Do you have any designs in mind for any other people in ur Spideypool au? Like anyone else in Peter’s life, I’d love to see how you draw Aunt May if she’s still kicking it 🫶
summary: when Tony finds a box of condoms in Peter's bed side drawer, he doesn't expect Peter's girlfriend to walk into the room, causing an awkward interaction.
a/n: my toxic trait is that i always imagine tasm!peter even tho it's in the avengers universe
0.6k wc
When Peter walks into his bedroom, the first thing his eyes lay on is the box of condoms in his mentor's hand. Tony Stark smirks from where he sits on his mentee's bed, drinking the cup of coffee Aunt May had so graciously prepared him. Peter's eyes go wide, flickering between his open bed side drawer and his mentor, and he dives across the room to get the box from him. Peter nearly hits his head against the wall when Tony tosses the box in the air, catching it in his hand when it falls down again. Peter's face flushes red as he scrambles back up, straightening his bed sheets where he haphazardly landed on them, mouth gaping open. Peter can hear you laughing with his Aunt May in the living room about another one of May's stories. She always had to tell you about the stories of how smitten he was with you, an attempt for your relationship to last forever. He needs to get that box before you walk in because that was not the situation he imagined you'd meet Mr. Stark in. He refused to let it happen.
Peter tilts his head to the side with desperate eyes, begging "Please give me those Mr. Stark." Tony grins teasingly, saying "You know these only work when there are two people involved, right?" Peter doesn't have time to react before the door to his room opens again and you walk in, saying something about the story Aunt May had told you before your eyes land on the older man in the room, prompting you to go silent. Oh no, Peter thinks. Tony quickly's eyes quickly scan you where you awkwardly stand in the doorway, and the obvious mortification that settles on your face at the realisation of who he is.
"Oh."
"Oh." Tony's tone is suggestive, and completely different from yours. He stands up from Peter's bed, slowly making his way across the room to you. His eyes flicker between you and Peter, the box of condoms still in his hands as you shoot a hand out in front of you, smiling nervously and saying "Hi, I'm y/n." in a lowsy attempt to ignore the box laying in the man's hand, eyes glancing down to it a couple of times. Tony shakes your hand, introducing himself, before asking "And who might you be y/n?" Gulping, you glance between your boyfriend, whose face has flushed a dark shade of red, and the avenger standing in front of you. "I'm Peter's girlfriend." You state, eyes widening as Tony puts the box of condoms in your hand.
"There are two people involved then..." You hear him mutter under his breath, but it's nothing as embarrassing as Aunt May walking into the busy room and observing the situation, attention immediately caught by the box of condoms that you throw at your boyfriend in a panic. The box hits Peter's chest and falls on the floor, and neither of you make a move to pick it up whilst you smile awkwardly at May, who follows Tony out of the room. You huff when they walk out, turning around to dig your head into Peter's chest in humiliation. Your boyfriend hugs you close, rubbing a hand on your back, and he's happy you can't hear Tony say "That girl seems too sweet to be having sex with your nephew." or his Aunt May's scoff of "Yeah until you come back home after a night with your friends and hear everything through those walls. She really knows how to talk dirty."
╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ Villian! Dark! BND! Peter Parker x Stark! Reader
╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ Peter Parker once had everything he ever wanted. Now, he is out for blood one way or another. Nothing will stop him from making Tony Stark pay, starting with finally taking and ruining you for himself.
╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ SMUT!
Peter had once believed your father hung the stars in the sky, but you were the love of his life, the one blessing he never felt worthy of. God, he felt so fucking fortunate.
Tony Stark, your father, was Peter’s mentor, the one who guided his brilliance and helped him find his purpose. Around Tony were the people Peter trusted most, friends who had become a family to both of you. Thursdays were for golf with your dad, Rhodey, Thor and Bruce, a tradition Peter never missed. Fridays belonged to the Tower’s game room, where Scott, Vision, Sam, Bucky and Steve gathered around a worn card table, laughing loud enough for the whole floor to hear.
You had grown close to Natasha and Wanda, who were with Bucky and Vision, and the three of you became inseparable. They adored you, encouraged you to give Peter a chance, teased you about the way he watched you as if you were something precious and delicate. Tony had been wary at first, protective in the way only a good father could be, but even he could not deny how gentle Peter became around you, how the world seemed to soften whenever you walked into a room. The man simply worshipped the ground you walked on.
Before long, your life with Peter settled into something warm and familiar. Dinner parties in the loft you shared at the Tower, movie nights at Wanda and Bucky’s townhouse with the entire group piled onto mismatched couches, quiet mornings when the compound felt more like a home than a headquarters. It had all felt so beautifully domestic.
For a time, Peter believed all of you were making the world better, and he loved his friends and family fiercely.
Then came the spell.
The sky split open with a violence that looked almost unreal, like something out of one of those cheesy Sci-Fi flicks Peter loved so much. Portals tore across the horizon, New York shook, and the entire world drowned in chaos. The Avengers scattered into the hell awaiting them, each pulled toward a different disaster. Peter was thrown into the front lines, fighting creatures twice his size, pulling civilians from burning buildings, doing everything a hero was expected to do.
But he should have been somewhere else.
Aunt May had called him in a panic, her voice trembling. “Peter… sweetheart, please just be careful. Do NOT worry about me! I'll make it out. Just stay safe.” she took a deep sigh, breathing in the ash around her. “I love you.”
Tony had stopped him mid call. “We need you here, kid. We'll get her out. It’ll be okay."
He lied.
And you had ended up in a more tricky situation. Tony had locked you in the cellar of Stark Tower. Jarvis’ protocols were programmed to keep you trapped like a high profiled criminal. You pressed your palms against the reinforced door until they stung, tried every override your father had ever taught you, pleaded with the system in a voice that stayed soft even as it broke. You had even resorted to screaming at the top of your lungs until you became hoarse.
You felt useless. Powerless. Your shirt torn at the hem from trying to pry open a panel, your hair all messy and frizzy from pacing, your heart aching with every unanswered question. Were your parents safe? Were your friends alive? Was your Peter okay?
When the battle finally ended, when the sky sealed and the world fell into a stunned, smoky silence, Peter searched. He tore through the ruins of their apartment building, calling her name until his voice cracked. He found her beneath a collapsed beam, her hand reaching toward the door as if she had still been trying to escape.
Cold. Still. Alone.
No one had even tried to reach her.
Not Tony. Not the Avengers. Not even Happy.
Something inside Peter shattered so completely that Spider Man ceased to exist.
He vanished without a word. No calls. No explanations. Just absence.
Except for one night, one mistake, that neither of you ever spoke of again.
Three years passed.
Then he returned. Not as a hero. Not as the man you fell so hopelessly in love with. The man you MARRIED.
He came back as something far more dangerous.
Eerily dangerous.
It began quietly. Advanced technology slipped into underground markets, decades ahead of anything Stark Industries had ever produced. People whispered about a new power rising in the shadows, a company with limitless resources and a mind behind it that so terrifyingly brilliant.
Parker Industries.
Peter built an empire in the dark, using his wits to dismantle everything the Avengers stood for. This was not ambition. It was pure, evil retribution.
He sabotaged their systems, exposed their secrets, turned faithful allies into enemies.
And when the Avengers finally were able to contact him, Tony reached out with a tearful video message and begged him to come home. He wrote countless letters and even promised to concede.
One evening in particular, the lights in the compound flickered. Screens went black. Emergency alarms began to pulse red. Every device in the room crackled to life with a single message:
| You left her to die. Now it's your turn to lose everything.
The message repeated once, then vanished, leaving all of you in shock.
It had been a week since Peter vanished. No calls. No messages. No trace. You barely slept, barely ate, barely breathed without wondering if he was alive.
So when your bedroom door eased open in the middle of the night, you sat up with a gasp.
“Peter?” your voice cracked.
He stepped inside, shadows clinging to him, his curls were damp and unruly from the rain, his eyes tired and hollow.
“My love,” you whispered, a hand flying to your mouth. “Oh my god… it is you!"
He crossed the room in three silent steps and pressed a finger to your lips.
“Shh,” he breathed, barely a sound.
You felt tears spill before you even realized you were crying. He cupped your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks as if he could wipe away the week of fear. He kissed the tears as they fell, soft and desperate, like he had been starving for the taste of you.
“Where have you been,” you tried to ask, voice trembling, “Peter, what happened, why did you—”
He kissed the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the warm place beneath your ear. Your breath caught. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you against him as if he needed to feel you to believe you were real.
“Pete-”
“Shh..” He hummed quietly.
You felt the apology in the way he held you, the ache in his touch, the way his forehead pressed to your shoulder as if he might break.
You wrapped your arms around him, fingers curling into the back of his shirt. “I missed you,” you whispered.
"I missed you more." he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you toward the bed. His mouth found yours again, deeper this time, full of everything he could not say.
You sank into him, into the warmth of his hands, the weight of his body, the urgency in every single kiss. Under the covers, everything felt muted and dreamy. His breath against your neck, your fingers tangled in his now damp curls, the light sweat from his body pressed to yours. You kissed him like you were afraid he would disappear again, your lips trailing along his jaw, his throat, the line of his shoulder.
Your hands slid down his arms, tracing the shape of muscles you knew by heart. You kissed the curve of his bicep, longing and lingering, but froze when your lips brushed over something unfamiliar.
Ink.
A tattoo.
You pulled back just enough to look at him. The room was dark, but you could see the whites of his eyes watching you, unblinking, almost glowing in the shadows. You couldn’t place it at the time, but the way he looked at you so unsettlingly should have been your first clue.
“Pete,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. “When did you get a tattoo?”
You felt his mouth curve against your skin, a quiet grin you could sense more than see. His teeth flashed faintly in the dark, and a low chuckle rumbled into your shoulder. His hand slid to your waist, steady and warm, and he leaned in until his forehead touched yours.
“Don’t worry about that tonight,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Let’s just focus on making you feel good sweetheart. Is my baby okay with that?”
But you could feel it. The tension in him. The way he held you like he had done something terrible. You reached for his arm again, fingertips brushing the ink. “Peter…Come on, I-I think we seriously need to talk about where you’ve been-”
He kissed you before you could finish speaking, a kiss that swallowed the words and the fear behind them temporarily. His hands framed your face, then your hips, pulling you closer, deeper into him, into the heat and the ache and the need that had been building.
Before you knew it, he impaled you so hard that you could feel a tingle everywhere in your body. His thick cock filled you up. You bit your lip from practically screaming. Sure, you had made love to Peter countless times. Sometimes even a few times a day but, you had never done it without a condom.
During a brief moment of clarity, “Pete…” You whimpered, “Y-you know I’m not on the pill-”
“Who gives a fuck about the pill!” Peter snarled.
Taken aback from his sudden outburst, you gazed up at him all cock drunk and wide eyed.
“Shit, my love.. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it.” Peter caressed your cheek adoringly and left a gentle kiss on your temple. “I didn’t mean it, my sweet girl. I’m so sorry.”
You nodded and succumbed to Peter lightly circling your clit as he began to thrust in and out of you.
With a few more intense thrusts, it became harder to breathe. Your entire body shaking, your fingers gripping onto Peter’s suit. You were about to burst.
“Cum Love. Cum all over me.” Peter chuckled into your neck.
Your walls clenched around him as your head jerked back on the brink of fainting. You gripped his biceps and moaned. You swore you saw actual stars above you as your vision went blurry. Peter hummed all satisfied and began whispering praises, "My good, sweet girl.. What a good girl.."
If only you had noticed the way Peter placed his mask on your vanity. It looked careless, like he had tossed it aside without a thought, but nothing about it was accidental. He angled it just so, the lenses pointed toward the bed, the internal camera already blinking to life.
He made it look effortless, a casual flick of his wrist, but he had positioned it with precision. The mask sat there in the dim light, silent and unassuming, recording everything. You should have noticed the absence of his webshooters.
Later, when he slipped back into the run down cabin he had been hiding out in, surrounded by the scattered pieces of his tech, he would pull up the footage. He would watch it again and again, replaying every moment he had stolen for himself.
And after he left your room that night, that was exactly what he intended to do.
