Crackling quiet on the line for a second. "Are you serious?" Jake asks at last. "You've programmed that machine of yours to...?" He trails off but the question mark is audible.

Sidney groans, because this is ridiculous. “I think I’m having an allergic reaction,” he says.

AKA the one with the phone sex. In which Kaner finds out Jonny wants to fuck him and is pretty okay with that turn of events. Phone sex, picnic baskets, crazy eyes, hockey and insanity ensue.

Ringing the changes on phone sex.

Stiles and Derek have phone-sex while Stiles is away at college.

Stiles has a preference for written porn. He also has a thing for Derek's voice. So when Derek finds his erotica collection, this is clearly either the best or the worst thing that's ever happened to him.

Stiles makes a cyber sex buddy who supposedly looks like a dark-haired version of his favorite character on his favorite show. Which, coincidentally enough, is also what Derek looks a hell of a lot like.

Derek goes away to deal with a hostile rival pack, and Stiles calls him up to settle his nerves. “Ah, you feeling a bit stressed out big guy?” “Yes,” he says, voice raspy. “It’s okay. I’m going to take care of you right now."

"Hey, Birdboy, what're you wearing?"

Derek works at a porn store. One day, Stiles comes in asking all sorts of TMI questions about different toys. That's where it all starts.

Bitty uses emojis like a second language, one that Jack's slowly starting to become fluent in.

And with his fingers pressing inside of him and his cock brushing against the sheets and his face in the leather that smelled like Derek, he felt pathetic and desperate all at once. He knew that if he ever got the chance (the opportunity) to be with Derek that he’d ask him to fuck him within half a second. He wanted the older man inside of him and around him and all over him until his senses were so consumed that he was completely senseless. or The five times Stiles fingered himself and the one time Derek did it for him.

He feels helpless, and not in the good way. Not in the way he needs to feel, the way that means freedom. Being the Alpha means not getting to feel that anymore.

He feels helpless, and not in the good way. Not in the way he needs to feel, the way that means freedom. Being the Alpha means not getting to feel that anymore.

Felix asks Wolfgang about "the Rajan-thing". What Rajan-thing? Rajan x Kala x Wolfgang story.

The second Jongin realizes what he has done, he panics. Nothing about this is redeemable. He’s not even—he doesn’t think about men like that, and definitely not enough to have accidentally sent a picture of his ass to his straight sunbae. / Jongin is repressed, but his libido isn't.

"You're sure this is okay?" Yibo mumbles now, curling his knees beneath his chin on the toilet seat. "You don't have to check in with me every time," Xiao Zhan says, sounding warm over the fuzzy connection. His face is clear and his eyes are bright. Yibo feels himself relaxing. "Just tell me all about it later, yeah?"

“It’s like my ad says,” Tang Fan says. “We can talk. Or you can talk, and I can listen, or I can talk to you. About anything. Or … I could talk dirty to you?” Tang Fan does have regulars who want sex stuff, but really, what he does only qualifies as phone sex maybe one call in twenty. Mostly, it’s just Tang Fan chatting with lonely people. But he can handle the sexy stuff, obviously, and if the Man with the Sexy Voice wants sexy, Tang Fan is very willing to — actually, he decides, a little unnerved by his own enthusiasm, better not to finish that thought. This is a business transaction, after all. This is the gig economy. “Not this time,” the Man with the Sexy Voice says, almost apologetic, like he’s forgotten that he’s paying Tang Fan for this. “Just — maybe if you could talk to me about something you find interesting?” In which Tang Fan develops some rather inconvenient feelings for a late-night caller to his phone sex line.

“It’s Friday night,” Yanli says, a warm teasing note in her voice. “Shouldn’t you be doing something more fun than studying chemistry?” “What are you doing?” Wen Qing asks, stung. “You’re just hanging out in your dorm, right?” “Mm,” Yanli says, the warmth still in her voice. Wen Qing can almost imagine her stretching like a cat as she says it, one of those long dancer’s legs lifting high. It’s a hot night; maybe she’s wearing those tiny grey stretch shorts she wears when she comes right from dance class to the dining hall, barely peeking out under a long t-shirt. Wen Qing has thought about those shorts a lot.

The single faceless, anonymous photograph on the profile that catches his eye is shot in elegant black-and-white, and there’s something about the crispness of the focus and the markedly off-center composition that says art, for once, rather than mugshot. The caption below is equally sparse: “5’6. Demanding.” (Or: Meng Yao gets wrecked by that Good Lan Dick. Lan Xichen gets wrecked by Meng Yao's Whole Deal.)

"Really, Xie Lian, you don't even jerk it??" Shi Qingxuan insists. "I mean it's none of my business and you can tell me to fuck off, but holy shit, lady." Xie Lian laughs, feeling her cheeks color, and shrugs again. "I don't know, something about the mechanics of it just never made sense to me," she admits. "And anyway that's time I should be spending studying." -- It comes out that Xie Lian's never had an orgasm. She goes to Hua Cheng for help. • theyre lesbians

The Republic hasn't had a standing army in over two thousand years. Even before the Reformation, there was no war on a grand enough scale to justify the expense. It feels like a bad joke, when the Chancellor decrees it, when the Senate allows it. The Jedi aren't a military. The Jedi have never been a military. They give Obi-Wan a battalion. They give him a battlecruiser, a Marshall Commander, they knight his Padawan. He looks over all the clerical minutiae a military runs on and wishes they'd given him a secretary. cody, obi-wan, and ghost company at the beginning of the war, learning to work together, trust each other, maybe even like each other

He doesn’t look up when Baiyi passes. Probably doesn’t even remember him. So what. You don't need a rosebush to remember you, you just enjoy catching sight of it here and there.

“Sid, need you to pay attention to me,” Alex says firmly. “You have bond crisis. You sick, Sid. Very sick. Need somebody to touch you to stop you being sick.” “I didn’t know you could get sick from being lonely,” Crosby mumbles. Zhenya makes a noise that sounds like he’s been punched. “I guess it makes sense, though.”

Connor McDavid is not the next, next one. He's the only one. For Dylan and his super chaffed dick. (A story about awkward relationship conversation, feelings and the sheer amount of blackmail material Alex DeBrincat has on McJesus and Baby Stromer.)

"The last snap is Dylan’s dimly lit bed, one long skinny leg stretched toward the end of the bed and one bent at the knee. Call me when you’re home. Connor doesn’t drop everything, but he also doesn’t put his dishes in the dishwasher." In which Connor and Dylan talk on the phone.

John cracks an eye open, and Thatcher is shucking off his jeans, kicking them underneath the desk. He’s wearing – well, John catches a glimpse of lace as Thatcher pulls his sweatpants back on. Tight, navy lace stretched out over his ass.

“You kissed me the night before we got drafted,” Connor says, unbuckling Jack’s belt and making light work of yanking Jack’s jeans down to his knees. With Jack’s thighs and his penchant for tight fitting pants, it’s an impressive move. “Blew me in the men’s restroom right after dinner.” “Fuck you I did not,” Jack grunts as he lifts up his hips to help Connor strip off his boxers.

nice hatty, the text says. No capitalization, no emojis, nothing. Jack doesn’t even have the number saved in his phone. Originally that was out of pettiness, but what it actually means is Jack has Connor McDavid’s number memorized without even having tried. Apparently that’s what happens after a year and change of seeing it pop up on his lockscreen. It’s not even like McDavid texts him that often. Once they’d gone three months without speaking. Which is fine. They’re not really friends, exactly. They are sort of coworkers, and they have eaten each other’s cum, but they’re not, like, friends.

ohnny sort of wants to ask, like — hey, Monny, are you hooking up? just to hear the answer. Just to be entirely certain that he's not making it up, or drawing the wrong conclusions. Sean's never told him what he gets up to in Toronto.

Patrick's text says: sometimes all I can think about is rubbing my dick all over your tits. It's not meant for Jonny, but maybe he wishes it were.

Aizawa didn't expect to enjoy HeroCon this year. Especially not being on a panel with All Might -- whose bright idea was that? Meeting Yagi Toshinori changes everything. He's funny. (Oh no.) He's unapologetic. (Oh no.) He's interesting. (Oh shit.)

Andrew and Neil switching phones by accident brings them closer together than either of them anticipated.

“I don’t have a small dick, idiot,” Alex openly laughed, a stark contrast to Henry’s quiet, reserved chuckle, “I have no dick.” Henry stared at him for a moment and Alex just looked back at him, taking a sip of his drink. “Funny,” he said with a flat voice, indicating that he did not, in any way, find it funny. “Well,” Alex moved to clarify, tilting his head to the side for just a moment, “I supposed I do. But it’s currently tucked away in my hotel room. And I’m not sure if you count t-dicks in what you’re referring to.” “I… don’t know what that means.” Alex laughed again, shaking his head this time, “Of course you don’t.” “Shall I google it?” And Alex couldn’t help but egg him on. “Oh, definitely. When this event is over, you should open up your laptop, pull up that special website you go to for your alone time and type ‘T-Dicks’ into the search bar. I promise it won’t disappoint.” OR Henry does as Alex suggests... and Alex is obsessed with how Henry looks when he falls apart. Lots of sex ensues.

“So--what’ya say? Make a deal with me?” “Only fools deal with dragons lightly.” “Guess I’m a fool.”

“Can’t believe a pretty thing like you has to come begging to the Red Hood,” he says against Tim’s neck. “Thought they’d be lining up down the block for you. Thought Daddy would need to get the shotgun.” “You’re the one with the shotgun,” Tim points out. ++ Tim’s benched with a broken arm and starts playing Jason’s personal Oracle. Things escalate.