kiss me thru the phone — b. reynolds
this is based off of this request! Thank you so much for requesting, and thank you for your patience!! I hope you enjoy this <3 © dividers by @hounddreaming
pairing: robert "bob" reynolds x f!reader synopsis: you're used to bob being away for long stretches, but this time he's left you with a gift — and what better time to use it than when you finally get him on the phone. content: [18+ MDNI!!] phone sex baby, female masturbation, implied male masturbation, semi-public sorta kinda word count: 3.5k taglist: @fandomxo, @hallowedactias, @cillixn, @magicwithaknife, @xxsquiddkiddxx, @mornomn, @theoriginalfemmebot, @laniec03, @kitkatkaitin, @raidstarz, @hoodharlow, @someblessedmonster, @cassandakillian, @everydaydreamer, @heliosphere8, @adoringanakin, @mossmydarling, @she-sounds-hidieous, @dracuula98, @1eliana123-blog author's note: oh bobert... i love u. i missed writing bob smut we are about to get more bobbed out RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!!! also of course i used the greatest ldr theme song in tha world... this got me thru my first relationship soulja boy and sammie if u see this u really changed the game!! anyways enough rambling ... if u enjoyed this please feel free to leave a comment, reblog, or even send an ask <3 love u all!
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Of all the things that come with dating a superhero, the loneliness is the one you’re least prepared for. You knew it would come — after all, you had chosen to date the Golden Guardian of Good. He was plastered across cereal boxes everywhere, a Spirit Halloween mainstay once he’d been properly introduced to the general public, and carried the hope of many people who had questions after the Avengers had seemingly upped and left to protect and defend other corners of the galaxy, but no amount of knowledge and acceptance could make up for the fact that sometimes you just wanted to be with your boyfriend.
You wanted to settle in for a cosy date night without worrying about an alert going off. You didn’t even mind the spontaneous situations. Civilians taken hostage, or runaway bank robbers, or rogue superpowered individuals. You always knew he’d be back before the night ended in those cases — the perks of being genetically engineered to be stronger than strong.
It was the covert missions that were the problem. The days, weeks, sometimes month-and-a-bit long operations that kept him out of sight and out of your arms. Phone calls were rare, if ever and you never knew what he was doing. Sometimes he’d come back visibly rattled, gaps in his memory that took weeks to fill and the intense guilt that followed after.
You hated these, and almost yearned for the days Bob was still considered too volatile to go on them, but as his control had gotten better, he was being asked to go for more and more of these missions. The cruelest part? Unless the other side had someone with unique abilities, he was always on standby, left to wallow in a room in a safe house in case the team genuinely needed him, but expected to follow all the same rules: stay out of sight, no phones, no leaving without permission. Sometimes he was allowed to call, but it was always short and to the point — they could never risk giving away their location.
The only thing that made it marginally better was knowing he was safe. Actually safe, not safe-because-he’s-strong.
You’re on week three of what’s meant to be a six week stint, and the longing is so bad you’ve buried yourself in Bob’s sheets dressed in nothing but one of his old shirts. His scent has long faded but it feels good to be surrounded by him in some way. Something plays on the TV, an old comedy with poorly aged jokes and a laugh track to match when your phone rings, an unknown number flashing across the screen.
Relief washes through you when you hear Bob’s voice through your earbuds, confident at first then more hesitant when you don’t immediately answer. He can’t see you but you sit up straight anyways, smoothing over the bottom of his shirt while you organise your thoughts. Calls like these were always short; you didn’t have time to waste on fumbling through greetings.
“Hi, I thought I’d be waiting at least another week,” you joke.
“Snuck away. Far away.”
“And what if the team needs you? Or you’re followed?”
And what if Valentina finds out? you want to ask, because you know he doesn’t have permission.
“I miss you. Needed to hear your voice,” he mumbles.
His voice echoes slightly, and you strain, ears trying to pick up any clues as to where he might be.
“Miss you so much. This is so hard,” he complains. You can pick up the faint drumming of his fingers.
“This isn’t the first time you’ve been away for this long.”
“It’s the first time I’ve been with someone the entire time,” he whines. “I don’t have a single moment to myself unless I’m in the bathroom. I feel so … supervised.”
“Awww. It’s a bonding opportunity,” you coo, pressing yourself further into his sheets. They’re too fresh to smell like him but you take a deep breath anyways.
“It sucks. I’m sharing a room with Bucky,” he whispers. “Bucky’s the lightest sleeper alive.”
“He was in the Second World War, and you guys should be on high alert,” you laugh.
When you close your eyes you can picture his face as he sighs, brows furrowed in frustration, head tilted back. When your thoughts start wandering to the way this action exposes his neck you, you shake your head trying to bring your thoughts back to the current conversation.
“I know it’s just… I miss you and I can’t stop thinking about you but I’m never alone and I can’t work it out because every time I relax even a little I hear Bucky shifting in his bed and it kills my boner.”
You picture his pout, his pleading blue eyes. You imagine he has the phone clenched tightly in his hands.
“Oh so that’s what this is about. You’re pent up. Poor Bob can’t rub one out.”
“Easy for you to mock me when you can get off whenever you like.”
You snort then, and the line crackles as he waits for you to finish laughing.
“I’m serious. If you’re home you can just get into bed and get yourself off and hey presto you’re done.”
“It’s not that easy,” you pout, thighs pressed together.
“It seems easy enough when I do it.”
You imagine the small smile he’s trying to suppress.
“Exactly. Not the same without you. I almost miss you more when I try.”
“I think you’re just trying to make me feel better.”
“No. If I was trying to make you feel better I would’ve told you I’m lying in your bed right now because being at mine feels too lonely.”
“Don’t say that,” he rushes out. “Don’t say that please. It’s not fair.”
You hum, shifting slightly on the bed. Outside you can hear raised voices and car horns.
“Guess I probably shouldn’t tell you I’m wearing that old Buccaneers shirt you tried to hide from me, then?”
The sigh on the other end is enough to make your stomach turn slightly. You can see him now, fist clenched trying to keep his voice level when he speaks to you.
“You probably shouldn’t,” he starts, voice heavy with something you recognise as need. “Any other things you probably shouldn’t tell me?”
You hum a little, dragging out the sound as you listen to his breathing, slow and controlled on the other side.
“I’ve been using your little gift,” you whisper suddenly shy.
There’s a sharp burst of static, then a silence so long you think he’s left.
“Bob, baby, are you there?”
“Yeah, sorry. Fuck. Shouldn’t have said that. Not fair I don’t get to see you,” he whines. Can see you on your back all spread out,” he muses.
“Not just on my back. Standing in the shower, on my stomach. If I use a couple pillows and the harness I can ride it too,” you hum. “Been practising for you. Gonna be so good when you get back,” you purr.
Static crackles as he exhales.
“Have you got it with you?”
His voice is tight, stretched thin as he tries to keep up the façade. He’s doing a miserable job.
“You bring it to the Tower with you?”
You hum out a yes, listening to the soft way his breath catches. Wherever he is, you know he’s palming at himself — discreetly, hopefully — because he never quite has the control to hold back when it comes to you, especially when he hasn’t seen you in a long time.
You let your mind stray to the times he’d come after long missions. Sometimes he wouldn’t even text, just show up at your front door with windswept hair and a new mission of his own.
“You still there?” he asks.
“Yeah. D’you say something?”
“Asked you if you have time now… it’s fine if you don’t I can–”
You cut him off.
“I don’t know what time it is where you are, but I have time. So much time,” you assure him, hand already slipping under the hem of his shirt.
“Wanna hear you use it,” he says, static crackling softly when he speaks. “Wanna hear. Been thinking about it since we left,” he mumbles and you know for sure he’s got his pants pushed down to his thighs, cock in hand.
“You have?”
“‘Course I do. All I could think about when I was getting the mold ready,” he sighs. “Does it work? Does it feel like me?”
“Of course it does,” you answer. It’s scary how much like him it feels, down to the veins and the slight curve. If you pretend for long enough, play the voice notes he leaves you when you’re at work and he’s at home, you can almost pretend he’s there with you. Almost.
“Good, that’s what I wanted,” he chuckles nervously. “Hope it doesn’t work too well. Don’t wanna be obsolete,” he jokes.
“God you could never be obsolete,” you sigh, thighs pressed together as you think of all the ways he could never be replaced.
“Really?” he asks.
His voice is still measured but there’s an undercurrent of barely restrained need beneath it all so you agree. You tell him that even with the lovingly crafted custom dildo he’d left you it wasn’t the same as having him there. It didn’t feel as good when you couldn’t feel the warm hum of his skin beneath your palms while you rode him, hard and fast until you couldn’t anymore and he helped you along with his fingers pressed deep into your thighs.
“Fuck, wanna touch you so bad,” he huffs. “Touch you, taste you, all of it.”
“Yeah? That what you’ve been thinking about when you should be sleeping?”
“What else am I supposed to think about? Wish I could see you use it, bet you look so pretty,” he groans. “Wanna kiss you again. I miss kissing you,” he whispers, and you feel something in you shift as your hand rests over your boob and then squeezes. “You’re so soft,” he continues. “Always so soft for me,” he mumbles again. “Sound so cute too,” he chuckles when you sigh at his words, desire already pooling deep in your stomach.
“Wish I could feel your tits,” he complains, “put ‘em in my mouth. Just for a bit,” he adds, attempting restraint.
“Never just a bit,” you sigh as you squeeze at your boob, stomach tightening when you imagine the heat of Bob’s mouth and the scrape of his teeth against your nipple. Your other hand rests between your thighs, fingers pressing down gently as you listen to Bob’s breathing get that little bit faster.
“You touching yourself?” he asks. It’s timid, despite the fact that he started this.
“What am I supposed to do when you’re talking about how soft I am,” you whisper, laughing. “I’ve missed you so much. Feels so good to hear your voice, honey.”
He laughs, and you imagine the shy way his face lights up.
“Are you still wearing the shirt,” he asks.
“Yeah. Want me take it off?”
You stop pawing at yourself but he’s rushing out a hurried no before you can actually move.
“Keep it on. Love you in that shirt,” he explains. “Can you play with your tits for me? Make yourself feel good.”
“You can’t even see me doing it,” you snort, even as your hands move to cup both of them, pinching at your nipples as you sigh softly.
“I can imagine. You always look so good for when you do it for me.”
His voice is low, a quiet confidence simmering beneath his words. “Don’t have to stop myself anymore,” he continues. “I can think about you all soft and easy on my bed. Always so easy.”
Static crackles softly as he speaks and it’s almost like the current is running through you.
You whimper.
You imagine the glow, the quiet power as he holds himself together wherever he is. You squeeze a little harder, almost able to feel Bob on you. The sound of traffic outside softens, his voice bouncing around your head as you groan softly for him.
“Sound so sweet,” he praises. “Even when I’m not there, you sound so sweet for me.”
You let one of your hands slide back down between your thighs, a shiver running through you in expectation.
"I’m so hard, it’s not fair,” he whines. “Know you’d take such good care of me, right?”
Your jaw clenches, and the coil in the pit of your stomach tightens as you think about getting on your knees for him, his cock heavy on your tongue while you take your time.
“Awww baby, of course I would. Wouldn’t even tease, I’d let you get straight to fucking my mouth,” you sigh, fingers pressed to your clit in tight circles. “You want that honey? Wanna make me cry?”
Anything coherent he has to say is lost in a flash of static and garbled sentences and you can already see the gold flashing in his veins, moving beneath his skin in fast intermittent bursts.
“That what you see when you think of me?”
“Yeah. Lots of tears. So pretty when you’re crying… and-and eager too. Let me do what I want,” he chokes out.
The strangled pitch of his voice gives you confidence.
“Bet you’re all leaky right now, huh. All pink, and pretty and sticky for me,” you purr, eyes shut as you picture him, big hand wrapped around the base of his cock. “You taking it nice and slow? You being patient for me?”
You let your fingers drag through your slit, already slick. You know he’s not, that he’s probably squeezing frantically, hips bucking into his fist. He doesn’t answer you, just panting into the receiver.
“Bob, honey. You taking it nice and slow? You waiting for me?”
“Trying. You’re not making it easy.”
You preen, back arching off the bed slightly. The fingers on your clit speed up, slit growing slicker as you imagine him frantic and needy.
“If you can’t control yourself now how are you gonna handle it when I’m all full of you, huh? This isn’t even the main event.”
There’s another burst of static, a couple of faint clunking sounds and then a short silence.
“Bob?”
“I’m here. Lost it for a bit but I’m here, fuck.”
You tease around your entrance, prodding as he catches his breath.
“I’m so wet for you, honey I wish you were here,” you whine, sliding your fingers through your arousal.
“Yeah. Wanna taste you so badly. It’s been so long I’ve practically forgotten,” he sighs. “Wanna eat until you’re begging me to stop, nice and slow. Can you get a finger in for me?”
You don’t hesitate, sighing in relief when your finger sinks into you nice and easy.
“Not the same when it’s not you,” you pout.
“I know, baby I know. But it’s just for a bit, get you nice and open yeah?”
You pulse around your finger.
You slide another in uninstructed, impatient as you listen to Bob’s barely controlled breathing on the other side.
“Fuck, I can hear it,” he groans out. “How wet you are. Just from my voice, huh.”
His admission only makes your want grow stronger as increase the tempo, grinding up into the heel of your palm.
Your breathing grows frantic and whiney as he instructs you to press harder, stretch yourself open on your fingers for him. Your back arches off the mattress as you try your best to reach that peak. The hem of his shirt brushes against your wrist almost distractingly, but you won’t take it off knowing that that’s how he’s picturing you.
“Can you get it?” he asks.
“Hmmm?”
“The dildo. Wanna hear you fuck yourself on it for me. Bet I’ll slide right in like I always do.”
“Cocky.”
“Know you so well now. She always opens up for me doesn’t she?”
You sigh out an agreement as you scan the room for your makeshift dildo dock. It was an invention of laziness that had proved to be your best idea yet. It’s on the floor nearby, almost calling for you to pick it up.
You listen, stretching out so you can heave it into bed, your knees pressed firmly into the mattress on either side.
Despite Bob’s urging you take your time, spreading lube over it as you listen to him on the other end.
“I don’t have much more time,” he reminds you.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” you say as you finally sink down onto it.
You don’t need to say anything, because the moment he hears your breath catch he’s praising you, encouraging you so earnestly you can almost conjure up the feeling of his hands on your hips as he guides you down, down, down until all of him is snug inside you.
“So full, Bob,” you whine as you rock your hips gently, your hands pressed forward into the mattress beneath you. It takes you a while to find a rhythm that makes sense, but you’re settled in soon enough, your stomach coiling in pleasure.
You close your eyes so you can focus on Bob’s voice, on the way he says your name through gritted teeth and hissed profanities.
It’s not the same. It’s never the same, but with Bob on the phone, when you close your eyes you can almost pretend he’s right there, can almost feel the heavy, desperate press of his fingers as he squeezes your thighs in an attempt to retain control. When he whimpers on the other end, it’s like you can feel the humming beneath his skin, the warmth that pulses through him while you grind down into him.
“Let me hear you baby, please,” you plead when he whimpers too low for you to hear.
“Gotta be quiet,” he mumbles.
“Can’t get there without you. Please don’t make me beg,” you plead, rocking your hips against the pillow as the toy presses into you. Your knees press uncomfortably into the mattress, and the steady creaking of his bed beneath spurs you on and you know, deep in your gut that all you want is to hear him properly.
He complies, voice clearer over the line and you feel a flash of heat travel through you.
You can feel the sweat beginning to bead on your temple, and the small spasms in your thigh.
“Wish you were here,” you whine out as you chase your high.
“Tired?”
Your stomach tightens again at just how well he knows you, and you just hum.
“Wish you could help,” you say and you hear him gasp, the static between you growing louder when you shift your hips just right and you can’t help but let out a desperate whine.
“Me too. Wanna see your face. I miss seeing your face,” he chokes out, the static building steadily over the line.
“We’ll see each other soon. Can look at me as much as you want then,” you coo. Every press of your clit on the pillow pulls you closer to the edge and you’re trying to drag this moment out, hold on to the way the static builds as Bob whimpers pathetically.
“Bob, honey are you there? You’re breaking up,” you ask desperately, ears straining for the sound of his voice.
It’s not long before the static subsides.
“Yeah, I’m here, sorry. You close?”
“So close. Just need a little more,” you plead.
He delivers immediately, groaning his encouragement.
“Let go for me. I need to hear it,” he pleads.
You don’t deny him, twitching and fluttering as you ride through it, voice broken as you call for him.
He lets off a chorus of “I’m right here”s that are soon drowned out by the returning static.
There’s a pause, a choked ‘I love you’ that’s somehow clear as day over the harsh burst of static.
As the static subsides, all you hear is Bob’s heavy breathing and when you close your eyes again you can almost feel him sprawled out beneath you, his lips soft as he kisses the top of your head.
And then the spell is broken by an automated voice.
“To continue your call please deposit more money.”
You hear Bob swear under his breath, and he must follow instructions because the call doesn’t disconnect.
“Are you in a payphone?” you laugh.
“Yeah, I was looking for some place private and saw it, thought I’d give it a try.”
“Didn’t know those still worked.”
“Me neither. Guess I got lucky.”
“Very lucky.”
After a longer than usual pause you add: “I guess we shouldn’t push that luck, huh?”
Your stomach’s already sinking at the thought of getting off the phone, of having to go another stretch of time without hearing him.
“I’m sorry. I’ll be home soon, I promise.”
“I’m gonna miss you more now,” you complain.
“Me too. Shouldn’t have called, I made it worse.”
“It was nice to hear you Bob, even just for a little bit. Come home in one piece for me.”
“Of course, I always do.”
“And no more jerking off in payphones,” you add before he can hang up.
“No promises there.”
And then the call drops, and you’re left lying in bed longing for him to come home.
