apart of @steponupbabe’s positions series
choi seunghyun x fem! reader
summary: your favorite subscriber knows exactly how to make your insecurities shut up.
warnings: 18+ content ahead including mutual masturbation, phone sex, dirty talk, praise, guiding/mentoring dynamic, pet names. cam girl! reader, implied age gap, online relationship
a/n: so sorry i’m late!! moving has been hectic :,) i hope this is okay
You weren’t even supposed to notice him.
Just another username in a sea of regulars—no demands, no dirty comments, no pressure. He tipped big without asking anything in return. Stayed for the full stream, but never flooded the chat. Just watched. Maybe sent the occasional heart emoji after the show was already over.
It felt…different. Respectful. As much as it could feel, for a cam girl.
When he finally messaged you—really messaged—you were half-asleep, still in your makeup, still buzzing from the high of a good night. You almost didn’t respond. But something about the way he wrote made you pause.
You looked gorgeous tonight
You sent back a quick, thank you <3
But he kept showing up. Every stream. A bigger tip here, a compliment there. Never pushy. Just warm. Curious. A little older, judging from the way he typed—slower, more intentional. And when he sent a voice note for the first time?
You listened to it three times before answering.
His voice was deep. Smooth. The kind that wrapped around you—low, a little raspy, like the tail-end of a cigarette and something sweeter underneath.
“You don’t have to reply. I just…wanted to hear you laugh in today’s stream. Is everything okay? I’m here.”
At first, you told yourself it was part of the job. Playing favorites. Building connections. But it started bleeding into your real life. You looked forward to his messages. You started wearing the things he liked. You noticed the difference when he was there—and the hollow ache in your chest when he wasn’t.
You found out his name was Seunghyun. Much older. Not in a way that made you cringe—in a way that made you feel taken care of. He didn’t try to win you over. He didn’t have to. He had that kind of presence—rich in a worn-in, lived-in way. Not flashy, not loud. Just expensive wine, silk button-downs open at the throat, perfect teeth behind a slow smile.
You teased him for being too “old” sometimes. Like when he sent blurry selfies from his apartment balcony or at an art gallery—half his face in shadow, a glimpse of collarbone and a chain. Always with some silly caption.
You’d roll your eyes, but your stomach would flip.
He was sexy. You couldn’t deny it.
Not in the obvious way. Not like the guys who begged for customs or flooded your DMs with half-assed compliments. No, it was something else. It was in the way he showed he cared—not just about your body. In the way his voice dragged just slightly when he spoke, like he wasn’t in any rush for your attention.
What he didn’t know was that he already had it.
And then there were the gifts.
You used to get excited when someone tipped a hundred, but with Seunghyun, it was different. More generous. More frequent. More...thoughtful. Not just a number on your screen, but something that lingered. The kind of support that made it feel like he was looking after you even from far away.
Sometimes he sent things to your P.O. box. A silk robe in your favorite color. A book of poetry with a note scrawled inside: this reminded me of you. Or even a designer bag, just because.
And then, one night, buried in a longer voice note, he said it—
Soft. Low. Possessive in a way that didn’t ask permission.
Played it in your headphones when you couldn't sleep. When your room felt too lonely. When you needed to feel wanted.
You’re not supposed to care. He’s just a subscriber. One of many. A username who tips big, sends kind messages, calls you pretty. You’ve dealt with worse. You’ve dealt with better. He’s not yours.
But Seunghyun—he’s different. And now that he’s quiet, it’s eating you alive.
The silence has never lasted this long. Not since he found your stream a few months ago and started tipping just to hear you say his name sweetly, just to see you smile in a color he liked, just to watch you come undone.
He watched every show. He sent compliments that didn't feel fake. Even voice notes in that deep, slow voice that made your stomach flutter.
And suddenly? Nothing. Not a single message or voice note or call. Not even a view on your livestream from earlier this evening.
You’ve checked. You keep checking. You tell yourself it’s pathetic.
Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he forgot. Maybe he ended up watching someone else tonight—someone younger, someone prettier, someone less needy.
Your phone buzzes. Your heart leaps—only to find its spam. The bitterness is sharp. You throw the phone onto the bed and whisper to the empty room, He’s just a subscriber.
But your brain won’t shut up and the truth is, you miss him. You miss the way he talks to you—the way he'd send a picture of the wine he was drinking and say he wished you were there to share it with him. You miss the little voice notes where he sounds low, saying
"You were so beautiful tonight baby, you make me crazy."
It's embarrassing. But it's real. At least to you.
Finally, with a trembling breath and more pride than you want to admit slipping away, you pick up your phone and send him a text.
you didn't join my stream today :(
The three dots appear right away.
I’m sorry. long day at work
couldn’t stop thinking about you though.
You don’t reply, but more messages appear.
I’m really sorry princess
Your chest tightens. You hesitate for one breathless second, then accept.
The phone vibrates. You answer.
His voice slides into your ear like warm honey. You almost cry.
“Missed you,” he says, and you hear the faint crackle of his vape before a slow exhale. “Didn’t mean to worry you, sweetheart. Had a busy day.”
A pause. “You sound upset.”
You don’t mean to, but it slips out. “Thought maybe you’d found someone else.”
The silence is heavy, then—he groans softly, almost pained. “No. Don’t ever think that. You’re my special girl.”
Your throat is tight. “I don’t know…sometimes it feels like I’m just one screen out of hundreds.”
“You’re the only one,” he says, firmer now. “The only woman I think about when I close my eyes.”
Your brain wants to argue, wants to pick apart every word—but his tone leaves no cracks to slip through. You tell yourself to shut up. Just shut up and believe him.
For a moment, there’s only his breathing in your ear. Then, lighter, “You’re pouting, aren’t you?”
You let out a small, involuntary laugh. “Maybe.”
“There it is,” he says, warmth flooding his voice. “Goddamn, you know how much I love that sound?”
You roll your eyes even though he can’t see you. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Probably,” he admits, “but I’m not kidding. That laugh could fix my whole day. You should give me more of it.”
You bite your lip, suddenly warmer all over. “And how exactly am I supposed to do that?”
“I can think of a few ways…” His tone shifts—still teasing, but lower now, silkier. “But you’d have to tell me you missed me first.”
“Mm?” His voice drops, warm and heavy in your ear.
You swallow, heat creeping into your cheeks. “…I missed you.”
A low hum of approval, almost smug. “Yeah?”
He lets the silence stretch, just enough to make your pulse spike. “Say it again.”
“I’m not pushing,” he says, voice velvety, coaxing. “I just like hearing it. Makes me wonder how much you mean it.”
Your stomach twists. “More than I should.”
That earns you a quiet groan, the kind that makes your thighs press together. “You have no idea what that does to me.”
You try to deflect with a teasing edge. “Oh, I think I do.”
“Do you now?” His tone sharpens just slightly—less playful, more dangerous. “Then tell me…what were you thinking about when you missed me?”
You hesitate. He hears it. “Go on.”
“Your hands,” you say quietly. Quickly.
There’s a pause, his breathing slower now. “…What about them?”
You bite your lip. “I want them on me.”
He exhales slowly, as if you’ve just knocked the wind out of him. “Where?”
Your breath catches. “You really want me to say it?”
There’s a low, quiet laugh in your ear, rich and dark. “Princess…” His voice drags over the word like silk. “Tell me.”
You shiver, clutching the phone tighter. “I—”
“Don’t think,” he cuts in gently, he already knows where your nerves are headed. He was somehow always one step ahead of you. “Just tell me exactly what you were picturing. Where you wanted me.”
His breathing is heavier now, slower. You can hear the faint rustle of fabric, maybe the shift of his hand dragging over his thigh. It’s intimate, feels like he’s leaning right up against your ear, letting you feel every word.
You close your eyes. “…Everywhere.”
“Mmm.” That sound—deep, disapproving, almost a groan. “That’s not good enough. Start at the top. I wanna picture it too.”
Your cheeks are hot, your pulse hammering. “Your hands in my hair.”
“Mm, yeah,” he murmurs, and you hear a faint exhale, he’s seeing it now too. “Fisting in it. Holding you still for me. What else?”
You bite your lip. “On my waist…dragging me into you.”
The air in your room feels warmer, your skin prickling. You swallow hard. “…On my throat.”
He makes a sound that’s almost a growl. “God, baby…yeah. My fingers curled around your neck. Just enough to feel your pulse.”
You’re squirming now, pressing your thighs together, but he doesn’t let up.
Your breath shakes. “On my hips.”
“To hold you still,” he says immediately. “Keep you right where I want you. Let you feel how bad I want you.”
You can hear the faint drag of his breathing now, uneven, matching yours.
“And then?” His voice is almost a whisper.
“…Between my legs,” you admit, so soft you barely hear yourself.
There’s a beat of silence before he groans low in his chest, the sound curling straight down your spine. “Fuck, princess. You trying to kill me?”
You laugh—short, nervous—but it dies quickly when you hear the way he inhales, steadying himself.
“I can see it,” he says after a moment, his tone nearly reverent now. “You spread out for me, all soft and needy. My hands everywhere you just said. And you—looking at me not knowing what to do with yourself.”
You can’t breathe. “I’d know.”
“Hm,” he says, skeptical, his deep voice wrapping around you. “You’d try. But I’d take my time. Make sure you feel every fucking second of it.”
Your heart is pounding, your body thrumming with want. “You’re mean.”
“No,” he says softly, “I’m patient.”
There’s something in the way he says it—measured, deliberate—that makes your chest ache and your stomach flip all at once.
“I wish I had you right now baby, I’d make you say all of that again while my hands were actually on you.”
You let out a soft sound, part whimper, part gasp, and he exhales sharply.
“That’s it,” he says, voice low and rough now. “Give me more of that.”
You swallow hard, your pulse hammering. “More what?”
“That needy little sound you just made,” he murmurs, savoring it. “The one you try to hide in your streams… but I always catch it. The second your legs start to tremble.”
Your cheeks burn. “I wasn’t—”
“Princess.” Just his pet name for you, slow and dangerous, the way he says it when you’ve got no chance of getting away with anything. “Don’t lie to me. You’re already wet for me, aren’t you?”
Your breath catches, and he hears it.
“Thought so.” His tone is almost lazy now, you can hear him leaning back in his chair, comfortable—knowing you’re exactly where he wants you. “If I was there, I’d make you prove it. Let me slip my hand between those soft thighs and get a taste of your sweet pussy.”
Your fingers curl in the sheets. “You’re not here.”
“Then you’ll have to do it for me,” he says simply. “Touch yourself, princess.”
Your breath stutters. “Seunghyun—”
“That wasn’t a no,” he cuts in, smoother now. “Do it. Put your hand where you want mine to be. Go slow.”
You hesitate, but your hand is already sliding down, the thin cotton of your panties warm under your palm.
“Tell me,” he says, voice a shade rougher. “What do you feel?”
He groans low, the sound rolling through you. “Bet you are. Bet I could feel it before I even touched your skin. Now—push them aside. Let yourself breathe for me.”
Your breath comes faster as you hook your thumb under the waistband of your underwear, the cool air a shock against heat.
“That’s my girl,” he says, almost tender. “Now, just rest your fingers there. Don’t move yet. I want you aching for it.”
You whimper softly, and he exhales sharply. “Fuck, baby…You sound perfect.”
“Please,” you beg before you can stop yourself.
He smiles into the phone—you can hear it. “Please what?”
“Cmonn I wanna hear it,” he says, tone darkening. “Use your words...”
Your breath catches. You bite your lip hard enough to sting, heart pounding in your throat.
The groan that follows is low and unsteady, vibrating through the speaker, needier than before.
“If I could, sweetheart,” he rasps, “I’d have you on my dick by now.”
You hear the faintest rustle on his end—a shift of fabric, the creak of leather, followed by a slow inhale.
Your hips twitch, your fingers brushing against your slick folds without meaning to.
he hums, catching the faint hitch in your breath. “Couldn’t even wait, could you?”
There’s a quiet sound in the background—a faint, rhythmic drag—that you recognize instantly. “Shh, Don’t answer,” he says, slower now, blowing smoke. his mind half on you and half on the way his own hand is working over his cock. “Just let me listen to you.”
The line goes quiet except for your breathing—faster now, uneven—and the muted, wet slide of his strokes between each of his words.
“Circle your clit now,” he instructs, his voice thick with restraint. “Barely there…tease yourself.”
You obey, your breath trembling as your fingers start their lazy motion.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, and you can hear the faintest hitch in his breathing now. “Keep on dragging over that spot. Drives me fucking insane hearing you whine.”
Your lashes flutter shut with a whimper, his words sinking in. “Feels so good…”
“Im sure…” he says, breathier now, the sound of his fist moving faster underlining every word. “Press harder. Just a little. Lemme hear what it does to you.”
You do, and a broken moan slips out before you can bite it back.
“Oh, fuck,” he groans, rough and low, and you know he’s imagining your fingers exactly where his should be. “…I’d keep my hand there, hold you open with my thumb, and just—” he breaks off with a hiss, “—watch you fall apart for me.”
Your hips roll involuntarily, chasing the pressure, your breath coming faster.
“Don’t rush it,” he warns, the rhythm of his strokes slowing like he’s matching your pace. “I want you to draw it out. Make you come so slow it’s almost torture. You’d hate me for it, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” you gasp, “and—I’d still want it.”
His laugh is low, broken around another quiet groan. “I know you would.”
You can hear the wet, steady sound of his strokes now, just under his breathing. He’s not trying to hide it anymore.
“Mmh, you’re making me work for it tonight,” he murmurs, voice low and rough around the edges. “Precious thing like you…shouldn’t even know how to get to me like this.”
Your breath hitches, “Y-You like it.”
“‘Like it’?” he echoes, almost scoffing. “Princess, I’m twice your age and I’m sitting here with my fist wrapped around my cock because you can’t stop making those sweet little sounds for me.” His tone sharpens—dangerously smooth. “Tell me that’s not exactly where you want me.”
You moan softly, the truth spilling out before you can catch it. “It is.”
“Yeah,” he drawls, smug curling at the edges—but it frays into a deep, ragged sound that vibrates right down your spine. “You fucking love this.”
You can’t deny it. “You make me feel…” The words falter on your tongue.
“Tell me,” he urges, voice dipping lower, coaxing.
“…Like I can’t think straight,” you breathe. “Like you’ve already figured out what I need before I even know it.”
There’s a pause—long enough for your pulse to thump in your ears—before he speaks again, darker now. “Good. You don’t have to think. Let me do it for you.”
The warmth in his voice slips under your skin, right to your core.
“Ease a finger inside…feel how ready you are for me.”
You push in, the stretch immediate, slick heat pulling at you. Your palm presses against your clit in the same motion, a double pulse of sensation that makes your moan loudly.
“Holy shit,” He groans, the wet drag of his fist on his cock filters through the phone—You picture his grip working from base to tip, twisting slightly, the slide sticky and obscene.
“Curl your finger,” he says, quieter now. “Find that spot that makes your legs twitch.”
You do, hips rocking into your own hand, the grind of your palm sharpening the pressure on your clit until your thighs tremble.
“Good girl,” he breathes. “If I was there, I’d press down on it while I fucked into you—make you squeeze me so tight I’d have to fight to stay in.”
Your mouth falls open at the thought. “Oh fuck Seunghyun…”
“Keep saying my name like that,” he grunts, the sound of his stroking growing wetter, sharper. “Lets cum together—”
You shift, sliding in a second finger, your body clenching around them. The pressure is perfect, your palm still catching your clit with each movement.
“Match me…slow down and then snap your hips forward. Feel your fingers all the way through you…imagine it’s me inside you.”
You follow his lead, timing each thrust with the slick slap of his strokes, your pleasure climbing with every pass of your fingers. “Im close…”
His breathing quickens, voice raw. “Ah—fuck me too—I’m gripping myself so hard for you right now…my hand’s a fucking mess. I want you to feel that in your cunt, baby. Can you feel it?”
The image hits hard—you can almost feel the weight of him sinking deep, the stretch and sweet burn of it, the slick heat of your wetness mixing with his. Your rhythm stutters into something desperate, chasing every last bit of it.
“Y-yeah…fuck—I can feel it—”
The sound between you turns filthy—wet, rhythmic, the air thick with both of your breathing. Your thighs shake, your fingers curling harder into that spot, palm grinding with sharp, steady pressure. The heat in your belly is white-hot now, unstoppable.
“Right there,” he gasps, voice rough and urgent. “Stay with me princess—ah, fuck!”
It hits all at once—your body bows, your walls clamping around your fingers as the orgasm tears through you. A cry rips from your throat just as his groan cuts in, low and raw, the wet slap of his last stroke ending in a deep, shuddering spill.
The line goes quiet except for your shared panting, the sound as intimate as any touch.
“You still with me?” he murmurs after a moment, voice rough but warm.
A satisfied hum. “Sound wrecked, baby.”
You smile faintly, still catching your breath. “You did that.”
He chuckles. “Yeah…and you were so damn good for me. Never felt anything like that.”
Silence stretches—comfortable now, threaded with the faint sound of him breathing.
Then, softer, “Don’t go quiet on me now.”
“I’m not…” you lie, even as that old squeeze tightens in your chest, that creeping voice telling you you’ve said too much, taken too much.
He hears it—of course he does. His tone shifts, low and deliberate. “Hey. Whatever’s in your head right now…shut it up.”
The words land heavy—not sharp, but firm enough to pull you back. It’s not a command to your body this time; it’s for your mind, the part of you that doubts.
“Good.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Because there’s nothing you could say right now that’d make me want you less. Not a fucking thing.”
You close your eyes, letting the words sink deep, wrapping around the quiet insecurities that still twitch in the back of your mind. He doesn’t rush you. Just breathes with you, patient, like always.
“I mean it,” he says, certain. “You’re my girl.”
The words quiet everything else—the doubts, the noise, the part of you that still thinks you’re just someone on a screen to him. It’s all gone, replaced by the calm hum of knowing he sees you. likes you. You breathe it in like a song you don’t want to end, letting his voice drown out every lie you’ve told yourself.
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