Howastorygoes



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  1. Public Bookmark 84

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    It’s nerves, okay? Nerves, and Peter’s catastrophically confused and possibly in love with everyone in a ten-foot radius, and he’s been sorta just dying to have someone to be in love with, even if it’s not mutual, and this was forced onto him. Forced, you hear him?

    (Alright, shit, seriously—calm down, Parker. You are not in love, you demented drama queen. You are just panicking.)

    Peter is undercover as a flight attendant, Bucky is posing as a pilot, and Tony’s just another passenger. They have a plan. Multiple plans, actually. Except... when does anything ever go according to plan? And later, once his blood remembers how to circulate and his dick stops doing most of the thinking, Peter will retroactively name this Plan F.

    F for Flirt.

    F for Fuck.

    F for Fully unprepared for this, but… kinda into it, you have no idea.

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    05 Jun 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    The blur in front of him sharpens.

    It’s human-shaped, that blur. Then face-shaped. Then—oh—hot-face-shaped, with a five-o’clock shadow, long-ish hair, and seriously blue eyes. And, fuck. That jaw.

    Peter… knows that jaw? He also knows the metal arm, although it’s not the one he caught in Germany. It was different when that happened—the first time Peter had worked with Mr. Stark, and also had his first ‘Do I like dick? I might like dick’ revelation. Jesus, it was so long ago, and what a truly fucked-up day to reconnect with a blast from his pubescent sexual confusion.

    Peter attempts to get up, gets very softly pushed back down with a frown, opens his stupid mouth, and, still a lot out of it, lets this slip past his filter:

    “In my defense, I was imagining a robot uprising.”

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    05 Jun 2026

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    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.

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    05 Jun 2026

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    It's not that Peter doesn’t want to live in Avengers Tower—maybe actually doesn't?—but he fully expected the ultimate loser room. You know, the one next to the boiler or whatever. Where they stick the new guy. That's where he figured he was headed. One of those glorified closets with a view of a wall.

    Not Tony's floor. Please. No.

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    04 Jun 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    New York might be a sprawling concrete jungle, but the term "six degrees of separation" is less a theory and more a fucking day-to-day reality, especially if you wear spandex for a living. To be fair, in a city of eight million stories, Peter should hardly be surprised that he eventually collides with a one-armed super-soldier and whatever-the-hell-category Deadpool falls into. Should be hardly surprised, but almost is, even though it was a long time coming. Village. This city is a fucking village and, seriously, there should be a support group for this—'Anonymous Super-People of NY', or something equally cliché.

    A completely filthy, untrue, occasionally ridiculous, and canon-compliant story about how Peter Parker falls in love, Bucky Barnes meets Cable, and Deadpool finally gets a llama.

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    04 Jun 2026