#poormad

Real or not real?

Arms wrapped around the other in a tight embrace. She felt real. He at least knew that. His arms lifted her up, his hands moving lower on the small of her back. One glance up into her eyes contemplating yet again if this was his reality. Then, after a second of hesitation, his lips collided with hers and the overwhelming sensation of desperate hunger took over him. The emotion he felt matched that of Annie's. The attempts they made to grab at every inch of each other's being. Neck flushed with a heat of desire to remain still in the moment with each other for if not, this blurred reality would vanish.

Sedation still had a grip on his mind that was beginning to wane into a similar euphoria. Finnick's feet took him as far as he could go which was until his back was pressed against a wall. It was unknown to him what this wall connected to but the coolness of stone met with his bare back, a clashing touch to his love's hands on his skin. If it were possible in this reality, he would allow himself to slip underneath Annie's skin and simply connect with her like a protective layer to not be separated from her for the rest of their lives.

Real or not real?

He was haunted by the words that bounced at all corners of his head. For it had felt real when he was dragged down back on the floor of the sewers by the mutts. It felt real as he was met with teeth sinking into his tanned skin, the mixture of the pain from the initial bite to the traitorous water that flushed his blood from the wounds with a nip. Finnick had been sure death was hovering in his wake. He had accepted it as the last name he voiced was Katniss but the last name that he wished for was Annie. And here she was in his arms, her lips on his own. The purest moment of bliss and it could all be a dream.

she sighs, tiny spoon stirrs the contents of her pink mug - the other one, the light blue mug, has been handed to the cresta girl a few seconds ago. christmas at the capitol is always an extremely boring experience; for all its citizens enjoy luxury and excess, cashmere has noticed they've become awfully predictable in their clothing designs, their decoration. most of them will get drunk off their minds during celebrations and become even more insufferable to deal with.

that is the reason why she enjoys the moment of solitude she spends with annie cresta inside finnick's capitol loft. a victors' only pity party - how awfully fitting. still, cashmere appreciates finnick inviting her as well.

Ⳋ ∥ . @poormad : " i thought you'd like some company. " [ &. ] prompted starter.

and perhaps she thought correctly, originally retreating from his bunk up the beach to avoid the silence, and now left with an awkward amount of free space with little to do than look like a weirdo drawing in the sand. so instead he decided to look like a weirdo throwing dead urchins back to a more watery grave " sorry if i woke you. "

a crooked smile greets annie as she drew closer, his brow just barely furrowing and his palms working into the fabric of loose pants at his thighs, sure to only reach out in her aid once he was sure there was no sand to dirty her with.

few specks of time? surely they have more time than that. bronze brows furrow as sea - green eyes remain on her, hoping to read her expression, her meaning. there is a myriad of sentiments that run through him at once. nausea breaks over him like a wave; he has to look away from her for a moment to find his composure. his blood feels mercurial in his veins, ridden with tar and toxicity as he contemplates the state of their existence.

❛   you can't get rid of me that easily.   ❜