----------------Heart On A Leash (TFC Jester X Moona/OC Fanfic)----------------
WARNING: Angst, Dark Themes, Psychological Manipulation, Captivity / Imprisonment, Emotional & Physical Abuse (non-graphic), Power Imbalance, Violence / Threats of Violence, Angst & Hurt/Comfort
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When Moona is taken by the masked ringmaster of a monstrous circus, fear isn’t what consumes her — it’s fascination.
He hates humans. She refuses to hate him.
And somewhere between cruelty and tenderness, something dangerous begins to bloom.
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I remember the first time I stumbled into this circus.
It was my first glimpse of a real performance — a kaleidoscope of lights, music, and painted smiles. I thought it was dazzling. Breathtaking, even.
And yet, beneath the glitter, it was monstrous. Sadistic. Extreme.
I used to believe it was all a show — the spilled blood was nothing more than stagecraft. But it wasn’t. It was real.
How foolish I was to ignore Owl’s warnings, to laugh off the whispers about the clowns… especially him, the Jester.
Caution has never been my nature. I’ve always walked blindfolded into danger, almost welcoming it, some secret part of me craving the worst.
And now here I am — chained, caged, reduced to nothing more than his obedient little plaything. I have no one to blame but myself.
I hear footsteps echoed down, along with the sound of bells. I tilt my head toward the sound. It must be him.
The curtain of the tent slides open with a hiss, and the world beyond shrinks to a single silhouette.
He stands there, perfectly still, a predator at the edge of my vision.
I can feel his gaze slicing into me from behind that mask — sharp, cold, unreadable.
Ah, yes. The Jester.
The one I admired most in this grotesque circus.
Tall. Talented. Responsible. Intimidating. And even… charming.
I remember our first meeting as if it were etched into my skin.
I was mesmerized, disarmed.
I’ve always had a fascination with jesters — to me, they’re not like the rest of the world. Built differently.
And he was the embodiment of it all. Not just the mask or the act, but the voice, the presence, the way he bent reality around himself.
I fell for him too quickly. Too easily. Not just for the mask… but for the man beneath it.
Jester: “Not going to say anything?”
his voice cuts through the darkness, low and mocking.
Jester: “Not even greet me?”
He tilts his head slowly, still in the shadows. The movement is deliberate, snake-like.
My voice cracks, but the words die in my throat. None of this feels real anymore; it’s like drowning in a dream.
he murmurs, the word tasting like a threat.
Jester: “Has no one taught you manners? Perhaps I should.”
With a flick of his wrist, the curtain falls shut behind him. Darkness swallows the space whole.
He walks forward, measured steps echoing on the wooden floor until he stops just before the cage.
Then, he lowers himself, one knee pressing into the ground, bringing his masked face to my level.
Close enough for me to see the faint glint of his eyes through the slits.
His voice coils through the tent like velvet laced with barbs.
Jester: “Has my little pet been crying~? What’s wrong? Don’t like your new… home?”
His gloved fingers curl lazily around one of the cage bars. The mask hides his expression, but the curve of his grin is unmistakable. My humiliation feeds him; my trembling is his wine.
Then, silence. He pauses, tilting his head as if studying a specimen under glass.
Jester: “If you want to be free, you’ll do as I say. No fighting. No running. Not even in your thoughts.”
My heart stutters. What does he mean? What is he planning?
The click of metal snaps me back. His hand shifts, unlocking the door. Slowly, he pushes it open, the hinges creaking like a sigh.
He straightens and steps back, the predator giving his prey a sliver of space. His gaze never leaves me. Waiting. Measuring. Wondering if I’ll bolt.
Why haven’t I screamed yet? Why haven’t I called for help? My lips are free, but no sound comes. Maybe he’s testing me. Maybe I’m testing myself.
I make the only choice I think will keep me alive. I crawl out, slow and deliberate, every movement a silent offering. I kneel on the cold ground in front of him, eyes lowered, breathing shallow. Waiting.
Seconds drip into eternity. He says nothing. Neither do I.
Finally, I tilt my head upward, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
He’s grinning. Yes. That same dark, satisfied grin. He’s savoring me — his loyal, lovesick pet. Weak. Helpless. All in for him.
And he knows exactly what I look like from here.
On my knees.
Worshipping.
Jester: “You really are pathetic, aren’t you?”
His voice drips with amusement.
Jester: “And I love that about you.”
A low chuckle rolls from his chest as he turns to the drawer beside the bed. I hear the soft scrape of wood, the faint rattle of metal. He returns to me and kneels, the predator crouched at eye level with his prey.
Something cold brushes against my skin. A strip of leather. The click of metal.
My breath catches.
Jester: “Keep being like this…”
he purrs, grin widening behind the mask.
Jester: “And maybe—just maybe—I’ll give you a treat~”
He leans in close, grin hovering inches from my face. The scent of him — sweat, greasepaint, something sharper underneath — fills my lungs. My heart slams against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of fear and… something else. Something I don’t want to name.
My cheeks flush, traitorous heat blooming under my skin.
Oh. Oh God.
Am I liking this?
Before I can think, he rises to his full height, the leash snaking from his hand. Then—A sharp jerk.
I yelp, the sound spilling out of me involuntarily as the collar bites into my throat.
The leash pulls tight again, a quick snap that makes me gasp. He doesn’t drag me far — just enough to feel the weight of his control, the reminder that every inch I move now belongs to him.
He circles me slowly, the way a lion might circle a trembling animal, the leather trailing between us like a dark umbilical cord.
he says, voice low but sharpened like a blade.
The leash loosens for a heartbeat — a cruel imitation of mercy — before snapping tight again. The sudden pull jerks me forward, and my pulse stutters in my throat.
Then, silence.
The leather slackens once more, but he doesn’t move. He’s watching me again — still as stone, unreadable behind that painted grin.
His hand rises to his mask. Fingers tap against the surface, slow, deliberate, each tap echoing in the thick air of the tent.
Jester: “Do you know what's behind this mask?”
Jester: “I’ve seen the way you look at me,”
he continues, his tone softer but edged with venom.
Jester: “Like I’m a man. Like you’re infatuated with a costume.”
He tilts his head, the motion serpentine, predatory — but now there’s weight in it. A shadow.
Jester: “I’m not what you think I am.”
He removes the mask. No hesitation, no ceremony — just lifts it off and lets it fall. The sound of it hitting the ground is soft, almost delicate, but the silence that follows feels deafening.
His true face — no, his true form — stands before me, unreal yet undeniable. Skin that shifts faintly like shadow over muscle, eyes glowing purple. There’s something both terrible and beautiful about it, something I can’t fully comprehend.
I’m not afraid. Not yet. I don’t even know what to feel. My body should recoil, my voice should scream, but I just… stay there. Kneeling, breathing shallow, eyes wide.
And he sees it — my stillness, my silence.
He expected terror. Instead, he finds me frozen in awe.
For a moment, something flickers in his gaze. Confusion? Anger? Or something else entirely.
For a long moment, Jester just stares at me — unmasked, exposed.
Jester: “You’re not screaming…”
he says, almost to himself. His voice trembles, not with fear but with fury.
Jester: “You should be screaming.”
He takes a step forward, the ground creaking beneath his weight. The leash tenses again, a sharp pull that snaps me out of my trance. My breath catches, but I don’t look away.
His tone cracks, sharp as breaking glass.
Jester: “Why aren’t you afraid?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. My throat is too dry, my mind too tangled.
He moves faster than I expect, closing the space between us in a single stride. His hand grips the leash near my throat, not to choke — but to remind me who holds control. The cold metal lock presses harder against my skin.
Jester: “Do you think this is mercy? Do you think you’re safe just because I haven’t torn you apart yet?”
I flinch at his words, but still don’t look away. His eyes burn brighter the longer I stare — anger fighting confusion, hatred wrestling with something dangerously close to sorrow.
Jester: “I don’t understand you. You humans—every one of you—run. You lie. You scream. Yet you…”
He tightens his grip suddenly, then releases it, stepping back as if burned.
Jester: “…you just sit there.”
His voice lowers, softer but rougher — like a growl pulled through broken glass.
Jester: “You make me sick.”
And yet, even as he says it, his gaze won’t leave me. There’s something inside him — something ancient and wounded — that can’t stand my calmness, but also can’t destroy it.
I rub at my neck where the collar pressed too tightly. The mark throbs faintly.
I whisper. That’s all I can say.
Jester goes still. The silence that follows is suffocating. Then he lets out a low, guttural growl and seizes my wrist, yanking me upward with sudden force. The world spins — and I land hard on the edge of the bed. Pain flashes through my arm.
Jester: “All you humans can do is destroy. You lie, You hurt, You make war. You ruin everything you touch!”
The fury in his voice shakes the tent walls. He leans over me, every breath trembling with barely restrained rage.
He growls in anger and roughly choke my neck. His grip is tight, his claws digging my skin. I gagged so hard on this. It hurts, it hurts so bad!
Moona: “p-plea-se s-s-stop-”
My hands instinctively flew up, not to fight him off, but to grasp at his wrist, a futile, trembling gesture. The pressure was immense, a vise grip that promised unconsciousness, or worse. The edges of my vision began to gray.
His grip tightens for a moment, and I feel the world spinning, the darkness closing in. Just as I think I might lose consciousness, he suddenly releases his hold. I gasp for air, my lungs burning, my throat raw and aching.
Jester: “Not yet. You’re not getting off that easily.”
He steps back, his gaze never leaving mine. I collapse onto the bed, my body shaking with the aftershocks of his assault. The leash, still attached to my collar, pulls taut, a constant reminder of his control.
Moona: “w-what did i ever do t-to you..?”
I choked out, my voice hoarse from the pain and humiliation. I brace myself for his response, knowing that it won't be pleasant. As his eyes bore into mine, I can feel his hatred radiating off of him in waves.
Jester: "What did you do, you asked?"
he hisses, his voice laced with venom. The pain in my scalp intensifies as he yanks on my hair, forcing me to look him straight in the eye. I whimper, tears welling up in response to the agony.
Jester: "Your kind, humans... They have to just... hurt us, lock us up in a cage, starve us, humiliate us, punish us with pain every time we fail to entertain them. You are all fake. Those smiles are only to cover up how rotten and violent you are."
Is that... What happened to him? Does his past make him so violent because he's hurt or betrayed before? No, it's more than that. Even so... he can't do this to me.
Moona: "B-but not all humans are the same! I'm not like that... I will never harm anyone unless they start first! I don't like conflict. I wouldn't hurt you and the others..."
I speak while groaning in pain from the pull on my hair.
Jester: "I don't believe you, and I won't. All you humans do is lie! You make promises then you break them."
His eyes bore into mine, searching for some sliver of truth in my words.
Moona: "B-but I'm telling the tr–"
His tone is suddenly sharp, commanding. He releases my hair with a quick, cruel jerk, leaving me gasping.
Jester: "I don't need your explanation. I know you're just pretending, I can see it right through you."
He then took the leash off me and grabbed my arm harshly. pushing me back into the cage.
Jester: “if you try to scream for help, i will eat you whole.”
He looked me in the eye before slamming the cage shut with a metallic crack that echoed through the tent.
But before he could step away, I reached out — my fingers brushing against the back of his gloved hand.
Moona: “I’m sorry… for what you’ve been through. I know most humans can be cruel… but what makes you any different if you torture the ones who haven’t wronged you? You don’t know what they’ve suffered… and you don’t even want to know.”
Moona: “You don’t want to be like them, do you?”
The silence that followed was suffocating — thick with heat and tension. His shoulders stiffened. Then came a low sound — a growl that trembled between rage and something rawer, something almost wounded.
Jester: “Keep talking, and I’ll have the Doctor stitch that pretty little mouth of yours shut.”
His voice was cold, but unsteady — the words carried more pain than threat.
He bent down, picked up his mask from the ground, and slipped it back on. The painted grin stared at me once again — empty, unreadable. Without another glance, he turned and walked toward the tent’s exit, his steps heavy, deliberate.
The curtain fell behind him, leaving me alone in the dim room. The air was cold, the silence colder still.
He’s prideful — stubborn, caged by his own hatred. But that doesn’t matter.
I’ll stay here, even if it means being his prisoner a little longer.
Until he sees the truth — the real me.
Until he understands that not every human deserves his wrath.
Because I don’t want him to be alone anymore.
I want to stay… with him. With all of them. Even if it means losing myself in the process.
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