[writingdose]

genuine writers getting wrongly accused of using ai because of witch hunt and proper grammar/structure in their works must be what being a woman in the 1600s who is wrongly accused of being a witch because she can read and is intelligent feels like

[baidao]

[kininasart]

Cherry

[circusofdelirium]

The back of the black and pink tickets from the merch. So much to think about from these.

[the-silent-role]

*casually drops 19 in here* ೭੧(❛〜❛✿)੭೨

※•●🌙●•※ {//||--Fluff prompt #19: dancing. Jester x Reader WARNING: The song Masochism Tango from Tom Lehrer in 1959 is gory, graphic, and dark in its lyrics. For some, this may not be content easily swallowed--so you listen at your own risk y'all haha. Writing for Jester is intense, as he is more eloquent and intelligent than I am for sure! Reading paired with unnaturally long life? This man would spit at me and tell me to write him better. LOL I'm really quite proud of this piece, though. QuQ Enjoy~

“You are fidgeting.”

Jester’s voice was a low, melodic purr. He watched you, his keen eyes tracing the silent, stubborn mantra you so desperately clung to, mouthing the words along with your thoughts before you could even form them.

“I’m fine,” you lied.

You bit the inside of your lower lip, forcing a needle through the fabric in your hands, working another frantic cross-stitch into the canvas. But your gaze was blurred, distracted, anchoring on the threads without truly seeing them.

It had been one of those wretched nights. The sort where patrons arrived at the circus gates with a hunger for malice rather than the desire for spectacle. A pack of cruel young men had tried to incite violence in the shadow of the black tent. As the circus' Human Ambassador, you were the frontline—the shield meant to de-escalate in situations such as this.

When their aggressions eclipsed your words, the Doctor’s brute, looming presence had been required to drive the point home. It worked, of course. The men slunk away, spitting pathetic, venomous remarks meant to wound on their departure. But it wasn't their parting words that broke your heart; it was their fundamental ignorance.

You understood the grim reality of the black tent. You knew that if monsters could choose a diet that didn't demand such... complicated logistics, they would gladly sever ties with humanity entirely. Live in secret; peace from blind hatred. But biology is an unyielding master. They could not rewrite their genetic design, nor could they starve. For many, this necessity birthed tragedy: shattered families, starvation, and constant peril.

Yet, for the crime of survival, they were branded demons and accused of employment with the devil himself. They came to the circus as broken things, reaching for a lifeline, only to be met with hatred from the occasional yellow ticket holder. A profound moral rot tore at your conscience; after all, it wasn't as though a monstrous carnival could ethically source human sustenance on a charitable scale.

Tears gathered, fogging your vision until the world dissolved into a watery haze.

Jester was utterly fascinated by these fractures in your spirit.

Somewhere deep within his labyrinthine mind, a bitter, monstrous instinct flared at the sight of your sorrow. It galvanized his leadership—forcing him to zoom out, to analyze the grand architecture of the situation, and construct a sanctuary of solutions for you. A soft, fleeting shadow of empathy crossed his features before hardening into a razor-sharp smile.

Crossing one long leg over the other, he tilted his face toward the canvas ceiling of your shared tent.

“If my memory serves me well,” he lilted, his cadence dripping like honey, “this particular tapestry of threads was promised to me. Tell me, sweet mouse, have your thoughts stolen my tribute?”

You pinched the flesh inside your cheek, offering a miserable, muted nod.

Through the sudden, erratic quickening of your pulse, Jester sensed the breaking of your dams. Your tears began to free-fall. Damn. Usually, you appreciated the theatrical flair of his phrasing—gaining a brief respite of humor from it—but tonight, your bleeding heart had entirely suffocated your wit. And for a creature of his pedigree, your sorrow was a volatile thing.

With blinding, predatory speed—yet wrapped in exquisite care to protect the fabric from your tears—a clawed hand snatched the embroidery away. Your amethyst savior. He tsk-ed softly, laying the piece safely upon the sleeping cot before turning back to your trembling form. Though his expression remained an unreadable mask, his monstrous heart struck a slower, heavier rhythm against his ribs as you frantically wiped your face, sputtering breathless apologies.

It was entirely absurd that he should harbor such sentiments for a creature of your kind.

It was a devotion he wasn't sure he could ever escape, nor did he truly wish to. But you, saintly beast that you were, accepted every jagged edge of him. The savior of your kind, brought to heel by a mortal's grief. He picked up your phone, his sharp claw scrolling through Spotify.

“I stumbled upon a rather...pleasant song today,” he cooed, his voice an elegant trap as he selected a track. “Entertain me. Dance with me, won't you?”

He extended a bare, darkened hand, tipped with lethal talons. Jester never ceased his testing; he constantly flaunted his apex status, forcing you to look upon the monster and choose to stay. And you never failed. If only for another day, you chose him.

Swiping the dampness from your cheeks with the heels of your palms, you nodded. Instantly, the sharp, staccato of violins from an aged, dramatic melody filled the tent. Your hand appeared a fragile, ghostly pale against his dark skin. It was your final coherent thought before he seamlessly swept you from your chair, pulling your frame flush against his.

He gazed down at your sorrow, watching it morph into sheer bewilderment as the brutal, macabre lyrics of the song washed over you. His chest swelled with a predator's profound satisfaction as you became perfectly pliable in his grip. You followed him blindly, moving in a beautifully manipulated tango—Jester’s own twisted physical message, reminding you that he would never allow you to fall.

Never on his watch. Should you remain loyal, of course...

The harsh, gory poetry of the music kept you on your toes just as fiercely as your keeper did. Your chest began to heave with the exertion of the dance. Beneath his mask, violet eyes glowed with a sudden, violent intensity. He could smell the cocktail of your emotions—the racing heart, the deepened breaths, the salt of your tears. He wanted to taste the sheer thickness of your distress, restrained from his primal impulses only by the ridiculous, inconvenient notion of your well-being. And so, he chose instead to twirl, step, and dip you. Pulling you out of the darkness of your own mind.

For two breathless minutes, your universe narrowed to the rhythm of his feet. A perfect, unpredictable distraction.

With a theatrical flourish, he brought the dance to a close, tilting you backward into a deep, dramatic dip. A slender purple tongue darted out, tracing a line of possession over your exposed throat, claiming it from the collarbone to the edge of your chin, before he leaned down to whisper directly against your lips.

The blazing passion in his eyes—a volatile currency not easily defined as love—sent a violent tremor down your spine. He stifled a low growl, keeping his composure by a thread.

“You raised your appraisal rating tonight, you know,” his hot breath mingled with yours, intoxicatingly close. “I dare say you transcended from 'meets expectations' to 'exceeds.' A rating unfathomably higher than the vermin we purged from our gates this evening... thank you.”

The word vermin was spat with lethal venom, yet it was beautifully juxtaposed by the rare, soft display of his gratitude.

Straining your neck slightly, you pressed your nose and forehead against the smooth surface of his white mask, your body finally surrendering its emotional tension, melting into the embrace. It was permitted—a few moments longer than the last affection you had dared to offer (and you kept a meticulous tally of these small victories).

Jester smirked wickedly against your mouth, his eyes dancing with dark amusement as he pulled you effortlessly upright. With a flick of his wrist, he hit play on the Masochism Tango once more.

“However,” he spoke firmly, his voice returning to its commanding, theatrical resonance as he swept you back into the rhythm, “your tango technique rates a dismal 'does not meet expectations.' Unfortunate for you, my sweet mouse... let us begin again.”

He led you into the steps once more, his movements gentler this time—a quiet, fiercely guarded tenderness hidden beneath the cruel poetry of his words.

[alleyway221]

Pierrot doesn't know what personal space is...

Fan Art comic/animatic of "The Freak Circus" by @nekoboydreams

Please go support the game creator and game!

Game -> "The Freak Circus"

[yufose]

he got you something nice

[the-silent-role]

※•●🌙●•※

{//||--I'm about to get on a huge conference call, but will later have time to actually sit down and write today (yay~!) Below the cut is a list of Fluff Prompts; I'll probably reply as Pierrot, Harlequin, or Jester.

CLOSED 🧡

Thank you for submitting several; I’ll get to work on them in my free time. 🫶

[rattetytat]

[rattetytat]

Drawings of the totally-not-problematic-and-naughty clown

[the-silent-role]

{//||--Random fluff prompt(: Hair pampering Pierrot x reader (non-gender specific)

※•●🌙●•※

Pierrot closed his eyes and leaned back into the chair, listening to your soft hums as you worked through his long, damp locks. A good pampering wasn’t something he was accustomed to, but—angel that you were—you’d given him the ultimate salon treatment.

Something about an oil massage, deep cleansing wash, conditioning, a... a hair mask (that was it!), and even an after-rinse leave-in serum. He was on cloud nine from all your fussing—truly the most divine way to spend a day off. Granted, during a few moments, like when you scrubbed and polished his trio of curved horns, he’d received some minor scolding for getting fresh.

But could you blame him? They were so sensitive, and you were just mouthwatering.

It’d been then that you laughed, tapping his shoulder playfully to remind him that that wasn't on the agenda. Pierrot respected your boundaries—he always did. Still, it certainly helped that your hands were constantly on him.

A low rumble of delight vibrated in his chest. Pierrot tilted his head back to look up at you, completely drunk on happiness. Unfortunately, the sudden movement messed up the neat section you’d been working to detangle.

“Pierrot!” You laughed down at him, and he beamed, completely oblivious and assuming you were just giddy to make eye contact. If he had a dog tail, it surely would be wagging. “You can't move so much, or all this brushing will go to waste.”

Your thumb traced his brow before you gently guided his head back into position. Smiling, you picked up the comb to wrap things up quickly. Your monster was clearly getting fidgety from sheer enjoyment, his energy bubbling over. As you worked, you tried to brainstorm a few activities that might help burn off his excitement.

Maybe a long walk? There was a nice spring not too far off with hiking trails.

“S-sorry, my dear. I will try to sit still,” he pouted, though the remorse vanished the second the teeth of the comb met his scalp again.

“Not too much longer, I promise.” An idea struck you. “Hey, Pierrot?”

“Yes, dearest?”

“Mind if I weave a small braid? Just in the back. You can tuck it up into your cap so it won't be in the way,” you suggested.

“I'd love that,” he blushed in glee. “You can do whatever you'd like with my hair. I don't mind at all.”

Oh, yes, yes, YES. He’d never take it out. He would treasure it at night—this little present from you.

Happy shifts in his seat made you shake your head in amusement. You fashioned a small, discreet braid quickly, pausing only for a moment to lean in and press a gentle kiss to his middle horn.

[the-silent-role]

※•●🌙●•※

{//||--Just another musing~

The concept of MC wanting a printed photo with Pierrot is already pure comedy, mostly because Pierrot would treat that piece of glossy paper like the Holy Grail. MC’s plan is simple: one copy goes in their wallet (an absolute, monumental victory for the red clown), and Pierrot gets a copy to keep... normally. Not on a shrine. Definitely not lit by votive candles in a dark room.

Except one small detail: Harlequin exists.

The moment MC raises their phone, Harlequin slides into the background like a sleek, green menace. It is a masterpiece of a photobomb, securing a massive double-win for the green clown: 1) The Psychological Warfare: Harlequin can now factually taunt Pierrot that MC carries a photo of him in their wallet. This inevitably leads to Pierrot awkwardly, frantically (he's been teased for at minimum 24 hours by this), and with zero subtlety demanding to see MC's wallet on their next visit—all while his fingers twitch toward his daggers, absolutely losing his mind over the technicality that ruined his first romantic photo.

2) The Ultimate Disrespect: To rub salt in the wound, Harlequin would absolutely lean in and whisper that if Pierrot really wanted to add him to a shrine... the green clown could provide a much higher-quality photo.

And poor Pierrot... Does he immediately try to crop Harlequin out with a pair of rusty scissors, or does he just refuse to look at the background entirely? Both are just too funny.

[the-silent-role]

Number 26, maybe? (Your writing is absolutely peak, it's amazing, I hope your pillow is cold on both sides)

{//||--I'm gonna write some fluffy cute things after all these kinks jfc. haha Also, thank you for your kind words! TTuTT I have to let my writing sit for a while, usually because my initial slamming out the words to just... get it out is really repetitive? One of my college writing professors used to really fucking grill into me about my editing process; so that was really cool of you! Thank you, for my blessings of cold pillows haha. 18+ Writing; Minors DO NOT INTERACT Kinktober List #26 Focused on sensory deprivation~

※•●🌙●•※

What a beautiful, breathless turn of the tables.

Beneath the pyramid of your thighs as you kneeled on the bed lay a naked, trembling Pierrot. You’d stripped him down, securing his limbs to the bedposts—laughable restraints considering his sheer strength—and now you tortured him simply by making him watch you disrobe.

And this was only the beginning...

As you slowly shed your top and shorts, you revealed your first-ever set of lingerie for him: two delicate pieces of black lace that accentuated every sensuous curve of your form. Your monster shifted restlessly, his gaze practically burning with approval. He salivated at the sight of you, the yellow tip of his tongue slipping forward as his body visibly reacted to the teasing. There was nothing on this earth Pierrot wanted more than to touch you right now—save for obeying your order to stay put. Anything to please you.

“Th-this is all for me, dear one?” He spoke so eagerly, as though you were the one restrained and about to be ravished.

You smiled sinfully and lowered yourself, placing a hand against his broad chest before leaning in to whisper against his ear. “Yes,” you hummed, soothing him before the sensory deprivation began. “I'm going to put the blindfold and headphones on now...”

You chewed your lip a little, knowing this next step could possibly be a bit nerve-wracking for your monster lover. “Pierrot, do you remember the safe word we talked about?”

“Y-yes, I do.” He let out a shaky breath, clearly torn between excitement and nerves. The concept was daunting—being bound and rendered utterly vulnerable had the potential to dredge up... less than savory memories. But Pierrot knew you’d never hurt him. You loved him, even uprooted your life to travel and stay with him. And after you had explained the blended mix of physical and psychological perks of this type of play?

He knew the delectable pros far outweighed the cons. Plus, you had provided an immediate escape route in case he started to panic. You truly were an angel. “Apricot. I-I'll say apricot, dearest, just like you told me to.”

You nodded with a soft smile and pressed a kiss in the space between his eyes, sending a deep flush of red sweeping across his face. “And the moment you say it, I'll take off the blindfold first. Restraints next. No questions asked.”

Pierrot's chest heaved in quick, eager breaths. You rewarded his compliance with a slow lick up his cheek before whispering, “I'm going to put them on now, then... and I'll show you exactly how you make me feel.”

Gently, you settled the noise-canceling headphones over his ears. You stared lovingly into his eyes one last time before tying the silken fabric over his gaze, plunging him into a world of pure anticipation. Your adventure to explore the wonderland before you started with a delicate breath blown down the side of his neck—earning a sharp gulp from Pierrot.

You shifted your seat a bit higher, gently grazing your lace-covered heat up the impressive length of his hardness. Pierrot's only movements were his excited breathing and the occasional twitch of his cock, but he wasn't panicking using the safe word. A sense of pride swelled in your chest at how far he'd come with being comfortable around you—a milestone you'd soon reward him for.

Your hands traveled upward, skimming over his shoulders and delicately tracing his mask to then dive into his long white hair. The three prominent horns atop his head were quite lovely, and they elicited such beautiful reactions from your lover. The moment your fingers traced just the first few inches of them, Pierrot whined into a moan, his hips bucking slightly from the mattress.

“You're stunning, Pierrot,” you murmured to yourself, reaching further up over the curve of his horns as the hot steam of his breath hit the valley between your breasts. “I don't tell you that often enough...”

Your musing was cut short as the clever monster beneath you realized just how close you were to his mouth. Pierrot respected the garments you wore to present yourself as a gift, so he pushed down the impulse to rip the lace to shreds with his teeth to get to you. Frustrated by the internal battle between proper behavior and his primal impulses—the urge to bust through the ropes around his wrists and ankles to simply consume you—the clown's tongue shot out and got to work. Blindly, he found his way to one of your nipples, flicking and massaging it through the fabric; anything to find an outlet for the sinful magic you were working on his sensitive horns.

A breathy gasp and a chuckle escaped you. Of course he would find a way to pleasure you, even now when it was supposed to be about him.

The wet, teasing friction of his tongue through the damp lace was a sweet torture, but it wasn't enough. Not for either of you.

Shifting your weight, you crawled further up his broad chest, straddling his face. You guided your aching core directly over his mouth, letting the delicate black lace press flat against his mouth. Deprived of his sight and hearing, Pierrot’s remaining senses exploded. He let out a muffled, desperate growl into your skin, his jaw working instantly—ever mindful of his teeth against your most sensitive parts.

He didn't need to see you to worship you. His tongue darted out, rough and heavy, lapping ravenously at you through the thin barrier of fabric. The lace offered just enough resistance to drive you both mad, withholding some of the sensations from you and full access to your arousal from him. He sucked a wet patch of the garment deep into his mouth, craving your taste, but also hooking a delicate lace loop over one of his pointed teeth. This created the glorious opportunity Pierrot needed, shooting his tongue in for direct contact to you. He began swirling the long, yellow appendage in firm, frantic circles against your clit. A small grunt of frustration when he couldn't enter and claim you with his tongue due to the angle.

A sharp, ragged gasp tore from your throat. Your knees shook, and seeking an anchor, your hands flew to the top of his head. Your fingers clamped tightly around the bases of two of his curved horns.

The moment your hands gripped them, Pierrot went rigid beneath you. A loud, vibrating growl echoed from his chest, his hips bucking upwards in a sudden, violent reflex. The horn-play sent a direct jolt of pleasure straight to his core, and in retaliation, his tongue became crueler. He swirled, flicked, and sucked you fiercely, devouring you through the ruined lace. You rocked your hips against his face, pulling back on his horns as a wave of intense, toe-curling pleasure crashed over you.

Pantingly, you finally dragged yourself away, sliding down his torso to catch your breath. The sudden loss of contact left Pierrot completely unmoored in his dark, silent world.

He began to pull against his restraints, his chest heaving as he whimpered. “P-please... dearest, please,” he begged, his deep voice a cracked, desperate mess. “Touch me. R-release me... do anything to me, I beg of you. Don’t leave me in the dark.”

You leaned up, gently resting your hands on his trembling shoulders. Realizing he couldn't hear you, you leaned down and pressed your lips right against the edge of his noise-canceling headphones before lifting them slightly, allowing you to gently sooth him. “Pierrot? Are you okay? Do you need to stop? 'Apricot.' Are you trying to say it?”

He shook his head frantically, his long white hair dancing across the pillow. “N-No! I mean, yes—I'm okay! I just... I-I want to satisfy you, my dear. Please, let me please you.”

You chuckled softly at his desperation, kissing his jawline. “Be patient, my love. Be good for me.”

You put the headphones back into place before you slid further down his body, your gaze landing on his massive, terrifyingly beautiful length. Pierrot was absolutely shocking sometimes, boasting massive cock that twitched eagerly against his abdomen, thick and slickened with pre-cum.

Determined to reward his obedience, you leaned over him. You started at his hip, kissing down his lower belly before wrapping your hands around his base. It was impossible to take all of him, but you were determined to try. You leaned down, taking the broad, sensitive head of his unusual length into your mouth.

Pierrot completely fell apart.

A deep growl escaped him and you shivered at the vibration. As you bobbed your head, sliding your lips as far down his shaft as you could manage while your hands stroked the rest of his massive length, Pierrot became an absolute mess beneath you. He was weeping open-mouthed praises into the empty room.

“Oh--... ah! Thank you, th-thank you, my dear,” he sobbed out, his hips twitching helplessly. “You are too good to me... so perfect... ah!” His whimpers devolved into a chaotic string of breathless moans as your tongue swirled around his crown. He was coming undone, his sheer strength useless against the deliberate, agonizing pace of your affection.

Looking up at his flushed face, his mouth open in a daze of blind ecstasy, you decided to have mercy. He'd been so good, after all.

You crawled back up his body, straddling his hips. Reaching up, you untied the silken fabric and pulled off his headphones. Pierrot’s heavy yellow eyes blinked open, instantly locking onto yours with a fierce, burning hunger that was absolutely predatory.

“Watch me,” you whispered.

Holding his gaze, you gripped his massive length, aligning him with your aching heat, and slowly lowered yourself down. You gasped, your eyes shutting tightly as he filled you to the absolute brim, stretching you exquisitely. Pierrot let out a guttural roar at the sight of you taking him, his eyes becoming mere golden slits.

You began to move on him, your movements slow and deliberate at first, but the sheer size of him turned the friction into an overwhelming, white-hot fire. The intensity of it was blinding. Every slide of your hips had you crying out, your head tossing back—mouth opened, eyes shut you rode him.

Pierrot’s monstrous side finally snapped, the agonizingly beautiful restraint he kept around you evaporated. With a terrifying surge of raw, primal power, he flexed his wrists and strained his ankles. The heavy ropes securing him to the bedposts snapped with a sharp crack, frayed threads flying into the air.

Before you could even register it, his massive, clawed hands clamped onto your hips. He pinned you tightly against him, reversing your positions in one swift, breathless motion until you were flat on your back. Pierrot wasted no time moving your legs, pinning them high against his broad shoulders knowing you were flexible enough to take him this way.

“Mine,” he growled, a deep, inhuman sound that vibrated right through your ribs.

He didn't wait. He drove into you with a passionate, rushed fury, his heavy hips slamming against yours in a frantic rhythm. The pace was frenetic, intense, and utterly consuming. You gripped the sheets, screaming his name as he pounded into you, his yellow eyes wild and dilated. Within seconds, the overwhelming friction pushed him over the edge. With a loud, resonant growl that shook his entire frame, Pierrot buried himself completely inside you, his body locking up as he spilled a thick, massive wave of release deep inside you. You instantly collapsed into your own shattering orgasm, squeezing around him in pulses of intense rapture.

Minutes later, the room was quiet save for the sound of your mingled, labored breathing. Pierrot had collapsed to your side, his strong arms wrapped securely around you, pulling you flush against his chest. He was gently nuzzling the curve of your neck, his breath warm and soothing.

You let out a soft laugh, tracing the line of his arm. “You know...” you murmured, turning your head to smile at him. “If you wanted free, all you had to say was 'apricots.'”

Pierrot paused his nuzzling, his expression turning completely blank. He blinked his large eyes at you, entirely serious.

“But dearest,” he said with utter, literal sincerity, “I didn't want it to stop. I wasn't panicking.”

You stared at him for a beat, then burst into a fit of giggles, burying your face in his chest. He really was a ridiculously, wonderful monster.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

[the-silent-role]

Same anon if it's okay! ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)σ" 4

※•●🌙●•※ 18+ writing ; Minors do not interact Kinktober list: #4 {//||--I focused on Cockwarming with Jester x reader. Enjoy(:

-- -- -- -- -- --

Try as you might, you couldn't help it. After gods knew how long, your hips moved, shifting uncomfortably in your "seat."

It’s alright, you desperately hoped. Maybe he didn’t notice. His gaze still seemed locked onto his copy of Crime and Punishment. How fitting. Surely your keeper had chosen it strategically to make his point.

As discreetly as you could manage, you peeked upward for confirmation. Instantly, your eyes collided with a bright, amused purple.

Damn. Damn, damn, damn. Jester had definitely noticed.

Yet, he appeared nonchalant, simply turning back to his story. “If I remember correctly…” Jester trailed off, flipping a page, “…you were told not to move. Correct, ...little mouse?”

Oh, boy. The moment that nickname slipped past his lips, you knew you were in trouble. It was his deceptively polite, almost loving way of calling you a pest. But you knew better than to speak out of turn—not when you wanted this agonizing torture to end. You bit your bottom lip, a nervous tell that didn't escape him. In response, his cock twitched deep inside you.

You weren't entirely sure what you'd done to deserve this "punishment," but Jester had been giddy to deliver his instructions when you both retired for the evening. Unwinding from the day, he hadn't even bothered to look at you when he demanded you strip down. Flushing, you had obeyed, only to be rewarded with a collar—and this time, a leash?

No, not a leash. A ribbon.

Moments later, Jester had settled into bed and ordered you to mount him. Even with his book held open, those sharp eyes had watched intently as his body disappeared, inch by inch, into yours. Drank in with twisted delight the changes in your expressions. Then, the ribbon was tied to your collar, pulled taut, and used to bind your wrists in a plain, brutally tight knot.

After that? You suffered.

How long had it been? You had no idea, but he’d already made it through a decent portion of his reading material. And the damned book was thick.

Groaning, you tried to suppress another shift of your hips, but you failed pathetically. A whimper escaped you, your eyes rolling at the brief friction your aching body so desperately craved. Another helpless sound was wrung from your throat when he pulsed inside you once more. Maybe this was a good sign?

You hoped so, but hope burned away as easily as paper in a fire.

Your keeper sighed deeply—a silent commentary on what a troublesome creature you were—and marked his page before setting the book down. “I suppose it's my fault for not restraining you better.” He clicked his tongue. “Here I was, trusting you to merely behave after doing a more... adequate job with your tasks today. Well, since we apparently cannot have nice things…”

With a sudden tug, he yanked your bound hands forward. Because they were tethered to your neck, you clumsily tumbled onto his chest, your forearms aching as you tried to stabilize yourself against his pectoral muscles. The new angle forced a wanton moan from your lips.

Jester smirked, looking wicked as the devil.

Suddenly, Crime and Punishment was perched atop your pinned fists. The monster held the pages open for you. “You'll take over reading now. Let's see if this can keep you more... in line.”

For a fleeting second, you swore those violet eyes softened into a warm gaze the same time your thighs trembled. Just for a fraction of a moment.

“We'll see if you can redeem yourself for a reward by the time you help me reach my next four-chapter goal.”

Your stomach sank, but you knew exactly how sweet that reward would be. Swallowing hard, you began to read aloud like a good little pet, only addressing Jester when you needed him to turn the page.

And with every turn came a soft murmur of praise.

Softie.

[lilaira]

Let's be honest, you knew that this will eventually happen

[the-silent-role]

※•●🌙●•※ {//||--Congratulations!

MC had managed something crazyyyy: forging a genuine, platonic friendship with a wily Harlequin. Sure, he still cracked innuendos and inappropriate jokes—as any good chaotic friend would—but this bond made him feel seen on a level that transcended mere carnal pursuit. He honestly hadn't anticipated it.

The problem was, despite his elaborate ruses pretending he didn’t need any sentimental, friendly gestures, he was actually incredibly fond of MC. He genuinely wanted the best for his favorite little human companheira. Now, Harlequin knew the pleasures and 'rewards' of the bedroom—he was a seasoned pro, after all. ...But Pierrot?

The virgin monster couldn’t possibly please MC, at least not right away. To Harlequin, this was simply unacceptable; his new best friend deserved a thorough, spectacular initiation into pleasure. So, he devised a plan to fix it.

Harlequin began strategically leaving behind educational material: magazine articles on sex positions, stories recounting erotic experiences, general bedroom knowledge, and... well, just flat-out porn. Anything to teach a complete novice a thing or two before he fumbled his way into MC's bed.

At first, Pierrot was highly annoyed by these explicit pop-ups. But curiosity eventually won. Upon closer inspection, he began absorbing the material, suddenly a dedicated student to the venture of mastering MC's future pleasure.