GRISHAVERSE X READERS

GOLDEN CAGES [KAZ BREKKER]

Warnings: reader feeling trapped, people chasing her, and again, I'm not happy with this but I haven't been happy with 95% of my work lately so it's likely just self-criticism.

Word count: 1.1k

Being the best of the class would be a good thing in a lot of cases. Unless you were a Grisha, and you had been promised to be given for the Queen's eldest daughter once you'd graduate. You'd be locked up in a golden cage, gussying that posh teenager up until she'd die, and then you'd be passed on to her daughter. That would go on for years and years forward, until you'd die too. Being a Tailor meant you'd be physically comfortable enough, but you'd belong to the woman you were gifted to - you had no free will who to work for. Sometimes you wished you would be a Squaller, or a Tidemaker, or an Inferni, would be able to go to war.

You had ran away, prepared it for weeks, made plans for every possible outcome and succeeded. You had smuggled yourself to the island of Kerch, and found yourself in the city of Ketterdam. You had heard of it before, it was the city of criminals and con men, you would have to be careful who to trust.

It didn't take long before you heard that some Ravkan men from the Little Palace had discussed with the Stadwatch in search of a Tailor Grisha on the run. Suddenly, your face had been scattered around in posters and a reward of two thousand kruge was promised for anyone who would give the information where to find you. The Queen's daughter had picked you, and she always got what she wanted. You could imagine her throwing a tantrum when you weren't found and there was a possibility that she would get only the second best.

The first thing at the morning you did, was to tailor yourself look as different as possible, but you knew that each passing day the risk of you getting caught grew. You began to be paranoid, barely sleeping at night, always feeling like someone was watching you.

But then you came to think about Kaz Brekker. A notorious criminal at the Barrel, also known as Dirtyhands. Would it be possible that he would be interested about your tailoring skills? You weren't sure if you wanted to ask, but you knew you were running out of choices.

The noise at the Crow Club told you that there was a lively game night going on, but as soon as you marched to the front door, a bulky doorman pushed himself up from the chair and stared down at you.

"I need to speak to Kaz Brekker."

The doorman sighed. "And who might you be?"

"Bela Fyodorovna," you lied. They would likely have seen your real name on the posters. The doorman squinted at you.

"Girls your age should be scared of Dirtyhands, not come up and talk to him."

"I heard he's not much older than me."

"He isn't, but he has done much more bad things than men thrice his age. Go along, little girl. Grow a little."

But you stood your ground, staring at the doorman. "I need to speak to Kaz Brekker."

"So you say."

Before you could start another round of bickering, you heard a clicking sound nearing the door and the doorman stepped aside to let a man through. You had never seen Kaz Brekker in person, but only his being told you it's him. He looked down at you, then at the doorman.

"Who is this?" he asked.

"She wants to see you," said the doorman, gesturing towards you. "I told her that she can't be taken seriously at that age, but she wouldn't listen."

Brekker nodded slowly, looking over at you. His eyes lingered on you for a moment before nodding towards the door. "Come inside."

Inside the Crow Club, everything seemed bigger and grander compared to what you thought it'd be. There were a lot of people, drinking, laughing, playing cards, and gambling. It smelled of smoke, alcohol, and sweat. Brekker made his way up the stairs and to the room at the top of them, and after a few moments you followed. You were trying your hardest to stay calm even though your heart was beating hard against your chest - this was Dirtyhands, the man people were afraid of. You couldn't help but feel a little bit intimidated of what was to come.

Brekker sat behind a desk covered in blueprints, looking up at you. "So, what do you want?"

You swallowed. "Do you need a Tailor?"

He cocked his head. "Might need one."

You closed your eyes for a moment, before wiping your face with your hand, revealing your true face. "I'm Y/N L/N, the Grisha on the run from the Little Palace."

His eyebrows rose. "Is that so?" Then a smirk appeared. "I heard there are people looking for you. They offer a nice price for turning you in."

Your stomach turned. "Please don't tell them I'm here. I'm... I'm here because I have an offer for you."

Brekker huffed. "I have no need for only two thousand kruge, and I'm also not interested in turning anyone in unless they have done something to harm me. What are you offering?"

"My skills." you answered, taking a step forward. "If you're willing to offer me protection and anonymity, I'm offering you my skills. I don't need to be paid by kruge, just... protection and not telling anyone who I am."

A smile crept across Brekker's lips. "That's a generous offer, even when there are a lot of people looking for you."

"I know they wouldn't find me here. I know you're good at protecting secrets." you told him. "I'm a good tailor, I was the best of my class, I was promised for the Queen's daughter but I ran away."

Brekker raised his eyebrows. "I thought Grisha liked their home at the palace."

You laughed bitterly. "It's not a home. It's a cage. A golden cage with fancy food and a silk pillow. I had no free will, I had no right for my own dreams. My future has always been destined to be some spoiled human being's little tailor. That's why I escaped."

Brekker thought for a moment again, looking at you standing there. Then he leaned forward slightly. "Show me."

You hesitated for a moment, but then sat down across from him, placing your hand on display as you hovered your other hand over it. You made your nails longer and put on some nail polish and also added some wrinkles to make it seem like an old woman's hand. You then presented your hand to him, hoping him to be impressed. His expression didn't change the slightest during the whole thing, but when you took your hands back off the table, he nodded at you, offering you his hand which you took after a moment.

"It's a deal, then. You're now a Dreg, and under my protection."