What can I get you?

Minors DNI

This goes without saying but I am writing for an 18+ subject and I will be covering topics that aren't appropriate for minors. Nor do I feel comfortable interacting with minors in general, again I am 27 and this is a boundary I will enforce. This fandom already has a problem with minors consuming content and I will not cater to the issue.

Do's and Don't's for Requests!

My askbox will primarily remain open for conversations but I might not always be taking requests at that time, make sure to check the status in the bio of my blog before sending in requests! I reserve the right to deny a request if I feel uncomfortable with the idea or feel as if I can't meet the expectation. Depending on the reason for the denial I might answer it with an explanation or just outright delete it from my inbox. This is definitely not my first rodeo with taking requests and I am a person behind the screen at the end of the day. Try to keep requests as basic as possible! We all have our own ideas of our versions of MC or even our own OC's. I am a firm believer in inclusivity when it comes with requests and if an ask is super detailed it will leave a lot of people out from enjoying the "X Reader" style of writing I'm accustomed to. Not to mention it's a personal ick for me to scroll through "x reader" tags and find "x OC" content instead. This being said however, I can swing vague ideas of MCs, such as Flirty!Reader, Mute!Reader, Black!Reader, etc. This also goes without saying too, TFC is a constantly evolving story with an amazing creator who gives us lore drops routinely. I do my best to keep up with the AMA's and lore snippets but I will definitely write something OOC/something already talked about in a lore piece I missed. Have mercy on my old soul! Because of the nature of TFC I will be covering "Dead Dove" topics that include but are not limited to gore, violence, traumas/abuse, self harm, death, sexual assault/sex in general. I WILL tag these works accordingly at the beginning of the post as well as in the tags so you can filter them accordingly. Please notify me if I missed a tag or potential trigger! Below will be a full list of trigger tags that I will update as I post: #tw selfharm, #tw experimentation, #tw blood, #tw voyeurism

Rules For My Askbox

I'm really lax when it comes to conversations, my only real rule for sending in mail would be to be respectful of myself as well as others/the community. I present myself as very positive and kind but I also play competitive games with my mic on, so I will punch below the belt if need be. I'll also tie in my right to just delete messages in my inbox with no follow-ups if things get out of hand or if a topic is just unapproachable.

I'm also an adult and have a life outside of these four digital corners so I might not always be able to get to my inbox consistently, I am doing this for my love for TFC and writing in general after all.

Enjoy my Shop!

Divider credits!

anitalenia

saradika-graphics

lobster-graphics 1, 2

lariesographic

dividers-are-us

kodaswrld

Pierrot

You had to be home soon, right? He knows your schedule can sometimes change last minute, and sometimes you do tend to pick up a few extra hours here and there, but you were running later than usual.

He laid sprawled out on your bed, his lanky frame barely fitting on the bed, minus his legs which dangled off of one side of the bed and his head off of the other. He glanced at your clock on the nightstand, only three minutes have passed since the last time he checked.

He lets out a whiny sigh, times like this really do solidify him as a dog for you, huh? He twirls his hair around his claw absentmindedly staring into the popcorning of your ceiling. He could clean the bathroom again, reorganize your pantry for the third time, recheck all of the dates of your medicine cabinet?

His ears sharpen to the sound of your key grinding into the lock, excitement billowing into his being, maybe he is like a dog after all.

You make your way to your bedroom and aren't remotely surprised to see your 6ft 5 clown boy loitering around your domicile.

"Hey Pierrot, sorry to keep you waiting, I had to grab something after I left work, I hope you kept yourself entertained enough?" You exhaustedly smile at him as you set your apron in the hamper and start laying out a change of clothes.

"My dear, I missed you so-" He starts to get up before you walk over to him, your scent mixed with the scent of the cafe cloud anything he was about to say. You gently caress the cheek of his mask causing him to melt under your touch.

His eyes lock with your tired ones as he can't help but purr at the sight of your disheveled state.

"You look so comfortable over there, it would be a shame for you to get up after your hard work today," you take advantage of him being lower than you and reach for his hand.

His eyes dilate and flick between your face and the movement of your hand guiding his to your lips as you kiss his gloved palm.

The sight of you over him paired with the sensual gesture, your tired eyes seeping nothing but pure admiration, and your lowered voice singing his praises?

A deep crimson flushes to his face as his eyes change to amber hearts, his fangs sharpening uncontrollably at this heavenly sight.

"I'm going to take a nice hot shower and get work off of me, but after that we can do something together. You pick though, I'm too tired to make any decisions today." You smirk into his palm as you press it into your cheek, gently nuzzling it before you start to walk away from him.

Within a blink of an eye he's kneeling in front of you, wrapping his arms around your waist, his large frame just barely allowing his head to meet your upper torso as he presses his face into your clothes.

"M-my darling, please allow me to drink in this moment a little while longer. Please, you look utterly divine from this angle, I want nothing more than to commit your ethereal form to memory." He peers up at you, this new angle paired with your low energy becomes a new high for him to chase.

After all, a good worshipper is accustomed to being on their knees for their deities, right?

Harlequin

"What's the matter, shortstack? Can't reach something?"

You've been trying to reach his face for three minutes now, you were originally going to try to be sweet and give him a kiss but now you're debating on giving him a nice welt on his cheeks for straightening his back when he noticed your intentions.

"Harley, stop being a dick," you huff in frustration, no longer indulging him in your attempts to get him to lower for you.

"What ever do you mean, my dear?" he lowers his frame towards you, setting the trap out to you plainly as he grins at you.

"I'm not going to keep trying to be sweet to you if you keep teasing me about something that's out of my control." You glare at him warning him that you'd cause a domestic scene in this store over his fun.

"I'm not sure what you mean," he tilts his head to sell the lie, "if you want something you can always just ask me, little mouse." He lowers himself a bit more, judging from the distance you could wrap your arms around his neck and possibly hitch a ride for when he inevitably straightens his back again.

You attempt to reach for his cheek again, only for him to very subtly raise his torso again eliciting a growl from you.

He laughs at your building frustration, "I'm sorry, pequenino, you make it far too easy." He lowers himself a bit more, his eyes changing from a playful gaze to a genuine assurance, "I swear I'm done now."

You defeatedly creep your arms around his neck being mindful of his horns and his disguise mask. The second he feels your hands interlace with each other he lowers himself a bit more, your forehead nearly touching his chin.

You gently pull him down a bit lower and press your lips to the side of his mask, the coolness a stark contrast to the warmth of the overdue sweet gesture. Your thumb gently rubs against his cool skin and you can feel his body relax under your touch, before his composure regains and a nefarious cackle creeps into your ear.

He straightens his back suddenly sending you flying with him, your gentle embrace turning into a scramble to secure yourself on your surprise airlift.

"Harley!"

"Relax, you're so dramatic," he feigns annoyance but lets a chuckle slip through his act. His arm comes around to support your weight and he allows you to adjust before walking off with his prize, both of you completely forgetting the basket of snacks you meant to buy.

Jester

"You have got to be kidding me"

"Do you think I want you to see me like this?"

It's bad enough that it took a lot for you to even call out for help, but for Jester to be the one to to see you in this state was added insult to injury, quite literally.

"I understand you humans are lesser beings than my kind, but really? Stuck under the bed? I thought you were above the common drabble of your species."

You can't see the face he's making but you have a good idea based on his tone.

You were looking for a spare bell of Jester's for a project you were planning on making when you thought to check under his bed, apparently the box labeled "Costumes" were only for past invoices to the circus' tailor and nothing more. When you tried to back out, however, one of your belt loops snagged onto the frame rung. It's bad enough it was a tight squeeze in the first place, but your struggle to break free seemingly just twisted the metal further into the threading of your jeans.

Here you are, ass out, torso smushed into the floor underneath your purple clowns bed, all without even asking for permission in the first place.

"It's bad enough that I lose track of your small frame in crowds, but now I have to worry about you sneaking into small spaces?" You hear his bells jingle closer to your predicament as your heartbeat races.

"Relax, I'm not in the mood to do anything, right now."

You can feel his presence right behind your vulnerable position and you brace for anything at this point.

He lifts the bed effortlessly, the snagged belt loop lifting your ass with the bed as you hear and feel it start to rip.

"Wa-wait wait wait!"

He keeps lifting it and the innocent loop fully shreds, sending you back to the ground.

"Just get out of there, I can mend it later."

You scramble to get back on your feet, your face flushed and your appearance disheveled as you try to assess the damage to your jeans.

"Stop"

You freeze and sheepishly avoid his stare as he looks at the hole in your pants. "It's an easy fix, but I need to do something about your habit of disappearing. I might put a bell on you after all." He sighs before glancing at his slightly skewed bed.

"Fix this before you leave, I've got to call our tailor about you, and I suppose fix your mutilated pants."

Ticket Taker

He's used to being the shortest member of the troupe sure, and yes, he's mature enough to not really be bothered by it. However, there was something fulfilling about seeing you strain and stretch to reach a coffee mug from the middle shelf.

He could help you unprompted, play his role as the typical traditional gentleman for you, but he'd be lying to himself if he didn't enjoy your struggle. Majority of humans are shorter than him, but you were definitely part of the lower percentile of your species. He finds himself equating your stature to the differences between stray mutts and a teacup breed relatively frequently.

Your frustrated sigh breaks him out of his mental Venn diagram.

"Sir, can you help me grab a mug? I really don't want to try to hunt up a step stool." You defeatedly lean against the counter and adjust your shirt that rode up from your attempts.

Bil finishes up his line in the circus' checkbook before slotting the pen clip. As he stands he straightens his suit, "how could I refuse such a polite request."

He picks up his own empty cup as he makes his way over to the counter, barely having to extend his arm to reach a mug when you had to strain to even barely touch the ceramic.

"Thank you, Ticket Taker, I really appreciate it." You take it upon yourself to rinse out his cup and try to ignore his piercing gaze.

Curiosity takes hold of him, "how would you have gotten the cup if I refused to help?"

"Well," you give a little hop to reach a hanging towel off the side of the neighboring cabinet, letting gravity help you with this everyday occurrence. "If I'm at home, I usually just climb on top of the counter, or drag a chair over. I know for my spice cabinet I have to use one of my dining chairs." You thoroughgoingly dry his mug with care and he can't help but imagine other situations where your height puts you at a disadvantage.

"That is, most unconventional." He makes his way over to the makeshift cafe on the counter, gathering up supplies for a new batch of extra strength coffee for the long night ahead.

"Yeah, but I always figure out a way. I've been short my whole life so I've definitely picked up a few tricks along the way." You set his mug next to yours, you cut yourself off, "what do you think you're doing?"

The sudden change in your tone causes him to snap his focus back to you, before he could correct your seemingly disrespectful interrogation, you give him your own correction.

"You're taking it upon yourself to make your own coffee when you have someone who makes complex coffee orders for a living right next to you? Do you want me to try to attempt balancing the checkbooks or something?" You dissolve any tension in the air with a lighthearted laugh, taking the expresso grounds out of his hand, "just tell me what you want and I'll brew it for you. We have most of the basic supplies here so I suppose I can give you an above-average cup off the clock."

He takes a second to process the kind gesture, "very well, dear visitor," he adjusts his collar self soothingly, before a cocky grin etches into his mask.

"I have a long night of balancing ahead of me. I'll take a Red Eye with a splash of caramel, surely that's not too tall of an order for you?"

"Ha ha, very clever, sir," you mock. You gather up the tools you need for an expresso shot, "I used to have a regular who ordered that drink's older brother, the Black Eye, so that's light work for me. I'll have it ready in a few minutes, I can bring it to you when it's ready if you want to go back to your papers."

Ticket Taker gives a proud chuckle before heading back to his chair and resuming his checkbook balancing, a slight smile gracing his mask. The smell of the expresso and fresh coffee fills the kitchen, your subconscious humming nearly drowned out by the growl of the expresso machine.

You meander over to grab one of the dining room chairs, being mindful of any noise the legs might make as you pick it up and walk it over to the cabinets again. His eyes trailing your movements as you delicately lower the legs to avoid interrupting his already distracted concentration.

You stand up on the chair with rehearsed precision as you grab the caramel from the top shelf and he can't help but feel the need to put everything out of your reach. Either to watch you as you gracefully cope with your disadvantage or be your kind gentleman in a sophisticated suit.

Doctor

"Hey, can you slow down a bit?"

"Right, sorry sweetie."

When you agreed to help your Doctor with his research, you never considered it would also be a workout. It was bad enough how you had to constantly as him what he needed you to do, or how you had to keep bringing him back to reality and explain his thought processes out loud so you could hear, but his strides were nearly quadruple yours.

"It's fine, I just have little legs and you keep getting stuck in your own world," you reassure him with a gentle but winded laugh. "Which vial did you need again? Was it #83 or #86?"

"Vial #86, it should be on the bottom left shelf," he buries his face into his notes in hopes of finding a new alchemical solution for a new anatomical hurdle. "Mind your back, it's nearly on the floor."

Finally you can utilize your smaller stature for something other than the butt of a joke as you easily close the distance to the floor. Finding the vial, you delicately transfer it to the rack on the desk.

"Interesting..."

Knowing his signature thought diversion, you turn around to see him shifting his focus to you.

"Doctor, you'll never get this done if you keep letting yourself get distracted." You tidy up the gathered glass, rotating the labels and assuring the caps were secure.

"You are aware that you are in the lower percentile for your height, yes?" He flips to a seemingly random page in his notebook and writes something down.

"Yes, painfully aware, thank you," you huff, already mentally bracing for the familiar punchline that usually follows.

"Painfully?" his goggles glint in the lamplight excitedly.

"Figure of speech," you attempt to diffuse the clinical assessment. "I've always been short, but I manage."

"I see..." Another scribble added to the page, "I've been keeping mental notes on you and your figure, you know." He pivots as he takes a hulking step towards you.

"I'd be concerned if you didn't at this point," you timidly mutter out, his strides were massive compared to yours, possibly even to a 1:4 ratio. If you tried to escape him how many strides would he need to catch up to you? It would have to be a shamefully low number, right?

"I would like to examine your muscles at some point, sweetie," he towers over you, his mask catching the light and his frame casting an intimidating shadow along the walls of his tent. "You body must've had to compensate to keep up with humans with average or even above average heights."

"What do you mean?" Your mouth moves before your mind could process the possibly provocative implication.

"The muscle groups of your legs must have grown stronger in order for you to keep up with average-height individuals. I have a theory that your smaller frame, and by extension smaller muscles had to expand and grow stronger in order to keep up with the demand of everyday life." His head tilts to the side in thought, as he refers to another page in his notebook. "I believe that your smaller frame is actually stronger in certain areas in order to compensate for your shortcomings."

"Very funny, it's unlike you to crack jokes, you know," you try to distract yourself to his visual dissection by reviewing sprawled out research notes, straightening them in no particular order.

"Cracking jokes?"

Massive hands slam onto the desk on either side of you, causing you to jump. The clinking of glass echoes throughout the tension as you begin to turn to face your overly inquisitive practitioner. The sheer heat radiating off of his body was a physical representation of the burning curiosity of his racing mind. One of his hands wraps around your small wrist, extending it out for his inquisitive urges.

"Theories relating to you are never mere jokes, sweetie."

I feel as if Jester and Ticket Taker would absolutely either 'dispose' of you due to the pregnancy or force an abortion (either medically via Doctor, or physically to some extent) if they plan on keeping you/are bonded to you.

Pierrot would absolutely be enamored with the idea of having a child with MC/Y/n, but would have a difficult time convincing Jester to allow you to carry it to full term, and also would be insanely protective of you to the point of keeping you on the shortest leash imaginable in the name of safety, from threats and even the troupe.

I don't see Jester allowing you to carry the child but still continuing daily life due to the fact that they're monsters at the end of the day, and having a half spawn would be a threat to their discovery, and just the idea of a potential half monster half human with his powers would be a huge risk of itself.

Doctor I feel would welcome the idea of having you carry a child for the pure fascination of the hybrid offspring and look at it from more of a scientific standpoint, even going as far to experiment on the developing life, and even possibly vivisecting them when they finally come to term. I can also see him treating you as a broodmare to see if you can produce hybrids easily or if it's a rare occurrence, either way, short leash.

Harlequin I feel would be pro-abortion due to just not wanting to deal with the responsibility. I genuinely don't see him willingly taking on a parental role and would just agree with Jester's stance on abortion to keep the existence of their kind a secret.

Ticket Taker would most definitely have the same mindset as Jester, with more of a worry for if the hybrid child inherits his abilities/form. He already shares the same mindset as Jester when it comes to humans and their sinister nature, even building enough trust to even have the opportunity to conceive would be a miracle in it's own right.

~~~~~~~~

All in all, I can write it from a Sexy Tumblr Man perspective, or an actual dark romance/yandere point with ease since I do enjoy dark horror in general and double as a chronic hopeless romantic! I even dabbled in some horror writings when I was younger!

The next time I open up requests I'll be sure to add something about if we want the darker horror themes or the romantic gushy ones.

Maybe for Halloween I'll really crank out the horror fics and drabbles.

"M-my darling, please allow me to drink in this moment a little while longer. Please, you look utterly divine from this angle, I want nothing more than to commit your ethereal form to memory." He peers up at you, this new angle paired with your low energy becomes a new high for him to chase.

----

"Harley, stop being a dick," you huff in frustration, no longer indulging him in your attempts to get him to lower for you.

"What ever do you mean, my dear?" he lowers his frame towards you, setting the trap out to you plainly as he grins at you.

-----

"You have got to be kidding me"

"Do you think I want you to see me like this?"

It's bad enough that it took a lot for you to even call out for help, but for Jester to be the one to to see you in this state was added insult to injury, quite literally.

----

"That is, most unconventional." He makes his way over to the makeshift cafe on the counter, gathering up supplies for a new batch of extra strength coffee for the long night ahead.

Pierrot

"Please, my love, one more. One more time, I need to fill you to the brim with my essence."

The sinful squelching of his knot filling you and popping back out drowned out your exhausted whimpers. His cock steadily pulsating more of his amber tinted cum into your abused hole.

"I need to make you mine in every way imaginable." He huffed out, not from exhaustion, but passion. "I will defy our biologies and fill you with my young, our young. Oh the thought of starting a family with you is so intoxicating."

He guides your legs to wrap around his waist as he leans down to your sweat soaked neck, using his tongue to sample his hard work. The new angle causing his cock to brush against your sore sweet spot causing you to clench around him. His cock twitched in reply before he slammed his hips into yours, his balls meeting your ass with a wet clap.

"Oh? Does that excite you too, my dear? The thought of starting a family with a beast like me?" He chuckles against your tender, bite riddled skin, his delirium sinking its own teeth into his actions as he pistons ruthlessly into you again.

Your new tightness from overstimulation barring his knot from entry as he desperately knocks for entry. Your bed moaning in tandem with your hoarse throat as your sweet clown indulges his desires. His groans twisting into animalistic growls as his pace staggers and his cock straining against the confines of your walls, your stomach bulging at the overwhelming size and volume of his cock and cum.

Pierrot lets out a strained groan before sitting up from your neck and roughly grabbing your thighs. With ease he moves you onto your knees and pins your shoulders to the bed, the motion of his cock twirling in your guts leaving you trembling and limp.

"Me desculpe, meu amor. Preciso te engravidar direito. Preciso te fazer minha. Minha. Toda minha." His honeyed words a stark comparison to his feral demeanor, his fangs barred, drool streaming out of the corners of his mask.

He grips your hips with his free hand as he fully sheathes himself again, the new angle nearly sending him over the edge as he throws his head back in bliss.

"Fomos feitos um para o outro, meu amor. Dedicarei-me a você e aos nossos filhos. Nenhum mal jamais acontecerá a você ou à nossa família."

He uses your hips as a handle as he fucks you onto his cock, meeting his thrusts with a desperate fervor. His knot swelling again, preparing for another dose of his attempt to defy nature and make his dreams come true.

He hovers above you, his claws gripping you tighter, the stinging sensation of his talons piercing your fragile skin adding to your building orgasm. "I can feel you tightening up again, my heart. Are you going to cum again? Please, I need to feel you coil around me again."

He lets out another feverish laugh as he grabs your ass with both hands, ruthlessly pounding into your body. His grip breaking skin as crimson mixes with sweat and drool.

"Oh, my darling," he chokes out, his hips losing their rhythm as the aroma of your blood fills his body in the same way as he fills your walls. His hips slamming into yours as he wraps his arms around your waist.

His knot demands entry as he firmly thrusts against you, his need to fill you overwhelming as he hurriedly stretches your hole. His cock throbbing as it begins to leak inside you.

The fullness of his knot sends you over the pinnacle as you tighten around him, your body trembling and squirming under his hold as his cock pulsates inside you colliding with your waves of pleasure. The pressure of his copious volume of cum starting to become overwhelming as you peer underneath you.

A steady stream of sin drips from your joining bodies. His amber tinted cum mixing with yours as a red tint gradually mixes into the cocktail of sin.

He slows his pace, gently pressing against you and threatening to knot-fuck you, a consistent purr emanating from his throat as he rubs tiny circles into your battered hips.

"Por favor, meu anjo, mais uma vez, one more, oh please," he whimpers out in between primal pants.

----

(I'm sorry, my love. I need to breed you properly. I need to make you mine. Mine. All mine.)

(We were made for each other, my darling. I will devote myself to you and our offspring. No harm will ever come to you or our family.)

Jester

"Such a filthy creature you are, come on, don't tell me you're tired now."

His taunts only fuel you as you try to concentrate on meeting his thrusts, rocking on your knees as you straddle his lap. His cocks twisting inside of you, some veering off to experiment with different spots within you, others teasingly prodding at others that nearly make your rhythm faulter.

His eyes burn into yours as he studies your features, reading exactly what things make you lose your composure. His gaze drops to the purple collar around your neck, the star tag jingling with a matching "J" tag, the noise acting as a metronome to your pitiful performance.

He props himself onto his elbows as he tilts his head to the side, "don't tell me you're getting close already, pet." His voice feigning pity as two of his cocks press suddenly into the spot that always makes you see stars.

Your body clenches around him as your thighs clamp around his hips, your back arching as you try to deny yourself the pleasure of release. You know better than to cum without permission, and he knows exactly which internal buttons to push to tempt you with his punishments.

You regain your composure as you return to the steady pace, syncing with his cocks again with a shudder.

"Such a good human, I'm mildly impressed you managed to pull that off," his hand reaches up to comb through your hair as a reward, the gentle touch sending a similar jolt of pleasure throughout your body as you fight for control again.

"I suppose a good pet like you deserves release now," he ghosts his hand down past your nipples, lightly grazing them with one of his claws. The threat of slicing the tender flesh adding onto your euphoria.

He studies your body as goosebumps form at his featherlight caress travels down past your navel, your body bucking into his touch and throwing you slightly off of your pace.

"Ah ah ah, I didn't say to stop, only good pets get what they want." His eyes flick up to yours in warning, a glint of purple assisting in driving his threat home as you nod obediently.

His hand meets your sensitive groin, tracing teasing circles around your sensitive spots. Your knees begin to faulter and tremble at the workload of resisting pleasure and maintaining the pace.

His grin grows at your new struggle, "not yet, don't cum just yet," he coos as he rubs tighter circles around your eager nub/tip.

Your hips begin to follow suit of your knees, struggling to grind against his and bucking into his touch, your mouth quickly following their lead as you beg for permission to cum.

He chuckles at your waning composure, "good pet, asking before coming undone."

His cocks move as one to press against your sensitive walls, thrusting into you to make up for your slack, his hand moves from your groin to grabbing you by the collar, pulling you back.

"Cum for me, pet"

You obey his command and the dam breaks. Your thighs clamp around his hips as his thrusts pummel your convulsing walls. The pressure from the collar causing your moan to strain and your back to arch towards him, putting on a spectacular finale for his eyes only.

His cocks piston deep inside you, your mess beginning to pool between the two of you as he laughs at your performance.

"Very good, such a show deserves an encore, don't you think so, pet?"

He grabs your thighs and lifts you, hovering your spent hole over his lap, his cocks just barely inside you, writhing and spreading his purple tinted precum in preparation for the next act.

He slams your body on top of him, his cocks reaching depths you didn't know were even possible, the tips of them curling against your sweet spots with every raise of your frame.

He uses you like his own personal toy, your previous pace and rhythm a pitiful comparison to his flawless performance. His cocks begin to twitch inside of you, some hardening further, preparing to flood your walls with his cum, others prepare for something more intimate.

"I'm going to fill you up, minha cadela imunda" His composure only varying at his mother tongue. His breathing hitching before he pants, "I'm going to claim you as mine, would you like that?"

His eyes meet yours and there's an unfamiliar gentleness behind them. Whether it be something simple like him asking for your consent or the emotional vulnerability of deepening the bond between you will be a conversation for later. You nod desperately as his eyes flick back to the collar he had tailored for you. The "J" catches the light just right and he drops you onto his lap, his cocks pulsating inside of you, some filling every inch in his lavender essence, while others begin to pump pearl-like eggs inside of your sensitive hole. The temperature difference causing you to shiver and tighten at the sensation of being his personal incubator.

The internal pressure of his eggs readjusting themselves inside of you and mixing with his cum send you over the edge unexpectedly, your body clenching around him for dear life as you moan out apologies and beg for forgiveness.

He grabs the ring of your collar and pulls you in, his fangs sinking deep into the soft flesh of your shoulder. The taste of your blood causing him to growl against your tender flesh as you pulsate around him, his eggs struggling to find comfortable anchor points inside of you.

He pulls away from your shoulder with a groan,

"You know the rules, pet, don't cum without permission." His eyes flicker with that hypnotic purple before your vision blackens.

-----

("... my filthy beast")

Pierrot

"Period?" He tilts his head to the side like a dog trying to understand something. When you broadly explain how your cycle affect you, you can see him piecing events together. The way your mood would swing over the smallest things, how your appetite would be ravenous one second and nonexistent the next, how one of his usual everyday gestures brought you to tears one day, even how subtle your scent has changed throughout the weeks. His concern doesn't falter after your reassurance that this is a normal routine, especially when the cramps settle in. He tries multiple things to ease your discomfort, from massaging your stomach, frantically changing heating pads, restocking any craving snacks you mention in passing, even taking on some responsibilities around your apartment for you.

His demeanor changes completely once that fated drop of blood hits the cloth of your underwear. His muscles tense at the smell of this unique blend of your blood. Different than usual, thicker, richer, uncontrollably intoxicating. Panic seeps into his being, checking you over for any wounds you might've suffered when he left you alone for a moment too long. Once you figure out the source of his panic you remind him about the bleeding and reassure him that it's normal. His doting takes a drastic turn as your flow turns consistent however, seemingly keeping you at an arms length, treating you like glass when he does touch you, as if you could break at any movement, as if he could lose control. Out of all of the troupe, Pierrot is the most affected by your hormones and blood, whether that be biologically based or emotionally charged is a question for Doctor.

After another reassuring talk with your sweet lover boy, his curiosity overlaps his worry. "I want to help you, my dear, in any way I can. Please, allow me to take of you. I want to know every detail about your body during this, I-," he pleads sheepishly. His hands reach out to rub small hesitant circles along your hips, "I need to get used to you during this time of temptation, my dear, I can't bear the thought of not being able to control my urges. Please, help me get used to your 'period.'"

All sense of privacy is now reduced to a nice thought as he holds your legs in place on your bed. Your heat on full display as he stares at your most intimate parts. His eyes flick up towards yours asking for silent permission. You nod shyly before he gently pulls on your tampon string, his eyes dilating as he watches the white cotton change to a deep red. He took your guidance on how to insert and remove a tampon out as a sermon and replicated the action flawlessly, taking great care not to pull too fast or too rough.

You go to hand him a wad of toilet paper to wrap it in before you watch in shock as his tongue wraps around the tampon. Like a boa constrictor, it wrings the cotton of your ambrosia, eliciting a choked moan from your sweet clown, his eyes rolling back in his head as he pulls the tampon farther in his jaws. You try to wrangle the tampon out of his hands as he halfheartedly struggles to keep his prize, small growls and pleads fall on your embarrassed ears as you wrap it up before tossing it in to the trash, the sudden turn of events turning your cheeks a matching crimson.

"Please my dear, I need more, your blood tastes like the sweetest nectar from the most beautiful flower." He firmly holds your legs in place as he lowers himself in between them, drool dripping onto your sensitive skin. The scent of your heat wanes at his self control as if it was encouraging him to enact on his most primal desires. "I fear I can't hold back any longer, my love, I need to taste you, all of you."

Harlequin

"Oh what? Is someone on their period or something?" He teases as he puts the last piece of chocolate in his mouth. He doesn't even like chocolate but he loves the reactions he can get out of you right before your period hits. He can pick up on the usual tells of luteal phases and fill in the rest, often leading to him really testing the waters with his teasing and rage baiting. Sometimes you play "cold shoulder" and he has to figure out what he can do to get you to talk to him again, which is a game he loves, other times he crosses lines and manages to get tears to roll down your cheeks, which is a game he can live without. This first cycle is all about learning your boundaries and limits, often through a familiar trial and error process. Teasing your favorite foods only to take a rude bite out of, showing you purposefully sad videos to see what things push you over the edge, even inconveniencing you by hiding some of your belongings. Luckily though he can pick up when it's the right time to play these antics and when it's time to be supportive.

That is, until you start actively bleeding. Similarly to Pierrot, his demeanor changes as the primal hunger rears it's head. Your regular blood is intoxicating to him in the first place, but your period blood is on a whole other level. The scent is sweeter, more alluring, like a siren's call tempting his monstrous nature for a bite. His attention is split between your body's naive call and whatever conversation or activity you're trying to do with him. He does have some sense of self control and can manage to pull himself out of his spiral before the risk of temptation sinks its' fangs into his better judgement. Often leaving your side for a "breather".

On the inside though he's panicking. Trying to make conscious efforts to distract himself from the temptation of devouring you on the spot. Your flesh and blood was enough to keep his hunger a constant worry, but your period? He constantly finds himself fantasizing about letting his impulse take control, until he imagines your screams of pain as he inevitably consumes you. The thought sends ice through his veins. He distances himself from you during the first couple of days of your flow, timing himself for short conversations and limited physical contact, that is until you reach out to him first.

You end up cornering him in his tent, confronting him on why he's been so removed from your life. Anger billowing out of you similarly to your pheromones that assault him in the same way.

"Because I don't want to hurt you," he interrupts your tirade. His vulnerability causing you to stop in your tracks, which he promptly takes advantage of, "your body, your blood, it sings it's lustful melody to me every time I see you. It makes me want to devour you, until there's nothing but memories left."He growls out as he pins you to a support beam. Ropes tying your wrists together around the pole as he breathes against your sensitive neck. "You have no idea how hard it is, even right now, not to pick your pretty little bones clean."

You can read into his act though, behind his animalistic movements and intimidating words, he's terrified. His eyes scanning for your fear, hoping you'll fight back against him, reject him, save yourself from what he could do to you.

"Then devour me."

He freezes, his body tensing, the ropes around your wrist loosening slightly, before he leans into you, thunderous laughter filling the air.

"You really are something special, my dear,"his clawed hands grip the seam of your pants before sloppily yanking them down along with your underwear. Your pad's mess on full display, the scent of your blood causing him to release a primal growl from his throat that vibrates against your skin.

He drops to his knees under you, grabbing your thigh roughly as he props over his shoulder, his free tentacles snaking their way up your shirt, one toying with your nipple and another rubbing seemingly loving circles along the small of your back.

"Ask and you shall receive, predileto."

Jester

"You mammals truly are deplorable." He mutters in passing, leaving you rightfully confused. It wasn't until you looked at your calendar that you managed to figure out why he said that. Your period should be coming up soon, which had you curious on how Jester could tell. From his perspective, it's painfully obvious when a human goes through the stages of their cycle, not that he cares, but it is burdensome. The menstruation cycle does have some undesirable affects to his mind control abilities, which led him to educate himself on the hormonal fluctuations of human physiology, (thanks to Doctor and his extensive collection of scientific studies).

He's the most level headed when it comes to handling your symptoms, meeting your mood swings with realistic and straightforward responses, your cravings with a unwavering sternness, your tears met with a deep sigh followed by a tissue begrudgingly drying them. He views these gestures as "additional maintenance" during your cycle, picking up on the slight hormonal changes and adjusting his routine to accommodate them, although he would never admit to doing that for a human.

You foolishly don't notice a difference in his behavior when you start bleeding, but this phase is his favorite part of your cycle. Jester has an impressive amount of self control with his monstrous urges, to the point where he can go on about his day freely even if you free-bleed next to him. He quite enjoys the scent of your menstrual blood, often viewing you as a living candle. Although, finding your discarded period products more disgusting than the act of bleeding itself, often urging you to take care of the used products away from his vicinity. Although sometimes, he does allow himself some indulgences with his true nature.

"Sit, pet," Jester pats his lap once, his eyes glancing over the pages of his book into your very being.

You obey and sit on his lap, being mindful of where your pad rested against your underwear in your shorts, making sure there was no way for it to rest on his uniform. He adjusts his book in one hand and parts your legs with the other, the action catching you by surprise as you subconsciously clamp them around his hand.

His eyes flick to yours in a silent correction, then back to his book. His fingers moving your shorts and panties to the side exposing your mess to the chilly air of his tent. You tense at the exposure before glancing at him timidly, his eyes pretending to read the same line in his book twice now as he slowly strokes your sensitive folds. The sensation of his gloved hand mixing with the blood and wetness of your heat were enough to coax a slight moan under your shaky breath.

A slight smirk graced his mouth as he teased you further, easing two fingers in your warmth, the stretch causing you to tremble in his lap and grip the fabric of his uniform. His fingers massaged that special spot inside of you, coaxing more of your blood to leak out of you along with your arousal.

Just when you were enjoying the painfully slow pace he set, he withdraws his hand from your core.

"Now now, don't get greedy, pet," he bring his fingers to his mouth. His tongue coiling around the blood soaked fabric, his eyes never leaving yours. His tongue splitting into three to evenly clean off the fingers of his glove before forming back into one at the tips of the fabric.

"I'll savor you more later, for now be patient, my sweet treat."

Ticket Taker

"Ah, yes, menstruation." He's not exactly knowledgeable on the topic but knows the basics at the very least. He knows right before the blood comes the emotional instability but other than that you'll have to enlighten him. He doesn't change his routine all that much for you unless you have irregular pain or unusual complications, but he does make mental notes on what your routines are for your cycle. Often ending up providing you with a nutritious meal before the start of your bleeding, stocking up on period products, even carrying some on his person just in case. He meets your mood swings with rational thought and if things get too out of hand he's not above sending you off to cool off, or just "giving you time to come to your senses," he's a busy man after all. He does end up stocking up on additional handkerchiefs during this time just to dry any surprise tears that may ambush you suddenly. He may be a monster but he's not heartless.

He does get worried initially when you first bleed, often just forgetting that this is the next phase of the cycle. His tolerance to your blood is slightly above Jester's. Your scent does turn sweeter and tempting but his resolve is stronger, although if your flow is especially heavy he does find himself entertaining certain reprehensible ideas. His focus primarily revolves around your comfort and care over his desires however, asking you about any potential cravings, how you're feeling, if you need anything. Although he disguises it as "a way to keep the day-to-day duties functioning smoothly."

Around the midway mark, when your flow is heaviest is when his integrity starts to crack. The scent of your rich blood soaking the cotton of your pads and tampons egging him on and fueling his hormonal desires. He's not one for his own selfish indulgences, but you make it hard to steel his resolve when he sees you wince at a cramp and can practically envision your blood seeping out of your core. He usually finds more busy work to distract himself when such thoughts grace his mind. Although sometimes, his urges get the better of him.

Bill has no idea what he's thinking, he's no better than a rodent going through the bathroom trash and finding your freshly discarded tampon, still warm from your routine change. He sighs as he replays the deplorable impulsive act in his head, you in the shower, him using his mirror ability to grab the contraband, and now him, idly twirling it by the string.

"I truly despise how worked up you manage to make me, visitor," he mumbles under his breath, the scent of your blood poisoning his mental fortitude. His curiosity racing ideas on what to do with the spent cotton now. He studies the color, commits the scent to memory, and shamefully adverts his eyes to it.

He sets it back down on the toilet paper and takes a deep breath, rubbing his temple at the absurdity of the situation he got himself into. He's far too mature to be stooping this low, especially over something so primitive. He eyes the tampon again, huffs, and takes off one of his gloves, silently scolding himself.

He gently squeezes the cotton, managing to get some blood out of it before hesitantly licking it off of his fingers.

Euphoria.

He leans back into his chair, his internal battle with depravity favoring the beast within him as he picks the tampon back up. The offset weight causing it to spin teasingly at him. He inches the tampon closer to his face, allowing your scent to fill his very being, your pheromones his own sinful drug. His tongue slips out to greet his version of your joint before he hears the bathroom door swing open.

In a panic he drops the tampon in his tea cup, using the toilet paper wrapping to clean up any droplets that jumped at the intrusion.

He clears his throat to realign himself to reality, "d-dear visitor, how was your shower?"

You look at him confused, you obviously interrupted him at something, "it was, okay I guess? Are you okay?"

"I'm quite fine, just discovered some alarming numbers with these invoices. I'm glad your shower was 'okay', my dear."

He picks up his cup, habitually using the string to stir the "teabag" around before taking a sip.

Shameful euphoria once again.

Doctor

He's the most knowledgeable on mensuration and the effects it has on the human body, but he's a bit out of touch in the social department. Often info dumping on you and unintentionally adding fuel to the fires of your mood swings. "Sweetie, you're only upset because of your luteal phase. Give it some more thought." He meets your mood swings with unshakeable logic that can just be infuriating at times, and other times it can be surprisingly sweet. "You usually crave these snacks on day 4 of your luteal phase, so I went ahead and got them all in advance." But he is a doctor after all, and his bedside manner could stand to use a bit of work. He'll examine you often and note any changes in your body, no matter how subtle they may seem. He'll give you supplements and vitamins to ease the cycles effects and if you happen to have any irregularities with you period prepare to have a cohesive answer within the first couple weeks after your first cycle.

All rational thought goes out the window the second he smells your blood, however. He notices even before you realize you need to start using period products. He urges you to try all period products, tampons, pads, diva cups, even free-bleeding, all so he can document the effects all of them have on you, your blood itself, and even him. Free-bleeding drives him the most crazed, followed by pads, then diva cups, the tampons.

The day he discovered the versatility of a diva cup is when his experiments with your cycle took a turn for more "discovery". Being able to collect blood samples naturally led to some interesting experiments. Separating plasma from the blood, analyzing the proteins in your period blood and comparing them to your regular blood, conducting experiments with alchemical reactions to your period blood, the list goes on and on with no shortage of curiosity, that is until it gets the better of him. The difference in taste between your blood and your menstrual blood was like comparing anatomy to neurology, and he needed a more thorough examination.

You were laying on your stomach watching something on your phone while your bedside Doctor was reconciling his notes. The heating pad doing wonders on your aching uterus, any cramps you had before becoming a distant memory. Sleep was slowly creeping up on you, lulling you into a sense of comfort for the first time in a while, all thanks to your attentive practitioner.

Until he suddenly stood up from his desk, his chair screeching before toppling over, glass vials jingling as they tapped against one another.

"D-doctor? Are you alright?" you stammered out, concern replacing your tranquility.

He turned towards you, his frame intimidatingly hovering over yours, it's not completely unusual for him to have an epiphany in his research, but it's definitely unlike him to treat his workstation so carelessly. You started to turn on your side before he firmly pinned your hip to the bed back onto the heating pad.

"I need more, Sweetie," his voice ragged as if he was winded from some unseen workout.

He pulled your pants off in one desperate motion, pulling your knee towards him before reaching into your depths to pull out your diva cup. The sudden motion causing you to gasp and clench against the silicone.

He carefully placed it on his desk, assuring it wouldn't topple before pulling you back onto your knees, his one hand holding the heat pad against your abdomen while his other roughly gripped the curve of your ass.

"I need to taste it from the source. I theorize your blood has more nutritional properties when it's freshest," he pants before taking off his mask and setting it next to you.

"W-wait, you've been drinking my-"

Fingers roughly plunge into your core, the sensation causing you to bury your face into the sheets and making your back arch away from him. He applies more pressure through the heat pad feeling your insides tighten around his fingers and watching the blood drip out of you, teasingly.

"I promise, sweetie, it's all for the name of science."

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."

Pierrot

Sure call me basic, but this screams our sweet Pierrot too loud for me to not mention it. I like to think that his mind is unhealthily occupied with the thought of you, to the point it would make Pothos himself look like a lovesick highschooler. It's obvious when he does go off the deep end he would do anything it takes to have you by his side through all hours of the day.

Harlequin

Hear me out first! I'm not proud of being the .01% of listeners for ICP a few years ago, but this just screams Harlequin. Always watching from the sidelines as Pierrot woos you, along with his internal struggle with his own self worth causing him to have a cocktail of emotions he's not ready to down. The song speaks for itself, trust.

Jester

Give this song at least 20 seconds of playtime and you'll see exactly what I mean. I feel like Jester would be the type to try everything in his power to discourage you from pursuing him, romantic or not. Like he would be the type to tear you apart with his words before allowing himself to listen to his own feelings and desires.

Ticket Taker

This one's a bit from the Reader/MC's perspective but it screams Ticket Taker to me. Just a constant reminder of what could've been if you decided to stay with the circus or even if you're weighing the pros and cons of joining them on their travels.

Honestly it gives such a mysterious vibe that the elusive he has, I couldn't pass it up!

Doctor

Hands down, Zydrate Anatomy, no if ands or butts. Sure, it's not as heavy as his taste in music, but the vibes are immaculately him. I personally headcanon Doctor to be very invested in his experiments, even going as far as to using himself as a subject. Sometimes, to the point of scary enthusiasm like the lead singer gives off.