Hi! Welcome to my blog,
This post will be updated often with some information like my HCs, Theories and OC information for those that are interested in that.
A b o u t m e .ᐟ .ᐟ
Asra / Penta | 24 | she/he | Multifandom Artist
bisexual and ace spec (not entirely sure what part-)
My Dms and Asks are always open, feel free to send me funny things or your own personal headcanons!
Discord: p3ntamonium
Discord is my preferred app for chatting so do feel free to add me there. I am a little shy around new people as I do try to be careful who i let in and get to know outside of what I post on here.
This blog is 18+ as i do reblog nsfw and post about nsfw headcanons. Minors please do not interact with my content, you will be asked unkindly to leave.
Current Fandom(s): The Freak Circus
I am a huge enjoyer of most of the cast but Ticket Taker has me in a choke hold.
I do not exactly align with the label of Yumeshipper, I do prefer self-shipper. Or just Oc x canon. I do not have anything against those who do prefer the term Yumeshipper. This is just my preference, all that i ask is that if you're non-sharing, do just block as I would not want to cause anyone any grief.
P e r s o n a l T a g s .ᐟ.ᐟ
#tfc Brier - any and everything about my The Freak Circus oc can be found here
#tfc The shop Keeper - Au where Brier actually is fit to join the circus
#Ass out w Asra - Horny posting tag
#ramble in the bramble - me rambling about anything and everything
S h i p p i n g P a i r s .ᐟ.ᐟ
If you don't vibe with these pairings you do not have to look at them.
HeartTaker - Ticket Taker x Doctor (mainly)
BirdBones - Brier (tfc oc) x Doctor
Menagerie's Keeper - Brier (tfc oc) x Ticket Taker
H e a d c a n o n s M a s t e r l i s t .ᐟ .ᐟ
Ticket Tacker SFW & NSFW Headcanons
Ticket Tacker SFW & NSFW Headcanons EXTENDED
T h e o r i e s .ᐟ .ᐟ
Jester having a part in Columbina's death
Please note that any theories; outlandish, wrong or right are made solely for fun and are from my own interpretations.
Finished Ticket Taker and the crew is finally all here!
Wanted TT to look like the most plain guy out of them all while still having interesting features (his design is kinda loosely based off of disguise he has at the coffee shop)
i like the idea that he looks older than he actually is but it’s mainly from how he styles and carries himself
not sure what would be his job but probably something related to either law or finances
tbh I am not sure about any of their jobs except Doctor as doctor (lmao) and Pierrot as baker in the coffee shop Ana works at to spend more time with her
Somebody did suggest for all of them to kinda live together like sitcom style but I am still not sure how to play off all of that in terms of when and how they all met and how old everyone is cause this AU would probably by nature would be less dark and more lighthearted since circus, monsters and human trafficking isn’t there (tho I am kinda tempted to make Jester have like a little cult for himself lmao)
If anyone got any ideas or suggestions I am all ears
This is dedicated to all the peeps who like to be deer as their pet play animal (myself included)
sort of a fic? maybe, this idea has just been burning in my mind since this morning. This is not beta read at all, just my unfiltered horny thoughts.
Kinks: Pet Play & light predator/Prey
Word count: 647
Thinking about this. . .
You're let out of your cage to stretch your legs a bit, your generous owner Ticket Taker has deemed that you've been good for him and you've earned a reward. You're allowed to frolic in the forest just beyond the circus grounds!
How delightful!
Naturally you're filled with excitement at the prospect of being able to have a change of scenery.
Of course, everything with Ticket Taker comes at a cost, his generosity isn't just a reward for you and only you, it's something he will quickly turn into something he can enjoy as well.
But he's a patient man, he can wait and watch you frolic real pretty for him. His sweet little fawn enjoying themselves, but his claws itched to feel the heat of your skin, and hear the frantic racing of your heart.
Watching you wander the forest gave him a wicked idea, one that causes an unexpected growl to reverberate through his chest. One he could not contain. The thrill and need to hunt - especially when it came to his pretty little darling. How could he possibly refuse such a delicious prospect.
You hear the growl, having heard it when your beloved owner was about to lose composure, a spike of fear but also arousal at the thought of being chased, being hunted shot through you like a gun shot.
You run, trying to suppress a giggle, you loved it when he lost himself to his more base instincts. When he becomes the beast you have known he is underneath all that prim and proper demeanor he shows around others.
When he is just as hungry as the rest of them.
The ticket puncher knew you would run, he saw it in your eyes.
Such a smart little creature you are.~
He’ll only follow, he won’t run. He’ll catch you far too easily if he gives chase so quickly.
He’ll let you think you’ve won, until you’re trembling underneath his claws before you even realize it.
After sometime you stop to catch your breath, turning around to realize your owner is nowhere to be found.
‘Where could he have gone?’
Anxiety starts to gnaw at you, having been by his side for so long; the thought of being without him makes you more scared than the fact that he could simply eat you at any moment.
Your hand slowly reaches into your pocket to pull out the pocket mirror he had given you in case of emergencies. But your wrist, and waist were quickly seized in a familiar grip. It startled you at first, but you settled as the familiar scent of petrichor filled your senses.
“Found you, little fawn.~” The term of endearment never ceases to make you shiver. Melting your brain into the soft fuzzy mindset he preferred you in. Only knowing to obey and look pathetic for your owner.
You feel his claws dig into your waist as he drags you against him, feeling the evidence of how this little game has affected him, wriggling in his pants; no doubt leaving a stain behind that he’ll make you clean up later.
Your face heats up, the thought of doing this in the middle of a forest makes your heart race and your stomach erupts with butterflies. Ticket Taker is a private man, so to think he was breaking his own rules simply for you was odd. But you knew better than to question why he does what he does. That’s not your place, your place is at his feet, being at his every beck and call.
Ticket Taker grinds his arousal against your rear and you have to resist the urge to grind back. Knowing that you aren’t allowed to do anything without his permission. The friction causes you to whimper and your needy hole to twitch in excitement at the thought of what is to come.
If you behave.
Good god, okay I am no writer. I really commend those who are writers because this took me a couple hours to write (i was getting distracted and thinking real HARD).
The first post was just a test run, this is the real deal!
We have ironed out some of the bumps, we didn't expect so many people to join in such a short amount of time; but here we are!
The Traveling Circus (TTC)
TTC is an unoffical The Freak Circus server ran by myself, @4everinlimbo @littlecharmingenvy and @marstato
This server is fully catered to how you want to experience it. It has roles for each character so that you may only see certain or all of the troupe!The only exception to this is the black ticket role.
(We are working on it i promise)
This server have many different kinds of fans; artist, writers and just those who enjoy the two!
We also have a dedicated oc channel so that you may share you OCs and their lore! (The Pink Ticket)
Of course like all things TFC related, this server is 18+ we do not have identification verification, however we do require an introduction post or social media plugs. The only exception to this is if you have a member or moderator vet for you.
This is no fool proof way to protect the server against minors, but it's a start, and of course if you do suspect someone maybe a minor do tell staff.
I gotta figure out how to make the quality of my stuff consistent- but anyways!
I'm back! been a hot minute since drawing any of the canon cast and i've changed my style to a low res one because it's oddly satisfying.
Have a frankly pretty messy drawing of TT :)
The first post was just a test run, this is the real deal!
We have ironed out some of the bumps, we didn't expect so many people to join in such a short amount of time; but here we are!
The Traveling Circus (TTC)
TTC is an unoffical The Freak Circus server ran by myself, @4everinlimbo @littlecharmingenvy and @marstato
This server is fully catered to how you want to experience it. It has roles for each character so that you may only see certain or all of the troupe!The only exception to this is the black ticket role.
(We are working on it i promise)
This server have many different kinds of fans; artist, writers and just those who enjoy the two!
We also have a dedicated oc channel so that you may share you OCs and their lore! (The Pink Ticket)
Of course like all things TFC related, this server is 18+ we do not have identification verification, however we do require an introduction post or social media plugs. The only exception to this is if you have a member or moderator vet for you.
This is no fool proof way to protect the server against minors, but it's a start, and of course if you do suspect someone maybe a minor do tell staff.
Different Anon but just wanted to make a small comment about verification with ID on Discord:
Im part of an 18+ Discord server where to get in people need to show Date Of Birth from their ID, the ID photo and a selfie to compare along with a papernote with the Discord Username hand-written on it— and even then there have been so many repeated issues of minors bypassing this that there is even a secret/private nsfw art channel with only a handful of people whom the Server Owner's picked out who sre in there
So i honestly dont think there is a good way to verify users and it's just important to kick the minors who out themselves as being underage (though they could very easily just make an alt acc).
Exactly!
While yes ID verification can scare off minors- it can be easily bypassed. I’ve seen it happen again and again, VRChat for example.
18+ verified badge, I’ve encountered minors that have it. They used their parent’s ID card.
There really is no way to avoid minors trying to get into adult spaces. It’s a risk that has to be taken and just gotta be careful and vigilant when running any 18+ community.
I hope I don’t come off as rude, but for an 18+ server, it’s best to have a verification system. Minors WILL get in without it. I myself am part of a small server, and have had multiple minors try to get in.
And who knows how many would have joined had they not been scared off via identification🥲
You can always have people censor all of the information except date of birth for privacy. And while some determined ones might find a way around it, it’s better than nothing haha.
Hi!
No this isn’t rude at all and I can understand the concern. However adding ID verification can be easily bypassed with AI not to mention children could use their parent’s ID. Plus there are some adults who would be turned off by the fact that the server has ID verification if we added it. it’s extra work for staff and the members who just want an easily accessible server. It’s a small price to pay, our staff is constantly monitoring for other behaviors that could indicate someone is a minor; being cagey about age when asked, etc.
We can’t control what children do at the end of the day and we can put as many warnings and verifications as we want. Minors will still find a way in, it’s a sad reality, but it’s just the way it is.
Parents should be monitoring their children. Not strangers online.
The first post was just a test run, this is the real deal!
We have ironed out some of the bumps, we didn't expect so many people to join in such a short amount of time; but here we are!
The Traveling Circus (TTC)
TTC is an unoffical The Freak Circus server ran by myself, @4everinlimbo @littlecharmingenvy and @marstato
This server is fully catered to how you want to experience it. It has roles for each character so that you may only see certain or all of the troupe!The only exception to this is the black ticket role.
(We are working on it i promise)
This server have many different kinds of fans; artist, writers and just those who enjoy the two!
We also have a dedicated oc channel so that you may share you OCs and their lore! (The Pink Ticket)
Of course like all things TFC related, this server is 18+ we do not have identification verification, however we do require an introduction post or social media plugs. The only exception to this is if you have a member or moderator vet for you.
This is no fool proof way to protect the server against minors, but it's a start, and of course if you do suspect someone maybe a minor do tell staff.
Pairing: @just-animaxiz Magnifico x Gender Neutral Reader
Words: 7.3k
A/n: This is inspired by @just-animaxiz/@theforevercasino Magnifico. I forgot he has two cocks while writing this, so we can pretend! I hope Magnifico likes it too ;) ~Fox🦊
Synopsis: You dream of the casino again, where your king lies in wait. Unfortunately, dreams do not last forever.
Tags: SMUT, oral reader receiving, p insertion, scratching, creampie, possessiveness, body worship, and really angsty
Inspired by: @just-animaxiz/@theforevercasino
Not all at once, but in gentle stages, the weight behind your eyes grew heavier with each passing moment, like tiny anchors pulling you down into depths unknown. The quieting of distant noises first became a dull murmur, then faded entirely into a profound silence that swallowed everything but the sound of your own breathing. The slow surrender of your body as consciousness slipped from your grasp was almost tender – your muscles loosening one by one, your thoughts becoming scattered like autumn leaves in a sudden breeze, leaving the waking world behind piece by piece. The last thing you remembered was the familiar feeling of your pillow beneath your cheek, its fabric worn smooth against your skin from countless nights of rest.
The first thing you felt after was warmth.
Not just any warmth, but one that seemed to penetrate straight to your bones, like stepping from a cold street into a well-heated room. Golden light seeped through your closed eyelids, soft as the morning sun yet somehow richer, bathing everything in honey-colored radiance that made your skin tingle pleasantly. The scent of polished wood, expensive perfume, sweet wine, and fresh bread lingered pleasantly in the air, creating an intoxicating cocktail of aromas that felt both luxurious and comforting. Somewhere nearby, slot machines chimed in impossible harmony while laughter echoed through vaulted halls that seemed to stretch forever, their sounds bouncing off walls that existed somewhere between reality and imagination. Marble floors reflected chandeliers that glittered like constellations captured in crystal, velvet curtains framed endless gaming tables where fortunes were won and lost with the roll of dice or turn of a card, and every corridor promised another impossible luxury waiting just around the corner.
The casino.
His casino.
It felt strangely familiar, like coming home to a place you'd never visited before. The recognition wasn't one of memory but of instinct, as if some part of your soul had always known this place, always been waiting for it. The golden light that bathed everything seemed to welcome you like an old friend, and the distant chiming of slot machines played a melody that resonated somewhere deep within you, a tune your heart had known long before your mind could name it.
Not because you'd visited often enough to memorize its layout or its secrets – though the velvet curtains and gleaming marble seemed etched into your very being, as if they'd been there since before you were born.
Because every dream eventually led you here, as inevitable as the turning of the tides, as certain as the phases of the moon. Each time you closed your eyes, your consciousness found its way back to these halls, drawn by an invisible thread that connected your sleeping self to this place of impossible luxury and endless possibility.
Before you could even orient yourself in this familiar yet foreign landscape, another sensation wrapped around you. Strong arms, muscular yet gentle, encircled your waist with a certainty that sent shivers down your spine. They held you with practiced ease, lifting you as though you weighed nothing at all, pulling you against a chest that felt both solid as marble and warm as sunlight. The scent of expensive cologne and something uniquely his filled your senses, and in that moment, the casino, with all its glittering splendor, faded to background noise, leaving only the feeling of being held, cherished, and completely, utterly safe.
You barely had time to draw a shaky breath before the world tilted, your feet lifting from the marble floor as though gravity had surrendered its claim on you. The surprised gasp that escaped your lips transformed into something softer, almost musical, as you were gathered into an embrace that felt both inevitable and new. His movements carried a grace that suggested countless repetitions, an arm sliding beneath your knees with the precision of someone who had memorized every curve of your form, while another pressed against your back with a strength that was both reassuring and possessive. He held you as though this was a dance choreographed long ago, a ritual he had performed a thousand times in the space between your waking and sleeping worlds.
"My little dreamer."
The words didn't just reach your ears – they settled deep in your chest, loosening knots you hadn't realized were tightening around your heart with every passing moment apart. His voice held the rich resonance of polished mahogany and the warmth of aged wine, a sound that belonged to no other but him.
When your gaze lifted to meet his, golden eyes already waited there, glowing with an intensity that made the casino's own radiance pale in comparison. They held you captive more surely than his arms, their depths speaking of countless nights missed, of moments counted in the breath between your visits.
Magnifico smiled.
Not the brilliant, calculated curve of his lips that dazzled the wandering dreamers seeking fortunes in his casino. Not the charismatic, practiced grin of a masterful host promising impossible riches to those who dared to test their luck.
This smile was different. This smile was reserved.
It reached his eyes first, softening their golden light to something warmer, more intimate. Relief washed across his features like the first rays of dawn after a long night, and in that moment, you understood – he had been waiting for you. He had missed you.
Magnifico's enormous horns framed his face like a crown of polished stone, their tips catching the golden light and refracting it into miniature rainbows that danced across your cheek. As he looked down at you, his thumb brushed across your side with a movement so absentminded it felt natural, as though his body had memorized the landscape of your form during those endless hours of separation. The touch sent a current through you that had nothing to do with the casino's electric atmosphere and everything to do with the magnetic pull that existed between your sleeping self and his waiting arms. Then, with a motion so slight you might have imagined it, he pulled you just a fraction closer against his chest, eliminating even that smallest distance between your bodies, as though the mere thought of space between you was unbearable.
"There you are..." he breathed, the words carrying a tenderness that bordered on reverence, each syllable a balm to parts of you that had been aching in ways you couldn't name during your waking hours. "I was beginning to think this evening would never come."
You laughed softly, the sound like tiny bells in the vast expanse of his casino, your fingers unconsciously tracing patterns on the fine fabric of his robe.
"I was only awake for a few hours."
"For you."
His smile faltered—not disappearing, merely softening into something touched by melancholy that momentarily dimmed the golden radiance of his eyes. It was as though the passage of time between your visits weighed upon him more heavily than any crown, more burdensome than all the fortunes won and lost in his domain combined.
"For me..." his voice lowered, becoming intimate enough that you felt it vibrate through his chest and into your very bones, "...it was much longer."
He began walking without waiting for a response, carrying you effortlessly through the endless halls of his kingdom. Each step was measured and deliberate, his stride so smooth you barely felt the movement, as though you were floating on a cloud of his making. Performers in impossible costumes paused mid-performance to bow as he passed, their painted faces expressing a reverence reserved for royalty. Dealers with impossibly perfect features smiled politely from behind glittering card tables where cards shuffled themselves, and dice obeyed unspoken commands. Guests who had come seeking impossible fortunes laughed and celebrated their winnings, raising crystal glasses toward their benevolent host, blissfully unaware that they wandered a place from which very few ever truly escaped—a realization that both thrilled and comforted you, for with Magnifico's arms around you, escape was the furthest thing from your mind.
The grand procession through his casino seemed to fade into meaningless motion behind you—performers contorting into impossible shapes, dice cascading across velvet tables, crystal glasses raised in celebration of fortunes gained and lost. Magnifico barely acknowledged them, his gaze never straying from your face as though you were the only true fortune in this kingdom of dreams.
"They're all so terribly predictable," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through his chest and into your body where you lay pressed against him. The words were nearly lost in the casino's symphony of sounds, yet they reached you with startling clarity. "Money. Fame. Revenge. Power." His sigh carried all the theatrical weight of a performer who had delivered the same lines countless times, yet beneath the practiced drama lay something brittle, something genuine. "Everyone asks for something."
His golden eyes, which had been surveying his domain with the detached gaze of a ruler, returned to yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. In their depths, you saw reflections of chandeliers and spinning roulette wheels, yet somehow you knew he saw only you.
"You simply come back."
His grip tightened almost imperceptibly around you, not enough to be uncomfortable but enough to leave no doubt of his possession. You felt the subtle pressure of his fingers against your side, the arm supporting your back pressing just slightly closer, as though afraid you might dissolve between one breath and the next.
"I've missed you."
The confession hung between you, suspended in the golden air like dust motes dancing in sunbeams. The casino's revelry continued around you, a distant celebration you were no longer part of, existing instead in this bubble of intimacy he had created with nothing more than his presence and his words.
Then, quieter still, as though sharing a secret he had guarded since your last departure—
"Every night I wonder if this will be the one where you never return."
The vulnerability in his admission struck you with unexpected force, cracking open the polished facade of the casino master to reveal the lonely dreamer beneath. This was Magnifico unguarded, stripped of his theatrical masks, exposing a raw need that transcended the boundaries of dream and reality.
You frowned, your fingers unconsciously tightening on the lapel of his jacket, the fine fabric cool against your skin.
"I'm here now."
"I know."
Magnifico's smile returned, this time brighter than before, so luminous it seemed to eclipse the golden light of his casino. It was the kind of radiance that could blind, that could make one forget the boundaries between dream and reality.
"And that is all that matters," he murmured, the words both a promise and a confession.
Before you could respond, towering doors carved with intricate gilded filigree swung open of their own accord, revealing an enormous bedroom bathed in the warm glow of countless candles. The bed dominated the space, an ocean of fabric so soft it seemed to swallow the light, its pillows and blankets arranged with meticulous care to resemble clouds rather than mere bedding. Every corner of the chamber overflowed with treasures—books with leather bindings that gleamed in the candlelight, flowers of impossible hues that would never wilt, and countless trinkets and treasures that somehow echoed pieces of you, fragments of your life that he had collected across your nights apart.
Your gaze caught on something new, something that hadn't been there during your previous visit—a glint of silver on the dark mahogany nightstand, catching and reflecting the candlelight in tiny fractured rainbows that danced across your vision. You turned your head slightly, curious about this addition to his treasure-filled domain, your eyes adjusting to focus through the golden haze of his bedroom.
A framed photograph.
Not just any photograph, but one that seemed to pulse with an impossible vibrancy, as though capturing a moment more real than reality itself. One you didn't remember taking, couldn't have taken, showing you laughing in a field of wildflowers you'd never visited, your head thrown back in a moment of pure, unrestrained joy while sunlight filtered through petals in colors that shouldn't exist in any waking world. Your hair tangled around your head in ways that suggested a sudden breeze, and in the photograph, your eyes held a light so bright it seemed to challenge the candlelight in Magnifico's chamber. The frame itself was crafted from a silver so pure it seemed almost liquid, its edges engraved with patterns that matched the intricate filigree of his bedroom doors, suggesting it had been crafted with the same impossible care as everything else in his realm.
Magnifico noticed where your eyes lingered, his own following your line of sight before returning to your face. The shift was immediate—the confident, possessive host giving way to something else, something softer and more uncertain. The arm supporting your back trembled almost imperceptibly, a motion so minute you might have imagined it had you not been so attuned to every nuance of his presence. His golden eyes, which had been burning with intensity moments before, now flickered with something closer to apprehension, as though you had discovered a secret he hadn't meant to reveal.
"Oh," he breathed, the sound barely audible above the distant chiming of slot machines, each note perfectly in tune with the sudden acceleration of your own heart. The brilliant smile softened into something almost bashful, a flash of vulnerability in a being who commanded his own dream realm. His thumb, which had been stroking your side with proprietorial confidence, stilled for a moment before resuming its motion with renewed tenderness, as though seeking reassurance. "I thought it suited the room." The admission came out softer than intended, lacking his usual theatrical weight, and you realized this was perhaps the most honest thing he had ever said to you.
You blinked, momentarily disoriented by the impossible sight, your lashes fluttering against the golden air as your mind struggled to reconcile what your eyes were seeing with what your memories held. "I don't remember giving you that." The words came out softer than intended, almost a whisper of disbelief against the backdrop of his casino's distant melodies.
"You didn't."
He said it with such casual simplicity that you nearly missed the implication, the weight of what he was admitting, as though discussing something as mundane as the weather rather than bending the laws of reality itself. His voice held no apology, no explanation – only a matter-of-fact acceptance of his own power that was somehow more disarming than any theatrical display.
"I dreamed it," he continued, his gaze drifting over the room with quiet satisfaction, as though surveying a kingdom built from wishes rather than mortar and stone. The admission hung between you, impossible and intimate, as his golden eyes traced the edges of the silver frame before returning to yours with an intensity that suggested he had been dreaming of you far more often than you had realized. "It's easier than waiting for reality." The words carried the weight of countless lonely nights, of moments stretched thin between your visits, revealing how he had filled those empty hours not with his usual distractions, but with versions of you that existed only in his mind.
Something about the quiet certainty in his voice made your chest tighten, a strange mixture of flattery and unease coiling in your stomach like twin serpents. It was disarming how he spoke of bending reality to capture your image, as though such power were as natural as breathing. Yet, his casual admission left you breathless with implications that stretched beyond comprehension. The golden light of his casino seemed to intensify for a moment, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air like tiny stars, each one a testament to his impossible abilities and your place at the center of them all.
As he lowered you gently onto the edge of the enormous bed, the sheets cool against your skin like silk brushed with moonlight. There was no threat in his touch, no hint of malice. Only devotion, pure and absolute, the kind that had quietly crossed into obsession without either of you noticing when the line had been blurred. The mattress gave beneath your weight, drawing you deeper into his domain where reality and dream merged seamlessly, where his will shaped the very air you breathed.
Despite his towering size, Magnifico knelt before you, the motion somehow both graceful and reverent, as though he were supplicating before a deity rather than a mere mortal. His massive frame folding into position created a striking contrast between his formidable appearance and the gentle reverence in his actions. He took your hands into his own with surprising delicacy, his fingers long and elegant as they curled around yours, the touch sending waves of warmth that chased away the lingering chill of the sheets. His golden eyes remained fixed on yours, their intensity making it impossible to look away, as though he were trying to memorize every detail of your face in this moment, to store it away for the lonely hours when you would inevitably return to your waking world.
"You'll stay for a while this time, won't you?" His voice carried an almost hopeful quality, the casino master momentarily stripped of his theatrical persona, revealing the lonely dreamer beneath. "I know you always wake eventually," he admitted, his thumb stroking slowly across your knuckles with a rhythm that seemed to match the distant chiming of the slot machines. "I cannot stop that."
Another smile touched his lips, this one small, fragile, like morning frost on a windowpane.
"But until then..." He lifted your joined hands to his lips, pressing a feather-light kiss across your fingers, the touch so tender it sent shivers through you. "...allow me to pretend this world is kinder than the last."
For just a heartbeat, the music drifting through the casino seemed to falter, the chiming of slot machines and distant laughter pausing as though the entire dream realm held its breath, waiting for your answer.
Far below, a sound rose through the layers of revelry—something raw and grieving, swallowed by the chime of jackpots and the clink of glasses. The cry was a ghost in the machine.
Magnifico heard it. The faintest tic at the corner of his eye was the only betrayal. His smile, however, didn't waver. It deepened, warming into something private and possessive, a golden light meant only for you, shutting out the entire glittering, oblivious world.
And why not?
Dawn was inevitable.
And with it, the final, unbearable repetition of this loss. He would have to let you go. Again. The thought alone was a physical ache, a hollowness in his chest that even the endless cascade of dream-winnings couldn't fill. He held your gaze, a silent bargain passing between you. Stay. Just for now.
"Tell me what my dreamer needs," he murmured, his voice a low, intimate rumble that vibrated through your joined hands, the resonance settling deep in your chest like a second heartbeat. The words were spoken not as a question but as an invitation, a summons to speak the language that existed only between your sleeping self and his waiting arms. His golden eyes held yours, expectant but patient, their depths reflecting candlelight like twin pools of liquid gold, watching as though your answer held the weight of all creation, as if the entire dream realm had quieted to listen to this single moment of communion between you.
You swallowed, your throat suddenly tight with an emotion too vast to name, the answer coming as naturally as breathing, a name that belonged only to him in this sacred space where reality bent to will and time stretched like warm honey. The word formed on your tongue before you had consciously thought it, a truth that had always existed somewhere in the depths of your soul, waiting for this moment of perfect intimacy to emerge.
"My king."
A slow, satisfied grin spread across Magnifico's face, lighting him from within. He lived for this. The exact moment your reality bent to his will, the precise second you surrendered the waking world to the sanctuary of his dream. A soft hum of approval rumbled deep in his chest, a vibration of ownership. He rose, his body unfurling like a great cat, all fluid grace and contained power. With one gentle tug, he guided you from the bed's edge and arranged you amidst the mountain of pillows, positioning you like the most precious treasure in his vault.
He loomed over you, a god carved from shadow and gold. The candlelight caught the sharp line of his jaw, the proud curve of his horns, the impossible breadth of his shoulders. His massive form eclipsed the world, blocking out even the dazzling casino lights until there was only him. Only the heat radiating from his skin and the promise in his eyes.
"Then let your king worship at the altar of your return," he murmured, the words a sacred vow and a possessive claim. His hands came to rest on either side of your head, caging you in, and you could feel the raw power thrumming just beneath his skin.
He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. "You were made for this," he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "To be worshipped by me."
His hands, rough from countless shuffles and yet deft as a thief, discovered the edge of your shirt. There was nothing rushed in the way he worked, only a purpose that bordered on reverence. He didn't merely undress you; he unveiled you, like a priceless artifact he'd only dared to dream of. Each plane of skin that surfaced was met with the devotion in his eyes, the faintest ghost of a caress from his work-worn fingers. He mapped the contours of your form with an artist's obsession, as if terrified they'd altered, softened away in the time apart.
When you were laid bare before him, he nestled himself between your thighs, his sturdy frame a firm anchor that coaxed them apart. He lingered there, suspended in a moment that stretched taut, his gaze a roving flame. The force of his scrutiny was a palpable heat, an invisible brand that marked every inch of your being as his own. The air itself seemed to thicken, growing heavy and fragrant with the weight of his longing, with the ghost of all the cold, empty beds he'd faced alone.
"Divine," the word was a whisper of air against your fevered flesh. "A man could burn at the stake and still count himself unworthy of this."
Then he lowered his head to claim his prize.
His tongue was a brand, searing a map of ownership across your flesh with the first swipe. It wasn't a question, but a declaration—a slow, deliberate claim that set your entire nervous system alight with electric fire. He charted your most secret landscapes with a devilish precision, rediscovering every hidden nerve and responsive rise, his breath a hot ghost against your sex. Each deliberate exploration was punctuated by a sharp inhale from you, your body arching against the pillowy clouds that seemed to pulse with a life of their own, mirroring the frantic beat of your heart.
His colossal horns caught the flickering candlelight, fracturing it into a thousand dancing shards that painted your skin in liquid gold. They formed a diabolical halo around his head, a stark, beautiful contrast to the way he knelt between your thighs. Your king, brought to his knees, his entire being focused on the altar of your body.
Eternity stretched thin in the heated air between you. He was a master of this art, drawing out each moment until your universe contracted to the exquisite pressure of his mouth, the possessive sting of his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and the iron grip of his hands molding your hips, holding you splayed and vulnerable. You were a feast laid out for his pleasure, a sacred offering for a dark god. Your fingers, initially seeking purchase in the moonlit silk of the sheets, soon buried themselves in the thick curls of his hair. You pulled, hard enough to make his head tilt back, to force a ragged groan from his chest. The sound vibrated through your core, a seismic tremor that left you quivering, an aftershock promising a greater quake to come.
"Magnifico," the name tore from your throat, raw and desperate, a prayer to a deity you were only now beginning to worship. His golden eyes, already molten, now bled into something darker, more primal, swallowing you whole.
"Mine," he snarled, the word a brand against your skin, vibrating through your bones, an ancient claim that resonated with every cell. "Every fucking inch of you, now and forever."
He feasted with a predator's intensity and a sinner's devotion, his focus a physical force, pinning you in the heart of his dream realm. The cacophony of the casino—the relentless clang of jackpots, the phantom shrieks of winners and losers, the endless murmur of a thousand other fantasies—bled away into static, a worthless backdrop to the symphony he was conducting on your flesh. The universe had contracted, compressed into this singular point of contact. There was only the punishing pleasure of his mouth, the sweet agony of his teeth, the slick, relentless heat building in your core, a storm gathering intensity with every calculated thrust, every possessive scrape of his tongue against your most sensitive flesh. He watched you, a voyeur to his own creation, his gaze drinking in the frantic pulse in your throat, the way your nails scored his shoulders, the broken, breathy sobs you couldn't contain, cataloging every shudder and gasp like a connoisseur savoring a rare vintage.
"Fall apart for me," he commanded, his voice a dark caress, a velvet-wrapped threat that bypassed your ears and went straight to the tightening knot in your belly. "Drown me in it. I want to taste your surrender."
The command shattered your control, an explosive trigger that sent molten lava flooding through your veins. Your orgasm didn't just arrive—it detonated. A white-hot cataclysm seared through your nerves, obliterating coherent thought and leaving behind only the raw, screaming language of your body. His name tore from your throat, a guttural cry that was muffled by the decadent darkness of his chambers. Magnifico's grip tightened, branding your hips as he anchored you through the convulsions wracking your frame. His mouth was an insatiable force, a vortex that pulled at your core, milking the tremors from your very bones until you collapsed into a spent, trembling heap against the silken sheets.
When he finally rose, the lower half of his face shone, slick with your climax. His eyes, twin coals in the gloaming, held a fire of raw, primal possession that threatened to incinerate you where you lay. He loomed, a titan eclipsing your world, and the thick, rigid weight of his erection nudged your inner thigh—a burning, deliberate promise of the claiming yet to come. It was a testament to a restraint so absolute, so fiercely held, it felt like a physical presence between you.
He was a masterpiece sculpted from shadow and sin.
A beautiful nightmare.
A god carved from raw desire.
And he was wholly, terrifyingly, bound to you.
His mouth descended upon yours, a collision of flesh and heat that was less a kiss and more a brutal conquest. The taste of your own climax on his tongue was an intoxicating aphrodisiac, a salty-sweet proof of his mastery that ignited a fresh wave of heat in your belly. It was a frantic, filthy tangle, a war of teeth and tongues where his dominance was an absolute, breathtaking certainty. He nipped your lip, a sharp, stinging bite that was a clear mark of ownership, then laved the hurt with a slow, deliberate sweep of his tongue, a masterful blend of pain and pleasure that left you dizzy and utterly captive.
"Look at you," he snarled, the sound vibrating against your lips as his greedy hands seized your body, branding every curve and hollow as his conquest. "So fucking perfect. So... mine."
"My king," you gasped, the word igniting a wilder fire in the energy already thrashing through his form.
He shuddered, a violent tremor, his muscles clenching and releasing like a great beast's as if fighting some internal war. A guttural groan tore from his throat, raw and ragged, vibrating through the very air between you as he surged against you, positioning the rigid, searing heat of himself at your entrance. His chest heaved with each ragged breath, the muscles of his abdomen contracting in waves, evidence of the monumental restraint he was exercising. He held himself there, the broad crown of his cock tormenting you, stretching you on a promise of utter possession, his immense size a delicious ache that made you tremble beneath him.
He glared down, his golden eyes molten with raw, primal lust, the candlelight dancing in their depths like trapped stars, searching yours for a flicker of hesitation. There was a desperate, hungry question in them that he tried to smother beneath the facade of the dominant god-king, a vulnerability so brief you might have missed it had you not been searching for it yourself. His horns cast elongated shadows across the walls, creating twisted patterns that seemed to writhe with the same tension that thrummed through his body. The air grew thick with anticipation, heavy with the scent of his desire and yours, a heady cocktail that made your head spin and your heart hammer against your ribs like a trapped bird.
You answered by locking your legs around his waist, the movement fluid and deliberate, your thighs pressing against his powerful frame with an urgency that surprised even yourself. You yanked him down in a silent, desperate demand for the claim he was poised to deliver, your body arching to meet his, your nails digging into the broad expanse of his shoulders. The action was both invitation and command, a surrender that was simultaneously a taking, and in that moment, you understood the paradox of this power exchange between you.
His golden eyes flared with something akin to relief as your body spoke the language his lips couldn't form, the desperate question in his gaze answered without words. Your torso pressed against his chest, the heat of his skin searing into yours, his heartbeat a wild, frantic rhythm against you. The world beyond this room, beyond this bed, ceased to exist—there was only the space between your bodies, the impossible tension stretched taut as a bowstring, and the mutual understanding that this moment had been written in the stars of his dream realm long before you had fallen asleep tonight.
Magnifico speared into you, a single, devastating thrust that buried every searing inch of him to the hilt. The world dissolved, all sensation collapsing into the brutal, perfect stretch of him filling you completely. He was immense, an undeniable weight pinning you in this fever-dream, his body a fortress of muscle and bone that made you feel both fragile and cherished all at once. He held himself there, buried deep, his forehead crushed to yours, your breaths mingling in the charged air as his chest heaved against yours. The only sounds were the ghostly chimes from the casino floor and the thunder of your own blood, a frantic drumbeat that echoed the desperate rhythm of your heart. Your fingers, which had been gripping his shoulders, went slack with shock, your body struggling to process the overwhelming sensation of being so completely, irrevocably claimed.
"I'd forgotten..." he rasped, the words torn from his throat like a prayer torn from the lips of a dying man. "God, I'd forgotten how it feels to be whole." His voice was raw with emotion, stripped of all theatrical artifice, revealing the desperate need that lay beneath his godlike facade. His hands, which had been bracketing your head, shifted to grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh with a possessiveness that bordered on pain, a silent promise that he would never let you go again.
Then he began to move.
His rhythm was a slow, deliberate torment at first, deep, grinding strokes that punished every sensitive nerve. Each withdrawal was an exquisite agony, a hollow ache that was immediately filled by the glorious return of his length, a reminder of the void that existed when he wasn't inside you. His gaze was molten, drinking in every hitch of your breath, every tremor that wracked your body, every desperate flutter of your lashes. He was a student of your undoing, determined to learn every lesson, to memorize every response until he could orchestrate your pleasure with the precision of a master conductor.
"Do you feel that, my dreamer?" he purred, his hips rolling in a devastatingly slow circle that splintered your vision, the movement sending waves of pleasure so intense they bordered on pain coursing through your veins. "That's where you belong. Split open on me. Greedy for everything I give." His words were a brand against your skin, a claim that resonated deep in your soul, a truth that your body had known all along even as your mind struggled to accept it.
Magnifico’s words were as intoxicating as his body, a verbal caress that seeped into your very bones, stoking the inferno already building in your core until you felt as though you might combust from the sheer intensity of it. You arched against him, a desperate offering, your hands flying to grip his broad shoulders where muscle shifted like living stone beneath your palms. Your nails scraped against his skin, leaving faint red trails in their wake, marks of possession that you both could see and feel. He didn't flinch at the sting, just a low rumble of approval vibrating deep in his chest, the sound resonating through your entire body like the purr of some great beast satisfied with its prize.
"Harder," you begged, the word tearing from your throat as a breathy whisper that barely disturbed the charged air between you. "My king..." The honorific fell from your lips like a prayer, a sacred utterance that held all the power in this strange, dream-wrought realm.
"As you wish," he growled, the words dark and rich like spilled wine, and he answered your plea with a snap of his hips that drove him even deeper inside you.
The pace shifted dramatically, turning from a languid exploration into a primal, demanding rhythm that spoke of ancient hungers and timeless needs. The bed absorbed the force of his thrusts with soft sighs of displaced air, but you felt them all the way to your soul, each impact sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire being. He was no longer just inside you; he was claiming you, branding you, marking you as his from the inside out, each thrust a renewed vow of ownership.
"Mine," he grunted with each powerful thrust, "All. Mine."
The word became a mantra, a sacred worship chanted in the cathedral of your shared dream, each utterance a fresh claim that resonated deep in your very marrow. You met him thrust for thrust, your body rising to meet his with an instinctual rhythm that defied conscious thought, your legs tightening around his waist like vises, pulling him deeper, seeking to merge with him completely until there was no telling where you ended and he began. The coil of pleasure in your belly wound tighter and tighter, a spring compressed to its breaking point, the tension building until your entire frame trembled with it.
"I'm going to fill you," he groaned, his rhythm faltering slightly, becoming erratic as his control began to fray at the edges. "I'm going to mark you so deep you'll feel me when you wake. You'll carry my essence with you, a reminder of who you belong to, even in that other world where I cannot follow."
The words, a raw and primal promise that spoke of ownership beyond the boundaries of dream and waking, sent a jolt of pure need through you that electrified every nerve ending. Your release crashed over you without warning, a blinding, all-consuming wave that left you shaking and breathless, your vision dissolving into flashes of gold and silver behind your closed eyelids. Your inner walls clenched around him, a desperate, rhythmic grip that pulled a ragged cry from his lips, a sound of both pain and profound pleasure as he felt your surrender. Your body arched into his, a silent offering, every muscle tensing then releasing in waves as you trembled through your climax, your fingernails carving crescent moons into the powerful muscles of his back. The world narrowed to this singular sensation, this perfect union, this moment where your dream king claimed you in the most elemental way possible, marking you as his from the inside out.
With a final, powerful thrust that seemed to drive him into your very soul, Magnifico buried himself to the hilt and spilled into you, a hot, possessive flood that seemed to go on forever. He trembled against you, his massive body shuddering with the force of his release, a low, guttural moan torn from his chest that sounded both like victory and defeat, like a man who had found his heaven only to know it was temporary. You could feel each pulse of his climax, each hot spurt that filled you, his essence searing into your very being, creating a connection that defied the boundaries between dream and reality. The distant chimes of the casino seemed to fade into nothingness again, all of creation holding its breath in reverence for this sacred act of possession and surrender. His horns brushed against your temple, the bone smooth and cool against your fevered skin, a reminder of the otherworldly nature of the being who held you captive in his dream realm.
He collapsed onto you, not crushing you, but blanketing you, a heavy, grounding weight that was both a comfort and a cage. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breathing ragged and uneven, each exhale a warm gust against your sweat-slicked skin that sent shivers through your already sensitized body. You held him, your arms wrapped around his broad back, your fingers stroking through the silk of his hair, tangling in the soft strands as if you could anchor him to you, to this moment, despite knowing dawn would inevitably separate you. The scent of him surrounded you—an intoxicating blend of spices, something wild and elemental, and now the musky evidence of your combined desire—a fragrance you knew would linger in your memory long after you woke.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of your mingled breathing, the distant, ethereal chimes of the casino, and the thunderous beat of your own heart. You were boneless, sated, floating in a sea of blissful contentment, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. His weight on you was a delicious pressure, a tangible reminder that for now, you were his, claimed and marked in this dream world where his will was law. His hand, which had been gripping your hip with bruising force, relaxed, his thumb now stroking lazy circles against your skin, a gentle, possessive gesture that spoke volumes of the tender darkness beneath his dominating exterior.
"Mine," he whispered against your skin, the word a raw, vulnerable prayer that vibrated through your very bones. His voice, usually so commanding and theatrical, was now stripped bare, revealing the desperate need that lay beneath. "You'll stay with me now, won't you? We can be like this forever. Just us." His fingers now traced delicate patterns across your back, as if trying to memorize every curve, every hollow, to hold onto this moment for as long as possible.
The words, so full of desperate hope, sent a chill down your spine that had nothing to do with pleasure. You tightened your hold on him, a silent acknowledgment of the impossible bargain he was offering. A dream where morning never came. A gilded cage where you were both prisoner and prize. Your heart ached with the knowledge that this perfect moment was already crumbling, that with every second that passed, dawn drew closer, threatening to pull you back to a world where he was nothing more than a fading memory.
"You know I can't," you murmured, your voice gentle but firm. The words felt like stones in your throat, heavy and painful to speak. You reached up to cup his face, your thumb stroking the sharp line of his jaw, trying to convey all the emotions you couldn't put into words—the longing, the regret, the bittersweet knowledge that this was all you could ever have.
His body stiffened against yours. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his golden eyes no longer burning with desire, but filled with a profound, bottomless sadness that seemed to stretch into eternity. The candlelight caught the unshed tears shimmering in his eyes, making them appear like twin pools of liquid gold.
"Then I'll make you," he said, the words a quiet, terrifying promise that hung in the air between you. He captured your lips in a kiss that was soft, sweet, and utterly heartbreaking. It was a kiss of desperation, of a man willing to bargain with the fabric of reality itself to keep what he cherished most.
"I'll make this dream so perfect, so real, that you'll never want to leave. I'll give you everything. Anything you've ever wanted. Just stay."
Your silence was not a choice.
It was an inevitability. Because as the words left his mouth, a cold dread coiled in your gut. The universe itself seemed to hold its breath.
Then, the rupture began.
It wasn't a sound, but a feeling. A sickening lurch, like the floor dropping out from under you. The garish gold of the casino bled into a murky twilight. The cloying sweetness of expensive perfume soured, replaced by the stale, lonely scent of your own unwashed sheets. The triumphant clang of a nearby jackpot warped into a distant, mournful chime. Every sensation that was him, that was this place, was being violently, silently torn away.
"No." The word was a guttural denial, fractured with a terror that stripped him of all royalty. His arms became a cage, a frantic, futile pressure against your ribs. "Don't you dare. Stay. Please, just stay."
He wasn't looking at you anymore. He was devouring you, his eyes wild, trying to burn your image onto the backs of his eyelids for the bleak eternity he now faced. The possessive monarch was a phantom, replaced by this broken man clinging to a ghost.
"I—" The confession ripped from his throat, a raw, unvarnished thing born of pure desperation. "Gods, I love you. More than this rotten kingdom, more than my own soul. I love you."
The words were a death knell. They were the final, cruel anchor that pulled you under.
And so, the world ended.
Not with a bang, but a quiet, sickening tear. The casino didn't explode; it frayed at the edges, threads of golden light unraveling into an empty void. The glittering chandeliers dissolved into dust. And Magnifico—your captor, your sickness, your everything—he was the first to go.
His form flickered, losing substance, until the weight in your arms was nothing but a memory. His face dissolved last, his expression a perfect, agonized mask of loss.
You felt the ghost of his mouth against yours one last time, a final, desperate kiss that tasted of ash and cheap wine.
Then, nothing. Just the cold, empty reality of your room, and the crushing weight of a love that could only exist in a dream.
Summary: Doctor doesn't understand what love is, but somehow he knows that he loves you. This is him trying to encapsulate that messy, terrifying feeling in the bloody, visceral language that he knows so well. The one he's afraid of letting you hear.
Warnings for description of blood, gore and viscera — the reader isn't harmed and Doctor does not want to harm them, he's just learning a feeling he's not used to.
Read on AO3
You are so beautiful like this.
Not just beautiful either— handsome. Adorable. Ethereal even, though Doctor didn't like the idea of equating your visual appeal to something immaterial and metaphorical. He operated on the physical and the real, something he could hold and touch and observe to an almost obsessive degree. You aren't some fairytale or symbolic presence— you are real, a person that he can interact with in ways that his brain understood.
And yet, despite the physicality allowing him a constant excuse to observe and an object of fascination, Doctor is still so utterly confused by you. Confused by the way you make his heart race as though it would leap out of his chest anytime you so much as smiled at him. When you laughed at his jokes. When you listened to his theories. Entertained his questions. Joined in his dry, oftentimes dark humor even when the others didn't find it all that funny.
Those moments contained such serene joy that Doctor wondered if those feelings bubbling up inside of him are why humans could be so religious or spiritual— as if their bodies couldn't contain devotion so large and frightening towards a being outside of themselves that they had to place it elsewhere entirely.
A theory for another time, perhaps. One you might even allow him to ramble on about if the time was right and the evening late enough, with you unable to sleep against the ambiance of the circus— Doctor can never ignore the delight he feels knowing you trust him in such a vulnerable fashion. To sleep unguarded… it spoke volumes of affection that words couldn't do justice.
It isn't normal, after all, for a rabbit to slumber under a wolf's gaze.
While it's not the first time you had fallen asleep in his main tent while he worked, it's the first time you'd done so in his medical chair (which was amusing in itself). Something that was a source of terror for others, but a place of comfort for you— if Doctor was a reader of things beyond medical textbooks and botanical guides, he might have thought of something poetic about the situation, a certain beauty to be found in the layers of complete irony.
… he'd stopped working sometime ago. Though the pen was still gripped in his hand and the papers of notes and chemical results askew across his desk, all Doctor could do is stare at you sleeping so peacefully on the chair, body curled up with a blanket you had taken with you from elsewhere in the circus. Possibly Pierrot's tent, maybe from your own items that came with you when you moved out of that little apartment. Maybe somewhere else altogether.
It doesn't matter to Doctor precisely where the blanket came from— all the same, it's not his body wrapped around yours. Not his feathers caressing your skin, feeling your heartbeat thump low and rhythmic in the center of your chest. It isn't his hands on your chest, his teeth at your pulse—
Ah. Those feelings again. The ones that made his heart begin to ache. Not… painfully. Just… ache. Like a wound that has healed over but not fully knitted together. Like there was ice in his chest cavity, cold and numbing and sharp and seeping. Of course that wasn't the case; the chance of having any sort of cardiac issue was rather nonexistent, and Doctor knew he didn't literally have ice lodged inside of his ribcage.
That would be rather illogical.
But still, he ached merely watching you sleep and breathe and exist near him. So gentle, so fragile, so… lovely.
"Sometimes I wish I knew how to say these things I feel for you, sweetie," Doctor murmurs, voice filling the quiet space. "I don't have the words you do. You are so very good with your words— I have never wanted to hear someone speak as much as I do with you."
He pauses, listening to the dull, gentle, beautifully rhythmic beating of your heart. A heart he has heard quicken and skip and slow and thensome.
Such a beautiful, lovely thing it is.
For a moment he feels… jealous. Jealous? Yes, he supposes it is jealousy weaving through him, leaving the creature unable to concentrate on his work the longer you lay there vulnerable and unconscious. Jealousy is an… especially strange emotion— it isn't confusing by any stretch of the imagination, but Doctor is left powerless against its powerful weight all the same.
"I can't chase you like Pierrot, charm you like Harlequin," Doctor muses to himself, looking down at the scalpel in his hand and how it slices through the flesh of a specimen he probably won't be able to dissect properly. He's too distracted. So he continues, "I am not as diligent as Ticket Taker nor as confident as Jester— and I don't believe my words or hands could ever be as gentle as hers were."
He sighs, dropping the metal tool with a clatter against the metal tray, the scent of old blood making Doctor feel more agitated than relaxed. He allows himself a moment to change his gloves not for himself, but for you. You, the little human who needs to be treated gently in comparison to them. The human with a sweet smile. The human who is so stubborn. The human who, despite everything they had been through together and individually, seems to care about them all a great deal.
Love and jealousy and hunger and ache— to Doctor they're all the same feelings, muddled and gray-toned inside of his colorblind heart. But he wants so badly to see the shades, the nuances. Some part of him desires nothing more than understanding. But when understanding fails, observation and study often make up for it. Maybe that's why Doctor enjoys his experiments— to try and understand all the parts of the world that make no sense in a way his brain.
He stalks towards your sleeping form, voice low and gentle, but dripping with something he couldn't describe. It tastes almost like blood.
"You know how hard it is to let you walk out of this tent? The restraint I have to enact so that I don't strap you down to this very share you seem to be oh-so-comfortable in?"
You don't answer, obviously unconcious and (given how you snuggle even deeper into the blanket) completely unaware of Doctor's own monologue.
He huffs. How can frustration and affection swirl so perfectly within him at such a sight? How can he make you understand all of these feelings threatening to burst from his chest and bleed down his torso?
"I want to love you, sweetie, but I do not know how. I don't know what love is like— I just know…" he sighs, mask suddenly feeling too tight across his face. It's an annoying sensation that reminds him of when he's molting, all itchy and uncomfortable. "… I want you near me. All the time. I want your smile. Your laughter. I want you to tell me about your day. I want to share space with you, to see you fall asleep on my chair and my bed—"
Doctor has to chuckle, breaking him off from his thoughts. He barely remembered to sleep in his own bed— but maybe with you waiting for him, he'd remember more often.
"It is a shame you are not a monster," he finally says, grief filling every syllable. "I cannot bite you. Cannot… mark you. My kind is… not intimate in the way humans are. Familiar, intimate even? You hold my hand without reason and ask me questions without needing the answer. So confusing of you, sweetie…"
He sighs, reaching a hand up to adjust the mask over his true face, wishing for a moment he could take it off and lean over you like a ravenous phantom just to indulge in the addictive taste of your flesh and blood.
Oh, the taste…
You can't wake up now. You can't open your eyes to see him like this, shamefully feral and on the edge of sanity. You're not supposed to see him like this, the terrifying creature that he is to most humans. You're not supposed to be afraid of him— not you. Never you.
"I want…." Doctor takes in a deep breath. It's amazing how big his hand is compared to yours, the size difference stark and stunning in how he holds the headrest of the chair in a hapless attempt to calm himself.
"I want to hold you. Tight. Tight enough that your body melds with mind. I want our ribs entwined and our hearts to beat together— every drop of blood, every scrap of viscera—
I want to be so entirely part of you and you of me that nobody could identify one from the other. I want to feel your pulse sing for me, I want our organs to dance together and our veins to knit into eachother like a mating veil so that we are always and forever complete, I want—"
He stops, words and noise ceasing entirely the moment you begin to stir. Doctor immediately as back and adjusts himself, even reaching a hand up to his leather mask to make sure it was still on tight and secure— you don't need to wake up to that yet. Maybe one day he'd let you see him. Maybe one day.
"Hmm…. Doct….tor?"
Your eyes flutter open, a soft and small motion that he notices instantly. His blood is still searing inside of him, choking him for a sense of decency he knows that humans feel most comfortable with. He has to force an answer across his tongue and pretend he doesn't want to grab you and secure you onto his table so that you could never ever leave him—
"You fell asleep," he says, the act sublime. "I was… about to clean up for the evening. Didn't mean to disturb you, my sleepy, oblivious little patient."
You're too groggy to pick up the odd wording. Doctor tilts his head after a moment.
"Are you well enough to go home?"
You blink, then let out a yawn. Doctor suddenly understands all of the things that Pierrot goes on about whenever he's being overly sentimental, all the things that he once pondered about. Oh, how suddenly Doctor begins to understand it all.
This wretched, terrifying, beautiful, obsessive feeling they call love.
Because there's nothing in the universe that could compare to the emotions inside of Doctor's body soul and heart when your soft lips part to answer him with such delicious honesty:
"…Could I stay with you tonight? I'm… really tired actually."
It's a good thing you can't hear their heartbeats, because otherwise Doctor wouldn't have been able to hide his utter elation. He wouldn't be able to hide the way his body tenses at the thought of you sleeping next to him— he'd probably end up wearing his uniform, and you'd probably ask him about it, but none of that mattered when he knew he'd spend the quiet hours of the early morning watching you slumber with his hands settled on your waist.
He could count your breathing rate. He could notate all the blemishes on your skin. He could attempt to calculate the rhythm of your pulse and how your body relaxed in unconscious.
"Of course you can, sweetie," he finally says, pretending to be feeling everything he isn't in that very moment. "I enjoy having you around me." I love you. "You are always welcome in my tent." I want you to stay forever.
Doctor doesn't know for sure what love is, but he thinks he's on the right track— perhaps some more experiments are in order.
