Chapter 3 Summary: After waking up in District 13, you accidentally push everyone away, ending in being alone... or so you thought.
Tags/Warnings: fem reader, use of Y/N (twice), Panic attack, Gale being insensitive, PTSD, hurt/comfort
Word Count: 3.5k
Editor: @sweetcherries123
chapter 1
chapter 2
-.-
“Shh it’s okay,” It was a man you’d never seen before, but you weren’t scared.
Ignoring every instinct you’ve built over the past few weeks you walked towards him. He looked more scared of you than you were of him.
“Let’s get you home,” the brunette man tentatively lent out his hand.
You only thought for a moment before deciding to take it.
You jolted awake, a cold sweat running down your back. The room wasn’t the cold, stone cell that you had become accustomed to, it was sterile with machines lining the space. The wall across from you had a large window that let you see into the hallway. A blanket was draped over you and a pillow abandoned behind you, two things that were never allowed in your old chamber.
Next to you a familiar voice attempted to calm you down, “It’s alright, you’re in district 13.” His large hand began rubbing circles on your back but you quickly moved away from him.
“Please don’t,” you pleaded, terrified of what he might do.
A frown settled on Finnick’s lips as he backed away, “I’m sorry.”
You didn’t speak much after that, but he still stayed. Finnick was just happy you didn’t ask him to leave all together, he’d rather sit in the corner and stay quiet than be banished from seeing you. Especially since he finally got you back.
Later that evening, only a few hours after waking up, your father walked in. His clothes were ironed, a steady look on his face, and he walked like he had all the time in the world. Not at all how a man who just got his daughter back would be acting.
“Finnick,” Plutarch addressed the man slumped beside you, still staring at the same page he had been before you woke up. Finnick perked up slightly at the sound of his name, finally leaving the darkness that was his mind. “I would like time alone with my daughter, I suggest you go to the dining hall and catch dinner.”
He’s unsure at first, glancing between you and the door, but he knows it’s no use. Finnick nods and squeezes past Plutarch before disappearing into the hall.
Your father replaces where Finnick once sat beside you.
“Everyone was so worried about you.” He states, analyzing your heart monitor rather than looking at your shaken expression.
The silence in the room is deafening as you try to figure out if this was real or just a dream. He died. You watched him die.
This had to be another trick from the Capitol. Another simulation. Another test designed to break whatever parts of you were still intact, you thought.You had only been conscious for a couple of hours, there was nothing guaranteeing that you were actually in district 13 and not just a simulation that the trenchcoat man put you in.
Plutarch clearing his throat pulls you out of your trance, “Is everything alright?”
“You’re dead.”
Your father is taken aback for a second but regains composure, “Pardon?”
“You died. I watched you die.”
Plutarch was confused as he chose his words carefully, “Y/N, I’m not sure what they showed you, but I am alive and well. I’ve been in district 13 this whole time, if you saw me in the Capitol it wasn’t real.” His hand twitched, he was trying not to reach out for you.
“No,” You shook your head trying to get rid of the wave of emotions overcoming you. The monitor beside you beeped as your heart began to race, “Get out.”
It wasn’t like you to be so demanding or emotional, Plutarch could see that whatever happened during your disappearance would change you for life. The old you was who really died in that building.
He left without another word, allowing you to process your overwhelming emotions alone.
-.-
The time by yourself was therapeutic. You appreciated Finnick’s presence, it was comforting, but you couldn’t help the fear that flooded your body every time he made the slightest movement.
A familiar figure passes by the door. One that you’ve seen in every dream since you left the capital. He was brunette with broad shoulders and dark eyes. Something about him and the fact that he saved you made you feel safe.
Closing your eyes, you tried to remember his name.
After walking at least a mile in the darkness of the sewers, the man started to lead you up a ladder which you presumed led to your destination.
“Ladies first,” He hooks his carbine on his shoulder so both of his hands are available in case you need assistance.
The metal creaked under your aching legs. Large hands encompassed your waist as you briefly lost your balance, “I got you.” He whispered and supported you until you were out of reach, his hands still out if you fell.
He was attentive and wasn’t afraid to show he cared, two things you also loved about Finnick. Finnick didn’t come to save you though.
“Who are you?” you ask once you're clipped into your seat on the jet. You began feeling light headed from all the activity in the last hour, you knew you didn’t have much time before you fainted.
The man opened his mouth to answer.
“Gale!”
His head snaps in your direction through the glass, a small smile appearing on his lips.
“I see you’re finally up, sleepy head.” He walks in and casually takes a seat on the edge of your bed. You don’t flinch when he puts a hand on your knee.
You roll your eyes at the nickname, “Guess I had a lot of sleep to catch up on.”
Gale laughs at your blatant response. He shifts more of his weight onto your bed, “How are you feeling?”
“Not great, but it’s better than being locked up.” You answer honestly, voice scratching painfully.
“Well aren’t you lucky you have me to save you.” He winked flirtatiously.
Heat crept onto your cheeks from the unexpected comment, “I guess I am.”
“Trust me, it wasn’t easy getting approval for that mission.” Gale grinned and leaned into your space.
Questions burned in your throat, you still didn’t have a clue what the condition was like before you arrived. The way Gale put it made it seem like he was the only one who cared where you were.
Before Gale is able to continue the conversation, Finnick walks in, “What is he doing here?” Finnick's eyes were glued to where Gale's side and hand were resting against your leg. He didn’t understand why you didn’t mind Gale’s touch but the second he made any move you would flinch.
“Nothing, I was just about to leave actually.” The brunette pats your knee twice before standing up, “I’ll see you later, yeah?”
You nod in response, secretly looking forward to it.
After Gale leaves you’re quiet again, Finnick takes his place in the same, gray chair like earlier. The silence is thick with words unsaid.
-.-
Over the next few days Gale visits again and again, with Finnick in the room.
It pained Finnick to see you so comfortable with someone who you’d only known a few days, opposed to him, who you’d known for 7 years.
Gale made you laugh numerous times and made you feel normal. It was nice to talk to someone who wasn’t there from when you were a fake avox. When you talked to Finnick your words were measured, you were on high alert, and jumped back every time he moved. When you talked to Gale you blurted responses and leaned into him.
Finnick couldn’t take it anymore.
“Why him?” He whispered, almost inaudible, while you quietly read the newest report, it was your way of staying somewhat involved while recovering.
You look up mid-paragraph with furrowed brows, “What?”
Finnick took a deep breath, attempting to calm his racing thoughts, “Why are you comfortable with Gale, but not me?”
“If it weren’t for Gale, I would still be in the capital living a life of torture.” You answer with only half the truth, hoping he’ll drop it.
“Is that what he told you?”
It had been an assumption you made but Finnick defying it made you second guess your intuition.
“You have no right to question me or Gale.” Ignoring the pain, you sit up straight to face him, “He came to save me while the man who I thought cared about me for the last 7 years prioritized his own safety. You didn’t even try to save me!”
Time stopped as you stared at each other, tears beginning to well in both your eyes. It felt like an eternity before he remembered to react.
“You think I didn’t try?” Finnick scoffed and shook his head in disbelief. He was furious, but instead of screaming insanities he fled, leaving you alone for the first time in weeks with no sign of coming back anytime soon.
-.-
The next day he didn’t return, it was strange. Since the moment you woke up, the only time he would leave that gray chair was when he would get food or an extra blanket for you. Nervousness chilled your bones as you realized he truly wasn’t coming back and that he probably hated you.
You missed the quiet comfort that he provided and how he would pretend to read the same page for hours. He never overstepped your boundaries and took every crumb you would give him, you felt like such an ass accusing him. But, there was nothing you could do now. He was gone and it was your fault.
-.-
It had been a week since Finnick stormed out.
Gale’s bluntness, once comforting, had started to wear on you. He’d gotten too comfortable to the point where he made insensitive jokes, most not being labeled or perceived as one until he offhandedly said, “I was just joking.” Laughing with him felt like an obligation. It felt like you had to be kind and talk to him because he saved you, but doubts began invading your mind.
There was no way to avoid him, you were stuck on bedrest so if he came in, you had no choice but to listen. It didn’t take long before you memorized his footsteps so you could pretend to be asleep before he could see into the room. Still, it only worked 40% of the time, the man was relentless.
Even with Gale consistently checking in, you were given a lot of time to think. Unfortunately, the one thing you wanted to stop doing was thinking— about your father, the torture, the fight with Finnick, and the burden that Gale had become— it all clawed at your mind. You tried to suppress it but the dam was bound to break.
“Hey, sleepy head.” You were too busy reading your book to notice Gale approaching your room.
You tried your best to smile, "Hi." Eyes staying steady on the book.
He wasn’t fazed as he hopped onto the edge of your bed and laid down across the foot of it, your feet scrunching to avoid his touch. “I’m surprised you’re still recovering. I’ve seen gunshot wounds heal faster than you.” He chuckled under his breath.
Gale loved to make little quips about your condition, it didn’t relieve any of the mental toll. He tried to be motivating but it only made you feel worse about what you went through.
Finnick would never, you thought as you tried to contain your tears that always emerged whenever his name came up. Taking a deep breath you pushed the emotions down, I pushed him away, I have no right to miss him.
You flipped to the next page, hoping the book will be a good distraction and a hint to Gale for him to leave you alone.
“Stop comparing my recovery to others, Gale.”
“Well it's hard not to,” He turned his head to face you, a classic look of boredom painting his features. “I’m not trying to say what you went through wasn’t horrible, but you did survive.”
“And that’s supposed to mean something?” You tried to stay calm, but it was becoming harder as you looked up from your book.
Reason entered your mind, He doesn’t know what happened in there, but you quickly threw it away as your emotions took the driver's seat.
“Yes. It means you're here.” Gale ran a hand through his hair, something he did when he was unsure of what to do.
Placing the book on your side table, you responded, “I think you’re missing the point.”
“Then explain it to me.”
A bitter laugh escaped your lips, “You really want me to?”
“Yes.” He said it so simply.
The room felt like it was closing around you. “You weren’t there.” You whispered, looking down at your hands.
“I know.” His jaw tightened.
“No, you don’t.” You immediately regretted saying it, but the anger had already broken free. "You have no idea what it was like."
"I never said I did." His shoulders stiffened.
You weren’t sure if Gale was trying to escalate or deescalate the situation. Still, you responded like he was. "Then stop acting like surviving means I'm supposed to be okay."
Gale stood from the bed, "I'm not saying that."
"That's exactly what you're saying."
His frustration was becoming visible, "No, what I'm saying is that you're here, not captured in the Capitol."
"And what if I don't feel lucky about that?" The words slipped out before you could stop them.
Silence.
Gale froze and your own stomach dropped.
For a moment neither of you moved.
"You don't mean that." His voice was quieter now, not quite understanding. Afterall, Gale had fought to survive for his entire life, seeing someone who didn’t have that same drive as him was new.
You looked down at the blanket pooled around your legs. You didn’t even know if it was true anymore, but you knew it was when you were in that room.
Gale sighed heavily, "Y/N." The concern in his voice only made you angrier.
"You know what? Forget it," you replied, waving him away like he was a fly.
Gale didn't leave, instead deciding to continue arguing, "Every time someone tries to help you, you shut them out."
You laughed humorlessly, "Help me?"
His eyebrows shot up, "Yeah."
"You compare me to other injuries every chance you get."
"I'm trying to remind you that you're healing." He insisted.
"Well it's not helping."
Gale looked genuinely taken aback. For the first time, he seemed to realize those comments weren't encouraging. Instead of backing down, he crossed his arms. "Then what am I supposed to do?"
You didn't have an answer. That frustrated him even more.
"I come here every day."
Guilt twisted in your chest, "I know."
"I talk to you."
The feeling begins to burn, "I know."
"I try to make you laugh."
You clenched your jaw, "I know."
"Then tell me what you want."
The question hung between you. You thought about Finnick. About the way he'd sit beside you for hours without asking for anything. The way he never pushed, never expected, never treated healing like something that could be measured.
Your eyes burned, "I don't know."
Gale stared at you, then something clicked behind his eyes and his expression shifted. Not anger, but understanding. The painful kind.
"Oh."
Your stomach sank, "Gale—"
He didn’t let you protest, "You miss him."
You looked away. That simple movement proved to him that his suspicions were true.
A pained laugh escaped him, "That's what this is."
"No." The lie sounded weak even to your own ears.
Gale shook his head, "I've been sitting here wondering what I'm doing wrong." He stepped toward the door, “And the whole time you've been wishing I was Finnick.Well, guess what?”
You hummed curiously, already annoyed and sensitive.
“Finnick isn’t here and he isn’t coming because he didn’t care enough to put up with you. I did.” He shoved a table of supplies on his way out, a loud clatter of heavy metal following soon after.
The crash sounded too much like the Capitol — metal clanging against concrete before another round of pain. Your shaking hands rose to cover your ringing ears as your eyes closed. Everything reminded you of the Capitol. The window looking into your room, the cold and humid air, and the silence that followed after each hit.
Gale’s words dug deep and the dam that sealed all negativity broke.
It really is my fault for being alone.
Everyone who cared for me hates me.
No one is coming to comfort me.
They are going to send me back to the Capitol.
Tears streamed down your face. Your chest tightened, as if someone was squeezing your lungs. Breathing grew harder with short, quick, half-breaths that didn’t quite fill your lungs.
Footsteps ran towards your room. Through your tear stricken eyes you could barely make out who it was, but you recognized the uniform.
The nurse tried to soothe you with comforting words but you didn’t hear any of it. She could tell that just talking wouldn’t get to you and tried to rub your shoulders, but you flinched at the contact. Her hand retreated and tried to talk louder this time so you could hear her over your sobs, but it was no use.
You think she was asking what was wrong or if you were alright but you lacked the brain capacity to respond, instead you curled into yourself. Your hands grasped at the shoulders of your white t-shirt and pulled tight, looking for some kind of compression that would calm your nervous system.
The nurse lingered in the corner, giving up on trying to calm you down by herself and conjuring another solution. Once she found it, she ran out of the room without another word. You didn’t even notice she left, since you were too focused on the horrible thoughts plaguing your mind.
You didn’t recall there being any new footsteps as the bed dipped from the weight of someone new.
“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Finnick's voice broke through the wall that your mind created.
He didn’t touch you, he knew what your reaction would be if he did. He just sat, close enough to where you could reach out to him and far enough so he wasn’t initiating anything without your consent.
You looked up from where you shielded your eyes on your knees, still staying in that scrunched up position. He looked exhausted — frail and sickly — but still painfully beautiful. His eyes were red from crying and it was clear he hadn’t been going down to the dining hall.
Finnick was still whispering sweet nothings, his body stiff with restraint.
An unknown amount of time passed as you watched him, ultimately deciding that he wasn’t going to hurt you and he was still that sweet boy you met many years ago.
One trembling hand released your shirt and reached toward him. He reacted immediately, encompassing your hand in a firm hold, a breath of relief escaping his lungs.
Not even a second later you’re tackling him in a hug. His strong arms wrapping around you in a tight, passionate hold. Finnick’s hand rubbed up and down your back in comforting motions. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, damping his shirt with the final wave of tears.
“Breathe with me,” One of his hands comes up to stroke the back of your head.
It didn’t take long in Finnick’s arms for you to come back to reality. The sobs eventually stopped and your breathing steadied, only occasional hiccups interrupting the intimate silence.
Eventually, you spoke, “Finnick?”
“I’m here, sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss to the side of your head.
“I’m sorry.” Your hold tightened around his, scared he might leave, “I- I shouldn’t have pushed you away and I’m sorry for comparing you to Gale, He’s such an ass. I’m such an ass—”
Finnick shushed you softly, “It’s okay, baby.” He didn’t want you to start spiraling again, you’ve already been through so much today.
It didn’t help much as more thoughts rose to the surface, “Are you mad at me?”
“No… I was hurt.” He watched your body rise and fall with each breath, “I won’t lie and say I wasn’t.” His hand continued rubbing soothing circles on your back, “But, I know why you said it.”
Finnick wiped away your tears and answered every question you had. They ranged from “What was for dinner?” to “Are we safe?”
Hours passed as you laid in his arms on that tiny, uncomfortable bed. There were probably more struggles to come but for now it was just the two of you and mindless conversations that you always dreamed of while in the Heavensbee mansion.
The clock on the wall signaled that it was the early morning and that you should rest. Finnick refilled the water by your bed and tucked you in.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N. Goodnight.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead in parting, but as he turned away to leave, you grabbed onto his wrist.
You tug him back towards you, “Stay… please.”
It only took those words and your big puppy-dog eyes for him to fold instantly.
“I always will.”
-.-
Masterlist
Tag List: @snakewrites9206 @angelaraallure @celestialmonkii @hello-nah817 @theregoeskittykat
HI!! cannn I request a peeta mellark x reader, something maybe like peeta came back from the capitol with katniss and reader is brokenhearted because he doesn't seem to love her anymore? that's it, but you could add a happy ending if you want. thank you!
“I could never hate you.”
Pairing: Peeta Mellark x Reader
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Word Count: 700+
Editor: @sweetcherries123
-.-
“Come on,” Peeta’s voice broke from behind the door, “just talk to me, please.”
You squeezed your eyes shut and buried your head further into the pillow. He was still using that warm, gentle tone that you loved, but you couldn’t stand it now.
A few weeks ago you would’ve opened the door without hesitation. Back when you were cuddling underneath a tree and dreaming of a future beyond Panem. Before the Reaping.
Now, all you can do is picture him confessing his undying love for Katniss in front of all Panem. Meanwhile, you stood in district 12 looking like a total fool.
“He doesn’t get to do this,” you whispered to yourself, “He doesn’t get to come home and pretend nothing has changed.”
The door creaked lightly as he pressed his forehead into the old wood, “I know you're mad at me, you have every right to.” His hand continued to paw at the knob, “Just let me explain—”
“Explain what?” You snapped, abruptly yanking the door open. “That you love her? That you made me a national joke?”
Peeta stared at you like you slapped him. Dark circles bruised his under eye, his thin body shaking underneath your gaze. Despite the abuse of the games, he still looked like your beautiful Peeta.
“It wasn’t like that.” He said quietly.
“You told the entire country you were in love with her.”
“I had to keep her alive.”
“And what about me?” The words came out small and broken, mimicking what you felt on the inside.
Peeta’s expression cracked completely, “You think I forgot about you?” He stepped forward carefully, like you were a wounded animal. “In that arena, you were the only thing I could think about besides surviving.” His voice trembled, “Every second I kept wondering if you were watching me and hating me. It's clear you were.”
You swallowed hard, refusing to cry. “Then why act like I didn’t exist?”
“Because I had to,” His voice was strained.
You laughed bitterly, “Right. For the audience. For the Sponsors. I know.”
“No—You don't." The frustration in his voice startled you. He’s never sounded frustrated at you before. He ran a hand through his hair and looked away for a moment.
“They tell you in the Capitol that people only care about a good story,” he said quietly. “Haymitch kept pushing the romance angle because it kept us alive. Every kiss, every confession… It got us medicine. Food. Sponsors.”
“It all sounded so real,” your throat tightened painfully.
“Some of it was.”
Your head snapped toward him
“I care about Katniss,” he admitted. “I always will. After everything we survived together, how could I not?”
The words stabbed you in the heart.
“But she’s not the one I imagined coming home to,” He closed the gap between you, “you were.”
You stared at him, unable to speak. His words were overwhelming.
“I thought you’d hate me after watching all that,” he continued softly. “And honestly? I hated myself too. Every interview, every time Caesar asked about love, all I could think about was you sitting somewhere hearing it. But if I didn’t play along, we both would’ve died.”
“I don’t hate you,” your hand reaches for him.
“Really?” he asks, his voice somewhere between relief and disbelief.
You nodded, “I was mad, but I could never hate you.”
Peeta felt a weight lift off his shoulders at your words.
“I thought I was losing you… I mean even if you had won it felt like you’d never be mine again.” You whisper, hands now holding his as you look to the ground.
“Baby… look at me,” He whispers, one of his hands moving up to cup your face, making you look up at him. “You’re my everything. It's you, it’s always been you. As long as I’m breathing I will always be utterly and completely yours until my very last breath,” He brings your hand to the left side of his chest, right above his heart. “I’m right here, all yours, always yours.”
You move closer, closing the distance between you two as you lean into his warmth. His arms move to wrap around you in a firm embrace. He kissed the top of your head before adjusting to rest his chin there.
Although he had been back in district 12 for a week, he hadn’t felt at home until now with you in his arms.
Bradley Bradshaw (secretly) dating Jake Seresin’s childhood best friend
Series teaser!!
When you first move to town, he immediately invites you to a night at the Hard Deck with the Dagger Squad.
At first, you were reluctant, but you decided it was better than sitting in your empty house.
Bradley flirts with you heavily, but shortly after Jake declares you off limits.
That doesn’t stop Rooster from charming you; the following weeks are filled with Bradley being a silent gentleman and tiny quips.
After 2 months, you and Bradley begin secretly dating.
It was more for your peace than anything else. If everyone knew about you two, then it would be endless teasing, and Jake would rain hell on everyone for at least a few weeks.
Bradley is sweet, sickeningly so.
He doesn’t rush you; he likes the slow pace that was set.
He takes you to breakfast on the weekends and enjoys staying in for movie nights.
When he’s too busy to take you on a real date, you will go run errands together. Whether it be grocery shopping, getting car maintenance, or picking up medication from the pharmacy. He just likes to spend time with you.
The rest of the Dagger squad adores you as well.
Micky and Reuban relentlessly send you Instagram reels
Javy bets against you in darts and always finds a way to lose.
You and Bob share book recommendations
You and Nat have a monthly girls' night filled with wine and gossip, during which your secret relationship is revealed.
She promises to not tell anyone, but you pull a Hamilton and ruin your reputation before anyone else can.
To say Jake was pissed off when he found out was an understatement. He stormed out of the house and sped over to Rooster’s
You stood in between them as Jake yelled, you were the only reason it didn’t get physical.
Bradley was calm; he knew this would happen one day, especially if he planned on marrying you.
There was no group Hard Deck night that week. Instead, you, Nat, and Bob had your own girls' night to relieve stress. You baked and watched Jeopardy into the early morning.
Eventually, the bar nights return after Jake gives Bradley the shovel talk.
When you get married 3 years later, Natasha is the best man, and Jake is the maid of honor.
Hi! This is my first request ever. On your Marvel list of characters you said you could write almost anyone. Could I please have a Tony Stark x assistant reader story the side of mutual pining. The reader could be in danger for whatever reason and Tony saves them. They could also be like a Natasha character where they work for shield but they do love him.
Emergency
Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: minor injuries, explosion
Word Count: 1.2k
Editor: @sweetcherries123
-.-
Tony, in the most obnoxious car, parked in front of the building. You watched from inside as he paid no mind to the several signs that prohibited civilian cars from parking there.
You left the cool air conditioning behind to scold the imbecile you called your boss, “Mr. Stark, the signs clearly say ‘Emergency Vehicles Only.’”
“Well my presence is a big deal—that’s basically an emergency.” The car beeps as he double clicks the lock button.
“Tony,” you say sternly, losing the formality, “You need to move your car.”
He rolls his eyes, “Who are you, the parking police?”
“This isn’t funny,” he walks past you, ignoring your protests, “What if something bad happens?”
He stops walking and looks at you in disbelief, “You're concerned about something bad happening?”
You nod and cringe on the inside, That sounded dumb outloud.
“If something bad happens, call the Avengers or something, it’s not like Iron Man is standing in front of you or anything.” He throws you his keys, you catch them with ease. “If you have a problem, park it yourself.”
He walks into the building, leaving you with the illegally parked vehicle. You mock him in a squeaky voice under your breath as you approach the exotic car, “If you have a problem, park it yourself.”
Out of the corner of your eye you spot a scrawny teenager wearing one of the intern badges, his name written in a small blue print.
“Parker!” You call, he turns clumsily to give you his full attention, “Park this car for me.” You pass him the keys when you walk past him.
“O-okay,” He fumbles with the key chain as he approaches the car.
Inside, you enter the elevator and click the button that leads to the CEO office. There, you went to a large, spacious room that connected to Tony’s office. The room was your office.
The most recent Avenger’s battle in New York had left mixed emotions among the citizens that lived here, you were instructed to relieve tensions. Most were elated by the Avengers saving the world, but there were also many outraged by the destruction. As Tony Stark’s Personal assistant, you had to clean up his mess.
The morning was spent at your desk dealing with personal accounts from the battle, injury statistics, destruction costs—all of the numbers that nobody liked to look at. You made a game plan on how to manage the next month of overlooking reports and planned a meeting for later in the week. You also handled a video conference that Tony swore he “couldn’t be bothered with,” and worked with the Avenger’s communications department to mitigate mixed public opinions.
By lunch time your brain was fried.
One of the best aspects of working in the city was your favorite shawarma spot being within walking distance of the office. You even picked up lunch for Tony there, using your last ounce of kindness.
After your well deserved break, you were back in the building and outside his office.
“Mr. Stark?” You knock out of instinct but end up walking inside without waiting for a response. He was adding adjustments to his hand blaster, he was barely visible due to the towering stacks of paperwork on his desk.
“I have shawarma.” You showed him the takeout bag in your hand as you walked over.
At the sight he pushed a stack of files onto the floor, “You are an angel—truly a godsend!”
“Are you talking to me or the food?” You ask amused, setting the bag down in the spot he cleared.
He rips the plastic bag and pulls out containers, “Both, obviously.” Eventually he cracks open the container and begins eating.
“Don’t forget your 2 o’clock with the board, I can’t cover your ass for this one!” You tell him, beginning to walk towards the door.
He groans at the reminder, “alright, I’ll be there,” he agrees reluctantly.
“And you’ll be on time?”
“Yes, just leave so I can enjoy my final moments of peace before I enter hell.” He shoos you out with his hand, the door clicking shut behind you shortly after.
-.-
At 2, you’re watching Tony rush to the elevator, late for his board meeting.
By 3, your office no longer existed.
You weren’t sure when or how this happened, all you remembered was a loud explosion and the blast sending you flying. A sharp piece of metal lodged itself into your arm and a large pillar of concrete held your mid-section down.
This wasn’t how you imagined today to go. You woke up prepared for a day of planning, statistics, and arguing with your boss, not dying and crushed by the walls of your office.
“Someone help me!” You called into the void. Your vision began to darken, you knew you didn’t have long before you would fall unconscious, “Tony…”
-.-
It’s unknown how much time passed between the explosion, you falling unconscious, falling unconscious again, and you waking up to Tony yelling out for you.
He called your name again, his voice breaking more each time.
Ignoring the pain in your throat you called back, “Tony!”
It's weak and barely registered, but he heard it. The mechanical noise of his suit came closer and the rumble around you was thrown away as he dug through it to get you.
Dust clung to your lips as you gasped for air. Your entire body shook when Tony pulled you free from the rubble. You tried to speak but nothing came out.
He shushed you softly, “It’s okay, I know.” Concern made his voice rough.
Eventually he flew you down to the street. Around you, first responders rushed between victims. Tony stayed beside you anyway.
-.-
Tony was scaring you with how sweet he was being. He bought you flowers, bossed around nurses, and made sure you had everything you could dream of. You knew he cared for you, you’ve known for years, but this accident was really proving it.
“Leave the poor boy alone,” you tell the frantic man who kept ordering Parker around.
Tony shook his head, “He doesn’t know how to do anything right!” He insisted, collapsing in a grey chair beside your hospital bed.
You grabbed his hand instinctually, his fingers brushing across yours in a steady back and forth motion, “Is he doing it wrong or just different from how I would?”
He knew the answer, but couldn’t admit it. Instead, he changed the topic, “How are you feeling?”
“It’s fine, the drugs really help.” There’s a hint of humor in your words that made the man smile.
You let a few minutes pass while you work up the courage to ask a question you’ve been wondering since the explosion, “Do you actually like me or do you just blame yourself for what happened?
The explosion was a bomb set by a team of angry citizens. They wanted Tony to understand and feel how they did when their homes were destroyed by the Avengers.
“I like you… a lot.” He says it sincerely, you know it's hard for him to say it. “I do also blame myself, but these feelings aren’t new.”
You nodded encouragingly, “How long?”
Tony’s lips quirk a little at himself as he responds, “Since you brought me shawarma for the first time.”
“Oh shut up!” You playfully swat him and pull your hand away from his. You both laugh into the kiss he places on your lips.
Nat with a gf (or partner if you don’t do fem!reader) who loves animals? Like she volunteers at shelters, she’s constantly taking home strays, and she’s always sending Nat videos of cute animals.
Paws and Effect
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader
Genre: Fluff/Comedy
Warnings/tags: Female reader, Nickname (baby, used once)
Word Count: ≈800
Editor: @sweetcherries123
-.-
You sat cross-legged on the padded floor, surrounded by the shelter’s newest litter of kittens. Black and tuxedo cats, all tiny enough to fit in one arm.
They’d been found beside a bike path last week, wrapped in a fleece blanket inside a damp cardboard box. You still remembered the grey-haired woman who carried them in, frantic and near tears.
Since then, the shelter had been running on caffeine and twenty-four-hour kitten care—there were just so many of them.
You woke up this morning to your phone ringing violently. Your coworker, Grace, asked you to cover her shift, which was in less than 10 minutes. You were a people pleaser, so of course you said yes and rushed out of the house half-ready; your toothbrush sat untouched and your lunch box remained unpacked.
You tried to ignore the grumbling of your stomach as you nursed one of the kittens with a warm bottle of milk.
A knock on the door behind you pulled you out of your daze, “Who is it?” You called.
“It’s Benny, there's a woman at the front desk asking for you.” Benny was the newest member of the animal shelter crew.
“I’ll be out in a minute!” You waited until the bottle was empty before placing the black furball down beside his siblings. You watched him nuzzle into the tuxedo kitten beside him—the one you’d secretly named Tony. You weren’t supposed to name the kittens this early into their stay, but the poor little tuxedo cat was so sassy for a kitten in such a harsh situation, it reminded you of your girlfriend's coworker.
Eventually, you made your way to the lobby. There you were met with Natasha, leaning against the front desk with a mysterious brown and greasy bag clutched in her right hand.
She turned around as the door you just entered from clicked shut, “Hey, baby.” Natasha straightened and held the bag out toward you.
Your eyebrows scrunched, “What’s that for?”
She looked at you dumbfounded, “For you… to eat…”
“Why?”
Natasha rolled her eyes, “I know you forgot breakfast again.”
“No–” A grumble from your stomach interrupted you before you could continue.
She wholeheartedly laughed at you, “Just eat the damn sandwich before you pass out.”
-.-
Natasha should’ve known the silence was suspicious.
“Honey, I’m home!” Natasha greeted, walking through the front door.
Your stomach dropped. The kitten was quickly tucked into the closet before you threw yourself onto the bed, propping your head up casually against your hand.
Totally natural.
Nat opened the door right as you got comfortable, “What are you doing in here?”
“Just relaxing.” You squeaked.
She hummed, approaching the bed. Natasha kissed you sweetly, you could feel how much she missed you through it.
You leaned into her, grabbing her shoulder and sitting up to bring her closer. She settled into your lap comfortably. When she pulled back to whisper sweet nothings, she was interrupted by a quiet meow from the closet.
She groaned and threw her head back, “ ‘Just relaxing’ my ass.” Her eyes were filled with a mix of disappointment and annoyance, “I thought Roscoe was the last one.”
Roscoe, a brown tabby, had been your fourth cat and your supposedly “last” one.
“He is!” you insist, “I’m just fostering this one until he finds a home, I swear.”
You in fact weren’t just fostering him, 3 months later he was a permanent member of the family.
-.-
Natasha found your constant work updates endearing.
The Avengers did not.
Tony was briefing an urgent meeting, rambling on about how there couldn’t be any mistakes or “improv” during this one, but Natasha’s phone wouldn’t stop buzzing on the table.
“Sorry,” She said, taking it off the table as the whole team stared at her.
“No, I’m sorry, there must be something more important than twelve hostages. Would you care to share with the class?” Sarcasm dripped from Tony’s words.
Nat slowly shook her head and gestured for him to continue.
“So as I was saying–” Tony tried to go back to the time-sensitive topic but the buzzing, now coming from Nat’s pocket, accelerated and got louder. “Seriously, Romanoff. Just check your phone and tell them to shut up already.”
“I can’t.” She stated simply after glancing at who was messaging her.
Bruce groaned, “Why?”
Nat showed everyone your text thread, a series of videos and excited messages about the newest golden retriever that just came in.
Tony, along with the rest of the Avengers, softened his gaze at the clumsy puppy on her screen.
Chapter 2 Summary: Finnick was meant to meet you at District 13, but you weren't there.
Tags/Warnings: Graphic torture, Finnick not eating or sleeping, kidnapping, female reader, Hallucinations, several wounds, Creepy man, implied starvation and dehydration, hostage videos
Word Count: 2.8k
Editor: @sweetcherries123
Chapter 1
-.-
Finnick’s POV
Finnick barely remembered the flight to District 13. Only fragments stayed with him now — the vibration of the hovercraft beneath his boots, the copper taste of blood in his mouth, the way every sharp turn sent pain through his ribs.
By the time they landed, medics were already waiting. Hands pulled him onto a stretcher. Questions blurred together. Someone cut through the sleeve of his shirt. Another pressed cold fingers against the bruising along his neck.
He let them work. None of it mattered.
“Where is she?” The words came out rougher than he intended. His throat still burned from the arena smoke.
A medic glanced up. “Who?”
Finnick shut his eyes briefly, exhausted with himself. “Y/N Heavensbee.”
Recognition flickered instantly across the woman’s face. “She hasn’t arrived yet,” she said carefully. “Her transport was delayed.”
Delayed.
Finnick nodded anyway and leaned his head back against the pillow, pretending that explanation was enough.
“There’s word she should arrive by nightfall”
Nightfall, I can wait until then, Finnick thought before closing his eyes to rest, hoping sleep would make nightfall come sooner.
-.-
Reader’s POV
You woke up with a start, a cold sweat running down your spine. You opened your eyes only to be met with darkness, the feeling of a cloth tied too tight around your head causing a tension headache to start forming. You tried to take it off by moving your hand up to your face, but your hands were bound behind you.You tried to stand from the chair but all you did was make it screech against the floor as more binds around your mid-section kept you in place.
This wasn’t District 13.
The room was cold, damp, and smelled stale. You didn’t need your eyes to see that this wasn’t what your father had promised you would wake up to this morning.
Yesterday, before your father left for the game center, he promised that by this time tomorrow you would be in district 13, talking to whomever you desired and never having to hide your identity again. He declared that last night he would somehow get the victors out, while he did that you would be packed up and on a jet to your new home.
He was wrong.
Instead, you're stuck in a mysterious room hearing muffled voices from outside, none of them being familiar.
You weren't left alone with your own thoughts too long before a door somewhere in front of you swung open, you could feel the air blow your loose shirt back.
“A fine morning isn’t it?” A deep voice asked, he had an accent you’ve never heard before. You didn’t respond. He chuckled before continuing, “Well, I guess you wouldn’t know.”
You could hear the man shuffle to stand in front of you, “I want this to be easy, so let's be honest with each other.”
You nodded slowly.
“So you can hear me, perfect.” He noted.
You wish he could see the way you rolled your eyes at him, but it was probably better that he couldn't.
The man took a deep breath before asking calmly, “Who are you?”
You tugged on your restraints, signaling that you needed your hands to speak.
The man just laughed at you, “You don’t need those to respond, I know you can talk.”
You stayed silent.
“Speak.” His voice was eerily calm, sending a chill up your spine.
You shook your head.
His hand came down in a swift, calculated slap. It sent your head to the left, for a second all you could hear was ringing.
His boots scraped in front of you as he moved closer to grab your chin, forcing your head straight again.
“You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
You were throbbing with pain but you were not going to give in.
You shook your head again.
This process continued for a while, each slap growing more painful than the last. Still, he refused to raise his voice.
-.-
Finnick’s POV
Every five seconds he would check the door, hoping you would walk in any minute. You didn’t. He would ask the doctors for updates, and they told him to be patient. He couldn’t be patient anymore. He waited until nightfall, but now it had been three days.
He tried to reassure himself that there are many logical, safe reasons for you being late. Maybe the pilot had rerouted. Maybe the Capitol’s airspace was worse than expected. Maybe there was still time for everything to be okay. None of his logical explanations helped.
Finnick tried to appear calm and collected, but everyone could already see him unraveling.
Maybe once he’s back to work he’ll know the situation and find out you’re just around the corner… right?
-.-
Reader’s POV
There had been an endless dripping above your head for hours. It was intentional, you could tell because the only people who would want to torture and gain information from you would be the capital, and they never did anything on accident.
You were damp from head to toe, the cold air around you making it worse. In a few hours you knew sickness would start to set in. Your fingers and toes felt numb, all your blood focused on keeping your heart beating. Thoughts didn’t come clearly anymore—only the uncontrollable shivering of your body and the relentless clatter of your teeth filling the space inside your head.
Every once in a while you would hear shuffling of tactical boots and men speaking. You couldn’t tell if hours or minutes passed anymore. It was just water dripping forever and ever. There was nothing anchoring you to time anymore. You couldn’t see. You couldn’t feel or smell, the freezing temperatures making your nose lose its ability.
-.-
“Finnick?” You heard him outside, calling for you.
He didn’t respond. I should yell louder, you thought.
“I'm here!” You fought against your restraints, feeling one of your hands start to loosen the rope.
“Wait for me!” You yell into the darkness, still making your way out of the rope.
After only a minute your hand was free. You started shimmying your way out of the thick binds, a feeling of hope flooding your body.
The door opened, footsteps approaching, “Finnick!” You rejoice, pulling the blindfold off.
But it's not Finnick. It’s a peacekeeper with his face covered, his hand nearing your face rapidly before everything went black.
-.-
You were in a new room now. It wasn’t the damp stone room you’d seen for only a second before, this one was more of a cell. A thin, hard bed in the corner, a one way mirror across from it, a large security camera above the door, and a dirty toilet off to the side. You would be here for a while.
There were no windows, you still couldn’t tell the time. You were still in your grim covered clothes, but there was no longer a “leaking” pipe above your head so all was well… in a way.
The door opened, an older man with a long black trenchcoat entered.
“You’ve shown us you are capable. We were just going to ‘discard’ you, but you are more useful than we thought.” He used his figures to put quotes around “discard,” It was the man who had slapped you when you first arrived.
“Be a doll and tell me how you’re related to this rebellion. If you cooperate, maybe I can negotiate to get some food for you.” His demeanor was the same, calm and strategic.
You thought for a moment about it, then physically cringed. I’m such a bad daughter, you thought as you cursed yourself for even considering betraying your father and best friend. This place was taking a toll on you.
“Get me some food first and I’ll tell you.”
He clicked his tongue three times and shook his head, “You are in no place to negotiate. Taking my deal is your best option, you’ve only seen a fraction of the consequences.”
You simply shook your head.
He didn’t give a reaction, he just… left.
-.-
Finnick’s POV
Finnick started memorizing footsteps. The heavy stride near the command hall belonged to Boggs. Light, hurried steps usually meant Prim. Coin’s escorts moved in pairs. Every unfamiliar sound made his head turn instinctively. Every door made his pulse jump. It had been nine days.
He had asked everyone where you were, even Coin, but there were still no updates. Nobody knew where you were, where the mission crew was, and whether any of you were alright. No one knew anything, and if they did, they definitely weren’t telling him.
He wasn’t the type of person who overthinks, but he couldn’t help it. His mind kept jumping to the worst case scenarios, even going as far as giving him nightmares about them. Your body lifeless and mutilated at the hands of the Capitol.
It became a routine for him to wander, he couldn’t stand being in his room too long without you. During lap three of the compound he heard your name echo through the halls. Instinctively, he followed it and not long after his ear was pressed against a door to listen further.
It was Coin’s voice that he heard first, “They found bodies on the east border of the capital.”
Bodies? Was there an attempt to breach the walls? Finnick thought before the conversation could continue.
“Was it the crew?” Coin must’ve nodded as Plutarch further asked, “Was my daughter with them?”
“No, her status is still unknown.”
Silence settled over the room and it made Finnick impatient, he had to start asking questions himself.
He opened the door and acted surprised as he “accidently” interrupted their conversation. “I didn’t know there was a meeting today.”
Plutarch quickly turned around to respond, “There isn’t, we were just talking.” A cautious smile creeps onto his face.
“About what?”
Coin and Plutarch weren’t stupid, they could tell he already knew. The tension in the air was suffocating, “Finnick maybe you should go-” Coin began to escort him out but Finnick cut her off.
“No thanks, I’d rather stay.” He didn’t mean to have an attitude, he couldn’t help it. He needed to know more, like if there was a plan to find you.
Plutarch gave in, he knew Finnick cared about his daughter, a father always knows. “Please, make yourself at home.” He gestured to a chair across from him.
The blond smoothed out his District 13 issued clothing and moved across the room to sit at the large table, “Where do you think she is?”
Plutarch didn’t have the energy to lie anymore, a week was his limit. “I have a feeling the capital got to her before the team could.”
Finnick nodded deep in thought, “Is there a plan to get her?”
The older man shook his head.
“Then we are going to make one.”
-.-
Reader’s POV
The past few hours, days, weeks? You didn’t know anymore, you just know you would rather die than continue with this lifestyle. A life of mutilation, starvation, and psychological torture. You were burned, cut, and beaten. Your head dunked in water repeatedly.
Don’t Sleep.
Don’t Sleep.
Don’t Sleep.
Became your mantra, if you slept then your guard was down. If your guard was down then something worse than death would happen, you knew it.
The door slammed open. The trench coat man, two peacekeepers accompanying him.
Just kill me today, you thought.
“I have a treat for you today, doll.” His smile was anything but comforting, it revealed his true twisted intentions.
You were led to a room with a chair, leather bonds on the arms, legs, and body, and a small television from long before you were born.
The peacekeepers strapped you in while your torturer tuned the tv to one of the other cameras in the building.
The screen flickered once before the image steadied.
Your father sat restrained in a chair identical to yours. For a moment you forgot to breathe. His hair was disheveled. Blood darkened the collar of his shirt. Silver duct tape covered his mouth, trapping every desperate sound in his throat.
“No…” The word barely escaped you.
Beside you, the man in the trench coat smiled.
“I’m doing this because you made me,” he said softly.
A Peacekeeper stepped into frame. Your father began struggling violently against the restraints. You’d never seen him afraid before. The realization hollowed something inside you.
“Wait—”
The Peacekeeper drew his weapon.
You pulled against the leather straps hard enough to tear skin from your wrists.“Please, please don’t—” A hand gripped the back of your head, forcing you to keep watching.
The gunshot echoed through the room.
Afterward, your father didn’t move again.
“...dad?” A childish squeak left your mouth at the scene, sobs following shortly after.
The man behind you stood with an accomplished grin.
-.-
Finnick’s POV
He hasn’t been sleeping, he couldn’t. Every time he tried, his mind wandered back to you and the enigma that was your location. He lost his appetite a few days ago. Every time he tried to eat, he couldn’t help but think about how you were most likely being starved.
He’d been training lately to prepare for your rescue mission, though he hadn’t been promised a spot on the team. There wasn’t a plan yet, no set date or team, they didn’t even know where you were being held. Coin insisted that they were looking for your location but he believed her less everyday. There wasn’t any new information on you and it was killing him.
The sleep deprivation and overexertion from training inevitably turned into him passing out while “taking a breather” on the floor.
-.-
“Finnick!” Prim violently shook him awake, she was out of breath and her hands were unsteady.
He opened his eyes, “What is it?” His tone was surprisingly kind despite the fact that he was rudely awakened.
“Coin needs you in the meeting room,” Finnick started to fall back asleep, “She needs you right now!” Primrose began shaking him again.
“Okay okay,” he said, swatting her away and making his way to the meeting room.
When he opened the door Coin quickly moved to turn off the holographic screen displaying a gruesome video of you, but it was too late. He saw it all.
“What the hell was that?” Finnick made his way to the controls, “Where did you get that?” His voice rose slightly in distress.
A beat passes as everyone stares at him in shock, they’ve never seen him so worked up.
“The capital’s private channel. Betee, found it earlier.” Plutarch gestures to the man who sat next to him.
Betee hasn’t been able to get through the system for weeks, it's obvious that the capital wanted the rebels to find this.
“I wanna see the whole thing.” Finnick knows its graphic, he knows it’ll hurt to watch, but he needs to know what they did to you—what he failed to protect you from.
“Finnick—” Betee tries to argue but Finnick doesn’t let him.
“Show me the video… please.” His voice breaks on the final word but Coin obliges, the video flickering back to life on the screen.
You’re tied up to a chair, blindfolded, and brutally beaten. Tears and blood seeped through the cloth tied around your eyes as you cried in pain. A man demands you to read a message to the rebels but it doesn’t register well. You shake your head and call a name.
His name.
“Finnick, please help me.” You plead before a peacekeeper knocks you out with a hard hit to your head. The video cuts out.
The room is covered in a thick blanket of silence. No one knows what to say.
Coin speaks with reassurance to comfort the father and friend in the room, “We can use the radio signals that sent the video to triangulate the location where she is being kept. Once we have that, a team will be sent to recover her.”
Finnick nodded, “When do we leave?”
“You’re not going.” Plutarch states firmly.
“Yes, I am. She needs me—she was calling for me, not strangers who have nothing at stake.”
Plutarch’s voice raises from Finnick's defiance, “No. What she needs is stability and a mission without complications. You would jeopardize all of that.”
“She needs a familiar face—”
“You’re not going and that's final.” Coin settles the argument, shutting both the men up.
A few days later Finnick watches as the recovery team takes off in a sleek jet, hoping that he’ll see you again.
Chapter 1 Summary: Being Plutarch Heavensbee forbidden child was hard, but Finnick makes it easier.
Tags/Warnings: toxic father, mentions of Finnick being bought (vague), female reader, slowish burn
Word Count: 3.0k
Editor: @sweetcherries123
-.-
7 years ago, 68th Hunger Games Victory Tour
Every winter your father, Plutarch Heavensbee, has hundreds of guests staying at the house, but never anybody interesting. It was nice at first, you were an isolated child so when your father brought people over it was a welcome change of pace, even if none of them knew who you were. Eventually it became something you dreaded, constantly having to be something you weren’t and keeping secrets that weren’t yours became exhausting.
Your father never let you talk to anyone, no one could know who and what you truly were. Your role in the household during these winter months was not as the daughter of the host, but instead as an avox. It was safer for you to be considered a forced laborer than what you truly were, a forbidden child.
There's no record of your birth, the government doesn’t know you exist. Since the beginning you’ve been locked away in the house, your father intended to keep it that way for the time being. When you were younger you would question it, but maybe some things are better kept a mystery.
This winter felt different, like a big change would come to your repetitive, lonely life. You could feel it when you woke up, a barely noticeable shift in the air.
Last night your father had said he had an important guest today, one who would have an extended visit. He said he’d known this man for years and trusted him enough to invite him over. Your father never described trust as having a factor in if people were invited over, it usually was based on how much he could profit off their support.
You could hear commotion in the hallway, the avoxes must've been trying to prepare for the man coming later, you weren’t worried like they were. Every single visit was the same.
Stand in the corner, anticipate messes or when someone needs something, listen intently, and then clean up after they leave. It was that. Every time.
When you first saw the special visitor you were intrigued. It wasn’t the usual middle-aged man with a creepy, dangerous stare. No. This was a young man, not much older than you, with kind eyes and a magnetic energy. Dad should invite this guy over more often, you thought.
They talked about a rebellion that your father had been planning for years, slowly recruiting victors in on the large movement. This was not new information, but the age of the man was throwing you off. Your father usually waited for them to get older, allowing more resentment to grow, which proved more useful for their specific role in the rebellion, but this victor you remember winning around 3 years ago. Still, you brushed it off.
There were vague statements you caught, distracted by your own thoughts being louder than their conversation. Things about him being the capital’s sweetheart, the influence he had on the citizens, and that if he were to agree then he wouldn’t be bought again. You felt sympathy, never having felt that often due to most guests being pretentious. This victor was the perfect mix of confidence, humbleness, and resilience, it was charming. You still weren’t able to catch his name yet.
At the end of the dinner, the guest excused himself to go to the bathroom, your father turning to you once he was out of ear-shot, “Do you mind setting the guest bedroom up?”
It took you a second to respond. Since when was that guest bedroom used? The only thing that stayed in there were the moths that slowly ate at the unused linens in the closet.
“Of course, dad. For who?” you asked. Somewhat careless as you addressed your father not using the usual “sir” or “Mr. Heavensbee.” You were lucky no one was around.
Your father thought you were joking, did you not just stand and watch him talk to the young man for an hour?
“For me,” that same man appeared behind you, shock riddled down your spine. No one, other than your father, had heard your voice before. That shock you felt appeared in your fathers expression, who sat in front of you, still being too afraid to look at the mystery man.
“Finnick,” your father said calmly, his usual demeanor returning to him.
The young man, who you now knew was named Finnick, responded with that same calmness, “Yes, sir?”
“Do not speak of this to anyone.” The elder man was borderline terrifying as underlying threats dripped from his words.
“The thought never even crossed my mind, sir.” A small smirk still on his lips, unaffected by Plutarch’s attempt to intimidate him.
-.-
5 years ago, 70th Hunger Games Victory Tour
Victor's week had become your favorite week of the year, which is weird because you used to dread it. But ever since the 68th Hunger Games, you had something to long for — Finnick Odair. He began to change your routine.
Finnick somehow made a week full of scheming politicians and drunk socialists into something fun. Maybe it was his witty remarks or the mischievous grin that crept onto his face when he saw you across the room. He made it… fun.
It was embarrassing and you would never admit to anyone how giddy you got the night before he arrived, but he became the best part of your year. He was understanding of your predicament and never made fun of your underdeveloped social skills.
Flora, another avox, had been signing teasing remarks about your little crush on Finnick to you when he walked in. He strolled over like this was a normal occurrence, like he owned the house. It didn’t take long for him to be standing right in front of you, the avox prep room was a small space.
Speak of the devil, Flora signed, giving you a knowing smile. She glanced between you and Finnick before ultimately deciding to leave you two alone, nodding goodbye to the both of you.
He said your name softly, it melted your heart, “You’re a hard person to find, Miss Heavensbee.”
You rolled your eyes, “I didn’t know this was a routine.”
Last year he caught you in the kitchen, arriving early just to talk to you without the dangers of capital officials finding out your secret.
“I missed you too.” He smiled at you, unbothered by the fake annoyed glare you gave him.
You scoffed at him, reaching for the final part of your ensemble, a dainty necklace, on the table he started leaning on. “Don’t flirt with me.”
“Why not?” He intercepted your grab for the necklace and motioned for you to turn around, your eyebrows furrowed but you obliged.
“You do it with everyone.” Your voice was uneven as his gentle hands reached around to put the accessory on you.
“That’s true,” he admitted as you turned to face him again, “But I only learn sign language for you.”
“You're kidding!” A smile of disbelief gracing your features.
His hands moved in an attempt to sign You’re beautiful but instead he signed soapy strawberry, you understood his intent still.
A genuine laugh erupted from you, a rare occurrence, “You did not sign that right.”
Finnick felt accomplished, even if he did it wrong. He would embarrass himself a thousand more times if it meant he could hear you laugh like that again.
“It was worth a shot.” He shrugged, a subtle blush dusting his cheeks, “You look beautiful tonight.”
You tried to sneer at him, but the grin tugging at your lips ruined it,“You don’t have to butter me up like everyone else.”
“I know.” His hand reached out for yours, brushing his fingers across it, “ I want to.”
You couldn’t help the way your breath hitched.
“Don’t you have a dinner to go to?” You asked quickly, flustered by his attention being solely on you.
He nodded, “Unfortunately.” His hand still played with yours despite the fact that he had to go.
“Then go.”
“In a minute.”
“Finnick—”
“Fine,” He groaned, beginning to leave as he walked backwards, “I’ll see you out there.”
-.-
3 years ago, 72nd Hunger games Victory Tour
You woke up with the worst headache this morning and knew that tonight would be torture. Your father had decided tonight would be his biggest party for the victor, Pliny Arausio, but also Seneca Crane, the new gamemaker.
The closer it got to the time of the event the worse you felt. It had progressed to the point where it was no longer just your head pounding but also a runny nose and sore throat accompanying it. The small cold you thought you had this morning was more serious than you anticipated. You couldn’t even think straight, the pain was blocking all logical thoughts.
Nothing followed your silent routine tonight.
This party in particular felt more overwhelming than others. There was more food, louder music, and at least a thousand people, but no Finnick. Over the past few years Finnick Odair had become the only reason why you eagerly awaited these daunting events, the fact that he wasn’t here was killing you. You weren’t told that he was not invited tonight, but he didn’t visit you before like he usually would; therefore, you could only assume he wouldn’t be here.
Your feet were killing you as you held onto a tray of champagne, parading it around the event for attendees to grab at their convenience. You felt like you were on fire, the combination of your fever and the body heat from all the guests made the room feel like a sauna. You were invisible to them, everyone kept bumping into you or accidentally smacking into your tray as they gestured wildly.
Just when you thought this night couldn’t get any worse, you saw Finnick leaning into a beautiful woman's presence with his signature smirk on his face, flirting with her.
You immediately started jumping to conclusions.
It was clear he didn’t think seeing you was as important as you thought. Maybe the past year forced us to grow apart. Maybe he preferred the company of girls he didn’t have to sneak around just to say hello to.
Just then you made eye contact with him.
Shit.
You had to get out of there. You did not want Finnick to see you upset over something that meant so little to him.
Without a second thought, you turned around to escape into the mansion. Inside, you went to the kitchen, a practical place that wouldn’t draw attention.
Your mind was racing with illogical thoughts.
He doesn’t care. He never liked me in the first place, I was just leverage in his sick game. Finnick probably told everyone about the abomination I am. Everything he’s said was a twisted joke.
Tears were rolling down your cheeks before you even knew it, everything had been building up all day and Finnick had been the last straw. This night felt like it would never end. You were angry at your best friend, who no longer cared, and exhausted from your raging fever.
It wasn’t long before the kitchen door flew open, a distressed Finnick making his way inside. The few minutes you had alone weren’t enough to properly calm you down.
You clumsily wipe your tear stained face and start busying yourself, ignoring his worried gaze.
He approaches you in the same way he would approach a skittish animal, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
You don’t respond, treating him like he was everyone else. Like to him you were just an avox.
“Baby, please talk to me.” He pleaded from behind you. His gentle, caring tone sounded mocking to you, even though it wasn’t.
You shake your head in frustration, "there's nothing to say.” You finished placing the last wine glass on the silver tray and turned to leave, but Finnick stood in your way.
“Yes there is,” he insisted, “I just wanna know what's going on.”
You huff and put the tray down behind you before staring him straight in the eye. You didn’t want to be confrontational but at this point it felt as if he wanted you to. “Are you always this oblivious?”
Finnick’s brows furrow, unable to do anything but nod.
“You are the most confusing person ever!” Your voice raises louder than intended, “I thought we were friends, good friends, but tonight you’ve shown me it was just my imagination.”
He helplessly responds, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“So you just accidentally ignore me and cozy up to another woman?”
You can tell that got him as he scoffs at you, “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. I know I may not mean that much to you, but I look forward to seeing you and it's clear you don’t reciprocate that feeling.” You try to shove past him, abandoning the tray behind you, he doesn’t let you… again. His hand grabbed your forearm this time.
“You do mean a lot to me, I was working just like you were tonight.” Finnick's grip became firmer, but not painful.
Oh.
You open your mouth but nothing comes out. You were so sick that you forgot his deal with snow, a topic he previously discussed with your father at their first dinner.
Finnick takes your stunned silence as pity, “Don’t give me that look, don’t be like everyone else.”
“I’m not, I swear.” You reach out for him, enveloping the hand that was on your arm.
He sighs, taking a step back and reassessing the situation, “This isn’t about me right now, I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
You try to take a deep breath but it's interrupted by a violent cough, you grab his arm to steady yourself.
His other hand flies to your waist as he finally understands what's really been bothering you. “Let's get you to bed, sweetheart.”
“You have to get back out there, I don’t want you getting in trouble because of me.” Despite your insistence on him leaving, your grip on him doesn’t falter.
“You’re worth all the trouble.”
-.-
7 months ago, 74th Hunger Games Victory Tour
There were two victors this year, something that had never happened before. The rebellion was going to start picking up, you knew by the way there were more secret meetings than usual and by the unrest in the districts.
Your father volunteered to be the head game maker which put him in the best position to start acting on what had just been hushed discussions for the past several years. He said tonight he would hint at Katniss his intentions but wouldn’t reveal any major information.
You could tell by the way she cringed from across the dance floor that she didn’t trust him, or anyone other than the folks she knew back in 12. You hoped this year it would work, you couldn’t live in secret anymore. Your father had said once you left the capital, you would never have to hide yourself away again. After year 3 it felt impossible, an unattainable dream.
Until then, you decided to continue with your routine.
Before the event, Finnick had visited you, but instead of welcoming his warm hug and witty remarks, you shoved him out of the room. He was confused, but also pleasantly entertained by your bold action. For the past week you’d planned for his arrival, searching for a place where you could talk for more than the five minutes before the annual events.
You had Flora slip him an important “notice” that ultimately told him the location you set up. It didn’t take long before he cautiously opened the door. He wore a white linen shirt, the top few buttons undone, and loose pants that complemented the overall silhouette.
Inside he was met with you holding a small gift box. For once, Finnick didn’t have a clever remark ready.
“So this is what you’ve been up to?” His voice was teasing, making you cower back slightly in embarrassment.
You nod slowly, “I know we don’t have a lot of time, but I wanted to do this in private.” If you had done it earlier there would’ve been the risk of other avoxes or your father coming in.
“So this is the secondary location.” He jokes, looking around the room as if this were the end of the road for him.
You gave him a face that spoke for you, one of pure annoyance.
“Sorry.” He bowed his head slightly, signaling you to continue.
You took a deep breath to collect your thoughts, “I wanted to give you something to remember me by, the rebellion is picking up fast and I don’t know what will happen.” You extend the box to him but he doesn’t take it. “Finnick, please.”
“I can’t” He stared at the neat bow on the pale yellow box like it would attack him at any moment.
“Why not?”
“Because then this would be a goodbye.” That's when you saw it. His eyes were glossy as the intention of the gift set in.
You grabbed his hand to pull him closer, he let you, “It isn’t, I swear.”
He decided to trust you, maybe if he acted like this was just a kind gesture rather than a safety measure then maybe, just maybe, it means he’ll see you after tonight.
He gingerly took the box and slowly undid the ribbon wrapped around it. Inside was the necklace he helped put on you many years ago. Finnick picked it up like it would break at any moment.
“This is so strawberry, thank you.” Without a second thought Finnick leaned down slightly to press a light kiss to your cheek.
Summary: You and your best friend, Billy Stebbins, get reaped for the Hunger Games. You make yourself rules to not lose yourself in the chaos.
Warnings: Family Issues (minor), use of Y/n, given last name, she/her pronouns
Word Count: 3.1k
-.-
It was early July, the sun was beating down on the fields as you lay underneath a tree. It was slightly cooler under the leafy protection, but the heat was unrelenting.
You put your book down briefly to watch as a deer mouse raced into the golden wheat in front of you, quickly disappearing as he weaved between the plants. You’d always loved watching the animals, studying their behaviour as they grew, and mentally noting their predictability. You’d been doing this for years, silently observing routines and personalities. You watched as another mouse followed, spontaneously turning left. Except it wasn’t spontaneous, you could tell it was about to do that based on the almost unseeable twitch in his left ear.
You were a farmer's daughter in one of the least educated districts, but that didn’t mean you relied on others to do things for you. Balancing both harvesting the grain and learning standardized material, hoping one day you’d hold some position of power. Reading had become not only a hobby but also a necessity in hopes of securing a stable future.
You wish you could just read under this tree all day, but Pa asked you to fetch the farm hand something for lunch. After a couple of minutes of contemplating and mentally preparing to leave the safe haven that was the shade, you walked along the field’s perimeter before reaching the rustic house.
Inside wasn’t much cooler; the heat was trapped inside. Not even the open windows could help.
You look in the fridge — nothing. You look in the pantry — two pieces of bread and a sandwich’s worth of jelly. Perfect.
You quickly make the jelly sandwich before throwing it on a plate and grabbing water from the pitcher inside the fridge. Peeking out the window, you see Billy about sixty feet from the house, groaning. You decided it could be worse and began your trek to where he tended the fields with his button-up discarded and his overalls hanging loosely by his hips.
“Billy~” you call in a sing-songy voice, approaching with his lunch.
The blonde boy turned around, a neutral look on his face as he huffed. You handed him his food and ushered him to sit down on a bag of seed with you; you had a few minutes to spare between reading and more reading.
“Thank you,” He took the dishes out of your hand and carefully sat down. There wasn’t much surface, so your shoulders slightly brushed each other.
Billy Stebbins had been your Pa’s farm hand for years. He was quiet, kind, and respectful, never one to say more words than expected of him. You were his opposite, while still kind and lighting up every room you walked into, you often spoke too much and said things that others shamed you for holding too many opinions. He thought it was one of your worst traits, not that he thought everyone should keep being fake and act like everything was okay, but because he didn’t like seeing you get in trouble. It always somehow got back to him.
The town not only saw him as the Meir’s farm helper, but also Y/n Meir’s handler, a job that should’ve been for your Pa, but his emotional absence since your mother passed made it impossible to ask him to deal with you, too. Billy wouldn’t say anything or complain about having to take care of you sometimes, though; he would rather keep his job and keep you out of trouble than have to go on a job search that would end in him and his mother starving.
You sat with him until he was done eating, little conversation being held due to the heat exhaustion on both sides. You took his dishes and walked back inside, his eyes following your every move until you disappeared behind the oak door.
-.-
The next morning, you woke up with a feeling of urgency, but you couldn’t quite remember why. What am I forgetting?
You got out of bed, putting on a dusty lavender sundress, brown boots, and a bandana on your head to protect it from the elements.
The floors creaked as you went to ask your Pa what he needed you to do today, only to find him and Billy whispering to each other in the dining room. Your brows furrowed; they usually only did this when Billy was to be paid, but that wasn’t supposed to happen until next week. Something about today isn’t right.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Your Pa greeted as he noticed you lingering by the doorway.
Snapping out of your trance, you quickly responded, trying to hide your confusion, “Good morning!” A fake smile is being plastered upon your lips.
Your Pa seemed unaware of your uneasy feeling, “Well, I was asking Billy if he would walk you to the town square. I’m running a little late, but you shouldn’t have to pay for that.”
“What’s happening in the town square?”
This made an amused snicker leave Billy, “You’re kidding, right?”
You shook your head.
“It's reaping day.”
Oh.
-.-
You walked with ease, ignoring that pit in your stomach. You’d made it to eighteen without being pulled, surely this year's own break the trend.
Billy, on the other hand, was extremely rigid; an uncomfortable silence settled around him. Which piqued your interest, it was so unlike him. His silence is usually like a warm blanket on a cold winter’s night; comforting.
“What’s wrong?” You turned your head to look at that classic stoic expression on his face.
He shrugged, at first he thought about brushing you off, but he knew that you wouldn’t let him go, no matter how hard he tried. “I just have this gut feeling that this year it's gonna be me.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I’m serious, something about today feels different.” He glanced at you with full sincerity.
You felt it, you had that same feeling. He didn’t have to know that, though. Instead, you decide to do what you do best — lighten the mood.
A relaxed mask covered your face. “Well, you’re not going to be pulled. Even if you are, I feel bad for whoever gets pulled to go against you because I know you would win.” You paused as you watched his face not change, "Hypothetically, of course, I know we’ll be back on the farm tomorrow eating our jelly sandwiches.”
It was time for you to part by the time you were done comforting him. “May the odds be ever in your favor.” You wish him luck in a mocking capital citizen voice.
“You too, Ms. Meir.”
When your attention finally moved onto getting checked in, a smile crept on his face from your confidence in him.
As you approached your spot lined up with the other girls, that uneasy feeling got stronger… a lot stronger. I just wanna go home, you thought as the classic Capital video was projected onto the screen.
Eventually, it was time for the names to be pulled.
“For the girls,” Clem, district 9’s escort, announced as she went to grab a folded piece of paper from the large, clear bowl. Her heels clicked as she walked back to the microphone. It was agonizing watching as she slowly opened the paper. She took a sharp breath before reading the name.
“Y/n Meir”
The muffled sound of people’s feet shuffling to look at you is all you hear as you stand with your jaw dropped.
You forgot that you were even an option. Going so many years watching others walk up to that stage, you never even considered it could be you one day.
Everyone was staring. Their watchful, dead eyes all on you is worse than your name being called from those perfectly red-stained lips on Clem Olson’s face.
“Come on, dear, don’t keep everyone waiting!” She kindly urged you to approach the stage.
Your body felt stiff, frozen as you forced yourself to move towards the stage. Everyone was watching; that was the worst part of it all.
Hundreds of people who wouldn’t even spare you a glance on the street, all watching as you were called for a death sentence. The neighboring farmers, who always verbally abused your Pa for being different, let staged pity take hold of them as they patted his shoulder in obligation. For years, you were just Farmer Meir’s daughter. Why are they acting like you are more than that now?
You finally got to the steps, but you couldn’t walk up.
It all feels too real. This has to be a dream.
Clem moved towards you and offered her hand, “It’s okay,” She whispered.
You accepted her help as you shuffled to the white X marked on the stage.
“Now for the boys!” Her chirpy tone returned as she walked to the opposing side of the stage, returning with more urgency than before since you took a long time to get to your spot. She huffed, slightly fumbling with the small slip.
“William Stebbins.”
You have to be kidding me. He was right.
At first, you were worried for him; he needed to take care of his mom. Then you were worried for yourself; there was no way you could beat him in the arena.
Billy walked up with more confidence and speed than you did, masking his emotions so well that it looked like today was just like any other. He didn’t let the prying eyes get to him as you did, oh, how you envied him.
Your eyes were glued to the ground, unable to look at the crowd or Billy.
At some point, you're ushered into a room where you will say your last goodbyes to any visiting loved ones. It was plain and ornately decorated, with furniture scattered throughout. It smelled like it was only used for this purpose; dust littered the few paintings hanging on the floral paper walls.
You waited for what felt like forever, no sign of anyone coming in. You could hear Ms. Stebbins next door, crying not to take her little boy away, but everything else outside your small room was barren. No sound of shuffling feet or men talking, as someone would expect before saying their last goodbye to their Pa.
Eventually, the door opens, a peacekeeper dressed in white walks in, but no one else.
“Ms. Meir, follow me to the train.” The man stood there next to the open door, waiting for you to get off the velvet couch you had claimed when you first entered.
What?
“Excuse me, sir.” The peacekeeper's eyes stayed leveled on you, the only acknowledgement he had heard you, “I didn’t get to say goodbye to anyone.”
He took a steady breath, choosing his next words wisely, “Nobody came to say goodbye, Miss. We must go to the train now.” He states, stepping towards you to show that he will use force if you don’t move.
You stand up and follow him robotically through the corridors as your mind races.
Not even Pa came?
Your eyes filled with tears, but you wouldn’t allow any to slip out. You were hurt and in disbelief that your own Pa wouldn’t even come to say goodbye to his only daughter. Did he think this made it easier? To you, it didn’t. Maybe when you’re older, you will understand, maybe you won’t. All that matters now is making it out of the arena alive.
-,-
When you entered the train car, you immediately sat across from Billy, who was staring out of a large, sleek window on the far side of the train. He didn’t even flinch, just kept his steady gaze locked on the blurry scenery.
You glance over to where complementary water and finger foods sat, “Did you eat anything?”
“Not hungry.” Short and to the point, very typical of the young man across from you.
You nod at his short response, unsure of what to say. It’s not like he always was a man of many words, but today made you exhausted, and you couldn’t lead the conversation like normal. He noticed immediately. He was utterly baffled at your lack of prying or trying to make him eat like you usually would.
He called your name with worry, “What did he say?”
Billy knew that your relationship with your Pa wasn’t always the easiest. He treated you kindly, fed you, and never raised his voice. Unfortunately, he was emotionally absent when it counted. He was socially stunted compared to the rest of the district; he was no different for his daughter.
You just shook your head, unwilling to answer. What were you supposed to say? ‘My Pa didn’t even come to say goodbye, and I’m a social outcast with no friends. Everyone hates me and doesn't care that I’m going to die this week.’
Luckily, Clem entered, saving you from more awkward silence. She had a natural confidence about her; she knew exactly who she was. She was dark-skinned, almost six feet, with colorful makeup that accentuated her features. She was gorgeous.
The smile on her face stayed steady as she entered the tension-filled train car, “You two are the talk of the town and so so gorgeous! Do you feel as perfect as you look?”
Billy glanced at you, then Clem, then right back out the window. He was over this already. Not only does he have to go into the games, but he also has to go in with his best friend. He has to go into the games with the girl who convinced her Pa to hire him and make him his favorite sandwich every day; it was outrageous.
The silence that settled made it clear neither of you would answer her question, she just nodded like she had expected this, “Well, your mentor is around here somewhere. She’ll tell you everything you need to know inside the arena and the strategy for gaining sponsors. My name is Clem Olson, but I assume you already know that! I am here to guide you and make sure everything stays on track. I want this experience to be easy for you, like it should be.”
She stayed standing, just observing the two of you.
“Are there any questions for me?” She asked, encouragingly.
Your eyes finally left the window. You shook your head at her, an accomplished look gracing her face that at least one of you responded to.
“Alright. I just want you two to know that I’m excited to work with you, you’re very promising tributes. Thank you for serving your district!”
Right on cue, a polished woman walks in, looking like a military general. She had olive skin that glistened under the bright LED lights, her ebony hair tightly slicked back, and a pantsuit expertly worn.
Clem turns around at the sound of the door and greets her, “You’re right on time!”
The woman's face didn’t budge as the bored expression stayed, “I always am, Clementine.”
The two women mirrored your and Billy’s dynamic in a way. One talkative and moving conversation, while the other is put straight to the point and mysteriously quiet. You couldn’t help but be entertained.
Clem looks awkward and out of place as she thinks of the conversation in the tense room, “Judy, why don’t you give the children some insightful words!” The eccentric woman ushered the mentor to take her place in front of you and Stebbins, though he was still looking out the window.
“My name is Judith Bardot, you will refer to me as Bardot, none of this 'Judy' nonsense, am I clear?” Her tone was as clean and strict as she looked; it even made Billy look at her with some sort of respect as you both nodded at her. “Perfect, within the next few days, I will teach you the strategy. If you don’t listen to my advice, you will die. However, at the end of the day, it is your choice.”
This woman was business, and it only made you more nervous. Billy seemed to thrive under her instruction, ready to do anything she said. If Bardot was as tough as she looked, you doubt you would make it through day one of her instruction.
-.-
At some point, you had wandered to the back of the train, a large window greeting you. This train was nicer than anything you had seen before; it was almost sickening.
You sank into everything you sat on, every car had air conditioning, and the food was fresh. It had everything you wished you had at home, yet you still longed for that old scorching field that you made every excuse to avoid.
As the sun began to set on the horizon, you thought of Pa. He didn’t say goodbye, which still hurt, but he’s the only family you had, and that was enough to still miss him. You hated every second on this train, so much so that you wanted to cry.
And you did.
It’s not that you are very emotional, but today has been too much. It started with a mysterious conversation between Billy and your dad, then you got reaped, which led to having to accept your deadly fate, and to add to that, Pa didn’t show up to say goodbye. After that whole shebang, you get a mentor who's basically all of the things that bug you about Billy, and now you're lonely for this experience. It was all cons because even though the pro of having your best friend with you is the worst Con of it all. You’re being sent to a kill or get killed experience, and that best friend of yours is jacked and secretly (not so secretly) freakishly talented.
You hate today.
The longer you sit alone in that train car, the more you realize that everything that happened today was out of your control, and before Ma passed, she always told you, “If whatever's botherin’ you is somethin’ you can’t control, then don’t worry ‘bout it no more.”
And to be quite frank, that was extremely soothing to you.
You begin to conjure a plan in your brain:
Don’t let the games get to you, and more importantly, don’t let the games change you.
Which at first glance seemed easy, until you realized you have to kill people, and you don’t even like having to trap the mice that steal from your cupboards. So you will have to find a way to win without killing anyone else, but also a way to win without getting killed during your non-violent survival.
Just worry about what you can control.
Don’t let the games change you.
Don’t kill anyone.
Don’t get killed.
-.-
A/N: I have the entirety of book 1 planned out! This chapter did take 3 days to write, but with the academic year coming to a close, expect updates every 1-2 weeks. I love all of you!!
Summary: Wanda notices you aren’t sleeping, but not for the usually reason.
Request: @ollie-maximoff
Genre: Fluff
Word Count: 575
-.-
Wanda knew you weren’t sleeping—and not for the obvious reasons.
It wasn’t the faint shadows under your eyes, the slight drag in your steps, or even the way your coffee intake had doubled. No, she noticed because the room had gone quiet.
She didn’t hear your snoring anymore.
It had never bothered her. If anything, your soft, uneven snores, a result of a slightly deviated septum, had become comforting. A kind of lullaby. Her white noise. Without it, the silence felt wrong. Empty.
You tried hard to hide it. You used makeup to mask the exhaustion, insisted you were too warm so you wouldn’t have to curl into her, turned away before she could study your face too closely. When you spoke to others, your tone stayed light, easy—convincing.
But not convincing enough.
Wanda could’ve found the answer instantly. A gentle flick of her hand and all of your thoughts would be revealed. But early in your relationship, you’d both promised: no using your abilities on each other. Ever.
So she had to do this the old-fashioned way.
Ask. Verbally.
-.-
After a full week without your familiar nighttime sounds, she finally reached her limit.
The two of you had gone to bed an hour ago, settling into your usual sides. The room was dim and still, filled only with the quiet rhythm of breathing and the occasional muffled footsteps from somewhere down the hall.
“Hey,” Wanda called softly.
No response.
She tried again, turning onto her side to face you. “Hey.”
Still nothing.
By the third time, a hint of irritation crept in. “Hey.”
You groaned, like you’d just been pulled from sleep.
“I’m not stupid, you know,” she whispered.
That got you.
With a quiet sigh, you turned to face her, eyes adjusting to the dark as you searched her expression. “I know you’re not stupid.”
Wanda rolled her eyes. “You can’t hide things from me like you do with everyone else.”
Your stomach tightened. You knew exactly what she meant—but maybe if you played dumb…
“What am I hiding?”
“You haven’t been sleeping.”
“And?”
“And I’m worried about you,” she said, her voice softer now, though there was still an edge to it.
You’d done everything right. Stayed on your side. Kept your breathing steady. Even your acting wasn’t half bad.
But Wanda knew you too well.
“You’re a good actor,” she said quietly, “but you forgot to fake snore.”
“I don’t snore,” you replied immediately, like it was a fact.
She blinked, genuinely confused. “Yes, you do. Has no one ever told you that?”
“No.”
“Well… you do,” she said, brushing it off with a small shrug. “I don’t mind, though.”
Then, more gently, “Why haven’t you been sleeping?”
You hesitated. The truth was, you didn’t really know.
You gave a small shrug before remembering she couldn’t see it. “I don’t know. I just… haven’t been able to.”
This time, Wanda believed you. She could hear it—the quiet defeat in your voice. Still, she wasn’t ready to let it go.
“Has anything changed? Diet, routine… anything?”
You hummed softly, thinking. Then…
“Oh. The new vitamins?”
“That could be it,” she said. “Let’s skip them tomorrow and see if it helps.”
“Okay,” you murmured.
For a moment, the room settled again.
Then your stomach growled.
You let out a quiet breath. “Do you want to get ice cream?”
A small smile tugged at Wanda’s lips, even in the dark. “You read my mind.”
hi! i was wondering if you could do hurt/comfort with natasha where reader is being distant and cold to natasha because she hasn’t being doing well recently and didn’t tell natasha because she thinks she has to go through it alone
Summary: After avoiding Nat for days, she finally confronts you. REQUESTED
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: Nickname (Honey, used once)
Word Count: 1.1k
-.-
You tried to keep it a secret and self regulate, but Natasha knew day one that you weren’t doing well.
The first thing she noticed was the silence. Not the comfortable kind you usually sat in after a long day of post-mission debriefs or doing the PR training Tony insisted you all needed. This silence was sharp and deliberate, like a locked door keeping her out. It was new—Natasha didn’t know what to do.
The first day of your silence, she spent planning how to approach you. She thought about what if the roles were reversed, what would she want you to do if she was acting closed off.
You both spent so long working on your communication and trust issues, it was painful that you're doing this now, especially when you’re two years deep into this relationship and six years deep into your friendship.
Day two, she waited again. She didn’t press you to speak to her, not even in your normal friendly passing.
Day three, she felt lonely, which almost made her break the silent promise to give you your space and time.
Night three was cold. The spot in her bed specially reserved for you started to lose your smell.
Morning five was the worst. She missed your laugh, the smell of coffee on your clothes when you got back from early morning training with Steve, and late-night talks about how Tony was an ass.
Natasha was done waiting.
-.-
That night she caught you in the hallway, the only place she saw you these days since you walked out of every room she entered. You were sitting outside the briefing room, staring blankly at the wall in front of you. It was clear to her that you were lost in thought, probably thinking about how to ignore her for the rest of your lives.
“You're avoiding me,” she says bluntly, moving to stay by the wall opposite of you.
That snaps you out of your daze, making you visibly flinch.
It physically pained her to see you respond like that to such a calm tone; she’d rather you snap at her instead.
Your reply is quick and short in hopes she’ll drop the conversation and go to bed like everyone else, “I’m not.”
Natasha crosses her arms. “You’re a bad liar."
“I said I’m fine, just drop it already.”
The door to your thoughts was locked, and Natasha was frantically trying to find the key.
Nat approaches you, slow and calculated, crouching down to your level. “You haven’t been fine all week, I’m not stupid.”
“I’m just tired.” You’re looking everywhere but her eyes, but she's staring right at you. It felt like the room started to suddenly heat up as her attention and care suffocated you.
“No,” she plainly says, taking a deep breath, “I know what it's like when you're tired. It’s never made you disappear like this before.”
You visibly get uncomfortable as your jaw tightens. “I’m not disappearing, just drop it, Natasha.”
It felt like another shot into Nat’s chest. You haven’t said her whole name in years. It didn’t even feel like she was talking to you anymore, but an angry, cold impersonator.
“It feels like you are.” Her tone is soft, the fight in it slowly leaving, but the door doesn’t budge.
In your mind, your resolve starts to fall, but you can’t show that to her. Instead, you shut down harder.
“I’m done talking about this with you.” With an unnatural speed, you stand up and begin escaping to your room, your safe haven.
Nat’s not going to let that slide. She follows your speed and catches your wrist—not rough, but still firm.
“Talk to me.”
“Nat, let me go.”
“No.” Her grip on you stays firm, not wavering. Her voice is filled with emotion. “Not this time.”
Something in you snaps. This is all too much.
“I said let go!” You yell, stepping out of her grip like she was burning you. Your breathing becomes uneven as you stare at her with wide, glassy doe eyes, filled with more words than you’ve both exchanged.
Natasha freezes.
Not because you yelled—that’s happened before in past arguments. She freezes because she finally sees everything you’ve been trying so desperately to hide.
Fear, exhaustion, pain, and loneliness.
“Please don’t do this here,” you quietly beg, giving in.
-.-
“I can handle it,” you insist as you enter your bedroom. “I don’t need—”
“You don’t need me?” she cuts in, immediately assuming your next words and being filled with hurt just as fast.
But you don't respond. Don’t deny her assumption.
Nat pushes her hair out of her face and begins pacing by the end of your bed. “So shutting me out is handling it?”
Your shoulders slump forward as you honestly admit, “I’m not shutting you out, I just—”
Natasha cuts you off again. “You haven’t been able to look at me properly for FIVE days.” She emphasizes with her fingers out and palm facing towards you, desperately trying to make you understand in her softest tone just how painful this was.
You continue, “I just didn’t want to make it your problem.”
She stops pacing and turns to look at you, understanding and pity in her gaze. “Oh, honey.” She moves to the foot of your bed where you sat slumped over.
“Look at me.” Nat’s hand reaches to soothingly hold your cheek.
It takes a second, but you do look her in the eyes for the first time in what felt like forever.
“You’ve been doing this alone?” she softly asks.
You purse your lips as you try not to break, but you still respond to her question with a tiny nod.
Natasha’s heart breaks into a million pieces from seeing her sweet girl so upset. “Why?”
Your answer comes out barely audible. “Because it felt like I had to.”
Nat immediately shakes her head in disbelief. “No, you don’t. You never have to.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” A sound similar to a laugh escapes you, but there’s no true humor in it.
“Is it?” she asks gently. “I’ve been where you are. I did exactly what you did. I shut people out, I told myself it was better that way, but it never was.”
Your composure cracks. “I just didn’t want to drag you into it. You already deal with enough as is.”
Nat says your name in empathy. “No matter how much I have going on, I will always have time and energy for you. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Natasha pulls you into a long hug.
The rest of the night was spent talking about why you disappeared the last few days, a calming cup of tea, and finally a romcom you fell asleep to while tangled in each other's limbs.
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