Posting my first Freak Circus fanfic at 3am so no one sees it. Just a little speculation on why Pierrot is so afraid of scaring the main character. I had intended to make this a little longer but decided to leave it as a quick one shot.
I'm very new to the game, so maybe this has been done to death for all I know but two cakes and all that.
Warning for graphic violence.
archiveofourown.org/works/87349326
Pierrot held his hand out as he entered the room. His beloved turned in surprise, clutching her shirt over a quickening heartbeat. That vulnerability stirred the hunter within; a dangerous thing. But he had to explain. He had to make her understand. He had to make her stay.
“My dear, I can explain everything.”
She shook her head, taking a half step back. The friction between her flight or fawn instincts sent a wave of heat washing over him. His keen ears honed in on the sound of her muscles clenching, her organs pulsing, the dry swallow; all building toward a crescendo of terror.
If she turned and ran from him, he didn’t know if he had the self control to stop himself. The aroma of fear permeated the stale apartment air, almost enough to make him salivate. Part of him screamed to turn and walk away. Explain tomorrow.
But the desperate, pitiful voice anchored him to the spot. If he left, would she ever let him get this close again? Would she leave? Run somewhere far away where he could never find her? He couldn’t risk that. He needed her to stay.
She took another step back, wide eyes darting to the balcony door.
“Don’t run.” His voice quivered, begging.
He held her eyes as long as he could, pleading with his own. Don’t run. Stay with me. Fear stretched between them like a rubber band ready to snap.
He had her by the wrist in an instant. She cried out as he threw her to the ground, claws slicing through soft, delicate flesh as she fell. The acrid stench of blood filled his nostrils, spurring the prey drive on.
He pinned her arms with one hand, crouching over her like the beast he’d pretended he wasn’t. The scent of her fear became intoxicating. His razor sharp teeth stopped inches from her throat with a snap. He wanted to taste more of that fear. He wanted to make it last.
His claws - meant to caress her gently - raked gouges down her chest. Her shirt ripped open, exposing the once perfect breasts he’d ached for as he watched her sleep - ruined now by his own hand. He plunged that hand into her stomach, and it burst like a wet paper sack, blood pooling around them.
Her screams were magnificent.
His long tongue unfurled, dripping saliva. His pupils had become pinpricks of golden light vibrating deep in the darkness beyond his mask. The way his bones vibrated with the beautiful music he had only just begun to create.
She thrashed beneath him, blood splattering across his pale face as his claws dug deeper. He rearranged her insides, tugging and ripping at intestines, squeezing organs until they burst. Humans broke so easily.
Only when the thrashing ceased did he stop to breathe.
His chest heaved, the heat of his breath leaving puffs of fog in the air. It made his vision soft and blurry. He traced a claw down the middle of her chest tenderly. At that moment, everything became peaceful and still.
Then he jammed both hands into the wet, sticky wounds, and ripped her chest open with a sickening crunch. He reached into her hollowed out body with both hands and grasped that which he’d sought all along.
Her heart warmed his fingers as he cupped it gently. He brought it to his lips, relishing each sporadic twitch and quiver as he pressed them reverently to the precious organ. He tasted it with a flick of the tongue, sucking on the coveted treasure.
And finally, he bit into the flesh.
The tissue gave way to his sharp teeth so easily, inviting his fangs to pierce deeper. At last, they were one. He stopped mid-bite, eyes rolling into the back of his head with a low moan.
It was all the delicate devotion he could manage before the feasting began. He devoured her heart in a blissed-out frenzy. So enraptured was he, he didn’t notice her hands pawing at his own. She used them to lift herself up, hanging weakly from his claws.
Only when the shaky word rasped out of her hollow husk did he meet her eyes. A cruel grin stretched and distorted her face.
“You’re the weakest one.”
Pierrot shot up suddenly covered in sweat, gasping as he felt his face frantically. Claw tips tinked against pointed teeth, checking for blood.
He hugged his pillow tight and took in deep, gulping breaths. He could still taste her (so sweet), still feel the organs squelching in his claws. He couldn’t let that happen. He buried his face in the pillow and shook his head hard.
No running. He had to keep her calm. He had to be friendly and accepting at all times. When she asked him for space, he would give it to her without question. Whatever she asked for, whatever she needed.
He smiled as wide as possible, teeth straight and non-threatening as he lifted his head. He had to practice. He had to keep this smile so she knew.
She would always be safe with him.
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