#phone sex smut

[luvnami]

"wakatoshi!"

your whimper of his first name against his ear nearly has ushijima swearing. you cling to him, both hands scrabbling for any kind of purchase on his broad back.

"please, ah! not there!"

his tip kisses your favourite spot and the world spins. his hips slam into yours as he fucks into you hard and fast. your body presses itself flush against his own, sweaty skin sticking together.

"s-sorry. you feel-," ushijima bites on his lower lip, barely cutting off a strained groan. "so good. so, so good."

each thrust into your welcoming pussy doesn't grow sloppier, even though it sounds that way, especially when you're a dripping mess and ushijima's balls are heavy and full. lewd squelches echo alongside the slap of skin on skin.

he has one hand cradling the back of your head. it allows him to hold you close to him, face nosing the exposed column of your throat.

"sorry. sorry, sorry, sorry," ushijima babbles. "i- i can't stop, just wanna cum in you, please?"

you don't know if the noise you make is intelligible or not. it doesn't matter, because ushijima cums so hard that his senses tune everything out but the release of his seed into your womb.

[dollyhao]

sending nudes to a high ellie

cw: phone sex, high ellie, mutual masturbation, dirty talk

“baby…” ellie says through the phone sounding desperate as ever. she missed her girl friend so bad. she went on a friends trip with jesse and dina. you couldn’t come because you had to work still.

but two days in, you were completely regretting not calling off and going with her, especially since your super horny right now and it wasn’t fair that you were the only one.

“yea els?” you say feigning innocent. you sent ellie a video of you riding the purple dildo she loves using on you.

in the video your whimpering and moaning out ellie’s name begging her to come home to take care of you. ellie was around her friends smoking and laughing when the message came in. she immediately jumped up excusing herself seeing the content of the video.

after ellie watched the video she immediately called you, super horny. “oh baby i wish i was there to take care of you,” you hear her heavy breathing over the phone. “tell me what you want me to do when i get home.”

“i want you to kiss me while you fuck me with your fingers. i can’t reach the way you can.” ellie moans out on the other side of the phone. you assume that she must be playing with herself. ellie’s palm of her hand bumps her clit, throwing her head back. “oh— fuck, what else.”

you rub your legs together trying to ease the ache. you whimper, “i want you to fuck me so hard you get me pregnant.”

you and ellie both know that she can’t get you pregnant. but her head is foggy from smoking and pure lust, so the thought of breeding you and getting you pregnant pushes her over edge. ellie cums on her fingers, moaning out your name.

“imma be home in one more day baby, wait for me” and says with a raspy voice panting, “i promise i’ll fuck you so hard, i’ll pump you full of my kids.”

[unsurprisinglyren]

The line was quiet when Dean accepted the call; almost he thought it hadn’t connected properly. A silent stretch of nothingness and then he heard it, the very shallow breathing of his little brother; low and unsteady and fuck. He’d missed him. It was a visceral tug below his ribcage, a swift rearranging of his insides. Not entirely unpleasant, a dip and shiver and swoop within him.

“Hey.” He said because it was apparent Sam wasn’t going to be the one to initiate the conversation despite being desperate to call in the first place.

“Hey.” Soft-voiced, breathy and sweet and Dean’s chest expanded on an abrupt breath, warmth sudden in his lungs, tightening his lower belly. A flare of something more. He frowned at that.

“What’re you drinking?” He asked, sitting back in the hard-backed chair; the scattered, messy collection of case files and other documents forgotten on the dingy motel table in front of him. It could hardly be considered a dining table, it barely seated one comfortably. But it was just big enough to hold his case notes.

“Beer. I shouldn’t be, though. I have a test tomorrow. Or today.” Sam trailed off and Dean could hear the shifting of fabric. Blanket and pillow, and then Sam was sighing. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Dean. It’s doing my head in.”

“Yeah?” What else was he supposed to say? I’ve been thinking about you, too, Sammy. Ever since you left it’s not been the same. You shouldn’t have left. You shouldn’t have left me.

Sam made some pitiful little sound in the back of his throat, high-pitched and wavering and it struck Dean low. Made his breath come quicker. A strange response but when Sam spoke, he lost the ability to breathe altogether.

“I wish you were here with me now. Lying beside me. With me. You’d keep me warm, wouldn’t you, De?”

He swallowed. It stuck on the way down, noisy. He was certain Sam would have heard it. Clocked his apprehension. But Sam was too far gone, wasted on cheap beer and mumbling down the line still, heated words, not shy or filtered. And Dean felt a flicker of something through his body. Warm-edged. A little like fondness, and too much like arousal.

“If you were here I’d make sure you were looked after,” a long inhale. A shifting sound. Then Sam stifled a small noise that might’ve been a giggle. “I’d suck you off.” Bold words and an even bolder follow up. “I’d swallow, too. And let you do whatever you wanted to me after.”

Dean’s stomach tightened, a pulse of unbidden desire, hot and stifling. And suddenly the motel room was too hot. His armpits prickling with sweat. He shifted in the chair, warning with a low-pitched voice, “Sam. You’re drunk.”

But you’re not, his mind supplied. Stone-cold sober and getting hot under the collar from hearing your little brother’s naughty words.

It was more than that though. More than the breathy words. More than the implication that Sam must have thought about this type of thing sober for him to have the balls to bring it up drunk.

It was the shivery little breaths from the other end of the line that made Dean’s cock ache; hard and flushed full and he could resist no longer. He scooted his arse forward a little on the chair, his knees falling apart. Popping open the button of his jeans and dragging down the zipper with a muted hiss, he drew in a steadying breath.

The relief, when his erection was freed from the confining denim, was a rush through his lower belly. Heat and the flare and snare of sudden desire.

“De?”

“Yeah, Sammy?” Rough-edged. Like he’d swallowed a handful of jagged rocks. He swallowed, fingers loosely wrapped around the heated length of his erection. Not moving. A display of self-restraint. A hesitancy even. His eyes drifted over the contents of the table; satanic symbols and red-marked letters. The case he’d been diligently working for the past month hardly mattered right now.

“I want you inside me.”

And shit. Dean’s whole body tightened with those words, warm and slightly slurred. Poor boy was desperate and hot for his big brother, and Dean couldn’t bear the idea of shutting this down. Whatever the hell this was. Phone sex. With his brother. And fuck, but he was hard as fucking granite.

“Yeah?” It was all he could manage. A roughened word spoken just a touch too deep. Could have been taken for disgust, but Sam was too far gone and knew Dean far too well to mistake it for anything but the raw lust it was.

“Mmhm, I’m so horny for you! I want you to open me up and fuck me nice and hard.”

“Fuck, Sammy.”

“That’s the idea.”

Dean tightened his grip on himself, tugging at the tip, a twist of his hand. And yeah, fuck yeah, the idea of fingering his little brother open; of having Sammy writhing on his fingers, coming undone, coming apart in the most beautiful way imaginable because of Dean’s touch, and then being taken by him. Knees pressed to his shoulders, belly folded over, thighs trembling, held taut, the bitten red lips and swallowed gasps, and...

“Fuck. I want that.”

Nevermind the fact he’d never slept with a guy before. He wasn’t naive about how it worked. Hell, he’d watched porn before. He knew. But, shit. He’d never thought about it with Sam before.

“I’d be so good for you, De. I’d let you go as deep as you wanted and you could fill me up. I wouldn’t mind.”

Dean’s hand jerked faster, pre-come dampening the head of his shaft, moist and warm and he used his palm to smear it down the length of it. Spreading his knees wider until one of them knocked against the table leg.

Sam was breathing heavily, biting back his sounds and Dean had the belated realisation that Sam was jacking off as well. His body went hot. A searing cascade of pleasure. Of wrongness. Yet the moral debate rattling around in the back of his skull only heightened the pleasure, gave it a razor sharp edge. And Dean groaned, low in his throat, a sound he couldn’t have smothered or swallowed down even if he’d tried.

Sam responded with a noise of his own; rasping and trembly and so fucking vulnerable that Dean felt something inside of him shift. Come undone. A displacement of some inner morality. A discarding of it.

And he couldn’t quite quell his own words, roughened by desire, by the utter perverseness of what they were doing. “That’s it, sweetheart, you like the thought of me breeding your tight little arse? Making you come while I fill you all the way up?”

Sam moaned, deep and sweet and Dean could hear the click of wet skin on skin. The telltale signs that Sammy was just as far gone as Dean was. His arousal dripping at the thought of taking his big brother’s cock in his arse, being fucked hard by it.

Would he beg Dean for more? Or would it be too much for him to handle? He might cry. Dean found he rather liked that idea. A sweat-dampened, wet-lashed Sammy sniffling underneath him, his pink-tipped cock hard and flushed as Dean drove mercilessly into him.

And fuck, he was close, held on the very edge of climax, driven to the precipice just by the soft sounds down the line and his own perverted thoughts.

“I’m close, Dean,” shaky-voiced. Dean heard the shift of bed springs, the hitched breath Sam let out, and then Sam was breathing down the line, “Make me come. I wanna come for you.”

And what else was Dean supposed to do? His own arousal was kicking hard, exhausted from the tease of his too-loose fist, wet with pre-come and flushed an angry red when he glanced down at his open flies and the slick mess over his hand.

He gave into both of their needs. Recklessly barreling into unknown territory. Knowing full well there was no going back once he stepped over that particular line.

“Yeah? Want me to fuck you nice and hard? Pound your arse until you can’t hold back anymore. Until you want to scream? Wanna scream for me, Sammy?”

“Y-yeah. Wanna let you hear how good you’re making me feel.”

“You touching yourself?” He didn’t really need to ask, he could hear well enough the stifled moans, the wet slip and click of Sam jerking off to his voice and his words. But he asked it anyway, some small part of him needing the outright confirmation.

“Mmh, yeah. So close. T-tell me I’m -” Sam trailed off, voice gone shy and soft. But with a belly full of liquid courage and the building crescendo of an impending orgasm, he forged ahead before Dean could prompt him. “Tell me I’m a good boy?”

Fuck. Dean’s cock twitched, an achy throb of arousal that made his thighs quiver. He gripped the base hard to quell the sudden rise of his own orgasm. Spurred on by Sam’s breathy voice, the tentative request, the way Dean’s body had reacted with a violent rush of heat and need.

Sammy wanted to be called a good boy? Dean could definitely do that.

“You want to come, Sammy? Want to come for me and be a good boy?”

A drawn-out moan from Sam, high in his throat and broken with a deep-seated pleasure that had everything to do with the way Dean had pitched his voice low; a growl of grit and gravel. Warm and rough and just the right side of gentle that it had an immediate effect on Sam.

Dean listened, phone held so tightly to his ear that it hurt, as Sam came undone. A quivering thing on the other end of the line, soft boy, sweet baby brother, coming in a rush at the praise and the gruff tone and Dean felt an implicit sense of power. A control he never knew existed; raw and compelling and powerfully addictive.

He came with a grunt, taken by surprise by the vehemency of his climax. A roaring rush in his ears, drowning out Sam’s panting breaths, lifting his head dizzily, a gossamer kind of lift and swoop and drop. He was left breathless, hand still wrapped around his softening shaft, phone still clamped against the shell of his ear, chest still twined up with the heady sense of power.

Silence, save for their mutual breathing, ragged at first, then softer.

“You okay?” Dean ventured into speech first, almost afraid of Sam’s response.

But it came on a huffed breath, a laugh, the breath of one anyway. “Yeah. I think I might actually be able to sleep now.”

“Good.” And it was good. Dean sat up straighter in his chair, shaking off the cooling slick of come from his hand, frowning at the mess he’d made in his jeans. Now that the sweep of pleasure had passed his head was returning to stark reality.

He swallowed hard, glancing over his research, the white-washed walls, the humming orange overhead light, the latched motel door. He was miles away from Stanford. Miles away from Sam, who was sleepy and contented after coming, mumbling something about his test that Dean didn’t quite catch.

And it wasn’t a sense of regret that fell upon him once Sam had hung up, the line static and barren, it wasn’t guilt or disgust that made him shove all the research into his duffel bag, that made him swipe up the keys to the impala and head for the door. For Stanford.

For Sammy.

It was a devouring, unremitting, implacable need. Bone-deep. Embedded into the very marrow of his bones.

He started the engine with a twist of the key in the ignition, a roar and rumble underneath him. And he was pulling out of the parking lot with a rev.

He never should have let Sam leave for Stanford. He was determined to make things right. Even if that meant stealing Sam away. Locking him up. Keeping him all to himself.

[whirlybirbs]

I beg beg beg beg beg BEG you for something with Hawks, I know that man would whimper so pretty 😈❤️

You're writing is absolutely fucking incredible and has single handedly sucked me down the rabbit hole of mha again

KEIGO TAKAMI swallows roughly.

He's voice shakes.

"Come on, chickadee, please," he whimpers, his lips parted as his bare chest rises and falls quickly, "This isn't f-fair, I need to touch myself—"

His wings twitch.

It's getting harder to deny the begging — but, he's been good. The video call is verging on an hour now. An hour of smitten, filthy dirty talk punctuated by your own shameless orgasms. Each time, you make sure to whine and whimper his name; your arousal is shaped entirely by his reaction. It's all about the flutter of frustrated wings, the tensing of his jaw, the way he stares at his phone's screen like a man dying of thirst.

So, you relent.

"You're such a sweet birdy, Keigo," you coo, your own mused appearance blinking back at you in the top corner of the screen, "Show me how you touch yourself."

You relent only because he asked so nicely.

Only because he's so pretty, his legs spread wide and his cock slick with pre-cum. Keigo's black and gold thermal tech is rolled up past his chiseled abdomen, hiked over the swell of his pecs. His flight suit's pants are tugging low on his thighs — not entirely off, but low enough that you can see the chord of muscle tense there when he whimpers your name.

Then, you can see his eyes roll back behind his tinted yellow visor.

"F-Fuuuuuck," he reverberates lowly; you can see his wings beginning to twitch, a tell-tale giveaway that he's close. His head drops back, his throat bobbing, before his breathes become a little bit more erratic and his pace a bit sloppier.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, I love you — I miss you so fucking much, chickadee, I miss you, please, oh — shit, I'm gonna—"

It's cute the way he whines your name when he cums. It's cute the way his wings ruffle and shake as his orgasm knocks his breath away, and how a beat or two after he sags with relief.

There's a mess painted across his abs and his cheeks are pint.

You couldn't be happier. Keigo sits up slowly, his heart still hammering and breath still stolen.

"God, I fucking love you."

— [ send an ask: birbs' smut blurbs ; minors dni ]

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Mischievous Curiosities

(Part 1)(Part 3)(Part 4)

—

Time written- 11:52 a.m.

Titans! Jason Todd/fem!reader fluff/smut

(Tags: 🔞📲 Phone sex, use of toys.)

—

The same day after convincing him to step off the ledge, you recall taking a seat beside him at the vacant table to listen to what Dick had to say.

From the faintest glance over your own shoulder, you saw many eyes on you. You didn’t care, Jason had never done anything wrong to you. He hadn’t done anything wrong to them, you never understood their abrupt change in behavior.

You only hoped your presence provided him some sort of comfort. You didn’t know them, but even with his hidden, somber expression by his propped up arm, he truly appreciated it.

That very next night, your abandoned phone on your bed rings from an unknown number.

A hopeful bloom of warmth rose in your chest from your immediate suspicion of who it was. You remember slipping him your phone number if he ever needed someone to talk to.

Answering the call, you never smiled so big upon hearing his voice. “Hello?”

“Hey,” he says, a faint sniffle coming from him. “Do you.. do you got a minute?”

“Of course,” your smile waned a little when you detected his wavering emotional state. “You okay?” You question, immediately concerned for where he was now, if he needed some help. “Do you wanna meet up—?”

“No, no,” he’s quick to respond, followed by another sniffle. “No, I.. I just wanna talk. You free?”

“Yeah,” you sit on your bed, crossing your legs as you got comfortable. “I’m here.”

That very phone call had mostly consisted of him thanking you, to your absolute surprise.

Full bodied words of thanks, spoken amidst breath halting sniffles and stutters in between words. Your heart ached as you patiently listened, your own tears invading your screen the closer you clutched your phone to your ear.

Jason was grateful, grateful that the person who he assumed hated him was the only one who believed him in the end. In a sense, you didn’t need his thanks, you were just doing the right thing.

You did what your heart told you to do, listening to him pour out his troubled mind over the phone as the hour grew late. Until his mind was eased enough to let him sleep.

A mere two days passed before he sends you a text while you were occupied with apartment searching on an early morning.

Hey. Wanna meet up for breakfast?

It made you smile, along with a little flutter in your chest as you liked his text before asking for a specific time.

Jason surprised you with flowers at the small cafe, a simple bouquet of roses framed with baby’s breath. He shrugged when you kept asking him the reason for them, a smile nearly permanent on his face at your reaction.

You rarely got flowers. You didn’t care much for them before, but for him to surprise you with them was a heartwarming sentiment. Another way of saying thank you for being there for him when no one else was.

The two of you spent your breakfast learning about each other, leaving the establishment knowing a whole lot more in about two hours than the months you worked as colleagues at the Tower.

The unofficially stated, preferred method of communication became long phone calls when neither of you were available. That, or random texts throughout the day when either of you needed the company and entertainment.

Jason’s texts were never dry, always interested in anything you had to say. You loved that about your quickly blooming friendship, it was never boring, never running out of room to speak of anything and everything on your minds.

As it turned out, your sense of humor was eerily similar towards his. Especially in the friendly insulting department.

One day, he called you up after Dick had finished helping you into your new apartment, your phone ringing merely minutes after the man left your front door. Talk about timing.

His laughter invaded your apartment kitchen after you struggled with how to use your new toaster oven, one of Barbara’s house warming gifts.

“It is even plugged in??”

“It is!” You yell at your phone, your hands occupied with finding a nonexistent on and off switch on the appliance.

“Try turning it on, maybe??”

“You get your ass over here and try it—!” You cut off when it occurred to you that he meant using the knobs. The bright red button blinking to life as the coils inside glow a hot orange.

“Did it work?” He speaks up shortly after your silence.

“Yeah.” You mumble, your defeated tone making him laugh.

“You’re a bit of an airhead, babe.”

Babe? Why’d he call you that?

“Fuck you, Todd.” You spit back at your screen, your cheeks dappled with color.

He would call during when you worked, sitting on the carpeted floor of your apartment. Days like these, he’d share more and more of his interests, pieces of his past, and funny memories of what few friends he has. And had.

You questioned him about this after laughing about the story of Gar hitting him on the head with a staff during a sparring session. You weren’t there to see it and only heard Gar’s version of it. Hearing Jason’s side was just as funny.

“Gar and I… we don’t talk much these days. Especially after everything.”

“You should,” you say, hoping you could get them to reconnect. “I mean, you should reach back out to him. He’s got a big heart, I’m sure he’s wondering if you’re okay.”

You knew they were friends, both boys laughing and talking nonsense behind your shoulders as you worked on the Batcomputer. Back then, the additional noise annoyed you, but thinking of it now, you preferred that then silence after everything that’s happened.

“You want me to send him a text for you?” You offer after a short silence, fingers now mindlessly fidgeting with your laptop keyboard.

“Yeah,” he replies. “That sounds nice. Thanks.”

He started with the minor pet names a little more often, to your surprise.

After waking up one morning in your bed, you were surprised at the nine hour phone call from your overheated phone, clinging to life on a measly three percent battery.

“Jay?” Your tired voice calls for him as you rub your eyes, stretching your arm out over your head. “You up?”

“Yeah,” his exhausted voice responded after a few seconds, his voice riddled with lack of sleep after the both of you stayed up until three a.m. “Morning, babe.”

“Huh?” You ask, a tickle of a smile forming on your lips.

“I said morning,” Jason repeats, as if he’d never said it at all. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

It seemed like Jason’s response to you letting those little pet names slide was to continue, which he did. After a few more easy to miss little names here and there, he grew more bold, his ego stroked every time he heard your minor stutter over your phone call.

Boundaries were slowly crossed, from playful insults, to minor flirts on his end that left you speechless, not having that quick, witty dexterity Jason was blessed with.

Speaking of boundaries, Jason had a knack for calling you late at night, when you were supposed to be asleep.

Your phone cuts off your music, the ever so familiar Caller ID popping up on your screen before vibrating.

“What, Jason?” You purposely begin with feigned irritancy, your attention focused on your laptop, in the midst of some midnight online shopping.

“Jesus,” his amused chuckle floods your room once you put him on speaker. “Did I interrupt your private time?”

“Private time?” You muse, eyebrows quirking in amusement. “What do you mean?”

“Y’know, late night activities. The usual… y’know.”

“Ohhh,” you vocally express your understanding, shaking your head as if he could see you. “Nope. Not my style.”

“You don’t use those?”

“Use what?”

“A toy, babe.”

It took a few seconds for you to reply with no, your upper body fully flushed with arousal as your fingers halt on your keyboard.

“Why’re you asking?” You question after some hesitation, a strange little hum pooling at the bottom of your tummy, but you ignore it for now.

“Just curious,” he brushes off his out of pocket commentary. “What’re you up to then, mama?”

“Just doing some shopping,” you reply, quickly submerging yourself into conversation with the man. While you had been occupied online, Jason had been lounging in his own room, struggling to sleep.

His habit of calling you up nearly every night since the very first time had never broke, not unless something important had to make either of you reschedule.

“Do you really not have a toy?” His curiosity over the supposedly past subject made you pause, having you wondering why he was so interested on it.

“I do,” you weakly admit, believing it was bad to lie to a close friend like this.

“Aww, why’d you lie to me?”

“Cause it’s embarrassing.” You mutter, slowly forgetting about your pending shopping cart full of clothes you’ve debated on getting this entire day.

“I don’t think it is.” Jason smirks on his end. “What, Is it pink?”

“No,” you bite your bottom lip for a second, closing your eyes in a sort of shame. “It’s red.”

Jason nearly snorts over the phone, muffling out a chuckle to himself. You just know he’s gonna say something about it, you know him incredibly well by now.

“You think of me when you use it, Princess?”

“Fuck you,” you whine out, your cheeks burning as bright as overheating technology.

“Know you wanna,” he rasps. “But first, you gotta earn it. Tell me the truth.”

You grunt again in a jumble of irritation and embarrassment. Jason was your friend, your very good friend. You didn’t have a right to think thoughts of him like that, regardless of how attractive he is.

The man was still fresh out of a relationship, poured his heart and soul out to you, relied on you for structural stability, the bond he craved. In term, you were on the same boat, minus the relationship.

This was wrong, it had to be. Right?

But he knew what he was doing, of course he does. How else did you get to this point?

“I do,” you exhale in defeat, crossing the forbidden border for good.

The muscles in your hips slightly quiver with a growing, aching heat in your core. He lowly chuckles, his voice slowly dropping an octave, pure sex dripping off his tongue.

“Anyone ever done this with you?”

You shook your head at first, quickly forgetting that again, he couldn’t see you. “No.”

“Must’ve had some boring boyfriends, eh?”

“Never, actually.”

This takes Jason by surprise, causing a jumpstart in his heartbeat. “You’ve never—“

“No.” God, you were so quick to reply, making his mind run wild. This means you’ve never… you really shouldn’t have revealed this to him.

“You ever taken dick before, babe?”

“Elaborate, please.” Your nose crinkles with amusement, making him scoff.

“You ever been fucked before?” He questions again. “Ever have a guy make you come?”

“I.. no.” You admit again, your heartbeat running wild in your ears.

“That’s okay,” Jason soothes, a big smile plastered on his face. “Just listen to everything I say, an’ I’ll get you there. Alright?”

You close your laptop before pushing it aside, a large air of nervousness bathing your senses. Were you really gonna do this?

“Does it feel good? Knowin’ you’re fixing to give me a private show?”

A huge part of this was exciting. Any possibility of red flags looked friendly enough to be considered green clean though. You trusted him, just as he had with you.

“Kind of.”

“S’okay to be nervous, it’s just me. Get comfortable, mama. Relax for me.”

“Okay.” You say, laying back against your bed, your hair sprawling along your pillow. It didn’t help that your nightmare was an oversized shirt and plain, cotton panties. Or maybe it did help, all for convenience.

“Touch yourself how you usually do.” Came his first request, a gentle demand that made your heart nearly jumpstart.

Your trembling hand slip under your panties, touching yourself as if for the very first time. The muddled warmth in your tummy that formed since the start of this conversation resulted in your fingers delving along your slippery wet heat, nearly making you shudder.

“You wet, baby?” He asks, hearing the faint hitch in your breath you attempted to hide.

“Mhm.” Was all you could say.

“S’okay, babe,” he exhales, the hem of his sweats pushed down under his waist, grasping the head of his cock in hand. “Let those pretty sounds out. Lemme hear you.”

Your fingers hesitantly trail over your swollen clit, your breath hitching again from newfound sensitivity. Two fingers stroked along yourself, gently pinching your bud in between, making you hold a muffled whine.

Jason pictures the sight of you now, pussy hot and wet and aching for cock. What he’d give now to replace your fingers with his, lips plastered against your sticky clit, your hands grasping against his curls as he busies himself in between your thighs.

Imagining what his mouth must’ve felt like, those plump lips drinking up your syrupy sweetness left you nearly moaning, clasping your phone against your chest. Your pussy clenches over nothing, desiring to know what it feels like to be stretched wide and full of Jason’s cock. Rugged hands grasping the fat of your hips as leverage as he fucks you into the mattress.

“Can almost hear how wet you are, babe,” he mutters against his phone, tucked snugly against his head and shoulder as he brings his hand towards his tongue, collecting spit to smear along his cock.

“Lick your fingers, an’ play with those tits, Princess,” Jason requests, imagining your fingers slipping under your shirt, pinching your eager little nipples. He’d do the exact same, pinching them until they’re sore before repeating the action with his teeth, watching each abused breast bounce once he releases it.

Turns out, you thought the very same, hooking your shirt up just enough with your thumb to squeeze along your chest, sighing with the additional friction.

“Take out that toy you were talkin’ about. Wanna hear how it works.”

You say nothing at first, leaving him slightly concerned. That feeling quickly diminishes once he hears shuffling along your blankets, the dull glide of your drawer getting pulled open making his smirk return.

“No way is that toy gonna fuck you stupid,” he mutters instantly into the phone. “That’s gonna be my job. Y’hear me, babe?”

Those filthy words nearly set your nerves on fire, causing a trembling change in your breathing.

“Mhm.” You nervously reply again.

“Shy little baby,” Jason lightly cooes, amused by your hesitancy. “M’waiting, Princess. Play with that toy, lemme hear you.”

He waits anxiously as your nerves make your thumb tremble along the button of your red vibrator, his own hand coming to a halt as he does so.

It takes a good moment for the phone call to pick up a slow, muffled buzz, but the sudden little whimper that erupts from your lips makes it all worth it.

“Ohh my God.” Jason mutters to himself, feeling lightheaded as he feels himself throbbing in hand.

He fights back a grunt himself while fisting his cock, wanting nothing more than to be buried deep into your tight, warm cunt. Jason wondered just how many noises he could pull out of you, bullying his cock deep into your inexperienced pussy until you screamed.

He never expected this, but he’s beyond glad that he pried. The Titans’ smart brains of nearly every operation, now resorted to becoming his quivering little virgin, getting off on his voice while fucking yourself with a fake cock, imagining it to be his.

Your naturally induced whimpers confirmed that, your phone slipping out of your hand as you weakly your breast again.

You whine a bit louder, your approaching climax so close you could taste it. Having an audience to this otherwise private, sensual event had you feeling unvisually exposed, completely vulnerable to the man who started this.

“That thing have settings?” Jason voices out over speaker.

“M-mhm,” you whimper out, silently thanking him for the question. “Yeah.”

“Turn it all up baby,” he urges, his voice growing raspier with his quick, frantic breathing. “All the way high.”

Quickly doing what you were told, your thumb shifts over the settings, quickly clicking on said highest setting. Your spread thighs immediately tremble with the sudden change of pace, the loud whirr of your toy invading your bedroom, along with your sharp gasps and abrupt moans.

“Ohh, good girl,” Jason nearly groans out, the muscles along his stomach tightened with urgency. “Good fucking girl. Wanna hear you come, babe. Wanna hear you make a mess of my fat cock. That’s what you want, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whimper out while your back arched off your bed, your bucking hips begging to be held down by his strong, calloused hands. Your chest heaved, dampened nipples exposed to the heated air, begging for a touch other than your own.

Jason’s audible presence was more than enough for you now.

“You wanna cum, babe? Wan’ me to fuck that little pussy?” Jason pants out, his voice slurring with an arousing ruggedness that shot shivers down your spine.

“Gonna ruin you, Princess. Gonna break you in good— shiiit, gonna ruin you for any other guy. That what you want?”

“God, y-yes Jason!” You gasp out, your head tilting back with another vulnerable whine, your eyes sealed shut.

“Good girl. That’s my good girl— Fuuuck!” Jason grunts out, his head buried back against his pillow, adam’s apple bobbing as he pants hard, eagerly stroking his soaking wet cock faster, fully leaking with thick, stringy precum.

“I-Jaaay.” Your sweet, quivering little voice calls out to him, your trembling fingers attempting to keep a strong hold on your vibrator. “Shit. Jason, I-I’m—“

“Yeah, I know,” he pants out, keeping a tight squeeze on his phone. “Come on, babe. Come for me, come on this cock. Lemme fill up that perfect little pussy.”

A sweet, burning release nearly blinds you, muscles tightening as your cunt quivers, releasing along the toy with a series of broken, genuine cries of ecstasy.

Jason never heard such genuinely erotic sounds come from your lips, pushing him off the edge after successfully nudging you to it. Thick, hot ropes of cum bead along his abdomen, the muscles in his neck growing taunt as he vocalizes his finish through gritted teeth, gasping for breath shortly after bucking into his fist.

The nearly two hour call goes quiet, filled with nothing but two deflated, sexually satisfied people gasping for breath in their own beds.

Your cheeks remained flushed as your orgasm died down, your toy shut off seconds before you accidentally set yourself off into overstimulation. Your mind, after regaining some logical sense, wondered what the fuck just happened, but you weren’t ashamed.

Retreating your red toy away from your sticky cunt, your reddened cheeks heat further from the sight of strands of your arousal clinging along the device. Picture worthy evidence of what your close friend had done to you.

Your eyes catch a weak glimpse of a bundle of dried roses along your vanity after your trembling hand placed your toy on your nightstand. The same roses you debated on hanging on your wall for decoration, still secured together by your favorite colored bow.

Oh shit, you quickly realize. He had took you out on a date.

You may never have been friends to begin with.

“Babe?” His soft pant calls for you over the phone, snugly tucked underneath your shoulder after your vigorous activity. “You there?”

“Yeah.” You grasp hold of your phone, putting it off speaker before bringing it close to your ear. “I’m here.”

[unsurprisinglyren]

There was a stiffness to Sam’s shoulders when he pushed out the door. A hard-set to his jaw. Dean’s stomach crumpled up, not an unpleasant sensation, a heated rush of something bitter, like tannic coffee, and sweet, like liquid sugar. A strangely contrary emotion. Bittersweet.

Sam was exactly how he remembered him. His too-long hair falling into his eyes as he approached the impala sitting curb side. His hands shoved deep into his front pockets, a hunch of his shoulders as if he didn’t quite know what to expect. Maybe he didn’t. Dean would remind him. Guide him. Let him slowly come to the understanding of why exactly he was here and what he was seeking from his little brother.

A flare of need; virulent and hot down his spine. Warming his stomach, and lower. His grip tightened on the steering wheel, white-knuckled. He waited until Sam was a few steps off the impala, backlit by the yellow light from inside the dorm. Frowning. An uncertainty playing about his mouth and in the furrow of his brow. He let Sam come to him before he moved.

He pushed open the door with a hook of his fingers in the handle, a jerk and clank as it came open a bit more forcefully than he’d anticipated.

“Hey.” He said and it was reminiscent of their phone call. Again, he intrinsically knew Sam wouldn’t be the first to speak.

Sam stopped just shy of the curb. Hands still deep in his pockets, mouth pressed tight, he threw his chin in a silent question; what do you want?

But when Dean didn’t immediately answer the unspoken question, Sam caved and said; “What are you doing here?”

“Take a guess.”

A plain look was levelled his way for that. But Dean didn’t recant it. He waited, watching Sam from the driver’s seat, noting the way Sam shuffled his feet, anxious, unsure. Unsteady all of a sudden. Knocked off balance by Dean’s words and the suggestion behind them, no doubt.

Slowly, incrementally slowly, reality dawned on him; a flicker of understanding, a slight raise of his eyebrows before they knitted up and he threw his chin again, this time in some kind of disbelief, or denial.

And yeah, there it was, a jarring realisation that sat cracked and clear on Sam’s face, and he took a step back, a stumbly sort of half-retreat and said, “I was drunk.” As if that might explain it all away.

“I know.” Dean said, calm-voiced. He got out of the impala, shut the door behind him, and glanced at Sam as he locked it. “I wasn’t.”

“Dean, I –”

“Save it. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.”

“Yeah, well I’m not interested. You going to invite me in?”

“For what?” And damn, it was said so hesitantly that Dean almost felt a swell of fond pity for Sam. Pity and a slither of frustration.

“For coffee.” He said and it was dead-panned.

Sam scoffed, a dry sound. Disbelief, this time. Not quite denial – not quite denying Dean – and there was a fissure of energy between them; charged and static and thrumming with a dense undercurrent of tempt me some more and maybe I’ll bend and break for you.

Dean pressed a touch further, angling a look into Sam’s downcast eyes, lowering his voice just so. “Let me come in,” he said and it wasn’t a question. Sam knew it, too. Dean saw the way his shoulders tensed, a stiffness moving down his spine, but his gaze lifted, half-hidden by the soft fall of his hair about his cheeks, and in it was the soft, very minuscule emotion that matched Dean’s own – want. Curiosity, too. An ember of it sitting pale and cold.

Dean intended to stoke it to full heat.

“Sammy.” He said, grit and gravel and just the right side of gruff.

Sam relented. His internal struggle clearly displayed on his face; the little line between his eyebrows and the squinch of his mouth, but it gave in beautifully. “For coffee.” He said.

“Yeah. Coffee.” Dean would let him pretend that was all it was. They both knew it wasn’t. They both skirted the fetid, bloated spark of what if like it was made of poison. As if the moment they gave over to it they’d be forever impaired.

“Just coffee, Dean.”

“I know, Sammy.”

—

Sam went about the pretence of actually fixing up a cup a coffee for them both. Steaming and bitter smelling and Dean humoured him, sipping it standing up in the small kitchenette. It was spotless, the sink gleaming under the low-orange lamplight. The tea towels neatly hung.

Sam stood also, resting the small of his back against the counters edge, holding his coffee mug in front of him like it might offer him some protection from what was simmering between them. Like it might morph into the shape of a shield so he could hold Dean off.

It might’ve been the stretching shadows falling across the room from the dark window over the sink, but something was askew, Sam’s gaze was just a touch too ardent; equal parts trepidation and temptation. But there was something else behind his eyes, something not as familiar to Dean.

He watched the way Sam lifted his mug to his lips, taking a small sip. Watched the way his throat worked around the swallow. The way his gaze skittered behind Dean’s left shoulder, back to his face, away again to some point beyond his head.

And ah, that was what the slippery emotion was. Dean felt only slightly unmanned by it. Because of course it should be there, a stark thing between them, bolder than the desire or the curiosity.

He should have seen it sooner. The red-rimmed eyes, the heavy-lidded gaze – sleep deprived, bluish bruise-like smudges under Sam’s eyes – and the hesitant little nibble he gave his bottom lip, a habit from childhood. Only back then he’d take to his nails.

“Don’t do that.” Dean told him.

“Do what?” and Sam looked genuinely puzzled.

“That. The whole beating yourself up over what we did. It’s not cute and you look wrecked.”

“I –” Sam paused, swallowing thickly. Then looked away to the gleam of the stainless-steel sink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit.”

“Dean,”

But Dean was reaching behind him with a clatter of ceramic on laminate, fumbling his half-drunk coffee down onto the counter behind him and advancing quickly on Sam. Three strides and he’d crossed the small space.

“Dean, don’t.” Sam told him, chest catching around a sharp inhale. His coffee held up between them as if it would do any good to ward Dean off.

“Don’t what?” he prompted.

“This. Whatever this is.” Sam looked just a touch too desperate. Yet, for all his words he hadn’t moved to shove Dean away, and he could. He could reach out and force Dean back out of his personal space. He didn’t and it was telling.

It was all Dean needed to know.

“I’m going to, Sam. Put it down.”

“What?”

“Your coffee. Put it down.”

“Why?”

“So it doesn’t go everywhere.”

Despite the unnerved expression Sam gave him, he did as Dean bid, placing his mug down on the sink and then Dean moved.

He caught Sam by the wrist, easily enough, but Sam didn’t relent so simply and it took Dean a moment to overpower him by sheer strength, a messy tussle in the middle of the kitchenette, a grunt from Sam as Dean whirled him bodily around by a grip on his bicep and shoved him roughly up against the edge of the sink.

“You’re out of practice, Sammy,” he taunted, holding the captured arm high up between Sam’s shoulder blades.

“Get off me!” Sam gritted out, though he knew better than to struggle. It was easy to dislocate a shoulder in such a hold and Dean had utilised it for that exact reason. Sam’s free hand scrambled at the edge of the sink, nails scratching at the stainless-steel, but he held himself steady enough to avoid more strain on his shoulder.

“Give up?” Dean felt the way Sam’s muscles trembled. He was taller, but Dean had been training longer and hunting longer, too. He outmatched Sam in physical strength easily enough. It was a heady realisation. He stepped the small distance closer, closing the space between them and bringing his chest up against Sam’s quivering back.

It served to make Sam cry out, a garbled sound that might’ve been a curse word. Not from surprise at the closeness, but from the strain of his shoulder, held firm and high and aching.

“Dean!”

“Say it.”

“I – uh, I give up. Let me go.”

Dean did so, but he didn’t step away. Instead, he reached out and gripped the back of Sam’s neck, hard. A tight hold. Not that Sam was trying to wriggle away, too busy rubbing his shoulder but he tensed up at the contact.

“Not like this.” He muttered, breathy. Dean brushed the pad of his thumb over the soft skin of Sam’s nape, baby-fine hairs and the slight dampness of perspiration.

“Not like what?” Dean didn’t need to ask it. He already knew.

Not like this, not rough. Not forced. Not in the middle of the kitchenette. Not rushed. Not frantic.

Dean didn’t think it was ever going to be anything but those things. It was always destined to be messy and dirty and quick between them. Spurred on by a drunk phone-call and the spark of self-loathing in his baby brother’s eyes.

It was always going to be this way.

He couldn’t explain that to Sam, couldn’t find the words to convey it. Not with the heat of Sam’s body pressed to his front. Not with the thrumming, awakening arousal stirring between his own hips. And definitely not when Sam made a pitiful little noise in the back of his throat, pleading, and yeah, nah, Dean couldn’t say it but he could show Sam exactly how it was going to be tonight.

He kicked the side of his boot against the inner part of Sam’s shoe, forcing him to widen his stance. And Sam didn’t refuse. Didn’t say a word. Only ducked his head, shoulders hunching up, gripping the edge of the sink like it was his only lifeline and waited. Allowing Dean to position him how he wanted to.

Dean was already half-hard. His chest tight from a combination of expectation and anticipation. He reached around Sam’s front, fingers skimming over the cold metal of the belt buckle, prying it open with only a slight fumble. Sam let him. He canted his hips back so Dean could open the flies of his jeans, so he could drag the denim down, the white-cotton underwear along with it.

Dean’s breath caught behind his sternum at the submission. Of course, Sam would let him do anything he wanted to him. When hadn’t he? He’d always been this way. Only now, in the dimly-lit kitchenette, with Sam half-unclothed and held carefully still, Dean realised just how much control he’d always had over his little brother. It was an intoxicating thing. Thick and swelling his cock to full attention.

Sam’s fingers bent around the lip of the sink, knuckles standing out from how firmly he gripped it, the heel of his hands slipping a little as Dean moved up roughly behind him. With his jeans puddled by his feet his ass was bared, pale and pert and fuck Dean needed to have it right now or he’d keel over and die.

“D-Dean,”

“I’ve got you.”

“Dean, wait,” unsure. His voice wavered over the words.

“Spread your legs a little more, Sammy,” cajoling, he bent forward a little to breathe it against the nape of Sam’s neck, stirring the fine little hairs there. He felt rather than saw the moment Sam shuffled his feet apart some more. “Good boy.” He wasn’t sure why he said it. Only that it came sudden and deep from his chest. Came out warm and thick and Dean didn’t want to take it back.

Sam made a soft noise in the back of his throat, not quite a moan, not quite a whimper. Dean wanted to hear more of those little sounds. To make Sam lose all sense of the rigid control he had on himself.

“Gonna take you apart, baby,” he promised, opening his mouth to graze his teeth against the side of Sam’s neck; sensitive skin and the shiver of Sam’s body against his front. “Gonna make you beg for it. Make you come so hard you can’t keep standing. You want that?”

“Dean – I, mmh-ah!” Dean cut him off with a firm bite to the fleshy little earlobe, he sucked it hard before letting it go. But it had served to quiet Sam’s protests.

“You’re hot for it, Sammy. Aren’t you?”

He didn’t need to reach around and feel for the proof of Sam’s arousal. He could smell it; musky male and the slight sourness of sweat and something deeper, something additive; a warm scent that was purely Sam.

“Dean… fuck.” And it was a relent. A release of some inner boundary. A retreat of Sam’s iron-clad self-control. Sam gasped softly, tipping his chin up, throwing his head back and Dean couldn’t help licking at the sharp jawline that was displayed for him. “Yes.”

“Yeah?” Dean wanted to know, smoothing his hands around Sam’s narrow hips, warm and firm and holding him in place.

“Yeah!” Sam gasped again, this time it was lower-pitched, needful, his body jolting underneath Dean’s hands. “I need it.” He admitted.

And yeah. Yeah, Dean knew he needed it. Craved his big brother’s touch. Wanted it despite how dirtybadwrong it was. Sam was equally as fucked-up as Dean was. Maybe more so. And Dean was adamant on taking advantage of that.

“You want me to mess you up, baby boy?”

Sam’s ass pressed back, seeking out Dean’s hips, pale and round and perfect and then he moaned for Dean, high in his throat like the prettiest whore and Dean snapped. Gave himself over to the physical ache in his loins and the searing urge to take and have and possess.

“I won’t be gentle.” He said and it was a threat as much as a promise.

Despite his guttural words, he didn’t immediately act. He flexed his fingers on Sam’s hips, feeling the way his brother shivered just a little, poised and held very still, gripping the edge of the sink, his head bowed, hair falling about his face, and Dean had the urge to spin Sam around, to see his face, his expression. But there wasn’t time for that; not with his erection aching in the confines of his jeans, pressed hard up against the unforgiving zipper.

Nah. Tonight would be just like this.

He kept a hold of Sam’s hip with one hand while he caressed his other around, over the flat stomach and lower, to the jut of Sam’s arousal; full and heated and it twitched as Dean wrapped his fingers around the length.

Sam must have bitten off his noise, because it came out barely audible. Dean gave the cock in his hand a firm stroke from base to tip. And it didn’t matter that he’d never done this with a man before – hell, he’d never even thought about doing it with a guy – because Sam gave him a wobbly small noise and canted his hips forward, seeking more friction and Dean was done for.

Abso-fucking-lutely gone.

“Fuck, Sammy, you like it huh?”

“Yeah,” softly said, almost hesitantly. And it was almost comical that Sam could hold reservations while pinned to the counter, with Dean’s hand wrapped firmly around his cock, breathless and helpless and so fucking hard he felt like granite in Dean’s fist.

“Let go.” Dean told him, it was meant to sound comforting, but it came out growled. A gruff order.

It done the trick, however. Sam grunted something – might’ve been a curse word – and pressed his arousal into Dean’s hand some more, shy thrusts of his hips that became more sporadic and quicker as Dean tightened his hold and let Sam fuck into his fist.

“That’s it, Sammy.” He breathed. His own arousal hurt. Trapped and thrumming.

He let go of Sam’s hip, but kept his hand on his cock, watching the jerky way Sam moved, the dip of his head hanging low between his arms, the shiver through his knees. And as swiftly as he could, Dean undone his jeans one-handed, ripping open the top button and finally, finally freeing his length from the denim confines of his jeans.

“Dean,” Sam swallowed hard. “I’m close.”

“I know.” He could feel the way Sam’s shaft pulsed. Warm and solid and leaking wetly at the tip. The pre-cum eased the way for Dean to go quicker still, which made Sam gasp, letting go of the sink with one hand to reach between his legs, as if to stop Dean.

“Dean!”

“C’mon, it’ll be easier if you come. You’ll be more relaxed for when I put it in.” At least that’s the way it worked with women. Most of the time. Dean had taken his fair share of virgins, getting them off first helped ease their tension and got them nice and wet. But Sammy was not a girl and he was squirming against Dean, his fingernails digging into the skin of Dean’s wrist that jacked him, but he didn’t try and pull Dean away, only held tight and let himself be brought to climax.

A quiver against Dean’s front. A cut-off noise that might’ve been beautiful had Sam not stifled it. Was still hot, muffled and trembly and fuck, Dean was on the edge with a suddenness that surprised him.

He pressed himself forward, heedless to Sam’s unsteadiness; the way he let go of Dean’s wrist to hold tight to the sink again or else his knees would give out, and Dean thrust forward – not in, because that would have been near impossible with no preparation – grinding his flushed cock between Sam’s ass cheeks, three firm thrusts; the feel of the puckered hole against the underside of his cock and the way Sam panted, coming down from his orgasm-induced high, was all it took for Dean to come.

A spurt of hot cum; it splattered over the small of Sam’s back, dripped between his ass cheeks, a slick mess that Dean watched as he rode out the last ripples of pleasure. His stomach felt tight from it, his cock twitched as he thrusts a few more times.

His head was exceptionally light. Thoughts floating somewhere high above him, skirting the ceiling a moment, before he slowly descended. And fuck, despite coming he could still feel the simmering undercurrents of arousal. The need to fuck and fuck hard.

“You good?” he said, his voice was raspy. He must have cried out when he’d come. He couldn’t recall. He let go of the soft slip of Sam’s cock, wet with ejaculate. It was cooling on Dean’s hand, too. Slick between his fingers. It didn’t disgust him, the proof of his baby brother’s lust only bolstered his own lust, a swoop inside his stomach. Pleasant and heated.

Sam’s legs were shaky, Dean watched him steady himself against the sink, straightened his arms and locking his elbows, he nodded though, still breathless. “Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.” Then, because his cock was only half-soft and his desire outweighed his lazy post-orgasm languidness, he said, “Five minutes and then we’re going again. I’m going to fuck you so hard you can’t walk for a week.”

[firesunflamed]

thinking about Frank and mirror sex with an insecure partner

(nsfw, chubby fem!reader, internalized fatphobia?, degradation kink. smut with angst and a little bit of fluff and an attempt at exorcising some personal demons)

maybe he gets the idea when he sees you looking at your naked body in the mirror one day, the way you try to suck in your stomach, smooth out the curves he loves. maybe he even asks about it, and maybe you even admit to it—knowing that you’re not ugly, but you’re not beautiful, not like him. knowing that you get looks when you go out together, and the only way you can make sense of them is that people can’t believe someone who looks like him would be dating someone that looks like you.

and he hates it, because how could you think that, think about yourself like that? they’re looking at his ugly mug, not you. and maybe you smile weakly, try to change the subject, and he lets you then, already thinking about how to fix it.

and then when you have sex later that day he asks to try something different. you end up sitting on the edge of the bed, the floor length mirror moved to reflect your body, your spread legs as he plays with your clit. his face peeks over your shoulder and you’re leaning against his chest, and he’s telling you how beautiful you look, one hand holding the curve of your lower stomach. His thumb strokes the skin there and then he’s moving up to hold your waist, hand spread wide over the folds of fat above and below it. and you know this is a kindness, know he means well, know he’s trying to make you feel better. but it feels fake, feels like a lie, like he’s saying what he’s supposed to say because it’s not true, you aren’t beautiful, you know you’re not, why is he lying to you? And if he’s lying to you about this then, logically, maybe he’s lying to you about wanting you at all. maybe he’s lying about his love. maybe he’s with you because you know who he is and he’s worried about being turned into the police and maybe—

and you’re burying your head in your hands and then it’s “c’mon sweet girl, look at yourself, c’mon— fuck you’re beautiful, look at you- fuck-” and you’re shaking your head because if you open your eyes you will see nothing but every single flaw on your body, and if this is a kindness shouldn’t it feel good? but it doesn’t it doesn’t it doesn’t, and you don’t want it, and he’s asking now, softly, as his fingers move from your clit to push inside you and find your g-spot, asking you to look at how beautiful you are taking him. and there’s pleasure there, but it seems very far away, like it’s happening to someone else because he couldn’t possibly be talking to you. and he keeps asking, keeps praising, keeps using that terrible awful attempted kindness of a lie and you can feel him hard against your back but you know neither of you are going to come like this. you call yellow. he stills, slipping his fingers out of your cunt.

“What is it, sweet girl? what do you need?”

and you keep your head buried in your hands, trying not to cry, and ask if you can do something else. “I know you’re trying to be nice, but Frank, this… this isn’t making me feel better. I don’t feel that way about myself and you just insisting I should isn’t going to make me feel that way.”

It’s a long moment of silence before he says, “I’m gonna move us so we’re facing away from the mirror, yeah?”

“Okay,” you agree.

he moves his legs so they’re no longer on either side of yours before grabbing your waist and laying you down on your sides, facing each other. Your hands fall away from your face, even though your eyes stay closed, and he kissed your forehead, once, gently. “Tell me what you’re thinking about, yeah? don’t like seeing you like this.”

you take a breath, try to put your emotions into words. “I can’t— I can’t be told that you think I’m beautiful like that. It feels like a lie.”

“S’not a lie,” he says, with barely concealed fury. “You’re so fucking gorgeous sometimes I don’t even know how I got you.”

and you shake your head because he’s just making it worse and worse. “I know you think that and it’s very nice of you-" he scoffs at that description but you keep going “but I don’t feel that way. If you’re telling me that then I need it in a…. a different way. A way that doesn’t feel like it’s for me.”

it takes him another second to say, “alright sweet girl. alright.” he presses another kiss to your forehead. “you want something else right now, or do you just want this?” and you don’t want sex anymore, haven’t really wanted it since he started with the “beautiful”s, and you hesitate, because you feel bad that your insecurities mean he’s not getting to come, but you realize that he’s only half hard now. You’ve already ruined the mood.

“Just this,” you say, and you stay like that, wrapped up in each other for a long while.

he lets it go, doesn’t bring it up again. acts like he never realized your insecurities in the first place, except for how he’ll drape an arm over the largest part of your stomach instead of your waist when you cuddle, or the way he’ll sometimes grope your flat ass like it’s big enough to bother when you kiss or fuck. And you forget about the conversation altogether.

and then it’s a couple of months later, and he’s spent the last hour making you come over and over and over until you’re overstimulated, legs shaking. thoughts are hard and words are harder and all you know is that you’re his good little slut, and you take him so well. you’re trying to beg for mercy, but you think it’s coming out more as a collection of mumbled syllables that might form “please”, if one’s being generous.

“C’mon, you got one more for me, sweet girl. one more for me.”

you whine because you can’t take it you can’t take it how can you take it when you’re already this wrecked?

“shshsh… c’mon sweet girl, c’mon.” your back is to his front, the head of his cock teasing your entrance. “open your eyes. open your eyes.” you can’t you can’t you can’t— “be a good whore, and open your eyes,” he orders lowly, and you gasp and you do, finding your reflection staring back at you. it might’ve caught you off guard but you’re already so fucked out that it only just registers.

“there she is.” He pulls your leg out to the side, the mess he’s made of your folds on display. He places a finger on top of your clit, but offers no additional pressure. “Look at you. So fucking beautiful covered in my cum.”

You whine, because the barely-there touch on your clit and the brush of his cock against your entrance are cruel cruel cruel. You try moving your hips, try to sink onto him, but his hand moves from your leg to your hip, holding you in place.

“Don’t,” he warns, and you have no choice but to obey the easy power in his voice. “Wanna look at you like this. Fuck you’re gorgeous. Think I could keep you like this all the time. You want that, huh? Want me to keep you like this, ready to be fucked like a good whore whenever I want.”

You don’t even try to answer, mesmerized by the sight of your swollen pussy painted with white, his thick cock visible below.

“You’re so beautiful. Jesus Christ, sweetheart, you’re beautiful,” he says, more softly this time, and the words start to break through your fucked-out headspace. Then he’s thrusting into you, rough and deep, and any thoughts you might’ve had are lost as he hits your g-spot with each thrust, fingers busy on your clit. Your eyes slip closed, and he orders you to open them again. “Watch as I fuck you,” he says, speeding up his pace, and you’re begging, pleading, but for what you don’t know. For more, for less? It doesn’t matter. Your entire purpose has narrowed down pleasing him. “Tell me how beautiful you are taking me.”

You know he knows you lost your words a while ago. You manage a high sound of pleasure, watching his cock split you open with each thrust. “Say it,” he orders again. “Need my girl’s pretty voice in my ear when I come inside her again. ” You’re stuttering now, mumbling, trying to form the words. “Say it.”

“ ‘M so- pretty- taking your- your cock. Frank!” You eventually manage, rolling your hips, watching him disappear inside you. The sight is so erotic, you think you could come from that alone.

“Keep goin’ sweet girl, c’mon-” and his voice is lower and lower in your ear, the way it always is when he gets close.

“ ‘M beautiful- covered- in your cum-! Please please please, Frank, please-”

“Once more for me sweetheart, need it to come, need to hear you say it-”

“ ‘M beautiful- I’m - I’m - beautiful-” and the hand on your hip moves to band around your waist as he moves faster, until you are nothing but sensation, nothing but his beautiful little slut, so good for him, so good for him. “I’m- I’m- I’m-“

Still in his thrall, you come again, writhing on his cock, watching your bodies as you do. You can see the flushed skin of your cheeks and neck and chest, see the taut muscles of his thighs and arms as he fucks you. From here, you can’t see the small flaws of your body just the shapes and the colors. Then he comes with a low noise in your ear, and you keep your eyes open, watching as his face goes loose, soothed in a way you rarely see. It’s beautiful.

He rests his head against your shoulder and you sigh happily, still not quite back to yourself. He uses his grip on you to fall backwards into the mattress, tipping onto your sides as he slips out of your cunt. You both make a small sound at the loss, but you’re not back to yourself enough to ask him to stay inside you.

You stay there for a long moment, wrapped up in each other. But eventually the adrenaline starts to fade, and you realize what that last part of the scene was. Your request, from months ago.

As if he can sense that you’ve come back to yourself, he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Too much?”

“Was that for me, or for you?” you blurt, instead of an answer. The intense pleasure you had just been made to feel seems now to have returned as grief, the warning of tears thick in your voice.

It takes him a second to respond, and then he’s shifting on the mattress. “Hey. Look at me.”

Trying to blink back the tears, you roll over to face him. He’s propped up on an elbow, looking at you with such love and care and concern in his dark eyes the tears become that much harder to stop. You press the heels of your hands into your eyes. His hands reach out to wrap around your wrists, and pull them away from your face, and you give up trying to stop them.

Frank wipes the tears from your cheeks. “Was for both of us, yeah? You’re so goddamn beautiful, and I get to see it every day but you don’t. Watching us like that, together? Never would of thought of it, but it was… fuck, yeah, it was for both of us.”

And that’s an answer you can accept, can appreciate. Maybe the only one. But the tears don’t stop, and he kisses your forehead. “How ‘bout we go shower, huh? That was… I pushed you hard. Let’s go shower.”

You nod, and he pulls you towards the en-suite, warms up the water and then helps you in, stepping in afterwards before beginning to wash your skin from the mess he'd made on you. You stand there, trying to stop yourself from crying, not entirely sure where the tears came from in the first place. But when you try to stifle your quiet noises, Frank tips your chin up, forces you to look at him.

"Don't pull that. Let it out, sweet girl. Let it out." It's the same thing you say to him when he comes home from a bad night, or when the nightmares chase him out of sleep. You let yourself sob for something you can't quite put words to. Frank holds you up through it all, massaging your scalp and washing your skin, whispering sweet words in your ear.

he gets out only when your tears have finally stopped, a few minutes before you to change the sheets, then comes back to turn off the water and bundle you in a towel. he dries you off before pulling you back to the bedroom, helping you underneath the covers and turning off the light.

You're both on your sides, facing each other in the dark. You can feel him hesitate, trying to decide if he should reach for you. You move closer, burying your face in juncture between his neck and his shoulder, breathing in his scent. His arm wraps around your back and brings you closer.

"You're not lying to me." Your words are quiet, little more than a mumble against his skin.

He doesn't have to ask about what. "Haven't lied to you since I told you my name. Won't start now."

You hum. "This won't be... enough to fix it."

"Yeah, but I'm gonna keep telling you. Gonna tell you whenever you let me. As many times as you need before you stop asking, yeah?"

You sigh happily. "Frank?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you. I really, really, love you."

He kisses the top of your head. "Love you too."

[starrystevie]

fun to kiss, more fun to miss | written by rogersharringtons on ao3

"steve?" he mutters, his voice low and gravely as he wakes up. "what the fuck, dude? i was sleeping." "i have... a very important question to ask you and you aren't allowed to not answer, got it?" he's huffing as he walks along the street, his breath making clouds in the cold night air, eyes squinting against the wind. eddie sits up in bed, attention piqued, and rubs at his eyes to get them to focus a bit more clearly. "wha- is everything okay? are you okay?" "maybe. probably. i don't-" steve huffs again and scrubs a hand over his face. he looks tired, he looks frustrated. eddie isn't sure what he could possibly be this upset over in the middle of the night but what he isn't expecting is- "is it true that you can't come with anyone other than me?"

explicit | 2.8k

tags: alternate universe - modern, camboy steve harrington & eddie munson, light dom/sub, dom steve, sub eddie, pwp, phone sex, spit kink if you squint

[take-everything-you-can]

YOUR BOY ON FILM

Thank you @xxhellfirebunnyxx for this incredible mood board ! Her and @babygorewhore have made these headers and just chefs kiss frfr !!!

Thank you always for you undying support guys always ! @monstxrteeth

Also thank you to @cafekitsune for these lovely dividers!

Eddie Munson x Fem reader

Wc: 1.4K

Tw: slight Dom Eddie , male masterbation, female masterbation, sex on film, phone sex , praise , pet names , voice kink, dirty talk ( any other ones pls let me know)

Eddie was nervous. He had the video camera he borrowed from Gareth sitting in front of him with a small red flashing light and suddenly he felt like he couldn't breathe.

He had never sat and recorded himself on film; he’d made some rushed demos but never anything visual, and this was going to be all of him, not just his voice. His nerves were more than eating away at his fantasies. In a way, he thought this would be easier and yet here he was as if he had stage fright.

He had wanted to make you a special tape one that you had asked for a few weeks before. One where you could watch him get himself off, an insight into what he did while you weren't around.

Eddie was nervous. So he did the only thing he could think of , he called you. He picked up the phone that he had bought specifically for his room so he wouldn't bother Wayne with his late night calls, and he dialed your number. One he had memorized by your first date.

“Hello?” a raspy tired sound from the opposite end of the line had rang through.

“Hey baby. Did I wake you ?” He could hear you shuffle into a sitting position as he waited for your answer.

“You did but it’s a good thing you did, definitely didn’t mean to nap that long. What’s on your mind Ed’s.” He knew the sound of your voice would calm his nerves and if he was being honest with himself he knew he had only one thing on his mind right now. He was going to make this tape and you were going to be his special guest. Why hadn't he just done this to begin with?

He shot out of bed and hit record on the camera and made sure that it was angled to where he was sitting in bed. A quick shuffle of his face in the frame where he stuck his tongue out in concentration. He settled back onto his headboard and picked the phone back up once he threw his shirt across the room.

“Eddieeee? “ He let out a small laugh at how you had kept calling him, figuring he had just let his ADHD win over his thoughts.

“I’m here , just had to get a bit more comfortable, babe.”

“Oh ? How comfortable are we talking ?” He had started to run his hand across his abdomen and across the hair that led from his navel down. You had once told him it was the perfect trail to treasure you’d ever seen.

“Just took my shirt off, keep your mind out of the gutter.” that earned a laugh from you, a sweet sound he never tired from hearing.

“Eddie, we live in the gutter. You’ve permanently moved me there.”

" I moved YOU there , you got that backwards babe. But you know I could use your help a little if you're up for it.” He had unknowingly sent a shock through your core. You had already started to glide your fingers over the lace between your legs as his voice began to deepen.

“What kind of help Eds “

“Don’t play dumb Doll , you know exactly what kind of help I'm looking for.” his tone had you humming in anticipation of what he could have running through his mind.

“Oh come on Eddie you know you like it when I tease you a little.” Almost a purr in your words, the brat in you was screaming. You knew teasing him now would only bring on a well deserved punishment the next time you saw him but when the consequences not being doled out instantly made that fire burn brightly within you. “What do you need from me baby?”

The pet name always sent a tingle down his spine. His cock has started to stiffen as your voice had goosebumps breaking out across his skin. He glides his hand over his groin and cups his length with a squeeze, groaning into the sensation.

“I'm gonna need you to talk me through this one. You think you can do that for me sweets?” You nod and Eddie knows by the sound of the receiver on the opposite line. “Words babe words. Use them.”

“Yes I can do that , I can talk you through it.”

“That's it, good girl. Alright tell me what you would want me to do to you if you were here with me right now.”

“Well see now there's is the problem Ed's there are just so many things you do that make me … feel just so fucking good.” You drop your sentence into a breathy moan as you circle your clit.

“Are you …. Are you touching yourself right now? You dirty girl. This really doing it for ya?” You giggle at his words , because yes this really is doing it for you. That overwhelming heat licked its way up your back and placed its hands at your throat as Eddie liked to. It sent shivers and shockwaves down your legs that would shake as they locked his hips in place. But his voice was the one thing that got to you more than anything, and he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“I just need you to fill me full ed's. Please?” There it is, just what he was waiting for. Wanting you to be so intoxicated on just the thought of him alone that you'd be begging for him through the phone line that crossed Hawkins airwaves.

Edie gripped his cock with a spit coated palm, edging his way from the base to his tip. Squeezing as if it was your pussy doing the work for him.

“You just want me to fuck this load straight into you yeah? Want this town to know that you're a little cum dumpster of forest hills ? Knocked up by the Satanist right ? I bet you'd just love that wouldn't you? “ His slick sounds rebounded into the receiver only to be met with the wet sounds you were making all on your own. A whine to your mewls as you thrusted two fingers in and out of your dripping cunt.

“Yeah that's right baby. Just need everyone to know your mine huh? “ You can't hold back your moans as his name starts to fall from your lips with a silent plea to let you cum. One he knows all too well as his name starts to become babble.

“Eddie, Eddie , ed's , fuuck please , please , please.”

“Fuck me. Shiiiit” his body is following his fist as his bed starts to thud gently against the wall and the springs in his bed start to squeak ever so slightly. He can't stop chasing that high and letting his chest rise and fall faster as he reaches his climax. “ Alright baby I'm gonna need you to be a good girl and cum for me. You think you can do this one last thing for me?”

When the words leave him you have already started your descent into pure ecstasy. The way your moans sound strangled tells him that you had dropped the phone in reaching for your throat to draw out that dizzy hazy feeling before coming down.

He arches his back off of his head board just in time to have his release shoot out so hard that a small bit lands in the fringe of his bangs while the rest lands against his chest and a few drops splatter against his lips. Licking his lips as he reaches for his discarded T-shirt he throws to the floor to clean his hands and chest off. He picks the phone back up only to hear you rustle against the sheets in your bed as you end a yawn.

“Sorry baby didn't mean to wear you out , although I wish it would have been in person instead of just over the phone but alas some days my powers of sexual expertise is just all too powerful.”

“Shut up munson.” a sleepy giggle leaves you as you fight your eyelids from closing.

“Get some rest babe I'll see you tomorrow yeah ?”

“Goodnight ed’s”

“Goodnight my love”

He stares at the red light on the video camera as he places the phone back into its receiver and slowly gets up to walk towards it.

“Well I hope this lives up to your expectations babe but just know as soon as you unwrap this I'm giving you your punishment for teasing like you did. Love you baby girl, Merry Christmas.” Eddie winks as he places his hand over the lens before shutting the camera off and ejecting the tape.

He writes an I love you in the blank label with the date in the corner before taking the tape and wrapping it in an old comic strip from the newspaper Wayne had sitting out and he sets the gift right under the tree. God he can't wait to watch you get all hot and bothered while watching him fuck his fist to your voice.

[satorusugurugurl]

P-Phone sex with Suguru, phone sex with JJK men, like they have a hot-line. And they can control blue tooth vibes

Feral, bark,bark ,woof

[reidgif]

.

[in-hav3n]

all I can think about is James (1996 James or current James) and phone sex. both of you just getting off to each other's voices because you haven't seen each other in so long and both of you are just so needy. OH LORDY I CANT 🤭

𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐗

WARNINGS : NSFW - sex scene - masturbation

I can already hear his voice on the line, saying the most naughtiest things to you 🤭 but they'd do it differently.

Let's start with 1996 James. If you have seen "Cunning stunts" (i recommended it to you if you don't yet) or any shows from that era, you know well then how crazy, excited and ecstatic James is at a gig. He's sometimes drunk, screaming, singing and running around all around the stage, even coming closer to the public to rock hard with them. So he'd be in the same mood when he'll have you on the phone right after, chatting for a while about the usual stuffs before going straight to what he would have loved right now if you were on tour with him.

He'd tell you first "I miss my pretty baby - I wish you were there, completely naked in my bed so I could take care of you" and you'd answer with moans, hearing his low and feverish voice before asking him to tell you how exactly he'd take care of you. And James would give you all the details about how he'd make you feel so good with his mouth, his hands, his tongue and then his cock.

And things will be even more intense as soon as he'll discover you're touching yourself on the other line. He'd ask you, or even beg you, to confess loud what you'd want him to do. "I want your cock inside me, I miss you so much James - I want to feel you - I want you to give it to me" He'd end jerking off too, as you would be both sharing about what you'd like to do on each others body until you both came hard. Moans, groans, gasps and whimpers can be heard on the line. James would be the first to come, gig's adrenaline had given him a hard boner he needed to fulfill. You'd cum after when he'll tell you that you are good girl for him...

For current James - my! Here's the hot idea I have on my mind...

James told you once how much he missed your presence and touch during tour so you decided to surprise him with some nudes first. Nothing too explicit tough. You exposed some parts of your body, his favorites of course, in casual or explicite poses and nothing else. But tonight - or this morning for him due to the jet lag - you want to try something new...

James is far from home for a month now because of "M72 tour" and you miss him a lot. You've never been separated for so long and let's be honest, you also miss his touch. You call him then on camera and you already drool when you saw him with his sleepy face, chest half covered with the covers. He is still in bed and he is absolutely adorable.

You talk for a while about tour and life at home when suddenly James would say, raising a brow, "I see you're wearing a very nice nightie. Never saw this one. Is that a new one ?".

You'd giggle, pursing your lips with an enticing attitude. "Mmh maybe". The you'd show him with the camera, moving your phone to show him what you are wearing exactly.

"Oh baby...", he lazily said, admiring you. "You just wake up the beast" he teases with a low giggle, rubbing his sleepy eyes.

"Did I?". He'd grin and move his phone as well, slowly pull off the covers, exposing his boxer and soon his semi-hard dick. "Oh James !" you'd laugh, biting your lip. This simple vision making you more horny than you already are.

"Now you'll have to help me. You're responsible for that". You notice how hard he gets, how his cock twitches and just get an idea. You change the camera to sit down on the floor, in front of your bedroom big mirror. You then open your legs to show him you're wearing absolutely nothing underneath.

"Naughty little girl... You did all that on purpose, didn't you?".

"Don't you like it ?", you'd start to tease him, slowly sliding your fingers along your pussy lips, letting out a lazily moan as your fingers slowly approach your entrance.

"God baby, that's absolutely erotic", James mutters as you notice his left arm moving lazily in a well-known movement. "Don't stop playing with yourself...do it for me".

You'd do as he asked. Your index slowly makes tight circles around your clit, with a lazy pace before teasing more your entrance by thrusting one then two fingers inside, your mouth letting out gasps of pleasure. "Are you touching yourself too ?".

"Look how hard I am just for you...", he'd move his camera again to show you his hard dick, his hand wrapping it with his thumb on his swollen red tip. You'd whimper of surprise and arousal, not even thinking this would have given him such a boner. "I wish you could put your pretty mouth on it baby..."

"Oh...", you moan, "I wish I could be next to yo on my four, sucking your perfect old dick...". You'd both moan and groan at your sentence and keep touching yourselves, watching intensively the camera. "Tell me what you'd like to do to my little pussy James".

James moves on his bed to be more comfortable and places his phone straight, near his balls, so you'll see him from the front, stroking himself in a frantic pace, big hand around his manhood. "I want to eat this pretty pussy of yours. I want to taste it cause the taste is so sweet...I bet you're completely wet now"

"Oh god...", you'd purr and whimper, fingering yourself even harder with sloppy movements, you hand hitting hard your skin as you feel good sensations running through your body. "James...".

"Yes baby girl...?", he'd hum with his low voice, stroking himself harder too cause he'd feel his orgasm coming. His voice is really hypnotic and vibrates thought your entire body.

"Oh it feel so good...I want your cock to be inside me now, pouding hard into me like this..." and you showed him with your hands how you dream of it.

"Tell me how much you want it", he groans as jerking off faster, you'd hear him pant at every movement. Your fingers move in a fervent way inside you as feel this familiar pleasure knot building inside your core, ready to explode at any moment if you focus on it. But for now, you just want to enjoy this pleasure pulling inside you.

"I want it...I need it...", you'd moan, with your eyes closed like if you were saying a prayer. James' voice were enough to guide you over your orgasm as well as his words. He knew how much you love his dirty talk...

"That's it...keep fingering you hard babygirl. Imagine this is my fat old cock filling you up, imagine how I'd pound so hard into you...on your four, this is exactly what you love right?"

"Oh my god...", you suddenly cry out of pleasure, feeling that a few more pumps would be enough to make you explode. James knows you well and understands he's doing it right. And he knows exactly what arouses you the most. Helped by his words, you mind plays a movie of your previous sex sessions and you start to see the most erotic scenes : you sucking James off, you being eating out by him or even you being rammed on your four like he told you.

"I'm thrusting so hard into your tight wet pussy...I'll cum so hard inside you...". James doesn't need to say more, you soon cum hard. You gasp loud of pleasure, a flame of desire and pleasure burning hard inside your lower belly as your fingers move faster, pouding deeper into you. Even it if lasts a few seconds, the sensation is strong and hit you hard, making your legs shake a little and your entire body shiver.

Your orgasm is enough to boost his own desire. James closed his eyes and leans comfortably against the mattress as his hand stroke his hard dick faster. He looked back at his phone again and seeing you this way pushes him deeper. He can't believe how hot you are and the images he had depicted you also play in his head like a porn movie until he finally releases his seed on his stomach, with steady strokes, groaning and letting out guttural moans for your own pleasure.

You look at him with a feverish glance, biting your lip as you were recovering from your own orgasm. God, you couldn't believe how hot he was and how you succeeded to put him in that state. Well, he succeeded too and the mess between your legs is a solid evidence of his success. James pants hard, releasing the last drop of his cum in a hoarse deep grunt as contemplating the mess on his stomach.

"Are you okay baby?", you'd ask him with a big smile on your face, still feeling high after your climax. James takes a few more seconds to catch his breath, panting hard, and finally nods at you.

"Gosh, you're gonna be the death of me", he chuckles as searching for something to clean his stomach but sadly, he can't find any. "Damn, I thought I had something on my bedside table to clean myself..."

You'd giggle as closing your sore legs, choosing the selfie mode on your phone now. "So sad I'm not there to help you..."

James looks at you with a serious gaze and you can tell by his gaze that he just got an idea. "You know what ? Take the first plane, I want you with me, tonight"

A/N : Thank you sweet anon for your ask ! Phone sex is absolutely hot idea, hope you'll like it!

[highhhfiveee]

Mike Schmidt phone sex is eating me me alive rn

okay okay okay but on a phone call or on facetime 👉🏽👈🏽

update, i made one where they're on facetime lmao link here 📱

[godsfavdarling]

taking away all your pain

list of chapters, also available on wattpad and Ao3, my masterlist previous chapter --- next chapter pairing: Spencer Reid x Elle Greenaway summary: Elle and Spencer continue their friends with benefits affair. warnings: addiction, drugs, smut, angst, phone sex, mention of injury, nightmares, ptsd, time jumps (s3/s5) words: 4k a/n: Kind of a filler chapter. I’m not gonna lie, I was struggling a bit. I know where I want to go with the story, but I’m unsure about the road there. Also, I wrote the smut while at church on a job. Do with that information what you want.

Spencer knocked on Elle's door, his heart drumming in his chest with anticipation. 

It had been a few weeks since he had seen her, and as luck would have it, the team had a case in California. He told them he’d visit his mom, since Vegas was not far away, and assured them he’d be back next week. It was the truth, but before he went to Vegas, he stopped by San Diego to see Elle.

He took a taxi to a street not quite in the center of the city but also not in the suburbs. Her location was pretty good - convenient and unassuming. She lived in a small one-floor apartment in a building complex. The walls were probably painted an off-white shade originally, but they now seemed covered in dirt and grime. He had to take an outdoor flight of stairs to reach the second floor where she lived.

When Elle opened the door, she greeted him with a warm smile and stepped aside to let him in.

“Missed you,” Spencer whispered as he stepped in, his lips brushing against her ear.

“Missed you too,” Elle replied, pulling his face down to grant him a deep kiss that silenced any further conversation.

Their time together was always like this – intense and consuming. 

They spent the nights lost in each other, bodies entwined. If they were lucky enough to spend more time together, the mornings were no different. 

Most of their time was spent in bed, sometimes on the couch or in the shower, always together, always naked. For a few precious hours, they shut out reality. 

All that was left were their moans filling the room, the mingling scent of their bodies, the warmth of their breath on each other's skin, the sweat dampening their flesh, and the rhythmic thrum of their hearts, beating just a bit faster than when they were apart.

Eventually, they drifted off to sleep, exhaustion finally overtaking them. 

But Spencer's rest was restless. 

He woke up, heart pounding, drenched in sweat from a nightmare he couldn't quite remember. Disoriented, he glanced at the clock. He had been asleep for maybe an hour.

Elle was not beside him. 

He reached out to the empty space where she should have been, the sheets cool to the touch. Concerned, he got up and moved quietly through the apartment. He found her in the living room, sitting on the couch, staring at the wall.

"Elle?" he called softly, not wanting to startle her.

She didn't turn immediately but eventually looked over her shoulder at him. Her eyes were distant, lost in some thought.

"Hey," he said gently, moving closer. "You okay?"

She studied him for a moment before responding, her gaze softening slightly. "Are you okay? You’re drenched in sweat."

"I just had a nightmare. The usual," he admitted, running a hand through his damp hair. "Can't sleep?"

Elle paused for a second, her brow furrowing slightly. "Yeah."

"Something going on?" Spencer pressed, his concern deepening as he took in her troubled expression.

"No, just can't sleep," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She glanced toward the window, where the silver glow of the full moon spilled into the room. "I think it's the moon. It's full tonight."

Spencer sat down next to her, the couch cushions shifting under his weight. "You know, there's a lot of stuff about the full moon affecting people," he began, his voice a mix of curiosity and distraction. 

"Some say it messes with our sleep cycles, makes us more restless. There are all these studies about how more accidents happen during a full moon, more hospital admissions, even more births. It's like the moon pulls at us, just like it pulls at the tides."

Elle turned to look at him, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips despite her lingering unease. "Have you ever considered you might know too much?"

"Maybe I've read too much," he chuckled softly, the sound a welcome break in the quiet room. "But it's fascinating, right? How something so far away can have such an impact on us. Maybe it’s just folklore or maybe there's some truth to it. I mean, people have believed in the moon's power for centuries. There’s something... beautiful about it."

She nodded, her eyes reflecting the moonlight as she listened. "Yeah, I guess there is."

He reached out, taking her hand in his, their fingers intertwining. "Wanna talk about it?"

Elle squeezed his hand gently, her grip warm but trembling slightly. "About what?"

Her eyes were distant, as if she were searching for words to make sense of the chaos swirling in her mind. 

The memories from her past were like dark, shadowy specters, vivid and relentless. Each time she closed her eyes, the scenes replayed with haunting clarity: the sounds, the faces, the overwhelming sense of fear. 

The nightmares weren't just dreams; they were jagged fragments of her past, cutting through her waking hours and leaving her feeling… exposed and raw.

She struggled to maintain her composure, her heart racing as she tried to push away the images that refused to fade. 

The night seemed endless, the full moon casting eerie shadows that only intensified her feelings of unease. Her trauma felt like cold fingers gripping her mind, trapping her in a cycle of anxiety she couldn’t escape.

Despite the constant state of anxiety, Elle rarely mentioned her struggles to Spencer. 

When he visited, their time together was so limited that she preferred to avoid discussing any of the painful realities of her life. 

She wanted to handle herself by herself. 

She wanted to manage her demons without burdening him. 

She wanted to keep herself together and through it on her own. 

Yet, sitting with him, in the moonlit room, struggling to keep her fear at bay, she was thankful. 

For him. 

Being here. 

“I just can’t sleep,” Elle said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. The effort to keep her tone steady was almost more than she could manage. 

“I missed you,” she added, her voice soft and filled with a genuine, aching sincerity. She looked up at him, her eyes full of longing. “Just... having you here… I’m glad you’re here.”

Spencer's gaze was gentle and understanding, but he didn’t press for more. Instead, he simply wrapped his arm around her, offering silent comfort as they sat together in the moonlit quiet. 

The room was still, save for the soft rustle of the night, and peace that helped to soothe the tumult within her.

“I missed you too,” Spencer whispered. “And I’m glad I’m here”

------------------------------------

Spencer had been wrestling with a relentless craving for Dilaudid for weeks now. 

He had been clean for a while, but the memory of a young face - pale and lifeless - haunted him, a constant reminder of his inability to save everyone. The image replayed in his mind like a cruel loop, each repetition feeding his desperation and dragging him deeper into the threat of his addiction.

The nights were a constant battleground of conflicting desires. 

He wanted to escape the guilt and frustration that gnawed at him, to numb the pain and the sense of failure that clung to him. The pull of the drug was strong, a powerful force that promised a temporary reprieve from the agony of his thoughts. 

But he knew all too well how fleeting that relief would be, how quickly it would turn into shackles around his soul.

In an effort to manage the growing urge, Spencer had started attending Beltway Clean Cops meetings. 

The idea was to surround himself with others who understood the struggles of working in law enforcement while battling addiction. He hoped this would help. That hearing their stories, sharing his own, and being with those who walked a similar path might provide some solace, or at least distract him from the cravings that plagued him.

As he stood outside the meeting room, the dim light from the corridor flickered in his tired eyes. The walls seemed to close in on him, the weight of his dilemma pressing heavily on his chest. 

He pulled out his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found Elle’s number. 

His finger hovered over the call button, hesitating. They were just friends, who had sex sometimes, but still just friends. And he wasn’t sure what calling her would achieve. 

What could she do from California to help him in this moment of crisis? 

There’s nothing she could do. 

With a frustrated sigh, he shoved the phone back into his pocket and took a deep breath. 

The meeting was about to start. He squared his shoulders and walked through the door.

As he took his seat, he tried to push away the gnawing need for relief, focusing instead on the faces around him and the hope that, perhaps, here he might find a small piece of peace.

------------------------------------

Spencer’s visits to Elle had followed a familiar rhythm for years now. Every few weeks or months, he would show up and their time together would be a whirlwind of intensity - passionate nights spent together, their bodies intertwined, and then the inevitable departure. 

No strings attached, just moments of escape and solace amidst the chaos of their lives. They kept in touch through calls and texts, but their relationship remained defined by the brief, intense nights they shared.

However, the routine was interrupted one day when Spencer was shot. The incident happened right before he was scheduled to visit Elle. 

The pain was acute, and the hospital room was a stark contrast to the comfort of Elle’s presence he had been looking forward to for weeks.

Sitting in the sterile room, he shifted uncomfortably. His leg, immobilized and propped up, ached with every shift. 

Morgan had accompanied him but had stepped away for a while to handle some personal matters on the phone. The hospital room was too quiet, filled with the distant hum of medical machinery and the occasional footstep echoing in the hallway.

Spencer took out his phone, the weight of the decision pressing heavily on him. He dialed Elle’s number, his heart pounding with a mix of pain and anxiety. 

“Hey,” Spencer said when Elle answered, his voice strained and weary. He leaned back against the hospital bed, trying to find a more comfortable position. “I... I wanted to let you know that I won’t be able to come over for a while. We have to cancel next week, and I’m not sure when I'll be able to see you.”

“What happened?” Elle’s voice was sharp with concern, the worry instantly evident.

Spencer hesitated, his hand trembling slightly as he rubbed his forehead. “Oh, nothing really.”

“Spencer…”

With a deep sigh, he finally admitted, “I got shot.”

Elle’s response was immediate, her concern palpable even through the phone. “Oh my God, Spencer! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he reassured her, though his voice betrayed his discomfort. He shifted slightly, wincing as pain shot through his leg. “It’s pretty bad, though. It’s my knee. I can’t walk right now. I’m sorry, I just wanted to let you know.”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, and Spencer could almost hear the worry in her breath. He pictured her biting her lip, a crease forming between her brows. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do? I could come and help you.”

“No,” Spencer said gently, trying to inject some firmness into his voice. “You have a new job. You should focus on that. I’ll be okay.”

He heard her sigh, the reluctance clear in her voice. “Okay. But call me if you need anything, alright?”

“Will do. Thanks, Elle.” He hung up, a heavy feeling settling in his chest.

“Everything alright?” Morgan asked, his tone casual as he suddenly appeared in the doorway. Spencer quickly put his phone away, trying to compose himself.

“Yeah,” Spencer said, forcing a smile. “Just called the facility where my mom’s staying. Had to let her know I couldn’t visit.”

Morgan’s eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and concern. “You know, you’re always visiting your mom. It’s like a regular thing with you. How often do you see her?”

Spencer chuckled softly, the sound mingling with his discomfort. He shifted again, trying to ease the pain. “More often than I’d like to admit. She’s been having a rough time, and it helps to check in.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow, sympathy evident in his gaze. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ll be able to visit soon.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Spencer said, glancing down at his injured knee, the bandages stark against his skin. He sighed, the weight of the situation pressing down on him.

When Spencer finally made it back home, the journey from the hospital to his apartment felt like a marathon despite the short distance. 

The cast on his leg was bulky and cumbersome, propped up on a stack of pillows on the couch. He sank into the cushions with a sigh, the discomfort of his injury mingling with the exhaustion of his ordeal.

As he settled in, his phone buzzed with a message. It was from Elle. 

Are you home already?

He tapped out a quick reply, his fingers clumsy and slow due to the pain. 

Yes, just got in. It’s good to be back.

Almost immediately, his phone rang. Elle’s name appeared on the screen. He answered, a mix of relief and longing filling him. 

“Hey,” Spencer said, trying to sound as casual as possible, though his voice was soft and strained.

“Hey,” Elle responded, her voice warm and soothing. “How are you feeling?”

“Better now that I’m home,” Spencer said, glancing down at his cast. “It’s frustrating, but I’m managing. I miss you.”

There was a pause on the other end, and Spencer could almost feel her presence through the silence. “I miss you too,” Elle said softly. “and since you’re stuck at home, and I’m miles away, how about we do something a little different tonight?”

“What do you mean?” Spencer asked, his curiosity piqued yet laced with confusion.

Elle’s voice dropped to a more intimate whisper, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. “I’m pretty sure you can figure it out, Doctor.”

Spencer's mind raced, trying to decipher her words and the sultry tone she used. He felt a flush rise to his cheeks, unsure how to respond. “I... I don’t know what to say to that.”

“What are you wearing?” Elle asked, her voice taking on a teasing edge.

Spencer glanced down at his clothes, feeling slightly self-conscious. “Umm... a button-up shirt and a vest. And just a pair of pants.”

“Mhm... sexy,” Elle purred.

“Thanks?” Spencer replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

“Aren't you going to ask me what I'm wearing?” Elle's voice was playful, almost daring.

“Oh, right, sorry. What are you wearing?”

“Guess!” she challenged, her voice light with mischief.

“Umm, well, you usually wear some pants, dark ones, and a shirt,” Spencer ventured, trying to picture her usual attire.

“That’s it?” she teased.

“Well, you obviously also have underwear on, and a jacket when it’s colder,” he added, feeling a bit out of his depth.

“Spencer...” Elle's voice was a blend of amusement and exasperation, a teasing lilt that sent a shiver down his spine.

“What?” Spencer's confusion was evident, his brow furrowing as he tried to grasp the situation.

“I’m trying to have phone sex with you.” Her tone was both playful and serious, the words dripping with desire.

“Oh...” Spencer's eyes widened in realization, his cheeks flushing a deep red. He felt a mix of surprise and excitement, his body responding to her suggestive words.

“If you want to, of course.”

“Yes!” he blurted out, then quickly felt a rush of embarrassment at how eager he sounded. “Umm... yes. Yes, I would like that very much. I just... umm... I've never done that before,” he added, his voice dropping to a shy whisper.

“That’s okay. Just do what I say and what feels good,” Elle reassured him, her voice soothing and seductive.

“Okay,” Spencer agreed, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Sooo... back to what I'm wearing. You’re actually extremely wrong, Doctor Reid. Must be a first for you, sorry. I’m in my bed, under the covers, with absolutely nothing on. Nude. Naked. Alone. Thinking about you. Imagining you’re here, next to me, trying to remember how you feel.”

Spencer's breath caught in his lungs. He saw her so clearly in his mind, every detail, every curve and shape. His pulse quickened, and he felt a warmth spread through him.

“If you were here, I would help you feel so much better. That leg must hurt,” Elle continued, her voice a soft caress.

“It does,” Spencer admitted, though he would never tell Elle just how much pain he was actually in. He had refused to take any narcotics to help with the pain, determined to endure it. He wanted to tell her everything, but it felt like too much, even for him.

“I think I can help with that,” Elle said softly, her voice filled with promise.

Spencer took a shaky breath, trying to calm the fluttering in his chest. “How?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Close your eyes,” Elle instructed gently. “Imagine I’m there with you, next to you. My fingers are trailing down your arm, touching you softly, making you forget all the pain.”

Spencer closed his eyes, following her words. He could almost feel her touch, light and teasing, sending shivers down his spine. “I can feel it,” he murmured.

“Good,” Elle responded, her voice a soothing balm. “Now imagine my lips, brushing against your neck, whispering how much I want you, how much I need you.”

A soft sigh escaped Spencer’s lips. He could almost hear her breath, warm and tantalizing against his skin. “Elle...” he breathed.

“Yes, Spencer?” she prompted, her voice husky and filled with longing.

“I need you,” he confessed, his voice trembling with desire.

“I’m right here,” she whispered. “Imagine my hands moving down your chest, slowly undoing each button of your shirt, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath my fingertips.”

Spencer’s hand moved unconsciously to his chest, his fingers mimicking the actions she described. He could almost feel the gentle pressure of her hands, the heat of her touch. “It feels so real,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’m glad,” Elle replied, her voice filled with affection. “Now, imagine I’m kissing you, my lips soft and eager against yours, just as always, tasting you, savoring you..”

Spencer’s lips parted slightly, a soft moan escaping as he lost himself in the fantasy. He could almost taste her, sweet and intoxicating.

“Can you feel me, Spencer?” Elle’s voice was a seductive whisper, wrapping around him like a warm blanket.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice barely audible. “I can feel you.”

“I want you to touch yourself,” she instructed softly. “Pretend it’s me, making you feel good, taking away all your pain.”

Spencer’s hand trembled as it moved down his body, his breath coming in short gasps as he put his hand under his underwear and touched his already hard cock.

He followed her words, his mind filled with images of her, her touch, her scent, her everything. “Elle,” he whispered, his voice filled with longing.

“I’m here,” she reassured him, her voice a soothing presence. “I’m always here.”

He squeezed himself more urgently, his body reacting to the vivid imagery and her soothing words. The pain in his leg seemed to fade, replaced by a growing sense of pleasure. “I need you so much,” he confessed, his voice raw with emotion.

“I know,” Elle whispered. “And I need you too. Imagine me there with you, taking care of you, making you feel better.”

Spencer’s breath hitched, his body shuddering with the intensity of his feelings. He could almost feel her presence, her warmth, her love. “Elle, I...” he started, but his voice trailed off, lost in the overwhelming sensations.

He could so clearly see her delicate, slender hand, smaller than his own, stroking him slowly, teasing his tip and smearing the precum. 

She always snuggled close, her lips trailing soft kisses along his skin. 

Her body intertwined with his, moving in perfect harmony as if she knew exactly what he needed. She knew precisely how to touch him, how to drive him to the edge of insanity while giving him everything he craved.

“Now, let go,” she whispered, her voice a soft command. “Cum for me handsome,”

Spencer’s body tensed, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. With a final, shuddering breath, he let go, his body releasing all the pent-up tension and pain. He lay back, spent and exhausted, his heart racing. He was silent for a while overwhelmed by both pleasure and the pain.

“Are you okay?” Elle asked, her voice filled with concern and love.

“Yeah,” Spencer replied, his voice weak but content. “Thank you, Elle. You are... incredible.”

“Anytime, Doctor,” she replied with a soft laugh. “Get some rest. I’ll be here when you need me.”

“Uh, Elle, wait!” Spencer's voice trembled with urgency.

“Yeah?” Elle's response was cool, almost detached, her tone a stark contrast to the warmth he once knew.

“How are you holding up?” Spencer asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

“I’m fine,” Elle replied curtly, her tone not matching her words.

“How’s work?” Spencer prodded gently, hoping to draw her out.

“I actually recently changed it. Again.” Elle admitted, her voice carrying a hint of hesitation.

“Really? Why?” Spencer knew Elle had been exploring various career paths over the past few years, from working with the government or law enforcement as a consultant to aiding victims of sex crimes. His curiosity was piqued.

“I... got fired,” Elle confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Why?” Spencer’s concern deepened. 

“I just did, Reid. It happens,” she replied, trying to brush it off nonchalantly.

“Yeah, I know, but why would they fire you? With your experience?” Spencer pressed, bewildered.

“I might have not really... been there,” Elle muttered, her voice faltering.

“What do you mean?” Spencer asked, confusion lacing his words.

“Reid... it doesn’t matter. Things like that happen, I’m fine,” Elle insisted, her tone growing defensive.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Spencer’s voice was tinged with hurt, the sting of her omission clear.

“I didn’t want to bother you, Reid. It’s none of your business,” Elle snapped back, her frustration bubbling to the surface, sharp and cutting.

“None of my business? Elle, we talk almost every day. How can you say that?” Spencer’s voice rose, incredulous and wounded.

“Because it’s true!” Elle shouted, the tension in her voice unmistakable. “We’re just friends with benefits, remember? We don’t owe each other anything.”

Spencer was left speechless, his mind reeling. He finally managed, “I just care and...”

“Well, maybe you should stop caring this much. Anyway… I have to go. Bye, Spencer.” Elle’s words were cold and final, the call ending with a click that seemed to echo in the stillness of the moment.

Spencer stared at his phone. He felt a mix of anger, confusion, and a deep sadness settle in his chest. 

His mind raced, replaying the conversation over and over, trying to understand where things had gone wrong. He just wanted to reach out, ask how she’s doing.

Elle’s words had left him paralyzed, each syllable she spoke a nail pinning him down.

His heart pounded in his chest, the ache spreading through his body like a slow poison. 

Questions swirled in his mind: What had he done to deserve such coldness? Did he say something wrong? The room around him felt darker, phone still clutched in his hand.

After that day he tried calling but Elle stopped picking up his phone calls. 

[crispycheeto364]

Ok so I read this fic a few months ago and I kind of want to read it again. I thought it was on ao3 but now I can't find any trace of it

Hopeful someone might know what I'm talking about?

It was mainly Joel and lizzie. He calls her after like a rough day while they're apart(I think he's splitting time between hermitcraft and their home world or something?) But he calls her and she helps him out cause he's wound up or something. She ends up dirty talking him about etho? It's kind of soft and sweet. I'm kind of worried I'm combining fics? Idk

[cantalouupe]

for that phone sex promt from a few days ago, hear me out-

puppy diluc getting needy and calling you to hear your voice -🌙 (im alive, but school is a special kind of hell)

This was from forever ago and I do not remember the phone sex prompt but- it has been so long since I've posted about puppy Luc. I have missed him dearly.

nsfw !!! diluc x gn!reader

phone sex??? kind of, only diluc is getting off, mentions of breeding, mentions of puppy!diluc

Phone calls from Diluc when the two of you are separated are not at all a rarity. The red-head makes a point to call daily, especially at night. Your heart clenches whenever his name flashes across your screen during the late hours; you know he grows lonely in his house—in his bed—so you make it an effort to respond, let him stay on call so he can sleep better.  

Usually, the first thing you hear through the speaker is his steady voice, asking if you’re busy, ensuring he isn’t interrupting anything important, but sometimes he is on a mission. Sometimes, when he calls, it is for your attention—your undivided attention—and he skips greetings and his normal inquiries and goes right for what he wants. 

You can’t help but be worried for him, when you pick up the phone and hear nothing from his side.  

“Diluc?” A beat passes, and you speak again. “Honey?” 

From the other side, there’s a rustle—he must have brought the phone closer to his face—and suddenly you can hear him breathing, and you understand. His breaths are quick, pant-like, and wet sounding, as if he’d been crying, or close to. 

“Sweet boy,” you murmur, and he whimpers into the phone. “Are you okay?” 

“I’ve been trying,” he starts, voice shrinking into a whine. “I need to come.” 

You hum, listening for any telltale signs of him getting off. Last time this happened, you could hear it, slick and wet while he passed his fist over his cock over and over again. He had spoken endlessly, then, rambling a mess of things he craved, things he needed to do to you. You didn’t have to speak much that time, his own voice and the knowledge that you were listening enough to bring him to his end. He had so much to say, his voice going on, shaky and whimpered, through his orgasm. 

There is no filthy squelch, so you press for an answer, asking “What are you doing?” 

“The pillow, I’m using the pillow.” He goes quiet for a moment, surely trying to piece together things to say through the fog in his brain. “Smells like you.” 

He must have woke up not long ago; only when he is still partly asleep does he go for grinding against a pillow instead of using his hand or a toy.  

Something hot sweeps low in your gut at that, and you suddenly wish you’d set up video calls instead of phone calls—you'd have him show when you get back, so you can brush your hand against his hair, play with his sensitive ears, watch his hips push forward into the plush of the pillow, whisper low praises into his ear.  

“You’ve been gone for days,” he informs you, as if you’re unaware. “I miss you.” 

“I miss you too,” you promise him, “I’ll be home in no time, and you can have me however you want.” 

He garbled out a quiet “fuck,” and you can’t help but grin.  

“Do you want to fuck me?” Your voice lowers, taking on that tone that makes his pupils expand with need. “I bet you do, don’t you? I can’t wait to have you breed me when I get back.” 

It’s insanity, the way the mere mention of breeding gets him going. You knew he was close, but his voice gets all high at your words, and you know he must be seconds away. 

“Ah- I need-” You can imagine it clear as day, the way his movements start to grow hurried, the flex of his muscles as he rubs his leaking cock against the pillow. He must be a mess, fabric beneath him growing damp with the precum that steadily forms at the tip—his face will grow hot when he realizes what he did, a pretty blush dancing across his cheeks when he sees the splatter. 

He doesn’t care, though, not now when it feels so good and his orgasm is cresting. It’s beautiful, even over the phone, with audio and the visuals in your mind. You can hear the way his breathing breaks off, catching in his throat while euphoria floods his system. His hips twitch, small movements to work himself through the feeling; you speak sweet praise through the phone while you listen for his breathing to catch up and even out.

These surprise calls make your heart grow fond, affection taking root and growing like an oak tree within your ribcage. You should expect another, relatively soon, in the middle of the night, where you both work each other to sleepy, quiet orgasms.