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Resistant

Kylo Ren x ResistanceSpy!Reader

uhm.... slightly angsty, being forced against your will

Summary: After finding a Resistance spy on his ship, there is nothing more he'd want than to break her.

AN: My exams are over (I'm back!)

story under the cut

Her breath was a silent tremor as she crouched in the shadows of the First Order ship, watching the patrol pass. She’d been running for what felt like hours, slipping through every gap and doorway she could find. The metallic scent of the corridors filled her nose, cold and sterile, a contrast to the heat of fear thrumming in her veins. This ship was her way out, her chance to vanish. She just had to get to an escape pod, and she’d be gone.

A solitary stormtrooper rounded the corner, moving in her direction, his helmet gleaming under the dim lights. She didn’t hesitate. A swift blow to the back of his neck, and he crumpled, hitting the ground with a muffled thud. She had the armor on in seconds, adjusting the mask, letting its cold weight smother her expression. She fell in line with the rest of the squad, silent, unassuming.

But her calm was short-lived.

The corridor hushed, and she sensed a presence before she even saw him. He was at the far end, tall, his figure a shifting shadow beneath the black robe that rippled as he moved. Kylo Ren. His helmet turned, the empty void of his visor pointed right at her.

“Trooper,” he said, his voice a deep, corrosive rumble, heavy with command. “Step forward.”

She swallowed, controlling her breaths, her mind racing. To hesitate would be a death sentence. She stepped out of line, the weight of his gaze pressing on her, solid and inescapable, as if he were already carving into her mind.

“Remove your helmet,” he ordered, the authority in his tone brooking no defiance.

Her fingers tightened on the edges of the helmet. This was it—her mask removed, her cover shattered. She slipped it off, feeling the cold air hit her face as her eyes met his. She forced herself to stay still, blank, giving nothing.

The silence between them thickened, stretching as his stare bore into her. His helmet tilted slightly, a silent calculation, as though appraising a dangerous specimen. There was something eerie about the stillness that filled the space between them, like the calm before a storm.

He took a step closer, and the dim lights cast deep shadows over his mask, giving his presence an even darker, sharper edge. “You’re not one of mine,” he said, each word edged in steel.

She didn’t respond, her expression remaining impassive, like a soldier who knew exactly what her end looked like. Silence was her only armor now, her one fragile defense against the darkness he wielded so easily.

Another step. The gap between them was closing, and she could feel his anger like a heat radiating from him, an aura that threatened to crush her. “Nothing to say?” His tone was mocking, laced with a quiet fury. “It’s rare for a spy to be so... compliant.”

She met his words with the faintest arch of her brow. It was subtle, but enough to show him that fear wasn’t her game. She’d faced worse odds, held her own in situations with no escape. If this was how she would go, she would go quietly, and she would go with dignity.

“You think silence will protect you,” he continued, the low cadence of his voice crawling under her skin. “But I don’t need words to uncover what you’re hiding.”

The air between them pulsed, his power reaching out like tendrils, slithering into her mind. She felt him push, testing her, looking for cracks, for any hint of weakness. Her jaw tightened as she held her ground, her mind steeling itself against the invasive pressure.

“Interesting,” he murmured, though there was no warmth in his tone. “You’ve been trained.”

The smallest twitch of her mouth was her only response. She was prepared to withstand pain, to endure the tearing of her thoughts and memories. If he thought he could break her that easily, he was mistaken.

“Not even a name?” His helmet leaned closer, and she could feel his voice resonate through her. “Then allow me to remind you who I am.”

The Force clamped around her throat, an invisible vise that tightened slowly, inexorably. She could feel her airway constrict, her vision darkening at the edges, but she forced herself to remain still, even as her lungs burned, fighting for air.

But her expression didn’t change. She looked at him, a defiance woven into the quiet depths of her gaze. She might not be able to speak, but her eyes told him everything. She would die before giving him what he wanted.

A flicker of something almost like irritation crossed his stance, and with a flick of his fingers, he released her. She stumbled back, catching herself against the wall, her breaths shallow and quick. His stare remained unbroken, as if assessing how far he could push before she shattered.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” His tone held a hint of amusement now, but it was cold, twisted, like the edge of a knife. “The Resistance has sent me a spy who thinks she can survive simply by keeping quiet.”

Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, but laced with an unyielding calm. “If you think intimidation works on me,” she murmured, “then you don’t know the Resistance.”

Kylo tilted his head, a silent, menacing appraisal that sent a chill down her spine. “Intimidation?” His voice was barely above a whisper, deadly and soft, like the edge of a razor. “I don’t waste time with intimidation.”

Without warning, he raised his hand, and she felt the world tilt as her feet left the ground. An invisible force pinned her against the wall, her shoulders pressing hard into the metal, the cold seeping into her skin. She could feel the weight of his anger, his frustration, pressing into her mind with a relentless pressure that threatened to rip her apart from the inside.

He stepped closer, each step deliberate, slow, until he was mere inches away. She could see her own reflection in the glossy surface of his mask, her own narrowed eyes staring back at her.

“Tell me your name,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that reverberated through the cold metal at her back. The Force held her in place, unyielding, and she could feel the ice in his command, a thinly veiled promise of pain.

She held his gaze, her expression betraying nothing, even as her pulse thundered in her ears. Silence was her only weapon, her only shield, and she wielded it with a stubborn, quiet resilience.

Another beat of silence, stretching, twisting, as his patience waned.

His hand raised slightly, and she felt a sharp, crushing force against her ribs, like invisible fingers digging in, pressing down with a cruel, unyielding pressure. Her breath hitched, but she bit down on the pain, refusing to make a sound, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Defiant until the end,” he murmured, almost to himself, as though he’d expected something different from her. As though her silence was somehow more intriguing than he anticipated. “But even the strongest minds break.”

He dropped her suddenly, and she stumbled forward, catching herself before she fell to her knees. Her breaths came in short, shallow gasps, her vision swimming, but she steadied herself, her gaze lifting to meet his once more.

Kylo watched her, silent, his stance unreadable, his posture cloaked in shadow. Then, after a long, tense moment, he leaned in close, his voice a low, dark murmur. “You may have nothing to say now. But I will uncover every secret, every lie, until you have nothing left.”

With that, he turned sharply, leaving her alone in the silence of the dark, cold room.

The Wild Robot userboxes!! 🌱

feel free to reblog/download and use on your profile but keep my username visible ty! :)

Is it weird I want to request a scene that involves Janson? I've been seeing a lot of posts about him and ngl he's kinda hot...is this just me...???

GO FOR IT. I wholeheartedly agree. I don’t know what it is but well… let’s just say I wouldn’t protest because he could slam a clipboard on the table and I’d fold like a lawn chair 😫

PLEASE PLEASE SEND IN REQUESTS 🙏🙏

Writing Tips Master Post

Character writing/development:

Character Arcs

Making Character Profiles

Character Development

Comic Relief Arc

Internal Conflict

Character Voices

Creating Distinct Characters

Suicidal Urges/Martyr Complex

Creating Likeable Characters

Writing Strong Female Characters

Writing POC Characters

Building Tension

Plot devices/development:

Intrigue in Storytelling

Enemies to Lovers

Alternatives to Killing Characters

Worldbuilding

Misdirection

Consider Before Killing Characters

Foreshadowing

Narrative:

Emphasising the Stakes

Avoid Info-Dumping

Writing Without Dialogue

1st vs. 2nd vs. 3rd Perspective

Fight Scenes (+ More)

Transitions

Pacing

Writing Prologues

Dialogue Tips

Writing War

Writing Cheating

Worldbuilding:

Worldbuilding: Questions to Consider

Creating Laws/Rules in Fantasy Worlds

Book writing:

Connected vs. Stand-Alone Series

A & B Stories

Writer resources:

Writing YouTube Channels, Podcasts, & Blogs

Online Writing Resources

Outlining/Writing/Editing Software

Writer help:

Losing Passion/Burnout

Overcoming Writer's Block

Fantasy terms:

How To Name Fantasy Races (Step-by-Step)

Naming Elemental Races

Naming Fire-Related Races

How To Name Fantasy Places

Ask games:

Character Ask Game #1

Character Ask Game #2

Character Ask Game #3

Miscellaneous:

1000 Follower Post

2000 Follower Poll

Writing Fantasy

𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

started: 18/10/24

Marvel

Maze Runner

Hunger Games

Harry Potter

Note: I write for PostAzkaban!Sirius Black and Professor!Remus Lupin (not in the marauders era, because there just aren’t enough people who write about the older men)

Fantastic Beasts

Star Wars

Top Gun

Divergent

Disney/Pixar (animations)

Other movies

(will be consistently monitored and updated, hang tight)

Lucky

Peter Hayes x small!Reader

Idk what to call it at this point. Not fluffy enough to be a fluff or angsty enough to be angst. Just for your amusement ig.

Summary: Peter Hayes has always thrived on cruelty, sneering at others’ weaknesses to make himself look stronger. But when you—a quiet, seemingly small Dauntless initiate—beat him in a trial, he’s forced to see you in a different light. 

AN: in this one, I imagined it to be that reader is small in size and often undermined but you could imagine it and tailor it to your preference. (Maybe that she just SEEMS weak or smth)

The lights of the Dauntless training room cast long shadows across the stone floor, the sound of fists hitting punching bags and the grunts of effort filling the air. You stood off to the side, small and unassuming compared to the towering forms of the other initiates. But looks, as you’d proven time and time again, were deceiving.

You cracked your knuckles absentmindedly, watching as Peter Hayes towered over some poor recruit, a smirk curling his lips. Peter thrived on being intimidating. He fed off the fear that shimmered in the eyes of those around him, always sneering, always two steps ahead of his peers—if not in skill, then in sheer malice. He was, in many ways, the embodiment of Dauntless’ harshest traits.

But today, things were about to change.

"Alright, fight time," Eric barked, pacing along the sidelines like a predator circling its prey. His cold gaze swept over the group before landing on you. His lip curled in an almost-smile. "You."

Everyone’s eyes snapped to you, and you didn’t flinch under their scrutiny. If anything, you felt a rush of adrenaline course through you. The room grew quieter, expectant, as Eric nodded toward Peter. "You’re up against him."

Peter's smirk widened. He didn’t even try to hide his amusement. "Really? This ought to be good."

You rolled your shoulders back, stepping into the circle without a word, feeling the weight of all the eyes on you. But you were used to being underestimated. It was your advantage, your weapon.

Peter sauntered forward, cracking his neck as if the fight was already won. His confidence radiated like a toxic cloud, infecting the room with tension. His smirk deepened as he came to a stop a few feet from you, towering over your smaller frame.

"You sure you’re up for this, sweetheart?" he drawled, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

You ignored the taunt. There was no need to respond. The game had already begun, and Peter just didn’t know it yet.

"Fight!" Eric’s voice echoed through the room like a gunshot.

Peter moved fast, closing the distance between you in a single step, his fist swinging toward your face with brutal force. But you were faster. You ducked, sidestepping at the last second, causing him to stumble forward.

His eyes narrowed as he straightened, his smirk faltering for just a second. "Lucky."

But luck had nothing to do with it.

The next few seconds were a blur of motion. Peter lunged again, his movements aggressive, fueled by arrogance. Each time, you dodged or blocked with fluid precision, making him look clumsy. The others watched in stunned silence, whispering among themselves as you began to gain the upper hand.

Peter’s frustration grew, evident in the tightening of his jaw, the wild swing of his fists. He wasn’t used to losing—especially not to someone who looked like you.

Finally, you saw your opening. Peter’s guard dropped for just a moment, and that was all you needed. You spun on your heel, sweeping his legs out from under him with a swift kick. He crashed to the ground with a grunt, the air knocked out of him as you stood over him, victorious.

For a moment, the room was still. Peter lay on the ground, eyes wide with shock, while you stood above him, not a single drop of sweat on your brow.

Then, slowly, Eric’s voice cut through the silence. "Impressive."

It was one word, barely a compliment, but from Eric, it might as well have been a standing ovation. His expression remained unreadable, but the flicker of approval in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed. Eric wasn’t one to show emotion, especially when it came to initiates, but even he had to respect what you’d just pulled off.

Peter groaned, pushing himself to his feet, his cocky façade crumbling as he wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. He glared at you, anger boiling beneath the surface, but there was something else there too—something he would never admit. Respect.

"You got lucky," Peter growled, brushing himself off.

You met his glare head-on, unflinching. "No, I’m just better."

There it was—plain, simple truth. And Peter, for once, had no snarky reply. He clenched his jaw, still trying to nurse his bruised ego, but the look in his eyes told you that he knew. He knew you weren’t someone to mess with.

Later, after everyone had left the training room, you sat alone, wrapping a bandage around a scrape on your hand. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving you with a dull ache in your muscles and the satisfying knowledge that you’d bested Peter Hayes.

But you didn’t have long to savor the victory.

"You really think you’re something, don’t you?" A voice sneered from behind.

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Peter’s smug tone was unmistakable. You rolled your eyes, continuing to bandage your hand.

"I mean, you got lucky once, but let’s not pretend like you’ll always come out on top," Peter continued, stepping into your line of sight. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, that infuriating smirk plastered across his face again. "You’re just a little fighter who had a lucky day. Don’t let it get to your head."

You glanced up at him, unfazed. "Sure, Peter. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Peter’s eyes narrowed. "Don’t act like you’re better than everyone. We both know you don’t belong here. Just a little girl playing soldier."

The words were meant to sting, but they rolled off you like water. You had heard worse, from worse people. Peter’s insults weren’t anything new, and they certainly didn’t get under your skin the way he hoped they would.

You stood up, facing him, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. "It’s cute how you think you can still intimidate me after I wiped the floor with you today."

Peter’s face darkened. "Watch your mouth."

You shrugged, turning to leave. "I don’t need to watch anything. I’ve already seen enough."

Peter opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out. For the first time, it seemed like he had no comeback, no witty insult to throw at you. You walked away, leaving him standing there, simmering in his bruised ego and thinly veiled frustration.

As you left the room, you couldn’t help but smirk. Peter might never stop trying to tear you down, but you weren’t going to let him win. Not today, not ever.

Hi there,

I’m reaching out with a quiet hope in my heart. These days are heavy, and my family is living through a reality filled with uncertainty—but I’m still here, doing my best to hold on and keep going.

If you have a moment, please check out my pinned post.

A simple share could help it reach someone who might be able to make a difference.

If you’re able to give, even the smallest kindness can bring light into the darkest places.

Your time, your voice, your compassion — it all matters more than you know.

With deep gratitude,

@nadinfamily

^^

Sending prayers. I know some of you may be tired of seeing these posts but honestly, they are recurring for a REASON. They need help.

So if you can, donate. If not, spread the word.

Outplayed

Stephen Strange x Spy!Reader

Fluff, flirting

Summary: A spy seduces Doctor Strange to steal crucial information and distract him for long enough to draw what she wants from him

Story under the cut

The dim light of the café cast long shadows across the wooden table where you sat, carefully stirring your coffee as you watched him from the corner of your eye. Doctor Stephen Strange. The Sorcerer Supreme. But here, in this low-key corner of the city, he wasn’t the all-powerful, stoic hero. Here, he was just a man, and you were here to take advantage of that.

Your mission was clear. He had information you needed, and you'd go to any length to get it.

"Mind if I join you?" His voice was calm, controlled—a stark contrast to the excitement thrumming beneath your skin. You didn’t even have to glance up to know that the air had shifted the moment he took a seat.

“No, not at all,” you said, offering a smile that you hoped was warm and welcoming, but you knew it came across as something else entirely—calculated, like you had an agenda. Which you did.

“Good,” he replied smoothly, taking a sip of his own drink. "I wasn’t sure if I was being followed."

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, your eyes finally meeting his, and damn, there was that glint—sharp, almost knowing. "I’d say you’re paranoid, but you wouldn’t be wrong, would you?"

He arched an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair slightly, as though already analyzing you. Smart. You could see it in the way his fingers rested on the rim of his cup, in the way his eyes tracked every small movement you made. He was more aware than you’d like.

"Let me guess," he said, his voice low, tinged with amusement. "You're here to ask me questions."

You leaned in, careful to let your lips curve in a way that could either be interpreted as playful or dangerous. "It’s a bit more complicated than that," you purred, your voice a soft lull, an invitation he couldn’t resist. "I need something. Something I’m sure you’re just the man to provide."

He raised an eyebrow, his gaze never leaving yours. "Is that so?" he asked, his tone full of that subtle challenge you knew too well. “And what exactly is it that you think I can help you with?”

You didn’t flinch. No, you were too good at this. Too smooth. "You know exactly what I need," you said. "Information. A little bit of knowledge that only you have."

For the briefest moment, his expression flickered—a flicker of something unreadable—before it was gone, hidden behind a cool smile. “You seem awfully confident.”

You let that linger in the air, then allowed your own smile to bloom, teasing but still sharp. "Confidence has always been one of my strengths."

He laughed softly, but the sound was cold, like it wasn’t truly a laugh at all. More like a warning. "You don't think I know exactly what you're up to?" His eyes glinted as he leaned in a little, his voice dropping just a touch. “How long did it take before you realized I could see right through you?”

Your pulse quickened, but you didn’t let it show. “You don’t know a thing about me,” you countered, your voice low and deliberate.

He tilted his head, studying you with that calm, unnerving gaze. "I know enough."

It was like a game now, a cat-and-mouse dance you both played so well. You were too good at getting what you wanted, and he was just... too good, period. You could feel the tension tightening in the air, crackling between you, but you weren’t about to give up so easily. Not when you were so close.

Then, just as you leaned in slightly—just enough for him to feel the heat of your presence—you slid your hand across the table, brushing lightly against his. Not a hard touch, but deliberate, calculated. A little touch of intimacy meant to throw him off.

His breath hitched ever so slightly.

And there it was. The briefest of breaks in his usually steady composure. The smallest crack that you were quick to notice. That was all you needed.

"Careful, Doctor," you said softly, locking eyes with him as your fingers grazed the sleeve of his coat. “You’re getting distracted.”

He swallowed, eyes narrowing as he locked onto your face. For a second, the playful tension vanished, replaced by something deeper—something almost... predatory.

"You think you’ve got me figured out?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper, lips curling slightly at the corners.

You held his gaze, leaning in just a fraction more, testing him. "I think I’ve already won."

There was a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement, challenge, and... acceptance. He wasn’t falling for the act. But at that moment, you were okay with that. Because while he’d been focused on you, your hand had already slipped his Sling Ring off his finger, carefully palming it like you had done this a hundred times before.

You straightened up, your expression softening just enough to be disarming. “Thanks for the chat, Stephen,” you said, standing up, giving him a coy smile.

“Wait—” He reached for you, but you were already turning, already walking out, Sling Ring safely hidden.

You didn’t look back, but you could feel his gaze on your back, that quiet realization creeping in that, for once, he'd been outplayed.

In her shadow

Fred Weasley x reader

Angsty, but comfort from our lovely Fred

Summary: In the shadow of Cho Chang’s perfection, you find the fire to rise—and Fred Weasley lights the spark.

Story under the cut

The parchment was crumpled in your fist, the creases cutting deep as you glared at the words on the page.

Defense Against the Dark Arts: Outstanding.

Charms: Exceeds Expectations.

Transfiguration: Exceeds Expectations.

Potions: Acceptable.

Herbology: Acceptable.

Astronomy: Acceptable.

History of Magic: Poor.

It wasn’t a bad set of results—not really. But when you looked over at the Ravenclaw table, where Cho Chang was holding court like a queen on her throne, it felt like nothing.

“Perfect marks again!” someone gushed, loud enough to carry over the hall.

“Professor Flitwick said she’s the best he’s ever seen,” Marietta chirped, practically hanging off Cho’s arm.

And there she was, smiling so delicately, tilting her head just so, pretending to be modest while soaking up every ounce of attention. Perfect bloody Cho Chang.

Your teeth ground together as you shoved the parchment into your bag, shoulders tense with fury. It wasn’t just that she always came out on top. It wasn’t just her stupid perfect grades or the way she walked like the whole world owed her something. It was the rumors. The lies she’d spread about you last year—saying you were desperate, a pathetic little mess chasing after anyone who so much as looked your way. And people had believed her. They still did.

The laughter around her table grew louder, and it felt like every single word was aimed at you. You shoved back from your seat, ignoring the curious stares of your friends, and stormed out of the hall.

The briefing room for the Advanced Magical Research Programme should have been a chance to prove yourself, to rise above all of it. But the moment you stepped inside, you saw her—front and center, poised like she already had the spot locked down.

Your stomach sank. You froze for a moment, your hand tightening on the strap of your bag as rage bubbled up again. She didn’t even look your way, too busy laughing with a group of Ravenclaws. And Merlin help you, if she smirked even once, you might lose it.

You slumped into a chair at the very back of the room, as far from her as possible. Your jaw was tight, your fingers trembling with the sheer effort of holding yourself together.

“Alright,” came a familiar voice to your left, light and casual. “What’s all this, then?”

You didn’t need to look to know it was Fred Weasley.

“Fred,” you muttered, keeping your gaze locked on the table in front of you. “Not now.”

“Not now?” he repeated, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “What’s wrong? Didn’t they have your favorite pudding at dinner?”

You shot him a glare. “I’m serious.”

Fred leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. “Yeah, I can see that. You’ve got that whole I’m going to set something on fire look about you. What’s going on?”

You hesitated, but he followed your gaze to the front of the room. His face darkened when he spotted her.

“Chang,” he said, his voice low. “Say no more.”

You exhaled sharply, folding your arms tightly across your chest. “She’s perfect, Fred. Always. Top marks, favorite of the professors, and now she’s here, too. Why do I even bother?”

“Alright, stop right there,” he said, sitting up straighter and turning toward you fully. His voice lost its usual teasing edge, replaced with something firm, unyielding. “Do you honestly think you don’t deserve to be here?”

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to answer.

“Look at me,” Fred said, his tone sharp enough to cut through your haze of anger. When you met his eyes, they were steady, unwavering. “You’re here because you earned it. You don’t need to compare yourself to her—or anyone else.”

“But she’s—”

“Annoying,” Fred interrupted. “And maybe a bit shiny in the way magpies like. But you? You’re a firecracker, and I’ve yet to meet anyone who could keep up with you when you’re not busy doubting yourself.”

You stared at him, caught off guard by his intensity.

“She doesn’t win because she’s better,” Fred continued, his voice softening slightly. “She wins because she’s louder. She makes sure everyone sees her. You don’t need that. You’ll blow her out of the water the moment you stop giving a damn about what she’s doing.”

You didn’t know what to say, but something in your chest eased. The knot of anger and jealousy loosened, just enough for you to breathe again.

“And if she so much as thinks about messing with you again,” Fred added with a wicked grin, “well, let’s just say George and I have a whole line of products that haven’t been properly tested yet.”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it, and Fred’s grin widened.

“There she is,” he said, nudging your arm. “Now, keep your head up, yeah? Don’t let her get in your way. You’ve got this.”

The briefing ended not long after, and as you walked out of the room, Fred fell into step beside you.

“Let’s grab a Butterbeer,” he said, casually slinging an arm around your shoulders. “You’ve earned it.”

For the first time all day, you felt lighter. And as you glanced back at Cho, her head high and her smile as fake as ever, you felt something shift.

Let her have her moment. Let her think she’s untouchable.

Because the next time she tried to get in your way, you’d be ready. You’d tear that bitch off the pedestal so fast, she wouldn’t even see it coming.

DIVERGENT

angst : 🌩

fluff : 🌸

requests : 📩

This is a SFW blog, so no smut (because I'm not quite there yet)

Peter Hayes:

oneshots:

> Lucky 🌸 (synopsis: Peter Hayes has always thrived on cruelty, sneering at others’ weaknesses to make himself look stronger. But when you—a quiet, seemingly small Dauntless initiate—beat him in a trial, he’s forced to see you in a different light.)

> Friction 🌸 (synopsis: A fierce sparring match between the reader and Peter Hayes blurs the lines between rivalry and desire.)