I feel like carding my fingers through their hair would fix something in me.
Tags: SFW, Gender Neutral Reader, usual Harlequin flirts, brief mentions of blood (exceptionally brief) in Doctor's drabble.
The Freak Circus is an 18+ Visual novel Themes include but are not limited to: dark elements, strong language, sensitive graphic content. My works can depict similar themes and are not intended for minors.
Enjoy this one on the house babes!
You were on your way to work when you heard the unmistakable sound of your red clown's bells. He was passing out flyers as usual, his smile flashing as a potential visitor took a pamphlet. As you got closer he locked eyes with you his smile changing to something more warm and genuine. Your heart fluttered at the subtle subconscious gesture but was short lived as a gust of wind blew through.
A few rogue flyers escaped his grasp, his bells jingling as he frantically tried to catch them without shredding them. His eyes torn between trying to reclaim the papers and giving you the attention he felt you deserved, an embarrassed hue painting his mask. He bowed his frame down when you approached him, as he always does.
"M-my darling-" he sputtered before catching himself speaking. His hands were firmly on his flyers but you could tell he was having an internal struggle on giving you attention or risking slacking off.
You couldn't help but let out a little chuckle at his bashfulness. "It's awfully windy today huh, Pierrot?"
As if on que, another smaller gust blew through, this time though he was prepared, the papers only rustling in his grasp. He silently cursed the hair that danced in front of his view of you, but before he could correct it's delinquency he felt your hand gently coax it back in place. His eyes frantically flicking between your gentle touch and your face as his blush deepened. His hair was thin but silky, well taken care of and mostly free of tangles. You gently worked your way down the strand gently detangling anything that formed from the ruthlessness of the wind. Realizing you couldn't exactly tuck it behind an ear you opted to just twirl it gently before freeing it from your touch.
You had reached out him instinctively and paused once you realized what you had done.
"S-sorry, I should've asked," you started to pull away from him before he gently grabbed your wrist putting it back where you had it.
He leaned in closer to you, his lovestruck grin turning into something borderline sinful.
"You never have to ask to touch me, my dear."
His mind was struggling to focus on one thought but his desire to have you, his lover, his deity, his reason for being, continue to touch him was insurmountable. He was praying to whatever higher power existed to keep the winds of passion blowing so he could chase that high for eternity.
Harlequin's curls and grin have always fought for your eye's attention. Today wasn't any different.
"Well? Don't tell me you're already at a loss for words, I've barely gotten started~" he purred mere inches from your face.
He managed to corner you against a wall searching for a reaction, blocking any chance you made to squeeze around him with his arms. You honestly forgot what he even said before this because of that one curl. That one defiant curl that refuses to lay in line with the rest.
"C'mon, say it. You thought of some comeback or excuse, right? Unless you're just smirking like that because you're thinking of something else we can start, my dear one," his tongue slithering out foreboding to his implication.
You reached out and tried to train that curl to lay with it's kin. His hair was thick but soft, honestly it made you want to feel more but you decided to just fix the rogue strand.
He tensed under your sudden touch, slightly pulling away from you, battling the urge to shove you to the ground in self defense. Bracing for pain like before, but choosing to still for you instead. His eyes pin pricks that paced around your face and your hand, trying to gauge your intentions as if his life depended on it.
His mind is racing a million thoughts a second. What are you doing? Why are you-? Don't touch me-
Oblivious to his internal struggle with fight or flight, you finally managed to make his rebellious curl behave. Pulling your hand away gingerly you looked back in his eyes and realized what just happened.
"I just- That one piece was bothering me. I'm sorry, I forgot what you said before, it was just really distracting," you bashfully scrambled to find the right string of words to ease the tension.
He cleared his throat and stepped away from you, the tension in his body still noticeable as he processed what happened. He exhaled the breath he didn't realize he was holding as he fluffed his bangs, effectively undoing your careful work.
"The only thing distracting is your inability to pay attention to my charming propositions," his teasing demeanor coming back as if a switch was flipped.
"I suppose I'll have to up the ante to keep your beautiful eyes on me~"
Jester took immense pride in his hair so it was a rarity when even a single piece was out of formation. But miracles and travesties do happen once in a blue moon, and tonight it was cerulean.
He was sitting at his desk reading invoices of some recent maintenance for the circus. His elegant hair draped around his neck like a priceless shroud, except for one small exploratory strand.
You're unsure on how it managed to drape over one of his horns, if you didn't know any better you'd assume he was trying something new with his hair with how seemingly perfect it lay on the smooth ridge. You checked to see how invested he was in his numbers before even attempting to make your move. His amethyst eyes burned through sheet after sheet as he sorted through them, your time was running out.
Steeling your resolve you carefully reached for it, you could feel your hands turning clammy with the thought of getting caught, but you couldn't leave it alone. Your fingers gently made contact with the satin-like strand.
"My my, we're feeling awfully bold today, aren't we."
You recoiled at his accusation, shame and embarrassment flooding your excuse filled mouth as your eyes met his. He scanned your eyes for any ulterior motives before sighing dismissively. He broke eye contact with you as he grabbed the stack of paperwork he was signing off on, holding them out to you methodically.
"Be a good pet and take these to Bil, he'll know what to do with them."
You took the stack like a freshly disciplined child, the window for offering to help straighten his hair swiftly disappearing.
"Well? Go on. If you wanted something to touch I can assure you Pierrot is more than accommodating."
Your eyes glanced back that that mocking strand, still defiantly clinging to its' expedition to your downfall. Keeping your defeat to yourself you turn to deliver the paperwork thinking of ways to get back in Jester's good graces.
You never really noticed it until you watched him fix his own hair. Ticket Taker and Jester both always looked as if they were expecting the press to show up at any time, so it wasn't a rare occurrence to see him taking off his hat to fix himself up. But a cowlick? Now your interest was piqued.
He was really good at hiding it but he was struggling to fix his part this time. It didn't help he was in the open with visitors around either so it wasn't like he could use his mirror images to help and he definitely didn't trust any fools to help him effectively.
"May I, sir?" you meekly offered, your hand hesitantly offering reprieve from his struggle.
He weighed his options and decided he had spent enough time in his attempts. If you couldn't manage it he would just take a momentary break in privacy to fix it properly.
"Only for the sake of efficiency, do keep it minimal and brief, dear guest," he loosely admitted defeat as he lowered himself to you, an act of vulnerability that tugs at your heartstrings.
He offered a container of hair gel to you and you gingerly took a small amount of it between your fingers as you combed through the rowdy part. As you gently re-parted his hair you could feel him lean into your touch ever so slightly. You managed to part with his cowlick and use the gel to secure the ungovernable strand for now.
"There you go, back to your proper self," you beamed at him, clearly proud of your accomplishment.
He examined your work in his reflection and approved of it by putting his hat back on, his eyes glancing down at your hand that held the hair gel.
He reached into his breast pocket for a handkerchief and extended it out to you.
"Thank you for your assistance, dear visitor. Please, take this as a token of my appreciation. Now I can attend to my other duties."
You took the cloth as he gave you a subtle bow before walking off to another part of the circus, seemingly vanishing when your line of sight broke behind a pole.
You examined the handkerchief delicately, a beautiful Irish linen square with intricate blue and golden trim, fitted with a navy blue embroidered "B" in Giullia script in the corner.
There was no way you we're going to let this treasure out of your sight.
You were accustomed to seeing the Doctor asleep at his desk taking 5 minute brain naps but what you weren't accustomed to was seeing his hair after an especially needed one.
He woke with a stretch and small yawn before picking up his pen and going right back to work on his notes. He was enamored with the results from his plant grafts and had to document every detail, seemingly unaware of your prescence.
It was now your turn to study him in his natural environment. You were mostly enamored with his left side of his hair, completely ruffled and standing at every direction except the one it's supposed to lay. The blood-red color seemingly darker at the root but gradually lightening up towards the ends. He didn't have as long of hair as Harlequin, but enough length to get messy bed head you now learned.
Your mind wandered to other scenarios where his hair would look disheveled. You wondered what it would look like during his experiments that required a lot of manual labor, would it's red hue be darkened even more by his subjects fluids? Or perhaps after a shower, how much water retention does his hair hold? Does he towel dry it thoroughly? Or is he the type to just get out of the shower soaking wet and-
You're brought back to reality with a turn of his page as he slightly readjusts his posture, completely enthralled with his studies. You try to advert your gaze back to his hair mentally blocking those wandering thoughts from manning your prefrontal cortex for now.
"What is it, sweetie?" his grogginess evident in the first syllable.
"Your hair... Can I fix it?" your body speaks for you before your brain can come up with a more subtle approach. You're internal civilized dialogue fighting with your impulsive primitive mindset.
He gives you a seemingly approving grunt as he continues his steady writing.
You delicately touch the part that looks the most egregious, slowly easing into combing his hair flush with his head, being mindful of his mask. By some cruel force of nature you fix it seemingly instantly but you don't want this moment to end. You find yourself gently running your hand against the grain of his hair, purposefully disturbing it just so you can fix it again. You end up getting to infatuated with his downy-like hair that you lose track of time.
Until he moves to the other side of his notebook. You pull away from him and he lets out a groan of annoyance. He drops his pen in between the crevice of his notebook before standing up and stretching. His form towering over you unintentionally.
"S-sorry, you just have very nice hair." You back away as to give him his personal space, feeling like you were intruding too much.
"It's alright, I just have to go verify some information regarding subject 49." He grumbles out before walking off towards his makeshift greenhouse.
Curiosity gets the better of you as you glance down at his notes. His penmanship is phenomenally neat and stylized. You skim through it with ease.
Subject 49 is a splice between the normal genus of nerium oleander and my modified genus of plumeria are taking off surprisingly well. I was concerned about the angle of which the propagation was implemented at, but the plant defied my expectations. The plant is taking the newer fertilizer with excitable.. Excitable. Average heart rate 54.. Excitable rate rough average of 66.. Subject's rate slightly decreased as time progressed. Contentment? Affectionate. Calming. Sweetie..
You no longer think that groan was of annoyance.