My fav love language is sending me random pictures throughout the day like a selfie, the scenery, what you’re eating, ootd, whatever you find interesting. I love that shit.
TW: 18+ | Dead Dove do not eat | Forced Drugging | Implied forced marriage | Possessive | Tracker Jacker Victim | Mind washing | fm reader
All content that you consume on your media is your thing, I don't care what you do.
"In a recent announcement from the Capitol's Department of Defense, details emerged of a newly developed biological agent: Tracker Jacker venom. Created by Capitol scientists, this potent hallucinogenic venom is extracted from genetically engineered wasps and has already drawn public attention for its intense-"
The Radio cuts out, a small click of the knob replaces the sound.
"Must they broadcast the most horrific things?" Her voice was soft but laced with a barely concealed frustration.
A simple blue flower-decorated teapot sat in the hands of manicured nails, the subtle cracks in her skin betraying the softness once promised by those hands. The faintest scars traced the delicate fingers, relics of a life now distant.
"Well, you know the public darling. They love the Dramatics." His footsteps drew nearer, echoing faintly as the tea poured. "The Game Makers think those bugs will make a splendid addition to this year’s Games."
The woman tilted the teapot with with slight haste, watching the tea swirl as it filled the porcelain cups. Her smile faltered, just for a moment, a faint shadow crossing her eyes.
“Splendid, indeed,” she replied softly, her gaze falling to the steam rising from the cup. “Though… those poor tributes. Tracker jackers are more than just stings. It’s… agony.”
His laughter cut through the tension like a knife, biting at the edges of the silence. His gaze lingered on her, his eyes sharp, almost predatory. “The public loves a bit of terror.”
His tone was light, but there was a knowing edge, His eyes never left her, as though daring her to challenge him, to give in to the truth on the sudden thought of the tributes health.
Her hand paused mid-pour, the tea cascading slowly into the cup as she felt his gaze tighten around her. She blinked, once, then set the teapot down with a soft clink, as though the moment had passed.
"Oh, darling," her tone shifting, softening, her voice once again light and loving. She gave him a tight smile that seemed to put everything back into its proper place. "I hope you like this new tea, I tried something new."
Her gaze met his, soft and calm, the warmth of her smile drawing the moment. She gently placed a cup before him, her fingers lingering for just a second, and added, “It’s a little more… bold than usual, but I think you'll appreciate the change.”
The room was almost too quiet now, the only sound the soft ticking of the clock echoing through the tense air.
"Tell me, darling," she lightly strained, "Do you ever tire of the games? Of their insatiable hunger for cruelty?"
She didn’t wait for his response. She never did anymore, but the faintest pause lingered between them, as if she was waiting for him to speak, for him to read her thoughts.
His gaze remained unblinking, the weight of his eyes pressing against her, cold and calculating.
She shifted her weight slightly, her fingers grazing the rim of her teacup.
"It’s just so… easy for them," she murmured, her voice wavering for a brief moment.
"How they feast on fear. On the spectacle." She gave a tight, shallow laugh, feeling like a cough crawling out of her throat. Her smile faltered as she set the teacup down with a soft click. The clinking percaline cutting through the eternal silence.
His eyes were locked onto her, the edges of his mouth tightening, but there was something else in his gaze, it made her skin tingle with goosebumps, the warmth of the tea draining from her body.
"And do you find that… troubling, my dear?" His voice was smooth, He leaned in slightly, his tone dropping, "Or are you simply concerned for the tributes?"
She felt a flicker of panic rise in her chest, a tightening of her throat as she struggled to keep her composure. She had been here before, but... it wasn't this scenery. It was dark, cold. Like this feeling. Lonely... empty-
She blinked, forcing the thought away, returning her focus to him. With quick haste, the teacup was once again in her hand. "Oh Dove," She gave him the smallest, most practiced smile she could muster. "Just plain curiosity."
She leaned forward slightly, "You’ve done so much for the Capitol, for us. You know best. It’s all for the greater good, isn’t it?"
His eyes softened, the dangerous edge replaced with something coldly comforting as he reached for his teacup. The movement was deliberate, slow, as if measuring her reaction. "Always, my dear," he replied, a slight hint of warning edged the conversation. "Always for the greater good."
His gaze never wavered. He studied her with a predator’s patience, as though he could read every flicker of emotion, every tremor that threatened to betray her.
The silence stretched, thick with expectation, and she couldn’t escape it. The air felt heavy, pressing down on her, the room suddenly too small. The warmth of the tea in her hands had turned to a numbing chill, and for just a moment, she thought she might shatter under the weight of it all.
His gaze softened as he took another deliberate sip from his cup, the warmth of his smile returning, He placed his teacup down gently on the saucer, the porcelain chiming in the quiet room.
"You're always so... understanding, my dear," he said, his voice slow, measured. "I do appreciate how well you manage to keep things... in order."
She glanced at him, a flicker of confusion flashing through her before she quickly masked it with a smile. His words—like always—seemed comforting, almost sincere. but there was this fit feeling forming in her stomach, like butterflies were released and trying to nag something that she couldn't quiet place.
His eyes never left hers as he stood up from the chair with smooth, calculated grace. His movements were always so deliberate, a careful dance to ensure she never felt threatened, practiced.
"You know," he began, his voice a soft lilt as he crossed the room, "I've been thinking about how well you've been handling things. All these… little pressures."
"The weight of everything," he continued, his voice drifting back to her. "How much you carry, and yet, you never falter."
Her pulse thrummed in her ears, the tension in the room palpable. His presence loomed, filling the space with an oppressive silence.
“You handle everything so well…” His voice trailed off, a false tenderness undercut by the hard edge of control that lingered in his words. "That's why I love you."
Her chest tightened, the air too thick now, suffocating in its stillness. She wanted to ask, What do you mean? but the words wouldn’t come. She could only watch, frozen, as he moved toward her with deliberate, unhurried steps.
Her hands trembled slightly, but she quickly clasped them together to hide the unease. Her eyes never left him as he crossed the room, his every movement calculated, predatory.
With one fluid motion, he reached the cabinet, the soft clink of glass too loud in the tense silence. She swallowed hard, unable to tear her gaze away from the vial now gripped tightly in his fingers.
The weight of the moment pressed down on her chest as he turned toward her, his face unreadable, but his eyes sharp, like a hawk locked onto prey. His lips parted, his words soft but carrying an unmistakable weight.
"My beautiful wife you work so hard to take care of me." His tone was smooth, loving, but his gaze felt stone cold, freezing her in place. "I do not take you for granted."
Before she could react, he moved in a blur, stepping closer, his hands suddenly on her shoulders, guiding her back into the chair.
The vial flashed in the light again, and before she could even process it, a sharp, cold sting pierced her skin.
The injection was quick—too quick. she gasped, eyes widening in shock.
The air around her seemed to grow thick, pressing down on her chest, the warmth of the needle spreading in cold waves through her veins.
Her breath caught in her throat as the sensation of something foreign entered her bloodstream. The numbing effect took hold immediately, her body going stiff as the warmth of the drug spread with an unnatural swiftness.
Her vision blurred for a split second, her mind caught between clarity and fog, she could see everything in a moment, the iron walls, the thick ruler, the constant prodding... beating... affection?
Then it stopped.
The numbness deepened, dulling her thoughts, quieting the frantic pulse in her veins.
She blinked rapidly, the world beginning to feel… softer, hazier. Her fingers tingled as the overwhelming weight of what ever just transpired sank deeper, filling her with an unfamiliar sense of surrender. Her mouth opened slightly, but no words came.
He stepped back, watching her carefully, his gaze unreadable. The subtle, controlling smile on his lips was all she could focus on as her body relaxed, her mind slipping into the easy haze he had cultivated for her, her will no longer her own.
“There we are,” he murmured softly, his voice smooth like honey. “Just the way it should be.”
The final traces of resistance left her, slipping away like water running through her fingers. She sat there, silent, calm, and placid as he had always wanted her to be, the perfect wife.
Her breath was shallow now, her head swimming with the disorienting mixture of fog and reality. Her fingers trembled as she tried to steady herself, but the sensation only deepened.
She blinked, struggling to focus. Her voice came out a little too soft, too far away from her usual sharpness. “W-What are we doing?”
The question hung in the air, a quiet plea for something familiar, something to anchor her as the fog thickened. Her mind was hazy, but she could feel the pull of something—something unnatural, something she couldn’t quite grasp.
Coriolanus stepped closer, his movements slow and gentle, as though to soothe the unease that still flickered in her eyes. He placed his hand on hers, warm and reassuring. His touch felt different now, tender and deliberate, as if to make sure she didn’t feel the loss of herself completely.
“We’re having tea, darling,” he said, his voice honey-sweet, full of warmth and sincerity. He smiled at her, his face so kind, so genuine, as if nothing had changed.
Her eyelids fluttered, his voice—his warmth—was like a blanket wrapped around her.
His hand remained on hers, holding her steady as if she were a fragile thing.
She wanted to believe him.
She wanted to sink into the simplicity of his words.
She gazed up at him, the edges of her vision softening, the last traces of her doubt slipping away. His presence was everything she needed in that moment, his words a soothing balm to the confusion swirling in her mind.
As she nodded, her body grew heavier, the once-familiar tension draining away with every passing second. Her thoughts slowed, her heartbeats softened. The faintest smile crept across her face, the last flickers of resistance fading.
“Yes, tea,” she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Just tea.”
Her husband’s smile widened, tender and loving, as he slowly lifted his teacup. The calmness in the room returned, the stillness wrapping around them like a cocoon, and for that moment, everything felt perfect again.
may we perhaps have a brief introduction to the hobbits? 👀
Merry, Frodo, and Pippin are all boys! Samwise is a girl. Right now their favorite hobbies are Drink Milk and Stagger Around and also Fall Over. They are getting much more agile though
And this is their mother, Lavender. She is almost identical to her sister
TW: 18+ | Possessive | Stalking | Kidnapping | Video taping | Picture taking | Dead dove do not eat | Bondage |
All content that you consume on your media is your thing, I don't care what you do.
"Guess what, Beautiful?"
the echo of his foot steps surrounded your isolation, banging in your ear drums as your head lulls to the side.
"You made the front cover! Again!" You could hear his excitement, if not in his voice, you could hear it in the way he moved, the wrinkling of the news papers waving in his over enthusiastic hand gestures.
Your arm ached as he leaned over your chair, the feeling of his breath hitting the side of your face made you want to gag.
"I always knew you could do it, You're Picture perfect." His whispers blow around your left ear, you could feel his jeans crinkle against your arm, his zipper scraping into your skin as he bends down, breathing heavily into the side of your neck.
the pitch black fabric wrapped around your eyes insured little comfort, your head felt like a balloon being lifted into the air, a stabbing spike hitting the side of your brain.
a small. wet. kiss hit the side of your neck, a pit wanted to swallow you whole. your eyebrows furrowed as small dark patches seep into the fabric, an uncomfortable chill running down your spine.
His forehead rests in the crook of your neck, a slight groan crawled its way up your throat as he moves his left arm to rest in front of him. with a slight tilt on his wrist, you could hear the waves of paper balancing through the air.
"They used the wrong photo." He mumbled, a sigh escaping his nose as he sits up, a small whish cut through the air as the sheets flopped on the floor, discarded in disgust. "Your school photos always looked so... forced." his hand lightly touches your head, a small stroke from his thumb. "Amateurs."
"The pictures we take are masterpieces. Don't you think so?" He lifted himself off of your arm, moving around to only god knows where.
"I wonder if I gave your parents those photos we took at the end of last term. Do you think they would use them? That smile you had while you presented your year end project. You looked so nervous, so shy..." click
a heavy weight hits the side of your head as your head falls forward, parts of your hair falling over your face, sticking to your forehead.
click, click
"You must be one of the descendants of Aphrodite, and I'm your fierce lover. Aphrodite and Ares, Love of the ages. Passionate," click "Secretive" click click "Complex." he sighs, all you could hear was fabric moving around, until hurried footsteps come to a stop in front of you.
His hands reach up, steady on the sides of your head, cupping your face, lifting your soaked face towards his prying eyes. Piercing even shrouded in silence.
His thumbs, caressing your cheeks. Cold hands burning against your heated cheeks. His left hand sliding up to catch against the fabric boundary, the smallest protection you have, being able to pretend like its all a dream, just a bad dream.
Then just like that, a piercing white stabs your eyes, your head shooting to the right, rolling on your shoulders.
You could hear Mickey tutting as his right hand caresses your jaw, this thumb following the outline of the duct tape glued onto your damp skin.
"Your eyes were always so sensitive, That's what makes them so beautiful." He leans towards your face, his thumb stroking your cheek in false comfort. "You're perfect."
His hand gliding to take a hold of your chin, slowly tilting your head back, eyes slowly fluttering open to the beaming square stage lights in all directions.
Beyond the dark glow of his silhouette, a bold flashing red light, the reflective surface mocking you, a sick memory to relive.
It felt like hours before he decided to step back, releasing all contact, allowing gravity to pull your head to sag in front of you.
"Now, princess.. we have to look at the camera to capture your beauty." His hand grabbing a handful of your hair. pulling your head into the position he felt was natural. "Now stay still."
A big, winning smile grows on his face, moving backwards towards his camera, set perfectly in front of you.
"Now say cheese." click, and flash.
"Beautiful." flash.
"Perfect." click.
white flooring. flash.
wooden chair. click.
bare legs. flash.
"Its like your beauty grows every day." He lifted the camera, moving it to a separate table near the wall, "I'll show you the photos later, Processing them by hand, all for me."
"Watching your body... slowly burn into the paper." His mumbling traveling across the solid walls.
You watch him, eyes following him as he walks towards you. one. final. time.
"My model, my goddess, Mine. Forever."
He bends down, a puff of cold air hits your forehead before his lips. His hand taking the now visible black fabric, thick, with a singular knot.
A small cry escapes the barrier blocking your face, shaking your head, eyes pleading.
"I can't have you flashing those beautiful eyes at anyone else. These are all mine."
His hands take the blind fold and slowly move it over your eyes, a burnt in traced of the room where it once was.
"I'll see you in a few hours."
A small peck touched your covered eye, a final deep breath, the thick air, following his receding steps and the lock of a door.
izzy806
kianamaiart
romaincrisis
stormborns
origamiaround
