Chapter Text
“You’re acting like I’m going to do something… bad to you.”
Jack’s ears don’t droop down at her words, the anger being smoothed under a layer of fear and hopelessness and sheer despair—but even those emotions are under a layer of confusion from her words. How manipulative they were—like she hadn’t done so, so many bad things to him, and to all of them, made this go from a purgatory to a hell after she had somehow retched control from Caine’s cold AI grasp so long ago.
Even the words themselves, an innocuous as they were by themselves without his memories of her, seemed faulty given the situation that she placed them in—Crowner’s body visible with a hole through the head if Jack’s eyes drifted, the way she crawled across the table and got in his face, with limbs stretched and mouth in a terrible grin, her little jester’s hat drooping to one side.
“I’m not angry,” Jester crossed her slender legs, putting a small hand over her own heart, as if to swear her innocence, she leaned closer, and he could feel her breath on his skin, and he fought the urge hard not to flinch away so hard that he fell off of the chair, “I promise.”
She winked at him, his heart caught in his throat—he didn’t know what was worse, the implied threat or…
Jack swallowed, Or the way that she looked almost sickeningly radiant, when she fluttered her eyes like that.
“So, loosen up, Jack.”
“We’re friends here, right?" she paused, something of a fond look crossing her face, "we were always friends," she murmured, reminiscing, or perhaps reminding.
Once, they were, he would admit that,
Jester seemed to get lost in thought just like he was, lost in whatever memories that happened between the two of them long ago—or just last month, or last year, time worked weird here, and she didn’t exactly provide them ways of checking, but that was the one thing that Jack was grateful towards her for.
Maybe he would abstract on the spot if he knew how long he had been here for, how much of his life had been stolen away from him, first under Caine, and now under her.
It used to be better, he didn’t use to spend all the day in a daze, his smile used to be less fake (not exactly authentic, but still), they didn’t used to scrounge and scavenge for food, they didn’t have to live under a tyrant—who knew a sentient AI would be so much better than their fellow man? Jester was right besides him then, laughing and experiencing the same things he was—or crying and panicking and everything else that some new member of the circus was prone to do.
They were friends, once.
Whatever they were now though, it wasn’t that.
Not anymore.
“Anyways!”
“I need you, to do something,” Jester floated forward, faster than he could react, standing on his legs—because of course she would, Jack tried not to think about how she barely weighed anything, instead occupying himself on not trying not to gag as the scent of stale blood intensified when she got closer to him.
Fitting.
“I need you to find Nullble, and when you do—” her voice stopped, and her gaze averted from him, almost like she saw something in her periphery that caught her attention and gave her pause.
He looked back, hoping to catch a glance at what she was looking at, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw her.
Annie.
Red hair and her stupid face barely visible from where she was trying to hide away in the entrance, her eyes momentarily visible (and widening) showed that she tried to take a peek—What was she even doing here? Jack wanted to scream, did she not have any preservational instinct whatsoever? Her slight frame froze for a moment, and she immediately went back again, the sound of rapid footsteps were audible—though it was becoming less so, as she got farther and farther, she was fast, Jack knew that, but not fast enough, no one was.
Not even him.
No...
“Change of plans—” Jester began, her body levitating off the table and moving towards the entrance.
Yeah, change of plans indeed, before Jester could fly off and do whatever torturous bullshit she had planned for Annie—and before his rational thinking or any sort self-preservational instinct could kick in, Jack snagged her out of the air with one of his long arms, held her tightly, not letting her go—not even when the touch of another burned more than fire, Jester glanced back at him in disbelief, and eventually, rage.
Jester snarled, “You dare put hands on your God—”
She never got to finish her sentence, as she was interrupted by what he did next, him using his other hand to tear his overalls off in one fluid motions, exposing his erection to the digital world, the fabric hanging limply from his hips down, maybe she was shocked, with the way she was frozen stock-still, but it gave him an opportunity—shifting on his feet, throwing her onto the table—
And pinning her there, shoving her thighs apart and impaling her in one perfect stroke, slammed down to his hilt, even through her little Jester’s outfit, the strange cloth form-fitting on his cock like a condom—she had screamed then, her limbs seizing up, emboldened, Jack grabbed both of her flailing arms and pinned them above her head, giving her no time to recover, he pressed forward–or rather backwards, as he pulled back and slammed down again, this time using his other hand to grip her poofy clothes to pull her again him to hit her deeper.
He was going too fast, he was going too fast, even he knew that, but he didn’t have time to slow down, not with what he was doing.
The shattering of glass and ceramic hit his ears, but he didn’t care—she was so tight against him, and the adrenaline of even getting this far roared with the shock, he had been expected to fail miserably, and get himself crucified or something.
This was new, uncharted territory with Jester.
Why wasn’t she fighting back? Why wasn’t she using her powers? Could she not concentrate enough?
Though those thoughts permeated his mind, they were being melted away rapidly, her pussy felt fucking fantastic, even with the layer of her clothes preventing full contact, this was still the best thing he had ever experienced in the Circus, and the noises she made—cries, moans, screams—made him drunk with power, finally, Jester could get a little torment back.
She struggled against his grasp, gasping and gagging on her own tongue and saliva.
Fuck, Jack was so deep inside her, it felt wrong doing this to anyone—yet if there was anyone in existence who deserved this kind of treatment from him, it was Jester.
“Stop… Stop…” she was doing something akin to crying when she felt him pull back—and digital tears were running down her face in pretty streaks—"we—we’re friends, a-aren’t we?"
“Y-Yeah," he agreed flippantly, "but friends keep each other in check.”
“And you look like you need a little punishment, you understand,” he snarked, words in a veneer of encouragement, returning to sender that very same language and words that she often used, slamming back down onto her, there might have been something angry in whatever reply she had so desperately been trying to string together, but words failed her—so she shook her head vigorously at him.
Was there another way of doing this? Probably, but he thought that a fistfight wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as something like this, he wanted to hurt her, a bruise that she could heal instantly wouldn’t be worth a damn—no, this was something more permanent, even if it was only a single thrust inside of her, just his cockhead at her entrance—knowing that he got his dick inside of her, knowing that he raped her, was a sick little victory that he could keep as even as his mind was getting flayed apart, that had even a slight chance of haunting her, just like she haunted them.
Jack… didn’t anticipate this, her not fighting back, or not being able to—but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t take advantage of it.
“I—I’m a God!” Jester whined, as if her saying it would deny the reality in front of her, deny him pounding her onto the table like she was a toy, deny the splinters that she was no doubt getting on her exposed skin, deny the fact that, at least for the moment, at his mercy.
“If you’re a god, then I’m gonna fucking desecrate you, defile you,” something shifted in her at his words, her dark-rimmed eyes teary, and when he brought his hands down on her—from her wrists to her neck, she struggled comparatively little, as if she had forgotten how to use her powers, and had to fight back only with her body, scratching the wrists that were pinning her neck to the table—there was slack to them, when Jack impaled her again, he squeezed his hands around her throat then, and something akin to a gasp was strangled out of her.
His hips were flush with her pelvis, and he looked down in wonder to see bruises forming with how rough he was being with her, his grip on her windpipe made her squirm and writhe, inadvertently pushing herself deeper onto his cock, for a moment, he wondered why he let someone so tiny push him around—before he remembered what a monster she was.
Did that change the morality of this act?
No, Jack isn’t so deluded as to think that, something like this would always be complete evil, but he found himself not really caring what it came to someone like the Jester.
Jack shook his head, this was always going to be a sin.
“‘Sides, you’re not a god, you’re barely even fucking human—” Jack was surprised to see that she had any stock of his words at all—crying hard with what he said, he gave her throat another short little squeeze— “the only thing you got right is that you’re mine now.” —before releasing it.
No matter how many Greco-Roman portraits of herself she hung up in empty hallways—no matter the way the shadows curled on her command and turned to glare at everyone else (why wasn’t he included in that list?), no matter the vainglorious way she talked and the no matter the way she warped the world and had the light deceiving their eyes, no matter the way she turned water into wine and wine into blood, and no matter how she kept them wound-up, yet still winding, and winding, and winding.
Jester wasn’t a god, she was just someone who liked to push buttons, and someone who through sheer dumb luck, gained the authority to do so perfectly.
Jack sneered at her.
God—such a big word for such a little thing, her sorry cunt was the only part of her that was heavenly.
“Since you aren’t a 'god' now, you should hurry and play your role,” Jack mocked.
“My slut," Jack used one of his gloved hands to grab her chin, and tilt it to meet his gaze, his fingers spilling out from below and rubbing her cheek in faux-care, "is the only role you deserve. J,” he let her head fall, and instead grabbed her hair, yanking hard to pull her close, her eyes looked better when they were wide and terrified, “I’ll consider this your audition.”
Right then, in his face, she seemed to quiver, at least more than usual, her being so close gave him an excellent view. throat choking on a muffled scream as she clenched hard around him—drawing a choked groan from him—before she went limp, at least Jack allowed her to, letting her head fall to the table, she squeezed her eyes shut, breathing deeply, with all of her focus, as if forcing air into and out of her lungs was a challenge, she didn’t even give him a fight after the pleasure had released her back into her right mind—no biting words at all.
Did she just…?
Jack laughed cruelly, pulling back and teasingly pushing his way through her again,
“No-no, Jack—no, no, no,” her limbs flailed desperately, and her chest heaved upwards, at least until Jack slammed into her with his body, pinning her unto the table with himself, leaving her little room to do much of anything—she clenched hard around him, like she was fighting the constriction around her with her own.
“L-Least—lemme take my clothes off—” she bargained from under him, looking to regain a modicum of control from him, but Jack wasn’t the negotiating kind, at least not with her, no olive branch or courtesy would be extended to her if he could help it.
Instead, Jack sat himself back up again, and her breath heaved quickly—it seemed she had difficulty breathing when he was on her (not particularly his problem), ignoring the pawing hands aimed at him, he brought his own to her collar, and pulled in opposite directions.
There was a loud tearing sound, as her Jester’s outfit was split in half down the center—though it was crude divergence, with some seams getting ripped off-center and extending past to her sides, he wasn’t particularly interested however, this wasn’t unwrapping a present—he rended off what he could again, this time the rags that were once her clothes. His long limbs could easily reach every piece of cloth on her body, her puffy sleeves remained, until they didn’t—again torn from her form, not to mention her hat, and what was still there of her her puffy shorts—he was extra brutal with that last bit of her privacy, given what it tried to prevent him from taking.
With a final tug. she was laid completely bare, and it may have been a trick of the light, but for a brief moment, Jack though he saw her lick her lips shyly, he blinked, and saw her peering up at him through the gaps of her splayed fingers—at some point pressing her hands to her face apparently—her eyes were still creepy, but he fought the shiver tearing through his spine, and he won, because he was better than showing weakness in front of her.
Though, now that he was done, he couldn’t help feeling a little pride, couldn’t help admire his handy-work, along with the muted, mangled red and blue clothing that surrounded her like decoration.
“…”
Fuck, was he blushing?
Her breath quickened, as if being fully clothed made it much harder to ignore her predicament—Jester… blushed when saw she him rake over her body with desire, the red of her face being visible even through her hands.
He tore his gaze away—it was so much harder than tearing her clothing—glancing at anything else to rid his eyes of the after image of her, and he froze slightly.
Her... strange open-concept servants were gone, so that was a relief.
He did feel a little uncomfortable as he saw Crowner’s unseeing eyes gaze over at him like a voyeur, but not so uncomfortable as to do something about it, so he just ignored it, alongside the prickling sensation on his skin due to being watched, and focused all his attention on the slowly shattering Jester that was in his hands.
“Where were we?” he questioned, and Jester audibly swallowed at his words—it reverberated in the quiet room, sounding loud even with the crackling of the fireplace, and he delighted at the noise.
“I asked you a question, where were we?” What was I doing to you? Say it to me.
“Y-You… um, were having sex with me?” she offered.
“I was raping you,” Jack growled, “get it right,”
The brief intermission made him feel like he was plunging in ice water when he back inside of her—or the other way around, as her molten core was so much more than before, without the layer of clothing that separated them, he had made sure as well to have legs trailing up, in line with his torso so that he wasn’t obstructed in railing her, he would’ve thrown them over his shoulder instead, but she was too short for that, too small to do this properly—but Jack didn’t mind, he didn’t particularly care about ’proper’ when it came to her.
Maybe she enjoyed that, if the rapid, “Fuck, fuck, fu—ck…” under her breath was any indicator, she had stopped saying ‘stop’, and her other worthless pleas, maybe she finally grew a brain and knew better to, in the mean time when he wasn’t stuffing her full.
Because it definitely wouldn’t be now, even his thoughts seemed to get wrecked and sidetracked when he was pounding into her—what of her?
Jack groaned, it was so, so much better than before, now he could actually feel how hot, and soft, and gooey her insides were, had she been withholding this from him? He might’ve cracked like an egg if he felt something like this instead of the usual torture that she prescribed.
She must have felt it too, because she was pawing at his chest, scratching deep groves into his flesh with her claws, all the while throwing her head back so far that the table was creaking and buckling with the strain of every self-inflicted slam of her skull.
He studied her head, making sure she didn’t actually crack her own skull open—though not out of the goodness of his heart, he wouldn’t enjoy this nearly as much of she was unconscious… though, it appeared that she wouldn’t either, with those wanton sounds that were escaping her. “Did you want this?” Jack questioned—though it was more of a accusation—while pushing deeper, sighing—he didn’t believe it, of course, but he wanted to see the mental anguish on her face.
“Why else would you keep your avatar so small, if not for me to break?” That place in her belly, where his outline was visible—prominent even, he placed his hand there, and pushed, forcing her back in line with the table when it had been arching away towards him, she made a broken, stuttering noise in response.
It was something that he had been thinkin’ about all this time too—there wasn’t much she could do about her height when she was under Caine, but now? She had full control of her body, could make herself less tiny, yet didn’t, normally kept herself at the same, standard size, he didn’t really think about it all too often, when her presence was larger than life, and she normally floated above him anyways, but now? When she was under him, Jack couldn’t deny the pleasant reality.
“Why else did you disable the censors?” he tutted, because really, under Caine, he would’ve stumbled under the first roadblock—no parts to actually do this with, unless he just wanted to just rut against her like an animal, but no, he had everything necessary—and that scared him for a long while, a loaded Chekhov's gun, because why else would she give them the ability to have sex? If she wasn’t take what she wanted through vile means.
(Jack tried not to think about whether only he—and Jester—had parts, but the thoughts stuck to his brain like napalm regardless, Jangle and Nullble were immediately out, Annie would have said if Jester had done something to her in that regard, and Crowner… was Crowner, the thought of special treatment for something like this made him feel faint.)
Yet, her having a pussy as well dissuaded those fears of that particular kind of vile torment, to begin with, and in fact, shined a light on something that he didn’t definitely did not consider when he walked into this stupid dining room some time ago—or maybe she had planned on doing something worse, something more personal, hands-on?
Whatever she had planned to do, Jester was basically begging for it now.
If she looked like her mind was melting before, then now would be an entirely different beast—the barrage of (even rhetorical) questions demanded a level of present-ness that she lacked at the moment,
“Yes—yes…y-yes—” she answered, as if it was a yes or no question—or maybe her brain lagged and still stuck on his first, even still, the response was troubling, the fact that there was even a sliver of something consensual in this made him furious, Jack wondered if he snapped a wire in there somewhere, overstimulated her to the point of becoming pliant and suggestible, he decided that such a thing would be better than the former.
“How many times have you came?” He asked in suspicion, wondering if he overlooked some of her orgasms and she had came herself into a stupor.
“T-Thhree…” Jester slurred.
Jack clicked his tongue, “Course,” pent-up little clown.
As punishment, he decided to go as deep in her as he could—his thrusts before had been casual, not truly bottoming out inside of her, would she break if he went balls deep? He wasn’t too sure, from what he had gathered today, it seemed her avatar was quite stretchy, durable—in a way that he didn’t like… yet came with its own upsides.
Jack pushed, and pushed and pushed, hissing until a final pull of her hips had him flush with her, and he felt something resist him, like a barrier was snugly hugging his cockhead tightly—
“Ffffff-our—now,” he ignored her, and the way a hiccup interrupted her words.
—He wondered if this was her cervix, did she bother to give herself an anatomically correct body?
Would she get pregnant if he came right here and pushed it all into her awaiting womb?
God, he hoped not—but a part of him wanted to leave her all knocked-up, to see how she would react.
She felt way too fucking good—he was loathe to admit that it was a much better experience than when he was hopped up on stupid sauce (not the one where Jangle hacked him into bits), this was true pleasure, and it had him weak, had him moaning and groaning like a virgin into her flushed skin, had Jester petting his fur as he whined.
Fuck, what kind of a rapist whined?
“J… Jackkkk…”
He growled, clawing a few fingers at her hips, digging deep red marks, and she spasmed, only held still by him, she tightened around him, and he would have laughed if he wasn’t so wound-up.
Her walls were so velvety soft around him, so warm, so good, Jack wanted to praise her on instinct, before he stopped himself, because this was Jester, Jester was making him feel faint, and he was disgusted to know that on some level, she still had power over him, even when she keening and squirming under him.
A particularly harsh thrust against her and he had to bite back an embarrassing noise, she had no such luxury, Jack never imagined her as particularly vocal—he tried not to imagine her as anything more than the sadistic piece of shit that she was (though he failed often in that regard), but she was, very talkative apparently.
She pulsed around him one more time with a strangled cry that curled at the edges with delight—he briefly wondered if she came again,
“God—I’m gonna come,” he confessed through gritted teeth
She whimpered at that, rapidly stilling before writhing and then stilling again, as if she was unsure whether she wanted to crawl away or accept his load wholeheartedly, it was kind of hilarious, in a messed up sort of way.
His grip on her tightened, drawing blood, his fur matted with the liquid—and maybe the pain got her off as much as it did him to cause it, because she was whining again, her face crumpled in that same, screwed-up in pleasure that was on her face before, like she couldn’t differentiate the pain from the pleasure in this state.
“Take it all—get yourself fuckin’ knocked-up,” she choked at his words, and it might have just been his close-to-orgasmic imagination, but she seemed to grind herself down on him with heated breaths, as if she desperate to feel him just unload inside of her, paint her little pink insides white, gum up her guts more than he was already doing—but that thought didn’t make sense, overstimulated or hating every moment of it, there were multitudes of reasons why she just wouldn’t, so Jack ignored it.
Goddamn—grinding or not, she was just too good.
He never knew someone could feel like this—lesser still Jester, so tight and so soft, all needy and just swallowing him up despite his size in relation to hers—and despite the little bulge in her belly where he was buried inside of her—heat pooled low in his gut, and the anticipation of just owning her by blowing his load deep inside of her cartoon womb did little to temper his brutality.
Jack was furious when he came, and Jester was inconsolable, there was no other way to put it—but she looked so adorable that way, and yet the thought of using that word in any relation to her made him almost gag.
Jester, not content with tormenting him in ‘real life’—if the Circus could even be considered as such—also tormented him in his dreams, she was softer there, kinder, her touch was like an exchange, felt nice in the moment, yet he was left wanting, and aching when he woke up, indignant to even think of her that way—it really made it all the worse, she was tormenting him even now too, so he made sure to pound that anger right back into her.
And…
…She took him so well, but he wasn’t about to say that, definitely not to her face, wouldn’t let her have the satisfaction,
“Ugh—fuck,” he groaned, pumping her full, she convulsed against his hold on her, uttering breathy, raw sounds that he didn’t know could come from her thin voice box, she was trying (in vain) to separate the death grip that he had on her little hips, yet her fingers were even weaker than normal, and she resorted to leaving thin scratches on his wrists as she was getting bred.
He grinded down to grant himself that extra bit of stimulation, shallowly pulling back and thrusting inside of her with every spurt that came from him—wondering if he could possibly get any deeper so he could shove it straight into her wretched womb, Jester would look better all bloated, he decided. It might have been just a few moments—but it felt like an eternity, an eternity of filling her up to the brim and further beyond that, more than she could take and more, he had squeezed his eyes shut some time ago, the information of his sight being too much when even what he felt from touch crashed into him like a wave.
He was still half-hard when he was pulling out of her, she heaved a bit tried to prop herself up on her elbows to inspect the damage but he shoved her right down, her back hit the table in such a way that it knocked the breath she had managed to gather out of her lungs—and it did the same to him, or maybe it was the sight between her legs that he prevented her from seeing that did that to him, a couple of tears fell from her when his gaze landed on her then.
It was flooding out of her—it was really no surprise, she was absurdly tight against him, and he had put a lot inside of her, yet it was obscene regardless, her cries were softer than before, when he took two fingers and pushed it back inside of her, still there.
“You’re still crying?” Jack scoffed, though he couldn’t help his tilt of astonishment and wonder, “can dish it out but can’t take it right back, huh, lamb?” she made a tiny, mumbling sound in response, but it was purely nonsensical babble, speaking only to speak, like she wanted to distract herself from the position that she found herself in.
Bruises littering her skin, bangs splayed across her face and damp hair falling onto the table, tear tracks that led to moisture on her face and neck, there were a few shallow cuts that leaked foul blood onto the table as well—her legs were limp, the crook of her knees on the edge of the table in a way that couldn’t be comfortable, but then again, maybe that was a distraction from the rest of her pain, she made no such indication though, as she traced around her own body feeling for blemishes, before it eventually settled on her tummy, a softer cry just barely audible, sounding more like a whimper.
Maybe she had gotten caught on his words, found herself loving the treatment.
Maybe she was crying at the damage done to her body, maybe she was a narcissist till the end.
Jack prayed it was the latter.
“Lookin’ comfortable there, Jester,” he drawled.
He wished that he could take a picture, but like with the rest of the remnants of the good things in his life, she had gotten rid of his camera, his photographs and everything else he had collected under Caine.
She was hyperventilating then, a sob passed though her lips, then a slight sniffle came from her—she wasn’t actively crying anymore, did Jester think that he was done?
She was wrong.
He pulled her hair—tugging her up until her eyes were tilted in the vague direction of his own,
“What? You just gonna sit there? Are you not gonna thank me? For coming in your stupid cunt?” Jester gazed at him dumbly, mouth opening and closing in such a way that it made her look like a fish out of water, maybe she was greedily gulping down oxygen through her mouth now that he wasn’t slamming down air out of her lungs, but whatever it was, it was her not focusing.
He flicked her clit with his index finger—Jester jerked like she had been physically hit.
“Thank, Me,” he repeated.
Her pupils darted—from his own, to his mouth, to his fingers that were teasing her, anywhere that caught and forcibly held her attention in her mind—they did that thing that she used to do involuntarily, where they got all spirally and scrambled, it used to happen so often when she was overwhelmed, it made his heart ache, with an emotion he had long since thought he had extinguished for her,
Some disgusting sort of fondness, Jack stomped those flames into nothingness.
Her eyes again shifted, stilling, this time showing that something inside her broke at his words, shattered, into a million pieces, and Jack hoped that whatever it was, it never came back.
“T-Thank… you—Jack…” she muttered apprehensively, eyes tilting to the side to avoid looking him in the eyes, as if the environment that she created was more interesting than he was.
A backhand—he allowed her a better look at what was so interesting with a backhand, though it might have knocked the gears in her head off kilter a little bit as well as a happy accident,
“Do it properly,” softly in comparison, the offending hand came done to lightly hold her jaw, fingers spilling over and gently caressing her cheek from below—she almost looked more dazed from it than the rougher treatment of his knuckles.
“T-Thank—you for coming in my pussy! T-THIS IS WHAT YOU SHOULD HAVE DONE AGES AGO!” Jester shrieked, voice straining as she glared back at him, a bit shocked at her outburst, yet still oozing with satisfaction at reducing her to such a state, Jack grinned, shoving aside those parts of at his edges that questioned how that last part came a little too easily from her, he cockily tilted his head.
"Good," he uttered, patting her on the head lightly, she keened at the praise, and at his touch, which Jack duly ignored, “now beg me to do it again.”
At that, she paled, at least her body did, because it seemed the blush that clung to her cheeks now encompassed her whole face, she shook her head desperately, as if she had a choice at all, as if she was allowed to hold on to the tattered remnants of her pride after what she had just screamed out.
“It wasn’t a suggestion, darlin’,” he rasped out when all the venom he could muster, tugging her soft curls gently as a threat, shaking his head in disappointment.
“I, um…” she began, pathetically.
“I need—… I need more of your come in my—my cunt, J-Jack,” his hands played slightly with her hair, coaxing the words from her throat, his eyes didn’t miss the way that she was rubbing her thighs together, or the small tears that passed through her closed eyelids as she took ragged breaths.
There was a wet hiccup that passed through her lips before she continued, “P-Please? I—I tried to play with my fingers before, but—they were nothing, in comparison to… um, y-you…”
Oh, now that was somethin’.
It wasn’t exactly begging, per se, there was only a single, measly ’please’ there, but it was almost better, a confession, that she would have otherwise brought to her grave, now laid bare in front of him to dangle in front of her as he pleased.
“You break easily,” Jack noted absentmindedly, and it was true, he thought of her as many things, cruel, demented, disgusting—but fragile? That wasn’t a word that he would have used to describe her, maybe when she first came in, a bumbling idiot, true to her name, easy to tease then, fun. But now was another matter entirely,
Yet here was the proof, only some gentle coaxing, a small tug and gentle stroking and she was talking about her deepest secrets—like he was always her special confidant.
Maybe it was that realization, of what she said exactly, had dawned on her, as she was crying harder, sobbing nearly, wet trails on her pale skin, such an unfamiliar expression on her face, Jester looked much better like that, he thought.
Not in any particular kind of control, just there to take the treatment that was given to her—Jack used to think that a position of power suited her, but his preferences had changed somewhere along the way, it seemed.
“You look much prettier when you cry,” Jack mused aloud, he didn’t know what it was, but he couldn’t help but look at her as something fascinating and wholly new, mindlessly describing what was in front of him, like he was smelling a fragrant rose, or tasting notes of aged wine, like she was something to be experienced—and in a way that was what he thought going in, either he was going to be tortured, or he would enjoy himself for a few fleeting moments as he tortured her.
It was a experience—yes, yet, this was something different.
Jack tried not to think too hard about it, instead focusing on her again.
…Her dark-rimmed eyes being all puffy did something to him that he hated to admit—he imagined them like that for so long, and she didn’t disappoint, a sick part of him wanted her to always be this way—and that sick part was the majority of him.
Her breath hitched, and she seemed to sob harder, whether she took praise or the humiliation that came with his words, he didn’t know, neither did he care.
“…Fuck,” he muttered, the words felt heavy on his tongue, a pang of arousal had hit him at the sight of her, and Jack hoped that she hadn’t awoken something within him, ‘cause that would probably be another way to manipulate him, his dick twitched against his thigh, and he was reminded how easily—even like this—she could make him dance in the palm of her hand.
Huh, now that was a thought.
“Give me your hands, Jester,” slowly, hesitantly, she offered her wrists up to him, gazing up at him with curious, concerned eyes—still dark, Jack chided himself—then she squeaked as he yanked them towards himself, pulling her body with it.
Jack brought her hands to his dick—already hard, and he damned her, damned her to hell.
He sucked in a breath through his teeth as he made her fingers curl around his shaft, he couldn’t find the will to look at her if he tried, so instead he tried to imagine the terrified expression on her face.
God… her hands were so damn small, just like the rest of her, again, Jack wondered briefly how his psyche had been so damaged by a person whose hands couldn’t even cover the width of his shaft—how? When one of his own covered her entire goddamn torso?
“J-…Jack?” her voice wavered, an underpinning of fear behind it.
“Feel that, baby?” the pet-name flowed easily, and because of the amount of malice put into it (or maybe in spite of it), Jester jerked like she had been shot.
“All your talk’s got me hard again,” he murmured with faux-comfort, puppeteering her hands with his own, having it run the length of his dick lightly, Jack also ran his thumb along the back of her hand—even a single one of his fingers almost covered her hand, she shuddered violently, as if she could hear the silent extension to his words—’and I’m gonna make it your problem’.
“P-Please…” Jester had started, and Jack wasn’t sure what she was begging for, and he would have bet that even she wasn’t sure what she was begging for anymore, yet the pleas came regardless of what she thought, words stumbling and barreling over each other in her stupid haste to get them out, her chest was heaving again with her words, “please, please, pl-ease—”
Jack decided that it was a beg for mercy, and he let those begs fall on deaf’s ears, do forgive him, he wasn’t well-versed enough in scripture to particularly care, and do forgive him, because he had ran out of mercy long since this had all began.
—This time however, rather than going down on her to begin with and having his way with her below him, he instead pulled her up to meet him, It would be more humiliating this way, having her on even-footing and still making her scream.
As a desperate reflex, to keep herself from falling, she had wrapped her arms around him, though he had to bite down something strangled in his mouth at her touch—some mix of pleasure and angry discomfort at her touching him, the way that she was relying on him not to fall tickled some prideful part of him pink, the one with the ache that only settled when he was powerful, and when Jester was not.
Not an itch that could be scratched all too often, as one could imagine, so Jack savored it like expensive steak.
She didn’t weight very much, not at all—and her limbs were shaking so bad that Jack had to hold onto her with his own, only her legs wrapping around him keeping her fully stable along with his own limbs, By the time Jack and Jester had gotten settled, she was somewhere close to his chest—just low enough to be pulled right to his dick.
Such a position wasn’t very graceful, her hanging on to him like a little appendage, but it wasn’t like Jester deserved anything resembling grace.
Jack hesitated to call it a hug, but he had enveloped her hips with his hands, and pushed her body further towards his own, looking down at her with a neutral grin, she seemed to shrink at that, her previous wide gaze now gone as she buried her face into his chest—he was glad that she was on the right side, because that made his heart shudder and burn, he hoped that it was the touch-aversion speaking.
“Don’t look so sad, J,” he cooed, and tugged her down.
She made some sounds akin to gibberish, her hands finding themselves working once more as she scratched at him—it was deep, goring almost, he felt his fur there become muddled with blood and it only compelled him to fuck her down harder in fury, it being all the easier with the come that was still inside of her cunt.
Of course, such a thing only made her scratch at him harder, and him fucking her harder—and then it becoming a self-perpetuating cycle of them harming each other as best they could, this was how it should be—them hating the other, like this for eternity.
Would that be heaven? Would it be hell?
Except—it was hard to continue when her arms when limp against his sides, and her sobs were again echoing openly across the empty dining room, so abruptly, he felt something within him shift and twist and break.
Jack couldn’t help it, he wasn’t even thinking, it wasn’t even conscious, it was on instinct when he started doing her slowly, softly—it felt easier after his first orgasm, when as he dipped his hand lower across her body to hold her at her thighs they came back wet, white with his come that he had already pumped inside of her—had she given him bunny instincts or something? She really was a devious little thing.
Her pull down had her giving these little airy, wanton moans, and whimpers, every drag back up made her hiccup and cry.
It was on one particular drag that Jack realized, he was shaking—no, no, shaking wasn’t the right word for it, his chest was rumbling against Jester, he was purring, and immediate alarm followed.
He was being too gentle, he was being too gentle, he was being too gentle.
But just because someone knew they were blind, doesn’t mean that they could see, there was no one to rub dirt in his eye and heal him, not even Jester—not that she wanted to, it seemed.
With how she enjoyed the treatment.
Jack paused at the open-mouthed, tiny pecks to his chest, shuddering at the feeling of those lips on his ribs—he let her be, and he tried not to think too hard about it, especially when his initial thought to her little onslaught, had been ’cute’.
He let a laugh bubble from his lips, Jester stilling with the sound.
This probably wasn’t what the bible meant when it said ‘Love thy neighbor,’
He dug deep grooves into her hips—her making a pitiful sound against his skin, and he didn’t know why he didn’t stop her, he would have half a mind to call it quits the moment she thought putting her lips towards anywhere on his skin a good idea—but maybe somewhere along the way with her stupid machinations, Jack had lost it.
Jester stared up at him with wide eyes, and slowly made her way to him, or maybe he had let her? He… didn’t do anything to stop her, didn’t care to, she smeared messy kisses up his neck, trailing up to his chin and then to his cheek, stilling as she almost lovingly pecked at the fur there, until she moved again, this time to the edge of his mouth, and then again to—
He threw her back on the table—her position close to him too much to bear, too easy to touch him, too easy to hurt him, Jack decided.
The spell was broken.
She hit the table with a loud slam, yet that wasn’t enough to quell his nerves, so he punched her, so hard that he heard his knuckles audibly crack in his hand,
That one was hard, Jack made sure of it, the punishment of crossing a boundary unseen, yet so obvious that even a monster like her would get it—yet she still ignored it anyways, and lo, a massive bruise was forming on her face, right at her cheekbone.
“I—’m s-sorry?” Jester said, and it was phrased like a question, like she had no idea what she did wrong, it only served to intensity the hate he felt.
There was something like heartbreak in her eyes too, that he really did not want to get into—made it feel like the worst thing he had done today. She looked at him like she had been the one getting tortured all this time, and this had been the straw that broke the camel’s back regarding her the last dredges of her sanity—or hope.
He was shaking, he realized, whether in anger, depression, surprise, he did not know.
He growled, leaning down and unhinging his jaw to bite her so hard in the neck that he could feel the blood gush in his mouth—first through the torn capillaries and veins that were visible very slightly if one looked closely at her skin (which Jack did, another thing to hate himself for), and then broken arteries that were embedded deep within her tissue, yet he just knew wouldn’t kill her, she laughed wetly, petting the fur of his nape—and he bit her like he was trying to gouge something out, her touch was gentle as if reciprocating an apology that wasn’t there.
Her neck felt soft, but he knew that already, felt the texture of her faux-skin through his elongated hands, pressed down hard enough to feel her trachea close around his fingers, but this was a sort of closeness that wasn’t there before, he could smell her so much easier—she smelled like dried blood before he even went to take a bite, before he even put his hands on her, but with the intimate distance (or lack thereof) he inhaled something floral, something that went to his non-existent nostrils and settled there—and so he growled as he bit into her, wondering just what else she had wanted to ingrain into him.
Jack bit down harder, her skin twitching against his teeth—before being torn to wet ribbons, it was through the pounding of his own blood in his ears, that he heard the soft noises that were escaping her, he wondered briefly whether he should have torn her throat instead of the side of her neck—but he put a pin in that, choosing to decide after.
Jack swallowed, pulling back, Jester tasted sweet, tasted like the honeydew that collected in blades of grass smelled, sticking to his mouth (it was with a sinking feeling that he realized that he would never experience the sight of it again)—the filling of a sweet, stuffed baked-good.
She tasted like Communion.
He briefly debated shoving a few fingers in there to vomit it out—but decided against, he didn’t think of much of anything, as he watched, with a passing glance, Jester tracing the path down his esophagus that her flesh took—and the bulge in his neck that it caused, with lidded eyes.
Her pupils were shaking again as she went to feel the extent of the wound through her fingers, a shaky, contented sigh forcing its way out her bloodied lips—her eyes were far too vivid, and far too clear, as she traced the part of her that was missing, something like a sob, or whimper, or hiccup escaping her after.
Jester’s mouth was slightly ajar, as her finger trailed down, tracing a finger down her own collarbone, collecting the mix of her blood, and his saliva, that must have fallen from his maw.
Jack was recoiling as she slowly, brought his drool to her own lips, and swallowed.
She was smiling, a weak, demented thing.
“…”
—The almost trance that had befallen the two of them, was interrupted however, and that not-all together there look soured, turning to a grimace almost instantly, as her eyes flickered towards the entrance again.
Jack felt himself flinch as he saw red again, this time in his periphery, slowly making their way to the center of the room, he wanted to explain himself, that this wasn’t what it looked like—except it exactly was, he couldn’t deny the fluids seeping between Jester’s thighs, even with the blood torn from her neck.
Jester growled weakly when she saw Annie, the noise pathetic when it came from her throat, her dilated pupils tracing her through the corner of her eye, but he put his grip on her neck again and tightened—reminding her that she had more pressing things to worry about, Jack tried not to flinch as he felt his fingers dig into her wound.
He froze when he and Annie made eye contact,
Annie… didn’t seem disgusted, or angry, or saddened, instead, she had curiously gazed at him for a few moments, sitting down,
And he sat there and watched her back, after a few moments too long, after he had stopped holding his breath, Jack angled himself and pushed into Jester again, the false-god biting back a moan of surprise (and failing), eyes still glancing between him and Annie, it seemed that she still had too much oxygen still going to that pretty head of hers.
Jack kept her in his periphery for a few moments—deciding against fully going down on Jester so he could gauge Annie’s reaction, he slowly bottomed out within Jester.
She merely watched—almost giddily… in her seat for a few moments as he rearranged Jester’s insides, before (after getting bored or something, he did not know) she moved and Jack watched as she steadily tore down that creepy Jester portrait by the fireplace, before throwing it in and watching it burn.
She settled next to Crowner’s body, gazing at him sadly, she dragged him somewhere—probably to his or her bedroom—and returned an indeterminable amount of time later (Jack counted it in Jester orgasms: two), lazily watching him screw her in the chair that Jester had sat at.
Jack forced himself to look away—knowing that there was a conversation there, reserved for when he wasn’t dick deep in their tormentor.
He probably should have stopped, but he feared that conversation, loathed even, so as far back as he could push it, he would.
Plus, if Jack was honest, he would probably be brutalized the minute Jester got her bearings together, so he was determined to ride his high for as long as he could.
It would be awkward to ignore Annie’s presence, but that was much better than the alternative, so he pushed the image of her being twelve feet at most away from him at the back of his mind—turning his attention instead towards Jester.
Annie’s arrival had done something to her, maybe it was another one of them seeing them in such a state, maybe it was because it was Annie that came in—Jester always had a special vendetta towards her, maybe it was something else, but her presence in the room broke a part of her it seemed.
Her eyes were glassier, but she was still trying to hold on.
And Jack wouldn’t have that.
Jester looked like she wanted to say something to him—her eyes glancing at Annie and then back to him—widening when she saw visible frustration on his features.
“Focus,” he hissed at her, Jester wilted like a dying flower, shivering when he pushed himself into her gap of her soaked thighs and gave shallows strokes there.
“‘K-Kay…” she sniffled, part of him preened at her obedience, and Jack didn’t know whether to snuff that part of himself out, or bring it to the very forefront of his mind.
She glanced up at him again, her peering eyes seeming too innocent for someone like her, made Jack want her to show her true colors, to stop hiding under that little facade of hers maybe some time ago it wasn’t a facade, and she was genuinely scared, but those days when he would have cared were long gone.
He cradled her face—hoping to break the last of her spirit.
“I hate you,” she shrinked at his words, wilting and curling into herself—but Jack wouldn’t let her hide, not when she didn’t let him either, so when she went to cover herself with arms, he pried them away from her and pinned them to the table, the shatter of ceramic barely audible in either of their ears, even when the feeling of wet blood began to coat Jack’s hand, whether it was hers or his, he did not care.
They were both bloody, they were both monsters, they both did not deserve the people around them.
“I hope you die,” he growled at her, and he froze a moment after—as her demeanor seemed to do a complete 180, she was still crying, but this time, laughs were interspersed with her sobs. Her eyes, wild and impassioned, and her grin, mirthful and broken, drool seeping from the corners of her mouth, and despite how wrecked she looked, for the first time since he began, she seemed ecstatic, “You—don’t mean that,” she said, her tone unnervingly hopeful.
His eye twitched, and Jack sucker-punched her in the gut, so hard that Jester almost passed out, the saliva falling form her mouth now in thick duvets, yet that crude smile was still on her, and her eyes still on him, her breath came out in gasps, and her words in cracking whispers, “‘M so happy,” she sighed, “‘m so happy, ‘m so happy, ‘m so happy,” she chanted like a mantra, her throat getting progressively weaker, yet her voice getting progressively more passionate with every word.
Jester was smug.
Jack hated it.
He hated it because she was right, he didn’t want her to die, not anymore, and not since he started, he wanted her to be his toy forever. If Jester was god, and If Jack was Judas, he wouldn’t have her killed, even if it was for thirty silver coins, he would keep her all to himself, keep her forever on his cock, she was so much better like that, instead of a stupid god.
Not even a few hours ago, he would have been jumping for joy with her death, yet somewhere along the line of Jack fucking into her supple body, he had become attached to her, majorly so, was he that easy? Was all he needed some pussy before he was satisfied in hell?
He shook his head, self-loathing, disbelief, and hatred for the thing in front of him mixing into some dark emotion in his chest.
“You… You…!”
“Me! Me!” Jester agreed easily, giggling at him, and anger flared like a flame, it felt sizzling in his flesh, as sizzling as her skin was to his own, “M–e…!” her voice caught and broke in her throat when he shoved himself inside her instead of another shallow pass at her thighs.
Jack hoped that whatever he was before the Circus, he wasn’t a virgin, because giving his virginity to Jester made him want to crucify himself.
He glanced towards Annie, trying to gauge her reaction—she was looking at them with an unnerving expression, it had his ears go limp against his skull—Jester had made her small, smaller, even more doll-like than before, she shook her head, before pointing again towards Jester, this time with a small smile, though it curled at the edges, almost turning to a smirk when her eyes landed on Jester.
What the hell was going on here?
Whatever the case, he was really not looking forward to the conversation, he would take any out he could get—and explicit confirmation that he could continue breaking their little tormentor to dust? He would gladly take.
“D—on’t…! Look at m-e!” Jester screeched, pawing at him from her spot below him, and it seemed no matter what way he was going to go about it, there was going to be a lot to unpack, and Jack was really, really not in the mood, especially when Jester was crying again, in more agony than it seemed before, maybe her wounds caught up to her, but when she glanced at him again, her teary, dark-rimmed eyes bubbling with an emotion that he could hardly believe.
Her mouth was moving again, but Jack couldn’t hear what she was saying, his ears ringing too loudly to hear much of anything—she was bleeding so much, the wounds that he inflicted on her—most prominently that one on her neck, oozed blood onto the table, staining the wood—staining her, the red looked so pretty against her pale skin, and she was tugging on his fur, her grasp weak and feeble, and he thought that this was the most devious torture that she done to him.
A harder tug, not enough to tear his fur, but enough to get him to stumble closer towards her—he should be angry, furious even, that she dared touch him, and he was—but his head was filled with single-minded desire to use that anger to pound her into the table harder than he had before, break more parts of her to see how far exactly he could take this.
Distantly, with another tug of hers, through muddled thoughts, he wondered—as saliva built in his mouth, partly rinsing away the taste of blood—as she hiccuped as felt his dick twitch inside of her—was… was that her way of trying to get his attention? To take it away from Annie?
Beckoning him to use her body?
Even when he took deep gouging pieces of her away? Even if she hated it? Even if she whined and cried and insisted that she was a god?
Did her jealousy (that word made a pit form in his stomach, he wasn’t an object! Lesser still her follower) burn her that much?
Well, if she wanted his attention…
Who was he to deny?
“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” when had the moans and whimpers started coming from him? Jack didn’t know, those pitiful noises that Jester made started coming from his own throat—when had he started leaning over and panting against her skin? “J-Jester…”
He partly couldn’t believe himself as he rubbed up against her hair with his face—wholly couldn’t believe reality when she nuzzled up right back against him, especially as she pressed messy kisses to his neck like she hadn’t learned a thing, like she wanted to get another bruise… maybe she did.
Jack felt like he was sweating bullets as he felt her hot breath steam over his fur, curling around the side of neck, just missing his nape, if it didn’t before, the room defintely stunk of sex to high hell now.
He prayed that no one else would see him like this, Jester and Annie were already too much—Jester was… fine, when she was being broken in the same way that he was, Annie was an angel, but that was bad enough, he didn’t care much for Jangle, but if Nullble would come in…
It made him sick, that Jester was making him come undone, even when she herself was an absolute wreck under him. Even when she was powerless, and squirming, she took water and made it into blood, and even so, she made Jack drink, and drink, and drink—it intoxicated him regardless.
Until Jack didn’t even know if he would have preferred wine at this point.
—He would hate himself, he thought—more than he already did—if he stopped obscuring his meaning behind metaphor and started looking at himself for what this situation was, the obfuscation was as much a shield and distraction, a cure for his disease as she herself was—or more accurately, her body was.
Jester’s weak voice still had enough in her for one last feeble little moan, right when he pushed deep inside of her and spilt himself so thoroughly, jizz had stained her thighs even more then, her legs shaking in barely-there orgasmic delight, he could barely decide if white-on-white was as good as red-on-white.
Annie had fallen asleep by then, occasionally being woken up by the deep vibrations in the table imparted from Jester’s body if he thrusted inside her too harshly, the fireplace had long since gone out, but his rage was far from embers.
Oddly, he didn’t feel hungry, thirsty, or sleepy.
Was this Jester’s doing? Had this in some point in time become consensual? He sure hoped not, he wanted that bitch to suffer—that thought burned hotter than it did before, and so he took his hand and threw a punch at her nose, Jester’s head jerked to the side, darkened blood pouring from her nostrils, and it looked like she barely even registered it—Annie jolted from where she was sat, before she cautiously put her head down on the table again, resuming her last position.
…How annoying.
Jester hiccuped when Jack steadied her again, he didn’t even need to hold her limbs apart—she kept them at her sides obediently, even later wrapping them around his waist so she wouldn’t be jostled too far with any of his thrusts,
She was a marionette with her strings cut beforehand, but something inside of her must have snapped harder, again, to need him so wantonly, so carnally, that she growled every time he went to steal glances at Annie, and giggled when those glances became rare, and then eventually, nonexistent, as he was lost in her, lost in her body, he never wanted to escape, not when the sight of her had his knees buckling for entirely different reasons than before.
Jester looked divine like that, angelic, her hair like a halo as it fanned around her—
Jack disregarded that, how stupid—would that make him the devil then? Out to corrupt her? What a joke, she corrupted herself, if anything, she was bringing him down with her.
But if she wanted to be corrupted, then so be it, if Jester wasn’t going to resist, than she better be ready for what he’s about to give her.
“W-We’re gonna be here for a while, get comfortable, J,” Jack hissed at her.
She giggled again in turn—a wheezing thing, as if he hadn’t made her stomach bulge out, as if he hadn’t embedded himself inside her so deeply that he was one step away from plowing her womb, as if he hadn’t beat her so hard that there was dark splotches of blood and even more bruises on her pale skin.
Her laughs weren’t like the way they were before this all happened, airier now, breezy almost, hiccuping cries intermingled into it, like her brain had turned into a soup and she didn’t know whether to enjoy the treatment or reject it,
It pissed him off; it got him off.
He didn’t know how long it had been—he lost count how many times Jester had orgasmed, or him for that matter, he had been lost in a haze of lust and anger
Even when he wasn’t tired, per se, his muscles ached, and when his exhausted had outweighed his annoyance, he had stopped wrecking the faux-god, pulling out of her and watching his handy-work flow out her, staining the approximation of mahogany of the table, and her thighs again in the process—they twitched weakly as he pulled out.
The table was broken—split right down the center, they had taken to the floor some time ago, and by that, Jack means she had fallen right to the floor and he followed her, rutting against her like an animal—he hadn’t even noticed for a few seconds, the impact was only so startling when he was making similar movements against her every time he pushed himself inside again.
Annie was gone—before Jester had broken the table, no doubt bored after countless hours of repeated motions and screams (even if those screams were Jester’s), probably retired to her room or wherever she had put Crowner, good, that delayed whatever fucked-up conversation needed to happen.
Jester was still conscious, probably, if the fluttering of her eyelashes were anything to go by, where she was laid against the fallen end of the table, the mess that was between her legs were obscene—Jack absentminded nabbed a napkin that she had so generously provided them for her dinner, pulling her out of it and unto the chair he sat on before, cleaning her there—it took about five large table napkins for him to consider it a lost cause, wondering why he even tried to give her the courtesy in the first place.
He was tempted to shove the come-soaked tissue downed Jester’s throat, but settled for throwing it into the extinguished fireplace.
Jack shook his head, he was way too tired for this.
When he returned, he hated how her teary, puffy face made him feel—and so he clocked her in the jaw, she barely made a sound, at least not one that was louder than the sound transferred to the table—a tiny rasp, maybe it was a whimper, Jack hoped that she made it again the next time he hit her.
“I hate you,” Jack hated her… and he hated how it sounded like he had to remind himself of that fact, hated how weak his voice sounded.
Jack sighed, his ears flattening and lowering, despite himself, he felt better than he did in a long while, he rubbed his face, flinching slightly—when had he started drooling?
“What do I even do with you?” he asked to her body, still momentarily and periodically twitching and writhing in unseen agony and pleasure, even after he had already pulled away.
He was half-tempted to leave her there, broken, come still trailing out her pussy in obscene amounts as she sat there in pieces, too out of her mind to even try to focus enough to fix herself, maybe after a few days—trying her hardest to ignore the memories of him pounding at her long enough to mend her shattered body and spirit—but he thought otherwise, not for any grace regarding Jester, of course not.
Rather, it would probably be safer for him to keep an eye on her, maybe apply a little bit more pressure if need be, and it wasn’t like he could hide from her anyways, should she be of sound mind tomorrow and come hunting his ass, she would get him as quickly in his bedroom as anywhere in the Circus.
It wasn’t that he liked this, he would much rather be in his room alone, so he could deal with his existential and moral crisis in peace.
Because as always, Jester gave him a lot to think about, even when the only thing she did was be obliterated on a table by him, she still managed to haunt his thoughts—Jack grabbed her, perhaps rougher than necessary, slinging what once was their ringleader on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, with all the gentleness of one as well—not like she deserved softness though, not unless it was to be meanly taken from her to make whatever punishment worse.
He grabbed his discarded clothes, and promptly ignored her own torn ones behind him after giving them a once over, he did briefly think of bringing them towards Annie to repair, but even the thought itself was probably more than she deserved, and besides, more charitably, Jester could probably bring them back with a snap of her fingers.
So he walked away, two objects in his possession.
Traversing the halls felt stranger with Jester in his arm, all subdued and submissive—a good strange he decided, he could get used to this, knowing the eyes in the halls that watched him were now closed and crying.
And that it was because of him.
When he got to his room, Jack shoved her on the bed with little care, the mattress more than big enough to house the both of them comfortably—and comfortably was the right word, because Jester gave him by far the softest and most spacious one in the Circus, for some godawful reason that he could not fathom—probably to lord over him, to remind him of her, and of this place.
Jack hated it before, he didn’t mind it so much now though, the checkered blue and red sheets and pillows felt like more of a trophy now more than anything.
Jester fell, clutching the sheets and crawling to right under where the pillows were, naked and trailing unholy liquids on his mattress, she clutched at his sheets there, as if the familiar red and blue shocked her brain into some state.
“Sleep,” Jack commanded, “‘m tired,” he sat down on the bed as well, laying down next to her and watching her ball herself in a fetal position, rolling his eyes, he grabbed the blanket over the foot over bed and laid it over himself.
“C-Cold,” she whined, hugging her knees close to her chest, pitiful and shivering, Jack could see her ribcage rising and falling rapidly as she hyperventilated—her whole body along with it, she drew a little blood as as her claws lightly raked upon the skin of her shins, she was faintly crying, sobs much quieter than they were before.
Jack scoffed, bringing his hands under his head to cradle his skull, staring at the ceiling in wonder about why that was his problem exactly… before he paused for a long moment, and sighed, running a hand over his face and thinking about where his life went wrong… before tugging her over (and pulling her slightly more upright in the process), her eyes glanced at him, wide and glassy, partly curious and wholly terrified.
“…For everything we once were,” Jack whispered, more to himself than her, leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, and it was more tender than she deserved (maybe she knew this, by the way that she was shaking, in any other context, he would’ve cackled, but not here), he pulled her closer to himself and shared the blanket, tucking it over her bruised and defiled body—he took one of his pillows and… he sighed, fluffing it off, trying his best to redistribute the down inside, before placing it under her awaiting neck.
Jack normally slept on his side, his left more specifically—facing the wall, and he would be damned if he let her change that, so he was stuck facing her, and Jester didn’t seemed too bothered by that, unwilling to turn away, even as his look gazed over her face.
He took a deep breath, and exhaled it in the same motion.
"…Night, Jester.”
“Good n-night, Jack.”
“,,,”
Without his permission, she slowly shimmied her way close to him, wrapping her arms around his upper chest when she was close enough, it felt uncomfortable having her so close to his heart—finely honed instincts told him to push her away… he didn’t stiffen, yet he didn’t move either, and he wondered what that said about him.
“I… I’m sorry,” she mumbled into the crook of his collarbone, and Jack almost flinched with her words, it was as if she had accidentally shoulder-checked him while walking, or said something mean—an apology fit for a crime several orders of magnitudes less severe than what she had done.
Jack did not respond, what could he even say? Could that even be counted as a start?
He had half-expected to have woken to the burning of his flesh, or not woken up at all.
What he didn’t expect was Jester nuzzling into his chest, her slender form sluggishly bouncing up and down his morning wood, giggling broken obscenities and crying garbled moans like a little nymphomaniac, fingers trailing possessively on his sides, catching and counting his ribs.
Though, the most surprising thing was that he woke up on his back—that never happened, did Jester push him in that position she could do this?
That was… a little cute.
That thought, not a day ago would have been firing alarm bells in his mind, and to be fair to himself, it still did, but it was muffled somewhat—under a haze of desire, or exhaustion, or God-forbid fondness he did not know, but whatever it was, it made the red flags of this whole thing look a lot more subdued.
She keened above him, her thighs shaking as the entrance of her cunt got caught on his cockhead—curious, he was sure he fucked her loose enough for that to not be a problem, she gazed at him pitifully then, her expression not much more different than the one she wore last night, except this time, there was something pleading in there.
Hm, seemed like this arrangement would be permanent after all.
Jack grinned lazily, placing a hand on her thigh and pushing her up the tiniest bit, up until only the very tip of him was aligned with her outer lips, her clit resting on and kissing his slit, marveling for a moment at her soft thighs, and the blossoming bruises laid therein—Jester whined in protest, before he shoved her back done in one full go—in response, she screamed so loud that it seemed to vibrate the walls.
Good, Jack could get used to her like this, it felt nice not being the plaything for once.