Wisteria && Wild Things
Prompt:
“Your home looks so cozy now.”
“It is only because it has your touch."
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You bit your lip in concentration, fumbling for the umpteenth time as you tried to hang the final batch of crocheted wisteria. Your goal was to frame the entryway to the smallest of the black-and-red striped tents. It was significantly easier to mount these things on drywall than canvas—an unfortunate oversight on your part, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. You had been far too excited for the grand reveal.
Honestly, your hands were glad to be rid of the lavender and sage yarns' texture. It was always this way after a massive crochet venture; the project started as a fun burst of inspiration, but your patience always expired before the yarn did. Judging by the muffled chaos outside, you were about to reap the rewards of your labor very soon.
Back home, gentle music had serenaded you when you hung the blue version of these florals in your windows. But here? A chaotic cocktail of screams, nervous laughter, and roaring cheers filled the night air. It was quite the contrast, but you’d grown accustomed to the sights and smells of The Freak Circus over the last month. Tonight, your own nerves were the only reason the ambient noise felt amplified rather than fading into the background.
Your hair slipped over your shoulder as you glanced back, trying to pinpoint the most rambunctious crowd. Pierrot almost always drew the biggest audience. Even you had been utterly dazzled by his hypnotizing waltz with his own shadow, or the deadly, breathtaking precision with which he threw his daggers. A faint shiver chased its way down your spine at the memory of one particular performance, but you firmly pushed the sour feeling in your stomach down.
There was no need to focus on the darker undertones of the circus right now. Not when you were trying so hard to introduce a touch of beautiful normalcy for the red clown.
“W-woah—!”
You spun forward swiftly, flailing slightly as you tried to stabilize yourself on the terribly wobbly wooden stool you’d scavenged from Pierrot's private quarters. A few internal flashes of a broken neck or a bruised ego later, you managed to balance out.
“Almost done. C'mon, you've got this,” you muttered to yourself. “Just a few more safety pins... and we're... good!”
Stretching up on your tiptoes, you finally secured the final loop, completing your week-long secret plan.
A wide, triumphant grin spread across your face as you admired your handiwork. You weren't usually one to boast—and maybe you were just spoiled from having an insanely easy-to-please partner—but damn. There was something incredibly giddy and exhilarating about knowing just how much your monster would appreciate this. The anxious butterflies in your stomach settled into a warm, heavy hum of anticipation. You were so distracted that you didn't even notice the tent flap slip open a mere few inches.
Golden eyes blinked with a striking, childlike innocence. Pierrot’s brow raised an instant before a sudden rush of heat slammed into his cheeks. He had known it was you inside the tent—your distinct scent had immediately erased all the pouting and worry he’d harbored during his show after noticing your empty seat in the front row. What Pierrot hadn't expected, however, was to be greeted by an unexpectedly close, eye-level view of your chest the moment he stepped inside.
With the way he slammed his hands over his face, you might as well have been entirely naked. Short-circuiting completely, the clown began to blindly back out of the tent.
“Pierrot—!” You slipped out in surprise, wobbling like a newborn deer on the stool all over again.
Your exclamation snapped him out of his retreat. Unfortunately, there wasn't much logical thought left in his burning brain after practically face-planting into your chest. Feeling suddenly rude for fleeing, Pierrot determinedly marched back into the tent, his hands still firmly plastered over his eyes.
“M-My dear! I didn't expect you here when I saw your seat empty—! I'm so sorry, I should have asked to come in when I smelled your sce—perfume!”
Flustered, his brain reduced to absolute scrambled eggs, Pierrot kept charging forward like a colorful bulldozer. He hit your flimsy stance on the stool like it was nothing.
“Pierrot!” you shouted, the panic instantly dissolving into a fit of laughter between your words. Left with absolutely no choice, you wrapped your legs around his lower chest, hugging onto him like a tree trunk to keep from crashing to the floor. “It's your tent! You don't need to ask to come inside.”
Of all the ways you'd played this scenario over in your mind, you had never imagined it playing out like this. You had anticipated those little heart-eyes, or watching him walk the tightrope line of restraint as he drowned you in whatever affection achievements you'd unlocked with him tonight.
But clinging to his torso while squeezing his hands against his face as he stood there frozen? Poor thing.
You chuckled softly to yourself, taking advantage of the extra height to admire the view of the wisteria from Pierrot's perspective. The dim, warm lighting from the lanterns you’d meticulously placed truly elevated the crocheted florals. Hanging right along the seam where the wall met the ceiling, they looked incredibly cool.
Glancing down at the top of his hat, your expression softened into a fond smile. “Pierrot,” you murmured, your voice gentle in an attempt to soothe his frazzled nerves. “It's okay. Sorry I wasn't at the performance tonight. I know you might have been worried...”
By this point, you had established a pretty solid routine for the nights you were able to visit.
“But I promise it was for a good reason,” you soothed, your hands gently running over the fabric of his hat, careful not to startle him further by bumping whatever hidden features lay beneath it.
Slowly, his shoulders relaxed, and the tension in his frame began to melt away.
“I brought you a surprise, but you'll have to help me down so you can actually look at it... quickly, please.” Your voice trembled slightly with the effort of holding on; gravity was no longer on your side, and your arms were beginning to ache.
It resulted in a strangely clumsy shimmy back to solid ground. With the steadying support of Pierrot’s strong knee, you were able to perch for a brief moment, find the grip of his freed hands, and slide back onto your own two feet. He remained close—intoxicatingly close. A dark blush still stained his cheeks, but his golden eyes were wide with a massive, childlike curiosity. The concept of personal space clearly hadn't registered yet.
“Ah—a surprise, my lady? For me?”
He seemed genuinely shocked before the realization slammed him right back into a state of smitten overload. It was a look that might have terrified anyone else, but the more you learned about Pierrot's bizarre world, piece by piece, the more endearing you found it. You could have sworn he was practically salivating with joy at the mere concept that you had been thinking of him.
“My lady, you didn't have to trouble yourself over me! That is to say, I will love absolutely anything you bring me—I simply... that is, you don't have to...”
His distracted hands came to rest heavily on your shoulders. Then, his frantic rambling abruptly ceased. His expression fell from lovesick adoration into pure, breathless wonder.
When the two of you were together, Pierrot was rarely aware of anything outside your immediate bubble—you were simply too delicious of a distraction, a sun pulling his entire existence into your gravitational orbit. But the warm lantern light playing off the woven yarn suddenly caught the predator's eye. His pupils dilated instantly; his mouth fell slightly slack. You watched his guard wear down so completely that the illusion of his human teeth slipped, exposing a dangerous hint of sharpness underneath.
Unable to sit in the thick anticipation any longer, you shifted, breaking the quiet trance.
“I remember you talking about springtime and the blooms back in your hometown,” you said softly. You slowed your speech as that familiar, thrilling rush of feeling like prey snapped into focus. His head remained turned toward the ceiling, but a single, intense golden eye locked onto you from the side. Your heart hammered against your ribs. Yes, you would happily play the prey to his affections, especially as those clawed hands squeezed your shoulders lightly before loosening.
“I learned how to make flowers online, so I wanted to bring a little something to decorate for you.” How funny, considering you'd unknowingly given him so much for his hidden shrine to you already.
He cut you off, snapping his gaze down to meet yours. “You made these... for me? All of them?”
The gold of his eyes locked you in place with such an intensity as he waiting so (im)patiently. It felt energetically charged like a dam ready to burst, threatening to flood you with a tidal wave of emotion based entirely on your next word. You braced yourself, knowing just how unpredictable he could be. Standing so small beneath his form, you swallowed hard.
“Yes.”
Pierrot forgot to breathe. For a moment, he was certain his heart had shot straight to the moon surely. Look at how many flowers there were! It had to have taken days. Days that you spent entirely consumed by thoughts of him while weaving every single loop. Each one was crafted with meticulous care; he could see it even in the dim, flickering shadows of the tent. They were perfection. Not as perfect as you were to him, of course, but beautifully, evenly crafted.
He spun in a slow, deliberate circle to take in the panoramic view of your dedication before his gaze snapped back to you. The hunter meeting the prey.
He noted the way your breathing quickened, drawing a surge of sheer, dominant confidence through his veins. How much of himself would he let you see tonight? What breathtaking achievement would you unlock next in the game of his affections—a game whose levels were entirely under his loose, calculating control?
“M-my lady, they are so beautiful! How long did this take? They're perfect. I've seen these before... while traveling, but I can't remember the name. Will you tell me their name?” Pierrot spoke in a deep breathless rush, desperate for any detail to obsess over. He wanted to know exactly how long he had occupied your mind.
Sure, he had already obsessively pieced together the puzzle of your life by breaking into your apartment and examining your trinkets, treasures, and memories. But the spoken, undocumented pieces? Those were entirely yours to give. You were a never-ending, fascinating mystery. And gods you showered him like it was Christmas with each glimpse into your world.
A soft laugh spilled from your lips, and you reached up to gently smooth back his hair. God, he practically purred at the touch.
“Slow down, Pierrot,” you chuckled. “It took a few days, but it was nothing. Really.”
Days. He beamed down at you in absolute, unadulterated delight.
“They're called wisteria,” you said, turning your head to admire the faux blooms. Pierrot, however, remained entirely locked on you. “I’ve always liked them. My grandmother used to grow them, and I always thought they looked so pretty in the spring. They aren't ipe tree blooms like the ones you talked about, but... I guess this is my way of sharing a part of my favorite things with you, too.”
Gods strike him down—you were an absolute treasure. You remembered his favorites. You had just dropped entirely new lore about yourself. He would make absolutely sure your next few moments together were deliciously heavenly.
While you were looking away, he leaned down, resting his forehead gently against your temple. His eyes remained wide, greedily drinking in your small smile. His sharpened teeth fully exposed themselves now, widening into a wickedly pleased, ferocious grin—safe in the knowledge that you couldn't see it.
Your hands slid down to his elbows, giving them a slight, happy squeeze as you bit your lip. It was a silly contrast to Pierrot, who routinely exploded with emotion, but you couldn't help it.
“Your tent looks so cozy now...” you whispered.
“It is only because it has your touch, my dear,” he purred, leaning in to nuzzle his face affectionately against yours.
Beneath his skin, he was absolutely buzzing, frantically debating which poorly restrained, chaotic display of affection he was going to unleash upon you tonight...
