Poor Boys - Tumblr Posts

Dagan Gera is the high republic equivalent to Anakin Skywalker, no I will not be taking any criticism I'm right. The only difference is that Dagan fell because of a planet(Maybe, Him and Santari 100% had something going on did you see that hand placement 🤨.

"Betrayed by the one I trusted most." -Dagan about Santari cutting his arm off)

@not-freyja This is giving me ideas...

Helpless

Four and Hyrule got into some trouble, help can't come fast enough.

It has been a LONG time since I have done colouring or worked on art this much, I make no promises on getting all of the prompts done in the same way lol. I'm only doing this one, to be honest. I was gonna try and do more but ~stuff happened~ and it is highly unlikely I will finish/continue

please support other creators in their works!! creativity and the work put into these things can be quite a lot of effort!

[alt text should be included in the image, please let me know if it isn't working for any reason]

Please reblog to help me out! & Please reblog other artists too!!

you can also check out my ko-fi if you want to- no pressure tho

febuwhump promptlist

Master of Puppets (I Pull on Your Strings)

Pairing: Dark Puppeteer!Yunho x Puppet!Seonghwa x Fem!Reader

Genre: Horror, Smut, Porn with Plot Warnings: THE DOVE IS BEYOND DEAD, IT'S ROTTEN. Porn with Plot (MINORS FUCK OFF), dub-con, horror, body horror, slight gore, blood, sh scars (but not really sh, just wrist scars). Cringe attempts at circus comedy lol.

Tags: dom!Yunho, switch!Seonghwa, sub!reader, bestfriend! Mingi, bestfriend! Wooyoung, Ringmaster!Hongjoong, unprotected sex (do i even have to tell you to not do this), mind control, body control, mxm elements, unorthodox bondage, unorthodox shibari, size kink, breeding kink, choking, oral (m receiving), vaginal and anal fingering (f receiving), cumshots, double penetration but not really, overstimulation (f receiving), squirting, monster cock Yunho, edging, degradation, praise, humilliation, nipple play, public sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, stomach bulge, face fucking, multiple orgasms, facials. (let me know if i missed any lmao)

Word Count: 13.1k

Summary: One night at the circus that you were promised would "change your life" turns out wrong when you catch the eye of a handsome puppeteer that seems to be capable of the impossible. Your life is changed, in all the worst ways.

Author's note: Welcome to my first fic in years! I had a bunch of WIP planned out to post as my first, but when I saw this post I dropped everything to write it. If you haven't guessed by my blog name, I've had this fantasy before lol.

A couple other notes:

I use "_____" instead of "Y/N", just bc it's easier for me to read lol.

There's a scene with Joong where reader sees self harm scars on him, but they're not from sh. But just in case that might be a trigger for you.

Also, NONE OF THIS would've been possible without my favorite writer but most importantly my favorite person in this entire platform, my queen @freyaphoria <3 Without your feedback and brilliant ideas I definetely wouldn't have finished it and thank you for your support to help me get the confidence to post uwu (If you liked the horror in this fic, her's is a thousand times better so pls pls pls go check her out)

“A circus… Really, guys? It’s kind of childish.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Boring Ass Grown Up. Where’s your whimsy? Your fascination for little things? Any fun at all in that brain of yours?” Mingi scoffed back at you over the phone at your reaction. 

“Shut up, Mingi. Circuses like this are almost never good, they’re cash grabs. Literally, only kids enjoy them.” You retort skeptically.

“Exactly. These guys are the real fucking deal, Jongho was talking wonders about it, and he’s a bigger snob than you.” He continues, and you can almost hear the pout in his voice as he begs, “C’mon, ____, let’s do something different. Don’t be such a buzzkill.”

“I don’t know…”

“Fucking give me that.” Wooyoung’s voice is heard from the background, followed by a yelp from Mingi. Now he speaks clearer into the mic, “____, we’re ten minutes away from your place. Do we pick you up or are you going to jerk another one to your ‘not porn’ novels?” 

You look over at your couch to stare at the cover of the latest dark romance book you’ve picked, and after half a minute of exhaustive thoughtful consideration, decide that it can wait. 

“Dinner’s on you. I'll change.” You answer with a groan.

Just like clockwork, ten minutes later, your two annoying best friends announce their arrival with the claxon abuse that is sure to get complaints from your neighbors again. You rush out the door and immediately into the backseat. 

“Let's go! We’re going to be late already.” Mingi whines not even the second you open the door.

“Why are you so excited to go to this circus, dude?” You question while still settling in the backseat, “Is it because you’re finally accepting that you’re a clown?”

“Shut up. You don’t know how hard it was to get these tickets.” He grumbles, signaling the other to start the car already.

Wooyoung nods as he hits the pedal, “My uncle bought them two weeks ago for his family, but they had to travel for an emergency. Guess how much he paid for them.” 

You shrug.

“Two hundred bucks each.” He declares with extra flair. 

Your eyes widen. “Each?”

“Each.” Mingi repeats, and he emphasizes.

“What’s so special about it anyway?” You ask incredulously, almost wanting to scoff at the steep price. 

“Every act in there is or was super famous. They’re all pro, I think. Maybe some rookie acts, but even those are crazy. Like, real life magic.” He rambles on as he picks up his phone to show you their social media, when Wooyoung slaps his hand away in the middle of driving.

“Don’t spoil the show for her! It’s not as fun that way!”

“Jesus, focus on the road!” You scream at him with widened eyes. 

Arriving at the main gates, finding a spot in the parking lot seems impossible. In that time in the parking lot your eyes try to trace the overcrowded line to the entrance only to notice it goes around the block. Thankfully, through a lot of chaotic conversation with both of your friends, you arrive at the gate faster than you initially thought.

As you cross the main gate to step foot inside you begin to take in the completely new atmosphere that’s been hiding behind the gates this whole time you’ve been waiting. It’s like stepping into a portal into another world, decorated lanterns shine bright around the trees like earthly constellations around you, the smell of fried carnival food made you recall childhood memories that replicated the sound of children’s laughter that was somehow present in every corner of this field. 

Okay, maybe I did need some child-like wonder in my life, you think to yourself. 

Mingi begs the two of you to get some corn dogs in the food tent that had yet another overcrowded line. You try to deter him, but before you know it, Wooyoung agrees to go with him, leaving you with no choice. These men and fried food were soulmates you could never keep apart. So while you stand in line between your friends, your eyes start to wander. You quietly observe the people around you when your perception notices that you can actually see an open fabric window, letting you see inside one of the performer’s tent’s. 

You begin to observe out of curiosity. You see a tall man, he couldn’t be that much older than you, you notice. He definitely didn’t look the part of a circus act, everything about his handsome face looks like an everyday guy you would meet anywhere else, and definitely the type you’d ask out. He wasn’t dressed in the circus part either, wearing a pristine white shirt and a black pinstripe vest over it. He seems to be talking to someone who is not visible from your angle, although you wonder what the topic of conversation could be, since his eyebrows are furrowed in an angry expression. You watch him for a while, having this heated discussion with an unknown speaker, until, to your ill luck, he turns around and intently meets your stare. Panicked, you quickly turn around, pretending you were chatting with your friends the whole time. After two seconds, you subtly turn to see if he’s still looking at you, only to notice the man has closed the small tent window, leaving you with no view anymore. You kinda deserved that. 

Past the initial guilt, you feel eyes on you from that moment until you reach the main tent. Even when you know the man is no longer looking at you, even when you’re done paying for the food and heading to said tent, way out of his eyesight. Maybe it’s your conscience’s way of punishing you for being such an invasion of privacy. 

The lights are already down when you enter the tent, just late enough to hear The Ringmaster, or Hongjoong, as he introduced himself, finishing his introductory words for the show. He was a short man with vibrant red hair dressed in an equally vibrant outfit that coordinated with the rest of his acts behind him, an added hat and a colorful scarf with a big bow to make him stand out, though he barely needed it as he was already exuding the spirit of leadership and joy with each of his words. 

“I think we missed the opening number,” Wooyoung whispers into your ear when the red haired frontman starts introducing the first act. 

So you reach and punch Mingi in the arm, earning a small yelp from him before sitting back to enjoy the rest of the show.

When it comes to the entire show, albeit your initial reluctance, it is fair to say it is just as amazing as you were pitched. Your heart jumps at the brave acrobatics from the trapeze and aerial artists, your eye’s sparkle matches the shine of the fire spewing dancers. The show carried itself with beautiful scenery, complementing the immaculate show of talent you felt amazed to witness. 

As the Ringmaster announces the upcoming act, a ‘puppet show like no other you’ve ever seen’, a man walks into the stage carrying a large box. He’s rather tall, and immediately stands out from the flare of the previous acts, just dressed in a formal shirt and vest combo. Your brain doesn’t take long to connect the dots, this is the same man you shamelessly spied on in the tent. Retrospectively, you didn’t even think about what act you expected him to do, but puppetry wasn’t the first thing that came to mind when you saw his handsome face and stature.

“Good night ladies and gentlemen, my name is Yunho.” A bright smile shines in his friendly face as he addresses the audience. “And these are some of my friends.”

As he carries on with his show, you find your strange enchantment for him only growing. At first you had your doubts, but the way he kept breaking the laws of logic with his puppetry astonished you. He pulls a few different hand puppets out of the box, placing them in different points of the stage after a quick ventriloquist exchange with them. His lips truly don’t move an inch. He proceeds to stand in the middle of the stage, and you watch as the puppets come to life on their own, all moving at the same time without the man being close enough to touch them, he also makes them talk and even overlap each other, projecting his voice flawlessly to talk as five different puppets without moving his lips in the slightest. You would know, you had been fixated on his lips for quite a while. 

How does he do it?

Then he moves on to do a segment with some marionettes, no less than 10 of them, which he’s  able to make dance as a crew of their own, impressively and completely coordinated, with only holding one crown controller for all of them, barely putting any effort in moving his wrists.

You shuffle in your seat, his voice (or many voices) act as an intriguing allure, like that of a siren. This circus already had you hypnotized, but this man’s act has a strange grasp on you, almost controlling your attention under his hand, just like he controlled those marionettes.

How does he do it? 

With a second roar of applause for his impressive stunts, he stores the marionettes back into the box, facing the crowd once more. 

“Now, I see the anticipation in some of your faces.” A slight chuckle leaves his lips, “I know you all want to see him, and believe me, he is very excited to meet you too.” 

An astonishingly good looking man is carried into the stage, long hair with features soft just like his skin, milky and shiny. You would purely believe this man isn’t human just by his flawless looks, everything about him, down to the last eyelash in his eyes seemed perfectly placed with care to create such a beautiful face. He looked like the perfect porcelain doll, but still passed off as any other man with above average height, definitely tall enough to tower over you. He’s placed in a chair in the middle of the stage, his limp body slumping against it. No movement in his chest that shows any breathing, no flinching in his face. As the Master approaches him from behind, it’s easy to see that still as tall as the man was, under his Master’s huge figure, he effectively still looked like a toy compared to the other. 

“I want all of you to say hi to Seonghwa.” 

He grabs the back of the puppet’s neck, and it’s like a shock of life surges through the carcass. The once limp body shoots up and adjusts itself on the chair, his lids shoot open to reveal big doe eyes, and a perfect smile curves on his cherry plump lips. With the spotlight focusing on his face, you’re able to see the makeup highlighting his beautiful face features, including the two lines coming down from the corner of his mouth to his jaw. 

“Don’t be rude, Prince. Say hello to them too!” 

Then, with a small lift from the hand behind his neck, the puppet starts waving to the crowd, moving his head to the sides at a predicted pace. 

"Isn’t he just beautiful? He's like a real life Prince Charming." Yunho comments to the audience as he makes his puppet wave. 

“Careful, or I might steal your date tonight.” The puppet speaks for the first time, he has a smooth deep voice, but the delivery of his witty lines are done with a bubbly tone. Cute and doll-like, indeed. He delivers with a wink, the squinting of his eyes and raise of the corner of his mouth slightly robotic. 

"Hey, I’m the one pulling the strings here. You’re not going anywhere without me!" The puppeteer talks amused, looking back to briefly lock eyes with his puppet. 

"Fair point. Besides, I wouldn’t want to leave you all alone. Someone’s got to make you look good!" A cheery, but quite ironic smile shows on Seonghwa’s features.

Knowing from how enthralled you’ve been by the puppeteer’s act from the beginning, you can tell he’s more in his element in this segment in particular. An aura of confidence seeps through both master and puppet through the rest of their comedy segment as they switch turns to talk, the undeniable chemistry allowing them to bounce off each other’s jokes, which the audience loves responding to with their own ferocious laughter filling the tent. 

It was so convincing you actively have to remind yourself these aren’t two different people. 

The Master then moves his puppet around the stage with strings, when you pay close attention, you see the thin and shiny strings from many joints in his body, silver tinted material around him that you could only see pieces of; you blame the lighting for not letting you see them in full. They had to go somewhere or be connected to something, right? Nonetheless, the Master controls them carefully to move his puppet around the stage, his delicate and weightless movements pieced together to make a quite beautiful dance number. Moves too impressive for any person to make, but still as filled with much emotion as any dedicated artist would perform. At one point, the puppeteer himself joins him in the dance, both of them are coordinated to deliver a magnificent duet. The choreography plays right into the control he has over the other, showing incredible synchronization and execution for the end of his act, which leaves the crowd in a standing ovation.

The two of them definitely steal the show. 

As you watch the puppeteer give the last lines of his act with his puppet standing beside him, you swear there’s a brief second where both of them are looking at you right in the eye. But that moment flees as soon as it comes, already giving their final bow when you realize. 

“Hey, Yunho, can you give me a hand introducing the next act?” The Ringmaster asks excitedly as he walks into the stage again, winking at the audience for his ingenious pun. “Just don’t put your hand down there.” 

“Sure, come here.” Not leaving his spot along Seonghwa, the tall performer beckons him. The redhead waltzes over to his free side, and if Seonghwa looks like a doll besides the Master, the size difference between the latter and Hongjoong makes the otherwise potent presence presenter look no better than the hand puppets that were used at the beginning. Each of them stood by each of his sides, and you couldn’t tell which one looked more doll-like under him. 

“Open your mouth when I tell you to, okay?” Yunho instructs nonchalantly, as he takes his free hand and places it in the back of his neck. 

“Got it, just make sure to make me sound really manly.” The Ringmaster collaborates to stand better at the other’s side.

With one of the puppeteer’s hands grasping on The Ringmaster back, both performers do the illusion of making the shorter as a puppet reading the next act’s introduction. Yunho, in fact, gives him a very feminine voice while reading, to which the audience reacts with resounding laughter. 

They surely knew how to work together to bring cheer to their audience.

The rest of the rotation of circus acts kept your amazement high: More mind-blowing stunts, magic, and a colorful closing number with all of the crew together to bid the audience goodbye. Even then, you can only think about the beautiful tall puppeteer, who you only saw once more for curtain call. You chuckle to yourself, already picturing the puppet related naughty jokes your friends would say about your new questionable crush of the week.

So after the lights turn back on, you turn sideways to talk to Wooyoung, only to find he’s not there. And seeing the seat beside him, Mingi isn’t present either. Where the fuck did they go to? 

They wouldn’t just leave you here, they have never done something like that in all the years you’ve known them. You were too entranced with the show to even notice them leaving, it’s like they vanished out of thin air. You spend a good twenty minutes looking for them both in and outside the tent, calling both of their cellphones like a maniac, all to no avail.

As people start to go home, you become more scared and confused, now standing in the middle of the open, nearly empty, field. You stand there waiting for a sign, until it arrives when you least expect. 

“_____! Over here!” A familiar voice, Mingi’s to be exact, beckons you over, though you don’t know where. You’re not able to see him, and aren’t quite able to figure out where the source of his voice is. 

You stay still, hoping to hear more of where he is. Each second you stand in silence strengthens the hyper awareness growing in you, as it quite rapidly transforms into paranoia. Oh, they better be ready when you finally find them, those idiots won’t hear the end of it. If you were able to find them first, of course, something you have yet to succeed at. 

You stay still waiting, hoping for Mingi to communicate again, but he never does. You try calling his phone at least 5 times again, none of which are answered. 

You see no other choice but to scream. 

“Mingi! Wooyoung! Where are you?!” You purposefully drag out their names in hopes that will get their attention. It was practically just you in this field, hoping for your friends, or anybody, to hear your pleas. 

Though not heard by your friends, your screams are heard by a man with a familiar set of red hair, still in his stage clothing. The Ringmaster runs over to you, as he frantically asks, “Hey there! Everything okay?” 

The relief of being heard by someone washes over you, and you really can’t help the small sobs escaping you when you see him approach. He reacts by running faster to you with worry on his face.

He looks at you with kind eyes as he listens intently to you explaining your situation to the best of your panicked capabilities. He nods in acknowledgment, the act of recollection legible in his face as you give him a description of your lost friends. 

“Yes, I talked to them a bit ago. They were looking for you, actually!” He smiles in relief and puts a hand on your shoulder; and you swear you don’t try to, but notice the trace of red scars below his sleeve. “They’re at the main tent, here, I’ll walk you.” 

You don’t know what it is about him, whether it was the compassion behind his eyes or his sincere and comforting smile, but something about his presence tells you everything will be okay. You thank him about a hundred times before setting out to the main tent that you didn’t even know how far you had strayed from.

So, when you see the multiple slashed scars around his wrists once again, you decide to not say anything. You try not to stare too long, but as you inspect you see they looked too clean and, frankly, too deep to be self-inflicted. He catches you staring, and you try to avert your look as he fixes his own sleeves. 

“How was the show?” He asks after a few seconds of awkward silence, which leaves you startled.

“Oh, it was amazing.” You chuckle after the initial scare. “You guys have something special here.” 

“Special, indeed.” He nods with his own warm smile, which makes your heart flutter for a second. If you were not careful, you would probably fall in love with everyone in this circus. “It might surprise you how long we’ve worked to build this. Getting hold of an entire circus isn’t easy.” 

“Well, this is the best circus I’ve seen, like, in my whole life. It’s actually perfect.” A small thankful bow from him comes after your compliment. 

“I wouldn’t say perfect.” A slight frown of disagreement on his lips, “There’s still something missing to reach perfection.”

“What would that be?”

You could’ve easily missed it, but awkwardly enough for you, you see the way his eyes are staring at you up and down, lingering a little too long. Then, as if nothing, the warm smile returns to his face. “We’ll know when it comes.”

You chuckle lightly, feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks at the act of him checking you out. That’s what it was, right? It’s what it would look like to anyone else, but you can’t help but feel slightly unsettled about his stare. There was another intention to it. What exactly it was, you can’t tell. And the shift back to his normal smile takes off some of the charm to it.

Or maybe you’re too paranoid and blowing your chance with a really handsome guy. You groan internally and force yourself to look down at the ground in embarrassment as you keep walking. 

Before you withstand another awkward silence with him, you continue the small talk. Lesser of two evils.

“Have you always wanted to be, you know, Ringmaster?”

You now see the main tent at a small walking distance, you brightly keep walking towards it until you notice that your question wasn’t answered, and the man had completely stopped walking by your side. You look behind you, only to see him standing a foot away, completely paralyzed.

You trace back your steps, only to notice the violent shaking of his hands, tears rapidly running down his cheek that were glistening under the moonlight. 

As you get closer, you can now see him mumbling something rapidly and repeatedly, but you can only hear it when you get closer to his face.

“Help us. Help us. Help us. Please. Help us. Help us.” 

“Are you okay?” You ask, obviously concerned but rather confused.

He looks down at his hands, hyperventilating and trying to calm himself down. He looks up at you again, a defeated look, similar to those of soldiers who’ve accepted death, is visible through his face.  

“Forget it, you have to leave. Please, run away. He will-“ 

His panicked voice drops as there’s another pause in his body. He stays frozen in place. After a few seconds, the smile in his mouth returns, it technically could be the same kind one he’s had this entire time, but there’s something imprecisely wrong about it. The droopy lids shoot open to reveal a threatening stare, fixed irises only visible through his perfectly placed eyelashes. That stare changes quickly to poorly replicate the warmth his eyes once had. 

He’s back to normal, supposedly. You could revert the clock back 20 seconds and it would be a perfectly unchanged still picture. But something is clearly wrong. 

“Hey, why the scared face? You look like you just saw a ghost!” He chirps lively, as if assuming the enthusiasm that he led his shows with, just for you.

He’s talking to you now. Shit. Were you supposed to mention anything of what just happened to him? It doesn’t seem like he’d acknowledge it, he had just spawned three different personalities in less than a minute. You wouldn’t know which one is him, even. 

You truly don’t have it in you to try and answer this attempt at normal conversation. Every bone in your body was paralyzed with chills, the awful kind. Without even thinking, you step your foot back to create distance, or start escaping. 

The movement doesn’t go unnoticed by Hongjoong, whose questioning head tilt is a little too snappy to feel natural. A small giggle, and his foot steps forward to follow yours, not a blink while he follows you with his eyes. 

You’re corralled. Maybe not literally, but his presence by itself was a strong cage. You could only try to run backwards, but with his recent movement, he’s making it quite clear that he will follow you if you do. 

“Why don’t we play a game?” He sneers, each of his features becoming less harmonious with each other. Each one of them expresses a different emotion, and you don’t know which one to believe. 

He starts moving forward, now forcing you to walk backwards faster. You start to calculate when to turn around and book it. But he’d catch you. You’re about to drop and beg for your life. 

“_____! Quick! Over here!” Mingi, your best friend, shouts from the main tent. 

Saved by the fucking bell. 

You turn back to see the predatory Ringmaster, only to see him return to his initial friendly smile. 

“You better go run to your friends.” He speaks in yet another unique tone, this one is just monotonous, lacking any intonation, much less emotion. His eyes have also lost their sparkle, even the false one he wore moments ago. 

“Hey! Get over here!” It’s Woo’s voice now shouting from the main tent as well. You take a deep breath and prepare yourself to run away from the crazy man, as you expect him to still look at you like a predator, but when you turn to him, his plain face returns to not even look at you. 

He looks at the distance with a blank stare, when you notice something far more disturbing than the man himself. A silken material, in shiny color red, is starting to crawl on top of his face. Animated but shapeless figures of different sizes, almost like snakes, contrast with his skin as they rapidly slither around him. In a matter of seconds, they travel from his face down to his neck. With robotic movement, his arms are lifted up to remove the scarf around his neck without changing the object of his stare. It reveals a red ring around his neck, made of bruises and cuts, a gruesome image reminiscent of a hanged man past his execution. 

Quicker than you can process, the erratic objects that you didn’t even know what to call wrap themselves around said scar like hungry insects smelling blood. You see that together, they form a larger silken string that now adorned his neck like a messed up collar. In less than a second, the man drops to the ground as if pushed by an invisible force. 

“Don’t just fucking stand there, run!” Woo’s familiar nagging voice is heard in the background, again, by the main tent. You could make a run for it, if they see you it means the tent is close enough. Although you think it’s weird you can’t see them from this distance, you chalk it up to the lack of clear light outside. 

The Ringmaster, or whoever or whatever this was, starts twitching on the ground, as more of the small silken attackers wrap themselves around more of his joints and jolt his limbs around. From this perspective, the red silk hanging from behind him made him like a marionette. You would go as far to say the joints and movement are oddly similar to them. 

But you’re not going to survive if you keep studying him. You just know he could hurt you, or worse, those things could. The threat is unclear, but definitely present. When you start running away, you see him fighting the strings with all his might, but clearly losing. As he looks up at you in desperation one last time, you almost vomit at the sight of a pool of blood starting to pour from the grasp the things had on his neck.

“Quick! Run!” Mingi’s shouts are getting clearer to hear as you race towards the tent, but still aren’t able to see him. At enough distance, you’re estranged by the sight of the lights inside being turned off. Yes, the show is over, but shouldn’t they keep the lights on for the people in there?

Frankly, you don’t care, a refuge with your friends is all you need. 

You pick up your pace to get to the tent faster, and cross the wall of fabric without a second thought. Not even the slight income of light from you opening the tent to the backstage allows you to see either of your friends. 

“Hey, you made it.” Wooyoung says, his voice warmer than you have ever heard him act. You ignore the odd tone to try to locate him among the dark space. It had to be somewhat close. “Come, follow our voices.” 

“Where the hell are you?!” You scream back, not even trying to match whatever strange sweetness he had. You wanted to get out of here. Now. 

“Try your best not to trip. We’re right here, close to the stage.” There’s a strange seriousness to Mingi’s voice, but you’ll ask them what is wrong with them after you leave this god forsaken place. You step up towards the stage in the center, your slightly adjusted eyes allowing you to see enough to not  trip. You try to force your eyesight to catch your two friend’s silhouettes, but it proves to be futile. 

“Close!” Wooyoung cheers mockingly, though he’s right, his voice is getting closer to where you are. “So close!” 

Did he think this was funny? Where are they taking you? 

You eventually step far enough into the stage’s territory from the side, and just when you think you’re about to leave the broad stage, you unexpectedly run into a taller body. Though you can’t see any distinctive features, you figure by his height towering over you that this is most likely to be Mingi. 

You go to embrace yourself in his arms, you never do usually, but with the recent traumatic experience you went through, you just ached to be in a trusted person’s warm hug.

“Did- Did you see that? What even was that? Please, we need to get out of here.” You try to choke out the words despite all the panic you had been holding back starting to come out once you’re comforted.

“Everything will be okay. We promise.” Mingi comforts you, kindest and darkly sweet he’s ever been.

He returns your hug, but when his fingers touch the skin in your back, you feel suddenly disoriented. The touch of Mingi’s hands has always been rough, he’s a gym rat that dances and plays lots of video games. Soft is not a word you would use to describe his touch. And the contact of these hands in your back is the softest touch you have ever felt by anyone. Plush, almost non textured skin. Not even the most delicate people you’ve met have this kind of touch. 

“Don’t worry, ______, we’re gonna get out of here.” You hear Wooyoung only a couple feet away at most, and still can’t see him. The way he recites such words is a little sarcastic, yes, but nothing like the sarcastic tone he’s always using. He’s being mockful, yes, but it sounded like a mockery of himself. “She’s so shaken. Help her sit down, won’t you, Mingi?” 

Without him answering immediately, he breaks the hug and guides you, keeping his very soft hand on your shoulder as he lets you sit down on a nearby chair that was so conveniently placed right there… In the middle of the stage.

“She’s settled in, Master.” Mingi’s voice answers from the same spot as Wooyoung, a couple ways away. 

Master?

Who in the hell is he referring to that way?

Before you can wonder any further, the lights turn on. 

You realize you are sitting in the center of the stage, with the whole circus crew filling the first row seats as your crowd. Most importantly, sitting front and center, is the famous puppeteer directly looking at you. Next to him, Wooyoung and Mingi sit by each of his sides. 

Your two friends, as well as everyone else in the crowd, seems to have a dead stare; not looking at anyone or anything in particular with their eyes glazed. They remain still as corpses, until the puppet master makes a swift movement with his hand and everyone’s heads snap to look right at you. Your heart sinks in your chest when you realize it: He’s puppeteering the whole circus. And down at his knees, sitting like a dog, is the tortured and beat down Ringmaster, with an uncanny smile plastered on his face. The same collar of strings covers his neck, creating a leash as well, the other end connected to Yunho’s hand. The control he had over the circus, was he doing the same to Hongjoong as well? Was this why he was asking for help? 

“Help us”, you recall. 

Has he been controlling all of them this entire time?

But as much as you want to care about the innocent souls of the crew, there’s a more pressing matter at hand: he’s taken hold of your friends. Neither of them move or avert their stares from you, and no expression comes up in their face, not even to blink. It’s like only their body was present, barely any life hid behind their eyes. Just like empty dolls. 

And if Mingi was sitting right there, feet away from you, who was the one that you were just hugging seconds ago? That had talked with his voice, into your ear, literally just now?

You almost want to cry when you see the answer, when Wooyoung’s voice speaks: 

“Oh, Master, you were right.”

Because Wooyoung’s face, much less his lips, make any movement to indicate him speaking. Instead, the voice comes from the puppet master sitting beside him, who just caresses his victim’s hair with a sly smile, talking with his stolen voice as if it was nothing. 

If fear hasn't made space to fully settle in for the favor of your own survival, it’s now quite rapidly crawling into your skin. Your flight instinct starts to kick in as a last resource. You try to lift yourself off the chair when a hand wraps around your shoulder, pushing you back down.

Looking up behind you, your gaze locks onto a set of wide eyes staring back. By seeing the rest of his face you instantly recognize the favorite puppet of the show, ironically, looking more alive than any of the real people sitting next to Yunho. 

And it’s the moment he opens his mouth that your heart sinks into your own chest.

“You really had her dancing without any strings.”

Because he says it with the most accurate impression of Mingi’s voice.

Panic starts to settle in your chest, your mind spins trying to grasp itself as it asks a million questions.

Why is he doing this?

What, exactly, is all of this?

How does he do it?  

What was once a fascination for the magic tricks of this man has been replaced by pure dread when you now see they were not just tricks. 

“What did you do to them?” You mumble just above a whisper, looking at the haunting puppet master once again, trying to avoid the blank stares of your friends. 

“What do you mean? They’re here to see the show!” Of course he answers through Seonghwa, whose voice now returns to his own, but sounds like a twisted version of the cheery tone he used during the main act. 

“The show is over,” You shake your head in denial. Without even noticing, tears start flowing down your face uncontrollably. “Let us go. Please.” 

A giggle, soft and unnerving, comes from him. His smile stretches back as he shakes his head as well in unison with yours. The head has a hard time staying still by itself, with a natural sway from his neck. Unlike the other puppets that Yunho collected for himself in the audience, the headliner’s eyes have way too much life behind them. He almost shrinks you with his threatening stare that he never breaks, not even to blink. He doesn’t need to. The features on his face seemed stapled in him, once set, not a single crease of his skin goes out of place, only to change to his next chosen expression. 

“No, this show has yet to be born.” He hisses, closing the gap between your faces forcefully. “We can only do so much to make our act, this whole thing, perfect. Master works so hard, but there’s still something missing until we can reach completion, and then… Perfection.” 

By now, he’s dropped the fake happy voice. You don’t know if the subtle rage seeping through his voice is his or Yunho’s. Does it even matter at this point? They were one and the same, and so were their emotions.

“And what about me? No applause will help bearing the burden of attention all by myself. Even then, I can be more. We can all be more. But my heart aches, I feel like I have a missing piece. Master knows I have been so lonely…” 

He muses, stepping back to look into the spotlight with a melancholic expression. A pause, and his head bounces back down to burn his gaze into yours with a sick smile.

“But he has finally brought me my puppet princess to make this show… To make me complete.” 

Your heartbeat violently rises, resonating within your skull and radiating a scorching heat in your veins. The thought of ending up like the people in the crowd, to not be able to save your friends, much less, be at the mercy of this madman pierces your brain in all the wrong ways. Before you realize, tears are pooling in your eyes, small sobs force themselves out. 

“Fuck you, you’re insane.” You choke out, in desperation, you turn your head to shout towards the rightful, demented orchestrator of this mess. “You’re insane!”

You know you just struck a nerve when there’s a brief second where neither puppet nor master move. It feels eternal. You assert your eye contact with the suited man with the ulterior motive of monitoring his movement. You wait for a violent reaction, any slip from him that could buy you your escape. 

He only answers with his own affirming, darkening gaze. Half lidded eyes burning themselves into yours. No other muscles in his body move. The violent reaction comes from Seonghwa, who catches you off guard with his hand grasping firmly around your throat. He pulls your head closer to him as he growls in your ear,

“Come on, puppet. Provoking us? Must we show you again what we do to our disobedient toys? Maybe if we do it to your friends you will finally learn your lesson.” He then lets out a sickly sweet giggle, one you definitely heard before, contrasting his aggression. “You really weren’t made to think.”

He only presses down hard enough to push you around, not seeking to obstruct your airways. And such a cruel threat aside, there was something about the force of which he held your neck that sparked something within you.

Really, now? 

You’re hellbent on your struggle, moving and swiping around trying to break free from his iron grasp, when you see something that upsets you even further. There’s a mass of strings, pink and glittered, growing around the stage and making their way towards you. You don’t know how many they are, some look longer or finer than others. They slither up the stage like a den of snakes.

Though the color isn’t familiar, their shape and behavior is. The same things that had tortured Hongjoong to near death and held him in place right there next to the Master. 

“But we can fix that, Princess.” Seonghwa’s laugh only grows more unhinged. 

All temptation is quickly burnt away. The forefront of your mind is taken over by your survival instinct that shouts repeating over and over: This will be your end. 

You don’t know how you do it, you truly don’t know what rush of adrenaline has allowed you to break free of Seonghwa’s iron grip on your neck, but you know there’s no time to question it. You sprint your way out of the stage, recklessly jumping over the strings to a drop onto the floor, only a few feet tall. 

However, you end up paying the price for your recklessness as your foot lands on its side, the snap of your ankle announced to everyone with a loud crack! 

Tears blur your vision once more, you hiss out as you try to soothe the burning pain that starts spreading to your leg. You look up towards the stage. Seonghwa stays still, just a disturbing smile on his face, his head slightly tilted to the side. He doesn’t move an inch. 

“Look at me.” 

For the first time since this awful encounter, you hear the Master’s natural voice speak freely from his own mouth, you turn your head towards him without any hesitation.

“Free will is an insufferable concept, don’t you think, _____?” The handsome man stands up from his seat, his expression unreadable. You still don’t know how he knows your name. “You’re born with the choice of doing anything and everything you want with your life. Yet, no one seems to do the right thing with it.”

He starts approaching you with absolutely no rush. Contrary to his puppets, the Master doesn’t modulate his intonation much, nor does he let discernable emotion show on his face. Neither of those things were necessary to install a crippling fear within you. 

You try to crawl away from him, pulling the rest of your body weight with you in one last attempt. The sight of him calmly catching up to your desperate crawling is nothing short of pathetic.

“It’s humanity’s insistence on freedom that’s made this world such an unharmonious, boring stage. Freedom to do your desires is no worth if all it allows is for everyone to act like brainless animals. That's why people are such rotten and ugly beings. And stupid, too. Just look at where your free will got you, doll.” 

Yunho stomps his foot down on your broken ankle, and you can’t help the scream that comes out with the unbearable flash of pain. 

“Painful, right?” The smallest hint of a smirk forms on his lips, “Pretty girls like you don’t deserve to carry such a burden. I can free you of that. I can free you from pain, from every ugly thing and feeling you ever had. Your beauty is too pure for this world to keep damaging it.” 

You groan, the pain barely letting you listen to his words. Not like you were particularly interested in his monologue, mind occupied enough with a broken foot knowing that he only made it more painful, and worse, that he has cut all chances of escaping for you. 

“Beauty like yours is no worth if it’s not for showcase, my Princess. I know you would capture the hearts of the public. You will be so, so, loved. I can make you beautiful. I can make you famous. I can make you… perfect.”

He crouches down to meet you face to face, his calm eyes making contact with your weeping ones. You see the pink strings dancing around his hand as he reaches out to touch your broken ankle, the one he had so cruelly stepped on only moments before. You want to try to pull away, but the weight and pain are too much to deal with to avoid his touch. You scrunch your eyes since you don’t dare look at the upcoming atrocity. But, surprisingly, the pain quickly reduces itself, until seconds later, it disappears. 

“Give up, puppet.” You open your eyes to see how he touches your face, the strings moving on their own to softly caress your cheeks too. Their touch is lighter than a feather, as they disappear into your skin, making the zone feel numb. You should be worried. You should be panicking even further. But you don’t. 

Maybe I should give up.

“We’ll take good care of you. Won’t we, my Prince?”

“Of course, Master!” You don’t know the exact moment Seonghwa came back to life, but he returns to his sweet on stage voice, as now he seems to acknowledge the man behind his strings as he would in their usual act.

With very little effort, Yunho puts his hands under you and carries you to the edge of the stage, where he passes you to Seonghwa, who receives you in his own arms, he holds you softly and it feels like a warm embrace, lacking all the body heat. 

He sits in the chair you were just in, and pulls you in to sit in his lap. He grasps his other arm around your waist, and gently pushes you back into him. If he tried any harder to bring your bodies closer together it would break your flesh. His strength is unnatural, but you can’t complain about what’s part of nature’s order, you’re sure none of this was.

“Just picture it.” There’s a glimmer in the taller man’s eye, something akin to pride can be seen from his small smile.

“Lights, right there on your pretty face.” The side reflectors move by themselves to bring even more light and attention to you. There’s a glimmer, a distinct sparkle in his eyes while he tries to remain composure in his voice. Progressively, his words get more passionate.  “As I introduce the two of you, the audience is thriving in anticipation. There’s not a single person out there that hasn’t heard about you. How impressive it is to see us, and such beautiful works of art you two are. You sit there, in the prettiest matching outfits. I’ll make you so many of them.”

This is the most expressive you’ve seen him so far, even in his own portion of the circus show he didn’t articulate with his hands this much. Like a child talking excitedly about their favorite toys, you think.

“My two perfect little lovebirds, showing the audience what beauty lies in true love.” True love? What a sick joke. He’s running out of breath from his passionate rambling, it shows with the low growl that his next command comes with.

 “Show them, my Prince.” 

You’re not even done processing what he means when the puppet’s hand caresses your waist and he’s burying his head in your neck, tracing his lips along the skin. The way he sucks and bites in all the right spots makes your stomach flutter, soft moans leaving your lips without you even realizing.

Was it so bad? You hadn’t been touched like this in what felt like years. All in all, you had shocks all over your body, given to you by an incredibly handsome man, puppet or not. He moves up his hand from your waist to faintly trace around your breasts, teasing touches that make you want to beg for a little bit more friction are placed carefully yet passionately by Seonghwa. His other hand traces down your waist, softly making its way down your still clothed core. Your eyes roll back from the feeling, and when they come back to see the rest of the stage, you notice the strings once again, but don’t run away from them.

The Master returns to his honorary seat in the crowd, his eyes never leaving the dance of the strings around the stage and approaching your body, watching with the profound admiration characteristic of watching an outstanding artist, himself, complete his craft.

“And for the Princess. No more pain, no more tears. Just her beauty for all of us to enjoy.”

While Seonghwa touches you skillfully, the strings wrap themselves around your legs at first and climb all over your wrists, disappearing into your flesh, even when you can’t see them, they hold you right in place. You’ve lost all movement, until the Master moves his hand up and your arms move exactly as he commands, putting yourself on display for the crowd.

You allow your muscles to relax as you let him guide the movement of your arms. Your head drops down as you let all your weight be carried by the strings. Each one of your elbows is pulled upwards, and you don’t even have to do anything when the rest of your arms and body follow the pull. Each muscle in your body listens to his command.

You are now adjusted to sit better on your stage partner’s lap, still clothed, and the stimulation from him doesn’t take long to come through.

His other hand grabs onto your thigh, sinking in his fingers into the soft flesh that gets shaped around them. He doesn’t leave an inch of your thigh untouched, as his fingers slowly climb up to your still clothed core that only grew more wetter and more desperate the closer he got. When he reaches close to touch you where you wished, he slowly caresses the layer of clothing. 

“May I?” He asks softly, but with a subtle edge to his voice.

Yes, yes, a million times yes, you want to say. But when you turn to answer, you realize he’s looking at the eyes of the Master. Of course he wasn’t asking you. It’s not like you were the one making your own decisions.

Yunho hums, as he adjusts you, pulling on the strings of your arms to lift them further above your head, to which your obedient body responds smoothly, and gives your now fellow puppet easy access to your clothes. He looks up at you from behind, a terrifying grin on his otherwise adorable face, the master twists his features to reflect the hunger that he takes your clothes off with, leaving you exposed and bare in front of the crowd.

With the now free access to your body, more of the magic strings crawl towards you and settle in your skin painlessly, only applying a numbness that grows with each one that joins you. But it’s a happy numbness, the drug type of numbness, the type to make you feel like you’re floating aimlessly and without any care. There are no thoughts, no worries, nothing. Just your Master and your Prince. 

This time around, without any layers on top of your thighs, the touch of Seonghwa’s fingers on them only becomes more heavenly. He leans you further on his back, as he hooks your legs up with his hands, Yunho supports him by pulling the strings on them to fully open them, making the spread of your legs sensually theatrical, exposing your beautiful leaking pussy clenching around nothing to the audience. 

Yunho leans back to enjoy the sight of you, as Seonghwa’s fingers start tracing around your folds, slowly exploring every part of your dripping pussy. First playing around with the flesh around the lips, softly opening them further with his fingers to give his Master an even better view of your desperate hole.  

“Beautiful face and a beautiful wet cunt,” Seonghwa sneers with a perverted smile, “She’s perfect. I don’t know how to thank you, Master.” 

You want to squirm from the contact, every touch feels intensified, like your pleasure is the only sensation you were allowed and took over every nerve inside you. Just the brush of his fingers so close to your clit, could make you combust immediately if he only got closer to where you needed his touch. You want to thrust up to feel it, you wanted to beg so badly for him to stop teasing for show and just take care of you, but you can’t. The puppeteer’s iron grip on your strings doesn’t let your legs move, forcing you to feel every single stroke of his toy’s fingers getting closer to your sensitive little button. 

His grip only strengthens when he makes Seonghwa finally caress your sweet spot, the rush of overflowing pleasure begging your legs to twitch, but he doesn’t allow them to. A true expert with his fingers, he presses down and rubs your clit, listening closely to your moans to change his pace and form, playing you like an instrument of his own. 

“How about you thank me by making her cum?” The Master asks swiftly.

“Only if you help.” Seonghwa responds cheerily, as if this exchange was just a normal show routine. “You shouldn’t miss the honors.”

You’re too absorbed in the pleasure to see the two strings coming down from the ceiling to your chest until you feel the thin silky material wrapping around your hard perky nipples, a chill running down your spine with the sudden sensation reflected by a loud whimper from you. Then, with a movement of a finger on each of your Master’s hands, the strings pinch and pull on your nipples to his will. He starts out slow, gentle, but proceeds to increase the intensity quickly, making your tits bounce and move as he wishes, but mostly, in a way where you have no space left to breathe from the immense pleasure he kept relentlessly giving you. The pull on your sensitive spots has you moaning pathetically, aching for something, anything, inside you. 

And it’s as if The Master reads your mind when Seonghwa plunges two fingers inside your pleading hole. His fingers start rhythmically pounding into you, each time a little deeper and closer to your sweet spot. With the assault both of them had on each side of you, it was only a matter of time until your imminent collapse, the waves of pleasure clouding you and no other outlet for them than your now screaming pleas. What exactly you were pleading for, is beyond you. 

Yunho’s stoic mask starts cracking as he watches Seonghwa’s fingers pounding you up to knuckle depth, the squelching sound and his fingers coated in your wetness, along with your playful tits moving to his will, makes his length start hardening under his dress pants. With a smile of satisfaction, he decides to move the puppet prince’s hand to add a third finger to his princess’s pretty hole. 

The sudden fullness of the third finger threatens to send you over the edge, as you’re now crying out even louder for the both of them. You don’t remember when you started to moan their names, and so desperately too. You hear a loud groan coming from the puppeteer, but before you can look his way, Seonghwa finally dips his fingers fully into your spot and hooks them in to rapidly caress it with need, the sudden impact of the pleasure being too much, too good, too full…

“Cum for us.” Their voices demand in unison. 

Nothing else needs to be said or done, your release flows out of you in mind and body as you reach your orgasm. All the build up in your stomach, and your heart too, comes flowing out of you in an instant. Everyone watches the immense waterfall that starts spilling abundantly from your pussy, nothing like any wetness present before. A dizzy, lovely feeling settles in, you could melt into them right now if they wished you to. 

You don’t even feel a thing when the strings bring you down to the floor and start bending your legs, making you sit on your knees, back straightened and breasts sitting perky, just like a lewd doll on display.

Seonghwa stands from his spot and extends his hand towards your face, three fingers glistening from your juices onto them, tracing the corners of your lips delicately and marking them with your own hot release. 

“Suck.” Yunho commands. 

So, you obey. Eagerly, you take Seonghwa’s fingers into your mouth, sucking and kissing his fingertips as he slowly starts to stuff them deeper into your mouth, the presence of your taste turns your eagerness into pure desperation. You bob your head up and down his fingers, saliva starting to spill out of your mouth and making a mess of liquids on his pretty fingers and your face as he pushed them even further down your throat. 

It feels like bliss, knowing how little it took them to bring you to desperation. Having nothing in your mind but obeying your Master’s commands and playing with your now forever half. You didn’t care how ruined you looked, you were there to please them. Seeing the smile on Seonghwa’s face makes you feel accomplished, and you’re about to double down your efforts when he removes the fingers from your mouth.

You whine, longing for the touch. But your complaints stop when you see him using his fingers to remove himself of his own stage clothing. He drops the flowy pants, revealing his cock that was just like him, pretty and picture perfect. He rests it against your cheek, you feel the heavy weight of it, the pink and plump tip covering over your eye and the base getting spread with the juices from your chin.

Out of your own desire, you lick a long strip across his entire length, gently leaving kisses in his tip. A small whimper also comes from him at the contact, with a gentle smile, he holds his tip against your lips. 

“You know what to do, puppet.” He smiles.

You eagerly take his full tip into your mouth, your tongue resting limp in the floor of your mouth to embrace him. You bob your head up and down, alternating between hollowing your cheeks and using your tongue to draw circles against his tip. Seonghwa throws his head back almost comically, heavy breathing and lips parted with such a sinful look on his eyes. Truly, an otherworldly sight.

With no warning, he takes your hair in his fist and pushes his full length into you, controlling your head movements to take him in deeper as he mercilessly fucks into your mouth. Ironic, how the puppet is using you like a toy. You assume your role, letting yourself be manhandled and filled down to your throat with no problem. You don’t mind the nasty noises, nor the saliva pooling in your mouth or how you are fitting this much without trying to vomit. 

Yunho knows exactly how to have full control of their puppets’ bodies so they can become the best sex toys for their Master, and that includes removing their gag reflexes. Not just for his puppet girl to take in Seonghwa, but for something much bigger too. He just can’t resist making them play this rough with each other. 

Not by your own volition, your body starts grinding against Seonghwa’s clothing that had fallen down next to you. And you’re definitely making a show out of it as well, your hips frantically moving up and down the fabric to show your rampant desperation for the friction that made your clit send all the pleasure through you, all while Seonghwa keeps using your mouth as his fleshlight. 

He hits the back of your throat at a perfect rhythm, sinking you down to get you to fit every inch of his hardness inside your mouth. Your lips curve perfectly around it, looking swollen and all plump just like a doll’s. 

With the grip in your hair, he takes you apart and finally lets you take a breath; or so you think, when he forces your head to look at the crowd. 

“I think our guests are enjoying themselves.” 

Besides Yunho’s smirking face and palming himself through his pants. You’re forced to see both of his sides, Wooyoung and Mingi. Their stares look right at you as blankly as when you were captured, but both of their pants have very defined erections marked in them. 

“Then let’s give them the show they deserve.” The Master cheerily claps his hands together, the calm and reserved exterior he had for himself is done falling apart to show how euphoric and absolutely power drunk he was, “If they come untouched, I’ll consider adding them to this beautiful lineup.” 

He makes you grind harder down on the fabric, the feeling of your sore little pussy getting the waves of bliss from how your Master made you pleasure yourself.

“Think you could take three cocks at once? Because that would be quite the show.” Seonghwa laughs sarcastically. 

Just the thought makes you shiver in lust, a move Yunho lets you slip by as part of your cute desperate slutty act. Then, he puts up your arms in front of you as support, making you look like the most beautiful and horny pin up doll. Seonghwa moves behind you, pumping his cock. 

He places a hand on your neck from behind you as he envelops you in his figure, definitely towering over you. The other hand is on your thigh, guiding you to sit on his cock, of course, with your Master’s help, your leg is also lifted and pulled into your chest, allowing for a better view to the public. The slow stretch of your tight pussy trying to envelop him is felt all over you, and the sight of you fitting Seonghwa’s length like a glove is all but ignored by the Master.

At first, you feel your hips slowly lift themselves up and down with your Master’s help. Soon, the rest of your body follows to ride his cock perfectly, the fullness of his dick being a welcome warmth to your core everytime you go down on him. Over time, and when he knows you’ve gotten used to the feeling, the Master picks up the pace of your riding. He even changes your form so you grind down your clit on his smooth skin when you come down, driving your body further into the sweetest ocean of pleasure. 

The puppet fucks you at a merciless pace, both of your bodies coordinated perfectly to get the most of him in you, hitting your spot perfectly each time. Your lips fall apart, and so do you. You swear you no longer feel anything, your eyes rolled back to your useless brain, only seeing the heaven of being full of Seonghwa’s cock.

Yunho’s erection becomes more uncomfortable to deal with as he watches, your fucked out face complimenting the contact where his two puppets connect over and over; Seonghwa’s full cock stuffing his doll’s hole, making the most wonderful image his eyes could ever see. So he makes them fuck even harder, arching the pretty boy’s back and making him grab her hips to plow better into her. How cute, he thinks, as he sets back the control on his puppet’s faces and his excitement transcends at seeing the bliss in both of their faces when he lets them show it, their moans harmonizing with each other as they enjoy the pleasure of the pace he sets. 

They truly were a perfect pair. The stars of his show. 

Your knot starts to tighten once again, and the moans from Seonghwa start getting more desperate, yet the perfect, deep, rhythmic pace doesn’t break from either of you. 

“Do my puppets want to start a family?” Yunho sneers, almost finding himself hiccuping due to the excitement his body’s holding. “Go ahead, Prince. Fill her up!”

Seonghwa screams in the rawest human sound he’s made so far. The hot waves shoot inside, the twitching of his cock hits your walls as they are painted white. As if you had no other natural choice, you follow your own release, spilling all your ecstasy over his already messy cock.

As you both come down from your high, you look directly at the Master and his struggling face, when you look down you are absolutely flabbergasted at the size of the tent in his pants. Taking advantage of the control he’s allowed you over your face, you beg with your eyes. You don’t want to leave him out, much less leave without having him inside you. 

His gaze darkens when he finally understands. 

“So that’s how it is. I knew one load of cum isn’t enough for such a greedy puppet like you.” Seonghwa growls into your ear, his grin bone chilling. 

The puppet quickly grabs the back of your neck to hold you sitting up straight and looking right at the Master, who sat back with his legs spread open, giving you a better view of the massive imprint on his crotch. 

“Is that so?” He questions in a mocking tone, playing dumb for the sake of his sick little show. “You just came twice, and you’re already begging for cock again? I knew you were just a fuck puppet.” 

Seonghwa dips his fingers into the flowing pond of juices that was spilling between your legs, before you know it, he drags his wet fingers further back to the hole between your ass cheeks. The new sensation you can no longer react to, as you feel the numbness of your Master regaining his control over you. You’re left exposed, defenseless under both of their hungry stares. 

Ignoring the pain provoked by the absolute stiffness hitting friction with his pants, Yunho stands up from his seat for the first time during this whole affair, approaching the edge of the stage. 

“I hope you don’t mind admitting that to our audience.” His height lets you see eye to eye with him, and you have no option but to crumble under his stern stare that contrasts a cheeky smile.

Seonghwa’s finger probes into your tight little hole as he leans you closer towards your Master, and you really can’t help nor control the words coming out of your mouth. 

“I admit it. It’s not enough, Master. I want you and your huge cock inside me.” You beg pathetically, almost as a parody of how much of a whiny slut you were being. Maybe you truly would sound like that given how your brains are gone in pleasure.

Both Seonghwa and Yunho pout as they look at each other with doe eyes, such a theatrical fake sympathy to their expressions. 

“Aw, I don’t think it’s her fault. All puppets want their Master.” Seonghwa says in a poisonous honey tone, as if singing a deathly lullaby. Yunho nods acknowledging, still keeping true to his show nature.

“I agree, my Prince. But I have a feeling that’s not all, is it?” He coos, a matching rotten sweetness dripping from his voice as he turns back to the audience and then to you. 

Your eyes widen right open, at the same time, a cute, quite artificial pout shows on your face. You make high pitched whimpers as you shake your head adorably.

“No, Master! I want all my holes full. I want everyone to use me like the cocksleeve I am.” 

“You really don’t care that your friends are watching you admit that you’re a slut? You don’t care that everyone will see you taking our cocks like a cheap whore?” Seonghwa asks in a fake bewilderment, notably accentuating each word, but specially, the degrading names towards you accompanied by him applying deeper pressure into your hole.

“Not at all!” You answer brightly. “This is what I was made for!” 

“If you keep talking like that, I might get the whole circus to get a turn at you.” Yunho grins, merely getting a laugh at the whole situation he’s completely orchestrated.

“Yes, Master, please! Just use me like a fucktoy. Please, I was made to be fucked.” You fully beg with the full desperation of your life. 

Even through all of the exaggeration your Master makes you speak, you know none of the words that he made you say were a lie.

“Well, you heard her.” Seonghwa smirks. “Let’s make sure everyone gets to see the puppet fulfill her purpose.” 

As Yunho climbs the side ladders to the stage, he makes a grasping gesture with his hand. You’re suddenly laying down with your back against the hardwood floor. You don’t realize what he’s doing until you no longer feel the weight of the floor beneath you.

The strings start slowly lifting your body off the ground and suddenly you’re floating in the air with nothing below to support you, just the strings around your limbs that start opening your legs and arching your back. You can feel them wrapping around your waist and back, their different textures painting over your skin. 

Your blissed out state made it difficult to sense the quantity or position of the string that climbed your body. Before you even know it, your body is made to face towards the audience, with your hands tied behind your back. One of your legs is hooked up, made to open and suspend in the air for your Master to have quick, open access to your gaping, dripping hole waiting for him. 

At the same time, you’re made to face straight at Seonghwa’s cock drenched in your combined juices, shining and sitting pretty dangerously close to your mouth. 

The Master circles slowly around your hanging form, admiring the work of art he’s made of you. The way the shiny pink strings decorated your skin, lapping over your body as a compliment to how ruined you look in your face and the bruises they’ve left on your thighs and neck. They glitter in the air as they suspend you by your joints and your breasts are still accentuated by the ones wrapped around them. 

He leaves soft touches around each part of you, as if he’s too afraid of breaking his own masterpiece. You see that as he does this, he’s starting to unbutton the pants of his attire. A purr of satisfaction rumbles from his chest. 

“You’re perfect.” 

He places himself right by your gushing pussy, and though you can’t turn around to see what he's doing, you can feel his incredibly long fingers reaching deep inside you. The moment he first touches you, you let a desperate whine out of your lips. This sound only prolonged by them entering you, and apparently having no limit to the depths of you they could reach. Past your spot and even deeper, the Master was able to reach further with one finger that his Puppet could with three. 

“Your hole is taking my hand so well, puppet. Just like you were made for me. Soon enough, when you fit all of my hand, I’ll have you perform as my little dummy.” He’s rambling at this point, his large finger prodding and exploring every single inch of your wet pussy. It clenches so well around his finger, intensifying the feeling of fullness it gave you, yet it was only for you possible to wish for more. 

You know you didn’t do it by your own volition, but are too busy enjoying the way your Master’s using two fingers to play with you to care. You’re too lost to even remember when he added the second finger, you just know you want more. 

The Master dives out his fingers, coated with the sweet and salty of his two puppet’s juices. He beckons Seonghwa over to stand by his side. He walks to his Master with a different vibe to his movements, soft and obedient. With his big doe eyes looking up in admiration towards his Master, he starts sticking out his tongue. The Master drags his large fingers across the puppet’s soft unmoving tongue, playing with it to his wishes and smearing your liquids all across his tongue.

Then, you see something you don’t expect: The Master grabs his face and kisses him deeply. The two share a long sloppy kiss, their tongues acting in synchronicity with such an harmony that when they separate both of their lips, they are spilling your conjunction of liquids. 

As the two of you kiss, you get the familiar feeling of a foreign touch of a finger in your tight butthole. With the same technique he used with his puppet, he touches and prods your hole with his massive finger, at the same time he inserts his hand into your pussy, he goes a little deeper in breaching your other hole. And if you felt full before, the feeling of his two fingers in your pussy occupying space along the thumb that made your walls even tighter and intensified every move the fingers of your master made inside you.

“Are you ready, Princess?” The euphoria overtakes him, as he holds his massive girth with one hand, leading his Prince’s mouth to his cock with the other. As obedient as a machine, Seonghwa lets his drool spill into his length, effectively being the other’s lubricant. With his long and sinful tongue, the excited puppet smears the slick all over his Master. 

With a small lift of your strings, your already soaking, gaping, begging pussy is lined up to meet Yunho’s rock solid, veiny, huge cock. And you would think that after all the special treatment your hole has gone through, besides all the extra lubrication, taking him in would be quicker. But it still stretches you as if you were a new toy to him, your tightness hugs every inch it’s given and it fits him so perfectly, just like you were made for him. 

“You’re doing so well, Princess.” Seonghwa softly cheers you on from his spot behind you, getting closer to your face. “Such a good girl for us. So perfect for us.”

Your walls flutter around Yunho’s cock at his words. A small whimper comes from him, and he gives one final push to bottom out inside you. 

“How’s it feeling, puppet?” He groans from a heavy breath. 

You had never felt so full and empty at the same time. The shaking static that spread all the way to your belly rendered you weak, you could feel him all the way into you, he had become a big part of you, as you had become his. And that’s how the last bits of your brain cells break. No longer could you think even about him, about anything. You have effectively become nothing better than a doll.

“Are you seeing this, Master?” Seonghwa asks curiously, tracing his fingers in your belly. A small bulge has formed in your lower region. Yunho purrs in acknowledgment, trying once again to make you speak. 

“I- I-“ You can barely make out any words, even your body malfunctions at obeying your Master’s command. 

“Oh, I think I broke you.” He pouts, faking some innocence. Acting no better than as if he had broken a toy. “Good.”

He purposefully stabs himself deep into you with long harsh thrusts, his rhythm is unpredictable as he just carelessly pounds you for his own pleasure as if using a fleshlight.

“Then you won’t mind if I break you some more. I can always fix you right up.” Pure madness is what has become of his voice, but also his body. 

His thrusts become even harsher and violent, pounding you with no regard for your safety. He grabbed onto your hips and pulled you into him repeatedly, making you feel even fuller, much more so when he hits your spot so easily in his own search for pleasure with the pressure he’s doing you with.

You feel the pleasure enveloping your entire body. You want to squirm, it’s too fucking much, but you’re not the one in control. No matter how much you want to jerk your body, you’re forced to stay still and take it all. 

Pretty little moans leave your mouth, you no longer recognize them to anything you’ve ever muttered. But you’ve never felt pleasure like this before either. Nor does it matter if they’re your moans, you’re so deeply connected with your Master that your moans will sound however he wants them to sound; the pleasure he gives you is a blessing and you will take it all like the good puppet you are. 

The strings in your nipples twist around them once more, making you whine loudly. You want to plead to your Master, you’re so close to reaching your orgasm and don’t know how much longer you can take it before crumbling. You want to beg so desperately when Seonghwa reaches two fingers to your core and violently rubs your swollen clit, and the feeling overboards you. Every single nerve in your body is screaming, and you would be if you were allowed. You want to cum, you crave it, you need it before you explode. But you can’t. You try to let go, but can’t. Even then, the pleasure doesn’t stop nor falter.

You’re covered in sweat, flustered and desperate when your head unwillingly turns to face your puppeteer in front of you, smiling coyly as he lifts you with his hips as if you were nothing. This is how you’re reminded who’s in control of every single part of you. 

“Are you ready to be mine forever, puppet girl?” 

You don’t know when exactly he gave you the right to speak by yourself again. You didn’t think about it, or about anything at all. You just craved the sweet release that only he could give you. 

“Yes! Yes! Oh god, please, yes, Master!” 

“Let go, puppet.”

And finally, thanks to your Master’s mercy, you let go of the tight knot. You can’t help your scream as you’re letting go of all the pleasure and all your will. You feel as if you had crossed the gates of ascension, your body is full of the dizzy feeling, but more intensified. You can’t even move your body since you no longer feel it. Just the never ending bliss of floating aimlessly. 

And you really could stay like this forever.

Yunho watches his puppet squirt all over his cock, her cute face twisting with eyes rolled back into her head as she’s screaming his name. The warm hug of her walls releasing the waterfall of pleasure onto his member almost made him burst at the seams himself. She falls limp under him after the shock of pleasure, her eyes are completely glazed over and empty. He lets her string fall around her on the ground as he places her down carefully.

He picks up the strings that lie on the ground, the threads wrapping around his fingers like setting where they’re supposed to be. With his other hand, he reaches for Seonghwa’s strings above his head and makes him kneel, mirroring his female part. 

With a sweat covered forehead, he makes both of his puppets crawl closer to him to have them sit by each of his sides, completely synchronized. He gets their faces closer and closer to his twitching cock. He was ready to burst at any second, but knew what he wanted his masterpiece to be. 

He doesn’t give them any external command, they just start kissing, then take turns to lick up their Master’s cock at each side. After, they coordinate around him to cover each centimeter of his cock with their tongues, covering for each other to make sure to not leave a spot untainted. They worked together beautifully to please him.

He tries to hold back, just to enjoy the sight a little longer. 

Until he can no longer do it, when he makes them sit by each other once again. Their faces couldn’t be squished together any more closer, as they stick out their pretty tongues at the same time, each with such a pure puppy eye look that begged for him and him only. 

He takes his cock in his hand to pump out his release onto both of them. He watches pleased as his seed paints strokes of white over their pleading faces. Such beauty, only to be tainted and marked by him.

Just like a painting with the most beautiful subjects, painted over his signature.

He stares at his masterpiece for a little longer, not letting either of his puppets move.

He smiles, as he muses to himself.

Finally, 

Perfection. 

Author's note: The word "puppet" is said in this fic exactly 69 times. Not intentional, but definitely poetic sldjaksdjlasda

And thank you so so much for getting all the way here!! don't be afraid to leave me feedback in my askbox or DMs!! I want to become a more regular writer here so yeah!!

“It was a gift and a curse to love and to hate so intensely. It was more a curse than a gift, a sweet prank from the gods, the man Madara most hated in the entire world, the man he learned to love so deeply, be the man he worshiped above anything else.”

In the good days, Madara would pray to Izuna, wherever he could be, to understand. That he could never leave Tobirama without giving up his own heart.

In the bad, Madara would look at Tobirama, quietly asleep on his chest, and ask himself what kind of brother that would turn him into.

Pairing: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara

Rating: M

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 2011

Language: bad English

CW: VERY unhealthy relationship, mild blood/gore, eye trauma

naah, don’t mind me. just some indulgent relationship study i took off my drafts.

read on AO3 or under the cut! <3

⚠️ I’m not a english speaker, and I haven’t a beta version for this text, so you’ll probably notice some grammar mistakes. I did my best to clean the most I could, but I’m not fluent. My apologies for any major incoherence 😔

* There is a very small reference to Uchiha's centers, mostly implied. I guess the first one on the fandom who came with that concept was KeanBlade, so all the credits at them! <3

There were days where everything seemed to be dark.

There were days where Madara felt they were back to war. Fighting to survive another day, to take a last breath, to see the next blood moon rising up in the sky.

There were days when everything was delightful and sweet like it’d be a daydream. The kids running around with their lips spread on big, lazy grins, holding sticks of Dango and tops, instead of too large steel weapons; their wounds were from falls and stupid street fights, not from sharp, poisoned needles.

There were days when everything seemed to be almost perfect. These were days like today, lazy and lethargic when there was no work to be done yet and the afternoon was wasted on small talks, sprawling together in the engawa, speaking with soft voices. Enjoying the post glow, sunlight heat pleasantly in the early spring.

The sky is already dark, the very last warm sunbeams slipping away through the wood floor, reflecting on the clear water on the koi pond. Uchiha’s compound’s quiet murmur rocked Madara’s lazy nap, a soft wind whistling cozily on the engawa.

The heat of the body tangled with him caught Madara’s attention, as the light glimpsed against Tobirama’s chest and reflected through Madara’s own gapping hakama on Tobirama’s body. A colorful enamel uchiwa pendant tied up against his collarbone proudly, painted with Madara’s mangekyou pattern.

A symbol that couldn’t mean less than the obvious. A proof that Tobirama was taken.

Marked as his; married.

(It still sounded odd in Madara’s mouth—luxurious, making his blood set on fire.

Bitter, though, sometimes. Like funeral pyre ashes.)

Was a… strange combination, him and Tobirama, Madara would easily admit. They weren't— aren’t —that kind of sweet couple like Hashirama and Mito were. They never found comprehension in their relationship, and much less any soft, amorous love. There were no tender touches, no kisses on the cheeks, no holding hands in the dark, or mute twinkling love-sticky smiles—there was nothing but sickness, the darkest of two men born and raised in the war, over the bloody ground of the battlefield.

Sometimes, Madara would look at Tobirama, so calm, so quiet, asleep on his side and his heart would hurt with the if.

If he'd be a better man.

If he could pardon.

If they’d been born in another life, one that wasn’t so violently marked by the pain and spotted with bitter regrets. One that wasn’t so much blood and so much war and so much hate.

If he just could be a little more like his oldest friend and let it go from the hate. Wash clean with water the dirty in his hands, brush away the blood over his nails.

(But you could never just forget a life of nightmares and death, the destruction caused by your hands. All the sorrow and all the pain were memorized forever into your head, the memories blurry by the bloody red of the Sharingan.

He was an Uchiha. A great one. Pureblood.

He could never forget the face of his brother’s murder as he could never let his lover go away again when he held Madara’s heart in his hands.)

The war left behind ugly, open wounds. Left violence, left pain, and left unsaid words. Left mistrust. Left regret.

They were like that. Broken, desperately trying to fill in a hole in their souls that neither of them knew couldn’t anymore be fixed up. The softness they itched to have just couldn’t ever take a place between them—not when they were so twisted, so full within the past to accept the glimpse of what the future could be.

They weren’t good, but they managed to move on.

They would die for each other at the same time they couldn’t stay alone in the same room for more than five minutes. Their bodies danced together in the linens on ends until the crack of the dawn, but when the morning rose up over the window, they couldn’t look anymore eye in the eye without the remorse, the bitter regret from the past burning in their lungs, the taste of ashes heavier than the quiet peace rounding Konoha’s sky in the first hours of the morning.

They worked very well until they didn't, but, still in those worst moments, just the thought of being away hurted deeply.

Because, no matter how fun that thing of souls could be, they loved.

They adored in a way that couldn't be healthy.

As it could be any different, when they were just… them; two broken men trying desperately to keep everything together, trying to stay sane in a peace made over bones and blood, dead-bodies of both Senju and Uchiha still warm when Madara and Hashirama held up hands after sign a dumb piece of paper as if it’d a magical solution to a century bloodbath.

As a broken record, keeping the same past fails on replay, they never spoke.

They never spoke about them, about the kilometric distance between them some days. About the open injuries that still bleed, cuts open. About the world collapsing around them, about how everyone was so deeply determined to ignore all the cracks in the fragile, fresh peace they all fought so hard for.

They never spoke. They fucked until the exhaustion and buried all the problems later, hid the blood inside gloves, and put the pain out onto sarcasm and mockery.

Their love was lug, tired, hard. Was sticky, melting across Madara’s fingers. Was like being constantly pushed up to the limit, broke into a thousand pieces and so glued again, the sharp edges non-sanded.

It was like taking a deep breath when you’re drowning in the sea. That moment of agony, when instead of air into your lungs, you’re breathing salty water over the hum of chaos in your ears, desperately trying to reach for the surface; a moment before that silent, awkward peace when you’re slowly losing your conscience.

It was crystal at the same time it was buried. Spotted with too much blood to be cleaned properly.

(Luckily, Madara always liked the flavor of ichor.)

Somedays—somedays like that—, Madara would lay down on their bed and think about how it was a gift and a curse, in the same way, never to forget.

Never forget the moment when Tobirama stabbed his last little brother, face cold and impassive. Emotionless like a demon.

Never forget the moment when Izuna was finally gone, his chakra slipping away from his body as he choked with a last sigh, taken away by the fervor.

It was a gift and it was a curse to see the shy smile Tobirama gave him when he thought no one was looking, the way he shivered when came, the way his whole body shook quietly when he laughed.

It was a gift and a curse to love and to hate so intensely. It was a gift and a curse to love and to hate so intensely. It was more a curse than a gift, a sweet prank from the gods, the man Madara most hated in the entire world, the man he learned to love so deeply, be the man he worshiped above anything else.

Tobirama, Izuna’s killer, the center of Madara’s world. The man Madara needed more desperately than breathing.

Anyhow, in the good days, Madara would pray to Izuna, wherever he could be, to understand. That he could never leave Tobirama without giving up his own heart.

In the bad, Madara would look at Tobirama, quietly asleep on his chest, and ask himself what kind of brother that would turn him into.

Trust his life, his backs, his home, his heart in the hands of such a demon.

Madara’s fingers danced across his lover’s pretty face, tracing the fragile eyelids right above the ice, long eyelashes, the crooked shape of Tobirama’s nose, the softness of his white skin.

The veiled act of intimacy, the vulnerability that meant much more to a shinobi than could be put together in words, weighted on Madara’s stomach. The way that Tobirama didn’t even frown above Madara’s fingers, deeply asleep, but leaned at the touch of bare skin, made Madara’s sick mind turn on the obscurity.

How easy would it be if Madara cut his throat like that? Would he feel it? By what emotion would his pretty red eyes be filled when the blood drained down his lips and he gazed up at his lover watching him choking?

But…

How easy would it be for Tobirama to just pull an eyeball out of Madara’s face, push up the nerves, and leave behind a heavy trail of sticky blood spotting their linens? Would the blood drip on Madara’s porcelain skin, if Tobirama waited for him to lean on his lap as he was used to, past his fingertips right down Madara’s temples, and stretch open his eyelids?

Madara could almost feel it. The pain burning his senses, the viscosity gluing down his eyelashes behind an empty hollow…

And Madara couldn’t raise one finger. He couldn’t hurt Tobirama, no matter what he may make.

He’d never be able to do it anymore, would he?

Oh, darling, no. Not now. Not after the pale shine of the ring in his fingers. After he hiccupped the I do below Amaterasu’s arms.

(That trust. That blind, unconditional trust—that scared Madara more than anything could ever do. That, if…

If Tobirama asks him for it, it would be all Madara’s pleasure to rip off both of his eyes to give Tobirama, wrapped in silk.)

The twisted feeling of his chakra twirling on a dark spiral apparently had grown enough to disturb Tobirama’s senses and woke him up, making a wave of mint-refresh-ocean-ozonium chakra burnt, rising up to tangle around Madara’s body like a shield, as a pair of focusless, dilated red eyes open to stare at him.

“Madara?” he offered quietly a second later, a pinch of worry merged in the roughness of Tobirama's barely awake murmur.

There was a knot swelling in Madara’s throat when he tried to speak, the always proud, smug tone of his voice reduced pathetically at a broken whimper. “I—” he started unfirmly, “my head. I’m too far. I need—make me stop to think," Madara begged quietly, stuffy against Tobirama’s hair.

Tobirama’s eyes blinked open, suddenly getting away from the sleepy haze.

“How do you want me?” Tobirama’s tone was thick, a smoker's voice deep on his throat.

Madara swallowed heavily.

Tobirama probably was still open and lacking by the fuck Madara get on him early this afternoon, and it would be so easy to pull out and slide in, but it wasn’t what Madara needed right now.

Not when he felt like this.

When he needed to feel Tobirama, everywhere. Throbbing on him, burning against his skin, touching where he felt more vulnerable.

“On me.”

Please, now, he did not add.

Tobirama’s quick breath against his neck made Madara bristle, a goosebump running down his backbone. Closing his eyes, Madara felt Tobirama clumsily moving behind him, heat pressed behind his thighs as Tobirama’s fingers fumbled blindly to push down his pants.

His fingers were cold, sleeky with the olive oil he spread on his fingertips, as he pressed in Madara’s rim, thorough and controlled as everything that heartless man did—but his shaking fingertips squeezing his thighs painfully, choppy breath told Madara more than he needed to be told.

The elbow was hard against his ribs.

“The dead don’t speak, Madara,” Tobirama murmured quietly into Madara’s sweaty skin, kissing his neck. Madara scratched bloodlines with his nails on his back, holding Tobirama's body as close as he could, squeezing Tobirama’s shoulders like a lifeline while Tobirama slowly rocked against him, holding Madara’s hips firmly against the mattress.

Madara just could close his eyes, boneless, and pray.

If it was for mercy or death, if it was for the gods or for Tobirama, no one could answer but Madara.

Luckily, good shinobi carry their secrets to the grave.

First train ride alone

Me, about Nagito: Fortune smiles on you, little boy. But not softly or warmly, like a parent... She smiles on you cruelly, like a tirant.

Also me, about Makoto: Fortune smiles on you too... But not cruelly. She smiles on you warmly, like a parent.