. I know how Brekker is.” I repeat, voice stern. “I just need to go to bed.” He looks like he wants to say something. “I’ll sleep it all off.” I stand, staring at a blank spot on the wall. “Don’t drink too much, alright? Just make sure you eventually find your way to a safe bed. It doesn’t even have to be yours.” 

Jesper grins, “You get me.” He sighs, adjusting his hold on his glass. “Will do, Doves, make sure to take something to make sleeping off that headache a little easier.” 

No matter how tonight goes, if I survive, I’m going to need to drink something strong. “Yeah, Jes, I’ll take care of my headache.” 

I am a phantom as I approach the stairwell. In another life, another version of events, I never entertained the idea of being Jesper’s company as he drank in celebration of our success. In that reality, what I need to do is less possible.

With shaking hands I reach towards the pocket of my dark pants. In a single slash, the blade my fingers are touching can take a life. I can extinguish a flame of destruction and Cassandra will be proud of me. She’ll realize that the child she took in was worth it.

“Y/n--” 

I turn, trying to hide how ambushed I feel. Okay...there’s nothing weird about jumping about someone’s sudden appearance. “Kaz.” 

His name stumbles awkwardly from me. Act normal. “I need to speak to you.” Speak to me, how kind of him to waste his valuable time communicating with someone who’s basically cattle. “I have some business to attend to first. Meet me in my office before the hour ends?” 

Why, is my purchaser going to be expecting me? The urge to lash out pulses through me, but that will get me nothing. Kaz is beyond reason. If I could change him, if I could spare him, I would. So I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. 

“The color’s drained from your face.” His observation is a blow to the chest. “You’re not ill. Does Nina--” 

“I’m fine.” His concern is only practical. Illness would only slow me down or make me less valuable. “Just a migraine. I’ll sleep it off tonight.” 

His eyebrows draw together for a moment. “Hm.” Please let that be the dismissal I’m looking for. “If you’re feeling uneasy, you don’t need to over concern yourself. That’s what I wanted to meet with you about.” Kaz pauses, an odd affliction crossing his features briefly. “You did good work today.” 

An unnamed feeling wedges itself between my hurt and fury. Grief--crushing, undeniable grief has found itself in me. “Thank you.” 

Kaz won’t stop looking at me directly in the eye. “I know that you’re adverse to killing and much of what I do, but you never let that translate into weakness.” 

His voice is low and uneasily patient. My chest flutters, all of my emotions curdling in my chest. Even on a normal day I wouldn’t be able to think of a good response to that. “I’ll see you before the end fo the hour.” He nods once and I turn. “Kaz,” his name comes from me without my permission, “I appreciate your acknowledgement of my lack of weakness.” 

For a second, I think he might smile. “I never said you lack weakness.” 

“I know, but your gushing approval made your true feelings clear.”

“Dear, y/n, light of my existence,” Kaz approaches me, extending a hand slowly. I become perfectly still as his pinky latches onto mine for a brief moment. My heart stops. “I have never once ‘gushed approval’.” His sarcasm seems to settle me. The corner of my mouth turns upwards. “Now, get out of my way, I have some business to deal with downstairs.”

“Doubt I could get you to ask more nicely.” 

He takes a single step forward. “Please, excuse me.” 

A final good moment with Kaz. My chest swells as I step to the side. “That’s more like it.” 

He disappears down the stairs. Okay--within the hour. I have time to-to think and to--I don’t even know. Cassandra sent me here to ruin him, to work against him so that our gang could do better. I’m a mole, not a killer. But I should have known that one day our relationship would end like this--the knife of one buried in the back of the other. 

That final thought echoes in my chest, shattering me. I make it to my room, lock the door, and sink against the wall, suppressing a sob. 

I stay like that for as long as I can justify it, but there is no putting off the inevitable. Kaz Brekker will die at my hand, and it is deserved. I wipe at my tears with the back of my palm and wash my face in the sink. Once I’m convinced that I’m presentable, I leave my room, checking for the blade secured to my thigh. It hasn’t been that long, so there’s a good chance I will have the element of surprise. That’s the only way to end this. I’ll be efficient, just like Cassandra taught me. He will not suffer, and it will not be personal. 

I walk to his office, my steps methodical. He would have sold me. He would have sold me. He would have sold me. I take a deep breath, reaching for the handle of the door to his office. I pull the dagger from its place, squeezing the hilt. He would have ruined me. 

Pushing the door open silently, I stop breathing. His tall figure is turned away from the door. Good, this way he won’t have to see me and I won’t have to feel his reaction. My steps are even until I’m within arms reach of him. Think of Cassandra, think of all he’s done. 

My blade plunges into his back. The world stops. I pull my knife out before pushing it back in. Tears swell in my eyes. Again and again, I stab him. He takes two unsteady steps before falling to his knees. I yank the knife out one final time. He collapses in front of me. 

Everything in my body shatters. Dead--Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the boy who stayed up with me after an injury left me too sore to sleep, the man who would have sold me. He used me as currency, he has disrespected and threatened me so many times, and he linked his gloved pinky with mine in order to ease me. 

I stare at his body, forcing the hurt to crash into me like violent waves. All of my fury, all of my desire to win Cassandra over, vanishes. Now all that’s left is a burning agony. 

What have I done? 

The question is screamed so loudly in my head that it feels silent. I tear my gaze from the body--his body--and stare at my knife. The end of it is coated in so much sticky, red liquid I could throw up. My hands and clothing are covered in the same thing. I drop to my knees, letting everything I’m wearing soak into his blood. My free hand covers my mouth in hopes of silencing the sound that is ripped from my throat. The urge to touch him, to feel him while he’s still warm, pours through me. But the one thing I can still offer him is the protection of his will. I will respect his wishes. So instead of dropping over him, I just stare, my fingers still gripping the damn knife. 

What have I done? 

Collected footsteps snap me out of the trans I’ve fallen into. I take two deep breaths before turning my head. If I have been caught, I deserve whatever fate I will be met with. Blinking twice, I force my eyes to adjust on the person who has found me. There is no energy in me for fear for myself, there is only heartbreak. 

Kaz. It’s--he’s alive. By some Saint granted miracle, he’s alive!

He’s standing there, watching me with the blankest expression I’ve ever seen him wear. I don’t care. I don’t care. I jump to my feet, disregarding the only man I’ve ever killed. Whoever he was, that’s something for me to feel guilty about later. Eventually, the relief will become a feeling I can manage and I’ll be able to regret the life I just took, but right now all that matters is Kaz. 

I drop the dagger, letting it clatter against the hardwood floor. I run towards him, desperate to be close enough to see his open eyes and to be aware of the rise and fall of his chest. “Kaz,” a lament, a prayer, a lifeline. 

My hand moves forward without a second thought. I link my pinky with his, the same way he did earlier. I squeeze his finger as tightly as possible, desperate to feel the fact that he’s alive. Kaz owes me nothing, but he gives me what I need. His pinky squeezes mine back, his eyes holding mine. 

I think we could have stayed like that forever. But the man that I attacked shattered our silence with a pained, exhausted groan. Our hands fall apart. 

Hello,

I love your writing and think you’re incredible. I was wondering if you planned to continue the Promise of Rain series/blurbs or Falling Angels? The promise of rain blurbs are some of my favorite Kaz/Reader stories out there. I’ve probably reread them a hundred times or more.

I also really enjoyed your Kaz and Bookworm!Reader. I was curious if you planned on writing a sequel, because the ending to this broke my heart.

If you don’t plan on continuing these I totally understand, I was just curious. I love your writing so much and think you portray Kaz so accurately. I love your writing so much!

Anyway I hope you have a good day! 😊

thank you so much!! i am always open to continuing previous fics and have some more stuff planned for falling angles and the promise of rain (a fourth part of this one is like halfway done in my drafts)

omg i loveeee the great too 🥺🥺🥺 that show is sooooo underrated seriously. so excited to see what you come up with

it's such a good show!! even though it's definitely a comedy it doesn't feel cheesy and i'm still invested in the emotional state of the characters which is something i feel like is pretty rare!! thanks for the support :)) i'm working on something for it and i'm very excited for it :))

sneak peak: matt murdock x ex-black widow! reader

a/n this fic has become sooo much longer than i originally thought it’d be, but i really want to put out something, so here’s my current favorite scene :)) (also im thinking about splitting it up into a mini series bc i’m doing so much lmao) if you want to be tagged in the full thing lmk :))

also writing matt murdock fics is about to become my new obsession bc i have so many ideas and i love his character and i really hope he comes off at least kind of accurate bc ive never written him before, so if this is bad im really sorry and im still getting used to him :))

also!! for this fic to make sense let’s all pretend that even with extensive research, someone wouldn’t know that natasha died when everyone came back from the blip :)) it’s part of the plot of the full fic 

Blood coats my fingers again. I wonder if something happens frequently enough if there’s still a point in using tenses. My hands were bloody; my hands will be bloody; my hands are bloody. If it’s promised to happen again, was I ever really free of its stain? 

The fighting is done. At least it is for now. Tonight was not particularly hard, in the physical sense. I’ve attacked people more prepared for someone of my skill level. I’ve attacked people with more dangerous weapons. I’ve been more violent, more brutal. But the people that lay near me, still breathing but broken, something about them sits with me incorrectly. They are a rib out of place in the chest. 

Wow. I’m not making any sense, not even to myself. I look at my hands again, the blood of my knuckles has combined itself with the blood of those I hurt. I can’t bring myself to feel sorry for them, but grief still burrows itself into me. 

These men were hurting girls. Children. The youngest that the masked men had tried to take was only 11. There was a time in which I was the frightened little girl, forced into a shipping crate with other frightened girls. Back then, all I had wanted was for it to be over. All I had wanted was for some kind of savior to break through the metal and fight off the monsters so that I could be anywhere else. 

Tonight I was that savior for those girls. I should feel better. I did something good. Natasha...she’d smile at me if she was here. She’d look at me and tell me that I did good. That should make me feel content, more focused, like there’s some kind of direction I know to move in. 

But it doesn’t. All I feel is her absence. I even feel the loss of Yelena, and I’m the one that told her to stay away. My fingers curl inwards, nails digging into the palms of my hands.

“That was efficient.” His voice is a reminder of why I can’t lose it here, on the abandoned side of the shipping docks.

Turning enough to look at him, I force myself to take a deep breath. A patient breath. There was something almost awkward about the way he said that. “You wanted my help.” I helped. I should feel better. “And I played by your rules. No one died.” The final word feels off. “I won’t apologize for my efficiency.” 

He’s still, watching me like he sees right through me. The part of me that clings to a life beyond bloody hands wants to shrink away. To vanish until it’s morning. With daylight comes the promise of normality. The day will let me shed this mission suit and replace it with the business casual wear of an intern of a law firm. I like that version of me better...she’s whole.

“No apologies necessary.” I blink, fighting the urge to turn even more. He’s closer than I realized. “I’m just curious.” 

Of course. That’s the problem with team ups or even just temporary mutual existence. The other person always wants to ask questions, and I can never offer them answers. I’m a former black widow assassin isn’t the kind of phrase that just rolls off the tongue. Especially not in front of him. 

The devil of Hell’s Kitchen, someone that everyone here knows to fear, and yet he doesn’t...he doesn’t kill. If he knew all the blood that stains me, if he knew about all the red in my ledger...

“And I’m just reminding you that my one stipulation to this was no questions.”

I knew this was a bad idea. Even when we just happen to run into each other he expresses too much interest in who I am. Why I can do the things I can do. I know that he feels like he’s protecting his neighborhood by making sure that I don’t have any ill tensions. The false sense of security is a good thing, it means that we can both co-exist in peace. But tonight I’m not in the mood to play coy and skirt around the words I won’t say, revealing just enough to appease him. I’m also not in the mood to draw a line in the sand and make him think I’m a threat. There’s no doubt in my mind that if need be, I could take him. He’d be a worthy opponent, but not an unbeatable one. But maybe I don’t want to beat him. Maybe I don’t want to fight anymore. Maybe I just want to put my widow suit on the top shelf of my apartment’s closet and never look at it again. 

We should part ways. The bad guys have been taken care of. The girls have been freed, the way I could have been years ago. There’s no reason for both of us to still be here. There’s no reason fro him to be less than an arm’s length away. And yet, we both stay still. 

“You’re normally more open to friendly conversation.” The words snap me back to reality. I’ve been playing too close to a line I can’t cross. The last time I trusted someone, I learned to never do risk that again.

I force my hands to ease at my side. “We’re friends now?”

“I don’t take down human trafficking rings with just anyone.” He’s joking. He’s just trying to ease me into our normal dynamic. But the words still strike me in the heart. Memories of the day I got Natasha back and the day I stopped seeing Yelena as my protector wash through me, a torrid, unforgiving current. 

It’s been years now. Years of silence. I haven’t seen Nat since she told me what she was planning to do with the Avengers. I haven’t seen Yelena since she told me the truth of the day I became a true widow. The end of the red room was the first and last familial moment I got. “For the record, neither do I.” 

“And I’ve never taken anything down that fast.” He pauses, testing the waters. “If you were always around, I’d have time to pick up a hobby.”

He’s trying to appeal to my usual attitude. I have to give him something. It’s not his fault that the memories are hitting me more frequently than usual. And if I don’t seem at least somewhat stable, he’ll start thinking I’m planning something. He may start seeing me as some kind of threat. “Is the mysterious day job followed by nights of crime fighting not fulfilling enough?”

“The day job isn’t as interesting as you’re making it seem to be.” There’s an easiness to his words. He’s taking my attempt to act normal.

I shift on my heels, almost relaxing. “I wouldn’t know because you won’t tell me what it is.” 

“And you won’t tell me how you learned to...be so efficient.” He’s referencing the way I fight. I can’t blame him for pressing this issue so much. A random girl shows up in his city, his neighborhood, with brutal skills and strength that would better suit someone twice her size. Of course he feels the need to ask questions. 

I inhale, wondering what my next move is. I could remind him that the less we know about the other, the better. That I know not to ask questions as long as he does the same. But the thing is, I don’t want to. Maybe it’s because he’s faceless. Maybe it’s because when I wear this suit I don’t feel like I’m me anymore. Or maybe it’s because I’m tired of pretending my past is tearing into me more and more with each passing day. 

“Would you believe me if I told you it’s a family thing?” The honesty threatens to leave my throat raw. I’m treading on a dangerous line. “That I learned everything I know from my sisters?” 

He tilts his head slightly, exposing the side of his jaw--which is something I shouldn’t be as aware of as I am. “So an entire family of people like you? Fighting for the good?” 

I don’t have it in me to think about the wya he says that. The words are stomach twisting enough. Fighting for the good. Is that even a fair thing to say now? Natasha certainly started fighting for the good. I don’t know where Yelena is. And I--I’m just trying to make up for everything I’ve done, everything I’ve been forced to do. 

“What if we weren’t always doing that?” My throat burns, the way it often did when I would tell Natasha about the memories. When I would tell her about being a ghost in my own body. “Fighting for the good?”

I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth. Dropping my head, I prepare to step back. To disappear in the shadows in the way I’m used to. He starts to move. To his credit, he’s faster than a normal person, so he does manage to place a hand on my shoulder, but not before my fingers wrap around his wrist. It’s his move next. I’m tense, expecting some kind of attack. 

“I would say that you’re doing that now.” I watch him, he stays quiet. When nothing else is said...when nothing else is done, I find it in me to unclench my fingers and let my hand fall to my side. He still doesn’t move. “And that counts for something.” 

Reblog if its ok to message you during this holiday season incase Im feeling lonely or out of place during family events because no one should be alone on Christmas

okay i keep binge watching the great on hulu and i am so obsessed with it fr,, i kind of want to write for it (especially for peter, ik he’s extremely toxic and kinda a bad person but this is extremely on brand for me lmao)

i feel like there’s not an audience for it?? idk might write it or might not but if anyone likes the idea pls let me know