Summary: In a rare show of affection, Dauntless leader Eric finds himself traveling with Y/N to Amity to retrieve a personalized gift she insists on having: a hammock. During the journey, Y/N sees a glimpse into the softer, rarely-seen side of the hardened leader.
Warnings: Mild romance / sexual innuendos, implied emotional trauma or nightmares, slight language (e.g., "curse her short legs"), and power dynamics in relationship (subtle, not abusive)
Masterlist: See fandoms (pc-friendly)
He thinks it's lame. What is the point of a hammock when they have a perfectly fine bed. But everyone in the compound knows Eric won't tell her no. Even though he typically doesn't show affection in public, everyone knows he always gives her anything she asks for.
That's how they end up in Amity, of all places. The people of Amity have seen Y/N many times when she is meeting Johanna, as part of her leadership duties. However, they were not used to seeing Dauntless men who could be mistaken for tanks.
"Y/N. Why are they all staring and smiling at me," he asks as they began walking through the market.
"Eric, honey, that's why I make sure not to eat the bread when I have meetings with Johanna," she snickers and steals a glance at the handsome smirk on Eric's face. She loves being the reason he looks that way, even if she doesn't tell him very often.
"Was it really necessary to drag me to the land of the hippies for you to pick up this thing," Eric grumbles under his breathe, making her smile. She steps in front of him and puts her hand on his arm causing him to look down. Biting her lip she flicks her eyes up to meet his and puts her other arm on his shoulder.
"Baby, you know I need a big strong man to carry it for me," she says as she leans on her tip toes and gives him a peck on the lips. She maneuvers her lips as close to his ear as she can and whispers "If you didn't want to help me I could have asked Four," she breathes quietly with a grin knowing what the mention of his rival will do.
When she pulls back and looks into Eric's eyes she sees the fire in them and knows it's time. She bolts toward the end of the market laughing knowing he is right behind her. Eric easily catches up to her, curse her short legs, and wraps his muscular arms around her waist forcing her to a halt.
"Now, now, Stiff you behave yourself," he whispers in her ear then drops a kiss on her neck causing her to shiver. He spins her around and looks at her face while smiling before giving her a sweet kiss.
"Let's find this hammock so we can go home," he tells her and wraps his arm around her shoulder which causes her to automatically wrap an arm around his waist and lean into him as they fall into step together. They make it to the end of the booths and find a girl of almost choosing age who looks bored until she sees them. They both are sure they will see her at the next choosing.
"Y/N, hi, I have your hammock for you!"
"Oh, thank you Rose! I'm sure it's perfect." Y/N returns the girls greeting.
"So you had a- a special hammock made for you," Eric asks furrowing his brows in confusion.
"Nope, for us," Y/N giggles and he can't help but smirk hearing the sound. Rose comes from the back of the booth with a large hammock that she has rolled up and placed in a canvas bag. Smiling the entire time Y/N happily pays for the hammock, grabs Eric's hand and begins the walk back to the train stop.
"Are you going to let me see it?"
"Not a chance, handsome. You can see it when we get home," Y/N replies and kisses his cheek. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head with a small smile on his face. When they get to the Amity stop they board the train and begin making their way to Dauntless.
They walk into their apartment and lay the hammock on the coffee table. She sits in his lap and he wraps his arms around her pulling her to him as tightly as he can, allowing her to tuck her face into the crook of his neck. After minutes of sitting in the silence she raises her head and he looks into her eyes and he can see happiness with a hint of sadness. Before he can ask her about it she jumps out of his lap and begins opening the canvas bag.
"Do you want to help me put it up," she asks and gives him a small smile.
"You know I won't tell you no," he answers with a smile of his own. He moves from the couch and grabs the end of the hammock to let her unroll it. She holds the fabric and begins walking backwards while smiling. When the hammock is unrolled he takes a moment to stare at it, understanding why she had it special made.
The rope of the hammock is black. The fabric is different though. It is sectioned into three colors. The top color is Erudite blue and the bottom is Abnegation gray. In the middle is black with Dauntless flames in the center.
"It's us." She hears the way his voice is slightly husky and smiles at him. He pulls her to him and kisses her passionately.
When they pull apart he clears his throat, "It's great. I love you." Just like every time he says it her stomach erupts with butterflies and she kisses him.
"I love you," after a pause she winks at him and continues, "now help me put this in the corner babe." After 30 minutes the hammock was bolted into the wall and Eric climbed in it resting his left foot on the ground and held his arms open to her. Without a word she climbed in with him and snagged into his chest.
He gently rubbed circles on her back knowing it would help ease what was bothering her. After rocking the hammock with his foot and rubbing circles on Y/N's back for a few minutes he felt her breathing even out and knew she was sleeping.
Y/N was the first girl who ever looked through his bad attitude and good looks. The few women he had been with only wanted physical encounters but nothing meaningful. Y/N got to know him and learned all she could about him. They became friends.
One day they were in the training room sparring and she knocked him down and sat on him to pin him in place. They were looking in each others eyes smiling and he leaned in and kissed her. It was nothing he had ever felt before and he knew she was going to be special.
Their relationship began to grow and they became even closer. They would sit and talk for hours and he loved how her eyes would light up when she would speak about her mother and her friends, even her specific leadership duties. One night they had stayed up at his apartment so late they fell asleep together in his bed.
The next morning he woke up holding her close to him. Because they were leaders, both of their apartments were in the pire and had windows to outside. The morning sunrise was shinning on her face in a soft orange glow and he realized he, the ruthless Eric Coulter, was in love with Y/N.
He is pulled from his thoughts when he feels Y/N stiffen and squeeze him in her sleep. He looks at her sleeping face and sees that she no longer looks peaceful. Her eyebrows are pulled together and her perfect lips are shaped into a frown.
"Baby, are you having a nightmare," he whispers to her but he gets only another squeeze in response. He begins running his fingers through her hair and holds her tighter as they rock.
"Sh, Y/N, baby. It's okay. You're okay." "I'm here. I'll always protect you," he whispers and softly kisses her head.
give me four and an initiate!reader and i’ll love you forever fam. i’m a sucker for a jealous man that pines
no pressure, i hope you have a wonderful day! 💗
Unspoken||Tobias Eaton (Four) x GN!Initiate!Reader
Summary: Four knows he can’t have you. He’s your instructor, and there are rules—rules he’s never once considered breaking. But watching you laugh with Uriah, watching you get closer to someone who isn’t him, stirs something dark inside him. When a reckless moment puts you in danger, Four is forced to admit what he’s tried so hard to ignore.
A/n— there are like NO divergent tags 😭😭😭
Four tells himself that it’s just part of being an instructor—watching over his initiates, ensuring they’re strong enough to survive Dauntless. But when it comes to you, it’s different.
You’re a light in a place that thrives in shadows, a spark of something untamed that no one has managed to break. And Four knows he shouldn’t be drawn to that. Shouldn’t want to protect it more than he protects the others.
But he does.
He watches the way you fight, how you push through pain without complaint. The way you throw yourself into every challenge with fire in your eyes. He tells himself it’s admiration. That’s all.
Until you smile at him. Until your fingers brush his arm during training, too quick to be anything intentional, but enough to make his skin burn. Until you look at him like he’s something more than just your instructor—like you see him.
And that’s when he realizes—he’s in trouble.
Zeke calls him out for it, but it’s not just Zeke. Everyone sees it. The way he holds your gaze a second too long. The way his jaw tightens when you’re close to someone else. The way he doesn’t push you as hard as the others, because some part of him can’t stand to see you break.
But he’s Tobias Eaton before he’s Four, and Tobias Eaton doesn’t deserve good things.
Four knows exactly how dangerous attachment can be. He learned it in the beatings his father gave him, in the way pain can twist love into something cruel. He vowed never to be like Marcus, never to let himself become something that could hurt someone else.
He keeps people at arm’s length for a reason. Because when you care, people can use it against you. When you care, people can leave.
And Four doesn’t think he can handle that—not from you.
You’re young, full of life. You still believe in the world, in loyalty, in love. And Four… he doesn’t know if he believes in anything anymore.
That’s why he fights this. Why he pretends. Because letting you in means risking everything.
But then you get hurt.
Four has seen initiates take beatings before. It’s part of training. Pain is expected.
But this time is different.
He sees the moment your guard slips, the second your opponent’s fist connects with your ribs, and something inside him snaps.
He moves before he thinks, breaking his own rule—stepping in too soon, too fast. “Alright that’s enough!” He yelles out making everyone around stop and stare at him The rage in his voice isn’t just about fairness. It’s about you. The sight of blood on your lip, the way you wince when you breathe. It shouldn’t make him feel like this.
But it does.
And that terrifies him more than anything.
Later that evening You’re both standing in the hallway, the air thick with everything left unsaid. Four is good at keeping his emotions buried, but tonight, they’re clawing their way out.
“This isn’t working,” he says.
The words taste bitter. Like giving up before he even starts.
You cross your arms. “What isn’t?”
“The way I feel about you.”
It’s out before he can stop it.
Your breath stutters, and he sees the way your fingers grip your arms, like you’re holding yourself together. He almost takes it back—almost convinces himself that he can keep pretending.
But then you whisper, “What if I want you too?”
And he’s undone.
It shouldn’t change anything, but it does. It makes the air too thick, makes his pulse race, makes every rational thought crumble beneath the weight of want.
“I’m your instructor,” he tries. “You’re an initiate.”
“Does that change how you feel?” you challenge.
He exhales sharply. “No.”
He doesn’t realize how close you are until your fingers brush his. A small touch, barely anything. But it wrecks him.
And this time, he doesn’t pull away.
Because for the first time in years, something in him whispers that maybe—just maybe—he deserves this.
Hi! I have a request for Peter Hayes(I js started reading Divergent for the second time and I'm on a roll). I'm thinking y/n is a transfer(amity..?) and she's a bit too kind to be dauntless, but way tougher than she seems(because whats a fanfic without trauma obvi), and she starts getting close to Peter because he reminds her of parts of amity, so she's the only person who really sees good in him, and he's the only one who sees that she's really strong, before he stabs Edward in the eye, and she like loses all her trust? Idk I'm just feeling like I need a super angsty betrayal rn.
requested by @sugarcooki, i hope you enjoy!
'Dangerous Games' - peter hayes x reader
masterlist
You can’t tell who is getting the most stares: the transfer from Abnegation or the transfer from Amity. You’d met Tris on the train after the Choosing Ceremony, her drab grays had made her distinct among the blacks and whites and blues. However, as unnerving as it is to see a Stiff in this arena of bravery, your yellow garments make you stand out more than a canary in a coal mine. No one knows how long it’s been since someone from either of your factions transferred to Dauntless, but it feels like an eternity. That only makes it more stunning that both of you are here right now.
You can’t let it get to you. You know why you’re here, anyone else’s opinion doesn’t really matter. They try to figure you out at dinner that first night, staring at you shamelessly over their meals like you were a zoo exhibit.
“I don’t get it,” Christina says, cocking her head to the side to get a better look at you. “I mean, I understand leaving Abnegation, I’d get bored out of my mind. But wouldn’t you like it in Amity? I mean, they’re happy all the time. I never hear any complaints. What, were people too sweet? Did it rot your teeth or something?”
Next to her, Will snorts. “Pretty sure that only applies to sugar.”
Christina rolls her eyes. “You get my point. Seriously, though, why’d you do it? What’s so wrong with Amity?”
You force a calm smile. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with Amity.”
Will turns his questioning gaze onto you. “Then why’d you leave?”
For a second, your mind goes blank. For years now, you’ve thought of leaving your old faction behind, dreamed of it practically every night. You know exactly why you had to go. But these people have only ever lived in their home factions. They’ve never been to Amity, just heard about it. Word of mouth is often misleading. You have your reasons, but at this moment it occurs to you that they will never understand.
So, you just shrug casually. “Needed a change of pace. Guess the whole thing got old. Nothing interesting.”
Christina looks disappointed, but moves on to interrogate Tris more about Abnegation instead. You almost think you’ve managed to duck under the radar this time, and then a voice sounds from further down the bench.
“Bullshit.”
You glance to your side and notice a boy looking over his shoulder at you. You recognize him as Peter, one of the Candor transfers, already having made a name for himself as one of the harsher candidates this year.
“What?” You ask him.
He jerks his chin towards the group. “Your reason for transferring. It’s bullshit. I used to be a Candor, you know. We can spot a lie from a mile away.”
You regard him dismissively. “You left, didn’t you? Maybe you’re not as good at spotting a lie as you thought. There’s nothing interesting about me leaving Amity. Go look for gossip somewhere else.”
You make to turn back to your group, but Peter speaks before you can. “I know there’s something you’re not telling us. It’ll come out, but maybe you’ll just fail out before we get the chance to discover what it is.”
You grit your teeth and don’t answer him. When you look back at the group, you realize that they’ve all been listening in to your conversation with Peter.
Christina leans forward and gives you a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about him, Peter’s just an asshole. Honestly, I’m surprised he transferred. He sure seemed to love being rude to everyone back home and getting away with it because he was honest.”
You flash her a thankful smile and try to turn back to your meal, but inside, you’re still thinking about Peter’s words. Christina and the others may be your first friends here, but they were just as curious as Peter was. At least Peter made his intentions obvious. Say what you will about Dauntless, but no one’s hiding anything around here. Everyone wants to drag each other down, it’s as clear as day. If you look to your left and right, the people at this table aren’t just focused on their celebratory dinners, they’re thinking about who would be the easiest to crush. What matters is getting a top placement out of initiation for the job of your choosing. Everyone knows this, so there’s no point in lying. You can twist and scheme as much as you like, but nothing is more blatant than the body on a training mat after a fight. One winner, one loser. Plain and simple.
See, Peter’s right. You are hiding something about Amity. There is a reason you left your sweet, sunny home behind for the coldness of Dauntless steel. No one here knows what it’s like in Dauntless because they, too, have only ever been at home– their homes, not yours. That’s the problem with the faction system, you suppose. All anyone sees is one very narrow view of how life is supposed to be, and so they cannot fathom what your life might have been like growing up, or why on earth you would want to leave the city’s most saccharine faction if it was so nice.
It wasn’t nice, that’s why. Sure, it was on the surface. Everyone’s words were sweet, their voices dripping with concern or praise whenever they crossed your path, but none of it was real. If any Candor visited, you think they’d die of shock. There have never been a prettier batch of lies than the ones told by Amity, and there are so many lies that it’s almost impossible to tell what people actually mean. You could go to town one day in a dress ripped to ribbons and everyone who saw you would run over to say how much they loved your new fashion choice and how brave it was to go for a deconstructed look! The second you turned away, they’d gossip about you until the cows came home. It’s just an excuse to chitchat with the neighbors, of course. They don’t mean anything by it.
There was one girl in particular who made your childhood a misery. She was a perfect Amity, it’s no surprise she stayed there after the Choosing Ceremony. You dreaded having her in your classes because she was always firing off the cruellest comments hidden under a veneer of charm. Everyone loved her, or maybe they were just scared of being her next target. There was never anything you could do about it, because her words were just sly enough to avoid being an outright insult. You couldn’t stand up to her, because that would involve aggressive language and get you a week’s worth of detention helping weed the school gardens.
The worst part is that you could never tell who agreed with her– it felt like she had everyone in Amity under her sway. You’d think you made a friend, someone you could trust, and then after trusting them with your secrets, you’d see them out with your bully and you’d get this sinking feeling in your chest like you’d been betrayed. Soon enough, that girl was teasing you with things you only told your friend in confidence, and you’d have to wonder if you’d ever had a real friend or just someone sent to spy on you because they thought it was funny.
It felt like you couldn’t trust anyone. Nothing was real, not really– the people checking in on you were just filling an empathy quota set by their supervisors, and you’d heard rumors about food getting spiked with Peace Serum whenever your neighbors were getting a little too testy. Life was a pantomime, and with every year that passed, you felt your grip on the truth fading little by little.
You had always assumed that you would stay in Amity, just about everyone did. It wasn’t until you took the mandated Aptitude Test and got a different result that you seriously considered leaving. Of course you’d thought about it, a life without lies, but you had just assumed what went on in Amity would happen everywhere. When you went home from the test that night, though, you thought about the people from other factions you’d seen on your rare visits to the city. They seemed sure about themselves in a way you weren’t at home, like they could trust what they saw or else figure it out on their own.
It occurred to you at last that you could not stomach the rest of your life in the perfumed unreality of Amity. After that, the decision to transfer was obvious. You briefly considered Candor, but worried they’d be no better than Amity regarding hidden lies. Dauntless, though, Dauntless seemed like the polar opposite of anything Amity. In that way, it was perfect. Did you see yourself as a fighter, a killer? Only time would tell, but at least in Dauntless, you know exactly where you were.
So, early into initiation, when the leaders revealed the rankings, you weren’t as freaked out as everyone else. Honestly, you loved the idea. At any given moment, you knew your standing in your faction. Back in Amity, that would have been a lifeline. You’ve heard most initiates hate these lists of names, that the constant display of skill or lack thereof sets their minds afire with nerves, but they don’t know how good they have it.
You take that as a sign that you really are meant for Dauntless after all. And, when you start doing well in training, and your name begins to steadily rise through the rankings, you’re certain you’re right. Everyone is stunned that an Amity could be halfway decent at proudly Dauntless feats of strength and brutality, and they take their misplaced assumption as an excuse to hit you twice as hard in an attempt to knock you down to where they think you belong. It’s not fun, and leaves you with more than a couple of painful bruises, but again, it’s all so obvious that you want to laugh out loud. Everything is so clear here.
Well, almost everything. There’s still one murky patch on your horizon, and that’s Peter Hayes. Honestly, you just can’t understand him. Everyone around you says that Peter is not to be trusted, that he only gets close to people to figure out how to cut them down. That makes sense by itself, so why is it that Peter finds a space beside you at every meal, every training drill? Why would he keep making comments under his breath to you when no one else can hear, and why would a smile split his otherwise moody face whenever you have to bite back a laugh?
It makes no sense. If you knew what was good for you, you would keep your distance. You came here for straight lines, obvious risks, and Peter is deception walking. There’s only one reason people leave Candor, Christina had told you secretly, after she’d caught you walking back from practice with Peter by your side, just close enough to touch, far enough to make you wish he would. They love lying so much they don’t care if they get caught or not, so they go somewhere it won’t matter.
You’d whispered back to her, Is that why you left? And waited for her to roll her eyes, annoyed, and go back to her bunk. Still, her words had played over in your mind longer than you care to admit. Peter is a liar. They’re all liars, the ex-Candor. But Peter’s putting a lot of time into you, surely more than anyone would for a mere backstabbing. If Peter’s just playing with you, it’s an awfully consuming game.
The questions circle through your mind day after day. When Peter finds you again, after hours in the training gym, your musings seem to echo through the hall with every blow of your fist against the punching bags.
It was as if he appeared out of nowhere, black clothes blending in with the shadows of the gym. “You know, for a so-called pansy Amity, you do seem to train more than anyone else.”
You glance over your shoulder. Of all the people to come visit you during one of your night training sessions, you can’t say you’re surprised it’s Peter. He’s been more present than ever as of late; feels like you can’t take a breath without him noticing.
“Not everyone,” you call back. “You’re here too, aren’t you?”
Peter ambles over to you, seemingly indifferent about the whole thing, the dark room, the tense shadows wrapping around the two of you. “You’re working, I’m not. Maybe I’m just here to watch.”
You roll your eyes and turn back to the punching bag so you don’t have to look at him anymore, so you won’t risk saying something stupid. “If you want a show, I think some of your old Candor buddies are trying to sneak into some parties a few floors up.”
“I couldn’t care less about them,” Peter scoffs. The rest goes unspoken, that the one he really cares about is you.
You force a fake laugh, but on the inside, you’re afire. “What, already bored of the other initiates? Doesn’t bode well for the rest of training, does it?”
“Not everyone bores me,” Peter says offhandedly. “Or haven’t you noticed?”
“I have noticed,” you reply. “You stare an awful lot for someone who doesn’t care about any of us.”
“You stare a lot too,” Peter fires back. “Half the time I look at you, you’re already looking at me.”
“So you admit you look at me?” You counter.
For a fraction of a second, Peter’s face freezes, and then it breaks into a wide, sharp grin. “Maybe I do. What’s it to you?”
“Why do you look?” You press. “Everyone else moved on from the fact that I was Amity ages ago. Don’t tell me you’re still trying to figure out why I transferred.”
“No,” Peter decides, “That’s old news. I already know why you’re here.”
You get the odd sensation of a pit opening in your stomach. “Yeah?” You try to sound casual. “And why’s that?”
He leans in, close enough that you can see the reflection of the lights in his eyes as they shine at you. “You’re perfect for this place. It’s obvious. You want to hurt people as badly as I do.”
For some reason, you feel relieved. He hasn’t figured you out yet, he just thinks you’re like him. Having Peter Hayes think you’re built of the same bloodthirsty material as him is probably a bad thing, but you can’t stop a spike of something like pride from ripping through you.
“You’re wrong,” you say decisively. “I don’t want to hurt people. I just don’t feel like being pushed around anymore.”
“Sure, sure,” Peter says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Me too. If someone ever tried to get in my way again, I’d probably knock ‘em down, throw a punch, maybe even get out a knife–”
“Peter,” you say sharply, and he breaks off, grinning even despite the serious expression you’re fighting to keep on your face. “I wouldn’t do any of that. And neither would you.”
“No?” He asks, eyebrows raised. “Clearly you haven’t heard what the others are saying about me. They think I’m a monster.”
“Well, some would say you can’t believe everything you hear,” you fire back. “You may be good at building up an image, but I think both you and I know that not everything your old faction believes about you is true.”
Curiosity flashes across Peter’s face before he can stop himself. “Alright. What am I, then? Don’t tell me you think I’ve got good in me, I’ll throw up.”
You roll your eyes. “Maybe I do. You’re the one who’s here keeping me company on a dark night when any other initiate would take this as an opportunity to beat me up to keep me low in the rankings.”
“Maybe that’s why I’m here,” Peter says, face suddenly sinister. He takes a threatening step towards you. “Maybe I’ve had my fun talking and I’m about to stick you in the infirmary for the next week.”
You meet his gaze steadily. “Do it, then. Throw a punch.”
Peter holds his stance for a second longer, then relaxes. “Nah, I’m just kidding. I’m not the type to beat up on a harmless Amity with no witnesses.”
“I know you’re not the type,” you say, then, with a bit more heat, “I’m not harmless. And I’m no Amity.”
“I know,” Peter says calmly, and you get the sense that he means it, every bit of it. He knows you’re a threat, and he doesn’t see you as your old faction. He might be the first. Even Christina and the others keep side-eyeing you when they think you can’t see, as if Amity is something that can be studied on a person, that might rub off on them if they spend too much time around you. Peter is the only one who assumes that you can change, that you might be just as much a Dauntless as the rest of them, if not more so.
His good opinion means more to you than you care to admit. “Alright then,” you say as casually as you can, “Don’t fight me. Keep lurking if you like.”
You make a show of turning away from him back to the punching bag, but you’ve only landed a few strikes before Peter’s opening his mouth again.
“You’re moving while you’re still off balance,” he says quietly. “Take your time. You’re only half as strong if you’re not sure of your footing.”
“I won’t have time to wait when I’m in the ring,” you counter.
Peter scoffs, but the sound is fond. “I’m just trying to help, you know. I’ll just shut up, then.”
“No,” you say too quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just trying to think things through, that’s all. How am I supposed to be patient in a real fight?”
“You’ll have more time than you think,” Peter replies. “Most of these guys need time to catch their breath, anyway. Just give yourself a quick second, then go back in.”
You nod. “Like this?” You try a few more punches, this time allowing yourself a heartbeat longer between each blow. You can tell that something’s different, that you’re able to hit more squarely, even before Peter nods in satisfaction.
“Yeah, that’s good.”
You grin over at him. “You’d make a halfway decent trainer. Maybe next year it’ll be you, Four, and Eric leading initiation.”
Peter shudders. “No thanks. I intend to head to leadership.”
You shrug. “You’d be good at that.”
Peter’s eyes dart to you, genuinely surprised. “You mean that.”
“I do,” you say.
Peter holds your eyes a second longer then makes himself look away, a small smile rising to his lips. “You’re probably the only other initiate who’d say that.”
“Who cares about them?” You ask. “I didn’t think you were the type to let anyone else get to you.”
“Of course not,” Peter says disbelievingly. “Do I really strike you as the type to cave to peer pressure?”
“No,” you answer steadily, “but I don’t think you’re an uncaring killer, either. I think there’s more to you than you’re letting on.”
“Funny,” Peter quips, “I was about to say the same thing about you.”
It’s not the first time he’s insinuated that you’re hiding something, but for some reason, tonight it feels less like an accusation and more like a declaration of admiration. You’re alike, the two of you. You rise above the crowds. You have depth that others don’t.
You finish the rest of your late night training session like you intend, but everything feels different with him there, more charged. You feel wide awake even though the rest of the faction is asleep. It’s as if the whole world narrows to just the two of you, the weight of his eyes on the bruises on your knuckles, his breathing aligning with yours as you make your way through two quick jabs, one strike, a step forward then back. You’re not honestly sure by the end if you’re two people or just one single mind. And, when he walks back with you to the dorm, stalking silently through the darkened halls, you keep feeling the brush of his fingers against yours in the shadows of the night. Neither of you call each other on it.
Everything is different after that night. Peter has been increasingly present as of late, but it doesn’t feel like he’s waiting for something anymore, as if you’ve found a threshold and leaped over it. Instead of watching silently, or only making quips under his breath when he’s certain no one can hear but you, his presence is active now, commanding you to pay attention. When you wake in the morning, his eyes flick to you over and over again, making certain that you won’t be late to training. He picks you as his sparring partner, and if he can’t, he shoots dark glares at the person working with you instead. He walks back with you every time, again close enough to touch, but far enough to make you be the one to make that last move. Sometimes you do, if you can convince yourself that the halls are empty enough and you won’t be spotted. It appears your newfound Dauntless bravery doesn’t always extend to the judgment of your peers.
Your late-night training sessions take on a different shade, too. He’s more open there, when the eyes of the world are not upon him. He tells you things about himself, why he left Candor, what he’s hoping to find here. You talk, too, about the vicious side of Amity. He seems surprised, but not completely taken aback, as if he had expected it. You get the sense that your initial impression of Candor as a surface coating of truth protecting a dark underbelly of lies was true, or Peter wouldn’t be so certain when talking about how appearances can be so deceiving.
There are times at night when you’re certain he’s going to kiss you. Sometimes, you’re overwhelmed by the sureness of it, like when the two of you are lying on your backs side by side on a mat after a round on the ring, chests heaving, and he rolls over onto one side to look down at you. There’s a hunger in his eyes for something more than blood, for the heart within your chest. He catches himself though, always just in the nick of time, right before you both do something you’ll regret. You can’t tell if you’re grateful for his control or hate it.
Your friends try to warn you off Peter once it becomes obvious that the two of you are growing closer together. Christina especially keeps insisting that he’s cruel, that he’ll tell you things to mess up your head just to get ahead in the rankings. She’s so certain that you start to doubt yourself, but then you spend another night with Peter, and get to see that soft smile he’s starting to let slip out when no one is around but you, and you just can’t believe her. Peter has a cruel streak, you’re not denying that, but you don’t think he’d hurt you. Selfishly, you almost think that’s enough to justify the rest.
Maybe you were so caught up in wanting to believe him that you forgot where you were, what the stakes of the initiation ranks might mean for everyone here. Maybe you wanted to believe that if you could change from the mold of your past faction, so could he. Maybe you forgot that cruel boys don’t lose their shape all that easily, and even if he wants to pretend to be soft and sweet with you, that sharp edge appears eventually. It always does. You of all people should know that.
A scream splits the dark air of the initiate’s bunks late one night, and even then, with an odd coppery scent billowing around you, with the howls of one of the trainees rattling in your ears, you don’t think to suspect Peter until you have no other choice. The screams are loud, blood-curdling, cries of agony you had never before heard from a human being. You hear rustling around you as initiates wake up to this living nightmare. Someone shuffles around, looking for a light switch, and, finding it, drowns the room in blinding light.
You blink a few times, trying to shake the spots from your vision. As your eyes adjust, you see people huddling around a figure a few beds from you. Edward’s bed, you think dully, but why would everyone be so worried about Edward? It takes your sleep-addled brain a few more moments to realize that he’s the one screaming, that the copper stench of blood is coming from his bed, from the gaping wound in his head that he’s clutching with one hand.
Your stomach lurches and you have to fight a wave of nausea. It’s his eye, you realize with horror, someone’s cut out his eye. No one else is in the room and you didn’t hear the door. It would have to be one of you.
Tris hurries over to Edward and starts pressing cloth to his head to try to stem the outpour of blood. Always selfless, Tris, your mind contributes helpfully. Always looking out for others. Guess you really can’t take the Abnegation out of the girl after all.
It makes you think about other people here from old factions, how those trends might inspire them to do something worse than help somebody. And only then, as if in a dream, do you start to think about who might be cruel enough to blind somebody just to get the top slot in initiation. There was only one name right below Edward’s, of course. Everyone knew the number one rank was between Edward and– and Peter.
Peter, who is sitting calmly on his bed, watching the proceedings. Unlike the rest of the room, he doesn’t look the slightest bit surprised that something like this might have happened. You realize that he’s absentmindedly picking at something under one of his nails, a dark stain, a dried brown smear on the palm of his dominant hand.
It’s blood. It’s Edward’s blood.
It hits you now, the full weight of how wrong you were about Peter. So many people tried to warn you, and you had too much pride to listen, so sure of yourself about people’s true characters and first impressions and all of that nonsense. If you had just looked– if you had just listened–
You wonder if he passed over your bed with the blade, if he had stared at your sleeping body and debated killing two birds with one stone before carrying on to Edward. No, you decide self-loathingly, he would have no need to kill you. You are no threat to him, not when you fell for his scheme so perfectly.
Christina has the kindness not to comment on your silence that day, nor why you no longer go to Peter during practice sessions but stay there with your friends. You do see a few ‘told-you-so’ looks exchanged behind your back, but everyone’s so shaken up from what happened to Edward that they let you off easy. Besides, it must be obvious that you’re beating yourself up enough that their judgement would hardly matter.
Peter only tries to talk to you once after that night with Edward. It was casual, a hand reaching out to you at the end of a training session, a low voice asking how your fights were that day. You can’t even bring yourself to look at him, sure that you can still see the ghost of Edward’s dried blood on those fingertips, and end up forcing yourself to walk right past him without a second thought. It hurts like a gunshot to the chest, like a knife in the eye. You can see him startle in your peripheral vision, start to turn to you as if to ask why, but you’re out the door before he gets the chance.
Peter gets the picture after that. He stops trying to walk next to you in the corridors and doesn’t try to train with you any more. He doesn’t even show up in the gym after hours anymore, although you swear you can still feel the ghost of him watching you when it’s just you and the bruise in your knuckles and the weight of having misjudged him so terribly.
He still watches, though. Still waits at the end of the ring while you’re fighting. He won’t let you go, not completely, and one night when you’re walking back from a party he finally gets his chance. You’re on edge, head pounding from too-loud music that you were always one line away from recognizing, and decide to head out to the roofline to clear your head. The night air is crisp, takes your breath away, and you decide to wander over to the railing and stare out over the city. It’s beautiful at night, with the buildings sprawling out before you like an old photograph. You can imagine people in every window, opening every door, waking and sleeping and going about their business. A whole world, and to you it’s just one pinprick of light in this immense darkness.
A sudden voice splits the peace of the night, and you’re instantly on your guard again. “And here I thought I’d never get a chance to see you.”
You whip around to see Peter quietly emerging from the door you’d just left. “Peter,” you say breathlessly, then remember all the weight and ache of his betrayal and look away again.
He folds his arms across his chest. “Still won’t talk to me? I see Christina got to you at last. Funny, I really thought you could see through all that.”
“It’s not Christina,” you spit at him. “You stabbed Edward when he was sleeping, Peter. You blinded him. He was top of the rankings and now he’s factionless. His whole life is over because you backstabbed him.”
Peter’s gaze hardens. “If he was top of the rankings, he should have known to be ready for anything. A real Dauntless would know better than to let his guard down in a room full of competitors.”
“He was asleep,” you say disbelievingly. “We fight in training, sure, but not in the dorms. You cheated and lied. You made me think you were better than this. I should have listened to them in the first place.”
Peter’s eyes look hollow. “If you fooled yourself into thinking I’m a saint, that’s your fault, not mine. I’ve known what I am for a very long time. I am the perfect Dauntless, whether you want to believe that or not.”
“You weren’t,” you stutter out. “You could have been something else. For a while there, I really thought–”
“Thought what?” Peter asks scornfully. “That I was a nice guy? That there was any world in which I stopped wanting to win and just decided to roll over because people deserved it more? No. If Edward deserved to win, he wouldn’t have given up. You know he did. I just wanted to show it to people. Now everyone knows he was a coward who would rather drop out than try to live with discomfort.”
“Discomfort,” you laugh incredulously. “He’s blind.”
“I left him an eye,” Peter retorts.
You shake your head. “You’re insane, Peter.”
“But you liked it for a while,” he says. “Didn’t you?”
You can’t answer, the words cling like dust to your throat. You try to push past him, but Peter grabs your arm, stopping you from going too far. “You can think whatever you want of me,” he says hollowly, “but I have always been this way. Don’t blame me for your high expectations.”
“I never expected you to be perfect,” you hiss back. “I just wanted a friend. You’ll never have that, Peter, not again, not after this. We’re all too scared of you to ever let you get close again.”
He pulls back for a moment, wounded, and you take that opportunity to yank your arm back and storm away. Selfishly, you want Peter to call after you, to stop you, but for once he lets you go without a fight and you’re gone, disappearing back into the quiet darkness of the Dauntless corridors.
You’re distracted. You feel the absence of him like a phantom limb. It affects you more than you care to admit. You have a fight two days after that, one you should win with a decent effort, and you find yourself zoning out halfway through. You try to force yourself to focus, but your mind is elsewhere. You don’t see the hit that knocks your legs out from under you, and your arms seem to move far too slowly to block your head when the fist comes at you. There’s an intense blast of pain, and then you’re not in the gym at all anywhere, but floating somewhere in the darkness, untethered and spinning in endless nothingness.
Your eyes blink open some time later, after hours or days or maybe just a few minutes. Your world is shaking slightly, side to side with a rhythmic motion, and you realize that you’re being carried by someone. You open your eyes a little more, although the lights hurt. There are arms wrapped around you, someone running with you to who knows where. You look up, squinting, and realize that it’s Peter who has you, Peter who is running at a full sprint.
He glances down at you, realizing you’re awake. “Keep your eyes open. Don’t fall asleep again.”
He’s saying something about a bad hit to your head, but you’re tired, tired from weeks of intense training, of late nights and bad habits and exhaustion, and the thought of sleep really is quite nice. Your eyes start to flicker shut again. Dimly, you hear Peter’s voice taking on a pleading tone, but it’s too late now. The darkness swallows you whole once again.
You don’t wake for a while, of that you’re certain. Even then, you shift between sleeping and consciousness, finally able to pull yourself solidly into reality with great effort. When you’re finally able to sit up and look around, you realize that you’re in the infirmary. Your head aches, as if it’s been punched into the ground, which you suppose it has.
You groan lowly, remembering the fight. It had felt like you were moving through water, every action slowed and dull. The pained sound from your throat draws the attention of someone in the chair next to your hospital bed, who sits forward intently. It’s Peter, you feel with an unwanted rush of fondness. He’s the one who got you here and he stayed the whole time.
“How are you feeling?” His voice is rough, tired.
You wince. “Good enough, considering. How long have you been here?”
He shrugs, not quite looking at you. “Needed to make sure you were alright. That was some hit you took.”
“A proper Dauntless would have said if I was weak enough to lose that fight, I would deserve the hit.” You don’t say it kindly. Peter takes it like a blow.
“I already know you’re good enough,” he says, head low like a kicked dog. “You weren’t yourself today. Doesn’t mean I want to see you get beaten like that. When you stopped moving–”
He cuts himself off suddenly, a pained expression twisting across his face. You look back at him, really look at him, in a way you haven’t allowed yourself to look in a while. He’s still every inch the boy you wish he was. His dark hair still curls slightly over his temples, and his eyes shine even with the poor fluorescents of the infirmary. You’ve always thought him handsome, a feeling that hasn’t gone away despite your brain telling you otherwise.
“I thought you were gone,” Peter says abruptly. “You were just lying there. Scared me.”
You reach over and lay your hand on his. “I’m still here.”
He’s not done yet, the words pouring from him like blood from a wound. “I hated the way you looked at me after what I did to Edward. I don’t regret blinding him, I don’t, it was the right move, let me in exactly where I needed to be, but I hated that it meant I lost you. Didn’t feel as good being at the top when you weren’t around anymore. It’s all bitter now. I’m not a good person, Y/N, I never have been, and I’ll keep doing shit to people if it gets me where I need to be, I just– I wanted you to know that I miss you, that’s all. You got one thing right about me. I wasn’t happy being alone.”
He leans back slightly, chest heaving with the force of all that truth. Somewhere in there is still a Candor’s spirit. He will always feel better after he spills his guts.
“I forgive you,” you say quietly. “And I missed you, too.”
Peter meets your eyes at last. “Don’t leave me again.”
“Don’t make me find out about your bad decisions at the same time as everyone else,” you counter. “I can’t stop you from doing what you do, but I hated feeling like you betrayed me. You tell me everything or you’re done.”
A flicker of a smile ghosts his lips. “You want me to be honest?”
“I want you to be talkative,” you decide. “I was getting bored with you.”
This time he grins in earnest. “I knew there was a killer in you somewhere.”
“Not a killer,” you answer, “but a Dauntless for sure.”
“Oh, that we all knew,” Peter laughs quietly. “I figured that out on the first day.”
You glance at him, curious. “How? Everyone else just saw some clueless Amity.”
He lifts a shoulder, pleased. “You stood up to me, then ignored me without a second thought. You were the most interesting thing I saw that whole day.”
You laugh at that. “You just wanted entertainment, you mean. You wanted a puzzle to solve.”
“Haven’t solved you yet,” Peter says. “Are you going to let me stay around long enough to get a second chance at figuring you out?”
You take a slow breath in, then out. The reasonable answer is to say no, because by now you know that Peter may be alluring and always one step out of reach, but he’s a bloody and twisted soul. If you go down this path too long, it’ll consume you. You know that.
You also know that you didn’t come to Dauntless to play it safe, but to live, and to live fully. “Yes,” you reply at last, “I think I will.”
For someone so dark and dangerous, Peter certainly has a wonderful smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”
He squeezes your hand once, twice. You smile to yourself with satisfaction. Peter may be using all of this as a game to keep himself busy while he stalks to the top of the rankings, but he’s forgotten one thing: you’re playing, too. He’s not the only one curious about just what makes a Dauntless initiate the way they are. The way you see it, you’ve just had one great view of the inner workings of a Candor. You’ve got a great many questions. It’s time to get some answers.
i beg you to write some tobias eaton jealousy smut where he gets all possesive and shit
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Content: SMUT CONTENT, possessiveness, swearing, fem reader, slight tease Tobias, dirty talk? little tiny bit of degradation (he calls you a slut)
Summary: Tobias had to show exactly who you belong to
a/n possesive tobias makes me feralll, also the plot is boring as hell but i geniuenly couldnt come up with something else
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:
ღNeed | Tobias Eaton
You're beatiful, that's a fact. Tobias knew it, everyone at Dauntless did. He always felt lucky and greatful to have ended up with you, and he always made sure to remind you of that fact.
However, like everything, there was a downside. People at Dauntless had a tendency for....boldness. Of course that was a given, I mean, it's literally their nature to be bold. But there were times Tobias wished people weren't so bold.
Often times he'd catch people staring at you a little longer than necessary. Other times they'd straight up attempt to flirt with you, but you quickly shut down their advances. However, there's always going to be some idiot who doesn't understand what no means. Like right now.
You were at a party and of course, as expected of Dauntless, everything was absolutely wild. You were having a great time and, surprisingly, so was Tobias. As expected, you had caught the eyes of many in your black silk dress that night and while he felt slightly uneasy at this, who were they to blame really, you did look stunning after all.
At one point, he unwrapped his arm from your waist and excused himself to the bathroom. When he came back, what he saw had him clenching his jaw and curling his hands into fists. A random guy was towering over you, leaning a bit too close for comfort, your face clearly showed discomfort, which had Tobias immediately coming to your side.
"Are you ok darling? Is he bothering you?" He glared at the man as he asked the question, his gaze softening when he glanced back down at you. You meekly nodded, wanting nothing more than to be left alone with your lover.
"Oh come one babygirl don't play hard to get, we were having fun" The man reeked of alcohol making his nose twitch in disgust. His grip on your waist tightened. "She's clearly taken, so I would back off if I were you"
The man merely glanced at him before he drifted his attention back to you, continuing his advances. Tobias stepped in front of you, pushing a finger into the mans chest. "I said back off" He seethed.
Before he could answer, Tobias grabbed your hand and walked towards the door with a fast pace, leaving you no choice but to follow. Once you were walking down the empty hallways of the compound, you reached up to place your hand on his tense shoulders. Hesitantly, you called out to him.
"..Tobias?"
You were answered with silence, and while you questioned the unusual behaviour, you decided to keep quiet, not wanting to cause further tension.
Before you knew it, you were at the door of your shared apartment. As soon as the door closed, Tobias had you pressed up against the wall, his lips kissing yours in fervour. You were absolutely breathless, your mind going blank at the feeling of his hands roaming your body.
He seperated from your lips, though only a mere centimeters. He gazed deep into your eyes, his own half lidded ones holding a dark lustful gaze. "You're mine" He growled. His low tone sent shivers down your spine, your breath hitching in your throat.
He picked you up with ease, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he manuvered with ease through the house and to your bed. Gently he plopped you down and crawled on top of you, his toned arms caging you under him. His lips were back on yours, the tension rising as his hands roam your curves. Your shirt rode up with the movements and in one swift movement it was off, leaving you in your bra. His lips began to move down, leaving lingering kisses on your jaw and neck. You let out a breathy moan when he kisses the crevice of your neck. When he pulled back, he admired the series of hickeys decorating your neck.
With expertise, he unclipped your bra, throwing it to the side. Similarly to your neck, he began to spread hickeys wherever he could. Your back arched when his warm mouth enveloped your sensitive nipple, the other teased between his thumbs. "Mmm Tobias" You breathed out, your hands on the back of his head, messing up his brown locks. He continued giving his attetion to your chest, switching between one nipple and the other until you were writhing underneath him.
"Please Tobias, I need it"
You whined, but he only seemed to want to tease you.
"Need what baby? Use your words"
"Fuck please, i- i need your cock"
That's all he needed to hear for him to remove the rest of your clothes as well as his own onto the pile on the floor. He placed his hands under your knees, spreading your legs until you were wide open for him. The sight of your wet cunt made his dick twitch, a groan errupting from his throat at the sight. "Fuck baby you're already so wet for me, can't wait for this cock to fill you up hm?"
You nodded frantically, wanting to be filled up to the brim. You grinded your hips, needing to feel friction on your throbbing pussy. He leaned forward, pressing your legs to your chest as he lined up with your needy hole. Without any warning, he slammed into you, causing a loud moan to rip from you.
"I'm gonna show everyone who you belong to, who fucks you so hard you can't walk properly like a needy little slut"
You whined at the filthy words, but before you could even react, he was already slamming his hips into your ass, the dirty sounds of squelching filling the room.
He lifted your hips a little bit, allowing him to reach places you didn't know existed. Your head fell back onto the mattress, your jaw hung open while the most pornographic mewls left your mouth. He grunted at the feeling of your walls tightening around his dick, your nails scratching his back adding to the feeling of pleasure.
Soon enough your back arched, your moans rising in pitch and your words turned into gibberish as you felt your orgasm reach its peak. Tobias quickened his pace, feeling his own release coming close.
"o-ooh my god f-fuck i'm gonna cum"
"cum for me baby"
With a couple more thrusts you were cumming all over his cock, your body jerked uncontrollably. Not long after he released his seed inside you, using your overstimulated hole to chase his high.
When you finally caught your breath, you pressed a sweet kiss to his lips "That was good"
He pressed kisses all over your face before looking at you with a smirk "Don't think I'm done with you"
Synopsis: After getting Dauntless on her aptitude test, a girl happily takes the opportunity to escape her suffocating life as the "perfect" daughter of a Candor lawyer and leader. (Snarky ex rich Candor girl x Four)
Warnings: Implied abuse, death, father speaks hurtful words to his daughter on visiting day.
Today is the most important day of my life, and to no one's suprise my parents demand I look my utter best, and of course, wear a dress. Personally, I think a dress is probably the worst thing to wear for what I have planned, but I guess I'll make do.
I grab a long bodycon dress. It's black, the fabric thin and breathable with a square neckline and a hem that reaches my mid shin, along with a slit trailing up to my mid thigh. Black because my parents will likely view me as dead after today, I'll be dead to them for my betrayal. Also I don't want anyone at my new faction to see my sweat. I pair my dress with black square-toe flats, then for the final touch pulled on a short white jacket with black accents.
I can not wait to leave.
Yes, the luxury of rich parents is nice, we have a penthouse, nice view, parties, but trust me, this grass is only spray painted green. My mother is a part of the Candor Council and my father a lawyer. They know how people work and what makes them tick. They know how to tell a truth with multiple meanings.
If asked what faction they hope I join, they reply, "I believe and hope she will choose the proper faction for her." Everyone thinks they're supportive of any future I take, but they're not. To them Candor is the perfect faction for me because Candor is perfection, Erudite is proper and still a good option because they work with math and science which goes perfectly hand in hand with truth, Amity and Abnegation are strange but a peaceful option, Dauntless... well, they hate Dauntless. To them, Dauntless are chaotic ruffians with hardly no law or education. This is somewhat true because many choose to ignore and even skip classes while young.
After breakfast, I meet my parents beside their car, it's sleek and white with a black trim. We exchange brief conversation, mom and dad prattle on about how Candor and Erudite are such perfect factions for me and how they believe I'll make the proper choice for myself and them. And I'm all too happy to leave the car once we arrive at The Hub. The tallest building in the city, and I'm quite thankful we arrived early because that means the elevators aren't as full. Unfortunately, that means I must also converse a bunch before the ceremony.
"Mother, I feel stressed about today, may I sit down instead of talking to everyone," I ask calmy.
"No, now go speak with Ms. Matthew and the other Erudites. If you're planning to transfer out of Candor, It's best you make a good relationship before joining them," my mother orders, her eyes feel like steel coiling around my throat, preventing me from giving any form of retort.
It feels like days have past, but really it was only an hour before Johanna makes her speech and began the ceremony. Johanna is the leader of Amity. With every name she calls, my heart seems to beat faster and faster as she gets closer to my name.
"... Verity." I stand and walk to the center stage. Each movement is controlled, perfect, exactly the way my parents want it to be. Candor is the perfect option, Erudite is the proper choice... I'm tired of it.
Just because you can only speak truth doesn't mean you can't manipulate. That's the issue with my faction, everyone here thinks their perfect and even pure simply because they don't lie. They're convinced that by eliminating lies they have eliminated evil.
But truth does not eliminate evil, a pacifist cannot do anything to stop evil when it steps on their door, being smart simply works as a gun for good and evil to wield. Brains, truth, pacifism, none of that eradicates evil, nor does it stop it from forming...
I cut my palm letting my blood sizzle onto the hot coals below.
But a good punch can certainly make it fuck off for a bit.
Thank God I wore this dress, otherwise I would've never been able to run and jump onto the train. The sound of the running train deafens the sound of people talking around me. It was so loud that I almost didn't hear the warning about us jumping off. I don't pay much attention to Dauntless. All my life, I've tried to avoid them and their chaos, but even I knew they don't wait for trains to stop before jumping.
"Where are we jumping!" I yell, but no one answered. I lean my head out the door and to my shock, "Are they trying to kill us!?"
I'm supposed to jump off a moving train onto a damn building! What the actual fuck?
"Scared princess?" I turn to see an Erudite boy with blonde hair and blue eyes, height wise, I can only reach his shoulder. He moves to stand behind me, "Need me to give you a push."
I promptly stomp my heel on the toe of his shoe and backed away from the door, "Hard pass prince charming." The boy glares at me before returning his attention to the door. When it comes time to jump, he turns around to flash me a smile. I smiled back, then ran forward as fast as I could and jumped off the train.
Time slowed, initiates seemed to float in the air beside me, all wearing colors of black, blue, and white, I made the mistake of looking down and my body filled with cold terror. What if I don't make it. The ledge is getting closer and closer, fuck. Did I jump too early?
SMACK!
I slip on the gravel as I land, I slide down hard onto the right side of my body, no doubt covering my right forearm and lower legs in scratches, my teeth smack together as my jaw rams into the ground. "Fuck..."
"Agreed," someone groans out beside me, and I turn to see the Erudite boy from earlier sprawled out on his back. Two screams burst out behind us, and I jump up and turn to see several people crowd around the ledge. "Don't look."
"Don't tell me what to do," I snapped at the boy and watched as an Amity boy was hauled onto the roof. I peer over the ledge, someone's hand grabs my wrist and hauls me back. Unfortunately, it was not fast enough to see the dead person who failed to make it onto the roof. I press my hands to my face, trying to calm my breathing. Someone hugs me from the side, their hand rubbing my shoulder.
"Alright listen up!" I pull away from the person, only giving a quick enough glance to see they're a Dauntless born. I then look to the person speaking. "I'm Eric, I am one of your leaders. If you want to enter Dauntless, this is the way in. He stands atop the roof ledge. He wears all black, vest, shirt, pants, two peircings above his left brow and one per ear, his hair cropped at the sides and slicked back. "And if you don't have the guts to jump... then you don't belong in Dauntless. Someone's gotta be first. Who's it gonna be." The man jumps down from the ledge, watching us with a critical eye.
"So what, we jump on a moving train, jump off a moving train onto a rooftop, and now you want us to jump off the roof?" I scoff, and cross my arms.
Eric smirks, "thanks for volunteering." He swings his arm out, inviting me forward and as much as I want to back down Eric's body language, especially his eyes, warn me that backing down like a coward is definitely not the safest of my options. So I mutter a curse under my breath and walk forward.
With shaking hands I climb onto the ledge. If there's one thing I know, the longer you wait the more the anxiety builds. So with my back to the small crowd, I cast them a glace over my shoulder before looking down at the gaping hole before me and jumped.
A scream tore through my lips as I plummeted. For a moment I thought I might die, that Eric would use me as an example of what not to do as a Dauntless initiate. I would be remembered as the dumb initiate that jumped because she was told too.
I pass through the lip of the hole and to my supries saw dim lights. I had barely any time to think on it before I slammed into a net and bounced several times. And once the bouncing stopped, I lay there, trying to gather my senses. My ears pick up joyus whoops and hollers, then hands appear. They wrap around my arms and drag me from the net. I find myself standing before a tall man, brown hair, brown eyes, a shadow of hair across his jaw, and defined facial features.
"You alright," his voice is deep, with a hint of a rumble, "Did you get pushed."
I scoffed, "No, I jumped. Somewhat unwillingly. Tell the Eric guy he's a dickbag for me."
"Straight to the point I see, then again you're from Candor. If I were you, I'd be more careful about the way you speak about your superiors," he warns, then lets go of my arm. "You got a name?"
"Obviously, I have a name, it's ... Verity." The man nods, announcing my name and that I'm the first jumper before telling me to stand by the wall. A few moments later the Erudite boy falls.
"Damien! Second jumper!" The man announces. More cheers and Damien jobs over to me with a blinding smile.
"Only fair the prince follows the princess so she isn't alone," Damien teases.
"So what prince are you? Brother, or wannabe lover?" I deadpan.
Damien clicks his tongue, "I'm gay so obviously, brotherly."
"If you ever try or even joke about pushing me off a moving train, I will kill you."
"That's fair," Damien shrugs.
We remain standing side-by-side as the remainder of initiates jump. About 23 total, 11 transfer, and 12 Dauntless born. The twelve Daniel born are taken away by a woman instructor whom I've already forgotten the name of, while the brown hair guy calls the rest of us over to him.
"My name is Four," he announces, and I stifle a chuckle that makes Damien roll his eyes, "Mind telling me what's so funny?"
"Of all the names a man could choose, and you name yourself Four. Are there people named One, Two, and Three running around that you call siblings?" I grin, and Damien mutters something under his breath.
Four stalks forward, the initiates around me back away giving him space, bringing his face close to mine he speaks, "If you plan to survive here, then keep your mouth shut. Don't make me warn you again." Four's voice came out like a deep rumble, and I couldn't tell if I was scared or really attracted to it.
When Four walks away, Damien elbows me in the side, "Ow."
"Do you have a death wish?" He half-whispers.
I shrug and turn my attention to Four as he gives us a tour of Dauntless, pointing out the chasm, hub, cafeteria, and the dorms. I grimace at the sight of the hideous concrete room, metal cots, communal bathroom, at least the showers and bathrooms had a private stall for each one. If I'm lucky, I can snag a stall to change in during morning and night.
Four notices my obvious look of disgus. "Too much for you, princess? I thought you enjoyed luxurious suites like this room?" He mocks, and I resist the urge to punch his gut.
"It's quite lovely actually," I bite back, "in fact, it quite matches your sparkling personality."
Four goes to retort but is interrupted by a boy Candor transfer, "When do you get our uniforms?"
"You don't," Four replies, "depending on your rank, and skill shown throughout training you will earn points that you can exchange for clothes, body modifications, makeup, and whatever the hell else you want to spend it on. Now go pick a bunk and come to the cafeteria for dinner," Four orders.
Watching Four go over various kicks, punches, blocks, and forms is starting to make me wish I went against my parents demands and wore pants. Earlier this morning Eric had informed us the lowest five preforming inmates get kicked. I had almost spoke up against that rule, but thought better of it knowing Eric was a leader, he could probably kick me out for just looking at him wrong. It's a stupid rule, especially because as far as I'm aware Dauntless doesn't have any overpopulation issues.
Four finally dismisses us to the punching bags, and my legs protest every step. He and Eric took us on a quarter mile run. I barely survived. Next week it'll be half a mile. I definitely won't survive that.
Once at my bag I move into a fighting stance, feet spread, from foot pointed at the bag, back foot planted on the ground perpendicular to the front foot. My hits are weak, my form certainly not the best. Right now I want nothing more than a hot shower and my b-
"With a form like that you won't survive the matches starting tomorrow," a low voice speaks behind me. I turn to see Four, his gaze critiquing my posture, his arms crossed.
"What's it to you?" I snap.
Four rolls his shoulders then reaches out to shrink my too-wide stance, bring my fist closer to my jaw. "There. Unless you want to get hit, keep your fists up so you can block your sides and head with your forearms. Also don't make your stance so wide, not only do you look stupid, it makes moving and kicking alot harder." Four pulls away and moves to stand beside me, "As for why I care. I'm your instructor, it's my job to prevent as much of you from failing as possible. Now hit the bag is if it's someone you hate."
"So pretend I'm hitting you. Got it," I quip. Four only offers a few critiques and tips before walking away. I try to focus, but honestly my mind seems more focused on what Four's hands on my hips and the feeling of him standing so close behind me that I could feel his breath practically caress my neck.
"Careful," and my knees nearly go weak from the way the word rolled off his tongue like a soft rumble.
Over the course of the month, I grew stronger, my stamina longer, my muscles more prominent too. While I was certainly not the most skilled at fighting, the wit of my tonge remained strong. I used the points I earned to buy myself more comfortable clothes; boots, pants, shirts, I even gave myself the tattoo of the Candor symbol, encased in flames. I was even contemplating getting peircings, but I couldn't tell if I wanted them out of a wish to rebel against the way I was raised or because I actually wanted one.
Tonight was the night before visiting day. Last week had marked the end of our first part of initiation, and I dread thinking of what will happen next week.
Damien was standing in front of his bunk, ranting about how he's excited to see his sister. I watch him from my perch in his bunk. Over the past month, he'd gone from scrawny to quite musclar. It was almost scary to think about the sheer change. Snakebite peircings and blonde hair now green, Damien was certainly embracing the punk side of Dauntless.
We've both grown quite a bit since the Choosing Ceremony, the same way my crush on Four has only worsened.
Training, walking around Dauntless, cafeteria, I often try to find Four somewhere in the crowd. Most times, he's already staring at me. I shiver.
"You alright."
I break from my thoughts to see Damien squatting down in front of me. "I'm fine," I have to force the lie out. I've gotten better at lying, but it's nearly impossible to do it to the people I'm close to.
Damien shakes his head, and moves to sit on his cot beside me. "You're an awful liar."
"Yeah! I'm well aware!" A few other initiates turn to us at my outburst. Perhaps my feelings for Four weren't my only concern. "What if my parents actually come tomorrow? I hate them, but I'm so scared to see that inevitable look of disappointment." I slump against Damien's should, and he wraps an arm around me.
"Faction before blood. Dauntless is your faction, Dauntless is your family, you are my sister, and I am proud of you. Your parents are merely the people that made you and raised you. Unfortunately, they chose to turn you into a miniature of them and force away the true you. Whatever happens, your true family is here, and I will punch your parents for you if you need."
"Thanks..." I reply, and Damien rests his chin on my head.
Silence settles around us, a comfortable one that helps me relax a bit. "I asked Aaron out," Damien suddenly blurts out.
I pull away, turning to face him, "Ex Candor Aaron!" But Damien shakes his head, his grin bright.
"Nope! The Dauntless born Aaron. Black hair, chiseled face."
My mouth drops open in suprise, "I thought he was homophonic?"
Damien's grin turns almost feral, "Was. But then he lost a bet, we kissed, he liked it," Damien's hands move dramatically to emphasize each word, "he wanted to experiment, and let's just say I preformed real good."
"Gross. There's no way you're telling the truth."
"I am," Damien lounges back against his pillow.
"In that case, I guess I'll need to get some tips from you about winning over my crush sometime."
Damien sits up faster than I can blink, "who is it?"
"Not telling," I sing, and Damien pouts. "See ya tomorrow." I wave and walk over to my cot.
A permanent frown is etched into my face as I watch families mingle down in the pit. I already spotted my parents looking for me earlier, but I made no move to join them.
Someone walks up beside me but I say nothing.
"Wow. No snarky comment, sneer, or anything. Are you okay?" I'm surprised to hear Four sounds actually sincere.
"I'm fine-"
"No, you're not. You can talk to me about it," Four offers.
"As if you know anything about shitty parents," I sneer.
Four's gaze darkend, locking his jaw and I realize I hit a nerve, fuck. "Trust me, I do know." Four then quickly walks off.
Eventually, Damien hunts me down and drags me from my beloved hiding spot to meet his sister, but we get intercepted.
"I see you've enjoyed it here," I tense and turn to face my father, who is flanked by my mother. "Your friend is... interesting."
I cross my arms and glare at them. "I'm surprised you came."
"Yes, well," my mother starts, "while you may have joined a faction far beneath us, I must admit I was curious to see just how much you let yourself go. And it seems you've lost all sense of acting a proper lady." All sense of confidence seeps from my body as my mother scolds my appearance with her eyes.
Damien finally speaks up, "How dare you speak to her that way!"
My mother shrugs, "I'm simply speaking the truth. Tell your boyfriend to cool it."
"I have a boyfriend," Damien growls.
A look of utter disgust appears on my father's face, and before I can speak, he drags me away. I tried to grab onto Damien, but we'd already lost him in the crowd.
"Had I known you've fallen so far, I would've ordered someone to make you Factionless," my father snarls.
"What's so wrong about -"
"Do not interrupt me," just by an order from my father, I go stiff and silent. Just how I was before leaving Candor. Docile, pretty, soft.
"First, you betray us by joining Dauntless off all factions. I might've forgiven you if it was Amity of Abnegation, but you join Dauntless. Now you've cut your hair all short," I touch my hair, I had forgotten I cut it after too many initiates kept pulling it during sparring matches. "Look at your clothes, they're hideous, and with that cropped tank top, you look like a sl-"
"That's enough," someone growls beside me. My gaze snaps to Four as he pulls me closer to him. "Get out before I remove you both by force." My father goes to argue, but Four punches him in the face before he can finish.
I remain silent and unwilling to fight back as Four guides me through the halls, and he doesn't stop until he's confident we're alone.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Four asks while leaning against the rock wall. The dim blue light around us highlights his features.
"I don't know," my voice it quiet.
Four stares at me, as if taking in my every detail, every move, and emotion, like I'm a book. "Why did you join Dauntless?"
My heart sinks. He probably thinks I'm unworthy or something. "To escape my parents."
Four merely cocks his head, "If your sole goal was to escape you would've ran to Amity. Why did you come here?"
"Why do you care?" I snap.
Four sits on the ground and pats the space beside him. Despite myself, I sit.
"You don't have to talk about it. But understand I get it. Having a parent raising you to be impossibly perfect, who cares about their public image. That hate for yourself because you don't feel good enough even after you leave, still being afraid of them after you escape. Trust me, I get it. And if you bottle it, it will just consume you."
A gasp almost escapes me, he's Marcus's son. "Why are you telling me this?"
"When we met, I thought you were going to be some bratty rich girl, you wouldn't last. You're still a bit of a brat," he chuckles, "but you're also a fighter. Strong, unwilling to bend or break, and the fucking way you smile. I must admit I'm jealous, but more than that I confess I want nothing more than to kiss you."
"You like me?"
"Alot more than I'm willing to admit."
"I came to Dauntless because I'm tired of feeling weak and unable to fight back." Four looks at me intently. "All my life it was dresses, being told how to act, stand, sit, talk. I felt like a doll, and if I made one error I would get yelled at and locked in my room for a week at the least. It was suffocating and I always felt so utterly powerless. Here at Dauntless I'm strong, I'm free, I can actually fight." I look down at my hands, and Four rests one of his atop mine, and I squeeze it.
"You said you wanted to kiss me."
"Badly," he added.
"Then kiss me."
One minute Four is looking at me like I grew two heads, and the next his lips are upon mine. My hands find purchase on his shoulders, both his hands cup my face. He kisses me like he's starved. His lips are soft, and warm and I practically melt into the kiss.
We pull away for a moment, then slowly we kiss again. "Please be mine," Four mumbles against my lips.
"I am yours," I mutter back as we kiss again. Eventually, we settle, simply sitting in the empty hall, me in Four's arms, his head on my chin.
"I knew it!"
"Fuck!" My head slams against Four's jaw as I jolt making Four groan in pain.
"Man I fucking knew it! Maria owes me $20," Damien cackles, so I chuck my shoe at him and grace him my middle finger.
Author's note: I'm sorry it took so long, my dad was in the hospital for colon cancer, and his girlfriend got offended that my mom knew of the situation which was a hole issue. Fortunately things have calmed down, my dad's surgery was successful, and he's doing chemo to ensure it doesn't come back.
I hope you enjoyed the fic. Please share feedback, I happily accept constructive criticism.
The reader is transmasculine; their past and childhood as a female is mentioned, but it’s not the focus of the story. They’re written to be pre-op and they wear a binder. Otherwise, race is ambiguous and no pronouns/physical descriptors are used.
summary: You never quite fit in at Abnegation—always catching glances of yourself in the mirror and feeling horribly revulsed, uncomfortable, disconnected. You assumed that was a normal feeling. The Abnegation aren’t allowed to indulge in vanity, after all. But it was more than that, you realized as you grew older. You didn’t like your reflection because it was a reminder of who you were told to be. A dutiful daughter, a woman. And you are nothing of the sort.
As you refocus and stare into Tobias Eaton’s eyes, you realize you weren’t the only one looking for an escape in Dauntless.
word count: 5.8k | ao3 version | dystopia playlist
warnings: mention of binding (unsafe binding during exercise, rib injury and difficulty breathing), canon-typical violence, suicidal ideation, death, claustrophobia/confinement, drowning; canonical child abuse
Dauntless initiation is strange, you think to yourself. As an Abnegation transfer, you knew frighteningly little about the initiation process. You had no idea what to expect, but this seems… intense. After the Choosing Ceremony, you had to chase after and jump onto a moving train—and then jump off of it, onto a rooftop. Now the transfers are all standing around a pit of sorts, with nothing but darkness for as far as you can see. You’re supposed to jump into it, supposedly.
The other initiates look about as apprehensive as you are. They start shoving one another, and you’re too distracted to pay attention until you’re being volunteered to go first. You grit your teeth and move to the edge of the ledge, peering down into darkness.
Surely they wouldn’t have you jump to your death, right? That would be pretty cruel.
The trainer clears his throat and you feel a renewed annoyance push you forward. Fuck it, you think to yourself. You drag your feet to the edge and jump.
The wind rustles your skin and clothes as you fall, your heart pounding in your ears. This was a bad idea, such a bad idea—
You land on something and bounce up from the sheer force you accumulated. For a moment, you feel like a fish dangling in a fisherman’s netting. You almost panic for a bit, before managing to calm down and slowly make your way out of the webbed abomination. When you near the end, there’s a man waiting for you—and he offers you a hand, helping you down to the ground.
“Thanks—” you say breathlessly. Whatever you mean to say next dies in your throat as you lock eyes with Tobias Eaton. Your stomach stews in unease and fear. You’d rather jump off another building than go through with this conversation. But he’s already noticed you, and you’ve already noticed him. You’re staring and he stares back, clearly coming to the same realization you are.
You had met Tobias one day several years ago, on the pavement outside the Abnegation government building. Both of you were waiting for your fathers, who were prominent council members. They emerged together moments later and quickly introduced you.
Tobias Eaton, son of Marcus Eaton.
And you, daughter of Andrew Prior.
You hadn’t thought much of the interaction at the time. Now, as you stare into Tobias Eaton’s eyes, you realize you weren’t the only one looking for an escape in Dauntless.
“Prior,” he says cautiously, removing his hand from where he’d been gripping your forearm and helping you out of the netting.
“Eaton,” you respond just as guardedly. You’re not sure where this conversation is going.
“Name?” he then questions. It takes you a moment to realize he’s giving you a chance to start anew.
You tell him your name. He doesn’t blink an eye at the fact that it’s decidedly not the one you had all those years ago. “Yours?” you manage to ask, once you can free your tongue from where it’s locked to the roof of your mouth.
“Four.” Well, it seems his name isn’t the same either. Your fates are unwittingly intertwined now, as you’ve both unintentionally become each other’s secret-keeper. The two of you stare at each other for a moment more, before Tobias—Four—directs you to wait a short distance away.
Dauntless is a safe haven for those who want to reinvent themselves. Well, truthfully, the place is anything but safe. Even so, there’s a freedom here you would never be able to find elsewhere.
You never quite fit in at Abnegation—always catching glances of yourself in the mirror and feeling horribly revulsed, uncomfortable, disconnected. You assumed that was a normal feeling. The Abnegation aren’t allowed to indulge in vanity, after all. But it was more than that, you realized as you grew older. You didn’t like your reflection because it was a reminder of who you were told to be. A dutiful daughter, a woman. And you are nothing of the sort.
The slight sound of glassware rattling breaks you out of your thoughts, as you look up from your dinner to find Tobias Eaton—Four, you tell yourself—sitting across from you.
“Hi,” you say hesitantly.
He nods in response. There’s an unspoken question in his eyes, an obvious tension in his frame as he looks at you expectantly.
“I won’t tell anyone,” you murmur quietly, the remark only noticeable to him in the chaos and commotion of the dining area. “If you’d extend me the same courtesy.” Four nods again, his shoulders loosening ever so slightly.
You fall silent and pick at your food, secretly confused and unsettled by it. Abnegation food was simple and plain (hell, even boring). This food is clearly seasoned; it’s vividly colored, decadent. You’ve never eaten anything like it, and for a few minutes, you just stare down at it uneasily.
“It took a while for me too,” Four then says, looking pointedly at your tray of food. You hum, feeling a little bit reassured. It’s still difficult to pretend you aren’t being stared at—you’re wearing your muted beige and grey Abnegation clothing from the Choosing Ceremony, while the Dauntless members around you are dressed in black.
The remainder of your meal is spent in a tense but not uncomfortable silence. Eventually, Four has to round up the initiates and give you all an explanation of the initiation process, which sounds daunting and tiring. You’re then led to the dormitories with the instruction to meet the trainers near the Pit in the morning.
Within the first few days of your new life here, you come to the rather unfortunate realization that initiation is completely exhausting. There are several stages you’ll have to pass in order to get through to the end and become an official member of the faction. There’s physical training, psychological training… It’s tiring.
Despite how hard you’re pushing yourself in training, you’ll sometimes get back to the dormitories and find yourself wide awake. It’s hard for you to sleep here. You’re not sure if it’s just because the faction is unfamiliar to you, or because the other initiates are your competition and could easily try to kill you in your sleep. Either way, your inability to sleep has once again left you to haunt the training room long after hours, when everyone else is resting. You’re taking a break in between sets now, attempting to catch your breath. You exhale and wince at the tightness of your binder, feeling it cut into your ribs and rob you of air. It takes you a few moments to regain your composure and remember to calm down, your hand resting on your side as you try to take measured breaths.
Apparently, you aren’t as quiet as you thought, because Four’s approaching you. “What happened?” His expression is slightly pinched—his eyes finding where your hand is pressed to your ribs. You stare at him for a moment, struggling to come to terms with his presence here. It’s almost obscenely late at night—you were certain you wouldn’t be bothered here. Not that Four’s a bother, but you wanted some solitude.
“Nothing,” you remember to answer his question moments later. And it’s true: nothing really happened. The bruising to your ribs isn’t an injury you got from someone else, at least.
“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” Four challenges, his arms crossed over his chest.
“It’s fine,” you sigh. “It’s not from fighting or training or anything.”
That only seems to perplex him more. You take a rattling breath in, refusing to admit how unwise it was to wear your binder during exercise like this. But you can’t go without. You just can’t.
“You’re up late,” Four then says, seeming to switch tactics.
“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep,” you confess.
“Won’t this just keep you up?” He frowns, looking pointedly at the punching bag you were attacking.
“Probably,” you admit.
“What are you wearing?” Four then asks. You look down at yourself, remembering you’re just wearing your binder and athletic pants. You didn’t expect to run into anyone at this hour, after all. Four follows your gaze; he looks concerned, strangely enough—clearly sensing how tight the fabric is. You blink once, twice. It takes you a moment to process.
“Oh, um,” you stumble, debating how to answer the question.
“You’re crushing your ribs,” he frowns, inexplicably taking a step closer. Before you can object, Four is reaching out and touching your shoulder lightly. His fingers explore the fabric and tug at it experimentally; his lips are quickly pressed in a thin line as he evidently realizes just how constricting it is. “This is way too tight.”
“I know,” you admit, struggling to hide your annoyance. That’s what they all say. And you know you’re crushing your ribs—you can feel it every time you breathe. You don’t need the reminder. Of course you’re uncomfortable—but you’re uncomfortable without your binder too.
Four’s hand falls away and, for a pathetic moment, you miss the physical contact. You can’t quite focus on that feeling of loss, though, as Four continues to speak. “You’re not the first—to struggle with something like that,” he says. “Come on.” He doesn’t give you a choice, not even bothering to wait before walking off. You stare after him for a moment before breaking out of your stupor and following after him.
Four’s silent as he navigates the twisting halls of the compound with ease. He’s walking ahead of you slightly, blocking you from seeing whatever expression is on his face. Within a few minutes, you’re entering what appears to be a weapons room. You frown, swallowing your doubts and following after him as he weaves between tables with practiced ease. There’s a sort of alcove in the back of the space, which he enters and begins to explore. After a few moments of searching, he seems to find what he’s looking for.
Four throws something at you; you manage to catch it, although you very nearly miss. It looks like some sort of shirt, made with a breathable fabric. You scrutinize it for a moment, unsure of what he wants you to do with it.
“Take it,” he clarifies. “It’s a compression shirt of sorts, made by one of the members here. Has the same effect, without the bruising, chest pain, risk of rib fractures…” he trails off, quieting down as he almost seems to grow self-conscious. This may be the most you’ve heard him say in one sitting.
“Oh,” you say. “Thanks.”
“Speak up next time,” he says deliberately.
“Okay,” you agree after a second. Four leads you out of the room silently, then departs without a word. You stare after him in disbelief, clutching the shirt in your hand.
The compression shirt Four gave you is a fucking lifesaver. You’re not quite sure how or why it works without causing you immense pain, but you’re not going to question it. The first time you wear it to training, you catch Four’s eye and nod ever so slightly. Thank you, you mouth. Four just nods in return, before moving his attention elsewhere. Sometimes, you swear you can feel his eyes on your back, but each time you look, he’s focused on something else. You eventually dismiss the feeling.
While the compression shirt does away with a lot of the anxiety and stress that comes with your gender presentation, it unfortunately can’t touch the other stressful parts of Dauntless. You make it through the first round of initiation by the skin of your teeth.
The second round deals with psychological strength, which will be tested through the use of a fear simulation. Supposedly, the initiates will be given some time to get used to it—as you’re met with random fears—before facing the personalized one.
Your first trial is certainly interesting. Four jabs a syringe in your neck and injects the serum, leaving you to fade into a new reality: one with crashing waves as far as the eye can see. You instinctually try to tread water, despite recognizing the water to be rather tumultuous.
It doesn’t take you very long to realize that treading water isn’t working. You’re about to fall back into your spiraling thoughts and insistent fear when a clear conviction cuts through the static: this is a simulation. Nothing you do here will harm you in real life.
Knowing that, you take a slow breath before submerging yourself. You fight against your survival instincts and just let yourself fade underwater. The burning feeling in your chest feels real, but you know it isn’t. This is a simulation, and you’ll emerge unscathed.
Indeed, when you pry your eyes open next, you’re back under the blinding fluorescent lighting of the examination room. You squint, your eyes watering as you adjust to the brightness. As you get acclimated, you realize Four has been standing in front of you with a suspicious expression on his face. He states your time, remarking that it’s rather quick. Something else seems to plague his attention, though.
“Why’d you do that?” Four asks.
“Do what?” you ask, startled by the intensity of his gaze. He almost looks angry, for some reason.
“You know what I mean,” Four says tersely. “You didn’t even try to swim. You just let yourself drown.”
You’re not about to tell him you’re Divergent—that would be a death sentence. You just shrug helplessly; Four looks at you rather skeptically, even after you get to your feet and leave the room. You spend the rest of the day fighting off paranoid thoughts, hoping your next performance will be a little more forgettable.
Regrettably, your fast times persist in the next few simulations—even as you try to stall for time. It’s hard to get a grip on just how long you’re spending in the simulations, which means you’re often going quickly without knowing it.
Eventually, the trainers must decide that the initiates are ready for the real deal. Today’s fear simulation is filled with your real fears, though—and it hits close to home. While you manage to make it through your first few, when you find yourself in the walls of your childhood home in Abnegation, you freeze.
You’ve never felt such paralyzing fear before. Your parents are speaking as if you aren’t even there, discussing the daughter they’ve always wanted. It was supposed to be you. You weren’t what they wanted. Your throat burning, you throw the front door open and storm down the paved street.
You’re abruptly torn out of the monotone world of Abnegation and thrown into reality once more. You’re sitting in one of the examination rooms for the fear simulation. Your ears are ringing, and there’s someone moving before you. You can’t hide the instinctive flinch that takes over, nor can you seem to calm your shaking hands.
There’s a funny taste in your mouth—maybe blood? Your hands tremble even as you dig your fingers into the upholstered arms of the chair, desperate for some sort of way to ground yourself to the moment.
Your vision finally clears to reveal Four standing before you. His expression is remarkably passive. “That was still quick,” Four says. Is that his attempt at consolation?
You must look particularly pathetic and helpless, because his hand moves as if to rest on your shoulder—before he evidently thinks better of it. You pretend not to notice, pushing yourself to your feet. He doesn’t move and you nearly run into him.
“Let me show you something,” Four continues, seemingly unbothered by your proximity. At your blank look, he shakes his head. “Not now. Meet me here tomorrow.”
It’s even more difficult to sleep than normal that night, as you contemplate what Four wants to show you. Tomorrow still comes sooner than you’d like, though. Soon enough, you’re walking through the compound and returning to the examination room you were in the previous day—albeit with that familiar fatigue prickling along your skin.
“Four?” you ask upon arrival. Four looks up from the computer and hums.
“I’m taking you into my fear simulation,” he says, cutting to the chase rather quickly.
“That’s not—” That’s not necessary, you want to say. Four just ignores the remark.
“I transferred to Dauntless to escape,” he says as he prepares the area. “There’s a… vitality here that I never felt in Abnegation.”
“Abnegation was suffocating,” you agree.
A brief pause.
“Ready?” Four questions. You nod quietly. He prepares the syringe and smoothly presses it to his own neck.
“You’re really doing that to yourself?” You squint in disbelief. That can’t be safe. Four just injects the serum silently, before then removing it from his neck. He discards the needle and secures a new one, before turning back to you.
He’s reaching out and cradling your jaw before you can say anything more. With a slight movement, Four’s tilting your head to the side and exposing your neck. The syringe goes in quickly, without much fanfare. Then he attaches a device to your temple and rests on one of the chairs, guiding you to do the same. You’re quickly swallowed by darkness.
“Fear of heights,” Four says as the landscape slowly clarifies around you. Indeed, you’re both standing on a rather flimsy path of pipes between two towering buildings. The wind is harsh and uncompromising, nearly throwing you off balance as you push yourself to your feet.
“We can just jump,” you suggest, peering down at the trees below. It’s not a pleasant thought, of course, but this is just a simulation.
“No,” Four says stiffly. “Dauntless would find a way over. That’s what we’ll do.” Four is strangely calm as he gets to his feet and walks along the narrow pipes, barely wavering even as the wind hits him. You wobble a few times, but manage to make it to the end of the path and into the building.
The two of you climb through the window, only to find you in a small confined space. It’s dark and somewhat ominous, but Four is composed as he instructs you to find a way to stop the walls from moving. For a bit, you fumble with screws on the ground—then finally, you manage to jam them into the walls of the shrinking box with enough force to stop it. Unfortunately, this leaves Four and you nearly pressed up against each other. Four takes a shuddering breath and closes his eyes. “Any second now,” he mutters.
But time passes, and you’re still stuck in the box. Even worse, the walls slowly grinding the screws to dust—beginning to shrink once more (albeit at a glacial pace).
“This isn’t supposed to happen,” Four says, emotion trickling into his voice. You glance at him (which isn’t exactly hard to do, considering how close you two are). He looks shaken. There’s a bead of sweat dripping down his neck.
“It usually stops by now?” you ask, somewhat dumbly. Four just nods wordlessly, his eyes squeezed shut. “What can we do?” you question, trying to shift a little bit. Four lets out a panicked breath as you move and you quickly freeze.
“Don’t,” he says gruffly.
“Okay, no moving, got it,” you say quickly. “Maybe we just need to—distract you or something.”
“Right,” Four says somewhat sarcastically. You aren’t offended by the sardonic tone to his voice—it’s clear he’s afraid. He’s shaking.
“We’ll be fine,” you reassure him. You doubt he believes you; hell, you barely believe it yourself.
Then the box shakes and you nearly go flying into the opposite wall, just barely catching yourself from a nasty collision. Now you’re awkwardly looming over Four as he sits beneath you. You put a hand to the wall against his back and try to give him some space, but you don’t have much to work with. “I’m sorry, I’m trying not to move,” you say quietly. This is very uncomfortable.
“It’s— It’s fine,” Four says through gritted teeth. It’s clearly not fine.
“Maybe it’s broken?” you ask, trying to brainstorm.
“No.” His denial is quick and sure.
You’re quiet for a bit, sensing Four is overwhelmed. But your silence isn’t doing anything, and the box only continues to shrink bit by bit. Before long you’re face to face. Four’s legs are spread out beneath you, leaving you to crouch to avoid touching him. At some point, the box tugs you even closer to him, forcing you into a stiff genuflect position to avoid falling into his lap.
“This is awkward,” you say after the silence grows painful.
“Yeah,” Four answers.
“Sorry,” you say as the box inches you closer again. You’re close enough to see the hints of amber in his warm brown eyes. You’re brutally aware of his knee against your hip, his proximity to you.
“You apologize a lot,” Four notes.
“That’s the Abnegation in me, I’m afraid,” you respond with a slight smile. He huffs. “Did you always know you’d go to Dauntless?” you ask, because, hell, this box isn’t getting any bigger.
“Yes,” he confirms. “You?”
“I contemplated Erudite for a bit,” you admit, thinking back to your contemplation just before the Choosing Ceremony. “But there’s too much bureaucracy over there. And Amity sounds like hell.”
He chuckles at that. “It does,” Four admits, considering you for a moment. “And Candor?”
“Oh, yeah, I guess,” you sigh. “I didn’t really know much about it, honestly. Abnegation’s history classes are pretty bad.” You weren’t quite given a sufficient education. That doesn't seem to matter as much now that you’re in Dauntless, but still. Knowledge is power, after all.
“They are,” Four acquiesces.
“How long did it take for you to get used to the food here?” you hear yourself ask. You shudder at the thought of what dinner will consist of.
“A few weeks,” he answers.
“Damn,” you mutter.
Four laughs—actually laughs. He looks just as surprised at the gesture as you are. Before you can scrutinize it, the walls around you are falling away. You lurch forward as the wall you’d been using for support disappears. Four catches you with a hand on your shoulder and you murmur a word of gratitude, getting to your feet and stretching your arms over your head as you regain feeling in your limbs.
Four looks serious. He’s staring at something nearby. You follow his attention to find a gun on a table and a girl tied to a chair. As a Dauntless soldier, Four says as he mechanically takes the gun and cocks it, you’re supposed to follow orders—regardless of your personal feelings. An ugly feeling stews in your chest and you look away, just as he does the same.
A few seconds pass and there’s no gunshot. You slowly turn to look at Four, only finding him staring ahead with widened eyes.
“Four.”
It’s your voice… but you didn’t speak. You instinctively stiffen, dragging your attention over to the innocent tied to the chair. It’s not that woman anymore; it’s you. You stare in disbelief at the clone of yourself, bleeding and clearly exhausted.
Four freezes. His gun had been pointed at the lady’s temple; now that it’s pointed at yours, his hand shakes. Your clone is just silent, staring at him with a somewhat pleading expression. Four looks pale; he lets out a frustrated sound and turns his head to look down at the floor. His gun wavers, first pointed at your temple but slowly making a pilgrimage down to the ground. Four’s free hand is pressed to his temple, hiding his eyes as he evidently attempts to process everything. His breaths almost seem to echo in the space, more labored and audible than usual.
“Four,” you say hesitantly.
“Shut up,” Four hisses, his eyes pinched shut.
“That was just me,” you continue. “The real one,” you clarify.
“Sorry,” he says with a shake of his head, clearly mistaken.
It looks like he has to shoot the person in the chair. That’s really the only way out of this, from what you can tell. At least, if you want to do things by the book.
You take a step closer. Four’s head snaps up, his eyes wide as he watches you break the distance between the two of you. “Give me the gun,” you demand. He seems too dazed and afraid to respond. You manage to loosen his grip, until his fingers are falling away and the weapon rests in your hand.
“Turn around,” you say, with far more composure than you feel you really have. Four blinks, as if thrown from a trance, and hesitantly turns his back. You take a slow breath, in and out. You point the gun right at your clone’s temple, close your eyes, and fire.
The shot rings in your ears and shadows overtake your vision, passing and leaving in the blink of an eye. When your vision clears, you find yourself standing in what must be an Abnegation home: beige walls, unassuming grey flooring. Four is at your side, a tight set to his jaw as he watches the nearby staircase warily.
“Tobias,” a deep voice says. You look over to find Marcus Eaton descending the stairs, taking relaxed step after step. “This is for your own good.” Your eyes find the belt looped in his hands and your heart twists.
Suddenly, it all comes rushing back to you. The almost flighty nature of the boy you met all those years ago—the way he flinched when you got too close, the way he watched the shadows with a frightening wariness, the way he bent his shoulders and almost caved in on himself. Tobias Eaton was abused by his father. He really was looking to escape Abnegation—and the cruelty of Marcus.
“Tobias.” His voice echoes through the space as more versions of Marcus surround Four, to the point where they’re circling him. You watch the men warily, sickened by their predatory approach. One slaps the unfolded belt against the ground and Four flinches.
Marcus strikes. You instinctively reach out and catch the belt, kicking him in the chest. The rest of the clones descend on Four and you, but before they can harm you, you’re thrown back into the Dauntless examination room once more. The transition is a bit startling and you quickly glance at Four, finding him breathing hard and staring off into space.
“You okay?” you ask after catching your breath.
He wipes a hand over his face, clearly a bit shaken. Four takes a slow breath, searching the room before his gaze settles on you. “You shot yourself,” he says.
“It wasn’t real,” you justify.
“It could’ve been,” he argues.
“But it wasn’t,” you argue right back.
Four sighs, clearly sensing the argument won’t go anywhere. “They were different,” he says instead.
“Your fears?” You want to confirm.
“The confinement always ends after I find a way to stop the box from shrinking,” he answers. You frown and listen patiently. “And killing the innocent… It stops when I kill the woman. Not—you’ve never been in it before.”
“I never understood it,” he says vaguely, some sort of comprehension dawning on him. Four looks down at his hands for a moment before looking off into the distance once more. “Because I had no one to lose.”
Your eyes widen and you stare at him in disbelief. His eyes explore your face for a moment before he swiftly changes the subject. “Thank you,” Four says, “for accompanying me.”
Okay, it seems like you’re brushing past that statement. “You’re welcome,” you respond. “Thank you for showing me.”
You’re both quiet for a moment. Four starts cleaning up the area before turning to you once more, evidently coming to a realization. “You were trying to distract me,” Four recalls, “in the box.”
“I mean, yeah,” you admit. “I was trying to distract myself too, if that makes you feel better.” If Four were more expressive, you think he’d roll his eyes at the statement. Instead, he just sighs.
“Still,” Four says, pausing for a moment. “You were remarkably calm.”
“They weren’t my fears.” You shrug.
“They could’ve been,” Four murmurs. “You shot yourself, without hesitation.” You don’t like the contemplative expression on his face one bit. And surely enough, when he speaks again, it’s to utter words you hoped you would never hear. “You’re Divergent.”
“No,” you quickly argue. “No, I’m not.”
“Relax,” he cuts in before you can stumble any longer. “I've suspected it for a while. I won’t tell anyone.”
“A while?” you echo.
Four nods. “Your times have been very quick,” he acknowledges, before a grave expression overtakes his face. “But you have to be careful: play it too smart and they’ll figure it out.”
“What were your results on the Aptitude Test?” he eventually asks.
Well, the cat’s already out of the bag—there’s no point in lying now. “Erudite, Candor, and Dauntless,” you recall. “Abnegation too, but I think that’s because I was born in Abnegation.”
“Interesting,” Four says. “Most only have two—or three, at most. How about Amity?”
You scoff. “No.”
“I’m not surprised,” he says with a hint of a smile.
“The test’s bullshit,” you maintain. “So are the factions. The qualities they represent can and should coexist. Honesty can be bravery, kindness can be selfless…”
“You should be careful who you say that to,” he warns you, his voice turning almost ominous.
“You just bared your soul to me,” you remark, “but I’m not allowed to express my opinion?”
“I’m just saying you should be careful,” Four says, holding out a hand as if telling you to relax. The gesture doesn’t help, unsurprisingly. “Dauntless is stringent.”
“Ironic, considering they pride themselves on being daring.” You mutter darkly.
“We,” Four reminds you. “We pride ourselves. You’ll need to stop mentioning your old faction too.” You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. His gaze is rather intense now.
“Are you going to turn me in?” you eventually ask, swallowing hard.
“No,” Four asserts quickly, diminishing any of your remaining doubts. “I’m going to help you blend in.”
You blink in confusion. “Why?” That would be rather risky for him, considering his position. Why would he risk his new life in Dauntless for you?
Four appears to be struggling for words. Eventually, he almost seems to throw caution to the wind. “Because I care about you.”
“And what if I don’t want to blend in?” you pester.
“Of course you don’t,” Four sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. There’s a hint of fondness in his voice that you’re surely imagining. “You’ll have to be unassuming, at the very least,” he says, clearly sensing that it’ll be a difficult task. You’ve been unintentionally drawing attention since you arrived, on account of your Abnegation origins and quick fear simulation times.
“Wait,” you say, the conversation slowly catching up to you. You had been so focused on saying your piece that his remark flew right over your head. “What’d you just say?”
“You’ll have to be unassuming,” Four repeats, a slightly teasing smile on his face.
“No, before that,” you frown, the cogs in your mind spinning and sputtering all at once. You could’ve sworn he said he cared about you, but the thought is so ludicrous and unexpected that you’re tempted to dismiss it.
The look on your face must be betraying your thoughts, because Four stiffens. “Forget it,” he just says with a shake of his head, moving to leave the room.
“Wait, wait,” you say quickly, resisting the urge to grab at his wrist to get his attention. Judging from his fear simulation, unexpected physical contact would likely make him uncomfortable. “I couldn’t even process— You said—” You’re choking on your words now.
“I shouldn’t have said it,” he frowns.
“But you did,” you argue insistently, taking a step closer to him. He looks moments away from leaving the room altogether. “And it’s true?”
“Are you trying to make this painful?” Four mutters.
“What?” You blink. “No, I just— It’s hard to believe, I mean.” He raises a brow in evident confusion, seeming a bit less tense when you deny the accusation. “You could probably have your pick of anyone here. But you’re interested in me.” Half of the female initiates are hopelessly in love with him, but you’re the center of his attention?
“Yes,” Four says unflinchingly, finally leaving the doorway and entering the room once more.
“Why?” you sputter. “That makes no sense.”
“Do you think I’d share my fears with just anyone?” he asks.
“Well, no, but—” you say, only for him to continue.
“You’re reckless, sarcastic, and incredibly pessimistic,” he states.
You just stare in disbelief, before an incredulous laugh leaves your lips. “A ringing endorsement,” you say sardonically.
“Let me finish,” Four just says, unsurprised by your interjection. His statement is punctuated by another step forward. “You’re also the cleverest person I’ve ever met. You’re a good fighter, you’re quick-witted. Trustworthy, attractive.”
“Um, thank you, Four,” you answer, lost for words.
His eyes almost seem to glitter. “Tobias,” he corrects you, to your complete surprise.
“Tobias,” you correct yourself. Something glimmers in his eyes and he takes a step closer, almost drawn to you like a magnet. “I… care about you too.”
His eyes search your face, as if looking for a trace of dishonesty. He won’t find one. Still, if he needs convincing, who are you to deny it?
“I feel like I can be myself around you,” you murmur. “I’ve spent so long performing. But this feels… real. Authentic. I feel like I can confide in you.”
“You can,” he confirms. The air descends to silence, before he exhales slowly. “…I’m new to this,” Four then admits, almost endearingly awkward as he looks at you. You’ve gravitated towards one another, the distance between you shrinking as if you’re back in the box. You wonder if Four’s shiftiness then was more than just his fear—although that was the overwhelming cause of it. You swore you had seen a slight flush to his cheeks, but you attributed it to the tight space and lack of airflow.
“Me too,” you remember to say, when you realize Four’s looking at you expectantly.
“We can take things—” Four starts to say. But you’re already leaning even closer to him, adrenaline coursing through you as you kiss him before he can finish speaking. He freezes in surprise for a moment and you’re quick to pull away. At least, you attempt to—only for him to pull you back in a strong grip, quickly reciprocating.
“What were you going to say?” you ask a bit breathlessly once the two of you break apart.
Four’s hands find your waist and a smile flickers across his face. “Never mind,” he says before pulling you into another kiss.
Warnings: mention of death, torture (semi graphic but REALLY NOT REALLY), typical divergent universe stuff, violence
Heyyy I was listening to Heavydirtysoul by 21 pilots today and got this idea lol. I haven’t read all the books so like if it doesn’t add up plot wise sorry. Also I know Peter is highkey an awful human being, it’s fanfic it’s ok. I also know realistically four would be the one to save the day but once again it’s fanfic.
Your head hurt like hell. You had no idea where you were. The last thing you remembered was going out with Tris to search for discarded rations. You opened your eyes to a sterile white room. It was completely empty. Three walls were white and one was clear glass. You saw a man standing outside staring. It was Caleb, Tris’s brother. “You psycho!” You scream as you slam your hand on the glass. “Where the fuck am I! Where’s Tris! What did you do Caleb!” You yell. He simply stares stoically, like his soul is missing from behind his eyes.
Back at headquarters Peter noticed you’d been gone for a suspiciously long time. Every Tuesday at four you left with Tris to stock up on supplies. And every Tuesday at seven you were always back. It was eight and you and Tris were nowhere to be found. Peter walked through the underground building finding Four.
“You seen Tris or Y/N?” Four asks him quickly.
“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” Peter says.
“Shit,” Four says under his breath.
“Somethings wrong,” Peter says. “They should’ve been back by now.”
“Yeah, I know,” Four says.
“How the fuck are we going to find them. They could be anywhere,” Peter says.
“I have a feeling I know where they went,” Four says.
“Care to share with the class,” Peter says, covering his panic with his usual sarcastic charm.
“I can’t tell you,” Four says.
“You can’t tell me where my girlfriend is?” Peter says getting defensive.
“It’s not like that,” Four says as he puts a gun in the waistband of his pants.
“You better tell me what it is like if you’re grabbing a gun,” Peter says.
“You aren’t exactly known for your loyalty and secret keeping skills,” Four says slightly annoyed.
“I’m loyal to Y/N, if it has to do with her I’ll keep my mouth shut,” Peter says.
“It doesn’t have to do with her,” Four says. “It has to do with Tris and I just don’t trust you enough to tell you. Y/N may think you’re a good person but I don’t. I’ll bring them both back,” Four says as he walks around Peter. Peter knows he’s fucked up before. When you first met him he was an asshole to everybody. Now he’s only an asshole to like 50% of people. In all seriousness you did change him for the better. Growing up in Candor wasn’t always easy. Peter got so good at lying, hiding his emotions, and putting up a rough exterior that it just became second nature. He never in a million years would’ve thought a girl like you would be even semi interested in him. You were a kind hearted girl from Amnity who he’d met when all hell broke loose and they hid in Amnity for a while. When Four, Tris, Peter and Caleb left Amnity, you left with them; with Peter. You always insisted that when it came down to it Peter made the right decision. You’d seen it with your own eyes. You didn’t have the mentality of wanting to fix him you just knew that he wasn’t truly a bad person. Plus you’d always loved the “bad boy” attitude.
You’d figured out you were somewhere in Erudite, the middle of Chicago. You knew why you were there. You were out with Tris, who is divergent. They didn’t want you, they wanted her, you were just collateral damage. You’d moved from the plain white room without furniture. Now you were in a plain white room with two chairs. You were tied to one and the one across from you was empty. Two guards opened the door and carried in a girl who was kicking and screaming, it was Tris. They strapped her down to the chair across from you and left.
“Y/N!” Tris said. “I didn’t realize they’d taken you too,” she said almost like an apology.
“It’s not your fault, plus now I’m here to help get you the fuck out of here. By the way-“ you pause for a moment not knowing how to tell her that her brother is a traitor.
“I know, Caleb’s here,” Tris says.
“I’m sorry Tris,” you say apologetically.
“Not your fault he’s a brainwashed moron,” she says.
“So do you have any smart ideas?” She asks. Just as you’re about to say something a couple people walk inside. There’s four guards and Janine.
“Tris dear,” Janine says. “And who’s your little friend,” she says gesturing towards you.
“My names Y/N you bitch!” You say.
“Well, she’s certainly got a mouth on her,” she says.
“It’s me you want,” Tris says. “Just let Y/N go,” she says.
“Ah Tris. Always so righteous. I’d love to get to the chase as well. We can forget all about Y/N as soon as you open this,” she says. One of the guards places a box in Janine’s hand.
“What is it?” Tris asks.
“I’d love to know as much as you. Only someone with your…capabilities can open the thing,” she says.
Tris realizes whatever it is probably dangerous. “Not happening,” Tris says.
“I was afraid you’d say that,” Janine says.
One of the guards opens a case with various sharp devices.
“Torture me all you want!” Tris says. “Someone will come for us!”
“Oh dear, it won’t be you learning what all these fun little blades do,” Janine says turning towards you. Tris’s and yours eyes go wide. Fuck, you thought.
“Wait,” Tris says.
“No,” you say. “Don’t open the thing Tris. It’s probably a bio weapon or something!” “I’ve been trained for this. I can take it.” You say.
“Isn’t that touching,” Janine says sarcastically to the guard.
“Tris look at me, even if I beg you to open it, don’t,” you say as your final plead.
It took Four three hours to get to the middle of the city. He figured you guys were in what erudite considers to be there weapons research building. The tricky part was just getting inside said building, finding both of you, and the three of you getting out in one piece. In retrospect, he probably could’ve used Peter’s help, he just didn’t trust him enough to tell him Tris’s secret. He took out a guard and put on the uniform. As he walked inside prepared to check for you two floor by floor, he just hoped he wasn’t to late.
While Four was driving to the center of the city he was completely oblivious to the fact that Peter was hiding in the car trunk the whole time. Peter watched Four take out a guard and walk right inside the weapons research building through a crack in the car. Peter decided he’d take a different approach in attempt to run into less problems and find you faster. He’d have liked to simply work together with Four, but he knew his reputation was set in stone.
Blood ran down your face from your broken nose, bloodied lip and split skin. This guard, who was a fully grown man, had punched you so many times you’d begun to hear faint ringing in your ears. Through your watery eyes you saw Tris sitting across from you, hopeless like a rabbit about to be eaten by a snake. “Still don’t want to help?” Janine asked Tris.
“Don’t…do it” you mumbled
“Y/N,” Tris says like she’s in physical pain.
The man holding the knife held the blade to your shoulder and made a cut, if you lived it would need snitches. You screamed and then yelled, “don’t fucking open it!” With that, everyone in the room turned their heads when they heard a knock on the door. A guard was standing outside, like he was waiting to be let in. Janine whispers something to another one of the guards in the room. The fourth guard opened the door letting the man in. He bashed the guard who opened the door in the head with his gun. He tried to attack the others as well but was quickly restrained by two guards. For a moment you’d hoped it was Peter coming to save you.
“Peter?” You mumbled incoherently under your breath. The guards ripped off his armored mask.
“Four!” Tris said. It wasn’t Peter, but at least someone had come. You hoped, you knew, Peter had to be somewhere…doing something to help. Whether he was ready with the get away car or right behind Four you knew he wouldn’t just leave you here. You began to cry slightly, you tried not to, remembering your training at dauntless to keep a strong front. It was all too much though, the burning from the cuts, the bruising on your face, the inevitability of Tris eventually caving and opening the box to save you. Your goal was just to stall Tris opening the box till someone could come save you.
“I have to Y/N,” Tris says.
“Don’t, I’m okay,” you say as the guard slaps your bloody face. “I’m okay,” you say again despite clearly being far from okay.
Tears fall from Tris’s eyes as she says, “I’ll do it.”
“No!” You yell, with that the guard hits you so hard your vision goes blurry.
Suddenly there’s a gunshot and the guard who’s been torturing you drops dead. Another gunshot and one of the guards restraining Four drops dead. Janine quickly retreats out of the room. Four takes down the other guard who was restraining him. Someone drops down from the vent in the ceiling.
“Peter!” Four says surprised.
Peter shoots the last guard. Four rushes over to Tris and Peter runs over to you. You’re going in and out of consciousness.
“Y/N! Y/N!” Peter says quickly. He takes a knife from his pocket and cuts your hands free. He picks you up bridal style and exhales with relief when he feels your hand on his chest.
“Peter?” You say softly.
“We gotta go Peter!” Four yells. Him and Tris walk in front, guns at the ready.
“It’s okay,” Peter says to you. “I’m gonna get you out of here,” he promises. You know he’ll do whatever it takes to get you out of here, and it kind of scares you a bit.
Running through each floor of the Erudite building you don’t really know what’s going on. You’re safe in Peter’s arms. Periodically you hear Four and Tris shoot someone or someone yell. You guys are almost to the last floor where the car is hidden when suddenly Four and Tris stop. You pear your head up as much as you can to see Caleb standing in front of the door holding a gun.
“They want to help!” Caleb says. “They want to help us Tris, you have nothing to run from. Just stay and you can help save everyone.”
“Caleb they’re the enemy,” Tris says plainly.
“They’re not though!” He yells.
“Really!” Tris yells back. “Look what they did! Look what they did to my best friend!” She yells as she points to you bloodied and bruised in Peter’s arms.
“They’re trying to help,” is all Caleb says in return.
“Get out of the way,” Four says, pointing his gun at Caleb.
“Come on, you two aren’t gonna shoot me,” Caleb says to Four and Tris.
“They won’t,” Peter says. He holds up with one arm as he reaches for the gun in his waistband. “But I will,” he says, pulling the gun on Caleb.
“Peter wait,” Tris says.
“You’re just gonna let that psycho point a gun at me!” Caleb yells.
“We need to go now!” Peter yells.
“Don’t do this,” Tris says.
“She’s bleeding all over me!” Peter yells. “He just let them torture her! He’s a traitor Tris.”
“He’s my brother!” She yells.
“Peter,” you say trying and failing to form a sentence telling him to not kill Caleb. He looks down for a split second to see you glassy eyed looking up at him. He exhales deeply, trying to not freak out about you clearly needing medical attention.
“Cuff him then,” Peter says.
“What?” Tris and Caleb say.
Peter holds the gun steady, still pointed at Caleb and says, “cuff him.”
“What if they hurt him?” Tris says.
“Bring him…bring him with us,” you manage to say.
“She’s right,” Four says as he grabs Caleb’s hands behind his back.
Four drove, Tris sat shotgun, and in the backseat Peter was in the middle with Caleb, who was hand cuffed, on one side and you half sitting on the other side of him- half in his arms. The ride home was virtually silent. You drifted in and out of consciousness, each time Peter saw your eyes close he promptly made sure you stayed awake and told Four to drive faster. It felt nice knowing you were safe; you felt secure in Peter’s arms.
You remember getting back to headquarters and Peter carrying you to the medical wing. After that your memory went blank.
Peter sat by your side all night in the medical wing. He watched as they stitches you up and fixed up your face. All night he simply sat beside you just thinking. Thinking about the pain you must’ve been in, thinking about how he couldn’t take any of the pain from you, thinking about how Four demanded he not tag along, thinking of the look in your eye when he almost killed Caleb. Suddenly a few tears ran down his face. He wiped them away quickly, then he noticed Tris in the doorway.
“What do you want,” he said quietly.
“Just checking in on Y/N, plus I wanted to talk to you,” Tris says.
Peter sighs slightly and says, “I’m sorry for almost shooting your brother. I didn’t mean to scare you…I didn’t mean to scare anyone” he says looking at you for a moment. “But he was standing between Y/N and getting out of there.”
“I know,” Tris says with a suprising level of understanding.
“I debated shooting him in the leg or something myself but he is my brother,” Tris says.
“I wasn’t going to shoot him in the leg though, I was ready to kill him,” Peter says. “I’ve killed so many people now I’ve lost count you know. Sometimes at night I go through them all trying to land on a number but I always swear I’m missing a couple,” he says. “I think I’m turning into a monster,” he adds.
“A monster wouldn’t have saved us,” Tris says. “You saved Y/N and me and Four. None of us would be here right now without you.” “We all think about doing crazy stuff when people we love are threatened, I almost did what Janine wanted when I saw Y/N in so much pain. I was without a scratch meanwhile she was being tortured in front of me begging me to do nothing to help her. Y/N is one of the best people I know. If she trusts you then I do too,” she says. “Four didn’t want you to come not because we think you’re a monster, sure you’ve fucked up but who hasn’t. He just didn’t want to tell you my secret cause it wasn’t his to tell. I’m divergent. Y/N knows, I made her not tell you. Only the four of us know now,” she says.
“I won’t say anything,” Peter says simply.
“I know you won’t,” Tris says as she leaves.
“Hey pretty girl,” Peter says as your eyes open. You see Peter sitting beside you in a metal chair, very bright lights, and realize you’re in a medical bed. You open your eyes fully and it stings a bit around your eyes. You can feel the stitches in your shoulder and tape and band aids on your face. Your eyes focus on Peter and you could’ve sworn you saw the remnants of a couple tears.
“Thanks for saving me,” you say softly.
“You never need to thank me for protecting you. You’re my everything, I’ll always be there for you,” he says. “Plus I think in the end you more saved me,” he adds with a soft kind smile. As much as you could without being in excruciating pain, you smile back.
Heyyyy I hope yall liked this fic. It was super cool to write. I know Peter’s highkey a piece of shit in the actual story but I think fanfic versions of him can be interesting. Any feedback is always appreciated. If you liked it I have another Peter Hayes fic posted that might turn into a series so feel free to check that out. Thank you for reading!
you'd grown up together in candor, continued into dauntless, and went on the run to amity with tris, four, and caleb. in every one of those situations, peter was always on the wrong side.
so why didn't you expect it?
because every time you got thrown together by whoever it was pulling the strings of fate, he made impressive efforts to win you back. he was convincing and he was dedicated, and you loved him for it.
"hey beautiful," he mumbled, arms wrapping around your torso from behind. a small gasp slipped from your lips as you turned your head to see him. he pressed a kiss to your neck and you smiled.
"what are you doing, peter?" you asked with a small laugh, trying to push his arms away but he refused, instead pulling you closer into him.
"just missed you," he answered, pressing another kiss to the skin beneath your ear.
"are you off for the night or do you have more shifts?" you asked, the boy finally letting you turn around in his arms. you hated pda in the hallway, but something about him made you more inclined to let it happen. that and you hadn't seen a single person on this side of the compound on your way back to your apartment.
"i'm off," he answered, smiling down at you. "you?"
"free as can be," you told him, hands on his biceps.
"perfect," he mumbled with a smirk, leaning down to press his lips gently to yours. you obliged, kissing back with a soft smile at the care he took while kissing you. he pulled away. "can i stay with you tonight?"
you laughed. "when do you not?"
he grinned, keeping one arm around you as he began pulling you back to your place, pressing another kiss to your forehead.
"you're clingy, peter," you told the boy as he fished his spare key from his pocket and unlocked the door, letting you and himself in. he shut the door, locking it again, and immediately wrapping you up in his arms. your hands rested comfortably against his torso, smiling up at him. "i love it."
"i know," he grinned, winking at you as he leaned down to kiss you again.
he made it so easy to just believe him. it was easier to trust him again, you thought. he wouldn't do it again, so just trust him. he wouldn't do anything to hurt you - he would never. not again.
tris had made a point of using peter to get to the control room and you were left in charge of watching him as she found a way in.
he called your name three times before you finally turned, eyes set in disdain.
"you're helping them? seriously?" you asked him.
"they're the ones with the power, the ones who control the ladder i need to climb," he answered, a huff in his breath.
"and you think this is the way you're gonna do it? by helping them destroy abnegation?"
"if it needs to be done, then yes."
"and you seriously don't care that people are dying, that our friends are the ones killing them?"
he didn't answer you.
you walked away, eyes in the direction of the control room listening for any signs that tris might be in trouble. you heard a lot of movement and suddenly yells of fear and you were moving. but before you could even exit the alcove you'd hidden in, two arms wrapped around you and pulled you back in.
"get off of me!" you yelled, slamming your heel into his foot. he grunted, his grip loosening enough for you to pull forward. but he was quick, hand on your bicep as he ripped you back, the force enough to knock you to the ground. your gun clattered to the floor, both of you lunging for it.
unfortunately for you, it'd knocked closer to him. he grabbed it, turning on you quickly, the barrel at your face.
your expression was stone cold as you just watched him. "so, this is where we're at, huh?"
"i guess so," he answered. "i can't have you helping her more than you already have."
"why? so jeanine can have more power? that doesn't help you, peter, there's nothing in it for you," you told him.
"more than if tris and four finish whatever it is they've started," he said.
your eyes stayed locked as you found your feet underneath you, peter copying your every move until you were both standing again. you took a step back towards the hallway.
"you won't shoot me," you stated as though it were a cold hard fact. "you can't."
it all happened in a blur - you turned on your heel, ready to run towards where you could hear fighting taking place, when suddenly a burning went through the flesh of your tricep. you cried out, hand coming to grasp at the bloody flesh. you turned to peter with wide eyes. the bullet had just grazed your arm and you knew it was intentional, but you also knew it was a warning. he would shoot you. and he didn't look regretful about it.
you convinced yourself that he was doing it for you. it's what he told you, what he showed you in his actions post-fight, and it was the only idea that kept you from breaking down in the medical wing of amity, in your old room in candor, at dauntless, and in the barracks at o'hare airport.
"i'm sorry." you were surprised when he spoke up, just the two of you in the small medical room in amity. his arm was wrapped and bandaged just like your own and you were being kept for observation. your trek to amity through the forests and fields surrounding chicago weren't exactly clean, and neither were your wounds. fearing infection, you were confined to a room with peter for 3 days.
"thanks." the word held little to no meaning for the both of you and little to no emotion.
"i mean it. what i did - it was to protect you. i didn't know what was happening in there and i... i couldn't lose you."
"so, you shot me instead?" you asked, finally looking over at him from your place on your bed. "you could've come with me if you were so worried. made sure i was safe by helping me help tris and four."
"i never could've ensured your safety, not with dozens of dauntless around all with the mission to protect the woman you were trying to kill," he said, a furrow forming between his brows.
"we're dauntless too," you said, emphasizing each word individually. "we're supposed to be brave. one hell of a dauntless you are."
a cold silence passed over you both and you huffed, rolling onto your side away from him. you could feel his eyes on your back and you silently willed him away.
"i'm sorry. you're right, i was scared. i wasn't willing to risk your life for the stiff's or four's - they're not worth it."
the way he said it - so soft and thoughtful - made you want to believe him. and when his voice came through again, gentle and almost timid, you did. "can i stay with you?"
you rolled over, looking at him with an unimpressed roll of your eyes, but failing to hide a small smile. he slowly pulled the sheet back and rose to his feet, crossing to your bedside. he smirked slightly, offering you a small shrug as two of his fingers brushed your hair out of your face.
"old habits die hard," he told you. you watched him for a few more moments before sighing dramatically and turning onto your back, moving slightly to the side to let him in. he was quick to slide in next to you as his smirk grew, his arm snaking under your back as you turned into him, resting your injured arm on his chest gently. he held that hand close to him, pressing a kiss to your head. "thank you, beautiful."
he knew every part of you and knew exactly how to get back into your good graces. and every time you let it happen because, well, you loved the boy. more than you wanted to admit.
and every time he let you down, every time he betrayed you and your friends and your beliefs and your core freedoms, you felt a slow burning in your core and a piercing pain behind your eyes as you tried to resist the angry tears from being made out to be a fool. again.
it became harder and harder to keep loving him and it scared you more than you cared to admit. you'd been in love with peter hayes since you were twelve years old, it was an old, aching, exciting feeling you'd grown to rely on. even through changing friends, factions, and governments, you always knew that you would love peter hayes.
almost.
you weren't surprised when you stormed into erudite headquarters to save tris and peter was there. he was bloodied and bruised and helping four off the floor. from what you'd seen, he was on your side and helped save tris before you were able to.
but given the black and blue uniform he was wearing, you knew he hadn't started that way.
he grinned widely when he saw you, crossing quickly to you as evelyn and the others restrained jeanine and her men. christina had made her way to tris, throwing her arms around her best friend, and everyone had begun to clear erudite out. his arms were around you before you could even think about stepping away, his usual smirk pulling at his lips.
"hey beautiful," he said. "miss me?"
you looked around the room, at the dangling wires and remaining screens with images of detailed suicide bots and a list of the people to infect them with. there were files about tris and the box she was supposed to open, the different factions' trials. and it all hit you at once as you looked back at the boy in front of you.
"this was all you, wasn't it?" you said quietly. "you... you had the idea for the suicide virus. because you know tris. and you helped them torture her and nearly kill her for... for what? for status?"
"baby..." he mumbled, but you were already shaking your head, pushing him away.
"no, no you left again. you joined them again, you left me again," you said, trying to keep your volume down to avoid catching the attention of the others, but you already had. tris, christina, and four were watching you both intently, four positioned in such a way you were sure he was ready to jump peter.
peter stepped towards you, mouth open to defend himself, but you shook your head. there was a glare on your face, but what hurt the most was the glint of pain in your eyes as they reddened and began to get glossy. you blinked quickly as you stepped further away.
"don't," you spat. "i don't wanna hear it."
he always had impressive defense, defenses that always had something to do with you, your safety, or your future. it was the last one that usually got you, a promise of a life with him a lot more appealing than continuing to fight over his carefully placed words and actions committed for the dauntless leaders in efforts to climb the ranks. but, now it just pissed you off even more.
"i didn't think they would win, you have to admit it's not likely, and i was trying to secure a position, secure us a position to be able to do well when jeanine came to power!" he defended. he'd followed you back to your abandoned apartment that you'd begun to occupy once more, pleading his case.
"you didn't even try to help! you didn't know who was going to win," you shouted with an exasperated laugh.
"it's honestly a shock that it was anyone but jeanine," he told you. "she had everything set up, it seemed the better situation."
"she didn't care about you peter! she didn't care! she was a tyrant, only searching for power and taking it from people like us, including you," you spat. "you left, seeking something i have no interest in, and claim it's for us, for me. i don't want it, peter. and i don't want you here. get out."
he hadn't been able to get enough alone time to convince your forgiveness yet. you were preoccupying yourself with everything you could - helping four wrangle his mother, helping tris come up with a plan to escape, and eventually helping everyone carry out said plan.
you were beyond pissed when you joined them in the car after carrying out last-minute transfer papers with christina and you found peter sitting in the backseat with caleb.
"what is he doing here?" you asked, eyes flashing to four with a huff.
"he threatened to turn us in," tris answered quickly, glancing back at the boy. "get in."
christina, the good friend she is, sat herself between you and him. unfortunately, the ride wasn't that long, and you soon had to climb a wall - with peter at you side trying his darnedest to talk to you.
"look baby, i'm sorry," he said as you neared the top of the wall, turning to pull himself up and holding a hand out to you. you pushed it away as you stood, unhooking your anchor and rehooking it around a nearer pole as you readied to drop to the other side.
"shut up, peter."
tris and four were dealing with your tricky border patrol situation, giving you just enough time to ensure everyone's anchors were set up same as yours.
"please, i'm trying here-"
"now is not the time," you said with a pointed look.
"just, please-"
"shut up, peter!" you yelled, ducking quickly as shots were fired in your direction.
you were baffled at how many emotions you associated with him now. you were never really sure which emotion you were feeling; love, hate, annoyance, fondness, care, disdain, or hope - but you were feeling it. you felt it all.
you weren't really good at sleeping anymore. you weren't sure if it was because of everything you'd been through or simply how fast your brain was moving as if it were intent on keeping you from falling asleep - but whatever it was, it was costing you energy and what was supposed to be a problem-less bliss away from the turmoil of your world. away from peter.
you turned over in your bed again, finally giving up with a sigh. you stood, wiping your eyes clear of whatever drowsiness had consumed them and beginning your now routine walk around the used-to-be airport.
your hands stayed in the pockets of your sweats as you walked through the halls, breathing in the not-so-fresh air. it was funny being here, so different from chicago and simultaneously comforting and discomforting.
like the figure that was following you.
he'd joined your side wordlessly every night since you arrived, making the first correct decision in searching for your forgiveness since he'd betrayed you in chicago.
finally, you let a soft smile slip onto your lips, stuffing your hands further into your pockets. "hi peter."
he was surprised you acknowledged him, looking at you with such in his eyes. "uh, hi."
"so, can you not sleep either or do you stay up just to walk with me?" you asked the question that'd been bothering you since he began doing so. he smiled sheepishly, offering you a small shrug.
"can it be a bit of both?" he asked.
"i guess," you nodded. the two of you walked in silence again for a few moments before you raised your voice again. "why do you do it?"
this caught him off guard. he wanted to ask 'what?' but he knew the answer. he indulged you, sighing. "i'm selfish. i want the power."
"and you sacrifice everything and everyone even for the chance of it."
"yeah," he confirmed, his head hanging as he watched his feet. his tone dropped to a regretful level. "yeah."
"i don't know why you're hardwired to act this way, who taught you that power was the end-all, but i want to ask you something and i want you to think hard about it," you told him, looking at him with the most genuine, serious expression he'd seen from you, your brows raised and lips pursed.
"alright," he agreed with a nod.
"what do you want? really? and don't let your brain do the talking, we know it's fucked up, so just listen to how you feel. what do you want?"
he wanted to laugh at your insult, but he knew now wasn't the time. and so instead, he thought. for a long time.
you were content walking in silence next to him again as you rounded the corner to the cafeteria and continued your loop to the barracks.
every so often, his eyes would travel to you and settle there for a good while, analyzing every aspect of your features and meeting your eye once or twice.
he called your name gently when you were just a few minutes away from the barracks, his feet stopping as he looked up to watch you completely. you halted as well, turning slightly to look at him.
"yeah?" you asked. he stepped towards you, eyes falling to the floor for a few moments as he collected his thoughts fully. they returned to yours as he stood only a step or two away from you.
"i know what i want," he told you surely.
"and what is that, peter?" you asked.
"to be happy." it was a simple enough answer, one that seemed obvious to anyone else. but, for some reason, it brought a sad smile to your lips.
as he stood in front of you, you realized that for the first time in a long time he wasn't holding his shoulders perfectly square, or pulling his lips into a confident smirk, crossing his arms over his chest, or setting his jaw into a stone-like state. instead, his feet were slightly too close together, leaving his hip jutting out and his shoulders were sagging, his hands lazily at his sides and his mouth relaxed into an uncaring line.
"i want to be happy," he said again and his voice wavered slightly as he did so.
you don't know what came over you, but you threw yourself into his arms, his head tucking into your neck as he clung to your torso tightly. you held his head, fingers raking through his curls soothingly. you felt his eyelashes against your skin and something wet dripping off them as he blinked, causing your heart to clench and you to pull him tighter to you.
"i just want to be happy." his words buzzed on your skin and you nodded, pulling away from him slowly. you kept him close, hands on his cheeks as your thumbs wiped away tears. his hands gripped your wrists tightly, his bottom lip tucked under the top one as he twitched, a sob trapped behind his teeth.
you smiled softly at him. "i know."
"and that has nothing to do with power," he told you quickly, as though if he were to wait any longer he wouldn't be able to say it at all. "i've never been happy with it, but i've always thought it's what i - what i needed. but, i needed you. whenever i left i thought about you and when i came back i needed you near me. the only times i've ever felt what i imagine joy is like is when i'm with you, but i've only ever let you down."
he paused, seemingly to catch his breath, for a few moments, eyes closing momentarily. you attempted to shush him gently to avoid the painful words you knew were coming, but he continued anyways.
"i don't deserve forgiveness. i know that. but please," he breathed out. "if there's any way you could forgive me, i swear to you i'll never leave your side. i'm yours, please baby."
a small, sad smile pulled at your lips as your thumb ran over his damp cheekbone. "you scare me, peter. i don't know if i can trust you." you had to be honest, and he knew that. he appreciated it. but you could see in his eyes that it hurt anyways. "but, i've never been able to not love you. and i've never been able to keep you out of my life for long."
you wrapped your arms around his neck, the boy pulling you quickly towards him, arms wound tightly around your middle. you kissed his neck, hugging him closely. "i forgive you, peter."
if his grip could get any tighter, it did, before he pulled away, his face awfully close to yours.
"i love you so much," he told you, hand cupping your jaw as he captured your lips in his for a long-awaited kiss. it was slightly salty and more emotional than most of your other kisses, but it was equally as passionate. as you parted, he breathed deeply, pressing several kisses to your forehead and top of your hair as he pulled you back into his chest. "thank you, beautiful girl."
