SFW Pierrot/Jestyn x MC | Crowned in Red and Black
Warnings: None
Masterlist Request
DISCLAIMER All rights reserved.The following work is a product of fiction intended for mature audiences. By proceeding, the reader acknowledges that the actions and philosophies expressed by the characters do not reflect the personal views or morals of the author. This work may not be scraped, fed into, or processed by AI generators for the purpose of creating derivative text, images, or media. No part of this story may be reproduced in any form without explicit written permission by the author, Myukios. (Tumblr/Ao3/Discord)
The room was bathed in the heavy silence of the early hours, broken only by the rhythmic, steady breathing of MC as they slept. Suddenly, a sharp, light snap echoed through the air, vibrating against the walls like a crack of static.
Jestyn appeared at the edge of the bed, his 215 cm frame looming over the sleeping form of MC. He didn't loom with malice; instead, he settled onto the mattress with a grace that felt almost unnatural for his size, the bed dipping under his weight. His movements were fluid, his joints no longer clicking like the porcelain he once was. He leaned in close, his long, black tongue flicking briefly over his lips as he watched the rise and fall of MC’s chest.
"My beautiful Majesty," Jestyn whispered, his voice a flamboyant, melodic hum that vibrated in the quiet room. "The world is so dull when those eyes are closed. I could spend an eternity simply watching the way the dreams dance behind your lids. Use me, command me... even in your sleep, you hold every string of my heart."
He reached out a cold, dark-skinned hand—the black staining his right hand stark against the sheets—to hover just inches from MC's cheek, trembling with a mix of restraint and adoration.
A faint scraping sound came from the balcony.
Pierrot’s massive, 198 cm silhouette blocked the moonlight as he vaulted over the railing and stepped into the room. His movements were ghost-like, a silent predator’s grace that usually remained hidden behind his shy circus persona. His mask, fixed in its eternal, haunting grin, tilted as he took in the scene.
Pierrot didn't hesitate. He stepped further into the room, his sharp claws twitching at his sides. Usually, the circus rules bound his tongue, but here, in the sanctuary of MC’s home, the silence broke.
"Get away from them," Pierrot said. His voice was deeper than his puppy-like demeanor suggested, carrying a jagged edge of possessiveness. He didn't shout, but the weight of his presence filled the space, his eyes fixed on Jestyn’s hand near MC. "They are resting. They don't need a puppet’s chatter."
Jestyn didn't pull his hand away. Instead, he turned his hooded head toward the jester, a wide, playful smirk stretching across his face. He found the intrusion more of a delightful prank than a threat.
"Oh? And I suppose they need a silent stalker from the rafters instead?" Jestyn teased, his voice dripping with flamboyant charm. He shifted on the bed, pointedly staying close to MC's side. "I was just telling Your Majesty how much I belong to them. There is plenty of room for devotion, though I prefer the view from right here."
Pierrot’s breathing changed—a minute shift that only another monster might notice. He loathed the way Jestyn sat so familiarly on the bed. His protective instincts, honed by weeks of watching MC from the shadows, flared white-hot. He moved closer to the foot of the bed, his towering frame casting a long shadow over both Jestyn and the sleeping MC.
"I watch their heart rate," Pierrot murmured, his gaze softening only when it landed on MC. "I know when they are peaceful. You... you are a loud distraction."
The air in the room grew heavy with tension, a silent battle of wills between the flamboyant puppet and the obsessive protector. Neither moved to strike, both far too concerned with MC's comfort to risk a loud confrontation, yet the space between them hummed with the electric energy of two predators claiming the same prize.
Jestyn’s smile only grew wider. "A distraction? Perhaps. But I am the toy they chose to keep. Why don't we see who Your Majesty greets first when they wake?"
MC then shifted beneath the heavy blankets, a soft, low mumble escaping their lips as they turned toward the side of the bed where Jestyn sat. The slight friction of the sheets and the change in their breathing acted like a starting pistol; both monsters snapped their heads toward MC with synchronicity.
Jestyn froze, his hand retracting just enough to remain respectful but staying close enough to feel the warmth radiating from MC’s skin. Pierrot’s posture shifted instantly, dropping from a defensive stance into a slight crouch, his masked face tilting as he analyzed the minute flutter of MC’s eyelids. The room fell into a suffocatingly expectant silence, both of them holding their breath so as not to startle their shared obsession.
When MC didn’t fully wake but instead settled back into a deeper, rhythmic slumber, the tension between the two visitors didn't return to its previous sharp edge. Instead, it smoothed out into a grim, mutual understanding.
"They look so fragile when they sleep," Pierrot whispered, his voice losing its jagged threat and softening into that familiar, puppy-like devotion. "I only want to make sure nothing ever takes that peace away from them."
Jestyn looked at Pierrot, the flamboyant smirk on his face softening into something more contemplative. He looked down at his own dark, puppet-like hands, then back at MC. "A sentiment I find... surprisingly agreeable," Jestyn hummed quietly. "I am a creature designed for their satisfaction—a toy, a servant, a shield. I care little for the world outside this room, so long as Your Majesty remains on their throne, safe and adored."
Jestyn shifted, his bells giving a tiny, muffled jingle. "You followed them here to guard them, didn't you? You've been watching them from the shadows just as I have been watching from the corners of the mind."
Pierrot nodded slowly, his claws retracted. "Harlequin... others... They are too loud. Too dangerous. MC needs someone who can see the danger before it touches them. Someone who would do anything to keep them."
"Then it seems we are at an impasse that doesn't require blood," Jestyn said, extending his hand toward Pierrot—not in a challenge, but in a rare gesture of alliance. "I provide the entertainment, the devotion, the... closer comforts. You provide the silent vigil, the protection from the shadows. We both want the same thing: Your Majesty, isolated from the world’s rot, kept exclusively for us to cherish."
Pierrot looked at Jestyn’s hand, then at MC’s peaceful face. He knew he was the strongest in terms of raw power, but he recognized the utility in Jestyn’s teleportation and his uncanny ability to soothe MC’s moods.
"A truce," Pierrot murmured, reaching out and briefly clasping Jestyn's hand with his own clawed grip. "As long as they are happy. As long as they are ours."
"Ours," Jestyn echoed, the word tasting sweet. He looked back at MC with a silly, wide smile. "Imagine the look on Your Majesty's face when they wake to find they have twice the devotion. I might just have to kneel in advance."
Pierrot didn't smile—his mask did that for him—but he settled onto the floor at the foot of the bed like a loyal hound, his eyes never leaving the door, while Jestyn remained perched like a gargoyle on the mattress, both of them waiting for the moment MC’s eyes would finally open.
A little while later
The first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting long, pale streaks across the bed. As MC’s consciousness drifted back to the surface, the air in the room felt inexplicably heavy, thick with a stillness that wasn't quite natural.
The moment MC’s eyes fluttered open, they weren't met with the ceiling. Instead, they found Jestyn’s masked face hovering just inches away, his wide, painted grin looking even more eccentric in the morning light. At the foot of the bed, the towering, dark silhouette of Pierrot rose from his crouch, his bells giving a soft, metallic chime as he stood.
"Good morning, Your Majesty," Jestyn chirped, his voice a velvet purr. He didn't move an inch, staying perched on the mattress. "The sun was quite bold to wake you before I could finish my morning praises, but I suppose I can forgive it."
MC blinked, their heart skipping a beat as they realized they weren't alone—and that the two most possessive entities in their life were currently occupying the same four walls without any signs of a struggle. MC sat up slowly, pulling the duvet to their chest, looking from the flamboyant puppet on the bed to the silent, masked giant at the door.
"You both... are here?" MC’s voice was still raspy from sleep, their gaze darting between them. "And the room is still standing? I half expected to wake up to a crime scene."
Pierrot stepped closer, his imposing height usually enough to swallow the room, but he moved with a newfound, hesitant gentleness. He reached out, his claws twitching before he settled for resting a large, gloved hand on the bedpost.
"We talked," Pierrot said, his voice surprisingly soft. "He understands. I understand. We both want to keep you... safe. From everything."
"Oh, more than safe, your majesty," Jestyn added, sliding closer on the silk sheets until his knee brushed against MC’s leg. "We’ve decided that a treasure as rare as you deserves a double guard. Pierrot shall be your shadow in the streets, and I shall be your devoted toy within these walls. Or perhaps we shall trade? The possibilities for your satisfaction are... endless."
MC looked at the two of them—one a supernatural puppet who treated them like a deity to be served, the other a predator who watched their every breath with terrifying tenderness.
"You've made a truce?" MC asked, a hint of disbelief in their voice. "Over me? You're both acting like I'm a prize to be managed."
"Not managed, Your Majesty," Jestyn corrected, his long black tongue flicking out briefly as he smiled. "Adored. Consumed. Protected. You are the center of the world; it is only right that the world revolves around you."
Pierrot leaned down, his mask coming level with MC’s face. "Do not be afraid," he murmured, the intensity in his gaze almost palpable. "I will cook for you today. I will stay until you tell me to leave. He will stay, too. No one else will get near you."
MC let out a long breath, realizing the gravity of the situation. The two of them weren't just visiting; they had synchronized their obsessions.
"I don't think I have much of a choice in this, do I?" MC asked, looking at Pierrot’s sharp claws and then at Jestyn’s eager, blushing face.
"You have every choice, Your Majesty," Jestyn whispered, leaning in to nuzzle against MC’s shoulder, his cold skin a stark contrast to the warm blankets. "As long as that choice is us."
The atmosphere in the room was stiflingly intimate as the morning light grew brighter. MC felt the weight of the mattress shift as Jestyn crawled closer, his movements deliberate, while Pierrot remained a silent, towering sentry at the foot of the bed.
"Choices, Your Majesty? You have the only choice that matters," Jestyn murmured, his voice buzzing low against MC’s ear. "You get to choose how we serve you first. Should I dress you in those noble silks that make me want to weep at your feet? Or shall we let the big, silent one fetch you a feast?"
Pierrot’s head tilted, the bells on his jester hat jingling softly. He didn't seem offended by Jestyn’s teasing; instead, he took it as a cue. He stepped toward the center of the room, his 198 cm frame casting a shadow that swallowed the sunlight.
"I will make breakfast," Pierrot stated firmly, his voice rumbling from behind his mask. "You need to eat, MC. You are so small... so easy to break. I want to make sure you are strong."
"A chef and a guardian," Jestyn laughed, a melodic, slightly manic sound. He reached out and traced the edge of the duvet covering MC’s lap. "And I shall stay right here to keep you warm. My skin is cold, I know, but I can be quite... encompassing if you allow it."
MC looked from the jester to the puppet. The truce was terrifyingly efficient. Pierrot began to move toward the kitchen, but he stopped at the bedroom door, his sharp claws digging slightly into the wood of the frame as he looked back one last time.
"I will be listening," Pierrot whispered to MC, his gaze flicking briefly to Jestyn in a silent warning. "If you need me to pull him away, I will. But if you want him there... I will let him stay."
As Pierrot disappeared down the hall, the sounds of him moving through the kitchen—the familiar clinking of pans and the scraping of a knife being sharpened—began to drift back. Jestyn took advantage of the privacy, sliding even closer until he could rest his chin on MC’s shoulder.
"He’s so serious, isn't he? A very protective hound," Jestyn whispered, his dark hand moving to gently capture MC’s chin, forcing them to look into his ecstatic eyes. "But I’m the one who can teleport you away to a palace of porcelain. Tell me, Your Majesty... now that we’re 'alone,' what is your first command? Shall I stay on your lap like a good pet, or do you wish to see how well I can obey a much... darker order?"
He waited, his breath hitching in anticipation, his body practically vibrating with the need for a reaction—a laugh, a command, or even a scolding. To Jestyn, every word from MC was a gift; to Pierrot, in the other room, every breath MC took was a vow he intended to keep.
MC looked up at Jestyn, whose face was flushed with the sheer thrill of being noticed. Instead of pushing him away or giving a sharp command, MC softened their gaze. They reached out, resting a hand against Jestyn’s cheek, their thumb tracing the line of his painted grin. The texture of his skin, once cold porcelain but now surprisingly human-like, felt smooth and sensitive under their touch.
"You’ve both been very busy this morning, haven't you?" MC said softly, their voice warm and teasing. "My devoted protectors, making plans for me while I was still dreaming."
Jestyn’s eyes widened, and he practically melted into the touch. A deep, visible blush crept up his neck and colored his face, his flamboyant confidence momentarily faltering into genuine, wide-eyed awe. He leaned his head into MC’s palm, his breathing hitching.
"Your Majesty... you are far too kind to a mere toy," he whispered, his voice trembling with delight. "To have your hand on me like this... it’s enough to make my strings snap. I would kneel for you a thousand times over if you keep looking at me with such sweetness."
From the kitchen, the rhythmic sound of Pierrot sharpening a knife faltered for a second—he was clearly listening, his sensitive ears catching the change in the room's energy.
"Pierrot!" MC called out, their tone gentle. "Don't just hide in the kitchen. Come back here for a moment."
A few seconds later, the towering jester reappeared in the doorway. He looked almost hesitant, his massive frame filling the entry, his sharp claws still gripped around a kitchen cloth. Seeing MC touching Jestyn so affectionately made Pierrot’s head tilt, his mask fixed in its grin but his posture radiating a quiet, shy yearning.
"I am here, MC," Pierrot murmured, stepping closer to the bed.
MC reached out their other hand toward him. Pierrot didn't hesitate; he moved forward and knelt by the bedside, placing his large, gloved hand near MC’s. When MC rested their hand over his, the silent giant seemed to deflate with relief, his shoulders losing their tension.
"I'm glad you're both here," MC said, looking between the two of them. "I think I could get used to this... as long as you promise to behave for me."
Jestyn let out a shaky, ecstatic breath, his long black tongue flicking over his lips as he gazed at MC with total adoration. "I shall be the most obedient puppet you’ve ever owned, Your Majesty. I’ll even let the hound stay on the bed if it keeps that smile on your face."
Pierrot let out a low, rumbling hum of agreement, his thumb grazing the back of MC's hand with feather-light pressure. "I will cook the best meal you have ever tasted," he promised solemnly. "Anything you want. Today, and every day after. We are yours."
The room felt smaller now, not because of their size, but because of the sheer density of the devotion pressing in from both sides. MC sat there, the center of two dark, obsessive worlds that had finally found a singular, peaceful orbit.
