Various Array of One Shots ✔️

Dauntless Before Blood >> Tobias Eaton (Four) X Reader

You froze in the bed. What had you gotten yourself into? Glancing to Four, "So I've got to pretend I'm still smiling Ol' ________ until I get my memories back? And if they suspect anything, I'm out? Why do you even care about me?" You can't help but feel hot tears slide down your cheeks.

Four nods, rising from his perch. "All I'm  going to tell you, _________...it's personal."

The next day, two girls and a boy come to retrieve you from the medwing. "________!" The blonde girl cries, wrapping her arms around your neck. As she leans in, she whispers, "I'm Tris. That's Will and Christina. Four told me everything, and I'm going to help you through this."

You withdraw. "So, uh, Tris...training?" You try your best to sound like you would normally...if only you knew what that was.

She nods. "I brought your clothes, and Christina's lending you shoes since yours were trashed."

The dark haired girl lifted a pair of black sneakers near her head. "Take care with my babies. They're my good luck shoes."

You grin. "I think I'll defiantly need those," you grab the clothes your friends have brought you, and motion to the change station the on duty nurse showed you the night previous. "I'll, uh, go change."

Tris says something to her friends as you walk away, and follows you to the station. "We'll meet them for the training practice in a moment," Tris speaks through the cloth that separates you two. "Four told me everything I need to help you with, and honestly, I'll go to the end of the line for either of you, for what you've both done for me," she adds as a sort of afterthought.

"What's this...?" You struggle behind the curtain of the station, trying to slip the material over your head. "It's so weird!"

Tris doesn't have to peel to know what you're fighting in there. "That's a sports bra, ________. Specifically your sports bra. You slip it -,"

"Got it," you triumph, doing a little dance to celebrate your triumph over the bra.

"Need any more help?" Tris asks if you.

You emerge from the changing bay, in all your blacks for the training session like a true would-be Dauntless. "Yeah," you mutter, slipping the shoes on, "How do you fight?"

Tris leads you a few tips on the walk to the sparring room, and on entering, you see the score board. Your name is halfway down the list, the names of your friends slightly higher than you.

"Alright, Initiates!" You flinch at Eric's voice. "Wrestling. I want all of you better than the usual grappling like babies stunts you pull for me! No one gets off the mat unless they are knocked out or knock out their opponent!"

That dread that had fallen into your stomach when you woke in the hospital bed yesterday - it grew.

"Oh no," you breathe. Even if you can't remember what wrestling had done to you, the idea seems off. From across the room, you see Four give you a worried glance, as if confirming your fears.

"________! Since you're so eager," Eric chuckles, motioning for you. "...and, Roland, since you're still talking," Eric picks on a tall dark skinned boy. "First one to put out the other wins the round."

You creep forward, one shaky step at a time, Tris' hand on your back falling away. Climbing onto the mat, you see your opponents' chocolate eyes, watching you.

"Come on, go!" Eric booms.

Four clears his throat, "Eric...is this a good idea?"

But you don't stop to listen to the leader's squabbles. You've been told to fight. So you'll do your best. Roland circles his side of the mat, and mimicking him, you stay skirting on yours. He lunges toward you; to which you throw yourself through his open in a somersault.

They took you and Tris.

You leap upward and face him, this time, taking him off guard by charging.

They were going to throw the both of you in the chasm.

Your arms are in a lock around his, but Roland is taller, his muscles longer, stronger. His arms move to pin yours to the mat.

You had fought free, and unmasked one of the attackers. Al. He looked so determined, so afraid, but he had a bloodlust to his gaze.

Where was Al? You wondered. You couldn't look, because Roland had pinned your arms above you head.

"Deliver the blow, Roland," Eric ordered. You wanted to see Four's face, for reassurance that you wouldn't be ending up in the infirmary for the second time of late. "This isn't the ballet, this is Dauntless."

They had gone to toss Tris in, but instead, you pushed her away - and she was safe on the verge. In horror she looked on - as you were flung and clinging on to the catwalk for life itself.

Roland raised his fist to deliver the last blow, and with your now freed hand, you jammed it into his nose. You ignore his blood that pours. It's now you take the opportunity to flip him over while he's distracted, and straddle him so you're the upper hand.

The last masked person grabbed your arm, and instead of tossing you in, yanked you up and shoved you to the wall. You felt your head spin at the impact, and over the shoulder of your attacker, see Tobias checking Tris if she were okay.

"I'm sorry," you mutter.

"Four! Hel - help!" You try to call. The attacker jeers at you, pushing you back, again and again to hit your head on the cave wall. "Four..."

The room is silent. You've just taken down a 6"2 young man.

"That was unexpected," Peter chirps.

"Shut up, Pansycake," Eric growls. "________ wins that round."

Somehow you find yourself on your feet, and gradually, realising you're looking at Tobias - not Four, and not your instructor - at the moment. He's Tobias. Your friend. Your world. Your love.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" He asks you, and you frown.

"You're not holding up your hand, Tobias," you tell him, searching his eyes. What you find is warmth. Care. The same flood of relief that's coursing your body. "I remember." You pause, and add, "I know we're in love and all, but why go to such lengths to save me?"

His lips pull up in a half smile. He can't be too emotionally attached in public, you know, but he looks cocky with taut smirk. "Dauntless before blood," he whispers, patting your wrist. "...I think they've got cake in the lunchroom today, chocolate."

You would kill a man for cake...if it came to that. "Let's go."