#abnegation

[casseyissleeping]

unfortunately I AM in my teen who read divergent and thought it was nice era

tobias ily

[smfolklore]

Relentless. Part 2.

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Author's Note : I'm back! This is 1.4K Word's and I love it so I hope all of you do too! Let me know what else you would like to see and if you enjoyed this, please. I don't write smut very often so I'm scared LOL .

Synopsis : You taunt Tobias at Placebo. You end up on your knees, with a reminder from your boyfriend. Filthy smut I hope you love it!

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I gasp softly as my mouth slips from his.

His lips are soft and wet. His hand gripping my hair roughly and the other enveloping my ass as a way to keep my body pressed tightly to his.

I whine as I try to bring my lips to his and he holds me back by the firm hold he has on me. His words are rough, and his eyes are dark as he rasps out, “On your knees”.

A shiver travels the expanse of my spine and goosebumps explode across my skin as I mindlessly sink to the floor. 

This is what I wanted. To have him snap. He’s the epitome of a man that possesses self-control, so being capable of forcing him to lose that control is a pastime of mine. I love watching him lose himself in me.

My eyes don’t stray from his own as I begin to palm at him. My fingers tracing the fabric and lingering on the spots that elicit a gasp, exhale, or grunt from him. A smile curves up my mouth as I catch the arousing sound of his stuttered breath.

“Is this what you want?” My tone is playing innocently stupid.

It’s not until I feel his grip tighten and watch the glint of lust in his eyes expand that I decide to pull out his cock. My mouth is practically salivating as I watch him hiss at the sensitivity and I use this moment to gently kiss the tip, my lips puckered against it before softly taking it into my mouth.

I suck softly and listen to the gasp that befalls my ears. He’s so fucking hot when he’s desperate. I feel my cunt clenching at the mere sound of his soft grunts as I slowly take him further in, “Fuck baby, your mouth is incredible”.

I mewl in approval at the compliments slipping past his lips and I use it as encouragement, my lips tightening as I pull back and pop off of him. Before he can say anything, I spit softly onto his cock and use my palm to stroke the lubricant across his entire length. 

His breathing pattern has risen and his eyes are hooded as he watches me stroke his cock. His gaze is penetrating and it’s making my pussy wet beyond what I thought possible. I can see the filth in his eyes and it’s only exciting me for what’s to come.

I suck harshly on the tip of his length as I use my palm to stimulate the rest of his cock and I can’t help the pulsing of my clit as I listen to the sound of his rough grunting.

Tobias’s grip is tight as he enters a phase of frustration and overwhelming desire. I gasp wetly as he roughly entangles his fist within the long strands of my dark hair. With my chin directed up, my eyes snap to his, low and so turned on as I whine out in a petulant tone, “I want to make you come”.

An amused smirk curves up his lips.

My pussy clenches. Fuck he’s so hot.

I pucker my lips and kiss his cock softly before he’s yanking me away from his erection with a correcting tut, “Nuh-uh. I didn’t say I wanted to come yet, did I?”.

I narrow my eyes at him. He’s punishing me for the way that I relentlessly provoked him tonight and I want to internally yell; and then provoke him further. But I know that if I do, I’ll come out losing tonight, so I pout and give him what he’s looking for.

Submission.

I let my body relax into his hold, my chin tilted up so that I’m at his mercy with the steel grip he has on me. I soften my gaze and lightly whisper out, “No. You didn’t”.

He notches an eyebrow and the look on his face solely convey’s amusement and a hint of… satisfaction. His gaze settles on my lips, swollen and flushed, “Open your mouth”, he demand’s sternly.

Instinctively, I listen. My lips parting effortlessly, and my tongue rolling out with relative speed.

I watch the way that he utilizes his own grip to stroke his hard cock, the movement tight as it meets his tip, and loose as he meets the base. My eyes stay connected to the image in front of me and I have to stop myself from whining at the distaste of not being given permission to touch him the way that I so desperately want.

My cunt is so wet, and he can see the arousal in my gaze as he coos mockingly, “Are you wet, baby?”.

I mewl. My eyes are blown out and my agreement is fast as I nod, desperately trying to convey how fucking badly I need him to fuck me and his only response is a mocking, “Of course you are… this slutty little pussy would get wet only from sucking my cock. Wouldn’t it?”

I whimper loudly at his degrading phrase. My clit is pulsing with an incessant desire to come and I keep my gaze on his cock as I let slip a small, “Yes… Can I? Please?”.

His grin is full of satisfaction and it’s oozing from his tone as he lets his length slip into my mouth, and softly touch the back of it. I use all the knowledge that I have come to gather in my time with him and apply it in order to take the entirety of his length. I only know that I have when an unmistakable whimper escapes his slightly parted mouth.

The tip of my nose is pressed softly to the firm muscle of his abdomen as I take his cock all the way into my mouth and I swallow, once, pulling a choked gasp from him. My mind is spacy, and I only think of the man standing before me. His lips, his hands, his cock. He’s built like a wet-dream.

In an attempt to inhale more air, I suck harshly as I pull my lips back only to feel the vice-like hold that Tobias has on the nape of my neck. I’m only alarmed for a second before I’m embracing it, inhaling through my nose and fluttering my eyes closed. “Just like that…”.

Time is endless as I kneel in front of him, licking and sucking on his length. Listening to the filthy sound of his grunting, and the consistent wet slide that is the tight grip I have on him as I stroke his cock.

His thighs start to shake and his grip flips from the rough hold on the nape of my neck to a soft palm steering my mouth further down the length of his dick. I gag softly, my throat closing around the head of his cock, and I nod feverently and as best as I can when he gasps out, “Fuck, I’m coming! Oh… god. Such a perfect mouth”.

My clit is pulsing and I whine with my lips still softly sucking the tip of his cock, swallowing the thick pulses of come that he shot into my mouth. My eyes never abandon his as I do so, and I have a hazy grin on my lips as I pull away from him.

His chest is moving rapidly and he’s staring at me with lowered eyes, his face flushed and with a sheen of perspiration. 

A small smile slips onto my face and I can’t help the laugh that escapes me as I look up at him, the stern atmosphere that was there just a moment ago, now broken. “You came so hard”.

He grins tiredly and caresses his palm lightly on my cheek, his thumb coming into soft contact with my lip, “Yeah?”. I hum in response to his question, clenching my thighs together at the sound of his low remark.

His eyes darken within a second as he spots it and I fight to withhold the hitch in my breathing pattern as they meet my own.

I’m so fucked.

He hums, finding my inability to sit still amusing, and he mutters in finality as he softly caresses my lips with his thumb, “You will too, when I decide that you finally can”. My eyes show my alarm and this only encourages him, “You like taunting me? Like making me wait?”.

I swallow and sit still, letting his gaze consume me as I stay looking up at him from my position on my knees. “Have you forgotten who’s the student?”.

[zwelcii]

love me anyway | peter hayes

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

[ghostedgrim]

HEY! QUICK ROLL CALL!!!

To the Divergent Fandom! We've lost alot of people, or we're all just crazy quiet. It seems this beloved Fandom has died. BUT IM STILL HERE ALIVE AND KICKING MOTHERFUCKERS!!!

To those in this Fandom, reply and reblog so I can know y'all fuckers are still alive!

If ya wanna leave only a like, then please just reply with "here." I'm also willing to take any request you wanna send that are related to Divergent (smut, romantic, rejection, friendships, enemies, OCs, platonic, ships, hurt, comfort, crack ship, crack headcannons, random stuff, crack fic ideas) give them to me! IMMA ATTEMPT CPR, I MAY HAVE FAILED MY CPR TEST IM HIGH SCHOOL BUT IMMA STILL ATTEMPT CPR TO REVIVE THIS FANDOM!!!! 🦅

Feel free to add your favorite faction in the comments

[mr-moasty-toasty]

𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘴.

𝙄 𝙖𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝘈𝘣𝘯𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝙄 𝙖𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝘋𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴. 𝙄 𝙖𝙢 𝘋𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵.

[charlotteking27]

Would you be willing to do an Eric Coulter arranged marriage AU one shot where Eric and reader are put into an arranged marriage to further unite Erudite and Dauntless, or a soulmate AU one shot where the reader is originally from Erudite and switched to dauntless, she works as a doctor and they meet after Eric ends up in the infirmary for some reason. In either case, the reader is early 20’s and Eric is around 26, and everyone is older when the choosing ceremony takes place instead of being teenagers.

Cara Mia

Eric Coulter x fem reader (Jeanine's daughter)

"What the fuck, you put me in an arranged marriage", Eric yelled angrily toward Max.

yes, but it's beneficial because the girl you are marrying is Jeanine's daughter and is to further unite Erudite and Dauntless", Max said walking up to Eric and handing him a picture of you.

It was a picture of you in blue clothes with your hair down smiling in the photo. Eric had to admit you were beautiful, but it didn't matter, he wasn't the type to settle down.

"When do I meet her?", Eric said stuffing the photo in his back pocket.

"Tomorrow".

Y/N P.O.V

What, No mom I refused to get married to a guy I don't even know", You complained to your mom. You always knew this would happen, your mother using you for her own personal gain but you wished it wasn't today.

"It doesn't matter you will get married whether you like it or not. He's a Dauntless leader one of the youngest and was originally from Erudite himself". Jeanine finishes with no emotion on her stone-cold face.

She made it sound so easy to get married to a complete stranger but you had to do you had no other choice. She gave you a picture of the Dauntless leader, he looked scary with his piercings and tattoos. Blond hair and all-black outfits showing off his arms, no smile but his blue eyes were the most beautiful of his features.

"When do I meet him?-"

"Tomorrow"

I couldn't sleep at all, thinking about my future husband. What if he hates me? What if ignores me? so many scenarios coming to my head. I was too nervous to sleep waiting anxiously to meet my future husband.

I woke early the next morning trying to figure out what to wear.

"Good, you look presentable", my mother said before leaving out the door towards the car. I followed her waiting anxiously till we arrived.

Two Dauntless guards escorted us out of the car to the head of the leader of the Dauntless office.

I saw the guy in the photo looking displeased at everything, I could tell he wasn't so thrilled about the engagement.

"Eric this is my daughter", Jeanine introduced us to each other.

"we will leave you alone to get to know each other better", Max said before walking out with my mother closing the door.

"Look we both know we are not happy about this engagement but we should make the most of it right", I said but in return, I only heard a scoff.

"It doesn't matter but you should be happy to marry a dauntless leader like me, Cara Mia", Eric said in a cocky tone stepping closer to me.

Blushing I replied, "Why don't we try to get to each other, I'm Y/n, I am 20 years old, and my favorite color is (whatever you want)."

"Eric a Dauntless leader, 26, and Black"

"Isn't that just a fitting color for", I said gesturing to his clothes. For the first time, I saw him smile since I came here, which was beautiful.

We continued to talk and laugh, getting to know each other and surprisingly we had a lot in common. It wasn't until Eric had pointed out the time, we had been talking for two hours.

Time skip Eric P.O.V

"where the fuck is she?" Eric mumbled in annoyance entering the cafeteria, his eyes landed on Four, who was seated by the table alone. Somehow you and Four became best friends forcing him to tolerate Four.

Huffing, Eric approached the table Four was seated at. "what do you want Eric? I thought you were tired of me after you kicked me out of the training session earlier."

"That's because you disobeyed my orders by interrupting my session, with that being said have you seen my wife", Eric said barely looking at Four.

It's weird how fast Eric's life changed since he got married. He never imagined getting married but never thought he could enjoy being someone's husband. He usually calls you by your name but for some reason, the word wife feels good to say especially if it's you. There was no doubt in his mind that you were the best thing to ever happen to him, his everything.

"no, I haven't seen Y/n", Four said in a neutral voice.

Eric left after Four's reply stomping out of the canteen, making sure to brush a few weak initiates out of his way.

Eric thought not only were born with a sharp Erudite mind but a witty tongue, but you were also beautiful.

With steady steps, Eric quickly made his way down the corridors, a hard look on his face trying to remember where you were. With a slight grin, he thought back to last night when you two shared a steamy shower under the moonlight.

Eric was truly happy to see your face every morning when waking up. He was lucky to be your husband, to have in-depth conversations with you about whatever, to please you in every way possible, to read to you every night in bed, and then talk about the book.

Then he hurriedly walked towards the library, Eric could not help but smile when seeing your figure which appeared in the doorway of the library, your nose stuck in the book.

Eric stood in the shadows, watching your figure walk right past him. He looks at you for a second before looking down at the book, smiling slightly as he sees you are reading one of his favorite books " The Tale of Two Cities". Dauntless people did not read, especially not good novels but back in Erudite, he was aware this book was popular.

Emerging slowly out of the shadows, Eric firmly gripped your waist from behind, gently kissing your cheek. Before he knew a book came crashing down on his cheek, hard. As you swung around getting ready to punch doing the exact thing Eric had trained you to do.

"Eric Coulter, you dummy", you shouted at him before letting out a giggle as you noticed his faint red color cheek.

Meeting your eyes, Eric let out a laugh while rubbing his cheek. "I have been looking everywhere for you Cara Mia, I didn't think you were here after you completely emptied to library yesterday.

"well I was looking for this book, so I came back", You told him kissing red cheek. When you married Eric it was like a dream, already been a year. Even though it was an arranged marriage it was purely all love.

His lips gently brushed against yours, memorizing the feeling of your lips against his before he let go," You're my wife, my everything. My world, I don't know what I'd do without you. Let me show how much I appreciate you, Cara Mia".

[writerxwren]

Look I just think these two deserve appreciation for rocking the Abnegation chic aesthetic

[dimthemoonstaytiny]

Divergent (I.N.)

content warning: none

Masterlist

word count: 1482

The morning light crept through the sheer curtains of my room softly, just enough to rouse me. I never needed an alarm. My body always knew when it was time to rise, and by now, I had such a good routine that I could sense when the sun was making its first move over the horizon. I sat up, feeling the coolness of the room, the stillness that seemed to stretch endlessly in the early hours of the day.

No rush, no noise, no distractions.

I reached for the grey shirt neatly folded on my nightstand, its fabric rough and worn, just like the rest of my clothes. There was even a small hole that I'd patched over with a slightly mismatched thread. It didn't matter, though. Clothes were meant to serve a function, not to draw attention.

I slipped it over my head and grabbed my trousers from the same spot, sliding them on with care. Even small tasks like dressing required focus to ensure proper respect and care for our items and for ourselves. I knelt to tie my shoes, double-knotting the laces like I always did, knowing the boots were old but still good enough to last. I couldn't justify replacing them yet—not when someone else might need new shoes more than I did.

The faint smell of last night's meal lingered in the air, a reminder of the simple porridge I had eaten. I moved to the kitchen, where a fresh bowl of oatmeal waited for me. My mother had left it on the table before heading to work at the community center like she always did.

I ate slowly, spoonful by spoonful, not for enjoyment, but for fuel. The taste didn't matter; what mattered was the nourishment. When I finished, I rinsed the bowl and spoon, wiped them dry, and placed them back on the shelf, ready for the next meal.

I slipped on my jacket, feeling the familiar weight settle over my shoulders, and pocketed the bus tokens that I'd need later. With that, I headed out the door, closing it quietly behind me so as not to disturb my neighbors as I stepped into the familiar grey world outside.

The streets were nearly empty at this hour, just as they always were in Abnegation. Everything here was quiet, understated. There was no need for noise. The buildings, uniform in their simplicity, stood side by side like silent guardians of our way of life.

Other Abnegation members passed by me, dressed in the same grey tones, their faces calm and neutral, offering a small wave at most. Everyone had a place to be, but no one was in a hurry. Rushing was indulgent, and indulgence was something we avoided.

My destination was the public library, where I worked as a maintenance assistant. It wasn't glamorous, but glamour wasn't the goal. My job was to keep the place clean and functional, to make sure it was welcoming for anyone who needed it. I took pride in the small tasks—wiping down tables, sweeping the floors, organizing the shelves. Every detail mattered. Every action I took made someone else's experience a little easier, a little better.

As I walked, I kept my head down, hands tucked into the pockets of my jacket. The morning air was crisp, but not cold, and the sound of my footsteps was the only noise breaking the stillness. I reached the bus stop, where a few others waited in silence. We didn't speak, but there was no need to. We all knew the purpose of our day—to serve. We all shared the same goal—to make a better tomorrow.

The bus ride was uneventful, as always. I took my usual seat near the back, watching as the city passed by in a blur of greys and muted tones. It wasn't long before I arrived at the library, a modest building nestled between two equally modest structures. I stepped off the bus and made my way inside.

The smell of old books greeted me as I entered, along with the familiar sight of rows and rows of shelves. I nodded to the librarian at the front desk, a quiet, elderly woman who had worked here for as long as I could remember. She returned the nod and then went back to organizing the day's returns.

I slipped into the maintenance closet, grabbing the supplies I needed for the morning. My first task was to mop the floors, starting with the reading area near the back of the library. I filled the bucket with water, the soft sound of the mop sloshing against the floor the only noise breaking the silence this early in the morning. I did my best not to disturb the librarian who needed the concentration for her tasks more than I did.

I moved through the routine easily, my body used to the motions. Cleaning the tables, wiping down the shelves, and making sure every book was in its proper place. There was something comforting about the predictability of it all. Each day was the same, but each day also meant I was doing something that mattered, something that helped someone else even if it was just in some small way like making sure their favorite book was always waiting for them in the same spot.

By midday, the library had filled with people—students, workers on their lunch breaks, families. They whispered quietly among each other. It was good to see the space being used, though I never stayed too long to watch. The work was the focus, not the recognition. Once my tasks were completed, I returned the cleaning supplies to the closet and prepared for the walk home.

The streets were busier now, but still calm compared to other sectors. Here, people moved with purpose, but never with urgency. As I walked, my thoughts drifted back to the library, already considering what needed to be done tomorrow. The shelves in the back would need a deeper cleaning soon, and I made a mental note to take care of that first thing in the morning.

My thoughts were interrupted when I saw a man struggling to walk on the sidewalk ahead of me. He was older, his clothes tattered and worn, and as I got closer, I noticed him fighting to keep his pants from falling down. They kept slipping down his hips despite his attempts to hold them up. His face was lined with exhaustion, and there was a look of quiet desperation in his eyes, the kind of look that made it clear he wasn't used to asking for help...no abnegation was. We usually just offered it.

Without thinking, I called out to him. "Sir, can I help you with something?"

He glanced at me, surprised. "I'm okay," he smiled. "They're a bit big, but they do the job."

I looked at him for a moment, trying to think of a way I could help as I searched the ground, and then I caught sight of my shoes. The laces were long, longer than necessary. Without hesitation, I untied one of my shoelaces and slipped it free from the holes. "Here," I said, holding it out to him. "You can use this to keep them up."

The man stared at me, confused. "But then what about your shoe?"

"I don't need both laces," I said with a small smile. "You need it more than I do."

He hesitated for a moment, then took the lace from my hand in gratitude. "Thank you very much."

I watched as he threaded it through the loops on his pants, tying them securely around his waist. A small sense of relief passed over his face, and he nodded his thanks.

"Thank you," he said quietly again.

I nodded back. "No need to thank me. I'm happy to help."

With that, I continued my walk home, the sound of my one untied shoe tapping softly against the pavement. I didn't mind. The man had needed the lace more than I did, and that was all that mattered.

As I walked, I thought about the rest of the day. There was always something more to do, more ways to help. I decided I'd prepare dinner for my mother this evening as a thanks for her preparing breakfast.

But first, when I got home, I went to my room and tore out my other shoelace so I could cut it in half and thread it back through. The laces had been way too long...but because of that imperfection, they'd been useful for someone.

I always believed I was imperfect...too focused on routine and selflessness...but I help people too. To make tomorrow a little bit better.