hewwo welcome to hell :D

Dead center on the wooden stage of his, you were entirely exposed. Stripped bare, kneeling on the rough aged planks that bit into your knees, your hands were pulled tightly behind your back. The thought of the sheer scale of the empty bleachers rising up into the gloom before you created a crushing sense of smallness. You were but a speck of dust in his grand arena.

A thick, violet silk blindfold robbed you of your sight, forcing your world to shrink down to the rhythmic, predatory click of leather boots against the floorboards echoed into the large, emptied space.

Jester circled you. He moved with the slow, deliberate grace of a vulture touring a prize, the heavy silver pommel of a black leather horsewhip catching the weak, ambient light. He did not strike you. Not yet, anyways. Instead, the cool, braided leather of the thong slid along the contours of your spine, tracing the curve of your hip and the sensitive skin of your thigh.

"Look at how the little mouse trembles in the dark," Jester mused. His voice was a rich, velvety purr that sliced through the silence like a scalpel. He spoke with that signature, grandiloquent cadence; every syllable perfectly weighted, completely detached. "Strip away your trivial little human senses, and you are nothing but a collection of racing pulses and shallow breaths. A fragile piece of porcelain bones and easily spilled blood. It is an absolute miracle you haven’t shattered under the weight of this world already." Purple eyes burned in the dark.

You shifted your weight, the rough wood scraping your knees, instinctively leaning away from the icy slide of the leather.

Crack!

The sharp, stinging snap of the whip against your outer thigh cut through the cavernous tent, the sound bouncing off the empty rafters. You cried out, freezing instantly.

"Ah, ah~ Did I give you permission to move, dear mouse?" Jester murmured, stepping closer, the scent of lemon and sandalwood washing over you. "A lesson best learned in absolute stillness, I think. You present such a beautifully pathetic spectacle. Do not ruin the blocking of my scene."

He stepped behind you, his long, gloved claws tangling into your hair. With a sharp, sudden tug that forced your chin toward the ceiling, he untied the silk blindfold. Letting the fabric trail down, like liquid fabric, over the curve of your breast tickling your nipple before being forgotten to the wood below.

The sudden rush of dim light made your eyes blink, but there was no comfort in seeing. Before you lay the overwhelming sight of empty rows of seats staring down like hollow, judging eyes. They may as well have been occupied. You became acutely aware of just how wet you were.

"Behold your theater," Jester whispered directly into your ear, his hot breath a stark contrast to the cool air of the tent. Eyes glowing to life at the scent of you. "Hundreds of ghosts watching your undoing. See how small you are on this podium? A fleeting, human novelty I’ve chosen to indulge, completely at my mercy. I wonder... Where did all that fierce, stubborn human dignity go, little mouse? Conceded to a monster. How deliciously tragic."

He was lying to himself, the words were a well-polished shield against the terrifying truth. He needed to see your eyes. Jester was utterly captivated by the depth of your gaze, but he violently suppressed the realization. To acknowledge that a human held any form power over him was a vulnerability he could not afford. Not again. So, he treated you like a prop, an amusing piece of human clay to break and remold. As many times as he wished, and you sat so pretty on his potter's wheel. Every. Time.

The whip continued its slow, agonizing caresses, the tip tracing your jawline to force your head high against the backdrop of the grandstand. The contrast was stark—the pristine, sharp lines of his purple theatrical coat, the stark white of his makeup and mask, and you—bare, flushed, and trembling on the floor.

His patience, however, was a fraying rope as he circled back behind you. Your scent, your quiet obedient endurance, and the sheer intoxication of your presence began to chip away at his calculated persona. The verbal teasing giving way to a frantic, demanding physical heat at the smell of your arousal.

Dropping the whip, he unbuttoned his trousers with a sudden, rough impatience. He didn't unwrap your arms; he left your hands restrained behind your back, pinning your front against the smooth, raised edge of his stage.

When he drove into you, it was hard, unyielding, and fast.

The complex, poetic metaphors completely deteriorated. The theatrical performance cracking under the weight of genuine, consuming lust. He tried to maintain his biting, sarcastic commentary—mocking your small gasps, calling you a weak, easily ruined little creature—but his syntax shortened, his breathing turning ragged and broken.

"Mine," he growled above you, Jester's elegant cadence entirely gone, replaced by a low, feral rasp. His claws sank into your hips, leaving deep, dark marks on your pale skin. "Say it... confess what you are to me, say it."

You cried out that you belonged to him, your voice lost in the vastness of the tent as he set a punishing, desperate pace. The irony was absolute; he was trying to force a confession of your complete submission to mask his own growing dependency on you. He wasn't acting like a detached god toying with a mortal; he was clinging to you like a drowning man in a storm.

The floorboards creaked beneath the fervor of his movements. With every harsh thrust, his pristine appearance unraveled further. Long, violet hair waving and mussing from his efforts of driving into you. His costume began to become unkempt, and as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, the smear of white greasepaint from his neck smeared your shoulder—a messy, physical marker of his possession.

The pleasure was too intense, too sharp, bordering on pain as he took everything you had to give. He didn't allow you a moment to breathe, driving you both toward a frantic, shattering climax that left you sobbing into the dark, your body trembling violently under his heavy, domineering frame.

For a long moment, the only sound in the massive tent was the harsh, synchronized rhythm of your breathing.

Then, the thunderous storm subsided.

A heavy, almost suffocating silence descended. Jester did not pull away with his usual cold arrogance. He didn't retreat into the shadows or mask his expression. Instead, his movements slowed, shifting with an almost jarring gentleness. Hips slowly drove into you with a deep, slow curl making you see stars in an entirely different manner.

He carefully unpinned your arms from behind your back, bringing your hands forward. His long fingers, though still trembling from the residual adrenaline, gently carressed your wrists where the strain had left them red. With a slow, deliberate effort, he shifted his weight, pulling you with him as he sat back against the ring-board, cradling your bare body against his chest as he was still buried deep within you.

The frantic conquest was over. What followed was a quiet, almost reverent descent.

He began to move inside you again, but the rhythm was entirely changed. It was slow. Deep. A soft, rocking motion that felt less like a punishment and entirely like a confession. His hands, no longer bruising your hips, slid up to cup your face, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears that had leaked from the corners of your eyes.

"Hush, little mouse," he murmured, his voice a low, raspy whisper, stripped of all theatrical projection. It was a soft, melodic murmur meant only for the space between your skin and his. "I have you."

Every slow push was an ache, a tender reassurance that made your heart swell even as your body remained spent. He kissed your temple, his lips pressing against the glistening sweet sweat coating your soft skin. Jester's purple tongue dipped out to relish the flavors of salt—a mouthwatering mixture of sweat with tears. The heavy dominance had melted into a desperate, clinging need to be close to you, to ensure you were still there, still whole, still his.

When he reached his second, quiet climax after gods knew how long, it was a soft, shuddering sigh against the side of your face, a total surrender of his body into yours. You'd been at his mercy, completely pliable due to your liquid, aching muscles.

He collapsed against you, holding you so tightly it was almost difficult to breathe, his heart a hammering rhythm against your back. The adrenaline was fading completely now, and the reality of the aftercare set in. He looked at the red marks on your thighs, the greasepaint on your skin, and a profound, terrifying spike of vulnerability seized him. He had let himself lose control around a human. He had let you see him entirely undone.

Panic and upset crept into his chest. To combat it, he attempted to resurrect the grand, mocking vocabulary he used as a defense.

"A predictable performance," he said, though his voice lacked its usual ringing clarity, sounding scraped, dry, and entirely unconvincing. "The flesh is so easily swayed, isn't it? A few sharp strokes, a little attention, and the human mind forgets all its silly notions of pride. And you... you are nothing more than a captive audience to my whims, little mouse."

The lie hung in the cool air, fragile.

Overwhelmed by the sudden emotional whiplash, exhausted to the bone, and unable to bear the weight of his fractured gaze, you dropped your head. You turned your face away, looking down at the sawdust on the floor, trying to find some small semblance of privacy, a quiet place to retreat within your own mind.

The sudden absence of your gaze felt like a drop from the high wire to him.

A suffocating type of terror gripped it's claws into Jester. He couldn't handle you slipping away from him. He couldn't handle the thought that you had shut him out, returning to your safe, human world where he was nothing but a monster in a tent. If you didn't look at him: he didn't exist in your world. If you didn't look at him, he was alone. Again.

All the grand eloquence, the poetic metaphors, and the circus persona completely vanished.

He reached out, his thumb catching your chin with a desperate, heavy force, tilting your face back to meet his.

"Eyes. on. me."

The command was entirely devoid of his usual poetic flair. It was harsh, breathless, and stripped of all ornament.

"Look at me," he whispered, his purple eyes wide, vibrant, and utterly fractured as he stared down at you. The stark white mask around his darkened eyes was a window into seeing the raw, damaged creature underneath. "Don't you dare hide from me now. Not after that. If I am condemned to carry the thought of you in my head, then you will look at what you’ve done, little mouse. You will look at me."

He was still holding you captive, his grip on your jaw firm, still playing the part of the heavy dominant. But as you looked into his eyes, the terrifying, beautiful truth was written plain across his face.

Pierrot:

☆ You had already spent quite some time with him at the circus, but your time to leave and go back to your apartment had come. Despite his suggestions that you could sleep in his personal quarters, you insisted that you really preferred sleeping in your own bed.

☆ (And you didn’t quite trust his insistence that it was fine for you to sleep in the circus. God knows what would happen if you let your guard down and then woke up as one of the Fools or something like that. The others seemed all too eager to do weird stuff like that when you were awake.)

☆ You stood there at the circus’s threshold, seeing how Pierrot was watching your every move as you slowly walked away and down the quiet streets. You were going to leave with just one last quick wave before getting a little idea.

☆ You put the fingers on one hand to your lips, pressing a kiss to them, and then waved it in an exaggerated manner towards Pierrot. His eyes widened, pupils becoming huge and heart shaped. You could see his mask flushing red even from this distance.

☆ His smile got even wider if it was physically possible, black-clawed hands moving to “catch” the kiss you had blown in his direction. He pretended to hold that kiss in his palms for a moment before making a gesture of pressing it to his white cheek, just below one of his eyes.

☆ You couldn’t help but lightly laugh to yourself as you gave him one last wave. It was kind of cute how Pierrot cherished these sorts of brief moments so deeply. It was almost enough to make you forget that he was a performer in a circus of horrors.

————

☆ Needless to say, Pierrot loved that gesture. Intimacy and care over a distance, such a sweet display of affection. It wasn’t nearly enough to sate his carnal hunger for closeness, for touch, for you, but he’d pretend it was. It seemed to make you happy to think he was satisfied with such things.

☆ After you turn around and make your way back to your apartment, Pierrot still thinks about that kiss you gave him indirectly. How would you feel if he placed it anywhere but his cheek? How would you have reacted if he pressed it to his mask’s mouth, his neck, his inner lap?

☆ It gave him a shiver just thinking about it. You really shouldn’t trust him with such a delicate and sweet gesture…he’d quickly twist it into something desperate and hungered when you weren’t looking.

☆ Oh, how he longed to have more than just an indirect form of contact. You could be so cruel in your tantalizing ways of making him ache for more, always more. Perhaps he should give you a real kiss when you were sleeping in your bed tonight…

☆ Harlequin taunts him about it, intruding green eyes having seen the exchange between him and his beloved. Pierrot quickly snaps out of his lovesick state to glare and glower at the green wretch casually leaning against one of the tent’s supports. It takes everything in him to resist the urge to throw a freshly sharpened knife at him.

☆ After all, last time he did, he was scolded for making a large tear in one of the tents.

Harlequin:

‪‪❤︎‬ It was getting late, and both you and the green performer in front of you knew that he would have to go back to the circus very soon. He had spent almost all of his available free time here in your apartment, just bothering you and trying to see what made you tick in all the best and worst ways.

‪‪❤︎‬ He insisted on being weird and making a display of disappearing off your two-story balcony instead of just going out the door. He jumped over the railing’s edge, and you couldn’t help your instincts to look down over it to see if he was alright. There he was, on the concrete ground below with no evidence to support that he just jumped at all.

‪‪❤︎‬ You shook your head. What a show-off. Still, he was a show-off that you found yourself admittedly (and sometimes begrudgingly) enjoying hanging around. He was looking up at you with a knowing grin, one that you just rolled your eyes at. You then pressed a quick little kiss to a couple of your fingers and stretched your arm out towards him, just a small display of bidding farewell.

‪‪❤︎‬ He seemed to notice your gesture and made one of his own to “grab” the kiss like it was something delicate floating down to him from above, and then made a show of inspecting it between two of his fingers, which made you release a mix between a laugh and a sigh of disbelief. He was ridiculous when he wanted to be.

‪‪❤︎‬ You watched as Harlequin looked back up to you with a wide sharp grin and made sure you were watching as he pretended to press that kiss to his neck, and then lower. And lower. And lower-

‪‪❤︎‬ You groaned loudly in feigned disgust while averting your gaze, but you couldn’t help the laugh that also escaped. You heard his slight sound of amusement as well, and you told him goodnight before going back inside your apartment and sliding the balcony door shut.

————

‪‪❤︎‬ Harlequin, meanwhile, was a little conflicted about the gesture itself. He found himself thinking about it more than he expected to.

‪‪❤︎‬ It was sweet. Almost sickeningly so. And yet you did that so causally, as if it was simply in your nature to be so…giving. It was nauseating. Would you have done the same for that red fool? Did you think he would come running if you held your arms open like Pierrot would?

‪‪❤︎‬ It doesn’t matter. If indulging in your games and…affection would keep your eyes on him and him alone, who was he to complain? Besides, it was admittedly quite fun to twist your gestures into meanings that you hadn’t intended at all just to see the look on your face.

‪‪❤︎‬ He’d let you think you have more control over the situation than you actually do. But everyone knows that all good things come to those who wait for the perfect moments. Pierrot could have your heart. But Harlequin would have your mind, your body, and everything else.

‪‪❤︎‬ However…if that was the case, why not try to pursue everything of yours anyway? Leaving Pierrot with nothing was quite an appealing prospect.

‪‪❤︎‬ He ignored the idea of his own heart being in your hands. For now.

Ticket Taker:

𓄼𓄼 The Ticket Taker’s white-gloved hands lingered on your shoulders as he gently escorted you to the circus threshold, the action bordering between being gentle and friendly to stern and patronizing. It was the most amount of contact you had received from him…pretty much ever.

𓄼𓄼 You paid it no mind. He was the type of person who didn’t like being so out in the open. He was a much more subtle type of person. Well, he wasn’t a person at all, but that was beside the point. The point was that you knew better than to point out the things he did—in public, anyway.

𓄼𓄼 So that was precisely the reason you blew him a kiss after politely bidding him farewell and walking out of the circus premises, a harmless yet still informal gesture just to convey your appreciation for his willingness to put a little time aside to indulge in your nonsense.

𓄼𓄼 You watched him stiffen slightly upon noticing your motions, and you couldn’t help but slow your pace to fully see his reaction.

𓄼𓄼 Unsurprisingly…he doesn’t react to it. Just continues to stand there with his hands behind his back. He isn’t rude about it—he was many things, but ungentlemanly was not one of them—but you couldn’t help but slightly huff to yourself upon seeing him silently turn down your attempt at a little levity.

𓄼𓄼 But just as you were about to turn back around, you could have sworn you caught him pretending to pluck something from the air and tuck it into one of his pockets. You couldn’t help but grin to yourself upon catching that. Obviously, you didn’t say anything. You were sure he’d deny it. But you had just a little more energy in your steps after you fully turned away.

————

𓄼𓄼 The Ticket Taker isn’t one for overt displays of…anything, really. So when you made that gesture of blowing him a kiss from where you stood on that street, he found himself silently critical of your…propensities. Such a strange creature you are, doing the oddest of things just because you could.

𓄼𓄼 But even despite that, he knew you didn’t do it out of ill will or flippant behavior. Perhaps he’d allow this to slide…only because you weren’t within the circus itself when you did that. But you weren’t exactly known for staying where you belonged. You’d end up coming back for whatever reason like a stray animal. (And he’d be waiting)

𓄼𓄼 Perhaps that was why he found himself briefly indulging in your display of…whatever that was. He looked off to the side, ensuring nobody was around to see him subtly pretend to catch that kiss in the air and save it in his pocket for later. Because there would be a later. But it would not be soon.

𓄼𓄼 He didn’t look at your face to see if you saw. Even if you did, you weren’t stupid enough to bring it up. Or at least, he assumed so. For your sake more than his.

𓄼𓄼 It was concerning, the things he let you get away with. Even more concerning the things you made him do. Participating in childish games of…affection? Truly, you were lucky to have the gaze of the others upon you. He likely would have nipped this feeling in the bud long ago.

𓄼𓄼 You should count your lucky stars that things are the way they are. Not to worry, though. He secretly counts his, too.

The Doctor:

◉ It was after yet another “checkup” of sorts in which the Doctor—your primary physician now, it seemed—had stuck you with something weird and made your heart race even after getting to know a little more about him. Only this time, he insisted on a higher dose of that “medicine.” To test the effectiveness, he said.

◉ You had to focus nearly all of your energy into not stumbling out of the cyan tent, still ever-so-slightly loopy and dizzy not only from that light pink drug in his syringe but also the bloodletting “treatment” he administered. What your diagnosis was, you had no idea. You wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t even know it himself.

◉ Needless to say, you were experiencing effects similar to what many would call being shitfaced.

◉ You were still fairly lucid, lucid enough to know where you were going and why, but you had to put a little extra effort into it. The Doctor followed you slightly out of his tent, evidently amused with the newfound reactions to the higher dosage of the drug. He suggested getting a little extra rest in his tent, something that felt oh-so tempting…

◉ But you had enough common sense left to politely refuse, backing away from his tall and imposing figure. To lessen the thin tension in the air, you waved him goodbye and then blew him a little kiss with a promise that you’d visit him again. You turned around and looked back every couple seconds, actively fighting off the effects of the pink drug like your life depended on it. (It probably does)

◉ You’d deal with your actions under the influence of that weird drug and the bloodletting after you got home and slept for the next 12 hours safe in the safety and comfort of your bed.

————

◉ The Doctor maintained his gaze on your form until you disappeared, but even then he didn’t move back into his tent quite yet. How curious, he thought. You weren’t a good liar, and he was no fool, yet you managed to slip through his fingers anyway.

◉ And then you did that little gesture by kissing your palm and waving it out towards him…A human signal no doubt, but for what exactly? He tilted his head to the side when you did it, intrigued by the action and your intentions with it.

◉ Was that gesture a stand-in for a kiss on his face? Other places on his body? Was it platonic or something else? Truly, you and your human habits piqued his interest so effortlessly. He wanted to just peel you apart piece by piece, inspect every nook and cranny in your strange little human brain.

◉ He wanted to slice you open and poke and prod where he knew you would react. Wanted to see, hear, feel, even smell your blood rushing. Wanted to know what it was exactly that made you so different, what made him act so different.

◉ Perhaps he should…

◉ The Doctor realized that he was lost in thought and brought himself out of his own mind. For now, anyway. You’d come back eventually, and there would be opportunities aplenty to run some more tests. After all, you made a promise. Didn’t you?

Jester:

⟢ You were making your way towards the threshold of the circus one late night, having thoroughly been creeped out by the shows despite the fact that you had seen them all before. You had no idea they changed almost daily, and got quite the unpleasant surprise.

⟢ Your underlying fear quickly betrayed you when you heard someone call your name directly behind you, and you jumped a little and nearly cracked your neck turning around. There was nobody there. But outside of the purple tent in the distance was the Jester, looking regal and slightly intimidating as ever with his hands held behind his back. It sounded like that voice had called your name from much closer behind you…

⟢ Regardless, Jester had tilted his head to one side as if to examine you, even from this distance. Chills writhed across your body, and you started to walk again to avoid becoming paralyzed with fear fixation. The purple and black storyteller was oddly and effortlessly captivating simply by existing.

⟢ You smiled back at him, ignoring the dread butterflies in your stomach as you kissed your palm and blew a kiss toward his direction, a gentle and warm way of bidding farewell. Yes, you were leaving. You had to leave now. You gave a small wave after that, and you watched as he narrowed his eyes at the gesture. Was he offended? Pleased? It was impossible to tell.

⟢ Your feet stayed planted in their spots on the ground as you watched the Jester slowly move one of his hands from behind his back to pretend to pluck something from the air—your kiss. He just…held his pinched claws like that, unmoving. Was he going to pretend to appreciate the gesture? Was he going to make any irritation known?

⟢ Nothing. He just continued to pretend to hold that kiss hostage, almost daring you to approach him and ask about it. But you didn’t. You had to go home, after all. Yes, that’s right. You needed to resist those odd urges to go to the purple and black performer. Shaking your head quickly to snap out of whatever daze that was, you continued walking home, not allowing yourself to look back. (Though you really wanted to)

————

⟢ The Jester stood there until your form disappeared past the tents and into the dark streets. How amusing that you assumed distance would be able to hide your thoughts written plainly on your face. Still, he had to give credit where it was due. You were quite good at resisting his pull.

⟢ But you were still human, and that meant that you were still so painfully susceptible to your own curiosity. It was in your nature that you would indulge in backward glances. And one of those times you turned to look behind would prove to be your undoing.

⟢ But that was for the inevitable future. Right now, he was still standing outside of the purple tent and pretending to hold an informal human gesture between his claws. Without a word he rubbed those fingers together as if to cleanse them of filth, and wiped the invisible grime off onto his costume as if there really was something vile clinging to his digits.

⟢ It was a small indulgence to play along with the meaningless gesture, just to see how you awaited his reaction, just to see the way your face twitched and ticked with every little emotion. It was the beginning of a dangerous game to play on your end, inciting the interest of a beast as ravenous as he. But of course, if you thought that you could play a long game better than he could…

⟢ Well. Perhaps you weren’t as smart as he gave you credit for.

⟢ But again, that was for later. For now, the Jester merely hummed a vaguely interested sound. What would it be like, he wondered, for you to carry one of his violet tickets instead of that red one?

Columbina

᯽ The pink-eyed performer had walked you all the way to your apartment, ribbons on her costume fluttering and waving slightly in the breeze. It made her look ethereal, almost otherworldly as she stood and watched you make your way up the metal stairs that led up to the second floor.

᯽ Your eyes flicked back to hers every now and then, almost as if testing if she would simply disappear if you looked away long enough. These circus members were quite sneaky and swift when they wanted to be. It was almost unsettling.

᯽ But those thoughts melted away when you saw the way she happily—almost shyly—waved at you with a sugar-sweet smile on her mask. You waved back at her, smiling as well and even pressing the fingertips on one hand to kiss and blow towards her in a gesture of farewell.

᯽ She seemed surprised for a second, pink eyes widening and posture stiffening, and you briefly internally worried that you had made her uncomfortable. But then she visibly bloomed with happiness and affection, quickly reaching out her arms in a playful way to “grab” and nearly trip to not “drop” your kiss.

᯽ You couldn’t help but giggle slightly to yourself. Columbina was effortlessly charming. You watched with a slightly flushed face as the black-haired troupe member seemed to cradle the kiss in her palms before pressing her fingertips to the space right between her eyes, a smile gradually growing on her face as she did so.

᯽ You then watched as she seemed to get slightly shy, shrinking under your gaze and averting her own while clasping her hands together. You waited until she looked up at you to wave her goodbye with a smile of your own before turning to enter your apartment. Such a kind soul, Columbina. Such a stark contrast to her rather…eccentric fellow cast members.

————

᯽ Columbina watched with barely hidden interest as you entered your apartment, eyes focused on your retreating form, and then your door when you finally closed it behind you.

᯽ She stayed there, standing for who knows how long, just thinking. Waiting. For what, even she didn’t entirely know. Perhaps for her heart to slow its rhythm or for her mind to still from the thoughts of that indirect kiss, though she knew that neither her body nor her soul would never fully return back to normal after meeting you.

᯽ Oh, how she longed to just scoop you up and keep you to herself forever. But alas, she was not as strong as the Pierrot or as swift as the Harlequin or as influential as the Jester or intimidating as the Doctor or Ticket Taker. So she would have to play a long game. But that wouldn’t be a problem. Columbina had no qualms with being patient. It was one of her many virtues, after all.

᯽ Where the others struggled to become familiar with humans, she thrived. She knew how to talk with humans, how to get on their good sides. And how she adored getting to know you. You were kind. Patient. Endlessly considerate. Your eyes didn’t wander as so many humans’ eyes did. When you spoke to her, your gaze stayed focused on her own pink eyes, on her very soul.

᯽ But just as Columbina was good at getting on humans’ good sides, it only made her acutely aware of their hidden shortcomings and tendencies for cruelty. Nobody else deserved to have such a lovely human like you. You needed a guardian angel, someone you could trust and depend on. And that angel would be her. Only her. And just as angels are protectors of their precious light, they are killers of the evil and unclean. 

᯽ She is completely willing to become both for you, just to see your smile, to receive your love in any way. It hardly matters to her, just as long as you stay. Stay hers, stay her perfect human who stares into her eyes not with hidden intentions or overt hatred but with kindness and consideration.

————

≫ Sorry if any of these seem out of character!!! I really did try my best to keep them at least somewhat accurate, though I did indulge quite a bit on one in particular…(it’s Ticket Taker’s. I’m such a sucker for him sorry)

≫ Anyway, I was stuck on Jester’s and Columbina’s sections for THE LONGEST TIME and it was driving me insane. So glad to finally have this posted out after it was sitting in my drafts unfinished for literal weeks >_>

≫ Hope y’all enjoyed!

≫ This post was made without the use of any AI. Please do not use any text from this work for any character-based AI or LLM.

Jester

Despite his power play dynamic, Jester has grown to enjoy bottoming for you. He would never give you the satisfaction of knowing that, however. For him to bottom it has to be because he wants to, although your pleading could tempt him some days. There is something that gives him a sense of pity when your eyes brim with tears as you mumble sweet offers to sink yourself into him. Other nights he would enter his tent to find you winding down after a long day and unceremoniously drag you by your shirt collar to the bed, and you'd be foolish to not take advantage of this opportunity.

Prep work him is truly a sight to behold, his writhing tentacles grinding on each other for any sensation of friction, a lilac tinted precum leaking from their antsy tips fully lubing each of them. A couple of them trailing towards his opening making a show of teasing it before preparing it for your length. If your cock hovers near his you can fully expect to receive the same treatment, some of his eldritch lengths twirling around your sensitive tip while others firmly coiled around the base, varying their pressure based on your reactions.

"My my, so sensitive. Have you been thinking about this all day? What a filthy little human," he purrs as his prehensile appendages tease your shaft before firmly wrapping around your balls. His cocks wrap around the base of yours as he lines you up to his awaiting entrance "you're not allowed to finish before me, understood, pet?" His clawed finger trailing a paper-thin cut along your jawline.

He's not the type to moan in the traditional sense, opting for labored breaths and a haunting purr from his chest when you angle yourself just right inside him. His cocks writhe and curl around your body as you take his, adding lubrication when needed and laying their own claim onto your skin. Often fidgeting with the base of your cock or massaging your balls as they slap against his ass.

"Don't forget, pet, you're my plaything, not the other way around,"he forces your chin to bear your throat to his awaiting jaws. You were but a fly caught in his web, only kept around for his enjoyment. He growls orders at you, controlling the pace of your thrusts, and punishing you when you fail to meet his expectations. Disobey him enough and you'll quickly find out how powerful he can grip your pitiful human cock with his own, losing the privilege of his sacred depths.

His purrs turn into feral growls as he reaches the height of pleasure, his cocks seeking purchase wherever they can find it, curling, wrapping, anchoring anywhere around your body as they constrict. A lilac hue shooting out of some, while small pearl-like eggs spurt out of others, covering himself and you in their sticky ichor. He rarely allows you to desecrate his insides with your release however, opting for you to paint his spent eggs with your seed as an apology to their wasted potential.

He groans as the aftershocks of his orgasm travel throughout his body. His cocks occasionally twitching and coiling around each other chasing the high. Some trace languid but shaky lines up and down your shaft, teasing your sensitive tip, milking it for anything left behind.

He props himself up on his elbows, tilting his head to the side with a devilish grin.

"Do clean this mess up, human. Don't let a single drop go to waste."

A = Aftercare (What they're like after sex)

pierrot is already very clingy, and it transfers to after the act too. likes to just hold you close and admire all the new bites and hickeys littering your bodies. will stay wound up for a bit. likes cuddling post-sex and will be the first to get you water and make sure you pee afterwards.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner's)

for pierrot? his tongue. he likes wrapping it around your cock, stroking it to see if he can make you come using just his tongue. for you? your eyes. he wants you to see him, only him, he wants to watch them get bleary with pleasure. definitely has a thing for eye contact.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically... I'm a disgusting person)

absolutely a swallower. he knows you get off seeing his throat bob when you come inside his mouth. likes to stick out his tongue and slowllyyy unroll it, to tease the milky-white sheen from your come.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

has gotten off to you while you sleep. maybe humping the curve of your ass or jerking off standing over you. both, honestly. has definitely drugged you to keep you asleep for more sex.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they're doing?)

virgin, but willing to learn. down for everything at least once. he’s 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀𝓎 by nature but not experienced.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying)

mating press, with choking easily. he likes the feeling of being stretched out on your cock, losing air from your hands around his throat, his vision tunneling until he can only see you. he feels so full of you he demands it everytime you have sex.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

more serious but can lean silly. gets really enraptured by the act in the moment, but is absolutely too much of a brat to not tease you.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

he trims but i can’t imaging pierrot shaves. not wild down there but not bald either.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect...)

takes his time with you. pierrot likes to mark you up, leaving hickeys and love bites all across your body. in between your thighs are always tender because of his teeth. pierrot can be romantic but sex with him leans more carnal, less talking more fucking.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

not his favorite but is always down to jerk off. has done it with just his tongue before. sometimes he gets so pent up he’ll sneak away to a separate tent and jerk off right there, the risk of getting caught spurring him on.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

big into hair-pulling. loves being tied up, flogged, and gagged. he’ll beg whether you want him to or not.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

your bedroom, because it smells like you. not the biggest fan of risky sex because he wants it to be a special, private thing just for the two of you.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

pierrot being a brat and you reprimanding him is one of his biggest turn-ons. he’ll purposefully push your buttons just to see you get angry and fuck him dumb. he has almost come just from you chewing him out before.

N = NO (Something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

giving pain. pierrot doesn’t want to see you hurt, and that applies to the bedroom. no orgies, cucks, or voyeurs either, pierrot is monogamous and for you only.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

definitely prefers giving. he likes working you apart with just his tongue, stroking it up and down your length and corkscrewing it around just to fuck with you.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

pierrot is submissive through and through so he doesn’t normally set the pace, and he’s down for whatever you want to do; but if you held a gun to his head and made him choose which tbh he’d probably get off from it too but i digress he’d choose fast and rough. he wants to be used by you, and he doesn’t mind being stress relief.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

pierrot will do quickies just not in public. maybe he’s especially needy before you have to go to work and you’ll give him a handie and stuck your fingers in his mouth to suck on, only to shove a remote vibe up his ass and torture him all day.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

pierrot will do pretty much whatever you want. he’ll be your sex guinea pig if you really want him to, he’ll let you use him however you like. whatever makes you happy- just don’t invite other people. he gets possessive and someone might lose a finger… or their life.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last...)

pierrot could go until you pass out and then some. hell, if you do pass out, he’ll probably use your sleeping body to get off. hump your leg or ass, frot a little.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

he is the toy pierrot doesn’t have anything for himself, but if you want to edge him with a vibe or make him put on a cock ring, he’s not gonna complain.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

oh he gets cocky. pierrot will tease you until you literally pick him up and impair him on your cock to shut him up. relentless teaser and a brat at that. will fight to his last brain cell only for you to shove your dick in his mouth.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

vocal, whiny, whimpering, begging mess. lots of high-pitched keening and low moaning. he sobs sometimes too. very vocal during sex.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon)

into primal / prey dynamics. likes feeling both powerless and vulnerable and under your control. even if he’s statistically taller than you.

X = X-Ray (Let's see what's going on in those pants)

long. long long long. average thickness and uncut. same color as his tongue.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

HIGH. fear for your pelvis cuz he will be bouncing on it at every opportunity.

Z = ZZZ (... how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he falls asleep fairly fast afterwards. big on post sex cuddling.