nsfw blog

Her tone was light, almost amused, contrasted with the harshness of her words. It made Tigri’s stomach twist. He went still. The metal handle of the fork dug painfully into his palm as his fingers tightened around it, the pressure sharp enough to sting. He raised his gaze in fear and his eyes met Fidi’s. Her panic was unmistakable.

“I want you at reception at eleven,” the woman said, taking a slow, deliberate sip of her coffee, as if nothing at all were wrong.

“Ma’am, no…” Fidi’s voice shook as she spoke, barely above a whisper.

“Quiet, Little Snake”, the woman interrupted her. “Today I have no interest in you. Stay in your room, or I’ll have you shut inside a box.”

The snake girl’s lips trembled before she bit down on them, folding in on herself as if trying to disappear. Tigri’s pulse began to pound fast, each beat pressing against his ribs. The smell of food turned sour in his nose, and the thought of swallowing anything made his throat tighten.

“What does playing pets mean?” he forced out, the words scraped on the way up. Not knowing clawed at him, but knowing might be worse.

“You’ll find out soon,” was the only answer he got.

The morning dragged slowly as the clock crept forward second by second. Fidi warned Tigri that Madame Lavenza’s games were never harmless, her voice low as she described what it had been like to “play dolls” with that woman. It did nothing but make the tight coil in Tigri’s chest twist further, feeding the anxiety already building in his mind: imagined scenarios took shape, each one worse than the last.

When eleven finally came, neither of them moved. They both saw the trap for what it was, bait laid out in plain sight, yet neither had the courage to refuse it, knowing they would be dragged into it sooner or later.

A violent pounding rattled the bedroom door. A voice barked for them to come out, or they would come in by force. Tigri knew that if he didn’t go, it would only be worse for him. He stepped into the hallway. Fidi followed instantly, her hand clamping around his arm, holding him back. She said nothing, but her face said everything, the anguish evident in her gaze. For a moment, Tigri wondered if she was thinking of the others chimera children who had been there before him, the ones who were gone now, that no one talked about. He knew she was afraid of losing him too.

The servants tore her away. She struggled, hissing, clawing, but they were stronger. They dragged her down the hall as she screamed his name, her voice breaking into sobs. As she disappeared around the corner, Tigri heard the sharp, sickening rip of adhesive tape. Then silence.

The tiger boy bit down hard on his tongue, grounding himself in the sting and forcing the image of his friend out of his mind. He couldn’t afford to hesitate, so he moved. Step by step, he made his way down to the foyer, where that blonde woman with empty, crystal-clear eyes—the one who called herself his owner—was waiting.

“Good,” Madame Lavenza said. “Today we’ll play pets, so you will follow a few special rules. If you obey, you’ll be rewarded. If you don’t… you will be punished. Understood?”

Tigri’s fists clenched at his sides, claws biting into his palms. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to fight, to do anything but stand there; but he already knew there was nowhere to go.

“Understood… Ma’am.”

The woman clapped, pleased.

“Excellent! First rule: pets don’t wear clothes. Take them off.”

It felt like something sharp drove straight through his stomach.

“W-What…?” His body refused to move. She couldn’t be serious, right? She wasn’t…

“Take them off,” she repeated, her tone hardening, “or I’ll have someone do it for you.”

Tigri felt something inside him gave way. All this time, he had clung to the fragile belief that he was still being treated like a person—like a prisoner, yes, but not… this. Not an animal. Not a thing.

But this… this stripped that illusion away. So this is playing pets…

His jaw trembled as he bent down, pulling off his shoes, then his socks. His fingers felt numb as he reached for his shirt, dragging it slowly over his head, exposing with shame his skin marked with black stripes. His hands hesitated at his pants. The button. The zipper. Even touching them felt wrong, like his skin was burning under his own fingers. When he was left in nothing but his underwear, the woman raised a hand.

“That’s enough. Disgusting. I don’t need to see more. You’re fine like that.”

Tigri let out a shaky breath, his chest tight. At least… that was something.

“Second rule: pets don’t walk on two legs.”

Of course. Of course they didn’t. Heat flooded his face as he slowly lowered himself, knees hitting the floor first, then his hands. The position felt wrong immediately, too exposed. His tail curled in behind him, betraying his discomfort.

Madame Lavenza called the servants. From a box on the table, she handed them something. They crouched in front of Tigri, who offered no resistance, he didn’t see the point. They took his arms and forced mittens over his hands, the thick fabric swallowing his fingers whole. Tape wrapped tight around his wrists and forearms, binding them in place against his body, too secure to slip free, even with his teeth.

“Third rule,” the woman announced, spreading her fingers in front of her face, “pets don’t have hands. And they certainly don’t use them. Now, come here.”

She patted her thigh. Tigri’s stomach turned, but still he obeyed. Awkwardly, he began to crawl forward on padded hands and bare knees, every movement clumsy and humiliating.

“What a good kitten!” she cooed, leaning down to grab his face, squeezing his cheeks hard enough to hurt.

Before he could stop himself, Tigri lashed out, knocking her hand away. His ears flattened against his skull. He opened his mouth and let out a threatening growl, showing his long fangs.  She wanted an animal? Fine, he could be an animal. Even so, the slap that followed surprised him, echoing through the foyer.

“You’re a bad kitten,” Madame Lavenza said coldly, already turning away. “No matter. Fourth rule: pets don’t talk. And definitely don’t bite”.

Between her fingers, something black and heavy hung. Leather straps. A solid plate.

A muzzle.

“N-No—!” Panic surged through him. He scrambled back, heart slamming against his ribs; but it was already too late. Hands grabbed him, holding him in place. The leather pressed hard over his mouth, forcing his jaw shut. A strap tightened over his nose, others buckled behind his head, locking it in place.

Tigri thrashed, bringing his hands up, trying to rip it off, but the mittens rendered him useless, his fingers trapped and his claws unreachable. He shook his head violently. Nothing worked. He couldn’t even open his mouth.

He was helpless, completely defenseless.

He heard the servants laugh behind him. Tigri turned, glaring at them with fury burning hot in his chest. What the hell were they laughing at?… And then it hit him. The image of himself: On all fours; bare, except for his boxers; hands swallowed by soft, ridiculous pink mittens; a muzzle strapped over his face.

He froze. Heat rushed to his eyes, stinging and blurring his vision as tears of total humiliation gathered.

“You look so silly like that,” Madame Lavenza said softly, almost fond, lifting his chin and idly twirling one of his curls between her fingers. “Don’t be sad, kitten. You’re still pretty.”

Her touch made his skin crawl.

“We’ll go for a walk. That should cheer you up.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. The leash clicked onto his collar and a sharp tug pulled him forward.

“Come.”

With no choice but to obey, Tigri followed, crawling after her across the floor, each movement dragging at his pride, his body, his sense of self.

Like a fucking animal.

They walked the garden for what felt like forever, circling the same stone paths again and again, passing perfectly trimmed spherical bushes and carefully arranged flowers that Tigri barely saw. At some point, a maid approached and whispered something into Madame Lavenza’s ear.

“Oh! That’s right. Kitten, you’ll come with me to my meeting.”

Tigri’s stomach dropped. He was tired, hungry, his knees raw and reddened from crawling over stone and gravel—but worse than the physical discomfort was the deep, gnawing sense of degradation. Crawling half-naked through the mansion had already felt unbearable, but being seen like this by strangers… That would be worse than death.

He struggled the moment they tried to pull him toward the car, digging his mittened hands into the ground, resisting with everything he had. The leash went taut as servants yanked him forward. Then a sharp electric shock tore through his body. Tigri gasped against the muzzle, his muscles locking as pain shot through him from the collar. His resistance shattered instantly and he went still. They dragged him the rest of the way.

Inside the car, he was forced onto the floor, crammed into the narrow space between the front and back seats. Every bump in the road jolted through his already aching knees and wrists. He kept his head down the entire ride, breathing shallowly through the leather pressed to his face.

After what felt like too long, the car stopped. They had arrived at a large house, elegant, and pristine, similar to Lavenza’s own. From the moment they stepped inside, the attention hit him. Even before being kidnapped, Tigri had always drawn attention. But like this, there was no escape from the eyes, all turned on him. Some people smiled. Some laughed quietly. Others didn’t bother hiding their disgust. Tigri kept his gaze fixed on the floor, ears pinned flat against his head, wishing desperately that he could disappear.

“Oh, was today bring-your-pet day? Shame. I would’ve brought mine too. Dog loves these gatherings.”

The familiar voice sent ice down his spine. Polished shoes entered his field of vision. He didn’t need to look up to imagine the tall figure leaning in front of him. He could already feel the weight of that blue gaze, sharp and invasive.

Graus. Lavenza’s brother.

“I decided to take the opportunity to take the kitten out for a walk,” Lavenza replied lightly. “It’s a little game we play.”

Fortunately, she didn’t stay to talk with the obnoxious man, and instead kept moving deeper into the property, until they reached a garden. Under a gazebo sat four women around a metal table, adorned in heavy makeup, glittering jewelry, long acrylic nails, and bright, expensive fabrics. They looked like copies of Lavenza. That alone made Tigri’s stomach twist.

“Lav, where have you been?” one of her friends asked, feigning annoyance as she sipped from a margarita glass.

“Oh, you know, busy as always,” Lavenza replied, sitting gracefully on the empty chair. She tugged on Tigri’s leash, pulling him closer, her nails sliding through his hair.

“What did you bring this time?” another woman said, eyeing the tiger boy up and down. “Didn’t you bring your doll today?”

“She stayed home. Today I brought the kitten out for some air. Isn’t he adorable?”

Her fingers hooked under his chin, forcing his head up. Her thumb brushed over the leather of the muzzle, right where his lips were trapped beneath it. He jerked his head away instinctively, but stayed kneeling beside her chair, rigid and silent. He wasn’t about to risk another electric shock.

“He looks angry,” one woman commented.

“But he’s cute,” said another, with dyed red hair, biting the tip of one of her long nails in a flirtatious gesture. Her gaze lingered too long on the muscles of his chest and abdomen. “Does he let people touch him?”

“Of course he does.”

The heel of Lavenza’s shoe pressed suddenly against his chest, shoving him backward. Tigri hit the ground when he fell onto his back. Before he could even think of getting up, her gaze cut down at him, as if saying “Move and you’ll regret it”.

He froze.

The red-haired woman knelt beside him, her hand sliding over his abdomen, stroking him as one would a pet. Tigri’s entire body tensed, a shudder running from his shoulders down to the tip of his tail.

“He’s so warm,” she murmured.

“I want to try!” another said, moving in, fingers digging into his hair, tugging at his ears too roughly.

Then more hands. Too many hands. Within seconds, all four women crowded around him, touching, pressing, grabbing—like he was something to be examined and consumed. Tigri didn’t know how he held still. Every instinct screamed at him to fight, to twist away, to bite, to run—But the memory of the shock collar stopped him. Maybe the conditioning was already starting to take effect. And he hated that it worked.

When does this damn game end?, he thought desperately. He tried to sink into his thoughts, to detach from his body to ignore the touches, caresses, and dehumanizing comments—

Then a hand slid lower. Too low.

Tigri jolted upright, a strangled sound trapped behind the muzzle as he scrambled back, the leash snapping taut. His breathing broke into ragged gasps as he curled in on himself, knees pulled tight to his chest, arms wrapped around them.

“Don’t touch that, it’s disgusting!” Lavenza snapped sharply. “You scared him.”

The women withdrew, some pouting, others merely bored, and returned to their seats. Lavenza turned back to him.

“Come,” she said sweetly, giving the leash a gentle tug. “I won’t let them touch you again.”

Tigri’s heart hammered violently in his chest. His vision blurred at the edges.

“Come here, kitten,” she coaxed in that same sweet tone.

And he did. He moved without thinking, like pulled by an invisible thread, crawling back toward her.

“I won’t let them hurt you,” she murmured, wiping away a tear he hadn’t noticed falling.

He didn’t understand how it happened, but suddenly his face was pressed against her stomach, crying, his body shaking as quiet, broken sobs slipped past the muzzle. Her arms wrapped around him, her nails running soothingly through his hair as she whispered soft, gentle words. She smelled like perfume and powder. It made him nauseous. And yet, he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t. The ghost of strange hands still lingered on his skin, making him feel dirty, used and small.

They stayed like that until his breathing steadied.

The gathering went on as if nothing had happened. Laughter, gossip, clinking glasses. Tigri remained at Lavenza’s side, quiet and obedient. Sometimes, without thinking, he leaned into her touch, resting his head against her thigh as her fingers stroked his ears. And he hated that part of him liked it.

Later in the afternoon, waiters brought food: desserts, liquor, pastries and small savory dishes. Tigri’s stomach twisted painfully. It growled, loud. His throat was dry, his head pounding faintly. He hadn’t eaten since morning. Was he going to stay like this until they return to the mansion who knew when?

Madame Lavenza didn’t seem close to leaving, far too entertained and absorbed in conversation with her friends. That’s when the thought came. What’s one more humiliation?, he thought bitterly. Just one more stripe for the tiger.

He reached out with one mittened hand, pawing lightly at her leg to get her attention.

“What is it, kitten?”, she asked.

“Mmm!” He gestured toward the table with his head, insistence growing in his eyes. “Mmm—mmn!”

Lavenza could be very cruel and childish at times, but she wasn’t stupid.

“Aww… are you hungry?” she cooed, tapping the tip of his nose. He nodded quickly. “Why didn’t you say so?”

She called a waiter with a gesture and whispered some instructions. Moments later, a tray was set down: two silver bowls placed directly on the ground. One with water. The other with a slice of chocolate cake.

“Behave,” she said, unfastening the muzzle.

The moment it came off, Tigri sucked in a shaky breath, lips dry, face aching. He didn’t hesitate. He lowered himself and drank straight from the bowl, desperate, water spilling slightly as he swallowed too fast. The liquid was cool and refreshing in his throat. Once satisfied, he moved to the next bowl, devouring the piece in two bites, barely tasting it beyond sweetness and soft texture, gone too quickly.

When he finished, Lavenza cupped his face, gently wiping the chocolate from his mouth with a napkin.

“You are so beautiful,” she murmured. “Beautiful… and mine.”

Tigri didn’t know how to respond, or if he even should. Before he could stop himself, he leaned forward and licked her thumb, catching the last bit of sweetness left there. His tongue wasn’t wet, but rough like a cat’s; but she didn’t seem to mind—in fact, she smiled as if taking it as a sign of affection.

“Cute kitten.”

A couple of hours later, they were back at the mansion.

“Congratulations, kitten. The game isn’t over yet, but you may return to your room and rest for a while.”

With the woman’s gaze still burning into his back, Tigri crawled toward the stairs and climbed them slowly, each step dragging against his sore knees, heading for the pets’ hallway. He paused in front of his own door, then hesitated. He turned instead and went to Fidi’s. He needed to see her.

The mittens made the doorknob impossible to grasp, so he knocked instead. The sound came out dull, swallowed by the thick fabric. The muzzle strapped over his mouth silenced him completely, he couldn’t even call her name.

He heard footsteps nearby and caught sight of a maid carrying clean towels to another room.

“Mmmn!” Tigri tried, forcing the sound through the leather, trying to get her attention.

She turned, her expression twisting into something between confusion and distaste.

“Mmmn!” he insisted, scratching at the door with clumsy, muffled movements.

The maid seemed to understand, as she approached and opened the door for him. Tigri stepped inside immediately, and what he saw on the other side made his blood run cold.

Fidi lay on the floor. No, collapsed. Her limbs were bent at unnatural angles, like a puppet dropped mid-performance, strings cut without warning. A strip of adhesive tape sealed her lips shut. Her eyes opened at the sound of him entering. For a brief second, relief lit her face before it shifted into heavy sadness.

Tigri rushed to her side, heart lurching. Was she hurt? Sick? Why wasn’t she moving? She wasn’t restrained, nothing was holding her down. So why couldn’t she get up? Why couldn’t she take the gag off? He nudged her gently with his head. No response, only her eyes, following him.

That’s when he remembered the story the snake girl had told him that morning. The dolls. The game. The drug.

Even this—this small thing—the ability to speak, to move, to reach for his friend—taken away. Why? Why take even that?

He couldn’t hold it in anymore. Everything he had forced down all day—the fear, the humiliation, the anger, the helplessness—rose up all at once, tearing through him. Tears spilled freely down his cheeks, hot and relentless, his sobs breaking uselessly against the muzzle.

Across from him, Fidi let out a faint, strangled sound beneath the tape. She was crying too. In her eyes, he saw the same pain, the same helpless grief. She wanted to comfort him and she couldn’t.

Tigri dropped to his knees beside her, searching blindly until he found her limp hand. Carefully, he adjusted himself, pressing closer, positioning her arm so that it rested against his head, as if she were the one holding him. A broken, pitiful whimper slipped from her throat when she noticed. Tigri curled in beside her, folding into himself as much as he could, pressing close like proximity alone could keep them from falling apart completely.

Life in the mansion was a nightmare, a place designed to wear them down piece by piece, to strip them of everything until there was nothing left but something pretty and easy to control. Something to possess. Every day was worse than the last, and there was no end in sight. Tigri missed his family, his freedom, his humanity. With no power, no escape and no one coming for them, they only had each other, only these fragile, stolen moments of presence in a place that denied them even that.

After all that was all they were allowed to be.

A doll.

And a pet.

Poor Tigri and Fidi

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@string-of-broken-hearts @oddsconvert @what-if-i-just-did @bacillusinfection

@writinglittlepains @washing---machine @enasolos @inhurtandincomfort @cepheusgalaxy

Before they could recover, Villain’s hand slammed beside their head, caging them in.

Hero sucked in a rattling breath.

Villain stood too close for comfort now. Rain clung to their lashes. Hero could smell smoke and steel and the faint copper tang of blood.

“You know,” Villain said thoughtfully, “I was actually starting to feel insulted.”

Hero swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “—What?”

“All that running.” Villain clutched at their chest in mock offence, wearing the smile of someone thoroughly enjoying their own performance. “After everything we’ve been through?”

Hero shoved at them.

Villain's hand closed around their wrist.

Hero jerked back. The grip didn't budge.

Without looking away, Villain lifted their captured hand and pressed their palm to their own cheek.

Hero tried to pull free.

Villain's fingers tightened.

"See?" they said softly. "Was that so difficult?"

Hero yanked uselessly against their grip. “Let go!”

“But you’ve finally stopped pretending.” Villain practically purred, tightening their hold just enough to make Hero wince. “I’ve been waiting all night for this part.”

Hero hated the way their breathing hitched.

Hated that Villain heard it too.

The alley felt unbearably narrow now. Villain seemed to fill it entirely, leaving Hero nowhere to look but at them. Hero couldn’t think around them properly when they got like this—soft-voiced and intent and terrifyingly patient.

Villain leaned closer. “Tell me something,” they murmured. “When did you realise you weren’t winning?”

Hero glared at them silently.

Villain smiled again. “Was it when I dislocated your shoulder?” They brushed their fingers lightly against Hero’s arm and Hero flinched violently before they could stop themselves. Villain’s expression sharpened with delight. “No, wait. That was later.”

“Go to hell.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Hero’s knees nearly buckled as another wave of dizziness rolled through them. Villain’s grip steadied automatically at their waist before they could fall properly.

The gesture was almost gentle. 

Which somehow made it worse.

Villain looked genuinely fascinated now, watching Hero struggle to stay upright. “You’re exhausted.”

Hero said nothing.

“You can’t even stand on your own.”

Hero scowled. The bastard was right, but they didn’t have to rub it in!

“And yet,” the bastard Villain continued anyway, voice deceptively soft, “you’re still trying so hard not to beg.”

Hero stiffened.

A slow smile spread across Villain’s face, sharp with satisfaction.

“Oh, you hate that word, don’t you?”

Hero’s face burned with anger despite the cold rain. “I’m not begging you for shit.”

“No?” Villain asked mildly.

Their hand slid up slowly, fingers curling around Hero’s throat. Not squeezing yet, just resting there possessively enough to make Hero’s pulse jump beneath their palm.

“You always sound so pretty when you’re desperate.”

Hero’s stomach dropped.

“Don’t—”

“Do you remember last winter?” Villain interrupted, malice dancing across their face. “Warehouse district. You had a collapsed lung.” Their thumb brushed lightly against Hero’s pulse. “You could barely breathe. Kept looking at me like you thought I might actually let you die.”

Hero looked away.

Villain caught their jaw immediately and forced them back.

“Ah-ah. Stay with me.”

Their voice had gone warm now. Interested.

“You said please six times that night.”

Hero’s face twisted with humiliation. “Shut up.”

“And then,” Villain continued like they hadn’t spoken, “you grabbed my coat and said—”

“I said shut up.”

“‘Please don’t leave me here!’”

Hero shoved at them again, weaker this time. More irrational than forceful.

Villain barely moved.

“Oh, that hit a nerve.” Villain sounded delighted. “You remember.”

Hero wished they didn’t.

Villain watched the shame crawl slowly across their expression and looked damn near reverent about it.

“That’s the thing about you,” they murmured. “You act so righteous until you’re cornered.” Their grip tightened slightly against Hero’s throat. “Then suddenly you remember how badly you don’t want to die.”

Hero’s breathing had gone uneven now. They could hear it themselves. Fast and shallow and humiliatingly frightened.

Villain could definitely hear it too.

They leaned closer still. “Go on.”

Hero stared at them.

“Ask nicely.”

“No,” Hero said too quickly.

Villain’s smile turned vicious.

“Oh, that was pathetic.”

Hero’s chest tightened painfully.

They hated this.

Hated how Villain could peel them apart piece by piece until there was nothing left except raw fear and instinct and the desperate need to get out.

Villain studied them for another long moment before sighing softly.

“You know,” they said, “I was going to break your ribs.”

Hero looked up sharply at that. Villain, meanwhile, appeared far more interested in tracing the line of their throat.

“But now I’m reconsidering.” Their thumb traced Hero’s pulse again. “Because this is much more entertaining.”

Hero swallowed against the hand at their throat.

Villain watched the movement with open interest.

"Go on," Villain said quietly. "You already know what I'm asking for."

Hero closed their eyes.

The rain continued to fall. Their shoulder hurt. Their legs hurt. Everything hurt. Standing felt difficult. Thinking felt difficult. Villain's voice seemed to fill the entire alley, leaving no room for anything else.

“Please,” Hero said finally, the word scraping out broken and quiet.

Villain closed their eyes briefly like they were savouring it.

Hero immediately hated themselves for saying it.

Villain looked positively euphoric. 

“Again.”

Hero’s face burned.

“...Don’t do this.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

The rain hammered against the alley around them. Somewhere far away, sirens wailed faintly through the city.

Hero’s legs shook harder.

Villain waited patiently.

They knew they’d win this eventually. The absolute certainty of it was unbearable.

Hero looked away first.

“Please,” they whispered again, voice breaking. “Just—give me another chance.”

Villain went still for half a heartbeat.

Then they laughed softly, the sound warm with genuine pleasure.“God,” they murmured. “I could listen to that for hours.”

*~*~*~*

Scribbled this in the dead of night under circumstances that my lawyer has advised me not to discuss 😡😤 am gonna whack him with his damn hammer

this was supposed to be June of Doom No. 3, but according to several unreliable sources, including "the date," it is June 7.

We are ignoring this. Anyone attempting to inform me that a week of June has already passed will be launched directly into the sun. it all leads back to that glowing bastard eventually