Peter Divergent - Blog Posts

Friction

Peter Hayes x Badass!Reader

Fluff, some fighting (but it’s the usual, dauntless-style sparring kind of fighting)

Summary:  A fierce sparring match between the reader and Peter Hayes blurs the lines between rivalry and desire.

AN: You have no idea how stoked I was when I got this idea like I really REALLY checked this one

story under the cut

The atmosphere in the Dauntless training center buzzed with excitement as members gathered around the fighting ring, anticipation crackling in the air like electricity. You and Peter Hayes faced off, adrenaline coursing through your veins, the crowd’s shouts fading into a dull roar. You exchanged quick jabs, punches landing with precise accuracy, each strike fueled by an unspoken rivalry that simmered just beneath the surface.

“Come on, is that all you’ve got?” you taunted, sweat glistening on your brow as you ducked and weaved, trying to avoid his powerful swings. The truth was, you were losing ground, and every passing moment made the pressure weigh heavier on your shoulders. Peter was relentless, his focus unwavering as he pushed you back against the ropes.

With each blow, you felt the sting of his punches and the laughter of your peers echoing in your ears. A mixture of anger and determination bubbled within you. You couldn’t let him win. Not like this.

In a moment of desperation, you remembered something, a playful strategy that could tip the odds. You feigned left, then swung around and pretended to stumble, drawing him in. As he approached, you executed your plan—leaning in close, you clung onto him, letting out a seemingly pained groan— which turned out more sultry than anything.

Then, just as he reacted, you leaned into him, pressing your body against his for a split second. The shock on his face was priceless, and for that fleeting moment, his focus broke. You took advantage, shoving him backward with all your might. Peter stumbled, losing his balance, and you seized the opportunity, driving your fist into his stomach.

The crowd erupted in cheers as he went down, the satisfaction of victory surging through you. “Looks like I win!” you shouted, grinning widely as the Dauntless members clapped and hooted in approval.

With the adrenaline still pumping, you stepped out of the ring, heart racing. As you walked toward the changing room, the excitement of the match still lingered in the air, but you felt a surge of confidence. You had beaten Peter Hayes, and it felt incredible.

Just as you reached the door, you heard heavy footsteps behind you. You turned to find Peter storming toward you, his expression a mix of anger and something else—something almost dangerous.

“Hey,” you said, trying to play it cool, but the smirk on your face faltered under his intense gaze.

“What the hell was that back there?” he snapped, closing the distance between you. His voice was low and charged, sending a thrill down your spine.

“Oh, come on, it was just a little distraction,” you shot back, crossing your arms defiantly. “You can’t tell me it didn’t work.”

“Is that really how you think this works?” he shot back, his eyes narrowing, body tense with frustration. “You think you can just—just use that to win?”

“Why not? It got the job done.”

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, and you could feel the heat radiating off him. “You think it’s a game? That you can just toy with me like that?”

Your heart raced, the energy between you shifting. “Oh quit moping over it. I get that loss is hard, but surely you’re not that much of a baby.” You taunted, rather amused.

Peter’s gaze locked onto yours, the tension thickening. “Oho, you just watch it sweetheart, I’ll fuck you up.”

Before you could respond, he reached out, gripping your arm firmly and pulling you closer until there was barely an inch between you. “You might think you’ve won, but you need to understand your place.”

In that moment, the anger simmered beneath the surface, but there was something else too—a heated charge that pulled you into him, an undeniable attraction. Your breath hitched, and you could feel your pulse quicken, the distance between you collapsing as you stared into his eyes.

“Is that so?” you challenged, tilting your head defiantly.

His grip on your arm tightened, his breath warm against your face. “You think you can just flaunt yourself and get away with it?”

“I just did,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes, feeling the pull between you intensify.

Then, without warning, he closed the gap, capturing your lips with his in a heated kiss that sent a shockwave of electricity through you. It was fierce, demanding, a culmination of all the tension that had been building between you. The world around you faded away, and in that moment, there was nothing but the heat of his body against yours and the taste of adrenaline on your tongue.

But just as quickly, he pulled away, a frustrated growl escaping him. “Don’t do that again,” he warned, voice low and dangerous, but his eyes held a flicker of desire that made your heart race.

“No promises,” you challenged, your pulse racing as you stepped back, a triumphant smirk on your lips.

As he glared at you, you could see the battle within him, the tension lingering in the air as you turned and walked away, a rush of exhilaration coursing through you. You had ignited something between you, and this fight was far from over. 

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.