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The livestream lags for a moment when it starts, the chat lolling in speed before the commenters start bombarding each other as the interlude music fades and the light blue, cutely animated ‘Be with you in a minute . . .’ intro card parts with swirly lines and hopping bunnies to reveal Seonghwa’s pretty face.
He looks gorgeous, as always. His hair is down and straight today, his fringe meticulously styled over his forehead and the tops of his lashes, dyed white with blocks of his original black growing in at the roots. There’s a headband perched atop the silky strands of some fluffy, semi-realistic rabbit ears to match which pairs with the bodypiece he’s dressed in: a malleable looking white sateen blend that clings to the curves of his body perfectly.
Ruffle-hemmed and high on his hips with two pieces of satin ribbon tied to each side and a sweetheart-cut bust strapped to his chest, along with a fuzzy tail attached to the back that’s being purposefully presented in his current position. Bent over on his elbows and knees at a slight angle off to the side so that he’s taking up most of the screen.
The entire outfit is tied together with some sheer cotton thigh-high socks trimmed with similar lace, a thick choker made of smooth fabric wrapped around his neck, a pair of small, dangly pearl earrings and light coat of makeup to suit that gives his features a coy, almost innocent look. Softening his eyes and the smirk his raspberry-painted lips are pulled into as he calmly scans the chat with his chin propped up on the butt of his palm, his gaze narrowed in amusement.
“Hi,” he purrs over the flood of tips making their way in, his voice gentle and sly like it always is, low and alluring like the thickest of honeys. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say that you guys like it?”
The chatbox explodes with confirmations and praise. It, too, is decorated similarly to the stream window. White with a blue border, a theme that his profile is based on, accented by pastel colours and commissioned doodles of the animal he’s grown to be identified as. It houses every typoed compliment and supporting sticker and, most important of all, hasty donation made before it appears on the actual screen with a jingle to alert Seonghwa that he should be giving thanks no matter what indecent position he may be caught in.
(It’s one of the main reasons why he’s so popular beside his overall beauty and aesthetic, why he’s one of the most well respected creators on this platform. People are willing to fight each other once they get the notification that he’s online as long as it means that they’ll be the highest contributor and receive the jaw-droppingly erotic sight of him whining their name in compensation, and it’s something that he fully encourages, giggling and spurring them on as they wrestle for who gets to be the patron for the rest of the stream.
Today’s patron has already been chosen, sitting highlighted at the very top of the chat in a box of red with a crown icon next to their name.
This month’s patron event is different, catered towards the holiday spirit, and is the cause as to why the recent ones have been established rather than produced. Though the community has still been making it a competition to grade who can dress Seonghwa in the best costumes and orchestrate the most arousing entertainment, seeing as that’s their prize for splurging on him just a bit more than they usually do.
So far he’s been a witch affected by an aphrodisiactic spell gone wrong, a nurse who came to do their monthly check-up and a curly-haired sheep who wandered too far from his flock and got knotted to tears by a wolf twice his size. Each outfit more lewd and each stream more obscene than the last.
Today’s get-up is significantly tamer and more cosmetic than the previous ones, though the patron responsible hasn’t made neither themself nor their plan known yet, so it’s safe to assume that Seonghwa is waiting for them to appear before he continues any further, much to everyone’s mildly peeved delight.)
He hums, pleased, as he shifts to ease the strain of his arms from bracing his weight, pushing himself up and sitting back on his haunches to show off the front of the bodypiece.
There’s a shine to his skin when he moves, a sheen of body glitter coating honeyed clavicles and built shoulders that glints in the cool lighting of his room. But all focus is reserved for the view that’s exposed between his legs when they’re spread, tempting and captivating.
The panties he’s wearing are equally as lacey, a delicate mesh of threadwork that barely conceals the outline of his semi-soft cock, more for ornament rather than practicality. He plants one of his hands into the white sheets beneath him while the other reaches down to pull the flimsy fabric to the side—his wrists, too, adorned in miscellaneous bracelets and a pair of cuffs made from the same material that’s around his throat, decorated with bows the exact shade of blue as the limp ones hanging by his thighs—just enough to tease a glimpse of the thin glass ring encasing the base of his cock with a smile as he juts his hips in the camera’s direction and continues, his tone a droning purr, “I knew you would. It’s pretty on brand, no? You’ll have to thank our patron for today for getting it and dressing me up so pretty for you all.”
He turns to show the back of the bodypiece when he’s asked, which influxes another wave of chiming tips. That, too, is lined with a corset-style weave of ribbon, tied off above the fluff at the tailbone in a big bow.
The suit is no doubt expensive and admittedly very intricately made, successful in its purpose of both being attractive on the eyes and emphasizing the width of his small waist, even more so when he arches his spine just right and wiggles with a teasing glance thrown over his shoulder to present the shape of the matching glass plug nestled inside of him, the flared base embellished with a blue gem that peeks through the little holes of his underwear.
He settles when he spins back around, sitting with his long legs folded to the side, and answers a few questions to stall before he gives a cheery welcome when the patron of the night finally joins with a greeting and some words of flattery, perking up along with the viewers at the long-awaited okay to proceed.
8:12 p.m. [₩211.6k] 🜲 minxsin99: I thought you would’ve saved it for halloween :(
“I’m sorry, baby,” he apologizes with a small, genuine frown at the disappointment, his brows slightly pinched, “but I have something really special planned for you guys then, okay? You’ll just have to trust me on that one.”
The frown then evolves into a feigned, heavy-set pout as he lowers his gaze and starts to fiddle with the lace on his thighs, weaponizing those wide, dark, blue-and-pink-smeared eyes as he peeks up at the camera with drooping shoulders and a put-upon sigh. “Unless you don’t like it and want me to change? ‘Cause I have a normal, plain old boring sweater right here if you want—”
He pauses out of frame when the sound of more protesting donations rolls in anew, and waits one long, treacherous second with the taunting expanse of his hip on display before he slinks back in with a dazzling grin, huffing a fondly exasperated chuckle at the high level of enthusiasm that’s bubbling over to a boil within the chatbox.
“Good boys. So thoughtful,” he coos, the bridge of his sloped nose crickling with affection as he taps a couple of buttons on his laptop's keyboard. “Shall we get started?”
The screen is then enveloped in another transitional animation that lingers for a beat before it cuts to a different window, this time split with the previous view on the bottom and a closer angle at the head of the bed on top.
Seonghwa’s bent over the edge of it, seemingly rummaging around in the supplies placed on the floor before he pops back up with a fruitful noise and props himself on his elbow to share his findings with the second camera: a small, brightly coloured carrot-shaped vibrator—bigger than a bullet, but shorter than a wand; a reasonable size that resembles most of his main toys—and a half-empty bottle of lube.
“Cute, right? I bought this one myself a while ago, sort of like a gag gift. Never had the chance to use it, though, but today’s as perfect as any, yeah?”
He snickers at the comments directed towards the unlikeliness of it and flops back onto the pile of pillows bunched together against the padded headboard while he defends its honour, nestling into the towel laid below him as he gets comfortable.
Slowly—tantalizingly, infuriatingly slowly—he inches the panties down his hips and up his thighs, hooking them over his knees and slipping them the rest of the way off with a cheeky smile before he tosses them to the side and spreads his legs nicely for the farther camera to capture, absently tracing the tip of the carrot over the plane of his stomach while he converses to get his spectators riled up by the newly revealed areas and gradually building anticipation.
(They’re right, though. The vibrator is indeed nothing like the vast array of equipment they’ve seen Seonghwa use in the past. It’s tacky and almost cheap in comparison to his pretty stuff. So out of place among the monochromatic whites and greys and blues of his bedroom, highly saturated and obvious.
However, it is currently doing an immaculate job at serving its purpose as he trails it further down his abdomen with every hefty tip he receives. Dragging it over his skin in leisurely strokes, down the spaces just short of his cock and up again until he finally grants himself and his viewers mercy and treckles the touch feather-light along the length of it, sending a visible shiver throughout his limbs at the barely there friction.)
He’s a beautiful, sensual vision of silk and lace, now fully hard and leaking against the material hiding his navel. His hair haloed around his ears, the ball of his throat bobbing with every swallow. His thick lashes fluttering with each promise of contact, his plush lips parted around wispy gasps of air, wet from gloss and the dart of his tongue over them. His profile is stunning, sublime and almost stone-carved, sharp yet rounded in all the proper places, and the chat tells him exactly that, showering him in praise that dusts his cheeks in a flustered glow and splits his mouth into a bashful smile.
“You guys are so sweet,” he says, his next sound saccharine and directed at the camera, his thighs flexing when the following pass of the toy causes his cock to jump, a tiny dot of slick beading at the blushing head. “I’d expect nothing less from my good boys, hm?”
His laugh at the responses he gains is an amused thing as his gaze flicks up to stare into the lens instead of the slightly delayed view of himself on the monitor below it, his fingers blindly setting the vibrator aside before they reach down to creep between his legs.
“And we all know that good boys get rewards.”
The press of them pushing the plug as far as it can go pulls an honest moan from his chest, one that has his eyes sliding shut as his other hand folds into one of the pillows beneath him. The glass catches the light of the cool ambience of the room when he carefully guides it out, the sight of him stretching around the girth of it almost scandalous, only for it to be shoved back in just for the sake of it, jabbing forth another thin noise that has his audience reeling for more.
(Seonghwa isn’t particularly loud, per se, and it’s a fact that can be seen during his other more casual streams where he plays games or goes through his makeup routine or even cooks for them at times, barefaced and dressed in cutely printed pajamas while he snorts with natural laughter at their jokes.
On patron nights, however, he tends to butter it on thick, accentuating his performance with calculated moves and pornographic sounds to assure that his supporters are getting their money’s worth for the service he’s being paid to do. And tonight is no different, all of them egging him on with sleazy approval as he arches his back and curls his toes and bites his lip while he feels himself up, smoothing his palm over his body and grazing his fingertips over the pebbles of his nipples that are peeking through the suit as he bucks down into the motions of the plug with his cock excluded from any friction, the crown of it wet with arousal.)
He doesn’t stop teasing himself until he gets what he wants, which comes in the form of numerous tips overlaying one another on the screen battling for his attention, prompting a pleased grin and flirty ‘thank you’s their way before he finally tugs the glass free and sets it aside, patting around for the lube to slick himself up anew.
He raises the vibrator to his mouth to plant a couple of kisses against the end of it just to incite them even more before he leads it to replace the space left behind, his lips falling open around a gasp at the pressure as he eases it inside.
“Oh,” he breathes, his face growing slack with pleasure, his voice pitching up towards the end as silicone slowly refills him with twice the size. “Feels good . . .”
He pauses halfway to turn it on with a simple press of a button, and the reaction is immediate, his thighs squeezing together as another shudder racks through his figure and a shaky whimper bounces off of the walls of his room while he takes the other half until it’s fitted all the way to the dumb little leaves sprouting from the top.
His limbs tense for a brief moment before he melts into the comfort of his duvet, his hips rutting into the air and his head tilting back as he shifts and cants down onto the toy with a lewd noise, knocking the bunny ears a bit askew.
The vibrations are paced in pulsing, periodical waves that render him desperate in no time, loud enough to be heard over his bliss. He fucks himself graciously in gentle, precise thrusts that moderately build in both speed and severity to draw it out as much as possible, the glide of it sleek and slippery and making for an engrossing scene that pairs with his face on the upper display of the stream window.
His other hand slithers down from where it rests atop the his stomach to grasp his neglected cock, and the guttural cry the hold punches out from the depths of his chest is sinful, trailing off into overwhelmed little gasps when he begins stroking himself in that specific, fondle-esque way he typically does. His silver-jewellery-clad fingers almost more of a sturdy, elegant caress as he fists along the flushed skin and clasps over the transparent ring at the base of it, halting to weakly squirt a dollop of lube to enhance the touch before he starts back up again.
He squirms and whines and quivers as he takes himself apart with uncoordinated hands, and the viewers devour it like they’re starving, praising him with dirty words and escalating amounts of money in a raging flurry of unseen messages.
Because this is the section of the live that they’ve been anticipating.
This is the part when he stops mewling up at his canopy in vain and starts directing those pretty noises towards them instead. Batting the wet span of his lashes their way and angling every buck of his hips so that they can see, moaning loudly when he’s told to without a care in the world and pleading oh so gorgeously over the obscene sounds of him playing with himself as he gives up on maintaining his appearance and allows his composure to thaw for thousands to see.
(Because that’s yet another perk to being patron of the night. They get to choose when Seonghwa comes, or if he even comes at all.)
“Please,” he eventually begs when it’s clear that he can’t take anymore, his voice no more than a whine.
He’s a mess, his lip stain and the colour around his eyes smudged, wayward strands of his hair hooked over his lashes and his nose and the ruddiness of his cheekbones. His features are pinched like he’s about to cry and his hazy gaze is lined with tears as they scour the rush of nonstop donations for the one who’s staving him from that last step over the edge, who’s probably waiting for the exact moment where they can grant him mercy so that they can finish together with the mildly nefarious barrier of a screen separating them.
“Please, Min, please—”
8:44 p.m. [₩352.6k] 🜲 minxsin99: Fucking hell
8:44 p.m. [₩423.2k] 🜲 minxsin99: You can come pretty boy
Normally, he’s capable of prolonging his stamina due to the runtime of his streams. He has to if he decides he wants to steer clear of his supporters’ cruel thing for overstimulation every other day, and is usually way more graceful in his ways than he’s currently striking out to be.
But today of all days he seems specifically wound up and easy to ruin, and he instantly breaks at the mere sound and sight of the alert like it’s nothing, his hands faltering in their pace as he burrows his face into his pillow and crumbles with a sob, simultaneously fucking into his palm with fervor and shoving the vibrator deep within him as he comes all over his knuckles and the bodypiece and the rumpled towel below him in runny spurts.
It takes him a while to float back down. To even his breathing and ride out the aftershocks and stop idly rocking into the loose grip of his fist.
The carrot’s still going, starting to drive him into the dawn of too much, and he slowly slips it out with a muffled groan, fumbling with it and tossing it to the side when the buzzing stops. He gives a gusty huff and sluggishly pushes himself up, wiping his hand on the towel with a crinkle of his nose and reaching to pull the headband off before he finally lifts his chin and leans over to observe the damage in the second monitor, scoffing a laugh when he sees the state of his disarray.
“Thank you, baby,” he chuckles as he cards his fingers through his hair and swipes one along the smear of his lips, his voice still endeared despite the raspiness now underlying it. “That was fun. I take it everyone’s feeling good?”
He switches back over to the main camera as he smiles at all of the confirmations his rhetorical question summons. He’s in front of his laptop perched on the overbed table in all of his disheveled glory when the last transition parts, and it’s like this that he starts properly thanking all of the donators and chit-chatting with the viewers while he tidies up like he wasn’t just writhing and begging for their permission mere seconds ago, playfully scolding them when they start complaining about his offhand comment of wrapping it up for the night.
“No, don’t go getting all sad now, boys, we talked about this. I have to fill in for someone at work tomorrow, I can’t stay up too late.”
A beat passes where he takes in all of their pouting before something he reads prompts a genuine giggle. “Yes, Woo, even if you steal me away and spoil me rotten so that I never have to work ever again—which sounds pretty nice, honestly, but a boy’s gotta live.”
He does, inevitably, still end the stream no matter how much they protest for him to stay a little longer, waving and indulging a reply to every bid goodnight and well-meaning wish with a grin pulling at his cheeks at all of the flattering nicknames stuck onto the ends of them.
“I love you all, too,” he promises like he always does. “Dream of me tonight, okay? And I’ll listen to you tell me all about it later.”
He watches the chat steam by for a few lingering seconds more with a tender expression on his face before he blows a kiss and the connection is cut off with a few clicks of the mouse plugged into his laptop. The website lags again before the live program closes, leaving behind the front page of his profile to occupy the screen as he heaves a deep sigh once he’s done giving everything a guaranteed once over and lets himself fall back against his mattress with a huff, shutting his eyes as he relishes in the moment, seemingly willing the energy required to clean up his mess into existence.
The current broadcast he’s still being observed on isn’t stemming from a still-running stream, of course, but from the many well hidden cameras scattered around his room, nestled into possibly every other unassuming blind spot there is.
They’re linked to a separate monitor than the one his live was just being displayed on, multiple angles lined side by side of him laying there with even more perspectives of the rest of his dainty apartment hanging above it on different displays. But the main feed is coming from a camera at the high corner to his right, positioned in a spot where the drapes of his canopy can’t obscure it, providing a wide exhibit of the parts of his room the public hasn’t seen besides his desk and the familiarity of his bed.
His onlooker only has eyes for him, though, as they regard him through a lidded gaze and fogged up glasses, their blood still warm from orgasm. Their cock’s growing soft in their grasp, their knuckles tacky with their release, the rise and fall of their chest slowing to match his as their nerves fizzle with dispersing heat.
But their moment of peace is cut short by them jolting into action with a hissed curse when their eyes trail away from the screen.
Because, fuck, there’s come all over Yunho’s desk, the extent of it far enough across the neoprene of the mat placed atop it that it’s somehow managed to land just short of the illuminated space bar of the keyboard in front of him.
He digs around in the drawer beside him for some wet wipes while the content hum Seonghwa makes echoes within his headset, trying his best not to get distracted as he hurriedly scrubs his stuff clean before it gets the chance to dry. The former stretches with a purring rumble in the background, extending his arms above his head and bowing his spine in a curve with a sultry moan falling from his lips when his limbs quiver from the action like he’s still performing for an audience, his muscles going visibly taunt before they fall lax into a soft, fluffy duvet again.
(Yunho’s speaking from experience. All of Seonghwa’s beddings are quaint, coquettish things that he has buried his face in and rutted against on many occasions until he spilt within the confines of his jeans with the drugging scents of argan oil shampoo and vanilla body scrub and Downy fabric softener filling his senses in cloying waves before he thumbed the wet patches left behind afterward in the hopes that Seonghwa wouldn't have noticed the lingering hints of his presence.
Except he always does, and the sheets are always coincidentally fresh every time Yunho sneaks in again for him to soil anew.)
Seonghwa lazes around for a few minutes, rolling this way and that as he preens like a cat in the nonexistent sun. Yunho takes the time to stuff himself back into his flannel pants and neaten his desk, but stops when he glances up and sees that Seonghwa’s now holding his forgotten panties before him, extended towards the ceiling as he examines them with pursed lips like he’s deep in thought.
Yunho’s brows furrow a bit at the action, intrigued, as he moves his slightly sticky hand to his mouse to zoom in, before he freezes dead in his tracks with a pang of arousal reverbing through his already spent dick.
Because instead of placing them onto the towel where all of his other used appliances lay, Seonghwa brings the lace down and wipes the cooling come splattered across his suit with the fabric, arching into the drag of it down his stomach with a long, erotic moan. It gets worse when he reaches his shiny, still-ring-cinched cock, the sounds wanton and shameless and pitching in volume like Yunho’s watching fucking porn.
Yunho, who has to hastily remind himself that he’s wearing headphones where no one but him can hear the godlike noises rattling around in his skull as he snaps his ajar jaw shut so hard it clicks to avoid drooling all over himself like a dog.
Seonghwa jumps up after he’s cleaned himself—not really clean at all seeing as he’s just made himself even dirtier—with an virtuous hum like nothing’s happened, swinging his sock-covered feet over the edge of the mattress and onto the fuzzy mat below it. He gathers the towel with all of his toys into his arms and stands to make his way to the bathroom, only to stop in the doorway a bit menacingly as he wavers there, unmoving.
Yunho squints at his mole-scattered, ribbon-laced back, his cursor already moving to follow him into the corridor. But he can’t help but feel this eerie sense of dread starting to creep into his bones.
Because when Seonghwa spins back around, it’s deliberate. His eyes scanning the threshold of his room and just barely missing a few of the cameras staring back at him as he pauses at an angle, his focus on a nonspecific spot on the wall—
Before that knowing gaze flickers up and meets the lens surveying him head on, those dark pools of brown seemingly boring straight past the glass into the wide ones gawking at him behind a monitor miles away.
A heavy, tense moment of silence occurs where Yunho can taste the beat of his fucking heart in his throat. His blood runs cold like he’s just been dunked in a deadly, pulse-stopping drum of ice.
But Seonghwa just smiles, innocent and sweet and scarily genuine, and says as he raises the soiled panties hooked on his index finger into view, “I’m gonna leave these in the hamper for you, okay?”
Yunho blinks, completely and utterly lost. He blinks, then blinks again, and then again as he finally turns his head to watch Seonghwa saunter to the bathroom with a taunting sway to his bare hips, disappearing behind the door with crooning fingers peeking around the frame like he’s beckoning Yunho inside.
Because, oh.
Oh. Oh, no.
Oh, Yunho is so unbelievably fucked.