Day 4: Tony/Peter - Phone Sex

Day 4: Tony/Peter - Phone Sex

Five hours. Not four. Not three. Not two. But five hours. Five hours since Tony kissed him. Him. Peter Parker. On purpose. Five hours since their eyes locked over the new prototype of Redwing—Peter looking away first and swallowing hard, shuffling back to grab some not-needed pack of snacks—Tony muttering, “Ah, screw it,” and— And it was— Five whole hours since the kiss. The kiss that single-handedly rewired Peter’s entire brain, rattling him so much that, shocker, he—also single-handedly—blew their most ill-timed mission. Not only did he fail to catch the yappy wizard flying through the city they’d been called in for, but he also somehow managed to huff a lungful of glittery, mystical bullshit.

Wordcount: 4.8k Rating: Explicit

All jokes aside, the cat’s a good thing. Clint has some self-respect left and refuses to pine after a cat guy. “Are you actually being serious right now?” Nat elbows him in the gut as Clint stares at Bucky’s bleeding face, whimpering a little when he just spits out some blood and, with a scowl, waves off the medic who dares to approach him. “Why is this so hot?” Clint fans himself with his own t-shirt, stretching the cotton with each drag, and pines with the intensity and urgency of at least a hundred dying phone batteries.

[or]

Clint has a type. And his type is assholes.

To the sweetest anonymous person who keeps sending me badges - I adore you xxx

Also, like, slide into my DMs so I can thank you properly :)

The last thing Bucky remembers is the lounge, that mouthwatering scent, and then everything going straight to shit with no pit stops.

He rolls over, coming face to face with a bunch of blankets. They aren’t soft anymore. They aren’t clean. And they sure as hell don’t smell like anything close to heaven now. They reek of sweat, filth, and something vaguely burnt—the fuck? Must’ve been his self-respect torching itself and going up in flames.

His head is pounding, his heart is pounding, his den’s a war zone, the bed broken. His goddamn mattress looks molested. Jesus. What the fuck was that?

In Bucky’s defense, the compound’s a revolving door, and he barely recognizes half the faces most of the time, let alone pays attention to memos that pop up on his phone.

Chapter 2/?

Yeah, I normally don't jump on this train, but it high-key discourages me too.

If someone is not sure if they should comment, a smiley face or a thank you is all it takes for the writer to feel like they are not spending hours/days writing something they are tossing into a silent void.

Every comment, regardless of how short, matters so much.

Ask anyone who has posted if they are obsessively checking for feedback or for any type of affirmation for the first few days. Bet the answer is Yes.

Not to mention the fact that a few days later it's pretty much hopeless. Feels bad, man.

I could kiss every person who ever commented for me. Kisses for everyone.

This is why writers abandon stories. It’s not that we don’t love them, it’s because we don’t want to love them alone.

Oh, god. This is so good. Send help, I am dying for more.

Summary: Tony takes the team out for a celebration. Bucky finds it not horrible at first, but irresistible later.

Tags: Bucky/Peter, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Rough Sex, Rimming, Aged-Up Peter Parker, Multiple Orgasms