Personal Archive

— •• —

Year 1: Spring. Half a month in.

Entry #2: Do not stay up late.

Probably should have been a given, given the physical strain and all that I’ve been dealing with. But-

On occasion, I’ve wandered through the house when sleep just felt a little out of reach. Yeah yeah yeah, laying in bed with your eyes shut helps with rest, blah blah blah, but I didn’t want to.

Being inside just before or after sundown has felt…Right? Nothing was on that letter about staying up late, and the mind does what it wants sooooooooo…

All was good, I made a-frankly shitty-smoothie out of whatever berries were starting to grow on around the greenhouse. Until I passed by that one uncovered mirror facing the front door.

Man. Standing in a gateway directly to Antarctica in nothing but my birthday suit would have been much warmer than the temperature in front of that mirror…

Safe to say, no more late night wandering? Man, if this house is haunted, the ghosts got to be less judgmental.

Or get with the times.

Whichever one works quicker.

— •• —

Year 1: Spring. Two months in.

Entry #3: Lake is taunting me.

Well, I’m pretty sure I just found bone fragments on the edge of the path to the lake? I did not put those there. It’s probably just from the old owner? Definitely not beaver? Way too small. Not a dog or cat, there’s no bones that make up a tail or paw. So. Loch Ness is fucking with me again.

Oh yeah. Loch Ness is the nickname I’ve given to whatever mischief-maker is in the lake.

Rocks thrown to the back of my shins when I turn away. Fish bones left tangled in any fishing line and hooks I lost, now washed up on the shore. Mud clogging the dock if I don’t swing by every two or three days to sit and scrub it.

So.

The lake is taunting me. End of story.

Actually no. Not end of story, I’m retaliating. Soon. Very soon.

Can fish taste capsaicin?

Or other aquatic creatures?

At least-whatever shadow is adjacent to both of those-I can see with the monocle I found on my keys.

— •• —

Year 1: Summer. Two and a half months in.

Entry #4: Pup's settled in now. Me? Less so.

He’s chilling in the barn right now with the sheep and goats. Think I’ll name him Rico.

Weirdly, Rico and the other animals acknowledge the back corner of the barn, but don’t go in there? It’s one of the places the letter said not to go into, so does that apply to the animals too? Some of the younger animals might flop down beside the door but never block it.

On the thought of the animals. One of the sheep had a big old pine cone stuck in its fur, and I planned on cutting it out in the morning. And it was removed? So that? There have been no raccoon sightings in my area…

Oh yeah. Thank you to the creature in the back of the barn that pulled a pine cone out of that sheep's fur before eating the chocolates I forgot in my apron.

The prior statement was said with fond sarcasm.

Well. Whatever is in there has been moving around more. Sometimes, in the first month, there would be a few deep dips in the ground around the barn, my house, and the fence around the edge of the farm.

From what the new grass shows, it looks like something heavy is dragging itself across the surface.

And…the gate by the back of the house caught a small tuft of fur. Silver fur. Warm, soft stuff. It’s certainly not Rico’s fur; it’s too long and caught high up to be his.

And I found more? Like, every other night since? With all the fur I'm finding by the back gate, I'm gonna start needle felting.

Do I know even the slightest thing about starting needle felting? Nope. But I do know I need to do something with all this fur. So, aside from collecting it to make stuffing for a pillow, I'm so lost???

And I'm not putting any weird, wild animals' fur by my face for hours every single night.

I'm delusional, yeah, obviously. Why else would I suddenly quit my job and move out of the city to live out in the sticks?!

But an idiot I am not!

...

Funnily enough, whoever lived here before me certainly had someone who loved making things with their own hands. I could start several specialized stores with what's in the attic alone.

Yeah.

So, crafting an army of tiny, fluffy silver fur from an unknown creature it is!

Think I’ll take one to the gramps on the other side of town. He did mention liking little things like this. Maybe I'll even bring an extra trinket for his spouse; we’ll see.

— •• —

Year 1: Three months in.

Entry #5: The chicken coop occasionally gives extra gifts

At a cost.

Rip to my lunch being the cost of discovery. You were a deliciously tragic cost to the cause.

While waiting for my basket to be returned with eggs, I’d whipped up a small bowl full fresh food from my second ever garden harvest. It must have been really good, because in the three minutes I’d taken to run up to the ranch house and back-something had scarfed it down. Damn creature licked the glass clean! However, in the place of my lunch was a wooden figure of a chicken. About the size of my entire hand.

It’s smooth, not like it was sanded, but worked at diligently. Oh-It’s also a pretty fragrant wood? The woodworkers and carpenter had said it’s not one of theirs. So, might be local or invasive wood. It sits on the little windowsill by the front door.

Two night later, I did find a feather pinched under a flower pot by the back door. Definitely from some kinda corvid, but a big one? Thing was longgggggg. Longer than my hand and foot stacked on top of each other heel to wrist…

Black all over, almost matte in the shade but almost blindingly shiny in any light.

There aren’t any two foot long crows in the area. So, just a weird little feature of living close to nature.

What to do. What to do.

Ooooooooo. Shiny quill? Shiny quill! Shiny quill.

— •• —

Year 1: Summer. Three and a half months in.

Entry #6: The people in town...

They rarely talk to me. Only when I come up to them do they speak to me. And. They keep every single conversation brief.

Chilly.

They just freeze when they see me. It's such a far-fetched reaction from when we first met. They were genuinely friendly at best, mildly interested at worst.

Shout out to the obviously high cashier at the singular gas station in town, who just stared unblinking at me before reading me for absolute filth the week I came to town.

Twice.

Icon shit.

Well. Back on topic.

I don't think I stink that much from working with the animals...

But every time I head on down to sell or buy, people just turn away or flee into their homes.

Do they…

...Hate me?

I'm. Going for a drive. Maybe to the old man's place. Maybe I'll bring Rico.

And this scale I found buried in the surf of the lake.

— •• —

Year 1: Summer. Four months in.

Entry #7: The greenhouse is a trap.

It’s a trap.

I know it’s a trap.

A damned Venus flytrap.

But man, do I wanna crash in that bed of forget-me-nots. It looks so cozyyyyyyyyyyyy.

Sigh.

The harvests have been good. Gourds, garlic, loofah, berries, sweet potato, lotus, onions, etc etc. You get the idea. No peppers; those look like some barbarous creature keeps getting to them before I can. I feel bad for the peppers,

It’s always so comfortable in there. Every single plant I put in there just thrives.

I would not be surprised if my greenhouse is actually in the faerie realm.

...damn that nap would be worth it.

Weird bug humming included. Tentatively.

— •• —

Year 1: Fall. Five months in.

Entry #8: Fuck the winery.

What the hell am I supposed to do with the winery??? Genuinely.

None of the books I have were picked up??? Every single one just left neatly stacked beside the door while my basket of fruits is emptied regularly.

I’m minutes from throwing something through the window.

Fuck it.

Anyway, I found a gramophone in the attic. It’s been nice tinkering and getting it back to it’s original glory. The records in the attic also still work, so I plan to put it by the door. The music would be heard from all over the house from there. So, fingers crossed I don’t botch it.

Edit: THE FUCKING GRAMOPHONE IS GONE??? WHO??? WHAT. WHEN. WHY.

Man. I really can’t have shit in this place.

— •• —

Year 1: Fall. Six months in.

Entry #9: The trinket collection grows.

For some reason, a bracelet with an amethyst is now on my nightstand?

My gramophone is still missing, and I have the right to be pissed about that. I fixed that thing up, and it's still gone.

Miffed is the nicest word I can come up with.

...The dried bundle of flowers on the front step was a nice surprise...

— •• —

Year 1: Fall. Seven months in.

Entry #10: Medical supplies = friendship???

So continues the trend of me setting something down, looking away, and getting my stuff yoinked.

The Gramps gave me that medkitttttttttt. It was in a wood-carved, stained box with my name on itttttttttt.

This sentence was heavily scratched out with what seemed to be dark ink.

— •• —

Year 1: Winter. Eight months in.

Entry #11: So...what do you do when a skull gets put on your back porch?

Forget calling the authorities, because only one person in your town wants to talk to you, and everyone else treats you like you're literally radioactive.

I haven't touched it.

I won't touch it.

With my hands.

A stick on the other hand.

I never wanted a landline more in my life.

Yeah.

It's.

Definitely human.

And it's polished?

It's certainly a threat.

Right?

— •• —

Year 1: Winter. Nine months in.

Entry #12: Something tore the door off my house.

Which-

Is-

Certainly a way to wake up?!

Especially at bumfuck early in the night?!

I cracked open the door of my room and-

The hallway-

Man-

A hurricane of electrocuted, hippo-sized termites would've been gentler than-

This???

Just wooden splinters, glass, dirt, blood(?!), and my wine(!) all over the floor.

I can hear struggling outside.

Big old bear wrestling something else too big to be rational big wrestling.

I'm not staying in this room.

Naw.

The "bury-your-head-in-the-sand" tactic is not for meeee. Now, I understand why there's that weird closet between the library and the kitchen. Well, it was probably meant for storms and shit...not...

Whatever is outside...

.

..

...

....

.....

......

something's at the door.

no.

Sorry.

Somethings.

Multiple. Things.

Is that singing?

...fuck my life-

You watched silently from your spot on a bench by the Doctor’s tent as a group of three men all laughed at the waivers and signed them without a thought. Not even five minutes after they entered, a burly, bald man covered in tattoos with a beard that would make other men jealous, ran like his life depended on it (which it might have). You snickered to yourself, crossing your arms as you shook your head, wondering which one of the group would come running out next. The circus had just opened for the night, the sun not having set quite yet. This seemed to be one of the busiest times for the circus, too.

“Well, well, just can’t stay away, can you?” A familiar snide voice came from behind you. You didn’t even bother looking back, just sighing instead.

“Can I help you with something or are you just here to piss me off?” You ask.

“Oh, I could think of many ways you could help me, but I don’t think you’ll agree to them.” You feel a claw move some of your hair off your shoulder, and you suppress a shiver at the unexpected touch. 

“You do know your guard dog’s show is about to start, no?” Harlequin questioned, and you watched from your peripheral vision as he rested his hands on the back of the bench on either side of you, leaning over you slightly.

“I do.” You replied, not really feeling in the mood to indulge him in his little game of cat and mouse. He waited a moment to see if you’d give him a reason as to why you weren’t in Pierrot’s tent right now, but when you didn’t, he spoke again.

“Then why, my dear, are you all the way over here?” He prodded, leaning down over your right shoulder.

“I… I just don’t feel like seeing any shows right now.” You turned away from him and frowned. You really didn’t feel like entertaining him right now, either. Part of you wanted to either go bother Jester, Ticket Taker, or the Doctor, but you knew they were all busy at the moment. Between Pierrot barely giving you a moment alone and Harlequin breathing down your neck all the time, you just wanted a moment of silence to think. 

“Well that defeats the purpose of going to a circus, does it not?” He tried moving to your left, but you simply turned away again. “Well now I’m beginning to think you actually don’t want to see me right now.” He said in a mockingly pouty tone.

“Harlequin, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to see you.” You say with an eye-roll.

“Lies.” He whispers in your ears. “You like the thrill, and I thought you knew better than to try and lie to me.” He paused for a moment, again to see if you would reply. You didn’t.

“Don’t tell me Pierrot is getting under your skin?” You could hear the smirk in his voice.

“You’re both getting under my skin.” You mumbled, getting more annoyed. 

“I wonder how that would feel, being under your skin.” He mused to himself, and you just sighed. A longer beat of silence passed between you again, and he let this one go on for longer, which was strange. Very strange. It startled you when you felt him move away, and even more so when he came around the bench to sit with you. You didn’t look at each other for a few moments, but you could see out of the corner of your eye that he wasn’t smiling. 

“You’re boring today, any particular reason?” He finally asked. You side-eyed him to find him doing the same thing. You opened your mouth and then closed it again. You were not going to start talking to him about this. He’d just tease you some more and try to grope you somehow, you just knew it. 

“No.” You said. It was then that another man ran screaming out of the Doctor’s tent, making you smile. Harlequin was still unusually quiet beside you, also watching the man, grinning, as he disappeared toward the exit. 

“I just wanted a moment to just be by myself and think. The only time I can truly be alone is when he’s performing.” You start to explain, against your better judgement. “It’s just ever since the first day I met him, I haven’t been alone. He’s always there. All I think about now is the circus, and I’m always looking over my shoulder, and… and I don’t know.” You slump a little. “But I also need to get out more, because if I stay at home, I’m just going to bed-rot, and usually that’s what starts a depressive spiral, and then I end up in a bad place. So that’s why I’m here to begin with. It’s weird… to feel safe here. I know Pierrot would never let anything happen to me, and Ticket Taker and the Doctor seem to like me in some weird way. Jester scares me, but… I don’t know, maybe I’m crazy, but he doesn’t seem to dislike me.” You pause for a moment, and Harlequin doesn’t interrupt.

“And I guess I’ve just always felt more at-home with the freaks and geeks. I was always a weird kid, a social outlier. I’m not good at talking to people… most of the time. I’ve never even… Pierrot is the first person to actually show interest in me, and even if it is a lot and obsessive, it’s nice to feel wanted, I guess.”

“And I don’t make you feel wanted?” Harlequin sounded offended at that. I finally turn to look at him with a glare.

“You make me feel wanted in all the wrong ways.” You reply. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this.” You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. “I just… I like the atmosphere here for some reason. I like seeing grown men scared, and I’ve always been weird in that I like the macabre, creepy, and unsettling things. Maybe I like watching other people be uncomfortable around what I find completely comfortable…” your voice grew distant as you started to put your thoughts into words. “Maybe I like it because they’ve always been comfortable where I’m uncomfortable. Parties, school, family gatherings, bars… I hate it all. That… actually makes some sense.” You started to really think about your revelation. 

“You should run away with the circus.” Harlequin leaned in to whisper in your ear with a wide smile. “Jester and Ticket Taker would take some convincing, but I just know your red dog would be thrilled.” 

“I-I can’t just completely uproot my life to—“

“Yes you can.” 

“I—“

“Ah-ah-ah, yes…you…can…” He lightly grabbed your chin so you couldn’t look away from him.

“Leave your silly little barista job, you cannot truthfully tell me it pays you well. And then what, your family? Friends? That’s what letters and visits are for.” He let you go now, staring down at you with a sly grin that started to seem like it was hiding something more. 

“You just want me around so you can keep trying to fuck me.” You narrow your eyes at him.

“Well yes…” he leaned back a little, not taking his eyes off you. “But to be quite honest, in the beginning, I just wanted to take you from Pierrot. Now? Well, to put it lightly, you’re intriguing. I’ll find my amusement lacking once we leave town.”

“Bullshit. You’ll find someone else to piss off.” You cross your arms.

“None as delightfully fun as you, I assure you.” 

“What has gotten into you? Where is Harlequin?” You ask suddenly.

“Are you accusing me of being an impostor?” He asked incredulously, putting a hand on his chest in mock shock. 

“You haven’t even tried to touch me or lick me or something yet.” You point out.

“Why? Do you want me to?” He leaned in close while he spoke, as if he was about to do something, but then he simply backed away again. You opened your mouth to respond, but he spoke again before you could.

“I’ll tell you what, my dear human, I’ll leave you to your internal stewing. You have good taste in places to people-watch.” He nodded to the Doctor’s tent. “If you decide you’d like further company, you know where to find me~” he said the last part in a sing-song tone before standing up again. “Your mutt will be preoccupied with his show for another forty-five minutes.” He added, before walking away and disappearing into the crowds. You were left there, utterly confused. That entire interaction was so unlike him. Was he actually the type to understand when someone is having a hard time mentally? Your skin prickled after having been expecting him to be touchy with you, only for him to leave you with one lingering sensation on your chin. 

Well fuck. 

You sat there, no longer enjoying yourself as you watched the third man finally flee from the tent. You felt stupid, like a dog coming up to his abusive owner, asking to get kicked. But god damn it, you almost wished he had been his normal, annoying, touchy self. 

Without even thinking about it, you stood up and started walking toward the green tent. 

~~~~~

“Well that was fast.” Harlequin’s voice reached your ears before you could even make it halfway to his tent. He stood, leaning against the edge of a creepy little carnival game, watching you with a wide smile. 

“Shut up.” You grumble, now embarrassed.

“Huhum, did you get up and come all the way here just to tell me that?” He chuckled.

“No.” You make a face and start to look anywhere but at him. 

“Well at least you’re not being boring anymore.”

“Oh yeah, me being stupid and opening up to you about personal shit was boring, huh? You’re just going to blackmail me.” You raise your eyes to meet his again, just to met with his intense stare that made you look away again.

“So boring.” He pushed himself off the wall and took long, slow steps toward you. “I wasn’t going to blackmail you, but now that you’ve said it… it does sound rather fun.” Now that he’s close enough, you move as if to hit him, but he catches your hand and forcefully links his arm around yours, making you walk with him. 

“What a brat you are today.” He laughs to himself, leading you… away from his tent. 

“Where are we going?” You ask. 

“If Pierrot cannot find you, my tent is going to be the first place he looks, kitten.” He grinned down at you. “If we’re going to have an interesting time, I’d rather it be uninterrupted.” At that, you snatch your arm back out of his. He lets you. 

“I don’t know why I followed you.” You say, looking at the ground now. He didn’t make a move to grab you again, and just stood there. People passed you by, some of them looking on in either awe or fear at the green clown in front of you. This area was too crowded, and you didn’t like it. You were starting to feel slightly overwhelmed with all the eyes around you in your vulnerable state. 

“Come here.” Harlequin’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you looked back up at him. He was still smiling, although it felt forced now, and he was holding his hand out to you.

You hesitated. A group of loud women passed behind you, some teenagers walked between you and Harlequin, but the last straw was a man roughly brushing past you, knocking into your shoulder. You reached back out and grabbed Harlequin’s hand, and he quickly pulled you along. You missed the glare he cast behind him at the man who bumped into you, subsequently missing the way he memorized the man’s face. 

Harlequin pulled you along in silence, until you were on the outskirts of the circus grounds, near a supply trailer. 

“Why did you follow me? Do you even know?” He asked, stopping to let go of your hand and face you.

“I…” you tried to think of something, anything that wouldn’t sound stupid. You couldn’t. “I don’t know.”

“I do~” He teased.

“Alright then, tell me.” You say, motioning for him to go on. He took a step toward you, making you look up at him. 

“You… are curious. You like the unknown, the odd. You like adrenaline, you like letting someone make decisions for you, but at the same time feeling like they were your decisions all along.” You try to find words to defend yourself, but you come up short. 

“No I don’t!” You huff indignantly, and he just laughs at you. 

“When I first found you on that bench, you didn’t tell me to, oh what’s the phrasing? ‘Fuck off.’ It was me who decided to sit with you, but by talking to me, you felt that you were the one inviting me, though you’d never actually ask me to sit.” He gave you his first example. 

“And don’t forget, I was the one to invite you to follow, you simply took the invite. And this isn’t your first time doing that…” his grin widened and eyes narrowed at the memory. 

“You want to run away with the circus, I know you do. You just won’t do it until someone tells you to but makes it feel like your idea.” He poked your chest accusitorily. “You humans seem to be quite fond of this concept, this illusion of decision-making. It’s cute. Just say you want to be told what to do. Say it now and save yourself the embarrassment when you finally admit it to me later.”

You were hardly embarrassed anymore, now you were angry. How dare he say these things about you. You don’t just do as you’re told! That was stupid, you were perfectly capable of making your own decisions. Yet… you did want to run away with the circus, but you knew you would never do it unless one of them told you to… fuck, maybe he was right. 

“Fuck you.” You grumble.

“What was that?” He bent down closer to you, turning his head and holding a hand up to his ear. 

“I said fuck you! You sadistic, womanizing, green, annoying, arrogant, piece of shit, ugly, bastard, predator!” You shout at him. He simply stands straight up and smiles at you. 

“Say it with your chest, dear one.” He laughed lightly. “Do you feel better now?”

“I hate you.” You added, your voice softer now. You actually did feel better. Huh. 

“I know.” He said, before he began looking at you like he was thinking about something devious. “I think we should work on something today.” He mused.

“The fuck does that mean?” You were visibly confused by his statement. 

“If you’re going to run away with the circus, you cannot be so… pathetic. It doesn’t suit you, dear. You need to learn how to say what you want rather than waiting for someone else to say it first.” He looked upwards in thought briefly before looking back at you like he’d had an idea. 

“I’m perfectly capable of saying what I want.” You protest, now getting upset that he was treating this like some kind of lesson. 

“I’ll give you five things. Five commands. Anything you want from me, or want me to do, I will… listen. Within reason, of course. But you must mean it. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

“Fine, I want you to shut up!” You barely miss a beat before saying what you really wanted most. He nodded at you. A moment went by in silence, with him just staring at you. Wait, was he being serious? 

“I…” you hesitate, thinking for a moment. What did you want with him? From him, you mean. Of course that’s what you mean. 

“What if I ask you to die?” You ask, trying and failing to be threatening. He simply lifted a hand and wagged a finger at you, mouthing the word ‘liar.’

You thought for a minute more, surprised that he actually stood there, waiting, in silence. 

“I want…” you wanted to see him obey you, just this once. “I want you on your knees.” His eyes widened at first, an awfully pleased look crossing his face, before he did as you asked. His knees hit the grass, and he sat there, looking slightly up at you. You stared at him in disbelief. 

You felt a strange feeling bubble up in you, something confident, powerful almost.

“I want—“ a nearby scream cut you off, reminding you that there were still people wandering about out here. You glanced at the supply trailer. 

“I’m not wasting a want on this, but I’m going in there. You can follow me if you want to.” You told him. You weren’t going to be dumb enough to say that you wanted to go inside, he would certainly make that count. You start toward the trailer, hearing him get up behind you and follow. 

Once inside, he shut the door and turned to face you again, his grin very wide now. You got the feeling you fucked up. But he still didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything.

The little wooden trailer was dusty, and mostly empty save a few boxes. Light filtered in through a little barred window on one of the walls, and you could see the dust floating in the late afternoon setting sun.

“I… I don’t believe I told you I wanted you standing. In fact, you should have crawled after me.” You cross your arms. He shrugs and gets back on his knees. 

“I want to see those… things, the rope things that you said are you.” You say cautiously, wondering if he’d refuse, which he didn’t. Harlequin untied his cape, and slowly, four green… things… slithered out from beneath his shirt, seemingly coming from his back. They were long, and thick enough that your hand wouldn’t be able to close around it if you tried. They behaved in the same way a cat’s tail would move, but with a little more intention. Without thinking, you reached your hand out to one, and it quickly took the opportunity to wrap around your hand and seize your wrist, yanking you closer to him. 

“Hey!” You glared at him, and he snickered. You made a face before returning your attention to the tentacle now holding your hand hostage. It squeezed lightly, enough to be firm, but loose enough where you could pull away if you wanted to. It was smooth, but not wet or slimy. It felt weird, like a snake without scales. 

You began to think about your fourth request. Now you really weren’t sure what you wanted. Well, you did. But you weren’t just going to ask that… no, that would be too easy for him. Or too easy for you? Why would you give him what he wanted? But what if you wanted what he wanted? 

You didn’t exactly want Pierrot to interrupt you two last time. That realization made you sit in silence for a while the other day. You looked at the clock on your phone, you still had time. But no, you couldn’t. Even if you wanted to. But why? Are you scared? Did you think he’d hurt you? Probably. But as much as you denied it and tried to ignore it, you liked that, if only just a little. 

You were pulled from your thoughts by the feeling of a tentacle slowly sliding around your ankle. 

“What the—“ you yelped when you felt another one shoot up your leg and wrap around your thigh. The fourth appendage was around your waist in an instant, and you were yanked down to the floor. Within the time it took you to blink, Harlequin was atop you. But he didn’t lean in, didn’t bite you, didn’t touch you aside from where his tentacles were still wrapped around you. Instead he stared at you expectantly. Like he was waiting for you to ask him to stop. 

You stared back, and not a single word from your brain made it to your tongue for a moment. Suddenly the silence was too much.

“Y-you can um… you can speak now if you want.” You say, still not attempting to move away from him.

“Fucking finally.” He growled out. “You’re lucky I followed through on that one, human.” He said venomously, his grip tightening where he was wrapped around you.

“So how do you like it? Being truthful with yourself?” He shifted his tone to something more knowing and sly, though there was still some frustration behind it as well. 

“I… um…” were you really about to be honest with him? Fuck it, you were. “I like it.” You murmured.

“Well… you have two more requests for me.” He reminded you, leaning a little closer, practically eating you with his eyes. Your heart started beating faster. What you wanted was for him to slither into your clothes again. To pick up where he left off. You wanted him to fuck you. But that scared you. You’d never done this before, which scared you even more. He’d most definitely be rough, violent even. Could you handle that? 

While you spiraled in thought, he watched the fear settle on your face. He knew what you wanted, he knew you wanted him. Hell, he could even smell your arousal right now. But that scared you. Oh how deliciously adorable that was. You were too scared to admit to yourself that you wanted him to fuck you until you couldn’t see straight. Until you couldn’t walk. But he would make himself wait. It would all be over if took what he wanted without consent. It wouldn’t be fun anymore, it would defile you. It would make you truly hate him, and it would make you truly fear him. For some reason, he didn’t want you to fear him anymore, and as much as he denies it to himself, it was nice to just… speak to you earlier. Listen to you. It was something he didn’t know he actually wanted until he had it today. It felt… odd. 

He also thought that pushing you too far would break you. He wouldn’t exactly say he feared your surrender, but he certainly didn’t want you to just give up and take it. He wanted you to want it. To enjoy it, to want to come back for more. He wanted to hear you say that you wanted him to touch you, to taste you, fuck you, he didn’t care anymore as long as it was something. He wanted you to realize that you didn’t have to be with Pierrot just because he saw you first. Just because he was the first person in your life to show interest in you (which he thought was absurd). Deep down, he just wanted you to choose him for some odd, mushy reason he didn’t want to think about. He wondered briefly when he’d gotten so soft. 

The tension in the air was thick enough it was palpable as you just stared at each other. 

“I…” you stared, needing to say something, anything. 

“Yes?” His grip tightened, and he leaned in even closer to your face. You could feel his breath now, mixing with yours.

“I-I want…” you tried again. “Um…” you swallowed thickly. 

“If you want me to leave, you can say it.” He gave you a serious warning now. 

“I don’t want you to leave.” At least you were able to say that.

“Oh?” His grin turns sharp. “So then, what do you want?” It was taking every last ounce of his willpower to not advance, to stay still, to not just inch up just a little bit into your shirt. 

“I…” you take a deep breath, “I want you.” 

“Well yes, dear one. I’m here. You have that.” He said teasingly.

“Fuck! I just want you to fuck me, okay? God!” You finally get so frustrated with yourself that it finally just spills out. 

“There, was that so hard?” He cooed at you, moving a lock of hair out of your face before grabbing your chin in a tight hold with one hand, letting it fall behind him with the other. Your frustration with him and this whole game was finally starting to bubble over, so naturally, you intended to take it out on him.

“Not as hard as you are right now.” You give him a snarky response.

“Huhum, I think that’s enough out of you.” He roughly let go of your face, and then you were suddenly flipped onto your stomach. He wrapped a tentacle around your wrists, binding them behind your back while he yanked off your pants and underwear. A wave of panic washed over you in that moment, and you struggled under his hold.

“W-wait, please!” You cried out. You heard him grumble under his breath.

“What is it now?” He practically hissed into your ear, his hands now firmly gripping your waist and his claws starting to dig into your skin. 

“I-I’ve never done this before, I… I’m… fuck, I’m scared, okay?” You try to calm yourself, but your breaths are still ragged and fast and your heart was thundering in your ears. His grip let up ever so slightly.

“What do you mean you’ve ’never done this?’ Not even a cheap one-night-stand? Teenage romance? Simply just bad sex? Nothing? Not even with Pierrot?”  He asked, though he sounded less frustrated and more excited now. 

“None of that. Never.” You nodded, trembling now. 

“Well… now that is interesting. If you’re asking me to be gentle, the answer will be no, I’m afraid. However… I‘ll compromise and only make things painful if you ask. Just this once. And to think I get to have you even before your guard dog… that is special…” You couldn’t see him behind you, but you could hear the grin in his voice. Did you actually want this? What if he thought that this was an invitation to just assault you all the time now? You supposed you could go cry to Pierrot about it… 

“If I don’t like it, I won’t let you have me like this again. I’ll tell Pierrot you took advantage of me.” You threatened.

“That’s what you’re afraid of? That you won’t like it? Oh little human… you really haven’t been shown a good time. Believe me, you will leave here satisfied.” He didn’t even bother addressing your threat. His grip on your waist tightened again, his claws making little divots in your skin. 

 “Now may I resume?” The way he practically growled into your ear sent a shiver from your neck, all the way down between your legs. You hadn’t forgotten the fact that you were bottomless beneath him now, the thought making your face burn. Maybe facing away from him was better. 

“Y-yes…” You mumble, bracing yourself. You half expected him to just slam into you, smack your ass, or something else equally startling and painful. He used the tentacle wrapped around your waist to hold your back end off the floor a little while still using a second tentacle to restrain your hands and keep your front pressed to the ground. You squeeze your eyes shut and hold your breath in anticipation, but merely gasp when you feel him slide his middle finger up your folds and immediately begin to circle your clit.

“Oh…” You let out a light moan and involuntarily roll your hips into his hand. He chuckles behind you.

“My my, you’re already so awfully wet, kitten. Do you like being held down?” He leans down to whisper in your ear, “Or do you just like my voice?” 

“Mmm, I… ohh…” You can’t focus on anything with the way he held perfect rhythm sliding around your clit, growing faster and faster while your breath kept catching in your throat.

“What was that, dear? You just love the way I turn you on with just my words? Say it louder for me, hmm?” He grabbed at your ass cheek and squeezed, his claws leaving five little red marks on your skin. “Say it.” He repeats, a little firmer.

“I-I… mmm, I think y-your–ohh… um, your words are… haa… fucking annoying” A sharp slap on your rear made you yelp in surprise. His fingers had left your throbbing cunt now, and you felt a confusing mixture of emotions. You felt a thrill from antagonizing him like that, yet frustrated that he stopped touching you, and at the same time, the sting from his hand felt good in some odd way. 

“Oh, so first you cry to me that you’re a poor little virgin, and then you decide to be naughty?” He clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. “Maybe I was being a little too polite.” You feel one of his tentacles slide up your thigh, barely giving you a moment to register what was happening before it was pressing into you, stretching you out. 

“Ohh fuck!” You cry out, panting heavily as it starts to piston into you. His fourth tentacle then starts to slide up your shirt and wrap around one of your breasts, squeezing at it a little roughly. 

“Now what do you have to say for yourself?” He asks you, and you feel his hands sliding over your bare hips. Only a moan leaves your lips as your hands struggle under his hold, wishing you had something to grab onto. 

“If you want your hands back, you’ll have to earn them.” Finally his finger returns to your clit, jumping straight to a brutal pace.

“Ah!” You jerk away initially at the sudden sensation, before trying your best to grind into him to chase the tightening sensation in your stomach. 

“H-Harley I… fuck, I’m close… mmm…” You whine.

“I know.” He says right beside your ear again. You were teetering on the very edge when suddenly all stimulation was gone. The tentacle filling you pulled out, his hand left your clit, and he let go of your breast. You just laid there in shock for a moment, panting, before anger suddenly welled up in your chest. 

“Oh fuck you, you fucking asshole!” You struggle against him again, this time trying to kick him. He simply laughs. 

“Such a filthy mouth for such a pretty thing.” You felt him lean over you, and then his hand slipped over your shoulder and then around your neck. He didn’t squeeze, only pulled slightly to get you to look up a little. You feel a tentacle slide up alongside his hand, and then feel it begins

 to prod at your mouth. 

“This should fix that. Do not bite me.You will not be very fond of me anymore if you do. Do you understand?” He says seriously.

“Yes.” You give a slight nod, parting your lips despite fear rising in your chest that all you’d do is choke or vomit on him. It felt beyond strange as the tentacle entered your mouth and explored for just a moment before starting to slide in and out of your mouth. You tried to relax, and focus on not gagging as it slowly went deeper and deeper. You moaned around him when he resumed his earlier assault on your pussy. He then hit the back of your throat and you gagged, but he didn’t stop. Your eyes were tearing up as you took him as best as you could, drool dripping down your chin and onto the floor below. 

“That’s much better, don’t you think? Perhaps I should invest in a gag for you.” He muses to himself while beginning to feel up your abdomen with his free hand. His claws scrape at your delicate skin, and you began to feel overwhelmed by the amount of sensations you were feeling at the same time. All you could do was lay there and take him, and you really wanted to cum this time, so you did your best not to fight him. A strangled whine escaped you before you choked again, sputtering around the tentacle and gasping for air.

He finally pulled out of your mouth for a moment, letting you swallow and breathe, before shoving his tentacle back in to continue abusing the back of your throat. Lewd noises squelched from between your legs as his other tentacle continued to fuck you, and he started to circle your clit faster. You were almost there, just a little bit more— 

Everything was gone. Again. Ragged breaths shook your body, and you just about cried. Did he really have to be so fucking cruel? You were about to turn your head back to yell at him, but before you could, let go of you for just a second before spinning you around to lay on your back, restraining your hands above your head this time. 

The sight of him now was genuinely terrifying as he loomed over you, a very wide grin with sharp fangs making your heart beat even faster out of fear. His bright green pupils were blown wide, and his presence overall felt increasingly more intense and overwhelming.

“I love it when I can smell your fear.” He leans in close and proceeds to lick up your neck before dragging his teeth across your skin while he slid your shirt up, palming your chest over your bra. “Your frustration is so delicious…” he muttered against you. “Now tell me… what do you want? Shall I bite you, kitten?” It felt like your mind went numb at the thought of his teeth sinking into you.

“P-please…” You whimpered, pressing your thighs together to try and create some kind of friction in his absence. A sharp stinging spread over your neck as he dug in, and once your blood met his tongue, he bit down a little harder as he started to suck on it. His hands slipped around behind you to unclasp your bra, and he pulled back so that he could pull both your shirt and bra off in one tug. With you completely naked beneath him now, he took a moment to stare.

“Look at you, so vulnerable, so exposed for me. Do you like this? Do you want me to ravage you, my dear?” 

“I…” you took a deep breath. You did want him to eat you out, so very badly, but you also knew that most guys thought that was gross. Did he? Part of you still thought that he’d simply seek his own pleasure, but yet here he was, toying with you, edging you. 

“I want… um… would you…” you try to form words as he leans back down to lick up your sternum, nipping around your breasts while he waited for you to spill whatever it was you wanted. “I want your mouth on me…” you whined.

“It already is, kitten. Can you not tell?” He replied knowingly, swirling the tips of his forked tongue around one of your nipples. 

“Fuck…” you murmured. “I want you to e—“ you stop yourself. Maybe ‘eat me’ isn’t the right choice of words here. He chuckled when you whined again as he rolled your other nipple between his fingers. It was like he enjoyed watching you struggle with words, “to, um… ohh…” Your back arched when he pressed his knee against your sex.

“I want your mouth on my pussy, please…” you finally let it out with a whine. 

“Such a lewd request, my dear. How could I possibly refuse such a fragile, mewling mess like you?” Without releasing your hands, still held in place by a tentacle, he drew back before sliding his arms under your thighs and hoisting your hips up. You figured he didn’t want to lay on the floor for this, and the angle started sending more blood to your head, making your heartbeat bound in your ears.

You watched as he licked the lips of his mask, before he seemed to think about something. With both of his hands occupied by tightly gripping your thighs, he used a tentacle to wrap around the edge of his mask, pulling it off. 

By now the sun had set, and it was decently dark in the little supply trailer, the only light coming from a nearby lamppost filtering in through the tiny window.

In this lighting, his face appeared to be an inky black, and his pupils glowed bright green. He grinned up at you, rather pleased with himself at the way you studied his face.

“Such a curious little creature you are. Do you want to see more? More of what we are?” He blew on you, his breath feeling almost chilly against your hot core. Your breath caught in your throat as you trembled slightly, aching for his touch. 

“I can’t wait until you see more of me. Oh what a delicious reaction you’ll have.” He laughed to himself for a moment before his forked, green tongue gave a long lick to your folds. He hummed thoughtfully at the taste, before proceeding to lick up as much of your wetness as he could, his tongue slipping deep inside you, swiping over your walls.

“Oh fuck!” you cried out, squeezing your hands into fists and arching into him. His claws started to dig into your thighs, and you felt a couple of them break skin. The sharp feeling made your eyes prick with tears, but not in a bad way.

His tongue just didn’t stop moving, first it would be in you, then pull out and circle your clit for a moment before slipping back in. Every breath that left you carried a moan with it, and you were quickly approaching your orgasm again. You squeezed your fists so tight that your nails dug into your own palm as you focused hard on trying not to struggle. You hoped that if you were good, if you didn’t struggle, maybe he would let you cum this time. Your hope built when he shifted his attention solely to your clit, flicking around it at a speed you didn’t know was possible. 

You bit your lip, willing yourself to stay still for him, tears of pleasure dripping past your ears. You sent a desperate glance down at him, only to be met with him staring right back up at your pleading face. Your breaths quickened and… he pulled away. Your demeanor shifted in an instant and you bent your legs to trap his head, squeezing as tight as you could to hold him in place. 

“You motherfucker…” you ground out. His eyes widened just for a moment before he laughed, turning his head to bite your right thigh. Hard. 

“Ow!” You jerked away and he escaped.”Didn’t you tell me I would leave here satisfied? You’re such a sadistic, narcissistic prick, do you know that?” 

“So I’ve been told.” He grins at you, two tentacles now starting to wrap around your legs. You try to kick them off, but are unsuccessful. “What makes you think I’m done yet? You know, you haven’t even told me that you want to cum. How would I know?” He shrugs, inspecting his claws like he didn’t just have you moaning around his tongue. The tentacles around your legs forced you to bend them, so your knees were in the air and your feet planted on the ground. You were getting really frustrated at your hands being bound for so long, and now he had to go and tie up your legs too? 

“I want to cum, goddammit!” You say it with your chest, “and I want your things off of me!” He cast a sideways glance your way. 

“They stay. For now.” He told you. “I quite like having you all tied up. Should’ve had your legs restrained too. Look what you did…” He runs a finger across the wound on your thigh. When you pulled away with his teeth still on you, it created a few longer scratches, small beads of blood forming where it was deepest. He collected the blood on his finger before licking it all off. 

“What I did?” You repeat incredulously. “Do you mean what you did?” 

“Consequences, darling.” He simply smiled. “You decided to trap me, I escaped. Though I wonder if that was enough punishment, especially since you decided to say some very rude things. Maybe I should deny you again? Or would you like a good old-fashioned spanking? Perhaps I could put you to work. So many wonderful options, don’t you think?”

“If I picked my punishment, would you accept it?” You asked, still visibly upset, but you were in the process of coming up with something. 

“Depends. What do you have in mind?”

“I… I could suck you off?” You offered. He sat back, tapping a finger on his chin with a hum. 

“I think we can work with that.” His tone darkened, and somehow a chill ran down your spine. “If you do well, maybe I’ll give you your hands back.”

“I told you before, I don’t know what I’m doing. But I’ll try.” You tell him, your anxiety returning. 

“Put your lips over your teeth, and relax your throat. Remember to breathe through your nose. It’s not all that different from earlier. Just a little bigger. And, well… you’ll see, huhum. ” He stood up, and his tentacles started to pull you up as well so you sat on your knees, with your legs and hands still bound. 

You watched in the dim light as he unbuttoned the front of his pants, and pulled his cock— no, cocks out. Two. There were two of them. Two. They were an inky black like his face was, with the tips fading to green. From what you’d seen on the internet and heard people talk about, you thought he was probably somewhere around ‘above average’ in both length and width. 

“Oh, that expression on you never gets old.” He brought your attention back up to his face, making you realize you had been staring for a little longer than you thought you had. “If only Jester would let us have our phones on us during the circus, I’d take a picture.” He grumbled more to himself than to you. 

“You have a phone?” You asked suddenly, the idea never actually having crossed your mind.

“Of course I have a phone, it’s 2026.” He said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ll have to give you my number so you can send me lovely little pictures of yourself.” He took a couple steps toward you until you had to look back down at his lengths in front of you. You flinch for a second when you feel his hand rest on the top of your head.

“Open.” He instructs. You obey, looking back up at him as you open your mouth wide. He lets you start with just one, taking the other in his free hand to stroke it slowly. The precum that’s been leaking out of him tastes salty, and a bit bitter. He doesn’t rush it yet, and slowly pushes into your mouth. You remember to do what he says, keeping the edges of your teeth covered with your lips and trying to relax your throat. He pushes in, just a little over halfway until you squeeze your eyes shut, fighting off the urge to gag. Then without warning, he pulls almost all the way out, only to buck back into your face, starting off fast. You made a startled noise around him, and you would have backed away a little if his hand wasn’t on your head, keeping you in place. 

“Remember dear one, you picked this as your punishment. I don’t intend to make it fully pleasant for you. But I suppose if you really think it is absolutely unbearable, clap your hands together. Do you understand?” The fact that he was giving you an out, a safe signal, genuinely surprised you. Then dread started creeping through your body as you wondered what he had planned that would warrant a tap-out. Nevertheless, you nodded slightly when he slowed down to allow you to do so. “Do it for me now.” He asked. You clapped your hands twice. “Now only do it if you mean it.” He added, before picking up the pace again, prodding slightly deeper as he did so. You gagged around him, but he didn’t stop. You almost swore you heard him utter a quiet groan at the feeling of your mouth around him. 

The hand on your head started to pull you closer, and you felt his fingers start to wrap around your hair. You followed his lead and let him bob your head back and forth, desperately trying not to choke. You felt the tentacle holding your hands together loosen, before letting go completely.

“One hand on each, Meu Bem…” he instructed, tension audible in his voice. You weren’t sure what he just called you, or what language it was. All you knew was that it sounded similar to Spanish, and you hoped he’d say more. You hummed around him, and he took in a sharp breath as you lifted your hands to wrap around the base of each cock, your fingers not quite reaching all the way around. 

He slowed slightly so that you could figure out what you were doing as you tried to divide your attention between giving long strokes to one while still bobbing on the other. Your hand now around the base helped keep him from going too deep now, allowing you to breathe a little. It was then that you noticed how sore your jaw was already, but  there were a couple things you wanted to try, so you started by squeezing him at the base with both hands. Much to your excitement, he groaned at that, and tightened his grip on your hair. You coughed when he roughly slammed into you a few times. 

When he suddenly pulled out, you wondered if he’d had enough, only for him to shove his other cock in, resuming his rough pace. You noted that he’d grown rather quiet, no witty quips or insults left him, just occasional small groans. You glanced up at him, and for a split second you saw a glimpse of a blissful look across his features, his mouth hanging open in a quiet pant, before he locked eyes with you and a sharp smile returned. 

“Taking me so well… que gostoso… foda…” he started mumbling under his breath. “Aguanta o meu pau como uma boa putinha…” You moaned at his words, despite not knowing what he was saying. simply hearing that roll off his tongue like the most natural thing in the world was hot. You didn’t want him to stop. You wanted to hear more. You took him as deep as you could, feeling him slide down in the back of your throat, sucking as you pulled off. You squeezed the cock currently in your mouth while you dragged your thumb over the tip of the other, and he groaned again.

“Você aprende rápido; gosto disso.” He started moving faster, his panting growing heavier. “Eu sabia que valia a pena esperar por você. Um gatinho tão bonzinho…” You were slightly confused when he pulled out of your mouth again, but any question you had was answered when he grabbed both lengths and shoved them back in you together. Your mouth could just barely fit them, and the corners of your lips stung. You couldn’t cover your teeth anymore, but he didn’t care, still fucking your face with fervor. 

Drool dripped from your chin and onto the floor below, you couldn’t help it as you were now completely unable to swallow at all with your mouth so full. Tears dripped down your face and neck as well from how difficult it was not to gag and to gag. Every time you choked, he just kept pumping, and your jaw was really hurting now. It was becoming overall very unpleasant now, and you thought about maybe tapping out, but… maybe he was almost there. His thrusts were growing sporadic, and he started groaning again. 

“Estou quase lá, não pare, por favor…” He muttered. You at least knew what the last part was, and Harlequin saying “please” was extremely unexpected to you. You looked back up at him to find his head tilted back with his mouth hanging open, his chest heaving dramatically with every breath. So he was close. Desperate to be done and give your mouth a rest, you squeezed the bases again in your hands, and that was it. 

“Porra!” He practically growled the word as a hot feeling filled your mouth and ran down your throat before you could react. You coughed hard when some of it nearly went down the wrong way. He grabbed the back of your head and pushed you as far onto him as he could, and you tried to ignore the bile rising in your throat, especially at the bitter taste now all over your tongue. 

Harlequin rutted into you one more time, spilling the last of his cum into your throat before finally pulling out. You gasped and coughed, a lot of it dripping from your mouth in thick, goopy strands mixing with your saliva. He watched as you sputtered and gasped for air, coughing, even retching a couple times. 

“We should most certainly do this again sometime, gata.” You felt a hand on your wet chin, lifting your head to look up at him. You barely even remembered that your legs had been restrained until his tentacles slithered off of you finally. You panted where you sat, still trying to recover as he wiped up some of the mess on your face with a finger.

“Open.” He instructed for the second time that night. Without even thinking about it, you did so, and he shoved it all back in your mouth. You closed your lips around his finger and sucked, trying not to make a face at the taste as you swallowed. He pressed downwards on your tongue, opening your mouth and looking inside. He couldn’t help but feel his ego swell when he saw your empty mouth. 

“Good girl.” He practically purred. The praise sent a wave of heat to your core, reminding you of what you still wanted. 

“Can I please cum now, Harley?” You stayed on your knees, but slid a hand up his thigh, eager to finally touch him now that you had your hands back. His cocks twitched at your touch before he was quick to stuff himself back in his pants. You felt a bit disappointed at that. You had wanted him to undress more. 

“It’s Harlequin.” He corrected you, though he didn’t actually seem upset about the nickname. You wanted to make a retort, but didn't want him to deny you again for being a brat. 

“Yes sir, Harlequin.” You nodded, lightly trailing your finger up and down his leg, intentionally ‘accidentally’ grazing the outline of one of his cocks. He inhaled sharply but he didn’t stop you, instead raising an eyebrow. He couldn’t tell if he liked you saying that or not. 

“Suddenly obedient, are we?” He smirked down at you. “Get up.” You do as you’re told and stand up. He then puts a hand on your back, and guides you through the dark trailer to some kind of large box or bin on the floor. “Sit” He then adds, and you do so. 

“So you want me to let you cum, hmm?” He asked, leaning over you now, one hand on your thigh. 

“Yes, please, I want it so badly it hurts.” You whined, your skin feeling like it was on fire where he touched you now. 

“Well, since you took your punishment so well for me… I suppose I could allow it.” His hand crept closer, and you spread your legs readily. “Perhaps I’ll make you cum until you beg for me to stop.” He had almost a cruel expression on his face as he said that. “Do you want that, my dear?” You felt like this was a trick question, where the only correct answer was ‘yes’. 

“Yes.” You nodded desperately, fighting the urge to just grind your hips where you sat. 

“Tell me how much you want it.” He leaned in and whispered in your ear.

“I don’t just want it, I need it. I feel like my body is on fire, it just burns so much. I’ve wanted it ever since that moment in the tent… please Harley, let me cum for you.” The nickname slipped out without you thinking about it, but this time he didn’t say anything about it as you felt his tongue glide up your neck, his teeth lightly scratching you. At the same time, he slipped his hand between your legs, dipping two fingers into your wetness. You let out a breathy moan and arched into his touch. His tentacles mindlessly began to slide around your legs and hips, not squeezing or coiling, just feeling. 

Two fingers easily slid into you, and his thumb slowly circled your clit. He nipped at your neck, licking and kissing at the little red marks as he started to pump in and out, pressing up and curling inside you as he did. You felt a dull scraping from his claws, but he was surprisingly very mindful when it came to not scratching you on the inside. 

“Ohh… fuck…” You muttered, wrapping your arms around him as if he was going to draw back again. He chuckled into your skin when he felt you grip the back of his shirt. 

“Such a good girl, falling apart already. I bet I could make you cum without even touching you. We’ll have to try it sometime. Would you like to ride my thigh while I whisper obscenities to you, dear one?” You nod quickly. 

“Y-yes, god yes…” your mind was growing fuzzy with need, and at this point, you’d probably say yes to anything he said to you. He started to speed up, introducing a third digit, and you were quickly building up to your peak already, having been edged so many times. His tentacles meandered about your body, sliding over your stomach, ass, breasts, and shoulders as if they were memorizing your shape. 

Harlequin wanted to bite and lick down your body, but he stayed where you held him. Even he wanted to finally let you have your release, however you wanted it. But after you finally had your little moment, he wasn’t going to stop, no. This was nowhere near over for him. He had been patient. He let you entertain Pierrot, using that damn red ticket to get into the circus every night. The fact that you were letting him have you before that red dog thrilled him and simply thinking about that had him getting hard again. Perhaps now you’d want his ticket. He’d just have to tell Bil that you still weren’t allowed in the pink tent. As much as Harlequin loved toying with fools, you were too good for that. Fools didn’t put up a fight or make snarky comments. They didn’t moan and beg like you did. They didn’t feel like you did. They didn’t make him feel what you made him feel. 

“H-Harle… mmm… Harlequin…” You breathed out in a soft moan. Your mouth next to his ear made you sound so much sweeter. It was probably the only sweet thing he actually liked. You clutched him tightly, and somewhere in the back of your mind you thought you felt him begin to melt into you. 

“That’s it, meu anjo…” He muttered back, licking just below your own ear. He pressed hard into the spongy area inside you that he knew would send you careening toward your end. “Cum for me, dear one… let go.” 

Your body convulsed and you saw white. A loud moan ripped through you while your legs shook, and Harlequin pulled back just enough to see your face. Tears streaked down your cheeks, your eyes glassy and unfocused as your mouth hung open. Your hair was mussed, and each breath you took shook your entire body. He couldn’t deny just how beautiful you looked in that moment. 

He worked you through your orgasm, slowing down a little, but not fully stopping until you practically melted into a puddle. Your hold on him loosened before your arms fell back to your sides. He stood up, looking down at the masterpiece of you sprawled out, an absolute mess, with your chest heaving. You stared blankly up at the ceiling for a moment until your eyes drifted to him.

You weren’t quite sure what to say. Thank you? That felt great? I love you? 

So, you didn’t say anything, and instead weakly reached for him in your post-orgasmic haze. Your ears were ringing and you felt cold. You just wanted him to come closer again. If only for a moment. 

Harlequin felt his chest twist in an uncomfortable way when you reached for him. That was another thing the fools didn’t do. They didn’t get all soft and sappy. They didn’t want a hug. They didn’t want to cuddle after sex. And neither did he. Did he? To pull your warm body into him, wrapping his legs and tentacles around you while breathing in your scent and drifting off to sleep.

Hell no.

Fuck no. 

He almost slapped himself for thinking about such dumb shit. Maybe he shouldn’t have done this. Because now… now he was thinking about you too much. Reading into things too much. He had to stop that. What the fuck was wrong with him? 

As you began to come back to reality, you saw Harlequin standing above you, staring. Not at you, but through you. He wasn’t smiling anymore, and you had a hard time making out his expression. He looked… Confused? Maybe slightly angry? A little sad? And then in an instant, it was gone as his smile returned.

“Finally with me again? Are you ready for more?” His tentacles suddenly seemed alive again, wrapping around your waist to flip you over onto your stomach, much to your displeasure. Now you couldn’t touch him or see him anymore. Before you could protest, his hand was on your cunt again, this time almost violently assaulting your clit. You let out a sharp yelp as your back arched. Back and forth he raced over it, putting far more pressure in his motions than before.

“A-ah! Shit, Harley!” You squirmed, your body subconsciously trying to retreat, but he held you in place, his tentacles around your waist while he leaned over you. His free hand reached up to ghost your neck, barely touching you at first, waiting for you to ask him to stop. 

When you didn’t say anything, and instead just moaned, he grabbed your neck gently, tilting your head up. 

“Such a fragile, submissive little thing you are. Falling to pieces from my touch, moaning for me. Crying out my name! And then later…” he leans in close, “when it’s Pierrot’s turn to fuck you, I want you to say my name when you cum on his cock. I want him to stop and look at you in horror as he realizes who you really want. And then…” He continued, his voice sounding giddy, “When he can’t please you like I do, I want you to come back to me. Tell me how badly you want me again. How you want me to touch you, to edge you, to devour you like I haven’t eaten in centuries, to fuck you until you can’t stand…” The pressure on your neck grew firmer with every word, until your breaths came out as soft wheezes. Your body jolted as he continued to speed over your clit, and you were quickly on the edge yet again.

“H-Harle…quin…” you gasped, your face growing warmer from the pressure. His claws scraped against the back of your neck, and he watched your face flush red as you tried your best to keep breathing. You squeezed your eyes shut and groaned as you approached your second orgasm. 

“A-arley— mmm!“ It was nearly as intense as the first, your hips and legs stuttering while you sputtered in his grasp. Your vision started becoming spotty before his grip on your neck disappeared and you gasped, coughing at how quickly the air filled your lungs. After a couple moments of you catching your breath, you felt his hands trailing down your back, coming to rest on your rear. You tiredly lifted your head to look behind you, watching as he knelt down behind you. He cast you a wry grin. He was up to something again. 

“What’re you—“

You jolted when his fingers brushed your very sensitive clit again, this time sliding up you, past your entrance, and—

“Harley!” You cry out and jerk away when the dragged your slick all the way to your asshole. “I-I don’t… um, I…”

“I have two cocks, you have two holes, gatinho.” He lets out a breathy laugh. “A perfect fit, no?” He gave a light squeeze to your ass, but didn’t prod further yet.

“I… well, you…”

“You can say no. It wouldn’t be as fun, of course, but I know you’ll come around eventually.” His expression darkened slightly at the end of that statement. You thought about it for a moment. This had already been a lot for your first time, could you handle that? Both of them pounding into you at once, filling you entirely. You couldn’t deny that the thought made your pussy throb though. 

“I-I’ll try.” You swallowed thickly as his grin widened. 

“Good girl.” He praised you, and you began to ache for his touch again. When you felt him again, it was the same as before, starting at your clit and dragging as much slick as he could to your pucker, before pushing a finger inside. You groaned at the feeling, still unsure about it, but willing to give it a shot. 

You glanced back at him again, just in time to watch a glob of his spit fall from his mouth to your ass, his finger sliding out to swipe it up and use it as more lube. You whined as he pumped it in and out, lubing up your walls before adding a second finger. This one hurt, and your nails scraped at the box beneath you as you held your breath. 

“Breathe.” Harlequin said suddenly, and you let it all out and took in another sharp breath. You barely noticed his tentacles sliding up your arms until they coiled around your hands, squeezing gently. You gripped them back, and you felt confused about this for a brief moment. Was this supposed to be like him holding your hand? 

The feeling of him slowly circling your sensitive nub again tore you from your thoughts, and you pressed your forehead down with a moan. 

He started to shift his two fingers around, stretching them apart to prepare you for a third finger. Your legs trembled a little as your heart started beating faster with anxiety. It felt incredibly odd to want something so badly despite being terrified of it. You supposed that’s just how it was with Harlequin. He scared you in so many ways, yet you still needed him. 

“Relax, meu anjo… just breathe.” He murmured before easing a third finger in. You groaned at the stretch, gripping his tentacles tightly while you waited for the sharp sensation to ease. 

Harlequin watched your breathing from behind, using it as a guide for when to move and when to stop. He spit on you again, and brought more of your juices up to help ease the friction. 

You didn’t know why he was being so gentle about this, but you were immensely grateful for it. Maybe he thought that if he wasn’t gentle you’d ask him to stop, which you probably would have. You would have liked to think that it’s because he didn’t actually want to hurt you, but you knew that wasn’t true. At least that’s what you thought. 

Slowly, he stretched you out while giving gentle attention to your clit, and as you adjusted to his fingers, the pressure started to feel good, really good. After seeing you calm, Harlequin starts to rub at you a little faster now, and with how sensitive you were now, his touch was starting to burn. Yet you rolled your hips into him to chase the feeling anyway. Your body jolted with every pass of his finger, coming closer and closer yet again. 

“Cum for me again, dear one. I know you can do it.” You then felt him bite down on your ass. You cried out as that sent you felt your third orgasm wash over you. Your body, still feeling like jelly from the last two, could barely do much more than tense up for a moment as your heart pounded in your ears. You could barely see straight now, and you just felt nothing but dull tingling in all your limbs. You whined when he suddenly pulled out and you felt so very empty. Disappointment crossed your mind for only a second before you remembered what was coming next. 

He rolled you onto your side, and guided one of your legs up, bringing your ankle up to rest on his shoulder. You whined when you felt him prod against your core. He then lined himself up and slowly pressed in with both. You moaned loudly at the feeling. The sharp stinging from being stretched so wide and the throbbing pleasure from feeling so full collided in the most intense way, making your whole body feel numb, like you were floating. 

“Oh fffuck~” He groans deeply, a blissful look on his face again. This time he isn’t as quick to hide it as he slowly sinks into you, your own expression mirroring his. 

“Você se sente t-tão bem…” He mutters, “bom gatinho… porra!” 

You whine at the slow push and pull, the feeling of him dragging against himself inside you. 

“F-fuck, Harley…” You breathe out, “feels s’good… please, I… I need… faster.” You don’t have to tell him twice. Immediately he starts moving in and out, fucking you sideways, and you cry out in pleasure. 

When you reach out desperately for him, he couldn’t help but lean in and let you grab him, allowing your leg to slip off his shoulder and down to his waist. Just like before, you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him close. The angle was a bit odd, but he made it work, slamming his hips up into yours, filling the supply trailer with incredibly lewd noises. 

“Você é perigoso, você me faz sentir coisas de que não gosto. Eu não posso te amar, eu não vou te amar. Mas eu quero amar você. Eu quero tanto…” He rattled off in your ear as he thrusted into you so hard the box you were on began to slide. 

“Oh Harlequin~” You moaned in his ear before burying your face in the crook of his neck. He panted above you, rutting into you and filling you so deeply that all you could think about was him, all you could feel was him. And it felt so good. His tentacles were back to roaming your body, two of them focusing on your breasts, lightly squeezing and playing with your nipples. He was supporting himself above you with one arm, while the other snuck down between the two of you. By now your abused clit was so sensitive that simply grazing it made you clamp down on him and jolt. He let out a groan at that, before slowly circling it again.

“F-fuck, Harley, you— ah… mmm you-you don’t have to— shit…” You struggle to get any words out, your sex-drunk stupor making it hard to think. 

“Oh, I know I don’t have to. But I want to.” You can hear the grin in his voice, and can’t help but roll your hips into him. 

“You feel so fucking good, gatinho…” He grunts into your shoulder, pushing deeper now. Despite holding him close to you, you still didn’t feel like it was enough. You felt like something was missing, like you needed more of him. 

“H-Harley?” You ask between pants. He didn’t respond at first. “Kiss me?” You ask. He sputters at that, hips stilling for a moment, before continuing slower now. 

“What?” He asks, pulling away slightly to look at you. 

“I…” you pause, his reaction to that making you nervous now. “Nevermind. Just… just please keep going.” You try to pull him back into you, but he resists. You look up at him with wide eyes, worried you’d upset him, until he suddenly leaned down and pressed his lips to yours.

Harlequin had never really understood kissing. There were better places to put a pair of lips to use, and it never really did anything for him when he did try and kiss someone. But now? With the way you held onto him, the way you said his name, the way you looked at him? Maybe now he understands it. Because staring down at you now, all he wanted to do was kiss you. So he did. 

It was heated and rough, the way his lips collided with yours. Just like how he treated the rest of your body, his tongue was quick to follow his lips, sliding along your lips until you opened your mouth for him. His forked tongue slid over your teeth before coiling around your tongue. You moaned into his mouth as he hit a soft spot inside you, and his thumb continued to bring you closer and closer to yet another numbing orgasm. 

Pulling his tongue back out, he bit your bottom lip, earning a sigh from you, before he moved to kiss your neck, biting you twice, leaving prominent marks above where your shirt collar would normally sit. You knew that was on purpose, too. 

“Ha… Harley~” you whine, having a hard time keeping your eyes open now. “I-I’m… oh… fff—“

Your body seizes up, squeezing him hard as you cum yet again. 

“Oh… Vou gozar na sua bocetinha… Você é meu…” He slams all the way in, moaning at how tightly your body squeezes him. He gives a couple more sporadic thrusts before he finishes as well, spilling hot ropes of cum into you. 

“And…” he pants, “if you think… that this is going to… stay a secret from Pierrot… think again.” He pulls back and you whimper as he slips out of you, watching his cum leak out of you with a satisfied smile. “I am never going to let him live this down.” 

“Would you fucking shut up about Pierrot?” You mutter blearily with your eyes closed, starting to get annoyed that he kept bringing his beef with him into this moment. “I don’t care about him right now.” You reach out for him once again, not bothering to look to see if he would come. You smiled when you felt him lean down, allowing you to pull him into you again. “I just want you right now.” You murmur softly. You notice that he tenses at that.

Harlequin grit his teeth at your words. Why did you have to say things like that? Why did you have to reach for him like that? To hold him like that? He wasn’t supposed to feel this way about you. It was just a game at first. Just to see if he could win you. So now here he stands, a winner wanting to refuse the prize. All because you were more than he thought you were, all because the prize was too good for him. 

He would hurt you. He wasn’t good at this; at loving. You weren’t supposed to just want him. You were supposed to want him for a little while, then go back to your loyal Pierrot. Perhaps there was still a chance that would happen, but now… well, now the thought sickened him. But perhaps that would be fair. An eye for an eye, after all. He took Columbina. Maybe the time for penance has come, and he must let Pierrot take you. 

A soft snore escaping you tore him from his thoughts, and he realized that you had fallen asleep already. 

~~~~~

The next time you opened your eyes, you were back in your apartment, in your bed. You sat up quickly, only to realize you were still naked and… grimy. At least he brought me home, you thought. You just hope he covered you in his cape or something on the way here. Your clothes sit in a pile at the foot of your bed, and on top of them sits a green ticket. Maybe you’ll use that one today. 

You then attempt to get out of bed, only to knock your lamp over when you have to grab your nightstand to keep from falling over. Your legs did not feel like they had bones, and your entire lower half felt slightly numb. 

“Good evening, visitor. Your ticket, please?” He held a gloved hand out for the slip. You handed it to him quickly, not wanting to hold up the line. He paused slightly at the red ticket. His head tilted to the side ever so slightly.

“A special ticket! Keep it safe, dear guest, as you’ll need to show it at the attractions,” he informed as he punched the ticket. A triangular punch that knocked out the little black shadow of the circus tent at the top of the ticket. It was kinda cute.

“How’s it special, if I may ask?” You walked a bit past him to allow him to continue to the next customer. He eyed you for a moment, before turning back to the guests.

“That ticket allows you front row seats at the Pierrot’s performance! Enjoy your visit,” he said before welcoming the next guest. You hummed curiously, thanking the man as you hurried in. The golden tickets of the box office were all over the place, and you even saw some black and pink ones. But no red or green. If it was just preferential or VIP status, why were tweedle dee and tweedle dum so secretive about their tickets? Just to get you interested?

Well. It kinda worked, you supposed. You were here and definitely were interested.

The scent of popcorn and sugar made your stomach rumble, while simultaneously making it turn. You knew you were hungry, but it was so overwhelming it knocked the need away. Maybe you’d get a small container of popcorn on the way out, just for the authenticity.

You looked around at the attractions as you thought about your potential snack. There were the usual rigged carnival games with giant stuffed animals. You even saw giant plushies of the circus members, which was adorable as all get-out in your opinion. You saw a strength game with a bell at the top, which tempted you to swing the mallet. But you knew the shows would start soon.

You approached the big purple tent, seeing the flaps closed with two staff members seemingly guarding it. You pouted a little bit upon realizing you missed one of the shows. The Jester, you assumed from the circus’ itinerary that was hung up periodically around the carnival grounds. You saw Pierrot’s show wouldn’t start for a bit, but Harlequin’s should be soon. So, despite knowing it might lead to some picking on the green bean’s end, you headed for the green tent.

People filed in, flashing their tickets at the staff in pink that stood outside. When you showed your ticket, the woman checking it suddenly straightened. She mechanically placed a hand on your shoulder as she guided you down the aisles of benches. You were confused, until she stopped at the front row. Without a word, she returned to her station outside. You watched her go, feeling unsettled and wondering what that was about. Slowly, you sat down. You knew the man taking tickets said you’d get front row seats to Pierrot’s show. Did he just fail to mention it’d be for others? Or did Harlequin put a special order in, knowing you’d be coming tonight?

The spotlight fell on the man of the hour. He bowed and waved, greeting the applauding crowd, as he scanned the bodies for something. Someone. He paused for just a moment, when he was facing your direction. His grin sharpened, giving you a single once-over. You shifted in your seat, uncomfortable and flustered under the attention. He went to his little puppet stage to begin his show. Six puppets appeared on the stage.

“Far from everything, where God’s eyes could not reach, the monsters lived. Forgotten. Hungry and silent…” Harlequin’s voice took on a dangerous tone as he spoke- theatrical and ominous. His tale unfolded into one of slavery and tragedy. Monsters forced to entertain just by existing- as if humanity owned them just because they were different. You felt yourself tear up a little bit, especially when they finally killed the man who had kept them captive. You were sure you were the odd one out, crying at a story told at a horror attraction, but it moved you.

It brought back some memories- ones you’d rather forget- but in a way it reminded you that you were here now. Despite the struggles you faced and the fights you got into just to escape to your new life. You saw him glance your way as you wiped your eyes. Harlequin didn’t miss a beat, however, as his story reached its end. Everyone clapped as it finished, and he thanked everyone for coming. The floodlights lit up the pathway out of the tent and people began to head out. You seemed to be the only one who thought it was a somber story, from how people talked as they exited.

You finally got to your feet. Harlequin approached as you shimmied onto the main walkway. He grinned down at you, bowing theatrically in greeting. Despite how intense the guy could be, you felt yourself smile. Maybe the story put you more at ease than usual.

“I was hoping you’d visit my tent tonight. Enjoy the show?” He stood up straight as he asked you. You nodded enthusiastically.

“A lot, yeah. Although that was a pretty sad story for a horror show. I expected more… puppet guts, I guess,” you laughed. Harlequin was silent for a moment, grin fading in confusion.

“Sad? You’re an odd little thing, usually the audience just goes “oh wow, thank goodness for that angel” and are happy the monsters got out.” He crossed his arms, amused. You felt yourself get flustered. You knew your view was a bit different, but to have the storyteller poke fun at you made your ears burn. You wrung your hands nervously, eyes drifting everywhere but his near mocking grin.

“Well, I… I guess I can relate to the struggle, to an extent. The feeling of being trapped and doing whatever you can to escape… Sorry- God, that’s lame,” you said, mumbling the last part to yourself. You blinked rapidly, trying to stop your burning eyes from shedding more tears in front of the guy. Harlequin was silent as he took in your awkward posture. He had an odd feeling in his guts as he pondered your words. No, you’d never be able to know their struggle. He should be angry with that stupid declaration, but your sincerity stopped him.

“I see you’re wearing my pin,” he finally said, changing the subject so abruptly you were worried you offended him somehow. His usual smarmy smile was back, however. He leaned closer to you, claws idly tracing the green heart on your collar.

“You don’t know how happy that makes me,” he purred, stepping closer. On instinct you moved back. He didn’t stop following you until your back hit the canvas of the tent. You swallowed thickly as he leaned down, face inches from yours. Whatever scent he wore was intoxicating, this close up. Your heart thudded in your chest.

“How intimate, this close to that lovely neck… I hope you didn’t just wear it to tease me, knowing you were going to his tent, dear one. Or would you be teasing him?” His whisper made you shiver. He braced his arms around your head, claws digging into the tent wall behind you. You pressed yourself back into the canvas like you could slip through it. His smile was predatory and hungry.

“Why’re you running? Are you that scared, or… secretly enjoying it?” One of his hands moved to your neck, thumb pressing down like he did when he placed the pin on your collar. You knew he could feel your pulse jumping against your throat. You opened your mouth to deny it, but a wave of shame stopped you. You felt your hands tremble. He chuckled lowly, releasing your throat to brush his knuckles along your cheek.

“I can read you- read that little heart running a mile a minute, little rabbit. Red doesn’t suit you, darling.” He trailed his fingers back down to the pin, but his eyes never left yours. He took in your cowering self, seemingly scared but pupils blown with confusing desire. He lowered his face further, lips next to your ear.

“That intoxicating green fits so much better. Don’t you think so?” His other hand left the tent wall, landing heavily on your shoulder. Harlequin let it slip down your arm, claws ever so lightly scratching the skin, before he stepped back finally. He seemed pleased, when it took you a minute to gather yourself. A heat spread through your stomach. You didn’t know if it was anger, embarrassment, shame, or even arousal. All you knew is that your chest felt tight.

He moved further away, allowing you space to finally leave. His head tilted toward the exit to the tent, as if he had heard something. When your gaze followed, however, you didn’t see anything there. Just the muffled carnival music and screams of delight from the circus-goers. Harlequin chuckled to himself about dramatics, then bowed to let you leave the tent. You coughed slightly.

“I’ll… see you around, Harlequin,” you finally got out, voice cracking in a way that made you wanna crawl into a hole. You hurried out, hearing his affirming hum and feeling his eyes strip away everything you were. Down to the last vulnerable layer. You didn’t know if you liked it.

The air of the circus was stuffy with hundreds of bodies breathing and bright lights bearing down on you, but your skin prickled with goosebumps. You wrapped your arms around yourself. Pierrot’s show would start soon. You needed to hurry. You pushed Harlequin’s actions out of your mind, despite the burning where his hands touched you. You didn’t even bother with food, your appetite completely gone after such a display.

You flashed your ticket at the pink-clad man at the doorway of the red tent. Just like the woman, he reached for you. You flinched at the contact, still raw from Harlequin’s hands, but obediently followed when he didn’t let your shoulder go. Just like before, you were led to the front row and left there without a word. You sat down, trying to slow your racing heart. 

You noticed no one else was in the front rows here, either. You wondered if the personal tickets were super rare. Part of you hoped so. Even if Pierrot did just give it to you as thanks for getting those people off his ass, you liked feeling a bit special.

As you thought of the devil, the spotlights made their move to the center stage. Pierrot bowed, a sinister yet delighted grin on his features. Like Harlequin, his eyes scanned the crowd as music began to play. His eyes locked with yours for a long moment, smile widening as he began to move.

The lights started to change colors, spinning around Perrot to give the illusion his shadow was dancing alongside him. His steps were calculated, like an animal on the hunt. You couldn’t help but lean forward, almost entranced by how fluid his dance was. This wasn’t the same guy you met on the streets. The shy, eager puppy you had grown attached to was a wolf stalking his prey when the spotlight was on him. You watched him with wide and attentive eyes, which he seemed to notice. Even as the lights spiraled over him, and in the darkness of the seats, he was glued to you whenever he was facing your way. Your face grew warm under his gaze. You couldn’t seem to look away from him, even as you grew more flustered.

He slowly stopped his dance, the lights now focusing on a stage assistant that had been brought out. She was tied into a large box, wrists secured to the sides of the box and legs spread into the bottom corners. Her head lolled slowly, like she was trying to get her bearings. In the dim spotlights, you caught the glint of knives in Pierrot’s hands. You brought a hand up to your mouth in anticipation. You didn’t know anything about his act, but this was more in-line with what a circus of horrors would bring to the table.

With a flourish, he threw a knife at the woman’s head. You jumped as it lodged into the wood with a harsh thunk. People cheered him on. He glanced your way, seeing you staring at him in awe. In adoration. He twirled the next knife around his fingers, before letting it loose without even looking at his target. The weapon stuck just under the woman’s ribs, so close her costume was sliced open. She didn’t even flinch. People yelled for him to hit her. You didn’t like how blatant people were being about it, but… You felt adrenaline spiking. You wanted to see how close he could get. How far this show would go.

The third knife flew easily, landing just below her right arm. The faintest trail of blood dripped down onto her sleeve. It was an act, that was all. You felt your hands tremble again.

Pierrot watched you for a moment, until your eyes landed on him once again. He lifted the final knife, pressing the tip to the mouth of his mask. Then he turned back to the assistant, regarding her with such hate it had people on edge. With a harsh throw, the knife met its new resting place in the middle of her forehead. The mask cracked, people cheering as half of it fell to the floor. Her body slumped, only held up by the restraints. Blood poured down her face, her outfit, and onto the dirt floor beneath her.

Your hands flew to your mouth as people lost their minds around you. Despite the horror you felt as you watched the blood drip, there was something else. Some sick adoration at the fact he, seemingly, dedicated that last knife throw to you. The scent of iron hung in the air, heavy like a blanket. Pierrot’s eyes bored into yours, expression sharp and full of devotion. It made your chest feel tight. It scared you, just like the supposed dead body should. You finally tore yourself away and got up. You had to get out of here, before you delved into thoughts you locked away a year ago.

You hurried out of the tent, shoving your way into the cooler open air. Your knees felt like jelly as you stumbled off to the side, holding onto a prop crate to keep yourself upright. 

You were being ridiculous. It was a HORROR circus. That was no doubt just really good practical effects combined with the low lighting. Whoever they consulted with to get the blood to flow just right deserved their own reward. Fake blood in movies always looked too runny or even too thick. That looked disgustingly real. It wasn’t their fault you were-

A hand landed on your shoulder. You tensed up instantly, shoving the hand away and moving back. You turned to see an apologetic Pierrot, holding his hands to his chest like he was burned. For the hundredth time tonight, you felt shame settle in your chest and a heat in your ears.

“God- I’m sorry, Pierrot, I didn’t… Sorry,” you apologized, instinctively ducking your head and looking down at your feet. You saw his hands drop slightly, before he bent down with a jingle. His usual smile returned, albeit with a bit of a worried crease to his brow. You let out a slow exhale, forcing yourself to lift your head again. You gave him a sheepish smile. He started to stand again, but caught sight of your collar.

That dangerous look you’ve only seen a couple times returned, hand gently grabbing the collar of your shirt. His claw clinked against the metal of Harlequin’s pin. You had forgotten about it during Pierrot’s performance. Maybe you should’ve taken it off.

He leaned closer, chest rising faster. He suddenly smiled, a strained expression that had you nervous. Pierrot pulled out a small pin of his own, a golden star, and pinned it just above Harlequin’s. You were beginning to think their weird little rivalry went beyond their circus roles. His hands slid down to rest on your upper arms

“Did you enjoy my show, dear?” Pierrot whispered, eyes darting around to see if anyone was watching. You shivered ever so slightly, nerves frayed and on fire at the same time. You nodded slightly, your own hands grasping his arms. Your face grew hot at how close he was.

“Y-yeah, it was incredible. You looked like two people out there, when you danced! And the effects on the knife throwing bit were so real. What’d you do to make the blood? Was it a pre-made solution or did you homebrew it?” Your anxiety faded away as you asked your questions. You held his arms a little tighter, curiosity getting the better of you now. Even through the fabric, you could feel the thick coil of muscle along his biceps.

He seemed surprised at your questions, but simply held a finger to his mouth and winked. You huffed, a bit disappointed. You understood, though. Maybe you could ask him again if you caught him outside of work hours. He leaned back down.

“I can show you the rest of the circus, if you’d like. I have no more shows tonight,” he offered, squeezing your arm lightly. You hesitated. Really, you should go home so you can get ready for tomorrow. You had a day off, but you also had chores you needed to do. But, despite Harlequin’s advances and the gnawing at the back of your mind, you were having fun.

“I… guess it wouldn’t be too bad, staying a bit longer. I don’t have to work tomorrow, so I can go shopping whenever I get up.” You watched him light up at your agreement. He released your arms, nearly vibrating in excitement. Pierrot held his arm out to you eagerly. You held onto it, butterflies flitting in your stomach. He really was cute when he wanted to be.

Pierrot led you through the attractions. You couldn’t help but marvel at the place, now that you weren’t as stressed out. You eyed all the stereotypical games; Ring toss, dart throwing, knocking over bullshit milk bottles with badly formed baseballs. You couldn’t help but eye the prizes, and one in particular caught your eye. A red and black hat, with three gold stars and bells on the tips. It was stupid, especially with the original owner right next to you. But the circus was time for stupid games and stupid prizes.

You stopped in front of the booth, looking at the balloons hanging on the backboard. Pierrot looked down at you, then the game. Pierrot jingled at you curiously. Despite your embarrassment, you let go of his arm to go to the game. He followed you closely as you paid for your darts.

You grabbed one, hand shaking slightly from the general adrenaline and nerves. Pierrot leaned down, placing gentle hands on you. One grabbed the hand with your dart to help you aim, the other on your waist. You were pretty sure having the knife throwing guy help you with this was cheating, but your head was swimming in the smell of him. Blood and greasepaint and the faintest trace of sugar. You hoped he wasn’t as in tune with your heart as Harlequin seemed to be.

He guided your hand, throwing the dart at the first balloon. It just barely hit, and you flinched at the pop. Pierrot hummed softly, tightening his grip on your hand as you grabbed the next dart.

“Relax, my dear. Too tense, and it won’t fly,” he mumbled in your ear. His voice shot a jolt down your spine. You forced your arm to relax, allowing him to help you. The dart landed more surely, popping the second balloon.

“Good, just like that,” he praised, voice wavering ever so slightly. You swallowed thickly, letting him lead you through the rest of the darts. His hand crept higher up your waist, fingers tense like he wanted to grab you. Pull you closer. You threw the final dart, not having missed a single one thanks to Pierrot’s guidance. The pink-clad worker clapped dully, then grabbed the pole to collect your chosen prize.

Remembering your goal, you pointed to the duplicate Pierrot hat. It was handed over to you wordlessly. Sheepishly, you turned to Pierrot. His eyes were wide, cheeks bright red. He helped you put it on and you couldn’t help but snort. The bells jingled as it settled on your head. His hands trembled, hovering just next to your cheeks. You fidgeted with one of the bells.

“I hope this isn’t stupid… I just thought it’d be a cute souvenir-!” Unable to stop himself, he squished your cheeks in his hands. You could almost see the hearts in his eyes as he looked you over. Your lips were forced to pucker due to how aggressively he was squishing you. You couldn’t help but laugh, though, as you removed his hands. He held them tightly instead.

“I guess you’re flattered, then?” you asked. He nodded instantly, an almost lovestruck look on his face. A strangled noise left the back of his throat as you finally started moving again. You pulled him away from the booth so other people could have a turn, getting one of your hands free. The other stayed in his grip, completely covered by his own. His hands were massive and sturdy.

As you two walked slowly toward the exit, you finally fished your phone out to check the time. Just as you did so, you got a call from your ex. You imagine you had quite a few voicemails, too. Your good mood dwindled as you weighed your options. You knew he wouldn’t stop calling no matter what. Some part of you hoped you could just get him to leave you alone. Your chest felt heavy.

You didn’t even realize you had stopped walking, only coming to when Pierrot tugged on your hand. You put your phone away after declining the call. You heaved out a breath as you pocketed the call. He squeezed your hand, a silent question for your well being.

“... My ex fiance. I… left a year or so ago after, uh…” You hesitated. You didn’t want to dump all your problems on a guy you barely knew. At the same time, he gave you that worried stare that said you could tell him anything and he’d be there for you. You continued to walk towards the exit as you thought.

“He and I… He… Jesus, I haven’t talked about him with anyone except my old therapist… He and I would fight a lot and… one night, I just grabbed what I could and left. I had him blocked but I guess he’s started using burners or something- he’s been calling me nonstop,” you told him, voice catching in your throat near the end. You wiped at your eyes as they grew wet.

“What did he do to you?” The concerned whisper caught you off guard. You didn’t even hear him lean down, but maybe the sound of your new hat drowned his out. You wrapped your free arm around yourself, feeling sick.

“What didn’t he do,” was your quiet, bitter laugh of an answer. You slipped your hand out of his, missing how he tried to follow it. Return it into his grasp. You forced yourself to calm down, looking up at him with a small smile.

“Look, I’ve had a lot of fun, but… I think that’s the cue for me to head home. Sorry for dragging the mood down, Pierrot.” You shifted on your feet. He kneeled in front of you, grasping your shoulders with a pleading look on his face. His eyes begged you to stay. That heavy feeling in your chest became a lighter, fluttering thing.

“... Tell you what. I gotta do stuff tomorrow. If you have time, meet me by the cafe and we can just… walk and talk maybe? Away from both our jobs.” You fidgeted with the bell on your hat again, too embarrassed to look at him. You really shouldn’t do this. You barely knew the guy, and shouldn’t be asking him out. But those big, hopeful puppy eyes drew you in. Maybe you could risk a bit of happiness for once.

Pierrot nodded so quickly you thought his hat would fly off. You laughed a bit, finally getting him to stand. You two finished your walk to the exit, where there were small souvenirs being sold just outside the exit. Pierrot bowed theatrically in farewell, head tilted up to look at you adoringly. You waved to him as you started to go. Like a lovestruck fool, Pierrot began to retreat back into the circus.

How fucking tired were you? You scrambled to get ready for a second day in a row, grabbing a protein bar and water on the way out the door as a breakfast substitute. You nearly tumbled down the stairs in your rush. You shot your boss a text, profusely apologizing for oversleeping again.

The streets were littered with flyers again. It felt wasteful at this point, really. Advertisement was important, but so was not littering. You seemingly didn’t learn much from yesterday as you hurried through the streets. You yelled as you slid, landing on the asphalt ass-first. You cursed to yourself, standing. Someone in front of you chuckled. You felt your face heat up, embarrassed, as a green clown came into view.

“Well now, I haven’t had someone fall for me that quickly before,” he laughed as you stood up. You rolled your eyes as you brushed off your pants and palms. You did have a little smile though, showing you weren’t pissed off at the joke. He was dressed similar to Pierrot, although he had a small cape around his shoulders versus Pierrot’s ruffled collar. His costume was green and black with gold, and less bells.

“Well, what can I say? I’ve always liked clowns,” you joked back, earning a pleased grin. He held a flyer out to you as if you didn’t just eat shit because of them.

“Well, in that case, perhaps I could sway you to visit our humble circus.” He bowed slightly as he held it out, looking at you with those ethereal eyes that the circus members seemed to have. His were a brilliant emerald, two slits that tried to unwind your very being under their gaze. A stark contrast to Pierrot’s soft gold that was always wide and endearing.

“No need. I got a ticket yesterday, actually. No swaying needed.” That gave him a bit of pause. His head tilted slightly as he stood to his full height, a new amusement in his eyes.

“Wonderful! Was it… a pink one, then?” There was a tone to his voice. Like he was remembering an inside joke. You vaguely wondered if he was giving out fake tickets, or if he was just wondering if someone else got hit by a shitty scalper. Either way, you shook your head.

“Red, actually. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” You went to step around him to head to work. You felt his eyes on you, then heard bells as he followed behind you. Ugh.

“So that Pierrot gave it to you, hm? Interesting.” He circled around until he was in front of you again. He seemingly winked, giving you a new and more dramatic bow.

“I’m the Harlequin, dear one. Ah! I have an idea,” he said, as if something just dawned on him. He pulled a ticket out of his pocket, bright green and almost blinding you in the sun. The light caught the little laminated paper wrong, making you squint. He couldn’t help but snort as he angled it away from you.

“How about a trade? You can have mine, and I’ll take that little red one.” He held it out to you expectantly. Your brows creased in confusion. You asked what the difference was between all the colors. The sound of rapidly approaching bells cut off your new acquaintance. The Harlequin grinned, looking behind you now. You turned your head to see the newcomer.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” Harlequin murmured to you. Pierrot made his way toward you both in long, angry strides. His fists were clenched at his sides, eyes dead set on Harlequin. You couldn’t help but step back slightly, almost into the instigator behind you. That seemed to knock some sense back into Pierrot. His gaze flicked to you, softening instantly.

“Aw, such a shame you don’t have a voice, Pierrot. Can’t say all those nasty little thoughts rolling around in there.” Harlequin dipped around you, smirking up at his coworker. Pierrot’s glare returned. He snatched the ticket from Harlequin’s hands, shoving it into his costume angrily. You wondered if it was part of their act- the Pierrot and Harlequin, forever at odds. You just happened to be in the middle of said act. Some part of you was flustered at the idea, even if it was just for show.

“Just wait ‘til Jester hears about this,” Harlequin near hissed as you hurried off. Pierrot tensed up, glancing back at your retreating form. You caught his eye as you turned a corner. Giving him a little wave and a smile, you hurried off to work. You’d see them both tonight, most likely.

A police car was outside the cafe when you arrived. You entered slowly, pulling out the spare keys to give them to your boss. He was busy talking with an officer, so you went to clock in and prep for the day while he finished up. You put the keys on the counter before you got to work. When the cop left, your boss came over to grab the keys. He ran a hand over his head, then down his neck. He looked stressed. Worried. You leaned on the counter, concerned.

“Everything alright, sir?” You were met with silence. He seemingly was looking for the right words to get out. He finally heaved out a sigh.

“Carol’s missing. Looks like she ran away from home- explains why she was a no-show yesterday,” he mumbled. You felt a lot of things at once, but the biggest one was sympathy. You knew what it was like, being trapped in a family home that made you want to run. She had vented to you before- on breaks and at night, when you two would call and talk. She was saving up to finally move out. You guessed she just couldn’t handle it anymore.

“If it was that bad, I don’t blame her for running. I’ll let you know if she calls,” you told him. He nodded, appreciative. He went to the backroom to look through applicants, having already advertised that they were hiring before Carol vanished, with an order to tell the police if she did call. Your stomach twisted at that. You knew her family situation well by now. You wouldn’t out her to the police if she really didn't want to be found. You secretly sent her a simple text just to check in. Ask if she needed help, or money.

Your phone rang as you sent the text, showing an unknown number. You answered it as the door opened. No one spoke on the other line, but you heard heavy breathing. A shiver ran down your spine.

“I know you can hear me, now quit calling.” You hung up quickly, blocking the number. You finally turned to the customer with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry about that, how can I-?” You blinked, staring directly into a red and black chest when you put your phone away. You couldn’t help the giddy little smile that spread across your face as you looked up properly. Pierrot was looking at you with a mix of curiosity and delight. Your cheeks grew hot, realizing he overheard your problem.

“Don’t worry about that- I got it handled. You want a drink, Pierrot?” He didn’t look too convinced by your reassurance, but pointed to a milkshake. You gave him an amused smile and said you’d bring it to his table when it was done. He nodded, jingling off to a table closest to the counter. You took a couple more orders, then got to work on drinks. Your boss came out as you were preparing the ice cream for Pierrot’s milkshake.

His eyes cut to Pierrot, who was watching you the whole time. The clown was immediately on edge, eager grin vanishing quickly as he met your boss’s eyes. He frowned, leaning down toward you.

“The clown buy anything?” He asked quietly, so as to not alert anyone else to his question. You jumped slightly, not having noticed him next to you. You let out an embarrassed grumble at his little, apologetic smile. You told him about the milkshake. He didn’t look happy, but he wasn’t as annoyed as when he came out.

“Good. I don’t want them hanging around without buying anything- and tell him not to put up any flyers around here,” he ordered, heading back to answer the work line. You gave a noncommittal noise in response as you blended the milkshake. You finished it with a swirl of whipped cream, a pretty drizzle of chocolate, and a nice cherry to top it off. You put the lid on the to-go cup and turned to call Pierrot to the counter.

You nearly dropped the drink when you saw he was right across from you. Pierrot grabbed your arm firmly where you had placed the drink down, leaning in closer. Your heart raced, shocked, before your conversation from last night returned. He couldn’t be seen talking in public. That was all. You leaned closer at the crook of his finger. When his face was nearly next to yours, he finally spoke.

“Was he being rude, my dear?” His whisper sent a shiver down your spine. Goosebumps ran along your arms. You coughed slightly, gathering yourself.

“My boss…? Oh no, nothing like that. Just… giving me some updates on work stuff. A colleague of mine, uh… quit suddenly, so it’s gonna be tight ‘til we hire a couple more people. He’s a good guy, just business-oriented.” You didn’t think Pierrot would put flyers around. It didn’t even look like he had any to spread around. You did glance back to see if he was around, not wanting to get Pierrot banned from the place.

“Will you… come tonight?” he asked, a little more at ease now. You didn’t initially plan on going tonight, but you had no other plans beyond takeout and watching the new season of Married at First Sight. You hummed softly.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. I’m excited to see it,” you grinned, feeling that childlike wonder you always had about the circus. Pierrot’s cheeks dusted red at your honesty. His hand slides down your arm, gripping your hand in near reverence. Your heart thudded in your chest. You’d almost thought he could hear it from how his grin widened.

“That makes me happy to hear. Will you promise to use my ticket, my dear?” His hand gripped yours tighter, claws almost digging into the skin through his glove. You swore to him you would, eyes trailing to the glove’s claws. They were convincingly real. His eyes followed yours, realizing you were staring at them. At your joined hands. He released you real quick, making an odd face to distract you. You hummed, amused at his avoidance. Before you could even ask about the tickets, a few more people came in. A kid got all starry eyed at Pierrot, much to his joy.

Pierrot fished out his payment for the milkshake as a woman stomped up to the counter. You mentally prepared yourself as she shoved her way past the giant clown. You frowned.

“I don’t have all day. You have other customers besides the clown! How long’s it take for a black coffee?” She huffed, arms crossed and foot tapping. You put on your customer service smile.

“Just a moment, ma’am. I’m finishing up a transaction,” you said, hoping to placate her. She growled to herself, pulling her phone out to loudly complain she’d be late because her barista was slow. You rolled your eyes as you turned back to Pierrot. He placed the money in your hand with the utmost care, as well as a chocolate bar. Your eyes lit up.

“You’re a lifesaver- I barely had time to eat this morning. Have a good day, Pierrot.” You tucked the chocolate into your apron pocket, and money in the register. Pierrot waved happily. He passed by the Karen, shooting her a nasty glare before he left completely. You turned to make her stupid coffee, a little disappointed you wouldn’t see Pierrot actually drink his milkshake. Put the makeup vs mask debate to rest. You were now leaning towards mask, as the mouth didn’t move when he spoke, but that still confused you as to how it bled and blushed.

Either way the guy was pretty cute, mask or not. It seemed every time he saw you, he had a little gift for you. You recalled the paper flower on your desk with a flustered smile. Even the woman’s jabs at how lazy you were- how she wasn’t coming back- didn’t put a damper on your mood as you thought about it. About the chocolate bar in your pocket. About the ticket given just to you by a cute giant who looked at you like you put the stars in the sky.

You shook your head, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. You were just lonely, that was all. Latching onto people who treated you nice, just like before. You couldn’t afford to fall back into old habits. You had nowhere to run to, this time. You didn’t need useless crushes on random clowns.

“Oh, so this is where you work, dear one?” Speaking of random clowns… Harlequin ducked into view, leaning on the counter playfully. You were less excited to see this guy, but weren’t about to be rude to a potential customer. You gave him a less rigid smile though.

“Yep. Barista by day, clumsy oaf also by day. What’ll be, Harlequin?” You asked. He chuckled and ordered a simple iced coffee. You were thankful it wasn’t some super complicated drink as you got to work. You felt his eyes on you as you moved. You hummed softly to yourself, trying not to give away the rising anxious- flustered- feeling that was creeping up your back.

“So… About my ticket, darling,” he purred. His claws tapped against the wooden counter. Your hum turned from melodic to curious. Then you remembered the fight from this morning. Persistent.

“Like I said, I already got Pierrot’s. I promised him I’d use it. Don’t wanna be rude about a gift.” You swirled the cup a bit, ice clinking together as you moved back to the counter. He smiled, a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Aw, you sure? It’d be so much more fun if you used mine,” he purred. His eyes seemed to rake over your body, and those butterflies returned in a new way. Despite them, you rose a brow.

“And how’s that?” You asked, setting his drink in front of him. He placed a finger in front of his mouth, winking at you. You rolled your eyes, nudging his drink towards him. He raised his hands in defeat. Then he twisted a hand around, showing off a little green heart pin that appeared between his fingers. You couldn’t stop yourself from giving him a little chuckle, which seemed to egg him on.

“If you won’t accept my ticket, I have a little something else for you. I’d love it if you wore it tonight, precious.” He leaned down to get at your collar, pinning the little heart to your collar. He wasn’t near as tall as Pierrot, but you were shorter than all these clowns anyway. He tapped the metal with his claw once it was in place. His glowing eyes dragged themselves from the pin, up to your lips, then to your own wide ones.

“I’m going to take you from him,” he near hissed under his breath. Your heart raced at the noise and you suppressed a shudder. His claws trailed from your collar, your pulse point, until they reached your chin. He tilted your head up toward him. You didn’t know if he could feel how hot your face was through the glove, but he sure grinned like he did.

“Here’s the payment.” He placed the cash on the counter as he let you go. Harlequin took his drink nonchalantly, like he didn’t borderline harass you at your job. You wondered if being this touchy with random people was also a part of their act, somehow. Or just a way to get people interested. Maybe you were just lonely, but good lord you were interested.

“See you tonight, dear one. Make sure you don’t miss my show,” he chuckled, giving you a lazy wave as he left the cafe. You heard a few people mutter, looking between you and the flirtatious Harlequin that just exited. You leaned against the counter, hand over your face in pure embarrassment. What kinda dark romance bullshit did you just encounter? You should be mortified, telling the boss so that guy wouldn’t be allowed in.

Some dangerous part of you liked the attention, you think. Maybe you need to get back into therapy, if you’re having these fantasies. You didn’t need to fall back into self-destructive habits. Or have history repeat itself. Your chest hurt at the thought. You took a deep breath, grounding yourself, and got back to work. Maybe indulging in a bit of chocolate, too.

Your boss called it a day early for you, saying he’d have to cut hours until he found at least one more barista. You were a bit worried about that, but more worried about Carol. And also the huge claw marks on his arm.

“Huge ass cat, I think,” he said as you grabbed his arm to examine it. You’ve seen your fair share of animal attacks in your time as an ER nurse. The wounds weren’t deep, but were wider than a cat’s claws.

“You don’t need stitches, but I’d still go to the hospital on the off chance it was a raccoon. Don’t need you catching rabies.” You pulled out the first aid kit, despite his protests. You weren’t about to let him walk out with an unclean animal wound. You secured the gauze on his arm, then went to wash your hands.

“Well, lucky I hired a nurse as well as a barista. Are you still going to the circus?” He asked as he watched you prepare to leave. You nodded eagerly. He nodded to you in farewell as you headed for the door.

Your foot slid on a piece of paper and you barely caught a streetlight to steady yourself. A discarded circus flyer was stuck to your shoe, and you huffed in annoyance. These things were everywhere lately. You knew a traveling circus needed to advertise, but damn. You also needed to not have slipping hazards in the streets.

As you picked it up- to examine or throw away, you didn’t know yet- a heavy thud and shouting got your attention. You didn’t know if it was one of the performers or a street fight. You had seen the circus performers in pink oddly dancing about and handing out flyers. Maybe one got too close to someone.

“Ever since you showed up, people have been disappearing! Go back to whatever fucking hellhole you crawled out of!” A man yelled as you got closer. One of the clowns was on the ground, cheek bleeding from a nasty punch the furious man no doubt threw at him. The red-clad clown was silent, staring at the ground as he was yelled at. There was the faintest tremble in his hands as he tried to gather up fallen flyers. He moved slowly, like he didn’t want to provoke anyone. Your stomach twisted. You knew that look well.

“That is ENOUGH,” you barked, voice cracking slightly as your heart raced. Multiple heads turned toward you, including the injured party’s. You walked to the performer’s side, looking down at him worriedly. His gaze was intense- a mix of fear and awe. You gave him a reassuring smile before you turned back to the enraged attacker.

“I don’t care what you think of that circus, you can’t attack people over some rumors! Now go on before I call the cops,” you demanded. You turned back to the man on the ground, holding a hand out to help him up. He was about to take it when his attacker moved. The man stepped closer quickly, making you flinch. Your other hand moved instinctively, ready to block a blow. That got people muttering. Telling him to back off.

The man scoffed, embarrassed, and stalked off with a vague threat. He hoped you’d vanish to the circus, too. You steadied your breathing, hands trembling slightly from adrenaline, as you gave your full attention to the man on the ground. Slowly, he put his hand in yours. You helped him up, giving him an apologetic smile. Damn, he was huge.

“The nerve of some people- it’s not your fault some idiot ran off with a partner or something,” you huffed as you dug around in your bag. You pulled out a bandaid- a pink thing with a little cat on it- and motioned for him to lean down. He did so obediently, and the bandage stuck to his makeup easily. You assumed it was makeup, anyway. Hard to tell, but it was bleeding either way.

“You can still move your jaw, right, big guy?” you asked. He nodded, although made no move to actually show you as such. He had a smile now, cheeks going red as he examined you. His stare was still intense. The fear was gone, replaced with an excitement and appreciation. You felt yourself get a bit flustered under his gaze, eyes drifting to the side.

“Well, I’m uh… I’m already running late. If you happen to drop by the cafe, I’ll slip you a cookie,” you said with a good-natured wink. His face got more red as he nodded enthusiastically. You couldn’t help but snicker as his bells jingled with his movements. You waved, pulling your phone out to call your boss as you hurried off to work. You told him you were on the way, just got caught up in the middle of a problem. You were thankful he was a decent guy.

You were tying your apron as you rushed through the door. Work’s been busier because of the cold weather and you felt bad leaving your boss and Carol high and dry. Or, really, just your boss. Carol, you were told, was running late. You offered to take over for your rushing boss as an apology for being late. He gave you a grateful smile, going to work on other chores now that he had a chance.

You hummed as you looked over the tickets and grabbed drinks. Your customers had idle talk about the weather, and the circus, and people running off into the night. You could’ve sworn you saw a shadow outside the window at some point. When you went to check, there was a fogged up section of window with hearts drawn into the condensation. It was behind a now-empty table, so you assumed it was for someone who sat there. Either an admirer or partner or some family member. You couldn’t help but find it cute, though. You took a couple pictures real quick, before the hearts vanished. Maybe it was the basic facebook mom that was in you, deep down, but it was pretty so who cares. You nearly dropped your phone when your boss called your name.

“Mind picking up the stray flyers,” he laughed. You grumbled as you stood up and put your phone back in your pocket. You helped him pick up flyers, staring at one for a moment. You thought back to the man this morning, huddled on the ground. Afraid to make a scene or defend himself, for some reason. You frowned a bit.

“You think people are being overly rude to the circus staff? I know a horror circus is a bit unsettling, but… A guy got punched today just for working there.” No one was in the cafe at the moment, so you knew he wouldn’t care about the idle talk. Your boss shrugged, but you could see the disdain on his face as he balled up the flyers. You stacked yours neatly instead.

“The way they act freaks people out. I feel for them, but all this… circus crap is bad for business.” He didn’t really leave any room for argument as he threw his share away. A phone went off in the backroom, and he left you with your flyers. You sighed. You knew he was just trying to keep the cafe a more neutral ground, but it sucked. You hoped that guy was okay.

The bell above the door jingled. You welcomed the new customer- a man in a blue suit and slicked back hair- and took his order quickly. He eyed the flyers on the counter, before giving you a quiet thank you when you set his coffee down. He took a sip, before pointing at the stack of papers.

“I’m guessing those are from the circus?” He set the cup back down, leaning back as he spoke. You nodded with a soft huff.

“Yeah. Customers keep leaving them here, and the circus people put them on the windows outside. I had to clean up the strays.” You grabbed the stack again. The man silently prompted you to hand one over, which you did. He looked it over for a moment.

“How rude, to do that in another business. Makes more work for you, hm?” He half-joked. You nodded in agreement. He motioned for the rest of the stack.

“I was gathering paper for recycling anyway- I can take those for you, friend,” he offered. Thankful they wouldn’t go to waste, you set the stack next to his coffee with an appreciative smile. He took another sip of his drink, setting the stray paper he held on top of the stack. Just as you were about to turn to return to work, he spoke again.

“Do you like the circus?” You supposed it was a topical question, considering the one that set up shop at the edge of town. You really shouldn’t keep the conversation from dragging, but you were never one to be rude to a polite stranger.

“I loved the circus growing up, yeah. But if you mean this horror circus, I’ve never been. It sounds fun, though.” Horror was your favorite genre. You loved going through haunted houses at halloween, and most of your novels were monster based in some way. The man seemed pleased as he pulled something out of his breast pocket. A pink ticket for the infamous Freak Circus of Horrors.

“I had bought another ticket, intending to go back. Unfortunately I have to leave town. I’d hate for it to go to waste when such a lovely person could go in my stead.” He passed it to you. Your eyes almost popped out of your head. You couldn’t accept something like this. You wanted to tell him no, but he was already packing his stuff up. He nodded in farewell, and told you that he hoped you enjoyed the circus. You looked down at the ticket as he left. You thought back to the clown who looked at you like an eager puppy. You finally pocketed the ticket, a small smile on your face. Maybe you could see what his act was all about, and check in on him.

The rest of the day went quickly, people blurring together into a trickle of faceless orders. The clown from earlier in the day didn’t come by, which you found yourself disappointed by. You had hoped he’d at least swing by for lunch, for the solely selfish reason of showing that he was okay. He seemed chipper when you left him, though, despite the blood. You just felt bad for him. Being ganged up on- having people look with pity but not actually step in… It made your blood boil.

The last of the customers were getting ready to leave when your boss stepped out. He already had his apron off, car keys in hand as he got ready to leave. He passed the spare keys to the building to you.

“After they leave, clean and close up. We’re closing early today. I got an unexpected appointment, and I don’t want you going home so late since you’re alone. You fine closing?” No cause you fucking hated closing, but you also knew he was scrambling since Carol was a no-show. You nodded, shooing him out while you grabbed the keys. He headed out, flipping the sign to “closed” on his way for you. You waved at the last couple customers, telling them to get home safely. They wished the same to you as they exited the building.

You set your phone on the counter, letting music play from its speakers as you got to work cleaning. You sang along, dancing around the tables as you wiped them down. You nearly missed the jingling of bells as you belted out the chorus. You cut yourself off, turning to confront an unexpected customer. Your eyes met empty air and the still cafe tables. You frowned, looking for any disturbances.

The lights went out.

Your music continued to play, the phone screen now black as it was idle. You couldn’t tell if the shadows were moving or your brain was trying to find shapes in the dark. You dug your hand in your pocket, grasping the keys between your fingers for security. You knew the switches weren’t flipped, as you were facing that way when the lights went out. So you moved for the breaker. You felt eyes on you every step of the way, but feeling watched wasn’t exactly an unusual thought for you. It was just paranoia. It was always paranoia.

You found the breaker quickly, flipping it and restoring power to the building. You whipped around, yanking your hand out of your pocket, to confront your non-existent attacker. As expected, there was no one. You turned your music off, shakily putting your phone back in your pocket. The door opened right after, and you silently cursed the fact that people can’t read a “closed” sign.

“Sorry, we’re closed-!” You turned with a customer service smile, but it turned more genuine as you realized who it was. The clown from earlier, a grin on his face and blood dripping down his forehead. You did a double take when you saw that, hurrying around the counter and putting your keys back in your pocket. He tilted his head at how fast you moved, seemingly not even aware. It was kinda cute.

“Christ, dude, you’re an injury-magnet aren’t you? Come on, I’ll-” you were cut off. He pulled a well made paper rose out from behind him, presenting it to you. The petals were a deep red, still wet from the paint. You couldn’t help the flattered- and bewildered- laugh that escaped you.

“You’re just a big sweetheart, aren’t you? You didn’t need to do anything for this morning.” You did take it, though. You put it in one of the disposable cups so paint wouldn’t get on the counter. His face went red at the “sweetheart”, and you could almost hear a non-existent tail wagging. You knew people found clowns and all unsettling, but right now he was kinda cute. You smirked a little.

“Alright, buddy, chill out. We still gotta deal with all that- sit down and I’ll help you clean up.” You grabbed the first aid kit from under the counter. He seemed to jump at the order, sitting on a stool quickly so you could reach him. You grabbed some tissues to wipe him up with. It was still hard to tell if this was stage makeup or a mask, but the fact his face was moving swayed you to makeup. Maybe they make their own? It was weird, giving you an uncanny feeling that was only offset by how non-threatening you found the guy.

You smoothed his white hair back, checking his hairline for a cut. You hummed to yourself as you worked, trying to ignore the way his eyes bored into you like he was trying to see into your very soul. You dabbed at the small wound with an antiseptic cotton ball. He didn’t even flinch.

“Alright, it’s not bleeding anymore, so just take this off when you get home,” you told him as you put a new bandage on him. It was just to make sure no debris got in as he walked back, but you doubted it would be a problem. He nodded idly, cheeks in his hands as he leaned on the counter. You left him to his thoughts for a moment while you put the first aid kit away.

“So, is the silent treatment part of your… character?” Your voice knocks him back to reality. He looks out the windows for a moment, before he leans a bit closer to you. You mimic him, bracing your arms on the counter so you two were within whisper distance.

“I can’t be seen talking, yes. I’ve appreciated all your help, my dear.” His voice was deep- low and smooth. You were caught off guard, expecting a more… stereotypical voice, you supposed. But, if he was off the clock, no reason to put on a voice at all. Especially if his whole bit is that he was silent. You nodded.

“It’s no problem, mister…?” You not-so-subtly prompted him for his name. He stood, bowing a bit theatrically and winking at you with those glowing orange eyes. The contacts he had were insane. You were jealous.

“I’m the Pierrot, a pleasure to meet you!” He stood up as you held a hand out. Pierrot stared for a moment, eyes widening, before he grasped your hand like you were porcelain. You squeezed his, amused, as you shook his hand. You gave him your name in return. The sharp claws on his gloves tickled your skin as he held you loosely.

“You don’t quite look like a Pierrot- Is it to fit into the whole… horror circus theme?” you asked as you released his hand, vaguely gesturing to his outfit as you spoke. He nodded enthusiastically.

“You’re very observant, my dear. We had to modernize my attire as the circus changed, but my role remains the same.” You knew a bit about the commedia dell’arte from your late night fixation studies over the years. How the Pierrot was a sad, lovestricken fool and what a Pierrot’s act would usually entail. It made sense, now, as to why he couldn’t be seen speaking.

“Well, now that we can talk, I hope that second bout of blood wasn’t from another fight. You alright after this morning?” You reached up as you spoke, peeling off the loosening bandage from his cheek. His face reddened again, but he nodded.

“I’m fine. Unfortunately, it is not uncommon for people to be unsettled by my appearance. Physical altercations happen from time to time,” he admitted, albeit like it was just an everyday thing. You could get being freaked out by clowns, but to full-on attack people for dressing like that was outrageous.

“Do the other performers hand out flyers, too? Are you the only Pierrot at the circus?” You hoped he wasn’t bothered by the questions. From how delighted he seemed just by talking with you, though, you were pretty sure he was fine. You couldn’t help but be excited. You loved theatrics of any kind, ever since you were little and you watched trapeze artists on a trip to the circus with your family. You guessed you had a soft spot for circus performers more.

“The circus is a small cast, so yes. I am the only Pierrot. The others are Jesters and… Harlequins,” he explained, gaining a bit of a sneer at the second name as he rolled his eyes. You wondered if that was part of the act as well, or if the guy playing the Harlequin was just a dickhole.

“So, since you’re the Pierrot, are you the only quiet one?” You went back to idly cleaning the counters and workstations as you asked. You knew he couldn’t linger too much longer, and you had to get home soon. You heard his bells jingle as he nodded.

“Yes! You catch on quickly, my dear. But, I do make an exception when it’s just the two of us,” he beamed, sitting back down at the counter. You could feel his eyes follow your every move. You felt yourself get flustered.

“Well, I’ll keep your secret safe, big guy.” You winked at him. Pierrot fidgeted in his seat. You snickered slightly as you finished up. You turned to tell him that it was time to go when he seemed to remember something. He pulled something out of his pocket. A deep red ticket- another token of his appreciation, he said. You were flattered. You pulled out the pink one sheepishly.

“I appreciate it, but someone else gave me one earlier,” you said. Pierrot got deathly serious, however, as his eyes widened. He held the hand out for the ticket. Confused, you handed it over. With a flourish of his hand, the pink turned to red. You couldn’t help but laugh at the trick as he handed the red one to you. You relented and took the red ticket.

“A Pierrot and a magician? Talented man, you are. What was wrong with the pink one?” You put the ticket in with your phone. Pierrot blushed at the praise.

“The ticket was a fake- you’d have been rejected at the entrance. Never accept tickets from anyone that isn’t affiliated with the circus, dear,” he explained. You frowned slightly, wondering what the benefit was to just giving away a fake ticket. If the guy had sold it to you, that’d be shitty but at least he’d have gotten your money. Maybe he was just fucking around.

“Well, at least I got a real one. I was wanting to go anyway- see what your act was all about, if it got people that worked up,” you admitted as you gathered up a box of leftover cookies. He seemed giddy at the fact you wanted to come see him. Maybe he was an unpopular act.

“I assure you, I’ll make you smile during my performance.” The guy was almost vibrating with excitement. It was cute how eager he was to show off his routine. You couldn’t help but smile as you set the box of cookies down in front of him.

“Looking forward to it! Now, I gotta lock up and go- you shouldn’t be in here to begin with- but… Since you didn’t come by for that secret cookie today, you can take these back. Share what you can with the troupe, maybe.” You patted the box, before rounding the counter to prepare to leave. He picked up the box carefully, like it was precious, but you could see disappointment in his eyes.

“Thank you, dear. And I had wanted to come, but I did not wish to cause you any distress.” He followed you to the door. You shrugged in response. You just assumed he had gotten too busy. You doubted YOU would’ve been in distress, though. Your customers and your boss… Maybe it was better that he came by so late.

“You wouldn’t have bothered me. On the bright side, now I know we wouldn’t be able to talk in public. And you got more than one cookie.” You opened the door for him with a little laugh. He hummed in agreement, scanning the area for people as he stepped out. You shut the lights off and locked the cafe door. You maneuvered the keys between your fingers again as you put your hand in your pocket. You looked around, eyes flicking from the dark alley across the way and up the street.

You bid him a goodnight, heading off toward your apartment building. You heard his bells jingle as he walked off. When you looked back and saw he was gone, you pulled your hand back out of your pocket. Keys on display, you hurried off down the street. Your phone rang, making you jump. With an annoyed huff, you answered without even looking at the caller id.

“So you do still have this number.” The voice on the other end made you stop mid step. You clutched the keys tighter, frantically looking around as if he was right next to you. You swallowed thickly.

When your friend, Chloe, invited you out for a weekend cruise with Marcus and the gang on his parents' prized possession, you’d envisioned lazy hours baking under the sun, cold drinks, and a long, late afternoon anchored by in a local favorite: the crescent of Shell Key.

But as you squinted against the glare of the afternoon sun, a strange feeling began to form in your gut.

To the east, the low, pine-crested silhouette of Shell Key was shrinking in the distance... It wasn't just behind you; the boat was actively steering away from it, heading straight out into the deep, dark blue of the open shelf.

"Hey, Marcus?" you called out, raising your voice over the steady, expensive hum of the engines. "Aren't we supposed to be anchoring at the cove? We just passed the island..."

Marcus gripped the leather-wrapped steering wheel with a white-knuckled intensity that didn't match his usual relaxed demeanor. He hadn't even bothered to look back; his shoulders remained rigid. Beside him, Toby and Leo were huddled over a heavy canvas tarp in the stern, whispering with a strange, nervous energy.

You frowned, stepping down from the raised deck. "Guys? Hey, did you hear me? We're going the wrong way."

Silence stretched, becoming heavy and awkward, punctuated only by the slap of waves against the fiberglass hull. You looked to Chloe, your closest friend in the group, who was sitting on the plush leather bench. She was actively avoiding your gaze; staring at her manicured nails, biting her lower lip. Hard.

"Chloe?" you prompted, a edge of suspicion creeping into your tone. "What the hell is going on?"

Chloe finally looked up at your uncharacteristically harsh words, offering an overly charming smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Well... Don't be mad, okay? We decided to take a little detour. But... we found a way to make money. Like, real money: life-changing money."

You stared at her not comprehending, but your stomach turned sour. "What are you talking about? …Marcus' family already has money."

"Not like this," Chloe clarified as she leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hiss. "And Marcus wants his own crew; his own name. Toby’s uncle works the black-market imports down at the deep-water docks, and he gave us a tip. He said there’s a reef system out here that hasn't been charted properly. A reef where people have seen... them."

The air in your lungs suddenly felt very cold. "...Them?"

"Mer-creatures," Chloe said, the word slipping out like a dirty secret. "The big ones. The deep-water ones. A specimen in good condition—especially a rare type, or a large male—can fetch seven figures easily. Especially if the buyers from the private research firms or the exotic aquariums get into a bidding war. We just need to catch one—just one—and we're set for years."

"Are you out of your minds?!" The words erupted from you, sharp and furious. You looked from Chloe to the boys, who stopped their whispering to stare at you. "You're talking about capturing a living, intelligent being! You know what happens to them: they die in those holding tanks within weeks, or they're dissected, or... or kept in cages for sick tourists to gawk at. It’s monstrous!"

"Oh, come off it," Toby scoffed as he waved a hand dismissively at your outburst. "They're just fish with hands, babe. Highly evolved pests. Besides, they don't even feel pain the way we do."

"They do feel pain!" you yelled as you boldly stepped toward him, your chest heaving with indignation. "You can't do this. Turn the boat around, Marcus! I don't want any part of it. I'll report you the second we hit land!"

"You won't report anything because you're our friend," Chloe pleaded as she reached for your wrist. Her grip was tight and desperate. "Just think of what we could do with that money—"

"I don't care about the money!" You wrenched your arm free. "This is more than just being wrong! It’s illegal, it's cruel, and I won't let you—"

"Got something!" Marcus's voice cracked through the tension, eager and beginning to radiate with adrenaline. He was staring intensely at a secondary monitor—one that wasn't part of the navigation tools you'd notated from earlier. "Deep sonar just registered a massive heat signature and motion pulse... It’s big. Way too big for a shark or a dolphin. It’s got to be a male, bro, there's no way it's anything else."

"Turn on the disruptor!" Toby yelled, his face flushing red as he scrambled to the stern.

A heavy low-frequency hum suddenly rattled the deck boards beneath your feet. It wasn't a sound to be heard your ears so much as an intense vibration that worked it's way violently through your teeth, your very bones, and enough to make your stomach churn with sudden, acute nausea. The water behind the boat immediately began to churn, frothing with a unnatural, disturbed energy.

The world was supposed to be quiet far beneath the surface of the water...

Pierrot had been gliding through the dim currents of the shelf, his long and powerful tail propelling him forward with an effortless, hypnotic grace. He carried a heavy woven net of sea-grass that was filled with a bounty of deep-water crabs and silver-scaled fish. Jester would be pleased by his efforts. Harlequin would complain about the lack of variety, but Doctor and Bil needed the sustenance, and Pierrot took his duties as the provider seriously. He was strong. Fast. He was the one who could dive deep where the pressure tended to crush the chests of less physically inclined species of mer-folk.

Suddenly, a horrific wall of sound struck him.

It wasn't a noise; it was a violent, invisible fist that slammed directly into his sensitive ear-canals and rattled his brain against his skull. The precious bounty in his net slipped away, forgotten, as his hands flew to his head, his sharp claws digging into the leathery skin of his temples.

Unnatural high-frequency vibrations?—humans.

Pierrot thrashed, his magnificent red-and-black tail—rimmed with delicate, flowing fins that flared like the deadly plumage of a lionfish—whipping the water into a frenzy. The disorientation was blinding. His vision swam, turning the deep blue of the ocean into a swirling vortex of sickening grays and flashes of light. He knew, instinctively, that if he surfaced, the difference in the pressure of the air might alleviate the agonizing vibration echoing through the water column... But surfacing meant exposure. It meant facing the very monsters Jester had warned him about since he was a pup.

“Humans are bloodthirsty, Pierrot. They look at us and see only trophies, science, or entertainment. If you see their wooden and metal creations: you dive. And do not look back.”

But the pain was too much. He couldn't breathe; his gills flared uselessly against the vibrating water. Through the deafening hum, a strange, muffled cry reached his ears. It was high, desperate, and panicked; filtering down from the silhouette of the vessel idling above.

“NO! Stop it! You’re hurting him! Stop!”

It was a voice. A human voice, but it wasn't filled with the harsh, triumphant laughter he had learned to fear. It sounded... panicked. Protective.

On deck... the scene had dissolved into chaos.

Toby and Leo had pulled back the heavy canvas tarp to reveal a horrific contraption newly bolted to the stern deck. It was a heavy, rusted iron speargun, a brutal weapon of heavy-gauge steel with a thick, barbed harpoon resting in its chamber. A massive spool of braided nylon rope was attached to the end of the projectile.

"Get it ready!" Marcus yelled, his hands shaking on the wheel as he tried to keep the boat positioned over the rising shadow. "He’s coming up! Whoo—! The disruptor is driving him crazy, man!"

"I've never actually fired this thing, Marcus!" Leo shouted back, struggling with the heavy manual crank of the spear's tension spring.

"Just point and pull the trigger when you see color!" Toby yelled, coming over to try and help him guide the heavy iron barrel.

"Stop it!" You lunged forward, grabbing Toby's shoulder to pull him away from the weapon.

"You're going to kill it! Let it go!"

"Get her off me!" Toby shouted as he threw you back. Chloe caught you, her hands wrapping around your waist, pinning your arms to your sides.

"Please, just stay out of it!" Chloe cried in your ear, her voice cracking with uncertainty. "We're almost there! I-it'll be so fast.. just let them do it!"

Below, the water broke.

A creature erupted from the foam, and your breath caught in your throat. He was terrifyingly beautiful. His skin was a striking, dark to almost a pure ebony, contrasting sharply with the deep crimson that patterned with obsidian black over his lower body. That tail was massive, lined with long, trailing fins that billowed in the water like silk tipped with sharp, defensive spines. But it was his face that paralyzed you. A pale decorated mask covered his features, stark white against the dark water, but his eyes—huge, luminescent pools of brilliant gold—were wide with agonizing pain and feral fury.

He hissed, a sound that was less fish and more predatory cat, exposing a nice set of sharp, razored teeth. The creature surged forward at the surface of the water; raw power. Thrashing against the hull, he slammed his powerful body against the fiberglass, making the entire boat shudder. He was trying to capsize them. He was fighting for his life.

"DUDE, he's going to sink us!" Marcus shrieked. "Shoot him! Shoot him now!"

The young men lined up the heavy iron spear—not needign to be told a second time—with the thrashing, magnificent creature in the water; something inside of you snapped.

With a surge of desperate-adrenaline strength, you threw your weight backward, driving your elbow into Chloe’s ribs. She gasped, her grip loosening enough for you to break free. You lunged across the deck, your eyes landing on a large, heavy iron winch-handle lying near the bait well. You snatched it up, the cold metal weighted and solid in your hands.

You didn't think; you just swung.

You brought the heavy iron handle down, with a loud cry, onto the bolted mount of the speargun.

CLANG!

The metal shrieked. The old, rusted bolts holding the weapon to the fiberglass deck groaned under the impact.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Leo screamed, reaching for you.

You didn't answer. You swung again, and again, putting every ounce of your weight into the strikes.

CLANG!

A hairline crack splintered through the fiberglass around the base of the mount. One of the heavy bolts sheared off entirely, flying across the deck like a bullet.

"Get away from that!" Toby roared, lunging forward and grabbing your shoulders. He spun you around violently, his face contorted in rage. "Are you crazy?! You're ruining everything!"

As he spun you, your foot tangled in the loose, heavy coils of the nylon rope lying on the deck—the rope attached to the loaded steel spear.

"You're not going to hurt him!" you screamed back into Toby's face, kicking out to free yourself.

But Toby, blind with frustration and adrenaline, shoved you backward.

You stumbled, your heel catching on the lip of the stern deck. You fell hard, crashing directly into the damaged speargun mount. The sudden impact of your body weight was the final straw for the compromised fiberglass. With a sick-sounding and grinding tear, the heavy iron weapon tilted, its remaining bolts snapping like dry twigs.

"No, no, no!" Marcus screamed from the helm. "The gun! My dad’s gun!"

With a heavy splash the massive iron speargun slid over the side of the boat, plunging into the dark deep waters of the sea.

For a fraction of a second there was a stunned, breathless silence that hung in the air. You sat on the deck, chest heaving with adrenalinne from all your efforts, a small triumphant smile touching your lips. The weapon was gone. They couldn't hurt him now.

And then... the rope went taut.

Before you could even register the danger, the long, heavy spool of rope attached to the falling iron gun uncoiled with terrifying speed. The loop that had tangled around your ankle snapped shut around you like a vice.

A sudden, violent jerk ripped you from the deck like a rag doll.

"Chloe!" you screamed. Your fingers clawed uselessly at the deck as you were dragged backward over the edge of the boat.

"Chloe, grab her!" Marcus yelled.

Chloe lunged, her fingers brushing the hem of your clothes, but the weight of the sinking iron gun was too great. You were dragged over the side of the boat with a loud splash and plunged into the cold suffocating embrace of the ocean.

"Jump in! We have to get her!" Chloe screamed hysterically while leaning over the railing, her eyes never leaving where you were dragged under.

"Are you insane?!" Toby yelled back, pulling her away from the edge. "That monster is down there! He'll shred us to pieces! Did you see his teeth?!"

"We can't just leave her!"

"It was her own stupid fault!" Leo panicked as he clutched the sides of his head. "She threw the gun over! That thing is going to kill her, an-and then he's going to come for us! Marcus, drive! Drive!"

"Shit, shit, SHIT!" Marcus sobbed, his hands shaking so violently that he could barely grip the throttle. He looked at the bubbling water where you had disappeared; face pale with guilt and terror. But fear won out. He slammed the throttle forward. The engines roared to life and the Siren’s Call sped away into the gathering twilight, leaving a trail of white foam behind.

Underwater the world was a rushing, dizzying blur of bubbles and crushing pressure.

You thrashed desperately, the saltwater stinging your eyes as you reached down to your ankle. The rope was wound too tightly, cutting off the circulation; the sheer velocity at which the sinking speargun was pulling you down made it impossible to loosen. Your lungs burned. You had managed to catch only a half-breath before going under, and the air was already bubbling out of your lips in pretty silver spheres.

Above you the fading light of the sunset filtered through the water's surface, a beautiful, tragic canopy of bruised purples, deep oranges, and brilliant golds. It was a lovely view, you thought grimly as the darkness of the deep ocean began to swallow you. At least the last thing you saw wouldn't be the cruel faces of your friends... At least the mer-creature was safe...

Through the haze of your failing consciousness, a shadow detached itself from the gloom.

Pierrot watched your descent.

His ears were still ringing, but the painful hum had stopped when the boat’s engines roared and faded into the distance. His first instinct was to flee; to dive into the deep trenches where no human could ever follow. Then Pierrot saw the shape of you. The small, fragile human that'd fought so loudly on the deck. The one who had destroyed the metal weapon...

You were sinking, being dragged down by the heavy iron weapon.

“They are all the same, Pierrot. They only want to hurt us.” Jester’s voice echoed in his mind.

But you'd screamed in defiance... fought to save his life. You'd taken blows that were meant for him.

His golden eyes widened as he saw your thrashing begin slow down. Your limbs grew heavy and began drifting uselessly in the current. You were dying... Humans couldn't breathe in the water.

Pierrot surged forward with a powerful flick of his tail. The red and black fins along his spine flared as he cut through the water like a spear. In a heartbeat, his large form was beside you. His clawed hand, webbed and lethal, swiped through the rope around your leg. The sharp hardened cartilage of his claws sliced through the fibers as easily as a heated knife would through butter.

The deadly pull stopped.

Gently, with great tenderness that contrasted sharply with his presentation, Pierrot wrapped his powerful arms around your waist. He pulled you close to his chest, noting with a fleeting curiosity at how soft and warm you felt in comparison to the cold ocean. With a mighty kick of his tail, he shot toward the surface. – – – – –

Your transition back to the world of the living was violent and agonizing.

You coughed, a desperate, hacking spasm that racked your entire body. Cold sea water spewed from your mouth and nose, burning your throat like liquid fire. You gasped desperately drawing in a sharp breath of air that felt like knives landing in your chest.

You were lying on your side, your fingers dug into wet coarse sand. The sound of gentle waves lapping at the shoreline filled your ears. The ragged sound of your own breathing was a violent contrast.

A heavy weight pressed down on your chest—two large clawed hands pushed down with rhythmic care.

"Mmmgh!—" You rolled completely over, retching up the last of the water in your system, resting your forehead against the damp sand as you shivered violently.

"Ah..." a hesitant raspy voice came from above you.

You slowly pushed yourself up on trembling elbows and blinked away the stinging salt from your eyes. By now the sun was almost completely dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in a deep twilight indigo.

And there, hovering over you, was the creature you'd saved.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. He was incredibly close—so close you could feel the cool damp aura radiating from his skin. His massive, muscular chest was level with you as he propped himself up on his powerful arms, his tail submerged in the shallow surf behind him. The stark white mask on his face were startling in the dim light, but it was his eyes that currently held you captive. They were large dark eyes with luminous golden spheres, blinking slowly as he stared down at you with an expression of intense, puppy-like curiosity. You flinched, pulling your legs in, your heart hammering against your ribs... His sharp teeth flashed in your memory... then you remembered his claws. You were on a secluded sandbar: completely at his mercy in your current state.

Pierrot blinked, sensing your panic. He slowly tilted his head to the side, his long, white hair dripping wet, framing his face. He looked... confused by your fear.

He lifted one of his large, webbed hands slowly... carefully. You closed your eyes and braced yourself for the worst.

Instead, a soft clack sounded on the sand in front of you.

You cautiously opened your left eye first... then the right. Lying in the sand next to you was a perfect lion’s paw shell; its ridges gleaming with a beautiful iridescent pink and orange.

You looked up from the shell to his face. He was watching you intently, his head still tilted. A delicate vibrating hum—the gentlest growl you'd ever heard—resonated from within his chest. It was an offering. A peace treaty.

"Y-You saved me," you whispered, your voice hoarse and cracked from the abuse of the saltwater.

Pierrot's amber eyes brightened. He looked to the left, then to the right—as if checking to see if anyone else was listening. Quite silly on a deserted strip... but when he looked back at you, he parted his lips. Your breath hitched, expecting a violent hiss (like the one from earlier), but instead, a voice came out—soft and surprisingly deep.

"P-Pierrot," he rasped out timidly, pointing a clawed finger at his own chest. He hoped an introduction would help to sooth you further. "M-my name... is Pierrot. Are you... alright, dear one?"

You stared at him in shock. "You... you can talk?"

He nodded slowly; a small, shy movement. "A-a bit, my dear.. But we don't use it often. Jester taught us human language, t-to be able to listen, to stay safe—but he also says... do not talk to humans. But you... You didn't want to see me hurt..." He leaned closer, his large eyes scanning your face for something; searching. "W-why? Why did you save me, dear one?"

"Because it was wrong," you spoke softly but with conviction, your shivering starting to subside as the sheer shock of this interaction between the two of you took over. "They wanted to sell you... To hurt you... I couldn't let them do that."

Pierrot’s fins flared slightly, a beautiful ripple of red and black shifting in the moonlight. "Wrong," he repeated, tasting the word as everything he'd been taught about humans was shattered by a single word. "Y-you are... different. And very small... very soft."

Before you could reply, your leg throbbed with a sudden pain; the adrenaline was wearing off. You gasped, looking down. Your ankle, where the rope had bound you, was rubbed raw. It was a thick angry ring of deeply bruised skin—the colors stark against the surrounding flesh.

Pierrot’s eyes immediately followed your gaze. His expression shifted from curiosity to deep concern, his brow furrowing. He slid closer to you, his heavy upper body dragging over the wet sand.

"Oh—" you whimpered as you tried to pull your leg away, still instinctively wary of his size. He was easily over twice your weight, his shoulders broad and corded with dense muscle. Given the scars you could see shining in the evening light: he was a fighter.

"L-let me see, my dear," he pleaded softly, his deep voice whining slightly, a sound so unexpectedly cute and pitiful it made your heart melt. "Please...?"

You hesitated a moment before slowly relaxing your leg.

Pierrot reached out, his clawed hand hovering over your ankle. With great care, using only the very tips of his fingers, he gently touched the uninjured skin just above the rope burn. His skin was rough, feeling thick, and cool... the temperature incredibly soothing against your inflamed flesh. He rotated your foot gently. His golden eyes wide with wonder as he examined the structure of your ankle, then your heel, and finally your toes.

"Y-you have no fins anywhere...," he mused as his thumb lightly brushed the sole of your foot. It tickled; you let out a tiny involuntary giggle.

Pierrot froze, those large eyes snapping up to yours; a delighted spark in his gaze. He eagerly touched your toes again, watching your reaction with a pure, endearing fascination. "Feet are strange... I-I mean, that is—there's nothing wrong with yours, my dear. I-I've just never seen them... H-how do you swim with these?”

"We can kick to swim, but uh—definitely not as good as you do," you smiled as your fear began to evaporate, being replaced by a warmth you hadn't expected. "They're much better for walking around on land."

Pierrot gave a fascinated hum. He lifted his own hands, comparing his long, webbed fingers to your shorter, delicate ones. He gently pressed his palm against yours. His hand was nearly double the size of yours, the skin of his palms slightly calloused. He stared at the contrast, a soft, contented hum vibrating in his chest. "Your hands have no webbing... H-how do you catch things, my dear?"

"Humans don't have webbing, no," you said in amusement. You marveled at how gentle his sharp black claws were as they rested harmlessly against your knuckles. "We can catch things though, but... I guess sometimes stuff can slip through. Just depends on how clumsy someone is, I guess." You laughed; a most beautiful sound, in his opinion. “I would definitely not be someone who caught things well,” you explained. Pierrot leaned a little closer, his face now mere inches from yours now. Heat filled your cheeks; suddenly his expression matched your own. You could smell the clean, crisp scent of salt and deep ocean on him. He reached out and very, very gently pinched the fabric of your wet shirt between two claws.

"This," he mused, "is this... a part of your skin, dear one?” For a brief moment he blushed and seemed to panic; worried you might be insulted. “I-it is very colorful, d-don't get me wrong... But it is peeling..."

You busted out in laughter; he was too adorable compared to what you saw him capable of earlier. "No, Pierrot, it’s not my skin: they're called clothes. Humans wear them because... well, we don't really have any scales or anything natural to protect us. And we can get cold pretty easily."

Pierrot looked over your body, his eyes wide with a mixture of pity and wonder at the idea that humans suddenly seemed so vulnerable on their own. Especially when they could also be so very dangerous... He let go of your shirt and reached up, his cool fingers hovering a mere centimeter from your cheek. "You felt so soft earlier... L-like the jelly fish that float in the currents. But, thankfully, you do not sting."

"No," you smiled, leaning slightly into his hand. His inquisitive nature was quite endearing. "I don't sting."

As you leaned into his hand, Pierrot's fingers brushed your cheek in soft strokes. A low pleased growl rattling in his throat. "My pod... they will not believe this..."

"Your pod?" you asked as you leaned back slightly to better look at him. "Are there a lot of others like you out there?"

Pierrot nodded enthusiastically, his long white hair swaying from the movement. "Yes! B-but I'm not sure how much I should talk about them... I'm not supposed to talk to humans, my dear. We're always told by Jester to be cautious... b-but do not worry. I will keep you safe—I'm very strong, dear one. It's why I do all the hunting for our pod.”

He puffed out his chest with a proud grin exposing his... normal looking teeth? You now realized he was purposely keeping the points of them slightly covered by his lips so as not to scare you. He seemed to be going through great lengths to be so cautious and attentive to your anxieties...

"You must be a very good hunter," you praised him; a means of thanking the mer-creature for his efforts.

"Th-the best, my dear!" Pierrot agreed proudly. "But... Because of the loud metal beast, I dropped all of my catch from earlier... W-While I am sad I lost the fish," he leaned in, his golden eyes glowing warmer, "I am glad I found you." His cheeks were glowing with warmth.

"I'm glad you found me too," you agreed. "...thank you, for saving me." Pierrot stayed quiet, relishing in this warm feeling that was spreading throughout his entire being; he'd never felt this way before.

He tilted his head again, capturing a strand of your hair that had dried in the ocean breeze. He rolled it between his fingers, fascinated by how light and fluffy it became when dry. "...Where do you live, my dear? I-I've never gone up to the surface very often, and I'm not sure how humans live... do you build homes in the ground, like a crab?"

"No," you shook your head with a chuckle. "I live in a small wooden home—my shack. It sits right up on the beach. It has a dry bed, a roof to keep the rain out, and as little sand as possible."

“Dry bed...? It sounds... very strange,” Pierrot thought about the idea of you sleeping. His heart hammered and suddenly he felt hot. “A-and very warm..."

As the last remnants of the sun faded beneath the horizon, the sandbar was plunged into the darkness of night. But you weren't left entirely in the dark.

You gasped softly as a strange ethereal light came from Pierrot’s tail. Deep within the crimson and black scales, bio-luminescent nodes began to pulse with a warm amber light that cast a soft romantic glow over the wet sand and the two of you.

"You glow," you were completely mesmerized. A part of you wanted to reach out, to touch him, but you refrained. Pierrot already had quite an eventful day with humans, and you really didn't want to test his patience or kindness. Even if he did seem extremely... affectionate? Maybe it was the curiosity.

"For the deep," Pierrot explained, pleased by your awe. "It is dark there—like now." His expression suddenly softened into one of gentle apology. "I am sorry, my dear. I had to bring you far away to this sandbar. I-I was worried... they might search that area again. B-but I had to make sure you were safe first..."

You looked out at the dark empty ocean, and a bitter laugh escaped your lips. "They won't search... They're probably hiding in their homes trying not to think about what they did."

Pierrot didn't understand, but he could hear the sadness in your voice. His head drooped. "Well, my dear, y-you are very...," he confessed into the dark. "Very brave—" Silence fell between you two for a moment.

"I just realized... I never told you my name," you changed the subject, not wanting to think about your friends and that they'd left you for dead, as exhaustion began to take over. You told him your name and this definitely lifted the weight in the air. Pierrot lit up. He practiced saying your name several times, the syllables sounding smooth and precious in his deep voice. Suddenly the wind cut right through you, making your teeth chatter. The cool night wind was picking up, and your wet clothes were beginning to feel like ice against your skin.

Pierrot's pleased expression vanished instantly, replaced with sheer panic. He hadn't the faintest idea of how to take care of a human. He let out a high-pitched distressed sound, and hovered over you doing his best to try and block the wind with his massive shoulders. "M-my dear, you're shaking. Like the little crabs when the tide goes out. Are you alright?"

"I'm okay," you said through chattering teeth, wrapping your arms around yourself. "Just... very, very cold."

The merman looked down at his own tail, which was still half-submerged in the gentle waves. He looked back at you, his eyes pleading being faced with such a dilemma.

"M-my tail... I have to keep it wet," he spoke with a deep note of apology in his voice. "B-but my arms... my chest... they are dry. I-I can hold you, dear one—o-only to keep the wind away from you. If you're alright with that..."

You hesitated for a fraction of a second, looking at his massive, powerful build. But as another shiver shook you, and you saw the genuine, anxious sweetness in his face, your hesitation melted away to nothing. He'd not given you any reason to fear him one-on-one...

"Yes, please.," you chattered the words out. “Th-thank you.”

Pierrot’s face lit up with absolute joy. With the utmost care, as if you were made of the finest, most fragile sea glass, he slid his strong arms under your back and knees. He pulled you flush against his chest, shifting so his tail remained in the shallow water while his upper body cradled you completely on the dryer portions of the sand.

The moment your body was pressed against him, you realized he wasn't freezing cold; his skin had a refreshing temperature that acted like a soothing compress, yet his dense, muscular body blockaded the wind entirely. He wrapped his large, webbed hands around your shoulders, tucking you securely under his chin.

You let out a soft sigh, resting your head against the crook of his neck. He shuddered, thankful you couldn't see him. Pierrot's face was a deep crimson, his grin large razored and unbridled at a happiness he'd never known. Your sweet scent... kind heart... He had a hard time believing today was even real, but—oh right...

"B-better, my dear?" Pierrot's chest vibrated against you as he spoke with that deep, velvety voice.

"Much better," you murmured, closing your eyes. Without the wind keeping you tense, you found yourself finally begin to give into just how tired you were. "...Thank you... Pierrot." He hummed, delighted, in response. Your name slipped through his lips, as though he were treasuring it as he held you... Pierrot found himself wishing the sun would get lost in the sky somewhere and never return; if only to hold you like this forever. “Sleep now, dear one... I will keep you safe..." – – – – – – – – –

Pierrot softly touched your cheek with the back of his hand, saying your name a few times until you finally began to stir. "The sun is coming, my dear..."

You blinked the sleep from your eyes, feeling remarkably rested despite sleeping on a sandbar. The air was cool as the morning mist hanging low over the sea before you. That's right... You had to get home. Your expression fell: and wet. Again.

Pierrot scooped you into his arms once you were both in the water, and the two of you were off. He swam with a smooth, silent power, keeping your head well above the water. Not many words were exchanged between the two of you on your trip home... You were far too tired and hadn't the faintest idea what to do about your 'friends' once you returned. Pierrot? It was hard to return you to your home, but he knew it was for the best... for now. Still, it didn't make it any easier; he'd never met any other being like you... So kind... so adorable. His heart ached as he swam.

After a while, the familiar shoreline of your beachside shack came into view. The weathered wooden dock and the small, cozy house looked quiet and still in the dawn light. No police cars, no sight of Chloe or anyone else... This was both relieving and unsavory.

Pierrot stopped several yards out where the water was still deep enough for him to submerge fully. He looked at the shore, then back at you, a profound sadness clouding his golden eyes.

"I cannot go closer...dear one," he spoke quietly, his grip on you tightening just a fraction. "The land is... not safe for me."

"I understand," you sounded distracted; surprised by the sudden hesitance rising up within you. You realized: you didn't want to leave him just yet. You had so many questions... A part of you was devastated that you hadn't innocently explored him and asked questions like he had last night. "Thank you, Pierrot... For saving my life."

"A-and you, for saving mine, my dear...” He leaned forward, gently pressing his cool forehead against yours for a brief, breathless moment. "I-I will swim beneath you... to make sure you get home safely..."

You nodded, reluctantly slipping from his arms. As you began to swim toward the shore, you looked down. True to his word, you could see the protective shadow gliding just beneath you, guiding you home.

When your feet finally touched the wet sand of your beach, you turned back to look for him.

The water was empty... The sun was rising and cast a golden light across the waves; he was gone. – – – – – –

That evening you sat by your bedroom window, a warm cup of tea in your hands. Your ankle was bandaged, and your mind was a whirlwind of emotions. Marcus and the others hadn't contacted you, and you didn't care. That was a tomorrow problem. For now? Your life had changed forever.

You looked out at the dark ocean, watching the moon dancing on the movements of the black water.

What you didn't see the pale mask hovering just below the surface near your private dock. You didn't see the gleaming golden eyes watching your window; taking in every detail of the soft yellow glow of your lamp, the books on your shelf, knick-knacks of things he didn't understand... and the way you smiled as you looked out at the sea. ...were you looking for him...?

You actually spent the day in the town at a rather luxurious spa, followed by a quiet dinner where no one knew your name, no one demanded your signature, and no one dropped a stack of tax permits on your lap.

It should have been heaven; however, your chest felt tight with a buzzing and persistent anxiety.

What if Ticket Taker filed the health inspections under the wrong precinct? What if the local sheriff would return with the state marshals because the fire safety permits weren’t properly signed off? What if Jester—

The heavy flap of the tent parted with a quiet, cautious sweep.

Your eyes immediately locked onto him and your posture straightened. Jester stepped into the warm amber glow of the lantern light. He looked exhausted. The sharp lines of his shoulders slightly rounded beneath his coat. The moment his gaze drifted from the ground to find you sitting there, the weary tension in his being evaporated. It was a subtle, yet beautiful shift—the kind of softening he only allowed himself behind these closed canvas walls, away from the prying, dangerous eyes of the world.

To the rest of humanity, Jester was a spectacle, a brilliant and sharp-tongued enigma who kept his distance with a barrier of razor-thin wit and a bone-deep distrust. He had survived too much at the hands of humans to ever let his guard down outside of this safe-haven. But in here, after over five years of slow, patient, and deliberate devotion: you were his. And he? Entirely yours.

"Still awake, my clever little bird?" he purred. His melodic voice sounded lower and slightly raspy from a long day of delegating work and barking negotiations. "I distinctly recall giving you a day of mandatory relaxation. And yet... here you are, looking as though you’ve spent the entire time getting lost in navigating your anxiety... how curious."

"Jester...," you breathed his name in a way that made his chest tighten pleasantly. You slipped off the bed to meet him, to explain your excuses for not fully committing to relaxing (like he'd asked), but before you could take two steps, his clawed hand rose.

It wasn't a harsh gesture, but it was absolutely commanding.

"Stay right where you are, little mouse," his tone dripped with a quiet authority that immediately made your knees feel just a fraction weaker. "You are off duty today. Off duty means your feet do not touch the cold floor; not even to exert yourself to greet me. Back on the bed."

You hesitated for just a moment, the lingering anxiety of the day's unfinished work making you want to protest, but the demanding glow of your lover's eyes held you. You slowly backed up to your original spot on the bed and sank back into the soft cushions.

Jester flashed a pleased, razored grin. "Such a good girl..."

He didn't immediately climb into bed, but instead stepped close to stand right at the edge. He reached down, his thumb and forefinger gently catching the underside of your chin. Claws giving you an affectionate, ghostly touch. He guided your face upward slowly, deliberately.

The touch was warm and incredibly grounding. His violet eyes pierced down into your own, searching them with a sharp analytical intensity that softened into something deeply tender. You blushed under the weight of his stare.

"Your mind is still spinning," he observed out loud, clawed thumb lightly stroking your jawline. "I can practically hear the gears grinding from here... Tell me what is troubling that beautiful little head of yours...? Keep in mind: if the answer has anything to do with a permit or a ledger, I may have to banish you from the office until such things stop plaguing your thoughts."

"I'm just worried," you admitted reluctantly as you leaned into his hand. No point in lying: you were terrible at it. "The licensing for this county... it's been a nightmare. And if they find a loophole in the food permits or the performer visas—"

"Ssh." Jester placed his thumb over your lips to silence your worries instantly. "Ticket Taker is a monster of meticulous precision; he's always handled numbers with the sharp efficiency of a guillotine. As for the rest of your concerns: I personally managed the final signatures. The local magistrate was... uniquely cooperative after a brief, intellectual….conversation regarding the municipal code.”

You gave a small laugh, the tight knot in your chest loosening just a fraction. His unique gifts did come in handy at times, but still... "Jester, you didn't."

"I merely educated him on the law," Jester replied with a wicked, brilliant glint in his eye. "A service I provided entirely free of charge. The permit is signed, sealed, and locked in the safe. The show goes on, the local authorities are pacified, and the world has not spun off its axis because you were told to take twelve hours to relax and enjoy yourself."

He leaned down to press a slow, heavy kiss to your forehead. The scent of him—notes of sandalwood and lemon—washed over you with an instant calming effect.

"Now," he murmured against your skin, "you are going to let. it. all. go. Every single ounce of it. ...Do you understand, little mouse?"

"Yes," you whispered. You trusted him to take complete control, trusting your monster to allow you to go on complete auto-pilot. He'd certainly taken care of the heap of trouble that'd kept you up these last few previous nights... Stress began to melt from your shoulders at the surrender that seeped in.

"Splendid." He pulled back, his eyes catching the leather-bound book resting on the nightstand—a piece of classical literature you'd been trying to find the time to finish for months. He picked it up, weighing it in his hand before handing it overto you. “You're going to read for me: from where you left off. I want to hear your voice."

You took the book, your fingers idly tracing the aged gold-leaf lettering on the cover. "...Are you going to sleep?"

"Eventually," Jester shrugged as he maneuvered you both, shifting behind you on the bed. "But first, I am going to tend to you..."

He sat closely behind you, his long legs framing yours, pulling you back until your spine was flush against his broad chest. The familiar warmth of him radiating into you through his attire was intoxicating. You let your head rest back against his shoulder, finally letting out that breath you felt like you’d been holding all week.

Immediately, you felt his hands at the back of your head. His touch was incredibly slow. His fingers worked with an almost sacred gentleness as he began to undo the pins from your hair to let the long locks tumble down your back.

"Breathe with me, little mouse," he commanded softly near your ear, his chest expanding against your back in a deep, exaggerated inhale. "In... and out. Match my rhythm. You're still holding yourself as though you're bracing for a blow. Let it go..."

You closed your eyes for a moment and followed your lover's lead: mimicking his deep inhale as you felt the rise and fall of his chest. Your shoulders dropped a good two inches upon your last inhale.

"There," Jester praised softly. "That's my girl... Now, open your book. Let me hear those lovely words."

You opened the book to the marked page, biting your gently lip before you began to read. The prose was dark and made one question things about themselves, a classic tale of that you both enjoyed. At first, your voice was a little tentative, but as the steady rhythm of Jester’s fingers running through your hair began, you were about to find your stride.

Jester listened in an appreciative silence, occasionally letting out an amused hum at a particularly witty line of dialogue.

As you read to him, he kept his hands busy. He shifted your position and began to separate your hair into three neat sections. With slow, rhythmic movements he began to weave the pieces together. His fingers occasionally brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck, sending pleasant shivers down your spine. Every slide of his hands was steady and firm reminder of his presence, his care, and his ultimate charge over your well-being.

When you stumbled slightly over a more complex sentence with more outdated and theattrical verbiage, your voice faltered, the anxiety threatening to claw its way back up your neck.

Instantly, Jester’s hand paused in your hair. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to the side of your neck, right over your pulsing vein. He lingered there, his hot breath lingering on your skin.

"Slow down, little mouse," his lips brushed your skin as he spoke. "There is no need to rush. We have all the night, and all the nights after this one. Read it again... Slowly."

You drew in a long breath and read the sentence again. This time, the words flowed smoothly.

"Beautiful," Jester praised; resuming his slow braiding. "What a gorgeous voice you have."

The quiet praise washed over you like a warm wave that erased the very last of your defenses. You let yourself sink completely against him, trusting his strength to hold you up. He didn't mind the weight; in fact, you could feel the contented rumbles in his chest increase the more you surrendered not only to his mental support, but now the physical.

He finished the braid and secured the end with a hair tie from your make-shift side table. But he didn't move away. He wrapped his long, strong arms around your waist and pulled you tightly against his chest to lock you in an unbreakable hold.

He reached over, his hand covering yours on the book, gently but firmly pressing the pages flat.

"I think that is enough reading for one evening," he spoke so gently... "I can sense your eyes growing heavy, and your voice... it's turning into such a lovely, sleepy purr."

"I wanted to finish that chapter," you mumbled stubbornly. You didn't make any move to resist as he gently plucked the book from your fingers and returned it to the nightstand.

"I'm sure the characters will survive another night in their paper prison," Jester teased, his voice dropping to a soothing lilt. "Right now, your only responsibility is to rest... Understood?"

"Yes."

"Good." He shifted to pull you down with him as he slid under the heavy quilts, keeping you tucked securely against his side. He rested one warm, clawed hand on your hip—a reassuring weight that anchored you to the bed, to the present, and to him.

He watched you, his eyes glowing with interest as his thumb traced slow circles on your hip. In the dim lantern light of your shared quarters the defensive mask he wore for the rest of the world was entirely gone. There was only a deep adoration in his eyes. He had spent his life being treated as something monstrous. But with you? He was just a male who was deeply, irrevocably in love. How terribly troublesome.

"You did.. well today," he praised before pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

"Thank you for saving me from the city inspectors," you murmured sleepily, wrapping an arm around your Jester's waist.

Your monster let out a melodious, genuine chuckle at this. "A minor feat, little mouse. I would slay far deadlier things than local bureaucrats to keep you safe and smiling."

so here's the thing about these circus monsters and marriage.

again, they don't do ceremonies. no white dresses, no suits, no exchanged vows, no human signing papers in a language that means nothing to creatures who've watched centuries pass. all of that?

that's human stuff. fragile and pretty and ultimately meaningless when you live as long as they do.

what they do is mark.

each species, well each one, has their own way—a bite, a scar, a permanent claiming etched into the skin. it's not about pain, not really. it's about proof. something that lasts when words fade and memories blur and the long, dark years stretch on forever.

a mark says: this one is mine. this one belongs. this one is claimed.

other monsters can see it. they know what it means. and they respect it—not out of politeness, but because crossing that boundary means challenging something primal. something that goes beyond words.

sooo here's where each of them would leave their mark~

✑ 𝓅𝒾𝑒𝓇𝓇𝑜𝓉

favorite place: the inside of your wrist, right over the pulse point.

before you argue with me and say, "yaya, in the game, pierrot bite us on our neck," yessss, i know that dearie, however, he only did that to cover up harlequin's bite mark, he took it as offense and used his bite to cover up that mark, to keep and show that you are his.

anyway, the spot Pierrot picked is vulnerable. more intimate.

a place where your life beats close to the surface, where he can feel you living every time he holds your hand. he wants his mark there—not to hurt, but to remind you (and himself) that you're real, that you're here, that you're his.

the bite itself is a bit gentle, you still felt the sharp pain. he'll spend minutes just kissing the spot beforehand, his eyes and his voice, whispering apologies and promises in the same breath. when he finally bites down, it's with a desperate tenderness—enough to break skin, enough to scar, but done with the care of someone handling something infinitely precious.

the bite mark will be pale and silvery, shaped vaguely like a star. when he traces it later, face flush with redness, smiling to himself happily.

The first time he mentions it, you don't understand.

"Mark you," he whispers, his starry eyes fixed on your wrist like it's the most precious thing he's ever seen. "I want to... I want to leave something. So everyone knows. So I know. So you can't..."

He trails off, but you hear it anyway. So you can't fade. So you can't leave. So you can't disappear like everyone else.

You should be scared. Maybe you are, a little. But mostly you're just... curious. And tired of him looking at you like you're already a ghost.

"Show me," you say.

His breath catches. He takes you to his wagon, filled with many pillows. The one that smells like old sugar and sorrow. He sits you on his bed—soft, piled with blankets, absurdly comfortable—and kneels in front of you like you're something holy.

"Your wrist," he breathes. "Please. May I?"

You hold it out.

He takes your hand like it's made of glass. Turns it over, palm up, revealing the thin skin where your pulse beats close to the surface. His thumb traces the blue-green veins, following them like a map.

"You're so alive," he whispers. "I can feel it. Right here. Your heart, pushing through. It's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard."

His lips press to your pulse point. Soft. Warm. A kiss that lingers.

Then his mouth opens, and his teeth—sharper than you expected—rest against your skin. He looks up at you, asking without asking, his starry eyes wet with unshed tears.

You nod. He bites.

It hurts. Which, yes, of course, it hurts, it's sharp teeth. But it's a strange kind of pain—sharp and bright and over almost before it begins. He's gentle, keeping his mouth stays pressed to your wrist, his breath hot against the wound, and you feel him trembling against you.

When he pulls back, there's blood. Just a little. Just enough.

He presses his lips to it again, softly, and when he looks up, he's crying happily. "Now you're mine," he whispers. "Now everyone knows. Now you can't—" His voice breaks. "Now you can't leave me. Promise you won't leave me."

You look at the bite mark. Small and silvery, already starting to form, shaped like a star.

"I promise," you hear yourself say.

He folds into you, his long body curling around yours, his face pressed to your neck. He's still crying. You think he might never stop. But his hand stays wrapped around your marked wrist, his thumb tracing the wound with infinite gentleness, and somehow—somehow—it doesn't feel like a cage.

It feels like being held.

✑ 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝓁𝑒𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓃

favorite place: the curve where your neck meets your shoulder.

now harlequin was plain obvious—the VN already told us. it's bold. visible. his. like he wants everyone to see it when you walk past, wants the other monsters to catch that flash of scarred skin and know exactly who you belong to. it's a territorial claim, pure and simple.

the bite itself is sharp and quick.

he doesn't ask—he's harlequin, asking isn't his style. however he does wait, carefully watching your face and body language to see if you accept, making sure you want it even as his teeth sink in. it's over in seconds, and then he's licking the wound clean, his dual-toned purr vibrating against your skin.

the bite mark will be jagged, uneven, unmistakably his. he'll trace it sometimes when he thinks you're asleep, his expression unreadable.

He doesn't ask.

That's the first thing you notice. He just... appears right after his performance at night, all sharp grin and glowing neon green eyes, and corners you against the wall of some forgotten tent.

"I've decided," he purrs, his voice that dual-toned buzz that makes your teeth ache. "You need a label. Something that says hands off. Something that says mine."

You open your mouth to argue—because when the hell do you not argue with him—but he's already moving, pushing your collar aside, exposing the curve of your neck.

"Here," he murmurs, and his breath is hot against your skin. "Right here. Where everyone can see. Where that pathetic red idiot will have to look at it every day and know he lost."

His teeth sink in.

It's sharp and quick and possessive, over before you can even process the pain. He pulls back, licks the wound clean, and grins at you with blood on his mask before licking it away.

"There," he says. "Done. Now you're officially claimed by the best monster in this circus. Try to run now, little thing. See how far you get."

You touch your neck. Blood on your fingers. A mark that will scar.

"You're so insane," you tell him, playfully joking.

He laughs, that’s sharp, delighted sound—and pulls you against his chest, his arms wrapping around you in that loose, possessive way he has. "Probably," he agrees. "But I'm your insane. Deal with it."

You should push him away. You should be furious. Instead, you lean into him, just slightly, and feel him shudder with relief. "Idiot," you mutter.

"Mmm." His lips press to your marked skin, gentle now, "Your idiot."

✑ 𝒿𝑒𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇  

favorite place: the base of your throat, right above your collarbone.

for jester, it's a position of power—close to your voice, your breath, your vulnerability. he wants his mark where you'll feel it every time you swallow, every time you speak, every time you forget who you belong to. it's not about visibility; it's all about presence.

the bite is slow. careful. he holds you still with one massive hand, his purple eyes glowing down at you, and he takes his time. when his teeth finally press in, it's with the weight of a god making a decree. you'll feel it in your bones.

afterward, he'll press his cool lips to the wound, once, softly.

the bite mark will be clean, precise, almost beautiful—a perfect crescent that catches the light.

He doesn't ask either.

But he doesn't have to. You've known this was coming for weeks—the way his purple eyes follow you, the way his presence seems to fill every room you enter, the way he's been slowly, inexorably, curating your existence.

When he finally calls you to his tent, you're not surprised.

"Sit," he says, and you sit.

He looms over you, massive and dark, his horns casting shadows across his face. His eyes glow in the dim light, watching you with that patient, eternal stillness. "You know why you're here, little human?" he says. Not a question.

"I have guesses."

A slow blink. Almost amused. "Clever little human." He moves closer, and the air seems to thicken with his presence. "I'm going to mark you now. Here." His finger, cool, enormous and touches the base of your throat, just above your collarbone.

"You'll feel it every time you breathe. Every time you speak. Every time you forget who you belong to."

You should be scared. You are scared, a little. But underneath it, there's something else. Something that feels dangerously like wanting.

"Please," you whisper.

He does. The bite is slow. Careful. He holds you still with one massive hand, his thumb pressed to your pulse, and when his teeth sink in, it's with the weight of eternity. You feel it in your bones. In your soul. In every cell of your body.

When he pulls back, there's blood on his lips. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, never breaking eye contact.

"You are curated," he murmurs. "You are kept. You are mine." He presses his lips to the wound, cool and soft, and you feel something shift inside you. Something that feels like belonging.

"Yes," you breathe.

His eyes glow brighter. Just for a moment. Just enough. "Good."

✑ 𝓉𝒾𝒸𝓀𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓇  

favorite place: the inside of your thigh.

ticket taker keeps his life well organize. he's not publicly open about most things, so the the spot was pick is private. hidden. his. no one else will see it unless you want them to, which who the hell randomly shows their inner thigh to people?

and that's exactly how he prefers it. your bond isn't for public consumption; it's a fact, logged and filed, requiring no external validation.

the bite is clinical. efficient. he'll have you sit, explain exactly what's going to happen, wait for your consent. then he'll part your legs, press his mouth to the soft skin of your inner thigh, and bite. it's over before you can process it, clean and precise and done.

the bite mark will be small, neat, easily hidden. he'll check it periodically, making sure it's healing properly, because of course he will.

He schedules it.

You receive a small, handwritten note slipped under your door: Marking procedure scheduled for Friday, 8:15 PM. My tent. Attendance required. Please confirm.

You confirm. Even though a part of you feels a little bit silly doing something like this but it's Because you're not an idiot, and because some part of you has been waiting for this since the day you realized he looked at you differently than he looked at the others.

It wasn't long before Friday, 8:14 PM. You showned up, just sitting on his bed, trying not to fidget, when he knocks. Exactly three raps, evenly spaced.

"Come in," you say, almost a bit confused on why do you have to give him permission to enter his own space? Still, he enters. Immaculate and handsome as always. Suit pressed, hands clasped behind his back, expression unreadable.

"You're early," you note.

"I prefer to be prepared." He closes the door behind him. "May I sit next to you?"

You gesture to the bed. He sits beside you, close but not touching, maintaining that careful distance he always maintains. "So, I've selected the location," he says, his voice calm and professional, almost. "The inner thigh. Easily concealed. Minimal impact on daily function. The mark will be small and neat."

He waits. For your consent. Always waiting.

"Oh, okay," you say, agreeing, even though you were freaking out a little on the inside.

He nods once, then move, turning toward you, kneeling on the ground. His hands, which are cool, steady, resting on your knee.

"I'll need you to part your legs."

You do, made sure beforehand that you was wearing something short, a little bit more accessible for his taste, you know, be prepared, just like him. Your legs slowly open, feeling his hands move, pushing fabric a bit higher, exposing more of soft skin of your inner thigh. His touch is clinical, efficient, but you notice the way his breath catches. Just slightly. Just enough.

"This will hurt," he says. "Briefly. I've preplanned the optimal pressure to minimize discomfort while ensuring permanent marking."

"Just do it, please." you whisper.

And he does. The bite is quick and precise, exactly as promised. You gasp, your hands gripping the blankets, and then it's over. His mouth presses to the wound, once, softly.

Then he pulls back, adjusts your clothing, and straightens his cuffs.

"There, procedure complete," he says. "Healing should take approximately two weeks. I'll monitor for complications."

You look at him. At the faint pink on his ears. At the way his hands, now clasped behind his back, are held just a little tighter than usual.

"You're blushing," you say.

His ears go pinker. "I am not."

"You totally are."

He doesn't say anything back for a few seconds, then, quietly: "...you've been updated. You are now listed as claimed."

You grin. "Listed as claimed?"

"It's just the appropriate terminology."

You lean forward and press your forehead to his shoulder. He goes very still. "Thank you," you whisper. "For asking. For waiting. For being you." Then you felt his hand rests on your head, just light and brief.

"You are... welcome," he says. And then, softer: "My visitor."

✑ 𝒹𝑜𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇

favorite place: the space just below your ribs, on your left side.

for doctor, he's all about anatomical. practical, you can say. close to organs he finds fascinating, close to the heartbeat he loves to monitor. he wants his mark where he can study it, where he can watch it heal and change and become part of you.

the bite is curious. exploratory. he's not trying to hurt you, he's trying to understand you, to leave his signature on the canvas of your body. his tongue flicks out afterward, tasting the blood, cataloging the data.

the bite mark will be precise, almost surgical. he'll photograph it for his records. you'll pretend to be annoyed, but secretly you're touched.

He's been studying you for weeks.

Just the usual. Taking notes. Observing. Running little tests that you pretend not to notice. So when he finally approaches you with a request, you're not surprised.

"I'd like to mark you, sweetie," he says, his cyan eyes bright with scientific interest. "The location I've selected is optimal for observation—just below the ribs, on the left side. Close to several fascinating organs. The healing process will provide valuable data."

You should be offended. Instead, you're amused.

"So this is for science?"

"Primarily." A pause. "...Secondarily, it would establish a permanent claim. Which I find... appealing." There it is. That little crack in the clinical facade.

"Okay," you say. "But I get to watch you document it."

His goggles light up, the cyan color training into red. Literally. They glow brighter. "Agreed."

Few seconds later, he has you lie down on his examination table—clean, sterile, surprisingly comfortable. His hands are gentle as they push up your shirt, exposing the skin below your ribs.

"Fascinating," he murmurs, pressing lightly. "Your liver is slightly enlarged. Have you been drinking?"

"Please focus, doctor."

"Right. Of course." He leans down. His breath is warm against your skin. Moving his beak mask, just a bit to allow his teeth sink in, it's exploratory, curious, like he's tasting you as much as marking you. It hurts, but it's a distant kind of pain, muffled by the strange intimacy of the moment.

When he pulls back, there's blood. He dabs it carefully, then reaches for his camera.

"Smile," he says. You playful flip him off. He photographs it anyway.

Over the next few weeks, he documents everything. The healing process. The scar formation. The way it changes color and texture. You become his favorite research subject. But at night, when he thinks you're asleep, you feel his fingers trace the scar. Gentle. Almost tender.

"Beautiful," he whispers. "My beautiful anomaly."

You pretend not to hear. But you smile in the dark.

✑ 𝒸𝑜𝓁𝓊𝓂𝒷𝒾𝓃𝒶

favorite place: the hollow behind your ear.

one thing about columbina that she's bit shy.

the mark alone will be hidden. feels more intimate. a secret shared only between you. she doesn't want the world to see her claim—she wants it to be something you carry with you always, something only you know is there, a whisper of her against your skin.

the bite is soft. hesitant. she's afraid of hurting you, afraid of being too much, afraid of everything. but she needs this—needs to leave something permanent, something that proves she existed, that she loved, that she was real.

the bite mark will be tiny, almost invisible. you'll touch it sometimes and feel her there, a ghost against your skin.

She's afraid to ask.

You can see it in the way she looks at you, that desperate, hungry gaze that looks away the moment you notice. In the way her hands tremble when she reaches for you. In the way she clings to every moment like it might be her last.

She's been hurt before. You know this. Everyone knows this.

So when she finally works up the courage, it's barely a whisper.

"I want to... I want to mark you. But I'm scared. What if I hurt you? What if you hate it? What if—"

You stop her with a kiss on the forehead. "Show me where," you say.

She takes you to a quiet corner of the circus, somewhere hidden and safe. Her hands shake as she cups your face, turning your head gently to the side. "Here," she whispers, touching the hollow behind your ear. "No one will see. Just you and me. Just... us."

You hold still.

Her lips press to the spot. Soft. Warm. A kiss that lingers. Then her teeth, which are small, sharp—sink into your skin. It barely hurts. Just a pinch, a pressure, and then it's over. She pulls back, tears streaming down her face, and presses her forehead to yours.

"I'm sorry," she sobs. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just—I need you to remember. I need to leave something behind. In case—"

"In case what?" She doesn't answer. She doesn't have to.

You pull her close, holding her as she cries, one hand pressed to the tiny wound behind your ear. "I'll remember," you whisper. "I'll always remember." She clings to you like you're the only solid thing in a world made of ghosts.

And maybe you are.

✑ 𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓎𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒 (𝓉𝒻𝒸 𝑜𝒸)

favorite place: the webbing between your thumb and forefinger.

aww, many of you wanted her back, so i'll allow her to be back for this tiny moment. even though she was previously human, many things can happen over... bit of lore drop, little well over 100 years, in between your transition from a human to a monster lifestyle.

her marks are clever. practical. a place you'll see every day, every time you reach for something, every time you hold a pen or touch a page. she wants her mark where you'll be reminded, constantly, that you belong to her story now.

the bite is playful. teasing. she's not trying to hurt you—she's annotating you, leaving her signature on the living text of your body. her ink-dark lips press against your skin, and when she pulls back, there's a small, perfect mark that looks almost like a punctuation mark.

the bite mark will be small, dark, almost like a mole. you'll catch yourself touching it when you're thinking of her.

She makes it a game.

Like, of course she does. She's inkyette—everything is a game, a puzzle, a footnote in her endless archive. "I've decided," she announces one day, leaning and perched on your shoulder like a very small, very opinionated gargoyle, "that you need proper cataloging. Permanent cataloging. The kind that says this specimen belongs to the archivist."

You raise an eyebrow. "And how do you propose to do that?"

She grins. That ink-stained, mischievous grin that means trouble.

"Hold out your hand."

Which, you do. Because you're curious. Because you trust her, despite chaotic ass behavior.

She takes your hand in her doll-fingers, which were cool, smooth, impossibly delicate—and turns it over, palm down. Her lips press to the webbing between your thumb and forefinger.

"I've always loved this spot," she murmurs against your skin. "So useful. So visible. You'll see it every day, every time you reach for something. Every time you write. Every time you forget me."

"I won't forget you."

"Shh, quiet you. Let me have my drama." She bites down. It's quick—a sharp pinch, a flash of pain, and then it's over. She pulls back, and there, on your hand, is a small, perfect mark. Dark. Precise. Almost like a punctuation mark.

"There," she says, satisfied. "Now you're permanently footnoted in my archive. My favorite scholar. My dearie."

You look at the mark. At her. At the way she's trying to look casual, but her void-eyes are too bright, too hopeful.

"You know," you say slowly, "most people use rings."

She snorts. "Rings can be lost. Removed. Forgotten." Her tiny hand presses to the mark. "This? This is forever. This is us."

You lift your hand, pressing the mark to your lips. A kiss. For her.

"Forever, you say?," you playfully questioned.

Her grin softens into something real. "Forever, dearie."

♤ — 𝓉𝒻𝒸 𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

iyayadonna, all rights reserved. — ⋆˚ ᓭི༏ᓯྀ ꩜ 。⋆ .ᐟ

It had been a disastrous morning, and you felt in your bones how closely you were on the edge of your monster's patience. Jester’s tolerance for human error was famously nonexistent, yet your relationship had managed to carve out a fragile equilibrium. He accepted you—to an extent as a creature of his grand, twisted design could accept any mortal. Your heart frequently ached with an ocean-depth sadness for the dark past that molded him into this monstrous showman. In turn, he had made you his sole, begrudging exception to his sweeping hatred of mankind. But his trust was a brittle, hard-won prize, and today? You had been terribly careless.

The infractions accumulated so rapidly before your watch had even hit noon. First, you rested for a brief moment upon a prop crate with both headphones firmly in place, entirely oblivious to the world, precisely when he required a set piece moved. He had been forced to physically pluck an earbud from your ear with his claws, his decorated mask looming dangerously close, his voice a menacing purr as he repeated his directives.

The second strike carried a sharper edge. He stood high up in the empty bleachers of his show tent, meticulously mapping out the stage markers for the "fools" in the evening’s act—a task, in his opinion, that demanded absolute visual precision. As you knelt on the stage floor tape in hand, your ringtone began blaring from phone in the front row. Instinctively, you had bolted off to answer it, entirely shattering his artistic momentum. From the shadows of the gallery, glowing eyes stared down at you, his long, dark fingers tapping a slow and ominous rhythm against his arm after crossing them.

The third slight occurred merely an hour later. Noticing your flushed overheated skin, he had silently offered you a flask of cool water. This was a such an intimate action of care from him, truly. Stifling a whine in the sweltering heat, you had playfully demurred, pushing it away with such a stupid promise to "drink it later." In reply, Jester merely traced a cold, gloved claw down your sweat-dampened cheek, whispering, “as you wish, little mouse... You shall be begging for a drop by nightfall.”

You'd been too engrossed in your labors to truly let the terror of that moment sink in. Jester, however, relished in your ignorance as your disobedient tally spurred his creativity...

Now, mere moments before the circus was set to open to the public, you stood backstage in the dim, flickering lantern light, adjusting the frills of your altered version of a fools' costume. The heavy, sickeningly sweet aromas of burnt sugar, copper, and a strange musky smoke hung thick in the air—the unmistakable signature of the Doctor's latest hallucinogenic concoction...? The very one already laced into the concessions. Your brow raised in confusion.

A sharp shadow fell across the floor and disrupted your Sherlock moment. You turned to find Jester standing tall and looking terrifying in his immaculate costume. Or, more so it was the expression conveyed through his mask. Violet eyes gleamed with a chaotic, wicked brilliance; he looked very much like the apex predator he was in this moment. You gulped, thickly.

"There you are, my little mouse," his voice possessed a theatrical cadence that sent a familiar shiver down your spine. He stepped forward, the golden bells on his hat letting out an ominous chime. He leaned down, his hot breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. "A slight... improvisation in tonight's scheduling, I'm afraid. Since our blocking of the stage earlier today was so terribly disrupted, the choreography for our fools lacks its usual... elegance. You'll be subbing in for them."

An anxious breath caught in your throat; you hated public speaking. Let alone acting on a stage with no script. Improvisation was not your monster's natural style... "What? Jester, the show starts in five minutes—"

"Oh~ It almost slipped my mind," he interrupted smoothly, his lips curling into a sharp terrifyingly beautiful smirk. He tapped the tip of your nose with a gloved finger. "You'll be substituting for all three acts this evening. I suggest you prepare your stage presence, pet: your spotlight awaits."

Before you could voice any further protest, your monster dissolved into the backstage shadows, leaving your heart hammering violently against your ribs. Oh. You were in Marianas Trench fathoms of trouble...

The purple-and-black performance tent was packed to the brim. Peering through the heavy stage curtain, you could see the sea of faces. The Doctor’s hallucinogens effects were already showing its symptoms amongst your crowd: eyes were glassy, dilated, and fixed unblinkingly on center stage. Their movements appeared struggled and heavy, their laughter sluggish and delayed, echoing oddly in the dense air. They were entirely pliable, caught in a hazy, waking dream where reality and illusion blurred into a singular intoxicating tapestry—just how your monsters preferred, to hide their deepest secrets from visitors. But to this extent and with a fogged application? You'd never seen it before...

The house lights slammed down into a deep bruised purple. Jester burst onto the stage—a tall presence of terrifying energy. The crowd roared, a distorted, collective resonance that vibrated through the old, worn floorboards beneath your feet. It took everything you had to manage the bile of stage fright in your throat.

He commenced his performance, not with jests, but with a macabre narrative. His voice commanding the entire space as he wove a new tale you'd never heard him practice before. Shit... It was the tale of a beautiful, disobedient doll. Your stomach sank instantly.

"She was a stubborn little thing," Jester worked his stage with movements fluid, uncanny, and mesmerizing as he gestured broadly to the crowd. "Refusing to harken to her master's voice. She hid away, she kept her own erratic time, and when her master sought to map out her own show to perfection? She simply fled the design!"

The audience chuckled at this—a chorus of hazy, drugged chuckles. He tsk-ed in agreement. To the crowd, it was a dark, marvelous fairy tale that continued on. To you, standing rigid in the wings: your skin turned to gooseflesh.

"And when the sweltering summer sun beat down," Jester carried on, narrow glowing eyes locking directly onto your hiding place through the slit in the curtain, "the silly doll refused his gracious gift of drink, thinking herself entirely above her master's care. So, tell me, my little monsters... what is a showman to do with such a broken, defiant toy?"

He extended a an elegantly clawed, gloved hand toward the wings. Your cue was absolute; a royal command. Even though your legs felt heavy as lead, the deep possessive bond you shared magnetized you to him. You stepped out into the glaring lights, heart slamming away like a sledgehammer. Violet eyes danced the moment Jester sensed this.

The crowd gasped at your sudden appearance, their compromised minds perceiving you as some form of a mythical prize—a living extension of Jester's twisted fable. Your monster met you in the center of the ring, poetically upon the central marker you had failed to map properly that morning. With a grand flourish, he used slight of hand to produce a heavy leather collar and a matching leash.

You stood frozen, offering no resistance as he clicked the cold leather tightly around your throat. The audience clapped—a drunken rhythmic thudding that sent physical vibrations up through the soles of your feet.

"We must teach the doll how to keep her proper blocking," Jester's normal volume sent a shiver down your spine, his grand theatrical persona dropping for a fraction of a second, revealing the raw, dominant predator lurking beneath the mask.

He gave the leash a sharp, sudden tug forcing your knees met the worn wooden stage floor with a dull, heavy thud. You groaned from your body's protest to the landing. Jester walked a slow, deliberate circle around you, wrapping the leather leash tightly around his gloved hand until he held you on a punishingly short lead.

He reached down, his elegant fingers gripping your jaw with unyielding pressure, forcing your face upward. His eyes burned with a mixture of his deep-seated malice for the world and that intense, possessive exception he reserved exclusively for you.

"You turned a deaf ear to me this morning, pet," he informed you quietly, his voice drowned out to the audience by the swelling, discordant circus orchestration, but crystal clear to you. "Now, you'll have no choice but to internalize every. Single. Sound I intend to wring from you."

With quiet grace, Jester moved behind you—then stomped twice with the boot of his heel in sudden contrast. Jester's amused chuckle mixed with the crowd's laugh at your jolting. He gathered the fabric of your pink and black patterned skirts, pulling the ruffles upward to expose you completely to the hazy, staring eyes of the front row. You gasped open-mouthed and eyes wide; the sheer public exhibitionism of the act causing a sudden ache to blossom deep within you. Yes, you were horrified. But oh dear gods, you were fucking wet.

He didn't hesitate, even for a moment to eat up your delectable reactions. The thick smell of your arousal betraying what human society engraved in you what was considered taboo and inappropriate. Jester shifted his costume trousers just enough, gripped your hips with bruising force and drove himself inside you in one hard, relentless thrust.

A choked scream escaped your lips, instantly swallowed by the sudden explosion of applause from the crowd. They believed this to be the grand finale of the act—the ultimate climax of the Jester conquering his unruly doll in the dark fable. The hallucinogens caused the scene to melt before their eyes into something profoundly artistic, primal, and quite the unintelligible sight.

Jester began to move against you with a ruthless and punishing pace. Every thrust of his was deep, unyielding, and heavy—fulfilling his desire of pinning you to the exact stage mark you neglected mere hours before. The friction was scorching; the chaotic heat that left sweat immediately breaking out along your spine.

"Quiet, pet," Jester commanded as a reminder, his voice a dark rasp right at your ear, dropping the theatrical cadence for a sharp, authoritative snap. “I don't want to hear so much as a syllable unless I grant you permission to do so... Now be a good girl: hold your breath and endure me."

You bit your lip, chest heaving as you tried to obey the sudden restraint, your core aching as your monster lover fully hit his stride. He shifted his grip, a clawed hand sliding up to press firmly between your shoulder blades to push you lower against the wood.

"Now, now~ arch your back and keep your hips steady for your master" he ordered smoothly, enforcing the strict dynamic right in the open air. Every time you tried to shift in attempts to ease the intense friction from being fucked: his hand tightened, anchoring you perfectly to his whim. "You wished to operate on your own schedule today, and I so graciously allowed it without a word. Tonight? You'll move exactly how I tell you."

Before you could lose yourself entirely to the overwhelming rhythm, Jester gathered the leather of your leash wrapped tightly around his hand giving it a sharp, sudden tug. Your head snapped back, throat exposed as he forced your sex-flushed face up to witness the sea of hazy mesmerized faces in the fully occupied rows.

Keeping himself buried deep within you, his hips maintaining a slow, agonizingly deliberate grind, Jester turned his attention back to the crowd. His eyes burned with that chaotic, showman light as he resumed his macabre tale, addressing the audience while using your bound body as his ultimate prop.

"And so, my dear monsters!" Jester called out to the tent, his voice projecting flawlessly over your trembling, submissive form. "See how the disobedient doll learns the price of her silence! She thought she could tune out her master's voice, but look at her now—captivated, frozen, and listening to every beat of the show!"

The drugged crowd laughed and applauded in delight, a chorus of slow, rhythmic thudding that sent physical shocks up through the floorboards and straight into your thighs. To them, his grand, sweeping speech was the climax of a dark fairy tale. To you it was an overwhelming surrender.

"Look at them watching you," Jester whispered, his tone dropping back to a lethal hiss against your neck as he pulled the leash a fraction tighter. "Tell them who owns your time, little bird. Speak."

"Y-you," you cried out, the rule of silence broken only by his command. "Y-you do, J-Jester."

"Such a good girl," he cooed, the final pocket of his fractured trust giving way to pure, possessive certainty.

He let go of the leash, pinning both of your hands to the stage floor with one of his large, gloved ones, completely dominating your posture. The pace turned frantic without losing an ounce of its heavy and punishing nature. He drove into your harder, hitting your personal sweet spot with his intimate knowledge of your body—with terrifying precision. You wailed against the wood, your dry throat burning from the heat and the sheer volume of pleasure multiplying at an alarming rate through your veins.

The orgasm hit you like a physical blow. A violent, crashing wave that squeezed him tightly; beckoning his own pleasure. Jester let out a low moan, sung for your ears only, driving deep one last time as he filled you, his own release blinding him as he collapsed over your back. Your monster held you tightly against the floorboards that vibrated from the loud cheering that surrounded your performance. Jester's purple hair covered your face like a beautiful silken curtain closing on the act.

The audience continued to erupt in a deafening standing ovation, completely oblivious to the raw reality of the punishment they had just witnessed.

For a moment, you both remained there panting and slick with sweat in the stifling summer air within the tent. Slowly, Jester pulled out of you, the hot air of the tent suddenly feeling cool as it hit your overheated skin. The sudden absence of him left you trembling, your muscles weak and spent. As you tried to shift your weight on the worn wood you felt the hot, heavy sensation of his release mixed with your own wetness pooling out in a warm, thick trickle that dripped slowly down the inside of your left thigh.

Jester stood up, adjusting his signature costume with perfect chilling poise, entirely unfazed by the madness around him. The stage lights began to dim, signaling the end of the first act as the drugged, hazy crowd started to shuffle toward the exit flaps for more concessions. Each person's retelling of the performance not matching the next.

Your lover reached down, helping you up to your shaky, trembling knees. You were parched, throat bone-dry and desperate for the water you had refused earlier.

Jester looked down at you, his painted face twisting into a darkly clever smirk. He reached out, his gloved claw to gently trace the wet trail of his release drying against your left thigh, before patting your flushed cheek. The bells on his attire jingled merrily.

"A wonderful first act, little mouse," Jester praised, his eyes dancing with a wicked teasing cruelty. He leaned in, lips right against your ear. "But do remember... we still have two more performances tonight. And you haven't drunk nearly enough water."