I dunno why I laughed so hard at this specific answer cause I instantly imagined a funny scenario of mc trying to find a way to turn down Pierrot "slowly" by saying that they like someone else in the circus instead and he pulls out this answer and be like
MC: "oh so you DO KNOW that term pretty well!"
(dramatically gestures their hands pointing at him) 🫱>:0🫱 like BOI-
It's finally time! The moment y'all have been waiting for!!!
Let's torment these boys with our lovely lumps! I'll dedicate the last bullet to a reader who's insecure about their bitties but remember, all titties are good titties!! I feel as if regardless of your body type the boys will love every inch of you, and honestly you should too!
(I'm going to default to a Gender Neutral reader due to the overwhelming majority of asks being non-gendered. Next time I open up my requests, I'll add some more clarifications for gender preferences!)
Your body is your own temple, you can decorate it however you wish, polish the pillars you find appealing, and leave yourself offers at your altars, but if you don't upkeep your temple it can cause lasting damage that will just take time to mend. As someone who is learning self love, there's going to be days where you don't feel adequate, and that's perfectly fine! Healing isn't always straightforward. Even if you scrub one tile of your temple it'll make what's left to polish a bit easier, so treat yourself with the same level of kindness you show others, hunt for the things you like about yourself and take baby steps into your own self devotion! Life is too short to be worrying about how others perceive you, all that matters is learning to love the temple that is you!
Tags: NSFW, highly suggestive, GN reader with smaller tits!, no smut, reader occasionally has bare titties out
The Freak Circus is an 18+ Visual novel Themes include but are not limited to: dark elements, strong language, sensitive graphic content. My works can depict similar themes and are not intended for minors.
Pierrot
No matter what you wear around him his eyes are constantly scanning your figure, of course when he thinks you're not looking at him eyeing you like a piece of meat. He feels so incredibly blessed that his darling is so alluring, especially if you flaunt your beauty so openly. It takes him some time to realize that you specifically wear certain clothes around him, or how you'll use his height to your advantage and wear a wide neck shirt with a stunning view from above. Wearing cute bras or sometimes even no bra at all, making him acutely aware of any chilly breeze that kisses your skin.
He tries to hide his excitement when a new bra peeks through your shirt or when he catches a glimpse of a particularly free breast through a low cut top. His mask unintentionally selling him out by putting his fanged grin on full display as his thoughts race a mile a second. Primal hormones occasionally override his loving persona however, and sometimes he cuts activities short to properly show you his admiration.
If you bring up feeling self conscious about the size of your breasts though... He has no choice but to show you just how perfect they are, right? Delicate touches trail up and down your sides as he purrs all of your features that drive him crazy with lust. His hands dwarfing your sensitive mounds as he kneads them, being mindful of his sharp claws as he rolls your nipples in between them, muttering prayers to your divinity under every shaky pant.
His overall favorite part about your breasts however is how they frame your heart. Providing him with easy access to the thrumming in your ribcage when you share a bed. Often finding himself lulled into a sense of peace when he drapes his hand in between your breasts, feeling your heart throb against the back of his hand.
Your new bra was definitely pretty and comfortable, when you could actually manage to put it on properly. Every time you decided to accept the challenge of dueling with the eyelets you were placing bets on just how long you would struggle for before throwing in the towel and submitting to a slip on bra, or even just going braless to spite the fabric's entire species.
You strain against the confines of your frame as you urge the hooks to marry the eyelets in unholy frustration, you glance down at the outfit you laid out, pleading for it to give you a reason to stop this battle of the week. A deep huff and-
"M-my love, can I help?"
You're suddenly acutely aware of the towering carmine clown behind you, his face seemingly reflecting the hue of his costume as drool creeps out of the corner of his faux grin.
You error code, your duel with the lace quickly thwarted as you try to conceal yourself from his prying eyes.
"I'm sorry, my dear, I could not help but offer my help after watching you struggle for so long." He sheepishly pans his heart eyes around your room, finding the mundane suddenly immensely interesting. "Although I also would not be opposed to you not wearing a bra at all, if it makes things easier." His grin sharpens at the thought.
He leans over your shoulder, his head brushing against the curve of your neck, a subtle purr vibrating your sensitive skin. He traces your prude display, being mindful of his claws as he teases the delicate flesh you hold from him.
"Your body is a thing of beauty regardless of what you drape over it. Anything you adorn simply enhances your ethereal figure and adds kindle to my flames of passion, my love."
Harlequin
Just like Pierrot, Harlequin's eyes are always glued to your figure, he's just not the type to be shy about it. He's not above making direct comments about your tits, especially when you wear such revealing bra and shirt combos, or even just shirts. Even if you try to ignore his obvious attention to your chest, he always finds a way to get some form of reaction out of you, whether it be an obvious glance down, a cheesy pickup line, and in some drastic attempts, even going as far as to tease your nipples through your shirts, (it was an accident, he swears). If you decide to wear no bra however, prepare for a very touchy day filled with him ghosting his claws over your skin, forming not only goosebumps, but other tantalizing effects.
He absolutely commits each one of your bras to memory, often making connections to your mood based on which one you decide to put on, subconsciously or not. Although it's always a welcome surprise for him to see you wearing a new bra he hasn't catalogued yet. Often teasing you about "not having to buy new lingerie just for him", and how "not to worry, the spark hasn't died out just yet". That being said, he is the sole reason for you buying new bras, since he gets too impatient with the art of unclasping the barrier to your bosom.
Some of his jokes do tend to dance along the line of bullying sometimes when it comes to the size of your breasts, and if you already struggle with your body image, it can lead to some issues later on. Luckily though he can pick up on when his 'jokes' don't land how they're supposed to. Often halting his advances and toning down any teasing until you start believing his indirect apologies.
Much like Pierrot, his favorite part about your smaller chest is being able to hear your heartbeat clearer, although on a more intimately closer sense. He eventually finds himself only able to get a restful sleep with the thrumming of your heart beating against the coolness of his mask, your heart a soothing symphony to his racing thoughts in the dead of night. Of course he never admits the comfort you provide and always gives you a pervy reason as to why he has to nestle into your sternum every night you spend together.
"You know I didn't mean it, predileto," he huffs out, grabbing you by the shoulder firmly, stopping you from turning away from him, "c'mon, don't be like that."
You don't even remember what underhanded joke he tried to make, your mind buried it as it snowballed through your familiar insecurities about your chest size. Tears began threatening to creep out of the corners of your eyes as you refused to meet his concerned gaze.
"Merda..." His grip softened at the pitiful sight before him. "You could've told me how much it bothered you, my dear," he hesitates slightly, trying to find the words to disarm the hair trigger trap he made for himself.
He takes a deep breath before adverting his own eyes from your potential gaze. "We all have our own insecurities, and it's wrong of me to poke fun at yours." His fingers leave your shoulder to card through his hair, "out of all the insecurities humans have, your chest size being one is sort of laughable, though." His cocky grin grounds you momentarily at the shock.
"Oh, don't act so surprised, dear one. Have you seen yourself in the mirror? The clothes you wear? The way strangers whip their heads just to see you one more time?" A light chuckle follows his honeyed words. You habitually brace for the other shoe to drop, but it never does, at least not this time. You glance up at him and see him nervously fidgeting with his curls.
"I see how they look at you, how he looks at you, and I can't help but feel jealous in a way. It makes me want to claim you as mine." His eyes flick dangerously back to yours, his nervousness instantly leaving the air as he finally catches you in his trap.
You feel tentacles coil up your torso, writhing and slithering under the hem of your shirt as they continue their journey towards that siren's song of a heartbeat. You struggle slightly against him, willing yourself to at the very least be mad at him for putting you in such a depressive state, but the coldness of the smooth scales of his tentacles take you by surprise.
"Your body reacts so deliciously, I might have no choice but to claim you as mine, would you like that? My sweet, little, titmouse?"
There it was. That was the stupid joke that caused your insecure spiral to reap it's dues on an otherwise beautiful day. You shoot him an irritated glare as you feel one rope coil around a bare breast and another toy with your now hardened nipple.
He laughs at your realization, and internally breathes a sigh of relief from his brief moment of vulnerability. His eyes hold a deeper feeling however, one he refuses to acknowledge even with himself. The tentacle wrapped around your breast shifts slightly, opting to rest comfortably curled in his favorite part of your appetizing body.
Right above where your heart races against the coldness of his scales.
Jester
Although you can never catch him, he does steal many glances at your figure, more than he cares to admit. His mind often takes the much needed time to properly admire your outfits and let his imagination wander as he dresses you in more appealing attire. He knows your games, however. He knows how you purposefully don't wear a bra on especially chilly days, as a feeble attempt to grab his attention. You would never be able to tell how much your charms actually affect him behind closed doors though. A new bra causing ink to pool on an invoice. A new shirt causing him to reread the same line four times. A revealing angle causing him to lose his train of thought. Such a troublesome pet you are.
Any complaints you air about any bras you wear are duly noted to him despite his annoyed huffs. It isn't until you find new bras waiting for you in your closet that you piece it together. Often with new styles and materials you never even considered let alone affording in some aspects. Various colors allowing you to properly coordinate your outfits, and the support/framing up to model standards. Of course if you bring this up to him expect him to congratulate you in a sarcastic tone for finally figuring it out.... Finally...?
He's far from naive when it comes to "conventional" beauty standards in the human society, and sure his kind has some standards, but none as asinine and genetic based as humans. Hearing you berate your body for not being in a cookie cutter shape or seeing you shy away from his touch fills him with a new level of loathing for your kind.
Although he doesn't have a specific favorite thing about your chest, he does have the same interest in your heart being so bare to him, so ripe for the harvest, so rightfully his. One of his interests is dressing you in flattering outfits, after all, pets are a reflection of their owners, right? A common theme of his outfits however is your chest, mainly how exposed or adorned it is with accents of stars, his claiming on what belongs to him and him alone.
You were just scrolling on your phone when yet another seemingly targeted ad interrupted your night of calm. Sharing space with Jester while the two of you did your own things was a quality he appreciated and a time you cherished. But this was now the third ad for the same bras you couldn't fit in. Every ad had a busty pretty thing showcasing the overpriced lingerie in a borderline suggestive tone as an effort to boost sales, but you couldn't shake the feeling of envy for what lay past the fabric. You attempted to ground yourself, shifting slightly in your loungewear, longing to feel what it meant to be like the person in the screen.
"Your self depreciating thoughts are distracting me from this predictable plot twist, pet." He adjusts his book in his hand before resting the cheek of his mask on the other.
"Your kinds' beauty standards are truly pitiful," Jester's words hit you like a lightning bolt back to the present moment. His amethyst eyes pinpricked at your screen, a twinge of disgust laced his words, "valuing such a shallow thing as looks it fitting for humans, I suppose."
You pause the advertisement only to be redirected to the items listing, even the mannequin had a bigger set of tits than you. You could feel the familiar gloom creeping in despite the double edged comment.
You could feel your heart grow heavy with the self consciousness weighing your mood down, and Jester must've felt it too.
The sudden page turn caused you to tense.
"You are more beautiful than any of the humans that come across your phone, o predileto." His eyes paused in his printed lines, dilated and half lidded. "True beauty lies in actions over appearance, and I don't take in mutts."
It takes you a second to figure out he was complimenting you, and a pretty big one at that. He flicked his eyes towards yours and you saw a sense of tenderness you rarely witnessed before his pupils sharpened to their regular diamond shape.
He presented his opened palm towards you.
"Let me see if I can tailor something similar for you, my perfect pet."
Ticket Taker
The only one in the troupe to feel a little guilty for glancing at your chest. He falls victim to your antics too easily for his own liking, although his poker face saves him almost every time, often coming up with a clever reason or excuse to take his attention away from your cleavage. Although the image still hangs on the back of his mind for the remainder of the day. His ultimate weakness however is whenever your nipples harden through your shirt. The way your bra sometimes sneaks past the neckline of your shirts has been the reason for a few papers to leave his desk with a suspicious pool of ink at the signature line. It's just the bargain pens though... Yeah... Cheap pens...
You end up learning that different bras affect him in different degrees. Of course, the skimpy ones have an effect on him, but not nearly as much as a traditional solid colored one. The simplicity and domestic nature of a basic bra is something that can't be beat in his eyes. (Lace bras are a close second to him). He's a gentleman of tradition after all, so accidental cleavage is the one way to get him to possibly break his persona.
If you bring up feeling like your chest is inadequate all lewd thoughts dissipate and are replaced with reassurance that you have nothing to feel insecure over. Depending on the time of day and overall mood between the two of you it can get into a hands on explanation on just how hard it is to focus around you. If you're in need of authentic real reassurance he's not opposed to let down his walls slightly to share some of his own insecurities, although vague and left up to interpretation or a later discussion.
Much like the rest of the troupe however, he has an affinity towards your heart, mostly over the physical drum when he ghosts the back of his hand over your chest. The silent reassurance that you're here and alive is enough to chip away at the mountainous stress of everyday life. Although he always asks you before extending his gloved hand out and never presses it into you, allowing you to control how much pressure you allow him to claim.
You try another pose in the mirror and your faux smile falters. Your eyes scan up and down your body like a critical judge, knit picking every small flaw and blemish. You pan up to your breasts and sigh. The shirt you bought probably would've looked better if you had more to give the fabric. You paw at the slack threads, angling your chest in different ways to see if you could lay them in an appealing way, to seemingly no avail.
A blur catches your eye in the top corner of the mirror, a distortion, a distraction from your harsh judgement.
"Everyone has insecurities, dear one."
He clicks the pen closed and sets it next to the pile of papers before leaning back in his chair, his back popping in relief.
"It's entirely normal to have insecurities about one's body. It's part of life." He rolls his neck earning him another satisfying pop and groan. "I, for one, despise my need to complete things to perfection." His voice trails off slightly, debating on speaking his thoughts. "As well as my own figure."
He stands from his desk and joins you in front of the mirror, only his focus is on himself for once. His eyes hallow as he meets his own gaze, "the key is to learn to accept the truths before you and overcome the urge to become something you're not."
His eyes flick towards yours and the softness returns. His hand grazes your chin, gently urging it to tilt towards him. He exhales a breath he didn't realize he was holding before coaxing a strand of hair behind your ear.
"You are perfect to me because you are yourself."
Doctor
Is still the King of Unbothered-town. No amount of flaunting or teasing seems to affect him, although the attempts to end up interrupting his research when he allows his mind to wander. He's forever thankful whenever you decide to not wear a bra. The tease of being able to see your nipples harden in biological reaction is more tantalizing than any flirty sexual attempts. The subtle jiggle of your breasts a whisper to his desire to study you further. The thrumming of your heart a beautiful song he can change the tempo of at his beck and call. Your teasing attempts ultimately turn against you in exponential time.
If he had it his way you would wear nothing but gowns or nothing at all around him. Your body itself is a thing of biological beauty and deserves to be displayed in it's full natural glory. It takes some time but he eventually grows to like lace. The intricate designs highlight your skin and provide him with a teasing veil to remove when his curiosity piques. The thin material also allows your nipples to still announce the chilly air of his lab free of any padding.
Insecurities confuse him. Being a logic driven being the idea of being insecure or shameful of a body part of all things is nearly incomprehensible. You would have to explain your feelings and issues in painful detail, followed by references of course. Once he eventually gets a grasp on the idea of your self consciousness he attempts to reassure you in the only way he knows how. Education. Painfully blunt education.
Your entire chest is one of his favorite parts of your miraculous body. The delicate skin that provides blood to your perfect mounds, to your ribcage that act as a platter to said mounds, and a barrier to your four chambered heart. Your atrium and ventricles sending your personal melody throughout your body in bursts of breathtakingly gorgeous blood. Give him the chance and he'll map out your major arteries and veins in marker, starting with a surprisingly detailed sketch of your heart. Although this activity tends to get out of hand as he begins to map out more of your body's systems with more markers.
You take a ragged breath, exhausted from trying to reword your explanation of beauty standards and how you don't fit in a few of them, mostly the chest department. Explaining the societal structures for thirty minutes turned you from a gloomy husk, to a frustrated complainer, to a desperate teacher.
Doctor crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, the reinforced legs still creaking at his size. A small grumble slips out into the tension.
"Beauty standards sound nothing like regular standards. Why compare yourself to something that constantly changes and isn't concrete?" He adjusts his mask slightly before curling his hand under his chin in thought.
His leg begins to bounce as he tries to compile the information you gave him into something that made sense. The fidgeting becoming more erratic the more he tried to piece it together.
"Hip dips, hiplets, muffin tops, thinspo, fitspo, apron belly, love handles, thunder thighs, butterface..." He mumbles to himself, increasingly becoming agitated, his boot now making an audible noise as his leg bounce increases.
"All of these 'beauty standards' when the only one that matters is the beauty of anatomy and biology." He huffs in frustration and his leg rests. "If you're body is healthy why does it matter what it looks like. You feel this way about your breasts, sweetie?" He tilts his head to the side.
You flinch at his bluntness before nodding slightly, your arms crossing in front of the topic of conversation.
He focuses on your body language and rises from his chair, the legs screeching behind him. He stands over you but his energy shifts from frustration to a towering gentleness. He palms your shoulder, his touch a bit heavy handed but well intended.
"Your body should be the beauty standard because it is yours. It is miracle of biological machinery that is both the weakest engine yet the strongest marvel I have ever set my eyes upon."
You might have to explain it for thirty more minutes.
Pierrot instantly freezes up beneath you, spiraling into a breathless state of overwhelming, tearful devotion. The sudden physical sting makes his mind race with a desperate, suffocating panic that this is a dream, but as the mark forms, he melts into absolute compliance. He will bury his face in your hair, sobbing out frantic, quiet whimpers of gratitude because you are physically marking him as yours. He will immediately hide the bruise under his heavy cloak or costume, guarding it like a sacred, deeply private secret that belongs only to the two of you.
Harlequin:
Harlequin goes entirely off the rails with hyperactive, manic ecstasy the moment he feels your lips and teeth on his neck. He lets out a loud, chaotic laugh, his wide eyes dilating with dangerous, twitching energy as he grips your waist tightly to hold you against him. He treats the love bite like an intense, exhilarating game, squirming and grinning widely as he demands you leave more. The mark satisfies his volatile possessiveness completely, and he will constantly point it out to you with smug, unblinking intensity.
Jester:
Jester lets out a sharp, surprised hiss when your teeth first sink into his skin, his dominant composure briefly slipping. Once he realizes what you are doing, his mocking smirk returns with an aggressive, possessive edge. He considers the mark a proud trophy of his complete ownership over you. He will proudly leave it exposed to the rest of the circus, using it as a loud, public declaration that you are thoroughly yours, before violently yanking you back into his lap to bite you right back twice as hard to re-establish who is the true master.
Ticket taker:
Ticket Taker responds with a heavy, frozen stillness that makes the surrounding air feel completely ice-cold. He does not flinch, groan, or smile as you bite into his dark form; his glowing eyes simply stare down at you with a piercing, unblinking intensity. He views the hickey as a permanent, binding seal on a contract—an official signature proving your total forfeiture of freedom. His massive, cold hand will slowly lock onto the back of your neck, pinning you tightly against his chest to trap you in his dark, silent cage forever.
Doctor:
Doctor pauses perfectly still, his analytical eyes narrowing as his cold composure instantly shifts into evaluation mode. He doesn't pull away from the sting; instead, his hands will rest directly over your pulse points or your chest, tracking exactly how fast your heart is racing while you claim his skin. He views the bite as a fascinating psychological development in your submission, tilting your chin up with a calm, unsettling grip afterward to quietly lecture you on the physiological bruising process while planning exactly where he is going to mark you in return.
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