synopsis: a sudden idea pops in your mind. what will happen if you touch his horns?
tags: fluff, suggestive, established relationship, pierrot is being a pupppy.
wc: 1.2k.
⤖ part w. harlequin (click).
hiding from haunting eyes, responsibilities and cruelty, you spend your free time with pierrot, who often visits your flat… no, he practically lives there, abandoning the circus just to see you more often than usual. constant performances and your job can keep you to apart, but by the end of the day, you find yourself in the same position as before.
resting his face on your chest, pierrot eventually smiles and babbles something under his nose, as you lie here, enjoying the feeling of his weight on top of you. neither of you try to engage in the conversation: pierrot is too busy with your presence, and you’re too busy staring at his horns.
you’re not frightened – you saw his inhuman features a lot of times before, as much as his long claws, pale skin and wild, unnatural gaze. you came to terms with the fact that he wasn’t a normal clown – he wasn’t a person; he was a fantastic creature, but as long as he was so gentle and loving, you didn’t mind it at all. someone could consider you crazy, and, yeah, you were crazy in love with him and his damn horns.
an interesting idea pops in your mind when your curiosity outweighs self-preservation instinct. and you should ask his permission before you act on your sudden impulses, but this thought isn’t important, is it?
because what could possibly be more interesting than his reaction? you never ever touched his horns. it wasn’t like you were prohibited from doing so, more likely you didn’t dwell on this detail. you took it for granted, you knew they were there, but that was all. that was in the past, by the way, your present self doesn’t think so.
would he like it? would he stare at you with his usual lovesick expression? would he be mad? ah, it doesn’t matter. the worst reaction is him hurting you, but pierrot would never do this, you know he wouldn’t.
so, as confident in yourself as ever, you slowly but surely run your hand down his hair. pierror doesn’t flinch – he used to this kind of intimacy between you two, he adores when you get all touchy and gentle with him. that works in your favor. your lovely boyfriend doesn’t suspect anything, his body language is relaxed, but his grip on your waist is still tight.
then, after a few seconds of distracting his attention, you move your hand a little higher. the moment of truth arrives. carefully, with your fingertip, you trace from the tip of the horn to its base, as pierrot raises his head and looks at you in astonishment.
his eyes show no anger, no pain, no discomfort. surprise. that's the best word to describe the emotions floating from his gaze. and there’s something else, something you can’t put your finger on. yet.
“my lady,” he stutters – actually stutters, as he tries to regain his composure and doesn’t show you what you shouldn’t see. “what are you doing?”
“ah, nothing, my dear,” you say, your face is adorned with a lovely smile. “is there something wrong?”
somewhat pleased by the lack of any annoyance or irritation from his side, you wrap your slender fingers around one of his horns, and poor pierrot jolts. he drops his head back on your chest, his heart is beating like crazy, he’s ready to explord from the sheer sensation of your soft hand caressing that part of his body.
he feels illegally good. he melts from the tenderness with which your skilled fingers treat his rough but sensitive horns.
“n-no, there’s nothing… ah, my lady,” he says, the way his voice hitches make his answer sound like something between a moan and whine. “just… stop, please…”
pierrot fidgets on the bed, his grip on your waist becomes almost painful. he doesn't show his face, but you can hear how hard he's breathing when you grab his second horn. you do the same. you wrap your hand around it, move it up and down, up and down...
“do you want me to stop, pierrot?” you ask teasingly, but the underlying softness and fondness in your voice is unmistakable. “doesn’t it feel good?”
he fidgets yet again. he doesn’t want you to feel what this little situation does to his body. he doesn’t want you to feel his throbbing desire, but it’s obvious, isn’t it? pierrot is practically shaking with the efforts to hold back another groan.
and if this monster had a tail, he would be wagging it like a little puppy right now.
“it does, my lady, it feels so good, but…” he murmurs and suddenly raises his head to look at you.
his pale cheeks are nothing but redness. his eyes, which used to look at you with love and affection, now burn with passion and intense desire. he loves every moment of this, but there’s a problem. if you keep this up, he won’t be able to control himself.
“but… i’m afraid i’ll lose my mind, my lady,” he admits sheepishly. “horns are the most sensitive part of my body, which why… ah…”
judging by the look on your face, you see what your caresses are doing with him. you already know he’s especially sensitive there even before he could say it, but you clearly underestimate the influence of your actions. but as long as you can make him feel good, you’ll play this game.
“then lose control, my dear,” you whisper sweetly.
then you scratch the horn with your nails, trying a different approach. after all, there’s a lot of things you can possibly do with his lovely horns, you can’t miss such an interesting opportunity. pierrot hisses through his teeth; sensations borderline on painful, but it still makes the fire of desire burn brighter and brighter in his chest… and in other parts of his body as well.
but he got your permission. which means there’s no point of return now, and he can be as wild as you let him to be.
“promise me you won’t stop,” pierrot says when his long, wet tongue touches your neck, and this gesture already predicts a hot, sleepless night for you.
he always gets particularly aroused when he's with you. he could always get aroused even from a simple touch on his hand. but now you've done much more. you're doing much more. because your other hand is touching his horn too. because you're still caressing them slowly, and pierrot lets out a low, plaintive moan.
“i promise,” you manage to say before he presses his lips against yours in gentle yet demanding kiss.
but there is only one thought in your head. maybe you should touch his horns to make him a whining mess a little more often.
thinking about pierrot's performance and a really scared darling
after your encounter with the rude man, pierrot had his eye on you. he couldn't quite put a finger on what exactly it was that magnetized him toward you. maybe it was your care for him when he was just a stranger, maybe it was the way you looked at him like he wasn't a monster. whatever it was, it drew him toward you. he'd been so impressed by you, he wanted to impress you back.
so, you end up with a red circus ticket in your hand. you were aware of the devilish demeanor of pierrot and his green little.. friend.. (or that's what you'd like to call him, regardless of the glares pierrot shoots him), but you never expected the scares you received at the circus.
like the good friend you were, you happily entered the red tent and found a seat to watch your friend perform; a dance, you had assumed. as the least you'd expected, the act involved knife throwing, body contortion and strange (almost worrying) gymnastics. you shook in your seat at the realistic sight of a woman being impaled in the forehead by knives, splitting the mask she wore in half. your fingers clutched at the hem of your shorts, cold sweat beginning to pour as your stomach churned. the more his body moved, the more ill and afraid you felt.
at the end of his act, you stood up and clapped, attempting to ignore the fear brewing in your stomach. you decided you needed something to distract yourself, and attempted to wander out of the tent to try to ease your nerves with the fresh air. unfortunately, that didn't work!
your ears rung with the sound of circus music, screams and chatter. no matter which corner you turned, you couldn't seem to get rid of that smell of fake(?) blood and those pictures out of your head. the more you walked, the more you spiraled, until-
"my dear?"
your head whipped around faster than ever before, both startled and comforted by the whispers of the silent pierrot.
"ah- jeez, it's just you.." you craned your neck up to look at the tall man. he seemed far more elated to see you than you were to see him.
"my dear! did you enjoy my show? i performed it just for you. what are you doing around here? we should go-" pierrot's eyes snapped onto your sweating face and furrowed brows. he knew something was up. he softly engulfed your hand with his larger one as he inconspicuously led you away from the forbid area.
"the air is.. nicer here. what seems to be the matter? did you.. not enjoy my show, my dear? was it har-"
"no, no, pierrot." you softly laughed out. "i just.. uh.. it looked really real, you know? that's uh.. that's a good thing! good job." you awkwardly praise.
pierrot's eyes suddenly dilate. ahhh, he gets it now.. the performance frightened you. how sweet you are! you came to watch and stayed throughout it all, regardless of how you felt.. you were too good for him.
"my dear, did it frighten you?" he softly spoke, almost adoring. "i-i'm sorry.. it was good, i swear! i just got queasy.. it's dumb, i know." you mutter quietly, embarassment laced in your tone. your eyes meet the ground in shame.
much to your surprise, you hear a quiet chuckle. you glance up at the clown to see his pinked cheeks and wide grin. his golden eyes forming small hearts. "my dear.. that's.. very cute. i'm touched you stayed." he smiled out, his hand covering his mouth. his bells jingled as he tilted his head. 'he's very cat-like..' you state to yourself.
"you're really not mad i was scared..?" you say as your feet hit the sidewalk toward your apartment. "not at all, my dear. i'm happy you came. really, truly.. happy." he smiles at you and you smile back. he walks you back to your apartment, his eyes glued to you for the entirety of the walk back.
to him, you were this fragile beauty, too good for the world around him. and your adorable fear is only making you more vulnerable in his eyes. not to worry though, he'd never let you get hurt. not while he's here. and he's always here. and while he's at your bedside as you lay asleep, nothing will even come close to hurting you.
a/n: guys sorry if this is like ooc or not lore accurate (i wasn't aiming for it to be fully tho) i just finished the game yesterday and i just HAD to write for pierrot. I LOVE HIM BRO
if you have any tips pls give GOODNIGHT!!
in what scenario do the circo members make you cry, and how do they comfort you?
"ahora entrégate / si lloro o tiemblo es por ti, amor / siénteme, soy el hombre que muere contigo, amor / now give yourself / if i cry or tremble, it's because of you / feel me, i am the man that dies for you"
tags & warnings: pierrot x gn!reader and harlequin x gn!reader, part one of two (second half includes ticket taker, jester, and doctor), individual scenarios with specific cw for each one below. my bad for being a yapper. character studies, fluff and hurt/comfort, the mc and the circus members are making genuine mistakes, but it’s teaching them more about each other
total wc: 7.2k (2.5k pierrot, 4.7k harlequin...)
✮ PIERROT
cw: broken glass, blood, injuries, established relationship-ish, mc has a vague understanding of the circus and who they really are
the moment he notices the first tear dropping, pierrot is at your side apologizing immediately. his comfort comes in the form of promising to love you, serve you, and take care of your every need until you feel better.
it's hard to imagine a scenario for pierrot; his entire existence is dedicated to pleasing you, acting as whatever version of himself you like best so that you will love him as much as he loves you. so how would he ever let himself make you cry?
he really should have just waited for you to be done with work. he could’ve texted you, or just met you outside, but the sight of you through the window had him feeling like he had to be with you immediately— he couldn’t wait any longer.
but when he’s fidgeting with the back door, trying to get it unlocked, and he pulls a wire he knows he shouldn't have, he freezes.
you’d been on edge all day after customers wouldn’t stop talking to you about everything going on in the news. more and more were disappearing, and while some did blame the travelling circus in town, you were under the assumption that it was something else.
if it was just people blaming the circus, you could have cared less about what they had to say. no one knew anything about the circus, and that's precisely what they didn't like about the vibrantly dressed masked performers on the streets. humans don't like to be left in the dark— to be made a fool of. before anything stronger or smarter than them can overthrow their position at the top of the food chain, humans suppress and destroy. as a result, everyone in town was blaming the circus for even the slightest mishaps.
but in your mind, that gave any criminal the perfect scapegoat for their plans. whether they steal something or make someone disappear, no matter what they do, they can say, “it was those circus freaks!” and the town will take their side. crowd hysteria thrived nowhere better than situations like this.
that’s what scares you. humans have always been the real monsters. in the few weeks that you've known him, even if pierrot won’t tell you much about his family, you’re more confident that no one in the circus would hurt you than you are that you'll make it home safely tonight.
pierrot's nature gave you a sense of peace and safety you'd never felt around anyone else before; he'd held your hands and promised he would protect you multiple times, and he's kept true to his promise in every situation you've wound up in since.
but you're sure he has a performance tonight, so you’ve rushed to close the café, attempting to get home as early in the night as possible. you're closing alone, and you hope that fact alone will make your boss cut you some slack. you’ll be sure to text him a small apology anyway.
by the end of your shift, you’ve distracted yourself enough from the paranoia that you’re not dreading the walk home as much anymore. maybe, you think, if he isn't busy, you’ll call pierrot to keep you company over the phone once you’re outside.
you only have a few dishes left to put away when the lights suddenly go out. the glass you had been drying slips from your grip, shattering into glittering pieces across the floor. between the noise piercing your ears, being left blind in the dark, and the frantic beating of your heart, any semblance of peace you had quickly vanishes.
you can barely swallow with the anxiety growing in your throat, your eyes darting around the darkness, but everything looks the same. you close your eyes, and it still looks the same. your breathing is only getting more erratic, and you place a hand over your heart to try to calm yourself. “it’s okay, it’s okay… i just… have to find the breaker,” you whisper to yourself, trying to silence your racing mind.
you shuffle your feet, trying to kick away any broken glass rather than stepping on it. there's a lamppost outside that's reflecting the slightest bit of light through the store windows, and you use it to navigate over to the walls, running your hands along them until you eventually feel the ridges of a metal box. you sigh in relief, tears pricking your eyes—but whether that's from happiness or the pit in your stomach telling you something's lurking in the dark, you're not sure.
you try to take another step closer to the breaker box, but in a moment of weakness, a curved object beneath your foot snaps, sending pain shooting through your heel. you can only bite down on your lip, a small whimper still escaping your throat as you work through the pain to flip the right breaker. you can barely see, and the hot tears that slide down your face only make it harder.
when the lights turn back on, the first thing you do is look around. while nothing immediately catches your attention, that hardly makes you feel better. there are too many blind spots, too many places to hide. the café wasn't built to be empty like this, so when it's finally devoid of bustling customers and noise, and the windows outside are nearly pitch-black, it always feels like something’s off.
next, you look at your shoe. there's a tiny piece of glistening glass poking out of the sole of it; the rest of the glass had surely pierced through the entire bottom of your shoe and probably into your foot. you blink back more tears at the sight, placing your shoe back on the ground without putting any weight on where the glass is.
it doesn't hurt as much as you just feel hopeless. you’re not sure what to do with yourself— part of you wants to just ball up on the floor and wait until the morning for someone to find you, but then you're just wallowing in your own misery. you could call someone, but you're not sure how long you’ve stayed past closing time. would your boss be awake? he has to be up early tomorrow morning, anyway. you’d rather try to fix this on your own. the best idea would be to clean up the glass and go home.
you crouch down, one arm holding your knees close to your chest while you begin to pick up shards of glass with your other hand. you should go find the dustpan, but between your injury and exhaustion, you can't find it in you to care. all you want to do is go home, so you keep picking up and dropping the pieces of glass into your other hand. they’re big pieces, anyway. it shouldn't be too dangerous. but a door slamming closed behind you makes you jump, and suddenly beads of red are spilling out of your fingers.
there’s a strange ache of pain going down your neck and shoulders, a physical manifestation of the weight of despair and dread you’re feeling. as if your night hadn't been worse enough before, now someone was breaking in. but a ring of a bell follows the sound of the door closing, and you’re not sure if you start crying more at the sound of it or at the sight of the source moments later.
“my dear? where—” pierrot’s standing in the doorway of your backroom, and when his eyes find you crouched on the ground, tears running down your face with red staining your hand, he’s immediately at your side. “oh, my sweet, what are you doing?” he’s moving his hands frantically, unsure of where to go first, take the glass out of your hand? wipe your tears? hug you? find bandages?
“pierrot? what are you doing here?” your voice cracks, and his face seems to drop even more at the sight, as if he's about to start crying with you.
“my star, i'm so sorry. please, tell me how to help you.” he's not sure why he asks; he’s already started to pick the glass out of your hand, placing it in a pile on the ground where it won’t touch either of you. he can’t help but wish doctor was here, or jester. he knows how to take care of himself; he had to know when he was alone and just a kid. but he needs guidance right now because his beloved is bleeding— they are the ones who need help, and it’s his fault.
the doctor would handle this more calmly than him. he would probably lift you immediately and take care of your wounds. pierrot’s barely said a thing to comfort you, and he’s only just finished taking the glass out of your hand.
jester would know how to admit fault without making you more upset; how to rationally calm you, listen to what was hurting you, and what to do immediately. he's still scrambling to figure out what to do next.
he’s neither of them. he’s pierrot. and he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do. he doesn’t usually make these mistakes; that’s what harlequin does, and then ticket taker chides him, and pierrot cleans up.
right, he needs to clean up.
“my dear, please come here. i’m sorry,” he’s reaching his arms towards you, wrapping them around you and helping you stand up. you’re not responding to his apologies, and it’s making him feel worse. he wants to say sorry again—maybe you didn't hear him just now—but what point is there when you don't even know what he's apologizing for, and he’s scared to say more? “do you know where you keep… an aid kit? in the back?” he asks, and you nod quietly, pointing towards the door he came through.
he almost runs into the doorway on his way through, scrambling to find what he needs. he’s quick to return to your side as soon as he finds the bag, gently bringing your hand up to rest in the palm of his gloves. he wipes away the blood on your hand as carefully as he possibly can, but his hands are so big compared to yours it’s almost impossible to see what he’s doing. every time you wince his eyes flick up to yours, your face making him more and more dejected.
“my dear, i’m almost done. i’m so sorry this happened. please, forgive me,” he speaks to you again, not sure if he'll get a response, but he can't help but try anyway. his heart hurts at the sight of your pain; he just wants to hear that you're okay. it’s been a while since he was the one talking, not the one who was always silent.
“pierrot…how did you get in here?” you ask, and when he meets your eyes, his heart drops. he’s not sure how to answer, what will you think? his gaze drops back down, trying to focus on bandaging your hand.
“i wanted to see you, my star... i came through the back door, and the power shut off as i opened it. i didn’t mean for it to happen. i know i should have waited, i'm sorry, my dear. please forgive me, i don’t know what i would do without you.” he finishes the bandage with a small knot, pressing a gentle kiss to it afterwards. his stomach is twisted into its own bundle of anxiety and worry. he looks at you, waiting for your response, a reaction, anything.
despite your best attempts to choke it back, a small sob escapes you after hearing his answer. your forehead drops to his shoulder, hiding your face from him. he watches your body tremble, a hand hovering over your back, unsure that you would accept his touch. he wants to believe that you leaning on him is a good sign, but he’s so scared of what he’s done.
and you’re not angry, you think. yes, he did cause this; he put you through this fear and pain, but you don’t have it in you to be angry at him because he just wants to be at your side. you know that. he didn’t mean for this to happen, and there’s a small part of you that’s relieved that you’re not alone anymore. not just in this moment— he's proved it multiple times, he will always come for you. even if he caused your pain, he's also the only person you know who would come to soothe it. when you're alone in bed, unable to fall asleep, or too stuck in your own head, he's shown up and kept you company. even when you think you're alone, he comes. always.
you see pierrot’s right hand out of the corner of your eye, twitching, flexing open and closed. he’s unsure of what to do, where to move, how to exist in this moment. you reach for it, intertwining your fingers with his, as you take a deep breath in. “it’s okay, pierrot. i forgive you,” you exhale, closing your eyes. pierrot stares at the top of your head, waiting for you to continue. “but please, next time, just text me. i’ll let you in anytime, pierrot. i promise. i like your company.”
your words send a wave of relief and happiness over him that he's extremely grateful for. he knows he has no right to worry about preserving himself in this moment, yet you still take the time to reassure him. that was one of the first things he noticed about you from the start that made him fall for you, after all: your willingness to put others before yourself, to help them even if you had something more urgent going on. you needed to get to work, yet you still stopped to help him when he was just a stranger.
“thank you…my dear,” he squeezes your hand back, looking at the way your fingers intertwine with his. his are abnormally long and pointed compared to yours, yet you don’t seem to find touching him repelling. “your kindness is too good to me.”
you both sit in silence for a moment, your tears starting to dry as you rest on him for a few minutes, and he lets you. he bides the time by admiring your features—something he could do all day for the rest of his life. “...my dear, i want to take you home. i think you need to rest in bed… is that okay?” he gently breaks the silence, taking care to not startle you.
you nod, pausing for a moment before you speak, “we just need to sweep up the glass, and we can go. i think there’s some glass in my shoe, too. so i might need some help walking home, if that’s alright.”
his eyes widen at your words, “my dear! how could you not tell me? you must be in so much pain–”
his exclaim makes you laugh, and the sound hushes him immediately as he listens to the sound that sends chills down his spine. “it’s– it’s okay. it… hurts, but being with you distracted me, pierrot. thank you for being here. we can take out the glass at home, i’ll have better tools there anyway.”
your words bring a small smile to his face, a slight red dusting part of his mask. he smooths the top of your hair, placing a small kiss to it that makes your heart flutter before he responds, “of course, my dear. i will take care of the glass, and i will carry you home– you will not walk a step. i will cook for you and clean everything; i will take care of your every need. i promise you.”
“oh, that’s not necessary— you really don't need to—"
“i insist, my star.”
𑣲 HARLEQUIN
cw: half of this is a sap yap and domestic fluff, i got distracted, i'm sorry. mc and harlequin argue, but no raised voices or anything of the sort. harlequin is simultaneously unsure and sure that mc will eventually leave him, mc is anxious about expressing their intentions to stay around him, aka they're in that part of a relationship when you're telling a person things like "i want to be around you forever" and it's more intimate than something a friend would say but you haven't exactly answered the "what are we?" question. ending is also a little bit of comforting harlequin more than him comforting mc
harlequin is a little awkward when he sees tears. he always knows when he's pushed too far. he stops right before that breaking point to avoid tears, because he's not good at fixing broken things. so when he finds you crying despite how careful he is, he knows he’s messed up. he keeps you company, although he can be a little distant until you tell him what you need to comfort you. tell him what you want and he’ll do it immediately.
harlequin has a list in his hand.
he’s not exactly sure what makes him the optimal grocery shopper, but he’s not complaining.
well— if he thinks about it, ticket taker’s too busy making the lists and time schedules for whatever jester is thinking up; halloween being the only time doctor can walk outside and not immediately turn every head says enough for the poor man, and pierrot– well, harlequin’s factually better than pierrot in every sense, so that one’s easy.
but he enjoys being sent out to explore every time the circus travels, so he doesn't mind when the list is placed in his hand and he's told to go. he wanders into more places than he needs to because he never sticks to instructions, and in the end, he always comes back with everything he was asked to get, so does it really matter, anyway?
today, he feels like he'll need a little company while he's out fighting old ladies in the produce section for the exact variant of apple pierrot demands.
company from someone he enjoys.
the clear choice is you, obviously.
and it’s his lucky day, because you have the day off, which means you have no excuse not to be with him.
although he's traded his normal attire for something more mundane to fit in with the crowds, he's still just as much of a menace banging on your window until you finally unlock the porch door for him, and it really makes you consider if keeping your door unlocked would be the better alternative. yes, it would give harlequin the freedom to enter your place whenever he pleased, which was a danger of its own, but in that sleep-deprived moment, it was truly starting to sound quite rational. at least then, he could let himself in instead of begging to be let inside like a dog left outside in the rain.
once he’d dragged you out of bed, the adventures had started. it didn't take much for him to convince you; it was rare for him to talk to you about something other than the circus, much less seem so excited about something as casual as grocery shopping. he still threw around dirty remarks as he always did, as if trying to convince you it wasn't just grocery shopping, but underneath his talk was a genuine invite to hang out with him.
you wished you could find a way to make him sit still for one second and explain he didn't have to disguise his words with promises of it'll be interesting or flirts and teases. you know it'll be interesting, because its him. and you're not interested in him just because he flirts with you. what interests you are moments like these, when he reveals more of his true self to you than normal, invites you seemingly to learn more about who he truly is without seeming to realize it. but it would take a truth serum and tying him down to a post to make him directly answer you a question as simple as "what did you eat for breakfast today?" so, you'll settle for what you have now. just being the one at his side, for him to drag along wherever he pleases.
somehow, harlequin’s list had ended up in your hands, and the first store you followed him into was definitely not going to have anything the circus needed. you had been trying to decipher if the neat handwriting was more likely to be ticket taker’s or pierrot’s when you looked up to see him wandering into a glassware art store, quickly trying to catch up to him.
“harlequin, i'm not sure we need anything here,” you warn as you enter through the door behind him, an aged bell alarming others of your presence, although no one else seems to be in the store.
“i know, i just wanted to see,” he answers simply, continuing his walk forward. his voice has something in it similar to childlike wonder, or an inner child being healed. this wasn't the kind of store you would expect harlequin to want to go into, but you can only pray ticket taker didn’t give harlequin a curfew.
you’re careful not to bump into anything on the shelves as you follow behind harlequin who, despite how tall he is, seems to be easily navigating the narrow wooden shelves, littered with small painted glass figurines ranging from birds and other animals to seasonal festive motifs.
your eyes never leave his back, and something inside your heart strains as your brain works to process the emotion you’re feeling. your brain finally discerns it as your throat barely choking back the words “i like this. i like when we hang out like this.” you ignore the feeling because you don’t want to ruin this casual moment with something serious, but at the same time, you’re scared that if you don’t say something, a moment like this will never happen again.
harlequin isn’t worried about anything. he’s observing the glasswork on a shelf against a wall, two fingers holding his chin as he thinks. despite how cozy and local the place feels, funnily enough, he always seems to end up in places just like this. humans have a weird way of separating cultures, yet sharing so many similarities without knowing it. there’s only small differences, like the way this creator’s hands molded the glass, compared to the hands of an artisan in brazil. here, most glass birds are painted blue, while in the last town he visited, in a store just like this, he could barely find a bird figurine that wasn’t red. compared to the doctor, harlequin was able to venture out much more freely. he knows the doctor is fine keeping to himself in his tent, but harlequin stills visits these gift stores when he can, trying to make up for the doctor's restrictions by bringing him back stories and figurines.
harlequin isn’t worried, because he knows that if and when he turns around, you’ll be there. he likes when you’re at his side, and the way your presence feels when you trail behind him obediently. he likes that you seem to like him, at least enough to stick around and humor him whenever he asks you to do something for him. he likes that when he enters a place and all the eyes turn to see whose walked in, you’re at his side, like his prized possession– and they can stare at you all they want, the moment they see him, they know you’re already taken.
“mm, i’m bored now, let’s move on to the next store,” he decides, immediately heading for the exit, but not before grabbing your arm to drag you along with him.
“are you sure? you were looking at the little cat figure for a bit. i can buy it for you, if you’d like.” the words sound stupid coming out of your mouth as you follow behind, only the slightest bit hesitant to leave the store. you’re talking to a man who is part of a mysterious travelling circus, who probably has more money alone than you've made in your entire life, but you offer anyway.
he laughs, the grin that spreads across his face is inevitable as he looks back at you, “you’re funny, dear one. save your money for something that's actually important. not on me. although, if you’re that eager to give me something i know something else i want~”
you roll your eyes at more than just his flirt. he’s hit you with his double toxic approach of avoiding your question by turning it into something dirty while simultaneously sneaking in a self-deprecating statement. “no, not that," you reject him immediately, "but i will buy you anything if it’s out of your budget, whatever ticket taker allocates that to be. just tell me.”
the look on his face bares semblance to a frown, as best as it can with his mask. your answer is a little harder to deflect now that you’ve stubbornly doubled down on your insistence to buy him something, and why do you care so much, anyway?
“yeah, sure,” he shrugs as you continue walking together. you’re a half step behind him, but his gloved hand is still holding loosely onto your bicep, not letting you fall behind. “i doubt i’ll want anything, but you can try, pretty thing. what i want isn’t an object.”
you wait for him to expand on his words but when he doesn’t say anything else, your eyes flick to look at him, only to find him already staring back. he practically cackles as your quickly avert your eyes, face growing red, but his hand that was on your arm slides up to your other shoulder, pulling you closer to him.
it’s going to be a long day.
–
you don’t know much about the circus business, but you don’t think it’s normal for a shopping list to be this extensive and… specific.
you have to imagine the brunt of the list was written by ticket taker, having in mind what they routinely get for the circus. the more detailed items have to be pierrot, or one of the other members, who apparently needs a new blender. someone also wants a 24-pack of mason jars, and you spend an extensive amount of time in the makeup aisle, piling all kinds of different products into a basket.
several people pass by, and you can't blame them for looking. it's surely a strange sight—you're with a 6-foot man crouched on the ground, a basket full of makeup on the ground between you. he won't stop making unhelpful comments, either.
“do you think this is pierrot’s shade?” and it’s foundation powder in the shade "elephant’s breath."
“i think we should get this for pierrot, his lips have been looking a little pale, and this name is really speaking to me.” he’s holding a box of lipstick. said name is “lobster burp.”
“please, harlequin. put it back.”
while you’re in the aisle, on the list is also a specific brand of shampoo. you learn from harlequin it’s jester’s, but pierrot and ticket taker decide his hair products. when you think about it, everyone in the circus does have quite healthy looking hair, but it never occurred to you they might have a hair care routine. it’s even sillier to think that jester, in all of his intelligence and dominance, doesn’t choose his own shampoo.
“and you? what shampoo do you use, harlequin?” you ask, placing jester’s shampoo in the cart. the basket got too full, you had to move to something bigger.
the question seems to offset him, his head is turned away, and is he blushing? “...what does it matter? no comment.”
you sigh, crossing shampoo off the list. “it doesn’t, i was just curious. your curls are nice, that’s all.”
he looks at you, and something feels wrong in his chest. “what’s with you today?” he doesn’t mean for his words to come off so accusatory, but they’ve left his mouth before he can fix it.
your eyes flick up to his, “what’s that supposed to mean? i didn’t realize haircare products was such a touchy subject for you, just tell me next time. there’s no need for you to be rude about it.”
“it’s not that. you just keep… saying those kinds of things to me.” he’s trying to maintain a delicate balance of answering you without revealing too much, but he's failing.
"what things?" you tilt your head, unable to follow him.
"...you keep saying nice things to me. like a compliment. like you care." now you're forcing the truth out of him, and he's not sure he likes that, or how you respond to what he just said.
“what? i’m always nice to you. and i do care. i like hanging around you.” you furrow your brows at the conversation you’re having as you look up, trying to find which aisle has what you need next.
“see? you keep saying things like that. it’s weird. i’m the one who usually says stuff like that. are you messing with me? do you want something from me?” he tries to meet your eyes, but you keep looking around.
what could you possibly gain from saying he has nice hair? you thought he was trying to tease you at first, but now it feels like he's accusing you. “no, you say things like ‘spend the night with me’ and ‘come to my tent and you’ll find out.’ i say things like ‘i appreciate that you exist.’ there’s a difference. you’re flirting and teasing me. you're messing with me." maybe, you ponder, if you say what you've been wanting to say all day, it'll finally get through his thick head that you're here, right now, in a grocery store with him, because you like him. not because you're trying to get anything out of him. "i’m just trying to tell you i think that you’re a good person... and i enjoy being around you. i don’t want anything from you, just for you to be who you are.” you start pushing the cart, and he follows after you.
“but i’m not a good person,” he seems to sneer at the words like you’ve insulted him, “and i’m not just teasing you, i mean everything that i say. so what are you getting at?”
you might just be getting defensive, but his tone hurts a little. you have to blink back the sudden tears that burn your eyes. “i’m not getting at anything, harlequin. just forget i said anything.” this is what you were afraid of, and it's left a sick feeling in your stomach now that you can't take back what you've said. the moment you tried to express any kind of appreciation for him, he accused you of having bad intentions.
maybe that’s what hurts a little. you’re getting a little tired of everything you’re saying being deflected. you've been trying to show your gratitude for him in not just your words, but your actions, too; you're lucky to have a friendship with him, and you wanted to express that. you wanted to hold just one conversation with him that doesn’t feel like you’re only seeing the tip of the iceberg, like you’re talking to someone who's not really all there, because they won't show you their whole self, but he doesn't seem to care about this the way you do. you’re not sick of him, hell, you want him in your life for however long the rest of it might be, but maintaining a relationship is difficult without some bit of vulnerability. what hurts is that you want to think that harlequin and you are getting close, why else would he invite you out today? but now, it feels like he's just been trying to get something out of you. maybe he never felt anything for you. it was all in your head.
“no, i don’t understand why you’re saying these things. are you just playing with me? you can tell me the truth, you know.” people are manipulative; they say things to gain favor, and they give gifts expecting something in return. that is the currency, the cultural laws of exchange and humanity that harlequin is used to. but you go against all of that for some inexplicable reason; it's why he was drawn into your orbit. you don’t seem to share those same human qualities, you've never asked anything of him, you're just there. you hang around him without looking at him like he's something to be used, and anytime he asks you for something, you say yes without even seeming to question or judge him. but if you’re not being selfish, he doesn’t understand your selflessness. and of all people, why would you be selfless around someone like him? it’s written all over in the color green. he is envy. he’s selfish. he’s a liar. you’ve humored him and continued to hang around him, and he really can’t understand why.
your lips press into a thin line; you don’t have it in you to answer. you've never argued with him like this, and he’s twisting everything you say and using it against you. what is there left to say? “i am telling you the truth—” is all you can manage to say, but your voice cracks a little at the end. you pray he doesn’t notice. your eyes keep burning even if you don’t want them to, and every time you look at harlequin now, it hurts something in your chest, threatening to send you over the threshold into a mess of tears. “there’s something on this list i can’t find. i’m going to ask an employee. if you want, here’s the list. just go find everything else. i’ve already crossed off everything we have in the cart.” you force the list into his hands before he has the chance to respond, walking away calmly until you’re out of his sight.
then, you’re running, feeling like something is about to erupt from your chest if you don’t get outside now. you find a nearby bench to sit on, and a humiliating sound still escapes your throat before you can cover your mouth. you hate how exposed you feel when you cry in public, but at the same time, no one cares enough to bat an eye in your direction. yet the thought doesn't comfort you— it makes you feel worse. to go from the attention harlequin showers you with back to feeling like an apathetic underachiever who has no purpose, compared to everyone on the streets in iron-pressed clothes, on the phone with people who matter– it only adds to your pain.
you playing him? you would like to consider yourself a kind person. you don’t manipulate people and drop them as soon as you get what you need from them. if anything, you can probably list a few times that you've been used like that. for your kindness to be accused as something akin to that cruelty hurts more than anything, because if that’s how harlequin sees you, you’re not sure who you are.
you can’t stop the flow of tears escaping your eyes despite your best attempts to dry them on your sleeves. you need to go back inside before harlequin comes looking for you once you’ve been gone for too long, but you can’t pull yourself together.
“...hey. where have you been?”
if you hadn’t embarrassed yourself enough already, your lip seems to quiver at his voice, and you can’t meet his eyes. you’re completely bent over yourself, feet planted on the ground, head turned to the side and resting on your knees.
you feel the shift in presence as he sits next to you, and it’s uncharacteristically silent for a moment. your tears are just falling sideways now, running over the bridge of your nose and into your hair. it’s too late for you to run again; he’s already found you, and you still haven’t stopped crying.
and he won’t let you out of his sight again. he's always been good at knowing when to stop before he pushes someone too far. he’s good at teasing people, not comforting them, so he’s learned how to avoid it. but maybe he got a little too heated— a little too personal in the store, he realizes, looking at you now. he knows he needs to apologize, but he’s not too sure what to say.
“...hey, i’m… sorry. i pushed too far, didn’t i?” it’s awkward. he doesn’t know what to say. he’s not trying to force you any farther, but he’s not sure what to do if you won’t talk to him.
you let out a deep breath, giving him the tiniest nod as an answer, but you still won’t turn to face him. he feels like he should do something with his hands. but where do they go? does he put his hands somewhere to try to comfort you, try to get you to turn to him, or just keep his hands to himself?
he settles for a hand on your head. he's a little hesitant, like he's about to retract his touch at any moment, especially when he feels you freeze under his touch, but when you make no sign to escape his touch, he relaxes a little bit. "please don't cry," he murmurs, rubbing your head ever so slightly.
the way he says it, it's not in a way like your crying is bothersome to him, surprisingly. but he pleads it, because he doesn't like seeing you turned away from him like this. he wants to see your face again. he's not used to you ever hiding it, he's used to being able to admire it and tease it whenever he wants. he didn't mean to fight with you like this, bring you to the brink of tears like this.
fights with pierrot are much easier, and maybe harlequin's taken that for granted. despite his “no talking” rule, pierrot’s quite expressive, even without words, about how he’s feeling. he matches harlequin’s pettiness and anger, and there’s some sort of reassurance in their fights that they’ll still come back together the next day no matter what's said or done. they’ll wake up and still be enemies—that will never change—but they’re also family. harlequin will still bring back everything from the store pierrot asks for, pierrot will still cook for him.
but fighting with family is different from whatever he has with you, he knows that. if he wants you, he has to say it. he’s good at saying those kinds of things. he's great at telling people what they want to hear—what makes them feel special—so why is it so hard right now?
because it’s hard to be genuine. it’s hard for him to be honest. it's much easier to say mindless flirts he doesn't mean, or twist words and conversations away from anything he doesn’t want to think about. but you’re always on his mind. he can’t avoid mending this fight even if he wanted to. he knows he’d just come straight back to your home later if he left now.
and you don't get angry the way pierrot does— you don't seem angry at all, even if he hurt you. that's something else that he can't understand. why are you so forgiving towards him? so patient? even in the past, when he hadn't done anything wrong, one look at him and anyone can tell he's an easy person to blame. he looks like a monster, and with time, he learned how to act like one— it was the only way to fight back when that's all anyone sees. but it's like you don't see that, so what do you see when you look at him?
“i’m.. sorry. i shouldn’t have questioned you or talked to you like that. i’m just not used to people… showing me kindness without wanting something in return. and you've never done that— you’re nice to me. you don't ask me to do anything. and you tell me you’ll stay around. but i keep thinking you’ll… leave. you’re going to find me boring, eventually. or unkind. or see one of my hundreds of other flaws. you’re going to change your mind.” he pauses ever so often between his words, forcing the thoughts out of his mouth as soon as he forms them. there’s a feeling in his chest, maybe something like panic, that’s rising. he doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been this honest. when he’s last revealed this much about himself to someone. his hand remains on your head, fingers playing with a few strands of your hair— a nervous habit he'd never admit to on his own.
his voice and touch soothes something in you as he talks, you stop crying almost immediately, while on your own, you couldn't stop the tears no matter how hard you tried. you want to look at him. you want to see what he looks like when he talks about himself. you need to tell him it's okay. he told you all you needed to hear. you wipe away any remaining tears from your face and slowly sit back up, orienting your knees towards him. his hand falls back to his side as you sit up, and you meet eyes with him for a beat. his hand reaches up again, he feels a pull to hold the side of your face, to wipe away the stray tear that escapes your eyes, running down your cheek. but then he looks away, ashamed.
he looks a little grim. you’re not used to seeing him without a grin on his face, but it's nice to see this new side of him, underneath the facades he’s usually wearing. no one's ever always happy. “thank you,” you start. it’s a general thanks, for everything he’s said, everything he’s just revealed to you, for trusting you enough to give you a little taste of what goes on in his head. “all i was trying to do was reassure you i am going to stay, but i wasn’t saying it fully, i was scared of coming off as sappy or emotional. and despite all my promises to stay around, i left you in the store. i’m sorry.”
“it’s okay,” the words are automatic, coming out of his mouth, before he’s even processed what you’ve said. it's not, really. he realizes. but he tells himself it's okay, because it's you.
but you don’t take his words as some sort of excuse for your guilt. “it’s not,” you deny.
“you got upset. you left. it makes sense,” he tries to double down on his words, because why are you suddenly flipping the apology onto him? why do you seem to notice so much about him?
“and you had to come find me, even though i should have been the one to come back to you. i’m sorry. but thank you for being kind enough to come find me. for giving me a second chance." you’re looking at him, but now he won’t look at you. he seems to be staring at his hands in his lap, or something unperceivable to you.
he’s not sure what to say. "kind" has never been a word used to describe him. when you left abruptly in the store, he wasn’t sure what to do. wasn’t sure where to look, where you would be, if you were even around. he doesn't feel kind, he made you cry. he didn't give you any kind of second chance, you're just smart enough as you are, somehow reading his mind before he's even processed what's happened.
when he doesn’t respond, you continue: “i won’t do it again, i promise.” you try to test the waters, moving the slightest bit closer to him, until your knees almost knock into his. he doesn’t move away.
“okay,” is the only thing that makes it out of his mouth. when you reach for his hand, he freezes. you feel the way he tenses underneath you, but he doesn't move, and another second later, his hand relaxes again, letting you hold it.
“i’m never expecting perfection from you, harlequin. and i’m not going to get bored of you. you’re the most interesting person i’ve ever met, and i still have so much more to learn about you, whatever you decide to share with me. you’re not a bad person. you make me feel comfortable and safe. i think that makes you a good person– the fact that you can make someone feel that way. i like to be around you. i want to be around you forever, if you’ll let me.” you lean your head to rest on his shoulder next, eliciting the same reaction from him as when you touched his hand, but he doesn't push you off or lean away.
he’s not used to this kind of physical contact, not used to taking things so slow or normally. but something about your touch makes him realize how much of his past is artificial, because he never let anyone come the slightest bit close to him. your touch is nice, the same way your words are. they soothe him. you’re telling him things about how he somehow comforts you, but you have no idea what you’ve done for him. he’s not sure he can even articulate what you’re making him feel right now. but he says what he is confident in, what he does want: “yeah, you can stay. i’d like that.” he adds on the last part after thinking about it for half a beat: “please do.”
Could you write a story about a female reader who goes shopping with Pierrot to buy clothes, and she tries them on? I'd love to see Pierrot's reactions, haha. (It's up to you whether the story will be cute or suggestive.)
HIIII MY LOVELY
jsyk, if given the opportunity, it will always be suggestive. author dearest is a whore <3
For this one, im thinkin about doing a part two with the actual smut. this one is ~suggestive~ but nothing actually happens for real. don't worry, my dearest whores- i plan on doing a part two at some point :]
UPDATE: Part 2!
WARNINGS: very fluffy! Pierrot x reader, suggestive as the next part will have smut but this isn't anything crazy, pierrot is obsessed with reader (ofc), AFAB reader, she/her, MENTION of weight gain as a part of plot but its not seen as something bad in story!, no mention of body dysmorphia (i have another ask in my inbox about that though so if u wanna see pierrot comforting mc TRUST- ive got that covered), uhh as always if i forgot anything lmk!
WC: ~2.4k
“I need a few pairs of jeans, for sure a cute dress or two since my old ones feel a bit tight, and if I find some cute shirts I obviously won’t say no,” you chatted idly to Pierrot as you led him through the mall. You’d gained a bit of weight recently thanks to Pierrot’s constant sweets, and while he was busy drooling over your new figure, you were frustrated at the newfound discomfort of your favorite skirt. So, in a you broke it you buy it situation, you made Pierrot go with you to buy more. It wasn’t like he minded of course, if his stupid, lovestruck grin said anything as you led him into the first store. .
“Thank you for coming, lovey,” you grinned, humming out a soft laugh as you felt him rest his head on your shoulder, looking at the shirts with you. You were sure the two of you looked comical- a 6’6” clown possessively bent over his lover as she dramatically flipped through buy one get one tees, but you didn’t mind the stares you were sure the two of you were getting, too absorbed in the domesticity of the moment.
He picked up a red NASA shirt, holding it up to you as he tilted his head, silently asking if you'd wear it. You were sure he just liked it because of the stars, but it was a cute shirt overall so you weren’t complaining.
“I’ll try it on!” you chirped, moving to hold the shirt on instinct. He scoffed out a soft breath, grabbing the shirt from you to hold instead. You grinned, turning your face to kiss his cheek softly. His face burned a bright red, knocking his forehead against yours in a show of affection.
After grabbing a few more shirts off the rack to try on, you moved to the jeans section. “Should I go up just one size? Or should I try two up first?” you asked your Pierrot, who tilted his head curiously.
He motioned to both, looking into your eyes as he tried to get the message across. You pursed your lips in agreement, nodding.
“You’re right, I’ll try both,” you hummed, already turning to hand him the clothes. You paused as you caught sight of the side of his mask, covering your mouth with your hand as you giggled.
He cocked his head at your sudden amusement. You ran your thumb over the mark you’d accidentally left on his cheek earlier, a kiss mark the color of your tinted lip balm.
“You got something right there,” you giggled, handing him your phone with the camera open. His face burned a steady, bright red upon seeing his face, before his pupils morphed into hearts,a dumb grin on his lips as he drooled a bit.
“My lady… left her mark on me?” he whispered, slurring a bit as drool left his mouth. You grinned. He always got so worked up with you, and it made your chest fuzzy at being desired so much, especially by someone you loved so dearly. You leaned in again, pressing a kiss to the other cheek to leave an identical mark. He hummed in contentment, looking almost dizzy with passion.
“C’mon, I gotta try these on,” you called, guiding him towards the dressing rooms. He walked into the stall with you, shutting the door behind him without a thought. “Uh, Pierrot?” you asked.
“Yes, my dear?” he asked as he tilted his head, now able to speak in the confined dressing room.
“We can’t be in here together, if the workers come in we’ll get in trouble,” you softly informed him, patting his mask apologetically. He pouted.
“I don’t care, my lady. What if you need help? What if I want to see the clothes you try on?” he nearly whined. You sighed.
“I’ll walk out so you can see them!” you assured. He shook his head, sitting down.
“If you truly wish for me to leave, I will. But if your only worry is getting in trouble, then I am not missing this moment with you because of those nosy employees,” he said stubbornly. You grumbled, glancing at the door. It went all the way down, unlike most dressing rooms, so they wouldn’t be able to see him, at least.
“Just- stay quiet, and we should be fine,’ you relented, making him grin widely. You shimmied off your shorts, wanting to go ahead and get the jeans part over with.
“My lady, you look ethereal,” he murmured, drinking in every inch of skin revealed to him as he immediately broke the rule. You ignored it as you laughed shyly, pulling the first pair of jeans up.
“Thank you, lovey,” you blushed, pulling the jeans up. Your brow furrowed as they stopped just below your hips. You shifted for a moment, a small scowl on your face. “Wha- the hanger said these were a size up but they’re tighter than my other ones!” you exclaimed in frustration, more at the women’s fashion industry than anything. You hurriedly took them off, and Pierrot gathered them from you, looking at the tag.
“My love, these were marked wrong,” he assured after studying the tag, turning them around to show you. Your face burned red in embarrassment.
“Oh.”
“It’s alright! I’ll check the next pair before you try them on,” he smiled, excited to be of help to you. Luckily, they were the correct size. After trying them on, you realized that you did in fact need one size down, so you sent him out to grab them. Thank god for having a boyfriend. He knocked on the door upon his return, and you let him in.
“M-my dear,” he stammered, walking into the dressing room with a beet red face. You beamed seeing the pair of pants in his hands.
“Thank you Pierrot!” you cooed, grabbing them from him. You saw the second hanger in his hands, one that was hiding behind the pants. You realized then why Pierrot was drooling.
“Would you… be willing to try it on?” he asked, feigning shyness, though you saw the near obsessive perversion underneath. You weren’t sure how Pierrot managed to find his way to the lingerie section, especially when it was on the other side of the store and he had returned so quickly, but sure enough he held the burgundy, lacy thing in his hands. It was pretty, a three piece set. Red, see through lace for the fabric, the panties resting higher on the waist. The top was that same lace, everywhere but the thin straps, as well as two straps that would rest on the tops of your breasts, accentuating them. There was a midpiece as well, a simple lace band that went around your waist and connected to two lacy garters. It was… slutty, entirely slutty, a stunning set that you were surprised your sweet Pierrot picked up.
You knew he was a monster of course, and you knew his desires could sweep him up. Hell, you’d heard the horror stories from the other monsters at the circus as well, but the side of him he always showed you was so sweet, so caring. It was easy to forget he had that intensity burning just below the surface, and seeing him hold the racy piece of lingerie in his hands remind you that, just below the surface, a current of need ran, ready to pull you under. Despite knowing this, you picked up the lingerie, nodding.
“I’ll try it on after everything else,” you agreed, making his eyes light up, pupils blown into large, adoring hearts. You smirked a bit. “But I’m trying it on alone, and if it fits you can see it at home,” you added, making his grin turn to a scowl.
“But my love-” he tried to plead his case.
“Nuh uh, it’s more fun this way,” you chastised. He looked down at you, fighting a mental war in his head. You stepped closer, laying a hand on his chest as you looked up at him through your lashes. “Please, baby, for me?” you asked sweetly. The tension left him as you pleaded with him, and you felt the shudder that wracked through his body at your saccharine tone.
“Alright,” he agreed, nodding as he sat back down. You smiled smugly, placing the piece to the side for now. You knew you were playing a dangerous game- while you called the shots in public, Pierrot’s intensity had him orchestrating everything that happened in the bedroom, you oftentimes being too overwhelmed with pleasure. Luckily, you adored handing him the leash during your private moments, so you’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited to see his desire overcome him.
You took the jeans from the hanger, Pierrot grabbing it from you as you began to pull them up your legs. As they buttoned, you grinned. They fit near perfect, not digging in anywhere uncomfortable, but not feeling like they’d slide off at any moment. “Do they look alright?” you asked your lover, who was beaming at you with a lovesick grin.
“Your beauty astonishes me more and more each day,” he praised, rubbing a hand along your waist where the jeans met your skin. You giggled shyly, placing your hand over his.
“Thank you, lovey,” you smiled. “Now, which shirt should I try first?” you asked, motioning to the shirts. He pointed at the one he had picked out, beaming up at you. You nodded, picking it up and handing him the hanger, softly thanking him. You took off your shirt, ignoring the soft sigh Pierrot let out as you put the new top on. Pulling it down and adjusting it, you studied yourself in the mirror before turning around. “What do you think?” you beamed. He melted a bit at the sight of you, pulling you closer by the hem of the shirt as he studied you.
“You are radiant, my love,” he praised, the pure puppylove in his eyes making you swoon. You patted his head, giggling as his bells jingled at the motion.
“Thank you!” you chirped, turning back around to study yourself. It fit nicely overall, showing your figure without being overly tight. You nodded to yourself, deciding to buy it before taking it off. “Will you hang this up for me dear, and make a pile? I’m gonna buy that one,” you asked kindly. Pierrot nodded.
“Of course my love! Which one are you trying next?” he asked, genuinely excited to see you try your clothes on. You smiled, overcome with love for your dear Pierrot.
The next few shirts you tried on went smoothly, constant praise falling from Pierrot’s mouth as you gleefully modeled for him. Luckily, it seemed to be a slow day, so you never heard anyone come around to the dressing room area, meaning you and Pierrot could relax and not worry about being caught. It wasn’t like you were doing anything naughty anyway (though you were sure Pierrot wanted to). Finally, it came time to kick Pierrot out.
“Are you sure, my lady?” he whined one last time. You nodded determinedly.
“Yes, it’ll be worth it I promise!” you assured. He nodded, sitting outside of the dressing room like a dog who’d gotten in trouble. You giggled, before shutting the door again.
You nearly called Pierrot in while trying to get the damned thing on, the amount of straps on the lingerie intensely confusing you. Eventually, you managed to figure it out, posing in front of the mirror.
“Goddamn…” you murmured to yourself. You looked hot, the burgundy color looking downright seductive against your skin, the straps and lace accentuating everything just the right way.
“Are you alright?” Pierrot asked from just outside the door, a mix of worried and over-eager. You rolled your eyes lovingly.
“I’m ok, just excited for you to see. At home,” you reasserted. You heard him sigh, sitting down with a jingle of his bells.
You emerged with all the clothes, smiling coyly at Pierrot as he happily held your clothes for you. You bounced through the store to the checkout, greeting the clerk with a smile. He glanced up at Pierrot warily, before regarding you with a tight smile. You shrugged, ignoring it. So long as he didn’t say anything to your love, you were ok with the worried glances.
After leaving the store, bags in tow, the two of you walked to the next store, a higher class one with beautiful dresses, ranging from simple sundresses to full on ballgowns. Pierrot grinned as the two of you entered. He always enjoyed pretty things, after all. After finding a few dresses to try on, the two of you made your way back. Unfortunately, a clerk was waiting there.
“Alright ma’am, you can go over here to the right. Sir, there is seating over here,” he said, making it clear in the politest way possible that it was one per dressing room. Pierrot pouted, so you pressed a loving kiss to his forehead, leaving yet another mark.
“I’ll be quick, Pierrot,” you assured. He nodded excitedly, hands politely on his knees as he excitedly awaited your return. Unfortunately, he could not speak in front of the clerk, but the adoration in his eyes made it impossible to not know how enamored he was with each dress, his excited nods conveying how much he loved them. You’d chosen two pretty, flowy sundresses, and a longer, satin dress for more upscale occasions. “Look- pockets!” you chirped, twirling around to make the dress's skirt flow out. Pierrot clapped, tilting his head and grinning as he watched you.
Once you finished in the dress store, the two of you stopped by the mall’s food court. Pierrot, of course, got a slice of cookie cake from Great American Cookie, and you got yourself a sweet treat as well. Grabbing two plates of chinese food from the food court as well, the two of you made your way out to the car, ready to go home.
“My lady,” Pierrot said once you two were in the car together.
“Yes, lovey?” you asked, smiling at him. God, today really had been perfect.
Pierrot leaned in, breath fanning across your ear as he spoke. “I have never been so excited to go home in my life,” he murmured, glowering down at you with lust. You swallowed thickly. You already knew there’d be hell to pay for making him wait, but he’d been so good about it! You chuckled, nodding at him.
“Of course,’ you purred, kissing where his mask met his jaw. You put the car in reverse pulling out of the parking lot.
Hellu guys, I'm back again to feed pierrot's dears some fluff! It my first time writing abt pierrot... And wrote dis in physics class sooo... Forgive me for any mistakes 🥲
💕 Sweet cuddles💕
Summary: you ask pierrot for cuddles for the first time after spending time together
Warnings: none, just pure fluff!
ENJOY!
-pierrot?
-y-yes, my dear?
-can we... Cuddle?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's a rainy day
It's so cold that no matter how many layers of warm clothes you wear, you will still freeze.
It's Sunday, and it's a day off your work at the café. Pierrot was here too, he somehow convinced Jester to stay in your apartment for today. You don't really mind, you actually needed some company in your depressing apartment.
You actually liked that guy... You always felt comfortable and safe around him, and you had a feeling that he liked you back too... Maybe he even had his own fantasies, who knows...
You've been in your room, curled in a ball beneath a couple of fluffy covers, still feeling cold. Pierrot was in the kitchen, probably making some snacks. He's actually a good cook, you already tasted some of his food wich was so good.
You heard his footsteps getting closer to your room's door, he stood at the entrance, as you peeked at him from beneath your covers. He was holding a plate with a bunch of your favourite snacks.
-c-can I go in, my dear?
He asked, his deep voice never failing to surprise you, he doesn't speak much, so you're not used to his voice yet...
-of course! You can always get in, it's fine.
He slowly stepped into your room, placing the plate on your bedside table, before he hesitantly sat on the edge of the bed, inviting you to eat.
You sat upright, pushing the covers aside, silently inviting pierrot to sit beside you.
You two started eating, chatting and laughing like old friends, even though pierrot was still a bit shy and hesitant, yet clearly enjoying your time together.
When you two finished eating, he took the dirty plates and headed to the kitchen to wash them, you really wanted to ask him for cuddles 'cause you felt so cold and really wanted to be closer to him...
You stood up, dragging a cover with you, slowly walking towards the kitchen.
-pierrot?
You asked, voice a bit shaky... You don't want to make him uncomfortable, and asking for cuddles all of a sudden sounds pretty awkward...
-y-yes my dear?
He replied, putting down the last plate, looking at you curiously.
-can we... Cuddle?
You whispered, looking at your toes, clearly scared to make him think something bad of you.
Silence...
You looked up, expecting him to be disgusted by you or something, only to find out he was blushing furiously, a shaky smile on his face, his pupils forming hearts literally, he's been waiting for this for too long, he can never miss the opportunity to be the closest possible to you, he's just so happy...
He stepped closer to you, tucking a strand of your wild hair behind your ear, sending shivers down your spine as he finally answers
-anything for you, my dearest.
You two now were in bed, your small form almost disappearing completely beneath his huge body, his hands lazily sliding up and down you back as you buried you face in his chest, relaxing at the sound of his heartbeats, your body heats mixing together, keeping the two of you warm... It felt like home, to be in each other's arms, while your heartbeats synced perfectly.
-I love you...
You mumbled, your mind hazy, slowly drifting to sleep, your voice muffled by pierrot's chest, yet the words were clear enough for him to hear, making his heart flutter as you completely drifted into a deep sleep
He pulled you closer to his body, drowning you in warmth, planting a kiss on the top of your head as he whispered back before following you to dreamland
-I love you too, my dear...
a/n: Andd that was itttt! Thank you for reading! Don't forget to comment what you think of my writing... I'd like to know your opinionnn
this isn't really proofread, i'm just so tired, but i've just gotten into the freak circus and i'm overwhelmed with headcanons. soft and comforting short little thing, established relationship. gn!reader, any body type, etc. <3
✧ rating — fluff, 18+ because tfc is 18+ obviously.
pierrot’s never had someone as doting as you; he loved, of course, but that flower was plucked before its full bloom. the sweet, hushed clown would hardly know what to expect if you told him you had something for him.
over the past few weeks, he’d been even more jumpy than before, groaning here and there at the tension in his shoulders from staying alert all the time. you wanted to do something nice for him, something cozy and soft to soothe his nerves. just the thought had you humming to yourself as you wait for him to appear—he always did.
when he does, oh, how he unravels before you! his honey eyes glow with curiosity, his heart thumps almost too fast for his lithe chest. the bells of his attire jingle to a chaotic rhythm with how hard he tries not to bounce around like a child while following you, biting at that curved claw on his nimble finger with the warmest shade of pink swept across his adaptive mask.
you take him into your room, where the overhead lights are replaced with the pulsing glow of colorful garland bulbs. you'd placed one of those sleep projectors onto the ceiling, a cosmic sea of stars. he absorbs it in awe, slowly sitting down onto the bed.
“i knew you would like this, soft and relaxing, huh?” you say, picking up a large box you'd hidden in the corner and putting it in front of him.
he’s quick to open it and pulls out a bunch of markers, both glittery and not, and intricate coloring books with strange designs and popup pages that look like they might would be a challenge to complete but nonetheless cute. at the bottom, there’s a fleece, weighted blanket with little stars on it.
“for me?” he asks with a shaky voice, as if he couldn’t believe you would get him even something as simplistic as this, even if he isn’t quite sure what to do with all of it on his own.
you nod and snuggle up to him on the bed, and he purrs softly over you with the adoration of a cuddly pet. after he inspects the pages, you both spend the night coloring under that blanket. he is determined to be as close to you as possible and nuzzles into you often, causing you to mess up a few spots in the books.
you could hardly be upset with him, though.
the stress of both the circus and his desire to constantly protect you can weigh heavy on those broad shoulders. pierrot would love a meaningful night of grounding comforts, like plushes, blankets, a self-care day... pierrot would absolutely love the gift of pampering.
could you do 6 - first kiss with Pierrot :3 (where the reader initiates the kiss)
❤️🫠❤️❤️
🌻♧ PIERROT / 6 - FIRST KISS
♧🩸Thorns: obsessive thoughts / physical grip
♧💐 Included flowers: delicate kiss / him hopelessly in love / him asking for more / only fluff
》 • Masterlist: The Freak Circus • 《
》 • All Masterlist • 《 / Requests [ OPEN ]
♧ The moment your lips touch what would be Pierrot’s through the mask, his heart stopped for a second — only to immediately start racing like a maddened beast and make the blood run like fire inside his body.
♧ His pupils narrowed, his face turned red — and every fiber of his body was so sensitive that he felt yours with amplified intensity; even the point where your skin had not touched him seemed touched by you, as if the existence of your flesh reverberated through the air between you and grabbed him, made him burn with your taste in every tiny part of him, making Pierrot’s head spin.
♧ He was intoxicated.
Suffocated.
Drunk, in truth.
You and your warmth seemed to him like a bottle of perfume far too strong that someone had accidentally let fall to the floor, the essence spilled too intensely for the lungs; and now, the shards that reached him pierced him all the way to the soul, cutting a path through the fabric of Pierrot’s existence while permanently writing your name on every part of his being.
♧ This kiss probably did not last more than 5 seconds — you would soon find Pierrot’s brief lack of reaction strange.
Was he still breathing?
As soon as you moved away — only a few centimeters, yes, but to Pierrot it seemed as if a part of his own body was being taken away — he held you, tightening his arms at the sides of your body. You felt his trembling hands, a violent internal struggle between squeezing you and pulling you back and making you become an ingrained part of him, and the delirious desire to become mere malleable mass in your hands, a puppet under the control of your lips.
♧ Pierrot rose over you, seeming taller than usual.
He almost seemed frightening, until you managed to take in the smile from end to end and the red face. The intoxicated eyes, fixed and hungry, shamelessly on your mouth.
♧ He whispers in his usual low voice, forgetting that you are alone.
Pierrot asks you for one more. But he knows he will not be satisfied with only one. He wants another and another and another — all at once, all at the same time, all forever.
♧ Ah, my dear.
You will not be able to get out of Pierrot’s hold easily after this kiss.
I hope you enjoy it! 💐
For more, don’t forget that there is more The Freak Circus content HERE ! ❤️
And also, if you liked it, every heart, reblog, and comment makes this little writer very happy! 🥰🤧❤️
Okay so hear me out: a Y/N who has experienced people hurting them, laughing at them or making them bleed in some way shape or form, in their past, and didn’t have anyone who helped them, and that is why they stood up for Pierrot when he was getting hurt. Perhaps they open up about this to him, because in that moment they saw themselves, and they resolved to never let that happen again to anyone else.
Past Experience
Pierrot x Reader
Synopsis: You stand up for Pierrot when he gets hurt, because you can relate
CW: Pierrot x GN!Reader, Pierrot wants you, hurt/comfort, bullying, very fast paced
Word count: 647
–––––––————————————————––––––
Why were they still hurting him when he was already on the ground? He hasn't done anything wrong, only handing out flyers for the circus, and that certainly was no crime. You stand on the other side of the street, watching the scene unfold in horror before your body starts moving on it's own. You couldn't let it happen, not when you knew exactly what it felt like. Crossing the street you walk up to the people who were still laughing and kicking him. You were angry, really angry. You might not have had the courage back then when it happened to you, but you had it now and you would use it.
"Hey!" You shove one guy away to get to the center of it before already approaching another. "Are y'all stupid? What's wrong with you!?" You shove another guy, who looked surprise by your fiercness. "Wrong with us? They are the problem, they are ruining our town, you stupid bitch!" You punch him into his face, you would not let them insult you or Pierrot for that matter. The other guys were already backing off, apparently deeming it not worth the fight, especially when they see Pierrot standing tall and menacing behind you as well.
You huff annoyed, fed up by the attitude and behaviour of those guys. Pierrot gazed at you from behind, his eyes full with admiration and... Love? You turn around to face him, only to jump slightly in surprise by how close he was to you. "I'm sorry they hurt you, you didn't deserve that," you murmur to him, your courage dissipating slightly now that they were gone. Pierrot smiles widely at you, barely registering any aches he had gotten in your presence. He leans down to get closer, but you were already patting his arm awkwardly and stepping away. "Well, be careful, have a good day!" You quickly hurry away and to the café were you had work to do, almost being too late for your shift anyway.
Time skip
You were currently cleaning up and getting ready to close the store when you hear the bell jingle, signalling that someone had entered. "We're closed!"... No reaction. You sigh heavily and turn around, annoyed that you're being held up. You just wanted to go home and relax. Pierrot stands there, looking a little guilty for holding you up but also determined to stay. "Oh, it's you... Sorry but we're closed, you can come back tomorrow."
Pierrot isn't so easily deterred though and steps closer to the counter. "Thank you, my lady, for helping me earlier," he says quietly. You smile a bit bashful, looking down at your shoes. You didn't expect him to come meet you just to thank you...It was sweet. "Oh, it's alright. No need to thank me, it was the right think to do after all." Pierrot steps even closer, heasitently reaching out for you. "No one has done that for me before, you're special, my lady," he purrs softly. Your cheeks flush and you sit down on one of the bar stools. "No one had done it for me either when I was little," Pierrot's eyes turn sad, "so I know what it feels like... To be kicked and mocked when already down, to feel so helpless and alone, wondering why no one is helping... I-I just don't want anyone else to feel the way I felt." Your voice turning smaller to the end. Pierrot stands there for a moment, thinking, before walking closer and gently tugging a strand of hair behind your ear. "Then I will be the one standing up for you now, my darling. I will protect you, I will let no one harm you ever again," he says tenderly but with utter conviction. You smile softly as you gaze up into his eyes, feeling truly protected for the first time in your life.
