listen i am geralt of rivia hater number one but one thing i actually CANNOT stand is when the fandom mischaracterizes him. took one look at this man who speaks very straight-forwardly and matter-of-fact and is a little recalcitrant with his words sometimes and went "haha he communicates in grunts! man who only says 'hm'!" and then won't even write him to speak in full fucking sentences. hello???? hello???????? yes the netflix show was a bad influence on everybody because they were trying too hard to depict geralt as a stoic manly badass but we CANNOT let that distract us from the REAL thing to make fun of geralt for. which are his Constant Unprovoked Monologues
ngl i do hate this post and i think it's a byproduct of fandom's obnoxious lean toward this idea that in order to be a true fan of anything you have to be ~critical~ of it which is a sentiment that pisses me off immensely. that being said this is a little bit how i feel whenever i point out chris's conservative leaning as a result of his parents on this website ghlkajfd
Tim, walking into the Batcave and noticing everyone’s distraught appearance: What’s wrong?? Who died??
Stephanie: We have bad news Tim. You should sit down.
Tim: Oh shit did someone actually die?? Who was it this time?
Dick: Remember that civilian that we catch trailing after us every so often? The one who was involved in the Penguin incident awhile ago?
Tim: Oh. Clarissa O’Neal? What about her?
Damian: She was taken hostage by one of Black Masks henchmen. We didn’t make it in time to save her.
Tim: ? And that’s why you guys are so upset? C’mon guys lighten up, it’s movie night
Jason, getting visibly pissed: What the Fuck dude. A civilian we were close to fucking died because we didn’t make it in time
Dick: I know you didn’t like her much but show a bit of empathy Timmy. You usually take these situations seriously
Tim: I’ve been trying to kill her off for ages. Why would I be upset??
Steph: Tim you have 10 seconds to fix your attitude before i fix it for you
Jason: Since when do you take people’s lives so lightly? Dude you need to leave before I do something i regret.
Tim: I didn’t know you guys were so attached to her. I could revive her if you want, but honestly it’s more effort than it’s worth. And she was getting unwanted attention from the rogues so she had to go.
Damian: Revive?? Timothy what are you on about? And why are you saying that like you personally set up her demise?
Tim: Because I did? The planning for it took forever but I have to admit everything went a lot better than I was expecting.
Dick: TIM WHAT—
Jason: WHAT THE HELL—
Damian: MURDER? You?!
Steph, screaming over everyone else: WAIT SHUT UP
Steph: TIM NO YOU DID NOT
Steph: TIM DON’T TELL ME YOU DID IT AGAIN
Dick: Again?!? What are you talking about?!
Steph, laughing: Guys calm down. HE was Clarissa
Tim: You guys didn’t know??
Jason: HOW WERE WE SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT THE HISPANIC LOOKING WOMEN IN HER MID TWENTIES AND A CRIME ALLEY ACCENT WAS YOU
Dick: Tim i am THIS CLOSE to burning down your disguise room.
Damian: Timothy explain yourself
Tim: I had an undercover op that I needed a female field agent for a couple years ago to infiltrate penguins operations. Over time She became a bit too important and Black mask was threatening her. So I decided to kill her off. I got the info I needed already and it was becoming a bit of a drag keeping up appearances
Steph: You need to stop getting us emotionally invested in your aliases and then killing them off. This is the fourth time you did this to me. I’ll never forgive you for Alvin Draper, I still grieve him even though i know you’re alive!
Tim: YOU guys need to start recognizing me in disguise. Worlds greatest detectives MY ASS
Jason: DUDE YOU GAVE YOURSELF DOUBLE D’s WHY WOULD WE ASSUME THAT WAS YOU
Damian: My training in this area has been neglected. Timothy show me your disguise lair
Tim: Sure, after movie night. Let’s go
Dick: This is gonna bite us in the ass. Damian is already so good at impressions. We will never know if someone we are talking to is him or not
Tim: LMAO When i’m done with him? Yea everyone’s fucked
Steph: It’s gonna give Roger from American dad
Bruce from the corner: *Breathes a sigh of relief*
Bruce at the Batcomputer: *Sighs and moves Clarissa O’Neal from ‘Real Civilian Death’ folder to ‘Tim’s Fake Identities’ folder. Creates new folder labeled ‘Damian’s Fake Identities’
Simon stands frozen in the corridor outside the break room, coffee mug forgotten in his hand.
Inside, you’re laughing with Gaz and a couple of the intel girls, voice bright and careless.
“You can all keep your nonchalant men,” you say, stirring sugar into your tea with unnecessary violence. “I want a chalant one. Someone who texts back fast, who stares too long, who gets excited over nothing and tells me about it. I’m so bloody tired of guessing.”
Gaz snorts, arms crossed casually. “Good luck finding that in this unit.” Meanwhile, Simon’s ears are already burning under the mask. Of course, Gaz has to talk shit now in that smooth London–accent of his.
Simon has spent the last four months being meticulously, painfully nonchalant.
He times his arrivals so he’s already at his desk when you walk in with the morning briefings (never early enough to seem eager). He limits himself to one greeting per day, gruff and quiet. When you wear the burgundy skirt that hugs your hips so perfectly, he stares at the computer screen so hard the pixels blur.
Simon deletes half the texts he types to you before sending (the ones that say things like you looked nice today or missed your presence in the briefing).
He once almost asked if you wanted to grab coffee after work and instead muttered something about ammunition counts and walked away.
He thought he was being careful. Respectful. Professional.
Turns out he’s been doing the opposite of exactly what you want in a man.
Simon’s heart—old, rusted thing that it is—starts hammering like he’s twenty-five again and spotting a pretty girl across the mess in Hereford for the first time in years.
He retreats to his office, shuts the door, and spends ten full minutes staring at the wall.
Existential crisis is too small a word. It’s a full-system reboot.
By 1700 hours he’s still there, mask off, running a hand over his jaw, rehearsing sentences in his head that sound nothing like the Ghost anyone knows. At 1712 he gives up pretending to work, and he finds you at your desk in the outer office, packing up for the day.
You look up, surprised to see him lingering.
“Captain wants the revised sit-rep on his desk by 1800,” he says harsher than intended. It’s a lie. Price is off-base until tomorrow.
You nod, already reaching for the file. Simon clears his throat. Once. Twice. Swallowing too thickly both times.
“Actually,” he says, voice still embarrassingly rough, “I was wonderin’ if you’ve eaten yet.”
You blink.
“Because I haven’t,” he continues, the words tumbling out before he can stop them, “and there’s a decent Indian place fifteen minutes away. If y’like curry. Or if you don’t, we could find something else. I don’t mind. I just—I’d like to buy you dinner.”
He stops, mortified at how loud his pulse is in his own ears.
You stare at him for a long second, lips parted. Then your face softens into the kind of smile that makes his chest hurt like he’s been stabbed.
“I love curry,” you say quietly, and Simon exhales like he’s been holding his breath for months. “Good,” he manages awkwardly. “That’s... good.”
He hovers while you grab your coat, hands flexing at his sides like he wants to help but doesn’t know if he’s allowed.
As you two walk past Gaz (who just happens to be there) toward the door, the Sergeant grins into his fresh cup of coffee, murmuring: “Took you long enough, sir.”
Simon shoots him a swift glare and follows you out, ears still burning, but for the first time in years the silence around him feels hopeful instead of deafeningly safe.
The time Simon went MIA for 7 months on Nanny!Reader
It, of course, was out the blue while he was stationed out of country. You sent your daily updates and almost always Simon replied.
But then he stopped replying.
Not a call. Not a text. Not even from an unknown number.
It was you and the twins who were four. And there was no one else, you didn’t know Simons mother, and there wasn’t anyone you knew of that was close to Simon outside of the 141.
You and Simon were the only two. You were the emergency contact, the guardian at pickup and putting the twins down. You were the person who really had to be a parent and the babysitter. There when Julie got a fever and Jamie would cry because Julie was crying. Or when Jamie wrote his and his sisters name for the first time. And the time Julie learned that big girls can cry when they need help too. And when the twins used there bicycles for the first time.
It’s not like you haven’t done it before, just after the twins turned three Simon got deployed for 4 months. But he was still letting you know he was alive.
Everything was in the air here.
He could be dead or alive and you wouldn’t know. Fuck, you didn’t know, spending late nights with the twins in your arms, thinking about what you would need to do to protect those kids. Moving, collecting your spare funds— anything for these two.
And then on a lazy Saturday afternoon—
It’s that special ring tone that rings through your ears, the kids know it and the both of them turn to your phone. You scurry off into the hallway head against the wall. You hear his breathing first, then his deep Manchester accent, “Hey.”
“You’re alive.” And you said it ever so plainly, just under a question.
“Yeah,” there’s a beat, “And the twins? How are they?”
You almost laughted sarcastically, mouth agape then forming into a thin line. Then repeated. No apology, no explanation, just ‘how are the kids?’ And you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to bury the irritation— no— the fury building inside you tall as the eye can see. Your ears almost go out, but you hear those two adorable brunettes, singing along to the Zoboomafoo theme song, dancing up a storm.
Cute, your kids are really fucking adorable it almost hurts.
You smack your teeth, let out an exhale, “Clench your fucking jaw the next time I see you.”
And with that, you hung up.
You gave the kids such a perfect smile telling them their Daddy would be home soon and how you should all prepare drawings for Daddy! And they were both all smiles and giggles while you pulled out paper and crayons and set them on the coffee table.
The brute gets back in one piece, thankfully, an hour before nap time a week or so later. The twins are in tears because they missed him so much they don’t even know why they feel the way they do. They just know he was gone for too long and Simon is more than overjoyed to be back. A relief that he’s seeing his kids once again after fighting through hell to get back home. The too rascals crawl about the big man, their huge copy. God, it’s too cute for your heart. Your heart swelling, pounding, it’s the whirlwind of emotions going through you.
Simon doesn’t know what to say to you exactly, trying to find the right words to tell you something since he got on the second flight he had to get on to get back home. By the time he gets downstairs after getting the kids down for their nap, he still doesn’t know what to say.
And he see’s you leaning with one hand on the kitchen island, taking a sip of tea you’ve just brewed for yourself and then there a shot of liquor in another glass.
Before the older man can say anything before you move, gritting, a much needed reminder, “Your jaw.”
Right! She said to—
And it’s a quick but harsh blow to the face with your fist. One that makes Simon stumble backwards a few feet. It’s one he’ll know will bruise, he’s lucky no blood came from it.
“[+]-“
“—It’d be one thing if you and I both didn’t give a shit about your kids. But we both love those two new humans to pieces and you leave me hanging in a harsh wind to dry, for months? Hah- have you lost your mind?” You squint.
“I thought you’d gone with God a-and I fully prepared for the absolute worst. ‘Okay, how do I get custody of Julie and Jamie? How am I gonna provide? Should I call my mom? Where is this man’s body so you don’t rot alone?’ I- ooooh!” You let out a frustrated noise, sock covered feet slapping against the hardwood floor.
You hold your hands together tight with a loud clap! Finally looking him in his blue eyes and you can see it. All the remorse that he’s holding for putting you in this state. For making his own kids unknowingly worry and you panicked and afraid—
“And I wanna be so fucking clear— this isn’t about me! This about those two kids,” you point upstairs while whispering, “And them getting the best of you that they deserve and not being put on the fucking back burner! I don’t care about jurisdiction or you can’t legally make a call! I don’t give a shit if you have to send a fucking pigeon in the air to get to me o-or some shit through Morse code! You let me know if you’re living or not because it’s not just you anymore. You have a family now and they love you! You can’t leave them- shit- us behind! Divide the fucking earth in half if you have to and come back here and tell me! Live for them and live for yourself for godsake!”
Simon finally takes a step forward to you, pulling you into his big arms. You wrap your arms around his back, hitting him and letting out frustrated stomps and incoherent noises.
“You’re a bloody annoyin asshole.”
“I know,” he breaths, “I’m sorry.”
You let out a wrangled groan, hitting his back once again. And it’s finally coming out, that crack in the back of your throat, tears dampening his military uniform.
“Fuck, I’ll burry you myself if you ever try this shit again. You’ll be below the seven rings of hell!” You let out a muffled cry, clenching onto his uniform for dear life.
He rests his chin on your shoulder, squeezing you tight. “I know, love, I know. ‘M sorry.”
God, this was home. This is what love meant in every single way.
And that’s probably when Simon Riley fell in love with you for the first time.
a/n: CAN YOU— A DRAAAG PAAAATH, ETCHED IN THE SURFACE AS EVIDENCE, I LEFT THERE ON PURPOSE—
Pairing: Pierrot/Gender Neutral MC
~~~~~WITH SKETCHES BY ME THROUGHOUT THE FANFIC ITSELF :D ~~~~SOME IN COLORRRRR~~~~~~~
Summary: You've always been an impulsive person, living life jumping from one adventure (or disaster) onto the next. Thankfully a certain clown seems to happily tolerate your rash behavior. That is, until you do something so unexpected that even the quiet, sweet Pierrot is thrown off his game.
(Author notes at the end with a BONUS sketchhhh, also this fic is on my A03 linked here (leave a comment or kudos if you are able!)
THIS FIC IS BASED OFF OF MY PIERROT COMIC LINKED HERE and @local-shrub's MC!
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Making rash decisions based on feeling alone was both a blessing and a curse.
Your infamous impulsivity ranged from complimenting a stranger’s clothes on the street to purchasing a 2-year lease for an apartment without ever seeing it in person. Thankfully, the latter issue worked out just fine; this time, anyway. Your current place wasn’t perfect, but far from a hovel. Still, this headlong lifestyle attracted trouble like a magnet dropped in a bucket of nails. It affected both your work life and personal life in ways that haunted you to this day.
Second-hand embarrassment, especially from your own memories, was no joke.
Yet nothing, not even the odd encounter you JUST had with a green clown who introduced himself ‘The Harlequin’ this morning, could stop your smile.
All because, as of yesterday, your spontaneity actually helped to make a new friend.
Or at least you hoped it did.
Bullies took up a decent chunk of your childhood, especially since you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. The idea of picking on someone for their looks or speech or whatever else, filled you with an old rage. All the memories of past tormentors resurfaced the day you witnessed a man punching a defenseless circus performer in the street. All over wild accusations of kidnapping and paranoid rambling. Yeesh. What proof did this jerk even have that the circus had anything to do with the missing woman from the local news? You knew from experience that this bully just wanted someone to blame; taking these frustrations out on an unarmed civilian passing out flyers.
So naturally, without a second thought, you stepped in.
People who hesitated made little sense to someone with your reckless mindset. Only those who took action were able to get things done. So, like how you often did things without thinking, you intervened. And strangely enough, that worked out too! A proud feeling swelled inside as you glared at the jerk pathetically dragging himself away from the scene.
Maybe it was okay to make rash decisions every now and again.
This was surely the proof, right?
Only good karma could come from this.
Immediately, you helped the poor (yet extremely tall) circus performer, whom you’d come to know later as The Pierrot, to his feet. After making sure he was ok, you even gave him one of the many bandages resting neatly in your workbag (a sad necessity due to your spontaneous nature). The slightly injured clown didn’t speak to you then, but instead communicated by nodding when asked if he was ok. However, things changed once you got a good look at the towering man up close.
Such an intricate costume was a sight to behold. Gold accents glistering in light that bounced off of the nearby shop windows and stone walls. Black stripes wrapping against the deep crimson of his hat, like tongues in a kiss. And was that….silver hair? Perhaps it was a wig, though the light strands looked so soft to you that they almost bled with the clouds in the sky (with which his great height seemingly reached). Above everything however, you couldn’t help but notice the golden eyes he had. What an unusual color!
Without thinking it through, as usual, you leaned toward him. Entranced while handing over the pink band aid from your bag. So spellbound that in your predictably rash yet innocent manner, you blurted out:
“Wow….you have the most beautiful, brightest eyes I’ve ever seen.”
You almost heard a choked (slightly muffled) gasp from the silent clown’s strained throat. Like dust clearing out of an old attic’s floorboards, he creaked as a response. Though it might’ve been literally anything else too. It was, after all, a busy street despite the earlier commotion. People and cars ran by the two of you in a hazy blur. Yet the clown’s face, while seemingly masked, did look a little taken aback with a now strained smile.
Oh no.
You hoped you hadn’t scared him off with your unprompted comment; a sadly common response in your life. Naturally, you apologized with a soft voice while blushing out of embarrassment. Both of you, red as the deep crimson of the clown’s silken suit, stood awkwardly in the road for a moment too long. So long that a pill bug curled itself by your foot and rolled away before you had the chance to act.
Oh Well, a bleak thought brewed with an internal groan, there I go again. Being my ever-so-charming self. It’s a mystery I’m still single.
Much to your surprise, despite the awkwardness, you actually saw the silent stranger again later that night!
Finally, at your workplace, you ended up learning that the clown’s name, or at least his job title, was The Pierrot. And as a thank you for your kind gesture earlier, he gifted a free ticket to his show.
“I assure you I will make you smile during my performance,” his wide mouth stretched to the corners of his reddening face.
“Can’t wait to see you there, Bright Eyes!”
Your grin grew remembering how deeply The Pierrot blushed at the nickname given to him as you wiped the counters of dust before this morning’s shift began. At first you were mortified that you just called this random guy ‘Bright Eyes’ out of nowhere! It was rude to give someone a name like that without their permission, wasn’t it? Luckily, after apologizing profusely on your part, Pierrot assured you that he was ok with it. Really ok with it.
Yesterday held a pleasant memory that continued to carry you even after this busy and rather bizarre morning with The Harlequin.
It didn’t help that soon after you heard about your own co-worker’s sudden and mysterious exit. Carol, a woman you used to worked with, hadn’t told anyone she was going away. Running out of town without any notice; leaving you and your understaffed boss to pick up the slack at the café.
Admittedly, this brand-new day was starting to feel like, well, a lot already. Even for someone as up-beat as you, it made your bright morning quickly turn overcast. Not completely cloudy, but enough to make you cautious of whatever else was to come. Thankfully, the chill of the door opening behind you helped bring things back into perspective.
With your back to the door, you took a breath for a second, vowing that today would be good.
Today would be productive.
And today, you would keep your loose lips shut!
As the bells of the entryway rang, you turned from behind the counter, ready to greet the first few customers of the day with your best retail smile.
“Good morning! Ah!”
Sun glowed like a halo behind the crimson clown as he strolled inside. A wintery breeze from behind wafted in, caressing your bare arms. The action causing goosebumps to form. Despite this, your shivering from the brisk weather seemed to spur your new friend closer towards you.
“It’s you again! Want something to drink, Pierrot?” you asked with a friendly grin.
Seeing the crimson clown in one piece sent a wave of relief through you. Something about how earlier The Harlequin’s toothy grin as Pierrot gripped the green ticket you almost (impulsively) took from his rival seemed a little too real to be a street show. Still, the blushing face Pierrot sported now was enough to reassure that everything seemed to be ok.
Though his odd choice of drink seemed to indicate otherwise, “Alright, have a seat Bright Eyes and sit tight! I’ll bring it to your table.”
For a moment it seemed as though his golden orbs glowed as his new nickname flew out from your lips. Though it was light outside this winter morning so maybe it was just a sun spot? Who knows, right? You shrugged it off and turned away from your new friend with a short wave; sitting with his usual quiet grin. Before you could start on Pierrot’s order, your boss stopped you. Cautiously, the café owner didn’t want any circus performers to linger in his café without paying nor handing out flyers inside. Quickly, you alleviated his fears with a smile saying that your new friend had in fact ordered a drink and wouldn’t solicit any customers.
With that done, your boss went to check on inventory in the back room as you turned around to abruptly face---
“Whoa!” a gasp fell out. “You scared me!”
Pierrot suddenly appeared leaning towards you over the counter. He was so close you started to wonder what on earth he wanted at this proximity.
“Pierrot?” you took in a sharp breath as he firmly grabbed your bicep; clawed fingers tracing over the muscle beneath your cotton shirt. The feeling of those sharp nails against your arm was enough to make you nervous, though you weren’t sure at first in which way.
“I was just going to get your shake,” a reasonable excuse to leave despite the nervousness in your voice.
Still, Pierrot only leaned more-so over the counter. His strong grip begging your body closer to him. Since when were his hands so big?, You wondered to yourself. Bright yellow eyes once more on yours like lures; such a beautiful color that seemed too perfect to be real. Surely the performers were all using contacts, yet the gold suited The Pierrot; now more than ever before. There was something predatory about the way he was looking at you just now. You felt yourself nearing the silent clown against your will, his demeanor making you a bit disoriented. No one, not even your best relationships had someone look at you with such….
…Hunger?
The cat-like slits of his eyes indicated as such.
A chill you hadn’t felt since your high school sweetheart danced with you at prom, traveled down the arm trapped in Pierrot’s firm grip.
Eyes widening upon realizing why the silent clown was acting this way. After all, there was only one reason a person leaned in so close to another, wasn’t it? Surely just one reason and no other. Your face reddened as his mouth parted, confirming your theory. Strangely enough, it was still hard to tell, even at this proximity, if he was wearing a mask or not. Though, to be fair, you were too mesmerized by his bewitching manner to pay attention to such details. Pierrot’s movements, now so close that his breathe was hot against your cheek, compelled you to act swiftly. To respond to his obvious want.
There was no going back now.
Perhaps The Pierrot began to whisper something before you did what you did, but it hardly mattered.
Nothing else mattered anymore.
His lips were harder than expected, still they did mold against yours like a kiss should. He was warm, very warm. Almost as though Pierrot’s entire body was burning the longer you continued it. In your mind, this was what he wanted so why not give it to him? It’s just the logical thing to do when someone leans in so close, right? The clown was sweet, and it’s certainly not the first time your impromptu nature kissed someone cute out of nowhere. Sure, these types of actions got you into trouble like dating a DJ who cheated on you. Twice.
But how could you resist? He leaned in first after all.
With a secure feeling in your soul of souls that this was the right call, you grinned cheekily while parting from him.
“So….Liked it?”
Then your heart sank.
There, with your arm still in his now slackened grip was The Pierrot with a completely shocked and blank expression. Eyes wide, pupils small as beads, and mouth for once turned downward in an open frown. The shock of seeing such an unusual expression on your always smiling new friend suddenly made you panic.
Did you break him?
“Pierrot? Hello?” you chuckled nervously, using your spare arm to wave in front of his empty face, blushing harder than ever before.
Oh Yeah, you broke him.
Pierrot.exe definitely crashed on your countertop.
Crap. Did you misread his intentions? Did you mess up again? Why did you always do things like this? Fear consumed everything as you bit your lip. Your mind replaying over and over again what the silent clown was doing right before leaning in; how you could’ve messed this all up. Surely, he was going in for a kiss, right? Or did he possibly want something else? You knew he couldn’t speak in public, so what was he doing? Wait……didn’t you hear him say something right before you planted one on him? Ugh, what was it!? Sweat started to gather in the back of your neck. Maybe you ruined this, whatever it was the two of you had, before it even began.
Wouldn’t’ve been the first time.
“Well, uh,” Pierrot’s hands now trembling and open, letting you slip out of the clawed grip. Slowly as not to freak him out any further.
“I’ll just go get your drink.”
Stupid, stupid, stupid, you groaned internally while trying to hold a glass for his milkshake in your now sweaty hands. What does he think of me now?
What indeed.
Was all of this another dream? Oh how cruel it’d be if so. What more proof did Pierrot’s kind need that they weren’t favored by the light, if all of this turned out to be yet another hallucination of his gradually fracturing mind.
In spite of that, the burning on Pierrot’s lips and the shuddering of your shoulders as you wobbled towards the soft serve machine was proof enough. A lithe tongue peaked out just a hint from behind his large pointed teeth. Licking his lips slowly, languidly over the contours of the mask. How he savored the sweet taste left behind. Delicou---wonderful, like ambrosia mixed with torn flesh. Pierrot’s eyes dilated at the sensation while taking a deep breath, daring to capture even a hint of your scent.
That. DID. Just. Happen.
You…..wanted him?
You loved him?
It was so soon. Far too soon. Though the quickened pace of his heart stopped The Pierrot from second-guessing this blessing any further. What did it matter that it didn’t make any sense? The fact was---you loved him. Didn’t you? Why would you do that otherwise? Or was he assuming things? Misunderstanding again? Never in his wildest fantasies did the crimson clown’s mind dare to think he could have you NOW. Right now. Surely that is what you meant by all this? You were giving him permission to take you, right? By giving him this gift, you opened yourself fully to his love with a warm and waiting embrace.
Oh yes….the gift of your lips.
Softer than the petals of the bloodied paper flower he gave you just one day prior.
Had it really been that long ago? Could he have had you sooner?
How long did you feel this way? Why couldn’t you have given him a sign?
If only he’d known!
The clown’s arm was still trembling, elbow standing up on the counter and clawed hand reaching out towards you. Yearning to hold his true love again. Your figure blurred as Pierrot’s golden pupils struggled to focus amid the storm in his mind. Though it wasn’t until after clutching his claws in and out a few times that the clown realized you weren’t actually near. The warmth you exuded on his mouth and hand still stayed with him like a brand of molten iron on his skin.
No.
Why were you gone? Why weren’t you here still in his hold?
He needed more.
He had to have more.
It wasn’t enough, it wasn’t fair.
He wasn’t prepared for this.
If only he’d known your true feelings sooner, then he would have never let you go that quickly. He would’ve held you tighter, yes, that would have done it. Tighter and forever. Kept you closer, made it all last longer. Even a single second more would’ve sated him for days to come.
Finally, Pierrot stood up from his chair.
For some reason making this milkshake was taking longer than normal. No, actually, you knew exactly why. You needed to stall for time, BADLY. How were you going to fix this awkward situation? Did you just assault a clown? How do you even begin to apologize for that? Would you ever be able to show your face to him again? Why wouldn’t he just say something already?
The latter, obvious, question you would’ve remembered the answer to if your anxiety-ridden brain allowed it. For now, everything just felt like a hodgepodge of bad decisions and assumptions swirling like the ice cream in Pierrot’s half-filled glass.
Even so, there was a part of you that didn’t hate what happened.
While you weren’t exactly looking to get into another relationship at the moment, it wasn’t an unwelcome prospect. After all, it’s not like getting involved with a circus performer, who’d probably just leave in a month or two at the latest, was the worst decision you ever made?
Even if you both had stayed only friends, it wouldn’t have lasted anyway.
Ah. Right….
That last thought somehow filled you with a little more sadness than expected.
Not that there was any time to linger on such things as a loud slam broke through the silence of the empty café. Your shoulders hiked up in alarm as you found yourself trapped between The Pierrot’s quivering, large arms. Or at least you thought it was Pierrot. In front of you was a man with a feral sort of grin, one you’d only seen on tigers in nature books. A curved, crooked sort of smirk was drawn on his mask. Clawed hands on either side of your head gripped the soft serve machine tight enough that you worried for a fleeting moment if he’d leave imprints on the hard plastic. Except, despite this completely new expression from the silent clown, Pierrot managed to keep a proper distance. Trapping you, yes, but far enough away to allow some breathing room, unlike before.
After looking around the café for a moment to make sure the two of you were still alone, the clown managed to utter out a sentence in a raspy, deep and almost nervous tone.
“M-May…..May I have another?”
A moment passed you both by, stilling time before an answer was found. Involuntarily you backed a little into the machine behind you, unsure of what to make of all this. You hadn’t even heard him approach. Not to mention, how did he get over here so quickly? Did he jump over the counter or something? Well, he was from the circus after all, maybe he was an acrobat too? Or a ninja? A clown ninja?
Your malfunctioning brain managed only to mutter a quiet reply with one corner of your mouth tiling upward nervously:
“Another….shake?”
It was ridiculous to ask. Granted, not the worst answer you’ve ever given (no, that prize belonged in the essay portion of your college exams), but definitely up there. Regardless, The Pierrot’s eyes opened a millimeter wider as you spoke. Pupils growing into larger sharp ovals, as he strained to shake his head at the innocent question.
Oh.
Oh ok.
Words finally failed you.
A trait your companion knew all too well, waiting patiently with the same acute expression as before (though you could’ve sworn there was some drool forming on the side of his lower lip).
“Another, huh?” Now you were blushing even more than he was. “Another what?”
You knew. Or at least…
No. Not this time. You needed to be sure, to not misunderstand, to not assume. All the same, your impulse caused you to reach forward with both hands, fingers brushing against the side of his supposedly masked face. The action caused Pierrot’s eyes to shine even brighter than the florescent lamps above. This time, you were the one leaning forward, whispering.
“Another……?” your thumb brushes against his lip.
A loud gulp could be heard as the silent clown seemed to melt under your touch.
Oh wow, you thought excitedly.
With that, your entire body lit up. Things were starting to click for once in your scrambled gray matter. You realized this wasn’t the first time he silently begged for you like this. Even from the beginning those brightest of eyes spoke a language all on their own. All of The Freak Circus performers were intimidating, scary even, as was their brand, but this one? This tall, toothy, clown with eyes like pools of lava was now putty in your literal hands.
Moving one finger over his cheek caused Pierrot to shudder, leaning closer made him breath harder. The power, the control. It intoxicated you and it was always there. Never before did it feel like you actually had someone’s life in your hands. It was terrifying, wrong even. No one should have this control over someone else, logically speaking, yet you couldn’t help but drink it all in one gulp. What the hell did that say about you?
Perhaps there was no misunderstanding earlier after all.
Maybe he did want this from the beginning, but you had to be completely sure.
“Ok….Tell me, Bright Eyes,” you whispered with a daring, hungry look of your own. “What do you want from me?”
A trick of the light, it must’ve been, as it seemed like his pupils formed golden hearts. Leaning forward, he carefully and hotly whispered his reply before a horrid chime rang through both of your ears like the shot of a pistol.
“Mommy, look! A clown!”
You nearly squeaked, ducking under the tall, now rigid red figure before you to greet the small crowd of customers who began to pour in. With a flushed face and sweaty brow you still managed to use your oh-so-reliable spontaneity to your advantage. Some customers, as you seated them, even asked if the café was in any way associated with the circus after seeing Pierrot behind the counter. Questions that made you hastily correct them before returning to The Pierrot’s unreadable form. Said clown stood still as a statue in the same spot as you left him, clutching the soft serve machine with a quiet anger.
It was kind of funny really. All of this. Funnier though if you hadn’t been so distracted, nearly getting caught fraternizing with a complete, yet alluring, stranger. You almost reached out towards the seemingly disappointed (shell shocked?) performer, until without warning he stood up straight. The gesture was so quick you almost felt a breeze from the graceful movement. Pierrot’s usual cryptic smile returning as he walked back with what seemed to be a slight strain in his step, to the other side of the counter.
Well, that was quick.
You smiled and even laughed at the act. He was so intense one moment and awkward the next that it was endearing. This whole thing….whatever it was…whatever was happening…it was so bizarre that you just had to laugh it out. What a day!
“Thanks, Pierrot,” you wiped a tear from your eye with a genuine smile beaming at him. “I needed that.”
Finally, The Pierrot began to resemble his usual self. Less rigid with a relaxing gaze, reddened face, and softer expression as your joy permeated so freely around him. Only him.
It was a nice moment while it lasted.
Unfortunately, one of the women seated yelled at the two of you from her table, breaking-up the sweet moment. She ended up accusing you of not only being lazy but also of spending more time goofing off with your ‘friend’ instead of working. For a moment a look of fear flashed over your face as you hoped she wouldn’t go telling your boss. You needed this job. Immediately, you apologized and began to hastily get back to work. Never seeing how Pierrot observed your frantic behavior with some worry. Nor how he eventually turned to look at the rude woman with a different sort of hunger. A hunger that the clown wouldn’t dare show you if he could help it.
“Uh here you go…..sir?” the last bit felt strange on your tongue after everything that happened. “Finally….your milkshake.”
Pierrot in his usual sweet way paid for his drink with an additional chocolate bar as a tip. It was such a cute thing to do that you couldn’t help but chuckle again, thanking him for his kindness. Sadly, even after getting the rude woman her coffee, she still didn’t seem satisfied and left in a huff under the clown’s piercing gaze. Relief washed over the whole café as she walked out. Then, the day was over. Pierrot, now close to the entryway, started to wave a goodbye.
Though before he left, something rang in your ears besides the bells of the door. It was the word he whispered before you two were interrupted, the answer to your question.
What did he want from you?
Everything.
“Oh wait! Pierrot,” you yelled while waving back from the counter.
The clown stopped for a moment, halfway outside, and smiled. His eyes once more on you and you alone.
“I’ll uh, see you tonight, yeah?” you gulped, looking away from him with a shyness not befitting what was coming next. “And….if you want…we could continue where we left off….later.”
A/N: An alternate ending where Pierrot DID go into cardiac arrest and Harlequin has to drag him out before paramedics arrive can be found here XD:
So special thanks again to @local-shrub for both beta reading this fic and for letting me use their MC!!
To clarify, this alllll started as an ask @nekoboydreams answered regarding how Pierrot would react if the MC just straight-up kissed him when he visits the cafe for the second time. It was so funny, the reaction i mean, that I drew this comic of it XD. Then, I realized I realllllllly wanted to write this all out as a fic and local-shrub kindly offered some advice on how they envisioned their very impulsive MC!!
It was a fun challenge trying to balance an MC who just DOES things randomly and is somewhat embarrassed by this behavior.
Likely though, there 'could' be a chapter2 to this---but if I do it >_> it will get a tad spicy. Considering that MC/Pierrot would pick up where they left off. Let me know if you all wannnnnttt~~ enjoyyyyy~
Please leave a kudos/comment on the a03 version if you can!
the conference room feels stifling even with the ac humming overhead. price’s voice drones on about insertion points and contingency plans, laser pointer sweeping across the projected map. soap cracks a quiet joke to your left. gaz nods along seriously. and across the wide table sits simon — skull mask firmly in place, arms crossed over his massive chest, every inch the focused lieutenant.
you should be taking notes. you can’t.
because every time he shifts in his chair, your mind drags you back to this morning.
you’d both arrived early, like you do at least once a week. the underground parking garage was still dim and quiet when simon pulled you into his truck. he didn’t waste time with words. the second the doors shut, he had your pants yanked down and you straddling his lap, thick cock already hard and pressing against you.
“fuck, simon,” you’d gasped as you sank down onto him, the stretch burning so good it made your head spin. “we’re gonna be late again.”
he’d just growled against your neck, gloved hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise. “then you better ride me faster, sweetheart.”
the truck had rocked with every bounce. windows fogging up fast as you rode him hard, hands braced on his shoulders, his tactical hoodie pushed up so you could feel the heat of his skin. every time you dropped down he bottomed out, hitting that perfect spot that had you whimpering his name.
“that’s it,” he’d rasped, voice rough with sleep and lust. “take every inch. been thinking about this cunt all week.”
you came first, clenching around him with a choked moan, thighs shaking. simon followed right after, thrusting up sharply and spilling deep inside you while he held you down on his cock, breathing heavy against your throat.
“good girl,” he’d murmured, not pulling out yet. “keep me warm a little longer.”
you’d stayed like that until the clock forced you to move — his cum still leaking out when you finally climbed off and fixed your clothes. he watched you with dark eyes the whole time, a satisfied twitch at the corner of his mask.
now, hours later, you’re still feeling every second of it.
price turns to you suddenly. “you good with the secondary extraction route?”
you blink, heat rushing to your face as you force yourself back to the present. “yeah — yeah, it looks solid. but what about the timing on the northern perimeter? if we hit traffic from the construction, we might need to adjust the window by ten minutes.”
your voice comes out steadier than you feel. soap nods in agreement. gaz scribbles something down.
across the table, simon’s eyes flick to you. dark. amused. knowing.
you squeeze your thighs together under the table, the dull ache between your legs reminding you exactly why you’re distracted. you can still feel how full he made you this morning, the faint stickiness in your panties every time you shift.
price continues, pointing to the next slide. you try to contribute properly.
“the intel on the guard rotations seems off,” you say, leaning forward a little. “we should double-check the night shift patterns before we commit.”
simon speaks up then, his low manchester accent cutting through the room calm and professional. “she’s right. better to confirm than risk it.”
you glance up at him. his gaze holds yours a second too long, and suddenly you’re back in the truck — remembering how he’d groaned your name when you clenched around him, the way his hands had guided your hips faster, the filthy praise spilling from his lips.
“fuck, you feel so good,” he’d growled this morning, teeth grazing your collarbone. “that’s it, love… come on my cock again. let me feel you fall apart.”
you clear your throat and add, “we could also scout an alternate route through the eastern sector if the main one gets compromised.”
gaz nods. “good call.”
but your focus is slipping again. every time simon shifts those broad shoulders or flexes his gloved hands on the table, your mind replays the wet sounds of skin on skin, the way the truck gently rocked, the deep groan he let out when he came inside you and held you there, refusing to let you go right away.
soap cracks a joke about the op. everyone laughs lightly. you manage a small smile, but it’s weak.
when price asks for final thoughts, you speak up one more time. “just make sure we have backup comms ready. last time the signal dropped in that area.”
simon gives a single nod, but you catch the subtle way his eyes darken behind the mask when he looks at you.
the meeting finally wraps. chairs scrape back as soap and gaz stand first, still chatting about potential adjustments. price gathers his files and heads toward the door.
simon lingers.
he walks past your chair slowly, close enough that his gloved hand brushes the back of your seat. his voice drops low, rough, only for you.
“still feeling me from this morning, sweetheart? couldn’t stop thinking about how you looked riding my cock.”
you swallow hard, heat flooding your face as you look up at him. “you’re an asshole for making it this hard to focus, simon.”
the corner of his mask twitches. “good. means you’ll be wet and ready when i text you after shift.”
he doesn’t wait for a reply. just straightens up and walks out, shoulders broad under his hoodie, like he didn’t just set your entire body on fire again.
forty-eight hours until the mission.
you’re not sure you’re going to survive the next two days without dragging him into the nearest locked room and letting him ruin you all over again.
