I need them

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.