Fearless 7
heres the years awaited parts.. good god I am so sorry, the loss of my grandfather was seriously crippling to me. its been so hard to get back into reading or writing. i was just working and working taking care of my kid and grandma trying to get through. thank you so so much to those of you who have stuck around and hello to those of you who are new.. i hope this is decent!
My Masterlist
Previous part <<<
Skipping dinner, you storm into the control room, the door slamming shut behind you. You throw yourself into your chair, kicking your legs up onto the desk, leaning back further than you should. The room is still, unnervingly quiet. No one here to badger you with questions: How’s training? How’s Four? How’s Tris?
Just silence.
At least, that’s what you think until the door creaks open. The quiet is shattered, and your jaw tightens when you see him. The pierced asshole you can’t seem to escape. The one who makes your skin crawl.
"Ah, Princess. Just the person I was looking for," he drawls, his smirk setting your blood boiling.
You don’t bother looking at him. Instead, your eyes drop to your nails on one hand, your whole posture screaming indifference, even though you’re gripping the armrests of your chair so hard your knuckles ache. You hear his footsteps close the distance, and soon enough, he’s perched on the edge of your desk, waiting for you to acknowledge him.
You don’t want to give him the satisfaction. But ignoring him won’t make him go away. It never does. So, you raise your head, locking eyes with him, your expression cold enough to freeze fire.
“I caught the tail end of your session today. You’re doing a good job with the initiates.” His tone is fake, condescending, the compliment poisoned. You force a tight smile, letting out a hum instead of dignifying him with a response.
He doesn’t stop. He never does. “Just wanted to let you know—I’ll be present during the fights. I’ll be taking over for Four. Just me and you.”
Before you can react, his hand moves. His fingers trail up your leg, starting at your ankle. Your stomach twists violently as a wave of nausea hits you. You lash out, trying to kick him off, but his hand clamps down hard, bruising your skin.
The pressure sends a sickening jolt through you, and this time, it’s not just rage—it’s fear. He’s too close. Too much. You bite back the urge to scream.
He leans closer, his other hand brushing over the marks already on your skin, his lips curling with disgust. “Who gave these to you? Was it Eaton? You let him touch you, but not me? Pathetic.”
Your chest burns, a mix of shame and fury clawing its way up. Somehow, you manage to shove him off, planting both feet against his chest and pushing with everything you have. He stumbles back, his ass hitting the floor with a loud thud.
He’s on his feet again in seconds, eyes gleaming with amusement, like this is some kind of game. “Clearly struck a nerve,” he sneers, voice dripping with malice. “What’s wrong? Don’t like it when I talk about baby Tobias? Aw, don’t tell me you’ve fallen for the robot!”
Your vision blurs with red, but you force yourself to stand tall, arms crossed tightly over your chest. You won’t let him see you break. You won’t give him that.
“Who I sleep with is none of your goddamn business,” you snap, your voice like steel, cutting through the tension. “Unless you’re planning on going around and asking everyone for a status report, I suggest you mind your fucking business.”
You take a step toward him, your movements controlled, deliberate, daring him to push further. “I told you—you’re not welcome in my training sessions. If Four approves you taking his place, fine. I’ll deal with it. But until then, stay the hell out of it.”
The venom in your words is enough to make even him hesitate for a fraction of a second. You don’t wait for a response. Spinning on your heel, you storm out of the control room, slamming the door behind you.
Your chest heaves as you march down the hallway, every muscle in your body coiled with frustration. Lately, it feels like all you’ve done is storm around, anger and stress eating away at the calm you usually pride yourself on.
You used to be laid back—focused, capable, in control. But now? Now it feels like you’re drowning, and no matter how hard you fight to keep your head above water, someone’s always there, waiting to drag you under.
And if you don’t get a grip soon, you’re afraid the stress just might kill you.
All you want to do is find Zeke and Shauna, ask them to go to the cenote. Try to make some time to relax with your friends, you wouldn't even mind if some of the other Dauntless came. You make it all the way to the cafeteria, swinging the doors open and looking for your friends. Once you spot them you start towards their table. You're half way there when the doors swing open again and Eric yells your name.
"Yo, man, where's Y/N? I thought she was with you today?" Zeke asks, his voice carrying just enough edge to cut through the low hum of the dining hall. It’s the fifth—or maybe the sixth—time he’s asked, and Four doesn’t bother looking up from his plate.
He doesn’t need to. He already knows something is wrong. Something is always wrong lately.
His shoulders lift in a halfhearted shrug, the motion stiff, weighed down by the same knot of guilt that’s been sitting heavy in his chest since this morning. He doesn’t need to say it for Zeke to know—the answer hasn’t changed. He doesn’t know where you are. Again.
Zeke sighs, louder this time, before turning back to his girlfriend, muttering something Four doesn’t catch. Four barely registers it anyway. His mind is a thousand miles away—or, more accurately, wherever the hell you are.
The four of you had always been close. You and Zeke had pulled him into your little circle the day you met. You were relentless about it, making it impossible for him to retreat into his usual solitude. Back then, it had nothing to do with love—at least, not the kind that kept him up at night now.
But now?
Now, it was everything.
And right now, all he knew was that he had somehow managed to upset you. Again. The burning need to fix it clawed at him, relentless, even as he forced himself to stay seated, to not run off searching for you like a lovesick idiot.
Behind him, the recruits’ voices rose and fell, a chaotic mix of chatter that he only half-listened to. They were discussing their progress, speculating about who might fail, comparing him to you. As always.
He clenched his jaw at the last part. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how the initiates saw the two of you. You were the wildfire, the one who inspired awe and fear in equal measure, your sharp words cutting them down and building them back up stronger than ever. He was the steady hand, the quiet storm, the one they came to when they wanted guidance without the sting.
But lately, it felt like they preferred you more. Or maybe that was just him, projecting his own feelings.
His attention wavered, catching on Al’s announcement that he wanted a tattoo. Four had to bite back a chuckle at the thought of the gentle giant sitting in the chair, trying to look tough. Sure, Dauntless tech made tattoos nearly painless, but still—Al getting inked? He belonged in Amity, not here.
He shook his head, his gaze shifting as Tris and Christina started talking about haircuts and piercings. Tris wanted to cut her hair short, maybe dye it, something bold. Something Dauntless.
The words made his chest tighten unexpectedly. He wanted to tell her she didn’t need to change a thing—that she was fine just the way she was. But he kept his mouth shut, unwilling to draw attention to himself. Or worse, to risk upsetting you more if you happened to show up and see him talking to her.
That was the problem with Tris, wasn’t it? She was a reminder of the life he’d left behind, the one person here who truly understood what it meant to come from Abnegation. There was a familiarity there, a connection that made it easier to talk to her about things he couldn’t explain to anyone else. Not even you.
But no matter how much Tris understood him, she wasn’t you.
And it was you he was pining after, you who occupied every corner of his thoughts, you who made him feel like he was both drowning and breathing for the first time all at once.
He just wished he knew how to fix this—how to find you, how to say the right thing, how to make you see that it’s always been you.
But instead, he stayed rooted to his seat, staring at the uneaten food on his plate, waiting for you to come back. Hoping, praying that when you did, he’d have the chance to fix what he had broken.
His heart lifts—just for a moment—when the doors swing open and you step inside. Relief rushes through him at the sight of you, even if you’re still a little too far away. Zeke notices it first, nudging Shauna, and the two exchange a knowing look. But then your expression registers, and the air between them shifts.
“Oh shit... for real,” Zeke mutters under his breath, already halfway to his feet before he freezes in place.
You don’t notice them at first, too focused on crossing the room with purpose etched into every step. But just as you get closer, the doors behind you slam open again.
“Y/N!” Eric’s voice cuts through the room like a blade. The sound alone is enough to make every conversation stop, every pair of eyes turn toward the source of the commotion.
The trio sees it before you even turn—your face twisting into something that borders on rage and exhaustion. Then you whip around so fast that your ponytail snaps against your face.
“WHAT DO YOU WANT, ERIC?!” you scream, your voice echoing off the walls before you even think to lower it.
You know Zeke is behind you somewhere, along with Four and Shauna, the recruits huddled near them. You know Tori and Max are in the room, too—plenty of people who could step in, stop this, before it spirals too far.
But none of that matters when Eric starts moving toward you, his heavy boots echoing like a countdown to something inevitable.
He doesn’t stop until he’s standing inches from your face. You can feel his breath on your skin, warm and suffocating, and it only fuels the fire roaring in your chest. Your fists clench at your sides, trembling with the effort it takes to keep them there.
You know his game. His only advantage is size, and even that’s barely worth mentioning. He’s an inch taller than Four at best. That’s it. That’s all he has. And yet here he is, leaning down, his cold, dead eyes locking onto yours, daring you to flinch.
But you don’t flinch. You don’t back down.
Because backing down now would mean letting him win. It would mean letting him believe he’s superior, and there is no reality in which you’ll let that happen.
The tension is unbearable, stretching out in a suffocating silence as the two of you stand there, locked in a battle of wills. Then, you laugh.
It’s not the kind of laugh that makes people smile. It’s sharp, cutting, and maybe a little unhinged. It probably sounds insane to the people watching, but you don’t care.
“If you don’t have anything to say, Eric, I’ve got things to do.”
You don’t wait for him to respond. Your body moves on autopilot, spinning away from him, determined to put as much space between you as possible.
But before you can take even two steps, his hand shoots out. His grip is vice-like, wrapping around your arm and jerking you back with enough force to leave a mark.
The room goes deadly silent.
“I’m not done talking to you!” Eric growls, yanking your arm back harshly again.
For the second time tonight, his touch burns, not just your skin but something deeper. Fury coils in your chest, and for a moment, you forget about the people watching, about Zeke and Four and Shauna and Max. You forget about everything except the searing need to make him pay for it.
The force nearly spins you off balance, but you catch yourself, planting your feet firmly on the ground. Around you, the room feels like it holds its breath. Tori stands somewhere in the distance, her eyes wide, and you know Four and Max are watching, too. But none of them could’ve moved fast enough to stop what happens next.
Maybe if Zeke had already been on his way toward you—but not now.
Later, when Christina and the others would ask, you’d break it down for them, using this moment as an example. You’d explain the technique you taught them, the way every movement flowed together: where to place your feet, how to shift your weight, the mechanics of a proper fist. You’d tell them it was all in the momentum of the twist.
But in this moment? You didn’t think about any of that.
It was second nature.
So when the loud CRACK of Eric’s nose breaking echoed through the room, it wasn’t just satisfying—it was perfect.
His hand fell away from your arm immediately, blood pouring between his fingers as he staggered back, clutching at his face. You stood there, chest heaving, a triumphant smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.
Zeke and Tori were at your side in seconds, their presence grounding you, while Max pushed past you, moving to stand beside Eric. His expression was unreadable, but the slow shake of his head spoke volumes—disappointment aimed squarely at both of you.
“I told you in the control room to keep your FUCKING hands off me, Eric,” you said, your voice cutting through the stunned silence like a blade. Your tone was sharp, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. “Touch me again, and I’ll break every one of your fingers. Knuckle by knuckle.”
The sheer venom in your words made Max’s head snap toward Eric so quickly it looked like it might spin. His disappointment was no longer aimed at you—it was fully fixed on the bloodied, staggering mess in front of him.
Everyone knew what Eric was like. Grabby. Overconfident. A man who thought he was God’s gift to women, never bothering to ask permission—just taking what he wanted. Maybe some fell for his act, but you? You’d had enough.
You wanted to say more—to warn him that if he ever laid a hand on any of the transfers, you wouldn’t stop at his nose. You’d kill him. But for once, you held back, biting down the words.
The tension stretched thin again as the two of you locked eyes. Eric’s face was twisted in pain, but the fury burning in his gaze was enough to match your own. You didn’t care. You wouldn’t back down.
Zeke’s arm came around your waist, a firm but reassuring grip, as he began pulling you toward the cafeteria doors.
Even as he led you away, you never broke eye contact. Your glare stayed locked on Eric’s until the very last second, until the doors finally swung shut behind you.
As Zeke guided you out of the cafeteria, the door shut firmly behind you, leaving a room full of wide-eyed initiates in stunned silence. For a moment, no one moved. Then, slowly, a ripple of chatter began, followed by scattered cheers. The sound grew louder, spreading through the room like wildfire.
“Dauntless is such a weird place,” Christina muttered, shaking her head as she turned her attention back to her plate.
Tris nodded absentmindedly, her gaze drifting across the crowd. The cacophony of cheers and laughter felt out of place to her, almost jarring. When her eyes landed on Tori quietly slipping out of the cafeteria, she pushed her half-eaten food away.
“We should go get ready if we’re still doing tattoos,” she said quickly, standing up.
Christina shrugged but followed, along with Will and Al, leaving the noisy cafeteria behind. Tris felt a mix of emotions bubbling in her chest—discomfort, curiosity, unease. The violent confrontation she had just witnessed was still fresh in her mind.
But it wasn’t just that. It was everything—Myra and Edward taking any opportunity to make out at the table, Will and Al teasing her for blushing at their jokes, Christina relentlessly pointing out her awkwardness.
As they made their way through the dorms, Christina turned to her with a teasing smirk.
“What are you going to do when you see two people really going at it?” she asked, laughter in her voice. “I get that you grew up all modest in Abnegation, but if you’re going to stay here, you’ve got to get over it. One of the Dauntless-born told me he caught a couple having sex in the hallway once.”
Tris felt the blood drain from her face. The very idea made her stomach twist uncomfortably—not just because of her strict upbringing, but because of how foreign it all seemed. She had never even kissed someone before, let alone considered anything beyond that.
Meanwhile, Christina carried on, nonchalantly describing the things she used to do with her so-called “guy friends” back in Candor, the boldness in her tone making Tris feel even more out of place.
Carrie, a Dauntless-born girl who had offered Christina some makeup for their free night, joined them partway down the hall. She was kinder than most of the Dauntless, her laid-back demeanor putting Tris slightly at ease. For a moment, they made light conversation, the tension in Tris’s shoulders loosening just a little.
That was, until they heard it.
The noises began faintly, muffled by the walls as they walked past the dorms. Tris frowned, unsure what she was hearing, but the others knew instantly. Christina and Carrie exchanged amused glances, barely stifling their giggles, while Al’s face turned redder than his shirt.
“Well, someone’s getting some,” Will said, his voice dripping with amusement as they kept moving down the hall.
But just as they were about to pass, the sound of a voice cut through the muffled noises. Deep, steady, and taunting, the words were unmistakable:
“Guess I didn’t fuck the attitude out of you last night like I thought. I’ll have to try again.”
The group froze.
Christina raised her eyebrows, trying to cover her shock with forced laughter. Will glanced awkwardly at the floor, Al looked anywhere but the door, and Carrie shifted uncomfortably, clearly unsure of what to say.
Christina's jaw drops, she can't believe what she's hearing. "Oh my god.. Is that.... Is that Four?" She whispers aggressively at Carrie, who just nods confused by the reaction. She went to say something but an equally strong and clear feminine voice spoke next. One that they all knew just as well as Fours.
Tris, however, couldn’t seem to move. The voice chilled her to her core, and while the others reacted with awkward giggles or nervous glances, her stomach churned uneasily. Her mind raced with questions she didn’t want to think about, and a sense of wrongness crept over her.
"It'll never be enough.."
The jaws of the boys drop this time, Christina's is still on the floor. Tris's stomach is in knots, her dinner feeling like it's going to come up. "This is wrong, we shouldn't be listening." Even though she has no clue where she's going she walks off.
Carrie just looks between them all, "It's not a big deal, they do this all the time.. Like almost every night. Lots of us do. You'll learn to just sleep through it." Carrie isn't into the drama, but she found Tris's reaction amusing. It would definitely be something she shared with Shauna later.
Christina gave her a small nudge. “You okay?” she whispered.
“Yeah,” Tris lied, her voice barely audible as they moved past the door. But the words still rang in her ears, lingering long after they had left the hall.
