My current reasons for why i believe columbina to be a human-monster hybrid
1. She couldn't have been prey: She is described as "barely having any claws and fangs" or something akin to that. The small issue that neither herbivores nor prey animals have any amount of sharp teeth at all. Prey animals generally do not have claws at all either. So them being underdeveloped points to her monster side being underdeveloped and if her monster side was under developed that would have to have a bigger reason such as being only half monster
2. Human-like childhood: In her anniversary ama, she talks about growing up in a house. Now, i dont know of any canon facts about how exactly the others grew up. But seeing as a lot of the circus members only got to know about humans after growing up, they probably grow up in very different settings from us. Also the fact that columbina said something about her house burning down and the implication of it to be done by humans, so humans likely also lived nearby.
3. Biological composition: The fact that the cast ate her in order to get the nutrients necessary to break out of thier chains. Its been confirmed that they only get nutrients from eating human flesh. So how did columbinas flesh even have the necessary nutrients?
"Did you know some animals eat their offspring when they sense danger...?"
Angst, hurt/no comfort
Everyone was nervous for some weeks now…
The town, the circus crew, everyone.
A silent, but growing animosity was brewing between the 2 camps.
The circus was here for a time now, and more and more people disappeared. And while not all were the faults of your lovers, the town's population was ready to pin them all on them.
Silent scowls following you when you walked to the circus or left to return home. They knew you were with them. And each passing day you felt less and less safe crossing the streets of your hometown slowly becoming an estranged place to you, now that the Circus was your home and family…
Even the babies could sense the heavy atmosphere and you and their dads have difficulties calming them down. They cried and cried in the sick air of animosity. Sometimes you had to leave them still crying to return to your apartment. You proposed to take at least one with you, to share the burden for at least a night.
But Jester was not budging.
No underage monster will leave the premise of the Circus where none of the Fathers could protect them. They already had difficulties letting you go home when you announced the pregnancies, they are not about to let their offspring roam the town unsupervised.
So you left them to their fathers, crying yourself, and hurrying to return the next day.
Of course, Pierrot followed you to make sure you were okay on the way home at night. But you had to come alone in the morning most of the time.
You chose to silence the fact that people were whistling when you walk past them. That they purposefully bumped into you, or, sometimes, slammed you against a wall to spit at your face.
You chose to not tell them. To not anger them more.
To not put the entire town to death.
But each day it got worse.
Each day you grew more and more uneasy.
Each day, you jumped at mere shadows, or real tangible threats.
Each day you hurried yourself more to reach the circus quicker.
But today…
Today feels different.
Today feels… Worse.
The air is thick and chokingly hot and heavy. You sweat in your clothes. Everyone's face is darkened by shadows of anger and irritation. No one looks at you, which is not normal nowadays. and instead of relieving you, it sets an alarm in you mind.
And everything is so… Silent.
Eerily silent.
No music from the bars.
No chit chat from the tables of guest.
No car horn or engine.
Just.
Dead silence.
Only the wind wails in the tight streets of the city, and with it a scent of… Burning.
Like a fire…
Pushed by a gut-wrenching fear, you abandon your purse on the pavement as you rush to the Circus.
It doesn't take time for you to inhale the first fumes of smoke.
Fire….!
Fire!!!!
The closer you get, the worst the smoke and heat gets.
And when you finally arrive, a wall of the towns people are circling the circus, huge flames dancing, high like buildings, licking the tents. Some rose fools in their masks are on fire, or fleeing away, immediately stopped by some town citizens by a powerful punch in the face, circling them to do God knows what.
You press yourself between people to pass through the human barrier and reach the Circus opening. They let you pass in silence, but their gazes carry the threats.
And without thinking, or taking a proper last breathe, you jump into the flames, entering Hell itself.
None tries to stop you.
You rush to the babies tent the quickest you can, barely evading a falling heavy girder, only saved by Bil who grabbed your hand last second to pull you away from danger.
"(MC!)" He shouts to be heard above the rumbling fire, "What are you doing here?!"
"The babies!" You retort, pulling to let him go of you, "My babies!"
"The… Forget it, (MC), do not go there! It is in the middle of the flames! You can't do anything!" He tries, trying to pull you out of the fire.
But you pull harder, and manage to tear your arm off his grasp. You press your hand to your mouth and nose like it could do anything against the amber entering your gasping lungs, burning you from the inside. You dive under a fallen pole, Bil screaming at you to come back, but stopped by the wall of flames.
Your jacket catch fire, so you throw it away, leaving your arms bare for the fire.
It is a Capharnaum. Screams, bodies, people running to escape, slowing you down. And it is way too hot for your human body, you can't stay here much longer, but you can't abandon your children and your lovers behind!
You finally reach the tent, devoured by flames. You rush inside with the scream of your babies' names.
And what you see inside.
You struggle to believe it.
You even think this is just a distortion because of the boiling air and flames.
But… No.
You are truly seeing it.
Pierrot
Harlequin
Holding the babies
Blood on their mouth, pearling in with an obscene carmine tint.
Pierrot opens his mouth, baring his sharp teeth, and takes another bite of the infant that is already no more…
Harlequin swallows before getting at it again.
You feel your blood leaving your head and you just… puke on the ground. You fall on all four and your stomach empties itself.
That. Catches their attention.
You hear Pierrot gasping your name and Harlequin letting out a choked 'Fuck…'
And before you can say a thing, or even move, a purple mass appears before your eyes, blocking the horrors to your view, and carries you outside of the tent.
"(M/C)…!" Jester berates you, blood pearling at his chin too, "What are you doing here? Are you mad?!"
"Wha… What are you doing in here!?" You demand, gasping for air. "My… My babies!"
" So you saw."
" Why…!" You feel tears instantly evaporating from your cheeks, "Jester, why?! We could have saved them!"
You see a fleeting mixture of shock and horror flash on his white mask tainted with red, instantly replaced by a stern and resolute expression.
"No, (M/C). It was over for them. They started the fire near this tent intently." He simply tells you, "We arrived too late."
You press your hands on your sternum, trying desperately to breath. But you can only inhale fumes and amber.
"I… I can't… Breathe…! I…" You gasp out loud, mouth wide open, and you puke once more.
Jester holds your shoulder, keeping your hair out of the way.
You babies…
Your children!!
The incarnations of your love!
Your dreams taken human forms!
Your…
You cough up, your fist pressed to your mouth as your body curls over itself violently.
Pierrot and Harlequin leave the tent, looking at you with only sorrow in their eyes. Even Harlequin's usual mischievous light is dim.
They are not proud of themselves.
But it was an instinctive act.
Purely an act of survival.
You hug yourself, crying on the ground, not seeing a thing anymore in the sea of tears.
"Do you have the bones?" You hear Jester asks.
"We do…" Harlequin responds in a voice void of all life.
"Then, we can go." The purple monster declares.
He wraps his arms under your knees and around your shoulders and lifts you up, still blabbering incoherently about your kids.
Your heart is bleeding.
How could you ever survive such a turn of events…
How…
Your chidren…
You carried them, felt them grow in your core.
You gave birth to them, in blood and tears. You fought fate itself to give them life.
And now…
Now…
________________
"How is she?" Ticket Taker asks Jester.
The purple monster remains silent for a moment, observing what remains of all that they built going on in flames down the valley.
"I put her to sleep via hypnosis. The Doctor is checking her up."
"A chance they didn't see us flee into the mountains." The blue one retorts, turning to observe you, sleeping on the lap of Pierrot, The Doctor checking your pulse.
"You think they did not see us?" Jester asks with cold venom, a terrible smirk stretching his mouth, "I think they know exactly where we are."
The Doctor approaches with his arms crossed, joining his seniors.
"The fire and smoke provided us a solid cover, human eyes are not meant for such environment. They surely know we are in the mountains, just not where precisely."
"It is not important, when they'll come for us, we will be long gone. But we still have a present for such a good public. Doctor?" Jester turns his gaze up at the giant cloaked figure.
The black masked man opens his cloak and takes off a little box
"Pierrot, cover her mouth and nose." He orders.
The red clown presses your face to his chest, embracing you tight, an air of desolation on his features. The Doctor opens the box and a thin black smoke escapes it, descending towards the town, carried by the wind.
"It should take 2 or 3 days for the first symptoms to reveal themselves. And it will already be too late." He closes it back before sighing, "I had great experiments in process… I'll have to restart everything."
"We all need to restart everything." Jester reminds him, "Start anew. Fresh."
"And (M/C)?" Ticket Takes asks.
"We bring her with us, obviously." Jester orders, spinning on his heels to return to you Pierrot and Harlequin, "She sealed her fate with us. She comes with us."
"What if she wants to leave after what she… saw?" Taker dusts his hat, following his boss.
Pierrot looks up at them, blood smeared on his face, hugging you as he trembles. Harlequin is kneeling next to him, silent.
Unusually silent.
Jester sighs, kneeling in turn.
"She made her choice." He caresses a strand of hair behind your ear tenderly with his claws, "Despite everything, she chose us. In all our monstrosity…"
GENRE: Dark Romance, Psychological Horror, Yandere, Romance
RATING: Explicit / 18+ / MATURE
WORD COUNT: 7k
CONTENT WARNINGS: obsessive behavior, stalking, manipulation, unhealthy attachment, toxic dynamics, possessiveness, non-consensual themes, non-consensual sex, explicit sexual content, emotional dependency, violence, mentions of blood, biting, no foreplay, dead dove: do not eat
A traveling circus has appeared in your city, and through a third-party contract, you’re hired as technical support to help maintain quality standards behind the scenes. The work itself is surprisingly easy, even with the strange performers lingering around every corner. Yet somehow, with each passing day, your body feels more sore than ever before.
Breaking Point Part 1
reader discretion is advised (!)
“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, your hands coming to dig their fingers into your lower back. You’re sure your fingers are nearly white with the amount of pressure you’re trying to force into one spot – and yet, when your fingers manage to tentatively target the correct spot needing attention, it causes your body to shudder uncontrollably.
You let out an audible groan, piquing the interest of your shift buddy.
“You good?” he asks, spinning around in the plastic swivel chair.
You wave him off. “It’s nothing, just sore for some reason.”
He tilts his head but doesn’t seem to question it, with a hum of disinterest he turns his chair back around, facing the small metal desk.
You’re not sure why but your body feels as though it’s been rotting from the inside out for the past few days. Every morning you wake up more sore than the last - even shifting in bed makes you wince. It’s starting to make you wonder if you’ve come down with some kind of infection.
You’ve already made the mistake of searching your symptoms online before. Every result inevitably spirals into cancer, chronic stress, malnutrition, dehydration, underlying conditions, or physical strain from work.
Physical strain is something you rule out indefinitely. Not only do you commit to little physical activity, but your job is the furthest thing from demanding. How could prying open a few rusted panels on outdated equipment explain the deep yet sharp aching wrapped around your sides?
What bothers you most is where the pain sits.
You noticed it the other night while showering, fingertips brushing over sore skin hard enough to make you flinch. Faint bruises had already begun surfacing there; small, circular marks scattered along your waistline. Some showing a faint purple noticeable through soap suds.
You’ve been reasoning with yourself to avoid overthinking it and scaring yourself any further. However, your mind does find itself wandering to the fact that the marks are round and evenly spaced.
You pull your phone from your pocket despite knowing it’ll only make the paranoia worse. Your eyes drag across the bright screen as you type another search, eyeing the walkie-talkie momentarily.
Bruises around hips and waist causes.
The first result says vitamin deficiencies, the second says blood disorders, with the third result implying internal bleeding. You immediately lock your phone before you can spiral any harder.
If the affliction was merely physical you believe you wouldn’t find too much concern, but it’s the fact that every morning you feel uncomfortably sensitive and sluggish - as if your body was not your own.
You don’t know what’s happening and you’re terrified.
A small sigh leaves you as you lean back in your chair, rubbing at your temples as your body slides further down the chair. The ache along your waist pulses again to remind you of its presence, making you grimace.
Suddenly, the walkie-talkie fills the room with static, making you and your coworker flinch to the abrupt noise.
“Having issues with the cotton candy machine near the green tent,” muffled music and voices can be heard in the background, “can we get someone out here to fix it?”
Recognizing the voice immediately, a groan nearly slips past your lips before the chair behind you creaks as a hand reaches out for the walkie-talkie.
Your coworker gives you a look you can’t decipher before he responds.
“Yeah, be there in a minute.”
He clips the walkie-talkie to his front pocket and slips the work lanyard over his head. He shuffles around the cramped room almost frantically, movements aimless and eyes shifting between equipment and his desk, almost as if everything was foreign to him.
“Finally, some actual work,” he says, “I haven’t done a single thing since my first shift, so I’ll take this request.”
The words were almost appalling.
The first three shifts you had, you could agree with him on. However, after those three shifts you’d constantly been pulled out into the circus tents or booths to fix something. One day it was the popcorn machine that had stopped popping due to faulty wiring - you almost missed the thin slits cut deep into the copper wiring of the main chord. Other days it was speakers that were missing wires completely, nearly ripped or sliced from their sockets. Just yesterday you’d been called out to fix one of the tents after an entire side had collapsed inward.
Fortunately, nobody had been underneath it during the collapse. The assigned performer hasn’t been scheduled for any events during that block of time.
In fact, he’d been standing right beside you when you arrived.
An image of the performer flashes through your mind immediately. You could practically hear the bells on his hat jingling softly, gold orbs fixed on you through the mask as he would look down at you in silence. It didn’t help that whoever designed the mask thought carving a permanent toothy grin into the mask was a good stylistic choice.
“There is no way,” you state. “I’ve been called out at least every shift now, everything over there is ancient - breaks left and right.”
You knew the kid you were partnered with was still in university, so you chalked it up to him simply not working enough shifts to experience the sheer volume of issues.
“Maybe you’re just too good at your job,” he jokes while throwing the bag of tools over his shoulder, “that’s why you’re sore everywhere. I’ll take this one so you can rest - don’t thank me too much.”
You roll your eyes with a quiet chuckle, escaping your lips.
“All yours,” you say, but he’s halfway out the tent by the time you speak. “Try not to break more while you’re out there.”
Your head tilts back against the chair, hanging there for a moment as exhaustion settles deeper into your bones. You were somewhat grateful he wanted to take the request - if anything, it did give you a break. Not from the actual work itself, but from the one performer who somehow always seemed to be the person calling you down there.
Some days it was complete silence, his gaze digging into your skin while you worked through each repair either beneath dim carnival lights. Other days were filled with interrogations. At first, the questions made you deeply uncomfortable, leaving you convinced the strange performer had developed some odd fixation on you.
But eventually you realized the questions were endless - nearly mindless - information that no one would really need. The performer has not once asked for your number or where you lived despite the listless amount of information he already had.
He’d ask about your favorite foods to only ask you an unrelated question immediately after. He’d ask about what music you listened to, where your favorite restaurant was, why you played with your earrings while trying to assess the issues, why you flinched whenever the lights flickered too hard overhead. The questions stacked on top of each other without pause, spoken with an almost childlike curiosity that never quite matched the unsettling grin painted onto his mask.
Soon, the discomfort had faded into irritation more than anything else. You could only assume the performer either had no friends or had simply lost all sense of social awareness after spending too long in the carnival.
You hear the faint jingle of bells outside your tent, immediately your head snaps up.
A familiar porcelain-white face peers through the opening of the tent, the painted grin stretching unnaturally wide beneath the dim overhead lighting. Your stomach sinks almost instantly - either out of dread or annoyance, you’re not sure anymore.
You weren’t sure the performers were allowed near the maintenance tent - not that they’d have any reason to come here in the first place.
“Pierrot,” you say sharply.
Almost sheepishly, the costumed performer slips into the tent as if he’d been caught. You can’t help but notice how badly he towers over your seated form, his frame nearly forcing the cramped space to feel even smaller.
What you believe to be the mask’s electric eye sockets glows a striking gold as they lock onto your face, brighter than you’d ever seen them before. The intensity almost makes you believe his real eyes must be burning beneath the porcelain.
Oddly enough, you notice a faint reddish hue dusting the exposed skin along the sides of his neck.
“Do you not have a performance right now?” you ask, glancing past him toward the tent opening in case your coworker comes back. You glance back, meeting the gold pair that were following you the whole time.
Pierrot tilts his head at the question, bells giving you a soft jingle with the movement.
“Not currently,” he answers after a lengthy pause. Despite the mask, his voice lacks the muffle you would expect - always clear and soft spoken with a slight unevenness behind his words.
Your eyes narrow slightly. “Then why are you here? Is there something else that needs to be looked at?”
Another pause fills the room and you decide to cross your arms. However, it backfires as your bruised sides ache to the sudden movement, making your body slightly flinch to the pain.
The glowing gold of his gaze drifts downward briefly before returning to your face.
“You didn’t come,” he answers softly.
The statement catches you off guard, making your eyebrows furrow deeper.
“To fix the machine… the cotton-candy.” The words come out awkward and rushed, long gloved fingers flexing at his sides. “I thought you would arrive.”
You suppress the urge to groan.
“My coworker took the request, we both don’t need to go,” you explain flatly. “Were you able to meet with him?”
The performer goes strangely still, silence once again fills the cramped space. You swear you could hear him breathing at one point. Regardless, you keep glancing behind him in hopes to see your coworker’s figure appear through the flaps of the tent, or his chirpy voice sounding outside.
Instead, you were met with a small nod from Pierrot.
“Do you feel okay?” he asks softly.
The question immediately makes your expression twist.
“You appear unwell.”
His gaze lowers again, this time lingering somewhere near your waist for just a second too long before returning to your face. Instinctively, your arm shifts across your middle, feeling your face slightly bloom with heat.
“I’m fine,” you answer quickly.
An obvious lie. Your body was so sensitive to even the slightest of movement, the soreness curled around your sides. Even sitting in the chair had become too uncomfortable at times.
Pierrot remains motionless. The bells hanging from his costume barely make a sound as he leans forward slightly, his shadow covers your smaller form and briefly you remember the warm air around your cheeks.
“You flinched earlier,” he states. “Something is wrong.”
You resist the urge to lean back further into the chair, trying to ignore the hair along your body rising beneath his stare. You feel as though you’re being picked apart in his eyes - searching under your clothes.
“You’re super observant, y’know that?” you mutter with an awkward laugh, trying to steer the conversation away from yourself before it becomes even more embarrassing. “Maybe you should work security instead or something.” Your voice trails off, trying to notice a reaction from him that you could go off of.
For a moment, Pierrot simply stares at you. Then, faintly, the bells along his costume jingle as his head tilts.
“...Security.”
The word sounds almost thoughtful coming from him and the awkward echo of your words tugs at the corners of your mouth, genuinely confused with the tone he repeats. A small smile settles onto your face, capturing his attention completely as the glowing gold flickers then brightens subtly.
“You notice everything,” you continue, rubbing absentmindedly at your side again. “Honestly, maybe you’d be good. There’s been an insane amount of issues lately.”
Pierrot remains silent, he’s listening, you can already tell he is processing each word you are saying. However, the weight of his eyes add to your tingling nerves.
“Like, way more than there should be,” you mumble. “Faulty wiring, missing cords, collapsing tents…its actually ridiculous.”
Your eyes flick toward him again, yet, he shows no intent to respond.
“You guys should probably update your equipment too…once you’re able to leave,” you say quietly.
The moment the words leave your mouth, something shifts. Pierrot goes unnaturally still.Even the bells hanging from his costume fall silent when he tilts his head.
“Leave?”
The single word sounds oddly strained coming from him.
Your head tilts as your brows furrow slightly, “Yeah? I mean, your carnival travels around, right?”
You decide to stand up from your chair, once again ignoring the obvious height difference, as you move toward a metal side desk littered with scattered papers. Some detailed the older equipment still being used around the ground, others held shift schedules for the previous and upcoming weeks. The one you were specifically searching for, however, was the carnival’s event schedule for its entire stay.
“It’s been so long already…” you trail off, pulling a thin pamphlet out from a small stack. “You guys only have next week left actually.”
The fact surprises you actually, your eyes skimming across next week’s events and noticing an event titled “grand closing” on its last operating day.
“What town is next after mine?”
Silence cuts into the air once more. However, this time the air around you feels warmer than before. You barely notice it at first, too focused on unfolding the creased pamphlet, before a faint jingle is heard - closer than before.
Your fingers pause against the paper.
“Why do you ask?”
His voice sounds different now - it’s quieter somehow, but with a heavy tone to it. The words press into the cramped tent hard enough to make your shoulder tense, the silence allows you to hear the carnival’s muffled music becoming softer and softer.
You glance up instinctively.
Pierrot is much closer than before.
You hadn’t even heard him move.
The glowing gold behind the mask burns intensely as he stares down at you, his towering frame nearly blocking the dim overhead light entirely.
“I was just curious,” you answer carefully, letting out a short breath, trying not to react to the sudden closeness.
The pamphlet crinkles faintly in your grip as you can see him taking another step closer to you. Your lower back lightly bumps against the edge of the desk, glancing between his nearing masked face and the opening of your tent. Your body burns with an uncomfortable feeling of despair and fear mixing together.
“Pierrot,” you answer with a wavering tone, your hands are twitching to come up and put a barrier between you and his nearing figure. “You’re getting pretty close.”
“My lady,” he starts. The golden orbs deepen into nearly an orange-red hue, his face is so close you can see the eye sockets setting a glow around the eye sockets.
The term makes your heart start to pound slightly more than it was before, you can hear the thumping against your ears. You’ve told him before that being referred to like that makes you uncomfortable, and fortunately, he listened until now.
His gaze drops briefly toward the pamphlet in your hands before returning to your face again.
“Would you miss it?” he asks immediately.
“What? You mean the carnival - ”
He barely gives you time to speak before interrupting you. “Me,” he corrects sharply, you can hear his breath hitch, “would you miss me?”
An awkward smile pulls at your lips instantly, you’re unsure of what to say but you have a terrible feeling you know exactly what response he’s hoping for from the way his glowing gaze remains fixed so intensely on you. The implication behind his words adds another shade of red to your face and neck, your body tense and far too warm as you try to unscramble your thoughts to say something polite without encouraging him further.
A fleeting thought tells you to leave. Just slip past him, laugh the conversation off, tell him that your coworker needs help finding the tent because it has been far too long for a simple cotton-candy machine. Yet, your feet stay planted.
Because he was harmless at the end of the day. Weird, sure - painfully awkward, definitely - but harmless. You knew better than to panic over Pierrot at this point. Every interaction you’d had with him ended the same way: uncomfortable, strange, occasionally irritating, but never threatening.
Just socially inept and lonely. An introvert, you would conclude.
Just a very tall introvert. Right?
The thought weakens slightly as Pierrot takes another slow step forward.
You can feel the edge of the desk press harder into your lower back.
“No?” His voice inquires softly. You swear the painted grin on his mouth had gotten smaller, dipping slightly at the corners.
“I mean,” you start with a shaky voice, a wave of hot air rushes over you, “listen Pierrot, I like you, but only - ”
You’re interrupted once more. This time not by his words, but by his mouth.
The movement is so sudden your brain barely processes it.
One second he’s staring down at you in silence, and the next his gloved hand is bracing you against the desk beside your hip as he ducks forward, lips crashing clumsily yet heavy against yours.
Your breath catches immediately, your eyes widening as you take in how the “mask” you’ve looked at so many times before - something that should be plastic or porcelain - is forming around your mouth like a normal mouth. It’s moving and opening like a mouth.
It’s warm and slick with something that you could only assume was a tongue licking desperately along your lips, trying to pry them open almost. The kiss itself is awkward - almost desperate as it lacks any real rhythm. His overwhelming size caging you against the desk and immediate intensity makes your pulse spike violently against your ribcage.
The pamphlet slips from your hands entirely; one hand finds itself on the edge of the desk to stop his weight that is pushing your upper body down. The other hand places itself on his chest, you feel the silk from his costume, but you also note the stiffness behind it.
“Pierrot - ”
Your words dissolve against his mouth, finding your words an opportunity for him as something slick and long slips into your mouth, the thickness of the muscle is uncanny. His body pushes further into you, bells trembling with every uneven movement. You can feel the heat radiating from him - and the noticeable raised thickness pushing against your lower stomach.
Your planted hand on his chest is shaky but trying to push his body away, yet all it does is make him deepen the kiss, you can feel the metal desk wobble against the both of you.
His tongue doesn’t just probe along your mouth; it fills. It coils around your own tongue, licking along the roof of your mouth, tasting every inch of you. He moans into your mouth, a high keening sound of pure relief.
Your head abruptly turns the moment his body laxes with the moan, the warmth and wetness that previously surrounded your mouth finally leaves you while your body is heaving under his glowing stare. You try to catch your breath - and you can feel his chest rise against you in the same frantic manner.
“Pierrot,” you start, your eyes darting to the rustling of the tent flaps, “you can’t do that - I’m not - not like that - ”
Your hand presses harder against his chest, but it’s futile. Beneath your palm you can feel it clearly - the raw strength packed beneath layers of fabric and costume, unmoving no matter how much force you try to put against him. The realization sends another wave of heat and nerves through you.
Slowly, your gaze lifts, searching his face for some sign of remorse. Instead, the glowing gold behind the mask watches you with unnerving intensity. The reddish hue that had once only dusted the exposed sides of his neck had spread higher now, creeping across his face - or rather, the mask itself. You can finally see it clearly up close.
The painted grin is no longer flat. In fact, the mouth appears stretched upward, warped into something far too wide to be natural, the smile curling nearly to the sides of his face in a way that makes your stomach tighten.
Then the mask splits.
Your breath catches in your throat to stop yourself from screaming as you watch the mouth of his mask part; a dark forked tongue slips past sharpened teeth, dragging slowly across his lips with shameless ease.
You know your hands are shaking uncontrollably by now, your head is spinning with things to say - things you should do, and yet your body is unmoving as fear overcomes your senses. All you can feel is your heart violently pounding against your chest.
Before you can speak, he’s on you again. This time he is unrelenting and ravenous, holding your face this time with force to solidify the kiss. This time, he deepens the kiss with a ferocity that borders on painful. His tongue pushes past your teeth, sliding down your throat, making you gag slightly.
He doesn’t pull back despite your obvious gasps of air. Instead, he groans low in his chest, his hips grinding harder against you, the hard ridge of his cock pressing insistently through the thin cotton. His gloved hands find your hips - exactly where your bruises had been blooming, purple and tender. He presses into them, not cruelly, but with a possessive firmness that makes you wince. His thumbs stroke the sore spots, before his palms slide down to grip your ass, yanking you flush against him.
He breaks the kiss. A string of thick saliva stretches from his tongue to your lips, then snaps. His breath is ragged.
You can feel one of his hands sliding up your body, feeling every curve before hooking onto the collar of your shirt, roughly dragging the fabric aside.
“You said you liked me,” he whispers, the words soft and cracked.
Your stomach drops when you notice the way he’s eyeing your exposed skin.
“Pierrot, that’s not what I meant,” you respond quickly with a shaky voice.
You can feel him flex against you. The cool air hits your bare shoulder a second before his mouth descends without hesitation or warning.
Immediately you notice his teeth feel more inhuman than they look: too many, too sharp, like needles hinged in his gums. When he bites down, it’s not a nip or a tease. It’s a sink, a puncture that shatters any possible thought of escaping for you. Tears begin to well up in your eyes with flashes of white clouding your vision, trying to hold back the scream that’s beginning to bubble in your throat.
He pulls away finally, licking the blood around his mouth, you notice him eyeing the bite mark with something similar to pride. His hands slide back down to the sides of your hips, you’re unsure how, but he seems to tower you more than before.
“Then explain it to me.”
The request comes out soft, as he always speaks, yet with an edge to it.
You swallow hard as your mouth runs dry, the taste of him still coating your tongue. Your pulse hammers in your ears as your shoulder stings.
Then you hear it.
Fabric rustling outside the tent. The soft scrape of footsteps on concrete, the sound of tools rattling against each other - a sound you’re all too familiar with.
Pierrot’s head snaps up and narrows his eyes towards the source of the sounds, finally leaving your trembling form. Irritation flickers through his posture, a sharp tension that rolls through his shoulders, you can visibly see him clench his jaw. The pair of gold orbs that shone so brightly before was reduced to a small dot of yellow in a sea of black, his mouth is thin with a frown.
“Hey, I managed to get that stupid machine to finally work,” your coworker's voice is heard from the outside, slowly getting closer with each step.
Pierrot looks down at you one final time before letting go of you slowly. The sudden absence of pressure nearly makes your knees buckle. Heat blooms across the spots where he held you, the skin already beginning to ache in a way you know will darken into bruises later.
You cautiously cautiously glance toward the tent flaps just as your coworker pushes through them without a care in the world, looking more bored than anything else
Your mind starts racing with things to say - to warn him.
“You were not joking about how ancient their stuff was,” he mutters, dropping the tool bag onto the floor before stretching with a yawn. “I swear that machine was one bad day away from exploding.”
Finally he looks over at you.
“Holy shit,” he exclaims, his eyes widening.
For one horrifying second, you think he’s reacting to Pierrot. Your head whips around instinctively, but the towering performer is gone - completely. No rustle of tent flaps or the jingle of the bells on his costume. Nothing.
Your pulse pounds violently as you stare at the empty spot he’d occupied only a second ago.
“...Dude,” your coworker says again, sounding somewhere between concerned and disturbed now. “What happened to your shoulder?”
He immediately runs over to one of the metal cabinets, rambling on about how a first aid kit should be there.
You can only stare absentmindedly, the adrenaline that kept you frozen before was finally slowing through your blood. You can feel your body begin to sag against the desk for support, the bleeding from the bite seeping through the fabric of your shirt and sticking to your skin. All you can hear is ringing and the faint jingle of bells.
It doesn’t take long before you’ve reached your apartment door, trembling hands scrambling through your bag for your keys.
Your breathing comes out ragged, uneven from the fact you’d practically ran the entire way home from the carnival without stopping once. Your legs had carried you forward on instinct alone, refusing to slow no matter how badly your lungs singed with every breath.
You barely gave an explanation to your coworker the moment he said you should go home. Thankfully, he helped clean and bandage the wound on your shoulder, but his questions were unanswered throughout the process.
Every thought in your head kept circling back to him - to Pierrot. Each memory of his face seemed to warp the longer you replayed it in your mind. The widening grin, the glowing gold behind the mask, the impossible way his mouth had moved like the mask is his face alone, moving as if it was alive. The image twists through your thoughts so vividly it makes your heart pound harder against your ribs.
Your knees feel weak from exhaustion, threatening to give out beneath you at any second, but you know you can’t stop. Not when you can still feel his stare - the monstrous pair of glowing eyes tracing every movement as you ran through the dark streets, ignoring any concerned looks that came your way.
Even now, standing outside your apartment, you can feel the sensation of eyes digging into your skin - lingering far too long across every inch of your body like unseen hands.
Finally, the door swung open to your apartment. The stillness of the room coupled with its raw silence that flooded your senses felt like a wave of relief had washed over you - the lights were all off, everything was in the same place as you left it - a sign that no one was here.
The second the door shuts behind you, you immediately check every lock and latch twice over, fingers fumbling slightly from lingering adrenaline as you run over the metal and copper parts. Afterward, you lean toward the peephole for one final check, only to find the apartment complex’s brightly lit hallway staring quietly back at you.
A shaky sigh escapes your lips before finally pulling your phone from your pocket with trembling hands. Your thumb moves quickly across the screen as you begin searching for the cheapest flights available within the next three hours. Overnight trains. Bus routes. Anything that would put distance between you and the carnival by morning - you’re not even sure where to go and whether it could follow you.
At one point, you even consider calling a friend and begging to stay over for a few nights.
Anything was better at this point - than staying alone with the image of Pierrot still burned into your mind. You don’t even know what he is. There had always been a question sitting at the back of your mind whenever you saw him at the carnival - a detail you tried not to linger on for too long considering you always worked when he was working - or that everything else about him was strange enough to rule it out.
He never took his mask off. Never once, not in passing, not between shifts.
“Fuck this,” you mutter.
With soft, yet nimble steps, you make your way toward your closet and drag out the largest suitcase you own. The zipper rasps loudly in the quiet apartment, the noise in complete silence unsettles you, but without a word you start packing.
Clothes grabbed in uneven handfuls and shoved inside. Then shoes, still in their slightly scuffed pairs. Documents next, anything important you can find in drawers half-opened with shaking hands. Your movements are fast, messy, and unorganized, items are strewn across the room making it hard for your brain to really focus. Regardless of the mess or the tears beginning to prick your eyes, you force yourself to keep moving, shoving more into the suitcase even when you know it’ll be impossible to close.
It didn’t matter, you tell yourself as you’re forcing the top of the suitcase down with your full weight, fingers straining as you drag the zipper across with whatever strength you have left.
It didn’t matter - as long as you got to an airport in time, as long as you were in a public place surrounded by people, security, and officers, you would be -
“What are you doing?” the voice purrs right behind you, and it shouldn’t, because seconds ago there was nothing behind you. Your entire body locks up instantly.
Cold shock rips through you, dragging every thought you had straight to a halt. Goosebumps break across your skin in a wave so sharp it almost hurts, your fingers still curled around the suitcase handle without realizing you’ve stopped breathing altogether.
His voice is still soft as always and it pains you to think that it is. However, there’s something settling underneath his tone. His breath is ragged with an edge to his words, as if his patience was thinning.
You don’t turn around. You can’t. Because you already know what you’ll see behind you - and somehow, that feels worse than not knowing at all.
“Nothing,” you manage to force out, but it comes out broken with your breaths.
The silence that follows your obvious lie - the bulging suitcase sitting in front of you as if a joke - is suffocating. You can feel him there, a looming presence that swallows the light in the room. Slowly, the sensation of a gloved finger traces the line of your spine, sending a violent shiver racking through your frame.
“Nothing?” Pierrot questions, his voice vibrating against the shell of your ear. You can feel him twirl the ends of your hair, coiling it around your finger and letting it drop, almost as if he was admiring it.
Should I run? Can I outrun him?
Your eyes glance over to the door, still latched and locked - untouched.
His arms, long and heavy, wrap around your waist with bruising force, jerking you backward. Your back slams into his chest, and the bulky suitcase is knocked aside with a careless crash, spilling your belongings across the floor. You let out a small, pathetic whisper, your hands instinctively clutching at the fabric of his costume.
“You’re packing,” he murmurs, his lips are warm when it grazes the sensitive skin of your neck, but he doesn’t offer a kiss. Instead he nips.
His teeth grazes your skin, reminding you of your prior wound. You feel like prey sitting in the lap of a predator, and all you could do is hold back the sobs constricting at your throat.
“I - I wasn’t… I just wanted to organize,” you stammer, your voice trembling as you try to play into the delusion, trying to appease the monster holding you captive.
You hold your breath as you lean back into him, feeling his weight shift more onto you with a low purr from him, his body feels firm even through the layers of fabric. Your desperate attempt to seem compliant, hoping that he would leave you - at least for tonight.
The grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your hips. You let out a small whimper in response.
“Right?” he says, but it doesn’t sound like it’s meant for you. Like he’s testing the idea aloud. “You wouldn’t leave me -” His voice faltered.
Instead of pulling you tighter, his hold shifts - less like restraint and more like something unsteady. His head lowers, the weight of him suddenly collapsing forward until it rests against your shoulder. The strands of his silver-like hair fall over your trembling shoulder, capturing your attention immediately.
“You can’t,” he adds, almost softly, the words muffled against your skin. The goosebumps along your skin vibrate with each word.
“No,” you mutter with a dry swallow following after. “I wouldn’t, Pierrot. I - In fact, I was packing to see you.”
The words thick as another lie escapes through your teeth. And yet, for a moment, there is no sound, no movement - even your breathing stops. Your clumsy lie fills the air and you’re certain that he’s already caught onto you.
“Really?” He responds with a bright tone, almost childlike in its sincerity. You can feel his body perk up, his towering weight before becoming lighter with the pressure around your waist loosen fractionally. Like the tension in him has suddenly been rerouted somewhere else entirely.
“Yes,” you say, forcing your voice into something flat, controlled.
Silence follows again. Pierrot remains close for a moment longer, as if testing the shape of your words against you, like he’s trying to decide whether they’re real.
Then slowly, carefully, his grip softens another degree.
He spins you around with a sudden, clumsy strength, pinning you against the edge of the dresser. The impact knocks the wind out of you, and you look up at him with wide, fearful eyes.
“Wait,” you breath out, “I don’t - ”
The pair of glowing gold, almost blinding, looks at you with a gaze of pure, unadulterated adoration. You know for a fact he doesn’t see your terror; he only sees you.
There’s a bloom of red along the middle of his face as well as the sides of his neck. The grin on his face is wide, stretching from side to side, almost trembling in your eyes.
“I love you so much,” he whimpers, his voice cracking.
He lunges forward, not with calculated precision, but with the overwhelming, clumsy hunger of a puppy that doesn’t know its own strength. He crashes his lips against yours, the kiss messy and desperate. The sheer size and length of his forked tongue slides along your lips and teeth, before forcing its way into your mouth to claim you, swallowing your small, muffled protests as if they were sighs of pleasure.
You try to go along with it. Your hands lift shakily to grip his shoulders, hoping that feeding his fantasy might let you steer what comes next. A forced, breathy moan escapes you - and the sound works well to ignite him.
“I want you too - I need you,” he gasps, tearing his mouth away only to shove his face into the curve of your neck, his tongue lapping mindlessly at the bite mark he left on you earlier.
His gloved hands start fumbling with your clothes, clumsy and desperate. He doesn’t bother with buttons or zippers - just yanks and pulls with ease. Your shirt rips open with a harsh sound, cold air biting your exposed chest. Your pants meet the same fate moments later.
Your fragile plan of surviving through submission shatters the second you see the shredded remains of your clothes hit the floor.
“Wait - Pierrot,” you protest,your voice cracking as you press your palms against his chest, trying to push him away with every ounce of strength you have left. But it’s like trying to move a wall. He doesn’t even budge; he simply absorbs the effort, his body shuddering under your own willing touch as if it was a blessing.
You quickly realized you played your hand too well by trying to appease him, practically feeding the monster a feast of delusions.
His golden eyes lock onto your trembling form, glowing with a terrifying mixture of need and hunger. You are a deer caught in headlights, paralyzed by the sheer scale of him as he looms over you, blotting out the moonlight of the room.
He lets out a shaky, ragged breath, his gaze roaming over your skin with a hunger that borders on religious worship.
“You’re so perfect - so beautiful, my lady,” he whimpers, the tenderness in his voice contrasting sharply with the bruising grip he maintains on you.
Despite your frantic attempts to hold your weight down, to anchor yourself to the floor in a desperate bid for freedom, he lifts you effortlessly. You feel weightless in his arms, a doll to be played with. Small, broken sniffles bubble up in your throat as he carries you the two short steps to the bed, dropping you onto the mattress with a heavy thud that knocks the wind from your lungs.
He doesn’t give you a second to recover. He is on top of you instantly, his heavy frame pinning you deep into the mattress.
“I can’t believe it,” he mutters, his voice a low, vibrating hum against your skin. He sounds like he’s in a trance, talking to himself as much as to you. “Every night… every single night, I would come to you while you slept. I would hold you… kiss you… lick every inch of you… everything.”
The realization hits you like a physical blow, more violent than the impact with the bed. The unexplained bruises, the lingering soreness, the hypersensitivity - it wasn’t just stress. It was him.
A jagged, broken sob escapes your lips, your chest heaving with a new wave of terror.
Pierrot doesn’t notice the horror settling onto your expression; he only sees the way your body reacts to his proximity. His hand slides down, his gloved fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thigh. With a sudden, blunt force, he shoves your leg wide, forcing your knees apart to make room for his bulk.
You shiver violently, your breath hitching in a sharp gasp as you feel the confined hard, thick length of his cock pressing urgently against the thin fabric of your underwear. He is pulsing, hot and rigid.
“I want you - need you… so bad it hurts,” he groans, his forehead resting against yours, his golden eyes wide and pleading, yet possessive. “I waited… I wanted to just knock you up. To fill you so full of me that you could never even think about leaving. To tie you to me forever with a child.”
The sheer obsession in his words makes your skin crawl.
“A child… do you think we can?” he asks, he sounds almost impatient looking down at your stomach.
“Pierrot,” you cry out weakly, you try to push him again, but he only goes to hold your wrists with ease despite your pleads, pinning them above your head.
He reaches down with his free hand, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. With one violent, careless jerk, he rips the fabric, the sound of tearing lace echoing in the silent room. Your pussy is exposed, trembling in the cool air.
He lets out a strangled sound at the sight of you.
“You’re already waiting for me,” he whispers, his voice thick with lust that borders on impatient.
He doesn't use a slow build-up. He doesn't offer a gentle touch. Driven by the delusion that this is a mutual union of love, he lets go of your wrists momentarily and fumbles with his own clothes, freeing his massive, throbbing cock that bobs against him, the outline of the veins cause a whimper to escape you.
He lines the broad head of his cock against your entrance, pausing for only a heartbeat to look into your eyes. Your wide eyes, filled with nothing but tears, is interpreted as passion to his blind love.
“I love you,” he whimpers, his cock is already pressed against your entrance, slick with his own pre-cum.
Slowly, inch by agonizing inch, he pushes into you. His eyes roll back, fluttering shut as if he’s testing heaven itself. A low guttural moan escapes his throat, followed by ragged panting that fans hot against your neck. His fingers dig into your hips, gripping so hard you know there will be new bruises forming over the old.
Then he pulls out, just as slowly and torturously, until only the tip remains. And before you can brace yourself or push yourself away, he slams back in with full force. The impact jolts your entire body, a choked cry ripped from your throat as he buries himself deep inside you in one singular, overpowering thrust.
Your walls stretch to the breaking point, the sheer girth of him filling every void, hitting your cervix with a blunt force that makes your vision swim.
He begins to fuck you with a raw, clumsy desperation.
There is no rhythm, only the frantic and brutal need to be as deep as possible. Each thrust is a heavy, wet thud, driving you further into the bed, his balls slapping wetly against your skin with each thrust. He is drowning in you, his breath coming in ragged, sobbing gasps against your neck.
“Mine - you’re mine - my precious, beautiful lady,” he chants, his hips slamming against yours, a slapping sound fills your apartment room.
He kisses you deeply, his tongue invading your mouth, tasting of salt and desperation, swallowing your whimpers as he drives himself into you over and over again, marking you from the inside out.
thank you guys! make sure to read the first part if you haven't already! i tried super hard to push this out in time for pierrot's bday but i couldn't meet it! sorry again!! please let me know if you enjoyed it! and i apologize for any mistakes!
tglist: @faiwihteto
It was only a few minutes of visiting you but Jester was already annoyed with how you were focused on work on your computer. Than just spending a relaxing day as you planned to have today.
"Are you just working now because I decided to come over unexpectedly. Or is this your idea of "relaxing"?" He asked as he sat on your bed, trying to at least feel comfortable while here. However your bed wasn't that great either he learned quickly.
"...It's relaxing?"
He rolled his eyes at your response, then sighed as he got up from your bed. Then walked to your side to see what you were doing.
"This doesn't look related to your job at the cafe."
"It's not. It's another job I do for extra money. Being a barista doesn't really pay well alone, you know? Though the nice tips Pierrot and Harlequin been giving me have been really helpful lately." You muttered that last part, hoping Jester would hear. But he heard, and chose to ignore it for now...Though will be having a talk with those two later.
"True...How you managed to get this home and keep it is beyond me. With how more expensive everything has gotten."
"Luck, and some help from others...But that can only get you so far, so here I am, working two to three jobs daily if available."
"At the cost of your sanity..."
"That's life." You gave a small chuckle, it sounded as weak as you looked now.
For a moment Jester saw Ticket Taker in you and then felt annoyed over the resemblance before him.
"Save your work and turn off your computer."
You turned your head to look at him with a raised brow. "Why?"
"Because we're getting out of this stuffy cramp room of yours. Now do what I said. That's an order."
You stared at him for a moment, then proceed to do what he said. "Understood boss."
He knew you said that out of sarcasm but he didn't comment back on it as he just waited for you to finish.
Then once that was done, he walked to your closet and picked out a outfit for you to wear, making you change before going out.
"Next time we're buying you new clothes."
"What's wrong with my clothes?" You asked as you fidgeted with your shirt.
He walked over and started to fix your shirt for you, then looked at your coats, picking one out for you to wear as well. "Do you really wish for me to list down all that is wrong with them? What is missing? You don't even have proper attire to wear on a date." He said as he helped you put your coat on.
"I don't really buy much clothes to wear and go out, since always in uniform most of the time."
"A poor excuse. Anyway we'll talk about this more later. Let's leave while the night is still young."
"Where are we going exactly?"
He walked to your front door, opening it for you to go through and leave your home first. "You'll see when we get there~." He said with a grin and small quick glow of his eyes.
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