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ilguna · 29 days

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WAIT I just remembered pleasee a part 2 to trust fall where they’ve been dating for a while and the child wants to call her mom? 🙏🏼 thank you ur great! Sorry for the many requests 😶

☼ trust fall pt2 (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, use of the word 'mommy' but in a parental way.

wc; 1.9k

notes; two year timeskip between first part and second.

part one.

“Alright, little man, remember what we said about steps?” You murmur to Lawson, holding out your hand for him to take.

He tilts his head all the way back to look up at you, a small smile on his face, dimples peeking out. He inherited quite a few of Finnick’s notable features, which will only grow more prominent as he gets older. Like the green eyes, for example, those are unmistakable.

It doesn’t matter how many times you say it or how badly Finnick denies it—Lawson is an exact replica of him.

“I have to hold your hand.” Lawson says, reaching up to take your palm.

“Because we have to be careful.” You squeeze his hand slightly, guiding him to the steps.

Together, the two of you take them one at a time at his pace, keeping a close eye on where he places his feet. Usually, you wouldn’t be this worried about him going up staircases. In fact, the last apartment you lived in, he used to fly up the stairs with no issue. But those stairs were indoor, and there was never a huge gap between each one.

All it’ll take is one misstep and he could fall between the concrete steps. Which has become your biggest fear since moving into this place with Finnick. As much as you tried to advocate for an apartment similar to your previous one, none were available to rent for several more weeks, and you didn’t have that time.

So, Finnick found a nice one, got himself moved in and became comfortable. When your lease ended, he brought you in, as promised, because he said that he’s been waiting forever for you two to live under the same roof. Which is funny, because it’s not like you didn’t sleep over at his house four days out of the week.

Anyway, Finnick thinks you’re being dramatic about the staircase. He says that Lawson is capable of going up these steps on his own, because he has in the past. Finnick keeps a close eye on his son, of course, but he tells Lawson to hold onto the railing. He wants him to have some independence with this.

You, on the other hand, like to be the railing.

“You got it?” You ask him, watching him hesitate on the last step.

He hums quietly, lifting his foot higher, placing it on the landing, and then rocking himself forward to step. You pull his arm up a little bit to take away the chance of him tripping with his other foot. Once both feet are on the landing, you let go of his hand, giving him a big smile.

“There we go. You’re getting better everyday.” You reach over to fix his curls.

“I know.” He beams, before walking to the apartment door, you follow behind him loosely, reaching to grab the keys from your bag.

He stops by the door, looking over his shoulder at you. You jingle the keys in his direction, earning a brief smile. He watches as you unlock the deadbolt, which is the only one you bother locking when there’s at least one of you in the house without Lawson.

Finnick’s inside somewhere. He mentioned something about taking a shower real quick before you left. He tried to tell you not to bother locking the door, because you live in a nice complex and there’s nothing to worry about. Besides, he thinks he can take on any intruders that come in by himself.

Needless to say, you didn’t listen to him. And you don’t think you have listened to that request once since you started living here.

You open the door, watching as Lawson wipes his shoes on the doormat before stepping inside. He stops a couple steps in, waiting for you to shut the door before he continues his routine.

“Okay, bud, backpack off first.” You hook your finger around the loop on top, prompting him to wiggle out of the straps. “And then put your shoes on the rack, please.”

He lowers himself to the hardwood floor, pulling off his shoes one at a time. You go around him, placing his bag on the countertop so that Finnick can go through it when he comes out. It doesn’t sound like the shower is running, so he must be done already.

“What are we thinking for a snack?” You ask, looking back at him. “Dragon jelly sandwich?”

Lawson’s eyes light up at the suggestion, looking at you. “Yes!” He places his shoes on the rack, getting back to his feet. You bought a pack of cookie cutters online of dragons, castles and swords. They’ve been put to good use with how often he eats peanut butter and jelly. He’s in love with the shapes.

“I hear my little man.” Finnick says, voice echoing down the hall.

“Thank you, mommy!” Lawson smiles, before pivoting and running down the hall toward Finnick.

Your hands freeze where they are on the fridge handles, staring at your reflection in the steel doors. At first, your veins run ice cold from hearing him call you that. Then, as the realization that Finnick could not have missed that begins to set in, your body is instantly set aflame.

Oh god, you think, because what else is there to? Lawson has never called you mom before, or any variation of it. This is the first time that this is coming from him unprompted. Fuck. Fuck. What if Finnick thinks that you’ve been advising Lawson behind his back? The way he said it sounded so natural, like he’s been doing it for a while.

You haven’t, obviously. In fact, you haven’t even considered the possibility of Lawson even thinking about it. And it’s not because you don’t feel motherly toward him, because you do. Finnick has even made jokes in the past about you being his stepmom, but you always brush him off by saying, ‘not yet’.

A part of it has to do with how terrified you are. When Finnick told you he had a son, it admittedly worried you from the start. You thought you’d give it a try anyway, especially since he said that he would mix you two until he was ready. The longer he went without introducing you, the more you grew afraid of the idea that you’d actually run, which is part of the reason why you put your foot down.

It has nothing to do with the fact that you don’t like kids. You do, and you love Finnick’s son so much. No, the real problem stems from the fact that you want to be a good influence for Lawson and you’re terrified of screwing it up. He doesn’t have a mom, she’s not in the picture, even two years later. She wasn’t interested in raising a baby.

You thought you’d have more time before this came around. Before Lawson started looking at you like a parental figure. Which means that Finnick will surely be taking you more seriously from now on. And the first thing that will undoubtedly happen is a conversation about this moment.

“Oh—” You begin, face twisting as you turn to look at them. You want to correct Lawson, but what else would he call you? Just (Y/n)?

“Hi buddy!” Finnick laughs, cutting you off. He pulls Lawson into his arms, holding him on his hip, looking at him like the world revolves around him. “How was school today?”

“It was good.” Lawson says, tilting his head down.

“Did you have fun?”

“Yes.” He nods. “I played with Dennis during recess.”

“You did? What’d you play?” Finnick asks, wandering back down the way he came, their voices getting quieter as they go.

You swallow thickly, slowly unclenching your teeth, loosening your hands from the fridge. You let out a soft sigh, closing your eyes. When you open them, you go back to what you were originally doing; making a dragon jelly sandwich.

It’s fairly mindless. You grab the jelly, then a place, then the peanut butter, then the bread. You find the dragon cookie cutter on top of the pile in the pantry, plucking it off and returning to the counter. There, you put the sandwich together, cut out the dragon, and place the scraps on a paper towel.

With how small the sandwich is, you go ahead and add some pretzels and grapes on the side for him. You put the ingredients back where they came from, with the jelly being last, allowing you to grab a juice pouch for the final touch. When you have everything, you walk it to the coffee table in the living room, placing the plate, juice pouch and a napkin down for Lawson when he’s done talking to Finnick.

The anxiety has mostly subsided by now, since you’ve been trying to convince yourself that maybe Finnick didn’t hear him.

“Snack time!” Lawson suddenly roars from his room, before he comes racing down the hall, straight to the living room. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.” You smile at him, looking up at Finnick when he appears in the hall. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Finnick smiles, hands reaching for your hips to pull you in. You cup his face, kissing him gently. “Are there any fliers in his backpack?”

“I haven’t checked.” You tell him, releasing his face.

Finnick heads for the backpack, you wander beside him, pulling a stool out at the counter to watch him. He works in silence for a couple of minutes, pulling out the folders and going through them, seemingly finding nothing new. Until his fingers freeze on a light blue paper. As you lean over his shoulder to look at it, he closes the folder.

“So, mommy, huh?” Finnick teases, looking at you.

You’re already shaking your head, not finding the humor in it. “Finnick, I’m so sorry. That’s the first time he’s said that. I don’t even know where it came from. I know—”

“It’s okay, babe.” Finnick places a hand on your knee, squeezing lightly. “Listen, I’ve made jokes about it in the past, but I was being halfway serious. You are like a mom to him.” He raises his eyebrows. “If you want him to call you that, I’m okay with it. If you don’t, I’ll have a conversation with him.”

You sit in silence for a couple of seconds, “I’m just not prepared.”

“Nothing will change.” Finnick shakes his head. “Everything stays the same, except for the name. He loves you, (Y/n). Possibly more than he loves me.”

“I can’t see that.” You laugh, “That’s not possible.”

“It is. And you love him just as much.”

“Of course I do.” You murmur.

“We’ll ease into it, how about that?” Finnick asks, squeezing your knee again. “So by the time this mother-son dance comes up, you’ll be ready.” He winks.

“What?” You ask, squinting at him.

Finnick flips the folder open, revealing the light blue paper. “This is probably what het got it from. He’s been asking more questions lately, like what are mommies like, and I think I accidentally described you.” He laughs lightly.

“Finnick.” You pout. “Are you sure?”

“With you, I’m sure about everything.”

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

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ilguna · 1 month

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Piano Sessions: "Out of the Woods" + Gloss, maybe reader and Gloss are exes. Reader included in revolution plans during Catching Fire and trying her best to keep Gloss safe from a distance? Up to you if the reader is successful or not!

☼ out of the woods (Gloss Ritchson) ☼

warnings; swearing, death, death mention, weapon use, ehh gore, blood, the usual hunger games shit.

wc; 3.9k

notes; Piano Sessions: songfic, Out of the Woods by Taylor Swift. the beginning is deceiving, it hits more at the end.

There’s been a few times in your life where you’ve looked back and wished that you could change the outcome of a situation. This usually happens after you’ve made a mistake that you won’t be able to fix.

An off-handed and angry comment you can never take back, that will ultimately end up destroying the person on the inside. It will be the first thing they think of when they look at you, silently wondering if everyone else around them feels the same. And it will be the one thing they’ll hold onto tighter than any other uplifting compliment you’ve given them in the past.

A ruined friendship which had been caused by jealousy and vindictiveness because you’d been quietly growing apart, never bothering to acknowledge it. Instead of cherishing the happy memories and promising to always be there, even when you’re not close, you chose to set the bridge on fire. This left you in a pile of ash and rubble, with an empty space in your heart and an incessant need to continuously fill it.

A shattered heart done with the intention to protect you from himself. No matter how many times you reassured him or begged him to stay, he had his mind made up, telling you that it was for the best. He would never be able to give you the amount of happiness that you deserved. The evidence against that didn’t matter, resulting in you being left behind.

And finally, a decision that has been made for you, bringing you into a situation that you can’t back out of. The layers are too thick, and peeling away at them only ruins the bigger picture, but the further you get buried, the more trapped you become. So, you pick at the paint, hoping it’ll placate your own selfish needs while the others around you continue on as planned.

This is not where the list of mistakes ends, unfortunately. In fact, these aren’t even all of the major ones you’ve made. If given the opportunity, you could probably go on forever, recounting every regret you’ve had in your life, and the way you handled it. The few you’ve listed are just the ones that come to the surface when you’re throwing another pity party.

They’ve been happening a lot more frequently. As much as you try to stop it, by distracting yourself or getting your feelings off your chest—once it starts, it won’t stop. It’s gotten to the point where you don’t even bother to pull yourself together afterward anymore, you simply brace for the next wave that’s inevitably going to come. In the past, you’d only look back at what you’d done when you’d yet again fucked up, but that doesn’t seem to matter now.

A part of you believes that it’s these mistakes that have led you to this point in time. After repeatedly breaking the swear you’d made to pay attention to feelings and actions other than your own, the only way to straighten you out is through the worst punishment. Which is reliving the same event that you’d barely survived the first time around. It’s a rude awakening.

If you were more careful, if you were kinder, if you’d paid more attention, if you stood up for yourself, then you wouldn’t be standing in another Hunger Games arena.

It opened your eyes a little bit. It’s why you’ve been very critical of your actions as of late. All it’ll take is one misstep and a domino effect will begin, and you’ll find yourself with more regrets you won’t be able to live with this time. It would tear you apart if someone innocent died because you couldn’t hold it together.

The last thing you want is to end up in a worse position than you’re already in. Which, to its credit, isn’t exactly terrible. A lot of victors came together to make this alliance possible for a very noble cause, but it’s not exactly what you had in mind when you were drawn out of that bowl in District Eight.

A rebel alliance is a death wish.

In your defense, when Johanna approached you with the offer of joining her, you thought it was done with innocent intentions. She didn’t mention anything about ulterior motives, which you have since assumed it’s because she thought you were already on board. You weren’t. And looking back at it, you should’ve asked more questions.

The issue is that you didn’t feel the need to. You and Johanna are friends, you have been for a couple of years now. You knew that the invitation was coming, and as much as you should’ve been off-put by how long it took her to ask you—there are a lot of familiar victors that have been reaped alongside you.

Out of all the victors that could have possibly got drawn this year for the Hunger Games, it seems as if all the important ones lost the draw, including you. And now that you’ve been talking to Johanna, you can see that it’s no coincidence. The Gamemakers did it on purpose. This has got to be the most nightmarish lineup in Hunger Games history.

Johanna needed time to talk to Finnick and Haymitch about what they were going to do about it. While they expected some interference, they didn’t exactly think that they’d pull out Cashmere, Gloss, Brutus and Enobaria. The best competitors they could’ve grabbed to put up against Katniss and possibly succeed at taking her out and effectively killing the rebellion.

From what you heard, Haymitch put together a list of victors that he thought would be perfect for this alliance. He was mainly focused on skills and what they could bring to the table, while also considering if they’d mix well together with Katniss and Peeta. Katniss being the main concern, obviously.

You, of course, were on this list. As soon as Johanna heard your name come out of Haymitch’s mouth, she pounced at the idea of inviting you. She knew that she could get you to agree, and in the end it would work out in their favor. However, she purposely didn’t take your feelings into consideration.

If you knew the whole story, the allies, the intentions, the sacrifices and the end goal from the beginning—you would not have agreed to join. You cherish your friends and you respect what you’re doing. And while you’d like to be on the right side of the rebellion, you have your own wants and needs.

Johanna made the decision for you.

If you’d made it yourself, you’d be with Gloss, your ex boyfriend. The one person you care about more than anything, the one that you haven’t stopped chasing. The worst part is that he did end up asking you to be in an alliance with him, but you had to tell him no. If he’d gotten to you before Johanna did, you’d be with the Careers right now, keeping a close eye on him.

Now you have to protect him from a distance.

“Go ahead. Try it. I don’t care if you are knocked up, I’ll rip your throat out.” Johanna suddenly snaps.

You tear your eyes away from the jungle’s treeline to look at your allies, who are standing in a tense circle. Katniss has a hand on her knife, knuckles pale from how tight she’s holding it. Johanna has her eyebrows raised expectantly, waiting for Katniss to actually make a move.

“Maybe we all had better be careful where we step.” Finnick breaks the tense silence, giving Katniss a pointed look. He takes the coil of wire that Beetee had risked his life to grab in the Cornucopia, setting it on the scientist's chest. “There’s your wire, Volts. Watch where you plug it.”

Peeta hauls Beetee into his arms since he’s no longer resisting. “Where to?”

“I’d like to go to the Cornucopia and watch.” Finnick says, your face drops completely. “Just to make sure we’re right about the clock.”

Your lips part, intending to object to Finnick’s idea, but the group disperses before you’re able to get one word out, shuffling to the nearest sand strip. Your feet stay glued to the ground, not wanting to follow them.

The only person that notices this is Johanna. You watch as she raises her hand, fingers snapping aggressively in the air to get your attention. Or maybe to get you moving. Either way, you shake your head at her.

“Earth to (Y/n). Let’s go.”

You shake your head gently. “No.” The single word almost cuts her off from how harshly you spit it. “The Careers might not be there now, but they’re going to show up. Why wouldn’t they?”

“We have an advantage on them.” Johanna waves your concerns off. “It’s open water. They won’t be able to sneak up on us.”

“They will.” You tell her.

“(Y/n), there’s seven of us and four of them.” She leans all of her weight onto one hip. “I think we’ll be able to take them.”

I don’t want us to, you think.

If you can help it, you want to keep a barrier between your group and theirs for as long as you can. You know that once contact is made, it’ll be a free-for-all. And that warning you gave to Gloss the night of the interviews won’t mean anything when he’s fighting for his life. His sister’s life.

“But that’s not what you’re worried about.” Johanna says, “Isn’t it?”

You press your lips together, face hardening. You don’t give her an answer when you walk past her, following the others who have almost reached the Cornucopia. Johanna scoffs behind you.

She’s so insensitive.

Peeta carefully lays Beetee down in the bit of shade the Cornucopia provides, and then backs off to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Beetee calls out to Wiress, causing her to come over and crouch beside him. He places the coil of wire in her hands. “Clean it, will you?”

Wiress nods and beelines for the edge of the island, getting down to her knees so that she can repeatedly dunk the coil in the water. Johanna’s just making it to the Cornucopia when Wiress begins the song about the mouse again.

“Oh, not the song again.” Johanna complains, rolling her eyes. “That went on for hours before she started tick-tocking.”

The song suddenly stops as Wiress jumps to her feet, standing rigid as she points to the jungle. “Two.”

You follow her finger, finding a wall of fog creeping onto the beach. This must be what Finnick was telling you and Johanna about earlier. When it started early this morning, Katniss thought it was a result of the rain—the blood rain your half of the group was caught in. It wasn’t until she could smell the sweetness, did she realize that it wasn’t natural.

Finnick said that it felt like his skin was melting off his body when it touched him. The longer it went unwashed from his body, the more the poison sept into his system. The paralyzing effects got so bad that they couldn’t control the spasms in their bodies. It was particularly bad for Peeta, because he’d been involved with a force field accident that afternoon.

In the end, Mags sacrificed herself so that they wouldn’t have to worry about carrying her over Peeta.

“Yes, look, Wiress is right. It’s two o’clock and the fog has started.” Katniss says.

“Like clockwork.” Peeta murmurs. “You were very smart to figure that out, Wiress.”

Wiress simply smiles, going back to singing and dunking the coil. “Oh, she’s more than smart.” Beetee says. “She’s intuitive.” All attention is turned to Beetee, who’s finally coming back to life. “She can sense things before anyone else. Like a canary in one of your coal mines.”

“What’s that?” Finnick asks.

“It’s a bird that we take down into the mines to warn us if there’s bad air.” Katniss says.

“What’s it do, die?” Johanna asks sarcastically.

“It stops singing first. That’s when you should get out. But if the air’s too bad, it dies, yes. And so do you.” Katniss murmurs, walking away to head into the mouth of the Cornucopia.

The conversation ends there. Johanna half-shrugs, following her inside, but for her own reason. You find a box that doesn’t contain anything important to close and sit on top of, staring off at the water, occasionally glancing at the jungle. Johanna pokes around the building until she finds a pair of axes. A mischievous smile crosses her face just before she launches one of them at the golden Cornucopia.

It sticks with ease.

Peeta, who sits in front of you, has drawn a circle into a large leaf that he plucked from the jungle. He uses his knife to map out the arena the best he can, with the Cornucopia in the middle and the twelve strips branching out from it. There’s even circles to indicate the waterline and the jungle.

“Look at how the Cornucopia’s positioned.” Peeta tells Katniss.

She’s leaning over his shoulder. “The tail points toward twelve o’clock.”

“Right, so this is the top of our clock.” He says, going on to scratch the numbers one through twelve around the face. “Twelve to one is the lightning zone.” He labels it so in a tiny print, working clockwise to fill in the wedges that you know.

“And ten to eleven is the wave.” She says.

Finnick and Johanna emerge from the Cornucopia, armed with their preferred weapons. It makes you nauseous to think about who they’ll be using them against.

“Did you notice anything unusual in the others?” Katniss asks you and Johanna, but you’ve seen nothing but blood. “I guess they could hold anything.”

“I’m going to mark the ones where we know the Gamemakers’ weapon follows us out past the jungle, so we’ll stay clear of those.” Peeta says, drawing diagonal lines on the fog and wave beaches. He sits back. “Well, it’s a lot more than we knew this morning, anyway.”

A heavy feeling suddenly weighs in your chest, causing paranoia to creep back into your mind. You glance up, eyes on the jungle, observing it in the new light, but also to make sure that no one has snuck up on you. Your heart seizes in your chest, as you’re met with your worst fear.

Before you can think it through, you’re on your feet, running at them—him. She doesn’t matter, Wiress doesn’t matter. Her throat is slit so wide open, she’ll be dead in a matter of seconds because of the waterfall of blood running down her neck. He, however, can be saved.

If you can move fast enough.

A cannon booms, right as Gloss lets Wiress slide to the ground. From the corner of your eye, you watch as Cashmere rises from her crouch position from the outer side of the Cornucopia, knife in hand, ready to attack your allies.

The sound of whistling air makes your eyes widen. Arrow. You jerk to the left to block Gloss from the assault, taking it in the back of your shoulder. The sharp pain forces tears into your eye involuntarily, the momentum throwing you off balance, making you trip over Wiress’s body.

You barely have enough time to wrap your arms around Gloss before you’re diving over the side of the island, plunging into the warm water with him. At first, it’s fine, but the longer you’re underwater, the more you begin to panic, kicking your legs, flailing your arms. It isn’t until Gloss grabs you, pulling you up, are you able to breathe.

“I thought I told you—” You begin immediately, dissolving into a coughing fit.

On the night of the interviews, you warned him. And it hadn’t been once, you managed to pull him aside twice to make sure the message got through. The first time was just before Cashmere’s interview was about to end, you had a minute to talk, so you dragged him down an adjacent hallway.

Out of habit, you’d reached up to straighten out his suit, fixing his collar. It was a gesture that you’d done over a dozen times before while you were dating. When he broke up with you, it stopped, but only because he didn’t like that you were still insisting on taking care of him. He thought you deserved better, and he didn’t want you to get hung up on him.

It’d been so long since the last time you fixed his clothes that you froze in the middle of it, looking into his eyes to make sure he was okay. You couldn’t find the normal annoyance that he tried so hard to hide in the past. He was vulnerable at that moment, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he was almost out of it—his doubt.

“I want you to be careful in the arena, Gloss.” You said, hands retreating, palms falling onto your dress. “It’s going to be terrible in there, nothing is going to happen the way you expect.”

“That’s how it always is.” He told you, eyes flickering down the hall. “It’s not going to be any different.”

“Yes it will.” You shook your head. “You’re going to be at a disadvantage from the get-go. It may seem that the Games are catered to the Careers this year, but you’ll be wrong. You need to take extra care of you and Cashmere. I don’t want you going into plans half-baked.”

Gloss pressed his lips together. “If you’re so worried about me, then why don’t you join us?”

“I can’t.” You whispered. “It’s too late now.”

“How do I know you’re not trying to sabotage me?”

You blinked, a pout forming. “When have I ever set you up to tear you down?” You countered.

The two of you stood in silence, eye contact underwavering. He was searching for an explanation in your eyes, one that he wouldn’t find, despite how intense you were making it. You were trying to instill it in his brain. He needed to trust you. You needed him to trust you.

“Gloss Ritchson!” A voice shouted down the hall. “It’s time!”

He looked past you, taking his first step to go around you. You grabbed his wrist, causing him to hesitate. “Trust me, please.” You begged him. “It’s my turn to protect you.”

It must’ve felt like a hot iron touched him, because his whole body flinched at the reference to your break up a year ago. His face twisted, lips parting, but no words came out. All he could do was move forward, toward the waiting staff at the end of the hall. You watched him go, and then crossed your fingers that it had worked.

You were trying to shock him into considering it, by using his own words against him. The night the two of you broke up was a hard one, but it wasn’t sudden. You’d seen it coming for weeks at that point. Gloss was constantly in his head, and it was showing through his mask.

His eyes wouldn’t light up the same when he saw you, he’d always find something else to look at to distract him. He wouldn’t include you in conversations, even if you were standing right there. His touches became infrequent and rare, as if he was afraid that he’d break you if he applied the gentlest touch.

You two were crashing, and there was nothing you could do about it. You tried bringing Cashmere into it, but she said she couldn’t help. She didn’t know what Gloss was up to, and she didn’t want to get in the middle of it. She wanted to preserve the friendship that you two had delicately formed.

When Gloss had finally decided he was done torturing you, or came to the conclusion that it’d be better to set you free, you were trying everything you could to hold on. You knew how much he hated to see you cry, and you tried to use that to your advantage when it came to convincing him that you were happy with him. That it’d hurt more if he left you now.

It got him emotional, but it didn’t have the same effect that you wanted. He told you that it was to protect you from the Capitol. They didn’t like that you were dating one of their darlings, when they had other ideas for him. Gloss didn’t want you and your actions to be under scrutiny each time you were with him. He didn’t want you to be miserable, so his solution was to leave.

You tried to tell him he was making a mistake. That in a room full of people, you’d always look for him. And you were never going to move on if you could help it. This made him more stubborn, more determined to push you away, but you’re persistent, and he knows this. A year later, as you promised, you haven’t dated anyone since. You haven’t even looked at anyone in that way, either.

Well, you had a feeling that shock wasn’t going to be enough. So, after the interviews, you caught him one more time. The lobby was dark and packed full of victors, prep teams, escorts, stylists and Peacekeepers alike. Still, you picked him out of the crowd, a grip so tight that you might as well have been handcuffed to him.

He searched your face in the darkness, eyes wide, reaching for you. A pair of hands clamped on your shoulders, yanking you away from him, starting to direct you to the elevators.

“Pay attention in the arena.” You told him. “Do you understand, Gloss? Do not act on whim.”

And then you let go, the Peacekeeper threw you into an elevator with Woof, and you were sent up eight floors. It was the last time you were able to talk to Gloss. You’ve been under the impression that it worked, until now.

A cannon blasts.

“(Y/n)?” Gloss has one hand on the rock island to keep you from drowning in the water.

“I thought I told you to be careful.” You manage to get out hoarsely, the salt water fucking with your throat. “This is not careful. You need to go.”

“What?”

“If they see you here, they’ll kill you. It’s bad enough you killed Wiress. Go, Gloss, before they catch you.” You push his shoulder. “Please.”

“You saved me.” He insists. “Why?”

Your allies are beginning to shout, looking for you. You glance over your shoulder, but all you can see is the black rock. “Please, baby, please.” You beg him. “We don’t stand a chance if you don’t listen to me.” You grab his shoulder. “Go and be careful of the jungle, it’s a clock.”

You turn now, grabbing the edge of rock to pull yourself up, water weighing you down. The second you’re visible, several heads turn, a wave of relief moving through the group. You get to your feet, wrapping your arms around your upper body, feeling the water run down your legs.

“The Careers were just here.” Peeta pants. “Where’d you go?”

You open your mouth to give them some lame excuse on why you jumped ship, when the ground jerks beneath your feet, sending you flying to the ground. The rock that the Cornucopia sits on begins to spin, going from zero to a hundred is the blink of an eye. The force begins to pull you toward the lake.

The lake that Gloss couldn’t have possibly escaped in that short amount of time.

this was part of my 3k celebration!! which took place in fucking october and im still completing requests holy hell.

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