hiiiii may I please request gerard keay x reader, preferably romantic and fluff, gender doesnt matter, thank you!
-🐛
[ cws & notes ] none! just fluff <3 wc: ~500; sorry this is a little short and also very late >_<
“How did you even manage to mess it up this badly?” You snort, as you card your fingers through your boyfriend’s hair. As you part it, you can see more of the telltale brown of his roots growing in, but it isn’t limited to his scalp. His hair looks mostly black at first glance, but the more you comb through it, the more you can see patches that he’d missed during his rushed dye-job the month before.
“Are you going to help or not?” Gerard groans, slumping further into his chair. You slide your hands from his hair to his shoulders, giving them a comforting squeeze—even if it is through a few more giggles.
“I will, I will.” You shake your head slightly, pulling away to grab the box of hair-dye. “This is the right stuff, yeah? There wasn’t your usual brand, so I just grabbed whatever I could find.”
He shrugs. “It’s black. It’ll work.”
That’s enough confirmation for you. You get to work mixing the dye as he sits patiently waiting for you to finish, his fingers drumming against the kitchen table. It’s standard routine for the two of you by now, a welcomed monotony. Almost dull, in comparison to how the two of you spend the rest of your days.
You slide the gloves over your hands, finally dipping your brush into the mixture. “Keep still,” you say, a reminder that neither of you really need.
He hums, blinking up at you through half-lidded eyes, as you gently paint the dye over his roots. It’s a rare moment of idleness for him, a brief respite in between his various missions and escapades. You can tell he needs the break, even if he’d hardly admit it to you himself; he held far too much pride to confess to just how exhausted he was, but you could tell. You could always tell.
“How’s Gertrude been?” You ask, just as you finish with one section of his hair, and move on to the next. Gerard huffs out a laugh.
“The usual. Cryptic as ever.”
“Mhm, that sounds about right…” As you continue to work, he seems to soften under your touch. His eyes slide shut, and the tension in his shoulders slowly melts away, until he looks moments away from drifting off. You give him a nudge, eliciting a grunt in response. “Hey, you’re not falling asleep on me, are you?”
“Not if you keep talking.” He sighs, but straightens up slightly.
A startling thought crosses your mind, that he looks… comfortable. Almost alarmingly so. Despite knowing him for as long as you have, you’re not used to seeing him without some sort of guard put up, even if he does make an effort to lower it around you. But now, it feels like all of that stress, and all of that lingering paranoia, all of it has fallen away.
“I love you.” You blurt out. The abrupt confession startles him slightly, making his eyes blink open in surprise.
And yet, it’s not out of place at all, because all he does is chuckle, and meet you with an: “I love you too.”
A/N: Okay I kind of got massive motivation to write this and I wasn't going to post this thing until like Saturday but here y'all go!! This was requested by an anon and I thought it was so cute so I had to do it!!
Warning(s): Fluff, George being an absolute sweetheart, ft. Fred!! It's mentioned that reader is in the same year as George & Fred, they're all 18 and in their last year. This is basically when Umbridge is in the school, before they drop out!
^ in my mind this takes place in the fall but no weather or season is mentioned!!
Word count: 1.8k (learnt to stfu!!)
Dividers by @dollywons !! Love her down <33
Again, kisses to @p03tryv0r3 for letting me ramble about this idea before I even wrote it 😭
You loved the Weasley twins with your entire heart and being; they’d been with you since you all were first years cooped up in a train compartment, sharing chocolate frogs and trading cards with each other. Since then, you three and Lee, of course, had grown practically inseparable. Even when Lee couldn’t join the three of you in your scheming and pranking, you still did it, and did it loud. Detentions were handed out like candies; it came to the point that the teachers scheduled separate detentions for each of you purely because detentions were treated as hangouts when the three of you shared them.
You’d never had a favourite between them, how could you? They were George and Fred. Your George and Fred. You’d spent so much time with them you could tell them apart better than their own mother; it took one glance for you to clock who you were talking to, who was who. You’d grown up with them; you were practically family with the way you spent almost all your vacations back at the burrow because your parents were both very busy, and you couldn’t return home much.
You weren’t daft, though. You knew the twins were vastly different in personality as well. Fred was a human firecracker; loud, charming, and the face of their pranks. George, on the other hand, was quieter in his chaos. Unlike Fred, George was much more aware of the people around him. He knew who to prank, who not to prank; not based on authority, but based on the effect each prank would have on different people. You remembered a time George held off a prank the three of had planned merely because the shyest Gryffindor in the year below you stepped in, and George knew she’d cry. He made you go up to pull her with you guys, effectively involving her in your prank. It made her laugh, made her smile. Since then, you supposedly started looking at George a bit differently.
He knew when to crack a joke, when to simply smile and offer his ear. Fred didn’t understand it quite as much. He tried, truly did, but his impulse always got the better of him. Fred was the explosion, George was the gunpowder trail. He planned everything from drawing the architectural plans of the school to writing down chemical formulas with Fred in their free time. Fred was the step forward, the one who nicked every ingredient they needed, the one who made sure each explosion went off just when there was an audience. A true showman, but George was more of a ringleader.
Ever since you figured that out, you’d been more defensive when anyone asked whether you had a favourite twin. Because you weren’t supposed to. It was wrong; they were your best friends.
But you were scared it was already growing obvious as you sat on the couch near the hearth of the common room, legs thrown across George’s lap as you played with his weirdly long fingers, wiggling them and whatnot as he talked shop with Fred. They were going to open their joke shop, and with Umbridge trying to stick herself up their asses every chance she got, they reckoned it should be sooner rather than later.
“Why can’t I join you both?” You asked for the nth time, making Fred throw a cushion at you that George easily swatted away before it hit you. “Because,” he began, glancing over at Fred. “You know your parents would completely flip out. Plus, we need you in here to spread the word of our shop, love.” He said, voice slightly amused as he poked your side.
You ignored the effect the nickname had on your heart, looking over at Fred who simply nodded in agreement. “Who else will smuggle in shipments for our in-house orders?” He added, a smirk pulling at his lips which made you groan. “Whatever.” You grumbled, arms crossing over your chest.
Fred simply laughed at you, George grinned and unfolded your arms, tilting his head at you. “You can come join us when you graduate, lovely.”
You rolled your eyes with a huff, squirming your legs off of his lap purely to make a point. “You’re just scared all the customers will love me more and I’ll have to take over the business!” You said indignantly, making George stifle a snicker while Fred lifted a brow.
“Right, cause that’s what truly keeps me up at night. Fear of losing my joke empire to someone who gets dizzy when they see the formulas and diagrams for our prototypes.” He mused, making your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.
George chuckled, nudging your side. “C’mon, love. How about you come with us to Hogsmeade and help us pick up stuff for a new prototype we’re trying soon?” He offered, making you perk up, a smile spreading across your face.
“Yeah! Alright!” You chirped, dropping your legs lazily over his lap again, making him let out an exaggerated gasp followed by a groan, making you swat his shoulder.
It earned you a grin, and Merlin if that didn’t turn your insides to mush.
George nudged you through crowded Hogsmeade as you made your way to Zonko’s. The twins treated it as a competitor, so you weren’t there to buy their products to use, but so they could take them apart and use the bits and pieces they actually wanted from the ‘poor excuses of chaos creators’.
You and George fought your way through the crowd and over to the register, paying for a few contraptions before exiting only to find out you’d lost Fred.
“Georgie! Use that twin telepathy thing! Where is he?!” You huff, passing George the bag. He scoffed in turn, making a show of trying to reach into his mind and find him before gasping. “I found him!” He cried, making you look up at him in pure bewilderment, maybetwin telepathy was real?
“He’s up my ass.”
Oh.
After you bashed your fists into George’s shoulder, making him cower and cackle in one, you began to walk around in search for Fred.
As you walked around Hogsmeade, you spotted a new bookstore/record store opened by a Muggleborn ex-student just a few day ago. You almost shrieked, grabbing George and dragging him in.
“Oh, for Godric’s sake—“ he groaned, but you paid him no mind as you entered the cool, air-conditioned store. Soft R&B played from the speakers; the music made you beam. George could just smile at you as you tugged him around the store. You stopped in front of a bunch of shelves with albums and records on them, grabbing one of Hootie & the Blowfish’s albums, Cracked Rear View, and showing it to George enthusiastically. You half expected him to be whiny and all annoying about having to come here, but when you turned to show him, you saw him flipping through copies of the Goo Goo Doll’s album A Boy Named Goo.
He turned over to you, his smile widening as he took the album from your grasp, moving closer to you in the mellow bookstore. His eyes flicked between you and the album before pulling you by the wrist to the section where they sold Sony Walkmans, grabbing one with wired earphones.
“How about we listen to it later, yeah? ‘Ve never heard of those lot.” He mumbled, grabbing both the Hootie record and the Goo Goo Dolls’.
Your heart fluttered, looking up at him with sheer adoration as you watched him continue to sift through records and albums, even grabbing Madonna cause you’d mentioned how her music made you feel alive, tucking it under his arm.
Maybe that’s when you admitted it to yourself. Maybe you did have a favourite twin. Maybe that particular twin made your heart stutter, your palms sweat and your heart race.
Maybe you were in love with that twin. That was a revelation you didn’t expect to make in a shop full of Muggle music and books. Your mouth went dry, and you turned away from George, heart hammering as you wandered off to the novel aisle.
In love with him. In love with him.
Maybe repeating to yourself over and over would make it more normal, easier. But it didn’t, it wasn’t.
He was George. You always knew he was different. He was the man who sat with you when things got heavy, as opposed to trying to cheer you up. Whenever you hit rock bottom, he’d sit there with you till you had the strength to climb back up. He never pushed, never shamed you. He was so aware of what to say to get you to listen, to calm down, to laugh. He always knew what to say.
You grabbed a book, any book, really, flipping through it to feign interest if George came looking. He did, of course, he did.
“Love, you want t’get that? ‘Bout to go check these out.” He said softly, bending down to mumble in your ear. You felt your blood turn into lava inside you as you jerkily nodded, handing him the book you truly knew nothing about. He had three records tucked under his arm, Hootie, Goo Goo Dolls, and Madonna, along with the Walkman. You tried not to let the melting of your heart be massively obvious as you followed him to the register.
Once all was paid for and all was sorted, you found Fred outside The Three Broomsticks, showing him the goods you bought and attaining his stamp of approval before heading back to Hogwarts. Every once in a while, you and George would bump shoulders, elbows, fingers would brush. It wasn’t inordinary, quite the opposite. But you were aware of it now. The sensations making Fred’s rant sound like he was talking through a wall as you looked up to stare at his side profile.
But he was already staring down at you, not bothered in the slightest when you flustered. If anything, his smile simply softened. With a tilt of his head, he admired you as you walked, without a word. He let Fred ramble on, unaware.
Your fingers brushed again, your heart stuttered.
You swallowed hard, looking up at him nervously.
But he just smiled, eyes showing nothing but casual fondness. He saw your inner turmoil in the way you glanced around, drawing in sharp breaths whenever his fingers grazed yours. He knew why; it was because you’d figured it out.
So as your gaze locked onto his once more, he simply interlocked his fingers with yours as you entered the palace and walked back to your dorms. He didn’t make a big deal of it, didn’t make it flashy or flirty. It was softer, intimate. Somehow, that only intensified the disaster exploding in your heart.
Because you’d figured out what he’d known since he was sixteen, so what if you were two years late?
peter leaned against the wall, his eyes narrowing as he watched you from across the pit. you were laughing with the others, your smile wide and effortless, but something about the glint in your eyes always seemed bittersweet. it was as if the laughter was a mask, attempting to hide your candor-born honesty despite ech slip of a gesture, an expression. not that it could be helped. the truth bled from the very way looked, the very words you breathed.
he loved it. how you were basically an intricate scrapbook, pieced together by every person who had ever touched your life, every place you had ever belonged to, and every passion that had ever stirred your heart. you were a patchwork of experiences, raw and honest, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to the way you failed to rid yourself of candor's transparency. with the brutal, competetive atmosphere of dauntless, you reminded peter of home.
he had always been a problem. for many people, but especially for you. you were no stranger to peter hayes, growing eerily familiar to his sharp edges and cruel humor as it had been a constant presence in your life. after all, you were born in the same faction, hung around the same groups of people, followed the same set of rules. even more, your mother had never liked him. since the two of you were young he'd seem to constantly be one second away from breaking whatever—or whoever—it was in front of him. you used to think you hated him for his arrogance. for how cruel he could be, his tendency to belittle the people that cared for him.
"staring again," christina’s voice sliced through your thoughts, jolting you back to the present. you blinked, reluctantly tearing your gaze away from peter, who was leaning casually against a wall. he was like an island of calm amidst the chaos that spread across the dauntless pit, his posture relaxed and his expression unreadable.
but then you chose dauntless. with one swift cut of the ordaining knife, it wasn’t just your tender, naive skin that was cut—it was every tie to the life you once knew. suddenly, peter hayes, the only person you’ve ever despised, became the only constant in your life. the one unchanging thread that connected both your past and present.
"i wasn’t," you insisted, but the words felt hollow even as they left your lips. your candor was a relentless betrayer, with every twitch of your mouth or flicker in your eyes revealing the truths you tried so hard to conceal. christina’s gaze sharpened with amusement, catching the subtle giveaway in your demeanor. you had known her for just about as long as you'd known peter, but the switch to dauntless demeanor always seemed easier for her.
"right. c’mon, candor," she quipped, her voice tinged with playful sarcasm as she nudged you gently with her elbow. "may the truth set you free," she mocked with a smirk, her tone light but knowing. “you’ve got it bad.”
you shook your head, trying to mount a defense. "i don’t," you said, but your protest lacked the firmness you’d hoped for. peter had been the object of your intrigue since you’d met him in summer camp, the boy that used to look at you with such passion. the boy you promised your mother that you’d never even think of talking to.
christina’s grin widened, clearly finding amusement in your discomfort. she followed your gaze back to peter, who remained fixed on you with a knowing smirk. it was as if he thrived on every flicker of attention you gave him, the curve of his lips revealing his awareness. he seemed to relish in the fact that you couldn’t tear your eyes away, savoring the way his presence bothered you.
"besides, he’s a total jerk," you said, your voice trailing off as you tried to mask your uncertainty. the effort to convince yourself sounded more like a feeble excuse than a genuine assertion. you fixed your gaze away from peter, forcing yourself to focus on his flaws—his arrogance, the cruel edge in his humor, the narcissism he wielded with ease. yet, despite your best intentions, all you could think about was his lingering touch and your stolen glances. you failed at every attempt to distance yourself. it was as if he was fully aware of the internal battle you were waging and took a twisted pleasure in it.
you remembered an instance from a few nights ago.
you’d been crying in the communal bathrooms, the cold tiles beneath you doing nothing to ease the burning sensation behind your eyes. it had been a bad day—training had pushed you to your limit, the weight of your decision to leave candor pressed down hard, and the overwhelming newness of dauntless was closing in from all sides.
the tears had come suddenly, without warning, and once they started, you couldn’t stop them. you didn’t want to cry—not here, not in a place where showing weakness was as good as painting a target on your back. but you were alone, or so you thought, and it had been too much to keep inside.
then you heard the door creak open. you immediately wiped your face, hurriedly trying to compose yourself, when you heard his voice.
"didn’t expect to find you here," peter’s voice was low, casual, but there was an edge to it that you couldn’t quite place. you assumed it was taunting.
your first instinct was defensiveness. after years of being taught to hate him, after years of believing he was nothing but cruel and self-serving, you bristled at his presence. you had no idea why he was here, and the last thing you needed was to deal with peter hayes right now.
“go away, peter,” you muttered, not even bothering to look up at him. your voice came out more bitter than you intended, but you couldn’t help it. it was habit. you’d spent years convincing yourself that he was the last person you could rely on. “i don’t wanna talk to you.”
for a moment, he didn’t say anything. you expected him to leave—maybe with a sharp remark, something that would sting, something that would remind you exactly who he was and why you should stay far away from him. but he didn’t. instead, you felt him sit down beside you, close enough for his presence to be known but not close enough to make you uncomfortable.
he didn’t speak. he didn’t tease or push. he just sat there, quiet, waiting.
you didn’t want to give in. you didn’t want to let your guard down around him, of all people. but the longer he stayed, the harder it became to keep your defenses up. the weight of the day, the exhaustion, and the relentless pressure of everything finally caught up with you. you couldn’t hold back anymore.
before you even realized what was happening, you leaned against him. your body moved on instinct, and you pressed your face into his shoulder, the sobs breaking free as the tears fell hot and heavy.
to your surprise, peter didn’t pull away. he didn’t make a comment or a joke at your expense. instead, his arm came up, hesitating for just a second before wrapping around you. his grip was firm, and he pulled you in close—just enough for you to feel the warmth of his body against yours. he didn’t say anything, didn’t try to pry or ask questions. he just stayed there, silent and steady, letting you cry.
it wasn’t what you expected. peter was supposed to be cruel, detached, distant. but in that moment, none of that mattered. he was just there, holding you together when you felt like everything else was falling apart.
you didn’t know how long you stayed like that, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt, your body trembling from the release of everything you’d been holding inside. but eventually, the sobs began to subside, and you found yourself breathing a little easier, the storm inside you starting to calm.
you pulled away slightly, just enough to look up at him, your eyes still red and swollen from crying. “why do you do this?” you asked, your voice small and hoarse from the tears. you genuinely didn’t understand. “why do you… why are you here?”
peter’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw something raw, something unguarded in his gaze. then, with a small, almost playful smirk, he shrugged. “don’t know what you mean,” he said, his voice soft but teasing. “you know i love you.”
the words were so simple, so casually said, that they took you by surprise. but there was no sarcasm in his tone, no bite to his words. he was sincere, leaning in close, his breath warm against your ear as if the words were meant to be a secret shared only between the two of you. then, with a sudden rush of either reckless confidence or desperate longing, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss just behind your ear. the tenderness of it sent a shiver down your spine. “let me be here,” he whispered, his voice low and steady, though it carried a note of quiet vulnerability. he was trying to convey reassurance, but the raw emotion in his voice felt closer to a quiet, earnest plea.
christina said that that was when you started staring.
you’d seen a side of him you never thought to imagine and you craved for more. but he was peter hayes. he wasn’t supposed to feel anything. not for you, not for anyone. he tried to convince himself that as well as he savoured the feeling of your soft skin on his lips. yet, there he was, aching for something he couldn’t bring himself to ask for. something that made his heart race every time you was near, something that made him want to push you away and pull you closer all at once. your love.
he turned to you then, his hand brushing yours just barely, but it was enough to make his pulse quicken. you locked eyes, and for a second, and suddenly everything else that happened outside of the bathrooms faded away. he could feel your heartbeat in the air between you, the way your breath hitched, the way you wanted him to say something, anything. but he couldn’t. not yet. so he just sat there, his lips twitching into a smirk, masking everything he wasn’t ready to say.
christina’s expression shifted to one of knowing amusement, her eyebrow arching in a way that made it clear she wasn’t buying your story. "yeah, and yet here you are, still thinking about him. denial is just another form of obsession, you know."
"i am not obsessed," you snapped, a little too loudly. you tried to sound more forceful than you felt. but even to your own ears, the argument wore thin. the truth was, no matter how hard you tried to ignore him, peter had managed to engrave himself into your thoughts, lingering at the edge of your consciousness like an itch you couldn’t quite scratch.
christina’s hand landed on your shoulder, the gesture both comforting and teasing. her eyes held a mix of sympathy and amusement, as if she could see right through your carefully constructed facade. "sure, keep telling yourself that," she said, her tone light but tinged with a gentle sincerity. "but pretending isn’t the same as believing."
you didn’t respond, choosing instead to focus on your hands, which were twisting nervously in your lap. christina wasn’t wrong. the tension between you and peter was undeniable, a magnetic force that seemed to vibrate with an intensity everyone could feel when the two of you were near.
glancing back at peter, you found him still observing you from across the pit. his gaze cut through the chaotic swirl of faces and noise, landing squarely on you with an intensity that felt almost tangible. it wasn’t just a casual glance; it was as if he was deeply engrossed, his eyes soft and thoughtful, carrying an unmistakable trace of what you dared call admiration. the smirk was gone now, replaced by an expression that seemed to reveal more than he usually let on—a look that made your heart flutter against your will.
you shifted uncomfortably, unable to shake the feeling that his gaze was dissecting every fragment of your carefully guarded emotions. in that moment, the air between you felt charged, filled with something unspoken that neither of you were ready to confront. and even as you tried to look away, his eyes seemed to follow, holding a soft, thoughtful reverence that you found both disconcerting and oddly comforting.
you reminded yourself that, no matter how warm you felt under his gaze or how infatuated you were with him, peter was still peter—the same boy who had mocked your family’s dedication to order and laughed at others’ missteps under the guise of “honesty.” his usual sarcasm and cruelty were just parts of his carefully constructed facade, a shield designed to guard against any real vulnerability.
but the way he treated you was different now in dauntless. there was always a softness in his gaze, a subtle consideration that contrasted with his usual demeanor. it made you question if beneath his cold exterior, there was a part of him that genuinely cared, revealing a side of him that was far less indifferent than he let on. it made you wonder if he wasn’t as cold as he wanted everyone to believe.
regardless, you knew you would never, in every sense of the word, let yourself fall for peter hayes. he was supposed to be a horrible person.
… but on one particularly exhausting night, after another grueling day of training, you tossed and turned in bed, unable to find any solace in sleep. the unfamiliarity of dauntless gnawed at you, and the weight of leaving candor behind seemed to grow heavier with each passing hour. not that you’d ever blatantly admit it, but the new environment was overwhelming. despite your best efforts to adapt, the relentless pressure was starting to crack your composure.
in the dead of night, you awoke with a start, your heart pounding and a deep sense of unease settling over you. you stumbled out of bed, the darkness amplifying your anxiety as you wandered through the dimly lit corridors of dauntless. just as the silence seemed to stretch endlessly, a soft knock broke the stillness, echoing against the cold concrete walls. there, at the end of the hall, stood peter. he stood as tall as ever, but his touch was unexpectedly gentle. his hand brushed lightly against the small of your back, pulling you a bit closer, and the warmth of his skin contrasted sharply with the chill of the night air.
though your eyes were still heavy with sleep, you could see the rare softness in his gaze, a stark contrast to his usual demeanor. “hey, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and raspy, but surprisingly soothing. “you okay?”
“just can’t sleep,” you mumbled, rubbing your tired eyes. you could’ve been meaner, you could’ve tried harder to push him away but you convinced yourself you were too tired to.
even you knew you were lying.
without a word, he guided you back to the rooms, his hand resting steady and reassuring on your waist. the warmth of his calloused skin against your arm was comforting, sending a shiver through you. your heart ached to lean more of your weight against him, to feel the full press of his body against yours. each touch felt intensely intimate, grounding you in a way that made your heart race. his calm presence was a soothing contrast to the cold, impersonal walls of dauntless.
as he guided you back to the room, his touch so comforting and warm, memories from your younger years resurfaced.
you recalled how, even then, there was a strange tenderness in the way he interacted with you, though he never showed the same kindness towards others. peter was always rough with the other kids, his teasing and taunting often crossing the line into childish cruelty.
your mother had noticed, warning you to stay away from him, claiming he was a bad influence. she saw the way he bullied others and feared that his harshness would rub off on you. so, you had learned to hate him, to see only his rough edges and disregard his rare moments of gentleness. now, feeling his warmth and seeing the softness in his eyes, those old judgments felt shaky and uncertain. It must’ve been a trick—a game he was playing. but in that moment you couldn’t bring yourself to care, revelling in the way his skin brushed against yours.
as he helped you settle back under the covers, his touch was deliberate and achingly tender, causing a warm flush to spread through you. you wondered how you managed to muster enough hate to stay far enough away from him. the brush of his fingers against your skin, as he tucked the blankets around you, felt both intimate and possessive, sending a shiver of through your body. each contact, from his fingertips grazing your arm to his palm pressing gently on your shoulder, was charged with a longing intensity.
“you need to rest,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, nearly a whisper. his gaze lingered on you with a softness that was rare for him. before he turned to leave, he gently swept a few stray strands of hair from your face, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “it’s okay to be overwhelmed, sweetheart. we all are.”
you looked up at him, the tenderness of his touch and the care in his eyes sending a rush of warmth through you that made you slightly breathless. his eyes, usually so sharp, were softened by a rare, gentle affection that made your heart flutter. “thanks, peter. you didn’t have to.”
“yeah? well, i did,” he said, a crooked smile playing at his lips, his eyes twinkling with a touch of mischief. he held your hand in his and refused to let go, like he wasn’t ready to leave. you didn't want him to leave. “deal with it.” his voice was smooth, his tone almost too casual, as if the closeness was natural. as if he wasn’t acting completely out of character. his hand remained lingering by your jaw a moment longer than necessary, his touch longing like a secret between you.
you remembered early in high school, when peter had asked you out to the dance and confessed his feelings, saying he loved you. without hesitation, you’d turned him down, following your mother’s wishes. even then, he didn’t seem upset. instead, he simply promised that you’d end up loving him one day.
at the time, you didn't believe him, dismissing his words as just another piece of the game he constantly played. now, as you felt the warmth of his touch and the gentle care he’d shown, you couldn’t ignore the echoes of that past moment. you were falling for him. despite everything, you were falling for him.
and after all that time, he was right.
“what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice tired, and raspy, but caring. it summoned butterflies to your stomach. he said it like you were the only girl in the world. suddenly, you felt like you were in middle school again, getting flustered over a boy. your mother would be so disappointed.
“I don’t wanna talk ‘bout it,” you said, though your eyes betrayed you as they stayed locked with him. out of a force of habit you continued, “don’t wanna talk to you.” you didn’t mean it, of course.
he let out a tired, amused laugh before bringing your hand up to press a gentle kiss in the palm of your hand. you melted. “i love you anyway.”
threw 3.5k words on a tumblr post and called it a fanfic </3
peter hayes x former amity????? love your writing btw!!
too | peter hayes
you kept your distance because you knew you couldn't have him.
peter hayes. a name that dripped with trouble and cruelty, someone most people either feared or hated, and yet, your heart continued to betray you. you were born in amity, raised to be peaceful, taught to love without complication, and customed to avoid conflict. yet here you were, falling for a boy who represented against everything you were taught to avoid.
it was irrational. stupid, even. you told yourself that every day. this is wrong. he's wrong for you. but there was something about the way he moved, how he spoke so confidently, and maybe the shade of his hair that drew you in. you hated that about yourself. it was like watching a storm from the safety of your home—dangerous and destructive, yet oddly mesmerising. you thought it was ridiculous how some aesthetic attraction you had for a boy could lead you to question everything you were brought up on.
"you're being an idiot, you know," christina had said once, not unkindly, but blunt as always. you were sitting in the cafeteria with her and tris, the two of them chatting about training, gossip, the usual. you, of course, had been caught staring at peter again from across the room. you couldn't help it; even when you tried. your eyes always found him without effort.
tris nudged you lightly, her small smile sympathetic but cautious. "yeah, she's right. you should just... let it go. it's peter. he's not worth it."
and you knew that. logically, they were right. peter wasn't the kind of guy you should want. but you believed that logic never had anything to do with the heart. logic didn't stop your heart from racing every time he glanced your way, or your stomach from fluttering when his lips quirked into that sly grin of his.
regardless, you listened to them—tris and christina. you kept your distance and kept quiet. but while your mind understood that peter hayes was off-limits, it didn't stop your heart from dreaming about all the ways you could have had him.
choosing dauntless had come with its own set of challenges. other than peter hayes. your kindness, your softness, wasn't something people there valued. dauntless celebrated strength, ferocity, and bravery. and sure, you had learned how to fight, how to defend yourself, but your core remained the same. soft. caring.
people noticed, of course. it wasn't hard to ignore the way you'd check up on others after a particualrly rough sparring session, or the way you'd always seem to hold back any time you had to fight anyone competitively.
you rarely fought back during petty arguments, never raised your voice. you didn't fit in the way you were supposed to, but that didn't mean you weren't respected. people admired you quietly, in their own way. you knew it wasn't loud praise or direct acknowledgment, but you caught the way some of the others softened when they spoke to you, or how they didn't mind standing by your side during sessions. many must have thought you were too gentle for dauntless, but that gentleness had earned you a quiet kind of respect.
peter was one of those people. or at least, you thought he was. it was hard to tell with him. he never outright said anything to you—never mocked you like he did with others. but then again, he never talked to you in general. more than anything, he avoided you. it was subtle, the way he slipped out of rooms when you entered or how he always seemed to position himself at the far end of the group. he wasn't cruel to you the way he was to others, but he wasn't kind either.
however, it hurt the most when you overheard al saying that peter was always adamant about changing the subject whenever you were brought up.
you hadn't meant to eavesdrop. it wasn't something you normally did, but you were passing by the dormitory when you heard al's voice, low and serious, drifting from the open door. you paused, half-hidden behind the wall, just out of sight, when you caught your name.
"yeah, i don't get it," al was saying, sounding confused. "every time we talk about her, peter shuts it down. like, he doesn't want to hear it. gets all weird about it, like he doesn't care or something."
your stomach twisted, a sharp ache settling in your chest. you pressed your back against the wall, trying to steady your breath. he didn't care. you had suspected it before, of course, but hearing it confirmed like this—so casual, like it was just a known fact—hurt more than you wanted to admit.
you figured it was because he saw you as a non—threat. someone too soft, too insignificant to bother with. and maybe that was for the best. keeping your distance meant you could admire him from afar without getting hurt.
"he's staring at you again," christina muttered one day, her voice low as she leaned across the table, her eyes flicking over to where peter sat with a group of initiates. you were about to protest, thinking you misheard her and that she meant that you were staring again. but you hadn't been looking his way this time—not intentionally—but the moment she said it. you felt the familiar pull in your chest. a stupid, traitorous part of you wanted to glance back, to see if it was true. that he was looking at you.
but you didn't. you kept your eyes fixed on your plate, stabbing at the food in front of you like it was suddenly very interesting. "he's probably just plotting something," you said, trying to keep your tone light, dismissive.
"yeah, well, if he is, it must be takin' him quite some time," christina laughed. she leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, a curious glint in her eyes. "he's been doing that a lot lately."
tris, ever observant, raised an eyebrow. "you noticed that too?"
your heart skipped a beat.
"it's probably nothing," you mumbled, a little too quickly. "peter doesn't care about me. he barely even looks at me."
"uh-huh," christina smirked, clearly not buying it. "sure. keep telling yourself that."
you didn't reply. what could you even say? you knew for a fact that peter didn't like you. he couldn't. not with the way he acted, the way he seemed to avoid being near you. if anything, he was probably just irritated by your presence. you were an anomaly to him, someone who didn't fit neatly into the world he created for himself. an annoyance that he couldn't get rid of.
still, a small, foolish part of you couldn't help but wonder what if. what if peter wasn't avoiding you because he disliked you? what if it was something else entirely?
days passed, and you continued to keep your distance. it wasn't hard. peter made sure of that. he rarely spoke to you, and when he did, it was curt, to the point. he never lingered, never allowed for more than necessary. but there was something strange in the way his eyes flicked toward you when he thought you weren't looking, how he stiffened slightly when your shoulders brushed by accident during training, how his eyes would dart between yours and your lips when you spoke.
you told yourself it didn't matter. even if there was something more behind his actions, it wasn't your place to find out. not when you knew how dangerous he could be, not just to others, but to yourself. because the truth was, if you let him in, he had the potential to destroy you in ways you couldn't even fathom.
and then, one night, everything changed.
you were in the training room late, the others having already left for the night. it was quiet, the dim lighting casting shadows across the floor. you liked the solitude, the peace that came from being alone in a place that was usually full of noise and chaos. it reminded you of your old home, of the calmness that amity had offered. dauntless was far from it.
you didn't expect anyone else to be there. least of all peter.
you had just finished practicing a round of punches against the bag when you heard the door creak open. you froze, your breath catching in your throat as you turned. there he was, standing in the doorway, his dark eyes locking onto yours the moment he stepped inside.
your heart thudded painfully in your chest. "peter," you breathed, the sound of his name foreign and shaky on your tongue. you hadn't been alone with him in... you couldn't even remember how long. and now, with no one else around, the tension in the air felt suffocating.
he didn't say anything at first, just stared at you, his expression unreadable, almost debating. then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke.
"why are you here?"
his tone wasn't accusatory, but it wasn't friendly either. you wiped the sweat from your brow, trying to keep your voice steady. "just... practising. why are you here?"
he shrugged, his gaze flicking away from you for a brief moment before settling back. "same."
there was an awkward silence that followed. you didn't know what to do, didn't know how to handle being alone with him. you had always been so careful, so diligent about avoiding moments like this. but now, with no one else around, you could feel every suppressed feeling bubbling up inside you.
and then, out of nowhere, peter's voice cut through the quiet.
"why do you look at me like that?"
you blinked, caught off guard by the question. "what?"
"don't play dumb," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "you think i don't notice? every time. you look at me like..." he trailed off, his jaw tightening, like he was angry at himself for even bringing it up.
your stomach dropped. you had tried so hard to be subtle, to hide it. but of course, peter had noticed. he noticed everything. "i don't—" you began to deny it, but the words felt hollow, false.
peter took a step closer, his voice low, as if he were sharing a secret meant only for you. "i didn't want to love you, you know." his eyes locked onto yours, intense and unwavering, holding you in place.
"isn't that what this is about?" he asked, his tone sharper now, frustration creeping in. "if you don't like me, you don't have to be all amity about it."
the world seemed to tilt beneath your feet, his words crackling in the air like electricity. your breath caught in your throat, heart pounding as your mind raced to catch up. love? you could barely process anything beyond that.
"w-what?" you stammered, feeling foolish for not hearing anything else he'd said. the butterflies in your stomach fluttered wildly, your pulse quickening as his closeness made everything else fade away. nothing seemed real except for him—standing just inches from you, his words still echoing in your ears.
he ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated, like he was fighting some internal battle he couldn't win. his jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might just turn and leave. but instead, he continued, his voice rougher, more raw. "it's not like i wanted to like you," he said, his words stumbling out like he'd been holding them back for too long. "but then you smiled at me. and—holy shit, i blew it."
you blinked, trying to take in what he was saying, but before you could respond, he barreled on, clearly on edge. "and now you look at me like you hate me. i mean, why wouldn't you? everyone else does. i've been a total asshole, but at least they've got the guts to show it. but you—you're too... too nice to show it." his voice softened for a moment, the vulnerability in his eyes surprising you. "so, now you're just pretending to be nice, pretending to not hate me by staying away from me. but i need you to know, i didn't want this. i didn't want to like you, but now—"
he broke off, frustration radiating off him, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "now i can't stop thinking about you, and it's driving me crazy." he really didn't want you to hate him.
you stood there, your heart swelling at the sight of him—peter hayes, always so tough and unfeeling—so undone in front of you. he thought you hated him? the idea almost made you laugh, but instead, a warmth spread through you, something gentle and tender.
without thinking, you let out a soft laugh, the sound surprising even you. his eyes snapped to yours, confusion flashing across his face. "what? what's so funny?"
"you," you said softly, stepping closer, your fingers hesitantly reaching up to cup his face, the warmth of his skin against your palms making your heart race. his breath hitched, and for the first time, you saw the cracks in his defensive walls—he was flustered.
his eyes widened, his tough demeanor faltering as he stood frozen under your touch. instinctively, he brought his hands to your hips, shy and uncertain.
you smiled, feeling more at ease now, more sure of yourself. "i love you too, hayes," you whispered, keeping him close, your thumbs brushing lightly across his cheeks and you couldn't help but admire the way his eyes smile before his lips.
for a moment, he just stared at you, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. then, slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased, his lips parting slightly as he exhaled a shaky breath.
"you do?" he asked, his voice almost vulnerable, the usual bite gone.
and just like that, the walls he'd built so high around himself crumbled.
Omgoodness! The way you write Kaz so tenderly??? Are you taking requests? If you are, what do you think about one of the rival gangs using Tailor powers to create a doppelgänger of the reader to infiltrate the crows? They don’t know the extent of our relationship with Kaz, so he is confused with the silent treatment and lack of your usual quips. In reality his lover is being held somewhere near the harbour and is in need of help? :) Absolutely no worries if not, have a lovely rest of the month!
⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ The Harbour of Lies ⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅
˚.⋆𐙚 Parings: Kaz Brekker x Reader
˚.⋆𐙚 Synopsis: You are replaced, but Kaz grows wary of your actions. He will stop at nothing to find out the truth.
˚.⋆𐙚 Word Count: 4,989
˚.⋆𐙚 a/n: ahh thank u, I really love to write about Kaz without writing outside of his character too much lolol :)) I am 100% taking requests and loved writing this one!! such a good idea <333 I loved it so much it became the longest oneshot I've ever written 😭 I'm so sorry it took so long but I hope I wrote it as good as u imagined <33
˚.⋆𐙚 warnings: a little angsty (sorry I love some good angst) violence, mentions of torture, kaz going crazy, some kind of drug to make reader sleepy
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It was a small fight, you told yourself, hoping to get over the aching pressure building up in your chest. Not even a fight, just an argument.
You'd both sleep it off (although you knew you wouldn’t get a minute of rest tonight), and in the morning, you’ll both have realized how ridiculous you two were being. You’ll wake up, say something to him in passing, and then everything will fall back into your usual steady rhythm.
You were just taking a breather. Just a second to collect your thoughts and try not to feel so hurt.
Kaz didn’t yell at you. No, he wasn’t the type to raise his voice, especially not to you. Regardless of his volume, it was his tone that got to you. The way he said his words to you.
For a slight second, barely a fragment of a moment, his tone was cool, calculated, almost cruel. A taunting voice as he said, “And I’m supposed to believe you have the mental capacity to know this?”
You shook your head, trying to get the thoughts out, as if you could physically throw them off.
The night air caressed your face exactly the way you needed it to. For a second, you could have sworn it was Kaz’s touch against your skin.
For a moment, you could have sworn it was his footsteps approaching you now. You didn’t hear the door opening, but you were far too into your head to notice much.
The sound of metal hitting the floor rhythmically had you instinctively hiding a small grin on your face.
He had come. Kaz had never come to you after a fight, but it mattered little to you. He was here now.
A hand gripped your shoulder, and for that split second, you couldn’t think of anything else but of how wrong it felt. How the touch brought you back to reality, as if ice was being poured over you.
Too late, you realized. You had no time to react, not when all your guards had been down, not when you were expecting a touch far different than the violent one you were faced with now.
Kaz Brekker didn’t come for you. It was not his footsteps approaching, not his cane hitting the floor, and not his calming touch.
Instead, cold hands grabbed you, covering your mouth, keeping your hands behind you. Panic seized throughout you before metal hitting your head was the only thing you felt.
Black spots began to cloud your vision, and it was only a matter of time before your own consciousness had started slipping.
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Kaz Brekker had been wondering for the past quarter hour whether or not he should confront you. He knew that if he did not, he would be forced to deal with the consequences of his own actions for the rest of the night.
He wouldn’t get an ounce of sleep tonight, that much was sure. It wasn’t all that different most of his nights.
But this night would be different. He could feel it in his bones, digging into his skin, that something would change tonight.
The feeling stuck to his skin the way honey would. He didn't know what it was, and he didn’t like it much.
Not sleeping was one thing he was used to. However, you would be occupying his thoughts all night, so it meant that work was something he wouldn’t be able to get done, either.
He had never been able to do much work when it was you who would cloud his thoughts, which was almost always.
He had wondered—what were you doing now? He had seen you leave through the back door, but had you left to your bedroom already? Or perhaps you were still out in the cold, trying to forget what had happened.
And there it was again, the one thing that kept circling in his mind, over and over again—you.
A sigh not unlike that of a growl escaped his lips. He would go after you, he decided. His mind could not bear another minute with your presence living in his head rather than in his arms.
He was already on his feet before his mind could prevent him from rethinking his decision, rushing through the empty halls.
He would deal with this tonight, and that was that. He would resolve this, and go back to his work.
But when he rested his hand on the knob of the door, doubt began to creep into his mind. Maybe you hadn’t even wanted to see him. Maybe you would send him away.
Behind that door is where you would stand. Without allowing himself to think, he opened it, expecting you. Instead, he was greeted with the darkness clouding his vision.
Kaz Brekker was too late. By the time he had gone to find you, you had already left. You were likely already in your room, trying to forget about him tonight.
With a sigh, he went back inside, trying to do the same.
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Morning came painfully slow. Kaz Brekker could not stop pondering over the words you would say to him, and the words he would respond back with.
You were likely to say something witty, perhaps even a joke. He would respond back carefully, something to make you forget he ever said those cruel words last night.
You did not deserve them—he was only frustrated. He needed some space, and the only way he knew how to get that was by pushing people away.
And it worked, perhaps too well. He own voice repeated in his head, finding new ways to torture himself for what he said to you.
Kaz’s thoughts were interrupted by you—always by you—walking into the kitchen with a stager. The sight of you being so unsteady deeply unnerved him. It was so unlike your usual graceful movements.
One minute passed, and then two. His scowl only deepened as he counted the seconds passing by without conversation.
You were still angry with him. This small fact only unnerved him more. He spared a glance at you, only to find you wearing a scowl similar to his.
The sight sent a chill down his spine. This wasn’t like you. Surely, it couldn’t have been him that had upset you so much.
It truly was something he admired about you; you never let his foul mood ruin your own spirit. You were always full of joy and kindness.
“Is there something you need, Brekker?” You asked, your tone cold. He only blinked at you, shoving his nausea down his throat. Your words were sharp, almost calculating. Like you were playing an act for an audience.
Calling him by his last name seemed to put a distance between you that he didn’t know how to close.
He thought for a second that it was almost like you were trying to mirror him.
Seconds passed by without an answer, and Kaz grew more uneasy by the second. You hadn’t looked at him, not once. You continued to stir your drink, seemingly content with the silence.
“Nothing I cannot do for myself.” He responded, only to give him a few more seconds to stare at your face before forcing himself to walk away.
Your eyes were sunken, as if you didn’t get enough sleep last night. If you were tired, he could understand. If you needed space, he could allow that.
It took everything in him to keep himself from studying every microexpression on your face, every movement of your body.
He had forced himself to walk away.
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Consciousness slipped through you for hours. You couldn’t make out much, other than some half coherent words every couple of hours.
It was hard to tell how much time had passed. Hours, you were certain. How many, you weren’t sure.
Time passed quickly when you were injected with a liquid that made you so sleepy you couldn’t even remember your own name.
It left your brain hazy, your mind all foggy.
You had meals and were able to go to the bathroom, and that was that. You slept and slept and slept until your head was pounding.
Sometimes you would lay with your eyes closed, just to be with your own mind for a few minutes. You heard the soft pulling of water somewhere near you. The harbour. You were close to it.
The sound of the waves lulled you to peace, something that you hadn’t felt since you left the Slat.
You pulled on the ropes digging into your skin again, but they didn’t move a single inch. Loud voices echoed from another room, making you halt and pause.
“Brekker doesn’t know a thing. She looks exactly like her… You couldn’t even tell… No, everything’s fine…”
Kaz. The name jumped from your thoughts. You couldn’t think straight most of the time, but he was clearer than anything.
Kaz was going to get you out of this mess. You were too weak to do it yourself, and he would know if you weren’t yourself.
Kaz would notice you were gone.
You close your eyes, steadying your breathing, collecting your thoughts.
He had to.
｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ
Days passed without a normal conversation from you. You stopped meeting his eyes, stopped walking into his office for nothing more than his presence, stopped acting like yourself.
Everyone felt it. Your spirit had dampened, tainted by something Kaz didn’t know how to clean.
Earlier this morning, he had seen you drinking coffee, holding your cup with your left hand.
He had simply brushed it off as training; you had been saying for months how you felt that any skilled person would need to learn how to use both hands equally.
The curious thing, however, was that you put no sugar into your coffee. No sweetener, no cream, nothing more than the bitter taste of caffeine.
Jesper had laughed about something then, something so stupid in comparison to you.
And you hadn’t even spared a glance in his direction.
You never said anything when Jesper joked, nothing more than a small giggle and an eye roll, something you didn’t bother to do now.
But your eyes had always panned over to Kaz after. You would share a look, one that only you two would notice. A half hidden glance full of mischief and secrets.
Seconds passed, until Kaz realized you wouldn’t meet his stare.
You simply stood, sipping your drink, and acting as if you couldn’t wait to leave. You leaned on one leg, then the other, your eyes darting around the room.
Until your eyes finally landed on Kaz. You two stared at each other for a full second before you looked away.
The boulder on Kaz’s heart only became heavier. Your eyes were not the same as they once were. That spark he could have sworn came from the stars was now dim, almost completely removed.
You didn’t stare at him as though you were angry, or sad. You stared at him as if you didn’t even know him.
The thought weighed on him, trapping him, until the room got too small, too warm, too loud.
Panic rose enough for him to grab his cane and walk out of the room.
He had no other choice than to walk away from the memories that would haunt him far into the day.
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The scent of saltwater was beginning to make your head ache more, if that was even possible.
The air felt sticky, clinging onto you. You couldn’t tell if it was humidity or blood on your skin.
Every time you woke up, a new injury found itself on your body. Pain was beginning to feel normal. You couldn’t remember the last time you woke up without feeling so much of it.
Your captors laughed easily, talked too loudly. They spilled their words the same way a fool would with their gold.
The Lime Dions. Paid tailor. A double. Their words slid into your ears, all beginning to make sense. They were all fragments to a plan you were starting to piece together.
It was clear. They wanted you gone, wanted someone else to wear your skin.
Kaz would figure this out, sooner or later.
Problem was, you didn’t know how much longer you were going to last.
｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ
The shift in your actions sharpened over days. You stood farther from Kaz, keeping an odd distance he tried to close.
But the closer he got, the more you pushed away. He could only faintly remember the scent of your lavender shampoo and the soap on your skin.
He would stand outside your bedroom door some nights, waiting for the courage to knock before deciding to walk away.
He would stare at your hands in the morning as you drank coffee and would tremble at the thought of placing his hand over yours.
He would wonder, over and over again, how he could fix it. How he could fix you.
But things were becoming stranger.
When he asked you a simple question—something he was aware that you knew the answer to—you stumbled with a quick, “I don’t know.”
Kaz’s pulse almost stopped. You knew, of course you knew. He wasn’t sure why you were pretending as if you didn’t.
He had asked only to hear your voice ramble for a few seconds, but your answer made it clear you weren’t interested in making small talk.
Your words were always clipped, your soft reassurances were replaced by odd silence. It loomed over you now, hanging like a dark secret.
Things became strange. It was as if you lost memories or didn’t care to recall them.
“You noticed it too, right?” Jesper asked, whispering. “She’s not acting right. Like someone took her and won’t give her back. I don’t think she’s ever been upset for this long.”
The words were truer than Jesper knew. Kaz couldn’t explain.
There was something wrong with you, horribly wrong. He couldn’t explain that you never looked at him that way, never carried yourself with hatred, never called his name with anything but affection.
“Are you still fighting with her?” Jesper questioned half heartedly. “She’s looking at you like you’re trying to collect her debts.” He mused, a small grin on his face.
A withering look from Kaz was all he received before he decided to wander off.
His eyes tracked over your movement, every twitch of your arm, every breath you took, every glance around the room.
Inej talked mindlessly with you, a small grin on her lips, one you didn’t mirror.
“It’s been a long time since we danced, hasn’t it?” Inej asked, sitting directly across from you.
“Far too long.” You responded, smiling back at her.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
The word repeated itself over and over in his head. That wasn’t your smile, wasn’t the way your eyes creased when you laughed, wasn’t the way your mouth curved.
Inej’s eyes darted to Kaz’s once the words left your mouth.
There was one detail you wouldn’t have said.
You had never danced with Inej before. You always said you would, always promised, but would forget yourself in drinks or games instead.
｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ
The room was becoming too hot, too humid. The smell was starting to drive you crazy. Your wrists were raw, and you were positive you would spill blood if they got any tighter.
So much water around you, and yet your throat was aching from the lack of it.
As the days passed by, your captors had gotten lazier and far more violent. They stopped feeding you as much, stopped injecting you every couple of hours.
You wish it had lasted longer than a day before they injected you again, just moments before.
You were hungry and thirsty, but you were still aware. You no longer lived half deluded, and could get hours in your own mind.
It would be a couple of hours before your mind forgot itself again.
The floor creaked with every step someone took, always making your heart stop dead in your chest. Muffled whispers were all around you.
“Just a few more days,” a faceless voice chuckled. “Brekker and his crew are getting too comfortable. They let their secrets pour out of themselves.”
It was hard to believe they got anything out of the Crows. They were all mindful of their words, always careful of their tone.
If they believed they got more than a couple of useless secrets, then it was clear they didn’t know Kaz Brekker at all.
You tried not to think about your double. Tried not to picture her living your life, wearing your face, talking to Kaz the way you did. The thought alone made you nauseous.
But you knew Kaz through and through. He would see through her act. He would pick her apart, skin by skin, until the truth bled through her.
｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ
The door to Kaz’s office slammed open, breaking his thoughts. “Kaz,” Inej’s voice was shaky, almost desperate. “I was down by the harbor. There’s talk going around. They’re saying… Kaz, they’re saying that the Dime Lions bought a tailor to create doubles.”
“That’s quite an expensive hobby.” Kaz responded, not bothering to look up from the papers scattered on his desk.
“They’re not doing it for fun.” Inej grumbled, voice breathless. “They’re keeping someone near the harbour. A girl from a well known crew. Someone who looks like…” Inej met his stare now, unable to finish her sentence.
Unable to think of the horrible reality they might be faced with.
You. Kaz knew it, without her even having to say it. He didn’t need her voice to form the thoughts growing in his mind now.
But he could see now—see that it was gone because they took you from him.
The warmth you radiated around The Slat, the kindness you showed everyone was gone. Kaz believed it could be because he broke something in you. He thought that his darkness might have spread to you, like the disease it was, and he wanted to punish himself every day for it.
Kaz Brekker relied heavily on his instinct. He had to, if he wanted to survive in the barrel.
And he was never wrong. He had known something was wrong; had known there was a lingering darkness that couldn’t have come from you.
You were gone. Truly gone—your presence had been absent from the Slat for far longer than he knew.
The realization hit him all at once, making his chest feel restricted, like his heart would stop beating any second without his life source.
He would find you, he vowed. Nothing was going to stop him now, there were no boundaries now that the only line he had had been crossed.
You were the last of his humanity, the last thing that kept him from ruining himself in the cruelty that called to him.
He would go after you the same way he had gone after anything he had ever wanted in his life; desperately, violently, and without any qualms of what he would ruin in the process.
The only thing that truly mattered now was getting you back the same way you had left.
And he would get you back. He would use every tool as his disposal to have you return safely.
｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ
A soft knock echoed through Kaz’s office, jolting him back to reality.
Inej was off finding exactly which warehouse you were in, Jesper was preparing everything necessary to leave.
It was time for Kaz to deal with another problem he had wanted to confront the past couple of days.
“Come in.” He announced, anticipating the footsteps about to walk inside.
And sure enough, the woman who was wearing your face walked in.
His eyes never left her, not once as she walked inside. He couldn’t help but notice all the differences between you and her now.
She looked like an empty copy, something that could never measure up to you. How could he not see it before?
“I was told you needed to see me.” She said, her tone clipped, obviously rehearsed.
“Remind me,” Kaz began, a cruel smirk on his face. “What were the words you said to me the first time you finished a job?”
She blinked, fidgeting with her fingers. “Which part?” She faltered, glancing nervously.
“You know which part I’m asking about.”
Her lips parted, eyes creased almost to slits. A small shrug before she said, “I can’t recall.”
Kaz’s jaw ticked, his stare hardening. You had whispered something to him, something so small to you, but it had left a mark on him.
“I will never forget the weight of kruge on my hand, nor on my heart.”
She stiffened at his words. “Of course. Yes, I remember now.” She murmured, her gaze never leaving the floor.
“Do you? Because I could have sworn you aren’t who I believed you to be.”
Those simple words had her head snapping up.
And for the first time, emotion had finally shown through her eyes.
Fear. Right before she turned around and bolted out the door.
｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ
Sleep came in portions, broken by fear. You awoke to the sounds of shouting, bulleting wheezing through the air, and—
The sound of a cane hitting the floor woke you out of your trance.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
Your heart raced rapidly. A cane. Kaz’s cane. You nearly sobbed with relief, resting your head down.
“Have your spirits finally broken?” A deep voice echoed in your ears.
And it wasn’t Kaz. You were merely hallucinating, imagining what freedom might taste like.
Instead, a man whose face you could never remember taunted you with a snarl before closing the door shut behind him.
｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ
Your double walked into the Slat, wrists bound together, head held down. She wore your face, your clothes, but was so unlike you it made Kaz uneasy.
“Saints,” Jesper muttered, shaking the chill off his body. “She looks exactly like her. It’s freaking me out.”
Inej folded her arms, eyes sharper than they were a day ago. “Not an exact replica. Her face looks different.”
Kaz’s cane tapped on the floor, echoing. Silence followed as all eyes watched him.
“What will you do?” Her voice rang out, hollow. “Kill me? Torture me? I won’t tell you anything.”
Kaz’s throat tightened on itself. He stepped closer, the sound of his gloves tightening on his cane. Every urge screamed at him to punish her, make her pay for using you as a weapon, for wearing your face like a trophy.
But he couldn’t hurt her. He knew this, deep in his bones. Not while she was wearing your face.
But he couldn’t allow her to walk around with something that belonged to you, either.
“No, not kill you.” He mused, standing straight. “That would be too easy. I don’t waste my talents on cheap imitations.”
The words dug into her skin, he could tell. Her face hardened as anger settled in.
“Instead, I will give you a message. I will say this once, and only once. You are to leave Ketterdam, and you are to never come back. Your face will go back to normal. But your habits will stay the same. I know who you are. I know what you’re like. If I ever find you back here, I will come for you. I won’t hesitate to kill you slowly, and I’ll let the woman whose face you're wearing watch. You are never to step foot here again. Do you understand?”
Your double flinched back, shuddering in her skin.
Kaz lifted a small dagger, cutting the ropes before meeting her gaze.
“If you are not gone by midnight, I’ll have you hunted.”
He barely finished his words before she bolted out, rushing until there was no trace of her left.
Kaz was left with silence, Inej and Jesper watching him. They didn’t have to ask why he’d done it—they knew.
And they were ready to bring you back.
｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ
The warehouse was dim, smelling of fish and salt. Men sat around on crates, talking openly, laughing.
The sight filled Kaz with a rage he couldn’t explain. You were here, somewhere, and they had the gall to allow themselves around you.
As if they deserved to live in the same world as you.
His cane scraped across the floors, getting louder by the second. They didn’t hear it until it was too late.
They didn’t see Inej until she was already there, working her way through them like a ghost.
They didn’t see Jesper until his bullets barked through the air, reaching every target he aimed for.
They didn’t see Kaz until he struck through them, only one thing on his mind.
There was a door to his left, one that was calling out for him. He wanted revenge, wanted so badly to watch every single one of their eyes as life left them.
But he wouldn’t give anyone a chance to take you again. Never again would he let you face such danger.
He rushed through the door, knowing Inej and Jesper could handle anything behind him.
All that he saw was you, sat with hollow cheeks, blood all over you.
The anger he had left behind just seconds ago bubbled up into his chest again. He wanted to turn back and torture every man in that room, wanted to watch them beg for their lives as he denied them it.
He kneeled to you, his gloved fingers working at the ropes binding you with quick movement. He let out a soft curse as he realized his gloves were making the task difficult.
Quickly, he shed them off his hands, working the knots until they fell away.
They hit the floor with a thud, causing you to finally look up at him. He could tell you were half delirious, not fully conscious.
But then you smiled at him. Your real smile, where your eyes creased, and your mouth curved on both sides.
And your eyes, he would have done anything to see them again.
He couldn’t imagine what you had been through. Your gaze met his, and your eyes sparkled like a fire. Like the stars he had wished to see so many nights. His breath caught in his chest, vibrating with emotions he wasn’t ready to name.
“Am I dreaming again?” You murmured, a grin still evident on your face.
Something unspoken passed through his chest, carving itself into his heart.
“Not this time.” He whispered back. He wanted to touch your skin, just a finger to caress your face. He wanted so badly to allow himself so many things.
“I knew you would come for me.” Your hands trembled as you tried to raise them.
He couldn’t touch you, couldn’t offer what his chest ached to give, but his eyes burned with the intensity all the same.
“It took you a while, but I knew you would.” You said, lips curving, even as your voice became shaky.
And for the first time in days, Kaz allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch upwards. It was barely a smile—but so full of emotion it made your heart jump.
“Only a fool would think anyone could be a copy of you.”
Relief cracked through your heart, until a soft sob left your lips.
Kaz shoved his gloves back onto his hands, before lifting both of his arms under you.
The last thing you felt before sleep called for you was your weight being lifted into the air. You felt so free, so peaceful.
The soft breeze felt so good on your skin.
Home. You were going home. The thought made you so happy, a smile was left on your lips as you slowly slipped away.
Kaz Brekker couldn’t keep his eyes off of you the entire way back.
He wouldn’t allow anyone else to hold you, wouldn’t allow you out of his sight.
He spent every moment going over every line on your face, every crease.
He allowed himself to run his gloved hand over your face. You leaned into it, even in your sleep.
The water didn’t come. But he wouldn’t push for now.
LOVED YOUR THOMAS FIC!! Please write more Maze Runner. ALSO, I am a sucker for established relationship.
What about Thomas and reader (established relationship) reunite after being separated?
this is literally a year old but I discovered it in my drafts and had to post! pretty sure the maze runner fandom is dead rn but I simply do not care
tmr!thomas x fem!reader | established relationship, fluff and a bit of angst (set in the death cure)
Thomas thinks, if he doesn’t find you soon, he might as well be dead. He’s well on his way. His heart hasn’t felt normal since WCKD took you. It’s felt heavy as lead, weighing down in his chest like a rock, making it hard to walk, hard to breathe. He hasn’t been able to sleep, but being awake is so much worse. It’s horrible, spending every waking moment worrying about what WCKD is doing to you, wondering if you’re even alive, thinking about all the things he could’ve done better to save you.
The guilt eats at him like a virus, clawing at his heart and up his throat. Eating him alive and spitting him right back out until he feels like a zombie. A dead boy walking.
It takes over his body now, so much so that he’s not really thinking at all as he breaks into WCKD headquarters. He’s thinking, but he’s not thinking. He lets his body take over, he smashes through glass windows and knocks out guards with the butt of his gun, he busts down metal doors and screams your name down the fluorescent white and blue halls.
He yells himself hoarse. He and Newt come to a T shape in the seemingly never-ending hallways. Newt yells for them to take one each, and Thomas barrels down the right one, his heart pounding in his ears. He peers through big glass windows, sees machines and medical carts and computers, but no you. He’s starting to feel desperate. He’s starting to feel like he might kill someone just to find you. His legs feel numb. Then,
“Thomas! I’ve got her!”
Thomas runs faster than he’s ever run before. Twists on his heel and very nearly breaks his ankle, but goes sprinting the way he came, and down the hallway Newt took. Hope and guilt and desperation and regret surge through his body like electricity in his veins. He’s running so fast, so blind with hope, that he almost slams right into Newt. His friend grabs his elbow.
“Woah.” He’s breathing hard. But he’s smiling. “She’s okay, Tom.”
And then you appear as if out of nowhere, stepping out from behind Newt like an angel in a fiery, burning hot hell. You look pale. You look weak. You’re in a hospital gown and no shoes. There’s a big bruise in the crook of your elbow and your lips are cracked. But you’re here. He doesn’t want to sound like a loser, but Thomas could cry buckets right now.
“Y/N,” he says. He doesn’t sound like himself. Doesn’t feel like himself. He feels as if he’s standing watching the scene as merely an observer. It’s an odd feeling, an out of body experience.
“Thomas,” you say, and the relief in your tone breaks his heart into a million little pieces that seem to spill out onto the floor in front of him.
Thomas surges for you. He scoops you into a hug so tight it’s sure to bruise, which is stupid, but he isn’t thinking straight, and you squeeze him just as hard, anyway. You fling your arms around his neck and keep them there. Thomas doesn’t know what to do with his hands. They’re everywhere — your hair, your back, your neck — it’s like he’s worried you’ll slip away, or worried you’re merely a ghost of the girl he loves. The fabric of your hospital gown is starchy and foreign in his hands, but you’re warm and soft and familiar underneath it all.
“I’m sorry,” he says. He’s crying now, and Newt’s right there watching the whole thing, but Thomas doesn’t care. His heart hammers faster than light. Or is that your heart? He can’t tell, you’re pressed so tight to him they may as well be the same. “I’m so sorry.”
You shake your head hard where it’s buried in his neck. You’re crying too, he feels your warm tears sticky on his skin. “Don’t. Don’t say that. I’m okay, Tom.” Your hand is in his hair, stroking him gently like he’s the one who’d been kidnapped, not you. “It’s not your fault.”
Thomas blinks away hot, hot tears. They blur his vision. His ears are ringing, or is than an alarm somewhere blaring in the distance? He can’t tell, it doesn’t matter, he’s got you now and he’s never letting go.
Newt says something but neither of you hear him. You’re too busy coveting the hair at the nape of Thomas’ neck, and he’s too busy running his hands over the planes of your back as if memorising them. Newt tries again, louder.
“We have to go now!” he shouts, gripping Thomas’ shoulder.
Thomas pulls back, blinking rapidly. His ears finally stop ringing, only for them to pick up something worse, gunshots and yelling coming from somewhere too close, followed by thundering footsteps. He curses and takes your shoulders in two rough hands. Just be strong for a little longer, his touch says.
“I’m sorry,” he tells you again. Guilt and sincerity roll into one to ache like a wound over his heart. “We have to go now, sweetheart. We’re gonna find Minho and get you the hell out of here. Can you walk?”
He’s willing to carry you if you have to. But you nod and grab his hand fiercely. The three of you take off down the hallway and Thomas decides he’s never, ever, letting you go again.
