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.
