i really loved the short story of isekai reader patching up Twilight using modern medical methods aka stiches. Could we have more of that? Maybe isekai reader teaching them some more things like maybe the reason Sky gets so winded when he runs is because he might have asthma.
Absolutely! I love giving these boys a much-needed break!
You mentioned Sky, but I've also seen people head-canon that Four has migraines and I wanted to be nice to him seeing as SOME PEOPLE have been STABBING HIM recently. (I know one Tylenol probably wouldn't stop a migraine, but he's 1. never had medicine like that before and 2. really short, so it would probably be ok dosage-wise.) Time is here because OLD.
LU x Modern! Medic! Reader
Four
“Ow,” Four winced, touching the side of his head.
“You ok?” you turn as you walk, shifting the bag on your back as you do.
“Fine,” he mumbles. “Just a headache.”
“Ok, give me a sec,” you take your arms out of the straps of your bag, swing it around to the front of your body, then put the backpack back on backwards so you can dig through it.
“I don’t need a potion,” Four says quickly. “Honestly, it wouldn’t even help. It’s just a headache.”
“Four, if you’re complaining about a headache, it’s serious,” you continue digging through your bag, remembering the various injuries he’d taken without so much as a wince. You guess black smiths were just built different. “I’ve got some Tylenol. One pill and some water and you should feel right as rain.”
“A potion wouldn’t help,” Four says again. “It’s not an injury.”
“Good thing this isn’t a potion, then,” you take out the small white bottle, then proceed to struggle with the child-proof cap.
“I’ve seen you give that to some of the others,” he points at the bottle. “They eat it and then they feel better. Potion. Maybe not liquid, but still.”
“It doesn’t actually heal anything,” you explain, grunting as you try to open the cap. “The thing causing the headache will still be there. It just blocks the pain.”
“How would there be no pain if the injury is still there?” Four raises an eyebrow.
“It’s like… how do I explain this,” you muse. “So, your nerves send signals to the brain. Think of them like little mail men, taking messages from where the pain is to you. This blocks those signals. The mailmen are still there with their letters, but now the letters can’t get to where they’re going, so no pain.”
“So I’m full of tiny little mailmen,” Four smirks.
“Sure,” you laugh, then finally pop the cap off the bottle and shake a single pill out of the container. You hold it out to Four. He takes it, looks it over, then pops it into his mouth.
“Wha–!?” you sputter, your hand still reaching for your water bottle. “Did you just dry swallow it?”
“Yes?” Four winces at the after taste. “Why? Was that wrong?”
“I mean, no, it’s fine,” you close your bag, still bewildered. “It’s demented, but you won’t, like, die.”
“Who are you calling demented?” He grins.
“You just took a pill without water!” you cry. “Who does that!?”
Time
Time was old. Mentally, yes, he was probably like 60 or something as far as you or anyone else could figure, but physically as well. Most of the other heroes were in their twenties or younger. Time was in his thirties, and with the added stress of hero work he might as well have been forty.
He had old injuries that still ached, and the past strain on his body had definitely sped up how quickly he developed arthritis. You noticed the way he would massage his hands occasionally. Or wince when he woke up. It was your job to notice these things after all.
Unfortunately, heroes were stubborn and selfless. Most attempts to help them were met with “I’ve had worse” or “so-and-so needs it more.” And from what you could tell, Time had never been “mothered” in the traditional sense, making it all the more unlikely he would accept anything you had to offer. He thought your help was necessary for the others, not him. It was noble. And incredibly stupid.
You had to find alternative ways to help him.
“Tea?” you hold up a mug to him as he passes where you’re sitting, your own cup held loosely in your other hand.
“That’s not suspicious at all,” Time frowns at the mug.
“What’s suspicious about tea?” you take a sip from your mug.
“Yeah, old man, when has tea ever gone wrong?” Wild, currently also enjoying a cup of tea next to you, smiles.
“Tea isn’t suspicious,” Legend nods, clutching his own mug close to his chest.
“Not at all,” you agree, nodding in a totally not suspicious way.
“Then why are the two people you’re always after about pain management the only ones drinking it?” Time points at Wild, who often got whole-body aches that he liked to try to ignore, then at Legend, who, like Time, had arthritis in his hands, but was more willing to take medicine for it.
“Maybe they’re the only two who happened to walk past,” you take another long sip from your cup.
“What’s in the tea?” Time sighs.
“Uhhh, it’s green tea, so Camellia leaves,” your arm is starting to get tired from holding the extra mug out to him. “And some honey.”
Time raises an eyebrow. He didn’t remember having honey in the camp supplies.
“We just got it. Wild shield-surfed face-first into a hive,” you explain. The Link in question gives you a thumbs up when you glare at him.
“So this tea is just to use up the honey?” Time takes the mug carefully.
“Can’t really store it all. Our jars are for fairies or potions,” Legend shrugs.
“I kept one jar,” Wild smiles.
“Fine,” Time takes a drink. Success!
“Oh! And I added some turmeric and ginger,” you admit, looking away from him as you do. You glance at your surroundings in a nonchalant manner. “They have anti-inflammatory properties. Figured you could use it.”
“I knew it,” Time narrows his eyes (eye), but takes another drink of tea. “You were trying to medicate me.”
“Is it helping?” you ask. He flexes his hand, thinking.
“...Yes,” he finally admits, shoulders slouching in defeat.
Sky
“That’s not what happened!” Sky scowls. He had been recounting his attempt to catch the apparently portal-using mail man when a few of the others had begun teasing him about his inability to run.
“That’s totally what happened,” Legend smirks.
“Sounds like asthma,” you shrug, turning away from the conversation to inspect Twilight’s side. Apparently there was some evil magic that you couldn’t see infecting the wound, and while you were no mage, you were a medic, and infection of any kind, magic or otherwise, was unacceptable.
“Asthma…?” Nine heads tilt inquisitively sideways, various looks of confusion on their faces.
“Do you guys not know what asthma is?” Now it’s your turn to be confused.
The blank looks you get back speak for themselves.
“Okay,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to think. “Athma is like… your throat gets tight and it gets really hard to breathe. Sometimes it feels like someone is sitting on your chest, making it really hard to get air in.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s pretty accurate,” Sky smiles.
“How do you not know what asthma is? If you have asthma you should have an inhaler.” You stand up, forgetting Twilight’s magic wound for a moment, and start rummaging through your bag. There wasn’t really a way to treat inflammation like that with the herbs you had available, but you had to have something.
“I thought it was just because I grew up in Skyloft,” Sky shrugs. “The air down here is just different.”
“That’s not how altitude changes work. The air up there is thinner, meaning Skyloftians should have an easier time breathing near the surface,” you say exasperatedly.
“Oh,” Sky blushes.
“So it’s an illness?” Warriors glances at Sky and takes a not-so-subtle step away.
“No, it’s genetic. You can’t ‘catch’ it, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” you roll your eyes. A few of the boys snicker at Wars’ look of relief.
“But is there a cure?” Sky sounds hopeful. “You said something about me needing to have something.”
“An inhaler. Not a cure, just a way to treat the symptoms,” you give up digging through your bag. “It’s medicine that you breathe in. And I have no way of making it here. If we ever go to my era I’m breaking into a pharmacy and getting you one.”
“Surely there must be something you can do without traveling to your era,” Time says.
“Not really,” you grimace. “We can limit triggers. If you didn’t have issues on Skyloft your asthma might be triggered by humidity? Or pollen? But it sounds like it’s triggered by exercise, which… well, you might have chosen the wrong profession.”
“You could say that again,” Legend snorts.
“Well, not much to be done,” Sky hums. “I’ve been alright up until now. I should be fine.”
“I’m still swiping you an inhaler if we wind up in my era,” you mutter, adding it to your growing list of things to either buy or steal from a modern pharmacy (some of the meds these boys needed were prescription, which you wouldn’t really be able to get otherwise).
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Request - Post movie Four getting some much needed rest and love (being railed to infinity)
A/N - Not exactly railed to infinity but this one's for you, Nicole. Requests are open!
Category - Four x Fem!Reader
Warnings - Fluff, Smut, be nice to me because I haven’t written smut in years
Word Count - 1.1k
♡♡♡♡
It had been two weeks since you, Four, and the other fugitives had made it to the sanctuary of the Amity farms. Their representative, Johanna Reyes, had been kind enough to extend her help to the six of you when you asked. Though, that came with a price as she gave each of you a role to perform to help out while you were there. Though, you didn’t mind. Helping the people of the Amity faction do their farm work was better than constantly being on the run, or having to look over your shoulder. It almost brought you peace, almost.
You were pulled from your thoughts as the cot you lay in dipped and a loud groan erupted from beside you. A smile graced your lips, turning over to see the sight of your boyfriend, “Hi there, handsome.”
Four huffed, turning his head to meet your soft eyes, “Hi.”
Shuffling closer to him, you laid your head on his shoulder and his arms wrapped around your waist, “How were the kids?”
He groaned, pulling you closer to him, “I had no idea how tiring they could be,” he paused, “but it’s nice. Relaxing even.”
“Wow, the ever so fearing Four, dauntless trainer, tired out from kids,” you joked, making him chuckle. Your nose brushed against his, lips just barely touching each other, “You just need to relax.”
“Is that right?” he smirked, his large hands gripping your waist.
“Mhmm,” you hummed, pressing a chaste kiss against his lips. You shot up out of his arms onto your knees, “Take your shirt off and turn over.”
“What?”
“Take your shirt off and turn over,” you repeated, “I’m gonna help you relax.”
Four nodded, following your orders with no further questions asked. He turned over to his stomach and folded his arms underneath his head to rest on. You waited until he was situated to swing your leg over his lower body, straddling his waist. Soft groans and grunts left his mouth as you began to dig your hands into his back, kneading out any knots and tension that was straining his back. Your hands worked for a while, rubbing over his toned back, obliging when he told you to go further up or down, apply more pressure or stay in that same spot for a second.
“Your hands are like heaven,” he sighed.
“I think you’ve told me that once or twice before,” you muttered, leaning forward just enough to start placing small kisses across the length of his shoulders, muscles twitching at each kiss. He called your name low and husky as a warning. You giggled innocently as if this wasn’t your plan all along, continuing to scatter kisses on his back. Each breath he took deepened, loving the way your lips felt against his skin—but he loved the way his lips felt against yours more.
A squeal left your body as Four’s arm suddenly reached back and wrapped around you. He flipped you over so you were lying next to him again. Before you could even speak, his hand gripped your jaw, pulling you closer and wasted no time slotting his mouth on yours. You melted instantly, kissing him back with just as much passion. His tongue found its way inside your mouth and tangled with yours. A moan slipped from the back of your throat, sending those familiar tingly feelings through your body.
Four knew your body like the back of his hand, so he knew what that moan meant once he heard it. His hand let go of your jaw, delicately trailing down from your neck, brushing against your nipple through the thin fabric of your nightgown, continuing south of your body until his hand reached the hem of the gown, dipping underneath it. Your legs fell open to him like second nature, fingers finding your pussy through the cotton underwear. You moaned into his mouth as he softly rubbed your clit, hips following the circles his fingers were rubbing in.
“Please,” you whined softly.
“I am,” he answered right before pulling your panties to the side, finally dipping into your folds, feeling all the wetness that had already puddled in your panties, “All this for me?”
You nodded as you bit your lip, “I love it when you touch me.”
“I know you do, baby,” he muttered, continuing to work his fingers into circular motions against your clit, applying a bit of pressure, “Such a good girl,” he grunted along with you while you continued to moan.
Your head fell back against the pillow when he picked up speed. You tried to keep yourself quiet, knowing that the two of you were in an open hut and it wouldn’t be hard for anyone to hear if they were close enough, but Four hated it when you were quiet. He loved when you were vocal, it let him know that he was doing all the right things to your body, pleasing you in the most appropriate way.
Without even thinking, your hand shot down to grab his wrist when he sunk two fingers into your wet hole, “Fuck!” you cried, hips bucking against them. You loved that Four knew your body so well. He knew all the ways to make you cum fast or to drag it out just right.
“That’s it, baby, ride my fingers,” he instructed.
“Oh god,” you breathed through that moan, your body moving along as he pumped his thick fingers in and out of your pussy, “fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m so close.”
“Already?” Four whined, dipping his head to sloppily kiss along your exposed neck and chest
You nodded, furrowing your eyebrows as you choked down another loud moan. Your legs started to shake as that familiar knot started to tangle in the pit of your stomach. Your cunt tightening around his digits as he continued to fuck you with them, curling them up against that g-spot that only he could ever reach. You grunted out his name as that knot finally snapped and you released all over his hand. Chest heaving up and down as he slowly slipped his fingers out, dragging them over your clit again to help you ride out your orgasm.
He lifted his head with low, dark eyes, watching you catch your breath and coming down from your high, “Hey,” he called to you, tapping your chin to grab your attention. Without even asking, you turned your head towards him and opened your mouth. He sunk his cum-covered fingers into your mouth. Licking his lips, he watched as you sucked your own arousal off his fingers, moaning as you did, knowing you enjoyed your taste, “Hm, my dirty girl.”
Just before the two of you could get any further, a voice called from the distance, interrupting the two of you.
“Hey, Four? Are you there?” The voice got closer and was recognizable by none other than Tris Prior, “I need your help.”
Four sighed, dropping his head on your shoulder, “Guess we’ll finish this later.”
(It's a modified version of my previous imagine Sealed Their Fates. Credit to @fraylindurin for a comment that spurred me to write this one)
Summary: Everyone in Dauntless knows of (Y/n)'s relationship with Four, but some think that it gives her an unfair advantage. But when a group of boys try to attack (Y/n), she doesn't feel safe in her faction anymore.
Warning: Descriptions of attempted assault.
Enjoy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Falling. Falling. Falling.
Again and again, every time (Y/n) tried to wake herself up out of the nightmare that trapped her in a cage, she kept going back to the same place. She kept dreaming of the same thing; endless falling with no end in sight. But without seeing where she was going to land, there was a deep rooted feeling in (Y/n)'s gut; she knew the landing was coming, and she knew it was going to be worse than the fall.
Wherever she would end up when she landed, it would be a horrible place, a landing with broken bones and endless pain and no breath left in her lungs.
That sense of dread dwelled in (Y/n)'s stomach like an infection festering through her blood, multiplying within her until it was starting to grow out of control.
When she closed her eyes, she could almost feel her stomach lurching up into her throat as if waiting for the floor to disappear beneath her feet and drop her down again. Sickness crept up the back of her throat and her arms coiled near her chest like a consoling hug for herself.
But her eyes shot open when a strong pair of arms suddenly bound around her middle and a firm, hard chest moulded up against her back.
She didn't have to turn around to know who was clinging to her like this, who was giving her such a powerful embrace and attaching their lips so warmly to the side of her neck.
Tobias.
His arms around her felt like an anchor keeping (Y/n)'s feet firmly on the ground so she wasn't about to float away or drop hundreds of feet through the floor in an endless, falling nightmare. He was holding her to the ground, he was keeping her safe and warding off that impending churn to her stomach.
But he seemed to realise that she wasn't smiling or laughing, and when he tightened his arms around her waist and realised how dreadfully tense and taut she was, the frown in his brows could be felt against her throat.
"You okay?" His voice was gritty and low against her ear and (Y/n) fougth hard to stop her knees from giving way beneath her.
"Yeah." Her voice was as quiet as a whisper on the wind, both because she didn't quite trust her voice and because it was a newfound habit to speak in hushed tones with Tobias. So that no one else that might be listening in could hear their little words.
It wasn't necessarily a secret that the pair of them had found solace and comfort in one other.
Others had noticed the way that Four would smile towards (Y/n), whereas he would generally be cold and ruthless towards anyone else. They had seen him take her hand and interlock their fingers, and they noticed that Four wasn't the instructor who trained (Y/n). He wouldn't do that; he wouldn't train the girl he had fallen for, not when he knew people would turn against her and accuse him of giving her points and helping her stay in Dauntless.
That didn't mean to say that Tobias wouldn't help train her late into the night when no one else was around. And he would give her tips and pointers and tell her how to outsmart the others, but he wouldn't do any of that in public, and he certainly wouldn't go around giving her any points.
They didn't hide what they had, but they didn't display it either. Quiet moments together in the mornings and little interludes wherever they could was what they decided to do until (Y/n) made it as a fully fledged member of Dauntless.
"Is something up, you can tell me. " Tobias hovered his lips over (Y/n)'s ear while his hand smoothed up and down her sternum like he was drawing aimless patterns into her shirt.
"Just didn't sleep great, that's all."
There wouldn't be much point in telling Tobias that she wasn't sleeping because of a strange nightmare, it wasn't like he could help her very much in that respect. There wasn't a lot that could be done for dreams like that or lack of sleep, and if (Y/n) wanted to make it in Dauntless then she had to suck it up and push through moments like these.
Things would be different when she got through the initiation process anyway, once she was a proper part of the faction and didn't have to sleep with all the other initiates in the bunk room. When she could have a room of her own- or maybe a room with Tobias at some point- without hearing others snoring and bickering and breathing heavy and constantly getting up to go to the toilet during the night. Then things would be better.
Tobias hummed as if he understood, and he knew what it was like to have to sleep in a crowded room with people who were against you for better scores and the best position in the faction.
"It'll get easier, I promise."
She nodded to his words, nudging the tip of her nose against his neck before she leant up to kiss him. She liked the way his arms tightened around her, like he was making sure she stayed right where she was and wouldn't dare pull out of his embrace for a moment. And the feeling of his palms pressing down into her sternum and waist made butterflies swarm through her system.
Sometimes (Y/n) wished it could be like this all the time. She wished she could lean against Tobias or take his hand or walk around with him and no one would bat an eyelid or make a bad comment.
And maybe after the initiates were all chosen and blended into Dauntless, after the dust settled and there was no more competing to stay and for status, things would change. (Y/n) was sure they would. She was sure that things would settle down, that they would all find their own rooms after they were fully fledged members of the faction. They would partner off and find their best suited jobs and no one would care that (Y/n) and Tobias were together.
She just hoped that it wouldn't feel like a lifetime to get to that point.
It proved to be some effort to turn around in his tight embrace, but (Y/n) managed the small task and looped her arms around the back of his neck. Her fingers brushed against the short gazed hairs at the back of his head and she let herself slouch into his chest, effectively pinning Tobias between her and the wall. Not that he minded at all, he seemed happy to be sandwiched up against her in the corridor. Especially since they were alone without any onlookers.
"What're you thinking?" Tobias's words were hushed and (Y/n) barely heard them when he spoke with his lips so close to hers that they were almost touching.
Their noses brushed and she could feel his temple resting against hers, but it was the feeling of those cold lips hovering less than a centimetre away from hers that made (Y/n)'s knees want to give in. She pushed up on her toes, keeping her chest merged with his as her arms tightened slightly around his neck and her eyes creased with a smile.
"Just that I can't wait for training to be over."
(Y/n) knew being in Dauntless meant endless training, they would never stop, per say. They would always be training and running and fighting and sharpening their skills. But at least they wouldn't be fighting against one another, they wouldn't be opposites anymore. They would all be working together as a group, a family, a faction. That was the goal and (Y/n) wanted to skip this tournament of sorts and be at that point.
She wanted to feel calmer, not always on edge like this or suffering plagued dreams and constant bruises and aches and pains.
She felt Tobias sigh down at her with that half smile pulling at his lips and one arched brow. He knew how she felt, he had never been worried about his training, he had beaten all others in his group, including Eric with no problems. But he was desperate now for (Y/n) to make it through this phase with no problems.
"Me too." His words were nothing more than a whisper on the wind and (Y/n) managed to catch a glimmer of a smile pulling on his lips before she moved one hand to cradle the side of his face.
Her fingers danced a pattern on his cheek and (Y/n) pressed another kiss too his lips, savouring the cold touch and the feeling of Tobias tightening his hand around her hip. They didn't have long before they would have to go. They needed to go to the training room and begin their day, and that meant going the rest of the day without being too close to one another.
Another hint of a smile traced over Tobias's lips when he felt (Y/n) murmur "I'm not ready," against his mouth that was savouring her touch and stealing as many elicit kisses as he could manage.
His nose pressed against hers and his lips felt positively bruised in the best way when they finally parted. He allowed himself to lean his cheek into her palm that was cradling his face and shivers coursed up and down his skin from her touch.
"There aren't any fights scheduled for today, just remember what I taught you in training, and you'll be fine."
It wasn't wrong, not technically when anyone could ask for help with training and anyone could put the hours in and do more. (Y/n) wanted to do better, she wanted to have a better shot at staying in Dauntless and doing the best she possibly could, and Tobias was giving her hints. He watched her practice and told her what she could do to improve. He helped her straighten her frame and improve her throw and taught her how to duck and punch better.
It was the same hints and pointers that he gave to anyone he was instructing, it just happened to be late on in the evening when everyone else gave up to rest.
"Suppose we'd better go." Surprise flooded through (Y/n) when Tobias leaned down to snag another kiss from her lips and he pushed off the wall until he was practically pushing down onto her instead.
Neither of them wanted to part and head off into the training area, into the room that would be flooded with the rest of their faction. But they didn't have much of a choice. This was their faction and they had to make themselves useful, after all.
It was comforting to feel Tobias slip his hand into hers and feeling of his fingers tapping against the back of her hand like he was trying to give her a secret message was enlightening.
When he stood- or rather towered- beside her it felt like (Y/n) had a protective armour around her. The way his shoulder brushed against hers, how tense his arms felt, the sound of his leather boots hitting the stone floor, it was all dominating and overpowering in the best possible way.
It wasn't until they actually reached the training room that the aura seemed to change and (Y/n) felt like she was three inches tall. She barely felt Tobias give her hand a squeeze like he was trying to give her some of his courage.
Eyes were upon them immediately. Some just glances, some long stares and some with glares of jealousy that (Y/n) could feel burning through her skin.
She wanted to shrink in on herself and become invisible, but that wasn't what a Dauntless would do and she didn't have to feel this way.
She felt Tobias give her hand another squeeze so tight he almost cut off the circulation to her fingers. And he leaned down to murmur "Good luck," in her ear because he knew training was as hard and draining as it was rewarding. And with his head angled down, he managed to press a kiss to the back of her head without anyone noticing.
The moment his hand slipped from hers and (Y/n) heard his footsteps retreating, she suddenly felt cold. But she tried to brush it off, shaking the feeling away as she rolled her shoulders and clicked her neck into place.
With a deep breath and her teeth sinking into her lower lip, (Y/n) approached one of the punching bags hanging near the wall to the far left.
She just wanted to train, to get on with it without having a crowd of people glaring or watching her as if they thought she was clearly getting points from Tobias, like she couldn't prove herself any other way.
Peter was one of those who was currently staring at her, and he made a show of walking up beside her. (Y/n) wasn't sure why, but he had taken an instant disliking to her. He liked to make jibes and jokes and play the tormenter and when (Y/n) didn't rise to the bait, he seemed to enjoy it even more like the challenge was better and somehow made (Y/n) weaker for not retaliating straight away.
"Where's your loverboy, stiff?" Peter clasped his hands behind his back and took a look around, but he missed Tobias who mingled in with the other initiates near the climbing ropes in the far corner.
"Where's your girlfriend, Pete?"
(Y/n) didn't bother looking up at him as she spoke. He could be as crude and annoying as he wanted, she would simply respond and annoy him back until he stopped. He could try and make jokes about her relationship with Tobias as much as he liked, (Y/n) would just make jokes about his love life in response, or lack there of.
Her words made his smile slip into a frown and he looked down at his hands for a moment, clearly irritated that she had quipped back at him so fast.
"Suppose I should fine one soon, preferably an instructor. After all, you got in there quick and ranked up your points." His head ticked towards the scoreboard which showed (Y/n) was two places higher up than Peter. Both of them were in the clear, they weren't in the red on the verge of being factionless, but that could all change. They all knew the scoreboard was changing daily with people improving and slipping all the time.
(Y/n) didn't bother looking back at him while she curled her hands into fists, changed her stance so her feet were further apart and her back was straight, and began to thrust her closed fists at the punching bag.
"Then you'd better hurry Pete. From what I saw, I don't think many girls in here would be pleased with the little you have to offer." She didn't bother to look at him as she spoke. She was only trying to level the playing field and irritate him in the same way he was doing to her.
She threw another punch, but her stance wavered and she stumbled forward towards the punching bag when Peter thrust his shoulder into her side and sent her off balance.
A huff escaped her lips and she shook her head to herself, but when she glanced her eyes to the right, they locked on Tobias. His features were ever the same, blank and fierce, warding people to stay away from him and not to bother even trying to strike up a conversation.
But his hands- which were now wrapped in tape around the knuckles, ready for both fighting and climbing the ropes- were balled into fists at his sides. He wasn't impressed with Peter.
If any of the initiates started fights or casting others out when they weren't in the ring, the instructors put a stop to it and Tobias was ready to step in if Peter went any further. Competition was fine as long as it was healthy and in good faith. If Peter really belonged in Dauntless than he had nothing to fear, and no reason to be picking on (Y/n) or anyone else.
But (Y/n) knew no matter how much confidence Peter had in himself about becoming a fully fledged Dauntless member, he was still going to pick fights with her and try to torment her.
He didn't see her as an equal, he viewed her as a threat.
***
A slight sting burned in (Y/n)'s knuckles and she wrung her hands out at her sides, trying to shake away the dull sting and get the feeling back in her fingers. Most of the day had been spent fighting and (Y/n) could feel the bruises that were no doubt blossoming on her skin beneath her clothes.
Her knuckles had split open, grazes littered her hands and her fingers were practically on fire. She had fought against Peter today, curtesy of Eric who had noticed the pair arguing and getting annoyed with each other and thought a fight between them would air out the tension.
It hadn't.
Peter seemed to morph into a demon when he lost. (Y/n) had barely managed to win, but when she got Peter in a choke hold and made him blackout, he didn't have a choice but to tap out of the fight. He physically couldn't get up and it took him too long to regain his breath back, so Eric called (Y/n) the winner and that was that.
He had stormed off in a rage, kicking anything and everything within sight and cradling his sore neck that had been inflamed red and would be littered with bruises and marks in the morning.
(Y/n) had done her best to stay out of his way since this morning and she was ready to sleep.
She didn't want to bother with any extra training tonight, her hands were too sore and she was too tired. Getting some rest would be a better idea than working herself to the bone and being run down tomorrow. Eric might try and pit her against someone else in a fight tomorrow and (Y/n) would need her energy for that.
Her hand rubbed at the back of her neck which she clicked into place as she slowly aimed down the corridor.
It was a long treck back towards the dorms and it was irritating to have to share a room with over twenty others, but it was only until they had passed. Once their training was over and the select few were included into Dauntless, they would each be able to get their own little apartment like the rest of the faction.
Thank God.
(Y/n) was fed up sharing with others, fed up of hearing them snore and the beds creak and people getting up to use the toilet. She was fed up of getting up early to shower before everyone else and trying to change without people peering over to get a look.
Her own room would be a dream compared to what these last few weeks had been like.
All she wanted to do now was climb into her bed and disappear until the morning rolled around.
But as she turned from the corridor and headed towards the next hall, her hands clenched into fists and a surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins. She found herself stepping towards the wall as if it would provide some kind of safety when she saw who was walking down the hall towards her.
Peter. Followed swiftly by two of his cronies, and all three of them seemed to grin wider when they noticed her; and the fact that she was alone.
"Oh look, it's the stiff."
(Y/n) refrained from rolling her eyes, she didn't need to cause any arguments. It was late, she didn't want to stand around and berrate each other when there was no need. He could go his own way and (Y/n) would aim for the dorms and they didn't need to have any interaction at all.
With her head ducked down, (Y/n) stuck close to the wall and tried to walk past them. She jabbed her elbow out to push Peter when he tried to get close. She didn't know what he was trying to do and she didn't want to know either, she just wanted to get away from him.
One of them, she wasn't sure which, tried to grab her wrist, but (Y/n) lashed out and slammed her heel against his inner leg which caused him to stumble.
"Just fuck off." She wasn't in the mood for a fight or an argument, she just wanted to go to sleep.
(Y/n) quickened her steps and veered down the hall with speed, praying that the three of them would just swear and carry on their way. And for a few seconds, she thought they had.
But then they grabbed her.
She hadn't heard them coming up behind her, not until it was too late. An arm deadlocked around her neck causing her to stumble backwards and her head slammed into a boney shoulder. A strangled sound escaped (Y/n)'s lips and she scratched her nails into the arm around her neck, trying to thrust her weight back to give herself some leeway and the ability to breathe better.
It had been the wrong move to make. Leaning back weakened her stance and when one of the other two boys swept her legs up from beneath her, (Y/n) realised in horror that she was now at their mercy. She would have to fight a lot harder to get out of this.
"No!"
A scream burst past her lips as much as she could with the arm pinned to her throat, and her shoulders slid down the person's chest behind her until the third boy grappled to hold her waist up.
Tears burned in the corners of her eyes which snapped closed as she began to writhe. She didn't quite know what to do to get out of this situation, but (Y/n) did whatever she could think of. She wriggled, she thrust her torso down and tried to whip her legs up in the air so they'd let her go. She shimmied her shoulders, desperate not to land with a bang on her head or back in case she injured herself or knocked herself out.
"Let me go!"
Another scream left her lips and she dug her nails viciously into the arm over her chest, continuing to writhe as the three of them struggled to hurry with her down the corridor. Was this an act of chance, of opportunity or had they planned to find her and try to do some terrible act?
She wouldn't tell. If they put her down and let her go, she wouldn't tell on them and get them dropped down the scoreboard. But she needed them to put her down.
It felt like her lungs had popped when she managed to slam her foot into Alan's chest who was grappling with her legs. He dropped her. As soon as he did, the other two couldn't hold her up on their own and (Y/n) went down to the stone floor with such a bang she feared she had left a crack in the floor. Her lungs struggled to restart themselves and she laid gasping like a fish out of water.
Her eyes stung as she struggled to hold back her tears that were more from pain than fear. And her lungs startled once again when a rough hand fisted in her hair and yanked her head back.
Her grazed hands scoured against the floor and her elbows straightened out as she tried to hold herself up while Peter yanked her head back so she was looking up at him. He crouched down beside her, leaning so close he was sneering and almost spitting at her.
"You're putting out for him, that's why you're fifteen on the scoreboard."
Shivers coursed up and down (Y/n)'s spine causing her arms to tremble as she tried to hold herself up properly. Her lips curled up into a grimace and she closed her eyes when Peter leaned even closer to her.
"No." The word was definite, infinite, certain. Tobias had nothing to do with (Y/n)'s scoring, Eric would never allow that because he knew they were together. (Y/n) was trained by other Dauntless members and she was scored on her fighting skills and performance.
Her relationship had nothing to do with it, but (Y/n) knew the more she tried to convince them of this, the less they were likely to listen or come to reason.
"Why don't you put out for us, too?" Alan's words were crude and the look in his eyes was frightening.
But coupled when his hand that suddenly groped its way up her inner thigh, (Y/n) felt the distinct urge to be sick. Fright dwelled deep in her churning stomach and her eyes locked with his and managed to witness that disgusting grin on his face that showed he wasn't just trying to make a joke.
He was deadly serious.
(Y/n) couldn't be sure of the other two, considering her gaze was wholy locked on Alan, but she could see that he was thinking this through, that he was debating whether he could get away with it or not.
How on Earth could he debate what he'd suggested? How could any of them think that they could get away with trying to force themselves on her? Even if they managed to hurt her in some way, (Y/n) wouldn't just stay silent and they had to know that. They had to know there would be repercussions if she told someone what they had done.
Peter's hand in her hair tightened into a closed fist and (Y/n) swallowed down a yelp when he used her hair as leverage to yank her up to her feet. She tried to grapple for his arm, desperate for him to let go, but she couldn't do very much when his other hand gripped her chin and another pair of hands closed around her arms like a viper's fangs digging into her skin.
They steered her forwards, yanking her from side to side and causing her to stumble in almost every direction. She did her best to elbow them, to shake and writhe and become a nuisance in the hopes that they would stop and let her go or get tired of having to fight against her.
"No! G-get off!" She wouldn't let them do this, she would fight them for as long as she had to so they would let her go.
"The plan was to get rid of you… but I guess we could always play with you first."
Peter's words hit right at the pit of (Y/n)'s stomach, especially when she realised they were now close to the casm.
Hovering along the small corridor that acted as a ledge towards the edge of the casm. (Y/n) couldn't bring herself to look over the edge, not once despite the countless times she had walked down here. She couldn't lean over and look at the hundred foot drop that would kill anyone who fell down. The dropp that would make her nightmares come true and have her falling for an eternity before death stole her when she hit the ground.
They had planned to do this. To hurt her, to throw her over the casm and leave no evidence of her behind, maybe they would have spread rumours that she had run off in fear of not being good enough for Dauntless or the pressure had gotten too much for her.
They were planning to hurt her, and now they were threatening to toy with her and harm her too.
"Hm, you must be a good fuck for Four to give you all those points. It's only fair that we even out the scoreboard."
Garrett- the third boy who (Y/n) barely knew- finally broke his silence and sneered down at her with a row of teeth like pointed fangs and a voice as shrill as chalk on a blackboard. And when he leaned in close, (Y/n) could see the threat of his words swirling around like a black fog within those horrid eyes.
The will to fight burned bright inside (Y/n) and adrenaline shot through her blood like an impending high as she bent forward and thrust her elbows back, trying to whack them and wind any of them so she could break free.
She screamed like a lion roaring into the wilderness when Garrett grabbed her ankles and yanked, pulling until (Y/n) fell and her front hit the ground. He tried to lift her by the ankles and Peter nodded, laughing maliciously as he crouched down and reached out for (Y/n)'s wrists.
He gripped them so tight that his short but jagged nails actually bit through her skin and caused cuts and a few slithers of blood to pool along her skin. He yanked on her arms until they were stretched out in front of her and (Y/n) could of laced her fingers together with how Peter was clenching her hands close together.
He was trying to stop her from being able to fight back. He was pinning her down while Garrett seemed unsure what he wanted to do.
They were so close to the casm, the three of them could try and roll (Y/n) or lift her up and throw her over the side.
"You need to loosen up, stiff." Peter's words were joyous like he was telling her a joke and expected her to laugh along with him.
But instead, (Y/n) screamed so sharply she felt that she had turned herself deaf.
She could feel Garrett's calloused fingers grabbing at her hips but when she realised he was trying to wedge his fingers into the waistband of her jeans, her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach and she felt like she was falling down the casm. He tried to lift her hips in order to yank her jeans down, and he managed to get them an inch or two down her hips so the band of her underwear was visible.
(Y/n) lifted her hips from the ground as if she was helping before she slammed them down into the concrete floor. Vibrations flooded through her bones that felt like they had shattered, and a growl emmitted from Garrett's lips when his fingers were bashed between (Y/n)'s hips and the floor.
She tried to glue herself against the concrete so he couldn't get her jeans down, if he managed that (Y/n) would have to fight harder to stop any of them from trying to force themselves on her. At least her clothes were another layer of protection they would have to fight against until (Y/n) got away or someone else passed by and stopped them.
"Stop! Stop you bastards!"
Her arms fought to try and pull back towards her chest and break out of Peter's hold but he simply yanked them back towards him and leaned forward, leering down at her like this was what she deserved.
As if it was proven and written in stone that by being with Tobias, (Y/n) had broken the rules and earned unwarranted points.
They were just frightened little boys too afraid of being factionless to try and earn more points the proper way. They thought getting rid of (Y/n) would stop their worries, but it wouldn't. There were three of them and one of (Y/n), getting rid of her only earned up one extra place on the scoreboard and if their scores declined, they would have to kill a lot of people to earn their bloodied place in Dauntless. A place none of them deserved.
In a moment of bravery entwined with absolute terror, (Y/n) let Peter yank her hands back towards him and she used his momentum to thrust her open palm upwards. The movement caught him by surprise and he shrieked when the base of (Y/n)'s palm smashed up into his nose.
It was broken.
He dropped her bruised and bloodied wrists in favour of cradling his nose that was streaming blood like a waterfall and he sank back on his heels, groaning and spluttering as tears trickled past his closed eyes.
"Give it up you bitch-"
"No!" (Y/n) shrieked and lifted her arm, using all the force she had to scratch her nails down Alan's face when he tried to grapple for her instead. She tried not to squirm when she felt her finger prod him in the eye and she felt the skin raking beneath her nails as she scratched deep enough to draw blood and leave sizzling burn lines down his face.
He punched her. Alan's fist smashed straight into (Y/n)'s right cheekbone just beneath her eye and a horrible burning sensation flooded beneath her skin as her eyes closed and started to water the same as Peter's.
Blood spat to the floor and coated her lips, presumably from her teeth grating along the inside of her lips and scraping her tongue, but (Y/n) didn't have the will or the mindset to care.
She just wanted to get away from them.
Garrett had paused his administrations of trying to drag her jeans down her legs, partly because of how she had hurt the others and partly due to his crushed fingers beneath her hips and the concrete floor.
There was no space for (Y/n) to scramble forward, the further ahead she went the closer to the edge she would be and (Y/n) didn't want to be anywhere near that casm when they had admitted that they were here to throw her over the edge. As soon as they'd tried to rape her, clearly.
She couldn't get close to the casm and both Peter and Alan were in front of her. Trying to crawl to the sides were her only viable options.
Thinking had taken up a few precious seconds and (Y/n) screamed feebly when Alan wrenched her shoulders up in his grip. His hands were bloody and his eye was weeping and snapped closed, but he fought hard to open his left eye.
He tossed her onto her back like she weighed nothing and his knees scraped the floor as he got closer to her.
"You cunt," He hissed with so much venom (Y/n) felt like she had been poisoned. "You're gonna put out for all of us, then we'll toss you over the edge."
His knee slammed so forcefully into (Y/n)'s stomach that she saw stars twinkling in front of her eyes and her body convulsed like she was having a seizure. All the air was wrenched from her lungs which couldn't seem to take in a proper breath anymore, especially not with Alan's knee staying put against her abdomen, crushing her down into the floor.
The shock made her momentarily paralysed and (Y/n) couldn't scream, she couldn't even breathe when Alan ripped her shirt and Garrett tried again to pin down her shaking, flailing legs and yank on her jeans.
She was going to be sick. She was going to pass out. If she didn't stop them they would rape her and they were willing to kill her afterwards. They had passed the point of no return, whether they actually raped her or not.
It was so hard to try and force her trembling legs to move, to kick out when she still couldn't breathe. Her arms weren't under her control and (Y/n) barely managed to dig one hand into Alan's knee in a vain attempt to get him to move off her.
Her head flung from side to side, her shoulders continuously bashed into the floor as she writhed up and down and choked sounds past her lips as she tried to breathe.
They had beaten her. She wouldn't be able to fight all three of them. She was done for. It was over-
"What the fuck are you shits doing?"
It was Eric. His voice boomed through the air and echoed off the stone walls like he was a God among mortals.
But it was enough. His voice was enough to make them stop, to cause them to freeze in their criminal acts.
Instantly, Garrett's hands retreated from (Y/n)'s frame and he scuttled backwards, failing miserably in pretending that he didn't just drag (Y/n)'s jeans part-way down towards her thighs.
Peter shuffled back even though he hadn't been pinning (Y/n) down at that exact moment. He found it hard to open his watering eyes which were still pouring while his nose was bleeding so much he was feeling lightheaded. But even Peter knew that this was the least of his problems right now.
And Alan hurriedly lifted his knee from where it was embedded into (Y/n)'s stomach and stood to his trembling feet, one eye already swollen shut with blood trickling down his face.
(Y/n) turned onto her right side and heaved. Sick, drool and water spewed past her lips and she started to choke and cough, desperate to regain her breath but still feeling the need to throw up whatever was left in her stomach. Tears poured down her face as she brought her knees up to her stomach and tried to plant her split knuckles against the floor, gathering grit and dirt on her skin as she tried to sit herself up.
It took some effort for (Y/n) to lift her eyes from the floor and look up and take in the scene around her.
Eric was stood with his hands on his hips and a face like thunder, nostrils flaring and eyes as dark as the casm behind him. She had never seen such confusion in his eyes and such clear rage across his face.
And the others looked petrified. None of them answered. None of them had the words to explain what they had been doing when it was crystal clear what their intentions had been.
(Y/n) had been screaming. All three of them were bloodied and beaten up which showed they had been doing something they shouldn't. Three boys had one girl pinned to the ground, sitting on top of her and grabbing at her while she fought for her life.
Eric didn't need to be a genius to know what their vile intentions had been.
He was about to say something, about to let loose his rage and yell a speech at them before he decided how to punish them, when Eric's eye caught (Y/n). It was just a look, just a brief glance to make sure she wasn't in grave health and that he didn't need to rush her to the medics before giving out his speech.
But in that little look, Eric saw it. He saw the way (Y/n) was glancing towards the casm and dipping her chin down, and he understood. Attacking her hadn't been the only thing these idiots had tried to do; throwing her down the casm was also on their agenda.
"You little bastards think getting rid of someone better than you will put you higher up on the scoreboard? And to prove how vile you are you think you'll attack her as well before you attempt to kill her? Faction is family, we don't hurt our own."
Eric snapped his jaw like a crocodile towards them but the rage in his eyes was unlike anything any of them had seen before.
Dauntless didn't kill one another to prove themselves, they didn't kill someone who had bested them, someone who was clearly more experienced and more skilled. That wouldn't make them look better and it wouldn't higher them up on the scoreboard. Their scores would still be mediocre because it was a reflection of who they were. Murder wasn't something that improved the scores around here.
And trying to attack one of their own wasn't allowed. They had lost their places in Dauntless, they would be cleaned off the scoreboard and thrown out into the factionless streets. They would be left to rot because of this.
(Y/n) couldn't breathe.
Her lungs were burning, her eyes were stinging and her face was sopping wet as tears flushed her skin that she couldn't be bothered to hide.
When Eric pushed his way past the boys and tried to reach his hand down for her, he seemed a little more than surprised when (Y/n) slapped his wrist away and shuffled back. She didn't want his help. She didn't want him touching her. She didn't want any of them touching her again; she just wanted to get away.
Eric sighed and held his hands out at his sides like he had no idea what to do when (Y/n) scurried to her feet. He watched her with a sense of sadness as she used the wall as leverage and stumbled away from them. He had a feeling he knew exactly where she was going and he didn't blame her, she hadn't done anything wrong.
He would have to remember to go easy on her over the next few days, she had fought for her life tonight and that earned her some points on the scoreboard and some respect from him.
(Y/n) heard the distinct sound of a slap and it echoed off the walls almost like a gunshot would have resonated, but she didn't look back to see which of them Eric had lashed out at.
She didn't care.
She wanted all three of them to be thrown off that casm.
Gasps and stuttering breaths left (Y/n)'s lips as she tried to swipe her hand against her eyes to clear her vision, but it didn't work very well. She still couldn't see where she was going, everything was a blur of grey and black with speckles of white in the mix.
It was hard to hurry and try to pull her jeans back around her hips and fix her ripped shirt all at the same time. She ended up leaving her tattered appearance and focusing on getting herself away from the casm instead.
She had to use her initiative and memory to guide her towards the stairs which she ended up crawling up like a toddler or some kind of deformed dog. Her body succumbed to trembling by the time she half jogged, half stumbled down the corridor towards Tobias's room.
It seemed rather like him to not bother locking the door, and (Y/n) was grateful. She was grateful that when she grabbed the handle and shimmied the door, it swung open like it had been expecting her all along.
Suddenly it didn't matter about calling out and alerting Tobias that she had found her way to his room and entered without knocking. All (Y/n) cared about was getting inside and staying away from everyone else; every possible source of danger and threat.
As soon as she was in the room, (Y/n) slammed the door closed behind her and fumbled to twist the lock to keep herself safe and secure.
Her eyes closed tightly until it became painful and her body slumped down to the cold floor that was soothing against her burning skin. She didn't bother trying to crawl into the room, she had no more energy left for that. (Y/n) shuffled back until she was against the wall and coiled her knees up to her chest.
Her trembling arms bound around her knees, locking them in place and her head dropped forward like her neck had snapped, slamming her temple onto her knees. She couldn't breathe as she began to rock back and forth, gasping, crying and heaving to gain a little bit of air.
"What the fuck-" Anger bubbled up in Tobias's voice when he heard the sound of his door slamming shut.
No one had knocked, no one had called out his name or asked if they could come in, but clearly someone had waltzed straight in without an invitation. He didn't like the sound of that. He wasn't used to getting visitors to his room, barely anyone wanted to bump into him when walking around the buildings they claimed as Dauntless; why would someone come up to his room?
A deep frown set into his features as he wandered out the bathroom, jeans hung low on his waist and his shirt laid out on the bed which he didn't bother to grab in his haste to get to the door.
He didn't reach the door before all the anger dwindled out of his system and he was left with a wave of paranoia and petrifying horror washing over him like the sea coming in across the sand.
"(Y/n)?" Her name fell from his lips in a hollow whisper as his brows furrowed and his lips curled into a grimace.
What had happened since he last saw her?
Tobias let himself scuff down to his knees on the floor once he was close enough to where (Y/n) was curled up beside the door. He shuffled closer until his knees were almost touching her feet but he wasn't sure whether to reach out for her or not when he realised how badly she was trembling. She looked like she was in shock.
Her face was buried down into the top of her knees, her arms were bound so tightly around her knees that she was going to hurt herself and she could barely breathe with her legs pushed up against her chest like that.
He took the risk and reached his hands out, carefully sliding his hands up (Y/n)'s arms until he was holding onto her just below her shoulders. His thumbs glided up and down her skin and he tilted his head down, trying to wait for her to look up at him, but she wouldn't lift her head.
"Baby what's the matter, what's happened?"
He couldn't very well do anything until he knew why she was so upset and what had happened. She could be hurt, she could have seen something, she could have been in an altercation. Hundreds of thoughts sped through Tobias's mind like lightning and he didn't like the sound of any of them.
When he didn't gain a response, Tobias sighed and slid his hand down to reach for her chin. He was careful and as gentle as he could be when he lifted her head so they were finally looking at one another. The tears pouring down her face made his heart lurch up into his throat while he tilted his head down a bit more until their gazes locked and she finally looked at him.
There was a sense of fear in her eyes that Tobias had never seen before, and that he wished never to see again. His thumb traced along her chin and up towards her lower lip and he leaned in closer until their temples were touching. Something broke inside of him when he watched another tear cascade down her face and he saw how hard it was to stop her lips from wobbling and letting out the broken sound she was holding at bay.
But the longer the silence dragged on, the more aware Tobias suddenly became.
His brows knitted together and his chiselled features hardened like stone, jaw clenching, cheekbones prominent, eyes narrowed and shrouded with darkness.
(Y/n)'s cheek was swelling up. Tobias knew the effects of landing a punch on someone, he was an expert in hand to hand combat, so he knew just by looking at (Y/n) that she had taken a fist to the face.
Someone had punched her, and it hadn't happened during training earlier today.
His fingertips cradled either side of her jaw, keeping her head level with his own while he raked his darkened, hazy eyes across her body. If the swelling and bruises to her face weren't enough to set off a fire within Tobias, the rest of her certainly was.
One hand trailed down to her right shoulder and his nostrils flared like a dragon about to breathe fire. Her shirt was torn, the fabric ripped from the collar down towards her lower chest, straight down the middle. Her sleeve wouldn't sit on her left shoulder properly and it left her bra exposed.
When (Y/n) lowered her legs down, too tired to keep them pent up towards her but the movement made her stomach ache and she couldn't help the whimper that broke past her lips while one horribly shaking hand moved to cradle her abdomen. Right where Alan had thrust his knee to pin her to the floor.
Tobias noticed.
He noticed the wince that crossed her watering, screwed up features and when he tried to touch her abdomen, he saw the pain it caused her and how tender the flesh was.
But a horribly grunt left his lips when he glanced down. (Y/n) looked too, quickly raking her eyes down to see what had suddenly riled him up, and she let out another whimper.
Her jeans were skewed around the top of her thighs; her underwear was on display.
Someone had attacked her.
"Tell me what happened." There was something authoritative in Tobias's voice that made (Y/n)'s skin fuel with heat and had her core trembling.
The way he shifted his hands back to cupping her face was almost powerful, yet his touch was so soft. He was almost trembling the same as she was, afraid to hold onto her any tighter and hurt her or worse, frighten her. His thumbs shakily traced along her cheeks, trying not to touch the swollen area of her face where she had clearly been punched.
"Baby," His voice rasped when (Y/n) closed her eyes. "Tell me." He urged, resting their temples together once again while his knees nudged her leg as he shuffled closer. He knew getting any closer would mean he would either be leaning onto her or sitting on her lap, but he wanted to be as close as physically possible.
It took a few seconds for (Y/n) to gather enough air to speak without bursting into sobs, and it made her feel weak. She was Dauntless now, breaking down after an altercation like this wasn't what they were supposed to do. But no one else in the faction had almost been tossed over the side by their own group. No one else had nearly been raped by their own faction.
She had to divert her eyes down to Tobias's chin because looking into those dark brown eyes felt like a death sentence. And she knew she would never be able to tell him what happened if she was staring into his eyes.
"They, they said I was putting out for you, to- to raise my score. They were going to g-get rid of me but," Her eyes closed again and her temple pressed harshly into Tobias's. "I- I could… I could put out for them first."
She wanted desperately to tilt her head down and bury her face back in her knees, but that proved impossible with Tobias cradling her face so delicately in his hands. She was forced to see the lines appear on his forehead and watch how his muscles tensed and his jaw tightened until his teeth seemed like they were going to grind and break apart. But it was the way his eyes narrowed and a look of pure rage fuelled them that made (Y/n) want to cower down and hide.
It was so incredibly hard for Tobias to keep what little composure he had left when it was explicitly clear in his mind what these people- these cruel boys- had tried to do to his girl.
"Did they hurt you?" His voice had never sounded so deep and it came with a low rumbling in his chest that was starting to feel like an incessant fire surging throughout his body. Somehow, those didn't seem like the right words to ask, but Tobias couldn't force the words in his head to pass his lips.
(Y/n) felt fragile and almost childlike when she cupped her trembling hands together and held them out between her and Tobias. A frightened girl showing her lover the marks and bruises and pains she had received.
His hands finally left her face in favour of cupping the back of her hands instead and his touch was feather-like and soft compared to how rough and brutal the others had been earlier when they groped and grabbed and scoured their nails at her skin.
Usually when Tobias held her hands, he would stroke his thumbs across the back of her hands or kiss her palms. There was none of that gentle affection now. His touch made (Y/n) shake worse because he was trying hard to hold himself together but the rage was boiling through.
He inspected her bruised wrists that looked like they were going to start swelling. He saw the crescent moon indents in her skin, the scratch lines down her wrists where someone had dragged their nails through her skin deep enough to draw blood.
And he watched, silently, as (Y/n) pulled her fragile hands out of his grip and moved them to pull her tattered shirt to one side. But with how it was split in two, (Y/n) let out a sound mixed between a mewl and a scream. She tore the shirt over her head and tossed it to one side, irritated and overwhelmed, and moved her trembling fingertips to graze along her stomach instead.
Tobias's head angled to the left and his brows furrowed deeper as he tried to gage what had left the darkening marks on her abdomen where (Y/n) was sniffling and biting back whimpers just from his light touch when he dared to touch them.
"Pinned me with- with his knee, I co- I couldn't breathe."
(Y/n) had never seen Tobias cry, it wasn't something she thought she would witness so soon but as she stared up at him with watering eyes and wobbling lips, she could see his brown orbs glossed in tears like gloss on a clay creation.
She watched as his hands ghosted over her abdomen before his sights were stolen yet again by the state of her dishevelled jeans, her quaking thighs and jittering knees. He looked like he wanted to reach out, either to try and help her pull her jeans up or take them off, or just to check whether she had any other injuries. But he didn't dare; just in case she didn't want his touch.
The silent question was in his eyes that flitted between her gaze and her thighs and a meek sound left his lips when (Y/n) shook her head.
"Eric caught them, before…"
Her throat felt tender where one of them had practically gotten her into a headlock. Her abdomen was even worse from Alan pinning her down, her wrists ached, her body was succumbing to trembles and she felt like she was going to heave again.
But it was all insubstantial compared to what could have happened. Everything would heal, and those bastards hadn't taken something worse from (Y/n). They hadn't stolen her dignity or a piece of her soul. They didn't manage to force themselves on her like they said they would.
(Y/n) didn't want to think what would have happened if Eric hadn't of come along. Being thrown down that casm might have been a welcomed relief compared to being left broken and bloodied and bruised.
And she knew she was lucky Eric came along when he did. There were a few people in Dauntless that might just have believed whatever lies those boys would have spun about her if things turned out differently.
If (Y/n) fought them and knocked one of them over the casm, they would have blamed this all on her. Said she attacked them, branded her a fiend, a murderer and got her tossed from their faction.
All those thoughts overwhelmed her until a pitiful cry left her lips and she found herself falling forward, straight into Tobias's arms.
Her shaken frame huddled in between his thighs that parted instantly for her to fit between them. Her arms locked around his neck, face buried in his shirt that soaked up her tears. While she coiled her knees back to her aching stomach and sat much like a child in Tobias's arms.
She could feel his arms tentatively circling around her, at first unsure whether to hold her tightly or not in case he hurt her. But then his grip tightened. His hand cupped the back of her neck, his lips smothered her temple and his other arm locked around her waist. Binding her against him without the intention of ever letting her go again.
Each breath Tobias took was laboured. He was trying his best not to implode. He was holding himself together when he desperately wanted to go off on a tangent and murder those boys that had decided to mess with (Y/n). His girl.
It was comforting when Tobias began to rock back and forth, ever so slowly and very carefully like he wasn't sure whether the movement would be appreciated, but he knew he needed to do something.
"I… I don't wanna go back to the dorms, I don't w- I don't want anyone to see…" Everything she wanted to say wouldn't come out properly. She didn't want to go back to the dorms and have the other initiates crowd her and ask what happened.
She didn't want them to see her hurt, to see her bruises and the nightmares she would undoubtedly have after this. (Y/n) didn't want any of them to stare or whisper. And if those three bastards were allowed back in the dorms tonight, then (Y/n) couldn't be there. She couldn't be anywhere near them. They might try and attack her again or (Y/n) might be liable to murdering them if they dared sleep in her presence.
"You're not leaving my side."
Tobias's voice was firm and not to be trifled with. She wasn't leaving this room unless Tobias was with her, and she certainly wasn't spending the night with the other initiates. He didn't care what anyone else said or if it was breaking any of the rules. Enough rules had been broken tonight, another one wouldn't matter.
She would be safer here with him and that was the point. He wasn't going to have this happen again, (Y/n) might not be so lucky if this occurred again.
"Tell me who hurt you." His voice shocked (Y/n) out of the brief state of comfort she was finding herself in. That gritty, dangerous edge to his words had her spine turning to mush.
She tried to coil herself further into his chest, but Tobias tutted against her temple and tightened his arms. He wasn't having her hide away in his embrace, and he wasn't going the rest of the night without knowing which initiates he had to murder for this mess.
"Names."
(Y/n) didn't feel she could refuse, and she found herself murmuring the three names that made her cringe and cling to Tobias's shirt with each one she said. "Peter, Alan, and Garrett."
A quiet hum left Tobias's lips and his head nodded against hers as if he suspected as least one of them was responsible for this.
"Which one hurt you there?" His hand around her waist feathered across her lower stomach where one of them pinned her down with their knee. He could feel (Y/n)'s resistance starting to fade, she didn't want to admit it, but a small part of her wanted to tell Tobias because she knew he would make them pay for what they had done.
"Alan, I- I got his eye, so he punched me, pinned me down."
Tobias was already dragging his fingertips along (Y/n)'s arms and towards her wrists before he spoke. "Did Peter scratch you?"
The nod of (Y/n)'s head confirmed his suspicions, but his body went tense and his blood started to boil when the next question formed in his head and he could barely speak through gritted teeth.
"And which fucker did this?" It was almost like Tobias was spitting vile as he skimmed his fingers over the waistband of her jeans that were digging into the tops of her thighs.
"Garrett." She cringed as the name passed her lips. They had all hurt (Y/n) in some way, and each of them were going to pay for it. Tobias was going to make sure of that.
Tobias was already thinking of every way he was going to make the three of them pay for this.
He knew Eric would already know that Tobias would be the one to hurt them, to give them their warranted punishments for what they had done. And it was crystal clear that none of them could stay in the faction anymore. Newbies couldn't do something so brutal and horrific as this and expect to stay in the faction. None of their own families or factions would allow them back or be allowed to take them back after this.
They had made their choices to leave and join Dauntless, and they had made their choice to harm someone. To harm (Y/n), the very person that meant the most to Tobias.
Now they would have to deal with the consequences; they would have to deal with Tobias.
The rest of Dauntless might not feel safe, but at least here, sat on Tobias's lap, entangled in his arms, (Y/n) knew she was safe.
She pressed her lips against the side of his throat, breathing in his scent as she finally felt herself beginning to calm down. She was safe here. She wouldn't be running into Peter, Alan or Garrett anytime soon. But a shiver tore down her spine and she clung tighter to Tobias when she heard the next words that passed through his lips.
Written for @portraitofalinkonfyre because they're literally the largest four simp I know!
Synopsis: You find a trapped minish and decide to help them out. Unfortunately for you, that minish is very literally a man. Double unfortunately for you, that man is the hero. Triple unfortunately for you, you accidentally asked him on a date
The morning sun hadn’t fully yet melted the dew that accumulated atop grass tips; but still, you were angry.
There wasn’t any light in the house, not even the dull ricochet from downstairs, and you knew immediately that the fire had been doused. The tips of your toes and the ends of your fingers were cold with the chill bite of autumn. A long sigh left your body, some will to rouse leaving with it as it became quickly apparent how the cold had seeped into your joints, stiffening them past their years and leaving you longing for just five more minutes.
Your head spun as you sat up, reeling from the stress of going to the ever-hectic market yesterday and the business of the day still to come.
You quietly thanked Hylia, for at least you wouldn’t have to return to the market. It was nothing bad, not extensively, these were the same faces and same vendors you grew up with. But the loud chatter so early and the delay on the first batches’ bake times just makes the day feel so much longer. Not to mention just how fussy people get when they have to wait an extra hour for their bread. You love bread, you own a bakery, but you don’t get why they get so grouchy.
Days where you have to go to the market are their own special punishment— just for you. Your back always hurts twice as much and the time passes at half the pace.
The beginning of your morning was mostly lacking in frustration, aside from the loop of your apron getting caught on the door handle and the floorboards being too cold as you sleepily stumbled around. You'd told Wren last night to keep the fire in the hearth lit, especially since you didn’t make enough money to afford one of those new steam heaters. But still, the fireplace was filled with only ash when you’d finally found some slippers and made your way downstairs.
Defeated, you pushed a few logs onto the iron rod supports, watching with quiet enamor as the fire ate away at the wood. A sharp wind shakes the windows in their panes, and you curse Wren for not following the instructions you laid out, inadvertently letting your house grow cold as dying as the trees. You took a moment to settle yourself when the doorbell rang. You could forgive Wren, and you most certainly would with time. She was just a child, hardly even 13. She really didn’t know better some of the time.
The fool currently blabbing to you, however, was old enough to know better.
Well old enough to know better.
Ammi wasn’t usually a horrible neighbour. In fact, you’d even bargain to say she was quite nice most of the time. She made you a tart when you moved in, bought your first ever loaf of bread, burnt as its’ heels were. She nodded and waved whenever she saw you in the streets or on your front porch, and all her house parties were quiet and ended at a reasonable hour; the adeius ending before the moon could settle its place in the sky.
But in this exact moment, you wanted nothing more than to grab her by her greys and chuck her into the street.
The prominent wrinkle between her brows settled deep as she looked over you, those warm eyes suddenly feeling lacking in welcome. Her hand grabbed your shoulder, an attempt as connection and sincere, all bony as they were.
“You’d better listen now, dear! I’ve seen so, so many of them these last few weeks.” Her voice was light– well intentioned, you’re sure. But still, you couldn’t trust yourself to force any words out, and she continued.
She liked to hear herself talk at times, but the company usually didn’t feel so intrusive. It was helpful on rainy days at the market or walking back from festivals at night, to have someone to carry the conversation. Especially given your lack of excitement when it comes to conversation. Unfortunately for you, it now meant being backed into a corner, figuratively and semi-literally.
Y’know, given slamming the door in her face wasn’t generally seen as a polite ending to a conversation.
“All you’d have to do is add some of that molasses you got for makin’ those ginger-knights and a little bit of bakin’ soda, and you’ll have all those little buggers right caught” She smiled, her smoker’s lines leading to the thin, lacquered line of her lips. She preened for a moment, proud of her discovery as you stood baffled.
“Din give me strength-“ You pinch at your furrowed brow as if it might help, “you’re trapping picori?” You finally trust yourself to ask after a cool breath dampens the fire that lived behind your ribs. You crossed your arms as best you can manage and leaned into your doorframe. At least it managed give you the support in the absolute dumbassery that was your neighbour’s reasoning.
“Oh please!” She bats a hand at you noncommittally, dismissing your worries as silly, and the action fans the dying embers to a healthy flame, “They’re rats! It’s not as if they have feelings. And anywho, we’d be doing them a favour from such a miserable life.” She pauses at the ringing of a bell, her fat cat rubbing at her ankles, begging for her undivided attention. Ammi bends down, struggling to pick up her chunky cat.
“Much better as snacks to Luci, huh?” Her voice defaults to that baby voice that everyone unanimously decided to be used on pets, nuzzling its little nose. The zapped wires of its whiskers wasn’t screaming ‘cute baby’ as much as it was screaming feral. Ammi turns her attention back to you, and she smiles as though you’d understand. As if you’d come around eventually. Your face scrunches in distaste at the woman in front of you, and her dreaded cat.
Sure, people had to eat and animals had to be slaughtered. Such was the way of life. But glue traps, got any animal were cruel— ensuring their last moments were spent suffering and struggling for freedom they could never get. And still, they’d die of exhaustion and hunger, drawing out their pain as long as possible.
But the Picori weren’t just animals. They were innocence and kindness and hope and the light of warm childhood lingering upon such a scary existence. And this woman has the utter gall to-
There’s the sound of wincing struggle, a hefty woosh, and a loud thud as something hits the floor with a solid smack. The vibrations move through the floorboards, even though the kitchen is a decent bit away.
“UH- Boss?!” Wren calls, light and panicky. Just like the bird. Just as innocent.
You sigh and through Ammi a look of exhaustion in the hopes that she’d get the que and back off already. Her eyes turn satisfied while she adjusts her woollen cardigan and catters something about going to the market and to save her some bread. You scoff, the only image your mind could conjure was of that cruel woman using it to lure poor, hungry animals.
When you do reach the kitchen, you see a lot more white than there’s supposed to be.
A lot more white.
In fact, it seemed as if flour had gotten everywhere. In every corner. In every appliance.
You felt your shoulders tense in some mix of bewilderment and belligerence, the anger from before now targeting anew on the waste of what must’ve been three whole sacks of flour.
“Look- I- I’m so sorry- I just saw you weren’t having a good morning so I thought I’d do the lifting for you since that’s your least favourite job, but they slipped and I-” She cuts herself off to finally look at you, and it seems as if her skeleton tried to jump from her skin in pure fear.
“Please- I really need this job, and I understand if you fire me but I’ll find some way to make it up! Dock my pay, I’ll work extra shifts, I’ll do anything just-”
“I’m not going to dock your pay, Wren” Your shoulders sag as the anger leaves you as empty as your fireplace. Cold as soot. She shuffles awkwardly in place, too scared to do anything else it seems. Too scared to make another mistake.
“It’s ok, really. It happens. We make mistakes. I, much worse at your age. I’d be a hypocrite to punish you” You manage a light chuckle, and that seems to put her at ease that nothing will happen to her by your hand. “I’ll have to get more flour, so you can clean this up while I go to the market to get more.”
“But you’ll miss sales-”
“And I’ll miss even more if you keep fretting” Your voice holds a chaotic whimsy that returns a similar smile to her face.
“So let's get to it!”
☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★
The market was crisp and cold, as it usually was around mid autumn. The shades of the leaves, the burn of the air in the back of your throat, the smell of the first few batches of spiced wine, it was all beautiful.
There were less people out and about than in the spring and summer, but it was nice to have the beauty to yourself. You were alone, but you were by no means lonely. You handed over a small bag of rupees to the man from the mills and ached as you took two bags on each shoulder. The air was just cold enough to sap the warmth form your joints and leave you stiff, the journey to haul the bags back to your house now twice as arduous. You focused on anything you could to take away from the pain. The slightly wobbly cobblestones as you walk onto your street, the plumes of white smoke from chimneys of your neighbours, the rattle of brittle branches in the wind, the soft squeaking by your ankle- The what?
You looked down towards your ankle as you stood upon the stoop and realised dully there was nothing there. Empty space. You huffed, about to kick on the door with your foot (the closest thing to a knock as you could about get), when you heard the squeaking be joined by the satanic growl of Luci. You looked over at the crooked little hellspawn before you realised that it was about to pounce upon something caught in one of Ammi’s little traps.
Holy fuck it was a Picori.
You unceremoniously drop the flour, ironic, your previous efforts forgotten in favour of now saving your new friend. By the time you leapt from your doorstep to Ammi’s, the cat had begun to pounce, claws fully extended. Your freezing knuckles wrapped around the trap with enough time to save the small mouse from the flurry of attacks. Your knuckles were bleeding; but as you peeled back your hands to see your small friend, you saw he was unharmed.
You scurry over to your house, opening the door frantically. All the meanwhile, the small body in your hands tried everything short of biting you to get out. You try to keep your composure as you rich to the kitchen, thankful to see Wren almost finished cleaning. Her eyes don’t catch on the dripping red blood, entirely focused on the stubborn flour in the cracks of the hardware she’d set to clean.
“Uh- I sliced my hand on the way over- would you mind taking in the bags while I dress my cut?” Your voice is too high-pitched to make the request seem unsuspicious, but she leaves without casting you a thorough glance. One of the few times you could thank her naivety. She beams a smile while throwing her tea towel over her shoulder, turning on the ball of her foot to make steadfast for the door; and so it seems that’s the last of your inspection. You set down the trap and finally get a good look at the small creature squirming about.
He’s small of course, they all are, dressed in his own small clothes. His tunic is sewn and embroidered into quadrants, with each little seam holding its own careful pattern and detail. Among the tiny motifs you see the weaving lines of kinestones, all leading back to the clover leaves where the quadrants meet. His little feet were wrapped in little booties of surprisingly fine leather, though it was hard to see in the thickened molasses tacked over them. His fur coat was a light blonde, the hair lengthened to frame the small face in something akin to a bob. Scraping against the wood backing of the trap was a tiny sword at his back, scabbard scratching at the wood as it used all of what little might it had to try and pull free.
You can swear for just the briefest moment that you’d seen it before in some sort of folklore… but the thought escapes you before you can seem to place it.
The differences were stark from the usual picori, the whole ensemble surprisingly ornate, something you’d usually assume the wealthy might wear if they were full size garments.
“Hey…” You started, but didn’t really know where you were going with this, much less where it would end. Finally, He stopped to turn to you, giving up the struggle of pulling his mitts from the tack.
“I know how to get you out, there’s no need to tire yourself out” You chuckle lightly, half at the way the thing squints at you in some mix of indignation and incredulousness, and half for the sheer oddity of your situation.
Most sane people don’t stand about in their kitchen trying to assure trapped magic mice, but to your defence, when he finally did cease the struggle and turn its attention upon you, his eyes were so… knowing?
Animals were sentient, sure, but fully conscious? …That’s a stretch.
Still, both beady eyes stayed affixed on you, the tips of small ears flicking slightly whenever you'd mutter something to yourself.
Warm water would dissolve the molasses, and oil could help separate the fur while incurring as little damage as possible. Good, gentle oil was harder to come by, most of it sourced from other domains, sent through merchants and sold for the rich. You supposed olive oil could work in the pinch, so long as you rinsed it off well enough.
Settling for that, you set the glue trap down and headed into the stores, chuckling at how the little head followed you wherever you went. You hefted up the metle container of pressed oil and poured some into one of your soup bowls, setting it back where it was, mindful to close the lid.
Bowl of oil in hand, and surprisingly docile (surprisingly armed) magic mouse by your side, you snuck upstairs just in time to check on Wren in the doorway as she tried her best to waddle from the front to the store room with a sack of flour. Credit where it was due, you doubted you could’ve done much better than her at her age.
☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★
Your actual private living space was much less adorned than the downstairs area. Most working folk didn’t spend time in their private quarters. You awoke in a room with bare, white walls, in sheets that you scraped together to afford when you bought the house, and got ready with clothes weaved by hands and from wool which both were birthed and would likely die in this town.
Only those who could afford to lie in bed, or dress in clothes brought from foreign lands, would see to decorating their private quarters. Your bathing room was much similar to the rest of the private quarters, plain outside of the necessities. Sink, soap cabinet, copper basin for the water, towels hung, only what you needed. You set your little friend down and rolled up your sleeves, drawing water into the copper bath and lighting the small fire beneath it so it may warm.
You take a moment to sigh, meaning over the bath with your forearms braced on the thick lips of the copper. You take a moment to accept how off-kilter the day had gotten from the usual routine of bread and sales.
When you do finally lift your head, it’s to look at the picori, who stands as politely as one could when stuck in a glue trap.
“You stayin’ in those clothes?” You draw up the strength to conjure words for your audience who can't reply. He nods fervorously, to the point where the flat foundation of the glue trap begins to rock back and forth.
Beneath the golden fur, you can almost imagine the flush taking over its face by how it covers its face when it thinks you aren't looking.
You laugh, using the tips of your fingers to stop him from falling flat on his back. Would it really be flat given his back was stuck about an inch into the glue trap?
You suppose not, but it's an entertaining mental debate you’ll shelve for the next time it’s a slow day.
Now, instead, you snuff out the fire beneath the bath and pick up the trap, using your other hand to test the temperature of the water. Just warmer than lukewarm, a comfy temperature that could still dissolve all that molasses. You remove the little green hat atop its head, minding the little clack the gold bird charm makes as it’s set against your tile.
He wriggles slightly to loops its tiny chin over where your hands are cupped around him, trying his best to stay above the water. You work first massaging the warm water against the tacky sort of glue, loosening it to a sort of thicker liquid. By the time it's mostly melted, you dip one set of fingertips into the oil and massage away what’s left of the stickiness from where it's gripping onto the fur. Some gentle pressure and scraping with your nails, the majority of the sticky substance removes itself from the roots of the fur. Cleaning the clothes still on the little body and the feathery tail is actually much harder than the fur, given how the oil can stain the clothes and the delicacy of the tail. But with a dip in the warm water and some soap, most of the oil lifts from the fabric. With gentle care, you can pry the tacky board from his feet, allowing him to finally relax in your hold. Out of some minor curiosity, you use the very edge of your nail to scritch at his scalp, and are delightedly met with a choir of happy squeaks as he nuzzles into your hands.
Not long after, his large eyes flutter, sleepy after all that effort of trying to free themselves and the warmth of the water.You keep the small body tightly wrapped in your palms so they can leech of that warmth and stay cozy. And cozy it was, given how they try to burrow into you as they sleep away, one of the highest compliments. Your hand leaves for a moment to take a towel off the rack, your hand freezing halfway as the most pitiful whine leaves the form in your hands. You look down to see worried little eyes, groggy and confused as to where all the warmth went.
“Oh shush” You grabbed the towel, slipping it over your wrist so your hand could return to the picori in your grasp.
“See? I have you now, you don’t need to worry” You assure quietly, hiding your amusement as he begins to make himself cozy again. You know you can’t hold him forever, unfortunately, you did need to work.
And so began the plot to find the warmest place in the house. Your sleeping quarters were above the kitchen… and with the ovens on all day, the heat would make its way up. You nudge the door open with your hip, lest it keep squeaking at you in defiance whenever you remove your hands. You nestle the comically large bundle of towel among the pillows and watch in amusement as he cozies up against the pillows.
All considering how immensely unprepared you were, you considered this a great success.
You return to the bathroom to wrap up your now no longer bleeding knuckles, cursing at the little bird charm at the end of the small green hat, left discarded on the tile. Hylia- it was small but painful. You put the little hat in your pocket, laughing at the mental image of trying to explain this to someone. Oh yeah! My neighbour traps and feeds mythical rodents to her devil cat and it scratched me when I was trying to stop it.
Honestly, if you weren’t so crucial to the village, you’re sure they’d send you to a convent.
You laugh with each step down the warped wooden stairs and back into the kitchen, where Wren already began with the first batch of bread. Time passed quickly in the bakery. You always seem to get so absorbed in your work that you never realise the time passing you by. It was hardly ever now that you’d actually work baking. Wren, friendly as she was, didn't have her wits about her; and you’re certain that if she were to run sales, then every loaf of bread would be given away for free. There was nothing wrong with the front of house, but it wasn’t as if you opened a bakery because you wanted to talk to people. The conversations and the camaraderie and drama of the townsfolk were entertaining in some sense, but damn did you just like making bread. It was nice, after the hectics of the morning, to just spend your day doing something you liked, even if you had to stop every few minutes to explain to someone why their regular bread wasn’t out yet.
Late in the afternoon, after all the folks stopped by for whatever baked goods they needed, you split from cleaning the last counter to check in on the picori upstairs. The sun was fading out by now, the sky a brilliant mix of blues and pink, and you’d hate for him to just end up lost.
Frustrated squeaking filled the quiet expanse of your bedroom as the little fiend struggled against his bindings (soft towel wrapping). You waited for him to tire himself out slightly, not particularly enthusiastic about the idea of more animal injuries. You weren’t certain of how sharp their swords could be, but you were certain that you didn’t fancy finding out if the hat was anything to go by. He lets you unwrap him from the towel, and seems fairly understanding that it’s time to go. You walk downstairs, making sure he isn’t jostled too much by the movement, and take a seat on the mossy stump a little ways back from your house.
“Alright bud, this is it” You gently set him down, tilting your hand so he can slide off with little effort.
“Hope you enjoyed your stay, but it’s home time now” He scurries off for a few steps, tail bobbing and swishing with each step before he stops abruptly in his tracks. He turns around and pats his head, his little mitts held out to you expecting. What? Was this goodbye to them or- Oh that’s right he had a hat!
You shuffle about in your pocket, eventually retrieving his little pointed hat, and placing it among his hands. You watched as he shuffled it about on his head, making sure the placement was perfect. Suddenly, he straightened, turning to face you, with those beady eyes bearing into you silently. Oddly, you feel a great amount of understanding between the two of you, just trying to get by and caught up in a greater web of things than you hoped. He lets out a string of squeaks you guess are supposed to make a sentence, and kneels in gratitude,regarding you for the entirety of the moment as you stand to leave.
“Don’t even mention it” You held up a hand in dismissal of the grand gesture, pausing short when you do get an idea “well- maybe mention it to your friends. I don’t wanna see any of the rest of ya getting trapped, ok?” You raise your eyebrows expectantly, the whole embarrassment of talking to a rodent entirely out the window. Still, he nods, a pleased twinkle in his literal orbs for eyes, and scurries off to the safety of the foliage.
The next morning begins similarly to the last, lighting the fire in the hearth. Unfortunately (well, you suppose fortunately to the picori population) there’s no valid reason for you to forgo your usual work at the front of house. The first loaves of bread and savoury pastries are out when Wren arrives, the door handle nearly slamming a hole through your wall with how excited she was. You liked making bread, but this seemed like a bit much… even for her. She sets down her things and scrambles for an apron, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she waits for you to finish up.
“That’s 15 for the bread… and five for the pastry, so 20 rupees is your total” You try your best to ignore the jittering ball of energy just behind you as the old man fished for a red rupee.
“Thank you, have a nice day now” He slides it across the counter, the small jem making little clinks against your uneven counter. He’s hardly even turned to walk away when Wren starts up.
“Ok so I know you don't really like it when I work the front but I really reeeeeaaallly want to just for today- I mean think about it it’d be really good experience and if I don’t learn now then I’ll never learn, and I’m not saying you’re a bad boss I’m just saying that my whole point of being here is to learn and I need to-” You never knew someone could talk so fast. You’ve heard bees buzz at a slower pace.
“Take it.” Your words are blunt as you step into the back, retreating into your comfy corner away from all the people.
“Really?!”
“By the three- please.”
And as the hours passed, and foot traffic slowed, she was no less excited. You were half convinced that purely for the fact of her motivation alone, you’d let her run sales.
The last tray of bread had been packaged when you finally got around to closing up. All the sourdough starters had been fed, all the floors swept, all the counters wiped. All you really had to do was count up the till and go feed the ducks before it got too dark out. The whole day passed in a flurry of familiar work. Mixing, kneading, resting, re-kneading, re-resting, glazing, baking, cooling, bagging, all mixed in a jumble of orders to the demand of the customers. And soon it’d all be don-
“Hey boss?” Wren hung off the doorframe, a far too mischievous smile on her face to mean anything good for you. The type of plotting smile, juvenile.
“...What?”
“There’s a guy out here.” She looked proud of herself, as though she’d caught you among some scandal. It wasn’t the first time she’d accuse some poor bloke of catching interest in you, and you’re sure this wouldn’t be the last. But you still failed to see why she thought it was necessary to come get you. If anything, it was more in character for her to go prying them for information.
“Ok? Can’t you deal with him?”
“He asked for you. Specifically” She waggled her eyebrows, the utter scandal of the situation practically confirmed in her mind. Oh how the gossip mills were… milling. You sighed, unsure of what even warrants someone asking specifically for you. Wren could be a bit much, but it's hardly anything that needs to be taken up with you. You rubbed your eyes, squinting as the thinnest stream of sunlight split from the tops of the buildings, winding down for the evening. You get a good look at the man in front of you and actually stop walking– one foot in the air and all.
He had to look up at you, courtesy of both the slightly raised staff portion of the storefront and the fact he was short. His eyes shined in apparent amusement, complimented by the boyish smirk tugging at his lips and the challenge in his brow. The sun drifted lower and caught upon his hair, making the straw color alight to fine threads of spun gold. Unassuming at first, but all of a sudden priceless. The four quadrants of his tunic were equally as vibrant as they were yesterday and thankfully unstained by the oil, each stitch of the embroidery now visible to you.
Holy fuck the picori was a man.
Ok now life was just being unfair- what are you even supposed to say to that?! Screw the village sending you to the temple, you might just do it yourself at this rate.
The man gets a kick out of your utter shock, leaning with his forearms on the display case and laughing. Besides your burnt frustration, you laughed alongside him, bracing your hands on your thighs. Your stomach burned as you laughed at the nonsensical fairytale your life had spiralled into as of late. Your cheeks burned as your eyes settled upon him again, fond as an old friend.
“I was told you requested me?” You tease, raising an eyebrow in an attempt to heckle him.
“No, I just wanted bread” He defends, trying to cover his tracks as best he could.
“Mhm. Sure” You roll your eyes, “What’d you want?” You gesture to what you have left, slim as it may be. He looks about the small collection, sneaking looks at you as he does before picking a short loaf. Its rounded sourdough, filled with nuts and dried fruit, not really common outside of your village as far as you’d know.
“You sure?” You ask looking between him and the bread, “Not sure they have this where you’re from” It’s as much a dig at him being a literal rat as it is genuine question. He laughs still, cheeks reddened and eyes almighty.
“I mean… c’mon, it’s bread. Can’t be that different, right?” He raises an eyebrow, amused by your bread gatekeeping.
“Well… Usually, people share this over some spiced wine, dip it in n’ all that” You explain, caught off guard by just how intently he follows along, hanging off your every word.
“Oh great.” He hods, finally, while sliding you entirely too much money. He takes the bread and a few steps back before you could stop him.
“Then we could share!” He smiles, bright and unrestrained this time, beaming with a joy that worms its way into your heart.
“Uh- I mean we totally could, but you don't have to-” You backtrack through your explanation, not trying to force him into a date for your care.
“Great!” He nods. “It’s a date!” Oh dear. “I’ll meet you outside” Oh goddesses.
He turns his back as he walks out of your modest storefront, and it finally hits you from where you’d seen that sword before.
Oh goddesses.
There’s no way you just accidentally asked the hero out on a date.
A/N: this little story is for @slutforoldermen and @maisiestuff ! The inspiration comes from this* post here and I have brought the best I could to the function fr😮💨 tehehehe enjoy!!
Also don't mind the title I couldn't think of anything witty :'(
CW: sort of forbidden sex, dirty talk, oral sex, penetrative sex, begging, teasing, some humiliation.
Summary: (Four x reader) You decide to confront Four after days of cold and distant behavior towards you but you didn't expect to walk in on him...
Four was known for being tough and hard to get through to but that was no excuse for the way he had been treating you. Trainings had become even more rigorous and so had his demands. It wasn't your fault you had a sense of self preservation, something most of your other Dauntless initiates seemed to lack.
Your steps were short and fast, as you approached the block of apartments where Four lived. Your breaths were audible, partly due to your speed but also to the anger that coursed through your veins. He had no business calling you out and humiliating you in front of everyone simply because you had turned down the offer of standing before a target as the instructors threw knives around you. You wanted to tell him off to his face and now was your chance.
You knocked on the door confidently, crossing your arms as you awaited a response. You got none.
"Jesus Christ," you muttered, knocking again even harder. And yet, the seconds ticked by and the door stayed closed. Your hand flew to the doorknob, even though you knew it would be locked but it didn't hurt to try.
To your surprise, the door opened with a slight creak, leading to Four's spacious studio. Your eyes quickly scanned the room for signs of him but were disappointed to find the lights off and his bed empty. You had almost given up hope as you turned to leave when you heard a noise. The sound of water running in the distance made you creep towards it.
Ah, so he's washing his hands, you thought to yourself as you pushed open the bathroom door. It all happened so quickly. As the door opened, your eyes fell on his naked, wet body, standing below the shower. And he'd heard you.
"What the f-" he screamed, interrupted by you slamming the door shut behind you. Now you really were breathing heavily and it was solely due to the adrenaline this time. You'd seen him fully. His toned back, arms, chest, and even his dick, water dripping off of him. He was so big and beautiful everywhere. Your cheeks flushed at the image that was flashing in your mind repeatedly as you covered your eyes in horror. He was your instructor! How were you ever going to face him again? He was going to make your life impossible now.
The sound of the bathroom door opening made your heart drop but you didn't turn around.
"You have five seconds to tell me why the hell you're here," Four said, his voice careful and cold as ice. You shivered in response, turning slowly as you thought of a good excuse. He stood before you, white towel wrapped around his waist, his eyes shooting daggers at you. You couldn't help but stare at the little droplets of water that remained on his chest, his abs, dripping down slowly past his navel.
"I came to see you," you choked out, "To tell you off, actually."
"What makes you think you can come see me?" he said carefully, his voice so soft it was dangerous. He took a step towards you, "What makes you think you can come into my house?"
"It was a mistake, honestly!" you protested, stumbling backwards, your hands fumbling to grab onto something, anything. You came in contact with the wall, gripping it tightly to keep you steady and upright in case your legs gave out. This had turned into a terrible idea.
"I don't believe that," he said, his voice taking on an even more dangerous tone. Dangerous because it made you press your legs together tightly and hold back a whimper that dared to emerge from your mouth. You pressed your lips together tightly before speaking.
"I-I," you stuttered, your brain buzzing with filthy thoughts of the man standing in front of you.
He took another step towards you. "So sure on telling me off and now you can't even get a sentence out."
Your cheeks burned as he taunted you, now clearly unbothered by your presence in his house. He was excited even, you could see it in his eyes, in the way he looked at you.
He took yet another step towards, now just inches away from you. He was so close you could smell the warm musk that was coming from his skin. You silently fought back the urge to reach out and run your fingers along his glistening , muscular body.
"Why don't you tell me why you're really here?" He placed his free hand on his chest, the other one still tightly wrapped around the towel that barely covered him. If only it would just slip down a little.
You ducked your head down in embarrassment, hoping he wouldn't pick up on the smile that was pulling at the corners of your lips. "I already told you, I came to see you," you said softly, staring intently at the floor. That's when a piece of fabric fell. His towel.
"Take a good look then," he whispered, his lips brushing against your hair, sending a shiver down your spine. He wanted you to see him as you'd seen him just moments ago. If you listened and brought your eyes up to him, there'd be no turning back. It was also a breach of conduct but again, you didn't care.
"Four," you murmured, as you brought your gaze back up to him tentatively, meeting his dark brown eyes instantly. Your heart raced as you pushed past the embarrassment of avoiding his naked body. Your eyes ran down his body, his wide shoulders and brawny arms. You took note of his veins everywhere, they were so noticeable and prominent. Taking your time now, your eyes scanned his strong chest, toned abdomen, and followed his happy trail further down, gulping as you saw him again.
And suddenly, his lips were on yours. His lips moved against your passionately, his tongue swirling erotically against yours, your breaths mixing in your colliding mouths. Your hands found him instantly, trailing down his chest lightly as he groaned into your mouth. You wanted him so badly, to taste him, to feel him, to hear him groan again. But his hands stopped you, holding them tightly in place even when you tried to free yourself.
"Stop," he breathed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He took a few steps back from you for good measure before pointing to your shirt. "Take it off."
You were used to cooperating with Four's orders but this one threw you off, a slight edge of self consciousness beginning to emerge.
"Take it off or you don't touch me," was all he said, making you whine in return. You complied quickly, slipping the top over your head, leaving you completely exposed. You could feel Four's eyes burning into your chest as you stood before him, your eyes never leaving his.
"And that," he said, gesturing to your pants, which came off just seconds after his command. You took a confident stride back to him, no longer bothered by the fact that you too were almost completely naked. Up on your tiptoes, your hands found his hair and your lips his own. You kissed him feverishly, breathlessly, feeling his hands snaking down your back, stopping to grab a handful of your butt, pulling you even closer to his body. You could feel him hardening against your stomach as you pressed yourself onto him eagerly, your fingers tangled and pulling at his hair.
Four took you in his arms, grabbing your thighs as you wrapped your legs around his waist, whimpering softly when his cock grazed your clit as he walked you over to his bed.
"I haven't even really touched you yet and you're already making pretty, little noises," he murmured as he sat down on the edge of the bed, with you still straddling him. Now, with his cock fully between your legs, only separated by the thin fabric of your underwear, there was no stopping you. Your hips moved against him almost instantly, seeking some sort of stimulation.
"Fuck," you sighed, as you rubbed your aching clit against him. His hands found your waist and guided your movements vigorously.
"Use me," he groaned, his eyes on your face, watching the pleasure on your face grow, "Just like that." You could feel the wetness of your panties start to spread, dripping down onto his throbbing cock. Your moans grew louder, as you began to reach your orgasm, griding against him at an even faster pace. His big, rough hands reached down to squeeze your boobs. Four's heavy breathing below you only fueled your desire, you were almost drunk on it. You knew you were only minutes away from climaxing, so when Four's hands held your waist still in place, it felt almost violent.
Your eyebrows furrowed pleadingly as you opened your eyes to find him smirking, his eyes wild with excitement.
"Get on your knees," he breathed, as you lowered yourself below him. You watched him mesmerized, as he stroked himself, eyes closed and head tilted back in pleasure, his moans were soft and breathless. You squirmed impatiently as the need to touch yourself grew, he was driving you crazy and he knew. You whined breathlessly, hoping he'd turn his attention back to you. You wanted so to badly to feel him in your mouth.
"Open for me," he said softly, bringing his hardened length to your eager mouth. You took him into your mouth greedily, swirling your tongue around his tip ardently, tasting his slightly salty precum. Four's hands stayed near you, one holding your hair back and the other softly stroking your cheek. With every movement you made, every lick and stroke, you felt him grow harder in your mouth. The situation itself was enough to give you a thrill of pleasure too, moaning around him occasionally.
"Fuck," Four grunted, leaning his head back in pleasure from the vibrations of your throaty moan. "Moan on my cock again," he almost begged, almost entirely lost in ecstasy. You moaned back in response as the man above you started to come undone, bucking his hips against your face. He felt so much bigger in your mouth when his speed picked up, no longer expecting you to bob up and down his length.
Four pulled himself out from in between your lips, his cock sliding out perfectly from the back of your throat, covered in your glistening spit.
"I want you inside of me," you begged, now with an empty mouth but begging to be filled someplace else. Four pushed you back onto the bed in response, prying your legs open as you bit your lip. Instead of sliding himself into you, he bent down, now eye-level with your pussy. He trailed feathery kisses along your inner thighs, making a point of avoiding where you really wanted him. But no amount of whining or whimpering would make him speed up.
After torturous seconds, Four's fingers slid up and down your wetness. His slick fingers rubbed soft, slow circles against your clit as your eyes rolled back. He knew exactly what he was doing, exactly where to touch you and how. His fingers gradually sped up, the circles he was tracing becoming more precise before bringing his mouth down to you. Four's tongue took over for where his fingers had been, drawing lazier circles than before. You desperately wanted him to speed up, to fit one or two of his big fingers into you.
As if he'd read your mind, he brought a finger slowly to your opening, teasing his way in. His finger stretched you deliciously, sliding in and out with ease, curled slightly in hope of hitting your G-spot. Your moans became pornographic now, pulling on his hair as he hit the right spots, both inside and outside of you.
"Four," you gasped, interrupted by another trembling moan, "more," was the only word you could get out.
Four brought his mouth away from your drenched pussy, his finger still fucking you as he spoke. "You want my cock, don't you?" he taunted, watching you buck your hips against his hands, your body begging for more. You nodded quickly.
"Tell me," he breathed, "Tell me how badly you want it inside of you."
"I want it so bad," you whined, "Need you inside of me."
Instantly, Four stood up and found a condom, sliding it rapidly down his throbbing member. In one swift movement, you found yourself straddling him again, in charge once again. You lowered yourself onto him slowly, allowing him to stretch you out even further. Burying his dick in your pussy, he groaned and your own moans joined him. Steadily, you began to ride him, taking notice of how he gripped your boobs to keep you in place, his rough fingers brushing against your hardened nipples.
"That's it," he panted, sweat beading on his forehead, "Ride me. Ride my cock." He felt so good inside of you. You moaned his name as his mouth came onto your boobs, sucking on them as they bounced. His stubble left the skin around your boobs tingly as he turned towards the other one. His hands found your hips once again, speeding them up against his own moving hips.
The friction of your bodies, the sounds coming from him, and the sight of him was too much. You knew you wouldn't last much longer as he continued to hit your g-spot, digging your nails into his strong arms as the waves of pleasure hit harder.
"Yes," you whimpered, "Feels so good."
"Yeah?" he pressed on, wanting to hear more of your desperation.
"Mmm," you moaned back, your legs beginning to shake. You were just seconds away from the release you so deeply craved.
"Beg for it," he grunted, feeling his own orgasm slowly creeping up. But he'd hold out for you.
"Please," you begged frantically, unsure how much longer you could hold back. "Let me cum."
"You sound so pretty while you beg," he answered between breaths, "Cum for me then, cum all over my cock." And that was it, all you needed to hear.
You let the pleasure wash over you completely, taking over your body and your senses as you came. You threw your head back, moaning his name as you felt yourself clenching around him. Four wasn't far behind you, his hands squeezing your hips even tighter as he buried his dick deep into you one last time as he came. Both of your hips came to a slowing stop as you both tried to catch your breath.
"Fuck," you laughed breathlessly, in shock of what had just unfolded before you. You had actually had sex with your trainer. Four seemed as bewildered as you did but he didn't say anything. Clearly he wasn't used to hooking up with initiates, thankfully.
You laid there together silently for a couple of minutes. Four stroked your hair softly as your fingers traced imaginary lines along his arms. You were both sweaty but neither of you seemed to care. And then he spoke.
"So," he said, his voice a deep rumble, "Is you intruding my house going to become a regular thing?"
"Only if you want it to be," you smiled up at him, knowing very well that's what he wanted to hear.
"Hmm," he said thoughtfully before a smirk appeared on his mouth, "Want to shower?"
-----------------------------
Y/N's finally going to try out his shower and not just catch him in it! tehehehe I think it's kind of a cute ending :)
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⌖ its back. The rot is back. Ugh. I have so many inappropriate things to say. GN!reader, sexual implications.
“Hey you,” you greeted quietly as you took a seat next to Four on the bed.
He turned to offer you a smile. “Hi.” Four stifles a yawn and slinks his arm around your waist. “Are you tired?”
You shrug and bring his other hand into your lap. Leaning against his shoulder, you turn his hand so that Four’s palm faces the ceiling. Running fingertips up his forearm to stall at his biceps. Delicious. You actually almost growl.
Four’s head rests against yours and he lets his eyes flutter shut to bask in this moment before the chaos. He feels you bring his arm up but he doesn’t open his eyes. Its only when he feels a sudden sharp sensation in his bicep does Tobias open his eyes.
You couldn’t help it. He looks like a meal all the time, and you barely had any time to dig in. Was it really so bad for someone to want to appreciate their boyfriend? And damn was he worthy of appreciation- with his small gasp and the bulge of his veins and the way his hand laced in your automatically, you were practically drooling on your poor boyfriend.
“Y/n…” Four drawls, catching your gaze as he nudges your back to the bed. He knots your hands in his left hand while his right hand rests against your stomach. Your sly smile and dark hooded eyes urge Four to slot his knew between your thighs.
“Don’t make me beg,” you rasp, seeing the amusement blazing in Four’s eyes.
Four tilts his head in a way to suggest he’s comsidering making you beg. “You did assult me…” he says aloud.
Laughter bubbles out of your throat before you can stop it. “I was just appreciative of your… figure.”
The hesitance of your last word makes Four chuckle a little. His eyes squint because his cheeks are just so cute and his smile is just so precious and oh my gosh his Adam’s Apple looks like a delicacy from this angle. Ugh. So perfect.
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.
A story where my two favorite grumpy and overprotective men cross paths in Post Apocalyptic Jackson.
WC: 6k
Warnings: Death of loved ones, grief & mourning, trauma from raid/violent attack , pregnancy after presumed death of partner, separation of parent & child, emotional shock/dissociation, survivor’s guilt, slow-burn romance
.
You wake up gasping. The nightmare leaves just as quickly as it came, dissolving into shadows and fragments you can never quite hold onto after you wake.
Your hand reaches beside you. Searching. Soft pajamas. His tiny shoulder. Relief.
Uriah is curled into a tiny ball beneath three blankets despite the fact that the room isn't cold. His dark hair sticks up in every direction imaginable. You brush a hand over it. His nose wrinkles. Then he rolls over and keeps sleeping.
A smile tugs at your lips before you can stop it.
Two years old. Born into a world that ended 20 years ago. You'd kill for him to keep this innocence. You probably already have. The thought settles heavily in your chest.
Jackson is safe. Safe walls. Safe people. Safe routines. No running. No hiding. No sleeping with one eye open. You don't have to survive anymore. Now you just have to learn how to live.
Some days that feels harder.
.
"Momma!"
You blink.
Uriah is standing on the bed. His stuffed rabbit is hanging from one hand. The other is planted firmly on your face.
"Momma wake."
"I'm awake."
"No."
He pats your cheek harder.
"Wake."
You groan.
"You're a tiny dictator."
He grins. Exactly the same grin every morning. The one that never fails. You scoop him into your lap.
"Big."
"You are not big."
"Big."
"You are my tiny baby boy."
"NO."
The offense in his voice makes you laugh. Uriah looks extremely pleased with himself.
.
By the time you make it to the main street, Jackson is already busy. People hauling supplies. Children running between buildings. Someone arguing about livestock.
You balance Uriah on your hip as you head toward the mess hall. Halfway there, he suddenly gasps. You follow his gaze.
Across the street, Joel Miller is carrying lumber. Uriah lights up like Christmas.
"No."
The boy points.
"JOE."
You close your eyes.
"Joel is working."
"JOE."
"Joel doesn't want to talk to us."
This is mostly a lie. Joel talks to you. More than you'd expected when you first arrived a year ago.
He's just... Joel.
Which means every conversation feels like you're being interrogated by a particularly judgmental bear.
Unfortunately, Uriah adores him. For reasons nobody understands. Including Joel.
"JOE!"
Joel looks up. His expression immediately says everything. Uriah waves both arms. Joel sighs so heavily you can see it from thirty feet away. Then he changes direction. Walking straight toward you.
"Morning."
His voice is rough.
"Morning."
Joel looks at Uriah. Uriah looks at Joel. The standoff lasts approximately half a second. Then Uriah reaches out. Joel groans.
Joel looks at you. You look at Joel. Joel caves.
"Fine.”
The second Joel takes him, Uriah settles happily against his shoulder. Completely content. You swear Uriah smirks. Joel shakes his head.
"He's manipulative."
"He gets that from me."
Joel snorts.
The sound catches you off guard.
Because Joel rarely laughs.
And when he does, it feels earned.
.
The problem starts when Uriah refuses to leave.
You finish breakfast. He's still with Joel.
You stop by the stables. Still with Joel.
You help unload supplies. Still with Joel.
Hours later you find them sitting outside the workshop. Joel is carving something out of wood. Uriah watching like it's the most fascinating thing on earth. Neither notices you. The sight stops you cold. Joel is talking quietly. Explaining something. He seems patient. His movements were gentle. Not the version of Joel most people see.
Uriah listens with complete seriousness. Then he says something. Joel actually smiles.
Your chest aches unexpectedly. Because you haven't seen many men interact with Uriah.
Not since...
You shove the thought away.
You don't let yourself go there anymore.
You can't.
.
That evening, you find a small wooden horse sitting on your porch. You immediately know who made it. The carving isn't perfect. One leg is slightly uneven. But it's beautiful. Uriah gasps. His tiny hands grab it instantly.
"Horse!"
You turn it over. No note. No explanation. Because that's how Joel does things. Without wanting credit or thanks.
You stare at it for a long moment. Then toward the workshop across the town square. The lights are still on. Joel is probably still working. Probably doesn't even realize how much something this small means. Or maybe he does.
And across town, completely unaware, Joel Miller is already becoming part of your life.
.
The cabin is quiet after Uriah falls asleep.
You sit at the small kitchen table with a lantern burning low beside you.
Your eyes drift to the radio sitting on the shelf. The same battered radio you've carried across three states. The same radio everyone told you to throw away years ago. The same radio that has never once answered back.
You kneel beside it and turn the dial. The frequency comes from memory now. A specific channel. A specific promise. The static crackles through the room. You wait.
Like you always do. The silence never gets easier.
It has been three years.
Three years since your settlement burned.
Three years since you last saw Tobias Eaton.
Three years since he kissed your forehead and told you he'd meet you at the secondary rendezvous point if things went bad.
You can still hear his voice.
Still see him.
Still remember exactly how he looked that morning.
Dark hair falling into his eyes.
That crooked half-smile.
The one he only gave you.
The one that always made you feel like the safest person in the world.
You squeeze your eyes shut. The memory arrives anyway.
.
The alarm bells had started just before dawn.
Everybody moving. Everybody is shouting. Everybody is running. You remember grabbing your pack. Tobias grabs his rifle. The look you exchanged. The one that said everything.
We'll be okay. We've done this before. We'll find each other.
Then everything went to hell.
You don't remember when exactly you got separated. Only fragments. Smoke. People running in every direction. Then an explosion. A wall collapsing. Chaos. And he was gone.
The meeting point had been twenty miles east. An abandoned ranger station. A place the two of you had picked months before.
You made it there. Covered in dirt and blood.
Terrified. You waited 2 weeks.
You kept expecting him to appear through the trees.
Eventually the food started running out. The infected got too close. Winter came. And for the first time in your life, hope became more painful than grief.
So you left. Alone.
The worst part came weeks later. After the nausea started. You couldn't keep any food down. Then you counted the days. And again. You remember sitting on the floor of a gas station bathroom. One hand over your stomach. Crying so hard you couldn't breathe. Not because you were pregnant, but because Tobias would never know.
.
Your eyes open. The radio hisses softly in the darkness. Nothing. Just like every other night. You reach forward and switch it off. For a moment you sit there staring at nothing. Then tiny footsteps shuffle across the floor.
Uriah stands in the doorway. Half asleep. Blanket dragging behind him. His dark hair sticks up in every direction. His blue eyes blink slowly. Tobias’s eyes.
He doesn't know why you cry sometimes. He doesn't know why you stare at old photographs. He doesn't know why you keep a broken radio. To him, you're just Mom. The only person he’s ever had; somehow that's enough.
"Bad dream?" you whisper.
He nods. You open your arms. He climbs into your lap immediately. You bury your face in his hair. And for the first time all evening, the ache eases. Because the world may have taken Tobias from you, but it left you this. This piece of the man you loved. And as Uriah falls asleep against your chest, you don't notice the light still burning in a workshop across town. Or the man sitting inside it.
Joel Miller. Unable to figure out why he keeps making wooden toys for a child that isn't his. Or why his favorite part of the day is seeing that child's mother smile.
.
Winter arrives quietly. Just a slow creeping cold that settles over Jackson and refuses to leave.
You notice it in the mornings first. The frost is coating windows. The way Uriah immediately burrows under blankets when he wakes up. The way everyone walks a little faster. Talks a little less. Conserves energy. Some habits never disappear.
.
You discover Joel has fixed your front gate three days after it happens. You don't see him do it.
One morning the hinge that had been sagging for weeks was suddenly repaired. The wood was reinforced. The latch was replaced. You stand there staring at it. Then look toward the workshop. A familiar irritation settles in your chest. The man refuses to accept a thank you. Refuses to let anyone owe him anything.
.
"Joel fixed it."
Maria doesn't even look up from her paperwork.
You blink.
"What?"
"The gate."
She smiles knowingly.
"Joel fixed it."
You groan. Maria laughs.
"You know, most women would find that sweet."
"It's annoying."
"Mmhm."
"It is."
"Sure."
You narrow your eyes, and Maria just keeps smiling.
.
The next week it's the roof. A section that had started leaking during a storm. You'd planned to fix it yourself. You even gathered supplies. Then you wake up one morning and the leak is gone. As though it never existed.
No note. No explanation. Nothing. Just Joel.
.
"He's doing it on purpose."
Tommy nearly chokes on his coffee.
"What?"
"Being helpful."
Tommy stares at you. Then he bursts out laughing.
"Jesus Christ."
"What?"
"You think Joel's helping you because he's nice?"
Your eyes narrow.
"He's not nice."
"Exactly."
Tommy points dramatically.
"You are finally figuring it out."
.
Uriah develops a habit.
Every afternoon he wanders toward the workshop. One moment he's playing. The next moment, he's disappearing down the street. Toward Joel. Always Joel. You should probably be embarrassed. Instead, you're mostly impressed.
.
You find them sitting together one afternoon. Joel is sharpening a knife. Uriah sits beside him on a crate. Holding a stick and apparently also sharpening a knife.
The concentration on his face is identical. Same with the posture. All the way to the frown.
You stop. Joel notices first. His eyes lift. Then follow your gaze. Down to Uriah. Then back to you. A rare smile appears. Gone almost immediately. But you saw it. And somehow that feels important.
.
The radio remains silent, but you still check it every single night without fail.
Joel notices because Joel notices everything.
The first time he catches you is completely accidental. He's dropping off firewood. You didn't know he was coming. The radio crackles softly behind you. Static filling the room. Joel pauses.
"Someone you're lookin' for?"
The question isn't intrusive. You freeze. The silence stretches. Joel immediately regrets asking. You can see it. See him preparing to back away. Instead, you answer.
"Maybe."
His eyes meet yours.
"Family?"
You swallow.
"Something like that."
Joel studies your face and nods. No pushing. No prying. No questions. Just respect.
One morning when he stopped by to drop off your favorite tea. Said he happened to find it in the last supply run. You went to put some coffee on and when you came back, he was looking at the Polaroid.
Tobias found it on a supply run 10 years ago. You’re so young in the photo. The look on both of your faces is clear.
Joel looked at it like it was sacred, then moved on like nothing ever happened.
.
Weeks later you're sitting beside a fire outside Tommy's house. The entire town seems gathered. Food. Music. Children running around.
Uriah is asleep in Joel's lap. Nobody comments on it anymore. Nobody even notices. Because somehow it has become routine. Joel doesn't seem to notice either. One large hand rests on the little boy's back. Absentminded. Protective. Natural.
Your chest aches unexpectedly.
.
"You miss him."
The words are so quiet you almost don't hear them. Joel is staring into the fire. Not looking at you. Giving you an escape if you want one.
You could lie. You should lie. Instead—
"Every day."
The answer leaves before you can stop it.
Joel nods once, like he'd already known. The fire crackles.
For a long time neither of you speaks.
Then Joel asks:
"What was he like?"
Your breath catches. Nobody has asked that. Not in years. Most people see grief and step around it. Joel walks straight through it.
You answer.
"He was extremely stubborn."
A smile tugs at your lips.
"He hated losing arguments."
Joel snorts.
"Sounds awful."
You laugh softly.
"He was grumpy to everyone but me."
The smile grows. And suddenly Tobias is there. The memory hurts, but not as much as it used to.
Joel furrows his brow. “Did Uriah know him?”
The familiar mist returns to your eyes. “No. He didn’t.”
.
Joel listens while you tell stories you haven't spoken aloud in years.
The way Tobias always woke up before sunrise. How he couldn't cook. How he sang terribly. How he'd always come home with a new tattoo, but he never forgot to bring you your favorite wildflowers.
By the end you're smiling through tears.
And Joel remains silent. Watching the fire.
What neither of you realize is that this is the first crack. The first time you've spoken about Tobias without immediately shutting down afterward. The first time Joel has seen the woman beneath the grief. The first time you've trusted him with something that matters. And later that night, after Joel walks you home and Uriah sleeps soundly in his bed, you sit beside the radio.
You turn the dial. Wait through the static. Hope. Nothing. The familiar disappointment settles in your chest. But tonight something feels different. For the first time in three years, when the silence answers back—
You don't feel quite so alone.
.
Spring arrives in Jackson. The snow melts. The roads are clear. The air grows warmer.
Uriah decides this means he no longer needs supervision.
You discover this when he escapes your house carrying half a biscuit and a very ambitious attitude. You find him fifteen minutes later. Obviously he is with Joel.
"Little traitor."
Uriah grins from where he's sitting on Joel's shoulders. Joel doesn't even glance at you.
"Found him."
"You stole him."
"He walked here."
"He gives me anxiety."
Joel shrugs.
"He’s okay. I really don’t mind."
You stare. Joel stares back. A rare smile threatens the corner of his mouth. You hate how much you love that smile.
Uriah reaches down suddenly. Small hands grabbing Joel's cheeks.
"Horsey."
"No."
"Pleeeease."
"No.”
"Joel."
Along with turning 3, Uriah learned how to say his L’s during the winter. Five minutes later he's running through a field with Uriah on his back while your son shrieks with laughter.
You stand there watching them. The sunlight catches Joel's hair. The sound of Uriah's laughter carries across the grass. And suddenly a thought slips through your defenses.
They look like a family. The realization steals the breath from your lungs. Because for one terrifying moment—you like it.
That night you cry. Not because you're sad. Because you're terrified. Because having something means you can lose it. You learned that years ago.
.
The strangest part is that Joel simply starts becoming part of your life without either of you acknowledging it.
One evening he's repairing a chair after dinner. The next day he's helping fix a loose cabinet door. A week later he's staying for meals often enough that Uriah starts asking where he is when he doesn't show up. Nobody ever discusses it.
One day you realize there's an extra coffee mug sitting beside the sink that belongs to Joel. A blanket draped over a chair because he left it behind after falling asleep by the fire. A wooden horse on the shelf that he carved for Uriah months ago. Little pieces of him scattered throughout your home.
.
By summer, the entire town has noticed. Not that anyone is particularly subtle about it. Especially Tommy and Maria.
One evening, you're all gathered outside Tommy and Maria's house for dinner. The weather is warm, the food is good, and Uriah is currently perched in Joel's lap despite having his own chair available.
You don't think anything of it anymore. Joel doesn't either.
Uriah is enthusiastically explaining something about horses while Joel listens with the same level of seriousness he'd give a patrol report.
You glance over just in time to see Joel wipe barbecue sauce off your son's cheek with his thumb. The movement is automatic.
Tommy grins.
"Oh my God."
You immediately groan. Maria starts laughing before he even says anything. Joel narrows his eyes.
"What?"
Tommy points dramatically across the table.
"Look at y'all."
"No."
"You literally got the kid in your lap."
Joel glances down. Uriah glances up. Neither appears concerned. Tommy looks personally offended. Maria is wiping tears from her eyes.
"You two are impossible."
"Maria."
"No, Tommy's right."
You immediately abandon any hope of surviving this conversation.
"Please don't encourage him."
"I'm just saying," Maria continues, "I've never seen Joel voluntarily spend this much time with anybody."
Joel looks horrified. Tommy looks delighted.
"He's basically moved in."
"I have not."
"You got a coffee mug at her house."
The silence is immediate. Your head snaps toward Joel. Joel's head snaps toward Tommy. Tommy looks far too pleased with himself. Maria nearly falls out of her chair laughing.
"HE DOES."
Joel glares at his brother. Tommy points at you. Then Joel. Then Uriah.
"That's a family.”
Nobody speaks.
For a second the entire world seems to stop.
Because Tommy said it jokingly. But nobody laughs. Because your eyes drift to Joel. And Joel is already looking at you.
Something passes between you.
Something neither of you are ready to name.
Then Uriah chooses that exact moment to ask for another piece of cornbread. The tension breaks immediately, but the feeling lingers.
Long after the conversation ends.
Long after everyone goes home.
Long after you've stopped pretending Tommy was wrong.
.
The radio sits on the table between you. Silent. You stare at it for a long moment before speaking.
"I used to think if I kept checking, eventually he'd answer."
Joel says nothing. The lantern light casts soft shadows across the room.
"I waited at the meeting point for two weeks."
The words come easier than expected. Maybe because it's Joel. Maybe because you're tired of carrying it alone.
"He told me if anything happened we'd meet there."
You laugh softly. The sound breaks halfway through.
"I really thought he'd come."
Joel's jaw tightens. Not because he's jealous. Or angry. He hates imagining you alone. Waiting and hoping and hurting. You continue before you lose your nerve.
"The worst part wasn't losing him. It was finding out I was pregnant afterward."
Joel goes completely still. You rarely talk about those days.
"I remember sitting on the floor of some gas station bathroom. I remember wishing he could know. I remember being so angry."
Your voice cracks.
"He would've loved Uriah."
The room falls silent. You stare at the floor. Unable to look at him. The grief feels fresh. Then Joel speaks.
"He would've."
You look up. Joel's eyes are steady.
"He would've loved him."
Something breaks inside you. For years you've carried the fear that talking about Tobias somehow betrayed him. That moving forward meant leaving him behind. That falling for Joel meant erasing the man you lost. But Joel doesn't ask you to choose.
Doesn't make it a competition.
Doesn't resent the ghost.
He simply makes room for him. And somehow that's what finally undoes you. The tears fall harder. Joel moves before he can stop himself. Crossing the room and pulling you into his arms.
His arms wrap around you. You bury your face against his chest and cry for everything you've lost.
For Tobias.
For the future that never happened.
For the years spent surviving.
For the loneliness.
Joel doesn't say a word. He just holds you. And when the tears finally stop, neither of you move away. Your hands remain curled in his shirt. His arms remain around your waist. The room feels smaller. The space between you disappears.
Your eyes meet. Joel looks terrified. Which somehow makes you smile. Because you're terrified too.
His hand lifts. Gentle against your cheek. Giving you every opportunity to walk away. And when Joel kisses you, it's soft. Something precious. Like two lonely people finally deciding they deserve happiness.
And for the first time since Tobias disappeared into smoke and chaos all those years ago—
You stop waiting for the past to come back.
And choose the future instead.
.
The first time Joel stays the night, neither of you mention it. It isn't planned. A storm rolls through Jackson late in the evening, bringing heavy rain and enough thunder to rattle the windows. Uriah ends up curled between the two of you on the couch after waking from a nightmare, and by the time he's asleep again, it's well past midnight.
Joel falls asleep sitting upright. You fall asleep leaning against him. When morning comes, nobody talks about it. Joel simply makes coffee. Uriah climbs into his lap. Life moves forward.
.
Then it happens again. And again. And eventually, it stops feeling unusual. Some nights Joel stays. Some nights he doesn't. There doesn't seem to be any pattern to it.
Sometimes he falls asleep reading while Uriah is playing nearby. Sometimes a patrol ends late, and it's easier to stay than walk home. Sometimes he simply lingers after dinner until neither of you notices how late it's become.
Neither of you ever put a name to whatever this is. It simply doesn't seem necessary. Joel still has his own cabin. You still have yours.
But more and more often, his boots end up beside your front door. His jacket hangs over the back of a chair. His coffee mug sits beside yours on the shelf. Small signs of a life slowly intertwining.
.
The kisses become routine.
Joel leaves for patrol. A kiss against your forehead. Joel heads toward the workshop. A kiss against your temple. You hand him lunch before he leaves. A kiss against your cheek.
Nothing dramatic. Just affection. Steady and reliable as the sunrise. The kind that sneaks into your heart before you realize what's happening.
.
One morning you're standing on the porch while Joel gets ready to leave. The sun is barely up. Uriah is still asleep. Joel adjusts the strap of his rifle and glances toward the road.
"You got enough wood?"
You smile.
"Yes."
"Food?"
"Joel."
He narrows his eyes.
"I'm askin'."
"We're fine."
His gaze lingers another second. Then he leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead. Your chest squeezes unexpectedly.
Joel starts to pull away. You catch his sleeve. His eyebrows lift. You kiss his cheek. The surprise on his face is worth it.
"You be careful."
Joel looks at you for a long moment. Then nods once.
"Always am."
It's a lie, and you both know it.
.
Uriah starts to adore bedtime. It’s all because of Joel.
The second Joel walks through the door, Uriah lights up. The excitement never fades. Not even after months. Six months, to be exact.
One evening you're washing dishes when you hear laughter from down the hall. The kind that only comes from a child that feels safe and happy.
You pause. Joel's voice rumbles softly. Uriah answers. Then more laughter. Curious, you dry your hands and peek into the bedroom.
The sight nearly stops your heart. Joel sits on the edge of Uriah's bed with a book balanced awkwardly in one hand. Reading. Or attempting to. Uriah keeps interrupting every other sentence with questions. Joel answers every single one.
You watch unnoticed from the doorway. Joel finishes the story. Closes the book. Uriah immediately scoots closer. The blanket bunches beneath his chin. Sleepy eyes already beginning to close. Joel reaches forward and smooths dark hair away from his forehead. The gesture is so gentle it hurts.
"So," Uriah says quietly.
"So."
"You stayin'?"
Joel glances toward the doorway where you're standing. The corner of his mouth lifts.
"Yeah."
The relief on Uriah's face is immediate.
"Okay."
Uriah falls asleep almost immediately.
Joel remains seated for a while. Watching him. The way parents do. The realization hits before you can stop it. Joel doesn't even notice he's doing it anymore. Watching for breathing. Watching for movement. Making sure Uriah is comfortable. Making sure he's okay. The same way you've seen him do a hundred times.
Finally Joel leans down. Presses a kiss against the top of Uriah's head. The movement is automatic. Natural. Instinctive. As though he's been doing it forever.
.
You feel tears sting unexpectedly. Not from sadness. Not exactly. Just from the overwhelming tenderness of it. The sight of someone choosing your son every single day. Not because he has to. Because he wants to.
Joel looks up and quietly crosses the room. His hand finds yours automatically. Fingers threading together. Neither of you says what this is. You never do. Maybe because you're afraid naming it will somehow break it. Maybe because some things don't need words.
All you know is that six months ago, this cabin belonged to you and Uriah. Now Joel's laughter lives in these walls too. His boots sit by the door. His coffee mug rests beside yours. And every night before bed, a little boy waits for Joel Miller to kiss the top of his head. As far as Uriah is concerned, that's simply how the world works.
.
Autumn has arrived in Jackson.
The trees beyond the walls burn gold and amber beneath a bright blue sky. The air carries just enough chill to make mornings crisp without being cold. Woodsmoke drifts from chimneys. Horses stamp in their paddocks.
Your morning begins the same way most mornings do. Uriah refuses to put on his boots. Joel drinks coffee. You negotiate with a three-year-old terrorist. Eventually, everyone reaches a compromise. Mostly because Joel bribes him with pancakes.
"You're undermining me."
Joel shrugs. Uriah grins. Neither seems sorry.
By the time you walk Uriah to preschool, the sun has fully risen over Jackson. His small hand remains tucked securely inside yours the entire way. He chatters nonstop.
At the preschool building, Uriah throws his arms around your waist. Then immediately demands a goodbye hug from Joel too.
You watch Joel's face soften.
Afterward, Joel heads toward the workshop. You head toward the supply building. The morning passes peacefully. Inventory. Repairs. Routine. Normal.
.
Just before lunch, somebody calls your name. Maria is practically jogging toward you. Behind her, Joel is already being dragged in the same direction. Maria is on a mission. Which usually means trouble.
"What happened?"
Maria looks entirely too excited.
"A group's arriving."
You blink.
"Okay?"
"They're from Haven."
The sister settlement sits several days away. You've heard Tommy mention them before. Maria practically vibrates.
"They've got extra workers."
Joel immediately understands. You can see it happen.
"Cabins."
"Cabins."
Maria points dramatically toward him.
"Exactly."
Several of Jackson's older buildings still need restoration. The project has been crawling forward for years. Extra workers would help tremendously.
"Tommy wants everybody there."
Joel sighs. Maria ignores him.
"You too."
She points at you.
"Why me?"
"Because welcoming people is important.”
You narrow your eyes. Maria narrows hers right back. Neither of you blinks. Joel quietly enjoys the show.
.
An hour later, half the town has gathered near the gates. People chatter excitedly. Several workers are already discussing cabin repairs.
The atmosphere feels hopeful. People helping people. Building something better.
You stand beside Joel. One hand resting against his arm.
The gates begin to open. Heavy metal groans loudly. The crowd shifts. People stepping forward. The newcomers enter slowly. Several men. Supply wagons. Horses. Familiar scenes repeated countless times throughout Jackson's history. You smile politely and prepare to hear names you'll immediately forget.
Tommy greets them first. Maria follows. Handshakes. Pleasantries. The usual.
You aren't paying much attention. Your thoughts are already drifting toward picking up Uriah later. Toward dinner. Toward whether Joel will stay tonight. Toward ordinary things.
Then someone says your name. Like a prayer. Like disbelief. Your entire body freezes. You know that voice.
.
Your stomach drops. The world tilts violently beneath your feet. Slowly, you look up. Blue eyes meet yours.
The air vanishes from your lungs. Everything around you disappears.
It’s only him. Dark brown hair. Broad shoulders. Scars you don't recognize. A face you've carried inside your heart for years. A face you've seen in dreams. A face you've mourned. A face that is older now. Weathered with more wrinkles.
Tobias.
Alive.
Your knees nearly give out. You stumble backward. Joel's hand immediately catches your elbow. He looks concerned, but you don’t even notice because Tobias is staring at you like he's forgotten how to breathe.
His face has gone completely white. Every bit of color drained away. The exact same expression you imagine is mirrored on your own.
For a moment nobody speaks. Then Tobias takes a step forward.
"Y/N?”
His voice is raw. Like he is scared that saying it out loud will make it not real.
Years of grieving, and now he's standing ten feet away. Alive. Breathing. Looking at you like you've hung the moon.
Joel's grip tightens slightly. You finally become aware of him beside you. Aware of the concern in his eyes. Aware that he has absolutely no idea why you've gone pale. No idea why you're shaking. No idea why tears are already burning behind your eyes.
"Tobias..."
His name escapes before you can stop it. Barely more than a whisper.
The man's entire face crumples.
And in that moment, before questions. Before explanations. Before Joel learns anything. Before Tobias learns about Uriah. Before the world shatters. You realize one terrifying truth. The dead man you finally learned how to grieve for has just walked back into your life.
.
The world becomes distant after that. You can see Tommy talking. See Maria looking confused. See Joel watching you with growing concern. But none of it feels real. Because Tobias is standing ten feet away.
Alive. The word keeps echoing through your head.
Four years of grief unraveling in a matter of seconds. Four years of convincing yourself to let go. Four years of learning how to breathe around the hole he'd left behind.
You don't know what you're supposed to do with that. You don't know what you're supposed to feel.
"Tobias..."
His name leaves your lips again. The sound is weak. Broken. He takes another step forward. Like he's afraid you'll disappear. Like this is all a dream. The same fear lives inside your chest. Then suddenly reality slams back into place. The schoolhouse. The time. Uriah.
Your eyes widen.
"Oh God."
You take a step backward. Then another.
"I have to go."
You shake your head. Already turning.
"I have to pick him up."
The words tumble out before you realize you've said them. Tobias frowns.
"Him?”
You don't answer. You can't. If you stop moving, you might fall apart. Joel immediately steps forward. His hand finds the small of your back.
"I got you."
You nod once. Joel starts guiding you toward the schoolhouse.
Behind you, Tobias follows.
.
The walk feels endless. Nobody speaks for several minutes. The silence stretches between the three of you. Finally Tobias breaks it. His voice sounds rough.
"How long have you been here?"
You stare straight ahead.
"Almost four years."
The answer hits him visibly.
Four years of searching. Four years of dead ends. Four years of believing he'd eventually find some trace of you. Four years of waking up every morning wondering if you were alive.
And somehow, after all that time, he'd finally found you.
The schoolhouse comes into view. Children's laughter drifts through open windows.
You stop outside the door. Your hand trembles as you reach for the handle. Behind you, Tobias suddenly speaks.
"Y/N."
You freeze. The sound of your name in his voice nearly destroys you. But you can't do this. Not yet. Not here. So you open the door and disappear inside.
Outside, Tobias waits. Joel stands beside him. Tobias swallows.
"What did she mean?"
Joel doesn't answer, because he knows exactly what Tobias is asking. The same question everyone asks eventually. The same question Joel asked years ago. Tobias's voice drops lower. He sounds afraid.
"Does she..."
His eyes drift toward the schoolhouse.
"Do you… and her… have a child?"
Joel's jaw tightens. Before he can answer, the door opens.
.
You step outside. The world stops. Joel sees it happen. He sees the exact second Tobias forgets how to breathe. Because the resemblance is impossible to miss. Tobias looks like someone has ripped the ground out from beneath him.
Uriah notices none of it. He immediately spots Joel, and his face lights up.
"Joel!"
He tears free from your hand and runs. Joel catches him automatically. Uriah wraps both arms around his neck. Joel holds him close. And somehow that hurts more than anything.
Because it feels normal. Because it is normal. Because Tobias has missed all of it.
Then Uriah notices the stranger. Curious blue eyes study him. Tobias stares back. Unable to look away. Unable to blink.
"Who are you?"
The question is innocent. Tobias opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.
Uriah continues anyway.
"My name's Uriah."
The world stops again. This time it isn't the eyes. It isn't the hair. It's the name.
Tobias’s eyes snap to yours. Then back to the boy. Then back to you again.
"Uriah?"
Because he knows that name. God, he knows that name. His best friend. His brother in everything but blood. The man who survived the early years of the outbreak beside him. The man who died saving the rest of them.
The man Tobias mourned for years. The man who used to joke that if Tobias ever had a kid someday, he'd better name one after him.
Tobias had promised. Then laughed. Then life happened. Then the world ended. Then he lost you.
And somehow standing here now, staring at a little boy with his eyes and his dark hair, he realizes something that hits harder than the resemblance ever could.
You remembered. Every story. Every person he loved. Even after believing he was dead. You carried those pieces of him anyway.
Slowly, Tobias lifts his eyes to yours.
For the first time since the gate opened, he lets himself ask the question that's been forming in his mind. The one he's almost afraid to know the answer to. The one that could change everything. His voice shakes.
"How old is he?”
.
The question hangs in the air. You feel your stomach twist. Because you know exactly what that number means. Exactly what it confirms.
Before you can answer—Uriah does.
"I'm three."
His little voice is cheerful. Tobias stares at him. Unable to look away. Uriah immediately holds up three fingers.
"But I'm almost four."
The announcement is made with the importance of a military briefing. A life-changing fact. Critical information.
"I'm a big boy now."
Joel closes his eyes because he already knows what's about to happen.
Uriah keeps talking.
"My birthday's soon."
Then he points at Joel.
"Joel says when I'm four I can help build stuff."
Joel lets out a quiet breath. Somewhere between a laugh and a heartbreak. Tobias looks like he's been hit by a truck.
Three. Almost four. The math is immediate. Absolute.
His eyes drift toward you. Then back to Uriah. Then back to you again.
The child.
His child.
The son he never knew existed.
The son who learned how to walk without him.
Talk without him.
Laugh without him.
Grow without him.
Four years gone.
Tobias swallows hard. His eyes shine suddenly. The way they used to when he was trying not to cry.
Then Uriah tilts his head.
"Why are you sad?"
Tobias's face crumples, because the little boy asking him that question has his eyes. His smile. And he doesn't even know who Tobias is.
Joel shifts Uriah slightly higher on his hip. Protective by instinct. Not possessive. Not intentionally. Just automatic.
Tobias notices. His gaze follows the movement. Sees how comfortable Uriah is.
The child doesn't cling to Joel because he's scared. He clings to him because he loves him.
And for the first time since arriving in Jackson, Tobias realizes something almost as painful as discovering he has a son.
Someone else was there when he couldn't be.
Someone else protected them. Loved them. Helped raise the little boy currently staring back at him with curious blue eyes.
And standing between the two men, you suddenly realize this reunion is going to be far more complicated than simply finding each other again.
