I decided to write more Pierrot x reader NSFW. Because I am down bad for the tall, cute, and clowny boy.
I'll eventually add it to AO3 once I finish something else I'm fussing with up.
This has nothing to do with the last thing I posted, but this idea wouldn't leave me alone and I am terrible at writing and keeping my wits together. Speaking of, there's no lead up. We're right into the action because I was too lazy / didn't care enough to do it proper / had no ideas for how you two got here, but
oh
you got here
(starry banner source)
(Content: jerking off, hand humping, things get messy, Pierrot is being a silly virginal simp teehee~)
Oh beloved, he's not so sure this was a great idea after all! Oh, but he was weak, so utterly weak for you.
You heard his claws rake the wall behind you, but you were too focused on his cock. So huge, so strange, soā¦ primal, even! In fact, the sounds of the wall's destruction, and the hissing pants and huffs above, just fueled your fixation, an almost-suffocating beastly fervor of your own stirring in your chest.
You had to keep going. No, you needed to keep going. You had to have more. You went even faster, gripping him stronger. Harder. Tighter.
Pierrot's jaw fell slack, tongue lolling out as he crushed and splintered the boards he so heavily leaned against - a distant thread of reason in his mind glad it was the wall and not you. Panting whimpers and pleas were pouring from his mouth, now that the dam of his teeth was broken. With each twitch of increased pressure from your palms around his throbbing dick, he whined, his hips giving frantic, jerking bucks from the cracks in his resolve.
The end was rushing to him at dreadful, glorious speed.
And you were in the way!
He tried to calm himself, but he could feel your heart pounding, hear your breath getting heavier. He could smell- no- taste the rapid pace your excitement climbed. Didā¦ Did you want him to... toā¦ All over you?
The thought made his head spin, and his back arch. He wasn't going to last much longer. Growls, deep and rumbling and predatory, began escaping his throat. His breath was coming hard and violently, as if his lungs and diaphragm were being crushed with each exhale.
He didn't want to, not so soon, how embarrassing! He had been dreading this, his inexperience shattering his discipline, like he was a mere juvenile. Yetā¦ he couldn't stop thinking about you - how you weren't afraid, how you weren't trying to stop him, how you weren't moving out of the way. How you kept making it worse. You wanted him. You wanted him. It was clear as a bell striking his head. And you wanted his essence, all over youā¦?
"Oh wow, Pierrotā¦"
Your soft gasp gave the signal to give in. He helplessly humped into your grasp. He realized he could just barely feel the graze of your shirt against his sensitive tip, chest heaving while he lost control. His legs shifted to better thrust, body trembling... and then he glanced down.
What he saw shoved him over the edge: You, completely enraptured with his cock, holding it closer than ever.
His head jerked up, eyes squeezing shut and spine curling, a whining "Ohh!" bursting from his mouth as he pushed himself into your loving grip.
You felt his cock stiffen and rapidly spasm in your hands. He was cumming, the pulse in his cock strong and powerful against your palms, and he was cumming a lot. His cock painted you with his seed in a barrage of thick, virile, healthy ropes over and over. You were practically pinned against the wall, allowing him to grind his member against your torso, your heartbeats thundering in unison so close together.
But your attention had already been stolen away, as, above you, there was an unearthly, primordial, terrifying howl that you felt the effects of down into your bones, like the deep booming of a tyrannosaur in the dark. It was haunting and awesome, like the witness of an angel converted to sound.
And the excitement and pleasure of making him cum like this, mixed with the sheer, beautiful horror of his impassioned cries prickling your skin, gave you a high like no other. No rollercoaster, no Halloween attraction, had ever given you such a nigh-orgasmic, potent blend of fright and delight.
And pride, somewhere, deep inside you. You didn't even care about the mess he was making of you. All that mattered was the fact that you had made him do so, that you alone had this power over him.
It was all utterly intoxicating.
He wheezed, gulped, and panted, head pressed against the wall, eyes still shut tight, as he came down. The unexpectedly earth-shattering climax was finally at an end. And gods - if this is what merely fucking your hands felt like, what was inside you like? He trembled a little harder, a soft, breathy moan leaving his lips.
As if in response, a quiet, squeaking gasp came from beneath him.
"Holy shitā¦"
The sound of your quivering whisper roughly slammed sobriety and clarity back into his head. His eyes popped open and he looked down in a panic, with trepidation. He knew he had possibly revealed too much of himself, with the roar that had so ruthlessly ripped from his throat.
A cold spike of anxiety chilled his blood when he was met with you shaking so hard, like a frail leaf barely clinging to a twig in autumn. You were staring up at him with wide eyes, knees bending as you struggled to stay standing, and there was undoubtable fear in your scent.
But also excitement.
He felt a small amount of relief. The scent of your arousal was still fresh; pheromones still wafting off of you like a simmering heat. He dared reach down, cupping your cheek, and was fully soothed by how easily you nuzzled into his hand.
Perhapsā¦ you like being scared...?
No, he dare not assume. He must act with a measure of... cautiousness.
"Iā¦ I'm sorry, my love. I didn't mean to frighten--"
"Make that noise again," you interrupted, the words tumbling from your mouth, hasty and hoarse.
Pierrot halted, fully taken aback. He wasn't quite sure how to respond to such a startling demand.
"I-I mean," you stammered, your face blushing bright. "I, umā¦ I want toā¦ toā¦ ah, oh noā¦" You looked away, trying to hide your face in his hand, completely flustered and waving a hand in your defense.
Adorable.
"I justā¦ really, really want toā¦ um, make you make that noise. Again, a-and again. A lot, actually." Your voice was ever-dwindling and cracking from your embarrassment. You were a nervous babbler. It was one of your endearing qualities. You were so adorable. What a coincidence, considering you often called him adorable...
Of course, right now, this moment, covered in spaff like this, had increased your allure considerably. And although you will wash yourself, he knew his heady scent would cling to you for days, undetectable by you and your fellow humans, but bright as fluorescent paint to that Harlequin.
He felt his heart swell at the thought... as well as more carnal parts of him.
He gently pulled your face to look to him again, and though his muscles protested, he lowered himself to you, gifting you a heated kiss.
"Anything, yes," he said breathlessly as you whimpered and suckled on his crazy-long tongue. "Ruin me, break me. As many times as you want, dearest! Please!"
His hands trailed down to your ass. His claws were at the ready to pull your pants apart at the crotch seam, as soon as you said the word. He would make sure you were marked for him, inside and out.
In which you and Pierrot find yourselves stuck in your tiny apartment together during a snow storm, Pierrot finds something of yours and it leads to some very nice discoveries.
Pairing: Pierrot x Reader (nonbinary afab)
Warnings: yandere behavior (religious imagery regarding his yandere devotion), friends to lovers, porn with plot, finding out he's a monster, lose of (at least Pierrot's) virginity, oral, penetration, monster genitalia, cream pie, knotting,canon typical biting, only slightly proof read
The sun sets and a chill rolls through town, not unlike the night the circus settled in. It was unexpected, the snow that is, it had been cool recently, yes, but the people about town had only needed a light sweater before tonight. This was definitely not good for business. Pierrot could see the tension in the ticket takers shoulders as they all watched the snow fall just outside the big top's entrance.
Pierrot had been hopeful since he saw his love last, that it would be as intense as they had said it would be. He now knows it will. Not even an hour has passed and the troupe has all gathered together to silently watch as snow engulfs the world outside. They disperse after a while, going about tasks they have been assigned to weather proof their tents and condense supplies. He flies through his as fast as possible, wanting to slip away before the snow gets too deep and treacherous. It won't matter once he leaves, but the punishment for leaving work undone would be... Unpleasant... To say the least. He does leave a note before he goes, telling them he would be back before they reopened to the public and vaguely where he would be, he's not too fond of the idea of any of them finding his loves home and barging in on their little sanctuary from the cold after all.
The small apartment has never had the best air conditioning, they knew that. But the frost dancing up the glass door to their balcony seemed to mock them as they ruffled about looking for the storage bin of quilts under their bed. They hadn't needed it last winter, nor had they thought they would with the autumn being as tame as it had been before tonight. They make contact with a plastic tub and pull it out, celebrating a bit too soon. They pull it out triumphantly to find... Swim wear. Damn it! They push it aside and press themself to the cold floor again.
As they fumble about with their cheek pressed to the floor they curse themself for not taking their own advice. "I'd make sure to get your warm stuff out when you get home! Everyone's saying this storm's gonna be a doozy." They had warned their new friend Pierrot. He had nodded as they handed him a hot chocolate, their recommendation given the cold. He seemed so happy about it, they really hope they weren't too pushy, he originally had asked for a milkshake and- ow!
They bump their head on their bed frame when they hear the frozen metal of their balcony door open and a cold rush of air on their rear. They hadn't noticed it, as they were lost in thought, but they had slowly shimmied their way under their bed as they searched blindly, and they were now kind of stuck, which is a problem, given there is someone now in their home. They hear the glass door close. Shit... Is someone seriously breaking in during THIS weather!? Asshole! Once they get out from under this bed they're gonna kick this prick right into the mountain of snow by the street! If they could just- fuck- god this is embarrassing... And scary but the embarrassment is winning out over that at the moment.
"Are you alright, my dear?" A concerned voice from behind and the feeling of someone's body hovering over their own. Wait... They know that voice...
"Pierrot? Oh thank goodness it's just you..." They let a heavy sigh leave their lips. "I thought a stranger broke in, I was starting to panic..." They say with a stilted chuckle, the fear that had been bubbling up now dying down. He has done this a few times now, coming in unannounced through the balcony door. It scared the crap out of them the first time, but they quickly got used to it. He was insistent on coming in this way, not wanting to just come in through the front door for whatever reason... They still have no idea how he gets all the way up here honestly. He's always very coy whenever they ask.
"Anyways- yeah I'm fine. I'm just trying to find my winter blankets. It's cold in here." They tell him as they return to their search. "Wait... Why are you here? Shouldn't you be back home? It's not going to stop snowing for a whiiiiiile. Your gonna get stuck here, dude..." They find another tub, good they only have two. They think they should really clean out from under here soon, there is significantly more junk than they'd care to admit.
Pierrot can't help but stare at the scene before him. His hands shake as he fights the urge to touch them. He had entered their sanctuary as he always has, through the balcony's door, and was met with the most delicious view of his beloved's divine body. He had rushed to them when he heard the thunk of their head against the underside of their bed, and now they are below his hands, mere inches away, the heat radiating from them is intoxicating. They had wriggled about fruitlessly for a moment before he found his voice again and calmed upon its recognition. They speak and it's only partially processed. A small sound leaves their perfect lips, then the sound of cheap plastic on linoleum fake wood floor as they begin to try and free themselves again.
"Oh- uh... Can you back up? Kinda hard to get out when you're on the way, 'row." They shyly ask after their knee bumps his. He complies, standing up and to the side for them as they oh so cutely scoot and wiggle their way free from below their bed. He knows he's blushing, he can feel the heat on his cheeks and the quickened beats of his heart, but he is not embarrassed by it. How could he ever be embarrassed by a reaction caused by them?
"Can you check and make sure I got the right one? It would suck if I got up and found out I found my summer stuff again..."
Pierrot does as he is asked, walking around to the opposite side of their bed and opening the plastic container his beloved had pushed out from below.
"Quilts, yes?" He looks up from the tub just in time to see their head pop up from under the bed.
"Yeah!" They smile at him and fully rise from their spot on the floor. Ah, that smile, so warm that he feels any remaining chill from the trek here leave him. He watches as they find their way next to him, reaching into the tub and pulling out one of the thick, heavy quilts and tosses it onto their bed. They stare at the remaining two quilts in thought before settling on bringing them out too.
"Are you cold? those clothes don't look any different from your normal ones..." They pick up one of the quilts and offer it to Pierrot. They are so kind, just another reminder of their perfection. He gladly accepts it, reaching out with a lovesick look in his eyes that almost says something, only to stop as they wrap it around his shoulders and softly pat his head, making the bells on his cap jingle.
For such a large intimidating guy, he's so easily flustered. Their smile stretches into a grin as they watch the blush spread across his face. Blush... Over what is supposedly a mask. How does it do that? Another thing he's coy about. It blushes and moves and sits on his face like skin, but they know it isn't. Sometimes they wonder if he's human at all. The nails below his gloves come to sharp points, but were they just his gloves or were they his real nails? If they asked right now they doubt he'd give a straight answer. He'd dance around the question and distract them, like with so many of their queries.
Ah shit- they were staring at his hands, not that he'd said anything about it. Or... Maybe he did? It's hard to concentrate around him, and he makes their already busy mind race. You'd think his novelty would have worn off by now, given how much time they had spent together since they met, but no. He's still a puzzle to them, a very charming, tall, sweet, bit creepy, puzzle. They finally take their hand from his jester hat thing and flop onto their bed. A beat of silence later they feel his chin rest on their knee and look down to find him staring at them, literally heart eyed.
"You are too kind, but you needn't worry yourself over me, my dear." His voice... They look towards their TV as they feel a blush creep up their face to match his. His voice is always just a little gravely from going so long without being used, and they'd be lying if they said it didn't give them butterflies. They try and fail to contain a jolt as he gently lays his claw-like hand on their thigh. God he's so cute sometimes, it's maddening. They have to be normal, he's obviously just an affectionate person is all. Yeah, nothing else. They gently pull away and sit up, feeling a little awkward from their own internal reaction.
"Hungry? I was gonna to make dinner soon-ish." They try and force the heat to leave their cheeks, but god he's still looking up at them like THAT. he's going to be the death of them, they know it. He nods and they flee to the kitchen a few feet away, not much room to hide here, but the half wall separating the kitchen and the rest of the apartment gives the illusion of space. They open the fridge and hope the inspection for a decent meal descends upon their poor indecisive mind.
Pierrot still sat on the floor where they left him, his mind racing. Was he too forward, or was it merely the wrong time? Humans are difficult to understand at times. He couldn't get the image of their face darkening as he inched closer and spoke out of his mind. Had he read too far into their lingering touch? Were they simply in thought, comfortable enough to let their mind wonder? He liked the thought of that. They surely enjoyed his company, why else would they be so hospitable? That's it! They were just shy, he can help them with that. He could coax them out of their shell, they will be stuck together till the ice thaws after all... He stands from his seat on the floor and makes his way to the wall separating him from his love. He can hear them mumbling about the food in their fridge, that adorable look of concentration etched in the divine curves of their face.
After a bit they began pulling ingredients and set about getting to work. That had him excited, he's consumed the drinks they make at their job, yes, but now he's going to taste what they'll make of their own accord! He watches them silently, holding his head in his hands as they flit about. A sizzling pan wafts mouth watering aromas into the air around them and he realizes just how hungry he really was. They do too, as a growl rumbles loudly from his stomach. They don't look towards him, too busy with their task, but he sees the corners of their mouth quirk up and a quiet chuckle finds its way to his ears.
"Go sit down, I'll bring it over when it's done, hun." They flick their gaze to him for a moment as they spoke, a small confident smile gracing his vision before returning to the sizzling pan. Pierrot stays for a moment, watching them intently, then pulls himself away and to their bed. Looking at the disheveled blankets he decides it would be nice if he made it for them. He hums to himself as he pulls the blankets off the bed, untangling them from each other and sets them aside.
Thunk! Pierrot looks down beside him, ah, a book. They must have been reading before he came over! Surely they wouldn't mind if he took a peak... Oh my...
They round the corner, two warm plates in hand. They're actually really proud of the way the food turned out and were proud to share it with their friend! Maybe they would watch a movie, Pierrot probably shouldn't be going back out in this weather, the storm hasn't let up one bit and they wouldn't want anything to happen to him- what does he have? Is that- oh god- they forgot to put that up! All the color drained from their face as they stare bug-eyed at the erotic monster love manga in their sweet, caring, considerate friend's hands. He's completely engrossed in his reading and they take time to process the neatly done covers on their bed and slowly put the pieces together on how this transpired...
They stand there frozen, the warm food the only thing keeping them from running over and snatching the book from his hands. He turns the page and they see him blink in surprise at what lays before him on the page, slowly they move towards one of their bedside tables and set the food down. He's so tall it's hard to peak over and see where he's at from where they stand. They have no choice. As quick as they can they snatch the book from him and bolt to the bathroom! They have to hide, the embarrassment is too much to handle! Thankfully he was so locked in he didn't notice them getting closer till their fingers covered a particularly saucy depiction of a shadowy monster on full display, and just as quickly ripped it from his grasp. They're thankful, for once, that they live in such a small space, because before he can fully stand up they are already slamming the bathroom door behind them and clicking the lock in place.
They hear a sound of shock, maybe panic, the padding of feet to the door and a frantic knock. "My- my dear! Please come out! You have nothing to be ashamed of! Truly! I was quite enjoying your picture book!" There is a pause, they can practically feel the panic radiating off of him, but they are still too embarrassed to speak, taking Pierrot's role of silence in this interaction. The door knob jiggles and they lean against the door, he's begging to be let in, pleading for them to just open the door. They take a few deep breaths and work up courage and find their voice again.
"Just- just give me a bit! I just need to- uh- calm down. I forgot I had this out..." They choke out, knowing how pathetic they sounded making their cheeks burn all the hotter. When did that happen? One second they're as cold as the storm outside, now they feel the heat from their face could thaw all the ice in the world and wash them far away from this situation. After a few moments they see Pierrot's shadow under the door move away and they could feel him slowly slide down the door and sit against the cold tile floor... They have to go back out there eventually... What if he gets bored and looks through the drawer in their bedside table? Then they'd have to live in here. They could definitely wait out the storm at least. There's running water and a place to bathe and relieve themselves... There are definitely worse places to be locked up in. But... No. No they can't stay in here for who knows how long... They're just going to have to be a big brave person and face the music and hope he doesn't talk about the... What page was he on? Knowing how much he saw might help them feel better. They had grabbed it and unintentionally marked his place with their finger. They had just finished reading it so he must have started from the beginning. They hold the book up to their face and- yeah no he got to the smut. Almost to the end of it too. He was literally one page away from seeing the twink MC get knotted by his big scary monster boyfriend... Now they kinda feel bad... That page is a really well done full page spread. And the aftercare in the next few pages is really sweet.
Ok! They got this, they are a strong, independent person and can handle a mildly awkward interaction with a friend. And like he said he was enjoying it! Not sure if he knows what manga is but that's a whole different, less important, thing! It makes sense for a traveling circus to have a few people who are a bit oblivious to pop culture... They're distracting themselves again... Out they go! Before they can change their mind again! They swing the door open and step out, shoulders set square in mock confidence, that is until they are unceremoniously pulled down into a crushing hug. The book falls from their grasp and they freeze in momentary shock. Right... Right. He was sitting against the door. They wiggle, trying to get their arms free at least but a possessive rumble vibrates through their skull and they are pressed harder to Pierrot's chest. Yeah, they're not going anywhere.
A sigh leaves their lips as they decide to just get comfortable. Their legs were kind of weirdly behind them right now and it was quickly becoming strenuous. They press into his chest and shimmy their legs, he seems to catch on as he loosens his grip just a bit to let them move further up his chest. After a bit of wiggling they find the most comfortable position right now has them sitting between his legs, wrapping their own around his hips. It's a very intimate position but he's not letting go and at least their legs aren't falling asleep.
"... sorry I freaked out. I... I didn't- ugh..." They grumble into the fabric of his shirt. Why was this so difficult? They want to just laugh it off and pretend he didn't see anything... But he did. And worse, he was enjoying it. They won't lie to themselves, they saw how into it he was. Just as into as they were. Maybe... They had been a lot less clothed while they read this than he was. Maybe that's what really flustered them. Like he'd somehow know they touched themselves to it, that knew and was judging them for it. But that's not the kind of person he is. They know that.
"Are you... Not fond of the book, my dear?" He asks hesitantly, there's a layer below the question. They can tell he's asking about more than just the yaoi. But... What is he actually asking?
"I... Um... I bought it for a reason. I really like the way they draw..." They clear their throat. "The- the way they draw monsters." They say shyly, pulling at the fabric of his shirt to fully hide their face. They can feel his gaze boring into them. he leaned back as they spoke, his arms finally loosen and his claws gently slide against their clothed back. He pulls them from his chest slowly, forcing them to look up at him with a gentle finger under their chin.
He's searching for something in their eyes. They can see it, they just can't tell what. He seems to find whatever it is. hearts forming in his eyes as he leans in and captures their lips in a kiss. They freeze. Do they want this? They can't say they haven't thought about how his lips would feel against theirs, and this feels so much better than they ever imagined. They feel him begin to pull back, no. No they want this. They quickly pull him, wrapping their arms around his neck and kissing him back.
A hand finds its way to their hair, long claws scraping against their scalp. They shiver, a small sound escaping into the lips locked onto theirs. His tongue peaks out from behind his long sharp teeth, begging to be let in. They allow him, parting their lips and pressing their chest to his. His heart is beating hard below his ribs, making theirs beat faster in response. They feel a rush as his long tongue finds their own, exploring the smaller space of their mouth. It's so much more than they expected, it's almost overwhelming. They pull back, desperate for air, and stare up at him panting slightly with glossy eyes. He's staring back, he's trembling, obviously trying to hold himself back. His tongue is still hanging from his open mouth, long and... Golden yellow? What? Their breath slowly evening out as they absent-mindedly reach up and grab it, rubbing the wet appendage with their thumb. It wraps around their finger, his breath heavy against their skin as they play with it curiously.
He whines as they continue, his cheeks slowly growing brighter. A large hand finds its way to their hip, pressing hard into the fabric of their pajama pants. Their free hand slowly makes its way up his shirt. they look into his glowing eyes for permission, finding it in abundance as they remove their hand from his tongue to undo his corset top. His pale skin slowly shows itself to them. It's so... Pretty. They push away the fabric and press soft kisses to his chest. His hands on their hips are shaking with the effort of restraint. They smile against his sensitive skin, sitting back onto his lap and slowly lifting their shirt. His breath hitches as he watches them. Pierrot's hands follow just beneath the fabric, savoring every newly found inch of skin. They toss it to the side, smiling shyly as he begins to kiss their exposed skin, mimicking their earlier softness. They shiver as his long tongue glides against their sensitive nipple, hardened from the chill air and his electric touch.
A possessive rumble emanates from Pierrot, it is their only warning before he bites into the soft flesh around their nipple. A startled moan escapes them and they instinctively grab onto the fabric of his hat, finding solace in the ridged structure beneath. He detaches himself once he notices, taking their wrists and roughly pinning them to the floor below him. A grunt forces it way out of them and they look up at him in mild surprise. He's shaking, but they can't tell exactly why. They tilt their head to the side in a silent question. He only continues to stare in response. Slowly, almost painfully so, they free their hands and cup the sides of his mask.
"You don't have to show me, if you don't want to. I won't force you to do anything. But I can promise you, I won't be scared. I know you won't hurt me, Pierrot." Their smile is gentle and genuine as they stare into his golden eyes. After a moment, he finally seems to believe them. Shakily he lifts himself from them and brings his hands to this hat, looking away he frees himself from it and removing this gloves.
Three dark horns stand out confidently against his bright white hair as it, too, tumbles out from below his hat. He looks back at them shyly, surely feeling exposed. They are... In awe. Their eyes follow the curves of his horns, the way the light reflects off the deep, almost black, red of them. They find their hands drawn to his horns, and he bows his head in acceptance of their touch. Finger tips glide over the textured ridges, every delicate caress bringing him lower and lower into their lap. They explore this secret part of him with the utmost care, leaving no inch untouched. He kisses their exposed stomach, lovingly reminding them what they were in the middle of. They look down, seeing their heart eyed Pierrot with his sharp claws wordlessly pleading to see more of them in return. They can't deny him, or themselves for that matter. He slides the warm pajamas from their hips, making their poor skin make contact with the cold floor. Hm... Maybe it's time they move this elsewhere...
"Let's... move this to my bed, ok?" They push him back slowly as they rise on shaky legs, smiling shyly and pulling him up with them. He follows obediently, watching rapturously as they lead him. He's completely captivated by every curve and crevasse of their body as they walk the short distance to their bed. They sit before him, bare and looking up at him with such genuine soft affection... It's driving him mad. He lowers himself before them, finding his rightful place on his knees. He laces his touch with prayer as he oh so carefully spreads their legs, finding their sacred spring glistening. He restrains himself, leaving a trail of kisses on their thighs on his pilgrimage to the only holy place he's ever dared yearn to desecrate. Their divine hands take hold of his horns and pull him closer. A needy sound leaving their perfect lips, his name. They whimper his name. His tongue lulls out from behind his dagger sharp teeth and he finally tastes them. Pierrot tastes the ambrosia coating the lips of his lover's divine pussy. He melts into them. He's completely lost in the taste,in the smell, in the sounds of euphoria they sing for only him. His long tongue glides across the sensitive bud of their clit and coils around it. Oh the sounds they make for him as he pleases them... Sounds only he can hear, and only will hear from now on. He detaches his tongue from their twitching clit and slides down into their sobbing hole. He quickly finds the very back, his love moaning out erotically as his tongue rolls and coils around itself. Pierrot's hand presses down onto their stomach and finds he can feel himself wriggling around inside them and he growls hungrily, feeling the way they tighten at the sound. He sloppily makes out with their cunt, desperate to taste their orgasm. He feels their tight grip on two of his horns, he holds their grinding hips, hears the broken remnants of words leave their drooling mouth. Finally, a gush of liquid over his tongue and the feeling of his lover's thighs clamping down over his head as they pant pathetically above him.
He pulls apart their weak legs and crawls up their trembling body. crazed love drunk eyes meet theirs, misty from pleasure. Wordlessly they seek each other and kiss once more. The taste of them on his tongue as it wraps around theirs. They wrap their arms around his neck and pull him flat against them. Pierrot fumbles with his remaining clothes, his cock desperately pressing against the stubborn fabric of his pants till it is finally freed.
Pierrot wishes he could be gentle, but he isn't. He ruts into their sensitive cunt desperately. His eyes glowing eyes rolling back as they moan into the passionate kiss. He's unabashedly grabbing at them, their hips, their thighs, their chest, anything and everything he can. Pierrot is desperate to memorize every inch of them he can inside and out. He wishes he could completely engulf, to feel them in their entirety all at once. He wants to know the feeling of being divine, but he can only hold pieces of their divinity at a time. But even so, to get the privilege of making love to the essence of love itself... It is pure euphoria. The purest, most maddening, ecstasy.
The soft ridges on his cock drag against the walls of their pussy, sliding easily in, but pressing deliciously deep on their way out. As he draws closer to his end it becomes harder and harder to pull out, not just physically, but spiritually. He wants to stay buried inside them, making them cum over and over on his cock till they're crying from bliss, the image of it summoning a possessive growl from deep in his chest. He forces his mouth to give their poor kiss swollen lips a break, only so he can leave kisses and nips across the skin of their neck. Pierrot is hanging on every gasp and moan they make like a sermon, teaching him how to worship them properly.
Their breath is ragged as they cling to him desperately, one hand tangled in his hair, the other fruitlessly clawing at the inhuman skin of his back. They whine as they try and move their hips to meet his thrusts, inviting him deeper, instinctively begging to be filled by him. Pierrot fights against his twitching cock, wanting this moment to last forever, but can feel them tighten around him, locking their legs around his hips as they cum. His name falls from their lips, like a command directly to his soul, he forces his cock completely into their trembling pussy as the knot at the base expands. Cum gushes into the deepest part of them, Pierrot's cock nearly fully locked in when he bites into the hot sensitive skin of their neck. The waves of his orgasm unfortunately nearly deafen him as they cry out in a sinful mix of pleasure and pain. He groans praise into their now bloodied flesh, his cock still twitching and gushing inside of them. He would have warned them, if he knew they needed to be. But not even he suspected he would keep cuming for as long as he does.
The two lay there for a long while, nuzzling and whispering sweet nothings. Pierrot feels his love shift, as though uncomfortable, at one point and brings them both beneath the covers of their bed. He feels their breathing slow and deepen as they fall asleep on his bare chest. He kisses their forehead, still slightly damp with sweat, and whispers proclamations of his devotion amidst the still comfortable silence. He knows he will have to answer their questions tomorrow, but for now he will bask in the bliss of acceptance, holding and being held by the one he loves more than anything.
ā this text was supposed to be a quick test and was NOT proofread.
ā warnings: smut (explicit sexual content) ā¢ self-insert ā¢ hurt/comfort ā¢ dark romance ā¢ power dynamics ā¢ temporary power shift ā¢ psychological intimacy ā¢ canon-typical violence ā¢ unhealthy coping mechanisms ā¢ mutual obsession ā¢ established relationship ā¢ body worship ā¢ breath restriction (implied) ā¢ emotional dependency ā¢ possessive behavior.
ā characters: jester.
female reader.
ā resume: you find jester severely injured in a corner of his dressing room. as you tend to his wound, however, he makes a rather unsettling plea.
Jester sat on the floor of his dressing room. His long, slender silhouette looked shrunken, as if he were feebly cradling his own body. The mask he usually wore to cover his face was displaced, slightly askew, revealing a portion of his features and his lips.
He didn't attempt to reach out and fix his appearance. He was far more focused on enduring the searing, lancinating pain radiating through the left side of his body, sighing slowly and with great care.
Languidly, his hands reached for his nearly exposed face, gripped the edges of the mask, and tossed it aside. His claws dug into the floorboards to keep from losing his fragile balance.
He hated feeling like this. Weak. Helpless. Out of control.
And yet, he was visibly wounded.
Jester was a monster ā a powerful one ā but that didn't mean he was immune to pain or the eventual touch of death. Creatures like him could heal and endure suffering in ways humans never could, thriving after incidents that would destroy ordinary bodies. Still, that failure in the circus had truly left him breathless this time. He cursed the world ā and himself ā for his own helplessness as he leaned his anguished head against the vanity.
He closed his eyes, grinding his teeth at the nagging sensation that seemed to spread with every breath. He didn't notice the moment the door unlocked, nor the slow, precise footsteps approaching him.
His purple garments were stained red, spotted with dark, dried blood that indicated he had been left untended for far too long. You frowned as you took in the scene, quickly kneeling and reaching out to him.
"You are terribly hurt," your voice escaped as a murmur, trembling with shock.
You carefully touched the fabric stiffened by blood, investigating the brownish blur.
"Heavensā¦ why did you wait so long and not call Doctor immediately? This is a nasty wound."
He nodded with difficulty, shaking his head before slowly lifting it.
When he finally did, the details became clear: the small curves and moles on his face, the shifting color of his lips, the long lashes, and the thick eyebrows framing those purple eyes, now weary.
Yet, the spark wasn't entirely defeated. Deep within his gaze, a flicker persisted: pride, possessiveness, and a blatant need for the exclusivity of your attention, even if dimmed by pain.
His true face bore only a thin layer of white makeup, a light powder applied with care. His two violet eyes bore the same pattern the mask replicated. Under the dim, yellowed light of the dressing room, one could swear the expression lines around his lips ā marks of a constant habit of laughing at others ā remained visible.
You caught your breath as your hand reached the side of his jaw. No matter how hidden and mysterious his true face seemed ā and despite the gash in his flank and the vulnerability exposed in that rare moment ā he remained beautiful.
Even when, from time to time, his face contorted into less-than-noble grimaces.
"You still haven't answered me. Why didn't you reach for Doctor?" you insisted, cupping his face gently.
Jester huffed lightly, averting his gaze.
"Why would I want to be under Doctor's care like some helpless lab rat, laid out on a cold inspection table, when I can have your undisputed attention taking care of me?" he grumbled, his lips twitching in a brief, stubborn pout. "I figured this was better. Besides, Doctor is busy."
"Busy?" you repeated, incredulous.
"Yes." He rolled his eyes, a glimpse of his habitual arrogance returning to his features. "Heās preoccupied trying to stitch Harlequinās pieces back together in his office. To no one's surprise, he and Pierrot got into a fight again."
Jester massaged his temple, visibly dazed.
"This time, I couldn't do anything. After all, Iām cast aside here, aching all over."
You watched his face with slight suspicion but nodded slowly.
It was then that he reached for your wrist, his eyes shimmering with focus ā and something strangely close to doubt.
"Will you take care of me, my dear?" he asked in a low voice. "You are all I have left now."
You swallowed hard, pulling back slightly.
"Take care of you? Jester, you know I would do that gladly. But I can't do much, and you know it," you reminded him, absentmindedly touching the ruined fabric again. "We need to clean this wound carefully. And in the end, you will have to see Doctor. If this needs stitches, only he can do it."
He nodded, reluctant.
Jester then pulled your wrist to his mouth with an almost sinister restlessness. His cold lips touched the pulsing area in a soft kiss. He inhaled the natural scent of your skin as if it were the only medicine capable of stanching the bleed in his side. The deliberate brush of his nose against the spot was slow and possessive ā so noticeable that you furrowed your brows in confusion.
"First, wipe this off my face," he whispered, referring to the makeup, gesturing languidly toward the shelf above you. "You already know where everything is. I just want to rest while you tend to me."
Jester hesitated for a few seconds until the final word escaped his lips. It sounded strange, almost acidic on his tongue, as if he were learning a new, humiliating language just to keep you there.
"Please."
Please.
Please?
Good God. Had you heard him correctly? Jester asking for something ā and politely, no less?
You wondered if the blow to his side had affected his head. He never liked asking for anything.
Things were always handed to him with a snap of his fingers. Fear and respect were usually enough.
When you first met him, he was a selfish man, hard-hearted and suspicious to the bone ā an inhospitable creature for humans like you.
And yet, somehow, you had managed to fascinate him. He admired you in his own distorted way.
You were his cherished pet.
You stood up for a moment, your heart hammering against your ribs. The weight of that request seemed to float in the dressing room like dense smoke.
Your fingers reached the upper shelf, grabbing the vintage bottle of makeup remover and a piece of soft linen.
As you knelt again, you slotted yourself between Jester's long legs, which were sprawled haphazardly in front of him.
He didn't move. He simply remained there, head tilted slightly back against the table, his violet eyes following your every move with a predatory, yet exhausted, fixation.
"I can't believe I'm doing this. You're so stubborn," you scolded him lightly.
He shrugged, deliberately ignoring the comment.
You moistened the cloth and, with your free hand, held his chin, forcing him to face the yellow light.
When the first touch of the linen hit his cheek, Jester shivered. His claws scratched the wooden floor in an involuntary reflex ā the instinctive gesture of someone unaccustomed to being handled.
"It's cold," he grumbled, lacking any real authority. Instead of pulling away, he leaned his face into your hand, seeking the warmth of your palm.
You removed the thin layer of white powder with care, revealing the pale skin beneath. Up close, his expression lines seemed even more evident: fine lines around his eyes, traces of cruel laughter accumulated over time.
There, under your care, he didn't look like a pitiless monster, but a creature who, for a brief moment, had forgotten how to bite.
"You know, my dear..." he began, his voice vibrating against your fingers as you cleaned the contour of his lips. "The Fools tremble when they touch me. They fear Iāll break them if they get too close. But you..."
He opened one eye and captured your gaze with disconcerting clarity.
"You touch me as if I were something that could break. Itās a curious concept. It almost makes me forget that my side is trying to remind me Iām mortal."
He let out a heavy sigh when you finished cleaning his forehead, revealing his face entirely bare. Without the makeup, Jester looked vulnerable ā something he clearly loathed, but tolerated exclusively for you.
"Tell me, Jesterā¦ how did this happen?" you asked, concerned, as you soaked the cloth again.
He sighed deeply, looking away.
"A sudden set failure," he murmured, his irritation filtered through pain. "One of the Fools didn't properly secure one of the stage pulleys. When the structure was triggered, the weight gave way unevenly. A metal beam came down out of control and struck me sideways, pinning my left flank against the lower frame."
He paused shortly, breathing with caution. "It wasn't enough to crush me, but it tore the fabric, the fleshā¦ and it stole my breath for long seconds before I could pull free. The rest," he waved vaguely at his side, "is written there clearly enough."
You swallowed in silence. The pang that shot through your chest was too sharp to ignore. It had a specific name: pure unrest.
The cloth remained almost still in your hands, though your fingers trembled slightly ā whether from anger or dread, you couldn't tell. Perhaps both.
"Then why on earth did you let the Doctor tend to Harlequin first, Jester?" your voice escaped before you could contain it, indignation cutting through every syllable. "Have you lost your mind? This could have ended terribly. Do you have any idea what you're saying?"
Jester clicked his tongue at your tone, casting you a weak look. It was more defensive than defiant. He tried to move, seeking a less painful position, but failed, tensing his jaw before giving up.
"Harlequin was also injured," he replied, lower than intended. "As the leader, it is my duty to ensure he, or any other representative of the circus, receives the necessary care..."
The sentence lost momentum before the end.
"Even if it means..." he made an awkward pause, "...putting myself second."
The final comment came late, almost automatic:
"You would never understand."
There was no real conviction there. Only a fragile echo of something he used to say when he was still certain of his place.
"My God, you are far too headstrong. Itās truly maddening..." You shook your head in disapproval, standing up to grab another clean cloth.
He followed the movement with vigilant ā yet almost uncertain ā violet eyes.
"Where are you going?" His voice sounded troubled, nearly hurt, as if you were about to leave him there.
You stopped halfway, the clean cloth still in hand, and looked at him over your shoulder. Jester kept his eyes fixed on you, his pupils dilated in a way that wasn't just physical pain.
There was panic there. The raw fear of being left alone with his own silence and the metallic scent of his own blood.
"Jester, I'm just getting a clean cloth," you replied calmly, despite your previous indignation. "I can't reuse a cloth covered in makeup on your wound. Besidesā¦ maybe I can find those vials Doctor leaves for emergencies. There must be some around here."
You bit your lower lip by reflex, your eyes scanning his body with critical attention. Perhaps, with the right vial, you could truly help him. Common human medicines likely wouldn't work. Jester wasn't human, after all. That detail mattered.
He, however, seemed little interested in logic.
What he wanted was you there. Close. Kneeling beside him, touching him with those hands that were far too warm for a creature like him.
Jester clicked his tongue impatiently, demanding your attention.
"Don't waste time looking for that specific vial," he murmured, touching the side of the wound with calculated care. "It hurts, darling. Use whatever sterilizer you find. Andā¦ water. I need some water."
You sighed, yielding to the chaotic magnetism he exerted.
You grabbed the nearest sterilizing bottle and a pewter mug of water, returning to his side on the floor.
Jester drank urgently, noisily. A few drops escaped the corner of his mouth and slid down his pale neck. When he finished, he set the mug aside and looked up at you.
"Now," he hissed, his voice lower, huskier. "Finish what you started."
You poured the sterilizing liquid onto the clean cloth.
As soon as the fabric touched the open flesh of his side, Jesterās body suffered a violent spasm. He didn't scream ā but the claws of his right hand dug into your thigh, gripping the fabric of your clothes with desperate strength.
His face, now pratically clean and exposed, contorted. His teeth ground together as he fought not to pull away.
"Heavens, Jesterā¦ I'm so sorry," you whispered, instinctively leaning closer, your breath hitting his feverish skin.
"Don't feel sorry for me," he gasped, opening his violet eyes, now shining with a dangerous mixture of pain and delirium. "You know I hate it when you look at me like that."
He loosened the grip on your thigh ā only to slide his hand to the nape of your neck.
The touch wasn't rough. It was firm. Needy. He pulled you until your foreheads touched.
The smell of blood, dust, and the warm scent of your skin mingled. For a moment, you didn't pull away. The proximity was excessive, the silence too dense.
You were the first to move. Not an immediate kiss, just a slow brush of your lips against his, too brief to be comfort, too long to be accidental.
A silent warning.
Jester shivered softly. The second touch came with more intent. Still soft, still contained.
He responded almost without thinking, his lips moving carefully, as if any excess might make you vanish. There was no hunger there yet, just necessity.
When you pulled back a few inches, he still followed you, breathing heavily.
"It hurts so much, my love," he murmured, his voice broken. "Why don't you distract me from this cursed burningā¦ from this gash that insists on reminding me I am made of flesh?"
His fingers rose slowly, tracing your jawline until they brushed your lips. "Drown out my pain with something stronger," he whispered. "An anesthesia all your own."
You blinked once, twice, not understanding. You took his hands and pressed a brief, affectionate kiss to them. Jester let out an almost inaudible sigh.
"Anesthesia? Jesterā¦ what are you talking about?" you asked, nervous, with a trembling smile.
"I want you to use me."
His voice came out firm, without remorse. His pupils shimmered as they sought yours.
"Distract me from this pain. Even if it's in another way. I don't care."
You nearly paled. You parted your lips to protest, but he gave you no room.
"Mount me. Be careful, if you wish. If the cut scares you, go slow." His voice cracked into a husky thread. "Let me feel you. Please, my dear."
He was serious. My God. Jester was completely insane.
"Jester, have you lost your mind?" you tried to argue, your voice visibly shaken. "Youāve seen the severity of this. Any intimacy now is dangerous. I won't be the person who breaks you in half over a whim."
He let out an undefined sound ā somewhere between a laugh and a groan ā and then did something that dismantled your resistance: he rubbed his cheek against the curve of your neck, a gesture of almost childlike sweetness, like a wounded cat begging for contact.
"Don't be so dramatic, my silly little mouse," he murmured. "I am not human. I can handle you. I need to handle you." He lifted his face. There was no more defiance there ā only plea.
"Please, be my anesthesia. Use me."
The words echoed in your mind, falling like seeds on long-prepared soil. He had never asked for something like this, so raw, so desperate. Perhaps it was your only real chance to touch the core of Jester.
And all thanks to a Fool's nearly fatal mistake. What a cruel irony.
The weight of his gaze ā pain and hunger entwined ā made your resistance crumble.
"Alright," you sighed, defeated. "But carefully. If you strain this wound out of stubbornness, I will leave you bleeding alone in this dressing room. Do you understand?"
The relief that escaped him sounded almost like a whimper.
"Yesā¦ whatever. As you wish," he murmured. "Just come here."
He pulled you with unexpected delicacy, tilting your face up to look at him. His fingers tangled in your hair as you leaned in, cautious.
Your touch found his neck; your mouth, almost by instinct, sought his soft lips. Jester moaned low, leaning into you as if he needed that contact to remain whole.
You smiled against the kiss ā familiar, dear, even in that chaos. You slid your hand slowly down his pale torso, and he shivered, anticipating pain. You silenced him with a light kiss on his tense jaw.
"If we're going to do this, we need to get these dirty clothes off," you murmured. "Stay still."
You removed every piece of his costume: the stained purple, the gloves, the boots with bells that jingled as they hit the floor. The metallic sound felt like the end of a show ā and the beginning of a more intimate ritual, finally shared.
Naked, Jester was a paradox. Imposing and fragile. Long-limbed, white as moonlight, marked by the violence of the stage.
When the last garment fell, only silence remained. Well, and the gash in his side, pulsing in cruel contrast to his alabaster skin.
"You should take yours off too," he grumbled, his voice nearly muffled.
You nodded and undressed quickly, shedding your shirt and trousers. He watched in contained ecstasy, his eyes roaming every curve of your body ā familiar, right, yet still thrilling, as it had always been between you.
When you looked back at him, Jester didn't try to hide the wound. He spread his legs just enough for you to kneel between them.
His hands gripped the vanity tightly, his shoulders tense. As you reached toward the injured flank, he denied you with a slow shake of his head.
His pupils were dark, feverish.
"Lick it," he requested, hoarse. "I promise I can take it. Use your lips."
You hesitated. It was insane. Still, the desire to please him won out. You leaned in and, with enough delicacy to draw a sob from him, kissed the intact skin just above the cut.
Curiosity bested caution. Your tongue touched the irritated edge, and then the center of the tear.
The metallic, salty taste of inhuman blood mingled with feverish sweat. Jester let out a strange sound, a short yelp that died in a sigh. He hissed, and you pulled back by instinct, stunned.
He remained motionless, but his tension betrayed him: his claws buried themselves in the floor, the harsh scratch echoing in the room.
You continued, your lips brushing the raw flesh with a tenderness that bordered on cruelty. With every movement of your tongue, his body reacted in small spasms. He wasn't just enduring it. He was surrendering.
"Heavensā¦ it burns, but itās good," he gasped, his head falling back. "Please, keep going."
You looked up and found those sharp amethysts. Jester's eyes were glistening, discreetly tearful. The sight nearly made you choke. Without a word, you captured his lips again, now with more fervor.
Your tongue slid against his in a slow, wet movement, a deliberate exchange.
You hummed softly, acknowledging the symbolic gesture: you were giving him back his own metallic taste, making him curse and tremble.
Jester moaned, the sound strangely tearful, and his kisses gained momentum, trailing down your nose, over your cheeks, and into the curve of your neck. In a hurried, almost thoughtless movement, he cupped your breasts, pulling them together before lowering his head.
He was beside himself. His hands squeezed with febrile urgency while his tongue traced damp paths across your sternum. There was no gentleness there ā only desire. He let saliva pool and then drip slowly between the valley of your breasts, watching with a sickly pleasure as the viscous sheen mingled with your sweat. He spread the moisture with his palms, like a craftsman working living clay.
"Look at what you do to me, love..." he murmured, his voice cracking as he licked his own saliva from your skin. "You leave me raw. Inside and out."
The silent recognition of his desperation made your own eyes shimmer.
You couldn't stand the distance anymore. With an agile movement, you positioned yourself over his lap. Jester grimaced in pain, a look quickly replaced by a sigh that left his lips parted. You slid your body against his, slowly, never quite settling.
The gesture drew a sharp, irritated hiss from him, followed by a firm tug on your wrists that made you startle.
The grip was a clear reminder that, despite his surrender, his submission was not eternal ā only circumstantial.
"You like this, don't you?" he hissed, his voice failing as he fought the sting of pain the sudden movement caused in his side. "You must be loving this... seeing your Master reduced to babbles... like a beaten dog, crying and begging for touch."
There was a brief pause. His hand hovered silently over your neck, his voice dropping to a whisper, yet heavy with the weight of a chilling promise.
"Once I am healed, none of this will happen again."
You swallowed hard and nodded immediately, not daring to cross him. You didn't want to waste this rare opportunity. Carefully, you reached for him, stroking him languidly before finally seating yourself fully upon his lap.
The fit was deep, nearly absolute. You both groaned in near-perfect synchrony ā the stretch always wide for you, the pain deliciously intense for him in that instant. Jester let out a muffled cry against your neck as his hands snaked up to your shoulders, pinning you in a discreet embrace.
The mixture of sensations ā the agony of the wound and the pleasure of penetration ā collided destabilizingly in his nervous system. It was the source of that beautiful, pathetic surrender that followed the first contact.
You finally found a steady rhythm, riding him with contained pride. It was then that Jester began to whimper more openly, his face buried in the crook of your shoulder, his mouth seeking your skin in damp, desperate kisses. The saliva mixed with the sweat dripping from his forehead created a slippery trail between you.
With every movement, you noticed the skin around the gash stretching dangerously, the inhuman tissue fighting to hold together under the pressure. The blood trickling down was enough to cause alarm ā but his constitution remained firm, as if Jesterās very body fed on the torture.
He let go of your thighs, bringing his hands to his own face as he arched his body. He tried to cover his mouth with his palm, but he couldn't drown out the sounds of pained satisfaction escaping his throat.
They were sounds you never imagined hearing from such an arrogant creature. High-pitched, sharp, almost melodic moans; a vulnerability in timbre that was almost feminine.
The sight of his ecstatic expression and the sound of his voice made you moan too, your head spinning as you fought to maintain your balance. Seeing him so drunk on pleasure meant that any break in that perfect rhythm would be punished. With complaints, with harshness. And you didn't want that.
Not when he seemed so dear, almost tender. Almost obedient.
"Ah, damn it... harder. Harder!" he whimpered, arching his hips weakly against yours.
You smiled nervously, lowering your head to watch the movement between you. One of your hands distractedly reached for your own body, touching yourself sloppily while maintaining the pace, feeling him writhe beneath you.
Jester no longer seemed interested in commanding. Not completely ā at least, not in this moment.
Your mind was already buzzing with desire, nearly falling ā in a way that made you almost forget you were having sex with a wounded man.
Jesterās expressions were a delight, in ways that weren't exactly visible when he was the one taking the reins and assuming control. You couldn't deny that you liked the contrast.
Seeing him this way was pushing you closer to the edge ā faster than you intended. You couldn't help but wonder: was this how he felt when he did as he pleased with you in normal circumstances? Deeply affected, savoring every reaction and sigh as if they were a relic, a precious prize.
If that was the case, you finally understood the appeal.
Then, in an impulse of dominance, you brought two fingers to his mouth. Where you expected a reprimand, there was surprising consent.
Jester received the audacious gesture with a nearly feverish voracity, practically biting the tips of your digits as your hips collided in a nervous but synchronized rhythm.
He closed his lips around your phalanges and sucked them with a force that made his pale cheeks hollow and his lashes knit together in a subtle, almost candid movement. The sound of the suction was wet and obscene, mingling with the sharp moans he still let out through his nose.
He used his tongue to map every inch of your fingers, cleaning the remnants of sweat and blood with a hungry devotion, his violet eyes fixed on yours, overflowing with a liquid submission.
"Liking the view?" Jester crooned provocatively.
You took a deep breath, a small nod and an intense blush betraying you. You huffed out of pure stubbornness before making an impetuous decision. Your answer didn't come through words, but with a firmer grip around his throat. His provocation was the trigger ā and now you wanted to choke that petulant voice of his with his own pleasure.
The moment your hands encircled Jesterās neck, his eyes widened in unlikely shock. But the body didn't lie: the fit of your hand against his windpipe was all it took for his entire frame to have an electric spasm.
His air supply was cut off abruptly, and the shock of interrupted oxygen sent the blood ā and what little remained of his sobriety ā fleeing from his head. His violet eyes, previously fixed on you with mockery, rolled back, leaving only the whites showing for an eternal second.
You gave a gasp of surprise, laughing breathlessly at the sight.
He stopped sucking your fingers to bite the air, his jaw locking as he emitted a dull, stifled sound that vibrated against the palm of your hand. The pressure on his trachea had transformed his usual mockery into melodic agony.
When his eyes returned from white to violet, they no longer held the glint of arrogance, but only the liquid of adoration. He released your fingers, his mouth open, seeking the air you denied him, and he sobbed low ā a sharp, unprotected sound that hummed beneath your palm.
Jesterās hands then rose, not to remove yours, but to seek your wrist and hold your hand in place, a silent plea for you not to let go. He was at the limit, his pale face slightly flushed from the lack of air and the effort.
"Tell me..." he groaned painfully, his voice coming out as a broken wheeze, the tears of pleasure finally overflowing and washing away the almost imperceptible traces of white makeup on his cheeks that resisted previous cleansing. "Tell me you love me anyway... even hurt, even broken... tell me, please."
He didn't just want the sex. He wanted to regain control, however distorted and contradictory it seemed in that moment, knowing he was your object of desire.
He needed confirmation that, even in all his weakness and vulnerability, he was still the center of your universe. Such irony. The usual sadist begging for an emotional collar.
"I love you, Jester," you replied, your voice thick with a nearly cruel tenderness. "I love the monster you are."
The sound of those words was the fuse. Jester let out a piercing scream, muffled by your hand, his body arching in a spasm so strong that the wound in his side finally protested with one last pang of agony. He came with a force that made him shudder from head to toe, his eyes rolling back as he surrendered to the oblivion of exhaustion.
His warmth flooded you, and the shock of that total surrender was the final push for your own peak. You felt his muscles tighten around you, and with a long moan, you collapsed against his chest, your body trembling in perfect sync with his.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by Jesterās erratic breathing intertwined with your own. He let out a low sigh as he attempted to move, withdrawing from you.
Noticing his slight struggle, you helped him, anchoring him with care. His long limbs remained sprawled beneath the vanity, marked by a mixture of fluids: the vivid red of the wound in his flank, the viscous sheen of saliva, and the subtle marks left by your fingers around his throat.
You, on the other hand, felt the warm stickiness of his seed staining your thighs. Slowly, you dismounted and sat beside him with a long, weary sigh.
You both remained like that for a moment. You, with your lips parted ā he, with his eyes closed, almost at peace.
Perhaps he was thinking. Perhaps not. Your hand reached out to caress his face. At your gentle touch, he let out a low, almost involuntary purr.
After a few seconds, you finally stood up. Jesterās violet eyes followed your movement, still hazy from the dopaminergic crash, trying to readjust to the weight of reality.
"Don't go farā¦" he pleaded, his voice lazy.
His hands reached out to catch your arm in a weak gesture, his trembling fingers seeking your skin as if he feared that, without physical touch, he might simply vanish into the shadows of the circus.
"Iām just getting water, Jester. And to clean you up," you replied in a low voice, feeling a pang of compassion that he would surely hate if he were fully conscious.
"Of course. But come back quicklyā¦" he continued, sighing deeply as his hand came to rest, motionless, over his wound.
You returned with a basin of warm water and a clean cloth. You knelt between his legs once more, but this time there was no lust ā only the solemn ritual of care. You began with his face.
With light strokes, you wiped away the traces of tears and the saliva that had pooled at the corners of his mouth. Jester closed his eyes, letting out a long breath, tilting his head into your touch in a way that made your chest tighten.
He looked like a broken child and, at the same time, a fallen angel. A creature whose power had momentarily ceased.
"You said you loved meā¦" he broke the silence, his eyes opening to find yours in a sharp, quiet gaze. "It wasn't just because of the adrenaline, was it? You wouldn't lie to a monster just to make him come, would you, little pet?"
"I didn't lie," you answered almost immediately.
You ran the cloth over his neck, cleaning the reddish marks left by your own hand.
Jester let out a weak laugh ā more of a performance than true irony.
His free hand rose to your cheeks, slowly lifting your face.
"So, now I know what keeps you here," he murmured. "And don't worryā¦ I won't let that go to waste."
The threat sounded empty, devoid of true venom. It was almost a distorted promise of comfort.
You reached the wound.
The bleeding had stopped, but the skin around it remained irritated and vulnerable. With patience, you cleaned the area with diligent care, ensuring that no remnant of your indulgence would aggravate the injury further.
When you finished, you helped him lean back against some old cushions on the dressing room floor.
Jester immediately pulled you down, forcing you to lie with your head resting against his uninjured chest. His heart was still beating fast, a frantic rhythm echoing against your ear.
"Stay. Sleep against my heart," he hissed, possessive, wrapping his arm around your waist in a jealous embrace. "You can drag me to Doctor's tent later."
You thought about protesting, but your gaze only softened. You settled carefully against his chest, not wanting to disturb him further.
Finding your position, you sighed and closed your eyes. You pressed a brief kiss to his skin, savoring the sensation of being in the arms of your exhausted Master.
You were very bored as you sat at one of the tables by the food court. You played every game the circus has to offer and went through almost every tent except the ones you weren't allowed to enter (the pink and black tent). All you were doing now is waiting for Pierrot's show to finish, which is taking forever to finish. You sighed as you leaned, and you rested your head on your arms.
"Well, well, well, looks like your Pierrot isn't here to keep you company?" You know that flirtatious voice anywhere. Peaking your head up, of course, it was the green gremlin himself. Harlequin. He grinned down at you with his mischievous eyes. An idea suddenly popped into your head.
"Harlequin, do you have any board games?" You suddenly asked.
"Que?" Harlequin responded in confusion.
On the small wooden table was a stack of playing cards. The light in the green tent was very dim; you couldn't even see Harlequin across from you, considering how close you two were sitting by the small wooden table.
"We will be playing a simple game of old maid," Harlequin spoke. "You can make pairs, but if you get the Joker at the end, you lose." You nodded as the rules seemed simple.
"But...I want to make this more interesting. There should be a punishment if one of us loses." Of course, there was a catch every time you hung out with Harlequin. He always wanted to make you flustered or to test what other reactions he could rile up in you.
"Alright." You agreed to easily Harlequin's delight. You were bored and in dire need of entertainment. Why not spice this game up a bit?
"The punishment.." Harlequin pretends to ponder. "If one of us loses, then we have to remove a strip of clothing. What, so you say?" He coyly played with your hoodie string.
You would've said no, but you were always interested in what's behind his mask. What's under that jester hat? It was a big opportunity for you to see what he truly is. To be vulnerable in front of you.
"I accept. Get ready to lose green bean!" You exclaimed. There was determination in yoru eyes. Harlequin's grin widened, and his eyes dilated. Oh, this is going to be fun.
The game went on at a steady pace, and unfortunately for you, you kept getting joker. Your socks and jacket have been discarded on the floor. But eventually, you got your first win. You pointed a finger at Harlequin and laughed while grinning ear to ear. Harlequin softened his grin. You were so adorable, thinking you had him. But it was only the beginning of things to come. He pulled the knot from his cloak as it fell gracefully to the floor.
As the next round was in session, you decided to tease Harlquin. He kept making such perverted comments, trying to make you lose focus.
"I can't wait to see you lose my dear. I will have my fun with you then."
"Vou fazer vocĆŖ se contorcer na minha cama. Gatinha."
You decided to get back at him by placing your feet on his lap. Harlequin was startled at first but quickly regained composure.
"Is the floor too cold for you, my dear?" He teased as he started to rub your foot. You were not expecting that as your leg twitched on his grip.
"Easy, garota. You don't want me to start getting any ideas, do you?" He held your leg firmly as he kept caressing it.
You glared at him as he pulled the card from your deck. Your face quickly shifted into a triumphant smile as he got the Joker. Harlequin still kept his grin. The lighting started to get darker as you cant see him anymore across from you. His clawed hands gripped his mask as he removed it, revealing his glowing green eyes.
"Shall we continue?" The game suddenly felt more serious, dangerous even. But you were too oblivious to notice that. Instead, you were frustrated that he couldn't show his actual face to you.
"That's not fair, I can't see your face." Harlequin let out a chuckle.
"Aw, Kitten, did you forget the rules. The punishment is to remove a piece of garment, not to show you what's hidden underneath." Damn him for that, you just screwed yourself over thinking you would see what's under the mask, some semblance of his true form. You just wished he would open up for you. But you guess that your guys' relationship wasn't that close after all. That honestly made you quite sad.
"Well, there's no point in continuing playing." You wanted to leave. You tried pulling your legs away, but Harlequin has a strong grip. Not letting you leave him.
"Are you quitting on me? Remember, my lady, you were the one who asked me to entertain you in this game." His grip tightened, squeezing your ankles.
"Well, I don't want to play anymore. Now, let me go." Yo demanded. You were mad now as your legs struggled in his inhumane grip.
"Ha, you're very funny, my lady. You act just like a child. Having a tantrum when something doesn't go your way." His hand grabbed your wrist, which didn't have any cards in it. There was warmth as Harlequin exhaled on your skin.
"It's quite adorable." His sultry voice carries on. You can see the glowing green of his tongue as he caresses your finger with his wet muscle, leaving you flustered. Your finger twitched as his tongue continued to trace your soft digits.
"Now, shall we finish this game?" His green eyes shone through the darkness, making you shiver.
Unfortunately for you, the game must continue.
Crap. You lost again. You know Harlequin is grinning and enjoying himself. You only have a few clothes left, and now you have to decide if you should remove your pants or your shirt.
"C'mon, kitten. Strip." Harlequin teased, but there was an edge underneath it. You glared at him. If he wasn't going to play fair, then neither were you. Your hands went behind your back as they went under your oversized (favourite band ) t-shirt. You unclasped your bra and snuck your arms inside your shirt, Wiggling around like a worm until your arm pulls out from the sleeve along with your bra that was tossed carelessly on the floor.
Harlequin let out a soft growl. He definitely wasn't expecting that, but it was more entertaining that you got a bite. You were such a turn on with your bratty behaviour. He was getting more serious about this, but so were you.
You won two rounds, leading to Harlequins dismay. He removed his jester hat that exposed his horns along with his gloves that showed how sharper his claws are. But you were such a cheat. A little tease. You purposefully pressed your foot against his bulge, making him momentarily lose focus. You try to be all shy and innocent, saying that you wouldn't do such a dirty thing. But you have a terrible poker face.
Harlequin can see the teasing smile through the cards that you tried to shield your face with. You were such a brat, but Harlequin love it. He is definitely gonna pound the battiness out of you after this game is over. You wouldn't be smirking anymore, as he will change it so that your mouth forms into an 'O'shape.
You lost again. Your teasing face was gone as it is replaced with deep contemplation. You couldn't remove your shirt; you weren't going to expose your breasts for this monster. Instead, you took your legs off Harlequin's lap. You stood up as you removed your pants that pooled around your feet. Sitting back down, you sighed as you wearily grabbed the new set of cards. Harlequin wasn't done with you yet. He took hold of your bare legs under the table and had your feet draped across his lap once more.
It was different as his hand made contact with your sensitive skin. He started caressing the softness of your calves to your thighs, occasionally pinching the skin that made you jump a little.
This round was the worst as Harlequins teasing remarks has gotten worse.
"You can surrender now and I'll have you sprawled out on this table for me to feast upon."
"We both know you'll lose my little kitten. Just let me savour my prize now. I promise to mark every inch of your skin."
"Deixa eu te foder, minha princesinha safada."
They got so perverted that your face was a bright red hue and surprisingly, this wasn't the end of it. You don't know when his tentacles came out, but now they are wrapping themselves all over your legs. Squeezing your soft flesh and teasing close to where your panties are.
All of these distractions combined, of course, you lost as you have the Joker yet again. You glared at Harlequin as you stood up once again and pulled down your panties. The only saving grace and pride you have left is the big band t-shirt. Thank god you decided to wear it today, as it covers most of your thighs, but who knows how long that would last. Harlequin still has more layers of clothing than you do. You were going to lose, and that seems more like an underlying fact.
But you weren't going to back down. Harlequin just grinned as you tried to lock in. It didn't last long as his tentacles came back, and since there was no clothing barriers to block him.
You let out a weird squeak, his tentacles suddenly touching your sex. His tentacles rubbed against your slit, and you closed your thighs, but that got Harlequin riled up even more. He let out a low growl. He suddenly grabbed hold of your leg, forcing you to spread your thighs before plunging his thick tentacle deep inside you. You let out a cry, feeling the pain of the stretch and tears brimming in your eyes. It hurts.
"Shh shh, my dear, it'll feel good soon, I promise. Now surrender yourself to me, and I'll make sure you'll feel even better." You glared at him, but couldn't help but whine when you felt him slowly move inside of you. Your knuckles turned white as you gripped the cards hard. They were definitely dented now.
Harlequin was relishing in this situation, having you breathless as he continued to thrust his tentacle into you while caressing your legs with his other appendages. He was so unfair. But two can play that game.
You raised your foot and placed it over his bulge. Moving your foot up and down his hard length that wants to burst from his pants. Harlequin let out a shuddered breath as he forcefully exhaled through his nose. Such a tease you were.
You both were stubborn with the endless taunts and teasing touches. But Harlequin was so much stronger than you. Easily grabbing your foot and pull it away, making you spread wider. His tentacle started to go faster, thrusting in and out, making you softly moan and gripping the edge of the table. Your moaning and flushed face really turned him on, and he felt that you were getting close.
He felt your wall clenching down on his tentacle. He can't have you cum yet, the game wasn't even over. He removed the tentacle leaving you empty and dissatisfied as you couldn't cum. You looked at him like he stole your fries.
"Oh, what's wrong, kitten? Didn't get to cum? We still have a game to finish." The unexpected happened. You lunge towards him, full of anger, as you start to roughly tug on his locks of hair.
"You're terrible and mean!" You kept tugging at his hair, and your fingers brushed against his horns. Something of how your fingers barely grazed his horns sends him into a frenzy.
You felt your breath momentarily stop as your back was suddenly pinned to the small table. Your arms were restrained as Harlequin pinned your wrists above your head. Trying to regain your focus, you only saw darkness. The lights were cut out, and the only thing you could see were slitted green eyes that peered down on you.
"Such a naughty kitten." Harlequin purred, but his voice was low now. Was he angry? "Looks like she needs her punishment." Tentacles roamed your body, going under your shirt and caressing your flushed skin. You couldn't help but whine and squirm from these foreign touches. The tentacles even reached your breast and started to squeeze your round mounds.
"Such a loud kitten. I wonder if I can make you meow any louder?" He inserted his tentacle inside you again and started to thrust at a steady pace.
"I believe you lost my dear, shall I do the honours?" You glared at him, wanting to fight back, but it was cut short as his tentacle curled up in a nice spot that made you mewl. Harlequin chuckled, how quickly he can subdue you with his experienced touches. You were so easy to read, but you did get him a few times, which greatly surprised him. You were so fun to play with. Now that you have lost, he is going to devour you whole until there is nothing left in the morning.
Using his free hand to lift up your shirt, revealing your bare stomach. What a feast it was for his eyes. He was drooling, so much meat for him to dig his teeth into. You will look like an art piece once he is done with you.
Light suddenly shone on the left as someone lifted up the curtain. You both twisted your heads to see who intrudes on your game night. A pissed-off Pierrot was standing by the entrance as his rage-filled eyes locked in with Harlequin's.
"You were too rough with him, Pierrot!" You scolded the whining red clown that is gripping onto you for dear life. His mask buried into the crook of your neck, trying to inhale your scent. You honestly lost track of time and forgot all about Pierrot, which is your fault. Now, Harlequin is in the Doctor's tent because of you. You will have to give him a get-well gift.
"I'm sorry ok, I didn't know things would have taken this far." You apologized. "I just wanted to see what you guys look like beneath the masks."
"I promise to show you one day my dear." His gloved hands traced your knuckles with care. "He didn't hurt you did he?"
"No, I'm ok. Are you ok?"
"No." He huffed. "He left his mark on you."
"But he didn't bite me." You didn't recall him biting or marking your skin.
"No, but he did..." His clawed hand rested on your stomach, his index finger pointing at you vagina. "Here."
You started to sweat. You turn around just to met his hungry gaze. His teeth was sharp. Drool was pouring out of his lips and his mask absolutely flushed with red. his golden eyes swirls with hearts in them.
"I'll have to leave my mark inside you, my dear."
It was going to be a long night for you and Harlequin.
Kehehehe I FINALLY WAS ABLE TO DO THIS
I've been busy cuz of school,,, and I immediately jumped to this for 2 days straight right after my finals finished lmfao :PP
BTW THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR ALMOST A THOUSAND FOLLOWERS HOLY--- I'LL TRY MY BEST TO FEED Y'ALL
Hiiiiiiiiii, my beloved writer! I have a new obsession: Pierrot from The Freak Circus! And I'd love for you to write me something (smut too Ƨ.Ƨ) about him. I don't have a plot so anything is fine with me. PRETTY PLEASE?????????
šæ Summary: Pierrot breaks into your home, drawn by his obsessive, all-consuming fixation for you. ā¤ Surrounded by your presence, he goes mad, giving vent to hisā¦ depraved side.
ā” obsessive love/pathological fixation ā¤ stalking ā§ home invasion ā¢ voyeurism & non-consensual intimacy ā” explicit sexual content ā¤ masturbation/sexual obsession ā§ use of personal items for sexual acts ā¢ possessiveness ā” yandere behavior/instability ā¤ moral decay & loss of control ā¢ fantasy projection ā” worship of the pictures ā¤ intrusive thoughts & compulsions ā§ dark, unhealthy attachment ā¢ disturbing / profane themes.
The window slid up with a cautious, fast, snap in the twilight of the day. A long, big, arm grabbed the windowsill. Then the other. A tall figure, clad in the familiar, mismatched motley of the circus clown red, black and gold, hauled itself up and over, landing on the floor with a heavy thump.
Pierrot stood there, near the window of your bedroom from which he had just entered, his chest rising and falling nervously.
It wasnāt the first time he had entered your apartment, but every time, it felt like the first...
He, who so desperately longed the have the ability to dream, so that he could dream of you, just to be close to you, settled instead for observing your home, your world.
To learn you. To know you. To have you and be near you. Toā¦ live you. As close and as much as possible.
Without walls. Without rules. Without distances.
Perhaps, this was the only way.
The only intimacy he would ever have and share with you.
The only way to feel, even just a little, that you were his.
In his imagination, at least...
The mere illusion of possessing you was the only thing that kept him sane in this land of evil people.
He didnāt move for minutes. Just sniffed the air and listened: the buzzing of your on pc; the tick of a pastel pink with unicorns and glitters (how cute!) clock; the bulky, empty waiting silence of a house where you werenāt home. His painted smile, that permanent crescent of joy, or tragedy, felt tight on his own mask until it disappears. Your warmth and scent still filled the space, and that intoxicated his thoughts, made his heart swell with joy. Even if you werenāt there with him.
Okay.
He took a deep breath even though he didnāt have a nose, leastways on his mask.
Okay. Youāre in. Justā¦ look around. But donāt touch anything!
Keep your hands to yourself.
His eyes, wide and dark on his white mask, darted around the bedroom: it was neat, tidy in its disorder, lived-in.
A black sweater with pearls tossed over the back of a chair. A single Converse shoe by the closet door, as if kicked off in a hurry. Perhaps it was indecision?
Pierrot had seen you leave the house shortly before, hastily as you fixed your jacket, watching you from afar. You were wearing different shoes. He wondered why. Did your feet hurt? Were you tired? Your job was physically demanding, requiring you to stay on your feet all day.
Butā¦ was someone taking care of you (and your feet)?
He wished he could have had that fortune. Not necessarily for some malicious reason, just to be able to massage you, ease your aches and pains.
If he could, he would have made your pain his own. He would have locked you in a soap bubble, a kind of glass ball, just to keep you away from suffering.
There was also a pair of heels tossed near the bed.
Pierrot approached and bent down, kneeling to floor to take them in his large hands. They were so small in them. The inner sole wasnāt warm anymore, but they still carried the scent of your skin, fresh and soap.
A spiral of thoughts clouded his mind:
Were you going out with someone?
With whom did you wear these shoes ātoo sexyā for him?
Were you seeing someone?
Dating, maybe?
Oh.
His expression darkened at the thought, his irises narrowing into tiny, intense yellow dots, lighting up furiously.
He caressed the sole of the shoe, imagining it was your warm, soft skin.
He envisioned tying the lace around your ankle, sensually and delicately.
Stopā¦
Then he placed the pair back exactly as he had found it, standing up again and beginning to wander around.
The room smelled like you. Not just perfume, but you. The scent of your shampoo, the strong, sweet trace of your body, your essence, the clean laundry smell of the sheets on your bed.
He swore he could touch you in the thick air of your absence.
He inhaled with a shaky sound.
Just a little thing. Aā¦ souvenir. Something she wonāt miss or notice missing.
He moved cautiously and shyly around the small room, nervous about causing any damage given his size. But he moved with a tightrope walkerās grace, and his hat jingled with every, timorous, step.
He went to the dresser first, where several objects you had touched were present. His gaze swept over the clutter: hair ties, peluches, books, a tube of cherry lip balm, perfumes. His hand, trembling slightly, reached out. He picked up a small, glass bottle of perfume. He brought it to his nose, closed his eyes, and pressed the sprayer.
Psssht.
The cloud of scent hit him: powdered sugar, fruit, vanillaā¦
It was so you.
It was the scent that lingered in the bar after youād leaned over to wipe a table, the same scent he caught when you handed him your bandaid, your fingers brushing his.
A low, desperate sound crawled up his throat at the precious memory.
Mmmph.
He put the bottle back in its place, continuing his exploration.
Next, he noted a small jar of hand cream. He unscrewed the lid, dipped a gloved finger in. The cream was cool, doughy. He imagined your hands, smooth from this, touching his gifts for you, his sweets for you, touchingā¦ himā¦ touching anything.
Would you ever touch him with those silky, delicate hands?
He put the jar back.
He eyed a thin silver bracelet lay coiled like a snake. He picked it up and slipped it into the inner pocket of his jacket, right over his heart.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
Then he raised his face towards the mirror, where there were some photos of you.
They were set into the frame of the mirror. One of you laughing with your beloved mother, your head thrown back with pure happiness. It was spontaneous. A wave of sadness came over him as he remembered his mother, who was no longer alive. You also had this in common, because next to that important photo, there was a drawing dedicated to her, with a tear and a broken heart and a small āI miss youā.
The ironyā¦
Werenāt those the symbols that haunted him and set his mask apart from the others?
Another of you holding a kitten, your expression in love.
Ahā¦ you loved animals, he remembered. He stared at that one for a long time, his thumb tracing your smiling cheek on the glossy film.
So beautiful.
Yet soā¦ lonely.
So not far away from the darkness that surrounded him, from his violent and murderous impulses and the screaming. But unlike him, you were not darkness. You were pure light.
He took that one, sliding it from the frame with careful fingers.
His eyes moved to the next photo andā¦ he froze.
It was you. Just you.
On a bed, a playful, intimate smile on your lips.
And you wereā¦ you wereā¦ naked.
Allā¦ naked.
The photo was taken by someone.
Who? Who dared?!
From what he could tell, it wasnāt recent. In the picture, your hair was shorter and your facial features looked younger. Yet, the photo showed the tight curve of your shoulders, the soft swell of your ample breasts, and the tips of your nipples barely visible, the dark triangle between your thighsā¦
It was all there, exposedā¦ for him.
He could feel the photo whispering to him: ātake me, make me yours.ā
A violent, hot flush erupted under his white mask, crawling up his neck, burning his throat, and flaming his cock between his legs.
.Oh.
Oh no.
Ohā¦ fuck.
He looked around wildly, as if someone had caught him.
As if you had caught him.
As if you knew and were judging him for his impure thoughts about you.
His heart was a frantic drum against his ribs.
Buh-bum!
Buh-BUM!
BUH-BUM!!!
He knew it was wrong.
He knew he shouldnāt even be there, in your house, in your bedroom. But you were his obsession, his only thought.
You lived in his head.
You were planted there like a seed, and you blossomed inside him, like a poison.
Pierrot felt you coursing through his blood, and he would have torn his skin off rather than do anything that could, even remotely, hurt you or make you change your mind about him.
And he would never, ever, do anything to harm you.
Not even if his family asked him to.
He had promised himself that he would be different after what had happened with Columbina. That he would keep his distance from humans. But you... you were testing this oath, and Pierrot... couldnāt, wouldnāt, control himself.
But now, the shame coursed through his body like a forbidden, burning sin.
He couldnāt breathe.
Pant. PANT.
He snatched the photo, his fingers leaving smudges on the glossy surface. He couldnāt look away. His gaze devoured the image, piercing it with his heart-shaped eyesā¦
The large curve of your waist, your navel, your chubby thighsā¦
Sheās soā¦ sheās so perfect!
A pressure, instant and insistent, began to build in his groin. He shifted, trying to ease the sudden, painful tightness of his trousers.
He had promised to be different, sworn he could change and hideā¦ his monstrous side. Pierrot had promised to be better, for you, to be DECENT, to be a good boy.
Butā¦
But thenā¦ then he saw them.
Draped casually over the corner of the dresser, a small pile of laundry. On top, a pair of black panties. Little red hearts were scattered across them.
And they wereā¦ they were used.
He could see the faint, intimate white spot at the center, a lighter patch on the black cotton. The scent was musky, bittersweet and profoundly female and yours; it was the scent of your sleep, of your day, of you in your most private state.
It was all your fault.
Yours.
Yours alone!
You did it on purpose, didnāt you?
You wanted him to lose control, for you.
You wanted theā¦ beast.
The animal he was miserably trying to hide and protect you from.
But youā¦ maybe you knew he would come to your apartment.
That's why you left sinful photos and damp underwear lying around, right?
Oh God.
Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.
He swallowed, a thick, dry gulp in his throat. The saliva forming at the corner of his mouth, dripping like a pathetic dog in heat.
He tried to contain it, the insanity and the starving for you. He tried so hard to be good, to be the melancholy clown who just admired you from afar.
But the fight was over before it began.
The images, your scent, the idea of youā¦ it was too much.
A temptation on earth to surrender to.
This was you to him: the famous apple; the forbidden fruit.
The thin lines of reason that contained him, were torn apart. His mind was corrupted and overtaken by you. You were like a mental illness to him, erasing his rationality.
His hand flew to the front of his pants. He palmed himself through the cloth, stroking and rubbing. A sharp hiss escaped his lips.
Fuhā¦ uck, my Lady.
He was already hard; a thick, straining line against the rough material.
It was veryā¦ evident.
He rubbed harder, his hips giving involuntary little jerks.
I have to stop! All of this is wrong. Sheās not even here. I canātā¦ disappoint her.
I canāt... do this to her. I... canāt... I canāt stop. Iām sorry, my Lady.
He fumbled with the buttons of his trousers, his fingers clumsy and shaking. The pop-pop-pop of them coming undone was obscenely loud. He shoved the fabric down, just enough.
His cock sprang free and it was colossal. Fully erect, flushed a deep, angry dark silver against the pallor of his stomach. It curved upwards, slightly to the side, the head already slick. He wrapped his fist around it.
Hnnnng!
The contact was pure, hot, shock. A jolt of wholesome sensation that made his knees buckle. He braced his other hand on the dresser, making the wood groan.
He started to stroke, a slow, tight pull from root to tip.
His eyes were locked on the picture. On you. He set it up against the perfume bottle of before, propping it so your smirking, naked image watched him. That was his undoing.
āLook at you,ā he whispered, his voice already rough, broken.
āJustā¦ look at me.ā He began to stroke himself in earnest, his fist gliding up and down his shaft, the glove that slid roughly over the iron-hard core beneath. The sound was wet, filthy, a rhythmic fap, fap, fap that began to fill your violated room.
But it wasnāt enough.
He needed more. He needed you.
His eyes ran wildly to your panties. He reached for them with his free hand. He rubbed them over his cheek, then, daringly, dragged the panties right under his nose, breathing you in until his head swam. The lace tickled deliciously his mask. He was panting now, short, sharp gasps. The pre-cum was flowing freely, slicking his strokes, making the glide extraordinarily fast.
āOhhh, your smell. Itās everywhere. Itās in my head, in my lungsā¦ my... Love.ā
The scent was overwhelming. Sweet, musky, bitter, alive. It was the most intimate thing heād ever experienced. Ever. With you. It went to his head like a drug, dizzying, obliterating.
He moaned into them, the sound muffled and broken, like him. His strokes became faster, more urgent. The dresser began to rock slightly with the rhythm of his big, strong body.
Creak. Creak. Thump. Creak. Creak. Thump.
He looked down at his cock, his handā¦ his fist pumping steadily. Pre-cum slicked down to floor.
Schlick. Fap.
Then, his gaze glued to the photo.
āYou enjoy watching me? Watching me get so hard for you? Look what you do to me.ā He angled his hips, showing his thick, straining cock to the image. āItās so fullā¦ feels like itās gonna burst just from smelling your pretty little panties.ā
He was lost in the fantasy, the line between reality and his desperate imagining blurring into nothing. For him, you were there. You were smirking, watching him debase himself for you, enjoying it.
āWould youā¦ā he whispered, his voice a raw, cracked thing.
āWould you... touch me? Would you... help me?ā He imagined his hand was yours, smaller, softer, guided by his. āWould you let meā¦ aaahn! Put my mouth there? Where theseā¦ these pantiesā¦ oh Godā¦ where theyāve been?ā The hand on his cock wasnāt enough.
He needed to feel you.
He wrapped the soft, damp cotton around his cock. And it was as he was penetrating you. The little hearts brushed against his sensitive cock, a declaration of love for him. He gasped, his back arching and his hand struck the dresser repeatedly and rapidly, making it slam against the wall.
If only you knewā¦
He started to fuck the panties, his thrusts becoming fast, hard, delirious jerks. The dresser protested louder.
CREEEAK. BOOMPH. THUMP.
āIād be so gentle,ā he panted, fucking the black cloth.
āAt first. Iād justā¦ ahhhn! Just taste you. Iād use my tongue, like thisā¦ā He licked his lips, his yellow, large tongue darting out to trace the line of his lips. āIād make you moan. Iād make you scream my nameā¦ Pierrot! Pierrot! Ahn! Ahng!ā
His pace became punishing.
āI want to be inside you,ā he whined, a sound of pure, torturous need.
āI want to feel you gripping me. I want to feel you cumming, because of me. Stretch you open withā¦ me. Youād feel so full, wouldnāt you? Youād scream for me. Youād tell me how deep I am, how you canāt take it all, but youāll try, youāll try for meā¦ my good Lady, my Darling, my Love."
He was slamming himself into the cotton now, his balls tightening, the coil in his gut winding to an impossible pitch.
āThenā¦ then Iād ask you,ā he whimpered, his voice rising, losing its sweet edge, becoming pure, hopeless urgency.
āIād beg you. Please. Please, Y/N... my Love, would you let meā¦ would you let me cum inside you???ā The question wasnāt a question at all, but a raw and substantial crave. āIād fill you up, marking you, forever. Iād be inside of you. I would feel you tightening around me, getting wet, cumming on my big hard cock. Iād make you feel itā¦ oh fuck, Iām gonnaā¦ Iād make you feel so full of me. Me claiming youā¦ my cock... itās yours, itās all yoursā¦ I am yours, my Lady.ā
He was babbling, lost in the fantasy. He saw it. Your head on that pillow like in the picture, your hair splayed, your mouth open in a LOUD cry, your legs wrapped around his hips, locking in reesponse, pulling him deeper as he emptied himself into your hot, cumming, spasming pussy.
āYes!ā he screamed, the word tearing from his throat, crude and unfiltered. āCumming! Iām cumming for you!ā
His body kept thrusting as he climaxed. A guttural, monstruos groan ripped out of himāAAARHHHGGG!āas the orgasm blows up. Thick, voluminous ropes of warm cum shot out, splattering across the black cotton of the panties, soaking the little red hearts. Pulse after pulse after pulse, it seemed endless, a hot, wet flood of his obsession only just for you. It painted the panties white, dripped onto the floor with disgusting pat-pat-pat sounds. His hips kept jerking, milking out the last drops, his cock throbbing violently in his grip.
He collapsed forward over the dresser, hitting it. He was panting, shuddering, spent. He tried to breathe, calm down and collect himself.
Slowly, carefully, unwrapped the panties from his softening cock. They were soaked, warm, ruined (as you should be). He stared at them, at the physical proof of his violation and his worship.
Reality came soon after, crashing back in. The silence of the house. The stolen items in his pockets. The stolen photo in his hand. The stolen intimacy on the cloth he held.
What would you have thought of him? That he was a monster, like everyone else thinked? Would you have felt violated? Would you have forgiven him? Would you have felt a strange pleasure knowing that you lived in his darkest thoughts as well as his most innocent ones?
A wave of shame, hot and corrosive, washed over him. He looked at the mess on the floor. His cum, a white creamy big pool. Heād defiled your space, contaminating it. He was a monster. A pathetic, creeping monster.
With trembling hands, he used the clean part of the panties to wipe up the worst of it.
Iām sorry. Iām so sorry.
He stuffed the soiled panties into his deepest pocket. He would keep them. He would always keep them. With him.
He tucked himself away, buttoned his trousers with graceless fingers.
He straightened the photos he hadnāt taken, trying to make everything look normal. It was useless. The room felt changed, transgressed. He had violated it. He had desecrated you.
He turned toward the bed, climbing onto it to lie down and roll in your scent. The tears came then, hot and sudden, carving tracks through the white mask on his true face. He cried silently, his shoulders shaking, his painted smile disappeared.
He pulled the two photos from his pocket. The one of you smiling. The one of you bare. He held them to his chest, over the bracelet that lay against his heart.
āI love you,ā he whispered, the words choked and wet.
āIām soā¦ Iām so sorry. I love you. I want you to be mine. Butā¦ truly. Just us, you and me, together.ā He traced your smiling face in the photo with a trembling, gloved finger. āI want you to look at meā¦ and love me. Please. Please, my Lady. Love me. LOVE ME! Why canāt you love me?!ā
He stayed there, curled on your bed, crying softly, clutching his stolen treasures and caressing and speaking to your photos about what your life together as a couple would be like, until the light began to fade, hoping and praying to whatever God there was that you would come to his circus show tonight after work.
Authorās Note: thank you for taking the time to read this story! ā”
Hope you liked it! I probably went out of character, but I donāt know this game/character very well. Though I have to admit... itās really cool!All banners featured in this work are created by me.
Please do not take, repost, edit, or use them without my permission.
titsay
andulkaphoto
dailybridgerton
stormborns
