#tfc x reader

At first you thought that it was because he neglected his flyer duties one too many times – but when you closed the cafe during lunch hours and tried to look for him, he was nowhere to be found – you couldn't even hear his bells from a distance.

And to make matters worse, you never received a red ticket from him or a pink ticket from the man with the blue suit and eye. You couldn't risk taking a pink ticket, at least, not until you tried one last option; one that involved walking across the entire town until another circus performer finally came to you.

But of course, that was easier said than done, and it wasn't long before you realised that Harlequin was being elusive on purpose. As the sun slowly made its exit, your patience grew thin, and it continued with every street lamp you passed.

And when the moon made its entrance, you had no choice but to go back to your apartment and lock the balcony, your feet dragging across the wooden floor as you prepared for your first night without Pierrot.

You turned off all the lights, the last one being your bedside lamp, but you didn't go to bed straight away. No, you simply turned back around, and spoke aloud.

"I want a ticket to the circus."

The silence stretches out for a moment –

before you hear the clinks of bells from behind.

"You're not going to use any manners? Heh, how rude!" ♪

"If it weren't for the day I had, I would've added a please; but I'm sure you know all about that."

"Ah, and what a day it has been! I've never been so thoroughly entertained before, I don't want it to end." ♪

He was somewhere in front of you now, and much, much more close.

"I think it's much better this way – especially when Pierrot's not here."

He does a 'hmn' at those words before you both fall back into silence, but it breaks when you hear bells ring beside your ear.

"Such a shame he's not here to see this then."

Your bed creaked underneath the weight of both you and Harlequin, his claws pinning your arms above your head. You could feel his forked tongue lave the side of your neck, his pointed teeth barely touching your skin.

At first you expected him to taunt you, or to make some witty remark before finally pulling away, but instead –

– He sank his teeth right into your neck.

Your whole body went still, the shock overriding the pain for a few breaths before you could register the excruciation and blood loss – but when Harlequin pulled away and loosened his grasp, you didn't hesitate to feel for his front cape tie before you pulled him back down.

You could feel his body tremble when your teeth clamped on his exposed throat, his breath loud and heavy as you did it once, then twice, before you finally drew back.

And with one free hand, you managed to turn your bedside lamp on.

The light was near blinding at first, but when your eyes finally adjusted, Harlequin was out of your grip and standing back in front of you. Your blood was smeared across his teeth and mask, his cape tie loosened slightly and exposing the deep teeth marks on his throat.

And when you sat back up, you could feel your neck throb and ache in protest as you touched your own wound – it was still raw, but you wouldn't be able to get any of the dried blood out of your shirt.

"I think I'm entitled to a ticket now."

Harlequin didn't respond at first, but then you looked up to see him shaking with suppressed laughter, his green pupils heart-shaped as he revealed his signature ticket with a wave of a black glove.

Pierrot

No matter what you wear around him his eyes are constantly scanning your figure, of course when he thinks you're not looking at him eyeing you like a piece of meat. He feels so incredibly blessed that his darling is so alluring, especially if you flaunt your beauty so openly. It takes him some time to realize that you specifically wear certain clothes around him, or how you'll use his height to your advantage and wear a wide neck shirt with a stunning view from above. Wearing cute bras or sometimes even no bra at all, making him acutely aware of any chilly breeze that kisses your skin.

He tries to hide his excitement when a new bra peeks through your shirt or when he catches a glimpse of a particularly free breast through a low cut top. His mask unintentionally selling him out by putting his fanged grin on full display as his thoughts race a mile a second. Primal hormones occasionally override his loving persona however, and sometimes he cuts activities short to properly show you his admiration.

If you bring up feeling self conscious about the size of your breasts though... He has no choice but to show you just how perfect they are, right? Delicate touches trail up and down your sides as he purrs all of your features that drive him crazy with lust. His hands dwarfing your sensitive mounds as he kneads them, being mindful of his sharp claws as he rolls your nipples in between them, muttering prayers to your divinity under every shaky pant.

His overall favorite part about your breasts however is how they frame your heart. Providing him with easy access to the thrumming in your ribcage when you share a bed. Often finding himself lulled into a sense of peace when he drapes his hand in between your breasts, feeling your heart throb against the back of his hand.

Your new bra was definitely pretty and comfortable, when you could actually manage to put it on properly. Every time you decided to accept the challenge of dueling with the eyelets you were placing bets on just how long you would struggle for before throwing in the towel and submitting to a slip on bra, or even just going braless to spite the fabric's entire species.

You strain against the confines of your frame as you urge the hooks to marry the eyelets in unholy frustration, you glance down at the outfit you laid out, pleading for it to give you a reason to stop this battle of the week. A deep huff and-

"M-my love, can I help?"

You're suddenly acutely aware of the towering carmine clown behind you, his face seemingly reflecting the hue of his costume as drool creeps out of the corner of his faux grin.

You error code, your duel with the lace quickly thwarted as you try to conceal yourself from his prying eyes.

"I'm sorry, my dear, I could not help but offer my help after watching you struggle for so long." He sheepishly pans his heart eyes around your room, finding the mundane suddenly immensely interesting. "Although I also would not be opposed to you not wearing a bra at all, if it makes things easier." His grin sharpens at the thought.

He leans over your shoulder, his head brushing against the curve of your neck, a subtle purr vibrating your sensitive skin. He traces your prude display, being mindful of his claws as he teases the delicate flesh you hold from him.

"Your body is a thing of beauty regardless of what you drape over it. Anything you adorn simply enhances your ethereal figure and adds kindle to my flames of passion, my love."

Harlequin

Just like Pierrot, Harlequin's eyes are always glued to your figure, he's just not the type to be shy about it. He's not above making direct comments about your tits, especially when you wear such revealing bra and shirt combos, or even just shirts. Even if you try to ignore his obvious attention to your chest, he always finds a way to get some form of reaction out of you, whether it be an obvious glance down, a cheesy pickup line, and in some drastic attempts, even going as far as to tease your nipples through your shirts, (it was an accident, he swears). If you decide to wear no bra however, prepare for a very touchy day filled with him ghosting his claws over your skin, forming not only goosebumps, but other tantalizing effects.

He absolutely commits each one of your bras to memory, often making connections to your mood based on which one you decide to put on, subconsciously or not. Although it's always a welcome surprise for him to see you wearing a new bra he hasn't catalogued yet. Often teasing you about "not having to buy new lingerie just for him", and how "not to worry, the spark hasn't died out just yet". That being said, he is the sole reason for you buying new bras, since he gets too impatient with the art of unclasping the barrier to your bosom.

Some of his jokes do tend to dance along the line of bullying sometimes when it comes to the size of your breasts, and if you already struggle with your body image, it can lead to some issues later on. Luckily though he can pick up on when his 'jokes' don't land how they're supposed to. Often halting his advances and toning down any teasing until you start believing his indirect apologies.

Much like Pierrot, his favorite part about your smaller chest is being able to hear your heartbeat clearer, although on a more intimately closer sense. He eventually finds himself only able to get a restful sleep with the thrumming of your heart beating against the coolness of his mask, your heart a soothing symphony to his racing thoughts in the dead of night. Of course he never admits the comfort you provide and always gives you a pervy reason as to why he has to nestle into your sternum every night you spend together.

"You know I didn't mean it, predileto," he huffs out, grabbing you by the shoulder firmly, stopping you from turning away from him, "c'mon, don't be like that."

You don't even remember what underhanded joke he tried to make, your mind buried it as it snowballed through your familiar insecurities about your chest size. Tears began threatening to creep out of the corners of your eyes as you refused to meet his concerned gaze.

"Merda..." His grip softened at the pitiful sight before him. "You could've told me how much it bothered you, my dear," he hesitates slightly, trying to find the words to disarm the hair trigger trap he made for himself.

He takes a deep breath before adverting his own eyes from your potential gaze. "We all have our own insecurities, and it's wrong of me to poke fun at yours." His fingers leave your shoulder to card through his hair, "out of all the insecurities humans have, your chest size being one is sort of laughable, though." His cocky grin grounds you momentarily at the shock.

"Oh, don't act so surprised, dear one. Have you seen yourself in the mirror? The clothes you wear? The way strangers whip their heads just to see you one more time?" A light chuckle follows his honeyed words. You habitually brace for the other shoe to drop, but it never does, at least not this time. You glance up at him and see him nervously fidgeting with his curls.

"I see how they look at you, how he looks at you, and I can't help but feel jealous in a way. It makes me want to claim you as mine." His eyes flick dangerously back to yours, his nervousness instantly leaving the air as he finally catches you in his trap.

You feel tentacles coil up your torso, writhing and slithering under the hem of your shirt as they continue their journey towards that siren's song of a heartbeat. You struggle slightly against him, willing yourself to at the very least be mad at him for putting you in such a depressive state, but the coldness of the smooth scales of his tentacles take you by surprise.

"Your body reacts so deliciously, I might have no choice but to claim you as mine, would you like that? My sweet, little, titmouse?"

There it was. That was the stupid joke that caused your insecure spiral to reap it's dues on an otherwise beautiful day. You shoot him an irritated glare as you feel one rope coil around a bare breast and another toy with your now hardened nipple.

He laughs at your realization, and internally breathes a sigh of relief from his brief moment of vulnerability. His eyes hold a deeper feeling however, one he refuses to acknowledge even with himself. The tentacle wrapped around your breast shifts slightly, opting to rest comfortably curled in his favorite part of your appetizing body.

Right above where your heart races against the coldness of his scales.

Jester

Although you can never catch him, he does steal many glances at your figure, more than he cares to admit. His mind often takes the much needed time to properly admire your outfits and let his imagination wander as he dresses you in more appealing attire. He knows your games, however. He knows how you purposefully don't wear a bra on especially chilly days, as a feeble attempt to grab his attention. You would never be able to tell how much your charms actually affect him behind closed doors though. A new bra causing ink to pool on an invoice. A new shirt causing him to reread the same line four times. A revealing angle causing him to lose his train of thought. Such a troublesome pet you are.

Any complaints you air about any bras you wear are duly noted to him despite his annoyed huffs. It isn't until you find new bras waiting for you in your closet that you piece it together. Often with new styles and materials you never even considered let alone affording in some aspects. Various colors allowing you to properly coordinate your outfits, and the support/framing up to model standards. Of course if you bring this up to him expect him to congratulate you in a sarcastic tone for finally figuring it out.... Finally...?

He's far from naive when it comes to "conventional" beauty standards in the human society, and sure his kind has some standards, but none as asinine and genetic based as humans. Hearing you berate your body for not being in a cookie cutter shape or seeing you shy away from his touch fills him with a new level of loathing for your kind.

Although he doesn't have a specific favorite thing about your chest, he does have the same interest in your heart being so bare to him, so ripe for the harvest, so rightfully his. One of his interests is dressing you in flattering outfits, after all, pets are a reflection of their owners, right? A common theme of his outfits however is your chest, mainly how exposed or adorned it is with accents of stars, his claiming on what belongs to him and him alone.

You were just scrolling on your phone when yet another seemingly targeted ad interrupted your night of calm. Sharing space with Jester while the two of you did your own things was a quality he appreciated and a time you cherished. But this was now the third ad for the same bras you couldn't fit in. Every ad had a busty pretty thing showcasing the overpriced lingerie in a borderline suggestive tone as an effort to boost sales, but you couldn't shake the feeling of envy for what lay past the fabric. You attempted to ground yourself, shifting slightly in your loungewear, longing to feel what it meant to be like the person in the screen.

"Your self depreciating thoughts are distracting me from this predictable plot twist, pet." He adjusts his book in his hand before resting the cheek of his mask on the other.

"Your kinds' beauty standards are truly pitiful," Jester's words hit you like a lightning bolt back to the present moment. His amethyst eyes pinpricked at your screen, a twinge of disgust laced his words, "valuing such a shallow thing as looks it fitting for humans, I suppose."

You pause the advertisement only to be redirected to the items listing, even the mannequin had a bigger set of tits than you. You could feel the familiar gloom creeping in despite the double edged comment.

You could feel your heart grow heavy with the self consciousness weighing your mood down, and Jester must've felt it too.

The sudden page turn caused you to tense.

"You are more beautiful than any of the humans that come across your phone, o predileto." His eyes paused in his printed lines, dilated and half lidded. "True beauty lies in actions over appearance, and I don't take in mutts."

It takes you a second to figure out he was complimenting you, and a pretty big one at that. He flicked his eyes towards yours and you saw a sense of tenderness you rarely witnessed before his pupils sharpened to their regular diamond shape.

He presented his opened palm towards you.

"Let me see if I can tailor something similar for you, my perfect pet."

Ticket Taker

The only one in the troupe to feel a little guilty for glancing at your chest. He falls victim to your antics too easily for his own liking, although his poker face saves him almost every time, often coming up with a clever reason or excuse to take his attention away from your cleavage. Although the image still hangs on the back of his mind for the remainder of the day. His ultimate weakness however is whenever your nipples harden through your shirt. The way your bra sometimes sneaks past the neckline of your shirts has been the reason for a few papers to leave his desk with a suspicious pool of ink at the signature line. It's just the bargain pens though... Yeah... Cheap pens...

You end up learning that different bras affect him in different degrees. Of course, the skimpy ones have an effect on him, but not nearly as much as a traditional solid colored one. The simplicity and domestic nature of a basic bra is something that can't be beat in his eyes. (Lace bras are a close second to him). He's a gentleman of tradition after all, so accidental cleavage is the one way to get him to possibly break his persona.

If you bring up feeling like your chest is inadequate all lewd thoughts dissipate and are replaced with reassurance that you have nothing to feel insecure over. Depending on the time of day and overall mood between the two of you it can get into a hands on explanation on just how hard it is to focus around you. If you're in need of authentic real reassurance he's not opposed to let down his walls slightly to share some of his own insecurities, although vague and left up to interpretation or a later discussion.

Much like the rest of the troupe however, he has an affinity towards your heart, mostly over the physical drum when he ghosts the back of his hand over your chest. The silent reassurance that you're here and alive is enough to chip away at the mountainous stress of everyday life. Although he always asks you before extending his gloved hand out and never presses it into you, allowing you to control how much pressure you allow him to claim.

You try another pose in the mirror and your faux smile falters. Your eyes scan up and down your body like a critical judge, knit picking every small flaw and blemish. You pan up to your breasts and sigh. The shirt you bought probably would've looked better if you had more to give the fabric. You paw at the slack threads, angling your chest in different ways to see if you could lay them in an appealing way, to seemingly no avail.

A blur catches your eye in the top corner of the mirror, a distortion, a distraction from your harsh judgement.

"Everyone has insecurities, dear one."

He clicks the pen closed and sets it next to the pile of papers before leaning back in his chair, his back popping in relief.

"It's entirely normal to have insecurities about one's body. It's part of life." He rolls his neck earning him another satisfying pop and groan. "I, for one, despise my need to complete things to perfection." His voice trails off slightly, debating on speaking his thoughts. "As well as my own figure."

He stands from his desk and joins you in front of the mirror, only his focus is on himself for once. His eyes hallow as he meets his own gaze, "the key is to learn to accept the truths before you and overcome the urge to become something you're not."

His eyes flick towards yours and the softness returns. His hand grazes your chin, gently urging it to tilt towards him. He exhales a breath he didn't realize he was holding before coaxing a strand of hair behind your ear.

"You are perfect to me because you are yourself."

Doctor

Is still the King of Unbothered-town. No amount of flaunting or teasing seems to affect him, although the attempts to end up interrupting his research when he allows his mind to wander. He's forever thankful whenever you decide to not wear a bra. The tease of being able to see your nipples harden in biological reaction is more tantalizing than any flirty sexual attempts. The subtle jiggle of your breasts a whisper to his desire to study you further. The thrumming of your heart a beautiful song he can change the tempo of at his beck and call. Your teasing attempts ultimately turn against you in exponential time.

If he had it his way you would wear nothing but gowns or nothing at all around him. Your body itself is a thing of biological beauty and deserves to be displayed in it's full natural glory. It takes some time but he eventually grows to like lace. The intricate designs highlight your skin and provide him with a teasing veil to remove when his curiosity piques. The thin material also allows your nipples to still announce the chilly air of his lab free of any padding.

Insecurities confuse him. Being a logic driven being the idea of being insecure or shameful of a body part of all things is nearly incomprehensible. You would have to explain your feelings and issues in painful detail, followed by references of course. Once he eventually gets a grasp on the idea of your self consciousness he attempts to reassure you in the only way he knows how. Education. Painfully blunt education.

Your entire chest is one of his favorite parts of your miraculous body. The delicate skin that provides blood to your perfect mounds, to your ribcage that act as a platter to said mounds, and a barrier to your four chambered heart. Your atrium and ventricles sending your personal melody throughout your body in bursts of breathtakingly gorgeous blood. Give him the chance and he'll map out your major arteries and veins in marker, starting with a surprisingly detailed sketch of your heart. Although this activity tends to get out of hand as he begins to map out more of your body's systems with more markers.

You take a ragged breath, exhausted from trying to reword your explanation of beauty standards and how you don't fit in a few of them, mostly the chest department. Explaining the societal structures for thirty minutes turned you from a gloomy husk, to a frustrated complainer, to a desperate teacher.

Doctor crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, the reinforced legs still creaking at his size. A small grumble slips out into the tension.

"Beauty standards sound nothing like regular standards. Why compare yourself to something that constantly changes and isn't concrete?" He adjusts his mask slightly before curling his hand under his chin in thought.

His leg begins to bounce as he tries to compile the information you gave him into something that made sense. The fidgeting becoming more erratic the more he tried to piece it together.

"Hip dips, hiplets, muffin tops, thinspo, fitspo, apron belly, love handles, thunder thighs, butterface..." He mumbles to himself, increasingly becoming agitated, his boot now making an audible noise as his leg bounce increases.

"All of these 'beauty standards' when the only one that matters is the beauty of anatomy and biology." He huffs in frustration and his leg rests. "If you're body is healthy why does it matter what it looks like. You feel this way about your breasts, sweetie?" He tilts his head to the side.

You flinch at his bluntness before nodding slightly, your arms crossing in front of the topic of conversation.

He focuses on your body language and rises from his chair, the legs screeching behind him. He stands over you but his energy shifts from frustration to a towering gentleness. He palms your shoulder, his touch a bit heavy handed but well intended.

"Your body should be the beauty standard because it is yours. It is miracle of biological machinery that is both the weakest engine yet the strongest marvel I have ever set my eyes upon."

You might have to explain it for thirty more minutes.

Giving

He is desperate to please his love. Will spend HOURS on his knees in-between your thighs till your shaking and begging him to stop (will he stop who the fuck knows be prepared to grab him by the horns).

Anytime you ask he is ready!

Hell, maybe he’ll ask you for it (Begging you at the end of a hard day to please let him eat you out/suck you off please just let him put you in his mouth he’s been such a good boy)

Can and will fuck you with his tongue.

Only time he is a tad cheeky and will tease you about certain noises you make (“My love! what could possibly have made you moan like that~ Was it because I did thiiissss. Shall I do it again? I can tell how close you are by the noises you make my dearest. How badly do you want to come on my tongue?”)

Gets off on the smell of your arousal.

Absolutely bruises your hips while holding you down and your thighs while trying to keep them apart (He says he feels bad, but come on you know he doesn't).

Randomly nips your thighs and sex but does not fully bite. He just likes the yelp you make when he does.

Will cum when you do (No hands needed for him, he will cum untouched when he finally gets the taste of your cum on his tongue).

Swallows. Nothing goes to waste.

Coos and tells you how much he loves and adores you while massaging your hips and thighs.

Once your cleaned up you will be snuggled from the back.

Receiving

Is a whimpering/moaning mess before you even get the tip in your mouth.

Babbling all sorts of praises and sweet nothings as you suck him off. (“M-My love you are so kind and generous to offer such a pleasure to the likes of me! I am not worthy of your gaze let alone your beautiful mouth-” please do interrupt him by licking the soft, tiny spines that run down the bottom of his shaft)

Loves the sight of his cock disappearing into your mouth and has to bite his hands to keep himself from grabbing the back of your neck and fucking your mouth wildly (You both discuss this as an option and its fine with you as a “sometimes” activity not an “always” one though).

Mark him UP. With your teeth, with your nails. Leave hickeys all over his lower half (“Yes, yes, yes-”)

His legs shake like crazy right before he cums (you can try to hold him still, emphasis on try).

Cannot form proper sentences devolves to just moans, groans and growls.

You can’t fit all of him in your mouth so when he’s close you start jerking his shaft off (with both hands) and sucking on his tip. 10/10 guaranteed will cum within 10 seconds.

Loud

Literally roars (get this man a gag)

So, so much cum man.

It’s like a faucet not a rocket. No spurts, just an ever flowing water fall of cum.

Heavy husky breathing as post nut bliss sets in (he’ll need a minute to remember how to speak).

Post nut bliss being him being all sweet and praising you and lavishing you in gentle kisses.

Once cleaned up he demands cuddles (wants to be the little spoon).

He’s very particular about the set up of these “experiments”. He provides an array or toys and lubricants. Sets up a secluded space for you to relax in and offers various options for visual stimulus. You also get a bracelet that tracks your heart rate.

The Doctor like to keep track of what you reach for frequently and and will shift out anything you don’t really use.

He tends to get in his head about recording things so you see him in the corner rapidly documenting everything he sees during each session in a tiny notepad.

One time he asked if he could record a few sessions with a camera, for scientific reason of course.

If you say no he’ll respect it, and continue as normal.

But if you say yes? The next time you do one of these sessions you walk into a full studio set up. Three cameras, a lighting rig, a damn microphone. While your stunned he’s just in the corner happy he can just sit back and watch you instead of recording information.

Speaking of information.

He has a list of fabrics you like with extra information on various textures you prefer to grind on.

Keeps a document with photos of what body parts of yours are most sensitive. Has notes of specific areas he wants to test.

Absolutely has a spread sheet just for tracking how long each session is and how many times you can cum (one of the most important data points he has because it helps him gauge stamina).

If you let him record you: he’ll go over the audio logs just to track the noises you make. The breathy sighs when you really get into it, the huffs of anger when you lose rhythm and need to start over. The way your voice raises an octave right before you finish and the moans you make when you do.

When you finish (for the final time) he will swoop in with water and a snack. Wipe you down and clean up anything you used. He will then move you to his nest so you can rest while he goes and compiles all the data.

Is the Doctor rocking the biggest hard-on while all this is happening? Yes, but he is a man (?) of science and these sessions are about you. He’ll take care of himself later (probably to those videos if you let him record).