#jester x reader

You actually spent the day in the town at a rather luxurious spa, followed by a quiet dinner where no one knew your name, no one demanded your signature, and no one dropped a stack of tax permits on your lap.

It should have been heaven; however, your chest felt tight with a buzzing and persistent anxiety.

What if Ticket Taker filed the health inspections under the wrong precinct? What if the local sheriff would return with the state marshals because the fire safety permits weren’t properly signed off? What if Jester—

The heavy flap of the tent parted with a quiet, cautious sweep.

Your eyes immediately locked onto him and your posture straightened. Jester stepped into the warm amber glow of the lantern light. He looked exhausted. The sharp lines of his shoulders slightly rounded beneath his coat. The moment his gaze drifted from the ground to find you sitting there, the weary tension in his being evaporated. It was a subtle, yet beautiful shift—the kind of softening he only allowed himself behind these closed canvas walls, away from the prying, dangerous eyes of the world.

To the rest of humanity, Jester was a spectacle, a brilliant and sharp-tongued enigma who kept his distance with a barrier of razor-thin wit and a bone-deep distrust. He had survived too much at the hands of humans to ever let his guard down outside of this safe-haven. But in here, after over five years of slow, patient, and deliberate devotion: you were his. And he? Entirely yours.

"Still awake, my clever little bird?" he purred. His melodic voice sounded lower and slightly raspy from a long day of delegating work and barking negotiations. "I distinctly recall giving you a day of mandatory relaxation. And yet... here you are, looking as though you’ve spent the entire time getting lost in navigating your anxiety... how curious."

"Jester...," you breathed his name in a way that made his chest tighten pleasantly. You slipped off the bed to meet him, to explain your excuses for not fully committing to relaxing (like he'd asked), but before you could take two steps, his clawed hand rose.

It wasn't a harsh gesture, but it was absolutely commanding.

"Stay right where you are, little mouse," his tone dripped with a quiet authority that immediately made your knees feel just a fraction weaker. "You are off duty today. Off duty means your feet do not touch the cold floor; not even to exert yourself to greet me. Back on the bed."

You hesitated for just a moment, the lingering anxiety of the day's unfinished work making you want to protest, but the demanding glow of your lover's eyes held you. You slowly backed up to your original spot on the bed and sank back into the soft cushions.

Jester flashed a pleased, razored grin. "Such a good girl..."

He didn't immediately climb into bed, but instead stepped close to stand right at the edge. He reached down, his thumb and forefinger gently catching the underside of your chin. Claws giving you an affectionate, ghostly touch. He guided your face upward slowly, deliberately.

The touch was warm and incredibly grounding. His violet eyes pierced down into your own, searching them with a sharp analytical intensity that softened into something deeply tender. You blushed under the weight of his stare.

"Your mind is still spinning," he observed out loud, clawed thumb lightly stroking your jawline. "I can practically hear the gears grinding from here... Tell me what is troubling that beautiful little head of yours...? Keep in mind: if the answer has anything to do with a permit or a ledger, I may have to banish you from the office until such things stop plaguing your thoughts."

"I'm just worried," you admitted reluctantly as you leaned into his hand. No point in lying: you were terrible at it. "The licensing for this county... it's been a nightmare. And if they find a loophole in the food permits or the performer visas—"

"Ssh." Jester placed his thumb over your lips to silence your worries instantly. "Ticket Taker is a monster of meticulous precision; he's always handled numbers with the sharp efficiency of a guillotine. As for the rest of your concerns: I personally managed the final signatures. The local magistrate was... uniquely cooperative after a brief, intellectual….conversation regarding the municipal code.”

You gave a small laugh, the tight knot in your chest loosening just a fraction. His unique gifts did come in handy at times, but still... "Jester, you didn't."

"I merely educated him on the law," Jester replied with a wicked, brilliant glint in his eye. "A service I provided entirely free of charge. The permit is signed, sealed, and locked in the safe. The show goes on, the local authorities are pacified, and the world has not spun off its axis because you were told to take twelve hours to relax and enjoy yourself."

He leaned down to press a slow, heavy kiss to your forehead. The scent of him—notes of sandalwood and lemon—washed over you with an instant calming effect.

"Now," he murmured against your skin, "you are going to let. it. all. go. Every single ounce of it. ...Do you understand, little mouse?"

"Yes," you whispered. You trusted him to take complete control, trusting your monster to allow you to go on complete auto-pilot. He'd certainly taken care of the heap of trouble that'd kept you up these last few previous nights... Stress began to melt from your shoulders at the surrender that seeped in.

"Splendid." He pulled back, his eyes catching the leather-bound book resting on the nightstand—a piece of classical literature you'd been trying to find the time to finish for months. He picked it up, weighing it in his hand before handing it overto you. “You're going to read for me: from where you left off. I want to hear your voice."

You took the book, your fingers idly tracing the aged gold-leaf lettering on the cover. "...Are you going to sleep?"

"Eventually," Jester shrugged as he maneuvered you both, shifting behind you on the bed. "But first, I am going to tend to you..."

He sat closely behind you, his long legs framing yours, pulling you back until your spine was flush against his broad chest. The familiar warmth of him radiating into you through his attire was intoxicating. You let your head rest back against his shoulder, finally letting out that breath you felt like you’d been holding all week.

Immediately, you felt his hands at the back of your head. His touch was incredibly slow. His fingers worked with an almost sacred gentleness as he began to undo the pins from your hair to let the long locks tumble down your back.

"Breathe with me, little mouse," he commanded softly near your ear, his chest expanding against your back in a deep, exaggerated inhale. "In... and out. Match my rhythm. You're still holding yourself as though you're bracing for a blow. Let it go..."

You closed your eyes for a moment and followed your lover's lead: mimicking his deep inhale as you felt the rise and fall of his chest. Your shoulders dropped a good two inches upon your last inhale.

"There," Jester praised softly. "That's my girl... Now, open your book. Let me hear those lovely words."

You opened the book to the marked page, biting your gently lip before you began to read. The prose was dark and made one question things about themselves, a classic tale of that you both enjoyed. At first, your voice was a little tentative, but as the steady rhythm of Jester’s fingers running through your hair began, you were about to find your stride.

Jester listened in an appreciative silence, occasionally letting out an amused hum at a particularly witty line of dialogue.

As you read to him, he kept his hands busy. He shifted your position and began to separate your hair into three neat sections. With slow, rhythmic movements he began to weave the pieces together. His fingers occasionally brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck, sending pleasant shivers down your spine. Every slide of his hands was steady and firm reminder of his presence, his care, and his ultimate charge over your well-being.

When you stumbled slightly over a more complex sentence with more outdated and theattrical verbiage, your voice faltered, the anxiety threatening to claw its way back up your neck.

Instantly, Jester’s hand paused in your hair. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to the side of your neck, right over your pulsing vein. He lingered there, his hot breath lingering on your skin.

"Slow down, little mouse," his lips brushed your skin as he spoke. "There is no need to rush. We have all the night, and all the nights after this one. Read it again... Slowly."

You drew in a long breath and read the sentence again. This time, the words flowed smoothly.

"Beautiful," Jester praised; resuming his slow braiding. "What a gorgeous voice you have."

The quiet praise washed over you like a warm wave that erased the very last of your defenses. You let yourself sink completely against him, trusting his strength to hold you up. He didn't mind the weight; in fact, you could feel the contented rumbles in his chest increase the more you surrendered not only to his mental support, but now the physical.

He finished the braid and secured the end with a hair tie from your make-shift side table. But he didn't move away. He wrapped his long, strong arms around your waist and pulled you tightly against his chest to lock you in an unbreakable hold.

He reached over, his hand covering yours on the book, gently but firmly pressing the pages flat.

"I think that is enough reading for one evening," he spoke so gently... "I can sense your eyes growing heavy, and your voice... it's turning into such a lovely, sleepy purr."

"I wanted to finish that chapter," you mumbled stubbornly. You didn't make any move to resist as he gently plucked the book from your fingers and returned it to the nightstand.

"I'm sure the characters will survive another night in their paper prison," Jester teased, his voice dropping to a soothing lilt. "Right now, your only responsibility is to rest... Understood?"

"Yes."

"Good." He shifted to pull you down with him as he slid under the heavy quilts, keeping you tucked securely against his side. He rested one warm, clawed hand on your hip—a reassuring weight that anchored you to the bed, to the present, and to him.

He watched you, his eyes glowing with interest as his thumb traced slow circles on your hip. In the dim lantern light of your shared quarters the defensive mask he wore for the rest of the world was entirely gone. There was only a deep adoration in his eyes. He had spent his life being treated as something monstrous. But with you? He was just a male who was deeply, irrevocably in love. How terribly troublesome.

"You did.. well today," he praised before pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

"Thank you for saving me from the city inspectors," you murmured sleepily, wrapping an arm around your Jester's waist.

Your monster let out a melodious, genuine chuckle at this. "A minor feat, little mouse. I would slay far deadlier things than local bureaucrats to keep you safe and smiling."

He tilted his head, as if watching an animal perform an unexpected trick and he didn't know how to feel about it. It sounded strange to be called that, even more by his own lover. "Humans really do find creative ways to deal with their time."

Days later, you kept repeating the nickname whenever you saw Jester acting in a way that could be interpreted as "maternal". His silence grew longer with each occurrence. He was letting you have your fun for now, while he was still in a good mood.

But it grew old quickly. Irritated him even more when Harlequin learned about it and started calling him mommy, too.

One troublemaker he could deal with, but two was too much and he didn't had patience for it now.

Finally, he closed the book he was reading when, after a hard day at the circus, you called him mommy again. "The joke's lost its humor, my dear."

His violet eyes narrowed behind the mask. "Don't call me that again." His voice remained calm, almost gentle, but there was an unmistakable weight to it. It wasn't a request, but a newly established rule. "There will be consequences."

Humans are strange creatures, he thinks. He watched as you leaned in, taking a deep breathe with a barely contained giggle under it.

"I'm sorry, mommy, I'II behave. I promise." You snorted, staring at his face as if it was hilarious how incredulous he got. Perhaps, you should had heed his warning.

Because you were in a kind of situation here. You were bent over on his lap. The sensation of his knee pressing into your belly was uncomfortable at times, and you struggled against him in a futile attempt at escaping. His left hand was keeping you in place, making you pliant and soft as with his other hand he rubbed your clit with his thumbs, rolling the little nub between his fingers, drawing out all these cute noises out of your throat that you tried to stop from coming out.

"You see, this isn't even the punishment you deserved." He muses softly like a flower blooming slowly, deliberately waiting for an answer just so he could continue his caress - that never came because you were still trembling from the tenth orgasm he had pulled from your body.

His teasing felt like a whip, merciless, keeping on the verge of another orgasm just to ruin it at the last second. He was enjoying that a bit too much, as he watched your body shaking, as he caressed your ass and hips with a smile.

"Cat got your tongue, huh?" He stared down at you, your legs spread like a present, your back littered with his marks, in special he liked to stare at the mark at your neck that marked you as his mate.

He licked his lips. His eyes got dark with a hint of corruption and obsession, as he would be the first and last creature that laid his mark upon you. His annoying lover who made a mission in irritating him. "You're not going to admit you're in the wrong, my dear? How many more orgasm I have to pull from you until you're trembling and crying?"

"Ah- mommy, you s' cruel. Was just a tiny joke " You moaned between gasps for air, but that only served to send heat into his loins. And he resumed his ministrations. That hellish pleasure went on enough to make you cum again that night.

Many more yet to come and he hadn't even entered you yet.

"You're not learning anything, are you? Maybe spanking will teach you more discipline."

It had been a disastrous morning, and you felt in your bones how closely you were on the edge of your monster's patience. Jester’s tolerance for human error was famously nonexistent, yet your relationship had managed to carve out a fragile equilibrium. He accepted you—to an extent as a creature of his grand, twisted design could accept any mortal. Your heart frequently ached with an ocean-depth sadness for the dark past that molded him into this monstrous showman. In turn, he had made you his sole, begrudging exception to his sweeping hatred of mankind. But his trust was a brittle, hard-won prize, and today? You had been terribly careless.

The infractions accumulated so rapidly before your watch had even hit noon. First, you rested for a brief moment upon a prop crate with both headphones firmly in place, entirely oblivious to the world, precisely when he required a set piece moved. He had been forced to physically pluck an earbud from your ear with his claws, his decorated mask looming dangerously close, his voice a menacing purr as he repeated his directives.

The second strike carried a sharper edge. He stood high up in the empty bleachers of his show tent, meticulously mapping out the stage markers for the "fools" in the evening’s act—a task, in his opinion, that demanded absolute visual precision. As you knelt on the stage floor tape in hand, your ringtone began blaring from phone in the front row. Instinctively, you had bolted off to answer it, entirely shattering his artistic momentum. From the shadows of the gallery, glowing eyes stared down at you, his long, dark fingers tapping a slow and ominous rhythm against his arm after crossing them.

The third slight occurred merely an hour later. Noticing your flushed overheated skin, he had silently offered you a flask of cool water. This was a such an intimate action of care from him, truly. Stifling a whine in the sweltering heat, you had playfully demurred, pushing it away with such a stupid promise to "drink it later." In reply, Jester merely traced a cold, gloved claw down your sweat-dampened cheek, whispering, “as you wish, little mouse... You shall be begging for a drop by nightfall.”

You'd been too engrossed in your labors to truly let the terror of that moment sink in. Jester, however, relished in your ignorance as your disobedient tally spurred his creativity...

Now, mere moments before the circus was set to open to the public, you stood backstage in the dim, flickering lantern light, adjusting the frills of your altered version of a fools' costume. The heavy, sickeningly sweet aromas of burnt sugar, copper, and a strange musky smoke hung thick in the air—the unmistakable signature of the Doctor's latest hallucinogenic concoction...? The very one already laced into the concessions. Your brow raised in confusion.

A sharp shadow fell across the floor and disrupted your Sherlock moment. You turned to find Jester standing tall and looking terrifying in his immaculate costume. Or, more so it was the expression conveyed through his mask. Violet eyes gleamed with a chaotic, wicked brilliance; he looked very much like the apex predator he was in this moment. You gulped, thickly.

"There you are, my little mouse," his voice possessed a theatrical cadence that sent a familiar shiver down your spine. He stepped forward, the golden bells on his hat letting out an ominous chime. He leaned down, his hot breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. "A slight... improvisation in tonight's scheduling, I'm afraid. Since our blocking of the stage earlier today was so terribly disrupted, the choreography for our fools lacks its usual... elegance. You'll be subbing in for them."

An anxious breath caught in your throat; you hated public speaking. Let alone acting on a stage with no script. Improvisation was not your monster's natural style... "What? Jester, the show starts in five minutes—"

"Oh~ It almost slipped my mind," he interrupted smoothly, his lips curling into a sharp terrifyingly beautiful smirk. He tapped the tip of your nose with a gloved finger. "You'll be substituting for all three acts this evening. I suggest you prepare your stage presence, pet: your spotlight awaits."

Before you could voice any further protest, your monster dissolved into the backstage shadows, leaving your heart hammering violently against your ribs. Oh. You were in Marianas Trench fathoms of trouble...

The purple-and-black performance tent was packed to the brim. Peering through the heavy stage curtain, you could see the sea of faces. The Doctor’s hallucinogens effects were already showing its symptoms amongst your crowd: eyes were glassy, dilated, and fixed unblinkingly on center stage. Their movements appeared struggled and heavy, their laughter sluggish and delayed, echoing oddly in the dense air. They were entirely pliable, caught in a hazy, waking dream where reality and illusion blurred into a singular intoxicating tapestry—just how your monsters preferred, to hide their deepest secrets from visitors. But to this extent and with a fogged application? You'd never seen it before...

The house lights slammed down into a deep bruised purple. Jester burst onto the stage—a tall presence of terrifying energy. The crowd roared, a distorted, collective resonance that vibrated through the old, worn floorboards beneath your feet. It took everything you had to manage the bile of stage fright in your throat.

He commenced his performance, not with jests, but with a macabre narrative. His voice commanding the entire space as he wove a new tale you'd never heard him practice before. Shit... It was the tale of a beautiful, disobedient doll. Your stomach sank instantly.

"She was a stubborn little thing," Jester worked his stage with movements fluid, uncanny, and mesmerizing as he gestured broadly to the crowd. "Refusing to harken to her master's voice. She hid away, she kept her own erratic time, and when her master sought to map out her own show to perfection? She simply fled the design!"

The audience chuckled at this—a chorus of hazy, drugged chuckles. He tsk-ed in agreement. To the crowd, it was a dark, marvelous fairy tale that continued on. To you, standing rigid in the wings: your skin turned to gooseflesh.

"And when the sweltering summer sun beat down," Jester carried on, narrow glowing eyes locking directly onto your hiding place through the slit in the curtain, "the silly doll refused his gracious gift of drink, thinking herself entirely above her master's care. So, tell me, my little monsters... what is a showman to do with such a broken, defiant toy?"

He extended a an elegantly clawed, gloved hand toward the wings. Your cue was absolute; a royal command. Even though your legs felt heavy as lead, the deep possessive bond you shared magnetized you to him. You stepped out into the glaring lights, heart slamming away like a sledgehammer. Violet eyes danced the moment Jester sensed this.

The crowd gasped at your sudden appearance, their compromised minds perceiving you as some form of a mythical prize—a living extension of Jester's twisted fable. Your monster met you in the center of the ring, poetically upon the central marker you had failed to map properly that morning. With a grand flourish, he used slight of hand to produce a heavy leather collar and a matching leash.

You stood frozen, offering no resistance as he clicked the cold leather tightly around your throat. The audience clapped—a drunken rhythmic thudding that sent physical vibrations up through the soles of your feet.

"We must teach the doll how to keep her proper blocking," Jester's normal volume sent a shiver down your spine, his grand theatrical persona dropping for a fraction of a second, revealing the raw, dominant predator lurking beneath the mask.

He gave the leash a sharp, sudden tug forcing your knees met the worn wooden stage floor with a dull, heavy thud. You groaned from your body's protest to the landing. Jester walked a slow, deliberate circle around you, wrapping the leather leash tightly around his gloved hand until he held you on a punishingly short lead.

He reached down, his elegant fingers gripping your jaw with unyielding pressure, forcing your face upward. His eyes burned with a mixture of his deep-seated malice for the world and that intense, possessive exception he reserved exclusively for you.

"You turned a deaf ear to me this morning, pet," he informed you quietly, his voice drowned out to the audience by the swelling, discordant circus orchestration, but crystal clear to you. "Now, you'll have no choice but to internalize every. Single. Sound I intend to wring from you."

With quiet grace, Jester moved behind you—then stomped twice with the boot of his heel in sudden contrast. Jester's amused chuckle mixed with the crowd's laugh at your jolting. He gathered the fabric of your pink and black patterned skirts, pulling the ruffles upward to expose you completely to the hazy, staring eyes of the front row. You gasped open-mouthed and eyes wide; the sheer public exhibitionism of the act causing a sudden ache to blossom deep within you. Yes, you were horrified. But oh dear gods, you were fucking wet.

He didn't hesitate, even for a moment to eat up your delectable reactions. The thick smell of your arousal betraying what human society engraved in you what was considered taboo and inappropriate. Jester shifted his costume trousers just enough, gripped your hips with bruising force and drove himself inside you in one hard, relentless thrust.

A choked scream escaped your lips, instantly swallowed by the sudden explosion of applause from the crowd. They believed this to be the grand finale of the act—the ultimate climax of the Jester conquering his unruly doll in the dark fable. The hallucinogens caused the scene to melt before their eyes into something profoundly artistic, primal, and quite the unintelligible sight.

Jester began to move against you with a ruthless and punishing pace. Every thrust of his was deep, unyielding, and heavy—fulfilling his desire of pinning you to the exact stage mark you neglected mere hours before. The friction was scorching; the chaotic heat that left sweat immediately breaking out along your spine.

"Quiet, pet," Jester commanded as a reminder, his voice a dark rasp right at your ear, dropping the theatrical cadence for a sharp, authoritative snap. “I don't want to hear so much as a syllable unless I grant you permission to do so... Now be a good girl: hold your breath and endure me."

You bit your lip, chest heaving as you tried to obey the sudden restraint, your core aching as your monster lover fully hit his stride. He shifted his grip, a clawed hand sliding up to press firmly between your shoulder blades to push you lower against the wood.

"Now, now~ arch your back and keep your hips steady for your master" he ordered smoothly, enforcing the strict dynamic right in the open air. Every time you tried to shift in attempts to ease the intense friction from being fucked: his hand tightened, anchoring you perfectly to his whim. "You wished to operate on your own schedule today, and I so graciously allowed it without a word. Tonight? You'll move exactly how I tell you."

Before you could lose yourself entirely to the overwhelming rhythm, Jester gathered the leather of your leash wrapped tightly around his hand giving it a sharp, sudden tug. Your head snapped back, throat exposed as he forced your sex-flushed face up to witness the sea of hazy mesmerized faces in the fully occupied rows.

Keeping himself buried deep within you, his hips maintaining a slow, agonizingly deliberate grind, Jester turned his attention back to the crowd. His eyes burned with that chaotic, showman light as he resumed his macabre tale, addressing the audience while using your bound body as his ultimate prop.

"And so, my dear monsters!" Jester called out to the tent, his voice projecting flawlessly over your trembling, submissive form. "See how the disobedient doll learns the price of her silence! She thought she could tune out her master's voice, but look at her now—captivated, frozen, and listening to every beat of the show!"

The drugged crowd laughed and applauded in delight, a chorus of slow, rhythmic thudding that sent physical shocks up through the floorboards and straight into your thighs. To them, his grand, sweeping speech was the climax of a dark fairy tale. To you it was an overwhelming surrender.

"Look at them watching you," Jester whispered, his tone dropping back to a lethal hiss against your neck as he pulled the leash a fraction tighter. "Tell them who owns your time, little bird. Speak."

"Y-you," you cried out, the rule of silence broken only by his command. "Y-you do, J-Jester."

"Such a good girl," he cooed, the final pocket of his fractured trust giving way to pure, possessive certainty.

He let go of the leash, pinning both of your hands to the stage floor with one of his large, gloved ones, completely dominating your posture. The pace turned frantic without losing an ounce of its heavy and punishing nature. He drove into your harder, hitting your personal sweet spot with his intimate knowledge of your body—with terrifying precision. You wailed against the wood, your dry throat burning from the heat and the sheer volume of pleasure multiplying at an alarming rate through your veins.

The orgasm hit you like a physical blow. A violent, crashing wave that squeezed him tightly; beckoning his own pleasure. Jester let out a low moan, sung for your ears only, driving deep one last time as he filled you, his own release blinding him as he collapsed over your back. Your monster held you tightly against the floorboards that vibrated from the loud cheering that surrounded your performance. Jester's purple hair covered your face like a beautiful silken curtain closing on the act.

The audience continued to erupt in a deafening standing ovation, completely oblivious to the raw reality of the punishment they had just witnessed.

For a moment, you both remained there panting and slick with sweat in the stifling summer air within the tent. Slowly, Jester pulled out of you, the hot air of the tent suddenly feeling cool as it hit your overheated skin. The sudden absence of him left you trembling, your muscles weak and spent. As you tried to shift your weight on the worn wood you felt the hot, heavy sensation of his release mixed with your own wetness pooling out in a warm, thick trickle that dripped slowly down the inside of your left thigh.

Jester stood up, adjusting his signature costume with perfect chilling poise, entirely unfazed by the madness around him. The stage lights began to dim, signaling the end of the first act as the drugged, hazy crowd started to shuffle toward the exit flaps for more concessions. Each person's retelling of the performance not matching the next.

Your lover reached down, helping you up to your shaky, trembling knees. You were parched, throat bone-dry and desperate for the water you had refused earlier.

Jester looked down at you, his painted face twisting into a darkly clever smirk. He reached out, his gloved claw to gently trace the wet trail of his release drying against your left thigh, before patting your flushed cheek. The bells on his attire jingled merrily.

"A wonderful first act, little mouse," Jester praised, his eyes dancing with a wicked teasing cruelty. He leaned in, lips right against your ear. "But do remember... we still have two more performances tonight. And you haven't drunk nearly enough water."